Chapter 12: The Fall of Luca/FAQ (At Bottom, under A/N)
Eimour groaned, looking out into the night sky. From her third story apartment, she could see the tip of the lit Blitzball dome. She wondered why a game had stretched this late.
She let her gaze drop to her hands, wondering why they were trembling. Somewhere, deep inside of her, she knew something was amiss. What that something was, she didn't know.
With another sigh, she looked to her bed, where her seven year old son, Garrit -Gary for short- lay asleep. She smiled, watching the dark- haired boy snuggle into the covers. Gary was all she had, besides her job at the stadium. She worked the concessions eight hours a day, but the pay was not good. The two usually had to live off of bread and water some weeks, mainly so she could gather enough Gil to give Gary a decent meal the next week. She was lucky that the Inn's owner was a good friend of her mothers. Otherwise, she and her son would be out on the street.
Her smile faded as the memories poured into her. With a quiet sob, her eyes shot to the wall mirror across from the window, near the small bed. The reflection that she saw was not of a twenty-six year old woman, but of her nineteen-year old form, the form she had when she met the bastard of a merchant from Bevelle. He had promised her the world all in one night, but left her pregnant and alone in the back room of a pub the next morning. It had happened so fast, she could scarcely remember the events. That night, she lost her innocence, and her life, really. She poured every waking moment after that night into the son she was blessed with. When Garrit had grown old enough to comprehend certain things, he started asking where his father was. Eimour had never told him the truth, but instead, made up a vision of a great soldier, who had loved her very much. She always ended her story with "He blessed me with you before he left for war. I've not seen or heard from him since. He'll return someday. I know it."
Of course, this feigned hope was the last thing on her mind. She had shunned love, calling herself immature to fall in love upon first sight. She had always believed in it before that particular night, but love wasn't something shared between two adults to her anymore. It was shared between a mother and son.
Slowly the twenty-year old image faded, and her true form emerged from the mist. Her long black hair was tousled, knotted, and hadn't been washed in days. The thin-bridged nose and thick lips were the only survivors of aging before one's time. Her gray eyes had lost some of their gleam, and bags appeared under them.
She slowly stood to better assess the damage. Her body hadn't changed much, save for the extra muscle now padding her shoulders and arms. The shirt covering her bosom wasn't too tight, mainly due to the fact that she couldn't fill it out very well. Her stomach still bore the stretch marks of pregnancy, but had lost the ballooned, well-fed look over the years. Instead, a lean, fit wall of muscle surrounded her navel. Of course, her hips had widened due to giving birth, but they weren't ghastly wide. The legs holding all of this up were still as firm as they were six years ago.
Another sigh escaped her throat and she again turned to Garrit. His looks had obviously taken after her. He too had black hair, his eyes gray. The only physical attribute he seemed to take from the merchant was a set of broad shoulders. She felt a sob creeping up, but reminded herself that Gary was the best thing that could've happened to her, and was the only thing the merchant had given her.
She bent over and ran a hand through the boy's fine hair, another trait he took from his mother. He stirred a bit and curled into a tight ball. She smiled warmly and found a seat on a bench facing the bed. After a short while, she began to hear screams, shouting, and a few popping noises. She laughed to herself, thinking that the blitzball crowd was finally making it home. Soon, she would wish that was all it -really- was.
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The Inn's door burst open and three soldiers in white robes barged in, guns aimed right at the attendant's head.
The one closest to him shouted, "Do you pledge allegiance to Honorable Lord Nyka?"
"Huh?"
"Only once more. Do you pledge allegiance to Lord Nyka?"
"Nyka...what?"
The solder fired a single bullet into the attendant's forehead, causing the man's brain matter to splatter against the wall. The soldier that had fired cocked his head and the other two men followed him into the owner's office.
A few moments later, the owner lay motionless on the floor, blood seeping from a fresh head wound.
The soldiers made their way quickly up the stairs, to the first floor. Each man went for a door and kicked it in. A couple of shots rang before the leading soldier had a chance to ask the couple in his room if they were going to pledge allegiance or not.
The other two soldiers came in and stood, rifles pointed towards the older couple. In unison, all three shouted "Do you, or do you not pledge allegiance to Lord Nyka?"
"We do! We do!"
The men nodded and ran out of the room, satisfied with a simple yes.
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Eimour jumped from her seat the moment the blast echoed through her floor. Immediately, she grabbed Gary and slid under the bed, putting her hand over his protesting mouth.
She didn't know what was going on, but it certainly wasn't an after- game party. She heard shouts, popping noises, and hard thuds. She also heard footsteps, heavy ones, that started as quickly as they stopped. She'd hear footsteps, shouting, and depending on the nature of the shouts, she'd hear nothing, or a popping noise, and then more footsteps.
By the nature of the sounds, and the echoing factor, Eimour guessed the footsteps were nearing her room. She hugged onto Gary tightly, her hand pressed hard against his mouth, all the while whispering silent, comforting words into his ear.
In the tense moment, Eimour's hearing tripled its strength, and every breath, every creak, every little nuance became a violent boom. She tried to concentrate on Gary's heartbeat, trying to match hers to his, just trying to keep her mind off of the chaos outside of the door.
Sadly, she heard the footsteps stop right outside of her door, and before she could try to calm herself, her body jumped at the sound of the door splitting under the weight of a heavy foot.
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"Anyone in here?"
One of the soldiers looked around, scanning the room. "Looks empty. Could be at the Blitzball game."
The leader smirked. "Well, if they are, they're in for a treat."
The soldiers laughed.
Under the bed, Eimour and Garrit lay motionless, trying not to breathe, trying to hide each other's beating heart from the men standing mere feet from them.
One of the soldiers sighed, rolling his neck. "Well, looks like this building is taken care of."
"Yeah, I think we should head next door. It's a pub. While we 'convert' some Lucans, we can grab a drink. Sound good men?"
The other two cheered and fired their rifles into the ceiling. A few moments later, Eimour's hearing could no longer pick up the faint footsteps of the soldiers, who were well on their way to the pub next door. She slowly pulled her hand from Gary's mouth, who immediately whispered, "What's going on, mommy?"
"I don't know, pumpkin...but let's stay here for awhile, ok?"
The child nodded and curled into fetal position in his mother's arms. Eimour curled up as well, trying to add as much warmth and comfort to Gary that she could. Soon, the two fell asleep, oblivious to the mayhem that was occurring around the inn they inhabited.
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Nyka awoke with a bright smile on his face. Deep in his old bones, he could feel a tide turning. He could smell his victory it was so close. As he approached his wardrobe, a smile crept to his bearded face. Quickly, he slipped on a long robe and grabbed his knobby staff. He headed into his office, approaching his assistant, and the military messenger with a warm smile.
"Good morning, gentlemen. It's a beautiful day indeed, isn't it?"
The messenger smiled and the assistant did nothing but continue standing, a statue of emotionless proportions.
The messenger bowed, his smile never leaving. "Good news, my Lord. Luca is ours."
The old man laughed heartily and tapped his staff against the floor, almost going into a dance. But, he controlled himself, despite his smile never leaving.
"Good, good. Any troop casualties?"
"None."
"Excellent, excellent."
"There were, however, a significant number of citizen-"
"I don't care how many citizens died. The ones that did deserved it. Remember, everything we do is Yevon's will, no matter how atrocious it may seem."
"Yes, Lord."
"Any word from the heathens."
"We don't believe Yuna or the Crusaders know of our winning Luca just yet."
"Excellent. Keep the enemy in the dark."
"Should we reinforce the city, sir? Just incase the Crusaders do come."
"If they don't know, we've got nothing to worry about. Besides, I'm confident in my men."
"Yes, sir."
"Take the more prestigious homes and inns and convert them into barracks for our officers. Let the lower ranks use the Blitzball stadium. It's got enough room."
"Yes, sir."
"Anything else to report?"
"Not at the moment, sir."
"Good. Go find something to report."
"Yes, sir."
And with that, the messenger bowed once more and left the office.
Nyka turned to his assistant. "Today is a very glorious day."
The assistant nodded.
"Take the day off, enjoy yourself."
The assistant nodded once more and left the office, leaving Nyka to wonder why the assistant had accepted so quickly.
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"Mommy! Come look!"
Eimour's eyes slowly crept open, the sunlight that rushed in causing her pupils to close in. "W...what is it, Gary?"
"Soldiers, walking along the streets."
She blinked and slowly crawled from under the bed, her back and knees popping loudly as she stood. "How many?"
"Lots! Come look!"
"Keep your voice down, dear. Just incase they decide to come up here again."
The child immediately stopped looking so excited and hunched to the side. She walked to the window, a hand ruffling Gary's hair as she got near, and looked out. The scene was quite a different one from just a day ago. Hundreds, if not thousands of white robed soldiers lined the streets, being shouted at by some figurehead. Eimour couldn't make out the words, but by the looks on the soldier's faces, it was a very positive speech.
After a little bit, the soldiers dispersed and a few went aside buildings while the rest marched on the streets, heading in the direction of the higher class district. Eimour, while very suspecting of the Yevonites, had never expected them to invade Luca of all places. Luca was about as neutral as cities came, being that the population was balanced, for and against the New Yevon faction.
But what had Eimour really worried was whether or not this move by Nyka was going to go unpunished or not. She hadn't a clue if Yuna's camp knew, or if they were still in the dark. She figured the latter, seeing as Nyka had just barged in, unannounced. She could only worry what Luca's political leaders were doing.
"Probably pissing their pants..." she thought aloud, not really meaning to.
"What mommy?"
"Nothing dear," she replied and tapped his nose. "And just because mommy said a bad word, doesn't mean you have that right, ok?"
The child smiled, nodding. "I know, Mommy."
She smiled and leaned down, kissing Gary's forehead. She returned her gaze to the streets and noticed soldiers camped out at certain spots, guessing that they were posted all throughout the city, guarding their newly acquired tract of land.
She groaned aloud, shaking her head at the thought of being a prisoner in her own town. She wondered what odd rules were going to be set in now that Luca had a new ruler. More than likely, for the next few weeks...or the rest of their lives...life would be grueling.
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Weston walked slowly along the beach path, shouldering his rucksack, the large wooden barracks' roofs appearing as he made his way over a dune. He saw a lot of the Crusaders just milling about, conversing and tossing blitzballs around. He looked for Ughol, but saw no sign of the oaf, and decided to enter the building.
On his way in he got quite a few looks, some admiring, some incriminating. He walked up to a small table with a soldier behind it. He bent forward a little bit.
"Is Gatta in? He's not at the Lodge."
"Yeah, he's in back. Got an appointment." The soldier laughed at his joke, but Weston only stared, causing the smirk on the man's face to fade quickly. The soldier coughed and stood. "Please wait here."
Weston nodded and stood, stuffing his hands into his pockets. A few moments later, the soldier came back in, nodded to Weston and then opened the door to the back office. Weston walked through the threshold and could see many maps scattered around, some swords in a stack, and what looked like, at least to Weston, to be ration satchels. Gatta popped up from behind a cornered off area in the back of the room and made eye contact with Weston.
"Morning." Weston said.
Gatta smirked. "It's mid-afternoon."
"I know. But I usually consider afternoon morning, because I don't generally wake up early enough to say 'Morning'."
"Ah."
"You said you have something to show me."
"Yes I do." And with that, Gatta set two L-shaped pieces of steel. "Go ahead, pick one up."
Weston did so and noted that what it he was holding was a firearm, a very odd one. He studied its appearance. It was most certainly a handgun, because it had a slide and a slot for a magazine. But, the magazine slot looked like a straight shell-through load that was used for mounted machine guns. He brought it much closer, eye level, and recognized the magazine mechanism. It was much like the old M1-Garand load. A slot was inside to hold a metal strip. The magazine, Weston guessed, was much like the Garand's. Shells loaded on a strip of metal, a slot in the middle so the hammer could hit the primer and fire the bullet. The slide, he guessed, was like a Desert Eagle's. It was behind the chamber and was only there to release the emptied shell. The gun was steel and, as far as Weston could tell, had rubber grips colored yellow. The trigger was like any other; save it wasn't pulled into the grip, but pulled against it. It was like whoever had produced the gun mixed a USP's trigger with a 1911's frame. It wasn't very heavy, heavier than most of the handguns he had handled, for sure, but it wasn't cumbersome. He looked to Gatta and cocked a brow.
"Who made this?" he asked.
"Al-Bhed."
"Ah hah."
"They're into making machina for all sorts of purposes. Transportation, convenience at home, and, most of all, defense."
"How does it load?"
Gatta shrugged. "Picked it up in Luca, some souvenir shop. Didn't give me any bullets though..."
"Separate purchase?"
"Didn't have any. Said he stole 'em from a couple of marauders at the Blitz stadium."
"Mmhmm. There a reason you wanted to show me useless weaponry?"
"Actually, yeah, I have a good reason."
"And what is that reason?" Weston asked, not sure of where this was going.
"I was thinking, that maybe, just maybe, we could convince the Al- Bhed to loan us...say a few thousand of these to use in battle."
"Think they'd want to do that?"
"No. They're neutral, and want nothing to do that would jeopardize their race's safety."
"Then how do you expect to get a few thousand of these?"
"Know how to beg, Weston?"
"Uh...no."
"Start learning now and meet me at the airship in two hours."
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Nyka was in very good spirits, even as the day wore on. He looked out of the window and saw the sun shining down onto his beloved Bevelle.
Now, while he knew certain people thought he was heartless, Nyka was quite in love. And he knew it. It was a love of influencing thousands of people. It was a love of looking down onto a city and knowing you affected every single aspect of it. It was the love of power that had concreted itself into his heart. And like the leaders of Yevon before him, that power would last forever. No matter how old Nyka got, he'd continue living, because the day he died, would be the day he was reborn immortal, forever to lead the minions of Yevon into battle against the heathen. But, he feared that soon there would be no heathen, seeing how his army had easily taken Luca.
"Well," Nyka said to the empty room, hearing the echo of his voice coming from the stone walls, "there's still the Al-Bhed to take care of, and after that, -and- if push comes to shove, I'll just create a heathen to get rid of."
With that, he smiled and stepped from the window. He picked up a logbook and started to record the day's good news into it. After a few paragraphs were written, he closed the book and sat down, thinking a moment.
He recalled how his youngest cohort's wife had come to him the night of Luca's invasion. She was on the verge of tears, because, she claimed, Fagan seemed to not have full faith in him and the movement to drive out the heathen horde. Nyka grinned as he remembered holding the nubile young woman in his arms, whispering words of comfort into her ear. His grin widened as his thoughts continued, remembering how frightened the young girl was, and how easily she believed every word he said. He knew, then, that she had long been a believer of his, and had every bit of confidence in him that she did in seeing the sun come up every morning. He noted how easily it had been to manipulate her that night, making her obey each command, claiming that doing so would purify her path into the Farplane. He grin broadened even more as he focused on the image of the young girl, unbuttoning her blouse.
The office door slammed shut and Nyka jumped up, wiping the grin off of his face and hunching forward a bit.
"Y...yes?" he asked in a shaky voice, not seeing anyone around.
The messenger from earlier walked forward, still with that silly grin on his face. "Lord, no activity from Yuna's camp. No word, nothing. And in this case, nothing is a good thing. We've set up barracks at the stadium and have posts all throughout the city; usually two to four man jobs, with rotation every six hours. Civilian casualty is high, sir. Official numbers are in from the collection of bodies that stared early morning. According to the final count, there are fourteen thousand, three hundred and sixty eight civilian deaths. That's counting men, women, children, occupations including politicians, innkeepers, merchants, and peasants."
Nyka nodded, wishing each and every one of the fourteen thousand, three hundred and sixty eight souls a torturous and fiery eternity roaming Spira, for they were not getting into the Farplane. He smiled, and asked, "That leaves how many, estimated of course, civilians?"
"Around twenty or so thousand sir."
"Not a big loss."
"Sir...it's still-"
"It's nothing. The price they had to pay now or later. We put them out of their misery."
The messenger nodded.
Nyka changed the subject."Any news on the Al-Bhed operation?"
"Sir, we've already received and processed the plans. It's essentially an attack, from what you've outlined, correct?"
"It's only an attack if they think it is. But we're not going to go all that way, ask politely, and then leave empty handed. You know yourself, son, that the Al-Bhed aren't going to hand over anything to anyone. We're going to 'borrow' some of that technology and let some of our most prestigious soldiers utilize it."
"Yes, sir."
"And, tell me again, how did my army acquire an airship?"
The messenger knew Nyka knew the answer, but to please the aging leader, he sighed and recited, "After being decimated by the heathen's missile attack, Nyka's Holy Army commandeered a vessel from the very city it would plan to and successfully control only a day later."
"Correct. You may go now, son."
"Yes, my Lord."
The messenger bowed and hurriedly left. Nyka sat back down and leaned back into the chair, returning to his thoughts of the night before.
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Yuna awoke, brow covered in sweat, tears in her eyes. She accounted the dream to the stress as of late, but couldn't get the images out of her vision.
In her eyes, she saw not her bed, or her room, but rather saw a rain- soaked and cloaked figure, standing upon a hill, which she now saw was actually a dip in one of Luca's many roads. In this most recent dream, the white light had not appeared, and the figure took one step backed and entered a very familiar stance. From under the cloak, Fraternity's translucent blue blade gleamed against the rain, a mist rising from the sword. It was splotched in blood, which the rain was quickly wiping off. In one fell swoop, the figure raised the sword and brought it down against a figure she could not see from her vantage.
And that had been where the vision had ended in a flash of white. She couldn't explain the dreams, but felt comforted, despite the violent nature of the dream. If it weren't for the sword, she thought, she would be worried. But, seeing Tidus' sword gave her that much more hope that somewhere, he was searching for her. Where that was, she didn't know, and particularly didn't care.
Yuna crawled out of bed and slipped her shoes back on, her clothes slightly wrinkled from the afternoon nap. There was a knock on her door and she opened it up to see someone she particularly didn't want to see.
"What are you doing here?"
"I've got news."
"It's dangerous for you to be here, you know...I thought you were going to send word through a source?"
"Today, I am that source. Why? That bastard's sent my source straight to Luca."
"Why Luca?"
"Luca's fallen. Fallen to Yevonite hands."
Yuna held her hand to her mouth, half in shock, and half in an effort to keep herself on her feet.
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"So, we're going to the heart of Yuna's cousin's race?"
"Cid, yes."
"Cid."
Gatta nodded.
"And that girl I met long ago, Rikku, might be able to persuade him for at least a little bit of help."
"Of course."
"Remind me again why I have to go."
"I trust you."
"And you don't trust Ughol?"
"No. Didn't say that."
"So why didn't you bring him along?"
"Well, Ughol isn't very...'Diplomatic', I think, is the word. He's a great fighter, he's got a big heart, but," Gatta tapped his temple in demonstration, "up here, there's not much in the way of thinking ahead."
"Ah hah. So, you take me because you think I might be able to tell you if you've been jipped or not."
"More or less. And I sense you can beg with the best of them."
Weston laughed and punched Gatta firmly in the upper arm. "Bastard."
Gatta laughed as well, shrugging with a smug smile at the bastard comment.
"So how long till we arrive?"
"Don't know. Let me go ask our driver."
Weston thought a moment and then grabbed Gatta's shoulder, pulling the smaller man back. "Shouldn't we have told Yuna first?"
"Nah, it'll be ok. She was asleep anyway."
"So you tried?"
"Yeah."
"Well, if you tried..."
"I tried."
"Ok." And with that, Gatta left for the cockpit.
Weston looked out of the window and saw the expansive ocean as a nice protective barrier against anything that would go after Besaid. The Yevonites didn't have a navy and really couldn't get to the island without an airship. He wondered, also, whether or not Nyka had gone stagnant. They hadn't heard anything from Yuna or her "source." And not hearing anything was a bad thing, especially during a war.
Gatta tapped Weston's shoulder. "Be there in less than thirty minutes. Zoning out?"
"Wha...yeah. Thirty minutes."
Gatta laughed. "If you're worried about the Al-Bhed, they -shouldn't- fire on us. We're supporters of Yuna."
"Oh, you're -so- assuring."
And with that, the two men laughed.
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Fagan's day off was slowly growing to a close. And he was glad. While it was uneventful, the coldness that stuck to the air unnerved him. He hadn't spoken a word to Elaine all day, but she hadn't offered any conversation either. Something had seemed to have shaken her up, but he certainly wasn't going to ask about it.
He sat, cross-legged, on the floor, reading through a book about the Al-Bhed, mainly just to refresh himself for Nyka's lesson. He dreaded it, but knew it was important to the old leader and wasn't about to spark any bad blood between them. He'd lose, no matter what, since the man was leading this little crusade, and Fagan himself being only an advisor. He had already lost the battle with his wife. She was hopelessly loyal to Nyka, even though she loved Fagan. He didn't doubt her love, but he did feel as if she'd side with Nyka over him any day.
He growled, and put the book down, not able to concentrate. Recently, he'd had an epiphany: he didn't like Nyka. He didn't even want to be apart of this "Crusade." But, he had to be, or at least, seem loyal. Otherwise, Nyka would kill him.
Fagan slowly stood and popped his back with a groan. It was nearly twilight, and his wife wasn't home yet. He knew she had to vent, get out her frustrations, and he was especially glad she didn't do it at home. But, the long trips to who knows where didn't have him very excited. As he began cooking a batch of noodles, the door opened, and in walked Elaine.
He whispered a greeting, but she either failed to hear him, or failed to want to hear him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her lay a couple of bags down on the bed and begin dressing down.
"What're you cooking?" she asked, not a bit of emotion in her voice.
He jumped a bit, and said in a meek voice, "Seasoned noodles..."
"We had that a few nights ago."
"I know, but I was craving it."
"It'll do..." she said, her back to him, staring off at the wall.
After an awkward moment, he asked, "Is something wrong?"
"No," came her reply.
Of course, he knew she was lying, but decided not to press it, being a bit scared of any type of confrontation. The one thing Fagan hated about himself was his pacifist nature. It had gotten him picked on, even at college. He supposed it had something to do with his stature. He wasn't very tall, and weighed less than most men his height or shorter. And when confronted, he usually drew back, not wanting to be in a conflict. But recent events had caused the meek councilman to begin to take a few chances, especially letting his doubts out, even if it was his wife. All along, he knew she'd see Nyka about it.
He sighed and went back to the noodles. His thoughts went back to Elaine. He had met her in college. She was spunky, confrontational, and simply put, everything he was not. But it had worked. How he had worked up the nerve to ask her to visit the temple with him one day, he'd never know. But he was glad he did, even if things like this would happen. And they had happened before. She'd become stagnant, totally lethargic and apathetic, totally not herself. But it wouldn't take her long to get out of these fits.
That little line of thinking brought a smile to the young man's face as he stirred the noodles. Time healed all wounds, he thought. Unless the wound festered, of course.
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Eimour made her way along a wide and heavily populated street, her sandals clacking against the stone tiles. She wrapped her cloak around herself a bit tighter as she spotted some of the white robed guards looking at her. One of them yelled out something about Nyka, and she nodded furiously, already having answered the same question three times on her trip. The night was muggy, but she was cold, chills running up her back. She felt a thousand eyes on her, and it didn't make her feel very safe, even if it was her own block.
She saw a couple of soldiers fall in behind her and she hurried her steps, thanking whatever deity was left that her destination appeared to the left. She opened the door and ducked in, watching the soldiers pass the store's window.
"Bastards, aren't they?"
She jumped and turned, dropping her cloak.
The elderly man behind the counter laughed, shaking his head. "Sorry to startle you, dear. What can I do for you this evening?"
She smiled as her recognition of the old man caused her to walk forward, leaning over the counter as she had for years now.
He laughed, "You've been doing that since you were seven. Don't think you'll grow out of it."
She smiled and nodded. "Never."
They both laughed at this and the moment of reminiscing caused her worry to fade, if only for a few seconds.
"Looks like you've raised your prices," she commented, not wanting to sound cheap or worried.
"Yeah. Since -they- moved in, they've put a stop to shipments in and out of the city. My supply is low. Have to make as much as I can before I'm out of stock."
She nodded and cocked her mouth. "Well...just one loaf, and one bottle of juice, please."
He nodded and went into the back. She sighed and pulled out a sack, counting out three hundred gil, which left her with only fifty, which wouldn't buy anything save a potion. When he returned, he had two large baskets in his hand. She counted three loaves of bread, some meat, a few seasonings, a few potions, about ten cans of various vegetables, and three large bottles of juice.
Her immediate response was, "I can't afford all of this..."
He laughed. "That's why I'm -giving- it to you. I know you have that son of yours back at your room. And this 'occupation' is putting a strain on everyone. You know they took over the stadium, right? So your job's gone. They've canceled the Blitz games, if you can believe that. So, this should last you a few weeks."
She sighed, hating to accept charity, but took the baskets. He nodded to the money. "Pocket that. You'll need it later."
She started to refuse, but he grabbed the money and shoved it back into the pouch hooked to her belt. He winked and said, "Off you go. Have a nice night."
She smiled, uttered a few words of thanks, grabbed her cloak after setting the baskets down, and was on her way on within a few minutes.
On the way back to her Inn, she didn't see many soldiers. This, of course, was a relief, but still left her curious. She trudged her way up the stairs, found her door, and entered through the room with a smile.
Gary jumped up from reading and smiled. "Whatcha got, Mommy?"
She smiled. "Yummy food. We can thank the local shop keeper for that."
"Ooo, the nice old man?"
She smiled and nodded, noting that, even in a time of despair, there was always a little bit of peace. It just had to find you.
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Weston stepped out of the airship, eyes immediately going wide at the scene before him. Despite night having been fallen for an hour or so, Weston could see two large towers; a third currently being built. They were very tall, taller than most skyscrapers. Noises usually associated with construction zones filled the air and Weston could see sparks flying at many places on the third tower's frame. Men were yelling, women were yelling. And yelling over the noise was quite a feat. But he couldn't make out what the yells said, either because they were in another language, or too far away to be understood. Gatta laughed as he came up beside Weston.
"Impressive, no?"
"Yes."
"That's the Al-Bhed for you."
"And these guys are -neutral-?!"
"Not fair, is it?"
"Not in the least."
"Well, that's why we're here. Let's get down to business."
Weston nodded and the two walked toward the center of the large structures.
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Ughol sighed. "I'm sorry Yuna. They've gone to Home to see if they can take some weapons off of the Al-Bhed's hands."
"Does Rikku know about this?"
"Not that I know, no ma'am."
She sighed, trying to control a tinge of anger. "Ok...I need...them here. I need them to help me."
"Well, what's the matter? Maybe I can help. I'm in charge while they're gone."
She winced a bit, but told him of Luca's fall.
He literally jumped up from his seat after she finished.
"That bastard!" he yelled.
She drew back, not sure of the behemoth's control over his anger.
"We've got to go to Luca."
"But, what about Gatta?"
"He'd do the same thing if I was gone."
"But, shouldn't you wai-"
"Ok, guys listen up. I need some volunteers. We're gonna take Luca back."
A few men blinked.
"Well, what you guys don't know is that bastard Nyka's taken over Luca. Let's go take it back, men!"
A few cheers were heard and Ughol didn't have long to wait until a sizable force was assembled.
"How are you going to get there?" Yuna asked.
"A fast ship and a boatload of Chocobos."
"How long will it take you to get there?"
"I'm guessin' bout...six hours, tops."
She sighed and nodded, already knowing where this was headed. She knew Ughol had made up his mind, and there wasn't much she could do about it. Even a leader could stand up to hundreds of angry soldiers.
Within thirty minutes, Ughol and the four hundred or so men were on their way. Yuna looked to her shaky hands and tried not to cry, but found her eyes were willing. With a quiet sob, she made her way to her bedroom.
--------------------
A/N: Und ze plot thickens. Welp, hope you guys like this one. Not much to say about it, except thanks to my Cisco teach for letting me take the final and then sneak home a few hours early so I could finish this ^^;;
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FAQ: Yeah, after dozens and dozens of emails, a few questioning reviews, and odds and ends from friends, I've decided to include a FAQ with this chapter. Don't worry, no future spoilers for those of you who've read this far. And if ya think this is silly and pointless, just skip it ^^
Q: Why is it called "Akin to Sin"?
A: As you can tell, by now, this is a war-driven story. Every plot centers on the war. Now, war is devastating. And, personally, Sin really doesn't hold a candle to war. The war in this story is very destructive, but it's man-made, and that makes it just as bad or worse than [the game's] spiritual based destruction machine, ala Sin. Therefore, it's "Akin" or similar, to Sin and what Sin did.
Q: Where the hell is Tidus?!?!?!?!
A: This is the most frequent question I'm asked. For plot reasons, I can't go into it yet. All I can say is that he IS returning and will be a major character. I'm guessing he'll make his debut at about Chapter 16 or so. Could be sooner, depending on pacing issues etc.
Q: How long with this fic be?
A: Extremely long. Probably around 30 chapters or so, if everything goes according to my outline.
Q: Where's Auron?
A: Not in this one. Sorry all you Auron fans, just couldn't fit him in.
Q: Where's Kihmari?
A: He's not a key character, really. He'll make small appearances later in the fic.
Q: Why a Delta Force soldier? or Why a US soldier? Or Couldn't you have made Weston a Crusader?
A: Here's a history of Weston's character. He started out as a character in a story I've never published. In that story, he was a SEAL. And in that story, he was fourty-five. I just reverse-aged him, put him in the Delta's (because I had been playing the game Delta Force at the time), and then fleshed out a character diagram. The reason I wanted Weston to "fall" into Spira and not be a citizen of Spira is a simple one: there's more to write about. How Weston adjusts, how he compares things in his world to Spira's, how he acts, his slang, his religious beliefs. It's just totally different.
Q: Is Sin coming back?
A: No, Sin is dead, and so is Yu Yevon.
Q: What's this Yttrium based...the thing about Yevon being some AI chip? China?
A: I wanted a way to have Weston come to Spira. What better way then to say, waaaaaay into the past, Sin was actually man-made. I explain that Yu Yevon was really an artificial life form that produced a biological armor to protect itself. I just popped China as the creators because, let's face it, what other superpower is there that's not a greater threat, militarily speaking, than China?
Q: Why New Yevon?
A: Ever read the extended ending for the International version of FFX? No? Then read it to find out.
Q: Nyka sounds a lot like Mika.
A: What? I needed to have some allusion to the game's plot :P ^^;;;
Q: Are Weston and Yuna getting together? or Do Weston and Yuna have a thing going?
A: No. Absolutely not. I -cried- at the end of FFX because Tidus just floated through Yuna's arms. Yuna and Tidus WILL be reunited and major fluff will ensue!
Q: You love to torture your characters, don't you?
A: Angst and inner-turmoil rule! Translation: [Why, yes, yes I do! ^^]
Q: Why didn't Weston have his M4? or Why didn't Weston have any reloads for his SOCOM?
A: It's a matter of causing strain on the character. If he had tons of ammo, it'd be a bit one sided. It'd be like going back in time and giving on of the armies of the Civil War a crap load of AK's and say "Happy Shooting, fellas." I did it to be fair and not sound so damned far fetched. I mean, come on, I wanted SOMETHING to make him vulnerable ^^
Q: When do you have the time to write all of this?
A: Sometimes at school, but mostly at home. I stay up into the wee hours writing this stuff, with only raw coffee bean (which is good, mind you :P), some form of spring water or carbonated beverage, and either granola or nutragrain bars as my fuel. That's why there are so many dang typos. When I finish a story, I proofread thoroughly. So, if you see a few and it bugs ya, sorry, but I'm not getting around to that until this is done. Then you'll have a nice, clean, and easily readable fic.
Q: What's this heathen stuff?
A: Ah, another allusion. In The Idylls of the King by Alfred Lord Tennyson, King Arthur is on a crusade to rid the land of a certain race. He calls his enemy (The pagan Anglo-Saxons) the "Heathen Horde" because they're not Christian. Nyka does this as well, because, well, he's almost in the same situation, expect he's no King Arthur ^^
Q: You sure this should be PG-13?
A: Positive. Nothing in this fic has gone above what any of the other PG-13 fics I've read have. Trust me, I'm keeping this very tame, despite my violent nature ^^;;
Q: You've got no life, have you?
A: I do. It just takes a back seat to pleasing you guys ^^
Eimour groaned, looking out into the night sky. From her third story apartment, she could see the tip of the lit Blitzball dome. She wondered why a game had stretched this late.
She let her gaze drop to her hands, wondering why they were trembling. Somewhere, deep inside of her, she knew something was amiss. What that something was, she didn't know.
With another sigh, she looked to her bed, where her seven year old son, Garrit -Gary for short- lay asleep. She smiled, watching the dark- haired boy snuggle into the covers. Gary was all she had, besides her job at the stadium. She worked the concessions eight hours a day, but the pay was not good. The two usually had to live off of bread and water some weeks, mainly so she could gather enough Gil to give Gary a decent meal the next week. She was lucky that the Inn's owner was a good friend of her mothers. Otherwise, she and her son would be out on the street.
Her smile faded as the memories poured into her. With a quiet sob, her eyes shot to the wall mirror across from the window, near the small bed. The reflection that she saw was not of a twenty-six year old woman, but of her nineteen-year old form, the form she had when she met the bastard of a merchant from Bevelle. He had promised her the world all in one night, but left her pregnant and alone in the back room of a pub the next morning. It had happened so fast, she could scarcely remember the events. That night, she lost her innocence, and her life, really. She poured every waking moment after that night into the son she was blessed with. When Garrit had grown old enough to comprehend certain things, he started asking where his father was. Eimour had never told him the truth, but instead, made up a vision of a great soldier, who had loved her very much. She always ended her story with "He blessed me with you before he left for war. I've not seen or heard from him since. He'll return someday. I know it."
Of course, this feigned hope was the last thing on her mind. She had shunned love, calling herself immature to fall in love upon first sight. She had always believed in it before that particular night, but love wasn't something shared between two adults to her anymore. It was shared between a mother and son.
Slowly the twenty-year old image faded, and her true form emerged from the mist. Her long black hair was tousled, knotted, and hadn't been washed in days. The thin-bridged nose and thick lips were the only survivors of aging before one's time. Her gray eyes had lost some of their gleam, and bags appeared under them.
She slowly stood to better assess the damage. Her body hadn't changed much, save for the extra muscle now padding her shoulders and arms. The shirt covering her bosom wasn't too tight, mainly due to the fact that she couldn't fill it out very well. Her stomach still bore the stretch marks of pregnancy, but had lost the ballooned, well-fed look over the years. Instead, a lean, fit wall of muscle surrounded her navel. Of course, her hips had widened due to giving birth, but they weren't ghastly wide. The legs holding all of this up were still as firm as they were six years ago.
Another sigh escaped her throat and she again turned to Garrit. His looks had obviously taken after her. He too had black hair, his eyes gray. The only physical attribute he seemed to take from the merchant was a set of broad shoulders. She felt a sob creeping up, but reminded herself that Gary was the best thing that could've happened to her, and was the only thing the merchant had given her.
She bent over and ran a hand through the boy's fine hair, another trait he took from his mother. He stirred a bit and curled into a tight ball. She smiled warmly and found a seat on a bench facing the bed. After a short while, she began to hear screams, shouting, and a few popping noises. She laughed to herself, thinking that the blitzball crowd was finally making it home. Soon, she would wish that was all it -really- was.
--------------------
The Inn's door burst open and three soldiers in white robes barged in, guns aimed right at the attendant's head.
The one closest to him shouted, "Do you pledge allegiance to Honorable Lord Nyka?"
"Huh?"
"Only once more. Do you pledge allegiance to Lord Nyka?"
"Nyka...what?"
The solder fired a single bullet into the attendant's forehead, causing the man's brain matter to splatter against the wall. The soldier that had fired cocked his head and the other two men followed him into the owner's office.
A few moments later, the owner lay motionless on the floor, blood seeping from a fresh head wound.
The soldiers made their way quickly up the stairs, to the first floor. Each man went for a door and kicked it in. A couple of shots rang before the leading soldier had a chance to ask the couple in his room if they were going to pledge allegiance or not.
The other two soldiers came in and stood, rifles pointed towards the older couple. In unison, all three shouted "Do you, or do you not pledge allegiance to Lord Nyka?"
"We do! We do!"
The men nodded and ran out of the room, satisfied with a simple yes.
--------------------
Eimour jumped from her seat the moment the blast echoed through her floor. Immediately, she grabbed Gary and slid under the bed, putting her hand over his protesting mouth.
She didn't know what was going on, but it certainly wasn't an after- game party. She heard shouts, popping noises, and hard thuds. She also heard footsteps, heavy ones, that started as quickly as they stopped. She'd hear footsteps, shouting, and depending on the nature of the shouts, she'd hear nothing, or a popping noise, and then more footsteps.
By the nature of the sounds, and the echoing factor, Eimour guessed the footsteps were nearing her room. She hugged onto Gary tightly, her hand pressed hard against his mouth, all the while whispering silent, comforting words into his ear.
In the tense moment, Eimour's hearing tripled its strength, and every breath, every creak, every little nuance became a violent boom. She tried to concentrate on Gary's heartbeat, trying to match hers to his, just trying to keep her mind off of the chaos outside of the door.
Sadly, she heard the footsteps stop right outside of her door, and before she could try to calm herself, her body jumped at the sound of the door splitting under the weight of a heavy foot.
--------------------
"Anyone in here?"
One of the soldiers looked around, scanning the room. "Looks empty. Could be at the Blitzball game."
The leader smirked. "Well, if they are, they're in for a treat."
The soldiers laughed.
Under the bed, Eimour and Garrit lay motionless, trying not to breathe, trying to hide each other's beating heart from the men standing mere feet from them.
One of the soldiers sighed, rolling his neck. "Well, looks like this building is taken care of."
"Yeah, I think we should head next door. It's a pub. While we 'convert' some Lucans, we can grab a drink. Sound good men?"
The other two cheered and fired their rifles into the ceiling. A few moments later, Eimour's hearing could no longer pick up the faint footsteps of the soldiers, who were well on their way to the pub next door. She slowly pulled her hand from Gary's mouth, who immediately whispered, "What's going on, mommy?"
"I don't know, pumpkin...but let's stay here for awhile, ok?"
The child nodded and curled into fetal position in his mother's arms. Eimour curled up as well, trying to add as much warmth and comfort to Gary that she could. Soon, the two fell asleep, oblivious to the mayhem that was occurring around the inn they inhabited.
--------------------
Nyka awoke with a bright smile on his face. Deep in his old bones, he could feel a tide turning. He could smell his victory it was so close. As he approached his wardrobe, a smile crept to his bearded face. Quickly, he slipped on a long robe and grabbed his knobby staff. He headed into his office, approaching his assistant, and the military messenger with a warm smile.
"Good morning, gentlemen. It's a beautiful day indeed, isn't it?"
The messenger smiled and the assistant did nothing but continue standing, a statue of emotionless proportions.
The messenger bowed, his smile never leaving. "Good news, my Lord. Luca is ours."
The old man laughed heartily and tapped his staff against the floor, almost going into a dance. But, he controlled himself, despite his smile never leaving.
"Good, good. Any troop casualties?"
"None."
"Excellent, excellent."
"There were, however, a significant number of citizen-"
"I don't care how many citizens died. The ones that did deserved it. Remember, everything we do is Yevon's will, no matter how atrocious it may seem."
"Yes, Lord."
"Any word from the heathens."
"We don't believe Yuna or the Crusaders know of our winning Luca just yet."
"Excellent. Keep the enemy in the dark."
"Should we reinforce the city, sir? Just incase the Crusaders do come."
"If they don't know, we've got nothing to worry about. Besides, I'm confident in my men."
"Yes, sir."
"Take the more prestigious homes and inns and convert them into barracks for our officers. Let the lower ranks use the Blitzball stadium. It's got enough room."
"Yes, sir."
"Anything else to report?"
"Not at the moment, sir."
"Good. Go find something to report."
"Yes, sir."
And with that, the messenger bowed once more and left the office.
Nyka turned to his assistant. "Today is a very glorious day."
The assistant nodded.
"Take the day off, enjoy yourself."
The assistant nodded once more and left the office, leaving Nyka to wonder why the assistant had accepted so quickly.
--------------------
"Mommy! Come look!"
Eimour's eyes slowly crept open, the sunlight that rushed in causing her pupils to close in. "W...what is it, Gary?"
"Soldiers, walking along the streets."
She blinked and slowly crawled from under the bed, her back and knees popping loudly as she stood. "How many?"
"Lots! Come look!"
"Keep your voice down, dear. Just incase they decide to come up here again."
The child immediately stopped looking so excited and hunched to the side. She walked to the window, a hand ruffling Gary's hair as she got near, and looked out. The scene was quite a different one from just a day ago. Hundreds, if not thousands of white robed soldiers lined the streets, being shouted at by some figurehead. Eimour couldn't make out the words, but by the looks on the soldier's faces, it was a very positive speech.
After a little bit, the soldiers dispersed and a few went aside buildings while the rest marched on the streets, heading in the direction of the higher class district. Eimour, while very suspecting of the Yevonites, had never expected them to invade Luca of all places. Luca was about as neutral as cities came, being that the population was balanced, for and against the New Yevon faction.
But what had Eimour really worried was whether or not this move by Nyka was going to go unpunished or not. She hadn't a clue if Yuna's camp knew, or if they were still in the dark. She figured the latter, seeing as Nyka had just barged in, unannounced. She could only worry what Luca's political leaders were doing.
"Probably pissing their pants..." she thought aloud, not really meaning to.
"What mommy?"
"Nothing dear," she replied and tapped his nose. "And just because mommy said a bad word, doesn't mean you have that right, ok?"
The child smiled, nodding. "I know, Mommy."
She smiled and leaned down, kissing Gary's forehead. She returned her gaze to the streets and noticed soldiers camped out at certain spots, guessing that they were posted all throughout the city, guarding their newly acquired tract of land.
She groaned aloud, shaking her head at the thought of being a prisoner in her own town. She wondered what odd rules were going to be set in now that Luca had a new ruler. More than likely, for the next few weeks...or the rest of their lives...life would be grueling.
--------------------
Weston walked slowly along the beach path, shouldering his rucksack, the large wooden barracks' roofs appearing as he made his way over a dune. He saw a lot of the Crusaders just milling about, conversing and tossing blitzballs around. He looked for Ughol, but saw no sign of the oaf, and decided to enter the building.
On his way in he got quite a few looks, some admiring, some incriminating. He walked up to a small table with a soldier behind it. He bent forward a little bit.
"Is Gatta in? He's not at the Lodge."
"Yeah, he's in back. Got an appointment." The soldier laughed at his joke, but Weston only stared, causing the smirk on the man's face to fade quickly. The soldier coughed and stood. "Please wait here."
Weston nodded and stood, stuffing his hands into his pockets. A few moments later, the soldier came back in, nodded to Weston and then opened the door to the back office. Weston walked through the threshold and could see many maps scattered around, some swords in a stack, and what looked like, at least to Weston, to be ration satchels. Gatta popped up from behind a cornered off area in the back of the room and made eye contact with Weston.
"Morning." Weston said.
Gatta smirked. "It's mid-afternoon."
"I know. But I usually consider afternoon morning, because I don't generally wake up early enough to say 'Morning'."
"Ah."
"You said you have something to show me."
"Yes I do." And with that, Gatta set two L-shaped pieces of steel. "Go ahead, pick one up."
Weston did so and noted that what it he was holding was a firearm, a very odd one. He studied its appearance. It was most certainly a handgun, because it had a slide and a slot for a magazine. But, the magazine slot looked like a straight shell-through load that was used for mounted machine guns. He brought it much closer, eye level, and recognized the magazine mechanism. It was much like the old M1-Garand load. A slot was inside to hold a metal strip. The magazine, Weston guessed, was much like the Garand's. Shells loaded on a strip of metal, a slot in the middle so the hammer could hit the primer and fire the bullet. The slide, he guessed, was like a Desert Eagle's. It was behind the chamber and was only there to release the emptied shell. The gun was steel and, as far as Weston could tell, had rubber grips colored yellow. The trigger was like any other; save it wasn't pulled into the grip, but pulled against it. It was like whoever had produced the gun mixed a USP's trigger with a 1911's frame. It wasn't very heavy, heavier than most of the handguns he had handled, for sure, but it wasn't cumbersome. He looked to Gatta and cocked a brow.
"Who made this?" he asked.
"Al-Bhed."
"Ah hah."
"They're into making machina for all sorts of purposes. Transportation, convenience at home, and, most of all, defense."
"How does it load?"
Gatta shrugged. "Picked it up in Luca, some souvenir shop. Didn't give me any bullets though..."
"Separate purchase?"
"Didn't have any. Said he stole 'em from a couple of marauders at the Blitz stadium."
"Mmhmm. There a reason you wanted to show me useless weaponry?"
"Actually, yeah, I have a good reason."
"And what is that reason?" Weston asked, not sure of where this was going.
"I was thinking, that maybe, just maybe, we could convince the Al- Bhed to loan us...say a few thousand of these to use in battle."
"Think they'd want to do that?"
"No. They're neutral, and want nothing to do that would jeopardize their race's safety."
"Then how do you expect to get a few thousand of these?"
"Know how to beg, Weston?"
"Uh...no."
"Start learning now and meet me at the airship in two hours."
--------------------
Nyka was in very good spirits, even as the day wore on. He looked out of the window and saw the sun shining down onto his beloved Bevelle.
Now, while he knew certain people thought he was heartless, Nyka was quite in love. And he knew it. It was a love of influencing thousands of people. It was a love of looking down onto a city and knowing you affected every single aspect of it. It was the love of power that had concreted itself into his heart. And like the leaders of Yevon before him, that power would last forever. No matter how old Nyka got, he'd continue living, because the day he died, would be the day he was reborn immortal, forever to lead the minions of Yevon into battle against the heathen. But, he feared that soon there would be no heathen, seeing how his army had easily taken Luca.
"Well," Nyka said to the empty room, hearing the echo of his voice coming from the stone walls, "there's still the Al-Bhed to take care of, and after that, -and- if push comes to shove, I'll just create a heathen to get rid of."
With that, he smiled and stepped from the window. He picked up a logbook and started to record the day's good news into it. After a few paragraphs were written, he closed the book and sat down, thinking a moment.
He recalled how his youngest cohort's wife had come to him the night of Luca's invasion. She was on the verge of tears, because, she claimed, Fagan seemed to not have full faith in him and the movement to drive out the heathen horde. Nyka grinned as he remembered holding the nubile young woman in his arms, whispering words of comfort into her ear. His grin widened as his thoughts continued, remembering how frightened the young girl was, and how easily she believed every word he said. He knew, then, that she had long been a believer of his, and had every bit of confidence in him that she did in seeing the sun come up every morning. He noted how easily it had been to manipulate her that night, making her obey each command, claiming that doing so would purify her path into the Farplane. He grin broadened even more as he focused on the image of the young girl, unbuttoning her blouse.
The office door slammed shut and Nyka jumped up, wiping the grin off of his face and hunching forward a bit.
"Y...yes?" he asked in a shaky voice, not seeing anyone around.
The messenger from earlier walked forward, still with that silly grin on his face. "Lord, no activity from Yuna's camp. No word, nothing. And in this case, nothing is a good thing. We've set up barracks at the stadium and have posts all throughout the city; usually two to four man jobs, with rotation every six hours. Civilian casualty is high, sir. Official numbers are in from the collection of bodies that stared early morning. According to the final count, there are fourteen thousand, three hundred and sixty eight civilian deaths. That's counting men, women, children, occupations including politicians, innkeepers, merchants, and peasants."
Nyka nodded, wishing each and every one of the fourteen thousand, three hundred and sixty eight souls a torturous and fiery eternity roaming Spira, for they were not getting into the Farplane. He smiled, and asked, "That leaves how many, estimated of course, civilians?"
"Around twenty or so thousand sir."
"Not a big loss."
"Sir...it's still-"
"It's nothing. The price they had to pay now or later. We put them out of their misery."
The messenger nodded.
Nyka changed the subject."Any news on the Al-Bhed operation?"
"Sir, we've already received and processed the plans. It's essentially an attack, from what you've outlined, correct?"
"It's only an attack if they think it is. But we're not going to go all that way, ask politely, and then leave empty handed. You know yourself, son, that the Al-Bhed aren't going to hand over anything to anyone. We're going to 'borrow' some of that technology and let some of our most prestigious soldiers utilize it."
"Yes, sir."
"And, tell me again, how did my army acquire an airship?"
The messenger knew Nyka knew the answer, but to please the aging leader, he sighed and recited, "After being decimated by the heathen's missile attack, Nyka's Holy Army commandeered a vessel from the very city it would plan to and successfully control only a day later."
"Correct. You may go now, son."
"Yes, my Lord."
The messenger bowed and hurriedly left. Nyka sat back down and leaned back into the chair, returning to his thoughts of the night before.
--------------------
Yuna awoke, brow covered in sweat, tears in her eyes. She accounted the dream to the stress as of late, but couldn't get the images out of her vision.
In her eyes, she saw not her bed, or her room, but rather saw a rain- soaked and cloaked figure, standing upon a hill, which she now saw was actually a dip in one of Luca's many roads. In this most recent dream, the white light had not appeared, and the figure took one step backed and entered a very familiar stance. From under the cloak, Fraternity's translucent blue blade gleamed against the rain, a mist rising from the sword. It was splotched in blood, which the rain was quickly wiping off. In one fell swoop, the figure raised the sword and brought it down against a figure she could not see from her vantage.
And that had been where the vision had ended in a flash of white. She couldn't explain the dreams, but felt comforted, despite the violent nature of the dream. If it weren't for the sword, she thought, she would be worried. But, seeing Tidus' sword gave her that much more hope that somewhere, he was searching for her. Where that was, she didn't know, and particularly didn't care.
Yuna crawled out of bed and slipped her shoes back on, her clothes slightly wrinkled from the afternoon nap. There was a knock on her door and she opened it up to see someone she particularly didn't want to see.
"What are you doing here?"
"I've got news."
"It's dangerous for you to be here, you know...I thought you were going to send word through a source?"
"Today, I am that source. Why? That bastard's sent my source straight to Luca."
"Why Luca?"
"Luca's fallen. Fallen to Yevonite hands."
Yuna held her hand to her mouth, half in shock, and half in an effort to keep herself on her feet.
--------------------
"So, we're going to the heart of Yuna's cousin's race?"
"Cid, yes."
"Cid."
Gatta nodded.
"And that girl I met long ago, Rikku, might be able to persuade him for at least a little bit of help."
"Of course."
"Remind me again why I have to go."
"I trust you."
"And you don't trust Ughol?"
"No. Didn't say that."
"So why didn't you bring him along?"
"Well, Ughol isn't very...'Diplomatic', I think, is the word. He's a great fighter, he's got a big heart, but," Gatta tapped his temple in demonstration, "up here, there's not much in the way of thinking ahead."
"Ah hah. So, you take me because you think I might be able to tell you if you've been jipped or not."
"More or less. And I sense you can beg with the best of them."
Weston laughed and punched Gatta firmly in the upper arm. "Bastard."
Gatta laughed as well, shrugging with a smug smile at the bastard comment.
"So how long till we arrive?"
"Don't know. Let me go ask our driver."
Weston thought a moment and then grabbed Gatta's shoulder, pulling the smaller man back. "Shouldn't we have told Yuna first?"
"Nah, it'll be ok. She was asleep anyway."
"So you tried?"
"Yeah."
"Well, if you tried..."
"I tried."
"Ok." And with that, Gatta left for the cockpit.
Weston looked out of the window and saw the expansive ocean as a nice protective barrier against anything that would go after Besaid. The Yevonites didn't have a navy and really couldn't get to the island without an airship. He wondered, also, whether or not Nyka had gone stagnant. They hadn't heard anything from Yuna or her "source." And not hearing anything was a bad thing, especially during a war.
Gatta tapped Weston's shoulder. "Be there in less than thirty minutes. Zoning out?"
"Wha...yeah. Thirty minutes."
Gatta laughed. "If you're worried about the Al-Bhed, they -shouldn't- fire on us. We're supporters of Yuna."
"Oh, you're -so- assuring."
And with that, the two men laughed.
--------------------
Fagan's day off was slowly growing to a close. And he was glad. While it was uneventful, the coldness that stuck to the air unnerved him. He hadn't spoken a word to Elaine all day, but she hadn't offered any conversation either. Something had seemed to have shaken her up, but he certainly wasn't going to ask about it.
He sat, cross-legged, on the floor, reading through a book about the Al-Bhed, mainly just to refresh himself for Nyka's lesson. He dreaded it, but knew it was important to the old leader and wasn't about to spark any bad blood between them. He'd lose, no matter what, since the man was leading this little crusade, and Fagan himself being only an advisor. He had already lost the battle with his wife. She was hopelessly loyal to Nyka, even though she loved Fagan. He didn't doubt her love, but he did feel as if she'd side with Nyka over him any day.
He growled, and put the book down, not able to concentrate. Recently, he'd had an epiphany: he didn't like Nyka. He didn't even want to be apart of this "Crusade." But, he had to be, or at least, seem loyal. Otherwise, Nyka would kill him.
Fagan slowly stood and popped his back with a groan. It was nearly twilight, and his wife wasn't home yet. He knew she had to vent, get out her frustrations, and he was especially glad she didn't do it at home. But, the long trips to who knows where didn't have him very excited. As he began cooking a batch of noodles, the door opened, and in walked Elaine.
He whispered a greeting, but she either failed to hear him, or failed to want to hear him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her lay a couple of bags down on the bed and begin dressing down.
"What're you cooking?" she asked, not a bit of emotion in her voice.
He jumped a bit, and said in a meek voice, "Seasoned noodles..."
"We had that a few nights ago."
"I know, but I was craving it."
"It'll do..." she said, her back to him, staring off at the wall.
After an awkward moment, he asked, "Is something wrong?"
"No," came her reply.
Of course, he knew she was lying, but decided not to press it, being a bit scared of any type of confrontation. The one thing Fagan hated about himself was his pacifist nature. It had gotten him picked on, even at college. He supposed it had something to do with his stature. He wasn't very tall, and weighed less than most men his height or shorter. And when confronted, he usually drew back, not wanting to be in a conflict. But recent events had caused the meek councilman to begin to take a few chances, especially letting his doubts out, even if it was his wife. All along, he knew she'd see Nyka about it.
He sighed and went back to the noodles. His thoughts went back to Elaine. He had met her in college. She was spunky, confrontational, and simply put, everything he was not. But it had worked. How he had worked up the nerve to ask her to visit the temple with him one day, he'd never know. But he was glad he did, even if things like this would happen. And they had happened before. She'd become stagnant, totally lethargic and apathetic, totally not herself. But it wouldn't take her long to get out of these fits.
That little line of thinking brought a smile to the young man's face as he stirred the noodles. Time healed all wounds, he thought. Unless the wound festered, of course.
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Eimour made her way along a wide and heavily populated street, her sandals clacking against the stone tiles. She wrapped her cloak around herself a bit tighter as she spotted some of the white robed guards looking at her. One of them yelled out something about Nyka, and she nodded furiously, already having answered the same question three times on her trip. The night was muggy, but she was cold, chills running up her back. She felt a thousand eyes on her, and it didn't make her feel very safe, even if it was her own block.
She saw a couple of soldiers fall in behind her and she hurried her steps, thanking whatever deity was left that her destination appeared to the left. She opened the door and ducked in, watching the soldiers pass the store's window.
"Bastards, aren't they?"
She jumped and turned, dropping her cloak.
The elderly man behind the counter laughed, shaking his head. "Sorry to startle you, dear. What can I do for you this evening?"
She smiled as her recognition of the old man caused her to walk forward, leaning over the counter as she had for years now.
He laughed, "You've been doing that since you were seven. Don't think you'll grow out of it."
She smiled and nodded. "Never."
They both laughed at this and the moment of reminiscing caused her worry to fade, if only for a few seconds.
"Looks like you've raised your prices," she commented, not wanting to sound cheap or worried.
"Yeah. Since -they- moved in, they've put a stop to shipments in and out of the city. My supply is low. Have to make as much as I can before I'm out of stock."
She nodded and cocked her mouth. "Well...just one loaf, and one bottle of juice, please."
He nodded and went into the back. She sighed and pulled out a sack, counting out three hundred gil, which left her with only fifty, which wouldn't buy anything save a potion. When he returned, he had two large baskets in his hand. She counted three loaves of bread, some meat, a few seasonings, a few potions, about ten cans of various vegetables, and three large bottles of juice.
Her immediate response was, "I can't afford all of this..."
He laughed. "That's why I'm -giving- it to you. I know you have that son of yours back at your room. And this 'occupation' is putting a strain on everyone. You know they took over the stadium, right? So your job's gone. They've canceled the Blitz games, if you can believe that. So, this should last you a few weeks."
She sighed, hating to accept charity, but took the baskets. He nodded to the money. "Pocket that. You'll need it later."
She started to refuse, but he grabbed the money and shoved it back into the pouch hooked to her belt. He winked and said, "Off you go. Have a nice night."
She smiled, uttered a few words of thanks, grabbed her cloak after setting the baskets down, and was on her way on within a few minutes.
On the way back to her Inn, she didn't see many soldiers. This, of course, was a relief, but still left her curious. She trudged her way up the stairs, found her door, and entered through the room with a smile.
Gary jumped up from reading and smiled. "Whatcha got, Mommy?"
She smiled. "Yummy food. We can thank the local shop keeper for that."
"Ooo, the nice old man?"
She smiled and nodded, noting that, even in a time of despair, there was always a little bit of peace. It just had to find you.
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Weston stepped out of the airship, eyes immediately going wide at the scene before him. Despite night having been fallen for an hour or so, Weston could see two large towers; a third currently being built. They were very tall, taller than most skyscrapers. Noises usually associated with construction zones filled the air and Weston could see sparks flying at many places on the third tower's frame. Men were yelling, women were yelling. And yelling over the noise was quite a feat. But he couldn't make out what the yells said, either because they were in another language, or too far away to be understood. Gatta laughed as he came up beside Weston.
"Impressive, no?"
"Yes."
"That's the Al-Bhed for you."
"And these guys are -neutral-?!"
"Not fair, is it?"
"Not in the least."
"Well, that's why we're here. Let's get down to business."
Weston nodded and the two walked toward the center of the large structures.
--------------------
Ughol sighed. "I'm sorry Yuna. They've gone to Home to see if they can take some weapons off of the Al-Bhed's hands."
"Does Rikku know about this?"
"Not that I know, no ma'am."
She sighed, trying to control a tinge of anger. "Ok...I need...them here. I need them to help me."
"Well, what's the matter? Maybe I can help. I'm in charge while they're gone."
She winced a bit, but told him of Luca's fall.
He literally jumped up from his seat after she finished.
"That bastard!" he yelled.
She drew back, not sure of the behemoth's control over his anger.
"We've got to go to Luca."
"But, what about Gatta?"
"He'd do the same thing if I was gone."
"But, shouldn't you wai-"
"Ok, guys listen up. I need some volunteers. We're gonna take Luca back."
A few men blinked.
"Well, what you guys don't know is that bastard Nyka's taken over Luca. Let's go take it back, men!"
A few cheers were heard and Ughol didn't have long to wait until a sizable force was assembled.
"How are you going to get there?" Yuna asked.
"A fast ship and a boatload of Chocobos."
"How long will it take you to get there?"
"I'm guessin' bout...six hours, tops."
She sighed and nodded, already knowing where this was headed. She knew Ughol had made up his mind, and there wasn't much she could do about it. Even a leader could stand up to hundreds of angry soldiers.
Within thirty minutes, Ughol and the four hundred or so men were on their way. Yuna looked to her shaky hands and tried not to cry, but found her eyes were willing. With a quiet sob, she made her way to her bedroom.
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A/N: Und ze plot thickens. Welp, hope you guys like this one. Not much to say about it, except thanks to my Cisco teach for letting me take the final and then sneak home a few hours early so I could finish this ^^;;
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FAQ: Yeah, after dozens and dozens of emails, a few questioning reviews, and odds and ends from friends, I've decided to include a FAQ with this chapter. Don't worry, no future spoilers for those of you who've read this far. And if ya think this is silly and pointless, just skip it ^^
Q: Why is it called "Akin to Sin"?
A: As you can tell, by now, this is a war-driven story. Every plot centers on the war. Now, war is devastating. And, personally, Sin really doesn't hold a candle to war. The war in this story is very destructive, but it's man-made, and that makes it just as bad or worse than [the game's] spiritual based destruction machine, ala Sin. Therefore, it's "Akin" or similar, to Sin and what Sin did.
Q: Where the hell is Tidus?!?!?!?!
A: This is the most frequent question I'm asked. For plot reasons, I can't go into it yet. All I can say is that he IS returning and will be a major character. I'm guessing he'll make his debut at about Chapter 16 or so. Could be sooner, depending on pacing issues etc.
Q: How long with this fic be?
A: Extremely long. Probably around 30 chapters or so, if everything goes according to my outline.
Q: Where's Auron?
A: Not in this one. Sorry all you Auron fans, just couldn't fit him in.
Q: Where's Kihmari?
A: He's not a key character, really. He'll make small appearances later in the fic.
Q: Why a Delta Force soldier? or Why a US soldier? Or Couldn't you have made Weston a Crusader?
A: Here's a history of Weston's character. He started out as a character in a story I've never published. In that story, he was a SEAL. And in that story, he was fourty-five. I just reverse-aged him, put him in the Delta's (because I had been playing the game Delta Force at the time), and then fleshed out a character diagram. The reason I wanted Weston to "fall" into Spira and not be a citizen of Spira is a simple one: there's more to write about. How Weston adjusts, how he compares things in his world to Spira's, how he acts, his slang, his religious beliefs. It's just totally different.
Q: Is Sin coming back?
A: No, Sin is dead, and so is Yu Yevon.
Q: What's this Yttrium based...the thing about Yevon being some AI chip? China?
A: I wanted a way to have Weston come to Spira. What better way then to say, waaaaaay into the past, Sin was actually man-made. I explain that Yu Yevon was really an artificial life form that produced a biological armor to protect itself. I just popped China as the creators because, let's face it, what other superpower is there that's not a greater threat, militarily speaking, than China?
Q: Why New Yevon?
A: Ever read the extended ending for the International version of FFX? No? Then read it to find out.
Q: Nyka sounds a lot like Mika.
A: What? I needed to have some allusion to the game's plot :P ^^;;;
Q: Are Weston and Yuna getting together? or Do Weston and Yuna have a thing going?
A: No. Absolutely not. I -cried- at the end of FFX because Tidus just floated through Yuna's arms. Yuna and Tidus WILL be reunited and major fluff will ensue!
Q: You love to torture your characters, don't you?
A: Angst and inner-turmoil rule! Translation: [Why, yes, yes I do! ^^]
Q: Why didn't Weston have his M4? or Why didn't Weston have any reloads for his SOCOM?
A: It's a matter of causing strain on the character. If he had tons of ammo, it'd be a bit one sided. It'd be like going back in time and giving on of the armies of the Civil War a crap load of AK's and say "Happy Shooting, fellas." I did it to be fair and not sound so damned far fetched. I mean, come on, I wanted SOMETHING to make him vulnerable ^^
Q: When do you have the time to write all of this?
A: Sometimes at school, but mostly at home. I stay up into the wee hours writing this stuff, with only raw coffee bean (which is good, mind you :P), some form of spring water or carbonated beverage, and either granola or nutragrain bars as my fuel. That's why there are so many dang typos. When I finish a story, I proofread thoroughly. So, if you see a few and it bugs ya, sorry, but I'm not getting around to that until this is done. Then you'll have a nice, clean, and easily readable fic.
Q: What's this heathen stuff?
A: Ah, another allusion. In The Idylls of the King by Alfred Lord Tennyson, King Arthur is on a crusade to rid the land of a certain race. He calls his enemy (The pagan Anglo-Saxons) the "Heathen Horde" because they're not Christian. Nyka does this as well, because, well, he's almost in the same situation, expect he's no King Arthur ^^
Q: You sure this should be PG-13?
A: Positive. Nothing in this fic has gone above what any of the other PG-13 fics I've read have. Trust me, I'm keeping this very tame, despite my violent nature ^^;;
Q: You've got no life, have you?
A: I do. It just takes a back seat to pleasing you guys ^^