The sound of iron biting rubble was everywhere.
If the diggers, clad in the red and green robes of the Cult of Kefka, were the least bit fatigued, they showed no sign. They had been pulling apart the remains of the great tower for the Gods knew how long, with only a few worthless trinkets and the sweat dripping from their faces to show for it. Still they went on as if whatever lay therein would be their ticket out of hell when they died.
From a hastily-built guard tower, a great purple octopus and a tall cloaked man looked on.
"Gods dammit, how many times must I remind them this is a frickin' treasure hunt and not a stupid archaeological dig?" fumed the purple octopus.
"Speak not ill of the one they worship, Ultros," the tall man said smoothly, adjusting his cloak to counter the bitter cold morning air. "To them, this man's corpse is the mother of all treasures."
"You have a point, Goenitz, but we agreed with them that, between us, we'd get 30% of what they dig up! So what the hell are we each going to do with 15% of his dried-out carcass?"
Goenitz ignored him. "We only hired them five-odd days ago," he went on, "and we've yet to prove ourselves as competent leaders. Legendary is the might of witless zealots in large numbers who've been denied what they want."
Ultros waved a dismissive tentacle. "Oh, don't think I haven't heard all their rotten BS about this place being ol' Keffy's burial ground and them wanting to resurrect their fallen master and blah blah yada yada, but from the look of what they're doing I don't think that's all they hope to get out of all this."
"If you recall, all magic died only two years ago, the day this tower collapsed," Goenitz speculated, rubbing at his goatee. "You don't suppose...?"
"That's bull! Once a thing dies it's gone for good!"
"Don't be too sure. The phoenix alone knows how to break that law, but one day, so will everything else."
Several yards away, there were screams, followed by an ear-piercing screech. Goenitz waved his hand, and a thin column of wind messily perforated the offending creature. The terrified screaming faded into relieved panting.
Goenitz jumped down from the platform and hurried over. "Everyone okay? What was it?"
"Huff...'nother Spiny Worm, master Goenitz," one cultist gasped out. "Popped outta the groun' jus' like that. Thanks...puff, wheeze."
"Don't mention it. Bury it quick and get back to work."
"Haah...Yessir." The cultist turned back to his work. Then he turned back again to Goenitz. "Oh, uh, sir?"
"What is it?"
"You and master Ultros might want to have a look at this."
It appeared to be three large moldy statues - a woman, a demon, and a shade - leaning on each other and propping each other up like cards in a house. Something lay within, but the statues hid it from sight.
A few cultists moved to push them aside, but Goenitz barked, "Don't touch them! Let me have a closer look."
He walked up to the demon statue and gazed intently at it. Astonishment spread across his face. "Doom," he thought aloud.
He got questioning looks. One cultist brought him a handful of diskettes.
"No, not the game Doom." He looked annoyed. "That's this statue's name. Doom."
Next he indicated the woman. "Goddess." Then he pointed to the shade. "And Poltergeist."
Ultros stared at him. "You know these? What purpose do they serve?"
Goenitz flipped through a blue book. "Legend has it that, in ancient times, all magic came from three magical statues not unlike these. The day magic died was the day Kefka fell."
At this, the cultists paid homage to their dead god with great ear-piercing howls of anguish.
"Anyway," -Goenitz pulled his fingers out of his ears- "my point is that these might not be safe to touch. Legend also has it that the world was shifted from Balance to Ruin when the statues were barely moved an inch."
The cultists nodded nervously.
"That is why I've decided to seal this area off until further notice." He drew a circle round the statues in the dirt with his heel.
"What about that, that thing in between them?" asked several cultists simultaneously.
"We'll figure out a way to extricate it," Ultros assured them. "You may all take a 1-hour break, but from that hour forth the statues are strictly off limits. Understood?"
This isn't as easy as I imagined, thought Goenitz and Ultros in unison. Sooner or later someone's gonna break something, I just know it.
Not that the cultists of Kefka were a terribly undisciplined bunch. In fact, they were relatively benign if let alone (even if their raucous "prayer" sessions tended to induce headaches in those unfortunate enough to be nearby).
Blatant defiance just wasn't in these guys' character, either. Now that their magic abilities were gone, any doofus could take command of these weak-willed fanatics, provided the said doofus was firm enough with them. No offense.
"None taken," Ultros and Goenitz replied as one.
No, it wasn't any of those things that worried the duo. It was one tiny minuscule gem of truth:
These. Guys. Loved. Playing. Soccer.
Okay, under normal circumstances, that wouldn't have been much cause for alarm. The trouble was, things tended to become "mysteriously" broken wherever the cultists played (including the bones of those among them foolish enough to be goalies), and of course these statues were the last thing either Ultros or Goenitz wanted broken. There must have been at least fifty games of soccer being played at once, and no small number of players had limped off coughing up blood and complaining of fractured femurs.
"What do they put in those balls, 50-lb weights?" Ultros wondered aloud.
"I think it's because they kick too hard," Goenitz mused. He looked at his watch and breathed a sigh of relief, seeing that the hour had passed. "Break time's over! Back to work, all of you!"
The cultists groaned, but they put their balls away and took up their picks and shovels once more.
"Guess we can rest easy now," said Ultros.
But it was not to be.
The first cultist raised his pick and brought it down.
It flew from his hands in the direction of the three leaning statues.
It struck the object in the middle.
"Oh...sh*!t," moaned Goenitz.
There was a crumbling noise. Suddenly a brilliant column of white light shot skyward from the object.
Ultros and Goenitz covered their eyes and prepared for death.
Silence, followed by loud wails of sheer bliss.
They opened their eyes. What they saw made their jaws hit the dirt.
All three statues were miraculously intact. But they now stood upright and there were little twinkles of light flowing between them.
The object in the middle of the triangle was now visible, as well. It was a shiny chunk of amber roughly the size of two men. The entire Cult had gathered round to sing their praises and genuflect before it. Ultros and Goenitz immediately saw why.
Trapped inside the amber like a mosquito was the skeleton of a three-winged man. Goenitz didn't even need to look it up to know who it was.
Far to the northeast, outside the ruins of Mobliz, Terra Branford was gulping down the last of her miso soup when she felt her skin prickle.
She shivered. "What in the-"
A sudden wave of invisible force nearly knocked her over like a tsunami. She dropped her soup bowl, staggered backward and fell to her knees, gasping for breath. The world seemed to be spinning in circles.
When she had composed herself, she went back inside. Katarin worriedly shifted her two-year-old child in her arms. "What was that, th-that shockwave?" she breathed. "Like gravity was turned on its side for a minute there!"
"You felt it too, then." Terra glanced nervously in the direction from which the force had come. "Maybe it means something. Do you feel any different than before?"
"No, not at all."
Terra definitely felt different, though. It was the feeling of having found something dear that had long been lost, of having eaten after a long famine.
"Excuse me a minute." She went back outside to collect her thoughts.
It had been a wall of some kind of force, she knew. It wasn't exactly physical force, like the feeling of being shoved or the tremor from a bomb exploding. It was something...something else, like magnetism or lightning - something intangible.
Or something...magical?
Realization dawned.
She resolutely strode over to an old dead leafless bush, as if guided by that very same force.
"Doushta!" She swung her hand at the bush.
Her hand launched a wave of purple flame. The bush caught fire and blazed until it was a pile of ash.
Stupefied, Terra gazed at her hand as if it was not her own.
"Wha, wha - does this mean...Dad was wrong?"