Day was breaking over Castle Figaro.
Nobody was up just yet, but in a few hours that would change. True, Figaro was not your typical castle, but it still required as much attention and maintenance as any other. But until then, now was the Figaroans' chance to get some well-earned rest.
So when an invisible energy wave noiselessly washed over the Figaroans without even leaving a dent in the castle's steel walls, all everyone did was to sink deeper under their covers and continue to sleep like logs.
Edgar proudly gazed at his reflection in the mirror as he carefully buttoned on his shirt.
The question had been gnawing at him for months. Why was he, His Majesty King Edgar Roni Figaro (his nose tweaked with the memory of once being called "Edgar Rice-a-Roni"), getting no more attention from the ladies than he had when he'd assumed the throne? Especially aggravating because, two short years ago, he'd helped snuff Lord Kefka out before that makeup-wearing lunatic's mad dreams could be realized. And yet the babes still snubbed him.
This morning, however, he didn't quite feel the same. Not like he had turned into someone else, but…he wasn't sure what it was. He only knew that he felt somehow better than he had last night, or through his whole life for that matter. Maybe he had magically become more attractive to the girls. No, he scoffed mentally, magic's dead, kaput, gone to the big spell scroll in the sky.
Then again, you never know…
As he walked out of his room and combed his hair, he glimpsed a newly hired serving maid strolling by. Her lustrous blue hair was tied up in a ponytail, and she wore a plain white T-shirt and a pair of bell-bottomed hakama trousers.
He decided it was time to acquaint her with the studliest man on the Planet. Or so he called himself.
He very casually sauntered over and greeted her, "Hello, Sexy."
She looked up from the book she was reading. "It's Kasumi, Highness."
So far so good, Edgar thought. "Kasumi…what a lovely name." He gently took her hand. "I don't think I've had the pleasure of—MMH!"
She calmly dusted off her hands as she walked away.
"Wei!" Edgar called after her. "Whah ye goih? Ah, dah ih!" He spit the book out of his mouth and ran after her.
"Hey, what's the matter? Was it something I said? Huh?"
"Hm, I recognize that guy as Edgar, King of Figaro," mused Goenitz as he peered at the images floating in midair above the amber. The one he was looking at depicted a well-dressed, regal-looking young man chasing someone, presumably a girl. "I don't know anyone else, though."
"Oh, I do. I most certainly do," Ultros snarled.
"Who are they?"
"Don't you get it? They're the twelve heroes who knocked him off his throne way back when!" The purple blob's expression darkened. "They kicked my ass, like, multiple times, too! An opportunity to kick their asses back would be very appreciated!"
Goenitz suddenly felt a profound hatred for these people take hold of his own heart. "You know, for some reason I myself feel like I could sleep better if their blood was spilled."
"Us too!" chorused the Cultists of Kefka. "Their odious assassination of the Great God must not go unforgiven! Let us go, master Ultros and master Goenitz, and bring them all to swift and terrible justice!!!" The cry escalated to a roar.
Goenitz looked over all that they had found – a handful of cheap jewelry, three great stone statues, and a giant lump of solidified goo containing the remains of a demigod – but Ultros congratulated them, "You've all done a magnificent job. Three days' vacation for all of you, during which you may do with these mongrels as you will!"
The Cultists gave a mighty cheer and scattered to pack their things. Ultros and Goenitz walked off to do the same.
In their heads, they thought they heard a voice giggling, "Uweeheeheehee…"
Yet they shrugged it off.
A very downcast Edgar ambled into the kitchen.
"Grrgh! What the hell is it? Is it my hair? Is it my clothes? Am I too forward? Am I too pushy??? WHAT?!?"
He slouched over to the refrigerator and opened it, hoping nobody had eaten all of last night's leftovers.
They were gone. Heck, all the food was gone – except for yesterday's yakisoba, which was currently being eaten by a very familiar-looking albino woman with little icicles hanging from her in various places.
"Shorry, 'd'you wan' shome?" she said between mouthfuls.
"Terra?"
She swallowed. "It's frickin' freezing in here, so spare me the joyful reunion. Is Sabin with you?"
"He said he was going to do some training in the mountains."
She thought for a moment and muttered, "I guess we can meet up with him later." Her chopsticks grabbed Edgar's shirt and pulled him closer. "Meet me in your room in a few minutes. It is imperative that I speak with you alone."
Edgar's heart could have leaped over the Kefka Fanatics' Tower. "YYYYYYYYou will?????"
She gave him a look. "Don't get any ideas," she warned him as she reached out and shut the refrigerator door.
"WAIT! I haven't had breakfast yet!" Edgar flung it back open. "Did you leave me anyth—"
This he said to a plate of chao mein. Terra was gone, and all the food was back. All except for the yakisoba, of course.
He wolfed down a few gyoza dumplings and left through the same doorway. Then, as an afterthought, he returned, rummaged through a drawer, pulled out a condom and put it in his pocket. Then he excitedly hurried to his room as Terra had ordered.
Sure enough, there she was, waiting for him. She was black with soot all over.
Edgar felt saliva accumulating in his mouth (the soot made her look like some panther-woman) but he restrained himself. "Ooooo—kay, what is it you wanted to tell me?" Please, please, PLEASE say you love me…
She walked over to the door and bolted it. "Can you keep a secret?"
Ooooohoohoooooo… YES YES YES YES YES YES! Edgar felt his spirits rise, along with something else. "Sure."
She dusted the soot off. "For your sake I hope so. I'm really scared of what might happen if word of this gets out."
A group of men approached the entrance to Figaro.
"Halt!" the guardsmen shouted at them.
They didn't listen. They just slugged him in the stomach. The breath escaped him with a whoosh.
They walked on in.
"Uh, certainly. Anything for my lovely neon-haired Esper goddess."
She scowled. "That's not going to get you laid, so quit it."
Edgar felt his heart go kerplop, but his hopes held. "I was just complimenting you, dear."
They strode through the foyer and into the courtyard.
"Who are you? How'd you get in???" demanded a guard.
A fist took him in the temple. He toppled to the floor.
They walked past him and into the royal bedchambers.
"Well, what's your big secret?"
"Er…" She trailed off. She saw the door bolt moving by itself.
Before she could do anything, the door flew open, revealing four red-and-green-robed men. One was armed with twin daggers, the second carried a saw, the third was busy loading a hand crossbow, and the last wore fist irons.
"Cultists of Kefka," Terra drawled.
The first bellowed, "Guess what, infidels! The holy remains of the Great and Almighty God Kefka, whose life you so wickedly spilled out, have been found!"
"Is that what you were trying to tell me?" Edgar asked her.
"No. I thought we liquidated every last bit of him."
"Now his eternal spirit demands your unworthy carcasses," the second Cultist continued, "that he may rise again!!!"
"Oh really." Terra stepped forward. "Why don't you go visit him in Hell—" she drew a newly-sharpened katana "—and tell him we said that he can take his stupid demands and shove them up his arse."
Edgar followed suit, drawing the Atma Weapon. "Don't worry about transportation; we'll send you mother-f&*%kers down there right now!!!"
"I wouldn't," the third Cultist mocked, aiming his crossbow at Edgar's unmentionable.
"Shut up!" He leaped at the Cultist and swung, splitting his head like a melon. The stricken fellow convulsed and fell to the floor in a heap.
The first Cultist's eyes widened in fury. "For Kefka!" he bellowed as he raised his dagger.
Thus the fight began.
Terra had spent the past two years tirelessly honing her skill with a blade, and it was paying off. The two Cultists she faced, however, were no slouches either.
The second Cultist's foot-and-a-half-long saw repeatedly batted aside Terra's four-foot murasame, until Terra knife-kicked him in the groin and Shadow Thrusted the fellow's head. He stiffened and fell against the bedpost.
The fourth one's fist irons combined with his above-average dexterity allowed him to catch the blade between his fingers. Terra, thinking quickly, raised her sword for a Thunder Axe. The Cultist raised his fist to block, but as her blade came down she canceled into a Scarlet Leaf. He shrieked at where his arm used to be until Terra unkindly introduced his head to the fireplace mantle. Then he fell silent.
On the other side of the room, Edgar did not fare so well. He remembered facing the Cult of Kefka in that great tower so long ago, how all the Cultists had fought with magic. This one's hand-to-hand fighting skills, however, were way beyond what he had expected.
He swung the Atma Weapon at the first Cultist's neck. The zealot caught the blade between his daggers and kicked Edgar in the stomach. Edgar fell to his knees, and another kick almost fractured his chin.
The Cultist triumphantly raised both daggers and stabbed down, yelling a loud war cry. Edgar rolled out of the way, but not fast enough. He yelped as one dagger bit into his arm. He dropped the Atma Weapon.
He felt a hand roughly seize his collar and pull him to his knees. "Now shall you regret your blasphemy!"
Cold steel touched his neck, ready to rupture the artery in his throat.
"Noooo…!"
A strange sensation overcame him.
He broke free of the Cultist's hold. He punched him in the chest.
A blue sphere of electricity formed. Then it disappeared, leaving empty space where the Cultist's heart and lungs had been. The body went splat as it hit the floor.
He fell to his knees, panting.
Terra walked over, wiped her sword off, and helped him up.
"Haah, haah…you, you done already?" he asked.
"Yeah, those guys were pushovers. You OK?" She saw his bleeding arm. "No, I guess you aren't."
Edgar looked positively spooked. "What, what was that, that…thing I just did?"
"Ah." She put her hand over his wound. "See, that's what I came to talk to you about. Did you feel any different when you woke up this morning?"
"Uh, yeah." He still did. "I felt…better. Somehow. I can't really explain it."
"Well, you know what I think that means? Observe." She closed her eyes.
A surge of energy washed over him.
The pain stopped. She released his arm.
Where Edgar had been cut, there was only a faint scar.
"Cure-Ra," she said simply. "Remember?"
Edgar was too bewildered to answer. His mind raced with questions. Magic is not dead?
"By the way, as you were perforating this poor oaf—" she kicked the inert body of Cultist #1 "—you shouted something."
"I did?" Strange. He hadn't heard a word escape his lips the whole time.
"Yep. Sounded like 'Raijin ken' – Lightning Fist."
"Did this happen to you too?"
She nodded. "Mine was a purple fire wave, and I said 'Doshita.'" She looked over the bodies. "I don't think the Cult sent these four to kill us one by one. We should warn the others about this."
"Hey," inquired Edgar as they headed northwest from Figaro a few hours later. "How did you get into my refrigerator this morning?"
"I Warped my way in. As you saw, though, my memory of your place has gotten a little rusty."
"You're lucky we had it switch places with the stove last night."
"Also when I tried to Warp to your room, I ended up in your chimney. Thanks for not lighting your fireplace."
Edgar stifled his giggles at the image of Terra with her shapely ass on fire, shooting out of his chimney like a cannonball.
She grabbed his arm and ran. "Enough. Locke and Celes await."