A mountain cliff, reverberating with the roar of thunder. Clouds roil overhead, warning of the impending storm. Two warriors clash, each a master of technique, moving with an economy of motion best described as purity. Repeatedly, their weapons meet, causing sparks to play and dance along the blades. Both men grit their teeth, struggling to stave off exhaustion, for in this martial ballet, one they've enacted many times, neither can gain an advantage over the other. The wind whips through their ears, but their deep concentration forbids them from noticing this.

The taller one gains a moment of superiority, knocking the other to the ground. With a malicious smile sweeping across his features, he slashes his opponent's face, causing blood to splatter the rocky ground. A feral snarl overtakes the bloodied fighter, for they have now crossed an invisible line. This fight, like all their fights to come, no longer serves as training. Blood is the purpose of this fight, the purpose and the end result.

The shorter man rises to his feet, rushing his attacker. His blade drops low, scraping against the ground, leaving a row of sparks on its way upward. The blonde man tries to defend himself, but the impassioned strength of the blood-soaked warrior overtakes him, knocking his blade out of its defensive position. Now blood flows from both of their faces, and

Seifer finds himself on a mountain cliff, gunblade in hand. Something about the scene plagues him, and he struggles to understand the situation. A crash of thunder startles him from his reverie and he barely manages to lift Hyperion into a defensive position before Squall's blade crashes into his own.

This, Seifer remembers. His body begins to move again, the memories flooding back into his brain.

Parry and feint. Thrust and riposte.

Hyperion no longer feels like an extension of his arm, though. It is too heavy, his muscles too unresponsive, the blade's balance wrong. Squall's attacks come faster and faster, and each time Seifer defends himself with less time to spare. Soon enough, it is all Seifer can do to protect himself; he no longer attempts to attack in return. For all it matters, Seifer might as well be fighting underwater.

Squall fights easily, fluidly. He advances on Seifer from all sides at once, surrounds him. Every time Seifer attempts to retreat, to breathe, to marshal his strength, Squall moves closer, strikes harder. Seifer's arm starts to go numb and his skull resounds from the force of Squall's attacks.

Seifer notices that something seems wrong with Squall. He no longer fights with his customary calculated precision. He seems wild, taking more risks. Seifer no longer recognizes Squall's style. After years of fighting together, learning about each other, studying each other's moves, Squall has become an entirely different person.

Seifer finds himself pressed back, eventually falling to the ground.

No! This is all wrong.

Squall towers over him, a demon. A cruel smile spreads across Squall's face. A figure rises behind Squall, the towering outline of a person. This person, though, is empty. Nothing exists beyond the outline, save a vortex, seeking to engulf everything. Squall raises his blade and his rich blue eyes gleam. The blade tears across Seifer's face.

Squall's eyes aren't blue. They're gray.

Seifer looks down at his hand, and the ground beyond it. Both are stained with blood…

…and gunpowder and death fill the air, their scents mingling together. Bodies litter the ground and the screams of the dying are everywhere. Seifer wanders among the corpses, and their eyes accuse him. Some of the faces he recognizes, some he does not, but all scream out in death. In the distance, an enormous city burns. Once it gleamed like a jewel, but now it sits dying, the center of a vast crater. Seifer sees forms moving in and around the rubble. The lucky ones, he realizes, are those already dead. The living will forage for food, killing each other in an effort to preserve themselves, but eventually, they too will die. No living thing can survive this wasteland, let alone eke a living out of it.

A flash of light flickers through the corner of Seifer's vision. He turns to follow it and notices a man standing by himself, in the midst of the carnage. He has, somehow, escaped all injury. His armor gleams in the light of the burning sky as he surveys the scene.

His work. He created this destruction, and he is proud.

Who are you? Seifer calls, but the figure does not acknowledge him.

Struggling over the broken terrain, Seifer draws near. The armor gleams, but Seifer makes out the shape of a cruciform sword engraved on the armor.

Who are you? He asks again. Why did you do this?

The man still does not react. Seifer has drawn close enough, by this time, to touch the man. He extends a hand out to do so, and the figure turns to face him. The man's armor covers him from head to toe -- his whole body invisible. The armor, though, shines, like a mirror. In the man's helmet, Seifer sees his own face reflected.

He gasps and turns to flee, but finds himself surrounded by mirrored knights. In the distance, Seifer's voice comes back to him as an echo, asking, Why did you do this?

As one, they lift their visors, revealing empty suits of armor. When they speak, they use Seifer's voice, answering, Because I am…

…The Sorceress' Knight, and I when I speak, I speak with her voice. When I act, I act as an extension of her will.

The people cheer. Their voices and bodies blur together in an ecstatic frenzy. One man, though, stands almost perfectly still. From his vantage atop the parade vehicle, he savors the reverence he instills in the masses. Although his face wears a mask of icy contempt, inside, he burns. He feels the fire of his power, the awe he inspires in those around him, the grandeur of being a Knight.

They respect me. They respect me and they fear me.

He stands to the right of the Sorceress, ready to do her bidding. She is a creature of flawless beauty, pale white skin and raven hair, ivory and obsidian, a goddess crafted from marble. As long as he draws breath, no harm can come to her. She loves him, and that love is no mere romance, but a thing of transcendental magnificence, the courtly passion that can exist only between a Sorceress and her Knight. She needs him to protect her, to defend her, to carry out her will. His life, his very existence centers on those needs, and no force can bar him from fulfilling this duty. With but the slightest thought, he stands ready to die for her, or to kill for her.

He does not need to wait long. As the massive parade vehicle crosses beneath the arch, its ancient gates slam shut. The Sorceress leaps to her feet, but Seifer, moving beyond the speed of impulse, reacts more quickly. He immediately barks orders to the military personnel surrounding them, making certain of his Sorceress' safety. Above the sound of chaos and confusion, the panicked mob, his ears prick up, and he hears a single, cold shot resound through the night. His heart sinks as he lunges towards the Sorceress, attempting to insert himself in the path of the assassin's bullet, but the distance between them yawns impossibly wide. He screams a warning, hoping that she, with her inscrutable powers, can compensate for his negligence in protecting her.

With masterful élan, she raises a hand, scarcely deigning to notice the attack on her life. As the bullet nears her statuesque figure, it encounters a bright blue field of resistance, slowing its momentum. Seifer allows himself a breath of relief, before he notices that the bullet has stubbornly refused to stop, despite the Sorceress forcing all of her power into the protective spell. The projectile continues its inexorable progress towards her, until the final moment when it pierces her shield. Even at a greatly reduced speed, the bullet still slams into her with a frightening force. Seifer's world explodes with the impact and he feels, as much as hears, the bullet tearing through her perfect white flesh, spilling her life's blood and shattering her bones.

As Seifer's head spins, he sees that his blood, too, has been spilt, a sympathetic wound gained from the special link they share. The night is awash with blood, and Seifer fights to stay conscious. He struggles to stand, equilibrium devastated by the pain blossoming within him. He reaches for Hyperion, the muscles in his side tearing audibly as it slides from its sheath. Staggering backwards, he knocks over one of the immense braziers atop the vehicle, spilling fire, ash, and coal everywhere. As the vehicle ignites, grim laughter escapes his lips, brought on by the certainty that he will die this night, a victim of his own folly and ineptitude. Each laugh pierces his side like a lance, and blood bubbles forth from his lips.

Seifer's laughter dominates the parade ground, which has suddenly fallen silent. He sees a group of three figures cutting a swath through the crowd. The scar on his face burns with anticipation as its brother nears. The blood in his mouth boils with his thirst for vengeance.

Squall...

Squall ascends the parade vehicle, silent, resolute. Flanking him is a man in a long coat, rifle in hand -- the assassin, no doubt. On Squall's other side walks a young woman, dark-haired and beautiful. He recognizes this girl as a figure from his past: Rinoa.

Of course, Squall. You always tried to take everything that belonged to me.

Squall stands before Seifer and draws his gunblade. Once again, their blades meet in a clash of sparks. Seifer grits his teeth in agony, the pain from his wounds almost unbearable. His blood covers the ground, causing Hyperion to slide from his grip, preventing his feet from finding purchase.

Squall moves like a spirit of the wind, and Seifer loses the battle in the span of a few heartbeats. Choking on his own blood, Seifer watches in horror as Squall approaches the wounded Sorceress. Her Knight fallen, she kneels, exposing her elegant neck, eyes pleading with Seifer, imploring him to save her. He tries to stand, but loss of blood has weakened him. His body has betrayed him, failed him, just as he has betrayed and failed his Sorceress.

Squall's blade shoots sharply into the air and neatly severs her head from her neck. Her delicate body crumples to the ground, lifeless. Squall disdainfully wipes the blood on her gown, and kicks her body over. Her severed head rolls toward Seifer and comes to rest facing him, the empty eyes transformed in death from beseeching to accusing.

Squall stands over him, illuminated by the raging fire. He raises his blade, as before, only now it trickles blood. Seifer smiles weakly, waiting to accompany his Sorceress into death. As Seifer waits for the dolorous stroke, Squall offers him a cold salute, before shouldering his blade and casually walking away.

This display of contempt enrages Seifer, but he cannot find the strength to protest. The accusing eyes of the Sorceress haunt him as the world fades to red. He can hear her cold voice now, lyrically mocking him.

Foolish boy, playing at being a Knight. You are no Knight, child, you are a…

…failure is not an option.

The SeeD mantra rings in Seifer's ears, as he surveys the small group before him: Squall, Zell, and the little brown-haired messenger girl. This small cadet, so eager to please, has just conveyed the order to retreat, signaling the end of the field exam. Seifer has not yet finished his crusade -- there are still soldiers to drive off, battles to be won -- but he reluctantly conveys the order.

Seifer has exited the Communications Tower and started to sprint towards the transport ships when he hears the sounds of battle behind him. Turning, he sees the other three cadets being pursued by a massive war machine, a hideous contrivance of pistons and gears, built to emulate a spider. He pauses to watch as the machine, moving incomprehensibly fast, catches up to them. Although the better part of the day has been spent fighting, their training serves them well, and they never falter. Squall moves with all his customary ability, and Seifer idly runs a hand across the scar he received earlier that day. The messenger girl, too, fights skillfully, and Seifer notices that her bubbly demeanor has vanished, replaced with a cold mask of concentration.

The most impressive force, though, is Zell, his entire body functioning as a perfect weapon. His hands and feet slam into the machine repeatedly, and it is the machine's metal exoskeleton that suffers from the collision. He instinctively, intuitively, seeks out the machine's weakest points and pummels them with a berserker's rage and fury. Soon Zell is a blur of motion, striking the machine some 15 times in a matter of seconds. With a final sputter, it crashes to the ground, immobile.

Seifer applauds mockingly as the three turn away from the machine. He waits for them to start telling him that the entire fight is his fault, a result of his order to abandon their assigned position. Not that he cares. Before they have a chance to speak, though, a look of horror crosses his face though, when, over their shoulders, he sees the unholy spider repairing itself. Torn metal mends, dents smooth over, and bit by bit, all the damage done to the machine vanishes. They notice it too, and waste no time in fleeing the scene, the horrible clanking sound moving ever closer. Occasionally, Seifer glances behind them, checking on the machine's progress.

By the time they reach the shore, Squall and the messenger girl are keeping pace with Seifer, and once they reach the transport vessel, he breathes a sigh of relief before noticing Zell's absence.

Zell is still on the beach, his small frame almost entirely dwarfed by the enormous automaton. A sharp cry of pain escapes Zell's lips as he grips his leg, falling to the ground with a fiercely cramping muscle. This is all the advantage the machine needs, and it raises one wickedly barbed leg, preparing to impale the small man.

With a speed born of desperation, Seifer climbs the ladder to the gunner's turret of the vessel, shoving Quistis out of her seat behind the cannon. Barely taking the time to aim, he points the massive weapon at the robot and squeezes both triggers, hoping at least to buy the struggling Zell time to reach his feet.

The triggers, rather than giving way, merely hold their positions, and Seifer feels his heart sink. Frantically, he checks the chambers of both barrels, only to find that the gun has not jammed. A quick glance down at the control panel reveals the safety mechanism, still locked. His fingers struggle to release the catch, but to no avail.

Zell scurries frantically away from the machine as its leg, glinting in the harsh sunlight, flies downwards. It pierces Zell's body in the stomach, striking him with such force that his body nearly splits in half. Zell writhes on the beach in torment, lips unable to form a scream. As he flails under the machine's weight, Zell's eyes catch Seifer's and damn him with their pain. The force of Zell's hatred is tangible. Not only has Seifer spent years taunting, mocking, and bullying him, he has cut Zell's life short through recklessness and bravado.

Seifer screams, sinking to the deck as the vessel's engines roar to life. The machine on the beach recedes from view, but not before Seifer sees it scraping Zell against the rocks, trying to free its leg from his body.

A shadow falls over Seifer as Quistis looks down at him, arms crossed over her chest. Tears are welling up in her eyes, but she stoically holds them back. Her silence frightens Seifer more than her anger ever could, and he knows the accusations that face him. If he had obeyed orders, merely by staying in one place, Zell would still be alive.

Seifer descends the ladder, trying to turn invisible, trying to avoid the reproachful glares of Squall and the messenger girl. She only knew Zell for a fraction of an hour, and in that time proved a better friend than Seifer ever had. Instead of the relieved chatter of victorious comrades, a pall hangs over the ship as it speeds away from Dollet, leaving Zell's blood to mingle with the softly lapping…

…waves of energy pour from the machine as the Sorceress Adel's bonds snap, one at a time. Seifer fiercely shoves Rinoa towards the towering monstrosity that is Adel. The Sorceress has become a mockery of the human form. Her powers have made the darkness within her manifest.

Adel, still partially sealed, stands well over eight feet tall. Her face has twisted into a permanent expression of rage and her skin has a mottled gray hue. Her arms eagerly reach for Rinoa, sharp talons clacking together as they reach for the precious girl. As Rinoa draws close, tentacles stretch forward to caress the dark-haired girl's face. Vestigial wings, leathery, like a bat's, twitch with excitement. The gills on the side of Adel's neck flutter as she breathes in. Her legs are still fused together, joined into one from years of stasis. As she struggles to free herself, the long-unused muscles pop audibly.

Seifer delivers Rinoa to the waiting monster, and Adel leers at this willing service. They have all but abandoned the pretense of Sorceress and Knight. No true Knight would offer up an innocent for sacrifice, but Seifer no longer cares. The duty of a Knight is to protect his Sorceress, from both physical harm and from the temptation to abuse her power. He has failed in both of these regards, Seifer knows, but he stubbornly refuses to accept defeat.

You've taken everything from me, Squall. My hopes of becoming a SeeD, my dream of being a Knight. You even made Fujin and Raijin desert me. Well I know you, Squall, and I can tell how you feel about Rinoa, so let's see how you handle having the one thing that matters to you stripped away.

Adel holds Rinoa to her and their bodies fuse. The joining complete, Adel begins to sap Rinoa's power. As her strength increases, Adel's veins become prominent, running close to the surface, thick with black blood. Rinoa attempts to struggle, but her energy fades too quickly. All too soon, Rinoa is dead, and Adel casts her aside, a desiccated husk, the shell of a seventeen-year-old who looks eighty. Her corpse lands at Squall's feet, and he stares on, dumbfounded.

In a single mighty surge, Adel's bonds snap and she steps out of the containment chamber. The threat this motion represents stirs Squall back to activity. He draws his gunblade, but seems unable to turn his gaze away from Rinoa's body. By the time he can focus enough to look at Adel, vengeance on his face, his fate is sealed.

With one hand, Adel lashes out, grabbing Squall by the shoulder. Absorbing Rinoa's essence has given her the strength of a titan, and she sends Squall hurtling to the other end of the room, where he collides forcibly with the wall.

There. Think you can kill him now, my Knight?

Her mocking voice echoes in his head. To strike Squall dead would be to abandon completely any hopes of being a Knight. Still, Adel's siren song, the promise of revenge, proves too great to resist.

His heart races uncontrollably as he walks over to Squall. He tries to remain calm, but the chance to prove his superiority to the world overwhelms him. As he stands over Squall, his mind races back to the day when they'd scarred each other. He can feel his wound opening and hot blood running down his face.

This is it, Squall. Admit defeat. Bow before me.

Squall looks up at Seifer, the storm in his eyes raging like never before. Without ever taking his eyes off Seifer, Squall slowly stands up, leaning against the wall for support. Those bones that have not already broken snap as he moves. Seifer can see bones piercing Squall's flesh in several places, and they both know that his internal organs are in no better shape.

Arms crossed over his chest, Seifer grins in malevolent triumph. A weak gurgling emanates from Squall's throat, but his shattered jaw prevents him from speaking. Seifer leans in to listen, and Squall spits, a gout of blood spattering Seifer's face and clothes. Snarling, Seifer plunges a fist into one of Squall's gaping wounds. The strength of the pain is enough to drive the dark-haired man back to the ground, where Seifer kicks him viciously.

Well done, my Knight. Now sacrifice him to me. Show me your devotion.

He turns to face the Sorceress. Adel's form has gone, replaced by a massive emptiness, a great hungry vacuum waiting to feast on the life of her enemies.

Give him to me, and we will show the world what it truly means to be Sorceress and Knight. You, my child, will be the first of a line of Knights that will scourge the world for centuries.

Seifer raises his blade to strike, the chance for revenge, for a place in history glittering before him like a prize. As Squall's strength ebbs, the venomous energies of the Sorceress grow. Seifer starts to lose himself within the all-encompassing darkness. Seifer turns again to look at Squall. Where Squall's body came to rest, now Seifer lays on the ground, broken, almost every bone in his body shattered. One Seifer struggles to form a word, and the other Seifer almost loses the sound amid the gurgle of blood.

Edea…

Memories come flooding back to him. He remembers growing up in the orphanage by the sea, setting off firecrackers at night, playing at the old lighthouse. He remembers his childhood friends, the kids he used to pick on, but still considered friends anyway: bossy Quisty, Irvine -- who always wanted to play cowboys, cheerful Selphie, Crybaby Zell, and even quiet Squall.

He remembered all the things Matron -- the Sorceress Edea -- taught them. The stories she used to tell at bedtime. He remembered her teaching him about honor, about what it really meant to be a Knight.

Matron, can I be a Knight too?

Not yet, Seifer. You're too young, and besides, it's bedtime.

I wanna be your Knight, Matron. I'd beat up anyone who tried to hurt you.

I'm not a Sorceress, Seifer. And besides, being a Knight isn't about beating people up. It's about protecting people, especially people who can't protect themselves. It's about facing up to your fears. It's about acting with courage, honor, and compassion, and about living as an example to others.

Seifer looks down at his own bloodied form, and knows that he will not survive. He looks up at the Adel-void and senses her rage. This death will truly free her, and she is most displeased with Seifer's hesitation.

Seifer's memory, once triggered, continues to rush through the events of his life. Suddenly, he begins to understand. He remembers the ceremony, the Sorceress investing him with a portion of her power, that they might always be together.

This is a dream. None of this is real.

Seifer stands in a field, a massive flower garden. The rainbow of color explodes in all directions around him, and he shields his eyes from the sudden sunlight. As he grows accustomed to the brightness, he sees, in the distance, a tree on a hill. Eager to survey his surroundings, he sets off in that direction.

The constant struggle of the dream has sapped his strength, but this field revitalizes him. Every breath of the clean air fills his lungs and purges the exhaustion from him. By the time he reaches the tree he feels healthy again. He sits down beneath the tree and closes his eyes. For the first time in what seems like ages, he feels rested and peaceful.

A noise before him catches his attention and he opens his eyes, jumping to his feet and reaching for a weapon that isn't there. He finds himself eye to eye with an enormous lion, its mane brilliant and golden. The lion sits on its haunches, and coolly regards Seifer. Its face betrays no expression of intent, but Seifer does not feel threatened by the creature. It is waiting for him to make the first move.

An owl alights on a branch over his head. Its gaze is piercing, and it looks through Seifer as much as at him. Its sharp talons grip the branch but it, too, makes no threatening overtures. The owl continues to scrutinize him, and Seifer can sense its evaluating him.

A coyote bounds on the scene, jumping in circles around the lion, eager and exuberant. The lion, still watching Seifer, makes no notice of the dog, which suddenly begins chasing its own tail. The creature spins in circles, whirling ever faster. It comes to a crashing halt when it accidentally runs into Seifer. The creature stands back up and sniffs at Seifer's hand. Charmed by the creature, Seifer cannot help but scratching the coyote's ears. It revels in the affection, licking Seifer's hand eagerly.

The lion spoils their interaction by standing up. It stretches slowly, graceful, and Seifer can see the long, lean muscles that move the great cat. With deliberate steps, the lion begins walking away. It turns to look over its shoulder, and Seifer realizes that he should follow the beast. Seifer rises too, and sets out after the creature. The owl follows from the sky, making lazy circles in the air but always moving forward. The coyote circles Seifer, jumping playfully around him. Rather than playing a game, though, Seifer realizes that the coyote is herding him, moving him to follow the lion.

After a time, they reach a precipice. All three animals watch Seifer as he steps close to the cliff. Looking over the edge, he sees a thick gray liquid. It bubbles and oozes with a life of its own. Creatures seem to rise out of the muck, humanoid figures writhing in agony. Some of them attempt to climb up the cliff face, to escape the viscous substance, but it always rises up to claim them back again.

Seifer turns to look at the animals that brought him here. They all watch him, staring intently. He knows what they want him to do: plunge into this murky pool. He does not know if he will survive the fall or be consumed by the stuff, or become one of those horrid broken creatures inside.

Finally, the coyote moves over to him, and nuzzles his hand. It looks up at Seifer with imploring eyes. The other two creatures display no emotion, but the mixture of sympathy, sorrow, and compassion in the coyote's eyes convince him. Seifer, without allowing himself the time to think twice, dives off the cliff and into the bubbling gray waste.

The stuff fills his ears, mouth, and nose. He desperately wants to scream, but fears wasting the air in his lungs. With no light to guide him, he begins swimming, attempting to find a way out of this pool. Occasionally, something unseen brushes past him.

He surfaces in Adel's chamber, holding Hyperion, and the weapon feels perfect in his hand. It crackles with energy and the blade seems sharp enough to cut the air. The two have joined, linked by a unity of purpose.

Seifer feels awake and alive, energized as never before. He whirls on Adel, whom he now recognizes as Ultimecia, with his gunblade at the ready. She lashes out, a tentacle of pure blue energy whipping through the air at him.

You've failed so many times, child. Do you really think you can stop me?

The voice in his head resonates, and his mind flashes back to Squall, standing victorious over him. Cid, lecturing him, promising that Seifer would never become a SeeD.

Seifer jumps in the air, throwing himself directly at her lash. They meet in the air, and he cuts cleanly through the whip.

Do you really think anyone cares if you live or die? After everything you've done, do you think you have a friend left in the world?

Raijin and Fujin walking out on him. Squall, suffering interrogation and torture at Seifer's command. The innocent victims killed in the missile strike on Trabia Garden. The city of Esthar, decimated under the Lunar Cry.

Ultimecia's lash catches him this time, and he barely manages to muster the will to free himself. The pain rages around him, and she forces on him the memory of every moment of weakness Seifer ever had, every cruel or unkind act he perpetrated. Every negative emotion he ever experienced, she hurls at him, the mental anguish magnified a hundred-fold.

Gritting his teeth, he throws himself at the enormous vortex. He plunges into the darkness, blade drawn and readied. Inside, he finds another Seifer, bound hand and foot, starved, malnourished, tortured. He reaches out for this other Seifer, and the world explodes.

Suddenly, his soul is on fire. The two Seifers merge, and he feels the long months of pain recede before him. The Ultimecia parts of his soul burn, scorched away as Seifer heals.

His eyes fly open, and his vision is blocked by darkness. He struggles to move, and finds himself floating in some kind of jelly. He tries to scream, but cannot, the mask forcing oxygen into his lungs.

The tank empties, and Seifer sinks slowly to the floor. He lies there, panting, fingers struggling to remove the mask.

The darkness melts away, and Seifer sees a vast room around him. People are everywhere, staring at him. They're speaking, but he cannot understand the sounds they make. He pushes forward in distress, crashing into the glass.

A man rushes forward, compassion in his eyes. He holds one hand up to the glass, and his presence serves to calm Seifer.

His long battle over, Seifer allows sleep -- true, restful sleep -- to overcome him. As he drifts gently into unconsciousness, it occurs to Seifer that he has seen this man before, in a movie that he watched countless times in his childhood.

I've been saved, Seifer thought, by the Sorceress' Knight…