Act 3: Scene 2
My progress with the black mage project was halted for many, many months by my primary problem - how to animate them. Obviously, all the books on Gaia couldn't have told me how to create life. But I didn't want the black mages to be alive as such, I merely required them to be sentient, to follow orders even if it meant they were destroyed, and a conscience would impede that specification. Thus, it wasn't just a matter of providing them with souls. I needed something that would act like a soul, but not provide the awareness that people like myself were gifted, or possibly cursed, with.
I started small. The first black mage, my first prototype, would stand at a little over three foot. It's difficult to explain their actual construction. I got hold of suitable clothing - a mage's hat, a wizard's waistcoat and other items of interest to fit the somewhat bulky design - but this was the only physical material I used. The mage's body, if I got this right, would be made entirely from black magic.
There had to be a substitute for a genuine soul! Garland had Terra's almost infinite supply of them for his creations, even if, so far, he'd granted only the Second and I a real soul. What did I have to work with? The Invincible's growing collection was off-limits - I would need it for later. And all of Gaia's other free-roaming souls were locked up in the Iifa Tree . . .
That was it.
Thousands of years ago, Garland had planted the Iifa Seed on Gaia, and as it had grown in size and power, it had barred souls their entry into the usual endless cycle every planet had. That was its purpose: to filter out Gaia's souls so that, eventually, they could be replaced with Terra's flow during the assimilation. And those stagnant souls were physically ejected from the soulstream . . . as Mist.
Taking the components of my prototype with me, I mounted the silver dragon, and we soared in the direction of the magnificent, tortuous, sentient Iifa Tree.
My anger and surprise at finding said Tree completely sealed off were heartfelt. My senses told me that powerful souls, exempt from the Mist itself, were present, but I could neither see them nor access them. I suspected they were eidolons, and that meant that summoners were behind the intense seal. I tried every cancellation and shattering spell that I knew on the barrier, and expended even my vast inventory of magic in doing so. Nothing worked, and for a moment I was at a loss. It would take a genuine summoner to break the seal - and that had to be the reason why Garland had forced me to spare that family in Madain Sari.
Of course, I could scarcely force them to do it - from my readings, I knew summoners to be a stubborn bunch, who would probably rather die than see eidolons used for negative purposes. Therefore, I would just have to wait until fate dealt me a decent hand for once, and had the summoners open up the Iifa Tree of their own free will.
And this meant that I had to find another source of the Mist. Right at the ejection point, the Mist would have been easier to manipulate, but beggars can't be choosers. The roots of the Iifa Tree, however, plunged deep into Gaia's body, penetrating her against her will, and crawled back up for oxygen on the south-easterly continent of the world. Thus, the Mist Continent itself became my next port of call.
***
Time for a geography lesson.
Just as the book about summoners said, the three main kingdoms of the Mist Continent were balanced across the four directions. In the immense valley beneath Alexandria, the northeasterly city, a Mist-spawned forest of vast proportions sat like a pulsing tumour.
It pulsed because it was sentient. The Iifa Roots had spread far and wide, but because the majority of the planet's population resided on the Mist Continent, they had been drawn here in particular, as any plant will be drawn to the most abundant sources of its needs and, in the Iifa's case, its wants.
The inhabitants had given the woodland the rather uninspiring label of Evil Forest. This name grated against my imagination, but it was appropriate, nevertheless. It was formed from Iifa Spores that had erupted from the ground with the first of the great Tree's roots, and had subsequently germinated in the Mist that had pumped out of those twisting tendrils.
Evil Forest thrived on that Mist. And as it swelled in size like the cancer of the planet that it was, drawing water from the lake it had grown up around, and replacing its need for sunlight with the despicable fog that was made up of stagnant souls and no less, it actually succeeded in spreading the Mist further. I suspected that this was the only reason the Iifa Tree had allowed its nightmarish life to continue - it would despise any competitors, being an innately selfish creature, even if that competitor was its own offspring, but Evil Forest had killed its fair share of travelling wanderers, adding to the soul flow rather than depleting it. Thus, it allowed the Iifa Tree's reach to extend further across the Mist Continent - the Gunitas Basin was full of Mist, the stuff so thick and oppressive that Evil Forest was the only thing that could survive down there for very long.
I said before that Evil Forest was a suitable name for the woodland, and I wasn't joking. A nightmare in grey, green and black, filled with quivering, whispering, living tendrils and violent, insect-plant hybrid creatures that the Forest itself formed from the Mist it revelled in, as a defensive mechanism against other organisms. There was, in the very air, a sense of being not watched, but stalked. Everything about the woodland was warped, twisted, but ultimately alive. Even the water was tainted - it lapped possessively around your ankles, trying to drag you under. The Forest didn't feel, as such, but it reacted, every twig and leaf of it, and every reaction was generally an attempt to rid itself of intrusive organisms - such as myself.
I was trying to breathe shallowly; Mist is notoriously bad for your system. Obviously, it's even worse for those like me, Garland and, dare I mention the dead, the Second, because we're so sensitive to soul activity. The Mist was comprised of souls that, while stagnant, were still souls in essence, and it was akin to being surrounded by thousands of people, all brushing against you, all chattering loudly and invasively.
Besides which, Mist burned the throat and seared the lungs with a kind of fiery, bristling ice. Shuddering, I pressed onwards.
I came to Evil Forest because I wanted to study that defence mechanism. I needed to learn how to create sentient beings from Mist alone, and this woodland had accomplished that, however instinctively. I knew that a system as complex as Evil Forest could not be a unanimous effort of every sentient tree and plant, because it wasn't like an ordinary woodland area. It behaved like a body, perhaps a human body. Mist ran through its veins; it visibly breathed and moved; it grew as it aged; and it rejected foreign bodies with its severely aggressive answer to antibodies in the bloodstream.
Thus, it had to have a brain.
I found it during the second day of wandering through the sweaty, chilling terrain. The forest was already in a state of panic - I had myself simultaneously wrapped within the spells Vanish and Float, so that the plants and trees could sense me there, but could neither see nor feel me. Even though these are relatively simple spells, it was draining to keep them both weaved around me at the same time. Still, they allowed me to sit cross-legged in the plant brain's nest without physical detection.
That the bulbous, writhing, tentacled mass knew I was there was enough to make it produce more Mist monsters, though. I sat there for many hours, not just watching it work but feeling it, sensing what it did to the stagnant souls to transform them so. The creatures it formed couldn't really be classed as intelligent - they followed the innate orders of the plant brain as instinct, without giving them so much as a thought. But this was exactly what I wanted my black mages to do, so I paid the master of Evil Forest my full attention.
It was fascinating to watch. As disgusting as the plant brain was, its method of spawning monster after monster from the Mist was a natural kind of genius - efficient, fairly simple, and with little energy required. Discovering it wasn't a 'eureka' kind of revelation for me, because there wasn't one key point that I had missed. It was a process, a series of actions to do, but nevertheless I was elated at finding it out at all.
On my way back out of Evil Forest, I came across a moogle. Despite the little faery's surprise to find an invisible shape addressing it, it was surprisingly compliant.
"If you can find Mojito," I told it, "I'd be grateful if you could tell him that Kuja requires his next report."
"Can do, kupo!" the moogle chirped back, and I left it to its own devices.
Upon exiting the woodland, I summoned the silver dragon. Within moments, it had landed in my proximity, and I leapt up onto it, urging it to the top of the cliffs, where the Mist wasn't nearly so thick. The sudden silence of soul activity was bliss.
"If I can help it," I informed the silver dragon, "I am never going that deep into Mist for that long ever again. For a while I thought I was going to lose my mind . . ."
"But you have what you desired," it reassured me. "Now all that is needed is to put it into practise."
I coughed raggedly. "There's plenty of time, and I need to get this Mist out of my system."
The dragon craned its neck, and glanced at the glaring lights of Treno in the near distance. "To Faowri's?"
"No," I said without hesitation. "She'll worry if she sees me so exhausted. Let's head home for now. We'll return in a few days with the prototype, to this exact spot, and I will begin."
"As you wish."
I was glad that the dragon didn't object to long distance flying. The heat of the continent that currently served as my home would do well to restore my battered senses, which were so sore that I even spared a fleeting moment for pitying the Second, who, even if he hadn't drowned, would surely have died from being exposed to so much Mist. At least I could, and did, blast myself with a dozen Esunas to purify my spirit - the Second would have had none of that, even if he had, by some fluke, reached a shore.
"It seems to me that there is still a doubt in your mind as to his death," the silver dragon commented absently.
"Perhaps there is . . . I suppose I shouldn't have done it so indirectly. But, come on, let's be honest: what are the chances?"
"Nothing is impossible. There is every chance. You once told me that Fate deals hands as well or as badly as she sees fit."
I sneered. "That was just a . . . well, maybe you're right. Maybe he did survive. But, if he did, the chances of him not being a vegetable after so much Mist inhalation are even lower than the probability of him being alive at all."
The dragon grumbled uncertainly.
"And the chances of him being alive, not being a vegetable, and being able to do anything to get in my way at all are virtually non-existent. Who would believe him about Terra, about Garland, about me?"
" . . . Perhaps you are right."
"Good!"
"But, perhaps you are not."
"Not good."
"Fate will decide . . . you will just have to wait and see."
And that was exactly what we decided to do.
***
It was a grim, grey morning when we returned four days later. The Mist was thicker than ever, swirling sickeningly through the valley below. At its present density, a person would not be able to last more than a day in it without losing their minds or gaining permanent respiratory problems, at the very least.
Fortunately, I was above it. Well, I stood where it dissipated into the air, at any rate. The prototype was seated on the grassy floor, propped up by its own awkward weight.
For a long while, I did nothing but stare at it, contemplating what I was about to do, and 'feeling' the dead souls whirling around me. If I concentrated hard enough, I could still hear the quiet, varying patterns of thoughts that had been the last ever transmitted by the owners of the souls. Was it just a case of snagging a random one, and inebriating the prototype with it? That seemed almost too simple, but that was all that the brain of Evil Forest did.
How did Garland choose? Granted, he had live, viable souls to work with but even these dead ones still retained a vestige of their former consciousnesses. Whose soul did I possess? It had certainly belonged to someone else before my Maker had infused it with my body. My own personality seemed to have eroded away whatever essences of its previous owner might have remained. Still, it isn't pleasant to know that your existence is a mere hand-me-down.
Hah! Like Garland would give a damn what soul went where. Otherwise, I might not have been so rebellious, and the Second not so pathetically sympathetic. So, I could follow on from the mistakes he had made - I would choose weak souls, the kind that wouldn't question a superior's authority. The kind that wouldn't talk back to you - the kind that had no free will, no emotions to personalise their pseudo-lives.
"Kuja."
Scowling at the silver dragon's intrusion of my concentration, I glared at it. "What?"
"There are human beings not far from here."
"Yes. In Treno. I know."
"No. I mean that there is a group of wandering humans. I believe they are out hunting."
I sighed. "How do you know?"
"I smell them. I hear their footfalls."
"Gods, something always has to get in the way, doesn't it? Can you give me any more details? The Mist is thickest here along the cliffs, but I don't want interference from the residents of Gaia, if at all possible."
"From the footsteps, I'd estimate three or four of them. Their scent is earthy, damp."
"Earthy?" I took a long look in the direction the silver dragon was pointing to with its head. Through the thinning Mist, I could see the outline of the border gateway. "Probably from Dali, then. It's a farming town, not doing so well lately. I've heard that the menfolk are having to go out and hunt for food to make up for the poor harvests this year."
The dragon snorted. "Little more than arachnid prey around Treno. I should know. It tastes very rancid."
"Oh? What do you prefer?"
"The Yans from the lands to the west are most enjoyable, if difficult to kill."
"Hmm. I shan't ask. How far away are these hunters?"
It cocked its head to one side, and fixed me with its blue gaze. "Not far. They shall cross this area soon, if they keep going. Should we move?"
"No. If worse comes to worst, I'll just kill them."
" . . . that would be a little cruel."
"This is a fine time to display your conscience!" I berated the dragon amusedly. "The quicker I get this done, the less chance of me having to actually do that!"
To demonstrate my focus, I shook out my arms and returned my attention to the prototype.
It's difficult to explain in words how I did it. Looking back, I can only remember the blur of emotions and thoughts that passed through my mind as I bestowed false life upon the black mage. There was the maelstrom of restless souls streaming endlessly around me, and I diverted that flow towards the prototype. This, I intertwined with pure black magic, drawn from shadows of the elements of Gaia. I couldn't contain a cry of delight when the stack of clothes and material began to shudder. The half-sentient soul of the black mage began to grow aware, so I quickly started to seal its innate abilities away. Once this was done, the creature would lose its capacity to choose, and thus its appreciation of morality . . .
"Kuja!"
Startled out of the steady trance I must have been engaged in for several minutes, I accidentally shattered the metaphorical seal.
"Damn!"
I whirled to face the suspicious, approaching hunters, my favourite Flare spell already glowing in my right hand . . .
. . . and the silver dragon lurched towards me with a blasting roar that shook the entire cliff top. To avoid hitting the infernal beast, I swung the gathering magic out to the right, where the accumulated energy struck the ground bare metres away and flung me backwards. My left side hit solid ground, and I immediately attempted to prop myself up with both arms.
The right one plunged into empty air. Momentary panic seized me when I realised that I was balanced right on the cliff's edge, but a surge of anger was enough to propel me back to my feet.
The hunters were gone. Apparently, the proximity of a hulking silver dragon and the sight of spontaneous combustion had sent them running. But they didn't even account for half the source of my fury.
My prototype black mage was gone. Where, I didn't know, but the bundle of clothes that had filled with pure black magic and an unsealed soul was not sitting where I had left it.
Maintaining a firm tone, the silver dragon said: "There was no need to attack those hunters on account of your impatience, Kuja."
I continued to stare at the spot the little black mage had previously occupied. If it had fallen off the cliff . . . or maybe it had escaped across the clifftop, towards the forest!
"You have been gifted with phenomenal powers, Kuja, but you do not yet appreciate -"
"Godsdammit, will you shut up?" I screamed. "This is your fault! They were just hunters, for crying out loud! Lowly, peasant hunters from a lowly, tiny, insignificant little village! No one would have cared what happened to them. No one would probably even notice they were gone. And now I've lost the product of four years of work, silver dragon!"
"You did manage it before it went wrong. You can easily make another now."
"It was a prototype! An experiment! I don't have it perfected; I don't even know how the bloody thing turned out! Don't you understand how much time and effort and energy has just been swallowed up in the Mist? Why now, of all times, do you decide to grow morals, eh? I wish that damn spell had bloody well hit you!"
The silver dragon regarded me very coolly throughout my heartfelt rant. "You can't just kill anything that crosses your path, Kuja. It was not my fault that you could not wait until the hunters were gone to continue the experiment."
"Just shut up and start flapping! We have to search for the prototype now -"
"I think not. I think you need time to cool down, Kuja. And that time would be best spent alone."
The dragon did start flapping its wings; unfortunately, I was not riding it at the time.
"Wait!" You treacherous, foul-minded, interfering, deserting little -
"Calm down, Kuja. When your mind is clearer, I will return to you."
And then, for the first time ever, it blocked my thoughts from its own, and launched itself into the sky, gone from view before I even had time to blink.
There must have been about fifteen seconds of silence, before I vehemently toasted the nearest stand of trees with a Firaga spell. Apparently, this was just not going to be my day.
End of Act 3: Scene 2