A/N: Probably not very good. A little something that was inspired by watching the Trance Kuja movie the other day.

Setting: Garland has died and Kuja Trances for the first time.

Reborn

I refuse to die.

Garland said I would die. It was a curse on his dying lips, the final strike of an old serpent trampled into the ground, its poison going straight to the heart. In the blink of an eye, the invincible Angel of Death became a mortal Genome.

I am going to die.

I rise above the Pandemonium, surrounded by my own magical aura, basking in the ecstasy of Trance. Power in the purest form courses through my body like a raging river. Borrowed, stolen power, screams of angry souls like fire in my veins. Die? How can I possibly die, when I have only begun to feel alive?

I raise my hand, palm open, to the level of my eyes. Pale, slender, smooth. A small, crackling ball of blue forms in the center. "Beautiful," I whisper. True beauty, they say, is immortal. The single Ultima spell in my hand grows to the size of a human head, and I hurl it away from me. It streaks through the air in a lovely blue arc and smashes into the base of one of the tree-like islands, ancient Terran crystal and rock cracking and tumbling into the blackened core of the planet.

Beautiful.

Another ball of magical destruction blooms into life in my hand, and I fling it to the side. I do not need to look to know that another tree-island has splintered and crumbled into fire and dust. Terra, my Terra. So beautiful. You thought you were immortal. Garland had said you were. But Garland said many things.

And I—I am immortal. You see, Garland, when you made me the Angel of Death, you did not account for what would happen when the Angel of Death died.

I release more streaks of Ultima, beheading row after row of Terran islands from their delicate stalks.

You see, Garland, when the Angel of Death dies, he does not simply die.

I gather my magic into several points around me, and I send them off to join their brothers in consuming Terra. Fire and rock rain down into a roaring inferno. My beautiful, perfect inferno.

For when the Angel of Death dies, he is reborn.

He is Death.