A/N: Eep! Longest gap between updates yet! Gomen! Gomen! *Bows down to
the great readers (particularly the reviewers, hint-hint)* I so sorry! I
had final exams, and a sleepover, and I'm lazy and GAH, FORGIVE ME!!! On
top of that, a reviewer asked a question three chapters ago and I didn't
answer it (I suck!). Isn't this pathetic how I grovel at the feet of the
reviewers . . . Think about it. I'm at your mercy ^_^ Um, Jukka Bushtail
(yay for Redwall!) asked how to pronounce "Trepe" as in Quistis Trepe, I
presume. I asked my parents, and they both agree it's probably pronounced
"Trape." Like, say the word "tray" and then add a "p" sound on the end ^_^
Also, Poohsbestfriend (Triss, if anyone's wonderin') said FOOLISHLY in a
review that I didn't like Quina . . . Gah, I NEVER SAID THAT!!! She's
hearing things, geez . . . I DON'T SENSELESSLY KILL CHARACTERS WITHOUT A
PURPOSE!!! *huff* Also, I got another question about RotD sketches, so
read my A/N at the bottom for info on that (important!).
Disclaimer: f||\|4|_ f4|\|+45y |5|\|'+ /\/\||\|3!!! (Ha! Try to read THAT, lawyers!)
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"There's a time to live, and there's a time to die. But no one can escape their destiny."
- Destiny, Stratovarius
"IT WAS YOUR FAULT I HAD TO ABANDON HIM!!!"
Zidane's echoing voice spiralled out into the dismal silence of the Forgotten Continent. The forest immediately seemed to come alive. Birds, screeching in anger at the rude interruption, flurried like black clouds into the air. Snow seemed to tumble, unbidden, from the trees. From nowhere, plant-life in all its frozen glory began to stir. The very air seemed to tremble at Zidane's explosive words.
Drakja blinked, surprised at the boy's sudden outburst, and frowned as he felt the uneasiness of the forest's soul around them. His hair lifted off his shoulders in a breeze that seemed to make him all the more uncomfortable. The other geonomes bristled, the fur of their tails lifting nervously. No one dared to breathe. Then the presence seemed to lift, leaving them all breathless, and Drakja smirked.
"Brave, my dear Angel, very brave," slowly he raised his arm, the nozzle of the red gun pressed firmly against Zidane's forehead. Zidane, who sat shivering in the snow as he recovered from his fury, could only glare furiously at the merciless assailant.
"Unfortunately . . ." Drakja purred. "It was incredibly foolish as well . . ."
Zidane winced and closed his eyes, awaiting the shot and the blackness of death to finally close in around him. He'd escaped death before already . . . But this time there was no Qu to sacrifice his life for the genome . . . and no brother to shield his body from the pain. And though Zidane wished they weren't, his final thoughts were plain as day:
/I wish I wasn't so helpless . . ./
"DRAKJA!!!"
"Eh?" Drakja lifted his head at the sound of the voice, his finger twitching dangerously on the trigger. Then his emerald eyes bulged in horror.
"Don't - TOUCH HIM!!!" Kuja seemed to come from nowhere, one fist raised as he charged like a bullet through the air. Drakja swerved out of the way just in time and Zidane let out a fierce cry as he suddenly high-kicked the gun from Drakja's hand. It flew through the air and landed, clattering, a few feet away. Kuja skidded and twirled around, aiming another punch at Drakja's face. The other geonomes pulled back, having not been given orders to attack (Drakja was ready to scream "cowards!" any second). The other group members were too stunned by Kuja's sudden appearance to react.
"You sick bastard!" Kuja screamed, stumbling as Drakja leapt out of the way. The silver-haired genome, looking the epitome of fury, whipped around and froze Drakja's very soul with a piercing glare that would have speared the dead.
A piercing glare that was as white as snow . . .
The air in the clearing seemed to vanish as if a giant vacuum of silence was sucking the breath out of every person there.
Zidane couldn't even speak. It felt as if there was a lump forming in his throat that was slowly but surely cutting off his voice. /Kuja . . ./
The feather-haired sorcerer was snarling angrily, whitened eyes ablaze. "You are DISGUSTING!!!" he screamed, pointing an accusing finger at Drakja. "What, do you just wait until I'm out of the way before destroying my comrades?! You got what you wanted, NOW GET OUT OF HERE!!!"
Drakja was staring at Kuja's eyes as if in a trance. He seemed beyond thought or reason as he stood there, his emerald pupils dilated by some muddled muse.
"Are you listening?!" Kuja snapped. "LEAVE!!! Haven't you caused us enough grief already?! Go on! Return to your omnipotent master! Crawl into the safety of his traitorous arms and may you suffocate there!"
/It's all inevitable . . ./
Zidane, who was still kneeling in the snow, jerked at the sound of the voice. He sensed a presence in the trees, yet it would not reveal itself. Faintly, on the breeze, he heard its words:
/Kuja must become me . . . It is destiny . . . But to become me . . . He must bear my wounds . . . It is inevitable . . . And he will understand it before the end . . ./
For some reason, as the spirit seemed to lift, Zidane took this as a warning. Nervously, he turned his face back towards Drakja and Kuja. And just in time, too.
Drakja's fingers were moving ever so slowly towards his belt. It was such a slow, fluid motion that had obviously been perfected for years that not one person seemed to notice the action. His hand twitched as it brushed the warm, familiar hilt of his sword. Zidane had to stifle a gasp as Drakja's fingers gripped the weapon and slowly twisted it from its sheathe. It was the lowest, dirtiest, and cheapest trick Zidane had ever seen.
If Kuja was blind - as unfortunately seemed to be the case - then he wouldn't even know Drakja had unsheathed a weapon until it was wedged into his guts. Now the others seemed to notice, and a stiffness like metal filled the clearing. If they called out, Drakja would simply swing. If they made a dive, another life would be lost.
Kuja couldn't see the sword . . . It was all inevitable . . . The sword was drawn so slowly and so carefully that it didn't even make a sound. Then Drakja held it out, clenched between his fingers so hard his knuckles turned white. A smirk spread irresistibly across his lips and he glanced around at his enemies with those shocking green eyes as if daring them to call out to their doomed comrade.
Zidane's voice was stuck heavy in his throat. / . . . KUJA . . .!!!/
/No . . . It can't all be inevitable . . . It can't!!! Kuja!!!/
Kuja didn't move. He was completely unaware of the sword as it was raised ever so lethargically over Drakja's head. The geonome was trembling with excitement. One cut and it would all be over . . . One cut, and Drakja would win . . . Screw Garland, only vengeance mattered.
/Vengeance for what?/
/I don't know . . ./
No one moved. All was still. Drakja grinned and like a lead weight, the sword began its descent . . .
"DROP YOUR WEAPON!!!"
Kuja face was twisted in anger and he spoke in a voice so explosive that Drakja stumbled backwards as if struck in the face by a mallet. The emerald-eyed geonome stood there, dumbfounded, as Kuja seethed in a rage.
"You scum!" Kuja cried. "Didn't Garland ever teach you any manners?! It's not nice to attack disabled people, you know!"
Drakja was at a loss for words, still clutching his sword as if it were glued to his hands. "B-but . . . But how . . .?"
Kuja smirked. "Oh please, Drakja . . . You didn't honestly think I would let a handicap keep me from defeating my enemies . . . You know me better than that,"
Drakja pulled back as if horrified by something. He seemed to be lost in another time, another place. He squeezed his eyes shut as if blinded by some pain.
/Flash/
"This is where I leave you. I do not approve, but . . ."
The little boy was barely listening as his emerald green eyes became fixed upon the door. His father was muttering something about poor taste in friends but the child didn't hear it. He'd already heard it before . . . Every day of his short life . . .
"Okay, Drakja? I'm going. I'll pick you up later,"
The boy hesitated. "You're not going to go in at all . . .?"
The man above him, so like the boy in appearance, snorted. "Isra can live without hearing my blessings . . . She'll get none from me, I assure you,"
Drakja frowned. "And Saishoja . . .?"
The man laughed a deep, bellowing laugh as if this were the funniest thing he'd ever heard. "Drakja, I must say you have the WORST taste in friends! How can you possibly stand being around that child?! He has NO idea what you look like!"
". . . He doesn't have to know . . ."
"He is a failure,"
Drakja stared up at his father in disbelief. This man, Uragiru, had once been a captain. A great captain. Drakja had perhaps once respected him. But this . . . This was so . . .
Ignorant . . .
Drakja didn't move as his father gave him a light pat on the shoulder. "I'll be going now. Try not to, er, step on Saishoja, okay?"
/Liar. You're hoping he'll die, aren't you, Father? You're hoping he'll stumble off a ledge and fall to his death, aren't you Father? Father?!/
But Uragiru was already gone, and Drakja, without realizing it, had already knocked twice upon the door.
It creaked open cautiously as if the person on the other side feared bloody murder. However, when said person realized who it was, the door swung open jovially.
"Drakja, hello!"
Drakja bowed his head in respect of the slender, beautiful woman above him. She was stunning indeed and though he had known her nearly his entire life, she had never ceased to draw breath from him. Her silvery hair seemed to glitter as it caught the light and her bright blue eyes, though sad, were full of youthful energy.
"Please, come in!" Isra stepped out of the way and allowed Drakja to enter into the house. "You're looking for Saishoja, I take it?" Drakja nodded. "Yes, he's out back. He'll be happy to see you I'm sure . . . But just between you and me . . ." Isra brought her voice down to a hush as she followed the young boy into the house. "Saishoja's been acting weird lately . . . So don't be mad if he's a little crabby,"
Drakja nodded. "I shall heed your warning . . ."
"Such formality!" Isra scolded. "You don't need to be so stiff around me!"
". . . My father is . . ."
Isra, ironically, stiffened quite considerably at the comment. However, she let it slide with a faint smile.
Drakja, as he had done so many times before, wove his way through the house until he was standing at the back door. He opened it slowly, knowing if Saishoja was nearby he would startle easily. However, a strange sound was coming from the back . . . One he knew all too well . . . yet had never expected to hear there . . .
Swordplay. Someone was practicing with a sword outside . . . He could hear the rhythmical swooping and slicing of the blade as it tore through the air; a sound that had been pounded into his psyche since birth (courtesy of his father, of course). But who would be doing that here? Curiosity getting the better of him, Drakja crept outside and snuck around to the far end of the back, near the giant tree that had always marked Isra's property.
What he saw, however, caused his blood to run stone cold.
There was Saishoja, in all his pathetic glory, swinging that blade violently through the air. A dummy - crudely made - was hanging like a strung corpse from the tree. Drakja's mouth was wide open at the sight. Saishoja cut a very scary figure there. Though two years older than Drakja, he was small . . . Not even five feet yet . . . The sword was huge in comparison to his body . . . and his sightless eyes were, of course, not following its movements . . .
Yet if Drakja had taken the time to truly watch Saishoja before he charged ahead, he would have noticed that Saishoja's movements were graceful; like he was dancing . . . His silver hair swooped through the air as he twirled, bringing the blade swiftly down, then back up as he twirled around. But in his fear, Drakja raced forward in a panic and knocked Saishoja to the ground, wrenching the sword from his hands.
Saishoja, shocked, coughed and struggled as Drakja's weight came down atop him.
"D-Drakja, what the hell do you think you're doing?!" Saishoja made a desperate grab for the weapon, but Drakja threw it off to the side, furious.
"Saishoja, are you INSANE?!!!"
"Drakja, I - "
Drakja was beside himself with fury. "Saishoja, you KNOW you can't handle a sword! Do you want to KILL yourself?!"
Saishoja, snarling, sat up suddenly and shoved Drakja off his thin body. "Drakja, I KNOW what I'm doing!"
"I don't think you do!" Drakja countered, sitting up with equal rage. "Saishoja, I know you don't want to accept it but . . . But you're blind! You can't swing a dangerous weapon through the air if . . . IF YOU CAN'T SEE IT!"
This seemed to strike a painful cord with Saishoja. He flinched, bleached eyes angry, and then he smiled a cold, uneasy smile. He laughed, too. Drakja had never seen him laugh. Never. With a chuckle, Saishoja stood, wobbling, to his feet and retrieved his sword. Drakja opened his mouth again to speak, but Saishoja held up a hand to silence him. If Drakja had been thinking clearly, he would have been stunned by this action . . . Saishoja had just done something impossible . . . He'd held up a hand . . . and Drakja hadn't made a sound . . .
"Drakja . . . I can do this . . ." he lifted the sword and then held it out so that the point was directly in Drakja's face. Drakja flinched (and understandably so, as a blind kid with no experience was holding a sharp weapon right between his eyes).
"S-Saishoja . . . Put that down . . ."
". . . No . . . I can handle it . . ."
"But Saishoja . . ."
The silver-haired boy laughed yet again and suddenly swung around. His blade screamed through the air and made the cleanest, most precise cut Drakja had ever seen straight across the dummy's neck. The body, now completely severed from the head, fell with a wet slump to the grass below. The head remained hanging by a thin cord from the tree, the stuffing still drifting lazily from its severed neck.
Drakja's eyes were bugging out of his head.
"Saishoja . . . How did you . . .?"
"I don't know," the young boy, still clutching the sword, shrugged. "I guess I just wanted . . . I wanted to be like everybody else . . . So I told myself I could do it, and . . ."
"Do what?" Drakja queried, rising unsteadily to his feet. Saishoja didn't respond. Drakja's forehead creased suspiciously.
"Do what, Saishoja?"
There was a moment of hesitation, and then the silver-haired youth's lips twitched into a grin.
". . . See . . ."
"See?" Drakja's brain felt clogged. This was too much to process at one time. "See? What do you mean, see?"
Saishoja's white eyes seemed sad and he came slowly up to his friend's side and placed a hand against his cheek, just as he had always done before. But this time he didn't fumble. His movements were graceful and precise.
"Right now . . ." Saishoja whispered. "You're face is confused . . . strained . . . You look like you don't understand . . . You think I'm a fool . . ."
Drakja couldn't bring himself to ask how Saishoja knew this. He'd always been able to freely show facial expressions in the presence of Isra's son. After all, Saishoja couldn't see them . . .
There were tears in Saishoja's eyes now. "Your hair . . . It's darker in color than mine . . ." he seemed to be tasting the word "darker" as if it were a foreign food. "And you're taller . . . And your eyes are . . . the color of the grass . . . They're . . . pretty . . ."
There were tears streaming down Drakja's face now, too. They wouldn't stop coming and he didn't want them to.
"Saishoja . . . Y-you . . . can see!"
Saishoja let out a dry sob. ". . . I know . . ."
Suddenly, the two friends, having crashed down a barrier that would have once forever divided them in life, threw their arms around each other and cried. It seemed the tears would never stop coming as the two boys clutched each other, sobbing. They remained like that for quite some time; neither able to let go.
"But Saishoja . . . How . . .?" Drakja had to ask between hiccups as he pulled back and wiped his eyes on his sleeve. "How is this possible . . .?"
Saishoja's face became serious and he frowned. "Every day," he whispered softly. "I tried to see . . . Every day . . . My mother said I could do anything I set my mind to . . . So I tried . . . Then that day those kids beat me up in the park . . ." Drakja blanched. He would never forget that day. His father had stood there, laughing, as Saishoja cried. How Isra had looked so angry; her pretty face taut with rage. "Everything just suddenly made sense . . . I-I thought of my father . . . Who abandoned me so young . . . He said I was worthless . . . He was going to kill me but my mother stopped him . . . He wanted to hurt her so bad . . . I was angry . . . And then I saw . . ."
"Saishoja . . . This is a miracle!"
The silver-haired boy shook his head. "Oh please, Drakja . . . You didn't honestly think I would let a handicap keep me from defeating my enemies . . . You know me better than that,"
/Flash/
Drakja stumbled, clutching his head in agony. Then his emerald eyes snapped open, flames burning beneath his lids.
/No . . . Garland, you . . . YOU TRICKED ME!!!/
"All this time . . . It's been nothing . . . but a test!"
He saw Kuja staring at him . . . Staring at him with ruined eyes that still saw . . .
/The Blind-Sight . . ./
"R-retreat!" Drakja cried furiously, backing up as if cornered by some invisible force. "Everyone! Out of here! GO!!!"
The geonomes, frightened out of their wits, nodded and began to teleport away with hasty little pops. Drakja threw Kuja one last look before teleporting himself. But the look was like nothing Kuja or any of the others had ever seen before. It wasn't a look of anger or hatred . . .
It was fear . . .
And then he, too, was gone . . .
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". . . Kuja . . .?"
No one wanted to be the first to speak, so Beatrix took it upon herself to break the silence. They all stood there in the clearing still, staring at the spot where just moments ago over fifty geonomes had stood. Never before had such an uncomfortable unease fallen upon the team. No one dared look Kuja in the eye . . . How could they?
"Kuja?" Beatrix tried again. Kuja didn't move. His whitened eyes were fixed upon the spot where Drakja had been stationed seconds earlier. He just couldn't figure it out . . . For the briefest of moments - nothing more than a pinprick in time - Drakja had shown true fear. But of what? What was it that had scared the villain so bad? He could have killed them all easily (he certainly had the manpower behind him). Yet he had chosen to retreat. Why? Kuja was snapped out of his thoughts when a gentle hand came down upon his shoulder. Beatrix was looking fearfully into Kuja's face with her one good eye.
"Kuja are you . . . alright?" Of course, they all knew what she meant to ask: was he even real? They had all seen him only a half an hour before, lying inches from death in a clearing . . . Yet he had suddenly come from nowhere . . . completely fine except . . .
". . . I'm sorry . . ." Kuja blinked, surprised.
"Sorry for what?"
"About . . . You know . . ."
Kuja touched his face as if in a dream. What did he look like now? Was he a monster? His eyes . . . did they . . . look like Garland's now? Like sheets of empty snow?
". . . Don't be . . ."
Zidane was wringing his fingers nervously. "Kuja, are you sure you're okay? I mean, you were so sick before . . . and your injuries . . ."
As if in response to this, Kuja suddenly swayed, coughing. Beatrix quickly caught him and helped the sorcerer steady himself.
"Kuja, are you sure you're alright?" It was Garnet this time, and she was peering suspiciously at Kuja's shuddering form. However, the warlock let out an angry grunt and shoved himself out of Beatrix's arms.
"I told you . . . I'M FINE!!!"
There was a ringing silence. Beatrix hesitated, then glanced at Zidane. Zidane didn't return the look.
"Shouldn't we be going?" Kuja growled. More silence.
"I-I guess we could . . ." Garnet scratched her head. Kuja nodded, finally satisfied. The others, albeit reluctantly, began to turn around to leave. They continued to shoot Kuja suspicious/worried looks out of the corners of their eyes as they moved away, still silent with shock. He returned them only with bleached death-glares, still coughing rather violently into his hands. They weren't going to ask him how he could see. He could tell them later. At that particular moment he seemed far to furious . . .
"Are you absolutely positive you're alright?" Beatrix queried one last time as she, too, began to leave. Kuja nodded angrily, coughing.
"I'm FINE! Please . . . Just leave me alone . . ."
Beatrix sighed, shrugging. Zidane looked equally as concerned. However, his thoughts were elsewhere.
/That's twice Kuja's saved my life now . . . I'm so helpless . . . All this time, and I've done nothing for him . . ./
And so Zidane made himself a promise; one to which he told no one else about.
/I will save his life before the end . . . I WILL return the favor . . ./
Kuja waited while the team departed, still coughing painfully into his hands. Once he was sure they wouldn't turn around again, the silver-haired genome crouched down and wiped the blood from his hands into the snow . . .
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"You've been playing me false for years, haven't you, Garland?! Yeah, that's right! I'm not a complete idiot, you know! All this time you've been feeding me LIES!!! Telling me you want me to shoot the Angel of Death and never telling me why . . . And giving me orders about what you want me to do with Kuja . . . when all you've been doing is watching - testing him! Is this all a game for you, Garland?! Huh?! Do you find this funny or something?! You're keeping captive a Summoner that can't Summon, a prophet that won't talk, a genome you said has a 'purpose' yet you haven't done a bloody thing with her, and at least a hundred prisoners that sit there doing NOTHING!!! You treat us like dirt! You never tell us our purpose! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING WITH US?!!"
Garland sat there calmly upon the throne of the Indomitable, his face remaining completely expressionless as Drakja vented his years of pent-up rage. If any of this was fazing Garland he wasn't showing it in the least. For several minutes he simply allowed the geonome to scream and rant in his own fury. Then, when Drakja had calmed down (or possibly tired himself out) Garland finally spoke.
"You misunderstand my intentions, Drakja," the overlord said softly, looking strangely tired as Drakja stood there, distinctly ruffled. "This is not a game . . . and I am not testing Kuja . . ."
"You are too . . ." Drakja whined feebly, his maturity level slipping away quite steadily. "You wanted me to blind the Angel of Death just to see if he could obtain the Blind-Sight like Saishoja . . .!"
Garland flinched, then smiled. "Ah, so you know about that, do you?"
"I DO NOW!!" Drakja seemed to have recovered very quickly. "Why didn't you tell me Saishoja was blind?! Or that you altered Kuja not to be?! WHY DON'T YOU TELL MY ANYTHING?!"
Garland smirked slightly. "Well, if you wish to know so much, then it would be wise to close your mouth and allow me to explain myself . . ."
Drakja opened his mouth to respond (most likely nothing nice was going to come out of it), caught himself, and shut it hurriedly with a nod. Though he was silent, his emerald eyes were glowing with suspicion. Garland took a deep breath.
"You see, Drakja, in affect I've been helping you," Drakja's mouth sprang open once more as if out of reflex but Garland held up a steady hand. "You know your mission, of course, with that gun . . . But if you were to use it now, it would be nearly worthless. Why? Because Kuja is - for lack of a better word - a weakling. Sure, he is one of my most powerful creations . . . But years of abuse have drained him; left him useless to me. His soul should have fled his body years ago, but it lingers there, ruining him . . ."
Drakja seemed confused by all this, but Garland pressed on nonetheless.
"Saishoja, on the other hand, was born with natural power. He was unstoppable, even in death. Kuja is of Saishoja's very flesh and blood. In affect, he IS Saishoja . . . If I were to revert him back to that form, Kuja, too, would become unstoppable . . . By blinding him and forcing him to See, I have begun to recreate Saishoja. Then, when he is of Saishoja's strength, we will initiate the plan,"
"But if Kuja's so weak, then how was he able to achieve Blind-Sight in less than an hour when it took Saishoja almost ten years?!" Drakja accused. Garland's eyes flashed.
"Do you not know?" he queried. "I told you, Saishoja was unstoppable even in death. His spirit escaped my grasp and hovers on this planet. By blinding his one heir - that which he swore to protect - and making him realize my plans, I have flushed Saishoja out of his very own grave!"
". . . What . . .?"
"Yes, that's right. Saishoja himself appeared before Kuja and gave him the Blind-Sight. Saishoja's been helping him all along and will continue to do so for eternity. I'm not strong enough to defeat him. For that, I need souls. More souls, Drakja! I crave them, do you understand me?! I will take the souls of the genomes; that's why they sit so miserably in their cells. I need the souls of the Eidolons, which Kuja failed to bring to me almost fifteen years ago! For that, I need a Summoner. Do you understand now? I need souls! Enough souls to destroy Saishoja's will and absorb him into myself; finally capturing him! And then, with the power those souls bring me, I will achieve a new state of being . . . And use that power and the Theory of Planetary Magnetism to assimilate Gaia and Terra as I should have done centuries ago!"
Drakja was shocked dumb, unable to even utter a word. The plan . . . It was delectably flawless . . .! Garland was truly the master of villainy . . .!
". . . Whoa . . ."
"Yes . . . Whoa . . ." Garland sighed. "Do you see now why you must not accuse me so? We are on the same side, Drakja, remember? By restoring my race, I will restore yours as well. I have never, ever lied to you . . . About anything . . ."
Drakja nodded, but there was something eating at him that he couldn't describe. He didn't know why, but as Garland spoke those trusting words, he felt something in the room. Something strange. Like mockery . . . Garland's words still nagged at him. He had seen before, this inseparable friendship Drakja and Saishoja had had. They had seemed so close in flashbacks; such good friends. Even when Saishoja's wife and son had perished, Drakja had been there to console him. So what had driven them apart? Why had they suddenly become enemies fighting on opposite sides to destroy the other. Why had the original Drakja so mercilessly slaughtered Saishoja off the battlefield. Why, why, why? There was something Garland wasn't telling him . . . And that was when Drakja knew: Garland was not to be trusted . . . Drakja, still attempting to grasp some accusation in his defense, finally looked up angrily.
"Then what of the purple-eyed prophet?! What do you intend to do with her?! Feed her to the geonomes?!"
At this, Garland suddenly seemed to be in rapture. His eyes were glowing brilliantly, and a sinister smile spread across his lips.
"I have wonderful news about that, my dear Demon of Death . . ."
"Yeah? Well what the fuck is it?"
"You may release her - and the Summoner!"
Drakja reeled at the sheer impact of this request. "R-RELEASE THEM?!! B- but sir! You did nothing with them!"
Garland grinned. "Oh, they were both useless to me. The Summoner has been deactivated for years and the prophet told me all I needed to know, although she did not realize it . . . You see, my plan is foolproof now. Nothing can go wrong now that Saishoja has been successfully flushed out of hiding. Now I shall tell you what I need you to do,"
Drakja leaned in, listening intently. Finally, after so long, his mission would become clear.
"You and the other geonomes . . . You need to get me souls,"
Drakja breathed in sharply. "Kuja's old task . . ."
"Yes," Garland sneered. "Yes, you must do it for me . . . I am going to return to our base; I'm leaving the ship to you and the geonomes. I'm taking all the genomes including the third-soul genome Mikoto with me. I will give you the Indomitable to do with it what you wish . . . Just bring me souls . . ."
Drakja nodded. "And the Angels of Death? Shall I kill their comrades?"
Garland shrugged. "If you'd like. Really, it doesn't matter anymore. I'd prefer that Zidane lives, but if you kill him it would mean nothing to me. HOWEVER . . . Kuja has a different part in this plan . . ."
". . . Yes . . .?"
"Listen carefully," Garland instructed. "Kuja is becoming Saishoja, but he doesn't realize it yet. You will keep him alive until he does . . . And then . . ."
"You will use the Metsubo . . ."
A hush seemed to fall upon the room at these words. Drakja's eyes widened. The Metsubo . . . Finally, after long last . . . He could use the Metsubo.
". . . Do you understand me, Drakja?"
"Yes, sir," was all the young Terran managed to squeak out.
"Good. Now I want you to take the prophet and the Summoner and release them back to their comrades. Track down Zidane and the others and turn the prisoners over to them directly,"
"But why?"
Garland chuckled. "To make a statement, Drakja, to make a statement,"
"It's all inevitable . . ."
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Standing hidden among the shadows outside the door, a pair of sinister green eyes narrowed and heavily painted lips grinned. Lulian couldn't help but laugh softly to herself.
"So the dear little Summoner will be returning to her knight in shining armor . . .? Villain or not, no one can escape Kuja's beauty . . . She will definitely still have feeling for him . . . There is no doubt . . ."
Lulian glanced down at her leg, where the claw-like scars still shone pink and ugly from Kuja's Flare Star. Then she smiled with malicious joy.
"I shall make them both suffer . . . Myself . . ."
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"Alright, come on! Move it! Hurry up!"
Megan felt the fingers grip her arms tightly but was too dazed to notice. Her head felt like a lead weight as she felt herself thrown unceremoniously over someone's broad shoulders. For a moment there was nothing but the sensation of being severely jostled, and then Megan found herself crumpled on the floor outside a door. She groaned and pushed herself up slightly, only to feel a foot come down on her back.
"Stay there!"
/Like I have a choice . . . bastard . . ./
She heard the sound of a door creaking open and then a heated conversation. In her muddled state, the Summoner was only able to pick out a few choice words.
"You heard . . . the witch . . . Orders . . ."
"But . . . do anything . . ."
"Master said . . . not my problem . . . Orders . . ."
"But . . ."
There was a smack, and then silence. Megan strained her glazed eyes to see what had happened (though movement was limited with at least a hundred pounds on her back). That omega geonome . . . The poor kid that always guarded the other prisoners. That jerk-off geonome on her back had just smacked him!
/How awful!/ Megan thought sympathetically as the younger geonome, clutching his raw face, stumbled back into the darkness of the boiler-room to do whatever he'd been told to and resisted doing. /God, they even treat EACH OTHER like shit! I can't believe I pity that poor little guy . . ./
Finally the omega (what was his name again? Ummei?) shuffled his way back to the door with another person beside him. Megan gasped painfully beneath the boot. The purple-eyed woman from before! Were they going to . . . kill her?
/No! They can't!/
But suddenly the purple-eyed woman, with a slight snarl, was grabbed by the hem of her cloak and tossed over the other arm of the older geonome who promptly removed his foot from Megan's back and slung her over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes. He paused a moment to gain his balance (after all, he did have two women hoisted across his neck) and then muttered a quick "Serves you right, Ummei . . . Defying orders . . ." before turning down the hall to go.
Megan blinked thickly for a moment. "Uh . . . Miss?" she glanced at the purple-eyed mage slung limply on the other side of the geonome's shoulders. The two of them bounced along with the man's footsteps.
". . . Oh, it's you . . . Hi,"
Megan bit her lip. "Any idea where we're going . . .?"
". . . Yes,"
"Wanna tell me . . .?"
"I don't think you want to know . . ."
Megan gulped. /They're going to kill us and feed us to the geonomes, I just know it! Oh god . . . Oh Bahamut . . . Oh Shiva . . . I don't wanna be turned into geonome - /
Megan was shocked into silence when the ground suddenly began to loom at a frighteningly fast speed.
"Eek!"
Megan shielded her face from the leering steel floor, noting faintly that that ass of a geonome and shoved both her and the woman upside-down off his shoulders like pieces of dust. However, the violet-eyed mage, right in the nick of time, cast Float on both herself and Megan. The two hit the ground softly and then spun around to figure out where they were.
". . . Outside . . .?"
Indeed, the icy, biting, chewing air of the Forgotten Continent had never felt so sweet. Only a few inches lay between them and the threshold of the door to freedom. For a moment, Megan debated making a run for it. But then she didn't have to . . .
"Ah, so here they are . . ." a smooth voice articulated from above. Megan looked up fearfully as she meet those ever familiar sinister green eyes.
/Damn it . . . Why is it Drakja always has to show up . . .?!/
"Are you ready to take them, sir?"
"Yes, yes . . . But god damn do I hate the weather out here . . ." Drakja made a face as a cold gust of wind billowed in through the open door of the ship and tossed his long, mahogany hair into his face. "Have Zidane and the others been tracked down?"
The purple-eyed woman perked up immediately at the sound of Zidane's name but Drakja ignored her.
"Yes, sir," the other geonome responded blandly. "It seems they were searching for the Indomitable all along . . . They're only a few miles short of here,"
"Good, good . . ." Drakja bent down and, much to their dismay, hoisted Megan and the prophet over his shoulders once more.
"Damn it!" Megan cursed as she realized their combined weight did nothing to faze the slim yet powerful man. His arms felt like a vice. Chance of escape . . . zero.
"Well, I'll be going then," Drakja drawled, sighing. "I'm leaving the ship in Lulian's hands. You will follow orders from her now while Garland is gone,"
The geonome nodded tiredly and Drakja, with a pop, vanished into thin air and was gone.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The trek was tiring, boring, and excruciatingly thankless. No one was in the mood to speak, and no one could even find it in themselves to try and make conversation. Kuja in particular seemed irked. His eyes, though seemingly sightless, were glaring angrily into the air around them. Zidane, deciding it was the least he could do, attempted to talk with the elder man.
"So, uh . . . What's up?" Zidane had to run to catch up with Kuja, who was walking several yards ahead of everyone else as if their presence made his skin crawl.
"The sky . . ." Kuja snarled.
"Your sarcasm level," Zidane bit back, though he was smiling. "Man, I wish you'd just tell us what's wrong! I mean, you're acting like it's the end of the world . . .!"
"It will be if we don't hurry!" Kuja hissed, beginning to quicken his pace in hopes of losing Zidane once more. The others didn't bother to catch up . . . What was the point?
Zidane smirked. This was too good to pass up . . . "Well, Kuja . . . I know it's the end of the world if every strand of your hair isn't in its exact, designated spot . . ." Zidane's voice was dripping with obnoxious honey. "But really, if this has ANYTHING to do with you thinking you look ugly now 'cause of your eyes . . ."
Kuja stopped dead. For a moment, he seemed to be shaking with inexplicable rage. Then he balled his fingers into fists and began to walk even faster than before.
"That has nothing to do with it . . ."
Zidane grinned. "Aw, Kuja . . . You can tell ME!" Zidane raced ahead and turned around so he was walking backwards. His voice had taken on a more serious tone. "But really, Kuja . . . Can you . . . you know . . . See?"
"Of course I can see!" Kuja growled. "What a stupid question!"
Zidane frowned. "How many fingers am I holding up?"
"Five,"
Zidane gasped. "No! Four!"
Kuja screeched to a stop once more, and a flash of fear crossed his face. "What?"
The blonde genome's lips twitched into a grin. "Hehe . . . the thumb's not a finger,"
"Argh!" Kuja shoved Zidane out of the way and continued walking. The younger genome just laughed.
"Ha! You should've seen the look on your face!"
Kuja's whitened eyes narrowed. "This is no laughing matter!" But he didn't tell Zidane what was really eating at him. It had nothing to do with vanity . . . It was something else; something bad . . . He felt like his control over his life was slipping away. Like he should just give in and let destiny take its course . . . Let himself die . . . Kuja shook that thought angrily from his head. No dying. Not yet.
"Hi!"
Kuja stopped dead, nearly falling backwards with surprise as something popped out of thin air right in front of his face.
"Drakja?!" Zidane gasped, as the person - who was now positioned in between Zidane and Kuja - grinned, hiding something beneath his cloak.
"What in the name of all things holy - ?!"
Drakja rolled his emerald eyes. "Oh, give me a break . . . I'm not here to kill anyone," He pulled back the sides of his long, thick coat to reveal two huddling women, both of which were shivering with cold and fear.
Zidane circled around Drakja, his deep blue eyes growing wider by the second.
". . . Megan . . .?" Megan looked up at him with fright, clutching onto Drakja's pants out of reflex. The purple-eyed woman seemed to be refusing his eye. Kuja looked dumbstruck, only making Drakja laugh.
"What? Didn't think I could perform an act of kindness in my life now, did you?" Drakja smirked. "Don't get your hopes up, mate. They're only being released because Garland's sure about his plan. It's 'foolproof,' he said,"
Kuja growled lightly. "Too bad you're such a fool, then!"
Drakja seemed to giggle as he shoved the two ex-prisoners out from under his cloak and into the snow. They collapsed there; Megan looking positively petrified, the other woman simply pushing herself up with a sigh.
"Worthless, these two were . . . A Summoner that can't Summon . . . And a prophet that doesn't talk . . . I don't know WHAT you two see in them!"
At this point, the rest of the crew had spotted Drakja in the distance and were sloshing through the snow to help their comrades. Drakja looked up with a mild - if not amused - smile on his face.
"Ah well . . . I didn't come here to cause trouble . . . I'm saving that for later," His eyes flashed for a moment and he waved. "Ta ta!"
And then he was gone . . .
The rest of the team, panting and coughing as they skidded up behind Zidane and Kuja, looked shocked at Drakja's sudden disappearance.
"My gracious . . ." Garnet murmured. "He just turned over the prisoners . . . Without even a fight . . . He SOUGHT us out . . ."
Megan whimpered, shivering. Zidane frowned.
"Come on, we'd better get them onto the ship . . ."
"Unbelievable . . ." Eiko whispered. "Do you realize what we put up with to rescue these two . . . and the geonomes just handed them to us like a box of candy!"
"A-at least we can g-go home . . ." Vivi whimpered, clutching his coat tighter around himself.
They stood there in a stunned silence, still too confused to comprehend what had happened.
". . . Kuja . . .?" Zidane tapped his brother on the shoulder. "We were kinda gonna rely on your sight to find the ship for us . . . Do you still know where it is?"
Megan blinked thickly at this statement and looked up. When her eyes met Kuja's, she clapped a horrified hand over her mouth and let out a dry sob. The purple-eyed woman, likewise, looked up as well. Then she looked away as if in pain and muttered something very strange to herself:
"So we both failed . . . Twice now on my record . . ."
Megan was shaking her head as she stared into Kuja's eyes. Kuja just glared down at her in a quiet fury. Then he turned away, his silver hair whipping around his shoulders, and began to storm off in the direction of the ship.
As he was the only guide, the other were forced to follow him . . .
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A/N: Urgh . . . I wrote that last part after a no-sleep sleepover. Sleepy . . . Geez, I don't even remember what happened. *scrolls up, blinks, scrolls down* Oh yeah! The whole Saishoja thingy! Heh . . . I've had that scene in my head for more than a year. Like, seriously, if anyone looks back over certain chapters, you'll see that I've been hinting about all that stuff for, like, EVER! Ooh, and Lulian's up to somethin' nasty . . . Heh, wait till ya'll see . . . It's so Lulian-ish, it's funny. And yes, BMD FINALLY hinted at something about the "purple-eyed woman" (though it wasn't her name, lol). Yes, she IS woven into this storyline (*claps hand to forehead* Imagine that!). So, yes. Sketch questions. Okay, here's the deal. I'd originally intended to get a website where I could post doujinshi-like pages for this fic. HOWEVER, I wound up getting an original comic domain for a web-comic I'm starting. But I felt guilty for days . . . So here's what I'm going to TRY to do . . . I'm going to work on my web-comic (which will be my project after this fic) and try to get another website where I can post Final Fantasy fanart and stuff (yay!). Sound like a deal? The domain for my web-comic (which is going to be empty for a few more weeks, but check on it frequently anyways) is silverfeathers.keenspace.com. Yes, I named it after Kuja even though it's an ORIGINAL comic ^_^ You'll like it. It's got a feminine, Kuja-like villain, lots of cute bishounens and hot bishoujos to go 'round, another one of BMD's twisted, complicated plots, and it'll be in color! And hey, does anyone here read the web-comic Arcana (the shounen-ai vampire story?) If you do and you know about the chapter-six + summary crap thing she's pulling off, I say we mob her and picket outside her house *rants for several minutes* Okay, I'm in a not-shutting-up mood. Here's an update on the progress of this story (it's closer to the end than you think!). This story contains exactly 172 scenes, including the epilogue. This chapter ended with scene 137. So we're actually not too far off from a well- deserved ending. Couple more months, I'd say. Okay, I'll shut up now *meep*
Read and review, review and read. I DON'T CARE!!! JUST REVIEW!!! (lol).
Disclaimer: f||\|4|_ f4|\|+45y |5|\|'+ /\/\||\|3!!! (Ha! Try to read THAT, lawyers!)
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"There's a time to live, and there's a time to die. But no one can escape their destiny."
- Destiny, Stratovarius
"IT WAS YOUR FAULT I HAD TO ABANDON HIM!!!"
Zidane's echoing voice spiralled out into the dismal silence of the Forgotten Continent. The forest immediately seemed to come alive. Birds, screeching in anger at the rude interruption, flurried like black clouds into the air. Snow seemed to tumble, unbidden, from the trees. From nowhere, plant-life in all its frozen glory began to stir. The very air seemed to tremble at Zidane's explosive words.
Drakja blinked, surprised at the boy's sudden outburst, and frowned as he felt the uneasiness of the forest's soul around them. His hair lifted off his shoulders in a breeze that seemed to make him all the more uncomfortable. The other geonomes bristled, the fur of their tails lifting nervously. No one dared to breathe. Then the presence seemed to lift, leaving them all breathless, and Drakja smirked.
"Brave, my dear Angel, very brave," slowly he raised his arm, the nozzle of the red gun pressed firmly against Zidane's forehead. Zidane, who sat shivering in the snow as he recovered from his fury, could only glare furiously at the merciless assailant.
"Unfortunately . . ." Drakja purred. "It was incredibly foolish as well . . ."
Zidane winced and closed his eyes, awaiting the shot and the blackness of death to finally close in around him. He'd escaped death before already . . . But this time there was no Qu to sacrifice his life for the genome . . . and no brother to shield his body from the pain. And though Zidane wished they weren't, his final thoughts were plain as day:
/I wish I wasn't so helpless . . ./
"DRAKJA!!!"
"Eh?" Drakja lifted his head at the sound of the voice, his finger twitching dangerously on the trigger. Then his emerald eyes bulged in horror.
"Don't - TOUCH HIM!!!" Kuja seemed to come from nowhere, one fist raised as he charged like a bullet through the air. Drakja swerved out of the way just in time and Zidane let out a fierce cry as he suddenly high-kicked the gun from Drakja's hand. It flew through the air and landed, clattering, a few feet away. Kuja skidded and twirled around, aiming another punch at Drakja's face. The other geonomes pulled back, having not been given orders to attack (Drakja was ready to scream "cowards!" any second). The other group members were too stunned by Kuja's sudden appearance to react.
"You sick bastard!" Kuja screamed, stumbling as Drakja leapt out of the way. The silver-haired genome, looking the epitome of fury, whipped around and froze Drakja's very soul with a piercing glare that would have speared the dead.
A piercing glare that was as white as snow . . .
The air in the clearing seemed to vanish as if a giant vacuum of silence was sucking the breath out of every person there.
Zidane couldn't even speak. It felt as if there was a lump forming in his throat that was slowly but surely cutting off his voice. /Kuja . . ./
The feather-haired sorcerer was snarling angrily, whitened eyes ablaze. "You are DISGUSTING!!!" he screamed, pointing an accusing finger at Drakja. "What, do you just wait until I'm out of the way before destroying my comrades?! You got what you wanted, NOW GET OUT OF HERE!!!"
Drakja was staring at Kuja's eyes as if in a trance. He seemed beyond thought or reason as he stood there, his emerald pupils dilated by some muddled muse.
"Are you listening?!" Kuja snapped. "LEAVE!!! Haven't you caused us enough grief already?! Go on! Return to your omnipotent master! Crawl into the safety of his traitorous arms and may you suffocate there!"
/It's all inevitable . . ./
Zidane, who was still kneeling in the snow, jerked at the sound of the voice. He sensed a presence in the trees, yet it would not reveal itself. Faintly, on the breeze, he heard its words:
/Kuja must become me . . . It is destiny . . . But to become me . . . He must bear my wounds . . . It is inevitable . . . And he will understand it before the end . . ./
For some reason, as the spirit seemed to lift, Zidane took this as a warning. Nervously, he turned his face back towards Drakja and Kuja. And just in time, too.
Drakja's fingers were moving ever so slowly towards his belt. It was such a slow, fluid motion that had obviously been perfected for years that not one person seemed to notice the action. His hand twitched as it brushed the warm, familiar hilt of his sword. Zidane had to stifle a gasp as Drakja's fingers gripped the weapon and slowly twisted it from its sheathe. It was the lowest, dirtiest, and cheapest trick Zidane had ever seen.
If Kuja was blind - as unfortunately seemed to be the case - then he wouldn't even know Drakja had unsheathed a weapon until it was wedged into his guts. Now the others seemed to notice, and a stiffness like metal filled the clearing. If they called out, Drakja would simply swing. If they made a dive, another life would be lost.
Kuja couldn't see the sword . . . It was all inevitable . . . The sword was drawn so slowly and so carefully that it didn't even make a sound. Then Drakja held it out, clenched between his fingers so hard his knuckles turned white. A smirk spread irresistibly across his lips and he glanced around at his enemies with those shocking green eyes as if daring them to call out to their doomed comrade.
Zidane's voice was stuck heavy in his throat. / . . . KUJA . . .!!!/
/No . . . It can't all be inevitable . . . It can't!!! Kuja!!!/
Kuja didn't move. He was completely unaware of the sword as it was raised ever so lethargically over Drakja's head. The geonome was trembling with excitement. One cut and it would all be over . . . One cut, and Drakja would win . . . Screw Garland, only vengeance mattered.
/Vengeance for what?/
/I don't know . . ./
No one moved. All was still. Drakja grinned and like a lead weight, the sword began its descent . . .
"DROP YOUR WEAPON!!!"
Kuja face was twisted in anger and he spoke in a voice so explosive that Drakja stumbled backwards as if struck in the face by a mallet. The emerald-eyed geonome stood there, dumbfounded, as Kuja seethed in a rage.
"You scum!" Kuja cried. "Didn't Garland ever teach you any manners?! It's not nice to attack disabled people, you know!"
Drakja was at a loss for words, still clutching his sword as if it were glued to his hands. "B-but . . . But how . . .?"
Kuja smirked. "Oh please, Drakja . . . You didn't honestly think I would let a handicap keep me from defeating my enemies . . . You know me better than that,"
Drakja pulled back as if horrified by something. He seemed to be lost in another time, another place. He squeezed his eyes shut as if blinded by some pain.
/Flash/
"This is where I leave you. I do not approve, but . . ."
The little boy was barely listening as his emerald green eyes became fixed upon the door. His father was muttering something about poor taste in friends but the child didn't hear it. He'd already heard it before . . . Every day of his short life . . .
"Okay, Drakja? I'm going. I'll pick you up later,"
The boy hesitated. "You're not going to go in at all . . .?"
The man above him, so like the boy in appearance, snorted. "Isra can live without hearing my blessings . . . She'll get none from me, I assure you,"
Drakja frowned. "And Saishoja . . .?"
The man laughed a deep, bellowing laugh as if this were the funniest thing he'd ever heard. "Drakja, I must say you have the WORST taste in friends! How can you possibly stand being around that child?! He has NO idea what you look like!"
". . . He doesn't have to know . . ."
"He is a failure,"
Drakja stared up at his father in disbelief. This man, Uragiru, had once been a captain. A great captain. Drakja had perhaps once respected him. But this . . . This was so . . .
Ignorant . . .
Drakja didn't move as his father gave him a light pat on the shoulder. "I'll be going now. Try not to, er, step on Saishoja, okay?"
/Liar. You're hoping he'll die, aren't you, Father? You're hoping he'll stumble off a ledge and fall to his death, aren't you Father? Father?!/
But Uragiru was already gone, and Drakja, without realizing it, had already knocked twice upon the door.
It creaked open cautiously as if the person on the other side feared bloody murder. However, when said person realized who it was, the door swung open jovially.
"Drakja, hello!"
Drakja bowed his head in respect of the slender, beautiful woman above him. She was stunning indeed and though he had known her nearly his entire life, she had never ceased to draw breath from him. Her silvery hair seemed to glitter as it caught the light and her bright blue eyes, though sad, were full of youthful energy.
"Please, come in!" Isra stepped out of the way and allowed Drakja to enter into the house. "You're looking for Saishoja, I take it?" Drakja nodded. "Yes, he's out back. He'll be happy to see you I'm sure . . . But just between you and me . . ." Isra brought her voice down to a hush as she followed the young boy into the house. "Saishoja's been acting weird lately . . . So don't be mad if he's a little crabby,"
Drakja nodded. "I shall heed your warning . . ."
"Such formality!" Isra scolded. "You don't need to be so stiff around me!"
". . . My father is . . ."
Isra, ironically, stiffened quite considerably at the comment. However, she let it slide with a faint smile.
Drakja, as he had done so many times before, wove his way through the house until he was standing at the back door. He opened it slowly, knowing if Saishoja was nearby he would startle easily. However, a strange sound was coming from the back . . . One he knew all too well . . . yet had never expected to hear there . . .
Swordplay. Someone was practicing with a sword outside . . . He could hear the rhythmical swooping and slicing of the blade as it tore through the air; a sound that had been pounded into his psyche since birth (courtesy of his father, of course). But who would be doing that here? Curiosity getting the better of him, Drakja crept outside and snuck around to the far end of the back, near the giant tree that had always marked Isra's property.
What he saw, however, caused his blood to run stone cold.
There was Saishoja, in all his pathetic glory, swinging that blade violently through the air. A dummy - crudely made - was hanging like a strung corpse from the tree. Drakja's mouth was wide open at the sight. Saishoja cut a very scary figure there. Though two years older than Drakja, he was small . . . Not even five feet yet . . . The sword was huge in comparison to his body . . . and his sightless eyes were, of course, not following its movements . . .
Yet if Drakja had taken the time to truly watch Saishoja before he charged ahead, he would have noticed that Saishoja's movements were graceful; like he was dancing . . . His silver hair swooped through the air as he twirled, bringing the blade swiftly down, then back up as he twirled around. But in his fear, Drakja raced forward in a panic and knocked Saishoja to the ground, wrenching the sword from his hands.
Saishoja, shocked, coughed and struggled as Drakja's weight came down atop him.
"D-Drakja, what the hell do you think you're doing?!" Saishoja made a desperate grab for the weapon, but Drakja threw it off to the side, furious.
"Saishoja, are you INSANE?!!!"
"Drakja, I - "
Drakja was beside himself with fury. "Saishoja, you KNOW you can't handle a sword! Do you want to KILL yourself?!"
Saishoja, snarling, sat up suddenly and shoved Drakja off his thin body. "Drakja, I KNOW what I'm doing!"
"I don't think you do!" Drakja countered, sitting up with equal rage. "Saishoja, I know you don't want to accept it but . . . But you're blind! You can't swing a dangerous weapon through the air if . . . IF YOU CAN'T SEE IT!"
This seemed to strike a painful cord with Saishoja. He flinched, bleached eyes angry, and then he smiled a cold, uneasy smile. He laughed, too. Drakja had never seen him laugh. Never. With a chuckle, Saishoja stood, wobbling, to his feet and retrieved his sword. Drakja opened his mouth again to speak, but Saishoja held up a hand to silence him. If Drakja had been thinking clearly, he would have been stunned by this action . . . Saishoja had just done something impossible . . . He'd held up a hand . . . and Drakja hadn't made a sound . . .
"Drakja . . . I can do this . . ." he lifted the sword and then held it out so that the point was directly in Drakja's face. Drakja flinched (and understandably so, as a blind kid with no experience was holding a sharp weapon right between his eyes).
"S-Saishoja . . . Put that down . . ."
". . . No . . . I can handle it . . ."
"But Saishoja . . ."
The silver-haired boy laughed yet again and suddenly swung around. His blade screamed through the air and made the cleanest, most precise cut Drakja had ever seen straight across the dummy's neck. The body, now completely severed from the head, fell with a wet slump to the grass below. The head remained hanging by a thin cord from the tree, the stuffing still drifting lazily from its severed neck.
Drakja's eyes were bugging out of his head.
"Saishoja . . . How did you . . .?"
"I don't know," the young boy, still clutching the sword, shrugged. "I guess I just wanted . . . I wanted to be like everybody else . . . So I told myself I could do it, and . . ."
"Do what?" Drakja queried, rising unsteadily to his feet. Saishoja didn't respond. Drakja's forehead creased suspiciously.
"Do what, Saishoja?"
There was a moment of hesitation, and then the silver-haired youth's lips twitched into a grin.
". . . See . . ."
"See?" Drakja's brain felt clogged. This was too much to process at one time. "See? What do you mean, see?"
Saishoja's white eyes seemed sad and he came slowly up to his friend's side and placed a hand against his cheek, just as he had always done before. But this time he didn't fumble. His movements were graceful and precise.
"Right now . . ." Saishoja whispered. "You're face is confused . . . strained . . . You look like you don't understand . . . You think I'm a fool . . ."
Drakja couldn't bring himself to ask how Saishoja knew this. He'd always been able to freely show facial expressions in the presence of Isra's son. After all, Saishoja couldn't see them . . .
There were tears in Saishoja's eyes now. "Your hair . . . It's darker in color than mine . . ." he seemed to be tasting the word "darker" as if it were a foreign food. "And you're taller . . . And your eyes are . . . the color of the grass . . . They're . . . pretty . . ."
There were tears streaming down Drakja's face now, too. They wouldn't stop coming and he didn't want them to.
"Saishoja . . . Y-you . . . can see!"
Saishoja let out a dry sob. ". . . I know . . ."
Suddenly, the two friends, having crashed down a barrier that would have once forever divided them in life, threw their arms around each other and cried. It seemed the tears would never stop coming as the two boys clutched each other, sobbing. They remained like that for quite some time; neither able to let go.
"But Saishoja . . . How . . .?" Drakja had to ask between hiccups as he pulled back and wiped his eyes on his sleeve. "How is this possible . . .?"
Saishoja's face became serious and he frowned. "Every day," he whispered softly. "I tried to see . . . Every day . . . My mother said I could do anything I set my mind to . . . So I tried . . . Then that day those kids beat me up in the park . . ." Drakja blanched. He would never forget that day. His father had stood there, laughing, as Saishoja cried. How Isra had looked so angry; her pretty face taut with rage. "Everything just suddenly made sense . . . I-I thought of my father . . . Who abandoned me so young . . . He said I was worthless . . . He was going to kill me but my mother stopped him . . . He wanted to hurt her so bad . . . I was angry . . . And then I saw . . ."
"Saishoja . . . This is a miracle!"
The silver-haired boy shook his head. "Oh please, Drakja . . . You didn't honestly think I would let a handicap keep me from defeating my enemies . . . You know me better than that,"
/Flash/
Drakja stumbled, clutching his head in agony. Then his emerald eyes snapped open, flames burning beneath his lids.
/No . . . Garland, you . . . YOU TRICKED ME!!!/
"All this time . . . It's been nothing . . . but a test!"
He saw Kuja staring at him . . . Staring at him with ruined eyes that still saw . . .
/The Blind-Sight . . ./
"R-retreat!" Drakja cried furiously, backing up as if cornered by some invisible force. "Everyone! Out of here! GO!!!"
The geonomes, frightened out of their wits, nodded and began to teleport away with hasty little pops. Drakja threw Kuja one last look before teleporting himself. But the look was like nothing Kuja or any of the others had ever seen before. It wasn't a look of anger or hatred . . .
It was fear . . .
And then he, too, was gone . . .
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
". . . Kuja . . .?"
No one wanted to be the first to speak, so Beatrix took it upon herself to break the silence. They all stood there in the clearing still, staring at the spot where just moments ago over fifty geonomes had stood. Never before had such an uncomfortable unease fallen upon the team. No one dared look Kuja in the eye . . . How could they?
"Kuja?" Beatrix tried again. Kuja didn't move. His whitened eyes were fixed upon the spot where Drakja had been stationed seconds earlier. He just couldn't figure it out . . . For the briefest of moments - nothing more than a pinprick in time - Drakja had shown true fear. But of what? What was it that had scared the villain so bad? He could have killed them all easily (he certainly had the manpower behind him). Yet he had chosen to retreat. Why? Kuja was snapped out of his thoughts when a gentle hand came down upon his shoulder. Beatrix was looking fearfully into Kuja's face with her one good eye.
"Kuja are you . . . alright?" Of course, they all knew what she meant to ask: was he even real? They had all seen him only a half an hour before, lying inches from death in a clearing . . . Yet he had suddenly come from nowhere . . . completely fine except . . .
". . . I'm sorry . . ." Kuja blinked, surprised.
"Sorry for what?"
"About . . . You know . . ."
Kuja touched his face as if in a dream. What did he look like now? Was he a monster? His eyes . . . did they . . . look like Garland's now? Like sheets of empty snow?
". . . Don't be . . ."
Zidane was wringing his fingers nervously. "Kuja, are you sure you're okay? I mean, you were so sick before . . . and your injuries . . ."
As if in response to this, Kuja suddenly swayed, coughing. Beatrix quickly caught him and helped the sorcerer steady himself.
"Kuja, are you sure you're alright?" It was Garnet this time, and she was peering suspiciously at Kuja's shuddering form. However, the warlock let out an angry grunt and shoved himself out of Beatrix's arms.
"I told you . . . I'M FINE!!!"
There was a ringing silence. Beatrix hesitated, then glanced at Zidane. Zidane didn't return the look.
"Shouldn't we be going?" Kuja growled. More silence.
"I-I guess we could . . ." Garnet scratched her head. Kuja nodded, finally satisfied. The others, albeit reluctantly, began to turn around to leave. They continued to shoot Kuja suspicious/worried looks out of the corners of their eyes as they moved away, still silent with shock. He returned them only with bleached death-glares, still coughing rather violently into his hands. They weren't going to ask him how he could see. He could tell them later. At that particular moment he seemed far to furious . . .
"Are you absolutely positive you're alright?" Beatrix queried one last time as she, too, began to leave. Kuja nodded angrily, coughing.
"I'm FINE! Please . . . Just leave me alone . . ."
Beatrix sighed, shrugging. Zidane looked equally as concerned. However, his thoughts were elsewhere.
/That's twice Kuja's saved my life now . . . I'm so helpless . . . All this time, and I've done nothing for him . . ./
And so Zidane made himself a promise; one to which he told no one else about.
/I will save his life before the end . . . I WILL return the favor . . ./
Kuja waited while the team departed, still coughing painfully into his hands. Once he was sure they wouldn't turn around again, the silver-haired genome crouched down and wiped the blood from his hands into the snow . . .
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"You've been playing me false for years, haven't you, Garland?! Yeah, that's right! I'm not a complete idiot, you know! All this time you've been feeding me LIES!!! Telling me you want me to shoot the Angel of Death and never telling me why . . . And giving me orders about what you want me to do with Kuja . . . when all you've been doing is watching - testing him! Is this all a game for you, Garland?! Huh?! Do you find this funny or something?! You're keeping captive a Summoner that can't Summon, a prophet that won't talk, a genome you said has a 'purpose' yet you haven't done a bloody thing with her, and at least a hundred prisoners that sit there doing NOTHING!!! You treat us like dirt! You never tell us our purpose! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING WITH US?!!"
Garland sat there calmly upon the throne of the Indomitable, his face remaining completely expressionless as Drakja vented his years of pent-up rage. If any of this was fazing Garland he wasn't showing it in the least. For several minutes he simply allowed the geonome to scream and rant in his own fury. Then, when Drakja had calmed down (or possibly tired himself out) Garland finally spoke.
"You misunderstand my intentions, Drakja," the overlord said softly, looking strangely tired as Drakja stood there, distinctly ruffled. "This is not a game . . . and I am not testing Kuja . . ."
"You are too . . ." Drakja whined feebly, his maturity level slipping away quite steadily. "You wanted me to blind the Angel of Death just to see if he could obtain the Blind-Sight like Saishoja . . .!"
Garland flinched, then smiled. "Ah, so you know about that, do you?"
"I DO NOW!!" Drakja seemed to have recovered very quickly. "Why didn't you tell me Saishoja was blind?! Or that you altered Kuja not to be?! WHY DON'T YOU TELL MY ANYTHING?!"
Garland smirked slightly. "Well, if you wish to know so much, then it would be wise to close your mouth and allow me to explain myself . . ."
Drakja opened his mouth to respond (most likely nothing nice was going to come out of it), caught himself, and shut it hurriedly with a nod. Though he was silent, his emerald eyes were glowing with suspicion. Garland took a deep breath.
"You see, Drakja, in affect I've been helping you," Drakja's mouth sprang open once more as if out of reflex but Garland held up a steady hand. "You know your mission, of course, with that gun . . . But if you were to use it now, it would be nearly worthless. Why? Because Kuja is - for lack of a better word - a weakling. Sure, he is one of my most powerful creations . . . But years of abuse have drained him; left him useless to me. His soul should have fled his body years ago, but it lingers there, ruining him . . ."
Drakja seemed confused by all this, but Garland pressed on nonetheless.
"Saishoja, on the other hand, was born with natural power. He was unstoppable, even in death. Kuja is of Saishoja's very flesh and blood. In affect, he IS Saishoja . . . If I were to revert him back to that form, Kuja, too, would become unstoppable . . . By blinding him and forcing him to See, I have begun to recreate Saishoja. Then, when he is of Saishoja's strength, we will initiate the plan,"
"But if Kuja's so weak, then how was he able to achieve Blind-Sight in less than an hour when it took Saishoja almost ten years?!" Drakja accused. Garland's eyes flashed.
"Do you not know?" he queried. "I told you, Saishoja was unstoppable even in death. His spirit escaped my grasp and hovers on this planet. By blinding his one heir - that which he swore to protect - and making him realize my plans, I have flushed Saishoja out of his very own grave!"
". . . What . . .?"
"Yes, that's right. Saishoja himself appeared before Kuja and gave him the Blind-Sight. Saishoja's been helping him all along and will continue to do so for eternity. I'm not strong enough to defeat him. For that, I need souls. More souls, Drakja! I crave them, do you understand me?! I will take the souls of the genomes; that's why they sit so miserably in their cells. I need the souls of the Eidolons, which Kuja failed to bring to me almost fifteen years ago! For that, I need a Summoner. Do you understand now? I need souls! Enough souls to destroy Saishoja's will and absorb him into myself; finally capturing him! And then, with the power those souls bring me, I will achieve a new state of being . . . And use that power and the Theory of Planetary Magnetism to assimilate Gaia and Terra as I should have done centuries ago!"
Drakja was shocked dumb, unable to even utter a word. The plan . . . It was delectably flawless . . .! Garland was truly the master of villainy . . .!
". . . Whoa . . ."
"Yes . . . Whoa . . ." Garland sighed. "Do you see now why you must not accuse me so? We are on the same side, Drakja, remember? By restoring my race, I will restore yours as well. I have never, ever lied to you . . . About anything . . ."
Drakja nodded, but there was something eating at him that he couldn't describe. He didn't know why, but as Garland spoke those trusting words, he felt something in the room. Something strange. Like mockery . . . Garland's words still nagged at him. He had seen before, this inseparable friendship Drakja and Saishoja had had. They had seemed so close in flashbacks; such good friends. Even when Saishoja's wife and son had perished, Drakja had been there to console him. So what had driven them apart? Why had they suddenly become enemies fighting on opposite sides to destroy the other. Why had the original Drakja so mercilessly slaughtered Saishoja off the battlefield. Why, why, why? There was something Garland wasn't telling him . . . And that was when Drakja knew: Garland was not to be trusted . . . Drakja, still attempting to grasp some accusation in his defense, finally looked up angrily.
"Then what of the purple-eyed prophet?! What do you intend to do with her?! Feed her to the geonomes?!"
At this, Garland suddenly seemed to be in rapture. His eyes were glowing brilliantly, and a sinister smile spread across his lips.
"I have wonderful news about that, my dear Demon of Death . . ."
"Yeah? Well what the fuck is it?"
"You may release her - and the Summoner!"
Drakja reeled at the sheer impact of this request. "R-RELEASE THEM?!! B- but sir! You did nothing with them!"
Garland grinned. "Oh, they were both useless to me. The Summoner has been deactivated for years and the prophet told me all I needed to know, although she did not realize it . . . You see, my plan is foolproof now. Nothing can go wrong now that Saishoja has been successfully flushed out of hiding. Now I shall tell you what I need you to do,"
Drakja leaned in, listening intently. Finally, after so long, his mission would become clear.
"You and the other geonomes . . . You need to get me souls,"
Drakja breathed in sharply. "Kuja's old task . . ."
"Yes," Garland sneered. "Yes, you must do it for me . . . I am going to return to our base; I'm leaving the ship to you and the geonomes. I'm taking all the genomes including the third-soul genome Mikoto with me. I will give you the Indomitable to do with it what you wish . . . Just bring me souls . . ."
Drakja nodded. "And the Angels of Death? Shall I kill their comrades?"
Garland shrugged. "If you'd like. Really, it doesn't matter anymore. I'd prefer that Zidane lives, but if you kill him it would mean nothing to me. HOWEVER . . . Kuja has a different part in this plan . . ."
". . . Yes . . .?"
"Listen carefully," Garland instructed. "Kuja is becoming Saishoja, but he doesn't realize it yet. You will keep him alive until he does . . . And then . . ."
"You will use the Metsubo . . ."
A hush seemed to fall upon the room at these words. Drakja's eyes widened. The Metsubo . . . Finally, after long last . . . He could use the Metsubo.
". . . Do you understand me, Drakja?"
"Yes, sir," was all the young Terran managed to squeak out.
"Good. Now I want you to take the prophet and the Summoner and release them back to their comrades. Track down Zidane and the others and turn the prisoners over to them directly,"
"But why?"
Garland chuckled. "To make a statement, Drakja, to make a statement,"
"It's all inevitable . . ."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Standing hidden among the shadows outside the door, a pair of sinister green eyes narrowed and heavily painted lips grinned. Lulian couldn't help but laugh softly to herself.
"So the dear little Summoner will be returning to her knight in shining armor . . .? Villain or not, no one can escape Kuja's beauty . . . She will definitely still have feeling for him . . . There is no doubt . . ."
Lulian glanced down at her leg, where the claw-like scars still shone pink and ugly from Kuja's Flare Star. Then she smiled with malicious joy.
"I shall make them both suffer . . . Myself . . ."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"Alright, come on! Move it! Hurry up!"
Megan felt the fingers grip her arms tightly but was too dazed to notice. Her head felt like a lead weight as she felt herself thrown unceremoniously over someone's broad shoulders. For a moment there was nothing but the sensation of being severely jostled, and then Megan found herself crumpled on the floor outside a door. She groaned and pushed herself up slightly, only to feel a foot come down on her back.
"Stay there!"
/Like I have a choice . . . bastard . . ./
She heard the sound of a door creaking open and then a heated conversation. In her muddled state, the Summoner was only able to pick out a few choice words.
"You heard . . . the witch . . . Orders . . ."
"But . . . do anything . . ."
"Master said . . . not my problem . . . Orders . . ."
"But . . ."
There was a smack, and then silence. Megan strained her glazed eyes to see what had happened (though movement was limited with at least a hundred pounds on her back). That omega geonome . . . The poor kid that always guarded the other prisoners. That jerk-off geonome on her back had just smacked him!
/How awful!/ Megan thought sympathetically as the younger geonome, clutching his raw face, stumbled back into the darkness of the boiler-room to do whatever he'd been told to and resisted doing. /God, they even treat EACH OTHER like shit! I can't believe I pity that poor little guy . . ./
Finally the omega (what was his name again? Ummei?) shuffled his way back to the door with another person beside him. Megan gasped painfully beneath the boot. The purple-eyed woman from before! Were they going to . . . kill her?
/No! They can't!/
But suddenly the purple-eyed woman, with a slight snarl, was grabbed by the hem of her cloak and tossed over the other arm of the older geonome who promptly removed his foot from Megan's back and slung her over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes. He paused a moment to gain his balance (after all, he did have two women hoisted across his neck) and then muttered a quick "Serves you right, Ummei . . . Defying orders . . ." before turning down the hall to go.
Megan blinked thickly for a moment. "Uh . . . Miss?" she glanced at the purple-eyed mage slung limply on the other side of the geonome's shoulders. The two of them bounced along with the man's footsteps.
". . . Oh, it's you . . . Hi,"
Megan bit her lip. "Any idea where we're going . . .?"
". . . Yes,"
"Wanna tell me . . .?"
"I don't think you want to know . . ."
Megan gulped. /They're going to kill us and feed us to the geonomes, I just know it! Oh god . . . Oh Bahamut . . . Oh Shiva . . . I don't wanna be turned into geonome - /
Megan was shocked into silence when the ground suddenly began to loom at a frighteningly fast speed.
"Eek!"
Megan shielded her face from the leering steel floor, noting faintly that that ass of a geonome and shoved both her and the woman upside-down off his shoulders like pieces of dust. However, the violet-eyed mage, right in the nick of time, cast Float on both herself and Megan. The two hit the ground softly and then spun around to figure out where they were.
". . . Outside . . .?"
Indeed, the icy, biting, chewing air of the Forgotten Continent had never felt so sweet. Only a few inches lay between them and the threshold of the door to freedom. For a moment, Megan debated making a run for it. But then she didn't have to . . .
"Ah, so here they are . . ." a smooth voice articulated from above. Megan looked up fearfully as she meet those ever familiar sinister green eyes.
/Damn it . . . Why is it Drakja always has to show up . . .?!/
"Are you ready to take them, sir?"
"Yes, yes . . . But god damn do I hate the weather out here . . ." Drakja made a face as a cold gust of wind billowed in through the open door of the ship and tossed his long, mahogany hair into his face. "Have Zidane and the others been tracked down?"
The purple-eyed woman perked up immediately at the sound of Zidane's name but Drakja ignored her.
"Yes, sir," the other geonome responded blandly. "It seems they were searching for the Indomitable all along . . . They're only a few miles short of here,"
"Good, good . . ." Drakja bent down and, much to their dismay, hoisted Megan and the prophet over his shoulders once more.
"Damn it!" Megan cursed as she realized their combined weight did nothing to faze the slim yet powerful man. His arms felt like a vice. Chance of escape . . . zero.
"Well, I'll be going then," Drakja drawled, sighing. "I'm leaving the ship in Lulian's hands. You will follow orders from her now while Garland is gone,"
The geonome nodded tiredly and Drakja, with a pop, vanished into thin air and was gone.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The trek was tiring, boring, and excruciatingly thankless. No one was in the mood to speak, and no one could even find it in themselves to try and make conversation. Kuja in particular seemed irked. His eyes, though seemingly sightless, were glaring angrily into the air around them. Zidane, deciding it was the least he could do, attempted to talk with the elder man.
"So, uh . . . What's up?" Zidane had to run to catch up with Kuja, who was walking several yards ahead of everyone else as if their presence made his skin crawl.
"The sky . . ." Kuja snarled.
"Your sarcasm level," Zidane bit back, though he was smiling. "Man, I wish you'd just tell us what's wrong! I mean, you're acting like it's the end of the world . . .!"
"It will be if we don't hurry!" Kuja hissed, beginning to quicken his pace in hopes of losing Zidane once more. The others didn't bother to catch up . . . What was the point?
Zidane smirked. This was too good to pass up . . . "Well, Kuja . . . I know it's the end of the world if every strand of your hair isn't in its exact, designated spot . . ." Zidane's voice was dripping with obnoxious honey. "But really, if this has ANYTHING to do with you thinking you look ugly now 'cause of your eyes . . ."
Kuja stopped dead. For a moment, he seemed to be shaking with inexplicable rage. Then he balled his fingers into fists and began to walk even faster than before.
"That has nothing to do with it . . ."
Zidane grinned. "Aw, Kuja . . . You can tell ME!" Zidane raced ahead and turned around so he was walking backwards. His voice had taken on a more serious tone. "But really, Kuja . . . Can you . . . you know . . . See?"
"Of course I can see!" Kuja growled. "What a stupid question!"
Zidane frowned. "How many fingers am I holding up?"
"Five,"
Zidane gasped. "No! Four!"
Kuja screeched to a stop once more, and a flash of fear crossed his face. "What?"
The blonde genome's lips twitched into a grin. "Hehe . . . the thumb's not a finger,"
"Argh!" Kuja shoved Zidane out of the way and continued walking. The younger genome just laughed.
"Ha! You should've seen the look on your face!"
Kuja's whitened eyes narrowed. "This is no laughing matter!" But he didn't tell Zidane what was really eating at him. It had nothing to do with vanity . . . It was something else; something bad . . . He felt like his control over his life was slipping away. Like he should just give in and let destiny take its course . . . Let himself die . . . Kuja shook that thought angrily from his head. No dying. Not yet.
"Hi!"
Kuja stopped dead, nearly falling backwards with surprise as something popped out of thin air right in front of his face.
"Drakja?!" Zidane gasped, as the person - who was now positioned in between Zidane and Kuja - grinned, hiding something beneath his cloak.
"What in the name of all things holy - ?!"
Drakja rolled his emerald eyes. "Oh, give me a break . . . I'm not here to kill anyone," He pulled back the sides of his long, thick coat to reveal two huddling women, both of which were shivering with cold and fear.
Zidane circled around Drakja, his deep blue eyes growing wider by the second.
". . . Megan . . .?" Megan looked up at him with fright, clutching onto Drakja's pants out of reflex. The purple-eyed woman seemed to be refusing his eye. Kuja looked dumbstruck, only making Drakja laugh.
"What? Didn't think I could perform an act of kindness in my life now, did you?" Drakja smirked. "Don't get your hopes up, mate. They're only being released because Garland's sure about his plan. It's 'foolproof,' he said,"
Kuja growled lightly. "Too bad you're such a fool, then!"
Drakja seemed to giggle as he shoved the two ex-prisoners out from under his cloak and into the snow. They collapsed there; Megan looking positively petrified, the other woman simply pushing herself up with a sigh.
"Worthless, these two were . . . A Summoner that can't Summon . . . And a prophet that doesn't talk . . . I don't know WHAT you two see in them!"
At this point, the rest of the crew had spotted Drakja in the distance and were sloshing through the snow to help their comrades. Drakja looked up with a mild - if not amused - smile on his face.
"Ah well . . . I didn't come here to cause trouble . . . I'm saving that for later," His eyes flashed for a moment and he waved. "Ta ta!"
And then he was gone . . .
The rest of the team, panting and coughing as they skidded up behind Zidane and Kuja, looked shocked at Drakja's sudden disappearance.
"My gracious . . ." Garnet murmured. "He just turned over the prisoners . . . Without even a fight . . . He SOUGHT us out . . ."
Megan whimpered, shivering. Zidane frowned.
"Come on, we'd better get them onto the ship . . ."
"Unbelievable . . ." Eiko whispered. "Do you realize what we put up with to rescue these two . . . and the geonomes just handed them to us like a box of candy!"
"A-at least we can g-go home . . ." Vivi whimpered, clutching his coat tighter around himself.
They stood there in a stunned silence, still too confused to comprehend what had happened.
". . . Kuja . . .?" Zidane tapped his brother on the shoulder. "We were kinda gonna rely on your sight to find the ship for us . . . Do you still know where it is?"
Megan blinked thickly at this statement and looked up. When her eyes met Kuja's, she clapped a horrified hand over her mouth and let out a dry sob. The purple-eyed woman, likewise, looked up as well. Then she looked away as if in pain and muttered something very strange to herself:
"So we both failed . . . Twice now on my record . . ."
Megan was shaking her head as she stared into Kuja's eyes. Kuja just glared down at her in a quiet fury. Then he turned away, his silver hair whipping around his shoulders, and began to storm off in the direction of the ship.
As he was the only guide, the other were forced to follow him . . .
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
A/N: Urgh . . . I wrote that last part after a no-sleep sleepover. Sleepy . . . Geez, I don't even remember what happened. *scrolls up, blinks, scrolls down* Oh yeah! The whole Saishoja thingy! Heh . . . I've had that scene in my head for more than a year. Like, seriously, if anyone looks back over certain chapters, you'll see that I've been hinting about all that stuff for, like, EVER! Ooh, and Lulian's up to somethin' nasty . . . Heh, wait till ya'll see . . . It's so Lulian-ish, it's funny. And yes, BMD FINALLY hinted at something about the "purple-eyed woman" (though it wasn't her name, lol). Yes, she IS woven into this storyline (*claps hand to forehead* Imagine that!). So, yes. Sketch questions. Okay, here's the deal. I'd originally intended to get a website where I could post doujinshi-like pages for this fic. HOWEVER, I wound up getting an original comic domain for a web-comic I'm starting. But I felt guilty for days . . . So here's what I'm going to TRY to do . . . I'm going to work on my web-comic (which will be my project after this fic) and try to get another website where I can post Final Fantasy fanart and stuff (yay!). Sound like a deal? The domain for my web-comic (which is going to be empty for a few more weeks, but check on it frequently anyways) is silverfeathers.keenspace.com. Yes, I named it after Kuja even though it's an ORIGINAL comic ^_^ You'll like it. It's got a feminine, Kuja-like villain, lots of cute bishounens and hot bishoujos to go 'round, another one of BMD's twisted, complicated plots, and it'll be in color! And hey, does anyone here read the web-comic Arcana (the shounen-ai vampire story?) If you do and you know about the chapter-six + summary crap thing she's pulling off, I say we mob her and picket outside her house *rants for several minutes* Okay, I'm in a not-shutting-up mood. Here's an update on the progress of this story (it's closer to the end than you think!). This story contains exactly 172 scenes, including the epilogue. This chapter ended with scene 137. So we're actually not too far off from a well- deserved ending. Couple more months, I'd say. Okay, I'll shut up now *meep*
Read and review, review and read. I DON'T CARE!!! JUST REVIEW!!! (lol).