A Final Fantasy's Fantasy

by Sir Karmagant

A tale of Fantasy in which a corrupt and familiar Queen makes a dark pact with a Seeker of Darkness and is opposed by the planet's heroes-Characters from several Final Fantasy's abound, though the world is set in the FF7 universe after Meteor. Please R&R

3. A Soul's Conviction

               Chapter 2: The Strength and Conviction of the Soul and the Oversouled

"Attachment merely makes me weak."

-Squall Leonheart

"Is everyone alright to move on?" Beatrix asked aloud, looking around the scattered, tired bunch of knights and mercenaries that remained after her desperate strike against the mountain itself. She received tired nods and murmured agreements in replies, but none of them met her eye. They had seen what she had done, and though none spoke aloud, though none judged her to her face, she knew their thoughts. They knew, just as she did, that it could have been any of them on that slope, and she would have annihilated the mountain path just the same. Her loyalty was for none of them—even those she had brought with them from the 107th… only the Princess.

"He's still alive,"

Turning at Garnet's voice, Beatrix was shocked to find her kneeling over the body of the blue-haired mercenary that had met them initially in the Flowereis Chapel. "Yes, Gafgarion is most certainly still alive my Princess, which is why we should be moving on as quickly as possible. His path up to the Ice Cavern may have been cut off, but he will certainly find another way. The man is tenacious."

"No." Garnet said, with a forcefulness that Beatrix had not though the girl had within her. "Nikkolas, he is still breathing."

"What?" Shocked more, the general moved to the fallen mercenary's other side. Looking down at him, she realized that she had never even learned his name. In hindsight, she supposed it made more sense that Garnet had been talking about him, but it was just fact—in all her years as an Alexandrian General, Beatrix had never known Gafgarion to leave ANY opponent alive… other than her that is, and it was certainly not for lack of his trying. It was to him she had lost her eye so many years ago, in fact. 'The only wound to blemish the face of the beautiful and untouchable General,' she thought bitterly to herself, examining the shallowly breathing mercenary, the sword wound where Gafgarion had stabbed him just above his heart, and leaking blood profusely. It was a miracle he still lived, but his fortune would not last long. "He will not live long," she said, looking at Princess Garnet.

"I will not leave him. I will carry him myself if need be." Garnet said, looking back darkly.

Beatrix frowned—there was that impetuous stubbornness again. She did not doubt that Garnet would do as she said and carry him, and she did not doubt that the girl would never complain once, but they were all there to protect her, and thus would be forced to wait for her. Couldn't she see she was hurting them further when she acted like this? Conceding to the girl's conviction, Beatrix asked if there were any strong enough and without injury that could carry Nikkolas until they got deeper into the cavern where his wounds could be looked over. Asking for any uninjured was foolish, but several of the mercenaries who had served under the man spoke up immediately. This surprised Beatrix yet again. She had known they were comrades, but had thought that they were allied only in a shallow sense of the word. They worked together, but she had suspected that they were only bound by the money they sold themselves for; surely no true comradery could exist between such knaves and brigands? And yet here they were, showing such concern that they would tire themselves further by carrying their captain. Well she didn't have time to think on it now—her responsibility, as always, was to the safety of the Princess first, and her men second. She led them into the Ice Cavern, mistakenly showing more concern for the danger they left outside, than for any danger that might lie in wait for them inside…

                                                                                      

Underneath the dark green wool cloak he wore to stave off the chill that one might expect when coming to a place called "The Ice Cavern", Darklithe Coda was of thin, muscular build, only a few inches under six feet tall. His skin was swarthy beyond the description of just being "tan", and his hair was curly and thick, colored an eye-grabbing lime-green color that matched his almond-shaped eyes. Both of his ears were pierced, with three silver and gold hoops stuck through each lobe. His face was clean-shaven, and he dressed in rough, travel-tested clothing that fit him and fit him comfortably, though he would certainly not be allowed into any balls while wearing it. Loose fitting pants colored bright green and fortified over the thighs with iron-studded brown leather pads served as pants, the ends of the pants tucked into the black iron-sole boots he wore.  His upper body clothing consisted of two tops, both with the sleeves torn completely off. The undershirt was the same green color as his pants, eyes and hair, while the over shirt was black leather, stitched through with crisscrossing and intersecting leather loops, buckles and belts in no particular order or fashion, and with an oriental picturing of a tiger battling a dragon splayed across the front of the chest in bright green and gold stitching. His forearms were bedecked with large black leather bracers, studded in silver-iron spikes, and around his throat he wore a collar clasped of the same type—black leather, and ringed with spikes.

Now Darklithe Coda was quite aware that he was not the only "hired sword" as it were to have been dispatched here, to the Ice Cavern this night with the body of the Princess being their assigned goal and target. But he had suspected that they would all be split up some at least in their points of entry. Thus, you can imagine his surprise when one of the other mercenaries came literally falling from the sky and right atop him.

Now of course, it hadn't happened all quite that simply.

He had entered into the Ice Cavern through a base cave out of Evil Forest that tunneled up north into the actual cavern of legend through a series of tunnels that were normally impossible to navigate—fortunately he had gained a map from the Queen's servant that had hired him. After a somewhat short trip, the journey being quite simple, just gallingly confusing for one without proper direction, he had found himself in the white, icy grotto of Ice Cavern. There were flowers, lakes, fiends, and all manner of life one might find outside, just… frosted over to the point of absolute picturesque arctic beauty. Of course that made the cold-dwelling monsters and fiends that inhabited the area no less dangerous, but Darklithe was well-able to deal with the likes of them. What he was not prepared to deal with was the famed General Beatrix, who was supposedly escorting the Princess in her naughty little coup d'état attempt. Darklithe's mission was merely to follow and gain the location and intended destination of the Princess and her troupe before reporting the information back to the Queen's servitor, a dusky fellow by the name of Chaos, and awaiting further instruction.

It was then, as he was moving through the lower levels of the Ice Cavern, expecting the Princess and her group to appear from one of the many openings above so that he could begin tracking them, that a fellow member of the Queen's "Bloodhound" squad made themselves known.

At first, there was only the sound of sprinkling, crackling ice, but it had grown louder and clearer at an alarming rate. Before Darklithe could begin to fear that an avalanche had somehow begun, however, he had only needed to look up, and see a dark form hurtling down from the white abyss above and heading straight for him. It was plain that the person was falling, and using his uncanny talent and ability that he had trained himself to use with perfection over the years; he quickly recognized just who it was. The cause of the sound was that they were breaking through icicles of shallow snow banks as they fell, their fall slowing with every struck—and shattered—obstacle they passed in their long drop from the Ice Cavern's roof. It was his plan in the beginning to try and catch his falling accomplice, but the idea soon dismissed itself as he realized just how fast they were falling. Still, without his aid they would most likely die upon contact with the solid ground he stood upon…

It was in those few moments of hesitation that the falling body hit a jutting stalactite of ice that did not feel inclined to break immediately, causing the body to roll off and bringing it down right above Darklithe once again where it came down hard, crashing down into the Witchknight's back and knocking the wind from his lungs while at the same time burying him under a sizeable heap of fallen snow and ice.

Darklithe worked his way slowly to his feet, making certain he was whole and in one piece before turning his attention to his new friend. Looking down at them, the first thing he noticed was they "them" was a "she", and "she" was exactly who he had thought she was, though the information had been knocked loose from his brain some when she landed atop him. Silver-haired, and bedecked in the armor of a Dark Knight, she had interviewed and hired by Chaos just before Darklithe himself, which is why he had remembered her so well. He was very impressed with himself for matching her face to the one in his memory though, for at the moment her body looked to have been the personal toy of an abusive artist's works for the past few days. Her fair-skinned face was a mass of bleeding cuts atop swollen bruises, and her body was no different. Her armor was battered and broken—in fact the entire section that should have been covering her left arm and shoulder had been broken free of the main piece, and the jagged chunk that remained cut into her pale skin pitilessly, drawing blood of its own while the frilled fin-guard that rose up behind her head had been drastically bent. Of course none of those were a match to the giant gashed hole that had been blasted directly into her stomach. The wound was too angular and strangely-shaped to have been caused by a gun of any kind… but Darklithe dreaded to imagine the size of the sword or bladed weapon that could have been the parent to such a large and terrible wound. As amazing as it was, she was still breathing, though shallowly, and without thinking Darklithe began to check the pockets of his cloak for the item given to him by Chaos as an advance payment for the dangerous job he was to perform.

'It is a 'Miracle Potion' Recently crafted, it's healing essences are so strong that as long as something still lives, even up to the second before death, if they drink this elixir they will be restored to life. The effect is instantaneous. The potion itself is priceless, but I warn you against taking it to cure only slight injuries, such as a small cut or headache or such, for in that instance the potion will work greater than needed—and most certainly kill you.'

Those had been Chaos' words, ironic he remembered. 'If I was ever so hurt I probably wouldn't have the ability or sense to drink the potion… and in any other case I'd be afraid that I was dooming myself if I drank it.' Now, however, it seemed the exact, ideal situation for the 'Miracle Potion's' use had come into play, and pulling the crystal contained bottle from within his woolen cloak, he wasted no time removing the stopper and putting the potion to the woman's lips. Tilting it back slowly with one hand, so as not to drown her, he massaged her throat with the other, to encourage her to swallow. It was just as Chaos had said, the effect was instantaneous. Color bloomed in the woman's white cheeks and she immediately sucked in a lungful of cold, fresh mountain air, her chest leaping up, fingers clenching into fists. Darklithe sprung back, so as not to have her flail out uncontrollably and strike her, and paying only slight attention to his surroundings, he waited. Other than the initial effects, not much else happened, other than the miraculous effect of the most serious and horrible of her wounds healing. The smaller cuts and bruises healed completely, while those large only sealed to the point of no longer openly bleeding. All the remainder of the energy in the serum went into repairing the gouge formed in the woman's stomach, working for several slow minutes before the shining aura Darklithe had not noticed had formed around her faded, only a ragged, tender scar remaining, and the woman giving a broken, sore cough, almost as a poor, tired sign that she was once again alive. Despite the fact that all her injures had healed, she was still matted in blood, both fresh and dried, but the bruises had gone down, though the rent armor on her left side was still jabbing into her skin, and looked ready to open up a new cut where the old had only just been repaired. Darklithe was thinking about removing the hurtful armor completely when the woman—quite suddenly—sat up. Darklithe watched as she looked down at herself, hissing in pain as her movement caused her armor to slash at her skin further. Without warning she tore the offensive piece of mail from her body, leaving only the lower body armor attached but with her torso now exposed but for what she wore underneath. What she did wear underneath was bizarre, to say the least, and certainly not fit for the chilly air of the Ice Cavern. A scarf of black leather only about a foot long from top to bottom wrapped loosely about her chest, leaving her thin shoulders bare. The scarf came together in front, one piece overlapping the other, and with both flaps clasped together by a silver brooch shaped like a spiked cross just over her heart. The bottommost two inches or so of the scarf was covered in small metal squares, and though he could not see it, Darklithe assumed she wore some other sort of covering over chest beneath the scarf as well. She wore a black choker studded with tiny silver studs, and a green-tinted diamond hung down to her collarbone from a gray wire necklace. She wore two small black belts around her shapely waist and stomach, and two red straps—like suspenders—ran parallel one another up and down her chest, passing under the scarf, going over her shoulder and back down her back. The two red straps passed likewise underneath the black belt she wore, the buckle depicting a grinning silver skull which hung lopsided off of her hips, under her tight-fitting black leather shorts and clasping to black leather "stockings" of sorts which came up only a few inches short of her shorts. Shin-high stiletto-heeled black boots completed the outfit, and though this was the first time he had ever seen anything like it, Darklithe doubted anyone else on the planet could pull off the look as she did.

That was when she finally noticed him.

Standing up, the woman dropped what remained of her Dark Knight's armor, reached down into the corpse of her broken black mail and produced a sword. Without a word, she began advancing on Darklithe.

Taking a wary step back, the Witchknight regarded her with a disappointed eye, keeping his arms at his sides, doing his best not to provoke her in anyway with his actions, though he said, "That's it? I bring you back to life and your first thought is to kill me? Not very grateful of you; you could at least remember that we're on the same side."

At his words, spoken calmly, without anything hidden behind them the woman stopped, recollection flashing in her eyes. Yes, they had traded glances only once back at Alexandria Castle, but it was enough for her to cease her advance and let her sword arm drop. "Who are you?" She asked in a voice cold enough to chill ice.

Offering a mock bow, and sweeping his cloak off at the same time, Darklithe replied, "Darklithe Coda, Witchknight originally of Midgar, currently serving in the Queen's employ, just as you are, Miss…?"

Remaining silent for a moment as she regarded, she finally broke the quiet and named herself, simply as, "Paine."

"Paine. Chaos hired you right before me—I have good ears, that's the only reason I knew who you were. You were supposed to guard the pass to Ice Cavern's exit weren't you?"

Another moment of silent consideration before she replied, "Yes. But I failed. I was beaten."

Shrugging, Darklithe took a step forward, offering his removed cloak out to her at arm's length while saying, "I don't think anyone'll blame you much. I doubt they truly expected to find someone who could beat the Cloud Strife, though I'm sure you gave as good as you got. From all I could tell, they were just trying to cover their bases, maybe in the hopes that he wouldn't show up, and in the least case, slow him down some and pray he missed his chance to rendezvous with the Princess."

"Why are you giving me this?" She asked, nodding to the offered cloak, but making no move to take it. In fact, she was showing no signs of feeling the bitter cold either, despite her improper attire in the frigid surroundings.

Darklithe shook his head, "Don't take it personal. It's your own fault coming to the Ice Cavern dressed as you are. Just look at it from my perspective though—I have to look at you, but you don't. You're covered in blood and you look like hell, I just want you to wipe yourself off."

Scoffing at his words, the woman snapped out her free hand and snatched the woolen piece of material, hiding her small smile of amusement behind it as she scrubbed at her face, arms, legs, chest and hands, doing the best she could to mop up the blood still coating her form, using the wet stuff to try and loosen the dry before offering the cloak back to Darklithe.

Looking at the sodden bloody bundle, the Witchknight motioned for her to keep it, not letting himself shiver in front of her as he took a few steps down the icy path, looking up once more to make sure he had not missed the Princess Garnet, though if he had he would have know way of knowing just by looking now. "Well my mission is different than yours. I just have to monitor the Princess movements'—no suicidal orders like challenging General Beatrix or anything like that. So if you're going to come with me make sure you keep that in mind."

"And why would I want to come with you?" Paine asked, striding by him, admiring the frozen beauty of the scenery with her right hand ever gripped around the hilt of her sword, the blade itself only a few inches longer than her arm, and with the pommel set with a silver skull emblem identical to the one on her belt buckle.

"Well look how well you did on your own? Besides, wasn't something said about if you fail your mission, then it becomes my mission? And vice-versa?"

Turning around, Paine rested her sword upon her naked shoulder and quipped, "Hmm, you really do have good ears. So I guess we're comrades out of necessity then. I normally don't work with cowards, but I'll make an exception this time."

"Cowards? Darklithe repeated, her eyes widening. "What the hell do you mean by that?"

Chuckling some, Paine turned back around, beginning to walk down the icy cavern stretch, leaving him to follow. Turning her head around to look at him sideways she said, "Struck a nerve did I? Only because of what you said about not wanting to fight Beatrix. No spine if you ask me."

Laughing right back, Darklithe started after her, "What good's a spine if you get it torn out of your back in a needless fight? I'd of thought you had a personal experience of that after Cloud Strife took you to pieces. You were dead, remember that? It's just good fortune I was here to rescue you."

Ignoring his words and moving onto a different subject as the man's strides caught him up to her, Paine asked: "You call yourself a 'Witchknight'. I've never heard that term before—what is it exactly?"

"No, you wouldn't have," Darklithe replied, shaking his head as he took up step beside her. "I'm the first."

"The first?" She said with some disbelief, looking over at him.

"That's right. Impressed?"

"Hardly," She shot back. "What good are you anyways?"

Tucking his hands into his pockets as he walked, letting his head hang back so that he could watch the tunnels and paths above them as he spoke, Darklithe explained his unique class of fighter, "A Witchknight is the name I thought up to describe my style of fighting. I have a certain—talent—that members of my family inherit from the blood of our ancestors. The females were often called "witches" in the past and burned at stakes and such, while the men usually go unnoticed, usually because we lack the gift. I was a different case. Magic flows through me—not elemental magic like the type Black Mages command, but a more… human magic I guess. The most human magic I guess you could say—but then I really don't know how to explain it more than that. You just have to see it in action to understand." He couldn't tell from her impassive expression whether she knew he was lying or not. He realized he had somewhat dug himself into a hole with his poor explanation, but he hoped she wouldn't press the matter too vigorously. He had gotten by on his own for a long time—partly because he was not that sociable of a person, and partly because most of those who truly came to understand his particular talents… made it clear that they never wanted to share his company again. Ever.

Thankfully, she didn't press at all. Only saying, "Forbidden magic?" as a guess to what he might mean, though it was obvious she wasn't all that interested in whether her assumption was correct or not.

Recognizing his out, Darklithe gladly took it. "Yeah, all that 'unholy, demonic brood' shit that Holy Knights like to spew about. And then, I just added the 'Knight' title at the end, partially because I really don't rely on my magic to fight—it's just a really nice ability to have if I can't physically get myself out of a situation, and—,"

"And partially because you didn't want to go around calling yourself a title that in the past has been used only for women." Paine cut in again.

Chuckling aloud and nodding, Darklithe glanced over at her and said, "Yep, that too. Y'know you're pretty keen for a girl who was dead not too long ago."

"What can I say," Paine said dryly, stopping in her tracks without warning.

Following suite simply because the few minutes he had spent with her had told him enough that he knew her instincts were sharp enough that he would do well to trust them almost more than his own, Darklithe followed her line of sight to straight ahead of them and found… nothing. Absolute nothing, in the terms of no more path either. Following in Paine's footsteps exactly had literally kept him from taking a single step further that would have sent him plunging to his doom down into a dark mist-laden abyss that stretched across a gap as far as he could see, with the point of the icy path only barely glimmering in his eyesight some 50 meters off. "Brilliant…" He said aloud as in the farthest reaches of his hearing, he heard the echoing metal footsteps that announced the Princess's party had finally entered the Ice Cavern, while the 'Belly of the Deep' itself had decided to come and stretch itself out right in front of his face and prevent him from taking another step.

"Didn't properly examine your route through the cavern, did you?" Paine asked dryly, her tone of voice gratingly mocking in its own cold and superior "I told you so" sort of way.

"Least I didn't get half-dead in the process. Thanks for telling me about the gap by the way."

"I was going to pull you back. Just thought it might be funny to see you flounder out in empty air for a second or too. Good reflexes by the way."

Looking over at her wearing a scowl that told her he was very much not amused by what she had been planning as a "joke" that might well end up with him plummeting to his death for a thousand-or-so-unknown feet, he let out a frustrated sigh and sat down at the edge of the chasm.

Silence reigned in the air between them for a moment before of a sudden, a thousand pillars of sifting, rotating, and ever-moving ice and snow rushed upwards from the blackness of the crevasse so swift and so loud and so sudden that Darklithe nearly wet himself in shock.

Paine, however, just looked on in mild contemplation and whispered, "Looks like you find your way across, Witch."

                                                                                      

"Set him down here—gently!"

The mercenaries that had been carrying Nikkolas's body followed Beatrix's commands to the letter, setting there captain down gently upon a bed of ice covered by a layer of fine, soft snow while Garnet looked on, pale and silent, not even paying attention to the crystalline ice flowers and mist breathing cold springs she had read so much about in the castle's library and been anxious to see ever since she was a child.

Kneeling down beside the wounded mercenary, Beatrix solemnly regarded his injuries. It was the same diagnosis from earlier—he was only barely alive, and would not be for long, even her healing powers might not be enough. The cold of the Ice Cavern had helped to stem the flow of blood from his wounds, but the temperature was certainly not "good" for him in his current condition either. 'Well all that can be done now is for me to try. It is most likely a wasted drain on my energies—this man cannot be saved—but still, after the sacrifice he has made, I suppose I must try.' And with those thoughts, she closed her single, beautiful eye, concentrated her will upon the light blessed essence floating within her consciousness—the source of the heavenly powers gifted to her as a Holy Knight—and wrapped herself around the holy restorative powers. She extended her palms outward down, nearly touching Nikkolas's chest with every cast spell, not out of necessity, but simply because it was how she had first learned to focus her power.

First Cure, and then Cura, and then another Cure, followed by an Esunafor any possible infection and a Shell for the cold. She cast a weak Protect to isolate the main wound he had suffered under Gafgarion's blade: 'Nightmare' and prevent any further bleeding, but despite all her best efforts, the man was slipping, and they could all see it. Her White Magic had certainly helped, but he was deteriorating faster than she could heal him, her spells were being overwhelmed by the seriousness of the wounds and the dark enchantments of the sword that had caused them and frankly, she was running out of energy…

Curaga—Divine, miraculous light like none of the assembled had ever before witnessed, besides Beatrix herself sprang into blissful, radiant being upon the prone form of the blue-haired mercenary captain.

Gasps formed, eyes widened, and all gazes turned to Princess Garnet—more stunning than she had ever been before with her eyes closed, long black hair lifted and shimmering above her head, beautiful face serene in its concentration and with hands clasped at her chest, over the symbol of the cross she wore as a necklace down over her white lace shirt and bright orange bodysuit.

Beatrix herself was amazed. Even she herself could hardly cast Curagaand even when she was at full strength it was not the perfectly formed spell the Princess had breathed out. As it was, the one-eyed General had never known that such power slept within the Princess, and out of the corner of her eye she could see Nikkolas's life force returning, color growing in his cheeks, his chest rising beneath his leather cuirass; fingers clenching tightly at his sides as a moan escaped his lips.

The gathered mercenaries rushed to their captain's side, but at Beatrix's command backed up some to give him room to breathe.

A moment later Beatrix had rushed to the Princess, catching the wavering girl before she could fall. Holding her up gently she heard the girl whisper:

"I… did it Beatrix. Did you see?"

"Yes Princess, you did magnificently, a more perfect CuragaI have never seen."

Eyelids fluttering, Garnet sighed in exhaustion, releasing a murmur before she passed out completely. "Please Beatrix… I'm tired of being the Princess. My mother… I'm the only one who can stop her, but I never want to forget those who help me along the way. I want to be their… queen in more than just words."

Beatrix nodded, watching as the girl slipped away into a gentle slumber, having to strain to catch the last spoken words.

"So please, from now on... call me… Garnet…"

It was some hours before both Nikkolas and Princess Garnet had recovered fully. The knights and mercenaries alike now looked upon the Princess with a sense of awe—she was more than the pampered, goody-minded and pretty girl of naiveté they had thought she was initially (though this went more for the mercenaries than knights… in most cases at least).

Upon awakening Nikkolas, without sarcastic quip or rude remark had nodded to Garnet in thanks, but done nothing else to show any sort of appreciation and immediately convened with his men, separating them from the rest.

Garnet had been ecstatic at the blue-haired man's recovery, but seemed a little put-off and dejected at his weak thanks. Beatrix recognized this, and was tempted to demand the pistol-wielding mercenary captain show proper respect and gratitude for having been brought back from the dead, but she decided against it. After everything that had happened… the mercenaries were no longer just bodies, purchased to be done with as was pleased. One of them had nearly given his life in defense of the Princess, and all for a cause that he may or may not have believed in. Their lives were at stake, and following her or the Princess blindly, showing proper court tithes and respect is not what would keep them alive. Beatrix knew—she did not treat her men the same on the battlefield as she did in the castle. And this was not the castle—it was time they started relying on one another as a unit. 'The Princess will have to learn this as well,' Beatrix thought, watching her. 'She is strong, like her mother. She will be alright.'

Standing alone, apart from the knights and the mercenaries alike, Garnet's mind was embroiled with thoughts and unfamiliar feelings. She felt alone—despite all those surrounding her; she could tell that they were apart from her, which was something that she was not used to. Back at the castle, anyone she had come across had been at her beckon call. She had tried hard not to overuse the ability and become spoiled, but now, just a little, she wished she were the center of attention again. Of course she hadn't saved Nikkolas for the hope of being thanked and rewarded—it had been something much deeper than that that had drawn out the power inside her for her to use such a powerful White Magic spell as Curaga, but his meager recognition for her deed had depressed her more than a little.

Surprisingly it was actual use of the spell that impressed itself in her mind the least. She had no idea where the knowledge, energy, or concentration had come from for her to cast it. Yes she had been training as a White Mage under Beatrix, and the best White Mages the castle had to offer, but she was hardly even moderately skilled. Cure, Esunaand Protect were the only spells she had mastered, and from what she knew, even Beatrix, an adept Holy Knight whose skill encompassed those of a White Mage as well, had not even the power to use a spell like Curagaon a whim. But at the moment, the most important thing to her had been saving Nikkolas. Mercenary or no, he and his men had still chosen to help her in her cause. They had given their lives, taken grave wounds, and Nikkolas had nearly died, and to her, that meant they were just as much her people as any other Alexandrian citizen.

"Is Her Highness and your knights ready to move? The Ice Cavern isn't as dangerous as the Evil Forest, but it isn't a place to dawdle."

Beatrix regarded Nikkolas with a cool eye. She battled briefly with the idea of his apologizing to the Princess for his rude behavior, but decided against it. In the main, he was right, and they needed to get moving. "It is good to see you are well captain. Nikkolas was it? Anyways, I do not speak for the company, you will have to inquire the Princess Garnet—,"

"Yes." Garnet said, cutting in firmly, her back turned to both of them, facing the misty, winding path leading deeper into the Ice Cavern. "It is time we moved. Lady Beatrix, Captain Nikkolas, let us go."

It was not only Beatrix and Nikkolas who recognized the change in the Princess. Several knights and mercenaries looked at one another as they fell into step, the entire party following Garnet, though Beatrix walked at her side, sincerely trying to convince her to fall back into the group so that she did not present such a target of herself, walking as the group's spearhead.

 "I am responsible for this party Beatrix. It would undignified for me to walk anywhere but the front. I can't ask someone to take my place and put themselves at more risk than I am willing to suffer. This is my cause, and these are my knights."

Lapsing into silence as she recognized the hardy stubbornness common to the girl she had nearly raised coming forth, Beatrix stayed in step with the Princess, content that if she could not convince the girl to fall back, that at least she would be there at her side to protect her.

The Ice Cavern grew colder with every step inside, and it became even worse as they found their only route leading them into a yawning, depressing white stretch of frozen tunnel. Inside, vicious gray winds, bristling with particles of snow and crystalline ice fragments buffeted the troupe with ruthless tenacity, leaving only small pauses for them to catch their breath or wipe the melting frost from their eyes before the cave storm came at them again.

Unbeknownst to Garnet, she became a crucial pillar to the men and women she was leading. For where as Beatrix's practical snow-white and steel-gray colored clothing (a mixture of her garments and armor) blended right in with the wintry "indoor" blizzard, Garnet's bright orange bodysuit stood out like a beacon, allowing those behind her to have a sense where to put their next step.

Even Nikkolas found himself relying on the girl, though he still did not think of her as any more than a selfish, pampered and overly optimistic nightmare. Certainly, he was grateful for her having saved his life… but… well he could not come up with any "but", yet. He knew however, that it would be foolish of him to start "liking" the girl, and even worse to grow "attached" to her, or her cause, as she had tried to explain to him on the jaunt up the mount towards Ice Cavern. In the end, she was just another client, and it was quite possible that in several months—even weeks—the Queen might anty up more money than they were being paid now and he would find himself working for the Queen and against the Princess, rather than for the Princess against the Queen as he was now. And Garnet was the type of girl who would be crushed by that, he had met her type before—worked for, and then been paid to work against her type before. They always died with such a look of… not even anger or betrayal but just… hurt, in their eyes. 'Stupid, what's wrong with you, referring to her by her name? She's the "Princess", nothing else!' Shaking his head and blinking fiercely to keep his sight through the barrage of hail and snow raining against him, he steeled himself and trudged onwards. It would be best for all involved if by the time this mission was over, they parted ways with her hating him for all she was worth. It was his plan to make her believe that he was the coldest, most heartless bastard on the planet Ivalice, and that there was nothing in his life or character worth keeping alive. That way, it would be easier for her, the next time they met, and were enemies. 'Hmph,' He chuckled at himself at the irony, 'Of course that would mean she'll have no reason to save you next time… not to mention that it'll only make your job harder if you do end up taking a job that opposes her. Nikkolas you idiot—since when did you start caring about the well-being of your clients over your own? It's a good thing Marcy's not here to see this—she'd never let you live it down,' Realizing he was falling behind some, he checked his pistol at his waist and his rapier at the other side to make sure they were still there, 'and if you don't start catching up neither will that one-eyed wench of a general. I can hear it now: 'Are you sure your wounds aren't too serious? Would you like to rest?'' Gritting his teeth at the mere idea of it, he put his face down so that the fierce icy wind struck the top of his blue-maned head and increased the speed and length of his footfalls, eager to prove that he had not needed the blasted Princess's damned help in the first place.

It was just as the group was exiting the ice-packed worming tunnel that the first dangers of the Ice Cavern other than the severe biting cold made themselves known. They were heard before they were seen, but even being able to expect and prepare for them, it was almost worse for the assembled group, as all had heard terrible, foreboding stories and myths of the beasts that had come upon them now.

                                                    "The wind lays out my path…"

            "Get out of my way!"

They were the Wyerd.

Built much like a great ape or "gorilla" as they were known in the warm continents that held them, the appearance was only ruined by the back legs, which were small and stubby, but immensely strong and straight, nearly jointless but capable of propelling the beast at great speed. Covered in coarse, wooly green hair that protected them almost completely from the cold, large, dome-shaped heads held sad, terrible yellow eyes and gaping mouths that sprouted curving, foot-and-a-half long ivory tusks. What was most unnerving about the Wyerd, however, aside from general appearance was the fact that in all the years that they had been studied and documented, no scholar could yet discern whether they were fiend or monster. The differentiations between the two were simple, even children were taught to understand at an early age: Fiends were creatures of spite and evil, beasts formed from the unresolved feelings of jealousy and hatred that remained within Unsent and often unburied dead; and monsters of course were natural creatures born from the depths of the planet, not inherently evil or hostile to the living, as all fiends were, but often dangerous simply because of their nature or instincts. The Wyerd, however, displayed properties of both. Their ability to speak was a trait held by long-lived monsters as well as fiends who had not been wholly taken by their urge to destroy the living, but they spoke nothing beside the two phrases that led their blind charge. "The wind lays out my path…/ Get out of my way!" Their speech proved that there was possibility for intelligence, but any attempts at communication had ended in bloodshed. The Wyerd feasted upon the flesh of humans, and of all monsters upon Ivalice, known was said to be possessed of the same senseless rage and brutality a Wyerd was. Able to travel with the icy wind, it was said they would pursue a man to the ends of the earth before letting one come into their presence and leave unharmed. And besides being resistant to cold magics, and they did not roam anywhere but enclosed icy caves such as the Ice Cavern, so lightning magic from the heavens would not work either. And as for fire, well they were known to be quite adept at rolling in the snow to dispense themselves of any flames cast upon them, unless the spell killed them outright, which it rarely did.

"I can… see them?" Garnet whispered, eyes straining as she stared into the face of the onrushing blizzard, her body frozen stock-still as the moaning wind rushed straight at her.

"Get back Princess!" Beatrix cried, flinging out an arm and thrusting Garnet behind her as she stepped up to face the charging pack of Wyerd, her sword flinging from its sheathe, ready to taste the blood of the beasts.

"Turks to me! You knights, join up and form a defensive ring! It's said they like to circle their prey before moving in—Beatrix get back here! We can keep Garnet safe in the center! My men, use your firearms, and any range weapons you possess to kill as many as possible before they close, we do not want to fight these things hand to hand!" Nikkolas's commands were like salve upon a wound. Gripped by fear, and nearly panicking, the knights and mercenaries had not known what to do, feeling alone and helpless until the blue-haired mercenary called out orders, his words uniting them, bringing them together under his leadership.

Beatrix was almost jealous of the man taking control—almost—leading Princess Garnet back to the quickly organizing troupe she took her place beside the mercenary captain, a grim smile coming to her lips as she stood beside the man, his silver pistol in one hand, thin rapier in the other. "I think you just might have to use that pig-sticker this time. Hopefully your experience hasn't waned since last you used it—slicing bacon I assume?"

"Dearest General, not all of us slays a dark dragon or destroys a cult of Dark Knights single-handedly every free day we get; as it were, I would ask you to keep your ill-timed and quite poor attempts at humor to yourself and not judge one so much lower down the ladder from you. Anyways, even "mercenary scum" such as myself and my company need to eat, and bacon is as good eating as anything served at the castle I'm sure."

And then the Wyerd were upon them.

Charging in a great cyclone around the ring of detestable humans, the Wyerd moaned and roared their two-phrase chant. Great green arms swung and thrashed like writhing tree branches in a storm, denting and cracking armor where they struck, the tusks skewering men and women with ease.

"FIRE!" Nikki yelled, and as one eight pistols fired outwards, dropping four of the countless running pack, countless only because in their windswept-run they were completely visible to the naked eye, to quick to be seen until they struck, and by then it was too late.

Still worn out from her battle with Gafgarion, the fight up the slope, and then her failed attempts to heal Nikkolas, Beatrix kept herself fighting with the knowledge that she was the only one of the assembled that the Princess could rely on. Her sword danced out, the speed of her slashes belied by the great force behind them. Where she struck, Wyerd screamed out as their limbs were separated from their bodies, the earth breaking where the point of her holy blade came down, the surrounding tornado of howling Wyerd thinning with visible quickness as the men and women caught inside fought for their lives.

One female knight swung out her sword arm with all the force she could muster. A Wyerd tusk caught her in the back of her bicep, just below the shoulder and wrenched her arm and entire body forward, dislocating the limb and nearly breaking it. She held onto her sword, however, almost as a subconscious action through the pain, and the blade bit into and hammered into the dome-shaped skull of the creature, killing it and sending it rolling out of its rushing passing of wind, her arm being carried along with it, her sword falling several feet from her to the snow-packed ground. Unwilling to accept the screaming pain of having lost her arm, she picked up her sword with her free hand and continued to fight, with even more passion and willfulness than before as all around her, knights and mercenaries experienced similar grueling injuries, and similar victories as moment after moment, the herd of Wyerd were grew weaker, the beasts slaughtering each other with almost as much fervor as they attacked the humans. If one of them stumbled or fell in its run, by cause of a human-inflicted injury or otherwise, they were battered, trampled, and swept or hurled aside out of the way of their comrades like nothing but a hunk of meat. It was never ending tribute to the Wyerd's constant roaring as they ran, fought, and died: "The wind lays out my path… Get out of my way!"

Following a swiftly loping Wyerd that had fallen out of its veil of wind, Nikkolas calmly followed the beast as it tried to pick up its speed to become one with the wind again, but picked it off with a clean shot of his pistol before it could. Catching blurred green movement out of the corner of one snow-pelted bleary eye, the mercenary captain ducked under a lunging blow from the Wyerd, the stone-tough hoof easily as large as his skull smashing into the back of the head of a Turk mercenary standing beside Nikkolas. Not letting himself wonder to the man's wellbeing and simply telling himself that the man was dead to push it from his mind, he brought down with his other arm as the monster passed, his steel rapier slashing a deep cut down across the Wyerd's back and drawing a strangled cry from it, the monster being bucked up by the tusks of a fellow Wyerd it got in the way of, and tossed up into the air to crash down upon the icy ground some yards away, unmoving and broken. Nikkolas told himself that that one was dead as well, before moving on to the next.

And just like that, the battle drew to a slow close, the last few Wyerd finally stopping their run to fight the standing men and women all out, face-to-face. Exhausted, and with their numbers cut nearly in half by the attack, this battle was even harder for the Princess's party.

The Princess aided where she could—an odd Prtecthere and there, a Cure, but the use of her Curagato save Nikkolas's life had drained her more than she had known until now, and not being efficient with any weapon, and being completely unarmed in fact, there was not much help for her to give. Only to stay out of her defenders' way, and pray that not too many of them died for her sake.

"Just one… you still here wench?" Nikkolas growled in a haggard, breathless voice as he glared at the single remaining, frost-breathing Wyerd as it stood several paces from the decimated party, glaring right back, the dead of its own kind, and those humans it had come to kill scattered all around, soaking the snow and ice red with the blood of man and monster both.

"Hah! I'm the 'Great One-Eyed General', remember? Did you think… you could outlast me?" Beatrix grunted back, just as tired, but determined not to show it.

"Just a pleasant dream I suppose. I'll go in slow from the left… pant… try and get it to move, and you go in from the right to catch it between us?"

Beatrix sucked in a deep breath and opened her mouth to agree, but was cut off by the female knight who had lost an arm earlier in the ferocious, pitched battle.

"No, I'll take it NOW!" The enraged young knight screamed, barely even into full womanhood as she raced in between the two leaders, ignoring the commands of both to stop as she dashed her sword with a clumsy strike into the monster's strong, bony skull. The blow was weak, however, and without technique or experience, being held in the woman's weak hand as it was (though it was the only one remaining to her).

The Wyerd's yellow eyes blazed, hot air blowing out visibly from the creature's nostrils as it reared up over the now weaponless, one-armed knight.

And recognizing a companion's plight, one mercenary fired his pistol—a little off-target, and thus not a killing blow—into the Wyerd's tough hide, while several other of the remaining knights and mercenaries charged in to the young woman's defense and to finish the creature off.

"NO DON'T YOU FOOLS!" Beatrix cried out, taking an involuntary step forward. "THE BEAST WILL OVERSOUL!"

And knowing it was outnumbered, with its enemies bearing down upon it, tired and injured with no route of escape… the Wyerd did just that. Pyreflies, the essence and soul of its slain comrades, as well some from the men and women who had died in the close fight gathered into the rearing Wyerd in a sudden rush, a low, psychotic moaning filling the cavern and echoing down its many tunnels and paths as the beast suddenly expanded in size, tusks curling twice, with its green hair taking on a dark hue like seawater at night, eyes glowing a hateful red as it stamped its overgrown hooves down upon the ice.

The ground cracked beneath its feet… the cracks spreading out like thick splinters across the white terrain. The ice shattered… and many fell.

WOW! Long-ass chapter huh? Yeah, sorry about that, I kind of got carried away—it had been my INTENTION to switch back to Paine and Darklithe before the chapter's end, but oh well, we can get back with them fresh next chapter, as well as some familiar and loved faces from our favorite Final Fantasy VII! Anyways, hope you enjoyed, and if you did, don't forget to review!

Also, got yer note Rusty, thanx a lot! I was beginning to worry I'd be writing for no one but me, myself and I! Anyways thanks again for the insightful review, and glad ye're intrigued, I'll do my best to live up to your hopes! In the meantime: PEACE!

(Last Note: Use of the quote at the chapter's beginning changes nothing—FF VIII still sucked and I hate it…)