Kain stumbled dazedly down the stairs inside the body of a man who suddenly knew a lot more than he really wanted to. Sure Garnet was a beautiful woman – oh and yes she was the Queen of Alexandria – but that was just way too much information! Except...

Except for the bag of gold that he still clutched from the depths of his pants pocket. She had told him that it wasn't that bloody big! A bag of gold that big could probably buy him a manor by the sea! And all he had done was tell her a few measly little things about his life. He personally really liked the way Queen's thanked people. Too bad he didn't know anymore of them...

But on the downside it seemed like her husband had been really...upset would be an understatement. Maybe there was something wrong with the poor man and no one had bothered to tell Kain. Like he was the crazy husband she kept locked up in the closet or something. Or maybe...Kain chewed his lip as he cleared the tower steps and started walking across the southern courtyard toward the castle gate. Maybe her husband had somehow found out about...the incident that had occurred right before Kain had walked in.

Kain blushed just thinking about it. He had no clue who the man was or what Garnet's connection to him was but...he had a pretty good clue about what they had been doing. Or...he thought he did anyway...Kain rolled the issue over in his mind for a moment, then gave up. Maybe he was just completely clueless...

"Hmm?" Kain turned to watch as a company of armored soldiers dashed by, all huffing and yelling loudly as they headed to the front gate. "What's going..." He trailed off as they charged past without giving him a second glance. 'Hope nothing's wrong.'

Kain was just beginning to follow the soldiers toward the gate when suddenly he saw a blur of colors. His feet left the ground, the breath left his lungs, and he found himself pressed up against the hard, stone tower wall with a pair of beady black eyes staring intently into his. He couldn't help but gulp as he tried to look around but a strong hand was holding him up by his neck and he couldn't see anything – nothing but the strange eyes. "What-" He tried bravely, "Who are you? What do you want?"

The eyes – or actually the mouth beneath the eyes – let out a ragged chuckle, "Kain Servant. You're supposed to be entertaining the lady. Now why aren't you...puppet?"

"Puppet? Wha..." Kain choked on lack of air and coughed, then gasped out, "What the hell are you talking about? Who are you?" The before beautiful, quiet night had gone black. The only stars left were the ones exploding around his head.

"Who am I?" The death-grip on Kain's neck was suddenly gone and he crumpled to the ground like a dead body. "I am your master...didn't you get the memo?" Kain struggled to his knees and looked up at the shadowy figure in the half-light. Most of his features were masked, but it was quite apparent that the man was big, his white skin glowing eerily in the darkness.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Kain muttered, massaging his raw throat gingerly, "I'm here to deliver a gift from the Elder of Macema."

"No, I'm sorry but you're wrong. You're here to deliver a gift to..." The big man shook his head and laughed, "The Elder of Macema. What a fool you are. Come on, you're going to pay the Queen another visit."

Kain stood – with the help of a rough shove from the man. It wasn't until then that he noticed the other figures lurking in the long shadows of the tower. All staring at him with glittering black eyes. What was this, some kind of nightmare? Quickly he racked his brain for excuses, "But I saw her and-"

"Well I guess you forgot something then." Kain heard a high-pitched whirring sound, and suddenly a sword joined the man's skin in glowing white. The man's voice was now an animalistic growl, "Go up the stairs...go up or I'll rip out your intestines and hang you from them!"

Kain went.

--

Zidane in a flurry of violence, bowling past guards and stumbling into servants. All irrelevant – what did it matter? He pushed past them without saying a word, returning their nosey glances with an icy scowl. Who were they, after all, but guards who had never protected him and servants who never served him? It was all just...some...big...joke.

The world moved around him like a lethargic dream, sluggishly moving on toward whatever surreal event awaited him next. Like watching a play and not understanding it, except the outcome would forge his future. WHY!? Frantically he tried to gather his thoughts. What was he doing – where was he going? What was he doing? What the hell was he doing, and what could he possibly do? "RAAAAAAAAARGH!" He screamed his frustration to the mourning sky as he flew from the Royal Tower and ran haphazardly down a small dirt path that claimed his feet. 'What can I do – I don't even know what's going on – or why it's all happening, if anything is happening at all, or – GOD! Why the fuck am I overreacting like this – I used to be so...

'Strong.' The nerve-rending confusion left long enough for Zidane to laugh. 'When was I strong exactly – ever, never? Now? Have I just been lying to myself and everyone else – they all depend so much on me but really look. Look at me. Throwing a fit and bawling every time I hit a bump in my relationship...'

A bump. He laughed again, then realized there were still tears wetting his cheeks. No closer to absolution he continued to follow the small in its slow curl around the Main Keep. The night was dark and misty from the rain that still pattered softly around him, but the torches mounted along the castle walls were sufficient light. Zidane plodded on in silence, almost afraid to think – drinking in the melancholy night as an alternative. It was the perfect night for warm fires and whispered conversation, sharing nostalgic memories of the past with someone dear. It was the perfect night for a tragedy.

After running straight for a few moments the path suddenly ended and Zidane looked up to take in his surroundings. His aimless wandering had led him into the royal garden. Now far from any torches it was hard to make out much but the shadowy figures of various beds and exotic plants wilted in the rain.

Garnet had always loved the garden, though Zidane had never cared much for it. 'Just don't think about it.' "Typical." He muttered, feeling his way forward until his shins pressed up against a low stone bench. "The whole castle is one big memory of her." 'My whole life is one big memory of her.'

"Is that a bad thing?" A voice abruptly burst from the darkness, smooth and genial. Zidane reflexively reached to his side for his daggers, but touched instead the cold, heavy hilt of his gem-encrusted golden sword. He was wearing an ornamental sword. It was so stupid he could have laughed again despite the tingling of danger coursing across his body. 'I'm so blind.'

"Don't worry." The voice could apparently see him, though there was no such luck on Zidane's end. "I didn't mean to surprise you – I've just been admiring your flowers."

"Oh..." Zidane let his hands slide back down his sides. He sighed, "Just who the hell are you and what are you doing in my garden?" 'My garden.'

"Just an ignorant traveler." The voice sounded amused, "Unaware that this was a private garden...so if this is your garden that would make you either the gardener or Queen Garnet, no?"

Zidane sank down onto the cold, wet bench, putting his back casually to the stranger. "Don't mess with me tonight, ignorant stranger, I don't care who you are."

"Ah...my apologies. Maybe the Queen's husband then? You have a confident voice – used to being obeyed I'd imagine."

"Are you being sarcastic?"

"Not at all. You are the great hero Zidane then? I've heard much and more about your feats." The amused tone never left the voice – something about it setting Zidane on edge.

"Well here I am – how's it feel to meet a real life hero?" The comment was laced with sarcasm but the voice in the shadows ignored it blithely.

"Anticlimactic really. You look like any other man to me. No offense."

"Eheh...that's ironic – I don't feel like a hero today either."

"Talking to yourself isn't very becoming of a hero either – having marital problems maybe? Garnet too much of a handful?"

"No."

"More than a handful?"

"Do you want to die?"

The voice laughed, then Zidane heard a rustling behind him and felt the stranger move closer, his breath cutting short periods in the wet sound of the garden. "I'm sorry, Zidane. Wish I could give you some sort of advice on relationships but I've personally never had a...successful one."

Zidane threw up his hands in mock frustration, loosening his gold sword in its sheath as his hands came down. It might be an ornamental sword, but it still had an edge – and any edge was better than none. "First you goad me and then you try to empathize – what exactly do you want anyway?"

The voice chuckled, "Nothing right now."

"Good then why don't you leave me alone?"

"Hmm...So what's the fight about, Zidane?"

Zidane whirled, trying to catch a glimpse of his pending opponent. The only feature he could make out in the darkness was a dark mane of jet-black hair – the stranger's back was turned to him as well. "If you're going to keep talking to me like you're some old friend then at least tell me your name?"

Pause. "Alright." The sudden weight in his voice sounded as if the man was giving away a deep secret. "It's Menoth."

"Great...wonderful...now we're practically friends."

"Hmm..." The man began moving again and Zidane quickly turned his back again. There was a soft snap and then a sudden faint waft of a sugary sweet smell. "These flowers are so lovely."

Zidane turned slightly and found himself face to face with a tangle of long, dark petals – barely distinguishable as purple. The man had his head turned slightly as he extended his hand across the gap between the two benches – his bone white hand exposed on the stem of the flower. The man was bigger than Zidane had first estimated him to be...but then again...

"It's a flower." Zidane stated bluntly, wondering if it was another one of Menoth's stupid taunts. Zidane couldn't quite remember ever meeting anyone else who annoyed him so...entirely.

"Yes...a secracia. Flowers remind me so much of the past. Something about the smell. It's...nostalgic, no?"

Zidane shrugged, "I dunno, I don't think about flowers that much, so..." He drifted off, wondering about the connotations of Menoth's cryptic questions. Then suddenly the events of the night came tumbling back into his mind – bringing a sharp pang of guilt along for company. What was he doing chatting in a garden about flowers with a lunatic? The city was in danger, his friends and Garnet, and Garnet...and Garnet...

"Well sorry to end this horribly interesting conversation, but I have my duties to look to." Zidane began to stand, "So you can just get lost...or..."

"Come on, Zidane." The flower slipped carelessly from Menoth's long, nimble fingers. "Just a stay a little longer and humor me."

"I don't know any jokes." Zidane spat, standing up stiffly and putting a hand to the hilt of his sword.

"I came all this way to see if you're half as legendary as I've heard. You know how rumors are...maybe...your shoes aren't as big as you lay claim to."

"I don't claim anything."

"Oh?" Menoth retracted his hand, and his cloak rustled softly as he changed his position. Zidane could feel every muscle on the big man tense, and a chill swept through him as his hair began to stand on end. The fragile mist of formality had ended. It was about to storm.

'Who is this man – why does he want to fight me? Why does he want to fight me now – how damn inconvenient.' He bit his lip then repeated slowly, "I don't claim anything." Mentally he blew a kiss to the wind for Garnet – 'Once again I'm protecting your kingdom...do you see me?' "So you'll just have to find out for yourself!" He roared, ducking back and stabbing out with the heavy, ornamental sword. It's glimmering hilt dripping in the accelerating rain.

--

Rain and drunkenness befriended one another to blind Blank as he staggered in a tight circle, waving his sword wildly with one hand as he tried to mop rain from his eyes with the other. Vaguely he could hear voices raised beyond the frenetic sheets that washed around him. "Look, he's stumblin' around – he probably can't even see us." A deep voice called.

A whining male voice agreed on what was temporarily Blank's left before he spun toward it, "Yeah, he's wasted – just stick 'im in the back and get it over with."

"If't was that easy why ain't he down already – he's a damn demon I think." A third voice suggested, the deep voice answered him incredulously,

"He's not a demon, ign'rt! You're just useless as that stupid butcher piece yer waving. Everyone all hit 'im at the same time!"

"Huh," The third voice, Butcher, snorted, "You get in front then, I'm not tryin' to die!"

Whiny, the second voice, came up with a new idea, "Why don' we just leave – not like we 'ave to kill 'im. He'll prolly jus' fall over after a while anyway."

Blank kept his hand over his eyes, grinning insanely as he listened to the careful weight and measurement of his death sentence. He was feeling much...less drunk, the world had begun to take a solid factor once again – but the retreating inebriation had left him with unbearable pain in half a dozen places – his right calf and shoulder, both of his hands, a dripping gash on his left cheek. It didn't matter though, he thought as his grin widened. A still body pressed against his leg, and more littered the cobblestones – silent red landmarks in the pitch-black storm.

Were there only three left? Blank knew he had done for quite a few of the rabble, thanks in part to their nearly inept armory – mainly various work-related sharp objects, with a few rusty swords being the exception. He had killed a lot and more, fighting like a crazy, drunk banshee. But there had been a lot and more and more of them at the beginning...maybe they would just leave him – go find someone easier to kill. Then he could...finally...rest.

'Gabrielle...' Her face came to Blank's mind – she was probably sleeping in the Hilda Garde, helpless and innocent. Was that why he was slashing shadows in the storm – to protect her? He had almost forgotten. The shadows around him began to shift and he continued to walk his circle, his eyes heroically focused on the tip of his wavering blade. Maybe they would write a song about him – hell, even a play! One man against a hundred, armed with nothing but his sword and his unconquerable love for an unnamed beauty.

The hundred, no, two hundred enemies were fearsome warriors! But did that stop him? Blank wiped his eyes and slashed his sword. Hell no! Not even a thousand warriors could stop the last hero of love! Not even a million hero-eating demons straight from hell! The whole world was held at bay by his virtuous blade. The very angels cried in admiration of brave Lucifer the Lover.

Blank nodded. 'Lucifer the Lover, that's real sharp. Damn I'm good at this. So...lesse...' Ah yes, he stopped everyone in the world with his sword and the angels were crying and then the demons that didn't get their asses kicked were running away. And then...oh but first he had to suffer a grievous wound. An underhanded cheap hit...or better yet, a duel to the death with the King of the Demons! Much better – he easily vanquished the powerful devil, but the bastard's magical sword exploded and blew off...his arm. His left one.

So there he lay in the rain...that was worse than any rain ever seen by the eyes of man, bleeding from thousands of minor wounds and dying – dying! Only he couldn't possibly let go of life as long as his heart continued its undying love for the angel Gabrielle. His eyes began to close, but then a brilliant light shone ahead of him, and a perfect, voluptuous form appeared! She was completely naked except for a-

"We'll prolly get triple shares for killin' him though. He's got to be someone important – maybe even one of those ledjidary heroes I heard about!" Deepy interrupted Blank mid thought, yelling painfully loud to be heard over the downpour.

"Him?" Whiny bantered back.

"Could be..." Butcher's shadow shifted in front of Blank's sword – Blank could almost see him rubbing his chin in thought. "Ya know – I didn't even think about that!"

"Hey." Blank yelled back at him, "Could you just shut the hell up – I was in the middle of a nice dream!"

All three figures began shifting around rapidly, and Butcher spoke, quieter than the last time, "Did he just say that – was that him? Tom, I think he's listenin' to us!"

"Look!" Deepy bellowed back, "He's standing real still – what's he staring at?"

"Dunno." Whiny piped in, his voice cracking nervously.

"I think he's staring at me! He's looking at me!" Butcher screeched, sweeping his cleaver in desperate clumsy stabs through the air. Blank suddenly realized he could almost see the three oafs that surrounded him. The rain still shot down – though he couldn't feel it, no more than he could feel his bleeding wounds. Actually...it didn't feel like he felt anything. Strange...but still...somehow he could see. Very...strange.

"I'm not deaf!" He tried to yell as he lunged for Butcher. A neat duck and straight through the ribs. Instead his right leg crumbled beneath him and he saw Butcher's cleaver fly past his ear. White clouds rushed in to attack his sight as he dully felt his chin crack against a frigid cobblestone. Or maybe the stone cracked. If he could just look down he would be able to tell.

Heh...look...down.

Noises flew around above him and thundered in his ears over and over again. 'He fell! Huh...eeee....FELL HEFELL! Huhhhhmmm...hmmmmm...mmmmm' It was just confusing, and the rain was a million times louder now that it was hitting right next to his ears. Now he knew how cobblestones felt. Or maybe he was one? It was hard to tell. 'Something's wrong.' Blank heard someone notify whoever was in charge of his brain. And then, from the same informed source, 'It's too white.'

Blank agreed. Groping out blindly for the sword he was just holding, he latched onto the only thought that seemed to stick in his dissipating mind. 'I think I'm going to die. I can't die, I can't die – Gabrielle! I can't die I can't die I can't die I CAN'T DIE!'

His fingers touched a cold, wet object. He swung it heavily around him, trying with every fiber to stand up, or better yet, to see. It was too white.

What about all the angels and demons and magic swords? It was too soon!

'What angels and demons?'

Blank swung the sword again and again, back and forth, from his spread-eagle position on the street. He was so cold, but so numb, and the strange sounds kept running circles in his head with their big noisy, sound feet.

Suddenly the light went out – and Blank caught a big, detailed image of a cobblestone before he collapsed into it and it all went black.

Blank couldn't be sure, falling out of consciousness as he was, but the last thing that he remembered hearing was his angel calling his name.

--

The lunatic rain made the night like one long, terrifying nightmare. Everywhere Steiner turned he saw knights in white armor swinging white swords at him or his comrades. Block, parry, block, duck, block, thrust, block, retreat. An endless rhythm that after a while lost all meaning, all urgency. He was trying to stay alive, trying to find Beatrix, trying to defeat the enemy. But he was so cold, numb to the bone. And he was so tired; his armor seemed to multiply with each turn. And he was so hopeless, with every passing moment the small clusters of soldiers in red thinned more and more, blotted out by a big, white box that seemed impenetrable.

Alexandria was losing, his soldiers were dying, and he should do something or give some order – form ranks and organize a counterattack, or just retreat and leave the mayhem. But he couldn't think, he was helpless to do anything but raise his sword and swing it, turn and block, step and slash. His lips felt as heavy as his armor – how could he give orders if he couldn't see where his men were, or what they would do even if he knew where they were.

Maybe they had retreated already, maybe he was the last one left. Steiner threw himself at a white knight who matched him for height and size, barraging the enemy with a dozen vicious blows. The knight mechanically blocked and parried every blow, then sent Steiner on the defensive – pushing him back. Steiner collided with someone behind him and almost fell. He grunted as he regained balance, then swung his sword in a wide cyclone, taking the space as a chance to look for hope.

There was no hope. He was the last soldier on the field, too disciplined to die, too stupid to run. 'I tried.' Steiner ground his teeth stolidly, ignored his fatigue and prepared for one last charge.

"Alexandria!!" A ragged war cry came from behind him and he turned. The yell had distracted some of the knights and the handful of rioters still on the field. Steiner took his chance and dropped his shoulder, bulling forward with his sword held high – yelling his own war cry.

"Beatrix!"

The ranks shattered before him as he ran. Rabble and knights alike shied away from his charge and he slashed or trampled those that didn't. Suddenly as he ran he realized that the enemy had been packed so tightly around him because they were confused. Most of them were just milling around, half of the street enthusiasts had either left or had taken to cleaning out whatever was left in the shops. They were confused, leaderless. A snake without a head. There was hope after all.

One last knight stood in his path, crouching with his shield held tight. Steiner gripped his great sword with white knuckles and crashed right through him. The sword pierced through shield, armor and skin – then the limp body spun as Steiner ran past, jerking his sword free as he did.

And there before him, defending the street that led to the castle, were the Alexandrians. Beatrix's hair clung heavily to her face and shoulders as rivulets of rain ran down her armor like water. She looked worn and tired, as worn and tired as he was, but she was alive and unharmed. And surrounding her were five score foot soldiers, grim-faced as they planted their spears. A hundred – and more flooding from the castle, some half-dressed and all of them looking shocked. But they were there. Vivi stood at Beatrix's side, hands clasped together as he viewed the scene through large, luminous eyes. Marcus towered behind them both, grinning with his arms crossed over his powerful chest.

Beatrix shuddered as she caught sight of him. The ranks parted and he was at her side – almost relieved enough to kiss her right then and there. But not quite – it wasn't the time for it. "I'm glad you're safe."

Beatrix curled her lip and flared at him, "I'm safe – what about you!? Where have you been – with this damn rain I can't see ten feet in front of me!"

"I thought..." Steiner faltered and turned away, peering at the shadowy formation of the enemy ranks as he gathered himself, "I was fighting, I couldn't see and so I thought that...I thought I was alone." He couldn't explain the sudden lump in his throat and he couldn't embrace it – so he stubbornly choked it down. "Then I heard you yell."

"You almost were." Beatrix tried to keep her voice blunt, "I had no idea they would be so strong...the knights...this whole night was madness."

"I know..." Steiner continued staring blankly ahead, his eyes focused on the sprawled corpse of the white knight he had just slain.

"Me and a few others fought our way to the edge." Beatrix related the story briefly as fresh soldiers began to form lines behind them. "We would have went down but then Vivi came."

"The castle was safe." Vivi offered timidly. Steiner turned and looked down at the black mage and nodded stiffly,

"A thousand thanks, Master Vivi."

"You're welcome."

"The sudden counterattack and Vivi's magic hit them hard enough to make them fall back, Vivi and the rest roused every soldier in the city it seems." Beatrix concluded, "A lot of the rioters and looters left the square – hopefully they got sick of the rain and are going to bed. The rest..." She shrugged and tried to catch Steiner's eyes. He quickly turned his head.

"Looks like they're waiting for something." Marcus observed dryly.

Steiner couldn't really see anything – but he looked anyway. "Where is the priest – did you see what happened to him?"

"I almost killed him, but he disappeared." Steiner could hear Beatrix chewing her lip angrily. 'She's mad at me.' He could always tell when she was mad at him.

As they all fell off into silent thought, a solitary figure appeared through the heavy rain, heading straight for them. It was one of the formidable white knights, but he had sheathed his sword and both hands were held forward in a non-threatening gesture.

A hush fell through the ranks until all that could be heard was the rain. Then Beatrix's commanding voice snapped through, "Speak, Knight!"

"We have decided that this night is an enemy to us all. We will withdraw if you will – and meet again on the morrow." The face in the helmet was hidden in shadows, the voice was flat and lifeless.

But still a collective sigh followed his words, and Steiner felt he could almost smile if he weren't so damn cold. Beatrix called back, "So be it. I will meet you in this square an hour before noon."

"So be it." The white knight turned and stalked away. The Alexandrian soldiers remained rigid, all eyes turned toward Beatrix.

She was at least strong enough to put out a weak smile, "At ease. Sleep, sleep well and report to the parade grounds at 10 o' clock! Dismissed!"

The army broke ranks, every man and woman hurriedly pushing back toward the castle until the only people left in the square were Steiner, Beatrix and Marcus.

Marcus took a long look at Beatrix, than a long look at Steiner. Then he ran a hand across his face and turned back toward the castle.

Steiner stood alone, speechless, and cold. And when he looked down at Beatrix he saw that she was shaking heavily. "Are you..."

"Yes." She answered sharply. Then she looked into his eyes and began to sob, "No. No!"

"Beatrix..." He put his hand on her shoulder and paused, feeling enormously uncomfortable. She clutched his steel-plated arm and sobbed harder.

"So many died...so many, Steiner. My men, my women, our soldiers! For what? Why...why di...why-"

"I don't know." It was wrong. It was stupid and confusing and sad. But the only ache he felt was from watching Beatrix cry, watching her heart tearing and not knowing how to help. "Let me take you back."

She didn't say anything, but she didn't resist as he swung her up into his arms and carried her back to the castle – Save the Queen still clutched in her hands. When they reached the gates and relieved solace from the rain, she finally sniffed, looked into his eyes and said, "I hope I don't wake up tomorrow."

That was when the blinding light suddenly filled the castle.

--

Everyone is changing
There's no one left that's real
To make up your own ending
Let me know just how you feel
'Cause I am lost without you
I cannot live at all
My whole world surrounds you
I stumble then I crawl

You could be my someone
You could be my scene
You know that I will save you
From all of the unclean
I wonder what you're doing
I wonder where you are
There're oceans in between us
But that's not very far...

Can you take it all away?

Blurry – Puddle of Mudd