Disclaimer: I don't own the title "Final Fantasy" or any side characters that resemble previous FF characters showing up in this fic and various wildlife such as Chocobos, cactuars, Mogs, moogles, or the Name Cid. These are all property of SquareSoft LLC/Square Enix, and Hironobu Sacaguchi. I'm just a fanfic writer with my own ideas.
A/N: As you've noticed, I've deleted my pre and post-chapter skits under the gun of the fanfiction police (make that Gestapo), whom run the very real threat of deleting my story for being written in script format, even for small sections... This same rule raped and destroyed the South Park section, turning it into a cesspool of unlimited yaoi stories and Wendy bashing tales... Be ashamed Xing...Be very ashamed...
R.I.P. South Park section 1999-2004
By the way, picture everything like it's in an anime, but with a CGI appearance to it. And on a final note, I'll be breaking two major but easily dismissed rules about the "playable" characters in this fic.
1.There are 8 of them, not 7 like the other fantasies.
2. There are only two, not 3 female characters this time.
Also, I'm having a contest to see who can spot the most FF character look-alikes in the story, now to just think up a prize...
Directed by
HIRONOBU SAKAGUCHI
Character design by
TETSUYA NOMURA
Soundtrack composed by
NOBUO UEMATSU
FINAL FANTASY XIII
Some say the world will end in fire
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To know that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
Robert Frost
It was winter in Verona, the cold, white, powder (not that powder crackheads) had been deposited and distributed in the streets fields and woods around and in the town, the streets were mostly bare, particularly ghostly from it's seeming lack of life and livelihood. Wagons and carts had been covered for the winter, the streets were bare of any cars or vans, they had been tucked away as well in garages jutting out of the houses across the town...
The widest open area was the arbitrarily dubbed "center field," a scant few trees statues and benches dotted the 0.4x0.2 kilometer land, all bare from the early winter and the 3 inch deep snow seemed to make them all but disappear. The life in the town was all but gone, save for two figures wandering aimlessly in the snow in the barely visible path indicated by the slightly shallower layer of snow.
These two figures weren't human by the way. Covered with smooth, dull-gray 3-inch long fur, their toes and fingertips ending with blunt claws, average sized brush like tails. Their faces were adorned with cone shaped muzzle tipped with wet black noses, the palms of their hands and feet were covered with thick, callous pads, and two pointy ears on each of their heads.
They were Wolfens, a race that evolved in the Gotha Archipelago about 400,000 years ago, but that shouldn't be at the forefront of your mind right now, we have more important things to cover for the Fantasy ahead...
The first Wolfen was almost seven feet tall but had a normal not too muscular build for his size and sported a smooth fur coat. He was adorned with a sleeveless black vest and cargo pants as white as the snow around him, his tail hung out through a vertical slit on the seat of his pants that were typical for his species.
The Wolfen accompanying him was his 10-and-a-half-year old daughter, who was the equivalent of a seven-year-old human in the field of age. In this case both physically and mentally. She wore an unusually large scarf for her size around her neck and a sort of red baggy jacket over her black fur and pants similar to her Father's.
Her name was Muse, and today she and her father were visiting the park for something that her Father found special, today was an anniversary of something that happened so many years before she was born. But he never told her quite what, and having spent at least an hour wandering aimlessly in the snow was tugging at her shortening patience.
"Dad, we've been searching this place for hours..." She whined.
"I'm sorry Muse, It's been years since I've been here." Her Father said.
"We're lost aren't we?"
"Not really, we can still see the city." The elder Wolfen replied.
Both the child and the adult were unaffected by the cold thanks to their thick fur coats, but walking without rest had begun to take it's toll on the both of them, even Muse, who was typically energetic as her age implied, couldn't walk much further in the storm.
"Can't we just take a rest, I mean, city or not, this park is in the middle of nowhere." She cited again.
"Well, there's a bench up ahead right now, I guess pausing for a rest sounds like a good idea after all." He began panting as the 70-year old (remember the age equivalent thing I said earlier) anthromorph worked his way to the wide bench.
Her daughter beat her there in a flash and wiped of the snow and was able to comfortably sit down, saving room for her father, who preferred her daughter's idea instead of continuing the trek.
"What are we even looking for anyways?" Muse inquired, "You never told me."
Her father took a deep breath of fresh air before answering. Embracing the swelling of his lungs.
"We're looking for a little something called a memorial." He said upon exhaling.
"There's a memorial, here, in this park?" The pup knew what the word meant, but she never had seen a "memorial" before, not even a picture.
"Not just any memorial..." He grinned "These are to real heroes, even legends." He checked to see that his daughter's ears perked at those words. "Not soldiers, not humanitarians, just the apex of the definition of 'Hero.'"
"Do you know anything about them? What's their story?" The younger Wolfen asked.
He shook his head. "Never mind, it's too long..." he was cut off.
"No, I really want to know, you never even told me why we came here, especially in the middle of a storm like this!" She exclaimed those last few words just for guilt-tripping her father...
He capitulated quickly...
"Ok, but I warned you, just promise not to interrupt no matter how confusing it gets."
She nodded.
"Oh, Aleuma..." He began "...A town almost on top of the world." He looked directly at Muse "Now that's really in the middle of nowhere..."
(A/N: Think of a fading type flashback here people!)
"In those days, a cluster of warring criminal Empires known as "The Network" ran rampant across the world. Everything from Robbery, Murder, Extortion, and Kidnapping was done so they could get rich easy."
In Aleuma, The Deveraux family, the largest criminal Empire within the network had Orchestrated the kidnapping of a young woman, who happened to be the niece of the City's Mayor: Count Foley Stiftarr. If the Count did not produce 50,000 Gil, he would never see her alive again. However, this incident had crept into the mainstream gossip of society, and knowing that the town knew what he did, Foley saw no reason not to offer a 25,000 Gil reward to whoever could save his niece...
...The Arctic village was up in arms within minutes...
It begins...
"The Lodge Restaurant and Game House" was what the sign on the entrance to the gigantic cabin in the seemingly snowed in village. It was a redundant title, especially since it was a high-class place for some of the most respected men in town... The same men who hassle decent people to get rich quick, everyone in the establishment had at least two, not one firearm on their person and without their safety's on. The guests, the waiters, the bartender, even the guy playing the piano carried a pistol on their person. They had come there that night, not to celebrate the kidnapping of course. It would come up in a conversation frequently and others would go green with envy at the name of the man behind it all. They just wanted to enjoy themselves, do business with "junk pushers" and "pimps" and even other "Big bosses" in an attempt to make themselves all the more richer...
What happened in the next minute served them right...
A greasy, red-haired, fancily dressed, chauffeur waited at the podium near the entrance enjoying a fine stick of paper wrapped leaves that we've named "cigars." Having lit it seconds before only to be interrupted so rudely by a fast rapping at the red-wooded double doors at the entrance of the lodge, next to his post.
"Damn guests; ruinin' my cigar break." He muttered as he got the door.
Using a slide-open peephole in the right door, he peered out to the newcomer rather irritated.
"What's the password?" The surly chauffeur demanded to the unknown man.
"The County sent me." Was the menacing reply from the other side of the door.
"What are you fuc-..." He was cut off by the reverberating sounds of holes being rapidly punched through the door and his own person, courtesy of the gun-toting maniac on the opposite side of the door. The sleazy guests of the establishment were either forced to flee out the back door of the scene in terror or slump where they sat as they were riddled with miniature shells. 89 thundering booms later, there was only silence, and no movement.
WAM!
The now useless doors were forced open by black-booted foot, but held strong enough to their hinges to move open fast and remain hinged.
Through the door stepped a tan-skinned young man, at least 20 years old, with a black M-60-ish looking chain gun. He had messy black hair and donned a red sweatband and tan cargo pants, he wore no shirt but donned a pair of ammo bandoliers. He wasn't a particularly muscular man for the ordinance he carried but still seemed quite built.
"Think they gave us the slip, Roan?" Another voice came from behind the gunman.
"Nah, Devereaux has to have her stashed here somewhere, Goran." Responded the young man now identified as "Roan."
The other voice's source stepped in from the cold, it was a man, about 19. He had smooth, silvery hair down to his neck, bright-red eyes, and wore what looked like some black flak vest over a red robe like haori with only one sleeve going over the right arm. He also wore some matching baggy red pants and brown, slip-on shoes that didn't seem fit for walking in snow. Somehow, that didn't stop him from making it here.
"Out of 150 buildings in town, why are you so sure she's here?" asked the newcomer.
"Why not?" was his reply as he took aim with his rifle and walked further into the establishment.
Sighing visibly, the silver haired accomplice, now identified as "Goran" followed his partner into the now war-torn restaurant.
"Hey, is there anyone here who's almost dead!?" Roan shouted while standing in the dead-center (cheap lol alert) of the room.
There was a brief crashing sound as a table flipped over, two very annoyed looking crooks were behind it, dressed in fancy Italian suits and sunglasses, and they both carried fully loaded SMG's, and the irritation to use them.
"All right pal, Geno and I are gonna whack you for spoilin' our appetites!" One of them shouted.
"Hey Goran, look, target practice! Help me out would ya!" Roan said with his attention (and gun) turning to the bad guys.
Goran ran to his friend's side and grabbed a handle sticking out of a sheath on his back, he pulled out a fine, white, steel katana and took a battle pose.
(Play "Battle" From the Final Fantasy VIII Soundtrack)
(A/N: If you want to hear these for real, go to , it's not the same as the real deal though)
A three-round burst of staccato from the first gangbanger's weapon slammed against Goran's chest, it caused little damage but he did step back a little. He immediately regained his composure and rushed up to the shooter, and rended the man with the sword known as "white Katana." He slumped over immediately. The other fighter would have raised his gun too, but Roan immediately brought the crook down with some shots of his own.
(End music and play "Victory Fanfare")
Goran tossed his sword in the air making it spin before grabbing it by the handle and sheathing it while Roan, as a token of his victory grinned, shouldered his Assault Rifle and gave a "Thumbs down" gesture with his free left hand.
"Easy come, easy go." Was his reply. "Kickin' ass and takin' names!"
"Now let's get going, Miss Stiftarr isn't here." Goran said with an annoyed tone.
"I'll tell you where the Count's niece is if you let me live!" Said a voice from behind the bar of the Restaurant.
The duo turned to the bar to see a man in a blue jumpsuit with goggles and blonde hair jumped out from behind the bar, hands in the air.
"Don't shoot, I surrender!" He said with a grim expression of fear on his face. He didn't seem enthused about two guys with a sword and machine gun blowing away all his regular customers like it was no big deal.
"Speak!" Roan commanded.
"Nepocala Devereaux's son, "Stewie" Devereaux has her in a truck at the town entrance, he plans to take her away to Port Eric before dawn tomorrow!" He said, putting his arms gently and slowly onto the bar table (or whatever it's called).
"Stewie Devereaux of the Big Bad Quartet, this is that big?" Roan seemed surprised at this new development.
"The hell do you know about this!?" Goran said leaning on the table and into the bartender's face.
"I-I s-sell info like-li-like this to other mobsters for a thousand Gil every day! I'm just giving it to you for free because of your cleanup work!" He stammered before becoming more coherent.
"Forget it Goran, he's not worth it. We have a bargaining chip for 25,000 Gil waiting for us a couple blocks from here, save your strength and don't waste him." Interrupted an irritated Roan.
"Whatever." Goran said digging something out of his pocket. He eyed the bartender.
"75 Gil." He threw a small wad of cash at the man. He and Roan rushed out of the door, leaving a trail of destruction that'll take a hell of a lot more money than 75 Gil to pay for. All the bartender could do was curse when he realized the damages would cost him all the 12,687 Gil he had made... and then some.
(A/N: I've always thought of Gil as paper money)
"Do you want to throw money away like that?" Roan complained as they ran out the door.
"Hey, once madam Stiftarr is found we'll make up for it!" Goran countered as he followed Roan.
Upon exiting, the duo found themselves in the street in a sort of cross between Klondike Gold-Rush times and modern Suburbia. Cars were parked in the streets and in driveways along log-cabin houses, the logs however, were only on the outside, the insides of the houses were modern, well insulated, and heated.
It snowed year-round in Aleuma; its proximity to the Planet Geoss'(1) North Pole made it frigid cold. Though the street had been salted earlier that day, there were easily 3 inches of the crystalline powder on the street.
"Jeez, why do we have to live in a town that's never gone above freezing in recorded history!?" Goran whined as the cold started biting him like a rabid dog. "Then again, why'd they live here too?"
"You're that certain we're nabbing her?" Roan said in response to Goran's earlier assurance while ignoring his complaint.
"It's a safe enough assumption, I know we'll find her." A now annoyed Goran said running down the block.
"WHOA WAIT!" Roan began charging at him, coaxing a surprised and confused Goran to stop.
"Hey what's the hold-up!" Goran turned to his tanned skinned partner.
"Don't you know anything?" He stopped, catching his breath. He pointed a stretched index finger at his white haired partner "Never assume anything, assumption is the mother of all !-UPS!" He finished with an angry yell.
"Slowing down to argue about things like this is the mother of all !-ups, don't slow us down, let's keep moving so we can find the Count's niece and some 25,000 reasons to do it." He turned in a huff and ran down the street.
Now, aside from the occasional blasting snowstorm, one would expect Aleuma to be rather serene and a benign town. But as our heroes trekked down the powdered street, it became blatantly obvious that the people were restless...
The loud sound of bone and sinew clattering down the sidewalk drew Goran's attention. Four men could be seen, with three ganging up on what appeared to be an overconfident stick of a man, already black n' bruised, he still chose stupidly to fight the more brutish thugs for the sake of lining his wallet. He didn't have a chance in hell to be victorious.
Goran turned around "Hey Roan, I think this guy could get some health insurance if you know what I mean!"
The black-haired man could only grin before removing the belt-fed rifle from his back.
"Hey there boys, how about some REAL MEAT!" Roan shouted as he ran to the bad guys.
"We're in the middle of something but since you were so polite... Come on boys!" The brute called to his two lackeys, who each unsheathed a three-inch long pocketknife. He rushed to the two challengers only slump as a burst of lead pellets hit him in the chest. The two thugs were not discouraged and pressed on. While Roan regained some balance from his burst, Goran charged at one of the crooks and did an upward slash at one of the goons sending him off his feet and sliding on his back in the snow for another foot. The other quickly cut Roan who had his weapon ready again.
A retaliatory burst from Roan's chain-gun and the last of the gangsters went down...
(Play "Victory Fanfare" for a moment before continuing)
The beat up man had rushed up to the first gang-banger before Goran and Roan finished the other two. He quickly took the man's wallet from his body without checking to see if he was dead first.
"Thank you citizens! You just made me 1,500 Gil richer!" With that said, he ran off into the night and was never seen again.
Goran just watched the anonymous vigilante streak into the darkness utterly confused.
"Hey" Roan's voice cut through the snow and grabbing tight hold on Goran's attention. The white haired swordsman turned to see his comrade sifting through the one of bodies of the street scum. Using his free hand, he took a small bottle of gray liquid and threw it into the air. Magically, the bottle burst in midair and sent a now sparkling fluid raining down on the gunman, whose knife wound sealed on contact with the liquid. This "potion" had worked.
"What do you think you're doing?!" He rushed to his partner. "We don't have time for this! Devereaux could be gone any minute!"
Roan shook his head at his friend's thickness. "Hey we need all the cash we can get, if Devereaux gets away, at least we'll have a consolation prize!"
"We won't need a consolation prize if we get there in time, instead, you're wasting it on chump change!" Goran was very pissed at his pessimistic partner's inability to stay focused on the mission.
"Look, I want 20K as much as you but we have to take what comes to you, OK? Besides, the getaway car is right down the street. I can see it!" Roan shouted as he got back up and pointed.
A black limousine lay parked haphazardly in front of an iced over metal gate, the gate was permanently open, unable to move in the unattended 5 foot deep banks of snow that held them at bay.
At the limo, there was someone leaning over the open door to the driver seat, barking something into the driver's ears that was incoherent at the distance our heroes were standing. For this reason, they immediately ran to what was now obviously their intended target.
"Damn straight sir!" A voice bellowed from the driver's seat. Immediately, the man slammed the door on the driver, as our heroes gained closer to the car, they heard to their horror that the engine was revving.
"What the hell? It's leaving!" Goran broke from a run into a full-fledged sprint to the no-longer motionless vehicle.
"Damn!" Screamed Roan, cursing his earlier pep talk to Goran, he shouldn't have taken his time with the thugs earlier. 60 Gil was no excuse for letting 25,000 more slip away.
Goran was eager to stop the car and had more than a chance to do so, it was still moving slower than the red clad swordsman, thus giving him the time he needed to catch up and slit one of the tires open with his blade. He was just a meter from the trunk now. His sword waving in the gust behind he was about to summon the strength and effort to pull it in front of him and press into the cars rubber tires when all of a sudden.
BANG!
Goran slid to a halt just an inch from the sudden flare up of snow from the ground. Stopping, he traced the sound of the noise to the source; a Remington M870 shotgun, held by a man no older than 25, handling with only one hand the aforementioned rifle. He had brown hair, parted to the side and cold, dark green eyes with no mercy hidden within, he wore a blue business suit, not apt gear for the outdoor arctic conditions, but he didn't seem to notice the unpleasant feeling of the 13 degree weather.
"And I thought only dogs chase cars." He said as he lowered his rifle to reload.
"Stewie Devereaux... Where'd you take the Count's niece you rat!?" Goran took a step ahead, his sword still unsheathed from the last skirmish.
"This isn't a movie, peasant." He said placing an accent on 'peasant' to build tension against his new attacker. "In real life, no bad guy's going to reveal his master plan to an unlikely hero, and I'm no different." He noticed Goran's grip on the katana's hilt tighten.
"That's gonna change when I cleave off all your limbs and feed them to you, pal!" Goran threatened. Devereaux remained unmoved.
"Don't forget there are TWO of us!" Roan said with his assault gun in both his hands.
"You know what they say." The mob boss answered. "Three is a crowd. If you want a fight..." He cocked his Remington. "...Then leave now."
He took aim...
(Play "Force Your Way" from the soundtrack of Final Fantasy VIII)
"Goran!" Roan shouted to his partner. "Don't forget about the Fire mana drink we dipped your sword in this afternoon, don't let it go to waste!"
"I'll keep that in mind Roan, I'm looking forward to barbecuing this crook with it." Goran took his sword in both hands, and swung it behind his back as though preparing for an attack on the gangster. Goran's sword pulsed a moment, his will fueling the formula that it had absorbed. A poisonous look from Goran to the brat Devereaux had proven another stage of the apparent predicament...
A sparkling aura of green and blue lights suddenly erupted from Goran, and as he swung the blade, to far away to hit Devereaux, the utterance of one particular word triggered the now prone affect of the sword's magic.
"FIRE!"
In an instant, Stewie staggered as a spontaneous burst of flame blew up in his face, surrounding him and burning his flesh, mildly of course. He took back to his feet, but Roan, was prepared to keep him from getting a shot off his Remington. Taking a step forward, Roan took his assault rifle and fired a three-round burst at Devereaux's chest, but fired too late. Devereaux had regained his footing and just barely dodged the salvo with a sprint to his right.
"Damn it!"
Devereaux practically flew out the town gates, his weapon trailing behind him.
"We just started and you're running away?" Roan ran in pursuit of the kingpin. "Come on, show me some of that Network marksmanship!"
"I don't do requests but..." He stopped in mid-sentence as a flash of gunpowder and smoke exited the business end of his Shotgun. Roan ducked behind the gate as Devereaux fled into the night...
But Goran continued the pursuit while Roan was still getting on his feet. His sword was pointed down in front of him, catching some snow with each passing step. He had already lost the grand prize and wasn't going to let the consolation prize disappear into the tundra, he had to catch him before the town disappeared behind him and he got lost in the arctic wilderness...with a gunman.
A loud crack and a stinging pain to his chest confirmed his fears. Devereaux must not be far ahead. He kneeled prone, trying to fool the heir to the crime lord's throne into thinking he had delivered a fatal blow, he could see through the snow, the mobster was there, at least that man-shaped silhouette... That was walking back towards him.
Goran's grip tightened around the White Katana trying to make sure he made no sudden moves for his assailant to follow up on. He concentrated, certain that he needed it to be as close as he can get before he could eliminate his target for good. Goran tensed, curled his toes with his leg muscles ready to spring straight...
...And leapt forward into the air ahead...
He was rewarded with the sound of metal going through flesh as he felt his sword begin to lag behind him...
The snow 3 feet behind Devereaux collapsed as Goran landed feet first in it, his sword suspended in the air from the swing. The future crime lord slumped on his back just behind Goran. The fight was over...
Out of victory, Goran tossed his weapon in the air and grabbed it as it came back down and sheathed it, now to interrogate him. He turned around and saw the gangster on his face in the snow, and went up to him.
"Now..." He threatened. "Where's the count's niece? Are they going anywhere from Port Eric?"
His question was met with silence. The bastard wasn't squealing like a good loser should.
"How many people do you have there guarding her? What building are you putting her in?"
The mobster was quite the tight-lips.
"Hey, I'm talking to you Devereaux! Now sing!" He angrily unsheathed his sword and poked Stewie with it, making sure he was far enough away to avoid whatever trick he had in store. At the same time, Roan showed up on scene.
"I'm talking to you!" he wedged his sword between the ground and the villain's torso and lifted him on his side... Only to see the look of death on the youngster's face, totally still.
"#&" Was all Roan could say now that he arrived on scene.
"Dude, you don't just kill people that know important stuff!" He spewed.
"I wasn't going to kill the guy, I just-" Roan cut him off.
"No buts Mr. Jovanivic, I've had it up to here with your 'excitement'" The pissed gunman exclaimed.
"I wasn't supposed to kill him, I meant to KO him." He defended, it was a weak defense, but he made it sound strong.
"And that Limousine wasn't supposed to get away with Foley's niece!" He countered.
Goran didn't listen to Roan's complaints, he just knelt and took the gangster's wallet, removing the money within.
"Look, let's just take this 300 Gil and go home. You can bitch and moan some more when we get back." Goran said, now totally unfazed by his comrade's anger.
"Oh, sure, home, where your sister will yell at me for an argument that I had because of YOU!"
Goran didn't respond, he just walked off toward the outline of the town gates. He had to worry about how depressed his little sister would be, not being able to have that shiny jade medallion from the item store any time soon.
Roan sneered in the darkening night as he looked back at the body Goran left behind. He'd lost 25,000 Gil, and now he was faced with a new, dire question... What kind of mobster carries only 300 Gil on himself at one time?
He shrugged, thinking of the more important matter of where they took the count's niece, and what they'd do to her now...
He suppressed a shudder and left after Goran.
Long after he disappeared, a six-foot long piece of snow peeled off of the ground near Devereaux's body, it left a long imprint of where it had been laying. The snow flaked of the being, now clearly a feminine figure that seemed to be made entirely of translucent ice.
It... She casually walked toward the remains of the gang lord, looking down on him with some interest. She then looked to the north where our two heroes had gone back. It's interest now depleted, decided to leave. With only a thought, her ice morphed into the snow around her and her body collapsed in the wind, becoming just another million snowflakes in the unyielding blizzard.
End of chapter One(1)(1)Geoss: The name of the world this takes place on.
"What I have shown you is reality, what you choose to remember, that is the illusion!"-Sephiroth-Final Fantasy VII