Disclaimer: (Hee, only one left and then no more disclaimers!) Not mine. Still. Go figure.

Warnings: Language, abrupt ending, so on so forth.

Right, if the format is messed up, blame 's quickedit. Please. I'll try to fix it later, if it is in fact messed up. Thank you.

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Domain of the Angels: Recreational Room

"Hey, toss me some popcorn!"

"Get it yourself!"

"We're supposed to be married!"

""til death do we part, sweetheart!"

"Oh shut the hell up and give her the popcorn, Alan." Nickolai scowled at the shorter Angel from his seat on one of the numerous couches. Alan grinned cheekily back and handed his former wife a bowl of popcorn.

An air of energized excitement was evident throughout the spacious white room. Over a hundred Angels had turned out to watch the Earthly proceedings, the precedent to what would surely be one of the biggest decisions ever made in the Overworld. Several couches that amazingly fitted everyone comfortably were scattered across the room, and on the wall was a big screen television that was idly showing clips of various humans, with captions and voice overs reminiscent of commercials.

The sodas were opened, popcorn was passed out, seats had been claimed: the Angels were ready to start the show. Unfortunately, the unknowing actors were not yet in position, and the Angels were slowly running out of patience.

"Hey," one Angel peered intently at the television, where a thirty-ish heavyset blond man was yelling at someone on his cellphone while using the privileges of the bathroom stalls. "Haven't we already seen this guy?"

"No," Alan's former wife shouted back to him from across the room. "That's Jensen, my old car dealers son. That other guy was his cousin, Larry."

"Huh. You sure?" The Angel asked, unconvinced.

Suddenly every one in the room became an expert on the characteristics of Larry and Jenson.

". . .no, because Larry hates cellphones. . ."

". . .yeah, but that looks like his stall. . ."

". . .who was his Angel again? Let's ask him. . ."

Suddenly a small but authorative voice filled the air. "Hey, everyone, quiet! It's starting!" The Angel had yellow wings, blond hair, and big green eyes. Her name was Celia Tilmitt, and her attitude had obviously been passed on to her living daughter.

A hush fell over the crowd, the suspenseful atmosphere rising to a fevered pitch. Suddenly, it was ruined by a crackling noise.

"Nicholai Almasy, please report to my office." The voice of the Great Hyne filled the room, better than the greatest PA system ever made by man.

Nicholai groaned. "Now?"

"Now." The voice was authorative.

Nicholai sighed, stood up, brushed off his blue wings, and set his popcorn in his vacated seat. "Touch it and you die," he growled to no one and everyone in particular. He hated being head of the guard, he was always the first to receive hell, and at the worst possible times. He accidentally mashed a few toes as he left, leaving muttering Angels in his wake.

As soon as he left a hush fell over the crowd. The lights dimmed, and excited chattering commenced. A young voice piped up from the back of the crowd.

"What's the big deal?"

Raine, who was sitting next to him, explained patiently as other Angels angrily shushed him. "This is the final battle. If Seifer can prove that Squall being able to see him is beneficial, then Destined everywhere will be able to see their Angels."

"Ah huh," nodded the boy, who was known only as The Little Rascal. He had met his unfortunate end in the harbor of Balamb, trying to prove he could touch the bottom. "So then this is the final unofficial death?"

Raine nodded while brushing his unruly hair off of his forehead. "Yeah, this is it."

The boy thought for a moment. "But," he asked, confused, "isn't Squall only seventeen?"

Raine nodded absentmindedly. "Sh, it's starting."

The little boy shrugged and grabbed his popcorn.

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Seifer

"Uh, Squall, I thought you said that we were dealing with a small faction of sorceress supporters."

". . . . . ." Squall's eyes narrow.

"Well, it's not very small."

"Hn."

". . .the word 'faction' doesn't quite fit, either."

"Really."

I click my tongue as I view what appears to be about two hundred armed men, a good many seated on Hexadragons, all with their weapons pointing in our general direction. "Right, then. Do they at least support the Sorceress?"

Squall shrugs, and draws his gunblade. As he does, mine appears in my hands. I glance at it, slightly bemused, but don't stop to worry about it. I have bigger problems.

Thankfully the day didn't start like this. The two of us had woken up, neither of us caring to discuss the night before, and had immediately set off to Winhill to question the inhabitants. They complied, but offered no information other than what we already had. Squall, being the chatterbox that he is, didn't exactly care to probe them deeply, and his attitude set a lot of them off. We were told over and over that no, nobody had ever seen more than five of the resistance faction members together; yes, three people had been killed; no, we don't know where they're staying; no, we have no more information. Waste of fucking time, to be honest.

Coming across the enemy was sort of an accident. We had been walking back to the forest, and as we crested the hill we sort of met the enemy coming in the opposite direction. Armed and looking to be somewhat dangerous. Which leaves us in our current situation. That being, not a very good one.

I look at our surroundings, and have to admit that there's really nothing we can do. Woods a couple miles to our left, Winhill a mile or so behind us, a rock cliff on one side, water on the remaining three. Our mission here would be to keep the enemy from getting to the village, which, in all honestly, is fucking inconceivable. Squall and I make two, the enemy makes about two hundred. So, if each of us fight with the strength of three men, that still makes about sixty some odd men for each one of us. Even imagining that we're not killed straightaway, the enemy could easily spread out and slip through around us, while a few men keep us otherwise distracted. Our only hope, a phone linked directly to Garden, was left at the tent by the ever diligent Squall. I still don't see what everyone thinks is so great about him. Honestly, he has the battle brains of a pitchfork.

The man in question maintains his battle ready stance, and speaks to me without taking his eyes off the advancing enemy, none of whom look too eager to be in the front of the rest. "Hey, Seifer, did you have any spells or GF's on you when you died?"

I snort, slightly offended. "I don't bother with that crap. Why?"

He ignores the question. "I'm going to request a surrender. If they refuse, I'm going to unleash Bahamut."

What, the dragon GF? I eye the enemy, unconvinced that even the king of dragons could take them on. "You think that'll work?"

"No." He sheathes his blade and strides towards the small army, arms in the air to show that he isn't armed. I cuss and follow him, thanking Hyne that I'm already dead.

"Excuse me. My name is Squall Leonhart, commander of Balamb Garden, SeeD Rank A. I request that you lay down your weapons and surrender!" His voice is strong, clear, and emotionless.

A rumble of voices immediately breaks out among the 'small resistance faction', debating whether or not Squall is for real. A man, easily my height and decidedly far more muscular than anyone I've ever seen steps out from the crowd, resting a large gun easily on his shoulder.

"An' if we don't lay down our weapons and surrender? What then, Mr. Commander?"

I narrow my eyes at the accent. Fucking Trabians. It's as if they're born to make other people's lives miserable.

Squall sucks in air through his teeth next to me, obviously annoyed. "Then I'll be forced to manually disarm you."

The leader chuckles, incredulous, as he gives Squall the once over. His followers laugh as well. Squall just stands there, looking as if he's discussing the weather with a random stranger. The Hexadragons make loud annoyed trumpeting sounds at the sudden spike in noise and shuffle in place, reptilian tails swishing angrily.

The leader's chuckles die down, but a broad grin remains. "All right then, Mr. Commander, please, be my guest. Manually disarm us."

Squall's eyes narrow. "I'll ask you once again to surrender."

"Aye, and I'm telling ye once again to go fuck yourself."

Squall's lips tighten, and his eyes become pretty much hidden behind the slits between his eyelids. The irises switch from blue to grey and back again, and then he closes his eyes. He places a hand to his forehead, and mutters something to himself. Then he flings the arms straight out, yelling the name, "Bahamut!"

Nothing happens.

The soldiers, who had settled into a state of apprehension, slowly relaxed as they realized nothing was happening. There began a lighthearted banter, the tone of which was relief, and the leader rolled his eyes.

"Cute. Real cute. Now if'n ye don't mind, I'd like to kill ye so that I can be on my way."

He swung the gun from his shoulder, aimed, and shot, all in one graceful motion. Two things happened then. I jumped for Squall as soon as I saw the man reach for his gun and we fell to the ground together, me on top of him. I quickly wrapped my wings around our bodies, arching my back and gritting my teeth in pain as the bullet tore through the membrane.

At the same time the sky turned black, and thunder flashed everywhere. The air pressure grew so dense that I felt like someone was pushing me into the ground. It let up suddenly with a loud roaring noise, and then the screams started. The King of Dragons was upon us.

I had read about him, but had never seen him in action. Figuring that everyone would be too busy to attack Squall, I rolled off him to watch the legendary GF in action. Even if I don't believe in using them, their power attracts me.

I watch, almost in awe, as he attacks the small army. He chases down the soldiers, bombarding them with bombs, lights them on fire with his breath. Flaming pyres of half dead soldiers run screaming and beating at themselves, the stench of burning flesh and hair making me gag. The few soldiers that are able attack back, but it's obvious the Dragon will win. And then, as suddenly as he appeared, he leaves.

The remaining soldiers and Hexadragons run around, weapons drawn, stumbling over each other. Burning dead bodies lay all around; the ashes rise into the air higher than I can see. Moans and screams of pain permeate the air, along with soldiers shouting at other soldiers, all trying to act like they know what the fuck they're doing.

"Holy fuck," I mutter. "I need to start looking into these things. Hey, Squall, where'd ya pick that one up, anyway? . . .Squall?"

The brunette lies flat on his back, eyes half way closed. He makes no effort to move.

He's unconscious.

"Where is 'e? Where's that fuckin' bastard?"

My eyes unconsciously snap to the voice. Son of a bitch. The Trabian asshole survived. His hair is badly singed, and his skin is painfully red and sooty in some areas, but he's alive. And apparently wants to kill Squall. Can't imagine why.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. . .Squall can't defend himself, and there's nowhere I can drag his body before someone notices. I look around, desperate, and my eyes fall on a boulder. It's roughly the size that I would be if I crouched down. I take a quick look at the leader to make sure he hasn't noticed us, and then grab Squall by the armpits and drag him towards the boulder. His head rolls back loosely, exposing the angles of his fragile neck.

Thankfully he doesn't weigh much, so it's really no problem to just prop him up against the boulder. It almost looks like he fell asleep while sitting up. His head falls foreward and rests on his chest, and I roll my eyes. Not like it matters now what position his head is in.

I sit against the boulder too, next to Squall. The leader of the group hasn't noticed him yet, but it's only a matter of time. I have to work quickly.

I reach up and put a hand over his forehead while closing my eyes and concentrating. I have a theory, and it's the difference between Squall's life and my never being sent to Heaven. The theory is that if I can experience his emotions and read his thoughts, I should be able to access other parts of his brain. Namely, his junctions.

Nothing happens for a minute, and I feel somewhat stupid. 'Come on come on come on. . .' the words repeat in my head. Finally a voice enters my head.

"Name and purpose."

Fuck, I have no time for this. "Seifer Almasy, access to Squall's junctions."

There's a silence, and then, "Ah, you are on the list. Very good. Here you are, Mr. Almasy. Have a nice day."

I barely have time to wonder how such a frigid man as Squall could have such a pleasant conscience before power overwhelms me. My whole body seems to tingle; I feel invincible. Magic abounds in me, I can feel it course in my veins; the very power of the universe belongs to me.

A light glows behind my closed eyelids, and deep voices rumble together as one, "you called?"

The GF's, I imagine. Suddenly it occurs to me that I have no idea how to use them. "Yeah. Would one of you mind jumping out there and knocking the shit out of that army? I'd be much obliged."

There's a silence, then: "which one of us?"

"There he is!" The leaders voice reaches my ears, and I begin to panic.

"Fuck, I dunno! All of you?"

An amused laugh. "Silly boy, that would be the worst mistake you'd ever make."

Hyne! Do I look like I care?

I can feel sweat dripping down over my eyelids as the remaining army storms towards us, and yell out the first name that pops into my head.

"Griever!"

There is a hesitant silence, and then a deep voice, deep enough to break mountains, states: "Very well, young master."

Then there is pain, pain such as I've never experienced before. My head feels like someone is busting it up with a hammer, my body feels like its been ripped apart and rolled around in a giant barrel of salt. My eyes feel like they've been gouged out, and I could swear I've been torn from limb to limb. I feel like my finger and toenails have been ripped out and my skin has been rubbed with barbed wire.

And yet, I don't pass out. I force myself onto my knees, and stare at what's happening around me, breathing heavily.

Griever is amazing. He's among the soldiers, swiping off arms and heads as he goes, causing fires, freezing with ice, crushing with meteors. Death follows him at every turn; blood stains the ground. Screams and roars rend the air, which has turned dark blue and foggy.

And yet, he manages to miss the leader. The big man runs towards Squall, ignoring his men. He tosses the gun aside and pulls out a machete; a manic tint lights up his eyes.

I look for Hyperion, and cuss as I realize I dropped it when I went to move Squall. Well, there's nothing else to be done. I pry Lion Heart out of Squall's steel grip and then stumble to my feet, holding the lighter gunblade in front of me in a defensive stance.

The leader stops and narrows his eyes at the weapon; he can't see me. I take advantage of the situation; pulling the blade back, I swing at him with as much force as I can muster. Due to the pain, it's not enough.

He jumps back quickly, and holds the machete in front of him. His eyes flicker back and forth, never leaving Lion Heart, but trying to find me just the same. I mimic him, holding the blade in front of me, circling with him. He suddenly purses his lip and lunges, aiming for my neck. I side step quickly, sending my hand out to catch my balance, and trip over Squall.

Lion Heart goes flying, and the other man's gaze follows it. Then his vision flickers back to Squall, who was knocked flat on his back when I tripped. I stand, holding my fists in a basic self defense pose, trying to shake the feeling that I'm stealing Zell's moves. The Trabian stands perfectly still, and I imagine he's listening for me to move.

The pain spikes momentarily, and bright lights burst across my vision. I squeeze them shut to clear myself, and then open them. The Trabian's nostrils flare, and I realize he's trying to smell me.

He's fighting blind.

Slowly, so slow as to not make a noise, I bend down and pick up a rock. Straightening quietly, I throw the rock as hard as I can at the ground ten feet behind him. It hits with the ground with a very audible thump.

Immediately he springs forward next to Squall, landing directly to the right of me. My wing actually brushes his back, and he thankfully doesn't feel it through the thick leather shirt he's wearing. He squints around and lowers the machete to rest against Squall's neck.

"Show yourself, or I kill him now! D'you hear me?"

I almost have to laugh, wishing I could show myself. As it is, I have the element of surprise. I'm sure that some tight asses, not naming anyone like Squall, would call this fighting dirty. I call it advancing a situation for my benefit.

It happens quickly. I turn on my heel and jam my fist against his nose, feeling it crunch. He drops the machete automatically as his hands rush to his nose. I grab the dropped machete and clench my teeth as I raise it high.

His head comes off easier than I thought it would; he must keep the blade pretty sharp. The body, already in a kneeling position, falls quickly. The head rolls a little farther and stops, resting on its cheek. Blood stains the ground.

I drop to my knees and retch, hugging myself tightly. My wings frame my vision, the dark red made almost black with the spattered blood. There is a hand on my shoulder, a hand as bigger then my head.

"Well fought, young master."

I laugh humorlessly. "Griever. You done?"

A deep rumbly sigh emits from the ancient GF. "For now, yes. Would you be so kind as to transfer us back to Squall before you leave?"

Leave? I fall back, landing on my ass, and then sit there. "Where am I going?"

Griever rumbles again. "Back to the Overworld. You've proved yourself worthy."

The information fails to make any real impact on me. "So soon?"

Griever shrugs. "Master Leonhart was not meant to live even this long. He has served his purpose."

I sigh at the phrasing. That's all it is, really. We were all just made for Hyne's purpose: dog's purchased for their owner to learn and obey.

Griever cocks his large head to one side, and I know that he understands. "For what it is worth, Young Master, you have done well."

Then he disappears. The immense pain eases, and I squeeze my eyes shut with a sigh. Back to the bitch.

I crawl over to Squall, and place my hand on his forehead. It's too hot for my liking, but I guess it doesn't matter anymore. Although I admit it would be a huge letdown if the savior of humanity died of a fever.

"Name and purpose?"

"Seifer Almasy, return of GF's."

The voice hums pleasantly. "Oh, very good, young Almasy. I knew you could do it. Alright then, here we are." The tingling power leaves me, making me even more depressed than I was before. The random thought that GF's are like drugs flickers through my head, making me smirk slightly.

"Goodbye, young Almasy."

"So long, voice in Squall's head."

The voice chuckles, and then fades away. I wonder briefly if that's the voice Squall talks to when he goes off on one of his interior monologues, before a bright light shoots across the sky.

It's pretty, I suppose. All purples and reds and various other colors. It swirls in the air, and then gathers together and shoots towards Earth. I have to shield my eyes against the brightness, turning my head away. Fuck, why does everything have to be so theatrical? Suddenly the light dies down, and there is a 'ding' noise, like someone just smacked a bell.

I lower my arm and open my eyes, and blink in confusion. It's an elevator. A typical, run of the mill, sliding door elevator.

The bellhop, a man with orange wings and a dark range hat gestures me into the small room. I start forwards, and then hesitate.

"Hey. What about Squall?"

The bellhops eyebrows raise slightly as he looks in Squall's general direction, then he frowns in confusion. "Well, sir, he looks pretty dead. I imagine Hyne has it covered."

Dead? A moment of panic overcomes me as I spin in his direction, only slightly appeased as I see the steady rise and fall of his chest.

I roll my eyes. "That's not Squall, you moron. I mean the live one."

His eyes widen. "Oh right. I'll take care of it."

He searches around in the pocket of his orange pants and pulls out a cellphone. Yes, a cellphone. He expertly flips it open and presses a few random buttons. He rolls his head around a couple of times as he waits, and then brightens.

"Hey, Amanda! How are you? . . .uh huh. . .no. . .no, I'm not going to ask for your number, I actually have a case. . .yeah, Squall something or other. . .uh huh. . .hell, I dunno." He holds a hand over the receiver and looks at me. "He from Balamb Garden?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Good." He holds the phone back up to his ear. "Yeah, Balamb.. .hey, you're supposed to be the expert, not me. Why don't you just scramble the receiver to the Ragnarok? . . .Yeah, I saw it on my descent. It's about thirty forty from the gate. . .got it? . . .Zell, yeah, spiky blond guy. . .he got the message? . . .Great. So, can I have your number?"

He blinks and holds the phone away from his ear as someone starts shouting on the other end, and then quickly hangs up. "Well, Mr. Almasy," He says, sounding anxiously cheerful. "The Ragnarok will be here any minute. Care to leave?"

I raise an eyebrow at him. "I have a choice?"

He shrugs. "Well, no, but I usually get a tip for being hospitable. Now come on sir, or we'll run into the Ragnarok."

I take one last look at Squall and then step on board the small green elevator. The doors close with a whoosh and a ding, and there's the familiar sense of falling and then a slight humming noise. The bellhop stands by the door, arms clasped in front of him, grinning slightly. I look around the spotless walls, the gleaming doors, and frown at the crappy music.

"Julia Caraway? You can't be serious?"

The bellhop shrugs. "I don't make the decisions. Hyne likes it for some reason though, plays it whenever she can."

"Hyne like's this shit? Fuck, they don't play it everywhere do they?"

He brightens. "Nope! Actually, the Overworld is pretty sweet. You can listen to anything you want just by thinking about it, look in on any mortal you want at any time of day and, a new feature, high speed internet!"

I stare at him, incredulous. "Right. You need to sort out your fucking priorities."

He grins and shrugs. "Most likely. Anyways, we'll be there soon, so you might want to make yourself presentable." He throws me a towel.

I towel off my face and wings to the best of my abilities, scowling at the world in general. Another meeting with the Great Hyne.

I hate Mondays.

B.S.: Alright, so finally another chapter is here. Guess what? One left to go! Then this fanfic is officially killed, with a certificate of death and everything! Whoo hoo!

Anyways, in case anyone was wondering about the Angels in the TV room, it just came to me while I was thinking about nothing in the shower. The idea 'wouldn't it be funny if the Angels watched us like a TV show' popped into my head, then I imagined a big theater, with popcorn. . .never mind. So yeah, one more chapter. Which I hope to have up VERY soon.