Une Fleuraison Constante
(A Constant Blossoming)

By Tenshi no Ai

All French translations by Hawk of Death

(C) Square Enix

(Warning: Rated R for references to rape, language, more violence and even more death.)

Chapter Eleven: Dead Knights II (part the annihilation)

Rofel Wodring strode into Gallionne, his footsteps click-clacking at a steady pace, the very essence of confidence and good intentions. Beside him, his protégé Kletian Drowa matched his pace, although it seemed that the younger man was still giving him the proper deference required in their relationship. They were wearing their golden armor and appropriate surcoats, marking the visit as one purely for business' sake. Servants, knights and nobles stared at the imposing sight the Shrine Knights made, social standings shattered by their collective thoughts.

'What reason would the Shrine Knights come here for?'

They headed without any preamble towards the turret that was the home to Duke Larg and all of those under his wing. The Divine Knight slowed by half a step and turned his head in Kletian's direction, their eyes meeting for only a second before he returned his attention to all that was before him. Stopping at the massive doors that blocked the rabble from the home of premier noble house of Gallionne, they waited.

It did not take long for word to get around, and finally an aide to the duke himself deigned to open the door and peer out at them. "Good day to you, good sirs," the aide tossed the greeting at them much like one would toss scraps at a caged animal, "what business might the men of God have here?"

Amusement at the man's haughty attitude flashed in Rofel's dark eyes but did not venture into his voice as he said, "These humble men of the good Lord would have a word with the other good lord, lest the former strike the latter for purposefully ignoring what has already been ignored for quite the while already." The threat lingered in the air for a moment before the aide muttered an apology and retreated into the depths of the turret.

"You are sure you do not write down what you say beforehand, Rofel?" Kletian asked without turning away from the grand doors.

Rofel smiled. "It is the wont of the charlatan to ask another for the manner of his tricks."

"Touché."

At length, the good lord-the latter, not the former-arrived, his thin face conveying an annoyed sort of politeness. "Ah, the Shrine Knights' Pillar of Knowledge," he recalled, a quick flicker of the eyes noting and dismissing the young sorcerer, "this is a surprise. I hear I may have done something to offend the Order?"

"I will say it bluntly: Do you despise the royal family?" The Divine Knight's face was touched by the slender fingers of Shiva herself, his expression as cold and hardened as an icicle.

"My, such a question!" Bestrada Larg chuckled, his voice as boyish as his haircut. "You would ask such a thing when my own sister is a vital part of the Atkascha family?"

"By marriage," Rofel stated, the two words instantly bringing a cloud over the duke's good-natured demeanor. "When it comes to blood, there are only two members of the Atkascha lineage. I ask your feelings regarding the elder, the blessed Princess Ovelia."

There was a flicker of something deep within the duke's eyes, something dark and trembling. "Such impertinence. She is my ward."

"That is not a feeling, but rather a dictation of the relationship you two share. Rather cold, I believe."

No one had ever claimed the head of Gallionne as a strong contender in the tournament of mental jousting. Irritated at the Shrine Knight's insinuations, Larg crossed his arms and stared down his nose at the Pillar. "You try my patience, Sir Wodring. State your business."

"I have come to take the princess to Murond, for she is lacking in her studies."

A blank look crossed the duke's face. "Take her for...studies?"

"Yes," Rofel answered. Then, out of sympathy, he decided to help the noble along. "You so graciously entrusted her to us, and we sent our esteemed princess to Orbonne for the sake of education. As we understood it at the time, you wished for us to help her with the proper studies so that, when the time came, she would be a queen worthy of God and country." He smiled inwardly at his own words, knowing that Duke Larg had only wanted to keep the princess out of the public sight while the queen gave birth to an heir and the king died. But the duke could hardly admit to that, though Rofel would've loved to see that. Blatant honesty was a rarity in his line of work.

Larg nodded at the explanation given so far. "Yes, yes. Go on."

"Of course, it is a common thing in our history to send princesses to convents, so they might study wholesome subjects to bring out the holiness inherent in our souls." Rofel frowned thoughtfully. "But then, our Prince Orinas was born. No longer was Princess Ovelia a viable heir; after all, males are favored heirs, particularly when they are direct heirs."

"Yes, my nephew is indeed such." The duke was now hanging onto every word.

"And yet, it was such a surprise to us that you did not withdraw the princess from our care."

"Well, the Death Knights were roaming the countryside at the time."

Shiva's caress fell against Rofel's lips as he remembered conversing with the former leader of the Death Knights. "Yes, the Death Knights. I had no clue that the royal house could be intimidated by such rogues."

There was a slight frown appearing on the duke's thin face. "Well, one would exhibit great caution after hearing about Limberry."

"Yes, Limberry, where the marquis himself ran through the streets, dispatching those who infiltrated his village. Even while he was injured, bleeding from both arms and a leg, he led his Aegis Knights and routed the Death Knights," Rofel replied. "Impressive, these so-called 'country knights'."

"Sir Wodring," Larg stated, looking ill at ease, "I am a busy man..."

"Yes, I understand. Princess Ovelia had stayed at Orbonne for such a long time, you see, that the scope of her studies were quite impressive. Therefore, she cannot be allowed to lag behind in them, lest someone below her station were to pass her. After all, a princess must be greater than her peers, much like a noble should be greater than a commoner..." the common-born Divine Knight smiled tightly, "for if tradition was so easily twisted, it would bring shame to the customs of our beloved Ivalice. Unless...you feel differently?"

The duke looked as if he were struggling with the arguments presented, if the wrinkles creasing his brow were of any indication. "Well, that is an interesting answer. Let me ponder it and give you your answer at a later date," he said, clumsily grabbing at anything to stall the Shrine Knights with.

"Alright," Rofel said with a nod, "we will wait right here in the meanwhile."

Larg nearly bolted back into his home. Kletian turned to Rofel with a smile touched by awe. "I am glad you requested my presence. That was quite the show."

The elder man shook his head. "That was nothing more than the stretching of limbs before the match. There are two types of people in the world of politics, young Kletian, and you have just met the first."

"And the second?"

Rofel only smiled as Dycedarg Beoulve appeared.

-0-

The battle had been raging on for nearly an hour now, and the Hokuten were steadily pressing their advantage. Most of the bodies that littered the field wore clothes of green, with much of those articles of clothing irreversibly darkened with bloodstains. Though there were many injured Hokuten, the majority of them continued fighting, urged on by the sight of a comrade lying on the once crisp grass. There was no wind, but no one seemed to notice.

It was silent at the grove. Ramza was holding his sister, her body still sprawled on top of his. His dark eyes were dull, the eyes of a man who cannot cope, his mind scuttling away to a happy place where senseless acts of violence never occur. Tears streamed down these lifeless eyes, rolling down rounded cheeks that had yet to have their fat burned away. These drops gathered, clung to his jawline for tantalizing moments before falling onto Alma's hair.

Teta could only watch this, her mind nearly blank. Delita stared at Alma's body, all lax and aloof in its casual sprawl, his attention caught by that unobtrusive bolt of metal jutting out of the middle of a circle of blood, a target formed after death. The red that had ruined Alma's dress was still intent on spreading, and it caught his attention.

A crossbow bolt, Teta thought numbly. She had seen such things before; her father usually hunted in order to supplement his work as a chocobo breeder. The small, thin length of iron had fallen out of the sky and struck her best friend. In which direction had it come from? She turned to the north and saw the fuzziest image of a boy. There was no wind, but she could hear a slight whistling sound. There was a pain in her abdomen that left her winded, and the next thing she knew she was on the ground and someone was opening her robe.

"Teta!" Her brother, she recognized. "Teta, you should be fine. It hit the pouch...damn, all the supplies are ruined." He said other things, but once she heard him say that she was alright it seemed that she felt a bit better. The lavender dress that she had worn underneath the robe felt soaked with the fluids of potions and ethers, and when she sat up and looked down she noticed wet, ruined feathers stuck to her dress and...

The phoenix downs.

Hot tears gathered at the corners of her eyes as the full realization struck her. Alma was dead, and she was going to stay dead.

"Teta," she could dimly hear her brother through the thick rolls and tumbles of her anguish, "I will be right back. Take care of Ramza."

"Where..." she breathed, feeling nauseous.

"To find that shooter. I will...take care of him." Delita patted her on the head awkwardly before leaving. The meaning of his words were not lost on her, and it scared her. A lot of things scared her, but Alma had always been there to comfort her and make her smile. Did she ever give anything back? Teta couldn't remember. Was she ever as good of a friend as Alma was to her?

Teta couldn't remember.

She turned, automatically closing her robe despite the fact that she was wearing clothes underneath it, and stared at Alma. Her best friend had lines of tension on her face, pink lips frozen in a pale grimace. That wasn't an expression that should be on Alma's face; the girl had a face for grinning and laughing and being annoyed and being happy. She had never been a girl who had felt pain for too long; she had roared through life like a fireball, blazing and sparking and dancing.

But what can I do about it, Teta wondered. I can barely use the lowest level cure spell...I had no potential, not like Alma. I wish I could...

She stopped, her mind having latched onto something. Maybe there was something she could do.

-0-

Miluda could still remember that day, that warm September day when she had turned sixteen. She had been a squire in those days, despite her nearly two years of service in the Lionel Holy Knights. Wiegraf had been twenty-two, a year away from being a Holy Knight and three away from being a White Knight. Their parents had been dead for less than a year, and her brother had gotten special permission from the Cardinal to move back home from the barracks and watch over her. In those days she had been wild with grief, and the siblings often clashed. That, coupled with the treatment she was receiving as the lone female of the cadets, and it was a small wonder that she hadn't snapped from the pressure.

It had been a nice day, and after her morning training she had went home, where her brother and Beowulf had surprised her with a cake and presents. Neither Folles sibling liked sweets very much, so Miluda had decided to take the leftovers and give it to an elderly neighbor of theirs who lived with grandchildren. She had left by herself while the men stayed to clean up, but hadn't gotten very far when she had been intercepted by Gustav Margueriff.

Gustav was three, almost four years older and was a knight. They had never liked each other very much. He was one of the people who went after her daily, and since he was the knight who oversaw the training of her squire group she had no way of ever getting fair treatment. She persevered, and that just angered him.

That day, he had asked her very kindly to come with him to the barracks, for he had something to show her. With her exceptionally good mood clouding her judgment she had agreed, and they went off to the barracks. The building had been empty, and she had demanded to know what was going on. The memory was always fuzzy at this point, but she still remembered the pain as he slammed her against a wall. She still remembered his hands trying to rip down the front of her tunic as he pressed himself against her smaller body. She still remembered him telling her that this was what she deserved for being an uppity commoner bitch who didn't know her place, his words of hate hot against the side of her neck. Maybe there was more she didn't want to remember, but the next clear action on her part was reaching for the dagger she always kept on her person and jabbing the tip of it very lightly against his groin. He moved away then. She ran home, calmly arranging her clothes so that everything looked alright. She had told her brother once that she could handle her own life, and she had meant it.

But then Gustav told the commander of the Lionel Holy Knights that the squire Miluda Folles had pulled a knife on him. There was an uproar, with many people demanding that she be kicked out of the knighthood. Women were thought to be too unstable for the rigors of training, and young Miluda had just proved that. There was also support for her; Gustav wasn't very liked. Wiegraf had interrogated her, knowing that something must have happened for her to act in such a way, but she never told. The incident cost her any chance of ever becoming a Holy Knight, and her knighting had been deferred until she was nearly twenty years old, an ancient age for a member of a knight family like she was. Many, many times she had wondered if she should have told someone, but she knew that she would've never been looked favorably upon. What would Gustav have wanted with a scrawny little squire when he could've had someone more feminine?

As he idly moved the tip of the sword down her neck, cutting through the collar and leaving her neck bare, she wished not for the first time that she had rammed that dagger into him and left him to bleed like a stuck porky. At least that.

"Miluda, Miluda," he whispered, tapping his sword against the Holy Knight uniform's breastplate, "what am I going to do with you?"

"How about you let me go, you sick bastard?" she retorted. He chuckled, jabbing the tip of his sword into the hollow of her throat. Wincing at this, she could feel the blood trickle past her collarbone, pooling at the top of her breastplate. She needed to escape; the hunger in his eyes was more apparent now that he was hindered from cutting away more pieces of her uniform.

"Sing for me, Miluda." The blade, slick with her blood, was moving up to her face again. "Your friend did, but I didn't like her voice. She was crying too much to beg properly. You've put me through a lot, so why don't you start apologizing for that first?"

Casually, she let her hands move along the grass. She couldn't look down to see if her sword was nearby, and it wasn't what she was looking for anyway. "Why don't you go to hell, Gustav? It'll save me a lot of time," she drawled, a confident smile gracing her bruised face.

"You sound more and more like a man every time I see you," he said, a hint of anger touching his words. "Such a vulgar woman. Wiegraf raised you badly."

Her smile only grew as she found what she was searching for. She clenched it in her hand while continuing to beguile him with the words of a gutter siren. "My parents raised me very well, Lucavi-spawn. Unlike yours, mine actually wanted me."

Gustav, who had been abandoned to the Lionel parish at a young age, was noticeably angry at these words. The tip of the sword scraped a path to her lips, poking insistently between them. "That's it, you little bitch. Open up," he taunted as he jabbed a little harder, pleased at the blood welling up and tainting her lips dark red, "come on. Take it in. Give me a little show and maybe I'll forgive you. Believe me, you'll want me to forgive you now."

In a very deliberate manner, Miluda raised her right fist, one finger proudly standing above her balled hand. In the barest second between naked shock and raging fury, she pulled her head away and threw the rock she had clenched in her hand. She had already turned away as a loud crack and the resulting yell of pain filled the air, her hands on the hilt of the sword her mother had bequeathed to her. It hurt to stand up so quickly, the thin layer of scabbing on her wound reopening with the movement, but she faced him with a strong stance. "You stupid bastard," she spat, red spittle flying from her lips, "you think you can make me act like a Dorter whore?"

There was a terrific plum-colored bruise splattered under one of Gustav's olive eyes. Anger danced within those eyes, yet there was something lax in his own stance as he held his sword. "Sure I can," he grunted, managing a small smile for his next words, "I did with your friend."

The fury came over Miluda then, that lovingly familiar wrath that she had adopted and nurtured to make herself stronger. There was no more Lionel chain of command, no cries for help from the Limberry streets, nothing to hold her back. No holding back. She was going to enjoy this.

Sally, watch me, she thought as she dashed towards Gustav, I'll avenge you!

-0-

Gingerly, Teta knelt before Ramza and Alma, reaching out and taking Alma's hands in hers, entwining their fingers together. There was dirt and wet soil on Alma's soft palms and fingers, the grittiness not bothering the girl who had helped on her parents' small chocobo field as a child. Even though she had been a ward of the Beoulves for over two years, the experiences of her childhood always seemed to wash over the proper life she lived now. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on remembering the early days of her stay in the castle.

-So then, you will be living with us from now on? Wonderful! We will be good friends, the best!-

Teta smiled. Alma's exuberance had sent her into quite a tizzy in those days, unused to anything more than a quiet enthusiasm for raising chocobos. She had shied away from the blonde initially, choosing instead to hide in her room or stay around her brother. But Delita was getting along very well with Ramza, and she did not want to interfere with her brother's friendships.

-Teta, I was so overjoyed in hearing that I would have a girlfriend to converse with that I may have acted overbearingly. But still, I want us to become good friends. Can we?-

When Alma had said those words to her, Teta had felt so horrible. She never meant to be so cold, she had just been nervous with the light of Alma's affection solely on her. From then on she tried her hardest to push away her shyness, if only for Alma's sake, and once she had done that she had finally begun to enjoy herself. They would venture out of the castle and have supervised picnics, or explore the nooks and crannies within the castle proper. They would talk about their parents, sharing the details of their very different lives. Alma had taught her manners, and she taught Alma about chocobo breeds and their varied purposes. Locked within the cold walls of Orbonne, they had been inseparable.

It was a pulse, not the one beating under her skin, but rather one that drew inward and expanded outward around her body. It beat in time with her heart, this aural manifestation of her life force, and she was not scared of wielding it.

How can I repay your kindness, Alma?

All that studying at Orbonne, and Teta was incapable of using it in the fashion it was intended for. Bishop Simon himself had taken her aside and expressed concern over her meager abilities in harnessing her magical potential. Alma had been a natural, even more than a natural; her potential equaled that of a solar flare, though her technique could've used some work. Princess Ovelia had a steady pulse of magic, and her control over it was superb. Teta, however, had neither the Ruglia or Atkascha lineages to draw from, only the magical potential of a family of common laborers.

Laborers who only knew how to give of themselves, year after year, in order that the fruits of their labor might flourish.

She felt tired but figured that it was to be expected when she was drawing the entirety of her life into this, the magnum opus of all the times she used her life to restore others. It was a skill taught to her by her brother, and they had respectively taught it to Alma and Ramza. It didn't have a name, only a purpose.

"Teta...what are you doing?" She opened her eyes and stared directly into Ramza's dulled expression. That was not how he was supposed to be. His kindness overtook even Alma's. Kind people should never have to suffer.

"Wishing," Teta murmured. The pulse was overtaking her. It was time.

Using the theories of curative application she had gleaned from her studies, she let her life wash over Alma's body. The main theory was that all living creatures had a set number of major 'lifepoints' inside them. These lights, in turn, fueled the body and gave it energy. Old age and death occurred because the lifepoints could not maintain the flow of energy indefinitely, just as a fire cannot burn forever. There were such things as phoenix downs and life magic, but they could only re-ignite lights that had been forcefully shut off, not the ones weakened by the rigors of life maintenance. Curatives kept dimmed lights aglow, but they as well could do nothing for the lifepoints burning out naturally.

Teta lit each lifepoint within Alma carefully, as if she was calming down a flock of frightened chocobos. She touched each point gently, nurturing it, feeding it, and finally letting it go when it was full with her energy. The accelerated regeneration of such a thorough healing caused the body to force out the small bolt that had ended its life, then healing the broken capillaries and skin so perfectly that there was no mark left behind. Sluggish but determined to finish the process right, Teta poured her essence into making sure every light was lit without a deviance between any two of them.

She felt Alma come to life, each lifepoint flaring brilliantly until the light flooded through Alma's being. Her job done, she withdrew into her own body, unsurprised that there was nothing left. She had given everything, and it made her happy that she could use herself to affect another so wonderfully.

Teta's body fell forward onto Alma's lap. The young brunette only wanted to cling long enough to see her friend look at her, to know that it had worked just as well as she had felt it to. But she was fading.

-I'm curious to know what your strength is-

It's too bad, Teta thought fuzzily, we'll never find out. I hope Delita will not hate me...

The Ivalician belief regarding death was that it was cold and dark for an unspecified amount of time before the soul reached heaven. The amount of time depended on how many wrongs a person committed in their life. Teta had heard about it in church, and so she was ready for her purgatory. But as she drifted away, a bright light flooded through her being.

Her parents were waiting for her in a bright and beautiful field, and they hugged her and told her how proud they were of their darling daughter.

-0-

Gafgarion was a good fighter, Wiegraf knew. A poor warrior, but a good fighter. It was in this ideological difference, between someone who reveled in battle versus someone who was technically skilled in the same, that separated himself from his own sister. Miluda honestly enjoyed battle, but he was more competent at it than she. It was unfortunate that he had to face someone like himself, a knight who favored defense and cautious tactics. It was even more unfortunate that this knight couldn't have cared less about the rules of a duel. Wiegraf would hit the old man, and Gafgarion would scurry away and drain him. Of course he could've done the same, he could've used the Crush Sword skill and hoped for the secret of the skill to compress the Dark Knight's organs, but such a deviance from his normally honorable ways would've been more of a blow to his sense of self than death. He intended to die with honor when that time came. He told Miluda that he was going to see her at the end of the battle, and he was always true to his word.

But Gafgarion was getting on his nerves.

He struck a glancing blow to the old man's sword arm and pressed forward, hoping to capitalize on the advantage. But like all the other times the Dark Knight feinted, moved away from the White Knight, and proceeded to drain off a little more of Wiegraf's life. It was obvious that Gafgarion had survived much of his life due to that one tactic, and it frustrated Wiegraf immensely. In fact, he was about ready to toss down his sword and shield and just lay into the old man like they were in a bar brawl...

Actually, that's not such a bad idea.

Wiegraf tossed away his shield but held onto his sword, watching in amusement as puzzlement flittered across the Dark Knight's face. Yet, he did not hold onto the hilt with both hands, instead keeping his usual style. With his right hand curled into a fist, he concentrated on honing his energy.

-See, it's not so difficult. I mean, you're an elite knight, so you gotta know about these sorta things. Swords and fists can be wielded the same way, y'know?-

When he thought he had it, he relaxed. On paper, the idea seemed alright, but his analytical mind had already gouged holes into the flimsy sheet. But it was a better alternative than breaking dueling rules...well, completely breaking dueling rules. He rushed forward, noting that Gafgarion was already on guard. Parrying a slash aimed at his chest, he smashed Gafgarion's sword down, away from the elderly man's face. His one-handed strength greater than the Dark Knight's, Wiegraf made a fist with his right hand, let the energy run through his arm, and unleashed a glowing orb of varying blue and violet straight into Gafgarion's face. The older man was surprised by the skill and stumbled away, one hand shielding his face while the other held his sword unsteadily. Wiegraf took the advantage, stabbing Gafgarion just below the dark brown breastplate.

When he pulled away, the Dark Knight fell, the mortal blow giving the old man no chance to use the malevolent Night Sword skills. Gafgarion writhed on the ground for a long moment, his blood spilling onto the grass. "Dyce...bastard..." he groaned before his body went still.

Wiegraf ran his free hand through his hair, his hazel-green eyes narrowed at the usurper's last words. 'Dyce' ...Dycedarg Beoulve? I thought as much, he mused. I doubt Zalbag would accept hearsay from me though, particularly in regards to his own brother's misdeeds.

Weakened from the battle, his body seemed to groan in dismay as he bent over to pick up his discarded shield. Sitting down on the ground, he sighed as he caught sight of Gafgarion's corpse. A sword and a fist are the same...I believe you, Salia. But I still feel a little guilty about it.

I'm sorry I'm not the one to avenge you. Miluda has more of a reason to, though. But you probably already knew that, didn't you? She actually talked to you. I wish I was the one facing him, though. Miluda, and then you...Salia, I...

He sighed again. Judging by the way his thoughts were headed, he was about to immerse himself into the deep, dark ocean of his guilt and regrets, something he had no intention of wading through while the remnants of the battle were still ongoing. He wasn't feeling very well regardless; the blood loss was making his thoughts disjointed and his stomach roil.

As carefully as he could, he placed his sword across his lap and concentrated on its silver sheen. It was marred with blood, but many of the dulled stains on it had been there long before he received it at his father's funeral. He closed his eyes, focusing his mind enough to piece together a prayer.

God in heaven, watch over her. Protect Miluda. Protect my sister...

In ten minutes he would feel better. He would look for his sister then, and hope that her body was not one of the ones littering the field.

-0-

Iron clashed with steel, a clap of thunder on a clear afternoon. Every time their swords thundered, Miluda could feel the difference between their physical strength reverberate through her arms. He bore down upon her easily, breaking through her already weakened defenses, aggravating the wound he had laid into her back by forcing her to rely more on her smaller and lighter frame to twist and turn away from his strikes. She parried away his sword from cutting into her left side, breathing heavily through clenched teeth as her wound complained at the action, screaming along her nerve endings. The shock disoriented her, and in the second it took for her to regain her stance metal tore through her upper right arm. Stumbling back, she barely raised her sword in time to block a thrust to her heart, wincing as he continued to land blow upon blow onto her sword and causing tremors to run through her arms.

This new wound seemed superficial compared to the one on her back, and so she ignored the pain that spiked through her right arm and swung, surprising Gustav and forcing him to defend against a slash aimed at his left side. With a grimace that constituted a smile, Miluda pressed down on his block for a moment before she pivoted sharply, cutting open a good-sized gash along his unprotected right side, just below his ribs. He cried out, sending her away with a wild slice before glancing at the wound she had carved into him. "You bitch!" he exclaimed, and from that she knew that the injury was even better than she had thought it to be.

"Aww, poor Gustav doesn't like it when the woman hits back, hmm?" she mocked, a little delirious from the loss of blood. "Come on, I'll make it better. A minute or two of pain, and it'll all be over."

"Not for you. When this is over, I'll make sure it lasts a long time for you."

"Try it. This time, I'm going to bury my sword in you. Might do it anyway before I kill you."

"Hm." Gustav smiled, the gesture never reaching his eyes. "I guess I'll have to break your wrists first, just like with Sally."

"You don't have the right to call her that!" she screamed, brandishing her sword. Charging at him, her attack was easily parried away, earning herself a long, shallow cut along the length of her left arm. She gritted her teeth and slashed downward, forcing him to be on guard.

"You're always screaming," he grunted. Using his much greater strength, he shoved her back, smashing the rounded bottom of his hilt against the side of her face. Miluda went down with a strangled cry, just as quickly propelling herself up and away from him in order to avoid any follow up attacks. Gingerly, she prodded the inside of her mouth with her tongue, testing to see if anything had been broken or loosened. To her relief it just hurt, throbbing wildly with the force of a fish flopping on dry land.

"And I'll keep screaming," she ground out. Her face was hurting with the force of the punch from earlier as well as this new blow, but discretion had never been the better part of valor to her. "I'll keep yelling. I'll keep drawing everyone's attention. I'll show you what I can do!"

"You think people will respect some screeching harridan?" Gustav laughed lowly, each exhale of air grinding down on her nerves. "Look at you, dressed like a knight, waving a sword around. But let's be serious, Miluda. If you were meant to be strong, you would've been born a man."

She smiled thinly, shaking her head and ignoring the agony those movements entailed. "And that's exactly what I'm fighting against. How the hell do people like you get to exist and grow up and affect things while all the good people die? Why do people like you get to go around and take whatever you want while the rest of us suffer?" Her mouth tasted like blood, even mere words having a toll on her condition. She spat on the ground before continuing with, "You think you're strong, preying on the weak? Hah...you're nothing more than a coward."

"You're a bigger dreamer than your brother ever was," he sneered. "I'm a coward? Maybe I hit you too hard, or maybe I haven't hit you enough." Shaking his head, he took a step towards her, speaking slowly as if she was too stupid to understand. "I take what I want. The fact that no one can stop me shows how strong I am. Just like the nobles. That's true power."

There was a ringing in her head that she just couldn't seem to shake away. Through narrowed eyes she focused on him. He was in much better condition than she was. She hated to admit it, but there was a very good chance that she might not be able to avenge her friend. Well then, she thought grimly, let's shake things up a bit. Here I am charging like a minitaurus, but he can work around that. Hm...

"Well, well, well, that's power, huh?" She smiled, though her eyes were devoid of emotion. "Forcing women to do what you want is power? You're a real man. Yet, I seem to recall a little sixteen-year-old girl who forced you to back off." Her smiled hardened when the rage began dancing across Gustav's face. "Some man you are."

He charged at her like lightning racing towards the ground, but she was ready for him. The iron blade raced towards her neck, his intention simply to hack off her head. Ducking, she slashed him horizontally across his ribcage, blood flying as she tore into him. Going in for a killing blow by way of disembowelment, she was warded off with a glancing slash at the exposed skin just above her breastplate. Though the wound was superficial, it felt like raging fire, forcing her to move back and assess her injuries again.

However she felt, she couldn't help but enjoy the pain flashing in his eyes as he pressed a hand to his abdomen. They were both drenched with blood and sweat, reeking of metal to the high heavens, and yet Miluda was sincerely enjoying the fight. She rarely faced anyone who could match her strength these days, and the fact that this was for revenge only made the agony sweeter. There was a lot of agony, though. More than she was used to. She could feel it in the way her head and back throbbed, how her right arm was slowly going numb. One more connecting strike, two at most, and she was dead.

"Come a little closer," she taunted him, her voice a sickly lilt. "As that girl, I deserve to carve my initials into you."

He grinned, pulling his hand away from his ribs and back to the hilt of his sword. "You know, I just remembered something interesting. I thought you'd like to hear it, since it has to do with that cute little monk friend you're trying so hard to avenge." Coughing once, he briefly touched the wound under his ribcage until he could get his breathing regulated. "Do you want to hear it, Miluda?"

Holding her sword at her side, the tip pointing downward, the lady knight looked suspicious and irritated. "How about you just shut up instead?"

"Best damn feeling in the world's breaking in a new girl," he continued as if he hadn't heard her. "Strange though, someone got to your friend long before I ever did."

"I don't want to hear it!"

"I mean, maybe your friend was just a whore. She was from Yardow, right? Just popped up in Lionel wearing one of those tight monk uniforms. Yeah, that wouldn't surprise me."

"Shut up, Gustav!"

"Then again, she wasn't just your friend. She spent a lot of time with Wiegraf. What's with that look, you didn't know?"

Shaking the look of surprise off of her face, Miluda glared at Gustav. "Shut. Up."

He smiled, a reflex to her anger. "Guess not. So, your best friend and your brother were fucking behind closed doors, and no one cared enough to tell you. You certainly put yourself out for the best people, don't you? Is that what's bothering you?" An eyebrow arched in a mocking parody of a concerned friend as he shifted his stance, becoming more relaxed as Miluda began to tremble. "Or maybe it's something else? Maybe you're thinking of all the young women he recruited and wondering just how many of them he had. That'd be a shame. All this time you've been fighting for equality, being the 'Bloody Valkyrie' and murdering anyone who uses and takes, and in the end your own brother was just like me."

By nature, Miluda Folles was used to being angry. Being angry helped to steady herself, to see the situation clearly, to focus on doing what she believed was the right thing. But never before had she been so outrageously furious, so deeply enraged. It was like she was in the heart of the sun, drowning in lava, dancing in the heart of Bahamut's dragonfire. It was mindless hate, and she did not enjoy it.

But he had went too far.

It was a dead sprint, legs cutting through the air and pounding onto the ground. She could've been screaming, but she couldn't hear anything other than the insistent rhythm of her heartbeat in her ears. Despite this, she felt like she was being guided, her sword wanting to plunge itself into that man's heart just as much as she wanted it.

As she bore down upon him, she could clearly see him raise his sword up, horizontal and level with her head. But then she was moving her head and letting the blade cut into her cheekbone and a part of her ear and she was sinking her sword into his stomach up, up, up. She was looking up and he was looking down, their eyes meeting, their gazes connecting. There was mild surprise in his dark green eyes, the pupils dilated until all there was was green on white. Something hot flowed onto her gloved hands, soaking through the thick rawhide and drenching her fingers. A trickle of blood began to make its arduous journey down from the corner of his lips. All this, and it was his eyes that drew her. For once they looked human, scared, instead of metal cold and wanting.

She liked it better when he was a monster. For him to look so human was an unforgivable crime.

Clenching her blood-soaked hands, she was reminded of the hilt in her hands. While staring into the depths of his soul, she plunged the rest of the blade into him and watched as the light of his eyes dimmed. There was more blood pouring out of his mouth, a veritable waterfall flowing from him onto her. Slowly, she relaxed her grip. Unsupported with her strength, his body fell, landing on the grass with nothing more than the rustle of the green blades to acknowledge his passing.

Suddenly, she wasn't feeling so well. She wasn't used to feeling so lightheaded, like she was drifting out of her body. Numbly she fell onto her knees, the discomfort not registering with her mind.

Sally...is that good enough?

The blood was flowing from her wounds. They had been ignored for so long that they were bound to feel neglected. She wasn't feeling the pain anymore, though.

Ah...Brother...I'm sorry...

Her body fell to the side, but she wasn't feeling anything anymore.

-0-

Sighing heavily, Delita jogged towards the grove, trying not to think of his confrontation with the Hokuten-disguised Aegis Knight. The blond boy must've been his age, and yet seemed without remorse, not to talk of more than a little strange. All Delita had managed to understand through the Limberrian's rants was that Alma had not been shot on purpose, but then he got tired of being called an 'animal without God' and knocked the knight out. It seemed like someone else had done that earlier, judging by the large bump already on the boy's temple.

The battle was over when he glanced in the direction where the remnants of the Hokuten party were standing around. They were in the process of apprehending a couple of Death Knights. Delita shook his head at this. After all this, with bodies strewn around the field and his own friend killed by accident, and there were people cowardly enough to surrender. What was the point, he wondered, of struggling to live after everything they had was gone? Zalbag would probably have them executed anyway. At least dying now would've brought some sense of dignity.

The brunet frowned. But Alma had been killed here, and there was nothing dignified about her death. She sacrificed herself to save Ramza. Delita thought that was appropriate, somehow. She had been a giving soul. It was just so senseless, though.

He was nearing the grove, and his frown deepened as he saw his friends and sister. Something didn't seem right about the scene. Was Alma...moving? And what was wrong with Teta? He was running before he knew it, long legs nearly tripping over each other in his haste to return, to see why his sister was lying in the circle of Alma's arms. "Teta?" he called when he was close enough. His sister always jumped when she was yelled at.

Alma-why was she alive again, he wondered-looked up at him, tears streaming down her face. "Delita..."

He looked from her tear-stained face upwards, taking in Ramza's saddened expression but not understanding the reason for it. Kneeling in front of Alma, Delita placed a hand on Teta's shoulder and shook her once, twice, but there was no response. "Give her to me," he ordered, his arms already around his sister's slim waist. Alma did as she was told, her lower lip trembling. "Teta, wake up," he whispered, rocking her gently. "Teta. Teta, get up." She was limp in his arms, her face peaceful. She only looked that way when she was sleeping, so he shook her again and again.

But she wasn't waking up.

"Delita..." Alma whispered again. He glanced at her, hating the way she looked so alive even with that bloodstain in the center of her white gown. She looked like she should've stayed dead, while his sister looked as if she was just sleeping. "Teta...isn't..." she choked, swallowing a sob before lowering her head so that he could only see the crown of her light blond head, "she isn't going to wake up..." Her voice collapsed into a fit of unrestrained sobs, and Ramza, who had his hands on her shoulders, pulled her against his chest.

Her crying was annoying Delita. "What are you talking about?" he demanded, looking from one Beoulve to the other. "Teta was fine when I left. She is not even injured. See?" He showed them the length of her form, unmarred except for blue stains on her white mage robe, where the healing items had shielded her from the shot from the crossbow. "She will be fine. She has to be fine!"

Now Ramza was giving Delita a look of pity. "Delita..."

No...no no no-

"No!" The realization was dawning on the brunet, but he tried vainly to keep it at bay. "No, she's not dead! She can't be dead! She was fine when I left!"

Did she die because I wasn't there?

Both Beoulve siblings were looking at him with nothing but sympathy along the curves of their youthful faces. He hated that, and he hated them for it. "Delita, she did something...it was that skill you taught me," Ramza said, "she gave her life for Alma..."

She wouldn't do that!

"Why would she do that?" It was getting difficult for Delita to breathe, the thick rawness that was his throat constricting painfully. "Why the hell would she do that!"

"Please, Delita, I have been asking myself the same...I would rather stay dead than..." Alma struggled to stay calm, reaching out to touch Delita. He smacked her hand away, ignoring her cry of pain.

"Don't touch me," he hissed, "just stay away from me. It's because of you she's dead."

Any lingering bit of manufactured calm dissolved under a flurry of tears as Alma pressed her face into her hands. Ramza, now protectively holding his sister to him, glared at his friend. "Delita, she was just trying to help! I understand how you feel-"

"Shut up!" Delita struggled to stand, the weight of Teta's body hindering him. "You don't understand how I feel! You still have your sister! Why? You have other siblings, who cares if you lose one of them!" He was screaming now, his words flinging themselves out of his tightening throat before it completely closed. "Teta was my only sister! She was all I had!"

Alma cried louder, her wails alerting the Hokuten. One of the knights came over, his eyes surveying the scene. "We are ready to go, Master Ramza, Lady Alma," he said carefully.

Delita ignored them, walking away, trying to get away from all of them. It was because of them that Teta was dead. He could hear Ramza say something about staying behind, Alma wailing that she didn't want to leave her brother. Time seemed to fade away, hazy and undefined. He didn't know how long he had walked before he sat down again, rocking Teta's body and whispering to her one of her favorite stories. She had always liked to listen to fairy tales, and he had taken over the duty of storyteller after their father had died.

He heard footsteps while in the middle of describing the brave princess who took back her kingdom after her family had been ousted by evil vassals. The footfalls were so familiar that he didn't bother to turn around. "If you come near me, I'll kill you," he stated, his voice hoarse above the whispering level.

"Fine. I will wait over here for you," Ramza replied. There was the sound of grass being flattened, of the young Beoulve trying to find a comfortable position. Delita shook his head lightly before returning to the details of the princess' crimson hair.

-0-

Zalbag released a retrieval party to bring back the bodies of the fallen Hokuten for burial. They left at nightfall and came back the next morning.

That morning, they recounted to him what they had found. The news was so shocking that Zalbag himself set out for the site of the battle.

When he arrived, he saw all the bodies of the Death Knights, their blood staining the once pure field. But the news had been right.

Ramza and Delita could not be found.

-End to Chapter Eleven-

Heh...I didn't think that this chapter would get so long. I hope it was enjoyable; I was a little preoccupied with Breath of Fire III's fishing minigame (only minigame that comes close to that level of addictiveness is FFIX's Chocobo Hot and Cold). This chapter may have a lot of errors, due to the double whammy of working on Penitentes as well as helping a friend move. If you find any errors, don't hesitate to let me know!

You know, while working on the Miluda/Gustav battle, I came across a problem. How evil should a villian be? I mean, I needed Gustav to be someone worthy of hatred, but I also didn't want to make him some pale parody of the archetype of a scumbag. But then again, sympathetic villians are hard to hate. Plus, making a serial rapist sympathetic is...sickening to me. Maybe I'm thinking about it too much.

Before someone screams at me, Riovanes!Wiegraf has Punch Art for his secondary. Put on the Chameleon Robe and watch him Earth Slash and Wave Fist Ramza into oblivion...slowly. It's a great technique that the game itself seems to advocate, considering you can Move-Find a Chameleon Robe in that fight.

If I remember correctly, Wiegraf has a max PA of 17, Gafgarion 16. Gaffy's as strong as a regular female knight (Miluda), a generic female lancer, Meliadoul and Reis, to put it in perspective. I'm fairly certain that Gaffy has one speed higher than Wiegraf (14 to 13 at max). It would be an interesting battle if it weren't for the fact that Gafgarion really does rely on that 'Dark Sword and run away!' tactic a lot in-game.

Reviewers!

Yo, Trueborn Chaos! Hm...your Ramza must be either a Taurus or Capricorn for Wiegraf to inflict 168 damage with Lightning Stab, because that's Good compatibility damage. I mean, since Worst (Pisces) would be 70 damage. I'm sorry to say this, but you kinda sound overleveled.
You're kinda right, Wiegraf has Maintenance support for his Riovanes duel. Before that, he has Gained JP Up and Two Hands for his first and second encounters.
I'm really glad you liked the description of the chapter, I was really worried that I wasn't being descriptive enough! The Hokuten wouldn't have white mages necessarily, as white mages come mainly from Murond. Algus...bah, he's an idiot, but he's always portrayed as a product of his time. I tried to justify killing him here, but I couldn't so the bugger gets to live.
I can't wait to see what you think of this chapter, as well as Penitentes!

...11, thank you so much for being considerate. I really appreciate it. Glad you liked this chapter! Let's see, I remember having Algus show up in Ch. 3, but I just never named him, just to let you know. Thanks once again!

Hey Luna, how's it going? I'm really happy you liked-or were at least stunned by-the battle descriptions. I used to get in fights a lot, so it's easy to transfer those experiences into what I think true battle is like.
Miluda is my favorite character in this whole story, probably because she's...different. She and Zalbag are a lot of fun to write, and I guess that shows. Right now, I'd really love to focus on the adults of FFT instead of the old Ramza-Delita-Alma standby, though they're cool too. But really, kill off Wiegraf? No, I can't do that...that's kinda predictable, isn't it?
Stupid Algus. Jerk's lucky I'm letting him live...for now.