A/N: Another one shot to excite the senses. Um, this one shot is pretty, disturbing, just to warn you. It has been something that has lingered in my mind for some time now, and I hope you enjoy it.
Shattering Mirrors
The boy trembled, curled tight into a corner of the darkened room. Lit torches sent erratic flashes of light flickering onto the stonewalls around him, luminating the various contraptions he wished he had not owned. He heard his breath quicken, his sweat running cold, trembling, as he listened to the rasping choking breaths of the abomination.
Lying out of sight he heard it try to breathe with its fresh and bloody lungs. The man hid his face into his blood-covered hands, strands of sliver caught in his shaking fingers. His eyes burned and his throat closed in fear and pure disgust of himself. In disgust of what he had done. He tightened the close of his eyes, forcing back the thought of tears. His pale body trembled and rocked, the cold sweat dripping off his face and onto his bare legs. The shapeless shirt worn over his usual garments soaked in essential fluids. Clutching his temples with breaking fingernails, it's hard to imagine himself as the great power he wished to become. A far image from what he hoped his name would one day induce in the minds of others.
But regardless of what he wished or hoped, he found himself walking the path he had vowed never to stride. Images of his 'master' flashing in his mind, he feels sick to his stomach, to know that he had just taken the first step towards becoming that creature's mirror, to mirror the actions that were responsible for his life, his pain… his creation. Stomach twisting the boy curses his creation, and reasons with himself, this was going to be the first step towards power, towards Garland's downfall… But the cold stab of the past digs deep, was he, Kuja, going to repeat Garland's actions? The man who had created him for one purpose and one purpose alone of which he had fled with great difficulty, the man that had brought him to a life of self-loathing, misery, and uselessness… The things that he had felt, the pain of being used, of having a life picked out for you before you could breathe on your own, and the simple unbearable feeling of knowing that you are a product… Would he bring these feelings to another? Become as horrible of his creator?
The stench of mist-flesh hanging fresh in the air, Kuja eases his still-innocent eyes open to let his gaze fall onto the wet floor. Reflecting pools of blood, water, chemicals… the torches continued their raging light inside the dark prison. The boy feels a distant feeling of compassion and sadness for the creature he hears choking on air nearby. Removing an unsteady pair of heeled boots from his shaking legs, the boy stands, wet and blood staining his bare feet as he moves towards the table.
Torches raged fire above the table, a thick cloud surrounding the mass upon the surface. Shaky, the boy bumps into the side table littered with instruments and materials set and placed, all ringing softly as they fall onto each other. Terran instruments and chemicals are scattered throughout the room, Gaian substances bubble in vials as old texts tell of forgotten magical techniques of the dark. Mist thick enough to choke rages about the table while the rest of the room is haunted with various product gases. The choking breath is louder now under the Iifa's mutating and creating cloud, 'ancient tree of life' indeed, for it worked hard creating various organs and flesh…
His slender fingers trembled as the mist slowly diminishes. It becomes absorbed by the mass on the table, the rasping breaths quicken more so. The sounds of bones forming and organs running emerge within Kuja ears. He holds his breath as the last of the mist disappears. As his ice blue eyes fall onto the creation Kuja feels a sudden sick fear within him and quick turn of the stomach. Without much warning he turns his head to the side as his stomach empties itself onto the already soiled floor. After the last cascades from his mouth and the remains of sick and pepsin is spat, Kuja turns his sweat-covered face back to the table.
It was worse than he had anticipated. The mist, has he had planned, had only made a partial creature. A mass of essential organs barely pieced together lies in a mound on the table. Lungs, a heart, stomach, throat, brain and others, covered only with minimal amounts of flesh and muscle, no skin held the mass together, only the small connections of organs and bones. Kuja felt the burn of tears, but somehow held it back, focusing instead on the growing lump in his throat. He had never imagined that it would be this painful to go through with this. As the mound, or more correctly, creature, upon the table let out what seemed to be a whimper, a sound somewhere between pain and helplessness. Against his will, Kuja felt sorry for the being, and decided that there was no difference between the creature and him… both thrown into the world for selfish reasons, both in pain, both confused, both completely helpless to the truth of their existence.
Kuja stands for a moment in silence, beads of sweat start to run down his face, his lip and fingers tremble. Within his mind he imagines himself as the creature on the table, only, not in the dusty deserts of Gaia, but in the bitter cold laboratories of Terra. Lying incomplete and helpless, with a shadow of a creator pouring over him. He raises a delicate hand to his temple as his eyes squeeze tight, trying to drill the image out of his mind….
And with a sudden wave of numbness and determination, Kuja sets off to work on his creation. Slowly perfecting the organs, adding muscle tissues and flesh where needed, strengthening bones… The creation whimpers once again as its hands, nothing more than bloody flesh on bones, begin to shake and tremble. Worried that the being might try to move more, Kuja restrains the creation's hands with previously installed leather straps. Biting back feelings of guilt Kuja continues in his work, desperate to complete his prototype.
As he slowly stitches lungs together with almost maternal care, he tells himself that if he can go through with this, nothing can stop him. He will put his past behind him; make himself what he wants to be, and not the image within a creators mind. Perhaps, if he tried hard enough, he could close up his former self, his helpless and painful self, within this meat puppet, and never have to face his demons again. He could become the puppet master with the world as his stage; he would pull the strings as he had already planned, to create a magnificent show for his pleasure alone. He would be in control of his destiny and no longer a pawn of rusted clockwork.
Hours of work proceeded without the end in sight, it would take weeks to complete his prototype. But, with the little sympathy he hoped to lose, Kuja had worked as his creation's head and face first. The small puppet was to be modeled after an ancient form of Gaian mage. His prototype was small but would fit the bill. After shaping his features and tweaking most of the pre-made brain, Kuja began to stitch on a hat he had made earlier in the black mage fashion. As he did so, he recited every step of his plan, and slowly destroyed the man within himself, and trapped it into the creation before him. Its breaths had become calmer as Kuja let one hand stroke the beings face almost lovingly. With a mixture of compassion, bitterness and hatred, Kuja promised the small being that his life would not be meaningless and it would not be long. He promised it a portion of himself, the part he hated most, so that Kuja could succeed in killing his past.
Once the stitches were all in place, the hat drooped comfortably onto the puppet's head. With a small amount of compassion, Kuja cast a never-ending darkness into the being's face, so his shame would never be seen. The creator let his eyes fall with sadness as he waved a hand to complete the spell upon the being's face. As the darkness fell over the prototype's face, his eyes shot open and shone with an everlasting gaze of bitter piercing yellow unseeing to the cruel world he was being thrown into…..
A/N: So how was that? Interesting to see Kuja act, human, eh? And of course we all know that Kuja doesn't succeed in killing off his prototype, since we do see Vivi in the game afterall. Anyways, if you have braved through the fic, please, please, please, leave a review! I appreciate every comment I get! Thanks for reading!