The World Of Destiny Island

A/N: Kingdom Hearts is the property of Square-Enix blah, blah blah...

The Galaxy Song is by and copyright Eric Idle (I think), from their movie Monty Python's The Meaning of Life.

The Galaxy Song

When Kairi was younger Dad used to take her on nature outings. He had a childlike fascination and love of marine life that he desperately wanted to share. One weekend he took her to the infamous Howler's Cave on the north end of the island.

"But Dad! Everyone says that Howler's Cave is haunted, and Mom even said that a demon lives there!"

Dad sighed and kneeled down to look her in the eye.

"Beaker." He called her that because Mom used to see them in them together and called them Beaker and Bunsen. "You're not afraid are you? Because it's okay to be afraid."

"I don't like demons," she admitted and he laughed.

"Demons aren't real."

"But Mom said!"

"There are plenty of natural, non-supernatural dangers," he said. "But with care we should be fine and even have some fun." He had an awkward smile that endeared him to many women who had nerd leanings. It was slightly guarded, but not in any way that caused her to distrust him. He was the most honest adult she knew. She wanted to be brave for him.

"What are we looking for today?" she asked brightly.

"We're going count the specimen living in the environment," he said. "Check the temperature of the water and test the content for..." he rattled off procedures. It didn't sound like a lot of fun, but she did like catching the fish for the aquarium in his library. He told her that the things she collected had a higher survival rate than his collections.

"Are you sure there isn't a demon, because Mom says–"

"Mom just likes to tell stories, it's all part of what she was raised to believe and she gets carried away. But you and me, we're both pragmatists. It's okay to be afraid to go into a dark, mysterious cave. Fear is healthy, but you won't do yourself any favors dressing it up as a demon or a bogeyman. We both know there's no such things as demons, angels, ghosts, or monsters. Right?"

"But Riku's dad said–"

Dad rocked back on his heels and laughed bitterly.

"Never take anything that man says too seriously," Dad said in a strange tone, one which she eventually learned meant that he was talking more to himself than to anyone else. "He's deeply embedded in a cult, on top of that he's got emotional problems." Dad twirled his finger around his ear. "In fact, I want you to promise to never let his DNA anywhere near our superior gene pool."

"I don't understand... but okay!"

Present...

"I can't believe he actually said that!" Kairi said when she finished relating the memory to her boss.

"I'm not surprised. Don't let it bother you, I'm sure your little friend had to listen to the same kind of things." Frega hobbled down the front steps of the hospital with a tiny bit of difficulty. The crutches were made for dwarf-sized patients, not elves.

"I hate hospitals," Kairi said. They had to spend two days in the infirmary, too long for Kairi and (in her opinion) not long enough for her Master.

"That's a perfectly healthy sentiment," Frega agreed.

"'My good dwarves! Blah blah blabbidy-blah-blah!'" she imitated the pompous lead healer so perfectly that Frega snickered.

"Ah, on the road again. Nice-looking city," Frega nodded. "Good place to get lost in for a few days."

"A large population will not stop it," Kairi mumbled.

"Pardon?" Frega whirled on her. "What did you say?"

She never told him about the... the gloom. Her reason managed to muscle her survival instinct back into its cage and once reason was back in charge she realized that she couldn't tell anybody what happened in the woods. 'I was being followed by a feeling of gloom. No, I didn't see anything, it was just a feeling.' Yeah. That'd go over well. She didn't even believe it.

But still, when the lights went off in the hospital at night Kairi couldn't help pulling the sheets over her head and shutting her eyes tightly for fear of catching glimpse of that presence. She would open her eyes in the middle of the night, all unsuspecting, and WHAM! It would be sitting at the end of her bed and she'd die of fright.

What if Mom and rest of the town was right? What if she'd gone off the deep end? And if so, when exactly did that happen? How much of her life did she make up?

"Don't mutter under your breath," Frega said when she didn't answer. "If you have something to say, then state it loudly and firmly. Only cowards and children mutter under their breath, it's passive-aggressive and I will not tolerate it."

"Yes, Master," Kairi rolled her eyes. "What are we going to do now, sir?"

They were going to spend the next week in a hotel, courtesy of the Loyal Order of Cactuars. The Grand Haboob felt personally responsible for Master Frega falling on the entertainer, as it was the Grand Haboob's grandfather that had the chute installed in the lodge for reasons they could no longer remember. The Grand Haboob even picked up the medical bill, which was fortunate because Frega's cuteness powers didn't work on dwarves; the dwarves were actually repelled by the combined adorableness of Kairi and Master Frega.

Frega stumbled on a broken step, Kairi reacted quickly and kept him from falling into the street.

"They released you too soon, sir. They didn't like us."

"Fine with me! We're not here to make friends."

"Yes, but if we make the entire city uncomfortable, who knows what they'll do if someone comes around asking questions."

"Why would it matter, are you on the run?" he chuckled.

"I thought we were..."

"Fortunately I don't pay for thinking," Frega stopped. "Which reminds me. It's payday." He handed her a small envelope with her name printed on the front.

"I get paid?" She held the envelope up to the fiery light of the underground. A choir of angels sang. "I've never gotten a paycheck before! Wow!"

"Yeah. It's a real milestone. And here's your company credit card. Mind, there's a three thousand gil limit on that thing, so don't be stupid with it."

There had to be a catch, he did not just hand her the means to escape, did he? Maybe she'd pay a trip to one of the hardware stores in the area and maybe she'd get herself one of the auto-crossbows she'd read about in Antique Technogeek Monthly. Hmm, and maybe then she'd run off and catch the next train outta Luca. She could be sitting on her front porch in a couple of days.

"Well, I wonder what my little apprentice could be thinking?" He got close and stared directly into her face. He had a little alcohol on his breath, and it was only nine in the morning! "Could she be plotting an escape attempt?"

"Master," she sighed. "Why would I ever want to leave you? You're so... creepy."

"Don't be smart," he rapped her on the head. "Dream all you want, but if you've read your contract– and I'm sure a smart wittle cookie like you has– then you'd know that running off on the job will subject you to terrible legal consequences! (Section II. Clause 8.)"

"I could get sued?"

"Not to mention that you'd have to spend the rest of your natural life maintaining that onion! You'd be blacklisted by the Black Wizard Council, never permitted to finish your training or have your soul put back in."

"Aw, you could find out something like that on the internet," Kairi said.

"Even if you did find some reliable soul-putsies-backsies instructions on some dork's blog, you'd never finish what you began. You'd be a never-was. You'd still be some potential victim and then some jerk would swoop down and kidnap you... then I'd have to come and rescue you! Do you know what happens then?" he asked shrilly.

"Wizard smackdown?"

"Yeah, and then I'd have to marry you! Ugh!"

"Where'd you get that idea?"

"It's the standard hero's reward," Frega crossed his arms. "A kiss for the hero and a wedding to follow. There's no other reason to rescue damsels in distress."

"It's the decent thing to do, shouldn't that be enough? Maybe the princess and the hero can be friends..." Frega started to laugh. "Okay, maybe I could just pay you a lot of gold, that's acceptable, right?"

"Why would you even want to put yourself in that position?" Frega asked.

"I don't! I was just saying, a real hero would not expect to be compensated for–"

"Do you really aspire to be a useless burden on your friends?" he asked sharply.

"No," she hung her head. "I was just saying," she said quietly.

"Good, less talking and more walk– er– hobbling. Now, onto training!"

Kairi groaned.

"Can't you just teach me how to fight?" Frega whipped around and smacked her. Kairi fell on her butt and blinked back tears. "Oooouch!"

"Your reflexes are too slow. It's magic or nothing. Just a matter of finding the right magic rock... Hmm, I have an idea."

He laboriously led her to the desolate fairgrounds on the edge of Luca, the historic location of the annual World's Fair. "Your training is going to be unorthodox as it is, perhaps we should put the fire spell aside for once and move on to lightning. It's not unheard of, some students have a deep-rooted fear of fire– perhaps there's some trauma in your past. Hmm?"

"I don't really know," she turned away, conveniently into a narrow stream of light from a crack in the ceiling above. She looked angelic and tragic. "Where did I come from? Where am I going? Everyday I struggle with these questions especially, because you see, I have amnesia–"

"That's great," he dismissed whatever she was going to say with a wave. "Whatever the case, turn to page thirteen and lets begin."

She memorized the spell and Frega took a precautionary step backwards.

"Now, just for good measure," he said. "I shall demonstrate this time; I don't like to waste perfectly good magic energy, so pay attention!"

"I'm watching," she resisted the temptation to roll her eyes.

Frega raised his staff and chanted the spell very carefully. A charge built up in the air very quickly and a small bolt of lightning sparked off the top of her head.

"Yeowch!" she grabbed her head and felt around for singed hair. Maybe this was the reason Black Mages wore hats– baldness.

God, I need a shower.

It began to rain.

The District of Porom was an hour's walk from Sus' place, and even though the area was busy he tried to stay in the alleys much of the way. The barkeep at Owain's had told him that Myrna had asked directions to the finest food in all the city, and so the man had directed her to Market Street– the strip of high-class restaurants where cooking talent went to die. Rich Mysidians didn't want good food, they wanted fad food. What the Praetor found when he got there were more pizzerias than he cared to see in the historic area. Little Nero's, Patsy's, Marinara Land... The smell of pepperoni was enough to give him heartburn.

Why couldn't she have stayed at Owain's? He hoped he'd find her before her ragged appearance attracted the attention of the City Guard, but the closer it got to the midnight curfew the more worried he became. The Guard wasn't the only danger in this city, there were all kinds of low-lifes who wouldn't think twice before pouncing on a woman on her own.

"Hey! Hey out-of-towner!"

For example, that street gang.

With everyone leaving the area for the night the only people left were a gang of young men loitering in the mouth of an alley. The obvious leader called out again and sauntered across the street to bar the Praetor's path. He considered knocking the idiot aside and going on, but reconsidered as the boys may have been the only ones paying enough attention to the people in the area to know if the Mayor passed through. Hell, they may even have been dumb enough to try and rob her.

"So, out-of-towner, what's new?" The boy grinned in what was a pathetic attempt to appear menacing, and though he did have a few inches on Baralai the others slowly got the sense that they were bothering the wrong guy. Baralai sighed a long-suffering sigh and pulled his gun on them. And since Mysidia was still a knife culture, the boys froze.

"Hey, what's the idea?" the leader said.

"I don't have a lot of time to waste, kids, so this won't take long. Have any of you seen a big woman with a, a... a lizard run through here?" The boys looked at him as if he were crazy.

"Big? You mean like fat?"

"No, more like big in the shoulders," he corrected. "Tall, black hair–"

"I know who he means!" a one of the boys said. "The Mayor!"

"Oh. The Mayor," the other boys echoed.

"She introduced herself to you?" he asked incredulously.

"She asked directions," the leader said.

"Didn't see no lizard. Had a nice-looking dragon, though," one of the smart ass kids added.

A sharp noise boomed from the alley, almost similar to the sound of a shotgun. Several of the boys jumped and took off. The rest followed quickly, not wanting to get shot for sticking around.

Baralai ducked around an ornate statue (Man-Bear-Pig in Recline, damn the Committee For Public Art) and waited to see what would happen next.

A man who looked an awful lot like Garm the White Mage strolled into street and waved at him. "Incredible! I never thought I'd get to see you again. Come out of there! It's me."

Without really knowing why, he turned the safety off on his gun and slowly stepped out.

"Good god! Praetor Baralai? What are you doing here, all the way from Destiny?"

One night, Riku, all of five or six, had come running into his room to tell him there was a monster under the bed. Not wanting to encourage a nightly ritual or a unreasonable fear of dark spaces he'd tried to reason with boy, but Riku was so insistent that he finally gave up and took a look.

At worst he expected to find a stray cat under the bed (it was making noises) but he lifted the coverlet and was attacked by a scaly, toothy thing with more arms than any living thing ought to have. It had to have gotten in while he was moving the old bookshelf into the garden shed and left the door open; their house was on the edge of the town and right up against the jungle. He dispatched the thing, but not before it slashed him viciously across the belly. It was a close thing, any deeper and he would've been standing in his own guts.

The full horror of the situation didn't sink in until he and Riku retired for the night. The boy slept in his bed, neither wanted to be out of sight of the other.

It felt like the Night of the Scaly Thing Under the Bed. Something that seemed like a joke was clearly worse, much worse than he anticipated.

"Are you Garm? Or a twin?"

"What a small world," Garm said, ignoring the question. "So, how about this weather?" A couple of figures, clearly not human, formed from the deeper shadows. The atmosphere on Market Street got darker and colder around them.

Demons.

Demonic involvement did supply the answer for a difficult question: how did Garm, who was supposed to be rotting peacefully at the bottom of the harbor with a hole in his head, get out of that burlap sack? White Mages weren't so powerful that they could fix a wound like that, and no White Wizard can raise the dead.

"Where's your other friend?" Garm demanded. "Not the Mayor– but the man in black?"

"I don't know what you mean," Baralai lied. Cooperating with demons was a dangerous trap, do it once and they can find you wherever you go.

"The man in black! I did see him last time. I'm certain he's the one who got me back in Portico," Garm whistled sharply and called out to the shadows. "Spread out! Find him!" A frigid breeze wafted past, but Baralai didn't see anyone else. The owners of the surrounding buildings, sensing what was going on, pulled their shades down and locked their doors.

"Mr. Baralai."

"Praetor Baralai," Baralai corrected him automatically.

"Whatever. You should know that there's no hard feelings for the bullet to the head," he put his index finger against his temple and mimed pulling the trigger. "Really. I understand that you got lucky. My quarrel's not with you."

"What is your quarrel?" His hands were getting damp with sweat, with all his experience with the supernatural the presence of demons still made him ill.

"Quarrel was the wrong word, it's more like a mission. By the way, have you seen the Mayor?"

"What are you?" He changed the subject. "You look too healthy to be a zombie, sound too intelligent to be a mere clone and you've walked in daylight so you're no vampire."

"You don't hear a question like that every day!" All heads turned toward a bodybuilder who stopped in the street. The man was tall with shoulders broader than any man he'd ever seen before and with that long mane of snow-white hair he looked like one of those models from the cover of a romance novel. He wore a very bright warm up suit, he glowed like an angel.

Perfect. Some do-gooder from the gym, Baralai thought.

Garm and his group didn't know what to make of this stranger who didn't even give the demons in the shadows the slightest acknowledgment.

"Hey-y-y," the stranger zeroed in on the Praetor's not-so-carefully concealed weapon and smiled. If the light on his teeth could make a sound it would've been 'ping!' "Is that a Grandpa Nambu? Does that actually still work? Did you restore that yourself?"

"We-ell, actually it's a slightly modernized replica," Baralai said. It was a gift from Galuf on the day he'd passed the rites and been knighted.

"It's beautiful."

"Thanks."

"Uh, excuse me?" Garm said. "Do you mind?" The man walked right past Garm and beamed down at Baralai.

"So. You're the Exiled One." The word exile shot straight through Baralai's mental filters and he reacted on a gut-level completely free of reason or tact: he sucker-punched the man.

The stranger stumbled back a step and the demons burst into giggles that died away once they realized that the stranger was laughing behind his hands as well.

"Mind your own business you silly man," Garm growled and drew his falchion. "Go on! Beat it!"

"No," the man swept his luxuriant mane back. The demons sighed softly. "I don't have to, because I've got a gang of my own."

A couple of men oozed out of the night. Professional killers, and they've seen this sort of thing before, Baralai thought. The demons sniffled and scooted back. Garm frowned.

I think... I know these men, he squinted at the newcomers. Yes, they definitely looked familiar, but he couldn't place them. Strange, he didn't think anyone could ever forget seeing someone like the man with the hammer. He looked like someone of Eblanese descent or possibly someone from the Tenger Valley given his remarkable height. He had that unmistakable blue-black hair; the small hands and feet; and long, narrow limbs that had a bandy, steel-spring strength.

The smaller man wasn't really a small man, he just looked small standing next to his giant partner. This weaselly man had sharp, delicate features; Baralai was reminded of Fry. The eyes constantly squinted and even his mouth looked like it was smiling when it wasn't. His dark brown hair was cut into a mohican style, and he dressed with the flamboyance of a space clown from a music video, he would've fit in on Destiny Island.

"See? This gentleman is with us, you'd better leave him alone," the body builder said.

"No, I don't think so," Garm flicked his sword back and forth between the three newcomers. "I told you this is none of your business."

"Considering that you're on my street, in front of my home, bothering my friend and in my way– I'd say this was my business," the body builder declared with a grandiose flip of his hair. (Baralai couldn't help but feel that the gesture kind of robbed the moment of its macho heroism.)

He looked back and forth between the men as they tried to stare each other down; it was a contest of will. The contest lasted a long time.

"Huh, pointless," Garm broke the stare. "What's your name, handsome?"

"I don't believe that has anything to do with your mission, ekimmu," the larger Eblanese man stepped forward, all eyes went to the giant war hammer slung over his back.

"I never want to see any of you on this street again," the body builder said, all traces of good humor were gone.

"Please...," Garm sneered. The Eblanese man instantly swung the massive hammer from his shoulders, the sound it made as he spun it around was very audible in the silent street.

"Alright, you showoff," Garm sighed. The demons melted into the darkness, and the night returned to normal. Garm sheathed his sword and strolled down a nearby alley in silence. Just like that, he was gone.

"Wow," Baralai said when the dark, cold taint in the air was entirely gone. "Thank you... and, I'm sorry I punched you in the face."

"It was nothing," the body builder shrugged. "Believe me, anyone who's taken a punch from Duncan is not going to whine about a little slap."

"Duncan? You've trained with Master Duncan?"

"Verily! I am his student," the man flexed his muscles and posed dramatically.

Baralai was impressed, even out on Destiny he'd heard of Duncan. The legendary martial arts master had taught the even more famous martial arts hero, action movie star (and one of Riku's favorite actors) Sabin Figaro.

"Well, thank you again, I'm honored!" Baralai relaxed. Any student of The Master Duncan had to be an honorable and trustworthy man. It looked like a little luck finally came his way. "It looks like you know me, but I've never had the pleasure of being introduced."

The man took Baralai's hand and shook it firmly.

"My name is Lord Vargas."

The gang spilled into a corridor filled with warriors in fancy armor. Half pushed their way in one direction while the other half (mostly paramedics and stretchers) went the other.

"We're in a battle arena!" Zidane rubbed his hands together and smiled. "You know what this means, eh Locke? All those rich gamblers..."

"Gambling's not really my thi– hey! I do not appreciate that! I'm a TREASURE HUNTER!"

"Sure. There's lot's of treasure to be 'found,'" Zidane smirked.

"We do need some gas money," Chappu said. "This battle arena, this wouldn't be a venue where it's legal to beat people up for money would it?"

"I wouldn't recommend it, it's easier to just go treasure hunting for wallets," Zidane said. "We better get lost before those nutty people find us."

"This way," Wakka headed in the direction the paramedics and the losers were going.

"I've got an idea," Chappu gasped. Chappu's little pupils looked like gil signs.

"Forget it, Chappu!"

"But–"

"No!"

"Uh-oh. Twelve o'clock!" Lilo pointed to the door the paramedics exited through. Two stubborn blonde men blocked the flow of traffic. Wakka didn't recognize Captain Seifer Almasy, having never come face to face with the guy, but he remembered Cid the angry star ship captain from the diner. The crew turned around and tried to blend in with the fighters going the other way.

"We might be able to dive under the stands," Sus said.

"People drop all kinds of disgusting things under there," Mog said.

"And loose change, I mean, treasure." Zidane said. Locke glared at the pilot.

"Come on, brother! I bet you'd be really good!" Chappu wheedled.

"Really good at what?"

"Fighting to the death?" Lilo said.

"It would appear that you only have to fight to the pain," Zidane amended, he raised an eyebrow at the number of stretchers going by.

"I thought the government outlawed blood sports," Sus said. Zidane shrugged.

"Come on, brother." Chappu did the puppy eyes, but he didn't have the naiveté to be completely believable. "I believe in you!"

"You look kind of sleazy," Lilo said.

"Where did such a sweet little girl pick up such a nasty word?" Sus asked.

"Hey, don't patronize me!"

"Come o-o-o-o-on, Wakka! Please? Please?" Chappu begged. "Pleasepleasepleaseplease–"

"Are you crazy? Look at these guys!" He glanced at the guy behind them, a man with muscles so big that Wakka doubted the guy could clap his hands. Spikes and blades stuck out from every angle of his armor. The glowing eyes flicked down at him. He turned around and pretended that he wasn't staring. "And what would Mom say?"

"She'd say it in two words or less, so it's not so bad. Don't be chicken, these guys don't look that tough," Chappu said. "It's all just for show, I bet you could take any one of these guys. Right Lilo?" Lilo looked up at Wakka and then at the guy behind him, the one who had to be a whole two feet wider in the shoulders and two feet taller.

"Oh, sure. You can do whatever you put your mind to." She leaned in and whispered to Wakka. "Don't do it!"

"That guy's in a totally different weight class," Chappu said. "I bet you could take down anybody who's only twice your size, I've seen you do it in the games!"

"That's different! Give it a rest, Chappu."

"Aw, don't say no until you at least see the guys you have to fight!"

"Maybe it's fake, like wrestling," Mog said. "That's why I prefer the ballroom dance competitions myself. It's all real baby!"

"Excuse me," Spikey Armor Guy interrupted. "But this is not a fake sport. We are serious, well-trained athletes. But you are correct in assuming that a little fly weight like this boy here–"

"Hey!" Wakka objected.

"–wouldn't be matched against an old pro like me! Not for a few years anyway. He looks like he could do alright in the lower-rung competition though I'd suggest he eat a sandwich or something or Dio'll turn him away at the scale! Ha ha! I mean those have got to be the thinnest little wrists I've ever seen! And those thumbs look like they haven't seen much action beyond a video game controller!"

"What's the purse?" Chappu asked. Wakka scowled. He'd think of a good comeback much later.

"For a beginner? Five hundred for the first round."

"Five hundred?" the crew echoed.

"That is a lot," Wakka admitted.

"Yep. Championship Thumb-Wrestling is no sport for the dilettante!" Spikey Armor Guy held out his hands and flexed his double-jointed thumbs.

The crew looked at the strange man and then back at Wakka. Would their barely competent leader accept the challenge, or chicken out?

Thumb-wrestling? Wakka had to smile. He was the Tri-Island Thumb-wrestling champ!

"Where do I sign up?"

"Something doesn't seem right here." Wakka looked nervously across the arena floor where the words 'The Brave Don't Fear The Grave' had been painted on the mat in red. Well that's encouraging, he thought. For some crazy reason there were weapons all over the floor. Chappu stood next to him in the pit beside the ring.

"That's the stage fright talking!"

"But I don't get stage fright. There sure are an awful lot of dark stains on this floor, dark red..."

"Concentrate. You're a jock! Full of unrestrained aggression, grrr!"

"What about all those people on the stretchers, and would you look at that!" His opponent, Bloody Murder, stepped out into view. There was an explosion of cheering, several busty women threw rose petals over the big, ugly brute.

Bloody Murder's enormous upper body was carried into the ring on his tiny little legs. He sniffed the air like an animal, pretended to notice Wakka for the first time and growled at him.

"MEAT!" he roared, the thick veins on his neck bulged. His handler gave him a cannon ball. Bloody Murder held it up for the crowd to see and the spectators shrieked even louder. The thick fingers closed over the ball and after much theatrical grunting and vein pulsing the cannon ball burst under the pressure. Fragments rained into the wild crowd and bounced across the arena.

"Ladie-e-es and gentlemen!" the announcers boomed. "Welcome to the ultimate in alternative battling. We're not talking about cards, or one-on-one melee fighting, but the ultimate ultimate!

"Welcome to Championship Thumb-Wrestling!"

"Bloody Murder! Bloody Murder!" the crowd chanted.

"Our returning champion needs no introduction–"

"Meat!"

"–in the red corner, Blo-o-o-dy Murder!"

"Boo!" Wakka's crew yelled.

"And our challenger tonight, the stunning, the sensational, the amazing Spiderman–"

The crowd went nuts again.

"–will not be competing tonight. Instead we bring you the small-town jock everyone loves to hate, Wakka!"

It was an amazing trick, how silent everyone got so suddenly. Wakka could swear he heard a cricket chirp.

"Ouch," Chappu said.

Bloody Murder laughed at Wakka, sweat was already forming on the freakish man's face. Wakka held out his arm for the ref to secure to his opponent.

"Rules are simple," the ref explained as he tied their wrists together, "pin the opposing thumb down for three seconds to win. Losing consciousness results in an automatic forfeit. Good luck."

"Get ready to cry to mommy!" Bloody Murder growled.

"I'll thank you not to talk about my-"

The bell rang. Bloody Murder twisted Wakka's arm back and lunged to the floor for one of the blunt weapons. The joints in Wakka's fingers popped. Wakka squealed like an animal and tried to pull away. Bloody Murder seized a dull battle-ax from the floor.

"You want to give up already?" Bloody Murder laughed and swung down. Wakka dodged the axe and saved his, er, nominal looks from rearrangement.

"This isn't right!" Wakka screamed. Bloody Murder shoved him to the ground, dislocated his shoulder, and drove his elbow into Wakka's lower back. Up until that point it was the most painful moment in Wakka's life.

"My kidneys!"

Bloody Murder laughed.

"Brother! Pay attention to the real fight!" Chappu called. Bloody Murder tried to wrap his unwieldy thumb around Wakka's normal-sized digit and force it down. Thinking quickly, Wakka grabbed a rusty dagger and stabbed Bloody Murder in the foot. Creepily, his opponent didn't scream, he just tightened his grip on Wakka's fingers and dislocated the ones he hadn't completely mangled the first time around. He jumped on the boy again, this time concentrating on a new spot.

"Aaah! My liver!"

Frustrated, Bloody Murder stood up and prepared to jump on him again. Wakka reacted quickly to save his endocrine system from certain death. He rolled onto his back and gave Bloody Murder a bloody nose.

"Alright!" Zidane yelled. "Hit him again!"

Bloody Murder backhanded Wakka. Even though his vision became blurry Wakka could see the tiny little star that circled above his head.

"This doesn't have to get ugly, kid," Bloody Murder said. "Just stay down."

"Lookout! He's closing in!" Chappu screamed. Wakka wiggled his thumb from Bloody Murder's just before the man could lock him down.

"Big mistake, stupid!" Bloody Murder stood up.

I don't think I can last another attack. Wakka looked speculatively at his opponent, the man was all hair and muscle, a steroid freak. There was no way Wakka could win in a fair fight against this guy.

"Kick him in the balls!" Chappu screamed.

But I always play fair, Wakka thought, and a terrible moral dilemma would've been raged even as Bloody Murder smacked his lifeless little body on the floor over and over... if his back hadn't started to spasm. Ah, to hell with it.

Wakka pulled his good kicking leg up (his back felt like it was literally on fire,) and slammed it up into Bloody Murder's wide crotch.

Bloody Murder's tiny mouth dropped open. He looked at Wakka with a confused expression.

"Hit him again!" his crew called.

So Wakka kicked him once, twice, three more times; and on the third kick Bloody Murder threw his head back and screamed.

"Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"

And in a moment that would haunt Wakka's nightmares for the rest of his life, Bloody Murder's head exploded.

The torturous grip finally relaxed, in fact, Bloody Murder's hand went completely limp. Wakka held down the opposing thumb and ref came over and declared him the winner by default.

To Be Continued