Chapter Sixteen
A/N: I apologize beforehand, there's a lot of shifts of just tiny insights into character's situations, basically, self-indulgences on my part. Thank you for putting up with me! *cries*
There was a desperate sort of shrieking that would not stop within the Mist and the child began to tremble despite himself, his fist clenching tight within his shirt, taking a step back as his head whipped back and forth around him. His hearing could not decipher the exact direction of the noise just as his sight could not discern a notable figure making it.
But it rang on shrilly, accompanied by other guttural, strangled sounds that spoke of instability and violence.
The ground beneath his feet was damp, the air cloying and suffocating, making the effort of breathing more exhausting than it rightfully should be. The trees around him were thick and knotted so tightly together they could almost be mistaken as one entity, their branches dark and inviting in the most treacherous of ways. There was no light to be breached upon this surface, only the uncertainty of the unknown. Between the foliage and the smog, nothing more could be gleaned from his surroundings other than the constant wails and howling that pierced his ears.
His little chest heaved in and out in his growing panic, the feeling unfamiliar to him, it's monstrous claws such fearful things as their talons clung to the edges of his mind.
And then he jumped as the shriek turned to a scream that ended with the cacophony of a distant struggle, his eyes almost bulging from his head as he tried to peer behind the fog and wood, backing into a cluster of feathers behind him, unsure of how to describe what it was he was experiencing. His teeth clenched as his breathing became more ragged, his conscious a tangle of emotions that were new and unwanted.
"You're afraid," his companion noted clinically, his voice reminiscent of irritation as it always had been.
"W-where are we?" the boy asked frightfully.
The taller youth looked to him, assessing all the outward symptoms of distress on the small child.
The boy looked back at him, his hands grasping at the plumage of the dragon for purchase, as if he found safety in the animal.
"Kuja, I want to go home!"
The silver-haired mage tore his gaze away from the little genome, his eyes assessing what it was about their environment that had terrified the boy so.
He could only imagine the horrors the populace had felt centuries ago when his creator's engineered tree had first taken roots within this unfortunate continent. Knowing the mechanics of the Mist as he did, he could surmise only too well how the people of the land would have been induced with fear and tearing at one another in their panic-stricken terror. Monsters, newly born and rife, seeking out fresh flesh and the embodiment of the fears the inhabitants could not help but conceive of through their trepidation, the sounds of manic and soul-shaking disturbances heard but never seen.
Mist was a well of possibilities in all the most dreadful definitions.
To whomever it had been that had managed to collect themselves enough to decide to live above the ghastly stuff, they earned the sorcerer's respect, as once Mist entangled itself on a mind, sentient or not, there usually was no going back to a rational state of being.
The elder of the two was shaken from his thoughts at the sound of a gasp and he turned back to the child just as the boy was pulling his shirt over his nose, his hand clasping the material to his face.
Oh?
"Do you know where we are?" Kuja asked, not needing to ask but wanting to hear the answer all the same.
The small head nodded, his whole body backing into Nova further as he eyed his surroundings wearily, a cough seizing his throat.
"The more anxious you become, the more you breathe it in," Kuja advised, his curiosity stirring.
The boy fell to his knees, his shirt slipping from his face as he began to cough out of panic, clawing at his throat.
Kuja walked to him, observing the little genome as he struggled, Nova unconcerned and ever unaffected.
The child's hand darted out and clasped to the hem of the mage's shirt, tugging hard at the material, his voice a strained choking sound.
"Please…"
This was all happening much more quickly than the older genome had predicted.
It was...unsatisfying.
"Why should I help you?" Kuja ground out between gritted teeth, traces of anger laced within his voice, to his humiliation. He was finding himself more accustomed to this volatile emotion the more time passed and he still did not know how to quell or master it.
"P-please…" the child rasped. His eyes clasped onto the taller genome's, fear and confusion divided within his gaze. The same shade of impossible blue searching within his own.
"No, I don't think I will," Kuja bit out, the bitterness welling within him vile to the taste.
The child's eyes sharpened then in a strange display of will, the panic no longer there.
"He...he will hurt you," the boy gritted between his teeth, trying to make heads or tails of the situation. Although he was small, their creator had seen to his education in the strictest of manners, his intelligence and understanding matured far beyond his years.
"That would be better than you taking everything away from me," Kuja almost spat, his derision turned toward himself for allowing his emotions to get the better of him.
"Not unless I get rid of Garland. Give me...time," Zidane's voice grated, his body grappling with gravity.
"...What?"
Kuja had asked it a little breathlessly, instantly caught off guard.
And instead of begging or wailful sobbing laid at his feet, he was taken aback by the indomitable will that emanated from his " little brother" so vehemently.
"I am not a puppet!," the little one cried out fiercely, his voice imploring," and neither will you be. Just wait for me to get stronger!"
The boy shuddered then, his outburst getting the better of him. He had inhaled too much of the tree's contaminates. The air escaping his mouth began to come out in small choked wheezes, his eyes opening and closing, as if to clear his vision.
Kuja looked to Nova who was eyeing them interestedly now before turning back to the child, his mind suddenly reeling.
Get rid...of their master…?
Bursts of flashes of possibilities began to flicker through the silver-haired youths mind en masse. He couldn't stop them even if he wanted to. Something foriegn tangled within his chest and for the first time in a long time, he felt he could breathe, unlike his ill-begotten sibling.
He watched the child as he began to slip out of consciousness, his body sinking to the ground below.
"...But it doesn't have to be you," Kuja murmured quietly, thoughtfully, although it fell on deaf ears.
He watched Zidane for several moments, conflicted on the new idea building within him, inspired by the boy himself, while allowing the Mist to continue to run its course. Even with Zidane's advanced stamina as a genome, he was still a boy and was proving that he too was just another victim to the devastating stuff. It would only take but a few minutes more and the child would awaken to a world the likes of which he had never known, chaos and desolation his only companions as he waded through his remaining years in madness.
If he could survive the hungry creatures lurking beyond, that is.
Kuja knew he didn't have much time to consider this new prospect, his inner dilemma growing.
Returning Zidane to Terra was not a possibility. Even if he was tempted to put faith into the child's brazen words, he could not take the chance of his mind changing with time and influence as Garland continued to mold and shape his perfect specimen.
He would undoubtedly be punished but that was a consequence he had reconciled with at the onset of his initial plans.
And with certainty, Garland would create another like Zidane in time to stand in his way.
With a newfound decision now solidified in his growing tactical mind, he collected the body of the little boy and turned then to Nova, instructing the serpent to carry them above the fog.
Never one to delay, the draconian beast had them on the land above the Mist in no time and in their speedy travels, Kuja marvelled at the gift he had just been given. And as he had been learning recently in his interactive cultural studies upon the Mist Continent, a gift should be returned in kind.
So he concluded that he would do just so. If Zidane wanted to command his own fate, then he would give him the means to do so without the possibility of the child tossing the older genome aside in the process.
He descended to the ground below, Nova's attention already caught elsewhere as he gathered the boy to himself, making his way to the city gates just beyond.
Him...a master of his own destiny…
Was such a thing truly possible?
He looked down at the golden haired child in his arms, the boy's breathing evening out, the lines within his troubled expression disappearing as he tucked himself further into the taller one's grasp.
He hadn't needed to go much further than the Dragon Gate at Lindblum's precipice, the stronghold housing guards which necessitated a medical practitioner. Questioning mouths were silenced with gil and replaced with probing gazes.
Kuja had quickly discovered that almost all things on Gaia could be purchased with the stuff.
And when he smoothly lied that he had discovered a lost child that needed assistance, no one bothered to utter a slight of gossiped speculation about the familiar similarities of the two stranger's defined facial features.
And although it wasn't needed, as money had tidied away any problems that could have arisen, Zidane had shot up from the bed in the small room designated for injured and ill-plagued soldiers. He looked to the doctor, before turning to a guard at the door, and to Kuja himself, his eyes tired and struggling to focus. His eyes locked onto the older genome's, the same one's within his own face, confused.
"W-who...who are you?" he asked wearily, bringing his hand to his head in tired bewilderment.
The hair on the back of the silver-haired youth's arms rose before he willed himself to calm, taken aback by his younger brother's question. He stared, hard, looking to the blonde boy for any clue or sign as to the child's strange question.
He needed to get out of there, before the small boy came to his senses and revealed Kuja's scheme for what it was to the soldiers around him.
Zidane jumped as the doctor leaned down to check his pulse, bringing his other hand to his forehead in efforts to estimate a temperature.
"This young man said he found you between here and the Marsh. Can you tell us your name?"
The boy was becoming anxious, his eyes roving back and forth against the white linen of the bed covers.
"Zidane…" he said it slowly, his voice uncertain.
"And where are you from, Zidane?" the doctor broached gently, his hand removed from the child's head to rest at his shoulder.
"I...I don't know," he cried out, tears welling up in his eyes,"Why don't I know?!"
There was panic interwoven within his words.
Kuja watched all of this with addled befuddlement, looking to the boy as he was asked to recall a memory, anything that might assist them in discovering who he was.
"It's as if the Mist got to him," one of the soldiers muttered to the doctor.
Kuja turned to the man, perplexed.
"Mist?"
The soldier nodded toward the golden haired child, his arms crossed over his chest with an expression of deadened monotony that gave away nothing," It's not uncommon for boys your age to go down there. They get curious and more often than not, they don't come back. A lucky few will stumble on home, not knowing one thing about themselves from the next. It puts a burden on the family that cares to claim them, but what can you do? Others come back quieter than the dead and just when you think they might be on the mend, they rampage and start striking out at anything within their reach, out for blood. That fog down there is the damnest thing."
Kuja's head whipped back to his brother, fast enough to catch the soldiers attention but nothing more. Could his luck truly be so fortuitous? Yet no matter how long he stayed, the smaller genome was no closer to remembering anything about the soulless village of Bran Bal, his mission, or his damnable sibling that had allowed him to lose himself to the Mist.
Admittedly, the silver-haired mage hadn't spent too much time throughout the years thinking upon what had befallen his unfortunate brother, decidedly thinking that it was now up to the boy himself to do with what he will with his new life and independence.
Never had he held an inkling to think it that they might cross paths once more in the future, much less in such circumstances. Zidane had lived, flourished even, given the finesse of his movements and the fearlessness within his crystalline eyes. And in all the roles he could have taken upon his person within this other land, he had chosen to place himself as an obstacle in Kuja's plans. Once more creeping into the prototypes way to obstruct his path, even if he couldn't remember him.
It was almost like...fate!
Kuja growled, thrusting himself through the rear entrance of the auctioning house in frustration, his clothing still soaked from the rains, his armour suddenly feeling like a cage.
The thought of entering his own rooms suddenly felt cloying to him, as if the walls would close in on him. Once he reached the second floor, he turned down a hall, his eyes focused on the balcony ahead. A cacophony of noise soothed his ears to drown out the anxiety that was skulking about his person and he was blind to anything or anyone he passed by as he raced toward salvation.
His arms stretched out toward the edge unconsciously, his fingers gripping into the stone as he peered below, the various populace of the Dark City milling about the decadent lobby, looking upon the various items in curiosity before the official bidding session would begin. The chatter rose from the wide room below, calming his nerves with it. He closed his eyes as he allowed it to wash over him, a semblance of his normal, reassuring him as he debated on what to do with this new obstacle.
He was not so easily shaken.
Yet it had been Zidane.
The very creature created to take his place.
If Garland even suspected that he was still alive and viable, then Kuja would cease to exist.
His Master had never abused him out of emotion. He didn't think the mechanical creationist was even capable of it. Every harm and pain that had befallen upon the prototype had been purely clinical.
Analysis of stamina. Assessment over survival skills and adaptability. Experimentation concerning pain threshold. His early years had been a rigorous extent of tests and trails.
With certainty, however, his creator would snuff him out in the course of a mere thought if he was replaceable.
He gritted his teeth in frustration at the notion.
Zidane may have been a refined model but so much of what went into the boy came from
Kuja himself! The sorcerer was designed to be an Angel of Death, not just some soulless golem wandering around pulses of blue light dully, unfeeling and unknowing. He was a product of a plethora of ideas accumulated through time, observation, and ingenuity! He was born of Terran magic, technology, and feral serpents! Even the detail in his height was modeled after Garland himself, the physical attribute allocated through his master's idea of sharing an aspect of his own likeness onto his creation.
Since his entry into the world, he had been processed, polished, and purified, all for the sake of becoming proficient, vigorous, and formidable. To acknowledge Zidane was to deny whom he was and he refused.
He couldn't stand for it.
He had yet to fail his master. So why had Zidane been necessary? Garland had been the one to grow impatient and blundered. It was Garland who had created the twisted state Terra was now in, warped and trapped within Gaia. All orders he had ever been given, he had executed in prompt efficiency and without error. So why was it that he was thanklessly being tossed aside?
Those volatile emotions that made up so much of his will began to rise to the surface, etching out like thorns encircling his being and piercing his flesh. Those panic-striken thoughts of desperation and self-preservation that sometimes felt as if they would be his undoing. He had never felt these things before Zidane had been created. Only when his replacement had come into the fold did all these negative aspects of himself unfurl from within.
Just as his vision was beginning to swim within them, something strange and sable walked across the lobby below, dissipating the carnivorous dread as swiftly as it had come.
Garnet Til Alexandros was flanked by a Pluto knight and another unknown man, gazing at items lined up behind a velvet rope with a discerning eye, her gaze hawklike and dismissive.
Kuja watched in interest, recognizing her movements yet puzzled over what she could possibly be looking for.
Her hair shone like taffeta, slipping over skin that begged to be caressed.
As if his thoughts had reached where his hands could not, her head turned up in his direction, their eyes locking onto one another in appraisal.
Like an impenetrable spinel, her stare bore through him, unflinching and almost clinical. As much as he desired to romanticize the interaction, her nature would never allow it. Garnet's genetics disguised her as a pristine work of art, her upbringing allowing her to further burrow within the misconception to those unbeknownst around her. Yet those calculating and unassuming eyes cut deep, very much like a dagger.
He would joyfully pay a ransom to delve within the machinations of that hidden mind.
And as if it was he who was enthralled by her will alone, she released him, turning her attention to one of her companions, her body shifting so that his gaze was met with her back.
In the year that he had been in and out of the palace within Alexandria, he had never properly presented himself to her. He wondered if she even knew who he was.
"How was Burmercia?"
Startled but unmoving, he tilted his head to acknowledge Reynard, King's auctioneer who had appeared behind him.
"Not bad...better if I didn't have to see those vermin and the ugly elephant-lady. They offend my senses."
His voice was suffused with that aching disgust that bled from his words anytime he mentioned the monarch.
"You must be tired," Reynard offered politely.
"It's not over yet. The rest of the vermin must be done away with," Kuja mused, wayward thoughts of the King's escape dancing within his recollection.
"Will you be going to Cleyra then?" the auctioneer prompted, his quick mind finding no difficulty in keeping up.
Kuja couldn't help but turn to grin a little at the man in appreciation.
"Yes; I trust you will deliver them."
"Certainly. I share prepare now…" the auctioneer supplied obediently, his response a sweeping bow.
"By the way, did you see a pretty lady in the crowd today?" Kuja mused whimsically, his eyes turning back to the crowd below, seeking but unable to find what he was searching for.
"A pretty lady? Shall I arrange a meeting?"
Reynard couldn't help the curiosity that had crept into his voice. King had run him ragged on such endeavors but his other employer had always been proactive at approaching would be paramours.
"There's no need. The canary I've been after...she flew into my cage of her own free will."
"..."
Reynard watched the young man but didn't desire to ask his meaning. King was a Treno nobleman who happened to be cleverer than most, steeped in secrets so shameful that he was untouchable. Kuja however, albeit a pretty thing, frightened him at times. He couldn't string words together to accurately describe it but if his hands had been more skillful, he could draw it. And it would look very much like the expression he now showed.
"Never would I have imagined running into you in a place like this. It must be fate. But you cannot rest your wings yet...fly home to your mother, my little canary."
Reynard silently backed away, knowing it wasn't himself whom his employer was speaking to.
" I, too, will welcome you home with open arms," Kuja breathed into the very shadows of the room below.
Beatrix stood at the door within her mistress' cabin as the monarch fanned herself erratically, the large woman's eye flitting from object to item within the room but seeing nothing of it.
The General had once thought herself an adequate judge of character yet was now reconciling the notion that that might no longer be the case, given the last year. She watched her Queen as she tried to discern her mood yet as the blue tinted expression changed in an unstable and unsettling manner, it was a toss up.
The woman was muttering now, her words so jumbled that her General could not make them out. Concerned, Beatrix made to move toward her before Her Majesty rose from her seat in a fury with a shout that almost echoed against the walls.
"The King has escaped!," she lashed out in what could be mistaken as frenzied madness, stomping in an irregular pace within the small room.
"This...this is all your fault," she spit out, pointing a bloated jeweled finger in the brunette's direction, her eyes cutting at her sidelong in an accusing stare.
Beatrix would not argue, could not, for she also shared the same opinion as her Queen, much to her shame. The opposing ruler had slipped from her fingers and as commander of the Alexandrian Rose Guard, she only had herself to blame.
"I take full responsibility, your Majesty. But I promise, in Cleyra, I shall-"
"If not for Kuja's Black Mages, the battle might have been lost to us altogether!" Brahne sniffed, snapping her fan back open once more, a sudden calm encompassing what was a raging storm mere seconds prior. The shift in demeanor was disturbing.
Beatrix's words halted and her eyes widened, a rare moment of shock openly displayed upon her features.
"...I beg your pardon, your Majesty?"
"You heard me," Brahne's voice struck out, like a whip to the mouth, her eyes unapologetic,"If not for the weapons he supplied, we could have faltered beneath those Dragoon's pikes!"
Beatrix's knuckles turned white as her fingers encircled the hilt of her sword in a biting fashion, trying to reign her indignation in.
"Our brave army was fighting skillfully with tact to suppress the opposition while his mindless dolls senselessly killed a hefty portion of the population," Beatrix calmly countered, her stance unyielding.
Brahne's eyes narrowed, seeing the retort as an act of defiance.
"What does the populace matter anyway, they are nothing but filthy rodents! And you could say with certainty that your soldiers would have won without those very dolls?"
"Thoroughly, without a doubt," the General replied, never missing a beat.
Brahne looked upon her for a time, no longer pacing, her eyes alight above her fan.
"How can you be so certain?"
"Have I ever failed you before?" Beatrix demanded, refusing to allow her pride to be wounded.
"You've done so this very day," her Queen reminded her, alluding to the escape of Burmercia's reigning monarch.
Something within Beatrix howled internally, as if the blade of her own sword, Save The Queen, had been thrusted forth within her chest and twisted over and over and over again.
She thought upon that disgusting silvery snake, cursing his name into the ether of all things vile and abominable. He had twisted her ruler's head toward his direction and her Queen had not looked upon her General favorably since.
No longer would she allow that childish, whimsical bastard to devalue the strength and might of her soldiers and herself. She had fought and bled and killed for what she was and she'd be damned if she'd let that over-sexed commoner playing at nobility to take a shred of what belonged to her and her comrades.
Her voice softened with the tilt of her head, the motion meant to concede to her Queen.
"I apologize whole-heartedly, your majesty. The mistake is mine to rectify, and I shall with absolute devotion."
She kneeled upon one knee, her lustrous hair covering her face, waiting for her monarch's approval.
Something in Brahne seemed deeply satisfied and she nodded in turn, accepting the offering before sitting down once more. Beatrix rose, coming closer to her Queen in a semblance of their once familiar rapport.
"Your Majesty, I can't help but notice that you refer to the Black Mage's as Kuja's."
Brahne looked up to her General, confused by her meaning.
"You have purchased them for the Alexandrian army. Are they not soldiers under your command, my Queen?"
A look of uncertainty crossed Brahne's features for a moment as she mulled it over before she nodded jerkily once, and then several times emphatically as she concurred with her commander's query.
"Quite right, quite right they are," Brahne murmured, as if only realizing the notion herself.
"And Zorn and Thorn are now in charge of the schematics for production. As they too are under your employ, then it is my understanding that we have the means of producing more Black Mages unassisted."
The monarch's head snapped to the General, her eyes narrowing at the young woman.
"I am still very much in need of his council! He has supplied very lucrative information to our intelligence thus far that has served us well."
"Indeed, your Majesty, he has. And will continue to do so for as long as we need him to."
"What are you suggesting?" Brahne inquired, intrigued by Beatrix's observations.
"Once we have suppressed Lindblum, what use does he have, other than to possibly stand in your way with the information he has about Alexandria's forces?"
Beatrix didn't flinch as she stoked the flames of betrayal in her Majesty's direction. Kuja was nothing but a self-serving villain that had killed one of her own. She couldn't prove it but the sooner he was out of her Queen's sight, the faster Alexandria could return to a sense of normalcy. She would get rid of those sycophant jesters and the manufacturing plant in Dali once all of this was over.
And Kuja...
A man like Kuja was always better dead than alive.
"I think if we connect the piston rods directly to the crankshaft, then we'll eliminate the need for the connecting rods. What do you think, Regent?" Erin asked gently, worry overtaking her features.
The Regent looked dully down at his little hands, clearly not hearing her.
His Chief Engineer chewed her lip before walking to the oglop, her gloved fingers encircling his small shoulder before giving a soft shake in an effort to rouse him from whatever distraction he was immersed in.
Cid came to in an instant, shaking his head in a laggard manner. He smiled weakly at the girl and prompted her to speak again, nodding in agreement with her perceptive observation.
He was unsure if she thought him engrossed within thought or if she could see the truth of it, that he was losing his faculties altogether.
He was increasingly losing time, finding himself in places but unable to discern how he had gotten there. Immersed in conversations that he could not trace the beginning to. Staring listlessly at walls before he came to, his human aspects resurfacing once more.
How much longer could he fend off this curse?
To his growing horror, he was increasingly transforming into an oglop as a whole.
And as such he felt that if his wife had perished, so should he too, yet he could not leave his people in a time of turmoil and uncertainty.
He had failed his allies in Burmercia, a relationship once closed to all, that his wife had diligently fostered to mutual benefits and loyal alliances.
And with war at their door, he held no doubt in his mind that it too would be at his very soon.
For Lindblum, he couldn't lose himself just yet.
And it wasn't just his heart screaming out for Hilda.
Her city needed her too.
Hilda watched solemnly as the servants of the underground fortress she resided in folded another set of their brothers' vestiges, laying his straw hat atop the pile as they all looked on quietly, not quite knowing what else to say or do, simply what they had been told.
Another of their brethren had expired.
And like their Mistress had instructed, they tidied away his clothing and sat in silence to "honor his memory", whatever that meant.
Hilda knew that they most likely would never come to understand what such actions truly meant for those that had perished and those that had expired. Especially so since it had been explained to her the nature of their lifespan and that by their calculations, they all were due for an exit any day now. She knew what she had asked them to do was more for her sake than their own, a selfish whim on her part.
And with each passing came the creeping fear that the last one would fade like a flicker of a flame in the breeze and she would be utterly alone in this great, quiet, minacious place.
All she could do is wait for their master.
Wait in this vast dreadnought in the hopes that her only source of companionship would return, in the form of a devious captor who now looked to claim her body and soul, knowing that she was never quite alone, as there were monstrous, vile things locked away and roaming beneath her feet in the labs below.
As much as she willed herself to calm, she didn't know how much more she could withstand.
King watched silently as his partner buckled his armour into place, a private grin about his lips, waiting for the youth in front of him to question the obvious stare.
Kuja chose to ignore him instead, dressing quickly to leave for Alexandria once more, Nova having relayed to him that Garnet was indeed moving in the very direction he had predicted and was now headed back to Treno to take him there directly.
King waited for the sorcerer to bite but when he did not, he internally sighed, deeming that his bit of anticipated amusement would have to be driven solely by his will alone.
"You're going back to Alexandria," he averred, prompting the other man into conversation.
"Obviously," Kuja retorted, seemingly disinterested in whatever it was that King was on about.
The older man was beginning to lose his joviality at the surly attitude of the silver-haired man and decided a direct approach might be more apt.
"I spent quite a fortune of your money on an extensive wardrobe. Who has your attention so raptly as to weedle out such a favor from you yourself?"
The young man brushed his hair from his eyes as he focused on his person, looking to ensure his attire was adjusted accordingly, not bothering to give his attention away to the other occupant of the room.
"It was a transaction for information, nothing more," Kuja mumbled distractedly, his focus divided, Nova informing him that he had just arrived within the auctioning houses' stables.
"Quite an extravagant and particular exchange for intelligence. Who was it?"
Kuja looked to King then, who met his gaze with a smile, the older man leaning against the wall with his arms across his chest, intrigued.
The mage's eyes narrowed.
"What does it matter?"
"Why would it matter to not share such knowledge? You entrust me with everything else it is you do. I'm already so far in as to having to protect your secrets along with my own, so as not to hang. So...who is it?" King encouraged, always a savant for confidences. It was how he made the majority of his living.
Kuja turned fully then in his direction, his body language unyielding.
"Why are you pressing this?"
There was something mischievous in King's eyes, unconcealed delight evident in his expression.
"You, child, have a habit of hiding things you are particularly fond of. Things you hold dear to yourself. Much like a dog, you'll secret them away lest someone take them from you. So I'm dying to know. Who is it?"
"Dying, you say? Is that what it's worth?" Kuja asked quietly, his voice and cadence lacking it's usual charm and grace. It was merely deadened and so very threatening.
Something in the weapon dealer's eyes shifted and King's amusement was doused instantaneously. He had overstepped himself. And he was frantically thinking how he could repair his blunder.
"Of course not," King muttered, annoyed at himself and the turn the situation had taken," Nevermind it, the matter is forgotten," he threw over his shoulder as he turned to leave, knowing escape was his best option.
Whatever, or most likely whomever, his companion was hiding, no one, least of all himself, was ferreting out that particular morsel.
A/N: I believe Kuja was Lord King ingame but I really liked the idea of there being a secondary figure that was in on Kuja's schemes. Not much of Hilda once more, I apologize. Just trying to move some stuff around while getting sidetracked with other fantasies involving these characters that don't move the story along but I realllyyyy just want to write. Thank you so much for putting up with me, I apologize for the posting delays. uwuuuuuu!