Summary: Overwhelmed by an unending wave of ghosts, the party needs to rely on outside help. (A Dissidia: Opera Omnia one-shot.)
Setting: After Act 2, Chapter 2, due to a very minor spoiler-y detail. (And before the elemental rework.)
A/N: Woo slight angst ahead! HNNNNNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGGGG KUJAAAAAAAAAAA
I should've just posted this as soon as I finished (a few weeks after the last "Fragments" chapter). The mood of this didn't quite fit the rest of the Fragments, and it became too long, which is why I've been hesitating whether to add a new fragment or post this on its own. Now, a year later, Act 2 is finally complete (for GL), and I have yet another story to post soon! So just to get this out of the way, for chronological order. Please enjoy!
Begrudging Holy Team 2
Cecil had exhausted his skills fighting the waves of Specters—seemingly harmless ghosts—to the party's benefit: the ghosts were weak to Holy. Shantotto had imperiled a few with her staff, Laevateinn, but that did little, and their magic group was still limited. The melee half were barely able to damage the enemy, and this field was overflowing with them. Sabin, their regular anti-ghost go-to, would've lent a hand, but the empty eyes that stared back at him weakened his resolve. He was tired.
Everyone was tired.
That evening, a freak sand storm that suffocated their airship's engine sent them plummeting down into a vast plain. Behind them they had left another desert castle that looked like it had come from their original homes, and ahead (before they fell), there was a great, twisting, icy ravine, where Mog had insisted a great Torsion lay. Here, in the midst of extreme damp and extreme heat, there was none but dunes of sand that had molten and re-solidified into glass. They should've flown higher, should've steered elsewhere, but blame wouldn't get them anywhere.
So the team who couldn't fight were tasked to initiate repairs, and those that could were assigned to keep the monsters at bay. It was simple to stand guard when no trees obscured your vision, but then the trapped specters beneath the glass could simply pop out and inflict its soul-sucking poison. Magic users stood guard and took turns expending their skills and laying waste to their undead adversaries for hours.
Ace fell to his knees, all spent. His cards were blown some feet from him by the hot winds. "Everyone, this is tough, but we may need the help of Spiritus' warriors." Beside him, Vaan and Rydia lay on the ground and mumbled their assent, both bow and dagger similarly cast aside as they caught their breath.
Several wounded and others with wrench in hand shared disturbed looks. Would we stoop so low? Would these ghosts best us today, if not for their help? A collective worry crossed their minds, made sweaty hands grip their weapons uncertainly.
Mog seemed to sense their hesitation, but brightly responded, "Kupo! If we live to fight another day, then maybe we can talk it over, or have them pay back in kind whatever things they've done to you or your world."
Terra shuddered to think Kefka would ever do such a thing as repent. But she too had run out of energy, perhaps for the entire week...
Eiko remembered her last encounter with Kuja. "We could use another Holy fighter," she opened meekly.
Zidane noted the hesitation in her tone, then realized who she was implying. "That's right, Kuja's is...!"
Vivi nodded to himself. "We're not that proud to be unable to admit we need help! Mog, can you please summon him here?"
Mog reconjured the dimensional coordinates the mage had previously given them. "It's worth a shot, kupo!"
One Torsion later, Kuja appeared looking annoyed. "I was sleeping. This better be good. Or should I say...bad?" He cast the party one glance and recognized this place. He had been here before, but he was not so foolish as to stay and fight. An eternity of undead slept beneath the glass at their feet, which he dared not touch.
His scowl turned into a malicious grin when he saw the little summoner Eiko approaching him boldly. "We meet again," he bowed.
"I'm going to buff you," and as she said it, she raised her staff (tiredly, Kuja noted) and cast restorative and strengthening magics for him.
"That helps immensely, my lady. Now sit back and watch as a star performs!"
He made quick work of the waves that had consumed the best of them. Squall rolled his eyes at the fluid, dance-like movements of the silver-haired enemy.
It so happened that Sazh finally got the last of the dust out, and placed a loose mesh over the openings near the engine—it would hinder their movement, but would prevent further damage to their vessel until they cleared the area. "We can go as soon as we warm up the engine again!" he said hopefully.
Mog and Kuja would stay behind and wait for liftoff before returning to their respective groups.
Alone with the moogle, Kuja dispatched two more Specters before posing this question:
"If you really are a neutral party, then you wouldn't vouch for me, and let them decide their fate. But you're not, are you?"
Mog looked at him innocently. "You can choose your own fate, kupo. Whether you're on Spiritus' side or Materia's, your choices will write your destiny. It doesn't matter who summoned you. You helped us a lot today, kupo!"
Kuja crossed his arms. "You couldn't just...fix their ship magically? Golbez can conjure a ship at a snap of a finger."
A set of three Specters emerged from the ground. He did away with them with one cast of Ultima.
"And whether or not you, or they, trust me, will not change my role. I assist the gods for the planet's sake," Mog declared in his steadfast manner.
The first patches of sunlight was just starting to peek over the horizon; and with that, the enemy's numbers started to dwindle.
Kuja watched the retreating airship disappear toward the valley. "You never answer any questions. Nobody should trust you." Like nobody trusts me. They could've summoned Golbez instead, but the Specters resisted his element... Did they really have no choice? Did they only call as a last resort? Of course, of course, how could he expect different? Extending his hands in front of him, he opened his own Torsion and stepped through, silently fuming.
END