11. The Invasion
"King Delita! Majesty, the rebels have broken through the gates! Your Largonian Angels have been captured. What are our options, now?" The general was frantic and awaiting orders from the King.
The regal man, who was as still as a statue in his throne, calmly looked right through the general, directing his dark and cold eyes to the double doors of his chamber and last stronghold. As the castle around him fell and the roars of the rebels were ripping through every corridor, but his, he sat in his golden armor with his mighty sword in his lap. There was not much left to lose. The smell of blood and death hung in the air and the phantom of his own demise lingered. What were his options? The kingdom that he established used to stretch for miles, but now it was confined in this very room, where the only citizens left were him and his general.
"Delita!"
Finally, Delita's gaze focused on the general, who now stood a foot from him, bent over and eyes ablaze. The solitude the general found in Delita's dark eyes dispersed the last of his hopes. The great king's soul was gone. He wasn't there anymore. King Delita was never the humanitarian to his people, followers and family. That fact alone was coming around in full circle. It was too late to take back every mistake he had made and he knew it. The general could not figure out what was wrong with Delita, though. Just shaking his head, the general stepped away from a man that used to look like a king. Then swiftly, but silently, he left the throne room and surrendered to the rebels.
Not long after his general left him, Delita heard the banging of the doors. At the sound Delita stood and shoved his crown on his silver head. He glared at the doors, eyebrows drawn and sword at the ready. He would fight until he had to draw his final breath because he had already lived this long. There was no way he was going to give up his life this quickly when he had worked so long to perfect it. He had to cut down many men and women to get here and to lose it all was the last thing that was going to happen to him.
The doors were thrown open and there… Stood the silhouette of one lone man. The glimmer of his golden mane caught his attention. Delita released a shallow gasp and whispered the name that was long forgotten.
"It's Aster," the young man said advancing forward with his sword drawn. The metallic metal reflected the frightened face of the king.
"Aster?" He whispered, bewilderment drawn out in his creased face. "Well, I'll be! I've made a mistake." He ran a distressed hand over his face. "Speak your name, Boy!"
Aster grinned his answer. "Aster Beoulve."
Delita's chagrined smile dissipated at the same time the doors of his chamber slammed shut. The torches were dampened by an unknown force. The force brought into the chamber a stale smell of death and a chilling gust that rattled the bones of the king. Delita unintentionally shivered even as Aster's voice boomed in the room as if magnified by a dome-like auditorium.
"Son of Alma Beoulve… I don't know the story well, but I believe you betrayed my mother and banished my uncle and his brave warriors."
Delita quivered. In the dim lights he noticed that the last child of the Beoulve family and the last child of the brave stood in front of him. He resembled so much the old friend he deceived for glory and power.
Knowing exactly what was running through his head, Aster merely murmured the last phrase. "Ramza Beoulve will never die."
At this last quote, Delita looked up from where he fell back on the cold floor, to face the Beoulve that loomed over him. Meanwhile, the flickers of the ghosts of Alma and Ramza appeared a few feet behind Aster. Lastly, their friends appeared, all of them had last been seen fighting Altima. Seemingly, Aster stepped back so that his family, he had learned to love over the months, took his spot in front of Delita.
"Your days of tyranny are done," Ramza spoke as he crossed his arms in front of him. "Before it ends, though… I do wish to know what happened to Princess Ovelia."
Tensberger in the back sneered. "It's quite obvious he's disposed of her."
When Delita did not answer, Ramza bent down, so that he was at eye level. "Is it true, then?"
"She was against everything I did for her… I did for us!" The old king bellowed this accusation. Ramza knew that Delita was hanging on to his last thread of sanity by the raging, vengeful look that obscured his dark, ominous eyes.
"Her contrary beliefs do not justify your actions. Goodbye my friend." Ramza reached into his boot and the poor king howled with grief.
Just as King Delita sprawled to the floor in a pitiful puddle, the doors again slammed open, this time forced open by Olan Durai and many more followers, dispersing the spirits in the room. The rebels all spilled into the room hearing the King of Ivalice shrieking in hysteria. Olan watched as Aster bent over Delita, who kneeled like an impaled man next to his sword. Olan could barely make out the shape of the word from Delita's mouth, but he knew it was the same as the vision he had months ago. Delita had said "Ramza."
Aster gravely shook his head. He commanded that everyone was not to harm Delita and gave the order to Joseph to take the king some place safe. Aster turned to Olan and made his way toward the man, then.
"Olan?" Aster was twitchy and instantly Olan noticed how tired the young man looked. "They're gone, you know? They told me they would have to go when they have finally confronted their past."
Understanding dawned on the older man. "I believe that has been what bound them to Ivalice; the past haunted them, so they could not find proper rest until now."
"But," Aster croaked, "I didn't get the chance to say goodbye."
Olan sighed as he placed his hand over the young man's shoulder. "The living and the dead do not exist together. You are where you're supposed to be; they are where they are meant to be. However," at this, Olan pressed his hand to Aster's breast plate, "there spirit lives in here. You know that because you have taken his name and made it yours."
"It's not over. Is it?" Aster's question was quiet.
Olan gave him a peeved smile. "I'm afraid not. We have a history to write. Delita was only the puppet in this, but now that his strings have been cut, the puppeteer has gotten away; the puppeteer being The Church. This cannot go on any longer."
"Then, we shall keep fighting."
Olan pressed the boy gently, "We shall, but Young Beoulve I have one last query before we move on…"
"What would that be, My Friend?"
"What was the last thing that Ramza Beoulve said to you?"
"Before you stormed in I managed to squeeze in a thank you when he turned to smile at me. Then, I heard him say, 'I'm not fighting for thanks. I'm fighting for honor and pride as a Beoulve.'"
"What do you fight for, Aster?"
Aster thumped a fist to his heart. "I fight for the same thing. My grandfather saved people from invasion. My uncle saved all of Ivalice. A deed from each generation surmounted the previous deed. I plan to extend that line and carry on the Beoulve legacy."
"Very good answer."
With the end of the siege, Olan Durai and Aster Beoulve went their separate ways. Several months would pass before the two would meet one last time.
The next installment will be the final chapter and epilogue. I'm going to just cut to the chase and make it bittersweet. Bittersweet! No more lagging and drawing out of a plot that's already been worn down, right? I'll try to make this last chapter more graphic (I mean more imagery) and less dialoguing, which I think, has been the main problem with the story. It's really hard to write something without making the characters talk too much, but I'm going to give it a whirl. Be patient and review.
BTW: The last line that Ramza said to Aster was a line I took from the video game. It's been way too long since I've played this game and I just started it again on the PSP, but there is no way I can pinpoint that line when I just only started the first mission and ended up putting the game down again. Nevertheless that line like a lot of themes, names, and characters I've used throughout, "I'm not fighting for thanks. I'm fighting for honor and pride as a Beoulve" came directly from the game. If you're not too lazy like me, maybe YOU can find the line and tell me what part it's from. It could be a little contest, perhaps, where winner gets the pride in knowing (s)he really knows the game.