Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue.
Plot Synopsis: SephirothxKuja, my two favorite Final Fantasy villains brought together. Beyond that. . .I'll let you know =) Beta'd once again by the incomparable Littlehouseinthewoods!
Author's Note: This story will contain no tail or wing kink, so please, don't ask. That said, I hope you enjoyed the beginning of this tale =).
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Final Fantasy: Final Requiem
Chapter Two
"Arrrggghhh!" Kuja threw the wooden bowl he'd been carving as hard as he could, gratified to see it split as it hit the massive trunk of the Tree. "That's it. I am done."
He surged to his feet and kicked the pile of wood at his feet, frustration gnawing at him as he watched all his hard work roll off the edge of the leaf. He wasn't sure how long he'd been here—he'd stopped keeping track a long time ago—but it was long enough to tell him that his angel was not coming back.
"Not my angel," he mumbled, fighting back the sudden, unexpected stinging in his eyes as he pointed one slender finger at the silent Crystal shard. "And no, I am not going to cry over you. You just stay right where you are, trapped inside that little boy, and go about your business. I'll be just fine without you!"
He felt a surge of anger, the majority of which was aimed at himself. He had stubbornly waited for the angel to reappear, even going so far as to begin building a crude shelter to protect himself from the elements, only to be disappointed—again. Not one of the crystals had activated since the angel's first appearance, and Kuja was beginning to think that they never would. The angel had been a tease, a joke at his expense, one designed to torment him in his much-deserved hell.
And the worst part was that it had worked. For the first time since his "death" so long ago, he had felt something besides regret and loneliness and utter boredom. That brief glimpse of perfection had left him breathless, exhilarating him in way that the most pleasing of his past lovers had not. They hadn't even spoken, and yet Kuja had arrogantly assumed that the man would come for him, that he would overcome any obstacle that got in his way, so long as it led to him.
Kuja knew that his ego was vast—he was the most powerful being on either Gaia or Terra—but his confidence had been well-earned. His only rejection had came from Garland, his bastard creator, who had mistrusted him simply because he was too powerful. Never before had a potential lover turned him away, and Kuja had to admit that it hurt—badly.
"Apparently, you're a stupid man, after all." He reached up and flicked at his long, two-toned hair, knowing that there was no one there to appreciate the seductive gesture, but needing the ego-boost all the same. "So, you changed your mind. That's a hardly a reason for me to lose my poise. You most certainly aren't worth that."
He cast one last, venomous glance at the silent Crystal and turned away. "I'm done, angel," he said with a careless wave of his hand. "Good luck with the whole body-sharing thing. I hope it works out for you."
Bastard, he added mentally. He would travel back to the top of the Ilifa Tree, where he would be safe from prying eyes, should any human be stupid enough to attempt the climb. He'd seen the rat-faced girl who had traveled with Ziadane—Freya, he remembered—with another of her kind. It had been long ago, but as they'd spoken of repairing the Tree, he'd known that he couldn't allow himself to be found. He could fight if he had to—he still had all of his magnificent powers—but to use his magic in an aggressive manner would only compound his sins, and then his purgatory would become that much worse.
"Not that it could get much worse," Kuja mumbled to himself. He'd been alone for so damned long. He was a social creature, damn it all! He needed conversation, and comfort, and-and. . .sex.
Gods, had he truly sunk so low? he asked himself incredulously. Yes, he'd been alone for a long time, but that was no excuse. While he enjoyed sexual relations—whether they with men or women—he was not desperate. Not quite yet. The day that happened, he'd leave the Tree, atonement be damned. If he was struck down, so be it. He'd rather be dead than live like this much longer!
And, that was exactly what he was trying to change. Kuja shook his silvery head and slowed his pace, doing his best to calm his admittedly high-strung nerves. He didn't want to be that man anymore, the siren who took what he wanted and left devastation in his wake. He wanted to be different, to be better. He wanted to earn the redemption that he hoped waited for him, because he'd rather be dead than live through an eternity of this.
"On your knees," a deep voice, laced with contempt, filled the air around him and stopped Kuja dead in his tracks. Could that dark, velvety voice belong to his angel? "I want you to beg for forgiveness."
He whirled around, his crystal-like gaze darting to the Crystal shard he'd left behind. It remained dark, its pitted surface opaque, and he frowned delicately. Not here then, he thought as he turned away. He forced himself to ignore his excitement and closed his eyes, his every sense straining for even the slightest hint of that that deep, velvety voice.
But it wasn't words that came to his sensitive ears, but more inelegant, inarticulate sounds. Grunts, to be precise, followed by the all too distinctive sound of metal-on-metal. "A sword-fight, then," he murmured to himself, opening his eyes with a smile. The little silver-haired psychopath had carried a sword. It stood to reason that his. . .alter-ego, or whatever the angel truly was, would as well.
Kuja followed the sounds of battle with an eagerness that would have appalled him at any other time. All he could think was that he had been wrong—his angel hadn't abandoned him. He had returned, and this time, Kuja wasn't letting him go. He would find a way to keep his angel with him; he didn't know how he was going to do so, but he was sure he would figure it out. He'd been created with a superior intellect. He might as well put it to good use!
He had to climb down the Tree, coming dangerously close to the ground below, before he finally found what he was looking for. The Crystal shard was large, easily the largest he had found so far. It nearly encompassed the circumference of the pod-like leaf—they grew larger the closer they were to the ground—and its surprisingly scar-free surface was alight with life.
The angel was indeed fighting, rivers of that incredible silver hair streaming out behind him, the longest sword Kuja had ever seen clasped in his black-gloved hands. He was attacking with deadly ferocity, each strike so fast that Kuja could barely follow, even with his genetically-enhanced senses. The angel's adversary—a short, slender boy with strangely-spiked blond hair-was parrying with impressive skill, but it was only a matter of time before he became overwhelmed. Kuja's angel was obviously the better swordsman.
A slight misstep was all it took. The blond warrior ended up overextending himself, and the angel took immediate advantage. Those brilliant, astonishing emerald eyes gleamed ferally as a leather-clad knee came up, and the blond went flying. He landed in a pile of what appeared to be rubble, a thick cloud of dust rising up in his wake, and the angel made a sound that suspiciously resembled a grunt—an elegant, disdainful grunt.
Kuja couldn't help the laugh that escaped him at his angel's actions. Apparently, he found his adversary as unimpressive as Kuja himself did. "Beautiful," he murmured appreciatively, watching as his powerful, perfect angel lift that amazing sword—Gaia, but it had to be at least seven feet long!—and prepared to attack again. The silver-haired god drew the massive katana up until it was on level with his left shoulder, its wickedly-curved blade gleaming brilliantly, despite the lack of light. The angel began to run, his gaze locked intently on the rubbish pile, his intent all too clear. He was going to kill the little blond swordsman, and rid himself of what he undoubtedly considered an unworthy adversary.
"Which I'm sure he is," Kuja told the other man, though he knew could not hear him. As Kuja inched closer to the Crystal—careful to keep his slick-soled boots firmly on the leaf's massive stem, he could only admire the beautiful lethality with which his angel was about to strike. "I'm quite sure that you have no equal."
To Kuja's surprise, an electric-blue glow began to emanate from the rubbish pile. As his angel zoomed ever closer, moving so quickly that he was little more a blur of black-and-silver, the blond swordsman burst from the heap of damaged metal. The blue glow was his angel's opponent, his entire body engulfed in a maelstrom of kinetic energy. He was entering the Trance state, his heightened emotions triggering the change in his body, turning it into a lethal weapon.
He sprang at Kuja's angel, his missive broadsword swinging to meet the angel's katana, and Kuja unconsciously moved closer to the Crystal. "Be careful, angel," he whispered worriedly. "You know how deadly Trance can be."
Luckily, the silver-haired warrior was ready for him. As the two swords cut and thrust and parried, his angel's intent expression changed to one of indifference and Kuja realized that he had become bored with the battle. Kuja was willing to bet that, much like himself with magic, his angel had no equal when it came to swordplay. He was as unique as Kuja, and the sorcerer determined right then and there that if there was any way to claim him, he would.
The blond swordsman leapt at his angel, lightning quick, and he watched his beautiful one's head come snapping up. His incredibly long sword came up with it, and Kuja laughed again as the blond ended up impaled on its impressive length. The blue glow dissipated, the Trance state dispelled by physical pain, and the boy was merely a boy again.
Kuja watched proudly as his angel smiled with dark enjoyment and lifted the boy one-handed. "Magnificent," he murmured with awe, both hands flattening themselves on the shard's surface as he strove to get even closer. "You are as strong as you are beautiful, angel. I can't wait to get those clothes off of you!"
"Is this the pain you felt before. . ." that voice sounded, steel wrapped in warm velvet, " . . .Cloud? Let me remind you. This time, you won't forget."
The boy—Cloud—looked terrified, and Kuja couldn't blame him. He was obviously outclassed, and he was about to die a horribly painful death. Fear was perfectly understandable, given the circumstances. "Finish him, angel," he urged, his smooth, honeyed voice rough with anticipation. "Finish him, and come to me."
As though in answer to his urgent demand, his beautiful gilded god responded. As the wind swept over the two fighters, an incredible, nearly unbelievable phenomenon occurred. A positively huge shape sprung from the angel's back, sleek and black and undeniably beautiful. How fitting, Kuja thought, trembling as his excitement threatened to overwhelm him, his angel had a wing.
Beneath his own kilt, his tail unfurled, swishing as he realized just how much he and his angel truly shared. Much like himself, his angel was different. They were both beautiful, powerful, lethal, and not quite human. It was simply. . .perfect.
The genome pressed his nose against the old surface of the shard, his diamond-bright eyes never leaving the perfect beauty before him. The angel lowered his sword just a touch, and then snapped it up with enough force to send the blond flying into the air. The tall warrior dropped into a half-crouch, that gorgeous wing folding in on itself, as he launched himself high into the air.
Kuja followed his angel with his eyes, unable to look away, as that immense katana struck the blond swordsman in a blur of motion. Blood rained from the sky, splattering the uneven ground below, before the angel flung his poor opponent from the sky. The boy landed with a sickening sound, and crater forming from the force of the impact, and Kuja felt an unwilling sympathy for him. Death was never a pleasant thing, but at least he had expired at the hands of a superior being. It was a better death than most were given.
To Kuja's utter astonishment, the fallen warrior stirred, shaking from head to foot as he struggled to rise. How he had survived a fall of that magnitude, Kuja would never know, but if the blood pooling beneath him was any indication, he wouldn't last much longer. The boy finally pulled himself to his knees, leaning heavily on his sword as he continued to bleed, but was too weak to stand. Yep, he was a dead man.
Kuja turned his attention to the angel hovering above him, godlike in his perfection, and shivered delicately. What he wouldn't give to join him right now, to feel that lean body pressed against his own, to cover himself in the silky veil of his angel's gilded hair. He sighed as he imagined sinking his fingers into that silken curtain and pulling those sensual bow lips to his own. The beautiful black wing would wrap around him, of course, and the downy softness would only add to the pleasure of their union.
"Tell me what you cherish most." His angel spoke, his words obviously directed at another, and yet Kuja was helpless to look away. "Give me the pleasure of taking it away."
The boy gazed up at Kuja's angel with a hopeless expression, only then acknowledging his own defeat. As he struggled to stand and lift his oversized sword, the angel made his move. He drew that massive katana back over his left shoulder, every movement slow and deliberate, before shooting forward in a literal blur of motion.
Kuja tensed, riveted by his angel's unparalleled perfection, when his spiky-haired adversary did something unexpected. The young warrior lifted his oversized sword, his expression changing to one of fierce determination, and jumped to meet him. Two swords met a great metallic clang, and Kuja was shocked as the blond swordsman actually managed to shove the angel away.
Where had he found the strength?
The thought flitted through Kuja's mind, quickly lost as he watched his angel jump and twist through the storm-darkened air. He hovered above the boy once again, the darkness in his soul all too tangible, a dark god gilded in moonlight. "I pity you. You just don't get it at all," the boy told him with surprising fierceness. "There's not a thing I don't cherish."
A short, amused laugh escaped the angel. It was barely audible, but it was enough to make Kuja sigh with appreciation. Steel wrapped in velvet, life cloaked in darkness. Gaia, but he loved that voice!
The little blond warrior swung his sword in circles above his head, pulling back over his shoulder for what Kuja immediately recognized as a death-strike. The smile never left his angel's lips as he whipped his massive katana to his right, and then both swords clashed with a terrible sound. An electric-blue light surrounded the boy's oversized sword, dancing along is edge like lightning. The boy was Trancing—again—and Kuja was worried.
"Come on, angel," Kuja urged, hating the feeling of foreboding that suddenly crept over him. Both men remained locked in a tense stalemate, each others' over-bright gazes locked on the other's, completely consumed by the struggle between them. The boy should have been dead many times over, and the fact that he was still moving and breathing and fighting was more than unexpected—it was downright unnatural. It was almost as if some unknown, unseen force were guiding his hand, leading to what Kuja suddenly feared would be a victory over his beautiful, perfect angel.
"Kill him, angel!" he called out, pushing against the glass as he desperately sought to warn the other man. "Kill him now, before he has a chance to—!"
Kuja's words ended on a gasp, his crystal-blue eyes widening dramatically, as he saw what happened next. The blond warrior's sword, still swimming in kinetic energy, seemed to burst its metallic seams. It came apart, separating into six glowing blades, each of a different size and shape. They formed a circle around his angel, floating in a barrier of brilliant blue light, and then the slaughter began.
The blond swordsman shot higher into the air, grasping the first sword, and then dove towards his adversary. The angel looked confused, almost lost, as the other man became nothing more than a blur of motion. He moved so quickly that not even Kuja could follow his progress, but he could hear it. The sickening sound of metal striking flesh, the low grunts of his angel—too proud to scream—in a concerto of painful accompaniment.
And then the angel's defeat was complete. The blond landed on the ground with a fierce sound, holding one hand up to the sky. He wasn't reaching for the man he had just devastated with such violence, but for his sword. It landed in his hand with an audible sound, the other four blades falling to embed themselves in the concrete around him. He looked up, his too-young features showing a peace that hadn't been there before, as he began to speak.
"Stay where you belong," he ordered in a quiet voice, "in my memories."
Kuja's angel looked down at him—look at me, angel—the hint of a smirk still buried in those shining cat eyes. A think black mist emanated from him, a manifestation of something beyond Kuja's comprehension, but one thing was certain. He had lost this fight, but he would never be defeated.
"I will. . .never be a memory."
"No!" Kuja cried, realizing that he was about to lose contact with his angel, maybe forever. "You can't leave me, again! You can't! Angel, please, take me with you!"
Time seemed to slow as those beautiful, deadly green eyes finally focused on him. Angelic bow lips curved on one side, the smile both an acknowledgement and a tease. His wing—that perfect, night-black wing—began to move, folding with the slowest of motions, and Kuja nearly panicked. He strained against the Crystal's hard surface, desperate to reach him, somehow knowing that if he didn't reach his angel now, before his wing forever veiled him, he never would.
Kuja forgot about his punishment, the redemption he had always hoped to earn, as he struggled to reach the man who had brought his spirit back to life. He didn't know if it was the pity of the gods, or the strength of his angel's incredible will, but the impossible finally happened. He passed through the crystallized stone as though it were nothing, gliding into the air of a foreign word, and into the arms of perfection.
Kuja wrapped his arms around a strong, pale neck, shuddering as powerful arms closed around him in return. He gazed up into that beautiful, angelic face, spellbound, and said, "Hello, angel," in a breathless voice.
A deep laugh escaped the man holding him, and then the wing closed around them, enveloping them in comforting darkness. "Hello, little monkey."