Mystic: Still wandering the halls of Kuja's mind. Expect a touch of ooc-ness, because conversion and regeneration just screw with you.

Conversion Regeneration Part II

My final act as Angel of Death, before the curtain fell on this torrid life, seemed a noble attempt for penance and absolution. I've never been one to pay any mind to those words, but a little witch used to drone on and on about it over a cup of hot tea. Zidane, my younger brother, noticed when I teleported his comrades away from the wretched tree. My magic was not used up yet, however. Just enough twitched through my fingers for one more chant.

"Go home, Zidane," I whispered, tasting the metal iron of blood on my lips. "Survive and go home."

Before I heard his vain attempt at protest, the roots began to collapse around us. I may not deserve to live after everything, but Zidane desired his canary. Not a poor choice for a lover, a young queen who can summon mythical monsters. He accepted my protection, tried to protect me. Don't bother, brother. My heart has finally stopped.

My last breath emerged as a gold cloud, the first time since I accepted the blood of a witch.

"What the hell was that?"

Poor Zidane; a thief did not have experience in the realms of conversion. My mind lay silent, a dark tunnel of regret and lost moments.

Thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump

One heart, one rhythm. One of a manufactured genome with a corrupted soul.

thump ...thump ...thump ...thump ...thump

A second heart, a separate rhythm. One of a blood mage forever bound to a female who likes to ride a broom.

Thump-thump-thump-thump

thump ...thump ...thump ...thump

My screams when the blood began to flow through my body resounded to the very heavens, then fell to the pits of Ifrit's domain. They stopped in the area the blood mages refer to as purgatory. It's a prison of sorts. One day I plan to research it a bit.

"Kuja!"

Not to worry, dear brother. This is not how genomes die; this is how a blood mage lives. This is how I am reborn.

Fire escaped through my hands. Zidane, actually being clever for a change, jumped quickly out-of-the-way. In case any of you weren't fully aware (complete fools), there are four humours in the body that regulate health and fight disease. If the balance between the four becomes a skewed in any way, it leaves open the door for sickness to enter. Right now, my humours were in disarray and attempting to correct themselves.

Here's a revelation for you: it doesn't feel good at all.

Blood, phlegm, yellow bile, and black bile. All shifted to their proper place, and yes, the fire continued though my hands and now my head. Please, do not ask how any of this is remotely plausible. I think it's safe to assume that this is a powerful form of witchcraft and we should leave it at that. The roots of the Iifa Tree did not even scorch.

Every muscle seized before the fire ceased its flames. I convulsed like a child with a dangerous fever. (Yes, I've seen it. Not a lovely image.) And then, peace. Beautiful peace and silence. Zidane, still present, carefully climbed down to pat me on the face. I did not appreciate it, so I grabbed his hand and shoved it away.

"You're alive!"

Yes, you moron. I'm alive, I'm a blood mage, and I have two hearts. And a massive headache. What I required now was a strong cup of white willow bark tea, sweetened with a touch of honey from a local beekeeper. Those dwarves keep bees, do they not? Normal bees? Regular bees? Not those giant bees that try to maim you?

"Kuja," said Zidane. "Speak to me. How many fingers am I holding up?"

I brushed his hand away. "Not now, sweetie."

...wait.

"Whoa, man!" My brother scooted quickly away in the other direction. "You may look like a girl, but that's wrong on so many levels."

His incompetence forced me to sit straight on my own. With a struggle, I managed to raise up and lean against the Iifa's trunk. "Can I have an apple? I love devil's apples."

For whatever reason, Zidane looked very confused. "You can't eat mandrake; it's poison."

"No, it's toxic. Good for the brain." Maybe I should scan the area. "Are you sure you don't have one?"

"Something's wrong with you."

Before I could slap or insult him (how dare him talk like that to me), my body seized again. Only briefly this time, and I exhaled another cloud of gold dust. Sharp pains ran up my arms and legs. "I hope that stops soon." Please, whatever spirit is listening, let this inferno headache go away. Make it go away.

"A Witch's Flight," I heard him whisper. "You've been converted; you're a blood mage!"

I grinned. "Oh, so you're not that stupid."

"Tantalus performed it years ago." He knelt beside me and took my face in his hands, stared at me with intent. "Aren't you supposed to have black eyes?"

His wrists found themselves trapped in my hands. "You're not a mage; you cannot see them."

"Two hearts?" At my nod, he plopped down at my side. "Huh, and I thought A Witch's Flight was just really good storytelling."

"It is," I said. "Written by the Lady Morgana, lover and consort to Lord Avon, based on the stories she heard as a child."

"I played her bodyguard."

"Hmph."

Zidane smiled like a lad's first visit to Treno. "Is there anything else you have two of?"

I could have slapped him; I should have slapped him. Instead, I pushed him off in hopes he'd crash to the ground. "No, moron."

Well, darn. He didn't crash to the dirt, only held on by his fingertips. "Hey! I was curious! Who the hell converted you and why did you call me sweetie?!"

"It's what she called me!"

He struggled to climb back up. He dangled on his elbows, grinning at me. "Didn't know you had a girlfriend, man."

"She wasn't a girlfriend." That word is horrendously childish. Do I look like a clueless teenager with boils on his face? There's a reason I wash daily with white wine and calendula flowers.

"Lover?"

"No." Very unfortunate, by the way.

"Um..."

"Try prisoner."

"Awesome, bro. You gave a maiden stockholm-syndrome." Zidane still grinned, still had yet to make his climb.

"The lady wasn't a maiden either." If my brother desired to depress me further, he succeeded. Like it or not, virginity is different for women; and more than a few men take pride in claiming that victory. Blame biology if you're upset about it. The more civilised societies ask that it be granted to a man of worth, not taken out of lust.

Most of society is not civilised.

The thief raised his eyebrows. "Ooh..." he teased. "Another man's wife? Give me a name. I promise I won't tell." He lied, any fool could see it.

"We weren't lovers!" I dropped my chin on my hands. Yes, I'm pouting. Deal with it.

I felt the dirt shift beside me; Zidane sat relaxed again. "Okay, okay. Sure." He stretched his arms, popping them in a few places. "You're a brave son-of-a-bitch to let a blood mage call you sweetie."

Goodness, you're thick, Zidane. Thick, thickety, Mr. Thickster from thickville. And so is your father.

"Garland?" he queried.

Did I just speak what I was thinking again?

"Yeah," he drawled.

Oh, you little bitch.

"HAHAHA! I think you mean witch."

"Stop it!" My head started to throb at the temples. "I haven't fully adjusted to the conversion. She's supposed to assist me."

"Then we can find her and send you in hiding. Tell me who she is."

I stared at him, incredulous. "Are you truly that thick, Zidane? Use that brain of yours for more than pretty girls and think!"

" ...um..."

For the love of Holy and Ultima. "Blood magic, Zidane. Blood magic." I tapped him by his ears. "Name the one person on Gaia who can manipulate a grown man into a oglop."

"Hilda?" When I smiled at her name, his disappeared in the abyss of broken dreams and lost opportunities. A smashed heart or two might be buried in the rubble. "That can't be," he finally said. "We rescued her -"

"Imbeciles."

" -she was terrified of you -"

Anybody of sound mind would be terrified of me, but I let Zidane run his mouth some more.

" -said you were a nightmare of all things. Wait, why was she in Mount Gulug with you? Is that how you treat your prisoners? I mean, Shiva's tits, Hilda is Cid's wife!"

I snorted. "Do you honestly think that'll stop me, Zidane? I'm still the villain in this play, after all."

"Why would she convert you?"

For once in all my limited years, I did not have a snappy retort at my disposal. I remained silent, contemplative about the woman with blonde hair and sharp eyes and hourglass curves. So many memories and images of the witch flooded my mind, it made my headache worse. Stealing my broom, dallying in my greenhouse, mixing extracts and tinctures in my cellar. She requested use of my cauldron once, and yes, I granted permission.

Aha! Yes! Now that is how you play a game of cards!

Oh? No, lady; not quite.

But I never lose!

Well, my lady? About that kiss you owe me...

Lady Hilda still owed me a kiss in exchange for not taking her cards. I believe one of her handmaidens taught her how to play. My temples and forehead throbbed, and nobody of any skill sat nearby to either hand me a cup of tea or compel my mind to rest. Oh, Bahamut; Lady Hilda did that as well, and with such a gentle touch.

Shh, Kuja. Please, relax.

Relax and rest your thoughts.

Ease away tension.

No more nightmares.

No more nightmares...

"Kuja," said Zidane, interrupting my memories. "Why would she convert you or give you a pet name?"

"Zidane," I responded. "Did it ever occur to you that she told you and ...the regent what she wanted you to hear? A woman's reputation becomes tarnished to oblivion if she admits emotions toward the villain." The thief, the hero, stared at me with wide, questioning eyes. "I kept her alive because I respected her abilities. I acted chivalrous toward her because I enjoyed her company. I treated her as my companion instead of my prisoner, and like it or not, against my better judgment, I believe I developed those same emotions."

He continued to only look in my direction. "Is that why we found her standing next to a bed?"

"We had plans, yes."

"Oh..."

My mind started to recollect another vivid memory. Lady Hilda, over a dinner of owl braised in wine, had grabbed my hand and requested my company once the sun settled in its bed on the horizon. My first mistake (yes, even I make them), was telling her that I had other plans that needed priority. The second mistake committed was not bedding her before she even asked. Weren't men supposed to seduce and co-erce?

Since Hilda was not here to help my transition, I realized that for next forseeable future, I was on my own. She spoke of a realm, the hidden territory of her people. It was necessary that I find it and take time to fully recover. "Tell the world what you wish, brother. Spin the story of how I died saving you and your comrades as penance for my crimes."

He stood. "What, why?"

"And don't you dare tell Hilda that I'm alive." I struggled to stand myself, the dizziness causing me to stumble against Zidane. He held me up by my waist. "Her heart's been broken enough by men."

"Listen," he said. "I can talk to Dagger, have her grant you a pardon -"

"Don't. Just don't."

"Where will you go?"

I leaned against the dilapidated trunk. "Realm of the blood mages." Two hearts beat in my chest, both drumming an unknown rhythm. A firefly hovered by my eyes, blinking its light as a guide. "My next true home."

Through the rays of sunlight that wove through the crooked branches, and the soft wind that rustled the leaves and our hair, I blinked, willing Zidane to see the change. He stepped back, finally aware, and didn't stop me as I walked off to fall to the ground. Floating, drifting, falling. Most expected a disgusting thud, but my landing hit gently upon the new earth.

I was in a village and surrounded by people. A crone caught me when I fell into a faint. "Oh, isn't he a handsome one," I heard her say. Wisps of long, brunette hair streaked with gray clouded my vision. "Okay, let's get you a hot cup of tea and blanket."

My voice, faint and weak, whispered, "Hilda."

"No, you may call me Rosemary," the elder said. "Hilda was a student of mine years ago. Come along now; stand up, handsome."

Must I? A part of me wanted nothing more than a long nap.

"You're going to come back to my place and sleep off this regeneration. Conversion is rough when you're by yourself."

This old crone did not realize the half of it.