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year 5, quarter 3
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Hope was having a crisis. Nothing too major, like the world ending, and nothing too small like him losing a pencil. It was more along the lines of monster trouble, that he was dealing with at the moment. In the middle of the desert. By himself.
It started yesterday, in Provo. He’d been in the inn that he’d been sticking with since he’d turned in the bandits with the monk Douken, and had split the money. After that, the boy had been better off financially, but the fact of the matter remained the same. He wasn’t going to last long if he didn’t find some source of income, especially if wanted to somewhat enjoy his stay here in the new land.
He was fourteen, and that meant he wanted to do things. Like… well, okay, they were more like ‘Hope’ things than anything else, and that meant books. He wanted to learn more about the place he was forced to stay in, and literature was once of his strong points. (Learning in whole was, but he enjoyed the ink and paper approach more than he did the direct one.)
Hope learned after buying a few books that he’d need more money if he was going to keep himself entertained, which led to him asking around the inn. They’d gotten nicer over time, since he was paying money and seemed to be more polite than other children his age. They’d told Hope one day that there was a report in that the local police were given. A man had lost his carriage in the desert when he had been attacked by an unknown monster at night.
There were many possibilities as to what the monster could be, from what Hope had gleamed of gathering information on the sandy expanse. But the request was to get his carriage back, not kill the monster that had attacked him. That was why he took it; it seemed like a simple matter to track down a carriage and get it back… right?
Wrong—so very, very, wrong. He’d found the wagon all right. One step down. He approached the wagon, and that was when everything spiraled down. Cause see, apparently the population of sand worms had recently had a very sharp increase. The wagon driver had been unfortunate enough to come across a group of them, or more specifically their breeding grounds. By the time Hope had gotten there, they had dug out quite a large tunnel system underground and seemed to have limitless numbers.
Quite a few numbers were lying in wait around the wagon for some unfortunate soul to try and reclaim it. Hope happened to be the first, which meant there was no warning when one of them emerged from the ground, teeth showing and spit flying.
Maybe he had screamed, but he had at least thrown his boomerang and had taken out the first one that had come up. As if sensing one of their own were under distress, though, more started coming. Hope, unable to deal with such numbers without anyone there to back him up by keeping them off of him, had done the smart thing.
He turned tail and ran away as fast as he could. They seemed to be quite insistent on catching him though, which led to where he was currently. Running as fast as he could to get the heck out of there before his lungs gave out and he couldn’t anymore.
Kuja had once loved the desert. He had loved the dry heat of it against his skin, the cool whip of unrestrained wind, and the endless expanses of golden light. Riding low on the back of his silver dragon, the air smelled of feathers and dry earth. It was a sensation of unbridled freedom only amplified by the large stretches of barren grounds beneath him. None but he could enter here. On a continent removed from all civilization in the middle of the most hostile stretch of land on the planet, he was the undisputed master of all he set his eyes upon. He had crafted it to his will, and it was invariable, unarguably his. Of all of the planet's natural wonders, he had enjoyed the desert second most, falling short only to the cool pin-drop patterings of rain. But it had not always been quite so inviting.
No, his first experience with the desert had been downright miserable. It had been shortly after his banishment (after Zidane, that was), back when he hadn't yet found a place among human society. Back then, a trip to the Mist Continent had meant scrambling at the edges of the law. Through the dual efforts of his magic and the unexpected us of his tail, he had managed to steal what he'd needed, but it hadn't been enough. Despite his banishment, despite losing everything, Kuja still heard his creator's commands, piercing like a knife into his soul. He was still expected to work for his survival, and that meant long flights to forgotten wastelands monitoring that forsaken tree as well as the status of Terra's various bases on its host planet. These trips were his most dreaded as they brought him through typhoons, earthquakes, and even anti-magic fields for the sake of a tyrant's satisfaction. It was on one of these treks that Kuja had his first experience with the Kiera Desert. He'd found its defenses exactly as formidable as any elemental shrine.
Despite the man's insistence on obedience, Garland had not mentioned that these particular ruins would be found underground. Kuja had swept over the area by air for hours before he was finally forced to abandon his dragon in a hollow mountain cave to search the desert on foot. Back then, he hadn't been used to the heat, and facing it alone had proven deathly. The sun had pounded onto the back of his head. The light had hurt his eyes as it glared off the shifting dunes. Wind had whipped the sand into his mouth, boots, and eyes.
He had not enjoyed his experience, to say the least. Years later, Kuja would become so intimate with the Kiera desert that he would know its every shelter, danger, and escape. An unprepared visit would not prove as deadly to him anymore, but it was still to be avoided.
And this desert was certainly not the Kiera.
When Kuja awoke, it was to sweltering heat, unrestrained sunlight, and shifting sands. He had been sprawled flat on his back with a hand over his stomach, hair splayed out about his shoulders and waist. An investigative glance showed no landmarks but towering dunes and an empty horizon. He was, as always, alone.
He was greeted with a headache when he took to his feet. This was not particularly remarkable as living among idiots had left him prone to them, but he grit his teeth and spared himself curative magic until the pain had dulled to a subtle throb. Beneath his feet, he felt the subtle rumbling of activity. There were monsters here (sandworms or antlions, most likely), and they would sense his movement as clearly as he had theirs. He closed his eyes and sent out a call into space.
Silver dragon. Come here.
The message came from deeper within him than the mind. His soul projected it out into the psychic sphere where it would only be heard by others receptive enough to such spiritual matters. He did not feel his dragon's presence, however, nor did she appear at his command. Somehow they had been separated. His head swam with possibilities.
Without her, he had no choice but to travel like he had so long ago -- on foot. The thought gave him a sense of deep and unending dread, but Kuja was not the same child who had been overwhelmed so long ago. He knew now to avoid the swirling indentations in the sand. He knew to check the rumblings of the earth beneath his feet. More than that, he knew the patterns of this planet, and he knew its navigation. Though he found nothing on his horizons, he knew that antlions most often nested near the borders of their desert home. By following the antlion nests to their point of highest density, one would theoretically be able to guide oneself out of the desert.
Four hours would pass before he came across anything but monsters and sand. He could have cut that time in half had the antlions not mistaken him for their prey. What a fatal mistake it was. His magic struck with a bitter taste like acid. He left a trail of burnt husks in his wake.
He was drawn to the carriage not from the activity of the antlions, but rather, the sandworms. Somewhere within his fifth hour of travel, he felt them awaken below the dunes. They whipped the sand in their excitement and as their paths approached him, he cast a quick float upon himself to keep his presence hidden. They passed by without notice, heading West. Whatever had sparked the interest of the monsters was not native to this land. Whatever it was must have come from beyond the edges of this forsaken place and would lead him to his own salvation.
What he found was a carriage. Its wood was splintered -- its wheels broken. More importantly, he found what appeared to be a human child. It let out a terrified scream, threw a piece of carved wood in a sandworm's direction, and then fled. The child acted for all the world like the most perfect of victims. Kuja could sense the excitement of the sandworms as they gave chase to such a rare treat. Kuja was almost reluctant to ruin their fun. But as it was, he needed direction and this child must have come from somewhere.
He had no choice but to play the hero then. For now.
His hand raised. Magic burned hot at his fingertips. It released with the force of a gale thunderstorm and sought vengeance upon those pitiable mortals below. One by one, the unworthy were struck down, their cries masked by the explosive cracklings of electricity. The sand buzzed with dormant energy. The air sparked with light. Within only minutes, the colony of sandworms were dead.
The battle was not without its toll on Kuja. The display of his magic had revived his headache. His mouth formed into a faint scowl.
"You. Idiot!" He barked the words in the boy's direction. He was not in the mood to deal with pleasantries nor would he waste feigned respect on a child. "What in the name of Gaia are you doing out here? Or do you have a death wish? My, it would seem evolution is taking its toll on the human race. And it wishes to leave you out of it."
He heard the sound of crackling lightning behind him, and started to slow down to a stop because—not a cloud in sight. His feet sunk into the sand as he slid, invading his shoes and getting between his toes. Looking back over his shoulder, Hope would almost, almost say he was impressed. If the spell hadn’t been a lighting based one that is. Doesn’t everyone know what petrified lightning is? … No, he forgot that he was stuck in the ‘Stupid and dense age’. Goddess help him, this was ridiculous. He braced his hands on his knees and looked like he was catching his breath, when in reality, he was muttering dark curses to whoever sent him here.
“You. Idiot!”
His back straightened and he turned to look at whoever called out to him, his eyes narrowing. They were floating in the air, looking just—Goddess, does he not know what clothes are? Or hey, modesty? It had to be whoever cast the spell, and if it was, he wasn’t as grateful as he had kinda been seconds earlier. One reason being, “If anyone here is an idiot, it’s the dunce casting a lightning spell like that in sand!” He exclaimed, his hand motioning the new constructs that had formed in the sand moments earlier when the spell had struck the worms and in some cases, the ground. “Do you know how dangerous that is, huh?! The pressure could have been any higher, and they would have exploded instead of solidifying. Lotta good it’d do to have me impaled by hardened sand that’s still hot enough to forgo burns and incinerate someone!”
“Everyone on the stupid continent is as smart as a flan!” He brushed off of his short sleeves and proceeded to march around the destruction area, towards the wagon. “I’m out here for something called a request; you finish it for this thing called money, or more specifically, gil.” He bent down, looking over the wagon. It needed repairs, and that meant he’d need to gather supplies from wherever so he could get to work. “I wasn’t asking for the old man to not know what attacked him at night. Just my luck he happened to get stuck in a nesting ground for those things.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, gesturing to the sizzling worms.
“Who are you to be asking me why I’m out here, anyways?” He cast another look at the floating whatever as he stood up. Hope started to look for his boomerang, and noticed it was still lodged in one of the worms. Walking up to he, Hope grasped his fingers around one end and pulled it out, thick slime and blood following. “Goddess, that’s disgusting.” A few shakes of his wrist, and the filth was flying off into the sand.
The child was of an indignant sort, easily insulted it seemed even in the face of death. It was not that Kuja had a problem with pride -- how could he when he was so guilty of it himself? -- but baseless pride was one of the highest marks of stupidity. Kuja had earned his self-regard through tireless work, an unmatched knowledge of the planet, and the immeasurable strength of his magic. This boy seemed to think that respect was to be given to the dog who yapped the loudest. Oh how very mistaken he was.
“If anyone here is an idiot, it’s the dunce casting a lightning spell like that in sand!”
Not only that, but this child needed work on his insults. The wording was fine, but the sting of words came from expression and intonation. It was the subtleties of the act that most resounded with one's enemies. The boy was clearly terrified. His voice had pitched upwards from the force of pure adrenaline after nearly becoming prey. There was a kind of intensity to his stance -- a clear sign of a panic that had not yet faded. He went on for a while about the properties of sand under pressure and heat. His words rambled over themselves as he gave a half-hysteric motion towards the natural glass which had formed at their feet. “Everyone on the stupid continent is as smart as a flan!” he exclaimed
My, my. Judgmental, are we? It made him want to laugh, and as he did not care for this child's opinion, he did. It came in short, sarcastic bursts of utter disdain.
"Now, now. I've worked so hard to build you your glass house. You mustn't throw rocks in it or the walls might shatter." With the sandworms gone, Kuja brought a dispelling magic to his fingers. With a regal wave, he felt the effects of gravity retake him and he landed gracefully on the ground. True to the child's words, the sand was littered with cooling molten silicon. "You speak so highly for one who so narrowly avoided death. Perhaps you've never been taught how to properly thank your savior?"
Of course Kuja hadn't done it out of some baseless sense of morality. He hadn't the slightest qualms with murdering children. But he had saved the boy none the less. There was gratitude to be collected for that, or at least there was from those smart enough not to anger one who had the power to save them.
It seemed the boy had been sent out on some job or another. Who would possibly trust such an inept moron to any responsibility (particularly in the desert) was beyond Kuja's grasp. Oh, the boy tried to wound Kuja with sarcasm. He tried to blame his poor situation on luck of all things! As though blaming his fate would allow him to survive another day in this cruel world. No, that was the talk of the weak. The weak needed saviors and blamed their downfalls on fortune. The strong worked tirelessly to overthrow their oppressors and take matters into their own hands. Kuja should know. He had outgrown such weakness.
"You were stupid -- not unlucky. Sandworms lurk in places of heat and burrow beneath the dunes. They listen for the movement of prey above, and once alert, they swarm their victims from below and devour them whole. That anyone would trust an inexperienced child in this place..." He let his words trail off. That was enough lecturing.
"Funny that you should ask as to my right into your business. If you believe me a nuisance, then I can leave you here to the antlions." Kuja held out a hand and examined his finger nails. The sand had chipped the violet lacquer off the base of his thumb. "Do tell me how that stick of yours fares against them."
"Now, now. I've worked so hard to build you your glass house. You mustn't throw rocks in it or the walls might shatter."
He was definitely being looked down on. Hope looked over the strange man, his green eyes analyzing bits and pieces separately, taking in his speech, how he moved, because he was arrogant. Arrogance usually accompanied those with the power to back it, and from his earlier display, Hope could safely assume that in a magic battle, he’d have a hard time from start to finish, and would most likely lose.
"You speak so highly for one who so narrowly avoided death. Perhaps you've never been taught how to properly thank your savior?”
Oh, he knew how to thank someone. He really did, his mother taught him as much. (Hope respected no one if not his mother, his best friend.) He was just rubbed the wrong way by the stranger, and Hope had a close guess as to what this thanks would entail. It wasn’t like he did it out of the nonexistent goodness of his heart, that was for sure.
“Savior, oh hero, thank you for you’re oh so magnificent display of strength.” Emotionless sarcasm was his strong point, and soon the flustered Hope that he’d been moments earlier was gone.
Control your emotions.
The echo that had kept him from blowing up at every given moment, his silent companion in this world where he was alone. He could depend on the owner of that voice, because they were right. He needed to control himself. He may be a child, but he was smart. He knew how the world worked, and he’d sooner throw himself down to Pulse than let someone walk all over him without him saying anything to defend himself.
"You were stupid -- not unlucky. Sandworms lurk in places of heat and burrow beneath the dunes. They listen for the movement of prey above, and once alert, they swarm their victims from below and devour them whole. That anyone would trust an inexperienced child in this place..."
Hope didn’t know much about the monsters here, just from what he had asked around and learned. If that was the case, then he’d have to remember that in the even he was ever forced to come back through here. He’d admit that had been foolish of him, but he didn’t let the stoic look on his face break. Let the stranger think what he wanted, and assume about his abilities. The less he knew about Hope, then the less assuming he could seem to be, in the event the jerk wanted to smack him around.
"Funny that you should ask as to my right into your business. If you believe me a nuisance, then I can leave you here to the antlions. Do tell me how that stick of yours fares against them."
So, he hadn’t been that far off from his original assumption. It was written all over his speech, and Hope bit at it without a second though. Why else was he still bothering--or, hanging around? He could have been a little nicer if he wanted to be shown how to get out of here, but Hope wasn't going to even START on that, lest he initiate another migraine.
“You’re lost, aren’t you? I don't believe for one second that you take joy in flying around the world like some superhero and saving every person in trouble, unless there was something you needed. Seeing as this is a desert, you look like you've been here awhile under the sun, and this is the middle of nowhere, you could be. But you, oh savior, are too great to be lost, right?” He said, his shoulders shrugging a bit near the beginning. Antilions, he knew about. There had been quite the word about them in a town he’d stopped at outside the desert, because they liked to attack settlements.
Hope looked at the destroyed cart and weighed his options. This request was obviously a bust, and like ifrit he was going to come back in this sandy mess. Better to just find something else and let the idiotic merchant get another, less in need of repairs, wagon. Everything seemed to have been taken from it, anyways. “I’m going back to town, oh savior, and you can come along I guess, since I owe you for the sand worms." He had offered to take care of the Antilions, anyways, and Hope was eager to exploit that. At least it seemed that way. Hope wasn't going to read all that much into what he said, because it gave him a headache.
"I'm Hope." He introduced himself, fast, blunt, and to the point. No point in using fancy words like him, cause he used enough for the both of them and then some.
Kuja liked to consider himself a master of manipulation and obscured intentions. He had spent years infiltrating human civilization and had quickly climbed the rungs of society from the lowest of outsiders to one of the most respected nobles in all of Alexandria. He so enjoyed playing people like puppets. Each victim was so ignorant of his true ambitions that it proved hilarious. He did not like to be called out on his goals, however, nor did he appreciate disbelief.
"“You’re lost, aren’t you?" the boy said with a growing look of defiance. Well, there it was then. It certainly wasn't Kuja's fault that the truth had been so clear -- not when he had awoken to this uninhabitable place. For who would possibly come here willingly without some aim or the aid of an aerial transport? Kuja wanted to dole out a sarcastic congratulations on the boy's keen intuition: 'My, how perceptive of you, but no. It just so happens that I live here, you see. Would you like to see my great, underground palace? We could discuss the merits of Lord Avon over tea.'
But enough of that.
The boy continued on his sarcastic tirade. About how he didn't believe Kuja to be a superhero. About how Kuja needed to use the boy. None of this rung even the slightest bit false. Perhaps Kuja would not have minded the accusations had the boy not followed it with a line so arrogant that it made Kuja's tail bristle.
"But you, oh savior, are too great to be lost, right?”
Magic itched hot against the back of his hand. But no, he couldn't release it. Not yet. If he could control his violent impulses around the queen, he could keep his patience with a mere child. Kuja could easily have murdered this boy while there were no witnesses. Instead, he smiled.
"You're right," he said. Those two words pained him like the sharpest of knives digging ever deeper into his soul. "Through no fault of my own, I ended up deep in the middle of this forsaken wasteland. Thank you for noticing."
His expressions had changed. His tone had gone suddenly polite. It wasn't that he wished to fool this boy (he had already revealed his true colors), but merely that the act helped Kuja to restrain his most destructive of instincts. If there was anyone who should worry for their lives, it was those he made fear it least. With this boy's reckless disrespect, it seemed that he had quite the reason to worry.
The child seemed far more interested in the useless wagon. He gave it another glance over, and then a sigh of dejection. Kuja deeply wondered as to the boy's original intentions. The wreckage could only be moved through brute strength -- something this child lacked in every way. “I’m going back to town, oh savior, and you can come along I guess, since I owe you for the sand worms." How considerate of him. Perhaps Kuja would allow the boy to live until he made good on his promise. That seemed more than enough payment for the service as a guide.
"I'm Hope," the boy said. The name oozed with saccharine pretension. Kuja's mind wondered at the possibilities for silent mockery.
"Kuja," he responded. His arms folded carelessly over his chest as he considered the sky. Cloudless, of course, which he would usually find quite pleasant had it not been for the heavy weight of the sun. "So irony plays her harshest hand again. It would seem that you are knowledgeable but defenseless while I have no need to fear anything but false navigation. How very...hopeless."
Kuja spared the boy a cool glance. He was young -- likely no older than fifteen -- and dressed in a bright colored jacket and pants that cut off just below the knee. His pale skin bespoke of a life sequestered from the sun while the edge of his eyes gave him the appearance of a young and arrogant scholar. His hair was silver and almost wind-swept. Under the right circumstances it almost could have reminded Kuja of...
But no. Kuja had never been this weak.
With a sigh and a wave of his hand, Kuja strengthened his magic again. This time, he directed it towards that wasted wagon. He cast a simple float spell on it, and without the weight of gravity dragging it under the sand, it slowly rose. The wood creaked at the pressure as beams warped and spokes cracked. Still, it was better than nothing, and if the child had already chosen failure then perhaps the unexpected turn of events would at least quiet him for a while."If we have both reached an impasse, then perhaps we might strike a deal," he said. "If you lead the way from this forsaken place, then I will handle this." Such a minor expenditure of magic would more than pay for the pleasure of silencing a yappy dog.
"You're right, Through no fault of my own, I ended up deep in the middle of this forsaken wasteland. Thank you for noticing."
His speech had changed from insulting to some sweet mimicry of being nice. Oh well, if he wanted to call it an end to the insult trading there, then Hope would happily agree. That doesn’t mean he was going to just let his guard down because the exotic-stranger said thank you. No, that sounded even more suspicious.
Hope looked away from him, his hand reaching back to pull out a solid-looking container, a thermos that held water in it. He hadn’t needed to use any of it, yet, and he had another in the opposite pocket that he could use if he got tired further down the trip. Fatigue affects magical output, after all. If one couldn’t focus to call upon it, then they would either end up with a botched spell that would backfire or nothing at all. As much as he didn’t like the guy, having him using magic around him while he had been in the desert for Goddess knows how long with no provisions would make this a lot more difficult. “Here,” he said, his tone full of the dislike of having to offer Kuja anything that would make him seem anything that remotely seemed nice. “If you need it, then take it.” Don’t be stubborn, was the underlying words to the last bit.
Something about what he had said caught his attention, though. ‘Ended up in the middle of this forsaken wasteland.’ That didn’t sound normal, and that meant a lot of things, but the one that spoke out to him the most was that, ‘This person could be like him, and the others.’ Was he going to say anything though? Of course not. Let him found out himself, and think that Hope was native to this land, at least. He didn’t want any more connections than needed between them, and the sooner he rid himself of his ‘protector’, the faster he could get back to his books.
"Kuja.” Well… that was an odd name. He didn’t think it was used back from where he lived, in any case. If his clothing and features didn’t already make him stand out, then his name was sure to catch a lot of attention.
“So irony plays her harshest hand again. It would seem that you are knowledgeable but defenseless while I have no need to fear anything but false navigation. How very...hopeless." He’d expected it—everyone he’d ever met seemed to like trying to make a play on his name. It’d gotten old when he’d turned ten, but the thought of this weirdo making fun of him made him clench his teeth for a moment.
“Yeah, yeah, hilarious.” Like he hadn’t heard that one about a million times already.
"If we have both reached an impasse, then perhaps we might strike a deal, If you lead the way from this forsaken place, then I will handle this."
Hope looked between him and the wagon, before he seemed to accept the show of whatever it was. “Alright then.” That made things a lot… easier, he guessed. In the end, he’d force the man to take the wagon because, ‘How could you send such a helpless boy into a deathtrap?’ guilt trip would most likely work, and he’d get paid despite the wagons condition. He wondered what the spell that Kuja had used was, briefly, before he looked away with a sharp swing of his head once more and looked up at the sky. “This way,” he said. They needed to go west, which meant that instead of having the sun on their back, it’d be in their face once it started to go down.
He began walking, knowing that if Kuja wanted to get out of here, then he'd need to follow. For now, Hope's main concern was going around the mounds of monster caverns where the sandstone was showing and caves where peeking out from the sand. Being near those at night would be bad, very bad, and he didn't want to end up as monster food. It didn't matter how strong this Kuja person was, he didn't trust him.
It was a general rule of society that if one is shown courtesy that the courtesy should be returned in kind. It was one of the first lessons that Kuja had learned upon taking to his new planet. No matter the insult given, a certain amount of civility could lead to a returned kindness. Even if that kindness was not particularly desired.
"Here." The boy had pulled a water flask from one of his outfit's many pockets, and after taking a long drink from it, offered it to Kuja. “If you need it, then take it," the boy said with a voice that very much suggested that he didn't wish anything of the sort. Kuja accepted the offering more to satisfy his curiosity than his thirst. Even from a glance, the container had seemed odd to him -- too perfectly shaped and without blemish. As he took it in his hand, he noticed that it was remarkably light for the use of so much metal. A tap along its side proved it durable as well. Biting back a grimace, Kuja drank quickly from the rim. The water was still cold.
This technology was not Gaian. The Gaians were so backwards that they considered steam engines the greatest height of the future, but here was a bottle made of lightweight metal with an almost perfect insulation. Likewise, the make of the boy's clothes were too well-fit, too clean to have fit in among the Gaians. Then there were the boy's mannerisms. The boy took to Kuja's name with only the slightest furrow of his brow and a minor glance of confusion. It was a reaction that Kuja had witnessed many times before, but this situation was unique. From that glance, Kuja knew he could not be anywhere near Gaian society for one reason and one reason only.
The boy did not fear his name.
No, any Gaian would have flinched at the sound of it. They would have looked at him in slowly growing shock and horror. Here was the man who had single-handedly reaped the decimation of every civilized nation on the planet! Yet, from this boy, Kuja received nothing but silent scorn over a foreign word. So here he was, in a desert that should not have existed with a boy who did not know him holding technology that had not been discovered. It left him to only one conclusion: This planet was not Gaia.
Nor was it Terra, clearly. So that led to a further question. Where was 'here' and how had he come to it? Had he been whisked through another dimensional portal like that of the Shimmering Island? The possibilities were staggering.
He considered them as they began their trek through this unfamiliar land. True to his word, the boy stayed in front. From the direction of the sun, it seemed they were heading West. Kuja followed behind, keeping the godforsaken carriage floating beside him as he walked. It was held by a peculiar magic of his own device. It was a sort of refined float spell, given extra power and propelled by his will. In this way, Kuja could carry anything within reasonable size while keeping his arms and mind busy. The boy did not seem much for conversation and Kuja reflected that sentiment. While the boy kept himself occupied with teenage brooding, Kuja wondered as to the composition of the universe and what magitechnology might have allowed him to cross the barrier between space and realities. It was as Kuja was pondering the possible use of the crystals and condensed memory that he was given pause by a strange new intrusion on his consciousness.
Kuja had always been partial to monsters. As a genome, his body had been constructed to accept souls, and with it came a certain sensitivity to Mist. Though he had not seen any Mist upon this land, something of the sort still dwelled in the heart of monsters. As they approached a series of desert-born cliffs that had risen from the Western horizon, this uneasy sense strengthened. Kuja had already taken care of several more sandworms and antlions on their way (using strictly fire and ice elementals lest the boy start his whining again), but this felt quite different. It was not isolated as the other monsters had been, but rather buzzed with an irritable sense of community. Kuja glanced at the boy as they approached. His mouth angled into a frown.
"There is danger ahead," he said. His voice played on the lilted tones of a bird's song. "Are you quite certain that you know your way?"
If the boy had been mistaken and wasted his time, Kuja would not hesitate to dispose of him. The thought made his tail thrash, and for not the first time, Kuja was thankful it was confined behind its shroud. "My now, wouldn't it be embarrassing if you hadn't the slightest idea what you were talking about?" he mused, "You would almost appear a hypocrite."
The sun was merciless with its heat. Hope pulled at his bandanna, loosening it a bit as he looked forward. Something wasn't right. They had come across antilions and some sand worms, which was to be expected. But as he kept track of the numbers, they slowly started to seem stranger and stranger. The groups got bigger, and to Hope, it seemed like they were running away from something, heading east instead of west, which was where they needed to go. That was never a good sign.
Hope shielded his eyes as he peered ahead, trying to see past the heat waves that rose up and distorted the image. It was getting hotter; but it felt like it was coming from the sand, almost. Like a fire spell had been used on it, heating up the temperature even more. There had been a fight here of some kind, and there was nothing left of it other than sand and heat. It could’ve been between monsters, and one ate the other in the end and then scampered away.
"There is danger ahead, Are you quite certain that you know your way? My now, wouldn't it be embarrassing if you hadn't the slightest idea what you were talking about? You would almost appear a hypocrite."
That guy. Kuja wasn’t helping at all, with running his mouth and making him hold his head in pain as a result every time he opened his mouth. Goddess, that headache was back, just when it was getting so quiet too. “Stuff it for a moment, please.” He said while digging back in his pockets—they seemed to hold who knows what in them, and over time he’d seemed to have pulled out a pencil, pen, book, and notes that had been folded up and put inside that he’d been reading through and dotting on during their travelling. It was a small cylinder-shaped object with a lens in it, and he peered through it to see farther ahead.
Those hadn’t been there before. In the direction they were heading, there was supposed to be a large mound, sure, but there hadn’t been cliffs and caves. “Something uncovered it,” he muttered to himself while stuffing the tool back in his pocket. “Looks like there were caves buried under all that sand, and the ants had dug into it and made it their home, but that doesn’t explain why—“
The sand started to shake, causing a gusts of sand to fly into the air. Hope covered his nose and mouth with his hand, keeping the particles out while he watched the cliffs. From there, a heavy roar reverberated through the air, and then a blast. It resembled that of a flare, bright, sudden, and destructive. The sounds of antilions chattering in panic, anger, and fear were a constant buzz, and with another sound ‘bang!’ a carcass of one flew through the air and dropped on the ground, dead.
Hope’s face contorted as the whatever-it-was seemed to emerge from one of the caves, large and seemingly made of earth itself. No names came to mind of what it could be, but whatever it was, it had threatened an entire colony of antilions and was winning the war. The two seemed to attract its attention, and its large body slowly turned to face them, growling with its teeth bared.
“Oh come on,” Hope snapped, the heat, the Kuja-ness, and now the appearance of the large one-monster-army just making him furious. “How can something like that be around and no one care to mention it?!” Unless the antilions had been the reason for its rampage, but that didn’t seem to be the case, because its attention seemed to be quite fixed on the two of them now. It didn’t bother with the rest of the smaller monsters around its feet, and that gave the ants the chance to flee every which way.
Earth Eater is approaching, and he doesn't look happy.
Notes: Lemme know if there's something wrong *nervous sweat* spent a few hours working on finding the right monster, and this guy came up. Looked pretty... okay, not fun, but it worked with what I had in mind.
“Stuff it for a moment, please," the boy muttered in disdain. Kuja spared him a cool glance and crossed his arms carelessly over his chest. They had stopped moving, but there wasn't much to see. As always, the desert expanded in every direction offering nothing but wind, sun, and sand. Hope dug through his many pockets in search of something. First he pulled out a notebook, then a thin device that have been for writing along with several notes. Finally, he unearthed a miniature spyglass and held it to his eye. He focused in on the distant caves. His eyebrows furrowed as he stashed the tool away.
"Something uncovered it. Looks like there were caves buried under all that sand, and the ants had dug into it and made it their home, but that doesn’t explain why—"
The boy didn't have the time to finish his thoughts, but they proved quite redundant when the source of the trouble revealed itself only moments later. As if summoned by his words, the ground beneath them began to tremble. Sand loosed itself from the earth and was sent flying in silent whirlwinds that stung open mouths and eyes. Kuja coughed a little at the roughness on his throat and squinted through the approaching dust storm at the rumbling caves. There was a sudden feral cry preceding a flash of light and the terrible roar of fire. The caves had come alive with the skittering of claws and muffled screams. There was another explosion and then a ten-foot, furry something was sent flying from the cliff-face like a cannonball under fire. It landed not twelve feet from where they stood and brought a wave of sand and debris around it as it skidded to a stop. A closer look revealed it to have once been an antlion. Its head was missing as well as several legs and the lower part of its abdomen. All that was left was a hulking carapace in the sand.
Antlions were the apex predators of the desert. Yet this one had been torn apart like a defenseless lamb. It did not take long to discover its killer. There was another roar before the walls burst open at the force of swinging fists. As the gravel settled, it emerged, towering above a pair of antlions that it had taken in its claws. It opened its mouth to reveal yellowed teeth and sharpened incisors. The antlions could do nothing but flail their legs in terrified spasms. The monster flattened them against the cliff face. Then it turned and focused its heavy-browed gaze upon them. Kuja had never seen -- never even heard -- of such a monster. It bared its fangs and stomped its clawed feet. Beside him, the boy gave a sigh of exasperation.
"Oh come on! How can something like that be around and no one care to mention it?" The boy sounded angry, and for once, Kuja agreed. A monster like this should have been the stuff of legends. The people of this planet should have feared its name and not allowed any of their people so much as a glimpse of the desert it lived in. Yet here it was. And here they were. Though Kuja was not one to believe in gods, he cursed them anyway for whatever strike of unbelievable circumstance had stranded him on this forsaken planet. He cursed them doubly for offering him nothing but hot sand and an unskilled, smart-mouthed burden in return. The fates were nothing if not cruel.
To compound matters even further, the mysterious beast did not seem the least bit interested in continuing its tirade against the antlions. For whatever reason, it eyed them, and in that single instant seemed to deem them more a threat than the colony at its back. It charged, fists flailing, mouth gaping, and took incredible speed across the hellscape that separated them. The antlions scattered at its feet and scrambled in every which direction to escape. Perhaps to them, the arrival of the two seemed an utmost miracle -- a sacrifice sent by the heavens to appease their slaughterer's wrath. Kuja grit his teeth and took a step forward to face it. He stood alone with his survival hanging in the balance. It was nothing new to him.
"If you cannot defend yourself, then you are unworthy of the life I have given you." Those words had once ruled his early life. They had taught him to swallow the icy fear of failure and stare down death with a cool eye. Under its philosophy, Kuja had stood his ground against spitting marlboro and bristling dragons. He had learned that when one's life could be taken in an instant that fear was weakness and mercy was a lie. His body settled into its combative stance as though called upon by instinct. Magic swelled within him and sparked between outstretched fingers. It gathered from the depths of his soul and burned at the dry air. With a sharp swipe, he let it release and directed the greatest forces of fire upon the charging beast.
Kuja knew his mistake at once. Even as the air super heated and flashed with light, he saw it -- a sharp red spark upon the creature's skin. Kuja's eyes widened as he felt the magical polarity reverse. As though reflected by a mirror, the forces of magic redirected their focus. It swept upon him like an invisible wind. Kuja tried to dodge backwards from its power, but he was too late. His body erupted with heat. His vision was clouded in flames.
The force of it threw him backwards into the sand. Surrounded in flames, Kuja could only barely catch himself. He landed on one knee, head bowed, gasping for breath that did not burn his lungs. His body was resilient to magic and did not blister with heat, but the force of it left his head spinning. Looking up, he saw that his attacker had not slowed. With swinging arms and gaping mouth, it dashed across the sand, clearing more distance with every second. Swallowing curses, Kuja raised a hand and shot dispelling magic towards it like a projectile. This, too, proved futile against its scaly protection. His magic glanced off with a spark of red and fizzled into dust. The monster would be on them in seconds.
This was not the first time that Kuja had faced down the eyes of death. They had hounded him since the moment of his awakening. From the howling monsters that stalked outside the gates of Bran Bal, to the shadowed abominations that followed him within the palace of the damned, to his creator and personal executioner, it seemed that death had never been more than a stone's throw away. Yet Kuja had always fought, and above all, survived. As the monster raised its hardened fist, Kuja felt a deeper magic stirring inside of him. It fed on panic and strengthened on fear. It was a spell of his own personal making -- a magic that was undeniably his. It rose from the depths of his soul and surrounded him in an aura like fire.
Before the monster could strike, he raised a hand, and in that motion, the very flow of magic shifted. The air crackled with dormant power and then burst like a thousand stars erupting to life. The magic pulsed in still air and brought swirling winds that dashed at open sand and pulled at loose hair and sleeves. The light held no heat, but struck in blinding flashes of pure energy. It surrounded the monster and pierced past the bounds of magical protection. The monster screeched in fury as it was thrown back into the sand. The spell surrounded it, bursting and flashing as it spread from its caster until the air had erupted from his hand to the broken cliff-face. Scrambling antlions were stopped where they fled and tossed backwards in screaming death throes. Kuja rose to his feet and faced the destruction he had unleashed. The monster was not yet dead.
Kuja raised a hand and cast the spell again and then again until the expanse before them was cleared of life and the sand rose above them in spiraling cyclones of rising wind. The monster did not stand a chance. It gave a final, trembling cry and then went limp with arms outstretched and skin flayed and raw. Kuja felt a smirk play across his face as he eyed the destruction he had caused.
Then his vision cut to black. He heard his gasp as he felt himself stagger. The magic that left him had been too much. His soul flickered from exhaustion. He fell back to his knees, where he had started. His thoughts quickly abandoned him to be replaced by ringing ears. He rested his forehead against the cool metal of his greaves and closed his eyes. His breathing was heavy. He focused on it and tried to remain conscious.
Was this how he would die? Exhausted and alone in the middle of the desert? The thought was so ironic that soon he was laughing. He laughed at the gods he didn't believe in and at the forces that had brought him to this forsaken place.
The fates had always proven as cruel as desert heat. Now, he found them scalding.
