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year 5, quarter 3
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THIS IS TERRIBLE but it's here. Sorry, I'm tired and my thoughts are really disjointed xD
For the Warrior of Light, every day was a new day, full of adventures and discoveries, stuffed with new information, new emotions, new culture to learn and new things to notice about the world. Typically, he enjoyed every day that fresh breath interested his breast. Usually, he looked forward to opening his eyes every morning, provided that he’d even slept the night before, because a new day meant more time to learn. He could recall the first day he noticed how the sun colored the horizon magnificent hues of orange and yellow. He could remember the first day he noticed what different animals scurried about in the early, dim light of the morning rays.
All the wonderful magic of experiencing new things, however, had long since disappeared during the trip to Torensten.
With every new day came new dread and frustration. He did not rest much during the journey, after all, he was traveling with a known villain. Kuja contained a bloodlust that the nameless knight would never understand, and so, he stayed ever vigilant. However, the more hours he spent awake, the more chances he gave the mage to upset him.
Kuja talked. He talked more than any being the Warrior had ever met in his life. The man could talk the ear off of ruined, castle wall. He could drive a mindless beast insane. He could convince good, civil people to leap to their deaths, just to get away from him.
The Warrior had decided to remain silent as much as possible, but he could not hide the frustration in his eyes. Several maddening moments, he thought to turn his sword on the infinitely annoying spellcaster. Or himself. Whatever would make the world peaceful.
Thankfully, the torture could only go on for so long. Every journey had an end point.
Torensten was only a few days foot travel from the Temple where the Warrior had, foolishly, met the mage as he had once promised. Late in the morning of the third day, the city had finally come into view.
Or, what remained of it.
In an instant, all of the pointless frustration and anger that Kuja had caused him the last few days melted away. The Warrior paused for a moment, his feet still in the grass, blue eyes glancing over the scene in front of him. The south side of Torensten had seen a fair bit of Chaos’ wrath; scorched, toppled buildings, piles of rubble, makeshift graves. The smell of upturned earth was fresh, and there was yet still a lingering scent of ash and smoke. All in a moment, the knight was transported back to that day.
Back to seeing the city on fire. To walking over the bloodied corpses of innocent civilians. To the formidable power of Chaos in all his rage, threatening the destruction of all life. He could feel the heat scorching his skin, smell the awful mix of burning wood and flesh, feel the crack of his bones as he was struck.
The knight shook his head. He had lived in that memory every night after leaving the city, and it plagued him yet still. This was his first time returning to the city since the catastrophic battle. He had not anticipated how the sight would make his stomach drop, and his heart race. It made his blood run cold. He was suddenly all too aware that people would recognize him, that they may call out to him. In his armor, or the cloak, he stood out.
Why weren’t his feet moving forward? Why was he suddenly terrified to show his face to these people?
… Was this … shame?
If Kuja had been nagging him for stopping, the Warrior did not hear him or respond. He took a quick moment to remove his helm, freeing his long, white hair. He tied the helm to his buckle on his side, before pulling the hook of his cloak over his head.
The people would still recognize him. But, at least, he wouldn’t have to see all of their faces.
“My apologies. Let us keep moving.”
Though he had been noticeably dragging his feet, it was all too soon that the Warrior and Kuja had entered the city. It was an active time of day; many people were milling about their daily regimen, headed to work, running to school, working, conversing. There were many people working on construction and deconstruction of the rubble, still. It would be a long effort, considering the size of Chaos’ destruction. It had easily leveled a third of the city.
There were whispers about; he could vaguely hear them. The knight did his best to ignore them, and tune them out. Most of the expressions he saw, in the half-seconds where he accidentally made eye contact with another human, were that of surprise. He did not linger to see what followed.
“Wherever we are headed,” the Warrior instructed Kuja quietly, “Let us be quick. We should disturb the peace as little as possible.”
He wanted to plead that Kuja not comment on the city, the people. He wished to beg the mage to keep quiet, to leave the people alone, to leave him alone. Kuja did not understand what happened to this place, nor would he likely care. He may even revel in it. Destruction, human suffering, death, poverty. It would not surprise the Warrior if Kuja were to mock them, to toy with them. To intensify their already terrible lives.
With a hand on his sword to steady his rapidly fluctuating emotional state, the Warrior would also not be surprised if he impaled Kuja on the spot for doing any such terrible thing. After all, being around the homicidal mage had apparently driven him to murderous intent.
Let us get this over with.
I refuse to believe, that I’m nothing more than a machine I refuse to believe, that we can’t learn to see The truth was in a dream I will not kill No I will – believe.
As expected, the nameless Warrior of Light was not the best company. He wasn't the worst by any means -- not when Kuja had suffered countless journeys with Zorn and Thorn -- but the knight wasn't exactly brimming with wit or insight. No, instead he was content to travel in dignified silence, judging him quietly for his immoral ways. That was what Kuja hated the most about him, really. His righteousness. This was a man who had never known the gray area of morality. He was the kind who would gladly die for a cause he would never question. He was the noble paladin who could stand on high, bathe in the light of his glory, and lament the rise of evil as though he were incapable of it. And yet, there was at least one upside of the knight's boundless pretense.
It made him endlessly amusing to torment.
Kuja didn't even have to try, really. For all his feigned dignity, the Warrior held his heart on his sleeve if you knew where to look. A thinned lip here. A twitching eye there. A slight edge to his replies that might have one day blossomed to true sarcasm. It wasn't much. It wasn't interesting. But it acted as a road map to Kuja's assault. As it turned out, the Warrior did not appreciate the works of Lord Avon. He did not wish to hear them quoted to him in succession, and he did not wish to debate their symbolic meaning. He flinched in disgust every time that Kuja alluded to his own cruelty, though Kuja made certain never to go too far on that particular subject. The man was his captive audience, but the threat of a city's destruction would only buy him so much patience.
It was all a game to him. A balancing act. How to drive the knight closest to the edge without quite pushing him over. Kuja thought that he performed quite admirably, given the circumstances. By the time they arrived in Torensten, the knight seemed to have almost learned the concept of hatred.
Kuja had prepared himself for the site of the ruined city. He had heard of the fires, the rampant bloodshed, and even talk of the horned beast himself -- Chaos. The mention of that name twisted Kuja's soul with dread, but it wasn't Chaos that Kuja imagined as he approached the ruined gates of Torensten that day.
No, his thoughts were with Alexandria.
His adopted kingdom had looked much the same as this when he'd last left it. The same blackened, despairing faces. The same charred facades of what had once been bustling storefronts. There were differences, of course. Torensten had been a riverside city, more opulent and splendid than Alexandria could have ever hoped for. In its prime, it had reminded him far more of Treno than the city of Alexander. Still, it was Alexandria that filled his mind as he sauntered through ruined streets, pointedly ignored dusty-faced survivors. It was the smell that did it. That smell of decay and long-dead fire.
Fire and ruin. His boot slipped on blood as he stepped forward to appraise his work. On either side came the endless clicking of monstrous Mistspawn. Behind them, the wails of the dying. Overhead, the great dragon king dove in a kind of aerial dance, and towering before him the castle of Alexandria was bathed in ethereal light. Every scream was a testament to his victory. An acknowledgement of every night driven to sleepless research, of every poison-laced flattery he'd whispered even as his skin crawled, of every insult he'd met with coy smiles. There was beauty in the way the walls had crumbled, in the endless waves of monsters brought forth by his hand, and in the perfectly predictable result. For years he had schemed, had slaved, had groveled for this moment, and soon he would be granted his reward. Alexander. At last, he would be saved.
Kuja scowled. That night had come to nothing but ruin. The reminder left his tail bristling.
The people were as busy as one could expect given the destruction of their lives. Construction workers hammered away at renewed scaffolding. Street sweepers piled debris with shovels. All around, the crowds would turn and whisper in their direction. Kuja was used to the attention, but for once he felt that he was not the center of it. Sometime before entering, the Warrior of Light had removed his ridiculous horned helm and the odd cloak beneath it, but it seemed he was still as famous as ever. The knight kept his eyes down rather than meet their gaze.
"Wherever we are headed, let us be quick," he whispered. "We should disturb the peace as little as possible.”
There was a sharper edge to his voice than before. Something veiled and dangerous. His grip had tightened on the hilt of his blade. It seemed that Kuja was not the only one set on edge by their surroundings.
"Of course," he replied with a polite nod and a wave of his hand. "It has never been my intention to cause destruction here." It was a lie, but he told it well. In public again, he felt himself slip back into his usual, noble's persona. It was not for the Warrior's sake -- he had revealed Kuja's true nature the moment they'd met and Kuja hadn't bothered to hide it since -- but for the benefit of any wandering eyes. He did not need the suspicion, at least, not any more than his appearance suggested.
Kuja led them to the landmark at the city's core, a many-terraced building as high as it was old. It had once been a castle said to house some great and terrible power beneath it. Though he had been unable to examine the site on his last visit, he had heard the history of the place wherever he'd asked. Apparently this site had once been a temple of sorts, though to what, the locals couldn't say. The city itself had spawned from it as the ancient people of Sonora had settled in awe and worship. Now the castle existed more as a highly guarded tourist trap than anything else. Not even scholars were given a pass by the local armies to view inside, but times were desperate. Kuja found that most people were willing to change even the staunchest traditions in the face of obliteration, and so entry would only require a hero's promise. Thankfully, he had come with a hero in tow.
"The Dragon's Gate should be somewhere in the catacombs." Kuja folded his arms, tossing his hip to the side as he examined the fortress before him. The walls were nigh impenetrable but for a battering ram or an eidolon. Armed guards eyed them suspiciously behind iron gates. "As you can see, they don't exactly welcome visitors. Perhaps you could convince them to make an exception? You're just trying to prevent another disaster, after all."
He did not clarify whether said disaster would stem from the Gate or from Kuja himself. He didn't think it was necessary.
I RUSHED THE SECOND HALF OF THIS BUT AT LEAST IT'S POSTED NOW
The Warrior’s feet moved automatically forward, step by step by step. He followed Kuja as the mage led them deeper into the city. However, the further inward they went, the more the knight heard whispers. Gasps. He could practically feel eyes on his back, on the cloak that proudly bore the city’s symbol. The amount of people milling about set him on edge – and how could it not? The last time he’d wandered into the city, eyes simply taking in the sights, Chaos had rained down from the sky.
Torensten was far from the first city that heralded the Warrior of Light as a hero. Cornelia, and even other surrounding towns, that the warriors of light had saved in some way or another, came to admire him and his comrades. He was used to processing out the attention of those who thought him something more than he was – a hero, rather than a simple knight. But these people? He could not understand how they could look at him with anything other than contempt.
And when he did get a glimpse, it was wonder that was spread over their faces. And it was wrong.
The nameless knight forced his attention away from his own internal struggle, and his gaze landed on Kuja’s back. The troublesome mage, for what it was worth, appeared to be on his best behavior in the city. There was a different air about him, one that the Warrior recognized. The way Kuja walked, with strong, purposeful strides, his head held high; he appeared just like the nobility in Cornelia had. It didn’t help the Warrior feel at ease in any way, but a part of him was, at least, thankful. Perhaps, buried deep, deep within the Mage, he did have some kind of heart capable of empathy for others.
… Perhaps.
Kuja’s venture led them to the castle in the center of the city. The Warrior recalled having passed by it during his last visit to Torensten, though he’d only laid eyes on it for a few mere moments. It was old, and appeared to be hardly used, unlike the castles he was familiar with. However, the lack of movement and shadows inside of the building was made up for by the immense guard on the outside of it. The number of men guarding the castle hadn’t changed, as far as the knight could tell. As he and Kuja made their approach, he could sense the unease emanating from them. The Warrior could only hope they did not sense the same unease from himself.
The knight stepped forward as Kuja spoke, revealing where the gate would likely be located. He eyed the guards, still several yards away from them, behind the iron gates, who watched the pair with much warranted suspicion. He couldn’t blame the men, tasked with guarding something so potentially dangerous, for feeling uneasy at the two strangers that appeared to be stepping too close. It was likely that these men, simple guards, had no idea what exactly they were even guarding. Their only duty was to keep people from intruding – no questions asked. The Warrior knew well that, when you served another, there were typically many secrets kept you. Truths that would make men run in terror, or make loyal soldiers throw down their weapons in disgust.
He knew, all too well, what it was like to have important things kept from you.
That only added to the Warrior’s desire to help these men. To rid them of the evil beneath their very feet.
He turned his head for a moment to look to Kuja. His eyes were troubled, a strained frown tugged down on his lips. The Warrior of Light, once a blank slate, was filled to the brim with complicated emotions that he could barely process all at once, and it was all too obvious in that one moment. However, like a light, he seemingly switched it all off. His face fell back into a flat, neutral stare, and he gave the mage a simple nod.
“Though I am not gifted with the power of persuasion; I will give it my best.”
The Warrior pulled the hood of his cloak down, though he did not replace his helm. He wanted to appear as open as he could, non-threatening. To put himself on the same level as a normal man. However, as he approached the iron gate surrounding the castle, he naturally picked up the normal air about himself. He walked with his head held high, strong, purposeful steps that caused his armor to clink loudly against the cobblestone under his feet. It wasn’t an air of nobility that the Warrior carried, but that of a knight. Of loyalty, duty, and protection.
The guards did not move from their positions as the Warrior approached. As they shouldn’t, after all, that would cause a weak point to appear within their ranks. However, the tension in their bodies was obvious – their heads were turned, and if they did not have a duty to uphold, their feet would turn and run just as quickly. In front of the opening to the gate were two guards, one on either side of the locked, iron bars. As the Warrior stopped before them, they opened their mouths to turn him away.
“Sir, you cannot go any further. The castle is not open to the public.”
The Warrior could see the hesitation in their eyes. It was clear that that wasn’t quite the first thing either of them wanted to say to him. Conflicting emotions were spread across their faces. Simple castle guards or not, they were just men. Men who heard and saw with their own eyes the destruction of Torensten. Who saw the knight before them that helped to dispel the beast.
“I understand,” the Warrior stated, simply, with a slight nod, “However, I implore you to listen to my request.”
The two guards shared a quick look, a mixture of awe and unease. One stepped forward, closing some of the space that separated him from the hero knight. He was trying to keep his rigid stance and neutral face, but it was failing quickly. Excitement was brimming in the young man’s eyes. A glimmer of adventure was dangling before him.
And he quickly took to it.
“What kind of request?”
The Warrior felt his shoulders relax, just a tad. It was a good sign that they were, at least, open to listening to him. Surely it wouldn’t take much to convince one of them, if not all of them, to let he and Kuja through the gate and into the castle.
“Beneath this castle lies a gate, said to potentially house a great, terrible power,” with each word the Warrior spoke, the guard’s eyes grew ever wider, entranced, “I wish to seek out this gate and investigate it, before another disaster should befall this city.”
The young castle guard seemed to fall through a variety of emotions. Awe, anxiety, terror. The knight was likely telling him the absolute last thing he wished to hear – that another disaster could very well be heading for Torensten. He was processing the Warrior’s words at least, mentally chewing them over. His bright eyes flickered between Kuja and the knight.
“And him?” the guard asked, suspicion still managing to lace his tone.
“He is a mage who has researched this gate. A companion of mine.”
The guard continued to mull over the Warrior’s request while his fellows watched him with a mixture of curiosity and unease. There were whispers amongst them, breaking their typical silence to try and spread the word of what was occurring. The guard’s hesitation provoked the knight to push harder.
“Please, let us pass. You, your people, and your city have already been through enough, and I simply want to ensure that no further harm will come to you.”
Whatever reservations the young castle guard had left were swiftly tossed away. He turned to the other guard and nodded, waving his hand around, ushering him, “Open the gate, open the gate. Let them through! A hero of Torensten has come to help us!”
The other guard, startled, practically tripped over his own feet as he moved to lift the gate. With the twist of a switch of some sort, the heavy, iron gate began to lift. The Warrior gave the guards a small, appreciative nod.
“You have my thanks. I promise, we will not linger.”
The guard stepped back, shaking his head, “We owe our lives to you and the others that stopped that monster from annihilating our town. This is the least we can do in return.”
The knight turned to the mage, gesturing forward towards the now opened gate, “Lead the way.”
His brave face and kind, rushed words had gotten them through the guard, but the Warrior still couldn’t quell the anxiety that churned in his gut. With each passing moment, they would take another step towards the Dragon’s Gate; the one that Cosmos had showed him in that vision. And while he knew not the exact danger that hid behind it, he knew that it had to be destroyed. These men were putting their trust in him. And in, god forbid, Kuja as well.
The Warrior would make quick work of the Dragon’s Gate. He had to. For the city’s sake.
I refuse to believe, that I’m nothing more than a machine I refuse to believe, that we can’t learn to see The truth was in a dream I will not kill No I will – believe.
Sorry for a bit of mild power play to keep it going. I cut off a bit short at the end to give Wolly a chance to react.
Why should the world exist without me?
Kuja had won.
He knew it the moment he looked into the Warrior's conflicted eyes. There were worlds to dissect there, and yet Kuja felt as though he could identify them all: the mires of self-doubt, the trenches of pain, and the heavens of blissful hope. It was a look he had received time and time again and a look that he would never tire of seeing. It meant that someone was about to take a risk for him -- a risk that was unlikely to conclude in their favor. Even as the knight cleared his expression, that conflict lingered in Kuja's memory.
This was his moment of victory.
“Though I am not gifted with the power of persuasion; I will give it my best," the knight relented. It took everything that Kuja had to keep his tongue in check. 'If we're relying on your persuasion,' he would have liked to have said. 'Then I'm glad I came prepared. Perhaps we should examine a second plan? Or perhaps my third? If we have nothing but your persuasion.'
Instead, he merely smiled and said, "Good luck."
The knight didn't need persuasion just as the hero never needed to bargain for his reward. Kuja couldn't hear their conversation, but he could see the soldiers' adoration well enough. After a short exchange, they looked to Kuja, and the Warrior said something in return. It must have been beneficial because they hardly noticed him after that. A few more words, and the soldiers broke. “Open the gate, open the gate. Let them through! A hero of Torensten has come to help us!”
'You are such a useful tool.'
With the gate lifted, Kuja sauntered to the Warrior's side. He glanced to him as he crossed his arms, waiting for the gate to fully rise. "Well done," he said with only a taste of sarcasm, "You must have quite the way with words." He wanted to laugh, but that would have been far too much. Instead, he touched his bottom lip and hid his amusement behind a smile.
'You haven't the slightest idea what you've done, have you?'
"After you," Kuja said once the gates had bolted into place. "I'll follow close behind."
'Idiot.'
They delved into the ruins together. The knight seemed more interested in keeping his heroic stance than starting a conversation, and for once, Kuja had no need for words. His eyes raked over ancient tapestries and mysterious relics as they passed through the castle's halls. He listened for the faint whistling of wind through cracked stone precipices, and sighed the stale air of centuries past. Before long, their escort brought them to a set of crumbling staircases. They descended carefully into darkness.
The passage below was long and winding as the minotaur's tomb. Unsteady earth replaced cracked cobblestone. The air hung heavy with rot and must. The only light came from the fire Kuja brought wordlessly to his fingertips. Their escort jumped at the spark of magic, and the sorcerer offered him a mysterious smile. "You have our thanks," he said, "But we won't be needing further assistance."
The guard glanced uncertainly to the Warrior, but left them after a few exchanged words. Kuja listened to the fading footsteps before glancing over his shoulder at the knight. "We wouldn't want to put anyone in danger," he said before tossing his hair over his shoulder and starting down the path.
The darkness closed around them like a burial shroud. Neither dared break the sacred silence.
Kuja couldn't say how long they traveled together to the ambiance of quiet breaths and the timid tap of footsteps. There was something bitter in the air -- not a smell, but a static that lulled on the must and decay. The deeper they descended, the stronger the pull until Kuja could navigate the splitting pathways by sense alone. It quickened his heart as he pushed forward, fire sparking anxiously from his fingertips. Magic welled deep within these labyrinthine halls. He could taste its acrid touch on his tongue.
'Soon, you will be mine.'
There was no entrance and no defenses. The walls simply opened into a great, expansive darkness. Kuja stopped at its edge. Something lurked ahead of him. Something terrible and powerful beyond measure. His breath caught in his throat.
The Dragon's Gate.
His fire flared brighter in his hand, and mounted to the cavern's wall, he caught the shadows of a long abandoned set of candles. He glanced at the silhouette of the warrior and smirked. "As much as I like skulking in the shadows..." he mused before setting the candles ablaze with a flick of his fingertips. The flame revealed another set of candles a few feet farther, and Kuja lit them all and the next after that until the room was alight in orange and red.
Before them was an arc stretching up into the shadows of the ceiling and etched in ancient sigils. Its front was decorated in mosaic tiles, dull and chipped from time. At its bottom was an abandoned altar nearly lost in cobwebs. Kuja felt the arch's call, but hesitated before he could take more than a few steps. Instead, he glanced at the Warrior. "Would you care to take a look?" He gave the arc an almost dismissive wave. "I wouldn't want to get in your way." Kuja stepped aside and admired the relic from afar. The rites would take time -- not much, but enough that he couldn't raise the Warrior's suspicions. No matter how the gate called, no matter how his heart quickened and his breaths staggered in anticipation, he would approach this cautiously. Intelligently. The game was not over yet.
He worked hard to keep his voice casual. "I never asked, what is it that you want with the Gate? What is it you're hoping to achieve?" He dared take a few steps closer until the magic washed over him in waves. His heart shuddered at their touch. "It seems an odd thing to have come so far on my word alone," he added. His eyes slid hungrily over ancient sigils. "Did something call you to it?"
Wolly is becoming less naive with each passing moment. Finally.
"You must have quite the way with words."
If he’d had the energy to do so, the Warrior would have rolled his eyes out of their sockets. Kuja’s sarcasm, though carefully threaded and much lighter than usual, did not go unnoticed by the stoic knight. During their all-too-long journey here, the Warrior had scoffed at every ounce of venomous sarcasm thrown his way. But now, with the gaze of so many awed guards upon him, the nameless man wanted nothing more than to pretend he simply didn’t exist.
And so, he gave no response. Instead, he moved quietly, robotically almost. A suit of armor with an empty man’s body inside of it.
How many times had he been accused of being such a thing? Too many to count.
At Kuja’s command, the Warrior of Light began to lead the way into the mysterious castle before them. One of the guards joined his side, his hasty and nervous words offering himself as a guide. The knight nodded automatically, too busy quelling the storm inside of his mind to pay the young guard much mind. Each passing second, each studious step, weighed more and more on his shoulders. All too soon the time to act would be upon him. Time to destroy the Dragon’s Gate buried deep under the bruised and beaten city.
The ruins would have interested the knight, had he not been so focused on his end game. The crumbled flooring beneath his boots was nothing but an obstacle. The beautiful, woven tapestries, still regal despite the way time had damaged them, were nothing but colorations on the wall. The way their footsteps echoed off of the stone walls should have been a familiar, comforting melody – reminding him of the castle in Cornelia. Instead, they fell on deaf ears, nothing but background noise in the ever darkening ruins. Had his childlike sense of curiosity been alight, the Warrior would have stopped to observe all of the interesting, rusting relics. Perhaps he would have even noticed the old, ancient weaponry lying about. He would have asked question after question, blue eyes silently brimming with excitement.
He opted to drown in the sea of unease threading its way into his heart, instead.
Their escort led them to a staircase, and as they descended, light was all but vanquished from view. The Warrior placed a hand on the hilt of his blade, prepared to summon light to guide them, when the familiar hues of orange and red lit his view. He took a momentary glance at Kuja, noticing the fire dancing at the mage’s fingertips. The knight gave no indication of thanks outwardly, but inwardly he appreciated not having to exhaust any of his strength. There was no telling what power he would require to destroy an ancient, magical gate, but he had a feeling it was more than he could afford to spend unwisely. After all, it was likely he would have to enact his plan while dodging attacks from the mage he’d dared travel with.
As Kuja offered his thanks to their escort and kindly asked him to part ways, the Warrior was surprised to see the guard’s uneasy gaze fall upon him. The young man stared at him, green eyes wide and questioning, oddly innocent and kind. Despite himself, the nameless knight found a small smile dragged to his lips, a look his companions had always given to him in times of reassurance.
“Thank you for leading us this far,” the Warrior offered his warm thanks, “It would be best for you to return to your post, lest your absence be noted and arouse suspicion.”
Some sort of realization dawned upon the young man, who nodded vigorously, “Right. Good luck, Sir Knight, and thank you. For protecting our city. For everything.”
As the guard made his way out of sight, footsteps becoming quieter and quieter, the Warrior felt a lump growing ever harder in his throat. As Kuja noted that they wouldn’t want anyone getting hurt, the knight could only grunt in agreement. The words dripped slow as hardening molasses from his mind to his tongue, and so he didn’t bother to speak them.
Thankfully, the rest of their journey was in silence. Nothing but the sounds of footsteps, armor, and curious breaths. Nothing but orange hues over stone, cave-like walls. Nothing but faintly thinning, cooling air as they seemed to descend further and further into the earth itself. The Warrior kept a strong grip on the tip of his sword, not because he thought Kuja may turn on him at any moment, but because each passing second brought him closer to his objective. An object that, for whatever reason, he was nervous to complete.
He couldn’t seem to wipe all of those naïve, appreciative gazes out of his mind. All those eyes on him. Thankful. Flashing to all of those dead, empty eyes on him – expressions twisted in agony and sadness. Blood soaking into the ground.
Enough of this foolishness. I must focus.
For how long they traveled, the Warrior could not be sure. Nor did he care. The darker parts of his mind assured him that, if they were to get lost and die in the catacombs underneath the ruins, it would be no real loss to the world. However, such a thing would not come to pass, and as they moved forward, the light in Kuja’s palm was suddenly gobbled up by a large, expansive room, soaked in darkness.
The candles became lit by the mage’s magic, and the room before them was suddenly alight. Before him was a room all too familiar; the exact one he’d seen in his vision. It was covered in the same ornate décor, a large, circular room, with the ominous stone archway twisted in the middle of it. The Warrior was already stepping towards it as Kuja motioned him forward, drawn to the Gate as it seemed to beckon him.
The Knight was not overly familiar with magic. It was still a new art to him, having only learned a very basic curative spell that he’d practiced with the White Mage Oran over many long days and nights. However, despite his inexperience, even the Warrior of Light could feel the immense magical energy coming off of the Dragon’s Gate in waves. He stood before it, only a few feet from one of the dusty, crumbling stone arches, and even that was putting a strange pressure on him. As if it were stealing the breath from his lungs.
The Warrior reached forward, feeling the electricity of magic buzzing over his glove. He couldn’t physically touch the Gate. It was coated in a thick, ancient magic; a set of armor for stone.
This … complicated things.
He had no way to dispel such magic. He could attempt to combat it with his own type of light magic, the kind Cosmos had bestowed upon him, but he knew it would likely be a waste of effort. Magical items such as this were better suited for careful observations by, well, mages. Like Oran and Aria.
Like Kuja.
The Warrior turned his blue eyes to Kuja, watching as the egotistical mage made his own steps forward towards the Dragon’s Gate. Of course, Kuja could likely interpret much, much more from the magic flowing from the archway than he could. The mage had stated he wanted to study the gate. A whisper faintly peeped up from the back of the Warrior’s mind, previously unheard before.
Why come all this way to simply study the gate, when it obviously contains an absurd amount of magical power? Mages do not only study magic, they use it.
“I never asked, what is it that you want with the Gate? What is it you're hoping to achieve? It seems an odd thing to have come so far on my word alone. Did something call you to it?"
The Knight’s body went rigid, stiff with an all-too-familiar unease. His gaze turned to Kuja, blue eyes guarded and cautious. He watched as the mage seemed to drink in every aspect about the archway before them, from the ancient sigils carved into the stone to the tiles that somehow still decorated its front. Indecision crept up the back of his neck, his grip on the hilt of his undrawn sword hurting his clenched hand.
The Warrior felt, suddenly, that he had committed an egregious error in allowing Kuja into this room, yet he had no proof. The mage had yet to do anything to cross him, aside from a steady stream of insults and mild threats. No, he had no reason to truly be suspicious, other than their shared past that he could hardly remember. It was surely just all the unease, confusion, and second-guessing brewing in his gut that was pulling this mistrust forward, right?
“I saw the Dragon’s Gate in a vision,” the Warrior confided to Kuja, his voice solemn and quiet, “I simply came to find out why it called to me.”
The Knight saw no point in lying. He had nothing to gain or lose by doing so. However, he did withhold the truth in its entirety, not revealing his desire to destroy the gate. Again he raised his free hand and attempted to press it against the stone, but felt nothing but resistance that threatened bodily harm. The Warrior withdrew his hand, and instead drew his sword. As he pressed the cool steel against the invisible barrier, the magic crackled angrily at him, and the tip of his blade was thrown back.
The pieces were falling into place. Cosmos showed them these powerful gates, urging that they could not be opened. That they contained powerful, evil magic.
Kuja wanted to study these gates, knowing that they were portals.
Portals to what? To where?
Who was he supposed to believe?
“And what of you, I wonder,” the Warrior murmured, his cautious blue eyes turning to Kuja once more. Tension was bubbling up inside of him, uncertainty storming in his mind. Things were suddenly much less simple, no longer black and white. He proceeded forward, trying to let the words carefully fall from his tongue in a neutral tone, hiding the unease within, “Every mage I have known has studied new magic in order to use it.”
What was the truth, and where could he find it? Who could he believe?
“What the is true reason you sought out this gate, Kuja?”
I refuse to believe, that I’m nothing more than a machine I refuse to believe, that we can’t learn to see The truth was in a dream I will not kill No I will – believe.
“I saw the Dragon’s Gate in a vision." The Warrior's voice came quiet and unobtrusive. Almost an after-thought. “I simply came to find out why it called to me.”
It was an unsatisfying answer to say the least, and yet, Kuja couldn't tell what truth lied within it. The knight could have been lying or he could have honestly been that idiotically simple. The question hardly mattered, regardless. His conversation was only a means to an end.
"Surely you don't take value in dreams? At best, they'll lead you off the broad side of a cliff. At worst, well, what else to call an unquestioning pawn but a puppet?" Kuja his laughter behind the back of his hand, but he couldn't hide the soft trembling of his shoulders. Perhaps it was detrimental to taunt the knight in such an isolated, dismal place when tensions ran so high, but with victory at his fingertips, he simply couldn't help himself. It took all his restraint to keep himself from laughing louder.
The Warrior was led along so easily that it was a wonder that the entire world hadn't taken a claim on his loyalty. He was so simple. So righteous.
So gullible.
The Warrior reached for the arch again, but once more failed to touch its surface. There was an electric crack, a spark of magic, and the knight withdrew his armored hand. It was like watching the machinations of a particularly dim-witted child. First try touching it. Then try again. Then try prodding it with the tip of a sword. Kuja's eyes flitted from the barrier to the knight, waiting patiently for a summons that would not come. "Careful," he chimed when the sword erupted in sparks, "You wouldn't want to hurt yourself." But it seemed the knight had already run out of ideas. After touching it, pushing it, and hitting it with a sword, there were surely no other options available to solve this harrowing puzzle. Truly, the knight had once been the most masterful of tacticians.
Or perhaps his world had offered him nothing but armies of enemy dunces. Somehow, he found that the more likely option.
The knight turned on him.
“And what of you, I wonder." The Warrior's eyes had changed. No longer the model of passivity, his eyes were rigid as ice. The knight started towards him, and Kuja froze as he met those eyes. His breath caught with every ominous click of the knight's armored boots.
'Flee.' The word hissed from the wells of his deepest survival instincts. For a split second, Kuja felt his chest seize with rushing blood and the cold bite of a sword. He heard the rip of flesh and that soft, horrid clanking as armored hands yanked their blade free. Then the moment passed and Kuja swallowed back the workings of his paranoid imagination.
He hadn't moved, even now as the knight stood glowering before him. As Kuja met those steely eyes, he prayed that his expression hadn't slipped. It wouldn't do for the knight to think that Kuja feared him.
He didn't.
“Every mage I have known has studied new magic in order to use it.” The knight's words came even and steady as a river current. “What is the true reason you sought out this gate, Kuja?”
The true reason? He willed his heartbeat slower, calmed his thoughts, and managed his best actor's smile. It didn't matter that his throat had tightened or that defensive magic itched at his palms. It came as naturally as breathing.
"Of course I plan to use it," Kuja said. "How is anyone supposed to reverse the effects of our arrival without studying one of the portals?" He pushed his hair over his shoulder and looked up to consider the arch. "I've found documents suggesting this Gate serves as an anchor between our worlds. It must be studied." Kuja stepped around the knight as though hadn't noticed the man's overbearing size and weaponry. The arch's magic stirred in his blood. He fought the impulse to shiver.
"Or do you honestly think that you could find a way home by yourself?" he asked, "You don't even remember your name."
He glanced back at the knight and smiled again, that quiet smile that could have meant anything. "We share the same goal, don't we? Or we do if you're being honest with yourself. We don't belong here, and you haven't a clue what to do about it. So you run around, waving that sword of yours and pretending that nothing's changed. But that isn't the case, and no vision is going to tell you the truth."
He paused thoughtfully then turned to face the knight, arms crossed and head tilted in expectation. "Regardless, you have no means of reaching the Gate without my assistance. Once I've lowered its defenses, I ask for only a few minutes to study it. Then I will leave it to you. Surely you don't believe that even I could manage to completely decode it in that time." Kuja sighed and spared the arch a wistful glance. "I only ask for permission. It's a reasonable offer, I think."
Reasonable to the gullible, at least. His heart raced with anticipation.
Ugh, this is terrible. TERRIBLE. My brain wasn't giving me much to work with xD Let's ignore it and GET TO THE GOOD STUFF.
Perhaps … he was the fool.
Kuja did not balk at his accusation as much as casually toss it over his shoulder, akin to unwanted trash. The Warrior did not flinch, physically, at being insulted; that much he was used to. Many men had mocked him over his amnesiac memory problems. However, the mage’s words continued to stir the pot of uncertainty that was boiling in his stomach. A stew of confusion, growing more concentrated by the minute.
There was truly no telling what was truth and what was a lie anymore, was there? Cosmos, the goddess he’d fought for, had lied to him in the past. Kuja, a known enemy, was a trickster. But, which of the two were the lesser evil, here? Had either of them been telling the truth? Had they both spun lies for him to walk into?
Puppet, that word rang in his head. The knight moved from his spot, his legs feeling much heavier than they had before. The sound of his armor reverberated against the stone walls, suddenly too loud for his own ears. He moved away from the Dragon’s gate, head bowed in thought.
The tale that Kuja spun was … believable. He believed it right now. That these gates somehow anchored them to their home worlds. That someone, an intelligent mage, could decipher the gate and figure out a way to get them off of this unfortunate, plagued world. That made sense. Kuja had no other reason to come all the way down on this journey, right? He detested Chaos, Cosmos, the endless cycles of war. The Warrior had come privy to that information after their first meeting.
Cosmos, on the other hand, the knight was less sure about. Speaking to as many warriors as she could at once, to hear her plea, to follow her orders. It was too familiar. Though Chaos had said that this was not like the other cycles, though Cosmos pleaded with him, the Warrior could not find himself able to truly believe either of them. Every battle able soul had always been a puppet to them both.
He was a puppet once more.
What was more, if he destroyed the Dragon’s Gate, and it did happen to be a link between this world and all the others in the cosmos, that would mean potentially trapping every lost soul on this planet.
To become part of the new cycle.
The Warrior’s blue eyes widened, his stomach twisted into a knot. Was it possible that Cosmos had asked them to destroy the gates … In order to keep them here?
The knight turned back to Kuja, watching for a moment in silence as the mage awaited his permission to study the gate. Anger was slowly seeping into his stare, the tension in his muscles enough to tire him from standing alone. The Warrior put his sword away, giving Kuja a simple nod.
“Do what you will with the Gate. It matters not to me,” there was a mixture of emotions lacing his words; regret, anger, uncertainty, “I do not know who to believe anymore, but I have made my choice.”
A choice to not follow Cosmos, something he should have done from the start. He would not play puppet to her whims. The Warrior wandered, making his way to the entrance of the cave, and stood against the stone wall to wait. He would have simply left, but if Kuja were to come across any particularly useful information, he would want to hear it.
Nothing felt right. Every potential decision, every second-guessing thought. Every future move, any ideas for escape. It was beginning to feel like, no matter what side he chose, or what path he followed, nothing good could come of it.
The Warrior of Light was trapped between two evils; his own mind, and everyone else’s.
I refuse to believe, that I’m nothing more than a machine I refuse to believe, that we can’t learn to see The truth was in a dream I will not kill No I will – believe.
“Do what you will with the Gate," he said. "It matters not to me." Kuja could hardly keep himself from laughing. 'Idiot,' he thought for not the first time. 'You haven't the slightest idea what you're doing.' But that was what made it all so very tragic and so very amusing. 'It matters not to me.' How often would the knight come to regret those words? How many sleepless nights would he spend ruminating on this dark and foreboding cavern and pray that he could reset time? How often would he remember Kuja's subtle smiles and plotting eyes and wish that he had struck him down where he stood?
It hardly mattered to Kuja what passions he invoked in this man. Hatred was, in itself, a certain kind of immortality.
The Warrior gave him a heavy look before skulking away, his armor jangling about his heels. Kuja's eyes sharpened at the sound, but he tried to keep his expression neutral.
“I do not know who to believe anymore, but I have made my choice.” The Warrior's voice came tired and defeated, as though part of him knew what was to come. He lurked by the door, but moved no further, perhaps in a vain hope of stopping the mage, perhaps only to see the full consequences of his actions. Kuja smiled at him pleasantly, his fingers curling behind the shroud of his sleeves. So marked the end of this pitiful act. The hero had made his choice stemming from his own fatal flaw: the Warrior could see no further than the light that bound him. His world lacked the ambiguity of the deceitful and morally gray.
Kuja offered him a gracious and sweeping bow. Such a naive existence. He was more than happy to complicate it.
"Thank you for your trust," Kuja said before straightening. His lips flickered with the shadow of a smile. "I'll only take but a moment."
'Idiot,' he thought as he turned towards the arc. 'What a naive, over-righteous, unsuspecting idiot.' Kuja flipped his hair over one shoulder and glanced playfully at the arch's protections. His fingers sparked with magic.
He had more important matters to deal with.
The barrier did not take long -- at least not by his standards where such things could take days or even weeks to decipher. The sigils did not carry Kuja's standard Terran encryptions that could double over as many as six or seven times in increasingly complicated cyphers. Instead, they stitched only a single weave of magical strands that, while tightly knit, did nothing to mislead a skilled intruder. Kuja unthreaded it easily, one string at a time.
The Dragon's Gate waited breathlessly behind it. Its magic pulsed in anticipation.
'The time is now.'
When the barrier cleared, Kuja reached for the arch, hesitated, then tested his fingers at its surface. The magic shot through him like electricity. He shivered at its power.
Kuja drifted closer to its center, tracing every sigil along the way. He tried to keep his voice even as his body coursed with dark energy. "The interesting thing about dimensional portals," he said. "Is that they rarely function on their own. Such complicated processes need multiple generators, so to speak, at the points best suited to channel the planet's power. But that power is easily disrupted. If one wished to close the gate, they wouldn't seek to destroy the portal, but rather, to silence the generators." His hand stopped on a rune near the center. It stirred something in his blood, and he closed his eyes to listen to it.
'We have waited,' it told him. The words caught in his mind, and he sent them back in turn.
'I've come to claim you.'
The stone heated beneath his fingertips. He touched it carefully. "Each generator requires a different key. Sometimes this could mean a relic. Other times, an equal, equivalent power." Whispers surged through him, each one a silent plea for release. Something lied dormant in this gate. Souls. Several hundred of them, in fact.
Closing the gate had required a sacrifice, not in blood, but in spirit. His thoughts flooded with draconian cries.
"The Dragon's Gate requires an apt mage connected with the spirit of dragons." His magic welled at his palms, and he allowed it free passage into the arch's circuits. The souls stirred at his offering and then grew louder. The ground beneath them shifted.
'Awaken. Your sleep has ended.' His stomach twisted at the words. He had been taught these methods long ago, back when he hadn't known the consequences of waking the dead. It had been Garland's primary purpose -- the purpose of Kuja's very life -- to revitalize the dormant spirits lying at the core of their planet. 'Well,' he thought with a grimace, 'At least I get to use it for something.'
The arch pulled at his power, cautiously at first and then vigorously as though determined to suck the very life from him. 'Enough.' His teeth grit against its pull. He tried in vain to block its connection, but its hunger was too strong. He let out a pained cry before slamming his eyes closed his concentration. 'No.' The arch's sigils flickered with a pale blue light. He called on it, connecting his magic with the arch's core. The hungry spirits followed until the two met and fed each other. With their attentions diverted, Kuja wrenched his hand from the stone and stumbled back, gasping as the light shuddered, caught, and then grew stronger. He stared at the power before him, rising by the second. The ground gave a heavy shudder. The cavern was illuminated in pulsing blue.
And suddenly Kuja was laughing. It came quietly at first, just a tremor of his shoulders and a touch at his lip, then his hand slid past his forehead and he was laughing so hard that his breaths came in gasps and his eyes watered. He laughed at the shifting, trembling walls. He laughed at the cracking stone beneath his feet. More than anything, he laughed at the irony of it all. 'This should have been used to kill me.' Awakening spirits, that's what he'd been made for. A catalyst. A sacrifice. A vessel. 'Do you like what I've done with your work? Are you watching, Garland?'
The Gate stirred to life in reply. It hummed with somber approval.
The ground lurched beneath them, so strongly that Kuja nearly lost his balance. His laughter quieted as he stumbled forward, away from the nearest crack in the ground and away from the knight who'd become his enemy. "Dragons are beautiful creatures, wouldn't you say? Their power has been used for so many things -- brewing potions, leaping through the sky, sealing portals." And then he was laughing again, quieter this time behind the back of his hand. He felt the arch's heat at his back, sharp and searing. "Did you ever wonder why it was called the Dragon's Gate?" he asked, tilting his head. Something roared underground and Kuja glanced to the cracks deepening between them. His eyes met the Warrior's and he smiled.
"Of course not. You've never thought of anything."
There was a crack of earth, a deep lurch, and the ground between them burst in a flurry of jagged rocks and debris. Kuja raised a hand, shielding himself from the detritus with a magical sphere. He squinted through the dust at the hulking shadow before them. A shadow with sharp claws and leathery wings. It heaved itself over the chasm's edge then reared its head and screamed.
Below them, the darkness seethed with a furious swarm of hungry predators. Their cries pierced the air as one by one they followed the path to freedom.
The Dragon's Gate had been opened. And the dragons inside had awakened once more.
'It's done.' Kuja gazed upon the beast before him in awe. 'I've won.'
Kuja was speaking, but for all it was worth, those words were nothing but garbled mush to the Warrior, who was struggling to simply keep standing.
He had gathered his resolve, or so he thought. Still, even as he stood at the entrance to the expansive cavern, which seemed to become more mystic and mysterious by the second, the knight couldn’t quite stomp out the feelings of doubt in his heart. A voice was crying out in his mind, something he’d never really experienced before, begging him to reconsider his stance. Crying for him to listen to reason -- what reason? There were only two paths to take, Cosmos’ or Kuja’s.
What was that icy feeling creeping up his spine, settling into his gut? He felt sick.
Kuja’s words has mostly bounced off of his armor, but a few things were sticking. The gates required keys, an object or person or magic. Something related to the gate itself.
Something …
The heavy, static energy of magic began to lightly fill the air. The Warrior’s eyes snapped to Kuja, suddenly alert and gradually filling with caution. The mage was beginning to use magic, and the Gate was responding to it. The knight was not well versed in magic itself, but he knew plenty of people who were. He’d fought many enemies that wielded the might of the elements. He knew this feeling. It was a far cry from a simple spell or probing magic. This was more, wasn’t it?
Kuja cried out in pain. The Gate activated. The cavern was awash in a magical blue hue.
The Warrior of Light drew his sword, realization slapping him across the face and stealing the very breath from his lungs.
No … What have I done?
The ground rumbled beneath his feet, causing the nameless knight to pause before he could throw himself forward, towards Kuja and the glowing gate. The mage was cackling in mad delight, a sound that beckoned the Warrior’s long forgotten memories, stirring that voice, You should have known, you should have remembered. The Warrior’s hand was trembling as he gripped his sword with all his might. His throat tightened.
His chest felt alight with fire. What was this feeling? His heart was racing. A cold sweat was beginning to bead on his forehead.
The stone floor beneath their feet was trembling, rumbling. Cracks appeared in its once beautifully decorated surface, widening, chipping away at the solid ground. The fissures raced outwards from the center, curling around near every corner of the room, barely leaving any ground untouched. As the Warrior shakily backed himself to solid flooring, his eyes met those of the mad mage that had brought him here, that tricked him, that lied to him, that used him.
Why was it so hard to breathe? The knight grit his teeth so hard for a moment he considered they might break. His lips curled into a snarl. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
Why?
The ground split, and burst before him. The Warrior pulled his shield from his back in quick, natural reflex, using it to block the incoming debris from pummeling him. Dust filled the cavern, rock fell from the sky. For a moment, nothing could be scene in the dim candlelight. But something could be heard. The crack of bones that hadn’t moved in far too long, the shifting of skin. The flap of leathery wings. A loud, long breath through large nostrils, the snap of stone under a giant claw. The sickening squelch of tongue running over sharp teeth.
And an almighty scream.
The Warrior was practically knocked off of his feet as a rush of air moved upwards and out from the gaping hole in the ground ahead of him. Wings flapped, maws opened up in roars and screams, sharp claws dug into the caverns walls. The call of creatures long forgotten, long lost to a world that they once ruled.
Before him were dragons. Dragons. A horde of dragons. The knight’s blue eyes were wide with wonder, and with fear. In his world, dragons were all but extinct. Only one had remained, Bahamut, who had given he and his companions his blessing. But these dragons were not the wise and powerful Bahamut. No, these were the types of dragons he’d heard about in legends from his friends, ones he’d discovered while Oran and Aria painstakingly taught him how to read.
Evil beasts of might, that burned down villages and devoured men in one bite.
The Warrior’s eyes began to fall, bit by bit, from the colorful scales and powerful leathery wings, back across the chasm. In the midst of the chaos, he could still see Kuja, basking in the glory of what he’d done.
Dragons, who would destroy cities and towns, who would decimate innocent people. Dragons, who possessed such levels of power that normal men could not defeat them. Dragons, who would raze the earth, burn everything to the ground, turn the world into chaos beneath their claws.
And Kuja was laughing.
All breath was stolen from the Warrior of Light’s lungs. He stood, stone still, fixated on Kuja’s maniacal face. His heart beat, faster and faster, his mind raced with incoherent thoughts. His stomach lurched and dropped, and his body felt like fire. He wasn’t sure if he was going to cry, to scream, vomit or collapse. He was shaking, trembling so much he could hear the clink of his own armor over the sounds of the swarming dragons before him.
I …
The knight gripped his sword harder than he ever had in his life.
I will…
His vision was blurring. He blinked rapidly in a desperate attempt to clear it, seeing nothing but that smear of silver and light, twinkling eyes. All he could hear was that laugh.
The Warrior gasped for air, and without even thinking, screamed a desperate war cry across the chasm.
I WILL KILL HIM.
His mind was mired in fog, leaving the knight to move on nothing but passionate fury. He immediately raised his sword and summoned a dozen swords of light, many more than he normally would in fear of taxing his power, and threw them forward. He let the swords find their own way; honing in on Kuja, but hitting many obstacles along their way. Several embedded themselves in the thick hides of dragons, shattering upon inflicting the wound. One ripped through another dragon’s leathery wing, the sound of ripping followed by a pained, screeching roar as the beast dropped, clinging to the chasm.
The Warrior didn’t dare wait for the swords to make their mark. He had to move, to move before his body simply ruptured with all the energy surging through his veins. He leaped forward, onto the back of one of the dragons, running across its ruby red scales with his eyes on his target -- his only target. One of the dragons was clinging to the cavern wall near Kuja, snarling at the knight with bright, white teeth.
The knight switched targets, leaping from the red dragon’s tail and onto the black dragon’s back, burying his sword in its thick hide to hold himself steady. The dragon shrieked, whipping its tail furiously. The Warrior began to run, traversing the spikes on its back, narrowly managing to roll out of the way of a hastily thrown thunder spell that struck the shining, black scales behind him. Throwing his shield forward, the knight hooked one of the dragon’s long, curling horns. He pulled on the cable attached to his shield, propelling himself upwards as the dragon shook its head in animalistic rage. The Warrior used that momentum to throw himself forwards, towards Kuja, his sword posed to strike and neatly slice the mage in two.
That’s all he could see. All he could think of. The image of splitting flesh and crimson blood arced high into the air. Of Kuja’s head rolling uselessly to the side, eyes blind and mouth still.
Kuja’s only accomplishment hadn’t been releasing a horde of dragons into the world. His greatest achievement of the day was now descending upon him.
The Warrior of Light, lost to murderous rage.
I refuse to believe, that I’m nothing more than a machine I refuse to believe, that we can’t learn to see The truth was in a dream I will not kill No I will – believe.
AND END SCENE. There is massive powerplaying here, but I cleared every step of it by Lala.
Why should the world exist without me?
For a moment, there was silence -- just one stunned creature heaving itself through the rift that had burst between the two men. The dragon tested its weight on the ground, probed the space with its wings, sniffed the dank air, and then let out a screech of affirmation. In the darkness, the others stirred, writhing together like vipers in a pit. Then they, too, rose.
In a second, the levy had broken, and now came the flood.
They came in all sizes: small and clinging, huge and lumbering, graceful in flight. They scrabbled at the walls, hissing and snapping over each other in a desperate rush for freedom. Some dashed for the tunnels, others lingered in the void, hissing at anything that approached, while still others scrambled to the ceiling where they clung there like geckos. It was a mad frenzy of snapping teeth, swiping claws, and impenetrable scales. They emerged from the darkness in waves, the sacrifices of a ritual long forgotten. They were dazed, they were hungry, and they were furious.
Across the chasm, the Warrior screamed.
It was a sound louder and more terrible than any dragon. It cleaved the muted air and froze Kuja where he stood. It wasn't like anything he had heard before, and yet, when he raised his eyes across the sea of dragons, he caught those eyes. Ice cold, piercing blue, and murderous. There was murder in those eyes, wrathful, hot, and feral. It was something that Kuja wasn't used to -- something he'd never expected. His heart rose in his throat as he flinched away.
The clank of armor in dashing footsteps. Tightening fingers on the hilt of a sword. Pain like fire and warm, warm blood.
'This shouldn't be happening.'
And yet, it did. There was the Warrior of Light stripped of his dignity and his righteousness. There he was, something wild, impulsive, and screaming. Light surrounded the knight in sharp daggers and he hurled them in a furious volley. Kuja's eyes widened as they hurtled towards him, but instinct worked his hand. Magic. He deflected them easily as the dragons before him screeched and fell back to darkness. There was a snarl behind him. His eyes flicked back to the Warrior closer now -- far far closer, dashing across a sea of scales, sword in hand, eyes boring death. Kuja's breath caught, but only for a moment. His heart pounded danger in his ears.
'This wasn't supposed to happen. This wasn't-!'
Kuja grit his teeth and swiped magic from his hand, but the spell was rushed -- his target too mobile. The Warrior rolled aside and then hurled his shield forward, hooking it on a dragon's horns before swinging around like an acrobat, rushing straight towards him.
The flash of a sword.
The clank of hard armor.
Eyes burning for blood.
He had less than a second to react.
His hand snapped forward, weaving the magic his mind didn't have time to process. There was a flash of light, a hard clink, and Kuja winced, stumbling back as his defenses cracked and his magic faltered. He flicked the shield sideways as its shattered, and then came the blade.
Searing. Searing hot pain that tore through his breath as the knight ripped past him, following through on a sword thick with blood. Kuja's eyes sharpened as he snatched the back collar of a blue-white chest plate. His nails scraped like talons, his lips snarled, and thunder cracked against skin. Kuja kept his grip tight, funneling magic through him as the man cried out, twitching and burning, burning, burning until Kuja's fingers slipped and the knight was sent hurtling forward, repelled by the very thunder that had captivated him.
With the connection broken, Kuja gasped, stumbling backwards as he touched at the hot, gushing wound at his side. His breath came in pants, hard against the pain that adrenaline kept at bay. This shouldn't have happened. His body was protected magically, if not physically, and his barriers were nigh impenetrable. This shouldn't have been possible, and yet, that sword had ripped through his defenses with hardly a waver. There was something wrong with that sword, something unexpected. It carried magic within it that he couldn't defend. The Warrior's magic. A god's light.
His fingers curled in blood. Whatever the Warrior could do, it didn't matter. He had survived far worse than this.
He grit his teeth and steadied himself as the knight turned to face him. They were both ashen and trembling, and yet their eyes burned with an equal fire as the Warrior dashed forward, lunging again for the kill. They exchanged blows as the dragons swarmed and hissed and snapped behind them, locked in a mad dance as the Warrior charged forward in blinding frenzies and Kuja weaved magic in waves. He acted on reflexes that he'd once honed, mastered, and then tossed away -- dodging as though he hadn't perfected the magic of two planets. Still, it was ingrained in him as deeply as his will to survive, and even slowed, he managed to whip around the Warrior's blade, vision swimming, mouth tight in pain.
His sight flashed black, his steps faltered, and he was caught with the broad side of a shield.
The blow upended his balance, tossing him through the air like a child. His breath caught, half with pain, half with realization. Time slowed as he descended, helpless and awaiting the blow that would end him. Something surged through his lungs, cold and desperate, and with it came a burst of words: "Help me!" in his native Terran, mind probing for anything that could hear him. There was a flash of metal, and Kuja twisted on instinct. It caught the rim of his pauldron and sent him reeling into hard stone ground.
He gasped on impact as blood gushed through his fingers, body searing in pain. Above him was a sword and a pair of merciless eyes. Kuja's throat tightened. His heart hammered as his eyes widened in horror.
'This can't be happening! He can't kill me! I can't-!'
There was a furious roar and the swipe of a clawed hand. The Warrior was tossed roughly aside into a pit of snarling teeth and leather wings. In his place stood a dragon, fangs bared and hissing its fury.
It was silver.
Kuja stared at the living, breathing impossibility before him. His eyes flitted from the heavy boneplate behind the creature's head to its stocky limbs and lithe tail. The silver dragon was native to Terra and only to Terra. Finding one here wasn't just unlikely, it was impossible barring a dragon rider and some kind of dimensional portal.
He didn't have time to ponder it. He could hear the tearing off flesh from the dragon swarm, and the half-dozen dragons within the Warrior's range were not winning.
Kuja's vision went black as he forced himself upright. Still, he gritted his teeth and stumbled forward, muttering Terran words as he projected them into the creatures' mind. "Come here." The dragon froze in attention before slithering to his side. Kuja leaned against the creature's weight, fingers clutching at familiar feathers. It was her thoughts he'd heard when he'd touched the arch -- the call of a silver dragon bred and domesticated for telepathic command. He steadied himself and launched onto her back with practiced ease, hissing in pain as he settled between her wings. The dragon pawed anxiously at the ground, head tilted longingly towards the ceiling. Kuja glanced between her and the rock face before raising his hand.
Magic coursed hot through his blood. He steadied himself and sneered the word: "Flare."
The stone above them erupted with force. There was a screech of draconian casualties, a burst of crushed gravel, and then Kuja was blinking sunlight. The cavern was silenced in the face of that light. A hundred dazed eyes turned to face it, too stunned to comprehend what had happened. Then, all at once, they moved.
They took the skies in droves. A hundred black, leathery wings rustling and blotting out the light. More emerged even now from the dark chasm beneath them. The silver dragon pawed anxiously at the ground, waiting for the worst of the swarm to pass before throwing out her wings and lifting herself airborne. Kuja shifted to peer at the cavern below.
Not all of the dragons had fled with the light of the sun. Some lacked the aerial ability while others were too furious or too bloodthirsty to ignore the knight within their midst. Kuja smirked at the sight of him, desperately swinging his sword against a tidal wave of dragons that he couldn't stand against forever. His laugh came weaker than usual, soft and lilting like the song of a sparrow. His eyes sharpened with deadly amusement.
"Did I forget to mention that I'm a dragon tamer?" His words came just as snide and mocking as ever, even as his blood seeped through closed fingers. "Good luck down there, and try not to die!"
The Warrior's response came in the form of five more daggers of light hurled directly at his dragon's head. Kuja raised a hand, deflected them, and urged her higher. Out of his range, and also out of earshot. There was no more gloating to be had. It was finished.
Kuja fell slack into the dragon's feathers, stained with blood. He brought a hand to his wound, and this time, it was laced with magic. He stitched the flesh together in healing threads. The wound was deep and the magic burned, but he'd felt it before. His wound wasn't what caused his breath to stagger.
He'd seen the flash of the Warrior's blade, deadly and far too close. He'd been at the knight's mercy, sprawled at his feet. He'd witnessed the Warrior's wrath, and there had been absolutely nothing that he could do.
Kuja's fist clenched at his side. No. He'd had his mind, just like always, and with it came the dragon on his command. He hadn't been powerless and he hadn't been defeated. He wouldn't have died. He couldn't have. His body was more resilient than even the Warrior could break.
His hand trembled as he brought it to his hair, twisting and clutching and staining it with blood. His grip tightened and he pulled until he felt pain and suddenly he was laughing. Far on the horizon, a storm was gathering -- a swarm of dragons in flight. They flocked together like bats, drawn to the nearest town and food source -- Torensten. He saw them swooping down as though to trap insects. He saw them rise again with mouths full of something flailing and indistinct.
He laughed against the tightness of his chest and the heat in his throat. He closed his eyes and let it erupt from him in waves -- laughter, pain, and delirium equally. His chest was tight with feelings he couldn't identify, feelings that threatened to erupt from his throat in violent lashes.
He bit his tongue and threw himself back until his eyes pressed against warm skin and his cheeks were swaddled in feathers. This was his power -- not in strength or magic or the swing of a sword -- but in his mind. This was the destruction he'd brought about. All of it his. As the dragon altered her course away from the city, Kuja thought of the Warrior, trapped and alone in the darkness, and he sneered.
Soon, the knight would die and Kuja would still live. Even as blood stained his fingers and his body trembled, he was anything but powerless.
