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year 5, quarter 3
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HALF OF THIS POST IS TERRIBLE. I got really tired. xD But I did really enjoy typing out how it feels right before you pass out from dehydration. I remember it really vividly and tried to capture it well and I think I did. Poor Nero. HOPEFULLY YOU CAN WORK WITH THIS TRASH POST.
I now see why people avoid the sun.
Nero scowled, squinting against the bright sunlight, holding an arm above his eyebrows in a vain attempt to see more clearly. This was a brand new experience for him -- the desert. The only desert on Gaia, that he was even aware of, was the desolate pit that surrounded the Golden Saucer. A place he’d never seen, and never would see.
It was hot. Was it the sun or the air that made it so hot? The Sable wasn’t sure. The wind hardly blew, and when it did, it kicked the gritty, scalding sand towards him. Unpleasant. His forced-outfit was not standing up well to the elements. WIth no one around to immediately threaten, and his mind focused, Nero felt comfortable enough to remove some of the bindings that restricted his power. The facemask was gone, safely tucked into the darkness to be drawn out when need be. His ripped sleeves, normally left where they’d been cut, were rolled up as far as he could manage them to be. Sadly, there was not much else the Tsviet could do to make travel more comfortable; the sand burned through his boots, and the metal wings on his back were searing to the touch, making his shoulders yet more uncomfortably hot than they already were. He dared not even glancing a touch at the guns strapped to his thighs; they were likely molten hot.
It was truly an awful experience. And there were people who lived in deserts? Mad-men, the lot of them, they deserved to melt in the sun and suffer, he’d skin them alive for being so moronic if he had the chance, he’d--he’d--.
However, Nero would continue to trudge onwards, occasionally dipping into his darkness to teleport a few feet ahead and find temporary respite from the heat. He was on a mission, desperately following the trail that had been left for him.
There was talk of a powerful man, with silvery white hair, who was the cause of the recent destruction in Torensten. Some said he flew with dragons. Others said he was one. Everyone he’d threatened questioned continued to point him in the right direction, giving Nero a helpful trail of breadcrumbs. It was all that kept his feet moving, that kept air in his lungs and blood pumping through his cold heart.
The possibility that he was chasing Weiss.
He didn’t know about the whole dragons concept; after all, the Sable had only ever seen a dragon in a book about materia -- about summons. His brother had spoken of dragons before, though. That he’d fought them in the mountains near a small village; Niebelheim, perhaps? It was so long ago, before they were banned from missions outside of the Deepground complex. It seemed like a different time, a different place.
… Ah, yes. Because it was.
Everything else added up, though. An all powerful being, intent on destruction? There was also talk that the man didn’t wear much -- again, another indication. He could see Weiss, in his mind’s eye, razing this new world to make it into his own. After all, that was what they had intended for Gaia, was it not? To make a new world, where they could be free. Deepground, the Tsviets, all men and women that had their freedom, humanity, dignity, and free will taken from them. Not that Nero cared about anyone else, besides his brother, but Weiss was good at pleasing the masses.
The desert was so quiet, so empty, that Nero kept himself lost in his own thoughts as often as he could be. That was, until things began to … move too much.
The Tsviet stopped in his tracks. He quickly dabbed his sleeve at his forehead, blinking rapidly. No, no, things were still spinning. He rubbed at his eyes, cursing as the sweat from his hands caused them to sting. Still, it did nothing to clear his vision. He took a step forward, finding his legs to be much shakier than he’d expected. It felt as if there was something pressed against his chest, making it difficult to breathe.
Oh, Nero thought to himself, all too casually, I’m dehydrated. I’m going to pass out.
He stumbled forward, his balance lost, feet slipping in the soft, unforgiving sand. Panic was slowly beginning to creep up his chilling spine, starting to fester in his gut. He felt sick and cold and heavy and -- and --
Desperately, Nero used the darkness to teleport ahead, again and again, finding nothing but desert. More desert. Spinning sand.
“Why is it getting dark?” He whispered, voice hoarse through dry lips.
He stepped through the darkness once more, but as his foot came down, Nero felt nothing but air.
Followed by cold, wet, suffocating, breathe breathe breathe.
Nero broke the surface of the water, limbs flailing, a mess of metal and man stuck in the center of a deep pool. Disoriented, his feet managed to find solid, rock ground underneath the water, and he slowly waded out of the crystal clear, cool pond. He quickly brought up a hand to move his long, black hair, now wet and matted, from his face, and to wipe his eyes clear. His walk turned to a crawl as he climbed the side of the rock, lifting himself from the pool, and laying on his stomach next to it, mindlessly pushing handfuls of water into his mouth.
Slowly, his mind rebooted and began to take in the surroundings. Above him was a hole, where he must have accidentally fallen through while teleporting. The sun lit the area around him, a rocky outcropping with green fairly spread about. There was an echoing sound of dripping water coming from somewhere, reminding him of a cave.
An underground oasis. How fortunate.
Nero closed his red eyes after realizing that things were still moving unnaturally too much for his taste. As the moments slowly ticked by, his breathing began to even out, and he began to feel much more than he had. The Sable’s skin felt raw, his clothes heavy and damp. His head hurt. How had the effects of dehydration snuck up on him that quickly? Why hadn’t he felt it coming?
“Idiot,” Nero grumbled, mentally berating himself for being so foolish. He’d wandered after the rumor of his brother, like a child, into an inhospitable environment without so much of a thought. Weiss would be disappointed, and worried, if he’d known what his brother had done. But Nero, foolish Nero, couldn’t stop himself in his excitement. He hadn’t thought ahead. He hadn’t planned.
Freedom was much more difficult to manage than he’d previously thought.
The Tsviet sat up slowly, seating himself next to the clear pool of water. He splashed the cool water on his uncovered face, trying to liven his spirits enough to make a plan for traversing the rest of the desert for his brother. He wouldn’t be doing much while he was exhausted, soaked to the bone, and borderline delirious. The power of his darkness, the inner void that inadvertently saved him, flitted about in wisps and curls around him, unrestricted and free.
Forgive me, brother, for being so foolish. It is simply too difficult to think straight without you here.
Red eyes reflected back at him from the water, and Nero felt himself released a frustrated, depressed sigh.
He needed to find Weiss, before he killed himself trying.
Rise and take flight, darling Let's soar high For the first time in forever you're alive Don't you forget that
HERE. HAVE A KUJA NOVEL BECAUSE I DON'T KNOW WHAT SELF-CONTROL IS.
Why should the world exist without me?
Kuja missed his Desert Palace.
He missed its quiet halls and its marble floors. He missed its roman columns and the traces of magic that were so distinctly his. He missed the way the artificial light would pool across his stained-glass windows and how the golden accents would glitter in the light of his ethereal flames. He missed his artificial home more than he missed the planet itself, and yet, more than anything he missed the simple comforts of a well-constructed lair. Somewhere he could rest without interruption. Somewhere he could plot and research in privacy. Somewhere that he could store his villainous machinations.
A lair, it seemed, like his subterranean oasis.
He'd found it accidentally a few weeks after the dragon incident in Torensten. At first, he'd wandered from place to isolated place, seeking quiet havens to recover from the blood loss inflicted by the Warrior's sword. With a silver dragon at his disposal, he'd visited the cliffs of Mount Hotan, the ruins of the Crystallus Divider, and the outskirts of the Metaia Temple all within the fortnight, but he never stayed for long. If he wanted a chance to get anything done, then he needed a more permanent lair, and for that, he would need to visit his natural element: the desert.
Many months ago, when Kuja had first awaken in this hostile world, he had vowed never to take a step into the loathsome Reikinto Sands again. Since then, he had done quite well to avoid it, partially from circumstance and partially from choice. Still, that vow had said nothing of flight, and when one had access to reliable wings, the desert could become a haven all to itself.
He'd forgotten the feel of hot desert wind whipping through his hair. He'd forgotten how the sands seemed to shift in mindful currents when one saw them from up high. He'd forgotten the dry taste of the air and the sharp heat of the sun. He'd loved the desert once, and atop the wings of a dragon, he learned to love it once again. Its deadly expanses offered an excellent deterrent to unwanted visitors.
Kuja brought his dragon to a set of caves on the desert's northeast side. While he hadn't done much to explore this heated wasteland, he would remember those caves until his dying day. This was where he and that annoying child had stumbled across a colony of vicious antlions and where, had he not thought quickly, they would have met their end. There were no antlions when Kuja brought his dragon to one one of the many openings in the rocky cliff face, but then, he hadn't expected there to be. The antlions had all been exterminated with the arrival of their natural predator -- a kind of magic-reflective boulder with vicious teeth. Kuja eyed the monster's still-smoldering corpse distastefully before beginning his descent into the cave mouth.
What he had once mistaken for antlion tunnels were, in fact, a system of caves delving deep beneath the desert sands. Kuja brought fire to his fingertips as the sunlight faded and the temperature dropped. He wandered for some time in the darkness, half curious and half irritable before finally he heard it: the soft trickling of nearby water.
He approached it cautiously. It felt like something too miraculous to be true, but the sound only grew stronger, and soon the air was tinged with the damp taste of humidity. He followed it blindly, too skeptical for optimism, before suddenly there was light.
Somehow in his egregious good luck, he had stumbled across an underground oasis. With its towering walls, clear pool of water, and aerial entrance, Kuja could not have asked for a better lair.
Besides the Desert Palace, of course. Thankfully, Kuja had a lifetime of experience making do without opulent luxury. Marble floors and stained-glass windows were only a highly appreciated bonus in his search. Safety and solitude were at the forefront of his mind.
Over the course of the next few weeks, Kuja would frequent this place often -- stockpiling supplies in the nearby towns and then returning via dragon. The dragon herself had quite taken to their new home and particularly enjoyed splashing in the pool. Kuja made certain to remove any poisonous plants from the pool's side so that she wouldn't accidentally taint their water supply. When she wasn't resting, the dragon would often leave him to hunt sandworms and antlions. Kuja had already groomed far too many over-sized antennae from her feathers for his liking.
After only a few weeks together, the dragon had already established herself as playful and far messier than a magical being had any right to be. He had named his last dragon Cordelia for her dignity and almost royal grace. Kuja had yet to think of a proper name for this dragon. None of the characters from Lord Avon's plays bore both a predator's cunning and bumbling idiocy in equal measure.
He mostly left her to her own devices, however. Kuja himself spent most of his time fortifying the oasis' defenses. If it was to become a proper lair, it would need to be as deadly as it was undetectable. He spun magic like silk from the aerial entrance to the far reaches of the cave systems. Nothing would be able to enter or leave without his knowledge, not that they'd be able to reach him in the first place. Between the desert, the caves, his own traps, and the labyrinthine tunnels, his base was nigh impregnable barring simply falling from the sky.
Or so he thought. Not three days upon finishing the installations of his security system, his magic alerted him of an intruder. A rather human-sized intruder, and in the pool no less. Kuja scowled at the half-finished magical weapon he'd been constructing and started towards the security breech.
He hoped to take care of this quickly. He hated interruptions while he worked.
As it turned out, the human-sized intruder was, in fact, human. Kuja found him half-submerged in the pool, drinking thirstily and closing his eyes to the cool water. At the sight of him, Kuja's fingers sparked with electricity, and he nearly raised a hand. It would prove one less problem to simply shock the water now and let the man fry. But then he caught something that gave him pause.
This was no hapless adventurer or simple wanderer. The man oozed with magic.
And yet, it was like no magic he had ever studied. It stymied off of him in tendrils -- solid, black, and visible. Even as he watched, it seemed to probe the air around him in curious coils. Kuja had no idea what it was, but he could tell in an instant that it was dangerous and likely unrestrained. His magic sparked brighter. It would be best to eliminate the threat now.
Unless it wasn't. There was, after all, a human attached to it with a malleable mind. Slowly, Kuja shook the magic from his fingers. For this, he would bare a far more deadly weapon -- conversation.
"Pardon, but are you lost here?" Kuja stepped forward carefully as though he had only just noticed the man. He kept his expression neutral, even concerned. "It seems an odd place to end up."
A few steps more, and Kuja had angled to get a better look at him. The word that first came to describe this man was dark. From his dark suit to his dark hair to his dark magic, darkness clung to the man like toxic sludge. As Kuja's eyes flitted over him, he caught other details. His hair was unkempt and nearly waist length. His suit was seamless and pulsed with an odd blue energy. Attached to his back was an odd metal contraption which Kuja could hardly make sense of at first glance.
In a word, the man appeared as ridiculous as he was dangerous. Kuja tried hard to keep the laughter from his lips as he gave the man a courteous wave of his hand. "If you are in need of aid, I would be more than happy to provide it. Assuming, of course, that you have not come with hostility in mind?"
This reads really confusing, and it's supposed to xD
It was perfectly quiet and still, both inside of the cave and inside of his mind.
So much so, that when the stillness was broken, Nero nearly jumped out of his skin.
"Pardon, but are you lost here?"
Heart racing and mind panicking, the Tsviet reacted as any startled animal would. He all but jumped from the water, a mess of heavy clothes and damp hair, crouching on the mossy, rocky land next to the pool. His eyes quickly located the source of the sound while the darkness, wild and free, oozed underneath of him in an inky pool, curling ferociously in the air as if it were going to strike.
Breathing heavily, Nero willed himself to calm down. Before him was simply a man, but still, it had been wildly unexpected. For a moment, he considered his options. He could simply toss the man into the abyss, which would perhaps be easiest route. No, no, no, stop trying to waste resources. The man might know things. He appeared to be in good health, despite being in the middle of the desert. The middle of the … Who lived in the middle of the desert? That was suspicious. He was suspicious.
But, he was kind.
The words gently flowed from the stranger’s lips, inquiring for his health, asking if he was lost. No one had ever had kind words to spare for the Sable, save for his beloved brother. Perhaps it was the delirium, or how desperately he wished to see Weiss, but Nero found himself clinging to the kindness in the stranger’s voice. Kind--happy--nice, these things were so rare.
While the Tsviet found himself battling internally with his feelings, he quickly calmed himself on the outside. The darkness oozing beneath his fingers slowly retreated, taking nothing with it. He blinked his red eyes a few times as he thought about standing, but the world was just not properly coming into focus, no matter how hard he willed it to. He naturally fell back into a seated position, long, heated breaths passing his lips as he processed the last of his panicked adrenaline.
“My apologies,” his voice came quiet and smooth, yet his mouth felt dry all the same, “I … did not think anyone would be here.”
It was a reasonable assumption, that Nero wouldn’t expect to find anyone in the middle of the desert. He’d only wished he’d thought of that brilliant deduction when he’d taken those first few steps into the hot sand, foolishly chasing the whispers of rumors that somewhat matched the description of Weiss. To the man before him, surely Nero was the one that appeared foolish, clearly overheated and dehydrated, disoriented and lost. It took what little energy he had left to not simply hang his head in personal shame.
“I haven’t come here with ill intent,” Nero admitted, threading his hands together in a naturally nervous, fidgety way as he spoke, “I became lost in the desert, searching for a man.”
He dared a glance up at the stranger, despite how everything else in his vision swam. The man had long, silvery-white hair, cascading down his shoulders and back. His outfit was extravagant, with long billowing sleeves and fine fabric, but very open and revealing, showing off the pale skin of his abdomen and upper thighs. Even disoriented Nero could feel the regal air practically falling off of the man before him, who naturally stood with his head held high. Light blue eyes stared at him, cautious, curious, yet somehow soft.
Nero felt his stomach drop.
He.. He kind of .. he looks like.. No, no, no, no I did not come all this way for -- the rumors, they weren’t -- no. He isn’t … Weiss.
It dawned on the Tsviet why he had relaxed so quickly. The man really did resemble Weiss in a few ways; just enough to really matter. He’d naturally put down his defenses because a stranger looked and behaved just enough like Weiss. It was as pathetic and sad as it was strange. What were the odds, that another man would have the same description as his brother? Similar eyes and hair, similar ways of dressing, a similar stature. Both similarly kind to his chaotic, worthless soul.
But, this man wasn’t Weiss. And if he were to indeed ask the man, Were you the one who destroyed Torensten, and the man said yes, Nero wasn’t sure what he’d do. He’d come so far. He had no other rumors to follow, and more places to look than he could physically count. He could feel fear creeping up his spine, sinking its cold claws into his heart. His eyes were wide with a mix of curiosity and anxiety. Were his hands shaking? Or was the world shaking? Was it both, surely it had to be both, he couldn’t be that nervous for this answer, that afraid.
I am afraid.
“Are …,” Nero swallowed the hard lump threatening to leap from his throat, dread pushing down on his weak shoulders, “Are you … the man who destroyed Torensten on the back of a dragon?”
The answer threatened to slit his throat and bleed him dry, but the Tsviet needed to know. He needed to know now. He could feel the nervous sweat beading on his pale face, his hands clung to each other so tightly he could feel his purple-stained nails drawing blood from his skin. He needed this man to deny it. He needed that.
He had to have a glimmer of hope that Weiss was still out there, somewhere, waiting.
Rise and take flight, darling Let's soar high For the first time in forever you're alive Don't you forget that
The man jolted at Kuja's words, scrambling back like a startled animal. Kuja tensed at the movement, at those startled eyes, and more than anything at the darkness. Whatever strange power the man possessed, it lashed out with its owner, whipping out its tendrils like something alive. Kuja's magic sparked at his fingertips, hot, sharp, and ready for the thing before him to strike. His eyes narrowed. He should have eliminated the threat while he had the chance to do so quietly. His fingers heated with rectifying thunder. He raised a hand to attack.
But the man had already calmed. The darkness receded. Reluctantly, Kuja let the magic cool from his fingertips.
The stranger sat again at the side of the pool, breathing heavily as his feet dangled into the water. Kuja worked hard to keep his expression neutral, even as he scanned the intruder for signs of hostility. Kuja didn't recognize the man's magic, but the sight of it had sent his neck prickling. Whatever it was, it was dangerous and it was unrestrained. Not unlike Zidane's magic, really, though this felt far more malicious. Whatever it was, Kuja didn't want to fight it.
No, he wished to study it, but for that he would need cooperation. With a breath, Kuja released the last of the cautioun from his eyes. He kept his expression neutral, calming, even pleasant -- at least, as far as he was capable. His heart still raced with warning. His magic still hummed in waiting expectation.
At least the man had dropped his guard. “My apologies,” he said. “I … did not think anyone would be here.”
An understandable mistake, though it did nothing to explain his murderous power. Kuja nodded his solemn sympathy, even as his mind raced with questions.
'What was that? It didn't come from the planet, and it certainly wasn't Terran. Is that what he used to get in here? What would it have done to me?'
'What could it do to someone else?'
“I haven’t come here with ill intent,” the intruder continued. “I became lost in the desert, searching for a man.”
Well that explained something, though it was hardly the question Kuja wished to ask. The man had nearly died in the desert. What a surprise. No one came this far without reaching death's door, and his oasis was the only water source for miles. Still, Kuja held his tongue. Patience was the key. Patience and concern.
The man had lost some of his dangerous edge. His fingers twisted together anxiously, and his eyes were lowered almost in submission. He was like an animal in his movements -- dangerous and wild. And perhaps, it seemed, intimidated or perhaps merely pleading. Regardless, it was a welcome change from his prior lashings. Kuja had almost expected the man to snarl.
"Well, I'm glad that you found your way here. The desert can be dangerous, even deadly without proper preparations." The lie slid effortlessly from his lips, just another comforting platitude while Kuja decided whether to kill the man or not. Both options certainly had their merits. Should he strike now, the danger to his life would be extinguished and he could return to his work in peace. If he let him live, then perhaps the stranger would join his cause. But was it really worth the risk to-?
The man was watching him.
Not just watching him, but staring. The man's eyes slid from Kuja's hair to his eyes to his bare hips and stomach, and while Kuja was certainly used to the attention, there seemed something almost hungry about the man's gaze -- intense and wild in a way that made Kuja's lips purse. He hardly cared what the man thought, but it felt indecent regardless. Rude in that peculiar animal way of his.
Be it from lust, repulsion, or awe, it wasn't polite to stare.
And suddenly the man's eyes sparked with fear. There was no reason for it as far as Kuja could tell. One second he was staring intensely into Kuja's eyes and the next he looked as though he were balancing over lava. Kuja's magic pricked in silent preparation. Perhaps it would be best to do away with him.
“Are…” the stranger started before swallowing hard and taking a breath. “Are you…the man who destroyed Torensten on the back of a dragon?”
Oh. Was that why he'd panicked? Odd. Kuja was certain no one had seen him flee Torensten. Perhaps the Warrior had survived to spread rumors about him. How problematic.
"Destroyed?" Kuja echoed innocently. His eyes widened as he touched at his lip in shock. "I didn't touch that city, though I certainly could have had that been my intention. I merely thought to examine the ruins beneath their streets. I had no way of knowing that doing so would awaken dragons. Though if Torensten has been destroyed...I suppose I would be the one to blame." Kuja's eyebrows furrowed. He bit anxiously at the tip of his nail. "Destroyed..." he said again. "I hadn't the slightest idea."
"But that is hardly relevant now." Kuja waved his hand dismissively before looking to the man in concern. "Is there anything I can do for you? The desert must have taken quite a toll on your body, and I am skilled in the curative arts. If you need anything, just say the word."
'At least until I decide what to do with you.' Kuja bit back the scowl that threatened his lips. The man was clearly unstable -- feral even, but there was nothing to be done for it while that magic protected him. Until then, all he could do was kill the man with kindness.
And hope he was as stupid as he was completely and utterly insane.
UH. THIS GOT MUCH SADDER AT THE END THAN I INTENDED.
With each word Kuja spoke, Nero’s expression further dropped. From frightened curiosity, to sadness, to despair. His hands trembled with vigorous intensity before it began to spread upwards, up his arms to his thin shoulders, to his pale lips and the rest of his weakened body.
This cannot be, the Tsviet looked to Kuja with desperation in his eyes, begging for a truth that did not exist, I came all this way for nothing. For nothing. Weiss isn’t here. Weiss, where is he, where could he be, why did he leave me alone like this, he promised, we promised, he--
Nero’s shaking hands traveled up his face, to his hair, gripping and pulling on the long, black, tangled locks. His red eyes found the stone floor, though the way things were spinning, he could hardly tell what he was focusing on. He felt sick and suffocated, desperate and angry. Slowly, the Sable made his way to his feet, shaking in the cold, wet fabric of his suit. He turned away from the mysterious man who had found him -- the man was kind, he simply told Nero the truth, he deserved no pain.
“Then, I am afraid I’ve wasted time for us both,” he spat in a quiet breath, his eyes suddenly stinging from what he knew were tears ready to fall. Nero trembled violently as the despair began to shift into bubbling rage, clinging to his head again as a pained whine barely escaped his lips. The darkness pushed against his weakened state, crawling along the floor and the nearby cavern wall, snaking its way out of his body in lashes and curls, oozing beneath his boots. It was taking strong advantage of his shifting emotional state and weakened mentality, rushing to consume and taint.
“He isn’t here,” Nero all but howled, a pained truth for himself. You wasted so much time, you almost died, he isn’t here he’s gone, gone, gone. The tears were falling from his eyes, uncontrollably and pathetically. He grit his teeth with unbridled anger, his fingers twisting and threatening to rip his own hair out. He stumbled forward, further away from the kind stranger, towards his ever growing and muddled darkness.
Stop it. Eyes are on you.
The Sable visibly stiffened. His tattooed hands dropped from his head, slowly back to his sides, digging his colored nails into his palms. He wished to scream, but bit his tongue. He wished to lash out, but pulled the darkness back. Back, back, into his form, despite how it wished to break free of him. He wanted to destroy something as much as he simply wanted to collapse and wail.
You’re passing out again. Pathetic
His knees felt weak, hardly able to support his weight. His stomach twisted and strained, acid bubbled up in his throat. Nero had overexerted himself once more. A quiet, “Oh,” barely managed to escape his lips before he began to fall back, losing his balance, seeing nothing but blackness. The darkness caught him as it always did, and for a moment, he’d vanished into the void.
Nero reappeared, crawling out of the wisps and curls of the darkness by the pond once more. He reached down and splashed water onto his face, breathless, before collapsing on his front. Vaguely, he was aware how prone he was, exposed, open to attack. But, it was hard enough to focus, and harder still to care. His fingers remained in the pool, motionless, his red eyes blearily peering at the mysterious stranger from their extended distance.
How pathetic and strange he must have appeared. Dressed in a suit that dimly hummed and glowed with light, trapped under a pair of ugly, steel wings, with the emotional stability of a child and an uncontrollable power just as dangerous. A parody of a normal human being. Why had this man not turn to run? Why had he not drawn a weapon to end the obvious threat before him? He must have had the power to do so, if he’d managed to destroy part of a city with a dragon.
Nero swallowed. What would he do? What could he do? Part of him wished to simply stop existing because of the shame, the despair he felt for missing his brother and coming so far for nothing. Another part of him was still latched, hungry and desperate, to the stranger’s kind words. He wanted to hear more. He wanted to listen to the man speak. More of that regal, soft voice, soothing, warm, comforting.
He had nothing else.
But, how to ask for help? The Sable had never asked for help in his life, from anyone aside from Weiss. Even then, it was coupled with crippling shame and usually only in a truly desperate situation. Was this not the same? His red eyes flickered shut, his breathing uneven and short. Certainly, without some kind of help, he risked death. Unfamiliar with healing magic and pain, the Tsviet had little idea as to what he needed. Medicine? Water? Magic? Could he even be fixed? He had no idea, and the longer he pondered the answer, the worse his condition grew. Even with his eyes closed, he could feel the world spinning under his hands.
“Please,” the words barely escaped his lips, slipping through the bars of his shame and desperation to keep living, if only for a few more moments, “I’m sorry. Please -- I --.”
Nero twisted on the ground, a mess of long, dark dressed limbs and wet fabric and hair. The metal of the mocking wings on his back scratched the stone unpleasantly, pulling at his back. For a moment he turned his forehead to the cool stone underneath of his body, hiding as the tears of a man desperate for anything stung at his eyes. Even if he’d had the strength, he wouldn’t have willed himself up. No, if he had any strength to spare, he would have hidden himself away, from these certainly judging eyes. He was nothing, a splatter of worthless resources smeared across the rock, who dared to ask for anything from someone much better than himself.
“I need help.”
The request was almost silent, meek, muffled by stone and water.
Help, for so many, many things.
Rise and take flight, darling Let's soar high For the first time in forever you're alive Don't you forget that
And new scene? Or thread? Or something. xD THis is kind of a mess.
Why should the world exist without me?
Kuja had made a grave mistake.
He didn't know what it was or why, but something he'd said had clearly been wrong. Almost as soon as the words had left his mouth, the man could hardly stay still. His eyes filled with despair as he forced himself unsteadily to his feet. The man trembled as he moved -- perhaps from overexertion or perhaps from emotion, it was impossible to say. He looked to Kuja for a long time before bringing his hands to his head, gripping it tightly as though he were afraid it might burst. His teeth grit against his wet and shaking body as he turned away, eyes lowered and nearly whining.
“Then, I am afraid I’ve wasted time for us both,” he said, voice unsteady as though on the verge of tears. Kuja could only stare at him. He ran through their conversation, searching for anything he might have said to trigger this kind of episode, and yet he could find nothing. He'd told him of the dragons, but the man had already known that. He'd offered to help. He could think of no singular circumstance in which someone might react like this to his chosen words.
Not unless they were a complete and utter lunatic.
"Wasted...Time?" Kuja repeated only because it was unlikely to set him off further. The stranger's dark, oozing magic had returned, seeping from his feet like water. It stretched across the ground in creeping tendrils -- reaching, searching. Kuja eyed it cautiously, stepping away from the malice that tinged the air like static. His lips soured in disgust.
“He isn’t here!” The words came sudden and unrestrained, an animal noise that burst from him strangled and ragged. The man was stumbling blindly, tilting forward and back as his fingers twisted in his hair and his teeth grit against tears. Terrible noises came from his throat. Pained noises. Desperate noises. All the while, darkness followed him like a shadow, hungry and ready to feed. It grew with every passing second. Lashing. Probing. Raging.
Kuja watched it all in silence, eyes sharp like a startled cat ready to strike. The man was unstable and clearly dangerous. It would be insane to wait another second before confronting him, but it was equally insane to attack without need. He had no idea what that magic could do, and that mystery proved the most dangerous of all. He couldn't prepare for the unknown, and so he stayed his hand.
Even as his magic burned with caution.
The man stopped. His hands fell from his head. The darkness folded back into him in waves. Then he fell. The darkness enveloped him. And he was gone.
Kuja stared at the point where he had disappeared.
Had he just died?
Kuja barely had time to think of what he would do with the rogue magic before it was moving. It crawled along the ground, tendrils flailing like some kind of corrupted crustacean before coming to a stop by the water. Kuja tensed at its movements (Did it intend to taint his water supply?) but scarcely had time to mutter a spell before the darkness dissipated once more. It fell away in layers like fog in the morning sun. In its grasp was a human figure with hideous, ragged wings. It reached into the water, touched weakly at its face, and then collapsed forward onto hard stone.
The strange magic fell away, leaving only the man. Visible. Exposed. Half-conscious.
Kuja's magic tempted murder at his fingertips.
“Please." The whisper froze his hand and chilled the walls of his throat. That whisper, that desperation, it sounded almost like- “I’m sorry. Please -- I --.”
'-I'll do it again. I'll do it right. I'm not a failure! I'm-!'
'-Sorry. Sorry, don't-!'
Kuja's fingers clenched. His eyes lit with fire at the pitiful, helpless man before him. Useless. Begging. Completely at his mercy. He didn't deserve to live, not if he was this weak. That was the way of the world, wasn't it? The strong preyed upon the weak and the weak fell to the hands of the strong. That was why Kuja had needed strength. He wasn't like this. He'd never been-!
'Please.'
'Please'
'Please!'
His teeth ground together. His magic sparked hot at his lungs. It lurched into throat, past his tongue, words that would freeze, that would kill, that would fry. He raised his hand, eyes sharp, blood burning.
Useless. Pitiful. Weak.
"I need help."
The words stopped him where he stood. They flooded his mind like rainwater, and soon he was cursing -- half in Gaian and half in harsh syllables the man wouldn't understand. He grit his teeth against his own pounding bloodlust, raising a hand to his forehead and nearly laughing against that grimacing, heated thing inside him. He couldn't kill this man, not because of something as trivial as pity but because he had power. Because he was easily manipulated. Because he'd put himself at Kuja's mercy.
As tempting and even satisfying as it would be to watch the man burn under his own misguided pleading, it would give Kuja nothing else. He needed pawns. He needed defenses, particularly if that righteous Warrior was still alive. He couldn't just go killing one when it came literally falling through his ceiling.
Even if it would have been so very, very gratifying.
Kuja's jaw locked against his cheek until he tasted blood. His breath came strained and staggered through his nose. Slowly, his magic cooled. The man was no threat -- not as he was now. Kuja would merely have to tame him. His patience had managed far worse before, after all. Far, far worse.
He closed his eyes, counted backwards from twenty, then took a deep breath and opened them. The man was still limp against the stone, eyes closed and breathing raggedly. Kuja sighed and stepped towards him, raising a hand to capture him in a gentle telekinesis. The man glowed with blue magic before lifting carefully from the ground. Kuja smiled at him.
"I can help you," he said. He took a few steps closer, careful to stay out of range of any surprised and lashing tendrils. "Just close your eyes. When you awaken, you will be well." The magic pooled in his hand and wafted like smoke into the man's lungs. After a few seconds' resistance, the man fell limp in his grasp. Unconscious. Malleable.
Kuja scowled the second his eyes had closed. "Idiot." He lifted the man higher in his magical embrace, far rougher this time and liable to scrape the wall. It hardly mattered what happened to him. If he awoke, he wouldn't dare think Kuja had caused him harm. If he didn't...
Well, that problem would solve itself then, wouldn't it?
Kuja tightened his grasp and started back into the tunnels of his subterranean lair. The limp and unconscious body floated behind him like a wraith in blue light. Kuja's thoughts raced with medical cures, magical theories, and questions that he couldn't answer. A fire beat in his heart, pounding hot temptation with every step. 'Kill him,' it whispered, and yet, Kuja did not strike. He was no animal driven by impulse. He was not someone weak enough to jeopardize his victory for the sake of emotion.
In short, Kuja was nothing like the man he held at his mercy. And so, he would heal him if that was what it took to further his goals. His step quickened with urgency.
If he wished for a new pawn, then there was no time to spare. He had work to do.
