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year 5, quarter 3
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Her answer was blunt. Obvious. Even as she tried to sway him, it seemed he wasn’t worth honeyed words or whispered lies. Her plain disinterest struck him like a slap across his cheek. She did not care for him -- not even as an object. Then why had she bothered to cast her strings?
She turned away.
Magic in these woods? He didn’t know what she spoke of (they were in a desert after all) but he could guess. The Headstone Forest. It had piqued his interest as well, and as she opened another dark portal, he knew in an instant where it led. Mist. It leaked from the darkness and enveloped them both in its chilling embrace. The implications struck him as cold as the Mist itself. She could teleport that far in an instant? Not even Garland could manage such a thing, and if she was so capable…
She stepped towards it, and Kuja gave her a scrupulous look. A knight would follow her. A victim would not. Her meaning was obtuse but all too clear to those willing to parse it. Follow her and be subjugated. Stay and face her wrath down the line. Kuja opened his mouth to demand clarification, but she was already walking away.
He understood then why she hadn’t bothered to sway him. She’d already twisted him around her finger.
She gave him no time to think. The portal enveloped her like a shroud, and it would close shortly after. Should he step inside, he could not return. He would leave his lair, his dragon, his life behind all for a veiled promise that he couldn’t trust. Yet as she disappeared within the shadows, he knew it had never been a question at all. Not really.
He followed behind her. What she promised would not be promised again.
Her magic chilled him. There was no deconstruction, no sense of vertigo. Instead, there was only darkness and then light. His boots sank into moist ground. Trees surrounded him in twisted knots. He smelled the Mist before he saw it -- cold and thick and sour. He could almost taste it on his tongue, and he felt its usual intrusion as it enveloped him. The dregs of souls in search of a vessel. He shuddered.
Hahaha. Ultimecia's known for honesty and negotiations, right?
Why should the world exist without me?
She stopped.
She knew that she had him at her fingertips, and he felt his fist clench at her arrogance. She was toying with him. She saw him as nothing more than a puppet on her strings -- he knew because he would have done the same. Mocking words. Promises dangled on a hair’s breath. She had the power here and she knew it. They both did.
’The irrelevance of time.’ It was a reward long promised and cruelly snatched away. Time had always been his enemy -- first in his irrelevance then in his purpose and finally in his death. Every moment had been a fight against time, and now she held the key in its ultimate defeat. He longed to strike her down and seize it for himself.
She approached him. He tensed with every step until their bodies nearly touched and he felt her breath hot on his cheek. He averted his gaze, refusing to consider her predatory eyes or the glisten of her lips lacquered as though in blood. Nails bit into the side of his neck. They trailed up slowly until they found his chin and forced it towards her.
Yellow eyes burned into his. He could not break their grasp.
’The power of a witch.’ ‘A bond formed.’ These were words echoed through a hall of mirrors. He felt them catch on his breath. He felt his throat tighten. There was no need for magic. The threat was implicit. He was nothing more than an object to be possessed. He could not pull away.
And just as he thought the moment would last forever, it ended.
He grasped at his throat, staggering back as his breath returned. She had already turned from him, and for once he was grateful. His facade had shattered along with his dignity. He did not need her eyes on him now.
”Would you pay such a price?”
He glanced to her, eyes burning his indignation. Pupil, lover, lost. All lies. Theirs would not be a bond of equals but rather of master and slave. Her true meaning wasn’t lost on him.
Would he sell his soul for his life? He knew the question all too well.
”My body is ageless,” he muttered. ”I was given life as I am. My creator…” The word soured on his tongue. ”Cursed me to die. My body is set to stop. Within the year, I think.” He turned to her of his own will. His mask had thickened and cooled. ”How am I to know you wouldn’t break me as you did my puppets?”
She responded. Beautifully. Kuja could hardly control his laughter behind the back of his hand. ’I’m getting uncertain vibes from you?’ This girl had to be one of the stupidest sentient beings he’d ever met. After threatening their lives, could he perhaps have had malicious intent? Her conclusions were uncertain.
Kuja crossed his arms, tilting his head to consider her. There was that absurd accusation again -- that he refused to use his magic. He had no idea where it had come from. As it stood, he’d cast two flares, one aero, and had weathered her destruction so he could finish off the last spectre while he was at it. If she was still bitter that he’d conserved his magic against packs of undead dogs then she had to be pettier than he was.
”Tell me, who was it that brought them to death’s door? Who was it that nearly engulfed them in gale winds? If you wish them both dead then I’d say congratulations are in order. You’ve done far more than the Lich could have ever dreamed.”
His magic danced before him in flickering sparks of red and blue. It held the basin in the grasp of a delicate hand. It would be so easy to let it fall.
”Their conditions are beyond half-measures. One will take all or they’ll both die. And who was it that lost the other antidote? If you’re to blame anyone then look in a mirror.” Kuja smirked and flipped his hair over his shoulder. ”I’d rather not babysit a dead man, and I’d do better without an idiot at my back. You say we need four? The two of you are dead weight.”
Kuja brought the basin to the side opposite her and started out the door, pausing to glance at her over his shoulder. ”Say a word of this and you’ll lose my magic. I dare say you’ll need it.” He continued on without waiting for her response. He had better uses of his time than trading insults with a moron.
He emerged looking worse for wear. His hair was in tangles. His skin was bruised where the debris had struck him, and he noted with displeasure that the dust had stained his sleeves. Still, he supposed that would give him an almost relatable look as he approached the two on the verge of death. Perhaps they would even see him as their savior.
”The other cure is broken,” he said, a slight scowl at his lips. ”Lost to the winds. I captured the other, but it’s only enough for one. If I might make a suggestion, I’d recommend it go to the one who can’t rely on a dragon.” Kuja waved his hand forward and brought the basin drifting to the knight’s side. It would be their decision (and their lives at stake), but he could sway them to his liking.
”There are two evils in this tomb -- the greater and the lesser. To put it bluntly, confronting the Lich in your condition will only lead to your death and our distraction. One of you would be worse than useless, and the girl…”
He smirked faintly. ”We’ve seen her uses. I hadn’t cared much for ridding this place of both threats, but if it’s better that two not follow along then why not try? It’s better than waiting behind at any rate.”
Kuja tensed at her laugh -- at her hard dismissal. Those were not words of persuasion. They were, in fact, the opposite. He glanced over his shoulder to see her standing behind him with her eyes closed, seemingly relishing something. Was she simply toying with him? It seemed unlikely, and his stomach sank at the implications.
Whether she could grant him immortality or not, she believed in her power wholeheartedly.
His mouth felt suddenly dry. Stopping. Continuing. Finishing. He didn’t care about his work or her threat against it. There were only those words and the weight behind them. Had she some link to his mind? Had she a kind of telepathy that he couldn’t detect? But no, if she’d known him so implicitly, she’d have chosen her threats as accurately as her taunts. What would he do to not be bound by time? His fingers bit into the palm of his hand. She was serious. She had to be, and if she was capable of such a thing…
”There are others who would not cast the promise of eternity away so flippantly.”
”What?” Kuja spun back to her, but now she was the one to turn away. Cast it aside? Was that what he had done? His heart raced with something cold and fearful. She was walking away. Walking and leaving him, and only seconds from teleporting away. He took a step forward then quickly stopped. What was he supposed to do? Call after her? Plead with her? Lower himself to submission? She couldn’t be trusted -- that was obvious -- and yet he felt the opportunity slipping from him like water through a sieve.
What he wouldn’t have done for time to think.
”Wait!” His head spun as he reached out to her. What was he doing?”You promised eternity. What did you mean?” His heart beat hard in his throat. Would she turn again to face him? Did he want her to? ”Could you really…?”
Once the debris stilled, Kuja was left breathing heavily, his hair disheveled and out of place. The two swordsman had left -- intelligent enough, they shouldn’t have come in the first place -- but the shadow of the girl remained. His eyes cooled on her. If they were alone then that meant there would be no witnesses.
Disbelief sharpened her voice as she stared at something on the ground. The wraith. It was dead at least, and mangled at that. Whatever she had cast had ripped it apart and left nothing but a shattered husk. Beside that was a scattered pile of dust and debris. A wet one lined with pieces of tarnished porcelain.
The cure. Well, that simplified matters.
An icy chill seized the room, and Kuja braced himself against it as the second wraith materialized from the shadow. The idiot girl hadn't even managed them both. His protections were already so strong that the spell did little to pierce them, but even so, he felt his fingers curl at the damage he had already sustained. A curaga would do it, yes, but what a waste that would be, and a needless one at that. He raised a hand and cast Thundara twice in rapid succession.
Even with the muffling effects of the surrounding stone, he didn’t dare cast a third level spell at its full strength. Instead, he kept it muted and focused. For the first spell at least. The second struck between the wraith and the girl, spreading its crackling light to both of them equally. A slip of his hand. Nothing but collateral damage. Except…
The magic sparked against her and redirected back at him. Kuja’s eyes widened as his own spell struck him instead. Once again, his magic muted the blow, but by the time it had run its course, murder coursed through him hotter than any electric current. Reflect. She’d cast reflect. There was no telltale red sparkle about her; nothing at all to indicate her defenses except the results. His palm itched with a spell that would come easily now. Flare Star. Reflect was useless against it, and yet…
And yet that would lead to the same downfall as her winds. In fact, he very much suspected it would bring the whole mausoleum down on them. There was no use acting on impulses.
He readied his hand to catch the last basin in a telekinetic hold. With that done, he pulled it back to himself where it floated beside him in the grasp of his blue-violet magic. He could not hide the rage that simmered in his eyes. There was no use for sharp words. No use for raised voices. There was only a choice.
Her defenses would fall easily to a simple dispel. Dare he attack her outright? There were no witnesses. He was certain to win if it came to it, and yet, such a provocation could only weaken him further, and if she escaped then that would be the end of it.
The others would turn against him -- not that it mattered much. They were both at death’s door, and should they heft their blades against him, he could deal with him easily. Really, it would be best to smash the basin himself if she managed to slip away, but that would lose him his promised pawn. Was the damage he would sustain worth the dangers of keeping such a liability at his back?
In the end, he came to a swift conclusion. No. Forthright violence had never been his way. Instead, he spoke.
”My, what a performance. I’d dare say it deserves a standing ovation.” He shoved his hair over his shoulder, trying his best to ignore the tangles that plagued it. He would deal with them later. ”But it seems you’ve made something of a mess, and here I stand with their last hope of survival. For one of them at least. For the other, certain death.”
He turned to her, the laughter dead in his eyes. ”You will go your own way. Taking the right path, perhaps?” Kuja brought the basin before him and trailed a sharpened nail along its rim. The message was clear. He could do what he wished with it before she had any chance to stop him. ”I will suggest splitting our efforts at the crossroads, and you will agree. Unless you wish to see them die? Their lives lie in your hands.”
He touched at his mouth and laughed quietly again. His shoulders trembled with the effort of muffling it. ”The choice is yours. I’d make it quickly.”
Kuja was beginning to tire of the death motif. He understood the poetic drama of it all -- Lich was the king of the dead, after all -- but he found it far too obvious. Could there not be a contrast of symbols? A hint of dramatic irony? Kuja hummed his displeasure at the tight mausoleum at the end of the path. It seemed the Lich had a penchant for theming without the nuance to heighten its craft.
The water basins greeted them as they entered, placed atop a set of dueling graves. ’Death to those who would consume it prematurely?’ Well of course he wouldn’t, and he doubted the girl would be so stupid either. Probably. He glanced to the others, about to warn them of its meaning, when the graves stirred and the wraiths within awoke. Kuja eyed them coolly, but stepped back without conjuring magic.
He hardly wanted a repeat of last time after all.
As it happened, he had no need to worry of their curse. No, they simply vanished the water with a wave of their skeletal hands. They’d have to defeat them no doubt -- or Kuja would at least. The swordsmen were useless, and the girl seemed most skilled with white magic. She cast reflect in time to redirect the spirit’s flames towards itself. Kuja didn’t bother. With his shell already in place, the ice that cracked around him hardly caused him a grimace and single step back to steady himself.
Black magic sparked at his fingertips. If he was the only remaining combatant then there was no point wasting his time with protections. He would end this quickly.
A thundaga spell already sparked at his hand (the only proper elemental -- the surrounding stone would muffle it) when the girl demanded the dragon’s fire. He shot her a look of sharp disbelief and shifted his magic at the last second, instead surrounding himself with a wall of ice.
For once, the dragon disobeyed. It seemed it, at least, was smarter than the other two.
And then the wraith cast firaga anyway. Heat blasted from it in a single wave, turning the once shadowed mausoleum into a makeshift oven. His magic muffled the flames, but the space was so narrow that its effects were limited. His tongue sharpened as he imagined what their duel flames would have accomplished.
The girl could die too. In fact, he’d make certain of it.
Unperturbed, she leapt into the fray with her daggers drawn before skipping back and holding out her hand in a spell. Kuja was too busy mitigating the damage with another blizzard to attack for himself, and he certainly had no intentions of protecting the girl. Perhaps the wraiths would kill her on their own. If so, he would hardly be able to contain his laughter.
But he didn’t laugh. In fact, he might have never laughed again. What happened next could only boggle the mind.
He sensed it before it struck. Wind. At first, he thought she intended to air out the smoke, but then the spell thickened. And thickened. His eyes widened as he realized a moment too late what she intended to do. There was no point trying to stop her. Even murder would only strike her down after the spell had been cast so he took that moment to steel himself instead.
Shell. Protect. Regen. The gale winds overtook them before he’d finished.
She had not cast Aero. She had not even cast Aeroga. No, whatever this was, it was its own breed of magic. The dragontamer reacted quickly, darting towards the knight faster than his condition should have allowed. He called for them to follow (though he seemed quite unconcerned with either of them) before he disappeared in a flash of light. Kuja would have refused his aid even if he’d had the time to accept it. He refused to rely on a single one of them.
These idiots would only get him killed. He would do better alone.
By the time that his last spell fortified him in healing light, he could hardly see for all the wind and debris. He planted his feet and pushed back against the nearest wall, casting even as the winds struck him like blades and the weaponized dust stung at his eyes. He couldn’t see the wraiths. It hardly mattered. He chose instead to cast an aero of his own, twisting the gale around him in a counter wind. It weakened the magic, deflecting it around him in a conical stream.
His protective magic dulled the blows of the debris to sharp stings. His regen healed the damage not quite as quickly as he’d have liked. His only concern was the structure itself. If it collapsed, there was little he could do to withstand the fallen stone, but could still teleport at least. A last resort, but it would preserve his life.
He refused to flee until he’d recovered what he’d come for. He would be the first to find it, and he would take the advantage once he did. Anything else would be a waste of his time.
You know, I didn't think it would go this direction
Why should the world exist without me?
"But did you, really?”
Kuja’s lips pursed. Did he get what he wanted? The answer was so obvious he felt no need to reply. He’d come to fill in that which he’d forgotten. There was power in knowledge, after all, and he’d loathed the idea that anyone could have played the game better than him. Still, the words resonated through him like the echoes of words he could no longer hear.
What else could he have come for? He’d played his part. He’d acted with the purpose that Zidane claimed came naturally. So why…?
“Why not stay?”
Kuja stopped. There it was, the offer he had somehow known would come. ’Why not stay?’ Zidane must have realized the absurdity in the question. Kuja had caused him nothing but strife, and he had taken pleasure in it. The razing of Burmecia, the obliteration of Cleyra, the raids on both Lindblum and Alexandria alike. Zidane knew what Kuja was and he knew how he operated. He must have known that the most dangerous place he could find himself was at Kuja’s side.
And yet…
Kuja laughed, mouth covered, shoulders shaking. ”Stay?” Zidane was nothing but an idiot. An idiot so driven to help people that he couldn’t stop for a second to consider the consequences. Had he said the same to the others? The Burmecian knight with no kingdom to call her own? The child lurking in the rubble of a ruined people? The bounty hunter, humiliated and disgraced? Had he asked his idiot question with that same sadness in his eyes?
’Why not stay? Kuja could think of a reason or twenty.
”You think I would?” Kuja turned to him, a mocking smile at his lips. Maybe he would have once. At his death. With no other options. But that was not now, and now the idea felt as appealing to him as a day trip to Terra. He’d have rather thrown himself from a cliff than listen to that endless optimism and faith in humanity.
Kuja touched at his forehead and laughed louder. Only once he’d finished did he finally look at Zidane again. ”It seems I owe you something of a favor.” Not that Kuja cared. Honor was nothing but a self-imposed chain for those too stupid to think for themselves. ”Is that really how you’d waste it?”
Kuja paused and glanced towards the knight. He had a terribly serious look behind his mottled skin and hobbling half-death. Was now really the best time? Apparently so, and with the dragontamer and the girl already charging ahead, Kuja supposed there was no reason not to indulge him.
He wouldn’t be a problem for much longer anyway.
Kuja followed his lead a few steps behind the others. The knight had graciously lowered his voice as he accused Kuja of his own self-interest. Kuja tilted his head at the knight’s offer. Clear the path and he’d offer his services? Well wasn’t he perceptive.
”I simply sought to conserve my magic,” he said. ”I never intended self-interest, but so long as you’re extending the offer…” A screech pierced the space between them. The devilish woman had chosen to attack after all. The knight chose his life over throwing himself into a fight he couldn’t win, choosing to urge Kuja forward in his stead.
Weakness? Kuja could have laughed. There was no weakness in restraint just as there was no weakness in a game played by one. He couldn’t have cared less about appearing weak, but the fact that the knight would try to bring him to indignance needled him. He glanced to him and smiled.
”If you’re so interested in my skills then I’ll not bide my time.” Loud bursts marked the beginning of the fight before them. The dragontamer slumped behind the girl and fired off some kind of handheld cannon. The girl for her part attacked with a newly found vigor, casting a rather potent Shell as she went. With his resistances bolstered, Kuja easily deflected the devilish woman’s spell with a flick of his wrist. He stepped forward.
If this was his price for another tool then he’d happily oblige.
Kuja raised a hand, muttered his incantations, and thrust it down. The space before him burst in a pressurized circle of red and black, exploding and imploding magicks all at once. Flare. The force of it thrust a rippling shockwave from the woman that rustled his skirt and hair. He turned next to the bats. Just as the dancing woman had already taken damage from the girl, several of the bats had already been picked off by the dragontamer. Still, the knight had asked for his full potential and so Kuja cast again. Aero. A cyclonic wind trapped them, pushing tighter and spinning faster until their wings were ripped from their bodies and they fell lifeless to the ground.
Point made, Kuja started forward. ”I hope you didn’t mind, but I thought to make this quick.” Rusted armor clinked behind them as the undead continued their approach. He had no intentions of slowing long enough to meet them.
They came to a crossroads -- left, right, center. The spectre appeared before him in silent vigil. Kuja hadn’t needed the reminder. Still, he eyed it at obvious attention and continued to do so even after the spirit dematerialized. He closed his eyes and tilted his head as though listening carefully. ”Might I ask one favor?” He touched at his lip to veil his smirk. ”The others spoke of a cure for their condition. Would you care to guide us?”
He waited another moment before raising his eyebrows in surprise. ”Oh?” He glanced to the left. ”How useful.” Laughter threatened to escape him, but he kept it locked away with an actor’s precision. The prospects of another pawn proven more appealing than some nebulous, half-promise of dark power. He would play the part for now.
”If that spirit is to be believed, you should find your salvation that way." Kuja crossed his arms and turned to them, waving carelessly in the direction of their cure. "Ahead is the Lich, and to the right is a trap. I’d suggest taking the first path.”
”Still a weak vessel. To be bound by time, to humanity, is useless.”
Kuja’s eyes flashed with irritation. He’d created life from nothing, and still she was unimpressed. Why had he even bothered? If she was to be believed then anything ’bound by time’ had no worth whatsoever. He’d have been fascinated to hear the alternative.
Kuja crossed his arms as he waited for her to finish breaking the thing. She cast a heightened version of slow, and then the same of haste. Why she’d come if she had no interest in inspecting it, he hadn’t the slightest idea. A waste. He shot it a cool glance.
”In making them timeless? Nothing whatsoever.” They were ageless already, and it hardly mattered to him what fate they met. In fact, it was an active hindrance to keep them alive longer than necessary. The longer they lived the more likely they were to gain a soul. They were nothing but tools, and while the time hag might have thought anything capable of breaking to be useless, Kuja certainly didn’t. Breaking could be a use of its own. In the right hands at least.
Kuja shot her a wry smirk as soon as her back was turned. Had she finally seen enough? The hideous, condescending, old-
”What would you do to not be bound by time?"
”What?” Kuja stiffened. He felt his expression jolt and his facade shatter. Immortality? It had come so suddenly that Kuja didn’t know what to say. Was she mocking him? Had she some connection to his mind? His eyes heated as he took a step forward. ”That’s impossible!”
Or was it? How long had Garland reigned over that miserable, half-dead planet? How long could a genome last? Kuja felt renewed anger swell within him. ”I’m already ageless so what could you do!”Nothing. He wasn’t bound by time, but by his own internal makings. Doomed to die from the day of his creation while the more favored genomes extended their soulless existence until the planet crumbled to dust.
He clenched his fists, turned away, and smothered his anger with a breath. She was lying. Or goading him for his incompetence. Either way, there was no reason to lose control. This was no time to cloud his mind.
It seemed the oaf had no intention of letting him go unscathed. Typical. Had Kuja the inclination, he could have spurred his dragon in seconds, but such urgency was best saved for a more dire situation. The boor below was not a raging eidolon, fangs bared at its master’s command. No, he was nothing but a moron with a death wish, and Kuja would treat him as such.
Still, he couldn’t help a twitch of irritation at the glint of blades flashing in the sun. Punching daggers? He wasn’t aware of the severity of the situation until his dragon howled in pain. A sneer crossed his lips as blood showered from her side. Had he always tossed blades around? Kuja had honestly forgotten.
His dragon fluttered her wings before twisting herself to the side and giving a forceful flap that shuddered the air below her in a cyclonic wind. It had the duel effect of thrusting her skyborne and engulfing the imbecile in a gale that struck like blades. Chains hung loosely from where the daggers had embedded themselves in her side. She must have ripped them from his hands.
Was the retaliation a tad violent for Zidane’s tastes? Perhaps, but it had been his dragon’s doing rather than his. And really, the idiot had brought it on himself.
”Lost something?” Kuja touched at his lips and trembled with silent laughter. ”Send Zidane my regards.” He tossed him one last mocking look before stroking his dragon’s neck. Her feathers bristled with rage. He could sense bloodlust coursing through her like electricity, but she heeded his command. Now ascended out of range, she spread her wings and soared towards the water. Kuja glanced back at the scene behind him.
Pointless, he thought, but still he couldn’t help a faint swell of unease. Of all the people at all the times, it just had to be one of Zidane’s allies shortly after they’d visited. Kuja’s lips pursed. He had no loyalty to Zidane. Nothing owed. Whatever Zidane had done for him, he’d done on his own volition and to his own consequences. Still, the question hounded him in a frightful echo.
Why had he come? After everything that Kuja had done. After all the pain he had caused him…
Well, if Kuja could point a lost ally in his direction, he supposed that was something like a payment to debt. Even if the company of said ally seemed more a punishment than a reward.
Kuja looked up to the clouds in softened musing. ”Lost alone in Misted skies, song from silent waters rise. Shadows hide amongst the dead, drowned in lights of blue and red.” Kuja combed his hair behind his ear. ”Zidane, your day will come.” Come for what? He couldn’t say, but he felt their song building to crescendo. Perhaps it had always been playing too softly for him to hear.
His dragon angled her wings towards the sun. He had nowhere to go.
