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year 5, quarter 3
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’Souls?’ It was the first time that the woman seemed even the slightest bit thrown, and Kuja willed himself from the self-satisfied smirk that threatened his placid facade. That was something that he had on her at least, and though it was only a singular first, the topic’s sheer importance gave him a substantial edge.
Of this, he knew more than almost anyone.
”The dregs of them at least,” he said. ”Even soulless, they require a base to drive even the most base of automation. It’s not true sentience, but if they’re to follow orders…” Kuja trailed off as she brought magic to the tips of her claws. It took him a moment to realize her intentions before he noticed the darkness enveloping a spare mage. Its eyes lit with power, and Kuja felt the bite of his nails through his sleeve. Of course she would try to outmatch him. Sheer force would only destroy his work, but he bit back his warnings even as it came to near bursting.
It would be better that she see her incompetence for herself.
And so she did. Kuja kept his smile even as her mockery made it clear she thought it his fault. ’A weak vessel.’ He wanted to laugh.
”The process is far closer to science than the arcane.” He raised a hand to gesture at the ruined mage. ”Only the living can channel magic, and invoking life is a highly delicate process. One that requires very little magic, as it happens.” Kuja glanced at her without so much as a flicker of condescension. He would leave it to her to catch the implication.
Kuja circled his hand and captured the remaining mages in a light of sparkling blue. They rose to a hover, and Kuja pushed his hair over his shoulder before he started into the next room. ”This won’t take long.”
He passed husks still awaiting their final touches and then the eggs that clustered about like the nest of some oversized bird. Finally, he reached a door that wreaked of something like Mist. The fog was imperfect and imprecise. While the properties were similar, it carried a more singular signature than Mist and couldn’t be translated exactly. Kuja braced himself before releasing the seal on the door and slipping inside. The fog rolled to meet him in waves.
As expected, he met failure before he met success. The first had only a partial awakening, the second didn’t take to it at all, and the third short-circuited with an unstable magic. By the fourth, Kuja fought nausea at his inhalation of the fog, but much to his relief, he had finally managed the proper solution. The mage’s eyes stirred like dull embers before they gradually lit in burning yellow. Kuja watched it coolly and it watched back. It blinked slowly.
Kuja’s lips pricked with a smirk. Finally.
Kuja brought it away from the fog and lazily listed off his test commands. ’Fire. Thunder. Turn. Walk.’ Its magic was satisfactory, and as it waddled away from him, Kuja let out a low laugh behind the back of his hand. What would Zidane’s mage say to him now? Something insipid no doubt, but there was nothing quite like the thrill of success. Kuja had almost forgotten.
He led it back to the woman and stood to the side to allow her a full view. It stopped as he did and watched her with dull, incurious eyes. Kuja waved to it carelessly.
”You can inspect or command it as you wish, but take caution. It has the same weaknesses as anything alive -- that being it can die. I’d advise against stressing it beyond the limits of the human body unless you’ve finished with it completely.”
Oh hey. Kuja has an opportunity to ramble about science
Why should the world exist without me?
She had no interest in anything he said -- that was clear enough. Not his notes, not his translations, not his work, and not his motivations. There was a short pause, however, when he spoke of artificial life. Kuja felt his lips twitch with a smirk at that faint sliver of attention.
And then she was on him.
He tensed as she materialized before him, but he didn’t flinch. Her speed was a surprise if not a potent one. A woman of her power had certainly mastered magics of which he had only a novice’s grasp. Somehow he’d almost expected it of her. He was no stranger to spontaneous teleportation, afterall.
No, it was her proximity that set him on edge. Her aura crackling with magic. Her claws so close to his skin. Still, he kept his expression as placid as ever and refused to avert his gaze. Her eyes bore into his with the cold interest of a bird of prey. It wasn’t a new feeling.
”Through magic and science,” Kuja said. ”Though I see little difference between the two.” He met her eye for a moment longer before he pulled away. ”I’d be more than happy to show you. Though I’ve yet to perfect the process. My work was stalled by a lack of resources, and as I’ve said, I’ve had to translate my designs to new technology. I’m still dealing with prototypes.”
He glanced at her to make certain she hadn’t lost interest again before he crossed his arms and started into the hallway. The walk wasn’t a long one, but with her chilling presence behind him, time had little meaning. The candles had hushed into darkness, but even as he brought them sputtering back to life, the halls felt no less shadowed. Her magic suffocated him with all the weight of a cold, black sea. His fists clenched against it.
By the time that he reached his teleportation stone, his nails had nearly drawn blood. He paused and glanced to her with a wry smile. ”Use it or follow along how you wish. This magic is likely trivial to you.” He stepped between his sigils and felt his own embedded magic overtake him. There was a rush of Terran runes lit in pale blue before his stomach twisted with weightlessness. For a moment there was only light before his feet touched the ground again, and it faded in the same flurry of symbols as before.
He stepped from the stone and paused only long enough to make certain she’d followed before continuing on. His methods were rudimentary in comparison to hers. He didn’t need to see her condescension.
A wave of his hand illuminated his workshop in blue-violet light. The lines were walled with bookshelves that carried his notes and schematics and musings. A table sat in one corner with an unlit candle next to an inkwell and quill, and all along the opposite wall were mages hung from hooks or discarded in piles. Beyond this room there were others where the puppets were shaped and molded and hewed together. Kuja stopped and turned to her with a wave towards the lifeless puppets.
”These are the mages ready for animation,” he said. ”I’ve yet to perfect my process, but I’ll likely manage at least one from this iteration. The souls here are fickle.” He glanced towards their lifeless forms. He’d never mastered the aesthetics of a human form, and he’d never particularly cared to try. Instead, he’d chosen a more stylized path and simply shrouded their faces in darkness. Without it, they resembled nothing more than formless dolls.
The boor prepared his weapons with nothing more than an amused smirk. Idiot. Was fighting really all he could think about? He couldn’t have been less like Zidane if he’d tried, and once again, Kuja wondered why Zidane had bothered keeping him around at all. Kuja had assumed that the man’s brooding silence had been some kind of facade hiding a deeper will, but no. Apparently he was just as oafish as he appeared. What interest he could have possibly had in Zidane eluded him.
And then he returned the insult.
Kuja’s eyes cooled. The laughter died from his lips. 'Fight me?' He looked down at him with every bit of disdain he could muster.
”No.”
It was one word, simple and cold. Kuja pushed his hair over his shoulder and turned away from him, striding instead towards his dragon. He stroked her side and combed through her feathers with his fingers. He didn’t so much as look his way. ”A weapon?” he echoed. ”Good for nothing but battle? I have no idea how you came to that conclusion.” Her feathers parted easily beneath his nails, silver and soft. ”The mind is far more formidable than any sword. Or fists in your case. I hardly had to raise a finger.”
Hardly a finger and the Mist Continent had fallen. Hardly a finger and he’d led them along like puppets. A smirk danced at the edge of his lips. ”You want a fight, find Zidane. I’ve better things to do than entertain a moron.”
Kuja vaulted his dragon in one fluid, practiced motion. She’d chosen her perch for this very reason -- to avoid any monsters or marauding idiots that lurked below. It would take the man time to climb the distance between them, and he wasn’t a dragonknight when it came to reaching him through the air. His dragon spread her wings and took her first few flaps, gathering air beneath them. Kuja spared the boor a cool glance.
”He’s in the city,” he said. ”Do tell him I spared you. A token of my newfound good will.” Kuja’s smirk deepened. ”I’d so hate to provoke his ire.”
Kuja's not making the best case for no longer being evil
Why should the world exist without me?
”You don't understand much of anything, do you?"
Kuja stiffened. His eyes crossed with irritation as he repressed a scowl. Now? He wasn’t in the mood to entertain, and for the briefest of moments he fought the urge to simply wave his hand, set the thing on fire, and be done with it. But no. That would only complicate matters.
”Did you want something?” Kuja’s lips soured as he turned to face the interruption. His dragon had at least thought to land on an elevated cliffside over the sand and consequently over any who approached from it. Kuja’s eyes narrowed on the hunched figure below. It was hideous in every meaning of the word from its jarring unkempt hair to its pointed chin to its swollen shoulders and hanging knuckles. It glared at Kuja with an intensity that promised death. Kuja’s eyebrow raised.
”Have we met?” Those grotesque features did seem vaguely familiar. Had he murdered someone the oaf cared for? Perhaps he was Alexandrian? Or Lindblumese? Kuja crossed his arms and touched at his cheek thoughtfully. For some reason, the man reminded him of Brahne. Alexandrian then, or perhaps it was just the mottled blue complexion.
But how had he found him? It seemed like quite the coincidence for an Alexandrian to simply stumble his way. Or had it been his dragon? There weren’t many who knew it. Only the Alexandrian court, the officials of Lindblum, and…
Realization struck him in an instant. ”That’s it. You’re Zidane’s friend. That useless bounty hunter.” Kuja covered his mouth as his shoulders shook with quiet laughter. No wonder he hadn’t recognized him. As far as Kuja was aware, the boor had only ever lurked in the background waiting for something to punch. How or why Zidane had brought him along was beyond him, but Kuja supposed that was his way. Between the bounty hunter and the Qu, Kuja was thoroughly convinced that Zidane had never turned anyone away in his life.
Kuja tilted his head to consider him. As far as he was aware, this wasn’t the strongest of Zidane’s allies and he relied almost entirely on close range. With Kuja’s vantage point, it would take at least a few jumps across the rocky outcropping to reach him, not that Kuja particularly cared. He had absolutely no interest in this little grudge, and he had even less interest in engaging it.
”Funny, I’ve forgotten your name. It’s almost as though you never mattered to anyone.”
Kuja’s nails dug hard into the roots of his dragon’s feathers. He'd drifted from the city in minutes rather than hours. Anything to get away and still he could feel his tormentor behind him. Zidane. Why had Kuja bothered seeing him? Why had he lowered himself to knocking on that idiot’s door? There’d been nothing to gain from it. Nothing but…
A pulse of orange light, delicate and warm. His fingertips hardly a hair from the crystalline glass. He cradled the world in the palm of his hand. Could he really do it…?
Kuja hissed a curse and grabbed at his forehead. Ever since he'd spoken with that doe-eyed puppet, strange visions had churned at the back of his mind like irritable Mist. They'd haunted his dreams, chilled him with their implications and now they rose before him in vivid colors. He’d returned to Terra. He’d killed Garland. And then he’d learned that he was…
Was…
Laughter erupted from him in bursts. He tilted his head and watched the sky through his fingers and a silver veil of hair. ”Such irony! Even you must have seen it, Zidane!” There was that name again. Why couldn’t he rid himself of it? Not now, not then, not twelve years ago when he’d thrown it into the wilderness where it belonged. Had it always been destined this way? That Zidane would live and Kuja would fall? Garland had certainly thought so.
Kuja lowered his hand and let his eyes wander to the horizon. The coast. He didn’t know where they were going -- not really. He’d let his dragon fly of her own will, and apparently she’d felt the shore. A sharp breeze struck him with the scent of seasalt.
He was alone.
”Descend,” he muttered. ”I’m done with this.”
His dragon huffed her affirmation (Irritably. Had he pulled out her feathers?) and angled herself down. Rocky beaches rose towards them at a gradual decline. Once they'd landed, Kuja slipped wordlessly from her back. His heels clicked as he approached the tumbling water. The waves were nearly deafening.
Now he knew the truth.
Zidane had saved him. No, not saved. He’d still died, hadn’t he? But he’d tried. It was incomprehensible. Zidane had won everything he could have wanted -- someone to love, a life on Gaia, endless friends that swarmed to him like fruit flies -- and yet he’d risked it all for nothing. For the chance to reach out his hand.
”I don’t understand you.” Zidane, that mage, why were they all reaching? Part of him wanted to strike them until he drew blood. What right did they have to look at him with such pity? And yet hadn’t he been the one to knock on that door?
His tail lashed where it was hidden. For that moment, there was only him, his thoughts, and the waves.
lol I never have any idea what Ultimecia will find interesting
Why should the world exist without me?
Kuja’s lips pursed. The woman hadn’t listened to a word he’d said. In fact, she hardly seemed to notice that he was there at all. She just kept reading -- a book of lore, it seemed. Well then, he at least knew what she was after and that it wasn’t him. At least not until she’d finished her page.
"And do you not fear that you'll stumble across knowledge so powerful your mind would break from it?" Her eyes set on him, and the intensity of that look made his tail bristle. It was merciless. Kuja cast his gaze aside with an almost careless air. He wouldn’t show intimidation in front of her no matter how her power chilled him.
”There’s nothing the mind can’t comprehend. Not the right mind anyway. All it needs are the proper pieces and a resilient soul.” Why did she care so much about his studying habits of all things? Unless she planned to use him as some sort glorified librarian. She still hadn’t answered his question.
She mocked him after that. Such a lovely hag, wasn’t she? Kuja bit back the sharp words that threatened to rise to his tongue. No. He refused to show cracks in his actor’s facade. If he could do it for that elephant woman then he could do it for anyone.
”For privacy.” He allowed himself a subtle scathing tone. ”I didn’t come to an underground oasis at the far end of a desert to be interrupted.” He pushed his hair over his shoulder. He loathed the idea of transparency, but it was impossible to know what she’d already found. As much as it pained him to admit, truth wasn’t always the worst option.
”I’m a weapons dealer,” he said. ”I’ve made a small fortune selling simple amulets and charms and other such trifles. They need hardly an hour of work, and those too stupid for magic will pay high prices for them. Protection from harm. Strength enhancements. The people clamor for power like flies to honey.”
He touched his chin and laughed softly. Greed was all too reliable a vice.
”My true work is in artificial life.” He turned to face her. ”Soulless puppet soldiers capable of magic and incapable of remorse. Replicating my work here has gone quicker than expected. My previous world had hardly discovered steam engines. Manufacturing was troublesome to say the least.”
He crossed his arms and considered the ceiling with an almost uninterested air. ”I have nothing in particular to hide,” he said. ”My notes and my ciphers are indecipherable -- transcribed into another dead language naturally. There’s only one other native speaker alive and his skills are lacking.”
He glanced to her. ”If you haven’t found anything of note then there’s nothing else here. I have my library, my work, and my research. Surely a witch such as yourself is above such petty curiosities?”
Something had changed in the air. No longer did the air chill him to his core. The magic that surrounded them was like a healing wind, and Kuja recoiled from it on instinct. It felt like standing on the edges of an embrace that he would never know. There was something lonely in it and detestable, and for the briefest moment, a vision swam before his eyes shrouded in fog.
A woman. He thought he saw her before him, but it was only a pale blue light. Its magic shimmered with a quiet resolve.
’Warrior of Chaos, leave them be.’ Kuja shuddered. He knew that voice and it filled him with dread. ’I can not stop you, but I can protect them til their decision is made.’
Damn her. Kuja’s eyes went cold as he watched that light and the limp forms beyond it. He couldn’t place that voice even in his deepest memories, but it froze him with a terrible, lovely power all the same. That healing light was not his to take. His hand itched to strike her where she stood.
Kuja crossed his arms as he waited for that light to fade and for whatever decision to be over and done with. In time, the shield flickered and faded, and as the room fell to the shadows once more, the two afflicted stirred to life. They seemed the same as ever though Kuja couldn’t be certain. He eyed them carefully in case they still carried in any divine protection.
”The blessed water?” Kuja echoed. The two spirits had chosen to pierce their minds rather than speak aloud. He wasn’t surprised they’d been granted different words. ”I can’t say for certain, but this looks similar to an ailment on my world that causes a limited undeath.” Kuja stepped towards them, finger thoughtfully at his lips as he eyed them closer. ”I can’t say anything for a ‘blessed water,’ but in my world it was cured with a purifying sigil. I could try to remove it myself, of course, but your condition causes all healing effects to reverse. It might very well kill you.”
Kuja looked up thoughtfully. ”The spectre shared words before it left. A reward for its coin, I believe. It offered to act as a guide through the labyrinth and it mentioned nothing of your cure.” He glanced at their mottled skin and staggering steps with a critical eye. ”I wouldn’t advise going on. The path ahead is certain to be deadly and you would only prove a hindrance.”
Kuja sighed and turned away from, touching at his cheek thoughtfully. ”I’d suggest turning back if you value your lives, but either way.” He raised a hand, drew magic to it, and cast it with a flick of his wrist. He cast in rapid succession and protective magic washed over each of them in turn. ”Protect and shell,” he said before a smirk touched his lips. ”Not that it will do the two of you much good. You stand on the precipice of death after all, and do take mind. The condition that I’m familiar with does not alleviate once you’ve lost consciousness. That which is dead cannot be risen.”
With that, he sauntered towards the open archway. The smell of damp earth met him as he drifted into the graveyard. Kuja squinted into the dull half-light, but shadows enveloped every horizon. Kuja spark a flame in his hand, but the light came muted against the shadows. Ahead. That was the only path to take either now or at the crossroads themselves. He cast a single glance towards the others. As much as he’d have liked to have left them, it wouldn’t be wise to cross a divine entity so blatantly. He would play his cards close to his chest and wait for them to orchestrate their own demise.
He tilted his head and offered them a veiled smile. ”Please,” he said. ”Allow me to lead the way.”
Upon entering, the door shuddered close behind them and a terrible wind took its place. Kuja paused, glancing carefully for danger, before his eyes caught on a human figure. A woman. She flitted through the graves with an almost unnatural grace. Kuja took a step forward before he stopped again. There was magic here. It crept on the wind with the subtle scent of lavender. Kuja felt his mind dull as it called him closer, but he remained rooted in place, grimacing as it caressed his soul.
This was nothing more than another psychic attack. Kuja took another unsteady breath, focused, and repelled it just as he’d learned to mute the Terran voices that had once seized him in their control. In a few moments, his mind cleared again and he became suddenly aware of the woman’s more monstrous features -- a tail, sharpened teeth, and predatory eyes. He also noticed the metallic rattling behind him, and a glance revealed a small battalion of skeletal soldiers advancing on their would-be prey.
Kuja waved a hand, tossing an Esuna at anyone who needed before continuing forward. ”Brief word of advice, don’t look at the woman.”
It had been three hours since he’d taken flight, and still Kuja had no real direction. There were the cities -- Provo, Sonora, Torensten -- but there he’d find only aimless wealth and hedonism. There were the plethora of shrines and ruins he’d frequented so often with a scholarly eye, but what good would they do him if he had no desires of his own? There was his workshop in the forest, the ethereal divider, the windstricken tower, but there was nothing else to gain from them.
He’d scoured the planet in search of truth, and now he had his answer. Nothing had ever mattered.
Kuja couldn’t have said what he’d done since he’d left Zidane that morning. He’d wanted out. He’d never wanted anything more than to be free of that familiar face and those eyes wide with concern. Zidane would have helped him -- that was his way, wasn’t it? That princess, that puppet, that child, that rat. Zidane spread good will as naturally as Kuja spread destruction. Zidane would have helped him if he’d asked. Perhaps even if he hadn’t.
Instead, Kuja had fled. He couldn’t stand the sight of his outstretched hand.
Kuja let out a shaking laugh and ran his fingers through his hair. Sand dunes rushed beneath him as quickly as his dragon’s shadow. The sun sank low in a dusky sky. He had nowhere to go.
His dragon brought him to his desert hideaway. Had he asked her to? He didn’t remember. This was a place where no one would find him, a place that would only echo with his own step.The thought of it felt quiet and hollow, but as soon as they began their descent, he knew that something was wrong.
He slipped from his dragon before she’d fully settled, landing with a muffled click in the thin grasses. The oasis looked just as he’d left it -- the same clear water, the same desert flowers, the same atrium walls -- but the air wasn’t right. His surveillance was gone, his wards shattered. No monster could have done this. No power he knew, and yet something had broken his strongest spells like brittle china. Kuja glanced over the wreckage, touched at the remains of his runnic wards, and glanced at the door.
Whatever had found him, he wasn’t alone.
His steps echoed through quiet halls, his magic cracking beneath his boots like broken glass. The intruder had wreaked a path of destruction and trailed its own chilling presence behind it. The air felt still. Timeless. He felt it shudder in the back of his neck and set his fur on end. There was something familiar about it. Something focused. Cold. Without mercy. Gone was his own ethereal presence, his violet aura and spells crafted as finely as spider’s silk, and in its place…
Kuja froze. Something that could have overpowered his spells with a wave of its hand, that could drown his magic in dread, that could find him in an instant? He’d seen this before, but no. It couldn’t have been. He didn’t sense another Terran soul.
He hardly noticed the discarded books, the ruined pages, or the food haphazardly knocked to the floor. No, he kept his attention ahead and his focus clear. It came from the library and so he would waste no time in finding it. Still, as he rounded the corner, he couldn’t help a flutter of fear. For a moment he thought he it -- dark armor lit in pulsing crimson -- but then it was gone, replaced by nothing more than his own disheveled library and a woman in red. Kuja’s eyes sharpened.
What did she want from him?
”And do you comprehend what you've found?" Her voice was as cold as her magic and Kuja felt his lips thin on instinct. ”Or are you but a child playing with things it does not understand?"
A child? His eyes panned over her again. She looked like something he would have sculpted for his palace -- an angel and a demon contrasting on the duality of man. Her dress was tightly formed and clung to her skin by what he could only assume to be magic. Feathers draped its edges extending out into a set of black wings. Even her hair, nails, and feet screamed her inhumanity, and in that moment, Kuja felt almost frozen by the power that pulsed from her. She wasn’t Garland, but the effect was all the same.
He’d do well not to miss his step.
”There’s nothing that can’t be understood given the right mind.” Kuja drifted inside, his arms crossed. He stopped at the edge of her table and touched thoughtfully at his lips. ”Knowledge grants insight and insight grants power. I’ve annotated every text inscribed in the common tongue and developed ciphers for the others. They stem from an ancient race, but I’ve translated at least half of each. I have a propensity for dead languages.”
His eyes flicked to her. Up close, he could see her yellowed irises, her ornamental jewels, and the precise curves of her tribal markings. The effect was hideous though he wasn’t about to let on. He’d never been one for direct confrontation.
”As much as I’d love to wax on about philosophy, I’m afraid I have questions of my own. Might I be graced with your intentions here?”
Skeletal fingers grasped his offering. Kuja took one step back, eyeing the specter carefully. If it attacked, would he have time to defend himself? He only had a few short moments to guess before it turned its shrouded head towards him and spoke.
Kuja’s eyes cooled. The words pierced his mind -- Respect. Guide. Opening the door -- and he cleared his expression so that it wouldn’t see him sneer. For not the first time, he felt like a pawn being led along on silver strings. There was no point in resisting its pull. It hardly mattered when he planned to drive a knife through his master’s hand.
A wave of magic prickled at the back of his neck, and Kuja tensed even as it slipped off him as easily as water. This corruption had a different target in mind -- or rather three of them. Kuja turned to find them each struggling against it in their own way. Did they pose more of a threat to the Lich? Kuja glanced back to the specter. There was no denying the connection between the offering and his acceptance, but it seemed far too convenient that he alone had been spared by this envoy of the undead king. It felt like a summons. It felt like a command.
The skeletal servant turned and raised a hand to the archway. The door shuddered and creaked open without resistance. Beyond the veil, a graveyard stretched in all directions -- dismal, gray, and weathered by time. Once again, the wraith’s chilling voice seized his mind, and once again Kuja braced himself as his tail bristled.
’Salvation for his patriots?’ Even with his mind pierced through, it seemed the specter’s understanding of him had its limits. Ahead he’d find what he sought and to the right some manner of ancient being that hardly interested him. If the Lich sought his attention so terribly then there was no point wasting time. Kuja itched to cut his puppet strings.
”This...is not good.”
Only once the specter had vanished did Kuja glance to the others. Two of them staggered, pale with nausea. The girl moved as though through water. Slow. That was easy enough to diagnose, but as for the other two…
Had they turned green?
Realization struck him like a bolt of lightning. It looked different than he was used to, but he knew that magic. That pestilence. Kuja’s lips twitched with a smirk. Zombie.
Kuja wondered if he should feign ignorance and offer to heal them or if he should simply leave them to their own devices. Would a curaga be enough to take their lives? Or would they suspect he’d known better? Kuja hardly had the time to weigh his options before the girl finally closed the distance between them and took their hands in hers.
Magic drew to her in healing waves. Was she really about to-?
The effect was immediate. As soon as the curative spell touched their skin, they were stifling screams and staggering with pain. The idiot with the dragon coughed up sickly blood. The knight twisted away and vomited on the floor. They could barely stand let alone fight, and still their coloration was unchanged.
She'd done it for him! Kuja shoved a hand over his mouth, turning away as his lips twitched and his shoulders shook with laughter. If it had suited him, he could have killed the two right then without raising a hand, but he’d only have wasted his magic. The two with any fight to them were on death’s door and their only defense was a white mage armed with knives. No, if he maintained appearances then the girl might still be of use to him and the others would die on their own.
Why had he bothered plotting anything at all? He couldn’t have saved these idiots if he’d tried.
The others fought well -- or well enough that Kuja didn’t have to raise a hand at least. He watched in disgust as emaciated mounds of tattered fur came snarling and snapping from the darkness. They never reached him. The girl continued her use of spells (not a terrible idea -- perhaps she was less dull than the rest of them) while the knight rended them apart with his sword. One of them landed squirming at Kuja’s feet, and his lips narrowed as he gathered electricity to his fingers and shot it into the monster’s frame. Kuja’s nose wrinkled against the faint odor of singed fur. He’d preferred to avoid any such magic with the air so still and dead.
Still, it was nothing compared to what accosted him next.
“Can you throw a Fire or two at them?” It was the girl that asked it. Kuja hardly had time to shoot them a sharp, disbelieving glance before the would-be dragontamer gave his grim reply and brought the magic to his blades. Had they forgotten everything he’d said?
The heat him in waves -- one spell and then another. The ragged fur caught fire instantly, fumigating the tunnel with a smell far worse than the flesh of zombies. The wolves were walking infernos completely ablaze even after the idiot put them down with blades and gunfire (why hadn’t he done that in the first place?). Kuja’s jaw clenched. These tunnels likely hadn’t been ventilated in centuries and weren’t about to start now. The temperature had already risen to a low broil. What was he think-
”Vordun, fireball at me!”
Kuja’s lips parted in disbelief. ”Pardon?” But it was too late. The dragon opened its mouth, sparked flames at its tongue, and breathed. Kuja thrust up a hand, muttering a spell on reflex, and cast a reflective barrier around himself, the girl, and the knight before the flaming projectile could hit its mark. The fire burst from the man in an explosion of light and heat. The cramped hall acted as a funnel, directing the flames in a concentrated tidal wave that thrust in both directions. Kuja felt the pressure against his barrier, but it stood fast, shimmering as it redirected the flames in a doubled shot towards its target.
Trapped in their would-be tomb, the heat condensed by the second until the air scorched his lungs. By the time the flames died, the monsters flickered on the ground, charred and blackened. Unfortunately, the absolute, unconditional moron hadn’t been emulated by his own hand. No, despite all worldly justice, the dragontamer stood completely unharmed and seemingly unaware of the consequences of his own actions. Was he even capable of that level of awareness? Or was he nothing but a particularly dim-witted child without any concept of restraint? With that dragon, the imbecile had blundered into a modicum of power, and it seemed he was incapable of staying his hand.
Kuja felt the words rise sharp to his tongue. He felt every curse of which he was capable set their target with deadly accuracy, but he stifled them as completely as his own hateful expression. No. Lashing out would do nothing but grant him a hostile reputation. Idiots never learned, and Kuja doubted it would matter for much longer. Kuja never wasted such effort on those condemned to die.
And so he took as deep a breath as he could manage (still shallow -- his head was spinning from asphyxiation) before muttering a spell. ”Aero.” A gust of wind howled through the tunnel so violent in its confined space that its edges struck like daggers. Kuja winced at the force, but it ended as quickly as it came. The carbon monoxide had been dispersed through the labyrinth, and the temperature had fallen below its life-threatening threshold. It still sweltered. It still suffocated him in the oppressive oven they’d trapped themselves in, but sweat and dehydration were infinitely preferable to hyperthermia.
”That should help.” Kuja kept his expression even -- almost pleasant. He would leave it to the others to condemn the perpetrator as thoroughly as he had. Though by his luck, they’d be too stupid to make the connection.
The rest of the miserable journey wasn’t particularly eventful. Just as he’d suspected, the place was a labyrinth and a rather old one at that. Kuja eyed the aging stone and the hardened earth beyond that. It reminded him far too vividly of the Terran shrines though it didn’t come as much of a surprise when he expected to face Lich. Could the Terran guardian have been transported here as well? It certainly seemed like the kind of haunt it would have chosen though attacking so blatantly went against its usual character. Or what little character it had under Garland’s leash at any rate. Even with all their power, the guardians had never strayed from the perfect obedience that their master commanded.
Kuja couldn’t help but wonder what actions they would take if given a will of their own. Kuja could only imagine that they’d collapse like puppets with broken strings.
His musings served to distract from the magic that steadily grew more oppressive than the heat. What had once been nothing but ominous flickering had condensed into a thick, ethereal fog. It chilled him like Mist, grasping at his soul in sharp tendrils. What exactly waited for them at the ruins’ core? The magic reeked of death. Its corruption permeated the very air he breathed, and he cast the strongest shell he could manage to shield himself from its influence. His magic did well to nullify it, but he could still feel it creeping at the edge of his vision. Something watched them from beyond the veil. Of that, he was certain.
Kuja waited for the others to crawl through a tight tunnel before flicking his hand to the side and terraforming the rocky debris out of his way and back into the earthen walls. He let out a sigh of relief as the tunnel finally opened around them. The heat had dispersed here despite the musty air. At least now he could breathe.
Something rolled beneath his step. He looked down curiously to find that his heel had slid on a pile of tarnished coins. He bent down carefully to turn one over in his hand. They carried no magic, but he could sense some aura of importance behind them regardless. What were those runes etched along the edges? Kuja ran a finger across them. Yes, if he wasn’t mistaken-
”Are you—do you see the words clear as day?”
Kuja looked up towards the startled girl and followed her gaze to the stone archway. He frowned, uncertain what she meant, before he saw it. Terran writing. Kuja froze, staring at it without comprehension. How? Why? The shock chilled him deeper than any magic, but in a breath it was gone, replaced by the same runic language that lined the coins. Kuja blinked slowly. Whatever magic dwelled here had seized his mind. He knew the feeling too well to mistake it for anything else. A psychic connection. His tail bristled with indignation.
Kuja straightened, scowling to himself. ’The living are not allowed here? That wouldn’t be a problem then, would it? After all, if that mage was to be believed, he had already died.
He sensed the rush of magic before he felt the wind. Before them stood an apparition swathed in black and carrying a scythe like the specter of death in a children’s fable. It watched them from behind its hooded shroud before quietly reaching forward a hand. The girl let out a startled cry wondering what it was they were supposed to do. The men readied their weapons. Still, the specter remained motionless and expectant.
Kuja glanced at the coins on the floor. Then he glanced to the specter. After only a moment’s consideration, he pushed past his single-minded allies, magicked forward the monk's coin, and placed it decisively into the phantom’s skeletal palm.
