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year 5, quarter 3
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The Crystal. There it was a again. The same absurd tale about ending all life in a dimension only theorized in the annals of Terran archives. Kuja pressed his thumb to his lips, brow twitching into a furrow. It wasn’t something that either Zidane nor the mage could have imagined -- not that they would have had the depth of mind to lie about it if they’d wanted to. No Gaian alive knew about the soul cycle let alone Memoria. With all the facts spread before him, there was only one conclusion he could draw.
Zidane spoke the truth.
He laughed shortly to mask his own unsteady breath. If he’d learned he would die, that it was all meaningless, and that he’d never been anything but Garland’s toy. If he’d had the power of a thousand souls at his fingertips, would he have done it? A light pulsed within him -- perhaps as a memory or perhaps merely imagination. He felt himself drawn towards it as though mesmerized, felt the urge to touch its smooth glass, yet he stayed his hand. He stood perched at the ledge of a cliff, gazing down into darkness. Could he have thrown himself off the edge?
No. But he might have tried.
”You really are an idiot.” He walked past Zidane (or perhaps closer?) to consider the room’s peeling wallpaper. ”Risking your life to save mine? And if I was dying anyway…” The word struck him with nausea. His voice dropped to a mutter. ”I don’t understand you.” It felt right somehow as though he’d said it all before. Only an idiot would have thrown himself into death’s grasp for the life of a dying man, and after all Kuja had done…
He finally turned to face him. ”What do you plan now?” The fire had left his eyes and with it, the biting derision that came to him naturally. ”There’s nothing here. I’ve searched every corner of this forsaken planet, and there’s no portal or airship or anything else that could leave it. I thought I’d return to see my plans come to fruition, but now…” His lips twitched into a smirk. ”Well, there’s no point, is there?”
He turned away again, biting at his nail. He’d been granted his life, his freedom, complete anonymity, and for what? He’d never lived a day without a fight for his survival. Without it, he felt strangely hollow.
”You’ll be searching for your friends,” he said. ”Or gathering new ones. They’ve always swarmed to you like flies.” The princess, her knight, the puppet, the rat. No one had ever been beyond Zidane’s reach. For the first time in years, his tail gave a violent lash that stirred its shroud.
”I got what I came for,” he said. It was as close to a thank you as he’d get. ”I won’t waste any more of our time.”
Their path was less than pleasant. The corpses were no surprise -- they’d killed the undead themselves after all -- but the mangled remains of their victims were distasteful to say the least. Kuja lingered by them, lips drawn in disgust. The smell of rot hung heavy in these tunnels unhelped by the fetid air. It was nothing he couldn’t handle, but that didn’t mean he wanted to venture further if he could help it. He allowed the others to breach the threshold before bracing himself and pushing on after them. If nothing else, they’d act as decent shields.
They descended nearly single file through the catacomb’s tight corridors. Crumbling stone confined them to a prison only slightly taller than the knight that trudged before him. Kuja lingered several steps behind, eyes sharp and careful on the figures that flickered in the light of the flame he held in his palm. They were liabilities. Kuja knew a threat when he saw it, and he knew that his faux-allies would be the type to turn on him should he try to claim the promised power for himself. In these labyrinthine halls, it would be easy enough to thin their numbers or perhaps merely to slip away. They would clear a path for him. They would fight whatever threat lurked at the temple’s center, and then he would be rid of them. Either by his negligence or his magic, they would die all the same.
Howls. The sound of scrabbling paws. Kuja stopped with the rest of them, hand raised in case anything breached his human shields. The girl with the white magic hesitated, hands tight on her daggers. ”Does anyone…feel that? From…?” Kuja shot her a questioning glance. Had she only just sensed the magic? It reeked of corruption and something dark that made his tail bristle. His instincts told him that he should flee in the other direction, but he’d never been one to submit to the base warnings of his subconscious mind. The magic was nothing but a confirmation of power. He would claim it at any cost.
As before, the knight was the only one with anything useful to say. Kuja smirked. ”Would you rather be surrounded?” Kuja gave a short laugh. ”If you want to go darting off into the darkness, by all means. I’m sure the undead would be happy to take you.” The paws pounded closer by the second. ”There’s only one direction they can come from here, and this place is likely a maze. I think the answer’s obvious.” Or at least, it benefitted him to make it seem that way. If they fled the coming threats, it would be him in the sights of anything that gave chase, and magic wasn’t the best tool for tunnels so confined.
No, he’d let his unhappy companions deal with this for him.
Magic sparked at his fingertips. ”Now if we’re done talking…” His eyes sharpened on the darkness ahead. It waited with an unsympathetic gaze.
Unless Genesis rejects this, I will let you close out the scene
Why should the world exist without me?
Genesis melted at his touch. So close, Kuja could feel the man’s heart beating -- could smell the man’s earthy must somewhere between coffee and chestnuts. Genesis was captivated, he knew from the hazy look in his eye that conveyed longing and resignation in equal measure. Above them, the walls rattled to life with a stream of heated air that flushed across his bare flesh. Kuja pressed harder on his chest, tracing a line down his sternum to the base of his ribs. Since the moment they’d locked eyes, Kuja had teased the man along on shimmering strings. There could be no escape.
Genesis seized his wrist. Kuja blinked before his eyes furrowed. Why was he still resisting?
”Wing.” The word came so belabored that Kuja wondered if he’d heard it correctly. ”I have a wing,” Genesis said again before throwing himself backwards with a groan. Kuja felt his fingers curl.
”And?” It felt more like an excuse than anything. A non-sequitur meant to waste his time. He gave Genesis the chance to add something more valid. Perhaps the wing was painfully molting? Or it was actually invisible and unable to contract? Nothing came. Kuja felt his lips purse before he forced his expression clear. He doubted he could do anything for his flickering irritation.
”If you’re self-conscious about it then I’ll repeat. I hardly care.” He supposed he could partially empathize with the thought of hiding away one’s own abnormalities. After all, was that not what he’d done for nearly a decade? But that empathy could only stretch so far when matters of pleasure were on the line.
”I don’t know how it is where you came from, but we warred against two nations of sentient rats, the harold of our kingdom was an oversized penguin, and I have a tail. So unless that wing somehow makes you impotent, I don’t see the problem.”
Rather than wait for some other ridiculous insecurity to cross the man’s mind, Kuja took the opportunity to make his advance. There was no need to push him back -- the man had already left himself vulnerable. Instead, Kuja merely pressed himself on top of him, pinning him down by one shoulder before trailing his hand up to tangle in his hair. A rather dry smirk crossed him as he leaned forward until his lips were hardly an inch from the man’s ear and muttered, ”Now if you wouldn’t mind.”
The battle was unremarkable. His spell obliterated half of them, leaving piles of dessicated husks where there were any remains at all. Kuja lowered his hand and crossed his arms, waiting for the others to do the cleanup for him. The girl relied on twin daggers when not using magic. The armored knight charged head first in a boorish show of strength. And then there was the idiot with the dragon.
His weapon magicked into his hand, split in two, and then aimed towards the door. His own efforts weren't of greatest consequence, however, as his next command was for the dragon itself. Fire. The dragon did as commanded, breathing in and then blasting flames through the narrow opening. Kuja’s lips pursed at the sight, and sure enough, the heat hit in an acrid shockwave shortly after. The flames seared the stale air, and while the fire itself gave off only heat, the dry flesh it targeted was quick to burn. Now the tightly enclosed space simmered like an oven, the baked air stinging at his lungs with the bitter smoke of burning corpses.
Kuja’s eyes flicked to the dragonkeeper in disdain. There had been a reason he’d chosen a non-elemental spell.
The flames didn't do much to halt the undead either. He supposed it weakened them. Probably. But they still shambled forward, still groped at living flesh, only now they were on fire. The door he’d shattered had been constructed from nothing but aged wood, and it was hardly alone. One undead staggered forward and until it collapsed onto a splintered desk, setting the scrolls atop it alight with the desk short to follow. Another lurched through the ritual circle, knocking over candles as it went. With all the stumbling, the ritual decor, and the scattered scrolls and magical supplies, the room was quickly ablaze before the undead could be taken by the flames.
By the time the fight was over, the room looked as though it had been the victim of a particularly malicious arsonist.
Kuja let the seconds creep past as a chance for every one of them to consider the true depths of what had just occurred. Then he raised a hand. ”Blizzard.” A chilled wind enveloped them, and he directed his magic towards every flaming consequence of the idiot’s actions. With the fire extinguished, he started towards the man, heels clicking with every purposeful step. Only when he stood directly at the dragonkeeper’s side did deign to look at him, fixing him with nothing but a sidelong glance.
”You asked my advice,” he said with a smile. ”Dragons never do well confined to small spaces.” Kuja flipped his hair over one shoulder and sauntered past him into the shadowed path beyond the door.
Should danger arise, the dragonkeeper would be the first to die. Kuja would make certain of it.
Oh no. He misinterpreted Loveless. Is this too much for Genesis?
Why should the world exist without me?
Genesis trailed behind him and stopped when he did, turning an appreciative eye towards the window. ”I suppose anywhere can look appealing when it’s from a distance,” he said, and Kuja considered it quietly. He’d spent enough time on his dragon to know the view from above. But what could distance do for a landscape so thick with Mist that it seemed a sea of eternal fog? What could it do for the endless, soul-drained wastes of continents nearly uninhabitable? And what could it do for a half-dead world inhabited by nothing of worth? All in all, Kuja understood the sentiment, but couldn’t have disagreed more. It was life what gave a world value. Without it, there could be no beauty at all.
Genesis slid off his coat, and Kuja smirked at the tight-knit sweater and the hardened muscles of his bare arms. The man was still lithe. He carried the same beauty that touched at glistening lips and long eyelashes. Kuja’s eyes inched over him, gleaming their interest. Certain allowances were to be expected from a soldier, he supposed. Calloused hands. Broadened shoulders. All things considered, he’d done well to preserve the femininity that came to him naturally.
This would do just fine.
”Kuja?” Genesis started past him and then perched on the bed, something uneasy at his eyes. Something less than optimal. ”I suppose there’s something I should bring up before this goes any further.”
”Oh?” Kuja eyed him carefully. He couldn’t for the life of him think of something that would dissuade him now, but he’d experienced enough to know that most Gaians were insecure in some way about their bodies. He supposed he couldn’t blame them. Their beauty was a matter of chance rather than meticulous crafting after all.
For a moment, Genesis was silent. He sat with his hands on his knees, pensive, before he finally spoke. ”Wings of light and dark spread afar. Wings stripped away, the end is nigh.”
Kuja raised his eyebrows and waited for more, but all he received was an expectant look. His eyebrows twitched into a furrow. ”You’re apprehensive?” Light and dark separating only to be stripped away. The imminent end. Perhaps it had something to do with his troubled history? ”I assure you that whatever it is, I hardly care.”
Kuja felt his voice tinge with impatience. Would Genesis reveal his anxieties? Kuja had no way of knowing, but he wasn’t particularly interested in them regardless. He’d come here for a reason, after all, and he'd hate for his blood to cool.
Kuja drifted towards him and touched at the center of his sweater, a smirk touching at his lips. ”You’ve already caught my eye.”
The door creaked open and Zidane stood before him. Their eyes met, blue on ethereal blue, and Kuja froze at the sight of him. That genome’s form, youthful and feminine. That face, teeming with emotion like no other of their kind. That expressive tail swaying behind him to a familiar beat. It was like a step back through time to the relentless child he’d so hated, to the idiot tool he’d strung along, to something indistinct playing at the back of his mind in an unfamiliar melody.
Zidane’s eyes widened, and he thrust himself back, raising his arms defensively, body ready to fight and tail swishing its aggravation. Kuja felt his gaze cool. If he wished for hostility then that would make this far easier.
Except it didn’t. After the initial shock had passed, Zidane relaxed his stance. The panic left him though its replacement wasn’t much better. He looked wary. Cautious. And perhaps a little sad.
”So do you remember? Who you are? What happened?” The words came quiet and almost somber. Kuja shot him a scrupulous look. Of all the things…
”That’s what you have to say to me? No ‘why are you here?’ ‘What are you plotting?’ You've always been an idiot.” With Zidane already pulled away from him, Kuja had no issues strolling right through the door, raising a hand to magic it closed behind him, and sauntering past Zidane without so much as a dismissive glance. He stopped by the window, arms crossed and hip cocked to the side.
Somehow, his anxieties had already melted away. Kuja’s disdain for his successor came naturally.
”But to answer your question, no. I don't. Your black mage pet told me everything. Or your ’friend,’ whatever you’re calling it.” Kuja glanced back carelessly. ”I’ve released it by the way. Somewhere near the desert though I haven't kept track of it since then. I had no more use for it, and it didn’t seem keen on my company.”
Nor was he keen on the mage’s. Its sentience unsettled him.
”But I'm not here to catch up. I wish to have the story completed. What the black mage implied…” Kuja’s glanced to the side. There was that same chill, that same fear he’d always known. Death. The word refused to touch his lips.
”I want to hear it from you.” Kuja uncrossed his arms and turned towards him. Once again, he felt the itch to ensnare Zidane in magic. To force words out of him that would likely have been freely given. It would have been far easier that way -- easier on him at least.
Instead, Kuja stood vulnerable and almost pleading. He refused to let it show in his eyes even as his shrouded tail swished its unease. He would never give Zidane that place of power.
”What happened at the end. What I don’t remember. Tell me.”
The name had haunted him for weeks, months, perhaps for the entire sixteen years since his successor's creation. Zidane. It was such a terrible name. It came bitter off his tongue and darkened everything it touched. It was a herald of a new era. The pinnacle of a fool’s perfection. The harbinger of destruction to the one thing that mattered most. Him.
And yet, Zidane was the only person that Kuja could trust to tell him the truth. The irony didn't fail to escape him.
Kuja leaned over the wings of his dragon to watch the world below. Fields and wild foliage swept beneath him in level sheathes lacking detail. He couldn’t guess where to find Zidane -- he hardly knew him after all -- but he felt his presence somewhere on the planet and growing closer. Zidane had the only Terran soul alive other than his own.
It had been some time since the mage had finally told him what it knew. That Kuja had forgotten. That he’d overthrown Garland only to be faced with his own impending mortality. That he’d razed Terra (how he wished he remembered -- it deserved to burn) before turning his eye to existence itself. It was absurd. Laughable almost. And yet, when he considered it all carefully, he couldn’t call it implausible. Given the stated circumstances, would he have done it? It wasn’t uncharacteristic of him.
It felt almost fated that Zidane would have returned to him in the end. If the black mage was to be believed, Zidane had risked his own life in an attempt to save his. The idiot. What happened next, the mage couldn’t say. The implications twisted inside him as it had since he’d learned the end of his story. There was only one way to know for certain.
His senses led him to Torensten. He supposed it was only natural when it reminded him so much of Lindblum. The winding spires. The grinding of pre-industrial gears. The weakened monarchy dictated more by commerce than blood. Kuja landed his dragon far outside the city limits and wandered the streets in search of the one he’d once hated most. He combed every sector of the city until he pinpointed that faint, crimson connection to a rustic inn not far from the city’s northern edge.
And then he stopped. The building loomed over him in two stories of weathered brick. The doors stood unlocked and waiting. Kuja did not approach them.
What was he supposed to say?
He must have imagined it a thousand times. Approaching his door. Knocking politely. And then...what? ’Why hello, Zidane. Pleasure to see you. I’m terribly sorry for abusing the woman you love, toying with your life, and obliterating every city on Gaia. Would you mind if I came in?’ Even the thought made him grimace. What would he do if Zidane turned his blades towards him? What would he do if he didn’t?
Kuja longed to just lure Zidane into a trap and be done with it all, but he’d never been one to complicate a simple task. Instead, he steeled himself and stalked through the inn’s double doors. At only a little past dawn, the lobby was empty but for the inn’s groggy looking owner and an old woman watching the sunrise. Kuja approached the counter and asked for Zidane, throat tightening when he was given a room. He drifted towards the stairs, heart fluttering like a caged bird desperate to escape.
He didn’t know what he was doing. He didn’t have a plan. For the first time since he'd left Terra, he was walking blind. This itself made his head spin, but it was all the worse knowing what waited behind that fated door. His hand paused before he took a breath, tightened his fist, and rapped three times against the wood.
Don't take it personally. Kuja holds everyone with disdain.
Why should the world exist without me?
One of his new begrudging allies had a dragon. Kuja blinked at it, tilting his head in interest. It was young -- still hardly the size of a mastiff -- with beady eyes and a thick plating of scales. Kuja couldn’t identify its species at a glance, but he supposed it was useless to try to pin it down to any on Gaia. It turned to him in particular, hackles raised and lips drawn. Kuja’s eyes flicked to the man beside it, a rather rough and unassuming man at that. His expression matched the dragon’s, and Kuja sighed. This man had clearly had little to no experience with them before.
”Just a word of advice, dragons are notoriously territorial.” Kuja glanced to it again before tilting his head and looking to the sky without interest. ”It must smell mine. I left her safely outside the city as she wouldn’t do well confined to small spaces. Dragons never do.” Perhaps he would notice the insinuation, perhaps he wouldn’t. If he didn’t know as much then he’d likely either lose the creature or lose his life in time. Dragon taming was not something to be taken lightly.
The monk spoke of legends and stories and the kind of thing Kuja knew to be mere myth until it wasn’t. He paused only when she mentioned the two battling forces -- Harmony and Discord. It drudged unfortunate connotations from the back of his subconscious. Hadn’t that been what the storybook knight had been blathering about? His tail prickled with unease from behind its shroud. The battle of discord and harmony. If it wasn’t myth then it was obvious on which side he stood.
And then there was the Lich. He crossed his arms, incredulous at the mention of it. That was what he found the most doubtful no matter what his vision had shown him. He knew Lich. He’d spoken with Lich on forced occasion, and while the guardian wasn’t much for conversation, it wasn’t much for directing the course of mortals either. It did its job. It lurked in its dark, earthen shrine, and it kept very much out of his way. Perhaps this was a different iteration, but he doubted it. He’d yet to meet a single familiar face that came from an alternate dimension. In all likelihood it would be nothing but a misnamed monstrosity destined only for disappointment and anticlimax.
He only really perked with interest as she pulled four relics from her robes. The coins were tarnished, browned, and absent of any known magic. He took his carefully and turned it over in his hand. The edges were inscribed with a peculiar language he couldn’t identify -- lost most likely. If he’d had the time, he’d have liked to study it, break it down for its components, attempt to decipher the writings long dead. Perhaps he’d find more text within the temple’s depths that he could cross-reference. For now, he merely magicked it away for safekeeping. If nothing else, he would leave with a promising curiosity.
The monk hurried them off without further fanfare, leading them through the cool, dry night with ease. The halls were drenched in shadow and smelled of dead air. He’d seen these studies abuzz with scholars and priests not long ago, but they were long dead now if the rot told him anything. It was almost a shame. He’d appreciated the chance at halfway intelligent conversation even if every word they’d spoke was wrong.
She brought them to a dour room lit with candles and choked with incense. Kuja wrinkled his nose, eyeing the circle of chanting monks that surrounded them. A faint magic pulsed from the words but he couldn’t tell if it actually did anything. From beyond the next door came the telltale moans and scratching of the undead. The full effect felt like something out of a ritual sacrifice.
Kuja had only just taken in his surroundings when the monk nodded towards them and wished them luck. Kuja blinked in surprise. ”Pardon?” he asked, but it seemed to be some kind of cue. All the monks immediately stopped their chanting and rose as one, filing out the door. His eyes sharpened. ”You’d rather we not strategize then? Do you want us to succeed or-?”
A rotting fist thrust itself through the door, showering wooden splinters in its wake. Kuja let out an exasperated breath through his teeth and back-stepped away from it. It seemed the idiots wanted nothing more than to toss them into the fire.
The girl in the cape moved first, asking that they stay in place as the cast her spells. In moments, Kuja felt the familiar wave of protective and quickening magic wash over him, and he couldn’t help a smirk of mild respect. At least someone here was capable of a decent thought.
The unqualified dragon tamer acted next, calling said dragon to his side. A reckless move in Kuja’s opinion, but he supposed he didn’t have time to argue. They hadn't had time to discuss each other's strengths.
The armored one asked for experience, and Kuja shot him a dry smile. ”Does it really matter?” The dead were coming whether they were ready or not. If only they’d had time to ask these questions earlier.
Kuja steadied his stand and brought magic to his hand, readying it at his chest. He’d rather have avoided bloodying his hands altogether or at least sent someone in his stead, but he supposed it couldn’t be avoided. He’d find the source of this power himself and use it to destroy whatever had the audacity to command him. His eyes narrowed.
”It’s better to take the initiative than allow them to attack on their own terms.” He smirked dryly before muttering an incantation and thrusting his hand down. ”Flare.”
The air crackled with his magic, and it released from him in a burst of force. The door shattered into a rain of half-disintegrated splinters showering them in an implosion of orange-red light. Even backed against the wall, the shockwave was nearly enough to stagger him, and would surely do far worse to whatever had pressed itself so close to the barrier that had once stood between them.
He readied his hand again, backing into the open doorway behind him. Whatever remained of their numbers would swarm through the manmade bottleneck he’d created. He hoped that his allies proved more useful than they were intelligent.
Genesis’ eyes flickered with irritation and he pulled back, letting out a short breath of irritation. Kuja laughed under his breath, tilting his head to consider him. It suddenly didn’t matter how Genesis reacted. No, Kuja had said his piece, and whether the man approved was in his court.
After a moment, Genesis laughed with him. It seemed Kuja’s boldness had paid off, or at least not shattered his chances. ”Oh, I’ve never minded playing the role of the water,” he said before reaching towards him again. He reached towards Kuja again, trailing his hand from his shoulder and up his neck before brushing his stray hair aside. Kuja leaned into his touch with a mysterious smile.
”Is it not the wind that makes the storm?” He played a finger down the back of Genesis’ hand, pausing at his wrist. ”I have never found pleasure without triumph.” He gave a light, chiming laugh before pulling away, bending down to gather Genesis’ discarded coat. He handed it back before muttering a spell, bringing a spark of fire to his hand, and casting it upon himself to increase his resistance. In truth, he doubted he’d need it. His blood had warmed enough already.
”Shall we then?”
His hotel wasn’t far -- only a few blocks away -- and they came to it quickly. It wasn’t the kind of place Kuja would have frequented if he’d had the choice. No marble, no gold, no statues, and not a single glimpse of wealth, but it was better than the remote inns he’d been forced to rent before now. He supposed it was better than could have been expected given the circumstances. It was clean at least. The floors were polished, and it was well lit with both the overhanging lights and the tall glass windows alike. He took to what he’d learned was called an elevator and laughed softly to himself as he pushed a button.
”Technology is truly fascinating,” he said. ”If I ever return, I think I’ll implement the design myself. I’ve had to rely upon teleportation before now.” The doors opened and he sauntered inside, waiting with his arms crossed as the platform ascended. ”A series of pulleys operated by gears. Its simplicity boggles the mind.”
He unlocked his door with the swipe of a card (”Could it have some kind of magical programming?”) before stepping inside. The room was nothing special. Cleanly folded sheets. Landscape paintings. The cool scent of lavender. The only elements of note were the tower view over a light-speckled horizon and the odd glass set atop the dresser that seemed to have some kind of illusion enchantment. Kuja sighed and touched his hand to his cheek.
”It isn’t much,” he said. ”I’ve been crafting charmed items. Amulets, armor, weapons. It pays as well as it always has, but it’s nothing extravagant.” He turned to face Genesis, eyes glittering with interest. ”Though I suppose it hardly matters. Something far more alluring has caught my eye.”
Something draped across his shoulders. Kuja looked up to find vivid blue eyes burning into his own. Genesis. He looked oddly bare in his plain black uniform without his usual flair or color. Only his crimson gloves remained.
Those gloves reached forward and grabbed at the sleeves dangling from Kuja’s shoulders. Kuja blinked and took a quick step forward to keep his balance. Genesis was close now. Too close. Kuja simmered in the warmth of his coat, in the heat against his turtleneck, in the wine rising to his cheeks. Genesis’ lips were hardly a hair away from his. His breath came hot and bitter.
“What drew you to that line right now? Something you find inevitable?”
Kuja’s head spun. Why was he suddenly so vulnerable? So weak-willed? He was always the one pulling the strings, yet here he was being strung along like some silly tool intoxicated by a pretty-face. Kuja felt his hand draw up to touch Genesis’ chest. Felt the ribbed cotton rough beneath his fingers. Felt Genesis’ heartbeat and the warm must of his breath. Hadn’t he come here for this? For this very moment, clouded in the pleasures of his own body?
This wasn’t right. The thought floated forward, and Kuja became suddenly aware of how tightly he’d been drawn in. He drew himself up despite Genesis’ grip, bringing his other hand up to the man’s cheek. His fingers sparked with magic.
”Nothing is inevitable." His lips twitching into a smirk. "So long as one has the will to seize control of his fate.” He traced a thoughtful line down Genesis’ cheek. His magic lit the path in electric white, painless but pulsing with power.
”The only question is are you the water or the wind?” His grip tightened on the front of Genesis’ sweater, and he pulled the man towards him, touching Genesis’ lips to his. They were chilled in the wind and stained red from the sweet laquer of wine. Kuja smirked against them, eyes bright with something like defiance.
