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year 5, quarter 3
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AND END SCENE. There is massive powerplaying here, but I cleared every step of it by Lala.
Why should the world exist without me?
For a moment, there was silence -- just one stunned creature heaving itself through the rift that had burst between the two men. The dragon tested its weight on the ground, probed the space with its wings, sniffed the dank air, and then let out a screech of affirmation. In the darkness, the others stirred, writhing together like vipers in a pit. Then they, too, rose.
In a second, the levy had broken, and now came the flood.
They came in all sizes: small and clinging, huge and lumbering, graceful in flight. They scrabbled at the walls, hissing and snapping over each other in a desperate rush for freedom. Some dashed for the tunnels, others lingered in the void, hissing at anything that approached, while still others scrambled to the ceiling where they clung there like geckos. It was a mad frenzy of snapping teeth, swiping claws, and impenetrable scales. They emerged from the darkness in waves, the sacrifices of a ritual long forgotten. They were dazed, they were hungry, and they were furious.
Across the chasm, the Warrior screamed.
It was a sound louder and more terrible than any dragon. It cleaved the muted air and froze Kuja where he stood. It wasn't like anything he had heard before, and yet, when he raised his eyes across the sea of dragons, he caught those eyes. Ice cold, piercing blue, and murderous. There was murder in those eyes, wrathful, hot, and feral. It was something that Kuja wasn't used to -- something he'd never expected. His heart rose in his throat as he flinched away.
The clank of armor in dashing footsteps. Tightening fingers on the hilt of a sword. Pain like fire and warm, warm blood.
'This shouldn't be happening.'
And yet, it did. There was the Warrior of Light stripped of his dignity and his righteousness. There he was, something wild, impulsive, and screaming. Light surrounded the knight in sharp daggers and he hurled them in a furious volley. Kuja's eyes widened as they hurtled towards him, but instinct worked his hand. Magic. He deflected them easily as the dragons before him screeched and fell back to darkness. There was a snarl behind him. His eyes flicked back to the Warrior closer now -- far far closer, dashing across a sea of scales, sword in hand, eyes boring death. Kuja's breath caught, but only for a moment. His heart pounded danger in his ears.
'This wasn't supposed to happen. This wasn't-!'
Kuja grit his teeth and swiped magic from his hand, but the spell was rushed -- his target too mobile. The Warrior rolled aside and then hurled his shield forward, hooking it on a dragon's horns before swinging around like an acrobat, rushing straight towards him.
The flash of a sword.
The clank of hard armor.
Eyes burning for blood.
He had less than a second to react.
His hand snapped forward, weaving the magic his mind didn't have time to process. There was a flash of light, a hard clink, and Kuja winced, stumbling back as his defenses cracked and his magic faltered. He flicked the shield sideways as its shattered, and then came the blade.
Searing. Searing hot pain that tore through his breath as the knight ripped past him, following through on a sword thick with blood. Kuja's eyes sharpened as he snatched the back collar of a blue-white chest plate. His nails scraped like talons, his lips snarled, and thunder cracked against skin. Kuja kept his grip tight, funneling magic through him as the man cried out, twitching and burning, burning, burning until Kuja's fingers slipped and the knight was sent hurtling forward, repelled by the very thunder that had captivated him.
With the connection broken, Kuja gasped, stumbling backwards as he touched at the hot, gushing wound at his side. His breath came in pants, hard against the pain that adrenaline kept at bay. This shouldn't have happened. His body was protected magically, if not physically, and his barriers were nigh impenetrable. This shouldn't have been possible, and yet, that sword had ripped through his defenses with hardly a waver. There was something wrong with that sword, something unexpected. It carried magic within it that he couldn't defend. The Warrior's magic. A god's light.
His fingers curled in blood. Whatever the Warrior could do, it didn't matter. He had survived far worse than this.
He grit his teeth and steadied himself as the knight turned to face him. They were both ashen and trembling, and yet their eyes burned with an equal fire as the Warrior dashed forward, lunging again for the kill. They exchanged blows as the dragons swarmed and hissed and snapped behind them, locked in a mad dance as the Warrior charged forward in blinding frenzies and Kuja weaved magic in waves. He acted on reflexes that he'd once honed, mastered, and then tossed away -- dodging as though he hadn't perfected the magic of two planets. Still, it was ingrained in him as deeply as his will to survive, and even slowed, he managed to whip around the Warrior's blade, vision swimming, mouth tight in pain.
His sight flashed black, his steps faltered, and he was caught with the broad side of a shield.
The blow upended his balance, tossing him through the air like a child. His breath caught, half with pain, half with realization. Time slowed as he descended, helpless and awaiting the blow that would end him. Something surged through his lungs, cold and desperate, and with it came a burst of words: "Help me!" in his native Terran, mind probing for anything that could hear him. There was a flash of metal, and Kuja twisted on instinct. It caught the rim of his pauldron and sent him reeling into hard stone ground.
He gasped on impact as blood gushed through his fingers, body searing in pain. Above him was a sword and a pair of merciless eyes. Kuja's throat tightened. His heart hammered as his eyes widened in horror.
'This can't be happening! He can't kill me! I can't-!'
There was a furious roar and the swipe of a clawed hand. The Warrior was tossed roughly aside into a pit of snarling teeth and leather wings. In his place stood a dragon, fangs bared and hissing its fury.
It was silver.
Kuja stared at the living, breathing impossibility before him. His eyes flitted from the heavy boneplate behind the creature's head to its stocky limbs and lithe tail. The silver dragon was native to Terra and only to Terra. Finding one here wasn't just unlikely, it was impossible barring a dragon rider and some kind of dimensional portal.
He didn't have time to ponder it. He could hear the tearing off flesh from the dragon swarm, and the half-dozen dragons within the Warrior's range were not winning.
Kuja's vision went black as he forced himself upright. Still, he gritted his teeth and stumbled forward, muttering Terran words as he projected them into the creatures' mind. "Come here." The dragon froze in attention before slithering to his side. Kuja leaned against the creature's weight, fingers clutching at familiar feathers. It was her thoughts he'd heard when he'd touched the arch -- the call of a silver dragon bred and domesticated for telepathic command. He steadied himself and launched onto her back with practiced ease, hissing in pain as he settled between her wings. The dragon pawed anxiously at the ground, head tilted longingly towards the ceiling. Kuja glanced between her and the rock face before raising his hand.
Magic coursed hot through his blood. He steadied himself and sneered the word: "Flare."
The stone above them erupted with force. There was a screech of draconian casualties, a burst of crushed gravel, and then Kuja was blinking sunlight. The cavern was silenced in the face of that light. A hundred dazed eyes turned to face it, too stunned to comprehend what had happened. Then, all at once, they moved.
They took the skies in droves. A hundred black, leathery wings rustling and blotting out the light. More emerged even now from the dark chasm beneath them. The silver dragon pawed anxiously at the ground, waiting for the worst of the swarm to pass before throwing out her wings and lifting herself airborne. Kuja shifted to peer at the cavern below.
Not all of the dragons had fled with the light of the sun. Some lacked the aerial ability while others were too furious or too bloodthirsty to ignore the knight within their midst. Kuja smirked at the sight of him, desperately swinging his sword against a tidal wave of dragons that he couldn't stand against forever. His laugh came weaker than usual, soft and lilting like the song of a sparrow. His eyes sharpened with deadly amusement.
"Did I forget to mention that I'm a dragon tamer?" His words came just as snide and mocking as ever, even as his blood seeped through closed fingers. "Good luck down there, and try not to die!"
The Warrior's response came in the form of five more daggers of light hurled directly at his dragon's head. Kuja raised a hand, deflected them, and urged her higher. Out of his range, and also out of earshot. There was no more gloating to be had. It was finished.
Kuja fell slack into the dragon's feathers, stained with blood. He brought a hand to his wound, and this time, it was laced with magic. He stitched the flesh together in healing threads. The wound was deep and the magic burned, but he'd felt it before. His wound wasn't what caused his breath to stagger.
He'd seen the flash of the Warrior's blade, deadly and far too close. He'd been at the knight's mercy, sprawled at his feet. He'd witnessed the Warrior's wrath, and there had been absolutely nothing that he could do.
Kuja's fist clenched at his side. No. He'd had his mind, just like always, and with it came the dragon on his command. He hadn't been powerless and he hadn't been defeated. He wouldn't have died. He couldn't have. His body was more resilient than even the Warrior could break.
His hand trembled as he brought it to his hair, twisting and clutching and staining it with blood. His grip tightened and he pulled until he felt pain and suddenly he was laughing. Far on the horizon, a storm was gathering -- a swarm of dragons in flight. They flocked together like bats, drawn to the nearest town and food source -- Torensten. He saw them swooping down as though to trap insects. He saw them rise again with mouths full of something flailing and indistinct.
He laughed against the tightness of his chest and the heat in his throat. He closed his eyes and let it erupt from him in waves -- laughter, pain, and delirium equally. His chest was tight with feelings he couldn't identify, feelings that threatened to erupt from his throat in violent lashes.
He bit his tongue and threw himself back until his eyes pressed against warm skin and his cheeks were swaddled in feathers. This was his power -- not in strength or magic or the swing of a sword -- but in his mind. This was the destruction he'd brought about. All of it his. As the dragon altered her course away from the city, Kuja thought of the Warrior, trapped and alone in the darkness, and he sneered.
Soon, the knight would die and Kuja would still live. Even as blood stained his fingers and his body trembled, he was anything but powerless.
"What purpose do the gods' powers have if not to be taken by man for their use?"
Kuja froze as a voice sounded far too close behind him. Careless. He hadn't thought to check the ruins for occupation. Still, he couldn't help but smirk at the words themselves. It was the kind of retort he would have given had he misunderstood his own satirical musings. It was the kind of question that immediately endeared itself to him, and so he kept his fingers free of magic. There was no need to attack one so like-minded, was there?
One look was all it took to bury that sentiment.
Kuja turned to find the speaker not three feet away from him. A flash of purple, gold, and glinting sunlight. He flinched before his eyes could take in every gaudy detail. Hair strung with beads and fashioned into horns. Gold crafted over torso, midrift, and every limb. Lips painted an unnatural purple. It took several seconds for Kuja to take it all in, eyes flicking from hair to face to body in uncertain succession. Then he noticed the man's codpiece. Crafted in gold and strapped below the navel was a lovingly crafted, sharp-toothed skull.
Kuja opened his mouth, but he had no words for mockery. He could only stand there, dumbstruck by the disastrous spectacle before him. It was as though someone had taken every symbol of power, tossed it in a box, and then hurled the man through it headfirst and covered in glue. Compared to this man, Kuja's own attire was positively modest. At least his codpiece didn't have a face.
The man must have mistaken Kuja's silence for awe because he kept smirking in that self-assured way of his as he turned his attention towards the Crystalus Divider. "Pardon the musings, but in the presence of such astonishing sights, one begins to wonder." He glanced back to him coolly. "Mateus, Emperor of Palamecia. A pleasure."
Emperor. The word touched Kuja's memory like a glint of gold in the fog. An unpleasant something stirred within him at that word, and yet, he couldn't place it. It was the same infuriating deja vu he'd felt with the Warrior of Light or the name "Chaos." Which meant it was almost certainly related to the Warrior's insane ramblings of gods.
The emperor stuck out his hand in a friendly gesture that didn't quite suit him. Kuja glanced from it to the man's garish, over-confident face. For a second, he had the inexplicable urge to strike that hand with a spark of magic and the tips of his nails. Instead, he merely smiled and tilted his head, eyes wide in mock reverence. "An Emperor, you say? Deigning to grace me with his presence? I suppose I should feel honored." He glanced once more at the emperor's outstretched hand before turning a shoulder to it and wandering past him, smiling as mischievously as ever. "But unfortunately, I've never heard of Palamecia."
He stopped only a few feet away, eyes turned upwards as he touched carefully at his bottom lip. "To answer your question," he said. "They have none. Gods are mortal constructions to explain that which is incomprehensible to the feeble-minded. They have no use except for deception, legends, and poetry." Kuja paused in thought before glancing back at the gold-clad monarch. The more he dared look at him, the more his stomach twisted with disdain. He fought the urge to scowl.
"My name is Kuja. A sorcerer, among other things." Among many other things like an arms-dealer, royal adviser, inventor, dragon-tamer, and harbinger of genocide. He sent the emperor another mocking smile. "And what brings you here, your highness? Lost outside your castle walls?" He glanced away, laughing delicately behind the back of his hand.
"It must be hard for your subjects to find you. You are so subtle, after all."
HERE. HAVE A KUJA NOVEL BECAUSE I DON'T KNOW WHAT SELF-CONTROL IS.
Why should the world exist without me?
Kuja missed his Desert Palace.
He missed its quiet halls and its marble floors. He missed its roman columns and the traces of magic that were so distinctly his. He missed the way the artificial light would pool across his stained-glass windows and how the golden accents would glitter in the light of his ethereal flames. He missed his artificial home more than he missed the planet itself, and yet, more than anything he missed the simple comforts of a well-constructed lair. Somewhere he could rest without interruption. Somewhere he could plot and research in privacy. Somewhere that he could store his villainous machinations.
A lair, it seemed, like his subterranean oasis.
He'd found it accidentally a few weeks after the dragon incident in Torensten. At first, he'd wandered from place to isolated place, seeking quiet havens to recover from the blood loss inflicted by the Warrior's sword. With a silver dragon at his disposal, he'd visited the cliffs of Mount Hotan, the ruins of the Crystallus Divider, and the outskirts of the Metaia Temple all within the fortnight, but he never stayed for long. If he wanted a chance to get anything done, then he needed a more permanent lair, and for that, he would need to visit his natural element: the desert.
Many months ago, when Kuja had first awaken in this hostile world, he had vowed never to take a step into the loathsome Reikinto Sands again. Since then, he had done quite well to avoid it, partially from circumstance and partially from choice. Still, that vow had said nothing of flight, and when one had access to reliable wings, the desert could become a haven all to itself.
He'd forgotten the feel of hot desert wind whipping through his hair. He'd forgotten how the sands seemed to shift in mindful currents when one saw them from up high. He'd forgotten the dry taste of the air and the sharp heat of the sun. He'd loved the desert once, and atop the wings of a dragon, he learned to love it once again. Its deadly expanses offered an excellent deterrent to unwanted visitors.
Kuja brought his dragon to a set of caves on the desert's northeast side. While he hadn't done much to explore this heated wasteland, he would remember those caves until his dying day. This was where he and that annoying child had stumbled across a colony of vicious antlions and where, had he not thought quickly, they would have met their end. There were no antlions when Kuja brought his dragon to one one of the many openings in the rocky cliff face, but then, he hadn't expected there to be. The antlions had all been exterminated with the arrival of their natural predator -- a kind of magic-reflective boulder with vicious teeth. Kuja eyed the monster's still-smoldering corpse distastefully before beginning his descent into the cave mouth.
What he had once mistaken for antlion tunnels were, in fact, a system of caves delving deep beneath the desert sands. Kuja brought fire to his fingertips as the sunlight faded and the temperature dropped. He wandered for some time in the darkness, half curious and half irritable before finally he heard it: the soft trickling of nearby water.
He approached it cautiously. It felt like something too miraculous to be true, but the sound only grew stronger, and soon the air was tinged with the damp taste of humidity. He followed it blindly, too skeptical for optimism, before suddenly there was light.
Somehow in his egregious good luck, he had stumbled across an underground oasis. With its towering walls, clear pool of water, and aerial entrance, Kuja could not have asked for a better lair.
Besides the Desert Palace, of course. Thankfully, Kuja had a lifetime of experience making do without opulent luxury. Marble floors and stained-glass windows were only a highly appreciated bonus in his search. Safety and solitude were at the forefront of his mind.
Over the course of the next few weeks, Kuja would frequent this place often -- stockpiling supplies in the nearby towns and then returning via dragon. The dragon herself had quite taken to their new home and particularly enjoyed splashing in the pool. Kuja made certain to remove any poisonous plants from the pool's side so that she wouldn't accidentally taint their water supply. When she wasn't resting, the dragon would often leave him to hunt sandworms and antlions. Kuja had already groomed far too many over-sized antennae from her feathers for his liking.
After only a few weeks together, the dragon had already established herself as playful and far messier than a magical being had any right to be. He had named his last dragon Cordelia for her dignity and almost royal grace. Kuja had yet to think of a proper name for this dragon. None of the characters from Lord Avon's plays bore both a predator's cunning and bumbling idiocy in equal measure.
He mostly left her to her own devices, however. Kuja himself spent most of his time fortifying the oasis' defenses. If it was to become a proper lair, it would need to be as deadly as it was undetectable. He spun magic like silk from the aerial entrance to the far reaches of the cave systems. Nothing would be able to enter or leave without his knowledge, not that they'd be able to reach him in the first place. Between the desert, the caves, his own traps, and the labyrinthine tunnels, his base was nigh impregnable barring simply falling from the sky.
Or so he thought. Not three days upon finishing the installations of his security system, his magic alerted him of an intruder. A rather human-sized intruder, and in the pool no less. Kuja scowled at the half-finished magical weapon he'd been constructing and started towards the security breech.
He hoped to take care of this quickly. He hated interruptions while he worked.
As it turned out, the human-sized intruder was, in fact, human. Kuja found him half-submerged in the pool, drinking thirstily and closing his eyes to the cool water. At the sight of him, Kuja's fingers sparked with electricity, and he nearly raised a hand. It would prove one less problem to simply shock the water now and let the man fry. But then he caught something that gave him pause.
This was no hapless adventurer or simple wanderer. The man oozed with magic.
And yet, it was like no magic he had ever studied. It stymied off of him in tendrils -- solid, black, and visible. Even as he watched, it seemed to probe the air around him in curious coils. Kuja had no idea what it was, but he could tell in an instant that it was dangerous and likely unrestrained. His magic sparked brighter. It would be best to eliminate the threat now.
Unless it wasn't. There was, after all, a human attached to it with a malleable mind. Slowly, Kuja shook the magic from his fingers. For this, he would bare a far more deadly weapon -- conversation.
"Pardon, but are you lost here?" Kuja stepped forward carefully as though he had only just noticed the man. He kept his expression neutral, even concerned. "It seems an odd place to end up."
A few steps more, and Kuja had angled to get a better look at him. The word that first came to describe this man was dark. From his dark suit to his dark hair to his dark magic, darkness clung to the man like toxic sludge. As Kuja's eyes flitted over him, he caught other details. His hair was unkempt and nearly waist length. His suit was seamless and pulsed with an odd blue energy. Attached to his back was an odd metal contraption which Kuja could hardly make sense of at first glance.
In a word, the man appeared as ridiculous as he was dangerous. Kuja tried hard to keep the laughter from his lips as he gave the man a courteous wave of his hand. "If you are in need of aid, I would be more than happy to provide it. Assuming, of course, that you have not come with hostility in mind?"
Sorry that Kuja didn't notice him! He's, uh...A little distracted...
Why should the world exist without me?
Kuja had missed the sensation of flight.
Despite his nearly futile goals, despite the wounds he still hadn't recovered from, he found it impossible to brood when gliding through the air nestled between a dragon's wings. It was freedom that he felt in the slick of wind through his hair and power that exhilarated him as he glanced idly towards the earth-bound mortals below. In the skies, he was untouchable, and with that came a rush as potent as wine and as satisfying as blood beneath his nails. Kuja slid his fingers through the dragon's feathers, stroking her neck fondly. All of his schemes, all of the destruction, had been worth it for this.
After so long of skulking in the shadows, Kuja had taken his place center stage, and he had done so on the back of a silver dragon.
Kuja sighed and reached up to scratch the point between the dragon's neck and bone plate. Two weeks had passed since his infiltration of Torensten. Two weeks since the city's ruins had burst apart and the skies had darkened with dragons' wings. He hadn't lingered to watch the devastation nor had he bothered to listen for news of the aftermath. Instead, he had fled with his victory in one hand and his wounds clutched in the other. The Warrior of Light had not lost quietly, and while Kuja's magic had easily stitched together the muscle, sinew, and skin, the blood loss took far more time. Days passed before Kuja had recovered the strength he needed for this journey. Terrible, trembling days aided only by the whims of a dragon.
And yet still, she had aided him. Silver dragons were as intelligent as they were beautiful, and twice as deadly as either. They were kindred spirits, really. Both he and the dragon carried about them a kind of otherworldly grace, and neither knew the meaning of mercy.
"It's here." The Terran words slid from Kuja's tongue like silk. The dragon needed only psychic instruction, but Kuja had always found it easier to project his thoughts in a language built for telepathy. The dragon gave a quiet huff of approval before angling for a slow descent. Kuja watched the ruins rise up to meet them. They dotted the landscape with rolling arches, half-crumbling from age. There was something prickling on the wind that had not been there before. His breath caught at the acrid taste of it.
Magic.
Kuja sat forward, back straight, eyes gleaming. He scanned the horizon, searching for the telltale signs of that gate -- the Crystallus Divider. It took him only minutes to spot it, rising form the horizon. It was almost impossible to miss when it glowed a faint green light.
Kuja laughed as they descended. It let loose from him in waves -- triumphant and exhilarated. His heart raced as the dragon circled the arch and then landed gracefully at its base. He slid off its back with practiced ease and approached the gate, eyes gleaming. There was no mistaking the magic before him, flickering emerald just as the Dragon's Gate had burst to life in a blinding blue. His theories were correct. His work had come to fruition.
He'd done it.
Kuja passed a hand over his eyes, head tilting back as he once again erupted into laughter. Just as he'd surmised, this strange world was a meeting point between dimensions, and this arch served as its portal. With only one of its gates activated, it already shimmered with power. Kuja lowered his hand as his laughter faded, eyes caught on the strange and powerful ruins before him.
"The winds have shifted. The breath of gods lies still. On the earth, a presence lifted. In the heavens, fate to kill." Kuja slid a hand through his hair, tossing it over his shoulder carelessly. A smile pricked at his lips, fickle and self-indulgent.
"If I must defy the Warrior's gods, then so be it," he mused. "I have never been one to abide by a higher will."
Kuja let his hand fall. Before him was a path of infinite mystery and yet also of salvation. Soon, his plans would come to fruition, the world's defenses would fall, and each of the gates would be wrenched to life. On that day, this path would open, and this world's secrets would come to light. Perhaps then he could return to Gaia and to the revenge that awaited him there. To the fruition of his work and to the murder that had lurked in his heart since the day Garland had spurned him.
Soon, he would return to that story and to the bloodshed so long denied him. If this world had to pay the price for his vengeance, then that was a sacrifice that Kuja was willing to make.
Laughter touched once again at his lips. His blood heated with longing.
“Do what you will with the Gate," he said. "It matters not to me." Kuja could hardly keep himself from laughing. 'Idiot,' he thought for not the first time. 'You haven't the slightest idea what you're doing.' But that was what made it all so very tragic and so very amusing. 'It matters not to me.' How often would the knight come to regret those words? How many sleepless nights would he spend ruminating on this dark and foreboding cavern and pray that he could reset time? How often would he remember Kuja's subtle smiles and plotting eyes and wish that he had struck him down where he stood?
It hardly mattered to Kuja what passions he invoked in this man. Hatred was, in itself, a certain kind of immortality.
The Warrior gave him a heavy look before skulking away, his armor jangling about his heels. Kuja's eyes sharpened at the sound, but he tried to keep his expression neutral.
“I do not know who to believe anymore, but I have made my choice.” The Warrior's voice came tired and defeated, as though part of him knew what was to come. He lurked by the door, but moved no further, perhaps in a vain hope of stopping the mage, perhaps only to see the full consequences of his actions. Kuja smiled at him pleasantly, his fingers curling behind the shroud of his sleeves. So marked the end of this pitiful act. The hero had made his choice stemming from his own fatal flaw: the Warrior could see no further than the light that bound him. His world lacked the ambiguity of the deceitful and morally gray.
Kuja offered him a gracious and sweeping bow. Such a naive existence. He was more than happy to complicate it.
"Thank you for your trust," Kuja said before straightening. His lips flickered with the shadow of a smile. "I'll only take but a moment."
'Idiot,' he thought as he turned towards the arc. 'What a naive, over-righteous, unsuspecting idiot.' Kuja flipped his hair over one shoulder and glanced playfully at the arch's protections. His fingers sparked with magic.
He had more important matters to deal with.
The barrier did not take long -- at least not by his standards where such things could take days or even weeks to decipher. The sigils did not carry Kuja's standard Terran encryptions that could double over as many as six or seven times in increasingly complicated cyphers. Instead, they stitched only a single weave of magical strands that, while tightly knit, did nothing to mislead a skilled intruder. Kuja unthreaded it easily, one string at a time.
The Dragon's Gate waited breathlessly behind it. Its magic pulsed in anticipation.
'The time is now.'
When the barrier cleared, Kuja reached for the arch, hesitated, then tested his fingers at its surface. The magic shot through him like electricity. He shivered at its power.
Kuja drifted closer to its center, tracing every sigil along the way. He tried to keep his voice even as his body coursed with dark energy. "The interesting thing about dimensional portals," he said. "Is that they rarely function on their own. Such complicated processes need multiple generators, so to speak, at the points best suited to channel the planet's power. But that power is easily disrupted. If one wished to close the gate, they wouldn't seek to destroy the portal, but rather, to silence the generators." His hand stopped on a rune near the center. It stirred something in his blood, and he closed his eyes to listen to it.
'We have waited,' it told him. The words caught in his mind, and he sent them back in turn.
'I've come to claim you.'
The stone heated beneath his fingertips. He touched it carefully. "Each generator requires a different key. Sometimes this could mean a relic. Other times, an equal, equivalent power." Whispers surged through him, each one a silent plea for release. Something lied dormant in this gate. Souls. Several hundred of them, in fact.
Closing the gate had required a sacrifice, not in blood, but in spirit. His thoughts flooded with draconian cries.
"The Dragon's Gate requires an apt mage connected with the spirit of dragons." His magic welled at his palms, and he allowed it free passage into the arch's circuits. The souls stirred at his offering and then grew louder. The ground beneath them shifted.
'Awaken. Your sleep has ended.' His stomach twisted at the words. He had been taught these methods long ago, back when he hadn't known the consequences of waking the dead. It had been Garland's primary purpose -- the purpose of Kuja's very life -- to revitalize the dormant spirits lying at the core of their planet. 'Well,' he thought with a grimace, 'At least I get to use it for something.'
The arch pulled at his power, cautiously at first and then vigorously as though determined to suck the very life from him. 'Enough.' His teeth grit against its pull. He tried in vain to block its connection, but its hunger was too strong. He let out a pained cry before slamming his eyes closed his concentration. 'No.' The arch's sigils flickered with a pale blue light. He called on it, connecting his magic with the arch's core. The hungry spirits followed until the two met and fed each other. With their attentions diverted, Kuja wrenched his hand from the stone and stumbled back, gasping as the light shuddered, caught, and then grew stronger. He stared at the power before him, rising by the second. The ground gave a heavy shudder. The cavern was illuminated in pulsing blue.
And suddenly Kuja was laughing. It came quietly at first, just a tremor of his shoulders and a touch at his lip, then his hand slid past his forehead and he was laughing so hard that his breaths came in gasps and his eyes watered. He laughed at the shifting, trembling walls. He laughed at the cracking stone beneath his feet. More than anything, he laughed at the irony of it all. 'This should have been used to kill me.' Awakening spirits, that's what he'd been made for. A catalyst. A sacrifice. A vessel. 'Do you like what I've done with your work? Are you watching, Garland?'
The Gate stirred to life in reply. It hummed with somber approval.
The ground lurched beneath them, so strongly that Kuja nearly lost his balance. His laughter quieted as he stumbled forward, away from the nearest crack in the ground and away from the knight who'd become his enemy. "Dragons are beautiful creatures, wouldn't you say? Their power has been used for so many things -- brewing potions, leaping through the sky, sealing portals." And then he was laughing again, quieter this time behind the back of his hand. He felt the arch's heat at his back, sharp and searing. "Did you ever wonder why it was called the Dragon's Gate?" he asked, tilting his head. Something roared underground and Kuja glanced to the cracks deepening between them. His eyes met the Warrior's and he smiled.
"Of course not. You've never thought of anything."
There was a crack of earth, a deep lurch, and the ground between them burst in a flurry of jagged rocks and debris. Kuja raised a hand, shielding himself from the detritus with a magical sphere. He squinted through the dust at the hulking shadow before them. A shadow with sharp claws and leathery wings. It heaved itself over the chasm's edge then reared its head and screamed.
Below them, the darkness seethed with a furious swarm of hungry predators. Their cries pierced the air as one by one they followed the path to freedom.
The Dragon's Gate had been opened. And the dragons inside had awakened once more.
'It's done.' Kuja gazed upon the beast before him in awe. 'I've won.'
“I saw the Dragon’s Gate in a vision." The Warrior's voice came quiet and unobtrusive. Almost an after-thought. “I simply came to find out why it called to me.”
It was an unsatisfying answer to say the least, and yet, Kuja couldn't tell what truth lied within it. The knight could have been lying or he could have honestly been that idiotically simple. The question hardly mattered, regardless. His conversation was only a means to an end.
"Surely you don't take value in dreams? At best, they'll lead you off the broad side of a cliff. At worst, well, what else to call an unquestioning pawn but a puppet?" Kuja his laughter behind the back of his hand, but he couldn't hide the soft trembling of his shoulders. Perhaps it was detrimental to taunt the knight in such an isolated, dismal place when tensions ran so high, but with victory at his fingertips, he simply couldn't help himself. It took all his restraint to keep himself from laughing louder.
The Warrior was led along so easily that it was a wonder that the entire world hadn't taken a claim on his loyalty. He was so simple. So righteous.
So gullible.
The Warrior reached for the arch again, but once more failed to touch its surface. There was an electric crack, a spark of magic, and the knight withdrew his armored hand. It was like watching the machinations of a particularly dim-witted child. First try touching it. Then try again. Then try prodding it with the tip of a sword. Kuja's eyes flitted from the barrier to the knight, waiting patiently for a summons that would not come. "Careful," he chimed when the sword erupted in sparks, "You wouldn't want to hurt yourself." But it seemed the knight had already run out of ideas. After touching it, pushing it, and hitting it with a sword, there were surely no other options available to solve this harrowing puzzle. Truly, the knight had once been the most masterful of tacticians.
Or perhaps his world had offered him nothing but armies of enemy dunces. Somehow, he found that the more likely option.
The knight turned on him.
“And what of you, I wonder." The Warrior's eyes had changed. No longer the model of passivity, his eyes were rigid as ice. The knight started towards him, and Kuja froze as he met those eyes. His breath caught with every ominous click of the knight's armored boots.
'Flee.' The word hissed from the wells of his deepest survival instincts. For a split second, Kuja felt his chest seize with rushing blood and the cold bite of a sword. He heard the rip of flesh and that soft, horrid clanking as armored hands yanked their blade free. Then the moment passed and Kuja swallowed back the workings of his paranoid imagination.
He hadn't moved, even now as the knight stood glowering before him. As Kuja met those steely eyes, he prayed that his expression hadn't slipped. It wouldn't do for the knight to think that Kuja feared him.
He didn't.
“Every mage I have known has studied new magic in order to use it.” The knight's words came even and steady as a river current. “What is the true reason you sought out this gate, Kuja?”
The true reason? He willed his heartbeat slower, calmed his thoughts, and managed his best actor's smile. It didn't matter that his throat had tightened or that defensive magic itched at his palms. It came as naturally as breathing.
"Of course I plan to use it," Kuja said. "How is anyone supposed to reverse the effects of our arrival without studying one of the portals?" He pushed his hair over his shoulder and looked up to consider the arch. "I've found documents suggesting this Gate serves as an anchor between our worlds. It must be studied." Kuja stepped around the knight as though hadn't noticed the man's overbearing size and weaponry. The arch's magic stirred in his blood. He fought the impulse to shiver.
"Or do you honestly think that you could find a way home by yourself?" he asked, "You don't even remember your name."
He glanced back at the knight and smiled again, that quiet smile that could have meant anything. "We share the same goal, don't we? Or we do if you're being honest with yourself. We don't belong here, and you haven't a clue what to do about it. So you run around, waving that sword of yours and pretending that nothing's changed. But that isn't the case, and no vision is going to tell you the truth."
He paused thoughtfully then turned to face the knight, arms crossed and head tilted in expectation. "Regardless, you have no means of reaching the Gate without my assistance. Once I've lowered its defenses, I ask for only a few minutes to study it. Then I will leave it to you. Surely you don't believe that even I could manage to completely decode it in that time." Kuja sighed and spared the arch a wistful glance. "I only ask for permission. It's a reasonable offer, I think."
Reasonable to the gullible, at least. His heart raced with anticipation.
Sorry for a bit of mild power play to keep it going. I cut off a bit short at the end to give Wolly a chance to react.
Why should the world exist without me?
Kuja had won.
He knew it the moment he looked into the Warrior's conflicted eyes. There were worlds to dissect there, and yet Kuja felt as though he could identify them all: the mires of self-doubt, the trenches of pain, and the heavens of blissful hope. It was a look he had received time and time again and a look that he would never tire of seeing. It meant that someone was about to take a risk for him -- a risk that was unlikely to conclude in their favor. Even as the knight cleared his expression, that conflict lingered in Kuja's memory.
This was his moment of victory.
“Though I am not gifted with the power of persuasion; I will give it my best," the knight relented. It took everything that Kuja had to keep his tongue in check. 'If we're relying on your persuasion,' he would have liked to have said. 'Then I'm glad I came prepared. Perhaps we should examine a second plan? Or perhaps my third? If we have nothing but your persuasion.'
Instead, he merely smiled and said, "Good luck."
The knight didn't need persuasion just as the hero never needed to bargain for his reward. Kuja couldn't hear their conversation, but he could see the soldiers' adoration well enough. After a short exchange, they looked to Kuja, and the Warrior said something in return. It must have been beneficial because they hardly noticed him after that. A few more words, and the soldiers broke. “Open the gate, open the gate. Let them through! A hero of Torensten has come to help us!”
'You are such a useful tool.'
With the gate lifted, Kuja sauntered to the Warrior's side. He glanced to him as he crossed his arms, waiting for the gate to fully rise. "Well done," he said with only a taste of sarcasm, "You must have quite the way with words." He wanted to laugh, but that would have been far too much. Instead, he touched his bottom lip and hid his amusement behind a smile.
'You haven't the slightest idea what you've done, have you?'
"After you," Kuja said once the gates had bolted into place. "I'll follow close behind."
'Idiot.'
They delved into the ruins together. The knight seemed more interested in keeping his heroic stance than starting a conversation, and for once, Kuja had no need for words. His eyes raked over ancient tapestries and mysterious relics as they passed through the castle's halls. He listened for the faint whistling of wind through cracked stone precipices, and sighed the stale air of centuries past. Before long, their escort brought them to a set of crumbling staircases. They descended carefully into darkness.
The passage below was long and winding as the minotaur's tomb. Unsteady earth replaced cracked cobblestone. The air hung heavy with rot and must. The only light came from the fire Kuja brought wordlessly to his fingertips. Their escort jumped at the spark of magic, and the sorcerer offered him a mysterious smile. "You have our thanks," he said, "But we won't be needing further assistance."
The guard glanced uncertainly to the Warrior, but left them after a few exchanged words. Kuja listened to the fading footsteps before glancing over his shoulder at the knight. "We wouldn't want to put anyone in danger," he said before tossing his hair over his shoulder and starting down the path.
The darkness closed around them like a burial shroud. Neither dared break the sacred silence.
Kuja couldn't say how long they traveled together to the ambiance of quiet breaths and the timid tap of footsteps. There was something bitter in the air -- not a smell, but a static that lulled on the must and decay. The deeper they descended, the stronger the pull until Kuja could navigate the splitting pathways by sense alone. It quickened his heart as he pushed forward, fire sparking anxiously from his fingertips. Magic welled deep within these labyrinthine halls. He could taste its acrid touch on his tongue.
'Soon, you will be mine.'
There was no entrance and no defenses. The walls simply opened into a great, expansive darkness. Kuja stopped at its edge. Something lurked ahead of him. Something terrible and powerful beyond measure. His breath caught in his throat.
The Dragon's Gate.
His fire flared brighter in his hand, and mounted to the cavern's wall, he caught the shadows of a long abandoned set of candles. He glanced at the silhouette of the warrior and smirked. "As much as I like skulking in the shadows..." he mused before setting the candles ablaze with a flick of his fingertips. The flame revealed another set of candles a few feet farther, and Kuja lit them all and the next after that until the room was alight in orange and red.
Before them was an arc stretching up into the shadows of the ceiling and etched in ancient sigils. Its front was decorated in mosaic tiles, dull and chipped from time. At its bottom was an abandoned altar nearly lost in cobwebs. Kuja felt the arch's call, but hesitated before he could take more than a few steps. Instead, he glanced at the Warrior. "Would you care to take a look?" He gave the arc an almost dismissive wave. "I wouldn't want to get in your way." Kuja stepped aside and admired the relic from afar. The rites would take time -- not much, but enough that he couldn't raise the Warrior's suspicions. No matter how the gate called, no matter how his heart quickened and his breaths staggered in anticipation, he would approach this cautiously. Intelligently. The game was not over yet.
He worked hard to keep his voice casual. "I never asked, what is it that you want with the Gate? What is it you're hoping to achieve?" He dared take a few steps closer until the magic washed over him in waves. His heart shuddered at their touch. "It seems an odd thing to have come so far on my word alone," he added. His eyes slid hungrily over ancient sigils. "Did something call you to it?"
I figured if all goes well, they can share things and we can take the scene to Provo when it gets boring.
Why should the world exist without me?
Kuja didn't wait long for the boy's reply. The words were sweet and simple as a couplet. An admission of defeat as satisfying as it was predictable.
”Magi Kuja, when put so simply, I guess I shall offer you my company at least for the time being. I could learn a great deal of information about this world form you, although what I can tell you off mine and my own magick may be of little value.”
It took very few snares to capture one so desperate for subjugation. The boy had never stood a chance.
"Little value?" Kuja's eyes widened in quiet disbelief. "On the contrary, I find myself desperate to learn everything that I can of these other worlds. I am a scholar, after all, and a traveler as lost as yourself. I wish to discover the common threads that tie us all together: be it magic, technology, or the cruelest hands of fate. So please. Feel more than welcome to share your history with me."
'And the secrets of your fire,' Kuja added quietly. The boy's power had been unrestrained and juvenile, but effective nonetheless. That kind of magic could prove useful for him if only as a distraction. Knowledge, after all, was the most dangerous weapon one could possess.
Kuja's eyes flit from the boy's fiery hair to his simple boots. There was nothing in this forest of value -- at least not to anyone but him, and the Mist would wait. If he had been granted another pawn, then he should use it to the best of its abilities. And the boy's abilities, it seemed, were best suited for merciless destruction.
"If you have recovered, then I would think it best to leave this place so that you might regain your bearings. My business here was of little importance, though I know of several other missions that might interest you." He offered the boy a cordial smile. "Shall we?" He waited for the boy to rise before turning and starting his way back through the forest's thick underbrush. Without a path to follow, another might have lost his way, but Kuja merely followed where the Mist flowed weakest. It wasn't a precise science, but it would work well enough if he wished to see daylight again.
"The nearest town is a few hours south of this place. Provo. It isn't anything worth praising, but it will do for now." Kuja glanced to the boy at his side. His smile hadn't slipped. "Tell me of yourself, and I will reveal my own secrets in turn. Where do you come from? And where did you learn that fascinating magic?" His eyes glinted with interest. "I can hardly contain my curiosity."
Oh my gosh. I'm so sorry about how much Kuja does not like Dieter. xD This could go cool places though?
Why should the world exist without me?
It did not take long for Kuja to confirm his initial suspicions. Despite his power, this boy -- Dieter Wolfram -- was nothing more than a tool.
That much was obvious from his very introduction. 'Many call me Lord Belias’ charge; I am … or was his sword and shield.' The mindset itself was not novel, it could have come from General Beatrix or that ridiculous knight or any number of other pledged devotees to a kingdom, but it felt odd to Kuja to introduce oneself that way. As an object. Just another pawn to be tossed about at the will of a master. Well, if that was the way the boy identified then Kuja felt no wrong in treating him the same as any other object.
An object or a puppet.
But Kuja had known several meaningless puppets in his life. It warranted scorn -- certainly. Mockery -- perhaps. Abuse -- almost always. But it did not particularly mark the boy for disdain. No, that particular trait came from the boy's unwarranted confidence.
"Aye, ye would be correct if they were normal flames. Alas, those flames are the manifestation of my will, my control over them is absolute."
"So I see," Kuja said with a dry glance towards the still-crackling remains of the forest meadow. The boy's methods had been flashy, self-indulgent, and above all reckless. A true mage had no need to brag about his power. Either the boy had full control of his magic and none over himself or the boy controlled nothing and had lied to cover his mistake. Either way, his actions were worthy of Kuja's full disdain. Kuja had spent far too long indulging the whims of gluttonous idiots, and he had neither the time nor patience to abide by any more.
'Ah yes,' Kuja thought as the boy struggled, panting, to his feet, 'I see now what you meant by full control. Was it your intention to leave yourself defenseless in the wilderness then? Did you merely enjoy the challenge? Obviously you are above such limitations as human restraint and decent judgment. You are, after all, the charge of a Lord that no one has heard of.'
And yet, the boy nodded in oh so somber agreement at Kuja's dismissal of the cursed Forest. As though he sympathized with a faulty myth and a collection of hostile foliage. "Aye, mankind is quick to turn against what they are unable to comprehend," the boy lamented without a single trace of irony, "They label it as forbidden, taboo, unholy, an abomination. Alas, what can one expect, they are merely human."
Kuja wanted to laugh. In fact, he did, barely stifling it behind the back of his hand. It all so overwrought and melodramatic. Kuja could have pointed out that the forest was, in fact, a dangerous wasteland of monsters that deserved no sympathy. He could have also explained that the rumors -- while superstitious -- were not baseless. There was, in fact, a dark artifact somewhere in these ruins and what else was one to call a force of corruption than a curse when one didn't know any better? He could have lectured the boy on his inaccuracies, but it wasn't worth the time. The boy had clearly taken the first opportunity to decry the hardships of his own life, no matter how unfit the situation.
'Let me guess. Did your people not understand you? Did they call you an abomination? My, but how could I have guessed when you were such a master of subtlety and lies? Perhaps the first step to avoiding such ostracism would be to not reveal yourself at the first opportunity. It's only a suggestion.'
His thoughts came as sharp as daggers, though he did admit that the last part left him with some small curiosity. The boy had clearly left it open for the obvious question, 'If you aren't human, then what are you?' The boy's species hardly mattered to him, however. Inhumanity was not in itself a mark of worth. Zidane was proof of that.
But the boy was not done. Apparently this lord had given meaning to the boy's life. Apparently he had pulled him from the battlefield where he was a mere pawn and gave him 'the luxury of the sun.' The whole thing dripped with so much self-pity and so many childish pleas for attention that Kuja nearly laughed again. If this was how the boy introduced himself, then no wonder his world hated him. And if he thought that an existence as a deadly pawn denied the light of the sun would grant him pity, then he wouldn't have it.
Not from Kuja, anyway.
And yet the boy had brought himself nearly to tears! A more empathizing individual might have looked upon this lost, tearful boy and offered him comfort. Perhaps they would have reassured him of his place in the world or gasped at the woes he had endured. But Kuja had no use for empathy. He saw only weakness when he looked down upon the boy, and it was a weakness that wasn't even aware of itself. If Kuja hadn't thought he might make use of the boy's flame, then he would have turned and left him there on the spot. As it was, however, he remained very careful to mind his tongue. If there was one positive side about utter tools, it was that they were easy to manage. He only needed to redirect the puppets' strings.
Still, the boy had one more surprise for him. Eyes brimming with unshed tears, the boy looked to Kuja with complete earnestness and pleaded, "Perhaps ye know being a mage of caliber. Tell me what purpose a weapon serves without one to wield it?"
For a moment, Kuja could only stare at him. Was he so desperate for a master that he would take anyone and anything? Was he so shameless in his objectification that he would plead for it to continue? It took every ounce of Kuja's willpower to keep his nose from wrinkling in disgust. This could play out well for him, if the boy was worth the trouble.
So he cleared his expression. He called upon his years of practice in the art of deceit and offered the boy the exact sympathizing gaze he knew himself naturally incapable of. And he spoke.
"That isn't something that I can tell you," Kuja sighed and shook his head regretfully. "I've met dozens of others like you, seeking purpose and answers. The best answer that I can give is that you must return home. To where ever that is." Kuja took a step forward before touching his chin thoughtfully. "As luck may have it, that is exactly what I've been working to figure out. You see, this world is home to a series of magical anomalies. Any one of them could be responsible for our current situation, and I've taken it upon myself to study them. If I can find the cause, then it's only a matter of time before it can be reversed. That's what brought me here, actually. Before I noticed your...rather strange magic."
He paused to give the boy an appreciative smirk. "It's fascinating, by the way. I felt a hunger from it that I'm not used to. Something almost feral. It was magnificent." That was true. If nothing else, the boy's magic gave reason for interest. It had been something more monstrous than human -- like the roar of a grand dragon rather than the masterful craft of a mage.
"Regardless, I suppose that you're now faced with two choices. You could either abandon your lord and home, take up some new purpose here, and do whatever you please. Or..." He gave the boy a faint smile. "You could work to see that you return. It sounds as though you owe at least that much to this Lord Belias you spoke so highly of, though of course, it isn't my place to say."
He turned to fully appraise the boy -- this wild, dark, self-pitying boy with powers behind his comprehension -- and tilted his head inquisitively. "Well?" He offered the boy a serpentine smile. "Which will you choose?"
As expected, the nameless Warrior of Light was not the best company. He wasn't the worst by any means -- not when Kuja had suffered countless journeys with Zorn and Thorn -- but the knight wasn't exactly brimming with wit or insight. No, instead he was content to travel in dignified silence, judging him quietly for his immoral ways. That was what Kuja hated the most about him, really. His righteousness. This was a man who had never known the gray area of morality. He was the kind who would gladly die for a cause he would never question. He was the noble paladin who could stand on high, bathe in the light of his glory, and lament the rise of evil as though he were incapable of it. And yet, there was at least one upside of the knight's boundless pretense.
It made him endlessly amusing to torment.
Kuja didn't even have to try, really. For all his feigned dignity, the Warrior held his heart on his sleeve if you knew where to look. A thinned lip here. A twitching eye there. A slight edge to his replies that might have one day blossomed to true sarcasm. It wasn't much. It wasn't interesting. But it acted as a road map to Kuja's assault. As it turned out, the Warrior did not appreciate the works of Lord Avon. He did not wish to hear them quoted to him in succession, and he did not wish to debate their symbolic meaning. He flinched in disgust every time that Kuja alluded to his own cruelty, though Kuja made certain never to go too far on that particular subject. The man was his captive audience, but the threat of a city's destruction would only buy him so much patience.
It was all a game to him. A balancing act. How to drive the knight closest to the edge without quite pushing him over. Kuja thought that he performed quite admirably, given the circumstances. By the time they arrived in Torensten, the knight seemed to have almost learned the concept of hatred.
Kuja had prepared himself for the site of the ruined city. He had heard of the fires, the rampant bloodshed, and even talk of the horned beast himself -- Chaos. The mention of that name twisted Kuja's soul with dread, but it wasn't Chaos that Kuja imagined as he approached the ruined gates of Torensten that day.
No, his thoughts were with Alexandria.
His adopted kingdom had looked much the same as this when he'd last left it. The same blackened, despairing faces. The same charred facades of what had once been bustling storefronts. There were differences, of course. Torensten had been a riverside city, more opulent and splendid than Alexandria could have ever hoped for. In its prime, it had reminded him far more of Treno than the city of Alexander. Still, it was Alexandria that filled his mind as he sauntered through ruined streets, pointedly ignored dusty-faced survivors. It was the smell that did it. That smell of decay and long-dead fire.
Fire and ruin. His boot slipped on blood as he stepped forward to appraise his work. On either side came the endless clicking of monstrous Mistspawn. Behind them, the wails of the dying. Overhead, the great dragon king dove in a kind of aerial dance, and towering before him the castle of Alexandria was bathed in ethereal light. Every scream was a testament to his victory. An acknowledgement of every night driven to sleepless research, of every poison-laced flattery he'd whispered even as his skin crawled, of every insult he'd met with coy smiles. There was beauty in the way the walls had crumbled, in the endless waves of monsters brought forth by his hand, and in the perfectly predictable result. For years he had schemed, had slaved, had groveled for this moment, and soon he would be granted his reward. Alexander. At last, he would be saved.
Kuja scowled. That night had come to nothing but ruin. The reminder left his tail bristling.
The people were as busy as one could expect given the destruction of their lives. Construction workers hammered away at renewed scaffolding. Street sweepers piled debris with shovels. All around, the crowds would turn and whisper in their direction. Kuja was used to the attention, but for once he felt that he was not the center of it. Sometime before entering, the Warrior of Light had removed his ridiculous horned helm and the odd cloak beneath it, but it seemed he was still as famous as ever. The knight kept his eyes down rather than meet their gaze.
"Wherever we are headed, let us be quick," he whispered. "We should disturb the peace as little as possible.”
There was a sharper edge to his voice than before. Something veiled and dangerous. His grip had tightened on the hilt of his blade. It seemed that Kuja was not the only one set on edge by their surroundings.
"Of course," he replied with a polite nod and a wave of his hand. "It has never been my intention to cause destruction here." It was a lie, but he told it well. In public again, he felt himself slip back into his usual, noble's persona. It was not for the Warrior's sake -- he had revealed Kuja's true nature the moment they'd met and Kuja hadn't bothered to hide it since -- but for the benefit of any wandering eyes. He did not need the suspicion, at least, not any more than his appearance suggested.
Kuja led them to the landmark at the city's core, a many-terraced building as high as it was old. It had once been a castle said to house some great and terrible power beneath it. Though he had been unable to examine the site on his last visit, he had heard the history of the place wherever he'd asked. Apparently this site had once been a temple of sorts, though to what, the locals couldn't say. The city itself had spawned from it as the ancient people of Sonora had settled in awe and worship. Now the castle existed more as a highly guarded tourist trap than anything else. Not even scholars were given a pass by the local armies to view inside, but times were desperate. Kuja found that most people were willing to change even the staunchest traditions in the face of obliteration, and so entry would only require a hero's promise. Thankfully, he had come with a hero in tow.
"The Dragon's Gate should be somewhere in the catacombs." Kuja folded his arms, tossing his hip to the side as he examined the fortress before him. The walls were nigh impenetrable but for a battering ram or an eidolon. Armed guards eyed them suspiciously behind iron gates. "As you can see, they don't exactly welcome visitors. Perhaps you could convince them to make an exception? You're just trying to prevent another disaster, after all."
He did not clarify whether said disaster would stem from the Gate or from Kuja himself. He didn't think it was necessary.
