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The Grim Struggle
by Colin S.

The world was bathed in the flames of hell. Humanity had not learned from its past, repeating the same mistakes that had threatened to unmake them centuries before. But even in the ruins of civilization, hope had yet to be extinguished. Heroes gathered in force, wielding ancient and terrible powers in defiance of the chaotic evils they faced.

In the grim darkness of a ruined world, there is only war.

This post has been edited by Elessar on 8th March 2008 18:48

Prologue

"And while our civilization was decimated and the toll on life was truly horrendous, one can perhaps find solace in a single fact: man shall never be threatened by magic again."
- Unknown Author
The Age of Divinity: A Treatise on the Great War

A young girl was standing knee-deep in mud, her eyes downcast and dirty blond hair cascading over an equally mud-streaked face. She was twirling a strand of hair around her finger -- a nervous twitch that three previous mentors had failed to smooth out of her otherwise calm and detached demeanour.

"I said you need to focus!"

An angry scowl twisted so far downwards that it had nearly passed the jaw line was directed at her, his eyes blazing with a special brand of intensity that only sergeants could attain. The grizzled veteran soldier towered over her, and dark black clouds brewed menacingly over him.

"Emperor's blood," the Sergeant cursed. "If your mind wanders off once more this day, I don't care who your guardian is; you'll be on punishment detail for the next three months. Is that clear?"

"Yes sir," she snapped a crisp salute, turned on her heel and marched away with as much dignity as anyone could when slogging through mud that was easily up to their waist.

The Sergeant swore as he watched her trudge past the cobblestone road, scant seconds before a convoy of chocobo-drawn wagons screamed past. The drivers yelled obscenities at the child, but that was lost in the thunder of wheels bouncing upon the uneven road.

"Trouble again, Willard?"

The Sergeant nodded. "Discipline, as always. Young or not, there's no doubt she's talented, her motivation can't be dismissed, and she's got more courage than all the boys combined -- drunk or otherwise."

"You forgot intelligent."

Willard raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps too intelligent, Dryden-"

"That'll be Captain Dryden to you," the officer readjusted his collar pins and evened out the brown hat. A smirk was on his broad face, one that could not be hidden by the full moustache beneath his straight nose.

"Congratulations," Willard laughed. "I see all those games of cards finally paid off. Who'd you rip off this time, the Colonel?"

"I'll have you know this was an honour hard-fought and won fairly," Dryden protested with mock anger. "For distinguished service in battle, standing firmly-"

"-behind your men," Willard interrupted with a wink.

"-against the Tzen cavalry," finished Dryden with a scowl. "You should have more respect for your superiors, Sergeant."

Willard slapped Dryden's back. "Of course, Captain Dryden. So what brings you all the way down here from headquarters? Surely not to trouble your old uncle."

"Not at all. I was honour guard for a cadre of those scientists from the Devil's Labs."

The smile faded from Willard's face. "More of them?"

"Still superstitious?" Dryden teased. "They're just a bunch of old men."

"They're just as bad as monsters; studying the unnatural and testing the obscene. Stupid Emperor doesn't even know-"

"The Emperor is well aware of what goes on here," Dryden snapped. He lowered his voice meaningfully. "You would do well to remember that, uncle, and hold your tongue before you speak any more blasphemy."

Willard's eyes darted back across the road. "You know how I am, Dryden."

"I do, just as you know how I care for your well-being. You may not believe in your heart, but it would be best for you to at least pretend."

Willard nodded quietly.

"So how much longer, do you think?" Dryden asked as he drew tight his brand new cloak, hiding the heavily starched shirt beneath.

"Perhaps six months."

"That's too long!" Dryden nervously readjusted his collar pins once more. "Must I remind you that our family's honour is at stake here?"

"Which is exactly why we're waiting so long. I will not tarnish our reputation by sending her before she's ready. The last time I was hurried, the-"

A shrill horn cut off the rest of Willard's words.

"We're under attack?" Dryden snapped incredulously. "Here? In the heart of the Empire?"

But Sergeant Willard was not listening. He had already sprinted across the cobblestone road, heart pounding fiercely as his old legs took him across the compound. For all his nephew's misgivings, the young lad was quick of mind and had known the alarm was not raised for the enemy.

This was something much worse.

The central cluster of buildings was aflame, cheap timber and mud-caked canvas feeding the ferocious inferno that threatened the entire base. Stone walls collapsed as the man-shaped monster made its way out. It was easily the size of the building, twisted black metal giving it form as unholy energy radiated from its mouth.

A Magitek Armor.

"By the Emperor, there's no pilot," Dryden gasped.

"Damn those scientists!" Willard spat. "Captain-"

"Yes yes, the girl!" Dryden drew his sword. "Move!"

They sprinted a hundred paces through smoke and fire, ignoring the screams of men burning in the unnatural inferno. Behind them came the whine of elemental cannon, followed by the cries of soldiers unlucky enough to survive the blasts. Explosions shook the compound as munitions caught fire and there was the short-lived sound of an officer trying to rally the men, just before elemental cannons whined once more.

Willard and Dryden dove their way through the inferno using their grey cloaks. They knew the Magitek Armor was coming towards them; each step was like an earthquake. Knowing that was motivation aplenty, they hacked their way through burning tents and charged blindly through thick black smoke. Twice did a blast of elemental fire nearly incinerate them, but the Emperor was on their side and they made it to the barracks just ahead of the Magitek Armor.

It was empty.

"Evacuated," Willard muttered as he examined the unfurled bedrolls.

"We're fools," Dryden gasped. "How could we have been so blind?"

After the sounding of the alarm, the children had calmly done as they had been taught; they were the future of the Imperial Army and their rigorous training covered nearly all hypothetical situations. Willard had seen to it personally.

A horrendous roar hit them like a shockwave; the Magitek Armor was outside.

"We have to run!" Dryden screamed.

"No!" Willard reached for his nephew, but he was too late. The newly-promoted officer charged out the back door, only to be incinerated by a full-power fire beam. His still-screaming skeleton was visible for an instant, and surrounded as it was by an aura of angry red fire, it would be an image burned into Willard's mind for the rest of his life.

Half of the building disintegrated before the beam was finished discharging, and the rest was devoured by the explosion milliseconds later. Willard was blasted backwards through the windows and landed face-first into the muddy ground. He slammed into something hard, vision swimming as the breath was forced out of him.

The Magitek Armor towered over what had been the barracks -- a scant twenty paces away. Its empty cockpit dipped down, black metal surrounded by an unholy green aura glaring at the human that had evaded its wrath. Energy swirled around its massive frame, elemental cannons whining once more for the kill.

And then she stood before him, weapon brandished defensively. Her sword was as long as she was tall, and it glowed with deadly blue energy.

"Stay down!" she screamed.

"No you fool!" Willard reached for her desperately, but realized he had lost his right arm. Not that it mattered, it was already too late. In advance of the elemental beam was a scorching wave of heat, accompanied by enough pressure to strip the burned skin off his arms and roast the raw flesh beneath. His screams ravaged his throat even more than the superheated air, but even all that exquiste pain was a mere precursor to the merciless wrath of a Magitek Armor.

Magical fire washed over them and broke apart, liquid flame expelled from deep within the heart of the Magitek Armor turned aside just before it could devour the little girl. The ground about them was baked dry and waves of heat threatened to sear their lungs. He knew not how long it lasted but only that the impossible was happening: he was witnessing a miracle.

The monstrous Magitek Armor cried out in pain, its smoke stacks issuing black gas into the air, as Imperial Armors finally arrived to halt its rampage. Fire beams burned through the twisted black-metal frame without mercy and tore through the engines. The stricken beast toppled to the ground, burning black fluid leaking out of its many wounds.

The young girl turned around. She held out a soot-covered hand.

"How?" Willard rasped.

"The Emperor protects," a ten-year old Celes Chere answered.

And for the first time, Willard believed.

This post has been edited by Elessar on 10th February 2008 04:28

Are these Warhammer 40,000 references I see before me or a trick of the light?

But 40K is awesome, FF6 is awesome, your writing is awesome, and if all three of them indeed are meant to be blended here, then, er... awesome.

Looking pretty good so far.

--------------------

"Only the dead have seen the end of their quotes being misattributed to Plato."
-George Santayana

"The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here..."
-Abraham Lincoln, prior to the discovery of Irony.

You are a very good writer. This thing could go in a number of directions from here, but what you have sounds great.

--------------------

Currently Playing : Final Fantasy V
Most Recently Beat : Elder Scrolls: Skyrim
Favorite Game : Final Fantasy X

The newest CoNcast is up! Have a listen!

Quote (Del S @ 10th February 2008 17:49)

Are these Warhammer 40,000 references I see before me or a trick of the light?

Pay no attention to the man behind the curtains!

Quote (Death Penalty @ 14th February 2008 18:31)

You are a very good writer. This thing could go in a number of directions from here, but what you have sounds great.

I pray this doesn't give anyone ideas of a teenaged Celes and a school of magic. >.>

Chapter 1

"Whatever happened to ladies first?"
- Locke Cole before storming the Imperial Palace

Flies buzzed over their heads and paid little heed to those lying in the tall grasses. The insects flew single-mindedly towards their plump cousins, attracted by the rotting carcasses of monsters just over the rise of the hill. There were hundreds of corpses in varying states of decomposition; some were fresh, and that was where the insects congregated the most. Others had been stripped clean of flesh, dried blood glistening underneath the charred skies. But most were bare skeletons riddled with holes, well on their way to becoming ash.

Unholy insects had accomplished in weeks what a decade of erosion could not.

Locke Cole bit his lower lip as one of the plump insects landed on his nose. His eyes were focused on the swaying grasses, watching for a sign of approaching monsters. His teeth chattered and he gripped his crossbow forcefully, knuckles white from the effort as his eyes darted every time a blade of grass swayed the wrong way.

"Hurry up!" he snapped.

"Patience," Strago growled. The old mage's red robes were caked in mud and his white beard was dark with soot. He knelt beside Celes, the two focused on a column of stone rising out of the grasses. It was waist-high and covered by ash. The pair had wiped off the greasy black layer with their sleeves, revealing glowing green symbols inscribed into the pillar. The colour was a sickly one, and the sea of runes swam whenever Locke tried to concentrate on them. He did everything in his power to never look at them.

Celes, however, was staring directly into the mass of eldritch symbols. Her hands hovered just over the top of the stone, eyes wide-open as she hummed and murmured. Runes fled from the Magitek Knight's outstretched fingers. One by one did they fade and vanish, but they did so at a mind-numbingly slow rate. At last came a pained whisper, barely audible as the words escaped her pale, parched lips.

"It's done."

With a nod, Strago turned to Locke. "Go!"

Locke rose from the grasses, scaring the insects away as he dashed toward the shimmering wall of light over the hill. He could feel the air growing warmer with every step, and as he passed Strago and Celes, his pace slowed down.

How many monsters had he seen run head-on into that barrier? They had been torn asunder without warning, probably never realizing the danger they were in. Their size had not mattered, nor physical form or even mental capacity. Everything had died upon coming in contact with the shield.

Locke faltered.

But the giant warrior beside him did not. Cyan Garamonde, knight of Doma, charged towards the wall of light without a hint of fear. His confident stride betrayed nothing as he disappeared through the spell.

Cursing beneath his breath, Locke dashed forward and dived through the liquid light. He twitched and shuddered as forbidden magic washed over his body. His foot twisted and he fell, slamming his ankle against an old log. Wood chips fell and termites crawled out, but he was uninjured.

"It has begun," Cyan stated calmly.

Locke nodded. The crash of thunder and shockwaves of heated air that slammed against them made it clear: Terra and Relm had begun their frontal assault on the tower ahead. The two girls unleashed the fury of Esper magics; dark storm clouds flickering with lightning as the smooth, white-faced walls of the tower shimmered crimson from the light of fireballs. An inferno was roaring near the base, waves of heat radiating forth with such fierceness that even Locke's eagle eyes could not make out any details.

However, the magic being exchanged could be easily felt, even by his mediocre abilities. Had this been any other tower, it would have been melted down into a pool of molten rock. Fire broke against the sides and blasts of lightning sent fanatics falling to their deaths. More conventional weapons shattered against the walls, Figarian elements led by King Edgar. Counterspells erupted from the colossal tower and split the ground with their ferocity, sending soldiers scrambling away from the widening chasms.

Strago grunted as he finally caught up with the two men, supporting Celes on his shoulder. Her blond hair cascaded over her face, but it could not hide the blood trailing down her cheeks.

"Celes!" Locke's heart jumped and he ran over to her, bumping into her outstretched hand.

"I'll be fine," she growled -- her voice was strained and it was clear that she was making an effort to sound strong. "We're late and Terra's depending on us. Just do your job."

Locke's eyes flickered over to Strago, who nodded curtly.

"Fine," Locke wiped the sweat off his forehead. "Just keep up, and do exactly as I say."

A round of nods followed and without any further discussion, Locke led them into the inferno.

Years of experience working with the Returners made infiltrating the fanatics' tower almost too easy. Beneath those lofty white robes were just regular people, deluded and misguided perhaps, but only a sermon or two away from their humble origins as farmers or townsfolk. They were nothing compared to the rigorously trained Imperial army; soldiers that Locke could run circles around.

Which he had done, once, much to Celes' chagrin. The thought of her awe-struck expression brought a smile to Locke's dirt-streaked face.

Soon, the massive white citadel towered over them. The dark entranceway beckoned and Locke was too much a gentlemen to refuse. Floor by floor did he ascend without difficulty. Blessed with keen eyes and always light on his feet, Locke spotted traps that no one else could see, danced around guards without them being the wiser, and could have detonated the fanatics' entire stockpile of munitions without attracting attention.

Unfortunately, his friends were nowhere near his skill and he found himself slitting the throat of more than a few fanatics. Each lifeless thump on the cold, hard granite was another blow to his soul. The fanatics were victims of a darker power; in their despair, they had done terrible things, but they were all good people. They could be saved.

Strago had been saved.

Locke was staring off into space listlessly when Celes rounded the corner. Her eyes darted around the dark hallways, tuning out the sounds of battle outside as she strode confidently under the stone statues of winged demons. Her gaze focused on him, his eyes blank, his knives loosely held by trembling fingers as drops of blood dripped off the sharp edge and soaked into despoiled white cloth.

"He's near."

She was referring to the Magi-master, the enigmatic leader of the fanatics they faced. Little was known of the powerful mage, save that his loyalties were to Kefka and his mastery of the arcane was nigh-unmatched. His tower had been secured against almost all forms of intrusion. Worse, Celes and Terra had discovered powerful spells preventing the use of any weapons except magic. It had been a spell that they could not overcome without Strago's expertise.

Locke slammed his still-bloody blades into their sheaths. Doing his best to forget the dead guards at his feet, he gestured at the ornately carved door behind him.

"After you," Locke gave a little bow, but his voice was nothing more than a rasp.

The gargantuan door was covered with gold and silver, runes inscribed into the precious metals glowing their sickly green colour. They twisted up to the ceiling where a massive scene had been painstakingly painted, depicting what seemed to be an apocalyptic struggle between Esper and man. Hundreds of white armoured knights had been ripped apart by the magical beasts, ancient wizards warding them back with spells of every element.

Elaborate and wasteful; Locke felt like that was an apt description of the Magi-master. His entire cult was a perversion, to worship the being that had been responsible for breaking the world just over a year ago.

"How are we doing this?" Strago inquired. He had taken a single glance at the tapestry above them, rolled his eyes, and then returned to the matter at hand.

"Cut off the head, and the beast shall fall," Cyan answered as he drew his blade.

"No, I mean..." Strago pointed at the massive iron-wrought door. Waves of energy radiated off of its colossal bulk. "It's not like we can sneak through that. What's our plan?"

Cyan and Celes exchanged sidelong glances. They would never truly be friends; their pasts were too much at odds for that. But despite their differences, they respected one another and were often of the same mindset. Locke thought the two -- Doman and Imperial -- were more alike than either cared to admit.

And on this occasion, neither could even begin to fathom Strago's concerns.

"Plan?" Celes drew her rune-inscribed sword and pointed it at the gargantuan door. The eldritch symbols upon it began to shimmer blue. "There's only one course of action left," she grinned.

As her eyes glowed white with power, the green runes upon the door shuddered. The symbols she pointed at began to fade, and as if they sensed their own doom, the rest of the inscribed incantation retreated onto the marble columns.

Seeing his opening, Cyan put his foot through the metal doors.

"For Doma!" he hollered.

A wall of white flame rose to greet them.

-=-

Edgar scrambled aside as the ground split apart. Molten fire rained down upon him, debris of the tower as it was hammered by Figarian artillery and Terra's spells. The fanatics release their enslaved monsters, the mindless minions driven into a bloodrage by heretical magics.

One such beast charged towards him. Formerly a proud wolf, it had been twisted by the magic of Kefka's followers. It was without eyes, its teeth hideously enlarged and its tongue was a sickly yellow. It had five legs, all misshapen and shrunken yet it bounded toward them with twice the speed of any of its natural cousins.

Edgar's bodyguards buried arrow after arrow into it, but the monster did not falter. It slammed into the closest guard, teeth shredding through plate armour as if it was mere cloth. Blood sprayed everywhere as the twisted wolf crushed the man's skull beneath one of its shrivelled paws.

Two more Figarian soldiers charged, shields raised defensively as their pikes fended off the monster's jaws. A pair of arrows slammed into wolf's side. Fire erupted from within, gliphed arrowheads exploding after they had penetrated the monstrosity's flesh. Liquid flame spilled out of every crevice, an inferno consuming the twisted wolf and the two men that had been fighting it.

"This isn't going so well."

Edgar turned around to see Terra and Relm. The half-Esper's face was slick with sweat, wrinkles in her brow as she struggled to maintain the defensive spells. Even with Relm's assistance, the two were tasked beyond their limits.

"She must've failed," Edgar growled. "Captain! Send a team around the shield and-"

A flash of light erupted from the top of the tower. Edgar instinctively dived down and pulled the two girls with him. Shielding them with his armoured body, he envisioned being obliterated in a blast of magic and prayed that the girls would live.

The light passed and Terra, despite being half his size, pushed Edgar aside with ease. Her eyes glowed with deadly energy, directed at the top of the tower.

"They're fighting him," she said.

Edgar took a quick glance at the chaos above, the clouds themselves twisting about as flashes of lightning rained down upon the tower. Clouds of mist had formed as chunks of ancient rock fell to the ground, each piece of debris encased in ice.

It was clear now that the Magi-master was under attack, even to the insane fanatics who served under him. All at once, their fears took hold. Spells disappeared as their collective will faltered, and as if they finally realized they were fighting a trained army with mages far stronger than they, dozens of the cultists retreated into their fortress tower.

"Captain, it's now or never!" Edgar screamed.

With their King leading the way, five-hundred Figarian soldiers charged.

-=-

A trail of blood upon the marble floor marked the movements of the Magi-master. His right arm had been cloven at the shoulder, Doman steel shearing through heretical flesh and bone. From blood loss alone, the leader of the fanatical cult should have been dead, but his eyes blazed with fury as he redirected the storms of magic tearing apart his private chambers.

Lightning hammered against the Magi-master's layers of shifting shields. Celes’s frustrated curses could be heard even over the thunder, her armour tinged with frost as she summoned another snowsquall.

Locke loosed his last arrow into the blizzard, then dashed in. His blades were dull black, but the finely-honed edges caught the light of heretical fire nonetheless. His armour began to burn as he ducked under a blast of flame, clearing the deadly spell just in time to see Cyan thrown backward like a ragdoll.

The Magi-master pointed at the flying knight. His brilliant white cloak burst into flames as he opened the void, warping the air in front of him and tearing a gap in the fabric of reality.

Locke made his first mistake that day. He looked.

The tortured screams emanating from that star-speckled darkness sent chills down his spine, his limbs freezing in mid-motion as the sounds became visions in his mind. He tried to tune them out, but the whispers were seductive. They promised his deepest desires, and he knew they were truthful. How else could they know his darkest secrets? And it was all so simple! Just a flick of the wrist, a simple spell...

Kill.

His hands gestured back... at the witch. The Imperial witch. Fire swirled around his fingertips.

That's it...

Locke's hands were shaking as he struggled to fight. He marshalled his willpower, knowing now that something far more sinister was reaching through the void and groping his mind. The fireball came into existence nonetheless, targeted at an overwhelmed Celes.

Go on... kill!

Blood streamed out of his nose. Locke couldn't even drop to his knees, couldn't throw himself into a storm of flesh-rending magic. The whispers overwhelmed his mind and stripped his consciousness of every last shred of willpower.

And then the spell was broken.

Superheated air washed over Locke, lifting him off his feet and slamming him into a stone gargoyle. He coughed and blood splattered to the floor. The whispers were overwhelming him, thousands of voices calling to him, imploring him to do the right thing. But he had grown stronger, and the void was collapsing.

Strago, the Mage-Warrior of Thamasa, bashed his ice-encrusted staff against the ground. His white hair was thick with frost, the air around him twisting apart from the combined fury of a dozen spells. His eyelids drooped, his posture bent as the old man struggled for his very life. A guttural scream left Strago's lips as arcane power flooded his mind and began to overwhelm his sanity.

The battle between the experienced mages was beyond comprehension, even to Locke's Magicite-enhanced senses. Blood squirted out of the Magi-master's many wounds, reality itself warping and bending as the void began to take on a life of its own. Tendrils of electricity rippled around Strago, raw elemental power gathering for one horrific spell.

Superheated winds threw Locke away once more, but they tore through the dying Magi-master. Glowing white ichor drizzled to the ground from the fanatic's many wounds, and his blood began to burn with unholy purple flames.

As Locke regained his senses, he could see the arcane energy swirling around the Magi-master.

No! Not around the leader of the fanatics, but around a small, jewel-encrusted box on the altar behind him. It was surrounded by hundreds of candles, still eerily alit despite the storm of ice, wind and lightning that was tearing the tower apart.

"Behind! The box!" Locke shouted.

The Magi-master's look of shock lasted for exactly two more seconds. They were the last of his life.

A knife thrown true, a blast of lightning and a needle of ice all struck the gem box at the same instant. The ancient artefact -- forged in times long forgotten -- offered no resistance.

Raw, uncontrolled magic power erupted forth as a curtain of light. The fanatic burst apart, his skin shredded and his flesh immolated. The four heroes watched in satisfaction as the Magi-master was consumed by the very sorcery that he had sought to control.

And then liquid light covered them.

-=-

The fanatics were routed, their collective will broken and their slave monsters freed. That had been a horrifying spell. Even now, Edgar could feel the dark tendrils of control shattered by Relm's incredible powers. Those few cultists that had fled the tower were hunted down by the very monsters they had enslaved, directed by a girl not even in her teenaged years.

But the true horror lay within the tower, where psychic lightning had been freed of its human masters. The eldritch power had breached every chamber, traversed every stairway, and screamed down every corridor. It had slaughtered -- hunted -- every fanatic within, their flesh consumed and their skeletons still smoking. None had survived, not even the children.

The residual magic sent shivers down his spine.

Stout Figarian soldiers forced their way through the corpses to the top. Gau was already there, silently guarding Terra as she knelt by a blackened altar. The chamber was open to the sky, its roof blasted away and all the walls smashed from within. The Magi-master had been here, there were no doubts of that.

The King of Figaro glanced around. His stomach turned as his eyes roved over heretical symbols, stopping near the altar. Despite being blasted apart by the explosion, he could still see an eight-pointed star burned into the stone. It made him shudder in fear and he quickly turned away.

Odd. He had expected worship of Kefka, but the Magi-master had nothing of the sort.

Edgar exchanged a brief conversation with Gau, reassuring the shaken boy that all was well. Edgar did not believe his own words, but the dreadful aura was strongest here and Gau was still just a child. A comforting white lie, that was all it was. Then he crossed the blackened floor to the altar.

"He's dead," Terra interrupted Edgar before he could ask. She stood up and brushed the soot off her pants. The dark stains did not come off.

"Are you sure?" the King of Figaro frowned at the bareness of the floor.

Terra glared at him darkly. No matter what the rumours were around her activities in Mobliz, Edgar knew she could be counted on in battle. Her will alone had defeated countless enemies before them, and that will was now compressed into a single, deadly look.

"Sorry," Edgar mumbled hastily. "Of course you're sure."

Terra did not respond, but the anger melted off her face. A despondent look replaced it.

Edgar continued examining the battlefield. "Where-"

"Gone," she interrupted once more. The resignation in her voice shocked him.

"They can't be dead," Edgar whispered. The weight of all his responsibilities came crashing down upon him as he realized just how much the four had meant to him; how much they had meant to all of them. Strago, Cyan, Locke... Celes. "It's not possible."

"No, not dead. Just gone," Terra corrected, though the tone of her voice did not change.

"Gone?" Edgar's brow furrowed. The choice of words was... odd. "Gone how? Gone where?"

Terra paused, pursing her lips as she glanced around once more. Edgar shivered as he felt a whisper of magic travel down his spine. Her hair fluttered in the magical updraft.

After a long while, she sighed. Wrinkles were etched into her face, and as she spoke, her voice was dry.

"I don't know."

What a chaotic ending. This is getting very intresting.

--------------------

"Only the dead have seen the end of their quotes being misattributed to Plato."
-George Santayana

"The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here..."
-Abraham Lincoln, prior to the discovery of Irony.

Quote (Del S @ 19th February 2008 03:45)

What a chaotic ending. This is getting very intresting.

I always liked the Fanatic's Tower for that reason. There was never enough exposition over it, but it had this nasty, grim aura surrounding it. There are plenty of ideas surrounding the Magimaster alone...

Too bad the magic-only dungeon was unbearably boring. It's basically the only time I use Mog's trinket.

--------------------

Visions of Peace - Four Generals, One Empire, and the Returners caught in the middle.

The fanatics tower not aligned with kefka? cyan and the less-important others gone to who knows where? i like!

Quote

There was never enough exposition over it, but it had this nasty, grim aura surrounding it. There are plenty of ideas surrounding the Magimaster alone...

so true! so many things in FFVI were left un-explained. which is interesting, since it seems like every single plot twist was exploited in FFVII.

--------------------

Currently Playing : Final Fantasy V
Most Recently Beat : Elder Scrolls: Skyrim
Favorite Game : Final Fantasy X

The newest CoNcast is up! Have a listen!

Chapter 2

"You feel remorse. That is enough for me."
- Cyan Garamonde to Celes Chere

Locke groaned as he got up, supporting himself against a soot-covered statue. His hands came away dark and oily. "Okay, that was rough," he muttered before coughing sharply. The air was dry, and floating dust glittered underneath a faint beam of light coming through the cracks in the wall.

"Here," Celes was suddenly beside him, her outstretched hand pressed up against his arm. She was offering a canteen of water, the metal canister cool against his burnt skin.

Thanking her, Locke took a quick swig and glanced around. His eyes quickly adjusted to the dark room. "This isn't the tower," he muttered as he wiped his mouth.

Celes nodded silently, eyes slowly shifting from side to side. "You were very close to the Magi-master. I thought we lost you," she whispered softly as she replaced the canteen in her pack.

"And miss all the fun of taking Kefka down? Not a chance," Locke flashed a smile.

Celes pressed her lips together and for a brief moment, she smiled back.

Then the world trembled.

Locke's knives were in his hands before he even knew it. "Monsters?" he snapped, eyes darting from side to side trying to find something in the darkness. There was a musty odour in the air and just the slightest hint of smoke. The solid stone floor was shaking.

"Explosions. They ebb and flow, but always with ferocity," Strago's voice seemed to pulse, the air about him wavering as he reappeared out of the darkness. The wrinkles on his face were deeper than usual. Streaks of dried blood had been hastily wiped away, but the scars from his battle with the Magi-master would be permanent. Two crisscrossed just above his right eye, the surrounding flesh puffed up and pink.

The old mage was leaning on his staff for support, legs shaking every so slightly. "You alright, Strago?" Locke asked out of genuine concern.

"Better than you," Strago snapped. The old man turned away in a huff.

Locke stammered an apology under his breath, but stopped as Celes put a hand on his shoulder. She shook her head and turned to Cyan.

"So where are we?"

"Given the state of disrepair," Cyan gestured around, "some manner of civilization, but recently ruined. We perceived a great many footsteps northward and left to reconnoitre. However, I feared the invisibility spell was not foolproof and we returned before any encounter. On the way, we discovered this." In his hand was small piece of metal, utterly dwarfed by the massive gauntlet it rested upon. Rusted and covered with a layer of dirt that could never be cleaned, Celes examined the golden symbol.

"Magitek Knights," Locke whispered.

"So we're in the ruins of Vector," Celes averted her eyes away from the familiar seal of the Magitek Knights. "From the fanatics all the way to Kefka's tower; we're in deep trouble."

Cyan nodded. "Grave is our situation, and we are already fatigued."

"We all need rest," Celes agreed. "I'll take first watch; you and Strago should get some shut-eye while you can."

Cyan was not about to argue. His eyes drooped and his posture was bent. His metal breastplate had a gouge running along its side, chainmail beneath shorn apart and digging into the raw, black and purple flesh beneath. His slow and ponderous movements were without his typical experienced grace.

Locke frowned. Something was nagging at the back of his head. "Whatever magic brought us here," he began. "Do you think it alerted anyone?"

"That would depend on the spell that brought us here," Celes answered back. She pursed her lips as she mulled over the question. Their position was tactically sound, but where magic was involved…

She sighed. "Cyan, now that Locke's awake, we need to move out and secure another campsite. I doubt the Magi-master was casting his teleportation spell with stealth in mind."

"If it even was a teleportation spell," Strago coughed. "Frankly, I'm surprised we're still alive. He was tearing apart the fabric of reality. I think we're very lucky."

Another explosion rocked the ground.

"That remains to be seen," Cyan growled. He tightened his bandages and gestured into the light. "The footsteps were north. Let us secure a haven southwards, and then discuss further reconnaissance. Perhaps we may learn something of value, or gain insight into the machinations of the enemy."

"It's Kefka's tower," Locke's eyes darted from side to side, clearly paranoid. "We'd better concentrate on getting out in one piece."

Celes laid a reassuring hand on Locke's shoulder. "That's up to you now, isn't it?"

Locke frowned. "I just got volunteered, didn't I?"

Her smile widened. "Go find us some treasure."

-=-

It was like old times again, sneaking through the ugly, industrial buildings of Vector. That they were ruined and abandoned didn't really change that feeling; even when the Empire was in charge, it had felt this way. Lifeless, dismal and militant, that had been life in the capital. That had been the life promised to the whole of the world had they failed to stop Emperor Gestahl.

They: the Returners. Locke had imagined being showered with flower pedals upon their triumphant return -- a hero's welcome for a hero's deed. They had defeated the greatest despot that ever lived and saved the world. It was the kind of tale to be passed down through the generations, embellished by drunken bards until it bore no resemblance to reality. Instead, he had returned to a broken land. The hellfire unleashed by the dying throes of the Floating Continent had demolished towns, split continents, and tarnished the sky.

The World of Ruin.

He had worked for a year trying to right wrongs, injecting a bit of kindness and care in a world too far gone. It had helped him cope, but it had not given him the drive he felt now.

Locke Cole was leading his friends through the twisted mangled heap that had once been Vector. Buildings had been toppled, blasted apart and reformed into colossal walls. It was a mess of rusted metal panels, pipes, gears and all sorts of other mechanical parts that had long since forgotten their original purpose.

He held up his hand and signalled for the others to wait. There was something up ahead.

With an old, tarnished cloak draped over his back, he snuck forward on his hands and knees. The cloak allowed him to blend into the drab surroundings; rust-coloured cloth atop of rust-covered metal. His gloves scraped across the floors, caked in layers of dirt and dust. It was barely a year since Vector fell, but already this place seemed ancient.

Locke slipped over a rise in the twisted rubble. He carefully peeled back an old plate of metal. While unnecessary noise might be dangerous, it was disease that truly concerned him. Who knew what infested Kefka's stronghold?

Through his newly revealed peephole was a huge chamber cleared of rubble. Elaborate paintings were upon the walls, but they had seemingly aged a thousand years. And beneath the old, decrepit, and defiled walls were…

Locke stiffled a curse.

There were dozens of them, and more arrived with every passing second. Many were hunched over and clothed in rags. Most seemed injured, their limbs twisted, misshapen, or outright missing. But despite their wounds, every one of the shapes carried a weapon. Locke's heart pounded. There was just the slightest possibility that these were Kefka's prisoners, tortured into shadows of their former selves. He might have stumbled onto some unlikely allies.

Then he saw the symbols.

Locke averted his eyes immediately, but still he clawed at his face. His dirty nails left red streaks down his cheeks as he tried to get those runes out of his head, their heretical nature burning a hole into his mind. Shivers ran down his back as he recognized the eight-pointed star from the Magi-master's tower.

They were fanatics; hundreds of them massed together in an unruly mob. Enough hateful, angry bodies to overwhelm Cyan's sword and Celes's magic, and more arriving with every second. The fanatics were gathering hurriedly, with nothing that remotely resembled coordination.

At that moment, Locke finally answered the question that had been on their minds for so long: what was Kefka doing in his tower?

Apparently, the self-styled God was raising an army.

Locke's eyes roved over the horde -- Cyan would want an accurate count of the enemy they faced. His estimate had just climbed over a thousand when his attention settled on an object the fanatics were gathering around with great reverence. Chills ran down his spine as he recognized the familiar artefact. Its many faceted faces shimmered underneath the weak torchlight, and the aura of magical power emanating from it confirmed what Locke already knew.

A grin spread across Locke's face. The idea forming in his mind was absolutely insane. Cyan would blanche if he heard, Strago would sigh in despair, and Celes would glare at him disapprovingly as if he was twelve. But it could work; he would make it work.

He inched his way forward.

-=-

Barely a minute had passed since Locke disappeared around the pile of rubble, but Celes was already uneasy. Hidden beneath the shadow of a ruined statue, she pulled off the hood of her cloak. Her clear blue eyes darted from side to side.

The chamber they were in had been beautiful once, with great marble columns stretching up into the sky and murals decorating every inch of the walls. Precious metals like gold and silver had been crafted to those surfaces and depicted majestic angels sheltering and safe-guarding innocents from a dark hoard. But time and the elements had torn it all aside and reduced it rubble -- that Celes could make anything out was a testament to the grandeur of the past.

Yet another crime to add to an ever growing list. Kefka would surely pay.

Cyan's eyes were upon her, she could feel his piercing gaze on her back. Celes ignored him as best she could, slipping back into the guise of the professional soldier she had been born and raised to be. Cold blue eyes scanned the rubble. Every nook and cranny was evaluated for tactical potential, every escape route charted and every contingency planned for. The place was vast... and it was almost impossible to account for everything. There were so many entrances, so many places to hide-

"Paranoid?" Cyan asked in a deep, but quiet voice.

Celes suddenly realized she was biting down on her lower lip. Her gaze drifted over to the Doman Knight slowly, his suspicious frown suddenly reminding her that he was the last of his kind; and that had been due to her people -- no, it was due to the people that had betrayed her.

"Well?"

Admitting her paranoia felt like weakness, but nevertheless, Celes nodded curtly.

The Doman Knight turned to Strago. "Cast the spell."

The old mage might have been confused by Cyan's sudden order, but he knew better than to debate the matter. Strago whispered beneath his breath and within moments, a sense of serenity began to flow down Celes’s spine.

"There," Strago said. "We're invisible."

"Thank you," Celes said to both of the men.

Cyan rose silently and strode back down the hall they came from. He motioned for them to follow.

Celes knew Cyan placed a lot of faith in their instincts and emotions. She had thought it was a silly superstition at first, but the results were hard to argue with. At worse, the effort would be wasted in keeping her calm and relaxed. Celes preferred herself that way, and she knew that despite any hidden misgivings Cyan might've had, he much preferred her alive than dead.

Shrouded by magic, the trio kept to the shadows and melded into reality. Ancient stone, rusted metal, decaying corpses; they were one with their surroundings -- spectres in the night.

With her mind clear of worries, Celes started truly taking in the scale the building they were in. Whatever Kefka had broken down and reassembled, it had been on a scale that was painful to comprehend. She had spent much of her life in Vector, and not even the Imperial Palace had even been this majestic. Ruined marble columns lay upon the ground, disappearing into the far distance as if it was the horizon. Huge, empty chambers so large that they seemed like hollowed out mountains. And everywhere were majestic paintings, angelic symbols and runes.

And painted over them were other symbols, things that seemed to twist and turn as her eyes roved over them. Most prominent was the eight-pointed star; it and its many variations seemed to fill her vision. Her stomach turned whenever she concentrated too much on those ugly, disgusting runes.

Someone had spent a great deal of effort in vandalizing -- defacing -- the beautiful place.

"...ch dedicated to... " Celes’s ears only picked up half of Strago's whispered words. The old loremaster was looking around in awe, eyes wide with wonder and a smile so filled with naked emotion that it brought a smile to her own face. Only Cyan's brisk pace prevented Strago from stopping and examining tapestries numerous enough to fill the Imperial Palace ten times over.

"What did you say?" Celes whispered.

"A church, dear," Strago gestured with the glowing crystal at the tip of his magic staff. "This was once a place of worship, where men and women would come to pay their respects to the goddesses. It was a place of holiness and piety in its prime."

"I know what a church is," Celes growled. She immediately regretted her tone. Strago had meant no disrespect by delving into an explanation, he was simply answering her question the same way he always did. "Sorry," she quickly apologized.

"No harm done," Strago's smile eased her conscience. “This is a place of peace and forgiveness.”

"I'm amazed at the size of this place. My studies covered a great deal, even of the Northern Continent, I'm surprised that the Empire had never taught me of a church this big."

"Doubtless, the Empire never knew. This place is ancient beyond anything we have ever encountered, even that which was upon the Floating Continent," Strago’s voice was filled with awe. "You see, this was dedicated to the goddesses, and such worship fell out of fashion after the War."

She winced; Strago was right of course, his deductions were obvious had she given the matter any thought. The War of the Magi had reduced civilization to rubble. Advanced magic and technology had been lost to such a degree that even the Empire still regularly dug up objects that it could not understand; texts and weapons that could form the foundation of its army's future. To think of all the lives that had been lost in that apocalyptic struggle, and to imagine living in the dark ages that immediately followed... it was easy to understand why many instinctively shied away from worship of the Goddesses.

Celes shook her head sadly. Kefka had ruined the world as surely as any war. They were already in the Dark Age.

"I suppose Kefka took apart more than just Vector in order to build his monstrosity," Strago continued to muse. "Perhaps this was surfaced from some deep place in the world."

Cyan quieted them with a glare. They were approaching an open door on the side of the huge chamber. Thin, sickly shafts of light filtered through crumbling arches, illuminating the rubble and casting shadows that jumped to and fro.

As the Doman knight pressed himself against the wall and snuck forward quietly, Celes suddenly realized the arches were easily five times his height. Magitek Armors could have fit through what she just deemed a tiny hallway.

What would possess anyone to build at such a scale?

Focus! Celes admonished herself. Why was she thinking about such irrelevant things? Cyan was taking no chances and moved as if the enemy hid just past the door, yet here she was musing about doorways and ancient architecture. She cleared her mind with a familiar ritual. Her heart slowed down and all superfluous thoughts disappeared as she muttered softly to herself.

Cyan stuck his head back out of the shadows, a grim look on his face. "Another way," he pointed back into the giant chamber.

There was something in his tone that Celes didn't trust. "We're in the open. From there-" she pointed past the ruined arches and into the shadowy hallway, "-we can wait for Locke to return."

Cyan showed no emotion; apathetic. He stood aside and let Celes and Strago enter.

It was a small room with two exits. Dozens of torched, wooden benches faced a stage that was covered with a layer of golden metal. Something of great importance had once been above the stage, but it had also been put to the flame. The remaining exit beckoned.

As Celes expected, there was no danger. Cyan would have acted very differently had their lives been endangered. Instead, Celes found herself staring into the entrance to hell.

The corridor was dark, but it was rank and smelled of decaying flesh. The rotting stench was not their imagination though; the poorly lit hallway seemed to have been carved out of meat. Blood was everywhere: dried, congealing, and even flowing. Limbs had been ripped away and then skinned, tossed haphazardly around. Chunks of flesh coated all the walls, muscle fibres seeming to contract whenever she averted her eyes.

Celes had fought many times, led many battles, and was certainly no stranger to death, but this...

"The Emperor protects."

Those whispered words left her mouth before she realized what she was doing. Bad enough that she could not control her own emotions -- her, a Magitek Knight and former-general of the Empire -- but it had been loud enough to draw Strago's attention. She could feel his eyes upon her, probably judging her sudden lapse of control.

"Sorry," she stammered.

Strago bowed his head slightly. "No harm done. We all have habits that comfort us." A wrinkled finger pointed at the base of her neck. "Did you once wear something there?"

Only then did she notice her hand against her neck, fingers curled around empty space. Celes felt her cheeks redden.

"Nothing important, just an old good-luck charm," she muttered as she forced her hand down. It took some effort, and Celes prayed that Strago didn't notice her hesitation.

"Ah," Strago was nodding sagely to himself, seemingly wise enough to avoid pressing any further into the matter. Instead, he gestured in a wide-arc. "This is a dark and terrible place. I would face our enemies head-on than to hide in the shadow of these walls."

Celes’s eyes darted back to Cyan. The Doman Knight gave no indication that he had heard any of their conversation.

"I guess Cyan felt the same way," Celes offered.

"And what do you think?"

Celes moistened her lips as she analyzed the situation. "With the invisibility spell, we're pretty much safe from anything short of the Magi-master's personal guards," she thought out loud. "This room is too open, the benches aren't much cover, but if we stay in the shadows just outside the doorway, we'll be well protected and in position to watch for Locke."

"That seems like a sound plan."

At that moment, anything that involved leaving the flesh-strewn passageway would have been a good plan.

As they passed Cyan, Celes gestured at several positions beyond the doorway frame. Hidden by shadow of the ruined arches and covered by stone rubble, they were obvious choices for cover. It was also conspicuously far away from the gore-splattered battleground that the Doman had tried to avoid.

But if he felt any sense of satisfaction at watching Celes beat a hasty retreat from the blood-covered path, Cyan hid it well. He crept into his new hiding spot, alert and ready for anything. His silence -- that unquestioning support -- was more comforting than anything he could have said.

Celes mentally thanked Cyan for his kindness. The Imperial Army had never had such men in its ranks; they were either pathetic sycophants too busy brown-nosing to actually exercise their minds, or backstabbing political aspirants, ready to take advantage of any perceived weakness in their commander.

Strago too, Celes suddenly realized, had done her a monumental favour. Not only had he accepted her sudden outburst of emotion, but he had eased her out of shock and put her back into a focused state of mind. Those flesh-covered walls were like a scene out of an Esper's worst nightmare, and Celes shuddered at the thought of encountering the passageway without her friends for support. To be alone, not having anyone... just like that damned island all over again. Shivers ran down her back.

She rubbed her eyes, surprised at her emotional state. What was going on? It wasn't as if this was her first battle. To say that she was a veteran was an understatement. She had slain soldiers, monsters, Espers and Magitek Armors alike. The world had suffered an apocalypse and she lived to tell the tale. With nothing more than faith in her heart, she had set sail into the ocean and crossed a hundred leagues on her own. What was an enemy stronghold to her but another challenge to be overcome?

In the distance, several of the eight-pointed stars dimmed slightly.

Reassured of her own abilities, Celes stopped blaming herself and looked upon her surroundings with renewed vigour. It was this damned place, of course! There was a pervading sense of darkness; of something that was simply wrong. It threw off her senses and was eating away at her soul.

Damn this tower, damn the fanatics, and damn Kefka. Damn them all back into the warp.

Celes blinked. Her mouth opened slightly as she mentally backtracked.

The warp?

Before she could try to even figure out what that meant, she saw Cyan motioning back towards the hallway. Her entire body tensed.

The Doman Knight had a better view than she did, positioned further out but covered behind the series of broken arches. Celes was pressed against the wall; perfectly positioned to ambush anyone approaching, but it was a miserable spot without Cyan's keen eyes.

Soon enough, Celes heard what Cyan had seen. Footsteps approaching. There were multiple sets, so Celes’s hope that it was Locke was dashed before she had been fully conscious of her own desires.

Celes checked that her sword was clear in its scabbard. She touched the hilt of her precious blade, nerves on edge as she waited for the next signal from Cyan.

His shrouded eyes were impossible to interpret. But he made a hand gesture:

Don't move.

Celes didn't question Cyan's decision. There was no reason to be overconfident; they were deep within Kefka's lair and had every reason to be cautious. She pressed up against the wall with all her might, trying to become one with the ancient stone. She even held her breath -- despite knowing that the invisibility spells cloaked such sounds, she was not one to tempt fate.

Especially if fate was leading things out of that hellish pulsating mess of flesh.

As the footsteps approached, her ears started to pick out the distinctive noises. There were five, but one was much larger than the rest given the way his boots resounded against the blood-drenched metal plating. Three were similar, and the last was almost impossible to perceive. Only slight tremors in the ground gave him away. No other noises preceded them; neither chanting nor idle chatter. They had not the overconfidence that Kefka's fanatical followers tended to have.

A frown creased her face. There was something odd about the echo of their steps…

The footsteps were almost upon them.

Shrouded by magic, Celes’ heart skipped a beat. The echoes… they were carefully fanning out. These weren't mere refugees, monsters, or even fanatics.

These were soldiers.

-=-

Dark battledress could be seen as the first of the men approached. They were bundled up for the harshest of weather, great overcoats of the deepest black wrapped protectively around battle-scarred armour. Symbols denoting rank could be seen, as were sigils that might have denoted their company and king. But Celes recognized nothing. She couldn't even understand the symbology save for a golden, double-headed eagle.

She hadn't seen an Aquila since her childhood.

Three were the same, in their hands they cradled what appeared to be swords, yet the serrated blade was only a quarter of the length of the weapon. The rest was all hilt, and at the very end the hilt bent away at a ninety-degree angle.

They gestured at one another, swords held in a two-handed thrusting stance. One man covered each side of the entranceway while the third neared the ruined arches by Cyan. They moved quickly, clearly hurried but nevertheless careful.

Celes was close enough to hear one of the men breathe. Despite what was obviously excellent training, his eyes could not penetrate the spell surrounding her.

As Cyan slowly advanced on the soldier near him, the fourth entered her view. He too wore the same greatcoat, but with much more confidence and charisma. Tall and strikingly handsome, his face seemed to have been carved out of solid stone. This was a man who was born to lead in battle, to have his image carved into solid marble as a tribute to his magnificent victories. At his hip were various implements -- none of which Celes recognized – and in his hand was a sword whose blade constantly shimmered as if it was coated with water.

Upon his coat was a beautiful red rosette, as well as the golden Aquila like the others, but in contrast to the friendliness of those symbols was a grinning skull set against an excessively ornate letter I.

Then the last man arrived.

No. This was no man, but a moving statue. He towered over them all, easily two heads above Cyan; a monster giant encased in ornate, ancient plates of armour.

Worse, his suit of armour was of a shade so dark, it seemed to suck the light out of the room. Upon his chest was the golden double-headed eagle, proudly borne across the massive breastplate that protected him. A wicked looking broadsword was at his side, with hundreds of tiny blades running along the length of the main blade.

And in a massive fist that was probably the size of her head, he held a cannon.

Celes's eyes darted to the first three men, a sinking feeling in her heart as she realized the sheathed swords from earlier were really just miniature cannons. And-

And the moving statue was staring directly into her eyes.

Celes paused for a moment. She could feel the armoured hulk looking at her, even if she couldn't see the eyes behind its black visor. And even though she should have been safe behind Strago's spells, she knew.

It could see her.

"Die!" she screamed as she raised an icy fist.

And it roared back, a bellowing war cry so loud that the ruined arches trembled. Its cannon was already pointed at Celes, fire swirling within its barrel. But there would be no contest between fire and ice, for they were so close that it was a contest of speed.

And she had already lost the race.

Looks like even on the FF6 world, no one expects the Imperial Inquisition...

--------------------

"Only the dead have seen the end of their quotes being misattributed to Plato."
-George Santayana

"The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here..."
-Abraham Lincoln, prior to the discovery of Irony.

Chapter 3

"I was born a Magitek Knight, and I will die a Magitek Knight."
- Celes Chere

Thunder echoed throughout the giant chamber as the black-armoured beast announced its presence. The monstrous roar scared even the men that travelled with it, their poise shifting from paranoid readiness to fearful awareness. Large, heavy metal pipes covered with ornate skulls and obscene decorations pointed in every direction.

Throughout their travels, they had met enemies from all walks of life. Warriors, soldiers, monsters of every imaginable shape, as well as ancient terrors of the unimaginable kind. And though they were all very different, Locke Cole had gotten good at identifying any possible dangers.

Such as the massive, iron-cast tube that was suddenly pointed at Celes.

Locke was very good at noticing things pointed at Celes.

He launched himself off his feet, grunting as his shoulders slammed into her back. A short-lived cry escaped her lips. Folds of her white cape wrapped around his face. His heart pounded as they sailed through the air.

Locke felt, rather than saw, the crossbolt tear through Celes' cape. Even to his magic-enhanced senses, it was nothing more than a horrendous roar and a thousand tiny little shockwaves buffeting against his skin. It tore through the open air and slammed into the walls behind them.

Stone liquefied and exploded outwards, the concussion throwing the pair higher into the air before smashing the two into the ground.

Locke landed on his feet, but Celes did not have the luxury of spell-enhanced reflexes and hit the cold, ancient stone face-first. Her cry of pain diverted Locke's attention for a split-second, time that he felt he could afford after forcing the beast to expend its ammunition.

The black-armoured beast roared as two more bolts fired from its handheld cannon. Surprised by lack of reload, even Locke's speed barely allowed him to twist out of the way. He spun on one leg to keep his balance, eyes taking notice of the bolts detonating against the walls.

"Not close enough!" Locke cried as he drew his knife and spun back around.

The metal cannon smashed into his face.

Celes was on her feet just in time to see the massive armoured beast move faster than it anything so large had a right to. With a single blow, Locke was off his feet. In a heartbeat, the cannon was aimed at the flying body.

"Psyker scum!" bellowed the armoured hulk. It pulled the trigger, only to find its hand and the entire weapon encased in a growing sheath of ice.

"Give Kefka my regards," Celes snapped.

Wave after wave of fine-speckled diamond dust slammed into its pitch black form, scouring the ancient armour with their magically-sharpened edges. Yet somehow, those plates of metal held against her spell -- the very same spell that Celes had used to slice clean through demon Magitek and even behemoth hides. Her posture sagged as she focused her will on Kefka's mighty minion.

A fire beam set her hair aflame.

Behind Celes, the lead soldier had recovered first. His miniature cannon emitted a dangerous Magitek fire beam that had been sure to kill the former-Imperial general, but Cyan had spoiled his aim. Doman steel slashed through empty space as the lead soldier suddenly disappeared.

Undaunted, Cyan charged.

By then, all hell had broken loose. Fire beams smashed into Strago's hasty shield spell as the elder mage blasted the handsome man off his feet. Celes put out the flames that beleaguered her, her momentary lapse allowing the armoured hulk to break free. The monster tossed aside its ice-encrusted cannon and drew its sword; the weapon spun to life, hundreds of tiny sawteeth spinning around the massive blade.

Cyan and the monster statue collided, Doman steel locked with the churning chain-blade. Cyan's sword was an heirloom of heirlooms, recovered from the ruins of Doma just recently. It glowed with an unearthly energy as it held firm against the chewing teeth of the monstrous weapon.

Brute strength forced Cyan to break away first, re-addressing at a pace only a Doman could. The difference in power was clear, even before factoring in the immense weight of the monster's weapon. And while it was a rare day that Cyan was bested for strength, it would take much more than that to defeat the master swordsman.

They clashed once more and with a devious feint, Cyan had his opening. His blade opened a great rent in the beast's armour, from waist to shoulder, and as the Doman brought his blade up defensively, the giant swung with both hands and the full force of its massive frame. Even as Cyan's blade resisted the monster's, the Doman was lifted into the air.

The beast's plan had been momentum, and Cyan was caught unawares as he was thrown aside like a rag-doll. The difference in strength was abundantly clear.

The armoured hulk turned back to its prey: Celes.

Fire beams turned aside as Celes dived beneath the shimmering blue blade of the handsome soldier. She drew her rune blade just in time, grunting with effort as she deflected the deadly weapon into the arch stone. The sword slashed through the ruined granite without pause, and her adversary spun around to easily defend from her shoulder-level thrust.

She had already met her match, and the relentless giant was almost upon her.

"Celes, down!"

Superheated air passed over the former-Imperial general as Strago smashed both soldier and giant into the frame of the door. The armoured hulk was not even winded -- it landed on its feet and bellowed with rage.

And from the darkness of the doorway re-emerged the lead soldier, a cannon in each hand. His greatcoat bellowed back as fire beams burst from one hand, while crossbolts thundered from the other. He was chanting at the top of his lungs, but his words were drowned out by the cannonade. Stone liquefied and exploded as Celes and Strago found themselves huddling beside one another, gasping for air while shards of red-hot granite tore through their skin.

Locke and another soldier were joined by their blades as a crossbolt slammed into the wall beside them. The shockwave threw them both to the ground, and as Locke slowly got to his feet, he was vividly aware of the miniature cannon rolling on the granite in front of him.

His hand found the trigger oddly comforting, and Locke steadied the barrel of the weapon with his other hand just like how the soldiers held it. The sight was better than anything he had ever used, even that crossbow that he had found in the castle beneath the shifting sands of the Figaro desert. He took aim at the armoured hulk and squeezed the trigger.

The fire beam scorched the air above the statue.

Locke cursed. The miniature cannon had no recoil and its beam sailed true. There was no need to adjust.

The next blast hit the beast on its pitch-black armoured chest. It barely even singed the paint.

Locke shot again, and again, and again, with no effect. He dove away from returned fire beams and exploding crossbolts, crawling around the broken arches and bumping into Cyan. The knight had taken shelter, knowing that it would be impossible to cross the distance without the enemy's superior weaponry taking him apart.

"If these are Kefka's minions, why has he kept them in this tower for so long?" Cyan grunted in frustration. Their cover was being blasted apart and time was short. "Perhaps calmer minds might prevail."

"I doubt that, I saw that statue's brother with a ton of fanatics back in the other room," Locke snapped out of cover and fired several more shots at the group of soldiers. He was a terrible shot and only managed to scorch the walls. Fire beams forced him back behind the stone arch. "They have another of those damn magic boxes."

"Accursed ancient magic and another of those beasts," Cyan growled.

Locke nodded. He popped his head around the corner and snapped off another shot. "And if you think pitch black is bad, wait till you see ice blue," he gritted his teeth as a beam scorched his skin. He took aim and sent the lead soldier scurrying back behind the cover of the door frame.

"Locke!" Cyan's cry was as close to panic as the thief had ever heard.

Down the length of the massive room, past the wall-like toppled columns and defiled paintings and through the door that led back to the massive group of fanatics, an ice-blue armoured hulk blocked the flickering lights.

"Run!" Locke cried.

Both Returners dived in opposite directions, barely in time as crossbolts peppered their exposed position. The arch liquefied and detonated, heat licking at their bloodied and burned backs. Both men were sprawled across the granite, ears still ringing from the explosions, as the ice-blue giant strode into the massive chamber with a score of fanatics at its heels.

-=-

Celes heard Locke and Cyan's cries, but could not spare them even a glance. The black-armoured hulk was upon her, its chain-blade having twice ripped through her clothes and tearing into the Minerva bustier beneath. Only the strength of that holy relic had prevented the monster from crippling her, but she was still battered, bruised, and bleeding from every extremity.

Her blade was almost torn from her hands as she barely deflected another vicious blow. Seeing that she was off-balance, the monster closed and swiped with its armoured gauntlet. A spiked fist as large as her head tore through the muscles of her arm. Celes threw her adversary back with a blast of ice to the face, but she knew it would only win her a brief respite.

It was keeping her pressured, ensuring that she was too busy trying to survive to summon the power to crush it. And worse, the strategy was working.

Out of the corner of her eye, Celes saw Strago fall. His shields collapsed in a heartbeat and red hot fire beams ripped through the old man. Not even the loremaster could hold back three of the soldiers blasting away with their miniature cannons, but Celes had held out hope that Strago could muster that power and lend her some support.

Not anymore.

A surge of anger rushed through her veins, and without thinking, she channelled it into the palm of her hand. Lightning erupted from her fist, but the armoured hulk backhanded her aside. A flash of pain tore her consciousness from her body, and suddenly she found herself on her knees. The world was spinning, her mouth was fast filling with blood, and an ominous shadow hovered above her.

"No…" Celes wheezed.

And then a voice cut through the noise of battle like none other she had ever heard. It was a shrill, vicious howl that sounded like emaciated lungs exploding under deep pressure. It was the sound of a man's death throes, those final moments of despair and fear regurgitated over, and over, and over again.

Celes collapsed to the ground into a growing pool of her own blood. It felt like her will to live was being sapped from her bones.

But the black-armoured giant turned towards the newcomer, and had its ornate helmet been removed, one might've seen the fanatical anger seething beneath enhanced muscle tissue.

"Traitor Knight!"

The black-armoured beast drew another cannon from its belt, smaller than the monstrosity it had held before but equally ornate. Bolt after bolt erupted from the barrel, preternatural aim focusing every shot into its newly arrived brother. But the ice-blue giant had already moved aside, and under cover of those explosions, the armoured hulk crossed the distance.

Exploding bolts savaged the already ruined church, both armoured giants firing without abandon. They advanced with great speed, aiming with one hand what would have taken two normal men to carry. Columns were blasted apart and entire sections of the ruins levelled as the two giants advanced upon one another. Thunder rang throughout the massive chamber as the soldiers turned upon the fanatics, spreading out amongst the ruined arches and firing their miniature cannons. They dropped dozens of the crazed zealots within seconds, and then ice-blue giant's host responded in kind. The return fire was overwhelming, bathing the dark chamber with red light, but it was without guidance or coordination.

Locke had found himself a hole to crawl under, managing to find cover from both the soldiers and the fanatics. He was gasping for air, trying to recover enough strength to pull Cyan away from the fanatical horde. The miniature cannon in his hand crackled as he dropped two of the mindless zealots, not that he had gotten used to the weapon yet, but because there were just so many of them.

Summoning his courage, he darted out of cover and back towards Cyan's position. Yet the Doman was gone, a pool of warm blood marking the spot Locke had last seen.

"Cyan? Where the hell-" Locke dived back under cover as the stone all around him liquefied. He knew which weapons could do that, and he had no intention of being anywhere near the beasts that held those cannons. Smoke from the numerous explosions aided his hiding spot, and Locke shot a fanatic busy squeezing himself through a crack in the collapsed column nearby.

Then he felt the footsteps.

The black-armoured giant burst out of the smoke, sword in one hand as the cannon in the other roared. Mocking laughter came as its blue-armoured brethren strode through the hail of exploding crossbolts. None of the bolts scored hits, and Locke knew that it was not Pitch Black's aim that was in question. Some sort of magic was protecting Ice Blue, but Locke had never seen the likes of it.

As threatening as Pitch Black had been, Ice Blue was far worse. Its blue armour was even bulkier, and the lines of the metal seemed almost primitive compared to Pitch Black's. And unlike the plain, almost elegant simplicity of Pitch Black, the blue armour was impossibly ornate. Great chunks of plating had been removed and replaced with bands of gold or cold iron, and glittering jewels and monster heads were inlaid upon the surface. It horned helmet had a grilled mask, and behind that came a laugh that chilled the soul.

"What a pleasant surprise," Ice Blue dodged several bolts with a laugh. It raised its own cannon and demolished the stone behind Pitch Black. "A puppy to sacrifice to the Great Mutator."

"I will cleanse the world of your filth, traitor!" Pitch Black closed the distance between the two giants in a blink of an eye, scything with its chain-blade. Equally fast did Ice Blue raise its own sword, the malign thing decorated with icons just like its armour. The deadly weapon ebbed and flowed with terrible energies.

Their duel was neither elegant nor graceful. It was brute force against brute force as the two screamed and hollered from their massive mutated larynxes. Their swords crashed and shrieked, saw teeth gnawing and shattering into thousands of fragments that peppered the two's massive armoured bodies. Hammer blows were exchanged by their vast paws, each with enough force utterly pulp a regular man.

And though neither had a clear advantage, Pitch Black had been fighting for far longer. The vicious exchange was ended by a sudden blow that crushed Pitch Black's helmet. The massive armoured hulk fell back for an instant, and that was all the time Ice Blue needed.

Two crossbolts struck Pitch Black's chestplate. With a cry of rage rather than pain, it was thrown through the stone wall behind him. Crossbolts followed and its cries silenced.

Staring at the exposed back of the Ice Blue armoured hulk, Locke raised his miniature cannon at the leader of the fanatics and fired.

Ice Blue noticed the fire beams scorching its armour the way a man might notice a mosquito. And considering the size difference, Locke felt very much like an insect. He took a few steps back, finger pressed down on the trigger, as blasts of fire tore through the thick armour plates, jewels evaporating and monster icons ruined, but all of it was inconsequential.

A crossbolt collapsed Locke's shelter and buried him beneath a tonne of ancient stone.

But Locke had provided the opening needed. The handsome soldier appeared out of nowhere, his glowing blue blade carving through plates of armour and drawing a bone-chilling cry of pain.

Ice Blue roared and brought the full weight of its chain-blade down on the insignificant man that just hurt it. Sword locked against sword, and as if not knowing his peril, the soldier threw himself fully into the fray. The man chanted at the top of his lungs, a prayer repeated in perfect sing-song quality despite the fierceness of battle. They clashed, swung and re-addressed. Over and over did they fight, but it was obvious who would be the victor.

He lasted just long enough for the smoke of explosions to clear. Just long enough to die in view of his comrades. With a massive two-handed swing, Ice Blue split the soldier down his spinal cord.

"The Inquisitor!" one of the horrified soldiers cried out.

"Marazin, in the Emperor's name, keep it together!" the lead soldier, the man that had initially evaded Cyan's wrath, waved at the two still with him. They were all bloodied, their greatcoats soaked and ripped from the battle. The sound of fanatics was still around their beleaguered position, a horde whose numbers were too great to overcome. Their shots were becoming more frantic, what professionalism gone as they saw their comrades fall one at a time. But to their credit, they did not bother wasting any ammunition on the blue-armoured giant.

For Ice Blue was invincible. He had felled Pitch Black with contemptuous ease and nothing else could even hurt him.

Which was why Cyan charged out of nowhere.

Doman steel tore through those nigh-impenetrable armour plates once more, but Cyan had learned from his previous fight. A short thrust drew a hideous scream from that unstoppable monster, but gave no opening for the monster hulk to reverse. Cyan was fast too, circling and stabbing, blocking only when necessary and always slipping away afterwards. It was the grace and skill of a master swordsman -- a sight to behold for the demoralized men falling back behind the door frame from which they had emerged.

Ice Blue responded with pure brute force. When Doman steel sheared clean through its chest, it pulled close despite the wounds and its fist sank through Cyan's masterwork chestplate. The Doman was thrown clear, and his sword soon followed.

While wisps of foul smoke seemed to drift out of the blue-armoured hulk's shattered plates, the monster snapped off a shot at Cyan. It missed; perhaps due to its fatigue or wounds. By then, several fanatics arrived to swarm around their leader, cannons flaring to life and scorching Cyan's holy armour before he found cover. Behind the Doman, the soldiers fired from their position by the door frame.

Mocking laughter issued from Ice Blue's grilled mask. Fire beams and crossbolts all went wide, and in stark constrast, the armoured hulk raised its cannon and blew off a soldier's arm.

"Through the darkness may I serve thee!"

Pitch black armour, metal plates ripped apart and covered with blood, rose out of the rubble. Its cannon roared, pulping two fanatics in an instant. Beside the statue was Locke, his stolen cannon torching another of the enemy.

"Guide my hand in this-" Pitch Black's cannon pointed at Ice Blue, "-thy fight!"

The mocking laughter continued, grating against every eardrum that could hear it. Not a single crossbolt touched the unnaturally agile blue-armoured beast, even while the men around detonated or were vaporized by munitions meant for it.

"Your senile god deserts you even now," Ice Blue taunted.

"That my will and honour-" Pitch Black's chanting ended abruptly as a crossbolt caught him in the shoulder. He collapsed back into the rubble as Ice Blue advanced, oblivious to the fire beams slaughtering the fanatics around him.

"I am Sarosh. Remember my name in hell, you pitiful slave."

"The Emperor-" Pitch Black's voice died as the blue hulk pressed its massive foot down against its broken chestplates.

"What was that?" Sarosh laughed. "I don't know what you were trying to say. What does your pitiful god do?"

"The Emperor protects," Celes finished.

Her cape bellowed outwards as ice and lightning slammed into the blue-armoured hulk. Thunderous magic tore through those invulnerable metal plates, tearing pieces off and shattering others. Its green loincloth was ripped aside and the ornate shoulder pads crumpled from the magical force. Even its chestplate seemed to collapse inwards.

And yet it continued to laugh.

"Well what's this? A little girl offering herself to the Changer of Ways?"

"Why don't you burn in hell," Celes growled.

The blizzard intensified and even the jewels upon the beast's armour cracked and shattered. The temperature of the room dropped quickly, blood freezing upon the ground and breaths misting in the air, but that was nothing compared to the cone of ice shards that eviscerated Sarosh. Armour plates struggled to move in the deadly vacuum, the air itself thickening into a solid mass as archaic magic warped reality.

The icons upon Sarosh's armour glowed with unearthly energy.

Suddenly, the beast was before Celes, its ornate cannon pointed directly at her. Only now did she realize what the barrel was shaped like, and how the icons upon its armour were not mere monster images.

"This has been a lovely diversion. My Master will love to taste you," it hissed. "You delicious little girl…"

Sarosh's cannon spat crossbolts into Celes's chest at point-blank range. The ensuing explosion sent them both flying away from one another, Sarosh through flash-frozen stone that shattered in its wake, and Celes…

And Celes in one piece, on her feet, rune sword in hand.

She charged out of instinct and with a roar, cleaved Sarosh's helmet in two. It uttered a cry of disbelief before a great geyser of foul smoke erupted from the decapitated monster; its wailing death throes sending shivers down her spine and leaving her completely drained. The massive suit of armour crashed to the ground, the stench of death wafting from between the empty plates.

Then Celes realized that she was surrounded by the soldiers. They had been protecting her from the fanatics, fire beams killing over a hundred while she duelled with Sarosh. The monster's death had chilled her soul, but it must completely demoralized its allies for the zealot horde had scrambled away trying to protect their pitiful lives.

Locke was amongst the black battledress, holding his ground beside the same man he had stolen a cannon from. They had protected each other in the chaos, but now the common enemy was gone and their bond was next.

The lead soldier had lowered his weapon, but it was only a heartbeat away from being pointed at Celes. "Who in the Emperor's name are you?" his voice was commanding and the threat was clear.

Celes gasped for air, exhausted but unwilling to collapse under the circumstances. "I am-"

"You're a Magitek Knight?" asked one of the soldiers behind her. "You don't look like one…"

Celes spun around to face the bloodied man. He had been staring at her cape.

"Of course she is," said a deep, powerful voice distorted by a cracked helmet. The black-armoured hulk rose, covered with so much blood that it was difficult to tell what belonged to it and what belonged to its enemies. An armoured gauntlet slapped against its shattered chestplate. "Well met, battle-sister. I am Brother-Captain Tacitus."

Brother-Captain?

Celes found herself staring up at the armoured hulk, too tired to show her surprise. Tacitus removed his helmet, revealing the bloodied, scarred face of a superhuman warrior who had been fighting since he had been born. Behind him, she could see Cyan and Strago supporting each other's weight, their clothes soaked with blood. Everyone was hurt, exhausted, and these men had fought beside them against the fanatics. They could be trusted. They had to be trusted. There was not much choice.

And then there was the Aquila. And the prayer in the midst of battle. And that rank…

"I am Sister Celes," she answered. And from the deepest recesses of her childhood. "Hallowed be the Golden Throne."

Brother-Captain Tacitus's reply was instantaneous.

"Praise be the God-Emperor."

Intresting chapter. Nothing like a bit of bolter fire to make things get violent quickly.

I've now got quite a lot of questions on the connection between Vector and the Imperium. I hope they get answered later on.

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"Only the dead have seen the end of their quotes being misattributed to Plato."
-George Santayana

"The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here..."
-Abraham Lincoln, prior to the discovery of Irony.