This tale is far from over...

[hipsdolie.livejournal.com]

Characters: Kuja, open to all
Progress: Ongoing
Summary: Kuja suddenly finds himself in Treno, not knowing how he got there as the last thing he remembers is leaving for Terra from Mount Gulug.
Location: Treno
Date: January 17th, afternoon.
Warnings: To be added? Nothing so far, but it’s Kuja. Spoilers for IX presumably?



After Kuja had found himself in Treno all of the sudden - it was impossible not to notice the changes - he had wondered just how he got from Mount Gulug to this eternal city of night. It was infuriating, not knowing who to blame for his confusion and apparent loss of time, although all signs pointed to Garland, as usual. Had the disgrace of a being muddled with his existence once more? Was it not enough that Kuja was his pawn to control?

Kuja scoffed, shaking his head. If sending him to Treno was Garland’s idea of showing he still wielded a power over him, it was an amusing fantasy. Being sent to a city where he held many connections was no hindrance to him. “Garland, you pitiful fool…” he muttered, looking over at the auction house in the distance fondly. Flashes of dark hair and orange came to his mind unbidden; yes, he remembered the princess well, and the power that drew him to her.

Casting his eyes on the city, he noticed that Treno never really changed; filled to the brim with the thieves, bounty hunters and bargainers of Gaia, masterfully hiding in the shadows Treno was so known for. He noticed some of them looking at his wardrobe, but ignored them, deeming them insignificant as just more insects to be destroyed. A small sacrifice towards Garland’s greedy hands. Looking over their shrouded faces, he felt no compassion or remorse. The only one interesting to him were those who could grant him power. Eidolons…

Walking calmly through the small alleys and turns in the city, his feet familiar with the path to the auction house, he couldn’t help but overhear some measly thieves in a corner discussing the recent events in Treno. Kuja paid it no heed until they discussed the recent disappearance of princess Garnet and how the Mist had reappeared. Curious, Kuja now listened to the details as he had been fairly sure that his dear brother and his ragtag group of rats had caused the Mist to fade by destroying SoulCage.

“I think I’ll have to hear this entire tale from another little bird,” he mused to himself as he approached the auction house, wondering what had happened to Zidane and friends during all this, and what had caused the Mist to return.

Comments

[thespian-thief.livejournal.com]

It was later that evening, after picking up Yuffie on the outskirts of Midgar and finding the spare key to Dr. Tot's tower so that the three of them at least had a place to use as a base for the night that Zidane finally ventured out into the city proper again. (Though, the use of the key was a bit redundant, as two thirds of their party was more than capable of picking locks and the remaining third wasn't the type who could be hindered by petty things such as doors and bolt locks. At any rate.) The first stop Zidane made was to the auction house.

Over the course of his adventures, he'd come to rely on the auction house a bit to find decent add-ons for his journey, though for the last few years there hadn't been much that had caught his interest. Especially since the party itself broke up. There just wasn't a whole lot Zidane could do with fairy earrings and pearl rouge.

...

Well, there was, but with what Zidane was fairly certain was a genetic predisposition to be gender ambiguous, it was a can of worms he felt was best left untouched. Tantalus had put him through more than enough in that vein.

Things had changed, though, and now Zidane found himself with two people who had possible infinite uses for such accessories, and if he couldn't outbid the nobles (funds had dwindled some since he'd returned to his old ways), he could still follow the ones who won out and lift what he wanted out of their heavily-ladened pockets. So off he went to the familiar building of pounding gavels and murmuring nobles, the resonating sound of the auctioneer's voice audible even from down the path.

Just as Zidane was drawing near the entrance, however, his run slowed to a distracted jog, then reeled to a stumbling halt.

He--

He knew that figure walking languidly ahead of him. He knew that stride, knew that air of pride and that deceptive attire. There was no mistaking it. But it wasn't possible. Kuja was dead and gone. Zidane knew that better than anyone. He'd carried the body back to the village himself, after all. He'd put Kuja in the ground. He'd even laughed to himself, then, at how pissed his brother would be at him if Kuja knew what Zidane was doing to his beloved clothes, covering them with dirt and mud and sticks and rocks. Zidane'd laughed and gone through with it anyway, and then he had cried.

And so he was sure, more than anything, that Kuja was gone.

But there, right before him--

He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands, swallowed, blinked.

"...Kuja?" he called out, voice quiet in its uncertainty.

And then he held back, waited. Waited for reality to catch up to him. Waited to wake from this, whatever strange dreamscape he had stumbled into while he hadn't been watching.

[hipsdolie.livejournal.com]

Though surrounded by eager bidders, babbling about their newest purchases, Kuja recognized the voice through the murmur as it reached his ears, even before he turned around to face Zidane. “Zidane, what a surprise to see you here!”

He tilted his head, brushing the hair from his face to take a closer look at the other Genome, shielded in Treno’s shadows. There were some curious changes to his physique; his torso and limbs seemed longer, though there were still clearly traces of his earlier, childlike movements. For some reason, he looked more mature, a thought which in itself was laughable. He raised an eyebrow at the changes, but approached his brother with a smirk, unwilling to show anything that might be interpreted as weakness to Zidane.

“It’s a pleasant surprise that we should meet again here, “ he started, taking a few steps into Zidane’s direction. “…I do wonder why your friends haven’t followed you. Did they lose their nerve, or did your brave companions fall in battle? What a waste that would be!”

Kuja regretted not having any Black Mages or dragons in proximity to send at Zidane, but with the princess and that brat missing from Zidane’s usual party, there hardly seemed a point to fighting. A very satisfying victory over all the wrongs Zidane had put him through, and a way to show him who really was the more powerful one, but an empty victory nonetheless. No, there would be plenty of time to end his brother’s existence, but he had more important matters at hand, such as discovering a way to Trance. He had a plan, but it required heading for Terra, loathe as he was to return to Garland’s grasp.

He shook his head free from the thoughts, figuring he might just as well entertain himself with a would-be charming reunion of brothers before raising the finishing blow on Garland himself. Taking a look at his – oddly different – brother, he noticed another thing. Zidane looked surprised to see him. Eyes not filled with anger nor fear, just pure bewilderment. Surely it wasn’t that much of a stretch to meet again? Or had Garland played a trick on Zidane as well? Did that mean Garland had made contact with Zidane?

[thespian-thief.livejournal.com]

"H-huh?" Zidane managed to get out, half frowning in confusion as he absorbed Kuja's words. What was he talking about? Did he not remember? Did he not remember the crystal or Necron or the Iifa Tree? From the way he was speaking, it was as if those times had never been. The smile on Kuja's face, cruel and arrogant, was far more familiar to Zidane than the way Kuja had looked in the end, his life dwindling away with his body crumpled against those twisted roots and rock. That look on his face then, Zidane still remembered vividly. Humbled, defeated. Resigned. Self depreciating and just perhaps a little afraid. More than a little afraid. It had taken months of walking to nowhere in particular to wear the edges of that memory down enough that it no longer hurt so sharply to think of it.

But the look on his face now wasn't that. It was the look Zidane had seen over the months of chasing after Kuja, in their desperate bid to stop him. It was more familiar to be certain, but Zidane knew that it wasn't Kuja. It wasn't who Kuja was. What had happened between then and now? Garland was dead, wasn't he? There was no way he'd done something, or could've done something like--

Was he back? Somehow, against all odds? Had he... recreated Kuja? Stripped him of the memories he'd made, the good deed he'd laid himself to rest with in the end? Why would anyone do that? Zidane felt anger flush through him, not at Kuja but at everything else. At the world. At whoever or whatever was putting Kuja through this again, when it'd taken so much last time to show him he could be better than the sins of their father.

They weren't pawns. They weren't dolls or vessels or any of that bullshit. They were people. They had friends. Feelings. People who loved them. They deserved to be free like anybody else. Zidane didn't know what kind of sick game this was, but he wasn't about to have any of it.

"What are you talking about, Kuja?" Zidane demanded. "The fight's over. It's been over. We're not enemies anymore." He then strode up to stand before Kuja unflinchingly, unafraid. Because he knew Kuja. Zidane believed people were the most honest, the most themselves in the moment before their death. Because there was nothing left to pretend for, nothing left to defend or lose. And he'd seen Kuja at the end.

So he wasn't afraid.

There were still so many things he wanted to say.

[hipsdolie.livejournal.com]

The longer Kuja talked to Zidane, the more he felt like there was definitely something amiss. Why else would he walk up to him fearlessly, trying to talk and reason instead of fighting him? It was almost like an insult, like this lowly, weaker brother of his hadn’t a thing to fear from him. Zidane was impatient and rash, last time they met. What had changed? Kuja tilted his chin higher, staring down at Zidane with a smile on his lips. No longer enemies? The fight is over? Preposterous. He was just getting started.

“Oh my… It seems to me like you’re the one confused here, Zidane. I’m not finished with you just yet, even though you might desire the war’s end!” Kuja laughed, a sharp, cruel, yet delighted laugh. There was something so entertaining and satisfying at picturing Zidane’s life come to an end, Garland having been wrong about him and Zidane both… Proving to Garland, Terra and Gaia alike that he was the most powerful, not Zidane. “Even the Mist agrees, coming back, and with it returning my ability to create a few pets to get rid of pathetic rats like yourself!”

He brushed his hair aside again, taking in his brother’s altered appearance. It couldn’t be Garland’s hand, could it? If Zidane and Garland were , Zidane wouldn’t want the war to be over. Kuja was certain that between Garland and himself, absolutely no trust was wasted.

Zidane even looked like a Genome in all the places Kuja did not. It made Kuja wonder what he’d say, what he’d think when he arrived at Terra and found out what he really was. This boy, his brother, was frightfully naïve and gullible when it came to trusting others.

[thespian-thief.livejournal.com]

Zidane's hands clenched into fists as he listened to Kuja speak, listened to him prattle on and on about plans long lain to rest. The memories flooded back to him, the events of Terra. Of finding out how Kuja had let himself be puppeteered by Garland through the very act of trying to escape who he was. Of Garland toying with their lives as though they were possessions, trying to reduce Zidane's will to just that of another vessel and flippantly clipping Kuja's life short when Garland ran out of uses for his eldest. For a moment, Zidane felt a sharp stab of anxiety spike through him as he remembered what killed Kuja in the end. Of the black mages in the village one by one stopping, until none of the original villagers were left.

Would it be the same this time? Regardless of how Kuja had come back or who had done this, would it be the same? Was Kuja's life still self-limiting, the only difference being that Kuja was now once again unaware of it? The thought troubled Zidane greatly, but he bit back the words because he remembered all too well what learning of his own mortality had done to Kuja last time. He was capable of so many terrible things.

Still, Zidane couldn't hate him. Not anymore. He didn't think Kuja was truly a bad person. He was just lost, like Zidane had almost been. Zidane understood all too well even in his short time under Garland's thumb what that sort of life could do to you. If he hadn't had his teammates, his friends, Dagger--

He could have ended up the same. He would have. He was almost sure of this.

Perhaps that was why his inability to save Kuja even after Kuja had found himself the last time around had taken such a toll on Zidane. Right now, all Zidane knew was that he couldn't fail Kuja again. It'd eaten at him, the idea of being lost your whole life. Without family, without friends. Alone, told you were worth nothing more than a pawn, to be sacrificed and discarded as needed.

Nobody deserved that. Kuja should have had better than that.

Now Zidane knew Kuja wasn't the responsibility of anyone but him. They were like brothers, after all. Zidane understood Kuja more than probably anyone else. And this time Zidane was going to do it all right. He owed Kuja as much, at least, since from his understanding it was in part his creation which had fueled Kuja's madness.

But, Gaia, where to begin?

"I'm not confused, Kuja. Not about that, at least. I know who I am, I know where we come from, and... It's over, Kuja. There's nothing to fight for anymore."

[hipsdolie.livejournal.com]

Even before Zidane finished talking, Kuja began to grow more and more annoyed at how fearless and almost desperate he was to get through to him. Obnoxious little pest; the thought ran through his brain, making Kuja smile despite Zidane's in-your-face nature.

As soon as Zidane finished, Kuja felt an uncertain and unfamiliar feeling race through his body. It was different from the anger and annoyance he felt towards his Zidane, although it was definitely part frustration. It angered him that Zidane - Zidane, of all people - knew something he didn't. This entire situation was off from the moment he'd found himself in Treno of all places.

And now Zidane knew of the heritage they regretfully shared without even having taken a step in that other world, Terra.

Kuja didn't even want to acknowledge the possibility of Garland and Zidane teaming up against him, so he ignored the feeling and pushed on, staring defiantly at the blond Genome. "The noble warrior who took it upon himself to save the world has nothing left to fight for? My, my, but once again the mist contradicts your gullible words! On the contrary, Zidane, there's everything to fight for! Don't tell me you're waving a white flag in my face, Zidane!" Kuja started laughing, putting one hand on his side.

"It isn't over until the curtain falls... For one of us. The Final Act: The End of an Endless War! If you truly know where you're from, even you should be able to understand this."

[thespian-thief.livejournal.com]

"Terra's gone, Kuja," Zidane's words were blunt, but his voice was soft as he held out his hand in offering. It didn't matter so much whether Kuja took it or not. Zidane just felt as though he had to offer. There was a moment's pause as Zidane made a decision, rather rashly as he tended to do. But he did it with conviction, posture straightening and expression growing grave. It made him look older still, made the years which had passed more apparent on the features of Zidane's face.

"We-- I destroyed it. We made it through Shimmering Island, and when I found out... When Garland told me everything and tried to make me like them, I burned it to the ground," he lied, unflinchingly fabricating the events as he went along. He didn't do it to deceive Kuja as much as he did it to protect him, and there was only one wish in Zidane's heart as he spoke.

'Let me bear the burden of your sins with you. I'm not alone, and you're not either. Never. Never.'

"Terra's gone. The Genomes live here now, on Gaia. Garland's dead," he went on to say. "The Mist doesn't mean anything. We'll find a way to stop it again. You don't have to be like this anymore, Kuja. Forget the past. You can live your life the way you want to."

[hipsdolie.livejournal.com]

Kuja looked at the outstretched hand for a while, disgusted at the apparent friendly gesture. Why don't you fear my power?! Kuja wanted to shout, but listened silently at the impossible words that were falling from Zidane's lips, his first instinct was to deny all of it, claim it was all a presumptuous lie from the mouth of a boy too powerless to make him fold his cards in any other way.

Then he slapped the hand aside, insulted by the mere offer. To Kuja, the extended hand stood for nothing but his weakness, his failure, his defeat before the final battle had even commenced. Whatever it was that Zidane was offering (absolution? Forgiveness? Absolutely ridiculous.), Kuja would never take anything from Zidane... Apart from his life.

Laughter bubbled up from his throat, though those familiar with his laugh could probably detect some hesitation and nervousness in the sound. "Ha...haha... what are you saying, Zidane? Terra still exists, and Garland can't be dead. I didn't deal with him yet! How silly of you to try and trick me with such false words of absolution! Did you honestly think I'll be that easy to beat?"

Kuja wondered why Zidane didn't understand that these words didn't help his case and only made him feel like he was being coddled like he was nothing more but a petulant child.

He avoided thinking about how logical Zidane's words sounded, and how he even mentioned the Shimmering Island. He turned sideways from Zidane, clearly getting ready to leave. Spreading his arms, he cast his gaze to the dark sky of Treno, smiling as he practically felt some of the familiar mist in the distance, calling it to him. "Come forth and show him his place, spawn of mist!"

And with that, a huge Mistodon appeared, blocking Zidane's view of Kuja by its sheer size. This allowed Kuja plenty of room to retreat from the scene without having to face Zidane himself.

[thespian-thief.livejournal.com]

"WHOA--"

Zidane jumped back just in time to avoid being clipped in the head by one of the Mistodon's many insect legs as it reared up at him, emitting that horrible screech which always made Zidane's ears ring for hours afterward. Even as he drew his daggers and fell into a defensive stance, he gritted his teeth and called out to Kuja. He knew this play all too well. Kuja had always done this in the past, summoning some sort of creature on them before vanishing to carry on with his plans. Without anyone here to back him up, by the time Zidane took care of the Mistodon, Kuja would be long gone and Zidane knew it.

"Kuja! KUJA! Dammit, don't do this!"

But then Zidane was out of time, and the Mistodon threw its first attack.

[jenovaschosen1.livejournal.com]

Casting a disdainful glare at the darkened streets of Treno, Sephiroth heaved a sigh of disgust before pushing his way through the masses. This city was just as dark as Midgar had been, though far more populated. It was the latter quality that had brought Sephiroth here in the first place. Since finding Mother was proving more difficult than he'd originally thought, the general had soon found himself in need of a few basic supplies. Needless to say, he hadn't been able to find anything of use in the deserted ruins of Midgar.

Sephiroth silently watched a few figures that lurked in the shadows, green eyes glowing eerily. This place reminded him too much of the slums beneath the plate. No one had made any attempt to approach him yet, unseen or otherwise, but perhaps that was because of the six-foot kitana strapped to his back. The general smirked. Pity. He could have used the entertainment.

As he walked further in, Sephiroth could hear voices up ahead calling out prices and placing bids. Some sort of auction house, then. While he would have preferred a shop of some sort, this would have to do. The quicker he acquired his supplies, the quicker he could be on his way and out of this mess.

Sephiroth walked to the entrance, pausing as a thought occurred to him. He had no idea what this place used as currency. Irritated at yet another possible hitch in his plans, the General approached the closest person he could find. "What currency is accepted here?" he asked, voice tinged with impatience.

[hipsdolie.livejournal.com]

Kuja turned around, facing the voice that had dared approach him with such an unimportant question. And a weird question at that... People in Treno tended to know the value of gil all too well, especially those interested in entering the auction house.

He took in the appearance of the man, so unlike Treno... or even Gaia's usual fashion. The long, silver hair and eyecolor didn't go unnoticed; if Kuja didn't know any better, he'd say they were glowing. How unusual.

Instead of dignifying the man's question with a reply, he simply smirked, and tilted his head towards the auction house. "I'm sure anyone can simply go inside and see what they're bidding with," Kuja offered in a slightly scathing tone, though he kept a polite smile on his lips. He had no patience for mundane questions, no matter who they were from. He had more important matters to attend to.

[jenovaschosen1.livejournal.com]

A man less disciplined might have stared in shock as Sephiroth realized the woman he had spoken to was not a woman after all. At least he didn't think so. It was rather hard to be certain. From behind, the figure had certainly looked female... The general suppressed a shudder. It was best that he just abandon that line of thought right now. Better still to pretend such a thing had never occurred to him in the first place.

Sephiroth bit back an annoyed retort. So far, this place seemed full of nothing but worthless humans far too convinced of their own importance. Oh, and moogles. Mustn't forget the blasted moogles.

What was so difficult about answering a simple question? In the time that it had taken for this person to formulate his/her response, s/he could have just as easily given a legitimate answer.

Gathering the dwindling reserves of his patience, Sephiroth gave a curt nod. "I'm sure they could," he agreed tightly. "Forgive me," he added with feigned politeness. "Had I known the question was beyond your ability to answer, I assure you I would have."

[hipsdolie.livejournal.com]

It seemed like the man's ego was easily wounded, judging by his words, though Kuja couldn't help but be amused at the polite tone that shielded his wounded pride. One would think this man would've made the effort to discover it himself, if he really was that concerned about wounding his pride.

"If," Kuja started, brushing the hair from his face as he tilted his head at the man, "I didn't know the answer, which I do, I'd only be as ignorant as you are... which I am not." Normally, Kuja would've probably gotten upset at the stab at his intelligence, but coming from someone who asked him about the currency in a city he was visiting, he couldn't feel much more than just mere annoyance at the man clearly wasting his time.

It was a pity that the man was incompetent, because he emanated an aura of power and confidence otherwise. It reminded him of someone, though he couldn’t exactly pinpoint who. He turned his attention back to the auction house, clearly ready to ignore the man and his inane questions from now on.