Kuja snorts. "If this place is trying to destabilize me, it's doing a poor job of it. This is hardly the most traumatic memory it could have dug up."
"Replace me? What do you mean, replace me?" "The fault is mine. Flaws in your design. But no prototype is perfect. Failure you may be, but you have contributed much." Garland doesn't even look at him when he says it, so casually ripping his heart out. He'd performed his role faithfully, hadn't he? "Would it not behoove you to have us work in tandem, Garland? Surely two 'angels of death' could disrupt Gaia's cycle more efficiently than one-" "No. I need a weapon, Kuja, not a schemer constantly working to supplant me. I will not deny that you have been useful, but you will be phased out once testing-"
The dream scatters like smoke in the wind, as Kuja walks forward, sighing. "I appreciate it, Madhuri. How do we get out of this, there must surely be some trigger or something-"
The smoke reforms, a new memory surfacing. A blue world, barren but beautiful in its deathlike state, a genome cloaked in white as an infant screams in one arm. "That should have distracted him, at least. Replace me, as though he could- I ought to drop you in the Treno slums, you'd be dead by morning- will you cease that noise this instant!" The gate to Gaia is adjusted, targets spinning by, he doesn't care where- "Ah, Lindblum. The Festival does start today, doesn't it? Perhaps you'll be eaten by a Mu, or some peasant will take pity on you." The child is thrown into the center of the runes- and in a column of light is gone before it even hits the ground. "Certainly not my-" Disrupted, again, this time by a fire spell.
Kuja sneers. "I am becoming quite annoyed with this museum, and I've scarely been here five minutes. I cast my vote for burning the place to the ground as soon as we manage-"
Kuja's words die in his throat. More smoke, more fragments. The Noble sips wine and laughs with faceless aristocrats, gilded robes and expensive jewels glittering by the light of a chandelier. The Merchant, showing his Black Mages to a blue-skinned woman, greedy eyes giddy with excitement as they shoot fire and ice from their hands. The Reaper, stepping over the charred corpse of a Burmecian soldier as Black Mages march in unison around him, torching homes, leaving none alive. The Ruler, hair and feathers red as blood as he kicks Garland off a cliff, face twisted with unbridled, wild-eyed, psychotic glee, a blonde-haired young man with a tail bleeding behind him. Each second that passes makes him seem less confident, each attempt to stop the fragments makes more appear.
The Doll, laughing. The Doll, sobbing. The Doll, face deadpan as he rises into the air. The Doll, raining azure fire, burning Terra to ash out of misery and spite. All flashes, mere seconds in passing, but undeniably- there.
In the end... it's the arm winding gently around his own that drags him out of it. The maelstrom winds slowly down, and Kuja steadies slightly, looking around... "Ah. I think I know the exit."
He feels, not for the first time, the sensation of eyes on the back of his head, watching his every move. "What would Zidane do," he mutters, to himself.
The Doll, exhausted, bleeding, but triumphant, finally collapsing in front of his enemies, too weak to carry on... Kuja, helplessly watching Zidane somehow find the will to keep going, to fight off the last enemy, the Eidolon of Entropy itself, one final, insurmountable foe. Kuja, last of his Trance expended. He has a sliver of magic left. He could walk away victorious, heal himself and crawl out of the crumbling tree- but he doesn't. He pushes them out, away from harm, a transport spell to take them away. Kuja, broken, bloodied, dying. Not a spark of magic left in him, barely the energy to form words as Zidane... tries to make him comfortable. Never came to save him, even Zidane couldn't be so stupid- but trying to be there, to make sure his last moments aren't alone. The words that haunt him, every second of every day, echoing softly.
"Wouldn't you have done the same for me?"
Zidane, his way out, his saving grace, the infuriating little lecher who reached out despite everything... The dream fades. Lingering whisps of thought, fragments of memory from other minds in the room... but nothing more of Gaia or of Terra.
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"Replace me? What do you mean, replace me?"
"The fault is mine. Flaws in your design. But no prototype is perfect. Failure you may be, but you have contributed much." Garland doesn't even look at him when he says it, so casually ripping his heart out. He'd performed his role faithfully, hadn't he?
"Would it not behoove you to have us work in tandem, Garland? Surely two 'angels of death' could disrupt Gaia's cycle more efficiently than one-"
"No. I need a weapon, Kuja, not a schemer constantly working to supplant me. I will not deny that you have been useful, but you will be phased out once testing-"
The dream scatters like smoke in the wind, as Kuja walks forward, sighing. "I appreciate it, Madhuri. How do we get out of this, there must surely be some trigger or something-"
The smoke reforms, a new memory surfacing. A blue world, barren but beautiful in its deathlike state, a genome cloaked in white as an infant screams in one arm. "That should have distracted him, at least. Replace me, as though he could- I ought to drop you in the Treno slums, you'd be dead by morning- will you cease that noise this instant!" The gate to Gaia is adjusted, targets spinning by, he doesn't care where- "Ah, Lindblum. The Festival does start today, doesn't it? Perhaps you'll be eaten by a Mu, or some peasant will take pity on you." The child is thrown into the center of the runes- and in a column of light is gone before it even hits the ground. "Certainly not my-" Disrupted, again, this time by a fire spell.
Kuja sneers. "I am becoming quite annoyed with this museum, and I've scarely been here five minutes. I cast my vote for burning the place to the ground as soon as we manage-"
Kuja's words die in his throat. More smoke, more fragments. The Noble sips wine and laughs with faceless aristocrats, gilded robes and expensive jewels glittering by the light of a chandelier. The Merchant, showing his Black Mages to a blue-skinned woman, greedy eyes giddy with excitement as they shoot fire and ice from their hands. The Reaper, stepping over the charred corpse of a Burmecian soldier as Black Mages march in unison around him, torching homes, leaving none alive. The Ruler, hair and feathers red as blood as he kicks Garland off a cliff, face twisted with unbridled, wild-eyed, psychotic glee, a blonde-haired young man with a tail bleeding behind him. Each second that passes makes him seem less confident, each attempt to stop the fragments makes more appear.
The Doll, laughing. The Doll, sobbing. The Doll, face deadpan as he rises into the air. The Doll, raining azure fire, burning Terra to ash out of misery and spite. All flashes, mere seconds in passing, but undeniably- there.
In the end... it's the arm winding gently around his own that drags him out of it. The maelstrom winds slowly down, and Kuja steadies slightly, looking around... "Ah. I think I know the exit."
He feels, not for the first time, the sensation of eyes on the back of his head, watching his every move. "What would Zidane do," he mutters, to himself.
The Doll, exhausted, bleeding, but triumphant, finally collapsing in front of his enemies, too weak to carry on...
Kuja, helplessly watching Zidane somehow find the will to keep going, to fight off the last enemy, the Eidolon of Entropy itself, one final, insurmountable foe. Kuja, last of his Trance expended. He has a sliver of magic left. He could walk away victorious, heal himself and crawl out of the crumbling tree- but he doesn't. He pushes them out, away from harm, a transport spell to take them away.
Kuja, broken, bloodied, dying. Not a spark of magic left in him, barely the energy to form words as Zidane... tries to make him comfortable. Never came to save him, even Zidane couldn't be so stupid- but trying to be there, to make sure his last moments aren't alone. The words that haunt him, every second of every day, echoing softly.
"Wouldn't you have done the same for me?"
Zidane, his way out, his saving grace, the infuriating little lecher who reached out despite everything... The dream fades. Lingering whisps of thought, fragments of memory from other minds in the room... but nothing more of Gaia or of Terra.