Prologue Revised: March 18th, 2014

Disclaimer: I'm only going to say this once. I don't own Final Fantasy, or anything related to it. But I'm sure you already knew that. Squaresoft has that distinct honor.

Fithos

"Awaken yourselves from sleep, my children. This is not a cradle."

Luces

"Awaken yourselves from sleep, fated children. Sleep does not advance."

Vecos

"Burning with the fires of truth. Sear with flame the darkness of the world."

Vinosec

"Burning with the fires of truth. Kindle to ash the evil of the spirit."

"I'll be here..."

A Vast Ocean

"Why...?"

A Barren Desert

"I'll be 'waiting'...here..."

A Field of Flowers

"For what?"

A Stroke of Lightning

"I'll be waiting...for you...so..."

A Single Feather

"If you come here..."

A Lion…..

"You'll find me..."

and an Angel…..

"…I promise."

Peace; a simple luxury often taken for granted by the human race.

If such a thing were easily withheld in the world, there would be no need for armies or war. There would be no need for death and bloodshed, but alas, this is not the case. Peace is fought for, and usually carries a hefty price. Those who fight for it are not often hailed as heroes unless they are killed while doing so, and even then it takes convincing. People do not like to admit it is their selfishness which brings about war.

People are stupid.

Often is the goal of war overlooked. Many see it as a way of proving dominance instead of a last resort. War is blind; no hatred or love involved on the battlefield, just two sides fighting for what they believe in. There is never a right or a wrong side to be on in the face of war. Nothing can justify violence and taking of another life, over something as ridiculous as politics, which is usually the case in these modern days.

However, among the seemingly never ending religious and political proxy battles that ravaged the planet, another kind of war turned out to be the worst of them all, but this was no normal war by any means. Not to say any war can be classified as 'normal', but it was unique. The Sorceress War, an odd, but suitable name for the conflict. A supernatural display of unimaginable powers that hadn't been seen in over four thousand years had become a prime weapon of mass destruction. It was thought to be contained and laid dormant over the many centuries, but as time passed, the power grew to a point it could no longer remain suppressed.

It had taken place about eighteen years prior, and was still attempted to be forgotten by those who lived it. There were countless stories and tales circling about everything that actually transpired, but only few knew the truth, and no one would discuss it. Call it ignorance, but it was more of a means to an end, and a way to bury the horrific past. Little did people know, it would soon catch up with them...

The somber, ashen sky produced a light drizzle, which fell softly upon the soiled training ground due north of Balamb Garden. It was hidden in the depths of the Gaulg Mountain range, which was free from all outside distractions, and could allow one to focus primarily on one's training. The morning haze drifted below, just above the trees of the forest that surrounded the overhanging cliffs.

His heavy, black boots made prints in the wet dirt with every new step, as muddy clunks of soil came loose under his feet. From his side hung a medium-length, broad sword with a very distinctive design, as the base and handle were shaped in the form of a revolver, which justified its name; the gunblade. This inimitable weapon was a mutant crossbreed of a gun and sword, and given its difficult learning curve, few men in the modern world had mastered it. Etched elegantly into the slanted bottom of the blade was a mythical lion, sprawled dragon-like wings gave it a divine presence on the weapon. The handle was identical to that of six-shot, cross-action magnum, but was a bit longer with finger grasps, and a chain that hung loosely with a silver lion head sculpted at the end.

Damp locks of the young man's almond brown hair hung loosely in his youthful face, giving him an almost rugged look. He sported a black leather jacket with white, fluffy fur trim around the collar, with loose fitting black leather pants. A sleeveless white undershirt peeked out from underneath, as well as a silver lion head with a cross at the neck of the lion, hanging from a silver chain which was accentuated by the shallow light. His holster consisted of several brown, buckskin straps, which were fastened snuggly around his hips, and three single straps around his right lap for bullets and useful tools. Thin, black leather gloves topped off the young mans dark apparel, which seemed perfectly befitting of him.

As he reached the summit of the barren training grounds, he scanned the area carefully. The perimeter consisted of various sized boulders, which encased the area, making it almost impossible for outsiders to observe what took place. The training ground was a large ring-shaped area, which consisted of nothing more than cracked, dark pavement and dirt, with small weeds that sprouted up here and there. Signs of previous training sessions could be seen everywhere, from blackened, charred rocks that played target practice for fire magic, and even locations where blood stained the ground. Normally, training didn't consist of much more than friendly sparring and magic casting, but as the saying goes...accidents happen.

"Where the hell is he? Should've figured he wouldn't show," he snapped to himself in thought, waiting for another young man who he was supposed to meet earlier by the training center. The impatient brown haired young man was well aware of the other cadet's idiosyncrasies. Almost too aware.

He gradually began turning, his eyes focused on the grim sky and the dark horizon. The ocean was moderately visible in the distance as black tides crashed into the reef, and the dark gray clouds hung overhead like an angry shroud of doom. It seemed like such a cold, desolate place to be at the time, which is probably why he found an awkward serenity to it. The solitude of that very spot in time reflected the isolation within, and the elements above symbolized the brewing storm in his soul. The thunder roared with a godlike blare, almost deafening in its moment. The lightning followed with a tremendous bolt that lit up the early morning sky. The luminescence of that moment silhouetted another solitary figure, standing across from him, amongst the elemental onslaught in the area known as Pinnacle Rock.

Upon seeing the other cadet he had been waiting for, the young, black clad figure just impatiently stared at his counterpart, waiting for any action. After concluding that the other man was merely taunting him with his inaction, he walked towards the shadowy figure as the lightning struck again, revealing the patented pompous smirk the young man always seemed to have. Through the rumbling overcast, the black clad figure could hear a faint cackle under his grin.

"You keep me waiting. Shame, shame!" the mysterious figure remarked, scratching the tip of his blade on the wet mineral surface. The clouds chased each other overhead as if they were in battle, almost mimicking the battle that was about to take place. Upon hearing the self-righteous voice, the young man in black halted, staring bitterly at the cocky cadet with a heated glare. Agitation and hostility gleamed in his eyes as he spoke.

"Did you call me up here just to run your mouth?" the black clad figure spat back with his gloved hands clenched tightly in a fist, which at the moment ached to meet his adversaries jaw. The young man known as Seifer stood about five meters across from him, staring back with an obnoxious grin.

"If you're that anxious to learn, I guess I'll just have to teach you," Seifer replied, drawing a similar looking weapon from underneath his gray trench coat, and pointing it towards his opponent, "…shall we?" he challenged, luring the shorter figure towards him with his fingers. He too carried the gunblade, which had a design unique from his opponent. Opposed to the power of the Revolver's design, Seifer's black blade, named after the legendary titan Hyperion, had a base handle shaped in the form of a standard .45 caliber pistol. The weapon itself was much sleeker and lighter than the Revolver, with a blade that arched sharply at the bottom, and narrowed to a sharp point at the tip.

For a brief moment, the young man in black just leered Seifer, who stood a few inches taller, two inches over six foot, with a slightly larger physique. He wore a pristine, light grey trench coat with black lining, and dagger-like crimson red crosses emblazoning the upper arms. Underneath the trench coat was a navy blue, V-neck vest, with a platinum cross seamlessly decorating the front, and a silver choker with a dog tag around his neck. His blonde hair was matted back neatly, aside from a single strand which hung loosely and defiantly over his forehead. He, like his competitor, wore black pants, and a pair of black leather gloves.

The shorter, brown haired figure drew his peculiar weapon from its holster, and impaled the razor-sharp tip into the hard soil below. "Let's go. I don't have much time," he said calmly but firmly as he adjusted his gloves, always making sure the silver ring was around his finger. It gave him a sense of security, something he lacked a lot of in his life. The ring was the last thing he had to hold onto his long forgotten past, something he could rarely recall, even at his young age.

The taller, blonde haired boy smirked and spoke "Don't worry," he said as he positioned himself in a fighting stance, "I'll make it quick!" he gloated, tempting his opponent forward once again, holding his black blade out.

The brown haired figure reached for the handle of his gunblade, with the blade still embedded into the ground, and charged forward with a dangerously determined glare. The blonde figure began a charge as well, eyes locked onto the other with tenacity. The Revolver swung down with force as Seifer raised Hyperion, blocking the strike with a smile on his face. He pulled away and whipped his blade around swiftly, only to be met by his opponent's silver blade.

"You've been practicing, haven't ya? Won't do ya much good though!" the blonde lashed.

The two had vastly differentiating combat styles. The brown haired figure had more of a controlled battle stance, one that was much more appropriate for using the gunblade. His feet and shoulders remained squared away with both gloved hands firmly around the handle, and the blade held upright so he could defend any impulsive attacks. Seifer, on the other hand, was much more careless with the weapon, but seemed to handle it with supreme ease and grace. He would move about quickly, shifting arrogantly on his feet, holding the slender Hyperion with a single hand.

Seifer pushed off and thrust his blade inward once more, as his sparring partner dodged by spinning around, swinging down hard with his gunblade, knocking the black blade downward and holding it down with his own. As they came face to face, the two made eye contact. Fierce competitiveness and mutual deference hinted in the eyes of both of the combatants. Seifer smirked, staring deep into his opponents' tenacious blues, and winked wryly at him. Swiftly, he used his strength to lift the shorter figures blade off his own, and jumped backwards, quickly recomposing himself.

As the morning light slowly started to creep its way over the horizon, the two continued their training. The two blades clashed together; small sparks created by the friction between the scratching blades. Swing after swing, thrust after thrust, each parried and countered the others attack with great dexterity and ability, as if they knew the move the other was about to make before they even thought of it. The shorter figure drew his blade back, and charged with more force than before. His resolve could be seen in his tenacious blue eyes as he unleashed four strapping attacks onto Seifer, who could do nothing but defend with his raised black blade. The force of the aggressors' blows dropped the blonde to a knee.

Finally, Seifer was able to knock the his rivals gunblade away long enough to collect himself properly. He quickly took a fleeting swing towards his opponent, but missed as the shorter figure dived out of the way, and tightened his grip on the wet handle of the Revolver once more. The shorter figure spun around quickly and positioned for an attack. He swung his weapon behind him as he charged, holding his free arm out as he dashed forward.

Oddly, Seifer relaxed his battle stance, and inexplicably stood still, as if he were waiting for his opponent. "Come on!" he shouted as he raised his hand in the air slowly, tilting his head backwards as his aggressor sprinted at him.

As the shorter assailant continued his charge, he perceived what appeared to be a shimmer emanating from Seifer's gloved palm. He stopped in his tracks abruptly in mid-sprint, causing dust to fly out from under his feet as realization swept over him. His eyes widened, and his mouth opened as he ascertained the situation. A small, spiraling blaze of supernatural energy had spawned from the blonde's hand, glaring brightly and staring him in the face. Before he was able to react, he was stuck in the chest by the flaming sphere. He felt the intense heat as he was struck in the chest, and was knocked to the ground from the force of the blow. Live ashes floated all around him with as he sat up, taking a deep breath. He looked down at his chest, his white undershirt charred with small holes burnt into it.

Seifer sneered as he watched his challenger struggle to his feet. He slowly raised his gunblade high in the air, as his weakened adversary looked up drearily, shocked at what he seen.

"What is he doing!?" he thought desperately to himself, watching as the sharp blade glided down, streaking between his own two eyes. He fell backwards, leaning on the ground with one arm, dizzy and infuriated at the same time, as he watched his blood trickle to the ground, carried by the gentle wind. The fallen cadet grasped his gunblade tightly, and looked sadistically at his opponent; the fury in his eyes only shadowed by the adrenaline that just burst through his veins.

Seifer haughtily laughed, finding sick humor in the fact he had marred his rival. "Now, every time you look in the mirror, you'll remember the name Seifer Almasy!" he stated smugly towards his injured contender.

As Seifer stood over him, the shorter figure struggled to a foot, wrapping his other hand around the Revolvers custom handle. He dragged the sharp blade across the hardened earth, swinging the blade upwards toward the blonde mans face. The sharp point of the blade tore the skin deep between his eyes, very close to where the attackers' abrasion was.

Seifer stepped backwards, clutching his face, "Son of a bitch!" he shrieked in pain, as his own blood dripped slowly down his face. He wiped some off with his gloved hand, staring at it in confusion and amazement, and then smiled like some type of demented masochist who enjoyed the pain and the sight of his own blood.

The shorter figure strived on anger alone as he approached Seifer, grabbing the collar of his trench coat and pulling him closer with force. "You fuckin' psychopath, you could've killed me!" he demanded, staring deep into his Seifer's eyes, letting the emotion in his own reap to Seifer's very soul.

Seifer withdrew his hand from his face and shoved his opponent away, "If I wanted you dead, you would be. Lesson one, expect the unexpected!" he responded with a hint of urgency.

"I swear…I'll…" the shorter figure muttered faintly, but was suddenly overcome with a numbing sensation. He fell to a knee, and raised his head. Through hazy eyes he could barely see Seifer walking towards him, hearing what sounded like a slow-motioned laughter coming from the figure. With a final attempt, he grasped onto Seifer's arm, trying to pull himself up, but immediately fell to the ground, out of consciousness.

Seifer shook his head, and looked over the precipice just as the sun peaked over. He closed his eyes as the dawning sun warmed his face, and then looked back down at his fallen competitor. "Pathetic. Simply pathetic. Get up!" he demanded, nudging his fallen adversary with the side of his boot. When he didn't respond, Seifer took a deep breath, signifying his annoyance. He knelt down and grabbed his cataleptic opponent, roughly hoisting the smaller cadet on his broad shoulder.

"You scratch my beautiful face, and now I have to carry your sorry ass? You owe me!" he complained as he began to descend down the steep incline, and back to Balamb Garden.

The rain stopped and the sun rose over the mountains, shining brightly.

The battlefield was now vacant.

All that was left, was an angelic…white…feather.

While calm in appearance, the serenity that blankets the world is merely a curtain over the turmoil that threatens to surface...

An in depth novelization of FINAL FANTASY VIII

The Ultimecia Affair

By

Prodigy