Preface

I don't own anything having to do with Final Fantasy 8. All characters, plots, dialogue, places and terms belong to Square-Enix and all related affiliates.

This fic is a 'what if' I decided to do, as described in the summary. I believe that-fundamentally—the characters of Seifer and Squall were very similar other than a few key differences in personality and differences in circumstance. What makes Seifer such an interesting villain would also make for a very interesting hero as well, and one of the biggest tragedies—to me—in the FF8 storyline was his misguided dream of being a knight. So I decided to—essentially—re-write the story of FF8 my own way.

This fic will follow the tale of FF8 from beginning to end. I've done an extremely goober thing and played through the game while copying all of the dialogue, in the hopes of keeping certain parts of this fic as accurate as possible. Some will be exactly the same as the game, some will be completely different while others will only be modified slightly. The single biggest difference from the game to this story is—besides Seifer's presence—the role of GFs. Instead of having a large communal pool of GFs that are junctioned to whoever, in this fic there will be one GF for each person. The GF chooses the subject, and bonds with them, in essence taking over a piece of their brain—hence explaining the loss of memories. I've also taken certain items and ideas and made them more . . . realistic I guess is how you'd describe it. For example, a "Phoenix Down" is not a mystical feather one showers over a KO'd teammate. Instead it is the codename given to a cocktail of fluids in a four and a half inch needle one can inject directly into the heart of a nearly-dead comrade that will keep their vitals alive and functioning until more professional help can be given.

Hopefully this will make for an interesting read.

The main pairing of this fic will be Seifer and Quistis of course, but as I'm writing the game, it will also have major Squall and Rinoa as well, with a little Zell/Library Girl and Selphie/Irvine thrown in for flavor. This fic will be rated M for mature due to violence, language and adult situations. Any NC-17 sections will be removed due to FF(dot)net's policies. If so, I will inform the reader when and where a section has been removed and how you might contact me to get the unedited version of that chapter.

If any of this upsets or offends you, then do us both a favor and don't read this fic. Move on to something else. If it does strike your fancy, then by all means, continue. Review if the mood strikes you, I love to hear feedback from my readers.

Enjoy.

–Lynnwood

Prologue

Rivals

Lightening flashed in the predawn hours of Balamb Island.

Thunder rolled ominously, making the perfect backdrop to the fierce battle waging on the rocks of the Alcauld Plains, near the Fire Cavern—appropriately named due to the intense volcanic activity within. The thick humid air was split by the clang of metal striking metal, the crunch of heavy boots moving through gravel, and an occasional hiss or grunt of exertion from the two teens waging their own personal war. There were no words spoken. There never were. In times like these, words would have been too harsh. Too cheap.

The combatants shifted back in forth in a lethal dance, trading blows as others might trade conversation.

One was of average height, a mop of sandy brown hair falling disheveled over his brow and ears and into a pair of steely blue eyes, wearing black jeans, a white t-shirt and a black coat on over it, the neck rimmed in white fur. A choker-style necklace hung from his neck and swayed with his movements, a large Griever pendant on the end that fell to his sternum which matched the one hanging from his weapon perfectly. This one wielded a sleek Revolver model gunblade with both hands; the handle black, the blade a flashing silver as it reflected the sporadic flashes of lightening above.

The other was tall, his dark golden hair cut short and slicked back with only a few tendrils daring to defy conformation and falling forward onto his brow, over his flashing emerald eyes. He wore a blue vest trimmed in white, a pair of black slacks and his trademark gray trench-coat, the arms emblazoned in slightly faded red Fire Crosses—an emblem of a long forgotten era. Around his neck wound a silver plate on a thick chain, resting in the hollow of his throat. This boy wielded a wickedly jagged Hyperion model gunblade with one hand—his right—while using his other hand to tauntingly summon his opponent forward, a smirking smile on his face.

The Lion rushed forward at this baiting gesture, his handsome face fixed into a scowl of concentration. Right at the last minute, the Dragon fell back a step, and opened the palm of his free hand. He whispered the words of magic, and too late did the Lion realize his plan. He raised his gunblade to somewhat block the small fireball that struck him full in the chest. The Lion was thrown backward onto his back, cinders and flame raining around him. He shook his head slightly to clear it, dazed, rolling up to his knees and reaching for his blade.

Thus he never saw it coming as the Dragon moved in for the kill. The deadly-sharp blade of Hyperion whistled through the air as it made a vicious downward arc. The Lion's face was thrown to the side with the impact, and crimson splattered the ground below him from the mark that had just been made on his face, right between his eyes. A wound meant to embarrass, not to kill. It also threw his opponent off balance. Eyes narrowed, teeth grit now into a snarl, the Lion wrenched back straight with blood pouring down his face. In one swift move he got his feet, then pulled his gunblade up in the same motion, the metal sparking off the ground and then swinging around in a perfectly executed uppercut—catching his overbalanced opponent in the same exact spot.

They were equals, after all. Rivals. Should one gain the upper hand for long, the balance would be forever broken. Who knew what fate would have in store for them then?