Waltzing Damnation
I just re-played FF9, and I realised how much loved the Waltzes. Particularly Two and Three, not so much One. But I always thought Two was a bit curvy to be male, and it's not referred to as he I don't think. So I made Two female. Probably AU, because they all probably died, even though the game calls them 'defeated' not 'dead'. For the record, I love Vivi, he's my favourite chaacter in the game. Still, for this story it was necessary.
Disclaimer: I don't own FF9, or anything in it. Just this story.
Tired feet shuffled across the floor, bearing their weary owner deeper into the dark cave, illuminated only by the handful of weakly flickering flames in taloned hands.
Black Waltz Two dragged herself through the blackness, the fire in front of her casting shadows that accented her already sharp curves. One could not really say she was dainty, nor was she stocky. There was a middle-ground somewhere, and Two was quite sure she was it. Then again, Two was also sure that no-one, with the possible exception of her brother Three, was quite as spectacular as her.
Perhaps it the way she was 'programmed'. The Waltzes were, by design, prideful creatures. They were aloof, powerful and undoubtedly had varying degrees of what was commonly called a superiority complex.
Yet as her lithe frame collapsed against the slimy stone walls, Two was forced to bitterly acknowledge that she'd been defeated. Not by Three mind you. That she could tolerate. No... Not Three. Not even One who, despite being hardly more than a brute with a rookie's knowledge of magic, was nevertheless a capable combatant. She might even have recovered her pride had it been he who bested her.
But it wasn't. Indeed, One had fallen before her. That fool, beaten by a child with a monkey's tail. Even with that detestable ice-creature to fight by his side. Shameful...
A sharp pain reminded Two that her fortunes were not much better than One's, as she stopped walking to cradle her shattered arm closer to her chest. Her wings didn't work properly either. Once the deep, glossy blue of an approaching evening, now they were limp, stained a poor shade of purple.
Evening blue mixed with the crimson red of blood. Her own mostly. Though, she remembered with fondness and a shadowed smile, she had not been the only one that bled. The little Black Mage had bled, that traitorous wretch. The smile faded, replaced with a scowl.
Lowly soldiers were to obey orders. Nothing more. That an insignificant speck like him had dared use his pathetic, primitive magic on her!
She grinned suddenly, recalling the look on his face as she'd shown him a real fire spell. That delicious expression of horror would always be etched into her memory, always there for her to revel in. Oh yes, she'd taught him something, hadn't she?
The grin grew feral, for who said Black Waltzes need only rely on magic? Two had always used every tool provided to get her way. Her flame-filled talon flexed yearningly, eager to tear into flesh. The blood had long burned away from the skin under the repeated use of fire spells.
Perhaps she'd lost control then. Maybe that was it. It wasn't often she was given the opportunity to indulge herself. She'd been sent to kidnap that bratty princess, but why shouldn't she have fun while she was at it?
Of course, it also meant she couldn't rend that sickeningly sweet girl limb from useless limb. Plus, as far as entertainment went, the knight and the monkey boy gave little sport. Armour conducted fire and thunder so very well, and a trail of raging flame up the blade of a sword was likely to cripple an opponent for several minutes at least.
The little one though... He was something else. Admittedly, she may have underestimated him a little. True, his attacks were nothing compared to her own abilities. Still, he wasn't mindless. He thought and spoke, that was obvious. And yet, he was still just another obstacle. Another blockade.
She'd relished it, that face-off. The worthless comrades sprawled about her, the princess trying so hard to heal them. Haha! It was a symphony of pain and anguish and she'd loved it! She remembered so vividly, bearing down on the trembling mage before her, claws itching to tear him apart.
Who was she to deny them? Slowly. Oh, so very slowly. tracing across his cheek, leaving a thin trail of blood. A red stream. Entrancing. Bewitching. A wide, evil smirk split her misty face in two and she knew he saw it.
Away from his face, because somewhere in her mind she thought him naively cute despite herself, down and down, past the neck. There! Spindly, pointed fingers plunged forth, provoking an ear-splitting scream, and who knew torturing children could be such fun?
Underlying mirth marred the child's shrieks. A chuckle evolved into a full-blown laugh. Two twisted her claw sharply, wrenching it out of the mage's chest. He'd survive it, of that she held no doubt. If thunder couldn't destroy him and fire couldn't incinerate him, then a small blow like that shouldn't do anything.
That point right there, she realised, had been her downfall. In her arrogance, she'd let him gain an opening. She saw, but didn't register, the beginnings of burning anger behind glowing yellow eyes. Gloved hands thrust forward towards her and, as her own reddish eyes widened with realisation, a blast of lightning sprouted like an ice blue tree. The power ripped through her, shredding her from the inside.
Mouth open in a silent scream, she toppled backwards, down to the solid earth. Dear Eidolons it hurt so much!
And then they were upon her, empowered by her fall. The brutish allies beat and kicked her where she lay as blood that shouldn't have flowed poured from the wounds. She tried to fly, to escape. To flee or perhaps merely leave their reach.
They snapped her wings...
The Waltz writhed in agony on the floor, shattered wings stuck at odd angles. A primal rage took over, red haze descending over her eyes. She went mad, striking at anything that moved, the drive to keep living overriding her common sense. All she felt was pain.
But alas, the advantage was lost. They stabbed her then, driving cold steel through her torso. A shriek of wrath and agony tore from her blood-blocked throat, then she was still. Not dead, but still.
They left her there, sinking into death. But somehow...somehow she'd survived. She wasn't sure how. Maybe Two couldn't let herself die without completing her mission. Maybe she was programmed to keep living... Maybe she just wanted to see her brothers again.
So she struggled on, back to their meeting place. She couldn't remember why they'd agreed to meet there. It was just something that happened.
The cave's expanse still spread out in front of her, still a way to go until she reached the safest part. She could make it, if only to see them again. She had to make it... But she was failing...
"Two?" A startled pair of eyes loomed out of the dark, concern evident. Relief washed over her as she saw him. "One!" She gasped out, almost barking a laugh. She'd done it, returned to them.
Sighing with contentment she let herself fall, exhausted, onto her much shorter brother. One lowered her down to the moss covered floor, worried eyes took in her injuries. She was too far gone. They had no healing abilities. He winced at her splintered wings and the single remaining antler. The mangled arm and long gash down her side. Not to mention the burnt hole torn through her chest.
She did laugh then, a feeble sound. A dying gurgle. "At least I didn't get beaten by just the monkey." She choked out, still prideful despite the scarlet liquid pooling in her mouth. One let a half-hearted grunt of annoyance pass his lips. He could see the question she burned to ask, and it pained him to reveal the answer...
"One..." She began, struggling to stay with him. She had to know. "W-where is...Three?" He averted his eyes, saying nothing. A silence that said everything. A stifled sob wracked her weakened body and a single crystalline tear trickled down her face, hidden beneath the black aura, but clear as day to her remaining brother.
Two's eyes dimmed, losing her battle with the reaper. Death beckoned and, powerless to resist, she obeyed. She would never call it stopping. She didn't hide behind a sugar-coated state of being. She was dying, and she was well aware of it. In a way she welcomed it.
He would never call it stopping. To do so would disgrace her. She didn't hide behind a sugar-coated state of being. Neither was she dying. No breath issued forth. No rasping. No final death rattle. She wasn't dying. She was with her brother. Her other brother.
Black Waltz Two was dead.