Disclaimer: The author does not own Sephiroth, Vincent Valentine, or any other Final Fantasy VII character that might make an appearance.

Lots of FF1/FF2 makes me want to write fantasy. I just wanted to write about some wizards dammit, but there is an actual plot (I think). Borrowing the title from the fantasy genre because I couldn't think of one -is lame-

Story notes:

"Italic speech" = speaking in a regional language (Bravokii, Macarian, etc.)

"Non-italic speech" = speaking in the common tongue (which most people can understand)

Chapter 1: Defeat

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The night sky was filled with light and the air hummed with the sounds of violence. Through the clouds, dark, massive airships streamed and from each of them a rain of destruction and fire poured. The capital was burning. Even from the high tower Vincent could see the bodies of citizens littering the stone-paved streets, roofs of shops and houses collapsing on themselves, and soldiers clothed in foreign armor marching through the blazing streets.

"More ships approaching from the east!"

Vincent ripped his eyes from the terrible sight of the fallen city to search the sky. His heart sank as he spotted the newest fleet of heavily armored battleships flying across the open field at the capital's border. "All shift east!" He yelled to the others on the tower. "Let the other towers handle the city!"

The casters complied immediately, all turning east, hands shimmering with the light of their spellcasting. Vincent narrowed his eyes at the first row of aircraft and lifted a hand. The stormy clouds shifted and writhed, eagerly awaiting his command. He brought his fingers downward in a quick, easy movement and the sky followed. Great forks of lightning split the turbulent heavens and ripped through a number the airships. A malicious smile curled Vincent's lips as he watched the flaming wreckage of each targeted enemy craft fall.

Around him the other mages were casting potent fire and ice spells and many more airships were falling victim to their destructive energies. As pleased as he was with their spellcasting, Vincent could not help but notice how their numbers had dwindled. For every active caster there were two or three unconscious and spent on the tiled floor. They had long since run out of ethers and every hour that passed left fewer mages standing. The other towers were no doubt suffering from similar losses and on the ground the kingdom's warriors had done little to stop the enemy soldiers from destroying the city. Even Vincent felt worn from the battle. His arms and robes were scratched and torn from the airships' flying shrapnel and his skin burned from his own reckless casting and close encounters with enemy bombs. The longer the conflict waged, the more plain it became that the fight would not end in a victory for Macaria.

The wizard dragged his pale hands up through the heavy air and with the movement an enormous, floating wall of fire sprouted from nothingness to halt the incoming ships. It wasn't much against the seemingly unending fleet, but it would provide some respite for his mages. And if nothing else, the destruction of the airships flying into the wall in surprise made him feel a little better.

Feet were pounding up the stairs. "Archmage! Archmage!"

Vincent turned and watched the foot soldier pant and gasp, patiently waiting for him to catch his breath. "Yes?"

The soldier looked at him with tired eyes. His young face was streaked with dust, blood, and sweat. Vincent felt anger for the attacking force rise within him once more. "Archmage, they have breached the castle." The youth swallowed thickly. "They cut through our forces like a scythe through wheat, sir. I am not sure how much more we can take..."

"They make for the emperor," the dark-haired wizard said, alarmed. "I will go there myself."

The soldier opened his mouth to reply, but Vincent's surroundings faded before he could hear the young man's response. He was already running before the teleportation spell ended. The walls and rooms of the castle came into existence around him as Vincent raced through the familiar hallways, noting with displeasure the bodies lying prone on the elegant carpet. He teleported to the next floor mid-step. More corpses. And more on the next. Desperately, Vincent sent himself through reality and to the throne room.

"No..." He whispered, eyes locked on the room's open doors. He ran inside without hesitation and found a gathering of armored warriors. Vincent pushed past them hurriedly, chest heavy with dread and eyes barely registering their foreign clothing.

In the center of the crowd was a lone, broken corpse. Though his face was not visible, Vincent could easily recognize the ornate robe and headdress of his emperor. Vincent stared at the body in horror and sank to his knees next to the corpse. He clutched the crimson robes of the emperor in his fingers helplessly. Now, he thought despairingly. Now the battle has truly been lost.

The soldiers looked at each other, lifting their weapons uncertainly. Should they attack the mourning man? Certainly there would be no point since they had already won. They turned toward their leader expectantly, but he gave them no signal to attack. He simply stood and watched the dark-haired wizard quietly, so the soldiers followed suit.

One of the armored men found his eyes drawn to the sorcerer's robes and felt the need to inform the others of his observations. "Look at his robes," he said softly in their native Bravokii. "White trimmed with red."

"Ah, he must be a white mage then," replied another soldier. Red and white were the traditional healer colors in Bravok, though the wizard before them lacked the familiar red triangles of the white mage's garb.

On the other side of their circle another man chuckled. "He ought to know he won't be able to revive his ruler then. His soul has already moved on."

"White mage... and we thought he might be a threat," said a fourth said in amusement. The warriors around him laughed softly.

The hand Vincent clutched his emperor's robes with curled into a fist. Were they laughing at him? Mocking him and his helplessness? He trembled with barely restrained fury. The future of Macaria was bleak and anything he did now would be almost pointless, but his emperor, his country, deserved some amount of vengeance.

The warriors didn't even have time to lift their swords before an incredibly large beam of pure light and heat energy burst from Vincent's hands and completely decimated a significant portion of their group. Vincent stared directly at the soldier who had first laughed and lifted his empty hand. With a flex of Vincent's fingers the man exploded, raining his companions with blood, charred flesh, and bits of his armor. He cast wildly, curses flying from his lips as devastating magic flowed from his fingers. Bodies were falling around him, voices were crying out in alarm, and Vincent's eyes shined as he took in the carnage he wrought. He grinned.

A long blade sliced through the air to his left and Vincent stepped to the right to put some space between himself and his attacker. It almost seemed as if the swordsman had missed on purpose, perhaps to warn him. Vincent narrowed his eyes and sought his mysterious foe. Warn him? He was the one doing the slaughtering.

Crimson eyes finally landed on a tall man with a sword held easily in his left hand. The warrior was similar to the others, there was nothing on his armor to set him apart from the other fighters save perhaps the heavy fur-trimmed cloak draped across his shoulders. Somehow, however, Vincent knew this silver-haired, curiously cat-eyed man was their leader. He could see it in the man's confident stance and the respect in the eyes of the remaining soldiers. The warriors even backed away to give the pale-haired man and Vincent space.

Vincent smiled. Perfect. Just what he wanted, a showdown with the leader of the intruders; the man who had killed Vincent's emperor and destroyed his kingdom. Vincent cut through the air with his right hand and flames flew in an arc from his body. The swordsman's green eyes flashed as he the blade of his sword slashed at the flames and knocked them away, rendering them useless. Vincent watched the flames flutter and die, mildly impressed. Undaunted, he effortlessly shifted stance and summoned the power of ice. The silver-haired man jumped just as Vincent's stalagmite of ice shot up from the floor. As the warrior let gravity pull him back down, his long sword whistled through the air, its sharp tip trained on the archmage's chest. Vincent's crimson eyes widened in surprise and he transported himself to the far side of the throne room to avoid the swordsman's attack.

He's pretty good, Vincent mused, disgruntled. He frowned as he watched the other man land gracefully. He was good and Vincent was casting carelessly. The wizard tried to calm himself. Letting his emotions control him was good if he wanted power, but not if he wanted control, which was what he needed if he wanted to win this fi—

Where did he go? Vincent blinked in disbelief. The green-eyed warrior had been standing right there then he had simply vanished.

There was a high whistle behind him and Vincent twisted just in time to have the shining blade slide past him harmlessly, but his footing failed him and he tumbled to the carpeted floor. In an instant the cat-eyed man had Vincent pinned and the wizard's wrists gripped in his large right hand. Red eyes narrowed at the smirk he saw on the man's pale face. He's certainly cocky, isn't he? Vincent opened his mouth to tell the arrogant man just what was on his mind, but found his voice suddenly stuck in his throat. The spellcaster growled silently, he could swear those bright eyes were laughing at him.

"Looks like we won't have to worry about any more of those annoying spells," the swordsman said in the common tongue. His voice was deep and sensual, but the arrogance in his voice only made Vincent glare at him harder.

Vincent's red eyes spotted an ornamented wall torch behind the shining head. So the warrior thought disabling his hands and his voice would keep him from casting spells? Now that was just an insult. He willed the torch's flame to grow and it writhed and dance and bent to his will.

The wizard smiled prettily at the silver-haired warrior and the man narrowed his eyes suspiciously before chancing a brief glance behind him. The flame exploded from the torch and roared over the pair on the ground. The tall swordsman almost didn't have time to cast a magic barrier around them but he did, just barely saving his beloved hair from the hungry flames. He turned back to the pinned archmage with an angry growl, noting with displeasure the man's narrow shoulders shaking with silent laughter. He brought the butt of his sword's hilt against the dark-haired man's temple violently. The fire spell died as the wizard faded from consciousness and the green-eyed warrior glared at the innocently flickering flames dancing in their torch.

"Sephiroth!"

"Your Majesty!"

Sephiroth turned to see his soldiers running toward him and he rose to his feet so that he could greet them with at least some dignity. He glanced thoughtfully at the unconscious mage at his feet.

"Your Majesty, are you alright?" one of the fighters said, voice muffled by his helmet.

Sephiroth nodded and replied, "I'm fine." A smile twitched the edges of his lips and he laughed. "He's rather good isn't he?" he said, gesturing towards the dark-haired Macarian wizard. "I didn't expected that last attack."

The soldiers stared at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. Sephiroth just chuckled quietly, as if sharing a private joke with himself.

"Should we, uh, kill him, sire?" one of the more heavily armored soldiers asked uncertainly.

"No, that won't be necessary. Victory has already been achieved after all." Sephiroth paused. "In fact, take him with us."

"W-what?" The other warriors were in similar states of shock. Sephiroth arched an eyebrow as they began to mutter amongst themselves.

"You heard me. We're taking him with us back to Bravok," the silver-haired king said coolly. The soldiers immediately fell silent as Sephiroth shifted back into his usual personality. "Or do you have a problem with my decision?"

"No, sire."

He gave them a chilling smile. "Good. Now pick him up and bring him with us." Sephiroth dismissed his sword and walked across the room. He stopped suddenly at the door and turned back to his remaining soldiers. "Oh, and tie him up too. I get the feeling he won't be happy when he wakes up." He smiled slightly and with that, left them to deal with the sleeping wizard.