Raid #41 [Plot]

It was astonishing how such a foreign world could feel so familiar.

It was only proper to brace oneself for whatever differences one might find on their travels, whether it be alien flora or fauna, different-colored landscapes, foreign civilizations (or no civilization at all), and the ever-changing shape and biology of the dominant sentient races (if there even were any). Even physics could be wildly different, which more often than not rained on Kuja's gravity-defying parade, and the presence or absence of magic in the world was a key detail in whether or not the mage planned on sticking around. One had to be prepared for anything.

Kuja wasn't prepared for similarities.

It was a different world with a different air, though it was still a world of castles and airships, of magic and swords. The magic was a definite bonus -- the planet practically pulsed with it, making Kuja restless and eager to do a little spellcasting of his own. And though he was more than tempted to do a little... exploration, let's say, of the world's cities and fortresses, and survey their millitaries for himself, there was one little detail that caught his eye and left him completely speechless: the world's moons. Far above him in the deep midnight sky, they shone amongst the stars, two odd eyes peering down at the world from an endless black sea; two moons, one blue, one red.

For what seemed like hours, Kuja drifted over the lands, gaze flickering back and forth between the planet's moons. Comparing. Analyzing. Scrutinizing. Marvelling. Lost in nostalgia, he wondered if he had ended up on some alternate Gaia, or what Gaia might have looked like hundreds of years before his birth; it was like a primitive Gaia, one somewhere in the aftermath of Garland's failed attempt to fuse Terra with it, before the spawn of half-beasts and the cities they built. Before Mist, before Burmecia and its wars, before the Eidolons and the downfall of Alexander, before the rise of Alexandria, and before Garland declared war on an entire planet...was this how it would have looked?

If not for Garland, would Gaia look just like this?

It wouldn't have the same red moon. That beautiful scarlet globe that used to roam Gaia's skies, now and then eclipsed by or eclipsing Gaia's own, once served as a reminder of all the hopes and dreams of Terra's people. It reminded Kuja of his own purpose, inspired him to write his odes and strive to fulfill them: And while the moon still shines blue...

But Terra was gone, and with it, the red moon's crimson radiance. That vibrant hue stayed burned into Kuja's mind, existing only in his memory and the memories of the Gaians that lived and died beneath it; now, faced with the exact same red as before, Kuja could not help but stare. He wanted to get closer to it, carrying himself higher and higher on the breeze -- until on the horizon a great tower emerged, scraping the sky like a great arm reaching up to pluck the moons from the heavens. It should have dawned on him what a marvellous wonder he was looking at, that any civilization could have built something like this at all, but such thoughts were absent from his mind; the only thing that occurred to him was just how much closer he could get to that moon, were he to follow that tower to its top.

Kuja was ignorant to the role that the Tower of Babel played in shaping the history of this world. He was ignorant of the true nature of the red moon and the wars that came with it. Were he in the mood to educate himself on such matters, he might find it fascinating -- enlightening, even, that there was another world like his own, though it had never truly been his own, and the revelation might have left a mark on his being like no other. But here, basking in the radiance of a red moon once more, it was Kuja's bloodlust -- not his curiosity -- that demanded satiation.

"Peace is but a shadow of death, desperate to forget its painful past..." The verses rolled off his tongue with a lilt, as if Kuja could taste every word that left his mouth, and loved it. "Though we hope for promising years...After shedding a thousand tears, yesterday's sorrow constantly nears."

Black magic crackled at his fingertips, and he contemplated just how much it would take to bring every kingdom in the world to its knees.

"And while the moon still shines blue..."

Bathed in red, he realized he wanted all the world to be red with him. Every breathing thing would turn red with its own blood. He, alone, would turn the Blue Planet red, red, red.

"...By dawn, it will turn to scarlet hue!"

Kuja's failure to fulfill his purpose on Gaia had been a heavy blow to the Genome's ego. He had always seen himself as more than the soulless shells that littered Bran Bal, more than what Garland made him to be -- more than anyone else would ever be. Zidane would never be half of what his brother was. And Kuja thought himself more than an angel; in his own mind, he was a god. For a god to be so humbled by a cast of mere mortals...

It was something he simply could not accept. He had been robbed of the spotlight, and for no good reason: it was a fluke, a complete anomaly, a one-in-a-million outcome that severely needed a do-over, and he would simply have to recreate the scenario so that it ended in his favor. Nevermind that he had single-handedly swamped his own Gaia in darkness once more, that legions of Heartless had invaded the lands that thought they'd finally attained peace -- Zidane was nowhere to be found, and without him, Kuja was no closer to redeeming himself, as an Angel of Death or otherwise.

This would be his sandbox. This would be his empty stage, rehearsals for a much more grandiose display of power back in his home world; this is where he would rewrite the script, write Zidane right out of it, and regain his glory as the god he deserved to be. Everyone on Gaia would be calling him Lord King, the beloved Queen of Alexandria included. And should anyone oppose him...

"I think not."

Oh, there were always those willing to oppose him. He would enjoy crushing them, one by one. But this one was familiar; that chillingly deep voice, rough and eloquent at once, with all of the authority of divinity but none of the ego, had once haunted Darkness's domain with promises of allegiance and treasonous whispers both. If only his visage were a fraction as lovely,[/color] Kuja mused, eyes rolling before glancing sidelong towards the imposing set of armor. Already he was preparing for combat, challenging Kuja's very presence on the Blue Planet, proclaiming himself savior when he had played the role of villain so well before...

Hero, villain, traitor, saint, it did not matter. Golbez had sealed his fate the moment he stood in Kuja's way.

You must feel threatened,[/color] Kuja thought, and it tickled him enough that his face nearly split in two with a cheeky smile. He stretched out his hand as if in invitation, magic winking into physical existence in two, four, five orbs that glowed with white-hot flames; they circled him defensively as the mage rocked back, crossing his legs as if he were seated, like a king resting on his throne.

"I don't recall writing you a role in this tragedy," he crooned playfully, drawing the spheres together at his front. "But I suppose every court needs a jester."

A flick of his wrist, and the Holy orbs all launched at once to swarm the thaumaturge with fast, powerful strikes; Kuja did not expect Golbez to be easily defeated, so the Snatch Blow was more to serve as a diversion while Kuja flew upwards and into a better position to fight, but the quick-moving spheres had proved to be quite the hindrance -- indeed, the bane of foes in battles past.

"If you truly intend to oppose me, then I shall show you the comedy of your error!"

Kuja was at a distinct disadvantage here, and he realized that. Surely knew Golbez knew his world like the back of his hand; he'd know how to use the planet's magic far better than Kuja ever would, and with Kuja understanding so little about his once-ally's strategies in battle, the most the Genome could do was brace for the unexpected. He was a fast flyer, quick and agile enough to dodge almost anything that he saw coming his way -- so it was to Golbez's credit that the warlock thought to hit him with something he wouldn't see coming; Kuja's mistake wasn't underestimating Golbez so much as it was thinking too highly of his own abilities, and his overconfidence came at a high price.

With their target gone in a blink, the Holy spheres whisked past the aether attack and came to a lengthened halt mid-air before returning to Kuja like a flock of yo-yos. They did not return fast enough; with nothing to readily defend himself, Kuja was left completely vulnerable to the sneak attack from the rear, and he took the brunt of it without even being able to brace for the impact. An intensely painful burn streaked up his bare back and cut into his shoulder blades, forcing a startled cry from the Genome and sending him forwards and whirling like a bird shot out of the air; all he could give Golbez in return was a dirty look that promised he'd return the agony tenfold before he suddenly realized -- oh crud--!

He only had time to bury his head beneath his arms before he was engulfed in aether. It surged through his entire body, electrifying, burning, freezing, tearing him apart and sucking the air right out of his lungs; he pulled through it only by his own will, the Holy spheres summoned to shield him coming too little, too late, though in cradling him they at least slowed his fall enough to soften his landing. It took a long moment before he even had the sense to breathe, and even that brought pain, oxygen coming in a sharp knife down his throat that lit him up inside with pins and needles.

He wasn't humbled in the least.

"Not bad," he trilled, voice notably rigid with restraint. "Not bad at all! Try a little harder, and you might even manage to wound me." With the aftershocks of the attack still buzzing in his head, it was a lie to say he hadn't been wounded, but like he was going to let his enemy know that. And he certainly wasn't going to allow such a blunder to happen again; with an arcane gesture, white magic washed over him in a protective sphere, Reflect settling into invisibility after a brief flash of light. As Golbez was just as experienced with magic (if not more so) as Kuja was, he would surely recognize the spell, so Kuja wasn't expecting him to play the fool and jump right into such an obvious trap; however, forcing him to change his strategy would hopefully work in Kuja's favor.

As for offense.

"Of course," he took a step backwards, closer towards the tower's edge. "You're still a waste of my time. But a warrior as powerful as you ought to be remembered somehow. Shall I make a throne from your armor, once your soul has left it? Or shall I show you my love in some other way?"

Another step, and he could feel his heel dip at the plateau's end. Gone were any traces of pain on his expression; only arrogance shone from his features, though there was a dangerous glint in his eye that offset his playful smirk. The spheres that surrounded him suddenly stretched in size, peeling out from their centers into larger rings that keened with power; for a moment they revolved at Kuja's sides, as if waiting for his cue.

"I'd be willing to make a deal with you. But first,"

Opening his arms as if in welcome, he tipped back, submitting to gravity--

"Catch me."

And he fell.

Ring Holy came in three pairs, slowly moving, but clustered so as to block Golbez from giving chase right away; they cruised towards him almost leisurely, and were meant to follow him even if he dodged them at first. Another distraction, really -- one that could be seen as an insult, knowing how Kuja so loved to taunt his opponents, but the Genome had his reasons; in a free-fall like this, it would be much harder for anyone to keep up with him, and much harder to take him by surprise, as the last attack had.