Chapter Text
THIRD SORCERESS WAR
Part I
Not Under Her Control
December 22nd, 270 A.U.
250 years after the Third Sorceress War
At a location they believed known only to them, Gerra Almasy surveyed the impressive machinery while Odine entered the final preparations into the mainframe. The device emitted a low hum as it came to life, the lights coming on and bathing the walls of the long-abandoned naval building with a neon-blue hue. It was huge, containing a domed chamber vast enough for one to run circles around, accessible by a single airlock and viewable by a surrounding window. In the chamber’s centre was a solitary marble archway in the ancient Centran décor. It stood some ten feet high, its legs grooved, the frescoed surface of the arch recently polished to its former brilliance, although besmirched at intervals with thick ceruleum cables.
Gellert Odine IX looked to one of his assistants.
'Throw the first switch!' he commanded, in a voice that showed he was used to having his instructions followed without question. As chief researcher of the Empress, his methods were rarely questioned. However, what he and Gerra were planning was by no means in service to the Empress. ‘Phase one!’
'Yes, sir!'
Odine did not have the notorious accent of his most infamous ancestor, as the Millefeulle Archipelago had long since been reclaimed by the raging seas, but the peculiar dress sense of his clan had been honoured as a testament to the Odine Industries of the Old Empire. He was barely five feet tall, with thinning, ever-greying hair in a small bun on the crown of his head, and he retained the comically large collar around his neck. His wispy moustache was even lighter. His wide trousers were green, and he wore black, pointed shoes.
Gerra stepped towards the airlock with a little apprehension, the flat of his ancestral Hyperion on his shoulder. Having seen thirty namedays, he was a little over six feet tall, with a mane of long, brown hair now receding from a broad forehead. He had a neatly trimmed beard and green eyes which were full of intensity. His muscular bulk was largely hidden by his black trenchcoat. Around his neck was a silver chain from which two orange magicite crystals steadily pulsated with the essence of the Guardian Forces they enslaved; sunburst for Ifrit, golden for Phoenix.
'Phase Two!' Odine shouted, as the low hum from the machine went up a pitch, increasing in tempo.
'Yes, sir!' a dark-haired female assistant called obligingly from her terminal. Her eyes were tight with concentration as she hit a series of keys and threw a switch.
When the airlock opened, Gerra stepped through the opening, into the sizeable chamber beyond. Searing blue lights shone, momentarily dazzling him and throwing his shadow in all directions, though he walked determinedly forward, towards the archway.
Suddenly, there was a horrendous bang audible over the machine's noise, from one of the giant double doors to the old facility. As everyone looked in its direction, Odine shouted, 'Phase Three, now!'
'Aye, sir!' a third assistant stammered.
The bang was repeated a second time, as loud as a thunderclap, then a third. The doors crashed inward, one of them knocked clean off its weathered hinge by the sheer power of the assailant.
Gerra immediately recognised the sapphire-hued, human battering ram which marched through the opening. It was the Forestaller of Omega himself, Leonidas of House Christophe, High Commander of all imperial forces. A Son of Almaj well and true, Leo was a colossal six feet six and over twenty stone, donning heavy obsidian armour and a crimson cape. At over forty namedays – a feat in itself in this harsh world – he was at least ten years Gerra’s senior, told of by his once-golden mohican which now greyed at the roots, and his even greyer horseshoe moustache. Across his massive back was a twin-bladed gunblade, also obsidian in colour and nearly as long as him, known as Harbinger.
Like Gerra, Leo wore a magicite crystal at his throat, and his enormous body was surrounded by the blue aura of Bahamut, whose power he had stolen but a fraction from to force entry to the building. Even more worrying was that Leo was followed by the dozen ruby-armoured soldiers which comprised Sorceress Ultimecia’s Praetorian Guard, the only twelve imperial soldiers which did not come under Leo’s jurisdiction, and each with a magicite crystal of their own.
'Gerra!’ Leo's deep voice was amplified by his GF, resonating around the facility with a chilling menace as he ran for the airlock, super speed drawn from Bahamut. ‘Odine! The Empress knows of your betrayal!'
'Close the airlock!' Odine shrieked, terror evident in his voice.
Gerra raised his gunblade with his right hand. The Praetorians rounded on the scientists as Leo cleared the opening just before the airlock closed. He met the overhand blow with the flat of his Hyperion, retaliating with a backhand slash that Leo instinctively batted aside. Gerra knew the plan had gone beyond the point of no return, and Leo himself getting inside the airlock was a dangerous complication.
The longest serving member of the Twelve was Vargas of the Zebalga clan. He was dark-skinned, but with his tri-goggled headgear only part of his face and neck were visible, including some spiralling and intertwining lines of keloid scarification. Vargas had been the only Praetorian to survive the calamitous battle with Omega Weapon some years earlier, and while there were no ranks among the Twelve, this newer batch all naturally looked to Vargas as a leader. Not least because they were petrified of him. His magicite of choice was that of Tiamat, equalling Bahamut’s in power.
Vargas stepped toward Odine and pushed the tip of his sickle-shaped khopesh into the scientist's neck. 'Stop that contraption, now!' he demanded.
'No!' Odine said defiantly. 'Everything is in motion! You cannot stop us now! In the name of my forefathers, I am willing to die for this cause!'
Odine's eyes moved to the gigantic machine as the steady hum increased a couple of octaves and pounded their eardrums. The neon ceruleum lights began flashing around the facility even more brilliantly, but the headgear worn by the Praetorians automatically prevented dazzling, and they did not respond with a sense of urgency. Odine’s gaze returned defiantly back to Vargas as he ordered all but three of them to surround the closed chamber, and he now betrayed no fear.
Vargas believed Odine's resolve. He merely grunted and swung at the scientist's neck. The blade cut just above the ludicrous collar and parted the scientist's head from his shoulders. Gellert Odine IX's body crumpled to the concrete floor with the head following, which rolled to rest against the base of the terminal. The scientist's lifeless eyes betrayed a hint of surprise from the sight of the swinging blade in the last second of his life. A growing pool of blood poured from the neck of the headless corpse, changing the colour of the collar.
'Bring them to me!' Vargas ordered, to the three Praetorians still covering the scientists.
Inside the machine, Leo and Gerra were battling fiercely, super speed and strength gifted to them via their GFs, their gazes locked on one another with grim determination and paying no mind to what was going on outside. They both had apparitions of wings on their shoulders, too; Gerra’s were golden as Phoenix's were, and Leo’s were a blazing sapphire.
To hell with Leo and his honour! Vargas thought as he ran to the airlock. He saw it was blast reinforced, probably bolstered by an invisible forcefield. He would have to use Tiamat to force his way inside. The reactivated ancient archway displayed an image, almost like a two-dimensional screen in between, though it kept shifting. A glorious castle of five towers; a stone lighthouse on a peninsular; a floating colossus with a great ring at its base; a long-lost city of a thousand lights with a pall of storm clouds above it – which seemed tiny in comparison to a sprawling, sapphire-coloured metropolis that was now being displayed. Vargas just stared in dismay. He knew what some of these images were, that they were throwbacks to a previous time, to before the Great Konquest!
The light and noise intensified to a point where the scientists could barely see or hear Gerra and Leo. Lacking protective headgear, they shut their eyes and put their hands over their ears. The image between the arch was now that of a giant white dish. Vargas watched haplessly as Gerra, having finally created some distance from Leo, flew into it. Leo followed him a heartbeat later.
Vargas resolved to follow, as the remaining eleven Praetorians were more than sufficient to search the facility and round up any of the researchers. Drawing on Tiamat's strength, he begun to kick the airlock much the same way Leo had forced through the entrance to the facility, but an instant later the ceruleum lights disappeared as though somebody had flicked a switch, and the image of the white bowl projected between the archway vanished. The surrounding machinery was rapidly powering down, and Vargas realised he must have triggered some sort of failsafe. The marble archway was as lifeless as the unearthed relic it was, as though the images between it had been mere illusion.
He looked to the scientists that were being held at sword and gunpoint at their terminals. Out of all three, only a young male showed any sign of fear. As the elder of the scientists remained motionless, the young man was visibly quaking.
The grey-haired male next to him smiled, then said, 'It is done.'
Vargas snarled and ran him through with his sickle sword, the older man's body collapsing much like Odine's as he began to bleed out on the cold concrete.
'I know what you have done!’ Vargas said coldly and lowly to the acne-stricken and greasy haired young man. ‘Reactivate that machine, immediately, so I can follow them to the past!' The young man just stood there quivering, and Vargas leaned forward until his face was an inch from the young scientist's. 'Unless you wish to spend the rest of your life in the Empress’ dungeon, with the Red Giant as your cellmate!'
The younger scientist was visibly going through a panic attack. He was sweating now, and breathing heavily. He looked at his dying colleague, then fearfully back to Vargas. 'I don't know how!' he blurted.
Vargas gestured with his khopesh to the female researcher.
'Bring her over here!' he instructed.
One of the Praetorians roughly marched her roughly toward him from her station.
'Reactivate the archway!' Vargas ordered.
'It's too late!' she said boldly and defiantly. 'And I will not help you. I am willing to die for this cause.'
Vargas curled his lip. 'You, perhaps. But is this one?' He pointed his khopesh threateningly at the young man, then looked to the Praetorian on her left and said, 'Kill her.'
The elite wordlessly drew his plasma pistol and shot her point-blank. The young scientist remained frozen, his face now plastered with her blood. But then his face began to change, his fear giving way to adrenaline. His jaw set and his eyes looked determined. Vargas recognised the look of resignation and knew he would not be able to follow Gerra and Leo, not anytime soon. While he could torture the man, and would savour every second, he feared there was precious little time.
Surprising Vargas, the young man lunged for the gun arm of his colleague's murderer. Another Praetorian run him through with his sword before he could begin to take the weapon.
'Fool!' Vargas admonished his fellow elite, as the young man's blood dripped from his weapon. 'How will we get to them, now?' he spat. Furious, he turned to the others. 'Get on those terminals! We need to find some way of restoring that archway!'
A frantic, but ultimately fruitless search followed. Odine had programmed the terminals to be erased as soon as the operation was complete. As a failsafe, he had also planted a reverse-engineered nuclear weapon in the sub-levels of the facility, which was currently counting down to zero - reusing antiquated Galbadian technologies had pleased him as much as using ancient Centran ones.
As eleven Praetorians were left scratching their heads and being callously berated by Vargas, the entire facility went up in a ten-kiloton nuclear explosion which completely obliterated what once known as Fisherman's Horizon. The blast certainly destroyed any trace of Gellert Odine IX’s Timegate Machine Ellone, ensuring that no one could follow Ultimecia’s Knight, nor her High Commander, to the past. Furthermore, it vapourised every member of the Twelve, along with their magicite crystals, freeing the Guardian Forces from Sorceress Ultimecia’s control for the first time in two and a half centuries; with their lairs long since compromised, they immediately started seeking out the White SeeD Ship.
In a castle thousands of miles away, upon her oversized throne, Sorceress Ultimecia was despairing at the betrayal of her Knight and his earlier destruction of her Junction Machine Ellone. She felt the massive disturbance upon the aether. In that moment, she knew she was alone, and that she had become more vulnerable than she had been since before her Great Konquest.
March 17th, 5020 A.H. (20 A.U.)
20 years after the Second Sorceress War,
and 19 years into the Third
After the light enveloped Gerra, and then Leo, they had seemingly been thrown into an empty void, moving at impossible speed but feeling weightless at the same time. Gerra could only liken it to a wormhole or crossing through the fabled Interdimensional Rift. How long this went on for was impossible to say, as Gerra could hold no coherent thought in his head and time itself seemed incomprehensible. Time passed, for it must have done so. Gerra started to fear that something had gone wrong, that he would spend the rest of eternity in this state, ceasing to exist. Suddenly he materialised into the bottom of a massive bowl – the Sun Dish of Fisherman's Horizon in all its former glory. Phoenix’s wings had suddenly deserted him, causing him to fall roughly to the surface.
This giant dish, Gerra knew, had been the nerve centre of renewable energy for the ocean city in its heyday, containing hundreds of solar panels and surrounded by countless wind turbines at its rim. At the centre of the dish was a substantial raised platform, atop which was a dwelling. The solar panels were raised vertically to the east to catch the rising sun. A waxing moon, almost full, bathed the dish in silver light.
As per Odine’s instruction, Gerra had thrown out a mental bond with the Centran archway much like how he controlled his GFs through magicite enslavement. Except Leo had fractured his concentration as soon as he appeared, and for a few seconds the arch had been showing a gateway to Leo’s ancestral Lenown Castle in the completely wrong time period. Fisherman’s Horizon was not where he wanted or needed to be, even though the naval facility had been located on what remained of its future counterpart. Assuming this was the correct year, ‘FH’ was likely under imperial control and it would be difficult – but not impossible – for him reach the western continent.
Gerra scrambled to his feet just as Leo’s large caped and armoured form thundered through the arch – absent Bahamut’s wings, Gerra immediately noticed, clattering to the floor where he had just been. A second later, the image of the goggled Vargas about to force his way beyond the airlock winked out as though it had never been there, and the marble archway disappeared along with it. In the next second, Gerra and Leo met each other's gaze.
'What in the name of the Empress have you done?' Leo demanded, as he swiftly regained his footing.
Gerra was about to answer, when he noticed the crystal at Leo's neck was devoid of its usual light-blue resonance.
'You no longer have Bahamut,' he mentioned.
Leo's eyes moved to Gerra's own necklace after seeing his own.
'Ifrit and Phoenix are gone, too,' he said.
Shit! Gerra thought. Losing his GFs had not been part of the plan, even though Odine had warned him that this might happen, as bringing them across time could lead to... complications. But for now, Leo not being able to draw on the mighty Bahamut would even things between them.
'We'll settle this man to man, then,’ Gerra said.
Leo nodded once, planting his feet and resuming his stance as he replied, ‘You are a champion of the arena, after all.’
Gerra lunged at Leo with a quick upthrust, who easily angled his great gunblade downward to parry, stepping forward and swinging Harbinger crosswise, his movements no less lithe for a warrior of his girth. Gerra simply stepped out of line and swung backhand in the same instant. The twin blades of Harbinger whistled through where he had been standing a moment before, though Leo pivoted and caught the tip of Hyperion near his own gunblade's double hilt.
The two gunbreakers uttered nothing save for a few grunts as they moved back and forth in between a line of solar panels. Gerra was only lightly armoured beneath his trench coat, which had always been his preference to remain more supple. He had never believed in taking multiple hits inside a suit of armour, having initially learned to fight as a gladiator, where armour was forbidden and there were no second chances. Leo was widely held to be the finest swordsman in the Empire; even Vargas would have stood little chance against him, nor the green eleven Praetorians who had replaced the ones killed by Omega. But for all Leo's discipline against Gerra's brawling style, it was akin to an unarmed martial artist trying to subdue a torama. Still, even a torama's endurance was not unlimited, and eventually Leo would find the opening he needed - he would only need one.
Leo would never dishonour himself by using bullets. Harbinger was loaded with blanks to increase the devastation of a slash, so Gerra did not have to worry about remaining within it. Hyperion was loaded with live ammunition, as Gerra did not have the same reservations. Gerra parried a knee-buckling cleave from Leo, brought his elbows in, and squeezed the gunblade's trigger. The bang from the high calibre shot reverberated around the crater-like Sun Dish and the bullet caught Leo in his breastplate. The obsidian armour, made impenetrable by Ultimecia's sorcery, stopped the bullet cold, but the force of the shot was enough to make him stagger. Even so, Gerra knew that only a shot to a join in the armour, or a headshot, would be enough.
Gerra pressed his attack, but a simmering rage began to manifest in Leo's expression as he gradually regained the offense, something Gerra had never seen from him before. The big, broadfaced High Commander emphasised each statement in between powerful strikes of his gunblade, which almost made Gerra lose his footing. 'You were never. Worthy. Of being. Her Knight. You honourless dog!’ he profaned.
'Halt!'
It was a crisp command coming from the raised premises at the Dish's centre, followed by a single warning gunshot. Gerra and Leo simultaneously backed off and turned toward it. On the platform's edge were soldiers in uniforms which Gerra recognised as being from the Old Empire: tight bodysuits augmented with purple cuirasses, brassards, and greaves, in addition to beige elbow and knee cops. Nine had old Esthari-style 'shotgunblades': double-bladed pickaxes topping stubby, triple-barrelled shotguns. The soldiers stood as a contubernium of ten, the decanus in the middle absent a primary weapon, but with a ceruleum-augmented sword at his waist.
Without his GFs for flight or super speed, Gerra would not be able to flee as easily, so decided to stand his ground. Leo must have come to the same decision. They slowly inched away from one another to face the soldiers, who kept their stubby pointed at them as they quickly made their way down the steps.
'Don't move!' the same crisp voice commanded.
Gerra did not fear the shotgunblades. Even without Ifrit or Phoenix's magic barriers, the invisible shield generated from the device on his belt would protect him from gunfire beyond a certain range. Leo would have one, too. Depending on the year, the Esthari may not have even invented them yet. Upon seeing the Esthari, Gerra had feared he may have arrived too late into the past, but the mention of Ultimecia’s mortal enemies with the connotation that they were still a clear and present danger to her instilled him with some hope. By the same token, he could have arrived much too early. Sadly, Gerra knew that FH's Founding Fathers had stubbornly pursued their pacifistic ideals and it had been an easy acquisition for the Empress in the early years of the Great Konquest.
The decanus sized them up. He naturally seemed to be more wary of the more imposing Leo, glancing from his giant gunblade to his armour, and then to Gerra's Hyperion. He stopped a couple of yards away, the subordinates just behind him.
'Western gunblades,' he observed. 'Are you SeeDs? Identify yourselves!'
'SeeDs?’ Leo snarled in disgust, uttering the name like a curse. ‘Do I look like one of those pale, marauding locusts?’
‘Where are you from?’ the decanus demanded, before looking between them again. ‘Centra?’
Leo said nothing in response, though it intrigued Gerra that their Centran accents would still be recognisable to those in the past.
‘Probably, sir,’ one of the legionaries piped up. ‘Some of the nomads still wear steel armour, don’t they?’
‘Steel?’ another one scoffed. ‘The big one’s armour looks like it’s been carved from basalt!’
The decanus held up a hand to silence the legionaries, continuing to glance between Gerra and Leo.
‘Well?’ he demanded of them.
‘I implore you,’ Leo said suddenly, ‘in the name of the Empress, to take this man into custody. I will give myself up, but only on the condition that you grant me an audience with the Empress.’
‘Don’t do it!’ Gerra urged spontaneously. ‘He’s one of SeeDs assassins, targeting the Viceroy!’
An uneasy silence followed. The legionaries held their weapons stiffly, awaiting the command of the decanus, who looked between Gerra and Leo one final time.
'I am placing the pair of you under arrest,’ he decided, ’for violating curfew, carrying arms in public, firing a weapon and disorderly behaviour. You will be subject to interrogation and questioning, and if either of you resist, you will be killed. Throw down your weapons immediately!'
‘I shall say this once,’ Leo warned. ‘You are making a grave error. As long as this traitor draws breath, the Empress is in grave danger.’
'Don't believe a word he says!' Gerra urged. He was closest to the nearest row of solar panels, some three yards to his left. If the soldiers approached Leo first, he would have a chance to escape.
‘Fire!’ the decanus suddenly commanded.
Ten blasts of buckshot plasma roared in unison, each stopped in midair by an unseen forcefield about a yard away from either target. Their projectile shields would not give Gerra and Leo unlimited protection from gunfire, but it was enough for now.
Leo took a single step forward and beheaded the decanus with a great swing of Harbinger before he could even draw his ceruleum-lit sword. One of the nearest two legionaries was so stunned at the sudden, violent action he had frozen with terror, but the other uselessly fired his weapon again. With Harbinger having almost double the length of his projectile shield, Leo moved diagonally towards them and struck with a devastating stroke that ripped through both breastplates, cutting them nigh on in half. A third legionary turned to flee as Leo's twin blades pierced his back with a great thrust.
As the rest backstepped well out of Harbinger’s range, squeezing their triggers out of primal fear, Leo looked over his shoulder for Gerra, who was nowhere to be seen.