"So you see, this is a delicate matter..." stated the ponpous Rengino.

"I'M being reassigned?" yelled Leon. "Hasn't my work been good enough for you?"

"We know of your performance in the original betrayal of South Figaro, but we believe that your 'talents' can be best used in a different position. You will meet your new contact in the warehouse district."

He was suddenly jerked out of his reminisence by a muffled sound. "It must be my contact," he thought to himself. As he rose from behind the crate, a ninja star hit the crate to his left. Diving, he spotted the thrower. It was a pair of outsiders. "Must be amateurs," he thought.

"There," yelled one of the outsiders as he prepared a second star.

Pushing over a pile of crates, Leon sprung out of the door. He unsheathed his Air Lancet as he ran through the alleys. He ran back to the inn in which he had met his superior. Climbing up the back wall, he found the window of the room of Rengino. Bursting through, he grabbed Rengino from behind and held his dirk to his throat.

"Speak," he whispered. "Why does the Empire seek my death?"

"You wouldn't hurt a friend, would you?" replied Rengino calmly.

"I don't have the time for this," warned Leon as the sharp dirk cut into the skin of his captive's throat.

"You don't have the loyalty needed to ensure that you won't join the Returners!" blurted the pudgy man as he felt the skin give way.

At that moment, a stream of crossbow bolts rang out as soldiers burst through the door. Leon lept out of the window and rolled to the ground. As he turned back, he saw the bloody form of Rengino fall through the window. He had been hit by the bolts and thudded to the ground.

"Oh well. He was a incredible bore, anyway," Leon thought as he raced out of the town, north toward the wilderness.

"The Empire can be such a pain at times," he thought to himself as he darted toward the only place that might offer him shelter from persuit. The ruins had to have some place where he could hide from the outsiders. In his best fighting conditions, he could have handled one outsider, but with his last Air Lancet lost during his fall from the window, he couldn't have defeated a Spek Tor - which was lucky for him since there were none around.

"What don't outsiders like?" mused Leon, as he ran toward the growing structure ahead. "Sacred Power!" he remembered, "As if I have magic."

With this last thought he had reached the ruins. He estimated that he had about thirty minutes before the outsiders caught up.

"Where to hide, where to hide," he thought as he rounded a corner of the rubble. The answer literally hit him as he smashed into the frame of a door. The door opened into an eternity of darkness.

* * *

Kefka's lighting must have gone with his tower because the inside was dark. Somehow, this room had avoided most of the destruction that had followed Kefka's defeat. The room was a cavernous hold with all four of it's walls intact. The ceiling and floor, had suffered the most, Half of the ceiling slanted, caved in, while the other half hung in a broad testament to the destructive forces of magic. The room was sealed off from the welcoming arms of air by the massive floors above. The floor had given away in the center into the floors which had formerly rested under it. This caused an effect that left the former spy of the empire awestruck.

As he entered the room, he smelled the scent of stale air. Unaware of the gigantic hole in the floor, his first few steps caused him to fall uncontrolably down into the abyss with the last thought, "My mother always 'said' that I should have been a doctor, not a spy, but did I listen? No..."

* * *

Leon recovered consciousness at the bottom of a dark shaft. He was alive through some miracle because he must have fallen at least 60 feet. Surveying his surroundings, he saw himself to be in a small room. This room had survived through the collapse through some luck. In the center of the room, there was a pedestal which illuminated the room with an eerie red light. He had always had a curious nature, so he approached the light source. As he did, some part of him warned him to turn back, that danger lay ahead. He ignored the thought and brought himself level with the light. It was being emitted from an object that looked like a dagger. It was surrounded by a lot of dust that glowed with the same light as the item. He grabbed it, to immediately drop it again. The object had been one finger of some claw, although its size was as large as a dagger; his hand was slashed from where the claw had pierced hrough his skin. He still needed a weapon so he decided to reach for the claw. As he picked up the claw again, some of the glowing dust fell upon the cut and entered his bloodstream. His blood felt as if it had suddenly erupted into fire, and the fee;omg coursed through his veins causing unimaginable pain. Leon collaped onto the floor as he realized what had happened: dust from the remains of the once-goddess Poltergeist had entered his body! He gave in to the comforting blackness that overtook him.

* * *

Reaching the top, he vaulted himself over the edge of the pit. He decided to be cautious as he left the room. He carefully peered out of the chaimber before allowing himself to proceed through the door. He silently rounded the corner that he previously rounded. There was a whole two seconds before he spotted the first outsider, and another three seconds to fling himself to the side before two tack stars narrowly missed him.

"They were waiting for me," he thought angrily. "Patient little buggers..." While he was rolling to a stop, he pulled the stone claw from his satchel and put it into his right hand. When the claw was in his palm, he almost dropped it again since it began to glow with the previous red glow that he had seen in the room. He felt a burning along the cut in his palm as it tried to match the glow of the claw.

"Gods," he screamed as he clasped the glowing claw in his hand.

The outsiders silently unsheathed their Breakblades and charged at him. As the first one approached, he dodged the blow and attempted a counter attack. He missed. The second outsider's blade was approaching his head at a frightening speed. Leon raised his claw to parry the blow. The metal met the stone as if it had hit a wall. A green mist arose from the sword, and the blade's magic that should have turned him to stone was absorbed by the glowing claw. Leon dodged back as the two qutsiders recovered from their missed blows. This time, they coordinated their attacks so that they would coincide. The first outsider dodged around to his left while the other one charged. As Leon strove to dodge his blow, he was struck in his side by the one which had gone behind him. The second one disengaged his weak parry and hit him with a blow upon his arm. Weakened and dazed, Leon collapsed backward. He was near the edge of the ruins, but he was too hurt to flee. As the outsiders approached to finish him off, his anger at the Empire, his betrayal, and his stupidity erupted. In his mind, a single word appeared.

"Armageddon!" he screamed, and the claw flamed sharply in response to his call. The air suddenly calmed, the wind ceased, and an incredibly immense wall of pure magical power rushed from behind Leon while fire rained down from the sky. The ground tore in protest of the magical bombardment. The power struck the outsiders and flung them back like burning paper dolls. The stone and metal rubble of the ruins caught on fire, and the door he had emerged from melted into molten slag. The magical backlash was incredible. The pure power flung him backward into the fields beyond the ruins. This was fortunate as the metal and stones of the ruins burned with a white flame.

"Gods!" thought Leon as he surveyed the fire caused by the power.

* * *

Hours later, he had left the ruins far behind. He was still thinking of what had happned at the ruins. Somehow, he had released something that looked remarkably like magic. But magic was dead. Dead, buried, and forgotten. Experimentally, he tried to cast Cure. No effect. He also tried all the spells he had once heard of and Armageddon, the "spell" he had "cast". There was no effect. None of the high, low, or medium level spells worked. "It must have been a fluke," he thought as he left, bewildered. To Albrook. To catch a boat off of the southern continent.

Leon snapped back into reality. The watch was coming. Leon waited in silence as the soldier in Magitek Armor approached. As the soldier passed, Leon quickly scaled the wall that separated the town from the wilderness beyond. He knew that Magitek Armor had a blind spot right behind, where the soldiers and the sensors of the armor could not see him. Taking advantage of this, he threw a rock to the left of the armor. While the soldier was investigating the motion and noise, he quietly slipped into an alley. Leon knew that the soldier would quickly be returning to his sentry route, so he reached into his satchel and grabbed his grappeling hook. It landed silently upon the roof of the adjoining building. He attempted to put his weight on the rope, but the hook and rope silently slid back down. Cursing his luck, his hands fumbled with the rope as he tried the same maneuver on another building. This time, it caught and held his weight. Leon rapidly scaled the building and reached the edge of the roof. He darted over and looked back into the alley. The Magitek Armor passing underneith told him how closely he had avoided detection. He crouched down and made his way toward the docks.

* * *

He climbed down the wall of a building bear the harbor. "The inn should hold some sea captains," he thought. Since the Empire had imposed a barricade on the coast for all but a select few vessels, most of the sea captains spent their time in the inn. Entering the door, he noticed that the inn was a bright, cheerful establishment. Many of the tables were filled by sailrs chatting together, but one table, in the corner, was occupied by a sullen, morose man.

Walking over to the table, Leon asked, "Excuse me, are you a sea captain?"

The man said, "I was, until the blasted Empire blockaded the coast and kept all of us at dock." The man pointed toward a graceful ship at the docks. "There's my ship, the Morning Star. Now my whole cargo's rotting in her hull."

"I have a buisness proposition," declared Leon with a strange smile. "I'll pay you two thousand gold if you will take me to Thamasa."

"And risk the barricade?" said the man with a strange smile. "I couldn't do it for less than three thousand."

Leon considered this offer. The loss of three thousand gold would put a large dent in his savings. "You have a deal!" he finally said, sticking his hand out.

The captain shook his hand and said, "I'm Captain Grendlle. You won't regret it. The Morning Star is the fastest ship in these waters. We'll leave now!" With that, he led the way to the dockside, and the Morning Star.

The Morning Star sailed gracefully out of the harbor into the bay. As the captain increased the speed, the blockading vessels became visible in the distance. There were three ships that were in the distance. The Morning Star plowed between the two smaller ships as they tried to block the egress to the open sea.

"We're out!" Leon screamed with exhileration.

"Captain," called one of the crewmen, "we have a small problem. Two Imperial warships are following us."

Captain Grendlle shouted, "Full speed ahead! Make a course for the straits of Anatica."

As the Morning Star changed course, a catapulted stone hit where it had been moments before. The two ships behind them changed course to match theirs, but now they were closer than before.

As the straits came closer, Captain Grendlle declared, "Don't worry. I'm the only person who should have maps and knowledge to get past these reefs. I know a safe way through here."

The Morning Star entered the straits. Leon remembered that these rocks had capsized many ships in the past.

On the imperial ships, a crewman stated to the captain, "Captain, they are entering the Straits of Anatica."

"The only place that leads to is Thamasa," the captain stated. "Turn around!" the captain commanded. "They will be greeted by Imperial troops soon enough!" he declared with a wicked grin.

"The imperial ships are retreating!" the captain shouted. "From here, it will be a few days' journey to Thamasa. You can have the cabin," he stated to Leon. "Get some rest."

* * *

Thamasa could be seen in the distance. They would be approaching it within the hour.

"What's that!" cried Leon.

Overhead, many airships converged upon the village. When they were close, the airships dropped firebombs upon the hamlet.

"Imperial airships! Drop me off at the coast!" he cried.

Captain Grendlle stated, "It was a great journey to have you on. If you ever need a ship, look for the Morning Star and we'll be happy to take you."

Leon paid him four thousand gold. "For a job well done," was his only reply as he jumped onto the shore and headed for the village under attack.

The young man leaned back in the tavern's rough chair-- makeshift furniture was almost all that was available, even now-- and raised his half-full wineglass in an unspoken toast. The end of the world, he thought idly, certainly hadn't done much for the quality of Narshe wine. He'd have to travel back to Figaro some time, or maybe Jidoor...

He stared into the deep red fluid, contemplating. He'd been here in Narshe for nearly two weeks, and it was beginning to bore him. He'd move on soon, but where to? Nikeah, perhaps? Not his favorite city, but there were a lot of traders there. Traders with fat purses, who in the past had been quite generous... Or he could skip Nikeah and take a boat to the southern continent. Maranda was a lovely place this time of year, and its people could make decent wine...

Decisions, decisions.

Lyssa's voice interrupted his thoughts. He turned away from them for the moment, without the slightest tinge of regret--because what he said was true. At this moment, he would indeed give her anything. "...Take me with you?"

Uh oh. Anything except that... Think fast! "I wish I could," he said. His voice conveyed deep regret, and for a moment he felt it. "But... well, do you remember when I arrived?"

She nodded and opened her mouth, as if to speak, but he continued, smoothly slipping into storyteller mode. The intricate details flowed straight from his thoughts to his tongue, and he hardly noticed. He was busy reliving the day...

* * * * *

It was a cold day, as was usual in these mountains, and the brisk wind only increased the chill. The traveler, however, was garbed almost entirely in black silk. His boots, of course, were sturdy leather, of the same impeccable sable. With his pale skin and piercing green eyes, he might have made an imposing sight. But that wasn't the appearance he desired. His livelihood depended on drawing people to him, not frightening them away. And so he added the final touch--a Zephyr Cape, dyed seven or eight vibrant pastel hues. Its colors seemed to flow and shift as he walked smoothly onward, approaching the peaceful industrial town of Narshe.

He drew a small group of curious onlookers almost immediately, as usual--the ones who would pretend to be glancing in a shop window or puzzling over an unmoving water wheel. He could feel their eyes on him, though, and if he tried, he could SEE their curiosity. He didn't try. Staring made them nervous.

He strode to the door of the inn, then turned around as if in afterthought. He let the wind finally catch his cape and snap it sideways, revealing the instrument at his side, as he spoke in a strong, clear tenor.

"I, Alaric Morgannan, will be performing at your Inn for the next two weeks."

Many would have added more than that; he did not. Better to let them wonder about his talents. Their curiosity would draw them, and once they'd heard him perform, many would return. Now, to strike a deal with the proprietor...

The first evening had been everything he'd hoped. He managed to collect a little money then, and a third share from the innkeeper's profits, as well. Enough to last him several weeks, if he was careful. Or a little over one week, in his accustomed style.

He chose style, of course. He always did, if he could...

* * * * *

And ten days later, he sat at the same inn, in as much comfort as one could expect, given the town's half-rebuilt state. He was acquainted with a few of the villagers--it always paid to have friends everywhere--and, by the end of the second night, he'd noticed Lyssa. By the end of the third night, he was in love with her.

Alaric was attractive, not because of his looks, which were more or less average, but because of his personality, his skills... his style. He travelled, he was an adventurer of sorts, and he often managed to say just the right thing. It was no surprise to him that, by the end of the fourth night, Lyssa returned his love.

It broke his heart to leave her, but he couldn't stay. Not here, or anywhere. And he couldn't allow her to leave with him. It was still too dangerous. Ferocious monsters, like those from the legends he recited so skillfully, wandered the world at will, occasionally even raiding a town. Oh, not the largest--Jidoor or Figaro could certainly stand up to them--but the out-of-the-way villages.

"And if anything were to happen to you," he concluded tearfully, "I couldn't go on living. You are the one who gives my life meaning..."

By the end of that night, she agreed. She saw that he had to leave--she'd forgotten to ask why--but she knew that he'd return to her. As soon as he could.

Alaric honestly meant every word he had said.

In short, it was a perfect afternoon at sea.

Alaric perched on the deck railing, strumming a simple tune on his harp with a distracted air. He hadn't been to Maranda for a long time. Not since the end of the world. How had it changed? Not for the better, that much was certain.

Well, he would see. But not too soon. There was the matter of Captain Ishmael's cargo, to be delivered to Thamasa. Unloading that cargo and loading the new would take at least two weeks, he insisted.

Which meant that it would take three, at the least. Alaric hoped that the rural village would offer some distraction. Three weeks, in one place! And not even Jidoor or Figaro, but a small village half a world away from everywhere else.

Still, everyone knew that the Warriors of Balance had visited the village. Maybe there'd be something there after all. And it wasn't just any captain who'd let a wandering minstrel pay for a voyage by entertaining himself and the crew. He appreciated that. He slid smoothly from the rail to his feet without missing a note of the increasingly complex melody. No doubt they were close to Thamasa.

* * * * *

It hadn't taken him long to discover that there was little of interest in Thamasa. The townspeople had been unwelcoming, but that had changed when they'd learned he was an entertainer.

He grinned at the memory. They'd become more friendly after a night or two of songs and legends. He'd sung part of the Magi Cycle, about the legendary heroes of the War of the Magi. They'd been very enthusiastic.

Must be a local favorite, he thought. 'King Edward's Lament' usually didn't elicit that response. It was a beautiful song-- some said that the legendary Bard had written it himself--but it was considered too long. So they cut it down to 3:05.

Tonight, he planned to perform 'The Fury of Eblan'. That one was a true masterpiece. It wasn't uncommon for first-time audiences to go from frowns of rage to tears of sorrow and back. Such a fanciful story... an underground kingdom, a man who made people into monsters, a fiery young prince. It had been his favorite part for months. He'd even played at the Opera House, next to some of the most brilliant musicians in the world. And the actors had been as talented as the orchestra.

He almost regretted leaving. Sometimes.

* * * * *

"So this is what happened to him."

Alaric was talking to himself. It was a habit he'd picked up during his travels, since there was often nobody else to talk to. He leaned back, feeling the rough bark supporting him as he looked across the small clearing at a large, smooth stone. A monument.

The final resting place of General Leo of Vector.

"During his lifetime, he was the world's greatest soldier. Maybe the greatest in history... at least, some people thought so. A living legend..."

He had been walking across the grove, and he now stood before the tomb, staring at the grey stone with unusual solemnity. General Leo of Vector, betrayed by his liege lord. Slain (or so they said) by Kefka himself. "I suppose this is how all legends end...?"

A small smile played about his lips, breaking the solemn mood. "Still, it would make a great song. What to call it? 'The Price of Heroes'? No... 'An Officer and a Gentleman'? No, that's been done. Hmm..." Alaric tilted his head back, staring into the sky as he tried to think of a title. "Maybe 'Vector's Fields'? No. That's... What? An airship?"

He blinked, trying to clear his sight. Only the gambler Setzer had built an airship. Why would he come here? But the vessel remained. He wasn't imagining things. Still...

He stared at the airship in shock. "There's no balloon? But..." It couldn't be Setzer, then. Who else would know how to build an airship?

Alaric froze. Something was wrong. Something had fallen from the airship. No, dropped! "What..?" No time. "Come on... Dodge!" The words seemed to free him, and he leapt behind the stone, falling prone. He covered himself with his Zephyr Cape as an afterthought. If he was mistaken, he'd feel foolish, but if he was right...

Well, he knew the Magi Cycle. He knew what the Red Wings had done to Damcyan. Maybe Leo's monument and his cloak would protect him from the worst.

A few moments later, Alaric knew he'd guessed correctly. "No... not again..." There couldn't be another war, not now. But judging by the explosions that sounded behind him, there could be. There was. Here, in a village half a world away from everything else.

Alaric's vain protests were drowned out by the roar of the fire that rained down on Thamasa.

The airships had reloaded their deadly packages and were preparing to drop them upon the hamlet. Leon quickly scaled the nearest wall, and as the airships lowered and uncloaked to further torch the hamlet, Leon swung his rope up, and it hooked upon the airship's railing. He quickly scaled the rope toward the airship above as flaming death hit the damaged buildings once more.

Leaping over the railing, Leon slashed the throat of the nearest soldier. The shock of a direct attack from the ground temporarily paralyzed the soldiers as Leon's red blade took the life of another of the Emperor's men. The soldiers quickly unsheathed their blades, however, and began to assault Leon. Still tired from the events on Kefka's ruins, Leon felt his energy depleting rapidly. Parrying a blow from a soldier assaulting him from his left, he was forved to leap aside to avoid an attack from his right side. As he struck a third soldier down, he felt a burning sensation graze his ribs. With his other hand, he covered the wound so as to lose as little blood as possible, and he struck out at the person who had wounded him. He mansaged to stab the soldier in his ribs before Leon was cut again, in his arm. Desperately, Leon tried the spell Armageddon. Nothing happened. He now desperately attempted to parry two swords, but was grazed in his left shoulder. Looking around, he saw only one man between himself and the outer railing. Flinging himself at the man, Leon cut with his blade and stabbed the soldier in the thigh. Falling down, the soldier coudn't prevent Leon from hurling himself over the banister. The surviving soldiers watched as his form became smaller and smaller below. /He won't survive,/ thought the crewmen as they prepared to return to their base for refueling and rearmament.

Down below, Leon had the good fortune to land in the sea. He narrowly missed the rocks as he plunged down the murky waters. Kicking, he was able to bring his head back to the surface and head toward the shore. Ahead, he saw a tomb. The tomb of the deceased General Leo. He stepped out of the water and began to limp to the hamlet. As the numbness from the cold water wore off, his wounds started to sting from the salt that had seeped in. Ignoring the pain, he tore off a portion of his black cloak to bind his wounds. Beyond the glade, the battle continued, as the soldiers of the Empire, slowly but surely, ground the Thamasans down.

"They have no hope," he thought, as he watched the fight from a distance. Wearily, he headed back to the fight.

"Hi, I saw you tumbling from that airship..." started the man.

"What do you want?" interrupted Leon impassively.

"Well, I was thinking that, you being a soldier of the Empire and all, since you ARE assaulting this peaceful village, I thought that I would help these nice people out." With those words, the man launched himself at Leon with both of his weapons out.

"I think you are mistaken," stated Leon firmly, as he parried the lunge of the man.

"Yeah, and your airships were mistaken when they bombed this village? Get real," he retorted with a slash.

A leap backward was all that prevented Leon from spoiling his day with a split stomach. "That wasn't my airship!" cried Leon as he countered the slash with one of his own. The man dodged quickly. He was really fast. "Listen buddy, I was thrown off the airship by troops that I was fighting."

"Then how did you get on?" he responded as he cut into Leon's shoulder.

"With a hook!" And with that, Leon flung the man against the tombstone. His dirks were knocked away by the impact. "Look, I'm on your side!" he declaired sharply as he walked up to the man. "And you'd better accept that." With that, Leon kicked one of the knives back in the direction of the man.

Picking it up, the man stated, "Sorry." He retrieved his other knife and made his way over to Leon. "I'm Alaric. Wandering bard and minstrel extraordinaire!"

"Leon," he replied dryly. "Vicious cut," he said with a thin smile on his lips, "and interesting style."

"Sorry about the shoulder - my mistake," responded Alaric. "How can I compensate you for the wound?"

"By chasing the Empire out of here with me." Leon answered. His grin had evolved into a large smile by then. Alaric had that effect on people.

"Gladly! I'l be more than happy to help in your enterprise." At his words, they both burst into laughter.

"Then let's show the Empire some lip!" was the last remark as Leon and Alaric both left the glade to give the citizens of Thamasa a slightly better chance of survival.

"More airships!" Leon shouted with disgust.

They kept their eyes on the airship as they headed down the hill. A lone figure jumped from the ship. As it landed, the person extracted a sword and stabbed a Thamasian soldier in the back. As he watched the same figure killed an imperial soldier in the same fashion.

"Which side is this maniac on?" he asked Alaric.

"His own?" was the response. "Leon?" Alaric asked his companion who was lost in thought.

Leon suddenly cried, "That's the trator, General Celes. I've studied her fighting style, and only she uses those types of strokes!"

"General Celes? I thought she was with the Returners! Why would she attack Thamasan soldiers?"

"Who knows?" Leon responded. "Let's find out!"

As they headed into the fray, two Imperial soldiers and a suit of Magitek Armor attacked.

"Alaric, take the left one," Leon shouted as he leaped into the air. He quickly unsheathed his claw in the air, and landed upon the soldier's shoulders. The stunned man flinched from the unexpected attack, and Leon slammed the claw into the back of his neck. The soldier crumpled to the ground, his spinal cord severed, as Leon flung himself at the armor. The soldier in the Magitek Armor reacted in the same way as the first, as Leon landed upon the front of the suit. The soldier driving the Armor weakly attempted to defend himself, but Leon quickly ran him through.

"Amateurs," Leon stated contempuously, as he searched the body. The Imperial soldier had no armor to speak of, but the weapon he had been using was an assassin's dirk.

"How did he get that?" he muttered to himself, as he tossed the body out of the cockpit.

Alaric had managed to dispatch the soldier and two others. He obviously hadn't been paying attention to Leon's actions because he crouched down as Leon approached.

"Alaric," Leon hailed from the cockpit.

"Leon?" was his surprised response.

"Climb aboard!"

Leon made way as Alaric entered the technological wonder. He climbed out and held onto the machine.

"How'd you get this?" Alaric cried in wonder as he slapped Leon on his left sholder.

"Ow, 'please' don't do that!"

"Sorry, but how did you get it?"

"The Empire's amateur troops couldn't keep hold of it." He sighed in mock sadness. "I felt it was necessary to relieve the soldier of this burden."

A dark shadow fell from above; the darkness cut through the mirth like a knife through butter. Perched upon the suit of Magitek Armor, Leon saw the approaching horrr. It was something that could have been born out of his deepest nightmares. The creature, was black. Pure darkness. The material of its warped skin seemed to absorb all light and heat around it. This bit of darkness was made of what appeared to be obsidian, but the creature moved with speed and agility that no stone or metal could have had. Power seemed to ripple around the creature but the strength held the gracefulness and agility of a dancer. These thoughts spun through his mind as he saw the monster start its dive.

He yelled to Alaric over the noise of the battle, "Take the controls! I'm going after that thing!"

"What? Are you crazy?" was the only response he heard as he leaped into the air. He figured that he would have to time it exactly to have a chance against the thing. As he twisted in the air, he pulled out his claw in his right hand and his newly-acquired dirk in his left. The balde of the claw was glowing again in it's inner glow. The glow seemed harsh, demanding for the creature's blood.

The gargoyle didn't seem to notice the form, flinging itself on him from behind.

As Leon fell, his arms came down bringing the two weapons on the gargayle with his added weight and momentum. The assassin blade ricocheted off of the armor that was the gargoyle's skin. It bounced off as if it had struck solid stone, flying out of his hand. The claw, on the other hand, penetrated deeply and cut a long gash in the gargoyle's side as Leon landed. As the claw cut into the obsidian gargatuan, Leon felt power flooding through his veins, an immense power that threateded to knock him off of his feet and shattered his concentration. The gargoyle gave a scream of pain and anger at the puny mortal who had dared to scratch him. Leon rolled to the ground and crouched ready to dodge aside or to resume his attack. The gargoyle didn't bleed. The armor that was its skin had been punctured, but there were other, stronger layers beneath.

It screamed in a voice which was cold and whispered of the wrath that had been brought out by the puny scratch. "Did you think that your blows did much more than kindle my anger? You, puny mortal, shall be slain with your heart brought for my lord's dinner repast. Returner!"

The last word was spoken with contempt and hatred. As the gargoyle dived once more, Leon rolled underneith and brought his claw against the belly of the creature. As he ripped through stone the claw gave a burst of powerful red light and he felt the power flood through his veins again in a terrifying manner. He cried, "DON'T call me a Returner!" The gargoyle's clawed hand flashed in a blur, knocking Leon against a building. Leon felt himself flying against a wall and screamed as he smashed upon his wounded shoulder. It was broken, he instantly knew, but the claw was still clasped tightly in his hand.

"Returner scum! Meet your doom!" shouted the gargoyle. It had been wounded by his scratch, but not heavily. As it cast some magic spell, hundreads of rocks flew at him. Leon rolled aside but knew that he would he unable to avoid them; they were following his mevements. The gargoyle laughed in delight at Leon's feble efforts.

At that moment, a uniformed form flung itself at the gargoyle from some flying thing. He stared. It was the ex-general Celes, but this time she was in an Imperial uniform. Her form knocked into the gargoyle, distracting it long enought for Leon to quickly dart away from the deadly missiles' path. He landed upon his shoulder again. A wave of nausea and pain flooded through him. As he struggled to fight the pain that flooded through him, he saw Celes combating the creation of the Empire. The monster had turned to what it saw as the greater threat to its well-being. He thought silently, "Why is the traitor Celes wearing an imperial uniform?" Some other form was attempting to battle the creature from on board the floating device in the air. Fighting pain, he managed to get up once more. Celes was being pressed back by the fury of the gargoyle's attack. It was low, near the ground, to battle this danger. Taking advantage of that, Leon stumbled over to the gargoyle and plunged the claw into its back.

Screaming in pain and rage, the gargoyle flung him back against the wall. Pain wracked his fragile body once more. He had broken some ribs and Leon knew it, but it didn't matter as the thing approached him. He knew that he wouldn't be able to dodge away from it's next attack.

"So you aren't dead. A pity!" the gargoyle stated coldly as it approched. "I'll soon remedy that misfortune!"

As it approached, Leon felt some strange power building inside of him. His blood felt as if it was boiling from some internal heat. Suddenly, power burst from him. It caught the massive form of the gargoyle and hurled it backwards against a wall, or it should ahve. The gargoyle was flung back, but it somehow moved through the wall. The power radiated like waves across the block. Remains of damaged buildings were blown down like leaves. He saw Celes and the other form flung back into a building. This power... Leon instinctively knew that it wasn't magic. Magic had form. It had substance. It was called by saying the word to release its power and willing it to happen. This energy had none of that. It was destructive and was bound to no form. The only thing that could be seen of this was a red glow emitted by the power. Soldiers were knocked back by its power, and above, the airships were blown out of their courses and the crewmen struggled to keep them in the air.

The power reversed. Leon saw it turn in again. As the pure energy and power enveloped hin, the last thing he saw was the gargoyle, flying once more, virtually unharmed, and taunting him for his foolishness to dare to face it. Then the light and power enveloped him, and he knew no more.

His last thoughts were, "Strange, the light almost looks blue from here..."

That had been the twenty-seventh soldier he'd crossed blades with, if he hadn't lost count. The third he'd killed. His newfound partner Leon had fought fewer, but killed more. Efficient, that one... but Alaric had lost sight of him some time ago...

To think he'd considered the paired dirks a foolish investment. True, a thousand gold each was a lot to ask, but their polished silver blades and black hilts had intrigued him. And they were built to aid in defense, he thought, parrying a blow that would have severed his head if it had connected. He dropped, spun, and lashed out at the soldier with a kick. As he'd come to expect, the multicolored Zephyr Cape he wore did not interfere with the maneuver.

*CRACK*

Alaric learned never to kick an armored opponent. That _hurt_! And he couldn't afford to lose his mobility now... He continued the motion, rolling aside, vaguely noticing his cloak shifting from a predominantly red-and-black color scheme to mostly green and brown--the better to camouflage him as he moved along the ground, leaving his enemy to face a Thamasan who'd moved into position. He might only carry a staff, but somehow Alaric didn't doubt that he was a better fighter than the Imperial trooper. And much better than Alaric himself.

He took advantage of the momentary pause to scan the area. He didn't see Leon anywhere. But he did see dozens of Thamasans down... Light, all dead? Leon had been among one group of such. He'd been wounded, too... either he wasn't as good as Alaric at defense, or he was fighting more skilled opponents than Alaric. Probably both.

Alaric was about to search out Leon to offer aid, but the action was interrupted...

*Chung Chung*

*VREEEEEEEEP*

The force of the MagiTek Bolt Beam threw Alaric through the air. He landed rather uncomfortably against a wall, taking what cover he could find--behind a pair of barrels.

*VREEEEEEEEP*

Make that a pair of ash piles. Time to move...

He threw himself aside just in time to avoid a second Fire Beam blast, rolling to his feet with the practiced ease of an accomplished acrobat. Thankful now for the long hours of tedious training he'd undergone, he ran forward three steps, ignoring the pain from his injured foot. Had he broken something when he'd landed that kick? No time to worry about that now.

He jumped into the air, aiming for the Armor's pilot. Unfortunately, the pilot had turned to face him. A massive MagiTek arm swung upward.

In mid-air, he couldn't dodge. The blow connected solidly, and it was probably only the minimal protection offered by his cape that kept him alive. But the blow had also kocked him upward; he couldn't possibly hit the pilot. Could he?

Nothing to lose now...

He stabbed downwards with the matched Guardians, hearing a scrape of metal on metal. Then the blades caught on something...

Part of the armor came loose with a squeal. Alaric landed heavily on the ground, staring blankly at the object in his hands for a moment, until he recognized it.

A Magitek core pack. No, half a Magitek core pack. Which was beginning to glow, leaking energy. It looked like it might...

He threw it as hard as he could, and half-staggered, half-fell away from the Armor.

*BWHOOM!*

The concussion threw him forward to the ground. The last thing he saw before his impact was the breastplate of a fallen Imperial trooper. Then his head struck it.

The steel was cold and unyielding. Alaric drifted into unconsciousness.