Chapter 1: The Darkness Rises
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Flashback: One year ago.

	Kefka stood atop his newly created tower, laughing maniacally
into the wind in triumph.  "The world has been destroyed, and I am its
master!" he screamed into the air, not caring that he could not be heard
above the shrill shriek of the wind.  It was as if the earth itself was
crying out against Kefka's actions.
	"Shut up, wench!" he called at the earth, then giggled happily.
Taking a few steps, he disappeared down the stairs into the upper levels
of the tower.
	Kefka looked around in greed at all that he saw here.  Contrary
to what others /would/ believe, he had not created this tower.  Rather,
he had landed before it right after the world was destroyed by the...
um... well, those BEAUTIFUL white rays.  It was deserted, and he took
it as his castle.  "Kefka's Tower, is what I'll call it.  After all, it's
a tower, and I'm Kefka... master of the world!  Uwa-ha-ha-ha!" he laughed
madly to himself.
	Looking around through the treasures, he noticed that for the
most part, they were rings of all different makes and styles, each
containing a priceless jewel in it's setting. Never one for subtlety,
Kefka promptly fumbled through the pile which he had formed on the floor,
fitting ring after ring after ring onto his stubby fingers.
	"They're so lovely..." he gushed, admiring his new treasures.
Finally pulling himself from his reverie, he looked up.  "There was one
more treasure..." he said softly, peering about closely.
	"Ah ha!" he exclaimed. "There you are, my beautiful." Before him
was a knife, light gleaming off it's shimmering, perfect steel from an
unknown source.  The blade was curved wickedly, it's edge razor sharp.
"Valiant..." murmured Kefka, uncertain (and uncaring) as to how he knew
it's name.
	He reached out, moving his hand toward the knife's hilt.  The
rings scattered upon his fingers began flashing brightly in warning,
telling him to stay away from this blade which had caught Kefka's heart
so. But he paid them no heed.
	With a smooth swipe, he held the blade in his hands, knuckles
clenched tightly about one another.  His eyes gazed upon the blade with a
look of wonderment, awe, and just a trace of fear.  His voice echoed
softly in the empty, silent hall.
	"Valiant."
	Then the knife exploded.

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	The figure started from its sleep with the dream which shook its
core.  It smiled slowly, drawing on a black robe in the pitch black room.
"Thank you, Kefka..." it whispered, fingers making their way unerringly
toward the handle of the door.  "For that, I let you live."
	It walked out into the chamber outside.  The wraiths jumped
noticeably, then turned toward the figure, shuddering briefly in fear at
their lord's entrance. It smiled.
	"Any news?" asked the figure coldly, taking its seat on its
throne.
	"Yes, lord..." gasped one of the wraiths, approaching the throne.
"Locke's poisoning has become even worse, and it is commonly believed
that he will not live to walk to Kohlingen."
	"Excellent.." murmured the figure in thought.  "With him gone...
there will be none who can stand against me."
	"There is more, lord. Setzer and Tucker have spoken, but have not
banded together.  Annis is ensuring that they will not."
	"Good.  Now leave me."
	The wraith bowed in acquiesence, making its way back to where it
had stood before.  Watching its master for any indication of displeasure.
And praying that it would not be the source of the displeasure.