BY : CrowSkyler
Category: Final Fantasy Games > Final Fantasy IX
Dragon prints: 577
Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy IX, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Title: Remembrance

Genre: Angst

Fandom: Final Fantasy IX

Pairing(s): Kuja/One, Three/Two, Three/One

Author: CrowSkyler

Rating: R

Warnings: Smut mentions, incest, some bad language, morbidity.











He sat aboard the airship quietly, wings folded and eyes closed. His arms were crossed against his chest, and his neck feathers were rustling in the wind. It was a comfortable pose, one he reverted to often whenever he was feeling particularily under the weather. The Alexandrian guards always knew to never bother him, when he sat like this. Usually he was on his bed, as such, or sitting on the rail outside his room, his pet Mage by his side as he mumbled curses to Brahne, Kuja, and his siblings under his breath.

Yet, it wasn’t all hate. No – some would have said it was a kind of twisted love. Yes, definitely twisted.

Black Waltz er Ter Three had many nicknames, you see. ‘Scary feathered bastard’, ‘angel of death’, ‘magical weapon’, and ‘evil bastard’ were some of the common ones. He smirked at the memories. Whenever he drifted down to a town, to wreck havoc, those nicknames always rang out of the crowd. They knew him, godlike in power to themselves, and they hated and feared him with a passion. He appeared often to towns, to deal out damage in the name of the Queen—and always, he pined for the day in which he might attack in his own name. It was absurd, but such a sweet thought to his darkened mind.

But he had competition, of course, in the forms of the other three enhanced Mages which Brahne loved to call his ‘brothers’. Black Waltzes One and Two were not as dark as he, however. Except perhaps One’s twisted mind being a match for his own—but he had had little power to back it up, and his light had been snuffed by the enemy rather quickly. A few days after the end of training, in fact. Not that Three cared in the slightest; One was not his favorite brother.

Though, in candle and torchlight in their own chambers, he had served a certain purpse, Three supposed. He had been so much better than Three’s own pet Mage—so intelligent and agile in comparision. With cool black hands that had always made the youngest Waltz shiver, and a drive to rival his own. He had laid a quick and abrupt claim to his youngest sibling, as he had done with Three, but when his death had come, the Waltz Three had been freed from the claim, and had been free to pursue other habits.

His death had been rather rough on the Waltz, at first, a reminder of their short lifespans, perhaps only a few years longer than the mere Black Mages’ lifespans. And Kuja had grieved in his own way, he supposed. One had been going to both of them for pleasure, and it angered Three the more he thought about it. He’d had some sort of thing holding him back whenever they’d met, just a bit. And he’d known after the Waltz’s death—love for their Master. Love for their Creator, rather… He remembered the best, however, whenever he could, and wished their little fucking sessions had perhaps gone on just a little longer.

He had sighed and searched out the town. But no maiden offered herself to him, of course not—or any lad, for that matter. Humans were too primitive, anyway, always too quick and hurried to sate their orimarimal needs. Three had discovered that sex was a little like an art; the longer you prepared, the more glorious a result. One had shared that understanding as well, which made him pine all the more for him at the end of a particularily rough day.

Finding nothing in the town, he turned to Alexandrastlastle for his needs, being careful to avoid the scrutinizing eye of Queen Brahne and Kuja. Kuja, who had stolen the best of One’s attentions. When no Mage had been found suitable, Three’s eyes had scoured the soldiers only a minute before he knew they’d alert the Queen if he tried anything. And so that brought his attentions to a very surprising source—

Black Waltz Number Two.

So sulky, so dark, so near-perfection… He was squeamish, however, and any sign of anything out-of-the-ordinary caused him to screech and want out of the room and bed. Three had accepted this grudgingly; a Mu did not change its fur for anyone, and neither would Two learn for his sake, for his… ‘peace’ of mind. He did learn, however, the art of touching, fondling, and stroking that led to pure bliss at the end of the night, and so Three’sd wad was sated.


Because then, of course, he’d gone after the group of rebels, followed them to Dali on the Mage airship. And Three had pined in his absense, sulking about the castle and reducing lost Mages to ash, wishing him home on fast wing. When the news of his destruction had come to the Castle, Three had felt a great emptiness, as Brahne had given him the same fucking orders that she’d given his ‘siblings’. Find them and kill them, and bring back the Princess.

Too long had his thoughts revolved around the dark-haired beauty of Alexandria. He’d seen her once, from a distance, as she sung, a particularily good morning for him after a rather intense session of lovemaking with One. As his body had tingled and buzzed happily, he’d listened to the strange, foreign tune, and then poked a head out to watch her. She was indeed lovely, and he doubted seriously that she was the true daughter of the ‘Elephant Lady’, as Kuja called her. But he kept his mouth shut, naturally, and, on a few occaisions, wondered what it would be like…

What it would be like to have her whimpering and moaning under his claws, his wings spread high above them, pumping himself and then slitting her throat, escaping the Queen’s w thr through the window the next morning; as he left her gutted on his bed, for the Mage to clean up.

But no, she was too proper to accept anything of the sort, and he was forbidden to be even a few corridors away, anyway, there was simply no way to ask or proposition. Which was a fine pity… she was truly a lovely creature. And so, his dark mind, deprived of pleasure for a day or two, began to scheme.

He had climbed aboard Zorn and Thorn’s airship with arrogant pride, intent upon bringing the Beauty of Alexandria home and ditching the Jesters along the way. Deflowering her on the ship, and then killing her, claiming that the brats and that other fucking Black Mage—the prototype—had done it. It was a foolproof plan.

And, sitting on the nose of the airship, he still thought it was, preening slightly in the warm light as the Jesters fought to find the airship in question.

"There, it is!" cried one triumphantly.

"It is there!" cried the other. Three wasn’t sure which was which, and didn’t care.

"Go after it, you must!"

"You must go after it!"

Chuckling darkly and standing, majestic wings spreading, he watched the airship, whose occupants had taken the only joys in his life. "I was counting on it," he purred, smirking, lightning dancing across the front of his robes.

"Get going!"

Waiting for a strong wind, the Waltz snarled at the Jester—was this one Zorn?—and enjoyed the cringe. And then, his wings moving with a strong draft, he took to the air.


A dark creature of nightmare.

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