Kaette Kitekure [arc one]

BY : Teresa
Category: Final Fantasy Games > Final Fantasy VI
Dragon prints: 635
Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy VI, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

"Kaette Kitekure" Arc One
A Final Fantasy VI Fan Fic
by Temple Priestess
*This story will contain, either now or in future arcs the
following: yaoi, violence, non-con & con, angst.
*This first arc takes place a few years before the start
of the game.
*Final Fantasy VI belongs to Squaresoft et al.

Act One


Locke drew in a deep breath and tensed his body, awaiting the sharp
snap of the whip, along with the white hot pain that accompanied it.
He had been a prisoner of the Empire for three days now, three days of
pain and torment at the hands of his enemies. The only consolation Locke
could hold on to was that he had chosen to fight against the Empire, had
decided on his own to take up the cause of the Returners. His suffering
would not be in vain, nor would his death, if they so chose it. No matter
what happened to him, the Returners' secrets would remain silent within
himself, even through the very worst they could do to his body.

It was now Kefka, the Empire's lunatic who fancied himself a great leader,
who tried to force Locke to reveal the plans of the Returners. Kefka
laughed as he dealt each strike to Locke's exposed skin, not really caring
if the prisoner talked at all. He simply enjoyed marring Locke's skin with
streaks of blood, the leather cutting criss-cross patterns into his back.

Locke could not stop his scream as the whip tore into the fresh wounds, sending
spikes of pain through every nerve. His body fell limp, the chains around his
wrists and attached to the ceiling were the only things holding him up. Kefka
walked around to face his prisoner, his red painted lips curving into a smile.
He gripped Locke's chin with one bony hand and forced the young man to meet his
gaze. A trickle of blood ran from the corner of Locke's mouth as he tried to pull
away. Kefka rubbed the blood away with his thumb as he stared into Locke's
dimming eyes.

"Why do you still resist?" he asked, the amusement quite evident in his voice.
"The Returners have done nothing for you. Why suffer for them? Tell me their
plans, their whereabouts, their connections, and I will make sure you suffer no

"...never..." Locke gasped the word through his pain. Kefka merely laughed at his
refusal and rubbed his hand along the side of Locke's bruised face.

"Perhaps this is the wrong method of making you talk," Kefka murmured, almost as
though he was speaking to himself. "Even though this is quite enjoyable for me,
there are several other enjoyable methods I could try."

Locke jerked his face away from the cold fingers, which then traveled to his
shoulder and across his back, the tips tracing the etchings the whip had made.
A shiver ran through Locke's body, fear and pain and loathing all combined, the
thought of what Kefka hinted at terrified him. His body could bear whatever pain
the Empire could inflict on him, but that was only physical endurance. He wouldn't
be able to... he just couldn't bear...

A frightened gasp escaped Locke's lips as that wretched hand traveled further down
his body, making his skin crawl even through the thick fabric of his pants. This
response did not go unnoticed by Kefka, who eagerly drank in the fear emminating from
his prisoner. Perhaps he was right; a different method was needed to break down this
youth's resistance. It was a pity that the Slave Crown had not yet been perfected,
for he could have controlled Locke's every movement. On the other hand, perhaps it
would be more fun to watch him try to resist, to see his spirit broken and crushed,
to revel in the triumph over his body and mind.

"Guard, take this prisoner to my quarters," Kefka ordered. The armor clad soldier went
about removing the chains from Locke's wrists, who fell to his knees from sheer exhaustion.
The guard roughly grabbed him under one arm and hauled him to his feet, half dragging him
from the room. Kefka laughed in his maniacal manner, quite pleased with himself and all
that he anticipated for his prisoner.


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