Reign of Angels

BY : ruinedkuria
Category: Final Fantasy VII > Crossovers
Dragon prints: 497
Disclaimer: I don't own any FF characters or world and I don't make money from this, yo.

Location: Terra

The room glowed blue. It glowed blue even this deep beneath the earth and he hated it. It was there as a reminder to the loss of his will the moment his heart began to beat, that every second of his life was created for the purpose of servitude, just as the sight of his detestable tail, just as the manacles that bind his ankle and wrists and the pain serve as a reminder that he must not overstep his bounds.

He rested his heavy head against the cold metal bars of his cage prison, the chains clinked harshly as he shifted, and he chuckled softly to himself.

The solitude too was as much punishment as the beatings and the pain. It was intended to teach him a lesson of subservience, weaken his will, and break his resistance and his mind. But the monster had forgotten one important factor in this pitiful, hateful, systematic equation of his: Kuja was a genetic anomaly.

He was not just another mindless drone but a complete individual with an awareness of his own. Ironic that what initially placed him here played a key role in his endurance. He was able to reason out Garland’s motives behind his actions, distance himself from the heavy hands, the repeated empty words and phrases carved into memory, and hide safely behind indifferent logic.

As for the matter of the Genomes, they do not talk; they only answer in short efficient sentences. They were for chores and reporting, for task taking and nothing more. Solitude here was as good as the solitude he experienced every single day of his life.

Footsteps sounded down the barren hall crashing louder onto the paved floor as its source drew closer.

Garland looked the part of a wraith, Kuja thought. A tall shadow supporting the balding head of the only other sentient being on this cursed planet. The pale sickly color of the man’s skin and white flowing beard clashed strikingly alongside the uniform black cape and armor.

The withered man opened the cage door, crouching down in front of the Genome youth. A large armored hand caught his chin, tilting his head up to meet a pair of old red eyes that burned with intensity Kuja had never seen before in his keeper. A long second of the two studying the other passed when a bright light enveloped the boy and the welts and bruises faded from sight.

The hand dropped from his face but the glowing eyes never wavered. They stared through him, assessed his soul, his worth and they smiled a taunting smile that thin lips could only imitate.

“Have you learned your lesson Kuja?”

No reply was given.

“Very well,” Garland murmured, unlocking the manacles and pulling them both up in one smooth move. “Come. I will show you something.”

They walked down deepening pathways, lower and lower into the deepest of the laboratories where only the faintest of the ethereal blue glowed.
They stopped in front of the only occupied glass tube.

“What do you think of my masterpiece?”

An infant Genome floated amongst the perflurocarbon, small with a tuft of blond hair, no different from the others.

“It is nothing original.”

“But he is.” Garland gently caressed the glass tubing. “The answer to all my five thousand years of searching has come to fruition. A Genome of immeasurable powers with strength enough to disrupt the cycle of souls.”

Then, soon, Terra will be restored...”

The boy stood still, his every outward demeanor showed calm acceptance as he faced the Terran’s rant. Yet inside, he seethed with roiling anger and, he admitted with some reluctance, hurt. So he was to be replaced.

What was the purpose of his life if it was to be barely used and discarded? Was he nothing but a whim of Garland’s, made with a soul, a spirit, only to be enslaved for the man’s amusement? Questions dwelled within his thoughts and by the end of the day he came to a conclusion: he would not let it happen.

He returned to the laboratory that night after lying restlessly in his bed, waiting for the old man to finally close his tainted eyes. With a push of a button the tube was drained—the Genome baby lay at the bottom, the remaining liquid dribbled from its mouth as it learn to take in air for the first time in its short, artificial life.

Kuja grabbed it and ran to Bran Bal, to the bridge above the lake where he would often throw stones into when he was younger. The water was dead still, no wind ever rippled its glass surface and nothing that came in it ever make it out.

He held his replacement in his arms. The thing took only the length of his forearm, an undeveloped form, incomplete, weak, and it was destined to destroy cities, have the power to kill lives in the billions, become the true Angel of Death that Garland whispers of in his moments of delusions. He was just the prototype. They stared at the ever present blue light that encased their world, and for that brief moment, they were one.

“Say goodbye to Terra for me,” he whispered and tossed the infant into the water.

Complete silence presided the outer regions of Bran Bal, its only inhabitants were the flat-topped buildings and the occasional Hecteyes. There was nothing left for him here on this dead planet.

What would he do, return to his prison, Garland’s cages and chains?

The perfect Genome was gone, already sinking to the abysmal depths of the lake.

But he couldn’t help thinking if instead they had both gone. If, instead, to spite Garland, he destroyed both his angels in a single night. Garland would have ranted and raved for quite a while the damage Kuja had done to his grand and almighty designs. The image put a small smile to his lips. He spared a farewell thought to the blue light, the mindless Genomes, Garland and his schemes, to the dying planet. Then he jumped…


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