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The Artifact	By : PandaBearzh Category: Final Fantasy Games > Final Fantasy XIII-2 Views: 2037 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the final fantasy fandom. I do not make $$ from this fiction.

Chapter List
- 10
- 11
- 12
[NAN]

Although it was cleverly disguised a celebration, the Gran Banquet would become nothing more than strategic propaganda scripted to prepare the citizens of the small village for measures that were thus far unprecedented in memorable history. It was never meant to be a celebration in the traditional sense, for the elected commander truly didn’t feel that their cause had earned any sort of significant victory, no matter how simple that victory could have been. The mere knowledge that Vanille had to set up and take down the banquet staging about five times prior to the current date was a testament of the struggles that Fang had experienced. Alyssa had suggested to her that even this banquet should be delayed. Hope had indeed just returned, and the people clearly were shaken by his arrival. However, if she were to procrastinate this puppet show any longer, a dangerously possible scenario might arise where the town people could consider her a weak, ineffective ruler with neither direction nor conviction.
For now, the people would enjoy the riches that their hard work rewarded them. Even if the exterior temperature was chilling, Vanille had preformed such a superior job of decorating the interior with candles and inviting foods that any passerby would need to be suffering from an acute form of lunacy to pass the extravagant display of warmth. Candles had been secured inside wicker cages and fastened to tall rods that had then been skewered in five foot radiuses from one another; it offered a maximum efficiency blanket of light. Along the left and right perimeter, long sturdy tables had been pressed end to end in a line and decorated with the most fantastic variation of seasonal platters. Perhaps twenty percent of the total sum was made up of fruits, but thrice that made of various meats from recent slays. Everything had been smoked and roasted, seasoned, marinated, and where convenient: sliced for easy consumption. The deserts were atypical of what a visitor might have expected, and consisted of mostly of one fried orange sponge bread. Fruit and nuts were wrapped in a thin golden hued tissue-grass and placed on the sponge bread, topped with a rich pomegranate colored thick substance.
The entire zone was open to the air, but the warm bodies that were beginning to fill it helped to prevent their heat from escaping. No chairs were provided; if they were then the guests wouldn’t fit within hearing range. It was true that most if not all of the town would be expected to be present tonight. The invitation that had been extended to every household was relatively direct in that the topic of discussion would be an important one. It did however, enigmatically fall just short of offering any sort of information about what that topic would be. Part of the reason was that Fang was still sorting out the details for it. It might have been helpful to her if she had dared to consult her council, but the events that had led up to this night had cautioned her against it. The final moment that had assisted her to achieve this clarity was the night that the storehouse was burned to the ground. No formal announcement had been made about the change in her strategy, but the young women who worked tirelessly at her side had felt the impact more strongly that it had affected Snow. Vanille seemed to trust her reasons, however silently she had expressed them, but Alyssa had begun to pry increasingly into her agenda—especially at late. Likely it was due to her curious nature, but Fang’s resolve never shook, and even the commander’s number one informer knew barely a single fact of what would take place this night.
Initially, her silence hadn’t been as much of a problem, but there was an individual who knew his way into her mind and often crept his way into it without invitation. Traveler. She could hide nothing from him, and the fact of the matter was that she knew better than to try to do so. Fang didn’t see that he was present tonight, but it didn’t bother her. Traveler had never acted as anything more than a mercenary to her, and she expected that the second that his goal was accomplished he would disappear just as quickly as he had arrived. This could have been the reason why she trusted him so much—as much as he was unpredictable, he was also incredibly simple and straightforward in his disposition. He had been completely honest with her about what his purpose was on Gran Pulse, and although he shied from articulating a vivid definition of his method or reasoning, she had never required it. Fang was only interested in the relevant information. Often she had discovered that things such as identities and method could change as quickly as the winds, so their concealment not only unfazed her suspicions, but allowed her to focus on other aspects of the individual that would allow her to trust him completely.
This was something larger than belief: she knew that Traveler would be the one who would help her to bring her dreams to absolution. He wasn’t bound to anything like Fang was. He was merely a passerby in their world, and thus, when he accomplished his task—and why wouldn’t he?—none should remember him. In exchange for his help, Traveler had requested only one thing: to help him conceal his identity. It was the reason why he never spoke aloud, the reason why he wore his mask, and the reason why Fang would never reveal his truest form.
The task before them was nearly insurmountable. When Fang had transformed into the goddess-creature Ragnarok, she had done so only after having been torturously made to believe in the death of the only one she held dear. Without further provocation, she’d attacked Cocoon in this form and almost brought the egg-like nest to the floor of Gran Pulse’s largest canyon. Almost. Amidst the sounds of shrieks and prayers, the only living voice that reached her ears was Vanille’s pleading her to return to the beautiful, strong and empathetic woman that she loved. Her demonic will fractured and her heart embraced her mission’s surrender, unaware of the consequences her hatred had wreaked. The human in her was restored, but the job left unfinished.
The rest was familiar history. In its dejected state, Cocoon united all of the pains they had experienced and projected them outwardly at Gran Pulse –the very lands that Ragnarok had risen from. For years they practiced a systematic undertaking primed to eliminate all remaining enemies. By the time that the two ladies had awoken from their crystaisis, the population of over 500,000 souls had been reduced to a mere 2,000. Now that number had inched ever lower. The town was their last known location of humans in the entire expanse, and its population swayed to and fro about the figure of 600 people. Much to Fang’s surprise, Traveler had been well-versed in this history before his arrival, and had made it clear that although their goal was similar, the reasons behind them would not be the same. Although he claimed to sympathize with the nomads, it was clear that his main attention was fixed on Cocoon. The pledge to assist Fang would only withstand a symbiotic alliance, and after he was finished using her, she would be on her own. It was prudent, he had cautioned her, that she understood and recognized the moment that their verbal contract expired. It was possible that it might expire before the deed had been committed, he had warned. History was in the making, and it wasn’t predictable. Cocoon would fall, but what would come to pass thereafter couldn’t be ascertained at their present point in time.
The visitors were starting to really file in now, and Fang could tell from the way that elbows were starting to jar that most of the village was already present. The banquet tables had been untouched, and it appeared as if everyone was respectfully waiting for the invitation to begin the feast. It didn’t bother her in the slightest—actually, it was probably better that the evening was starting to develop in such a manner. Damn, what time was it? She was anxious to get this over with. Giving speeches and planning events wasn’t a skill that she ever had the interest in honing, and since birth she would have rather faced a fleet of Tonberries alone than to stand in front of ten people and speak. When it needed to be done however, she made sure to put these stubborn little fears aside. Vanille had encouraged her that every time she directed the militia she had gotten increasingly confident. Fang knew that this appearance was merely that—a façade alone. Besides, it was much easier to direct orders at people than to speak with a crowd about severe changes that would affect their immediate future.
The chatter volume began to climb louder and louder above her as she snuck her way through the crowd. Soon, she would have to begin whether Hope and Alyssa were here or not. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be able to be heard over the dull roar. Her stomach flopped unpleasantly as the steel butterflies violently thrashed inside of her, and she swallowed the impending urge to steal herself away from the event. It was now or never.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” she crescendoed, raising her arms as if to embrace those around her in a welcoming hug. The crowd’s dull roar began to hush, and the town’s people turned to locate the speaker. Those closest to her moved to step away, as if to allow others the chance to see and participate in whatever was about to happen. ‘Thank God,’ she realized, catching a glimpse of Hope and Noel between the shifting of the crowd. At least one of them was here—and since it was Hope and not Alyssa, she would precede with the second half of her speech until she arrived. “Thank-you all for coming.”
She took care to advance slowly to allow the people to move out of her path without feeling as if they were being rushed. A shower of clapping began to rise around her, and she paused briefly, wondering exactly what she had done to earn such applause. Her falter appeared completely intentional to the others though, and naturally, the applause grew louder still.
After a moment, Fang continued to speak, “You’re probably wondering why we’re still here tonight.” Soft laughter, idle chatter. “Well,” she grinned, “if you’re as hungry as I am then I think we should get started, don’t you?” Cheers, whistling—more clapping. ‘That’s a good thing,’ the commander reminded herself, taking a few more steps until she had reached the stage that Vanille had constructed of several low-lying tables and logs. How the woman had found the energy to set this night up was beyond Fang, but she was suddenly eternally grateful for all of her continued efforts.
“Whoa,” she realized with a fake smile, “there sure are a lot of you…” Another ripple of casual laughter rumbled through the crowd. She searched the sea of faces for the redhead, discovering that she had moved herself into the back. Seeing her perky, excited smile worked as smelling salts for Fang, and her butterflies vanished. She was right. There were more people here than she was accustomed to seeing, but that was no need to feel out of sorts. There were certain phrases that she could say that she could use to direct the villagers to thinking, feeling, and reacting a certain way. Already she had made them laugh—and twice!
“All right. Where’s Hope?” she asked the crowd, knowing very well where he was located. She squinted and leaned forward a little bit in order to animate her searching and encouraging the people to turn to their left and right to assist in his locating. As if by magic, those near him backed away and he became immediately more visible to their speaker. “Ah—Hope! Why don’t you come up here too?”
Hope found himself leaning away from the stage and against a table. The citizens were staring at him expectantly, and even began to part a pathway for him to traverse. He wasn’t very keen to join Fang at the head of the event. There was no way that he would be able to comment on anything that she might say, and he would be even less capable of answering questions that the citizens might ask about her speech.
“C’mon, Hope!” Fang encouraged with a teasing smile, “Get up here.” The soft glint in her eye wasn’t inspiring, but it motivated him in other ways. Not before long, he had started in her direction and was now sifting through the suggested albeit congested path. As he drew closer, Fang noticed his slack appearance. His shoulders were loose and his hair was sticking out behind his ears as if he had been running his hands through it—stressfully, perhaps? His expression seemed relaxed though—or fatigued? Never mind it, she warned herself, aware of how sweaty her own palms were becoming. Although her head was cool, she just couldn’t seem to shut off the biological processes. Hope pulled himself up onto the stage and stood to her right, exchanging uncertain glances between her and the crowd. They were plenty quiet now, all carefully focused on the young captain and his commander.
“Everyone remembers Hope, of course,” she commented, bringing her hand up and grasping his shoulder encouragingly. Hope’s attention bounced from her fingertips back to the audience and he gave a short, twitchy smile before Fang continued to address the crowd in a new solemn tone, “We’re very lucky to have him back with us. Many of us already know the process of his capture, but it is my understanding that very few of us are aware of the conditions of his survival.” Hope’s muscles stiffened, and his eyes began to dilate covertly in the dim light. Conditions of survival? Nobody knew the conditions of his survival. What sort of game was Fang playing at tonight? Was it her intention this entire time to bring him in front of the entire mob before him and force him to explain himself? Well, that simply wasn’t going to happen.
“Fang… what are you doing…” he murmured, struggling to keep the friendly grin plastered where it belonged. A strong increase in the grip on his shoulder warned him against speaking again and wiped the team-like expression clean off of his face. His eyes searched the crowd and located Noel, somehow managing to both appreciate and curse him for the way that he was already trying to worm closer to the stage. Was his discomfort so obvious that the brunette felt so compelled to attempt some sort of rescue mission? He parted his lips to speak again, but Fang’s grip crushed into his shoulder, this time pulling him behind her as she stepped slightly ahead. This would be her turn to speak, not his.
“We want everyone to know exactly what Hope went through and exactly how he found his way back to us.” She paused and dipped her chin, allowing a much more serious feeling to descend over the crowd. Her voice dropped to such a quiet level that the audience strained to hear her and would not dare to interrupt her. “The pain of losing a loved one is a knowledge that is acquainted with us all. Whether it is our brother, aunt, grandchild or captain, pain affects us the same way,” she turned halfway to Hope before continuing, “and we mourned the loss of our captain. Like so many who have fallen before, we believed you to be forever gone.” Hope exhaled slowly, but did not speak. The hand that had previously been clamping the life out of his shoulder released and dropped uncomfortably onto his back: Fang appeared to be trying to make a reassuring sort of gesture, but it only succeeded in making the young male feel more out of place. “It’s okay,” she nodded to him with a whisper.
Again she interrupted his attempt at a response, and turned back to the crowd to address them again. “For five months Captain Estheim struggled to escape. Knowing very well the possibility of being discovered, he provided Cocoon officials with false information! He baited them, lie by lie—giving them only exactly what he would need to in order to live another day!” The crowd shifted curiously and drew tighter to the stage at her words. Hope fought the response urging him to take a step back. Where was Fang getting this information? It wasn’t accurate. He hadn’t shared it with her. His imprisonment was nothing as she was describing. Still, it seemed to be having a positive effect on the attendees. They crept closer still to the stage and looked up at him, intrigued almost childishly by the scene that Fang continued painting for them.
“He—no, we are extremely fortunate for his astute and intimate knowledge of the inner workings of Cocoon! It is an insight that none of us possess, and without that insight he would not have survived his imprisonment! These past months we have been lost. Turn by turn, we have encountered unforeseeable obstacles that have challenged our course. So I ask you… Who hasn’t questioned if our fight is truly righteous? Who hasn’t doubted our ability to persevere in the face of such a dominating aggressor? None! We’ve doubted! We’ve reflected, and we have feared!” Energy was beginning to surge through the audience like rolling thunder, and she found herself needing to speak louder in order to be heard over the peaking cheers and grunts that were only starting to saturate certain perspectives in her speech.
“That fear has been taught to us. It is the only thing that we know. In the time of Ragnarok—before the true war began—our numbers exceeded 500,000! In that time, over 500,000 people were afraid. They feared our enemy because our enemy did not fear us. And still! Today! After years of persecution, our enemy continues to frighten us! Well, I say to you, who enjoys living in fear? Who here is prepared to yield to the immorally gluttonous, objectionably unstable and abhorrently depraved malfeasance of a dejected, genocidal, obdurate barbarian?!” Fang’s cheeks were starting to get rosy with disgust and conviction, and she guided the banquet’s energy with her wand like a shepherd’s crook, “Tell me! Tell me what there is to fear! Our enemy’s power? What power?! They have no power left, they steal it from us! Tell me! Who has the power?” The crowd roared in unison with various forms of ‘us’ and ‘we do’ as well as a few ‘not thems.’
“Who has been hurt the most by this war?!”
“Us!”
“Who is GOING to be hurt the most by this war??!” she demanded, yelling into the crowd and nearly toppling off of the stage into it.
“THEM!” it answered back, exponentially more ferocious with each unified response.
“And what person is going to teach us all about Cocoon’s weaknesses and vulnerabilities?!?” She lifted her hand and jeered her thumb backwards over her shoulder at the young overwhelmed looking captain.
“HIMMMMMMMM!!” the crowd hissed, whistling, clapping and cheering loudly for their newly re-discovered bringer of revolution. Fang let them carry on with their excitement for a good few minutes, allowing Hope a moment to distract her from her speech while she caught her breath and allowed her blood pressure to settle back to an acceptable rate. She couldn’t hear what he was saying over the crowd though, so she ended up shouting into his ear that they would have to talk about whatever it was later.
It took two fingers under her tongue and a strikingly loud whistle to gather everyone’s attention again.
“It would appear,” she informed, beckoning an open arm to the very back of the event, “that our guest of honor has arrived.” Heads flipped to the back as the villagers curiously tried to catch a glimpse of who their guest might be. “Alyssa,” Fang requested, calling over the sudden exploding uproar. She gestured to the vacant spot at her left, “If you would, safely please.”
“Fang! What is this?” Hope objected again, without hesitation. Noel was watching them carefully as the crowd pulsed around Alyssa, sifting him quite effectively through them and pushing him roughly against one of the banquet tables with a clamor. Fang smiled kindly at Hope, either unaware or unconcerned with the sudden riot that threatened to bathe the evening in blood.
“You’ll see,” she mouthed. Hope stood mouth slightly agape: did she really think that would be an acceptable answer? He turned partially away from her, unconsciously creating a small bit of distance between her person and his. Noel met him at the edge of the stage.
“Can you see who it is?” Noel asked, stealing another quick peek over his shoulder. The citizens continually obscured his view. Many arms were raised around their friends’ as they articulated their animosity for the individual that Alyssa was pressing into them. They simply didn’t seem to want to move out of the way, but it wasn’t because of Alyssa. Memories were vivid to these people; veins of hatred were seeded deep and blossomed in the presence of anyone that they might consider a threat. They were so loud at this point that their words became unintelligible, and set Noel into an uneasy manner. He was about to suggest to Hope that they might leave, but as Alyssa continued to press through the crowd, Noel was able to lay his first sights on the man.
At first glance he didn’t appear to be anyone of consequence, and Noel was fairly certain that he resembled a villager he had seen in town earlier that day. The only difference that he could recall was that like many of the other villagers, the man he had seen earlier had brown eyes. This person had stunning lightly colored eyes that seemed to rival the light blue hues that could only be found through layers of clouds. In fact, after he realized the difference, Noel couldn’t steal his own away from them. The only cause that motivated him to cease his gaze them was the curiosity of what the guest possibly could have been staring at. The brunette followed the man’s gaze upward to the sky. At first he believed that he was looking at Cocoon, but soon he realized that his focus was on the stars and wasn’t anywhere near the bright city. His terra-cotta lips were whispering something intimate to them, and Noel wondered what sort of response he sought from them.
The dark, olive toned skin perspired, shimmering on it the gold of the candle flames dancing around them. As the man was forcibly directed closer to the stage, the young time traveler was able to recognize that his hands had been bound behind his back with a metal zip-tie. Various opaque dark blemishes had swollen on his skin, including the thin purple streak across his neck that tilted upwards behind his ears. This man had been roughly handled, and very recently experienced oxygen deprivation.
“—!” Noel gasped soundlessly as he brought his hands up in front of him. Someone in the gauntlet had just thrown their leg into the inattentive captive’s path, tripping him against the brunette. The man looked up at him solemnly but intently. Alyssa reared behind him and snatched him back into her grasp, and for the first time he struggled against her. Noel strained to hear the words the captive urged of him, and paled when he realized that they weren’t constructed in either the dialect of the town or the language of Cocoon.
“What? What! Say it again!” Noel pleaded as the man was dragged onto the stage. It hadn’t been loud enough for him to catch all of the words, and the language was so old and so different from what he had been taught that he wanted to make sure that he had indeed heard the syllables correctly. Alyssa shot him an irritated expression that he believed was intended to serve as a type of visual warning. Fang was speaking again, utilizing well chosen words to provoke the crowd—which then did respond admirably as intended to its puppet master.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, let me introduce you to our guest!” The crowd hissed and booed—yes, it was clear that they already knew who their guest was. Alyssa turned him to face the crowd and kicked the back of his knees sequentially, forcing him to kneel before them. “We all know him affectionately as PSICOM – but it seems that you all have different names for him?” the crowd roared again, this time with every colorful insult that they could imagine. Fang permitted them a moment before raising her palm for silence. “It’s true. We don’t know how many rapes, murders, abductions or strikes this man has committed against us. He just doesn’t seem very keen to share…” she smirked, “So we just didn’t know what to do with him. What do you think? Should we let him go free?” The response was predictable. Hope, alarmed at the direction this scene was headed toward, slid against Fang’s side for a strong cautionary word, but she merely brushed him aside with a deaf ear “Should we lock him away? Feed him, care for him with such courtesy that he does not have the capability to imagine? No? Well? What should we—”
“Hey—Look!” Noel interrupted loudly from the base of the stage. He didn’t want to give the crowd the chance to start demanding the man’s imminent death—whatever his crimes had been, Noel wasn’t interested. Rather, it was the look on Hope’s face that encouraged him to find a way to aid the prolonging of the soldier’s life. The best way to get a result, the time traveler had learned, would be to find a way to delay the circumstances that would lead to the undesirable situation.
“What’s he doing?” Someone from the crowd demanded, alerting her companions to silence. All eyes turned to the prisoner, and Noel strained his ear to understand what the man was whispering. His eyes were closed, and his head was tilted towards the stars again, his lips moving rapidly as he seemed to privately chant a well memorized script.
“What’s he saying?!”
“He’s casting something! He’s going to use magic!” Another screamed fearfully.
“Kill him!”
“Kill him before he kills us!”
The crowd pushed forward, threatening a rush onto the stage.
“Stop! No! He’s from Paddra!” Noel tried, holding his arms apart as if it would help to resist a stamped. The villagers weren’t listening to him. Their eyes were wide and nearly bloodshot with rage. Temples surged and faces were red. Fear had consumed them yet again, and there was no solace or comfort to be found in the knowledge that the brunette could provide. “He’s not PSICOM!” he pleaded again and more loudly. A couple of mothers glanced at him, but appeared to be more irritated than appreciative to his input. Desperately, he spun around, hoping to appeal to Fang to end this madness before it got out of hand.
Eyes widening with disbelief, he discovered himself face to face with an unreal scene. Hope had moved behind the man, and was holding his head backwards over his own shoulder—far enough back to expose his throat. His hand was over his mouth and he appeared to be whispering something into his ear. While the captive’s eyes were still jammed tightly shut, Hope’s appeared directed into the distance in an unfocused manner. Alyssa raised a small ribbed blade.
“No! Don’t! What are you doing?!” Noel cried, reaching out for the girl with one hand and using the other to propel himself onto the stage. The stage bowed with the stress of his weight, popping and cracking loudly under the demands of the bloodthirsty crowd. His knees had only just slid over the wooden grained surface when the PSICOM Soldier from Paddra opened his eyes again with shock. He saw the blade raising but immediately rolled his attention out of Hope's palm to Fang, who watched the scene and withheld the crowd.
“Nij sanct etko kokun!” he bellowed to her. Her left brow rose with inquiry. The crowd lurched forward fearfully, believing that the man was cursing their leader.
“DO IT! KILL HIM!” They roared, surging and pulsing against one another. Fang turned back to them and shared an encouraging and confident smile. The man wrestled violently against Hope’s grasp in an attempt to recapture Fang’s attention.
“Shhh—” Hope encouraged, whispering into his ear again. His lips seemed to almost caress the man’s neck with relieving softness. The prisoner didn’t subside, and Alyssa’s blade began to descend.
“NIJ SANCT ET—” The prisoner’s voice was abruptly silenced following the gruesome wet splurch of bladed impact.
Noel let himself fall onto his hip, before twirling his direction away from the scene, numb with shock and despondency. The stage flexed under him, and he could tell that the man’s body was being eased to a horizontal rest. His sandals met the ground as a triumphant cheer rose around him. The sound carried high above the rooftops but to Noel it was nothing more than an obnoxious din. Step by step, he pressed through the victorious, not interested in looking back or comprehending the promising and committing words that Fang was now assuring. They were empty to him. Base. The legends that he had heard about the two ladies must have been for somebody else.
His attentions settled on Vanille, who was posed next to a large basket with multiple colored flakes of stone in it. Upon closer examination, the rocks were actually misshapen coins. Each of the three colors had a different design scratched on it. The gray one had a leaf, the black one had an X and the red one had an O.
“Ration tokens,” Vanille whispered to him with a wink. Noel thumbed the wicker rim thoughtfully with a cross expression. “Fang is going to leave soon, and so we need to make sure everyone gets a fair amount of food. Otherwise—Eep!” She jumped to the left and clasped her hands together when the stones jumped into the air. “What did you do that for, meanie!?” She scolded, pushing a retaliating shove against Noel’s chest. He scowled, and already wished he could kick the basket over again. A few villagers’ attentions were starting to be attracted, so he pushed past her, abandoning the ceremony. There was nothing else he wanted to see here. Fang had said herself that she wasn’t entirely sure what the man’s crimes had been, and to execute him in such a way? No, this wasn’t just some man. This was his lineage. That soldier had been his ancestor.
Ugh. War. He hated it. The sooner he could find the artifact the better. Where could it be?
His gaze drifted a panorama of the small village, settling on the forest that he had embarked through earlier. Something was out there. Traveler had been trying to get somewhere. Had Caius been aware of what would transpire tonight? ‘Why did you pull me here?’ he wondered, allowing his focus to scan the trunks of the foliage until it met with the sky that the prisoner had been praying to.
Cocoon was brilliant tonight. It appeared as if it were a moon to Pulse, and in this false moonlight, the brunette sulked his way back to Hope’s quarters. He knew with absolute certainty that they would be vacant at this hour, and for now, that space would do well for the reflection that he so desperately sought. He sighed heavily as the leather drape swished down behind him, ready to throw himself back down onto the little skidding cot—ready to welcome sleep to his tired body and heart.

[NAN]
- 10
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- 12
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The Artifact