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Across the Threshold of Ivalice - LEMON VERSION	By : MystKnight Category: Final Fantasy Games > Final Fantasy Misc Views: 2398 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Final Fantasy Tactics is owned by Square Enix. I write this without consent, and am making no money off of it.

Chapter List
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Across the Threshold of Ivalice - Price for Purity (LEMON VERSION)
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The metallic tang of blood drifting about was intoxicating, urging him on as he vanquished yet another foe. Ramza's sword glittered as red as his vision, and he hacked his way through the castle guards as if chopping firewood. He yelled incoherently as he shoved his shoulder into an advancing soldier, following up with an arcing slice that tore off his opponent's head like a cheap wooden doll. The two guards ahead of him met a similar fate, their lifeless bodies falling on either side as the young warrior continued on a beeline for his nemesis down the hall.
Beyond the blockade of soldiers, Vormav Tingel was escaping the castle with a struggling Alma in tow. The captive girl was tucked under his arm, and all Ramza could see was her skirts and flailing legs as he tried to free herself from the man's monstrous grip. "Help! Ramza!" she cried, straining against her captor to give her brother a fearful look. The terror of his sister incited a boiling rage within Ramza, and he redoubled his efforts in reaching her kidnapper, leaving a trail of red death in his wake.
Ramza growled as he flung a soldier off his bloodied blade. "Vormav, coward!" he bit out, halting the villain momentarily with the sheer force of his words. "There's no honor in kidnapping an innocent girl!"
"Victory does not demand honor," one of the opposing knights interjected, throwing off his helmet to address Ramza face to face. "The only thing is to persevere...and to press your advantage."
Ramza gaped at his enemy. Delita Hyral was now standing before him, dressed in the red and gold armor that had defined his days since the Fort Zeakden tragedy. His face shone like pale stone, much like Ramza's whenever he entered battle. It was Alma herself that said they looked like brothers, and now they stared between the space separating them if through the looking glass.
Ahead of the two, Vormav smirked at his foe, his forearm easily securing Alma as he watched with mild interest. Then, with a bored demeanor, he took his captive around the corner, where the castle drawbridge and escape awaited him. As Vormav's cloak and Alma's skirt disappeared from sight, Ramza's panic set in once more, and he turned back to confront the seemingly passive Delita. The young knight continued to block the way, and so Ramza began chopping away at his oldest friend, blood and gore flying against the walls like the inside of a slaughterhouse.
"Ramza! Ramza! Ramza!" He could hear his sister crying for him as he savagely mutilated Delita's body, screaming out his frustration. His vision grew hazy, alternating between the blood in his eyes and a tidy farmhouse on the countryside. "Ramza, please wake up!" Alma was beside him with her small hands on his arms, shaking him with surprising strength. Ramza lurched up from the sheets, leaving behind a puddle of sweat that soaked his pillow.
The young man struggled to catch his breath, his surroundings coming into focus as he willed his heart-rate to slow. He was in bed with Alma in their small farmhouse, far from the strife of war-torn Ivalice. The two has fallen asleep in their clothes that particular night, though disrobing together was a common occurrence these days. Alma's orange turtleneck felt soft against his skin, and her pink skirt was crushed against his legs as she held him steady, beseeching him with gentle, pure eyes that had survived all the harsh battles.
Ramza sighed, and wiped his hand across his sweaty brow. "It's fine, Alma," he told his sister, remembering to touch her arm as to reassure her. "Just a nightmare."
Alma continued to show her worried face, and sidled up under his chin, pressing her chest against his. "You've worked awfully long days in the fields," she said, drawing closer with a short wriggle. "Take care of yourself, or you'll face more bad dreams."
He nodded laconically, but didn't lay back down. Alma said nothing, and continued to cuddle close, offering up her body heat on this cold night. They had not been able to afford new comforters since fixing the broken shingles on the roof, and thus only had a thin, fraying blanket to share between them. It was of no concern, really; having a warm body beside you made up for trifles such as those.
Ramza grit his teeth, gathering his strength for what he was about to say next. "Alma, what I did during the Lion War..." he began hesitantly, as if in confessional. "Was it right?"
Alma looked at him like he was crazy. "How could you question yourself now, Ramza?" she gasped. "It's only by your hand that I'm with you now."
"That is the short end of it," he agreed, though the scowl was already starting to find its way on his face. "But it was that goal that drove me as the battles continued. I spoke proudly of trying to right the wrongs in my country, but then you were kidnapped, and it all changed. I couldn't stand for anything happening to you."
As if on instinct, Ramza's arms found their way around his sister; he could feel a quiet pulse through Alma's rumpled shirt. "I gave away the Germonik Scriptures," he told her, a twinge of regret evident in his diction. "The secrets held in those passages could've toppled the church, but I chose instead to keep my sister safe. Today, the church leaders prosper unchallenged, with Delita aligning his agenda with theirs." His eyes closed. "And Olan is dead."
"Ramza..." Alma's voice was hushed, her pale, beautiful face wrought with concern for her brother.
Ramza bit back a curse and leaned back onto the feathered pillow, his inadequacies weighing him down like a sword-smith's anvil. With Alma free once more, the two had stolen away beyond Ivalice's borders, opting for a simple farm life where no one knew of them. In lieu of finding Alma a worthy suitor, Ramza had married his sister himself, unwilling to let anyone else care for her. So it went, and a year later, it was still Alma that served as a sympathetic ear for his grievances, a comfort that was paid for in countless quantities of blood.
"If it were you that was taken from this world at Fort Zeakden..." Ramza murmured, his bangs covering his face in shadows. "Would I have traveled a path of vengeance as Delita did?" Again he grew silent, not ready to face the answers lurking deep in the night.
The lovely young lady was not so cowed, and she shook her head resolutely. "Ramza, you think too much," Alma admonished him, her jaw set. "You're still only a man, and a good man at that. Delita...he wanted to be something more, I think. He had such aspirations toward the end, and thus went astray like the other war generals."
"Alma..." Ramza breathed, his hand finding her cheek and brushing away a stray lock of hair. His sister just smiled, holding him around the torso.
"I never wanted you to be a god," Alma said, her face flush with affection. "All I want is for you to be Ramza."
"If it is your wish, then I will honor it," he responded, his voice grave and deep from all the years of strife.
Ramza's eyes grew heavy with the image of his winsome sister. He scooped her soft face in his palm, feeling her stray golden locks entwined in his fingers before thrusting his lips onto her. Ramza and Alma kissed passionately in the moonlight as the young man ravished his love, his hand finding his way under her skirt and petticoats to stroke her bare thigh. "Brother Ramza..." she squeaked, a rosy red blush tinting her cheeks as she fidgeted under his fingers.
"I am your husband now," Ramza corrected her. his voice thick with propriety. "It's my duty to take care of you in all ways, and I will do so until the end."
"Ramza...Ramza...Ramza..." Alma continued to cry his name as Ramza crushed her lithe form against his chest. His hand traveled up her smooth leg to the fine cotton of her panties, his fingers hooking around the waistband. Pulling them down, he next started to pry apart his sister's thighs, her skirts opening up like a flower blossom to reveal her gentle nub. With Alma accommodating his actions by spreading wider, he mounted her, pulling his member out of his fly and letting it lick about at the entrance of her womb.
As passion grew in his loins, he felt pride grow as well, and Ramza felt determined to prove his love to Alma once more. Feeling the fluff of her petticoats crush against his pelvis, he maneuvered himself into the young maiden's slit. True, she was maiden no longer; he had taken her virginity a few months ago in the fields of Mandalia, yet she remained pure in spirit. The romance she showed for her brother was born of neither lust nor fetish, but simply a young girl's expression of love for the most important person.
Alma's head lay to the side, her ponytail curling around her neck like a mink shawl. Her breath was hot and heavy, her face flushed as her relinquished herself to her brother's desires. Grasping onto his shirt, she made little yelping noises as she rocked to Ramza's rhythm. "Ah...ah...ah..." she moaned, bouncing a little with the powerful, pelvic thrusts.
With active seed bursting to the forefront, Ramza poured himself into Alma's womb, letting the viscous fluid flow around her nether-regions. With his tension spent and his passion fulfilled, he returned to himself after a long, sleepless night. Try as he might, Ramza had not lived a perfect life, and there was much injustice that remained unaccounted for. And yet, after following the path of his heart and finding his sister at the end of it, the price for purity was not so steep after all.
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Across the Threshold of Ivalice - LEMON VERSION