Fan Fiction / Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ The Order of the Purple Robe ❯ Memories ( Chapter 2 )

Jasmine Albansky was standing in line at the Burger King, waiting to place her order. When her turn came, she said “One hamburger and a medium Coke.” She handed the cashier her money, took her food, and sat down at a table to eat. Just as she was finished eating, something caught her eye, and she turned to see five men clad in violet robes striding through the entrance. In seconds, pure chaos erupted. One of the mages raised his hands and sent a fireball over the counter, igniting the deep-fat fryer in a holistic explosion.

Jasmine sat frozen in fear, until one of the mages pointed a finger at her, muttered some arcane phrase, and shot a blue jagged ray of light at her. She instinctively raised her hands to try and deflect it, (she happened to possess a minimal amount of magic herself), but the spell bounced down and struck her in the leg. The force of the spell hitting her pathetic shield knocked her off her chair, and she fell over behind the booth she was sitting at.

Next moment, Jasmine woke up in bed, covered in cold sweat, breathing heavily because of the nightmare she had just had. It took her a few minutes to recover herself, telling herself it was just that same dream again. Brushing an errant lock of dirty blonde hair back from her face, she bent down to look at the bluish-green motley rash that covered her left foreleg. Suddenly, she felt a chill run down her spine, and she felt oddly impure, as though her whole body was infested with something evil. She lay in bed for several minutes, trying to figure out what had caused this sudden feeling, until eventually, sleep overtook her once more.

 

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Earlier that same evening, Crystal had been sitting at her computer, working on her homework for the night. Everyone who was supposed to be attending school now instead did worksheets that were posted daily on the Internet, since going to school was considered to be too dangerous since the advent of the Order of the Purple Robe. Crystal took a short break from her Spanish assignment, to reflect back on some of the events that had transpired since That Day back in November. First, and quite suddenly, massive blackouts occurred within seconds all over the world. It was quickly discovered that every nuclear power plant across the globe had somehow ceased to operate. What took scientists a little longer to figure out was why this had happened. Yet even this didn't take too much time; tests performed on samples of uranium ore and other formerly radioactive substances showed that they had all immediately ceased to be radioactive. It was as if the very laws that ran the world had suddenly been changed. It did not take long for religious vigilantes to start proclaiming that we had been horribly abusing science, and as a result, God had taken away nuclear power from us. There was also a lot of talk about a secret alien invasion of some sort being responsible for the worldwide phenomenon, claiming that the Order of the Purple Robe was from Mars or whatever. But despite everything, she still managed to cling diligently to her faith.

Slowly, Crystal let her thoughts stray to the new president, Andrew Nalini. She thought he seemed to be somewhat out of place, with longish blonde hair and startlingly blue eyes. She stopped to go through once again the events that had led to his attaining the Presidency. It had been sometime in early December, a couple of weeks after the Order had manifested itself, when the governmental genocide had occurred. For one terrifying week, the Order of the Purple Robe launched over 40 successful mass-assassinations of important government officials, completely eradicating the President and his entire cabinet, and almost everybody else in line to succeed the President. When they were finally able to figure out who was supposed to be next in line for the Presidency, he had refused for fear of his life being jeopardized as well. For 2 long months, the country had floundered without an executive branch, until an unknown man named Andrew Nalini had stepped forward, and had said that he was not afraid to assume the role of President of the United States. Many people who knew him personally came forward, and said that they felt that he was the best man for the job.

So Congress, or what was left of it, not knowing what else that they could do, unanimously voted him to be the successor to the Presidency. Nalini had immediately started making drastic changes to try and place things back in order. He had asked Congress for special powers to appoint officials to fill the vast void that had been created, while also completely re-doing the whole Secret Service security protocols, in an attempt to prevent further mass-murders of government officials. Furthermore, he appointed some man named Dalton to become the leader of the new-age army that was being trained, called the Elites. So far, Dalton had done nothing but blubber excuses as to why the new army was not yet ready to confront the Order. Crystal thought that the man did not seem trustworthy at all, and she couldn't shake the feeling that President Nalini was aware of this as well. However, whatever Nalini's faults, he had taken quick action, and by some act of God, he had managed to bring the nation back from the brink of collapse, by appointing hundreds of new officials to run things, all of whom Crystal had never heard of before.

And then there were the Guardian Angels. Against her mother's wishes, Crystal had done a large amount of research on the Guardian Angels. Immediately after the Order had appeared, chaos had reigned supreme. But once the shock and confusion had worn off, Americans had soon united to fight back. And so the Guardian Angels had split into two branches: the first went around escorting people to the grocery store and the gas station, and typical acts of that nature. But the second branch, under the command of the Archangel Ryujin, formed a volunteer army that had been tirelessly fighting against the Order. And indeed, in the first weeks after this army's formation, the Guardian Angels caused the constant flow of attacks to buckle and then collapse, and it seemed for one precious week that they alone would be enough to win the fight. But then, it seemed, the Order redoubled their efforts, and began to attack with renewed vigor. It was then that the man everyone now called the “High Mage” had appeared. The Order had been exacting heavy casualties on the Angels, to the point where they had nearly collapsed and been disbanded. It was widely agreed amongst the Angels that the man called the Archangel was the only reason this did not happen. Then, out of nowhere, the reports started coming in that some man dressed in black robes had been single-handedly stopping Order attacks. At first everyone thought he was like the others, merely possessing beginner's luck. But he was not like the others. He did not die, even in the face of far superior numbers. Every time, he would teleport in, and begin to wreak havoc against the Order Mages. Some people at first argued that it was the Archangel himself in disguise, but those rumors were soon squelched when it became apparent that the Archangel and the High Mage's fighting styles were completely different. With a start, Crystal realized that she had been daydreaming for nearly fifteen minutes. Sighing deeply to herself, she pulled herself out of her reverie, and back to the worksheet on the computer.

 

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“OK, men, this is the final meeting we will have on Operation: Conflagration.” There were 12 mages seated around a large, semi-circular table. The man who was speaking sat on the flat side of the semi-circle, and he was none other than the Overlord of the Order of the Purple Robe himself. The other 11 members of the High Council were evenly spaced around the curved side, so that all of them faced their Overlord. The Overlord was majestically clothed with robes of royal purple, embroidered with gold and silver. He sat in a high-backed chair that was inlaid with many precious gems, which produced a dazzling effect when they reflected the torchlight. The 11 council members seated around the table were not as finely clothed; they merely had robes of slightly higher quality fabric than ordinary robes, and they each wore a ring on their fingers with a single moonstone set in them that glowed with a faint blue light. The Overlord continued, “First of all, how is Ukrima doing? Is he ready?” At the other end of the table, one of the mages saluted and replied, “Yes, milord. I've seen to his training personally. Believe me, he is ready for this.”

“Good, good,” the Overlord replied, “I knew I could count on you, Urithai. And I assume that he is clueless as to our actual plans?”

“Yes, milord. I believe he suspects nothing as to our true intentions,” replied the mage called Urithai. “His loss will be a small one, when compared to the amount of damage it will inflict upon those pathetic mortals.”

“Anything else left to discuss?” the Overlord asked. “No? Then I suggest that you all recite the Order's manifesto.” All together, the 11 other assembled mages recited,

 

“We are the Order of the Purple Robe. A collection of mages, trained in secret, whose goal is to destroy all non-magic users and to establish world domination. We serve the Overlord, for life, and through whatever afterlife there may be. Charraganuia, Mathegalagos, Okinathios, Muyatowa: Together we stand, United we fall.”

 

“Very good,” said the Overlord, “meeting adjourned.”

 

* * * * *

 

The room grew fuzzy, and then faded away entirely. A mage, dressed in similar ornate purple robes, sat up from the viewing crystal into which he had been staring. “So that was what that fool Ogdaren was up to with his damned “Operation: Conflagration” from way back in November…” He stopped to remind himself that he should not be complaining about Ogdaren's foolhardiness. Had it not been for the entire thing being screwed up, and the destruction of Ogdaren and his entire council, he, Kajaren, would never have become the new Overlord. There was a knock on the door, which interrupted his thoughts. Without even looking up, he called, “Enter.” Another mage, who wore a long, sweeping cape over his robes, entered the room.

“Ahh, Jareth. There you are. Your orders are quite simple,” said the Overlord to the newcomer. “We need you to take out the `High Mage', at whatever cost it may be. The Guardian Angels will be easy enough to take care of, but that black-cloaked bastard is laying all of our plans awry.”

“As you wish,” replied Jareth, with a slight bow. Turning, he silently walked out of the room, his cape swishing out from behind him. Kajaren watched him go, hoping that he was not making a mistake with this. After all, he owed Jareth a lot. After Ogdaren had died, Jareth had been the one to back Kajaren's claim to become the next Overlord. The mages of the Order had a lot of respect for Jareth, or maybe it was just fear of what he was capable of? Kajaren was shaken from his thoughts by a young mage who had just walked into his office.

“What did you want with Jareth?” the newcomer asked quite blatantly.

“How did you get in here, Virgil?” Kajaren asked him, somewhat surprised by his appearance. The Citadel was supposed to be sealed to all but high-ranking mages. Virgil, on the other hand, had probably only left the Magic Academy a year ago.

“You haven't changed the seal from when Ogdaren used to be here,” said Virgil dismissively. “I used to come here to talk to Urithai whenever things came up.” Virgil had the standard brown eyes and brown hair that every mage in the Order possessed; however, he had always preferred to have his hair longer than everyone else's. He was tall and somewhat slender for his age, (Kajaren guessed he was about 19,) and his robes seemed as if they weren't as clean and orderly as they should be. Virgil was always trying to be “different” than anybody else. That was probably why he had managed to become friends with Urithai, who had been one of the mages on Ogdaren's council, before the disaster of Operation: Conflagration. Urithai had always been considered a bit of an odd ball; granted, he was perfectly normal when compared to Thastion, but there was no doubt that he preferred company with other part-rejects. Kajaren sized him up: Virgil had always shown a strong liking to Jareth, much to Jareth's dismay. However, there really was no reason to hide from Virgil the purpose of his brief meeting with Jareth; soon the word would spread throughout the entire Order.

“He was dispatched to find and defeat the `High Mage',” said Kajaren simply. He saw Virgil's eyes briefly widen.

“You're going to throw his life away, just like that?” said Virgil, his voice cracking. “You're going to throw my brother's life away, when he is the only reason that you're the Overlord now!?”

Kajaren was surprised to see that Virgil's eyes were watery; but he was even more surprised to hear that he was Jareth's brother. Shouldn't that have been impossible? Unless…

Shaking off his surprise, he replied coldly, “The High Mage poses a larger threat than you imagine, Virgil. Jareth is our ace in the hole; he has yet to be defeated in battle. Indeed, any man who questions Jareth's abilities is given a `demonstration' of them. He possesses the same talent and renown that his father once had, before he fell.” Kajaren watched Virgil intently, keen to catch Virgil's reaction to the comment on his father; assuming, of course, that Virgil wasn't lying.

“How dare you insult him,” rasped Virgil, his voice no more than a hoarse whisper. “How dare you say he `fell'.”

“He slew seven of our own men, my dear Virgil,” replied Kajaren, his voice also nearing a whisper. “He brought shame upon us all; and to think that he was once our brightest star, our most beloved son. Now, he is everything we are not. There is nothing left to be honored in that killer.” It seemed that sparks were flying from Virgil's eyes as Kajaren said this. He stormed out of Kajaren's office, and slammed the door as hard as his psionic powers would allow. Kajaren stared blankly at the door, deep in thought. So Virgil really was Jareth's brother. But according to Kajaren's calculations, Virgil would have been born after his father's banishment. But his father had remained, in hiding, for nearly five years after that. Eventually, Jareth had to confront his own father, and forced him to leave. That must have been when Virgil was born. Truly, it was an insult to them all…

Meanwhile, Virgil had broken into a run immediately after slamming the door to Kajaren's office shut, tears streaming from his eyes. First his father, now his brother, and soon his mother as well, would all be taken from him. “It isn't fair!” he yelled at no one in particular. “Why am I so powerless to change things!” He kicked at the wall in fury, ignoring the stinging pain in his foot. He slammed himself against the wall, and allowed himself to fall slowly into a sitting position. He remembered the warning his mother had given him about mentioning who his real father was. But Virgil didn't care. He took his father's identity as a point of personal pride. In his prime, he had been the most powerful mage the Order had ever seen. Virgil had heard stories of the excitement when Jareth had succeeded his father to that position. They were both hailed as two of the greatest magi in the history of the Order. But then, less than a year later… his father reached the age of reckoning. After that, everything changed. His hands on his face, he suddenly remembered the scroll that he had found in Urithai's room shortly before he had died. In the chaos after Ogdaren's death, Virgil had completely forgotten about it. He became immediately curious of what sort of information it contained. Besides, he needed something to distract himself from the current situation. Teleporting back to Syka Rusa, he lifted up his crude sleeping mat (which consisted of straw and animal skins) with a wave of his hand, and he caused the scroll hidden underneath to fly into his other hand. Dropping the sleeping mat back into place, he sat down, slit the scroll open, and began to read…

 

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It was late evening, and the man that people called the “High Mage” was doing what he always did when he wasn't fighting the Order of the Purple Robe: absolutely nothing. “I need a day job,” he thought to himself. Suddenly, however, he became aware of another “presence” in his mind.

-“Can I help you?”- he thought to the presence.

-“You can die,”- replied Jareth.

-“As can you,”- retorted the High Mage.

-“I guess we'll just have to see which of us does. I'll be waiting for you, at 6 o'clock tomorrow, on the Cantarian plateau. If you're man enough to show up, that is…”- spat Jareth.

 

* * * * *

 

Jareth opened his eyes, and found that he was breathing heavily. As much as he hated to admit it, the High Mage scared him somewhat. But he knew he shouldn't be afraid; he currently held the rank as the most powerful mage in the entire Order. But still, being inside of the High Mage's head… The two of them were probably the most powerful mages to ever exist on the face of this world, and soon there would be only one of them. Jareth sighed to himself. What was he getting himself worked up about? He had fought thousands of practice battles, and he had always emerged victorious. He slowly looked around his room to try and calm his nerves. It was constructed of only stone and basic woodwork, yet it still felt like home to him. A sheet crudely stitched around feathers and animal skins served as his sleeping mat, which lay in the corner. Torches lined the walls, various spell books lay on the shelves by his sleeping mat, and other odds and ends of a magical nature where scattered about the room. Due to his rank, he had rather spacious living quarters in the Mage Barracks in Syka Rusa. However, they were not nearly as ornate as they could have been. He had never been one for excessive luxury. Feeling calm once more, he slowly stood up and left the room. As he was shutting the door, he saw that Virgil was standing behind it, waiting for him.

“Yes?” Jareth asked him.

“Why are you doing this?” asked Virgil.

“You know why. Orders are orders.” Jareth could feel his temper beginning to rise again.

“But brother…”

“Don't call me that,” spat Jareth. “We are all `brothers' inside the Order; it is only a coincidence that we have the same parents. `Family' means nothing to us.”

“Yeah, then why are you always so buddy buddy with Kajaren? He's our half-brother, isn't he?” At this, Jareth spun around and grabbed hold of Virgil's arm with a vice-like grip. It seemed that sparks were flying from Jareth's eyes. “Do not address his Majesty that way!” he hissed. Virgil yanked his arm from Jareth's grasp, and he saw that the hair on his arm had been burned away from Jareth's touch.

“You hurt me when you did that,” he told Jareth.

“You're lucky I didn't have you put to death for that,” retorted Jareth. “And besides, if `family' means so much to you, then you know that me defeating the High Mage is the only way to save our mother.”

“But if you fail, that means I'll lose both of you…” Virgil sulkily replied. “I'll have no one left.”

“Stop being such a damned fool. You'll have the entire Order left to keep you company.” Virgil made to reply, but Jareth stopped him. “I need to get myself ready for this. Don't worry; either way, this'll all be over by the third epox tomorrow. If Garachius is with me tomorrow, the end is not far off. Farewell, my brother.” He started to walk away, but just before he rounded the corner, Virgil shouted “Good luck!” to him. Jareth smiled, turned the corner, and was gone.