Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ A New Threat To Spira ❯ Storm Clouds ( Chapter 1 )
[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
By: Neon Ronin 
Non Anime: Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Adventure / Action / Romance | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 09.01.2004 | Updated On: 10.10.2004 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.3K | Visits: 459 | Status: Completed
Non Anime: Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Adventure / Action / Romance | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 09.01.2004 | Updated On: 10.10.2004 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.3K | Visits: 459 | Status: Completed
[A/N: This is my first attempt at fan fiction after a very long hiatus, and is also my first game-based fanfic. It was first posted on another website, and I decided to post again and see if it gets the same response here. Helpful criticism is appreciated. The story takes place 6 months after the events in FFX-2(perfect ending), so if you haven't played the game to completion be aware of a plot spoiler bonanza. I do not own Square Enix or any of their creations; with the exception of a character or two of my own design I don't own anything herein. The story may take a little time to get moving, so please bear with me. Enjoy!]
1: Storm clouds
Thunder rolled. Rain descended from the heavens at a constant slow, dreary pace. What little light managed to seep through the grayness above only served to accentuate the massive monoliths dotting the landscape. Lightning flashed from the clouds to the tips of the towers in an irregular pattern, allowing passersby to glimpse the ornate patterns carved in the towers' sides, but only for a brief moment before they were plunged back into shadow. In the distance, a lone wandering Rhyos howled at no one in particular, listening as its own fiendish shriek echoed throughout the vast expanse that was the Thunder Plains.
For the longest time, the Plains had been a source of speculation and wonderment. In all of Spira, there was no other place quite like it. Of course, many people would simply brush it off and point to other great landmarks as being far more bizarre and mysterious. The ruins of long-dead Zanarkand, many would point out, were far stranger, or the Forests of Macalania more prone to wonder and excitement. Such speculation was, if nothing else, accurate, but there was one thing that no one considered. The weather of the Thunder Plains never- not even once in recorded history- ever changed. Why no one bothered to think about this, it's hard to tell. Every other major point of interest had varying climates- rain, shine, high winds, snow in the wintertime(especially in the Northern regions like Gagazet and Bevelle). Not so with the Thunder Plains. Without exception, the weather in that area was perpetual and almost unchanging.
Very few people traversed the Plains these days; the months were getting longer and colder. More and more people stayed in the South, in Luca, rather than go up to see the sights of Bevelle. Blitzball season had drawn to a close, and people seemed to be getting ready for winter's eventual arrival. The few remaining workers at the Travel Agency had very little to do except watch the rain and the occasional lick of lightning. Despite the meteorological anomaly of it all, once they had gotten used to it, the Agency workers were bored with the regularity of the rain. Some were even thinking of closing down and heading to Kilika for the winter.
That's when everything changed.
Without warning, the rain began to fall with increasing fervor. What had been a steady drizzle quickly turned into a downpour. Lightning began to flash across the sky at a heightened rate, striking the towers harder than they had been hit in a long time. The clouds darkened, turning a malevolent shade of black as the lightning arced from cloud to tower faster still. The Agency workers, shaken out of their routine by the sudden intensified storms, crowded around the windows and wondered what in the Farplane was going on outside. Their curiosity gradually gave way to fear as the storms kicked it up another notch. Thunder cracked so loud and so near to the Agency that a window broke, sending curtains and glass hurtling across the room as rain poured in like water out of a bucket. Outside, the clouds began to move as rain pounded the ground, churning the lakes and rivers into a boiling frenzy and battering the old roadways into a sea of mud. Fiendish shrieks came out of the darkness as Drakes and Armets scuttled to the surface, flooded out of their hiding places- or perhaps drawn to the maelstrom raging across the plains. Lightning was cracking faster than thought humanly possible. With a sickening crack, one of the mighty lightning towers succumbed to the forces battering it and crumbled to the ground below. The Agency personnel, now well and truly panicked, were packing their belongings and desperately seeking a way out of the plains, but once outside there was no place for them to run. Fiends, flood and lightning were cornering them on all sides.
And deep beneath the Thunder Plains, a single presence was laughing quietly to itself.
Just a little longer. I can feel it; the barrier has finally weakened. The ties bound to Macalania are almost gone. Still... I never would have thought either border was capable of losing strength. Then again, they were probably just too closely tied to Order. The mind laughed again. Fools!!! They should have known that their prison could not last forever. Nothing lasts forever. A pause.
Except for me, of course. And once I am free, I had best see to it that the Four are not still around. They were enough of a nuisance before, I don't want to have to deal with them again. And if they ARE still in Spira...
The typhoon above seemed ready to crack the heavens wide open; the sky was now a demonic shade of purple.
If the Four are still present, I had best see to it they are never released. The fiends should be sufficient to seek them. Almost there... NOW!!
The sky clenched. Clouds roiled in unison, arcing lightning from one end of the Plains to the other. A white glow emerged just over the shelter at the North end of the plains, followed by a massive bolt of lightning that struck the shelter with deafening force, a bolt so strong that the entire shelter was cleft in twain and huge chunks of roof and support beams thrown far and wide. Fiends all across the Plains shrieked in pain as the thunderclap washed over them like a tidal wave.
Then, all was silent.
Rain continued to fall, but the deluge seemed to be slowing. Lightning still arced across the sky, but the intensity was not quite as fierce.
In the middle of the ruins of the ancient rain shelter, a figure stood silent and attentive. It was a man, clad in the ragged remnants of a robe that clung to one shoulder and exposed his well-muscled chest and arms. The wind whipped his black hair across his face as he looked across the shattered landscape with crimson eyes. A smirk slowly worked its way to the corners of his mouth.
A lone Gigas crept around the ruins of the shelter and caught a glimpse of the man. Easy pickings, it thought to itself; he's all covered in mud and has no weapon. The great apelike fiend approached the man and prepared to strike when suddenly the man whipped around and looked it right in the eye. The Gigas stumbled... and then lowered its arms as it looked upon the man with a newfound reverence. Awkwardly, it crouched down so it could look the stranger face to face. The man smiled a toothy grin.
"Very good. You learn well, my friend," he said. "Tell the others... Malar has returned."
Thunder echoed across the flooded wastes.
1: Storm clouds
Thunder rolled. Rain descended from the heavens at a constant slow, dreary pace. What little light managed to seep through the grayness above only served to accentuate the massive monoliths dotting the landscape. Lightning flashed from the clouds to the tips of the towers in an irregular pattern, allowing passersby to glimpse the ornate patterns carved in the towers' sides, but only for a brief moment before they were plunged back into shadow. In the distance, a lone wandering Rhyos howled at no one in particular, listening as its own fiendish shriek echoed throughout the vast expanse that was the Thunder Plains.
For the longest time, the Plains had been a source of speculation and wonderment. In all of Spira, there was no other place quite like it. Of course, many people would simply brush it off and point to other great landmarks as being far more bizarre and mysterious. The ruins of long-dead Zanarkand, many would point out, were far stranger, or the Forests of Macalania more prone to wonder and excitement. Such speculation was, if nothing else, accurate, but there was one thing that no one considered. The weather of the Thunder Plains never- not even once in recorded history- ever changed. Why no one bothered to think about this, it's hard to tell. Every other major point of interest had varying climates- rain, shine, high winds, snow in the wintertime(especially in the Northern regions like Gagazet and Bevelle). Not so with the Thunder Plains. Without exception, the weather in that area was perpetual and almost unchanging.
Very few people traversed the Plains these days; the months were getting longer and colder. More and more people stayed in the South, in Luca, rather than go up to see the sights of Bevelle. Blitzball season had drawn to a close, and people seemed to be getting ready for winter's eventual arrival. The few remaining workers at the Travel Agency had very little to do except watch the rain and the occasional lick of lightning. Despite the meteorological anomaly of it all, once they had gotten used to it, the Agency workers were bored with the regularity of the rain. Some were even thinking of closing down and heading to Kilika for the winter.
That's when everything changed.
Without warning, the rain began to fall with increasing fervor. What had been a steady drizzle quickly turned into a downpour. Lightning began to flash across the sky at a heightened rate, striking the towers harder than they had been hit in a long time. The clouds darkened, turning a malevolent shade of black as the lightning arced from cloud to tower faster still. The Agency workers, shaken out of their routine by the sudden intensified storms, crowded around the windows and wondered what in the Farplane was going on outside. Their curiosity gradually gave way to fear as the storms kicked it up another notch. Thunder cracked so loud and so near to the Agency that a window broke, sending curtains and glass hurtling across the room as rain poured in like water out of a bucket. Outside, the clouds began to move as rain pounded the ground, churning the lakes and rivers into a boiling frenzy and battering the old roadways into a sea of mud. Fiendish shrieks came out of the darkness as Drakes and Armets scuttled to the surface, flooded out of their hiding places- or perhaps drawn to the maelstrom raging across the plains. Lightning was cracking faster than thought humanly possible. With a sickening crack, one of the mighty lightning towers succumbed to the forces battering it and crumbled to the ground below. The Agency personnel, now well and truly panicked, were packing their belongings and desperately seeking a way out of the plains, but once outside there was no place for them to run. Fiends, flood and lightning were cornering them on all sides.
And deep beneath the Thunder Plains, a single presence was laughing quietly to itself.
Just a little longer. I can feel it; the barrier has finally weakened. The ties bound to Macalania are almost gone. Still... I never would have thought either border was capable of losing strength. Then again, they were probably just too closely tied to Order. The mind laughed again. Fools!!! They should have known that their prison could not last forever. Nothing lasts forever. A pause.
Except for me, of course. And once I am free, I had best see to it that the Four are not still around. They were enough of a nuisance before, I don't want to have to deal with them again. And if they ARE still in Spira...
The typhoon above seemed ready to crack the heavens wide open; the sky was now a demonic shade of purple.
If the Four are still present, I had best see to it they are never released. The fiends should be sufficient to seek them. Almost there... NOW!!
The sky clenched. Clouds roiled in unison, arcing lightning from one end of the Plains to the other. A white glow emerged just over the shelter at the North end of the plains, followed by a massive bolt of lightning that struck the shelter with deafening force, a bolt so strong that the entire shelter was cleft in twain and huge chunks of roof and support beams thrown far and wide. Fiends all across the Plains shrieked in pain as the thunderclap washed over them like a tidal wave.
Then, all was silent.
Rain continued to fall, but the deluge seemed to be slowing. Lightning still arced across the sky, but the intensity was not quite as fierce.
In the middle of the ruins of the ancient rain shelter, a figure stood silent and attentive. It was a man, clad in the ragged remnants of a robe that clung to one shoulder and exposed his well-muscled chest and arms. The wind whipped his black hair across his face as he looked across the shattered landscape with crimson eyes. A smirk slowly worked its way to the corners of his mouth.
A lone Gigas crept around the ruins of the shelter and caught a glimpse of the man. Easy pickings, it thought to itself; he's all covered in mud and has no weapon. The great apelike fiend approached the man and prepared to strike when suddenly the man whipped around and looked it right in the eye. The Gigas stumbled... and then lowered its arms as it looked upon the man with a newfound reverence. Awkwardly, it crouched down so it could look the stranger face to face. The man smiled a toothy grin.
"Very good. You learn well, my friend," he said. "Tell the others... Malar has returned."
Thunder echoed across the flooded wastes.