Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Fin~ ❯ Art of Life ( Chapter 1 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

Fin~

By Julie Zhuo



I believe...
in the madness called "NOW"
Past and future prison my heart...
Wanna live
Can 't let my heart kill myself
Still I haven't found...
what I 'm looking for

Art of life
I try to stop myself
But my heart goes to destroy the truth
Tell me why--
I want the meaning of my life
Do I try to live...
Do I try to love...
in my dream...?

-X Japan [Art of Life]



It was over.

At first Fujin Kazeno didn't--no, refused to--believe it. A phase, she told herself. It was just a passing phase. It meant nothing in the long run. And in the end, nothing mattered. Let the world be crushed by the tyrannical oppression of a future sorceress. Let that pansy Leonhart and his do-gooder friends sully their hands with the burdens of the world. Let bloody hell freeze over. Fujin didn't give a damn. In the end, nothing mattered.

Nothing.

.....except the posse.

Time was elusive and played games with the mind. It lazily lounged through the tense moments; it darted stealthily by during the peaceful times. But no matter. The strong were patient. The strong lasted. And time could never stand still. Indeed, all things pass with time. The orphanage where she and Raijin grew up in had passed. Balamb Garden had passed. Lunatic Pandora had passed.

All things passed with time.

.....except the posse.

The posse would always be there. The posse--Seifer, with his fearless leadership and devil-may-care smirk; Raijin, with his rambling spirit and trusting eyes; and herself, Fujin. Scorned by life, shunned--or was it feared?--by others, the three had been unknowingly been twisted together through the intricate tangles of life. It was more than the friendship, or even the fierce loyalty. It was an understanding beyond understanding, an acceptance beyond acceptance. Past the trials and tribulations, past the disagreements of yore, it had pulled through. It was a posse, and would forever be so.

Or so Fujin Kazeno had thought.

The days had passed since Ultimecia had been destroyed. Peace reigned over the land--leaders like Laguna Loire and the new president of Galbadia saw to that. And of course Garden was always omnipresent, looming watchfully over the course of the planet. The world had changed, or maybe it hadn't. Who the hell cared anyway? Certainly not the silver-haired albino.

But things had changed on her side of the universe. She had known they would as soon as Seifer had become entangled in that Rinoa's snare. Or maybe she had known earlier? She always knew him better than anyone else in the world, perhaps even better than he knew himself. And after Lunatic Pandora, when she and Raijin had helped him pick up the shattered fragments of his life and dreams, she knew things would never be the same, and he would never be the same.

Oh sure, the apathetic mask remained. And his pride too, as scarred and bruised as it might have been. The love of the battle, the complacency of character, the fiery temper--these traits would sooner find themselves in Laguna than leave him.

But what the former knight did lose was his way. The once blazing jade eyes, glinting of fulfilled goals and exulted achievements, had been smothered completely by the searing slice of the Lionheart, by the caustic words of a mistress, by the ultimate failure of a fallen angel to reach his dream. That dream--romantic, noble, and uplifting--had twisted into an endless abyss of shame, guilt, and despair.

Yes, the former knight was lost. Fujin knew that for a certainty, even if no one else seemed to notice a change. But she had convinced herself it was temporary. The invincible Almasy would pull through, as he always did, and steer towards a new direction, a new dream. And Fujin and Raijin would be by his side, as they always were, giving everything to see him succeed.

She had thought that a week ago, pondering silently as she usually did while the trio trekked across the endless forest. Looking back, she couldn't even remember where they were going. The destination never mattered. Seifer had only been intent on going somewhere, doing something. And Fujin had never been one to complain. Raijin complained, naturally, but naturally, no one listened to him.

"I don't get it, ya know," the bronze giant had whined, "Why couldn't we have stayed where the fish were? It's not like Balamb was a bad place, ya know?"

And leaning close to whisper exaggeratedly, "Hey, Fuuj, y'know where Seifer's taking us?"

The comment earned him a good kick in the shin. "RAGE! KNOW, NOT. SEIFER LEAD. FUJIN, RAIJIN, FOLLOW."

And the typical reaction. "OWWW!! Geez, Fuuj, that really hurt, ya know? I was only asking a question, ya know?" Raijin whimpered as he rubbed his bruised shins.

Fujin's countenance did not flicker, but inside she had to smile. The big oaf. He was the only thing that did not change. As readable as a huge flashing neon sign, and as constant as the North star. Although the albino would rather die by Rinoa's excuse-for-a-weapon boomerang than admit it, Raijin was a great source of comfort to her. He had been, ever since their orphanage days, and he meant more to her than she would have cared to admit to herself. Of course, that didn't mean she didn't enjoy having her steel-toed boots make contact with his lower leg. It was all part of the comfort process.

But even neon stars cease to shine.

The following events were hazy in her mind. Events were meaningless anyway. She remembered the three settling down for the night, and Raijin leaving to gather firewood or something. She couldn't recall if the fool had volunteered to go or if Seifer had ordered him to, but at any rate, he never returned. They searched for him when it was evident that something must have happened, but to no avail. Raijin was gone.

They never found a body. For all an onlooker might know, he might have ran away, deciding in favor of the gentle breezes and fabulous fish of Balamb to living his life aimlessly in the shadow of a fallen leader and a one-eyed companion. But Fujin knew better. She knew he had probably ended up as dinner for any of the damned forest monsters. A marlboro perhaps, since Hyne knows Raijin could have decently beat up lesser monsters to a pulp without even trying. But what did it matter how he had gone? He was gone, and that was the hard, cruel fact.

A lesser woman would probably have blamed herself or Seifer for his death. It was dark, and you knew there would be monsters. Why didn't you accompany him? Why didn't you hear him when he called? You knew there would be danger... You knew he might be harmed. But you didn't care, did you? You cold, selfish bitch. He devoted himself to you and Seifer, but you fucking treated him like shit. And now he's gone, and who do you have to blame for that?

A lesser woman would have been plagued by the phantom voices that haunted her day and night, the whispering voices that murmured and shrieked like the banshee wind. It's your fault. Who do you have to blame for his death? You didn't care! It's your fault! IT'S YOUR FAULT!

But Fujin was not a lesser woman, and Fujin knew guilt was meaningless. You can't change the past. She had heard that too many times before, and unlike some soft, sighing, and teary-eyed damsels, she never had to learn it the hard way. Mark her shuriken, Fujin Kazeno was definitely not a damsel.

This is not to say that Fujin wasn't affected by the death of her longtime companion and best friend. On the contrary, the anger that flared after Raijin's assumed demise was far more than just frightening. Anger at fate, mocking and cruel, anger at the horde of leering monsters inhabiting the forest, anger at Raijin himself for being so damn weak. Anger was far more useful than guilt. Anger led to action; anger lessened the pain of loss; anger cloaked the bitter tears of the heart. Anger that erupted, far more violent and deadly than any volcano. Anger that brimmed to the core with RAGE.

And the inhabitants of the forest were met face-to-face with that fury in the way of flashing steel, harsh platinum, and Death.

Swish. Her shuriken, deadly and silent, sliced it's way through the tender throat of a wendigo.

Swish. The head of a blitz toppled to the ground.

Swish. Malboro blood spilled across the shady ground, with a bit of help from steel blade.

Yes, Fujin knew Seifer understood. And although he never uttered a word as he helped her during the battles, she knew also that he felt the same way. The cold mask of apathy never shifted, but Hyperion's ferocity spoke volumes.

The sun set that day, as crimson as the forest grounds. And scarcely a creature stirred that night, or the nights after that.

That was one week ago.

Fujin Kazeno adjusted her position on the chair next to the hotel window. The rustic and calm beauty of Winhill disgusted her. Why the hell did they come here anyways? Her head strayed across the empty hotel room. As usual, Seifer was out, doing Hyne-knows-what in a goddamned peaceful place like this. She closed her eyes and ran her hand over face. The smoothness of her face contrasted sharply with the rough exterior of her eye patch.

The goddamned eyepatch.

She still remembered vividly how she had gotten it. After her encounter with her first T-Rex in the Balamb Garden training center, she had been a mess. She had underestimated the beast, and it cost her. Mangled body, bloodied face. Wounds that still gush. Scars that still ache.

Fujin never made the same mistake twice, and that T-Rex had paid dearly. And that thought of revenge was what kept her going during her recovery. She never thought twice about appearance. Oh, she knew what the others thought of her. It was always the gaping, shocked, and revolted stare at her marred face. She went from pale beauty to one-eyed freak overnight.

But she didn't care.

Weeks later, Seifer and Raijin stopped in to her infirmary room for a visit. Raijin had happily bounced right next to her bed and dangled something black in front of her.

"Look Fuuj! I made it for ya since I thought, ya know, that maybe you'd like to cover up your bad eye. All the pirates wear one, ya know, and you'd be just like them, ya know?"

Fujin definitely would have kicked him had she had the physical capacity to, but sadly, she was still in weak shape. Nevertheless, she managed to utter a feeble "RAGE!"

Raijin's expression automatically assumed a puppy-eyed, pleading look. Like she was going to fall for that.

"Oh come on, Fujin. The idiot's been working on it for days. You know we couldn't care less what you looked like, and you probably don't care either, but just think. Do you want people to look at you and pity you in the future?" Seifer cut in with a smug smile, siding for once in his life with Raijin.

Of course that had done it. If Seifer knew Fujin, he knew she hated pity. And she respected his voice of authority.

Fujin laughed silently, a bitter, humorless laugh as she reminisced upon that particular incident. The good old days. The days when the posse was still the disciplinary committee, when Raijin still annoyed her just for being his moronic self, when Seifer still smirked like he and his posse owned the world.

Those days were over.

The posse was over.

Fujin Kazeno knew now that it wasn't just a phase. It had been over long before the death of Raijin. It had been over the instant she and Raijin had turned their backs on their leader. The most painful instant of her life.

POSSE... we are. We always will be.

Life was cruelly ironic. The moment she uttered those words was the moment the posse vanished into nothingness.

Because we're a posse, we want to help you. Whatever it takes to fulfill your dream, we're willing to do.

Except the dream was gone. The road was lost in the thick fog. And she couldn't help him find the way. She could stand by him to the end, but she couldn't guide him. He was the leader. He always would be.

The silver-haired woman stood up. Yes, it was time. She should have realized this long ago.

But... You're being manipulated, Seifer. You've lost yourself and your dream. You're just eating out of someone's hand. We want the old you back!

Fujin realized now that they could never have gotten the old Seifer back. He had given himself up for the sorceress, and in the end, the sacrifice was more than he could bear. She had been too idealistic back then. Too blinded by false hope, deceptive illusions, and--was it love? Fujin walked out the hotel door and descended down the decrepit stairs. No turning back now...

Since we can't get through to you, all we have now to rely on is Squall. It's sad... sad that we only gave Squall to rely on...

She and Raijin couldn't get through to him back at Lunatic Pandora. Was it because of fear? Fear of being pitted against him in battle? Fear of losing him? They had already lost him. And Squall... Using Squall was just the coward's way out. Could they really have expected pansy-boy to change their beloved leader? Yes, it was sad... Sad that they had no other way, sad that they had foolishly thought Squall to be a last-ditched attempt at a miracle.

There were no such things as miracles.

The albino calmly walked out of the hotel, paying no heed to the receptionist who called after her.

Seifer! Are you still gonna keep goin'?

He'll keep going, Fujin knew. He'll keep going until he finds his way again. Even if he never does, even if he might as well have died at Lunatic Pandora, he'd still spend his life searching. She couldn't help him with it.

And it was time to stop.

Time to stop the denial; time to cast aside the smothering curtain of pretense; time to renounce the bitterly false words and hopes.

The shops and homes of Winhill became a silent blur in her peripheral vision. And then she reached the entrance, leading far outward into a vast expanse of sky and blooming meadow.

And it was time.

Ignore the pain, forget the past, create a life. Fujin Kazeno would be nobody's shadow anymore. She had made her decision, and she knew it was the right decision this time.

Then why did it hurt so goddamn much?

Stop thinking and act, she told herself. And without a backward glance, Fujin Kazeno walked towards the wide-open road ahead.

Fin~ forever and oblivion.



He had known it would come one day. It was never the same after Lunatic Pandora, when his two best friends had walked out on him, leaving in the name of the posse. To hell with the posse, he thought, as his mouth curled upwards into a contemptuous sneer.

Oh, it was his fault, he knew. But the fierce pride embedded in his soul kept him from admitting it, even to himself. Had he made a mistake in choosing to be the sorceress's knight? Maybe. Was the near-destruction of the world brought upon by his doing? Perhaps. But was his dream flawed in any way?

Of course not. It simply couldn't be.

But now, as Seifer Almasy scanned the serene, lush landscape around him, his back casually leaning against the fence post of some random farm in the area, he was confused.

But wait, confused wasn't the right word. How could the honorable knight in shining armor, the hero of countless stories, the deliverer of salvation be confused? That word could not exist. That emotion was unheard of. No, Seifer Almasy *wasn't* confused. He was simply in a ponderous state of mind.

A ponderous state of mind that left him groping for answers. Why had he failed? Why was he now cast as a villain? Why did he feel like a villain? And why was his rival, the evil mercenary, the *true* villain, now a hero? A hero who saved the world and got the princess as a reward?

It was just circumstance, wasn't it? The roll of a dice, the flip of a coin. Pure luck, and maybe a jesting fate. A fate that thought it humorous to twist a man's honorable dreams into a void of cold hearts, ruthless minds, and selfish desires. In another world, it might have been different. In another world, he might have been hailed as a god. The GOD that he is, that he rightly should be.

But it is useless to dwell on the past, and even more so to dwell on what could have been.

What was important now was...now. Maybe he could still redeem himself. Maybe he could still prove his worth.

But what was the use? Let the world laugh and scorn him. He didn't care anymore, and the motivation that had once filled him with exultation and energy was gone. He didn't notice it leave. But it had slipped away, unseen, like an assassin into the night. And try as he might, he could not invite it back. He could not force it back. Every day he woke up expecting to see the dream, burning blindingly bright as it had always been, but it was never there.

And he was alone.

Oh sure, Fujin was always there. And Raijin too. And too many times he had wondered why they still chose to return to him after they had fled Lunatic Pandora. Did they expect things to be the same? Did they expect him to be the same?

He cursed them silently for believing in him, and then cursed himself for not living up to the expectations. They had always thought he would be right. Fujin, with her fierce loyalty that never spoke words but was expressed clearly in action. Raijin, with his shining coffee eyes that trustingly followed Seifer's every whim.

Hyne, sometimes he really missed that bumbling fool.

He was always a nuisance when he was alive, and Hyne knows how many times Seifer had gritted his teeth during his incessant babble and snapped at him to shut the hell up, but he had always been there.

And now he wasn't.

It didn't even seem fair, the way he died. Not that Seifer knew how he died, but it hadn't been anything special. No sacrifice for the greater good, no honorable war fatality, no death-to-the-end duel with the enemy. No, he had just fallen in the forests, probably combating some random monster like any ordinary person who had some bad luck.

Ordinary.

How Seifer hated that word. And look where it drove him.

It was the bitter abhorrence of "ordinary" that led him to assume a pugnacious guise in the orphanage where he grew up. If he couldn't be loved, then he would be feared. It was "ordinary" that plagued his dreams, forcing him to take up an unsurpassable arrogance and condescending attitude. It was fear of "ordinary" that pushed him to be the sorceress' knight and commander of the Galbadian army.

Yes, he made sure that those who saw in Seifer Almasy "ordinary" paid dearly. And he thought he had made Squall pay dearly at the D-District Prison. Those had been the days when he was respected, feared, and maybe even... loved?

But in the end, Squall had been the hero. And Seifer Almasy was just..... ordinary. A guy whose name wasn't worth a second mentioning, and when uttered only brought forth a flicker of annoyance and disgust.

Ordinary. With friends who died ordinary deaths.

He remembered his rage at that thought. And he and Fujin's bloody path of destruction in that forest. It was only a week ago, he mused. Funny how time didn't matter anymore. Funny how life didn't really matter anymore, either.

But Death was a coward's way out, and if Seifer hadn't been anything else in his life, he was not a coward.

So he trudged on, listlessly and wearily. And Fujin accompanied him.

Fujin.

Seifer's shadow, the one-eyed bitch from hell, the scary Cyclops with permanent PMS, people had called her. Seifer had always wished he could shut them up. Not that he cared for her, because he didn't. He didn't. He didn't give a fuck about anyone. But he knew she deserved better.

Much better.

And she probably could have had a better life if she never knew him. As a top SeeD, perhaps. Hyne knows she was a good mercenary. Hell, she was the *perfect* mercenary: cold, silent and passive. A natural killer. A born killer. One without a deluded past and emotional problems. And she was strong. Stronger than Quistis or Xu or any of those other daintily-willed female SeeDs. Strong like the wind, mighty in rage; forever felt, silent always.

He knew she would wake up someday. Wake up and realize that she would be better off without him. Realize that he was a fucked up piece of trash who didn't deserve a shred of human compassion.

And she would leave him.

And he would be content. Content that she would be better off, because he sure as hell didn't care about her.
Seifer let out a sigh and ran a hand through his short-cropped golden hair. Dammit, he was thinking too much lately. Moping around almost like...... Squall. The thought revolted him instantly. He concluded that he was in desperate need of a good battle to ease his tensions, but this *was* Winhill, and the friggin' town would be the last place to find some good monsters.

The former knight looked down at his sword. Once his pride and joy. Hyperion. A keen blade invisibly tainted with the blood of countless creatures. Only a weapon, to be sure, but a weapon of destruction. A weapon forged to kill.

He recalled when he had first received it. It was four years after he and Squall started the gunblade program that they had finally been rewarded with their individual weapons. There had been a row of them, lined up like prize trophies on the weapon shelf.

"And these are the gunblades," the instructor had said. He was an older man of a prim exterior, a no-nonsense attitude, and an affinity for useless words over action. Seifer had hated him. "Both of you have been practicing with the lighter, training models, but now it's time for the real thing. Choose wisely, for these weapons will be a scythe of Death, and an angel of life. They will face every battle with you, and see every opponent through. They will be your most prized possession, your best friend, and your worst enemy. They will be your savior when the time comes, but they will bring out the demon in you as you kill."

Seifer had smirked at his words. What touching bullshit, he had thought. He could wield any weapon and still teach him a thing or two.

The young blond walked casually from one gunblade to the next. Some were impressive in their grandeur and size; others were smaller and lighter. Some were carved with intricate designs; others boasted a simple yet deadly smoothness.

Seifer glanced back at his rival. Squall seemed fixed on a certain gunblade. After a few minutes of ponder, he spoke.

"I want this one."

The instructor examined the weapon and nodded his approval, "A very efficient gunblade, though it's not light enough to carry with just one hand. It's lacking a bit in strength, but it's very accurate and quick. This one can be upgraded as you progress into better models, and with the right ingredients, it could be a formidable weapon indeed."

Squall didn't respond, but took the weapon and held it with both hands in battle stance, trying it out.

The instructor glared at Seifer. "Well, how about you, boy?"

Seifer nonchalantly let his eyes wonder over the gunblades again. "Oh, I'm not so sure I've found one that quite suits me." He flashed a trademark smirk, "None of these are strong enough for a boy like me."

He was returned an icy gaze, but went on unfazed. "I say, you must have something more impressive in that junkyard collection than this pile of trash."

The instructor had turned red from indignation, and went on to rebuke his young student, sternly and heatedly speaking of threats like detention, suspension, and even expulsion. Seifer merely turned around and snickered.

His eye caught a glimpse of flashing steel in the next shelf. Walking over, he saw that it was a gunblade, placed next to a rusting iron staff and a broken crossbow.

"Don't touch that!" the instructor demanded when he saw Seifer's hand reaching out to pick it up.

"Why?" the student asked without looking back.

"It's a hazardous, outdated model that we were planning to get rid soon. Quite unfit for fighting with."

"Hazardous, eh?" Seifer grinned and picked it up, much to the supreme annoyance of the instructor. It felt light in his hands, and he swung it tentatively. Very quick. And deadly sharp.

"I like it," he remarked, "I'll take this one."

"Forget it!" the instructor snapped. "The Hyperion is an unpredictable blade. The last two students that used it died during training when the blade somehow ended up piercing them instead of the monster. The light structure and old-fashioned revolver model causes it to behave uncontrollably in battle. Being so antiquated, it can never be remodeled. In fact, the grip handle is inverted somewhat into the...."

"Enough talk," Seifer waved him off, "The two that died were weak and probably deserved what they got anyways. I'm sure I'll be fine with Hyperion--" he paused, sounding out the name. It boasted strength and confidence. He smiled wickedly.

"--And besides, I know you could probably care less what happens to me, so just let me have the damn gunblade!"

The instructor stared at him violently and opened his mouth to scream something vile. No sound came out. After a moment, he closed his mouth and with much effort tried to regain his composure. Seifer simply smirked at him with contempt. He knew the instructor would eventually storm off and let him have his way. And that would be that.

And Seifer Almasy always got his way.

But that was in the past now, and the past didn't matter. It was only a figment of the mind, anyway. Nothing substantial to prove it's existence except memories. Memories clouded by age and fogged by GFs. Memories that would one day fade away into nothingness.

Or so Seifer hoped.

And maybe then it wouldn't be so painful to think of what he could have done and what he could have become.

The moping, again. The goddamn moping.

The former knight shook his head, straightened himself up and headed back to the hotel.

If only you could get away from it all.

He passed the old pub and the decrepit house next to it.

If only thoughts didn't haunt you day and night.

Ignoring suspicious glances from local villagers, the white-clad blonde trudged down the well-trodden paths into the heart of the village.

If only time healed the wounds of yore.

He pushed open the worn hotel door and stepped inside, instantly straining to see in the dimly lit room, contrasting sharply with the sunny outdoors.

If only pride and prejudice perished when hope did.

The stair groaned beneath his feet, a bitter sound. He reached his room and swung open the door.

If only...

The bare room echoed its silent greeting. Seifer didn't need to look twice. It was empty.

And he wasn't surprised. He had known this was coming, hadn't he? And she deserved better, didn't she? And they would be both be better off, wouldn't they? And her decision was right, wasn't it?

Then why did it hurt so goddamn much?

The sun was setting over Winhill. It's fading rays grasped at the elusive scene, clinging like bright gold--or was it crimson blood?--to rooftops and tree branches, only to be torn away, agonizingly slow but yet so fleetingly, devoured by the phantom hues of darkness.

Sitting silently in a tiny, dark hotel room, plagued by incessant and voicelessly screaming thought, a figure closed his eyes, leaned back his head, and let the mute screams invade his dreams.
Fin~ infinite and void.


[author's note: My first fan-fic of any kind… and probably my last. I don't think I have the adequate patience needed for writing. This was originally suppose to a more complete story with a happy ending, but halfway through I lost interest and decided to just cut it off after the first part (there were suppose to be three parts. I finished about one and a half). But since I'm fond of tragedy, I guess this will do. =D And if you haven't noticed from the topic, Seifer and Fuj are my favorite characters in ffviii =D]