Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ I Want to be Your Chicken Wuss ❯ Chapter One ( Chapter 1 )

I Want to be Your Chicken Wuss :: Chapter One

Author's notes:: The idea for this fic came to me rather spasmodically while I was watching Courage the Cowardly Dog, so I was forced to sit down in front of my trusty computer and type it up. (Or the first chapter anyway.) If the title did not make the nature of this story clear enough I shall elaborate: it is humor. And cross-over-y. And alternate-universe-y. And told from the point of view of my favorite Final Fantasy character of all time: Zell. ^__^ It's a bit of an experiment on my part, so just ignore any…uhm…anything that seems like it needs to be ignored, and we'll get along great. And as a minor note: I don't believe there will be any spoilers from FF8, however, this little piece of fiction is guaranteed to be laced with FF9 spoilers; therefore, leave now if that bothers you and don't come crying to me if the game is ruined for you because you skipped the author's note. Anyway, enjoy the little prologue-type-first-chapter and don't forget to review on your way out.

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We were gonna die.

Although I realized this, it didn't really hit me until the Firaga spell exploded next to me, engulfing Squall in a swirling vortex of flame. We were gonna die.

"Squall! Here!" Irvine called worriedly, tossing our beaten commander a Hi-Potion. Squall got back on his feet and directed his fury at the being before us. He charged and sliced downward with his gunblade, uttering an unintelligible cry. Our enemy shrugged off the attack like it was merely a breeze. Frickin' hell.

"Hyne!" I hissed, taking a blow to my side. I clutched at the wound as I attacked; flailing madly with my free arm. My fist connected with bone, resulting in a sickening crack-pop. I had just broken the bastard's jaw. I turned and smirked triumphantly at Squall, making sure he had witnessed my minor victory. He had. He nodded as Irvine summoned Ifrit; the fire demon seemed to surge forth from Irvine's palm, flame cascading downward, upward, spiraling sideways.

Our enemy sunk to his knees before us, glaring forth with such intensity that I almost forgot how close we were to winning, to getting out of here with our heads still connected to our bodies. "I'll kill you!" he roared, another Firaga forming in his palm. I would have thought that he'd cast it at Squall, him being the leader and the most badly injured. Instead, my life-long rival locked eyes with me, smirked, and sent the inferno blazing around me.

Flame climbed up my legs, ate at my skin, burnt away my hair, burned and burned and burned until I thought there couldn't possibly be anything left of me to burn. This couldn't be a mere Firaga spell. I could stand a mere Firaga spell. Seifer had somehow managed to summon up the very flames of Hell and sic them on me.

I fell to my knees, still with the blasted spell burning around me. There were shouts: Irvine, Squall, Seifer, me. Death by fire…Not how I wanted it to end.

That being the last thought on my mind before I died, you could imagine my surprise to find that I hadn't actually died at all. But I couldn't be alive either, could I? I looked around at my surroundings. Definitely not anywhere I had been before. I was in an alley. Of course I had been in alleys before but this...well...it was…old. You know: cobblestone street, pre-electricity type old.

Now I hoped to Hyne I was dead. Alive in a world without electricity wasn't living at all.

I picked myself up from the surprisingly clean street, checked to make sure that I wasn't sporting any mortal wounds, and headed for the nearest doorway I could find. Above the descending staircase hung a sign reading 'Mini-Theatre.' Mini-Theatre, huh? I shrugged and jogged down the stairs. I ended up in a dimly lit room, next to man barking about tickets. Why not? I said to myself, passing him the hundred Gil in exchange for the ticket.

"Wait a minute, boy," the man said, looking at the Gil like it might jump up and bite him. "What're you tryin' to give me?"

"A hundred Gil," I told him. He was obviously having some mental problems. Why couldn't he just admit that this was a dream and get on with it? By now I had come to the conclusion that I was not dead: merely dreaming. And the sooner I got to the end of the dream and woke up, the better.

"Are you dense, boy? This ain't real money. Now get outta my theater 'for I get someone to throw you out!" He flung the Gil at me and motioned for two men leaning against the wall on the far side of the room.

"Hey!" I said irritably. "This is my dream and I wanna see the stupid play! Now give me the frickin' ticket so I can-Hey! HEY!" The two men had grabbed an arm a piece and were dragging me back upstairs.

"Listen, buddy," said the red-head on my right, "I think you've had a little too much to drink and should probably just head on home."

"I'm not drunk!" I said indignantly. "He's the one with the mental problem!" I yelled, waving a finger at the ticket salesmen. "Doesn't now Gil when he sees it!"

The man on my left rolled his eyes.

It was then that it hit me that this was my dream and that even in real life I could probably take these two, so I swung them off me. The red-head had enough sense to grab the railing to stop his fall. The other, the one with the blue-striped tattoos running down his arms, tumbled down the stairs, landing with a curse at the bottom. I was already back in the alley before I heard the red-head following behind. Our footsteps echoed off the cobblestone. By the time we reached the end of the alley it sounded like we had left behind us a clapping audience.

I stopped just in time to avoid running into a hippopotamus. Oh, Hyne. It was beginning to look like Irvine had slipped some funny mushrooms in my Coke again. Yes this was all a big, hallucinogenic mushroom-induced dream. It would all be over in the morning; and poor Zelly would be left with one hell of a headache.