Disclaimer: Final Fantasy IX and its characters do not belong to me. However, the ideas within the storyline belong to me, so don't try to pawn them off as your own. ^_^ I've been over this tons of times with my other fics and it's never happened before, but I just want to make sure people don't try it; I'd be very upset.
Started: March 31, 2002 (9:43 P.M.)
Finished: March 31, 2002 (11:18 P.M. O_o;; I was inspired. . .)
I: Reflecting
He cursed and kicked as he was dragged through the shimmering corridors, slamming his armored shoulders into the forearms of his captors with little effect. His long hair thrashed as he shook his head, shutting his eyes as he screamed incessantly to be released. Being dragged by his arms through an unknown dungeon spared little of his already-damaged dignity, although he was in no position to believe his dignity would be left intact at the end of this trial.
Calming down a bit from his senseless fighting, he tried to concentrate on glaring at nothing. The iridescent tiling of the floor kept him from doing just that, leaving him with little choice but to shut his eyes and focus his thoughts inward.
Where am I?
He had no answer to the question; nothing around the place looked familiar, even if he had to admit he would never have taken notice to iridescent flooring before.
Why am I here?
Again, he had no clue. Why indeed? Of course, there was the fact that he had destroyed a planet and almost succeeded in annihilating a second one -- that could definitely be a reason to be imprisoned. He had also decided to play God, take countless lives, disturb the cycle of souls of Gaia, and other deeds he could not recall off the top of his head.
How am I here?
That was perhaps the most disturbing question of all. To his knowledge, he should be dead. His soul should have fled his Genome body and returned to the cycle of souls, more than likely then becoming rejected because of his alien soul and being thrown to oblivion. It was such a frightening thought that--
. . . Was this hell?
Did I die and go to hell?
With his thoughts focused inward, he was unprepared for the actions of the two figures dragging him. Before he could regain his wits, he was hurled into a prison with gray slate walls and dark flooring. He blinked, trying to push himself to his elbows as he shifted his head back to look for his captors. The only thing he saw behind him was a door with no handle; only the faint outline and a slight window near the top gave the door away for what it was.
He opened his mouth to shout out in frustration, only to be greeted by reverberating silence. Sapphire eyes widening by the moment, he tried to grasp what had just transpired.
What is this? I saw no spell cast--
A disembodied voice rang through his head, startling the young man out of his reverie.
"This is no hell of yours, warlock. Welcome to Mute Hall, Sir Kuja Garland."
The strange voice continued to echo, even as realization dawned upon the man. He curled his legs underneath him as he stared at the slight crack in the door, finding glowing eyes leering back at him sadistically. A shudder ran down his spine, fear gripping his heart as the door began to open.
This is most definitely not hell.
In hell, things cannot get any worse.
The beginning of something more? Perhaps; I'm not quite sure yet. I have yet to write a FF9 novel, so we'll see if I can muster up the courage. My thanks to anyone who reads and reviews.
Onto Part 2
Back to Mute Hall