FFX-3 Chat

(A/N): Re-reading through this chapter more times than I care to admit, I finally realized that there was this very annoying and awkward POV shift between Valm and a nameless Zanarkand soldier. I rectified it accordingly, but dang. Was it just me, or was I the only one who did not immediately register that they were two completely different people?

In other news, happy holidays!


Valm exhausted all the ammunition and grenades he had in hand, slaughtering several of the enemies which were encroaching upon them, oblivious to the dramatic shift in weather until he left the island. Forewarning signs, such as oppressive dark clouds and suffocating strong winds, always arrived before a storm, but blinded by the fear and excitement of battle, he had noticed nothing.
   
When people are in a constant struggle for survival, they never stop to think about the consequences, he reflected.
   
The rain fell so heavy, he found it difficult to see in front of him; the gusts were projecting sea spray into his face, stinging his eyes. The small, flimsy boat kept him afloat somehow, but it kept pitching violently, compromising his balance. Uttering a string of curses that would have made his mother faint, he attempted to re-gather his composure.
   
‘Calm down, calm down…’
   
He wanted to leave this dreadful place as soon as possible. ‘After all, I completed my mission.’
   
Valm spotted another target on top of the air tower, and he squinted, trying to distinguish the distant figure. The man seemed young and built, but... that couldn’t be Johit. He had dark hair, not flaming red… Maybe Meroh? It had to be. Valm recognized his Guards, along with someone else, probably a prospective Aeon Core. It must be a member of his family or a beloved one. The more links between a Summoner and their Aeon Core, the stronger the bond, the more powerful the entreated creature produced.
   
Valm hoped the bomb had killed the remainder of his enemies.
   
But then, he spotted a conspicuous lone figure, and his eyes widened. “No…”

(POV shift)

If he could eliminate the mage at least, that would be fortuitous, for he proved the most dangerous; the others present around him were easy to dismiss.

This war between the two major cities seemed to wage on forever, even though he had sworn to give his life to end it. Yes, he chose to sacrifice himself for peace. The blind devotee lowered his hands from his prayer, raising his eyes to the empyrean. The wind stung, whipping his body with volatile ferocity, bringing the salt from the chaotic sea to hinder his sight.

“The truth…”

He never stopped to consider the outcome of this war, only Yunalesca-- the Summoner Princess and how he would live by her side, to be her most loyal servant. He looked back on the sacred ceremony over the course of which he had taken an oath, and she graced him with a kiss. The sweet smell of her hands came to mind, and the memory appeased him.

(POV shift)

Valm crawled through the shallow water, spying the pious murderer who appeared to have finally calmed down. Only the upper half of his head protruded from the surface, his eyes glaring in the dark of nightfall. As he approached, he made out the face of his enemy. He still looked to be a teenager. Had the Sage brainwashed him, or did his sorceress daughter bewitch the poor fool with her seductive spell?

The young man turned around, as if sensing him by his bloodlust alone, and Valm leapt, landing inside the small boat. He grasped him by the black hairs of his head, wrenching him closer to knee him in the stomach. This caused the enemy to double over in pain, vomiting all over himself. Valm tossed him aside and stood above him, unsheathing his sabre. Dragging him up by the neck, he pierced his back where his heart would be, and the boy let out an inarticulate cry.

With his task complete, Valm attached little importance to the pyreflies of his victim, whose soul already began to vanish. He went about surveying the ship, rummaging for anything useful. The spoils of war, as one would say. No weapons were found aboard, but a small boat equipped with a working engine could turn out to be salvageable. He wanted to call out to his comrades, but then reconsidered it. Maybe a fire as a signal… No. None of these solutions were efficient, considering nobody would be able to hear or see anything in this terrible squall.

Shading his eyes from the rain, Valm turned in direction of the island’s peak, reciting the words of faith, finding comfort in their divine nature.

“O Luchera, Goddess of War! Grant us your blessing, and protect us with your outspread wings!”


Hidden underneath the ground, a man-made bunker built at the center of the island, the Board of War’s South Division lied isolated from outside noises. The majority of the stationed troops had gathered inside the stateroom. Silence prevailed the spacious room, only disrupted by the echo of stifled tears.

An altar decorated with multiple rows of tropical flowers distinguished itself at the center of the room. Kushu had just finished her Sending, and Sloan, the brother of the victim, still knelt before the woman, his shoulders heaving with sobs. She stepped closer to him, and place a hand on his broad back.

Anli, whose real name used to be Pohlan, lied dead on his wooden casket, but his beautiful, young face looked so peaceful that he appeared to be sleeping. The Summoner was still a teenager, but even so his soul had already departed for the world beyond.

Alb, the team leader, approached them, and spoke with a voice that belied his old age. “What happened to the man responsible, Sloan?”

“It was a young girl. I already eliminated her.”

“What about her soul? Do you think she’ll come back to exact her revenge?”

“If she comes back, fiend or Unsent, I’ll take her down!” He shrieks, his voice shrill with rage and grief. “I’ll cut her down again and again and again until she wishes she stayed dead!”

Alb opened his mouth, his eyebrows creased, but the sudden arrival of Valm, soaked from top to bottom and emanating a murderous aura, prevented him from speaking further. “What happened?”

Valm chose not to answer, staring at Anli’s corpse. After a long moment passed, he made his way over to Sloan and clasped his shoulder firmly.

“I will never forgive them…” Sloan swore, his voice cracking.

Valm agreed with a somber look that rivaled his grieving comrade.

“We’re short on people,” Sloan said, turning towards Alb, rising on one knee. “When will you be able to deploy the mechanical Bedohls?”

“We’re currently encountering multiple problems, but in the near future I expect very soon.”

“In the near future? You’re so vague! If you desire more guinea pigs, leave it to me.”

Alb sighed, folding his arms. “We already talked about this. Must I repeat myself? Aside from restricting the number of Bedohls, this entire thing is pointless. If you want to waste my time and waste the amount of Bedohls available to us, then go right ahead. But force will not solve anything.”

Sloan snickered. “You’re complaining to the wrong guy. You should say that to the heretic Sage!”

“Alb.” Valm spoke, intervening on their argument. “You appear to be having fun tinkering around with your Bedohls in the name of ‘research.’ But we’ve been eagerly anticipating the day when they’re finally going to be of actual use to us. We need reinforcements, fighters who will work as long as one of our enemies still live. We must protect the Summoners and their Aeon Cores at all costs. Forever.”

Every time someone mentioned the future, Kush always looked ready to cry, anguish flashing in her eyes.

Sloan turned back around to gaze upon his dead brother, raising his voice. “Let’s search the island, but we must proceed with caution. The enemies may still be upon us with more.”