As with Caleb, I can’t seem to go on with just humor for too long. I need something like this before I square off the Those not Chosen spoof and Bloody Conspiracy.
The taste of blood lingered in his mouth like a metal coating, the taste enough to almost gag him. But he didn’t have time for that, having to fully focus on not stumbling. They were dragging him along painfully enough as it was. If he tried to keep up, at least it was bearable.
The murmur of the crowd was an irritating buzz in the background, one he didn’t have the mind left to care much about. They sounded rather excited though, if hesitant.
Or maybe it was just his imagination that colored the unending wave of sound.
A runaway thought pointed out that if they weren’t excited and at the same time surprised, then something must be more wrong with these people than already apparent.
Another thought wondered, with bitter irony, how much the bastards had paid for their seats tonight.
‘Sold out’, he had promised. Ah yes. If the tickets weren’t all gone this evening, they’d never be. Despite the short notice.
Bastard wasn’t spilling time this round. What a lovely timing to start thinking practically.
Ruefully he moved his tongue, grimacing as its tip crept over one of the newly aquired holes in his wall of teeth, withdrawing immediately as new pain exploded from the dull ache. The taste of blood came over him in a whole new wave.
The nauseau made him retch, coughing out crimson blobs of thick saliva and blood that stuck halfway down the hem of his robe as he was carelessly ripped forwards. Always forwards.
They had been staring at him. Eyes, eyes wide open, distrustful, confused.
Of course, of course… they had no idea…
Ah… <I>he</I> didn’t have any idea either, the bastard.
That thought even curled the beaten man’s lips a little. But only for a brief moment.
In the end, even that changed very little, unless something happened.
He wanted to glance backwards, at the gap in the wall, blocked by bars. The gap that grew more distant for each stumbling step. He would see the eyes there again, maybe. At least Edgar’s.
Would it be too late to call out?
What would it change anyway, none of them could use magic anymore. The chill of the armband around his wrist was enough to confirm that. It seemed to suck at his skin, draining all spells he could possibly think of even before they had fully formed inside his head.
<I>“Wake him up. Wake him up!”</I>
Had Edgar and Celes even caught the movements of his lips as he tried to speak to them without making the guards suspicious?
Heh, as if a suspicious guard would change anything in this situation…
And as if the Returners would be able to bring their fallen ally out of unconsciousness without magic. Even <I>if</I> they had been collected enough to be able to read his lips. Those had been blank stares, from all of them.
He really had turned their world upside down, added a heavy shock to the already overwhelming weight of their defeat.
And they didn’t even know half of it…
What shock for them if they did get a chance to find out, but for that…
‘Wake up, please wake up…’
That was the only hope. Oh yes, it would hurt… it might not even do any good. All he could do was try to survive for long enough, to give them time.
He hissed loudly as he was suddenly thrown onto the ground, the scrambling feet of the guards ringing in his ears. The imprints of their rough hands on his arms still burnt.
Dry sand got into his mouth and eyes, groaning he got to his knees and tried to wipe the tiny rocks away with his hand. The armband burnt his cheek as he accidentally got the evil accessory too close, and recoiled from his own wrist.
Then all of a sudden, greenish stars sparkled around him and the pain sunk away from his body. Blinking, he straightened up, then gritted his teeth as he heard the voice.
“I wish you all welcome to tonight’s show.”
The voice magically boomed out over the huge building, met with shouts, claps and whistles from the rows upon rows of spectators high above, far away from danger. The noise was almost overwhelming.
Ah yes, he was healed only to put up a good show. Why had he even been surprised in the first place?
He looked up and around, feeling the cold sweat renew itself over his entire body. There were thousands of humans, all of them hungrily staring down towards the midget that was him - him trapped in the middle of the enormous empty area at the bottom of the construction.
It would be something spectacular. And something very painful.
“Tonight’s menu is quite full of extraordinary dishes,” the bastard went on, the smirk so apparent in his voice that it itself called forth a wave of laughter from the hyperactive audience.
The man in the center opened and closed his fists rapidly, trying to collect himself enough to prepare for the assault that would come crashing down any second now.
‘Wake up, wake up, wakeupwakeup<I>wakeup</I>!’
“But I will not keep you waiting for the finest treat,” the bastard went on, “the one you all surely have wanted to see down there for a long time.”
The crowd roared with laughter and boos at the tiny figure.
Of course he went first. He was the most dangerous one. They weren’t going to take anymore chances.
He almost smiled.
“For this one, I have chosen a death which I’m sure you will find most suitable, as it matches the life this treat has lived.”
He spun around as he heard the distant grind of the biggest beast’s gate rise. A monstous snarl shook the area as something moved in the darkness.
He took a step back.
“Shit…”
Impressed whistles and crazed cheers erupted from the audience as a homungous paw sent the sand of the arena flying.
In the prisoner’s waiting cell, eyes bulged in renewed horror at the sight of what awaited them all as soon as the beast was finished with its first sacrifice.
Up on his own plateau, Gestahl leant back with a smug smirk.
“Give one last applease,” he said, his voice ringing out for all to hear, “to our dear lord Kefka.”
The behemoth roared and charged, eyes set on the sole, puny human who reeled backwards, shook from the shock only by the incoming brutal death.
And in the prisoner’s cell, Gogo finally woke up.
Mmm, Kerr snippets. Tastes like chicken!
… not him, you sickos.