fallen_stage (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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towerofanimus2012-04-04 06:22 pm
fallen_stage) wrote in towerofanimus2012-04-04 06:22 pm
Entry tags:
[001]
Characters: Kuja and YOU
Setting: Floor 5, Floor 20
Format: Prose, but I'm willing to adjust.
Summary: Kuja woke up, dressed properly, then went to verify the note. He doesn't like what he sees.
Warnings: Depression, discussion of planet destruction, slight dissociation, suicidal thoughts
Floor 5
One of the first places Kuja found was the observation floor, peering into one of the viewing terminals. He had awakened disoriented and alone, wondering if he was in some sort of afterlife or final hallucination. The note he discarded as rubbish, focusing instead on finding true answers (and something more stylish). While he found his clothes easily enough (though many might find them startling), the red around his eyes is a touch crooked, the neutral color on his lips not quite perfect, his rust-colored nailpolish overlapping onto his cuticles in places.
What he found was a world destroyed. Gaia's once lush surface scrubbed clean of all life, leaving only dust and rock. Not even the Iifa Tree was left, no Mist leaking from caves, no monsters roaming the worldwide desert. The atmosphere was either sucked out or burned, the sky black and empty.
I won't let this world exist without me!
Floating up in a rush of agony and power, Kuja had unleashed it all on a half-dead planet. What plant life had managed to florish he cut down, burning glassy stems and watching them fall into other, asymmetical dominos falling and shattering against one another. Fauna was no safer than flora, an instant extinction as bodies were crushed by plants and scorched by magic. He even burned the silver dragons he was so fond of before, reveling in the beauty of their smoldering pale feathers. Bran Bal was crushed in a trice, and Kuja soared like a vengeful god cutting a swathe of judgement. Soon only the surface remained but it wasn't enough, it had to be hollowed and smashed just like Kuja, just like his ambitions and future and - and as the atmosphere was next to set ablaze, Kuja shaped some around himself as he sliced through the crust of the planet, molten chunks of the mantle exploding out and solidifying as it met the chill of space. Still not enough; not nearly enough. Kuja had to destroy more, had to stomp the pieces into space dust so there was nothing left, nothing but the void of space and the light of more stars with old screaming light that needed to be snuffed and silenced, nothing for ever more, nothing nothing nothing -
Nothing left. Nothing left of his past, nothing left for his future. Nothing left of his last pinprick of hope. Kuja stared at the console, numb with thoughts that circled but couldn't find rest. "Do I need a reason to help people?" was only met with "let's be happy here", a moral and a life and a soul made pointless for being cut short. A victory made pyrrhic by weak vacillation, by that damned boy who wouldn't back down and stole respect.
Eyes continued to stare at the wasteland, but they saw nothing.
Floor 20
On the edge of the platform into the empty space, Kuja sits, kicking his heels and heedless of the fall. Fair away from the staircases, he's hunched over, staring at the space below his feet. The note from his room is crumpled in his fist, but eventually he smooths it out and carefully folds it. Paper airship complete, he tosses it into the void, watching float downward before setting it ablaze with magic until it's reduced to ashes on the breeze.
Setting: Floor 5, Floor 20
Format: Prose, but I'm willing to adjust.
Summary: Kuja woke up, dressed properly, then went to verify the note. He doesn't like what he sees.
Warnings: Depression, discussion of planet destruction, slight dissociation, suicidal thoughts
Floor 5
One of the first places Kuja found was the observation floor, peering into one of the viewing terminals. He had awakened disoriented and alone, wondering if he was in some sort of afterlife or final hallucination. The note he discarded as rubbish, focusing instead on finding true answers (and something more stylish). While he found his clothes easily enough (though many might find them startling), the red around his eyes is a touch crooked, the neutral color on his lips not quite perfect, his rust-colored nailpolish overlapping onto his cuticles in places.
What he found was a world destroyed. Gaia's once lush surface scrubbed clean of all life, leaving only dust and rock. Not even the Iifa Tree was left, no Mist leaking from caves, no monsters roaming the worldwide desert. The atmosphere was either sucked out or burned, the sky black and empty.
I won't let this world exist without me!
Floating up in a rush of agony and power, Kuja had unleashed it all on a half-dead planet. What plant life had managed to florish he cut down, burning glassy stems and watching them fall into other, asymmetical dominos falling and shattering against one another. Fauna was no safer than flora, an instant extinction as bodies were crushed by plants and scorched by magic. He even burned the silver dragons he was so fond of before, reveling in the beauty of their smoldering pale feathers. Bran Bal was crushed in a trice, and Kuja soared like a vengeful god cutting a swathe of judgement. Soon only the surface remained but it wasn't enough, it had to be hollowed and smashed just like Kuja, just like his ambitions and future and - and as the atmosphere was next to set ablaze, Kuja shaped some around himself as he sliced through the crust of the planet, molten chunks of the mantle exploding out and solidifying as it met the chill of space. Still not enough; not nearly enough. Kuja had to destroy more, had to stomp the pieces into space dust so there was nothing left, nothing but the void of space and the light of more stars with old screaming light that needed to be snuffed and silenced, nothing for ever more, nothing nothing nothing -
Nothing left. Nothing left of his past, nothing left for his future. Nothing left of his last pinprick of hope. Kuja stared at the console, numb with thoughts that circled but couldn't find rest. "Do I need a reason to help people?" was only met with "let's be happy here", a moral and a life and a soul made pointless for being cut short. A victory made pyrrhic by weak vacillation, by that damned boy who wouldn't back down and stole respect.
Eyes continued to stare at the wasteland, but they saw nothing.
Floor 20
On the edge of the platform into the empty space, Kuja sits, kicking his heels and heedless of the fall. Fair away from the staircases, he's hunched over, staring at the space below his feet. The note from his room is crumpled in his fist, but eventually he smooths it out and carefully folds it. Paper airship complete, he tosses it into the void, watching float downward before setting it ablaze with magic until it's reduced to ashes on the breeze.
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