Fan Fiction Our World... Ruined - A Final Fantasy 6 FanFic

[SilentMage]

Foreword:

--What happens when a magic-infused island suddenly appears and begins orbiting Earth? Fantasy/steampunk meets our timeline in 2014, and the consequences will forever change our world.--

I'm a huge fan of Final Fantasy 6, which is where the majority of this story's characters are from. There are a few figures on our world that get equal billing, as well.

This is a work-in-progress, so be sure to subscribe so you know when new chapters are posted!


I've received a lot of help in getting this story off the ground - many people from other sites and offline are to thank for invaluable feedback, writing advice and tips that helped get to this point. I look forward in receiving your feedback as well!

Enjoy!

 

[SilentMage]

Our World... Ruined
by SilentMage
​

Chapter 1: The Goddess’s Final Act

With a final, agonized roar, the beast known as Atma Weapon collapsed to the hard, cracked surface that comprised the Floating Continent’s peak, its body-length tail and horn-lined head striking the ground with a final thud. Its spiked, organic armor, which lined the top of its body, only served to speed the crumpling of its eight muscled legs as Atma Weapon’s life left its body. The look in its eyes as the last of its magical strength was drawn out of it almost gave the impression of surprise – at least, it seemed so to Celes Chère, former general of the Gestahlian Empire.

Celes relaxed her grip on the Thunder Blade, its hilt still tingling with the magic it helped her absorb. Hefting a claw-scratched Golden shield in her left hand, she peered over its rim at the two companions who had helped her - helped each other, really - get this far. A slight smile crossed her lips as she watched Locke Cole, a self-proclaimed “treasure hunter,” dust off his navy blue mythril vest. Locke examined a bottle of elixir that he'd discovered wedged between the plated joints of Atma – then, sensing her gaze, he glanced up and smiled back. With a flourish, he turned to their regally armored companion and tossed the bottle. "Another one, my liege!" Locke proclaimed with unhidden, friendly sarcasm.

“I'd respond to that in kind, were it not for the presence of a beautiful woman,” Edgar Roni Figaro quipped as he snatched the bottle from the air and smoothly stashed it in the party's Handy Haversack, a tanned leather backpack with the magical ability to store large amounts of items without gaining weight. Shifting the weight of his chainsaw across his shoulders, he ran his fingers through his blonde hair, and with a grin flicked the sack to Locke with the tip of his heavy lance.

"Thank you, by the way," Edgar said with a glance toward Celes, "for not running off like the wind we call Shadow." An assassin who only cared for money and his dog, Shadow’s sudden just before Atma's demise had caught the trio off-guard – especially given that there wasn't anywhere to go on the Continent, save for its polluted caves, creature-infested lakes, or sudden drop-offs to the world far below. Shadow's last words to Celes, whispered as she'd leapt to absorb a Flare spell meant for his backside, were unexpected: "I sold my skills to the Empire...I have no right to fight together with you." With that, he'd sprinted to a weathered rock-face and cleared it in a few bounds, disappearing over its peak and out of their lives once again.

“We have one last item of business to take care of,” Edgar noted grimly as he prepared to leave their fallen foe behind. Celes nodded, gazing past the beast toward the ridge that overshadowed the Warring Triad. Three statues, the frozen forms of goddesses who'd nearly destroyed the world over a thousand years ago, stood facing each other. Celes felt the pull of their combined power, calling to the magic infused in her body with irresistible force. The statues - and Emperor Gestahl's greed-fueled dreams of harnessing their power, the way he'd captured the magical lifeblood of countless innocent espers in building his Magitek empire – were the reason she was here. The legend held that the goddesses had willingly petrified themselves to save the world from their power; Celes was not about to see their sacrifice go to waste.

Kefka Palazzo, obscenely vibrant in his red, yellow, and green motley and haphazardly-smeared makeup, laughed maniacally beside a giddy Emperor Gestahl. The two stood mere feet from the statues and the bevy of small, glowing spheres of energy that passed between their stony forms. The Emperor turned as Celes approached, a smirk stretching his features as his arms parted the folds of his red robe and gold-trimmed cape.

“Well, well....” Gestahl gloated. “You're here just in time to perish. Behold! The Statues!”

Celes, Locke and Edgar all stopped their approach as they watched some of the spheres of energy flow into Gestahl, causing his body to shutter and pulse with light. “Ohh! I’ve got goose bumps! What power…”

“Emperor Gestahl! Please, stop this madness!” Celes ran forward slightly ahead of the group and pleaded to him.

As Locke prepared to fight, an energy sphere fires from the Triad, at the direction of Gestahl, which quickly broke in half and hits both Locke and Edgar, freezing them in place.

Gestahl, with a smirk, walked slowly to the side while still watching Celes. “Celes… Come to me, my pretty! You and Kefka were given life to serve me! It is your birthright to rule the world with me!”

He nodded to Kefka who, with his sword still drawn, walks toward Celes. “Kill the others and we’ll overlook your treachery!” With Kefka handing her an Empire-forged Myhril Sword, Celes took the sword and looked regretfully towards the ground and at her friends. Locke and Edgar were still paralyzed by a Stop spell cast by the Triad, the statues themselves losing control of their power to both Gestahl and Kefka.

“Take this sword! Take care of them. Immediately!” Kefka commanded.

Gestahl took a step forward and extended his hand to Celes. “Celes… together we can rule an entire world! Think of it…!”

Before Celes allowed herself to respond, a boom in the minds of everyone there suddenly exclaimed, “NO!”

Gestahl, Kefka, and Celes collapsed to the ground in front of the Warring Triad as an incredible white flash of light encompassed them, the already-paralyzed Locke and Edgar, and the Floating Continent for a brief moment. As they tried to struggle against the energy field that’s paralyzed them, the Goddess, the center statue which has the shape of a naked, voluptuous young woman with stone ribbons flowing on its sides and a stone medallion behind her head spoke in their minds.

“With our last ounce of will, we three have acted to make the ultimate sacrifice to serve the world we swore to protect. We were responsible for a war on your world in the past, and we will not be held responsible for the destruction that you want to bring.”

The voice of the Goddess began to soften and fade. “Your world is now safe… as you are now far… far away…”

With the final dissipation of their grip on everyone, Kefka jumped up and exclaimed while throwing his arms in the air, “Nice magic trick – now show me your real power!!!”

Gestahl caught his breath as he lifted himself back up, feeling winded from the magical attack, though he was already fast regaining his composure. Just before reaching towards Kefka, something in the distance caught his eye. Something big. Celes, though still on her hands and knees, stared at the same, wide object that she could only think of as an airship – but without the large envelope and with wings. And it was quickly getting closer.

“I command you! Give me your power! Curses!...” Kefka trailed off from his obsessive rant towards the statues as he, too, glanced angrily at the object that was making a sputtering, deafeningly loud screaming sound from two cylinders, one on each wing, as it flew overhead. A shadow enveloped the peak and the group, the object itself close enough to blow the three of them off their feet and towards the edge of the precipice. It continued on to collide with a nearby hill, exploding on impact.


March 10th, 2014, 5:03AM GST
Dubai International Airport, Dubai, United Arab Emirates

“What the hell is going on!”

“We just lost another one: Air India flight 1301, ninety-five kilometers east of here,” Nasir said to Adam with a mix of surprise and increased worry. The beacon for the Boeing 787 from Mumbai just disappeared even though it was listed as flying at 7,000 meters in the sky. It was the third plane in the last three minutes that had abruptly lost all communication with the tower.

Adam Hajjar, one of the air traffic controllers working the early-morning shift, was trying to keep his cool, but with every instrument and radar giving what should be impossible readings, his disheveled black hair was starting to reflect his increasing inclination to lose it. His colleagues couldn’t make sense of it either, and with three of them trying to hail a group of Air India flights that had suddenly disappeared off of their screens, the situation was starting to truly test their mental flexibility.

“When was the last time you’ve seen ATC equipment behave like this?” Taj, the youngest controller in the tower, asked.

“Never – and don’t say this is some computer glitch, Adam. You think all problems are computer glitches!” Nasir ran to one of the radar monitors and points at the giant shape that whited out a third of the screen. “This can’t be a glitch!”

“It has to be,” Adam countered as he scrolled through scores of lines of code on his desk monitor, trying to find the source of the problem. “Look, according to our equipment, there’s an object larger than the entire city of Dubai coming from the east – but it simply appeared on everything just a few minutes ago out of nowhere. At the same time of its appearance, we started to lose contact with planes. This is too complicated to be a simple virus or an attack – it has to be a bug in the system!”

Adam wiped beads of sweat from his forehead as he examined the radar screens, which all displayed… something. Something large enough to completely block their ability to manage flights coming from all points north and west of Dubai.

“Umm, four more planes just went off screen ,” Taj nervously said. “They all originated from the east: Delhi, Mumbai, and Chennai.”

“This is impossible,” Nasir exclaimed. “Taj, Adam, we need to redirect flights away from the airport until we can figure this out – we’re effectively blind if this can’t get sorted quickly.”

As the sun started to break over the horizon and Adam continued hammering away at his keyboard to find a solution to what he was certain was a serious computer bug, he began to notice that his colleagues are no longer yelling over intercoms or trying to hail the missing planes.

“Adam… you have to see this… Adam!” Taj called without looking at him.

As Adam craned his neck over to where everyone else is standing, his heart sped up and his eyes widened. Sliding his hands off the keyboard, knocking it off his paper-covered desk, he joined his colleagues at the east end of the control tower, staring in awe and fear.

“What is it?” Nasir asked, holding onto the rail by the window with whitened knuckles.
 
“It’s… Allah’s floating rock,” Taj responded, mesmerized. “But much bigger…”

A floating landmass, stretching beyond the eastern horizon and reaching far to the north, dominated the sky. As Adam began to contemplate rolling out his prayer mat, the power for the entire airport went out, soon followed by the city of Dubai.

And the first of many nearby airplanes began their silent, unpowered descent.

 

[SilentMage]

Chapter 2: Breaking Dawn

March 10th, 2014, 5:05AM GST
The Floating Continent

As the dust from the now-burning object settled, Celes swiped her long, blonde hair away from her face to see Gestahl about finished with pulling Kefka from the edge of the precipice. As she regained her balance, she realized the sword Kefka had given her was gone. Unsure of what to say, she stood and looked over at the wreckage while still keeping mental notes on the positions of the two recovered men. A small explosion sounded from the wreckage of the airship-like object, sending another plume of dark smoke into the air.

“Well, that was disappointing,” Kefka said to nobody in particular as he broke his grip on Gestahl and wiped away the dust and grime from the front of his shirt.

“Celes, my dear,” Gestahl said as he walked to her, carrying a silver dagger inlaid with diamonds and glassed mythril in his hand. “Follow Kefka’s orders and you’ll be absolved of your crimes against the Empire.”

Now standing at arm’s length, Gestahl took her right hand and placed the dagger in her hand, which instinctively gripped the hilt. With Celes now looking into the emperor’s eyes and his hands cupping her right hand, he smiled wickedly as he said, “Finish them.”

Celes looked behind her without turning around to see Locke and Edgar still frozen, the magic of the statues holding them firmly in place still facing the statue: Locke about to draw his dagger while Edgar got ready to uncover something from behind his cape. She had so many questions, and the fear of what the white flash had done unsettled her mind, leaving her itching for answers. But for the moment, her anger, coupled with years of military training, was sparked by Gestahl’s words. Whatever happened, she knew it had to end here.

“Power only breeds war,” Celes said to Gestahl, then looking down at the dagger, “I wish I’d never been born.”

With the hilt of the dagger gripped tightly, the diamonds digging slightly into her palm, Celes broke Gestahl’s hold and swiftly stabbed at the base of his chest driving the blade between his ribs and puncturing his heart. In an equally fast motion she twisted the blade in a ninety-degree angle, let go of the hilt, and kicked Gestahl in the stomach, sending him off his feet and onto his back. Kefka, momentarily shocked by the sudden actions of Celes, stood defensively as he watched Gestahl reach weakly in the air before coughing up blood and dropping his arm to the ground. The dagger hilt stood coldly and silently vertical rising out of a large, deep red pool of blood that that blended eerily with the red of his robe.

Celes kneeled beside Gestahl as he again reached weakly into the air. “Why? Nobody will worship us without me and the statues…” Emperor Gestahl of the Gestahlian Empire, the largest empire in the land and almost the world, takes his last breath through his slackening, blood-covered lips. Celes gently closed his eyes with her hand as she looked up at Kefka, standing a bit closer with a large grin on his face. By the time she’s on her feet, loud, demented laughter erupted from the jester.

“You’re making this too easy!” Kefka managed to say through bouts of laughter.

“This has to stop! You don’t know what damage you’ll do by interfering with the statues,” Celes yelled glowering at Kefka, her hands started to glow with the warmth of electricity.

Just as Kefka was about to retort, the scream of a woman arose nearby, just below the hill on which the wreckage of the airship-like object lay smoking. Both Celes and Kefka turned to see a lone woman running towards them. Although she was still far away, she was close enough for them to notice that her clothes were of a strange design, if not miraculously unburned. Her attire resembled that of the impresario at the opera house, but of a single dark color and without ruffles. Clearly distraught, she held something small against her chest as a heeled shoe fell off her foot. Seeing the two of them, she cradled the thing in one arm while reaching out towards them with the other. “Please help, this baby needs –”

The woman suddenly burst into magically-fueled flames, with her eyes and mouth opening to reveal even more fire and emitting an animalistic screech instead of human sounds. The baby in her arms melted away with her as the inferno consumed the two of them. Her final cry echoed throughout the jagged terrain.

Her mouth agape, Celes quickly turned to Kefka who had one outstretched arm with an open, fiery hand in the woman’s direction. “Kefka!”

Turning towards Celes with one hand on his waist and the other pointing towards Celes with a small ball of flame spinning in the palm, he exclaimed, “What?! I was just lighting her path!” With that, he closed his hand over the flame, snuffing it out. “Now, without any more interruptions let me talk to these hunks of stone –”

“She had a child…” Celes clenched her fists while straining to hold back tears, the electricity around her fists sparking and sending chains of lightning to the ground and her armor.

“Shaddup!” Kefka yelled just before a black figure suddenly flew into him, scooping him off the ground and into the air. Holding Kefka by the neck, Shadow quickly moved to the edge of the continent, holding him over the vast lands below. Moving his right wrist slightly, a knife jutted out of a hidden sheath, aiming right for Kefka’s painted neck. With his free hand, Kefka flicked open a tiny pouch with metallic dust, throwing it into Shadow’s face, disorienting him and loosening his grip on the crazed jester. However, in the second Shadow let go of Kefka, he still thrust forward, stabbing Kefka through his shoulder, the metal blade detaching from the sheath as was designed.

“Arrrgh!” Kefka screamed as his wild eyes locked onto the living shadow now above him. Gripping the blade that’s still firmly jammed in his shoulder, the blood now mixing with his makeup, his fading cries consisted of, “HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE!!!”

Shadow, expressionless yet incensed in a way that he hasn’t felt in years, watched as Kefka continued to fall, the light of the rising sun illuminating the fast-fading monster. By the time Celes reached for Shadow’s cloaked shoulder, the feelings were quickly brought under control. “With his and Gestahl’s deaths, my allegiance is no more,” he said, looking at her without turning, the exposed part of his face sliced and bleeding from the metallic dust.

As Celes joined Shadow in looking over the side of the continent, the land below became gradually visible with nary a cloud to block their vision, a buzzing sound could be heard behind them, followed by an audible 'pop' – a telltale sign that the Stop spell collapsed. Some shuffling came from the direction of Locke and Edgar as they realized they had been frozen for an unknown amount of time. Looking at the body of Gestahl and then at Celes and Shadow nearby, the both of them glowing in the breaking dawn, Edgar held one hand on the back of his head as he asked with a smile, “So, what did we miss?”


March 9th, 2014, 8:45PM EST
The White House, Washington, D.C., United States of America

“So let me get this straight,” President Barack Obama asked with some frustration as he massaged his temples while sitting at his desk in the Oval Office, “The entire Arabian Peninsula, including our military forces in the Arabian Sea, cannot be reached by any means?”

“From what we can tell, that is correct, sir,”, the Secretary of Defense, Chuck Hagel, stated with as much of a matter-of-fact voice as he could muster. Wearing one of his trademark navy blue neck ties with his suit jacket discarded next to him on a couch, Hagel still had a hard time believing the few reports derived from the intercepted transmissions of Dubai International just moments before the airport – hell, before all of Dubai and most of the UAE – seemingly disappeared.

Not waiting for someone to speak, Obama asked, “And we know for certain the communications blackout isn’t the result of anything related to Al-Qaeda or some other party with malicious intent?”

With a stoic face, General Martin Dempsey, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, responded, “Fortunately there hasn’t been evidence of a radiological, chemical, or nuclear attack. No missile launches were detected in the region by the Fifth Fleet prior to the comms failure.” Standing over Hagel, he concluded, “We should be receiving images of the region shortly from one of our recon satellites.”

The president looked at the general, wearing his uniform with his rows of ribbons from his years of service running over his heart, then glanced down at his Blackberry. His daughter, Malia, just sent a text message, but sighed as he flipped the face of the phone to the desk. It was just the three of them in the Oval Office, Hagel dismissed his aides as Dempsey closed the door behind them. Ten minutes passed since Obama got a direct call from Hagel to his private line, asking to meet him and General Dempsey in the Oval Office, that they had something of immediate importance to share that couldn’t wait. Once this news was shared, however, it felt like hours had passed instead of minutes .

The last thing he could ask for was any kind of resurgence of Al-Qaeda in the Saudi’s backyard. Or worse, a nation like Iran or Russia detonating an EMP over Dubai as part of an attack on the region; Obama was certain that even Rouhani and Putin wouldn’t be crazy enough to commit such an act, but with what he was being told, he couldn’t rule out those with access to nuclear technology. Between that and the way his handling of Syria was perceived by the media only a few months ago, he just knew that whatever the cause he would have to act quickly this time around.

Hagel’s phone beeped twice in succession, indicating a message had arrived. At nearly the same time, the open military-grade laptop chimed. Obama quickly got up as both Hagel and Dempsey turn the laptop towards them to see the incoming images from their satellite. The confused and upturned faces prompted Obama to ask, “What is it?”

Dempsey scratched the side of his head briefly while Hagel stared at the images, the look of grave concern starting to shape his facial features. Hagel picked up the laptop and brought it to the president. “Take a look.”

As Obama looked at one hi-resolution image after another, he at first thought this had to be a joke – someone had too much time on their hands and created these from Photoshop. But as the images changed from photos of the impossible landmass casting a looming shadow over most of Saudi Arabia and southern Iraq to airplanes of all sizes burning around and within Dubai, the worst being an incredible image of an Airbus A320 buried in the ruins of the Burj Al Arab, the president’s heart finally started to speed up, his hands unconsciously balling into fists.

Various thoughts were being processed as Hagel said something to Obama, though for a moment he wasn’t paying attention. There was one voice that stood out amongst the rest: This was something that would be bigger than he’d ever imagined.

His Blackberry vibrated on his desk, another text message from his daughter. Another message that he wouldn’t answer for a while.

 

[Mitsuki]

Allah's floating rock... xD

Wow, that's quite a beginning there. That's one solid first chapter. While I am not very familiar with FF6 and its cast of characters (at least, their given personalities), you've set up an interesting hook there. Quite a bold move, in fact, to mix this with "our world"... I can't wait to see what you come up with!

 

[Noblesse Oblige]

Wait a sec...

I've seen this fic before...wasn't this same fic in AH.com?

I actually like the premise of the floating island being ISOT'd to our world. Don't worry, I won't spoil, I promise.

 

[seddy-0]

i like this and look forward to see where you go with this.

keep up the great work

 

[SilentMage]

Wait a sec...

I've seen this fic before...wasn't this same fic in AH.com?

I actually like the premise of the floating island being ISOT'd to our world. Don't worry, I won't spoil, I promise.

GUILTY! I did post this story there first. But now that I've discovered this forum it's only fitting to share it here as well, given the source of my inspiration. Thanks for controlling the urge to drop spoilers!

Allah's floating rock... xD

Wow, that's quite a beginning there. That's one solid first chapter. While I am not very familiar with FF6 and its cast of characters (at least, their given personalities), you've set up an interesting hook there. Quite a bold move, in fact, to mix this with "our world"... I can't wait to see what you come up with!

i like this and look forward to see where you go with this.

keep up the great work

Thanks to the both of you! Stay tuned, as more chapters will be posted very soon.

~SilentMage

 

[SilentMage]

Article: Our World... Ruined - Chapter 2: Breaking Dawn

You can view the page at http://www.finalfantasyforums.net/content/494-Our-World-Ruined-Chapter-2-Breaking-Dawn

 

[SilentMage]

Chapter 3: Second Wind

March 10th, 2014, 6:10AM GST
The Floating Continent

“I definitely don’t recall having my construction crews build roads THAT wide through Figaro Desert,” Edgar said, confused at exactly what he’s looking at from the edge of the continent. He, Celes, Shadow, and Locke were fixated at the desert plains below, observing as small plumes of smoke peppering small sections of what to them looks like the kind of avenue one would build for a city like Vector. But in the middle of a desert?

“There is something very wrong here,” Celes replied with grave concern, holding herself as she watched what she imagined was a family escaping from a growing fire in the middle of the wide path, even though individuals at their height looked like ants to them. “The energy of the world… it changed the moment the Goddess blinded us.”

Shadow, arms crossed defensively and looking more towards the airship wreck than down at the surface, breathed deeply. “I sensed it as well.”

“Figaro Desert certainly didn’t have people living amongst the sands,” Edgar remarked as he pointed at a small grouping of single-level buildings alongside the path, all of which seemed to have a lot of activity around them. “And why aren’t these people being attacked by sand rays or riding chocobos? The wild is no place for unarmed individuals, especially women!”

“You really should learn when to derail that mind of yours,” Locke said, frowning a bit without turning away from the surface. “So are these people fleeing from South Figaro or –”

“I don’t think we’re over Figaro Desert, Locke,” Celes interrupted, the breeze catching her hair as she held her arms tighter. “I don’t even think we’re on our world.” She looked up at Locke, who turned his head to her, locking eyes, pleading to him that she was wrong about what was said, but every fiber of her being was telling her otherwise.

Edgar stepped away from the edge and turned to Celes, now crossing his arms with an incredulous look. “That’s impossible. Sure, there are some oddities on the surface, but that doesn’t mean we’re on…” He almost couldn’t believe he was saying it – “Another planet!”

“Well, whatever that flash did to us, we won’t get answers up here,” Locke said as he walked over to Celes and stood next to her, facing Shadow and Edgar. As he looked back at the two of them, he smiled as his vision focused on a much more familiar and friendly object in the sky. “What we need is air support!”

Celes looked up as the sight of the Blackjack quickly came into full view above the continent, its massive mythril-tipped envelope above the much smaller ship below, which was attached to the envelope by two metal poles and suspension cables. It was a marvel of the world, as it was the fastest airship to streak through the skies: The large black balloon covering the top half, ringed with mythril panels, wiring, and pipes; the rigid frame and metal panels on the underside; two large fins on the envelope and three smaller fins on the stern of the ship; two large engines mounted towards the back of the envelope with two propellers each; four large exhausts just under those engines for energy to safely vent on the sides, which gave rise to a blue glow, complimented by smaller red lights that can be seen for miles.

The fires from the crashed airship-with-wings were blown about wildly as the Blackjack approached the surface. As the ship came to a standstill above the four of them, four steel ladders clanged their way down. The sound of the propellers filled the air as the four of them quickly jumped on the ladders, causing them to retract into the belly of the ship. Setzer Gabbiani, the owner of the Blackjack, looked over the side from the top deck as his shoulder-length silver hair blew in the wind. With a scar running partly across his forehead and over his left eye and wearing a black trench coat over layers of other clothing, he walked back to the helm near the center of the ship. Two bronze levers and the control deck, a panel with dials, buttons, and a wooden ship’s wheel, were all that was between him and his next destination.

Shifting the right lever forward while he turned a dial, he felt the extra energy pulse through the ship, knowing he wanted to get to Vector as soon as possible. The air around the Floating Continent was all wrong since the flash of light that penetrated the ship occurred – even the air itself seemed off, which surprised Setzer when he moved the ship around and over to pick up his comrades. A lot of questions were in his mind, but he was confident that the resources available at Vector could possibly provide some answers.

As the Blackjack’s main engines thrust the ship away from the peak of the continent and into the unknown in the distance, the three statues that constitute the Warring Triad looked on, content with the decision they’ve made.


March 10th, 2014, 8:19AM GST
Ajman, United Arab Emirates

The pilot couldn’t believe his luck. Flying his Spitfire, a dual-engine aircraft with propellers facing upward and a Magitek engine providing forward thrust, the pilot prepared for the worst when he witnessed the destruction of the Imperial Air Force leader at the hands of the dastardly Returners, the rebel group his men were tasked to destroy. The boots on the ground did their job after some of the rebels fell for the trap laid out by the great Emperor Gestahl, but the people on that airship wiped the floor with the Emperor’s aerial offensive.

Just when things seemed to hit rock-bottom, a gift from the sky was bestowed upon him. Five years of serving the Empire, and in a matter of moments he might well have defined his place in history! He actually sensed – or was subconsciously commanded, he wasn’t sure – to make a second pass on the north side of the Floating Continent’s underbelly. As he was about to clear one of the inverted hillsides a body, falling from the continent’s surface, came into view. Somehow he knew to rescue whoever that was and flew as fast as he could, firing his ship’s diffractive laser weapon at any rocks that limited his direct path to the person. All his years as a pilot came down to a few moments, and in that time he managed to catch the Emperor’s right-hand man, Kefka! Granted, he caught him using the claws at the end of one of the ship arms below the engines, but caught him nonetheless.

He took the Spitfire down to a paved clearing just north of a city that he’d never seen before, though with the number of fires that were lighting it up, he imagined they were close to Vector, a city he’d never seen , but heard reports of it under attack by espers. Upon landing, he jumped from his seat to the ground and quickly lifted the wounded jester from the claw of his ship.

“Argh, my arm, you idiot!” Kefka screamed as the pilot carefully placed him on the ground.

“Hold on, sir,” the pilot said, quickly realizing that there was a blade lodged in Kefka’s shoulder. Saying a few chants with his eyes closed, he cast a healing spell on Kefka, which painlessly pushed the blade out of him and sealed the wound, though there was still an indentation to show where the blade was.

“Hmmm, it looks like your Magitek training actually paid off for once.” Kefka opened his eyes from the pained squint it was in a few moments ago. When he rolled his head to the side and saw the blade on the ground, his dried blood coating it completely, his anger rose back to the surface. Standing back up as if nothing happened, he wiped off the little dirt that was on his collar, looked down for a moment, then looked back at the pilot who saved him. Adjusting his attire, Kefka clears his throat.

“Get me back to the top of that continent, immediately!” He pointed aggressively towards the Floating Continent, hovering several miles northwest of where they were, blanketing the land with shade despite the distance.

The pilot started to sweat, his focus on Kefka starting to falter under the man’s sheer presence. “The Spitfire isn’t able to reach the altitude necessary to get you there, sir.”

“Blast it all!” Kefka kicked some dirt in the air, his hands glowing with fire as he approaches the pilot, a scowl on his face. “Who taught you to fly anyway?!”

Looking around for help he wouldn’t receive, the pilot quickly responded as Kefka gripped his neck. “Actually, sir! I believe I saw an airfield a few miles south of our position! They might have—” he coughed as Kefka squeezed, but manages to get out, “—larger aircraft for you!”

Kefka growled as he let go of the pilot and pointed directly at him. “Lead me there – you’ll get me a craft powerful enough to get me BACK!” He then directed his other palm towards a nearby building that resembled a giant white box in Kefka’s eyes – perfect for a simple point. The pilot, rubbing his neck, watched in dismay as a large bolt of lightning left Kefka’s palm and struck the building, puncturing the windows and causing the building to explode, the walls falling parallel to the ground as the roof fell neatly on top of the people and equipment kept within. “Don’t be daft, get me a craft! Wee hee-hee!” A smile, followed by laughter, came from the demented clown as yet another building burns.

“GO!” The pilot jumped at that and ran to his Spitfire. As it got off the ground, Kefka jumped onto one of the arms, his feet gripping the sides as he held onto a small tube with one arm to stabilize himself, his free hand glowing with the pulse of fire, his eyes burning with hate and revenge, his face the host to a twisted smile.

“I’ve always enjoyed barbecues!” Kefka started to laugh as a folly of fireballs left his palm and in the direction of a darkened neighborhood. Further south, sections of Dubai started to burn uncontrollably in the dry heat.


March 10th, 2014, 5:30AM GST
Paris, France

The lights of the Eiffel Tower flickered, followed by most of Paris, as the Blackjack stopped momentarily over the city before continuing onward. The few phones and digital cameras that were turned toward the behemoth of an airship, larger than any similar airship or blimp constructed in human history, had their batteries inexplicably drained or, in the cases of some of the most modern devices, the interiors physically warped beyond repair. However, some tourists had older, mechanical cameras, and the film in one of those cameras was quickly developed, scanned, and shared with every news station in France in the course of an hour.

None of them ran the story… for now.

 

[SilentMage]

Chapter 4: Gears in Motion

March 10th, 2014, 3:30AM EST
The Pentagon, Arlington, VA, United States of America

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming at such an early hour,” President Obama began as he addressed his Cabinet. Hagel insisted that this shouldn’t be shared with all of his team, but Obama, for the sake of both transparency and trust, swiftly shot that idea down as the two of them and General Dempsey rode to the Pentagon. With the end of that conversation, Secret Service agents were deployed across the metropolitan area to pick up all the cabinet members.

“Now what I’m about to tell you is deemed classified, though given the nature of this information, that classification will soon be irrelevant.” He looked over everyone, all seated in the crammed briefing room, their attentiveness high, if not strained, given that some of them were woken up only an hour ago. “About five hours ago I was informed of an event so incredible, so impossible, that I couldn’t believe it myself. I wouldn’t expect any of you to believe what I am about to say, either… so I’ll let the following images appear. Please hold your questions until I’m finished.”

Taking a breath, Obama nodded to Hagel, who pressed a button on a remote to dim the lights and activate an 80’’ plasma screen television, illuminating the wall just above Obama. On the screen was a satellite image of the floating island in clear detail; the image shrunk a bit and shifted to the left as a 3D render of the island appeared to the right, statistics rolling beneath the graphic. Based on visual evidence, comparing the size of the floating mass with surrounding geological and political landmarks, it’s been determined that the island is about 800 miles from east to west and about 432 miles from north to south. Though the numbers were sketchy, sound pulses indicated that the island had a few mountain-sized features up to 5,000 feet tall, though most of the land was broken hills and what appeared to be artificial sewer-sized pipes. A single notable area at the peak of one mountain stood out, though the features on it were too small to be rendered clearly.

Hagel advanced through additional images, from the fires around Dubai International Airport, taken a few hours ago, to a satellite image taken just before the meeting started: a large, scalene triangular island now covered most of the northern Persian Gulf, all of Kuwait, and most of central Iran, the northern tip of the island about 60 miles from Tehran. Murmurs began filling the room before Obama put up his hand, silencing them.

“We estimate that around 8PM yesterday this island… appeared… over the Gulf of Oman. The United States Navy lost contact with the Fifth Fleet moments after the island’s appearance. We also lost all contact with most of the Arab Peninsula, presumably because of the power outage.” Obama looked over the crowd, noticing John Kerry leaning forward on the table, hands clasped, indicating that he already had a lot to say. “The loss of power wasn’t just confined to cities in the area, but vehicles on the ground and in the air… judging from the damage, we estimate nearly ten thousand dead in Dubai alone, the numbers expecting to only go up once we can get people there to assess the situation.”

A new image appeared, a world map in black with glowing purple outlines denoting nations and continents. It zoomed over the Middle East, centering over Saudi Arabia. A red dot, accompanied by a radar ping effect, dropped over Dubai while a yellow dot dropped over Riyadh. “Around 3AM Eastern Time we lost contact with Riyadh, the capital of Saudi Arabia, and all of Kuwait, suggesting that the total communications loss was because of the island. We don’t know for certain, but visible evidence suggests that the island… somehow negates electrical energy.”

With an image of the island now on-screen, various cabinet members started groaning in disbelief. “Mr. President, are you really saying that an island that’s larger than the state of Texas appeared over the Middle East, an island that is causing all electronics to fail? Is that right?” John Kerry looked at Obama, barely believing what he was seeing and hearing.

“This greatly strains credibility on every level,” Jacob Lew, Secretary of the Treasury, said. “Even with images from our own satellites, how do we know they haven’t been tampered?”

“I wish I could be laughing,” General Dempsey shifted his standing position slightly as he responded. “All indicators show this island is as real as you and me.”

“Not only is it real, but it’s moving,” Obama interjected. A series of numbers appeared next to the island, along with dashed lines across the world map in a stretched sine wave pattern. As the line expanded, it crossed over Italy and France, sliced through a sliver of the eastern seaboard of the US and Mexico, and traced a path through southern India and northern Australia. A triangle dropped over the current position of the island, blinking white. “Approximately 74 miles an hour from east to west, along this trajectory.” Obama pointed at the dashed line on the world map behind him. Thick lines began drawing themselves vertically in equally-spaced positions along the dashed line. “If this trajectory is accurate, we will lose contact with our allies in Israel within the next 17 hours, along with Lebanon, Jordan, and Syria.”

Obama stepped away from the podium and slowly walked to his seat at the head of the conference table, feeling himself age faster than he rightfully should, but ignoring the slight pain in his joints as he gripped his chair and sat down. Tenting his fingers and sitting upright, he continued. “In less than three days we’ll lose contact with several of our Western allies in Europe. In five days, the island’s effects will start to be felt along the northeast coast of our nation.”

The room is silent at that, some looked at the world map, reading off the list of cities affected. Others held their phones tightly, as if they were electronic security blankets. Looking around and seeing the expressions on almost everyone’s faces change from disbelief to grim reality, Obama glanced at Joe Biden, who sat upright, cross-armed, and with a look that, as always, instilled confidence in what Obama looked to implement, even in these impossible times.

Breaking his tented hands, Obama leaned back slightly and spread his arms on the table. “Are there any questions?”


March 10th, 2014, 4:55AM EST
New York, NY, United States of America

“I would like to, ah, purchase your latest gazette, good man,” Edgar said to the newsstand owner as nicely as he could without letting his curiosity of the surroundings overstimulate him.

A spark burst from the Greek man’s radio speaker as he tried to replace the light bulbs that went out only a few moments before Edgar approached his steel box near the corner of 34th Street in Midtown. The rest of the city flickered briefly a few minutes earlier, though most of those awake barely noticed.

“A whaa? You mean the news?” The man didn’t even look at Edgar, his concern for getting his stand visible again in the bright midtown area more important to him.

“Yes, I’d like to know –”

“Just leave money on counter – no funny business!” His frustration was fueled more from confusion than anything else, though he was glad to hear the sound of a paper being freed from the stand and some change dropped on the counter. When he looked up, his mouth dropped as he found himself staring at a couple of gold coins instead of quarters. He swiped the coins into his hand as he pushed himself over the darkened counter to find the source of the coins, but nobody other than a homeless person, some drunken partygoers, and a cop were to be seen amongst the moving cabs and trucks around him.


The Blackjack, Above New York City

The air crackled with the sound of popping embers as a space about the size of Edgar glowed blue, where he materialized a few inches above the top deck of the airship. Strago Magus welcomed his return by taking the handful of newspapers that Edgar purchased from the surface. “Excellent work, young man!” Strago’s white mustache arched up slightly as he smiled, the wrinkles on his cheeks curved around his hidden lips. Despite the freezing wind, Strago’s red cape and loose-fitting clothes consisting of yellow-and-green polka dot pants and a black shirt, stayed warm thanks to the air dampening field – a slightly modified Protect spell - that shielded the deck of the ship from extreme temperatures and weather conditions. Stroking his white beard, he began reading one of the papers as he walked below deck, with Edgar behind.

“Why did I buy these again?” Edgar looked at Strago with a smile as he watched him become absorbed with the text on the paper. They walked side by side in a pipe-lined hallway that led to the casino, where everyone else – mostly everyone – conversed.

“The best way to learn about a culture is through its current events!”

“Don’t you mean books?”

“Bah!” Strago threw an arm in the air. “Do you even know what a bookstore looks like on this world? We’re lucky that you were able to stumble on a merchant as fast as you did!”

“You gotta give me a little credit.” Edgar jokingly acted like he was hurt by Strago’s words. “Besides, I’m sure I could’ve gotten the information from one of the dashing young women I saw down there.”

Strago groaned loud enough for Edgar to hear as he swung open the trap door in front of them, moving quickly to be rid of this man, though he remembered the times he played chess against him; the man was not all bad.

They entered the casino, a two-floored deck that spanned most of the ship. Well-lit by ceiling lights that were powered by the same energy that moves the ship, the upper floor, which outlined the lower, is laid with oak wood paneling with stairs at numerous points to access the lower floor. With several blackjack tables, roulette wheels, and a large craps table in the center, the lower floor had deep emerald tiling throughout. The windows on the lower floor were bordered with thick, ornate curtains, which looked outward to the vast city far below and in the distance. A few merchants manned the upper floor desks while the rest of the Returners – and Shadow – were scattered on the lower. As Edgar and Strago rejoined the group, everyone gathered around the craps table.

Terra Branford: an 18-year-old girl who was a former slave to the Empire. She wore a red, form-fitting dress with purple shoulder pads that brought out her white skin and mint green hair. Her apprehension is close to the surface, as the desire to transform into her esper self has been strong since they arrived on this world.

Sabin Rene Figaro: Edgar’s twin brother, who gave up the throne to lead his life on his own terms. Very muscular and with his short blonde hair in a ponytail, he wore only white pants with the bottoms tucked into boots.

Mog: a small, cream-furred creature with cat-like ears, small wings, narrow eyes and a single antenna that ended with a spherical, yellow poof. He was proven to be a very good dancer and poker player. He has brought a chair over to stand on.

Cyan Garamonde: the last of the Kingdom of Doma which was wiped out by the Empire at the hands of Kefka. Standing tall, his muscular body was covered with a blue armor adorned with the crests of his people, a katana strapped to his side. His black hair was tied back, his neatly-trimmed mustache covering his upper lip.

Gau: a teen that was found on the Veldt by Sabin and Cyan, his wild eyes belied a friendliness that only those on the ship truly experienced. He had long, unkempt green hair while he wore a loose-fitting, tattered tunic with several belts and talismans around his neck, the only ornaments covering his bare chest.

Relm Arrowny: a spunky ten-year-old girl with dirty blonde hair that was usually covered by a large red hat, she wore a black tube top that ended with colorful, puffy pants that were tied around her ankles. She always had a set of paintbrushes strapped to her belt. She was also Strago’s granddaughter.

Locke, Celes, and Setzer joined the table as well, putting their game of poker on hold now that Edgar and Strago returned. Shadow leaned against the wall by one of the windows, looking towards the floor.

Terra smiled as she rested one hand on the raised edge of the table. “I’m glad we aren’t affecting the people below this time.”

“It seems that as long as we’re about thirty thousand feet above the surface, our presence won’t interfere with their magic,” Setzer said, playing with an Ace of Spades card between his fingers. “They’ll be fine.”

“How was it on the surface, brother?” Sabin inquired, his curiosity as strong as Edgars. At that, the others at the table looked to him as well.

“Very… bright.” Edgar laughed briefly. “Lots of lights in the buildings and vehicles of all shapes and sizes moving about. Whether they were powered by combustion engines or a form of magic, I couldn’t tell. Quite fascinating!”

“I’m surprised you didn’t disrupt their power source,” Cyan looked at Edgar with some surprise.

“Well, does making the lights go out on a merchant stand count?” Edgar gestured to the two newspapers spread out on the craps table, one of which had some sections removed by Mog and the other briefly picked up by Relm before she slapped it down.

“Whoever made the paintings on this paper’s really good – how dare they try to upstage me!” Relm exclaimed, more to get attention than in any sort of seriousness.

“Hey! Don’t rip that paper, young lady,” yelled Strago without looking up from his paper. He backed into one of the nearby chairs soon after he initially stood by the table. “Who knows when we’ll get more sources of information!”

“Fussy old man!” Relm pouted, turning away from Strago and crossed her arms.

Mog slapped his section gently, getting a sharp look from Strago in the process. “The news here is the same as it is back home, kupo! One empire trying to assert itself over another, kupo!”

“Uwaoooo!” Gau howled, stomped and jumped in place while he gripped the table from excitement, his nails scratching the varnished wood.

Cyan patted Gau on the shoulder, calming him somewhat. “Indeed, Sir Gau. Sir Strago, hast thou found anything useful in their tabloids?”

“I’d certainly like to meet this fellow,” Strago said as he flipped his paper around to show everyone a picture on the page: a black man with greying hair in a dark suit in front of a red-and-white striped flag in an assertive pose, clearly in the middle of speaking. Tapping the image, he continued, “Apparently he’s the leader of the Americas, a free land.”

“Free land, huh,” Edgar nodded slowly while he reached for a newspaper section with ‘Technology’ titled along the top. “So this American Empire might be a good place to get answers…”

“Why would they have answers?” Celes asked. “They weren’t responsible for bringing us here.”

“We don’t know that,” Shadow said flatly.

“What DO we know, exactly?” Setzer stopped manipulating the playing card and looked over at Shadow.

Shadow’s eyes, betraying nothing of the thoughts behind them, shifted to Celes.

“Well… we know that our magic greatly interferes with whatever powers the machinery and lights on this world,” Celes began. “The Blackjack can knock out the energy from a small town, but Edgar walked in the middle of a giant city without his magic stopping machinery in their tracks. Therefore…” Celes snapped her fingers, thinking about the matter for a while. “…the more powerful the magical source, the more disruptive are the effects!”

“If that’s true, we probably shouldn’t let ol’ gramps loose,” Relm joked as she stuck her tongue out at Strago.

“You can’t go down there either,” Celes said to Relm. “Nor can I.”

“Or me…” Terra said softly, looking away from the table as she thought about the other side of her, the chaotic esper that she worked hard to control, but still didn’t fully understand.

“Look, none of us can really go to the surface without disrupting something – this isn’t our world,” Strago stood up and tossed his newspaper onto the table, its front page article with the pictured American leader faced towards the ceiling, the headline reading ‘Obama Rallies Youth Voters Against Midterm Apathy’. “However, we aren’t going to get any answers by hiding in the clouds.”

“I hate to say it, but the old man’s right, kupopo!” Mog said, his antenna swayed to and fro.

“Judging from some of the pictures in this paper and what I saw on the surface, I believe we’re over what they call ‘New York’,” Edgar observed.

“If that’s true, then this ‘District of Columbia’ capital city shouldn’t be too far,” Strago said. “From there, we can talk to this king… O-bah-mah.”

Locke waved his hands while he shook his head. “Wait, wait, wait… We can’t just walk up to a king and ask for help – not without knowing more about the castle where he lives and the surrounding premises.”

“Talking like a true treasure hunter,” Edgar said with a deadpan expression.

“If we send someone to the surface, they’ll have to blend in long enough to gather particulars,” Cyan said as he gripped the hilt of his katana lightly. “Particulars on the king, his whereabouts, and whether or not he has honorable intentions.”

“Especially after what happened the last time we trusted a certain emperor,” Sabin nodded towards Cyan as he cracked his knuckles.

“Then it’s agreed,” Locke said, smiling in anticipation for seeing this world himself.

Everyone looked at each other, contemplating the decision they were about to make, realizing that they had little option if they were to learn more about this world and possibly find a way home.

Setzer, deciding to speak for all, fished a blue chip from one of his coat pockets then flipped it onto the craps table, the token spinning briefly before it landed on Obama’s picture. “Another chip in your pile! Ante up!”

 

[Mitsuki]

That was a pretty intense scene with Kefka, Gestahl, and Celes. I'm really liking what you're doing here. Celes is growing on me as well..

Excellent chapter, SilentMage!

 

[SilentMage]

That was a pretty intense scene with Kefka, Gestahl, and Celes. I'm really liking what you're doing here. Celes is growing on me as well..

Excellent chapter, SilentMage!

Thank you, Mitsuki! It was a lot of fun twisting the roles around while keeping to the last bits of the game's script before they realize they are no longer on their world.

By the way, I don't know why this thread was created - I was hoping for there to just be a single thread. Is it because it's linked to what was created on the home page?

~SilentMage

 

[SilentMage]

Article: Our World... Ruined - Chapter 3: Second Wind

You can view the page at http://www.finalfantasyforums.net/content/498-Our-World-Ruined-Chapter-3-Second-Wind

 

[Mitsuki]

Yeah, it's part of the 'comments' feature. A bit of a complex system, I know. I'll try to see if I can move everything into one.

 

[SilentMage]

Well, if it's just how this site's commenting works, I can live with that. No need to consolidate if it'll break things!

 

[SilentMage]

Chapter 5: Shocked

March 10th, 2014, 6:00AM EDT
CNN Newsroom
COMMUNICATIONS CEASE FROM IRAQ, IRAN, AND SAUDI ARABIA

Breaking News: The United States government and our allies in the EU lost all communication with not only government leaders in several Middle Eastern nations, but our embassies in those nations as well. Iran, Iraq, Saudi Arabia, the Arab Emirates: All have severed communications with the West without warning. Emails and phone calls were pouring into CNN all morning from distraught men and women who were unable to reach their loved ones overseas, further confirming that something unprecedented is going on in the Middle East.

No word yet from US officials despite repeated inquiries, and an equally silent response from our correspondents in Egypt and Afghanistan, two nations that we can communicate with. Only a single statement came from Prime Minister Netanyahu’s office in Israel, saying “We are looking into these disturbing actions, though we shouldn’t be fooled into thinking that this act isn’t intentional.”

Stay tuned on CNN for more info as it comes.

March 10th, 2014, 10:00AM GMT
Dawn.com
ALLAH’S FLOATING ISLAND REAL?

Despite the power blackout that authorities are calling unprecedented, pictures from Karachi and Hyderabad have been coming to our newsrooms for the last hour from various sources depicting what can only be described as an island suspended in mid-air. All the pictures we’ve received were developed from old rangefinder cameras, as all modern cameras – and all electronics for that matter – failed if they were in visual range of this island.

Though the government hasn’t made an official statement regarding the photos or why nobody’s been able to reach other Middle East nations such as Iran and Iraq, that hasn’t stopped the average citizen from wondering what just happened – and the one theory that’s taken the public by storm involves the “miracle rock” in Jerusalem, also known on the internet as “Allah’s Floating Rock”. The image of a large rock levitating in Jerusalem has several origin stories, one of which states that the Prophet Muhammad stood on this rock when he ascended to heaven during the Israk Mikraj event. Although it is widely believed to be a hoax, the presence of a floating island has thrown this theory into the mainstream, driving up attendance at mosques throughout Pakistan.

Meanwhile, Pakistani troops were called in to maintain control of Karachi as the blackout continues into its 9th hour...

March 10th, 2014, 10:00AM GMT
BBC
QUESTIONS ON MIDDLE EAST LOOM AS AMERICA AND UK REMAIN SILENT

The office of Prime Minister David Cameron refused to comment as questions regarding the state of the Middle East come in from all sides. Several other members of the government remain equally tight-lipped as rumors of sudden troop movements and recalls from Afghanistan, leaked from an anonymous tipster, begin to take root. Based on the sudden drop-off in internet activity from the region, there is evidence to even suggest that the nations of Iran and Iraq even cut themselves off from the World Wide Web.

President Obama and his government in the US were silent regarding the unexpected actions of nations that many in office consider to be the source of much turmoil over the years, the latest being the escalating instability within Syria as President al-Assad struggles to maintain power against the rebels. Although we at the BBC aren’t going to speculate on the cause of the sudden communications breakdown, that isn’t stopping everyday citizens from voicing their opinions as they learn about it…

March 10th, 2014, 6:20AM EDT
Facebook

PLEASE SHARE! UFO Spotted Over Paris!!! Apparently this was sent to the press, but they won’t run it! Power outages, loss of communications – all the evidence is there!! SPREAD!!!1!

Likes: 1,091

Comments:

David Ross – Odds are good the French surrendered the moment it showed up, too.

Katherine “H4wtn3ss” Mendoza – WOW. This looks soooooooo real! Is it from a movie? #wannawatchwhenitsout #ufo #iloveparis

Chris Mobley – youre fukin retarted, david – why would teh french not fight alians?

Pablov Nichols – I actually tried reaching one of my friends in Paris a few hours ago; had to call her landline cuz apparently all the cell phones died and won’t charge anymore. Just crazy. Dunno bout that UFO business though.

David Ross – @Chris Mobley, Why were you not aborted? With language like yours, I bet you’re some ghetto trash.

Brenda Rusling - @David Ross, Choke on a cow dick, you racist fuck!

March 10th, 2014, 4:03PM GST
Dubai International Airport, Dubai, United Arab Emirates

Gunshots could be heard from various directions around the airport from surrounding districts, the only other sounds being explosions from the fuel tanks of downed airliners, the occasional building collapsing or window bursting due to fire damage, and Kefka’s laughter.

“Oh ho, this is rich! You, telling ME what to do?” Kefka advanced on a lone security guard inside Terminal 2 who has his pistol drawn. Between the number of people that were killed when he blew a hole in the east side of the terminal in frustration to the group of soldiers that open fired on him – and were subsequently incinerated – this guard was one of the last that didn’t run off and evacuate the remaining visitors and employees. He tried to keep Kefka away from two airport employees that got lost in the darkened halls and regrouped by the terminal windows, the only source of light.

“P-P-Please stay back!” the guard screamed, his voice breaking. In a panic, he fired the gun, narrowly missed Kefka as the round ricocheted behind him. With a sick smile, Kefka dashed towards the guard, gripped his head and smashed his knee into it. Despite Kefka’s conical attire, the force of the attack knocked the guard flat on his back, unconscious and bleeding.

“Idiot,” Kefka spat on the guard, then placed one leg on him as he leaned forward to look at the two remaining people in the terminal: a middle-aged man, a guy who bled lightly from a gash on his head and a girl huddled in his arms, frightened to the point where she’s visibly shaking. The young man, barely looking at the clown, spoke almost submissively. “W-What do you want? Please don’t kill us.”

“WELL, I’m glad someone here knows the right questions,” Kefka grinned at them and gestured as if he wanted to shake the man’s hand. “I need some answers – now!”

The man shook involuntarily at Kefka’s raised voice, which caused Kefka to snicker. “What’s your name?”

“Adam. Adam Hajjar…”

“Where am I?”

The man looked up slowly, unsure of the question. “What do you mean?”

Kefka stomped on the downed guard, making some blood pop slightly in the air from his broken nose. “No questions from you! This isn’t exactly Zozo ya know! Now, WHERE am I?”

“T-T-Terminal two, in Dubai’s international airport.” The girl now cried audibly.

“Hmmmm, never heard of this ‘Du-buy’ place, but tell me, which Empire is this?”

“Empire…?” Kefka narrowed his eyes at him before he quickly continued. “Oh, I mean we’re in the United Arab Emirates, the Middle East. Earth! I don’t know!!” He gripped the woman tightly to smother her crying sounds as tears started to roll down his cheeks.

Kefka looked up for a moment and thought about what this desperate man just said. The sound of burning structures outside filled the space again before Kefka slapped his knee, pushed his foot into the guard again, and giggled. “So the Triad did it!”

He stepped off the guard and walked towards the terminal windows that separated him from the tarmac and runways outside, some of which had stalled planes that never took off, their emergency door chutes deployed, while others had smoldering plane fragments and luggage scattered about. “So this is their final, desperate, pathetic way to ‘protect’ my world. Warp me somewhere else.”

Smiling, he raised his arms in the air. “Do you think that will stop me?! I’ll get your power and claim THIS world as my own! Then yours!! Then everything else!!!” His laughter reverberated through the terminal. As he laughed, he noticed the duo attempting to flee. He snapped his fingers, summoning four Balloons, spherical flames with eyes that burn much brighter than the rest of the body. The creatures quickly surrounded the two employees and slowly orbited them, just far enough to not burn them.

“Before you two lovebirds go, please tell my friends here what you told me about this place – I’m SURE they’ll have a blast!” He placed his heated palm close to the window, which caused the glass to quickly melt before the entire pane shattered, most of which fell outward onto the tarmac below. Meanwhile, the Balloons started to inflate as the employees on the floor held each other, paralyzed with fear. As Kefka leapt dozens of feet out of the window and onto the pavement, all four Balloons self-destructed, taking a large chunk of Terminal 2 with them.

As a small mushroom cloud rose from the destruction of Terminal 2, Kefka quickly regrouped with the small fleet of Sky Armors and Spitfires that survived the assault on the Blackjack almost a day – and a planet – ago. Getting into his own Spitfire, Kefka activated the intercom, grabbing the attention of his fifty troops and their Magitek-powered crafts.

“Boys, we have a new objective, and as your new leader, I will bring you to glory! But first, we need to rebuild, and for that, we need a factory. Or a whole town to enslave! Wee-hee-hee!! Fan out across this land and report your findings to me. If you find another city like this, that will be our target! Anything that resembles Vector!

“And five units, go find and keep track of the Floating Continent – I don’t want to lose it again.

“Get to it!”

The last of the Imperial Air Force, now under Kefka’s command, took off and flew in fifteen groups of three in all directions while the remaining five units left westward to find the Continent. When the last of the groups departed, Kefka took his Spitfire toward the top of the Burj Khalifa. He cracked his knuckles and neck before he looked up at the afternoon sky, which was quickly blocked out by a summoning of dark, lightning-filled clouds. His eyes glowing with hate, Kefka raised his hands toward the clouds and spread them apart to reveal an inky blotch that started to grow, the blackness ringed by the clouds. The blackness soon expanded to almost the size of the city below, which blocked out all sunlight.

“I never did give my Magicite collection a test drive… Let’s make these treasures sing!” Kefka’s laughter could be heard across Dubai, though the asteroid he pulled from deep space would quickly bring those lives to an end.


March 10th, 2014, 9:10AM EDT
Laurel Fork Campground, Harman, WV, United States of America

“Ahhhhhh!” Terra screamed as she shot up from her bed, sweat lightly covering her body. Her eyes began to look human again by the time steel door to her room swung open, Locke running in with his dagger drawn.
“What happened? Are you okay?”

“Kefka,” Terra said, her chest heaving with deep breaths as she calmed herself and the esper within. “It’s Kefka – he’s alive.”

“That’s impossible,” Locke sheathed the dagger and leaned against the wall by the door. “Celes saw him fall from the Floating Continent… there’s no way he could’ve survived.”

Terra, still in bed, looked down and gripped the blanket. “He was surrounded by death and destruction… so much pain and suffering. In an act of pure chaos he cast Meteor upon a large city, a city where he already caused great pain. So much hate…” She trailed off and looked towards Locke. Seeing that she – or her esper form – clearly had a vision, he tightened his lips as he nodded.

“I’ll start waking everyone up and break the news…” Locke shot a smile at Terra before he turned around to leave her room. Everyone claimed one of the twenty bedrooms on the lower level of the Blackjack, below the casino, making it easy to go door to door. As he jostled people awake, he couldn’t help but feel that things had become a lot more complicated.


9:25AM EDT

Despite objections from Strago, everyone decided to eat outside the ship, on the surface. Sabin effortlessly brought two nearby picnic tables together for everyone to sit while cooks in the Blackjack prepared a healthy meal. Gau ran off into the snowy wilderness, though there were signs of civilization nearby, such as the paved road that encircled the large snowy patch of open land where Setzer managed to land. One tent was pitched, but partly knocked over by the wind of Blackjack’s propellers, its inhabitants now in a nearby vehicle.

“It looks like our timetable for meeting King Obama’s moved up considerably,” Cyan said over scrambled Darkwing eggs.

“That’s President Obama, actually,” Mog corrected. “That newspaper was quite informative, kupo!”

Edgar nodded in agreement while he cut a slice of dried meat. “Indeed. The technology on this world is beyond fantastical! They have devices the size of your hand that allows you to talk with other people anywhere in the world.”

“Machines… they will be the end of things, I say,” Cyan pointed his fork at Edgar before putting the egg-covered end into his mouth.

“Oh, dost thou truly think so?” Edgar jokingly asked Cyan.

Gau jumped out from one of the trees across from the half collapsed tent, leaped over the occupied vehicle, and ran to the party’s table. “No monsters here. Peaceful!” Without warning, he reached over the table, grabbed a whole roasted Leaf Bunny before he sat in the snow next to the table.

“So what’s the plan?” Locke asked, already finished with his plate and summoned another plate from one of the servants.

“We warp you into the District of Columbia,” Cyan looked over to Strago next to him, which solicited a nod. “We don’t know exactly where to drop thee, though judging from the descriptions of landmarks, a large, white tower called the ‘Washington Monument’ should be an easy target.”

“Apparently there are ongoing repairs to it,” Strago took out a folded page from his coat pocket and gave it to Locke. “Scaffolding should provide some cover when you land. From there, you must find this ‘White House’ and O-bah-mah.”

“It’s ‘Obama’, granddad,” said Relm, who shivered a bit. “It’s cold out here!”

“Then go to your room on the ship!” barked Strago.

“There’s still one problem,” said Setzer. “Magic. Locke won’t be able to fool a blind man if his magical abilities give him away.”

Terra, knowing what must be done, spoke up. “I can drain his essence, the energy that allows all of our… abilities.”

Everyone around the table looked at each other for a moment, then at Locke, who smiled as he smacked his utensil down. “Hey, it’ll just be another treasure hunt! I’ve lived most of my life without magic, so an hour or two won’t hurt.”

Nodding, Cyan got up from the table and adjusted his armor. “Then it’s settled. Let’s clear out and prepare for takeoff!”

Gau, gnawing on the bones of the rabbit he took, looked at Cyan slightly upset. “But Mr. Thou… I no like high place… not good…”

Cyan walked to Gau, wrapped an arm around him and whisked his hand in the boy’s long hair. “It’ll be fine, Sir Gau!”

As Setzer’s airship staff came over to clear the table and the party started to walk to the ramp, Terra looked over to the lone vehicle where the people inside watched from one window. Terra walked over to the vehicle, maroon-colored with a sliding door on one side and two doors near the front, the inside with three rows of seats. As Terra got within a few feet of it, one person jumped to the front and tried to turn the ignition, but the vehicle made only clicking sounds. Terra looked inside, concern on her face, which seemed to catch the attention of a woman inside. After a few moments, the sliding door opened and a woman in her thirties wearing a heavy coat stepped out and stood alongside the vehicle.

“Are you okay?” Terra reassuringly asked.

The woman looked at Terra, then at the airship one hundred feet behind her, the wooden ship dwarfed by the massive envelope suspended above it. “Who are you people?”

“We’re here to help your world and hopefully return to ours,” Terra said with a smile. She then noticed a little boy who climbed out of the vehicle.

“Mommy, who’s the green-haired lady?”

The mother quickly brought the boy close to her legs, which he wrapped his arms around. He couldn’t be more than five.

The two women looked at each other, and a sort of understanding was met. Terra’s heart beat a bit louder from happiness at seeing the affection the mother had for her son, and conviction for the journey that she would undertake with her otherworldly friends. The father, still in the vehicle’s front seat, watched silently.

“Please take care of your son… he’s a beautiful child.” Terra reached briefly, but stopped herself.

“Terra!” Locke yelled from the foot of the airship ramp.

Looking at the woman one more time, she nodded as she turned around and quickly ran to the ship, clearing the distance in just under a minute. The mother and son watched in fascination as the propellers of the airship started to spin, the bluish glow from the rear exhausts brightening as the ship’s ramp lifted and slid into its port. A moment later, the ship oriented itself toward Washington, DC, and left the park.

 

[SilentMage]

Chapter 6: The Exchange


March 10th, 2014, 11:18AM EDT
The White House, Washington, DC, United States of America

“Are you absolutely sure about this?” Michelle Obama asked Barack as she stood with him by the floor-to-ceiling windows behind his desk. She wore a sleeveless dark green dress while Obama still had on the suit that he’s worn since he learned about the floating island, except now his tie is on his desk and the top two buttons of his shirt are undone. Other than the Secret Service agents on the other side of the closed doors, they were alone.

“Honey, Dubai is a crater,” Obama said with eyes closed and a hand gripping the curtain that bordered the windows. He looked up at Michelle. “Seismographs hundreds of miles away in multiple locations picked up the impact, so there is no doubt that what we’re seeing is real.”

“But we can’t just leave DC,” she continued, the concern and firmness on her face was something Obama’s seen many times in their relationship, one that indicated that she wouldn’t give up her position without a fight – it was one of the reasons why he loved her. “How would this look to the public when they learned that the President packed up and moved?”

“How would we look if the public saw the government collapse because their President didn’t act soon enough?” Obama countered.

Michelle looked briefly at the hi-resolution printouts of the latest images from our satellites. One picture was of the Dubai metropolitan area, now a crater that stretched from Dubai Maritime City to the eastern end of Dubai International. The other picture was a greatly zoomed-in version of the previous photo, but with a red circle drawn around a round object that hovered over the Burj Khalifa.

“More details are coming out regarding the nature of this floating island, all of which indicate that the range of its effects extend for at least three to four hundred miles from the island itself. And so far, any electronics affected by it haven’t turned back on.” Obama took Michelle’s hand and looked into her eyes, sharing subconscious emotions that he didn’t want to openly express. “America, as we know it, is going to change forever when this island comes. We have to act now.”

Feeling what he felt, she nodded and kissed him on the cheek, their bodies illuminated by the inpouring sunlight. Obama always felt a surge of energy when he and Michelle were on the same wavelength, and even though the decision to relocate was extreme, he was more confident than ever about the course of actions that would be undertaken.

“I still cannot believe we’re moving to Denver…” Michelle began before her attention was drawn towards the lawn outside the window. Obama looked outside as well with unease, their hands held, as the last of the sunlight was swallowed up by dark, swirling clouds. As the sunshine was replaced by a grey darkness, sheets of snow suddenly began to fall.


March 10th, 2014, 11:23AM EDT
National Weather Service, Silver Spring, MD, United States of America

A notification window popped up on Elizabeth Wilburn’s left-most monitor, centered over the screen, just as another monitor just to the right refreshed its Doppler radar over the northeastern region of the US. She blinked, typed in several parameters to cross-check the values that were in front of her, looked at the growing red spiral over DC, and blinked again to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating.

Elizabeth, known by friends and colleagues alike as Lizzy, wore a white button-down shirt and dark-grey dress pants, though she almost always wore a red hoodie when she sat at her desk because she always thought the office was much colder than it should’ve been. Today, she wore the hood over her head, which indicated to those around her that she was being particularly focused on her work – or anti-social, depending on who you talked to – though what she tried to comprehend on her monitors prompted the dropping of the hood and looking towards her cubicle wall.

“Brent, can you come over here and verify that my vision isn’t going bad?” she called over the paper-covered cube wall.

“I’m throwing it on the big guy now,” Brent acknowledged, who saw the same storm system on his monitors, and a few seconds later the large pair of televisions that were mounted on black poles from the ceiling displayed the northeast. The regular ambiance of soft talking on the phone and small talk greatly reduced as Julia’s colleagues looked at the monitors in disbelief.

“It looks like… a small hurricane, but without an eye,” Lizzy gestured at the shape the red blotch was taking.

“This is…” Brent trailed off before he dropped his arms. “What the hell?”

“Air pressure dropped unusually fast over the metropolitan area, with temperatures falling from the predicted low-40s to nearly zero,” Antoine, one of the meteorologists, said. “Wind is increasing, spinning in a counterclockwise –”

“I know you like to read everything when it looks serious, but I think seeing, in this case, is believing…” Brent pointed at the floor-length windows that face the District and walked over to them. Others in the office followed.

As the red spiral grew to encompass the surrounding suburbs, the sky outside of the NWS went from partly-cloudy to grey overcast with a cloud mass bubbling outward. Brent and Antoine couldn’t even see Rock Creek Park anymore, let alone the Washington Monument, as a thick fog accompanied the wind and snow that fell aggressively.

“Our radars cannot make heads or tails of this storm,” Lizzy worriedly said. “But if these numbers are correct, DC will be receiving about twenty-four inches of snow per hour…”

Lizzy looked back at one of her other monitors that had the Middle East weather forecasts displayed. They looked equally screwy, as if something was slicing its way through what should’ve been an overcast system. Warm and cold fronts alike were behaving very erratically in that region, to the point where all predictions were effectively worthless. She stood up to look at the windows, where snow started pattering and sticking like glue, and started to think that perhaps what was happening in DC and in the Middle East were connected…


11:31AM EDT
The Blackjack, Above Washington, DC

“That’s enough, thank you,” Locke commanded to the esper that floated just off the starboard side. Shiva, a naked, willowy female with short, seaweed-colored spiky hair, blue skin and a silky body-length, lavender scarf, looked over towards Locke with obeying eyes, her hands open toward the surface, far below which was a massive, spiraling blizzard. She nodded and closed her hands, cutting off her spell. Locke moved away from the side of the ship as Shiva became enshrouded in red light. Once she was fully encapsulated, the light shrunk to the size of a ball as it floated into Locke’s chest.

“You don’t think that storm was a bit extreme?” Setzer asked, still on the starboard side as he watched the clouds slowly stop rotating.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine!” Locke said. He turned to the trap door where Celes and Terra climbed up from. “Are we ready, Terra?”

“Yes,” Terra walked to Locke, followed by Celes. “Give me Shiva and Celes will take anything else you have that’s imbued with magic.”

“Alright,” Locke said as he closed his eyes and placed his right arm out in front of him. Several thin, red bolts of light moved up from his chest, toward his shoulder and along his arm. When the bolts reached the palm of his hand, a red glow emanated from the center as the Magicite that contained Shiva – a green, trapezoidal crystal with a red, glowing sphere in the middle – rose from his palm, standing on its edge. Terra took the floating Magicite, the warmth of which sent chills through her body. All Magicite did this, as the connection between the souls within them and her esper side was much stronger than anyone else could imagine.

Celes collected Locke’s potions and other items that she figured were magical in nature even if they didn’t seem magical on the surface.

“Really, Celes? My smoke bombs, too?” Locke complained as he patted down his pockets, all of them feeling very empty.

“You still have your trusty dagger,” Celes retorted. “Also, here’s some money for the journey,” Celes handed Locke a small pouch that jingled with gold coins. He took the pouch and stuffed it into a pocket inside his jacket.

“Lastly,” Terra began as she intertwined her fingers, “Let’s drain you of your magical essence.” She smiled as she looked at Locke. “This… might feel a bit weird.”

As she finished her short incantation, Rasp was cast on Locke, which caused him to stumble a bit as dozens of small, yellow globules quickly bubbled from his body, passing through his clothes and into the sky. Celes watched with some concern as Rasp was cast a few more times, which completely drained Locke of his essence. As Terra opened her eyes, Locke was already back on his feet.

“It looks like the clouds are starting to break,” Setzer observed as he walked to the helm of the ship.

“Well then, let’s warp me to the surface – there’s bound to be treasures there!” Locke said, barely able to contain his excitement.

“Remember, you must find Obama’s castle and scout the area,” Celes reminded him. “Find out if we can arrange a meeting with him.”

Locke nodded, looking at Terra as she began the incantation for Warp, seeing that she held within her hand the picture of the Washington Monument from the newspaper. As blue light began rising around Locke, he saluted toward Celes and slyly smiled at her. As his body disappeared in a blue glow, Celes suddenly had a feeling he was telling her something, which prompted her to check her haversack to recount all she took from him. She quietly giggled when she discovered a single bottle of Ether missing.


The Washington Monument, Washington, DC

The capital of the United States was coated with six inches of fresh snow and ice before the storm that appeared out of nowhere just as quickly stopped. As the clouds started to break, letting beams of light illuminate sections of DC, a single beam hit the side of the scaffold-covered Washington Monument. At the top-most level of the scaffolding, a blue glow appeared from nothingness and, after a few seconds, disappeared. Locke now stood at the top of the stone monument, but nearly lost his footing as he quickly realized that the scaffolding swayed slightly. He gripped one of the steel rails and examined his position: portions of the scaffold were scattered on the snow-covered field over five hundred feet below him while some white, semi-transparent tarps blew with the wind, clearly detached from their mounts.

“Well, this was a bright idea,” Locke murmured to himself as he bounded down the scaffold levels, being careful to avoid holes and loose beams. He was thankful that the tarps were able to conceal his descent to the surface. The metal beams groaned in places as he reached the surface, parts of the scaffold no longer snug against the monument.

Locke noticed a few groups of people looking at the mass of metal behind him from a distance, kept back by a tall fence that surrounded the monument. Gotta move, Locke thought as he stood up and darted the opposite direction from where he saw the bystanders. When he reached the fence he jumped over it in a single bound and landed on his hands and knees on the other side, the snow kicked up upon landing. That was when the cold started to get to him, making his body shutter involuntarily for a moment. He brushed the feeling aside and thought about how cold it could get in Narshe, that northern mining city which may never be seen again unless his friends could find some answers.

As he observed his surroundings, he noticed several short buildings not too far from where he was. Figuring that was where people went to take shelter from the storm, Locke began walking, wiping the dirt and snow off his clothes as he went. The sound he heard – a loud, artificial wailing that rose and fell – grew in loudness as he got closer to the large group of vehicles that were ahead of him. Dozens of them sat behind each other as they seemed to wait for the three small vehicles that collided with each other was cleared from the intersection. As he walked past them he noticed that his presence did not cause any of the effects that Edgar described – Terra’s draining of magic worked.

Seeing several people standing around the intersection, Locke approached one of the women he noticed. She wore a thick, puffy coat and held something against her head. “Excuse me, I’m trying to find –”

“Can’t you see I’m on the phone?” the woman irritatingly asked as she turned away from Locke and continued her conversation.

As she walked away from Locke, seemingly in a rush to get somewhere, a series of vehicles with bright red-and-blue flashing lights drove through the intersection and towards the Washington Monument. As he looked at the passing vehicles, he decided to walk across the street in the direction that they came from, walking alongside a building with a single blue awning at the entrance that read “US Department of Commerce”. At five stories tall and made entirely of refined stone, lined with trees bare of leaves, it was architecture that Locke’s never seen before anywhere on his world.

He still couldn’t believe this city even exists. Despite the snow, all kinds of vehicles seem to constantly be on the move, rolling over the snow as if it wasn’t there. And there were so many people! Despite the cold, hundreds could be seen in the park across the street as well as scores more around him as he walked. Many of them, young and old, were using palm-sized devices that Edgar described as ways for these people to communicate around the world. What a treasure that would be, thought Locke as he observed a couple, both of which poking at their devices as they walked.

He finally noticed a possible building of authority: A small, white guard house that was surrounded by concrete barricades, the street it sat on lined with signs that read “ID Check” and “Restricted Area”. As Locke approached the guard house, a man that wore all black and had a gun holstered on his side stepped outside and put out his hand towards Locke. “Excuse me, do you have an ID?”

“Actually, I wanted to know where I could find the castle that your king, Obama, lives,” Locke inquired.

“A castle? King?” the guard said, confused and unprepared for the odd question. “Where are you from? The President lives in the White House, not a castle.”

“A white house?” Now it was Locke’s turn to be confused. “That’s sounds kinda broad… I mean there have to be lots of white houses in a city of this size.”

“What?” the guard started to get irritated and looked beyond Locke at the line of people that were waiting to be cleared. “Look, walk up to Pennsylvania Avenue and make a left – then you’ll see the White House, where President Obama lives – not king,” he said as he pointed down the street.

Locke, sensing that he wouldn’t get more information from this guard, thinly smiled and walked away. As he walked, he was looking at the green signs on the corner light posts which had, he figured, street names. Eventually he came to the corner of 15th and Pennsylvania Avenue. Being that people were walking freely past the single grey guard house that was on the street, he decided to play along and proceeded to walk down the tiled street. Once he walked past a group of trees a clearing opened alongside a tall, black fence to his left. That was when he saw it: a large mansion with a design similar to the Commerce building he walked by earlier, with a water fountain in front. This must be this White House, Locke thought, though it didn’t seem anywhere near as impressive as he thought a king – or president, whatever king-like position that is – would live.

Locke walked up to the fence and examined the area. He noticed some movement on the roof of the building: more guards, no doubt. As he realized that getting into this house would be challenging, he also figured that he could knock out two birds with one stone by finding a way into this secure establishment and try to learn even more. Though he knew there were people around him, he was sure that his next action would buy him the distractions he needed.

He removed from his inside jacket pocket a small, transparent flask with a dragon embroidered on both sides, a glowing blue liquid sloshing within.

“What is THAT?” a young boy pointed at the bottle with his mitten-covered hand. Locke hadn’t noticed them before, but he and his mother were also against the fence, the woman looking at the White House in awe, taking pictures with a small camera.

“Watch this, kid,” Locke smiled as he popped off the cork on top of the bottle and brought it to his mouth. As Locke’s essence was revitalized, dozens of people around him, the mother close by included, all started to look at their devices in surprise as they turned off, their batteries suddenly drained. As the noise from the commotion increased, Locke kneeled and covered his mouth with his hands as he whispered an incantation as fast as he could. The moment he was done, a warbling sound emanated around him as his physical appearance rippled into nothingness. The sound caught the attention of some people, but too late, as the source of the sound was nowhere to be seen. However, the little boy’s mouth was left agape as he witnessed the entire disappearing act. He tried to tell his mom what he saw, but she smiled kindly as she dismissed his claims, chalking it up to an overactive imagination.

 
12:25PM EDT
The White House

Locke managed to sneak inside after following a small group of well-dressed men as they entered the far-west end of the house, which was much bigger than he thought. Still invisible, he broke away from the group as they all stopped walking and examined their handheld devices in confusion, all of them dead.

The lights within ten feet of Locke were flickering, which attracted the attention of nearby posted guards. Several other people, all in suits in varying shades of black and grey, were quickly moving about. A soft beep emanated from something around the corner, which prompted Locke to hug the wall, almost hitting a large framed painting. Several men poured out of what Locke surmised was an elevator, one of which he quickly recognized as Obama. They all walked ahead and made a right down a hall, with Locke silently following. Though the flickering lights caused two of the men to look up in concern, Obama continued on as he made a right. Locke noticed a small sign at the end of the hall that read “Situation Room”. The group of men and Obama, after passing through two smaller rooms, all entered a much larger conference room that had a single, circular table where several others already sat. Hoping to minimize his disruption, Locke stayed behind in the sparsely-furnished room and kept his head against the now-closed door as he listened to what they were discussing.


12:30PM EDT
Situation Room, the White House

“Mr. President, thank God you’ve arrived,” Jack Lew stood up in front of his seat at the conference table, skepticism spread across his face. “Please tell me you’re joking about enacting this directive.”

“Actually, I couldn’t be more certain,” Obama said as he moved to his plush seat at the head of the conference table. The flat-panel displays built into the walls, two on each side, held images of the floating island, the predicted orbit and speed of the island, and slowly cycled images of the now-ruined Dubai. As he took a seat, everyone else in the room, Jack included, sat down.

“But sir, do you realize what you’re asking?” Jack continued. “The cost of moving core assets of the Executive Branch alone will be over one billion dollars… and doing the job in less than five days places us in the multi-billion-dollar range easily.” He closed the laptop in front of him. “And all of that assumes you don’t try to cover this up.”

“I am aware of the costs, Jack,” Obama said. “Believe me when I say that I didn’t come to this decision lightly.”

“But Executive Directive 51?” asked John Kerry as he finished reading the section on one of the temporary relocation sites for the Legislative Branch: the Ralph Carr Colorado Judicial Center in Denver, Colorado. Others in the room looked at each other, many appeared certain that this was a nightmare.

“Have you not been paying attention to all that’s been passed to you in the last few hours?” Obama inquired with a hint of frustration.

“I have, but I still cannot believe these reports,” John responded. Though he’s seen Obama get angry in the past, he hasn’t seen him quite like this, which bothered him even more.

“We cannot sit and debate when the possibility of our nation falling into chaos is very real,” Obama said as he looked sternly at everyone. “Let’s look at the facts: News of this island’s existence is spreading, though we’re lucky that most mainstream media haven’t taken it seriously even with photo evidence, though eye-witness accounts will only grow to the point where they cannot be all wrong. We don’t know if the affected areas will regain their electricity – so far there’s no indication that this happened as all major cities affected are still without power.”

“What about vehicles and electric devices not on the power grid?” Eric Holder asked.

“Nothing works,” Obama said as he looked at the flickering laptop screen in front of him briefly before he refocused on Eric. “Vehicles, mobile phones, pacemakers – anything that has integrated circuits inside them are somehow damaged beyond repair by the influence of the island.”

“But aren’t these circuit boards in everything?” Eric asked, wishing immediately that he didn’t.

“That’s correct. In a sense, this island strips away modern life wherever it goes, its path setting back civilization decades – and perhaps over a hundred years for some…” Obama cut himself off as the lights in the Situation Room flickered, the wall monitors turned themselves off, and the laptops all rebooted.

“I know your briefings are hard to take in, but this is one scenario that doesn’t have any good endings, so we have to pick the best of the worst,” Obama continued despite the disruption, though he knew this meeting had to end now so they can relocate to a safer environment. “The American people are counting on us to make the decisions they aren’t able to make. I’m here to take responsibility for what must be done to preserve our way of life.”

Obama stood up from his seat, quickly followed by the rest of his cabinet. “I’ll be holding a press conference tomorrow morning at noon to break this news to the people of America and the world. Please… read over everything, as we must all be on the same page by then. Dismissed.”

As the men and women filed out the situation room, Obama sat back down and looked at his laptop screen, the Windows login screen staring back at him. He sensed that one person hadn’t left the room, and he was right.

“I don’t think anyone wants to be in your shoes, Barack,” Joe Biden said with a half-smile.

“I’d ask you to tell me something I don’t know, but this goddamn island fulfills that in spades,” Obama replied.

“Ain’t that the truth,” Biden agreed.

The main door to the Situation Room opened and closed by itself to the surprise of both Obama and Biden. Then from the general area by the door, a male voice spoke. “I might be able to help…”

One of the ceiling lights burned out as a man shimmered into existence directly in front of them. Biden pressed himself against one of the blank monitors, staring in shock and not sure what to say while Obama took a step back, but was seemingly more curious than anything else.

“Who are you, and how did you get past the Secret Service agents outside?” Obama cautiously asked.

“Well, between my being invisible, my cunning, and my casting Sleep on the one guy standing guard immediately outside this room, it wasn’t too hard.” The man extended his hand. “My name is Locke Cole, Treasure Hunter!”

Obama took a step forward as Biden silently gripped his chest behind him. “Barack Obama, President of the United States of America.”

He felt something burn in his shirt pocket, staining the surface of the shirt black. As he removed his Blackberry, Obama dropped it onto the floor, the screen undulating as sparks popped from the sides.

“How are you doing this?” Obama stared at Locke, his mind racing fast in the attempt to piece everything together despite not having all the pieces. That was when he realized Biden was quieter than he normally was and turned around. Biden was on the floor, his left hand gripping a spot over his heart, his eyes and mouth clenched shut.

“Oh shit, he’s having a heart attack,” Obama exclaimed. “Quickly, we need help.”

Not sure what kind of help Obama looked for, Locke ran over and took Obama’s left hand and Biden’s right. “King – President Obama, take this guy’s other hand and I’ll get him help immediately!”

“What?”

“Just do it!” Locke broke his hold on Biden’s hand to grip Obama’s right hand and place it on Biden’s other hand, which still gripped his chest tightly. He just met this man – a man whose presence seemed to have the same effect on technology as the island had – yet had an unusually strong feeling that he could be trusted. Or was it the continued impossibility of the situation the world was in, he wasn’t sure. All Obama knew was that the risk of losing a part of his core team for Operation Continuity and ED-51 was greater than this person who offered help.

“Mr. President, what’s going on? The doors are jammed,” a Secret Service agent yelled as he banged on the door before the main entrance to the Situation Room.

Obama took Biden’s hand and pulled it slightly away from his chest. “What are you doing?” he croaked as he opened one eye. He looked slowly towards the man with the bandana tied around his head, partly covered by his hair. With hands held between the three of them, Locke started to recite an incantation, during which the last of the ceiling lights blew out. A few moments later, just as the two doors into the Situation Room were forced open, the blue glow that illuminated the darkened room began to dim. Two flashlights and an iPhone lit up the room, their cones of light searching for Obama and Biden.

After the Secret Service agents, including the one that mysteriously fell asleep, searched the room for several minutes, they came to the improbable conclusion that the President and Vice President of the United States simply disappeared.


March 10th, 2014, 10:07PM IST
IAI Military Aircraft Group, Lahav Division, Lahav, Israel

Yosef Melamed, the General Manager for the Lahav Division of Israel Aerospace Industries, was about ready to throw in the towel and send all non-essential personnel home. The electricity for the manufacturing plant cut off about an hour ago, but on top of that, all backup systems also inexplicably failed too, along with every vehicle and even flashlights and phones, leaving only the half-moon to light up the night sky.

A chill ran through his body has he watched a troop of Israeli soldiers push a Humvee closer to the main entrance of the management complex, a five-story office building with an enclosed bridge between it and the main aircraft upgrade plant, a football field-sized structure that housed dozens of F-16s, MIG-21s, and various aircraft components for upgrading and research. Around the plant were scores of soldiers sent to the plant – and to every IAI complex in Israel – in anticipation of the floating island that’s captivated their Islamic neighbors. To protect the plant from insurgents that wanted to capitalize on the sudden failure of established defenses or from their own people, Yosef wasn’t sure, but the plant was his responsibility so he allowed the soldiers to establish an invisible border around the complex.

He reached for his phone, thinking that it vibrated in his pants pocket, but it was just his imagination. It was dead, too.

“Incoming, three-o-clock!” yelled one of the soldiers that was on the roof of the office complex. The lack of working transceiver radios made those with loud, booming voices a necessity, but it worked. As the soldiers on the ground trained their weapons in the air, scanning for what the lookout saw through binoculars, the increased sound of propellers was what caught Yosef’s attention.

A spotlight from the incoming craft turned on, illuminating the surface in the distance, though the light quickly swung towards the plant. Two more spotlights appeared as they joined the first in lighting up portions of the plant as they scanned the area, the sounds of their propellers the only sound of machinery in the entire region as they came closer.

All the soldiers in the area trained their M4 Carbine assault rifles on the closest craft, which came within twenty feet of Yosef before it stopped and hovered in place about fifteen feet off the ground. Despite how close it was to the surface, Yosef still couldn’t make out who was flying this very unusual aircraft. Over the two propellers, a voice spoke through unseen speakers from the craft.

“As much as I HATE to ask for help, I am in a bind, and you’re just the one I’m looking for,” the man said in perfect Hebrew.

Yosef looked around himself, the soldiers still trained squarely where they assumed a person’s head would be past the spotlight and in the shadows. He pointed at his chest. “Me?”

“Yes, you look like the sort that would run a dump like this!”

“Do you know what this ‘dump’ does?” Yosef retorted, then pointed at the craft. “Who do you work for and why does your craft fly when all of our equipment is dead?”

“Oh, you would like me to piece the puzzle together, wouldn’t you?” the man teased. The craft then strafed closer to the upgrade plant, all while it kept the spotlight on Yosef, who started to sweat despite the cold air. “Well I have an offer you and your friends cannot refuse!”

“And what would that be?” Yosef asked, very suspicious of this character. Soldiers moved into slightly open windows in the nearby complex as the other two crafts shined their spotlights along the buildings.

“Eternal life!”

“What are you talking about? You have ten seconds before your aircraft is brought to the ground by force,” Yosef scowled as he gestured to the commander that stood by the parked tank. The tank was as dead as Yosef’s cell phone, but the commander shouted orders which led to many of the soldiers ready their assault rifles.

A single light activated on the lead craft, illuminating the pilot’s face, a face covered in white makeup with red makeup around his intense eyes, an evil grin stretching from ear to ear. “You shall live forever, something your religion preaches, is it not? Allow me to grant everyone here that gift… now!”

The commander raised his arm. “Ready… aim…” but before he could give the order to open fire, the wind suddenly began blowing towards the manufacturing complex, along with a low breathing sound that made everyone suddenly feel like they shouldn’t be there. Before anyone could react, a cloud of black dust enveloped the area, carried by the wind which made the dust coat all the buildings. But to the living, the dust flowed into every open orifice, which filled lungs and stomachs, penetrated veins and arteries from within until the black dust penetrated the heart and brain.

As the wind returned to normal, the remaining black dust dissolved into the ground, leaving only hundreds of men – soldiers, maintenance crew, accountants, and Yosef Melamed, standing where they were as the dust on them, too, fell off their bodies. Everyone’s eyes were closed, their mouths slightly ajar.

Kefka jumped out of his spitfire after it landed beside the Humvee that sat in front of the office’s main entrance. When he walked up to Yosef, he leaned toward his face and snapped his fingers. Almost immediately, his eyes opened, the color in the iris now a milky white color, and a low, unnatural moan escaped from his mouth.

“What’s your name, vile creature?” Kefka commanded.

“Yoooosef Melaaaamed,” Yosef’s body breathed. Yosef’s soul was imprisoned in its own body – now his body simply existed.

“And what kind of facility is this, Yooosef?” Kefka sneered.


“An aiiiiircraft manufacturrrring and upgrade plannnt,” Yosef said. “Build military craft for Issssraeli governnnnnment.”

“Not anymore, bub – you are under new management! Is that understood?!”

“Yessss… master.” Yosef kneeled slowly, followed by everyone else, a low groan emanated from the throng of the undead. The two Sky Armors that were still in the air swept the area and tallied up the number of undead under Kefka’s Crypt Dust spell. Kefka held his stomach as he whooped with laughter. The soldiers hoisted their weapons and began assisting the mechanics with manually lifting one of the large sectional garage door as other soldiers took defensive positions around the plant once again, but with an entirely new purpose. Kefka, his laughter subsided, walked to Yosef again and looked deep into his eyes as yet another spell was silently cast. Yosef blinked, staggered a bit, but upon regaining composure, the undead man’s eyes were filled with new, exotic knowledge that his living self would have never conceived. “Yessss… I think we can unite our technology wittth mythril. I need the raw maaaaaterial, though, master.”

“The Floating Continent will be here in three hours – that will buy your new slaves some time to convert this place into something useful!” Kefka barked. “Meanwhile, I’ll have one of my boys take a slice out of the continent for you when it comes closer!”

Kefka jumped back into his spitfire as small fires started in several places within and outside of the complex, fueled by clothes, gasoline, money, and shrubbery. He sees Yosef gather a dozen engineers and mechanics, who then go inside the office complex.

“Live like it’s hell on earth! I’m starting to like it here!” Kefka said as he fell back into his aircraft seat and laughed and laughed.

 

[SilentMage]

To all those reading, I hope you're enjoying the story so far! I just wanted to let you know that I'll be leaving for a business trip tomorrow so I won't be able to post again until I return around this time next week. I look forward to reading your feedback and answering any questions.

~SilentMage

 

[NothingToSeeHere]

omg you can post fanfics on here? i have so many in my freakin head! i would love to post them!

(whoops off topic >.<)

 

[SilentMage]

Chapter 7: World Revelations

March 10th, 2014, 3:00PM EDT
MSNBC
DUBAI DESTROYED; OVER 500,000 SUSPECTED DEAD IN UNPRECENDENTED DISASTER

The Burj Khalifa, normally one of the most prominent skyscrapers in the Dubai skyline, now was a mass of burning rubble topped with an intense fire. All around the Burj Khalifa were dozens of other buildings, all of which were similarly leveled and ablaze. A mile northeast of the burning landmark is the edge of a crater wall.

Hundreds of thousands were killed instantly when what many suspect was a meteor struck the city, but between the earthquake that registered on impact as a 9.8 on the Richter scale and the shockwave that followed, it’s almost impossible to tell just how many people survived.

Astronomers are at a complete loss as to the origins of this meteor while all of the neighbors of the United Arab Emirates are still unbelievably silent despite the disaster, leaving speculation to run wild, though claims of a floating island being responsible still dominate discussions from the region.

Stay with MSNBC for continued updates as more information becomes available.

March 10th, 2014, 3:04PM EDT
The Blackjack, Above Washington, DC

Obama slowly opened his eyes to a darkened room, himself on a bed. He groaned as he looked toward the source of light, most of it blocked by a silhouette of someone.

“Glad you’re back with us,” said Biden.

Obama sighed with relief and laid back down at hearing Joe Biden’s voice from the light. “I had the most incredible dream, where I thought you had a heart attack and we were… teleported… somewhere.” He laughed as he said that.

“Unfortunately, my friend, your dream is on the money.”

As Obama shot up from his bed, Biden pushed a button on the wall, turning on the lights. He was in a small room with the bed he was on, a small table, and Biden at the door where he stood cross-armed. Piping lined the walls, with wood paneling sealing the space between the pipes.

“How long was I out?” Obama quickly asked as he stood up.

“A few hours at least,” Biden said as he moved to let Obama out of his room. “You apparently passed out from the shock of being teleported.”

Obama looked at Biden warily. “Teleported… like Star Trek.”

Biden shrugged his shoulders in unspoken acknowledgement: Their situation was beyond anything they ever expected to experience in their lives.

“I’m sure everyone is losing their minds at our disappearance so we should get back to the White House ASAP,” Biden broke the brief silence as they listened to the hum of the vessel they were in.

“I cannot agree more,” Obama said while they walked toward a flight of stairs, though he looked at the steel doors and ornate lighting embedded in the ceiling in the hallway that preceded the stairs than Biden as he tried to figure out where they were. “Do you know where we’re going, by the way?”

“Actually, I do,” Biden said with a grin. “I got the grand tour after they cured me of the stroke I had endured.”

“They?” Obama asked. The two of them started up the stairs where Biden took the lead. Obama’s seen him energetic before, but never like this – almost like he’s gotten slightly younger.

“The people on this ship. They’ll be taking us down to the surface soon, once you’ve been briefed on their situation.”

“What situation is that?” Obama asked, just as the door at the stop of the stairs was opened, Locke gestured toward a long craps table with people around it.

“You gotta hear it to believe it.” Biden responded.


March 10th, 2014, 11:10PM IST
IAI Military Aircraft Group, Lahav Division, Lahav, Israel

“You mean one person is responsible for killing nearly six million people of this Jewish faith in this world’s last global war?!” Kefka nodded to himself with a devilish smile over an open 2010 edition of an English Encyclopedia Britannica, the entire set of which was kept on the bookshelf of the executive’s office that he had one of the soldiers break into. Several small ball-sized flames hovered in the room illuminating it as he poured through several books, though anything with the words “war”, “death,” or “magic” was what he didn’t toss into the corner of the room and incinerate. A decent pile of books already cackled in the corner, blackened pages lifting into the air only to slowly disintegrate.

“Oh ho, this is just splendid! What rich and colorful history this Earth has!” Kefka clapped to himself as he closed the encyclopedia volume and looked at the shattered window. His fleets of Sky Armors and Spitfires were all called to his location, satisfied that he could convert this slice of Israel into a Magitek-fueled powerhouse, though it would take Yosef and his men time to get their technology to work with his.

“Ohh phooey, I HATE waiting!” Kefka turned back to the desk and picked up a book with the title “The History and Future of Nuclear Weapons”, which Kefka removed earlier because of the cover image of a large, red explosion in the shape of a mushroom which was ringed by clouds. “Hmmmm, I do want a distraction – waiting on others is just so BORING.” As he finished reading the synopsis of the book that was printed on the back, he laughed as he looked out the window again.

“So World War 2 was responsible for killing nearly sixty-five million people, eh? Challenge Accepted!”

As Kefka schemed in the office complex, his legion of workers tirelessly ripped out sections inside the connected aircraft upgrade plant with any tools and machines that didn’t require electricity, parts of which were being cleared for a Magi-EarthTek research station. Ten Sky Armors spent all of 30 minutes rounding up the rest of the Lahav population, most of which were then bitten by the zombified soldiers - the rest were executed. Upon turning, they were almost mindless, unlike those turned by Kefka, but they were easily controlled by the soldiers who forced them into manual labor: clearing roads and bringing two of each electronic device for MET experimentation. Meanwhile, two undead high-ranking commanders left for Camp Nathan and Southern Infantry Training Base, both of which were near Be’er Sheva, 30 minutes southeast of Lahav.

And situated under a brand-new, yet inoperable F-16 fighter jet was Yosef, his skin a light brown-blue color, where he wrote furiously under one of the personal globes of fire that he learned to cast. He bit into his tongue deep enough to draw blood as a diagram of an F-16-Spitfire hybrid took form. It had the body of an F-16, but the two rear wheel bays were replaced with mechanical claws that could retract into a smooth dome protrusion and the front wheel bay had a half-sphere in its place. The sidewinder missile launchers were replaced with Tak Laser cannons, the mounts for the remaining missiles replaced with an array of adjustable laser spheres that would allow the use of a Diffractive Laser, a devastating weapon that could knock out power and cause heavy damage to most vehicles if they were struck. Lastly, temperature manipulation bands were stripped along the length of the jet, which allowed the pilot to reduce local airspace to Absolute Zero for an instant without harming itself or other pilots with a TekSignature Rod built into it.

Yosef didn’t know how Master Kefka shared all of this knowledge, but his excitement for what he would do with it dominated his drive to succeed and make his master proud.


The Blackjack, Above Washington, DC

“You’re right, Joe – I don’t believe it,” Obama remarked to Biden, the two of them next to each other as they sat across from the motley crew that saved Biden’s life, but subsequently warped them out of a high-security section of the White House in the process. “How could this have happened?”

“We aren’t entirely sure,” Cyan said, “but it seems that the Goddess, one of the Gods of Magic on our world, used her last ounce of will to save our world from what Kefka and Emperor Gestahl would’ve brought if they succeeded in taking their powers.”

“But now you’ve brought your magical continent to my world,” Obama said gravely as he glanced briefly at Biden’s Blackberry, which Edgar examined as small electrical pops came from around the screen of the device occasionally. “Now you’re disrupting our world, our technology and our people.” He looked at Mog, his antenna still as he stared at Obama and Biden, then at Terra, her expression matching his. “Your magic is not compatible with our way of life.”

Celes walked over to Terra and rested her hand on her shoulder before she spoke. “It isn’t like we wanted to come here – it was the will of the Goddess. But now we’re here, and we believe you can help us.”

“How could I possibly help you?” Obama waved his hand around him. “Can’t you fly back to your island with this and convince your Goddess to return all of you and the island back home?”


“We could certainly fly my wings to the surface of the Floating Continent – no question about that,” Setzer said as he toyed with a set of dice in his hands, tossing them in the air. “However, there’s a problem.”

“A big problem,” Locke said as he looked at everyone with a sigh. “Kefka.”

“Yes, the emperor’s right hand who you said you killed…” Biden said.

“He is very much alive, Sir Joe,” Cyan said with some anger.

“He is much stronger than he ever was on our world,” Terra looked up as she held herself, her eyes winced with pain. “He’s already destroyed one city in the sand –”

“Dubai?” Obama exclaimed as he stood from his seat in shock. “He did THAT?”

“How did he manage to do this?” Biden quickly asked as he felt the need to swear like a sailor at this revelation.

“Magic,” Terra said simply. “He cast a spell that summoned a meteor from space… though I’ve never heard anyone casting it with the amount of power it had.”

“Before finding a way home, we have to stop him before he causes any more pain and destruction,” Cyan said as he gripped his katana, wishing he could behead Kefka in front of where he stood.

Obama slowly sat back down and rubbed his chin as he absorbed not only the knowledge of the one that single-handedly disrupted Middle East politics forever, but that magic was, for the time being, here on Earth – and all the world’s technology was defenseless against it. He opened his eyes and looked at Cyan. “What would you ask of me?”

“We cannot hide in the clouds anymore, Sir Barack. We need to learn more about your world and be able to move freely here in order to find Kefka – and bring him to justice,” Cyan said.

“We need to stop him before he kills again…” Terra said, her insides in turmoil as she controlled the esper within, almost like it knew where it wanted to go on this unknown planet.

“And how do we introduce you to the world? A global press conference?” Biden asked somewhat sarcastically, arms outstretched.

“A grand entrance wouldn’t be a bad idea!” Mog asserted with a smile.

“Global? How would people around the world see us at once?” Strago inquired, the mere suggestion of a way to talk to the world at once fascinated him.

“Look,” Obama began, “We don’t have time for this. Biden and I need to get back home before our government takes drastic steps in our absence. But because you saved Joseph’s life and given these… circumstances… I will see to it that you are given some flexibility on the ground. There’s a lot happening because of your island’s appearance, and trying to find a way home for you before your island arrives on America’s shores can be allocated resources.” He stood up again, but now with an outstretched hand to shake Cyan’s.

Cyan smiled as he stood up and took Obama’s hand in his, the rest of the party broke out into their own conversations as the anticipation for what would happen when they landed was at an all-time high. Though the destination for landing would be very public, Obama was still certain that these people could be trusted.


March 10th, 2014, 3:55PM EDT
The Ellipse, Washington, DC, United States of America

The sky above the capital was mostly clear of clouds, just as it was hours before the freak storm swept through and dropped several inches of snow in minutes. Most of the metropolitan area was still recovering, though the people in general were moving ahead with their days. As the clock struck 4pm, a small dot that was in the sky began to grow bigger as it neared the surface. As the lights in buildings flickered and vehicles suddenly stalled, the airship came into view, its disruption being equated to it by the thousands that watched it descend. When it was a few hundred feet off the ground, several secret service SUVs were moving to intercept it, but the hardened vehicles finally gave out and drifted to a halt as they approached the Ellipse, a large park just south of the White House.

As the airship landed, its size cast a large shadow over nearby buildings. The gondola was about 500 feet long, fitting neatly within the center of the street-ringed park that was usually reserved for the National Christmas Tree. However, the envelope stretched from 17th Street to 15th Street from end-to-end, making it over 1,500 feet long.

Hundreds of people that were in the snow-covered park gave the airship plenty of space as they ran towards the sidewalk and took out their phones and cameras to take photos, when they realized their devices were dead. A handful of people had older rangefinder cameras from the early 90s, who managed to take dozens of shots as a wide ramp protruded from the side of the ship that led to two wide, ornate doors. The propellers still spun, the blue glow from the large engine exhausts vibrant, as the doors opened to a growing crowd that started to be pushed back by Secret Service agents and police officers alike, though most of them were, too, overwhelmed at the sight and simply joined the crowd in taking it all in. After the ramp fully extended and the doors opened, nothing happened for a moment. Then, one person with binoculars screamed, “It’s Obama!” as the President of the United States, followed by Vice President Biden, appeared at the foot of the entryway and waved with a grin. As they walked down the metal ramp, they were greeted by several Secret Service agents and Michelle Obama who was with them, quickly surrounding them and Michelle giving Barack a hug.

“Are we ready for this?” Edgar asked from around the corner from the short foyer between the greeting room and the main exit to the crowds outside. Behind him were most of the party save for Setzer, who insisted on staying at the helm “just in case”, and Shadow, who was with him.

“As long as I’m not jumped by any of Obama’s guards,” Locke reckoned. He felt a lot better now that he had all his equipment back, his essence restored.

“Yes, you really played your cards wisely,” Strago quipped. “Hopefully we all aren’t detained if we step off this bucket of bolts.”

“Obama and Biden gave us their word,” Cyan stated as he adjusted his armor. “I believe he’ll do the right thing.”

“He has to, or I’ll paint his portrait!” Relm shouted as she and Gau bounded to the front of the group, aching to get outside and explore the new world. Both she and Gau were stopped by Sabin, his bulky arms wrapped around each of their waists.

“Whoa now! I don’t think that crowds going anywhere, kiddos!” Sabin kindly chided.

Mog squeezed to the front with ease, only a few feet from the exit, and waved his small claws forward. “Let’s get a move on, kupo!”

As Mog lead the party off the ship, one by one, to gasps and surprised shouts, Celes and Terra stayed towards the back as they finished their mugs of tea.

“Don’t you feel it?” Terra worriedly said, her hands cupping the bottom and side of her mug, her eyes looking down into the almost-empty cup. “This world is not ready for us, and we really don’t know what will happen if we use our magic here.”

“I’ve sensed the apprehension of the people here as well,” Celes said as she lightly gripped Terra’s shoulder pad. “We don’t know what will happen from this point, but we have to do this.”

Terra looked up at Celes and then looked away slightly. “Celes… do you think people love here?”

“I’m pretty sure people can love anywhere we go, about as easily as they can hate,” Celes said, somewhat annoyed that she brought this up again. She placed her mug on a nearby shelf and began walking away. “Come on, let’s go!”

With Celes and Terra joining the rest of the party at the bottom of the ramp, all lined up side by side, mechanical cameras were snapping away while the President, his wife, and Biden stood in front of them. And two hours later, as the pictures were developed, scanned, rescanned, shared, tweeted, and printed, the world would, once again, change forever.


March 11th, 2014, 1:00AM IST
The Floating Continent

He watched with incredible curiosity as the lights to several cities below, cities that were never as large as what he remembered, went out in giant sections until the land was consumed by darkness. Scratching his smooth, oily forehead with a tentacle, Ultros continued to relax while he waited for Chupon to wake up from the long slumber he’s been in ever since the battle with those meatbags a day ago. Ultros was a large royal purple octopus with red eyes and a mass of tentacles which seemingly came out of his mouth, which was a row of sharp, yellowish fangs.

“Ohhhhh, why must you sleep! I’d like to get back at those muscle heads sooner than later, you know!” Ultros turned to face the cave where Chupon finally roared with hunger. “Ahh, finally, friend!”

Chupon floated out of the cave with its claws opening and closing in anticipation of food, its mouth hung wide open in the air, exposing a set of yellow fangs. Chupon was a purple-pink monster with four large, curled horns on its back and a mouth nearly the size of its body and a second, more subdued face on its rear end, which seemed to always be sulking. Though it didn’t have wings, it floated effortlessly in the air.

“So, since I see you’re about ready to eat a platoon of men, I say we go to the surface and see what’s on the menu! Whaddya say?” Ultros said as he moved on top of a nearby rock, now eye level with Chupon. The beast grunted and grinned, the mouth spanning nearly the entire body, and lowered itself slowly. With Ultros secured on Chupon’s back, his tentacles wrapped around the four horns, they jump over the side of the continent and towards the surface. Ultros makes a guttural laugh as he slaps Chupon on the back with a free tentacle.

“I hope nobody minds if we crash any midnight parties for a three-course meal!”