Zidane's a bad guy in this fic, kind of.

Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy IX and its characters. Square Enix owns them.

Prologue

Under the sunset of this strange world, his vision blurred by the tears, his stinging eyes were drifting to a crimson shade. The uncontrollable hiccups of his throat were far from stopping and the pain at the top of his cheeks thwarted him from moving his lips to speak.

He still couldn't believe how miserable it felt to cry like a lost child when he had just reached adulthood. He thought that, by now, he should have outgrown that childish behavior, one thing that was always in the way of his actions, of his plans through his life. Grown men shouldn't cry. The same grown men had always told behind his back that he was strong and that crying was for the weak. So why was he still crying? Why could he not get over it and move on?

Why did he even possess emotions?

That sorrow overwhelming his senses was causing this inconvenient pain in the heart and in the mind, a pain worse than any inflicted physical injuries that had been so close to slaughter him several times in his life. It was a pain he wished to get rid of. It was a bother, an obstacle to his now fictional, unconceivable joy, and yet…

His past, while filled with malevolent events and malicious intents, had thrived with happiness and warmth, thanks to these same painful emotions.

Emotions were some nice additions to his life, a feature he should thank his now meaningless creator for. They made him up, forged him up, into the creature that he was now, powerful and perfect. Yes, the imperfection of his emotive surges was coveted by his creator when he had projected to conceive his "perfect" one.

This catastrophe spread around him was the reward for owning a soul since his birth, or rather his creation, as an infant.

Emotions were confusing. He understood them, and yet, he did not understand them. It angered him and it was driving him into rage and insanity.

How he wished to rip everything apart.

But of course, not everything. He would never tear his brother apart, the one he was holding tight in his arms. The poor brother, still and pale complex, nothing twitching nor moving but the gentle flow of his soft, dancing silver hair and the brushing fur of his tail. His lips were forever struck with a weak, yet heartbroken sulk. His sky-colored, lifeless eyes stared to the emptiness of the horizon where wide mountains and tall mushroom-like structures stood upright in the distance. Their bases, hidden by a panoply of destroyed airships and surrounded by thousands of bloodied corpses emanating the stench of a battlefield, reflected into his bare, clear orbits.

The sight from his brother's eyes was so beautiful.

Beautiful, yes, one word to describe his brother that matched him perfectly, even when each of his beautiful features were drenched with dirt, dried blood and some scarce flies buzzing around. These were devouring bit by bit the former, glorious physique that used to make him up. Even his stiffened muscles were still shaping him into the slender, attractive young man, despite death having claimed him.

It'd been a day already, he thought. He wasn't certain anymore. So much had happened in the recent days, and the concept of time was already lost on him. After all these days, he still could not find himself to leave the body, to mourn the death of his loved one, his dear older sibling and former caregiver.

The young man who had not changed in the past sixteen years.

Kuja…

Zidane stroked Kuja's hair and cheeks. He hushed soft, comforting and amicable words to him, not concerned that he will not get any response, having no care that his soul was long gone. Kuja's soul must have joined the cycle of souls, perhaps to be reborn and restart anew without any part of his memories, without his experiences of the past, without the care and love he had provided his sibling. Without memories of his family, Zidane was forgotten. No one loved him anymore.

He was alone.

Living his biggest fear.

Zidane had dreaded of being alone since he came to be, and there he was, with no one to look up to, with no one to look after him, with no one to love. He wasn't sure what to make out of it, now that he had gone through his one and only fear of knowing he will be alone for the rest of his life. How he longed to be a small child again, watching his big brother smile at him, hugging him, teasing him, teaching him. He crawled himself between Kuja's hardened arms like he used to do when he was a child, craving for his warmth like an offspring provided with a parent's love. He called his brother's name over and over, expecting a reply.

Getting no answered prompted intensifying tears. His bawls were now wild.

He was truly alone, and he was afraid.

"Zidane…"

That voice calling him in his mind… It was familiar, yet distant and unknown. It stirred Zidane away from his terrifying solitude. Alerted, he launched himself and landed on his feet, his daggers unsheathed and ready for another massacre. However, the instant he spotted a group of people heading toward him, he froze. The blinding sunset behind them hid the shape of their bodies. Yet, when he allowed some time for his vision to sharpen in spite of the light, he perceived clearer details on the one leading the group to him, a silhouette that was somehow familiar to him.

Unlike them, Zidane did not manifest the same familiarity toward that individual with the same privilege of owning a soul.

After all, how could he call that person a sister after having been separated from her for so long?

Mikoto…

The closer the young girl and the group were getting, the deeper Zidane's brows furrowed. He remained silent and still, intending on protecting his brother's body from these despicable people. They were the reason for his demise, for causing his biggest fear, for inflicting the painful injuries in his mind and soul.

For killing Kuja.

"You have… succeeded…"

"In what?!" he snarled at the girl who kept perturbing him inside his mind. His rage burst over his diminishing sadness as such he bared his teeth and growled at the group in fury.

The individuals behind the girl took a step back with a gasp, dreading of the assassin who might launch at them at any moment. However, Mikoto hushed at her kin to calm themselves and tried to let them know that she was in total control of the situation. The group took more steps back, but the teen girl walked ahead, certain of herself. Zidane gave her a long, chilling stare, studying her features.

She looked so much like him in appearance… just like the others behind her.

"Gaia's crystal…" Mikoto began slowly, this time using her own voice as she detected the frustration in the young man's mind when she had used their telepathic links. Zidane settled down when he noticed the guilt and sorrow in her eyes. "… has been assimilated by Terra's crystal. It is thanks to you for having defeated the Gaian armies. Gaia's crystal has gotten weak enough to allow Terra's crystal to take over. The fusion is a complete success."

Well, that certainly explained the difference to his surroundings. He had never seen these tall mushroom-like structures on Gaia before, but he had been so busy dealing with his fear that he had paid them no heed, until now. "Oh," he said, dumbfounded by the revelation.

The girl carried on with the same monotone voice. "The Genomes are starting to welcome the Terran souls. You have revived Terra. We can only be grateful."

Grateful? About what?! He was alone now. They had shoved him fear and pain. He had no care for thanks.

Yet, his demise progressed into a greater doom. When he thought he would never have to hear the voice of that old man again…

"Zidane, my Angel of Death."

That deep voice speaking in his mind… That fucking, annoying voice that had haunted him and his brother for their entire lives…

"I knew you were the perfect one. I knew you would succeed. I thank you, for helping me, for helping us, for saving Terra."

That old man, Garland…

A wave of outrage and regret resurged. A blend of terror, sadness and madness flooded his confused soul. The voice of the old man pulled out the killing instincts from the depth of his mind, the very same features that made him the Angel of Death persona his master had desired from him since his creation. Right now, they resurfaced, pushing him to a lust for another carnage which Zidane will enjoy.

When he threw another low growl out of his throat, his body gave away a faint light glow as fur began to cover his exposed body…

Trance, what a cathartic sensation…


Author's note: English's not my main language, so if you've got comments about English grammar/orthography/syntax issues, please let me know!