Author's Comment:
Here you are at the begining. I wrote the first draft of this a long time ago. It has come through many changes, and only time will tell if they shall be final. I know not where I tread, but I trek onward, still. I owe a great debt to Squall Leonheart, and this is the prologue: The first of many coins by which I shall pay; word by word; line by line; chapter by chapter. Enjoy, Gentle Reader...
Friday, June 1, 2007
It had all started innocently enough. Well, at least as innocent as one can get when dealing with Seifer. No surprise there, Squall mused to himself, avoiding a recklessly close blow from Seifer's gunblade. Not that one could expect someone as simple as Seifer to be able to distinguish training from fighting. He almost chuckled at this, but was jolted back to reality as Seifer lunged towards him. Wouldn't that just set him over the edge? 'Hey Seifer! Not to interrupt, but weren't we supposed to be training?' Their blades met in a shower of sparks, neither of the two pulling back. Not that a real fight's necessarily a bad thing. Somehow, Squall felt at peace in battle. The words played over, ringing true in his mind: 'The lad's born to be a warrior. That much is apparent.' So many times had these words been spoken of him. Squall was about to pull back, when Seifer kicked him hard in the ribs. Stumbling backwards and almost losing balance, Squall dashed forward, faking a swing at Seifer. Falling for it (as usual), Seifer raised his blade in defense, and was thrown off guard as Squall threw himself forward, tackling Seifer to the ground. Squall wasted no time in getting to his feet to put a bit of distance between him and his momentarily winded opponent. In a fleeting moment of arrogance, Squall deemed it necessary to taunt Seifer. "What happened to the part where you were going to grace me with your matchless skill and reflexes? Seifer, you're not all talk, are you?"
It wasn't another second before Seifer was on his feet again, taking no heed of the dirt on his otherwise precious coat; nor did he bother to fix his blonde, slicked-back hair, which -- one could only imagine -- was the result of countless hours in front of a mirror. In Seifer's mind, there was only one thing... No 4000g coat; no training ground; not even his loyal followers, intent only on basking in his omnipresent glow (read self-infatuation)... Just the enemy and the satisfying image of seeing him screaming in pain, begging for mercy. "You're dead, you little shit!" he screamed, catching Squall off guard with a fire spell. Squall raised his gunblade in time to avert most of the flames, but was temporarily blinded, nonetheless. He rubbed furiously at his eyes with his free hand, steadying his blade with the other. Now you've done it, a voice told him as he heard Seifer's quickening pace bringing them closer together. He'll swing left, Squall predicted, barely able to squint through his watery eyes. He always swings left. He readied himself, planting his feet into the ground, and waiting for the right moment to raise his blade. Too soon, and Seifer will just anticipate your move. Squall had now given up trying to see, closing his eyes and relying entirely on his ears. Seifer's feet shuffled closer, kicking savagely into the dirt. Not close enough! He focused only on the closing gap between him and Seifer. You've got to time it perfectly. It was then, the possibility that Seifer would swing to the right occurred to Squall. No time for doubt now, make your choice! Closer now, almost there. Damn! Which way should I block?! Less than a few seconds now. For God's sake, make a choice and raise your fucking blade! With Seifer almost on him, Squall could feel the blade in full swing. Right! It's right! He blocked to the right. It was left.
Falling to his knees, Squall felt a warmness running down his face. His eyes were just clear enough to see out of now. He watched unbelieving as blood flowed down the bridge of his nose, and onto the ground. He kneeled there, dazed, not knowing what to think or feel as his own blood mixed in with the dirt, creating hypnotic swirls of red and black. Lucidity settled over him like a blanket, anger rose up from somewhere inside like bread left too long in the fire, and the scope of what just happened came into focus. He cut me! He actually went and cut me! It should have hurt, but it didn't. All he could feel was rage. It's a fucking game to you, isn't it Seifer?! Before he knew what he was doing, Squall found himself on his feet, dashing towards Seifer. His whole body was numb with fury as his feet carried him briskly towards his target. For the first time since he could remember, a look of fear and surprise set camp on Seifer's otherwise noble face. Squall smiled grimly at this. Gunblade in both hands, Squall came down on him, carving a thank you note into his smug, unsuspecting face. Seifer stumbled backwards, his brow smeared in blood. As Squall's adrenaline began to run dry, his own burning gash reintroduced itself. He collapsed to the ground, fighting for consciousness. Now we're even, Squall thought, before fainting. It occurred to him that somehow, the feeling wasn't mutual.