STORY NOTE:
This story was originally written for a school paper for a gaming interactive storytelling class (which also had a word limit hence the fast pace of the story).
I decided to do the Hero's Journey, but with a twist. Instead of the 'hero', I decided to have the villain go on the journey to see if I could go on the 'heroes journey' but with evil intent. It's no secret Zemir is the 'bad guy' in this story while the god of justice, Nah'Zhul, is the hero we would normally play in a game. Turns out, the formula works just as well for villains as it does for heroes. As a side note, this was my first time writing a fantasy story. For the dialogue I tried to imitate speech patterns from shows such as Spartacus and Game of Thrones. I pray it not too confusing.
That being said, I hope you enjoy the final part of The Final Fight. In cased you missed it, don’t forget to check part 1 Into Darkness and part 2 Age of Gods for a refresher on the beginning and middle of the story. PS: This isn’t my usual writing style and I’ve improved vastly as a writer since I wrote this in 2016. This is merely a fun thing to share.
PART TWO:
Age of Gods
Zemir had everything where he wanted. With his wife by his side, he was ready to kill the High Gods while they slept. Yet before he could strike the lethal blow, the ground on which he stood shook and dust fell from the ceiling. He stumbled, nearly falling to the ground. After the room settled, Zemir conjured a sphere of black flames and cast it towards his enemies.
A white, shielding, light appeared and absorbed the flames. Standing in front of the High Gods was Nah'Zhul.
"Na—Nah'Zhul!" Zemir exclaimed in disbelief. "You had perished! How is this possible?"
Nah'Zhul pointed his sword toward Zemir. "Kidaha gave me her life and in turn all of her power. Her sacrifice will allow me to put an end to this and bring justice upon you."
"Impossible," Mehélia gasped. "Kidaha was the heart of the planet. Without her, Spira would be destroyed and we'd all have lost our divinity."
"Correct you are, Lady Mehélia," said Nah'Zhul. He placed a hand over his chest with sorrow. "But her sacrifice would not be in vain. She would never allow her people to die as Zemir has. No, my lady, I am now the heart of the planet."
"Let me end this now," said Zemir. "I care not for you Lord Nah'Zhul. I will kill you and steal your heart in the process. I will be reborn a High God with the heart of the plant and reign over all!"
"You fool. You cannot win now," boasted Nah'Zhul.
Calling forth the magic of old, Nah'Zhul struck down Zemir from where he stood with a radiant beam of magical light. Zemir's flesh burned and withered and he fell to the ground with immense pain. As his body refused to move out of agony, Zemir watched as Nah'Zhul used his combined powers of himself of the fallen Kidaha to awaken the three High Gods.
With Shinoda, Ouganda, and Shiesta awakened, their wondrous fury could be felt by mortals and gods alike. Unleashing their might of creation, Shinoda reversed the damage Zemir had caused. He brought back all those who had died and returned the land to normal, returning time to before they were poisoned. Shinoda spoke words of a long forgotten language and erased the memories of pain and death among his people.
When all had been restored, Zemir stood alone with those he despised. The punishment was his alone to bare, yet he knew he deserved none of it. He had created his perfect world and it was all shattered in an instant.
"Zemir," Shinoda bellowed. "You will return to the underworld as temporary ruler of the realm. But when Mehélia has the child, you will be stripped of your godly powers and forever reside as one of them. You will no longer be the god of the underworld, but a soul cursed to wander those he despised for eternity. Your child, when of age, will take your place as ruler of the underworld.
"For your wife, she is to remain the goddess of air under the careful watch of Nah'Zhul. She is to suffer in silent and solitude.
As I am the morning and evening star, as I say is so. Farewell, Zemir."
*****
A shaking hand, covered with the blood of torture and silt, weakly raised to the air, begging to be grasped by a savior. Its owner gasped for air among the deadly toxins surrounding him. All around the vast wasteland lay thousands of bodies of various races, all screaming to be released from their torment.
Zemir stood watch over his realm, the heavy shackles keeping him low to the ground next to the souls unfortunate enough to be damned to the underworld. He was back to where he had always been, a captive of his own realm. And before long — when his heir would be born — he would lay forgotten among those he was alleged to watch over.