Vorcet Looked around at the carnage. The death and destruction that visited the city. It was worth it. He leaned down and closed the eyes of a defender and placed platinum coins over its eyes. Hopefully platinum would buy a better way accross the river than gold. Kefka had put up a fight, almost godlike in his power. Vorcet doubted that it would be the last anyone had seen of the lord of the vectorian lands. He may have been insane but he was far from stupid.
The ruins of the west gate of westbridge lay in the distance, a testament to Vorcets work there. There were several boddies on the wall with holes in their sides along that wall, along with the smoking ruin that was the gate mechanism. Liberators flooded the city, rounding up all of the remaining vectorian troops and killing them or restraining them.
Vorcet made his way to the western gate tower. No defenders were present due to his work. Vorcet sat in the middle of the floor and began to chant. He focussed on his likeness before the invasion and set the image in his mind. it was a clear picture due to his two centuries of life. When Vorcet let loose the power of his spell it slammed into his body beginning to return it to his origional shape.
Vorcet whimpered in pain as his bones snapped and re-shaped themselves as the spell ripped its way through his body. Blessed blackness closed over him as he slipped into unconciousness, still thrashing with the changes. The last thougt he had was for Talos to give him the strength he needed before he succumbed to the darkness and the dreams.
