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Alot of people give me crap about me writing, since I'm not "as old as frikkin J.K Rowling" Well, no I'm not, but hey, at least I write anyways. In all honesty, I don't really care what most people think about what I write. I have a story going that's using the Final Fantasy Tactics storyline after the game ending...here's what I've got:

Final Fantasy Rejects 1:
The Crystal Blade

Prologue
“Alright. 11 stones are with us. Serpentaurus included.” a man said hoarsely, chuckling slightly. “Saint Ajora’s second coming will be smooth from here and not be stopped. No one but Ramza and his group could have stopped her and look where they ended up…”
“Serpentaurus… what would that be, Elmdore? A… thirteenth zodiac stone?” another man asked.
“Yes, Argath. Our friend in Midlight Deep had it when he died. Ramza killed him and ended up with it. You know, your second death was hard to break, and took decades… as did mine. Loffrey wasn’t as lucky… Folmarv met a deserving fate, trapped with St. Ajora for all eternity, immortal, tortured for his incompetence. Celia and Lettie are alive as well, gladly. Such good girls…” Elmdore replied. “Isilud died at his father’s hand… fitting. Well, Argath, fetch the other two that have died twice.”
“Umm.. Barich and Cletienne? Sure.” Argath replied, and left the room.
“Ah Ivalice. Perfect amount of humans and beasts to drown in their own blood… And Saint Ajora will make it happen. So long as an heir of Ramza’s isn’t born…which would be impossible…” Elmdore began laughing as Argath returned with only Cletienne.
“Barich is out killing some things, Marquis Elmdo-” Argath began.
Elmdore dashed at him and backhanded him, sending the young demonic man spiraling to the ground. “Never, NEVER, address me with that title. I am not the human’s Marquis, no longer! I am a disciple of the True St. Ajora, and no one will stop her second coming!”

Chapter 1: The Soldiers Heaven and Hell

A man of about 25 wondered the streets of the Mining City of Gollund. It was a small, snow-drowned town that had mostly closed mines, due to either the snow, beasts of various origins, or just not having anything left.
The was about 6’ and was lean. He had jet-black hair that spiked in all directions and eyes as red as the Zodiac Stone Cancer. He wore the same armor just about everywhere he went; it was made from the same metal that Ramza’s sword, Ragnarock, had been made of, so was quite durable. The church had branded him (both figuratively and literally) a heretic, with a shining platinum cross on his forehead. That cross was the reason he wore his armor everywhere he went.
The town was empty and quiet, which was how it usually was at night, but during the day it was a little strange. The man stopped in the center of a large, usually busy square.
“Alright.” he said with a grin. “I know you’re there, so let’s just get on with this, shall we? I’m sort of tired of slaying small bands of rouges seeking gil.”
Blue fog-like-light began to appear under the man’s feet, but he saw it before it could be any danger. The man leaped to the side just as a giant blade curved out of the ground.
“You can’t crush my armor, rouge!” the man jeered, and looked up to see a woman, a knight at that, leap off of one of the square’s buildings.
“Who said I was a rouge?” she said in a condescending sort of way.
“Oh, so you’re a church lapdog then? Even better for my reputation to slaughter you here…”
“You aren’t doing any slaughtering, Vincent Durai. You may be a descendant of the Thunder God but are a heretic and will never amount to his reputation!” the knight replied, readying her blade.
“As far as I’m concerned, my Great grandfather was also branded a heretic by Goltanna just before his death, and my grandfather was burned by the church for spreading Ramza’s Story. The Durai Papers.” Vincent replied scornfully. “My ancestry has nothing to do with who I am. Only who people think I should be. Which is why I killed the High Confessor and got the cross branded onto my skull. So people would know that I wasn’t like Orran, or Orlandeau. Although they were both heretics, I was became a heretic of my own accord.”
“And I will kill you for the Confessor’s death!” the knight yelled, and pointed her blade at him. “Bring him to his knees, defenseless and lifeless! Crush his Blade!” As she was talking, the knight noticed red swirling dust gathering around her. The dust turned solid the second she stopped the chant and covered her in a red shell.
“Dismount, Dust of Decay, take from her the most precious jewel, the blade of a knight.” Vincent whispered, and the shell shattered instantly. More dust, less this time, rose beside Vincent, and formed a pure-red flower that opened. Inside was the knights blade, which Vincent took, and the flower vaporized.
“My…my sword…” the knight stared at her blade.
“Why are you complaining? You were going to break mine, as well as my armor which is more dear to me than my own beating heart. Speaking of which, crushing my armor probably would’ve crushed that too…” Vincent chuckled. He stabbed the knight’s blade into the ground beside him. “I have no time for this foolish game.”
Vincent walked past the knight, who was on her knees staring at her blade, amazed that he had gotten it from her.
* * *
On his way through the Zeklaus Desert, at the chasm that Ramza met Luso decades ago, he saw a large group of Black Goblins, led by a Gobbledygook, surrounding a bomb. Bombs weren’t native to the Zeklaus, only their cousins Exploders and Grenades were. How did it end up here?

Anyone willing to share their thoughts or comments, or if they like it or don't, go on ahead. Critisism accepted. Usually ignored and not liked, but hey; I read it...if I remember to get on.