As with all things, the time comes when the past may reemerge; sometimes as a feint pulse, sometimes more vibrant and powerful than before. This case is one of the latter. Settling down from his flamboyant and eccentric ways had allowed Psiko the opportunity to hone his skills in several key areas, some of which he had never been able to master before in his naive, youthful days as a Red Mage. Though it feels like it has been much longer, it was only months ago when he left his friends and his family far behind, intent on settling down with his new love. Of course, it takes more than just a pretty pair of legs to kill off a person's past, especially one that had brought so much joy and pleasure to a man. No longer was he the crazy Red Mage, nor was he the Red Mage...of DOOM, nor even the Mysterious Mage, or Magus Mysterioso. Hell, he had changed more in the last few months than he had throughout most of his life! As tragic as that might seem to be, in the end it turns out Psiko had changed for the best!

Even in his past, Psiko had been one of the best. He knew that more than anyone else, and quite frequently cherished the fact that others feared him and looked up to him. Of course, nobody could compare to the great Psychosyd, Cloud or Merlin. Hell, even those such as True Omega and Mydako received more infamy than he. At the time this did not bother Psiko very much, he was content with his flock of faithful, fanatic followers. Every day of his absence, however, allowed him time to think about how his name, though it shall never die at The Final Fantasy, would never truly be considered as one of the best. No one had seen all that this Red Mage had to offer, because he never truly put his all into the thrill of the battle. He held back, using only what force was necessary to vanquish his foe and make a name for himself. The time had come for all of that to change!

After months of intense study, Psiko learned that part of his problem was his diversity; he focused all of his power on learning a little bit of everything, yet did not hold a lot of power in any one area, apart from his sword. Aye, his sword, Tarngath, has seen many long and vigorous battles. The two of them had been through everything together, always managing to be victorious, or able to escape with his life and his honor still intact. For the past few months, Tarngath had not once left its black sheath. The charcoal-gray hilt of his trusty blade was now caked with a thick layer of dust. He had put his sword to shame! One day he decides to draw it once again, to feel that need to kill once more running through his veins. As he sits on the other side of the room, watching the sword, he thinks about its lengthy past, especially the curse that had been bestowed upon that blade...

Many moons ago, long before battle was a common practice among men, a group of skilled blacksmiths were called upon by an unknown assassin who went by the name of Dirk DerMond. No one in the entire land of Mystonia had ever heard of this odd man, and the blacksmiths had direct orders from their king not to do this man any favors, no matter what. The seven men all gathered together at the selected rendezvous location to discuss business with this mysterious assassin. Not one of them had any intention of doing what Dirk asked, but Dirk let his gold do the bargaining for him. Soon the seven men were all convinced that it would be worth their while to do as this man asked, even though they knew they would hang for committing treason if they were caught. He requested a blade more powerful than any ever forged before, blacker than even the night itself. This was a simple enough request, and so the seven smiths went on their way and told Dirk to be back in a year to the day, and they would have his sword for him.

For months the men slaved at their forges, working to build a masterpiece together. After eleven and a half months of intense work they had finally perfected the sword, but even betrayal comes at a price. Upon the completed sword they placed a curse that could never be broken, since a part of them lived on inside of the blade even after they would be dead. Any man or woman who draws the blade would be filled with intense determination and a need to kill. No amount of restraint could prevent this thirst for blood, and so the sword of Tarngath was finally completed to perfection in their eyes! The sword was ready to embark upon its own adventurous life, soon becoming a sword of legend. The spirits of all seven blacksmiths lived on with the blade, even after they hung for treason against the king only months after they delivered the sword to Dirk...

Few men today know of the curse upon this sword. For many years this sword rested deep within the Mystic Mountain, until one day Psiko happened to come across it and identify the sword, having read before of its legendary curse, as well as its formidable power. Long ago a young bard, who had seen Dirk DerMond in battle before his death, wrote a poem about the mystical blade. Through this poem the legend of the sword managed to live on, even after its disappearance. Psiko tries to recall how the poem went, but is unable to recall the exact wording. He shrugs his shoulders, getting to his feet and, walking toward the sword, casts a minor spell that slides the sheath off of the powerful sword. His fingers carefully outline the word that is engraved upon the black blade, and then the poem suddenly bursts into his memory:

Sometime soon Psiko would once again enter battle with Tarngath in hand, ready to once again prove his worth as a swordsman and as a mage. This window of opportunity soon shows itself in the form of an open invitation. Indeed, his old clan has been challenged to a battle! All his good friends and allies within the Al Na'ir Faction would be preparing for battle against the mighty forces of The Fate! Psiko knows his time has finally come to fulfill his destiny and lead his clan once more into battle, though he is no longer a leader. All the Fate would soon belong to him, their own fate in the hands of this Red Mage and his legendary sword! Tarngath would once again draw that blood it thirsted for! Though excitement fills Psiko, it feels different than it used to. In the past, when he was about to go into battle he felt the urge to kill or be killed. Now there was a new sensation in its stead...one unknown to him! Soon Psiko is able to identify this new feeling, the joy of going into battle, not to kill, but to test his skills. Where he had once been a ruthless and determined killer, he was now an honorable man who only sought a fair test of ability. Psiko is quick to enter himself into this battle, eager to test this new perspective in a fierce melee.

Days go by without any notification of his opponent for the battle, but on one stormy night a messenger on horseback returns to Psiko's home, carrying a message from his former allies in Al Na'ir. His first foe was then identified as Mydako, his first brother and old acquaintance. How ironic that he, the greatest Red Mage to ever come to be, should face off with Mydako, the greatest Time Mage to ever come to be. Blade versus staff; versatility versus Time, the ultimate face-off. This would not be the first time these two have faced each other in battle, but never before has there been a decisive dual between these two men. The time has come for that to change once and for all. Psiko sits down to quickly write a response for the messenger to take back to Al Na'ir Headquarters, requesting that his foe choose the time and place in which this battle shall take place. The messenger bows deeply as he takes the message in hand, then turns to leave the place where Psiko currently resides. Upon his leave, Psiko walks back into the small chamber where Tarngath rests, now sealed within a quartz prison to block off its powerful magic. Soon the time would come for Psiko to once again draw his sword to do battle.

At last the day of the dual arrives, Mydako patiently awaiting the arrival of his unnamed opponent. During the course of the last few months away from battle, Psiko was busy focusing on a select few areas of magic, Illusion being one of them. Although his skill is still nowhere near that of a master, he has learned to effectively alter the appearance of anything, even being able to add realistic sound for extra effect. This being the case, Psiko determines it appropriate to show off his newly-learned trick and have his identity remain a surprise for a while longer. The sky turns a deep purple and the grass becomes the color orange as rain falls in spots of pink, splashing onto the ground and painting the grass with pink spots. Suddenly this odd coloration ceases and the terrain becomes a vast, arid desert during the middle of the night, a chilly draft sweeping through the air. Soon snowflakes begin to fall from the air, slowly at first, but then picking up in speed as the ground becomes covered with large mounds of snow, none of it truly materialistic, so none of it touches or affects Mydako in any way. An exceptionally large snowflake falls from the sky, drifting slowly to the ground as it weaves back and forth, disappearing behind a tree. The snow disappears and the terrain returns to its normal state, revealing a small mouse where the tree had once stood. The mouse creeps up to Mydako, sniffing his foot before running back to the spot it had stood before, disappearing in a newly-created patch of thick weeds. The sound of laughter comes from the weeds as an abnormally large hyena emerges, rolling on the ground as it laughs uncontrollably. Slowly the laughter grows deeper and the hyena begins to morph, growing larger by the minute until a giant red dragon stands before Mydako, tendrils of flame leaping toward the Time Mage from the dragon's nostrils. The flames, had they been real, would have consumed Mydako and turned him into a pile of ashes but, of course, the flames are also an illusion created by the eccentric, flamboyant Red Mage. Ready to do battle at last, Psiko begins to slowly reveal his true form...

The dragon quickly shrinks into nothingness, soon being replaced by a dark shadow. The shadow slowly begins to materialize, revealing first Psiko's trademark red feather cap, then his green eyes and short brown hair. Upon his chest is gold plate armor, the picture of a dragon engraved in the center. Tarngath is sheathed upon his back, beckoning for him to draw its power once again. Dressed in all red once more, Psiko is finally ready to do battle for the first time in months. Suddenly a crowd of fans appear all around the two men as a coliseum forms, enclosing Psiko and Mydako. The fans begin to cheer, then someone starts a "Mydako Sucks!" chant, and soon the entire crowd is chanting along. A mischievous grin appears on Psiko's face as he joins in with the crowd, and soon they all finish the cheer with a loud "Goooooooooooooo Psiko!!!" before the crowd and coliseum disappear and the terrain once again returns to normal.

With a deep sigh, Psiko looks toward his brother and meets his gaze and bows, showing his respect for the Time Mage. In the past when Psiko would draw his sword, it was with the intent to kill his opponent, lusting for blood and filled with anger; the magic of Tarngath held sway over him during that time. This time he draws his sword with a want to simply test his skills in battle, filled with joy and respect for his enemy; this time the sword has no hold over his emotions. His hand reaches back slowly, his fingers wrapping around the charcoal-gray hilt of Tarngath very slowly. The black blade creeps out from its scabbard and a dim light begins to radiate off of the sword, eventually consuming the entire blade and then it surrounds Psiko completely. A look of surprise flashes across Psiko's face as he becomes enclosed within an aura of pure white light. This time it is not one of his illusions...

What had once been a mere pale light quickly transmutes into a blinding white flash, drifting into the air with Psiko enclosed within it. A transformation takes place within the sphere of light, cleansing Psiko both internally and externally. Tarngath, once as black as night, becomes a radiant silver that reflects even the tiniest beams of light and magnifies their intensity. Psiko's gold armor turns into a thin layer of pure mythril, capable of warding off most any physical attack. His short brown hair becomes silver and the smooth strands of hair reach down to the middle of his back. His green eyes become a piercing gray that seem to be able to penetrate into a person's mind and read their darkest secrets within the depths of their souls. His trademark red clothing becomes a flowing white robe, trimmed with a smooth silver fabric that has a mirror-like quality. At last, the curse of Tarngath has been broken and has purified both blade and wielder. Psiko slowly drifts back down to the ground, Neo-Tarngath in his hand as a soothing smile crosses onto his lips. He speaks, his voice filled with a tranquil calm, saying to his opponent, "Mydako, my brother, I do not wish for any harm to fall upon thee. If thou dost desire it, thou may withdraw with thy honor intact. If thee desires to do battle, thou shalt have it but thy life will be spared. May the best man win, my brother." With that Psiko raises Neo-Tarngath overhead, the light of the sun reflecting brightly off its new silver blade, as he awaits his brother's first move.