Chapter II: The Shell Breaks

The horrendous roar which echoed through the craggy peaks of Attowha Chasm shook rocks from their foundation and blasted shrubbery from the ground, tearing it up from the very roots. The ground crunched and splintered underneath the weight of a set of claws so massive as to defy belief, and the glittering orange scales of their owner were like a small sun blazing in the heart of this mountainous wasteland. The dreaded Wyrm Tiamat gave another ear-shattering cry, baleful gaze enough to shrivel a soul as it stared at the one before it.

Armor glittering in the reflection of the fires still burning around him from the dragon’s blazing breath, an enormous shield raised up in defense, the Paladin standing in front of the beast held out his sword in one gauntleted hand. As the ground around him cracked and shredded with the force from the Wyrm’s cry, he merely gazed with narrowed eyes deep into its gaping maw, at fangs nearly two feet in length, and a glowing flame at the back of its throat. Meowolf was unimpressed.

A shadow shot by his side, and on the cliff wall beside him, running perpendicular to the surface of the vertical rise, he caught sight of Dorobounin as she smirked behind her mask. The ninja’s fingers glinted evilly as the points of a half-dozen kunai suddenly shot up from her sleeves, and with blinding speed, she leaped into the air and hurtled them at the rock-hard hide of the dragon. Sparks flew from its hide as they skittered across the surface. Dorobounin’s feet landed briefly on the back of the dragon itself, and she felt her feet grow hot upon merely having contact with the monster’s scaly hide. Her katana was already in hand, however, as she dropped down low and, never stopping, skidded the blade’s edge across Tiamat’s unyielding surface. The beast paid scarce attention; it had been focused on the massive frame of the Galka in front of him for so long now that it had become single-mindedly focused on destroying this seemingly immovable object that had dared confront it.

For hours, Attowha Chasm had been the site of this ferocious battle. Ever since Tiamat, long thought to have been vanquished, had reappeared, scores had tried unsuccessfully to banish the Elder Wyrm back to the realm of myth. This time, however, a stalemate had been reached. Invincible as the dragon seemed, it had been as unable to break the iron-clad defenses now raised against it as the attackers were in breaching it’s own hide. Meowolf raised his shield in front of him and clapped down the visor of his helmet as another blast of flame shot forth from Tiamat’s mouth. The heat was incredible, but the Paladin stood his ground as if he were made of stone, and when the conflagration ended he merely grit his teeth and swung his sword, the tip of it screeching against the Wyrms’ muzzle.

Backed up against a cliff wall, surveying the battle, a figure clad in black spoke into a shell hung on a short string around his neck. The tall, blonde Elvaan figure, a great sword planted in the rocky ground in front of him, was giving orders and receiving information at an instantaneous rate as the battle progressed, looking for some sign of weakness in the dragon. To the world at large, this band of adventurers, which had grown over the years to be almost more of a private army, was known only as Those Guys. This man was their leader, Rykoshet, whom some regarded as the most skilled fighter in all of Vana’diel. He had temporarily removed himself from personal combat with the dragon, hoping that a birds eye-view of the battle would provide him with further insight.

“I don’t know what else I can do out there,” he heard a voice at his right say. “I shot it right in the eye and the arrow snapped in half. I guess I could try aiming down its throat.”

Rykoshet shook his head as Tyrian nocked another arrow into place. “Hold off on that,” he said, raising up his shell so that his voice could reach it. “Yasu,” he said, eyes narrowing towards the rampaging Wyrm below him, “are you ready?”

“I suppose . . . “came the high-pitched voice in response from out of the shell, the Tarutaru it belonged to down in the valley fighting. “But are you sure this is the only thing we could be doing today? Not that I don’t love impending doom as much as the next Taru.”

“Be ready,” was Rykoshet’s only response to Yasuchika. He was one of the many mages that held a pearl, and today Rykoshet had gathered them en masse. Of the scores of members to his elite cadre, almost all of them were here today to put down the ancient horror. Some few were still scattered about the continent, as adventurers often were, but for the most part, all of little army were present and engaged in battle with the Wyrm. In a moment, he would launch his coordinated strike on their target in hopes of opening up a weak point which could be exploited. The vast stores of magical energy available in this gathering were to be focused all at once on the dragon, and perhaps that would weaken it enough for the horde of physical fighters whom had been attacking it to finally pierce its formidable defenses.

On the ground, lines had been drawn in most literal fashion. In one direction the ground had been scorched by the intense flame which drew from the dragon’s mouth, conical areas in which the flames had not touched stretching out behind the wall of Paladins facing the creature. The divine order of Paladins had no greater member to offer than the hulking Galka Meowolf, yet none would speak ill of the others gathered. Those Paladins who had joined up with Those Guys were gathered from around the world; the Elvaan Baeladar, the Mithra Pinkfae, and another Galka, practically Meowolf’s twin, the massive Forge. Behind them, the newest inductee to their ranks stood poised and determined, a Hume by the name of Fated, only recently given a pearl and now hurtling himself willingly into the fray of the greatest battle the group had ever fought. Indeed, the names of those on the battleground today would cow entire nations when assembled as a group. As a united front, thus far nothing had proved impossible to them.

“ . . . situation.”

Rykoshet, on the verge of giving the order to attack, halted.

“Repeat.” Rykoshet said, hating to take his focus off the battle. For a moment, there was only silence, and then, overriding all the other voices on pearl, the voice of Ryu Akanei, thousands of miles away in the northernmost region of Quon, came through like a clear bell to Rykoshet’s ears through the power of the linkshell.

“Rykoshet,” the voice came again, “you’ve got to get the others to safety. Something’s coming, something – “

“You’re not making sense, Akanei,” Rykoshet said gruffly, “and we’re in the middle of something.”

“Get out of there!” The voice came as a cry, “There’s no time, Rykoshet, they’re already here! You’ve got to find some place safe! It’s Dynamis, Rykoshet! Dynamis is unleashed on our world!”

Everyone heard it. The great, impenetrable wall of Those Guys faltered for a moment as if the words had struck a blow. Tiamat was recoiling from a burst of a Far Eastern powder hurtled into its eye by the Tarutaru Ninja Maichi, but upon hearing those words even the shadowy warrior had skidded to a halt on the ground. There was naught but silence to be had throughout the linkshell, Tiamat’s terrible roar suddenly seemed far off and distant. Ryu Akanei’s words ended there, however, as a yet more awful sound broadcast itself through their enchanted network. It was a sound like glass shattering with a gust of wind trailing after it. The Dragoon’s pearl had been broken.

Off in the distance, past the spiraling mountain peaks of Attowha Chasm, they could see the sky turning black as pitch in the direction of the Federation of Windurst. The entire group had stopped in their tracks, easy prey now for the Wyrm which assaulted them, but for some reason, Tiamat had stopped as well. Indeed, slowly, the great beast swiveled its’ elongated neck up and skywards, also staring at the growing tide of darkness filling the skies. The air of Attowha Chasm, which had only moments before rang with the sounds of a battle as epic as any seen during the Great War, now hung deathly silent.

And then came the demons.

Tiamat’s roar shook the foundation of the mountains themselves as he shot forth flame into the air. From nowhere, hundreds of winged demons suddenly blotted out the sky, swarming together and dropping down to the surface with deadly intent. Rykoshet dove for cover, coming up on one knee as the wickedly curved blade of a demon smashed a deep wound into the rock he had been standing before only seconds earlier. With a snarl, the demon turned on him, but found itself suddenly impaled upon the tremendous blade Rykoshet wielded. It coughed, blood so dark as to be completely black trailing out of it’s mouth, and toppled over. The liquid which landed on Rykoshet’s armor began to hiss wickedly, and when the demon fell the sword he had been killed with began melting away.

“My Zweihander!” Rykoshet cried out. He dropped the useless hilt of the blade as the acidic lifeblood of the demon ate through it, and fury overwrote fear. The demons were everywhere, a tremendous host of them, far too many to fight like this. Tyrian, at his side, was loosing arrows at speeds too fast to follow, yet still they swarmed upon him. Below, the ground was black with demons, and intense bursts of magic flared forth as the mages did their best to keep the tide of darkness at bay.

“Rykoshet,” it was Baeladar’s voice which spoke now, the echo of a razor-sharp set of claws colliding with his shield coming through along with it, “they’re attacking the dragon as well. They’re attacking anything that moves, there are too many of them. We’ve got to get out of here.”

“I can buy us some time,” came a response, “everyone try to make it to the tunnels and get to Shakhrimi. Someone watch my back.”

“I’ve got you covered,” came Meowolf’s gruff, deep voice in response to the declaration by the Onion Samurai, Klades. “I’m right behind you, just do what you have to do.”

“I’ve got some people with me,” declared the voice of Danienne, even as she flung out her hand and, with a powerful burst of dark magic, stunned an oncoming demon in the air, “we’re holding our ground but we need an escape route now!”

The battle was only intensifying. In the skies above them, more demons were flying past, it seemed but a small fraction of them had deemed this gathering worthy of their attention. Rykoshet had no other choice.

“Klades, Meowolf, be careful. Sinti,” he said, turning to the woman at Tyrian’s side, “stay with them, try to keep them alive, whatever it is they’re planning on doing.”

“What?” Tyrian protested, rounding on his leader. “If she’s staying, so am I.”

Rykoshet had no time to argue. Clapping his old friend on the shoulder, the two exchanged a nod, and then parted ways. Tyrian looked up into the skies, his quiver nearly empty, the demon wave overpowering. Sinti, her aura pulsing with white magic, honed in on Klades, who was cutting a wide path through the demon hordes with his great katana as Meowolf plowed forward. Drawing one of his last arrows, he aimed at an incoming flyer and picked it out of the sky. No one would interrupt this plan as long as he drew breath.

The confusion was all-encompassing. Orders were being shouted in every direction; very few knew which way to go. Some small number of the group managed to find their way to safety, even as that concept became increasingly absurd. Still, no clear path to the Maze of Shakhrimi, the deep caverns of which would hopefully provide respite, had been opened, leaving them to do naught but press themselves against the cliff walls as Tiamat continued to rage indiscriminately, and the demons pouring out of the sky howled for blood. It was Dynamis on Vana’diel. A place which existed only in horror stories, a realm where the shadow ruled and darkness overcame the light. It was a legend, a mummer’s tale used to frighten children and conjure up superstition. Yet here it was. The end of the world.

Klades cared little for such thoughts, and they were indeed the furthest thing from his mind as he called forth the power of his most sacred ability, that which Samurai called Meikyo Shisui. Energy flooded forth into his muscles as he drew back his great katana into the position for the stance Tachi: Kasha. Poised to attack, he sprung forward, launching his assault directly into Tiamat’s massive waving tail.

Before Tiamat could even register the pain from the first attack biting into its’ hide, Klades followed up with the technique Tachi: Gekko, and then struck again before drawing his chi inward to prepare for yet another stroke. By now, however, Tiamat, a piercing shriek from its’ enormous mouth enough to pick a flock of demons from the air around it, responded in kind to the attack. All at once, the trunk-like tail of the ancient Wyrm shot into the air, and with a sweeping motion, came crashing down with earth-shattering impact. The ground splintered open, the mountains trembled, and the shockwaves from the blow reverberated through the entire canyon. Spikes from Tiamat’s tail shot out in all directions, and the demon horde faltered and screeched as the terrible Wyrm stirred up a blinding cloud of dust and debris.

Those Guys were broken. In the chaos, they were scattered to the winds. Those not lost underneath a swarm of demons vanished in the onslaught of Tiamat’s rampage. Rykoshet did not have the luxury of taking a head count to see who was with him. He had come into the Chasm with an army at his back. As he futilely yelled into his linkshell, asking all who could to respond, he realized he had naught but a few remaining with him. The cries of shock and sounds of battle echoing through the linkshell told the story plainly; all over the continent, from Tavnazia to Windurst, Dynamis was breaking free. The sounds of pearls being unwillingly broken were like shrieks of anguish to the ears of everyone connected by the rapidly diminishing network.

The few remaining members had made it to the safety of Shakhrami. Rykoshet, the world’s greatest warrior, sat back against the rocky wall of the cave, head lowered in defeat. The sky had grown calm, deathly still, and night had fallen. The survivors were banded together in shock, unable to process what had just occurred.

“Rykoshet,” came a voice at his side, and the Elvaan looked up from the ground to meet the gaze of the Tarutaru known as Vile. He was looking up out towards the sky, his expression grim as he turned his eyes towards Rykoshet’s. “We can’t stay here. We’ve got to find some place safe and figure out what to do next.”

It was almost too much to process, but Rykoshet’s mind went to work anyway. They were closest to Windurst, but the demons were there already. There was naught between them and Sarutabaruta save this sun-blasted wasteland which stretched from Sauromugue to the Meriphataud Mountains in the north. No matter where they went, they would be in the open air, exposed to whatever attack might come their way. There was no sort of fortification or . . .

Rykoshet’s thoughts paused. There was one place they could go that would be safe, at least long enough for them to plan out what to do next.

His armor creaking as he stood, Rykoshet swept his glance over those that had made it back with him. They were few, but as in the humble beginning days of his adventures, a few with exceptional talent and drive might prove enough. It wasn’t the kind of plan any sane person would attempt, but for the moment, it was all they had.

“Alright everyone,” Rykoshet said, his voice surprisingly steady. He had no need to use his linkshell, the only ones who remained that could hear his voice were gathered before him now. “Rest up as best you can. We’re staying here overnight, and come daybreak, we make for Castle Oztroja.”


Far to the frozen north, Ryu Akanei looked defiantly up at the demon hordes bearing down upon him. The crushed remnants of his pearl fell between his fingers; better he smash it himself then let the demons take it from him and hear the plans of his comrades. Bo clung to the shaft of his spear with two claws, wings flared up in warning. The two knew each other’s thoughts, and acted as one.

With one tremendous vault, the duo leaped impossibly high into the air, shooting up into the frigid sky to a point where all was still. Defying gravity, the two hung there for a moment, the demons now beneath them, and all reservations about this course of action rendered moot. In the next moment, they shot down directly into the chasm which Jormungand had once called home.

As soon as they were in range, the demons spiraled down after them, a black cloud of claws and fangs, some brandishing cruelly-fashioned weapons, others using only their own natural blades. Too fast were Ryu and Bo, and in a startling maneuver, Ryu spun around in mid-air, Bo flaring his wings up and catching the updraft, letting the Dragoon hover in stasis for a moment, long enough to plant his boots on the cliff wall and shoot sideways towards another as Bo planted a stream of flame where he had just been before collapsing his wings and shooting down after the one he was bonded to. The demons screeched at the flames, but kept on coming, intent on tearing the Hume and his companion apart.

The Dragoon touched the cliff wall and jumped once again, the demons drawing ever closer. Soon it would be the end. Through his bond, he felt Bo’s determination. Neither would abandon the other before this was over.

The glacial ice of Uleguerand Range cracked and hissed, shards of broken ice layers now a torrent in the air as a roar like nothing Ryu Akanei had ever heard overwhelmed his senses. He saw the ground beneath him explode upwards, and then, all went black.