Chapter L: Multiple Fronts

The cavern continued to descend, a narrow and increasingly claustrophobic climb lit only by the deadly and ever-present magma pooling along the blackened ground. The air was still, no swirling of the air to push away the noxious fumes or cool the body, yet the further down they traveled, the easier it became to breath. The red light at the end of the tunnel grew closer, brighter, bathing the small group in a scarlet glow. In the pitch-black cave, with only the liquid fire below lighting their path, Ayn could almost believe they were standing around a campfire rather than descending into the heart of an active volcano.

The path downward had narrowed to the point that they had to proceed one at a time, Zealot in the lead. The tall, thickly-armored Elvaan’s silver hair was now a dull rust color in the light, and when he turned occasionally to look back at the others, his face was but a shadow with a thin red outline on the side. With the combination of this effect on his black armor, it may have been the first time Ayn thought the Warrior looked remotely threatening.

“I inhaled too much volcano air,” he muttered to himself, pressing close against the craggy wall, trying to keep his feet away from the rivulets of lava flowing beneath him and still traverse the narrow passage.

“So how do you do it?” Tikinas asked suddenly, snaking her lithe form down the cavern, her tail curled tightly around her waist. Her head was turned back, making it clear her question was intended for Menphis, walking behind her, not Zealot or Greyheart ahead.

The Ranger looked at her for a moment, his gaze expressionless, and then went back to focusing on his own feet. “I do a lot of things,” he murmured back.

“Blending in,” she pressed, not wavering in her demand for an answer. “Your cloak is green, that tunic is yellow. Maybe in a forest or whatever you’re used to I can see that trick working, but we’ve seen nothing but black and red for hours. How did you keep them from seeing you?”

Menphis’s eyes did not move from his feet, but it looked like the rest of him was suddenly bleeding color. The hues of his garb dripped away like melting wax, running off of him and vanishing, until only black remained. Everything from his hat to his boots was all at once as deep and dark as his surroundings, and tinged with red in just the right places to account for the presence of the lava streams. A moment later the earth tones of his outfit blossomed back into view, chasing away the monochrome and leaving him with several sets of wide eyes surrounding him.

“That’s how,” he stated, and said nothing more.

“Fascinating,” appraised Greyheart, his expression calculating. “An invisibility spell deals in light. You see, when light hits an object, it – “

“We don’t care,” Ayn said, maneuvering his way through a particularly tight spot. “We’ve gone in far enough. Let’s wait here for that Summoner.” The group halted, struggling to find comfortable positions to rest in while they waited.

“Shouldn’t he have been here already?” Tikinas asked Ayn quietly. “All that the Goblin said was that we had to go in ahead. How far ahead do you think he meant?”

“I think Goblins are monsters and Summoners are shoeless, granola-eating cultists who worship imaginary friends,” Ayn replied. “However they do what they do, I’m not going another step until he’s down here to do it.”

“Wait,” Menphis said, raising his head, “something’s wrong.”


“Klistel!” Tomiko shouted, her voice shrill. “Move!”

The Summoner reacted to the command on instinct, all the force he could muster exploding from his legs in the form of a wild leap. The Ash Dragon swiveled its head to catch him, those crushing fangs stained black with soot and dried blood. Before it could clamp down, Tomiko’s lance struck the monster in the side, glancing off harmlessly and skittering to the side. The monstrosity roared, shaking the cavern and casting rock and dust down upon them as it turned its attention on the Dragoon, its milky white eyes showing no hint of anything but animalistic hunger.

The Ash Dragon lunged, and Tomiko sprang backwards to avoid being bitten in two. The blonde woman’s body compacted like a coiled spring as her feet touched against a rock wall. The dragon roared again as it charged, but with a forward rush of motion she cut through the air, sailing just above its snapping fangs and landing behind it, snatching her discarded lance off of the ground. She spun around, weapon raised, and was immediately struck in the side by the Ash Dragon’s whip-like tail. She cartwheeled through the air and came down with a crash, a motionless mass of flesh and steel.

“Tomiko!” Klistel cried, backing up on his hands from where he had landed. He had met the Dragoon only recently, as he traveled to Ifrit’s Cauldron to commune with the spirits, and she to complete her own arduous trials. The sight of her now, the Ash Dragon poised over her to tear her apart, filled him with dread. Lonely was the path of a Summoner, and rarely did they encounter friends. The Hume was one of those chance happenings.

Klistel called out for the spirits that guided him, but before he could even pull together a spark of magic, Tomiko’s wyvern came to her defense. The azure-scaled Muffin gave a piercing shriek, diving through the air and clamping directly onto the blackened muzzle of the Ash Dragon. It scratched and bit as the monster roared, shaking its head to dislodge the attacker. Muffin responded with a stream of fire, straight from its mouth into the Ash Dragon’s terrible white eyes. Tomiko weakly began to rise, but even as she did the monstrous creature swatted at its nose as if batting away a fly, striking the tiny wyvern down. Muffin’s frail frame bounced across the floor once, then slid into a darkened corner, unmoving.

Overcome with concern for her companion, Tomiko scraped herself off of the ground, taking off at a dead run. She made a dash for her fallen wyvern, brushing past falling rocks and fleeing Goblins as the Ash Dragon’s deadly gaze fell upon her. Her panic over the injured Muffin overrode her caution, and she was blind to the abomination bearing down upon her. Death quickly rushed towards her, catching her unawares.

So to, however, did the woman who materialized from the air in front of the Ash Dragon take the beast by surprise.

The winged form of Garuda took shape on Klistel’s command. The dragon roared as the Avatar of Wind attacked, claws of air slicing into its thick, leathery hide. Garuda feinted back, drawing the dragon in, and then struck again with a razor-thin slash of wind. A spray of boiling black blood shot out from the Ash Dragon’s bony shoulder, and it howled at the unexpected pain. Klistel guided Garuda forward, pressing the attack while the advantage was his.

“You cannot fight this here!” someone shouted behind him. Turning his head, Klistel saw Oramix angrily stomping on the ground, his staff spitting out sparks of uncontrolled energy. “You will bring ruin to our village! Get it away from here!”

The Foreseer of the Goblin village had no time to raise further complaint. His distraction provided the Ash Dragon an opening that the beast did not hesitate to take. Klistel spun back around, drawing up Garuda’s defenses, but gave a shocked cry a moment later. The Dragon’s massive fangs wrapped around the Avatar and bit down in one gruesome motion. With a spasm, Klistel dropped to the ground, Garuda vanishing with a soundless scream. His first line of defense was gone.

“Away!” Foreseer Oramix repeated, ushering the other Goblins into the surrounding tunnels. He made no such offer to Klistel, only continued his insistence that the Summoner flee while the dragon’s attention was on him. With a gasp, he recovered himself, shaking off the recoil from having his avatar so brutally dispelled. The Ash Dragon blew a burst of smoke from its nostrils. Those terrible pale eyes had settled on Klistel, and there was nothing in between them but a thick air of fear.

The Ash Dragon charged. It’s hot, fetid breath was upon Klistel in an instant. He could see flecks of spittle between its teeth and on its lashing tongue. The monsters’ teeth were jagged and browned, and the entire creature stank of burning carcasses. His magic strained to burst free, but his mind would not work in conjunction.

It took Klistel a second to register when Tomiko appeared in front of him, slamming her lance upwards. The dragon bit down only to find itself clamping against the finely-honed tip of the Dragoon’s weapon. It gave a start with a cry of pain, startled and furious, the cavern vibrating with the monster’s anger.

“There’s no room to fight in here!” Tomiko shouted, grabbing Klistel by the arm. “Let’s get this into the open air!”

The Summoner didn’t have time to react before the purple-armored Hume pulled him bodily from the ground. In one startled instant, with the Ash Dragon already barreling towards them again, the Elvaan was yanked across Tomiko’s back as she took off at a dead run. The ground flew by underneath them as she leaped and bounded, the uneven terrain and darkness not a problem for her keen senses and impeccable balance. The Goblin village grew further behind the pair as Tomiko plunged onwards, the monster hot on their heels.

The dragon lunged, biting down and catching only rocks. Magma burst up from where it penetrated, spraying ineffectually over its leathery hide. No matter how Tomiko climbed, her legs straining with each jump up the tunnel which had brought them down into the lair of the Goblins, the Ash Dragon clawed just as high, and with increasing speed. It raised a clawed foreleg in the air, bringing it down with crushing force that missed by inches, and sent a spray of rocks pelting Klistel from his place on Tomiko’s back. The Dragoon turned her head for just a moment, pursing her lips and closing her eyes to emit a powerful, high-pitched whistle, and then once again planted a foot on the craggy volcanic ground, propelling herself onwards.

The dragon crouched back on all fours, all three of them practically vertical now with the incline of the cave, and then lunged. Klistel looked down, and gasped as the Ash Dragon’s fang-filled mouth closed in around them. Tomiko climbed higher, but the monster’s leap carried it up faster than she could avoid, and the stench of burning bodies once again overwhelmed the air. Tomiko threw out her hand, grasping a ledge, her breath catching in her throat as she realized she could go no higher. The dragon had them.

Klistel cried out as the Ash Dragon’s teeth scraped his leg. The sensation felt like being cut and seared simultaneously, and the smell of his own burning skin filled his nostrils. By the time the dragon had clamped down all the way, however, its mouth had already been dragged back too far below the fleeing duo. The Summoner’s robes and hair both flew back against the force of the Ash Dragon’s roar as it swiveled its elongated neck backwards. There, on its tail, Tomiko’s wyvern Muffin had ferociously bitten down. Using all the strength its body commanded, the azure creature had halted the Ash Dragon’s leap after blazing through the tunnels in response to the call of its master.

“Good work, Muffin!” Tomiko praised, flashing a smile that was visible even in the near darkness.

“Tomiko!” Klistel shouted. “Keep going!”

“Oh right!” She replied, suddenly remembering the situation. “Fly away, Muffin!” she commanded the wyvern, “meet me back above!”

The Ash Dragon was struggling now, the confines of the cave too narrow to attack both above and below itself. Confused, it gave another roar, smacking its tail into the cave walls as it tried to bat away the nimble Muffin to no avail. Gathering her strength, Tomiko heaved herself and Klistel upwards one more step, finally getting her footing back underneath her. Then, quickly drawing in a breath and closing her eyes, the leather and steel of her cuisses creaked as she first bent at the knees, and then shot into the air. Lance extended, Klistel hanging on for dear life, the Dragoon burst through the narrow tunnel, and all at once sunlight swept over them once again.

Klistel took a steadying breath; dropping off of Tomiko’s back and stumbling as pain shot up his injured leg. Sucking in air through his teeth, he pulled up his pant leg and saw three scars running from quad to shin. Not a single drop of blood was to be found. The wounds had been burned shut by the dragon’s white-hot teeth as soon as they were made. His skin was blackened where the Ash Dragon’s teeth had struck, a dire pronouncement that an actual bite would mean certain death. He bit back the pain, taking in the open air. Relief at their escape calmed him. He could tend to his wounds later.

“Tomiko,” he said as steadily as he could, “you need to go get help.”

“But you’re hurt!” she protested, her blonde hair writhing on the volcanic winds. “Plus if you don’t make it back safely, no one will be able to summon Ifrit, and – “

“We’re going to have to trust in those strangers for now,” Klistel overpowered her concerns, bracing himself against his staff. “Maybe they can keep Duke Berith busy.”

“But he’s a – “

“Listen! You know where to go, right? Where you were when we first met?”

The Dragoon nodded, her eyes wide. Below them, the ground trembled. Klistel winced as he steadied his quavering leg, hot pain knifing through it.

“Good, go back there. You know what to do. I’ll keep it distracted until you get back.”

“Klistel, I – “she stopped as once again the ground shook beneath them, and this time she had to put her lance out to keep from falling. The sound of the Ash Dragon’s roar broke through to the surface. Worry etched in her face, the urgency of the situation finally overrode her inner turmoil. “Alright! I’ll hurry, Klistel, I promise!”

An instant later, a familiar blue flash rose up from the cavern. Tomiko gave another impossible leap, sailing into the air after Muffin, the duo reuniting and touching down on the ground a good distance away. Something unspoken passed between them, and a moment later they were off. The Dragoon sped as only a Dragoon could through the twisting pathways of Ifrit’s Cauldron, seeking the aid Klistel had requested.

It wasn’t two heartbeats later that the ground exploded upwards in a flurry of stone and molten rock. The Ash Dragon breached the surface, its horrendous shriek heralding it out. The monster touched down, dripping ash and magma from its skin, dead eyes searching for its prey. In only a moment’s time, it found Klistel, but it did not attack right away. The beast halted, breathing raggedly, even it’s primitive mind realizing that it had to be careful.

Klistel wasn’t surprised. The sight of Ramuh the Olduum, Avatar of Lightning, often froze people in their tracks.

The Avatar hung in the air for only a moment before unleashing a scorching wave of electric fury upon the beast. Howling, the Ash Dragon retreated briefly, lightning leaving visible singe marks on its browned flesh. The blonde-bearded Avatar’s staff was radiant with energy as it followed the magical guidance of Klistel, harnessing the power of the very storm itself to keep the Ash Dragon at bay. Ramuh struck again, driving the beast back further, and it roared with fury, yet still kept its distance. He could keep this up for a few minutes easily. That would be all the time Tomiko needed to return.

It was when the sound of five sets of teeth gnashing together and low, guttural growling struck his Elvaan ears that he realized the flaw in his plan.


“They’re gone,” Menphis said suddenly.

“Gone?” Ayn repeated, looking at the Ranger intently.

Menphis nodded, lowering his eyes in concentration. The Ranger’s ability to feel out life in the world around him was their only link to what was going on above. Whatever had attacked the Goblin village and caused the cave-in that left them trapped in this tunnel, Klistel and Tomiko had fought it, and then ran from it. When his brow furrowed, Ayn knew Menphis was trying to reach out further, to feel as only those with that special bond with nature could the location of living things. He watched with a growing unease festering in his gut. The situation was quickly growing untenable.

Menphis’s eyes shooting open with what accounted for no less than raw, blazing hatred was also not a good sign.

Without a word, and already moving down, Menphis pulled his gun into his hand. He brushed past Zealot and Greyheart, picking up speed as the look of fury curled his lips into a snarl. Ayn called out after him, but his cloak had already disappeared into the darkness.

“Go after him,” the Thief ordered, “he might be our only means of finding a way out now!”

“What made him do that?” Zealot asked, looking slightly fearful as his eyes ventured down Menphis’s path.

“He felt something he didn’t like,” Greyheart replied, somberly. “The same thing happened to me once, in Kazham. If you’ve never seen a male Mithra, by the way, there’s not a whole lot of difference.”

“What?” Tikinas said, but immediately shook her hand in front of her, dismissing her own inquiry. “Forget it. Shut up. Just follow me.”

“Tikinas, wait,” Ayn halted her, “there’s some kind of stupid powerful Demon waiting down there with Altana knows what else. Don’t go charging in right away, we have no idea how dangerous this might be. It might be certain death. Zealot, you go first instead.”

“Something sounds wrong about that,” the Warrior professed, “but as I cannot immediately think of what it is, I’ll go ahead with it for now.”

He had taken no more than three steps forward when the sound of gunshots tore through the narrow tunnel. The four had only a brief exchange of glances before Zealot’s eyes narrowed, and he took off at as fast a pace as he could manage. Tikinas darted into the air, latching with ease onto the walls of the cavern and taking measured leaps forward. Greyheart and Ayn ran behind the two as Menphis’s weapon fired again in the distance. As they grew closer to the ever-gleaming red light at the end of the tunnel, the sound became louder, and was joined by a rising cacophony of background noise.

The tunnel began to widen, and Zealot loosened the massive axe from his back, swinging it around his armored shoulders. With both hands around the deadly weapon, he picked up his pace, and then in another moment, dropped out of sight.

Tikinas skidded to a halt, catching her breath as they realized that just in front of them the tunnel dropped off. Just below, there lay an enormous open chamber, in the middle of which, emitting a glorious yet somehow intimidating red light, was the crimson crystal of fire. It was bigger than a Galka, and the light coming from its core revolved slowly around the room. The air was completely dry, and though he was aware of the incredible heat, Ayn felt some force keeping it away, as if the sensation were not real at all. No, he realized, not that it wasn’t real, just that it wasn’t touching him like something from this world would.

The other notable fact about the room was that Menphis was backed up against its wall, guns blazing as he was set upon by a clutch of demons.


Klistel’s injured leg pleaded for respite as he rounded another corner, running full tilt as the bombs followed just behind.

The Bomb Queen and her vicious brood were in hot pursuit, and crashing through the ground just behind them was the Ash Dragon. In a panic, Klistel pumped his legs as fast as they would move. All around him, geysers of flame and lava shot upwards, their scorching heat blistering his flesh. His lungs were on fire, and his breaths were tortured and ragged. Adrenaline and fear kept him moving as a bomb smashed bodily into the wall beside him, pulling itself out and shaking off the basalt it had knocked loose. Every second they grew closer, and he could hear the hungry growl of the Ash Dragon.

Half-stumbling, he rounded another corner, a narrow ledge greeting his sight. Just out of reach was another, higher pathway, just below it, open air leading to a precipitous drop. Wasting no time, the Summoner pushed himself out on his good leg, propelling himself over the precipice. Fingers grasping, he caught the edge of the rise in front of him, his lower half dangling out over a hundred-foot high fall into a pit of roiling lava. Struggling with all he had, Klistel lurched himself over the side, scrambling on hands and knees to regain his footing. They were still coming.

Skidding to a halt, he threw out his hands, energy coursing through him. His eyes turned a shade of deepest red as he called out with his magic. The droplets of blood streaming from any of the dozens of tiny abrasions his flight had opened started to steam, and a flashing red light appeared at his feet. The Bomb Queen closed the distance between them, four of her spawn just behind her, and the Summoner opened himself to the world of the Avatars, creating a nexus point on Vana’diel.

It never opened. The Ash Dragon slammed down with such incredible force that Klistel was sent soaring through the air. The bombs were scattered from the impact, flying out in different directions. Raising his head to the sky, the dragon gave a terrible howl, flecks of blackened spittle dripping from its muzzle. Klistel dropped to the ground like a stone several dozen yards away. Stars filled his eyes, and pain was screaming through his arm now. It felt broken. He had landed sitting up, and did not know through what force he remained conscious. Rubble flew through the air as the Ash Dragon’s claws tore at the ground, closing in on him.

There was a flash, a glint of light and a burst of smoke. The Ash Dragon roared as a crack of lightning struck it in the back, followed by another, and then another. It spun rapidly, its scaly tail missing Klistel by mere inches, scarring the rock face just above his head. No sooner had the Dragon turned then a ball of fire struck it full in the face, and when it opened its mouth to howl out contempt, a thin needle shot out from the air and lodged itself in the roof of the creature’s maw. Its fury was plain as black blood spilled out from between its teeth. Klistel, having somehow made it to his feet, dumbly looked around for some hint of what was happening.

Then he saw it. At first he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him, but then it became clear. There was a ripple in the darkness, a frayed outline taking shape, and then without a sound, two black-booted feet touched down just in front of the Ash Dragon. It was a man, black covering him from head to toe, standing unflinching in the face of the monster as it roared at him. He raised a single hand, his fingers articulating an intricate sign in less time than it took to blink, and simultaneously his other hand threw something Klistel could not see into the air. In the next moment, the air around the Ash Dragon froze solid. With a hiss of steam, it melted away quickly in the volcano’s heat, but the monster remained dazed. Clearly cold was never a sensation it had felt before.

“You’re not my assignment, but I’ll buy you a minute or so,” the man said calmly, two shuriken sliding out between the knuckles of his right hand. “Make the most of them.”

The ninja flicked an eye backwards as the Bomb Queen, her children in tow, appeared behind the ledge. The Ash Dragon, recovering in only moments, bit fiercely at the newcomer, but he sidestepped the lunge with ease. With a puff of smoke, suddenly four more of him filled the narrow path. The air undulated in the intense heat, and all at once both dragon and bombs came together on the mysterious stranger in their midst.

The sounds of battle growing loud behind him, Klistel hurriedly rushed to find safety somewhere in Ifrit’s Cauldron.


The demon’s head burst like an overripe melon as Menphis’s gun unloaded into its skull. It toppled over only to immediately be replaced by a screeching fiend slicing through the air towards the Ranger. With a flick of his wrist, a knife flew from hand to throat, and the demon’s wings went slack as it clutched at the deadly wound, crashing to the ground. Behind him, Tikinas ran across the wall, a demon slashing its clawed hands furiously as it attempted to catch her. Planting her foot, she cartwheeled through the air, twisting to release a barrage of shurikens into the chest of the demon. It staggered backwards; cursing at her in its dark language, then gave a strangled cry before collapsing into a pool of thick blood. Ayn yanked his dagger out of its back, then turned to meet the charge of another fiend with his blue-bladed scimitar.

The weapon was amazing. For every block and parry Ayn made, the sword seemed to make two or three more on its own. He could feel it guiding his arm, going where it needed to be as the frenzied demon attempted hacking him to pieces. He felt like he could have kept it up all day with the near-weightless weapon, but a moment later the demon was smashed by the mighty swing of Zealot’s great axe, sending its broken body hurtling into the craggy rock wall. Ayn ran forward, and before Zealot could even finish the apex of his swing, the Thief planted a foot in his chest and propelled himself into the air, spinning like a whirling dervish as he emptied a brace of daggers into the demons rushing towards them. In the presence of the Protocrystal of Fire, their blood turned to smoke as soon as it touched the cavern floor.

Ayn landed on his feet, but was almost instantly caught from behind by a charging demon. The creature ran bodily into him, throwing him from his feet and sending him sprawling. Argentina’s sword flew from his grasp, and he did not have time to snatch it from the air as he threw his feet out, skidding to a halt in a crouching position. He pulled out his dagger again, but the demon contemptuously slapped it away, glowing eyes piercing the Thief as it raised a sword of its own to cut him down. The wickedly curved blade came down as Ayn’s mind worked frantically to find a way out in the next half-second.

There was a shower of sparks as the demon’s blade met the blue blade of Argentina’s sword. As soon as the demon spun its horned head in confusion, a gauntleted hand smashed into the side of it, and it bellowed as it was knocked off its feet. The scimitar flashing, Zealot came forward like a hurricane. The demon bared its fangs, and in the next instant was cut open from throat to stomach. The Warrior spun around, the sword singing, and met another demon’s attack with a perfect parry, the sword moving up of its own accord to strike at the fiend’s eyes, then thrust directly into its chest. Pulling the sword free, Zealot turned, facing two more of the monsters coming his way.

One of them came at him with a scythe, the other a sword. The Warrior’s eyes narrowed beneath the red fighter’s mask he wore, and he moved forward to meet the both of them. The sword was nothing more than a flash of light, slicing and striking with deadly precision. The Elvaan surged past his two assailants, twirling the scimitar in the air and then turning, his silver hair flaring out behind him. The demons stood frozen, and then collapsed, a spray of blood turning to smoke in the magically heated air as it erupted from a dozen different cuts. Zealot lowered the blade, scanning it approvingly.

“This is a really good sword,” he remarked. “Where can I get one like it?”

“Leave it alone,” Ayn muttered, snatching the weapon out of the Elvaan’s hand.

“What? All I said was – “

“Just drop it,” The Thief interrupted, brushing past him. Zealot shrugged, then walked back to where he had placed his great axe before catching Ayn’s displaced weapon.

“I prefer these anyway,” he said, wrenching it out of the rock and hefting it up in his hands again. “I love great axes.”

“Nobody – “

They all turned as a shot rang out again, cutting off Ayn’s words. Near the spot where they had first entered the cavern of the Protocrystal, a final demon toppled over in front of Menphis. A wisp of smoke trailed from the Ranger’s extended gun. He lowered the weapon and flicked an eye towards the rest of them, then holstered it. His breathing appeared quickened, and there was sweat along his brow. Ayn recalled the haunted, frenzied look in Menphis’s eyes when they had first met, and he had accused them of being in league with the demons. Whatever his story was, this fight was clearly personal to him.

“That’s all of them,” Tikinas said, dropping down from above them. Despite her report, she still held a katana in each hand, and behind her mask her eyes constantly scanned the room. Besides a few decaying demons and the Protocrystal of Fire, nothing was there but them.

“Good show,” Greyheart said, stepping out from behind Zealot, startling the Warrior with his appearance. “I’ll admit I was worried at their numbers, but we’ve made short work of the fiends.”

Ayn didn’t even try to contain his anger as he advanced on the Red Mage, brandishing the blood-soaked sword. “Where the hell were you?” he demanded. “You didn’t lift a finger this entire time!”

“Why, casting haste spells, of course,” the Red Mage said, clearly surprised by the accusation.

With a snarl, Ayn snatched Greyheart by his collar, dragging the Elvaan down to face him. Rage played across his face as he stared down the Red Mage. “I have had enough of you, you worthless piece of garbage,” the Thief growled, “if you had done a single thing to help us instead of wasting all of our time being useless, it might never have gotten this far at all.”

“But – “

Ayn tossed him aside contemptuously. The Red Mage straightened, looking quite rebuked as he straightened the wrinkled collar of his well-maintained tabard, and carefully straightened the white plume in his hat. “I’ll have the pirates deal with you when we get back,” he told the Elvaan, who blanched at the pronouncement. “Let’s find a way out,” he said, glancing about the cavern. “Either this Duke Berith is one of the bodies lying on the floor here, or he ran away before he could finish whatever he was doing.”

“Actually, I was just wrapping things up.”

The voice was deep and resonant. Far from the horrendous shriek most demons emitted, this was a steady, urbane voice, yet still the sound of it was enough to make one shiver even within the heart of a volcano. As one, the group turned to face the speaker, but they all already knew who it was.

Unlike the other demons, who wore only their own armored hides, this one was garbed in a thick red mantle, with black gloves upon his clawed hands. Robes of black and red flowed down to the floor from his broad shoulders. The Kindred Lord Duke Berith looked seven feet high if he was an inch in Ayn’s eyes. He stood straight back, hands clasped behind him, his powerful wings folded and two long, curved horns reaching just under his chin. His mouth was closed, but the same haunting yellow glow which burned just behind his eyes emanated clearly behind his teeth as well. Taloned feet scraped the rock floor as he stepped forward, the others gasping and holding up their weapons as he took but a single step.

“I have spent so much time studying you, and yet this is my first occasion to actually speak with real inhabitants of the Otherworld,” there was a grim fascination in his voice, though his eyes were calm. “So much time. I know you better than you know yourselves.”

“What are you – “ Ayn swallowed against the feeling just being close to the demon was stirring in his stomach. “What are you doing here?”

Something like a smile curled his thin lips. It was truly frightening to behold. “Just the question I expected, along with the tinge of fear. Such a plethora of emotions you creatures have. No one else appreciates them quite like I do. The others, they see only this world, I think. They never stopped to think about the things that crawl on its surface.”

Menphis’s gun rang out, and Duke Berith disinterestedly shifted his gaze. A silver bullet turned to liquid in the air, finally becoming an aqueous vapor long before it ever even scratched the surface of the Kindred Lord. Ayn knew Menphis’s other bullets had found their marks just fine. Berith had melted that bullet in less time than it took to think.

“I think about you, though,” he declared, and his hands dropped from where they were folded behind him. “I know your secrets, your weaknesses, your petty ambitions. I understand these things you call love and hope, desire, lust, fear . . . I could go on. It’s remarkable to me.”

“What are you doing to the volcano?” Ayn demanded, bringing up Argentina’s sword.

“Volcano?” he said, tilting his horned head to the side. “Oh yes, yes, your name for this place. An entire mountain which spews fire . . . even in Dynamis we do not have such marvels. I suppose I must admit to myself that is one of the reasons I am destroying it.” Duke Berith took another step forward, and this time his wings unfolded, the yellow light behind his eyes intensifying. “Do you know what it will be like when this liquid fire sweeps down the island?” For a moment Ayn could swear the demon was actually asking the question. “Can you picture the reaction it will bring, so many thousands of individual reactions to so many of your emotions?”

“He’s going to destroy Norg,” Tikinas said in a whispered breath, and a single laugh escaped Duke Berith’s mouth. When it opened, an unholy flame was plain behind it.

“Norg?” he laughed. “The group of animals herding themselves in caves below? Norg,” he laughed again. “Witless beasts. You actually believe your plans of “resistance” merited a response. Do you even appreciate how beneath me it is to speak your language? I’m not tearing apart this island to destroy Norg,” he suddenly raised his hands up before him, and a pale aura surrounded the Kindred Lord. “I’m doing it because I want to see what will happen when so many of you beasts die. I’m doing it because I can.”

There came a sound like a furnace hatch opening, and the monstrous Duke Berith released his power.


Klistel scrambled up the peak, his vision blurring. Even the pain in his limbs was dulled, as if he had reached his limit. His body was simply incapable of processing any more than it already had. His bright blonde hair was matted down with sweat and ash, and streaks of dried blood marred his white robes. The knee of his right leg buckled, and he went down in a slump. He had reached a dead end. Behind him was the way he had come, and below him, the ceaselessly boiling pit of Ifrit’s Cauldron.

He did not know how long it had been since the chase had resumed. He did not know if his mysterious benefactor was dead or had simply fled. All he was cognizant of was that the Ash Dragon was roaring again, its call only a distant buzzing in his ears now. Some time earlier, when he could not recall, there had been a fearsome explosion back the way he came, and soon afterwards the Bomb Queen and the Ash Dragon had resumed their pursuit. The Summoner slowly forced himself to rise. When he turned, he saw the last bend he had rounded, far below him now, with a blackened, leathery mass of death rushing up it, accompanied by four orange-and-red creatures bounding through the air.

Klistel drew in a single, ragged breath. Everything in his line of vision doubled. He could see an indistinct blur growing closer, and it registered with him that he needed to do something. He realized something was in his hands. A sound was buzzing in his ears, and he became aware that he was holding his staff, the tip of it glowing brightly. The bombs were close enough that he could see their individual faces, the remaining monstrosities gathering close around their Queen. Beneath them the Ash Dragon was hungrily zeroing in on him. In only moments, they were upon him. There was nowhere left to run.

“Gotcha,” Klistel said aloud, and thrust his staff into the earth.

The full force of his power sang out as Titan, the Avatar of Earth, erupted forth from the rocks themselves. A wall of living stone and granite, impenetrable and implacable, Titan snarled as he was unleashed into the world. The unbridled surge of Klitel’s astral flow poured out of him, and the Avatar, black and gray as he formed himself from the volcano itself, bore down upon the Ash Dragon like a wild beast.

Immediately, the monster turned to run, but like a wave the earth came forward, sweeping it down with crushing force. Klistel pushed further, sending waves of his energy into the air, filling the entire space with his magic. Titan grew again, his fists glowing with veins of magma as it smashed them into the Ash Dragon. The monster roared, then whipped its tail with an ear-splintering crack, striking the Avatar with such force that its hand broke off at the wrist. Titan plunged its shattered arm into the ground, and withdrew it good as new. Stone fingers clenched as they wrapped around the Ash Dragon’s throat, and the monster clawed and struck at the hulking Avatar ineffectually, each bit of it broken off being drawn back up from the ground only seconds later.

Then, as suddenly as he came, Titan winked out of existence again, melting back into nothing but stone and dust. The Ash Dragon dropped down from where it had been held in Titan’s vice-like grip. Landing on all fours, it stared ahead, confused, seeing nothing but a clear path between itself and Klistel, who stood defenseless at the top of the ledge. The Summoner wasn’t even looking at the dragon, only staring with a drained look on his face into the air.

Bestial instincts taking over, the Ash Dragon charged. Mouth agape, it plunged towards the focus of its primal fury. With all its might, the dragon finally bit down into Klistel’s unprotected flesh, completely engulfing the Summoner’s top half with its elongated mouth, fangs as long as the Elvaan’s forearm.

It withdrew the next moment with a howl of pain, and Klistel shook his head, not taking his focus off what he was looking at in the air.

“Stoneskin,” he said simply, and then the glow from the air behind them finally became so intense that even the Ash Dragon noticed it.

Bombs, made during a terrible war of mages, were created to soak up magic like a sponge. The more they absorbed, the larger they grew, until finally it was all released.

Four bombs hung suspended in the air now just over the Ash Dragon, each one roughly the size of an adult bugard after absorbing the power of Klistel’s astral flow. The last thing the Summoner saw registering in the eyes of the Ash Dragon was dawning realization. The fear didn’t even have time to hit before the explosion tore the ledge from the cliff from which it hung.

Klistel was thrown backwards in a high arc, the last of his defensive spells peeling away like skin from fruit. Below him, the Ash Dragon, its body torn apart by the force of the bombs detonation, howled with dismay as it plunged down into the lake of fire below them. The heat overtook Klistel, and he reached out for something, anything to catch him, knowing that nothing would come. His body went limp, and his descent towards death began.

He barely even heard the whistle through the air before a strong hand clasped his wrist, and all at once he was flying. Wind struck him in the face like a blow, and he gasped as air was forced into his lungs. All around him were tan-colored scales and leathery wings. The Summoner looked up, and saw Tomiko’s face as she struggled to pull him on to the back of the enormous wyvern she now rode.

“You’re late, Tomiko,” he managed to get out.

“I’m so sorry,” she genuinely apologized, “Vouivre got lost.”

The wyvern shrieked out disapproval at having blame cast on him, and Klistel collapsed on its back as Tomiko finally got him fully atop her mount.

“Okay, okay,” Tomiko admitted, stroking the wyvern’s massive neck, “maybe it was partially my fault. But I’ve been taking good care of your son, Vouivre.”

From Tomiko’s shoulder, Muffin let out an approving cry, and the Dragoon patted its head with familiarity.

“Got to get back,” Klistel sputtered, fighting to stay awake. “Take us back to the Goblin village.”

“Klistel,” Tomiko protested, “you need help right away.”

He couldn’t argue with her, even he had to admit he’d be no good like he was. “I’ll make Oramix heal me. I’ll convince him. We’ve got to get back, Tomiko, something’s happening. Something’s happening right now.”


Zealot charged forward, swinging his axe with force that would cleave through cerment. Berith caught the blade of his weapon between two fingers, stopping it in the air. Zealot lurched forward in surprise at the shift of momentum, but in the next instant was blown backwards as a rush of electric energy coursed through his body. He fell like a pile of sticks collapsing, Duke Berith dropping his massive axe to the ground like a discarded toy.

Ayn was right behind him, however, and swinging a dagger in one hand and the demon-hungry scimitar in the other. The Thief struck endlessly, but it seemed like no matter where he sliced or thrust, Berith was suddenly an inch to the side. With a cobra-like feint, slicing down and then reversing motion in mid-stroke, he finally caught the side of Berith’s horn, a tiny fleck of the twisted bone being cut away. The Kindred Lord only gave a dull smile, and all at once the ground rushed up at Ayn’s feet. Whatever in him might have broke when the floor suddenly thrust him into the ceiling, he did not feel as the impact itself tore consciousness away from him.

This time, however, Menphis’s shot was dead on, and a bullet took the Duke directly in the chest. In the same instant, he was struck by a hail of small bags of powder, all of which erupted into bursts of flame upon contact. Tikinas dropped down in front of him, slashing downwards with her twin katana. Menphis fired again as Tikinas thrust both of her deadly blades towards Berith’s glowing eyes. She gasped as the same bullet Menphis just fired reversed course inches from his body and tore through her shoulder before a screaming gale-force wind ripped both Ninja and Ranger from their feet. They collided with each other in the air, then dropped into unmoving heaps on the red-glowing ground.

Duke Berith turned his head, a plainly bored expression on his face, and casually flicked away the bullet which had caught him in the chest. It had never even pierced his thick armor-like skin. In shorter time than it took him to pluck the wasted ammunition from his robes, he had dispatched four of his attackers. His eyes now fell on the only one left standing.

“So it is now down to just you and I,” he told Greyheart as he stepped towards the Red Mage. Greyheart remained in place, eyes wide as the Kindred Lord advanced on him. “I want to see what will happen if the others watch while I pour this amazing molten rock over you. Do you think they’ll be defiant? Angry? Sad? Fearful?”

The tone in his voice was genuinely curious. “Tell me,” he asked of Greyheart, clawed hands reaching for him, “what do you think?”