Chapter LI: The Education of Duke Berith

“I command twenty-six legions of the Kindred,” Berith spoke softly, extending his clawed hands. In the light of the Protocrystal, his entire body was red. “Twenty-six thousand demons, and not one of them is as fascinating as you Otherworld things.” His eyes blazed with an unholy light burning just behind them as he towered over the solitary form of Greyheart. “I have lived for millennia, and never have I seen anything like the range of emotion you creatures display. Another thing that has no equal in the world I am from. Frustrating, yet astonishing. I may keep a few around for breeding stock when this is over.”

“I’ll gladly volunteer,” Greyheart offered weakly, but his words were cut off as Duke Berith’s hands wrapped around his windpipe, claws sinking in to vulnerable flesh.

The Kindred Lord’s hands came together, passing through Greyheart’s neck like it wasn’t even there. An annoyed growl came from his throat as he realized that was the truth of the matter, the illusion of the Red Mage blinking out upon contact.

“So sorry,” the Elvaan offered apologetically, putting his hands up helplessly from a few yards away, “I’m not normally so deceptive. You’re just terribly intimidating.”

“You needn’t belabor this,” Duke Berith advised as he turned to face the real Greyheart. The Warlock had his back to the cavern wall, as helpless an expression on his face as there had ever been. “I understand you creatures place value in your own lives, but I assure you that it means nothing.”

“Be that as it may,” Greyheart replied, “you’ll forgive me, I hope, if I lack the insight into my species which you have gained.”

The Kindred Lord gave a short laugh. “Forgiveness is not a trait I suffer from.”

“I had suspected that would be the case,” Greyheart said sadly, “which is why I took the precaution of increasing the force of gravity around you by a factor of twenty or so.”

“What are you – “ his sentence was cut off as he took a step forward. Berith’s head immediately bowed, and a startled choke escaped his throat. His massive frame drooped, clawed hand scraping the floor as his knees threatened to buckle. With visible effort, he raised his head, eyes ablaze.

“Desperation is something I have not had witnessed,” he said as a smile tugged at his thin lips. “Were I not so curious about the destruction of this island, I might have dragged this out to see what other tricks you had.”

“It’s terribly rude to speak of someone still living in the past tense.”

“I consider it rude that you creatures call what you do living.”

“Duly noted,” Greyheart said, and with a bow of his head he split into three.

Duke Berith sighed as the phantom shadows raced about the room, struggling to lift his arm in the gravity field the Elvaan had surrounded him with. “I suppose this is all I can expect from such as you,” he lamented, and extended a single finger.

A crack of lightning burst in the air above one of the Greyhearts. As soon as the searing touch of it skimmed the surface of the shadow, it blinked out. Berith turned his head towards another, repeating the process. Once again, the magic image disintegrated immediately upon making contact. Turning his horned head to face the final Greyheart, Berith pointed once more, and a bolt of lightning struck the Elvaan dead in the chest. He stared at the spot where he had been struck, brushing at a singe mark with a sigh.

“That’s never going to come out,” he sighed, looking down at his scorched tabard. He appraised Berith’s expression and tugged at his collar, straightening his garb. “Sorry, you just kept using thunder spells so often I thought it wise to weave a protective ward.”

“Then burn,” Berith countered, raising his hand again, but Greyheart’s palm rose instantly in response. The Duke’s chest contracted, and his body tensed as a ripple of aqueous purple vapor suddenly appeared in the air around him. The conjured smoke shot like millions of tiny needles into the Kindred Lord’s skin, and a gasp escaped him. Taking a step forward, he stumbled again, his wings folding down over his body under the stress of Greyheart’s gravity spell. Now, for the first time, anger appeared on his visage.

“I noticed you of the Kindred have blood just like anybody else,” the Red Mage explained, “so I just filled yours with poison.”

“This is not desperation,” Berith gasped, his hand clutching at the red-and-black robes around his chest. “what is this?”

“Something I doubt any of us foolish creatures have ever expressed around you, good Duke,” Greyheart replied. “This is confidence.”

Berith gave another shout as Greyheart’s fingers sliced through the air. A wave of palpable darkness shot from his fingers, surging directly into the Duke’s yellow-glowing eyes. He slashed at the air frantically as his sight was robbed from him, roaring in frustration.

“What has always irked me,” Greyheart said, the Duke searching vainly for the source of the voice, “is that so many mages get so caught up in the base aspects of their art. They think that because they have destructive or curative magic at their command, they should pursue solely one or the other. In doing so, they deprive themselves of so many alternatives. It baffles me.”

Berith shot his hand outwards, and a blob of incandescent flame fired out. Greyheart sidestepped it, placing another finger in the air. A blue glow surrounded Duke Berith, and the Kindred Lord suddenly moved as if time had slowed down around him. In the time it took him to raise his arm, Greyheart was already halfway across the room from where he had last spoke, and he could see the crackle of magic as it surged into the Duke’s palm. A burst of wind shot out, striking the bare cavern wall. The Duke’s blind eyes searched in vain for some confirmation that he had struck true.

“Not to say I don’t have such magic at my disposal,” Greyheart clarified, “its just that I think there’s so much more to do before you have to resort to it.” Berith was turning his head in response to the voice, the slow spell giving Greyheart ample time to emphasize his point. The ground at his feet suddenly came alive, rippling forward and pushing out to strike directly at the Kindred Lord. The force threw him from his feet, sending the Duke into a heap. He rose, but found he could not push himself off the ground with Greyheart’s gravity spell pushing down on him. Weakly, he lifted his head, flecks of poisoned spittle forming at the corners of his mouth.

“You may be thousands of years old, Duke Berith,” Greyheart acknowledged, “and I fully admit you are not only far more powerful than I am, but than I could ever hope to be.” The Elvaan advanced on the Duke now, eldritch force filling the air around him as he came forward. His gray hair rose in response, and surges of energy crackled in the air surrounding him. “However, you, like so many others, use your power as a substitute for using your mind.” The Red Mage put up both hands, and focused his might outwards. “Just like them, this lesson comes too late.”

Greyheart put his hands in the air, and in the very next instant was thrown backwards off his feet. The force with which he struck the rock face behind him cracked the surface, and his broken remains tumbled to the ground, lifeless.

“That certainly went on long enough,” Duke Berith commented, standing with ease. Clenching his teeth, he opened his eyes wide, the darkness swirling over them being blown aside by the light pouring out from him. He flexed his hands and fingers as he straightened, putting his wings back behind him and stretching them languidly.

The Kindred Lord stepped easily back to the Protocrystal of Fire. A hint of a smile played across his lips. “You were an amusing creature,” he said to Greyheart, “but unfortunately I don’t have time to study you any longer. I am curious as to what base trick you would have tried next.”

“Oh, I wasn’t aiming anything at you,” Greyheart responded, and the Duke cast his head sharply to where he lay on the ground. Swinging his legs out from beneath him, the Elvaan rose to his feet, cracking his neck with a sigh. “You’re familiar with the Phalanx spell?” he asked. “Protect? Shell? Stoneskin? Are any of these ringing a bell?”

“Why you continue to opt for prolonged suffering is perplexing even for you beasts.”

“I don’t intend to suffer alone,” Greyheart said, and an orange glow suddenly flared to life from within him. “Like I said, I wasn’t aiming for you.”


Whatever struck Ayn, it felt like his head had been dunked into ice water. He tore himself from the ground with a gasp. He had no idea how long he’d been out, but he remembered what happened leading up to it. Hurriedly, his fingers found the dagger lying on the ground in front of him and scraped it free, his other hand searching wildly for the blue scimitar. Even as his hand wrapped around its golden hilt where it had dropped, he turned his head and saw what was actually going on.

Greyheart was suspended in the air, a rapidly swirling vortex of orange and golden light surrounding him. His eyes were alight as the air in the cavern shifted from its hazy red to a soothing, translucent white. Standing by the Protocrystal, Duke Berith stood with a perplexed expression on his face. Around him, the energy Greyheart was emitting flowed into the others as it had Ayn. Zealot’s eyes snapped open, and he rose with a start. Tikinas pulled herself free from the ground, katana already snapping into her hands as Menphis stood straight up, his expression a slow boil. The Kindred Lord looked around in consternation as those he had dispatched earlier rose like the dead returning to life.

“What will this possibly avail you?” Berith asked of Greyheart, his tone beyond confused. “These other creatures fell before me in seconds. I don’t understand how you think this will matter.”

“We could have done better in our first outing,” Greyheart said, leveling his eyes on the Duke, “but there’s a difference this time, sir. I was being facetious before, I’ll admit. I know you have a good deal of understanding about protective spells.” The Red Mage drew out his hand, fingers clenched, and suddenly made a motion like he was tearing something forcefully from the air. Duke Berith gave a genuine cry of surprise, and then stared at his own hands in amazement.

“That’s why I just removed all of yours.”

Ayn didn’t know much about magic, but he knew a cue when it was given to him.

Greyheart’s feet touched down on the ground, his hands still extended. In turn, he pointed at each one of the small cadre, and immediately an orange glow overtook each one of them. Ayn felt like he was flying, like his every sense and perception had been accelerated. In less time than it took Berith to realize he was in danger, the assault was on.

Ayn struck first, and the roar of pain Berith gave as his dagger sliced through demon flesh was intensely satisfying. The demon spun, but even as he did so, Greyheart’s magic was at work again. Ayn could perceive the Duke slowing down, like the air around him had become thick. Berith’s brow creased in frustration, and then he was forcibly torn from his feet as Zealot’s great axe smashed into his ribs.

The Warrior was already pursuing Berith before the Kindred Lord even touched the ground again. As soon as he had, Tikinas’s feet collided with his chest, forcing him onto his back. The Mithra’s heel scraped across Berith’s face, and he gave a howl of indignity. A wave of force emanated from him, blowing Tikinas back, but Greyheart’s magic, spell following spell in an unbroken chain, caught her in a protective embrace. She touched down lightly on the ground, and then immediately sprung forward to renew her assault.

Zealot’s weapon again collided with the Kindred Lord, and blood shot from his mouth at the impact. With a slash of his arm, Berith swept Zealot away, but Ayn was already back on the attack. Argentina’s sword cut left and right almost simultaneously. His arms raised in defense, Berith recoiled with deep slash marks across both, his steaming blood evaporating in the air. He roared, but was instantly struck in the side of the face with a shuriken. Tikinas streaked forward, twin scars rupturing across Berith’s chest as she zipped past. The Kindred Lord turned to pursue her, and instantly the bags of powder she had placed on him exploded with a jolt of electric energy. When he staggered backwards, the rest of the group had scattered. All save for Menphis.

Duke Berith was conscious of the air suddenly stirring in the direction of the Ranger. The Hume’s gun was raised and trained directly at the noble demon, and a wind was rising around him. The burning behind Menphis’s eyes was a match for Berith’s. The Kindred Lord raised a hand, a spell forming in his palm, but it never took shape. In one climactic rush, the wind whistled around the barrel of the Ranger’s weapon, a glow forming within it. The next thing Berith felt was hot silver piercing his upraised hand.

Menphis’s chi roared through his gun, and in rapid succession he fired shot after shot into the Kindred Lord. Berith felt metal strike through his arm, then his shoulder. Blood erupted from his mouth as two more struck him in the chest, burning holes appearing to accompany Tikinas’s slashes. A final shot nicked his throat, and he clutched at the wound in shock. Still Menphis came forward, his gun the focus of boundless rage within him. An explosion from the barrel shook the entire cavern, and Berith arched backwards as five more bullets simultaneously struck. Red mist poured from his wounds, the magical heat of the Protocrystal reducing his lifeblood to dust upon contact.

Zealot, Ayn, and Tikinas rushed forwards as the Kindred Lord gasped, Greyheart gathering his power together for one final push.

In tandem, they were all thrown backwards. The red light of the cavern was repulsed and overtaken by a blinding cascade of electric force. From Berith’s very core, spikes of shocking power lanced out, scattering his opponents and blasting them across the room. The Kindred Lord rose, seething, pushing his monumental energy outwards and pinning them down with his might.

“You ignorant swine,” he fumed, steaming blood pouring from his wounds, his tattered robes blackening in the brunt of his own spell. “You foolish, stupid creatures! Brutes! You are insects! Animals! How dare you? How DARE you!?”

As he spoke, the force erupting from him escalated, turning the entire room into a sphere of electricity. Lightning danced off of the Protocrystal, and repeatedly Ayn heard cries of pain as the spikes shooting from Berith’s body struck them with stunning force. His hands were scorched, and the air felt too thick to breathe. A shot of lightning cracked down, splintering stone where he had been moments before. On instinct, the Rogue spun to a crouching stand, struggling to see in the intense light Berith was emitting.

Ayn let his eyes go out of focus. A crackle of force struck his shoulder, numbing his arm, but he stayed on his feet. Zealot struggled to fight forward, but every step he took only resulted in being forced further back. Every hair on his head stood on end, and Berith roared further, intensifying the already unbearable pressure. Greyheart’s power was gone, and he was blasted from stone to stone as Berith seemed to single him out. Ayn shifted perspective. He looked beyond. Tikinas screamed to his left as magic lightning ran through her body. There was a field of purple-tinted energy surrounding the Duke, so clear he could reach out and grab it. A bolt streaked towards Menphis, and the Ranger fell to his knees in shock, arms trembling uncontrollably as it struck. He could see the energy. He could see it.

There was a burst of chi from Ayn’s legs, and a cloud of dust rose from behind him. Berith was shouting something in the language of demons, the room growing so intensely bright that Ayn almost closed his eyes. He kept focus, a blur, and headed directly for Duke Berith, straight into the source of what was killing them.

The room went dark. The red light of the Protocrystal returned. Duke Berith’s shout was cut off in mid-cry. Stunned, he stared at his hands, giving a weak cough as he struggled to understand what just happened.

“Where, where did . . . “ he muttered, and vaguely became aware of the tingling feeling growing along the base of his spine.

“Here,” Ayn said, his voice vibrating on the current now surging through his body. Berith turned to see the Thief. His features were indistinguishable. There was only the vague shape of a Hume body with blinding electrical energy shooting off of it. Ayn’s form shifted as he withdrew his weapons, the stolen aura of Berith’s power enveloping him. “I stole it from you,” he told Berith, “it’s what I do.”

Current raced through Berith’s body as Ayn lashed out with his weapons. Each strike sizzled his flesh, and the burning stench of it mingled with the scent of iron coming from the mist of blood in the room. Every time Ayn hit Berith, the aura surrounding him surged. Tendrils of electric energy shot from the Thief’s weapons and body, coursing through the Kindred Lord. Berith’s mouth foamed, his eyes seemed to boil in their sockets. The light burning behind his mouth faltered as his muscles gave a spasm at each blow from the relentless Ayn.

The light began to dim as Ayn burned through the power he had stolen. With a final push, he let loose a four-stroke combination that crackled with each blow. Berith raised a hand weakly, but Ayn suddenly ducked down, and roaring from behind him came Zealot. The Warrior swung his great axe with all the force he could muster, and the Duke’s eyes blazed in disbelief as the blade sunk into his wounded chest. A great spray of blood filled the air as Zealot tore the weapon free, a thick crimson haze spreading into the air. Berith had no time to react before something sank into the base of his spine. His wings flared out briefly, and then went limp as Tikinas ripped her katana along his back.

Berith somehow stayed on his feet. The Duke struggled for words, but nothing would come out. When he tried to raise his arms, nothing happened. He looked up, and saw Menphis standing across the room, his gun raised. They made eye contact, and the Ranger’s gaze narrowed like a bird of prey swooping down for the kill. Though they were a cavern apart, to Menphis it was as clear a shot as if he had the barrel sticking down the demon’s throat.

When his gun went off, a spray that used to be the left side of Duke Berith’s skull plastered itself across the wall.

Duke Berith, commander of twenty-six legions of Kindred, pursuer of knowledge beyond mortal fathoming, older than anyone in Vana’diel, fell to the ground, a bullet having pierced directly through his open mouth. He crawled forward, hands reaching vainly. Then, a moment later, he went limp. The only noise he made was that of the blood boiling out of his stricken body.

“Is it over?” Asked Tikinas, her breathing labored. None of them had taken their eyes off of Berith.

“I think so,” Ayn assessed, and then turned to Zealot. “We won! High five!”

“Alright!” Zealot celebrated, slapping Ayn’s palm against his own, then collapsing to the ground as an electric shock shot through him.

“I think that was the last of it,” the Rogue said, snapping his fingers to see a few errant sparks fly off. “Well,” he said grudgingly, looking over at a haggard and exhausted Greyheart, “I suppose you’re not entirely useless after all.”

Greyheart managed a weak smile. “I try not to show off,” he said. “Mama Hiralda didn’t raise any braggarts.”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” Ayn dismissed. “Alright, conquering heroes, let’s find a way back out of here and – “

“Nothing . . . all for nothing.”

The voice was almost an incomprehensible gurgle, and spread out amongst a sentence mostly in the language of demons. They spun to find Berith’s arm raised, magic coursing through it. Collectively they moved forward, but then were nearly blown off their feet by the force he released. The shockwave took rocks from the wall, and jolted Zealot back to his feet. Ayn ground his teeth, gripping the curved blade he held until his knuckles turned white, but Berith’s attack did not hit any one of them.

The last ergs of the Kindred Lord’s life struck directly at the Protocrystal of Fire.

Once more, the Duke’s form went still as his arm limply fell. Whatever was left inside of him rustled like dead leaves in the wind, and then passed. Looks were exchanged from person to person as confusion gripped the ragtag group. They all stared uncertainly at the crystal. At first, it seemed as if nothing had happened.

They gasped as one as a fault appeared on its surface.

Almost immediately, the red light which had been filling the room blinked once, and then exploded outwards. The pale glow became a blazing light, and everything went from dimly illuminated to almost blinding. The Protocrystal of Fire shook violently, light pouring out of it. Cracks began branching off of the fault Berith had made, tiny flecks of the crystal shooting out into the cavern. The temperature began rising unbearably. The entire cavern started to shake, and from outside they could hear the volcano itself rumbling.

“No!” a voice shouted from above them, and startled, they turned to see Klistel appear at the top of the ramp they had descended.

“Where were you?!” Ayn demanded, then saw the plethora of grievous injuries the Summoner sported. Limping visibly, using his staff for support, the Elvaan dropped into the cavern and started desperately hobbling towards the breached Protocrystal.

“Are you crazy?” Greyheart called out over the roar of the volcano. “You’ll be incinerated!”

“Don’t stop him!” Another voice cried, and the Dragoon Tomiko entered, following close behind Klistel. “Are we too late?”

“No!” Klistel repeated, this time with a different inflection. “I refuse to let this happen!”

“What will you – “ but her question was cut off as the heat in the room suddenly dropped precipitously. Ayn’s breath exploded from his lungs as the air suddenly became breathable again.

Then he realized that the temperature hadn’t dropped, it had only found focus.

An inferno raged around Klistel as he swung his staff through the air. All the heat in the cavern convalesced on him, creating a swirling ring of fire. His eyes blazed red as he guided his power to meet his ends. With a dramatic flourish, he cast his staff outwards, and all at once the fire around him focused into a single spot at the tip of his staff. What looked like a beam of light made entirely from magma burst out of the jewel surmounting it, and the energy wrapped itself around the Protocrystal.

A bestial roar filled their ears. It was like a wildfire had come to life and given voice to its intentions. Klistel’s whole body was suffused with a reddish glow which spiked around him like flames. A symbol appeared in fire beneath his feet, and then another appeared beneath the Protocrystal. It snaked upwards, engulfing the both of them, and then something else was in the room. Clear enough to be seen, yet ephemeral, like a ten-foot tall ghost made of fire, the form of Ifrit, Avatar of Fire, rose from the Protocrystal.

Ayn had seen Summoners call on Ifrit before, and instantly he realized this was different. The creature floating above the gigantic red jewel dwarfed others he had seen, yet somehow lacked their substance. He could not look directly at him for long, and he wondered if he was only seeing what his mind was capable of perceiving. He decided he didn’t care, as long as the volcano didn’t collapse with him still in it.

“Can you stop it?” he called out to Klistel. The room had not stopped quaking, and the flames around the Summoner as he and Ifrit stared at each other were only intensifying.

“Ifrit has slowed the process down,” he answered, “but even if we save the Protocrystal, there’s no way we can keep the volcano from erupting now!”

“What can we do?” the Thief shouted.

Klistel cast his gaze about the room hurriedly, the task he was focusing on with Ifrit obviously of supreme importance. “Who’s the fastest one of you?” he asked. All eyes turned on Tikinas.

“Why?” she called back suspiciously.

Removing one hand from his staff, Klistel thrust a hand into his pocket. Holding it back up, a tiny device was now in his grasp. He tossed it through the field of flames engulfing him, and Tikinas snatched it out of the air. She almost lost her grip on it at first, realizing the thing was somehow wet. Then she looked at it again. It was a tiny tuning fork, completely dry, but she could not hold it without receiving the sensation of moisture.

“Take it!” Klistel ordered. “Take it to the Cloister of Tides, and strike it against the Protocrystal of Water! Ifrit and I will do the rest!”

“The Cloister of Tides?” Tikinas’s shocked reply came. “That’s through the Den of Rancor! I’ll never make it in time!”

“I can fly you to the base of the volcano,” Tomiko said, “but Vouivre won’t go any further than that. But we have to hurry!”

Tikinas looked to Ayn for support, but the Thief had none to offer. He put his hands out helplessly. The decision was in her hands.

The Ninja pulled her mask tight around her face, stuffing the tiny fork into one of the many pouches lining her garment. “Alright, blondie,” she told Tomiko, “let’s go.”

The Dragoon nodded in response, and leaped back up the ledge. Tikinas followed, darting ahead up the path. It was only a moment before she was out of sight, all of their hopes going with her.