Chapter LXIX: The Behemoth

Meowolf felt the brass hilt of his sword dig into the chain mail links of his gauntlets. The Galka clenched his weapon tightly, letting the gleaming tip lower slowly towards the ground. The leather straps on his shield were tightened snugly around his left arm, now rising as he set his feet defensively. Beneath the thick plate mail he wore, his muscles tensed in anticipation. Almost involuntarily, he scraped his sword across the ground before him. The blade came back up. A line had been drawn.

Surrounding him were the Ariesian War Warlocks. Dieggo’s company of fighting Tarutaru flanked the Galka on either side. The Captain himself stood by Meowolf’s side, a contrast in every way. Whereas he held a shield forward in defense, the Tarutaru had his hands wrapped around the long shaft of a deadly scythe. Dieggo was diminuitive, standing scarcely three feet high, easily dwarfed by the Galka’s towering height and muscle. Meowolf’s armor shone purest white, inlaid with gold and silver, anointed with blessings of protection. The Captain of the Ariesian War Warlocks was wrapped in black steel without adornment. He was a Dark Knight and a soldier, Meowolf a Paladin and an adventurer. Fate had made them allies. War had made them friends.

Twice since the battle at Bomingo Round had Dieggo’s company seen action. On both occasions, they had been the first responders to a breach of Windurst’s defenses. When the Kindred stormed through the gates, Dieggo met them head-on. Through brutal conflicts he had survived, holding them off long enough for help to arrive. The toll on the Ariesian War Warlocks had not been light. Many faces just becoming familiar to Meowolf were now gone forever. Dieggo’s battalion responded to the situation by fighting harder after each loss. Their reduction in numbers was easily noticeable, regardless. By contrast, the demon horde outside Windurst seemed undiminished. A war of attrition would go heavily in their favor. It would not take many more battles before the fighting abilities of the unit were completely worn down.

For what was coming next, however, they were not alone.

Dieggo’s unit formed only the core of the army gathered that day. Their scouts had provided ample warning that the attack to come would be completely unlike the previous forays by the Kindred. The Combat Casters of Windurst and the Mithran mercenaries remained spread out around the city, ready for anything, but the bulk of them were now in Windurst Woods, ready for battle. Meowolf had been given little time to learn of their role and function, and tried to remember everything he could.

Moving swiftly and silently through the buildings, their exact number a mystery, were the Python Mercenaries. Titania was amongst them, Meowolf knew that much. The Mithran brigade was organized for speedy and targeted strikes against opponents. Many times during the Battle of Heaven’s Tower Titania had struck down a Kindred or Vanguard with a single shot. Those were the tactics adhered to by the Pythons. Be accurate, be quick, and be deadly. Waste not even one arrow, and make each and every pull of the bowstring count. Their leader was a ferocious hunter from the southern continent. Jaydeena, as she was called, seemed amicable enough, but Meowolf had spoken with her only sparingly.

Unlike the rest of her troop, Jaydeena was perfectly visible. She waited for the coming attack with her bow in hand, an arrow drawn, distinctly violet eyes drawn towards the horizon. Her garb was but serviceable cloth and leather, suitable for quick scouting and basic defense. She was built for speed and stealth, being neither short or tall, and slim yet defined in musculature. A braided, golden cord at her shoulder denoted her rank. Besides that lone trapping, she had no distinction from her troop. Jaydeena embodied the idea of what it meant to be a Python. Meowolf knew the arrow in her hands would be but one of many which would fly true this day.

As the Mithra moved on the fringes of the formation, Dieggo’s company was surrounded on all sides by a larger, more rested division. The Capricornian War Warlocks were also in place. The Tarutaru were broken into squads of eight Combat Casters apiece, and situated strategically to eliminate any gaps in the Windurstian defense. While eight had initially seemed woefully inadequate to Meowolf, he had been assured that eight Combat Casters were worth a hundred regular soldiers. Unlike the Ariesian unit, the Capricornian War Warlocks were built completely around utilizing magic offensively. Meowolf had complete faith in their leader. After all, it was Yasuchika.

The Black Mage had returned to active duty, replacing the former Capricornian Captain, whom had been lost at Heaven’s Tower. His former rank and status had been completely restored on a temporary emergency basis. He had seen only slight combat thus far, mostly relegated to manning the walls and staving off attack rather than launching directly into the thick of it. Today, Yasuchika stood ready for battle. A heavy black cloak swirled off his shoulders, and leather gloves creaked as they wrapped around a broad, jeweled staff sparkling with mystic energy. He was the picture of determination on the battlefield. The Capricornian War Warlocks shared his spirit, and if they had even half of his power, Meowolf was extremely confident in having them by his side.

In the rear of their formation, another Windusrtian company had taken position. The Libran War Warlocks were the final of the three Tarutaru divisions on the field. A curious hodge-podge of mages and soldiers, the Librans had been organized as a balanced fighting unit capable of responding to a myriad of threats. Rather than a single leader, they instead had two separate branches and a Captain for each. Leading the mages was a former Lieutenant named Harutaru, who seemed consistently shocked to find he had been promoted. Each time his fingers brushed the gold cord on his shoulder, he reacted in surprise at finding it there, and would frequently tug at it to make sure it was real. Fortunately, the Libran Combat Casters were further broken down into units of four; one mage dedicated to healing, one for support, and two for offense. Organized as such, they needed little direction. Still, Meowolf was nervous at having so untested a commander made active on the field.

While he was unsure about the capabilities of Harutaru, the opposite held true for the leader of the Libran melee division. If there had ever been a Tarutaru born soley for the purpose of battle, it was Captain Ryce-Rizzle. The black-haired fighter was as adept at using the two small axes at his side as he was in the bow at his back. Ryce had drilled his soldiers into a fighting unit with clockwork precision. In groups of four they spread out around their leader. Two in each squad held a bow in hand, one was dedicated to close combat, and at their forefront a guardian to shield the others from harm. The Captain himself was a terror on the battlefield. Meowolf had witnessed this firsthand on the day they had come under attack at Port Windurst, and the Librans had charged in to reinforce the embattled Ariesians. The Tarutaru had led the charge personally, and managed to slaughter one of the nightmarish dragons the Dynamis horde had brought with them from Buburimu. As far as Meowolf could tell, perhaps only Semih Lafihna herself matched Ryce’s prowess.

Finally, there was the backbone of their fighting force. Lining every rooftop, perched on every rock, leaning out of every window, waiting on every ledge, was a member of the Cougar Volunteers. The Cougars were a force of ordinary Windurstian civilians whom had willingly picked up the fight to defend their homeland. Tarutaru, Mithra, even immigrants whom had come to call the Federation home, they all picked up whatever weapons they could lay hands on and joined the battle. In the weeks since the Battle of Heaven’s Tower, they had drilled extensively to better serve the Windurst. Now every Cougar in sight held a pair of weapons for close combat, and a bow they could use at least as well as an average soldier. The Cougars might not have been the best division on the field, but one of their arrows would kill Kindred just as dead as one from a trained warrior, and Meowolf welcomed their presence.

While the Paladin was appreciative of all of those who stood up to defend their home, it was his own friends that put him at ease. Besides Titania, who was slinking through the battle lines to prepare for that one well-placed shot, and Yasuchika, stalwartly heading up the Capricornian division, all of those whom had arrived with Meowolf now waited by his side.

Tyrian’s hawk-like eyes constantly scanned the sky for the first sign of movement. The severe expression on his face hadn’t changed in hours. His hands continually wrapped and re-wrapped themselves around the heavy bow he used, leather gloves creaking impatiently. A moss-colored beret kept his black hair out of his eyes, and a tunic of similar color, reinforced with leather straps and steel plates, protected his arms and shoulders. His quiver had been filled with the same arrows used by the Patriarch Protectors, and they shone with mirror brilliance. Slowly, the Ranger drew one of the projectiles out, nocking it into place. Battle was drawing close.

At his side, naturally, was Sinti. The Mithra had drawn back her white hair, wearing now an exquisite golden tiara. The item was one of many of Windurst’s more potent magical treasures, Meowolf had been told. Besides simply being an attractive ornament, it allowed the wearer to draw on magic for extended period of time. Augmented by the mitts covering her slim fingers, a beautiful set of gloves woven from rainbow cloth, she was prepared for an extended and bloody battle. Her long white-and-white robes were still, as there was not a single breath of wind to be found. She continually looked at Tyrian, clutching at the elegant staff she held propped against the ground. Sparkling at its top was a large jewel, bright as freshly fallen snow. The Mithra set her jaw, moving her gaze to the city walls. She could feel it, too.

Then finally, there was Klades. Restored to full armor and armament, the Samurai was prepared this day to become nothing less than a whirlwind of death. Metal gauntlets rested on the hilt of his long great katana, and a quiver of arrows matching the ebon bow at his back was slung at his side. Covering him from head to toe was a suit of black armor inlaid with gold and reinforced by steel plates at every joint. Windurst’s craftsmen had worked long and hard to produce the design exactly to the Samurai’s specifications. Their labor had paid off. He looked every inch the traditional Far Eastern Samurai, with one simple conession. At the belt of his armor, rather than a simple brass buckle, he had forged a latch which resembled the head of a Mandragora. The Onion Samurai would not go into battle without his famous insignia. Behind the eye slits of his stylized helmet, Klades eyelids were shut tight. Deep in meditation, he prepared for the conflict rushing towards them.

Steeling his resolve, Meowolf turned back towards the walls of Windurst Woods. In the distance, and growing closer, the sound of howling became clear.

“What’s the plan?” Klades asked from behind him, his eyes snapping open.

Meowolf took a deep breath. “Ajido-Marujido told us he has an idea.”

“And until he puts it into action?”

The Paladin’s blade rose from the ground. His shoulders bunched as he drew one leg back in the dirt and clenched tight the grip on his shield. The ground had begun rumbling. All around them, the sound of hundreds of weapons being drawn rang out into the midday sky.

“We hold the line,” Meowolf answered, and the sound of Klade’s great katana joined the cacophony of steel.

“They’re coming,” Dieggo warned. His voice was nearly lost as the entire area was shaking, and the howling around them rising to deafening levels.

They had faced Kindred attacks before. Ever since they had broken the siege of Heaven’s Tower, the fiends had attempted to breach the city walls. Their forays into Windurst had always been met with swords and sorcery, driving them back. It was a maddening exercise for the defenders, however. Each attack was obviously a feint, a test of strength. Lives were lost holding back monsters that represented a fraction of the real danger outside. Victory brought only the frustration of knowing nothing had been gained. The horde outside appeared ever undiminished.

Not this time.

Their scouts had brought warning that a column of the Vanguard, those dark and twisted versions of Vana’diel’s own Beastmen, had formed only the day before. As reports came flooding in, it was clear that what would come next was no minor assault. The Nightmare monsters from Buburimu were gathered en masse, with more of the dragons from before. Two of the horrid things marched with the Vanguard now, monstrosities of dark leathery skin and jagged bones visible through emaciated flesh. Pale white eyes stared at the walls of Windurst with a frightening hunger. The Kindred swooped in and out of the growing mass, hundreds of them converging to reinforce the glut of Dynamis’s beasts.

Even such a massive force still left the vast majority of the army outside Windurst intact. That it was three times the size of any force sent in to date was inconsequential. There was another reason this battle was so important.

Dead in the center of his ranks, armor gleaming unnaturally in the diminished sunlight, was the man in white. With hair the color of moonlight and a fierce, gray-eyed stare, the Elvaan rode towards Windurst. The report that the rumored figure, never before confirmed to exist, was now personally leading the charge changed everything. Defending Windurst was the secondary objective.

Primary was eliminating the man in white.

Whatever had prompted his decision to step out of the shadows, the man in white had done so with great preparation. The enigmatic foe was clearly aware of the target he would make, and took steps to defend himself. Every one of Windurst’s defenders, no matter how brave, felt the cold grip of uncertainty.

The skies began turning black as Kindred closed in, their twisted forms eclipsing the weakened sun. Gate guards rushed in from their positions as archers along the walls fell back. Defending the city’s fortifications was not a consideration in this battle. There had been no time to prepare adequate defense for what the man in white had brought with him. They could only meet it head on.

Thunderous footsteps outside the walls of Windurst announced his arrival. For a man at the head of such an army, no normal mount would suffice. The firmament shook as his chosen steed closed in on the city. There was a collective cry of awe and dismay as its head crested the walls, staring down at Windurst’s defenders before letting loose a shattering roar.

The man in white had brought a Behemoth to Windurst.

“Brace yourselves!” Meowolf shouted. “Here it comes!”

Behemoths were rare, terrible creatures of awesome power, and the one the man in white rode was no exception. Two enormous horns protruded forward from a face like a dog’s snout. Blank white eyes as big as any of the city’s Tarutaru defenders stared soullessly as a muzzle pulled back in a growl, revealing a row of sword-like teeth. A bristling mane of black hair started on its head, reaching all the way to its hunched and muscled back. Its thick hide was greasy and purple, and not enough to keep the veins from protruding through on a neck thicker around than Meowolf could stretch his arms. The entire monstrosity was the size of a house, all muscle and sinew right down to the tip of its thick, blunted tail, which it swung like a club. Wickedly spiked quills surmounted the bludgeoning limb, and claws which could rend steel as if it were paper left deep impressions on the ground.

The Behemoth was a beast like none other. And to get to the man in white, they would have to go through it first.

A shockwave tore through their ranks as it crashed its tremendous bulk against the wall. Stones fell out of place immediately. Great clouds of dust and rubble shook from the battlements, and the ground began to buckle beneath them. The monster howled, ramming the city gates once again. The massive oaken doors barricading the city splintered. The top portion of the walls collapsed. Seated atop his horrific mount, the man in white shouted something lost over the din. Meowolf could clearly make out the cruel smile on his antagonist’s lips.

With a final roar, the Behemoth reared upwards and then came crashing down upon the walls of Windurst Woods. The thick stone barriers buckled like brittle twigs. Debris rocketed through the air as the monster’s claws scraped across Federation ground. The hole created was filled instantly by the bloodthirsty rush of the Dynamis horde.

Shield forward, head down, sword at the ready, Meowolf charged to meet them.

A wave of arrows rose up behind him, blotting out the sky. The Vanguard rushed straight through it, trampling their own dead and wounded in their frenzied advance. Gray-skinned doppelgangers of Vana’diel’s own Orcs, Quadav, Yagudo, and Goblins burst through the walls. Fire and lightning danced around them as the War Warlocks stayed true to their name, but the Vanguard had magic of their own. Around the Tarutaru mages, the ground shook and burst open. Winds gathered to tear flesh and limb apart. Flames broiled Windurstians alive, their screams lost to the epic din of battle.

Meowolf met the swell of Vanguard head on. There was no order to their ranks, or strategy in their attack. They simply overwhelmed with crushing numbers and power. Between the Vanguard ranks, Nightmare monsters from Buburimu began pouring in. Black clouds of ravens screeched as they passed over the shattered walls. Efts bounded past, leaping upon Tarutaru and Mithra alike and ripping into them with razored teeth. Gigantic scorpions and bulky cockatrices lumbered in, sweeping Windurstians aside effortlessly. The ground began to run red as Windurst’s defenders fell before the crushing onslaught of Dynamis.

Despite the ferocity of their foes, however, the legions of Windurst were far from outmatched.

Kindred bodies fell like rain as arrows washed over them. On Jaydeena’s order, the Pythons erupted from concealment. Thousands of precisely aimed bolts and arrows punctured through their targets in a haze of black blood and bile. As quickly as they appeared, the Pythons melted out of view, retreating into the hidden corners of Windurst Woods to prepare for their next barrage. Death screams from stricken demons ended as they broke their bodies against the ground. Jaydeena’s plan of attack was a deadly game of cat-and-mouse. Dozens of Pythons, including Jaydeena herself, stayed out in the open to make themselves easy targets.

In an example of their plan in action, the Python Captain stood exposed as she fired a volley of arrows into the Vanguard ranks. A Kindred spotted her from above, and swooped down for a quick and easy kill. Inches from the Mithra’s body, the demon cried out, stricken, as its spine was severed by the steel blade of a Python’s arrow. One of Jaydeena’s soldiers then fell back to a new hiding spot, ensuring she could not be traced back to her point of origin. The Pythons were given a very specific task in this battle. Eliminate as many of the Kindred as possible. As scores of demons fell from the sky, it was clear they took this job very seriously.

Their success rate was far from perfect, however. A spray of blood and a scream cut short marked the end of a Python who ventured too far into enemy lines. In some cases the ambusher was off her mark or the demon simply too fast. Others were lost in sheets of fire and wind as the Vanguard’s magic swept through the Windurstian ranks. As the Behemoth tore an ever-increasing hole in Leviathan’s Gate, the number of enemies continued to swell. While effectively countering the presence of the Kindred, it was only a matter of time before the Python’s were too thinned out to be effective.

Meowolf felt a charging Vanguard collide with his bulky shield, impact reverberating up his arm. Shrugging it off, he retaliated with a swift sword strike, slicing recklessly at anything in front of him. Magic illuminated him on all sides as the mages of both armies challenged one another’s arcane might. The air was thick and hot, and the insane war cries of the Vanguard and Kindred deafened him. Waves of Vanguard were upon him, but the Galka was not alone.

With an earth-shattering crash, the Ariesian War Warlocks and the Libran Battle Division met the Vanguard. Trained to use their small size advantageously, the Tarutaru warriors thrust through stomachs and severed legs at the knee. Rather than try to fight up to their opponents, they forced the Vanguard to look down. With their attention on the danger below them, arrows coming down from above found easy and unsuspecting targets. It was in this that Captain Ryce-Rizzle showed how remarkable he truly was.

An arrow from his own bow erupted from the back of a Vanguard Orc’s throat. The creature flailed briefly, then clutched at its throat and toppled forward. Ryce was already there. The corpse of the newly fallen fiend served as a ramp for the Libran Captain, who drew twin swords from his sides as he led his men in a dead charge. Springing off the still-gasping Orc, he launched himself and his tiny blades towards a Nightmare Cockatrice. With a single slice, the monster’s head clattered to the ground as it gushed rivulets of dark blood from its neck, collapsing in the dirt. Immediately, Ryce thrust his twin swords forward. Their needle-like points sank in just above the knees of a Vangaurd Quadav. The next step it tried to take sent the massive creature tumbling forward in shock and pain. As the gray-skinned turtle collapsed, Ryce ended it with a jab of the sword directly through one of its temples. Then, sheathing the weapon, he drew his bow again.

A Nightmare Scorpion reared up, towering over the tiny Tarutaru. Striking with venomous claws, it sought to crush the Libran Captain beneath it. Ryce propelled himself backwards on one foot, keeping his bow leveled. The scorpion’s heavy pincers pierced the ground, sinking into Windurst’s soil and sticking there. Its struggles to free itself lasted only a moment. Still in the air, Ryce let loose a barrage of arrows. Piercing the monster’s heavy shell with ease, they sank into the monster. It spasmed violently, then toppled to the ground. Even as it fell, a fresh wave of beasts trampled it as they charged over their fallen comrade. Ryce fell back, and the second part of his stratagem came into play.

At Harutaru’s command, the other half of the Libran War Warlocks unleashed their fury. The ground burst open at the feet of the advancing Nightmare monsters, geysers of flame engulfing them. Some were skewered on jagged spikes of earth which shot up from below. A wall of wind met an advancing flock of Nightmare ravens, sending those not torn apart by the force hurtling into their own allies. The beasts faltered, taken aback by the ferocity of the Libran’s assault. Seizing the advantage, Ryce gave the order for his men to advance. The Battle Brigade surged forward, crashing into the beleaguered creatures. The scene turned into a bloodbath as the demoralized monsters met Windurstian steel.

A thunderous shockwave shot through the Federation army. Scores cried out as they were blown back. Those closest to the epicenter were lifted from their feet, hurtling through the air to crash down on the unforgiving ground. Some were to never rise again.

The Behemoth was in their midst. And it had now joined the attack in earnest.


The Piscean War Warlocks looked anxious as they stared out in the direction of Windurst Woods. From their post outside Heaven’s Tower, they were safe from the battle raging there. They could still hear the din of war and see the flashes of light and heat as the arcane forces at work collided with each other. The Pisceans manned the bridge which led from Windurst Walls into the Tower itself, and were torn between their desire to join the fray and their relief that they were not ordered to. All were well aware that with each burst of magical energy on the horizon, more of their comrades laid down their lives.

Their focus on the distant struggle was all the distraction Cullen required. Like a shadow, she crept away from Heaven’s Tower. A simple invisibility spell provided her all the cover she required from the Pisceans as they intently stared at the looming conflagration. She knew at this moment it would be easy to seriously damage the Windurstian defense. If she were to kill their Captain, panic would no doubt spread amongst their ranks. Or she could simply collapse the bridge, sending the entire unit hurtling to a watery grave.

That was not what she had been ordered to do, however. She saw the tactical soundness her acting independently would have, but Secure frowned on disobeying his commands. The task which had been assigned to her had nothing to do with the guards around Heaven’s Tower. An assignment far more directly involved with the battle at hand had been handed down. Hers was but to obey.

Slipping through the Tarutaru ranks, she took a moment to gaze up at Heaven’s Tower. The Great Star Tree stretched towards the darkened skies above. For more than a week, Cullen had dwelled inside it, recuperating from her imagined ordeal. None had questioned her being there. As far as she could determine, the story she gave of being a visitor from the Far East had gone unchallenged. Her tale of a visit to the Midlands interrupted by the cataclysm of Dynamis tugged at the heartstrings of the Windurstians, and they offered her their warmth and hospitality. They were unerringly kind and comforting, and always willing to answer her innocuous questions regarding the war.

The information she garnered from those polite inquiries were almost immediately fed back to Secure through the linkshell she kept concealed.

With Cullen’s information, Secure had coordinated the attack which came today. Even if they did not take Windurst this day, his strategy would leave them crippled in the face of their next assault. The linchpin of the scheme was Cullen’s actions. She was overwhelmed with the honor that a great man like Secure would entrust such a task to her. Swearing she would not disappoint, she let the Pisceans be. The battle raging in Windurst Woods was her destination.

While Secure would take every opportunity he had to seize victory, he was still a man who planned for everything. Her job was to lay the foundation for a future victory over a fatigued and demoralized opponent.

And to do that, she had to kill the leaders of Windurst’s army.