Chapter LXVI: What Makes a Man a King

“I have a plan,” North said as the echo of Aspidochelone’s bellow faded into the Valley of Sorrows. “Keep it busy for me.”

“Keep it busy!?” Bongo shouted, but the Beastmaster was already on the move. Alabaster furs parted in the winds as he dove unflinchingly towards the howling madman, Keftenk.

“Damn you!” Dantrag shouted after the Elvaan, but was cut off as the enormous tortoise bore down upon them. With practiced reflexes, the Warrior dove to safety. Aspidochelone was as immense as anything Bongo had ever seen. It was as if a castle turret had sprung to life and attacked them. Sand was still pouring like waterfalls from its immense shell, buried beneath the Valley of Sorrows since time immemorial. The monstrosity reared back its head, roaring an earth-shaking cry that sent the Adamantoise nearby scurrying for safety. This creature was as far above them as they were a normal turtle.

With a shudder of earth and sand, the gargantuan Adamantoise struck at Bongo with its enormous foreleg. Earth-toned scales rougher and thicker than any leather crunched into the ground, surmounted by a row of jagged and trunk-like claws. The creature whipped its head towards the Ranger as he strafed to the side of its attack, pulling back an arrow even as he fled. Before he could fire, the monster swiped at the sand in front of him, sending up a spray which all but buried Bongo in an instant. Tearing free and sputtering the sediment, his mind raced as he realized Aspidochelone’s cavernous jaws were closing over him.

Even as he raised his arm in a futile defensive gesture, twin flashes of light blurred past him. The monster growled as sparks showered down from its steel-hard shell. Bongo wasted no time springing free from the sand and rolling aside as Aspidochelone turned its attention towards the new distractions of Hubby and Luma. Touching down simultaneously following their strike against it, the duo hit the ground running, great katanas drawn in the face of the massive foe.

Hubby’s dark eyes narrowed into slits as the tip of his blade flared with his focused chi. The Samurai charged Aspidochelone with reckless abandon, the air howling around him as he sliced through the intervening distance. Opening its gaping maw, the monster prepared to meet him with jagged fangs, but received only a spray of sand as Hubby suddenly dropped down, using his momentum to slide beneath the enormous tortoise and escape the clutches of its snapping teeth. Almost in the same instant the Samurai stole its attention, his counterpart slammed directly into the side of its reptilian face.

Luma had spun through the air like a top, her weapon striking Aspidochelone so rapidly the monster could not respond before she was already clear of it. Spinning on her heel, the Mithra brought her great katana up in a great arch, sending a blizzard of sand into the beast’s eyes. It violently shook its head, roaring as it did. The sound had hardly escaped its throat when Hubby’s great katana dug into its back leg, creating a terrible sound like steel against stone as he sliced against it. Luma ran clockwise in front of him, similarly targeting Aspidochelone’s massive haunches.

The monster took a swipe at Luma, and the Mithra laughed as she ducked beneath the blow. The next instant, a barrage of arrows sank into the flaps of hide around the turtle’s throat as it exposed the area while searching for the two Samurai. Bongo hastily drew another projectile from his quiver. If Aspidochelone had felt the impact of his attack, it gave no indication as it continued snapping and biting at the two harassing its legs. Grimacing, Bongo drew back again, aiming for one of its glowing red eyes.

“Wait!” Bongo nearly released his shot in surprise as November’s hand clamped down over his. The Summoner’s grasp held him tight, refusing to let him fire the shot. “We can’t hurt it! It’s being used!”

Bongo stared at her incredulously. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“This great beast is only Guttler’s pawn,” November pressed. “To harm it would be going against everything North and I – “

“Shove it, lady,” he snorted gruffly, shaking her off. She cried out in protest as he loosed his arrow, which sailed through the air and struck true in the eye of the beast.

The arrow broke in half, falling harmlessly to the ground. Aspidochelone turned its head, the shafts in its neck falling out as it did so. They had barely penetrated its thick hide past their tips.

“Oh, crap,” the Ranger muttered. His bow lowered towards the sand as his mind drew a blank on what to do now.

Hubby, in the meantime, was still blunting his sword against the monster’s invincible skin. The beast was futilely trying to follow the Samurai’s actions, but every time it came close, Luma struck from the other side, starting the chase all over again. It stomped furiously at the sand, snapping at the two whenever they were near, or trying to swat at them with its massive clawed appendages. Even though it had no luck in doing so, nor were they successful in doing any real damage to the beast. Aspidochelone’s mythic toughness was too much for a pair of Samurai.

“Dammitaru,” Qwid swore from where he stood against the rocky cliffs surrounding the Valley of Sorrows, “this isn’t going to work.” The Red Mage weaved a spell as he spoke, and a blossom of orange light overtook Luma. Moments later, he began mimicking his earlier motions, using the Haste spell upon Hubby as well.

Bongo kicked up the sand as he ran towards the Tarutaru, nocking an arrow in his bow simply out of habit. He never removed his eyes from the tortoise as he maneuvered through the showers of sand kicked up by the battle. Qwid briefly acknowledged his presence, but then returned to keeping Hubby and Luma one step ahead of their foe.

“Goddamn,” Bongo said breathlessly, “this was so much easier when we had linkpearls.” He remembered the demons raining from the sky as they battled Tiamat, and the terrible sound of a hundred linkpearls shattering at once. Forcibly, he moved past the memory and focused on Qwid. “Have you got any ideas? We’ve got to take this thing down, we can’t last forever.”

“Stop it!” Bongo gave a disgusted sigh as November’s voice caught up to him. “We only need to halt Aspidochelone while North – “

“November!” the Ranger snapped viciously, rounding on her with fire in his eyes. “This is Aspidochelone, the island that walks! This thing could snuff us out in a second if we don’t go at it full tilt! What part of this do you not understand?”

The Summoner reared to her full height with a withering stare. “In all of Vana’diel, amidst all the turtles and sea creatures and even the Adamantoise, there is but one Aspidochelone. I won’t have this beast cut down by the lot of you while it is being used against its will!”

“We can’t hold out much longer, November,” Qwid told her, gritting his teeth. Even as he spoke, he was again recasting the magic he was plying the Samurai with. Sweat was starting to bead on his brow as he delved into the reserves of his power. “If we don’t find a way to stop this thing for good – “

“It only has to be until North – “

“We can’t wait for North!” Bongo cut her off. “That jackass led us straight into this, and now the five of us are all . . . “

He trailed off, head snapping towards the battle raging not twenty paces away. Hubby and Luma were doing their best to keep the monster off-balance. Qwid was supporting their efforts. He was here arguing with November.

“Wait a second, where’s Dantrag?”


North sprung through the air with uncanny precision. His heel scraped against Keftenk’s face, and the other Beastmaster staggered with the impact. Skidding backwards, he quickly recovered himself, raising up the red-glowing Guttler.

“I will drink your blood first,” he threatened in the terrible voice which came from his lips but was spurred by the axe. “This is your end.”

The white-garbed King of Onzozo spat contemptuously at Keftenk’s feet. From beneath the revolting tiger head helmet he wore, he growled like an animal back at North.

“Don’t speak so to your betters,” North told him acidly. “Hand yourself over, Guttler. You and that fool are too weak to survive together.”

“Weak?” Guttler’s voice replied, aghast, through Keftenk’s mouth. “Weak? Guttler not weak! Guttler . . . thirsty!!”

Too quickly to follow, Keftenk charged forward. North sidestepped his assault, smartly raising a knee into the other Beastmaster’s midsection as he ran forward. Keftenk stumbled forward, flailing about with Guttler. Some strikes actually came near North, but he easily deflected them with his club.

“I thought you were a Beastmaster, Keftenk,” North mocked, “yet it seems you’ve become nothing but a beast yourself, tamed by Guttler, a mere weapon.”

“I will – “ even as he spoke, the voice of Guttler and Keftenk mingled in the air. “kill – drink – thirst – hate – blood – Die!”

“So articulate,” North sighed, parrying another clumsy strike. Keftenk took an air-cleaving strike at him, and the Beastmaster sprang backwards. Even as he did so, a streak of green and white lanced through the air, and Keftenk shrieked as a trail of blood suddenly appeared on his arm. Spinning in the air, Panzer Galahad turned to face him. North’s pet beetle snapped and hissed, and Keftenk’s eyes darted from one threat to the other as his foes advanced on him.

“Blood!” He cried out. North leaped clear as he unexpectedly lunged Guttler into the sand. Almost instantly, grains turned from their normal white to a deep red. The wave of blood-colored sand spread quickly, and North brought up his club guardedly. His eyes went wide as a monstrous arm suddenly burst up from the sand. Then another, and another, until a veritable swarm of appendages were surging up from the bloodied sands. With a heave and a spray of red silt, a diremite pulled itself from the desert, gnashing and threateningly spinning between North and Galahad.

“Lifedrinker Lars,” Keftenk smirked wickedly, running his tongue along Guttler’s edge. “He wants blood, too.”

“Alright then,” North responded, eyes narrowing. “Let’s settle this like Beastmasters.”

Galahad’s wings flared to life, and the beetle shot through the air towards Keftenk. Lars sprang towards him, a blur of legs and teeth. They collided in midair, even as their masters rushed towards one another. Guttler swung down with a powerful chop, seeking to cleave North in two. The Elvaan blocked the strike with his club, but the shock nearly forced him to drop the weapon. He pulled back almost instantly, letting his weapon work as it retaliated of its own accord. Keftenk struggled as it lashed out at him again and again, the enchanted weapon breaking through Guttler’s defenses and landing several bruising blows against its wielder.

North quickly went in for the kill, but Guttler was too vicious to be stopped so easily. The axe struck like a snake, and North cried out as it sliced open his cheek. Warm blood trickled down his jaw as he pulled back, grimacing. Keftenk lunged forward to strike again, but North caught him with a straight up punch to the nose, followed by a rap against his fur-wrapped ribs with his killer club. The other Beastmaster rolled aside and pounced, North barely avoiding his strike. The blundering Keftenk, he realized, was being guided more and more by the ruthless and bloodthirsty Guttler. The longer this fight was drawn out, the more desperate it would become.

Suddenly, he heard Galahad let out a high-pitched cry. With a gasp, he saw Keftenk’s diremite sinking its claws into the beetle’s shell. Galahad thrashed wildly, trying to escape the deadly beast, but it was being sprayed with a stifling web even as it was wounded further. Lars hissed triumphantly as he prepared to bite down into Galahad’s injured carapace. North ran forward recklessly, trying to reach them in time.

Guttler suddenly flared with power, tearing North from his feet. He rolled over in the sand, coughing and sputtering as the untamed energies of the axe coursed like lightning through his body. He stopped, prone on his back, struggling to regain control of his body as Keftenk surged forward, wild eyes gleaming as he gripped Guttler with both hands and leaped into the air. The sun caught Guttler’s steely surface as it growled, coming down to plunge itself into North’s defenseless chest.

North gasped as a streak of black crashed into his opponent. From the shocked cry that Keftenk let out, he was just as surprised as North was. Lifedrinker Lars gave a threatening hiss, spinning towards its master. Thinking quickly, North lashed his arm out, drawing spiritual energy from Galahad.

“Panzer Galahad, return!” he shouted, and with a flash of red energy, his beetle vanished from the diremite’s clutches. North felt a familiar warmth return to the jug of sap containing Galahad’s essence at his belt. He breathed a sigh of relief, then remembered his situation and scrambled to his feet.

It was Dantrag, the Elvaan Warrior whom had saved him. North watched in something close to astonishment at the sheer ferocity with which the silver-haired San d’Orian attacked his foe.

“You owe me one!” He shouted back at North, even as his two axes whistled through the air. One had a blade as black as midnight; the other was a hulking brute of a weapon, crafted in the Orcish design. He wielded one in each hand, striking at Keftenk with single-minded ferocity.

Keftenk seemed both unprepared and completely taken aback by Dantrag’s assault. He fended off blow after blow as the Warrior advanced implacably upon him. Guttler growled with fury as Dantrag struck at him repeatedly, faster and harder with each fresh volley. The Elvaan struck with both axes simultaneously, forcing Keftenk to hold Guttler outstretched to fend off both deadly weapons. With his body exposed, Dantrag gave him a contemptuous kick to the sternum. The Beastmaster coughed and staggered backwards, clutching to his weapon desperately.

“Guttler – I – spill – how dare – drink – “

“Shut up,” Dantrag snarled, backhanding Keftenk with his gauntleted hand. He spit blood out onto the sand, but quickly shot back a devastating blow, eyes a haze of fury. The air around him was beginning to turn red as Guttler’s anger manifested itself in a hazy aura. Dantrag’s black-bladed axe deflected the relic weapon, and he struck a crushing counterattack with his Orcish axe. It crunched the sand beneath it as Keftenk nimbly leaped away.

“Dantrag, stand down!” North ordered as the Warrior started to give pursuit. “You handle the diremite or something, but do not anger him further!”

“I’ve got this, North,” he said, not looking back. The former soldier marched with an air of inevitability towards Keftenk. North ground his teeth in frustration. He knew what was coming soon.

Then, as if responding to the reference of it, Lifedrinker Lars sprang up in front of the Beastmaster. North gave a start, raising his club by instinct. In the next moment, he dove for safety as a spray of the filamented webbing that had held down Galahad arched towards him. The thought of wasting time on Lars while the true struggle played out in front of him was infuriating. He had no doubt that Dantrag could make quick work of the fool Keftenk.

But he was fighting Guttler. And the result of such a battle was never in doubt.

Dantrag swung down again, seeking a killing blow. Guttler fended off the strike, and the pulsing aura surrounding Keftenk grew darker. Wisps of smoke were beginning to waft from Guttler’s silver-and-black blade. Dantrag paid it no heed. He merely hammered away, battering Keftenk backwards mercilessly. The Warrior moved like a man possessed, and his rampage would have torn a lesser foe to shreds.

This was no lesser foe, however. This was Guttler.

Dantrag failed to notice until it was too late when the temperature shot up around him.


Hubby paused, panting. The frantic pace at which he was moving was taking its toll. Despite his best efforts, he had not so much as scratched Aspidochelone’s impenetrable shell. Luma was faring no better, the Mithra’s breath coming in quick gulps as she hefted up her great katana, dancing backwards to avoid a snap of the monster’s jagged teeth. Some ways away from them, Qwid hunched over, hands on his knees, trying to remain upright.

“November,” Bongo pleaded, “c’mon. You’ve got to do something to buy us some time. Summon something out here to distract it while we catch our breath.”

The Summoner’s dark eyes flashed. “I cannot risk injuring it.” She told him flatly.

“Bitch, what is wrong with you?” Bongo snapped, finally seizing her by the shoulders. “What do you think the first thing that’s going to happen will be once this finishes with us? It’s going to turn around and eat your jackass boyfriend! Now get some magic – “

Furious, November threw his arms down, slapping him smartly across the cheek. “Do not EVER lay hands on me!” She screamed. “I know the stakes involved! But I also know North would never condone the destruction of an innocent beast!”

Bongo almost punched her right then and there, but the moment was lost as Aspidochelone interjected itself into the scene.

Its enormous mouth stretched open. Hubby drew up his sword, and Qwid shouted a warning. Luma stared, dumbfounded, as a burst of bubbles escaped Aspidochelone’s maw. There was a brief pause as they floated into the air. Then, the water came.

A spray with more force than any waterfall or geyser shot forth from the terrible creature’s mouth. Hubby shouted towards Luma as he leaped into her, tackling her away from the crushing blast. Aspidochelone turned its head, following the two, and caught them both from the side. The two Samurai were blown apart from the impact, flying out in different directions on the treacherous current.

Bongo cried out in protest, running towards them as he saw Luma dragged down beneath Aspidochelone’s water breath. Hubby was thrown backwards from the impact, colliding with a rocky outcropping and sliding motionless to the ground. The Ranger rushed towards his friends, but found the ground sticking to his boots. So powerful was Aspidochelone’s blast that it had turned sandy beach into muddy mire instantly. He sank into the muck, angrily struggling to break free and reach either Luma or Hubby. The torrent had stopped, leaving two fallen Samurai in its wake. He could see Luma now, lying face-down in the mud, her body twitching.

“Hubby!” Bongo shouted. “Luma! Hang on!”

And then, a flash of darkness swept across the battlefield, and a terrible sensation of dread followed on its heels.


Keftenk’s eyes glittered with madness, and Guttler sang with power.

“Dantrag!” North shouted, but the time for warning had passed.

One moment, the Warrior was pounding through Guttler and Keftenk with abandon. Then, the air went still, and a stifling heat dried out North’s body. There was a high-pitched wail as Guttler went darker than the night sky. Dantrag halted his assault, realizing now for the first time that something was wrong.

A sphere of energy burst from the axe, and in the next instant the Warrior was lost in its power.

Black lightning arched through Dantrag’s body as he screamed, blown backwards in the total release of Guttler’s power. Parts of his armor blew off of his body, and his weapons were tossed away like toys. The shockwave rippled through him like an earthquake, and the Elvaan convulsed in the air, crashing down to the sand with sparks of Guttler’s deadly strike still coursing through him. The Warrior gasped, blood flowing from his nose and ears, limbs flailing of their own accord. He began choking, unable to draw breath.

Keftenk loomed over him, the dull aura surrounding him now darker and redder than ever. A grim smile played about his lips.

North smacked Lifedrinker Lars away with his kraken club, the creature landing upright some yards back, rearing up with clear intent of violence.

“Guttler!” North shouted, turning Keftenk’s eyes away from the helpless Dantrag. “I’m ready to end this.”

Filled with confidence from striking down Dantrag, Keftenk turned, still smiling. Lars came in closer, and North was starkly aware that he was now in the situation he had placed Keftenk in earlier. But the King of Onzozo had something Keftenk did not.

“Still too weak for me,” North said spitefully, and the smile faded on Keftenk’s face. “Let’s do this again, for real this time.”

His chi coursed through the jug of water he pulled free from his side, and Lars reared back as he emptied the contents on the ground in front of him.

Even Keftenk looked wary as a single flower blossomed from the ground where North had poured out the jug. The water glittered in the sun, and the flower was wet with dew even in the midst of the dry desert.

A moment later, it shot upwards, attached to the segmented, spine-riddled body of a Cactaur.

“Amigo Sabotender,” North addressed his pet, “I can only keep you out for a short time. Let’s get it right the first try.”

Keftenk and Lifedrinker Lars both rushed in simultaneously, not wanting their opponents to have a chance at organizing an offense.

North allowed himself the slightest of grins as they closed in on him.

“Now!” He commanded. “Ten Thousand Needles barrage!”


“DANTRAG!” Bongo cried, pulling himself free as he saw his friend’s body crash to the ground.

“Bongo, look out!” He heard Qwid’s warning, and barely registered it in time to duck down as Apsidochelone’s crushing teeth bit together where he had just been standing. The mammoth creature swiveled its head about, trying to decide which one of them to crush first. The Ranger loosed a barrage of arrows into it, letting out a guttural snarl of frustration as they bounced off it harmlessly.

“Qwid, get to Dantrag!” Bongo ordered. The Red Mage began to protest, but Bongo cut him off, even as he scrambled away from Aspidochelone’s stomping feet. “He’s dying, Qwid! Get to him!”

A plan was beginning to form in Bongo’s mind. A plan that placed him and his friends in a large deal of unnecessary risk, but thanks to North and November they had no choices left. Forcing himself to keep moving and not rush towards Hubby or Luma, he darted away from Aspidochelone, and saw Qwid reluctantly do the same. With the monstrous reptile’s attention focused on Bongo, the Tarutaru wasn’t even noticed as he sped hurriedly towards his fallen friend.

Bongo pumped his legs as fast as he could, Aspidochelone roaring its deep and bellowing roar behind him. Back where he had been, November still stood, observing the scene with eyes racked with indecision. With all the speed he could muster, the Ranger closed in on her, bringing Aspidochelone hot on his heels.

The Summoner barely had time to gasp when Bongo snatched her off of the ground. Aspidochelone’s head rammed into the rock wall behind them as they darted away, creating a spider web of fissures upon the impact point. It turned after them, growling.

“We have only one shot, Summoner,” Bongo shouted at her as he fled, ignoring her demands to be released as she pummeled him with closed fists. “I’m going to set you down and that thing is going to be charging at you.”

“I won’t – “

“I can stop it,” Bongo told her, his tone deadly serious. “I can stop it just the way you want, without hurting or killing it. But if it’s at full strength when I do it, like it is now, it’ll be for nothing. You’re the only one here strong enough to weaken this thing for me, November. Don’t argue. Do it. It’s our only chance.”

Just like that, Bongo turned on his heel. True to his word, he set the Summoner down in the sand, leaving her to face down Aspidochelone alone.

The beast had not moved from where it had collided with the wall, holding off cautiously. Its red-glowing eyes shifted slowly from where November stood to the still-running Bongo. They were far apart from each other now, but still in a relatively straight line. It could charge over them, but it knew they could move quickly enough to fool it. Biting and stomping after them had not worked. Its other attack had.

Bongo afforded himself a single look back. If the mortal peril hadn’t been so grave, he would have smiled when he saw his plan unfold.

Apsidochelone once again opened its cavernous gullet, and once again water began streaming out from its sides. Bubbles poured from its mouth, and November’s eyes were like dinner saucers as the water jet began streaming towards her.

Like a dam bursting, Aspidochelone’s water breath shot outwards, the pressure enough to turn November’s bones to paste upon impact.

The Summoner drew in a sharp breath as the needle-sharp spray which was the precursor of the full blast swept over her.

Bongo’s hair stood on end as electricity filled the air.

The Valley of Sorrows trembled as Aspidochelone cried out in agony. Its torrent dissipated into the wind as it faced down the awesome might of Ramuh the Olduum, Avatar of Lightning. The black-robed being towered over November, electric force cascading through the very moisture the turtle had called forth to crush its foes. Now it served as the conductor for its downfall.

It writhed as cords of electric fury snaked across its shell. November held out her hands, guiding Ramuh’s power, but her face was twisted in pain. She could not allow herself to die, but she couldn’t kill this creature either. Bongo had forced her hand, but if he had everything worked out correctly, everyone would win.

He drew an arrow from his quiver, focusing his chi into a single point of spiritual energy glowing at the tip.

“Cut it off, November!” He called out. “I’m ready!”

Instantly, Ramuh folded in his arms, vanishing in a haze of lightning that made Bongo’s muscles tense up. He pushed through it, predator’s eyes zeroing in on the intervening distance between himself and Aspidochelone. Smoke was pouring off of the monster’s shell and out of its mouth. It looked confused and hurt, and was in the midst of taking an unsteady step forward. Bongo saw his mark, and released.

The arrow cut through the air. Bongo let the energy he had gathered into it flow. A flash of light appeared over Aspidochelone, darkening the ground at its feet.

It struggled to take another step forward when something reached out and grabbed it.

Crying out in dismay, the beast attempted to escape, but that only made the pull stronger. From the ground itself, from all over the monster, its own shadow suddenly anchored it in place. Bongo’s technique rooted the creature just as surely as if it had been chained to the spot. Soon it could not even move its head, the shadows infused with Bongo’s chi holding it fast and tightening around it.

“Shadowbind, ya dirty slut,” he said with obvious relief. “Gotcha.”

November turned back and forth from the Ranger to the monster, her expression aghast. “What did you – “ she started to say.

“It’s stuck, and alive,” he said, holding his shoulder. It ached from firing so many arrows, but he rolled it through once to stretch, wincing at the pain. “If we can finish the other half of this quickly, we’ll survive, too.”

“Then put your faith in North,” she told him. “The rest lies with him.”

“Aw, shit,” Bongo moaned, lowering his head towards the ground. Then the sounds of battle reached his ears, and he quickly turned to watch the true struggle unfold.


Lifedrinker Lars gave a final twitch. The spines riddling its body had punctured through quite near everything vital. It went still, and then flashed out of existence with a crack of red light. It returned to Keftenk, just as the form of Amigo Sabotender winked out as well.

The blood-stained Beastmaster regarded his own wounds. He had pulled Lars forward like a puppet on a string, using it as a shield against Amigo’s needles. It had worked, for the most part. Stray quills stuck out of his arms and legs, and blood flowed in thin streams from the wounds. It was nothing compared to the relentless storm which had destroyed the diremite, but the pain was still infuriating. The aura around him had grown in intensity, now blazing like a fire burning from his body. Guttler was muttering horrible, violent oaths, promising to visit unthinkable pain upon North.

Keftenk raised a bloodied arm in the air, spittle and foam in his teeth. The sunlight above made his limb a terrible shade of dark red as it fell into shadow. His eyes were twin points of fire burning into North. The two Beastmasters locked gazes as North wiped the trail of blood stemming from his lip away. Keftenk howled like the beast he had become, and Guttler trembled in his grasp.

“You can’t even hold that axe properly,” North growled, spitting blood out the side of his mouth. “Failure. Weakling.”

“SHUT UP!” Keftenk roared, and Guttler came crashing down, filling the air with the relentless intensity of its power.

North’s breath hissed out of his clenched teeth as Guttler slashed across his chest. A bright right spray issued forth from the deep wound across the Elvaan’s torso. He nearly fell forwards, knees wobbling as he struggled to place a steadying foot in the sands beneath him. One eye closed against the pain, he still stared condescendingly at Keftenk.

“I stood here and you couldn’t deliver a killing blow?” North scoffed, even while clutching a hand quickly filling with blood against his own chest. “Idiot. You’re useless without me. Stupid. Weak.”

The other Beastmaster let out a roar that shook the sand. A wave of energy burst forth from Guttler, sweeping across the Valley of Sorrows. Bongo and the others were forced to shield themselves as a wave of gravel rose up to shower across them, and even Aspidochelone was given pause. The brute struggled to swing its tree-trunk neck around, gleaming red eyes searching for the source of the disruption. North, on the other hand, remained still, and somehow upright.

Keftenk was enveloped now in an aura of fiery red and orange. Guttler’s rage had peaked. With his eagle eyes, Bongo could see there was nothing left of the insane man they had encountered behind Keftenk’s gaze. He was a puppet on Guttler’s strings, and the ax wanted nothing more than to see North dead. The force of the ax’s rage was so powerful that it began getting hotter throughout the entire area. Still, North stood, keeping a hand on his wound, facing down his own weapon.

“Come try to finish me,” he ordered, as if talking to a small child, “try, and fail again.”

Guttler’s indescribable roar burst from Keftenk’s lips, and the duo surged towards North with the full intent of killing him once and for all.

North’s free hand came up so fast that not even Bongo saw him move. Guttler crashed down ineffectually as the Elvaan’s strange killer club sprung to his defense, capturing the silver and black ax directly beneath the crook of its blade. A grunt of surprise escaped Keftenk’s lips as the panting North stared at him.

“You failed, Guttler,” North tightened his grip on his club, even as his abdomen glistened in the sun with wet blood leaking down from his chest. “You’re nothing without me.”

The other Beastmaster growled, a deep and frightening movement from the back of his throat, rising out of Guttler’s projected rage. The aura enveloping him flared, and even from fifty paces back Bongo felt the heat of the ax’s rage wash over him. He could see North sweating, ivory teeth grinding down as his muscles strained to stay upright. Blood pooled at his feet, staining the sands crimson. Even with both hands gripped around its handle, he was struggling to keep the club from shaking as Guttler bore down upon it.

“Burn you, break you, kill you,” Guttler snarled malevolently. Keftenk’s eyes were now pools of red, completely overcome by the fury of his weapon. In the haze of rage, smoke began rising from his body as the sand at his feet began to harden, glazing into glass beneath Keftenk’s dirty bare feet. North sank tremulously down to a single knee, his head bowed as he held the club Guttler now seemed determined to break in half.

“Never . . .work,” North swallowed his own blood, feeling the strength leaving his body, “you’re . . . too weak.” Defiance flashed in his eyes, and the Elvaan leveled a gaze up at the ax crushing down on him. “Without a real Beastmaster to hold you, you’ll never be anything but a weak, useless tool!”

“HATE!” Guttler screamed, and a fresh wave of heat swept across Bongo. Even Aspidochelone cried out, struggling to break free from the shadow holding it down.

The scent of burning flesh struck Bongo’s nostrils, and he gave a shudder of revulsion.

A sound burst out of Keftenk’s lips. A dry, desperate gasp escaped him. He took his eyes off of North, raising them instead to stare blankly at nothing, mouth agape. Beneath him, North tore his club free, rolling out of the way of Guttler’s crushing blow. The strike never came. Keftenk stood frozen in place, heaving and choking as Guttler’s red aura encompassed his bloodied flesh.

“N – n – “ he tried to say, but the words would not form.

Imperiously, North stood up. He stumbled once, bracing himself against his kraken club, but then reared to his full height. The blood on his chest had dried from contact with Guttler’s intense heat, leaving his entire torso a sickenining rust color. He clutched at his wound, not taking his eyes from the struggling Beastmaster before him.

“I warned you,” the Elvaan intoned, “both of you. You could never work together.” Keftenk was sinking to his knees. Smoke was pouring from his flesh as Guttler shrieked incomprehensibly, furious, guttural shrieks with incomprehensible lust for blood. Keftenk was trying to pry the weapon from his own fingers, but the hilt had been burned into his flesh. The heat around him was so great that his skin was beginning to pop and sizzle.

North gave him one final glance, and then lowered his eyes with a somber shake of his head. “Too weak,” he said again.

Keftenk gave a silent scream, lost to the heat stealing his breath before he burst into flames.

He sputtered like a candle as fire enveloped him. Skin and bone melted like wax, hands twisted into desperate pleading falling away to naught more than charred stains in the sand. Keftenk twisted and writhed, collapsing now to his back in a convulsive fit. His eyes had boiled in their sockets and his mouth hung open, the muscles which worked it no longer functioning. North kept his distance, drawing ragged breath as he observed the tortuous affair.

The ruined remains of Keftenk gave a final, definitive flash, and then a cloud of acrid smoke filled the air. All that remained of the rogue Beastmaster was a pile of ash quickly mixing with the sands, to vanish forever into the Valley of Sorrows.

Bongo was so transfixed by the turn of events that he failed to realize his Shadowbind had been broken until he felt the breath of Aspidochelone upon him.

With an angry roar, the notorious monster lunged. Bongo was struck full on by its massive skull, sending him sailing through the air. He skidded on his back for several feet after touching the ground, the wind driven from his lungs. Pawing about desperately for his bow, he found only sand as his eyes darted to the hulking form bearing down upon him. Aspidochelone reared its forelegs terrifyingly, coming down to crush the Ranger beneath its incalculable tonnage.

The Valley of Sorrows quaked as Aspidochelone crashed its full weight down to the ground, a wall of sand bursting out in all directions upon the epicenter of its impact.

Bongo opened his eyes, gaping at the tree-trunk appendages on either side of his prone body. Aspidochelone’s massive head was perched directly over him. The creature looked down at him, its wet breath steaming in the air as it regarded the helpless Hume beneath it.

A hundred paces away, atop the detritus which had once been Keftenk, North raised Guttler high. A burning blue aura engulfed the axe and its rightful owner. Unlike the raging red inferno which had burned away Keftenk, this glow was steady, concentrated, and calm. Blue light escaped from behind North’s eyes as he held the weapon in the air, its black and silver mass gleaming in the desert sun. The club he used was now slung at his side, and his free hand was covering the still-bleeding wound Guttler had inflicted upon him. November was rushing to his side, even as he stared out across the sands at the mighty Aspidochelone.

“Do no more harm, Aspidochelone.” North said, and his voice boomed throughout the entire Valley. “Return to your sleep.”

From above Bongo, the colossal tortoise let out a low, reverberating growl. Then, the sands shifting around it, the island-like monster turned away from the Ranger. Slowly, cautiously watching Aspidochelone stomp away, Bongo stood. His limbs felt weak, but he managed to make it to his feet. Brushing a leather-gloved hand through his ink-black hair, he swept a gaze across the battlefield.

Luma was on her knees, hands clutching her great katana’s hilt, the blade plunged into the sand. Her head was down, and save for the occasional breathless laugh, she said nothing. Some distance away, Hubby sat barely propped up against a rock. His own weapon was several feet from him, but he made no move towards it. The powerful Samurai had given his all to fight such an epic foe, and it was all he could do now to stay conscious.

Beyond them, Qwid was perched over Dantrag. The Tarutaru had his hands on the Warrior’s chest, and a white glow encompassed his body. His silver-haired patient drew a ragged breath, fingers clenching in the sand as Qwid fought to save him from Guttler’s onslaught.

And then, past them all, standing tall, was North. The sun was at his back and Guttler in his hand. The Elvaan looked pale from blood loss, but his gaze was steady, eyes locked on Bongo in that unfailingly regal manner which had so often before made him want to throttle the man.

Today though, as he stood triumphant, opponent reduced to ashes and his treasure reclaimed, one of the great beasts of Vana’diel tamed by his hand, Bongo saw something he never had before. He was not looking at any ordinary man. The Labyrinth of Onzozo might not have been a proper kingdom, but there was no doubt North was in every aspect a king.

The Beastmaster king held his treasure high. Now, it was time to go home.