Chapter LXX: What Galkas Leap For

Klades drew the blade of his great katana free of the Vanguard’s body. It was slick, red, and wet, drenched in the remains of his foes. The gray-scaled Quadav he had felled dripped fluid from its multiple wounds. In doing so, it joined the growing legion of the fallen muddying the dirt with their remains.

The ground at his feet was wet with blood and viscera. Corpses littered the square in front of Leviathan's Gate. Mithra and Tarutaru, Vanguard and Kindred, Nightmare beasts of all kind; death made no exceptions when it came to collect. The Onion Samurai held firm the grip on his great katana. He was soaked to the wrist in gore, his armor spattered with remants of those his blade had claimed. Klades swept his sword around, torquing his midsection for as much force as he could muster. A scream was cut short as a Kindred's head was severed just above the mouth. Brain, bone, and teeth now untethered slopped down upon the ground, spilling their gruesome content ino the dirt. The Samurai returned to a defensive stance with whip-like speed. Remains of the monsters he had felled littered the area around him.

Klades grimaced as he took another step back. No matter how hard they struggled, inch by inch they were losing ground.

There was little they could do in the face of the Behemoth.

It was, ironically enough, the horde of Dynamis keeping them from having to face the wrath of the monster head on. After sending a shockwave that temporarily jolted Windurst's defenders back, the beast became bogged down in its own allies. The swarming creatures climbing over themselves to join in the killing were preventing it from repeating the feat. Roaring, it swung its head back and forth, baring a set of fangs as long from base to tip as the span of Klades arm from elbow to finger. Even nearly a hundred yards back from the Behemoth, the Samurai could feel the hot blast of its fetid breath. His boots, a steel-reinforced pair of slim sune-ate, sank into the bloodied dirt. He would not be able to stand his ground for long.

Klades spun as a gray-skinned Orc bridged the distance between them. Mouth agape, brandishing a crude and mishappen axe in its three gnarled fingers, the Vanguard came down upon him with a bloodthirsty rage. In a flash, his great katana deflected the blow. The Orc tore his axe away from the parry, swinging it again with intent to dismember. The Beastman was a powerhouse, and Klades felt his steel quaver as the axe collided with it. He could not risk losing he weapon.

Instead, he focused his chi away from his blade and into his eyes. A fiery blue burst of his spiritual energy erupted from them, and his stance changed in an instant. All at once he could see the Orc's muscles tense beneath its scaly gray skin. He saw the veins stretch out in its arm as it reared back for another blow. To Klades, it was as if there was this very real Orc standing in front of him, rearing back its axe, and then another Orc standing in the exact same place. Blurred and indistinct, the image of the Orc's chi, now visible to Klade's naked eye, was a half-second out of step with its owner. It was the image of where the Vanguard's energy was going to be, rather than where it was.

The hazy shape smashed the axe downwards. Klades saw as it passed through him, aiming to sever his sword arm at the elbow. The true strike followed a moment later, but the Samurai had already moved lithely out of its path. Immediately, the Orc’s aura betrayed his follow-up stroke. A whistle cut the air as it tried to reverse direction in mid-swing, trying instead to disembowel the Onion Samurai. The weapon caught nothing as Klades spun clear, countering the swipe with a vicious lunge. His arm jolted briefly as his great katana pierced flesh and bone, emerging with a bloodied edge from the Orc’s back.

Though it staggered, the Vanguard did not fall, even when Klades violently tore his weapon free. Instead it bellowed defiantly, swinging its axe furiously in a deadly battle dance. The Samurai decided he could not waste more time on a single opponent. As his chi ran from his eyes, the Orc fell back into a normal focus. Moments later, its own sight was stolen forever.

Focusing his energy from eyes to hands, and then channeling it into the sword, Klades struck. He felt the force seep into his shoulder, then race the length of his arm to surge into his weapon, struggling to break free. For a Samurai, the struggle of focus and direction was a way of life. He restrained his raging spiritual energy, drawing it all into the point of his sword and holding it there, waiting until it had all accumulated. The entire process took fractions of a second, but required control which years of practice could not guarantee. When the moment was right, Klades let loose.

The gathered power erupted from his sword as he simultaneously thrust it forward. Tachi: Yukikaze was a simple but devastating manuver, one Klades was greatly familiar with. With surgical precision, he let it loose right in the towering Orc’s beastial face.

Chunks of skull and brain matter saturated the air as the monster’s head erupted from the discharge. Collapsing in a heap, the Vanguard died as pieces of itself rained down upon it. Klades snapped his sword back into position, the victory already forgotten as three more of the nightmarish Beastmen converged upon him. Once more, he was forced to give up ground.

He looked around in frustration. The area before Leviathan’s Gate had been lost. The defenders of Windurst were being pushed back. Behind him he could see the chocobo stables of Windurst Woods, and he knew that the others were being sent inch by inch back into the Bomingo Round. Lightning tore through the sky as the ground quivered with the weight of both monster and magic. It just wasn’t enough.

He planted his feet, resolving to make a stand. The fabled Samurai of Yuhtunga was not about to surrender another step to these fiends. His arms gave an involuntary spasm, but he ignored it. Pain and weariness were only obstacles to a Samurai. Even in the face of an army. Even in the face of death.

Another rush of soldiers came, but not the one he was expecting.

Klades recognized right away the Ariesian War Warlocks as they sped to take up position around him. The Vanguard which had been bearing down on him collapsed amidst a storm of arrows. Even as a fresh wave rose to replace them, they were met by the fighting Tarutaru of the Federation. Shaking his head in surprise, the Samurai glanced downwards to find a familiar face staring up at him.

“We’ll take it from here, Samurai!” Dieggo told him, swinging his scythe downwards, leveling it at the enemy. “Meowolf needs your help!”

“Meowolf?” Klades responded in surprise.

“Of course!” A burst of black magic erupted from the Tarutaru’s palm, and a Nightmare Raven swooping in towards him seized up in the air. It crashed to the ground in a stunned flurry of claws and black feathers. Before it could rise, the Ariesian Captain smashed his scythe through it, pinning its corpse to the ground. “We have one objective, Klades, and he’s carrying it out! Now move!”

The Onion Samurai needed only to look up and see the flash of white and silver barreling through the enemy ranks to understand.


Bones splintered as Meowolf’s shield took a low-flying Kindred to the ground. The Galka continued running, mustering all the speed he could. He mercilessly smashed the hilt of his sword through the beak of an inky-hued Yagudo. The Dynamis monsters were like a parting sea around him as he made with single-minded intensity towards his goal.

The Behemoth.

And atop it, the man in white.

Geysers of flame burst from the ground as the Libran War Warlocks provided him support. He could make out his target clearly, holding a set of enormous reins as he struggled to guide the Behemoth through his swamp of soldiers. His shouted orders went mostly unheard or unheeded. The hordes of Dynamis needed no direction; they had sheer numbers and unthinking brutality. For Windurst, discipline and strategy were the linchpin to their survival.

Meowolf skidded to a halt as one of the Nightmare Cockatrices rushed towards him. Using its beak like a hammer, it bludgeoned his shield with a concussive force which nearly tore him from his feet. Only his sheer bulk kept him from being knocked down, which would have been disastrous. Concentrating on his need to get through, Meowolf pushed forward, trying to shrug off the monster with brute strength. The monster shoved right back, and the Paladin’s heels dug into the ground. Swinging its neck back, it hammered at his shield once again, the force threatening to break Meowolf’s arm. Thrusting his sword out, he was dismayed when it left only a scratch on the monster’s bulky hide. The delay was going to cost him more time than he could afford.

The Cockatrice screeched as blood burst out from its eye. Meowolf almost toppled forward when it suddenly stopped pushing against him, and it toppled to the side in surprise. The back of the monster’s head suddenly exploded outwards, and its swung about unsteadily before collapsing in a heap.

All at once, Titania was at Meowolf’s side, her crossbow firing just as fast as she could load it. The monsters in front of him melted away as a barrage of Python projectiles assailed their ranks. The Mithra loaded a round of bolts into her weapon with a roll of her fingers and a flick of her wrist. Instantly she opened up another round on the enemies in Meowolf’s path.

“Keep going!” Titania shouted. “We’ll hold them off from here!”

The Galka gave only a nod of acknowledgment and thanks. Then he was off again, the Behemoth dead in his sights. It was stomping towards the Chocobo Stables, away from where Meowolf was. He forced himself to move faster, needing to catch the monster before more damage was done.


There were a few soldiers already pushed back to the Auction House of Windurst Woods when Cullen arrived. For the most part, they were Cougar Volunteers whom had taken up guarding the rear, preparing for the battle to spill further into the city. They were worthless to her cause. She knew her targets faces well, having studied them at every opportunity while inside Heaven’s Tower. Ryce-Rizzle, Harutaru, Jaydeena, and Yasuchika were the names of her quarry. As she crept past the Windurstians, invisible thanks to her magic, she gazed forward into the carnage awaiting.

Even over the high stone walls surrounding the area, she could make out Secure’s Behemoth as it raised its head high. Despite having seen it many times before, Cullen was still awed by the power it radiated. The control Secure exerted over it was breathtaking. He was a magnificent man, she reminded herself again. Whatever he did to her, it was to help her become worthy of being in his service.

And yet, Meowolf seemed just as important in these lands as Secure was in the Eastern Kingdoms. Wherever she saw the hulking Galka go, he commanded respect and deference. Unlike Secure, when she saw leaders of men and country before Meowolf, they gave this respect up willingly. Her master would no doubt explain that these were barbarians, backwards in their ways. Secure was a soldier whom had earned his power through bloodshed. People bowed before him out of fear, and he expected it to be that way. He would call the way they treated Meowolf weakness, lending ear to a commoner.

The kindness and gentility the Galka displayed were traits for lesser men, Cullen reminded herself. The only way to survive in the bleak and unforgiving world of Vana’diel was to gather power through any means necessary. Secure was a survivor. Cullen intended to be one, too.

She was almost through the ring of soldiers when a commotion attracted her attention.

“Is it ready-eady? Is it?” a Tarutaru in a blue robe was demanding.

“Almostaru,” said another beside him in orange. Cullen halted. She recognized these two. She had seen them in Heaven’s Tower.

“Phase One is ready-steady,” the blue-robed Tarutaru asserted, pushing up a pair of spectacles balanced on his tiny nose. “Just wait-aiting on you.”

“I’ll be ready,” she told him, stopping to look around. Her eyes settled on Cullen, and she blinked uncertainly. The Red Mage held her breath. Could the Tarutaru see her?

The orange-garbed woman merely squinted, rubbing her eyes. “Put Phase One intaru action,” she said, turning back to the Tarutaru in blue. “I’ll need you’re helpy-welpy for the next part.”

Nodding, the Tarutartu in blue began quickly stepping towards where the fighting was. “See you soon, sister-wister.” He told her, giving a brief salute before running off.

His sister nodded, and then to Cullen’s surprise produced a miniature spellbook from her robes. “Requires two . . . “ she mumbled, already lost in its pages.

She began creeping closer, but stopped. She still was not certain she hadn’t been detected. And if she hadn’t, getting closer might be a risk. Cullen very much wanted to see what that Tarutaru was reading, but the chance of jeopardizing her mission was too great. Reluctantly, she turned away from the Tarutaru in orange.

Instead, she followed the one in blue, having finally recognized the Minister Ajido-Marujido.


Meowolf plowed through a clutch of Kindred, taking them unawares. Two of the demons sprang off to either side of him, the one in the center he simply ran down. He felt the metal greaves on his feet sink through sinew and bone as the Kindred’s skull buckled beneath his heel. Onward he charged, sinking deeper and deeper into the enemy ranks as he struggled to reach his objective. If he could get the man in white, he could cut the head off the serpent. They had already pushed in as far as the Chocobo Stables. Time was running out. The massive, spiked-club tail of the Behemoth remained dauntingly out of reach.

The Galka’s blood spread across the ground as a swarm of ravens suddenly drilled into him. He cried out as a set of razor-edged talons cut into his cheek, and batted at them with his sword as he hurriedly covered his exposed face. They were pecking at his armor, dozens of them swarming over the unwelcome presence in their midst. Meowolf sliced furiously, severing the wing of one in half. As soon as it went down, two more rose in its place, jabbing at him with hungry beaks. They were gnawing at his fingers, attempting to break the links in his chain mail. His shield was being dragged down as they clutched on to it, turning the regal purple-and-gold into an undulating mass of black.

Something heavy caught him just under the ribs, and the Galka went down to his knees. A Vanguard was standing over him now, a Quadav with a curved and ugly club. The ravens were all over him, pecking and scratching, trying to rend his armor apart. As casually as if it were about to crack a nut, the Quadav raised his club to break open Meowolf’s skull.

The Vanguard shouted in surprise as the flock of ravens shrieked and took flight. Blossoms of gold and white burst up all around them, and divine magic instantly overwhelmed the Nightmare monsters. The Quadav angrily swung his club at them as they sped past it, swatting at them in a fury as Meowolf struggled to rise. Rearing its weapon back again, the Vanguard came forward, ready to finish him off. It got all of two steps before a trio of arrows sank into its chest as another pair lodged itself one in each eye. It was dead before it hit the ground.

A sensation like being dipped in ice water filled Meowolf’s body, and he gasped as the pain from his wounds faded as quickly as it had come.

“We’ll hold them off here,” Tyrian said from above him, a fresh arrow already in his bow. The Quadav at his feet had received a taste of the archer’s deadly accuracy. “Get done what needs to be done.”

“Be careful,” Sinti warned him, removing her hands from his arm. “I’ve woven protective wards around your armor, but they won’t last long.”

“Get going!” A third voice shouted, and Meowolf now stood, surprised to see Captain Ryce appear in front of him, axes drawn and ready to meet the enemy. “The Librans will hold the line!”

“Oh dear, oh dear,” said the other Libran Captain, Harutaru. His company of Combat Casters launched another barrage of divine magic towards the fleeing ravens, their inky black forms bursting apart in the air. “I’m too delicataru for this kind of work.” He adjusted a monocle on his face, tugging at the golden Captain’s braid on his shoulder.

“Suck it up!” Ryce growled in a voice thick with military training. “Librans, stand your ground!”

Tyrian clapped his friend on the shoulder, his raptor’s gaze locked on the Galka’s eyes. “We know you can do it, Meowolf,” the Ranger told him. “Now go out there and get that son of a bitch.”

Meowolf stood straight, looking down at his compatriot and fellow member of Those Guys. Both were keenly aware one or both of them may not survive the day.

“I’ll see you, Tyrian,” Meowolf told him, giving a salute.

The Ranger nodded, and Meowolf looked down to see Sinti clasping his hand with a smile.

“We will, Meowolf,” she affirmed. “We’ll all see each other again soon.”

With that, the Galka turned. An explosion of holy energy ruptured the ground in front of him as Harutaru’s Librans attacked. Bodies of Dynamis creatures flew apart in the face of the sudden precision burst, and for a moment, a path was clear.

Meowolf sprinted for all he was worth, building up a full head of steam before he leaped for the Behemoth’s tail.