Chapter VII: Breaking Free

Sunlight poured over the Attowha Chasm in waves of gray. For almost two days now, the valley whereupon the great dragon Tiamat had made his home had been still. The great cataclysm had reduced the area to a heap of rubble; the rocks from the great cliffs surrounding the area had come crashing down in the heat of the Wyrm’s rage, altering the landscape and crushing demon and mortal alike. In the heat of the battle, as the demon swarms raged over the killing field like ants on rotten meat, Tiamat had taken to the air and vanished, fiercely attacking the flying fiends which had assaulted it. The Wyrm had flown off into the thick of combat, and two days later, had still not returned.

The demons were reduced in number now, but still scoured the area in small groups, their pale glowing eyes surveying the terrain. Some carried large weapons made of some strange, onyx metal, things gleaming with wicked hooks and curved blades. Others carried staves inscribed with runic markings which millennia ago had been forgotten or forcibly banned in Vana’diel. The greater number of them carried nothing but their own vicious, flesh-rending claws, along with their thick horns and the jagged teeth all demons possessed. Since bursting forth from Buburimu Peninsula, the demons had spread out in all directions, but some few had lingered here, picking at the corpses left behind, or perhaps simply awaiting word from whatever power they answered to as to what they should do next.

A demon stepped forward onto the rock pile which served as the gravestone for the heap of souls which had fallen in the wake of the epic battle from before. The hooked claws on its’ feet scratched at the ground, and it flared its’ wings for a moment before turning and peering around. Most of the other demons were some distance away, and it screeched something in the unintelligible, guttural language of the demons. It turned to go, and then paused, looking down. The dark, pointed ears on its’ head twitched for a moment, and it stared at the mountain of debris beneath it. For a long, hard moment, the fiend peered at the unmoving rocks beneath it, and then finally, with an irritable snort, it turned away and began walking back down to the others.

No sooner had it turned than an enormous hand burst forth from underneath the rocks and latched on with a grip like iron onto the heel of the creature. It cried out in alarm, flaring out its’ wings, but the hand had strength that was not to be believed, and in one bone-shattering motion, it pulled the demon down and yanked the rest of its’ body free. Meowolf’s other hand flew up, balled in a fist like a crushing mace as it came into the air, and with a deep-throated growl the Galka exploded forth from the rubble, smashing his fist into the demons’ face with such force that the fiends’ jaw shattered like brittle glass, sending it sprawling down to the ground in a heap. Still roaring, Meowolf came down upon it, fists balled, delivering crushing blows to the head and face of the monster as it weakly struggled to counterattack. It clawed at him with all the force it could muster, but it could not pierce the thick armor the Galka wore, and as his gauntleted fists hammered again and again into its’ skull, eventually the creature went still. Meowolf continued his brutal barrage, creating powder and pulp where once there had been sturdy bone and twisted horn. Finally, breathing heavily, he stood. The holy wards on his armor prevented the acidic nature of demon blood from damaging it, and thus the slick, dark liquid, so thick and deep it was almost black, stained his hands and chest to the point that their previous colors of white and silver were all but gone.

Meowolf turned, his eyes blazing. For almost two days, the Galka had clawed his way towards the narrow streams of light above him. For two days he had been trapped underground, surrounded by rock on all sides, barely enough air to take breath, no way to see where he was going, only the force of his will driving him onwards. He stretched out his massive palms, staring at the bloodstains upon his gauntlets. The Paladin slowly raised his eyes, still panting from the effort he had just exerted, physically and emotionally exhausted from two days of languishing, burrowing to the surface, nothing in his mind except the faint hope of survival and the final image before the rockslide of his friends dying all around him. He had leaped forward at that last instant, shield over his head, summoning forth all the divine power within him to keep his comrades safe . . .

And now, after all that, here he was, surrounded on all sides by the same demons that had caused the catastrophe which took his friends. They had encircled him cautiously, having witnessed the savage death their fellow demon had just suffered, and their eyes more than capable of seeing the holy aura around him and his armor. Still, he was but one Galka, one weak, exhausted Galka, standing up on nothing more than sheer fortitude. Meowolf looked out at the demons around him, their sneering faces, their beastial howls and snarls, and thought about how many of his friends had been forced to have those horrible visages be the last thing they saw before they died. Gritting his teeth, he clapped down the visor on his helmet, slowly drawing his sword from the scabbard at his side. He drew his arm back with a howl as, all at once, the demons were upon him.

They were within inches of the Galka when white light, like a torrent of energy from the ground, flooded forth from the rocks underneath Meowolf’s feet. He instinctively drew his arms up to shield himself, but it was not the Paladin who had cause to worry. In the face of the light, the demons shrieked in agony, their skin smoking and hissing as it burned. Many dropped their weapons in pain, others managed to leap back to safety, but in that same instant, the ground heaved upwards, sending a shower of stones out in all directions. Meowolf shielded his eyes, trying to look upwards as a form flew up into the air in front of him, but in the light of the sun, even muted as it was, he could only see a hazy silhouette, and the glint of light off of a long-bladed steel sword. The wielder came back down to the ground, and, with a tremendous arc, swirled his blade through the air and caught a demon squarely between the neck and shoulder, slicing it clean down the chest and almost completely in two.

Meowolf blinked the sunspots from his eyes and turned, face aghast. Beside him, his robes torn, armor beaten and dented, hair loose around his face, stood the Onion Samurai, Klades. Klades looked to be near death himself, his visage was streaked in blood, and he appeared unsteady on his feet. He was alive, however, alive and standing before the demon patrol with a thirst for vengeance which would not easily be sated. The demons faltered for a moment; they still had the vast advantage in numbers, but no two classes of warrior had more been an anathema to them than the Paladin and the Samurai. Still, these two were obviously weakened, and their resistance might be noble, some might say foolhardy, but it would not matter in the slightest. Bloodlust overtaking concern, the demons closed in again. Wordlessly, the Hume and the Galka stood back to back, facing down the circling mass around them. Meowolf, his throat dry and lips cracked, dehydrated and weakened, let his sword speak for him, and Klades, the power of his warding circle severely reduced in light of his diminished chi, outstretched his blade in preparation for their coming onslaught, letting his weapon do the same.

So transfixed were the demons on the two they could easily see that the one closest to the duo was taken totally by surprise when a steel-barbed arrow exploded through his thick ribs. It stared at the weapon’s tip, protruding from his chest, for only a moment before opening his mouth to cry out, but found himself unable to do that as another suddenly found its’ home through the back of his throat. It toppled forward as its’ blood hissed on the ground, giving not even a groan, hitting the rocky earth with a dull thud. The demons spun around in alarm, and not a moment later a beam of furious white-and-golden light, shimmering intensely, flew down from above and struck one of them down, the holy energy in the spell searing the flesh from the damned creature’s bones.

Meowolf and Klades, seeing their opportunity, pushed forward with all the strength left in their bodies. The demons were being attacked on two fronts now, and the ones they had so confidently surrounded moments before now bore down upon them, blades flashing, anger heated in their eyes. With furious intensity, Klades drew out his kamewari, executing a brilliant leaping slash up the front of one demon and then landing gently on the ground. He closed his physical eyes and, as he had been trained to do, opened his mental one. The demon that came in to chop him down with a mighty chop of its’ evil sword barely got close enough before Klades was no longer where it had been aiming, his mind focusing all the chi he had left within him. With a brilliant surge of energy, there was a burst of light around Klades’ sword as he unleashed the Tachi: Gekko maneuver, the image of script from an ancient tribe of ages past appearing to mark it. As the image faded, Klades spun around, to find Meowolf using the untold strength he possessed and forcing his own sword through the thick bone and sinew of a demons’ body, completely severing the head from the rest of it.

The demons were completely demoralized at this point. Shrieking at one another, they all simultaneously took wing and spiraled into the air. Another arrow shot out from just behind a cliff wall, and landed directly in the middle of one of the retreating demons’ backs, paralyzing its’ wings. It fell with a crash to the ground, breaking whatever was inside of it upon impact. The remaining demons shrieked and howled as they took off to safety. Klades and Meowolf watched them go, and as soon as they were out of sight, the two turned to regard one another. They both looked out through pained eyes, bodies riddled with pain and exhaustion. The reunion between them would prove short-lived indeed, as Klades, his breath coming in gasps, raised a fist into the air in salute, and then collapsed backwards to the ground. Meowolf lacked the strength to even cry out, and a moment later, he also fell to one knee. It was only the voice he suddenly heard call out to him which kept him from passing into the darkness.

His entire body suddenly felt cool and light, as if he had been immersed in a stream of water. The aches and pains of his wounds seemed to float away, and he gasped as the feeling of healing energy passed through his body. He fell forward still, but now only with physical exhaustion; the pain in his wounds had subsided, and indeed, he could feel that the wounds themselves had vanished, lifted from his body like a bad dream being taken away. From the corner of his eye, he saw a pair of earth-toned pants kneel at his side, and turned to see the face of Tyrian looking down at him.

“Easy, friend.” Tyrian said, planting a supporting hand on Meowolf’s shoulder, “I’ve got you.”

“Klades,” Meowolf managed to get out. Everything around him was swirling, and it seemed that he might pass out at any moment.

“Sinti is with him,” Tyrian said reassuringly, “we’re going to get you through this. Stay with me, Meo.”

“He’s still alive,” Meowolf heard Sinti’s voice call out. “I’ve got him, I can still . . . “ the Paladin struggled to stay conscious as he heard Sinti’s lilting voice gasp. “Tyrian!” She cried out. “There’s someone else down here!”

“What?” Tyrian exclaimed. He stood briefly, then kneeled quickly back besides Meowolf. “I’ll be right back, Meowolf,” he said, “just lie down. Let us take care of things.” He stood back up, racing over to where Sinti sat, pointing down at the minor crater Klades had created when he burst forth from the rock. Meowolf heard Tyrian curse in exclamation, and the sound of him sliding down rock and knocking loose gravel free. Moments later, he had returned to Sinti.

“Is he still . . .”

“He is.” Sinti said, and Meowolf, using what little energy he had left, made himself sit up. “Lay him down on the ground, gently. Let me take care of this.” His vision went blurry for a moment, but when it straightened he could see that the two had recovered the small, broken body of the Tarutaru wizard, Yasuchika. Sinti’s hands pulsed as she held them over his dust-encrusted form, and Meowolf could tell she was feeling the effects of overexerting her magical energy. Tyrian could sense it too, and just as he reached for her, the Taru on the ground suddenly gave a tiny cough. Sinti relaxed with obvious relief, a slight smile on her lips. Tyrian immediately cast an arm around her, drawing her close.

“I’ve done all I can,” she said in a whispered voice. “I have to rest, but they will live.”

“If we can get out of here, they will.” Tyrian said grimly. “They’ll be back, with numbers. It’s not safe to stay in the Chasm any more.”

“Safe?” Sinti said with an ironic twist in her voice. “If you hadn’t spent the last two days camouflaging us . . . if we had tried to make our escape earlier and never found these three . . . “

“I did, and we didn’t.” Tyrian said flatly. “But I know what you mean.” The Hume regarded his surroundings with the sharp eyes borne of years of honing his skills as a Ranger. Meowolf knew from experience that even though it only appeared Tyrian was scanning the horizon, in reality he was able to feel, through a bond with nature, Vana’diel, and all living things, any other forms of life around them for quite some distance. Meowolf had even been told that some few Rangers could not just feel the presence of others, but distinctly tell what they were through the extra-natural senses they laid claim to. Tyrian’s gaze broke, and he returned his attention to Sinti.

“We’re alone, for now.” He said. “But we can stay here maybe a few hours before we have to go.”

“It’s alright,” Sinti replied. “Give me some time to rest, and let the others sleep. By dusk, at the latest, we will go.”

“Agreed.” Tyrian said, and then stood, surveying his surroundings once more. “I’ll stand watch in the meantime.” As he strode off, Meowolf heard him mutter “for all the good it will do . . . “ and as exhaustion finally claimed him, he noticed that the quiver on Tyrian’s back was completely empty.

When Meowolf awoke, he felt amazingly refreshed. He had slept a dreamless sleep, letting the healing effects of Sinti’s magic and the recuperative powers of his own body restore his mind and soul. He still felt pain as he stood, but the dull ache was nothing compared to the agony he had been in before. The Galka gave a great yawn, and then looked around to see the sun setting in the west, the sky still the same hazy gray it had been since the demons had appeared. The color of the sky brought back all at once the events of the last two days, and it felt as if a great weight had been put upon him. Sighing, he looked around for the others.

“Hey,” said a voice behind him, turning him around. It was Klades, similarly restored through the power of Sinti’s magic. He still looked moderately disheveled, but he had managed to tie his hair back at least.

Meowolf nodded, and gave a reply in his gruff, thick voice. “Glad you made it, Klades.”

Klades nodded, at a momentary loss. After a breath, he said “You saved me, back there, with the dragon. If you hadn’t thrown yourself in front of me when you had . . . “

Meowolf shook his head. “We’ll call ourselves even, what with the demons and all.”

“The demons.” Klades said with a hint of anger creeping into his voice. “I’d very much like to get back to killing the demons.”

“Settle down,” Meowolf heard, and turned to see Sinti and Tyrian with them once again. “The first thing we have to worry about is keeping ourselves alive; we can always kill them later.” Sinti paused, biting her lower lip. “Yasuchika still hasn’t woken up,” she said with worry in her tone, “I’m not sure what else we can do for him.”

“The first thing we have to do is find the people who survived,” Meowolf said, taking a step towards the direction of Shakhrami. “I know a few of them must have managed to get out. I don’t know where they’d be headed, but that’s where they had planned to escape from, and that’s where we should start – “

“Hold,” Tyrian broke in, raising a hand in the air. His eyes narrowed, and he took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as he turned his head from one side to another. “someone’s coming.”

“Demons?” Klades said with alarm, his hand going to his blade.

“No,” Tyrian said, shaking his head, “it’s a bird. It’s . . . a chocobo. With a rider. Coming this way.”

“A chocobo?” Klades replied with disbelief. “Out here? Now?”

“And getting closer.” Responded Tyrian. “this feeling . . . whoever it is, they’re in trouble, maybe wounded. They need help.”

“Let’s go,” Meowolf immediately declared, “with the things that have happened, we can’t turn our back on anyone still alive.”

“Agreed,” Sinti said, stepping forward, “but I can’t carry Yasuchika.”

Meowolf blinked, realizing her meaning. With a sigh, he outstretched his hands, and Sinti, who had been somewhat laboriously holding up the tiny body of the Taru wizard, deposited him with relief into the Galka’s care. “I’ve got him,” said Meowolf reassuringly, cradling the unconscious body in the crook of his massive arm.

“Good,” Tyrian said, taking point, “now let’s go meet this rider.”

It didn’t take long to reach their destination. The rider was only a few hundred yards away from them, but she was not apt to remain a rider much longer on the chocobo she had. It had obviously been ridden hard, and was on the verge of collapse when they reached her. It was a Mithra, clutching the reins as if they were the only thing holding her up, and indeed they might have been, as a deep wound across her gut clearly evidenced.

“I . . . I found you,” she said in tones of relief mingled with pain as the quartet came closer. “I could feel you . . . but . . . I was afraid I was imagining it . . . “

Tyrian came forward first, placing out his hand in a calming gesture. The chocobo halted in its’ tracks, and then half-stumbled, half-sat, but its’ long neck collapsed to the ground, where it remained gasping for air as Sinti ran forward to attend to the Mithra. “She’s a Ranger,” he said with some surprise, taking in her comment and the way the woman dressed.

“How did you get here?” Sinti asked in astonishment as she held the Mithra steady, examining her wound. “This is too much,” she said, “I can’t hold her and heal at the same time, I need my staff for this. Klades, help me.”

“Right,” the Onion Samurai replied as he came forward, taking the Mithra in his arms. Sinti removed from her back the superbly crafted wooden staff, the white orb at the top glowing slightly as she did.

“I came . . . “the Mithra finally said, her eyes cloudy, “I came from Windurst . . . there was no safe place to travel . . . forced my chocobo through the mountains . . . “

“Why?” Sinti asked in alarm, even as she began focusing her powers through the augmenting ability of the light staff she held.

“Help . . . “ the Mithra coughed, “we need . . . help . . . demons . . . “

The quartet looked at one another, and Yasuchika suddenly felt very heavy in Meowolf’s arms. He was from Windurst as well.

“The Star Sibyl . . . “ the Mithra continued, “she . . . and others . . .many others . . . they’re inside Heaven’s Tower. Spells of binding kept the demons away . . . but people are trapped within . . . too powerful . . . can’t . . . they can’t hold out . . . I left . . . the city . . . destroyed . . . so many . . . so many . . . “

“Shhhh,” Sinti whispered, as ghost-like wisps of ephemeral magic began tracing through the air. The Mithra’s body shook as her bleeding was staunched, and the wound over her stomach knit itself over.

“No . . . “ she said, weakly, almost unconscious at this point. “You . . . you’re the only ones I’ve sensed for miles . . . miles . . . please . . . you have to help . . . they sent me to get help . . . I can’t . . . “

“What’s your name?” Klades suddenly spoke, hoping the female Ranger was still awake in his arms.

“Titania . . . “ she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Titania.” Klades repeated. “Titania, you don’t have to worry. We’ll go to Windurst. We’ll save everyone we can.”

“Thank . . . thank . . . “ she could not finish the sentence before her eyes drooped down, and she slipped into the same sleep which had claimed Meowolf and Klades hours before.

“What?” Tyrian said, rounding on Klades. “What are you talking about? We’ve got to – “

“We’ve got to find the people who survived, right? That’s what Meowolf said.” Klades looked up at Tyrian defiantly. “Well there they are, the people who survived; trapped in Windurst with demons all around them. How long can they hold out? Sinti, you’re more than a little familiar with magic. How much time do you think even the wizards at Windurst can keep up a barrier that encompasses all of Heaven’s Tower?”

“Not . . . “ Sinti hung her head at the thought of it, her voice low. “not very long.”

“There you have it.” Klades said, lowering the Mithra named Titania to the ground.

The four stood in silence for a long moment. Tyrian seemed unsure, Sinti only sad. Klades was obviously dead set on this course of action. It was finally Meowolf who broke the silence.

“We have to help Yasuchika, somehow.” The Paladin stated. “Sinti’s done all she can. In Windurst, they’ll be able to do more. We can’t try to find something we don’t even know where to start looking for when there are people who need help right in front of us. A shield that is absent is no shield at all.” No sooner had he said it than Meowolf became painfully aware he had lost his shield in the battle with Tiamat.

“Alright,” Tyrian said, his voice reluctant, but then he nodded, firmly. “Alright. You’re right.” He looked out into the ether once more, his senses feeling for everything around them, keeping him prepared for whatever should come their way. “Get the Mithra, and be careful with her. We’ll need her to show us the route she used to make it out of the city safely, since we’ll probably have to use it to get back in.”

“So that means . . . ?” Sinti began.

“Yes.” Tyrian nodded. “We’re going to Windurst.”