Chapter XLIV: Snow Dyed Red

The people of Vana’diel were diverse and numerous, each person possessing a different potential amount of energy within them. Some would never realize their true power, others simply did not possess much to begin with. The spark of Altana’s gift blessed everyone differently. The practice of finding and harnessing chi, the spiritual force residing within all living things, was the fundamental aspect in almost every school of combat. It was the various ways in which people learned to access that divine spark that set them apart.

A Paladin could draw upon his spiritual force to defend himself and others. From the moment one began walking the path of the knight, their energy was devoted to perfecting themselves as a living bulwark, the first line of defense for those in need of defending. A brief glimpse at the true power of a Paladin had been afforded to Those Guys when Fated achieved invincibility for those fleeting moments in Garlaige Citadel. The shield they were trained with was a key part of their repertoire, but the truth of it was that they themselves were the shield, harnessing the power of their chi towards the defense of others.

Mages used their chi to focus and utilize the powers of magic running free through the world. A White Mage could draw upon the healing forces of the spirit and transfer it unto others, as well as weave protective spells meant to prevent harm before it ever happened. Black Mages, on the flip side of the coin, affected the world around them by using their chi to manipulate magic in such a way as to command the very forces of the elements. They used magic for completely different functions, but their ability to wield magic rested solely on how much of their own spiritual force the mage could draw upon.

A Warrior’s mastery over weapons, the bond between a Dragoon and a wyvern, the techniques of a Ninja, they all drew upon chi in some form. The way a person was trained to use their chi made all the difference in what path they walked in life.

A Dark Knight was, at its core, vampiric in nature.

Rykoshet had never seen the vampires from the legends of the Near East, nor did he particularly believe they existed at all, but he understood the concept. A vampire was a being that survived by draining the life from others so that they might sustain. The idea of one who fed off of other living things for strength was not a new one. The Dark Knight simply encompassed the idea made reality. There was one important difference which set the vampires of myth apart from the Dark Knight, however.

Dark Knights fed upon their own lives as well.

Rykoshet was panting with effort, beads of sweat forming on his blood-soaked brow as he drew deeper and deeper upon the reservoir of his own life energy. The dread spikes flared around him, dark threads of energy coursing through the air around him. The Hume stepped back in the snow, wary of this new development, while Rykoshet’s voice rose into a guttural growl from the back of his throat. His eyes were bulging, glowing black with the power he was calling forth. The halo of darkness surrounding him lashed out in tendril-like surges, thick chords of it enveloping him within their inky embrace. The air around him steamed as his body temperature grew hotter, and the Hume bared his teeth, raising his weapons to prepare for anything.

Rykoshet’s dread spikes would provide him protection from harm, but if he could not attack his opponent, they would simply fade away, leaving him more exhausted for having maintained them. This Hume was far too smart to go on the offensive after a spell like this one was brought into play. He knew he only had to wait Rykoshet out, and was confident that he was too fast for the Elvaan to strike should he try.

Sweat beaded on Rykoshet’s brow, running down an eyelid closed tightly due to blood running into it. His other eye was open wide, and fixed itself on the stranger as a red flash of light flared out of it.

The leader of Those Guys renewed his grip around the enormous spear of Tzee Xicu. He would have less than a minute before his body ate itself alive maintaining what he was going to attempt.

The snow flew up at his heels as he rushed forward, slashing towards the stone-faced Hume. The blade of Tzee Xicu’s weapon met only air, the Hume easily sidestepping the strike, a quiet sigh of exasperation escaping his lips.

The breath choked in his throat as the shaft of Rykoshet’s spear caught him full on the side of the neck.

He spun with the impact, eyes bulging as he fell to the ground, rolling as he did so. Immediately he rose, raising his axe and sword and resuming his offense, not wasting a moment. Once again, his axe fell downwards towards Rykoshet’s head, forcing him to block, while the piercing sword searched for a vital spot to puncture.

Both weapons flew from his grasp as he was stopped dead in the snow, the flat of Rykoshet’s blade cracking against his skull with enough force to break the skin. A spot of blood formed between his eyes, droplets filling the air as the Hume arched backwards, his green cloak flaring out before him. Back-first, he landed in the snow. Eyes wide, he struggled to lift his neck, staring at the foe before him.

One of Rykoshet’s eyes was sealed shut, dried blood and a bruise on his cheek from the Hume’s axe keeping it closed. His other eye was wide open.

The whites of the eye were jet black, the iris and pupil a gleaming red. Faintly, the Hume could see a symbol etched inside, something like a star within a circle, and he could swear he saw his own face in the middle of it. The diabolic eye never wavered from him as Rykoshet launched himself forward, snarling as he closed the distance between them, the blade of his spear screaming as it sliced through the air. Rykoshet, driven by the pain, adrenaline, and the sinister magic feeding him power, closed the distance between himself and his foe in the span of a heartbeat. His blade flashed down, and struck the Hume directly in the chest.

There was a jolt up Rykoshet’s arm as he felt the force of the impact travel back up to his wounded shoulder. The Hume lay on the ground, uninjured, a stoneskin spell hastily woven around him saving him from the killing stroke. He took advantage of the moment, slicing his arm through the air to release a wave of flames, driving Rykoshet back. In a rage, he defied his own self-preservation instincts and charged through, catching the Hume with a lightning-fast thrust which sent shockwaves through the both of them. Rykoshet teetered off-balance as the Hume stumbled backwards, the power of his spell already being taxed. Rykoshet stomped his foot back down, steadying himself, and then felt his legs quaver. He did not have much longer.

His eye could read every movement the Hume made almost before he made it. The slightest shift in body weight or fluctuation of an aura was plainly visible to Rykoshet. No amount of speed could protect him when the Elvaan was able to tell which direction he was about to run before he even began moving. Staring at a man of such power was difficult, it felt as if he corneas were burning trying to take in such a presence, but he forced himself to keep his eye trained on him, the force within glowing like torchlight. The Hume’s shoulder twitched, and Rykoshet landed a blow to his side before his mind had finished telling his body to dodge right. He staggered, and his leg was swept out from under him without any chance being given for him to regain his balance. The snow collapsed around him, forming his icy tomb as Rykoshet reared over him. His startling blue eyes fixed on Rykoshet’s demon gaze, and without a word the Elvaan brought the spear down again, seeking to split the Hume’s head like a melon.

There was an audible sound of stone shattering as the spell reached its limit. The blade of Rykoshet’s weapon bounced off a final time, and a thin white line appeared down the Hume’s cheek from chin to brow where he had been struck. Roaring with fury, Rykoshet spun the spear back, arching it high over his head, and brought it crashing down on his defenseless foe one more time.

Before it could find its mark, his dread spikes flared up, like a star going nova, and then blinked out with devastating finality. The spear found only empty snow as Rykoshet collapsed to his knees, the energy drained from him. He had no fuel left to feed his fire. His weapon tumbled from his grasp, his fingers suddenly too numb to hold on to them. He choked on the coppery taste of his own blood, his entire body on fire with the pain from his wounds made worse from his exertions. The Elvaan turned his head, the glow behind his eye already faded away. The Hume was behind him, upright, a weapon in each hand. He’d never seen him move.

“You fought well,” he conceded, “now it’s time to go.” He addressed the entire matter as a foregone conclusion from the start.

Rykoshet did not respond. He couldn’t make words form in his throat. The Hume began coming closer, as Rykoshet watched his own blood fall from his face, dripping onto the open palm of his gauntlet. His left arm barely responding, he dragged it to his right, covering the sight of his crimson-stained armor. Closing the eye he had left open, he let his back rise and fall, desperately sucking in air.

“If you can’t walk, I’m going to have to knock you unconscious and drag you,” he explained, nearly on top of him, “and if you can, I’m going to have to cut your legs off so you don’t run away.”

Rykoshet turned to face the Hume. Besides a few wounds, he looked as pristine as ever. His adaman armor was still burnished and unmarred, his energy undiminished; there wasn’t even a thread loose on his woven green cloak. After everything Rykoshet had done, he was still practically at the peak of his power. The Hume was bursting with it, and Rykoshet was bone dry.

He had only enough left for two things. Breathing, and the stun spell which burst from his open palm.

As feeble as Rykoshet’s power was, it only unbalanced the Hume for perhaps a second at most, but it kept him from moving. Even as he felt the darkness slipping in around him, he used his body weight to throw himself forward, outstretching the hand he had been bleeding on, removing his left arm from it to reveal what he had traced upon his palm, etched in his own blood.

The eldritch seal of dark magic glowed with thirst as Rykoshet pressed his hand into the Hume’s exposed face, clenching his jaw. When a vampire ran out of his own power, he had to seek it from other sources.

Once again, a Dark Knight was much the same.

The force of Rykoshet’s drain spell, enhanced by the dark seal he had writ out in his own blood, struck the Hume with jarring results. His eyes rolled back in his head, and his tongue lolled out of his mouth as the dark magic Rykoshet unleashed fed hungrily upon the Hume. The cuts lining Rykoshet’s face began to seal themselves over, the wounds on his arm and leg closed, and the bleeding staunched. His eye opened, bright and blazing, and with each passing second, his grip on the Hume became tighter and more crushing. The effects on the Hume were equally as dramatic. Lines began appearing in his face, his shoulders went slack, and streaks of gray began forming at his temples. It was temporary at best; energy stolen would always find its way back eventually. That didn’t matter to Rykoshet. He intended to drain the Hume until he was a withered husk.

With desperation in his eyes, the Hume’s palms opened in front of Rykoshet’s unprotected face and a river of flame shot forth. The Dark Knight cried out, shrinking away and releasing the Hume, who dropped like a corpse to the ground. He sat on his knees, waist-deep in the snow, a rasping, hollow breath rattling from him. Rykoshet fell backwards into the snow, unmoving, the flames quenched but the damage done. The Hume watched him for a long moment, his ragged breathing unheard over the howling winds.

Rykoshet sat straight up, dried blood caking off of his face as singed hair smoked upon his head. His hand snatched blindly in the snow, somehow finding its mark, and drawing Tzee Xicu’s spear to his side once more.

“I’ve been set on fire by better than you,” the Elvaan growled, forcing himself to his feet, the Hume’s own drained power sustaining his body.

The stranger gave no response. He dragged himself to his feet, and the two regarded one another. The distance between them was a mere few meters at most.

The aura of their shared power burst to life around them, and with mutual cries, they both rushed forward, weapons swinging.

The Hume swung his axe, and Rykoshet thrust forward his spear. They collided, deflecting off of one another, but even as the point of his weapon was forced towards the ground, Rykoshet recoiled it, lancing it forward once again, only to be defied as the Hume brought his black-bladed axe back the way it came. Swinging the massive spear around, he thrust forward a third time, but was caught once again by a slice meant to tear his chest open. A fourth thrust, and a fourth swing, rattled each other in mid-air as both fighters draw back one more time. Rykoshet thrust forward with all the strength he could muster, and the Hume responded with a blow which could shatter stone.

The weapons, five times each having met one another, snapped free of their owners hands upon impact. They twirled in opposite directions through the air, settling down and sinking into the snow, out of sight and useless. The Hume had dropped his sword when Rykoshet had drained him, so both were now unarmed, bones still rattling from the blows they had just struck against one another.

Neither hesitated. The Hume threw the first punch.

Rykoshet knew from the first blow that his strength was returning. Even looking at him he could see that his hair was all blonde once again, and his face was slowly returning to the smooth, unlined visage it had been before. If he was going to hurt him, it had to be now. He took the first punch in the gut, his armor straining against the blow, and returned with a backhand blow to his opponent’s face. Blood shot from the Hume’s mouth, but even as it did his foot lashed out, striking Rykoshet just over the knee. He buckled, and the Hume clenched his fists together and unloaded with a devastating uppercut. Rykoshet nearly sailed head over feet with the blow, landing on his stomach and rolling to his side as fast as he could manage.

The Hume pounced on him, but Rykoshet spun to meet him, elbow cracking against his attacker’s chin. He rammed his fist into the Hume’s gut, but the strength of his incredible armor braced him against the attack. He used the moment to deliver a palm-thrust to Rykoshet’s chest, a burst of chi at the end of it telling Rykoshet that his foes strength was returning faster by the second. He could not afford to squander that which he had stolen. His fist drilled into the Hume’s jaw, and then the other hand repeated the feat. The Hume fell, but as he did he hooked a foot behind Rykoshet’s knee and dragged him down with him. The two tumbled into the snow, gnashing and clawing at one another as ice and wind bit into them both.

The Hume raked Rykoshet’s eyes, Rykoshet clapped a fist against one of the Hume’s ears. The Hume scrambled away, but the Elvaan tackled him, clawing his way onto his back and slamming him face-first into the snow. The Hume reached back, taking hold of Rykoshet’s arm when his hands found it, and squeezing a cluster of nerves with force enough to make the larger Elvaan release him. When he rolled up, his foot scissored outwards, and an armored boot sliced out a chunk of Rykoshet’s cheek. Viscera spilled onto the ice, and the Dark Knight clutched at his wound as the Hume stood, drawing back his fist. Rykoshet’s own hand shot out, and he caught the Hume’s punch against his gauntlet, immediately wrapping his hand shut over his knuckles and squeezing. Through the Hume’s own armored mufflers it would be useless trying to break his hand, but it was a grip Rykoshet refused to release. That arm belonged to him now.

He pulled the Hume forward, an elbow catching him right beneath his crystal blue eye. Again, Rykoshet hammered at the Hume’s face, holding on to the arm he had captured and pressing his size advantage for all it was worth. He could feel the Hume’s aura flaring to life, and he knew that within moments his adversary would begin tossing spells around again. He had to end this fight now.

He brought his knee up, driving it into the Hume’s gut, but once again his armor protected him from the blow. Frustration mounting, Rykoshet sent another punch towards the Hume’s bruised and battered face, but this time the smaller fighter caught Rykoshet at the wrist, holding him there. The two jockeyed for position, glaring at each other as they struggled to gain some advantage in leverage, some position from which they could press their attack. The blood streaming from both of them began forming a hissing red stain in the snow all around them, neither refusing to budge.

Rykoshet’s grip slipped, and the Hume tore his hand free. Elbow cocked, he prepared to let fly a finishing strike towards the Elvaan’s wounded face.

Until the snow rose in Rykoshet’s defense.

“Rennie!” a voice that called out from nature itself cried, and the Hume shrank back, releasing his grip on Rykoshet’s wrist. The Elvaan was about to attack, when an eruption of light burst in between the two of them, blowing them both away from one another.


Driven back into a snow bank some feet away, Rykoshet scrambled to regain himself, to meet this new attack. Blinking the spots from his eyes, he saw a figure, robes flaring in the wind, facing down the spot where the Hume had been thrown. The figure seemed to be comprised of pieces of the snow itself.

Relief flooded through Rykoshet’s heart.

It was Lethe.

The herald of the Four Winds became a solid, blond-bearded man, arms raised menacingly. Though he appeared flesh and bone, a look down towards the snow revealed he was not standing in it, but rather rising up out of it. Several yards away from him, the blonde Hume reared back like a wounded animal, eyes fall of warning.

“Your masters sent the wrong dog, Rennie,” Lethe told the Hume before him. “You will not have him this day.”

Rennie, as Lethe called him, let out a breath, his shoulders heaving. He raised his hand defiantly, but the magic he tried to conjure fizzled harmlessly, and he stared at the granite-hard face of the herald, still dispassionate, still cold and grim.

“Not this day,” Rennie admitted, “but perhaps tomorrow.”

There was a flash of darkness, and the two weapons Rennie had been wielding tore themselves from the ground and spun into his hands, both slicing right by Lethe, who did not so much as blink. Rennie took his weapons from the air, slamming them home into their sheaths at his side, and let his gaze slide over to Rykoshet, just beyond the herald’s shoulder.

He said nothing, but his crystal blue eyes conveyed it all.

In the next moment, with sound like some out-of-tune instrument, a ripple of darkness surged around Rennie’s body, and then he was gone.

Rykoshet let out an explosive breath, nearly falling over. He had survived. Whatever that was about didn’t matter to him as much at the moment as the mere fact that he had faced down such a foe and lived. The power he had siphoned from Rennie’s extensive reservoir was already waning, and it looked like there were two Lethes drifting his way through the snow.

“He tore you from my spell,” Lethe was saying, bracing Rykoshet as he fell. “I saw the others to safety as best I could and began searching for you. I am sorry I could not find you sooner.”

“I managed,” Rykoshet said, skin sloughing off his cheek as his jaw worked. “The others, are they alright?”

“They are safe, momentarily,” Lethe informed him, “but nowhere in the Northlands is safe for long. We must keep moving.”

“Okay,” Rykoshet said, his legs too numb to feel, “I’m good for it, let’s go.”

The blond-bearded herald spread out his arms as Rykoshet fell, and it seemed suddenly he had been submerged in the warmest of refreshing baths.

Lethe’s river carried him onwards, away from the sight of his horrific battle, and consciousness drifted away as the mystic waters lulled him to sleep, rejuvenating, restoring, replenishing as the waking world left hm.

Not even their powers were enough to keep a nightmare of Rennie finding him again from invading his dreams.