Chapter XXXI: Hidden Power

Twenty years earlier, the knights of San d’Oria had attempted to construct a tunnel from their stronghold in the traditionally kingdom-held fortress of Garlaige through to the Meriphataud Mountains in order to launch a sneak attack on Castle Oztroja. The Yagudo learned of their plans and communicated their intelligence to the Orcish Hordes locked in combat with the San d’Orians at the time. In a bloody sneak attack, the force gathered at Garlaige had been overwhelmed by the Orcs, and cut down to the man within the darkened confines of the tunnel they had thought would help bring about the end of the Crystal War. What was already a terrible chapter in the history of that ruinous conflict did not end there, however.

In the years which followed, the restless spirits of the slain knights, bound to the area by the dark and twisted magic released in the war, had risen from their graves, haunted and cursed figures chained forever to the land in which they had fallen. All attempts to exorcise the area had ended in tragedy, as the dead grew only more ravenous. The knights and mages of San d’Oria, along with the fallen remains of the refugees of the Great War, roamed the lower catacombs of Garlaige, eager to drag down any who sought to venture into that damned graveyard. Combined with the arcane creations already roaming the area, constructs and mutations resulting from the terrible forces unleashed two decades prior, the entire fortress, once sacred Elvaan ground, was now one of the most forsaken spots in all of Vana’diel.

The price for trespassing on such ground was now being paid in full as the undead slowly advanced upon the faltering Jeunoan guards who feebly attempted to safeguard their wounded kin, and Fated, the last of his strength waning, tried in vain to hold Serket at bay.

Garlaige Citadel was about to add another round of victims to its cursed and blighted grounds.

The Jeunoan Ducal Guards stood their ground valiantly as the initial wave of the undead overtook them. The undead were comprised almost entirely of the skeletal remains of those who had died before, kept animated by the foul curse upon their souls, and bore in their hands the rusted and ruined remains of the weapons they had wielded in life. They moved slowly, their hollow eye sockets staring blankly ahead as they walked towards whatever life they sensed, but when they attacked, the undead were more fearsome than any warrior in life. The guardsmen were tired, some of them hurt, and many suffering from debilitating hunger. Even were they at their peak, the outcome of battle against the undead of Garlaige would be a foregone conclusion. Their weakened state only meant the inevitable would come that much sooner.

Liyah, her abilities taxed to the limit, did all she could to keep the soldiers standing as increasingly, the numbers against them rose. White magic was hardly her forte, but the knowledge she had in it was being pushed as far as it would go as long as Konstantine was occupied helping keep the wounded Jeunoan refugees alive. The two had been brought along in anticipation of their crafts being utilized in battle with demons, or to keep them hidden from the monsters in Garlaige. The former had proven itself to be an unfounded concern, but the latter, at this point, was now impossible. Those Guys were faced with the combined might of the monstrosities lurking in the caverns, and it seemed there was nothing they could do to stem the tide surging against them.

In the distance, the undefined, shapeless masses of the ghosts which patrolled the ground began making their way forward, drawn by the din of battle. The skeletons continued their assault, more and more trudging forward from the desecrated halls of the citadel as their magically manipulated cohorts floated eerily closer to the fray. The zombified remains of those who had perished and fallen into mass graves, now monstrous beings of fetid flesh, crawled up from the depths, large, pink, rotting skin peeling off of their four-legged bodies as the toad-like things joined the others. The Jeunoans were screaming as their guardsmen, at their limit after only a few minutes of fighting, began to falter.

Danienne drew out her scythe, placing Decay on the ground and turning her head first to Serket, then to the undead, not knowing what to do. Indecision gripped the raven-haired Hume as she found no solution to the overwhelming problem facing them. In one way or another, they were all about to be consumed. Still, if they could beat some of the undead, maybe they had a chance to still lead the Jeunoans to safety . . . unless greater horrors awaited them further down the caverns. Silently, she cursed Lieutenant Raidom, probably already dead in Oztroja, for luring them to this death trap. Her scythe grasped tightly in the vise-like grip of her ebony gauntlets, she threw herself into battle against the undead.

The skeletal creatures swung their rusty scythes and half-rotted swords, shields, armor, and in some cases flesh all being rent as they continued their unthinking, implacable advance. The stench of death and suffering was all over the refugees, and they could no longer contain their longing to end all traces of life around them. Liyah, her black robes flaring out behind her, caught one of the monstrous flesh creatures with a bolt of fire which consumed it, but more began trundling up through the depths of the tunnels behind them. Expended as she was from concentrating on healing magic, she knew she would not be able to kill another.

Konstantine, in the meantime, had completely abandoned the pretense of healing the sick and wounded refugees. Under her shrill, high-pitched command, those who could began standing and seeking refuge against the walls, cordoned off into groups based upon how injured they were. Their numbers were so fast that she couldn’t even begin to process the magnitude of the slaughter which would occur of the undead broke the Jeunoan lines. With a shocking burst of light, she threw her tiny hands outwards and a Banish spell overtook the front lines of the enemy undead. They wavered under the holy force, and with a triumphant surge, the Jeunoans holding their ground pushed forward and splintered them into dust. Immediately behind them came another wave, and the ground gained was immediately lost again, Jeunoan blood marking the defeat in the dirt. The Tarutaru mage’s eyes darted about helplessly as she tried to find some new means of attack, even as the ghosts began casting their own magic, seeking to crush the guardsmen beneath the strength of their curses.

And, only a hundred feet away, Fated’s ruined shield was knocked from his arm by Serket as it crushed the last of his defenses.

Fated stared up into the beady black eyes of the monster as the same venom which had Decay lying paralyzed on the ground by the refugees dripped from its pincers. Rykoshet was rushing forward, but he would never reach Fated in time. Danienne, too, saw what was happening, and turned desperately from her battle with the undead to try and save Fated, but she was much too far away. Liyah shrieked as Serket lunged forward, a wall of fire springing from her hands to delay the undead, even as she realized she was pointing her magic in the wrong direction. Konstantine’s breath caught in her throat, and she knew she could never cast a spell that would save Fated’s life before it was too late.

A swirl of water and ice quelled Liyah’s flames as the magic-wielding ghosts finally reached the pitch of the battle. Swords bounced off of them ineffectually, and the undead warriors surged, their ranks locking as they prepared to crush the lives in front of them. Soon a fresh legion of the undead would populate the catacombs beneath Garlaige Citadel.

Fated’s sword flew from his hands as Serket knocked it contemptuously away, skittering away into the shadows after he had weakly tried to parry the scorpion’s blow. The monster reared back, and with another insectoid hiss, began spreading poison once again. Not a concentrated dose like Decay had received, nor a venomous spray like it had aimed at Rykoshet. This was a cloud, a vapor of deadly venom, rising from the monster’s body, filling the air. The Paladin in front of it cast a panicked glance at the Jeunoans as the undead began crawling through gaps in the defenses of the knights, seeking the exposed wounded. They would now be caught between them and this cloud of deadly venom. He was the only thing that stood in front of it.

Even as Serket filled the cavern with his venomous cloud, he leered at Fated, and the eyes of the two locked. Thousands were about to die, and it was going to start right here.

“Captain Emblim,” Fated whispered, “I’ve failed . . . “

Fated disappeared in the thick fog of poison, and Serket stabbed his foreleg forward into the murk, seeking to impale the young Paladin on its skewering appendage. Rykoshet averted his eyes. He had been too late.

Serket stood, unmoving, his right leg still extended where he stabbed Fated, staring into the impenetrable poisonous cloud slowly expanding over the entire cavern. It was thick and dark, a purple-and-black fog that burned in the open air. The scorpion had frozen, locked in place where it stood. Rykoshet raised his head, mouth open, not knowing what move to make next.

The decision was made for him as in the middle of the fog, what started as an almost imperceptible white glimmer began to grow. The blonde Elvaan averted his eyes once again, not because of something he did not want to see, but because it suddenly became impossible to make out anything in the glare of the blinding nova which erupted from within Serket’s fog.

White light poured out from the core of it, overtaking the scorpion’s deadly cloud and dispelling it as if it had never been there at all. Corners of Garlaige which had never seen light were suddenly vastly illuminated, sending swarms of bats screeching and diving to escape the retreat of their shadows. From the eye of the growing storm there came a deep, powerful roar, but not one of any monster. It was a Hume’s voice, furious and strong, overcoming the din of battle to fill the cavern with light and sound of such awesome fury that it could barely be believed. The initial burst of light swelled to a bursting point, and then exploded outwards with force which sent Serket skittering backwards like a rag doll in a cyclone. It spread out over everything, filling the entire lower chambers of Garlaige with its intensity, touching every living thing residing there.

There, as the light dimmed just enough to make out a form, stood Fated. His eyes were a gleaming white, and the aura around him flared to a fever pitch as he faced down Serket. In his most desperate moment, faced with the knowledge that his death would mean the deaths of everyone he had vowed to protect, Fated had reached inside of his soul and brought forth the one defense he had left. The perfect, spiritual defense every Paladin sought to obtain, the light of Altana which resided within every living thing brought out and made into palpable force. Serket screeched as it faced down a foe completely unlike the one it had faced just moments before. Fated, for this moment, in this time, was invincible.

It did not end there. Such was the force of his explosion of energy that it poured over the Jeunoan guards, and their holy auras were restored. Wounds sealed over, energy returned to drained limbs, hope flourished where it had been barely clinging to life. Invigorated by Fated’s power, the entire Jeunoan defense line suddenly rallied, their holy energy now filling the battlefield. The undead horde in front of them screeched to a halt, and then, impossibly, a cry of dismay rose from their collective body as they felt the waves of holy force suddenly sweeping over them. Skeletons began collapsing, overcome by the energy, weapons melting away in their hands as their aged bones spread into dust. The ghosts wailed and moaned, some floating away back into the depths as others, caught up in the torrent of power, faded away like a bad dream upon the dawning of the morn. The monsters of flesh began bubbling as if being boiled alive, hastily retreating back as their numbers were melted down to puddles of sizzling skin.

The source of it all, Fated, floated a foot off of the ground as he faced down Serket. His discarded sword returned to his hand at the beckon of his power, and he held it out in front of the scorpion. The Paladin’s face was grim as his steel glimmered in the light shining forth from his own soul.

Fated’s feet touched the ground as he charged forward, sword in hand. Serket was dealt a glancing blow as Fated struck him full in the face, the blade doing little damage, but his aura forcing the monster back nonetheless. It took a step back, thrusting out it’s spear-like leg, but it bounced harmlessly off of Fated’s armor as he swung his sword again, once more knocking the monster’s head back. The beast hissed, spraying venom out, but the liquid turned to vapor before it even touched its target, purified by the power of Fated’s energy. The Paladin came forward again, striking the beast contemptuously, and Serket hissed scornfully, raging against the unbeatable foe in front of it. With renewed force, Serket drew back its tail, preparing to level Fated with a crushing blow.

It squealed loudly and painfully when Rykoshet’s sword sliced clean through the base of its giant stinger, sending the trunk-like tail wriggling and writhing, spraying venomous blood out to splash against the dirt and stone. The Elvaan’s spinning slash had cleaved the monster’s greatest weapon completely from its body, and as he came down to the ground, he dove aside as the creature began lashing out in blind pain. It came onwards without direction, slashing at everything, Fated standing his ground as it rained blows upon him. Serket finally reared back with its piercing leg and struck forward, Fated swerving to the side to avoid the blow rather than let it deflect off of him. It was not Serket that Fated was avoiding, the beast learned quickly.

Danienne’s scythe, thrown through the air, just missed the monster as it ducked purely on instinct, the blade skirting the surface of its carapace too far above to do any real damage. It laid eyes on the Dark Knight, and with singular purpose brought into its insect-like mind by anger and pain, charged forward while Fated was still standing to the side. Danienne was dead in its sights, and the wounded monster bore down upon her with terrible vengeance.

The Dark Knight’s hand snatched her scythe out of the air as it burst from Serket’s chest, spinning it twice in a circle before reclasping it to her back. Her tractor spell had stopped the weapon in mid-flight, and brought it back through the charging beast with speed and power a mere toss could never have matched. Serket shuddered, giving another wretched cry, and after another feeble step forward, toppled over to the side. The beast gave one last convulsion, its legs crawling upon ground that was no longer beneath it, and died.

Danienne, her armor streaked with blood from combat with the undead, spat upon the monster’s corpse. Without a word, she turned back to the battle against the hordes of the unliving.

She need not have bothered. Driven back by the overwhelming force of Fated’s aura, combined and amplified with those of the Jeunoan guards, the undead has retreated, leaving a clear swath open where no monster dwelled, and shining energy lit the way.

“Fated,” Rykoshet said with wonder as he approached the Paladin, still uneasy on his feet, “what did you do?”

The Paladin shook his head. White light still poured out of him, a divine energy the likes of which none of them had ever borne witness to. “I only know that it’s wearing off. I can feel the power ebbing, wherever it came from. It’s time we leave, before it fades altogether.” Even as he said it, Rykoshet could see the natural darkness of Garlaige slowly creeping back along the edges of the cavern which Fated’s power had been illuminating.

“Of course. Captain Wolfgang,” Rykoshet called across the battlefield, “gather your people together. We’re getting out of here.”

“Decay’s not going to last long,” a voice called out, and they turned to see Konstantine, fretting over his body. “I don’t have the strength to fight this poison off. We’ve got to get him back to Odessa as soon as possible.”

“Do what you can for him. Fated, take the lead, Dani, carry Decay for us. Liyah, you’ll watch our backs.”

“Rykoshet,” Wolfgang called out, sheathing his sword, his face streaked with the blood of his wounded and fallen comrades, “where can we go?”

“You’ve shown me your place, Captain,” Rykoshet replied, “now I’m taking you back to mine.”

Thus the people of Jeuno, rescued by the intervention of Those Guys, who drove back the undead hordes and laid low the monstrous scorpion Serket, began their trek towards Castle Oztroja.