Chapter XXXII: Just When You Thought it Was Over

Odessa’s eyes fluttered open, and with some surprise the silver-haired Elvaan woman realized she had fallen asleep sitting up.

Beside the simple wicker chair she sat in, lying in a rough-hewn bed which had been the best available to them given the nature of the Yagudo chambers which they now dwelled in, Raidom slept still. His injuries had been repaired through the powerful healing magic at Odessa’s command, but even strongest spells could only patch together wounds on the surface. The trauma he had suffered, as well as the toll healing spells placed on the body, might still prove to be the end of him. The Lieutenant from Jeuno who had survived all this way to try and seek help for his people was possibly on his last legs, but Odessa was doing everything she could to make sure he would live to fight again.

The exodus through Garlaige Citadel had finally reached its end. With the undead hot on their heels as Fated’s miraculous and inexplicable burst of holy power waned, and Decay clinging to life by a narrow thread as Serket’s poison attacked his blood, Rykoshet and the others had led the surviving Jeunoan refugees through the maze of tunnels beneath the cursed structure, and the cave mouth leading to the Sauromugue Champaign was now within sight. Far enough out that no demon patrols circling Jeuno would be surveying the area, they would make haste to Castle Oztroja with the multitude they had rescued, and reach safety before the Kindred ever knew they had been there in the first place. The air became noticeably cooler as they approached the narrow exit, the colder night air blowing a refreshing breeze down the otherwise stifling, stagnant air of the immense fortress tunnels.

Konstantine, unable to contain herself any longer, rushed to the forefront of the column, breaking for the open starry night sky just visible beyond the cave opening.

Raidom’s eyes flew open, and the sound of him taking a gasping breath of air startled Odessa so violently that she almost fell out of her chair. Collecting herself in a flash, she half-stood, half-stumbled to his side, visibly shocked at his sudden revival. The Lieutenant’s eyes darted from left to right, and his mouth opened as he searched fruitlessly for words.

“Hey!” Odessa said, placing a hand on his forehead, peering into his dark eyes. “Don’t try to speak yet!”

Still, Raidom struggled to form his thoughts into sound as the white mage over what she had thought would be his deathbed examined him with a soft touch of healing magic.

:”Wh-whe-“ he began, his voice weak and hoarse.

“You’re . . . with friends.” Odessa decided it was probably wise not to tell him he was inside a Yagudo fortress for the time being. “You’ve been here for days, we were afraid you would die. Demons must have attacked you.”

“N-that-no-“ he tried to say more, but the words stuck in his throat, and he winced against the pain.

“Please, take it easy,” Odessa pleaded, “we all thought you would die. You succeeded, Lieutenant, your mission was accomplished. We sent a team out just after you arrived to retrieve the Jeunoans you told us about, and they know a way to get back without any demons finding them.”

“The demons didn’t attack me!” Raidom whispered, his eyes wide and face clearly reflecting the pain in his voice. “You don’t understand; I found the hidden exit, it was what was waiting there that I barely escaped from alive.”

“What are you saying?” the Elvaan woman queried, a hint of fear now in her voice.

“It’s returned to its nest.” Raidom rasped, his hand reaching up to grab Odessa’s arm, “waiting for prey.”

“Finally,” Konstantine erupted as moonlight, throwing her tiny hands into the air with a whoop.

“The Roc has come back!” Raidom expelled in a voice that was purely breath, and a shiver ran up Odessa’s spine.

“To Castle Oztroja!” the Tarutaru exclaimed happily, even as the train of refugees behind her took their first faltering steps into freedom from the hellish existence they had been living in since Dynamis first broke open upon the world.

The cry which shattered the stillness of the night air reverberated off the cliffs of Sauromugue, shaking the very rocks with its power. Konstantine screamed, turning around with a hop as a powerful wind nearly bowled her over. The moonlight illuminating the path to freedom was suddenly concealed, blotted out by the massive new form sweeping through the sky. Dust formed a cloud on the ground as a pair of colossal beating wings guided a set of flesh-rending talons to settle on the stone and earth. An elongated neck stretched out, black feathers gleaming in the pale light of the moon, as a terribly curved beak opened, letting out another echoing call.

With a raptors’ gaze, the Roc, legendary giant bird which had long been the bane of travelers through the Sauromugue Champaign, surveyed the morsels in front of it.

Beating its wings again, it reared back, revealing a shining row of jagged spikes arching out of its white-feathered chest. Stomping at the ground with its talons, it spied Konstantine, fearfully backing herself away. With a hungry gaze, it closed on her, beak opening to reveal rows of curved, gleaming teeth within its maw. Leaning down, it snapped at the Tarutaru, who screamed as she leaped to safety, the Roc turning its head to follow her as she tried to get away. When it did, it saw the others, who all looked substantially less nimble and healthy, emerging from the crevice which had led them out of Garlaige Citadel. Realization swept over Konstantine as she saw the Roc’s beak slowly open with a low, hungry cry. She grit her teeth as she gathered up magic, preparing to do whatever she could to put herself in between the Jeunoans and the ravenous monster in front of them.

The Roc, however, flared its wings up, screeching as a new figure emerged from the cavern. Breaking through the crowd, his great sword at the ready, Rykoshet stepped forward, planting himself at the front of the throng. Damaged and dirty from the fight with Serket, his armor still shone in the moonlight above, and his face was darkened by the streaks of blood lining his cheeks. The tiny Tarutaru or the panicked-looking people the Roc clearly had no problem attempting to devour, but the sight of an armed and armored warrior gave it pause, if only for a moment. The feathered beast took a threatening step forward, and the blonde Elvaan planted his feet, lowering his sword into a defensive position. There would be no getting to these people without going through him.

“I am so sick of giant bird-things,” Rykoshet mumbled. Then he cast his gaze on Konstantine for a moment before returning his attention to the Roc. “Don’t tell the Yagudo I said that.”

“What are we going to do?” She demanded in response.

“Get out of here, all of you,” the fighter replied, shuffling his feet as the Roc started circling closer to him, keeping his eyes on it at all times.

“What about you!?”

Konstantine’s question had already raced through Rykoshet’s mind. Wolfgang would be needed to maintain the Jeunoan guards that they had recovered, as well as be a symbol for the people; his safety was paramount. Fated was so drained from whatever it had been that he had used to defeat Serket he could no longer even lift his sword, and Decay was fighting for his life at that very second. Konstantine would be needed to make sure he lived long enough to even see Oztroja, and with her occupied it would be up to Liyah to maintain the health of Jeunoans through the trek. That left Danienne as the only person who would be able to focus entirely on keeping them safe from anything that attacked them on the way back through Meriphataud. Everyone else was needed. That left only one solution to this dilemma.

“I’m going to hold it off while you all escape.”

“You’re insane!” Konstantine yelled at him, stamping her feet on the ground, “let me – “

“It’s not going to wait for us to debate this! Get going NOW!”

The Tarutaru was almost as taken aback by Rykoshet’s explosive order as she was by what happened next.

Giving a mighty cry, the Roc beat its wings against the ground, leveling its head at Rykoshet and charging forward, deciding that the feast which awaited it would be well worth having to deal with a single foe beforehand.

Rykoshet swung his great sword forward, meeting the Roc’s charge with a fierce blow. The monster paused, but then struck back with a lightning-fast swivel of its head, which sent a shockwave down the black-armored Elvaan’s arms as he parried the attack with his weapon. Grimacing, he struggled to avoid another attack as the Roc pecked at him, his ribs still on fire from Serket’s attack earlier. The Roc swung with its monstrous wing, feathers like steel scraping against Rykoshet’s chest. He staggered backwards, but then thrust with his great sword, delivering a glancing hit directly off of one of the wickedly curved spikes protruding from the Roc’s chest. The great bird shrieked in protest, displaying its cruel teeth at its foe in warning.

Behind him, Danienne had taken control of things, urging the multitudes onward into the night. For a moment, she grasped the handle of her scythe, and it seemed she might jump into the fray, but she knew what her responsibility was. The mission was to rescue the people of Jeuno, and it was now up to her to make sure that it was completed. Directing the train of fleeing refugees down the side of the cliff and away from the Roc, she forced herself not to look as Rykoshet continued to battle for his life, and all of theirs as well.

The avian slashed at the Elvaan with its fierce talons, their edges scraping against his already damaged armor. Rykoshet countered with an upward swing, driving the Roc back, and then sending a calculated double thrust its way, aiming for its wings. With honed natural instinct, the bird skidded out of the way, then came charging forward again with intent to bowl Rykoshet over entirely. Spinning to the side, he managed to avoid being rammed by the Roc, but then cursed as he saw it breaking for the people. Danienne was already over the side of the cliff as the last straggling remnants of Jeunoans emerged from the cave, only to be confronted by the sight of the hungry carnivorous bird. A woman screamed, covering her child as the monster opened its beak and lashed out at the both of them.

It stopped, giving a strangled cry as it staggered to the side. Rykoshet stood, his hand glowing from an unleashed burst of stunning dark magic. He was not as talented at the craft as Danienne, but when push came to shove, he had a few tricks up his sleeve. The people ran as the Roc angrily rounded on Rykoshet, and he cast his eyes on the cave entrance as the face of Wolfgang appeared.

“Good Altana, Rykoshet!” he shouted, drawing his sword. “Stand back, we’ll – “

“No!” Rykoshet shouted at the Ducal Guard Captain. “You’ve got to stay safe, Wolfgang, you know it.”

“Then let my guardsmen – “

“Let them protect their people. Most of them are too injured to carry on anyway.” Rykoshet raised his sword up, and the great weapon was wedged between the teeth of the Roc as it leered down at him from above. “Go on, I’ll handle this! Make sure everyone is safe!”

“There’s still another column of people to get out,” Wolfgang replied, torn between going and staying, “how long can you hold out?”

“As long as I have to! Just get them going!”

The Roc, unable to bite through Rykoshet’s sword, thrust out its taloned foreleg and batted the warrior aside even as Wolfgang began shouting orders to get the final survivors clear. Rolling on the ground as it tried to stab him through with its mighty claws, Rykoshet managed to plant a hand down and spring back to his feet, just in time to avoid being skewered through. He again stabbed at the Roc, the giant spikes on its chest deflecting the blow, but the monstrosity took wing, flying a few feet back, eyes still intent on its enemy. With a narrowed gaze, the beast craned its neck upwards, and then released a terrible, piercing cry.

Rykoshet groaned as the power of the Roc’s cry overcame him, an arcane force clearly behind it. His sword, his armor, his very limbs suddenly felt slowed and numb, and the world went momentarily blurry. Something about the sound of the bird’s song was slowing him down, and he struggled to maintain his footing as it finished the echoing cry, fixing a knowing glare upon its prey when it had finished. The Elvaan brought his great sword forward, but his movements were delayed, like his body was fighting against itself to move normally. The Roc was upon him, and with a thrust of its powerful wings, it leveled the Dark Knight to the ground, tearing away shreds of his steel armor with the force of its strike. Rykoshet’s ribs bloomed into newfound pain as he rolled across the ground, and the Roc launched itself into the air, its talons coming down just inches from where Rykoshet had been. Rolling out of the way had taken far too much effort, and the Roc spitefully bit at him as he struggled against the monster’s song-spell to escape.

The Roc’s teeth bit through his gauntlet, and blood streamed from his forearm as his flesh was pierced. Rykoshet screamed in pain, and the Roc batted him aside with its talons, giving another high-pitched shriek as he rolled away. The wounds he had suffered fighting Serket were on fire, and his side felt like it might split apart. His blood was pouring down his arm, staining his black armor red, and but a few feet away, the Roc was stepping forward to finish the job. Rykoshet closed his eyes. Even with his head pounding, he could hear the Jeunoans, still not so far away that the Roc wouldn’t fly after them and kill as many as he pleased to take back for food. Any one of his friends could be among that number if the battle didn’t go on long enough for them to get far enough from Garlaige. The Roc struck, its beak going in for the kill, and Rykoshet’s eyes opened with a gleaming black sheen.

The monster pulled back with a frightful shriek as it hit Rykoshet with its hooked beak, stumbling on its two legs with pain that came from nowhere. It came forward again, thrusting its talons into the prone fighter’s body, only to reel back in anguish. Not understanding, it beat its wings and lowered its head down with a cry as Rykoshet stood up, his great sword firmly grasped between his two gauntleted hands.

Dark magic surged out of him like electric energy, flowing through his exposed blood to form a crackling shield around him. Dread Spikes, the final recourse in the magical arsenal of a Dark Knight, hissed in the air around Rykoshet’s body, called forth by the spilling of his blood. Imbibed with the power of the Roc’s own attack, he concentrated his spiritual energy in, and then with bared teeth dispelled the force of its cry, overpowering the spell through force of will. The Roc launched forward in a heartbeat, and its fangs sank into Rykoshet’s shoulder, but before it even bit down it tore itself away with a pained and angry shriek, the force of its attack drained away and transferred into Rykoshet himself. The spikes erupting all around him, the blonde Elvaan took action.

He knew he could not maintain his level of energy for long, so every second counted. Advancing on the Roc, he pushed all his spiritual energy directly into his arms, all of his strength gathering for one final blow, a last resort that would mean victory or defeat. The Elvaan’s dark aura blossomed, black energy swirling around him as he took the next step. Hands gripped tightly around the hilt of his great sword, the black sword reflecting the shining light of the moon with its curved blade, Rykoshet delved into the very essence of his life energy, pouring it into the weapon. The Roc, for the first time, took a step back out of fear as Rykoshet’s eyes, dark flecks of energy floating through them as he called forth the power of the Soul Eater, fixed directly upon it.

With one last push, Rykoshet opened the last door, went to the final level that he was able to. The power of the Dread Spikes enveloped his weapon, and the blade turned from black to a deep, dark red; the color of blood. All of the terrifying power of the Dark Knight would be focused into his next strike. If he were lucky, it would be enough to keep him alive after he used it.

“If I’m not,” he thought aloud, “I’ll at least take you with me.”

The Roc leaped into the air, wings flaring out and launching it forward, spikes first, intent to end this new threat before it could harm the beast.

Rykoshet came forward, his blood-colored sword slicing through the air, honed in on the charging Roc.

The two met with a crushing collision that sent shockwaves through the air as the Roc’s gliding spike met with Rykoshet’s signature move, the spinning slash. There was an upward explosion of dark magic as all the power Rykoshet had gathered was released in one terrible blow, and for a moment, the night was still.

Rykoshet collapsed to his knees, still retaining his grip on his great sword. His power drained utterly, he gasped for air as blood streamed down his open wounds, spots of it forming on the ground. A smile was on his face. The blood weapon and his own Dread Spikes had held out just long enough for him to absorb the Roc’s life energy even as he lashed out with all of his own. The vampiric transfer of spiritual power had been just enough. Rykoshet lived, and behind him, the Roc lay motionless, a feathered heap on the ground, his chest slashed open by the force of the attack it had met head on.

Standing, the Elvaan immediately clutched at his side, doubling over as pieces of his tattered armor broke off, leaving the shoulder the Roc had tried to bite down on exposed and pieces of his abdomen unguarded as well. Using his great sword, now returned to its normal basalt color, as a brace, he managed to rise to his feet, one eye shut as blood from his forehead dripped over it. Looking around, he realized he was alone. He had done it; the Jeunoans were safely away. Catching up to them, he suddenly thought, wasn’t going to be easy. Every step he took was agonizing, and even breathing was a labored chore. Still, he couldn’t help but smile. He had faced down the fabled Roc by himself, and lived to tell the tale.

When the body of the beast began glowing white, he knew that he was in trouble.

A glowing sphere of golden, crystalline spiritual power formed over the Roc’s body, and with a divine burst, the monster rose back up into the air, pulled upwards by the holy force. The gaping slash on its chest sealed over, its wings straightened, even the dents and breaks Rykoshet had put in the spikes it bore restored themselves to full. The power coming out of it burst into full bloom, as if it had never been injured at all. With another piercing shriek, the monster returned, spinning around to level blazing eyes on the Elvaan standing in front of it.

“Oh come on,” Rykoshet shouted, demanding of no one in particular, “how is that fair?!”

The bird swooped forward, and the first attack it struck knocked the air out of Rykoshet’s lungs. Immediately, he knew one of his ribs had broken. Another jolt from its wings caused a spray of blood to shoot from his mouth, and he nearly toppled over, only the weight of his great sword keeping him upright. The Roc struck at him with razored talons, knocking him back step by step, and then with a furious strike, as Rykoshet tried to bring his sword up in defense, it swung its head low and then up again, knocking the weapon free from his hands. It flew up into the moonlight, and then vanished into the darkness.

Neither combatant saw nor heard metal upon metal as a pair of gauntleted hands grasped the hilt, catching the blade in mid-flight.

Disoriented from the assault, Rykoshet was helpless as another blow took him across the face, wings scraping his cheek open and sending him reeling. With a burst of wind from its powerful appendages, the Roc bowled him over, and he was sent sprawling head over feet, landing hard on the ground stomach-first. Rolling over, he attempted to rise, but suddenly the full weight of the Roc was pressed down on him, crushing him to the point that he could no longer even cry out in pain. Talons digging into his chest, the Elvaan stared up at the Roc, who looked back down and saw only its next meal.

It did not see, as Rykoshet did, the silhouette of the figure leaping into the air, a shadow against the light of the full moon at his back, the Dark Knight’s own great sword clasped between his hands. Like a plummeting stone, he shot down, arcing the weapon directly towards the ground.

The Roc screamed as the strike cleaved into its back, slicing at the tendons between its wings, seeking to sever its very spine. Bucking forward in pain, it screeched again, blood shooting from its fresh wound as the new attacker swung at it again, but the Roc flew forward, releasing Rykoshet from its grasp. It continued squawking awfully, crying out in pain, fury, and animalistic fear as it took wing. After so many wounds, so much damage, and using up so much energy, it finally deemed this dinner to be too much trouble. Rapidly vanishing into the night, the Roc retreated, becoming a dot in the air until it was finally no more.

Rykoshet lay prone on the ground, bleeding from a dozen different wounds, struggling just to breath. Gleaming armor clanked as the new figure, sheathing Rykoshet’s great sword on his back as he approached, loomed over the wounded fighter, the moon at his back. A wind swept through the Champaign, stirring the heavy, tattered cloak the newcomer wore, and Rykoshet could just make out him peering down with intense eyes. After a long moment, an armored hand was extended, waiting patiently as Rykoshet gathered himself together.

When he could lift his own arm, the Elvaan took his savior’s hand, pulling himself just upright enough that he could make out the person who rescued him through the light of the starshine. He gasped as he realized it was his own face staring back at him.

The momentary confusion passed as he saw the subtle differences; this figure’s hair was longer, shaggier, and his skin darkened by long hours in the sun. The most pronounced difference, however, was the jagged scar on the other man’s right cheek, two slashes crossed over one another to form an “X.” Other than that though, the two of them were so identical they might very well be . . .

“Oh no,” Rykoshet muttered, even as speaking caused him pain, “not you.”

“Come on,” the other Elvaan replied with a spreading grin, “is that any way to talk to your own little brother? And after I just saved your life.”

“Ugh . . . hello, Battousai,” Rykoshet groaned, his happiness at still being alive rapidly diminishing.

Battousai only smiled, a smug smirk that Rykoshet would have hated if he’d had the strength left to feel, helping his older brother to his feet. Barely having the strength to move his limbs, Rykoshet was forced to lean on the younger Elvaan for support as the two of them began walking forward. The moon was high, the battle was done, and as he struggled to stay standing, Rykoshet knew it was going to be a long, long walk back home.