Heaven’s Tower shook as once again the demon onslaught came forward. Zoranos was thrown off-balance, yelping and flapping his arms to try and stay upright as the entire tree seemed to tilt. With a tumble, he flipped backwards into a heap against the wall, head wobbling loosely as he sat back up.
“Oh-oh-oh-oh-owie-wowie!” he exclaimed, rubbing the back of his head. Shaking the cobwebs free, the Tarutaru’s tiny hands snatched the Cleric’s cap which had fallen from him off of the ground, clapping it back into place. “Whataru’s going on out there?”
“We mightaru be in trouble-wouble,” Harutaru fretted next to Zoranos, helping the other Windurstian off of the floor. “Oh, where’s Darutaru when I need him?”
“Hey!” came a shout behind the two shaken Tarutarus, causing the both of them to leap with an exclamation of fright as the angry face of Captain Dieggo rounded the corner, his Taru-sized scythe glinting wickedly in the moonlight streaming in from the narrow windows of the Tower. “You two again? Why aren’t you at your posts?!”
“Yikes!” Zoranos cried out, scampering off at a run.
“You’re so scary, Captain Dieggo!” Harutaru called back bitterly as he took off in the opposite direction, down the winding halls of Heaven’s tower.
Dieggo sighed, removing his burnished black helmet and staring up at the evening sky through the windows. The sky was clear, the moon full, and with such clear illumination he could plainly make out the swarms of demons throwing themselves against the force field the mages of Windurst were tenuously supporting. How much longer, he wondered, could they keep this up? Days? Hours? Were their final moments upon them even now? Demons filled the sky, and the gray, stone-like Yagudo creatures massed around the entrances to the spire on the ground. The magnificent tree which was the last bastion of hope for the Federation of Windurst might have but moments until it was overwhelmed. And without Windurst’s magic, what would befall Vana’diel?
Dieggo did not remove his gaze from the creatures littering the skies when he heard the clanking of armor behind him settle into place. The newcomer stood silently in place for a moment, his gaze looking out over the battlefield just the same as the Captain. His armor gleamed like a polished mirror in the moonlight above, and the creak of his gauntlets as the meaty fingers within them clenched was audible in the silent hallway. It was a long time before either Dieggo or Meowolf spoke.
“It tears me apart,” Deiggo finally said, “having to watch Windurst reduced to this. All of us crowded into the tower, struggling to survive. I’ve stopped even worrying about whether or not our supplies will run out; the barrier looks like it could fall at any moment. The Mithra are reporting more and more breaches every day, and each time it takes longer and longer to seal them up again.” He took a long, steadying breath, lowering his head away from the view outside. “I’m watching my country fall, a little bit each day.”
Meowolf said nothing at first, only continuing to watch as the demons swooped by in the distance, occasionally colliding with the magic barrier erected to keep Heaven’s Tower safe. He knew the issue, and was sure Dieggo was aware of it as well; they were simply too confined for so massive a host. So compressed were they that their foe easily surrounded them, and could attack in so concentrated a manner that they wore down the resources of Windurst at a far faster rate than a normal siege. If it were only possible to expand the shield, or drive back the demon horde, even for a little while, things might not seem so bleak, but it all came down to the fact that they their only means of defense had also left them cut off from any hope of actually taking back their city.
The demons struck again, and a ripple of energy cascaded across the barrier’s ephemeral surface as the forces keeping it in place struggled to hold. Down below, a line of Mithra archers readied their bows to fire another volley should the demons once again penetrate the shield.
“I . . . I could still hear them,” Meowolf finally stated, his voice only a shade above a whisper. “As the dragon roared and the rocks caved in above my head and it felt like the whole world was crashing in on me . . . I could still . . . I heard my friends. I heard them as the demons got them, one by one.” He raised his chin up high, the Galka’s eyes glassy as he directed them towards the radiant moon above. “I listened to each and every scream, every cry, until there was nothing but silence. I heard it all. Then, I broke free, and found myself surrounded by demons. In that instance, before Klades or Tyrian and Sinti, before we rescued Yasuchika, it felt like I was the only person left in the world. For just a moment, in my sorrow, I was ready to let them kill me.”
Meowolf looked down, and saw the large, dark eyes of Dieggo as he stared right back up, arching his neck to make eye contact. The Galka lowered his great bulk down to one knee, extending his fist, wholly the size of the tiny Dark Knight’s entire body.
“I swear, Captain Dieggo,” Meowolf declared firmly, “I will never let that happen to anybody, ever again.”
Dieggo’s face became stern, and he gave a nod of acknowledgement. His own fist touched Meowolf’s, and the two held the mutual salute for an extended moment, until breaking away as a familiar voice echoed down the hall.
“Meowolf! She’s about to start!”
The Galkan Paladin turned, rising to both feet as he saw the Onion Samurai stride purposefully into the room. Klades had donned a set of armor, as sturdy a set as could be offered in the limited supplies available to someone his size, and his great katana rested with his hand upon the hilt, the blade ready to be drawn. He had already seen fighting in the days since their arrival in Windurst, and kept himself armed at all times now.
“She is?” Meowolf’s startled reply came. “I have to be there.”
“I’ve got things under control here,” Dieggo spoke up, returning to surveying the demon activity outside, “you go to your friend.”
Meowolf and Klades both rushed down the twisting corridors of Heaven’s Tower, up towards the ward where, after two days of preparation, Doctor Shantotto was about to attempt lifting the curse on Yasuchika.
The demon was through the breach in the shield for only a moment when it jarred backwards through the very tear which had allowed it access, tumbling helplessly downward where it sank into the waters around the tower. On the ground below, as the overworked mages struggled to seal the hole it had come through, Tyrian and Titania lowered their respective weapons, both of their acute eyes trained on the spot high above which the monster had come through.
“My arrow got it first,” Tyrian declared, looking over at the Mithra with a tone of finality in his voice.
Titania scoffed in response, unconsciously running a hand over the still-healing wound on her abdomen. “It doubled over before it was knocked backwards. My bolt hit its chest before you got it in the head.”
“You’re telling me that contraption is faster than my bow?” Tyrian said, almost dismissive of the crossbow the other Ranger handled.
“Why don’t we let the tally do the talking?” The Mithra countered, strapping her weapon on her back as she inclined her head towards their sides.
A short ways off, a quill and sheet of parchment by her side, Sinti sat propped up in a chair, gently snoring with her head cradled against one hand. Tyrian and Titania both directed a sour gaze at the white-haired Mithra, and the Hume noisily cleared his throat. Sinti blinked a few times at the noise, then slowly sat up in her chair, stretching languidly.
“Mmm . . . sorry.” she murmured. “Did you get another one?”
“I did,” Tyrian replied, but Titania placed her hands on her hips with a scoff as Sinti prepared to mark another tally down on her parchment.
“I killed that demon,” she insisted, stamping her foot down with authority.
“In your dreams,” Tyrian replied with a roll of his eyes, folding his arms over the leathery jerkin he wore.
“Who’s in the lead?” Titania demanded, rounding on Sinti.
Sinti blinked again, then brought up her quill and parchment, checking over the tally marks. “Um . . . well, if Tyrian got the last one . . .”
“He didn’t!”
“. . . okay, okay, well ignoring the last one, it’s . . .”
“I was in the lead last time we asked,” Tyrian said with a wave of his hand, “and I’ve gotten more since then.”
“Your brain must be as addled as your aim,” Titania quipped as Sinti continued counting the marks.
“You - !” Tyrian began, but stopped when Sinti spoke up, voicing the results of her examination.
“Since yesterday, if I only missed that one that the two of you are arguing about, then the leader of this ridiculous contest is . . . “
Before she could finish her sentence, Tyrian and Titania both spun around, weapons in hand and drawn in the space of an eyeblink. The demon which had come crashing through the barrier right in front of them, swooping down from above and tunneling straight through the weakening magical forces meant to keep it out, found itself looking directly down the shafts of an arrow and a bolt the very same instant it finally reached its desired destination. Before either string or wire could fire a shot, there was a flash like a bolt of dark lightning, and a howl cut off into a strangled cry before it even had a chance to emerge from the demon’s throat. A spray of black blood showered the ground in front of the two Rangers, and the demon, its body sliced in half, gave a pathetic final cry as it lifelessly crumbled in front of them. As softly as a drifting feather settling upon the surface of a pond, a figure touched down, the scythe held in her hands as dark as the night skies above.
“ . . . Kaita,” Sinti finished, “by three.”
The new warrior on the field smirked, brushing a strand of hair away from her eyes with the metal-gloved fingers of her slim hands as she grasped the shaft of her long orichalcum-forged weapon. The woman was a member of the Star Sibyl’s personal guard, and as fearsome a combatant as either of the two Rangers had encountered. Titania folded her arms with a twist in her lips as Tyrian fumed.
“Would you stop doing that?” He shouted at the Dark Knight, growling as he shoved his arrow back into the quiver at his side.
Kaita let out a single laugh, more like a grunt than anything. “I’ve already asked you to stop these children’s games once. Don’t confuse me protecting my nation with your antics.”
“She did ask you to stop, Tyrian.” Sinti gently reminded from where she sat, rolling her parchment scroll back up as she spoke.
“Besides,” Kaita reprimanded, her tail swishing as she walked away from the archers, “you’ll never catch up to me anyway.”
“I wholly believe that woman killed demons as a game when she was a child,” Titania grumbled after her, irritated by Kaita’s description of their contest. “It would fit in with everything else I know about her.”
“Where does she get off acting like she can order me around?” Tyrian complained. “I’ve been holding this ground for two days and she still walks around like she – “
He stopped, something in the back of his mind calling out a warning before he knew consciously that anything was wrong. The barrier was intact, the demons were not breaking through, and the stone Yagudo on the ground had pulled back for the moment. There was no sound of battle coming through from anywhere. The air was still as death. For reasons he could not explain, Tyrian was compelled to look upwards, where he caught a fleeting glimpse of the entire demon host forming a ring in the air, shoulder to shoulder as they surrounded Heaven’s Tower. For one moment more, there was silence.
Sinti felt it first, leaping out of her chair with a feline-like howl, standing on the balls of her feet with a tinge of unexplained panic in her eyes. Tyrian shouted out to Sinti, rushing towards her with concern, but he had barely taken two steps when it started, freezing him in his tracks.
Titania’s ears gave a warning twitch, and then the Ranger’s knees buckled as she collapsed to the ground, clutching at her head as it swept over her. Tyrian gasped, his legs becoming jelly as he fell forward, a choking breath trying to escape his lungs. Everywhere, resonating across the entirety of Heaven’s Tower, overpowering everything it reached, the demons howl broke through. The paralyzing shriek grew louder, and louder, the intensity of untold thousands of demons utilizing their dreaded cry in unison striking Windurst’s defenders. The sound was indescribable, like a torrent of agony being broadcast by the song of the damned. The cries of pain from the people of Windurst defending the outer walls of the Tower were lost under its horrendous power.
Then, just as it had began, the cry ended, cut off like the tail end of a breeze. Tyrian clutched at the ground, the dirt beneath his fingers the only thing which told his disoriented senses he was still on his stomach. Vision blurred, he forced himself to stand, the taste of earth and blood rolling on his tongue as he stumbled, his balance all but gone after the sonic attack. Coughing, his mind in turmoil, the Hume managed a semblance of remaining upright, blinking to clear the spots from his vision, trying to bring things into focus.
The cries of the demons came once more, not as a unified front, but instead thousands upon thousands of individual shrieks of malice. Leathery wings blasted wind forward as dark masses swooped forward, and dimly, perception finally starting to return, Tyrian realized with horror what they had done.
The barrier was gone.
“Did you hear something?” Klades queried, turning his head towards the door.
“Silence, Samurai, this is no time for a riddle! Time is crucial, we’ve no time to diddle!”
“But I wasn’t – “ Klades ruefully began, only to be cut off by a raised hand from Meowolf, gesturing him to silence with a long-suffering look on his face.
They room they had brought Yasuchika in for the decursing ritual had more magical protection than any other spot in Heaven’s Tower, save for the Star Sibyl’s chamber. Hidden through a web of mystical transporters and spells of interruption, they had secluded the ailing Yasuchika to ensure that no further attacks from the demons could upset the already fragile balance keeping him from being consumed by the curse which had caused his coma-like state. The Wizard was laid across a marble bier, his face almost serene in the presence of the mystical wards preventing the demon’s curse from advancing any further. Above him, her face a picture of concentration, was the obscenely powerful and sometimes-reliable Doctor Shantotto, who at the moment claimed to be the best, and perhaps only hope Yasuchika had.
“These demons are crafty, it can’t be denied,” she grumbled with disdain, almost thinking out loud, “if not for this room, this Taru’d be fried.”
“What are you talking about?” Meowolf asked, then immediately took a step back as she flashed a set of large and angry eyes at him.
“Stop interrupting you incredible buffoon! I need to figure out this mess, or he’ll pop like a balloon!”
“What – “ Klades halted before he even finished, then reconsidered his words. “Doctor,” he restarted, “how may we assist you in your great and arduous task?”
Shantotto pressed thumb and forefinger to her cheek, her elbow resting on her hand, shaking her head as she peered at Yasuchika. “I have the incantation, the spell is most certainly right, but this curse is something terrible. An honest-to-Altana fright! I had thought they’d left him weak, like most curses we’ve known. But this has only kept him in place while his power has grown!”
“So, the curse is making Yasuchika . . . . stronger?” the Samurai’s voice was puzzled.
Shantotto rolled her eyes, laughing at the question. “Ohhohohohohoho! A curse can’t make you stronger, ignorant Samurai! One way or another it’s a sentence to die! The problem lies in that our Yasuchika is now so filled – if I remove this curse, the result will see us all killed!”
“Wait,” Meowolf interjected, comprehension dawning on him, “are you saying that Yasuchika’s been fighting the curse . . . “
“The power he expels is not rejected, only contained,” Shantotto told him, “If it were to get out now, there’d be deaths for which I won’t be blamed.”
“He’s a bomb,” Meowolf realized with a mixture of alarm and revulsion, the true meaning of what the demons had done to Yasuchika dawning on him.
Shantotto nodded gravely, shaking her head. “It’s obscene what they’ve done, I’m glad you comprehend. The demons meant this curse to be removed – so that everyone around him would meet their end.”
“Is there any way to remove it safely?” Klades demanded, taking a step towards Shantotto.
The doctor shrugged, her face unreadable. “At this point, Samurai, we’ll be dead tomorrow either way. What’s the difference if we hasten things by a day?”
“There must be something . . . “ Meowolf said, shaking his fists.
Just as Shantotto was about to respond, the door to the room burst open, and a breathless Captain Dieggo, his face drained of blood, toppled through the doorway.
“My good captain, you must learn to knock!” Shantotto shouted, “I’m using magics here which could shrivel your – “
“Meowolf, Klades.” The Captain cut her off, his small voice ringing with urgency. “The barrier is down.”
The news hit them harder than any sudden blow. Even Shantotto was silenced, and they only stared at him, mouths agape at the realization.
“They’re everywhere, we can’t hold out.” Dieggo said the words emptily, mouthing them as if he didn’t know himself what he was saying. “This is it.”
“This is the end of Windurst.”
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