Chapter CI: One to Fear

"Rykoshet!"

Shifting uncomfortably in his bed, the blond Elvaan fought off distorted images floating across his vision. His arms felt like they were tied to boulders for the effort it took to move them. There was a weight on his chest making breathing somewhat laborious.

"Rykoshet!"

His face felt strange. There was something rubbing against his cheeks, one after the other. He tried to reach for it, but couldn't quite make it. He wondered why his pillow felt so hard. Who was shouting? It was still pitch black outside, there was no reason to be up in the middle of the night.

"Rykoshet, dammit, get up!"

His eyes snapped open, and Rykoshet sat straight up out of the pile of rubble he was lying in. Konstantine yelped as she leaped off of him, and the sting of having his cheeks slapped repeatedly suddenly became painfully acute. He shot a look behind him, seeing an indentation where Xaijin had shoved him into the stone wall and left him unconscious on the ground. To his left, he saw Fated scraping himself off the floor as well, shaking his head and looking around in confusion.

"Rykoshet, Rykoshet," Konstantine took hold of his arm, her large brown eyes looking up at him, "Xaijin's taken Odessa! Why did you let him out?"

His eyes were having trouble focusing on the tiny mage. Squeezing them shut tightly, he struggled to rise, bracing himself against the wall with a shaking hand.

"Where . . . where did he go?" He managed.

Konstantine pointed out the doorway. The walls outside the dungeon were scarred with deep gashes carved straight into the rock. Dust and loose rock were still falling from the spiral staircase which led to the dungeon. Every step bore a crack, creeping its way through the thick stone as if it were fragile glass. More than that, a stiflingly powerful residue of spiritual pressure hung in the air. Rykoshet could feel it slithering over his skin like oil, pressing against him and making it hard to breathe. It was the essence of pure malice permeating the atmosphere.

Scraping himself from the floor, Rykoshet finally managed to stand on unsteady legs. "Konnie . . . what did he do?"

"He threw you into that wall, Rykoshet, and then, and then he grabbed Odessa, knocked Fated down and ran away. It all happened so fast . . ."

"What happened?" The voice from the doorway was familiar, and they turned to find the Jeunoan Commander, Wolfgang, his eyes alight with suppressed fury. "What is going on, Rykoshet? Why is Xaijin free?"

"I let him out," the Elvaan responded, taking a slight step forward.

Before his foot scraped the ground, he was lifted into the air. A shockwave shook his spine as he was once again pushed into the wall. His mouth tasted like wet copper as blood trickled out from between his teeth. With strength belieing his small stature, Wolfgang had taken Rykoshet by the neck and held him against the stone wall, a fire in his eyes.

"What were you thinking?" He shook the Elvaan violently. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"

"Is he fighting?" Rykoshet coughed, wiping the red trail from his mouth.

"What?" The question took the Jeunoan by surprise, and he dropped the taller man. Rykoshet staggered as his feet hit the floor, bracing himself on the wall.

"Is he fighting the undead?"

The Commander of Jeuno's military delivered a blistering stare at the Elvaan. "Is that what this is about? You let him go for that?" Konstantine gave a yelp as Wolfgang's silver sword came free from its scabbard. "He is not a weapon, Rykoshet, he is a monster." He leveled the blade at his throat, fury in his eyes. "You have not saved us! You've unleashed a monster on us all!"

The next sound out of Wolfgang's mouth was a surprised yelp as he flew backwards off his feet. His sword clattered to the ground, ringing out in the confined dungeon space. Wisps of dark magic floated off of Rykoshet's palm as Wolfgang came down hard, staring up in surprise after he landed.

"We're surrounded by monsters, Wolfgang," Rykoshet put his foot down on the Commander's sword, and with a flick of his heel kicked it over to him. "If having one of our own saves even one life, then I'll deal with as many monsters as I have to."

The Jeunoan picked himself up, his expression still smoldering. "This will be a disaster, Rykoshet. Xaijin cares nothing about us. When this fight is over he'll turn his attention back on us, and then what will we do?"

"Hope that you're wrong." He coughed again. "Fated, can you stand?"

The young Paladin was inching his way to his feet, his eyes dazed. "He went right through me . . . like I wasn't even there . . . "

"Worry about it later. Konnie, Fated, follow me. It's time to go."

"What?" Wolfgang shouted. "You've let Xaijin go free and now you're just walking away? Where are you going?"

Rykoshet stopped, his eyes meeting that of the smaller man. "To save us, Wolfgang," he replied. "From all the monsters." Turning slowly, he trudged out the door, clapping Fated on the shoulder as he went. It was time to go see Chatcher.


The great black flame of Xaijin's aura raged up into the darkened skies above. On the ground, the frost which had encroached the land melted away at his presence, but Meriphataud Mountains remained covered in white. A snow of sorts had begun to fall, laying thick upon the dirt and bleaching it. For in the wake of the great criminal's fury, the dust of countless bones now marked his passing.

From within the howling storm of his unleashed power, Xaijin stood watching the endless hordes of skeletal warriors destroy themselves in their attempts to get close to him. His mere presence was enough to tear them apart. The more powerful ones were able to breach the wall of his aura, only to be ground into dust by the torrent of force within. His red hair flew up like a bright flame behind him, and he drew his lips together in consternation.

"It's no fun this way," he muttered, watching the destruction without amusement. "You'll use yourselves up before I can get my hands on you."

Gritting his teeth together, his corded muscles bulged from under his taut skin. The ground heaved, and the great flame of his energy flickered. The pillar of swirling energy bursting up from his being wavered, its horrible essence diminishing rapidly. The army of undead drew back, pulled away by uncertainty about what to make of this new development.

The energy storm died down, and Xaijin stood at its epicenter, smile spreading across his face. Slowly, he brought his hands up, cracking his knuckles as he stretched his neck from side to side. He rolled his shoulders back as pebbles which had been caught up in the raging whirlwind of his aura began dropping from the air, a rain of stones pelting the ground all around him. He raised his head, a malicious glint in his eyes.

"I'll fight you with one tenth of my power," he declared. "That should be enough to make this interesting."

"Hey!" A high voice shouted down from above. "Are you crazy? Just smash them!"

The Elvaan's glance shot up the parapets of Castle Oztroja to where he had left Odessa. Hundreds of feet in the air, she still took a step back when his gaze hit her. "Don't yell at me, woman!" He snarled.

"Don't go doing stupid things and I won't yell!" She replied, clutching her robe about her for warmth. "You want me to heal you or not?"

"Grrraah . . . " the air around him crackled. An instant later, his fist shot out, crunching through the teeth of an undead warrior seeking to assault him. He clenched his fingers inside the thing's skull, explosively pulling the front of its face off before smashing its ribs and spine with one downward slice using its own jawbone. "I'm busy now," he shouted back up at her, "just do your job!"

Whatever her feelings on the matter might have been, the absent, offhand manner in which he had just pulverized his assailant kept Odessa from voicing them. Anything she had to say would have been lost in any case, overpowered by the deafening wail which overtook Meriphataud Mountains.

With the overwhelming force surrounding him gone, the endless horde of undead around him rushed in like the tide. Bones of beast and man converged upon Xaijin in a blinding rush. Those holding weapons sliced at him with chipped, rusting blades. Others scratched and tore at his flesh with bare fingers or teeth. Their sheer numbers swarmed him like insects in an instant, burying the flame-haired Elvaan beneath them. Odessa watched from above with horror as they crushed him under their weight.

The feeling lasted only long enough to twist her stomach before a fist burst up through the spine of one of the undead monsters at the back of the pile. Shards of bone split off in all directions as a fireball of spiritual force erupted outwards, and Xaijin climbed into the air as the beast's skeleton collapsed, its thick backbone now torn from the rest of it. Xaijin rose into the air, trailing blood from innumerable cuts and scratches across his entire body. It ran down into his teeth, staining his broad smile red.

"This is what I'm after," he exulted, twirling the length of bone like a staff. "Now fight me," he demanded as he came down to the ground, sending out shockwaves with his impact. "Come and grind yourselves to dust against my fists!"

And come they did. In one unified motion, the horde changed direction and swarmed towards Xaijin once again. From all directions they assailed him, and in all directions he repulsed them. He swept out the spine he was holding, breaking it into pieces against the first row of oncoming soldiers. He let it go, the force he swung it with carrying it deep into their ranks, even as he launched himself backwards into the undead rushing him from behind. His foot lanced out towards them, and the power of his kick tore the ground apart in a straight line in front of him. Bones split apart as the rocks burst open beneath them, accompanied by the crushing shock of Xaijin's attack. The explosion splintered their vanguard, and before they could recover the legendary outlaw himself was deep in their ranks.

Odessa watched from atop the parapet in a sick amazement, almost forgetting to cast the healing spells he had demanded. She still could not, because every time she tried he was suddenly in another place. He was a blur of constant motion, with only the wail of the undead to mark his passing. A cloud of bone dust was filling the air again as he chewed through their numbers with his fists. Every time they managed to swarm him over, he simply fought back out again, tearing his way through them to the marrow. He broke the ribs off of one and used them to stab another through its vacant eyes. When one slashed him with his rusted axe, he tore the weapon - and its arms - free from its body, then used them to break the thing in half. The undead monsters he seemed to have the most fun with. Sometimes he would actually leap inside their empty, rotting ribs and break them apart from the inside. Other times he would rip off one of their enormous legs, bludgeoning them into powder with it before moving on.

The orgy of violence he was creating was having an impossibly fast effect. He was destroying them so quickly that the horde which had blanketed the hills outside of Oztroja an hour before could now all be contained in the valley before the castle. With unwavering single-mindedness, they sped into the end of their unnatural lives. Bit by bit, Xaijin grinded away at them, his knuckles now dripping blood from constant contact with shattered bone. As another result of their rapidly diminishing numbers, the sound of his laughter was beginning to overpower that of their haunting cries.

Thrusting himself forward, Xaijin launched headlong into the horde, his outstretched hands tearing the spines from two skeletons as he accelerated through them without pausing. He twirled the outstretched bones, bleached batons in his palms crushing their way through everything they came in contact with. Pulling one back, he cracked it like a whip, sending bones hurtling out in front of him. The projectiles crushed through everything they came in contact with, vertebrae smashing through the undead and leaving them with chunks of their decrepit bodies missing. By the time Xaijin had beaten the spines in his hands into dust, there was a mound of skeletons all around him, crawling as best they could with shattered legs, spines, or skulls.

The undying army which had enveloped the landscape of Meriphataud Mountains laid in ruins, its tattered remnants vainly trying to struggle their way towards the unstoppable force tearing through them. Xaijin stood at the epicenter of the unfathomable violence, looking with some annoyance at his bleeding hands. Hundreds of cuts and scrapes made his body as red as his hair, matted now with blood and bone dust. There was an electric swirl of energy around him as he shot a glance up towards the parapets of Castle Oztroja.

"What the hell are you doing, woman?" He shouted up in anger. "I'm practically bleeding out!"

"Well stay still for a damn second!" Odessa shouted down in response. She had her staff in the air, a bluish-white haze of magic swirling around her. An eruption of chi burst from underneath Xaijin's feet as he struggled to remain still, grinding his teeth in annoyance. As she released her magic, Odessa's web of ethereal light blossomed around his bleeding body. Open wounds began sealing over as severed skin and arteries knit themselves back together. He took a sharp breath as a feeling like being dunked in ice water swept over him, releasing the sigh as it passed.

"Hmph," he stared at his hands, wiping the blood off his palms. "My clothes are still in tatters," he complained.

"White magic can't knit clothes, idiot!" Odessa raged down at him. "Find a tailor! And your clothes were ruined already!"

"You're a woman, aren't you! You should be able to sew!"

"Go die in a fire!"

"I'll - "

Whatever it was Xaijin would do, it was cut off as a scepter of black light sliced across the battlefield. Instinctively, he dove to the ground as the energy swept past him, arching sharply up into the air. Odessa screamed, throwing up a protective ward as the obsidian wave struck the parapet beneath her, slicing completely through. The structure shook, trembling as its weight suddenly became unsupported, and then rapidly disintegrated beneath her. The White Mage lashed out desperately for a handhold as the tower tumbled down, finding nothing. Within moments she was in freefall, the ground rapidly rising up to catch her.

She lurched to a halt as something grabbed onto her. Her shoulder, still not recovered from her arrow wound, cried out as it was wrenched to a stop. Dangling for a moment, the shock overrode the pain as she looked down at the ground several hundred feet below, and then up to see what had her arm.

Xaijin's fingers were digging into the stones of Oztroja, and his eyes were blazing red as he stared out at the battlefield. Odessa turned her head, and instantly was drawn to the figure now in the midst of the undead army.

Xolotl, the Corse King, ancient scourge of mankind, had taken the field.

"How did you . . . ?" She looked down at where the Elvaan had been standing, compared to the impossible distance he had covered in a moment's time.

"I have strong legs," he said dismissively. As if to illustrate his point, he suddenly lashed out with one leg, crushing the wall inwards to reveal the innards of Oztroja. He haphazardly tossed her inside, where she tumbled head over heels with a thud and flurry of white robes.

"Hey!" She winced against the pain in her arm. "That was - "

"Stay back," he warned. "I'm not going to hold back anymore."

"But - " He cut her off with a glance. The red-haired Elvaan was not smiling anymore.

Without another word, he released his grip and hurtled towards the ground. This time there was no shockwave upon his landing, no crater caused by impact. He fell like a stone, landing in a crouch with his fist pointed down. Slowly, he raised his head, locking on to the ancient horror waiting across the battlefield.

Xolotl was tall, higher than seven feet, his rattling bones covered in blue robes tattered with age. Bone fingers wrapped around a length of gnarled and crooked wood, the staff surmounted with a trio of skulls, bones dangling from it at steady intervals. In his grasp, ancient runes carved into it glowed a ruddy and angry red. Tendrils of inky black smoke crept out from beneath the folds of his robes, a deadly miasma which stained the ground where he walked. His undead warriors crowded around him, snapping their jaws and baying like angry hounds at their master's feet.

Xaijin licked the blood off of his fists, intently watching the Corse King. The ancient Lich spoke, though the bones of his skull did not move. A voice simply echoed outwards from him, a hollow and dead voice that carried nightmares in its timbre.

"I will add you to my collection of bones," his voice declared without preamble. Just like that he thrust out his staff, and the undead horde charged forward again en masse. There were still thousands of them, clattering and howling, rushing towards Xaijin with renewed furor.

He watched with excitement swelling in his eyes. "This is the fight I wanted," he said. "I'm done with the rest of you."

With those words, he stretched out a single hand, and for a moment the light returned to Meriphataud Mountains.

A pulsating beam of energy made purely from his own chi burst outwards from his palm. The blinding white light stretched out over everything in front of him, sparing nothing in his line of sight. It made a sound, a booming rush like a hurricane blowing past all in one go, shaking everything within the walls of Oztroja. Xaijin's muscles bulged as his look of concentration twisted into a sneer of pleasure. Like a flame sputtering out, the light died at his hand and within moments has flickered out everywhere else as well.

All that remained of Xolotl's army was a field of cinders and ash, smoking atop a rocky ground where not a spot of frost remained. At the beginning of it Xaijin stood, lowering his still-glowing hand. At the other, the Corse King stared without reaction at the destruction, the few skeletons at his side the only ones left.

"I can be pretty scary, huh?" Xaijin grinned.

"They are as nothing to me, fool," Xolotl replied. "Destroy a thousand, a million of my slaves, and you will still have yet to touch my power."

"That's all I've wanted to do this whole time," the Elvaan replied. Like a shot, he ran forward, closing the distance between them. "They were just getting in my way!"

"Bring me his flesh," Xolotl ordered, and the last remnants of his force ran forward. "He will serve me yet."

Xolotl's twisted black staff, charged with the foulest eldritch might the undead sorcerer could muster, rained down ebon fire upon Xaijin. Still the Elvaan came, pulverizing rocks with every step as he ran towards the ancient enemy of life. His movements were impossible to follow, the only marking of his passing explosions of force where his aura smashed Xolotl's retainers into unrecognizable bits. With every passing second he grew closer, racing headlong into confrontation with the Corse King himself.

"Chattel," Xolotl hissed, slicing his staff through the air, "prepare for slaughter." A wall of black flame leaped up in front of him, scouring the ground with the taint of his magic. A cloud of dust shot up in front of it as Xaijin stopped short at its edge, ebon fire singing strands of his crimson hair. He straightened his neck, tossing back his fiery mane and staring with a cutting gaze at the towering skeleton.

"What's wrong?" Xaijin asked. "Too afraid to let me come near you?"

"Pitiful flesh," the Corse King hissed, "I am fear itself." At his words, the flames in front of Xaijin raced through the ground, encircling the Elvaan. A black miasma began spreading within the confines of the burning wall, choking the air from everything within it. "This miasma will consume you, and then I will grind your bones into nothing."

"Hh," Xaijin looked around the fiery tomb surrounding him, and then back through the black inferno to Xolotl. "This is supposed to be scary?"

"You will know fear," Xolotl cried, "I am - "

A torrent of white light surged from Xaijin's core, its ferocious might blasting apart Xolotl's black fire. The flames vanished into the air with a sputter, the Elvaan's unamused face emerging from their embrace.

"You're an idiot," Xaijin said quietly, "because I am fear."

The dust barely had time to be kicked up at his feet before Xaijin had charged forward, directly towards the Corse King.

Miasma burst up from the ground around Xolotl. With speed belying his size, he spun away from Xaijin's initial assault. His twisted staff glowed anew, and the poisonous fumes converged on the Elvaan. Just as quickly, Xaijin was off again. The warlock searched with hollow sockets for his quarry, and then looked up to find Xaijin plummeting down upon him from above. A primal cry of hatred escaping him, he thrust up his staff to impale the red-haired Elvaan upon it.

Xaijin's hands were faster, and his hands wrapped around the weapon as he came down, tearing it from Xolotl's hands. As soon as his feet touched the ground, he swung downwards with all his might. A crack of lightning accompanied by an unholy wailing and an expulsion of violent darkness escapes as the black shaft split in two on the ground, shattered by Xaijin's hands. Without even noting the phenomenon, he immediately spun back around and stabbed the half of its length still in his hands directly into the chest of the Corse King.

Xolotl cried in fury, staggering back as the broken remnants of his staff protruded from him. A dark fire burned in his eyes, black liquid flames spilling up from his mouth and dripping down onto the ground. Roaring insanely, he lunged for Xaijin with both hands, only to have his fingers locked between those of his quarry. The Elvaan and the Corse stood locked there, Xolotl pressing down on him as miasma dripped from his bones. Xaijin struggled, gritting his teeth as he was forced down to one knee, bracing himself against the frigid touch and unholy might of Xolotl.

And then he clenched his fists, breaking through Xolotl's bones and severing his fingers entirely. With his next motion he stood back up as he yanked backwards, and the Lich let out a demonic wail as his arms were torn free from their sockets.

Like a whirlwind, Xaijin launched forward, the thick bones of Xolotl's arms still held in his fists. Mercilessly, he rained down blows, using the Corse King's own arms to crack through his bones. Xolotl could not retaliate as the Elvaan splintered his ribs, cracked his skull, and shattered his spine, using bones which had moments before been his own as a weapon. His smile firmly carved into his face, Xaijin tossed one of the arms down, breaking it on the frozen ground. Then with both hands, he straightened out the other one and thrust it out like a spear, breaking through the Corse King's jaw and teeth and letting it explode out the back of his skull.

"This is . . . you cannot . . . " the words from Xolotl's skull were stunted as his body wavered back and forth, unsteady on its broken limbs. Xaijin lashed his arm up, taking hold of the towering fiend's jaw and bringing him down to look directly in the hollow sockets of his eyes. The festering miasma oozing out of him dissipated at the touch of Xaijin's monstrous aura.

"Tell me, Corse," he shouted, "are you scared of me yet?"

He did not wait for a reply. Xolotl struggled fruitlessly to break free from his grasp, but could not before Xaijin's other hand broke through his already-shattered sternum. The former prisoner began to glow, steam rising rapidly from his body, and as the Lich's struggling grew more frantic, so did his laughter rise.

White light poured out of Xolotl's skeleton, burning through him from the core. First came a blinding flash, and then a horrifying scream.

When it ended, Xaijin stood alone. A pile of burnt robes was at his feet, and still-smoking cinders of blackened bone rained down over him. All other traces of the horror which lurked Attowha Chasm since time long forgotten were gone, scoured from Vana'diel completely. Still smirking, Xaijin lowered his arm, looking slowly back towards Castle Oztroja.

"Tch . . ." Xaijin spun, raising his fists at the sound of the unfamiliar voice. "Looks like I was right to go ahead of the rest."

Behind him, standing atop a jutting rock formation, was a man in armor. If the cold was bothering him, he didn't show it as he stood bare-faced to the wind, a half-burned cigarette lingering in his mouth. One gauntlet-covered hand was planted on his waist, the other grasped the hilt of an absurdly large sword which he held behind his back. Its length was all but completely covered in white cloth, wrapped like bandages and held on by leather straps. He was an Elvaan as well, and also red-haired, though his was cropped shorter, and his build was thicker than Xaijin's by a fair amount.

"And who are you?"

The man sighed, flicking out the stub of tobacco left in his mouth and dragging his sword out from over his shoulder. "Mertron." He waved off the other Elvaan when he opened his mouth. "Don't sweat it, everybody knows who you are." Looking out across the battlefield, he shook his head regretfully. "That bone guy was supposed to make sure we'd avoid having to do this, you know? You're pretty bad news."

"Us," Xaijin repeated, his smile starting to creep back. "So you're with the army heading this way?"

"For now. I'm a mercenary, and they paid me to kill you. I don't suppose you can pay more?"

"Brother, I just got out of jail an hour ago, and before that I was a Monk. I don't even remember what money looks like."

"I was afraid of that." Mertron sighed again, and with one hand he started snapping free the leather restraints on his sword. One by one they flew off, and the white cloth enveloping it quickly unraveled. Xaijin took a surprised step back as an ominous wave of energy suddenly shot through him, enough to make the ground tremble. From underneath the cloth, a bright golden glow was radiating outwards.

"I don't really like doing this," the mercenary told him, taking the weapon in both hands. The cloth fell away entirely, revealing an entire blade burning with golden flame. From where he was, Xaijin could clearly feel its power as Mertron held it aloft. "But, you'd probably be a big problem down the line, so I have to take you off the board now. Sorry, Xaijin," he suddenly took to the air, heaving his sword up and cleaving downward with impossible speed, "but this is Ragnarok."

100 Chapters

I just wanted to sneak in a brief interlude and thank all my readers whom have stuck with me through the last 3 years. We've reached a true milestone; 100 chapters, and still plenty more to go. I'll continue to write as long as you continue to read. I thank you for coming this far with me, and look forward to reaching the end together as well.

There are still plenty of stories to be told before this tale reaches its end, and more mysteries to be untangled. The prisoner's identity has finally been revealed, but what about the Ninja following Ayn and Tikinas? What is the true nature of the Cabal's master plan? If Fenrir was the one trapped in the Shrouded Maw, what happened to Diabolos? Who are the remaining three Winds, and what role will they play?

All this and more is still to come. Keep reading!

Chapter C: The Prisoner

Behind the grimy, iron-wrought bars of his cell, the prisoner's smile cut into Rykoshet like a knife. His soulless eyes burned wickedly as they looked at one another. The distance between them was marked by a stone door and iron bars, yet when Rykoshet looked into his eyes it felt like his hands were around his throat. The crushing force of the man's aura was stronger than he had ever felt it, pure murderous intent begging to be released.

"Rykoshet, for the love of Altana," Odessa was pleading with him, "don't do this. You know what he is."

"What are you going to do, Rykoshet?" The prisoner's voice was tinged with unfathomable malice. "Whatever you've got planned sure has the lady all worked up."

The two locked eyes, and Rykoshet had to brace himself to keep from stepping back. He knew the shackles the man wore bound his power, but something about the sheer weight of his presence instilled fear.

Just as assuredly as there was a monster waiting outside Oztroja in the form of Xolotl, there was another one locked within it.

"I want to make a deal with you," he said firmly, standing his ground. "We need you, you need us, this shouldn't be difficult to negotiate."

"Rykoshet," Fated was standing near the entrance to the dungeon, his young face aghast. "After everything this man has done, you want to bargain with him? We can't!"

"Listen to him," Odessa urged, "there has to be another way."

"Fated, you get out of here, and you too, Konstantine," he said to the Tarutaru at his side. "We're leaving as soon as I'm done here. I'll fill you in on the way."

"I won't let you do this," Odessa said firmly, and a surge of magic washed over him. "There is no excuse for letting him go free, Rykoshet." She stamped her foot down, hands gripping the shaft of her staff tightly as she held it forward.

Rykoshet stared at her, letting loose the shackles on his own power. A torrent of dark energy rushed out to meet her light. "This is the only option, Odessa. If there was another choice I would take it."

"This is wrong!" She shouted, pointing her staff at him. "There is no reason to involve ourselves with a . . . an animal like this . . . thing!"

"Do not stand in my way, Odessa!" Rykoshet's voice rose to a low roar, the narrow dungeon hall around him starting to shake.

"I won't let you make a mistake like this!"

"It's not your call! Let me do the job I - "

"Wait." The sound of the prisoner's voice from within his cell immediately grabbed their attention. "When did I ever agree to helping you?"

The words were like a blow to both of them, shattering their concentration. "B-but -" Rykoshet stammered, "I'm offering to let you out of there."

"I don't know if I'm ready to come out yet," he stared at Rykoshet from beneath hooded brows, his smile a grim rictus. "Why should I want to?"

Anger wrapped over him, staving off exhaustion and fear, forcing his legs forward. The next thing he knew he was face-to-face with the grinning man, staring at him through the bars on his door.

"You have continued to live at my discretion." He snarled. "They only keep feeding you because I told them to."

"Was that really you . . . ?" He wondered aloud, expression not changing.

"Listen to me!" Rykoshet was shouting now. "There's an army about to storm the gates. They're probably here already. Once they get in they'll kill everything in sight. You'll be no exception." His gaze was burning with intensity. "You'll die alone in this cell. I'm giving you a chance to defend yourself."

"What army could possibly kill me?"

The question took him completely off-guard. Not because he found it arrogant, but simply because he could not find an answer right away.

"Rykoshet," Odessa was pleading again, "let's forget about this. Xolotl must be here by now. We can fight our way through it. We're just wasting time."

"Xolotl, huh?" The prisoner raised his shackled hands up, scratching his head. "Sounds like you guys are in real trouble." Baring his teeth as his lips curled back, he turned away and laid down in the corner. "Well, let me know how it turns out."

He stared at him, a feeling of helplessness mixing with a cold and bitter anger. The man in the cell gave no indication of caring. Infuriatingly, he stretched out, turned on his side, and curled up to fall asleep. In almost the same moment, a distant clatter began to echo down to the dungeon. Xolotl's army was nearly upon them.

Hanging his head, Rykoshet let his hands slide off of the door. A long and painful silence stretched out between them.

"What do you want?"

The prisoner turned his head, eyes blazing as his grim smirk turned fierce. "A pearl," he replied without hesitation.

"Wh - oh, no," Odessa looked scandalized. "There's no way."

In one motion, he leaped to his feet. In an eyeblink he was pressed against the bars, fingers grasping them tightly. "That's the price for my service."

"Why would you possibly want a linkpearl?" Rykoshet was genuinely confused.

"Because if you give me a pearl, you're responsible for me. Everything I do from here on out is on your heads. I'm part of your group. You'll share in all that I do." His eyes could have burned through the door. "Or maybe I just want some new friends, what does it matter? That's what I'm asking, take it or leave it."

"This is insane," Odessa threw up her hands. "How can we even think of - "

Her words were cut off as Rykoshet grabbed the shell he had strung around her neck, channeling his chi into it. A candy-colored pearl fell out of it and into his grasp.

"Rykoshet, no!"

"I give you this," his voice was deathly serious, "you give your word to help us through this. You don't harm anyone living in this castle. Otherwise I leave you in there to rot."

For the first time, the prisoner's smile disappeared. Rykoshet and Odessa both were startled at the sudden stark intensity on his face. "You have my word," he promised. "Hand me that pearl and I'll let you take my shackles off."

"That's - " he shook his head. "Alright."

Reaching into his belt, Rykoshet removed the keyring he had kept on his person at nearly all times. On it was the only key that opened this particular cell. Odessa turned away as he turned the lock, and with a resounding creaking sound, the door fell open.

The prisoner within stepped into the light. His hair was long and shaggy, matted from lack of care. He wore only simple prison clothes, a tattered set of loose-fitting shirt and pants which revealed the taut and pronounced muscle of his torso. With eyes like two gleaming sapphires, he extended his chained hands towards Rykoshet, the smile slowly returning to his face.

Bracing himself for what he was about to do, Rykoshet chose a second key and slid it into the shackles. With an audible click, the restraints came loose, falling from his wrists and clattering onto the floor.

A moment passed between the two as they stood, staring at one another, neither one moving an inch.

Then Odessa's scream shattered the stillness as Rykoshet's body smashed against the thick stone wall.

Groaning, he slid to the floor, the prisoner's hand snatching the pearl he had held out of the air. He smiled wickedly as it gleamed in the torchlight, and then his attention snapped towards Odessa. "Hello there, pretty," he drawled as he advanced upon her.

"No!" She shouted, raising a barrier of white magic. She might as well have been using damp paper. Before she could react, the ground was flying by as the prisoner snatched her off her feet and hurled her over his shoulder.

The dungeon was beginning to shake. Stones were crumbling from the walls and a feeling of crushing dread was overtaking her. This, she realized, was the prisoner's chi unleashed after untold years of being constrained. The castle was groaning beneath his feet, the air growing hot. She could swear that his body was swelling, growing bigger by the second. Fated, still at the door, was shouting something as he drew his sword. The next thing she knew, they were bounding up the stairs, the Paladin laying face-down on the dungeon floor.

His energy was like a battering ram, and his laughter a terrifying warning bell as they sped through the halls. Odessa was trying to scream in protest, to stir her magic and free herself, but the man's crushing aura was preventing her from doing much more than breathing. The ground suddenly grew smaller very rapidly, and she realized he had jumped, breaking free from the constraints of gravity. Brick and mortar rained over her, and she knew they had broken through the ceiling of a lower floor. His laugh was intensifying, an insane, endless laughter that drowned out every other noise around it. The force of his power kept increasing, impossible as it seemed that he might yet grow stronger, with every passing instance he did just that. People were being thrown back by nothing more than his presence. Magic users were crying out in anguish as they passed by. No one made any attempt to stop him, to even get close was to be hurled carelessly aside.

She saw stairs blurring beneath her as he ran ever faster, ever higher into the castle. She felt disoriented, helpless. She hated the feeling, and fury welled up inside of her as she redoubled her efforts to break free. Railing with all the might she had, Odessa forced up the magic within her, drawing it out to strike down the man holding her captive.

And then, just like that, she was free.

An icy wind struck her in the face, and she gasped as she looked down. They were on the highest parapet in Oztroja, overlooking all of the surrounding area. Darkness enveloped the sky, and reanimated bones held the land. Oztroja was adrift in a sea of evil, and she stood at its peak, with only the wild-eyed prisoner beside her. He set her down, surveying the area with hawkish eyes. The man was smiling again, looking out at the vast and horrifying ranks of the undead closing in on Oztroja. They were at the gates now, hammering upon the unyielding iron doors, climbing over one another in an effort to reach inside the castle. Hovering in the distance, behind where the first conflict had already begun, Xolotl watched with a hunger for death emanating from him.

If Xolotl exuded the cold touch of the grave, then standing next to the prisoner was like walking upon the sun.

"Stay here," he barked at her, turning his fierce gaze upon her. "Keep me standing."

"What are you doing?" She demanded.

"I made a promise," he held up the linkpearl, still in his grasp, baring his teeth. "Now do as I say."

And with that, he hurled himself over the ledge.

With a shocked cry, Odessa ran towards the edge, watching him slice through the air, plummeting to the ground below.

For the prisoner, every jet of frigid air against his skin was invigorating. He could feel his muscles stretching out for the first time in years. His body ached with the desire to be used again, to be given that which it had been denied. Try as he might, he simply could not stop smiling. A fit of laughter overtook him again as the ground quickly rushed up towards him. The power he had been made to keep in check for so long as now surging through his veins. A blazing streak of his chi cut the air like a knife as he passed through. Beneath him, he could see eyeless skulls beginning to turn upwards, looking at the meteoric energy heading their way. Again, he could not help but laugh.

He struck the ground, and there was a moment of utter stillness which lasted the length of a heart's beat.

Frozen dirt and caked mud exploded into the air. The undead surrounding the immediate area of impact were pulverized in an instant, bone dust swirling together with the untold tons of sediment torn free by his landing. A shockwave rippled through Xolotl's legions, and as one they turned towards the cataclysmic disturbance. The noise was unbearable, an explosion which rocked Oztroja to its foundation, shattering glass well within its walls. The winds stirred the explosive outpouring into a vast cloud, obscuring all within it.

It lasted only moments, until a blazing white light dispelled the entire mass, spreading it into the ether. Where the prisoner had landed, a crater now marred the ground, deeper than any man stood, wider than a grown dragon. At its heart, fist down, the prisoner stared at his hands, watching the power race through them.

Slowly, he stood, clenching and unclenching his fingers before taking a deep lungful of winter air.

"Finally," he said, looking at his unchained wrists, "free at last."

With that, the light flowing off of him changed from bright white to violent red, spiking through the air with a force which threw back the skeletons gathering near the crater's mouth.

He was laughing again, he realized. He made no effort to contain himself. This was more than he could have hoped for. Let loose from his shackles, with an army waiting for him to test his strength on. He could see, he could hear, he could feel everything around him. The bones of the assembled undead surrounding him, some coarse, others smooth, all varying shades of black and white. Some he could taste magic on, flaring within the empty confines of their cursed skulls. Others there was only steel to contend with, some weapons worn and tasting of rust, some well-oiled and sharpened. There were monsters in this army, hulking bones of creatures which had not existed in mortal memory, and beastmen of all kinds, for Xolotl made no distinction between one corpse and another.

There was an explosion behind him, consigning those charging down the crater towards him to spend eternity as dust as he launched himself from the crater. He came down just outside its mouth, his red aura stretching towards the sky, shattering rocks as it came in contact with them. Dust stirred at his feet as his presence warded off winter's touch, freeing the sands of Meriphataud hidden beneath the frost. By now, it was clear he was an immediate danger to the invading horde, and its full attention was being focused on him. Even those which had begun to scale Oztroja's walls were dropping back down, rushing towards him with single-minded focus. Their numbers were overwhelming.

He smiled again, and his aura went from red to black.

The explosive release of power shook loose the stones of Oztroja, throwing people within its confines from their feet. Bones broke and shattered all around him as the air turned blacker still. He opened his eyes wide, tendrils of dark chi swirling from between his teeth as he smiled. The laughter he could not hold back was suddenly deeper, almost demonic, as the form of a death's head took shape above him.

Atop Oztroja's highest tower, Odessa watched in disbelief. The man was using Soul Eater.

"I am . . . free . . . " Absentmindedly, he smashed his aura forward like a battering ram, crushing a column of skeletons rushing towards him. "I am . . . " he brought his eyes up, and they were glowing hotter than any star anyone had ever seen. "I am hungry!" He snarled, laughing again. "I want to grind your bones endlessly beneath my fists! I want to rend the earth under my heel! I want to fight! Do you hear me?!" He clenched his fists, the fury of his aura screaming around him. "I want to fight FOREVER!"

The ground buckled beneath his feet as he pressed down upon it.

"I - "

At the touch of his fist, an undead warrior burst into so much powder, weapons melting into hot scrap. In droves they fell as he pushed forward, and Vana'diel trembled at his every motion.

"AM - "

An earthquake began in Meriphataud Mountains, a constantly increasing tremor with a roving epicenter. At his every motion, the ground shook, the air quivered, and his aura scorched all it touched. There was so much he wanted to shout out, to remind the world he was here, to let out years of pent-up violence. He was the deadliest outlaw in the world. He was the greatest fighter who ever lived. He was unstoppable, untouchable. He was back, let loose to bring down brutality unlike anything ever visited upon his enemies. Yet all those things, he decided, could be summed up in just one word.

His towering aura devoured everything in his path as he launched forward, fists-first, the long and shaggy locks of tangled, fire-red hair blowing back past his Elvaan ears. Even above the tumult of the man-made disaster he was creating, everybody heard when he shouted his name.

"XAIJIN!"

Chapter LCVIX: Strategy

"What do you think, Mertron?"

Languidly, the mercenary looked up from the clutch of rocks he was reclining on. Smoke trailed into the air from the rolled tobacco he had loosely balanced between his lips. Sighing, he inhaled and then pulled it away from his mouth.

"What do I think about what?" He replied, barely glancing at Eudon.

The Ranger was standing atop a rocky outcropping. The heavy furs draped over his body were stirring in the winter wind, but if he was bothered by the cold he gave no indication of it. He but watched the horizon, eyes fixed on a single point.

"Castle Oztroja has never fallen to invaders," he went on, "so I'm asking how long you think it will take us to change that."

The Elvaan scratched at his short crop of red hair, looking up into the dark skies overhead. Taking another drag of tobacco, he stretched out and closed his eyes. "How much longer until we get there?"

"Three days," Eudon told him. "Three days to cross the rest of this wasteland and reorganize all of our forces for combat."

A silence passed between them. Mertron reached for and found the hilt of his massive great sword, point down in the ground. It was wrapped tightly in a snowy white cloth, bound to the blade with straps of leather. His fingers tapped against the pommel briefly as he opened his eyes again.

"Three days to get there, huh . . . " Letting his head drop to one side, he looked lazily over at Eudon, still watching the horizon. "Then I guess four days from now the fighting will be over."

Eudon lifted his head slightly, his sharp eyes scanning every inch of ground between them and the castle, an unreadable expression, as always, on his face. "That's what I think, too." He finally replied.

"So what're you asking me for?" Mertron grunted irritably. He sat up with a start as the sound of boots slapping against the ground rushed past him, but settled back down disinterestedly when he saw who it was.

"Eudon," Therin was as excited as ever. Mertron failed to see why someone like Eudon would tolerate such a hanger-on, but his job wasn't to ask questions. "Eudon, it's all in place. Our new ally will be attacking Oztroja ahead of us."

The sharp-eyed archer regarded the Elvaan briefly, and then returned his gaze to the castle in the distance.

"And what do you make of that news, Mertron?"

The mercenary shook his head, flicking away the ashen remains of his tobacco. "I think I take back what I just said. The job will be done before we even get there."

Eudon only nodded. Given the circumstances, he could not help but agree.


The towering spires of Castle Oztroja rang from their foundations with the sounds of war. Everywhere Rykoshet went, the combined forces of Jeuno and the Yagudo were girding themselves for battle. The atmosphere was unrelentingly grim. On the line was nothing less than their very survival. Having practically no chance for victory, Rykoshet noted, was also causing some moral problems.

In the belly of Oztroja, furnaces had come alive, and the hammering of steel on steel echoed around the clock. In better times, skilled craftsmen would have been able to use the power of crystals and perform synthesis, cutting the process of forging weapons and armor into seconds. Without a source of crystals available, they had to do things the old fashioned way, sundering ore and fashioning arms with tools and flame. That was where their newest allies proved their worth.

"Get your mitts off my work!" Bluffnix was shouting, his snorting voice rising above the din. "You, that one's not for you! Hey hey! Stoke those flames! Hey! Put your arm strength into it, man, hammer that steel!" It went on like that, with the Goblin craftsman shouting orders and shooing people away from their work left and right. No one particularly liked having a beastman, especially a Goblin, putting itself in charge of the operation, but the necessity for strong weapons was enough to quiet any voices of dissent.

Rykoshet hovered for a time around the foundry, surveying the work being done. Their lives would soon depend upon what was happening in this forge, hidden deep within the depths of Oztroja. He backed up into the shadows after Bluffnix yelled at him for getting in their way, but remained for some time. He found it strangely comforting to watch this Goblin foreman commanding the work of a small batallion of beastmen and Children of Altana, their mutual survival on the line. In the back of his mind, a feeling very much like accomplishment settled in whenever he saw the different races cooperating.

Before too long, however, he had to leave the massive, belching furnaces behind, and the sound of hammer against steel faded as he ascended the spiraling stone steps which led him back into the upper levels of the castle. Though nowhere near as cramped or suffocatingly hot, they were no less busy. Messengers were running back an forth at a near constant rate, hurrying communications from the different divisions. There were food rations to be assesed, weapons to be assigned, battle plans to be memorized. The Yagudo were even more high-strung than usual, and several times confrontations needed to be defused when they suspected anyone of being less than wholly devoted to preserving their home.

For Rykoshet, sleep had become a precious commodity. Wrestling with the details of organizing the Goblins, Yagudo, and Jeunoans for war had kept him up late into the night every day for the last week. Then when he did manage to sleep, he was constantly being roused by messengers bringing updates on how close the army was now, estimates of their stremgth, and general assesments of their impending doom. His eyelids were perpetually drooping, and his stomach was twisted with hunger. Still, he managed to soldier onwards, doing whatever he needed to ensure they stood as good a chance as they were going to.

"Rykoshet? Hello?"

It took him a moment to realize he was being addressed. With a start, his eyes shot open and found Danienne standing right in front of him. Confused, he looked back and forth, realizing he had climbed his way out of the foundry and almost back into the upper reaches of the castle in a sleep-deprived daze.

"Are you alright?" The Dark Knight pressed a hand against his forehead with concern, apparantly not worrying about the fact that she was still wearing her gauntlets. "You should get some sleep, Rykoshet, you're pushing yourself too hard."

"I'm good, really," he brushed her hand away, rubbing his head. "What's going on?"

"All four of my divisions have finished preparations," she told him. "The Yagudo, Jeunoans, and my personal legion are in place."

He stared at her, and then looked at his hands, counting on his fingers. "That's only three," he muttered, but was too tired to place any conviction in his conclusion.

She tilted her head to the side. "There's four. Didn't I tell you about the other division?" Her frown made Rykoshet unsure of how to answer, so he simply nodded. Too many things were blurring together these days. "Alright, well they're all in place."

"How much is left to do?"

The Hume woman looked skyward, oonsidering the details. "There are still volunteer divisions under Wolfgang's command awaiting weapons and armor, as well as assignments. The Yagudo Priests are also renewing defensive wards around the castle itself to stave off any magic attacks. Then . . . " her expression grew dark, and her displeasure was evident. " . . . the Goblins who will be joining us are hard to keep track of, so I can't really give you an answer there."

"Right, Goblins," he nodded, right before failing to stifle a yawn. "Dani, I'm about to go collapse for an hour, is there anything else I need to know?"

"No - wait, I almost forgot. Bael was looking for you. He should be in the War Room."

"Great," he rubbed his temples, trying to regain his focus. "Danienne," he called as she started to walk away, "thank you. You're doing great work."

She paused at his words, and then allowed herself a slight smile. "You're welcome, Rykoshet," she replied. The two went their seperate ways, she heading back down to the soldiers, and he climbing more of Oztroja's spiral staircases up to its highest reaches.

Danienne was one of only several people he was running into these past few days. Decay would seek him out to talk about the magicite. Wolfgang was always looking to go over troop deployments. Odessa wanted to know how their field hospital was going to be set up. Icon seemed to send a messenger back with intelligence on enemy movements every hour on the hour. His talks with Baeladar, he realized, had been few and far between. He wondered what the Elvaan wanted to discuss as he trudged up the stairs, thinking about all the ways he'd rather be asleep.

He expected, of course, that he would find Baeladar poring over some old map, possibly dictating orders to be sent back and forth to the various units. Assistants would be racing around with books in hand, searching for references to ancient battles at the castle. With a sigh, he grasped the brass knob of the war room's door, bracing himself for the lecture he was about to receive on battle tactics and the necessity of precise planning. Wondering if he'd have the strength to remain awake through it all, he pulled the door open and stepped inside.

Baeladar was sitting alone in the empty room, the desk in front of him bare. He was leaning upon it, chin resting on his thumb as he stared out he sole window. Not a scroll or tome was out of place, or anything to suggest he was engrossed in study of anything beyond the glass in the pane. As the door opened, the raven-haired Paladin turned his head slowly, greeting Rykoshet with a brief nod.

"Bael?" He stepped in cautiously, not expecting this scene at all. "What's going on?"

"Good to see you, Rykoshet," he replied in his standard aristocratic tone. "I would offer you a spot of tea, but regretfully I neglected to have a fresh pot sent up. More's the pity, I suppose."

Walking to the table, Rykoshet pulled up a chair and sat down across from the other Elvaan. His eyes reflected a weight within them he had never seen there before.

"Are you alright?" The concern in his voice drew a weak smile from Baeladar.

"Ah, you expected me in another state, I trust? I apologize." Drawing in his breath, he slowly sat straight up, a pain evident on his face. "I have been wounded, Rykoshet. My confidence has been struck an unexpected and rather serious blow."

Rykoshet shook his head, trying to comprehend what he was being told. "Bael, what are you talking about? We need you for - "

"I am rather afraid you don't need me, my friend, that is what I am trying to tell you." Clasping his hands together, he directed a grave stare at Rykoshet. "For the time I have been here, serving as the strategist for Those Guys, our needs have been relatively light. We have fought all manner of beast and beastman, and done so well in small groups or with many against one. This is not such a situation. This exceeds my small talent, Rykoshet, and I am quite concerned with the idea that many people will needlessly die due to my weakness."

It felt like someone was pushing a weight down on top of him. "Bael, we need someone to . . . to do anything. If we just stand out there and go toe-to-toe we'll be eaten alive. Without some kind of strategy . . ."

Baeladar quirked an eyebrow upwards. "I would ask you not take my bout of self-pity as a sign that I don't already have another plan. Please, Rykoshet, I always have a plan."

"Then what - "

He stood, walking towards the window as he clasped his hands behind his back. "This is where your penchant for adventuring will come be useful. There is another strategist out there, nearby. Provided she came through the demon invasion in good health, she should still be in her manor, quite secluded from the rest of the world. However," he looked over his shoulder back towards Rykoshet, "I assure you, if she is alive, she will be there, and it will fall on you to persuade her to join us."

Leaning back in his chair, Rykoshet took a moment to absorb everything. "So." He started, stopping to think for a moment, and then beginning again. "You're not up to the task of coordinating our army."

"This is, regretfully, true," he confirmed.

"But you know someone who is."

"Most definitely."

"And you want me to leave the castle, now, go find her, bring her back to Oztroja, and let her direct our strategy for making it out of this alive."

"Your powers of comprehension are sharp as always."

"Bael, I can't leave now." Rykoshet spread his hands plaintively. "Everyone is depending on me to manage the situation here. We've got enemies on our doorstep, three different races trying to co-exist, no end to the complications that have to be overseen - how am I supposed to just up and leave in the middle of all this? How far away is this supposed secret manor house? How long will it take me to get there? What if she doesn't want to come with us? What if she's not as great as you think she is in the first place?"

"I will draft a letter which will ensure her cooperation," he turned to face the Dark Knight. "As for her qualifications, we speak of a strategist trained by no less than Riggo Hiralda himself, and that is just the beginning of her pedigree. She studied extensively under Lehko Habhoka, Windurst's strategist during the Crystal War. There is speculation she may even be his daughter. Her name is Chatcher, and she resides within the Sanctuary of Zi'Tah. Bring her back to us and we may yet crawl out the other side of this ordeal with our skins intact."

"Chatcher," Rykoshet repeated. "Trained by Habhoka and Hiralda both."

"A greater military genius does not exist on this continent," Baeladar pressed. "I am telling you now, Rykoshet, reliance on my talent in this field will bring about ruin. Chatcher may yet save us."

He threw his head back, letting his arms drop to the side as he stared at the ceiling. "But to leave now . . . "

"Leave Odessa in charge," the Paladin replied. "She is up to the task. I, in the meantime, shall reassign myself to one of our field divisions and prepare to bloody my sword a bit on these ill-mannered intruders. You will have to leave now, however, before they get too close to the castle, and - "

"Rykoshet!"

They both practically leaped from their positions at the sudden shout. Rykoshet had to brace his knees under the table to keep from falling backwards, fumbling to grab hold of his linkshell. "What? What is it?" He demanded, steadying himself with no small effort.

"Rykoshet, you need to get down here," he recognized Konstantine's small voice through the shell. "Right now, Rykoshet!"

"Where is here? Where are you?"

"Rykoshet," this time it was Odessa's voice, "come out to the outer wall. Hurry."

Baeladar and Rykoshet exchanged a glance, and then both were rushing out the door.

Even before they reached the outer wall, he could hear voices of panic rising from all around him. Bodies were rushing past him in a panic, some trying to stop and talk to him, others barely even acknowledging he was there. Baeladar pushed them all aside as they ran, making at as near a run as they could towards Odessa's location. Now shouting was plainly evident from the halls beneath them, and he could hear soldiers rushing into positions all around the fortress. When they finally reached the small entrance leading out onto the walls, Odessa, Fated, and Konstantine, were waiting for them.

"What do we do?" Fated asked when he saw them. "There are too many."

"What? What is it?" Rykoshet pushed past them, staring over the parapets as a chill wind rushed past him.

"Look out there, Rykoshet," Odessa told him, pointing in the distance. "They appeared, just now, but look who's with them."

He did not have to look hard, even in the darkness, to see what she was pointing out to him.

The vast tracts of barren land surrounding Castle Oztroja were usually the ruddy color of dust and clay. With the freezing temperatures they were having, it had grown darker as the ground froze, the dirt becoming hard and densely packed. Today, they had turned white. White, the color of the ocean of bleached bones now making their way directly towards the castle.

Thousands, perhaps tens of thousands, of the dead had risen from their resting places. Skeletons, reanimated by a malevolent spark which filled their empty sockets with baleful intent and let their long-dead hands grasp weapons once more, were filling the valley and marching inexorably forward. The undead were coming towards them, all shapes and sizes, from human shapes to beasts large and small to the clawed bones of beastmen. Some were blackened with age and decay, others so freshly dead that bits of skin and sinew still clung to them. It was an army, one they had never seen before, closing in on them at a dead run.

"Look," Odessa urged, "there, towards the back."

Straining his eyes, Rykoshet could just barely make out another figure, towering above the rest. A crown rested on its bleached skull, and tattered blue robes that may once have been majestic covered a body of thick, barren bones. It was another skeleton, far larger than the rest, and even from a face which could not change expression, hatred and bloodlust were clear. Gripped within its fleshless fingers was a twisted staff, and a retinue of blade-wielding skeletons were wrapped around him in a circle at his feet, guarding his every step.

"By Altana," Rykoshet swore, "it's the Corse King."

"It's Xolotl," Odessa confirmed, "and I'd say his intentions are pretty clear."

"They'll be here in minutes," Konstantine was biting her knuckles. "What do we do?"

"I say, this introduces a bit of a snag in our plan," Looking over at Rykoshet, Baeladar put open his hands helplessly. "We must extricate you from the castle, but they'll be upon us too quickly. What shall we do?"

Rykoshet looked from face to face, his previous exhaustion forgotten. Things were happening too quickly for him to worry about sleep. He had to make a decision. But how could he? An army of the undead was bearing down upon them. He had to stay and fight, but he had to leave just as urgently. But how could he even get away now, with the Corse King swarming down over them?

He ground his teeth at the thought of his presence. The blight of Attowha Chasm, Xolotl had for ages untold been a scourge upon the living. However, he had remained content to haunt the night within the Chasm, unpopulated by all but the fiercest monsters. In this new world of endless night, his range was greatly increased, and it would appear his ambition as well. Xolotl was an enemy of all life, a slap in the face of everything good in Vana'diel. A crime -

Rykoshet lifted his head. He knew what to do.

Lifting the linkshell on its leather cord from around his neck, he deposited it over the head of a surprised Odessa. "Rykoshet, what - " she started, but he was already grabbing her arm and leading her away.

"I'm going to leave soon. You're in charge. Fated, Konstantine, you're with me. Bael, go find Betrayil and Hiraiko and tell them they're coming with me, too. Then meet up with Dani and get back to work."

"But where are we going?" Odessa demanded, even as he pulled her forward, racing down the stairs.

"Somewhere I'd rather not," he responded, the small entourage racing after him, "but given the situation we don't have a choice."

Odessa continued to protest being dragged along as she was, but she did not truly start screaming at him until they reached the dungeon.

The door to the dimly-lit chamber groaned as it opened, and a smile spread across the prisoner's lips.