Chapter L: Multiple Fronts

The cavern continued to descend, a narrow and increasingly claustrophobic climb lit only by the deadly and ever-present magma pooling along the blackened ground. The air was still, no swirling of the air to push away the noxious fumes or cool the body, yet the further down they traveled, the easier it became to breath. The red light at the end of the tunnel grew closer, brighter, bathing the small group in a scarlet glow. In the pitch-black cave, with only the liquid fire below lighting their path, Ayn could almost believe they were standing around a campfire rather than descending into the heart of an active volcano.

The path downward had narrowed to the point that they had to proceed one at a time, Zealot in the lead. The tall, thickly-armored Elvaan’s silver hair was now a dull rust color in the light, and when he turned occasionally to look back at the others, his face was but a shadow with a thin red outline on the side. With the combination of this effect on his black armor, it may have been the first time Ayn thought the Warrior looked remotely threatening.

“I inhaled too much volcano air,” he muttered to himself, pressing close against the craggy wall, trying to keep his feet away from the rivulets of lava flowing beneath him and still traverse the narrow passage.

“So how do you do it?” Tikinas asked suddenly, snaking her lithe form down the cavern, her tail curled tightly around her waist. Her head was turned back, making it clear her question was intended for Menphis, walking behind her, not Zealot or Greyheart ahead.

The Ranger looked at her for a moment, his gaze expressionless, and then went back to focusing on his own feet. “I do a lot of things,” he murmured back.

“Blending in,” she pressed, not wavering in her demand for an answer. “Your cloak is green, that tunic is yellow. Maybe in a forest or whatever you’re used to I can see that trick working, but we’ve seen nothing but black and red for hours. How did you keep them from seeing you?”

Menphis’s eyes did not move from his feet, but it looked like the rest of him was suddenly bleeding color. The hues of his garb dripped away like melting wax, running off of him and vanishing, until only black remained. Everything from his hat to his boots was all at once as deep and dark as his surroundings, and tinged with red in just the right places to account for the presence of the lava streams. A moment later the earth tones of his outfit blossomed back into view, chasing away the monochrome and leaving him with several sets of wide eyes surrounding him.

“That’s how,” he stated, and said nothing more.

“Fascinating,” appraised Greyheart, his expression calculating. “An invisibility spell deals in light. You see, when light hits an object, it – “

“We don’t care,” Ayn said, maneuvering his way through a particularly tight spot. “We’ve gone in far enough. Let’s wait here for that Summoner.” The group halted, struggling to find comfortable positions to rest in while they waited.

“Shouldn’t he have been here already?” Tikinas asked Ayn quietly. “All that the Goblin said was that we had to go in ahead. How far ahead do you think he meant?”

“I think Goblins are monsters and Summoners are shoeless, granola-eating cultists who worship imaginary friends,” Ayn replied. “However they do what they do, I’m not going another step until he’s down here to do it.”

“Wait,” Menphis said, raising his head, “something’s wrong.”


“Klistel!” Tomiko shouted, her voice shrill. “Move!”

The Summoner reacted to the command on instinct, all the force he could muster exploding from his legs in the form of a wild leap. The Ash Dragon swiveled its head to catch him, those crushing fangs stained black with soot and dried blood. Before it could clamp down, Tomiko’s lance struck the monster in the side, glancing off harmlessly and skittering to the side. The monstrosity roared, shaking the cavern and casting rock and dust down upon them as it turned its attention on the Dragoon, its milky white eyes showing no hint of anything but animalistic hunger.

The Ash Dragon lunged, and Tomiko sprang backwards to avoid being bitten in two. The blonde woman’s body compacted like a coiled spring as her feet touched against a rock wall. The dragon roared again as it charged, but with a forward rush of motion she cut through the air, sailing just above its snapping fangs and landing behind it, snatching her discarded lance off of the ground. She spun around, weapon raised, and was immediately struck in the side by the Ash Dragon’s whip-like tail. She cartwheeled through the air and came down with a crash, a motionless mass of flesh and steel.

“Tomiko!” Klistel cried, backing up on his hands from where he had landed. He had met the Dragoon only recently, as he traveled to Ifrit’s Cauldron to commune with the spirits, and she to complete her own arduous trials. The sight of her now, the Ash Dragon poised over her to tear her apart, filled him with dread. Lonely was the path of a Summoner, and rarely did they encounter friends. The Hume was one of those chance happenings.

Klistel called out for the spirits that guided him, but before he could even pull together a spark of magic, Tomiko’s wyvern came to her defense. The azure-scaled Muffin gave a piercing shriek, diving through the air and clamping directly onto the blackened muzzle of the Ash Dragon. It scratched and bit as the monster roared, shaking its head to dislodge the attacker. Muffin responded with a stream of fire, straight from its mouth into the Ash Dragon’s terrible white eyes. Tomiko weakly began to rise, but even as she did the monstrous creature swatted at its nose as if batting away a fly, striking the tiny wyvern down. Muffin’s frail frame bounced across the floor once, then slid into a darkened corner, unmoving.

Overcome with concern for her companion, Tomiko scraped herself off of the ground, taking off at a dead run. She made a dash for her fallen wyvern, brushing past falling rocks and fleeing Goblins as the Ash Dragon’s deadly gaze fell upon her. Her panic over the injured Muffin overrode her caution, and she was blind to the abomination bearing down upon her. Death quickly rushed towards her, catching her unawares.

So to, however, did the woman who materialized from the air in front of the Ash Dragon take the beast by surprise.

The winged form of Garuda took shape on Klistel’s command. The dragon roared as the Avatar of Wind attacked, claws of air slicing into its thick, leathery hide. Garuda feinted back, drawing the dragon in, and then struck again with a razor-thin slash of wind. A spray of boiling black blood shot out from the Ash Dragon’s bony shoulder, and it howled at the unexpected pain. Klistel guided Garuda forward, pressing the attack while the advantage was his.

“You cannot fight this here!” someone shouted behind him. Turning his head, Klistel saw Oramix angrily stomping on the ground, his staff spitting out sparks of uncontrolled energy. “You will bring ruin to our village! Get it away from here!”

The Foreseer of the Goblin village had no time to raise further complaint. His distraction provided the Ash Dragon an opening that the beast did not hesitate to take. Klistel spun back around, drawing up Garuda’s defenses, but gave a shocked cry a moment later. The Dragon’s massive fangs wrapped around the Avatar and bit down in one gruesome motion. With a spasm, Klistel dropped to the ground, Garuda vanishing with a soundless scream. His first line of defense was gone.

“Away!” Foreseer Oramix repeated, ushering the other Goblins into the surrounding tunnels. He made no such offer to Klistel, only continued his insistence that the Summoner flee while the dragon’s attention was on him. With a gasp, he recovered himself, shaking off the recoil from having his avatar so brutally dispelled. The Ash Dragon blew a burst of smoke from its nostrils. Those terrible pale eyes had settled on Klistel, and there was nothing in between them but a thick air of fear.

The Ash Dragon charged. It’s hot, fetid breath was upon Klistel in an instant. He could see flecks of spittle between its teeth and on its lashing tongue. The monsters’ teeth were jagged and browned, and the entire creature stank of burning carcasses. His magic strained to burst free, but his mind would not work in conjunction.

It took Klistel a second to register when Tomiko appeared in front of him, slamming her lance upwards. The dragon bit down only to find itself clamping against the finely-honed tip of the Dragoon’s weapon. It gave a start with a cry of pain, startled and furious, the cavern vibrating with the monster’s anger.

“There’s no room to fight in here!” Tomiko shouted, grabbing Klistel by the arm. “Let’s get this into the open air!”

The Summoner didn’t have time to react before the purple-armored Hume pulled him bodily from the ground. In one startled instant, with the Ash Dragon already barreling towards them again, the Elvaan was yanked across Tomiko’s back as she took off at a dead run. The ground flew by underneath them as she leaped and bounded, the uneven terrain and darkness not a problem for her keen senses and impeccable balance. The Goblin village grew further behind the pair as Tomiko plunged onwards, the monster hot on their heels.

The dragon lunged, biting down and catching only rocks. Magma burst up from where it penetrated, spraying ineffectually over its leathery hide. No matter how Tomiko climbed, her legs straining with each jump up the tunnel which had brought them down into the lair of the Goblins, the Ash Dragon clawed just as high, and with increasing speed. It raised a clawed foreleg in the air, bringing it down with crushing force that missed by inches, and sent a spray of rocks pelting Klistel from his place on Tomiko’s back. The Dragoon turned her head for just a moment, pursing her lips and closing her eyes to emit a powerful, high-pitched whistle, and then once again planted a foot on the craggy volcanic ground, propelling herself onwards.

The dragon crouched back on all fours, all three of them practically vertical now with the incline of the cave, and then lunged. Klistel looked down, and gasped as the Ash Dragon’s fang-filled mouth closed in around them. Tomiko climbed higher, but the monster’s leap carried it up faster than she could avoid, and the stench of burning bodies once again overwhelmed the air. Tomiko threw out her hand, grasping a ledge, her breath catching in her throat as she realized she could go no higher. The dragon had them.

Klistel cried out as the Ash Dragon’s teeth scraped his leg. The sensation felt like being cut and seared simultaneously, and the smell of his own burning skin filled his nostrils. By the time the dragon had clamped down all the way, however, its mouth had already been dragged back too far below the fleeing duo. The Summoner’s robes and hair both flew back against the force of the Ash Dragon’s roar as it swiveled its elongated neck backwards. There, on its tail, Tomiko’s wyvern Muffin had ferociously bitten down. Using all the strength its body commanded, the azure creature had halted the Ash Dragon’s leap after blazing through the tunnels in response to the call of its master.

“Good work, Muffin!” Tomiko praised, flashing a smile that was visible even in the near darkness.

“Tomiko!” Klistel shouted. “Keep going!”

“Oh right!” She replied, suddenly remembering the situation. “Fly away, Muffin!” she commanded the wyvern, “meet me back above!”

The Ash Dragon was struggling now, the confines of the cave too narrow to attack both above and below itself. Confused, it gave another roar, smacking its tail into the cave walls as it tried to bat away the nimble Muffin to no avail. Gathering her strength, Tomiko heaved herself and Klistel upwards one more step, finally getting her footing back underneath her. Then, quickly drawing in a breath and closing her eyes, the leather and steel of her cuisses creaked as she first bent at the knees, and then shot into the air. Lance extended, Klistel hanging on for dear life, the Dragoon burst through the narrow tunnel, and all at once sunlight swept over them once again.

Klistel took a steadying breath; dropping off of Tomiko’s back and stumbling as pain shot up his injured leg. Sucking in air through his teeth, he pulled up his pant leg and saw three scars running from quad to shin. Not a single drop of blood was to be found. The wounds had been burned shut by the dragon’s white-hot teeth as soon as they were made. His skin was blackened where the Ash Dragon’s teeth had struck, a dire pronouncement that an actual bite would mean certain death. He bit back the pain, taking in the open air. Relief at their escape calmed him. He could tend to his wounds later.

“Tomiko,” he said as steadily as he could, “you need to go get help.”

“But you’re hurt!” she protested, her blonde hair writhing on the volcanic winds. “Plus if you don’t make it back safely, no one will be able to summon Ifrit, and – “

“We’re going to have to trust in those strangers for now,” Klistel overpowered her concerns, bracing himself against his staff. “Maybe they can keep Duke Berith busy.”

“But he’s a – “

“Listen! You know where to go, right? Where you were when we first met?”

The Dragoon nodded, her eyes wide. Below them, the ground trembled. Klistel winced as he steadied his quavering leg, hot pain knifing through it.

“Good, go back there. You know what to do. I’ll keep it distracted until you get back.”

“Klistel, I – “she stopped as once again the ground shook beneath them, and this time she had to put her lance out to keep from falling. The sound of the Ash Dragon’s roar broke through to the surface. Worry etched in her face, the urgency of the situation finally overrode her inner turmoil. “Alright! I’ll hurry, Klistel, I promise!”

An instant later, a familiar blue flash rose up from the cavern. Tomiko gave another impossible leap, sailing into the air after Muffin, the duo reuniting and touching down on the ground a good distance away. Something unspoken passed between them, and a moment later they were off. The Dragoon sped as only a Dragoon could through the twisting pathways of Ifrit’s Cauldron, seeking the aid Klistel had requested.

It wasn’t two heartbeats later that the ground exploded upwards in a flurry of stone and molten rock. The Ash Dragon breached the surface, its horrendous shriek heralding it out. The monster touched down, dripping ash and magma from its skin, dead eyes searching for its prey. In only a moment’s time, it found Klistel, but it did not attack right away. The beast halted, breathing raggedly, even it’s primitive mind realizing that it had to be careful.

Klistel wasn’t surprised. The sight of Ramuh the Olduum, Avatar of Lightning, often froze people in their tracks.

The Avatar hung in the air for only a moment before unleashing a scorching wave of electric fury upon the beast. Howling, the Ash Dragon retreated briefly, lightning leaving visible singe marks on its browned flesh. The blonde-bearded Avatar’s staff was radiant with energy as it followed the magical guidance of Klistel, harnessing the power of the very storm itself to keep the Ash Dragon at bay. Ramuh struck again, driving the beast back further, and it roared with fury, yet still kept its distance. He could keep this up for a few minutes easily. That would be all the time Tomiko needed to return.

It was when the sound of five sets of teeth gnashing together and low, guttural growling struck his Elvaan ears that he realized the flaw in his plan.


“They’re gone,” Menphis said suddenly.

“Gone?” Ayn repeated, looking at the Ranger intently.

Menphis nodded, lowering his eyes in concentration. The Ranger’s ability to feel out life in the world around him was their only link to what was going on above. Whatever had attacked the Goblin village and caused the cave-in that left them trapped in this tunnel, Klistel and Tomiko had fought it, and then ran from it. When his brow furrowed, Ayn knew Menphis was trying to reach out further, to feel as only those with that special bond with nature could the location of living things. He watched with a growing unease festering in his gut. The situation was quickly growing untenable.

Menphis’s eyes shooting open with what accounted for no less than raw, blazing hatred was also not a good sign.

Without a word, and already moving down, Menphis pulled his gun into his hand. He brushed past Zealot and Greyheart, picking up speed as the look of fury curled his lips into a snarl. Ayn called out after him, but his cloak had already disappeared into the darkness.

“Go after him,” the Thief ordered, “he might be our only means of finding a way out now!”

“What made him do that?” Zealot asked, looking slightly fearful as his eyes ventured down Menphis’s path.

“He felt something he didn’t like,” Greyheart replied, somberly. “The same thing happened to me once, in Kazham. If you’ve never seen a male Mithra, by the way, there’s not a whole lot of difference.”

“What?” Tikinas said, but immediately shook her hand in front of her, dismissing her own inquiry. “Forget it. Shut up. Just follow me.”

“Tikinas, wait,” Ayn halted her, “there’s some kind of stupid powerful Demon waiting down there with Altana knows what else. Don’t go charging in right away, we have no idea how dangerous this might be. It might be certain death. Zealot, you go first instead.”

“Something sounds wrong about that,” the Warrior professed, “but as I cannot immediately think of what it is, I’ll go ahead with it for now.”

He had taken no more than three steps forward when the sound of gunshots tore through the narrow tunnel. The four had only a brief exchange of glances before Zealot’s eyes narrowed, and he took off at as fast a pace as he could manage. Tikinas darted into the air, latching with ease onto the walls of the cavern and taking measured leaps forward. Greyheart and Ayn ran behind the two as Menphis’s weapon fired again in the distance. As they grew closer to the ever-gleaming red light at the end of the tunnel, the sound became louder, and was joined by a rising cacophony of background noise.

The tunnel began to widen, and Zealot loosened the massive axe from his back, swinging it around his armored shoulders. With both hands around the deadly weapon, he picked up his pace, and then in another moment, dropped out of sight.

Tikinas skidded to a halt, catching her breath as they realized that just in front of them the tunnel dropped off. Just below, there lay an enormous open chamber, in the middle of which, emitting a glorious yet somehow intimidating red light, was the crimson crystal of fire. It was bigger than a Galka, and the light coming from its core revolved slowly around the room. The air was completely dry, and though he was aware of the incredible heat, Ayn felt some force keeping it away, as if the sensation were not real at all. No, he realized, not that it wasn’t real, just that it wasn’t touching him like something from this world would.

The other notable fact about the room was that Menphis was backed up against its wall, guns blazing as he was set upon by a clutch of demons.


Klistel’s injured leg pleaded for respite as he rounded another corner, running full tilt as the bombs followed just behind.

The Bomb Queen and her vicious brood were in hot pursuit, and crashing through the ground just behind them was the Ash Dragon. In a panic, Klistel pumped his legs as fast as they would move. All around him, geysers of flame and lava shot upwards, their scorching heat blistering his flesh. His lungs were on fire, and his breaths were tortured and ragged. Adrenaline and fear kept him moving as a bomb smashed bodily into the wall beside him, pulling itself out and shaking off the basalt it had knocked loose. Every second they grew closer, and he could hear the hungry growl of the Ash Dragon.

Half-stumbling, he rounded another corner, a narrow ledge greeting his sight. Just out of reach was another, higher pathway, just below it, open air leading to a precipitous drop. Wasting no time, the Summoner pushed himself out on his good leg, propelling himself over the precipice. Fingers grasping, he caught the edge of the rise in front of him, his lower half dangling out over a hundred-foot high fall into a pit of roiling lava. Struggling with all he had, Klistel lurched himself over the side, scrambling on hands and knees to regain his footing. They were still coming.

Skidding to a halt, he threw out his hands, energy coursing through him. His eyes turned a shade of deepest red as he called out with his magic. The droplets of blood streaming from any of the dozens of tiny abrasions his flight had opened started to steam, and a flashing red light appeared at his feet. The Bomb Queen closed the distance between them, four of her spawn just behind her, and the Summoner opened himself to the world of the Avatars, creating a nexus point on Vana’diel.

It never opened. The Ash Dragon slammed down with such incredible force that Klistel was sent soaring through the air. The bombs were scattered from the impact, flying out in different directions. Raising his head to the sky, the dragon gave a terrible howl, flecks of blackened spittle dripping from its muzzle. Klistel dropped to the ground like a stone several dozen yards away. Stars filled his eyes, and pain was screaming through his arm now. It felt broken. He had landed sitting up, and did not know through what force he remained conscious. Rubble flew through the air as the Ash Dragon’s claws tore at the ground, closing in on him.

There was a flash, a glint of light and a burst of smoke. The Ash Dragon roared as a crack of lightning struck it in the back, followed by another, and then another. It spun rapidly, its scaly tail missing Klistel by mere inches, scarring the rock face just above his head. No sooner had the Dragon turned then a ball of fire struck it full in the face, and when it opened its mouth to howl out contempt, a thin needle shot out from the air and lodged itself in the roof of the creature’s maw. Its fury was plain as black blood spilled out from between its teeth. Klistel, having somehow made it to his feet, dumbly looked around for some hint of what was happening.

Then he saw it. At first he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him, but then it became clear. There was a ripple in the darkness, a frayed outline taking shape, and then without a sound, two black-booted feet touched down just in front of the Ash Dragon. It was a man, black covering him from head to toe, standing unflinching in the face of the monster as it roared at him. He raised a single hand, his fingers articulating an intricate sign in less time than it took to blink, and simultaneously his other hand threw something Klistel could not see into the air. In the next moment, the air around the Ash Dragon froze solid. With a hiss of steam, it melted away quickly in the volcano’s heat, but the monster remained dazed. Clearly cold was never a sensation it had felt before.

“You’re not my assignment, but I’ll buy you a minute or so,” the man said calmly, two shuriken sliding out between the knuckles of his right hand. “Make the most of them.”

The ninja flicked an eye backwards as the Bomb Queen, her children in tow, appeared behind the ledge. The Ash Dragon, recovering in only moments, bit fiercely at the newcomer, but he sidestepped the lunge with ease. With a puff of smoke, suddenly four more of him filled the narrow path. The air undulated in the intense heat, and all at once both dragon and bombs came together on the mysterious stranger in their midst.

The sounds of battle growing loud behind him, Klistel hurriedly rushed to find safety somewhere in Ifrit’s Cauldron.


The demon’s head burst like an overripe melon as Menphis’s gun unloaded into its skull. It toppled over only to immediately be replaced by a screeching fiend slicing through the air towards the Ranger. With a flick of his wrist, a knife flew from hand to throat, and the demon’s wings went slack as it clutched at the deadly wound, crashing to the ground. Behind him, Tikinas ran across the wall, a demon slashing its clawed hands furiously as it attempted to catch her. Planting her foot, she cartwheeled through the air, twisting to release a barrage of shurikens into the chest of the demon. It staggered backwards; cursing at her in its dark language, then gave a strangled cry before collapsing into a pool of thick blood. Ayn yanked his dagger out of its back, then turned to meet the charge of another fiend with his blue-bladed scimitar.

The weapon was amazing. For every block and parry Ayn made, the sword seemed to make two or three more on its own. He could feel it guiding his arm, going where it needed to be as the frenzied demon attempted hacking him to pieces. He felt like he could have kept it up all day with the near-weightless weapon, but a moment later the demon was smashed by the mighty swing of Zealot’s great axe, sending its broken body hurtling into the craggy rock wall. Ayn ran forward, and before Zealot could even finish the apex of his swing, the Thief planted a foot in his chest and propelled himself into the air, spinning like a whirling dervish as he emptied a brace of daggers into the demons rushing towards them. In the presence of the Protocrystal of Fire, their blood turned to smoke as soon as it touched the cavern floor.

Ayn landed on his feet, but was almost instantly caught from behind by a charging demon. The creature ran bodily into him, throwing him from his feet and sending him sprawling. Argentina’s sword flew from his grasp, and he did not have time to snatch it from the air as he threw his feet out, skidding to a halt in a crouching position. He pulled out his dagger again, but the demon contemptuously slapped it away, glowing eyes piercing the Thief as it raised a sword of its own to cut him down. The wickedly curved blade came down as Ayn’s mind worked frantically to find a way out in the next half-second.

There was a shower of sparks as the demon’s blade met the blue blade of Argentina’s sword. As soon as the demon spun its horned head in confusion, a gauntleted hand smashed into the side of it, and it bellowed as it was knocked off its feet. The scimitar flashing, Zealot came forward like a hurricane. The demon bared its fangs, and in the next instant was cut open from throat to stomach. The Warrior spun around, the sword singing, and met another demon’s attack with a perfect parry, the sword moving up of its own accord to strike at the fiend’s eyes, then thrust directly into its chest. Pulling the sword free, Zealot turned, facing two more of the monsters coming his way.

One of them came at him with a scythe, the other a sword. The Warrior’s eyes narrowed beneath the red fighter’s mask he wore, and he moved forward to meet the both of them. The sword was nothing more than a flash of light, slicing and striking with deadly precision. The Elvaan surged past his two assailants, twirling the scimitar in the air and then turning, his silver hair flaring out behind him. The demons stood frozen, and then collapsed, a spray of blood turning to smoke in the magically heated air as it erupted from a dozen different cuts. Zealot lowered the blade, scanning it approvingly.

“This is a really good sword,” he remarked. “Where can I get one like it?”

“Leave it alone,” Ayn muttered, snatching the weapon out of the Elvaan’s hand.

“What? All I said was – “

“Just drop it,” The Thief interrupted, brushing past him. Zealot shrugged, then walked back to where he had placed his great axe before catching Ayn’s displaced weapon.

“I prefer these anyway,” he said, wrenching it out of the rock and hefting it up in his hands again. “I love great axes.”

“Nobody – “

They all turned as a shot rang out again, cutting off Ayn’s words. Near the spot where they had first entered the cavern of the Protocrystal, a final demon toppled over in front of Menphis. A wisp of smoke trailed from the Ranger’s extended gun. He lowered the weapon and flicked an eye towards the rest of them, then holstered it. His breathing appeared quickened, and there was sweat along his brow. Ayn recalled the haunted, frenzied look in Menphis’s eyes when they had first met, and he had accused them of being in league with the demons. Whatever his story was, this fight was clearly personal to him.

“That’s all of them,” Tikinas said, dropping down from above them. Despite her report, she still held a katana in each hand, and behind her mask her eyes constantly scanned the room. Besides a few decaying demons and the Protocrystal of Fire, nothing was there but them.

“Good show,” Greyheart said, stepping out from behind Zealot, startling the Warrior with his appearance. “I’ll admit I was worried at their numbers, but we’ve made short work of the fiends.”

Ayn didn’t even try to contain his anger as he advanced on the Red Mage, brandishing the blood-soaked sword. “Where the hell were you?” he demanded. “You didn’t lift a finger this entire time!”

“Why, casting haste spells, of course,” the Red Mage said, clearly surprised by the accusation.

With a snarl, Ayn snatched Greyheart by his collar, dragging the Elvaan down to face him. Rage played across his face as he stared down the Red Mage. “I have had enough of you, you worthless piece of garbage,” the Thief growled, “if you had done a single thing to help us instead of wasting all of our time being useless, it might never have gotten this far at all.”

“But – “

Ayn tossed him aside contemptuously. The Red Mage straightened, looking quite rebuked as he straightened the wrinkled collar of his well-maintained tabard, and carefully straightened the white plume in his hat. “I’ll have the pirates deal with you when we get back,” he told the Elvaan, who blanched at the pronouncement. “Let’s find a way out,” he said, glancing about the cavern. “Either this Duke Berith is one of the bodies lying on the floor here, or he ran away before he could finish whatever he was doing.”

“Actually, I was just wrapping things up.”

The voice was deep and resonant. Far from the horrendous shriek most demons emitted, this was a steady, urbane voice, yet still the sound of it was enough to make one shiver even within the heart of a volcano. As one, the group turned to face the speaker, but they all already knew who it was.

Unlike the other demons, who wore only their own armored hides, this one was garbed in a thick red mantle, with black gloves upon his clawed hands. Robes of black and red flowed down to the floor from his broad shoulders. The Kindred Lord Duke Berith looked seven feet high if he was an inch in Ayn’s eyes. He stood straight back, hands clasped behind him, his powerful wings folded and two long, curved horns reaching just under his chin. His mouth was closed, but the same haunting yellow glow which burned just behind his eyes emanated clearly behind his teeth as well. Taloned feet scraped the rock floor as he stepped forward, the others gasping and holding up their weapons as he took but a single step.

“I have spent so much time studying you, and yet this is my first occasion to actually speak with real inhabitants of the Otherworld,” there was a grim fascination in his voice, though his eyes were calm. “So much time. I know you better than you know yourselves.”

“What are you – “ Ayn swallowed against the feeling just being close to the demon was stirring in his stomach. “What are you doing here?”

Something like a smile curled his thin lips. It was truly frightening to behold. “Just the question I expected, along with the tinge of fear. Such a plethora of emotions you creatures have. No one else appreciates them quite like I do. The others, they see only this world, I think. They never stopped to think about the things that crawl on its surface.”

Menphis’s gun rang out, and Duke Berith disinterestedly shifted his gaze. A silver bullet turned to liquid in the air, finally becoming an aqueous vapor long before it ever even scratched the surface of the Kindred Lord. Ayn knew Menphis’s other bullets had found their marks just fine. Berith had melted that bullet in less time than it took to think.

“I think about you, though,” he declared, and his hands dropped from where they were folded behind him. “I know your secrets, your weaknesses, your petty ambitions. I understand these things you call love and hope, desire, lust, fear . . . I could go on. It’s remarkable to me.”

“What are you doing to the volcano?” Ayn demanded, bringing up Argentina’s sword.

“Volcano?” he said, tilting his horned head to the side. “Oh yes, yes, your name for this place. An entire mountain which spews fire . . . even in Dynamis we do not have such marvels. I suppose I must admit to myself that is one of the reasons I am destroying it.” Duke Berith took another step forward, and this time his wings unfolded, the yellow light behind his eyes intensifying. “Do you know what it will be like when this liquid fire sweeps down the island?” For a moment Ayn could swear the demon was actually asking the question. “Can you picture the reaction it will bring, so many thousands of individual reactions to so many of your emotions?”

“He’s going to destroy Norg,” Tikinas said in a whispered breath, and a single laugh escaped Duke Berith’s mouth. When it opened, an unholy flame was plain behind it.

“Norg?” he laughed. “The group of animals herding themselves in caves below? Norg,” he laughed again. “Witless beasts. You actually believe your plans of “resistance” merited a response. Do you even appreciate how beneath me it is to speak your language? I’m not tearing apart this island to destroy Norg,” he suddenly raised his hands up before him, and a pale aura surrounded the Kindred Lord. “I’m doing it because I want to see what will happen when so many of you beasts die. I’m doing it because I can.”

There came a sound like a furnace hatch opening, and the monstrous Duke Berith released his power.


Klistel scrambled up the peak, his vision blurring. Even the pain in his limbs was dulled, as if he had reached his limit. His body was simply incapable of processing any more than it already had. His bright blonde hair was matted down with sweat and ash, and streaks of dried blood marred his white robes. The knee of his right leg buckled, and he went down in a slump. He had reached a dead end. Behind him was the way he had come, and below him, the ceaselessly boiling pit of Ifrit’s Cauldron.

He did not know how long it had been since the chase had resumed. He did not know if his mysterious benefactor was dead or had simply fled. All he was cognizant of was that the Ash Dragon was roaring again, its call only a distant buzzing in his ears now. Some time earlier, when he could not recall, there had been a fearsome explosion back the way he came, and soon afterwards the Bomb Queen and the Ash Dragon had resumed their pursuit. The Summoner slowly forced himself to rise. When he turned, he saw the last bend he had rounded, far below him now, with a blackened, leathery mass of death rushing up it, accompanied by four orange-and-red creatures bounding through the air.

Klistel drew in a single, ragged breath. Everything in his line of vision doubled. He could see an indistinct blur growing closer, and it registered with him that he needed to do something. He realized something was in his hands. A sound was buzzing in his ears, and he became aware that he was holding his staff, the tip of it glowing brightly. The bombs were close enough that he could see their individual faces, the remaining monstrosities gathering close around their Queen. Beneath them the Ash Dragon was hungrily zeroing in on him. In only moments, they were upon him. There was nowhere left to run.

“Gotcha,” Klistel said aloud, and thrust his staff into the earth.

The full force of his power sang out as Titan, the Avatar of Earth, erupted forth from the rocks themselves. A wall of living stone and granite, impenetrable and implacable, Titan snarled as he was unleashed into the world. The unbridled surge of Klitel’s astral flow poured out of him, and the Avatar, black and gray as he formed himself from the volcano itself, bore down upon the Ash Dragon like a wild beast.

Immediately, the monster turned to run, but like a wave the earth came forward, sweeping it down with crushing force. Klistel pushed further, sending waves of his energy into the air, filling the entire space with his magic. Titan grew again, his fists glowing with veins of magma as it smashed them into the Ash Dragon. The monster roared, then whipped its tail with an ear-splintering crack, striking the Avatar with such force that its hand broke off at the wrist. Titan plunged its shattered arm into the ground, and withdrew it good as new. Stone fingers clenched as they wrapped around the Ash Dragon’s throat, and the monster clawed and struck at the hulking Avatar ineffectually, each bit of it broken off being drawn back up from the ground only seconds later.

Then, as suddenly as he came, Titan winked out of existence again, melting back into nothing but stone and dust. The Ash Dragon dropped down from where it had been held in Titan’s vice-like grip. Landing on all fours, it stared ahead, confused, seeing nothing but a clear path between itself and Klistel, who stood defenseless at the top of the ledge. The Summoner wasn’t even looking at the dragon, only staring with a drained look on his face into the air.

Bestial instincts taking over, the Ash Dragon charged. Mouth agape, it plunged towards the focus of its primal fury. With all its might, the dragon finally bit down into Klistel’s unprotected flesh, completely engulfing the Summoner’s top half with its elongated mouth, fangs as long as the Elvaan’s forearm.

It withdrew the next moment with a howl of pain, and Klistel shook his head, not taking his focus off what he was looking at in the air.

“Stoneskin,” he said simply, and then the glow from the air behind them finally became so intense that even the Ash Dragon noticed it.

Bombs, made during a terrible war of mages, were created to soak up magic like a sponge. The more they absorbed, the larger they grew, until finally it was all released.

Four bombs hung suspended in the air now just over the Ash Dragon, each one roughly the size of an adult bugard after absorbing the power of Klistel’s astral flow. The last thing the Summoner saw registering in the eyes of the Ash Dragon was dawning realization. The fear didn’t even have time to hit before the explosion tore the ledge from the cliff from which it hung.

Klistel was thrown backwards in a high arc, the last of his defensive spells peeling away like skin from fruit. Below him, the Ash Dragon, its body torn apart by the force of the bombs detonation, howled with dismay as it plunged down into the lake of fire below them. The heat overtook Klistel, and he reached out for something, anything to catch him, knowing that nothing would come. His body went limp, and his descent towards death began.

He barely even heard the whistle through the air before a strong hand clasped his wrist, and all at once he was flying. Wind struck him in the face like a blow, and he gasped as air was forced into his lungs. All around him were tan-colored scales and leathery wings. The Summoner looked up, and saw Tomiko’s face as she struggled to pull him on to the back of the enormous wyvern she now rode.

“You’re late, Tomiko,” he managed to get out.

“I’m so sorry,” she genuinely apologized, “Vouivre got lost.”

The wyvern shrieked out disapproval at having blame cast on him, and Klistel collapsed on its back as Tomiko finally got him fully atop her mount.

“Okay, okay,” Tomiko admitted, stroking the wyvern’s massive neck, “maybe it was partially my fault. But I’ve been taking good care of your son, Vouivre.”

From Tomiko’s shoulder, Muffin let out an approving cry, and the Dragoon patted its head with familiarity.

“Got to get back,” Klistel sputtered, fighting to stay awake. “Take us back to the Goblin village.”

“Klistel,” Tomiko protested, “you need help right away.”

He couldn’t argue with her, even he had to admit he’d be no good like he was. “I’ll make Oramix heal me. I’ll convince him. We’ve got to get back, Tomiko, something’s happening. Something’s happening right now.”


Zealot charged forward, swinging his axe with force that would cleave through cerment. Berith caught the blade of his weapon between two fingers, stopping it in the air. Zealot lurched forward in surprise at the shift of momentum, but in the next instant was blown backwards as a rush of electric energy coursed through his body. He fell like a pile of sticks collapsing, Duke Berith dropping his massive axe to the ground like a discarded toy.

Ayn was right behind him, however, and swinging a dagger in one hand and the demon-hungry scimitar in the other. The Thief struck endlessly, but it seemed like no matter where he sliced or thrust, Berith was suddenly an inch to the side. With a cobra-like feint, slicing down and then reversing motion in mid-stroke, he finally caught the side of Berith’s horn, a tiny fleck of the twisted bone being cut away. The Kindred Lord only gave a dull smile, and all at once the ground rushed up at Ayn’s feet. Whatever in him might have broke when the floor suddenly thrust him into the ceiling, he did not feel as the impact itself tore consciousness away from him.

This time, however, Menphis’s shot was dead on, and a bullet took the Duke directly in the chest. In the same instant, he was struck by a hail of small bags of powder, all of which erupted into bursts of flame upon contact. Tikinas dropped down in front of him, slashing downwards with her twin katana. Menphis fired again as Tikinas thrust both of her deadly blades towards Berith’s glowing eyes. She gasped as the same bullet Menphis just fired reversed course inches from his body and tore through her shoulder before a screaming gale-force wind ripped both Ninja and Ranger from their feet. They collided with each other in the air, then dropped into unmoving heaps on the red-glowing ground.

Duke Berith turned his head, a plainly bored expression on his face, and casually flicked away the bullet which had caught him in the chest. It had never even pierced his thick armor-like skin. In shorter time than it took him to pluck the wasted ammunition from his robes, he had dispatched four of his attackers. His eyes now fell on the only one left standing.

“So it is now down to just you and I,” he told Greyheart as he stepped towards the Red Mage. Greyheart remained in place, eyes wide as the Kindred Lord advanced on him. “I want to see what will happen if the others watch while I pour this amazing molten rock over you. Do you think they’ll be defiant? Angry? Sad? Fearful?”

The tone in his voice was genuinely curious. “Tell me,” he asked of Greyheart, clawed hands reaching for him, “what do you think?”

Chapter XLIX: How to Flee from Living Bombs

“Okay,” Ayn said after standing up, facing the Summoner that had appeared. “Scale of 1 to 10, how dangerous is a Kindred Lord?”

Klistel eyed him as if he had taken leave of his senses. “You can’t rate the peril of a Kindred Lord. They exist beyond mortal comprehension.”

Zealot seemed introspective. “What if the scale went to 11?”

“What?”

“You see,” the Warrior explained, “most people will rate things on a scale of 1 to 10. You get to 10, you’re all the way up, where do you go from there? Nowhere. I’m saying we need that extra little push – we rate to 11.”

“But then why don’t we just consider 10 more dangerous and keep 10 as the highest number?” Greyheart countered.

Zealot puzzled it over for a moment, and then decided on his response. “This goes to 11.”

“We don’t have time for this,” Klistel insisted. “You don’t understand, we have to leave here now!”

“Slow down,” Ayn demanded, “no one’s going anywhere until you tell us what’s going on.”

“Bombs,” Menphis said from behind them, the young man’s voice still strange to hear after his long stretch of silence.

“Is that it?” the Thief asked of Klistel. “Is this Duke Berith planting bombs throughout the volcano?”

Klistel, however, had gone completely silent. The Summoner stood stock-still, his eyes wide as the volcanic winds sifted through his robes and hair, his knuckles going white around his staff. Tomiko, the Dragoon still poised protectively over her tiny blue wyvern, suddenly leaped to her feet, her spear twirling into her hands with a metallic clap of metal against metal. She stared out just over Ayn’s shoulder, and the Thief had the uneasy feeling of eyes upon him. A growing sense of trepidation began creeping in on him, filling his stomach with a tense twisting as he realized that everyone assembled in the volcanic cavern, alight with veins of magma flowing through the basalt walls, was staring at something behind him. Slowly, from the neck, he turned around just enough to see what all of the others were looking at.

Emerging from just over the rocky peak of a high ledge, bearing down on the group with their perpetually angered eyes ablaze as they floated forward, a clutch of bombs appeared with murderous intent clear in their expressions. Their jagged teeth gnashed as a thick smoke rose from their pulsating, spherical bodies, dripping molten flame from their blackened muzzles. First two of them, then four, then finally six altogether crested the rise, centered on a massive creature twice the size of the rest, the fiery points in its head formed into what could almost be called a crown. The half-dozen glowing monstrosities, throwbacks to an era long ago, hovered menacingly in the air, their attention clearly focused on the small group below.

They stood locked in place, all eyes on the bombs. The moment hung, only the sound of the heat-driven winds and the rumbling of the volcano rupturing the silence. Not turning to face the threat before them, Menphis only turned his head, lazily letting his eyes droop.

“I could have been more specific,” Menphis admitted, lowering his broad-brimmed hat.

“Run!” Klistel shouted, and it was sound enough advice not to be ignored.

Ayn, of course, had the advantage. With a burst of chi through his legs, he was off like a shot from the Ranger’s gun. He was already yards away when he screeched to a halt, angling in mid-stride to make sure Tikinas was alright, but as soon as he turned she bounded past him. She did not waste time running, instead she bound from rock wall to rock wall, shooting like a coiled spring which had been released. The bombs gave a horrendous, guttural growl in unison, and the larger one shot out flames in a clear sign of anger. They dove like birds of prey, coming down off the rise and straight for their targets, a cloud of smoke and ash following them where they went.

The twisting tunnels of Ifrit’s Cauldron were home to any number of menace. To say nothing of the dread wyverns, the adult versions of the hatchling Tomiko even now jumped to safety with, or the relentless hecteyes and fiendish Eotyrranii, there were Goblins known to live in the volcano, and Ayn was not keen on running into any of them.
The situation with the Summoner and the Dragoon would have to wait, getting away with his life intact was going to take all the concentration he had.

Down a corridor he fled, and behind him Zealot was knocked off of his feet as one of the bombs surged forward, blooms of flame in the air behind it, and caught him in the back. He tumbled over, not losing his momentum, rolling back to his feet and this time with his great axe in hand. The bomb swooped down again, and, swinging his weapon like a club, the Warrior batted it aside, smashing it directly in the rounded side of its murderous face. The creature buffeted off of a rock and collided with the rock wall, but then simply shook off the assault, fresh plumes of scorching smoke exuding from its body. The Elvaan realized his mistake as it came bounding after him again, the other five right behind it, and dove down a tunnel towards safety.

Ifrit’s Cauldron was a mass of intertwined caverns and tunnels occasionally giving way to open-air spaces and narrow ledges. The open spaces were often filled roaming monsters which had adapted to survive in the noxious volcanic gases and oppressive heat. The tunnels were home to even more creatures, those that preyed on the other monsters should they wander too close, and also bubbling, oozing flows of magma hot enough to sear flesh through even the thickest armor. The ledges provided anyone standing on them a view of the Cauldron itself, the legendary magma pit embedded in Mount Yuhtunga which gave the volcano its name, and the rocks which occasionally fell in to become puffs of smoke foretold what would happen to anyone that fell of those ledges. In short, Ifrit’s Cauldron was not the kind of place you wanted to flee at top speed away from monsters that could explode at will.

Klistel stopped to round a corner, and Ayn, looking behind himself at the moment, took cue from the Summoner and changed direction. The bombs flew onwards, driven by their massive ruler, snarling and snapping as they surged towards their fleeing targets. Ayn threw himself towards them, the last ergs of the burst of speed he called upon leaving him even as the he felt the searing heat the monsters radiated blistering his bare flesh. Twisting his body in the air like a corkscrew, the Thief slipped through the six-deep formation, the bombs flying straight past him, skidding to a halt in the air to turn back, flames drooling from their open mouths. Ayn was already back on his feet, turning his head just long enough to see the creatures coming for him again. Wasting not a second, he dove down the tunnel Klistel had vanished into, seeing the Summoner just a few yards ahead of him now.

“This way!” Klistel shouted, his robes flying behind him as he skidded to a halt before a bend in the tunnel, throwing himself to the side and disappearing even as a Bomb spiraled down towards him, colliding with the wall where he had been and ricocheting off. A scorch mark on the stone face of the volcano was etched now where the bomb had landed, and it was already making for another pass. Ayn froze, the bomb blocking Klistel’s passage and turning its attention on him. He reached for his knife, but in the same instant the bomb was batted aside, careening off of the cave walls to leave burning marks on the rock wherever it touched. It came so close to Ayn that his hair singed, and it finally stopped in the air to face the source of its attack.

Tomiko, Zealot right beside her, swung their respective weapons like clubs, the other five bombs, including the massive crown-marked one, filling the entryway to the narrow tunnel they had escaped into. The Dragoon’s spear was glowing hot from impact with the bomb, and she spun it outwards to point towards the clutch of magical abominations even now trying to fill the corridor.

“Muffin,” she shouted, “dissuade them!”

The blue-scaled wyvern hovering over her shoulder yelped out its understanding, and then from its maw came a torrent of shimmering flames. Amazingly, the bombs visibly shrank back as Muffin’s breath of flame lit up the darkened tunnel, shooting over the one which had attacked ahead of the rest. Its eyes closed as it was immersed in the wyvern’s breath, and it let out cries of pain and animalistic fear.

“Keep it up, Muffin!” Tomiko encouraged. “Burn it to ashes!”

The wyvern redoubled its efforts, wings flaring upwards as its howling flame poured out like a river Ayn would have though a creature that size incapable of producing. The other bombs had cleared away, wanting no part of the flame, but the sixth bomb was trapped in Muffin’s attack, crying out in shock.

Then, its eyes opened, and with a snarl and a burst of inky black smoke, the bomb began to grow.

Tomiko realized the danger immediately, gasping audibly before turning to run, yanking Muffin back by the tail, cutting off its stream of flame. The wyvern yelped in surprise, but the Dragoon was already diving down the narrow descending tunnel Klistel had vanished into, the same one Ayn had leaped down as soon as the bomb began to swell. The smoke from the bomb overpowered even the natural volcanic gases as Zealot finally slid head-first down the tunnel, not daring to look back. Above them, as they desperately fled, the bomb gave one final roar of anger. Then, now fully five times the size it had been before, the monster erupted.

The explosion sent a roaring jet of flame and molten rock soaring down the tunnel after them. The bomb’s death collapsed the cavern they had come from, and shattered rock and debris rocketed down the cave, pouring over them as they descended. Zealot cried out as the flaming rocks bouncing past struck him, and he pulled his gauntleted hands protectively up over his face as he continued sliding down the rapid decline of the hidden tunnel. Finally, it opened up and he tumbled out, smacking the ground with his back as the air rushed out of him from the impact. A moment later, the cavern mouth erupted with the debris from the bomb’s detonation, and the silver-haired warrior’s eyes went wide as it came crashing down towards him. With a cry and a heave, he managed to turn himself over and roll away just as white-hot rocks and streams of magma poured down where he had just been. Gasping, he pulled himself to a sitting position, staring at what had almost befallen him.

Klistel was already there, his white robes scuffed and chalked with black soot. Tomiko was coughing up tiny rocks, and Muffin flitted about her head, looking concerned. As Zealot struggled to regain a standing position, Tikinas dropped out of the shadows, flipping in the air and landing in front of Ayn, who had at least maintained his composure, if not safety from a series of burn marks along his arms.

“We lost Menphis and Greyheart,” she reported as she came down.

“Well, that’s two down,” Ayn said approvingly.

“Ah, not quite,” Greyheart’s voice corrected. The group looked around, confused, until with a ripple in the air, the Red Mage materialized before them. “Bombs were made to track their foes by sight, you see,” he explained. “So I thought it prudent to remain invisible.”

“Do you ever do anything useful?!” Ayn grated at him. “Is there a single thing you’re capable of that benefits anybody other than you?”

“I – “ Greyheart began, but Klistel silenced him.

“Please, don’t shout,” he cautioned. “They’re very sensitive about their air use down here.”

“Who’s sensitive?” Ayn shouted. “Who are you talking about? And why was I just chased through an active volcano by living magical bombs? What happened to get in, check it out, go home?”

“Ah, I can’t, well,” Klistel began, looking nervous now for some reason, “the monsters in the area seem to know what’s about to happen, and they’re understandably aggressive. I suspect Duke Berith may be doing something to purposefully agitate them as well so as to keep anyone from getting close to him while he works. As for who “they” are, I was referring to the Goblins, of course.”

“What – “ the Thief’s voice halted in his throat.

They were not alone.

Moving in from the edges of the darkness, stepping forth from the mists of gaseous vapors steaming through the enormous passage they had fallen into, they began appearing from all sides. Some few at first, eyes lighting up through the gloom like lanterns through a storm, then more, and then still more, bats coming awake in the evening, preparing to feed. There came the ringing of steel being drawn free, and indistinct chatter in low, rumbling tones began to resonate through the cave. They were all around, everywhere, and closing in to form a circle around the group which could not have been more than a fifth their number. The strangest and most enigmatic of all the beastmen to wander Vana’diel. Goblins. Ayn and the rest were completely surrounded by Goblins.

Some snarled as they drew near, fiery tendrils of liquid flame coursing through the walls shedding an orange glow upon them, turning their weapons the color of blood. Tikinas took an unconscious step closer to Ayn as Zealot kept his hands out, eyes shifting, unsure of what to do. Greyheart was frozen between the desire to make himself invisible again and uncertainty of whether or not that would make a difference this time. Tomiko looked nervous, but did not grasp her lance again, leaving it in place at her back. Klistel alone stepped forward, rapping his green-jeweled staff against the cavern floor as he did so.

“Once again,” he said in a hushed tone, “I beg forgiveness for entering your village, but if you will allow me, I seek to protect it from those who would see it harmed.”

As he spoke, a clutch of the Goblins in front of him began parting. Dwarf-like creatures, they were stunted and gnarled, their limbs thin and bent though they had heads enormous by comparison. Each one wore a mask of leather or metal, and breathed only through its filtered holes, a contraption Ayn would have gladly paid someone else’s money for after breathing in the ash-filled air of the volcano for so long now. Some held staves of twisted wood, others swords crafted for means of dismemberment and pain rather than simply killing. Their large, sagging ears twitched as Klistel spoke to them, and many of them exchanged words in their growling tongue. The sword Argentina had given to Ayn was almost in his grasp as he slowly worked his hand down, hoping not to be seen reaching for it.

Then, from within their midst, a goblin in bleached white hides and an ornamented leather mask emerged from the others, bearing a staff of notably better craft than those of his fellows. The Goblin’s talk became hushed as this new Goblin came to the forefront, the darkened lenses of his mask focusing on Klistel, who stood with his hands out, clasped before him, and his head bowed. A vein of magma lighting the shadowed cave was directly behind the Goblin, making him seem more an ominous outline of a monster than anything. The light tinged the white furs he wore with their color, and the appearance was such as if the Goblin itself were alight with flame.

“Foreseer Oramix,” Klistel intoned, “please excuse my humble trespass.” The Summoner, it would seem, was no fool. Ayn recognized immediately that the Elvaan had walked amongst these Goblins before. “Great disaster comes to your village, and all of Elshimo. Already, the great Bomb Queen has been turned against us, more will assuredly follow.”

“Silence,” the Goblin Klistel had identified as Oramix ordered, his breathing a steady rasp from behind the mask. “When you left you were but two, and now there are more. Are you bringing allies here? Betraying our trust? Do you seek to overthrow our village?”

Greyheart began to speak, but Tomiko immediately elbowed him in the ribs, and only a pained gasp escaped his lips. “We would fail if we tried, Foreseer Oramix,” Klistel said honestly, “for these are no allies, but members of the village of Norg, who came here unaware of the danger within. We found them while searching for the true threat, Duke Berith.”

“Do not speak his name!” Oramix rebuked, stamping his staff against the ground. A surge of energy burst from the rock where it struck, and its tip began to glow faintly. “Goblins serve Shadow Lord. Goblins greater than all other beastmen, greater than Children of Altana, yet we are repaid with destruction? This Berith would destroy our village simply to kill those we could easily kill ourselves?” His words ignited a fury amongst the gathered Goblins, and they brandished their weapons with anger, shouting out foul Goblin curses against the Demon Lord.

“It is even so, Foreseer,” Klistel acknowledged with a bow, “but please, while time still remains, allow me to carry out my plan. These strangers can help now, and increase the chance of success. I can defeat the traitorous Demon Lord and save your village, I just need to find out where he went. His magic obscures the paths I am familiar with.”

“Bah!” the Goblin dismissed, waving a hand in the air. “We know where he is. We cannot go where he is, for even as you say, he has beset the beasts we once tamed upon us. To desert the village would leave us defenseless.”

Klistel’s spine had straightened like a Bastokan pillar. “You know where Duke Berith is?” Immediately he winced, hissing in a breath.

“Do not say his name!” the white-garbed Goblin demanded again, and the molten rock which provided the only light seemed to flare up at his words. The Goblins closed in, growling at Klistel, and Ayn now had a firm grasp on the hilt of the curved sword. There had to be a way out. In such dim lighting with his eyes unadjusted though, with such a disadvantage in numbers . . .

With a scoff, Oramix suddenly flipped his hand dismissively, and the Goblins halted, some unwillingly, and backed away. Klistel let out a visible breath. “Forgive me, Foreseer Oramix,” he apologized, careful to always use the Goblin’s full name and title. “But if you do indeed know where the Demon Lord that forsakes the Goblins is, I can end this all the sooner.”

Oramix considered him, the Elvaan in the midst of the Goblin forces, peering at him intently as he scraped his glowing staff against the ground. It felt like an eternity before he spoke again.

“You will be taken to the cavern we have uncovered, which leads to the place where the red crystal burns. All other paths to it are impeded, but this one the foul Demon was unaware of, and remains open. You will find him in the room below, in the heart of the mountain, performing his foul magic.”

“Then in that place, where he is strongest, I will summon Ifrit, and he will strike down the Demon Lord where he stands,” Klistel asserted. Oramix tilted his head to one side, his grating breaths like rocks grinding together.

“It may very well be as you say,” Oramix considered, “but I do not trust your companions.”

Ayn felt his heart freeze momentarily as the Goblins suddenly turned all their attention towards him.

“They will march before you. They will go into the tunnel first. They will confront the Demon Lord with you.”

The news that he was going to be killed by a Demon instead of a pack of Goblins did little to ease the clenching in Ayn’s gut.

“If you don’t do as they say, they’ll kill all of us,” Tomiko whispered just behind Ayn, trying not to move her lips in the slightest.

“They might kill us anyway,” the Hume replied with greater practiced ventriloquism, not taking his eyes off of Oramix or making a single movement of his face.

“I’ll take a chance of survival over guaranteed death,” the Dragoon retorted, and then fell silent as Klistel turned towards them.

“Please,” he urged, the imperative nature of his voice clear, “go ahead. They will take you to where we have to go.” He looked at them all for a minute before adding, gravely, “There’s no other option at this point.”

Alright, Ayn thought as they went forward, this is conceivably workable. The Elvaan is a Summoner, he conjectured silently, and he’s in a place where he says Ifrit himself can visit. Call the giant fire monster, flash-fry the Demon Lord, be back in Norg by sunset. He could hide out in the village safely with Tikinas until the whole demon thing blew over, and Klistel could be rewarded with a rainbow-dyed robe or hair braids or whatever it was Summoners liked. All they had to do was survive long enough for Klistel to do what he had to do. That seemed easy. Right?

“This one, too,” one of the Goblins said as Ayn and the others walked forward, and with dismay the raven-haired Thief saw that impossibly, improbably, Menphis’s youthful face was staring back at him.

“I was camouflaged,” he said derisively, as if everyone should have known that.

“I don’t care,” Ayn replied sourly. He tried to look on the bright side. Every person with him that the Demon Lord had to kill first increased his chances of living.

“Stop,” another Goblin barked, and then pressed his hand towards a rock face in front of them. It fell away, revealing a smooth-walled tunnel with pools of lava every few yards lighting the way, leading down further into the heart of Ifrit’s Cauldron. Even from the distance they were above, Ayn could make out a hint of an eerie red light blinking at the end.

Zealot took a deep breath, probably filling his lungs with ash like an idiot Ayn thought, and entered first. Greyheart followed him reluctantly, and then Tikinas. Menphis and Ayn stared at each other, the smoldering a match for the magma around them, before the Ranger finally entered the cavern as well, beginning his descent. Ayn turned around, seeing Klistel and Tomiko still behind him, the Goblin Oramix watching closely. The Summoner grimaced urgently, and Ayn sighed, closing his eyes briefly. Finally, he entered the cavern as well, disappearing into its depths.

“There,” Klistel said once Ayn was out of sight. “Now, Oramix, allow us to enter the tunnel so we can put an end to this.”

“Very well, very well,” Oramix conceded, content at last that the others were not here to harm his village. “But do not tarry, for the Demon Lord is powerful beyond – “

His words were cut off as a calamitous crash reverberated throughout the cavern, rock shaking loose from the wall. Muffin’s eyes suddenly went alight on Tomiko’s shoulder, and the wyvern burst into the air, crying out with warning as the rumbling intensified. Goblins ran backwards and forwards as Oramix shouted for order, a wave of confusion sweeping over the beastmen.

“Oh no!” Tomiko cried, putting her metal-bound hands over her mouth with a gasp as she stared at Muffin. “That can’t be right!”

“Foreseer Oramix!” a Goblin, his words garbled behind the metal mask covering his green-skinned face, shouted as he came bounding in from another tunnel leading deeper into the Goblin village. “Foreseer Oramix! It is here!”

“No!” Oramix dismayed. “It could not have found us here! It is impossible!”

“The Demon Lord must know of the last way to the crystal!” the other Goblin said, dropping to its knees before Oramix. “It sent it here to destroy us! It has already reached the west branch!”

Any questions Klistel had as to what “it” was were answered before Oramix could even raise his voice to issue a command.

The cavern shook as it roared, stones coming loose from their foundation and lava, disrupted from its normal flow, spilling out onto blackened rock. Claws scraped the ground, leaving trenches where they passed, misshapen wings scraping the narrow tunnel entrance as its gleaming white eyes found passage deeper in to the Goblin’s home. It’s mouth was filled with fangs like stalagmites which dripped acid, lining the muzzle it had which was big enough to easily chomp a man in half. It let out another bellow, bursting through the cavern mouth, its hunched, twisted form blackened with the ash of the volcano, leaving a trail of soot wherever it went. Klistel clutched his staff as he felt the wall behind him press against his back, and somewhere beside him, Tomiko desperately tried to steady her grasp on her lance.

To his other side, the tunnel mouth collapsed in on itself as the Ash Dragon roared again, coming forward with single-minded intent.

Ayn and his companions were now walking alone towards confrontation with Duke Berith.

And as the Ash Dragon bore down on him, Klistel realized he would not live long enough to know the outcome.