Chapter LXXXVI: Loose Ends

In Beaucedine Glacier, the temperature had plummeted beyond mortal endurance. The frozen north, already a wasteland marked by prolonged periods of darkness and endless, driving blizzards, had grown significantly less hospitable as the pall of Dynamis extinguished the sun. Beasts of all sort which roamed the tundra now stayed hidden in their caves, or began slow migrations south. Giant automatons which guarded the entry points to Pso'Xja were frozen over now, sheets of ice covering the man-made golems and holding them stiffly in place. Beaucedine was now home to only one thing which moved freely, unfettered by the cold. Upon the snow drifts, as high as a Gigas's shoulders in some places, the countless legions of demons roamed. Hundreds upon thousands of them, blackening the snow as much as they did the skies. They did not rage against their captivity, nor fight amongst themselves. Millennia of confinement had taught them patience. Their freedom was at hand, and they could wait however long it took.

Also amongst them were the strongest of the beastmen. The Vanguard who stood at the forefront of Dynamis's most elite soldiers resided in Beaucedine. Stronger and fiercer by far than those whom had invaded the Middle Lands, they too bided their time until they could run free across the world of the living. Orc, Quadav, Yagudo, and Goblin alike trudged through the endless snow. Thus the landscape, which stretched out further than the eye could see, was transformed into a frozen hell riddled with fiends. No light or warmth entered Beaucedine Glacier, and any living thing which came upon it would find only death waiting. The dark, gray skin of the Vanguard reflected the environment in which they thrived.

Doshu hovered just above the snow, frigid winds whipping at the Shadow Mantle. In the depths of Beaucedine's darkness, it blended in with his surroundings, making him appear almost invisible. As it billowed, the dark folds crawled over him, alternatingly swallowing parts of his figure in its black embrace. He floated silently forward, bothered not by the cold. Such concerns were well beneath him now. Like a wraith he traveled, moving across the raging snow, unmolested by Kindred or Vanguard. Those few which acknowledged him gave him a wide berth, knowing his destination. None dared to stand in his way as he crested the snow-covered hills. The wind driving past him, the Aht Urghanian floated down a long, narrow ramp of ice. Fei'Yin rose in the horizon.

Doshu halted at the bottom of the ramp to appraise the imposing gray tower. Fei'Yin had stood in Beaucedine Glacier since before the rise of man. Its purpose was a time-lost memory known only to the Zilart, the race which predated the Children of Altana. A few of their kind still walked Vana'diel, but they were few and far between. The spires of Fei'Yin stretched up towards the darkened sky above, eternally reaching for some unknown goal. Doshu let his eyes wander towards the heavens. He knew what Fei'Yin was there for, and he would make use of it soon.

Returning to the matter at hand, he settled down in the snow. It crunched beneath his heel, and immediately swallowed his leg up to the knee. Not feeling the cold, he began trudging forward, cutting a trail which marked his passage. Frigid winds assailed him, but he marched unflinchingly into the darkness enveloping Fei'Yin. He had an appointment to keep.

As he grew closer to the smooth, gray towers of the ancient structure, he felt the oppressive weight of eyes upon him. From the shadows he could see burning, unblinking eyes gazing at him as he passed. Pukis were known only in the darkest lore, stories lost to humanity since the world was young. Yet here in Dynamis's grasp, a few yet remained. Dragons of such power as to dwarf that of the Apocalytpic Beast unleashed in Buburimu, they yet remained locked in the icelands. One day soon he would be able to unleash them. Until then, he merely walked on past. Though their balefully glowing eyes followed him, they did not leave the confines of the darkness in which they dwelled. Even the beasts were aware of Doshu's meeting, and dared not interrupt.

Halting in his tracks, Doshu's dark eyes drfited up the length of Fei'Yin. Even in brighter times, it had been intimidating. A hulking mass of depressing gray which sat in the wide canyon, it emanated an aura of crushing hopelessness. The lair within was a haven for the undead, and their malevolent hunger for the living permeated the air. Now that Dynamis had fully overtaken the area, plunging it into darkness, the Zilartian construct felt almost alive with malice. Though that may have had more to do with its newest inhabitant.

Judging himself to be in the proper position, Doshu dropped down to one knee. His hair fell before his eyes as he lowered his head, staring down at the snow he was sinking into. A swirl of freezing wind brushed past him as he waited. For the first time since entering the glacier, the man in black felt cold rushing through his bones. He shivered openly, his body involuntarily spasming as the heat was drained from it. Ice formed on the fringes of his soul. The wind passed, but the warmth was slow in returning as Doshu crooked his chin upwards. Above the spot where he kneeled, the blackened sky was coming to life.

It started, as it had before, with the smile. A grin of far too many teeth began gleaming in the air as the sound of beating wings began to echo through the canyon. Rows of spiral incisors ending in pointed tips materialized, hovering in place as a thin pair of blackened lips surrounded them. Two enormous bat wings appeared above a long, devilish tail, flapping rhythmically against a mass of gray flesh. Mounds of dark, sagging skin faded into view as stubby limbs surmounted by hooked claws began scratching at the air. Lastly, as it always did, came the eye. One single enormous eye, with an iris deep as the abyss. Mounted in the center of the creature which appeared, it comprised the majority of its body. That hovering, piercing eye emitted a pale amber glow as it focused in on Doshu. Blurred edges around the being solidified, and the man in black stood to face it directly.

"Hello again, Angra Mainyu," he gave a deep bow, flourishing his ebon cape.

Angra Mainyu's single eye gazed intently at Doshu as his wings beat slowly against the freezing air. He was an Ahriman, an ancient creature born of forbidden magic. They existed all across the more treacherous areas of Vana'diel. The cyclopean creatures preyed on weaker magics, cannibalizing other eldritch forces to slake their own diabolical thirst. However, to call Angra Mainyu an Ahriman was to call a dragon an eft. In all the world of dreams Doshu and his cabal had unleashed, nothing more terrifying than Angra Mainyu had poured through the breach.

His one burning gray eye slowly rotated from left to right, wings slowly folding and unfolding around his colorless skin. A mouth full of conical fangs greeted Doshu as Angra Mainyu hovered over him. Facing the beast without fear, he took a step forward and awaited acknowledgement.

"Doshu," the Ahriman's voice was shrill, and echoed upon itself. One word from him sounded like he was shouting into a canyon, the syllables repeating endlessly, running over one another. A breath drew into his elongated mouth, a sound like a distant gale brushing through the Elvaan's ears. "You are alone."

He inclined his head ever so slightly. "The others . . . do not need to know everything."

Angra Mainyu's great, unblinking eye stared at him intently. "They will find you out sooner or later, Doshu. It is a dangerous game you play."

He scoffed, flaring out his cape as he returned the Ahriman's glare. "The Thief already knows, but is smart enough not to challenge me. Attack is too blinded with his own lust for power to so much as look at me the wrong way. And even if Secure knew, I doubt he would care. He's smart enough to keep our goals in sight."

The one-eyed monster's lips curled into a fanged smile. "Are you sure it is not you whom is blinded?"

He clenched his fists defiantly. "My eyes are wide open, Angra Mainyu. My vision is clear."

"So you say," the Ahriman's voice echoed, "Such an assertion is meaningless to one who sees all."

"Precisely why I have come to you," Doshu cut to the point. "My plans are reaching a critical juncture. I must be made aware of any elements which have escaped my notice, any random factors I have overlooked. I have need of your vision, great Angra Mainyu."

"Feh," its smile widened, teeth clenching to form a wall of fangs. "And why should I aid you more than I already have?" In a sudden wave of darkness, the creature vanished. One moment he was there, and the next nothing but a void of black filled the air. Doshu spun around to find him hovering behind him, his grin still clenched. "Your games would be so much fantasy were it not for my aid. The Shadow Mantle and Ring, Annihilator, entry into Dynamis - all made possible by me."

"You have as big a stake in this as we do, Angra Mainyu," Doshu reminded him angrily. "It was you who sought us out, after all."

The widening grin was coupled with a brief peal of laughter. The sound was akin to a swarm of bats bursting forth from a cave. "Did I truly? Or did your journey simply lead you to me?" There was another blossoming of darkness, and his form was erased from Doshu's sight. Immediately the Ranger looked up, feeling the wind beat down on him as Angra Mainyu appeared high in the air. "There are still prizes to be won in this great game," he mused, turning his single eye down piercingly at the Elvaan. Gradually, he began to descend. Before long man and monster stood face-to-face, and the Ahriman's gleaming gray eye stared into Doshu's heart. "And as you know, we will all assuredly die should we fail."

Doshu's own eyes were frigid. "Do you not think the reward worth the risk?"

A hiss came from Angra Mainyu's lips as they curled back. "I do not think you even fathom what is at stake, or will know what to do once you have it." Doshu's angry retort was cut off by another squeal of laughter. "Still yourself. I will tell you what I see."

He had known all along, of course, that Angra Mainyu would. His taunts never ceased to grow frustrating, however. Having to constantly cajole the use of his vision out of him was becoming tiring. For now, the Ahriman was far too powerful for Doshu to even consider tearing down. That situation would change, though, if he just held his patience.

"Thank you, Angra Mainyu," he managed to sound convincing. "I am grateful for your aid, as always."

The ancient terror did not respond. His eye was already fixed on the distance. "So many yet dream," he grumbled, smile waning. "So many still fight the nightmare." A flap of gray skin stretched upwards, hooding his gaze as he began slowly floating above Doshu's head. His shadow fell upon the Elvaan, and a chill which the freezing winds of Beaucedine had not been able to give him ran through his bones.

"The Samurai's Son rushes to the east to join his companions. Bahamut's Servant waits outside the Dragon King's Tomb, seeking to rouse that which lays within. A Stalwart Shield travels north from Heaven's Tower to separate the White and Red. The King of Onzozo will return to reclaim his throne. The Shining Knight is in the desert sands, where he will battle the endless horde. And in the south, the Favoured One will enter the Temple of the Heartless God." Angra Mainyu's eye slid open. He peered down at Doshu with an expression far more serious than before. "All of these elements will conspire to threaten your master plan. They must be dealth with." A moment of silence passed as the Ahriman slowly beat his wings. "The Four Winds are still active."

"Neutralized," Doshu dismissed. "They dare not use their powers while apart from one another or we will find and kill them in an instant."

"Perhaps," his shrill voice was distant. "Should they reunite everything is in jeopardy."

"Then they will not," the Elvaan's tone darkened. "Thank you, Angra Mainyu. That was everything I needed to know."

That piercing eye settled on Doshu one last time, lips curling back slightly again. "Good luck then, mortal. Your siege of the Yagudo stronghold will yield many surprises for you."

"Will I succeed?"

Angra Mainyu turned his gaze to the distance once more, but only briefly. Within moments he returned his eye to meet Doshu's inquisitive stare.

"Yes," he answered.

"Then let surprises come as they may." Clutching the folds of the Shadow Mantle, he drew it tightly about himself. "Next time, I will bring the others, so as to alleviate their fears. I will pretend this meeting never happened."

Angra Mainyu laughed once again. "Games within games. I think I shall be sad when our ultimate goal is attained. It will mean the fun leading up to it has ended."

"I doubt, great Angra Mainyu," Doshu replied, "that there will be anything for us to be sad about after we have won."

"True enough," he laughed, "true enough indeed. Farewell for now, mortal."

"Farewell," Doshu echoed. A moment later, both were gone. The freezing winds of Beaucedine Glacier blew sheets of ice over where he had stood, and within moments there was no trace they had been there at all.


No one save a few prowling demons were in Jeuno when Doshu returned. Most of the forces which had taken Jeuno were already on the move. Castle Oztroja was as powerful a fortress as existed in the Middle Lands, but it would fall. In a way, he admired these westerners plight as they banded together with beastmen in their mutual bid for survival. He had made alliances of his own, however, and very strongly doubted his own army would even come into play. He did not get where he was by taking chances, though. Oztroja would meet with all the crushing power he could bring to bear.

"Now these random factors in my equation," Doshu mumbled, ascending the steps towards the Ducal throne, "they must be dealt with."

The King of Onzozo would be easy enough. If he were indeed making a bid to reclaim his lost caves, the outcome was simple to predict. Still, he would send a bit of insurance along to guarantee the Beastmaster was neutralized. He did not know this Favoured One Angra Mainyu spoke of, but he recognized the destination as the Temple of Uggalepih. That one troubled him. Ultimately, he decided it would be best to use his eyes and ears in the jungles of Yuhtunga to determine how best to proceed. The Shining Knight was already as good as dead if he were truly planning to fight with the Anticans. Bahamut's Servant he had no choice but to let operate freely, but a trap had to be laid in place for after his task was complete.

Then there were the other two he had been warned of. The Samurai's Son and the Stalwart Shield.

"Attack," Doshu called into his linkpearl, raising it to his lips.

There was no response for a long moment. The wizard was still recuperating from his battle with Vile. The revelation that a sorcerer of Vile-Revile's might had survived and stood against them was a nuisance, but little more than that. Finally, the trail end of a coughing spell split the silence, and the Tarutaru's voice rang from the pearl in Doshu's hand.

"What do you want?" he demanded. "I am deep in meditation."

"And I apologize for disturbing you," he placated, "but I have need of your guardian. Will you send him here?"

"Fine," came the snarling response. "but I must concentrate."

"Of course," Doshu said, leaning back in the throne of Jeuno. "I shall be in the throne room. Have him meet me there."

He let his linkpearl drop down. Pyramiding his fingers, he scanned the room with his dark eyes. Attacks's bodyguard would do for the Stalwart Shield. That left one more.

"Come to me, my Dark Hand," he called to the empty hall.

The stillness of the chamber was broken by a fierce rush of motion. Seemingly from nowhere, a form materialized at the bottom of the steps before Doshu's throne. Draped in a light armor blood red in color and wrapped in black cloth, a man appeared, kneeled in the Elvaan's presence. His face was wrapped up tightly in a traditional Ninja's mask, and only his blazing red eyes were visible.

"Yes, Lord Doshu," the Ninja responded, keeping his gaze downcast.

"Rise, servant," he intoned, opening the folds of his cloak. "I have a gift for you."

The Ninja stood straight, fists clenched as he looked up the steps towards the throne. Doshu rose as well, withdrawing a slim blade from the Shadow Mantle. It glinted in the dim light as a wave of force suddenly sent a tremor through the room.

"You know we hold four prisoners, bound to the Mothercrystals in preparation for our final rite."

The Ninja nodded. "I was among those who removed them from Attohwa Chasm."

Doshu held out his fist. In his grasp was a katana, the blade bright and blue. It pulsated in his hand, and the Ninja's eyes widened at the sight of it. "Recently, we discovered one of them was hiding this. I have a task for you, and it."

"I live to serve you, Lord Doshu." he said mechanically. Doshu acknowledged the statement with a nod of his head. It was true, ater all.

"Then I bestow upon you Kikoku, my Dark Hand. Find the man called Demyn and use its power to kill him."

The Dark Hand took the weapon in his grasp. He shuddered at its touch, and tendrils of a bluish smoke rose from his hand as Kikoku bonded to him. The relic katana had been an unexpected discovery, but a providence Doshu was not about to let go to waste. The Ninja's eyes brightened, red beacons in the dimly lit hall.

"With this, no one will be safe from your Dark Hand," he assured.

"Go," Doshu commanded, "return here when Demyn breathes no more." With that dismissal, he returned to the throne. By the time he turned around, his Ninja was gone.

Almost simultaneously, the great brass door to the chamber swung open, and a massive shadow spread across the thin shaft of light it allowed.

"Ah, you're here," he welcomed, gesturing Attack's bodyguard to enter. "I hope you're ready for an assignment."

The Galka, as big as some of the Trolls Doshu was used to seeing and sporting even thicker armor, cracked the marble floor as he lumbered forward. His sausage-thick fingers clenched and unclenched as he walked, dull eyes staring up at the Elvaan with what limited facilities he possessed. At least, Doshu thought, relieved, his rank odor was gone. Cooped up with him as he healed must have been too much for even Attack, as he knew the Galka would only bathe when ordered.

Still, some operations required a scalpel. For that he had his Dark Hand. Others needed a sledgehammer.

"I been stuck in that room so long now," the Galka rumbled, "feels like I just face the wall all day. I wanna kill somethin'."

"Good," Doshu couldn't help but grin. This was the best kind of sledgehammer. The kind which was perfect for what it did, and never aspired to do anything else. "I need you to succeed where Secure has failed, Bloodied Sword."

"I'm gonna destroy Winnurst?" he asked, rubbing a hand over his shaved head.

Doshu shook his head. "No, we'll have to go back there some other time. I need you to kill just one man. His name is Meowolf."

"Stalwart Shield," Bloodied Sword snarled, lips curling downward. "Figgers he'd still be kickin'. Well I'll put him underground, boss. Just point me in the right direction."

"I knew I could count on you. Don't forget your shield."

He chuckled, a surprisingly childlike sound. "Never do, boss. Oh, and no more Bloodied Sword."

"Oh?" Doshu cocked an eyebrow.

"Way I figger it, that's a Bastokan name, an' there ain't no Bastok no more. No point in usi' a dead name, right?"

The Elvaan laughed briefly. From the mouths of fools, he thought. "Very true. So then, is it Dracu?"

He flashed Doshu a nod and a hauntingly terrifying grin. "Dracu it is."

"Then go with my blessing, Dracu. Bring me back Meowolf's shield."

"I'm gonna use it as a platter boss. I'll serve you up his whole head."

Dracu delivered a clumsy bow, and turned to leave. Doshu watched Attack's bodyguard go, content that all his loose ends would soon be tied off.

So the Elvaan sat alone on the throne of Jeuno, contemplating the dark future of Vana'diel as his hordes marched inexorably closer to their goal.

He would sleep well tonight. Come tomorrow, he would watch the fall of Castle Oztroja. And his dream would be that much closer to becoming real.

Chapter LXXXV: Agendas, Part Two

Murky and gray, Caedarva Mire was far from a popular attraction of the Empire of Aht Urhgan. Not only was it an unappealing bog filled with vicious insects, at some points the swamp was so thick it could actually swallow a person whole. Parts of the ground which appeared solid to the untrained eye could lead to sinkholes from which there was no escape. Innumerable dead shared unmarked graves in the thick, stagnant waters of Caedarva. Every so often, swelling gases or earthquakes would release these bodies back to the surface. This revolting sight prompted citizens of Nashmau, which stood just on the cusp of the shining Silver Seas and the dull, deadly swamp, to often refer to the area as "Cadaver Mire."

The dangerous environment was only half the problem. With such limited presence by the Empire, the Merrow thrived in the brackish waters, and Lamiae freely roamed the land. Called forth by their power, the ravenous undead remained on endless patrol, waiting for any sign of life so that they might cut it down. Perhaps more ominous than all were the Imps, declared by some to be messengers of the Dark Lord himself, flitting about on their tiny wings, in greater numbers than any other place in Aht Urhgan.

Doshu took a deep breath of the foul air, and smiled. It was good to be home.


His feet glided above the aqueous surface of the mire, never quite touching the thick muck. The Shadow Mantle on his back fluttered as he moved, absorbing the surrounding light and leaving a streak of black. Annihilator was a constant pulse at his side, waiting to have its power released. He appreciated the weapon's thirst for battle. Should a tool not strive to be the best at its specific purpose? Just like him, he thought. He only wanted to do that which was meant to do.

As his thoughts gracefully wove around his elegant plan, he stopped in front of his guests, giving a bow of his head in acknowledgment.


"Good evening, Medusa," he said with a smile. The snakewoman towered above him, her hips gently swaying back and forth. Her scaly flesh glittered in the moonlight, creating the image of a host of fireflies dancing beneath her skin. She gazed at him with fiendish red eyes, the snakes which comprised her hair slithering and hissing as he drew closer. "How does the evening find you?"

"I wonder at this game you play, Dark One," the Queen of the Lamiae sounded more bemused than anything. "You are unlike the other two-legs." She slithered closer to him, her shoulders rolling as she lowered her head to face him eye-to-eye. "Would you like to be my pet, Dark One?"

Doshu extended his hands. "I am flattered, Medusa, but I am afraid I must decline. There's far too much yet to do."

She watched him for a moment, her expression imperceptible, and then reared back up to her full height, making a single lazy gesture with one hand. One of her undead drauger lumbered forward, carrying with it a small bundle wrapped in cloth. "It will amuse me to see what you do next. Is our business complete?"

Doshu carefully accepted the offering, cradling it in one arm. "It is. I must depart at once. Thank you, dread Queen. You have not let me down."

"Complete? Complete! We are far from complete!" Doshu turned an eye in mild surprise to find the Moblin Megomak making his way up to the knoll where he and Medusa stood. The Moblin stood only as high as his waist, and was completely covered in a patchwork of leather clothes and red plated armor. A mask filtered his air, and a pair of scratched goggles wrapped on a cloth band concealed his eyes. The beastman was obviously in a huff, breath wheezing through the mask as he closed in on Doshu, tiny fists waving in consternation.

"Gurfurlur is dead! Do you have any idea how long it will take to make a new one? To find a suitable Troll? To pay for the surgeries? To find the right spells? This is disastrous! My mercenary army is in disarray!" He stamped up and down once, then angrily pulled his feet free of the ground when they sank into it. Instead he lanced a finger Doshu's way. "This is your fault, Imperial. You should pay for this, not me!"

"Megomak," He kept his voice steady. There was no reason to waste energy on this creature. "you were quite well-compensated already for your role, and you carried out your task as well as I could have expected. Please do not try my patience."

He expelled an angry huff. "What about her?" He jerked a thumb towards Medusa, who raised a scaly eyebrow. "They left us in the middle of the fight! You have some secret deal with the Lamiae! You promised not to keep me in the dark, and then you scheme behind my back. This is poor business, Imperial!"

The criminal Moblin the Empire had spent years trying to bring to justice actually cowered as Doshu leaned down to face him, flinching noticeably. "Listen to me," he spoke slowly and clearly. "Go back to Halvung and your Trolls. Enjoy the money I gave you. Your usefulness to me is done. Be grateful you lived up to my needs and leave."

"I would like to make him my pet," Medusa suddenly declared. "I am growing bored with this."

"N-no!" Megomak stammered, moving back several steps. He hit something as he retreated, and turned, giving a panicked cry as he realized that three of Medusa's drauger had boxed him in. The serpent queen glided forward across the murky, half-solid ground. "Wait! Wait!" He screamed.

"Do as you will," Doshu said dismissively, stepping away from the scene.

She closed in, hand reaching out for the Moblin. With a high-pitched yelp, he clapped his hands together, and Doshu drew the Shadow Mantle about himself quickly. A spark flared, and then an explosion shook the ground. It was hardly more than a loud flash, but when it cleared, Megomak was gone.

Medusa straightened, sighing. "No one wants to dance . . . " she complained.

"Medusa," Doshu's voice took on a hint of warning. "They will all come after you now. You must be ready."

She shrugged, slithering off towards the gray confines of her swampland home. "Let the two-legs do as they like. Perhaps it will relieve my boredom." The Lamia's head turned, and with a gleaming red eye she caught Doshu's gaze. "Do not forget, Dark One. When you achieve your goals, my reward will be a dance never-ending."

He nodded once. "You will never run short on pets again, dread Queen. I assure you."

The Gorgon took in his words, not removing her eyes from his. On his finger, the Shadow Ring he wore pulsed, repelling whatever magic she might be directing his way. He only smiled at her, giving her a deep bow as he kept the small bundle held close. She turned away at last, her drauger lurching close behind. "Fare you well, Dark One," she intoned as she left.

"And you, Medusa. And you." A moment later, shadows stretched across him, the blackness carrying him away as if on the wind. Only chirping insects broke the stillness of night in Caedarva Mire.



No sooner had he arrived back in Jeuno than the aggravation continued.

For its part, the Duchy still appeared almost as it always had - the exception being the Vanguard roaming its streets, of course. Ever since his first journey across the Gugru Blue as a boy, he had marveled at the Middle Lands seat of power. Built as it was, a city in the middle of the sea, a metropolis of engineering ingenuity, it could not help but inspire wonder. Thus when they disposed of its unnecessary inhabitants, Doshu made sure that the architecture remained intact. He prided himself on his appreciation for things of great beauty.

The Ducal Palace especially had captured his eye. With its soaring arcs and delicate spires, marble staircases and sweeping ballrooms, it was every inch a match for the Imperial Palace in Whitegate. He was quite enjoying using it as his base of operations. Not simply for the marvelous landscape of the palace and the surrounding Ru’Lude Gardens, either. In a more practical sense, its size allowed him to generously house his allies and commanders. As long as they stayed happy, they remained tractable. The last thing he needed was dissent.

So when he was greeted by a furious Chiz, his mood quickly deteriorated.

“This was a debacle, Doshu,” the Hume’s tone was nothing short of condescending. “All the effort put into keeping that idiot Razfahd in our pocket gone in an instant, and for what? We failed to capture the Astral Candescence. Our beastmen allies were cut to pieces. And now Kkel Solaar is back.”

The Thief was seated upon the banister of a marble staircase, twirling a half-eaten apple in his hands. Between sentences, he took a bite, the juices running down his chin. He never took his eyes off of Doshu. Of all their comrades, Chiz trusted him the least. Likely because he had the most to offer their cause, and Doshu knew it. The others were useful for their power or their dedication. Only Chiz matched him for cunning.

“I never understood what it was you were so afraid of,” he went on, swallowing the tender fruit, “but what I do know is that now Solaar is back, because I was following your orders. How long do you think it will be before the Empire shows up here?”

“They’ve been dealt with,” Doshu curtly responded, walking past him with only a hint of acknowledgment.

“Hey!” Chiz slid down, tossing his apple aside and drawing a knife in practically the same motion. The Hume and the Elvaan stood eye-to-eye as Chiz drew himself up in front of him. “You’re not so slick, Doshu,” he warned in a low tone. “You’ve been going behind our backs. You’re meeting with Angra Mainyu without telling us.”

He glared right back. “Your paranoia means nothing to me. I’ve been dealing with any number of situations right here to make sure that everything we’ve worked for doesn’t fall apart. When would I even have time?”

“Stop jerking me around,” he warned. “If you’re going to make a move without us you better believe I will stop you, pretty boy. We built this thing together, and we’re going to get what’s coming to us together.” His knife edged upwards, glinting in Jeuno’s moonlight as a freezing wind blew past. “Now you better tell me – “

Before he could finish, Doshu’s hand lashed out and clamped down on the Hume’s wrist. The knife fell from his grasp, and immediately it was snatched from him. A moment later he found himself pinned to the wall, his own blade against his throat. Doshu’s eyes were narrow slits as dark shapes swam across his pupils. Chiz looked down at the knife, teeth clenched, breathing quickly.

“I am working tirelessly to make our dreams a reality,” he snarled, “every day some new problem arises which I must deal with. Do I criticize you for failing to kill Kkel Solaar? No, because I have already moved on from this problem. Will I punish Attack for letting the North Wind escape? No, because I have found where he is going. Every time one of you fails, I pick up the slack. Meeting with Angra Mainyu? Pfeh!” He spit on the ground at Chiz’s feet. Pushing his body weight forward, he forced the thinner-framed Hume to flatten himself against the wall or have his own knife move through him. “We meet him together. We plan our next steps together. I would not betray you, and your paranoid delusions will tear everything apart. I swear to you Chiz, if you do this, if you ruin what we have when we are so close,” he leaned in menacingly, speaking through grinding teeth, “I will slit your fucking throat.”

Before another word could be said, Doshu growled in pain. It felt like something had pinched his wrist, and suddenly he could no longer hold the knife. Chiz pushed him back with a burst of surprising strength, capturing it before it even hit the ground. He now had both his blades drawn, pointed squarely at the Elvaan’s heart. The bald man’s face was a thundercloud.

“You want to threaten me, Doshu? You want to play that game?” He twirled his knives without taking his eyes away from him. “Come and try me. I’m the guy you love to have on your team,” the points on his weapons glinted in the autumn moon, “but hate to play against.”

“That sounds stupid,” Doshu chastised, rolling his wrist as feeling returned to it. Then, he deliberately and meaningfully drew forth Annihilator.

Chiz’s expression changed almost immediately. The Thief’s green eyes widened, and he took an involuntary step backwards as the silver gun’s muzzle began to glow. Doshu held it but feet from his head, the Shadow Mantle flaring behind him.

“Stand down, my friend.” He advised, keeping his voice calm. “We can address your concerns some other time.”

Frustration twisted Chiz’s face for only a moment before he lowered his arms, slowly returning his knives to their sheaths. “Fine,” he muttered, eyes still not moving from the gun. “Some other time.”

Doshu let Annihilator pulse for a moment longer, and then returned it to the holster at his side. “Here,” he said suddenly, extending the arm he had kept hidden behind his cloak, “a sign of my trust.”

“What’s this?” He sounded suspicious, but took the small bundle of cloth from Doshu’s hands. It shifted in his grasp, and he gasped, looking quickly back and forth from it to the Elvaan.

“This is the brat?”

“The “brat,” as you say, is going to be crucial to everything. Have the people I requested gathered?”

Chiz nodded absently, looking at the baby in his hands. “They’re in the meeting hall. Except for the Tarutaru and that dumb Galka of his – he still hasn’t recovered.”

“They won’t be necessary.” He said dismissively. He turned to leave, entering the Palace itself. “We will talk more, Chiz. There is still much to be done, and I need your trust.”

“We’ll see,” the Thief replied, and Doshu knew he had done little to blunt his suspicious nature. At least the issue was dropped for now.

“Of course,” was all he said. “I will see you again soon. And you too, Drake.”

With that, he left his cunning ally and the child, entering the meeting hall. Behind its great wooden doors, not even his Elvaan ears picked up what Chiz said next.

“That gun is his only advantage,” he told Drake, looking over the child with mild curiousity. Then his gaze shifted to the doors. “If I had a weapon like that, things would be different. And as it happens,” he picked up the baby to face him. It had bright blue eyes which looked back at him. He was not crying or fussing, and indeed looked only confused regarding his surroundings. Chiz smiled at him, then let it fall from his face at the boy did not return it. “As it happens,” he repeated, “I know exactly where to find one.”

Doshu tried not to let himself be distracted by his problems with Chiz as he looked around his gathering. Half a dozen of his most powerful soldiers waited around an oaken table. It quite a step up from the shadowy hovels Doshu, Chiz, Attack, and Secure first met around all those months ago, when the first part of their plan had just newly come to fruition. Now the others of less power and ability but no less desire to aid their cause sat in the chairs of kings and emperors. He imagined it felt like quite the honor.

Eudon, the archer, sat just to Doshu’s right as he took his place at the head of the table. Beside him, the Paladin and Dark Knight whom he brought with him, Therin Lahhan and Kain MacBeth, anxiously awaited their orders. They were eager, he knew, and hungry for the power he had promised. Eudon was more relaxed, more calculating and better suited for command. He was the right choice, Doshu knew, for leading the second tier of the cabal. Whereas Therin wore highly ornate armor inlaid with silver and gold, and Kain wore a stylized cuirass and helm designed to mimic the appearance of a demon, Eudon wore only what was practical and necessary for his work. He put no stock in shows of power or status. His was simply to perform his tasks, and do so to the best of his ability.

And there would be no shortage of work for him in the days and weeks to come.

Seated to the other side of him were Chiz’s subordinates, generously ceded to Doshu’s command for this endeavor. Rennie was stoic as always, though he appeared perhaps a bit agitated. His failure in Pso’Xja had yet to be addressed, and he knew it was coming. It mattered little to Doshu. He already had his next plan in motion regarding that matter. Next to Rennie, tapping her fingers incessantly against the table was Chiz’s other servant. Her blond hair was undone and loose at her shoulders, stopping just short of a suit of deep blue armor, forged from the same adaman which comprised Rennie’s mail. She was gnawing on her own knuckle, eyes darting back and forth at those gathered. Doshu knew better than to suspect madness or nervous tics on her part, though. Ainsoph was simply eager to begin shedding blood.

Then there was their sixth member, at the end of the table. His languid posture and lazy eyes made him look nearly half asleep. He wasn’t even wearing armor, though it had been provided for him. Instead he had on only a simple tunic and breeches, with a heavy cloak around his shoulders to ward off the chill. Lazily brushing a strand of red hair from his eyes, the Elvaan acknowledged Doshu with only the slightest inclination of his head before slumping back in his chair. The seeming disinterest did not bother him. He did not hire the mercenary Mertron for his manners, just his strength.

"Thank you for gathering here," he sat down, pyramiding his fingers before him. "And thank you especially to Eudon." Sprading his hand magnanimously towards the archer, he accepted his quiet nod of response. "When I sent him to scour the countryside for survivors I never expected the results to be quite so fruitful."

"I was there too," Kain blurted out, almost starting to his feet. "I was there, we helped find them."

"Yes . . . of course." Doshu brushed past his hunger for recognition. He turned his eyes to Rennie, a subtle shift without turning his head. "I should not have to tell you that you will not be receiving another chance after this."

The Hume stared forward, his expression undaunted. "I was interfered with the first time. It will not happen again." Doshu let his eyes slide away. He had plans for Rennie which necessitated his presence, but could not let him think himself more valuable than anybody else. Clearing his throat, he got down to business.
“I won’t take up any more of your time than necessary,” Doshu said to start. “There is much to be done and we must start right away. You each have a specific task to perform, so let us get right into it.” Removing a scroll from the pouch near his back, he laid it out on the table. The map of the Meriphataud Mountains unfurled for all of them to see. “Listen carefully,” he continued, “this is how we will take Castle Oztroja.”


Three days had passed since Secure's army had begun leaving Sarutabaruta. Across plains of browning grass tipped with white frost, thousands of tracks had left a trail trampled up from the fields to the mountains. For the first time in weeks, the grasslands were clear.

From Heaven's Tower, Meowolf looked out his window and watched. Just as he had every day since the remnants of Secure's army began their withdrawal.

The atmopshere in Windurst had been as euphoric as the citizens could manage. Seeing the Vanguard which remained on the field of battle suddenly disperse sent a tidal wave of relief flooding through the city. Valiant as they were following their victory, the Federation Army simply had nothing left to give. They could rest easy though. After enduring nearly inconceivable loss and devastation, Windurst at last was safe again.

Death and destruction had taken their toll, however. All over the city tents or crude shelters dotted the landscape. Funeral pyres had burned for days now as the Mithra honored their dead in the Olzhiryan tradition. The Tarutaru buried their fallen, The Star Sibyl presiding over sorrowful mass services. Lines stretched around city blocks as those left homeless and orphaned waited for food. It was not uncommon to find families huddled together in the cold Windurst evenings, struggling to stay warm. The council was doing everything they could to provide for the people. With so many of the Federation's greatest mages dead, injured, or simply too weak to cast spells, and such a multitude to keep safe, their resources were stretched beyond the breaking point.

That Secure's army would simply leave was a cause for celebration. They could now try to fish from Sarutabaruta's streams, and gather what little it had to offer in the way of food before the winter settled in. There would be a little bit more to go around, and every scrap helped. It would take them years to recover fully, but at least now there was no visible threat. They had time and safety, which was more than they could claim since the invasion began.

Meowolf strapped his new shield across his back, wincing at the lingering pain in his chest. His bag was loaded with bread and dried meat, and he had a canteen filled with water from where the Starfruit Trees grew. His arms and armament had been repaired or replaced, his wounds tended to until his strength returned. Checking himself over one last time, the Galka slipped quietly from his room, shutting the door soundlessly.

Heaven's Tower was almost devoid of inhabitants these days. Those who were able spent nearly every waking moment out in the city, trying to repair buildings and lives. What few people did still wander its halls were mostly those walking back to their chambers so they might catch some sleep before returning to another day of rebuilding. The ministers and professors of the five Ministries, especially, were practically never around anymore. Day in and day out they were combing through the wreckage, trying to recover as much as they could. Untold numbers of magical items and invaluable tomes of knowledge could be lost if they did not act quickly. So as he wound his way down the corridors of Windurst's center of government, Meowolf encountered no one. It was better that way, he knew. It would be difficult to explain himself if questioned.

In no time at all, he was on the bridge outside. Dark skies greeted him, though he knew it was nearly noon. Heaving a sigh, he wondered if he would ever see the blue sky again. The pall of Dynamis was so thick now it was hard to remember what sunlight looked like. The grayish blob which hung overhead seemed nothing more than a blot in the sky, unable to pierce the thick veil of darkness spreading across the world. Meowolf turned his eyes away from the heavens. He had no desire to reflect on the misery quickly pervading all of Vana'diel. There was only one thing he needed to do now. Keeping his purpose firmly at the forefront of his thoughts, he crossed the bridge and left Heaven's Tower behind him.

Somewhere in the city, Tyrian and Sinti were helping manage one of the many large medical tents set up all across Windurst. Sinti had healed people until her magic ran out, and when that happened she began applying more traditional care. With his training, Tyrian knew all about setting bones, bandaging wounds, and making poultices. They, along with every White Mage who was capable, administered as much care as they could while resting their magical powers. There was no end to the demand for their services.

Elsewhere, Klades was helping to rebuild that which had been destroyed. To the dismay of the citizenry, it had been decided that restoring the city walls was paramount in the interests of Windurst. Thus far, however, no one challenged the notion that they should be prepared to be attacked again. The Onion Samurai worked day in and day out to transport new stones and timbers back and forth between construction zones. Slowly but surely, the skeletons of new walls were beginning to take shape.

Yasuchika was often away in high-level meetings. As the leader of the Capricornian War Warlocks, he the largest collection of mages still functional in the city. Magic was a precious commodity now. Thus his work required him to be constantly made aware of when and how it could best be used. His days were long and nights often restless as he coped to bear the burden of a Windurst which needed him more than ever.

All over Windurst, the people Meowolf had met and come to know fought now to restore their city. Ryce-Rizzle and Harutaru led the Libran War Warlocks in handing out food and medical aid. Titania and the other Mithran Rangers scoured grasslands and waters for food. Semih Lafihna and Kaita kept watch over the city with the Patriarch Protectors, dissuading thieves from taking advantage of the beleaguered people. Even the personnel of Heaven's Tower he had barely met, such as Zoranos and Tskeun, were running themselves ragged keeping lines of communication open between all the city districts, making sure care was allocated quickly where and when it was needed.

There were some who could not help, no matter how much they wanted to. Captain Jaydeena remained bedridden, her condition constantly touch-and-go from the injuries she sustained. The Pythons surrounded their Captain's tent day in and day out, letting none but requested visitors and physicians enter. No one was sure when, or even if she would be able to fight again. In a similar condition was Captain Dieggo, or, as Meowolf knew him now, Semina-Baruha. Meowolf had been to see him once, in the triage where he was being cared for. Summoning Fenrir had taken everything from both the Tarutaru and the Terrestrial Avatar. The Great Beast had used everything he had to destroy the Behemoths and the Apocalyptic Beast. It now slumbered once more within Full Moon Fountain, and Dieggo's strength was just as depleted. Under his guard of the few remaining Ariesians, he slept most all the time, waking only fleetingly. Sometimes he would be conscious for an hour or so, sometimes just a few minutes. It was hard for Meowolf to see a man whom had been so full of fire, so defiant in the face of the adversity, reduced to such a state. He could only pray his friend would recover.

It seemed wherever he went, the Paladin found the people of Windurst banding together to help one another. Fighting together for so long, losing so many comrades-in-arms, and finally surviving against all odds had created a bond in all of the Federation's citizens. They were fighting past their weariness and injury. Now more than ever, they believed in Windurst,

Fighting down a pang of guilt at not staying to help, or even saying farewell to his friends, Meowolf slipped through the unwatched city gates. Taking a deep breath of the cold air, he left Windurst behind him.

He had saved a great many people during the war, but not all of them. There was one person left he had promised to protect.

The sun above providing no light for anyone to see him depart, Meowolf left to find Cullen.


The parapets of Castle Oztroja stood defiantly in face of the late autumn chill. Even in the arid landscape of Meriphataud Mountains, the changing seasons and lack of sunlight were causing the temperature to drop. Mornings would dawn with the scant vegetation in the area enveloped in its own frozen dew. Fog was rolling in as the air pressure fell, creating gray, depressing days. Standing atop the battlements and staring outwards, Rykoshet could not help but let the weather affect his mood.

Vile had not yet completely recovered. Though he was awake and aware, the burns he suffered battling Attack had gone down to the bone. Lethe was taking his time repairing them so as to not leave any lasting damage, and the process was arduous. Beyond that, the news which had greeted him upon his return was also sobering. Fated and Raidom were both injured. Eig was missing. Middlesky was dead. Odessa was beside herself with grief. She had proven inconsolable at first, but in the days since they had returned from the Northlands she had slowly come out of her reclusive shell, fueled increasingly by anger. She wandered the halls like a roving storm cloud, and no one was foolish enough to get in her way.

He leaned over the parapet, elbows resting on the carved stone. Looking out across the mountainous landscape, the Elvaan let the chill wind sweep through his blond hair. Once again, he did not know where to go from here.

"Your thoughts are troubled, Rykoshet,"

The Dark Knight turned in surprise to discover Fill standing in the doorway behind him. The North Wind smiled comfortingly, and Rykoshet sighed, turning back to his musings.

"I don't suppose you could do anything about the cold," he grumbled, rubbing his shoulders as another breath of wind blew by.

Fill shook his head. "The North Wind is not known for its warmth." Rykoshet gave a single grunt in response. A moment of stiff silence passed between them, untl the bearded Hume glided to the side of his host.

"Rykoshet, tell me what is on your mind." One of the Elvaan's dark eyes flicked towards him. "A great many things pass by on the wind. I can help you if you but ask."

"Help," he scoffed. "What could help us now?"

"I am the North Wind, Rykoshet. I am among the four most poweful sorcerers in Vana'diel." His tone had gone from soothing to coldly serious. "I can see your heart, and your soul. I know you have not yet given up."

He leaned forward, shaking his head as the wind stung at his ears. "It's hard, Fill. Everyone here is counting on me, and it seems that even when we win, we still end up losing."

"Do you intend to let them down?" Rykoshet said nothing. Fill smiled again, spreading his hands. "Then ask me what you want to know."

The Elvaan did not look at the North Wind, and instead kept his gaze firmly on the horizon. "I want to know why this is happening."

"Not an easy question," Fill's tone was somber. "If I were a defeatist, I would tell you it was because the Winds failed in their duty. But Dynamis remains constrained to its ancient borders due to our efforts. No, this is solely the work of greed, Rykoshet. Greed and a lust for power beyond anything mortals should strive for. Here, outside of my shelter, thing are being slowly revealed to me."

"Like what?"

The color of Fill's eyes shifted and swirled as he lifted his chin skyward. "The names you were after. I see them now. There are many, as a conspiracy of this level requires such. But now, just as I stand revealed to them, so too are they to me." Closing his eyes now, the North Wind spoke in a voice which came from all around Rykoshet, rather than the brown-bearded Hume's lips. "The one we encountered at Pso'Xja is named Attack. He hails from Windurst, expelled long ago for the nature of his black arts. Working with him is Secure, from the Far East. He is a man of great wealth and stature in his homeland, but he yearns for more, always more. There is also Chiz, whose point of origin lay in Norg. His cunning is without equal. Finally there is Doshu, from Aht Uhrgan. Of him, much is still shrouded." He opened his eyes ,which had returned now to a solid, unmoving color. "There are others working with them, but they are only subordinates. Those four orchestrated the rupture between worlds which freed the horrors of Dynamis upon Vana'diel. And they have only just begun."

"All for power," Rykoshet shook his head. He clutched the broken linkshell still tied to his neck. "What are our chances of beating them? Of bringing things back to normal?"

Fill's gaze was hard. "Before you rescued me, infintesimal. Now, only slightly greater."

The Elvaan turned to face the North Wind. "So, why did we rescue you? If you're so all-powerful, can't you wave your hand and make all this disappear?"

He actually laughed in response, a hearty chuckle from deep in his throat. "Oh, Rykoshet, were it that simple don't you think I would have done so already? My power notwithstanding, I, and the other three Winds, are but mortals. We can be rended by blade or burned by spell just the same as you. We are also bound by rules as old as time itself." The comforting smile returned, but with something else behind it. His eyes were intent as he stretched his hand out towards the Elvaan.

"What are you doing?" Rykoshet asked, and then felt a chill pass over him as the North Wind's hand took hold of the linkshell strung on its leather cord around his neck.

"What will win this, Rykoshet, is the power of your friends. You have a knack like no one else in the world to unite others of great srength and talent under your banner. Already they have come to you, and will still come, but some you must seek out. They will be out there for you to find. Brought together, I know that not even Dynamis itself will be able to stand before your might." As Fill spoke, the dust surrounding them swirled at his feet, and a bright green aura flared around him as his robes whipped about in a wind of his own creation.

The feeling sweeping through Rykoshet changed as Fill closed his fist around his cracked linkshell. The bone-chilling cold suddenly became soothing, like fresh water splashing across his face. He took a deep breath, gasping at how startlingly crisp and delicious the air was in his lungs. A moment later it died down, and the North Wind released his grasp. Folding his hands back in his sleeves, he let the Dark Knight see with his own eyes what had happened.

"I still dare not exercise my power to its full extent," he told Rykoshet, "but something like this is but a trifle."

Disbelivingly, Rykoshet took hold of his linkshell. It was glowing a vibrant pink, pulsating with the energy coursing through it. Warm to the touch, he could now hear it humming softly as he ran his fingers across its surface. The break was gone, the crack sealed completely.

With a burst of child-like astonishment, he laughed out loud as he channeled a trickle of his chi into the shell, and a single, perfectly spherical pearl dropped into his palm.

"It's back," he whispered, looking back and forth from Fill's smiling visage to the pearl he held between two fingers. "It's back!"

"Use it well, Rykoshet," The North Wind bowed his head. "Do you mind?" Stretching out his hand, he opened his palm to the Elvaan. Rykoshet shot him a fierce grin.

"Not at all," he said with a fire he hadn't heard in his own voice for months. "Fill the North Wind, welcome to Those Guys." Handing over the pearl he had just created, he felt the familiar tingle of spiritual energy as it passed over to the Hume's ownership. A gust of wind shot up from his hand, and the tiny pink bauble began floating on it, suspended just behind Fill's left ear. He smiled at his new adornment, and also at Rykoshet's renewed enthusiasm.

"Rykoshet," a voice suddenly called. He turned to find Odessa, her long white hair tied in a braid behind her, opening the door to the castle tower. "Your - "

"Odessa," he took three easy strides on his long legs, bridging the distance between them. She looked startled as he suddenly closed in on her, and even moreso when he pressed his hands into hers. "Welcome to Those Guys.,"

"What are you talking ab - " she stopped, tearing her hands free only to realize something had been placed in her grasp. The White Mage stared, dumbfounded, at the linkpearl she now held. "How?" She blurted out, gaping both at the pearl and Rykoshet.

He gestured towards Fill, who gave a slight inclinaton of his head and indicated his own new pearl.

"This is . . . this is amazing," she whispered excitedly. "Rykoshet, I've never even heard of a shell being repaired once broken. It's a miracle." Her eyes were wide as she stared at the pearl. A smile breaking across her face for the first time in weeks, she brought the pearl to her lips and spoke. "Hello," her voice was uncertain, and she bit her lip right after speaking.

"Hello to you, Madame Odessa," Fill acknowledged, the pearl behind his ear sweeping around to his mouth. She heard his voice clear as a bell, but not through her own ears. It vibrated out from the pearl she held. With glee, she gripped it tightly, like a precious gem. Wordlessly, she walked over to Fill and embraced him. For his part, the North Wind looked rather embarassed.

"Thank you," she told him. He gave her his familiar smile, stroking a hand against his beard.

"It was the least I could do. The rest lies with Rykoshet."

"You didn't have to say that," she said, her expression souring. Still, Rykoshet could see the smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she rolled her new linkpearl around in her hands.

"I've got to go get these out to everyone right away," he said. "This changes everything. We've got to make plans. I'll need to talk to Baeladar and ask him how we can best use this to our advantage. I'll call everybody in the castle together . . . "

"Oh!" Odessa's exclamation stopped Rykoshet in his tracks. Her eyes had gone wide, and he could see a touch of the color leaving her face. "Rykoshet, that's why I came up here in the first place! You've got to go to the main hall, right away."

"What for?" He already had his hand on the door leading back into the castle.

"Your Master is here, Rykoshet," the cold wind swept strands of her silver hair loose, brushing them across her face. "And he wants you to come with him right away."


Emblim took a long, appreciative look at the sunset as it settled against the mountains of Western Altepa. For all the weeks he trekked from San d'Oria to Bastok, the sky grew ever darker. Here, where the sun still shone, the light was welcomed back like an old friend.

Rabao was a small settlement of San d'Oria meant to lay claim to the otherwise abandoned Zepwell Island. With so great an Antican presence, as well as the other powerful monsters which roamed the desert, they never made it further than the oasis. Situated as it was, however, the town was ideal for their purposes. Surrounded by treacherous desert mountains, the only way through was a single enclosed pass which no army would be foolish enough to storm. While the Antican army was on the move, alll of Altepa was unsafe, but Rabao remained untouchable.

Reminded of their presence, he regretfully took his eyes off the hazy red glow in the distance, and raised the invention of Cid to his eyes once again.

"This really is an amazing device," he commented. "I've seen the spyglasses sailors use, but these are just as potent and far more compact. And no squinting." Through the lenses he pressed to his eyes, Emblim could see the antmen stretching out across the blond sands of the Western Altepa Desert. They seemed endless, as numerous as the stars slowly beginning to twinkle above.

"Thanks," Cid commented from beside him. The two men were crouched low against the rocks. From this distance, they did not believe they could be spotted, but were taking no chances. "I based the design on the Hume eye itself. The lenses work like a secondary set of eyes enhancing yer normal ones. So you've got a binary set of oculars."

"What do you call them?" Emblim asked, again peering out at the Antican horde.

"Cid-Scopes." He said proudly. "That's just a prototype, I'm workin' on gettin' these out to every scout in the field."

Emblim slid the set he had into his belt, turning away from the rock face. Sliding down, he landed against the sand and looked back up at the inventor. "I don't think we're going to learn anything new today. Might as well call it a night."

"Yer right," he sighed. "Best be gettin' back."

The gray-haired engineer joined Emblim on the ground, and together they made their way back into Rabao. It was a small town, built as it was against a man-made lake. In what had to constitute a nigh-miraculous feat of engineering, windmills pumped in water from beneath the surface to keep the lake filled, and it was even stocked with fish. The architecture all around was unique unto desert housing, designed to keep sunlight out and cool breezes in. Emblim knew that this time of year winter would be settling over the Konschtat Highlands, with cold winds blowing off from the Pashow Marshlands bringing in freezing rains and sleet for the rest of the season. Here in the desert, it was still bright and sunny every day, with hardly a cloud in the sky.

He was happy he got to see the sun again before the Antican army swept over all of them.

Hundreds upon hundreds of tents had been erected in the town, encircling the lake and pushing out into the small herding ranges and the San d'Orian auction house. The people and soliders of Bastok had taken refuge here, and were preparing to bear the brunt of the storm coming their way. There were many other refugees here, as it turned out, making the quiet desert town a sudden bustling hub of the international community. Emblim was worried they would push the scant resources of the town to their limit, but so far strict rationing had kept things relatively stable.

"We should see if any of the scouts came back yet," Cid suggestd, and Emblim nodded in agreement. They pushed their way through the crowded sands, the Paladin tugging at the unfamiliar deset clothing he wore. His suit of armor was a constant companion, but hardly suitable for wandering the streets of a sun-bleached village. Both he and Cid had taken to the light, airy robes which kept sand out of the eyes and burns off of the skin. His sword and shield waited for him back in the tent he shared with the others from San d'Oria.

Finally they came to a white, domed tent, the sigil of Bastok upon its entry flaps. The two entered, and Emblim was surprised to find Erilan waiting inside.

"Emblim!" The Elvaan said in surprise. "I didn't think you'd be back so soon."

The two clasped hands. "There's nothing much new to see, so we thought to check up on reports from those in the field."

Erilan nodded. "I had the same thought. We're talking ourselves in circles over at military command, I wanted to see if any new information had come to light." He too had donned the robes native to Rabao, and looked far more comfortable in them than Emblim did. He realized that for San d'Orian knights and nobility, Rabao was likely a popular and exotic vacation spot. Indeed, Erilan's robe was not only cut better, but he wore it in the most recent style. Emblim shook his head, wondering what he had gotten up to in this provincial town with its provincial girls.

He spotted the quizzical look Erilan was giving him and quickly brought his mind back to the present. "So," he brushed past the moment, "anything come in yet?"

"One of the scout was supposed to be here," Cid murmered, looking about the expansive two-room tent. "Hey!" He boomed, planting his fists on his hips. "Towering Inferno! Are you back yet?"

Almost instantly, the flaps to the back portion of the tent flared open. A gargantuan Galka surged forward, fire in his eyes as he bared his teeth angrily. Emblim gaped. Stripped to the waist, the alabaster-skinned giant easily broke seven feet of taut and toned muscle. His fingers were like sausages, his fists giant hams. He had a chest thicker than a barrel, and arms straining with sinew. The black hair on the back of his head bristled as his eyes fell on the Chief Engineer.

"I told you never to call me that!" He bellowed. "That's a slave name! My name is Riidley!"

"How in Altana's name were you hiding back there?" Erilan wondered aloud, astonished. "You're a giant!"

"Oh, is that all you see," Emblim was beginning to rapidly see how Towering Inferno got his name. "A big ol' field hand, huh? Maybe a nice pack mule for the mines?" Riidley's words seemed more confusing to Erilan than anything. "I am a solider, and I am back in the land of my birth. I was communicating with the land of my ancestors, ripped away from their home."

"Yeah, so," Cid stepped up to the Galka unafraid. He barely came to the hulk's chest. "you were sleeping. It's a good thing you don't snore, or yer like t'inhale th tent."

Riidley's eyes burned as he stared down at the old man, but Cid stared right back up, setting his jaw. "You think you understand - "

"Enough chit-chat, boy! Tell us what you saw!"

"Boy?!" Riidley's voice was an indignant rage.

"Riidley!" Emblim stepped forward, gently but urgently pushing Cid out of the way. The Galka glared down, his face a thunderstorm. "Riidley - what is your rank, soldier?"

"Sergeant of the Iron Musketeers, sir," he put a spiteful emphasis on the "sir." Emblim suppressed a grimace. Bastok was full of Galkas who - perhaps not without justification - thought themselves held down by the Humes. It was clear Riidley counted himself among their number.

"Sergeant, I'm Captain Emblim of the Mythril Musketeers." Riidley was slow to return his snapped salute. His eyes narrowed suspiciously at the smaller man in front of him. "We're trying to deal with the Antican threat as soon as possible, and so we need the information you've gathered. I'll accept your report now."

"Oh, so the ants push my people out of our home and the Humes don't bat an eyelash, but now that it's inconveniencing you, you can't get rid of them fast enough. I get it."

"That's not - " Emblim was cut off as Erilan suddenly spoke, his voice practically scandalized.

"That's how you let subordinates talk to you in the Bastokan military?" He looked at Emblim, amazed, and then turned to Riidley. "And you, soldier, that's how you address a commanding officer? What is wrong with you backwards Bastokans? You'd be court martialed in a heartbeat in San d'Oria."

"What do you know, Elvaan?" Riidley shifted his bulk forward, his head nearly scraping the top of the tent.

Erilan stared up at him. Taller than Emblim or Cid, he was still dwarfed by the Galka. Still, his blue eyes pierced through Riidley's burning gaze with an intensity Emblim had not known his friend to possess. "I know that the San d'Orian army is the best one in the world, and we wouldn't put up with this kind of behavior for half a second. Your commanding officer made a request of you. You call yourself a soldier? Then you damn better well honor it, Sergeant. That's what military life is about."

Riidley stared down at the Elvaan, breath rising in his chest. His hands clenched and unclenched as he set his teeth together. After a long pause, he twisted his head slightly, looking down at Emblim again.

"Got nothing to report," he rumbled. "The ants are all over the desert. Quicksands Caves is practically emptied out, they're all on the move north. I didn't see leader or any demons or any of that stuff we're on the lookout for. Just ants."

"Wait a second," Cid's face had suddenly lit up. "Quicksands Caves has been abandoned?"

"You heard me - " Erilan coughed mightily, and Riidley shot him an angry glance. "Yes, sir," he ground out through clenched teeth. "There''s only a token guard still in place. The entire Antican army is on the field."

"My boy, you've been more help than you know." The old inventor's eyes were alight with ideas swirling behind them. Riidley shook his head, brushing past him and into the back.

"Whatever, old man. I'm going back to sleep."

"You didn't ask - " Erilan was about to speak, but Emblim cut him off.

"I wouldn't push it," he whispered, "but thanks."

The huge Galka folded the tent back up behind him and settled to the ground as Cid urgently rushed Emblim back out into the twilight. Erilan followed, curious as to what was happening.

"We've got a chance," Cid said immediately upon exiting the tent. Emblim peered at him, not sure if he had heard correctly.

"What are you talking about?" The Paladin responded.

"Quicksands Caves, boy! Emb, listen," he drew the Hume in close, and spoke in conspiratorial whispers. "You can't tell anybody, not yet. But I'm hiding something there."

"In Quicksands Caves?" Cid gave a start when Erilan chimed in, having forgotten he was there.

"Curse yer Elvaan ears," he muttered, "but alright, yer a friend of Emb's so you must be trustworthy. Listen up, meat shields. We've got one chance to get this right, but if we do, it means we all go home."

As the plan to save the people of Bastok began to take shape, dusk claimed the skies of Rabao, and a cool desert breeze began to blow in from the west.

Chapter LXIII: Kkel's Story

"Six years now," Pixel mused when Jinxie told her the current date. "six years since it happened."

The structure they had been led to was modest, to say the least. It was nothing more than a single room with a makeshift set of chairs constructed from the rubble strewn about the Emptiness. Enclosed on all sides, it kept the prying eyes of the monsters roaming around from attacking. However, it was clearly constructed with only Pixel and Kkel in mind. The six of them strained to make room for everybody. Jinxie stood pressed against a wall, feeling quite claustrophobic. Speed was asleep on the ground, with Isset sitting beside him, legs crossed. Xaerus stood near Pixel, who smiled at them as she polished the incredible Gjallrhorn. Directly across from Jinxie, Kkel stood motionless. The Red Mage found she could not meet his gaze. The Soulflayer's blue eyes burned just to look at.

"General Solaar," Isset's voice strained. She looked at Kkel, but turned away. To her, this man had been a near mythic figure. Now, the Puppetmaster could not even bear to see him.

Pixel's expression was understanding. "That's what we were afraid of, dear." She told Isset. "It's why we remain here."

"Six years," Jinxie could barely wrap her head around the number. A few hours in this place had been tumultuous for her. "How did you do it?"

"Time does not move in this place, Jinxie," Pixel responded. "Until you told me what date it was, we had no concept of how much had passed."

"I mean the sensation," she shuddered inwardly at the thought of the endless nothing around them. "How do you deal with it, day after day?"

Pixel tilted her head towards Kkel, eyes filled with admiration. "Kkel has never had any problems. Not since the start. As for myself, I have my music. It keeps the Emptiness away."

"Yes, Gjallarhorn," Xaerus chimed in, keeping her head lowered. "A magnificent instrument. As I recall, it was last in the belonging of a rather remarkable bard."

"It still is," the entire room shuddered at the sound of Kkel Solaar's voice. Isset gasped audibly. The Soulflayer folded his arms, holding the gnarled staff he wielded in one hand. No one met his gaze, save Pixel.

"Thank you," she replied, smiling at the monstrous figure. "Kkel is quite a fan of my music."

"Yes," Xaerus murmured, "yes, I believe he would be." The Mithra sniffed at the air, tapping her fingers against the shaft of the white-jeweled stave she carried with her. "I think it would be beneficial if you explained exactly how and why you came to be here, Pixel."
The Tarutaru shared a long look with Kkel. What the two of them had been through together, spending six years isolated in this void, Jinxie could not even imagine. To have monsters such as the terrible beast they had fought plauging them constantly would be hard. To live every day with the incomprehensible nothingness as their only surroundings would drive anyone else insane. Yet here they were, alive and well. Or, as Jinxie thought, her eyes sliding off of Kkel quickly, at least alive.

Kkel gave Pixel a slow nod. The Bard lowered her head, bringing Gjallarhorn up towards her lips. The others leaned in to hear as she began to speak.

"It would take up much of the time you don't have to spend if I just told you the story." She lifted her head, a sad smile on her face. "Gjallarhorn can show you instead."

With that, Pixel brought the reed to her mouth and began to play.

It started out low, a soft and somber tone that resonated quietly within each of them. Then it started to rise, swelling in sound and sensation. Jinxie opened her mouth, but could only give a startled gasp as the music of Gjallarhorn enveloped her.



Kkel Solaar, the Sunserpent General, sixth of the top commanders of the Empire of Aht Urghan, stepped out into the blazing sunlight of Tahrongi Canyon. Raising a gloved hand to shield his eyes, he surveyed his wind-swept surroundings. Under normal circumstances, an Imperial General abroad in Western lands would be a notable occasion. As ties between the Far East and the Tengu, whom Westerners called Yagudo, grew closer, so to did the Empire begin contemplating increasing diplomatic relations across the Gugru Blue. The Grand Vizier Razfahd, however, opposed many notions of alliance, insisting the Empire needed no such foreign ties. Visits of state were not unheard of though, and certainly there would be welcome and comfort in any of the Windurstian villages nearby. Kkel's orders contradicted such thoughts. He was to maintain a low profile, with no exceptions.

The sun cast a harsh glare across the unforgiving landscape. While the mountains were no match for the volcanic peaks of Halvung, the Meriphataud mountain range jutting up across the land were nevertheless impressive. Since landing inconspicuously at Mhaura a week earlier, he had taken some time to appreciate the foreign countryside. The marvels of Aht Urghan were many, but years of military service had accustomed Kkel to the sights of the Arajidah. From the dense thickets of Bhaflau to the swampy marshes of Caedarva, the icy caverns of Leujaoam and the scorching wastes of Lebros, Kkel Solaar had ventured far and wide in defense of the Empire. He loved Aht Urghan, but the sight of something new was always welcome. It was just a shame it had to be seen under such circumstances as these.

Jinxie felt the music shift to a darker tone. Her head swam as the spellsong ran through her.


"We're certain," Razfahd's eyes were hooded as he surveyed the map laid out before him. The Grand Vizier leveled his gaze on Kkel, sitting across the table. The air in the audience chamber was stale and hot. Beads of persipration were evident on Razfahd's face as he bore a whole through his general with his eyes. Despite the oppressive atmosphere, he still wore a full suit of black and gold armor, with a regal cloak and sword as well. The Sunserpent wore considerably more reasonable attire, though he had considered showing up to meet the Grand Vizier in battle attire. Kkel returned the Imperial's gaze. The two did not like one another, and made no pretense towards concealing it.
Kkel lowered his eyes to the map Razfahd had presented. A series of black pins had been stuck through the parchment. They were scattered at their source near the border, but grew closer and closer together as they moved towards Whitegate itself.

"This is a heavy accusation, Grand Vizier," Kkel grimaced, letting his eyes follow the path the pins made. "There is no other option save execution."

"You do not need to recite Imperial policy to me, Solaar," Razfahd hissed. "I am not asking you to judge their punishment. I am ordering you to administer it."

"Why me?" Kkel shot back, hearing leather creak as he clenched his gloved fists.

"You know very well why you," Razfahd retaliated, almost standing out of his seat. "I would not trust this a mission this delicate to any but our highest levels, and of those at our highest level - " the Grand Vizier's icy blue eyes deliberately pierced into the Serpent General - "you have the greatest understanding of the forces at work."

That was true enough, Kkel admitted. The map he was looking at detailed the sightings of two Immortals, Blue Mages in service of the Empire, since they had abandoned their posts during battle against the Far East. Each sighting was accompanied by a report from an eyewitness describing what exactly they had seen. There was little doubt left that the two had deserted the army, but what was far more troubling were the details being given regarding their appearance.

It was becoming quickly evident that the two were undergoing the transformation from Blue Mage to Soulflayer.

One of the most closely guarded Imperial secrets, barely a handful outside of the Immortals knew of the dread fate which awaited them. To master Blue Magic meant to take in the energy of souls, to make a part of someone else a part of you. This allowed the Immortals to channel incredible power, and utilize the abilities of their attackers as weapons of their own. Should one ever drink too deeply from that well, however, they would be consumed by the power lurking inside of them. Harnessing the souls of others would change from a gift to a consuming thirst. As the magic devoured their body, they would be transformed to a beast as horrible as the Vampyrs lurking in the dark. The Soulflayer, most dreaded monster of all the Empire's many plagues. A Blue Mage once dedicated to the defense of Aht Urghan became a creature of nightmare and terror, stealing the souls of innocent people to sate their dreadful hunger. The Imperial Army had a strict policy of executing any Blue Mage thought to be in the midst of the transformation.

Kkel Solaar himself was a Blue Mage, and had more than once grappled with the yearnings which came with his great power. He had long ago come to grips with the constant struggle of bearing blue magic. Others were not so fortunate. Regardless of what brought about the transformation in these two men, they would soon have no control over their actions. They would be no more than rabid dogs that needed to be put down.

"We have every reason to believe they have already eluded capture and snuck aboard the ship running across the Gugru Blue. Follow them into Mindartia, locate them, and deal with the problem. Discretely." The Grand Vizier's implications were clear. "Bring no one with you. Finish the job as quickly as possible. Soulflayers are still barely even a rumor across the sea, I intend to keep it that way."

"No one?" Kkel said, open challenge already in his voice. "I'll be taking Pixel."

The Grand Vizier's eyelid twitched, and for a moment it seemed he would object. Then, with an irritable wave of his hand, he dismissed the Sunserpent. "If you truly wish to endanger her, feel free. Now begone. Time is already working against us. I have arranged a ship to depart within the hour."

Kkel gave a barely passable salute, turning from the Grand Vizier and exiting the room. It was a job that had to be done, and Razfahd was right. No one else in the upper echelon knew better the stakes involved.


The music rose to a staggering crescendo, and Jinxie found herself breathless as Pixel's spellsong enraptured everyone in the room.

Pixel skipped to the side as a bolt of lightning split the ground at her feet. The song of Gjallarhorn filled the air, and musical weaves of blue and red spun themselves around Kkel. His magnificent armor was afire in the Tahrongi sun. The intricate craftsmanship of his red corazza was accented with every deft movement of the Imperial General as he swept through his attackers. A pair of shotels, curved swords in the style of the Empire, spun in his hands as he pressed his attack. Blond hair, cropped close and raked upwards, was hidden beneath a snug helmet surmounted by a single golden spike. Pixel always enjoyed watching Kkel at work. His bearing even in the midst of the greatest violence was that of the Sunserpent.

The Soulflayer whom had once been Ghaumeen of the Immortals threw out his staff. A ball of incandescent flame shot from its tip, surging towards Kkel. The Blue Mage spun around, waiting until the heat was close enough to nearly blister his skin, and then retaliated. From his own mouth, a stopped the firebolt cold. The Soulflayer cursed and shrieked as tendrils of frost snaked up his own arm. Kkel was already moving past him, blades spinning as he charged on the second monster. The other Soulflayer sensed its danger, throwing up its arms to expel a forceful blast of lightning towards the General.

Kkel ran straight through it, his own magic coating his body in a manuever he had borrowed from the Trolls. As he ran he gained momentum, channeling his power into his right hand and focusing it to the blade of his sword. The Soulflayer threw up his staff in defense as Kkel cleaved upwards, and it gave a gurgling shriek as the Blue Mage split its weapon in two.

"Behind you!" Pixel called in warning, and Kkel spun around just as another blast from the second Soulflayer tore his magical defenses apart. His eyes narrowed as the monster prepared another charge, swirling his staff in the air, creating an intense shield of purple light around itself. Before it could complete anything, Kkel shot out a stream of dazzling light from his fingertips. Strands of chi hardened into web-like filaments as they bombarded the infuriated monster. It struggled to break free from Kkel's hold, stretching and rending the magical bonds confining it.

It caught a glimpse of movement from the corner of its eye. A moment later, Kkel's twin shotels sliced it from groin to gullet.

The General turned even as the Soulflayer's green-and-blue blood sprayed across the ground behind him. With the light of the Crag of Mea at his back, Kkel weaved a circle with his arms. There was a rush of air towards him, and the stones littering the ground at his feet surged up, caught in his aura. The second Soulflayer threw out its hands in defense. His stony Elvaan features drawn into a hard, yet pitying gaze, Kkel unleashed the fury of his magic. A cannonball of spiritual force ripped through the air, crashing into the second Soulflayer. The monster was blown apart by the impact, turning into a haze of gore and blood which misted to the scorched ground. A shredded robe and monster detritus were all that marked its passing.

The Sunserpent, bathed in the light of the Mea Crystal and the sun above, slowly exhaled. Grisly work it had been, but accomplished now to the specifications laid out by Razfahd. Pixel shuffled over to where Kkel stood, smiling up at the Elvaan.

Kkel returned her smile. The Bard had once again proven invaluable to him. Though it had been only a few short years since the storms of war threw them together, it seemed now like he had never been without her by his side. Whatever he had been prior to becoming the Sunserpent, he was ten times that with Pixel and her music.

He was just about to open his mouth and speak when a hole was punched through his chest.

As he fell, he saw Pixel's smile fading, her eyes going wide. He searched for words, but found only blood in his throat. The ground rushed up at him, quickly turning red. Spinning as he fell, he caught a glimpse of pure darkness hovering in the twin lights of sun and crystal. His eyes focused in on it, like a hole where the rest of the world just stopped. Kkel's head hit the ground. Pixel's music was surrounding him. The world was turning a shade of blue as the darkness took shape.

It was a man, surrounded by a cloak of shadow so dark as to be deeper than night itself. An Elvaan with a sneer of cruelty, a malicious grin creasing his Far Eastern features.

"My game cannot begin with you on the board, Sunserpent," he said with a thick Eastern accent. His words were distant in Kkel's ears, like coming from the end of a tunnel. There was a roaring, a furious pumping of blood as it oozed from his body, and the staggering pain shooting through his chest. The man in black drew a weapon from his cloak, a gun of gleaming silver that looked completely out of place with the wielder. As the barrel leveled at him, Kkel realized no matter how unlikely it looked, it was true. The man hovering above him in the air was about to fire that brilliantly gleaming weapon and end him once and for all.

He thought of Dhalmels, the ponderous beasts which roamed across the Mindartian sands. He could feel their souls resonating with his, so clear and present that it was palpable. Kkel reached out and grabbed on to it, harnessing his power with the last ergs of consciousness.

A white light raced through him, and with a burst of motion he rolled to the side. The ground he had been on blew apart where his head had been, a smoking crater nearly a span deep blackening the ground. Kkel clutched at his chest. The healing powers of Pixel's spellsong and the Dhalmel's magic had repaired his wound, leaving only a jagged hole through his armor. Pain still shot through him, and his breath came in gasps as he looked up at the man in black.

There was no time for questions. Already the gun was firing off again. He let himself drop to the side, ground exploding at his feet. Summoning his magic, he gave a shout, shooting a wave of darkness from his eyes. The man in black laughed, throwing out his hand. A shimmer of darkness rippled around him, and Kkel's attack vanished into nothing. He glimpsed a circle of darkness wrapping around the man in black's hand. Then his gun was firing again.

Kkel darted through a barrage of gunfire, trying to keep his bearings straight. He drew his blades again, dodging a spray of rock shooting up at his side. He thought of spiders, and felt his blade pulsing in his hand. The energy of the beasts surged through his arm. Another shot tore into the ground at his side, and he leaped through the haze, gliding into the air. The man in black grimaced as Kkel flew towards him, swords glowing as he slashed like a giant tarantula. His target floated backwards, dodging the strike, but Kkel did not miss an opportunity. He shifted his thoughts to the shadows lurking in Caedarva Mire. With his second shotel, he slashed at his foe, and a wave of energy focused into a razor-thin edge severed the air. It struck the man in black with enough force to cleave a mountain in two.

The Easterner's face turned into an angry scowl, a single trace of blood trailing down his cheek.

Kkel's crimson boots touched down on the ground again, and instantly the sound of the silver gun firing was ringing through the air.

The Sunserpent let his thoughts focus on another noise. Playing for all she was worth, Pixel was bringing Gjallarhorn's magic to bear. Weave after weave of spellsong threaded through Kkel's being, empowering his every move. He turned sharply, his mind focused on the Mamool Ja. The man in black saw his target stop, and instantly fired a shot directly towards Kkel's head. Puffing up his cheeks, Kkel felt his throat burning as he unleashed a molten ball of flame. It collided with the silver gun's bullet in midair, reducing it to aqueous vapor. The man in black narrowed his eyes, unamused.


Chills ran through Jinxie's spine as the music drew to a shattering conclusion.


The man in black was on the ground, clearly infuriated. Kkel stood in front of him, panting, arms limp, but still grasping both his swords. A smile was on his face. He began gathering his magic for another strike. He could still beat this mysterious opponent, whatever his agenda might be.

The man in black raised his silver gun. The air froze, and then rushed in towards the barrel. A radiant glow overtook the man's eyes. He took aim, and pulled back the hammer.

"Coronach," he said.

A beam of light more intense than any other in the canyon threatened to burn out Kkel's eyes as he saw it blossom from the barrel of the Far Easterner's gun. He opened his mouth to scream, but the roar of its power overpowered his voice.

Pixel's eyes widened as it streaked towards her.

Kkel's feet moved of their own accord, hurtling him towards the blast. He summoned his magic, but knew it would not be enough. He called on more, as much as he could, and still was humbled by the force of the silver gun's attack. The Sunserpent dove forward, his body intercepting the beam, and he opened himself to all the power he could find.

Something twisted inside of him, and his entire being burned. It felt like molten rock was being poured down his throat. Like he was being torn inside out. He heard a noise that sounded like a million spiders crawling across his brain. He knew he was screaming, but couldn't hear anything. He saw only the terror on Pixel's face, and the man in black, laughing as he looked down on Kkel. The Sunserpent collapsed to the ground, in the midst of the smoking hole he had created. Pixel was shaking him, shouting something he could not make out. The world was going dark, quickly.

He saw the face of the man in black one more time, and futilely reached out a pale, too-large hand with crinkled and elongated fingers before the world crashed down upon him.


The room went silent. Jinxie almost collapsed, gasping. She realized she was shaking and sweating.

She had seen every second as if she were looking through Kkel's eyes. Every smell, every sound, every taste. Her chest ached where Kkel had been shot. Her body trembled at the feeling of his transformation taking over. She could still feel the rush of blue magic in her body, the taste of coppery blood on her tongue. Razfahd's face by candlelight loomed in her mind as he poured over a map. The darkness surrounding the man in black like a hole in reality was only now fading from her vision.

"Walahra," Isset was murmering, over and over again, "what was that? Walahra, sweet Walahra."

Speed was sitting straight up, mouth agape, staring back and forth from Kkel to Pixel, not knowing what to say. Xaerus was motionless, the look on her face revealing nothing. Her hands, however, were dug in deep along the shaft of her white-jeweled stave.

"And that is how we came to be," Pixel said, her voice sad and sweet. "The stranger disappeared, saying he had done all he needed to. At first, I was terrified, but there was still enough Kkel left in there to figure out what to do."

"You came to this . . . Emptiness." Jinxie said.

Pixel nodded. "I don't know how he found it, but Kkel could sense it somehow. None of those creatures have souls, so he has nothing to tempt him. I think that's how he knew it was here. Like a hole he could feel in the rest of the world. Time does not pass, so his condition never gets worse, and we never need sleep or nourishment in this place. Also," she turned her smile on the Soulflayer, "my music seems to keep his mind in place."

After what they had all just experienced, Jinxie had little doubt Gjallarhorn could indeed do what Pixel claimed.

"Is there . . . " Jinxie struggled to find the right words. "Is there any hope?"

"Once a Soulflayer turns," Kkel's rasping voice spoke, "he is never human again."

The words were more terrifying than the voice in which they were spoke. Jinxie turned to her companions, but they returned no help to her silent plea.

She felt sick to her stomach. She had completed Razfahd's hopeless errand only to find the object of her task unattainable. An impossible labor prevented her from ever receiving the help she requested. Her husband would go unavenged. The thought of Razfahd's condescending gaze, his imperious sneer, his . . .

Jinxie stopped.

Razfahd.

"How did the man in black know where you were?"

"What?" Pixel asked, puzzled by the question.

"Six years ago," Jinxie pressed, "that man in black. You were given a mission of utmost secrecy, yet he knew where to find you. How?"

"I'd always assumed he . . . " Pixel's voice took a dour tone. "I always thought he sensed Gjallarhorn, and followed me to Kkel."

"Or," Jinxie countered, "he was there because he knew where you would be going. Because the only other person who knew about Kkel's mission told him."

"Jinxie!" Isset's voice was scandalized. "I know Razfahd is insufferable, but you're talking about engineering the assassinaton of a Serpent General!"

"Unthinkable," Speed added. "That guy don't have the stones for a job like that."

Xaerus remained silent, but her expression darkened noticably.

"Razfahd," Kkel muttered, his hideous visage undulating as he spoke.

"We don't know that for sure," Pixel said, "we can't be certain at all."

"Unless we confront him," Jinxie said. "He'll be waiting for us back at Al Zahbi."

The Soulflayer gave guttural growl, inky black robes shifting with growing anger. "I cannot," he said, "I cannot leave this place. I will not," he spoke haltingly, clenching his fingers over his staff, "I will not endanger anyone by my existance."

"If Razfahd is working with this man in black, he could be endangering the entire Empire and everybody in it."

"That darkness," Xaerus finally spoke, a rage like none Jinxie had ever heard from the Mithra before boiling just below the surface of her voice, "that cloak, his ring, they could only come from one place. Dynamis." The word struck the others like a blow. "He has been there too, for a far different purpose than I."

Jinxie rounded on Kkel and Pixel. The sting of realizing she was being manipulated raised the hackles on her neck. "We've all been played for fools," she clenched her fists at her sides as she spoke. "Whatever game this man in black is playing, Razfahd is in on it. He has used us all."

"I cannot leave!" Kkel shouted, a sound that nearly cowed Jinxie with its power. "Only in here is the rest of Vana'diel safe from me."

"One week," Jinxie replied, forcing herself to remain calm. "It will take us that long to leave this place, return by ship to Al Zahbi, and confront Razfahd. After that, we will find a White Mage and teleport you back here. One week, Kkel Solaar, and we can all get the answers we want."

"But if I - " the Serpent General halted again, struggling with his raging emotions.

"Kkel," Pixel said beside him, smiling still. "One week isn't that long." She gripped his scaly, pale hand, brightly looking up at him. "If Razfahd has done this to you, I want to see him answer for it. We should know for certain, Kkel." She gave him a cheery smile, raising Gjallarhorn. "I'll play for you. It will help."

A low, fearsome growl rose from the bottom of Kkel's throat. He shuddered, wrestling with something inside of himself. As they watched, he stooped over, shaking his head, listening to something the rest of them thankfully could not hear. Suddenly he stood, straight backed, striking his staff against the ground. It made a sound akin to a scream being cut off. Of its own accord, the hood from his robe rose over his head, concealing his visage once more in shadow. The Soulflayer's gaze, even hidden, still burned as he looked upon them.

"One week," he said aloud. "Come. I will show you the way out."

Chapter LVI: The Dragoon in Hell

Aboroth could still remember better times.

Amongst the walking dead filling the caverns of hell, he knew he was unique in that aspect. His memories still held ground in the vast expanse of desolation the depths had become. While the others moved with the clunky, awkward movements of those held aloft only by the strings pushing their minds forward, he still had the presence of mind to recall what life had been like before coming here. Before Devul, before the demons, before the Mithra who had stolen their identities, Aboroth had been someone else.

He remembered growing up with his younger brother in Windurst. He could still see the verdant trees and lush greenery which filled the city, and the rolling hills of Sarutabaruta where he had spent a youth in curious exploration of the vast landscape. He could hear the pealing laughter of his younger brother as they wiled away the days, exploring the wonders of the open grassland, delving into the ancient ruins, or simply enjoying the music during Windurst’s Summer Festival. Even when he had gone away, bidding farewell to his friends and family to pursue a holy life in the Far East, he had kept those memories in every dream and fond fantasy.

It was during his time in the monastery when, during daily hymns, the head Monk of the temple realized his true gift, and helped him draw it forth. Aboroth’s voice was one naturally gifted in the use of the spellsong. Through the years he spent honing his body, the Monks also taught him to focus his voice and the power held within. He knew that his younger brother possessed natural gifts with magic, but he never would have guessed similar ability had been passed down to him. The Galka earnestly learned all he could, the kindly Monks happy to have such an eager pupil. After spending nearly a decade abroad, now firm of mind and body, Aboroth returned home. His welcome was among the best memories of his life. Truly, he had been blessed.

Scarcely two weeks had passed before a messenger arrived at the modest home of his family. Some minor San d’Orian nobleman, having heard of the amazing voice of this Galka from Windurst, sought to have Aboroth perform some Far Eastern music at a gathering of aristocrats. The Galka was still a Monk above all, and sworn to a vow of poverty, but the gil being offered would be a great boon for his family, and the continued studies of his little brother. With those thoughts in mind, Aboroth bid his family another temporary farewell and boared an airship bound for Jeuno. He had plenty of time to reach San d’Oria, and planned to enjoy the natural surroundings of Jugner Forest by riding a chocobo out from Jeuno to the Elvaan capital.

Then came the darkness, the wind, and the blood rage. The ground opened beneath him, engulfing him in a tomb’s embrace. He came into the presence of the Devul, and the scarred Mithra. His happy memories became a torment as it was made clear the life he used to live was over. The spellsong which once brought peace and tranquility to others had been twisted to hideous ends.

Now when he sang, it was to perpetuate the horror he had been drawn in to.

He had tried to fight it, at first. His mind was too strong for him to become another slave like the thoughtless drones the Mithra demanded. While he remained conscious of his actions and surroundings, he could still not overpower the force of the whisper in his thoughts. When it spoke, he responded. He simply couldn’t help himself. So Aboroth sang, and the people ensnared in the bowels of hell listened to what he said. Amplified by the dark power controlling his own actions, his voice now bade others to sleep, to work, and to obey. His was the voice that controlled the free will of those in Devul’s realm, and there was nothing he could do to stop himself.

Just as now, he could not keep his feet from marching one in front of the other as the procession behind him carried Shaohuan to her execution.

Work around them had ceased as those entranced by his call shuffled from their stations to bear witness. The dais bearing Devul once again crept by, borne on the scarred shoulders of a cadre of slaves. The Tarutaru sat indolently atop his throne, seemingly oblivious to the lavish attention being given him by the girls of his harem, they themselves completely detached from their own actions. Of all the hundreds of damned lurking through the endless caverns, only one was in control of both mind and body. That one stood behind Devul’s throne, mutilated body hidden within the shadowy confines of her sickly green cloak. Even through the darkness around them and the thick folds of her garment, Aboroth could still see the glint of her smile.

Beneath her feet, hands shackled before her, dressed in only the filthiest rags, Shaohuan sat with head bowed. Aboroth knew Shaohuan was also one in control of her own thoughts, but not actions. Unlike him, she had not undergone years of rigorous training to achieve enlightened focus. She had no special predisposition that would explain her being spared the fate Aboroth suffered. There was no reason at all she should not be another thoughtless slave like the others. The Monk knew the explanation. Shaohuan remained aware because the Mithra wanted her to suffer. Whatever reasons she had for that cruel twist, Aboroth did not know.

He considered it a blessing at this point that her life was about to end. It would not be much longer until her torment came to an end.

They continued on their march, towards the main cavern. Now clearly emerging from the rock face they had hewn for so long was an effigy of some enormous Galka. The Mithra’s grand construct was nearly complete.

“Stop,” a voice commanded, and universally all action around them ceased. Only the distant echoing of water dripping into stagnant pools could be heard.

Shaohuan stood, head still down, and began walking as the slaves lowered the dais down. Devul’s eyes flickered momentarily, but then returned to their dull state. The Hume girl strode forward without interruption. Compelled by the same voice which drove them all on, she stopped only when she was but a few feet from the rock wall. She cast her gaze upwards at its enormity, saying nothing. Behind her, the Mithra stood on the stony ground, her hand outstretched in waiting. She had not long to wait before what she sought was delivered to her. Aboroth’s sad grimace sank even lower as he saw what it was the woman now wielded.

The double-pronged spear Ryu Akanei had brought with him was now clutched in her sharply nailed hands.

“Yes,” the Mithra purred, “this shall do perfectly. Yes indeed.” The malice in her voice would have sent a shiver through Aboroth’s spine had he control over his own movements. The Dragoon had fallen under the spell just as the rest of them had, but he fought it off and succeeded. Now his weapon was kept as a trophy. Worse than that, Aboroth knew. It was to be used for the execution of the one who helped him break free. Lowering the polearm to face the captive Shaohuan, the Mithra’s lips curled back. Aboroth could not turn his head away, as much as he wanted to. All present in hell would bear witness to what was going to happen now.

“The time has come, my loyal subjects,” Devul mouthed, unaware he was even saying anything. “Your hard work has come to an end.” He spread his hands in what was meant to be a magnanimous gesture. The way his arms held in the air, suspended like a marionettes’, made the motion eerily disturbing.

“This faithless one would drive us from the true path,” he continued, now twisting his head towards where Shaohuan stood, still facing the enormous Galkan idol. “but now she will serve our purpose instead.”

Shaohuan gasped as two slaves suddenly grabbed her arms under the crook of the elbow. Holding her steady, they lifted her into the air as she began to thrash about defiantly, the green-cloaked Mithra leveling Ryu’s spear as she advanced. Aboroth realized that now, in her last moments, control over her body had been returned to the young girl. His stomach turned. The Mithra wanted her to struggle in her last moments. She wanted to enjoy the kill.

“Your death serves a far greater purpose than it deserves, you wretched Thief,” the Mithra hissed as she advanced on the helpless girl. “You should be honored I found purpose for you at last.”

Shaohuan spit in her direction, furiously struggling against the burly Elvaan guards holding her in place. “I’ll die knowing you were never better than me,” she snarled. “and you’ll live knowing that’s the truth.”

The Mithra’s smile twisted into a bitter snarl. “You were never better than me, you miserable bitch!” her knuckles turned white against the shaft of Ryu’s spear. “You were never anything but a petty Thief! Look at what I am! Look what I have become!”

Tearing back the hood of her cloak, the Mithra revealed the hideous scarring covering the left side of her face. Intricately carved lines formed patterns reaching from scalp to shoulder, and, Aboroth knew, stretching down as far as her wrist as well. He quivered inwardly as he saw what the woman had done to herself. Then his attention was torn away. Behind Shaohuan, something was happening to the rock face.

It was subtle, barely even perceptible, but the expression of the great stone Galka was changing. The lines in the face were becoming more pronounced. The eyes were deepening. A pall of darkness began to emanate from the monstrous carving. The lines decorating the Mithra’s skin reacted, and Shaohuan gasped as a sickly purple light began shining beneath her adversary’s skin.

“I am so much more than what I was,” the Mithra said, and Aboroth felt it being whispered in the back of his mind. “You are nothing, Shaohuan. You die as nothing.”

The Mithra thrust Ryu’s spear forward. Shaohuan flinched and turned away. Aboroth struggled to close his eyes, but could not. His stomach clenched as he anticipated the scream.

It was not the one he had expected.

The azure streak in the air moved so quickly Aboroth wasn’t sure he had seen anything at all. The Mithra’s shriek of surprise was the only hint of its physical presence after its first pass, but then it came again. There was the flapping of leathery wings, and a beastial snarl. The guards holding Shaohuan dropped the girl and began snatching at the air as the scarred Mithra swung Ryu’s spear futilely, trying to make contact with the screeching object.

“What is this?!” the Mithra demanded, slashing at the air in front of her. Again the blue swirl struck, evading the guards and sending them careening into one another. There was a ferocious howl, and the source of the disruption settled in one place long enough to be discerned.

It was the blue-scaled wyvern of Ryu Akanei.

The Mithra let out a guttural sound of fury, slashing at the airborne lizard. It deftly evaded her clumsy strikes, letting loose a tongue of flame in response. Howling, the Mithra leaped back to avoid the fiery attack. Even as she did so, the wyvern swooped in, wrapping its claws around the shaft of its master’s weapon. The Mithra snarled, wrestling for control of the spear. With a mighty heave, she succeeded in fending off the wyvern’s attack, but no sooner had it released the weapon than it fired out another blast of liquid fire. Then, as suddenly as it had attacked, the creature was gone.
“After it!” the Mithra shouted, and Aboroth felt his legs moving in response to the behest. “Find that monster and kill it on sight!” She was fuming, angrier than Aboroth had ever seen her before. The pulsating glow beneath her scars had turned a ruddy red, and her eyes blazed with uncontained rage.

It paled in comparison to her reaction when she saw Shaohuan had escaped.


Shaohuan’s eyes darted furtively back and forth. The room was completely dark, and there was a hand pressed tightly over her mouth. A powerful grasp held her arms behind her. She tried to toss her head back, but was held firm. All she could tell is that she was moving, rapidly, back into the darkness. Where she was being carried to, she could not tell.

Abruptly, her flight halted. The Thief tumbled to the ground, feeling the cool, damp stone beneath her bare hands and knees as she was released. Panicked, she spun around, and then froze when a large hand grasped her shoulder. Before she could cry out, a finger pressed against her lips, bidding her to remain silent.

“We’re not so far away yet that they won’t hear you,” a voice whispered. “I need you to stay calm, Shaohuan.”

The girl’s surprise was visible as her eyes adjusted to the darkness enough to make out the rudimentary features of a face framed by dark brown hair, with eyes gleaming like those of a dragon.

“Ryu!” she whispered intensely. “But I saw you fall!”

“Please,” he scoffed, “I could handle falls from twice that height when I was still a trainee.” They both turned as the sound of nails clicking on rock tapped gently behind them. The air lit up as Ryu’s wyvern gave a mewling cry.

“It’s alright, Bo,” Ryu said comfortingly. “I didn’t think she’d give it up so easily. That’s fine.” He turned back to Shaohuan. His eyes gave a soft glow in the darkness, and she knew he could see everything perfectly.

“After I freed myself, I went looking for my armor,” he told her. “Most of it was in the room they put me in, but the gauntlets and my helmet are still missing. Do you know where they took them?”

The brunette girl nodded. “I saw the Mithra take them to Devul’s chamber. I don’t know if she wanted to use them or just keep them as trophies.”

Ryu took the information in, leveling his gaze at Shaohuan. His eyes were intense, but steady. “I’ve picked up that you might be a Thief of some reknown, Shao,” he spoke in a calming voice. “Is there any truth to that?”

Shaohuan’s expression immediately changed. “Truth?” she asked indignantly. “I’m the best Thief from San d’Oria to Bastok. There’s not a village in Quon that doesn’t know about me.”

“I see,” Ryu appraised, “but that Mithra isn’t from Quon, is she?”

Shaohuan took a deep breath in through her nose. “Mindartian slime,” her whisper was a harsh rasp. “She was nothing when we first met. She’d taken to robbing Beastmen over people. I was barely a teenager and I was already better than her.”

“And now?”

Shaohuan looked up defiantly. “I don’t know what that woman has become, or how it happened, but I am ten times the Thief she will ever be.”

The Dragoon nodded approvingly. “That’s what I wanted to hear,” he told her. “She stole my armor from me, Shaohuan. And I want you to steal it back.”

Shaohuan stood, bending her back so as not to scrape against the low ceiling of the cavern Ryu had taken her to. “You’re going after her, aren’t you?”

“She has something that belongs to me.” He began stepping backwards, back into the darkness surrounding them. “Let’s she how well she fares against someone thinking clearly.”


There was a steady beating of feet behind Aboroth told the story of the dozens of soldiers fanning out into the caverns around them. The whispering in their heads was more urgent than it had ever been. Find the wyvern and kill it, and bring its broken corpse back as proof. Find Shaohuan and break her legs at the knee, then drag her back to finish what had been started. Aboroth would do both if he found either one without question. He wouldn’t be able to stop himself.

One order was not in his mind. It seemed the Mithra did not want to even acknowledge the idea that the wyvern being alive could mean his master survived as well.

The Galka crept down a darkened tunnel, focusing his chi towards his eyes as he had been trained. His vision remained sharp as he traveled onwards. The trickle of energy was all that was allowed to him, but it was enough for him to hunt with. The elders of his monastery would be shamed by such manipulation of their teachings. Had he the ability, he would have hung his head.

He felt his feet stop beneath him, and he knew something was happening.

Suddenly, to his left, a cry shattered the stillness. He could feel the worms in his mind shift their attention instantly. Another surprised shout echoed around him, and the sound of steel scraping against stone was cut off in mid-stroke. The Monk shifted his stance in response to the silent orders racing through his mind. His legs began moving towards the source of the disturbance.

A moment later however, another cry rang out. This time, it came from the opposite direction of the first one. The sounds of a struggle were clear. Aboroth clearly heard the sound of rippling flames, the same one he had heard when the wyvern attacked the Mithra earlier. He was drawn out towards the diverging point where he had broken off from the rest. A plethora of tunnel mouths opened up in front of him. His head turned down towards the one where he had heard the last round of screams.

He felt the power of the spellsong rise up in his throat as he brought up his fists. A dim light flickered in the cavern in front of him, and a snort broke the tense silence. The wyvern was down that tunnel, watching Aboroth approach. His fists tightened, robes sliding down to his elbows as he turned his stance into a defensive one. The steel lining his knuckles gave a dull glint as a spot of fire flashed briefly in the distance.

A team of Elvaan guardsmen rushed out from one tunnel, guided on by the force which saw through Aboroth’s eyes. The former soldiers drew out their weapons, charging wordlessly into the cave mouth to face down the beast. Almost immediately, a jet of fire shot out from within, casting enough light to see the glimmering scales of the wyvern clearly. The men shouted out as they tried to avoid the flames, and then swung their weapons about blindly as darkness returned. A single breath of fire had taken any adjustment their eyes had made to the darkness. The wyvern was crafty.

Not crafty enough to be in two places at once, Aboroth knew, when he heard the sounds of a struggle from behind him.

He twisted around, and even as he did so he ducked out of the way in response to the blur at the edge of his vision. The blue wyvern sped out from the cavern, two of the Elvaan guards chasing after it. Aboroth’s hands immediately made to grab for it, but then stopped, or was bade to stop. A body had just been flung out of one of the other tunnels. This one was a normal villager, his weapons gone, laying unconscious on the cave floor.

There was a hushed moment as the guiding power behind the whisper contemplated this development. A moment later, a mass of humanity came pouring out from the other tunnels as her slaves rushed towards the cavern the body had come from. Soldiers and millworkers, carpenters and blacksmiths, farmers and weavers, all of them tools now to crush the source of the challenge to the whisper’s power.

Aboroth knew who it was. The whisper refused to acknowledge his thoughts.

Ryu Akanei was alive.

The heel of Ryu’s armored boot struck an armored Elvaan in the ribs, and he slumped to the ground in a heap. In the blink of an eye, the Dragoon leaped back into the darkness, just out of their range of vision. More and more of the Mithra’s slaves were pouring in to the tunnel, further blotting out any light coming in. It would be getting more and more difficult for the puppeteer to see through the eyes of her marionettes. Ryu, on the other hand, had the eyes of a dragon.

Darkness was his ally in this fight. The cavern grew even more crowded, and once again he sped from his hiding place. A scullery maid found herself picked bodily from the ground and hurled back into the advancing mass. The confusion threw them off balance, and while they struggled, another Elvaan was caught unawares. With a leap, Ryu planted his legs in the chest of the soldier, and then propelled himself away. Ryu’s muscle power threw the man off his feet, knocking the air from his lungs. Quickly as he had come, the Dragoon was gone again.

The confused mass straightened out mechanically. Eyes twisted in every direction, searching for their intended target. After a few disorderly moments, they spread out in different directions. Some went further down the darkened crevase, others back out the way they had come. A circle remained in place, heads twisting in disturbing unison.

“Come out, Dragoon,” one of them said, his eyes showing he was unaware of what his mouth was doing. “This is my realm to play with. The Devul is my pawn. Hell is mine, and the Lord of Dynamis will give me the rest when I bring him back into this world.”

Nothing stirred. Outside, the sounds of footsteps echoed.

“You cannot stop me, Dragoon,” another slave intoned. “Surrender yourself to his embrace. The darkness is mine. Give your mind to the darkness.”

There was a quick burst of motion, and all heads in the circle converged on a single point. The ring of slaves stood broken. A moment later, an unconscious body fell to the ground. A nervous murmer ran through the assemblage, a reaction wholly that of the one controlling them.

“Give this up!” Another demanded. “You’re a fool to think you can fight us – “

The words were cut off as a blue streak took the speaker in the ribs, catapulting it against the rocky wall. Leathery wings echoed through the cavern and then went silent.

“I demand you show yourself!” The voice reeked of something bordering on fear. “Where are you!?”

A burst of flame answered the cry. The cave lit up as Ryu dropped down from the vaulted roof, Bo’s wings extended behind him as the wyvern followed him down. The slaves were stunned by the sudden attack, and as Dragoon and wyvern fell upon them they were helpless to defend themselves. Ryu was a furious blur of motion, and Bo no less so. His fists moved with practiced precision, striking one opponent down with a forward thrust as he simultaneously backhanded another. Bo looped around a clumsy dive, headbutting his assailant with crushing force. Wyvern swooped down low, diving underneath Ryu as he jumped, taking the legs out from an approaching slave as Ryu delivered a kick to the Elvaan’s face. The two moved as one, a united mind that the whisper could not take hold in. Against such an assault, the voice could not coordinate a response. Within moments, there was a blind spot in its vision.

Ryu took no time to admire his handiwork. He prepared to blend in to the darkness once again. He had to keep this up until he drew the Mithra herself out.

Before he could jump to a spot of safety, however, a flash of light surged into the cavern. Bo cried out as a ball of pure chi energy struck the Dragoon full on. Ryu was torn from his feet as the blast surged through his body. He felt his spirit being rent down to the core as the ground came up at him. Bo swooped down to his side, screeching a cry of panic as the Dragoon convulsed. The light from the chi blast began fading from the cavern walls, leaving a blend of spots in Ryu’s eyes. Some came from the pain, others from the sudden loss of vision. Tiny dots swam across his eyes as he gasped, fingers scratching at the rocks as he tried to regain his footing.

An enormous shadow appeared in front of the cavern. Aboroth, hands still coursing with released energy, let out a slow breath as he lowered his arms.

“I am truly sorry, Ryu Akanei,” Aboroth said mournfully, “I cannot control myself.”

“You can fight,” Ryu had to stop to cough, pain wracking his body. “fight her, Aboroth. You’re still in control of your mind.”

A note escaped Aboroth’s lips, and the Galka closed his eyes as the melody swept over him. Ryu watched the power of the spellsong in action as a reddish glow, like a dim fire burning through his flesh, crept across the Galka as he sang. Veins began bulging in his arms, and his muscles bulged. Ryu could see the fabric of the Galka’s robe stretching as his mass increased; hear bones cracking as they set themselves to accomadate new pressure. Aboroth opened his eyes, body emanating power as he raised knuckles surmounted by cold steel.

“I am quite in control,” he agreed, “to my eternal regret, she lets me remain aware of everything this treacherous body does.”

Dust flew up at the Monk’s heels as he sprinted towards the Dragoon, who had only just managed to make it off the ground. Instantly, Bo put himself between them, snapping tiny, razor sharp teeth at the Galka. Aboroth swung at Bo with bone-breaking force, intent on shattering the tiny beast. Bo, however, was too quick even for the Monk, keeping just out of range of each strike, darting in just long enough to make stinging attacks of his own.

Ryu and Bo’s minds worked as one, seeing every vulnerable point Aboroth left exposed, analyzing his attacks with twice the speed. As Bo fought, Ryu watched. The wyvern let his wings go slack, dropping to the ground. Aboroth lunged, and Bo suddenly caught himself, swooping back up to narrowly miss grazing the Monk’s face with his claws. Ryu, waiting for the right moment, lunged forward and sank his fist into Aboroth’s kidney. The bones in his hands felt like they were broken. He recoiled with a wince of pain, but it didn’t seem all that much of a worry after Aboroth violently backhanded him across the face.

He could feel his jaw rattle loose as he skitted out of the tunnel and into the larger cavern outside. The element of darkness was gone, the glowing moss of the caves providing the same unnerving light he had worked by for what felt like weeks. The coppery taste of blood filled his mouth. Bo’s sense of outrage filled him, and even as Aboroth turned after the Dragoon, his partner pressed the attack.

Needle-like teeth sank into Aboroth’s shoulder, and the Galka writhed as blood began trickling down his ivory skin. With a titanic hurl, he forced Bo away, smashing his fists into the wyvern. Bo blew himself away from the attack with all the strength his wings could muster, and Aboroths’ hands struck only stone. Fissures appeared in the rock wall, a maze of cracks stemming off of them. He withdrew his hands to reveal knuckle-shaped indentations marring the smooth stone. Implacably, he struck at Bo again.

Ryu continued his struggle to shake off the pain and rise as Bo kept Aboroth busy. The other slaves wouldn’t be coming back now, Ryu was sure of that. He knew without a doubt now that the Mithra could only project broad orders with her perverse power, the actual control came down to her manipulation of Aboroth’s voice. Now she was focusing all her attention on controlling the Monk himself. If he could win here, she would have no choice but to risk a direct confrontation.

He stood, gasping as he did so. There was great power in the armor Bahamut had given him. Individually, however, the suit of mail, greaves, and brais he had recovered seemed only a fraction of what all five pieces together were capable of. He had to trust Shaohuan would not fail him.

His hopes for holding out long enough sank as Aboroth focused his chi into his fist.

Bo charged in, now practiced at avoiding the Galka’s strikes, but Aboroth was through playing. With a howl that could have blown the tunnel apart, the Monk released the power stored in his fist in one terrific blow. A cascade of energy erupted through the cavern, and Bo cried out as it struck him full on. It crackled through the air, illuminating the tunnel with white and gold. The wyvern was like a leaf in a hurricane, sent hurtling through the air and down the tunnel as his tiny body was assailed by Aboroth’s Howling Fist. With a final shriek, Bo vanished down the dark depths of the winding cavern and did not return. Aboroth’s head slowly turned, and his attention fell back on Ryu.

“She doesn’t even let me cry,” he said, looking at the Dragoon struggling to keep upright outside. “I cannot apologize anymore than I have, Ryu Akanei.” Even as he spoke, he was walking towards Ryu, energy like lightning crackling off his skin. “I can’t even promise to end it quickly.”

Aboroth’s fists rocketed into the ground as Ryu leaped away, the stone splintering beneath the Galka’s strike. Faster than Ryu would have expected, Aboroth swung again, the wind from his blow strong enough to slice a fresh cut in the Dragoon’s cheek. Relentlessly, the Monk rained blow after blow towards his target. Even one more would finish him, of that Ryu was certain.

The Monk could not be deterred. A punch grazed Ryu’s side, and the impact nearly tore him from the ground. He arched backwards, avoiding a follow up that sought to tear his head from the shoulders. Planting his hands on the ground behind him, the Dragoon sprung up, flipping away from a crushing overhead strike meant to rip him in two. He came up near a wall, and then immediately dove to the side as Aboroth’s foot turned a stone surface into a shower of dust and pebbles. The Galka tore his leg free from the wall without pause. Ryu could see the aura of the Monk growing only stronger as he continually gathered his might and amplified it through the spellsong. He had only moments left before the end.

A fist came streaking straight for his unprotected face, and he knew he could not get out of the way in time.

“Ryu!”

Both he and Aboroth turned in reaction to the voice. The Galka was thrown completely off balance, and his killing blow grazed the Dragoon, steel knuckles scraping the surface of his skin. Ryu was so shocked he almost didn’t register the objects being thrown at him until it was too late. Moving more on impulse than anything, he snatched them out of the air, and then gaped at what he held.

Shaohuan stood in the circular entrance to the larger tunnel mouth which led back to the great stone Galka. In Ryu’s hands, his clawed gauntlets stared back at him.

“She has the helmet with her, Ryu!” the Thief called down at him. “This was all I could find!”

“Shaohuan!!” Aboroth shouted. “Escape before she takes a hold of you, too!” Already he was rising, but his body seemed unsure of what to do. Shaohuan froze as well, the possibility occurring to her. It seemed the Mithra was wrestling with her options as well, unwilling to divide her attention away from Aboroth before Ryu was finished.

The Hume took advantage of the moment and slipped his gauntlets on. They wrapped around him like a second skin. The steel claws on the end became like extensions of his fingers. They interlocked with the rest of the armor perfectly. A surge of purplish light emitted from the gauntlets as they bonded with the rest of Bahamut’s mail. A power Ryu had not felt in quite some time rushed through his body, filling his muscles with might. It was the same sensation he had felt weeks earlier, when Bahamut had first given him the magnificent armor.

He turned his eyes on Aboroth, and clenched his fingers. The strength of a dragon coursed through him.

Ryu didn’t wait for the Mithra to form a plan of action. He simply rushed in at full speed and hammered his now-armored fist into Aboroth’s gut.

The Galka doubled over in the air as Ryu’s attack ripped his feet from the ground. The Dragoon continued forward, running with the Monk on the edge of his fist, not stopping until he slammed him into the wall opposite them. Aboroth pulled himself free, but Ryu’s fist was there to meet him. The Galka’s head bounced back as the blow took him across the chin. He rolled free, and Ryu knew that as long as the Mithra was pulling the strings, his body would move as long as it was able. Ryu clenched his fists again as Aboroth came forward.

The Monk unleashed a shattering double punch which could have brought down a building. It whistled through the air, screaming down towards Ryu. The Dragoon’s own hand shot up, and with a bell-like ring of metal on metal, the Hume caught the Galka’s fist in his palm. Pain like lightning shot down his arms all the way to his shoulder, but the Dragoon did not give up his ground. The enormous Galka stood pressing down upon him, both of their legs pushing with such might that the stone started to buckle beneath them.

Ryu and Aboroth locked eyes. The Dragoon’s burned as his arms started to shake under the might of the Galka’s hulking fists. Strands of brown hair stuck to Ryu’s face with sweat. Blood dripped down from Aboroth’s face as his grit his teeth. The air rippled and cracked around them as both struggled to overpower the other. Rocks on the ground began to quake as the force of their struggle rocked the cavern itself.

Ryu Akanei closed his hands around Aboroth’s fists. The steel knuckles he wore broke in half along with most of the bones in the Galka’s hands. Aboroth pulled away, lacking even the ability to cry out in pain, but had no way to defend as Ryu’s fist rocketed into his exposed cheek.

The Galka wavered on his feet for a moment, the force animating him desperately seeking something to keep ahold of. It found nothing. Like a fallen oak, Aboroth sank to his knees.

“Thank you, Ryu Akanei,” Aboroth muttered through his broken jaw. “Thank you.”

The monstrous Galka collapsed to the ground, his fall echoing throughout the cavern.

Ryu watched him fall, panting, and a moment later he joined the Galka on the ground.

“Ryu!” A voice called out, and the Dragoon heard two feet tap down against the ground. The cavern itself had been devastated by their battle. Shaohuan ran towards the Dragoon across shattered stone and broken rock, steaming cracks spidering their way across the ground even after the battle had concluded.

The Thief knelt down over Ryu, gasping when she saw the bright trail of blood dripping from his mouth and ears. To Ryu’s eyes, it looked like three of the slim young girl was perched over him, and her voice was a distant noise to the roaring in his skull. He tried to wave her away, but she wouldn’t budge. It took what little focus Ryu had left to block her out and concentrate.

Shaohuan jumped up with a start as Bo streaked directly in front of her, coming down with a dust-stirring beating of his wings to the side of his comrade. The wyvern gave a plaintive cry at the sight of Ryu’s condition.

“We’re almost finished. Just one last push. I need your strength, friend,” Ryu thought, and he could hear the wyvern’s thoughts in turn. They were unfiltered emotions, but still understood by the Dragoon. He slowed his breathing with great effort. Bo stretched his wings out to their fullest, lowering his head down over his link to the world of man.

A burning azure light came to life from within Bo himself. The wyvern closed its large, liquid eyes, and the glow intensified, now spreading to Ryu’s body as well. Shaohuan watched with wide eyes as Bo became the light itself, a shimmering aura of energy hanging in the air. Ryu was glowing now as well, his every fiber reacting to what Bo was doing.

Shaohuan stepped back in surprise as Ryu’s body lifted off the ground on its own. The light which Bo had become was now sinking into the Dragoon’s prostrate body. Wings, teeth, claws, scales, all turned into pure energy, pure spirit, sank into Ryu’s being. The air suddenly rushed in around the duo, and a surge of light and sound erupted from the Hume’s incandescent form. Shaohuan shielded her eyes as the tapping of metal boots against stone caught her ears.

“We are one,” Ryu said aloud, and in his voice there was something else. Something powerful and beastial trailing behind every word. His eyes were metallic glints, and his lips tightened into a snarl. The air around him was electric with energy as it crackled off of his armor. Shaohuan’s hair practically stood on end as the Dragoon turned her eyes towards her.

“Where . . . where did the wyvern go?” Shaohuan asked, dumbfounded.

Ryu tapped his chest with two bladed fingers. “For a short time only, but we will not need much more. The sum of our parts is greater than the individual.”

“Ryu?” Shaohuan said, and there was something else in her voice now as well. “Ryu, I – I can’t move my legs, Ryu.”

The Dragoon snapped his head around with a growl from deep in his throat. The Mithra’s scarred visage stared back angrily at him. She held Mezraq in her hands. Beneath the folds of her green cloak, something dark and purple was hanging from her belt.

“That’s right,” she said in her manipulative whisper, “and I’ll fill it with your skull before I’m through.”

“Let Shaohuan go,” his demand was accented by the monstrous snarl behind it, “I won’t give you another chance.”

“She cannot help but obey me,” the scarred woman countered, a dull but visible glow emanating from beneath her cloak. “I have been gifted by my dark lord. I don’t need the Galka to dominate a single person.”

Ryu’s fingers arched like a wyvern’s claws. His eyes narrowed as he growled at the woman.

“If you make her fight me, I’ll just knock her out like I did to Aboroth,” he told her menacingly, “and if you try to do anything to her, I’ll just kill you.”

“I have your weapon, Dragoon,” she countered, tightening her grip around the spear. “After I kill you with it, I will sacrifice that worthless little girl on my own terms. Until then, she will wait patiently for me at the base of my creation, won’t you, Shaohuan?”

Ryu could see Shaohuan was already walking, moving towards the tunnels leading back to the great stone Galka visage carved in the stone wall. Her eyes darted about desperately, but her actions were under the control of the Mithra once again.

“What do you want her for?” Ryu demanded.

“The Lord of the Nightmare World is still trapped because of his spiritual bonds to Dynamis,” the Mithra told him. “But I will help him slip those chains, and turn all of hell into a new body for him to inhabit, a body he will use to dominate Vana’diel for all time!”

“I’m going to show you what hell really means.”

Before she could even raise Mezraq in defense, Ryu’s leap took him like an arrow from a bow into the Mithra. They tumbled one over the other down one of the darkened tunnels, falling into the unseen depths below.

The pair landed simultaneously. Ryu deftly crouched down at the end of the jump, the armor in his legs absorbing the impact completely. The Mithra simply bounded from rock to rock, finally touching down with her feet in a pool of water on the cavern floor, bearing Mezraq in front of her like a ward. Their eyes locked, and each sized up the other. She had Ryu’s weapon, but Ryu had something else she could not stand up against.

Ryu had the truth.

“Aboroths’ voice controls the masses, and you control Aboroth.” Ryu circled the Mithra as he spoke, never lowering his eyes from hers. “Devul’s a White Mage, isn’t he? You work us all to the brink of death, and then use Devul to bring us back from the edge. That’s why you let him rest all day and act as king, isn’t it? So he always has as much power as possible? That way you could keep working us day and night. And there’s got to be some illusion in place of being in hell, being punished, to make people accept it. To sell the lie to the point where your power can creep in.”

The Mithra bared her fangs at him as he spoke, keeping her steps in time with his. “You know nothing, Hume. You are trapped here, and don’t think this rebellion will go unpunished. Devul will – “

“Save it,” he cut her off, “nobody here is listening anymore.”

Snarling, the scarred woman charged forward, swinging Mezraq wildly. Ryu grit his own teeth, more in anger than anything, and thrust his hand forward. His twin-bladed spear shed sparks where it hit the ground as it went flying from the Mithra’s grasp. She gasped as blood began trickling down her body. Ryu held her aloft in his clawed grasp, eyes blazing as his grip tightened around her neck.

“You made it so easy to figure out,” Ryu chastised, tossing the Mithra away with a swipe of his gauntleted hand. She landed on the ground with a heavy thud and a splash. Snorting and grunting, she pulled herself up, but the Dragoon was on her again in an instant. With a furious thrust, he wrapped his hand around the woman’s throat, plunging her head into the freezing cave pool.

“Everybody knows,” he growled at her, “there’s no ice water in hell.”

The Mithra lashed out with her arms, scratching at Ryu furiously. The Dragoon feinted back to avoid her strikes, and she took the opportunity to leap free. She hissed at him, hands fumbling for Mezraq as the Dragoon closed in. Her hands found the metallic shaft, grasping at it even as Ryu drew near.

“We’re in Ordelle’s Caves, aren’t we?” he demanded, the clawed tips of his gloves tapping against the armored palms. “The villagers, the Elvaan soldiers, it all adds up for anyone who can actually think about it.” The Mithra rushed forward, seeking to impale Ryu with his own weapon. She was shrieking at him insanely, calling for his blood. Ryu sidestepped her with ease, arm striking like a serpent as she ran by him harmlessly. She halted several paces away, spinning and bringing Mezraq to bear once again.

She saw what Ryu was holding, and glanced down at her waist in a panic.

The Hume’s brown hair disappeared beneath the blade-surmounted helmet Bahamut had gifted him with. The joints locked together, and a shimmering purple light bled out from the connecting points as the suit became one once more. Within the embrace of the Wyrmking’s mail, a flowing blue cape burst from the shoulders, and a plated belt snapped into place around the waist. Renewed power flowed through Ryu’s body as he clenched his fists, feeling the enhanced senses the helmet gifted him with. His mind felt as if a dozen closed doors swung open inside of it. He could smell the perspiration and pheremones escaping the Mithra’s body, and taste the fear and desperation in the air. His ears could single out the faintest twitter of her eyelashes.

All the power of the armor was his once again. There was just one piece missing. Ryu raised a clawed finger towards the Mithra, making his intention clear.

Then she did something he had not seen coming. She threw the weapon down and ran.

A frantic burst of chi accompanied her departure, speeding her legs at an unheard of rate. Cursing, Ryu took off after her, snatching Mezraq from the ground as he did so. The weapon nearly leaped into his hands on its own as he grabbed for it. He raced as fast as he could after the Mithra, his senses keeping him aware of all her movements down the maze of corridors.

“I will sacrifice this cow, and her soul will breathe life into my great creation!” Ryu could hear the Mithra’s screams all the way down the winding tunnel. “My lord will have an invincible body, rooted in the power of Vana’diel itself!”

Ryu could hear a panicked scream in the distance, and his nose picked up the scent of oil and steel. A weapon had been drawn. He knew where she was going. To the great stone Galka face where she had ordered Shaohuan.

The Dragoon’s legs pumped as fast as he could move them, even as insane laughter trailed back to find him. He rounded the final corner just as the Mithra sped towards Shaohuan, rooted in place and forced to watch as the knife in the other woman’s hand descended towards her.

“My name shall echo down the halls of eternity after it is I who frees the Dynamis Lord from his prison!” She cried wildly. “My name will live forever!”

She thrust out her knife towards Shaohuan, and then withdrew her arm with a scream of anguish.

Shaohuan looked down in shock as the woman’s right hand fell to the ground, knife and all, separated from her arm at the wrist. Mezraq’s shaft shook in the rock where it was embedded, several feet past them. Ryu stood, straightening himself after throwing the weapon, gazing contemptuously at the bleeding Mithra.

“I don’t know your name,” he told her, “but I guess we can just call you Lefty now.”

She only screamed in response, cradling her stump of a right hand to her body. Desperately, insanely, she dropped down to the ground, trying to pry her fallen knife out of her own severed hand. The woman was blubbering incoherently now, and tore the blade up, waving it back and forth. Ryu ignored it and came forward.

“Time to answer for your crimes,” he decreed, extending his arms towards her.

The scarred Mithra gasped, taking an involuntary step back. Her knife fell harmlessly to the ground. Ryu felt a tingle of warning shoot up his spine, and realized the Mithra wasn’t looking at him, but over his shoulder. Twisting to bare his spear at the threat he perceived, he lowered it in conjunction with the widening of his eyes.

Darkness was blossoming behind him; a blot of nothingness blooming in the air that eradicated all traces of light. The Mithra let out a whimper, and Ryu turned to find her scampering in a panic, scraping at the wall for some form of egress. A yelp came out of her bloodied lips, and Ryu turned back to the darkening formation to see a figure emerging from its core.

From the yawning hole in reality, a man garbed in a mantle of pure shadow stepped into Ordelle’s Caves. Darkness trailed off of him, swallowing the light wherever it touched. His skin was pale, his hair black as night. The man was rugged and square-jawed, with a face flawlessly handsome, yet tinged with unmistakable cruelty.

“You are right indeed, Ryu Akanei,” he said in a voice heavily tinged with an accent from lands of the distant East. “Her judgment is at hand.”

Ryu stood frozen in place, directly in between the man in black and the whimpering Mithra. He did not even slow down in his approach, ghosting through the air like a wraith. As soon as he touched the Dragoon, a tumultuous burst of fire and heat erupted, tossing Ryu to the side. He landed on the ground unharmed, but gasped as he realized Bo was now across the cavern from him. Simply a touch had been powerful enough to separate man from wyvern on a spiritual level.

He quickly sought out the man in black. The daunting figure hung in the air above the scarred Mithra, whose hood had fallen down to reveal her grotesquely distorted face. Snorting at the sight of her, the man reached into his cloak. He withdrew a weapon the likes of which Ryu had never seen. It was a gun, but made of no material he could discern, a metal that shone even with no light upon it. The barrel looked more like it had grown out of the wooden handle than been attached. Extending it in one hand, the man’s eyebrows furrowed as he looked down at the woman beneath him.

“Did you honestly think I would let you do this, you petty thief?” the man in black asked with a disgusted curl in his lip as he looked down upon the Mithra. He leveled his gleaming gun at the cowering woman before him as she cringed back in despair. “Did you really think I would spend so many years planning to be undone by the likes of you?”

“P-p-please!” she begged, holding her bloodied stump of a hand aloft. “Please, I was only serving the Dynamis Lord, just as you do!”

The man in black’s expression shifted into an ironic smile.

“You know nothing of who I serve,” he said in a withering tone, and the Mithra shrank back in fear. The inky cloak he wore rippled as he clicked back the hammer. Tears streamed down the scarred face of his target.

“Please,” she pleaded, “I will kill the Dragoon, I will – “

“Idiot,” he spat. “That Dragoon is on a mission from Bahamut himself,” her eyes went wide at the pronouncement. “To impede his progress as much as you have has imperiled us all.” He shouted down her voice when she spoke in protest. “Bahamut intends to level Vana’diel should the Dragoon not serve his whims, fool! It serves no one’s purpose if the Wyrmking destroys us all!”

“I didn’t know!” she sobbed, “Please, mercy, I beg of you! Please, Doshu, I – “

“This conversation,” the man in black concluded, “is over.”

The trigger of his weapon pulled back. The air seemed to suck in towards the barrel, and an unnatural gleam surged through the gun. A burning blackness overtook the eyes of the man the Mithra identified as Doshu, and a single word escaped his lips as he stood over the weeping woman.

“Coronach.”

Ryu averted his eyes as an explosion of light burst out of the weapon. He could hear the tormented scream of the scarred woman as it blast overtook her. The entire cavern was illuminated by the force of Doshu’s attack, blinding and brilliant. A ripple of energy shook Ordelle’s Cavern to the firmament. Ryu felt his bones shake through his armor as the destructive wave swept past him. Down the miles of caverns beyond them Ryu could hear the echo as rocks were shaken loose and stalagmite broken from where they were rooted. He had never felt a force like it in his life. The power which shook him went beyond everything Ryu knew save the power of the Wyrmking himself.

In a moment, it was over, and the Dragoon turned his eyes towards where the man in black hung, suspended in the air. Beneath him, there was naught but a curl of black smoke creeping through the air from a smoldering wound in the ground. Not even a green cloak remained. The scarred Mithra had been completely annihilated.

Doshu pulled his weapon back, faint traces of energy still trailing off of it. His jet black hair trailed behind him as he turned his head to the side. His eyes fell on Ryu, and their gazes locked.

Ryu held up his clawed hands in defense. Doshu gave a derisive laugh. “You should know better, Akanei.” A portal of darkness bloomed behind him, identical to the one which had issued him forth.

“Wait!” Ryu demanded, but Doshu only gave the merest flick of his black-gloved hand. Ryu staggered back as if struck, and pulled his hand away from his jaw. He could feel a bruise rising on his cheek. The Dragoon fell back into Shaohuan’s arms, struggling to rise again.

“Succeed in your mission, Ryu Akanei,” he bade with untold forbidding. “Then when my plans are complete, I shall deal with the Wyrmking myself.”

Just as suddenly as he had come, the man in black was gone.

Shaohuan and Ryu stared at each other. Neither was exactly sure what they had just seen.

The event barely had time to register, however, before the former slaves of the Mithra’s schemes began emerging from the caverns, their minds and bodies free.


It was nearly a day and a half later when Ryu finally was satisfied the situation would not degenerate into chaos.

No one had been more horrified at the events than Devul. The Tarutaru, a wealthy man of some note whom was only vacationing in San d’Oria when the demons came, felt mortified at what he had been made to do. As soon as events had been made clear, the Tarutaru set out to make things right, and as it turned out he was more than capable of doing just that. All those injured or suffering from the endless work they had been forced into felt the touch of Devul’s healing magic. The tiny would-be-king was quite powerful. Everyone understood what had happened, and felt sympathy for the Devul.

Once healed, Aboroth set out with no less fervor than Devul. Using his knowledge, he set bones and staved off infections, but also used his spellsong to keep people calm as things were sorted out. The Monk spoke of setting off immediately to Windurst, but only after the people here had been taken care of. He hauled buckets of water back and forth, bringing food and nourishment to those who could not. The Galka was not only cleansing the people, he was scrubbing what he considered a black mark out of his own soul.

The discovery that the Elvaan soldiers amongst their ranks were mostly members of the San d’Orian Temple Knights was not as much a surprise as that one of their number was Rahal himself. The famous general had been leading military exercises in Valkurm when the demons attacked. They got as far in a retreat as La Thiene before he and all his men were dragged down a secret tunnel the same way Ryu had been. Separated from their counterparts, the Royal Knights, during the initial struggle in Valkurm’s sand dunes, they were no doubt thought devoured by the demons rather than lost. They were wasting no time on developing plans to locate the others and reunite with the Elvaan army.

“I owe you a great debt, Master Dragoon,” Rahal told Ryu as he clapped him on the shoulder. “Your actions have saved a great many people.”

“If I don’t leave immediately, it may all be for nothing,” he replied.

“Yes, so you’ve said,” the general acknowledged, his tone lowering gravely. “Take great care in the Tomb of King Ranperre, Master Dragoon.” His warning was deathly serious. “The Dragon King did not construct his final resting place to be breached by anyone.”

“I’ll do what I must, general,” Ryu told him, but the sense of foreboding growing within him now had something to feed on.

The Dragoon was almost to his last stop inside Ordelle’s when Shaohuan found him. She was running back and forth amongst the masses of people now wandering through the tunnels, searching for either belongings or loved ones. A case of medical supplies was in one of her hands, and a roll of blankets nestled in the crook of her arm.

“Where are you going?” she asked him, balancing her load carefully as she followed the Dragoon onwards.

“There’s something I have to take care of before I leave.” He took a look around at the still generally mystified faces roaming by. “I unfortunately don’t have the time to hang around and wait for people to sort things out. I just hope nothing that happened here has any lasting effect. Those women being forced to act as Devul’s harem must be going through a nightmare. I can’t imagine what they went through.”

“Not as much as you might think,” Shaohuan replied. Before Ryu could ask what she meant, the situation made itself quite clear.

“Damn, but that was some good time off!” He heard a female voice say nearby, and turned to see one of the women in question, a thin blonde, stretching languidly. She thrust out her chest, cracking her back, and then let out a belch. Another woman, this one with jet black hair and a darker complexion, nodded her agreement.

“Ain’t had this much time away from business in I don’t know how long.”

“Hey now,” a red-headed Mithra said beside them, “don’t let the boss hear you speaking like that. We gotta get back to work now.”

“What’s all this talkin’ goin’ on, bitches?” a lively, high-pitched voice called out. The gathered group, a dozen women in all, turned to regard Devul himself as he walked in to the cavern. The Tarutaru had traded his stained robe and crown for a blue velvet robe and stylized hat. He still wore several overly large rings, just far gaudier now than what the Mithra had dressed him up in. His smile revealed a tooth encased in gold. “We gots to go make right in the world! Get up off yo’ lazy asses!”

“Aww, we gotta already, boss?” one of them protested.

“Shit, baby, don’t be givin’ me no backtalkin’. We gonna help these people out first, ya feel me?”

“You can count on us, Devul honey, you know we love you.”

“Shut up, baby, I know it,” the Tarutaru told her, reaching up to give the woman a firm smack on her bottom. “Now you pretty l’il things go see what all needs to be done to help out around this place, while I handle some private business. Got it? Don’t just stand there looking good, babies! Go, go!”

His women running off on his order, Devul turned his attention to Ryu. The Tarutaru quickly made his way over to the dumbfounded Dragoon.

“Ryu,” he said, extending his hands, “I just wanted to thank you again before you go. If you ever need help, don’t hesitate to ask. I’m usually in business in this part of the world this time of year, every year.”

“So you,” he began, scratching his head, “I mean, you – and, those girls, they – you mean – “

“Hey,” Devul said, wagging a finger, “what my bitc- I mean, what those ladies do with their lives is none o’ your business. Unless, of course, you care to do some business.”

“Some other time, Devul,” Shaohuan told the White Mage. “Ryu’s got important work left to do. We can’t have him getting distracted now.”

“Damn, Shao, it’s too bad you got that mouth on you, or you’d be one fine – “the look the Thief directed at the Tarutaru would have withered fruit on the vine. “Don’t you be eyeballin’ me, girl!” he warned, even as he took a visible step back. “I was just playin’ anyhow. We all know you’re going back to the life after this.”

“Right,” Shaohuan replied, but the tone of her voice sounded less than convincing. “You know me, if I’m awake, I’m stealing.”

“Good girl, Shao. Remember Ryu – you need anything, you look me up.” And with that, Devul took off down the tunnels, following the girls who followed him.

Ryu continued walking, shaking his head as he did. Shaohuan kept following him, but he thought nothing of it. There was just one last thing to take care of.

At the end of the tunnel he walked down, the great stone Galka, an effigy of the Dynamis Lord, rose from the rock it had been hewn from. No one had come in this room since being freed. The symbol of their bondage was more than any of them could bear. Even for Ryu, it turned his stomach.

Shaohuan took a step back as Mezraq flashed into Ryu’s metal grasp. The Dragoon’s eyes narrowed as he stared into the lifeless tone before him. The Dynamis Lord was not just the symbol of the oppression these people faced. It represented the leader of the demons which had scoured their world, breaking apart friends and families. The staggering loss of life which was on the head of the monster represtend in the carving was too great a number to contemplate. Given a free hand, he would extend his reach beyond Mindartia and Quon, until all of Vana’diel was crushed under never-ending shadow.

A spiral of energy bloomed at Mezraq’s tip, creeping its way up Ryu’s arm. The Dragoon took a step forward, then another, gaining speed until he finally was at a dead run towards the monstrous idol. He gave a roar as he focused all his power into Mezraq’s thrust, twirling the spear for momentum before thrusting it towards its target.

There was a sound like thunder as Ryu’s spear collided with the hewn image. It exploded like an overripe fruit thrown to the ground. Debris shot out in all directions, a cloud of dust sweeping over Ryu as it collapsed. The face came crashing down all at once, bringing an end once and for all to the ordeal within Ordelle’s Caverns. Ryu emerged from the smoke, clasping Mezraq upon his back. He never looked back as the wall continued to crumble behind him.

He was nearly to the exit, Bo perched over his shoulder, when Shaohuan’s voice caught up to him again.

“Wait up,” she cried out, “where are you going?” She still held her bag of medical supplies and blankets.

“What do you mean?” Ryu queried. He had made his mission plain to her the day before. “I’m on my way out, I told you all this already.”

“No, I meant “where are you going without me?” You don’t think I’m staying here, do you?”

The question caught him by surprise. “But – what about the people here?”

“I’m a Thief, Ryu,” she said bluntly. “Helping people isn’t something I’m good at. These,” she indicated the load she carried, “are for me. I’m coming with you.”

“Absolutely not,” Ryu responded. “Even I don’t know how dangerous this is going to be. I’m not letting you throw yourself in harm’s way.”

“Then I’ll go to Ranperre’s Tomb anyway. He’s some famous King, right? I’ve never robbed a tomb before.”

“But – “

“I’m going.” She said flatly, brushing an errant strand of auburn hair from her face. “You either have the best Thief in the region on your side or you don’t, Dragoon. But if you’re so worried about my safety, wouldn’t you want me where you can keep an eye on me?”

Ryu and Bo shared a look. This girl couldn’t be older than sixteen, but Ryu could not honestly recall meeting an adult half as cunning.

“Alright,” he conceded grudgingly, “you go where I go, and you do what I say, got it?” He cut off her protest. “This is not a game, Shaohuan. This is the entire world we’re talking about.”

“Then it should be exciting,” the Thief grinned mischieviously.

The Dragoon exchanged another glance with his wyvern. He had no idea whether or not he had just made a terrible mistake.

One way or the other though, he had not another second to spare. Shaohuan now by their side, Ryu Akanei and Bo made their way finally back into daylight, to complete the quest of the Wyrmking, and save Vana’diel.
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