Chapter LI: The Education of Duke Berith

“I command twenty-six legions of the Kindred,” Berith spoke softly, extending his clawed hands. In the light of the Protocrystal, his entire body was red. “Twenty-six thousand demons, and not one of them is as fascinating as you Otherworld things.” His eyes blazed with an unholy light burning just behind them as he towered over the solitary form of Greyheart. “I have lived for millennia, and never have I seen anything like the range of emotion you creatures display. Another thing that has no equal in the world I am from. Frustrating, yet astonishing. I may keep a few around for breeding stock when this is over.”

“I’ll gladly volunteer,” Greyheart offered weakly, but his words were cut off as Duke Berith’s hands wrapped around his windpipe, claws sinking in to vulnerable flesh.

The Kindred Lord’s hands came together, passing through Greyheart’s neck like it wasn’t even there. An annoyed growl came from his throat as he realized that was the truth of the matter, the illusion of the Red Mage blinking out upon contact.

“So sorry,” the Elvaan offered apologetically, putting his hands up helplessly from a few yards away, “I’m not normally so deceptive. You’re just terribly intimidating.”

“You needn’t belabor this,” Duke Berith advised as he turned to face the real Greyheart. The Warlock had his back to the cavern wall, as helpless an expression on his face as there had ever been. “I understand you creatures place value in your own lives, but I assure you that it means nothing.”

“Be that as it may,” Greyheart replied, “you’ll forgive me, I hope, if I lack the insight into my species which you have gained.”

The Kindred Lord gave a short laugh. “Forgiveness is not a trait I suffer from.”

“I had suspected that would be the case,” Greyheart said sadly, “which is why I took the precaution of increasing the force of gravity around you by a factor of twenty or so.”

“What are you – “ his sentence was cut off as he took a step forward. Berith’s head immediately bowed, and a startled choke escaped his throat. His massive frame drooped, clawed hand scraping the floor as his knees threatened to buckle. With visible effort, he raised his head, eyes ablaze.

“Desperation is something I have not had witnessed,” he said as a smile tugged at his thin lips. “Were I not so curious about the destruction of this island, I might have dragged this out to see what other tricks you had.”

“It’s terribly rude to speak of someone still living in the past tense.”

“I consider it rude that you creatures call what you do living.”

“Duly noted,” Greyheart said, and with a bow of his head he split into three.

Duke Berith sighed as the phantom shadows raced about the room, struggling to lift his arm in the gravity field the Elvaan had surrounded him with. “I suppose this is all I can expect from such as you,” he lamented, and extended a single finger.

A crack of lightning burst in the air above one of the Greyhearts. As soon as the searing touch of it skimmed the surface of the shadow, it blinked out. Berith turned his head towards another, repeating the process. Once again, the magic image disintegrated immediately upon making contact. Turning his horned head to face the final Greyheart, Berith pointed once more, and a bolt of lightning struck the Elvaan dead in the chest. He stared at the spot where he had been struck, brushing at a singe mark with a sigh.

“That’s never going to come out,” he sighed, looking down at his scorched tabard. He appraised Berith’s expression and tugged at his collar, straightening his garb. “Sorry, you just kept using thunder spells so often I thought it wise to weave a protective ward.”

“Then burn,” Berith countered, raising his hand again, but Greyheart’s palm rose instantly in response. The Duke’s chest contracted, and his body tensed as a ripple of aqueous purple vapor suddenly appeared in the air around him. The conjured smoke shot like millions of tiny needles into the Kindred Lord’s skin, and a gasp escaped him. Taking a step forward, he stumbled again, his wings folding down over his body under the stress of Greyheart’s gravity spell. Now, for the first time, anger appeared on his visage.

“I noticed you of the Kindred have blood just like anybody else,” the Red Mage explained, “so I just filled yours with poison.”

“This is not desperation,” Berith gasped, his hand clutching at the red-and-black robes around his chest. “what is this?”

“Something I doubt any of us foolish creatures have ever expressed around you, good Duke,” Greyheart replied. “This is confidence.”

Berith gave another shout as Greyheart’s fingers sliced through the air. A wave of palpable darkness shot from his fingers, surging directly into the Duke’s yellow-glowing eyes. He slashed at the air frantically as his sight was robbed from him, roaring in frustration.

“What has always irked me,” Greyheart said, the Duke searching vainly for the source of the voice, “is that so many mages get so caught up in the base aspects of their art. They think that because they have destructive or curative magic at their command, they should pursue solely one or the other. In doing so, they deprive themselves of so many alternatives. It baffles me.”

Berith shot his hand outwards, and a blob of incandescent flame fired out. Greyheart sidestepped it, placing another finger in the air. A blue glow surrounded Duke Berith, and the Kindred Lord suddenly moved as if time had slowed down around him. In the time it took him to raise his arm, Greyheart was already halfway across the room from where he had last spoke, and he could see the crackle of magic as it surged into the Duke’s palm. A burst of wind shot out, striking the bare cavern wall. The Duke’s blind eyes searched in vain for some confirmation that he had struck true.

“Not to say I don’t have such magic at my disposal,” Greyheart clarified, “its just that I think there’s so much more to do before you have to resort to it.” Berith was turning his head in response to the voice, the slow spell giving Greyheart ample time to emphasize his point. The ground at his feet suddenly came alive, rippling forward and pushing out to strike directly at the Kindred Lord. The force threw him from his feet, sending the Duke into a heap. He rose, but found he could not push himself off the ground with Greyheart’s gravity spell pushing down on him. Weakly, he lifted his head, flecks of poisoned spittle forming at the corners of his mouth.

“You may be thousands of years old, Duke Berith,” Greyheart acknowledged, “and I fully admit you are not only far more powerful than I am, but than I could ever hope to be.” The Elvaan advanced on the Duke now, eldritch force filling the air around him as he came forward. His gray hair rose in response, and surges of energy crackled in the air surrounding him. “However, you, like so many others, use your power as a substitute for using your mind.” The Red Mage put up both hands, and focused his might outwards. “Just like them, this lesson comes too late.”

Greyheart put his hands in the air, and in the very next instant was thrown backwards off his feet. The force with which he struck the rock face behind him cracked the surface, and his broken remains tumbled to the ground, lifeless.

“That certainly went on long enough,” Duke Berith commented, standing with ease. Clenching his teeth, he opened his eyes wide, the darkness swirling over them being blown aside by the light pouring out from him. He flexed his hands and fingers as he straightened, putting his wings back behind him and stretching them languidly.

The Kindred Lord stepped easily back to the Protocrystal of Fire. A hint of a smile played across his lips. “You were an amusing creature,” he said to Greyheart, “but unfortunately I don’t have time to study you any longer. I am curious as to what base trick you would have tried next.”

“Oh, I wasn’t aiming anything at you,” Greyheart responded, and the Duke cast his head sharply to where he lay on the ground. Swinging his legs out from beneath him, the Elvaan rose to his feet, cracking his neck with a sigh. “You’re familiar with the Phalanx spell?” he asked. “Protect? Shell? Stoneskin? Are any of these ringing a bell?”

“Why you continue to opt for prolonged suffering is perplexing even for you beasts.”

“I don’t intend to suffer alone,” Greyheart said, and an orange glow suddenly flared to life from within him. “Like I said, I wasn’t aiming for you.”


Whatever struck Ayn, it felt like his head had been dunked into ice water. He tore himself from the ground with a gasp. He had no idea how long he’d been out, but he remembered what happened leading up to it. Hurriedly, his fingers found the dagger lying on the ground in front of him and scraped it free, his other hand searching wildly for the blue scimitar. Even as his hand wrapped around its golden hilt where it had dropped, he turned his head and saw what was actually going on.

Greyheart was suspended in the air, a rapidly swirling vortex of orange and golden light surrounding him. His eyes were alight as the air in the cavern shifted from its hazy red to a soothing, translucent white. Standing by the Protocrystal, Duke Berith stood with a perplexed expression on his face. Around him, the energy Greyheart was emitting flowed into the others as it had Ayn. Zealot’s eyes snapped open, and he rose with a start. Tikinas pulled herself free from the ground, katana already snapping into her hands as Menphis stood straight up, his expression a slow boil. The Kindred Lord looked around in consternation as those he had dispatched earlier rose like the dead returning to life.

“What will this possibly avail you?” Berith asked of Greyheart, his tone beyond confused. “These other creatures fell before me in seconds. I don’t understand how you think this will matter.”

“We could have done better in our first outing,” Greyheart said, leveling his eyes on the Duke, “but there’s a difference this time, sir. I was being facetious before, I’ll admit. I know you have a good deal of understanding about protective spells.” The Red Mage drew out his hand, fingers clenched, and suddenly made a motion like he was tearing something forcefully from the air. Duke Berith gave a genuine cry of surprise, and then stared at his own hands in amazement.

“That’s why I just removed all of yours.”

Ayn didn’t know much about magic, but he knew a cue when it was given to him.

Greyheart’s feet touched down on the ground, his hands still extended. In turn, he pointed at each one of the small cadre, and immediately an orange glow overtook each one of them. Ayn felt like he was flying, like his every sense and perception had been accelerated. In less time than it took Berith to realize he was in danger, the assault was on.

Ayn struck first, and the roar of pain Berith gave as his dagger sliced through demon flesh was intensely satisfying. The demon spun, but even as he did so, Greyheart’s magic was at work again. Ayn could perceive the Duke slowing down, like the air around him had become thick. Berith’s brow creased in frustration, and then he was forcibly torn from his feet as Zealot’s great axe smashed into his ribs.

The Warrior was already pursuing Berith before the Kindred Lord even touched the ground again. As soon as he had, Tikinas’s feet collided with his chest, forcing him onto his back. The Mithra’s heel scraped across Berith’s face, and he gave a howl of indignity. A wave of force emanated from him, blowing Tikinas back, but Greyheart’s magic, spell following spell in an unbroken chain, caught her in a protective embrace. She touched down lightly on the ground, and then immediately sprung forward to renew her assault.

Zealot’s weapon again collided with the Kindred Lord, and blood shot from his mouth at the impact. With a slash of his arm, Berith swept Zealot away, but Ayn was already back on the attack. Argentina’s sword cut left and right almost simultaneously. His arms raised in defense, Berith recoiled with deep slash marks across both, his steaming blood evaporating in the air. He roared, but was instantly struck in the side of the face with a shuriken. Tikinas streaked forward, twin scars rupturing across Berith’s chest as she zipped past. The Kindred Lord turned to pursue her, and instantly the bags of powder she had placed on him exploded with a jolt of electric energy. When he staggered backwards, the rest of the group had scattered. All save for Menphis.

Duke Berith was conscious of the air suddenly stirring in the direction of the Ranger. The Hume’s gun was raised and trained directly at the noble demon, and a wind was rising around him. The burning behind Menphis’s eyes was a match for Berith’s. The Kindred Lord raised a hand, a spell forming in his palm, but it never took shape. In one climactic rush, the wind whistled around the barrel of the Ranger’s weapon, a glow forming within it. The next thing Berith felt was hot silver piercing his upraised hand.

Menphis’s chi roared through his gun, and in rapid succession he fired shot after shot into the Kindred Lord. Berith felt metal strike through his arm, then his shoulder. Blood erupted from his mouth as two more struck him in the chest, burning holes appearing to accompany Tikinas’s slashes. A final shot nicked his throat, and he clutched at the wound in shock. Still Menphis came forward, his gun the focus of boundless rage within him. An explosion from the barrel shook the entire cavern, and Berith arched backwards as five more bullets simultaneously struck. Red mist poured from his wounds, the magical heat of the Protocrystal reducing his lifeblood to dust upon contact.

Zealot, Ayn, and Tikinas rushed forwards as the Kindred Lord gasped, Greyheart gathering his power together for one final push.

In tandem, they were all thrown backwards. The red light of the cavern was repulsed and overtaken by a blinding cascade of electric force. From Berith’s very core, spikes of shocking power lanced out, scattering his opponents and blasting them across the room. The Kindred Lord rose, seething, pushing his monumental energy outwards and pinning them down with his might.

“You ignorant swine,” he fumed, steaming blood pouring from his wounds, his tattered robes blackening in the brunt of his own spell. “You foolish, stupid creatures! Brutes! You are insects! Animals! How dare you? How DARE you!?”

As he spoke, the force erupting from him escalated, turning the entire room into a sphere of electricity. Lightning danced off of the Protocrystal, and repeatedly Ayn heard cries of pain as the spikes shooting from Berith’s body struck them with stunning force. His hands were scorched, and the air felt too thick to breathe. A shot of lightning cracked down, splintering stone where he had been moments before. On instinct, the Rogue spun to a crouching stand, struggling to see in the intense light Berith was emitting.

Ayn let his eyes go out of focus. A crackle of force struck his shoulder, numbing his arm, but he stayed on his feet. Zealot struggled to fight forward, but every step he took only resulted in being forced further back. Every hair on his head stood on end, and Berith roared further, intensifying the already unbearable pressure. Greyheart’s power was gone, and he was blasted from stone to stone as Berith seemed to single him out. Ayn shifted perspective. He looked beyond. Tikinas screamed to his left as magic lightning ran through her body. There was a field of purple-tinted energy surrounding the Duke, so clear he could reach out and grab it. A bolt streaked towards Menphis, and the Ranger fell to his knees in shock, arms trembling uncontrollably as it struck. He could see the energy. He could see it.

There was a burst of chi from Ayn’s legs, and a cloud of dust rose from behind him. Berith was shouting something in the language of demons, the room growing so intensely bright that Ayn almost closed his eyes. He kept focus, a blur, and headed directly for Duke Berith, straight into the source of what was killing them.

The room went dark. The red light of the Protocrystal returned. Duke Berith’s shout was cut off in mid-cry. Stunned, he stared at his hands, giving a weak cough as he struggled to understand what just happened.

“Where, where did . . . “ he muttered, and vaguely became aware of the tingling feeling growing along the base of his spine.

“Here,” Ayn said, his voice vibrating on the current now surging through his body. Berith turned to see the Thief. His features were indistinguishable. There was only the vague shape of a Hume body with blinding electrical energy shooting off of it. Ayn’s form shifted as he withdrew his weapons, the stolen aura of Berith’s power enveloping him. “I stole it from you,” he told Berith, “it’s what I do.”

Current raced through Berith’s body as Ayn lashed out with his weapons. Each strike sizzled his flesh, and the burning stench of it mingled with the scent of iron coming from the mist of blood in the room. Every time Ayn hit Berith, the aura surrounding him surged. Tendrils of electric energy shot from the Thief’s weapons and body, coursing through the Kindred Lord. Berith’s mouth foamed, his eyes seemed to boil in their sockets. The light burning behind his mouth faltered as his muscles gave a spasm at each blow from the relentless Ayn.

The light began to dim as Ayn burned through the power he had stolen. With a final push, he let loose a four-stroke combination that crackled with each blow. Berith raised a hand weakly, but Ayn suddenly ducked down, and roaring from behind him came Zealot. The Warrior swung his great axe with all the force he could muster, and the Duke’s eyes blazed in disbelief as the blade sunk into his wounded chest. A great spray of blood filled the air as Zealot tore the weapon free, a thick crimson haze spreading into the air. Berith had no time to react before something sank into the base of his spine. His wings flared out briefly, and then went limp as Tikinas ripped her katana along his back.

Berith somehow stayed on his feet. The Duke struggled for words, but nothing would come out. When he tried to raise his arms, nothing happened. He looked up, and saw Menphis standing across the room, his gun raised. They made eye contact, and the Ranger’s gaze narrowed like a bird of prey swooping down for the kill. Though they were a cavern apart, to Menphis it was as clear a shot as if he had the barrel sticking down the demon’s throat.

When his gun went off, a spray that used to be the left side of Duke Berith’s skull plastered itself across the wall.

Duke Berith, commander of twenty-six legions of Kindred, pursuer of knowledge beyond mortal fathoming, older than anyone in Vana’diel, fell to the ground, a bullet having pierced directly through his open mouth. He crawled forward, hands reaching vainly. Then, a moment later, he went limp. The only noise he made was that of the blood boiling out of his stricken body.

“Is it over?” Asked Tikinas, her breathing labored. None of them had taken their eyes off of Berith.

“I think so,” Ayn assessed, and then turned to Zealot. “We won! High five!”

“Alright!” Zealot celebrated, slapping Ayn’s palm against his own, then collapsing to the ground as an electric shock shot through him.

“I think that was the last of it,” the Rogue said, snapping his fingers to see a few errant sparks fly off. “Well,” he said grudgingly, looking over at a haggard and exhausted Greyheart, “I suppose you’re not entirely useless after all.”

Greyheart managed a weak smile. “I try not to show off,” he said. “Mama Hiralda didn’t raise any braggarts.”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” Ayn dismissed. “Alright, conquering heroes, let’s find a way back out of here and – “

“Nothing . . . all for nothing.”

The voice was almost an incomprehensible gurgle, and spread out amongst a sentence mostly in the language of demons. They spun to find Berith’s arm raised, magic coursing through it. Collectively they moved forward, but then were nearly blown off their feet by the force he released. The shockwave took rocks from the wall, and jolted Zealot back to his feet. Ayn ground his teeth, gripping the curved blade he held until his knuckles turned white, but Berith’s attack did not hit any one of them.

The last ergs of the Kindred Lord’s life struck directly at the Protocrystal of Fire.

Once more, the Duke’s form went still as his arm limply fell. Whatever was left inside of him rustled like dead leaves in the wind, and then passed. Looks were exchanged from person to person as confusion gripped the ragtag group. They all stared uncertainly at the crystal. At first, it seemed as if nothing had happened.

They gasped as one as a fault appeared on its surface.

Almost immediately, the red light which had been filling the room blinked once, and then exploded outwards. The pale glow became a blazing light, and everything went from dimly illuminated to almost blinding. The Protocrystal of Fire shook violently, light pouring out of it. Cracks began branching off of the fault Berith had made, tiny flecks of the crystal shooting out into the cavern. The temperature began rising unbearably. The entire cavern started to shake, and from outside they could hear the volcano itself rumbling.

“No!” a voice shouted from above them, and startled, they turned to see Klistel appear at the top of the ramp they had descended.

“Where were you?!” Ayn demanded, then saw the plethora of grievous injuries the Summoner sported. Limping visibly, using his staff for support, the Elvaan dropped into the cavern and started desperately hobbling towards the breached Protocrystal.

“Are you crazy?” Greyheart called out over the roar of the volcano. “You’ll be incinerated!”

“Don’t stop him!” Another voice cried, and the Dragoon Tomiko entered, following close behind Klistel. “Are we too late?”

“No!” Klistel repeated, this time with a different inflection. “I refuse to let this happen!”

“What will you – “ but her question was cut off as the heat in the room suddenly dropped precipitously. Ayn’s breath exploded from his lungs as the air suddenly became breathable again.

Then he realized that the temperature hadn’t dropped, it had only found focus.

An inferno raged around Klistel as he swung his staff through the air. All the heat in the cavern convalesced on him, creating a swirling ring of fire. His eyes blazed red as he guided his power to meet his ends. With a dramatic flourish, he cast his staff outwards, and all at once the fire around him focused into a single spot at the tip of his staff. What looked like a beam of light made entirely from magma burst out of the jewel surmounting it, and the energy wrapped itself around the Protocrystal.

A bestial roar filled their ears. It was like a wildfire had come to life and given voice to its intentions. Klistel’s whole body was suffused with a reddish glow which spiked around him like flames. A symbol appeared in fire beneath his feet, and then another appeared beneath the Protocrystal. It snaked upwards, engulfing the both of them, and then something else was in the room. Clear enough to be seen, yet ephemeral, like a ten-foot tall ghost made of fire, the form of Ifrit, Avatar of Fire, rose from the Protocrystal.

Ayn had seen Summoners call on Ifrit before, and instantly he realized this was different. The creature floating above the gigantic red jewel dwarfed others he had seen, yet somehow lacked their substance. He could not look directly at him for long, and he wondered if he was only seeing what his mind was capable of perceiving. He decided he didn’t care, as long as the volcano didn’t collapse with him still in it.

“Can you stop it?” he called out to Klistel. The room had not stopped quaking, and the flames around the Summoner as he and Ifrit stared at each other were only intensifying.

“Ifrit has slowed the process down,” he answered, “but even if we save the Protocrystal, there’s no way we can keep the volcano from erupting now!”

“What can we do?” the Thief shouted.

Klistel cast his gaze about the room hurriedly, the task he was focusing on with Ifrit obviously of supreme importance. “Who’s the fastest one of you?” he asked. All eyes turned on Tikinas.

“Why?” she called back suspiciously.

Removing one hand from his staff, Klistel thrust a hand into his pocket. Holding it back up, a tiny device was now in his grasp. He tossed it through the field of flames engulfing him, and Tikinas snatched it out of the air. She almost lost her grip on it at first, realizing the thing was somehow wet. Then she looked at it again. It was a tiny tuning fork, completely dry, but she could not hold it without receiving the sensation of moisture.

“Take it!” Klistel ordered. “Take it to the Cloister of Tides, and strike it against the Protocrystal of Water! Ifrit and I will do the rest!”

“The Cloister of Tides?” Tikinas’s shocked reply came. “That’s through the Den of Rancor! I’ll never make it in time!”

“I can fly you to the base of the volcano,” Tomiko said, “but Vouivre won’t go any further than that. But we have to hurry!”

Tikinas looked to Ayn for support, but the Thief had none to offer. He put his hands out helplessly. The decision was in her hands.

The Ninja pulled her mask tight around her face, stuffing the tiny fork into one of the many pouches lining her garment. “Alright, blondie,” she told Tomiko, “let’s go.”

The Dragoon nodded in response, and leaped back up the ledge. Tikinas followed, darting ahead up the path. It was only a moment before she was out of sight, all of their hopes going with her.

Chapter L: Multiple Fronts

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But he’s a – “

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


“They’re gone,” Menphis said suddenly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What? All I said was – “

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

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

“Nobody – “

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But – “

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

“Actually, I was just wrapping things up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter XLVIII: The Woman with the Wyvern

When Zealot, Greyheart, and Menphis had all gathered in the designated spot, Ayn was surprised to find Argentina waiting for them as well.

Her lustrous red locks were now pulled tightly over one shoulder, the crimson cascade spilling down over the ornate harness she wore. The coral inlaying of the garment gave a luminous shine in the torchlight, a match to the sparkling fanfare of jewelry adorning her slim fingers. Red-painted nails clicked against the plated sides of that harness as Ayn approached her, and her oceanic green eyes beckoned him near. He stopped when she drew the curved blade from her side, but as she held it out towards him, the thief realized her intent.

“What’s this about?” He queried, suspiciously taking hold of the weapon. It was surprisingly light, and the golden hilt easy to grasp. Most of the sword’s steel was a dull black, but the blade itself was blue, and Ayn knew from his time with President’s first mate that there was little her adaman-forged sword could not cut through.

“You’ll need it out there more than I will here,” she answered. “Use it in good health, Ayn.”

He eyed the woman curiously, but accepted the gracious gift nonetheless. “I’ll give it back when we return,” he told her as she also handed him the clasp she used to fasten it to her belt. The weapon fit snugly into place, dangling just below his knees when firmly secured to his belt.

“Sir Ayn,” Greyheart piped up from beside them, where Tikinas was forcing him to examine the chocobos instead of Argentina, “there are only enough water rations here for two.”

“You’re pretty observant,” the thief said with mock appreciation. “You should take point.”

The Red Mage considered the assignment, wrapping his brain around a suitable response. “I think if that’s the case, Zealot should ride out in front.” The warrior to his side, already mounted on his chocobo, turned to regard Greyheart when he heard himself mentioned. “He’s strong enough that if something attacks, the rest of us have a reasonable chance of escaping safely before it kills him.”

“Everybody wins!” Zealot voiced in agreement.

Ayn ran a hand down his face, fingernails biting into his skin with the pressure. “Just get out of here,” he ordered, taking the reins of his own golden bird. “Are we all set to go, Tiki?”

The ninja nodded, swinging her legs around her own mount. “It’s a hard ride through the jungle, but we’re as ready as we can get.”

“Alright,” Ayn resigned himself, “let’s do this.”

They set out into the jungle, through the hidden riding paths leading up through the twisting caverns, Zealot riding out ahead with Greyheart trailing. A somber Menphis followed, his hawk-sharp eyes constantly darting about as they headed towards natural light once again. Ayn and Tikinas became shrinking shapes fading in the distance as they quickly escaped the reach of the torchlight.

Argentina watched them go, very much aware of the presence now by her side.

“You’ll go after them?” she asked in what was not really a question.

“Of course,” replied a voice that seemed disembodied, though from the corner of her eye the pirate saw a shadow skirt the entrance into the hidden trail.

The crimson-locked marauder watched the cave mouth for quite awhile before departing. The din of Norg’s activity hid the clicking of her heels upon the stony ground as she disappeared back into the pirate’s den.


Ayn lifted an arm to his brow, wiping beads of sweat which matted down his thick, dark hair to his forehead, and inwardly cursed the heat. As if the constant swarm of insects wasn’t enough of an irritant, the southern isle of Elshimo seemed to be the sun’s favorite spot to beat down unmercifully. One would think the thick canopy of tree covering the Yuhtunga jungle provided would shade people from the rays, but all it did was trap the heat along with the moisture from the underbrush, and make the entire island one giant steam bath. He could no longer tell if the vest he wore over his bare chest was sticking to him from the humidity or his own perspiration, and the stifling mugginess of the air made it difficult to even think. It didn’t help that their path was taking them closer and closer to an active volcano.

Ahead of him, Menphis had lowered the hood of his cloak, the garment matching the color of the foliage surrounding him to the point that sometimes the Thief had to look twice before he realized the chocobo in front of him still had a rider on it. Though he remained as fearsomely silent as ever, the teenaged Ranger was now concentrating his thoughts on feeling out his surroundings in the way only a Ranger knew how, not focusing on the seething anger he had boiling up towards those around him. Ayn thought back to their initial struggle and wondered just how dangerous the young man really was.

As they drew closer to the volcano, the landscape began to change noticeably. The thick layer of underbrush gradually thinned, the carpet of moss coating the ground began showing black, craggy ground forming underneath. The temperature also became hotter, but drier as the heat from Ifrit’s Cauldron burned the moisture out of the air. The clouds of insects wavered, avoiding the forbidding heat, a reaction which led Ayn to question why he was undertaking a task even bugs were smart enough not to. He wiped his forehead off again, taking an audible breath as he struggled to keep cool. In his massive black armor, Zealot looked to be cooking alive, and even Tikinas was showing signs of feeling the heat. Greyheart, however, rode straight and tall, not even a hint of the heat affecting him.

“What the hell’s the matter with you?” Ayn asked, more out of frustration than anything. “Aren’t you hot?”

“The weather around Greyheart Hiralda is always a balmy 78 degrees,” the Elvaan answered with a smile. His breath misted as he spoke, a reaction to the thin veil of ice magic looming in the air around him. “The heat must be awful under all those black clothes, Lady Tikinas, perhaps you’d like to ride with me instead?”

“I’d rather the sun blast me to dust before I got any closer to you than I absolutely have to,” Tikinas growled back in a voice audibly affected by the heat.

“I’ll ride with you,” Zealot piped up from ahead of them. “This jungle is really hot.”

They all stared at him. Greyheart coughed uncomfortably, searching for a response.

“I think it’s the volcano,” he clarified, indicating the imposing black mountain before them. “Volcanoes are usually hot. Unless it was some kind of ice volcano . . .”

“Shut up,” Menphis suddenly snapped, the foreign sound of the teenager’s voice alone giving them reason to pause. All eyes fell on the Ranger as he cast his eyes, acute vision searching the landscape, towards the depths of the jungle around them. He halted his chocobo with a sharp tug of the reins, scanning their surroundings. The group stood stock-still, the idea that something could pierce Menphis’s veil of silence as unnerving as the grim concentration on the young man’s face. His fingers began slowly drifting down towards the gun holstered at his side, eyes still darting about. Ahead of them, the volcano let loose a burst of soot, black smoke pouring into the atmosphere. Nobody said a word.

A hundred possibilities ran through Ayn’s mind in the course of a second. Roving bands of Goblins were known to inhabit the Yuhtunga jungle, and there was supposedly an entire Goblin village actually inside the confines of Ifrit’s Cauldron. It could be something as harmless as a nest of wasps or some roving Opo-opos, or it could be one of the giant Morbols that feasted upon unwary travelers. Sahagins weren’t usually known for their aggression, or to wander so close to the volcano, but beastmen had worked with the demons during the Crystal War, who was to say they would not do so again? They might have been followed all the way from Norg. Would Menphis have been able to sense them amongst all the teeming life filling the jungle? Maybe the demons were already here. Unconsciously he found himself grasping Argentina’s curved sword, any number of nightmares tugging at his imagination.

“There!” Menphis shouted suddenly, nearly startling the Thief out of his saddle, and with a thunderous burst that sent birds bursting from the canopy, he fired a shot from the gun Ayn had never even seen him draw. The distinct sound of rock breaking echoed back at them, and just as suddenly, a form burst through the underbrush, vanishing from sight just as quickly as it had come.

Menphis leveled his gun for another shot, but the stranger was already out of view. Cursing, he reared his chocobo forward again, Greyheart following his lead as the Ranger’s senses guided him towards his target. Zealot loosed the massive great axe from his back, letting it drop into his gauntleted hand as he searched about for some sign of movement. Menphis spun his head sharply, his arm following the motion, and fired another bullet into the brush. This time, all eyes went up as Menphis’s mysterious target, so fast as to be little more than a blur, shot straight up into the air, becoming an indistinct blot of darkness against the powerful sun above before vanishing completely.

“What was that?” Zealot asked, sounding a little shaken.

“Someone following us,” Menphis snarled. “They went in the volcano. I can still sense him.” Just like that, the Ranger dismounted, sliding down to let his boots touch the soft, loamy jungle floor, his raptor’s gaze appraising every inch of the rock wall rising in front of him. After only a brief inspection, he found what he was looking for, and took off towards Ifrit’s Cauldron on foot.

“Get back here!” Ayn shouted, then spat out a curse as Menphis’s green cloak disappeared into the foliage. “Dammit,” he growled, stepping off of his chocobo as well, “he’s going to get himself killed.” And if Menphis died, Ayn knew, no one would be around to give warning about things that might kill him.

“Ayn,” Tikinas said behind him, her ears twitching, “I think he found a path in. I think he went inside Ifrit’s Cauldron.”

Ayn drew in a breath, letting it escape him slowly. He had to keep steady. “Alright,” he decided quickly, “Zealot, did you see which way he went?”

“I was watching, yeah,” The silver-haired warrior answered.

“Then lead the way. We’re going in.”

Dismounting, the quartet followed after their missing member, each unaware that they themselves were followed as well.


Unbelievably, it was actually cooler inside the volcano than it was outside. Not that it was pleasant by any means, but the interior of Ifrit’s Cauldron had a constant breeze running through it as steam and lava vented pressure, keeping the air moving and making it easier to breathe than it had been in the stifling heat outside. The moisture was gone from the air, making the heat dry and significantly less oppressive. The endless deposits of life in the form of insects, flowers, plants, and greenery which blanketed the outside were gone within the black basalt confines of Ifrit’s Cauldron, and as far as the eye could see there was only rock, interrupted with veins of pulsing red-and-orange lava flows slowly meandering down into bubbling pools.

What caught Ayn’s attention the most, however, was the sight of Menphis crowded behind a boulder, gun at his side, breathing hard but as silently as he could. He paid the others no heed as they entered, his attention focused on something just beyond the path before them.

“I found him!” Zealot declared. Ayn wrung his hands with frustration. Menphis closed his eyes and bared his teeth.

“Yes,” the Ranger said out loud, “that was exactly what needed to happen. You guys are the best.”

Before anyone could give a response, the blur came back, this time coming from the opposite direction. There was a thunderous blast as a spray of rock shot up, the projectile barrage heading straight for them. Greyheart, however, threw up a hand, and the hammering pellets of debris slowed in the air, as if they were suddenly trying to trudge through thick mud. The Red Mage smirked as they fell harmlessly to the ground, the force of gravity around them suddenly tenfold.

“Child’s play,” he remarked.

“Thanks Greyheart,” Ayn remarked, “you managed to save us from tiny pebbles. We may have been bruised, or, heaven forbid, scratched.”

“All in a day’s work.” He said proudly, accepting the compliment. Ayn drew out a dagger with the intent of stabbing it through the Elvaan’s back right then and there, but the sound of steel being brought to bear halted hm in his tracks. He turned and found Tikinas, a katana in each hand, staring into the smoke cloud which had burst up from the explosion.

It cleared away in the constantly shifting winds of Ifrit’s Cauldron, and Greyheart gasped at what they saw.

A flowing cascade of blonde hair tumbled down the shoulders of the light purple armor the Hume woman wore, crafted so elegantly that if not for the thick steel plates surmounting the shoulders and chest, it may have well been a second skin. Gauntlets expertly designed to fit smoothly around slim fingers grasped the shaft of a long polearm with a curved, wicked blade at the end of it. Holding her mass of golden locks in place was a winged helmet, and her long legs were firmly guarded by steel-plated leggings, the impact of which had left cracks in the stone firmament of Ifrit’s Cauldron when she had come down from her impossible jump. She spun the spear in her hands around, and then back behind her head, before settling it into a guarded position in front of her, icy blue eyes firmly settled on the group in front of her. Behind her, bearing its tiny fangs at Menphis, a blue-scaled baby wyvern flapped its wings, liquid eyes focused on the Ranger leveling his gun at it. The warrior-woman’s eyes narrowed as Zealot, Ayn, Greyheart, and Tikinas stared.

“I’m switching teams,” Greyheart notified the others.

“You can’t be here right now,” she said in a husky voice, raising her spear to emphasize her point. “Get out. Now!”

“That decided that,” Ayn muttered, drawing the curved blade along with his other dagger. “We’ve got a job to do lady,” he said, “and it’s five-to-one if you haven’t noticed.”

“It is five-to-two, sir,” she replied, her ruby lips curling into a grimace. “Muffin, do not let them pass, in the name of the Dragoon Order!”

“The Dragoon Order?” Zealot asked. “Uh, aren’t there like . . . three Dragoons in the whole world?”

She shifted uncomfortably. “Two,” she clarified, “but we can still be an order!”

“I’m pretty sure there’s more to being an order than just saying you are.” He said uncertainly, scratching his head and looking at the others. “Right? You can’t just say you’re an order and – hey, where’d Tikinas go?”

The Dragoon in front of them widened her eyes at Zealot’s question, and a ripple in the air above her announced the answer. The ninja materialized, weapons drawn, in the air above the woman as her invisibility jutsu was broken, and only the armored Hume’s startling reflexes saved her. Menphis’s gun sounded, but only chipped the already cracked rock at her feet as she was in the air once again, her feet colliding with the volcanic black rock around them. Menphis shouted as fire burst from the maw of the wyvern, scorching the face of the rock he had been standing in front of. The Dragoon burst off of the wall, spiraling towards Tikinas, but the ninja arched completely backwards, righting herself just as the other woman passed overhead.

Zealot rushed forward, his axe in hand, swinging the massive weapon with a whistle as it sliced through the air. The Dragoon blocked the first swing, then caught the second in a swinging riposte, nearly making Zealot crash the weapon into the ground. The Warrior quickly compensated for the motion however, spinning around and dropping low on his knees, his great axe aiming for the knees, but she leaped over it with a flash of her legs and landed atop the blade itself. As it screeched to a halt, she flew off of it, spinning her spear towards Tikinas. The ninja flashed a sign with her hand as a powder came into her grasp, and it suddenly ignited in flame. The Dragoon cried out as the fire swirled around her, throwing her off-balance. Even as she crashed to the floor, the wyvern at her side swooped down with a screech, avoiding a shuriken Tikinas threw at it and crashing bodily into her.

Ayn immediately dove forward as if he was going to catch Tikinas, but instead only extended his arm behind her. As soon as she felt it’s brace, she flipped backwards over it, another barrage of shurikens loosing from her grasp. The wyvern darted higher, but then was cut off as Menphis shot at it, forcing it back down. Tikinas crouched down, and with practiced timing, Ayn swung one leg into the air and bounded up off of her back. The wyvern turned its head to face the Thief a moment too late as he wrapped its hand around its neck and dragged it down out of the air. He held out one gloved hand, and Tikinas tossed out a bundle of twine. As the little monster writhed and snarled, Ayn quickly bound its mouth and limbs, rendering it helpless.

“Muffin!” The Dragoon cried out, back on her feet and already moving. Tikinas spun, taken by surprise by her recovery, and instinctively threw down a vial of powder which burst into smoke as it hit the ground. The Hume woman’s spear sliced through Tikinas’s midsection like paper, but even as it did so, the Ninja vanished into smoke. The Dragoon paused in open-mouthed confusion as she saw now three other identical women to the one she had just disemboweled, all with weapons drawn.

So flabbergasted by the development was she that she was taken completely off-guard when Zealot plowed into her, the flat of his great axe sending her tumbling head over feet into the ground. She sat up, dazed, as the group gathered around her.

“Why were you following us?” Menphis demanded, leveling his gun at her face.

“Why don’t you want us going in to see what’s happening? Are you working with the demons?” Tikinas growled, her two shadow doppelgangers mimicking her dangerous stance.

“And what the hell were you doing this whole time?” Ayn demanded of Greyheart.

“Why, conserving my magic in case someone was injured,” he put forth confidently. “Such as our fine lady Dragoon here. I apologize for our brusque handling, my dear, but we simply must investigate this volcano. I can heal your bruises with some simple hands-on therapy . . . “

He never got to finish his offer. The gray-maned Elvaan was tossed aside like a leaf in the wind, colliding with the volcano wall and crumpling over in shock. Zealot was similarly blasted aside as a wave of wind lifted him, armor, axe and all, completely off the ground and cast him aside, while the same blast tore through Tikinas’s shadows and buffeted the real one about like a doll. Ayn and Menphis both jumped to the side, coming down rolling to a crouched position on opposite sides of each other, both with weapons drawn.

The woman who had attacked them this time was decidedly no Dragoon.

The form of Garuda, Avatar of Wind, floated in the air, the heat from the volcanic fissures making the air shimmer and pulsate around her. Her mighty wings beat rhythmically, causing stirs of rock particles at the ground beneath her as she hovered over it. Her eyes were large and white, and focused wholly upon the two still unharmed in front of her. The green tint of her flesh seemed serpentine in the undulating air currents, and her clawed hands flexed and relaxed as the wind gathered up around her. She waited in the air, neither Ayn nor Menphis knowing what to do next.

“Tomiko,” someone said from behind the Avatar, “are you alright?”

“Muffin!” the Dragoon responded, “make sure Muffin is okay!”

Garuda’s head turned, and with a raised finger she shot out miniscule spikes of air, moving so quickly they sliced through the twine holding the wyvern in place. It immediately took to the air upon being freed, swooping down with a few flaps of its leathery wings to assume a guarding position in front of Tomiko.

A man stepped into view from behind the Avatar, energy crackling in the air around him. He held a staff surmounted with a gleaming green gem, and blonde hair was neatly tied behind his head, revealing the signature pointed ears of an Elvaan. His garment was a plain white doublet with black sleeves, and his head was surmounted by a hat that looked so worn that it could barely hold its own shape. His sleeves and leggings were long and baggy, but his doublet was tied tightly at the waist. It was clear that this was the Summoner controlling Garuda. Ayn’s mood darkened. It was just him and Menphis against a Dragoon and a Summoner. Two on two. He refused to count a flying lizard named Muffin as an actual opponent.

“What are you here for?” the Summoner asked, and Ayn was surprised to hear concern in his tone. “Don’t you know how dangerous this place is?”

“They wouldn’t listen to me, Klistel,” Tomiko said as she rose, “I tried to stop them.”

“You’ve got to get out of here,” Klistel told them, “for your own safety. You can’t possibly understand what’s going on.”

Menphis began to raise his gun, but Ayn put up a halting hand, looking at the Summoner with uncertainty. “Understanding what’s happening here is exactly why we came,” Ayn explained. “We’re on a mission from Norg to find out if there’s a threat here and put a stop to it.”

“A threat?” Klistel said, his eyes widening in disbelief. “They want to know if there’s a threat?” He put up his hand in dismissal, and suddenly the wavering form of Garuda vanished into the winds, her form being incorporeal so rapidly it seemed she was nothing more than air itself. “You can tell the people in Norg that Ifrit’s Cauldron has been taken over by the Kindred Lord Duke Berith, and that he intends to bury all of Elshimo under a never-ending sea of fire and ash. Ask them if they think that qualifies a threat.”