Chapter LII: The Ocean Says Yes

The flight from Ifrit’s Cauldron was a blur, literally. Once Tomiko convinced Tikinas that her tan-scaled monster was no threat, the creature had leaped into the air and then streaked almost straight down. Once the wyvern Vouivre took wing, it took but moments for the Ninja to be deposited at the base of the volcano, over a mile below. With the volcano pouring clouds of ash into the sky, it felt like hours.

“Vouivre won’t leave its home,” the Dragoon informed Tikinas when they reached the outskirts of the Cauldron. “I can’t fly you any further.”

“That’s a pity,” she said disingenuously, more than happy to be off of the wyvern. Tikinas admitted to herself that the big-eyed liquid gaze of Tomiko’s own wyvern, Muffin, was a little endearing. This glimpse at what a monster it would grow to be, however, was honestly terrifying. Its teeth were like daggers. Is scales were harder than iron and hot to the touch. Tomiko might have endorsed the hulking Vouivre as harmless, but Tikinas did not have nor want the kind of bond with the creatures the Dragoon had. In any case, she had more important things to worry about.

In a flash, she was off, the ground a featureless blur beneath her feet. Ifrit’s Cauldron was rumbling behind her, and she tried to ignore the pieces of blackened rock falling around her. Don’t think about Ayn being inside the volcano that could erupt at any moment, she told herself. Don’t think about the panic that had to be sweeping through Kazham, her own hometown. Don’t think about the people of Norg being swept under by a tide of magma. Don’t think about Elshimo itself breaking into pieces. She focused entirely on moving forward, on completing the mission.

Around her, the Yhoator jungle thickened with each bound and leap she took. The environment only sped her along. Others might have struggled with the terrain, their progress hampered by the twisting paths. The towering trees, so numerous their foliage blotted out the sun, laid their twisting roots across every inch of the jungle. The underbrush was thicker still, much of the jungle still unexplored simply because it was deemed inaccessible. This was to say nothing of the Coeurls that slinked through the trees, waiting for unwary prey. Goblin hunting parties often wandered near the volcano as well, residents of the village they had seen inside. Some of the plants were deadly to touch or ingest, the monsters took a more active approach to killing people. An average traveler could take days to safely traverse the dense jungle.

To Tikinas, trained in the art of the Ninja practically from birth, nothing was an obstacle. The leaves on the trees she bounded off of barely rustled with her passing. Her legs pumped ceaselessly. Each step propelled her deeper and deeper into Yhoator, the terrain itself a propellant. Her pace ate up the ground at an impossible rate. Nothing that even saw her long enough to realize something was there had time to figure out what it was they had seen. More often than not, she was a black-and-white streak, her hair blowing out behind her as she ran. Nothing could possibly keep pace with her. She was moving too fast for anything to catch up with her.

It surprised even her when she halted after landing on a particularly thick branch and spun directly around. A row of thin needles lined her grasp, and her eyes searched the jungle intently. She knew someone was following her. She could feel it in her bones, and every sense she possessed was telling her that there was something behind her. When her ears caught the limbs she bounded from snapping back into place, she knew it was a second too late. She knew the brush closed behind her just a moment too slowly. Someone was mimicking her path, taking every step she did. Yet there was nothing behind her. Nothing stirred, not even the faintest breeze in the air. All about her was only stillness.

She held her position, legs balanced precariously on the branch she stood on. Below her, leaves rustled, and she immediately turned to face the source of the disturbance. The noise grew louder, branches snapping in the tree directly beneath the Ninja. Breathlessly, she drew back her fist, prepared to unleash her deadly payload. For a long moment she held steady, unblinking. Something came through the underbrush, and like a whip cracking her arm flashed, and she barely halted herself from unleashing a spray of projectiles into an opo-opo, which peered at her with bulbous eyes through the leaves. It crunched down on a branch it held in one hand, chewing the bark as it looked up at the ninja perched over it. With an exasperated grunt, Tikinas sheathed her weapons. In the distance, Ifrit’s Cauldron rumbled.

The jungle was a green-and-brown blur beneath her feet. The tree line abruptly cut off, and she soared through the air, springing from a tree towards her destination. She hit the ground running, the topography of Yhoator racing through her mind. Tikinas knew she wasn’t far away from where she needed to be now. She had been raised in these jungles, fighting Goblins, running missions to outposts, evading the dreaded Morbols. She doubted even the Onion Samurai, one of Kazham’s urban legends, knew more about the island than she did. This was her home. The realization that the place where she had grown up was now her responsibility to protect raced through her mind. Gritting her teeth, she pushed past the pain she had suffered at the hands of Duke Berith and made her legs move faster. She was close by something that would speed her journey even further.

Tracks on the ground that looked like roots being pulled from the earth told her she was where she wanted to be. With a running leap, she took to the air again. Her feet grazed the side of a moss-covered rock, giving her the surface she needed to spring off of. For a long moment she soared, unclaimed by gravity, and then landed atop her target; the Treant that wandered Yhoator jungle. Old as the jungle itself, the monster was often called the Woodland Sage, as it had borne witness to everything that had ever transpired on Elshimo. As soon as she landed, the plant-like creature gave a startled snort. Violently, it shook its branches, but Tikinas clutched on to the monster. Understandably, it grew quite upset at having a Ninja clutching on to its head.

With a tremendous heave, the Woodland Sage threw Tikinas loose. First bending backwards, it then catapulted forward and sent the thin frame of the Mithra flying. It was something she had wanted to try ever since her instructor had her observe the Sage without being detected for three days straight. There was no time like the present. The incredible momentum with which the Treant hurled her threw Tikinas forward like a dart. Faster than even she could run, she cleared ground at an incredible pace, the Woodland Sage a fading dot behind her.

Tucking herself into a ball, she let her momentum bring her down. She rolled with the impact and sprang back up instantly, not hesitating as she entered the cave mouth before her. She had reached the Den of Rancor.


“Gnnnnn,” let out Klistel, sweat soaking his forehead. The ethereal form of Ifrit enveloping the crystal hunched over, its eyes gleaming like suns. Slowly, another crack which had formed in the crystal began to fuse itself together. Shattered pieces became whole, but it caused a reaction that sent a sound like glass splintering through the Cloister of Flames.

Ayn almost cringed at the sound. Everything going on around him unnerved him. Watching a Summoner and a raging fire monster attempting to piece back together a gigantic magic crystal had not been a part of what he agreed to. Especially since the Summoner had already told him that even if they were successful, the live volcano they were in was going to explode with them in it. Everything came down to the one person in the world he could count on. In a situation like this, though, he wondered if even Tikinas could come through.

“Menphis?” the Thief asked, and the Ranger shook his head in response.

“She’s too far away,” he replied, leaning back with arms folded against the wall. He looked so unflustered at the entire situation that Ayn wanted to slice him down the middle. “I can’t tell you anything.”

The Thief was too worried to even comment on that. Tikinas was the only one of them now not in Ifrit’s Cauldron, but for the danger she was placing herself in at the Den of Rancor, it was small comfort indeed. That dreadful abyss was as much a deathtrap as the volcano.

His concentration on Tikinas was broken when Klistel gave another strained cry. A thin crack started reforming itself, and Ifrit gave a voiceless snarl as its shape lost cohesiveness. It was clear that the loss of the Protocrystal of Fire would mean much more than just the destruction of Elshimo. Klistel’s muscles went taut beneath his robes, and the newest fault sealed itself over again. The Avatar of Fire became clear once more, refocusing its efforts double on the task before it. For man and spirit alike, it was a matter of self-preservation.

Time ticked away in the Cloister of Flames as outside, Ifrit’s Cauldron rumbled ever louder.


Eyes always unblinking, pace a steady, measured shuffle, lantern swinging on a measured rhythm, the Tonberry came forward. The knife in its tiny fist was dulled, spotted with what was either rust or positively ancient blood. Part of the blade was chipped, and as the green-skinned creature walked, it scraped at times against the rocky ground to produce a profoundly disturbing sound. It said nothing even as another Tonberry passed by it, both dressed in the same tattered sackcloth clothes tied with rope belts. In one hand they held their knives, the other an outstretched lantern. In this fashion they had patrolled the Den of Rancor as long as anyone could remember. The Tonberries, the most malignant and ruthlessly deadly of all the Beastmen to walk Vana’diel, called this place their home. It truly suited them.

The Den of Rancor stretched out for miles. All of it completely underground, there was seemingly no end to the twists and turns of the subterranean tunnels. Here and there some monsters roamed; a small clutch of lizards, the revolting Hecteyes, even the odd Pugil, making their aquatic home in the shallow pools which stagnated in the caves. It was the Tonberries, though, who held uncontested control of the area. Hardly an inch of the space was actually dark, despite being well hidden from the sun. At regular intervals, lanterns like the ones the deep green Beastmen held had been attached to the walls, giving off a pale, flickering glow to see by. Those flames, as far as anyone had ever observed, never extinguished. It had been said the Tonberries filled their lanterns with the souls of their victims, trapping them for eternity within their tiny glass prison.

The two Tonberries passed by one another, continuing along their respective paths. The cavern remained still as they both shuffled down connecting tunnels, leaving the open space behind. A moment later, Tikinas dropped down from the ceiling, quickly spinning from side to side on the balls of her feet. Confident she had not been noticed, she continued moving forward. Her pace infuriated her compared to the flight through the jungle. It felt like she was moving at a crawl having to navigate the twisting corridors and avoid being seen by the murderous Tonberries. The tuning fork Klistel had given her was pulsating now against the pocket in her waist, pulling her onwards. Whatever its purpose, it was clear that it had a propensity towards wanting to fulfill it.

The Mithra slid carefully along the wall into another open space. More Tonberries roamed throughout, a dozen or more slowly pacing back and forth. Slinking forward, Tikinas removed a vial from a tiny pouch in the lining of her vest. One hand flashing through a series of motions, she released a tiny trickle of chi into it, crunching it in her fist. A hazy powder flew out of it, covering her with a prismatic dust. She faded from view like a mirage in the desert. The tuning fork in her pocket tugged harder. She had to be close now.

Carefully, she began crossing the distance of the room. The Tonberries made no indication of noticing her. She had no time to wait for them to pace away or try and sneak by. The powder forming a light-bending cloud around her was her best option as she saw it. Footfalls soundless, she cut a straight line through the broad cavern, slipping easily through the beastmen. They gave no indication of seeing her as she ghosted by, gnarled, bare feet continuing their endless walk. She reached the other side of the open space without incident, the tuning fork in her belt guiding her implacably onwards. Knowing she was getting close, Tikinas rounded the corner.

Straight into the all-seeing gaze of a Hecteyes.

The monstrous thing was fully as tall as the Mithra herself. An animated mass of what looked like sloughing, decaying flesh, covered completely with bright yellow eyes. A revolting, horrendous creature, and every one of those bulging, serpentine eyes fixed directly on where Tikinas was standing. There were Tonberry still everywhere behind her. For a moment, she held her breath, praying that somehow her invisibility had kept her hidden.

A guttural bleating rose from the Hecteyes as it shattered Tikinas’s hopes. Tendrils of a fetid ooze shot out of its very body, striking at her in bestial anger. It had no reason to attack her, but like everything in the Den of Rancor, it needed none. Simply being within the heart of the Tonberry lair filled every creature that entered with malice. The Hecteyes’ attack missed her by inches, and she arched backwards to avoid the strike. At the same time, a bag of powder flew from her grasp, striking the monster and exploding on impact into cloud. Tikinas released her chi through the correlating hand sign, and the concoction immediately became as black as night. The Hecteyes was blinded, and began lashing out recklessly, furiously trying to strike Tikinas down. The Mithra somersaulted away, landing with both katana drawn.

The rattle she heard was like a child’s laugh filled with some indescribable darkness. A chill shot down her spine, nearly paralyzing her just from its touch. Before she even turned her head she knew that the Tonberries knew she was there.

Tikinas was no fool. She did not stop to confront the beastmen or see how many there were. She only ran, as fast as she could, speeding down the endless corridors of the Den of Rancor with abandon. The tuning fork pulled her left, and she followed without question. The rattle sounded again, making her bones quiver, urging her to beg more speed out of the burning muscles in her legs. It couldn’t have been closer than before. It was just her imagination, or these damn caves echoing, she told herself. They just couldn’t be closer than before.

The tuning fork abruptly leaped in her belt, then started pulling her towards the ground. The sudden direction shift stunned her enough to give her pause. As she skidded to a halt, her eyes involuntarily turned to the side. They were right behind her. Not running, not even really walking quickly on their stunted limbs, the yellow-eyed Tonberries were practically on top of her. Another rattle sounded, and fear clutched at her as lantern light glinted off of dull and rusty knives held in gnarled hands. They were shuffling towards her, inescapable and implacable. Their blades were extended as they slowly marched towards the Ninja. The walls seemed to be closing in around her. The rattle sounded again, louder and faster, and for a moment it seemed her feet were stuck to the floor.

With a shout of defiance, Tikinas threw down her arms. A hail of powder flew from her sleeves, and she ignited it with a concentrated burst of chi. The tunnel was instantly filled with the same blinding powder she had used on the Hecteyes. Tikinas flew out of the thick cloud, skidding to a halt as wisps of it trailed off of her. Her breath hissed between pointed teeth as she saw unblinking yellow eyes, still visible through the impenetrable fog.

The ninja took off without hesitation. A Tonberry emerged with its knife scraping against the wall, blood-colored sparks shooting from the stone upon contact. In the dim light which permeated the Den of Rancor, Tikinas spotted a hole in the floor. The tuning fork urged her towards it, and she wasted no time getting there. She pushed off with one leg, sailing into the air as she unleashed a deadly spray of shuriken blindly behind her. With an aerial flip, she dove into the darker, deeper section of the cave, landing on her feet below. The item Klistel had given her was practically tearing through her pocket now, and she turned to see a long, dark tunnel ahead of her. At the end of it, a softly-glowing blue light gently shone.

Just in front of it, however, were four more Tonberries.

The Ninja put up her katana in desperation as they came forward. The rattling was everywhere it seemed. She turned and impossibly realized that the Tonberries she had left above were standing perched over the crevasse she had dropped down. One of them took a step forward into the abyss, and dropped straight down, landing on its feet as if the precipitous descent was but a normal step. Knives were scraping stone all around her. One of the Tonberries in front of the tunnel took a slow step forward, and Tikinas realized that the lantern it was holding was empty, with the flame door hanging open and pointing towards her.


“We must escape!” Greyheart insisted as the cavern rumbled around them. Geysers of flame had begun to shoot up through cracks forming in the ground. The Red Mage cried out as he was singed by a white-hot rock shooting through the air, leaving a blister where it struck his wrist. “This whole volcano is about to go!”

“We’ve nowhere to run,” Menphis told him, the youth standing straight despite the continuous shaking. “You shouldn’t waste your breath.”

“How can you be so damn calm about this?” Ayn demanded. The Thief was intently focused on Klistel, the spiritual manifestation of Ifrit now almost solid before him. The Protocrystal of Flame was nearly repaired, and yet the chain reaction its near destruction had set off now seemed inevitable. The Summoner was hunched over, shoulders drooping as he gasped for air. The energy he was expelling threatened to claim his own life. Ifrit gave a roar without sound, yet the intensity of it still struck Ayn on a level far beyond the physical.

“Because I know,” the Ranger replied, watching the events transpire, the intensity of his expression magnified by the red light upon it, “that no matter what, I will not die until I have my revenge.”

Ayn stared at him briefly, then turned away with an exasperated breath. He should have gone with her, he told himself. He should have gone with her.

“I can’t . . . keep this up . . . “ Klistel spat out between breaths, and Ifrit’s Cauldron growled. The Elvaan’s mouth hung open mutely, and his face looked withered with exhaustion. Time had almost run out.


Tikinas hacked with measured precision at the Tonberries coming near her. Each slash touched nothing, as no matter how close they seemed, as soon as she attacked they were once again beyond her reach. She was keeping them at bay, but there were so many, and she was so tired. She saw a knife glint in the air behind her, and she realized her time had run out.

The series of explosions which rocked the cavern were deafening. She instinctively clutched her hands to her ears as shattered stone erupted around her, spraying across the room. The Tonberries turned as one, all eyes shifting left and then right, and TIkinas caught the sight of a blur moving across the far wall. A wall of flame surrounded her, and the Tonberry beside her stepped back, engulfed. It stood there, burning, eyes never moving from Tikinas as it waited for the flames to die down. Its knife never lowered.

The streak of motion suddenly took shape, and Tikinas gasped at the Ninja whose feet touched down, Tonberries now solidly focused on him.

“This is not what I signed on for,” the Ninja lamented, a serrated katana clutched tightly in front of him.

“You’re – ! “ she exclaimed.

“No time,” he admonished, dark eyes darting over a dozen Tonberry faces. “Get going, now. I can’t hold them off.”

She froze for only an instant before turning to see the tunnel to the Cloister of Tides stretching out beyond her, the path clear.

With the briefest bow of acknowledgment, she was off.


Zealot staggered back with a surprised shout as a vein of magma burst, lava spilling into the Cloister of Flames. The entire mountain was heaving, and an acrid smoke had begun to fill the air. Ayn was clutching to a rock face now to simply stand up straight, even as fragments of molten rock splashed across the ground at his feet. Klistel was on his knees, a hand raised weakly in the air as Ifrit struggled visibly in the air over him.

The rumbling suddenly became a furious quake, and a fresh spew of lava burst from the ground. Ayn slid down, unable to keep his grip, as even Menphis sunk to one knee.

“This is it,” Klistel said out loud, and flash of heat and sound that overtook them put the truth to his words.


Tikinas dashed forward, tearing the tuning fork from her pouch. With a frantic dive, she cleared the distance from the cavern mouth to the Protocrystal of Water. The fork seemed to be carrying her through the air now, and an audible shout escaped her as she clutched it towards the enormous, glittering blue gem.

The surface of the Protocrystal rippled like a pond with a stone thrown into it as Tikinas made contact. She sank down immediately, plunging into the clear, cool water which flooded the Cloister of Tides. She sank into it, an amazing sensation sweeping through her. With a gasp, she sat straight up, splashing and struggling to stand again. She caught sight of the surface of the crystal, and stopped immediately. Her eyes were like dinner plates as she watched the Protocrystal. She didn’t even notice the water rising up around her, obeying the call of its master.


Klistel’s outstretched hand clenched into a taut fist.

His other palm slapped against the floor, flesh hissing as it made contact with the sizzling hot stone. Everything was being super heated by the lava rolling in around them. There was barley a safe place to stand. All at once, however, the Summoner rose. As Ayn watched in disbelief, a visible aura flared out from the man who had appeared on the verge of death a moment earlier. The flames surrounding him dispelled, brushed away by a cleansing energy that washed over the Rogue and the entire room as well. Steam began billowing from the ground as the temperature in the room dropped, and Ayn felt like he had just taken a swim through pure spring water.

The visage of Ifrit suddenly became solid. The lava retreated further, obeying the will of the Avatar of Fire. Ifrit looked up, eyes gleaming, and let out a roar that Ayn definitely felt physically. He thought his eardrums might burst as it shook the Cloister of Flames, a match for the rumbling volcano itself.

What was even more amazing was that Ayn heard another voice call out in response.


The true form of Leviathan, Avatar of Water, burst from the ocean surrounding Elshimo. Heeding the desperate call of Ifrit, guided by Klistel, the water dragon emerged in all his terrible power. Blue scales rippled and glittered like the sea itself, stretching onwards forever as his enormous body coiled around itself. The serpentine Avatar let out a screech, and immediately dozens of waterspouts, miles high, surged up around the island. They danced around Leviathan, its fishlike fins stretching outwards to command them. The Avatar straightened, reaching so high as to blot out the sun, and gave another shriek. Guided by its will, the wall of water spiraled together, and surged across the island in one tremendous torrent.

Ifrit’s Cauldron erupted. Ash and lava were belched into the air, forming a dark cloud that multiplied in size by the second, threatening to blanket Elshimo even as fault lines began collapsing inwards all around it. It was cataclysmic. It was a disaster the likes of which had never been seen on the tiny island, nor would again. It lasted roughly six seconds.

As Ifrit commanded the flow of magma down to its source, billions of gallons of water suddenly surged through the mountain. Monsters were swept away, geysers of flame extinguished. The Goblin village experienced the first and only rain it would ever know. Foreseer Oramix held a hand in the air, feeling precipitation leaking down from the caverns above, and looked out around at his fellow Goblins. Not a single one of them was moving. They had no idea what to do.

Ayn coughed as steam too thick to see through filled the Cloister of Flames. He reached blindly forward, and then clutched onto something that felt human. Pulling it closer to him, he saw the face of Klistel emerge. The Elvaan’s hair was matted to his head, and though he barely looked conscious, there was a smile on his face.

“What did you do?” He asked the Summoner.

“There was a . . . plea,” he explained, “embedded in the tuning fork. Tikinas succeeded. We asked the ocean to help.”

“I guess the ocean says yes,” Ayn observed, trying without success to make out his surroundings. Even the Protocrystal of Fire was enveloped in the mist filling the room. Something brushed past him, and he caught a glimpse of something green walking by.

“I told you,” Menphis said, grabbing hold of the ledge and pulling himself up to burst from the steam cloud. Without changing expression once, the Ranger began climbing upwards, out the way they had came.

“The paths Berith sealed off should be open again now,” Klistel realized. “We can go out the easy way. Hey,” he called after Menphis, but Ayn stopped him.

“No,” the Thief said, brushing the steam away as best he could, “let’s let him figure that out.”


Tikinas didn’t know when she came back to her senses, but when she did, the scent of grass filled her nose.

Tearing herself up off the ground, she looked around in amazement. The sun was a fading red marble in the horizion. Ifrit’s Cauldron was belting out harmless steam in the distance, and there wasn’t a single tremor shaking the ground. She was outside, the Den of Rancor a distant blot of darkness. She had no memory of leaving the Cloister of Tides, nor even losing consciousness.

Her hand flinched with surprise as her fingers scraped something in the air. She realized there was a note tied around her wrist.

“Our Little Secret,” it read, spelled out in an easily decipherable Ninja code. The signature on it was also unmistakable.

At the sound of footsteps approaching, she crumpled it in her hand, spinning to face whoever approached her. Then she was spun herself as Ayn lifted her into the air, and when he let her down they came into an extended embrace. She noticed Klistel, Tomiko, Zealot, and Greyheart in the distance, each one trying to discretely look away. She didn’t have time to worry about where Menphis was before the questions began for both sides, and didn’t stop even as the sun set and they trekked the long distance back to Norg.


”Looks like we came out of this one after all,” President commented, staring out into the distance.

Argentina came to his side, leaning her head against his shoulder. The perch they shared overlooked most of the island, and not hours before, it had been the sight of something indescribable. Whatever the cause or outcome, all they knew was that for the moment, Elshimo was safe.

“I knew my boy could do it,” the pirate king said with an unrestrained smile. “’E ain’t let me down yet.”

“And all by himself, no doubt,” Argentina replied with a completely straight face. “Well, maybe Tikinas helped.”

“We’re in interestin’ times, Argentina,” he remarked, stretching out his arms around her. He gave out a deep chuckle, and the Charybdis’s first mate raised her head to see what her captain was looking at.

Hiking through the woods far below, crossing the hidden paths to reach Norg through Sea Serpent Grotto, she could clearly make out a small band of people. They were too far to make out from the distance and in the fading light, but there was no doubt who they were. President removed his arm, turning to the stiff wooden steps leading up to the perch and heading back down into the hidden village below.

“Going to meet them at the gate?” Argentina inquired.

President gave another laugh. “’Course not, lass. I’m gonna make them come t’ Gilgamesh’s office an’ give an official report, all intimidating-like. We can’t let th’ lad get a swelled head just yet.”

Argentina smirked as they both descended back towards Norg. President was right, after all. With everything going on in the world, Ayn had just bought them time and safety they had desperately needed.

And now his work was really about to begin.

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?”