Chapter CIII: Unstoppable Forces

As Mertron's blade arced through the air, Xaijin shifted his weight. Balancing on the balls of his feet, he bobbed momentarily, and then at precisely the right moment he sprang backwards. The mercenary's sword crashed into the ground, missing by miles. Smirking as he easily dodged the clumsy stroke, Xaijin tapped down lightly on the ground as he gathered chi into his fists for a counterattack.

There was almost a full second between Mertron slicing his sword upward and Xaijin realizing he had been hit.

A pulse of shining, golden light shot forth from the blade as it was pulled free from the frost-covered ground. It swept outwards from the point, creating a wave which blasted forth with intensity that tore the rocks apart. Xaijin did not even register what had happened before the blast took him full in the chest, tearing him off his feet and tossing him like a rag doll into the air. Contorting his body, the Elvaan touched down on the ground again, his feet and fingers leaving a trail as he skidded to a halt, several yards from where he landed.

His eyes shot up, only to find Mertron already bearing down upon him. The air around his sword shimmered with a golden light as he brought it down on the Monk's head. A plume of dust and ice shards burst at Xaijin's feet as he sprung backwards, the blade missing him and tearing a trench into the ground. Again, Mertron tore it free as if the frost-covered rocks were melted butter, and once again a plume of shimmering energy exploded forth.

"Rrrrr - ragggh!" Xaijin roared, bringing his chi to bear. White light blossomed from his palms as his aura flared bright red around him. The blast took him dead on, shattering the rocks at his feet and scarring the ground. A cloud of smoke flared up around him, encircling the Elvaan as Mertron's blast halted. A frigid wind stirred, carrying the smoke away and revealing Xaijin's still-outstretched hand.

His palm was completely black, scarred from the impact of Mertron's power. He ground his teeth, a guttural growl escaping his throat as he clenched his fingers. The skin on his hand was smoking, and the scent of burned flesh wafted through the air. Parts of his already-tattered garb had been blasted away, leaving similar burns on his shoulders and forearms. The red-haired Elvaan was panting, steam pouring from his body as his aura heated the air.

"Alright, that's impressive," Mertron said, tapping his blade against his shoulder. That he could heft the enormous thing with one hand was absurd, but he looked to be giving it no more effort than if it were a simple stick. "Ragnarok here throws out enough energy to cleave a Gigas in two." He lowered the golden sword, leaning against its hilt as it sank into the ground. "I'm gonna bottom line this. You can't win, and it'll be painful if you try. If you just turned and left, I'll probably forget you were ever here."

Xaijin drew back his burned hand, flesh still sizzling. His skin cracked and flaked off as he stretched his fingers, a grimace of pain slicing through his features. Suddenly, his face contorted and a senses-shattering eruption of chi arced across his body, glowing white-hot with intensity. The energy exploded off of him, and in an instant the burns covering his torso sealed over with clean, unbroken skin. He exhaled slowly, flashes of his power surging across his dark eyes.

"That's pretty - " Mertron started, and then never finished.

Xaijin's fists exploded into his chest with force which would tear a bugard in two. The distance separating the two of them had been closed in less than an eyeblink. The mercenary was torn from his feet, but no sooner did he leave the ground than Xaijin's foot lashed out, whip-like, catching him across the back. His body flew forward, but even as he sailed through the air, the Monk was still upon him.

"You wasted time talking," Xaijin muttered into the other Elvaan's ear, "and now you're going to die." As he uttered the last word, his fist came down, crushing Mertron back into the ground. He skidded to a halt several feet away, immediately rushing back to the shallow crater the mercenary's impact had made. Chi erupted from his fist, and when he brought it down it howled through the air as he sought to crush Mertron's skull.

His knuckles made contact, and a volcanic surge of energy shot up into the air. In Castle Oztroja, light poured in through every window, the blinding eruption mimicking the long-absent sun. A wave of heat followed afterward, blasting across the landscape and melting the frost, causing a torrent of newly-created streams to drench the barren rocks of Meriphataud. The ground heaved once, rumbling in protest to the forces being unleashed upon it. Finally, a moment of stillness settled across the mountain range, eerie in the juxtaposition to the raging violence which had just been unleashed.

Xaijin pulled back his bloody knuckles, face contorted in pain as Mertron shifted Ragnarok away, pulling himself to his feet.

"That wasn't smart," he commented, the blade bursting into golden flame. He swung fiercely, the flat of his sword catching the Monk directly under his ribs.

Like a bolt of lightning, Xaijin arced through the air, bouncing feebly against the ground when he made contact. His ribs felt like they were on fire, and blood trickled down from his lips. He threw his eyes up angrily, finding Mertron already rushing him, sword ready to swing. Defiantly, he threw himself forward, charging towards the other Elvaan at breakneck speeds. Mertron swung, missing as Xaijin ducked underneath the slice and delivered a fist straight into the mercenary's gut. He skidded back, but then blindly struck with his sword, the waves of energy it cast cutting through the air. Bringing his arms up in defense, Xaijin winced as he felt his forearms burning as Ragnarok's energy struck them.

Mertron regained his balance, immediately coming forward again. Xaijin let him in close, ducking and weaving each of the great sword's attacks. Each cascade of energy emerged from its point, and so he stayed well within the length of the sword itself. However, even in the midst of attacking himself, Mertron still twisted and spun his body to avoid all of the Monk's counter attacks. The landscape around them was trembling, shuddering beneath the weight of their monumental chi colliding. They seemed not to notice, locked in their battle of life or death, as the ground rumbled and fissures split open around them.

Xaijin landed a graze, fist scraping against Mertron's chin. He moved with the force of the strike, spinning around and shifting his sword grasp to slash through with the momentum, nearly cutting the Monk in two. Xaijin arched backwards to avoid the strike, flipping away and then immediately coming forward again, trying to stay in the pocket where Ragnarok's energy releases could not reach him. He swept Mertron's feet out, but the mercenary planted the blade of his sword, bracing himself and preventing a fall. Immediately he swung the golden sword up again, hair from Xaijin's long red mane sailing into the wind as it brushed millimeters from his face.

Mertron suddenly shifted his grasp, and brought the hilt of his sword up, slamming it into Xaijin's chest. The Monk stumbled back, even as the other Elvaan caught him again with the flat of his blade. This time, Xaijin managed to get an arm up, but he could feel his bones strain as he skidded across the ground. He stopped at the end of Mertron's arm length, a half-circle dug into the ground where he had attempted to block the strike. The sword dropped away, and pain shot like lightning through Xaijin's body. Shuffling back quickly, his right arm hung dead at his side, resisting his attempts to lift it. Scowling, he lashed out with a sinewy leg, his chi riding along the strike like a cannon blast.

The ground itself tore open at Xaijin's kick, sending a shockwave of erupting earth towards Mertron at incredible speed. Eyes widening, he brought Ragnarok up defensively as the strike overcame him. He was pushed back, Xaijin's energy forcing him backwards. With a snarl, a bloom of golden energy surged out of his great sword, and he contemptously slashed through Xaijin's assault. The rising earth split off in either direction, leaving Mertron unharmed in its center. The mercenary was staring hard at Xaijin, however, letting Ragnarok's point dip close to the ground as he held it in one hand.

"You shouldn't be that strong," he protested. "Where does all that power come from?"

"I thought you said you knew who I was," Xaijin replied.

Mertron hefted his sword up again, tapping it against his shoulders. "Of course I do," he answered, "you're Xaijin."

"Yes," he said, and once again his lips started curling back in a smile." Now let me show you what that means!"

The next thing Mertron knew, he was doubled over as Xaijin's fist dug into his exposed gut. Blood shot from his mouth as he gasped, but in the next moment he was arching backwards from an uppercut to his chin. As he flipped over, Xaijin spun around, lashing his foot out once again. The kick caught the other Elvaan in his side, and a thunderous impact cracked the mercenary's ribs. He spun around rapidly in the air, crashing down to the ground with force that kicked up a cloud of dust around him. Xaijin drew back his left arm, his aura burning red around it like an inferno. With a shout of anger, a blast of concentrated chi shot forth, exploding as it struck Mertron dead on.

It then dissipated as the Elvaan sliced through it, still wielding Ragnarok and already back on his feet. The bored look had fallen away from his face, replaced by a hard, angry glare. He held his sword in one hand, the other clutching at his ribs. Growling, he sliced rapidly towards the Monk, each slice throwing out a wave of golden light. Xaijin spun to one side, dodging one, then leaped quickly in the air to avoid another. One came at him as he jumped, and he threw himself backwards, landing on his hands and propelling himself forward just as another wave approached. Gritting his teeth, he let loose his own chi with a roar, and with a devasting spin kick he broke the energy wave into pieces, the golden light fading away to harmless sparkles in the air.

His skin was blackened where his leg had struck Ragnarok's blast, burned and blistered. He winced as he put weight on it, hobbling momentarily before regaining his balance. Mertron leveled his sword at the Monk, taking a step forward.

"Look, I know you're a tough S.O.B., you don't have to prove that to me." To Xaijin's surprise, he lowered his sword and started rifling around in his shirt. After a moment, he produced a cigarette, resting it in his lips and then patting himself searchingly. "You don't have a match, do you?"

"Sorry," Xaijin replied, "just got out of jail."

"Really? I gotta hear that story." Sighing, he lifted a finger, which produced a tiny flame from its tip. "Not much good at magic, myself, but I can do the important stuff." He took a drag from his lit cigarette, blowing a cloud of smoke into the freezing air. "Alright, so here's the deal. I'm only getting paid to take out that castle right there. I didn't think to negotiate fighting a living legend into my contract."

"I'm going to tear your head from your neck if you don't get to the point in about three seconds," Xaijin told him flatly.

"Right, right," he waved one hand dismissively, taking another puff. "So look; I'm just going to put this out there. You want to walk away from this, I'm not gonna go after you. Just walk off into the sunset or something - well, there are no sunsets anymore, but you get my point - and we'll both forget the other person exists."

Xaijin lowered his guard. His right arm still felt dead at his side, stunned from direct impact with Ragnarok. It was a struggle to keep his leg straight after blocking the barrage of energy from the sword. At this rate, sooner or later he'd be unable to properly attack or defend. Worse, he'd delivered strikes he was fairly certain would rip a Behemoth in half, and yet Mertron was still on his feet. The sword's power was no doubt extending itself to its owner, protecting him from the worst of the attacks. If the two of them continued at their current rate, time was on the mercenary's side.

"So I just walk away," Xaijin said, "and no one comes after me? I'm free to go?"

Mertron tapped a long trail of ash from his cigarette. "You got it, chief. Deal?"

"Of course not, you idiot." Xaijin's muscles tensed, and the rocks at his feet shattered to dust. "I just needed another few moments before I could do this again."

Once more, a white-hot fire of chi burned across the Monk's body. His long red hair flared back as the sigils representing his chakra etched themselves in the air. In a flash, his burns and bruises disappeared, and feeling snaked back into his right arm. Then his aura went from white to red, whips of lightning-like energy leaving scars across the ground. His eyes glowed the color of blood as he leveled his gaze at Mertron, a grim smile curling back his lips. A hellish, unnatural howl filled the air as the space surrounding Xaijin went black, and the halo of Souleater's power chilled the area more than the lack of sunlight could ever do.

"Great," Mertron complained, flicking his spent cigarette away. "Looks like I've got no choice." He hefted Ragnarok in front of him, and in the next moment everything surrounding him was burning in the intensity of a blinding golden light. "You could've walked away from this, Xaijin!" He shouted. "It's too late now!"

"Yes," Xaijin agreed, "it is much too late."

"Ragnarok," Mertron intoned, his voice steady as he drew the blade back, "Scourge."

The ground rumbled as the mercenary launched forward, golden light swirling fiercely around his unstoppable sword. His eyes were glowing like lighthouse beacons as he stormed forward, each rushed step issuing forth a tremor in his wake. With each heartbeat, the storm of energy around him condensed and focused into the sword's point. The blade was consumed with the flames of its own power, cutting through the air itself and leaving a vacuum behind it.

Xaijin charged forward in response, the clouds above parting as he moved. The entire valley in Meriphataud was shaking as pitch-black energy laced with streaks of red lightning focused in his fists. The land around him began breaking apart, disintegrating as it came into contact with his overwhelming aura. Each thunderous step he took left a crater behind him from the force of impact. As he rushed towards Mertron's burning sword, he drew back each clenched fist, and the power he had gathered rushed into his hands, screaming to be released.

Mertron swung his sword forward as Xaijin's fist breached his aura, and for a moment the entire area went deathly still.

In the next instant, Meriphataud Mountains lit up with an intensity to shame the shrouded sun. Castle Oztroja shook down to its foundations, massive stones falling from parapets as inside glass shattered, wooden objects splintered, and anything not bolted down was thrown over. A dome of pure chi was rising up from the point of impact, rapidly spreading, undulating between bright gold and deep black. Miles away, the army closing in on the castle was thrown into turmoil as the ground split open at their feet, fissures separating units and swallowing some unfortunate beastmen whole. Demons shrieked and fell from the air, overcome by the waves of energy sweeping over them.

In one shattering moment, the dome of power contracted, and then violently burst outwards, dissipating into the wind with one final surge of unfathomable might.

Xaijin and Mertron were both standing, their backs to one another, on the opposite side of where they had begun. Neither moved, nor said a word. A wind, shining with the remnants of their combined chi still in the air, brushed lightly between them.

The stillness was broken as Ragnarok clattered to the ground.

"Well that sucks," Mertron muttered, collapsing to his knees. He let out a sharp cry as he hit the ground, gritting his teeth in pain. "You broke my arms, you Monk bastard. I can't believe it." He started to sigh, but then hacked in pain, globs of dark blood shooting from his mouth. "How am I supposed to light a cigarette now?"

"That's not really my problem," Xaijin replied. He took one step forward, and then stopped. He hovered where he was for a second or two, and then coughed.

A spray of blood shot out from his torso where Ragnarok had sliced him, opening him up from shoulder to stomach. He too fell to his knees, blood pooling around him.

"You got guys coming to help you?" Mertron asked, falling forward into the dirt.

"Guess so," Xaijin replied weakly, his body shivering.

"Me too," he said. "I hope they get here soon."

The Monk didn't respond, concentrating instead on keeping his insides where they were.

"Man, you really screwed this up for me," Mertron complained. "But I guess I should've known. You are Xaijin, after all."

"Yeah," he coughed. "Get what that means now?"

"I do," The mercenary affirmed, suppressing a cry of pain as he inched forward on the ground.

They both laid there on the ground, bleeding in silence, for several moments before the sounds of movement approached them from both directions. The beating of leathery wings approached from where Mertron lay, and a rush of hurried feet carried across the wind, headed towards Xaijin.

"Hey man," Mertron coughed again, "that was a good fight."

"Yeah," Xaijin agreed. "It was a good one."

"Just sucks though," the Elvaan told his opponent as a demon suddenly dropped down next to him. The creature lifted Mertron up, ignoring his cry of pain as he hefted him by one arm. Another demon landed beside it, grabbing his other hand and spreading his fingers open for him, wrapping his hand around Ragnarok. It began glowing again as soon as he touched it, and it dangled from his grasp.

"What's that?" Xaijin asked, his vision blurring just as figures started appearing in the distance, quickly racing towards him.

"After all that," Mertron told him, even as the demons started carrying him off, "now we're both gonna miss the war."

Xaijin felt darkness rush over him, swallowing him in its cold embrace. Even then, his last thoughts were that he couldn't help but agree.

Chapter CII: The Ninja in Winter

Clenching the thick animal hides he wore tightly around himself, Bongo bit down to keep his teeth from chattering. The air in the dark wasteland around them was already freezing cold, with the wind whipping past him it made it feel like tiny needles of ice were slicing against his skin. One glance at his companions told him the situation was similar for all of them.

Dantrag was keeping a stoic face, but his whole body shivered as they marched forward. Right beside him, Hubby was completely wrapped in his fur cloak, bunching it around his face to keep all but his eyes concealed. Luma was making no such effort to conceal her discomfort, stamping her feet and letter her teeth chatter. The Mithra's tail was wrapped around her waist like a belt as she rapidly rubbed her arms.

"C-C-Can we g-go back t-t-t-to the desert n-now?" She asked through clenched fangs.

"We're almost there," Hubby urged her on, wrapping a bit of his cloak around her. "Qwid, can't you keep us warm?"

In their midst, the Tarutaru shook his head. "That army down there is too close," he warned. "They'll sense my magic and then we'll be toastaru." The Red Mage had his scarf wrapped tightly around his face, yet still traces of frozen breath escaped when he spoke. "Best I can do is try to keep the wind off us."

"Don't give up yet, people," Bongo stepped out in front of them. "Oztroja's in sight. We're not going to let some bad weather stop us now."

"Are you s-s-s-sure?" Luma complained, but she continued stepping forward anyway.

The frozen peaks of Meriphataud Mountains stretched out, encompassing them in a tomb of frigid air. With the skies blackened and the landscape concealed in frost, Bongo's senses as a Ranger were the only thing that had brought them this far. The journey from San d'Oria had not been an easy one. As miserable as the weather was, it was not even the worst they had seen. Around Jeuno it was coldest, darkest, and the most unforgiving, with parts of the sea freezing around the enormous floating bridges upon which the city was suspended. They had stayed clear of the demon-infested city, but trouble had still found them on more than one occasion. Those were isolated instances, however, nothing more than ill timing and happenstance. Now there was an army in the valley below, and the slightest misstep could spell disaster.

The presence of the force beneath them was more than a little terrifying. Ever since they had put Jeuno out of sight, they had found traces of the legions which had gone out ahead of them. The troubling signs of beastman activity had grown with every day, and before long it became clear where the Orcs in Fort Ghelsba had disappeared to.

Batallions of armored greenskinned beastmen filled the valley beneath them. They marched in strictly ordered lines, divided by function. Their armored soldiers stood in the front, steel and leather covering every inch of them. Their metal masks were crafted to look like fearsome tusked beasts, and they all held stout wooden shields with a layer of leather pulled taut over them. Behind the enormous hulks of the front line, their warriors were waiting. Spears, swords, scythes, and all other manner of weapon sprouted from their ranks, looking as grim and deadly as the beastmen holding them. Still behind them were the archers, hundreds of them, sporting quivers filled with thousands of deadly arrows waiting to shower down on their foes. More than that though, it was easy to see that mixed in with each unit was an Orc wearing a mask, or perhaps more accurately a hood, made of animal skin and marked red with what was probably not paint. These stocky irregulars were not arranged like the rest, but wandered free amongst the Orcish forces, stamping the ground with their oaken staves as they passed. The mages, versed in the blackest of spells, ready to rain fire and lightning at the slightest provocation.

Legions of Orcs would be enough to contend with. However, even they, the fiercest, most ruthless of the beastmen on the continent, were only third in the organization of the army below them. They were the barbaric core, and surrounding them was what could very appropriately be called a shell. The Quadav had come out from their caves, and the enormous turtle-like beastmen wrapped around the Orcish forces, surrounding them with a barrier of steel-like plates and armored scales. The Orcs were relentless in their onslaughts, raised to be unstoppable machines on the battlefield. The Quadav, on the other hand, seldom took the offensive. Instead they practiced an impenetrable defense, one which had kept the entirety of the Bastokan military from moving them out of the mines they had occupied for over twenty years.

The Orcs and Quadav marched side-by-side, forming a bristling forest of weapons. They were beginning the halt to their daily advance, and a river of fire was flowing where they set up camp. Illuminated in that glow was the third aspect of their formidable gathering. Colorless skin and clothing made them all but shadows in the pall of Dynamis, but as the army settled in the Vanguard began to take shape. Surrounding the other beastmen, their blackened counterparts from inside the World of Nightmares were living up to their name. They were the front lines, the spearhead to pierce whatever target they were aimed at. Of the Vanguard, there was a mixed amount of Orcs, Quadav, and Goblins as well, larger and more fearsome by far than those Vana'diel was used to contending with.

As if that were not enough, the Kindred were flying with them. Darting in and out of their ranks, sometimes walking amongst them, but more often flying above on leathery wings. Were the sky not already black, they would have darkened it with their presence. Bongo's senses, attuned sharply to nature, told him the demons were there by way of a sickening clench in the pit of his stomach.

For days they had traveled behind the multitudes, slinking in the shadows, moving as much as possible without attracting attention to themselves. They had started out miles behind them, with only the glow from their fires at night marking their presence. Now they were literally right on top of them, and hoped to overtake the horde and leave them behind soon. Though passing through the treacherous mountain slopes of Meriphataud made travel slow, the five of them were still far more mobile than the ungainly army filling the valley. They gained a little more ground every hour, and though the march seemed endless, they soldiered on.

Now their destination was in sight. Looming over the horizon, visible even in the darkness, were the spires of Castle Oztroja. Their friends were in there, somehow impossibly alive in the Yagudo stronghold.

"Almost there," Bongo told them, pressing onward even as the cold bit into him. "They'll have a fire going for us when we get there."

"And beer," Dantrag added, "beer must have survived the end of the world, don't you think?"

"Undoubtedly," Hubby offered from beside him, smiling as best he could through chapped, blue lips. "That'll put the warmth back in our bellies."

"Fire and beer, and our friends," Bongo summed up. "That's enough to keep me going for a few more miles."

"I d-d-d-don't k-know your friends," Luma complained. "Introd-ductions are w-warming, yes?"

"They will be," Hubby assured her. Turning his eye back to the castle, his look turned wistful. "Which . . . who else do you think made it?" His question was directed to the air, but the other three members of the linkshell all picked up on it.

"Tensaiji, without a doubt," Bongo asserted. "He's the best Ninja in the world, no way the demons got him."

"If Tensaiji made it, then Dorobounin made it," Dantrag said as he carefully scaled down a depression in the rocks. "I wouldn't be surprised if those two are right below us, scouting these guys for Rykoshet."

"Rykoshet," Bongo chuckled, "he's definitely waiting for us in there. Bastard's too dumb to get himself killed, no matter how much he tries."

"Don't forget Meowolf and Forge," Qwid put in as he hurried to catch up with them. "That pair is as invincible as these mountaruins."

"So Tensaiji and Dorobounin, Meowolf and Forge, and our fearless leader himself," Hubby was still looking out at the castle. "Not a bad lot. Not bad at all."

"C-c-c-can't w-w-wait to m-m-meet them," Luma replied, still shivering.

"How can you be so cold?" Qwid frowned at her. "You're the one here with fur."

"Tshaya is t-t-t-tropical," the Samurai explained. "I'm m-more used t-t-to sweating."

"Well think warm thoughts," Bongo ordered her. "Only a little bit longer and - "

They stopped in their tracks. Their eyes fixed on Oztroja, far in the distance. Luma hissed sharply as Qwid visibly flinched. Far below them, an unsettling murmur rose up from beastmen ranks. They would have said something themselves had the next sight not struck them dumb.

A tower of black flame had erupted in front of Oztroja, spiraling into the sky and forming a writhing, impure mass of power. The wave of force which swept over them doubled Qwid over and made Bongo's knees buckle, despite the epicenter being miles away. An eerie, unsettling wail swept past them on the wind, but was quickly overpowered by an explosion that shook the ground all the way out to the mountains.

"What's happening?" Dantrag demanded, tearing his axes free from his belt.

"This power, it's . . . " Qwid bit his lower lip, as if unsure whether he should say more. "Bongo, can you feel anything?"

The ground was shaking beneath him, but the Ranger managed to cast his senses out into nature, grasping for some sense of where this impossible force was emanating from. After a few moments, he shook his head, clasping on to the rocks for dear life. "We're too far away, and there's too much interference from the beastmen. I can't see what's out there."

"We've been following this army the whole time," Hubby protested, "they never had an advance troop. How can they be attacking already? And what kind of power is . . . "

"That's no army," Qwid told him, a shred of fear quavering in his voice. "This feeling is . . . is coming from one person."

They stared at him, and then back out at Castle Oztroja. The pillar of black fire was dying down, but the sensation it left still chilled their souls. What was more, every few seconds were punctuated by another explosion loud enough to rattle the rocks on the ground at their feet.

"We've got to hurry," Bongo told them. "They need our help, right now."

"Let's go!" Dantrag rushed out ahead of them, breaking for a narrow path leading down the mountain's face.

He took three long strides, and then slowed. A moment later he stopped altogether, slowly raising his hand up.

It was about to touch his neck when a spray of blood erupted from it, staining the frozen ground at their feet as the Elvaan's body toppled over.

"Dantrag!" Hubby shouted, rushing towards him. He almost made it before he cried out, the chain mail links over his arms falling away as he screamed. Blood was gushing from his forearms, which now hung limply at his side.

Bongo spun as he heard the familiar clang of metal on metal, and turned to find Luma with her great katana half-drawn, another blade cutting into it.

"Fast," she marveled, "t-t-too fast for Luma."

Something dropped down into the snow, too fast for the eye to follow. Luma's weapon snapped in half, shards of steel raining down from its shattered length. The Mithra clenched her shoulder, pulling her hand away to reveal a cut which went straight through her armor.

"Not too fast for Bongo," the Ranger growled, and in the same breath an arrow flew from the bow he had suddenly drawn.

It stopped in midair before falling, sliced in half. In that time, the Hume had already fired three more. Two sailed off into the mountains, scratching the rocks as they fell, but one froze, hanging suspended in mid-flight. Bongo narrowed his eyes and let another arrow loose, directly towards the first.

The original arrow spun forward, deflecting the second, and both were cast away. Bongo stood watching the empty space but a few paces from him, another arrow already nocked in the bow Hubby had given him. He silently cursed himself for breaking his own. If he'd had his own weapon, he knew he could have hit his mark.

While it might have been too fast for the others to see, his senses had their attacker's location pinned down. He knew without a doubt that right now he had an arrow aimed at the heart of whatever it was.

"Hubby," he said quietly, "are you alright?"

"Can't . . . move my arms," he said through clenched teeth. "Dantrag," he spat out, "Dantrag is dying."

"Qwid, heal him, quickly." He stretched back his bowstring, daring the attacker to move. "Luma, you can walk?"

"Blood is warming," she replied, slowly making her way behind him, sliding against the face of the rock wall.

Bongo let his eyes dart down, and then back up. If they had been spotted by the horde below, there was no sign of it. They were likely transfixed by whatever was happening at Oztroja.

"Good," he told them, "everybody get out of here."

"But - !" Qwid protested.

"NOW!" He barked back, letting another arrow fly. It bounced harmlessly off a rock, but another was already in his string, and then off again. This time there was the sound of something tearing before it again struck a rock, sparks showering the ground.

A haze appeared in the air, like if smoke were to assume a solid form. There were hands and arms there, legs and a body, and two red eyes which stared menacingly towards the Ranger. However, they were almost as incorporeal as the air itself, giving only the vague impression of a human being. One thing that appeared perfectly solid, however, was the blade gripped in the assassin's fist.

Fury swelled up in Bongo's eyes as he saw that weapon.

"Everybody, go, now," he whispered coolly.

"Here," Luma let the still-gasping Dantrag lean against her, supporting his massive frame as he clutched at the freshly-healed scar on his throat. She looked back at Bongo, a fang slipping past her lip. "I will say hello to your friends for you, Bongo."

"Thanks, Luma," he said sternly, "but I'll be able to speak for myself."

The hazy form moved forward, but Bongo dashed to the side, arrows flying from his quiver like rain. He kept it pinned back, eyes watching without any change in emotion. No matter how straight he shot, the figure was too quick to be hit, save for the single tear on what looked like his sleeve. Dodging Bongo's barrage, however, was enough to keep it away from the others.

"Bongo," Hubby called back to him, "be safe."

"Just hurry," he growled.

The shade in front of him made no move to stop them. Bongo kept his arrow trained on the form until the sound of their footsteps could no longer reach his ears.

"Now then," the Ranger snarled once he was sure they were gone, "you are going to tell me where you got that katana."

Emerging from the haze, a hand stretched forth. Slowly, the form started to harden and take a more definitive form. The smoke cleared away, drifting off with the wind until a man wrapped entirely in black stood before him. The blood of his friends had already frozen to the midnight blue weapon in his hand.

"Kikoku," Bongo did not hold back his rage. "That belongs to Tensaiji. Where did you get it?"

The red-eyed man said nothing, but took a step forward.

"Tell me, dammit!" An arrow sliced through the air. Quick as a whip, the Ninja lanced his hand downwards, and the two halves of the projectile fell harmlessly to either side. Just like that, he came forward, but Bongo was already moving. His hand quickly yanked his own dagger free, the edge of Kikoku scraping against it. Shards of metal were shaved off where the two blades touched.

Another arrow flew from his quiver to the bow, his hands a blur as he loosed them at his target. The ground was dotted with shafts sticking up from the freezing ground, but the Ninja effortlessly moved through them, stretching his blade out towards Bongo again. He could feel it cut the air as he barely managed to evade the strike. Before he even regained his balance, the Ninja was attacking again, slicing down with Kikoku in a taut arc. Bongo rolled towards him, letting the blade strike the ground as he kicked up in the air. The black-garbed man twisted to avoid the blow, giving Bongo time to pull himself free from Kikoku's range.

He had no time to breath before the attack resumed. The assailant was relentless, and even the attacks which missed left rends in his leather jerkin. The merest slice of Tensaiji's katana was enough to cut anything, and even a close call was still dangerous.

Bongo decided he was having none of it. Rushing forward, he pulled one of his daggers free, letting the Ninja counter the stroke with his own weapon. The dagger shattered like glass against Kikoku's power, but in the time it took to do that, Bongo grabbed hold of the Ninja's arm. He pulled the smaller man forward with all his might, and with a snarl he drove his head directly into his nose.

The next sensation he felt was the air rushing from his lungs as a foot was planted in his gut. He doubled over, giving the Ninja the opportunity to wrest his arm free. As he sliced upwards, Bongo gave a yelp of surprise, pulling back to find his cheek cut open. Grimly, he stared at the black-garbed figure.

"I'm going to take that katana from your dead body," he promised, "and give it back to my friend."

"I must end this," the red-eyed man said. His voice was muffled from behind his mask, and lilted in the way only someone just struck in the nose sounds. "Goodbye."

"You son of a - "

Bongo's yell was cut short as the Ninja sliced through the air. A wave of darkness rushed over him, darkness so thick and powerful that he couldn't breathe. It wrapped around him, suffocating him, wringing the life from his body. The entire world seemed to be going dark, twisting and shuddering horribly, transforming into something . . . evil.

His struggles to break free were quickly silenced as even the Ninja faded from view, leaving only the endless abyss to swallow Bongo away from the world of Vana'diel.

Chapter C: The Prisoner

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What army could possibly kill me?"

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

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

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

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

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

"What do you want?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Rykoshet, no!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, just like that, she was free.

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

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

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

"What are you doing?" She demanded.

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

And with that, he hurled himself over the ledge.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I - "

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

"AM - "

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

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

"XAIJIN!"

Chapter VIII: Seeking Shelter

Raising a bare hand against the wind to shield his eyes from the dust blowing across the rocky plateau upon which he stood, Rykoshet ascended to the apex of one final barren hill and halted, his destination in sight. Behind him, his small company saw his pause and also came to rest. The seventeen others who had made the two-day trek across the Meriphataud Mountains with him slowly joined him on the rise and spread out to bear witness to the sight of Castle Oztroja in the distance.

The beastmen which roamed Mindartia laid claim to three fortresses, and of them, Oztroja was the most imposing. Unlike the Orcs or the Quadav, the Yagudo had not chosen to hide from their enemies in intricate caves, underground and deceptive as to their size and strength. The Yagudo had chosen instead to create a stronghold not built, but rather carved out of the mountains themselves. Giant stone spires scraped at the gray sky overhead, the massive base rose up out of the ground itself, connected with the earth from which it had come. From a distance, it seemed Oztroja was a natural occurance, as if the winds and rains may have eroded the rock just the same way that Yagudo might and magic had. The Yagudo had no wish to hide from those who would challenge them, their fortress a stark reminder of their presence and dominion over the area to any who would dare. During the Great War, entire armies had crashed themselves upon the unyielding stone gates of Oztroja, and in the end only a stalemate had been reached. Ever since they had settled in Aragoneu, the Yagudo had been the undisputed rulers of this area, and their castle an impenetrable reminder of that rule..

Today, with a total of eighteen fighters, two-thirds of them unproven on the battlefield, Rykoshet was going to attempt to break down the gates of the fortress which had repelled the assembled might of Windurst decades before.

Decay and Vile were at his side as Rykoshet peered out across the intervening distance. They were hot, hungry, and tired. The two-day journey across Meriphataud had been more treacherous than they had anticipated, and though they had encountered no demons, the beasts of the mountains and natural struggle involved in crossing the barren expanse had left the small company run down. The brown-haired Hume spat upon the ground, clearing dust from his mouth, before speaking. “I fully expect to die in there,” Decay grumbled, putting a hand over his eyes to shield them from the whirling sands.

“Good,” Vile replied, “maybe you won’t bitch so much from underground. You know the way things work here, Decay; we follow our leader’s insane demands, even at the cost of our own lives, to work towards the furtherance of the glorious cause of him trying to kill himself.”

Decay and Rykoshet both slowly turned their heads down to glare at the Tarutaru, who stared back up with a completely straight face.

“Moving on . . . “ Rykoshet said, turning his attention back towards the fortress before them, “Decay, take a look out there. Tell me what you see.”

“A tombstone.” Decay muttered bitterly in response. He took a moment, however, to examine the grounds of Oztroja which he could make out, but only shook his head. “It’s a castle, Rykoshet, I see a giant rock. What do you want me to say?”

“Alright,” Rykoshet said, pointing out towards the enormous structure again, “tell me what you don’t see.”

For a long moment, Decay stared out at the castle, the towering spires, the massive gates, the narrow windows and dusty, cracked ground surrounding it. The Yagudo had definitely firmly entrenched themselves here, they were practically a part of the landscape. With Castle Oztroja under their command . . .

That was when it hit him. “The Yagudo.” Decay said softly, then turned to Rykoshet with a mixture of confusion and alarm. “There aren’t any Yagudo in sight anywhere.”

“Right,” Rykoshet nodded, “I don’t care how impenetrable your fortress is, you still leave guards outside, or sentries on the tower. We haven’t even seen a Yagudo patrol go by since we came here.”

“You think the demons got them.” The three turned to see Baeladar standing behind them, his armor frustratingly still gleaming and polished despite the others being nearly encrusted in dirt. The Paladin had long served as the strategist for operations such as these, but in the past the object had always been extraction-oriented; finding a person or item, obtaining it, and escaping. Now he had to plan out how they were going to stake a claim in the most powerful fortress on the continent with a group of rookie fighters, with no idea of what the layout of the structure or the strength of their enemy was. To his credit, he had not balked at the challenge.

“I do.” Rykoshet confirmed, rubbing his hands together, feeling his knuckles crack under his fingers. “If it’s true, Bael, what does that mean for us?”

Baeladar took a small breath, looking away for a moment, and then addressed the question. “For starters, if the demons are here, there’s no reason they couldn’t still be here. If we enter the fortress we could very well find ourselves face-to-face with them. There’s also the possibility that the Yagudo were attacked and so they withdrew their patrols and holed themselves up in there for protection. And then . . .” Baeladar trailed off.

“What?” Rykoshet demanded.

“The third option is that the demons killed the Yagudo and left. If that’s the case, we can easily move right in and make use of the Yagudo stores and supplies, but it also means that there is no reasonable way to defend ourselves should the demons discover our presence and decide to attack.”

If the group were not anxious enough about this course of action, the raven-haired Paladin’s words did little to calm them. At this point, however, there was no turning back. They had survived demons and dragon alike, agreed to follow Rykoshet across the Meriphataud Mountains, and arrived here at the gates of Castle Oztroja. They had managed to lie low, but occasionally they had seen flights of demons wandering overhead, searching for any who still lived. Death might await them within the halls of Oztroja, but it was a certainty outside of them. After a moment more of hesitation, Rykoshet went forward, and the others followed onwards as well.

The gates of Castle Oztroja were as legendary as the castle itself. Rising several dozen feet into the air, they were reputedly thicker than a Galka’s shoulder width, and held fast from inside by iron chains which were the only way to open or close the tremendous doors. Those few who had somehow made their way up to the fort and deigned enter were almost all frustrated in their effort by the problem of breaching those gates. Physical and magical force alike had been futile against them, but occasionally, in rare instances which were likely the stuff of rumor and tall tale rather than truth, the act of guile and stealth had been enough to enter Oztroja. As the group rested, gathering what strength they could for whatever lay in wait for them, Rykoshet counted on those fables to contain a grain of truth while he watched Betrayil scale the great stone walls.

The ninja had accepted the challenge of sneaking inside the fortress, and his feet somehow found traction where it appeared there was only smooth, vertical stone. The others watched in amazement as he bounded up the side of the castle, a black-gloved hand lashing out into the air and grabbing hold of one of the narrow windows through which Yagudo would pepper invaders with arrows. In the same motion, he swung his legs forward, agilely sliding through the abbreviated opening and vanishing from sight. He was inside. On the ground below, Hiraiko looked up at where Betrayil had last been seen, the worry plainly evident in her eyes.

“It’s okay,” Odessa said reassuringly. For two days she had been attempting to keep the morale of the group high, and keep their minds off of what they had been witness to or what lay in store for them. “We know what we’re doing. He’ll be fine.”

“What do any of us know anymore?” came Hiraiko’s sad response. The Elvaan woman opened her mouth to respond, but could find nothing.

“We will make it through this.” Odessa finally said. Hiraiko did not reply, but continued staring up at where the ninja had made his acrobatic entrance.

Time seemed to crawl by as the assemblage waited outside. The sun slowly crept into the west, and the group began exchanging worried glances between one another. Just as the shade began to creep across the mountains and usher in the oncoming night, however, they all jumped as they heard an audible “clink” from inside, and then leaped back as the gates groaned, sliding open, yet stopping before coming completely ajar.

“They’re stuck,” they heard Betrayil’s voice come from within, and several audible sighs of relief were heard. “I opened the gates, but it looks like they’ve been purposely jammed.”

“And the Yagudo?” Rykoshet shouted back at him.

“Not a one.” Betrayil’s voice came back. “I don’t think I saw very much of the fortress, but the parts I did were empty. There’s no one here.”

Rykoshet felt a twinge in his stomach at the news, remembering Baeladar’s assessment. Still, there could be no moving back at this point. The only way was forward. “Alright,” Rykoshet said decisively, “Celeres, come here. I’m going to need your help for this.”

“What do you have in mind?” The Monk asked as he stopped in front of Rykoshet. The Elvaan looked him over. He had no idea if Celeres as strong enough for this, but the situation being what it was, he would have to be.

“We’re stuck out here.” Rykoshet said. “Everyone, give me and Celeres some room. The two of us are going to open the doors.”

“What?” Celeres asked, his tone a little surprised. Rykoshet said nothing, but simply clenched his fist, raising it in the air. It did not take long for Celeres to understand. Comprehension dawning on him, he nodded, raising his own fist.

“One on each gate, aim for their centers, arch outwards. Betrayil,” Rykoshet said, even as he began focusing his chi energy into his fist, hearing the roar of blood through his body and the sensation of his power gathering in a single spot, “you’re gonna want to step away from the gates.”

In tandem, the two flew forward, energy crackling in the air around their hands. The air howled as their fists collided with the gates of Oztroja, a visible explosion of energy barreling off of them and sending a cloud of dust funneling back through the others, who had to shield themselves against the force of it. With a tremendous booming noise, the stone gates crashed backwards, swinging open wide and letting the dimmed and fading sunlight pour in to the darkened castle. The others turned in astonishment; the way was open.

“Knock, knock.” Celeres smirked, lowering his hand. The impact had torn the flesh from his knuckles, and blood dripped slowly down his fingers to the ground, but he had succeeded. The gates to Oztroja lay open, and cautiously, the group made their entry into the massive stronghold of the Yagudo.

“Okay.” Rykoshet said once they had all gathered inside. “Stick to the groups we laid out. Odessa, Decay, you take your group to the left. Bael, Dani, head right. Vile and I will take everyone else straight ahead, and we’ll rendezvous on the second floor. Be cautious and keep your eyes open. If you see anything, call out.” Ever since the demons had come, their linkpearls had all either broken or stopped working, but they had not forgotten how to use their voices. “Let’s go,” Rykoshet said with finality, “and when we meet back up again, there’d better still be eighteen of us.”

The groups split up, fanning out in the three directions in which Oztroja sprawled. Rykoshet, Vile, Betrayil, Hiraiko, Middlesky, and Icon all grouped together and began down the cavernous halls of Castle Oztroja. Not only had they carved the outside from the face of the mountain itself, but the inside was that same mountain, hollowed out by the Yagudo’s power. It was definitely a palace, with Yagudo artifacts and artwork on the walls, Yagudo architecture clearly evident in the great staircases and eaves which sprawled throughout the gigantic, echoing space of the entrance hall, but it was also one solid piece; thousands upon thousands of individual features created from a single enormous rock.

The first problem they faced became evident before long. Whatever had happened to the Yagudo, it had extinguished all the torches which lined the great hall. As Rykoshet’s team went deeper inside the fortress and the fading daylight from outside became further and further away, the darkness soon encroached upon them, and it was not long before direction began to lose meaning. They had ventured in quite a ways before it became apparent that they would either have to find light or wait for their eyes to adjust.

“This is ridiculous.” Vile finally said. “Someone light a torch or something, we’re just going to get ourselves lost.”

“I’ve got it,” Betrayil offered, and there was a crackle in the air as a ninja powder was crunched together, the friction combining with the elemental conjuring called forth by the accompanying hand signs the ninja quickly flashed through. The powder ignited, spiraling into the air and remaining there, illuminating the space around them.

“Look.” Hiraiko said with the light on them, her voice laced with worry as she pointed down. They realized that the ground they stood on was smeared with a bright, red blood, and feathers littered the area.

“There has been great violence done here.” Middlesky said suddenly. “This is no demon blood.”

“Does this mean the Yagudo are dead?” Hiraiko wondered aloud.

“We won’t know anything for certain until we can get back into the light.” Rykoshet countered, not wanting to admit the possibility. “Betrayil, how long will – “

The question answered itself before he could finish, as the ninja’s dancing flames slowly started to putter out. “Do not worry,” Middlesky said, drawing forth his slim-bladed rapier as they once again faded into shadow.

“Wait,” Betrayil started to say, and Rykoshet saw the ninja’s eyes go wide with alarm. “Do you hear – “

There was a noise like a log being tossed onto an open flame, and suddenly Middlesky’s sword was ablaze, casting a wide aura of light all around them. The group stood there, in the center of the halo, encircled on all sides by Yagudo. The blue-feathered birdmen had weapons drawn, and a smoldering anger danced in their eyes in the light of Middlesky’s flaming sword. The small band was totally surrounded by Yagudo, and hopelessly outnumbered.

“Rykoshet?” Vile suddenly said, not taking his eyes off of the beastmen who had so long plagued the Tarutaru people.

“Yes, Vile?” Rykoshet responded.

“I just wanted you to know,” he said in a somber, serious tone, “that I really, really hate you.”

“I know, Vile.” Rykoshet replied. “I know.”

And just like that, the Yagudo were upon them.