Chapter LVIII: Makeshift Rescue Party

Danienne had steadfastly refused to loan anyone under her command to Odessa's venture. Citing the need for increased security at the castle, she denied the White Mage her request for aid. Odessa knew it wouldn't be worth the time or effort to challenge her on it. Danienne hated the entire Goblin species, and nothing was to be gained by stirring up infighting. So Odessa had to pick the team herself.

Her utmost priority was maximizing the chances of survival. To that end, her first choice for the team was Eig. The Mithra's gift of the spellsong had proven invaluable for keeping them alive during the battle with Tzee Xicu. If they ran into trouble at Crawler's Nest, Odessa would be counting on it again. Though she knew there was relatively little to fear from the monsters of Crawler's Nest, a little brawn might be called for. As the only fighter on the team who had not been placed under Danienne's command, the slim and muscular Monk Celeres filled that role. That gave her four, counting herself and Middlesky. As day broke and what had the potential to be the last week of Antiqix's life began, she wondered if that would be enough.

It was actually a relief when she met Wolfgang at the grand hall the morning of her departure. "Lady Odessa," he greeted her, standing at attention with a smart salute.

"Captain," she replied, noting the presence of Wolfgang's first officer by his side. Wolfgang's face was characteristically stony, but there was a knowing gleam in his eyes.

"Lieutenant Raidom has recovered from his injuries in full," he informed her, taking a step aside. By his side was the Jeunoan officer whom had first appeared at the gates of Oztroja so many weeks ago. As opposed to the tattered and bloodstained uniform he had worn upon his arrival, he was now clearly girded for combat. The Hume had donned a set of thick darksteel armor. The Hauberk he wore had been refined with damascus, Odessa recognized, similar to the one Rykoshet wore. He also wore a stylized helmet, protecting the sides of his face and bearing a set of curved horns atop it. The black armor stood out in harsh contrast to the white and gold which was standard issue to other Jeunoans. On his back, Raidom had strapped a long, curved great sword, and Odessa had no doubt about his ability to use it.

"I understand Lady Danienne has cited her inability to spare any soldiers," Raidom said, giving her a salute of his own. "As I fall under the command of Lord Wolfgang, I have opted to volunteer for this mission myself."

"I see," Odessa nodded, suppressing a smirk. She would let the question of whether or not his was the kind of volunteering which is ordered go unanswered. "Then welcome to the party, Lieutenant."

Raidom nodded, stepping away from his commander. Behind Odessa, the others had begun to appear. Eig stretched languidly, yawning as she came down the stairs. Smacking her lips, the Bard adjusted the foppish had she affected as she nodded informally to those already gathered. From the other side of the hall, Celeres approached. The Monk was garbed in the customary garb of his temple, an affair of subtle gold and orange. The exception to this was the highboots he wore, crafted of leather in a process perfected in the desert dunes of Rabao. Odessa knew that despite their surpassing sturdiness, they were practically weightless. The Elvaan gave a nod and smirk, bandaged knuckles cracking as he flexed his fingers.

Middlesky was already there. In the bright red and white which was his staple, the Red Mage had arrived just before dawn. He had been quietly waiting when Odessa had arrived, as patient as the stones of Oztroja itself. With the briefest inclination of his head to the others, he quietly joined them.

"Is there anything else you'll be needing, Lady Odessa?" Wolfgang extended his hands in offering. Shaking her head, she took a look back at the team she had assembled. Their task was simple. Reach Crawler's Nest undetected, find the Goblins and offer them sanctuary in Oztroja, and then return, again without attracting the attention of any demons.

"Just tell me, Captain," Odessa began with a tilt of her head, "why is this so important to you? They're just Goblins."

The soldier gave her a look she could not quite fathom, and then raked a hand through his jet black hair. "A month prior I would have locked anyone who suggested working with the Yagudo in irons." Wolfgang clapped a fist to his breastplate, saluting both Odessa and his own Lieutenant. "Blessings of Altana be with you." With that, he strode off, his bearing once again that of a man far taller than the diminuitive Captain could claim to be.

"Time to go?" Celeres asked, a note of eagerness in his voice.

"You're too eager for this early in the morning," Eig complained, emphasizing her point with a yawn.

Odessa rubbed the bridge of her nose, already growing perturbed. What she really would have loved would be at least one Yagudo volunteer to accompany them. Even had Danienne not been in charge of those forces, she doubted any would come willingly.

"No time like the present," she conceded. They would just have to trust the Goblins would believe them without another Beastman in tow. After they trusted that the Goblins wouldn't attack them outright. Which was directly after trusting that the entire adventure wasn't part of a plot by the demons to lure them out. That was far too much trusting for Odessa. Typically she was content to just let Rykoshet blunder into disaster and pick up the pieces afterward.

"We've only got a few chocobos," she told the group, "but I don't want to use any teleportation spells to bring us closer. I could dump us in the middle of a demon swarm and we'd have no safe way home. So they'll have to do. Ride easy, if we overwork them, we won't have any replacements."

"If we can skirt by Jeuno without being noticed, we'll be able to go from Sauromugue Champaign to Rolanberry Fields." Middlesky offered. "Traveling by day will make it harder for them to spot us, as we've seen."

Odessa nodded. "Riding, it shouldn't take us more than three days to get there and three more back. Not that it motivates any of you, but there is a Goblin's life on the line." It didn't motivate her much either, when she said it aloud. "Anyway, let's be quick, but not stupid."

As the other early risers of Castle Oztroja began to go about their daily business, Odessa led her small company away, the sun at their backs.

The chocobos the Yagudo had procured were mostly strays. Many of them had been found wandering aimlessly following the attack on Jeuno, and were easily lured back in with gentle words and hands. Others seemed to have driven nearly feral as a result of trauma and time in the wild. As they rode away from the makeshift stables which had been built to house them, Odessa became convinced she had been saddled with one of the latter. The yellow beast constantly kicked at the ground and bucked with every step. When she tried to place a hand on its feathered neck, it tried to arch its beak around to snap at her. After hours of unsuccessfully trying to negotiate with the bird, Odessa simply began digging her heels into its side. This, of course, served to only make it more cross, and it tried with redoubled might to hurl her off. By the time they settled down for the evening, she was so saddle-sore she could barely sit down.

They were well into Sauromugue Champaign. Their scouting of the regular demon movements told them where it was safe to bed down for the night. Celeres dug a shallow pit in the ground, and used it to conceal their tiny fire. The night was growing cold, and Odessa realized that with the sun so constantly muted, the changing of the seasons was happening without her knowledge. It felt unnatural to be robbed of so consistent an experience as witnessing the days grow shorter. A world so lifeless and gray could sap the will to keep on trying. Odessa scoffed at the notion. She was from Myste, where it could be dark and gloomy year round and no one would think anything of it. This was temporary, she told herself. The sun would shine again.

“Lady Odessa,” she looked up at the hushed voice calling out to her. Middlesky was approaching, tipping up the brim of his feathered cap. “I was hoping we might speak.”

“We’re not in Oztroja anymore,” the White Mage replied wearily. “It’s okay to just call me Odessa. Or Dess, even.”

“As you say, ma’am,” she rolled her eyes as he continued, “but I wanted to talk to you about your chocobo.”

Odessa took a look over at the monster disguised as a bird. It was even now scratching incessantly on the ground, snorting at the other chocobos in warning. “If you’re suggesting we’re better off without it, the thought has crossed my mind.”

“Not at all. I was actually wondering if we might trade mounts.”

She flicked an eyebrow up at him. “That thing is a terror. I’m going to be sore all day tomorrow. And you want to ride him?”

The Red Mage looked over at her irritable chocobo with a calm and sympathetic eye. “He has seen much, that one. I can sense the pain it is in. I would like the chance to speak with it.”

“Speak with it.” She repeated flatly. Looking over at the chocobo Middlesky had taken for himself, an even-tempered female of average size which calmly dozed the night away, Odessa realized she didn’t care about his reasoning. “He’s all yours,” she told him magnanimously.

“Thank you, my lady,” he acknowledged.

“He’s an odd one, isn’t he?” Odessa turned to see Eig rolling out her bedroll nearby. Middlesky was walking towards the chocobos, speaking soothing words to the wild one as he did so.

“He isn’t from here,” Eig went on. “I’ve searched around for stories about his homeland, but they’re pretty scarce on Mindartia. Probably Quon, too.”

“He’s definitely something else,” she acknowledged, staring into their dimming campfire.

One of Eig’s fangs bit her lower lip, and the Bard began humming distantly. This went on incessantly until Odessa finally turned and looked over at the Mithra.

“Did you want to talk about something?” She asked irritably.

“I don’t see why we’re doing this, Dessa,” Eig blurted out. “Goblins are vicious and nasty. There’s not a good story about them anywhere. They’re greedy, manipulative, and foul. Why, why, why are we going through all this trouble for them? I don’t understand.”

Odessa gave a long sigh, gazing into the dying embers of their meager fire. “I didn’t understand why at first either, Eig. I thought maybe I just wanted to get everyone to stop fighting. Or that I was doing what Rykoshet would do. Or maybe I just felt sorry for the thing.” She pulled her blanket up around her, trying to stave off the evening chill. She dared not use magic, even as far away from Jeuno as they were. There was a strict moratorium on doing anything at night which might attract attention, no matter how slim the risk. “But what it really comes down to is that it’s the right thing to do, Eig. Someone in need came to us for help. And maybe a few months ago, it would have mattered that it was a Goblin, but I’m not even sure about that. Every living thing has to look out for each other, or it all falls apart. It’s pretty bad, Eig. I don’t think we should sit back willingly while it gets worse.”

Eig appeared contemplative. The Mithra had spent a good portion of her young life gathering together songs and ballads dedicated to stories of valor about battles against the Beastmen. As someone who had spent much of her time in those battles, Odessa was no less conflicted, but she believed what she told Eig.

Before any further conversation could begin, Celeres appeared. The Monk spread his bedroll down on the ground unceremoniously. With scarce more than a smile and sleepy yawn, he flopped down atop it, pulled the blankets over himself, and fell asleep. Eig and Odessa shared a look, and the Elvaan shook her head. Bidding the Bard a good night, she laid down and pulled up her blankets. They still had a lot of ground to cover. Raidom was keeping the first watch, and she could just make out his silhouette perched over a nearby rock, eyes vigilant.

Just before falling asleep, she turned to see Middlesky petting the wild chocobo, the creature happily nuzzling up against him as he did.

She was not sure how long she had been sleeping when a pair of rough hands shook her awake. Instinctively, she lashed out with one hand, and was rewarded with the sensation of her palm striking flesh.

“Ow!” A man’s voice came with no small amount of shock.

Almost instantly, Celeres was out of his bedroll, so quickly Odessa didn’t even see him stir. “I’ll protect you, Lady Odessa!” he was saying, even as he tackled the figure looming over her. She flung her blankets off, trying to adjust to the darkness and make out who was who. The sounds of struggle

The two forms went sprawling over one another, hushed words of protest coming from the stranger. Suddenly, another body appeared from the darkness, and the intruder gave a cry of surprise as he was seized from behind. Raidom wrenched his arm back and forced him to the ground as Odessa quickly ran over to them.

“What are you doing here?” Celeres demanded, and Odessa could see he had donned the brutal claw-like weapons he wore around his fists.

“Let me up!” the stranger demanded in a familiar voice.

Odessa took a cautious step forward, incredulity sinking in. “Let him go,” she gestured to Raidom, who obeyed the order like the military man he was. The stranger gave a brief cough, and then looked up at her with a weak smile.

“Sorry I woke you, Lady Odessa.”

“Fated?” she asked, even as the young Paladin rose to his feet.

“I heard what was happening,” he explained, “about the Goblin and Crawler’s Nest and everything. I couldn’t just stay in Oztroja while members of Those Guys went out and risked their lives.”

“But how did you get here?”

Fated pointed far behind them in response to her question. “There was another chocobo in the stables. I told Danienne I was going to put it through some paces. Then I just followed the trail we took to get to Garlaige last time.”

“Fated,” Odessa rubbed two fingers across the bridge of her nose, “you can’t be here. Danienne will flay you alive. And you were almost killed in Garlaige, if anything happens now – “

“I’ve made a choice, Lady Odessa,” the Paladin said firmly. “I’m going to defend my friends. I’m sorry, but I can’t obey an order to leave.”

The White Mage gave a long-suffering sigh. Behind them, someone gave a prolonged yawn.

“Mmm,” Eig murmered sleepily. “What’s everybody doing awake?”

Odessa could feel a vein throbbing in her forehead. At least, she supposed, this was going about as well as anything Rykoshet ever attempted.

Chapter XXXII: Just When You Thought it Was Over

Odessa’s eyes fluttered open, and with some surprise the silver-haired Elvaan woman realized she had fallen asleep sitting up.

Beside the simple wicker chair she sat in, lying in a rough-hewn bed which had been the best available to them given the nature of the Yagudo chambers which they now dwelled in, Raidom slept still. His injuries had been repaired through the powerful healing magic at Odessa’s command, but even strongest spells could only patch together wounds on the surface. The trauma he had suffered, as well as the toll healing spells placed on the body, might still prove to be the end of him. The Lieutenant from Jeuno who had survived all this way to try and seek help for his people was possibly on his last legs, but Odessa was doing everything she could to make sure he would live to fight again.

The exodus through Garlaige Citadel had finally reached its end. With the undead hot on their heels as Fated’s miraculous and inexplicable burst of holy power waned, and Decay clinging to life by a narrow thread as Serket’s poison attacked his blood, Rykoshet and the others had led the surviving Jeunoan refugees through the maze of tunnels beneath the cursed structure, and the cave mouth leading to the Sauromugue Champaign was now within sight. Far enough out that no demon patrols circling Jeuno would be surveying the area, they would make haste to Castle Oztroja with the multitude they had rescued, and reach safety before the Kindred ever knew they had been there in the first place. The air became noticeably cooler as they approached the narrow exit, the colder night air blowing a refreshing breeze down the otherwise stifling, stagnant air of the immense fortress tunnels.

Konstantine, unable to contain herself any longer, rushed to the forefront of the column, breaking for the open starry night sky just visible beyond the cave opening.

Raidom’s eyes flew open, and the sound of him taking a gasping breath of air startled Odessa so violently that she almost fell out of her chair. Collecting herself in a flash, she half-stood, half-stumbled to his side, visibly shocked at his sudden revival. The Lieutenant’s eyes darted from left to right, and his mouth opened as he searched fruitlessly for words.

“Hey!” Odessa said, placing a hand on his forehead, peering into his dark eyes. “Don’t try to speak yet!”

Still, Raidom struggled to form his thoughts into sound as the white mage over what she had thought would be his deathbed examined him with a soft touch of healing magic.

:”Wh-whe-“ he began, his voice weak and hoarse.

“You’re . . . with friends.” Odessa decided it was probably wise not to tell him he was inside a Yagudo fortress for the time being. “You’ve been here for days, we were afraid you would die. Demons must have attacked you.”

“N-that-no-“ he tried to say more, but the words stuck in his throat, and he winced against the pain.

“Please, take it easy,” Odessa pleaded, “we all thought you would die. You succeeded, Lieutenant, your mission was accomplished. We sent a team out just after you arrived to retrieve the Jeunoans you told us about, and they know a way to get back without any demons finding them.”

“The demons didn’t attack me!” Raidom whispered, his eyes wide and face clearly reflecting the pain in his voice. “You don’t understand; I found the hidden exit, it was what was waiting there that I barely escaped from alive.”

“What are you saying?” the Elvaan woman queried, a hint of fear now in her voice.

“It’s returned to its nest.” Raidom rasped, his hand reaching up to grab Odessa’s arm, “waiting for prey.”

“Finally,” Konstantine erupted as moonlight, throwing her tiny hands into the air with a whoop.

“The Roc has come back!” Raidom expelled in a voice that was purely breath, and a shiver ran up Odessa’s spine.

“To Castle Oztroja!” the Tarutaru exclaimed happily, even as the train of refugees behind her took their first faltering steps into freedom from the hellish existence they had been living in since Dynamis first broke open upon the world.

The cry which shattered the stillness of the night air reverberated off the cliffs of Sauromugue, shaking the very rocks with its power. Konstantine screamed, turning around with a hop as a powerful wind nearly bowled her over. The moonlight illuminating the path to freedom was suddenly concealed, blotted out by the massive new form sweeping through the sky. Dust formed a cloud on the ground as a pair of colossal beating wings guided a set of flesh-rending talons to settle on the stone and earth. An elongated neck stretched out, black feathers gleaming in the pale light of the moon, as a terribly curved beak opened, letting out another echoing call.

With a raptors’ gaze, the Roc, legendary giant bird which had long been the bane of travelers through the Sauromugue Champaign, surveyed the morsels in front of it.

Beating its wings again, it reared back, revealing a shining row of jagged spikes arching out of its white-feathered chest. Stomping at the ground with its talons, it spied Konstantine, fearfully backing herself away. With a hungry gaze, it closed on her, beak opening to reveal rows of curved, gleaming teeth within its maw. Leaning down, it snapped at the Tarutaru, who screamed as she leaped to safety, the Roc turning its head to follow her as she tried to get away. When it did, it saw the others, who all looked substantially less nimble and healthy, emerging from the crevice which had led them out of Garlaige Citadel. Realization swept over Konstantine as she saw the Roc’s beak slowly open with a low, hungry cry. She grit her teeth as she gathered up magic, preparing to do whatever she could to put herself in between the Jeunoans and the ravenous monster in front of them.

The Roc, however, flared its wings up, screeching as a new figure emerged from the cavern. Breaking through the crowd, his great sword at the ready, Rykoshet stepped forward, planting himself at the front of the throng. Damaged and dirty from the fight with Serket, his armor still shone in the moonlight above, and his face was darkened by the streaks of blood lining his cheeks. The tiny Tarutaru or the panicked-looking people the Roc clearly had no problem attempting to devour, but the sight of an armed and armored warrior gave it pause, if only for a moment. The feathered beast took a threatening step forward, and the blonde Elvaan planted his feet, lowering his sword into a defensive position. There would be no getting to these people without going through him.

“I am so sick of giant bird-things,” Rykoshet mumbled. Then he cast his gaze on Konstantine for a moment before returning his attention to the Roc. “Don’t tell the Yagudo I said that.”

“What are we going to do?” She demanded in response.

“Get out of here, all of you,” the fighter replied, shuffling his feet as the Roc started circling closer to him, keeping his eyes on it at all times.

“What about you!?”

Konstantine’s question had already raced through Rykoshet’s mind. Wolfgang would be needed to maintain the Jeunoan guards that they had recovered, as well as be a symbol for the people; his safety was paramount. Fated was so drained from whatever it had been that he had used to defeat Serket he could no longer even lift his sword, and Decay was fighting for his life at that very second. Konstantine would be needed to make sure he lived long enough to even see Oztroja, and with her occupied it would be up to Liyah to maintain the health of Jeunoans through the trek. That left Danienne as the only person who would be able to focus entirely on keeping them safe from anything that attacked them on the way back through Meriphataud. Everyone else was needed. That left only one solution to this dilemma.

“I’m going to hold it off while you all escape.”

“You’re insane!” Konstantine yelled at him, stamping her feet on the ground, “let me – “

“It’s not going to wait for us to debate this! Get going NOW!”

The Tarutaru was almost as taken aback by Rykoshet’s explosive order as she was by what happened next.

Giving a mighty cry, the Roc beat its wings against the ground, leveling its head at Rykoshet and charging forward, deciding that the feast which awaited it would be well worth having to deal with a single foe beforehand.

Rykoshet swung his great sword forward, meeting the Roc’s charge with a fierce blow. The monster paused, but then struck back with a lightning-fast swivel of its head, which sent a shockwave down the black-armored Elvaan’s arms as he parried the attack with his weapon. Grimacing, he struggled to avoid another attack as the Roc pecked at him, his ribs still on fire from Serket’s attack earlier. The Roc swung with its monstrous wing, feathers like steel scraping against Rykoshet’s chest. He staggered backwards, but then thrust with his great sword, delivering a glancing hit directly off of one of the wickedly curved spikes protruding from the Roc’s chest. The great bird shrieked in protest, displaying its cruel teeth at its foe in warning.

Behind him, Danienne had taken control of things, urging the multitudes onward into the night. For a moment, she grasped the handle of her scythe, and it seemed she might jump into the fray, but she knew what her responsibility was. The mission was to rescue the people of Jeuno, and it was now up to her to make sure that it was completed. Directing the train of fleeing refugees down the side of the cliff and away from the Roc, she forced herself not to look as Rykoshet continued to battle for his life, and all of theirs as well.

The avian slashed at the Elvaan with its fierce talons, their edges scraping against his already damaged armor. Rykoshet countered with an upward swing, driving the Roc back, and then sending a calculated double thrust its way, aiming for its wings. With honed natural instinct, the bird skidded out of the way, then came charging forward again with intent to bowl Rykoshet over entirely. Spinning to the side, he managed to avoid being rammed by the Roc, but then cursed as he saw it breaking for the people. Danienne was already over the side of the cliff as the last straggling remnants of Jeunoans emerged from the cave, only to be confronted by the sight of the hungry carnivorous bird. A woman screamed, covering her child as the monster opened its beak and lashed out at the both of them.

It stopped, giving a strangled cry as it staggered to the side. Rykoshet stood, his hand glowing from an unleashed burst of stunning dark magic. He was not as talented at the craft as Danienne, but when push came to shove, he had a few tricks up his sleeve. The people ran as the Roc angrily rounded on Rykoshet, and he cast his eyes on the cave entrance as the face of Wolfgang appeared.

“Good Altana, Rykoshet!” he shouted, drawing his sword. “Stand back, we’ll – “

“No!” Rykoshet shouted at the Ducal Guard Captain. “You’ve got to stay safe, Wolfgang, you know it.”

“Then let my guardsmen – “

“Let them protect their people. Most of them are too injured to carry on anyway.” Rykoshet raised his sword up, and the great weapon was wedged between the teeth of the Roc as it leered down at him from above. “Go on, I’ll handle this! Make sure everyone is safe!”

“There’s still another column of people to get out,” Wolfgang replied, torn between going and staying, “how long can you hold out?”

“As long as I have to! Just get them going!”

The Roc, unable to bite through Rykoshet’s sword, thrust out its taloned foreleg and batted the warrior aside even as Wolfgang began shouting orders to get the final survivors clear. Rolling on the ground as it tried to stab him through with its mighty claws, Rykoshet managed to plant a hand down and spring back to his feet, just in time to avoid being skewered through. He again stabbed at the Roc, the giant spikes on its chest deflecting the blow, but the monstrosity took wing, flying a few feet back, eyes still intent on its enemy. With a narrowed gaze, the beast craned its neck upwards, and then released a terrible, piercing cry.

Rykoshet groaned as the power of the Roc’s cry overcame him, an arcane force clearly behind it. His sword, his armor, his very limbs suddenly felt slowed and numb, and the world went momentarily blurry. Something about the sound of the bird’s song was slowing him down, and he struggled to maintain his footing as it finished the echoing cry, fixing a knowing glare upon its prey when it had finished. The Elvaan brought his great sword forward, but his movements were delayed, like his body was fighting against itself to move normally. The Roc was upon him, and with a thrust of its powerful wings, it leveled the Dark Knight to the ground, tearing away shreds of his steel armor with the force of its strike. Rykoshet’s ribs bloomed into newfound pain as he rolled across the ground, and the Roc launched itself into the air, its talons coming down just inches from where Rykoshet had been. Rolling out of the way had taken far too much effort, and the Roc spitefully bit at him as he struggled against the monster’s song-spell to escape.

The Roc’s teeth bit through his gauntlet, and blood streamed from his forearm as his flesh was pierced. Rykoshet screamed in pain, and the Roc batted him aside with its talons, giving another high-pitched shriek as he rolled away. The wounds he had suffered fighting Serket were on fire, and his side felt like it might split apart. His blood was pouring down his arm, staining his black armor red, and but a few feet away, the Roc was stepping forward to finish the job. Rykoshet closed his eyes. Even with his head pounding, he could hear the Jeunoans, still not so far away that the Roc wouldn’t fly after them and kill as many as he pleased to take back for food. Any one of his friends could be among that number if the battle didn’t go on long enough for them to get far enough from Garlaige. The Roc struck, its beak going in for the kill, and Rykoshet’s eyes opened with a gleaming black sheen.

The monster pulled back with a frightful shriek as it hit Rykoshet with its hooked beak, stumbling on its two legs with pain that came from nowhere. It came forward again, thrusting its talons into the prone fighter’s body, only to reel back in anguish. Not understanding, it beat its wings and lowered its head down with a cry as Rykoshet stood up, his great sword firmly grasped between his two gauntleted hands.

Dark magic surged out of him like electric energy, flowing through his exposed blood to form a crackling shield around him. Dread Spikes, the final recourse in the magical arsenal of a Dark Knight, hissed in the air around Rykoshet’s body, called forth by the spilling of his blood. Imbibed with the power of the Roc’s own attack, he concentrated his spiritual energy in, and then with bared teeth dispelled the force of its cry, overpowering the spell through force of will. The Roc launched forward in a heartbeat, and its fangs sank into Rykoshet’s shoulder, but before it even bit down it tore itself away with a pained and angry shriek, the force of its attack drained away and transferred into Rykoshet himself. The spikes erupting all around him, the blonde Elvaan took action.

He knew he could not maintain his level of energy for long, so every second counted. Advancing on the Roc, he pushed all his spiritual energy directly into his arms, all of his strength gathering for one final blow, a last resort that would mean victory or defeat. The Elvaan’s dark aura blossomed, black energy swirling around him as he took the next step. Hands gripped tightly around the hilt of his great sword, the black sword reflecting the shining light of the moon with its curved blade, Rykoshet delved into the very essence of his life energy, pouring it into the weapon. The Roc, for the first time, took a step back out of fear as Rykoshet’s eyes, dark flecks of energy floating through them as he called forth the power of the Soul Eater, fixed directly upon it.

With one last push, Rykoshet opened the last door, went to the final level that he was able to. The power of the Dread Spikes enveloped his weapon, and the blade turned from black to a deep, dark red; the color of blood. All of the terrifying power of the Dark Knight would be focused into his next strike. If he were lucky, it would be enough to keep him alive after he used it.

“If I’m not,” he thought aloud, “I’ll at least take you with me.”

The Roc leaped into the air, wings flaring out and launching it forward, spikes first, intent to end this new threat before it could harm the beast.

Rykoshet came forward, his blood-colored sword slicing through the air, honed in on the charging Roc.

The two met with a crushing collision that sent shockwaves through the air as the Roc’s gliding spike met with Rykoshet’s signature move, the spinning slash. There was an upward explosion of dark magic as all the power Rykoshet had gathered was released in one terrible blow, and for a moment, the night was still.

Rykoshet collapsed to his knees, still retaining his grip on his great sword. His power drained utterly, he gasped for air as blood streamed down his open wounds, spots of it forming on the ground. A smile was on his face. The blood weapon and his own Dread Spikes had held out just long enough for him to absorb the Roc’s life energy even as he lashed out with all of his own. The vampiric transfer of spiritual power had been just enough. Rykoshet lived, and behind him, the Roc lay motionless, a feathered heap on the ground, his chest slashed open by the force of the attack it had met head on.

Standing, the Elvaan immediately clutched at his side, doubling over as pieces of his tattered armor broke off, leaving the shoulder the Roc had tried to bite down on exposed and pieces of his abdomen unguarded as well. Using his great sword, now returned to its normal basalt color, as a brace, he managed to rise to his feet, one eye shut as blood from his forehead dripped over it. Looking around, he realized he was alone. He had done it; the Jeunoans were safely away. Catching up to them, he suddenly thought, wasn’t going to be easy. Every step he took was agonizing, and even breathing was a labored chore. Still, he couldn’t help but smile. He had faced down the fabled Roc by himself, and lived to tell the tale.

When the body of the beast began glowing white, he knew that he was in trouble.

A glowing sphere of golden, crystalline spiritual power formed over the Roc’s body, and with a divine burst, the monster rose back up into the air, pulled upwards by the holy force. The gaping slash on its chest sealed over, its wings straightened, even the dents and breaks Rykoshet had put in the spikes it bore restored themselves to full. The power coming out of it burst into full bloom, as if it had never been injured at all. With another piercing shriek, the monster returned, spinning around to level blazing eyes on the Elvaan standing in front of it.

“Oh come on,” Rykoshet shouted, demanding of no one in particular, “how is that fair?!”

The bird swooped forward, and the first attack it struck knocked the air out of Rykoshet’s lungs. Immediately, he knew one of his ribs had broken. Another jolt from its wings caused a spray of blood to shoot from his mouth, and he nearly toppled over, only the weight of his great sword keeping him upright. The Roc struck at him with razored talons, knocking him back step by step, and then with a furious strike, as Rykoshet tried to bring his sword up in defense, it swung its head low and then up again, knocking the weapon free from his hands. It flew up into the moonlight, and then vanished into the darkness.

Neither combatant saw nor heard metal upon metal as a pair of gauntleted hands grasped the hilt, catching the blade in mid-flight.

Disoriented from the assault, Rykoshet was helpless as another blow took him across the face, wings scraping his cheek open and sending him reeling. With a burst of wind from its powerful appendages, the Roc bowled him over, and he was sent sprawling head over feet, landing hard on the ground stomach-first. Rolling over, he attempted to rise, but suddenly the full weight of the Roc was pressed down on him, crushing him to the point that he could no longer even cry out in pain. Talons digging into his chest, the Elvaan stared up at the Roc, who looked back down and saw only its next meal.

It did not see, as Rykoshet did, the silhouette of the figure leaping into the air, a shadow against the light of the full moon at his back, the Dark Knight’s own great sword clasped between his hands. Like a plummeting stone, he shot down, arcing the weapon directly towards the ground.

The Roc screamed as the strike cleaved into its back, slicing at the tendons between its wings, seeking to sever its very spine. Bucking forward in pain, it screeched again, blood shooting from its fresh wound as the new attacker swung at it again, but the Roc flew forward, releasing Rykoshet from its grasp. It continued squawking awfully, crying out in pain, fury, and animalistic fear as it took wing. After so many wounds, so much damage, and using up so much energy, it finally deemed this dinner to be too much trouble. Rapidly vanishing into the night, the Roc retreated, becoming a dot in the air until it was finally no more.

Rykoshet lay prone on the ground, bleeding from a dozen different wounds, struggling just to breath. Gleaming armor clanked as the new figure, sheathing Rykoshet’s great sword on his back as he approached, loomed over the wounded fighter, the moon at his back. A wind swept through the Champaign, stirring the heavy, tattered cloak the newcomer wore, and Rykoshet could just make out him peering down with intense eyes. After a long moment, an armored hand was extended, waiting patiently as Rykoshet gathered himself together.

When he could lift his own arm, the Elvaan took his savior’s hand, pulling himself just upright enough that he could make out the person who rescued him through the light of the starshine. He gasped as he realized it was his own face staring back at him.

The momentary confusion passed as he saw the subtle differences; this figure’s hair was longer, shaggier, and his skin darkened by long hours in the sun. The most pronounced difference, however, was the jagged scar on the other man’s right cheek, two slashes crossed over one another to form an “X.” Other than that though, the two of them were so identical they might very well be . . .

“Oh no,” Rykoshet muttered, even as speaking caused him pain, “not you.”

“Come on,” the other Elvaan replied with a spreading grin, “is that any way to talk to your own little brother? And after I just saved your life.”

“Ugh . . . hello, Battousai,” Rykoshet groaned, his happiness at still being alive rapidly diminishing.

Battousai only smiled, a smug smirk that Rykoshet would have hated if he’d had the strength left to feel, helping his older brother to his feet. Barely having the strength to move his limbs, Rykoshet was forced to lean on the younger Elvaan for support as the two of them began walking forward. The moon was high, the battle was done, and as he struggled to stay standing, Rykoshet knew it was going to be a long, long walk back home.

Chapter XXI: Of the Sick and Tired

Rykoshet’s boots stopped short in the dusty hills of Sauromugue Champaigne as he cast a warning arm out behind him, the others coming to a halt as well. Slowly, they all crouched down close to the ground, the cover from the rise of earth giving them some protection as they looked to the skies overhead, waiting as overhead, a demon on the wing soared by. They had traveled for two days to reach this point, the trek across the Meriphataud Mountains a taxing journey they had been scarce prepared for. Unable to use the main trails for fear of being discovered, they had been given no choice but to hike across the mountains themselves, and now, as they finally reached the lower ground of the Champaigne, the team of Those Guys dispatched to investigate the survivors of Jeuno had found that the winged fiends were still active in the area, probably searching for the same thing they were.

As demons actually saw better at night than during in sunlit hours, this meant the previous evening had been spent huddled against the ground, with no fire for warmth or movement allowed. When day broke they had traveled on cautiously, eyes constantly on the sky. Rykoshet had been unable to rest since they began, finding his dreams troubled and restless, and staved off sleep now as they cautiously trudged onwards. He kept hearing someone calling out to him, but could not see a face to match the voice, only a sense of urgency, and the dreadful lurking of some ominous presence in the background . . .

Liyah was by his side, and Danienne and Decay as well. Fated had gone on ahead to scout the area, and every few minutes the glint from his shield caught the sunlight, signaling that the coast was clear for them to advance. Thus they made their way across towards Garliage Citadel, the words of the dying Lieutenant Raidom the only guarantee they had that the trip would be worth it. Konstantine, the final member of their rescue group, was trailing behind, having difficulty keeping up with the rest of them. She had refused any assistance, however, and when necessary, had sprinted to keep up with the group. Rykoshet grew worried as he looked at them; if they pushed themselves too hard getting there, they might be unable to lend the aid they had promised they would. There was no turning back now, though. They had committed to this journey, and would see it through to the end.

“We’re getting close,” Fated informed them when they caught up to him. “I recognize this area from survival training back in the military. The entrance to the Citadel should be less than a mile from here.”

“Okay,” Rykoshet responded, surprised at how hoarse his voice sounded. He shook his head once, fighting off the advances of an exhausted state, and then cast his gaze towards the sky, wary of demons. “We don’t know what we’re going to be up against in there, so we should be prepared for anything.”

“Rykoshet,” Decay said, resting on one knee as he looked out over the horizon, “we need to rest. This is going to be impossible in this state.”

The Elvaan shook his head, though he could feel his body struggling to agree. “We’re too close, Decay,” he insisted, looking out towards the direction Fated had been leading them, “if we stop now we might lose the daylight resting. We’ll be able to take a breather inside the Citadel. If the demons knew the survivors were in there, they wouldn’t be scouring the Champaigne looking for them out here.”

“You’re going to kill yourself if you don’t sleep, Rykoshet.” Danienne said warningly, to which Liyah gave an affirming nod. “We all know what the Citadel has become. If you don’t let yourself take a break – “

Rykoshet vehemently shook his head, warding off her words with his armored hands. “I made it through Tiamat and Oztroja, I’m not letting a hike do me in. Let’s keep going.” Her warning had gotten through, though. He did know what was likely to be waiting for them in Garlaige Citadel.

Garlaige Citadel was a nest of the undead.

Those who had fallen in the attack launched by the Orcs decades before during the Crystal War had been doomed to walk forever amongst the ruins of the Citadel they had been attempting to construct. Amongst all the other terrible monsters which roamed free within the underground chambers, those fallen soldiers were the worst, never ceasing in ther lust to drag all living things down into the pit of despair with them. The undead were never a pleasant sight to begin with, but with the knowledge that in life they had been noble soldiers of the San d’Orian army, trying to bring about an end to a terrible war, it became that much more painful to raise sword against them. No matter what happened with the refugees, it was clear from the outset that this would not be a pleasant journey.

With only an hour or so of sunlight remaining to them, Rykoshet urged Fated onwards, and the rest sat in wait for him to give another all clear signal. He had no way of knowing how much time had passed when he felt Danienne roughly shoving him, and realized he had nodded off right there in the dirt, while sitting up. The sun was low, but there was a distinct glint on the horizon. With a start he jumped to his feet, momentarily confused, but managed to regain his bearings quickly. He had heard it again, even in the brief period he had dozed; a voice, and something like a cold wind blowing by, calling his name.

“I’m okay, I’m good,” he said, brushing off Danienne’s hand on his shoulder, “let’s get moving.”

Sure enough, the group continued onwards, and when they had crossed the last bit of intervening distance, up rocky hill and sand-strewn trail, the ruins of Garlaige Citadel stood around them. Broken towers and fragmented sections of once-massive stone walls decorated the area where once had been the massive Elvaan fortress, a steadfast monument to the power of the San d’Orian kingdom. As had much of the area around Jeuno, it had fallen in the Crystal War, and now lay abandoned to the elements. Not even the skinks which called the area home would venture too close to the entrance of the blighted black rock, it’s basalt halls home to a heavy curse which none would willingly enter into given the choice. The survivors of Jeuno had not been given one, but if they had sent Raidom out searching for help, they were still desperately seeking other options.

The entrance to Garlaige itself was little more now than a hollowed out tunnel in the face of the mountainous ruins around it. The pillars which had supported it stood now only because they had collapsed in upon themselves, creating an unintentional brace against the wall. Only the stone pathway suddenly appearing in the dirt gave any indication that the structure had not been a result of natural causes. It was a dark, brooding structure, and from within, echoes of beating wings could be heard, stirred up by the swarms of bats which called the structure home. Under darkened skies, the small band of Those Guys took their first steps into the blackrock fortress, and immediately, like an aura enveloping them, they felt the oppressive nature of the dark place into which they ventured.

“I don’t like it here at all,” Liyah said, clutching her robes tightly around herself as she surveyed the dank, cobweb-filled pathway down into the Citadel. It felt chilly inside, different from normal cold somehow. Even through his armor, Rykoshet could feel goosebumps crawling across his flesh, and suddenly he seemed very alert, as if just stepping through the threshold to this place had awoken his adrenal glands. One look around told him the others were similarly on edge; Danienne had drawn her scythe and gripped the shaft nervously, as Decay’s eyes darted back and forth across the walls, searching for hidden movement. Konstantine hung tightly behind them, peeking her head out from behind Danienne, her large eyes wide at whatever it was her magical senses were picking up around them. Rykoshet could feel it himself, if only slightly. Something lingered here, something dark, and angry. The sooner they could leave this place, the better.

“We should . . . let’s go down some, and . . . “

“Rykoshet.” Danienne said gently, but forcefully. “We’re here. Stop. Take a break. I’ll go in and scout the area, Liyah can come with me. Everyone else, your job is to make sure Rykoshet closes his eyes while I’m gone, is that clear?”

“Dani, I . . . “ Rykoshet trailed off before he could even finish his own sentence. He realized it was taking everything he had in him to keep his legs from buckling. The rush upon entering the Citadel had faded quickly, and left him even more painfully exhausted than before. Slowly slumping against the wall, he felt the darkness tugging at him, and let out a slow breath as he slid down into a sitting position. He was unconscious almost before he hit the ground.

Danienne smirked, shaking her head. “I’ll be gone for exactly one hour,” she told them, “if I’m not back by then, something has happened.”

Decay let out a discontented growl, folding his arms in front of himself as he propped his back up against the grimy stone walls of Garlaige. “I would really like to raise complaint about this entire thing,” he grumbled, “but honestly, what could be worse than the demons?”


“Nothing could be worse than these demons,” Tyrian spat, looking out at the shimmering field of energy encompassing Heaven’s Tower. Meowolf stood at his side, fists clenched as he stared at the demon hordes in the air, and the strange, stony-looking Yagudo on the ground. For weeks Windurst had withstood this siege, being able to spare only Titania to go out and gather aid, and her only being able to find their small crew. Sinti had gone off with the mages they had brought to help Yasuchika, to tell them everything she had tried to no avail in her efforts to wake the Tarutaru up. Klades was already down on the ground, holding the line whenever a breach appeared in the shield until the wizards could restore it. Meowolf and Tyrian had stayed in upper reaches of Heaven’s Tower at Titania’s request, as she went off to request audience with the Star Sibyl herself.

“Sickening.” Meowolf grunted, looking out from his perch across the battlefield. Night had fallen across Windurst, which meant the demons were out in full force. Thick, black swarms of them crashed into the barrier around Heaven’s Tower in the air as on the ground, assaulting the magical force of the combined wizards of Windurst as they resisted the attempt to raze their ancestral home to the ground. Every so often the demons would break through, and their attempts would be met by a swarm of arrows released by the Mithran Rangers stationed throughout the tree. However, as time had passed, the demons had shown no signs of relenting, and the constant rotations between the Windurstians in their struggle to survive was beginning to take a growing toll as rifts in the barrier appeared more and more frequently, and increasingly the arrows which flew were slower and slower to meet the demons which came in. The magic of Windurst was close to being at an end.

Tyrian nodded in response, drawing back his bow string. They had been in Windurst for approximately twelve hours; Tyrian had slept for seven of them, bathed while his clothes were being mended, and then hastened to the armory to restock his arrows. Titania’s weapon of choice was a crossbow, so she had traveled the entire expanse of Sarutabaruta essentially unarmed, and was visibly relieved at the chance to replenish her ammunition. They had both had their fill of demons and the sight of them, and Tyrian’s fingers had been itching for the chance to loose an arrow through the chests of his winged targets. The events of Attowha Chasm were still fresh in their minds, and neither would hesitate to do anything to avenge their fallen friends.

That included Yasuchika. The mage was something of a minor celebrity in Windurst, having been a popular researcher of the Manustary before his adventures in Horutoto Ruins and Toraimarai Canal eventually gave way to a life of widespread roaming with Those Guys. His sudden return had heralded great attention, and Captain Dieggo, the leader of Windurst’s 4th Knight Squadron, personally escorted him to the medical ward. If anyone could figure out what was wrong with Yasuchika, it would be them. For now though, he remained pale and increasingly weak, still having never once opened his eyes since the events at Attowha. In these times, every life counted.

Tyrian turned as the door behind them creaked open, and, wearing a new green cloak over her earth-toned doublet, Titania strode out to join them. Her feline features were traced with newly-found determination – she knew as well as anyone that she had not been expected to return from her mission alive. With her new allies in tow, she had surprised everyone, and perhaps now, hopes were just a little higher than they had been.

“The Star Sibyl needs some time to prepare,” Titania said without preamble, “but she wants to discuss things with you soon. Think you can keep yourselves busy for a day or so?”

Giving a grunt as he looked up towards the sky, Tyrian nodded. “I think we’ll find a way. Why, though? What’s going on?”

Titania shook her head. “I wasn’t told, only that she and the ministry are discussing options on how to end the siege, and they think you can help. They’re still talking over their strategy though.”

“Huh,” Meowolf said, hands gripping his sword as he watched the shield shimmer and surge against the demon hordes outside of it. “They might want to hurry.”

Titania nodded, then went on. “There’s more,” she said, causing them both to turn and regard her curiously. “I stopped by the medical ward on the way here. They think we know what’s wrong with Yasuchika.”

“What?” Tyrian exclaimed, taking a step forward. “What are you talking about?”

“He was struck by the demons before you pulled him out of that rock pile,” Titania explained, recounting the details as they had been given to the healers who had wanted to know everything that had happened, “and so they began investigating the wound. It had been healed over by Sinti, but they found residual traces of the magic still lingering.”

“What are you trying to say? The demons put something inside of Yasuchika?” Meowolf’s eyes blazed at the prospect, and his voice rose with each syllable as he felt fury welling up inside of him.

“Not in him,” Titania corrected, shaking her head, “around him. He’s been cursed, and without a powerful enough counter-curse, there’s no way to wake him up.”

“So?” Tyrian said, as if the rest of the sentence was obvious. “We’re in Windurst, there must be someone with enough magic here to dispel the curse and bring Yasuchika back to us.”

“It’s not that simple,” the Mithra replied. “With the barrier up, almost everyone is dedicated to maintaining it. To divert power for anything else, even this . . . we just can’t do it right now.”

“What?” Meowolf demanded, face curling in anger. “No one will help him, even when you know what’s wrong?! There’s not a single mage in all of Windurst powerful enough to do anything to help a friend? To help one of your own?”

“Meowolf, we – “ Titania started, but stopped short as a new sound entered the room.

“Ohhohohohohoho!”

The three of them turned, surprised, as laughter filled the air. Light and lilting, but with a twinge of arrogance laced in, it was also so loud that they were all taken aback to see the sound emitted from the person of one small, black-robed and bespectacled Tarutaru woman, who had moments before appeared in the doorway.

“Concern for you friend, now that’s an admirable trait, but this lack of faith gives me cause to berate. Saying anything is beyond my power, that’s just a sin. Sit back and watch, boys. The doctor is in.”