Chapter XXXI: Hidden Power

Twenty years earlier, the knights of San d’Oria had attempted to construct a tunnel from their stronghold in the traditionally kingdom-held fortress of Garlaige through to the Meriphataud Mountains in order to launch a sneak attack on Castle Oztroja. The Yagudo learned of their plans and communicated their intelligence to the Orcish Hordes locked in combat with the San d’Orians at the time. In a bloody sneak attack, the force gathered at Garlaige had been overwhelmed by the Orcs, and cut down to the man within the darkened confines of the tunnel they had thought would help bring about the end of the Crystal War. What was already a terrible chapter in the history of that ruinous conflict did not end there, however.

In the years which followed, the restless spirits of the slain knights, bound to the area by the dark and twisted magic released in the war, had risen from their graves, haunted and cursed figures chained forever to the land in which they had fallen. All attempts to exorcise the area had ended in tragedy, as the dead grew only more ravenous. The knights and mages of San d’Oria, along with the fallen remains of the refugees of the Great War, roamed the lower catacombs of Garlaige, eager to drag down any who sought to venture into that damned graveyard. Combined with the arcane creations already roaming the area, constructs and mutations resulting from the terrible forces unleashed two decades prior, the entire fortress, once sacred Elvaan ground, was now one of the most forsaken spots in all of Vana’diel.

The price for trespassing on such ground was now being paid in full as the undead slowly advanced upon the faltering Jeunoan guards who feebly attempted to safeguard their wounded kin, and Fated, the last of his strength waning, tried in vain to hold Serket at bay.

Garlaige Citadel was about to add another round of victims to its cursed and blighted grounds.

The Jeunoan Ducal Guards stood their ground valiantly as the initial wave of the undead overtook them. The undead were comprised almost entirely of the skeletal remains of those who had died before, kept animated by the foul curse upon their souls, and bore in their hands the rusted and ruined remains of the weapons they had wielded in life. They moved slowly, their hollow eye sockets staring blankly ahead as they walked towards whatever life they sensed, but when they attacked, the undead were more fearsome than any warrior in life. The guardsmen were tired, some of them hurt, and many suffering from debilitating hunger. Even were they at their peak, the outcome of battle against the undead of Garlaige would be a foregone conclusion. Their weakened state only meant the inevitable would come that much sooner.

Liyah, her abilities taxed to the limit, did all she could to keep the soldiers standing as increasingly, the numbers against them rose. White magic was hardly her forte, but the knowledge she had in it was being pushed as far as it would go as long as Konstantine was occupied helping keep the wounded Jeunoan refugees alive. The two had been brought along in anticipation of their crafts being utilized in battle with demons, or to keep them hidden from the monsters in Garlaige. The former had proven itself to be an unfounded concern, but the latter, at this point, was now impossible. Those Guys were faced with the combined might of the monstrosities lurking in the caverns, and it seemed there was nothing they could do to stem the tide surging against them.

In the distance, the undefined, shapeless masses of the ghosts which patrolled the ground began making their way forward, drawn by the din of battle. The skeletons continued their assault, more and more trudging forward from the desecrated halls of the citadel as their magically manipulated cohorts floated eerily closer to the fray. The zombified remains of those who had perished and fallen into mass graves, now monstrous beings of fetid flesh, crawled up from the depths, large, pink, rotting skin peeling off of their four-legged bodies as the toad-like things joined the others. The Jeunoans were screaming as their guardsmen, at their limit after only a few minutes of fighting, began to falter.

Danienne drew out her scythe, placing Decay on the ground and turning her head first to Serket, then to the undead, not knowing what to do. Indecision gripped the raven-haired Hume as she found no solution to the overwhelming problem facing them. In one way or another, they were all about to be consumed. Still, if they could beat some of the undead, maybe they had a chance to still lead the Jeunoans to safety . . . unless greater horrors awaited them further down the caverns. Silently, she cursed Lieutenant Raidom, probably already dead in Oztroja, for luring them to this death trap. Her scythe grasped tightly in the vise-like grip of her ebony gauntlets, she threw herself into battle against the undead.

The skeletal creatures swung their rusty scythes and half-rotted swords, shields, armor, and in some cases flesh all being rent as they continued their unthinking, implacable advance. The stench of death and suffering was all over the refugees, and they could no longer contain their longing to end all traces of life around them. Liyah, her black robes flaring out behind her, caught one of the monstrous flesh creatures with a bolt of fire which consumed it, but more began trundling up through the depths of the tunnels behind them. Expended as she was from concentrating on healing magic, she knew she would not be able to kill another.

Konstantine, in the meantime, had completely abandoned the pretense of healing the sick and wounded refugees. Under her shrill, high-pitched command, those who could began standing and seeking refuge against the walls, cordoned off into groups based upon how injured they were. Their numbers were so fast that she couldn’t even begin to process the magnitude of the slaughter which would occur of the undead broke the Jeunoan lines. With a shocking burst of light, she threw her tiny hands outwards and a Banish spell overtook the front lines of the enemy undead. They wavered under the holy force, and with a triumphant surge, the Jeunoans holding their ground pushed forward and splintered them into dust. Immediately behind them came another wave, and the ground gained was immediately lost again, Jeunoan blood marking the defeat in the dirt. The Tarutaru mage’s eyes darted about helplessly as she tried to find some new means of attack, even as the ghosts began casting their own magic, seeking to crush the guardsmen beneath the strength of their curses.

And, only a hundred feet away, Fated’s ruined shield was knocked from his arm by Serket as it crushed the last of his defenses.

Fated stared up into the beady black eyes of the monster as the same venom which had Decay lying paralyzed on the ground by the refugees dripped from its pincers. Rykoshet was rushing forward, but he would never reach Fated in time. Danienne, too, saw what was happening, and turned desperately from her battle with the undead to try and save Fated, but she was much too far away. Liyah shrieked as Serket lunged forward, a wall of fire springing from her hands to delay the undead, even as she realized she was pointing her magic in the wrong direction. Konstantine’s breath caught in her throat, and she knew she could never cast a spell that would save Fated’s life before it was too late.

A swirl of water and ice quelled Liyah’s flames as the magic-wielding ghosts finally reached the pitch of the battle. Swords bounced off of them ineffectually, and the undead warriors surged, their ranks locking as they prepared to crush the lives in front of them. Soon a fresh legion of the undead would populate the catacombs beneath Garlaige Citadel.

Fated’s sword flew from his hands as Serket knocked it contemptuously away, skittering away into the shadows after he had weakly tried to parry the scorpion’s blow. The monster reared back, and with another insectoid hiss, began spreading poison once again. Not a concentrated dose like Decay had received, nor a venomous spray like it had aimed at Rykoshet. This was a cloud, a vapor of deadly venom, rising from the monster’s body, filling the air. The Paladin in front of it cast a panicked glance at the Jeunoans as the undead began crawling through gaps in the defenses of the knights, seeking the exposed wounded. They would now be caught between them and this cloud of deadly venom. He was the only thing that stood in front of it.

Even as Serket filled the cavern with his venomous cloud, he leered at Fated, and the eyes of the two locked. Thousands were about to die, and it was going to start right here.

“Captain Emblim,” Fated whispered, “I’ve failed . . . “

Fated disappeared in the thick fog of poison, and Serket stabbed his foreleg forward into the murk, seeking to impale the young Paladin on its skewering appendage. Rykoshet averted his eyes. He had been too late.

Serket stood, unmoving, his right leg still extended where he stabbed Fated, staring into the impenetrable poisonous cloud slowly expanding over the entire cavern. It was thick and dark, a purple-and-black fog that burned in the open air. The scorpion had frozen, locked in place where it stood. Rykoshet raised his head, mouth open, not knowing what move to make next.

The decision was made for him as in the middle of the fog, what started as an almost imperceptible white glimmer began to grow. The blonde Elvaan averted his eyes once again, not because of something he did not want to see, but because it suddenly became impossible to make out anything in the glare of the blinding nova which erupted from within Serket’s fog.

White light poured out from the core of it, overtaking the scorpion’s deadly cloud and dispelling it as if it had never been there at all. Corners of Garlaige which had never seen light were suddenly vastly illuminated, sending swarms of bats screeching and diving to escape the retreat of their shadows. From the eye of the growing storm there came a deep, powerful roar, but not one of any monster. It was a Hume’s voice, furious and strong, overcoming the din of battle to fill the cavern with light and sound of such awesome fury that it could barely be believed. The initial burst of light swelled to a bursting point, and then exploded outwards with force which sent Serket skittering backwards like a rag doll in a cyclone. It spread out over everything, filling the entire lower chambers of Garlaige with its intensity, touching every living thing residing there.

There, as the light dimmed just enough to make out a form, stood Fated. His eyes were a gleaming white, and the aura around him flared to a fever pitch as he faced down Serket. In his most desperate moment, faced with the knowledge that his death would mean the deaths of everyone he had vowed to protect, Fated had reached inside of his soul and brought forth the one defense he had left. The perfect, spiritual defense every Paladin sought to obtain, the light of Altana which resided within every living thing brought out and made into palpable force. Serket screeched as it faced down a foe completely unlike the one it had faced just moments before. Fated, for this moment, in this time, was invincible.

It did not end there. Such was the force of his explosion of energy that it poured over the Jeunoan guards, and their holy auras were restored. Wounds sealed over, energy returned to drained limbs, hope flourished where it had been barely clinging to life. Invigorated by Fated’s power, the entire Jeunoan defense line suddenly rallied, their holy energy now filling the battlefield. The undead horde in front of them screeched to a halt, and then, impossibly, a cry of dismay rose from their collective body as they felt the waves of holy force suddenly sweeping over them. Skeletons began collapsing, overcome by the energy, weapons melting away in their hands as their aged bones spread into dust. The ghosts wailed and moaned, some floating away back into the depths as others, caught up in the torrent of power, faded away like a bad dream upon the dawning of the morn. The monsters of flesh began bubbling as if being boiled alive, hastily retreating back as their numbers were melted down to puddles of sizzling skin.

The source of it all, Fated, floated a foot off of the ground as he faced down Serket. His discarded sword returned to his hand at the beckon of his power, and he held it out in front of the scorpion. The Paladin’s face was grim as his steel glimmered in the light shining forth from his own soul.

Fated’s feet touched the ground as he charged forward, sword in hand. Serket was dealt a glancing blow as Fated struck him full in the face, the blade doing little damage, but his aura forcing the monster back nonetheless. It took a step back, thrusting out it’s spear-like leg, but it bounced harmlessly off of Fated’s armor as he swung his sword again, once more knocking the monster’s head back. The beast hissed, spraying venom out, but the liquid turned to vapor before it even touched its target, purified by the power of Fated’s energy. The Paladin came forward again, striking the beast contemptuously, and Serket hissed scornfully, raging against the unbeatable foe in front of it. With renewed force, Serket drew back its tail, preparing to level Fated with a crushing blow.

It squealed loudly and painfully when Rykoshet’s sword sliced clean through the base of its giant stinger, sending the trunk-like tail wriggling and writhing, spraying venomous blood out to splash against the dirt and stone. The Elvaan’s spinning slash had cleaved the monster’s greatest weapon completely from its body, and as he came down to the ground, he dove aside as the creature began lashing out in blind pain. It came onwards without direction, slashing at everything, Fated standing his ground as it rained blows upon him. Serket finally reared back with its piercing leg and struck forward, Fated swerving to the side to avoid the blow rather than let it deflect off of him. It was not Serket that Fated was avoiding, the beast learned quickly.

Danienne’s scythe, thrown through the air, just missed the monster as it ducked purely on instinct, the blade skirting the surface of its carapace too far above to do any real damage. It laid eyes on the Dark Knight, and with singular purpose brought into its insect-like mind by anger and pain, charged forward while Fated was still standing to the side. Danienne was dead in its sights, and the wounded monster bore down upon her with terrible vengeance.

The Dark Knight’s hand snatched her scythe out of the air as it burst from Serket’s chest, spinning it twice in a circle before reclasping it to her back. Her tractor spell had stopped the weapon in mid-flight, and brought it back through the charging beast with speed and power a mere toss could never have matched. Serket shuddered, giving another wretched cry, and after another feeble step forward, toppled over to the side. The beast gave one last convulsion, its legs crawling upon ground that was no longer beneath it, and died.

Danienne, her armor streaked with blood from combat with the undead, spat upon the monster’s corpse. Without a word, she turned back to the battle against the hordes of the unliving.

She need not have bothered. Driven back by the overwhelming force of Fated’s aura, combined and amplified with those of the Jeunoan guards, the undead has retreated, leaving a clear swath open where no monster dwelled, and shining energy lit the way.

“Fated,” Rykoshet said with wonder as he approached the Paladin, still uneasy on his feet, “what did you do?”

The Paladin shook his head. White light still poured out of him, a divine energy the likes of which none of them had ever borne witness to. “I only know that it’s wearing off. I can feel the power ebbing, wherever it came from. It’s time we leave, before it fades altogether.” Even as he said it, Rykoshet could see the natural darkness of Garlaige slowly creeping back along the edges of the cavern which Fated’s power had been illuminating.

“Of course. Captain Wolfgang,” Rykoshet called across the battlefield, “gather your people together. We’re getting out of here.”

“Decay’s not going to last long,” a voice called out, and they turned to see Konstantine, fretting over his body. “I don’t have the strength to fight this poison off. We’ve got to get him back to Odessa as soon as possible.”

“Do what you can for him. Fated, take the lead, Dani, carry Decay for us. Liyah, you’ll watch our backs.”

“Rykoshet,” Wolfgang called out, sheathing his sword, his face streaked with the blood of his wounded and fallen comrades, “where can we go?”

“You’ve shown me your place, Captain,” Rykoshet replied, “now I’m taking you back to mine.”

Thus the people of Jeuno, rescued by the intervention of Those Guys, who drove back the undead hordes and laid low the monstrous scorpion Serket, began their trek towards Castle Oztroja.

Chapter XXX: An Honest Attempt at Rescue

“This is not what I signed on for!” Konstantine complained loudly as her tiny Tarutaru body was pelted with rocks torn free from the ground by the impact of the giant scorpion’s tail.

“We’re Those Guys,” Decay responded even as the diminuitive White Mage cast a spell of protection around her. “This is precisely what you signed on for.”

The monster rumors had dubbed “Serket” had long been the boogeyman of Garlaige Citadel. Amidst all the confirmed reports of vampiric bat swarms, animated monsters of beastial flesh, and the hordes of the undead, there had always been peripheral sightings of some sort of enormous beast lurking in the shadows. Dark enough to hide itself within the shadows of the lower catacombs, only remnants of its victims provided evidence that it was even real. As the monstrous thing came into view, it was clear that its existence had gone so long unconfirmed because those who had been unfortunate enough to discover it never lived to tell the tale.

Whatever magic or mutation had spawned the beast, it stood fully thirteen feet high, and another twenty in length. Curled up over its back was a tail like a tree trunk with a barbed stinger at the end, big enough to be used as a smashing bludgeon as well as the obvious danger posed by the potent venom leaking off of it, which hissed as it hit the ground. It skittered back and forth with a speed that should not have been possible for something so large, a sign of the awesome strength held within the thick, stalk-like legs holding it aloft. With inky black eyes it looked out at the small assemblage before it, then back to the multitude of sick and wounded on the other side of the six warriors in front of it. It gave a rattling hiss and pulled its tail back again. It obviously did not consider this any great obstacle to reach its dinner.

“We can’t let it reach the Jeunoans,” Rykoshet ordered, brandishing his blade in the face of the thing. Danienne, her scythe ready to swing, stood at his left and Decay his right, the monster looming over them. “Konstantine, you help the wounded get to safety, Liyah, assist the Guards. Fated,” he called out to the Paladin, “you’re with us!”

The scorpion took another sweeping glance at its foes, and then launched into an attack. Its razor-sharp claws stabbed at Rykoshet as he dodged and rolled to the side, Danienne rushing forward to meet the appendange with her own ebony scythe, masterfully forged weapon crafted of orichalcum. The scorpion’s strength immediately overpowered the Hume, and her blade was deflected sharply to the ground. She released the weapon and dropped down as Serket took another stab at her with its foreleg, avoiding the thrust by mere inches. With a burst of dark magic, she called the scythe back into her hand, and it flew from the ground to her awaiting gauntlet, but worry was already creasing her brow.

Serket dove down, snapping at her with its clenching fangs, but was driven back as Decay came forward with his blazing rapier. The beast reared away from the fire, but swung fiercely with his mighty foreleg, knocking Decay aside. The Red Mage flew hard against the ground, the protective spells woven in the air around him saving his ribs from being crushed. Rykoshet charged forward while Serket was still focused on Decay, and his great sword slashed against the beast, Fated at his side. Serket immediately swung around, sweeping its tail out to impale the Elvaan upon the lance-like stinger at the end, but Fated caught the attack with his shield, the impact rattling him to the very bone. Serket, unprepared for such a deflection, was staggered for just an instant. Rykoshet gripped the hilt of his sword and took as much advantage as he could.

Even as he pressed his attack forward, he knew he had made a mistake.

Serket’s left pincer came crashing downwards, deflecting the blow of his great sword before it ever found the surface of the monster’s shell. Fated leaped to his defense, but with its powerful legs, Serket stomped down on the ground with such force that it send a shockwave which blew the Paladin onto his back. The cavern quaked, and Rykoshet reeled, the right pincer catching him just under the rib cage, leaving a gaping rend in his ebony armor as the blonde Elvaan was propelled backwards, skidding across the rocky ground as he struggled to maintain his grip on the blade he carried. Serket leaped up again, and his impact send out another tremor that caught all of them in its wake, shaking them like children’s toys as the scorpion snapped its killer jaws, preparing for another assault.

“Damn,” Fated moaned, stabbing his sword into the ground as he attempted to rise, “it’s too fast!”

“Don’t let up!” Danienne called out as she swung her legs outward, swinging a hand underneath herself and pushing upwards, spinning her scythe into a position of readiness. “The four of us have to work together, it’s too strong for these individual assaults!”

“Nothing is too strong if you know where to aim,” Decay spat out menacingly from behind her, his eyes a portrait of anger. His palms flared to life with writhing energy, and he leveled his hand at the monster as it advanced on the still-prone Rykoshet.

“Decay,” Danienne shouted out, “don’t! We have to – “

“Burn, monster!” the Red Mage growled, and with his snarl a tongue of flame shot forth from his hand. The swirling red energy struck the monster, and Serket squealed a high-pitched, insect-like cry as Decay’s magic fireball seared its rock-hard carapace. Its agony only seemed to increase Decay’s force, and the blast rocketed forth with even greater intensity, consuming the monster in a bath of flames. Rykoshet, caught beneath the inferno, clutched at the rock and debris around him, finally finding enough of a handhold to pull himself upright and away from the screeching monster. He squinted at the light being produced by Decay’s magic, holding a hand up over his eyes in a vain attempt to shield himself from both illumination and the intense heat. With a twist of his wrist, Decay cut off the flame, which continued to burn with arcane force even after its energy had been dispelled.

“Now chop apart what remains and let’s get out of here,” the Red Mage ordered, lowering his still-smoking hand. “This place reeks.”

Danienne screamed as Serket burst forth from the flames meant to be his funeral pyre, his gleaming red eyes focused intently on Decay.

The auburn-haired Hume spun around to face the charging beast as it shrieked, weaving a stoneskin spell around himself as it bore down on him. Danienne, however, catapulted herself in the way, knocking them both clear of the monster which hissed and clicked, throwing out it’s back legs to pivot back towards the both of them as they rolled clear. Danienne came back up off the ground with an athletic leap, swinging her scythe out in time to meet another jarring blow from Serket’s now-enraged attack. It’s bladed limbs reared back as it prepared to impale the Dark Knight upon them, but Danienne through out a burst of dark magic, and for a moment Serket was stunned by the arcane release. Rykoshet, finally recovered, did not waste the moment Danienne had bought them.

The Elvaan surged forward, muscles bunched as he brought his great sword to bear against Serket’s massive shell. Danienne hacked away with her scythe, and as Serket brought his trunk-like tail down to smash them, Fated returned to the fray, deflecting the monstrous blow with his already-dented shield. Fated grimaced and grit his teeth has he felt his arm strain under the force of Serket’s tail, but he held his ground as Decay, seething, regained his footing. The air around the Red Mage crackled, and his aura flared to life as lightning began sparking from his fists. Decay raised his nose disdainfully at the monster striking at his friends, and with deadly precision, bolts of electric force lanced out from his fists, surging through the hide of the beast. It jolted back, skittering on its hind legs to escape the attack, but Decay was implacable.

He drew forth his sword, and as soon as it touched the air, it began swirling with razor-sharp tendrils of aero magic, the light-green energy visible to the naked eye. The winds in the cavern began bending to Decay’s will as he took another step towards Serket, which was now swiveling its elongated head back and forth between Danienne and Rykoshet in front of it, and the advancing Red Mage, plumes of energy convalescing around him. For the first time, the monster appeared unsure.

“Stand back,” Decay warned, stretching out his sword, and both of the black-armored fighters in front of him wisely took a step to the side. Fated turned and saw what was about to occur, and with a yelp he dove onto the ground, arms protectively clapped over his head.

Like a concentrated hurricane, wind energy blasted forward as Decay released an Aero spell of the highest tier, directed straight at the enormous scorpion. With enough force to tear flesh from bone or strip a boulder into sand, it left wind burns across the skin on Rykoshet’s unprotected face, though he stood several feet away from the horizontal column of magic. He raised his hands defensively as the concussive force overtook Serket.

His upraised arms only shielded him from the shower of rocks and pebbles which pelted forward as Decay’s spell collided harmlessly with the stone formation behind the spot where Serket had previously stood.

Danienne gasped audibly as Serket crashed down on the ground in front of Decay. At the last moment, it had leaped into the air, completely avoiding the Red Mage’s fearsome spell, and now came down with enough power to cause a tremor. Decay swore an oath nearly worthy of Vile as he was shaken from his feet, his sword clattering to the ground beside him. The scorpion squealed its insect-like screech, and the Hume sprawled out in front of it suddenly felt fear shiver up his spine as the monster’s dripping fangs hovered over him.

He was spared for the moment he needed to regain his footing as Rykoshet, swinging his great sword, charged the monster from behind. With an almost dismissive attack, Serket swung his tail around like a club, and the crushing blow he dealt with it took the blonde Elvaan full in the ribs, only his heavy armor saving his life. He flew through the air, colliding with the rock walls of Garlaige and sliding down, stars in his eyes. Gritting his teeth as pain shot through his side, Rykoshet struggled to rise again, but found it futile. Decay, on the other hand, snatched his sword from where it had fallen and rolled to the side, springing to his feet as he tried to summon his magic. Danienne was still on her feet, running to Decay’s aid from a distance so as to avoid the same fate as Rykoshet, and further off, Fated was also attempting to get back into position.

Serket, moving faster than any of them, slashed at Decay with its foreleg, and the Red Mage smartly sprung backwards. Red-and-black cloth flew out in tatters as the bladed leg of the creature tore the front of Decay’s tabard into shreds. The Red Mage staggered back, a smirk on his face as he raised his sword again, preparing to blast Serket into nothing with another spell. He raised his arm, magic welling up inside of him, and readied his attack.

He pulled back with an agonized cry as from Serket’s mouth, a stinger shot forward that caught him in the shoulder of his outstretched arm. Decay tumbled backwards, pain setting the entire right side of his body on fire as he convulsed under the grip of Serket’s venomous sting. Just like that, the Red Mage had been taken out of the game, and Those Guys had lost the best piece they had on the board.

“Decay!” Rykoshet called out from where he had finally managed to rise, bracing himself against the wall Serket had flung him against. The Red Mage, his eyes rolling back, gave no response as he twitched feverishly, the scorpion’s venom taking hold in his system. Serket heard his call, however, and the monster spun around, shooting out this time not a single stinger, but a spray of poisonous liquid that shot towards where Rykoshet stood. With a grunt as the side of his body Serket’s tail had struck shot spikes of pain into him, the Elvaan dove down and the scorpion’s attack struck the wall behind him. The aqueous purple ooze hissed and bubbled, leaving a smoking trail where it slid down the rock.

The monster turned again, and Fated hastily raised his battered shield as it was suddenly upon him, hammering down on the Paladin with frightful force. Danienne rushed to Decay’s side, where the Red Mage lay trembling. He looked up pleadingly at the Dark Knight as she raised him up in her arms, and struggled to form words. Serket’s venom was coursing through his blood, and it was taking all the magic he had in him to keep its effects at bay. As Danienne felt the energy Decay was expelling coming off of him, she realized that he had already expended a good deal of his power in the course of the fight. If they could do nothing to treat him immediately, then Serket’s sting would turn his body into a liquefied husk. Fighting back panic, she gripped the stinger, still protruding from Decay’s shoulder, and with a fierce tug empowered by dark magic, tore it free from his body. The Red Mage’s scream was blocked by his constricting throat, and equal parts blood and black, dripping venom poured out from the wound on his shoulder.

“This is all going wrong,” Danienne lamented, standing with Decay in her arms, “we’ve got to get out now.”

Rykoshet, in the meantime, had finally gotten back on his feet. The pain in his body was crippling, but he managed to stay upright as he brought his great sword back up. Fated was quickly crumbling under Serket’s assault, and without help they would soon lose another friend to the monster. Taking a step forward, he halted, wincing as pain blossomed through his ribs again, but then he took a bracing breath and continued. He had to stop this thing, here and now.

He was almost back to where Serket and Fated stood locked in one-sided combat when he realized that beneath the clanging sounds of Fated’s shield being quickly rent apart which echoed throughout the caverns, there was now a low, hungry moan. A moan which rose to greater and greater decibels with every step he took. From the far side of the tunnels beneath Garlaige it rose, and became increasingly harder to ignore with every second. The line of Jeunoan guards which had maintained their ranks in protection of the refugees even as Those Guys had struggled to put down Serket now turned with oaths and shouted orders, raising their weapons in preparation for a new battle on the horizon.

Rykoshet stopped in his tracks as the sounds of combat began ringing all throughout the enormous cavern chamber. Whether attracted by the scent of blood, the sense of weakness and confusion, or simply because they were somehow intelligent enough to know when to strike, they had come. Against a handful of guards bolstered only by Liyah and Konstantine, while Serket raged amongst them, and with hundreds, perhaps thousands of Jeunoans caught in the middle, they had finally made their move.

The undead horde of Garlaige had attacked. Now, Rykoshet thought, crushed by the realization, their doom was certain.

Chapter XXIX: Refugees

He was standing before a lake, or perhaps a river of some kind. The water was murky and thick, making it impossible to perceive how deep it might be, and all throughout, strange shapes ran just underneath the surface. The current carried them far and away from the bank shore, which in and of itself seemed to be naught but a wispy cloud, somehow able to support the weight of the person crouching before the river. That strange circumstance he could wrap his head around. It was the man standing in the middle of the river that was giving Rykoshet some concern.

He rose up out of the water in not such a way as to make it appear he was standing on the surface, but rather that he was part of the surface; an extension of the river itself. Garbed in a white cloak trimmed with gold, the man flowed out of the water as if a result of the current, arms hung limply at his sides, his face concealed by the thick hood outstretched from his voluminous garment. The figure turned towards Rykoshet, ripples from the water coursing throughout his very body, and the leader of Those Guys felt a chill, like cold water down his back, as the gaze of the man fell upon him.

The man raised up a single hand, pointing off into the distance wordlessly. Rykoshet turned, the Elvaan fighter squinting against the haze all around him to try and make out what he was supposed to be seeing. With a gasp, he realized he was suddenly right in the middle of it. The river was gone, the ephemeral white surface he had been standing on froze over into the thickest ice, a tundra of unimaginable depth. He felt the cold tearing at his flesh, and wrapped his arms around himself as he struggled in vain to ward off the chill. Even with the icy wind bringing tears to his eyes, he could see the events unfolding around him.

There was some sort of fortress, a lair hidden underneath the snow and ice. Magic permeated the area, and ancient runes glowed red with power as they were assaulted by forces encompassing the entire frozen valley in which he stood in. From the surroundings, there could be no doubt. Rykoshet stood in the Beaucedine Glacier, somewhere far to the frozen north. With him walked demons, a great host of them filling the air and converging on this one spot. There was no end to their numbers, and their unholy howling was almost maddening as they struggled to pierce the barriers of magic set throughout this hidden lair. Rykoshet stood unmoving, locked with disbelief at what was happening, as they swarmed all around him. Slowly, he turned, and there behind him stood the white-cloaked figure from the river, still unmoving, his face still hidden.

“Rykoshet . . . “ the man whispered.

“What is it?” he demanded, struggling to be heard over the demons. “What are you trying to show me?”

“You must come here, Rykoshet . . . “

The Elvaan’s response was taken right out of him as an insane laughter covered the area, and he spun around to see a blur of darkness overtake him, and then all was black

“Rykoshet!”

He awoke with a start, sweat drenching his brow. With a gasp for air, he filled his lungs with a hot, dry breath of the Sauromugue Champaign, and felt the stones of Garlaige Citadel pressing against the armored plates on his back. His hands clenched inside the gauntlets he wore, and with no small relief he felt the weight of the Yagudo great sword he had brought with him pressing into his side where it lay propped up against the floor. Rykoshet’s dark eyes darted about for the source of the speaker, and it was then that he saw Fated standing in front of him. The Paladin’s face was masked with concern.

“You were having a nightmare,” the young Hume told him, his armor gleaming in the fading sunlight, somehow free from the dust and dirt the others had accumulated. “You wouldn’t wake up no matter what we did.”

It took Rykoshet a moment to grasp Fated’s words entirely, his eyes darting back and forth between the faces of his colleagues and the rapidly diminishing sunlight. It struck him like a blow to the gut, and he struggled to rise, pressing a hand against the blackened stone of the Garlaige entrance to support himself. “How long was I asleep?” he demanded, mopping at the sweat soaking his forehead, wisps of his blonde hair matted against his head.

“It’s been nearly three hours,” Decay responded to him, the Red Mage growling his response. “Danienne never returned.”

The air went out of the blonde Elvaan as quickly as it had come into him. One hour, she had said when she descended into those depths. One hour was all she would need.

“And no one went after her?”

“We couldn’t leave you out here,” Liyah piped up as Rykoshet felt himself growing livid, “we’ve been trying to wake you up this whole time. You were carrying on like you were being attacked; you’re lucky you didn’t attract demons.”

“Are you okay?” Konstantine asked, genuine concern in her voice. Rykoshet looked from face to face again, and saw that even Decay seemed worried about his state. What had that nightmare been about? Who were those figures, and what was happening in Beaucedine Glacier? He had to . . . he stopped. Forcibly calming himself, the black-armored warrior drew his great sword up off of the ground, clasping it over his back. His face took on a stony glare as he looked down the dark, spiraling tunnel Danienne had descended into without returning.

“I’m fine, Konnie.” He responded, taking great effort to make his voice remain steady. “Dani might not be. We’ve waited out here long enough while I had bad dreams, it’s time to go find our friend.”

The others nodded, falling behind him as he led the way into the cursed remnants of the once-proud Garlaige Citadel.


The Citadel was every bit as treacherous and uninviting on the inside as legends had made it out to be. The basalt walls were already foreboding enough, the thick ebony blocks absorbing the light and almost radiating darkness, but the years had left them caked with dust and cobwebs, and a black, flaky substance that the small band of adventurers forced themselves not to consider. They all knew the kind of slaughter which had taken place here during the Crystal War. This had been the home of a massacre, the allied forces decimated by a surprise attack which left the Citadel in ruins. Now, this blighted ruin stood as perhaps the only refuge for the people of Jeuno. Unless, as Danienne’s absence suggested, it had simply reinforced its position as a tomb.

Fated had taken point, his blessed armor radiating light enough in the darkness for all of them to see by. Hand on the hilt of his sword, he pressed onwards slowly down the darkened stone steps. Rykoshet and Decay were behind him, the latter appearing ill at ease with his surroundings as from out in the darkness, the bulbous yellow eyes of bats hanging from the ceiling blinked visibly through the ether. The Red Mage gave a shudder of revulsion at the sight as they continued onwards.

The Citadel was as bleak and oppressive on the inside as it had been from without. The halls lay in ruins; deep holes smashed through the walls and floors leading to some bottomless abyss below. The group walked closely together so as not to lose track of one another in the darkness, or become lost down one of those never-ending pits gaping through the path they trode. Deeper and deeper they went, following the only avenue that appeared open to them, each one hoping that with the next step they took, Danienne would materialize, giving them an excuse to leave.

It was not Danienne, however, who came at them from the gloom.

Fated was tossed backwards as a force took him by surprise, sending him with a clatter against the wall. Rykoshet drew out his great sword in a flash, and Decay’s own rapier sprang to life with enchanted flames. Only the sudden burst of light from the weapon gave Rykoshet warning that the attacker was upon him, and he raised his defenses just in time to send sparks flying as it met the steel of another blade. He locked eyes with someone emerging from the gloom for just an instant, and then they leaped back into the darkness from whence they came.

Lighting flew from Konstantine’s fingers, but the assailant stayed skillfully away from the thick tendrils of magic conjured from the black mage, the light providing only instantaneous flashes of his position. He came at them again, but Fated was back on his feet and already rushing forward, his shield raised. He blew by Decay and Rykoshet, meeting the next swing of the attacker’s sword and then drawing his shield back to counter with a blow of his own. Too quickly, the mystery opponent struck again, coming forward with his shoulder held low and crashing into Fated’s thick chestplate, jarring him to the bone. In the light of Decay’s sword, it was now clear that this man wore thick armor as well, white and gold, but then it was gone.

“Who are you?” Rykoshet demanded, calling out to the shadows.

No response was given, but the assailant paused, his footsteps no longer audible in the echoing halls of Garlaige.

“Answer us!” Decay shouted, the fire on his sword leaping higher. “We did you no harm, why are you attacking?”

“I have no proof of that,” came a disdainful reply. “You may all be in league with the man in black.”

Rykoshet froze where he stood, the final image of his nightmare springing to life in his mind.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Decay spat back harshly, “we came looking for our friend; a woman we sent in to try and find the survivors of Jeuno.”

“How did you know about us?” came an angered response, and the sound of steel scraping against stone. Rykoshet tightened his grip on the hilt of his great sword, readying himself for another assault. Words came to his lips before the chance to attack was given.

“We were told you were here by your lieutenant, who crossed the wasteland, maybe at the cost of his own life, to seek help.” Rykoshet said, and his words were like a needle puncturing the tension in the room. For now he perceived the identity of their attacker. “You did send out Raidom to get help, didn’t you . . . Captain Wolfgang?”

The others took a step back in shock, and the man in the shadows gave a grunt as he heard the name. Grudgingly, he stepped out from the darkness, bringing his face into the light of Decay’s burning sword. His visage was lined with lack of sleep, and blood dulled the appearance of what would normally be burnished white armor. His black hair was unkempt and wild, and there was a fearsome look in his eyes as the leader of Jeuno’s Ducal Guards came forward to meet the others.

“We didn’t think Raidom would make it when he volunteered,” Wolfgang told them, “but it appears he was made of sterner stuff than I gave him credit for.”

“I’m sorry,” Rykoshet responded, “we left him in the care of our best, but his injuries were incredibly severe. He may have died already.”

“He performed his duty well,” Wolfgang said honestly, then turned back to them. “I thought I told you I would arrest you if we ever crossed paths again, Rykoshet.”

“You know we had that matter cleared up,” the leader of Those Guys responded flatly. “Speaking of which, is Esha’ntarl with you?”

The dark-haired Hume shook his head, sheathing his blade. “The Zilart in the palace fled, no one knows if they made it to safety or not. Since I have no dungeon to throw you in, it appears I’ll have to overlook it for now.”

“You’re too kind,” the Elvaan sardonically replied. “In any case, we’re here to help, but we lost one of our own. A Hume woman, wearing armor like mine. We sent her in to try and find the survivors . . . “

“Ah,” Wolfgang said, and something in his tone caught Rykoshet’s tone. “She is . . . with the others. I will take you to her.”

“Wait,” Decay said, butting in as his eyes narrowed, “has something happened? Where are the other survivors?”

“I think that when Raidom came to you he did not sufficiently explain the situation here.” Wolfgang told the Red Mage. “Follow me if you truly wish to understand.”

Decay was about to say something else, but was stopped by Rykoshet. He nodded to the others, indicating that they follow the Jeunoan.

Wolfgang led them to another spiraling set of steps, reaching down into the depths of the Citadel. Cracks in the ceiling provided some semblance of light from above, and their eyes had suitably adjusted by now that they could see well enough to be a bit more free with their movements. Further down they went, the stone walls turning to natural rock as they entered the catacombs beneath the fortress itself, heading towards the very tunnel Rykoshet had intended to lead the survivors out through. Worry began creeping up through his mind; if the Jeunoan refugees had already discovered the tunnel, why had they not tried to escape? Only vaguely did he begin to hear the moaning in the background.

“Here,” Wolfgang said finally, stepping out from the exit to the tunnel they stood in to let them all see, “here are the survivors of Jeuno.”

Rykoshet’s breath caught in his throat. The entire cavern before them, stretching out hundreds of feet in every direction, was filled with the wounded and dying. Makeshift stretchers overflowed with miserable bodies missing limbs or etched with infected wounds. Danienne stood in the middle of them, giving water where she could, the famous Elvaan doctor Monberaux crouched helplessly over another of the injured as they cried pathetically. Danienne looked up, seeing the others, her eyes filled with helplessness.

“We escaped, thanks to the layered nature of our city,” Wolfgang said as the five newcomers looked out across the hundreds upon hundreds of injured, “but the demons were . . . merciless. A multitude escaped already wounded, only to be harried by the beasts roaming the Champaign, and then . . . we reached this place. It is only us few surviving Ducal Guards who keep the hordes of restless undead in this damned Citadel at bay, but we are weakening, and they are drawn to the death and suffering of others. Once we falter, everyone in this cavern will die.”

“I didn’t know what to do, Rykoshet,” Danienne said with a lump in her throat as she came forward to them. “Once I found them, I couldn’t . . . I just couldn’t leave them here.”

“It’s okay,” he responded, dumbfounded as he looked out across the countless wounded. How would they ever move such a mass across the open plains? How many would even survive such a trek?

“Once we heard swordplay echoing down I knew you must have come in after me,” Danienne told him, attempting to lighten the mood, but her own horror at what they had come across made her voice quaver in the telling. “There’s just . . . there are so many.”

“Rykoshet,” Liyah said from behind him, “Konstantine and I can help . . . “

“I can . . . I can, too.” Decay told him. “We can at least save a few . . . “

Before he could finish his words, the cavern echoed with a great thump from somewhere off in the darkened reaches of the Citadel. The group froze, and only the pained moans of the Jeunoan refugees was heard as they looked around the room.

“Did anyone else hear – “ Fated started to say.

It came again, louder this time, and then again, until it became clear that it was coming towards them at an increasing rate of speed. Looks of panic spread throughout the small band of adventurers as they cast their eyes towards Wolfgang.

“Is it the undead?” Decay demanded, his sword already free in his hands.

“No,” Wolfgang muttered, his eyes darting about the cavern, “no, this is . . . something else!”

Then came a piercing, insectoid screech, and dismay swept over the look of the Captain Wolfgang as it became evident that the danger his people faced was no longer limited to the undead hordes.

It reared its head first around one of the giant rock formations filling the cavern they were in; an enormous black-and-brown mass surmounted by dripping arachnoid fangs. Then it smashed a giant, barbed pincer down on the ground, creeping out from behind the hill as an enormous tail snaked around the back of it, the stinger gleaming and wet with secreted poison. Those who could were already running in panic, trying to reach the walls and some semblance of safety, even as the line of guards surrounding the makeshift hospital struggled to determine if they should abandon their posts at watch for the undead or not as the scorpion, as big as a house, emerged from the gloom. It stared out with inky eyes, hissing at the poor souls before it.

Rykoshet brought out his great sword. “Giant monster,” he said, staring at the creature known as Serket, which had been but a rumor before now. “This, I know how to handle.”