Chapter LXXV: Inside the Maw

It felt like stepping into a dream. All sense of reality fell away like a serpent shedding its skin. Visions of ephemeral things with no form or substance drifted in and out of view. A mist crept through the area like a thing alive, snaking and crawling through basalt walls, gently brushing the stone before speeding away into the darkness. Darkness enveloped the room in a halo. The floor was strangely illuminated, but the corners of the room and the vaulted ceiling were wrapped in a quiet, pulsing shadow. It advanced and retreated in a steady, even measure. It was breathing, Hiraiko realized. The darkness was breathing.

Her path was dimly lit before her. Beneath the mist was a black stone walkway, leading her forward towards a vast, circular ledge. The voice had gone silent, but she could still sense its presence. Rather than lurking inside her head, however, it was now all around her. Watching her, and waiting. She stepped forward ,unafraid. Clutching the Astral Signa like a battle standard, Hiraiko strode down the black steps, towards that which she had sought out. No, she corrected, towards that which had sought her.

Betrayil stuck closely to her side. He was not in a defensive stance, though his two katana were gripped beneath bloodless knuckles. If anything the Ninja seemed strangely at ease. Hiraiko could feel it, too. This place was like a part of a dream which had stumbled into the waking world. Despite the unsettling surroundings, one could not help but be at peace. It felt like being asleep, yet totally aware. The Shrouded Maw was a lucid dream come to life.

Hiraiko took her first step onto the ledge. Beneath it was an open, rectangular chamber. Large granite slabs hung suspended in the air, forming a floor. She could see from her vantage point that they were not connected by any mortar or concrete. They simply hung in place, a pit leading down into darkness clearly visible beneath. A large chamber lay just behind the room, but its entry was barred. The mists surrounded this place, patiently waiting as Hiraiko searched for any sign of life. There was nothing to be found besides her and Betrayil. Even the Astral Signa had fallen silent in her hands.

She edged out closer, peering down into the ominous chamber. Her breath felt stopped in her throat. The presence of the darkness was all around her now. Betrayil reached out to grasp her shoulder. Hiraiko turned towards him, but then he was not there. She gasped, having the sudden sensation of being picked up and tossed. In an instant she realized Betrayil was above her now, several dozen feet above her. Confused, the Summoner cast her head about, and saw that she had been drawn in to the pit below her. She hung suspended in the air, facing that enclosed chamber. Atop the ledge, Betrayil called out to her, but some unseen force prevented him from moving forward. She saw that just as she was being held in the air, so too was the Ninja being held back by the mist circling on the floor. No more visible than the fog rising from a lake in early hours, it was nonetheless restraining the both of them. Betrayil continued to call out, but Hiraiko turned back to face front. This is what she had been waiting for.

Summoner.

The voice was softer now, but still a ferocious growl. It came from everywhere, echoing through the room. Betrayil went still, searching for a source to the disembodied call.

“I have come to you,” Hiraiko cried out, “just as you have asked me.”

Yes. You have done well to make it this far.

She cast her eyes upwards. The darkness still hung, unmoving save for a steady pulse. “You are one of the terrestrial avatars.” It was not a question. A low rumbling responded.

I have become the victim of forces set in motion by the Children of Altana.

“How?”

They caught me unawares.

She touched down on the floor, not even realizing she had been lowering down. Her balance came quickly, and she set herself aright while clapping the shaft of the Astral Signa to the ground.

“Why have you brought me here, Diabolos?” Hiraiko called to the darkness.

The rumbling growl responded with what sounded almost like a laugh. Only throatier, more like an animal.

You have a dangerous task in front of you.

“Is that it?” She shouted back. “Did you bring me here to tell me what I must do?”

You are here, Summoner, that I may start you down your path. And before that can happen, you must set me free.


Two demons collapsed into shrieking heaps of melting fat and flesh. Vile strode through their burning bodies dismissively. A third demon tried to ward him off with lightning, bursting from the tip of a twisted staff. The Black Mage swatted it aside with his hand, responding with a bolt of his own. Electricity shattered the Kindred’s blackened stick in its hands, and it fell crying out in pain. Vile made a sharp hand gesture, and the air solidified into a block of ice around its head. He left it there to suffocate and walked on.

His teeth ground together as he caught sight of the secret, hidden, completely concealed entrance to Pso’Xja. It was, naturally, completely ajar.

Vile did not wait to see what was up there. He clenched his fingers around his staff and thrust it upwards. A tongue of flame shot forth through the open gate, expanding to spread fiery death in every direction outside the doorway. Water streamed into Pso'Xja in thick rivulets as the permafrost outside melted down in seconds. The Black Mage maintained the white-hot blast a moment longer, and then drew his staff back. The air went still, save for the intense lingering heat. Vile watched the doorway. Nothing outside the ruins moved. The only sound was the gentle trickle of freshly-melted ice dripping down onto the ancient stone floors.

Then, a blizzard slammed in from outside, a salvo of ice and wind spiraling directly towards Vile. He quickly brought his arms up defensively. The ice sizzled as it struck his defensive wards, with the air around him blinking green and blue. Hailstones the size of Vile's fist streaked by, striking chips off the wall where they struck. The wind seared his skin, and the ice brought a bitter chill to his bones. The Tarutaru snarled, struggling to fight against the onslaught. With much difficulty, he finally extended his hand into the driving frost, and an orange light erupted through the tower. Flame and heat dissolved the ice into nothing, and then once more the ruins went silent.

"Found you, found you, found you," a high-pitched voice screeched from outside. "Stupid old man, foolish, foolish old man. Dumb old man! Kill you, kill the other winds, kill them all! You're mine now, mine mine mi - "

The speaker burst forth from the gaping entryway and stopped. His large black eyes went wide momentarily with surprise, and then came alight with a burning hatred. His fingers clenched beneath the thick, purplish gloves he wore, biting into his pitch-black robes. The Tarutaru who appeared in the gateway was garbed entirely in purple and black, from his boots to the tip of his conical hat. Vile could have retched. It was like a beast trying to dress like a man. It had been a long time since he had seen the outcast who called himself Attack. He decided to make this their last encounter.

"Kindred!" Attack snarled, practically foaming at the mouth. Vile took aim, electricity crackling from his palm. Eyes glowing with arcane lightning, he released the lethal charge directly at the Tarutaru's chest. Attack caught the bolt in his palm, dispelling it with a grimace of pain as it raced up his arm. Vile prepared to strike again, but then the demons came.

They all brandished weapons, Vile saw right away. He skirted back along the wall as they charged towards him. The Kindred who used magic all carried gnarled canes like the one he had killed earlier. These were simple, bloodthirsty hack-and-slash demons. A half-dozen of them brushed by the black-robed Attack, howling in their revolting demon language. There was no way Vile could take them all on in these cramped quarters. He had to think quickly.

With a gesture towards the ground, a smattering of the stones burst upwards at the demon's feet. The spell wasn't nearly powerful enough to hurt them, but it threw the fiends off-balance long enough for Vile to put some space between them. The gateway outside was blocked, so he had only the hallway he had come from to retreat into. He ran as fast as he could, knowing they would already be after him. Attack's voice echoed down the halls, calling for Vile's head. Judging himself far enough away, the Black Mage closed his eyes, and began chanting as quickly as he could. The demons appeared at the entry to the hall, shouting at Vile with unrestrained fury. Their claws took slices out of the stone as they charged for him, cruelly hooked axes and massive swords gleaming. His tiny Tarutaru legs had not gotten him nearly as far away as he had hoped from their long demon strides.

The one leading the pack, yellow eyes like torches in the darkened hall, burst out ahead and violently swung his axe downwards. It connected directly with Vile's head, the blow powerful enough to crush the wizard where he stood. Flecks of stone dust swirled into the air as the demon's axe cleaved directly through Vile, colliding with the stone floor underneath.

Withdrawing his axe, the demon stepped back, startled. The Tarutaru was still standing, unharmed. He appeared unaware the colossal axe had even come his way. A moment later, he blinked out of existence altogether.

The demons contemplated this for an instant, and ultimately decided to sleep on it.

Vile's invisibility faded as easily as his Blink spell had. The insubstantial double of himself had captured their attention while he finished weaving the sleep charm which even now had the demons falling over themselves in enchanted slumber. The Black Mage immediately took off back towards the gate.

A blast of wind struck him so hard in the chest that the air rushed from his lungs. Vile was buffeted back against the stone walls, protective spells shattering as they struggled to mitigate the damage. He ended up scraping across the floor, clutching to the stone as the magicked gust blew past him. Struggling, he rose slowly to his knees, knuckles on the ground beneath him.

"Yes," Attack's shrill voice called out from the end of the hall, "Vile on his knees before me. This alone was worth the trip!"

Vile responded with a snarl and a burst of liquid flame. Attack gave a surprised shriek and leaped aside. With a crazy bellow, the Tarutaru smashed his fist downwards. Quickly pulling himself from the ground, Vile dove away as a ripple of earth magic sent a fissure streaking across the distance between them. Attack did the same, and rose to find the other Black Mage rushing towards him, teeth bared and fist drawn. Inches from Attack's surprised face, Vile opened his palm and released a jet of fire. Attack arched backwards, wincing as the heat blistered his flesh. With a howl, the other Tarutaru released a burst of his own magic, and a flood of condensation rippled together in the air. Vile's flame was extinguished, and both Black Mages went tumbling head over heels, scratching and clawing at one another.

Attack managed to wriggle free from Vile's grasp, spinning to face him with a visage full of hatred. "I don't know why you're here, but I'll kill you, kill you!" The ground began quaking at Attack's feet. Vile stared him down, his aura flaring to life with a pulse of red fire.

"Try," Vile hissed.

"I hate you," Attack's voice was as venomous as a scorpion's bite. "You've always thought you were better, better and stronger, and oh-ho-ho, you think you're so much smarter." His eyes narrowed into slits, a dark glow radiating from them. "But I'm the one with the demons, Vile. I'm the one with Dynamis at my heels, and that's just the start. This is only the start, Vile-Revile!"

Vile eyed the Black Mage cautiously. "What are you talking about?"

"You'll never live to know."

Simultaneously, both wizards let loose the magic they had been gathering. The stone began to melt and bubble as Vile's fire was unleashed. The temperature spiked, and the air itself turned red as a flare ignited in the center of the chamber before the gateway. At the same time, every hair on Vile's head stood on end as electricity channeled by Attack erupted in a shocking, violent burst, directly overlapping Vile's fire. The sheer energy being released convalesced, both mages pouring their reserves into destroying the other. Two ancient spells went off simultaneously, and the resulting explosion tore the room, the gateway, and the pair of Black Mages apart.


Rykoshet stood stock still. Battousai was beside him, uncertain whether to remain where he was or make a dive for his weapon. At the doorway, which was the only exit to the room, Rennie watched them dispassionately. Wordlessly, he drew forth his weapons. The black-bladed axe and slim, blue sword which had pierced Rykoshet's leg. He outstretched his arms, the folds of his forest-green cloak rippling as he did so. An orange glow illuminated his dark blonde hair as both weapons burst into flame.

"Well, that's not good." Battousai observed.

"Go for your sword, Battousai," Rykoshet said calmly.

"Do not move." Rennie's voice was the same baritone timbre as Rykoshet remembered from his last savage beating. Steady, emotionless, hollow. "I only need that one," he pointed his fiery sword towards the elder brother. "You may go."

Turning his head, Battousai looked his brother over. Rykoshet was half-standing, the pain in his hip and leg almost crippling. The spear he had brought with him was buried beneath the rubble, only the shaft protruding. He was injured and defenseless. The scarred Elvaan turned back to Rennie, staring at them steadily, a flaming weapon in each hand.

"Okay, counter offer," the younger brother said.

"Are you serious?"

"The man's giving me a good deal, Rykoshet."

"Ugh," the Elvaan thought for a moment, "alright; you stay and help and I'll give you back your chocobo."

"Fortune Runner?! You told me she died!"

"Nah, I sold her to a farm so I could buy this really sweet Zweihander . . . "

"Well, where's the sword now?"

"Man," Rykoshet sighed, "I don't even want to talk about it."

"Enough," Rennie interjected, and he crossed the blades of his two weapons.

A salvo of fireballs rocketed out as he drew the two weapons across one another. Both brothers leaped aside with a shout as they exploded, leaving blackened scorch marks on the debris. The scent of melting stone and burning demon carcasses wafted through the air. Rykoshet came down, twisting his weight in the air so as not to connect with his injured hip. He had been in no condition to fight Rennie the first time around, and that was completely uninjured. Now he knew he was in trouble.

Battousai was more fortunate in his landing. With fire raining down over him, he managed to successfully dive for his fallen great sword. Swiping it from the ground, the Elvaan rolled to his feet and charged. He thrust out his hand first, a jolt of dark magic preceeding him as he rushed towards Rennie. Grasping the hilt of his weapon in both hands, he leaped upwards in a sensational cleave.

Rennie brushed aside his Stun spell, and merely leaned backwards, avoiding the strike even as he put his own hand forward. It wrapped around Battousai’s ankle as he gained height, and then the Hume casually tossed him aside. Unwavering, he strode towards Rykoshet, one blazing weapon in each hand. The elder brother scraped himself into a sitting position, watching the grim advance of his foe.

Then suddenly, Battousai was there again. Rennie casually put his sword behind his head, parrying the crushing blow he was about to be delivered with one hand. Spinning around, he slashed at the younger Elvaan with his burning axe, but Battousai nimbly avoided it. Again, he took a swing at Rennie with his great sword, and this time the Hume caught it between his two weapons. With a heave, he again threw the Elvaan back, but Battousai managed to stay on his feet and strike once again.

“You look remarkably similar,” Rennie commented as he brushed away another blow from Battousai’s great sword. “If not for that scar, you’d be identical.”

“Yeah, the scar really was the best thing that ever happened to me,” the Dark Knight replied, conjuring a minor fire spell. Rennie dispelled it with a wave of his palm, and then sidestepped yet another two-handed chop.

This time, Battousai was not fast enough to move as Rennie counter attacked. The hilt of his slim-bladed sword smashed into the Elvaan’s chest, and then the axe took a piece out of his armor. Shuffling backwards quickly, he gasped to catch his breath, but Rennie was relentless. Twin streams of flame overtook him, and the Elvaan fell writhing as he was entwined in magical fire. Wordlessly, Rennie raised his axe, preparing to finish the job.

He spun at the last moment, but was too slow to stop Rykoshet’s spear from making impact. Having freed it with a Tractor spell, he had done the only thing he’d been able to. Tzee Xicu’s weapon, hurled as fast as Rykoshet was able to throw it, collided with the Hume. He prevented it from piercing his armor, but the force knocked his deflecting axe from his hand. Both weapons fell to the ground, clattering against the stone. Rennie seemed unperturbed, and changed his stance to walk towards Rykoshet. One stride in he halted, and then ground his teeth with a gasp.

Battousai had grabbed hold of his leg. Right before Rykoshet’s eyes, he could see the life being drained out of his foe as simultaneously, the younger Elvaan’s burns began to mend. Gathering up what force he could muster, Rykoshet joined in as well. The dual Drain spells caused Rennie to cry out. His hair began showing streaks of gray as lines of age and care appeared on his face. He dropped the sword he carried as his hands withered and the muscles faded. This had been the only tactic which had gained him any ground in their previous encounter. With two of them now, Rykoshet knew they could drain the life right out of him.

Lightning filled the room, striking both of the Elvaan. Battousai released his grip as an electric convulsion wracked his body. Rykoshet was blown backwards by the force, landing several feet away with a smoking hole in his breastplate. Arcane lightning danced around them, piercing them like knives and pinning them to the floor. Rennie stood unharmed in the maelstrom of his creation, the power stolen from him gradually returning. As his hair returned to its natural dirty blonde, he leaned down and bodily heaved Battousai above his head. He hurled the Elvaan like a rag doll, and sent him crashing to the ground beside the stunned Rykoshet.

As he picked his weapons off the ground, they burst into flame again at his touch.

“No more delays,” he said. “You’re coming with me.”

Rykoshet was too weak from the lightning to even call for help as Rennie advanced to collect him.


“Please,” Hiraiko asked of the voice, “tell me what I have to do.”

A great many things.

“Hiraiko,” Betrayil’s voice cried out. He was still atop the ledge, trying to get down. The mist prevented him from moving. Hiraiko knew why. This conversation was meant for only two. Summoner and Avatar.

“Where do I begin?”

You must master your burden.

“My burden?”

Only then can you face what lies in front of you.

Hiraiko let out a tiny gasp. She clutched the Astral Signa tighter, raising it to her chest. “How, Diabolos?” She pleaded. “Tell me how I can control the Signa as Tzee Xicu did.”

Inconsequential.

She was momentarily taken aback. “How? How can you say that?” Tears began to sting at her eyes. “I am crippled by this accursed staff. Reality is a constant blur! I can no longer discern between the voices of real people and those of bodiless eidolons not even occupying this realm! I hear their whispers while I sleep, I see visions they send me with no context or reason! This damnable object is stifling my soul, and yet I cannot even let it go, so great is its control over me! If I do not learn to control it instead, how can I do anything? How can I help anyone? If I am not to – “

Silence, whelp!

It was the blood-curdling, animalistic growl behind the words that made Hiraiko fall over. She landed on her palms, shaken by the voice as it echoed around her. Such ferocious anger as she had never dreamed filled the darkness. She could feel it seething for a moment before returning to a semblance of calm. Not once in the course of their brief acquaintance had she been afraid of the voice. She was deathly afraid now.

I did not bring you here for your mewlings.

Slowly, the Summoner regained her composure. Wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her robe, she examined her palm where the basalt beneath her had scraped the flesh. Blood was already clotting the wound. Her other hand was frustratingly still wrapped around the Astral Signa. Straightening herself, Hiraiko faced the voice as best she could.

“Then speak, Diabolos,” she offered, “and I will listen.”

There was a long, uncomfortable silence. She could hear the darkness breathing. Her bleeding hand found itself clutching the Signa as well, her only shield against this monstrous presence surrounding her.

This place has become a prison. There is a sinister gathering behind all which has transpired. Their purpose is not known to me. They have gone to inconceivable lengths to conceal their true intent. I do know this – bringing down the barrier between Vana’diel and Dynamis was only a means to an end. The true plot of this assemblage is aimed at a much greater prize than simple destruction. Part of that scheme involved trapping me here. I can guess at why. You must free me, so that the threads of their plan might begin to unravel.

“Will you be able to end this nightmare?” Hiraiko felt bold enough again to pose the question. “If I do this, can you save Vana’diel?”

Such is not my intent.

She gaped openly. “Then . . . what?”

Even I am but a player in a much larger game. I may win this battle, but the war will only grow from here.

“Then why should I set you free at all?”

The mists at her feet suddenly swirled violently, rising up in the air to choke her. She heard Betrayil cry out for her again, but she could not respond. The air itself gagged her, tossing her to the floor in contempt.

I am a terrestrial avatar. I am of Vana’diel itself. Protecting this sphere is my primary concern in all I do. I am, however, wise enough to know my limitations. A lesson you would do well to learn.

Hiraiko choked, clutching at her throat as the mists receded. Gasping for air, she stared up at the surrounding darkness, a mixture of anger and shame swelling uncomfortably in her stomach. The darkness waited as she recovered. It said nothing, only breathed that growling breath.

When the Summoner stood again, anger had replaced fear. Not anger at the voice. Anger at herself. She did want to master the Astral Signa. She wanted to do whatever it took to end this senseless horror Dynamis had brought upon them. Hiraiko was infuriated she had let fear and doubt get the better of her. People were counting on her. She had the power to help and chose instead to cry and struggle.

Hiraiko stamped the Astral Signa to the ground. The mists crawled delicately across its surface. She faced the voice, unafraid.

“I will set you free. Tell me how.”

I do not know. You must do this on your own.

Hiraiko had been prepared for that. Taking a steadying breath, she took the Astral Signa in both hands, and opened herself to what lay within.

She was enveloped in the voices of the avatars. The espers drew her in to the darkness, beckoning to her with words of a language never perceived by mortal ears. Shiva’s words were syllables sounded out in degrees of cold. Ifrit’s voice was the roaring flame. The shifts of Vana’diel’s tectonic plates were the deep thoughts of Titan. Garuda spoke not with words, but changes in the air pressure. Leviathan’s meaning could only be gleaned from the changing tides. Ramuh communicated in the rumblings of thunder and flashes of lightning. They all came to her at once, an overwhelming barrage screaming at her from the Astral Signa. Her hands burned around it, but she could not feel them anymore. Her body stood in the Shrouded Maw, but her mind was somewhere else altogether.

The Summoner could still sense a form, with hands and arms, a head and hair, but these things seemed only ideas now. A phantom body suspended in place in this world of the avatars. She could hear their voices everywhere, a confusing and muddled series of random sensations and images. She had no frame of reference for even beginning to understand how to communicate with them. A Summoner borrowed power for a time, using it like a tool. What she was attempting to do was unprecedented.

She let go of control. She let go of her power. She sank into that other realm the Astral Signa allowed her to hear. And she simply listened.

“Darkness.”

“Seal.”

“Power.”

“Enemy!”

“Life.”

“Death!”

Amidst the endless stream of information which the Celestial Avatars put forward, understanding began to blossom.

“Sealed him in darkness.”

“His power was dispersed by the enemy.”

“Return him to the realm of life, so that he might bring death!”

And with understanding came realization. And with realization came sight.

She was looking through her own mortal eyes again, but the room was something entirely different. The mists, the darkness, everything. She could see it all clearly now. The room was alive with magic. Eldritch force unlike anything she had ever seen. Every corner, every nook and cranny, every shadow was overcome by a sealing spell more complex than any ever conceived. They were chains. Everything in the Shrouded Maw was a chain. Lurking just out of sight, she could see their prisoner. A force of unfathomable darkness, with two eyes glowing like the full moon peering forth from within.

“The darkness is the seal, dispersing his power. The enemy has chained his essence here, in this state between life and death.”

Hiraiko stared into the endless depths of the blackness around her.

“Yes,” she said aloud, “I hear you.”

Her consciousness flooded back into her body. She raised the Astral Signa over her head, and did what came naturally.

She summoned.

A circle of light appeared at her feet, a black halo surging up from nowhere. Ancient runes formed intricate patterns, spurred forth by Hiraiko’s calling. The sealing spell braced itself and shook, causing the entire chamber to tremble. The Astral Signa grew hot in her hands. Hiraiko ignored it, redoubling her efforts. She could see as the Avatars saw. The chains were visible to her now, and she weaved her power through them deftly. She wove through the strong, thick links and chipped away at them as she passed. She ran directly into the weaker snags and tangles, breaking them apart. The darkness grew closer, louder. Behind it, the two eyes shone brighter. At her feet the circle grew all the more intense, new sigils appearing, written by the unseen hand of Hiraiko’s power.

Dust and debris fell as the Shrouded Maw quaked. The great door in front of her began glowing red. The spell was unwraveling upon itself now. The Astral Signa amplified Hiraiko’s power beyond that of the hands which had woven this spell. The mists were receding. Light began creeping into the chamber as the darkness roiled and heaved, gathering in a single spot before her. As more and more facets of its intricate design unwound, they brought other pieces down with them. She marveled at its ingenuity. Nothing bound by that spell could hope to break free. The locks, however, were not so tight from the outside. Whomever put it in place clearly had no expectation of anyone ever finding what was trapped in Pso’Xja.

But Hiraiko had found it. With an explosive burst of dark forces beyond any realm of mortal man, she set it free as well.

Pso’Xja itself trembled to its foundations as a howl echoed across all of Beaucedine Glacier. A force larger and more terrible than anything Hirako had ever felt shattered the last of the chains which bound it.

She heard it whisper in her ear one last time.

You have taken your first step.

Your journey has only just begun. Destiny awaits you in Tavnazia.

Then, with a blast of might both ancient and overwhelming, the entire expanse of Pso’Xja quaked as the darkness broke free.


“Ah,” Fill said, lifting his head towards his rumbling ceiling, “that is what I was waiting for. Time to go now.”

“As you say,” Lethe acknowledged, and in a flash the both of them were gone.


Rykoshet’s hands grasped the shaft of Tzee Xicu’s spear as it shot towards him. Together, he and Battousai rose up, both great weapons poised for their attacker. The Elvaan brothers crashed into Rennie’s axe and sword, both held at bay. For the first time, anger crossed Rennie’s eyes.

“When?” He demanded. “When will this resistance end?”

“It won’t,” Rykoshet managed to snarl out between clenched teeth.

“My masters have ordered your collection,” Rennie pushed forward with his weapons, and both Dark Knights felt their knees begin to buckle. “I am inevitable. Give up, Rykoshet.”

“Always my biggest failing,” the Elvaan growled, straining every muscle he could to stay upright. “I just don’t know when to quit.”

“Fine,” the Hume withdrew his weapons in a flash, and both Elvaan stumbled forward, landing on their knees. “But I only need one of you.”

Thrusting his flaming sword forward, Rennie aimed straight for Battousai’s throat.

In that same instant, both siblings disappeared.


Coughing, ignoring the burns covering his body, Vile crawled up from the snow. The gateway had collapsed. The same explosion which had left him in his current state destroyed the area which had contained it. He was cut off from Pso’Xja, but that didn’t matter. His body was so mangled that it barely responded to him, which was also not a concern. His power was completely drained, but that was unimportant as well. Nothing had any meaning in this moment except that Attack was laying face up several feet away, and his chest was still moving.

As his hands clamped down upon the other Tarutaru’s throat, Vile made it clear he intended to remedy that problem.

Like a vise, he squeezed, and Attack’s eyes popped open as he gasped for air. He struggled feebly beneath Vile’s grasp as thumbs were pressed into his trachea. Unintelligible gurgles came from his mouth. Vile ignored them as he went about his work. There was enough strength in his body for this. He was going to end this atrocity of a Tarutaru once and for all.

He realized things might not go his way when Attack wrapped his own hands around Vile’s wrists, palms ablaze. Conjured fire, growing in intensity, shot its way up Vile’s arms. He stared into Attack’s reddening eyes. He didn’t care. He was so close now to putting this rabid creature down. If that meant his end as well, so be it. Worth the cost, he decided, to see this miserable thing off to its death first.

Their gazes locked. A hatred and malice like none other passed through their eyes as they both poured everything they had left into making the other one a corpse in the snow.

Air came flooding back into Attack’s lungs as Vile disappeared, fading into the wind as if he had never been at all.


A blast of arid mountain air brushed against Rykoshet’s cheek. The temperature was his first clue. The enormous spiraling sight of the Crag of Mea was his second.

He felt like he wanted to collapse, but managed to stay on his feet. Around him, Battousai was sitting on the ground, breathing heavily, trying to regain his strength. Hiraiko was clutched tightly in Betrayil’s arms, their embrace only slightly interrupted by the former’s grasp on the Astral Signa. They had made it out safely. They were back.

Fill stood behind the softly humming crystal of Mea. The gently-glowing blue rock pulsated as the North Wind, hands disappearing inside his sleeves, smiled gently at Rykoshet.

“Everything has been accomplished,” he spoke aloud. “The power unleashed at Pso’Xja allowed me the cover I needed.”

“You brought us back?” Rykoshet marveled. Then he froze just as quickly. “Where’s Vile?”

Fill’s visage altered only slightly. Stepping aside, he revealed Lethe crouched behind him. Laying atop the cermet spire of the Crag was Vile’s tiny body. Rykoshet almost retched at the sight of it. He was covered in burns and scars. His robes were in tatters, and it looked like his body had been broken apart.

“Is he . . .?”

Lethe shook his head. “His pain was too great. He has collapsed, but not before some choice expletives for taking him away from whatever he was doing.” He caught the concern in Rykoshet’s eyes. “I can heal him,” he assured. “It will take time, as my powers are still not recovered, but I promise you we will restore Vile to as he was before.”

A sigh of relief passed through him. “Thank you,” Rykoshet managed. Then he sat down himself. His hip was killing him.

Fill smiled again. “Thank you, Rykoshet. Healing Vile-Revile is the least we can do to repay you. Because of your efforts, Vana’diel now has a fighting chance. The avatar locked in Pso’Xja has been freed, I have escaped without revealing my brothers, and a course has been set. The winds know not the outcome, but the struggle itself would have been impossible if not for what you did here today.”

His words sunk in gradually. Turning his head upwards, he looked at the brown-bearded wizard with obvious confusion.

“Avatar?” he queried.

Fill only turned meaningfully towards Hiraiko. Betrayil still has his arms wrapped around her, but now she faced away, looking towards the sky.

“Come,” Fill said, “we will find a place to rest this evening. We have much to recover from. Then, we return your heroic group to Castle Oztroja, for there is yet much to be done.”

The North Wind gently descended the steps down to the earth below, gliding over them without effort. Rykoshet and Battousai struggled to follow as Lethe took up Vile’s body, trailing behind Fill. Hiraiko remained where she was as the others departed, enjoying Betrayil’s embrace, but with another thought weighing on her mind far more heavily.

The voices in the Astral Signa were silent. Her perception of reality had returned. The insanity she felt to be so soon impending was gone. The Celestial Avatars were still there to speak with, and she could feel them watching over her. Now, however, they would wait for her to listen. She also felt the absence of another voice. One which even now was hurtling home.

“That wasn’t Diabolos,” she whispered, setting the tip of the Astral Signa down. “That wasn’t Diabolos at all.”

Night began stealing across the horizon as she looked out across the Tahrongi Canyon.

“That was Fenrir.”

Chapter LXXIII: Following Your Dreams

The darkness reached out to Hiraiko. All hesitation gone, she reached back.

Descending into the depths of Pso’Xja, the Summoner found herself with little else to greet her. The red-glowing spheres which had illuminated her path downwards had all but faded away. Only darkness remained, pure and still. It called out to her, entreating her to move onwards. Though she could no longer ascertain where her footfalls took her, she pressed on nonetheless. By darkness she was entranced.

The voices which had so dominated her thoughts had now faded away entirely. They remained now as only a dull presence on the outskirts of her consciousness. Only one voice, with one powerful repeated command, echoed in her thoughts. I am coming! She urgently told the disembodied speaker. It did not change in tone or wording. Instead it only dragged out again, in a low but urgent growl, the same three words.

Come to me.

In her hands, the Astral Signa pulsed. The staff seemed alive with power now, radiating a dark force all around her. Denizen of Pso’Xja, ranging from the non-aggressive diremites to the stealthy and deadly Tonberries, curiously sought out the source of this malevolent aura. Hiraiko, her steps guided by darkness, did not put a thought towards eluding them. She only needed to keep on moving. Down, further and further into the ancient ruins she descended. Her destination was unknown to her, but she placed her faith in the dark voice calling her towards it.

With a start, she realized the ground was moving underneath her. Had she the presence of mind, Hiraiko would have marveled at the disc she had stepped upon which now floated downwards upon long-lost machinery. As it was, she only felt her anticipation growing. This machine was leading her towards the voice. And she had to go to the voice. There was nothing else to it.

Further into shadow she delved, chasing that which beckoned her. All the while she remained oblivious to the things now trailing after her.


Betrayil darted out ahead of Rykoshet. Whatever momentary despair had overtaken the ninja was gone quickly as it had come. His katana had been back in his hand before it had even settled on the floor. With Battousai and Rykoshet trailing behind, he now ran recklessly through the halls of Pso’Xja. Paramount in his mind was finding Hiraiko. Stealth, planning, and personal safety were secondary to this goal.

The Elvaan brothers had been quick to pick up the chase. Fill said nothing as they loosened their weapons and took off in pursuit of Betrayil. Rykoshet would not have stopped even if he had. He was not about to abandon Hiraiko in this forsaken hole, but the Ninja was not about to wait in finding her again. He was a flash of black against the dull red lighting of Pso’Xja. Straining his legs to keep up, Rykoshet rounded a corner only to find Betrayil already disappearing behind another. Battousai cursed loudly behind him, shouting at the Hume to slow down. It was a futile effort.

Finally, they found him. Betrayil was stopped, head cocked to face the two of them, at a fork in the path. His eyes were like flint as he watched them, his only motion tightening the grip on his single drawn katana.

“Betrayil,” Rykoshet began, surprised at how out-of-breath he was, “slow down. We don’t know where we are, and we’re getting away from the light.”

“This isn’t helping to find her,” Battousai chimed in. Rykoshet fought down annoyance at how easily his brother was breathing. “She couldn’t have gone far. If we search together it’ll go faster.”

“Neither of you are as fast as me,” he replied harshly. It surprised Rykoshet to hear the normally quiet Betrayil issue such a stinging rebuke. “But I can’t be in two places at once. I’m going left, you search the path to the right.”

“But – “ Rykoshet started.

“Call out if you find something. I’ll hear you.”

And then he was gone. Battousai growled out an oath, violently scraping the edge of his great sword against the dimly-lit stone walls.

“I hate Ninjas, dammit,” he said sourly. The scarred warrior then turned to his brother, eyes questioning.

Rykoshet groaned inwardly. He was tired, beat up, and didn’t have a clue where he was. Both ways he could see gradually descended into darkness. They could go back, but he wasn’t even sure if he could navigate the tunnels successfully, and even if he could there was only Fill to go back to. As long as the North Wind was refusing to leave before whatever unknown task they were supposed to accomplish was done, they were simply wasting time to hang around him.

He hated scenarios like this. No matter what he did there was no guarantee of getting anything done. Rykoshet cursed himself for blindly running after Betrayil in the first place. The Ninja could probably find Hiraiko by himself. All he had succeeded by following him was further splintering their small group.

The Elvaan peered back down the way he had come. They were only running for a few minutes. He could likely find a way back to the chamber the North Wind occupied. He stared down the hall Betrayil had indicated. It wove down several twists and turns before being consumed by darkness. There was no indication of what dangers lay waiting in shadow. The decision was very clear to Rykoshet, if no less painful to make.

“Vile’s back that way, and he’s angry,” Rykoshet said, turning to Battousai.

“Right, so we go down the hall.”

“Right.”

Without another word, the two brothers slid further down the labyrinth, the perils which could be waiting far preferable to that which assuredly did.


“I’m going to kill him,” Vile’s voice was acidic enough to melt stone.

“So you’ve said.”

The Tarutaru glanced angrily at the serene North Wind. The green-robed buffoon was gingerly scratching his moronic beard. He had all the expression of a sheet of glass. Thus far he seemed completely content listening to Vile rage at the revelation of who it was laying siege to Pso’Xja.

“You set this up,” the Black Mage growled suspiciously.

“I would have no reason to hide such information from you, Vile-Revile,” the way he tossed about his full name like it meant something made Vile want to peel the man’s lips off. “Despite you being acquainted with my antagonist, I still know nothing about his identity.”

“Yeah, well don’t waste time learning. It’s about to become a moot point.” The Tarutaru tore the staff on his back free. The black gem affixed to the top began to spit out black flames at his touch. “Where’s he trying to get in from?”

“There is a single weak point in the defenses of Pso’Xja,” Fill began. A weak point other than not being able to use any magic because it’ll tell the enemy exactly where all your friends are? thought Vile. “Lethe can lead you there. If a breach into the ruins is to be made, it will happen there.”

The water elemental who called himself the Herald stepped forward. “Wait,” Vile interjected. “What about this spot makes it a weak point?”

Fill nodded, like he had expected the question. Vile doubted the old charlatan had any powers beyond full bore insanity, being cooped up in this miserable den all the time. “Every entrance to Pso’Xja is blocked with a spell. The nature of the enchantment severely dampens the powers of anyone whom passes through.” He gazed meaningfully at the Black Mage. “This affects every entrance except one. It has always remained hidden, but the winds tell me I would be foolish to doubt the ability of the one coming to finish me off.”

Vile made a noise of disgust. “You’d be a fool if you thought he hadn’t already found it.”

“Impossible,” Lethe chimed in. Vile wanted to start a fire and boil the overblown water balloon. “A mage powerful enough to command demons, and seal off the exits as he has done . . . we would know immediately if he entered Pso’Xja itself.”

“Which is why he probably sent in his demons first,” Vile hissed. “I can feel their rancid presence like rotten meat.”

Lethe stared at him, and then turned towards the ceiling, casting his eyes upwards. A moment later he gaped at Fill, but the brown-bearded wizard put up a hand, looking at Vile intently.

“So, Vile-Revile,” he’d make him eat his own lips afterwards if he could, “what is your suggested course of action?”

“Get me to where this entrance is. He isn’t here, but he’ll be waiting. I’m taking the fight to him.”


Rykoshet halted Battousai in their tracks. The tunnels stretched out endlessly into darkness around them. He had long since lost track of which direction they had come from. Everything looked the same now. Light was almost non-existant. Their eyes had adjusted as well as they could, but there was precious little they could adjust to. The Elvaan brothers were stopped now in an open chamber. One path led back the way they came, the other up a set of stairs. Rykoshet had not seen anything which suggested Hiraiko had come this way. He looked from one entrance to the other with scarcely veiled frustration.

“I don’t know where to go,” he admitted.

“Hmm,” Battousai replied, eyes facing out the way they had come. “That’s a problem. Also, we’re surrounded.”

Rykoshet gave an exasperated sigh. “One thing at a time,” he admonished.

“Sorry,” the younger brother said sheepishly. Then both turned, and simultaneously shot a burst of dark magic at either doorway.

A screech of confusion cut off by the impact of their spell echoed from both sides of the room. The duo had their weapons drawn in the next instant. After only a moment, a hose of yellow-glowing eyes appeared from the darkness, flooding into the small chamber. Demons with cruel, hooked scythes, demons with massive axes, demons using only their bare hands; they all swarmed over Rykoshet and Battousai. The brothers stood back to back, letting the wave of Kindred come their way.

With devastating fury, the two counterattacked. Battousai swept his sword in an arc so fierce it cut through weapons and demon flesh with equal ease. Rykoshet lowered Tzee Xicu’s spear and charged forward. His initial thrust impaled a demon, and he lifted it from the ground with monstrous strength, using the writhing fiend as a battering ram. Battousai took hold of one demon looming over him, pressing a steel-plated palm over the surprised creature’s face. Tendrils of black magic shot through the demon and into the Elvaan, draining away his strength and life. With the force of the one he had drained, the younger of the two brothers cleaved two more of the Kindred with a single slash. They still flooded over the two, but Rykoshet twirled the massive spear over his head, creating a whirlwind of death to all that came near.

Then a well-aimed strike clipped Rykoshet’s knee. The Elvaan stumbled forward, giving the demons the second they needed to swarm over him. They clawed and bit at him, stumbling over themselves in their bid to reach him. Battousai ran towards him, but another set of demons grabbed him, shoving him to the ground. He kicked and thrashed, fighting his way free at first, but then others joined in dogpiling him. Several armed demons were struggling to pull their overzealous brethren away so that they might finish the two off with a single blow. One of them raised an axe high overhead, fully prepared to cleave through other Kindred in order to take Rykoshet’s head.

The howl the plethora of demons gave as two sets of Dread Spikes ruptured the air. Those which had been atop the two Elvaan cried pitifully as their own life was drained away to heal the same wounds they had inflicted. Dark surges of energy crackled in the air as Rykoshet and Battousai both rose, weapons in hand. Still the demons pressed forward, thrusting at them from a distance and forcing them backwards one step at a time. At least twenty of them had crowded into the tiny space, howling and cursing in the demon tongue at the pair. Rykoshet shot his brother a glance even as he parried a slash meant to eviscerate him.

“Can you keep this up long?” His own voice was terse. The effort of maintaining Dread Spikes was often not worth the risk.

Battousai only shook his head. Beads of sweat were dripping down his face, cresting his X-shaped scar. The dark force around him wavered.

“Then we’ll end it,” Rykoshet said, thrusting his spear defensively, “I’ll cover you. Now!”

The elder brother cut out in front of the younger, slashing wildly with his spear. He let his spikes drop, and instead focused his energy on driving them back with one desperate charge. A moment of confusion rippled through their ranks at his mad charge. Then, they realized they still had the vast advantage in numbers. They were on him like flies upon a rotting carcass in instants. Fortunately, that was all the time Rykoshet needed.

Battousai came down, great sword first, from his leap. Just as he had done with the Roc, the Dark Knight crashed to the ground with explosive force, striking the heart of the Kindred with a shattering blow. Exactly how shattering he didn’t realize, however, until the floor collapsed beneath them.

The rock and granite surface exploded beneath the force of Battousai’s signature Ground Strike. Cries erupted from the Kindred as the entire room collapsed. In a haze of smoke and a noise which echoed throughout Pso’Xja, the chamber burst apart. Rykoshet and Battousai clung to their weapons as the floor buckled beneath them, and the two plunged downward into a spiral of ever-deepening darkness.


She could hear the voice in the darkness now as clearly as if it were standing right next to her. Desperately, Hiraiko wanted to press forward. One more door and she would finally reach it. All she had to do was cross this final barrier and she would stand face to face with the darkness itself. Consternation was far greater than fear as she stared up at the two demons looming over her, standing solidly between her and the door she sought.

The Summoner took a step backwards, and they advanced on her menacingly. They appeared as surprised as she was, but they overcame that almost immediately. Both were standard demons as Hiraiko had always seen before. Tall and lanky with a body segmented by thick plate-like skin over their wire-thin frames. Small semi-functional wings flared out at the sight of her, and two fang-filled muzzles opened as their glowing yellow eyes focused on the lone girl.

Hiraiko raised the Astral Signa in defense. The two demons both brandished long, curved swords forged of blackest steel. They took another step towards her, eyes now glowing fiercely as they determined this would be an easy kill. The Summoner was lost in the haze of her calling. The voice had said nothing about fighting. She didn’t want to fight. She wanted to cross through that door. Curved claws on their hooked feet clacked against the granite floor as they advanced on her. She had to get through that door.

The demons halted, merely a few feet away from her. Hiraiko slowly raised her head, peering at the two mutely. They were no longer looking at her. Instead, their gaze was directed at something just past her.

She looked up at the two towering brutes, still holding their blades aloft. They growled to themselves in their demonic tongue. One of them shouted, bringing up its weapon and swinging it menacingly. For a moment, the true nature of her situation gripped her. She felt the cold grip of fear clutch at her stomach, and her hands trembled on the Astral Signa. The Summoner wanted to throw down the staff and run. But now it was increasingly apparent that there was nowhere to run to. Besides the demons in front of her, something was definitely lurking behind.

Surpressing the urge to tightly close her eyes, Hiraiko turned her head from the demons. Slowly, she let herself look behind her. She gasped as a breeze suddenly struck her from nowhere, and then blinked rapidly. There was nothing behind her at all. Only the empty hallway she had first descended. With a start, she sprang back around as a clatter rang out from in front of her.

Drawing the blade of his katana free, Betrayil stood poised over two dead demons. A river of black blood pooled beneath the two fresh corpses. Their swords had fallen to the ground, useless in their limp hands. The Ninja allowed himself only a brief moment to make sure he had been successful in his attack. With a flick of both hands, a black, foul-smelling powder fell from his gloves. A moment later the two bodies burst into flames. Wordlessly, the black-garbed Hume stepped between the burning demons, sheathing his weapons as he approached Hiraiko.

He reached out a hand for her, and she brushed it away. The butt of the Astral Signa came down to strike the ground. Betrayil stared at her, confused.

“I have to go to it,” she said aloud. The sound of her own voice startled her. It felt like ages since she had heard it last. Since there had been anything besides the one driving voice pushing her forward. “I don’t know why, but I must. I must.”

Betrayil looked at her with a raptor’s gaze. She met his gaze with one equally as intense. She had to reach that doorway. No matter what else might happen, she had to reach the voice.

The Ninja’s voice was soft when he finally spoke. “I don’t pretend to understand everything happening here,” he admitted. “Four Winds, demons, Dynamis – I just take it as it comes.”

He reached out for her, and this time she let him gently slide his hand over hers. She felt her fingers stretch out, removing her grasp from the Astral Signa. It felt as if she had not let go since she first took hold of it. The Summoner’s bones ached as she took Betrayil’s hand in hers.

“But I understand that I am lost without you,” he said in a voice barely above a whisper. “I will not stop you from doing whatever it is you must. But I will not let you do it alone.”

After only a moment’s pause, a smile broke out across Hiraiko’s face. She pulled Betrayil in to a long embrace. The voice had fallen silent. It no longer needed to speak. Her trials were over. It was time, finally, to meet her dark speaker.

“Then come with me, Betrayil,” Hiraiko agreed, raking her hands through his hair as she pulled away. He nodded once, and without hesitation he stepped aside to let her pass.

With the Ninja following behind, Hiraiko slid open the glowing granite door, and together they entered the Shrouded Maw.


Rykoshet groaned as the first hint of consciousness returned to him. His first instinct was to sit up, but pain seared through him when he tried. Even through his armor he knew his collarbone had been bruised at best, broken at worst. It hurt to even raise his head. Still, he knew roughly where he was; atop a pile of rubble an indeterminate number of yards down from where he had been standing before his younger brother had broken through the floor. Other than that, he was lost again.

A weak cough came from his side, and he winced shifting his eyes to find the source. Battousai was pulling himself clear from the debris. His black armor was caked in dust, and chunks of stone and dirt were falling like snow from his shaggy blonde hair. The scarred Elvaan coughed with more violence, hacking up pieces of what had once been a room in Pso’Xja. He hobbled over to his brother, wincing at every step and favoring his right leg. Reaching out a gauntleted hand to Rykoshet, he grimaced against whatever pain he was feeling himself.

“I think we got ‘em,” he said as Rykoshet clasped his hand. The elder brother cried out as he was pulled upwards. He came up staggering, clutching the area near his neck. It felt like his bones were on fire.

Sure enough, the pile of rubble they had landed atop was demarcated with the remains of their assailants. Broken limbs and shattered bones stuck out from the blood-stained wreckage.

“Sweet Altana, that hurt.” Rykoshet braced himself as he struggled to move his right arm. “But you’re right, I guess. We made it out of there at least.”

“No closer to finding Hiraiko.”

“Betrayil probably got her already. Let’s try and find some way back to Fill, then we can – “

He stopped. They both did.

Both of them felt the tremendous, undisguised force coming their way. Rykoshet’s mouth went dry as the familiar aura grew closer, and closer still. The sound of gentle footfalls moving at a gradual, measured pace came echoing down the hall. With every slow, deliberate step it came closer, until the huge chi was right on top of them.

“Oh no,” Rykoshet gasped, more from disbelief than anything. “No, no, not now.”

The footsteps came closer still. The Elvaan’s eyes darted across the rubble, and settled on the shaft of Tzee Xicu’s spear rising up from the debris. It was several feet away from him. There was no way he had enough time.

“What is it?” Battousai’s voice was urgent as he took a step away from the singular doorway leading into the room they had fallen into.

Rykoshet could have screamed in frustration as the source of the aura rounded the corner into the room.

It was Rennie.