Author's Note: this is a mostly canon-compliant attempt at a novelisation of Final Fantasy XII. For details about my headcanon, see my profile.
This chapter is set at the point where the party enters the Tomb of Raithwall within the Valley of the Dead.
Rating: PG (some mentions of violence, blood, gore; adult themes; Basch/Vossler shipping)
Chapter 23: Light is Not Good, and Scarcely Pure
Dyce and Rulette refused to join Ashe's party, instead setting up camp near where the Garuda lay. After spending some time cleaning and fixing their armour, and sorting through their supplies, they turned to the tomb before them.
A complete behemoth of a building stood before them, flanked by the colonnade of ten pillars around which the Garuda flew before its demise. There was a smell of dust and age in the air. The siltstone pillars stood thirty yards high, with square pedestals even too high for them to climb onto, its shafts engraved with artworks depicting something not quite human, not quite beast, in relief. The engraving was stained with a muddy brown that contrasted against the lighter buff brown of the pillar. Halfway up, there were further engravements, a ring of trapezoidal dentils below a geometric design formed by four semicircles arranged in a cross shape, then encircled, of which there were twelve around the pillar. At the apex of each pillar was a necking, on which sat an echinus flowing out about two yards in diameter, forming a skirt, etched with twelve slot-like carvings. Around them, there were no plants, no mosses, no insects, no signs of life. The sand on which they stood was very shallow, below it stone as hard as concrete, without cracks or flaw. The thrall of death, of permanence, of timelessness, clung.
The tomb itself was even more ornately architected. Larger still than Rabanastre's Royal Palace, the building was composed of an enormous and overwhelming variety of materials, all stone, but with different colour and texture. It was dominated by the stairs, about ten yards wide at the base then narrowing to three yards wide at the top, leading them to what looked like a lamppost. The first platform that the stairs rose above was supported by another colonnade of columns, but shorter, stumpier, wider at the base than at the top, and engraved in a diamond argyle pattern, the engravements a rich black, the blackness of a night sky. Off to each side, there was another set of simpler stairs leading into a darkened passageway, over which stood an archway with a strange, blob-like pattern, bronzed and out of place with the geometric sharpness of the ornamentation blanketing every surface of the tomb's exterior. The passageways seemed to lead into nothing but darkness.
Perfectly symmetrical, the final section of the central stairs was flanked by another column on either side, identical in style to the first colonnade of ten, with a towering three-pointed arch over them; above that arch, with a terracotta wash, was a formation of seven ring-shaped reliefs, matching an array of seven more three-centred arches where the central arch was slightly wider, and a flat roof above that. Either side of the seven arches, and set back some five yards more, were a façade of multiple balconies and mezzanines, four more three-centred arches draped either side of them like a pleated skirt. All the while, every surface included contrasting, combative, confusing engravings, artworks, patterns. It made Ashe's skin crawl.
Most unsettling of all, well above the stairs, were two copper-coloured statues, each shaped in the crude likeness of the garuda they just slayed; and then above all of that, casting a shadow over all of that architectural grandiosity, stood an enormous statue composed of metal and stone, spikes and arches and ribs in perfect, alien symmetry, with clawed arms folded as if it were laid to rest, and a bizarre, inhuman face above everything else, its mouth contorted into an expression that could not be named.
Ashe and the others surveyed the tomb for a moment. Only silence passed for a while, interspersed with the carefree shuffling of Dyce and Rulette's movements as they unpacked some of their bags and prepared refreshments for themselves. When he could bear the inaction no more, Vossler walked up to Ashe, gently touched her on the small of her back, and said quietly, "Highness, let us enter."
She nodded and bravely walked up the stairs with the rest of the party towards the glimmering lights. She recalled more lectures from her favourite history tutor, and spoke with the perfect elocution of the only princess in her father's line. "Long ago, the gods granted their favour to King Raithwall, who would see the subjugation of territory from Ordalia to Valendia. Here he forged and ratified the Galtean Alliance. Though he is called the Dynast-King," she suddenly felt a surge of grief for her Lord Father, "Raithwall showed compassion for his people, and disdain for needless war; a philosophy passed onto his successors. This would bring peace and prosperity for hundreds of years to follow."
"Seven hundred," Fran said. "So many lifetimes of stillness to enjoy. Or endure."
As they approached, Balthier recognised the lights for what they were: not a lamppost, but a waystone; a lamppost in miniature that served not chiefly for illumination, but for teleportation.
"Raithwall left three relicts signifying descent from the Dynast-King. Within these walls lies the last of these relics, the Dawn Shard. It remained hidden here, known only to those of royal blood."
"As though the Dynast-King foresaw the very plight before us now," Vossler sucked in breath through his teeth.
They reached the waystone but none dared to approach it, but there were no doors to enter the tomb, just another wall, so Basch approached it, holding his arm out to Ashe to prevent her from getting closer.
The waystone was composed of magicite and wrought iron, with a central light at around Fran's eye level, and a slowly revolving ring of metal-and-stone with four smaller lanterns at around chest height. On the floor was yet another relief sculpture, square with symmetrical spiked patterns at each corner and from each side, forming eight points. Around two yards in diameter, from the way stone to the edge of the square, was a circular mandala that glowed faintly in a pulsing pattern, its yellow effulgence casting geometric, arcane patterns on the wall. A teleport crystal stood in the corner, which Vossler touched briefly, watching Basch observing the waystone intently.
"Only Raithwall's descendants are suffered within. If I enter without proof of my lineage-"
Balthier cut her off. "There's no guarantee we'll make it out alive." Vaan swallowed, and Penelo took a half-step back, listening intently. "Vicious beasts, fiendish traps… something like that?"
Ashe nodded sagely. "But you must consider the prize. The Dawn Shard lies within, and Raithwall's treasures."
"And there was I, thinking this was going to be hard." Balthier cracked his knuckles. "Here's hoping Raithwall was somewhat jealous of his progeny, else Fran and I may take our leave, profitless." Ashe scowled.
"So… what do we do now?" Vaan asked, voice trembling slightly.
"We seven touch the waystone at precisely the same time. If Raithwall deems us worthy, then this waystone shall grant us entry." Fran said smoothly. She stood easily, surveying the waystone with impassivity.
"How do you know that?" Basch stood up straight and folded his arms awkwardly given the armour he was still wearing.
"We've used a few of these in ages past," Balthier said.
"Of that I am certain," Vossler said under his breath, standing at Ashe's right hand.
"Something you wish to share with the class, Azelas?" Balthier tilted his head.
"Nay." He walked forward and stood on the circular mandala. "Highness, this must be the way in. Let us enter. You two-" he looked directly at Vaan and Penelo – "need not enter."
"Uh, yes, we need enter," Vaan scoffed. "We didn't come all this way just to wait outside like idiots." Balthier bit his tongue.
"Then it's settled. Everyone stand around the lights," Ashe directed, and there was a slight shuffling as they all got in formation. There wasn't quite enough elbow room, so Penelo stood at an angle, as did Basch, to let everyone squeeze in. Vaan and Penelo held hands. Vossler put his hand on Ashe's right shoulder; Basch put his on her left, but she writhed her shoulder out of his grip, wordlessly, and Basch put his right hand back by his side, looking at nobody.
"On my count," Vossler ordered, reaching his right hand to hold onto the top light, "Three, two-"
"Halt, captain," Balthier interjected, "Do you even know what you're doing? Let the professionals handle it. You tend to your charge, we will guide you in." Vossler gave him a dark look, but retreated his hand. "We must all hold the central ring as it rotates. The moment we touch it, it shall cease its movement, enact its magick, and send us… somewhere, I know not. But that's the fun of it, I suppose."
"Does it matter which hand?" Penelo asked.
"Uh…" Balthier thought for a moment. "Since it rotates counterclockwise, hold with your left hand." A little more shuffling emerged while the seven of them prepared to grab on. "On three, one, two-"
"Wait, after three, or on three?" Vaan interrupted. Ashe sighed, annoyed.
"I just said," Balthier sneered, "On three. So when I say three, Vaan, you grab the shiny spinny thing in front of you with your left hand. That's-" He grabbed Vaan's left hand and shook it in front of the teen's face – "this one."
"Alright, alright," Vaan freed himself of Balthier's grip. "Just checking. Don't need to be an asshole about it." Basch stifled a laugh. Balthier rolled his eyes.
"Again. On three. One, two, three!" And the seven of them grabbed hold of the waystone's rotating platform with their left hands. There was a grinding noise from inside the way stone as the mechanism was forced to stop by the strength of seven hands holding it steady, and Ashe's eyes widened, Did we do something wrong? Her eyes flicked to Balthier, but as the orange-yellow magick glow arose from the mandala at their feet and formed a circular cage around them, he seemed unperturbed. And then, with a flash, the party vanished from the exterior of the Tomb.
Moments later, after a period of time in which none of them existed, such was the waystone's magick, much unlike teleport stones – they rematerialized inside some building, holding onto a waystone identical to that which they held outside the Tomb of Raithwall.
Ashe let go of the breath she didn't know she was holding.
"Did it work? Are we inside?" She whispered. Balthier clapped his hands of the dust covering the waystone and immediately started walking into the tomb.
"Yes, princess, it worked." His voice echoed throughout the enormous void of the chamber in which they found themselves. All five not-sky-pirates craned their necks to look around in wonder, while Balthier just strode forward, and Fran followed.
"Libra tells me that this is indeed the Tomb of Raithwall," Basch said. "The dimensions seem correct."
"How did you know to trust this waystone?" Vaan asked as Balthier approached yet another waystone, crossing the stone floor fifteen yards.
"It's a contraption you'd find in all but the most rudimentary ancient ruin. The finer points of their operation elude me, but they're handy all the same. What more need a sky pirate now?" He put his hands on his hips and looked around. Fran joined him and did the same. They began speaking in low voices, pointing to the details and features of the space from which they might profit.
The space in which they found themselves was approximately thirty yards wide and twenty yards wide. It was illuminated by very many torches, though there was no characteristic smell of burning oil, as one would expect. The walls, far away, were richly engraved with a dazzling array of geometric patterns, yet there were no artifacts, no jewels, no precious relics about them. The floor was roughly-hewn stone, with a smattering of dust. Ahead there were two pairs of staircases descending down a few yards: one outer set, and one inner set. The outer set led to a sheer drop into nothingness, which the party avoided, while the inner set led down to a platform, where they converged onto a passageway flanked by more lanterns.
"Be at the ready," Basch lowered his visor and commanded to nobody in particular, the rest of the party meekly walking around, not quite sure what to do next. After concluding their conversation, Balthier cast Float magick on Fran and himself, a whirl of wind at their feet, lifting them up from the ground a few inches. Vossler got the hint and did the same for himself, just as he had in the Sandsea.
"Might you extend the same courtesy to me?" Ashe asked, lowering her own visor. Taken aback, Vossler did for her, and then for Basch, standing off in the distance. Vaan and Penelo waited for someone to notice them but neither Balthier nor Vossler deemed them worthy.
Vossler walked forward to the next waystone, upon which there was a small bronze plaque. The writing on it was not in any language he'd ever seen, but after a moment, the engravement glowed blue, and the letters whirled around, bouncing off the edge of the plaque, finally reforming to make words and sentences in Ivalice Common:
With godscraft armed, guard we His tomb. Diad stirred, come they, one unto the other.
His stomach sank. "Be cautious, there are two tomb watchers, and they seem to converge on each other somehow."
"Thank you, we'll keep that in mind." Balthier waved his arm vaguely, walking down the inner-right set of stairs, bouncing on the barrier of air between his feet and the ground. "Well, are you all coming, or not?"
Merely because only he and Fran seemed to have any confidence in the matter of exploring these walls, the seven reformed, with Balthier at the fore. They walked down the stairs, passing by the ugly stone statue that was precisely the width of the passageway they would soon walk down, its arms folded like it was in repose, bearing swords longer than Fran was tall, their faces lit by the lanterns burning brightly.
They made it about five paces down the passageway before an awful creaking noise emerged from behind them. They wheeled around in near-unison, and their jaws dropped as the statue they just walked past burst into life. Its numerous claws, insect-like, at its base drummed a fatal rhythm into the stone, and its eyes glowed an ominous red through its demonic bronzed mask.
The Libra technick screamed bloody murder inside Basch's mind. He hastily unsheathed his Gladius dagger, which felt completely inadequate in the face of this enormous stone construct, and looked to Vossler, whose face was contorted into one of despair. Ashe held her staff up, white-knuckled, while Fran drew an arrow from her quiver and loaded it, Balthier cocked his rifle, and Vaan and Penelo scampered to be at the back of the pack.
The statue afforded them no escape. It was precisely as wide as the passageway. They could jump off the passageway, but there was only blackness. They could climb along the edge of the passageway – it was only waist-high – but it was a narrow ledge, and the Demon Wall's swords would easily catch them and knock them into the void, or slice them in twain in the process.
Only Balthier could find the courage to give voice to his thoughts. "Fight or run, we must decide quickly!"
"Fight," Basch, Vossler, and Ashe said in unison. "Run," Vaan, Penelo, and Fran countered. Balthier shook his head and shot the opening salvo, but even though his Sirius rifle was potent, it didn't even scuff the stone of his target.
He looked over his shoulder. The passageway was about fifty yards long and terminated at two enormous bronze doors.
"Escape is possible," He said quickly, "I think. Good sir knights, do your best to buy me some time. Fran, come with me." He ran after the doors, down the passageway, with Fran hot on his heels.
"Balthier!" Basch shouted after him, to no response. "Vossler, what shall we do?"
"Strike it hard." Vossler said, swinging Nightmare wildly at the statue, which approached closer and closer.
The Demon Wall had too many tricks up its sleeves for comfort. The swords it carried in its many arms knocked Basch and Vossler back over and over again, leaving dents in Basch's full plate armour and rips in Vossler's chainmail. It cast status magick with upsetting accuracy and alacrity: a Blindga spell that blanketed them in obscuring black smoke, a Silence spell that whirled around Ashe and Penelo's heads and disabled their magicks, and a Sleep spell that kept stunning Vossler and Basch, only for them to be battered with another sword strike, unable to be defended. It also had a Reflect spell active, which Ashe didn't know until she aimed a furious whirl of Aero magick at it, which glanced off and struck her instead, winding her. Vaan and Penelo worked frantically to keep the three in fighting shape, bathing them in Blindna and Vox restorative magick, and showering them in High Potions, but they just weren't making any progress slowing the stone behemoth down.
Its unstoppable advance filled Ashe with dread. How could they have travelled all this way and fail so close to their goal? Why would Raithwall entrap his progeny in his own tomb? Didn't the magicks enabling the Demon Wall recognise that she was of Raithwall's blood, even though she was at least twenty-five generations descended? Was it that she wasn't the first-born heir? It couldn't have been that she was a woman; there were several women in the genealogy who took the throne legitimately and retained Raithwall's favour.
Was it that the Demon Wall thought her not strong enough and was here to condemn her to an early grave? The irony would be that she would be interred close to her legendary ancestor, a privilege not afforded her own Lord Father, His Majesty King Raminas B'nargin Dalmasca.
She silently cursed her companions for not being strong enough. Penelo for not knowing how to dispel the blasted thing's reflect magick. Basch for insisting on a weapon small enough to fit in a lady's purse. Vossler for being foolhardy. Vaan for being useless. Balthier and Fran for-
"Come quickly, we have opened the doors!" Fran shouted desperately from down the stone passageway. "Flee, now!"
They didn't need to be told twice. They lowered their arms and bolted towards the end of the passageway, the remaining twenty yards, the Demon Wall shrieking in outrage as its captives found means to escape. The next room was in total darkness, but it appeared to have an identical passageway to that which they stood on. One last Sleep spell landed on Ashe as she ran, sending her stumbling to the ground, so Basch sheathed his Gladius dagger, scampered back, and picked her up roughly in a bridal lift, making it through the doors just in time. Balthier used Magnet magick to repel the door from him, its brown-purple-white sphere refracting the air into the distorted images of stone and flame surrounding them near where he cast it, pushing the door shut, while Fran used Aero magick to do the same with the other door. They shut with a reverberating clang, leaving the party in the next room, in complete darkness.
The five escapees gasping for breath, Fran cast a Fire spell, holding it into her hand. It illuminated everyone's faces: Basch rubbed black dust from his eyes, the remnants of the Blindga magick clinging to his sweaty skin; Vossler chugged a High Potion and cast a repair charm on his Chainmail, restoring it to its normal position and appearance; Ashe, woken roughly by the clang of the doors shutting, poured a Potion onto a handkerchief and dabbed it on her bruised face, wincing; Vaan and Penelo just stood there, breathing heavily.
They all jumped when the Demon Wall they just escaped slammed into the doors they just closed. For a terrifying moment, the doors buckled and dented slightly with the relief of the Demon Wall's arms and swords, but the doors gave no purchase, and the sound coming from the other side sounded like the Demon Wall scampering away at rapid speed to its starting position.
"Raithwall. Wraith wall. I should have known." Fran said quietly. "Your ancestor was somewhat of a mummer. Whether or not those golems were his own invention or not, he had a strong sense of dramatic irony."
"Well," Ashe said dryly, throwing potion-and-blood-stained handkerchiefs off the side into the nothingness, "That's comforting."
"Shall we continue?" Basch asked, his armour popping back into place as Vossler applied the repair magick to it.
"No other way to go, we're not facing that damn thing again," Vaan panted. "This was a mistake."
"I'm with Vaan," Penelo added, compulsively casting Protect on everyone in range, one at a time, the blue glow lingering for only moments. "And this part isn't even lit up."
"Fear not," Fran reassured them, "This magick I can sustain for a long time." She breathed a little more Mist into it and the flame gradually expanded to be the size of a whole cockatrice. Its light was bright, but seemed to be inhibited by the shimmering fog surrounding them. They were, once again, on a passageway, with pairs of lanterns – this time, unlit, though otherwise identical to the last – placed periodically on either side. Over each edge of the passageway was gods-know-what; Vaan held onto his magicked pouch carefully. The roof could not be seen, nor the end of the passageway, and the walls seemed similar to that of the previous space.
They walked for about ten seconds like this, hesitant, squinting their eyes to see anything, until two red-purple eyes, unfortunately familiar, glowed in the distance. The lanterns roared into life, without scent, without cause, and the room was suffused with light. At the end of this passageway, about three times as long as the first, there was another Demon Wall. Its characteristic clawing and rattling was the same as the last one.
Vossler shouted, "This must be the other one!" He took up his greatsword, wiping sweat from his brow with one hand.
"We're trapped?" Ashe blurted out. "What do we do?"
"Go back and face the other one?" Basch offered, drawing his dagger and holding his shield tightly.
"Climb the walls with magick?" Vaan suggested. Penelo elbowed him.
"We fight like hell!" Vossler shouted with finality, with bravado, though his eyes betrayed his heart, thrumming in his chest, watching a centuries-old stone guardian steal his future.
"I'm with Azelas," Balthier said, running past him down the passageway, charging at the statue, firing rapidly. "I will play leading man if you are all set on playing bit parts!"
To the party's relief, Balthier's shots were true and strong, and unlike the first Demon Wall, this one seemed slightly more docile, marginally more vulnerable. A fairer fight, possibly. It cast Blindga once more, with only Balthier in range, but the armlet with argyle pattern Balthier wore on his left arm – the very same that Larsa had gifted – absorbed the magick harmlessly. Balthier shot at the Demon Wall's claws, one at a time, and successfully reduced a quarter of them into gravel.
The rest of them caught up. No Reflect magick this time meant Fran and Ashe could pepper the golem with magick, both of them favouring Aero, the rapid squalls of magicked wind wearing away at the stone. Vossler and Basch hacked away at it, deftly blocking or dodging its sword strikes, which were indeed less lethal, more predictable, more telegraphed than its twin. Vaan and Penelo found themselves at the back again, but with less panic, and more time to act. Penelo threw a Slow spell at the Demon Wall's left arm, and it landed, to her relief, its arm moving like it was caught in quicksand. Vaan cast Blindna on Basch and Vossler to remove the blinding smoke the Demon Wall breathed on them, and even had time to duck in to strike at its body, but his Mythril Sword bounced off, leaving nary a dent. He scrambled back just in time to not get hit with a counterattack.
The wall continued to advance, but slowly. The five fighters were making progress. Vossler successfully disarmed the wall of its right-hand blade, while Ashe and Fran had blasted enough packets of wind magick into its body to create cracks in the stone. Balthier had shot at the mask several times, each time stunning the wall for just a moment, just enough to slow it down. Basch had blocked five physical blows in a row without fault with his shield.
"We might make it," Ashe breathed, waving her staff overhead to summon more wind magick, casting a vertical slice of high-speed air right at the Demon Wall.
"Hey guys," Vaan called from behind her, "There's instructions on the lanterns, I touched the metal plaque and it made instructions in Common-"
"Aye, it does that," Vossler held his sword with two hands to block a lazy overhead blow from the Demon Wall's remaining blade, "What does it say?"
"Uh…" Vaan squinted in the low light. "Altar of Contemplation. Wakes it with the flames. Follows it their shadow. Ne'er straying. What do you think?"
"Leave it!" Basch called urgently, just as a Sleep spell stunned him, though not so strongly that he was knocked to the floor. Vossler handed a Prince's Kiss vial to Ashe, who looked at him incredulously. He mouthed, Please, Highness, but Ashe instead just smeared the viscous liquid on her fingertips and rubbed Basch's lips roughly. He jerked awake.
In defiance of the fallen knight, Ashe cried, "Extinguish the flame! Mayhap if the flame expires, the Demon Wall will halt its advance!"
"You're the boss," Vaan said under his breath, unscrewing his water canteen, and pouring its contents into a lantern, while Penelo stood guard, casting a Cura spell that washed over the other five, strengthening them.
Vaan's water had the opposite effect. The flame did not extinguish when washed with water, rather it turned sapphire blue and burned with increasing heat that made Vaan recoil and stumble back onto the passageway, instantly turning the water to scalding steam that joined the golden fog around them. The ever-slowing clambering of the Demon Wall instead accelerated, as if someone had cast Haste magick onto it inadvertently, and the rest of the party cried out in disbelief, clambering backwards faster.
"What did you do?" Ashe screeched, a Silence spell descending onto her. She clutched at her throat, voice gone, connection to Mist severed. Penelo cast Vox from afar while helping Vaan up.
"I did exactly what you said!" Vaan retaliated, summoning a fireball and launching it at the Demon Wall desperately. "But you don't know what the hell you're doing, so you made this thing faster!"
"Hush, children," Balthier said calmly, firing his rifle right into where Ashe and Fran had exposed some weaknesses in the Demon Wall's stone body, avoiding where Basch and Vossler were standing, defending themselves from the Demon Wall's rapid swings from its remaining sword. The clang of metal on metal rang out throughout the space. Fran and Penelo both tried Slow magick, the orange clockwork sigil whirling around the golem's mask, but dissipated into fuzzy, orange smoke, indicating failure. "If we panic, we won't be victorious, and we'll have to face the deadlier of the sedimentary siblings. Dramatic irony, indeed." Ashe wanted to scream at Balthier for his droll commentary, how completely inappropriate at a time like this, but the Silence spell held fast. She gave Vaan a look of desperation, and fortunately he caught on quickly, digging out a paper sachet of Echo Herbs, which Ashe chewed upon with distaste, the bitter leaves restoring her magick but making her gag.
They were now about twenty yards away from the bronze doors – the same distance they were on the other side before they fled. Balthier considered the options: for one, they could run and face the first Demon Wall, escaping to this side once again if they find themselves unsuccessful; two, they could keep up the fight with this second Demon Wall a little while longer and escape to the first side at the last moment; three, they could attempt to use Float and Aero magick to soar above the void on either side and bypass Raithwall's guardians; four, they could convince the two Demon Walls to fight each other.
Options one and two would eventually leave the party exhausted of energy, resources, and time, trapped in a cycle of never-ending battle in a place they couldn't possibly escape.
Option three was a complete gamble; not even Fran could likely sustain the magick for long enough to glide them to safety.
Option four was amusing to picture but not realistic. Fran was a talented beastmaster, able to make all manner of beasts do her bidding, but nothing quite like these magicked rocks with spindly arms and giant knives.
There was a fifth option: cancel the Demon Wall's hastened movement and overcome it. Balthier retreated a few steps to the nearest lantern and re-read the plaque. While the other six battled on, he took a breath in, closed his eyes, recited a Viera prayer that Fran taught him, and cast Stop magick on the lantern.
Only Fran saw precisely what he was doing, and both her eyebrows were raised at Balthier's strange tactics. Much like the orange sigil of Slow magick, Stop magick emerged as a royal-blue sigil of clockwork gears slowing to complete cessation, then vanishing instantly upon success, or dissolving into blue nothingness upon failure. This lantern's orange firelight shone through the blue mist of Balthier's magick, creating a shadow that danced upon his face, but the magick seemed to work, for the blue disappeared, and the lantern's flame froze in time. The other lantern, the one that Vaan touched at Ashe's command, fizzled from its sapphire hue to the steady amber from before.
It worked. The Demon Wall's advance halted. Its furious swinging back and forth didn't, nor did its spray of debilitating magicks, but at least it gave the party breathing room.
"What the hell did you do, pirate?" Vossler shouted, almost impressed. Renewed, he found purchase with his greatsword, gouging a gash into its body. It howled in inhuman pain, its mask about to fall off its face as Fran and Ashe kept up the barrage. Basch leapt up onto the Demon Wall and stabbed his gladius right into its ruby-amethyst eye, its furious magickal counterattack of purple-red jets of flame from its wounded eye blasting harmlessly over Basch's right hand. Penelo even saw fit to join the fray, slamming her cypress pole into the Demon Wall's clawed feet, using a form that Basch had taught her not long ago. It felt like months ago, being on the outside, in the fresh air that smelled of vitality.
"Its mask is falling!" Fran called, pointing. "Its true face is to be revealed!"
"What wonders we might witness," Balthier said drolly, aiming at whatever weak spot he could find on its body, and firing steadily, trying to avoid Basch's clambering over the Demon Wall's body.
Basch stabbed again and again at the place where the mask was affixed to the Demon Wall's face. It was held on with wrought iron nails encrusted with blood. Again and again, he jabbed the Gladius' blade, with the Lindbur Wolf's tooth inlaid in the metal, at the iron nails, hoping the steel of the dagger would defeat the nails. As Balthier's Stop magick finally expired, and the statue clambered forth, Basch broke the nails in two, and leapt off, rolling to a stop against the two bronze doors at the end of the passageway.
The Demon Wall's mask, the size of a small table, like those used at the Sandsea, finally fell, clanging against the ground, settling against Ashe's feet. She kicked it away reflexively, the bronze metal grinding against the stone floor. The seven of them were now only five yards away from the door. The eye that Basch had attacked was bleeding purplish smoke, and behind the mask was only plain stone, no nose or mouth. The Demon Wall finally relented, its movement finally halted, its remaining arm hanging limply, its leftover clawed feet at rest, its magicks quashed.
Breathing heavily, the party relaxed, setting down their weapons, though still holding them. Vaan and Penelo laughed a little, and Ashe joined them. Vaan and Penelo high-fived, and Vaan moved to offer one to Ashe, who just rested her chin on her closed, begloved fist, and stared at him, dissuading him. Balthier and Fran knocked forearms together in triumph. Basch and Vossler nodded to each other, just a little. A familiar feeling was dawning within them.
Their joy was short-lived, unfortunately, as the golem cast one final, spiteful little spell, which sprung forth from its good eye, soared through the air, and ripped right into Basch's chest. It manifested as azure blue ribbons pealing through the air, adorned with blood-red runes, slamming through Basch's armour as if it wasn't there, with a sound like ripping flesh.
Fran, Balthier, and Vossler's eyes widened, and Vossler's tight grip on his sword hilt failed, the tip of Nightmare hitting the floor with the sound of his shock.
Mirthless laughter, not human, arose from beneath them, from the void. Basch held his shielded hand to his heart, and swallowed roughly, but did not make any sounds of pain or discomfort, as was proper for a knight. He opened his visor and looked right at Ashe, eyes wide open, never looking so defeated since he watched Raminas be poisoned while he looked on, helpless.
Balthier said quietly, "He's been Doomed."
"What do you mean?" Ashe spluttered. "What was that magick?"
"I just said, Doom." Balthier returned his rifle to its holster on his back. "The blasted thing has seen fit to curse Ronsenburg. Alas, there is no cure."
"Cursed with what?" Penelo asked quietly.
Vossler walked up to Basch quickly and held his shoulders. "Imminent death. Basch, you stay with me, you hear me? The moment you fall, I will hold you, and use Phoenix Down, and you will return to me." There was a note of desperation, of despair, in the captain's voice.
"Vossler, it's alright," Basch reassured falsely, holding Vossler's wrists, pulling him in for an embrace. "I entrust Her Highness to you. Seize the Dawn Shard and defeat Archadia. Return my body to the Resistance. Then, if you have time," Basch chuckled, unsmiling, "Avenge His Majesty."
"What- how-" Ashe was incredulous, and still wary of any more surprises coming from the Demon Wall. "How can this be?"
Fran shook her head. "Where death is, there its heartless magick is. It is unsurprising, in hindsight, that such an opponent should hold this magick as a final insult." Raising her bow once more, she said, "There is a way forward. Destroy the caster and the casting will be destroyed."
Penelo held her pole tighter. "So you mean we need to-"
"Defeat the blasted thing, and the curse will be lifted," Vossler's voice rising with intensity. "Everyone, with me!" His voice cracked on his last word, and he raised his sword up high, slamming the blade down into the Demon Wall's body. Basch looked on, the life draining from his eyes, hoping and wishing Vossler would prevail. Numbers appeared above his head: a six, then a zero.
"Sixty," Balthier breathed. "Sixty minutes?"
The numbers started counting down rapidly. 59, 58, 57…
"The Fates hate me." He muttered. "Basch, stay strong!" He unholstered the Sirius and fired. Fran followed suit with magicks upon magicks, joined by Ashe's own casting, and Vaan's desperate slashing at the Demon Wall's body. The Demon Wall did not stir, or cast magick, but the purple smoke coming from its eye did not stop.
Penelo ran forward, blood racing, and joined the fray. From the corner of her eye, though, she saw the counter tick down below 40. Basch's breathing grew ragged, and he knelt to the ground, awful rattling sounds emerging from his body. She cast a mighty Cura spell at him, which did nothing to reverse his fate.
Vossler's eyes were screwed up with tears as he expended all his power into annihilating the Demon Wall. Chunks of its stone body were starting to fall away and be pounded into dust, its weapons were bent and broken into pieces, but its one remaining good eye glowed menacingly.
"Stand back," He cried, waving at the party with his left hand, "I will end this." Inhaling steadily, he gathered the Mist around him, as the counter ticked below 30. Basch was now lying on the ground, blood dribbling from his mouth, eyes glassing over. Memories of Basch and himself flashed through Vossler's mind. There was one brutal technique Vossler mastered with a greatsword-
696 Old Valendian, 11 Virgo
-a decade ago, and executed for the first time at an Army exhibition event, after months of training, met with failure after failure. Vossler was an experienced Sergeant, Basch a Corporal, and the two were now committed to each other, having leased a small, one-bedroom flat in Rabanastre's industrial borough with the meagre salaries they were earning.
Vossler's eldest brother, Raul, was an esteemed Major in the Royal Dalmascan Army and a member of the Order of the Knights of Dalmasca alongside Vossler, pride of the Azelas household, with four children of his own, all boys, the eldest having just entered Royal Dalmascan Army training. Vossler was Raul with ten years fewer, and worshipped the elder from a young age: decorated, skilled, powerful, influential. Their father, a retired Colonel in the Rozarrian Army and now a high-ranking official in the governing court of King Raminas, saw Vossler's failure to court a woman and bear children a grievous shame. Still, Vossler's father and mother, Raul's dutiful, perfect, wife, and obedient, handsome children were in the stands at a makeshift colosseum, where the might of the Dalmascan Army would be on display, to provide enthrallment and enjoyment for the people of Rabanastre
Basch had been raised by the Azelas family since seeking asylum within Rabanastre from age 15. They raised him as a son, and were financially supported by the throne for keeping this refugee-cum-stoolpigeon well, but thought his oddities amusing at first, frustrating later; his courtship of Vossler – two young men, how strange, how abnormal – confusing at best, dishonourable at worst. The two voluntarily chose to live in the army's barracks from the day they joined, and had not found their own domiciles until the flat they started leasing recently together.
Basch was not participating in the exhibition, having sought a personal day of leave. In plainclothes, he sat one row back from the Azelas clan, remaining in their good graces, but at a significant personal distance.
Vossler was to exhibit mystic sword arts with his battalion, in which elemental black magicks were combined seamlessly with swordplay, to defeat opponents with elemental weaknesses more easily. "Bathe your steel with enough Mist and you can put on a real show," Vossler's commanding officer advised. Vossler was obliged to demonstrate the culmination of months of training under his commanding officer's tutelage, in the face of Raul's consistent criticism: "Magick is for the magi, Voss and swords are for the soldiers. Better you master one form and serve Dalmasca, and your family, with the honour of your mastery, than disappoint us all with half measures."
The stain of Raul's disapproval could not be washed away, even with the familiar nickname that Raul used now only to patronise him. For months, during his training and tutelage, Vossler wrestled with competing influences. One, he was very accomplished as a swordsman and reasonably adept with battle magick; two, his commanding officer was acclaimed as a mystic knight and refusing his auspices would be highly dishonourable; three, he sought the means to become promoted to the next rank; fourth, persisting in this path would create a rift between him and Raul, and provide obstacles to further advancement, not to mention further animosity between him and his parents.
It was Basch who encouraged Vossler to persist, late at night, over a shared meal, or in the salle, or in the locker rooms of the barracks. Basch was uniquely placed to assist Vossler in his training, using his own battle skill and magick resistance to endure Vossler's endless sparring: loosing shots of flame, shards of ice like glass, waves of water, and crackling electricity from the tip of his blade, whirling through the air, pacing through hundreds of forms, stances, and routines, sucking down ethers like whisky.
Basch had to stop Vossler from quitting no less than four times. Though Basch was no wordsmith, one sentence made itself at home in Vossler's memories, spurring him on in the face of so much opposition, so much uncertainty, so much insecurity:
You are your own man, a peerless son of Dalmasca.
When Sergeant Vossler York Azelas, Order of the Knights of Dalmasca, swordsman, spy, mystic knight, marched into the colosseum, he saw the cold stares of his father and brother, and the rest of the Azelas clan, in the seats, clapping frigidly when his name was announced. Behind was the broadly grinning, plain-clothed, Corporal Basch fon Ronsenburg, swordsman, refugee, Ward of the Crown, waving and shouting encouragement, propriety be damned. I love this man and he is worthy, Basch seemed to shout.
When the bugler played the melody signifying the start of his routine, Vossler looked not to his brother, but to his partner. Holding his new greatsword, christened Nightmare, in plow stance, he summoned the Mist – Mist enough for the two of them – towards him, then he swung Nightmare to his left and held it in single-hand sinister near ward stance, charged forward, and leapt in a spiralling clockwise bound with enough wind to summon a tornado, holding the blade above his head in two hands to bring it crashing down-
The technique, christened "Finishing Touch" by Basch later that night after his sixth (and final) lager at the Sandsea, cleaved the Demon Wall in half. Its eyes smouldered into black pools of ash.
The magicked timer counting down above Basch's head faded into a haze. All of the lights in the chamber glowed a little brighter. Coughing and spluttering, Basch sat up, fully conscious. Spent of Mist, Vossler replaced Nightmare on its magnetic holder, stepped over to Basch, pulled him up by his armpits, and embraced him.
"That was incredible!" Penelo said, leaning over. "I've never seen anything so powerful."
"I'm very impressed, Vossler," Ashe smiled, relieved, holding a hand to her heart. "The threat is completely gone."
Vossler quickly removed himself from the embrace, cleared his throat, and stepped back from Basch. He knelt awkwardly in front of Ashe, supplicating himself. "Apologies, Highness, for my, uh, improper display of, uh, indecorum." Balthier clicked his tongue. Fran smirked. Vaan looked at Basch, who seemed shaken in a way that didn't seem proper for a soldier. Shocked at coming close to death, or at being embraced by the man he once loved, or at being rejected by him because Ashe was there? Vaan had a mind of placing a bet with Penelo on the eventual fate of their coupling.
The party delicately stepped over the Demon Wall's remains, Balthier claiming its mask for himself and exploiting Ashe's gladness and Vossler's embarrassment as means to avoid their reproach, and walked further into the tomb.
Inlaid into the wall from where the second Demon Wall emerged was a a pristine longsword, which Balthier recognised as being a Demonsbane. Surprisingly, Balthier and Fran rejected it for themselves, both saying that they are not proficient with longswords, and that the Demonsbane is not popular or well-known, so has little worth on the black market. With contemplation, Basch finally retrieved it from its position with no little difficulty. It was a handsome relic: its pommel was minimally adorned with two pitch-black opals and two white-gray pearls, set at right-angles to each other; its grip was a single piece of charcoal leather with no seams or scuffs; its guard was made of anodized steel and composed of three sections precisely welded together; and the blade was a double-helix of three sections, precisely angled for symmetry, and engraved with runes from ricasso to point, from a rich royal blue through to green, yellow, orange, and crimson red right at the end. As Basch held it, Libra informed him that the weapon had holy magick within it, and Basch gave a pleased ah in response.
"How appropriate for a weapon so-called Demonsbane," Ashe commented, "as I predict the presence of undead opponents within these walls." She shivered and clasped her hands together awkwardly.
"Her Highness would be entirely correct," Fran quipped, surveying the blade with a critical eye. "Basch, you should once again take point." And so it was: Basch at the vanguard, Demonsbane proudly in hand, flanked by a nervous Ashe and rattled Vossler, and Vaan, Penelo, Balthier, and Fran behind. They ascended another set of stairs, and walked through another pair of enormous bronze doors, which this time opened with the barest effort to reveal the next chamber of the tomb.
"I think the time is come, Vaan." Basch said, paternal, proud. Vaan stepped closer.
"What do you mean?"
"Regrettably, the sword that Reks passed down to you is no longer suitable." Vaan folded his arms and pursed his lips. "You saw it: it could not do its duty against the Demon Wall. You deserve a weapon more fitting of your developing skill."
Vaan exhaled. "I guess. Maybe if I stop using Reks' sword, I can put it away and have it as a keepsake." He took Basch's mythril blade from out of the pouch, letting it expand to full size. It was identically coloured to Reks' sword but much longer, a true longsword, with a subtle curvature throughout the blade. Swinging it around, he nodded and gave a quiet sound of assent. "It's actually pretty good, I gotta admit." Vaan then dropped Reks' blade in his pouch, watching it shrink to the size of a toothpick.
Ahead, an ancient parchment was displayed in a glass-topped pedestal. Upon inspection, it was a map of the chambers and pathways of the tomb. The floorplan was surprisingly simple, and there were no words printed on the tomb, just symbols and sigils: one for each of the Demon Walls, the more deadly of the two signified with a star above it; and on the other side, an isolated passageway, with a symbol shaped like a sphere with curved lines running along its latitude and longitude, much like a globe. Balthier retrieved a thin switchblade from his pocket, and prised open the cabinet, retrieving the map and folding it.
Watching from a distance, Vossler glared. "It wounds me to look on as they pillage so solemn a place."
Alongside him, walking slowly so to drink in the majesty of the place, Ashe replied, "Yet without help, you and I are as nothing. Is this not so?" She paused. He closed his eyes, not agreeing, but not dissenting. Diplomatic. "He thinks ever and always on his own profit. If we assure him of it, he shall remain true to our cause."
"I do not share Your Highness' trust."
Pointed, Ashe said, "We will continue this later. Now we should concern ourselves with finding the Dawn Shard." She inhaled, feeling the Mist, listening intently for the subtle rumbling coming from the depths of the tomb. "It sleeps, in waiting, somewhere deep within."
"How can you be certain?"
Simply, she replied, "I can hear its call."
They were faced with two choices: the passageways to the north, and those to the south. They were completely symmetrical and identical, but they appeared to be closed loops, not leading anywhere notable. Vaan flipped a coin and declared that they should proceed to the north passageways. They descended countless steps, spiralling through the void, seemingly unsupported by any pillars or columns, yet the stairway was completely solid and unyielding, affording them a mote of confidence. There weren't many beasts or fiends as of yet, just a few bats, which fell quickly when Vaan leapt at them and sliced their wings off with Basch's sword, or when Balthier or Fran shot at them from a distance, or when Ashe or Vossler blasted Aero spells at them. Balthier and Fran scouted for jewels, relics, artwork; there so far were none, to their displeasure.
Eventually, they entered the northern passageway, a collection of high-ceiling rooms connected by narrow passageways, turning and spiralling in all sorts of directions. Balthier's pilfered map was entirely accurate, fortunately, and soon enough, the sky pirates found treasures worth their while: scattered on the ground carelessly were two talismans, one glowing with the telltale blue glow of Protect magick, for which Balthier exchanged his titanium bangle; the other a rich magenta in colour, with a glyph engraved thereon, somehow both equine and leonine in character, glowing with the characteristic green glow of Shell magick, for which Fran exchanged her libra bangle. Ashe and Vossler both bit their tongues.
The beasts inside were more challenging than the humble bats from outside. There were metallic statues composed of gargoyle faces and multiple sets of horns, which spun around madly, nipped at the party's legs, and cast a variety of elemental magick at the party, which Basch tried to throw himself in front of; rancid-smelling flans akin to half-melted candles, glowing with a smouldering flame that it launched at the party, smiling all the while; bizarre cockatrices that had not avian faces but instead crimson-coloured elfin visages, trying to turn the seven of them to stone with magick; and, to Ashe's disgust, a wide and various array of undead skeletons, zombies, and ghosts, who pummeled them with their fists, crude weapons, and various magicks. Basch's Demonsbane scythed through the undead with ease, and Fran and Penelo cast curative magick at them that instead wounded them further, but Ashe's visceral feeling of disgust persisted and slowed her down.
Vossler noticed and asked, "Highness, what is the matter?"
"It's- it's fine," she retorted, creeping around a corner with dread. "We shall persist. Don't worry about me."
"It is my duty to worry."
"I order you to desist." She held her staff close to her body.
Vossler set his lips in a thin line. "Highness, you know I cannot." Before they could argue further, they reached the room right in the centre of the labyrinth, in which a crimson gemstone was inlaid into the wall. Switchblade out again, Balthier made to rip it out of the wall, but instead recognised that it was a switch.
"Ashe, I assume that this stone will activate the waystone in the middle of this room," Balthier motioned to the sleeping, unlit waystone. "I pray you are ready for whatever comes!" Without waiting for her response, he pressed the stone in with a grunt, and it indeed gave, and activated the waystone, while also causing an enormous stone altar on the side of the room to descend partly.
The waystone illuminated and began turning, just like all the others they'd seen, but this time with the same crimson glow that the gemstone cast. "Don't mind me," Balthier muttered, trying to seize the gemstone, "Just trying to get my money's worth. Fran, throw me an Ether." She acquiesced as Balthier gave up on the switchblade and instead used Magnet magick on the gemstone, finally ripping it from its inlay and shooting right into his hand.
Vossler could take no more and accosted him. Basch just hung his head as he watched his partner not learning from his mistakes.
"You filthy thief! Desecrating this most holy site," Vossler spat. "This is unconscionable. You jeopardize us all with your avarice."
"I? Jeopardize you?" Balthier sneered. "Fran and I have saved you countless times this week alone. Forgive us for trying to put food on our table."
"I shall make that the least of your concerns-" Vossler threatened menacingly, but he was interrupted by the smell of death and the distinctive groan of more undead arising from the stone ground.
Ashe yelped and scrambled away from a zombie mage that arose right before her. "Balthier! You idiot!" She shouted, throwing a water spell at the legs of her opponent, which scythed through its ankles and had it on its knees. Penelo leaped forward and smacked the zombie over the head, stunning it, then Cured it into oblivion. She offered a hand to Ashe, who took it, but didn't offer any thanks.
The party busied themselves with fending off the latest wave of undead foes. Basch easily danced from target to target, slicing through zombies, crushing the ribcages of skeletons, and exorcising the lich ghosts that floated above. Vaan jumped nimbly around too, using the movements and stances that Vossler had taught him earlier, parrying a skeleton's lance thrust and then slicing off its wrists as a counterattack. In the midst of protecting a terrified Ashe from three undead Humes in grotty robes, groaning maliciously, Vossler watched Vaan out of the corner of his eye, suitably impressed with his newfound precision and economy of movement. If he wasn't currently knee-deep in zombies, he would offer praise to the teen, no longer wet-behind-the-ears, finally using a weapon suitable for the job. His eyes strayed to Balthier and Fran, who were standing on the altar that partly descended, out of harm's way, firing shot and arrows idly at whatever they could pick off. Vossler fantasized about a skeleton slicing their heads off with a halberd.
At long last, all the undead were condemned to nothingness, though the smell of decay lingered, and that of the magicks that the party hastily summoned in offense. Ashe was hyperventilating, and Vossler was holding her close, while Penelo offered a High Potion and an Ether, which Ashe took and poured inelegantly into her mouth. Pale, and shaking slightly, Ashe said in a very high voice, "Balthier, Fran, you do that again and I will order Vossler to kill you."
Fran put one hand on her hip and glared at her. Balthier took a more blithe approach. "Temper, temper, Ashe. Remember our little agreement? It seems not."
"You vowed to allow our free movement," Fran declared. "You vowed not to interfere. If we claim riches on your journey, they are for us, alone." The Viera jumped to the ground and walked towards Ashe, fearless, imperious, unstoppable. "If you claim riches on your journey, you share half with us. If you renege on these terms, we will depart and leave you without means of fast transport across all Ivalice. Is that what you want?"
"Just imagine," Balthier added, smirking, descending from the altar with a little less elegance than Fran, but with twice the swagger. "You seize the Dawn Shard, and then it takes you three weeks to march to Archades on foot to wave a stone indignantly in their Emperor's face. Meanwhile, you haven't even made it through Mosphora with your band of merry men, boy, and girl," he waved his hands idly at the rest of them, "and as you climb the very many mountains on your way to Archadia's border, you see the bright amber glow of Vayne's ten-thousand men in one-thousand airships using nethicite to destroy Rozarria. The fastest Imperial airship takes but five hours to fly from Archades to Ambervale. The Strahl can make that journey in four. Dalmasca, devoid of its own airships, would need to rely on Bhujerba, whose airships are twice as slow as that of Archades, or you could try a chocobo." He stared right at Vossler and spoke one final, crushing demand. "So tell me, princess. Do you still object to our enterprise?"
"If that is what you call it," Basch said quietly.
A hush fell over them. After a moment, Vaan walked up to Ashe, and whispered, though still too loud to not be heard by Balthier and Fran, "Look, if you want to have any chance of taking Dalmasca back, you have to let this go."
"Don't interrupt!" She screeched and walked away in a huff, arms rigid by her side. "Azelas, Ronsenburg, let us use the blasted waystone." With that, the party grabbed the rotating disk with their right hands this time, since it was rotating clockwise, and Balthier counted down, voice diplomatically restrained.
They found themselves back near where he had stolen the map. Wordlessly, they followed Ashe through to the southern passageways, and arrived in the centre of that labyrinth, identical and symmetric to the first. Balthier used Magnet magick once more to steal the berylline jewel there, then, for what could have seemed like guilt if one was being charitable, worked twice as hard to help put down the wave of undead that arose from the ground. Ashe's revulsion of the undead did the party no favours.
The stone altar nearby, which was at precisely the same height as its match in the northern labyrinth, finally sank into the ground, flush. The waystone in this room, glowing with a sickly green light, rotated around not one full revolution, and of the four green lights around the central platform, only one lit, facing the passageway that was revealed behind the altar.
"I presume we are to take this new path?" Basch asked.
"Seems that way," Balthier replied, and moved on.
There were no more unwanted guests, thankfully, and this new hidden passage only had a few turns before the party walked through another doorway, to find themselves in yet another room, seemingly more underground than before. The fog that pervaded the entire tomb grew even thicker here, the golden shimmer refracting and reflecting incident light, painting images of the party on the air around them. Penelo observed these mirages with intent, but noticed, curiously, that Basch never featured in them.
"This fog, underground… what exactly is it?" She asked Fran.
"Not fog – Mist."
"This is Mist?" Penelo raised her hands to try to catch it like snow falling from the sky – an exceedingly rare occurrence for Rabanastre. The Mist billowed and flowed, resisting her attempts to hold it, claim it. "We can see it here with our eyes?"
Fran nodded, breathing it in, feeling renewed, replete. "Where it is thick enough, you may. The nether runs deep in this place."
"Is it dangerous, this much Mist?"
"Yes, but it is also an aid." Vaan had raced ahead and found a vial of golden liquid sitting in a wrought-iron stand, on a platform off to the side of their walkway. "A dense Mist allows the working of powerful magicks."
"I'll keep that in mind." Penelo watched Vaan showing off the vial to Ashe and Vossler; the older man seized it and held it close, examining it; he then nodded and passed it back, satisfied. "Can't count on Vaan to keep track of those things, that's for sure."
Balthier was standing on the other side of the chamber, forty paces away, holding yet another longsword, though this one was different: crimson-red in colour, with a cruel, curved blade, like tongues of flame. Returning to the party, he said with disgust in his voice, "A blood sword. Just holding it causes me discomfort. Here, Ronsenburg, take up this demon blade, it ill fits me." Basch chuckled at Balthier's melodrama, then passed it to Vaan to put in the pouch.
They turned a corner, and descended some steps. The inner space was lit by even more potent lanterns, and sitting at the end, in an ornate, steely throne, was a curious creature, still, unmoving, undetectable by Libra. Fran's ears perked as she looked on, and the party stopped of their own accord at the base of the steps. None dared approach. No Dawn Shard could be seen, and surely this was the end, was it not? Ashe whispered to Balthier to retrieve the map and check, but he shushed her, and reloaded his Sirius with the watery ammunition he fashioned earlier in the Sandsea.
"What say you about this beast? Another guardian?" Vossler muttered to Basch. He had no response except to walk over to Vaan and exchange his Gladius dagger for the blood sword Balthier just retrieved.
Ashe watched the beast intently for a moment. It was breathing, it seemed alive, but sleeping. Ten feet tall, it seemed both man and animal, with two heads, one at the top of its body and one in the centre of its chest. Looking more closely, she noticed it had two legs but four arms: the upper arms were in line with its top head, and were thickly muscled, terminating in two clawed hands large enough to tear a werewolf in two. Its upper right hand held an enormous mace fashioned with flame motifs, orange-and-gray in color. Its top head was completely helmed in bronze and had two rams' horns jutting out from the temples, curving out, adorned with a metal design not unlike clockwork. Its bottom head was similarly helmed in metal, though smaller, and its lower arms were shaped like a Hume's, but still thick with grayish muscle and sinew, and bearing rose-gold bracers. The beast was partially covered in a thick orange-red fur that encased its torso, and below its bottom head, it had fashioned a beard of seven knots, the outer two ensconced in metallic braces with octagonal garnet gemstones hanging underneath. The beast's two legs wore bronzed braces over its knees, circular in shape, with zodiacal runes adorning them. Its feet were not feet, but hooves. More fur jutted out from its rear, like a tail, a billowing flame.
Without warning, the beast rose from its rest and approached the party, its steps weighty with purpose, like a creeping wildfire breaking through a household. A wall of flame emerged from behind them, locking them into impending battle. All at once, Basch and Ashe both regretted wearing full plate armour, as the temperature of this space, their arena, skyrocketed, drawing forth beads of sweat from their skin. Basch shucked his helm and threw it to the side, Ashe following suit. They all drew their weapons and waited for the beast to make its move, but not before Penelo renewed the Shell magick upon all of them. Libra was no help to Basch or Fran, providing no useful information other than this creature was vulnerable to water magick.
"Is this the treasure Raithwall meant for his progeny?" Fran asked, as her shell talisman flared into life.
"I don't think so," Ashe replied, willing her voice to stay steady, "but I wonder whether this beast is the final protector of the Dawn Shard."
Vossler gritted his teeth and licked his lips of the perspiration that cascaded down his face, settling in his beard. "Let us find out," he spoke, and charged.
Next is Chapter 24: Out of Your Depth, You Still Boast?