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 faces Belias through to their return to the Westersand.
Rating: PG-13 (more detailed violence, blood, gore; adult themes; Basch/Vossler shipping)
Chapter 24: Out of Your Depth, You Still Boast?
The four-armed furred behemoth standing before them radiated heat enough to immolate a battalion of soldiers, to rend a squadron of magi into ash. Looming, its four arms open in challenge, it exhaled a rattling sigh that settled over the party like a humid Leo afternoon, clinging to their skin, denying them the comfort of sweat.
It descended the few steps that led to yet another ornate doorway and stood right before them in the centre of the space. To its left and right were two thick columns of stone, with square bases rising into a triangular motif. In the corners of the space were two lanthorns burning brightly, shaped as grand obsidian vases, their flames once again lacking the scent of actual combustion, and as large as an urstrix's wing. On the left and right sides of the room were an alcove flanked by two cylindrical pillars, the same as those forming the colonnade where they defeated the garuda outside. There was a knee-height ledge bounding the left and right sides of the room.
Ashe's wooden staff, given to her by Penelo all those days ago, felt as flimsy and battle-suited as a twig. Its brass ornament, shaped like a flame, would likely be an encumbrance rather than an aid, since it was meant to enhance flame magicks – the last thing that would help them now.
The beast was now only steps away from the party. Vossler and Basch were standing at the front, weapons raised, Basch's stance more defensive than before, his body partially hidden behind the shield, and Vossler in plow stance, his greatsword held at an angle across his body with the tip pointed down. Despite decades of training and service, this was something they were not prepared to confront, and it was evident in the grimaces on their face, sweat-stained.
Blessedly, it had not made its first move, but they could only guess what powers it possessed. If it had power to heat the entire space, if it could swing a bronze mace larger than Penelo's entire body with ease, if the glittering magicite adorning its body were charged with might, would it raze the party into ash? Would it crush the heavy stone floor underneath them and sentence them straight to hell for their avarice?
Was it worth it?
The liquid crack of Balthier's rifle punctuated Ashe's panic. The ammo, water-infused, slung through the air at rapid speed, creating a sharp line of water mist through the air that evaporated into an elegant nothingness. It struck the beast's shoulder and awakened Ashe out of her reverie.
"Well, princess? Just going to stand there?" Balthier said, reloading.
Ashe grit her teeth and spun her staff around, ready to cast water magick. Before she could bring the spell to life, the beast had made its first move: it jabbed its mace right into Vossler's gut, knocking him back ten yards and slamming him against the wall. There wasn't even time to call out his name, for the beast had summoned a ball of flame with its lower left hand and batted it right into Basch's face. His innate resistance to magick seemed to attenuate the strength of the attack, but it still left ashes and redness upon his face.
"Penelo! You must assist!" Ashe cried, her voice cracking, finally loosing the water spell. It emerged as a rapid jet of water that slapped against the beast's upper head with all the potency of a glass of lemonade spilled onto the ground.
Penelo, ever ready, waved her quarterstaff and loosed a wave of white Cura magick that targeted Vossler and Basch, raising the brunet from the ground and removing the burn from Basch's face. Fran ran forward, cast Shell on the both of them, all pretence of recalcitrance gone, then rolled behind the beast and fired a bow right into the centre of its back. It recoiled slightly, more so when Fran cast her own water spell right where her arrow had made purchase into the beast's flesh.
"We can do this!" She cried. "It is an esper, a fallen angel, scion of the gods!"
"A what now?" Vaan said to himself, watching on hopelessly, yet to join the fray. Seeing Vossler and Basch get knocked back once more without having made a successful attack, and then Fran nimbly scampering around to avoid the esper's hasty spinning punch, he gripped Basch's mythril blade tighter and ran forward with a yell.
Blessed with some speed honed in the streets of Rabanastre, Vaan leapt at the beast and executed a vertical slash. It got caught in its fur, but did rip some of it off, leaving orange fur cascading to the ground, and angering it somewhat. Vaan's eyes went wide, and as the beast clapped its lower hands and summoned a geyser of flame from beneath Vaan's feet, he leapt to his right in a barrel roll with the clean execution that would have made Vossler proud.
"It's gonna light our asses on fire!" Vaan shouted, scrambling to his feet. "What do we do?"
"Fight back!" Balthier replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Stay close to it, it is not quick!" He fired again, striking the beast right in its belly. As it shot a burst of flame right at him, Balthier stepped to his left and fired once more. "Fran! How goes it?"
"Not well!" She called, helping Basch to his feet and quickly Curing him. "If we do not stay grounded, the esper will immolate us where we stand. Up, Azelas," she called, then dove to avoid another punch.
Ashe cast her water magick again and focused harder, this time successfully creating a thinner lance of water that carved a gash in the esper's lower head. Spinning on her foot, she cast it again, drawing the remains of water vapour in the air with difficulty, and sending it right at the beast, accidentally hitting it in the right shoulder and stopping it from smacking Basch in the face with its mace.
"You have my thanks!" Basch called. Emboldened by the Protect spells that Penelo was weaving over the party, for what seemed like the thousandth time, Basch engaged the esper with greater confidence. To his relief, Vossler was at his side. They struck again and again at the esper's body, sometimes being blocked by its enormous left claw, sometimes having to duck as it swung its mace at them. Vossler's limited defensive ability with his greatsword proved to be disadvantageous, so he retreated to stand next to Ashe, swinging upwards from fool stance only when there was ample time and room, aiming at its thighs. Basch blocked the esper's retaliatory knee strike with his sword and shield, but still skidded along the ground, his plate armour scraping along the stone.
Balthier was still in the best position to deal effective damage. Every single time, he found his mark, right in the beast's gut. With his rifle, and the rain of tears that shot out of its muzzle, he had created a bleeding hole in its body. Vaan stayed in close quarters, making Penelo very nervous, but stayed on his toes and was dancing around the esper's unwieldy swings. There was a chance – Basch was drawing its fire, Fran and Ashe were successfully slamming water magick at it, Penelo had kept Protect and Shell up on him, Vossler was watching – Vaan could jump in front of it, and stick the point of the mythril blade right into the wound.
He was sweaty, dehydrated, breathing in superheated air, desperate to get home. So Vaan sidestepped, held onto the hilt of his sword with two hands, and gave a great grunt of exertion as he stabbed into its belly.
It didn't work. With its gargantuan upper left claw, it smacked Vaan away, the sword clattering to the ground, and ejected a flare of crimson flame at Vaan's body.
Penelo's scream was deafened by the sonic boom of the flare striking Vaan's torso with deadly accuracy. It burned Vaan's ringmail into tatters, as well as the thin cotton shirt underneath, and only the passive protection provided by her Shell spell had prevented Vaan from being charred into ashes. His shriek of pain hurt her ears. She sprinted over and pressed her hands right into the injury, whispering the incantations to Cura, over and over again, the rest of the world blocked out, the sudden realisation of their fool plight in front of her.
She didn't imagine for a moment that she or Vaan would end up in mortal danger as they helped Ashe. She assumed, foolishly, that Basch and Vossler would do all the fighting, effortlessly and cleanly, and Vaan would occasionally get hit by a werewolf or poisoned by an alraune in his attempts to help, and her magick would come to the rescue, and they'd end up back home, in an independent Dalmasca, and could put her oversized twigs away.
Her fantasies of Dalmascan sovereignty never featured Vaan getting supernaturally immolated by a twelve-foot, four-armed fire monster.
The pale flesh of Vaan's belly was an awful mottled crimson, and as the white-green glow of her magick activated, nothing seemed to happen. There was some roar of battle going on behind her; flashes of heat singed her ears and increased the sweating at her hairline, under her armpits, at the nape of her neck, but it seemed a world away, because her best friend was dying of burns.
She emptied her pockets of things and grabbed the first potion she could find. It was a High Potion. That'll work. It better work. She tugged off the cork stopper with her teeth, spitting it out, then pouring it directly on the burns. Nothing happened for a moment.
"Penelo! Penelo! Leave him, render us aid!" Ashe cried desperately, her face hot and red with effort. The beast was slowing, but still standing, grabbing its mace with two enormous claws and swinging it right down. Basch narrowly blocked it with his shield, two-handed, but was still slammed to the ground, his head knocking against the stone from within his helm. Even Balthier was scandalised, no longer walking idly and firing from afar, but right in the thick of it, crouching, dodging, rolling, trying to shoot at its body without being set alight.
Penelo shook her head at her. "No! He needs me!" She turned around again and breathed more healing magick into Vaan.
Ashe didn't even have time to mollify her, instead stepping over the puddles of scorched stone, trying to find a safe place in this chamber from which she could summon more water magick, to quench the beast's rage.
Vossler tipped the amber-gray flecks of a Phoenix Down into Basch's mouth and slapped his face lightly, stirring him back into consciousness, just long enough for them to both sidestep another flare of flame that burst from the ground. In the delay after casting its magick, Vossler successfully swung his greatsword at its lower left arm, leaving a solid gash in it. Limply, the arm hung from its body, but its twin on the right held a ball of flame the size of a cockatrice and lobbed it right at Vossler's body. Basch stepped in front of it, heroically, and thrust his chest out so his body could bear the brunt.
"Basch!" Vossler shouted, looking on for just a moment. Basch coughed, but seemed unhurt, the fire having scorched the armour a deep gray but left him alone.
"Just like old times," Basch quipped, rapping his sword and shield together once. "Get behind me and only strike to counter." Vossler nodded and stood behind Basch closely, watching.
"Fran!" Basch called to her. Fran was still at the rear, having not once suffered physical or magickal assault. "On my command, cast water, but ware its counterattack!"
"Aye!" She called in a clipped tone. Quickly, she swung her arm in the movement to cast more water magick, which smacked the esper on its back. It wheeled around in a predictable blow, which she dodged. Balthier's shot to the beast's left leg had it kneeling on the ground, wide open for Basch to hit it, which he did, the tip of the Demonsbane sword slicing through its leg.
Its roar of pain shook the walls and floor and even woke Vaan, who stirred with a dry voice. Penelo hugged him tightly, then dragged him away. Ashe had not been able to find a place of safety, dodging around the room, and instead went back to the two youngest fighters.
"I glimpsed the doors that the beast was guarding," Ashe said quickly, "and I think the optimal strategy is to go through them, seize the Dawn Shard, and use it to quell the monster."
"How-" Penelo asked.
"Don't interrupt." Ashe held up a hand, but didn't raise her voice. "This is something I have to do. Can you help?"
Penelo wasn't convinced, and Vaan wasn't quite able to understand what was happening just yet, but she nodded. "Alright. We better be quick, I don't think they can survive much longer."
At that moment, the beast was right in the centre of the room. Basch's strategy was working: keep the beast reacting to Basch and Vossler's conservative strikes, Balthier's bursts of water shot, and lances of Fran's water magick, and counterattack carefully and consistently. Their target retaliated, but without focus or accuracy, its mace swinging and finding only thin, steaming air, its magicked strikes being easily absorbed by Basch or mitigated by the dregs of Penelo's Shell magick, and its arms and legs bearing more and more little injuries that only grew more numerous.
Whirling around constantly, finding no success in protecting its master's bounty, the beast wailed with inhuman despair. It knelt to the ground, breathing heavily, sparing the party just enough time so that Vaan, Penelo, and Ashe could creep closer to the doors.
When Ashe's hand touched the handle, though, the beast's roar reached ear-splitting volume, and it suddenly rose to full strength, as if the battle had never taken place. Before any of them could react, it rose into the air, high above them, thirty yards above them, and waved its mace around, summoning breathtaking amounts of Mist that whirled around it like a golden tornado.
The party collectively gasped. The last of Penelo's protective magick faded away. Absent other means of responding to what was about to happen – none of them could know, but the horrified beating of their hearts within their chests could give them wherewithal to draw a reasonable conclusion – they all ducked for cover.
The esper clasped its human hands together, dripping with rust-coloured blood, and a mandala emerged from the sky, identical to that surrounding the way stone that allowed them entry to the tomb. The mandala transformed the aureate tempest of shimmering Mist into a barrage of crimson flame from the ceiling, which the esper released, swinging its four arms wide, its remaining fur dancing in the convection currents. The cone of flames bore down on the space, screaming in its intensity, superheating the air enough to generate the telltale crackle of ozone upon their noses, casting awful shadows that danced upon the walls, melting the iron of their armour just enough for it to buckle upon their bodies.
The flood of fire lasted too long for any of them to bear. Ashe could not stop herself from screaming. She and Vaan had sought cover behind the lanthorn to the right of the stairway, whose flame ejected in a perfect cylindrical shape, spiralling with sickening speed; Penelo, behind the one on the left. Balthier and Fran dove behind a pillar near the alcove, and so did Vossler, on the other side, his back to the pillar, chest heaving.
Basch only made it to the alcove on the right. Though the barrage did not strike him full-force, there was still enough to leave him smouldering, unmoving, his plate armour charred and partially melted in a way that presupposed complete immolation of his body.
The flames stopped and vanished. The esper fell to the ground, the force of its fall leaving cracks in the ornate stone floor. It fell directly into a kneeling stance, and it dropped its mace.
None moved for a short while. None dared emerge from their hiding place. Ashe's terrified face looked directly at Vaan's, equally mortified. They each willed not to breathe too loudly. A great deal of time passed. The beast didn't move, and the wall of flame that had locked them in still roared with ferocity. Ashe was completely out of Mist and she didn't dare whisper to Vaan for an Ether, even though her lips were right against his ear. This was untenable. This was unwinnable. They were pinned here, forever, until one of them dared make a move.
There was a squelch of water magick, then a hollow, metallic sound and accompanying fleshy noise, as Fran's desperate, final water spell soared around the pillar, ripped through the beast's top head, sliced its helmet open, and scythed some flesh out, which plopped to the floor, vile and stinking.
At last, the beast keeled over, defeated. Vossler ran to Basch and spent all of his Mist repairing Basch's armour. Mercifully, Basch only suffered the slightest of burns, the pale flesh of his thighs and back tinted a fleshy pink. Ashe looked on in complete disbelief.
"He really is nethicite given human form," Balthier fixed his cuffs and walked over. "Should you find a way to weaponise Ronsenburg, you ought not need the Dawn Shard."
"Well," Vaan handed Penelo an Ether, "It's in the next room, Ashe said, so let's just get it and get the hell out of here."
Balthier rolled his eyes. Way to miss the point, he thought, as Ashe tried to open the doors, but to no avail. She shook the handle desperately, to no avail. At that moment, from the ceiling, from where the apocalyptic flames burst forth, gently descended an amber gemstone, rectangular in shape. It floated in the middle of the room and glowed once with a pleasing light. They all turned to it, and observed it closely.
From inside the stone was a miniature maquette of the beast they just felled. In a deep voice that emerged from beneath them, echoing from deepest inferno, it spoke:
"I am Belias, the Gigas.
Scorching earth and guarding vault
of Dynast-King's god-given prize,
Let progeny of kings exalt
When heathen lands meet their demise.
The Mist and flesh I wield them both,
Flames I bear in their array,
Yours are they, I swear this oath.
Claim me, victor of the fray."
The sound slowly diminished as it echoed off the walls surrounding them, escaping out to the far reaches of the tomb. The gemstone whirled around gently, just above head height. It did not shift from its position. They all stood around it while the wall of flames locking them in continued to burn.
"Ashe," Vaan said quietly, mesmerised, thoughtful, "I think you should touch it. It's not the Dawn Shard but it's definitely something."
"I concur." Vossler folded his arms, eyes flickering to Basch, watching for signs of him foundering, as if the great beast's magick could have a delayed effect. There was none. There's the Basch I remember. There's the Basch I need.
Ashe almost smiled. Looking around, the other six seemed to find peace in Vaan's suggestion. Balthier's hands were on his hips. Penelo held her hands behind her back. Fran's lips twitched upwards.
"If you are all with me, then I shall do what it says. I shall claim it." She reached forth her right hand, and as the mere tip of her index finger touched the gemstone, a black glyph formed of fine ash dust burst forth from the gemstone, shattering it, and the shards shot directly through Ashe's body – she gasped, wide-eyed – but they left no mark, and the glyph settled upon her right forearm, glowing and hissing with resolve. Ashe clutched the burn mark with her other hand, and prepared to Cure herself, but just as quickly as the amber shards sprayed through her like shotgun pellets, the pain disappeared, and the glyph faded to a pure white, stark even against her pale skin.
I shall be, forever, my master's servant, the same bestial voice rang throughout her head. She clasped her temples tightly, willing the voice to disappear. Beckon me by holding fast my glyph. Ashe willed to never use it, dreading the agony that might result.
Exhaling roughly, she ordered, looking at Vossler's alarmed expression, "Move out."
Through the next doors, the temperature fell to a pleasant chill, blissful relief upon their overheated flesh. They were in yet another passageway, but there was no threat here, just a dim, bluish glow from the distance below them. As they descended a long flight of stairs, Fran intoned:
"In vainglory they arose, shouting challenges at the gods, but prevail they did not. Their doom it was to walk the mist until time's end. A legend of the Nu Mou."
"So that's what that thing was?" Penelo asked.
Fran nodded. "Indeed. An esper. Legend foretells there were twelve."
"My family tells a story of the Dynast-King and an esper…" Ashe recalled, glancing at her white glyph mark, just for a fleeting moment, picturing Belias bursting forth from her arm, ripping the sinew and skin to shreds. "The story goes that in his youth, the Dynast-King defeated a mighty gigas, for which the gods took heed of him. Thereafter, it was bound to him in thralldom."
"Bound?" Basch asked. Ashe shrugged.
"So all this time, it's been here guarding the Dynast-King's treasure?" Balthier sniffed, displeased.
"Not so. The esper is the Dynast-King's treasure."
"That's your treasure?" Balthier retorted to Ashe.
"If we can command this esper, it holds a power whose worth is beyond measure." If, Ashe thought.
"Power enough to reclaim Dalmasca," Basch suggested, looking to Vossler, who glanced around nervously, looking at and listening for something, Basch knew not.
"Call me old-fashioned," Balthier simpered, "but I was hoping for a treasure whose worth we could measure."
Vaan enquired, "Those giant gemstones not enough for you?" Balthier waved his hands vaguely at Vaan.
The descent turned into an ascent, and the party emerged, facing an altar. In front of the altar was a spindly, steely stand, formed of thin arcs of metal. At the top of the stand stood four tines of steel, gently curving, and floating gently in the middle was a glowing red-brown sphere, gently summoning to it wisps of orange Mist, which were absorbed within.
The Dawn Shard seemed entirely too small, in Ashe's mind, but its seduction, its desire to be cradled by her, was the prize she desired after this long, arduous, traumatic journey. With the six others standing behind her, she stood a few paces away from the Dawn Shard, beholding it, memorialising its form in her mind.
Vossler was awestruck into immobility. His eyes were wide open and his lips were parted in an expression of shock. To his left, Basch asked, suspicious, "What's wrong?" Vossler exhaled, blinked slowly, then made the smallest of movements towards Ashe.
"Your Highness, we must go."
She didn't turn to acknowledge him, but nodded gently and walked towards the Dawn Shard alone, the rest of them watching. Fran wrinkled her nose, smelling something in the air. Something that shouldn't be possible.
Glossair rings, here? She was torn between turning to exit the chamber and investigate, and watching history unfold.
As Ashe got closer to the Dawn Shard, it glowed with increasing intensity, a brilliant white that made her wince. Then, something emerged from it-
"What?" Ashe whispered, dumbfounded, seeing a transparent projection of her beloved, late husband, standing before her.
Rasler Heios Nabradia, as she lived and breathed, and cursed each day that he did not, was here, a ghost. He was wearing the full dress armour he wore on the day of their wedding, as handsome and gentle as the day she met him. He looked on kindly, faintly smiling. He did not make noise or speak.
Ashe held her hands to her chest and fiddled with her wedding ring. Torn between running into his arms, which she doubted were corporeal, and fleeing from him, she stood, leadfooted.
"Rasler…" she said, in mourning. The rest of the party, Fran included, stood behind, listening. All but one didn't understand why she had stopped. One wondered why she intoned her late husband's name instead of his brother's, slain by a Judge. Penelo looked to Vaan, who was looking at the Dawn Shard intensely, watching the ghost of his brother, Reks, stand before Ashe. He stepped forward to get closer, but upon realising that it was indeed Ashe's husband, felt his stomach twist into knots.
Rasler's apparition nodded to Ashe and began descending the stairs from the altar, towards the party. Ashe grabbed at his elbow but found only air, not flesh clothed in fine linen, as she did two years ago outside the palace in front of the Kiltias conducting their nuptials in front of a crowd of thousands. The memories of that day – of the day also when she kissed his lifeless cheek, lying in the pristine pearl-adorned coffin – flooded her, descended upon her like a veil.
Clasping her hands together and watching Rasler walk right into Vaan's body, she prayed, "You will be avenged." Vaan watched helplessly as a ghost charged into him, holding his breath, but nothing happened, and he released it.
Penelo whispered, "What are you doing?", but he did and said nothing, still watching Ashe chasing ghosts.
The Dawn Shard materialised in Ashe's hands and stopped glowing, but the small blue lapis lazuli on her wedding ring took up the glow instead. From above them, a subtle rumbling emerged. Fran's fingers twitched with caution.
Mission accomplished, they bolted back to the entrance of the Tomb. The Dawn Shard was truly deifacted nethicite: Ashe could not cast any magicks while holding it, but refused to let anyone else hold it, not even to place it in the magicked pouch that had shrunk the rest of their belongings for convenience. She clasped it with two hands, and so could not participate in the few little skirmishes between the esper's chamber and the first waystone.
With some apprehension, not knowing whether the Dawn Shard would interfere with the operation of the waystone, they activated it, and were mercifully deposited right outside. The teleport crystal faded to a dull brown as the Dawn Shard sucked away at its magick, and the few teleport stones they brought, which weren't enough to get them all home anyway, completely failed, turning gray upon each attempt.
"How about that airship," Vaan quipped. Balthier shushed him, listening to the rumbling from the distance.
"That can't be-" he murmured to Fran.
"I did not think it possible, but I smelled it on the breeze," she replied. "The jagd is obstacle no more."
"His doing, no doubt," he said only low enough for her to hear.
Ashe stepped forward, her stomach sinking. "What's going on? What are you whispering about-?" Then she looked to the sky, as did the rest of them, and watched as a hundred Archadian airships flew overhead.
"This should not be possible!" Basch growled. "Glossair engines have never been able to fly through jagd!" He turned to Vossler, and was dismayed to see Vossler walking steadily towards their would-be captors. "Vossler? Why are you-?"
It couldn't be. The one he trusted the most was conversing casually with an Archadian Judge, who had just exited a small personnel carrier airship, and was now pointing directly at Ashe, holding the Dawn Shard in her hands, like a young child holding the last trinket she could seize from her house before an occupying army razed it to the ground.
Judge Ghis was exceedingly pleased with himself, Balthier noticed, not wearing his Judge Magister's helm, as was expected in his role. Judge Magisters were figureheads. The human inside the armour was of no consequence. Full armour, helms included, was expected of all Judge Magisters at all times in public.
They had been all arrested and spent one night in Archadian custody, sleeping a restless sleep. Now, standing once again inside the Dreadnought Leviathan airship, which they escaped not that long ago, they were being questioned by Judge Ghis, and surrounded by a retinue of fully-armed and fully-armoured Imperial soldiers.
"Such a tremendous honour to be again graced with your presence, Your Majesty," Ghis addressed them, tongue coated in slippery poison, smirking grandiosely, eyes flickering to the Dawn Shard in her hands with avarice. You left us with such great dispatch upon our last encounter that I must confess…" he stepped towards them, "…I had begun to worry that we may have given some cause for offence."
"Such a heartfelt display of remorse," Ashe retorted, furious, though careful to keep her tone low and even. Breathing evenly, willing herself to not charge at him with all the magick she could muster – which thanks to the Dawn Shard, was none, though could Belias be beckoned here? – she said, "Now what is it you want?"
Ghis sauntered forwards confidently, assured of his victory. "I want you to give me the nethicite."
Penelo's mind immediately flicked to the blue trinket Larsa had given her, and which she secreted away at the base of the magicked pouch. "W-which nethicite? The one Larsa gave me?" And she dug around in the pouch, retrieving it, holding it out to Ghis, but not coming any closer.
He sneered. "That is a base imitation!" He turned to Ashe once more. "We seek Raithwall's legacy. The nethicite you hold in your hands. That is the Dawn Shard, is it not?"
Ashe exhaled steadily, gripping the stone tighter. Vossler stood to her right, and grasped her shoulder. In place of her non-answer, he spoke to Ghis, "Aye, it is."
Basch's face turned bright red with fury. The ground felt like it was crumbling under him, and his fingers twitched for a weapon.
"Are you mad, Vossler?" He blurted. The raw betrayal he was now witnessing – blood pooled in his stomach, his legs started tingling, he could not bear to see his partner sell them off to the highest bidder, a bidder whose wealth was born of conquest.
Eyes not quite able to meet Basch's, nor Ashe's, Vossler said to the floor somewhere near Basch's feet, "If we are to save Dalmasca, we must accept the truth."
Ironically encouraged by his defeatist words, he looked Basch in his crystal-blue eyes, tired, only seeing the many Resistance fighters exsanguinated into the Garamsythe drains, the smoke and ruin that emerged from the skirmishes at Nalbina, the filthy bath water that Basch's two-years'-imprisoned body left behind in Balzac's tub. The truth: Dalmasca could not arise, not for all the Mist in Ivalice. Raminas, forgive me.
Rasler, forgive me. Raul, forgive me. Raul, perdoname.
Entrapped by Ghis and all his men and all the Empire's wrath, he husked, "I will fight this profitless battle no more."
Basch, forgive me.
Basch grit his teeth and tore his gaze away from Vossler, now looking at the gleeful Judge Magister.
"Captain Azelas has struck a wise bargain," he preened, inching towards them. "In return for the Dawn Shard," and Ashe's hands tightened onto the stone so much they hurt, "the Empire will permit Lady Ashe to reclaim her throne, and the Kingdom of Dalmasca will be restored."
Vaan and Penelo gasped just a little. Fran rolled her eyes at the offer.
"Think on it." Ghis was now right in front of Ashe, looking only at the Dawn Shard in her white-knuckled grip. It would be too easy by far to knock it out of her delicate hands, not the hands of a warrior, of a sword-arm, but one far removed from the reality of war. It would be a great relief to free her from the burden of rule. Raminas' youngest, the only girl, a young maiden, was not fit for the throne. This was an act of mercy, Ghis concluded.
"An entire kingdom for a stone. You must admit, 'tis more than a fair exchange."
Scowling, Balthier spat, "And when all is said and done, your master will have another pet." Balthier's finger jabbed right in Ghis' helmeted face.
There was a subtle clink in the armour of all of Ghis' retinue, but a subtle movement with his left hand led them all to still their retaliation. Ghis breathed once within his golden armour and totally avoided the pirate's insult.
"Lady Ashe," Ghis said eventually, "Let us take him for the people of Dalmasca." His voice was low and measured as he drew his blade, an unsubtle hunk of golden steel, from its scabbard on his left hip. "Your Majesty wallows in indecision on peril of their heads." The blade swung brutally through the air and stopped half an inch away from Balthier's pulsing jugular.
Without pause, Balthier glared further at Ghis, who finally met his gaze, recognising his eyes in someone else.
"Well, at least your sword is to the point." The pirate shot, unflinching.
Ashe finally relented, and strode forward to hand the nethicite to Ghis, who removed his weapon from the vicinity of Balthier's neck, and sheathed it. Grasping the stone with reverence, feeling an unexpectedly strong tug of Mist out of him, Ghis said, "To think the relics of the Dynast-King were deifacted nethicite. Doctor Cid will be beside himself…" He turned and made to walk off.
"What did you say?" Balthier growled, but Ghis was already ten paces away.
"Captain Azelas, take them to Shiva!" Ghis ordered, and a squad of Imperial soldiers closed in on them all, holding their arms tight, except for Vossler, who stood off to the side, watching as his princess, his man, two pirates, and two children too young for this were bound in chains. As Ghis disappeared from view through a door on the other side of the observation deck, he called, "They should have leave to return to Rabanastre soon."
As the doors closed on Ghis within the passageways of the Dreadnought Leviathan, he clicked his fingers at a nearby attendant, dressed not as a soldier, but in the blue uniform of a Draklor Laboratories technician, contracted to operate, maintain, and repair all of the Empire's nethicite-equipped airships. A young man this technician was, and he scampered over to the golden-clad Judge Magister.
"I want you to assess its power," Ghis said, passing over the Dawn Shard with all the care of a cricket ball tossed about cavalierly by Archadian children in the manicured fields of Archades' moneyed districts.
"Did our orders not specify that we return the Stone for testing?" The technician asked mildly.
"I will not chance returning with a Stone yet unproven. Go."
They were escorted by entirely too many Imperials to be sensible, off the Leviathan and onto a medium-sized ship, the Shiva. It was just as gray and sterile as the Leviathan but less outrageous in scale.
Out of chains but now in heavy iron shackles that bound their hands together in front of them, Ashe, Vaan, Penelo, Balthier, Fran, and Basch trudged along the passageways. Vossler stuck to Ashe's side, not looking at her, immense guilt sticking to him like molasses. If only they knew the source, he thought bitterly.
There was only the sound of the clicking Imperial armour and their footsteps along the floor. At the rear of the group, Vossler found the strength to give voice.
"When we return to Dalmasca," he started, watching for Ashe to reply, hoping for her understanding, and receiving nothing, "we can announce that you are alive and well. I will then continue our negotiations with the Empire."
Basch, walking just ahead of them, glanced slightly over his shoulder, fists balled up. Vossler watched with distaste.
"I believe Larsa is the key. He'll listen to us. We should trust him."
Ashe stopped suddenly and glared at him. Never before had she looked at him with utter disgust. Not in the two years of his sworn protection, of shared meals, sparring, espionage, fighting, and midnight confiding, of grief over Rasler, grief over Basch, grief over Raminas, did he feel so disconnected, so torn away from her.
"Who are you, Vossler, to talk of trust?"
His breath hitched in his throat. She shook her head and resumed walking, inching closer to Basch. He hung his head.
"A son of Dalmasca."
Illegitimate, Raul's voice sounded inside. No kingdom could bear this dishonour. A foreigner is a better son than you have been.
Bastard, Basch's voice added on, not with the cocky glee of Vossler pinning him down in their bed, wrestling for dominance, enrobed in the scratchy sheets they could barely afford, making something of each other, with each other.
No, this was the voice of Basch, brows furrowed with contempt. Vossler York Azelas, you bastard.
They were close to the brig onboard the Shiva when Fran began to breathe heavily. Vaan was the first to notice, Balthier thoughts otherwise occupied.
"Fran?" He asked tentatively, raising his shackled hands uselessly. He couldn't reach into his pockets to grab the pouch to offer her an Ether or anything.
Bent over, in extreme discomfort, she whimpered, "Such heat… the Mist, it's burning…" Balthier shuffled over, and so did Penelo, and the party came to a stop in an open area, windows to the blue sky outside visible in every direction. Fran slumped to her hands and knees, body heaving, like she was about to vomit.
The soldiers were alarmed, and three or four valorous ones approached, drawing their stubby little shortswords, intending to put her down. One shoved Vaan and Penelo aside and barked at Fran, "You, stand!"
His reward was a burst of energy released from Fran's unwilling body, which sent him arse over teakettle. Twenty paces away, gut churning with uncertainty, Vossler cried, "Hold her down!"
Fran roared in a berserker rage, the Mist in the air charged with malice, more dangerous than even that surrounding Belias. Granted sudden tremendous strength, she snapped her restraints clean in half, then slammed them on the ground, and they buckled, falling to bits. She then jumped through the air, kicking the nearest soldier right under the chin and smacking his helm clean off, then jumped over to the next and punched her across the floor, snarling and drooling. Balthier seemed amused.
"What's wrong with her?" Penelo asked him.
Fiddling with his own restraints, using a lock-pick that he had stuffed in his cuffs, he quipped, "I always knew Fran didn't take well to being tied up." His restraints popped, and he shook them off, before turning to Penelo to work on hers. Fran's rage carried on, and Imperial soldiers fell to the ground all around them, excepting the three standing right near Vossler. "I just never knew how much." Penelo's restraints popped, and Balthier moved to Ashe, who thrust her bound arms at him expectantly. "How about you?"
"I like Fran's idea," Ashe said quietly. "Let's get out of here!"
Penelo grabbed the magick pouch out of Vaan's trouser pocket and retrieved her cypress pole. She assumed a defensive stance and watched as Fran rocketed from place to place across the floor, using raw strength to defeat every hapless Imperial soldier that dared try to restain her. Vossler watched from afar, sword strapped to his back. Fran finally relented, face painted with sweat, muscles shaking with bloodflow.
Balthier used this time to unshackle Ashe, who grabbed her staff, then Vaan, who ran back the way they all came, but was blocked by a greatsword, which he narrowly dodged.
"No farther!" Vossler roared, holding his sword to Vaan's neck, who held his hands up and retreated back to the rest of the party. Balthier was struggling with Basch's restraints, which seemed tighter and more rusted than the rest.
With self-righteous anguish, Vossler hiked his greatsword to ox stance, teeth clenched, watching for Fran's strike. Unrehearsed, uncommanded, but not unwanted, the three remaining Imperial soldiers fell into line behind him.
"Sky pirates!" Vossler let all his resentment bubble to the surface. Their theft of priceless relics at the tomb. Their impudence. Their disrespect for the sovereignty of the throne. Their insouciance in the heat of battle. Their erosion of peace by the winds of criminality. They must be put down. "The future of Dalmasca will not be stolen!"
Balthier continued fussing over Basch's restraints. Basch scowled at Vossler.
Looming, Vossler addressed his man directly, in a steady voice.
"Why do this, Basch? This struggle is futile." Basch's hands clenched and unclenched. Ashe's staff hung limply in her hands. Vaan and Penelo just stood at the back, unarmed, helpless. Like children. "You must know where it ends."
"I do know," Basch whispered.
The restraints clicked. Basch walked calmly over to Vaan, who handed him the Demonsbane.
With a rapidly rising roar, Basch screamed, "All too well!"
The two knights charged, greatsword of despair clanging against longsword of salvation. Sparks flew between the blades, and they struggled for purchase. In the meantime, Ashe flung furious sparks of magick at one of the soldiers, while Balthier poured a High Potion on Fran, and she rose up with another scream, assaulting one of Vossler's new lackeys with a vicious headbutt to the gut. Balthier ran over and shot him directly in the face, putting him down.
"What do we do?" Penelo asked Vaan quietly. "It's like having two uncles fight. Except one of them is ready to burn down the house to collect the insurance money."
"We help Basch, duh." Vaan rummaged around in the pouch for Basch's blade. "Just play defence, and look after Fran, too," he added, watching Fran dispense with the third soldier by throwing him against a nearby wall, and turn her rabid gaze towards Vossler.
Vossler was swinging his sword rapidly at Basch, who could only defend. The brunet was not adding any magicks to his strikes, thinking Basch would repel them easily, and instead was using his superior height and strength, and the weight of his weapon, to pin the smaller man down. Vossler had never thought of Basch as the smaller man, but the two years of imprisonment, and all the scars, and all the maltreatment, had left him not quite the man he once loved. His strategy was working: Vossler had knocked Basch's shield out of his hand, and though every Dalmascan swordsman worth his salt could use magick to call a puff of air to send the shield back to them, or a technick to levitate the shield back into their hands, he knew Basch lacked the facility for either. Instead, only his thin, runed Demonsbane sword, barely a quarter as thick and half as long as Vossler's Nightmare, stood in the way. Basch was holding his Demonsbane perpendicular to Nightmare, with two hands, while Vossler was holding Nightmare's hilt with two white-knuckled hands, pressing down, down, down, forcing Basch to his knees.
"Why?" Basch grunted, unable to counter.
"For Dalmasca," Vossler mumbled between sharp intakes of breath, pressing down more intently. "Our home. Don't resist-" he yelped in pain as Ashe shot a blast of flame directly at him, scorching his side.
"You traitor!" She shrieked, waving her staff overhead furiously, readying another wave of magick. Fran sprinted forwards and leaped, reading a knee strike to Vossler's singed flank, but he rolled away and cast a sickly green magick that emerged as glowing tentacles around their ankles.
The magick set in and Fran's left foot, barely above the ground in the genesis of her leap, was ensnared. She fell bluntly to the ground with a grunt. Ashe and Basch were both trapped by the magick, too, while Balthier, Vaan, and Penelo were too far away to be caught.
"You know Immobilise magick?" Balthier asked, walking forward, Sirius rifle in hand, ready to blow the half-caste traitor to bits. "They do train you well at the Lyceum." He aimed directly at Vossler's head from one pace away from Ashe, at the edge of where Vossler's magick reached. Vossler was pressing his right hand to his ribs, casting Cure, the white glow erasing evidence of Ashe's magickal assault.
"You are not worthy to face me!" Vossler shouted, taking up his sword again, this time in plow stance, the hilt right by his hip, the blade facing up. Balthier smirked and fired, but Vossler's Nightmare greatsword blocked the majority of the fire, the shot bouncing off with a plink sound. Vossler charged at Balthier and swung from right to left, but once again he was thwarted by Ashe, this time using Blizzard magick to throw a shard of crystalline ice at Vossler's back. It penetrated his chainmail but didn't draw blood.
Leaning forward, Vossler retaliated with his signature Balance magick, emerging as white shimmering orbs that burst forth from his back, landing at the feet of Ashe, Balthier, Basch, and Fran, and exploding with a blast in their faces. All unable to escape the blast due to their Immobilisation except for Balthier, Ashe and Basch were knocked down, bleeding and bruised, while Fran was knocked out. Balthier narrowly dodged by rolling to the side. Penelo ran forward to Raise Fran, but Vossler approached her, slowly, stiffly due to Ashe's attack, and stared her down.
"Know your place, girl," Vossler hissed, "Leave them and you will have a future."
"I don't want you future," she retorted, grabbing her quarterstaff and jabbing it forward. Vossler knocked it away but not out of her hands, and she nimbly twirled on one foot and swung hard, left to right, striking at Vossler's hands clasping the hilt of Nightmare. He dropped one hand from it, holding it with the last one, and Penelo deftly ran at Fran to cast her Raise magick.
Vossler let her go and focused his attention on Balthier. "Have at it, pirate! Fire again! And I will leave you in pieces before your apprentice!"
"Apprentice?" Balthier exclaimed, scandalised. "I think not, Azelas." He raised his rifle again, but found the mechanism jammed. He huffed, noticing the firing pin on the Sirius had broken off, probably when he rolled away from Vossler's previous strike. Throwing the unusable rifle to the side, Balthier raised both hands to summon the Mist to him. "Two can play at this awful game." He prepared to cast his own Immobilise spell on Vossler, but Vossler had begun to charge, and Balthier's casting was too slow – Vossler had commenced his upwards swing, and Balthier shifted just at the last second, but the tip of the blade ripped right through Balthier's dense brigandine, fabric and down flying everywhere, Balthier landing roughly on his side, dislocating his right arm with an awful scream.
"Balthier!" Ashe screamed. Vossler's blade was raised up high in the stance of an executioner. Penelo was helping Fran to her feet, but the Viera was dazed, clutching her head. Basch's helm was bent out of shape by the force of the Balance magick, and he couldn't get it off his head, nor could he see out of it. Vaan was too far away, with too thin a sword, and too flimsy his armour, to block Vossler.
Her future depended on this one desperate move – on too many desperate moves, of late – and closing her eyes, shaking the tears of anguish away, she grasped her glyph with her left hand, thinking of the Gigas's searing orange fur.
Mist exploded from around her feet, casting the entire space in an orange translucent glow, and the temperature of the space rose by several degrees in an instant, making them all sweat in their armour. Vossler stilled his blade, and turned around, unbelieving his princess would stoop so low as to summon the Dynast-King's guardian.
Balthier held his unbroken left arm up to protect him against Vossler's attack, and shifted it to block the searing glow emanating from the Gigas' body, now standing in front of Ashe. It was precisely the same size as what they fought within the Tomb of the Dynast-King, and it had precisely the same air of righteous fury about it.
Ashe was totally unsure what to do. Expecting Belias to command her to do something, she waited, watching. Vossler had turned around, holding his sword up high. Balthier, who lacked his own healing magick and had no healing potions on his person, roughly got to his feet, wincing, and moved towards Fran and Penelo. Vaan stood, watching.
Basch cried, "Highness, you place us all in great jeopardy with this!" He wrestled with his damaged armour, finally ripping off the visor with a grunt and tossing it to the floor. The Immobilise magick was wearing off, and though it felt like walking through pitch, he made his way to Ashe's right side, blade held up, shield too far away to take up.
Ashe's eyes were wide and the Mist thrummed through her. The Immobilise magick was still acting on her, but even if it weren't present, she would have been paralysed by indecision either way.
"Wha-what should I do?" She begged Basch, desperate for counsel, for strategy, for something to remove herself from this wretched situation.
"Give it orders!" Basch replied urgently. "It is a fire esper, it must know fire magick."
From outside, the Dreadnought Leviathan glowed orange with the power of the Dawn Shard. None of them noticed.
Ashe nodded. "Belias, attack my foe with fire!" Belias barely nodded, then clapped its lower, hume-like hands, and summoned a flare of flame from beneath Vossler's feet. He narrowly leapt away in a tight roll, but scampered to his feet as Belias summoned another, and another, and another plume of red-orange rage.
"Highness! This is madness!" He shouted. The floor and walls of the Shiva were alight. Balthier and Penelo held Fran up and dragged her over to behind Ashe and Basch.
Ashe had no response to Vossler. Vaan was unfortunately trapped right behind, with completely insufficient protection against any friendly fire, and no way to run around.
"Belias, retrieve the boy, and bring him to safety!"
Belias lumbered over, cantankerous footsteps bounding over quickly, around Vossler, through the fire, to pick Vaan up with its monstrous upper-left bestial claw, and then to drop him directly at Ashe's feet. Belias then returned to a protective, defensive stance, its armspan wide enough to guard all six of them.
The walls and floor were starting to crumble with the strength of the flames Belias summoned. Basch began to fear for Vossler's life. The look of desperation Vossler showed when Basch was Doomed by the Demon Wall replayed in his mind. Basch grasped Ashe's right forearm – the forearm bearing Belias' glyph, now glowing orange-and-blue – but she batted him away.
"Highness, spare him! Please! Take him prisoner," Basch gasped, the irony sour on his tongue, "but do not consign him to the flames!"
Ashe heard him not. She shouted to Vossler, instead, "The future of Dalmasca will not be stolen! I am the Dynast-King's chosen descendant! Can you not see?"
Dumbstruck, Vossler stood firm, holding Nightmare up. He gave the smallest of shakes of the head.
Ashe breathed in the fire surrounding them. Basch's heart turned to ice.
"Belias, destroy the traitor."
The flames converged right onto Vossler's body and immolated him. The scream of suffering could be heard over the sound of explosions outside the Shiva. What was lost in the cacophony was Basch's own shriek of denial.
Belias shimmered into nothingness and the flames with it. The Shiva was scorched black all over, and there was a vaguely Hume-shaped smoking mass in the centre of the space. The smell was unbearable.
"Ashe, let's go."
Balthier led Ashe away. Vaan and Penelo dragged Fran after. Basch remained behind, breathing heavily.
"Engine power rapidly falling! It's… negative?"
An engineer onboard the Leviathan was surveying a control panel with dread.
"Impossible! We cannot maintain hover like this!" He swung round and looked beyond Judge Magister Ghis' looming form, eyes darting all over, looking for an altimeter to tell him how high up they were over the Nam-Yensa Sandsea, and a vertical speed indicator, to portend their doom.
Uninformed in the fine workings of airship engines, Ghis demanded, "I want to know what's happened!"
"The nethicite's draining the ship's power!" The engineer responded, eyes fixed to the altimeter. As suspected, it was slowly declining. The airship was about to fall out of the sky.
"Disengage it at once," Ghis commanded, hands twitching towards his blade and spiked fan, both sheathed.
"We're trying," Another engineer said, grunting with exertion to pull the lever that locked the Dawn Shard in place, "It's no good! It's inflected!"
"She'll reach critical in three hundred!" A third engineer called from a few paces away.
"Cascade failure!" A fourth shrieked.
The Leviathan shuddered and began its descent. The chamber in which the Dawn Shard was placed, an auxiliary thrust unit that housed skystones to give the Leviathan a temporary enhancement in output, was locked in place. Raithwall's greatest gift, a poisoned chalice, bleeding the Leviathan dry of all its Mist, claiming it for itself, having its fill.
Before Ghis could sound the evacuation order, the Dawn Shard brimmed and overflowed.
Basch was holding the scarred and charred form of his former lover in his arms, racing through the halls of the Shiva, trying to find where Ashe and the others had gone, seeking their escape.
There was a Phoenix Down and a Grand Potion inside the armour of one of Vossler's ersatz allies. Basch poured the ashes of the Phoenix Down inside Vossler's mouth, seeing gray powder mix with gray powder on his dehydrated tongue. To wash it down, Basch opened the vial of Grand Potion, steely-blue, right after. The blackened mucosa of Vossler's tongue pinked up and he stirred back into consciousness.
"Basch…" Vossler's voice was as dry as the desert thousands of feet below them.
"Stay with me." Basch ran and ran, looking desperately for the others.
"All…" Vossler coughed blackness out onto the ground behind them, "All I have done… I've ever thought of Dalmasca first." He wiped scarred lips with a scarred fist. The Grand Potion was slowly working to slough off the burned skin and leave pink where black was, but it was slow, arduously slow. Basch's heart was thrumming in his chest.
"I know you do. I would ne'er gainsay your loyalty." Until now, Basch thought bitterly.
Vossler coughed some more. "Ghis vowed to raze Bhujerba and Dalmasca to the ground if I did not bring the Dawn Shard to him. Look on what my haste has wrought," he chuckled once. His voice was lower, more lethargic. "Did I act too quick? Or was your return too late?"
Basch found the rest of the party, who exclaimed in disbelief, shock, and rage, on account of Vaan, Penelo, and Ashe. Balthier, who was trying to break into another Atomos personnel carrier, just like when they fled the Leviathan last time, wheeled around and sputtered with uncharacteristic astonishment. Fran knelt on the ground, still exhausted from her Mist rage.
Vossler turned his head to look at Ashe. In his position, dangling limply from Basch's bridal hold, everything was rotated a quarter-turn. From any orientation, though, her indignation was easily understood; it filled the space between them, palpable.
"I can serve her no more. You must…" Vossler's strength failed him, and he lapsed into unconsciousness.
Balthier carefully piloted the Atomos to the ground, evading the enormous orange sphere of destruction emanating from the Dawn Shard. Finally spent of its Mist, and leaving a rain of annihilated metal and magicite from the Leviathan, Shiva, and the rest of the 8th Fleet falling upon the Jagd Yensa, the Dawn Shard returned to its default gray-purple, and floated towards them as they descended towards the Westersand.
When they disembarked, Ashe running out first, the Dawn Shard was floating right in front of her. She seized it hastily and pocketed it. Vaan and Penelo followed, then Fran. Balthier powered the Atomos down in the sand and egressed into the screaming Westersand sun.
Still inside, Basch was silently sobbing, Vossler's lifeless body slumped over his shoulder, smearing blackness over the gray metal of Basch's pauldron.
Next is Chapter 25: A Meditation on Mist, Mired in Misery