Chapter Nine The measure of a monster

"I seem to recall you saying something about villains not having any class," Zelas remarked idly to her fellow passenger. "How nowadays they only live in ruins and dank, smelly caves or mad scientist laboratories and such." She looked around to watch their further approach of the newest stepping stone on their road to...whatever it was they were fighting for. Survival, at the very least. "May I assume that this qualifies as sufficiently classy?"

Delphine chuckled. "Sure. Not to MENTION the points he's getting for originality; I don't think I've heard of this happening more than twice or so."

"Do you two mind? This isn't exactly easy for me."

The two ignored their current mode of transportation (namely Trent in dragon form)'s complaints. "Not at all. We couldn't be happier."

Trent sighed a mushroom puff, doubly impressive when you're about ninety feet long and covered in silvery metallic scales. Still, it beat the alternative.

Insert wavy-line flashback effect.

--------

The green-haired elf boy stared at the three outsiders in a fair approximation of googly-eyed hero worship. "You're really going to go and fight the guy who started the attacks against us in the first place?"

Trent shrugged. "Sure, we don't have anything better to do. Besides, he probably has something to do with us. Certainly that other monster knew about us pretty well, so I think that the guy currently trying to destroy you all is the same one who's been trying to kill me and some friends off and on for the past couple of weeks."

Corrana nodded calmly. "It's possible. Still, we wish you the best of luck in your fight."

And get out of here before you corrupt our children any further Trent thought to himself, finishing off her most likely thoughts. "You're sure that the attacks are coming from the southeast?"

She nodded. "When they attacked us, they came from different angles and at different times, to make sure we weren't perfectly suited to fight back. When they first arrived however, they came from that direction."

Trent nodded, turning back to the sea cliff. Taking it as a casual dismissal, the young elf girl grabbed her younger brother's arm to start hauling him back to the village. For his part Trent ignored her; he didn't want the kids of that village to have anything to do with him, probably as fervently as she or any of the village's parents did. "So, can you tell anything from here?"

Zelas favored him with a raised eyebrow. "You're joking, right? For all we know, this island fortress could be five hundred miles away; it could be just a small corsair's base that's nowhere near their main encampment. Do you really think we could sense something like that from this kind of distance? It's not even worth trying."

Trent shrugged, his hands raised in an attempt to placate her. "Okay, just thought I'd ask." Shaking his head, he turned to face the southeast. "We ARE going though. May I assume that much?"

Delphine rolled her eyes. "We're getting just as tired as you are of random fools trying to come and kill us or otherwise inconvenience us. We want an end to this as soon as possible, same as you."

Trent hid his grin. Only a monster would lable death as an 'inconvenience.' "Alright, shall we go?"

"How? In case it's escaped your notice, we don't have a boat; they weren't all that willing to lend us one."

Trent raised an eyebrow in confusion. "Uh...you guys can fly, can't you?"

Zelas shook her head. "Actually, the monster race is far better at teleportation than flight. And before you ask, we'd have to know where we were going exactly to safely teleport there, so that's not an option."

Trent sighed. "Besides which, Valgaav and Filia never got around to teaching me how to teleport; they seemed more interested in making sure I could fly." Sighing again, he pulled off his shirt and coat, wrapping them in a loose bundle around his swords. That done, he loosened his waist band, and triggered the change.

His skin began to shift slightly; not in a way obvious to the unaided eye, but his outermost skin cells began to flatten, hardening into microscopic scales. Likewise, the base of his spine began to bulge, until finally a long, scaly tail popped out, five feet in lenght. His body began to grow slightly, expanding as both muscle density and height increased. His nails grew and lengthened, fusing, thickening, and toughening until they began to form inch long talons at each finger tip.

The last bit of the transformation came as his shoulder blades expanded in his torso, enlarging enough to fully support the twenty four foot wingspan of his gleaming, silvery dragon's wings. "I guess I can fly us there, but it won't be exactly comfortable."

He'd originally been speaking in regards to the necessity of having almost no space to actually carry them. His own definition of uncomfortable peaked right around the part where they abruptly scooted into his arms. "Uh...I don't think I can actually fly you as far as we'll need..."

"Nonsense," Zelas interruptd with a sultry smile. "We're used to far greater discomfort than..." She blinked in surprise as he somehow shot out of their grasp and threw himself off the cliff. Moments (and a brief flare of light) later, the snout of his silver dragon form poked up above the cliff. "Actually, this form strikes me as a much better choice. Much more comfortable all around."

Zelas pouted at the turn of events. "But aren't you kind of conspicuous in this form? Wouldn't your other..."

"NO NO, this form is MUCH better. Hop on."

--------

It still puzzled him a bit as to WHY precisely they were so affectionate; then again, the embarassment their antics were inspiring was just about the only emotion he let off in enough quantities for them to really feed off of. Eh, c'est la vie.

Back to the previously ambiguous subject earlier, their current opponent's hideout had proven a LOT closer than they'd thought. Specifically, it was only thirty miles south by southeast of Mipross. It was a bare, desert island of nothing but rock and desert, perhaps two miles by one and a half; in that regard, it was less than nothing special.

The special part was that it was floating. Not like a raft or boat of any kind, but rather in the manner of a blimp or hot-air ballon.

In other words, approximately one hundred thousand tons of nearly solid rock floating a thousand meters in the air. No mean feat.

Steeling himself, Trent returned to his half-dragon form; he'd been avoiding it as long as he could realistically do so without sacrificing the tactical advantage of not being seen. Well, realistically he'd waited a little bit longer, but come one; he needed his mind on the mission, not the remarkable curviness of his current burden.

In hind-sight, he probably should have dealt with his own problems earlier. He found out to his surprise and discomfort that most of the monsters guarding this island were unfortunately both vigilant and well-trained.

They also slung a mean flare lance, or the non-spell equivalent thereof.

Gritting his teeth, he spun into a hard dive and barrel-roll, managing to dodge the first wave of the attacks. His hands were currently full, which meant no spells, not even defensive ones. His only two options were evasion and the occasional laser breath. His first blast managed to take out the minaret on the fortress wall, killing perhaps four of the gunners and scattering the rest there. The return salvo however nearly took him out of the air; he was only barely able to dodge the brunt of it, several of the energy blasts still scoring hits.

He managed to accelerate quickly again, dodging and weaving around the blasts. The part of his brain not focused solely on dodging was inordinately grateful that apparently the mazoku were satisfied with just trying to shoot him out of the sky as opposed to actually coming to face him in a dogfight.

Then the blasts of the previously unknown monsters hit him from above.

They weren't very powerful, perhaps as strong as a fireball. Still, they did the job of knocking him out of the sky; in the time it took him to recover enough to theoretically get out of his currently uncontrolled dive, enough of the mazoku below got a solid bead on him to ensure that any energy previously used for flight would be relegated to defense.

Falling, Trent still managed to twist around the attacks just enough to keep from getting any worse than simply being pissed off by the constant pain. Less than twenty feet off the deck, he abruptly fed every shred of power he could muster back to flight, bouncing out of his dive to come in for a slightly controlled crash.

Zelas winced as she picked herself off the ground. "I've heard the phrase 'any landing you can walk away from,' but this leaves a bit to desire."

Trent didn't bother to answer her, shifting back to his normal elven form. Grabbing the bundle formerly between his wings, he slung back on his shirt and jacket in a hurry, his daggers and daisho following soon thereafter. "Okay, now I'm pissed." He turned to the yells as approaching monsters came nearer.

The first group to burst into line-of-sight met the business end of a Burst Flare. Those who followed fell to a slightly tamer Digger Volt.

He ignored the sweat-dropping monster lords behind him. Normally, he was pretty even-tempered when people weren't trying to kill him. He'd mainly been ticked off due to the current crop of opponents getting so much damage inflicted; it had hurt, if nothing else. Now, he'd returned to a significantly calmer state of mind; in other words, a state of mind in which he wouldn't be bothering so much with tactical ICBM spells like burst flare, and more on just slicing his way through.

Taking a deep breath and letting it out just as slowly to center himself, he drew his daisho and invoked astral vine.

Cry havoc, and let slip the dogs of war.

--------

Larth sighed quietly from within the keep's library. Outside the three- foot thick stone walls, he could hear only too well the howls of his embattled minions. He'd personally designed the fortress here, and despite the incredibly solid and resilient structure of the walls, he'd deliberately made sure they weren't sound-proofed. It was a bit of a nuisance at times, mainly during the occasional brawl that was bound to occur when you had so many men and women in close confines. Still, he felt it far more important to be able to hear and thus know what was going on in his home than to increase his privacy.

He looked a bit odd for the monster race; his current form was his natural one, but almost completely human. Tall and leanly muscular, his skin had been tanned by exposure to wind, sun, and rain into a healthy, slight darkness. Likewise, his short, silky black hair had been bleached to a dark brown. His face was quite handsome, in a vaguely rugged fashion rather than the bishonen that seemed a bit more popular. The only parts of him that were truly inhuman were his eyes to a small degree; the liquid gold irises were bisected by slit pupils rather than round ones.

Even his dressing habits were unusual, for this entire world as much as for the monster race. Rather than the flowing garments and capes more common, he was contented with simple black fighting pants and shirt, an extremely light white jacket over all. It was simple, utilitarian, easy to move in, and suited him perfectly.

He winced slightly as an explosion rocked the fortress. He'd intended it right from the start to be as close to impregnable as is realistically possible. The central keep was almost a hundred feet high, a circular turret forty feet wide with three-feet thick walls of solid, seam-less rock. Surrounding the main tower was a heavy stone wall of pure sandstone, slightly pyramidic and sloped outward; ten feet thick and almost twenty five feet high.

The final wall was a square structure almost fifty feet in height, the same seamless sandstone as the tower itself, sloped outward again. Bolstering the lower defenses were the main barracks, built in-between the two retaining walls at the base. Every surface of the exposed area had been treated with a rare technique to give the outermost surfaces a reflective surface against magic; spells of sufficiently weak power would literally bounce off rather than shatter the walls. The heavy sloping of the walls guaranteed that attacks would be deflected away, burning precious extra energy in defense.

The fortress itself had been set in an artifical valley, surrounded by high, shear cliffs. While it was normally foolish to give the enemy the high ground, in this case it was primarily to force his opponents to climb the whole distance before they could even consider attack. More to the point, anyone who would be attacking would have already gained flight abilities; high and low ground doesn't mean a great deal at that point.

Larth had been a long-time tactician and general; with nothing but the sounds he could tell the direction of the battle. "There are several factors which determine the advantages and courses of use for any warrior or unit of warriors," he mused aloud to himself. "In the end however, there are really only three; attack, defense, and mobility."

He was facing a grand total of three opponents; two of them he recognized by their auras as mazoku; their power levels marked them quite obviously as this world's lords. Despite their great abilities however, they were being used in a secondary fashion; defending and supporting his main attacker as opposed to spearheading the charge themselves.

As such, it would be unlikely that his opponent would bother to change at the last minute; he would probably have to face this one directly. Therein lay the problems. He could tell little from the aura; obviously not human, but not any monster or demon he'd ever encountered, nor did it bear more than a passing resemblence to any of the dragons of his world.

His fighting style also shed volumes of information. A great deal of noise was being expended in this battle, but almost none of it emanated from him. The almost inaudible shiver of steel sliding through flesh, the occasional whisper of shearing magical spells...these were his only words. He was a shadow, a whisper, a scalpel shifting through a pile of war axes.

"Attack can be subdivided further, if you wish," he continued as his opponent drew nearer. "Raw power, effective range, rate-of-fire, and area of effect all have bearing on such an endeavor. Defense is divided by three factors; area of coverage, intensity of coverage, and the length of time it can be utilized. Mobility likewise has many sub-categories; maneuverability, raw speed, but also the ability to CHANGE speed quickly, either in the positive or the negative. Power of attack is clearly something my opponent possesses," he stated as he considered his options of attack.

Most of the monsters had stopped trying to actively oppose this mystery fighter. Larth had drilled this into them relentlessly; when the situation turns against you, turn against it and run. Don't waste the time and energy on a hopeless, meaningless battle, save it for a time when YOU can strike and claim victory. As such, few were dying, and Trent was approaching the actual keep itself with greater and greater speed.

"My opponent is devoting little time to a true defensive front. He does not bother to block his opponents, merely to out-run and out-attack him. He dodges strikes rather than parries. He strikes fast and hard, before he can be attacked himself. He trusts his own power, but he does not assume it transfers invincibility to him. He is fighting with both experience and intelligence, making the best use of his abilities."

Larth's eyes widened in shock as Trent hit the first of the traps of the keep. Within the first gateway of the main wall, the heavy iron gates had clashed shut, sealing him in for the seconds it would have taken him to destroy the gates. Before such an action could be taken however, gouts of oil flame had erupted from murder holes in the ceiling, distracting him for the precious few seconds needed for the true teeth of the trap, a pair of spiked doors crashing into him, could take hold.

He'd simply ceased to be there. He hadn't died or been struck; that would have left a tell-tale surge of aura before he died completely. Nor did he simply dodge; Larth could have seen that. He had simply ceased to exist in the area.

Within the walls this time, Larth felt the aura re-emerge. Energy flared brilliantly as he invoked what he recognized as a Boost spell of some variety. It was followed instants later by a massively enhanced Dill Brand, shattering a thirty-foot-wide swathe of the outer wall. Subsequent blasts were identified as Damu Brass, in part from the power level and in part from the fairly specific sound effects they were generating.

"Judging from the direct shift in actions, it could be argued that my opponent has a bit of a temper problem. However, the direct outcome of his attack was a bypass around further potential traps and such. In hindsight, his assault was due primarily to the direct tactical need to remove potential unseen obstructions." Larth raised himself from the window nook as he felt his intruder finish penetrating the secondary wall despite the vast number of more direct defensive spells bolstering it, beginning his final attack on the keep itself.

"As an aside, his ability to circumvent the traps within the secondary wall have finish tactical profiling. His assault capacities are strong, geared towards covert attack; he seems to prefer not to use spells which generate large amounts of needless destruction or noise; focused attacks. His defensive skills are not immediately apparent due to his seeming penchant for avoiding attacks as opposed to blunting them. Clever; he has no idea what his opponents's attacks may do as side-effects. However, his greatest overwhelming strength is clearly his unorthodox mobility. He is able to attain victory through control of his environment. As such, limiting his abilities of movement are my greatest immediate concerns."

His hand slipped towards the endtable besides him, tracing the curves of the odd weapon; his 'gift' for his unwavering loyalty to 'Lord' Valred.

Loyalty he despised.

Loyalty enforced by nothing short of death by years of slow torture.

--------

The door came apart spectacularly.

It wasn't the grand explosion kind of spectacular; Trent's rather sensitive hearing was one of the biggest reasons why he developed and used spells that were powerful without going BOOM. Rather, it was the shock of seeing the sturdy oak and steel abruptly shatter like so much glass.

Trent paused in the doorway, getting his first look at his opponent. He had to do a bit of hasty rearranging of his opinions. Due to the fact that he'd been fighting dozens of powerful warriors without this guy showing either hide or hair, he'd assumed that his opponent would be a charasmatic armchair commander.

No armchair commander would have that kind of build though. Neither would he be holding what could only be Nezard, the talons of light, so casually.

Larth bowed formally to his opponent, the strange weapon tapping against the side of his right leg. It didn't resemble anything so much as a pitchfork crossed with a cat's paw; the fairly short handle curved slightly until it split into a trio of blunt tines perhaps six inches in length. They were quiessant now, but in a fight they would grow foot-long scimitar- like blades of pure light energy.

Not the kind of thing one wants to get in the way of.

Zelas and Delphine strolled through the shattered remnants of the door, looking around with a kind of 'shop-talk' demeanor as they surveyed the destruction. "Well, it gets the job done. I'm surprised you didn't just shadow-walk in."

"Shadow walk?" Larth asked, an eyebrow raising. "I can't say I've ever heard that phrase used, nor the technique. May I assume that it was the trick you used to avoid the portcullis?"

Trent gazed right back, neither angry nor afraid. He wasn't sure why, but he reminded him of Ashram to a degree, without quite so much arrogance. Not in the least because of his lack of any discernible weaknesses; this was a Warrior to be respected. "Nasty welcome for guests, but as they said, it gets the job done."

Larth smiled archly. "I suppose so. Now, I imagine that this is where you and I engage in the obligatory fight to the finish?"

Trent shrugged. "Not necessarily. I'm not going to lie about being a pacifist, but if you don't fight I won't. How about just telling us about how to get this Valred off our backs?"

Larth's smile didn't waver in his silence. Finally, he spoke up. "What do you know of the spell Raugnut Rusyavuna?"

Trent blanched at the mention of the infamous spell. "Nasty piece of work; one of the few spells of black magic cursing. If I recall right, it turns you into a big ball of flesh that devours itself endlessly only to regenerate the devoured matter. It was supposedly used ten years ago on Dirus II. No way to cure it or stop it other than to kill whoever cast the spell."

Larth nodded, his smile fading. "As you put it, a very nasty spell. There's no version of it in over-world; most of what we've had the time to develop was a great deal more straight-forward. Constant war means constant drive for better weaponry. Unfortunately, that can't happen without a stable area to develop the magic and such. Not something we have in abundance in overworld."

Trent gave him a curious look. His limited empathy wasn't picking anything up at all; as he could only sense aggression and hostility, that was a bit odd for the circumstances. "What's that have to do with us? What, you want us to try and cast that on someone else? I think not." Privately, he resolved to see if he could get Lina and Zelgadis to think up a counter to that; it was just one of those things that had to be done.

Larth shook his head. "No, I don't believe in cursing people; it just seems somewhat...unnecessary." He sighed as he massaged his forehead. "The point of this conversation is that while the monsters of my world lack some of the...imagination of your's when it comes to unpleasant consequences, they don't lack the applications. I can attest to this personally."

Trent felt his blood chill. "You've been cursed. The consequences of which would be what?"

Larth smiled grimly. "It's not technically a curse. The spell that was cast on me has some rather unpleasant effects. It was actually invented by a human warlord to ensure the loyalty of some of his more dubious supporters. The spell causes an infestation of creatures known as shadeworms to be summoned within the body of the target. If the subject ever betrays his master or disobey's his orders, then the worms wake up and begin to devour your nerve endings from within. Eventually you die from the shock and pain if nothing else, but that can take years. If your lucky, you fall in the line of duty before that can happen."

Trent stared at him. "Fall in the line of duty? I sincerely hope you don't mean what that sounds like."

Larth's grim smile never wavered. "Valred wants you dead if possible, but if not he wants you period. As such, it is technically within the scope of my orders to inform you that he is somewhere to the northeast, near the area where Zefelia, Elmekia, and the Desert of Destruction meet their borders. Of course, now I have to try my best to kill you. I can't simply let you finish him off; he was very express about that in my orders." Knife-like claws blazed into form at Nezard's tips. "Though personally, I'm hoping that you're skilled enough to finish me off so you can go and slaughter him. He doesn't care all that much about our respect so much as our obedience."

Trent stared at the blazing talons, and very slowly, very meticulously, he sheathed his katana and wakizashi. He threw off his coat; his mail and a fair number of his concealed knives within it. His last motion was to summon his weapon.

Sanguis Falaris, the blood of night.

Trent's face lost all expression as he faced Larth. "You want to die? Too many people I know would be appalled by that, and beg you to try and live. Many would decide that horrific circumstances had conspired against you, and that the only way would be to try and free you of this rather than kill you."

"And you are not among them?"

Trent's gaze never wavered as darkness began to flow across both himself and the divine claymore. "My god has only one commandment. 'Thou shalt not take away the right to Choose, lest you forfeit such rights yourself.' If you have chosen to die, then it is well within my rights to kill you. I have no compulsion against helping you commit suicide."

Larth quirked an eyebrow. "My men were not suicidal. They did not choose to die. How precisely will you justify that?"

"They chose to die the second they became warriors. They have killed, and would have killed; they long ago forfeit the right to chose when, where, and how they die." Trent smiled grimly. "Just as I have forfeited that right the moment I became an assassin."

The two shot towards each other abruptly, their stances nearly identical; low to the ground, their weapons trailing behind them in loose grips.

Trent struck first, his sword in a back-handed grasp. The instant of his coming in range heralded a quick pirouette, his sword a brief flash of silver gray light.

Nezard came upward in a blinding counter, deflecting the sword upward just enough for Larth to duck easily below it. In the same motion, he pushed forward with his right leg, his left stretched out to catch Trent's ankles.

The energy of his slash spent, Trent allowed the blow to strike, tumbling effortlessly with the ankle-kick to dive and roll quickly across his back and to his feet seamlessly. Even as he rolled back to his feet Larth shot into the intervening gap, his boots slamming into Trent's face.

Trent was still in a backward motion coming to his feet; he was able to absorb a portion of the attacking force. Rather than try and dodge, he allowed the forceful strike to drive him into the ground.

Into his own shadow.

Larth grunted as his foot abruptly came into contact with hard stone, jarring him. He spun quickly, Nezard brought to guard against the trio of throwing scalpels erupting from his own shadow along with the dark elf.

Trent shot upward, his eyes never leaving Larth. His feet coming into contact with the roof of the room, he collapsed into it, crouching and wedging himself into the corner where they met. His scalpels flashed outward once more, severing the chain of the chandelier and nipping through the flames of the candles on the tables. Instantly, he released a final spell. "Dark Mist."

Larth cursed himself as the magical fog spread through the entire area. Even Lighting spells would be useless against this fog. More to the point, his opponent's biggest advantage had been his mobility. With Larth unable to counter-attack effectively, Trent had secured victory.

In theory at least. Larth seriously doubted that Trent knew the layout of the tower's library as well as he did.

He froze, crouching as low as possible to lessen Trent's chances of a freak luck strike. Pivoting as slowly and soundlessly as possible, he tried to pick up the faintest whisper of Trent's motion.

Nothing.

Something, a kind of prickle at the back of his neck warned him at the last possible instant. He launched himself forward just as a pair of Wind Blades struck the ground where he'd been. As it was, the blades slashed his clothing and the skin underneath without causing real harm.

The real harm came as Larth's dive took him on top of Trent's waiting sword.

The black fog began fading away as Trent gazed at his opponent. His strike had been accurate; Larth would die in mere moments from the chest wound. "This sword gives me a far greater control of the darkness than you imagine. It is my true native environment."

Abruptly, Larth's form heaved, erupting into a pillar of light that raced away, shattering the windows and walls in its passage.

Trent watched as his opponent disappeared. So, our world will not even accept your people's souls. His eyes fell on Nezard, fallen at his feet. He crouched to pick up the weapon, taking in its heft.

It had been masterfully forged; light enough to be fast, just heavy enough for its momentum and heft to be easily controlled. Still, he had no need for the weapon.

Turning to Zelas, he tossed the still cold weapon towards her. "You have it."

The lord of the south blinked in surprise as she caught the weapon. "Th- thank you." She gazed at the weapon; supposedly it could amplify one's own power by a massive degree. It was the sword of light's equal, and that had been enough to let Lina successfully control a Giga Slave. Not the kind of thing to casually hand over.

Trent felt a bad feeling run through him at the extremely faint blush on Zelas's skin. The only way he could even consider it being there was the way she was acting; far too much like an embarrassed schoolgirl for it to be anything else.

Then the floating island began to rumble.

The three lost little time running out of the keep, taking advantage of the convenient hole that Larth's energy had drilled in the wall. Trent shifted instantly to his half-dragon form the second he got the open space, Delphine in one arm and Zelas in the other.

Delphine shook her head, whistling as the island began to pick up speed. "He had the energy keeping that island afloat tied to his own energy. He doesn't want so much as a single trace of what was once his left behind. What a waste."

Trent stared in horror as the island fell. "Uh, in case it's escaped your notice, that thing's falling."

Delphine looked up at him in puzzlement. "Yeah, so?"

Trent winced. "That thing's almost a thousand meters in the air. Once gravity finishes accelerating it, that thing's going to hit with enough force to launch a tsunami big enough to cause ripples on the mainland."

Delphine shrugged. "Again, so?"

Trent glared at her. "So how much do you think is going to be left of Mipross? That much force will be enough to level the island."

Delphine stared at him. "And? What, you think we can stop that thing? We're powerful, but we can't keep that thing aloft."

"SO BLOW IT UP. You have that much power, don't you?"

Zelas winced. "Yes, but not like this. Our human forms are somewhat more limited than our true forms. Even then, I'd have to use Nezard to amplify my blast enough to destroy that island without causing a shockwave just as powerful."

"So transform."

Zelas winced again. "Are you sure you want to see that?"

Trent stared at her. "I'm hovering in the middle of the ocean with dragon wings talons and tail. Trust me, I won't think less of you if that's what you're worried about."

Zelas stared at him for a moment, then abruptly leapt out of his arms. As she began to float, her body began to consume itself in light as she initiated her own transformation.

Despite himself, Trent stared at the new form. She had grown to nearly eight feet in neight, still vaguely humanoid. However, her hands and feet had been replaced by bird-like talons as fur covered her still-feminine body (Apparently she preferred to appear female in gender). Lastly, she had sprouted a pair of massive eagle's wings as her head became that of a wolf's.

Holding nezard, she began to focus her energies further and further, the back-flash alone causing her aura to expand at a geometric rate. Abruptly, she howled as her energy exploded outward in a massive blast larger than anything he'd ever seen; not even his Blast Bomb or Dragon Slave could have managed that.

As the light faded, Zelas sighed in exhaustion, having returned to her weaker if slightly more energy efficient human body. Trent swooped down to catch her, cradling her carefully as she allowed unconsciousness to claim her. She hadn't been fooling around; that blast really had taken all she had.

As he turned to fly back to Mipross, he was struck by a strange realization. This self-proclaimed 'demon' had just chosen to sacrifice a great deal of her own comfort for a place she didn't have the slightest connection to.

"Judging a book by its cover isn't just cliched, it's stupid," he murmured as he flew off.

He wasn't referring to just her second form.

--------

Valred sighed in disgust as the surge of energy struck his current area. So. Larth had failed him, and died. Unfortunate; Larth was probably the single most competent lackey that Valred had, for all that they openly hated each other. Still, he had enough professional pride to always see to it that he did the job RIGHT, something in distressingly short supply among monsters.

Still, his energy at the moment of death would serve Valred well. After all, he'd have needed the monster lord's death eventually.

This was just more convenient.

--------

Anubis groaned as he faded into sight at the very edge of the coast of Mipross island. "I can't believe he's making me do this too. I'm almost positive this wasn't in my job description.

A pillar of light began to shine down, Larth's body resting within it. Anubis shook his head. "I still don't understand why the Almighty decided that he wants you alive, but I'm not in a position to ask questions. So let's get this over with." Unmindful of the fact that the dead monster couldn't hear him in the first place, Anubis raised his staff, allowing the divine channels of power he'd acquired to unleash the energy needed to drag Larth's ether back to his body.

Satisfied of his work's completion, Anubis vanished before Larth could wake up. He'd get explanations eventually, and Anubis had one last chore to take of; one that made at least as little sense.

To be continued...