A Wok of Infinite Light
Out of the Frying Pan, Into the Wok
Raine's face remained cold and unforgiving –a specialty of hers, having much in common with her pork cutlets– as pandemonium took hold of the Hall of Nourishing. Vahgner's subordinates had been taught to fear the legend of the Silver-crowned One, but no one at the rank of Sous-chef or above really believed it. Of course, her show of influence so far had been quite disconcerting...
"What do we do, sir? It's the One!" Marcus yelped, grabbing Vahgner's arm frantically.
The six-star Chef kept any reservations from his face as he gave the order. "Retreat! The Alliance has long been prepared for this day– retreat to the inner sanctum!"
Zelos looked sidelong at Regal. "This has got to be the first time a schoolteacher has been more feared than the Chosen of Mana and a battle-hardened duke."
"Not among our circle of friends," Bryant pointed out, and Zelos shrugged, conceding that Raine Sage had scared all of them at one time or another. He watched the Dark Chefs flee, and wondered if it was wise to let them escape– but at the same time, he knew that they would never have defeated Cruxis by battling one angel at a time, and it would be much better to pick the time and place for their confrontations.
It was also good to know that the tunnel they had just come down was the only way out.
"Such a fascinating design," said Raine, who had dashed over to one of the oven-altars and knelt beside it as soon as the last Dark Chef was out of sight. She understood her role to play, but it couldn't keep her focused in the face of relics like these. "They must have been masters of the forge to create implements like this– look! A polycarbonate spreading knife!"
"They must have been expecting you," Zelos muttered. "And your unique shortcake."
"What curious runes... its seems the craftsman named it 'Frostingdeath'..."
"There are three doors out of this room, not counting the one we just came through," said Regal, on the lookout for surprises. "The Dark Chefs are likely in greatest numbers beyond the passage they fled through; I recommend we investigate the others first."
"Great plan," said Zelos, lacking somewhat in sincerity. He nodded in Raine's direction. "With the one problem left that we'll need to bring the Mad Archaeologist along in case of ambush."
Regal approached her cautiously, and tapped her on the shoulder with a single finger. "Professor, we should move on."
"Marvellous!" Raine gushed, sweeping a two-foot, diamond-edged cleaver past his face (probably unintentionally, although it had a definite upside in making Regal leap onto a marble cutting board two columns over). "I was aware that a great deal of magitechnology had been lost in the division of the worlds, but this is one of the most significant finds of our times! The people who created this temple must have had an intentionally low-tech society, to develop method of forging and masonry of this level– suggesting," she went on, with the look of one savouring the most delectable of delicacies, "that they may have even been aware of the vulnerability and hazards inherent to magitechnology!"
"Brilliant," said Regal, flatly. "But we must find and secure the Wok of Infinite Light before the Dark Chefs can perform their ritual..."
"Yes, yes, we'll excavate and categorize the other rooms in good time," Raine assured him. "But for now I'd like to–"
"They're going to get beef juices all over it," Zelos remarked casually. Raine froze, her eyes wide. Their customary ruin-instigated shine was flickering uncertainly. "Probably a really good passata, too, and you know you'll never get a stain like that out."
"To the inner chambers!" she shouted, leaping to her feet with the Phoenix Rod ready. The sparkle of wondrous discovery had been replaced with the glow of burning soufflés. She tried to charge deeper into the subterranean temple, but Zelos was ready, and grabbed her cloak's collar firmly as the professor dashed past him.
"Which ones?" he asked the still-sane Regal.
"We might as well let her determine that," Regal decided. "She is our best weapon against them, after all." Shrugging his acceptance, Zelos let go and followed the elder Sage out of the Hall, with Regal acting as rear guard. They made their way through elegant, statue-lined corridors, and more than once Regal thought he noticed a carefully carved shape that was very reminiscent of the Wonder Chef.
Most of the other chambers, however, were totally empty and often cold enough to fog their breath. Regal began to grow concerned about this until Raine began translating ancient runes off the walls for fun and enlightenment: the words 'first-grade beef' and 'prime root vegetables' indicated that these had once been storage areas. The embossed title 'chamber of salmon' either confirmed her theory or suggested that the creators had had an eccentric sense of humour.
There were clearly some devious people within the Dark Chef Alliance. Just as the three frenzied intruders had begun to return to calmness and security, they entered a room that was filled, wall to wall, with sharply-armed Dark Chefs.
Regal, Zelos, and Raine came to an abrupt halt. None of the Dark Chefs moved, having a healthy respect for their enemies after Dior's report and the legend of the One. Instead they waited, tensely, fingering knives that would have been called 'comically long' if they weren't also supremely sharp and in the hands of irritable people.
"What do you think?" Zelos whispered out of the corner of his mouth, trying to edge away without giving the appearance of running. "Eruption takes time and Ray can't get them all..."
"I'd like to finish this with as little bloodshed as possible," Regal murmured back.
"Me too!" said Zelos fervently.
"Really?" Raine enquired.
"Of course! ...Wait, do you mean our blood, or theirs?"
Regal ignored that, realising that it was once again up to him to find a solution very, very quickly, with nothing to work with except more than a dozen enemies in a dark and cramped room... dark... mise en place!
(Literally, that's a term meaning that all the ingredients and equipment for the preparation of a dish are available and ready, but Regal hasn't been getting much sleep lately and when you're a Potential Wonder Chef, you've got to do what you can with what you're given. Practically the nature of all cooking, that is. Besides, they don't have the word 'eureka' on Tethe'alla.)
"Raine..." he said quietly, because the Dark Chefs were looking more confident after several seconds of not being beaten to death. "Target that loose rock at my feet. Both of you turn around when I move."
"Light," Raine hissed immediately, because after this length of time it was second nature to call on the necessary mana for the spell. Regal slipped his foot under the stone and lifted it swiftly as she shouted "Photon!" and all three of them followed Bryant's instruction.
When a brilliant golden light blew the quickly-rising stone to bits, only Regal and the others were prepared– every last one of the Dark Chefs couldn't help watching the rock's upward flight, and none were expecting the blinding flare, which is quite a shock after a long time in deep, shadowy catacombs.
Regal, who hadn't had time to fully explain the plan to Zelos and Raine, was the first moving, and he had permanently disarmed three of the Dark Chefs before the Chosen had even dared face them again. Thick, broad metal leg guards were an excellent weapon against fine edges, which blunted quite quickly on contact with enchanted diamonds.
Finishing his initial Swallow Dance, Regal used his second target as a springboard and caught another close cluster with the shockwave of Eagle Fall. Whirling kicks battered the feeling from arms and smashed weapons from their wielders' grips so thoroughly that by the time the afterimages had begun to fade, Zelos was wondering if it was worth getting involved in the fight. Still, he leapt to deflect sneak attacks from two half-blind and all-frantic Dark Chefs, cleaving their blades in half before they got within two feet of Regal's exposed back.
"Crescent Moon!" A blue-clad foe soared across the room, landing on two others in a heap, and then it was all over, save for the rhythmic thwocking of Raine subduing the last one with her staff.
"That may have been overkill," said Zelos. "He's not dead, but... quite the kick, Regal."
"Sorry," said Bryant, apparently quite sincere. "Something about these Dark Chefs offends me."
"Absolutely," said Raine. "Using a valuable source of information on the formation of a nearly-unknown culture just because they want world domination or some silly little thing like that."
"Hey, Regal– what do these guys want, anyway?" asked Zelos.
"Genis spoke of a godly stew or something like that," Regal remembered. "Likely they intend to gain eternal life or some other significant power from it. Whether or not there is any danger of them succeeding is another matter, but if we don't break their operation–"
"They'll be pirating foods from all over the world, soon enough, yeah, I get it," said the Chosen. He frowned. "Regal, you congested or something? I bet Raine can fix that."
"What?"
"That wheezing."
All three of them held still, trying to locate the source of the sound, but it eventually revealed itself as a battered, laughing Dark Chef. He pulled himself up with an oven-side counter, and made a firm but dazed grab for the ancient metal pot sitting there. "Heh... heheheheh... did you think... we came alone?"
Zelos goggled. "Fifteen of you count as 'alone'? Or is that just relative to the number of voices in your head?"
"Our mastery far exceeds your own," the Dark Chef declared, undoing strange clamps on the sides of the pot lid. "And now that we have discovered a way to match those two, rather than setting our fighting skills against warriors... you are doomed..." With that, Raine smacked him again with her staff and he collapsed, taking the lid with him.
A roiling, squelching sound emanated from within, and moments later a pale, slimy shape began to crawl over the edge. The heroes watched in horrified fascination as the chunky ooze emerged, a heap of perhaps three cubic feet of malicious potato salad.
"This is completely lunatic!" Zelos shouted, again shocked that a well-ordered universe would allow this sort of thing to happen.
The creamy salad-beast hurled itself at his head.
"Look out!" Regal called, unnecessarily, as Zelos brought up the Last Fencer protectively. The creature folded around his weapon like a wet towel over a clothesline, and then immediately began creeping up the edge. Zelos hurled it to the floor the way someone else might have flung aside a poisonous snake, but it leapt up again, wrapping around the Chosen's face in mid-scream.
Regal had already charged to his side, but it was impossible to peel the sludgy mass from Zelos' skin, and getting a grip on the creature's main body was out of the question. Regal looked to the dropped Last Fencer, but he was no swordsman, and doubted that even Lloyd could have safely carved a salad off anyone's body. Especially a malevolent one.
"Raine! Do you have any spell that can heal this sort of... ailment?" asked Regal.
"Ailment? It's a salad," Raine replied.
"He's going to asphyxiate if we don't find a way to get it off!"
"Drowned in a creamy green onion dressing... even Zelos doesn't deserve that."
Regal's gaze scoured the chamber, desperate to find any solution to the problem. Zelos was now on his knees, scrabbling with both hands at the slippery attacker, and losing energy with his air cut off. What was the limit? Thirty seconds without air, for a normal person. Hopefully longer for one with an Exsphere...
...Poisoners always made sure they kept an antidote, didn't they? It would be foolishly dangerous to work around a lethal substance without some sort of protection, and Regal could think of no better word for the pale attacker than 'lethal substance'. He began flinging open the few crates piled up in the room, and was immediately joined by Raine, who had been thinking along the same lines... almost.
"Condiments of all sorts," Regal reported, levering a box open. "And dishtowels or cheesecloths or something of that sort... why isn't there an antidote?!"
"Good grief," Raine groaned. "They have an entire basket of fried chicken legs in this one–"
"Give me those!" Regal bellowed, and Raine dodged out of the way just in time to avoid the duke's frantic leap. He lifted the basket and swung it over to Zelos, who was now lying on the gritty stone, barely moving.
The salad quivered for a moment, sensing the presence of its natural picnic-traditional companion... and then surrendered to as much instinct as unnatural potato-creatures have got, leaping off Zelos to merge with the chicken legs.
Wilder gasped in relief several times, still slightly glistening from the assault. "I... hate... potato... salad..." he wheezed.
"My apologies for not thinking more swiftly," said Regal, helping him up. "Of course it would be attracted to its natural picnic-companion."
"Whatever. Let's find the Wok and get out of here."
"...Regal?" called Raine, worriedly. "The subject appears to be eating the fried chicken."
Professor Sage prodded the busied salad with her Phoenix Staff, and was surprised by how pleased it made her to see any parts that tried to stick burn way from its miniature wings. A faint hiss of steam puffed into the dank air, and the salad stopped in its feasting. There was a brief slorch, and it flung itself directly upward, this time toward Raine.
She swept the phoenix-feathered staff in its way, and the creature rebounded in a puff of brief flames, but it could not be broken or discouraged, and continued its assault from every angle it could manage. Regal wished for a moment that he had brought his Flare Greaves, since the salad appeared to be incapable of resisting heat, but his practical nature corralled the duke's thoughts quickly toward finding a solution.
Concussive attacks ineffective, cutting ineffective, gripping is impossible so strangling is right out, and the power of magic would likely be greatly reduced by the mundane nature of potatoes– (don't ask how he knows this sort of thing, it's his job) –and this is clearly a Recipe of Power, as well...
But he had the trump card where cooking was concerned, didn't he? "Raine!" Regal shouted, since she was rather busy fending it, and he couldn't help her if the potato salad took notice of his presence and charged. "How would you improve a potato salad?" Please, if you can invent the spicy shortcake, surely you can do this...
"Well," Raine answered thoughtfully, always ready to lend her culinary opinion, "it's mostly rather bland, isn't it? Something like soy sauce would be a brand new flavour, especially the salty aspect." Regal didn't wait for her to finish, he was already scouring the cabinets for a little black bottle.
He pushed the still-unsteady Zelos gently but firmly aside and dove between the harried professor and her attacker. Uncorking the bottle with his teeth, Regal hurled most of the contents of his bottle in the direction of the sludgy creature, and it couldn't help but catch the full force of the splash.
Immediately the beast fell back, and shuddered briefly as the sauce soaked in before exploding backwards, as though Regal's soy attack had hit at supersonic speed with the force of Presea's old war-hammer. Raine was safe and Regals' guess had been right, but Zelos hadn't been quite as lucky.
"You had better not have done that on purpose," he said, discovering that remnants of potato salad didn't brush off his favourite pink vest nearly as well as he hoped. "I hate potato salad..."
Raine knelt and picked an unusual object out of the creamy wreckage– a moment's cleaning showed it to be round and blue, a flawless crystal that pulsed with the energy of life. "They used an Exsphere," she said flatly. "They've found a way to use Exspheres on their dishes..."
"What? Okay, now I'm really up for stomping these guys," said Zelos. "Lucky for them we found them before Lloyd did. He gets really tetchy about that sort of thing."
"No," Raine said, noticing the expression that had settled onto Regal's face. "I don't think this is the lucky option." She pocketed the Exsphere and tried to look like a soldier ready to march back into the fray (this is easier for teachers than they'd like). Regal nodded once, still silent, and marched deeper into the kitchen catacombs.
Everything had almost fit together in Regal's mind. The Dark Chefs had found the Wok, maybe long before Lloyd's quest to reunite the worlds had ever begun. They needed the right recipe to use its full power, and maybe now they had it. By pirating the Lezareno ships, they had gathered the necessary ingredients, and probably a supply of Exspheres from the power converter systems. But what in Celsius' name for?
"I don't like this," said Zelos, jogging a bit to keep up with the implacable Regal. "We're just walking around free inside their base. Not even the thicker Desians let us get away with that for long."
"I like it just fine," Raine countered. "Of all the possible parts of a battle, my favourite is when it's over, and before it's started is a close second."
And then a perfectly ordinary stone corridor opened up into something cavern-sized, a vast space lit by dozens of braziers in concentric circles around a deep depression in the middle. ...Not quite a depression. At the edges it rose above the level of the floor, with a low set of stairs leading to the brim, and those same edges were deeply etched with runes Regal didn't even want to begin to know.
This was the Wok of Infinite Light, and a Dark Chef stood at its edge, hurling reddish powder from a sack into the roiling mixture within. Around him were more, dozens, perhaps hundreds, filling the room like the ancient clay armies buried with the kings of old Altamira. For a moment, the sheer power that was growing within the room overwhelming Regal, but he was shaken back to reality by a pair of yelps at his back.
Raine and Zelos were in the clutches of several Dark Chefs, who had been waiting to ambush any intruders into the room. Zelos scoffed at the scene; he was certainly outnumbered, but Raine was the one with a giant knife held to her neck. "Oh, come on. You're taking the lady hostage? That's so stereotypical."
"She's smart enough to know she'll die if any of you struggles," said Dior, who happened to be the one holding the blade. "Whereas I already know you're a suicidal hero." She turned to Regal, and he found her face briefly –but deeply– familiar. "I'm sure you know that your personal morals will get shot to hell if you let them die, Bryant, so let's skip any haggling, shall we?"
Regal briefly eyed the objects Dior was dangling from her free hand. "...All right," he conceded with a pained sigh that just barely managed to sound sincere. The duke bowed his head, something that was very familiar after all those years, and raised both arms at the same level, close enough together to be co-operative.
Another Chef placed the handcuffs around Regal's wrists and locked them shut.
Regal raised his face and grinned like a dragon.
"Oh goddess," Zelos moaned, and closed his eyes in sympathetic pain for the Dark Chefs.