New Destinations

As the party paid their dues and finally stepped outside, Malas blinked at the sheer intensity of the sun. Everything felt different. She won't be around here any longer, she'd set for another new life as another party's member. Was this the feeling that up and coming adventurers' usually feel? Not too long ago she attempted to steal from this mage and now she's standing behind him and clasping hands with his apprentice. The other members, the knight and alchemist were behind them, were blinking at the sheer intensity of something else.

"So Mister Zyriel-got-all-my-zeny, where we headed?" Gareth wasn't looking too pleased. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that he had to pay for all the room charges. He was at the head of the group with Zyriel, the silver hair shining in the light of the sun. The mage was wearing sunglasses as he consulted an atlas.

"You left me running yesterday during brunch. Not my fault." The hunter replied with a snort of contempt. The mage hit back with a disdainful glare behind his glasses. "A short stint in Comodo then we continue our search in Umbala. That okay with you, Malas?"

She shuffled nervously as everyone looked for her reaction. "Uh...um...sure... I'm mean, anywhere you want is fine. Er...what are we searching for?"

"Many things..." Gareth hinted as the mage shut the book. Zyriel slammed the book to the hunter's face face.

"Zyriel!" Malas protested as she rushed to the fallen hunter. "Why..."

"Ugh! Don't worry about me." Gareth shook his head, the silver tint now shining brighter. He managed to smirk as he stood up while Malas, still anxious, clung to his arm. "He's got violent tendencies and a hyper sensitive nature."

Malas's confused looks swung back and forth between the standing friends. "Someday, I'll tell ya all about it."

"We'll all tell you about but for now, trust us." Sala touched her shoulder. Zyriel turned to her and offered a very sheepish look.

"Sorry..."

Gareth pointed to himself. "Oi. Shouldn't you say that to me?"

"When Savages fly." Zyriel punched his ear, but playfully. He got him in a headlock and ruffled his hair while the hunter flailed his hands.

"Not my hair! Not the hair!"

Frey uncrossed his arms and surveyed the area. It was late morning and already the town was in full swing. Trades were being made and services were being offered. The swishing sound was clearly there to draw someone's attention to a priest casting Warp Portals. And that sexy rogue strutting around clearly showed that...something which made him cover the little novice's eyes. The Tarou on his head squeaked in delight. Already there was some sort scuffle happening among the crowds up the street. The sooner they get out of here, the better.

"Zyriel, shall we go already?"

The mage caught the hidden note of impatience. "Right. Now, we'll just warp out of here."

"Warp?" The hunter frowned; he had been used to traveling miles on foot.

"We'll get there faster. You've never seen Comodo, right, Malas?" Zyriel warmly looked at her and a rush of gratefulness swept over Malas. He was doing this for her. He knew—somehow, he just understood—she couldn't cross the desert sands...not just yet. Such a wonderful friend to have encountered.

Frey leaned nearer and glanced warily at the ensuing commotion. It was headed this way and—I sense the presence of a divine!

A thief shoved and jabbed the people aside, darting up their way. A male with spiky red hair and a very tangible air of smugness.

"Tally Ho! Sorry, gotta run!" And as he passed girls by, he'd give them a wink. "I'm terribly late!"

A flash of white grazed his shoulder but he neither stumbled nor slowed.

"MY HUNTER DOOOOOLLLLLLLL!"

From the parted way in the multitude, a priestess whipped her long hair and aimed more of the flashing lights. She looked wild and furious; the thief must've stolen something precious from her. Then a curious guy in the black tried talking to her but she paid no heed.

The left shoulder of his coat smoking, the thief breathed a sigh of relief. "I'm almost safe." Then he passed them and glanced at the only girl among the guys. His eyes widened with shock and recognition. That girl...what was she doing with them? He reached for her but his body violently flew to the side. The priestess's last Holy Light had struck true.

That nice thief! Seeing the horror of the boy who had saved her life from the desert being flung to one side, she instinctively tried to save him by grabbing his outstretched arm. Time slowed steadily and a ring of light pulsated beneath them. A rush of cold struck her body and her grip loosened, the limp body of the thief falling quicker than hers.

She let out a scream as she fell into the seemingly bottomless abyss. She could hear Zyriel shouting for her. He had grabbed her other hand and pulled her towards him. But that didn't stop the fall or the cold rushing towards them.

"Ate! Zyriel!" shouted Eviaren. The tarou squeaked, almost falling off from its perch. In less than two blinks of an eye, the circular light receded and the thief and the mage both had disappeared. Gareth gaped at the spot—he was right there, right beside Zyriel and the thief, and he had done not a single damn thing. Like a helpless novice.

Gritting his teeth, he furiously sought an object for his retribution. A hunched-over priest wearing a sakkat and sunglasses, still holding out his shivering hand from casting the spell.

"You bastard! Where have you sent them?" Rage overcame Gareth as he pulled the bearded old man by the collar.

"Gago! There's no need for further aggravation!" Sala slapped the hunter's hand.

Frey looked back for the priestess, for a fleeting moment he saw her with eyes full of shock and longing. In a beam of light she disappeared. Back to Gareth, he was shaking the priest, trying to get an answer.

"Gareth, he's a priest. Stop." It was Frey's calm orders which finally got him to stop—the shaking at least.

"But Frey! Do you know where unsolicited warps go! Dungeons, that's where! Malas could be in serious trouble!"

Well, nice to know he cared. Sala shook his head at his kin. "Your belief is quite unfounded and you forget—Zyriel is with her. There is no need for worry."

"But—"

"Or you could just ask the priest where that warp was fixed," Frey suggested. Gareth just noticed that he had been holding up the priest's collar all this time. Geez, that beard was unnaturally long!

He lifted the old man closer so they were face-to-face. "Okay, old man, where's that warp headed? What kind of devious place had you sent them!"

"Gareth..." breathed Frey. The priest coughed and murmured something. The older members of the part bended closer to catch the word. The youngest one, Eviaren, only watched fearfully as the entire events had played out.

"WHAT!" The three shouted as once. They exchanged puzzled looks and burst out laughing. Gareth let go of the priest and shook his head in embarrassment. "You've got to be kidding me."

"I told you, you shouldn't have worried, now go apologize!" Sala gleefully commanded.

The alchemist's self-righteousness grated Gareth's pride. "Don't tell me what to do, stupidhead!"

Frey was too busy to notice the two got yet another fight, leaving the novice without proper supervision.

"Are you okay, Father?"

He gently assisted the old man in standing up and noticed a very peculiar thing. As the "old man" hunched over and brushed off the dirt, his hands didn't look old at all. It was smooth with fine pale skin.

"Thank you, young man." The priest flicked up the sakkat and lowered his glasses. Sharp blue orbs of crystal blue shone from within. "That's a nice looking helm you got there."

The knight's hand absently flew to his helm. "You're…"

The priest wagged a finger. Frey flushed and turned to the bickering duo.

"Gareth, you better apologize to the Father!"

Gareth stopped with his headlock and stared at him, slightly confused at this outburst. "But, Lord Frey, I wasn't done arguing with…"

"Now."

There will be no arguing with the Lord Frey Gard. "Sorry, Father." But when he turned to face the priest, the old man was gone!

"Kuya Gareth! Where are they?" wailed Eviaren, now that they weren't trying to kill each other.

"Huh? Evs, they're in the safest place possible." Gareth broke into a huge grin. "Lutie. Now, just where did the priest go?"

"Lutie?" asked the novice.

"Hey, you're right, where did that priest go?" Sala rubbed his sore neck.

"Lutie?"

"I dunno—I mean—he was an old guy. Old guys don't run that fast."

"Lutie?"

"Maybe he teleported. But I didn't see any beam of light."

"Kuya Sala!"

"We should ask Lord Frey."

"Kuya Gareth!"

"Don't call me Lord and, no, I didn't see him teleport. I turned away for a sec, he disappeared like a kisapmata."

"What's a kisapmata…? No! That wasn't my question! What's Lutie!"

"Hm…Evs? How long you've been standing there?" Eviaren silently fumed. The hunter laughed as he ruffled his hair—why is it always his hair? Now he had to shield his eyes from Kuya's shiny hair.

"It's the safest place they could possibly be." The three nodded solemnly in agreement, leaving the novice confused.

When Sala raised the question of what to do since their leader was gone Gareth had a ready answer. Unfortunately.

"What else but continue his plans and trek on to Comodo." He spoke so earnestly that for a moment Frey thought he was serious. Then the hunter snaked his arms around the knight's shoulders. "You're still keeping his bag of money and documents, right?"

"Yes…" answered Frey warily.

"Awright!" The hunter pumped a victorious fist. "Gambling and Gold!"

"Ga and Go," Sala dropped as they moved. The hunter flew to the front, acting so much like a little kid that Frey was laughing. Eviaren patiently waited until Sala took his hand and walked leisurely after the childish one. Frey, as always, took the position at the back. The knight gave one last lingering look before moving on.

"Acting is so hard for me."

The hunched priest easily stood straight, even leaning backwards a bit. Bits cracked—the result of the sudden change from bending for so long. He touched his sakkat and lazily tossed it aside, unleashing snowy white quills and cascading two loose spikes at either side of his face. He pulled off the Grampa beard and flung that as well, the mouth curling into an arrogant smile. He brushed his hand though his hair and removed the sunglasses, tucking it in one compartments of his belt. What were left were icy blue eyes which indolently took in the destruction before him. He was a striking man, not easily forgotten by those who meet him. Which might explain the disguise.

Time has been very kind to Matthew Dominic Ariel Bunemoir, the hundred and forty-fourth Bishop of the Cathedral of Angels Tears. He looked no younger than a man in his prime.

He was surveying the destruction caused by the Eddga, just the day before. Pure rubble…and plenty of burnt marks. The multiple circular patterns, messy that they maybe, indicated the use of a high-level wind spell. He kneeled down and picked up a piece of rubble. He picked very subtle signals of innate psychic power. Figures.

"Whites are bound to cause trouble. And in broad daylight and no warning, Dios Mio. At least no one died." He got in his feet and tossed the piece as he brooded.

It must have been the work of the so-called "god-like men", a family of supernatural beings wavering between the line of human and divine. Deus was the patriarch and the only male left of that immortal/mortal family. Bad things tend to happen to the guys… He had four daughters and only one has not been assigned a specific task. She was the youngest, making her the most rebellious and the most reckless. Inversely, she was also the weakest, a Poring compared to her sisters. It pays to have spies even if dealing with G.M.'s.

"I might have to deal with her. Then again I might not." He held the piece of rock against the sun. "The wheels of this design have already been set in motion long before I was born. In my hands were placed the power to keep it turning or have it stop. That doesn't mean—"he threw the bit upward and caught it again. "—I can't have my own plans."

"My dearest girl, I've managed to buy you the gift of reprieve. Enjoy it, for then the wheels of destiny will begin to careen downhill past the point of never return, dragging all the others with you..."

He slapped his hand against forehead and chuckled. "Look at me, having my own soliloquy." He inhaled deeply, relishing the forgotten smell of destruction. But just as well was the scent of peace.

"Well, the Cathedral could handle a few more days without me. Maybe I'll see Matilda and annoy the hell out of her."

The priest stopped playing with his rock and tightened his grip around it. The eyelids lowered and the air tensed around him.

"And, oh yes…" He spun and pitched the stone to the distance. At the resounding crack, an evil smile flitted his face before returning to a passive one.

"I can't have dark-possessed bards ruining my plans, can I?"

As he retrieved his shades, the gold locket he always kept with him got entwined with it. He opened the star-shaped locket and viewed at the smiling blond young woman with beautiful dark eyes. Father Matthew Dominic Ariel Bunemoir sighed to himself and safely tucked the locket. He procured a large violet afro wig, wore it along with the sunglasses and hummed to himself as he walked.

Kadilimna Gona slumped against a dirty slum wall. He clutched his right arm; the upper bones were shattered on impact by a rock. He cursed whoever did this as he watched his son, his nephew and the rest of the party walked away. Furious greens flashed and he suppressed the urge to slash the next person he saw. Only one person could have stopped him like this. It was the same priest who had impeded him from completing his vengeance on the pathetic village he was born. Now that the mage was gone, he would've thought it'd be easier to take Sel and deliver him to Mistress Liss but now this little injury will delay everything.

Damn it! He was right-handed!

She cried in pain as something soft bit her knee. She sprawled to the ground, the biting sensation devouring everything. It was so cold—the exposed parts of her body began to heat and numb. A distorted voice called and she was abruptly heaved up. It was like the time she was in the desert, only worse was the frighteningly absence of warmth. Please let there be no knights...

She cried in pain as something soft bit her knee. She sprawled to the ground, the biting sensation devouring everything. It was so cold—the exposed parts of her body began to heat and numb. A distorted voice called and she was abruptly heaved up. It was like the time she was in the desert, only worse was the frighteningly absence of warmth.

Instead a heavy cloth enveloped her, and two comforting hands circled her back. They ambled slowly, fighting the wind and cold white stuff striking her face. It was so familiar: the dark sky, the howling bitter winds, and the cold wetness under a piece of cloth. She tried to open her eyes but they continue to tear at her eyes. The voice shouted and a great flash light forced her to look up.

Zyriel held out one arm while firmly hugging her with the other. A small wall of fire blocked the incoming snow and wind. She shivered and the wall of fire spread into a circle and blazed higher.

"Are you all right?" gasped Zyriel. She nodded.

"Good. Listen, when this wall comes down, just cling close to me and I'll get us through this." She nodded again and hugged Zyriel's torso. Malas noticed that he only wore a short-sleeved black shirt, revealing numerous long scars on his bare arms, his usual leather gloves and long, loose sandy pants. How was he able to handle this weather in those clothes?

"Um...Zyriel?" The fires were dying down. "Will you be alright without your coat?"

His only response was to smile and hold her tightly, as they trudged against the snowstorm.

It was wrong to even think about it he was so glad he ended up in Lutie in the middle of a storm. Having her this close was so worth it.

Carol Pasko huddled before the fireplace, reading a story about evil Sasquatches. It read that they usually appear in a middle of a snowstorm. First they knock on unsuspecting people's doors, then call out their name to gain their trust but when the people open—BAM!—they find their souls stolen. She shivered at the prospect and sipped her hot chocolate. She choked on it when she heard the sudden pounding on the door. Pounding on the door? First sign…

"Carol!" came the muffled cry.

Eeek! It was calling her name! The evil Sasquatches' second sign!

"Go away!" She hid herself with the blanket she had close by.

"Open the door!"

"Go away! You Sasquatch!"

"Sasquatch? Carol, open the door!"

She scrambled from beneath the cover and grabbed the fire poker and aimed it at the door. "You're not stealing my soul!"

"Open up the damn door!"

"NO!"

There was silence.

"I've got gifts."

Gifts? Now this was totally different. She pulled the thick, wooden door and tumbling along sleet and snow were two bodies that were definitely not Sasquatches. One was cloaked and the other was...Zyriel!

He shook off the wetness and pushed back the door behind him. He turned to the little girl. "You mind if a friend and I crash for a while?"

"No way! I mean—no, I wouldn't mind." She ran to the living room and swerved to the staircase next to it

"Big sis! SIS!" she sang. "One of the guys is here!"

Malas dropped the coat, dripping as the heat melted the icicles. Zyriel was no better, his black hair slicked down and his unfit clothes clung to him. He still held on to her, just a little more loosely and she was glad. She felt so weak from the excursion, having been so used to the climate of the desert. Even in Prontera, she had never been this cold.

"You okay?" Zyriel whispered. She responded by clinging tighter to him for the support. The mage scarcely felt wet from all the heat that his body was making. His trance was broken when hurried thumps came from above. A new voice came from the top of the stairs.

"Carol! Why are you making all that noise!"

"Sis, one of the guys is home!"

There was a pause then urgent downward steps. "Really? Who! Is it our dear boy, Sala?" The voice grew more and more excited as a whirl of red began to descend. "My knight in shining armor, Frey?"

"Nope!" cheerfully sang Carol.

There an unbridled squeal of delight and an explosion of red as the thief and mage were knocked down. Zyriel pushed away Malas at the last second so she was spared from the furious intensity of the tackle.

"My BABY GARETH! I've missed you soooo much!"

Baby? Gareth? Malas groaned and raised her head only to see the sight of woman in a thick red dress hugging Zyriel. She seemed a little too comfortable with him, nuzzling against him with a very feline smile on her face. There was a moment of intense emotion in her chest before it was replaced with wonder. She had called Gareth "her baby." Could she be Gareth's mother? But she didn't look old enough to be Gareth's mother. Heck, she didn't look old to be anyone's mother!

"Nice to see you too, Bel."

The woman (who looked more like a girl) fluttered her eyes and lifted her head of shining hair. She blinked her amber eyes at the blank gray ones of the boy.

"You're not my baby."

"A most brilliant deduction!"

"You!" The woman breathed and swiveled her head to sister. "Carol, what have I told you about letting in riffraff?"

The little girl answered with a sound like a kitten's mew.

Zyriel rolled his eyes. "I didn't you know you were this happy to see me."

Her response to was to grab his collar and forced him standing. And even if Zyriel was taller than the girl, she managed to keep his toes from touching the floor—such raw strength! She growled at him, her beautiful features becoming feral. Malas had gotten up quietly and—fearing for Zyriel's life—quickly laid a hand on her dagger.

"You..." She growled again...then began shaking the mage back and forth. "Where's my poor baby! Why aren't you with him!" She stopped, tears welling her eyes. "You've left my poor helpless Gareth alone, haven't you? Haven't you!"

Zyriel was already used to this but he could understand the thief's bewildered look. Belen did that have effect on people. "Oi...Bel..."

"So where have left my poor innocent Gareth, you heathen! You inconsiderate monster! Where is my baby!" The girl drew him close, their faces practically millimeters from each other then…

Zyriel closed the gap and kissed her—leaving two girls in some serious shock.

A/n: Not quite how I've planned but it will do. Yeah, lacking in action but they finally got to Lutie.

Answers to reviews!

Skye Mihalak: Well, can't promise I won't put in any more Tagalog (or non-English) words since they were part of the original plan but I'm sure you'll get the gist of the story. Have a Lady Xeilisticia doll, peace!

Tsuki Hoshi Hikari: You remind me of angelstarhikaru. Thank you for your support! You get a Frey doll.

Tom Valor: Spiky-haired novice:) That still makes me laugh. Thanks, Kuya! Have a Ratty doll.

Reikua: Dontcha worry—you're definitely right! I really intended for him to use Wizard-level spells. Why? If everything goes well, then the explanation will be on Chapter Nine, the beginning of the four part background stories of Devil's Mischief. I'm kinda embarrassed by your warm compliments. (blush) A Zyriel doll for you.

Northernsword: Thank you and here's a Kadilimna doll.

Annika Lee: Yay! She reviewed! It's always a pleasure when you review! I'll let the characters speak for themselves. Sala's fuming because you think he and Gareth are brothers.
Sala: mumble...mumble...idiot!
L.C.: Now, now...technically speaking, you could be considered brothers. In fact, you're eligible to be his half-brother!
Sala: Grr...I'd rather kiss Lily!
L.C. (snaps fingers, sending the alchemist screaming into the abyss where Lily is waiting): Be my guest. Why is Sally so high blood when it comes to Gareth? The number eleven will hopefully explain this.
(Frey holds up a sign, "I Got a Fangirl!")
Gareth: Hey, no stealing!
L.C.: Speaking of Frey, I was absently drawing him when I noticed that he looks a lot like Keough from Ragnarok the Animation!
Gareth: 'Coz he has long spiky white-blond hair?
L.C.: But he usually keeps it under that "Aesir Helm" of his. Hope you enjoyed your cameo but now I've got to change Flight of An Angel (groan). This happened after Vermilion met Zhang Kai but before you went back to Prontera. Sorry 'bout your doll, in the meantime, have this Angel of Vengeance doll. Please don't hurt me.

Puppkid: Not like a Ragnarok fan fiction? Dude, I'm starting to worry. How is this not like Ragna? Even if you say you like it that way, I'm still worried. (Blinks) Well, some of it was well thought out for months but others were changed in the spur of the moment. Did you say chaos? Have my extra Fr. Matthew doll!

I think the reason many people think that this is a well-written work because of the first two chapters. It kinda makes me sad...my writing skills need to improve. I see the images in my head but the words refuse to come out...At least Matthew's here. Long live Matthew!