Chapter 16 – Revolutionary Revelation

-.-.-.-.-.

There was a thunderstorm brewing near the ancient Tower. Located in the most remote region of the Great Frontier, few monsters could be found here other than the versatile Aptonoth herds that grazed in the fields and the cold-loving Giaprey packs that could stand the high altitudes of the Tower itself. Elder dragons could be sighted around it occasionally, but aside from them… there was nothing.

The brewing storm was nothing major. Its intensity – about average, as far as storms went. It was heading inland from the region on the western coast, known as the Highland. Its weather patterns were unpredictable and seemed to change at a moment's notice, so it was known for its fierce rains and lightning strikes. Wherever the storm went beyond the Highland, there would certainly be destruction, but not on a catastrophic level. Some small animals would be evicted from their homes or trapped under debris… but that was inevitable.

That was why the Remobras followed the storm.

Known across the continent as "Envoys to Disaster", these snake wyverns lived up to their name. In the Age of Hunters, they were infamous for appearing after, and sometimes during, elder dragon attacks to feast on whatever destruction was left behind. Because elder dragons were so rare and not easily found, they also hung around areas affected by natural cataclysms, looking for weak and injured prey to exploit. They were the vultures of the Great Continent, so to speak.

Remobras themselves had built up an instinct over millions of years to follow in the wake of disaster. Death and destruction was what they thrived on, literally. If one were to peer into a Remobra's mind, they would find an obsessive compulsion to flock around areas ravaged by thunderstorms, or earthquakes, or elder dragon attacks. It was like disasters held them in some kind of hypnosis.

It came as no surprise that there were already several of the winged snake wyverns circling under the base of the clouds, shrieking and calling to each other. One of them, though, flew lower than the rest, its flight patterns not as smooth. Instead of catching the wind and soaring with its fellows, this Remobra alternated between soaring and flapping erratically, like it kept changing its mind midflight.

The agitated Remobra snapped its fangs and shook its head, messing up its flight even further. Angry hisses tore from its mouth as it swerved back and forth, occasionally flapping its wings madly to rise away from the barren ground below.

It looked like it was fighting with itself. And in truth, it was. Over and over again, the same phrases repeated themselves in the Remobra's brain like a never-ending mantra;

Follow the storm the storm provides follow the storm the storm provides follow the storm the storm provides –

NO! The word roared in the Remobra's head, interrupting its instinctual chant. I AM NOT ONE OF THEM!

Frustrated, the Remobra unleashed a horrible shriek that sounded like rage personified. It turned tail and flew as fast as it could toward the Highland, where it knew the safe Tower could be found.

It only wanted to put distance between itself and that awful thunderstorm.

It only wanted to be itself again.

-.-.-.-.-.

The room was dark, yet not completely so, as the sunlight streaming in through the open windows lit it up significantly. The interior was very well-decorated, with plenty of soft armchairs surrounding a circular rug in the center, a rug that had been carefully embroidered with a dragon-shaped symbol. At the back of the room, facing the exit, was a large desk with every square inch covered by books, papers, or small lamps. Potted plants and bookshelves took up the rest of the room, making it feel crowded in a comfortable kind of way.

A breeze wafted through and stirred the pages of any books left open, smelling strongly of the ocean. It was pleasant, but nevertheless did little to ease the tension weighing heavily on the room's occupants. On one side, humans and Wyverians – on the other, beings whom even a madman's worst nightmare couldn't have dreamed of.

For this was none other than the office/council room of the Guild-Master of Port Tanzia's Hunter's Guild. The short Wyverian sat atop a stack of books on his high-backed armchair – a seat that would seem more fitting in the quarters of a human crime boss rather than those of a benevolent reptilian being – which was the only way he could be clearly seen behind his desk. From the windows situated all around his office, which was located near the top of Port Tanzia's famous lighthouse, he could look down upon his beloved city whenever he wanted. Normally quite a carefree and jolly elder, his wrinkled face was further rumpled with a mix of confusion and suspicion, like he still hadn't quite convinced himself that he hadn't gone insane. The mug of ale on the arm of his armchair hadn't been touched yet, unusual behavior for this particular Guild-Master.

Beside his desk, in a slightly darker part of the room, was the imposing figure of the far north ruler known only as the Tundra King. The mysterious, white-bearded man was the ruler of a large town located in the far north of the Moga region – not as large as Port Tanzia, but important for trade. The Tundra King, who never gave his true name, and his 'kingdom' were close allies of Port Tanzia and (once upon a time) Loc Lac City, even though he was definitely intimidating and a little shady in comparison. When the Human-Monster War had been brought to an end, he had been the least happy about it, since a lot of his trade deals revolved around monsters and their various body parts.

Sitting in the other chairs, which were organized in a U-shape whose points touched the Guild-Master's desk, were the visitors from Mezeporta – namely, the Guild-Master, his granddaughter Caela, the Guild officials Dozer and Zald, and Phisto Docks. They had come here to discuss the disappearance and possible death of Lumis, a researcher that had come to Moga in order to investigate the origins of the hurricane that had struck Deserted Island five years ago. At least, that was until they had met the second group of visitors to Port Tanzia.

Duruhos and the human-monster hybrids.

The feeling of shock was quite mutual between the two groups. On the side of the humans and Wyverians, their worlds had just been turned upside down with the entry of these creatures that looked like humans with the features of various monsters destroying their otherwise normal appearances. None of them had even thought once that anything remotely like these beings could exist, and yet here they were, right in front of their disbelieving eyes. They were all asking themselves the same questions – What are they? Where did they come from? How did they come into existence? Am I dreaming?

On the hybrids' side, though, their thoughts were different. They had believed they would be granted an audience with the Guild-Master of Port Tanzia alone. But here they were confronted with not only the old Wyverian that had accepted Duruhos' request for a diplomatic visit, but also with his close ally, another Guild-Master, and researchers. None of them were prepared for this, and more than one were having second thoughts about the supposed wisdom of revealing themselves in the first place.

This was a meeting whose outcome would be dreadfully uncertain.

The first one who spoke was Duruhos. "I-I was under the impression that you, Guild-Master, would be the only one here," he managed to say coherently, despite his shock.

Tanzia's Guild-Master, the least surprised-looking one, shrugged and replied, "Aye, I do apologize fer havin' invited more than me fair share of company after ye requested privacy. Suppose my meetin' with them folks" – he gestured to those from Mezeporta – "made me ferget about yer request, Mr. Duruhos."

"P-Pardon me," Zald half-squeaked (she was having more difficulty overcoming the unexpected sight of the Rust Duramboros-man than the Guild-Master was), raising a hand. "But you two already know each other?"

"Well, no, not really," admitted the Tanzian Guild-Master, reaching out for a small scroll. He unrolled it and responded, "Aye, here it be. Mr. Duruhos signed this here message, requestin' that he an' his crew come here fer a parlay. I, ah, must've had more than me fair share of ale after receivin' it…"

The next to speak from the band from Mezeporta was Caela, who sat up straight and spoke as clearly as she was able. "Perhaps we should get on with the meeting as planned. I have no trouble keeping Mr… Duruhos and his companions a secret if the local Guild-Master is willing to trust him enough to schedule a private audience with him."

"You took the words right out of my mouth," her grandfather rasped. "Caela, that is an astute observation you just made. You will make a fine Guild-Master someday."

She smiled. Phisto snuck a look at her and turned pink.

"Let us start with the business of why our curiously-endowed friends have come here in the first place," the Tundra King spoke up.

The sentence seemed to cut through the warm atmosphere and leave a dead silence behind. Although reluctant to look at the man, Phisto did anyway and shuddered as discreetly as possible. He was no fan of the Tundra King – he distinctly remembered those arching eyebrows and sophisticated white robes on the very day that he and Catry had been banished from Loc Lac City. In fact, it had been the Tundra King who suggested banishment in the first place.

Not going to think about it, the Docks boy decided firmly. So, he focused his attention on something in the room that was infinitely more interesting – the hybrids. Now that he got a good look at them, and the shock had mostly worn off, he could appreciate how fascinating they were.

"Yes, me ally has a fine point," the Tanzian Guild-Master agreed. "Why are ye here, Mr. Duruhos?"

"Well…" the old hybrid thought aloud, scratching at one of his horns. "I merely wished to make first contact. I thought that if my hybrids and I were discovered by accident, the outcome may turn out to be less pleasant than preferable. So, I thought that by making first contact with the outside world…"

"I see," said the Mezeportan Guild-Master. "My apologies for interrupting you. But your decision is smart and clearly well thought-out. It is one that I probably would have made, were I in your… ah, shoes." He glanced at Duruhos' elephantine feet and frowned, "Sorry, wrong metaphor."

"But," asked Dozer, "if you don't mind, what do you mean by 'outside world'? Where do you come from… uh, sir?"

"That's not something we're willing to divulge," Cindy growled. "Not when there's every possibility that this meeting could end in another war."

"Cindy!" snapped Duruhos. "That was highly uncalled for. I apologize for my friend's, er, unique personality," he said with a bow to the Guild-Master. "She tends to be a 'glass half-empty' kind of person, you know."

"To answer your question," rumbled Ray, nodding to Dozer, "we currently live in the ruins of Loc Lac City."

Hearing the name of his old home made Phisto start paying very close attention.

Unbeknownst to anyone, the Tundra King was as well.

"Mmm, aye," the Tanzian Guild-Master considered. "We stay away from that accursed place. It be a mystery, what happened to the old capital of Moga. It certainly be safe for ye and yer folk."

The Mezeportan Guild-Master interjected with a polite cough. "I must say," he commented, "for someone born a monster, Mr. Duruhos, you are clearly a being as intelligent and capable as any human being. Or Wyverian, for that matter. I am surprised to find myself completely overlooking your physical appearance, as if I was speaking to any ordinary person."

There were words of agreement from Caela, the other Guild-Master, and the researchers – even the Tundra King nodded along with them.

"If I may ask," Zald called for attention with a raise of her hand, "who are those you brought with you, Mr. Duruhos?"

The Rust Duramboros-man smiled. "Ah, I suppose it would be high time for formal introductions. Pardon my rudeness. I, as you know, am Duruhos, the leader of the hybrid community."

He gestured to his Elites and went on, "This is Cindy, the Glavenus-woman, and Ray, the Gammoth-man."

Phisto, as well as Zald and Dozer, found themselves quite awed. All of them had heard whispers, even legends, about the quartet of monsters recently confirmed to exist in the Nameless region. While not elder dragons, they were so legendary that the old tales about them called them The Four Kings. And here were two of them in the flesh, the King of the North and King (or Queen) of the South.

"Then," Duruhos continued, "there is Atticus, the Seltas-boy, and his caretaker Kumono, the Nerscylla-boy."

Seeing a few confused faces staring at them, Kumono approached and raised his head so that his face could be seen under his hood. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Atticus' wings buzzed, but aside from that, he made no noise.

"You are a Nerscylla, he said?" inquired the Tundra King, sounding interested yet skeptical. "You seem quite human to me."

A wry smile appeared on Kumono's face. He extended his two spider legs, showing them off for a moment before folding them back up against his back. Then he opened his mouth wide, his lips peeling back grotesquely while a pair of dripping chelicerae slid out from the slits on the inside of each cheek. Caela turned pale, while Phisto tried to ignore his stomach churning.

"Now that we've cleared that up," Duruhos chuckled to the crowd of shocked faces in front of him, "there is one more I must introduce. This is Gulo, the Jhen Mohran hybrid. As you know, the Jhen Mohran is a powerful elder dragon, and Gulo uses his strength to keep watch over our city in case any threats approach."

"Pleasure to meet you!" Gulo enthused, straightening the muscle shirt that didn't quite cover up his large belly.

The Tanzian Guild-Master gave each of the hybrids a long, speculative look, appearing to be deep in thought about something. He didn't talk, though, until he had taken several large swigs from his ale and shifted so that he was more comfortable on his stack of books.

"Ye certainly do look like a strappin' bunch, ye do," he remarked, finally. "An' the li'l Seltas nipper ye have is cute, I'll give him that. But there be one thing that confuses me, Mr. Duruhos."

"And that would be?" Duruhos replied calmly. But inwardly, he was bracing himself for what he knew was coming next.

"How did" – the Tanzian Guild-Master started, then lost his nerve. "This be hard to put into words, ye see. The Human-Monster War went on fer many centuries, an' only five years have passed since it ended. An' now, before me, I be seein' ye hybrids, combinations of the very two sides that have been fightin' fiercely with each other up 'til now. How did that happen? Yer whole 'turnin' into humans' thing, that be."

Simultaneously, the hybrids glanced each other with definite discomfort. This was a subject that they had thought would come up eventually, but that didn't make them any more willing to openly discuss it. It was a touchy thing to talk about – even amongst themselves.

The Tanzian Guild-Master, and everyone else, waited patiently. Some, like Phisto and Caela, had their breaths held.

"The truth is…" Duruhos, at last, began to speak. He swallowed thickly and finished his sentence, "None of us are quite sure, ourselves. Our individual stories are all the same – going about our normal lives as monsters, then suddenly one day, waking up in a completely new body with completely new thoughts."

"Some of adjust more quickly than others," Kumono said, quietly. He lightly stroked Atticus' shoulder and went on, "While the physical change is quick, it takes us time to go from true monster to what we are now."

Fascinated, the Mezeportan Guild-Master nodded thoughtfully as he took that in. The rest did nothing but sit there in silence, trying to imagine what it would be like – suddenly waking up in a strange body and having your own mind slowly change over time.

Must be like being banished, Phisto thought, with a furtive glance at the Tundra King. It happens so suddenly, and it takes a surprisingly long time to sink in…

"But as far as what causes the transformation," Cindy spoke up in a low growl, "nobody knows. Some of us can remember feeling a faint trace of magic in the air when we wake up in our new forms, but there's no clue other than that."

"Magic, ye say?" asked the Tanzian Guild-Master, blinking.

Upon hearing the name of that forbidden force of nature, inaccessible to all but the mightiest of elder dragons, the silence that already pervaded the Guild-Master's office became heavier, bordering on death-like.

"It's our only clue as to what causes the transformations," Ray elaborated. "We think it's because of the magic still clinging to us, the force that is responsible for our very existence, that ordinary monsters are driven away."

"They're terrified of us," added Duruhos, grimly. "They want nothing to do with magic, and rightly so. All monsters know the consequences of interacting with it – we remember the Day of Destruction as well as you do."

A deathly chill settled upon the office, and coincidentally, a cloud passing by outside covered up the sun, darkening the room. Several people ducked their heads, trying to hide their discomforted reactions.

Gulo did as well, but it was to hide a small smile.

Then a cough came from Dozer. "Well, on that cheery note," he began in an effort to change the subject, "I know I don't speak for everyone when I say this, but I've seen enough to decide that your acquaintanceship is worth it."

"What do you mean?" Zald asked her fellow researcher.

But it was not him who answered – rather, Caela. The Wyverian told her, "I agree. I'm curious about these hybrids, and want to learn more. We are monster researchers, after all. Perhaps we could be allies, with further negotiations of course."

"And maybe," her grandfather rasped, "you can one day leave your home in the ruins of Loc Lac, and come to Mezeporta."

Even Duruhos was shocked speechless by this notion. He had come with his aides, aiming to make peaceful contact with the Guild-Master of Port Tanzia – but it was now the Guild-Master of Mezeporta that was trying to take that contact a step further! It was more than he had been hoping for, and from an entirely different direction, too.

It wasn't just him, either. Phisto was similarly stunned. The idea of intermingling with a newly-discovered sentient species – technically, a 'species' made up of many different ones – well, it just boggled his mind. Life on the Great Continent would never be the same. Were they truly ready to accept such… he hated to use the word, but unnatural creatures into their society?

He raised his hand. "Um… if I could speak…"

"Aye, go ahead, nipper," the Tanzian Guild-Master permitted him, raising his mug of ale in recognition.

Phisto voiced his fears in a halting, uncertain tone. He said that the creation of these human-monster hybrids was a revelation that shook up his world, and it would shake up the worlds of many other people if knowledge of their existence were to ever get out. They shouldn't make any hasty decisions. They should instead think this through very carefully.

"Well said," croaked the Mezeportan Guild-Master. "This isn't something we can do without thought. Civilized life as we know it is at stake, especially if we don't plan this out properly."

Appearing distressed, Duruhos bowed slightly and said, "I do not wish to cause you so much trouble. My only intention was for this to be a friendly meeting."

"An' a friendly meeting it was!" agreed the Tanzian Guild-Master. "Now, it be gettin' late in the day, so whyn't I show ye hybrid-whatsits to some spare rooms – there be some in this here building, Mr. Duruhos, I already be aware of how ye value yer privacy. As fer the rest o' ye –"

"We shall stay with our airship," Caela interrupted with a diplomatic smile. "But we still wish to meet with you again, to talk about Lumis."

Ah yes, the missing researcher. The reason why they had come here in the first place was brought to light for the Mezeportan researchers. But they'd have to leave the investigation for later, especially now that they had a new issue to deal with – that of the hybrids.

Their view of the world was suddenly crumbling around them.

And none of them, sans Gulo, knew that soon, the world itself would soon follow.

-.-.-.-.-.

The first chance he got, the Sin of Gluttony ditched Duruhos and the rest and ran out into Port Tanzia. He was cautious of being discovered by humans, who would undoubtedly freak out at the sight of his Jhen Mohran tusks and back ridge. He stuck to back alleys as he headed toward the outskirts of the city, a single destination in mind.

Gulo knew that he'd have to get to Loc Lac City himself. Avari had been right – he shouldn't expect the Sin of Greed to appear every time he wanted him, especially since he had been doing so much flying around for the Seven as of late. Besides Luxi, he was the strongest flier in the group – heck, he was the only flier in the group! But as much as Avari hated running so many errands at once, Gulo knew that the rest of them had their own parts to play eventually.

And now that the plan is truly underway, he thought, as idly as if he was thinking about the weather instead of a future doomsday, all these years of waiting will be worth it. It'll be a lot of work – and Ace hates work – but we'll all do it, because this is our goal. Our dream. Our –

He turned the corner and immediately froze in his tracks as he smelled something delicious coming from another direction. He realized that he must be in an alley that was near one of Port Tanzia's markets. It hit him just then – he hadn't eaten in at least half an hour.

In only a moment, Gulo had swapped priorities. Food first, then make the journey to Loc Lac. He'd need to keep his energy up, after all.

It'll only take like a minute, he reasoned. And even in the dictionary, 'snack' comes before 'travel'.

Several minutes later, Gulo was feeling quite proud of himself as he left the market, which had technically closed for the night, but it hadn't been any trouble at all to swipe a Jaggi leg from one of the empty stalls. After only a minor detour, he was back on track, with a drumstick the size of a human arm to keep him company. It hadn't slowed him down at all, and anyway, the Sin he was supposed to be meeting in a couple of nights wouldn't care if he came stuffing his face so long as he was on time – Hell, they're probably expecting it, he realized with a hearty chuckle.

He was about to duck back into an alley when a flash of moonlight on white caught his eye. It was accompanied by a slight movement, prompting him to turn around and investigate. When he saw what it was, his eyebrows rose almost of their own accord – he had seen that robe before, not too long ago.

"Huh," he muttered. "What's the Tundra King doing out so late? Maybe he's up to no good…"

With another chuckle, he turned back around and continued on his way, not paying the shifty ruler of the north another thought.

-.-.-.-.-.

I'd like to eat a Jaggi leg.

'The Four Kings', incidentally, are the titles belonging to the Elite Four in my head-canon. Each of the Elite Four are said to represent one of the points on the compass, and are also said to "rule" over each point.

Also, a Remobra seems to be fighting its own instincts. Trust me, there's a point to this. I was planning on having a Remobra character later on in the story, but I didn't know how to really introduce that particular plotline until very recently, when I got the inspiration from "The Good Dinosaur". If you've seen that Pixar film, you'll know EXACTLY what I'm talking about.

"The storm provides!"

In summary, the separate stories of the hybrids and the researchers have finally collided – and now the plot can really get going. What'll happen now? Give me some reviews, and you'll start to find out beginning next chapter!