Chapter 50: Party Crashers
The shell-shock did not last long, and the Dragon Knights and golems lunged towards the new arrivals. That was their first mistake.
Erik waved his left hand almost contemptuously, and a wall of fire erupted beneath their feet, immolating some and sending others flying back. Golden flames popped here and there, sucking the armored forms into a bonfire.
Erik narrowed his eyes at that. These people weren't Hollowed?
"I hate you so much!" Mytha shouted, blasting out sorceries at the Golems, toppling them. In the midst of the skirmish a half dozen more Wyverns plunged down, smashing into the ground and unloading their Undead and Dark riders. They quickly joined battle, sending the remaining Dragon Knights into a frenzy. Upon seeing the Daughters of Dark they focused all their effort into attacking them.
That was their second mistake.
Erik thrust out his hand, and fifteen Dragon Knights were frozen solid. A massive Fireball appeared in the chef's hand afterwards, and he tossed it at the icy knights, shattering and melting them in the ensuing explosion. The explosion from the Flash Freeze spell dealt even more destruction, which an entire section of the fortress crumbling away and plunging down the mountainside.
That was the straw that broke the camel's back, and the Dragon Knights began to retreat. The Blue Phantoms began to fade, so Vengarl Raime, and the Sisters of Dark chased after the impressively armored figures, hunting them down through the crumbling fortress.
"We'll take care of Aldia's remaining servants, you make sure everyone else is alright," Nadalia ordered before nailing a Cleric with a Fireball. Erik just nodded, hurrying over to the Emerald Herald and her group.
"Erik!" Lucatiel cried, throwing herself around the young cook in a massive hug.
"It's good to see you, Luca," Erik said happily.
"Indeed it is! Come here! Group hug!" Mytha crowed, wrapping the two smaller figures in a crushing embrace.
"So, this is the man who've pledged yourself too, Luca?" The other masked Mirrahian knight commented dryly. At his side Rosabeth giggled as she clung to his arm.
"Ah!" Lucatiel shouted, disentangling herself.
"Erik, Mytha, allow me to introduce you to my brother, Aslatiel of Mirrah. Aslatiel, Rosabeth, meet Erik Potts and Queen Mytha of Alken."
"A pleasure to meet you," the male swordsman said, bowing politely. He reached up and removed his mask, revealing a handsome, rugged man with brown hair and stubble on his chin that only added to his appeal.
"Thank you, Sir Potts, for taking care of my baby sister. I'm glad she had someone to look after her out in this dreadful place."
"No problem at all. She's a precious friend, and I was glad to have her sword at my side."
Lucatiel squirmed slightly at the praise, causing her brother to chuckle.
"I must be honest, I never expected such a daring rescue," Rosabeth stated, sending a glance to the broken forms of the Wyverns.
"Oh, that was an application of a Pyromancy Nadalia taught me," Erik said dismissively.
The dark skinned Pyromancer's eyes lit up and she darted forward and grabbed Erik's hands.
"Teach me teach me teach me!" She pleaded, hopping up and down.
"Um, sure, I guess," Erik stammered, leaning back from her enthusiasm.
"Please excuse Rosa, she's a bit of a magic-maniac," Aslatiel supplied, causing the woman to pout.
"Just like Carhillion," Erik agreed. Rosabeth tilted her head at that.
"How is my teacher doing?"
"Good. Eccentric, but good. He keeps asking to dissect my left hand to figure out the secrets of Cryomancy."
"I saw that! That was amazing! I've always thought it was possible for a Pyromancer to wield ice through reverse application, but no one has ever succeeded before!"
"If you are quite finished," a dry voice called out. Everyone turned to the brass armored knightess, who shouldered a large, curved blade that looked like it had eyes branded onto its edge and walked over to Erik and his crew with the Emerald Herald in tow.
"Greetings, miss. I'm afraid I'm at a disadvantage. May I ask your name?" Erik said with a bow.
"As usual, a womanizer to the end. I weep for the poor souls who have fallen for you," the knightess declared, ignoring his request. Off to the side, Shanalotte and Lucatiel shifted uncomfortably.
"Um, I'm sorry?"
"You should be."
Erik looked down at his feet, unsure of why he felt so bad. As if he had been scolded by a close friend.
"How did you know where I was?" the Emerald Herald inquired, stepping forward.
Glancing up, Erik noticed that the object she held close to her chest looked like a pulsing grey soul, and it sang with power that made the souls in his own body sigh in nostalgia.
"Shalquoir led us here, she said you were in trouble," Erik explained.
"She did?" the Last Firekeeper muttered, surprised.
"Was it really so strange that I would not bring you your knight in less than shining armor?" A familiar sweet voice called out, and the talking cat they all knew and loved sauntered forward.
"Greetings, honored Watcher," the brass knight declared, bowing her head politely.
"Greetings in return, Darkmoon Knightess," Shalquoir replied before rubbing up against Shanalotte's leg fondly.
"How did you get here so fast? You didn't want to ride the dragons with us," Mytha pointed out.
"I walked. Just because you lot were too much of a bunch of scaredy-cats to brave the rickety bridges doesn't mean I had to be a wimp."
"You were just scared to fly on the Wyverns," Mytha retorted.
"Focus!" Shanalotte cried. Everyone shuffled their feet in embarrassment.
"Now, Erik, this is what you need to obtain the final piece of the puzzle," the Emerald Herald claimed, holding out the flickering grey flame-like object.
"This is the Ashen Mist Heart, the pinnacle of Aldia's experiments in Time Travel," she revealed. "Created from fusing the soul of a giant with the soul of a Firekeeper, and bathed in the essence of the First Flame, it can allow you to move into the past for short periods of time. And this is the only way to recover an item hidden by Vendrick to reach the Throne of Want, and thus, the First Flame."
"Amazing," Erik whispered, reaching out for the altered soul.
Before he could touch it the Darkmoon Knightess lowered the giant blade in front of him. Everyone tensed, staring at the mysterious woman. The massive dragon growled menacingly. Erik gave the monstrous being a sidelong look before focusing back on the brass woman. He could question the dragon-thing later.
"Not yet," she stated. "We have to wait for the rest."
"Who?" Mytha demanded, gripping her spear tighter.
She was replied by a pointed finger towards the approaching Sisters of Dark, and the other warriors.
"Erik, get away from her!" Elana shouted, bringing up her giant glaive. Her siblings also brought out their weapons.
"What's going on?" the chef cried, looking from the angry Dark Ones to the brass woman.
"She's one of the Darksun's loyal servants!" Nadalia claimed.
"Be at peace, I am not here to fight," the Darkmoon Knightess claimed. She did not lower her weapon though.
"A likely story!" Alsanna retorted, glaring at her.
"Enough."
The voice that called out from nowhere sounded young and childish, but slammed into everyone with powerful force, enough to bring the group to their knees.
Only the Darkmoon Knightess and the Dark Sisters remained standing, though they shook from the pressure.
In the middle of the platform, a swirling portal tore itself open and from it emerged an elegant figure in white and gold.
Purest white robes gilded with gold, while wearing a golden headdress shaped like a sun burst. In their hand was a golden scepter, and it radiated magical energy. What drew the eye most were the dozens of serpents that pooled from beneath his robes, acting as his feet.
"Gwyndolin," Erik whispered as he stared at the figure, memories that were not his own rushing into his mind.
A loving father who was so proud, and so sorry for what he had been forced to do to save his youngest child.
A doting fiery Godmother, who wept with shame at what her powers had wrought upon the poor child.
A jolly skeletal uncle who was proud of how far Gwyndolin had come, and how he had endured the loneliness of immortality.
A pale Dragon who snorted with begrudging amazement at how powerful the failure had become.
And lastly, a Chosen One who had been the Last God's only friend wept with joy at seeing him one more time.
For some reason Erik felt tears dripping down his face as he looked up at the immaculate figure.
"It has been a while, Daughters of Manus," The Darksun stated, giving a polite nod of his head towards the trio. He continued to walk forward, ignoring their hostile silence.
"You have grown up well, Shanalotte," the God, for what else could he be, said to the Emerald Herald, who could not meet his gaze.
At last, the Last True God stood in front of Erik, who was still kneeling on the ground.
"Hello again, *&!%."
To everyone's shock and confusion he bent down, wrapping Erik in a tight hug.
"I have endured, as you requested, my first and only friend," the Darksun whispered. He released the chef and stood, smiling kindly down on him.
"You achieved your dream, I see. Good for you."
"I don't understand," Erik whispered back, unsure of why his eyes continued to cry.
Instead of explaining, Gwyndolin took the Ashen Mist Heart from the Emerald Herald and held it out to Erik.
"Take it. Obtain your past, reveal your destiny."
Hesitantly the Undead chef reached out and grasped the flickered soul-flame.
As his fingers touched it he collapsed to his knees, mind and soul suddenly assailed by visions.
He found himself before a bonfire that was set in a circular room with a steep staircase leading down to a Fog Gate. In front of it, Erik could see a man with messy black hair sitting in front of the swirling portal on a purple and gold rug. He was dressed in tattered, makeshift armor with a ratty cape. At his side the same weapon the Firekeeper wielded lay. A name floated into Erik's mind.
'Server,' the weapon was called.
"Hello again, Gwyndolin."
"*&!%. Hello. I sense that you finally have all of the Lord Souls." From beyond the door the Darksun's voice echoed forth.
"I do. It was hard, but I endured."
"I am so, so sorry you must do this," Gwyndolin wept, the sorrow and regret clear in his voice.
"Don't be, Lin. This is my choice. If it leads to my death, so be it. At least I finally did something worthwhile with my life."
"We can find another way! Frampt and Kaathe are just two of the Primordial Serpents! There are others, and thus, more ways to fix the First Flame!" Gwyndolin cried, anguish in his voice.
"If they have not shown themselves now, then they either do not care, or side with the Kingseeker or the Darkbringer. There is no other choice at the moment. Maybe if we had more time, but..." the dark haired man trailed off.
"We do have more time! All the time in the world! Don't do this!"
"If I don't do this, then everyone else's sacrifices will be in vain!" the young man shouted, slamming his left fist onto the ground and sending out gouts of flame from the contact.
"Crestfallen Sam, Apprentice Griggs, Fireseeker Laurentius, Bighat Logan, brave Siegmeyer, kindly Rhea, sunny S-Solaire," the man's voice broke at the last name, and Erik felt unfathomable sorrow stab into him.
"If I don't link the First Flame, I will be betraying their memories. Their lives. Their deaths. I won't do that. I can't do that."
The man in front of the Fog Gate rose, grabbing his blade and bowing towards the unseen god.
"Take care of the world for me, Lin. And, if possible, please reconcile with your niece. Priscilla does not deserve your scorn. The woman I love deserves better than that."
"I will. I promise. I will never forget you, *&!%," the Darksun wept.
The brown haired warrior nodded in thanks before turning around and walking up the stairs.
Erik remained stock still, unable to move. He was too busy staring at the face of the person in his memory.
It was like looking in a mirror.
Not-Erik grinned a familiar cheeky grin as he stood in front of the chef.
"Hello, me."