Chapter 75

Jericho

As Tyris took to the skies once more, heading for the Tower of Owen with Tiamat quickly following, Ballad summoned Cerberus. He did not know Reinhardt's exact location in those winding passes through the sapphire flames, but Cerberus would. Sleipnir's hoofbeats came to an abrupt halt as Cerberus knocked the warhorse violently into some flaming trees, followed by a blood-curdling bellow that could only have come from Reinhardt himself. Sure enough, the bounding of Cerberus sounded, heading for Ballad's position, swiftly followed by the foreboding galloping of Sleipnir's eight hooves.

Ballad did not recall his GF, intending the tri-headed hellhound to lead the highlander to him. Though while he waited, he scanned and recognised each of the fallen Galbadians littering the area around the fountain, most of them Garlands.

He recognised Lydia, from Venetia, who had been awarded a Griever's Heart after the Timber campaign when her stoic holding of a position against Magitek units had prevented the annihilation of a whole company. She had been the first woman since Edea Kramer to receive the commendation. Usually full of life, her chest had been crushed so hard from a hammer blow that her spine had popped through her armour, and her legs were burnt almost to the bone.

Then Ballad recognised Yemi, but only by his do-rag and dreadlocks. Yemi had been a Kakashbaldi street punk from the capital, who had been given a choice between a stint at the D-District's juvenile tower or enrolment at Galbadia Garden. Ballad had seen leadership potential in him, though Yemi had defied even his expectations to earn the maroon beret within four years. Even after becoming a Garland, Yemi still wore the do-rag, never letting himself forget his roots, and the black material was about to be engulfed in the fire that had reduced half of his body to ashes.

There was also Jason, from Wilburn, who looked as though he had been paralysed from a blow to the back before being trodden by Sleipnir. His head was crushed, and Ballad only knew it was Jason from the red hair and the scar across his left hand.

Good soldiers. Men and women all giving their lives in defence of a land that was not their own, in a bid to reverse the shameful reputation Galbadia had gained twenty years ago. Most if not all of the Garlands had already died here, and Ballad had not been here to stand with them. It was very likely Siegfried and Nadia were among the dead, too. He was the only one left, now.

Before long, he saw Cerberus, who ran right into his summoner as he dematerialised, flooding Ballad with the strength he would need. The gargantuan, pale-armoured form of Reinhardt bore down on him, slowing to a trot as he entered the fountain plaza.

'Son of Vinzer!' Reinhardt roared, in that gravelly highlands rhoticity, then gloated, 'I am now the Destroyer of Garland! Not one of your Troopers remain alive! Know that they all died with a weapon in hand, and they await you in Valhalla!'

Ballad said nothing. The deaths of his comrades would not affect him until later, he knew, post-traumatically as they always did. At this moment, he felt only a serene clarity that he needed to avenge the Regiment. He and Reinhardt had first met at Dollet City, during the liberation, though outnumbered four to one it was all Ballad could do to flee. The Lioness and her pride had saved him, along with the captured Sieg and Nadia, a debt he hoped he could one day repay. Now, man on man, Ballad had a chance to slay this monstrous giant.

Reinhardt dismounted Sleipnir, his sabatons landing with a crash before the GF was recalled, hefting his hammer so the haft rested against his off-white breastplate. Ballad had heard tell that Celes had hamstrung him, but his leg had evidently been mended.

He met Reinhardt halfway. The highlander ruthlessly struck with broad swings of his hammer, each at a differing angle, concentrating Odin's power into each devastating blow. If just one of those swings found their mark, Ballad would be joining his comrades before he knew it. For his brutishness, Reinhardt became predictable, telegraphing each effort with his shoulders; the hammer or the axe were for those who could rely on brute force and had neither the patience nor the aptitude to learn swordplay. Ballad constantly circled, darting in like a coeurl whenever he saw an opening, only to have to back up, unable to penetrate a weak point in that pale armour.

Suddenly, Reinhardt hung back, announcing, 'The Empress has demanded all Garlands be reclaimed by the earth!' Now, he struck the cobblestoned ground with the hammer, channelling earth magic to open a round fissure at Ballad's feet. Ballad dropped into the gaping opening, but Cerberus appeared at the bottom, cushioning his fall. With a toss of his thick necks, his GF threw him skyward and safely removed from the fissure.

Ballad landed painfully on the ground above, as the rock walls closed in on Cerberus, a pained yelp coming from the hole before it snapped shut with a rough tremor. Reinhardt closed the distance between them with one step. His hammer swung down, and Ballad instinctively rolled to avoid it as it made a small crater in the ground, finding his feet. He felt the essence of Cerberus return to him, but knew the Gatekeeper was significantly weakened, lending him just enough speed to avoid Reinhardt's next blows. Ballad sidestepped to avoid another, but the highlander feinted and almost struck him with a second. The hammerhead struck one energy-flooded gladius near the handle and shattered it. Ballad backed up, but stumbled right into the broken body of Jason, falling, and almost dropping his remaining sword.

Even as Ballad regained his footing, Reinhardt did not even move to block the stout stab aimed for his breastplate, instead seizing his wrist and snapping the bones as though they were no denser than dry twigs. Ballad howled as his limp wrist was dropped, blindingly backing up towards the Jadis fountain with a watery film covering his eyes. Yet Reinhardt moved with impossible speed, and Ballad could see the deadly arc of the hammer approaching his chest. He willed Cerberus to shield him with the last of his power. The blow sent Ballad flying yards away, over the charred bodies of his comrades and into the stone edge of the fountain.

Before the blackness took him, he tried to call out Tyris' name.

The 'top' of the Tower of Owen was not a flat surface as such, but more of a horrendous crack, as a tree might look once having felt the wrath of one Pandemonium's hurricanes. It was the point from where the tower had violently toppled in ages past, in the unprecedented event from legend where the Floating Continent came tumbling to join its sister landmasses. It was a hard, rough, and uneven surface, with threatening rocky spires as broad as Tiamat and unforgivingly hard miniature plateaus. The roof, if it could be called as such, had long been inaccessible from below, and something within the tower always interfered with modern aircraft and made their systems go haywire. As a result, the surface had received very few visitors across the millennia.

As soon as Tyris reached the top of the Tower, she flipped in mid-air to face her nemesis. Quetzal guided her with this one, though its intention was to dupe Zebalga and give him momentary pause. Her wingbeats were calm and measured as she hovered. She knew he would not attack immediately, as gloating and belittling his opponents was in his nature. Predictably, Tiamat's head shot up and they slowed to a halt, and there they hovered, just yards above the prehistoric tower.

'You have become an abomination,' Zebalga called out to her with disgust. He was wearing sunglasses, though he must have been looking at her wings. 'It is time for you to die, Almasy. Vlahos was right. I should have killed you that night, but I was ignorant of your parentage and did not believe you would live to adulthood. I will correct that mistake, now.'

Only then did Tyris realise that after all these years, she was no longer afraid of him. The apprehension and anxiety from before their first fight were but a distant memory. Raikou was firmly in her hand, and further reassured with the knowledge that he could not disarm her this time, Tyris was tranquil as she faced him. She shook her head once.

'No,' she said serenely. 'This is where you finally meet your end.'

He grunted, then spoke again.

'We shall see.'

There was a sudden flash of midnight blue, and Tiamat's white-hot flare tore to meet her in the sky. Tyris nimbly avoided, channelling the wayward lightning around her body into Raikou's tip and attempting to loop around Tiamat. Zebalga reared on the half-Elder's back, khopesh held high and flashing in the intense sun. Tiamat's maw opened, and another flare shot at her. This time, she knocked it asunder with Raikou. There was so much lightning concentrated in Raikou's spear tip that it was now a light blue, and Tyris released it, though it fingered toward Tiamat's centre mass only to be stopped by a stalwart mana-ward.

Keep him busy, Ramuh! Tyris thought, using her main advantage, which was her two GFs – albeit weaker – to Zebalga's one. And why not? Zebalga would doubtless be doing the same if he still possessed the Solomon Ring. Ramuh appeared behind him as he had above the Garden of Jadis, launching a trident of lightning, and his head snapped around at the sound of it.

'Move!' the General demanded curtly to Tiamat, who flew evasively out of line.

There was no crack in that dark face, no demonic low rumble of a laugh. He must have known he was now facing the biggest threat to his existence. Although Tiamat was not to be taken lightly, Ultimecia was not here to shield him, and at this height, his legions could do little for him.

Tyris and Ramuh followed on differing sides, herding Tiamat close to the top of the tower with furious thunderbolts. From above, Ramuh raised his rod and begun conjuring his signature bolt of judgement, though in an almost cloudless sky, he had to draw the element direct from the Aether. On Tiamat's back, Zebalga looked worried for the first time, desperately looking for Tyris position as the great bolt wrestled against Tiamat's mana-ward. Tyris savoured that panicked look on his face, even though it was a drop in the ocean compared to the suffering he had caused for so many.

Tiamat acquired her, and his maw shot open again. What followed was a complicated manoeuvre Tyris had practiced against many a thrustaevis over the past week, an evasive somersault that lowered her trajectory as she dodged the incoming flare, looping to end up underneath Tiamat while rearing her shoulder back for a deadly thrust. Her determination to do this without any interference from Quetzalcoatl was its slight undoing. Despite this, Tyris deeply gored Tiamat's underbelly. She did not know if Tiamat had a heart, or even where it would be located, and she struck somewhat down from where she expected it to be.

Still, it was good enough. The half-Elder roared and shook violently. Tyris compensated for her awry aim by sending a surge of lightning fury into Tiamat's centre-mass, and knew it was enough when the draconic wings drooped and his great, glittering body sagged. She flew away with her spear remaining in Tiamat's body, though as soon as she willed it, it vanished and reappeared in her hand.

The grievously wounded GF landed violently, sidelong, upon a flat section of the broken tower that formed a platform of ten square yards. Tyris heard Zebalga cry out as an arm and leg apiece were crushed beneath the GFs bulk, before the defeated Tiamat disappeared altogether, leaving the General laying there. Tyris calmly fluttered down, landing several feet from him. Ramuh remained hovering above, remaining ever watchful.

She had done it. She had been the one to defeat him, and she had done so by fighting as unfairly as Zebalga always had. Had certain people been able to swallow their pride, perhaps his reign of terror could have ended long ago. Tyris felt no remorse. She was no chivalrous warrior and had never pretended to be.

Still, Zebalga was not dead yet. It had always been said he did not feel pain, and the Zebalgan keloid scarification was testament to that. Yet his breathing was laboured and ragged, and Tyris wagered that several of his ribs were broken, too. He tried to get to his feet, but only made it to his knees. He fumbled for his sickle word with his offhand. His sunglasses had fallen from his face as some point, and the tattooed eyelids that had always haunted her nightmares suddenly seemed ridiculous to her now.

'Only a few more seconds now, Zebalga,' Tyris said icily, reminding him of every word he had said to her in the orphanage's wine cellar. 'It will be over, soon. Try not to scream.'

He smote at her wildly. She lazily caught the khopesh with the end of Raikou's shaft, just below the bolt-shaped spear tip, and disarmed him with his own momentous twist manoeuvre. His sword slid across the undefinable surface of the tower behind her as she immediately followed through with an undercut to his outstretched arm. The edge of the legendary spear easily passed through what he believed to be impregnable plating. Zebalga roared in pain as his arm was hewn off.

Now Tyris allowed herself to savour the moment. She had waited twelve long years for this. Zebalga returned her hatred in his dark eyes before she was presented with the tattooed ones on his eyelids. With his remaining arm useless and Tiamat defeated, he only had one weapon left. His Magi conjuring. He spoke under his breath, and orange Kakashbaldi hieroglyphs manifesting all around them. Except Tyris already knew about this exclusive technique and was prepared for it. Its downfall was that the glyphs needed to time to charge before they were launched at an opponent. Ramuh's bolts contemptuously struck each glyph from above as soon as they appeared, and Tyris just stared at Zebalga until his eyes opened again. Now, his look was not one of pain, but of resignation.

'How does it feel to be so helpless?' she asked him.

He did not answer, for he could not. It was a feeling he had never known and would never do so again. As he drew in ragged breaths, Tyris stood before the General with her spear levelled at him. Ever defiant, he tried to bare his bone-handled dagger from its belt sheath with his remaining hand.

Tyris knew her mother and father would not condone her unnecessarily prolonging an enemy's suffering and humiliation, even if it was Agamemnon Zebalga. It was only her boundless love for Cid and Edea that made her resolve to end it now. She suddenly struck with a firm thrust through Zebalga's groin. As she tore up, the spear head ripped through his genitalia and the entirety of his torso, slicing cleanly to the top of his braided head in a fountain of blood, bone fragments and brain matter. And there the heir to King Zebalga knelt, his upper body sliced almost in half.

Tyris must have inadvertently struck Tiamat's magicite, as a pale blue cloud immediately appeared before her, in the rough shape of the GF. An unfamiliar, but profoundly grateful presence, touched her mind.

You have my gratitude, Stormbringer!

The blue cloud headed away before Tyris could even think back a reply. 'Tiamat, wait!' she called after him. 'We need you!' Though the cloud continued floating away, towards the mesas in the west. She felt Ramuh return to her.

I am immensely proud of you, child!

Thank you, Ramuh, Tyris thought back. For guiding me to this moment.

Tyris looked at Zebalga's horrendously mutilated body.

I hope you can rest a little easier now, Father, she thought.

Alas, Ramuh said suddenly. It is only now I can tell you that Ballad lies at death's door! Only the Gatekeeper keeps him from passing into the Netherworld. You must go to him!

'No!' Tyris cried.

Instantly, she beat her wings to leave Zebalga's kneeling body behind. She tore downward through the air to the smouldering Garden of Jadis. Cerberus' power was faint and Ramuh could only give her an approximate location. Reaching the central fountain, Tyris searched desperately for her lover. She found him on the other side, his body broken laying against the crumbling edge as his life hung by a thread. The fallen members of his regiment surrounded him; the once proud Garland smashed beneath the unremitting hammer of Reinhardt.

'Ballad,' Tyris whispered.

She knelt by his side, wrapping her arms around him. There was nothing she could do for him, as she had never trained in curative magic. She had never had any precious time to spare for that, putting all of her efforts in learning to fight as quickly as humanly possible.

The sound of hoof beats signified Reinhardt's return, along with another unmistakable sound. Astride Sleipnir, he was leading a line of Magitek and foot soldiers through the central path of the gardens, no doubt in a final thrust to thwart Galbadia Garden and take the rest of the city. Tyris scooped Ballad's two-hundred plus pound frame with GF-aided strength, leaving the park to be claimed by Tiamat's balefire as she flew for Galbadia Garden. Though she sighted formations of Saronan tanks and Garden's mechanised units centred around the northern gates in preparation for a last stand. The Garden itself had pulled back to the northern fringes of the city.

Tyris descended before a line of frontal spearmen in Garden cadet uniforms, albeit a safe distance away from them. She recognised General Biggs near the front, only now remembering the gossip she had heard on Battleship Island, that Biggs had been appointed as the new Headmaster. And by now, Biggs must have known the fate that had befalling his special forces unit. Perhaps in a hope to boost rapidly waning morale, the lifelong soldier had opted to lead from the front.

No one recognised Tyris. They just saw a humanoid being with beige feathered wings, carrying a large but limp body with strength that belied its size.

'Shield wall!' Biggs barked, and his cadets duly obeyed.

'I am Tyris Almasy!' she shouted. 'I bring you your Garland leader! Deling needs a medic, now!'

Reinhardt led the Esthari through the smouldering remains of the Garden of Jadis, his bloodied hammer resting across his lap. Sleipnir made no sounds aside from its many hoofbeats. He neither knew nor cared what had become of Zebalga. While that demon had remained sitting on his dragon and spewed hellfire, it had been Reinhardt that had wrought the devastation on the ground! Reinhardt, who many referred to as the Destroyer, was now the Destroyer of Garland! And until the General reappeared, he had command of all forces on the ground.

The Empress had always kept him out of her army, though now she had seen fit to unleash him on Jericho. Reinhardt had once been the most feared marauder in Centra's bandit country. His mother and father had been among those of his people who settled in Blauehaven after Trabia's Lunar Cry, an event which had sent the highlanders all over the world. Reinhardt was proud of his origins and had always kept their manner of speech.

Before the age of twenty, he had captained his own pirate vessel of fellow highlanders, and their sole purpose was to emulate the marauding ways of his ancient forebears. Yet the Empress had sought him out. She had floated through the mists of the open seas, audaciously landing upon the bow of his ship. Had it not been for her scarlet gown, Reinhardt would have been forgiven for thinking she was Siren, back up to her ancient tricks of leading many a seafarer astray. By then, the young Sorceress Reina already had Blauehaven and the Kakashbaldi tribes by the balls, having by then amassed a strong enough fleet to ferry her to the Grandidi. Though she had learnt of Reinhardt's bold marauding and made a detour to seek him out.

Reinhardt was already considered a monster by then, though he was but a lust-filled young adult. Perhaps it had been her long legs and the plunging neckline. Or the blonde hair. Reinhardt was fairly certain Reina had some highlander blood in her. Although she admitted to being the daughter of the Sorceress that had ruined his homeland, she sought to make amends, and he found himself agreeing to every one of her requests. Reina had learned of his reputation and desired him as her beast. That if he remained loyal to her and guided her armies through the Grandidi to his ancestral homeland, to the summit of Mount Bevelle, then she would one day grant his people riches unimaginable.

They day that he, the Empress, Zebalga and Ialantha had summited Bevelle and defeated Tiamat had among been the greatest of his life, rounded off with the ultimate reward for his service. Indeed, Reinhardt had been the first one to spread the legs of the Empress, who could have done no worse than losing her maidenhood to the robust highlander. But that was a long time ago, and they both knew that animalistic attraction had been limited to lust, heightened with the thrill of conquest. Reinhardt did not like strong women. He liked them weak and submissive, and he was highly polygamous. He had killed his first wife when she had dared to confront him about one of his affairs, from which his offspring would be prevalent across the Empire, the gigas genes aplenty.

The eldest of his legitimate sons, Ragnar, was riding behind him on a chocobo. Ragnar had been in the Adel Unit, though had been named Legatus of the Xth upon its disbandment, quite a high role for someone who had yet to see twenty namedays. Ragnar too favoured the hammer. The two giants rode along the central path of the blackened Garden of Jadis, swinging down at any wounded Dolleans or Galbadians still with life in them. Trailing behind them were the Magitek heavy units that would obliterate the last of the resistance in the city.

When they reached the fountain in the centre, where many of the Garlands had futilely grouped together, Reinhardt suddenly halted. The body of Ballad Deling was gone. Reinhardt could only assume Cerberus had kept Garland's leader from passing into Valhalla. Not that it mattered. Deling had proven to be poor and disappointing sport in the end, and a second lease on life would matter little.

'What is it?' Ragnar asked.

'Nothing,' Reinhardt grunted.

The heavy force proceeded through the remainder of the park, to the northern gates. While the gates themselves were unobstructed, Reinhardt could see the defensive formations ahead. Green unformed Dolleans with a handful of tanks and technicals. Nervous Garden cadets piloting those hovering exo-suits that were now planted on rooftops, with the remainder of the cadets on the ground ready to adopt a pathetic shield wall that would crumple like weathered parchment before his hammer, and who's para-magic would be like firecrackers compared to the Magitek cannons. He believed he recognised Raymond Biggs among the cadets.

Reinhardt laughed sonorously and raised his hammer, savouring the thought of more slaughter. This was their last stand? At least the infamous Biggs was content to die with along them. Odin would welcome the old General into his hall with much favour.

A single thunderbolt struck the ground, which momentarily caused Reinhardt to lose his magicite control over Sleipnir, and the eight-legged warhorse stopped and reared. He reasserted control before coming dangerously close to being unsaddled. Riding a chocobo, Ragnar was less fortunate, and the Legatus ended up on the asphalt. The chocobo itself bolted away between the Magitek.

With Sleipnir steadied, Reinhardt saw what – or rather, who – had appeared where the lightning struck the ground. Even he was not so slow to process what Tyris Almasy's unharmed and winged presence here meant.

'General Zebalga is dead!' she announced boldly, to which though there was some audible shock and much murmuring among the foot soldiers behind the Magitek units.

She spread those beige wings, then shot above them to rain down lightning bolts at several Magitek, causing neighbouring units to go haywire. Of all the eight elements, Magitek operators feared lightning the most. And that was just a minuscule demonstration of Almasy's power, as Reinhardt had seen first-hand what Raikou could do outside the Fire Cavern. The rest of the Magitek operators fired their cannons before any such command was given, multi-elemental rays crisscrossing in the sky, though Almasy flapped to avoid them as gracefully as a falcon, forcing them all to turn and present their backs to the westerners.

Ragnar had regained his feet.

'We should retreat, father!' he urged.

'Retreat?' Reinhardt echoed, looking at his son with disgust. 'And you call yourself a highlander? We attack!'