(Thank you for your patience. Chapters to come as I am able)
Chapter 168: The Hunt
His hunt has begun, and it is just as bitter as he had feared, and just as sweet as he had hoped.
Look at the trap the Master Instructor has laid for them: the weight of those building explosions like the rain of artillery, the bone-deep rumble and high shriek of shattering stone. The magic layered in the ceiling, walls, and floors is shattering with the stone, so bolts of multicolored light flare through tumbling rock and roaring fire.
He smiles down at Bodan Daravon, and Daravon smiles up at him.
And then he rises, blood dripping down his beard, to answer destruction with destruction.
Elidibus has faced many kinds of foes, and many kinds of attack. His powers have always been equal to the challenge, but those challenges each posed their own unique difficulties. Deflecting a mage's lightning bolt is different than deflecting lightning from the sky: deflecting a dragon's claw is different than deflecting a cannonball. When it is a contest of magic-against-magic, there is a nebulous border between will and reality. When it is magic against stone, it is only your will, contending with raw and overwhelming force.
But Elidibus' will is raw, overwhelming force, too.
He could conjure a ward, as he sees Cletienne has done—a dome of gold, to keep the worst of the destruction at bay. But that is not a fit way to meet Bodan Darvaon's final attack. Instead, he wades into the destruction. Mind, eye, and hand all race, tracking every bolt of magic, every descending hunk of rubble, every wave of fire and accompanying force. He pours magic into his muscles, into his staff: flickers of white force flash from him like tentacles, washes explosive fire away like so much fog and smashes stone aside like errant flies.
And then there is light.
It is a light like the noonday sun, far too bright for the crumbling destruction of this underground room. It explodes like a geyser from the center of the training room floor, near where the Stones rested. And as the golden light explodes upwards, it spreads out, flowing like water across the room. Soon there is a golden ward, wider and stronger than any Elidibus has seen in his long experience, holding the vast destruction above them at bay. The explosions have ended now, but magic still lingers in the air like a fog, wreathed around fallen hunks of rock as large as behemoths and an endless clatter of shifting rubble.
Absently, Elidibus looks over his shoulder. He sees no sign of Bodan Daravon beneath the ruin of Tellah's old training room. So he turns his gaze back to the source of this almighty geyser. Back to the Lucavi Hashmalum, his mane of golden light gone entirely, leaving only the savage lion face. The power continues to pour out of him, a waterfall of sunlight flowing up and not down, where a pool of translucent gold floats suspended in the air above them, holding a collapsing manor upright.
This is more power than Elidibus has ever seen from Hashmalum, since they met four years ago. Since he'd climbed higher into Labyrinthos, feeling a power he's never felt before, within the Deep or during the war. Since he had found the leonine figure battling a great yellow behemoth, shredding the meteors of magic it rained down upon him. He had watched from his place in the rocky foothills, admiring how the two monsters clashed.
At last, the lion-man had waded through the last of the magic flames, wrapped mighty arms around the behemoth's neck, and slowly squeezed the life from it. And when the behemoth corpse had slumped to the ground, Elidibus had crowed out his challenge, and leapt into the fray-
-and the lion-faced creature had whirled towards him, fallen to his knees, and raised its arms in surrender.
The gesture had been so unexpected that Elidibus had actually tripped, and nearly fallen headfirst to the ground. He had caught himself, just barely, and stared at the strange creature offering him its surrender. And then his eyes had widened, as the creature had dissolved into a fog of golden light and roiling shadow. And then his eyes had widened further, when the fog had condensed into Vormav Tengille, kneeling just as the lion-man had knelt.
Now, behold what had become of the Lucavi. Behold that power, holding such a well-made trap in stasis. Elidibus' clenched harder at the staff he'd crafted, licked Daravon's blood from his lips. Perhaps Hashmalum would make a worthy foe after all...!
"The Stones!" bellowed Hashmalum. "Now!"
A stuttering blur, and Cletienne and Loffrey were besides Hashmalum. Another wavering wall of light danced around the last intact tile—the tile piled high with all the plunder of young Ramza Beoulve and his allies, including 11 of the 13 Zodiac Stones. Loffrey knelt besides Cletienne while Cletienne pressed his staff against the barrier. It flickered, then went out.
"Into the tile!" Hashmalum shouted. "Quickly!" His own great geyser of golden light was beginning to show signs of weakening, as though a giant were finally running out of piss.
Another stuttering blur, and Loffrey and Cletienne were at the center of the tile, both hurriedly gathering every object into one larger pile. Barich sprinted to joint them, clanking with every step. Hashmalum followed at a slow, stately pace, hand still upraised to keep the great destruction above them in check.
Absently, Elidibus looked over his shoulder. Still, he could find no sign of Daravon's corpse amidst the rubble of his interrupted trap.
"Elidibus!"
Hashmalum's voice, as desperate as it had been when they met in the bloody dusk of Labyrinthos' second level, with the behemoth corpse beside him. And Elidibus had approached, head cocked, trying to make sense of what he'd seen. The Templars recruited men of many talents—they even counted Dragoners like Bremondt in their ranks—but Vormav Tengille had been among their number for decades, and Elidibus had never heard of him possessing such abilities.
"Captain Tengille," Elidibus said.
"Knight-Commander, now."
Elidibus nodded. "Among other things."
Vormav gestured down at himself. "I'm like you."
Elidibus cocked his head. "Like me?"
"A Lucavi."
Such is the power of the Lucavi—so much magic, so much knowledge. Young Cletienne had some insight there—the Ydorans had harnessed such incredible powers. There was nothing to equal Labyrinthos in Ivalice.
But there could be. If Vormav succeeded. If Ultima was reborn.
"You're...not?" Vormav looked nonplussed. The red mist had risen, as Elidibus had led him back to the rude lean-to that had once served as goblin chief's abode, before Elidibus had slain him and his tribe.
"What," Elidibus said. "Because I have this?" He held up the treasure that had once hidden the Ridorana Lightouse, and kept Labyrinthos sealed. Unlike the golden Stone in Hashmalum's hand, it was not a polished orb, but a raw and jagged hunk that might have been mistaken for emerald, save for the glowing Serpantarius symbol slithering fluidly across its craggy surface.
"I..." Vormav stared at him. "I assumed..."
"You assumed wrong."
"Then...you're not here to...to find other Stones? To bring Ultima back?"
Ultima, the mightiest of Lucavi. Ultima, a power like a god's, built upon centuries of souls. Ydoran wars of conquest, factional wars for control of Ivalice, the Ordallian counterinvasion...how richly they had fed him, down through the centuries.
How richly they were feeding him now, with men like Bodan Daravon.
He turned away from the place he had last seen dying Daravon, and strolled casually to join Hashmalum and the others. He saw the disbelief in Cletienne's eyes, and offered the young Archmage a bloody smile. "I don't take orders from Hashmalum." His eyes flickered to the Lucavi. "As he knows."
The Lucavi did not speak. His body began to roil, inky darkness and golden light spreading out from him like mist. The great weight of the collapse above them trembled as the ward Hasmalum had raised flickered.
Then gold and black vanished, and were replaced with red.
Ultima again—Ultima, and a sea of souls. As they passed through that timeless, spaceless place, darkness illuminated by flashes of terrible red, he felt other memories, other thoughts, pushing against his. He felt flickers of magic like the revenants of Labyrinthos, desperate wills trying to feed upon him.
Imagine all this, united in something titanic. A power greater than Hashmalum, than Humbaba, than Tiamat. He wanted to face that titan, that god. He wanted to face Ultima.
"Then help me!" Vormav had cried, standing up within the hut. The top of his head nearly touched the low ceiling.
"What is your plan, exactly?" Elidibus asked. "To rebuild your army of Lucavi, to find a vessel who can call to Ultima as the other Lucavi are called to their hosts, to stoke the fires of war to feed Ultima further?" Elidibus shook his head. "I left Ivalice for a reason."
"You waste your power on these absurd hunts!" Vormav snapped.
Elidibus laughed. "You cannot waste power."
"If power does not serve a higher purpose-"
"A higher purpose!" Elidibus laughed harder. "You crown a King of Hell and name him Savior, and you call that a higher purpose!"
Vormav's eyes were wide and wild. "If we do nothing, it will never end."
"It will never end."
Vormav snarled. The snarl reverberated, ran deep: Elidibus felt it run against his own soul, felt the world darkening in answer to that snarl.
So he laughed in answer, and his laughter was darkness, too, a power as incontestable as the Lucavi's. And he rose, magic shimmering on his staff, as Vormav rose, transforming into the lion-demon that had throttled a behemoth, and the two crashed together, and the hut turned to ash around them.
It had been one of the best fights of Elidibus' life. Such strength in the Lucavi, as his claws ripped gashes into the earth a yalm in length. Such resilience, as he waded through torrents of fire that would have turned whole brigades to ash, charred flesh popping back to tawny fur as soon as the fire faded. Such cunning, weaving wards to trap Elidibus' magic, raising serpents of rock from the ground to crush Elidibus' bones.
And it was not enough. His claws tore into the empty earth, and so rarely touched Elidibus. He waded through flames, and found Elidibus already dancing out of reach, raining icicles and lighting down upon his head. And when the serpentine stone came tearing in from all sides, Elidibus smashed each one to rubble, then melted the rubble to lava and hurled great gouts of magma back at him.
By the time the battle was over, they had crashed back into the forest, splintering several trees and settling several more ablaze. Hashmalum was pinned to the earth by the great splinter of wood, taller than even the Lucavi, that Elidibus had smashed from a convenient tree. His stone eyes, so like Vormav's, were not looking at Elidibus. They looked instead to the false bronze sky.
"Kill me, then." There was grief in Hashmalum's voice.
"Why would I do that?" Elidibus asked."
The Lucavi looked back at him. Elidibus wiped the blood from his brow, and casually set one of his broken fingers into place. The pain flashed like an itch, and then was gone as he healed the wound.
"You challenged me, Hashmalum," Elidibus said. "And it was a worthy challenge. A fight to the death." He admired the great splinter of wood with which he'd impaled the Lucavi. "Were you a lesser creature, you would already be dead." He wrapped his healed hand around the splinter, and plucked it from the Lucavi's chest. "There's no sport in killing you now."
He tossed the splinter aside, and offered the Lucavi a hand. The Lucavi studied him a moment longer, than reached one clawed hand up in turn, and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. "Besides," Elidibus continued. "There is the promise of your Ultima to consider." He grinned. "I would sorely like to test myself against such a monster."
And now, passing through the crimson weight of Ultima's shrieking bulk for a second time, Elidibus felt that desire even more keenly. All these memories, all this agony, all this power: imagine what it could do, united under one will. Imagine a Lucavi the size of a nation. His hunger, his longing, his anticipation, exceeded anything he'd felt in his long life.
They emerged in the foothills by the Academy Outpost, where they'd left Alma Beoulve suspended in a golden cocoon woven of Hashmalum's translucent light, guarded by the brooding figure of Titan. Cletienne and Loffrey collapsed into the grass, panting—Cletienne's arm hung limply by his side, and Loffrey seemed too weak to try and stand. Beside them, Hashmalum dissolved in a fog of shadow and golden light.
Elidibus remembered another time he'd seen such dissolution—in the burning forest where Elidibus had defeated him. Vormav had stood where Hashmalum had been, with the same eyes in his human face. "Ultima is not your prey."
"You do not decide what my prey is," Elidibus said. "You do not decide my purpose, anymore than you decide my power." He had leaned towards the Lucavi in the Templar's body. "Old as you are, I think you should understand this lesson. And this opportunity. Unless you'd rather die here?"
Vormav had said nothing: only turned, and began to stumble through the trees. "Oh, and Vormav?" Vormav had stopped, though he had not looked back. "If I see you again, I won't stop until you're dead."
Vormav had shaken his head slightly, and advanced through the forest. Elidibus had laughed, and turned back to begin shoving broken wood into a rougher lean-to then the one and and Vormav had destroyed..
Elidibus knew what Vormav meant, as he knew what Cletienne meant. There are purposes for which only power will suffice: one cannot go to war if one cannot lead an army, and one cannot cast a spell if one does not have magic enough to cast it. But that purpose does not define the power. An avalanche can be kicked off by accident, by a careless man's shout in a mountain pass, or on purpose, to crush an army advancing down that pass. The difference only matters to the men who see that power. To the avalanche, the purpose matters not at all.
So much of humanity labors under the illusion that power and purpose are one and the same. Elidibus understands why they cling to that illusion: it is more comforting than the truth. There is no God who has ordered the machinery of the universe. There is only the universe, in all its brutal indifference. And human minds shy back from that truth, fearful of what that means for them.
Elidibus understands that fear, as he understand a child who cringes from the thunder of a storm. But he cannot condone that fear. It is the weakness of an immature mind that does not understand: purpose comes from within, not from without. And all purposes fail, because all people fail. Nothing is eternal.
Cleitenne cannot bear a lesser world when he knows a better one is possible, so he seeks to build that better world. Vormav cannot bear a world without purpose from on high, so he seeks to enthrone a God who can give him that purpose. And Elidibus? Elidibus, shaped by his lifetime at war, seeks only to revel in the chaos of creation: of different powers clashing for their own different purposes.
They will all fail. Even if Cletienne brings his better world to life, it will pass, as the Ydorans passed. Even if Vormav succeeds in resurrecting Ultima, Ultima will one day be defeated. There is no such thing as God. And one day, Elidibus will find his hunt does not satisfy. One day, he will find the clash no longer sates him.
But there is comfort in that lack of meaning, and that lack of predictability. Because Elidibus would never have expected Vormav to return with Alma Beoulve, and promises of a new hunt. He would not have dreamed of laying waste to Mullonde, or challenging Bodan Daravon. His hunts in the Deep satisfied him, but they were not so electric, not so daring, as this.
And besides...if Vormav could succeed...if he could incarnate all Ultima's power in the form of one foe...there might well be a challenge worth the taking. Win or lose, live or die, he would have his hunt, his contest, his meaning.
Vormav Tengille stood where Hashmalum had been. The moon had set: the sky was deep and dark, and resplendent with stars. "Rest, all of you," he ordered, moving swiftly to pluck the Stones from the pile of goods he had brought along with them in his path through the Underside. "We move in a few hours. Cletienne, I will need your help at Orbonne."
"I...can stand...watch," Barich intoned.
Vormav shrugged, and Barich moved to watch over Alma. Loffrey remained where he had fallen, eyes already closed. Cletienne stayed awake a moment longer, to put his own staff to titan's rocky chest and dissolve the Eidolon into a pile of insensate earth. As the Summon collapsed, so side Cletienne.
So they stood. The metal man, watching Alma. Alma, her face taut with nightmares within the golden coffin. Vormav, sorting through the disorderly pile of gear they'd pulled with them alongside the 12 Stones.
"The Master Instructor...is dead?" Barich asked, in his halting, echoing voice.
"Oh yes." Elidibus smiled up into the star-strewn sky. The moon was gone now: soon the first hints of dawn would begin to brighten the distant horizon.
It was a worthy fight, Master Instructor. Rest well.
But he wouldn't rest well, as none of Ivalice's dead rested well. Every soul you kill in your hunt will suffer in death as well as life.
Elidibus felt just a flicker of distaste. Just a flicker of unease.
"The trap...was sprung...by Master Bunansa."
Elidibus nodded, thinking of the true and terrible weight of Ultima. "Yes."
"Do you...think he...was caught in it?"
Hard to read emotion in Barich's mangled voice. But then, even if it had been spoken by a solely-human throat, Elidibus imagined that voice would still have been wracked and ruined. Should Barich Fendsor, broken in battle with Mustadio Bunansas, be glad his enemy's father might be dead? Or sad, that his old master might have fallen?
"What does it matter?" Voramv growled. He was plucking the Stones out from their pile of gear and laying them out in a rough circle, perhaps half a yalm distant from one another.
"Forgive us poor humans for our attachments, Hashmalum," Elidibus said, and grinned. "But then, these poor humans seem a lot more troublesome than you allowed for."
Vormav shot him a dismissive look. "You are a hunter, Elidibus. What prey is ever glad for the hunt? What stag, what panther, what minotaur, what behemoth, cannot surprise the unready hunter?"
"And if the prey so often surprises the Hunter, and lays waste to his traps?" Elidibus asked. "When the hunter finds himself hemmed in and chased? Does one not begin to wonder who is the hunter, and who is the prey?"
Hashmalum set another Stone down and glared at him. "A feral dog can rip out the throat of an unready man. But it is not dogs who rule this world."
"No," Elidibus agreed. "It is men. Not Lucavi. Not even your beloved Ultima."
"And yet for all their struggling, Ultima endures," Hashmalum said. "As we Lucavi endure. All while humanity wastes itself. Builds castles, only to tear them down. Builds empires, only to set them ablaze."
Finally, he completed his circle of 12 Stones by plucking the golden weight of Leo from beneath his robes. Without breaking his stride, be began to trace patterns of golden light in the air above each stone, a dense boundary of runes that rained golden dust down upon each Stone. The light within the Stones grew slowly brighter, so that light to match each Stone drifted up like dandelion seeds to mingle with the golden runes. Soon, Elidibus could not see Vormav, hidden in the fog of multicolored light.
"But you have a point," Hashmalum intoned, and it was the Lucavi's voice now, resonant with power and authority and the weight of years. "Our efforts have been frustrated, time and time again. I underestimated the capabilities of my prey." The light mounted, rising past the circle of floating runes, a column nearly four yalms tall and climbing still. "I will not make that mistake again."
His magical senses were as vital as his physical ones these days, but Elidibus could still not make sense of the power in front of him. There was a part of it that reminded him of the seething frenzy of Ultima and the Underside: there was a part of it that reminded him of a Lucavi's transformation. "What are you doing?" Elidibus asked.
"Calling reinforcements," Hashmalum answered.
And the column opened.
Light gave way to darkness, darkness to light: it was like a Lucavi transformation, just as Elidibus has thought, only this was not a cloud but a doorway, and within that doorway terrible shadows moved, shadows that burned with crimson horror. The shadows grew closer, moving with that sticky malignancy that clung to you, body and soul, echoes of foreign emotion, echoes of foreign memory.
But shadow and light condensed, just as they did with the Lucavi. Silhouettes were thickened with substance, transfigured into a facsimile of flesh through which threads of radiant darkness twisted and slithered. And when the first figure stepped through the doorway Hashmalum had made—when Hashmalum saw the first dead face, underlit by auracite light—Elidibus started to laugh.
Such a horror. Such a wonder. What matter that there was no meaning in the world, when such things were possible? When the dead came rising at the call of a Lucavi, to fight in one last war?
The world was not a pleasant place. But Elidibus loved it all the same. Behind him was a better battle than he'd expected. And ahead of him was another battle, marching alongside the living dead, to bring a god to life.
All things would pass, even this joy, even this satisfaction. But one could still savor the feast as you ate it. One could still savor the fight before you. And one could still love this wretched world, in all its splendor, in all its horror.