Original Ao3 chapter summary:
Notes:
Heya! Here's finally the final Hildibrand quest chapter! Well, for ARR anyway. It's not quite as long as the others— it was originally meant to be combined with the third chapter in a large finale, as the way events have been condensed might indicate. But I was really eager to get on with writing the start of Heavensward, so I cut it in half. And then I kept getting distracted by writing more HW content, since I was very excited to get to Fray's introduction in the main fic… BUT! Here we are now!
Like before, this is set directly after the last Hildibrand chapter, and very much before Heavensward.
Let us finally close this case, inspector!
"So you're telling me," Phillice, an officer of the Sultansworn, attempted to glare Jack down with a face that seemed to wobble somewhere awkwardly between 'intimidating' and 'utterly baffled', "That this Primal simply… manifested within the arena?"
"Yep." Jack Garland replied, helmet stuffed back over his head and a leg draping casually over the side of the ring. The vast majority of his answers had been as close to monosyllabic as the stern woman had allowed him to get. Joker may have genuinely respected several people among the Sultansworn, especially when compared to the Brass Blades— But he was still a Phantom Thief. And that meant he couldn't help but abide by a simple and stringent rule: Don't talk to cops.
"And from what source of worship was the being granted its form?"
"A chicken."
Phillice's increasingly exasperated frown deepened. A weary-looking Hyuran woman, she had come marching down from the palace to investigate the recent chaos in Ul'dah's grand coliseum. Perfectly understandable that someone so high-profile should make an appearance, given that more than a few people surely would've run into the streets screaming their heads off about a sudden Primal.
Still poised at the opposite edge of the ring, a certain Ishgardian man didn't so much as lift his head from where his eyes bore into the wind-shredded tiles of the arena floor. For once, Briardien de Manseauguel was completely silent, lost in solemn contemplation.
For all his pomp and pompousness, the other inspector wasn't an idiot. He had realized what Ellie's most conspicuous disappearance alongside the thief's sudden arrival likely meant— and he was definitely taking it the worst of any of them.
"To think she had deceived us all this time… Deceived me…" He croaked quietly, tight fists shaking. A frowning Nashu leaned over and pat awkwardly at his back.
"I-it's not so bad, Mister Briardien! Maybe it's all just a big coinkidink?"
"Yes!" Hildibrand offered from his other side, anxiously flapping his arms as he desperately sought an alternative explanation, "Perhaps dear Miss Ryse merely… went out to buy one of those delightful fried mushroom skewers outside? And it just so happened to be at the same time that the phantom thief appeared?"
Completely uncharacteristically, Briardien couldn't even bring himself to give a scathing retort, only a faint, grim smile tugging at his lips.
With their usual yapper not in any state to give expository dialogue to Phillice— and Hildibrand and Nashu having no business attempting to deliver it instead— the job mostly fell to Jack. Much to the Sultansworn's great consternation.
"And you claim you simply… what? Defeated the Primal?" She continued to needle him, an eyebrow raised pointedly.
"Yeah."
"Alone? Without falling under its sway? How?"
Jack waved a dismissive hand, leaning back, "I handled it."
She was silent for a good moment. In a show of great patience did Phillice take a deep, calming breath. She forced a polite smile, even as her eye twitched. But before she could continue to grill Jack over the proverbial coals was she interrupted by a piercing shriek of terror from somewhere outside the coliseum.
"Oh for heavens' sake— what now?" Phillice tossed her head back with a groan, before shoving her way past Hildibrand and flying down the street, headed in the direction of the Gates of Nald, "What else could possibly happen today?!"
With plenty of practice at responding to sudden emergencies, Jack immediately leapt from the edge of the arena, chasing after her while the others scrambled to catch up behind him.
The source of the latest uproar was easy enough to identify— an ordinary Lalafellin woman, on an afternoon stroll through the markets. Her waving arms sent her spilled groceries rolling as she desperately scrambled back from the northern city gate, legs too petrified with fear to hold her upright. Other civilians were soon caught up in her terror, half-tripping and staggering away, eyes wide with mounting panic. Joker pushed his way against the surging tide of bodies fleeing for the other end of the city, spying the cause of the commotion.
A trio of menacing silhouettes, shambling closer on greying, rotted limbs. Clothes shredded, hair disheveled, mouths gurgling and agape.
More zombies. And unlike the gentlemanly variety from the Sagolii Desert, these ones did not look to be at all friendly— nor especially dashing. Fresh blood stained their outfits, and their empty, sunken eyes were brightened only by a kind of ravenous, insatiable hunger. The sort of undead Jack was much more used to encountering in this world.
…And the sort he wasn't so used to weren't far behind. Or, one of them, at least. Autgar, the de facto leader of the Gentle Undead in Hildibrand's absence, trailed after his more menacing peers in his tattered tux, a pained, nervous expression on his sallow face and crooked fingers twisting together plaintively.
"M-my fellows!" He cried, wringing his hole-riddled hands, "Please! I understand the depths of your hunger, but surely there is a way to satisfy it that does not rely on the brutal caving of skulls to plumb the domed depths for deliciously fresh brain matter!"
The more capital-Z zombies behaved exactly as one would expect— which was to say that they ignored him entirely, eagerly lunging after the promise of tender, living flesh.
Seems there was no reasoning with this variety. Not caring to keep the Primal stuff on the down-low anymore, Jack summoned Zantetsuken into his hand. He took a step toward the open gate, crossing the blade defensively over his chest as the last of the fleeing crowd shoved their way past him, leaving Jack and an astonished Phillice as the nearest warm bodies for their approaching assailants to sink their eager, blackened teeth into.
Phillice's face paled as she studied them closer. She took a step back.
"No…" She murmured, a shaking hand rising to her mouth as her wide eyes took in their sagging faces.
One shuffled nearer, jaw hanging open. Long, bitten nails scratched along Phillice's steel-plated arm. Though the Sultansworn's eyes widened with horror, she remained stiff, hands hesitating over her sheathed sword. Gnarled fingered curled around her wrist. Sharp teeth gaped wide, aimed at her exposed neck. She flinched—
There was a flash of steel. And then the arm holding the frozen woman dropped, severed cleanly at the elbow. The zombie staggered back, its remaining nub of a limb flailing. Jack dashed ahead, the Primal blade in his hand thrumming as he thrust it forward. It pierced through the first zombie's already tattered chest. Jack twisted his hold of Zantetsuken's haft to tear a jagged line. Steel shredded easily through rotted flesh, the blade trailed just as smoothly through the second one's torso. He brought the sword up in a diagonal sweep that severed the third one's neck. A gurgling head dropped to the ground alongside the butchered husks of its fellows, soon followed by its swaying decapitated body.
"Goodness gracious!" Autgar gasped from the sidelines as he watched the undeads' remains briefly writhe against the tiles, before falling still. Phillice jumped at the sight of him beside her, a startled shriek in her throat. The friendly zombie drew back, hands raised in preemptive surrender, "Oh! Oh no, good madam, I would never dream of trying to take a bite from your sublimely supple flesh, I ardently assure you!"
But Phillice wasn't keen on listening. Her horrified eyes kept flittering over the features of the fallen men, rotted faces now baking in the Thanalan sun as death claimed them for a second time.
"These men…" She swallowed, "I recognize them…!"
Jack lowered his blade, a pit in his stomach. But before he could give his condolences did he hear approaching footsteps— Briardien, Hildibrand and Nashu, at last having fought their way through the mass of hysterical bodies surging against them as the remainder of the fleeing crowd thinned. The Ishgardian inspector came to a stumbling halt, Hildibrand and Nashu crashing into his frozen back in turn.
"By the Fury!" He gasped, "Ashkin? At Ul'dah's very gates?"
"Ah! Jack, was it?" Autgar beamed, waving a cheerfully decomposed arm and causing Briardien to leap back in startled surprise. He bowled over Hildibrand behind him, who in turn toppled into Nashu, the two of them sent to the ground in a pile of flailing limbs. The astonishingly articulate zombie carried on chipperly as his other two acquaintances awkwardly disentangled themselves from each other, "And Master Zombiebrand and assistant! What fortune to encounter you here!"
"Nice to see you again." Jack nodded, dismissing his blade and doing his best to suppress the slightest flush as he vividly recalled their earlier bizarrely romantic sunlit desert waltz. He waved his now empty hand at the de-animated corpses, "These guys weren't any of yours, I take it?"
The smartly dressed zombie nodded gravely, "Yes, and a good thing, too, given how thoroughly you have dispatched them. I had rather vainly hoped that I could appeal to their innermost gentleman as I had done to others before them, seeing as they and I were 'reborn', so to say, from the same source. But it seems I was terribly mistaken. What a shame."
"The same source…?" Briardien's voice rose in a squeak against his will, watching a worm thread its way through Autgar's nostrils. He cleared his throat loudly, before trying again, "Whatever do you mean, my… my good man?"
"The Trader's Spurn."
It was Philice that spoke next, her voice a mere whisper as she remained turned away from them. The group looked to the Sultansworn, who was continuing to peer into the empty eyes of the re-deceased men at her feet. She swallowed hard, "The Doom of Sil'dih, or so it was once called. An alchemical concoction, capable of twisting the form of the living into that of the walking dead."
"Exactly!" Autgar snapped his gangrenous fingers. It sounded more like a grate of bone against bone, "And the very same that was used to turn me, in fact. Dark times." He added, shaking his head and sending his chin wobbling.
Briardien, still grappling with the absurdity of the present scenario, turned to the undead man very, very slowly.
"You…" He spluttered, "Forgive me, but… Are you implying you were present at the final battle of the War of the Sisters? Good gods, man, that would have been over four centuries ago!"
Autgar blinked a single eye, the other popping out too far for his eyelid to close over it entirely.
"Has it really been that long…? Oh my. Still– 'tis very hard to forget such a terrible night. Didn't help that I lost my first toe soon after. I wasn't as practiced at keeping track of my digits back in those days, still adjusting to my malady as I was, so I never found it. Had to replace it with a wooden clothes peg… Would you perhaps like to take a peek?"
"Ooh, okay!" Chirped Nashu, stepping forward eagerly.
"Absolutely not!" Briardien hissed, pulling her back. He sharply adjusted his glasses with a frustrated sigh, "Excuse me, but… While you and your, uh, fellows have my sympathy for your, shall we say, affliction… I fail to see how it is relevant to our present case. The Brass Blades and Sultansworn can surely deal with this ghastly new development, let us—"
"Inspector, sir, wait."
And Briardien froze mid-turn, looking to a hesitant Phillice. She had at last turned to face them, slowly lowering a raised hand.
"All of this… it's connected." Briardien blinked dumbly at her, his glasses slipping down his nose.
"The stolen Belah'dian treasures… " She continued, biting her lip, "They are the responsibility of the Arbiters of Truth. My… my compatriots." She nodded her head at the dead men sprawled beneath her, "A secret order within the Sultansworn— we who are entrusted with keeping the dark truth of Ul'dah's history from coming to light."
Nashu looked up at that, a strangely sharp intensity to her eyes behind her round glasses.
"I… I should not speak aloud of this, but I can no longer deny its relevancy. Not with my fellows so conspicuously dead at my feet." Phillice continued, "We are— were— a very select number, tasked with being the few who would bear the knowledge of our nation's crimes. That the Trader's Spurn that had caused the destruction of our sister city, twisting its population into insatiable Ashkin… was, in fact, the work of Ul'dah."
Hildibrand's hands stilled from where they were vainly struggling to straighten out his flopping pompadour, "But…" He began, frowning with confusion, "I was taught in my school years that it was Sil'dih that used the foul powder during the war! That they had concocted it, and, in doing so, ironically invoked their own ruin in their bloodlust."
"Oh no— that's not it at all." Autgar interjected with a fervent shake of his head. The action tipped his neck dangerously to one side. Autgar placed his hands on either side of his head and readjusted his neck with a loud crack, "As I had stated previously, I was there. A mercenary of Sil'dih my very self, prior to my untimely undemise. It was indeed the forces of Ul'dah that spread the dread powder upon soldier and civilian alike. Not that I bear any resentment still, mind you— it has been far too long to hold a grudge, and I much prefer horticulture to vengeance these days…"
"But the same surely cannot be said for everyone…" Nashu murmured, a hand gripping her forearm tightly. Jack let his eyes drift to her, the direction of his gaze concealed under his heavy helmet.
"Indeed." Phillice nodded gravely, "I believe this incident— and the thefts of the three Belah'dian treasures, to be two parts of a larger plot. A plot for revenge from the descendants of Sil'dih's scant surviving royalty, seeking to bring the same doom that befell them upon the people of Ul'dah…"
"Good gods…" Briardien murmured as Hildibrand's mouth opened in shock, "Could that truly be the case? A simple spate of thefts, heralding something so catastrophic…?"
"It is looking to be that way, isn't it?" Jack spoke up, causing all eyes to jump to him now. He sauntered forward— not towards Phillice or Autgar— but towards a blankly staring Nashu. She innocently tilted her head at him.
"Hmmm? What is it, Jack? Are you hungry? Do you want one of my mushroom skewers? They're a little sticky from being in my pockets, but they're still good!"
"Thanks, but no." Jack drawled, pressing the nose of the helm's sculpted face against hers. Her bemused smile faltered as Briardien's ears rapidly reddened.
"Right now, what I'd like to know…" He carried on against the Elezen's strangled protests of public indecency, voice low and smooth. He casually leaned in closer. Pressed his hand hard against the wall behind her head.
Nashu merely blinked up at Jack, her fingers curling between the bricks of the wall she was forced against. Made to stare into the slip of eyes visible behind the slight holes in his Mistbeard's mask— now a vivid, piercing red.
"…Is what you've done with the real Nashu Mhakaracca?"
And in Joker's third eye did the shape of the Miqo'te appear to him as a flickering, distorted image, almost impossible to properly focus upon— the hallmarks of an aetherial glamour.
Nashu stared at him, her round pupils blown especially wide. Hildibrand's head whipped around.
"J-Jack, my good fellow!" He spluttered, arms flapping, "Surely you jest! You imply she is an imposter? But this Nashu is the most Nashu of Nashus to have ever graced my esteemed side!"
But Joker continued to keep his red eyes locked with hers, a hand trailing to the sheath at his waist.
Nashu opened her astonished mouth. Then closed it.
It twisted into a smirk.
"Ah." She chuckled, lifting a finger to her lips, "Well spotted."
And then she was ducking under Joker's arm, a flash of light dancing off of a blade as she slipped a knife from under her sleeve— lunging directly for Phillice.
The startled Sultansworn scrambled for the sword at her side. But, taken off guard, she was just a tad too slow. Eyes wide, she watched the tip of the dagger come for her neck, glinting bright.
Only for it to be caught against a pair of Joker's own, crossed tightly over her plunging blade and holding her at bay.
"No— E-Ellie!" Briardien gasped, taking a shocked step back, "Ellie, is it you?!"
Nahsu's usual vacantly kind face was now twisted in a most uncharacteristic scowl. Her arms strained as she struggled to free herself. She twisted the hold of her knife, an elbow jutting out and catching the edge of Joker's helmet. It tipped awkwardly, the eyeholes slipping and blinding him with darkness for a brief moment. Disoriented, he faltered just a tad— enough for her to slip her blade free.
Sneaky, sneaky! But not fast enough. Joker wrenched one of his knives up, cutting a slight gash in her cheek. Not-Nashu gasped, forced to stagger aside from the sharp sting. She hastily raised the flat of her blade to halt the plunge of his dual daggers, their weapons clashing in a spray of sparks.
"I have to say," His fellow thief said between gritted teeth, the corners of Nashu's mouth curled fiercely, "That I'm surprised at how good you are with those stabbers… Quite an interesting skillset for one of your reputation to have!"
"Ah, well, I've been around the block a few times." Joker returned the grin, a flash of teeth visible beneath the partially-dislodged helmet, "You know, I actually quite liked you, up until the murder. Loved the calling cards. Primo stuff. So— a bit of advice, one professional thief to another?"
And the false Nashu tilted her head, cocky smirk widening, "Oh?"
"Don't just watch the hands."
And Joker ducked down, leaving her stumbling at the sudden shift in her weight. He swept out a leg, catching the back of her knees and tripping her up. 'Nashu' fell heavily to the floor, hands scrambling to try to catch herself. She stiffened instead at the tip of a knife pointed directly at her throat.
"And definitely don't watch the mouth." Joker added, lopsided smirk taunting, before he cocked his head, letting the helmet slip back down over it, "Briardien– now!"
And the inspector awkwardly scrambled in his pockets for a certain object. Gritting his teeth, he tossed a scalebomb directly at the fallen woman's face.
"Enough of this, Ellie!"
Joker braced himself against the eruption of glittering smoke that enveloped the two of them. Heard Nashu's frantic, heaving coughs. He kept his knife angled at her dark shape, his eyes and mouth shielded by Mistbeard's helm.
And everyone pressed closer as the haze slowly cleared— to reveal a Hyuran woman in Nashu's place.
But it wasn't Ellie. Not exactly. The piercing green eyes and purple hair were certainly more than familiar. But the shape of the face was off. More angular, the cheeks less rounded. Almost, but not quite. Like a—
Briardien glared at her, "Just who are you? Your resemblance to Miss Ellie is most uncanny, and yet…"
"How fiendish— a double disguise!" Hildibrand's fist met his palm, "Perhaps we should strike her again!"
The not-quite-Ellie scoffed from the ground, eyes fixed on the point of Joker's knife.
"...Consulting Inspectors Briardien and Hildibrand." She began, unfamiliar voice dripping with disdain, "Once again, you fail to measure up to your lofty reputations. Of course we resemble each other. Ellie is, after all, my own flesh and blood. My beloved sister— and my eminently capable partner in crime."
She grinned at their confusion, a touch of laughter creeping into her tone.
"A thousand faces I may wear, but only one name do I bear. You can call me Cecy. One of the last living scions of Sil'dihn aristocracy," She bobbed her head against the knife blade, letting it barely nick the skin of her neck, " Charmed, I'm sure."
"But..." Hildibrand spluttered, still thoroughly lost, "But what of Miss Ryse? The, uh, other Miss Ryse."
And Ellie's sister rolled her eyes.
"Try using your brain once in a while, you insufferable oaf! Every time you encountered the thief, Ellie was standing right in your midst! No, the one that three times stole the show– and those priceless relics– was me. Meanwhile, Ellie hid in plain sight, supplying me with just the knowledge I needed to stay one step ahead of my pursuers, all while spinning the hair-raising tales of my exploits that won the hearts of this nation. We owe a lot to you, truly!" She added, sharp grin widening as she eyed the others in turn, "Why, without the tales of your hapless attempts to catch me, we never could have risen to these heights of celebrity!"
Briardien struggled to regain his composure, furious fists shaking. It was Hildibrand, surprisingly, that picked up the slack.
"...Miss Cecy, then." He began, tone softening sadly, "From a gentleman to a lady, I would ask you one thing and one thing only— Just what is it that you and Miss Ellie hope to accomplish with all of your schemes?
"Justice!" Cecy snapped, surging forward. The sharp end of the knife cut a line against her throat, her eyes wide and wild, "You heard it yourself from that foul woman's very lips! Four hundred years ago, Ul'dahn dogs reduced our great nation to a hell of zombies! The histories lie, and yet she and her ilk work from the shadows, silencing those who would speak the truth! You should have died with your fellows, false arbiter!"
Her furious gaze fell upon Phillice, who stood pale and shaken.
"It was Ul'dah that ordered the creation of that dreadful powder, and wielded it as a weapon against our proud ancestors. The history of your glorious sultanate is built on falsehood! And at long last have we brought all but one of the cowards that would still silence these foul deeds to suffer the same fate!" Cecy spat, eyes bright with near-hysteria, "With our treasures now returned did I steal away a sample of the dreaded Spurn from the royal vaults. And now, before long, you—" She hissed, eyes boring into Phillice's, "—and everyone in this rotten nation will know firsthand the horrors my ancestors knew!"
Cecy tossed her head back, not minding at all the blade still at her neck, mad laughter rising higher as blood dribbled from under the edge of the knife.
And Joker grabbed the collar of her shirt. He hauled her upright, scowling, fingers fisted tight as Cecy's cackles broke into a choked wheeze. The back of her head met the wall.
"I'm guessing Ellie has the real Nashu, right?" Joker growled into her face, "We're ending this right here and now. And you're going to lead us to them."
Ellie Ryse stood beneath the afternoon sun of Central Thanalan, her head tipped back and her eyes closed.
The golden light spilled upon her face. It glinted off of Azeyma's Virtue, clasped tightly around her neck. Spilled on the stone protruding from the Ring of Inquiry upon her finger. One of her hands curled almost languidly around the haft of a sword— the real Treaty-Blade. And in her other did she cradle a velvet pouch against her chest almost like a swaddled babe.
With Cecy guidance, so helpfully encouraged by the point of Phillice sword at her back, did the group approach their former ally from where she perched atop a rocky cliff. Silently awaiting their arrival, it would seem. And far from alone. A small horde of strangely docile yet decidedly empty undead surrounded her, their glazed eyes staring at nothing as they swayed idly at her side.
And then there was Nashu, her arms pinned behind her by a vacantly drooling zombie. She hummed innocently to herself, her Keeper of the Moon eyes even rounder and brighter than usual as she studied a line of ants carefully crawling around her shoe.
Hildibrand gasped, staggering forward ahead of the rest.
"Nashu, my dear!" He cried, hands outstretched, "Is it truly you?"
The Miqo'te's head shot up, ears perking.
"Oh, hullo Inspector! Jonceler!" She called brightly from above, seeming not at all concerned with her current predicament, "Do you see these ants? They're amazing! So co-ordinated, even with so many legs!"
Yep. Definitely the real Nashu.
Joker let himself have a little moment of relief at seeing the woman unharmed. Then his gaze hardened. He stepped forward, followed by Phillice. The glaring Sultansworn dragged Cecy with her, keeping a tight hold of the hands bound behind her back.
"Ellie Ryse, I would presume?" The woman asked coldly, "Second in the pair that forms the true identity of the Phantom Thief of Many Faces?"
"…Sorry, sis." Cecy gave a tight smile, gaze dropping to the ground, "They caught me. You're the brains, after all…"
But Elllie didn't respond. Her head remained lifted serenely to the sky, the only indication she had heard the sad curl of her lips.
"So it was you, after all."
Bringing up the very back of the group was Briardien, so unusually hesitant to face the grim truth before him. But face it did, composing himself with a moment of pained silence, before he adjusted his glasses. The lenses grew opaque, angled against the light of the sun.
"Consider me... disappointed." He continued, voice kept flat and even, "Your sister is already in custody. Surrender now and I will see that no harm befalls her."
"How little you understand us, Inspector…" Ellie spoke at last, voice soft. Her eyes opened slowly, fixed skyward, "Then again, how could one born into a life of power and privilege ever hope to understand? Cecy and I have no family, no friends, no fortune… nothing. Just two sisters against the world, with only our quest for justice to give us meaning."
She lowered her head, turning to face them. Hefted the bundle nestled against her breast.
"Do you see now?" Ellie's voice dropped, filling with bitterness. Her fingers tightened upon the pouch of Trader's Spurn she clutched like a lifeline, "Anything I might have once had to lose, I lost long ago… Now stand down, or suffer the same fate as the Ul'dahn dogs you would defend!"
"Ellie, stop this madness!" Briardien cried, waving an emphatic arm.
But Ellie only shook her head, "...I'm sorry, Inspector. And you too, Joker." She added softly. Her other hand likewise tightened upon the haft of the ancient sword, the crossguard rattling slightly, "The legends say that, when gathered with the other treasures and wielded by a Warrior of Light, the Treaty-Blade will call forth the magic to bless the people of Belah'dia…"
She took a step forward now, looking into Joker's eyes, expression solemn, "I… We need you. And you're going to help us."
"Ellie…" Joker breathed out. He took off his helmet, holding it under his arm as he fixed her with a sad smile, "Come on. I know you don't really want to do this."
Ellie simply stared for a moment, expression wavering. Her grip on the sword's handle slackened for just a second.
Then she took a breath.
"Capture the one with the mask." Ellie nodded to her undead minions, the slightest quiver barely audible in her voice, "The rest… you can kill."
The zombies' heads shot up at the soft command, exposed bones creaking. The one restraining Nashu tightened its hold, digging its gnarled nails into her wrists. She yelped.
Joker drew Zantatsuken again, teeth gritted in a snarl.
"Enough!"
And all heads, rotting or otherwise, jumped skyward as a man descended from far above, as if spawning from nothing.
Lavishly oiled muscles gleamed in scattered beams against the sunlight, highlighting each powerful bulge. Opaque lenses flashed. A bushy mustache quivered.
And the godly figure of Godbert Manderville made devastating contact with the earth in a rippling quake that sent the unsteady undead toppling to the ground. A plume of dust rose in a pillar from atop the cliff and shrouded Ellie and her Ashkin cohorts from sight.
There was a flash of gold, a somehow audible sheen accompanying the glimpse of an ornate hammer.
Then came Godbert Manderville's mighty roar.
The sound of furious thwacks and pained shrieks followed immediately. Gangrenous limbs and yawning, severed heads came tumbling from the whirling dust cloud, scattered every which way and that. The people below watched on, looking between each other, minds left to only try to envision the pure carnage within.
In the chaos did Ellie stagger free from the haze, coughing, stumbling towards the cliff's edge. Her other hand rose to desperately cup the pouch of Trader's Spurn, dropping her hold of the Treaty-Blade. The ancient sword rolled down the side of the ledge, tumbling through the sands.
And then Godbert was leaping through the cloud, dust trailing from his powerful calves like contrails, a blinking Nashu held against his very, very firm chest. He landed beside the party below, a small earthquake almost unbalancing them where his bare feet met the earth.
"My dear Nashu!" Hildibrand cried, he and Joker rushing to squish the dazed Miqo'te between them, her glasses askew, "Father— oh, thank you!"
There was the family's signature flash of brilliant teeth as Godbert straightened himself, setting a dizzy Nashu on her feet.
"Think nothing of it, Hildy! A friend of my son is a friend of mine. And consequently, an enemy…"
The muscled man trailed off menacingly, his glasses flashing as he turned to Ellie. The woman scrambled on the ground, holding the pouch of deadly powder tight in her arms.
Godbert advanced towards her, muscles rippling, opaque pince-nez lenses failing to entirely hide the fury in her eyes.
"Stop!" Ellie cried, lifting the pouch above her head. Godbert froze in his tracks, "I didn't want it to come to this, but you leave me no choice!"
And she dipped a hand inside, powder like fine ash fisted tight in her palm and spilling between her curled fingers. With a scream, she hurled it with all her might, the Doom of Sil'dih prepared to fall upon the startled Godbert Manderville.
"Father, no!"
And then Hildibrand was between them, throwing himself in front of his father and the others with his arms stretched— … And taking the full brunt of it.
The hapless inspector gasped, engulfed in a burst of grey like an ominous stormcloud. He staggered to a halt between the astonished onlookers, breath rapidly growing ragged as the powder claimed his lungs.
"Hildy…!" Godbert gasped, horrified. His hammer dropped heavily to the ground. He lifted his arms— but he was held at bay by Hildibrand's gloved hand, sharply raised to halt his advance.
"N-no! Stay back, father!" Hildibrand cried, a hand clutching tight at his chest as he quivered. Sweat poured down his face like a bucket of water had been upturned over his head.
"I… I can feel it…! The ghastly effects of the Trader's Spurn, clawing through my very veins…" He rasped, breathless, fingers dragging down his flushed cheeks, "The dread change is imminent…! My friends, please— flee at once! I fear I will not be able to control myself once it takes me…!"
"Oh no…!" Nashu wailed, Briardien's hands tight upon her shoulders as he held her back, both their faces blanched extra pale, "Inspector!"
Phillice dropped Cecy, letting her collapse to the earth at her feet as she drew her sheathed sword. Joker stood next to her, heart hammering as he let Zantetsuken pool into form in his hands. Would… would they really have to…?
A powerful shudder ran down Hildibrand's spine. He turned to them slowly, face twisted.
And what met the anxious group, huddled close together, Joker and Phillice at the fore with reluctant swords drawn defensively, was…
Hildibrand Manderville, inspector extraordinaire. Absolutely, completely normal. Well— as normal as the man got, anyway.
He let out a sneeze.
"Wha—! You're perfectly fine, you utter nitwit!" Briardien screamed, rushing Hildibrand and firmly slapping the back of his head— though his hand did shake a little.
"Oh." Hildibrand blinked, looking down at his perfectly intact arms, flush with the healthy flow of blood. He sniffed, swiping at his running nose, "Oh. So I am. But how…?"
"You're…" Ellie blinked as Godbert beamed, "But… that was enough powder to turn at least ten men!"
And Nashu shot up from behind Godbert's broad shoulder, tail springing with her.
"Of course!" She gasped, spreading her arms wide, "The inspector placebo'd himself into thinking he was a zombie before, so now he's built up an immunity to undeadifcation!"
That made perfect sense!
"That makes absolutely no sense!" Ellie wailed, clutching at her head, "Kill them!" She howled to the few remaining zombies that had staggered down the side of the cliff to join her, hobbling on rotted ankles, "Kill them now!"
But there was no response. The undead man simply hovered bonelessly behind Ellie, their dead eyes fixed instead upon Hildibrand. Then they slowly bent their stiff waists, hands upon their chests, dipping into most gentlemanly bows.
"What…?!"
"Oh— aha!" Hildibrand raised a triumphant finger, "Of course! 'Tis just as Nashu said! I stand before you now, the not-so-undead extraordinaire formerly known as Zombiebrand! The once mighty leader of gentle dead men far and wide!" He leveled his finger to point it at Ellie instead, who flinched, "And as such, I will finish this for the sake of the goodly reanimated men whose hearts you would enthrall, fiend!"
Hildibrand dove forward, clumsily snatching up the fallen Treaty-Blade from the sand. He stumbled against the weight of it, before awkwardly raising the gleaming tip to the heavens.
"Allow me to show you the might of a Manderville man!"
The twilight struck the length of the blade, causing it to shine. No, not just shine— glow. The spilling golden light radiated from multiple sources. A kind of resonance that lit up the other two artifacts upon Ellie's person. She stared down at them in awe, clutching at the clasp upon her neck.
"B-but how…?!" Cecy squeaked from where had been left sprawled in the dirt, astonished and very, very indignant.
Hildibrand looked up at the sword, utterly perplexed and alarmed and what he had apparently wrought by his own hands. The light from the blade coalesced into a single beam, scattering rainbow sparkles in the air.
And Hildibrand Manderville yelped as he was suddenly propelled forward by a burst of magic erupting from the sword's pommel. His eyes rolled back and his cheeks flapped wildly from the force as he held both ends of the crossguard in each hand like the handles of an out-of-control scooter, hanging on for dear life.
Ellie, barely risen to her shaking legs, realized what was about to happen before any of them. She closed her eyes with bitter resignation. A final long-suffering, exasperated sigh left her lips at this— the ultimate culmination of Hildibrand Manderville's unique brand of strangely effective bumbling incompetence.
And then the tip of the inspector's head collided audibly with Ellie's stomach as he was launched into a truly brutal headbutt.
She was sent flying, eyes rolled into the back of her head— and collapsing neatly atop her handcuffed sister.
Jack Garland clapped his hands in the stunned silence that followed. A most spectacular display of martial prowess, worthy of a Manderville!
"T-to think the very magic we sought would be turned against us… And by a muscled buffoon, no less…!" Cecy groaned, head dropping to the earth as she at last gave up. Body draped over her, her sister brought her hands to her face, biting back a furious scream.
Hildibrand hastily scrambled to his feet from where his head had been driven into the sand, dragging the now dull Treaty-Blade he still clutched with him. He cleared his throat, struggling to regain his dignity.
"Yes! T-The game is now very much up, Miss Ellie! Pray abandon this madness. Besides," He added, voice growing quieter as his eyes softened, "Plots of mass murder hardly suit a lady like yourself."
And Ellie's hands dropped to her sides. She stared vacantly up at the sky again, tears shining, all fight drained out of her.
"It's over…" She sniffled, gasping for air against her rising sobs, "It's all over…"
"Ellie…"
She blinked as Briardien appeared above her, peering into her face. He knelt at her side, expression surprisingly tender. Took a hand in hers, threading their fingers together, "You claimed before that you had lost everything and everyone you had to lose, did you not? As for me, I have found something— someone— with whom I intend never to part."
The defeated thief stared up at the inspector who had at last captured her. Her eyes grew wide as her overwhelmed mind processed his words, letting out a strangled breath.
"You… you would still have me, Briardien?" She croaked, "Even now…?"
And the Elezen gave her a wry smile, raising her hand to his lips.
"I care not if it takes years, even decades. When you emerge from your jail cell a free woman… I will be there. What say you?"
Ellie lay there, utterly stunned. Unable to speak, she simply bobbed her head, tears spilling down her flushed cheeks.
Jack stood back with a sniffling Nashu as a solemn Phillice raised Ellie to her feet, soon joining her sister in handcuffs. With a soft murmur of regret did she prepare to lead them back to the city, where the two would face their sentence.
Godbert halted the senior Sultansworn with a hand upon her shoulder. He turned to face the two sisters, moustache downturned with sincerity.
"Miss Ellie. Miss Cecy," He nodded at them in turn, "While the crimes perpetrated by you are unpardonable, you are far from the only ones guilty. On behalf of the Syndicate, I offer my apologies for the false aspersions cast upon your ancestors. It will not be an easy task to rewrite— nay, restore— history. But know this: I will do everything in my power to bring the truth to the fore."
"…Thank you." Ellie murmured after a moment, head low, "That is some comfort, at least."
"After four hundred years, this might very well spell the end for the Arbiters of Truth." Phillice joined in, a hand upon her chest, "Whether or not to replace the fallen is a decision for my superiors to make. In either event, I have decided to renounce my position. I thought they were but white lies, but I have seen firsthand the suffering they can cause…"
And Hildibrand nodded his firm agreement, "A most noble decision, my good woman! But regardless of what becomes of the Arbiters, we must first decide what is to be done with this, among others."
With a flourish, Hildibrand hefted the Treaty-Blade up again. He raised the sword high once more, beaming—
—And a golden light once more bloomed along its length.
Everyone else could only watch blankly as the goggling inspector was sent rocketing upward by the force of an ancient magic sword that had apparently taken a liking to him.
"S-s-s-skyward hoooooooooo!" He cried out, voice rising in a surprised squeak as he rapidly ascended into the stratosphere on a trailing rainbow road.
"Inspector! Oh, Inspector! Wait for meeeeeeeee!" Cried Nashu, bolting after him with her hands raised to the heavens, prepared at any moment to catch her boss should he drop.
"Worry not for me, my friends!" Came the man's distant voice, growing rapidly fainter, "For wherever the wronged want for succor, I, Hildibrand, shall be there! Till we meet again!"
There was a final, distant flash of light from glinting pearly whites. Jack Garland pressed his helmet against his chest. Put a hand to his forehead in a stiff salute, fighting back tears that shimmered in his eyes. Briardien, meanwhile, fought the urge to roll his eyes.
"See you, inspector…" Jack murmured solemnly as Hildibrand vanished from sight, like a flying lawnmower taking to the skies.
Godbert, unphased by his son's spectacular display of sudden aerodynamics, merely gave another merry, belly-jiggling laugh, "Ho ho ho! It appears that a case of wanderlust has once again struck Hildibrand— as it has many a Manderville man before him. Godsspeed, my boy!" He added, raising his voice to a booming shout.
Phillice scanned the skies, visibly struggling to fit all that had just happened into some semblance of sense.
"S-so in the end, the Sil'dahn incantation of legend was wielded not by a Warrior of Light, but a… Gentleman of Light...? Am I understanding this right…?" She added, voice raising with sheer confusion.
Cecy simply shrugged, utterly at a loss herself, "Well, the Treaty-Blade is some six centuries old, after all. Perhaps it's not as sharp as it used to be…"
"Well, whatever the reason, I'm glad to have seen it with my own eyes," Ellie smiled, the lingering light of the rainbow reflected in her teary eyes, "The magic that brought peace and happiness to the united peoples of Belah'dia. It was… every bit as beautiful as I imagined."
Briardien dropped his gaze to raise an eyebrow at her. He put his hands on his hips and shook his head.
"Hmph. He bumbles and stumbles through yet another case, and still he manages to make a girl's dream come true." He muttered, the most reluctantly fond smirk tugging at his lips, "A gentleman to the end… the bloody bastard."
After a loud sniffle, Jack dropped his arm. He dusted his hands.
"Well!" He chirped, "That was fun."
With his helmet slipped under his arm, he turned and began to walk away. Phillice, now thoroughly fed-up with nonsense for the day, eyed him with wary exasperation.
"…Wait! I never finished questioning you! Where do you think you're going?!"
Jack gave a shrug, "Guess I'm going to have to go back to work."
Phillice gaped at him as he casually passed her, finally taking in his features. A belated realization lit her eyes.
"...The sisters said that they were in need of a Warrior of Light… They had wanted you to wield the magic of the Treaty-Blade. Does that mean you're…?"
But he only shook his head, "Oh no." He said, strolling over a rising dune, "Not at all. Bye!"
"Yes, my most reticent gratitude for your assistance, 'Jack Garland'." Briardien called after him, gentle smirk still on his face, "Please do not take it the wrong way when I say that I hope we never meet again."
Figure already fading into the low sunset, Joker kept his back turned to him, a hand raised high as he waved it lazily in farewell.
Joker sat at a coffee table at the Rising Stones, two steaming mugs and a plate piled high with cupcakes between him and Tataru on the opposite side. The Lalafell had set them before him upon his return, having been worked up into a fretful baking frenzy when news from Thanalan had drifted her way— something about a Primal and a Phantom Thief and a localized zombie outbreak? And all taking place in one utterly bizarre and eventful day, if the scattered and truly wild rumors she'd picked up were to be believed.
An exhausted Joker had dismissed her many questions with the wave of a hand and a casual remark that he had "handled it", before dropping into a chair and yawning widely.
"Journalism's a surprisingly cutthroat industry." He said, at last setting aside the perplexing helmet Slafyrsyn had gifted him and rubbing at his eyes, "Thanks for the coffee, Tataru."
"Oh, um. You're welcome…?" Tataru replied, resigned to simply letting this be the latest of the many, many unsolved mysteries regarding her strange friend's recent antics. And hopefully the last for a good while, if Joker's air of tired but satisfied resignation was anything to go by.
Though still confused, Tataru let that be the end of it, allowing the pair to sit in comfortable silence for a rare moment of peace. Joker bit into a cupcake, greatly enjoying the contrast between sugary frosting and bitter black coffee— before a niggling thought at the back of his mind prodded him like a nudging finger. He frowned, swirling the dark liquid in his cup.
Tataru tilted her head at him.
"Something on your mind, Ren?"
"Not exactly… I just feel like I'm maybe forgetting something," Joker mumbled, staring hard into the small caffeinated whirlpool he'd created.
Tataru, more than eager to draw whatever had happened today to a decisive close for the sake of prolonging snack time, took a firm gulp of her coffee.
"Well, you know what they say—" She quipped brightly, setting her cup down on the saucer, "If you can't remember it, then it can't have been that important!"
And Joker shrugged, bringing his own drink back to his lips, "I suppose you're right."
Somewhere, stranded high atop a distant, snowy mountain, Ultros sneezed.
And then a certain flying inspector came crashing down headfirst on top of him.
Original Ao3 endnotes:
SEE YOU SPACE COWBOY
Please read Joker's comment near the end in this exact tone. (Heh. Bees…)
So… To address the Julyan Manderville not in the room with us… Thanks to the way things played out, she did not make an appearance in this questline. Very terrible of me, I know. She will surely bludgeon me half to death with a frying pan if she gets the chance. But I promise! Her time will come later in the HW Hildibrand quests…!
Speaking of which! Here's a bonus little preview sketch of those.
Thank you again! I think this'll probably be my last update before Christmas / the new year, so I want to wish you all a lovely time if you're celebrating! 3 Thank you so, so much for all your wonderful support for another year! I hope to keep going for several more!