-Bora Bora-
The wind was a deafening presence in Bora Bora’s ears as he flashed over the countryside. His powerful wings barely seemed to beat as he hurtled across the sky, moving at such incredible speeds that he was forced to slit his eyes against the wind. The sun above him was high and bright, but its warmth failed to reach him against the cold clutch of the wind that whipped him. The plains below him were wind-swept as well, a bright green field that he failed to notice. He was on a direct path, and he was driven to reach his goal. Such trivial matters as the weather and the land were of no importance to him.
At the very back of his mind, a voice spoke to him. Would the action he was about to take place him back on the path that would lead him to the Wanderer? There was just enough of his reason that remained to tell him that it was a definite possibility. And so, despite his unwavering determination to smite down the dragon who had killed his god, he felt a flicker of doubt. Khanmara had made her intentions clear. She wanted him to stay off that path. She wanted him to fight not for himself, but his family.
In a way, he thought, he was fighting for both causes with this attack. He was avenging his late deity, but he was also ensuring that Tiamat couldn’t be a threat to anyone else. Once she was rested, she would be sure to set out to hunt him down. So if he killed her at her home, then he would forever prevent her from harming him or any of those under him. So perhaps this was the right path to take after all. He had to believe that because he knew that his rage, which continued to course through his heart like the mightiest of rivers, would never allow him to abandon this task.
He could feel the divine strength rippling through his body with every passing second. Once, shortly after he’d joined Bahamut’s followers, he’d asked the High Priest what the cost of divinity was. He knew even at that young age that everything had a cost to it. The High Priest had said that the enchantment provided great protection to the one who carried it, but it also chipped away at the body and mind, corroding both slowly. The only way to stop this degradation was to retire to the Divine Isles for a time. The Isles was a place where the enchantment’s damage was prevented, and a god could heal all damage they had sustained, no matter how debilitating.
Bora Bora thought he could sense the damage happening even now, but perhaps he was being a bit fanciful. He was pragmatic enough to recognize his power, and recognize that even with the strain of the enchantment, he could sustain a mortal life for some time. The real mystery came from the fact that he’d resisted his ascension. He couldn’t remember hearing of any mortal who could achieve that. Not even Wanderer, when he’d ascended, had been able to fight it. Perhaps that was the trick of it, he thought. He had chosen not to ascend. Had his rage been powerful enough to postpone it, or had it been so easy as deciding to take care of this last bit of unfinished business? Perhaps there was some sage or wise man in the world who knew. It was immaterial to him.
The mountain appeared long before he reached it, its massive bulk breaking out of the horizon, stretching up to loom above him like a barrier. He shook off this fanciful notion. It was not a barrier to his path, but a stepping stone for his legacy. He would kill its master, the Tyrant Queen who lived in its heart. After that, it would be an insignificant landmark. Massive, to be sure, but not worthy of his attention. He flared his wings out a bit more to slow himself down, taking a moment to regard the mountain. His sharpened eyes scoured the slope, quickly identifying the location of the recent battle. He could see the remains of his comrades that had passed, but there was no sign of Tiamat.
“Kill them all!”
The wind had shifted for just a moment, bringing the sound of battle to his ears. He came to a complete stop in the air, turning to identify the source. There, sparkling on the plains a fair distance from the foot of the mountain, two armies were charging towards each other. He couldn’t see the heraldries on the flags from this distance, but he could guess at their identities. As the flash of magic sprang into being at dozens of points in the battle, Bora Bora let his gaze sweep further east. There, high in the sky, and visible only as a speck, was his target.
Tiamat was wounded after the fight with her brother, but not critically. A single long gash ran down her flank, a wound that sent large droplets of blood falling to the earth below. Bora Bora took off at once, taking a direct path to intercept her. Her eyes, still full of the triumph of defeating her lifelong enemy, picked him out at once, small as he was. He heard her voice come again and knew that it had been her shout that had roused his attention. Behind her was her greatest servant, the tarrasque Mathadiel. His red eyes burned with hatred as he saw Bora Bora, and he rushed forward to protect his queen, but she snapped at him.
“Forget the Champion!” She snarled. “Kill the intruders to my home. I’ll deal with him!”
Deal with him? Bora Bora’s lips pulled back to reveal his teeth, and he let out his rage at last, roaring in an unmistakable challenge. In an instant, the scythe was in his hand, and he dove for his prey. But Mathadiel, hesitating only a second, dove towards the ground to obey his queen. This simple action made Bora Bora hesitate. It was only a second of pause, but it was more than enough for him to understand. The path he had to take was laid out for him now, clear as day.
Tiamat opened her massive jaws to release a jet of flame as she drew close to Bora Bora, but he dropped from the air, slipping under the torrent of flame with ease. The sudden change in direction took her by surprise, and she turned on a dime to face him. Then hesitated as she realized that, to her surprise, Bora Bora was flying away from her. She let out a raucous laugh, assuming him to be fleeing, but he paid her no mind. He didn’t know what had made him change his mind, but his legacy was somehow tied to this nation, and his instinct had told him to hunt a different target. He could kill the wyrm later.
Mathadiel crashed down onto the ground with devastating force, too fast for any of the soldiers below to react to his presence. He landed directly between the two armies, crushing dozens of men under his feet. Both armies came to a dead halt as the gargantuan beast appeared, and their hesitation cost them dearly. With a roar like the worst storm, Mathadiel let loose a massive torrent of flame. It spread for hundreds of feet in every direction, incinerating men and scorching the land. Even from this distance, Bora Bora could hear the screams of the men. The lucky survivors turned to flee at once, forgetting their military formations and scattering in every direction.
Friend and foe alike ran for their lives before the beast, which swept its long tail and slammed its feet down, creating massive clouds of dust in its rampage. It killed hundreds of the soldiers before they could run clear of the killing ground, then leaped forward to continue its massacre. Perhaps fortunately for Milagre, it chose to leap towards the invaders, creating instant devastation while the other army fled. Spells and arrows rained on its flanks, all but the luckiest of shots reflected by its tough scales.
Bora Bora plummeted towards Mathadiel, dropping faster than a rock through water. He was at the beast’s flank before it knew he was even there, throwing his scythe. He could feel the connection to his weapon stronger than ever as it flew through the air, the whirling disc of steel describing a gentle arc. It slammed into Mathadiel’s hide and stuck. The strength of his scales was too great, however, and the blade could only penetrate an inch or two. With a powerful tug, Bora Bora called it back to him, just as Mathadiel began to turn.
The tarrasque’s red eyes found him at once. It had been a feint, Bora Bora realized. The beast had waited for him to get into its reach before striking. Well, he thought, dropping low to avoid the cloud of flame that surged toward him, it was a level of intelligence he had expected, at the very least. Mathadiel couldn’t have become Tiamat’s highest servant if he was stupid. Now he had a real problem, as he was under Mathadiel, in range of claws, jaw, and tail. He could strike at Mathadiel’s underbelly, where there were fewer scales, but he knew that would be a trap as well.
-Tobito-
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“Fall back!”
The shout, or more accurately the scream, came from several points along the Gorteauan army, from those sergeants who had been lucky enough to survive Mathadiel’s first attack. They streamed away from the tarrasque in an unorganized stream of bodies, the terror painted all too clearly on their faces. They ran without care of guard or balance, fleeing for their lives. They had lost many men already, though the number wouldn’t be known until the end of the battle. For now, they could not mourn their lost comrades. They could only escape.
At the top of a nearby hill, the very same one that Grimr had taken watch from, a small cluster of people stood in intense discussion. They were sheltered from potential rain by a quickly-constructed tent, large enough to fit a dozen men and a large war table. There were eight of their number, ringed around this very table, discussing this latest event in terse voices.
“We should be safe for now,” one of them, the portly General Rainhall, was saying. “The Royal Mages have cloaked us. The beast will not be able to see us here.”
Tobi, clad in his traditional Captain’s robes, shook his head. He’d been silent for most of the early conversation but felt the time was right for him to weigh in. “The men are not hidden. We have to do something about this.”
“The traitor is distracting him for now,” Rainhall countered. “After he falls, the beast can take out the invaders. He’ll do our work for us.”
Two of the men, lackeys under Rainhall’s command, let out a loud chuckle. Tobi glared at them but decided they weren’t worth the time. He stabbed the butt of his spear into the packed earth to emphasize his point. “And what if Mathadiel turns on us instead of the Union?”
“Mathadiel?” All eyes turned to stare at the speaker this time. It was none other than Aren Gorteau, the King’s brother and Prime Magus of the College. “How do you know the monster’s name, Captain Tokugawa?”
“He is an old beast,” Tobi said at once. “There are many records on him if you know where to look.”
There was the briefest flash of irritation on Gorteau’s face, the indignation of a nobleman insulted. But it was gone just as fast, his sense of reason taking control. He recognized that Tobi had not insulted his research capabilities, and had not intended any scorn with his words. He met the Captain’s eyes, holding his stare for a brief moment, and nodded his acceptance of the word.
“What else have these records told you about Mathadiel?” He asked, leaning across the table. His attention and interest were obvious. The tarrasque represented a very real, very dangerous threat to the safety of his brother’s kingdom, after all. “Does he have any weaknesses? What does it take to kill something of this nature?”
“Only the greatest of powers, I am afraid,” Tobi said. His voice was quieter than the others, but it carried no less weight. “There has never been a tarrasque killed by the hands of a mortal man, in all of our histories. Worse still, this one ranks above the rest. He is an ancient beast.”
“He is an Ancient?” Gorteau asked, his eyes widening in shock. He knew of the Ancients, mostly from his discussions with Samuel. The Archmage was an Ancient himself, the only one that a mortal man was likely to come in contact with.
Despite himself, Tobi gave a wry grin. It changed, however, to a grimace as he thought of what he’d read. “He is not an Ancient, Prime Magus. He is ancient. As far as I can tell, he has existed since the beginning of our history. If I’m not mistaken, he is older than the oldest of kingdoms.”
The group let out a restless sort of mutter at that. It was a well-known fact among learned men that the human race, while having existed for several thousands of years, was far from old. Many creatures predated them, both known and unknown. As a general rule, the ancient creatures could not be killed by mortal hands. There were a few exceptions, of course, several legendary figures who had claimed such deeds to their names. They were vaulted as heroes, their names recorded in fables to be remembered long after they passed.
“It’s a pity we don’t have an Ancient on our side,” Aren said, once again thinking of Samuel, though he didn’t know how his friend could fare any better than Bora Bora. “Do you think that the Champion stands a chance?”
“You mean the traitor!” Rainhall barked. Gorteau turned his head quickly to regard the general coolly, who went pale as he realized that he’d just shouted at a member of the Royal Family. He hastily blurted out an apology. “Please forgive me, your Grace.”
Aren stared the man down in silence for several seconds but otherwise chose not to respond. Finally, he turned to face Tobi once more. “Does he stand a chance?”
Tobi frowned thoughtfully. “He is a Divine now.”
“Not fully.”
“No,” Tobi agreed. “But he has the strength of the divine enchantment with him, and it is fresh. There is a great deal of power to be had in that.”
“There is something more to it,” Gorteau said. He’d caught onto the undertone of tense unease in Tobi’s words. “What are you aware of that you are not sharing?”
Tobi did not reply at first. He looked to Rainhall, who was leaning forward slightly, very eager to hear this source of information. His lackeys were the same, their eyes fixed unwaveringly on the Nihon-Jan’s face. The information he was keeping hidden was very powerful. On the one hand, sharing it would help their efforts greatly. They could prepare action that would aid Bora Bora in his fight. They could even make the fight a great deal easier. But it would give powerful information to wicked men such as Rainhall and his underlings.
“He is weakened by his enchantment.”
The voice, so deep that it could have come from the bowels of the earth, rang out from the entrance of the tent. It was unknown to all but one of them, and they reacted as though an enemy had appeared. Rainhall and his cohorts drew their weapons, spinning in place to confront the stranger. Tobi did not raise his weapon, but he was on his guard at once, his Ki flaring to life, coating his body in the blink of an eye, his free hand reaching for the spikes that would be much more useful in this confined space. Only Aren Gorteau, after a brief second of shock, showed a different emotion when he recognized the newcomer. He relaxed visibly as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
“Master Longfang,” he said, almost sighing in relief but managing to remain composed. “It is a pleasure to see you at last.”
Tobi squinted to see better. It was very bright outside, and the sunlight was casting his face in shadow, creating nothing more than an imposing backdrop. The figure was small, the size of a child, but he radiated such casual power and authority that belied his small stature. The amount of Ki he possessed was greater than any Tobi had ever encountered. He knew at once that he stood no chance against this person. Then Gorteau’s words registered with him, and he dropped his spear in shock. Longfang? As in Grimr Longfang, the God of Nature?
“Gorteau,” Grimr said, his voice deep and gravelly for such a small body. “You’ve grown a fair bit older since our last meeting.”
“As it so happens with mortality,” Aren replied smoothly. “Though the benefits far outweigh the losses, I think.”
“So it would seem,” Grimr said, studying him with a nod. But it was a cursory glance before he turned his gaze to focus on Tobi. At once, it felt both like a spotlight and an incredible pressure that locked him in place. “Tell these men nothing. That information does not deserve the light of day. Gorteau, maybe. But not the others.”
Rainhall looked torn between indignation and fear. He might not be magically inclined, but he understood the implications that came with the presence of a Divine. He also knew that it was unwise to insult them. As much as he wanted to know the secret that Tobi held, he didn’t dare to object in front of Grimr. The Ancient paid the man no attention, his eyes locked onto Tobi’s, making sure that he understood the command. Tobi, who felt as though something was closing rather tightly around his chest, nodded without speaking. A slight smirk formed on Grimr’s face at the reaction.
“Good man,” he said, his voice a touch gentler. “I knew your father well. He would be proud of what you’ve become.”
Tobi nodded again but decided that a simple movement wasn’t adequate. “Thank you, lord Grimr.”
Grimr waved one of his small hands casually in dismissal of the formality. “Just Grimr, if you please. I despise the stiff customs of mortals. I am here at the behest of a mutual friend.”
Tobi knew at once who he was talking about, though he said nothing. Grimr recognized his understanding and nodded in confirmation. “Yes. Samuel will be here soon, and he will aid the former Champion of Bahamut. Then he will take part in the battle, and face his purpose. It would be wise to wait for him.”
“Will you take part in the fight as well?” Tobi asked. With Grimr at their side, their enemy stood no chance, he thought hopefully. “Will you help us drive our foes back?”
“No,” Grimr said firmly. “As of yet, they have not infringed upon my domain, so I cannot touch them. As an Ancient, I am forbidden from interfering in the worlds, save for when it is required by my purpose. That purpose requires that I stay here, though I know not why. Samuel will be here very soon, and he will be all the help you will need.”
The thought gave Tobi a great boost of confidence, which was almost immediately lowered as Grimr continued. “You’ll find that your great test comes today, young Tobito. I have complete faith that you shall pass your test.”