#wizard mumbo

But it’s not just that Mumbo is from the city. He also knows his best friend's brain will turn his memories, his thoughts, his actions against him. It couldn’t have been any other hermit, one that wasn’t so insecure about their position among the guild, their ability to be a mage. It had to be Mumbo, the newest, the most fearful. It attacked him knowing he saw himself as the weakest link. And it made him believe it, see it. 

“We have to go after that spoon.” Grian states, standing. He wobbles like a newborn shleep, falling to his knees. 

“Hold up, Grian. You literally just had 300 million volts use your body as a lightning rod, I know you’re the guild healer and all but you can’t go running after him.” Cleo holds him down, keeping him from trying to run off into the woods. “Grian stop! You can’t run off on your own, or the Hangman’s Playground will turn your thoughts against you. We’ll go together.” 

“How will we even know where he’s gone?” Keralis questions, reaching out to pet a shleep that had wandered into the clearing. The second the bug mage’s fingers sink into the galactic wool, red bolts of static zap him with a yelp. 

“I think he went that way.” BDubs points, seeing other shleep going to the east, static bolts of red energy dancing between swirls of starry fur. Zed is positively delighted to have the company of the shleep in the terrifying forest, and he makes sure to keep the ruminants spirits high to help with the sanity of the rest of the group. 

Iskall helps Grian to his feet, letting the angelic being rest lean on his shoulder, his friend stumbling along with the group. Joe casts a spell which enchants a compass that Wels had, pointing the direction of Mumbo. Though the poem rhyming ass with compass was a bit much. 

The longer they spend within the Forest of Memories, the longer it’s effects linger and worm their way through their defenses. Stress’s amulet shatters, breaking in a burst of darkness. Immediately, the memories of her life before the hermits flood back in. She ignores the laughter, the empty parties and emptier people, running forward and grabbing another amulet to protect herself. They’re all fighting off their own demons, but the knowledge that Mumbo may be fighting his alone keeps them moving forward. 

Ren tips his head up, sniffing the air and wagging his tail. “I smell a change in the air, I think we’re close.” 

“You can’t possibly smell Mumbo, he’s not that stinky.” Iskall jeers, pushing a copse of brambles out of the way. 

“It’s not Mumbo I smell- it’s his magic. It smells like ozone.” Ren disappears through the green foliage, though his tail gets stuck on the way out. He yanks it free a few times. 

“Why would magic smell like oz-” Iskall’s cut off when he gets his answer. A bolt of lightning burns the grass at his feet, red lightning branching and crackling through the sky. 

Grian let’s go of Iskall, stumbling forward. “Mumbo…” 

Hovering in the air, surrounded by bolts of lightning striking at random intervals and places, the multi-mage is lost within his own magic. A power surge, fully realized, and well beyond Mumbo’s control. He was alone, with no one to calm his fears, to help him reign in his magic. Mumbo’s eyes are open, though glowing and crackling with energy. His arms hang limp, his feet at least a meter off the ground. 

Mumbo’s in a power surge. TFC tries to step closer, but with every forward step any hermit takes, they’re forced to retreat two lest they be struck down like Grian was. He’s not even conscious enough to realize what he’s doing. And the surge is getting stronger. Lightning begins to burn the trees around them, setting the wood on fire. The shleep that were following Zed scatter, their wool turning a misty black. 

“He’s going to destroy everything!” Beef warns, jumping back and stomping out a fire started by the lightning. 

“He’s going to destroy himself!” Xisuma adds. “But how in the world are we going to get close enough to talk him down?” 

Iskall and Grian look at one another. They’re Mumbo’s best friends, if there’s anyone that could bring him back to reality, it’s Iskall and Grian. The architechs. Iskall casts his magic, his own radioactive iskallium negates the energy of Mumbo’s magic, and Grian wraps his arms around Iskall and flutters into the air, within shouting distance of Mumbo. He struggles with his wounds, but refuses to drop Iskall. At least, not this time. “Mumbo? Mumbo!” 

Grian’s shouts fall on deaf ears, the hollow form of Mumbo possessed only by magic. Iskall and Grian look at one another, then back at Mumbo. “Mumbo, look! Grian’s fine, it’s not the worst wound he’s ever gotten, you know that!” 

“Mumbo, I know you think we don’t want you.” Grian ducks, his hair standing on end as a bolt of lightning nearly hits him again. “But that’s not true! You’re a part of this family, you’re a hermit! We aren’t like other guilds, we aren’t like your parents were. I asked you to join us because you were fun, and unique, and different. That’s what this guild is for.” 

“You’re so strong Mumbo, because no matter how many times things don’t seem to work out, or your magic is just out of reach, you still keep trying! We all admire how no matter what happens, you still get right back up and try again. I mean, Grian and I have mega thrashed you before, and you just stand up and go for it again!” Iskall notices Mumbo’s eyes blink, and the loud roar of cracking lightning and thunderous roars begin to deafen. 

“Yeah, Mumbo we know you’re strong! You’ve beaten us before, and we’re two S-class mages! But we also understand your struggle. We see how hard you work.” Grian floats toward the ground, following as Mumbo’s feet touch down on the grass. Iskall kneels beside Mumbo, Grian wrapping his wings to coo and comfort all three. “Mumbo, we want you around. You are a hermit and you are a part of this family.” 

“You aren’t our weakest link, man. You’re our best friend.” Iskall breathes. He watches Mumbo blink once, then twice, and on the third time they can see his grey eyes once again. The last of the lightning fades away, Mumbo collapsing into his friends’ arms. 

“I’m so sorry, I hurt you.” Mumbo whimpers, turning his head. Embarrassed to look at Grian. He hurt his best friend. He could’ve killed all the others. 

“You know me, Mumbo.” Grian chuckles. “Nothing can keep me down for long.”

The other hermits join the architechs on the ground, reminding Mumbo how much he means to them. How he’s made their lives better, brighter, more fun. 

And the Forest of Memories can’t hurt them. 

The dark shadows lurking in the foliage instead show the dappled light of the sun through the trees. Rather than focusing on the negative, they see the light. Sunshine burns away the voices of those who wish to tear each hermit down. Doubtful family members, cruel guildmasters, even the voice of Magistrate Dolios himself is eradicated by the group’s sentimentality of each other. 

Instead, the Forest begins to play the best moments of their times together. Mumbo and Grian meeting, Team ZIT meeting TFC on the side of a road, the day Cleo beached her ship on an island that should never exist. Days spent basking in the sun, too hot to train, playing on the beach and in the waters of the Ashioll sea. Cheering on and betting during duels, but always there for both the winner and the loser. Training feeling more like play with the hermits, dinners are bright and happy even in the dark, the island flourishing with life during festivals as the hermits grow excited. Even when it rains, they can be the happiest days on the island. Huddling close to warm fires with mugs of cider, blankets wrapping around friends. Playing in the puddles, dancing in the rain, enjoying every second of their lives. 

With the help of rattling skeletons, their bones held together by magical muscle and sinew, the hermits unload food, meats, fabrics, and more. Enough for months, as if they were preparing to be snowed in after a massive blizzard. Almost all the hermits were a part of the flow of supplies. 

Almost. Only three hermits stayed behind. Zedaph had an accident with his two explosive friends, and while it wasn’t the first time, Grian wanted to keep an eye on the burns in case the magic lingered. Mumbo stayed behind as well, but for very different reasons. One, he was easily recognizable. Everyone knows the multimage that Dolios wants captured alive. Him and Grian are the only two who Dolios demands be captured alive. He also was in the middle of inventing some new contraption, and was not about to leave it behind and lose all his progress. Last Cleo saw of him, he was extinguishing burning locks of hair. She wonders if he’s made any progress, or if he’s burned all his hair away at this point.

Once Impulse and Tango have unloaded their share of the shipment, they go in search of their friend. Both still feel bad for burning Zed, even if it was by accident. And they’ve all been burned at this point in all their years together. But it doesn’t mean they don’t feel bad, especially leaving Zed behind. At least they brought back a caramel apple from his favorite stall in the market, as well as fresh hay for his barn and animal friends. 

“Zed? We have a surprise for you!” Tango calls, his voice twinged with mischief, as if they plan to prank their friend rather than give him a gift. No response comes from the flat roofed barn, except the distant bleat of a sheep. Tango looks at Impulse, fiery hair remaining vertical even as his head tips to the side. “Could he be taking a nap?” 

“You know Zed and his sleep schedule, he wouldn’t interrupt it, even when he wakes up on the wrong side of the bed.” Impulse waves it off. “He probably just isn’t listening, or maybe pulling a prank of his own. Let’s go in.” 

Impulse waves Tango through the gate, careful to keep the sheep, goats, and other farm animals from getting between Tango’s feet and causing his hair to ignite the dry hay in his arms. A horse nips at the bale, but Tango keeps it well away from catching fire. He’s relieved to lighten the load he’s carrying as soon as they're inside the barn. Both mages look to the bed tucked in the corner, but no Zedaph. Tango tosses the haybale aside. “He should be resting.” 

They clamber over the piles of hay, searching every nook and cranny for Zedaph. Even his cookie stash, which they let him believe is still a secret. But Zed is nowhere within the barn he chooses to live in. 

Concern pales both Impulse and Tango’s face, and Tango’s hair reacts in kind to the revelation. “Perhaps he’s being treated by Grian?” 

Tango doesn’t answer, already following the path across the width of the island, from one shore to another. Grian’s floating cloud, the quartz tower with large archways and a glass domed roof. Perfectly built for a sky angel, his wings and speed. Not so perfect for his roommate, and all of Mumbo’s redstone machinery, his own lanky body climbing up onto the solid cloud and stairs to sleeping quarters.

The redstone workshop at the base of the building has been cleaned up, though a few vials seem to have rolled away, as if they were grabbed then subsequently dropped. But, just like the barn, no sign of Mumbo. 

But there is a sound. Echoing from the glass dome, a sniffling, stifling cry escapes from above, followed by a gasping, shuddering breath. Impulse runs up the steps as fast as possible, each bounce from stair to stair accentuated with a tiny explosion to give him more speed. Tango blazes behind, fire burning bright as the sun as energy courses through him. He notices on the way up grey streaks against the pure white quartz. 

“Zedaph?” Impulse breathes, screeching to a full stop. In the center of the room, Mumbo and Zed are huddled close, holding on tight. Their eyes wild with fear, and in Zed’s eyes he can see a shared memory. A shared trauma him, Impulse, and Tango all share. Two hermits, holding onto each other like its their last hope. 

Only two. “Where’s Grian?” 

Mumbo opens his mouth, but a strangled cry only escapes. Tears fall from both their faces, shaking like leaves. Something bad has happened to their friend. Tango slides across the floor, grabbing Zedaph and Mumbo. “What happened? Where’s Grian? Are you hurt?” 

They both shake their heads, but finally Mumbo gathers enough of his voice to speak. It’s weak, broken apart like glass shattering. “He took him.” 

__________________________________________________

A cold, wet air fills Grian’s lungs, biting into his skin like ice on a cold morning. When he tries to open his eyes, the dull ache of his skull becomes sharp, forcing the angel to screw them closed again. Grian grimaces, trying to figure out why he has such a terrible headache. Did he hit his head in training? No, he wouldn’t have been allowed to sleep with the hermits hovering over him. Perhaps he drank too much. Once again, impossible. Grian knows what his hangover is like, and it’s not this. 

He realizes he’s definitely hanging, but not from drinking. Cold, hard metal presses flat against his wrists, suspended over his head. The iron bites into his skin, all his weight rubbing his wrists raw. 

“Good, you’re awake. I was starting to get bored waiting, though I do quite enjoy relishing in finally having my prize thirty years in the making.” The snide, even tempo of Magistrate Dolios’s voice hurts worse than any headache or wrist, and Grian finally manages to open his eyes. The cavern he finds himself in is foreign, not even remotely similar to the brick and iron dungeons where he last woke up in Dolios’s clutches. So long ago, it feels like. The Championship. At the time, he felt like he was at the top of the world. Now? Now he feels like the world was crushing him. 

Grian resists his bindings, but even when he kicks outward, his feet don’t even scrape the dank floor. He tips his head back, until the crown of his head collides with a smooth, hard material. Just at the touch, he can feel the oppressive energy of the crystal. In his vision, he sees the sharp tip of the massive gem. Each wrist is locked tight against the crystal, the nails buried deep in the crystal lattice. 

He looks around, searching for other hermits. For Mumbo, the last face he remembers before…

The memories flood in, cascading alongside the fear and panic. He remembers everything, every terrifying second. Leaving Zedaph to meet with Mumbo, he remembers the scent of marigolds on his hands, just after crushing the petals to make a paste for Zedaph’s burns. The quiet island, most of the other hermits gone. He remembers patting his pocket, the note from his best friend telling him to meet at Iskall’s place. 

But when he arrived, Mumbo was nowhere to be seen. It wasn’t unusual, Mumbo tended to get distracted and be late. So he waited, plucking orange petals from his clothes, hair, and hands. He should’ve noticed the way the wind shifted, becoming cold and stale, before disappearing completely. 

He should’ve realized something was very wrong when the grey stormcloud appeared. But he didn’t. He was so focused on waiting for Mumbo, then on getting rid of the flowers in his feathers, that he didn’t see the husks crawl their way free of the ocean. At least, not until the husk of a soldier came barreling for him, empty glowing white eyes and ashen, flaky form charging with halberd drawn.  

Grian squeaked, dodging the attack. Stumbled over the writhing form of a cactus cat, the fading spines still quite sharp, he was saved by a pair of not-grey arms. 

Not grey arms draped in wine red fabric, the hems decorated in gold thread. He realized who it was immediately, and scrambled to try and get away. But Dolios’s magic kept a strong grip, vines of black twisting and tying Grian’s wings to his back, while a hazy fog had grown around them. 

He remembers the feeling of Dolios’s hands in his hair, pulling him to his feet as he struggled and fought against the vines and the fog that filled his mind. Hands clawing at his binds, even biting the magistrate at one point. He remembers the taste of blood, iron on his tongue and Dolios swearing, blasting Grian with magic. 

And the last thing he remembers, before being knocked out and torn away from his home, was Mumbo’s face. Rounding the corner, completely oblivious to the fight occurring. It was at that moment that Grian realized, when his eyes locked with Mumbo’s that it wasn’t him that sent the letter. The confusion, of seeing Grian, the surprise on his face. He was walking towards the infirmary, dropping the box  in his hand upon seeing the sight before him. 

The fear on Mumbo’s face matched Grian’s own, as he was dragged into the sea. A second later, a swift burst of sonic energy knocked him out. 

And now he’s here. Dolios saunters across the room, gathering ingredients and writing down notes. Grian swings his legs, and summons his wings to try and be free. But as soon as the blue and white feathers appear, they crumble into ash. Crushing weight sets in on his head, his shoulders, his lungs, and his magic, and the crystal he’s trapped against hums with power. “You’re quite different from the last angel I hunted. At least you fought back, but in the end they left me without the gift of their magic. This time, I’m not letting anything go to chance.” 

The magistrate sets his bowl of guts aside, approaching the crystal and Grian. His hands are clasped behind his back, shoulders straight and head held high. The weight of the oppressive dark magic doesn’t bother him. Grian’s not ready to give up just yet. He attempts to kick Dolios, but the dark mage stands mere centimeters out of reach. So Grian decides to use his words. “You’re kind of an asshole, you know that?” 

“I’ve been told that once or twice before, yes. But the rest of Lairyon loves me. And why wouldn’t they? I’ve brought prosperity to this kingdom, done more than that stupid rainbow king could ever do, and all of this because of my power.” Dolios sweeps his hands, vapors of dark magic swirling from his fingers as his fingers clench to fists

“Stolen magic. If the citizens knew, they’d hate you just as much as I do.” Grian reels back his head, and does the best he can to annoy Dolios. He spits on him. The glob of spit lands on Dolios’s cheek, the magistrate flinching, then reaching up and wiping it away. A fresh anger in his eyes. 

“And who would believe you? An outcast mercenary orphan? The last of your kind?” Dolios stoops low, plucking a husked feather from the floor. He walks back to the table, mixing the components and ingredients from his jars of death with Grian’s feather. “Your power is rare. Angelic mages are always powerful, a power I crave. You will be a wonderful addition to my collection of magic. The last of the angels to complete my set!” 

A fearful shiver ricochets down Grian’s spine. “You’re going to turn me into a husk?” 

“Oh, gods no!” Dolios laughs, so loud that it echoes off the cavern walls as he throws his head back, brown curls dancing across rich fabric. “I wouldn’t dare waste such magic to become simple energy for me and my beast. No, no. Do not fret, little bird, you will become so much more. I don’t plan to drain your energy. I plan to steal it.” 

The hunger in Dolios’s eyes as he turns, the concoction in his hand, Grian realizes what he's seen all this time in Dolios’s eyes. Hunger. A madman hellbent on taking what he sees as rightfully his.. A predator stalking his prey. And Grian was cornered, pinned. Unable to fight back, unable to fly away. Fear is replaced by terror, a sensation Grian struggles to fight back. He needs to think clearly if he hopes to survive. 

“The last angel died before my powers were…” Grian pauses, seeing the coy smile on Dolios’s face. 

“I always had a-” Dolios pauses, waving his hand nonchalantly before marking the ground around the crystal spires with dark seal. “-fascination with angelic wizards. A dear friend of mine in my youth was one. Ever since then, I knew I had to have that kind of magic in my collection. So strong, each and every one of you. With magic even the ancient ones revered. And now?” 

Dolios steps back, casting his magic circle. Rather than emitting color and light, it absorbs all color to make the pattern of his magic. He raises his hands, and two satellite crystals awaken. Darkness swirls in the lattice of the gems, mist eeking out through pores and filling the cavern with darkness. When the mist reaches the seal surrounding the crystal Grian’s chained to, the spire behind him, pressed against his back, activates. The pressure on his body, his magic becomes unbearable, breaking into pain. Like a harpoon through his chest, the dark magic takes hold. Biting down, biting in. 

“But we don’t even know where Dolios took him. He could be anywhere in Lairyon, or even beyond. Without any way to know his whereabouts, we’re searching for a feather in a forest.” Cub shakes his head. If he knew where Grian was, they could easily portal there and mount their rescue attempt. But they don't know. They have no clue where he is, or what Dolios is doing to him, or why he targeted Grian in the first place. For all they know, Grian could be dead. They could already be too late. 

Mumbo’s lips quiver, pressing into a thin white line. He fights back the fear, the pain, the anger, every emotion welling up inside of him. Abruptly, he stands, so fast he knocks his chair backwards. “We aren’t just going to sit here and do nothing though. Searching is something, rather than just sitting on our asses and letting Dolios have Grian!” 

The anger in Mumbo’s voice surprises his fellow hermits, even Wels raising an eyebrow and leaning against the metal of his backplate at the outburst. He’s neer seen Mumbo so passionate, so sure. In fact, he can even see motes of redstone dancing in the air around him, like dust after cleaning the house. “Well, we can always ask our informants, ask townsfolk if they've seen Dolios around. But...who knows how long that could take.” 

“Running around like cockatrices with our heads cut off won’t do anything to help either.” False adds on, tapping her fingers against the aged wood of the table. “We have to be rational.” 

The silence returns, except for the measured steps of Mumbo pacing the floor. Even though Grian was the one captured, the rest of the hermits can't help but feel trapped. Unable to move forward, but the idea of being stagnant even worse. He has their queen, and now they’re in check.

TFC stands, opening his mouth and raising a finger. Any words that come from him are drowned out, however, by the heavy crash of a rogue wave against the island’s shore. The seawater splashes all the way to the guild hall, like rain falling upon the dining tables and hermits. Seaweed drapes across the sand and rock. But it’s not the only thing that has washed ashore. A low groan alerts the guild of their visitor, as the kipling slowly shifts to his knees. 

Apatia’s chest heaves, his face flushed pink and lips part with each gasping breath. He attempts to stand, but his legs give out from under him at the first step forward. xB catches him with a wave of water, keeping him from collapsing to the ground. 

“What is this guy doing here?” Doc growls, face jeering at the sight of the guildmaster. Ren, Iskall, and Cub, on the other hand, dare to press closer to the leader of Dream’s End. Ren and Iskall both wrap and arm around Apatia, attempting to guide him to the infirmary- even though they’ve lost their healer. 

But Apatia bats away their attempt to help. He collapses to his hands and knees, long, straight navy hair falling across a determined maroon gaze. “He’s got him, the winged guy. He took him to the dungeons.” 

“Of course! Why didn’t we think to go there immediately?” Cleo questions, though she shivers at the memory of being in there. That horrible game Dolios played with their lives. 

Apatia shakes his head. “Below even that. If you think you know every one of Dolios’s secrets, there will always be another beneath it.” 

“We have to go now, we have to rescue Grian.” Mumbo starts for the shoreline, despite having no way to cross the sea, and Xisuma grabs Mumbo by the scruff before his feet meet the sand. 

“Lets hold on, think this through. And Listen to what Councillor Apatia has to say.” Xisuma hums. 

“Why should we trust him though?” Tango growls, his hair burning bright and hot, spooking the visitor. “He knows where we live, he could just be luring us into a trap. And Grian’s the bait.” 

“I trust him.” Cub states, his voice low and calm. Always calm. “He knocked out Dolios when he was trying to kill Flaryn. He saved us,the wanderers, and the Dragon of the East.” 

“But why now?” Tango questions, eyeing the kipling as he sits down in the guild hall. Exhausted, on the verge of passing out. It looks like he’s never swam this far in his life. Would the laziest man alive really swim all this way for a trick? “Why, after Dolios did so much, did he decide to grow a spine now?” 

Drowsy eyes are lidded closed, and for a second all the hermits stare in disbelief. Did Apatia really just fall asleep? Sitting up, in the middle of the guild hall, when every second is a second longer with Grian captured? But he snores just a little bit, and Hypno can even feel the inkling beginning of a dream forming beneath the mop of long blue hair. 

Tango’s had enough. He slams his hands down on the table, spilling metal mugs and sending tableware clattering. “All the times before, and you let Dolios get away with it. Sending us to our doom in Gildara, attacking a healer’s guild, stealing magic from competitors in the most important game to Lairyon, using us like pawns in a sick game of chess, and murdering so many guilds? Killing our first guild?” 

Tango waves to Zed and Impulse, who sulk while Tango burns with fury. Apatia waits until Tango has let off his steam. He may be lazy, but that also breeds patience. “I have let horrible things slip by, my own sloth letting Dolios and the other councilmembers do horrible things. I know that. I have no excuse for my action- or lack thereof- from before. 

“But when I saw your guild willing to risk anything to save that one-” He points to Doc, who sneers back. “-I realized that there is one thing worth making an effort for, one thing to get up and do something about. To have a family like you all are, to protect and care and fight for one another, that’s what’s worth standing up, fighting back. And when I saw what you would go through to save him, I knew what Dolios is doing is wrong.” 

Silence. Apatia lowers his head, twiddling his thumbs. The hermits observe him, some with sympathy and understanding, others still wary of their enemy at their doorstep. Furious to have a councilmember sitting among them. He takes another deep breath. “I'm tired of sitting by. I can’t fix what I did before, but i can start on the right track now. And we don’t have much time until Dolios has stolen Grian’s power.” 

“He’s turning him into a husk?” Stress gasps, her voice and hand shaking as she covers her lips. The thought of such a bright, happy person reduced to a flaking grey crust is horrible. 

Apatia shakes his head. “No, it's worse. He’s taking his magic for himself. It’s a much more cruel process, to sap the life force and magic from a person and use it for himself. It's also much slower. We don’t have much time, but Grian should still be alive.” 

“How do we stop it? What should we do?” Iskall posits. 

Apatia goes quiet, and for a second the hermits think he’s fallen asleep again. But after a minute, he responds. “I can get you into Milliara, even into the dungeons. While you all are down there, I can even hold off the arcane guard. But if you want any hope of saving Grian, not losing him to Dolios, you’ll have to sever the connection between him and the crystals that are transferring his magic to Dolios. And I don’t think Dolios will let you guys do that without a fight.” 

“We’ll need every hermit then. With Apatia’s help, we can sneak back into the death dungeons, but once we’re there, it’s going to be a fight not just for Grian’s life, but all of ours.”  No hermit dared consider not saving Grian. They’re a family, and no one in this family is left behind. They always stick together. 

The hermits and Apatia make their plan. With the aid of xB, Ren, Scar, and Apatia, they would swim to the mainland on the crest of a tidal wave, as fast as they could possibly go. They’d make quick work across the countryside in any way they possibly can. Apatia would bring them through Milliara by using the canals that flow through the city, bypassing the guards and bringing them right to the capitol’s doorstep. Putting the guards to sleep and Apatia’s knowledge of the secret entrance to the forgotten dungeons, it will then be up to the hermits to find the subchamber. And from there, depending on the severity of Grian’s suffering, they will attack.

TFC and Apatia lead the charge, off the island. Even though some hermits still despise Apatia, they’ll do anything for their family. Even working with the enemy And so they leave Eremita, hellbent on one thing-