_'Ban, 'Ban, Ca-Caliban_
 _Has a new master. Her name is Gwen!'_

Caliban had yet to develop a fully formed sentence, so it wasn't entirely sure why it was singing that particular song. It had learned it from Master's memory when it was named. There was a rhythmic quality to it that Caliban enjoyed, though the words held no particular meaning in its elemental distilled mind.

It also didn't know why it was freed from its Master's pocket dimension.

Every other time its Master had set it free, it had been shackled to her will, unable to do as it pleased. This time, she had been so generous with her life-force that it had materialised, fully untethered.

When Caliban had landed wetly behind some creature, it knew instinctively that the being had hostile designs upon its Master. It also knew that if its
Master perished, Caliban would also cease to be. As a thing born of the Void, it rather liked manifesting in the Material Plane. There was light, sound, and the company of others full of delicious vitality. Even its annoying brother that Master constantly conjured was better company than the cold dark slumber of eternity.

It hovered over the ape, wondering what it should do. Curiosity was a new emotion that it had only learned recently, though Caliban immediately put it to good use. Was the creature tasty? How much of Caliban’s belly could it fill? Did it possess fortifying mana?

To Caliban's surprise, the creature turned from trying to touch its Master and instead looked at Caliban. Its eyes shorn wetly, deliciously. The beast opened its mouth, and Caliban shot one of its barbed tongues into it, piercing its throat. The thing then started screaming, a blood-curdling scream. Caliban had no blood though, only hateful ichor, so it screamed with it. They were singing! It was like a chorus. Not so different from Master’s song.

'Ban, 'Ban, Ca-Caliban!'

The creature then tried to grab Caliban, but its fingers were weak, sliding off the slimy film that covered Caliban's exoskeleton, consumed by its Void energies. Caliban then expanded its lamprey's maw and took within its mouth the head of his assailant.

There was a crunch, a sound of grinding bone.

Yuck! Caliban did not like this thing at all. There was no yum in it. It barely gave Caliban any vitality. Simultaneously, Caliban could feel that its master was desperately in need of more life-force. Master was generous this time and had given Caliban too much.

"Shaa!"

Caliban puffed out its carapaced chest, its joints flexing proudly. It would provide its Master with the life she needed. After all, hadn't Master taken Caliban from the dark and given it a material form? Caliban wasn't useless like the rat-snake. It would be her favourite; then she could bring Caliban into the Material world every day.

With renewed determination and direction, Caliban slithered from the chamber, boring a hole through the iron door in an instant. There were others like the man-creature in the other rooms. It could taste their mana, delicious motes of elements in blue and red and green and yellow. Delicious mana, good for Caliban, good for Master!

Gwen's slithering nightmare pushed through the oxidised metal sheeting with the ease of an eel in silt.

There was another man-creature in there. No, not a man. A woman! A Mage like Master! It could smell the delicious mana seeping from her body. She was looking at him with her mouth wide apart, making a sound which greatly pleased Caliban. The female’s voices had a higher pitch, and Caliban liked the manner in which the screams vibrated its carapace. It moved towards her, miming her open mouth, its maw echoing her high pitched scream, then began its second meal.

Food! Good for Caliban! Food for Gwen!

Henry Kilroy, Master of the Ten, Lord of Oceania's Towers, jolted from mead-mulled sleep to full wakefulness the moment Gwen's ring disconnected from her finger.

"Sufina!" he commanded.

The dryad materialised beside him. They were in the Dryad's Grot, a place where the passage of time was as ponderous as the march of an oaken forest.

"Master, what's wrong?" Sufina said worryingly.

"It's Gwen; she's no longer in possession of her Contingency Ring. What the hell is Mark doing? He told me he’d be taking care of her!"

Sufina's face grew worried.

"Was it unwise to send Gwen to Master Chandler after all? There is history between the two of you, after all, and not all of was is pleasant."

'History,' the word hammered at Henry's chest. History, yes, but also two decades of working together, surviving together, saving one another countless number of times. If that wasn't enough history to trust a man, what was?

“Not now..." Henry raised a hand weakly. "I know you are not fond of 'Mac'-"

"I am fond of Gwen," Sufina complained defiantly.

"Can we leave the Grot?"

Sufina shook her head, sending out a flurry of autumn leaves.

"No, you're not strong enough.”

Henry sighed.

“Where’s Gunther?"

"He should be at the Militia committee meeting today."

Henry invoked Gunther's Message glyph. His Apprentice answered his Master's call immediately.

"Gunther, someone has taken Gwen. I am sending you her last location."

"Yes, Lord Magister," Gunther returned, using Henry’s officious moniker in public.

"I fear you will be teleporting in blind. It's in Blackheath."

“Not a problem Sir. How would you like this resolved?"

Henry felt his teeth clench. Had Mark betrayed him? Was Gwen in danger? There were too many unknowns. His first instinct was to annihilate whatever had laid hands on his student, but he knew better than to deviate from the middle path, it was his Credo after all, what his Faction held sacred. Power and accountability, temptation and temperance, it was a precarious balance. Thinking of Gwen, Henry took a deep breath, trying to stifle the violent emotions welling in his chest.

"As you will," Henry said at last. Gunther would do what was right. He always did.

"Sir." Gunther's iron voice came from the Gylph. "I have Paul is with me; it will take some time to set up the long-range teleportation circle."

"Make haste, and keep her safe, Gunther."

"I will. Gunther out."

The glyph faded.

Henry willed another Message Glyph to flare into activity.

"Henry..." the distinctive voice of Mark Chandler came from the other side.

"Mark... you better have some answers for me..."

Bozza smelled the blood before they even heard the screams. Violence, particular ultraviolence, possessed a distinct, metallic tang which filled the air. It was different from the scent of an animal abattoir. There was a texture to it, a kind of congealed resonance that shook the very soul of the observer, triggering a conditioned response ingrained within the marrows of the mind, etched into the bone from a time when men were fodder for the beasts.

Bozza turned to look at the Enforcer. He was shaking - shaking! Together, they had taken down scores of Mages; enslaved hundreds more! But never once had Bozza seen the Enforcer show any reaction other than pleasure in his work.

"Wha... what's wrong?”

“There's... something down there... the mana, its full of hunger. I can't tell what it is. Never felt anything like it before."

They looked at the stairs leading down to the basement.

"Aarrrrrrgh!- Shaaaa!"

Suddenly, another shriek. Not the first and certainly not the last, the only difference was it sounded closer, more distinct. But hadn't been a single cry, but two! The first scream was a shriek, raw and primordial, thick with fear and terror. This second filled with insanity and hysteria, a mocking, inhuman scream that went on and on and on without ceasing. It was like - a duet? What being could utter such a sound?

Booza and the Enforcer regarded one another. We should flee - that was their first thought. But then they had another moment to gather their wits. Was that an option? They could escape with the merchandise. That was acceptable, even commendable, but run away with nothing? To confess when placed under the geas of True Word that they bolted without knowing why? That was suicide.

"I am afraid..." the Enforcer swallowed. "That I am not much use in a straight up fight so... ladies first?"

Bozza's wounded organs tie into a painful knot. Her companion was right; she had to go first. As a water Transmuter, taking damage was her job.

"Body of Water!"
"Crest Shield!"
"Enhanced Constitution!"

Bozza buffed herself against the physical and the elemental. Whatever was down there, it would have to chew through a persistent, self-regenerating barrier, her Body of Water, and her body. Even if the Lightning sorceress was awake, she could still fend her off for a few moments, enough for the Enforcer to do his worst.

Gingerly, the two arrived at the basement. The stench of blood was thicker here, almost physically assailing the senses. The hair on their heads stood ramrod straight, if their follicles had a voice, they would be screaming.

The place was pitch black.
Something had taken the emitter globes.

"Faery Light!"

The Enforcer waved a hand. Four glowing candles flew into the dark chamber.

There was a sound of liquid dripping and seeping somewhere.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

One of the lights floated toward the door closest to the stairs.

There was a round hole where a grate would be. An utterly smooth orifice that looked as though it was cleanly cut. A thick, viscous slime that was grey and semi-transparent lingered at the point of entry.

Bozza produced a set of keys, the mental jangling loudly in the silence.

There had been a tier 2 Earth Evoker in the chamber.

Now there was a mess of flesh that vaguely resembled a man.

Bozza looked away. She wasn't cut out to deal with this. Bozza was a slaver and a trader; her job was to feed the Blue to her merchandise, then watch them descend into insensibility. She wasn't a butcher, but that the scene in front of her only be described as butchery.

The Enforcer did not look away. He had seen this before, in the war. He had been in the Brisbane Line, a tide of saurian creatures poured from the rainforest, overrunning their position in a matter of hours. He watched a beast, a grotesquely muscular, vaguely humanoid goanna - a big red Lizardman, tear a fellow soldier in half. The snapping of ligaments, the rendering of muscles, the blood wrung out like a wet rag - this scene was terrible, but he’d seen worse.

"The brain. The heart. The liver..." The Enforcer said quietly, taking note of what was missing. The observation made Bozza shiver uncontrollably. "Whatever had been here, was after the mana organs."

Humans didn't have Creature Cores, though it was long theorised that certain parts of the body held the secret to man's ability to channelling astral forces.

The duo steeled their spine, persisting down the corridor. It was the same in every room. Headless bodies with fleshy holes bored through their torsos. Finally, they reached the main room, the prep room.

A mountainous carcass blocked their entry. It was headless.

"Fuck`n oath... Pieto..." Bozza choked. "He'd been with me for four years... poor sod..."

The lights drifted within. They saw the Lightning girl. She was bound and gagged, the leather tying her into a position that made spellcasting impossible. Her face was deadly pale, sunken in fact, looking as though she was on the verge of wasting away.

"Why's this one alright?" Bozza asked suspiciously.

The Enforcer moved into the room and tested the straps, lifting Gwen a little before letting her fall with a thump.

"She's still out cold. Straps are perfect." He observed. "She's very weak though. What the hell happened."

"If not her, where the fuck did that thing come from then?"

The Enforcer exhaled.

"Who knows," he replied. "Although we both know that if we lose this merchandise, we're both dead Mage walk-"

"Aeeerrrrgh! NO! AEEeeee-"

There was a scream, suddenly cut short.

It came from above.

"Fuck, its gone upstairs!" Bozza cursed, running for the stairs.

The Enforcer took another look at Gwen. Suddenly and unexpectedly, he slapped her across the face. The girl remained unmoving, wholly unconscious. Her bloodless dermis began to welt with a five-fingered print.

The Enforcer looked at Bozza moving up the stairs, then quickly followed.

"You did WHAT!" Henry was screaming into to glyph now. His chest rose and fell painfully. Sufina had to lay a hand against her Master's back, transfusing a steady stream of her life-force.

"You did say to send her into the lion's den," Mark's voice replied calmly. "If she couldn't make it through even that, maybe she wasn't cut out to be your hopes and dreams."

"You know very well what I meant, Mark! Y-you! How could you?"

"It was the choice you made for us back in the day no? Why the hypocrisy?"

"How is that the same? We were at war! At WAR Mark!"

"Then where is Lizzy now? Where’s my sister Jane?” Mark's voice also rose. "If you're going to be such a mollycoddler, then why the tests? Just keep her fed in your Tower! Give her a scholarship! Marry her off to your peerless Apprentice! Who dares challenge the ageless Magister Kilroy and his wunderkind Paladin?"

"Mark... Mark you..."

Henry could hardly breathe for all the red he was seeing. Sufina gave him another jolt to ease his heaving chest.

"Fine, you wanted to talk? We'll talk. I am coming for you, and I am bringing Surya. Go get Agnes; we're going to put this demon behind us once and for all."

"I eagerly await your austere presence," Mark remarked dryly, then the light of his glyph died.

"Gunther... I am relying on you..." Henry said to no one in particular.

Old demons, the Magister breathed out, a hand moving to his chest. The sins of yesterday, coming home to roost.

"It's a demon! Run for your lives!”

Fifty-odd kilometres away from Sydney Tower, absolute anarchy and chaos had erupted in the abode of the local flesh trader. A creature had emerged out of nowhere, and it was now staring down Nikau, tasting him with its flailing tentacles.

They said that before one’s imminent death, life flashed before one's eyes. But all Nikau could recall was the memorable events of today. At first, it had been a day like any other. Runners looked for newly minted Mages in the area they were assigned to, speaking to families with children, offering them food, money, and crystals, if that was what they desired. The NoMs here were poor, docile and compliant, which made his job easier. Occasionally, a runner came back with the news that a family refused to give up their kin. That wasn't too unusual either, and Bozza merely had to send him or Pieto out with a stern message and the problem was solved. If a NoM family had a rare awakening, Bozza was generous with compensation. An extra mouth to feed becoming a windfall of wealth for years to come was always welcomed. It was charity, now that Nikau thought about it; they were doing good for the local community. How many families had they saved that way? How many younger siblings, NoMs, survived, thanks to the sacrifice of a single would-be Mage?

Then the day got complicated. A girl came into the shop, dressed to the nines. She was more lovely than anything Nikau had ever seen. God knows Pieto was smitten, the guy's eyes were falling out of their sockets. A runner, Tonna, had brought the girl. Like everyone else, Nikau had assumed she was a buyer, or an agent representing someone they couldn't refuse. She wasn't, as it turned out, but Nikau wasn't here to think. They had watched the boss chat the girl up, all friendly. Nikau especially liked the girl's attire. It was expensive looking, of course, but elegant. Her white legs emerged from the navy dress like a dream. Nikau liked that, he liked beautiful looking girls. They were a rare treat. Sometimes he wondered if he could ever meet a girl like that. Not one of the merchandise, no. A real girl, someone tall and slim, with a heart-shaped face and long dark hair. He could take her out on dates when Bozza was kind and gave him days off. They could take the train to the city, see the harbour. He had heard it was beautiful out there, that you could see the Shield Wall shimmering at night against the waters like long white fingers. At midnight, the girl would place her head upon his broad chest, and he could smell her hair, which would be like flowers. She would cross her white legs over his lap and peck him shyly on the cheek. That was the dream.

Nikau had always felt that he was different from the people here. He wasn't like Pieto, who wanted his girls kicking and screaming. He wasn't like Bozza either, who saw the kid Mages as meat and merchandise. He felt more akin to the Enforcer. They had spoken once, and the cowled Mage had told him always to remember that he was doing a job. Nikau liked that. Yep, Nikau was a contractor doing a job. He was working hard so that one day, he would have a girl of his own, and they could see the harbour.

The bloody, chomping maw came closer to his face.

Well, sugar! Nikau thought sadly to himself. A girl hadn't ever kissed him.

Caliban was extremely pleased with itself.

It felt happier than any eldritch horror ever spawned from the Plane of whimpering death and eternal darkness. Having finished its allotment of flesh downstairs, it found a service pipe and made its way upstairs. There were scant Mages up here, but the lack of quality was made up by quantity!

Unlike the ones below, these were lively! Its prey scattered this way and that, causing Caliban to exert real effort to catch them! With each being it devoured, Caliban sent a jolt of vitality into its Master. He could even feel her stirring now, sensing her Astral Body filling with the stuff of life itself! She would be boundlessly pleased when she'd seen what it had done for her.

Then, just when it had thought all the best morsels were gone. It found another. As it slithered closer though, it realised that the figure looked familiar. It knew this Mage! Master was speaking to it earlier, trying to help it! It couldn't possibly eat this female. Caliban wasn't a scholarly creature, but it had its smarts!

It retreated, and in the adjacent room found another creature, a Mage! This one had fought its Master earlier, delicious! Caliban prey began to scream, even though it was damaged and weak. Oh well, Caliban allowed its hunger to take over, now was not the time to be picky.

Gwen woke in the shivering dark, stirred to consciousness by a sudden sense of vitality that filled her body. She tried to move, but a strap tied together her arms and legs. There was an immediate sense of panic, but her mind cooled when she acknowledged, gladly, that unlike Stacey, she remained fully clothed. Her surroundings were dark, pitch black. There was the sound of something dripping into the drain below. Slowly, she took account of her surroundings. She was on a metal table, and the iron had warmed up to her body, meaning she had been here for some time.

Internally, there was a sense of emptiness, but also a strange fullness. The paradoxical sensation made Gwen turn inward, instantly realising with horror that Caliban was gone. Ariel was still in her pocket dimension, but Caliban's was empty. She frantically tried to establish a telepathic link, but it was weak and untethered. She would have to see Caliban directly to command it and reestablish her Empathic Link.

Gwen tried to move again, but the leather around her hands and ankles pulled against her throat. Calm - Calm yourself, don't panic, Gwen repeated the word like a mantra, your sister-in-craft, Alesia, had trained you to escape from confinements.

Very carefully, she willed her void energy to materialise upon her hands via the conduit of her Conjuration Sigil. She forced the motes to move down to her arm painfully, feeling the leather bindings came loose like rotten rags. Then, quietly and carefully, she tore at the binding on her feet and neck, shredding them like paper.

Interestingly, though she had expected fatigue from the Void, she strangely felt no discomfort. After checking her clothes, she moved from the steel table, landing wetly in a puddle of what smelled like old iron.

Blood. It was blood. Gwen knew because she had smelt it when Edgar's limbs came off.

"Flare."

A bright glow suffused the room. Gwen looked down.

If she had prepared, she probably would have weathered it better.

Instead, she vomited over Pieto's headless body.

Jesus. Her heart sink. She wished she didn't know what had happened here, but she did. There could only be one reason Pieto would be missing a head.

She rushed from the room. There was the sound of chaotic commotion coming from above. Gwen clacked through the concrete, tapping the floor loudly, trying her best not to peek. There were holes in all the doors of the other cells.

The pit of her stomach dropped.

"Nikau! Fuck, it got Nikau!"

Bozza felt as though she was going insane.

They had finally caught the creature redhanded coming out of the secondary preparation room on the first floor. The Enforcer had guessed that it was after Mages, and there were two Mages on the first floor, the Initiate and the Cantwell girl. When they blasted open the door, the thing was chewing on poor Nikau's head.

It was hideous, more terrifying than anything Bozza had seen in textbooks. It was snake-like with a bulbous, purple head from which several tentacles protruded, each ringed with sharp white teeth.

"Water bolt!"

"Magic Missile!"

Both Bozza and the Enforcer had fired off projectiles against the thing, sending it reeling. It had shrieked in pain, then fled for the atrium. They followed it, triggering a game of cat and mouse.

They had finally cornered it in the ruins of the atrium when it's carapace further expanded, doubling it in size, now becoming a pulsating mass of writhing purple flesh, a worm fully the height of a grown man. It shot barbed tentacles toward them, but with enough water pressure, Bozza could manage to keep both herself and the Enforcer Shielded.

"Caliban! Stop!" To their surprise, the Lightning girl emerged from the basement corridor. She was dishevelled, but otherwise looked perfectly healthy, nothing like what they had seen in the basement prior. "Caliban! Heel!"

Instantly, the creature shrunk. then sat happily wagging its tail.

"You fucking bitch! That thing WAS yours!" Bozza's entire world grew red with rage. That devious little whore! Pieto! Nikau! Her base! All her work! Her Life! She gathered all her remaining mana for an alpha strike.

"No!" The Enforcer had kept his cool. He body-slammed Bozza, disrupting her spell. If the girl was indeed the summoner of that thing, he could hardly imagine the boon that awaited them. If their Master got their hands on her, he would no longer be an Enforcer, and Bozza would no longer be an Associate. They would be well within the Inner Circle!

"Phantasmal Killer!"

This time, the Enforcer pumped more than half of his remaining mana into the illusory attack. From what he had seen, the girl had issues, significant issues. She had been very susceptible to his last spell. With only half an hour between now and then, his new Illusion should be even more effective.

He watched as the spell hit. The girl's body suddenly grew rigid; her horrific ophidian instantly de-materialised.

It was hers! His heart pounded. Holy shit! A dual-Element, dual-School Magus at her age? With those looks? He was going places now. Fuck this base; he was going to be a member of the Lord's retinue after this.

As the spell took hold, the girl collapsed onto the floor once more.

Bozza recovered from her fall, but her flash of anger quickly turned to clarity and gratitude. She was a smart woman. They worked well together.

"Fuck me, that was close," she apologised. "Thanks."

The Enforcer's heart almost burst in that final moment, but now everything was alright.

"This place is gone," he observed. "Let's get the girl and move out now..."

"Alright, we..."

'WHOMP!'

Suddenly, something caught the air. There was a flash of radiance, a sudden tear in space and time in the middle of the Atrium. The two watched with open mouths as a Teleportation Array manifested itself instantly upon the debris-strewn floor.

A Demigod materialised in the middle of the array, filling the room with radiance, dispelling all shadow.

The deified being's cold blue eyes scanned his demesne, master of all he surveyed. He saw his sister-in-craft collapsed by the corridor to the basement: her dress torn, her bare legs soiled, her hair a mess.

His brows furrowed. The temperature in the room flared.

Bozza and the Enforcer's hearts stopped.

"Which one of you is responsible for this?" A calm voice spoke as would the Sun God Apollo. "Prostrate yourselves and surrender, or die."


Farez Hamid recognised the intruder.

Farez had been just a Militiamen then, an up and coming Illusionist with an affinity for Air with a freshly pressed commendation for his mastery of misdirection.

He distinctly recalled it was during Second Seige of the Brisbane Line that he first heard the name of Gunther von Shultz.

With the rest of the fresh meat, he was being hauled across the sound when a Dragon Turtle struck their barge. The problem was that most of the Junior Mages couldn't fly, Farez included. The ship rocked, and the novices had flung ineffective spells at the hateful creature. All seemed lost - until a blast of heavenly light pierced the clouds, a God-ray that burned the air turned the sea to steam. Where it had struck the beast, its scales melted and boiled. The Dragon Turtle had returned breath-attack, but a secondary blast took its head clean off, a tier 7 monstrosity - just like that. The recruits never saw who had saved them, but Farez was later informed that it was Gunther von Shultz.

During those days, Shultz and de Botton were the big names on the Front. The first was an invincible superman, a Wing Commander at the age of twenty-five. The second was renowned for her ruthless violence, making Flight Lieutenant at the tender age of fifteen. They had both excelled in the taking of Portsea, racking up a quad-digit kill-count through fire and gore. Upon their return, Shultz engaged a propaganda tour, and that was when Farez met his saviour.

The Illusionist had never beheld a man so magnificent. Gunther was radiance personified, like Apollo in a human body. Farez had screamed his lungs out with the best of them. To think that such a man was fighting on their behalf! To be bathed in the light of such a personage, a man who had carved out a victory in blood and brimstone, was the closest he ever felt to God.

When Gunther had finally reached his squad, Farez reached out. He touched him! Farez touched Gunther von Shultz! He was so happy he could have cried! Then to his shock, Gunther stopped. The Demigod turned his gaze upon Farez with the warmest, most understanding blue eyes Farez had ever beheld in his life.

"Thank you for your service, Warrant Officer... Farez Hamid."

He knew his name! Gunther von Shultz knew his name! As the man left, Farez had wept. His friends had made fun of him, mirthfully punched him in the ribs. They didn't know, Farez laughed internally. They couldn't understand what it was like to touch that radiance.

That's motherfucking Gunther Shultz! Farez's bulging eyes almost escaped their sunken sockets. What the fuck is Gunther von Shultz doing here? Was it for the girl?

Oh. Shit. The thought resounded in Farez's head like a gong.

The Teleportation Circle had faded by now. All Farez and Booza could behold was the godly visage of Sydney Tower's Paladin striding towards them like a fabled colossus.

"Do you yield?" The question was entirely rhetorical.

Had Farez not endured years of anti-glamour training, he would have knelt right there and wept like a child. He saw Bozza fall to one knee, her eyes brimming with tears, and knew it was over before it began.

It was radiance. There was something in Gunther's aura! Was it an Enchantment or an Illusion?

He saw the Geas embedded in Bozza activate. Like him, she could only serve a single Master, incapable of yielding even if she wanted to. At once her head cleared.

"Fuck! What the hell was that?" Bozza shouted. She needn't have, there was no other sound in the room, but somehow, it felt like they were in a maelstrom.

"We're about to meet our maker," Farez intoned rather objectively. "Hey Boz, I want to tell you something."

"Is this the right time?" Bozza kept shouting, trying to Shield her eyes from the radiance. "We should be attacking the prick!"

"My name is Farez Hamid," he said.

Bozza gazed at Farez with a face full of incomprehension.

"What are you..." Bozza began, but she was cut off by Farez's next spell.

"Phantasmal Force!" The Illusionist forced the spell to manifest with a bestial howl, pushing all of his remaining mana into its invocation. A dozen phantom soldiers appeared from every direction to strike Gunther. It was Farez's most potent spell. It was also useless, he knew, but he had to try.

Gunther didn't even move.

The Radiance around him shimmered. Without warning, holes appeared in every phantom that assailed him. There wasn't even a beam or a projectile; it was as if his soldiers were perforated all along. Farez didn't have to wait for Gunther's retribution. He hadn't even finished his gesticulation when he felt a sudden lightness. He watched, almost in slow motion, his limbs fall away, the wounds cauterised and clean. He landed on the ground as a human stump, bereft of his bodily appendages.

Bozza's eyes stared in disbelief. Farez was the Enforcer! He was a Tier 5 Senior Mage! Who was this man they were facing? Were they fighting a God? A Sun God?

Farez watched as Bozza turn to summon a shield, maybe trying to protect herself; perhaps trying to save him. It didn't matter. Her Shield disappeared in the next second. Her Body of Water didn't matter either. Her skin sizzled, and in the next instant, she was also bereft of limbs.

"I have questions for you. Later," Gunther stated mildly, then left to inspect the girl by the door.

He left! Farez snorted painfully. He wasn't even worth a moment of Gunther's time!

From the floor, he regarded Bozza, who was weeping now. She was a strong woman, but she finally understood. In front of real power, they were just worms.

"Hey Boz," Farez called out to Bozza, whose eyes met his, wet with agony and despair. "What's my name?"

"Hamid. Farez." She said between gasps of air.

"Thanks, Boz..." Farez replied, then waited quietly for the inevitable.

Gunther left the two assailants incapacitated. Between the loss of their limbs and the mental shock, they were capable of neither magic or escape. He looked around the place, took in the surroundings, and felt a fit of monstrous anger.

Master Henry had made a terrible mistake in trusting Mark Chandler.

He walked over to where Gwen lay, picked her up from the floor, and wiped the debris from her limbs and her dress.

The girl was having a nightmare; her eyes were fluttering, her ocular muscles spasming.

"Gwen, wake up," he intoned gently. His voice was radiance, full of texture and temperature. Warmth suffused Gwen's head, undoing the Phantasmal illusion.

His sister-in-craft's hazel eyes shot open. Gwen found herself in Gunther's arms, her white face refracted against his blue orbs. Her clothes were dishevelled, but she was warm and safe, it was over.

"I..." Gwen wailed weakly. "Gunther... I did it... I killed them all!"

Her breath caught in her throat, her face turned scarlet.

"So... so much blood Gunther... how... who'd thought there be so much blood in them?"

"It's okay," Gunther coddled her. "You did well."

There was a warning in his voice that made Gwen tense, filling her body with adrenaline. She was a sensitive soul, and she knew the feeling of the calm before the storm.

Gunther ushered a jolt of Radiant mana into his aura, silently activating a passive calming effect. The girl's shivering grew weaker until it ceased.

"Gwen, I need you to see this," Gunther spoke to her softly. "Can you stand?"

"Yes... Sorry. There's something in the basement you need to see, brother," Gwen urged her senior sibling.

Gunther was glad that Gwen seemed considerably more in control of her faculties. She was going to need it for what came next.

"That's not important," he assured her. "This is."

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

Gunther walked Gwen towards Bozza and Farez, two torsos lying on the dusty floor.

"I need to ask you some questions, and you will answer them truthfully," Gunther spoke in a voice that was measured and kind. Not at all the tone of a man who had taken off eight limbs in the blink of an eye.

He did not wait for the slavers to affirm his demand.

"You, Illusionist," Gunther began. "Who do you work for?"

"Don't know."

Suddenly, Farez's skin began to sizzle.

"Who do you work for?"

"I... argh! I ... oh God! Arrrrgh!!!"

"Who do you work for?"

"I can't! I can't!" The smell of burning flesh filled the air.

"Hmmph," Gunther grunted. "A Geas. Fine. What were you going to do to Gwen?"

"Sell her." Farez gasped.

Gwen shuddered.

"Listen carefully, Gwen," Gunther commanded. "This is the answer you are looking for. What happens to those who get sold?"

"Rituals... training..."

"Hmmph!"

"Arrgh! O, Gods! Oh, oh, oh!" There was now the smell of crisping fat.

"Breeding! For breeding! Or sacrifices! Or experiments! We take the heart blood! We extract their organs! They're Mage stock! Oh please! I can't say more! Just kill me! Just kill me, Commander Shultz!"

Gwen blanched. Breeding. The man had said. Rituals. She wanted to hurl and vomit, but the contents of her stomach had been spent.

Gunther on the other hand, blinked when the man said his name.

"Are we acquainted?"

"I saw you once..." Farez was hardly recognisable now, just a lump of ruinous flesh. "It was.. it was at the parade in 86'... you said my name... we shook..."

Gunther searched through his memory.

"Sergeant... Jones? No - Officer Hamid? I am sorry to see you in this state."

"Ha... ha ... you don't know the half of it! There's nothing more I can say... Commander, a request before I die?"

Gunther furrowed his brows.

"What do you need, Hamid?"

"Bozza, the woman next to me. She too is under Geas. Please- give her a clean death. Not like me. She didn't see the war. She's not built like we are." Farez's voice was stronger now, louder, kept up only by adrenaline. "The other girl... Cantwell, she survived. She's in the second room. The monster, it spared her, please..."

His voice grew faint.

"Peace be with you, Farez."

"I am sorry..."

"I am too, Sergeant Hamid," Gunther intoned grimly. "More than you know."

He left Gwen standing alone, then returned momentarily with Stacey. The girl remained groggy and out of her mind, unaware that she had escaped death more than once. She mumbled something incoherent, and Gunther could smell the Blue that lingered on her breath, that acrid scent which permeated her body and ate into her flesh. It was too late for the girl. Those who awakened late seldom received the necessary talent or training to be competent. The Tower would be hard pressed to dedicate the resources required to restore this girl to normalcy. Not even Agnes had the means to fight off the lingering effects of such a deeply set addiction. He wondered if the girl could be used as a lesson in mercy for Gwen, but decided against it. Gwen was not ready. She had another lesson to learn first.

"Gwen." Gunther turned to his sister-in-craft. He saw her body seize, a deer caught before Dancing Lights. She must have realised what he was about to ask.

"Gunther..." Gwen's breath quickened, he could feel her heart pounding against her breast. "Gunther, I can't... that's a man, Gunther! That's a human being!"

"Finish him."

"Gunther, he is defenceless! I don't even know why you're torturing him; there are... spells for interrogation... for truth..."

"They were going to sell you, Gwen. Use you for spare parts! Do you understand what that means? At best, you would be strapped to a ritual table and have your brain, your heart and your liver extracted. At worst..."

"Oh...Oh... " Gwen was hyperventilating now.

"Finish it, Sister!"

He placed a hand on her shoulder; his voice grew sonorous.

"Do it now."

Gwen choked and sobbed, her hands trembling. At Gunther's behest, she allowed the spell to manifest in her mind. She was uttering the words before she knew it, wondering if this was what she wanted. The man was a mess of charred and boiled flesh. It was mercy.

"Lighting Bolt!"

A flash of plasma enveloped Farez. The man laid still.

"I am afraid I won't be able to keep that promise, Sergeant Hamid. I have a use for your companion," Gunther replied regretfully to the corpse. "I hope you make better choices in your next life."

A beam of light struck Farez. His corpse blazed for a few bright seconds before turning to ash; another glance from Gunther and his fallen limbs cremated as well. Two rings and an amulet dropped to the floor.

Gunther retrieved them before turning to Bozza.

"Please..." She sobbed uncontrollably, "I can't tell you anything."

Gunther regarded Gwen's face, now numb with shock. The girl likely had always thought death clean, not obscene.

As for Gwen, she was having an out-of-body experience. With her Familiar, there was at least an abstract quality to it, the bundles of stuff that dropped here and there, the carnage of it was too violent to be real.

"Finish what you have begun."

"No, Gunther, I can't do it again..."

"You must. It is your duty. Bozza was dead the moment you chose to walk into her den. Do you understand that?"

Gwen stared at Gunther; conflict etched all over her face.

"This is also a part of the Credo, the one you so thoughtlessly flaunted before Master. You said that you would harry the foxes, frighten the wolves, and slaughter the tigers that barred your way! You wanted to fear no vengeance! Here is where you do it, Gwen! Open your eyes!"

He watched the girl's laboured breathing, observing her struggle against hysteria.

"You do, don't you?" The question was rhetorical.

Her reaction validated his suspicion that Gwen was different. He had told Alesia just that when she'd asked what he thought of their little sister-in-craft. The girl was too mature, improbably thoughtful. As far as he knew, Gwen had a torturous upbringing under a malevolent mother, an apathetic father, and the threat of a talented brother. She had never lived in a Tier 1 city. Frontier folk like her lived under the constant assumption that life was scant and temporal. The way Gwen reacted to her surroundings, the training and killing - it was like she had grown up in a walled garden, a place without violence or bloodshed. He wasn't sure why, nor did he care. What he did need was for her to stop behaving like a petulant child.

Her naivety was suicide. She would have to learn, fast.

"Do it," Gunther commanded, dropping another sliver of mana into Radiant Command.

'Crack!'

Another lightning bolt. Bozza screamed.

"Again."

Another. Bozza was stronger than she looked.

Fool! Gwen grunted. The girl was resisting, pulling her punches. She was now both stupid and cruel. He had only empowered his words with suggestions; perhaps he should enforce the command? No. That would be beside the point.

"Where's your mercy, Gwen? Do you find joy in her suffering?"

He could see the girl trying her best to rationalise her resistance.

"The dead, Gunther! Those bodies: don't they pluck out your eyes?! I can't... we can't do this... We can't wash our hands with excuses! The blood of our victims will dye the emerald sea incarnadine! Blood will have blood! To murder a human being- The dead will have their day!"

Words. Gunther felt even his own stoic, immovable soul shaken and stirred. Gwen had a way with words. Master liked that about her. Words have power, whether they be incantation or wisdom. Was she right? Gunther knew her words were didactic, but her sentiments were sophistry, the cawing of a mewling girl. Mastery Henry was a man of words, but Gunther and Alesia's baptism had been one of action. He did not like Gwen. No. She was talented, but she was also naive, stupid, suicidal. A Mage of Gwen's potential was a terrible temptation for the wolves: only violence would keep her safe. Kindness? Compassion? She would drown in it.

"These people had designs upon you, Gwen, whether you will or no. The mere fact that you appeared in their lives had sealed their fate. Either you were bound and sold like chattel, and they burned - or you survived, grew stronger for your troubles, and they burned. They were dead the moment you walked in! Did you think this was going to end amicably? That they were going to be imprisoned?"

He watched the battle unfold over her tortured face. Finally, their eyes met.

"Do it!"

"Lightning Blast!"

Gunther needn't command her this time; the choice was hers. He watched her pour wave after wave of mana into the channelled spell.

There was very little of Bozza left when the light had cleared. Another blast of cremating flames from him cleared any signs that Bozza had ever existed, save for a single Storage Ring.

"Good work." Gunther pressed Gwen's wilting body against his chest, feeling the beat of her heart against his own. "You must always remember this feeling. What must you do?"

"Finish what I had begun."

"Repeat it."

"Finish what I had begun."

Gunther picked up Bozza's ring.

"Good girl. Let's go and see our Master. Somebody must pay for what has happened here."

"What of the bodies, Gunther?" Gwen asked. "There... there are so many of them..."

"Hmmph..." Gunther closed his eyes for a moment. Gwen felt a sudden rise in the temperature. The walls around them combust into flames. The whole building was on fire. Her brother's flame was not the fire of the mortal realm, but destruction wrung from the Elemental Planes, the very stuff stolen from the Gods themselves. Gunther's was a cleansing blaze that would wipe all sin from Gwen's blighted land.

Gwen watched the world burn.

When she had realised what Caliban had done, her first thought was to lock herself up in a deep dark cave and never emerge back into the world of men. Perhaps she would leave the city, travel into the Wildlands? She could live amongst the savage races of the stone-formed Goblins and the malignant Orcs.

Then, when she came closer to the atrium, she felt the telepathic link between her and Caliban re-establish. Oh, what visions flooded her mind! It was as if she was Caliban itself, striking into her victims with unadulterated joy, boring through their screaming chests and emerging with mouthfuls of warm flesh! She felt an orgasmic jolt of vitality fed into her, replenishing what Caliban had taken. She felt satiated, satisfied. But it was not like the satiation offered by a hearty meal. It was the satisfaction of something ancient, something dark, something that was devouring and eating a millennia before men discovered the first mote of mana. It was a primal hunger, a gibbering bestial joy!

Caliban had fed on others, but Gwen fed on Caliban. She supped via her Familiar, more and more hungrily! Less and less sufficient!
Hungry! Caliban had cried out, and now Gwen, who had once contented with mortal food, now desired the hearts of men.

No! Gwen scalded herself, No! She cannot lose herself to this thing! She would not let Caliban override her ego, assume her animus! Heel! She cried out. Caliban! HEEL!

She hadn't resisted the Phantasmal Killer when it struck her mind. She welcomed the darkness, a respite from the hunger brought by wayward Caliban. She shunted the slithering Void beast into its planar cage. The wormling was hers and hers alone; she gave it purpose and existence, and she would not lose control of it ever again.

Then she was out like a light,
And when her sanity returned, she was murdering her first human being face-to-face.

"Do it now!" He told her.

Gunther pried open her eyes and Gwen could see the truth hidden in the winding dark. She had nowhere else to hide. Attached to her wrist, her hand had felt like a stranger's, an alien appendage distended from her body.

"They were dead the moment you appeared in their lives! Did you think this was going to end amicably?"

Gwen knew now she was wrong, but she had hoped. She was going to defeat them - but she wasn't going be there for the aftermath. That had been her naivety. She was going to save the girl, and that was the end of it. Was it meant to be more complicated than that? Or was it as Gunther had said, that nothing would ever be so simple.

But Gunther was right. There comes a time when an individual must take account of their own choices.

Assume their own stories.

She raised a hand toward the whimpering slaver.

The old Gwen is dead. Long live Gwen, murderer, her hands smeared in the snail-sheen fat of slaughter; for all the perfumes of Arabia will never sweeten her fingers again.


For the fifth time, Agnes had to intervene, preventing Henry and Mark from saying something that neither of them could take back. At first, Surya had aided her, but after Mark accusing his granddaughter of being a Void-tainted Calamity, the old Enchanter became firmly entrenched with team Kilroy.

Had there always been this much vitriol hidden beneath it all? Agnes wondered if all these years she had known her friends at all. In her mind, no displacement could change the fact that they were companions, comrades, mutual survivors.

With Surya, she had kept in contact often, meeting for luncheons now and then. Henry was too busy managing the controlled-chaos of the Tower, but he made an effort. Mark ran his own Agency two doors down, sharing a working-relationship with Agnes, who fed him information and the latest news from her contacts and clients.

When Henry called them all to meet at Mark’s cafe, Agnes had no idea that the friction between him and Mark had escalated to such a boiling point. That was as clear as pure mana when she walked into the loft of Mark’s terrace. Mages, particular at the level of Magus and Magisters, exerted an arcane pressure with their abundance of mana; walking into that room was like trying to push past a Wall of Water.

Mark sat at his table, brooding.

Henry sat on a chair made by Sufina, scowling.

Surya sat in another corner, a young assistant behind him, grumbling.

How is the terrace still standing? Agnes wondered. If this had been her bordello, the place would have collapsed.

The heart of the problem was Gwen. Agnes understood that, but that was simplifying a complicated matter; like blaming a bushfire on a single lightning strike.

Gwen was merely the spark.

The fuel of regret and undisclosed desires had been falling for years, piling and piling until it was bone dry and knee deep. From what Agnes recalled, the old boys had kept their problems to themselves, typical of military men. They never engaged in a back-burning of their pent-up grievances, and now the Wall of Fire was ten-meters tall.

Agnes felt that she should shoulder some of the blame, she provided the quest, after all, but how could she have known? According to Henry, it should have been a comedy of errors, giving his whelp a taste of the real world. Gwen was supposed to return with a scraped knee, maybe upset, likely sullen, moaning about the disparity between NoMs and Mages.

As it turns out, Mark had been fermenting a great Mea Culpa, to prove Henry wrong once and for all.

Her fault was that she had left all the intelligence to Mark. After all, he was the Diviner of the bunch, one of the best scryers in the city. Mark had told her the usual; ruffians, the homeless, a few desperate souls who would try to have a go at Gwen. That Stacey was up to her usual troubles, flirting with the Blue on her return trip home. It was supposed to be educational, eye-opening, didactic. Gwen was to gain a broader perspective toward who she worked to save, to ask herself if she was willing to risk her life to rescue those surviving on society's generosity, to question if she could stomach the ugliness of it all; to let her understand the circumstances of those without her advantage. Henry even had a speech prepared, his favourite subject: the responsibilities of those who are great, and the limitations of its exercise.

Then, of course, reality blew open the door with a Fireball.

According to a seething Henry who was burning up his life-mana like a screeching kettle, Gwen had run headfirst into Mage-stock harvesters. A den of slavers - and not just any slavers either. It was a branch which belonged to the rogue Mages. A shadowy collective of invested parties ran by Outlanders and covertly supported by the Houses, the military, and prominent industrialists. Usually, the Tower turned a blind eye, stamping their feet only when necessary. Henry's Faction knew that so long as NoM ghettos existed, these sort of things were unavoidable.

So they bickered. The highest Magister in Sydney, a decorated Diviner Magus and an old Enchanter: bickering like old men with dementia at an asylum, ranting about the past.

“Shut up! ALL OF YOU!” she shouted at them. They glared at her sulkily. “Where is Gwen now?”

“Gunther is teleporting back as we speak,” Henry replied, his tone decisively glacial.

“Then we wait,” Agnes remarked with exasperation. “Tell her the whole story. You should learn to see past your noses for fuck's sake.”

Henry and Surya grunted and grumbled, glaring at one another with unfriendly expressions. It was only Mark whose eyes gave Agnes the shivers.

But for now, they wait.

A teleportation circle blazed and died in the basement of the terrace. Gunther brushed the silvery-motes from Gwen's hair and clothes. Stacey was still naked and incoherent, so the Radiant Mage found a guest room, wrapped her in a blanket, then glamoured her to sleep.

He returned to Gwen with a towel, then wrapped it around her shoulders as they made the torturous journey up the narrow stairs.

Before Gwen had breached the top, she felt the pressure of projected mana in the air. It was only by retreating against Gunther that she could proceed.

“Gwen!” Surya’s voice called out. “My cucu perempuan! What have they done to you?”

Gwen rushed from Gunther’s arms to fall into her grandfather’s embrace.

"Opa!"

She wanted to bury her head in his chest, but her Opa was too short and bony. Instead, the man awkwardly embraced her, giving the impression that she was the one providing comfort. The others watched, some smiling, others expressionless.

“I brought a friend.” Surya pointed to a girl behind him.

Gwen confusedly looked past Surya, before seeing a familiar visage behind them. That well-tanned skin, that tall, lithe figure, that shoulder length hair which had finally grown out.

“Debora!” Gwen couldn’t believe her eyes.

“Gwen…” Debora smiled nervously at her friend. The girl looked nervous. She was in front of rare and eminent presences, even if they sounded like bickering children at this moment.

“How?”

“I was interning with a famous Transmuter… who happened to be your Grandfather. When this whole thing happened…” Debora held Gwen's hand. “I volunteered to come as soon as I heard.”

“Oh… oh! Debbie!”

Gwen left her grandfather’s gangly canoodle for Debora.

The two girls embraced, their similar builds and height allowed Gwen to bury her face and feel the envelopment of something soft and familiar. It was what she needed; not the embrace of a patriarch nor a mentor, but someone on her level. In return, Debora likewise held Gwen close to her, the two girls sharing a moment of intimate empathy.

They were interrupted by a displeasing snort.

“Perhaps we should proceed with this show trial?” Mark demanded sardonically.

The girls separated. Sufina summoned a bench, then joined them. She likewise gave Gwen a tight, albeit wooden hug, then offered her a mug of Golden Mead. Despite been flanked by two allies, Gwen continued to shiver uncontrollably.

When finally she looked up to meet Mark’s bespectacled, myopic eyes, her blood boiled. I had trusted this man! He had sent her out on a suicide mission! Was he not her Master’s and Grandfather’s friend and ally? Opa had said that this man saved his life innumerable times! Why had he done this?

The anger was empowering: Gwen straightened her spine, squared her shoulders, then sat defiantly forward.

“Why did you send me there?” Gwen invoked imperially, her suddenly severe tone of voice raising a few brows. “You told me nothing. I was told to pick up Stacey. But there was no intelligence. Nay, I should say, you misled me on purpose!”

The transformation from mewing girl to stoic prosecutor seemed to catch them all by surprise.

Gunther raised a brow. She was doing well, considering what he'd just made her do.

“You were sent to be tested, Gwen,” Mark replied without emotion. “And so you were.”

“That’s a crock of roo-shit!” Surya protested loudly.

“Mark, enough with your pedantry!” Henry likewise interjected.

“You accuse me of a crime whose origins lie in your blindness! We in this because of your hubris!” Mark fired back!

“How dare you! Who do you think you are?” Henry scoffed.

“I know that I am not one of the Ten, but so what?" Mark retorted. "Are you going to exile me? Put me in Isolation? Strip me of rank and membership?”

“Shut up! Both of you!” Agnes once again had to step in.

She adjusted a hair that fell out of place.

“Gwen, I am sure you’re as confused about this as anyone could be, so I am going to speak. The rest of you shut up until I finish, or I swear…”

Gunther took a stand behind Henry. Mark shot him an unfriendly glance but kept silent. Surya nodded to Agnes from his seat. Henry sat without movement or expression, conserving his limited energy.

This scene looked familiar, Gwen suddenly realised, trying to think of an analogy from her old world: the three wise men? No, more akin to the three monkeys: Eyes, Mouth, and Ears, symbols of arrogance, ignorance and hubris.

Agnes took a deep breath, organising her thoughts. She walked around the room, eyes scanning for an old memento to jog her mind. A lumen-recording lying amongst the bric-a-brac caught her eye. Removing it from the wall, she presented it to Gwen, pointing to each of the individuals within the sepia image.

There was a stern but handsome looking middle-aged man with a tailored moustache.

“This is Henry, your Master.”

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

A young man with a face like a skull wearing a dark expression

“This is Mark.”

An old man with her Opa's face.

“This is Surya. He looks old because he is ugly.”

“Hey!”

“Shut it!”

Surya grumbled.

Next was a young woman with an intrusive cleavage, a heart-shaped face and light eyes.

“This is yours truly.”

Strangely, Agnes did not point to the last woman but instead to a girl who was in the background. She was cut off, but Gwen could see her bright and innocent face behind Henry.

"This is Jane Chandler, lovely lass." Agnes paused. "She is Mark's sister."

The room said nothing.

Agnes then finally pointed to the last woman. A sullen looking girl with dark hair and bright eyes. She had a small but well-proportioned frame, a compact torso with long limbs. Despite her demure, downcast gaze, she was uncommonly pretty. Gwen knew girls like that; their neediness drove men's protective instincts wild with possessiveness.

“And finally, this is the source of all our troubles: Elizabeth Winsted Sobel.”

The room held its breath. Gwen was sure someone was going to disrupt the peace, though both Henry and Mark held their tongue.

“She is… or I should say 'was'… a Void mage like you, Gwen."

There was a sucking-in of breath. Debora gasped, staring at Gwen with her eyes wide open. Gwen squeezed Debbie's hand, promising to explain later. She found it ironic that Debora, her once rival, would be the first of her friends to know the truth.

Agnes paused awkwardly, looking towards Henry. The Master of the Tower waved a hand casually, allowing her to continue.

“So, before we go any further, I want to make this very clear,” Agnes resumed her disclosure. “The origin which has sparked your incident, Gwen, is no fault of yours. You are the innocent party in this, regardless of these old men's personal opinions, understand?”

Gwen did not understand, at least not yet, but she nodded.

Mark snorted sarcastically, drawing glares from the others.

“Right.” Agnes nodded. “So here it goes…”

“The five of us were some of the first Mages sent into that hellhole known as the Brisbane Line. We didn’t have the know-how of urban combat or wilderness survival back then, so the attrition rate was high. To give you a bit of a history lesson, The Coral Sea War started in the 50s, by the time the 70s rolled around, we were on conscription by lottery. You guys know what that is right?”

The girls affirmed that they did. Mandatory Military Service for Mages evolved from those early days of conscription.

“Good. So, it was the five of us. Three of us were Australian locals, Henry came from a tier 1 city, although he had been in the country for a half-a-decade, Elizabeth was originally from London, not only that, she was only with us because of Henry..."

The situation had deteriorated faster than the weather changed in the jungle. The orders that came through was to hold the Line at all costs. Already, the Militia had conceded the northern half of Queensland, losing hundreds of Mages with every kilometre pushed back. The new line was their wall, behind which was Brisbane city: there were no more lines of retreat.

First came the Rippers and the Goannas, mere fodder with teeth and claw, testing the barriers and wasting the Mages' mana. Then came the siege breakers, spear-points of heavily armoured Saurians, cunning and fearless in their savagery. When the Mages were at breaking point, the wyverns came from the skies breathing acid.

What started as a Purge for the reclamation of lost land quickly become a rout. Humanity had stirred the hornet's nest.

Henry could sense his section collapsing through Sufina's root tendrils. He was a plant Magus, a rare and powerful magician in this forested battlefield, but even he had his limits. Agnes was already exhausted, having churned out Fireball after Fireball, reducing a whole chunk of the swarm to cinders. Mark was still giving out commands via Telepathy and Shared Mind, trying to bolster the men's courage with buffs and relaying the injured to the triage station. He hadn't slept for days; his eyes were bloodshot, deeply sunken in the sockets of his gaunt face. Surya was meditating, trying to recoup his mana. He had spent it bolstering their defences with Iron Skin and Mass Resist Elements. Then there was Elizabeth. Poor Elizabeth. She had left the shelter of London city for Henry, and now she was stuck in this living Frontier hell. She was an Evoker, an Air element prodigy, but even then she was woefully underprepared for the brutality of the trenches. She had been the sort of girl who showered twice a day and took hour-long baths; the type who like to hold conversations over tea and cupcakes. But now Henry's 'Lillybird' was matted with blood and ichor, her once flawless skin covered with cuts and infected rashes. Henry watched her fire off another volley, taking down a wyvern rider before it could drop its cargo of acid. Their eyes met, and he saw her disorder, a sense of unbalanced despair that hinted at the horrors churning in her mind.

"Fuck!" Agnes fell back into the trench; a barbed arrow lodged in her shoulder. "This shit better not be poisoned."

"You know it is," Surya remarked worriedly. "When did your buff run out?"

"Don't know." Agnes winced.

Surya scrummaged through his bag and produced a potion.

"The last one, better make it count."

Agnes grunted and pushed the arrow through, snapping the mid-section. She poured a bit of the potion onto the orifice in her shoulder, then chugged the rest.

"Sufina!" Henry commanded.

The dryad appeared beside them, channelling a stream of controlled positive energy into the wound. Agnes watched her flesh mend, leaving behind a welting red scar.

"Good enough." Agnes spat between grinding teeth. "Hate how that itches so much, its worse than the pain."

A Message came through. The line had collapsed all over. The Militia was bringing up the last of the reserves, but it was to be a final stand. Their section was forfeit, but a retreat was suicide. They might as well make it easier for the junior Mages, knowing that every additional lizard they took down was pure profit.

Mark dispelled the Glyph, the Message no longer mattered.

"We're the only section left for in this region," he stated without any particular emotion, grinning stoically. "I guess this is where we say our last words."

"Wall of Fire!" Agnes used up the last of her mana and brought themselves a few more minutes.

The team regarded one another, the orange flames casting a warm glow over their exhausted faces.

"It was a pleasure working with you all," Mark began.

"You've all been more real to me than my half-dozen brother and sisters," Agnes continued.

"I rather not die," Surya said sullenly. "But I couldn't have asked for better company."

"It was a pleasure and an honour," Henry added.

"..." Elizabeth had nothing to add. Henry moved to embrace her, feeling his lover reciprocated woodenly. It was fine. Not everyone could drink danger as 'twere wine of life, and jest as they reel and fall.

"I'll protect you to the very end, Liz," Henry promised. "The very end."

"I need a glass of water," Agnes said.

"I got better." Henry motioned to Sufina, who palmed over a wooden cup of Golden Mead.

"The stuff of heroes!" Agnes cheered. "Imagine if we had this back in the day, we could have kept going for weeks."

"Well? What happened next?" Gwen asked. They were up to a good part. She hadn't wanted to get caught up in it, but Agnes was an excellent storyteller. The old men had even stopped interjecting and were nodding, grunting, and agreeing with one another.

Agnes drained the cup.

“Alright... Just as when we’re about to find out if there was a God up there, one of the Saurian Behemoths broke through the Wall of Fire. That thing couldn't give two shits about my spell; it came over the wall with a mouth full of Mages still screaming and shouting. Then it swung its head, and we got covered in bloody pieces of our old mates."

"As you can imagine, that was pretty terrifying. I mean, fuck, dying is dying but being eaten alive? Getting turned into lizard shit? That's a piss poor way to go. Just as we were wondering if we could go for a suicide attack and take it down, Lizzy finally lost her marbles. She started screaming about how she didn’t want to be eaten alive, how we should kill her first and spare her the trouble.”

At the mention of Elizabeth, Mark’s softening face once again became rigid.

“We weren’t going to kill her of course, the rest of us was going to fight to the last man. Hell, even if I wanted to, Henry would have stopped me. She then grabbed Henry and started screaming hysterically. ‘Kill me! Kill me, please! For fuck’s sake don’t let me be eaten!’ I still remember it as clear as yesterday.”

The group grew silent once more. Agnes was a good actress. That desperate plea was as authentic as if they had listened to Elizabeth’s hysteria in person.

“Then Henry went down, just like that. None of us knew what was going on at the time; we thought it was some an ambush ability, a poison dart. Sufina started going nuts, saying that something was draining her life. Then the Behemoth stamped out the flames and bam; the Swarm was upon us, that was it, fucked to the bitter end."

"Of course, we're all here now, so no spoilers," Agnes continued when Gwen audibly gasped. "Especially not for you, Gwen. You can probably guess what happened next. Liz must have awoken to her Void element because when she channelled everything she had into a suicidal Air Vortex, she instead popped open a black hole into the Quasi-elemental Plane of the Void."

A what?! Gwen wanted to call her Agnes out there and then. No amount of magic could create the gravitational pull of a collapsing star! But then she realised that this was not a 'black hole' in the scientific sense, but an unstable portal. The operative principle, so it seemed, was the fact that it acted as a vacuum into the Void.

"Everything got sucked up in there. Trees, grass, rocks, Rippers. Have you ever seen a lizard the size of a house sucked into a hole the size of a coffee table? Messy, very-very messy. The Saurians were going nuts! They just kept coming at it, and it just kept sucking. The whole while though, Sufina was feeding her life-force into Henry, and Liz was drinking him up like a milkshake!"

"That horrid woman..." Sufina recalled some rather unpleasant memories.

Henry shook his head.

"Anyway, we lived." Agnes reached for another drink.

“That’s a light way to put it,” Surya blurted out. "We were this close to drifting into the vacuum of another world, Agnes. You make it sound like we ate some bad kababs. Come on; you gotta dramatise it a little more…”

“Shut up, Surya,” Agnes snarled. “So we were expecting to join the Saurians, and that’s when Surya confessed to me. He told me that he wanted to die between my breasts.”

Surya choked trying to swallow his cup of water.

There were some chuckles. Agnes continued her story.

“Then, as quick as it had started, it was all over, we had cleared out half the swarm in our section, and the rest were making a run for it. Bam! Mission accomplished. A whole Batallion's work, done in ten minutes by one black hole. We didn't know why until later."

"Of course, Liz was burned out, as was Henry. None of us was sure what had happened. We carried them back to the line. It was an easy trip though. It wasn't until months after the fact that we found out the Saurians worshipped the Sun God, so when a black hole that drank all light ate half their shock troops - you get the idea."

"When we finally got back to base and healed up, Liz told us that she had awoken to something. Some form of Negative Energy. She wanted us to keep it a secret because we haven't seen anything like it before. She didn't want to get taken in and get dissected, probed, cut up."

"If we had reported her, it would have been the end of it," Mark said suddenly.

"Yeah well, hindsight's twenty-twenty, hey?" Agnes retorted. "Lizzy was still our mate back then. She was a little moody and not very brave, but she was as good a sheila as any in a tight spot. At any rate, if a mate of yours didn't want somebody probing her gut, who were we to refuse? She just saved all our arses!"

"We were expecting to lose Brisbane, and now suddenly, we were the victors. All because of of Commander Kilroy. No one had seen what happened, and Henry concocted some story about us killing a high priest. I mean, there were like, a few thousand Saurian bodies around us? There was a mostly chewed up behemoth right in front of our trench! When they picked through the bodies, there were at least half a dozen Saurian Priests!"

"We got promoted, we got bonuses, our families got relocated to safer zones. We were drunk on our success. No one knew how we did it, only that we did it and we saved the day. Things were simpler back then: no Towers, no supremacists, no Grey Factions, no Shadow Guilds, none of this Spectre bullshit. People were trying to survive, NoMs and Mages. They started trotting us out for propaganda; we didn't complain, we were like celebrities."

"Big mistake." Surya sighed.

"No shit." Mark spat cynically. "They separated us. We had to go to different zones and support the troops. That was the beginning of the end."

"Henry tried to stay with Elizabeth as often as he could, but he was being groomed to be a bigwig. Liz was the darling of the bunch. She was well-spoken, from a good family in a tier 1 city, a real poster girl, you know? Think I look good? You haven't seen a real doll until you've seen Liz in that dress uniform, I heard they cut her hem two inches higher, and recruitment was up ten per cent. Man, she was a knockout."

Henry smiled nostalgically. Mark's face grew darker.

"Anyway, they sent her out to F.O.Bs to rally the troops and all that. Mark transferred to the intelligence division. Henry stayed on at H.Q. I wanted to retire, so I had no part in all that glam."

"What was Opa doing?" Gwen asked curiously.

There was an awkward silence.

"I was drunk," Surya said at last. "We lost a lot of friends..."

Agnes nodded understandingly. "I was with him for a while..."

Surya turned beet red. "I confessed to your grandmother later..."

Agnes coughed.

"Anyway... while on Propaganda duty, the base came under attack. Not Saurians this time, but Merfolk, apparently they didn't believe in the Saurian's story about some angry Sun God, go figure, right? Then stuff happened."

"Stuff ... happened?" Gwen looked at them confusedly. Why the vague detail now?

"Yep, stuff, because no one knows. Elizabeth Winsted Sobel was the only person to return from that base. A single woman out of five hundred Mages and two thousand odd NoMs."

"Not no one," Mark interjected suddenly. "Somebody knew, but Marshall Kilroy covered it up."

"So how did you know?" Gwen asked. Mark had been away; in the intelligence division. Was he stalking Elizabeth?

"I know... " Mark spat between clenched teeth. "Because my sister was on that base when it all happened."

'Spak!'

There was a crack. A hairline fracture appeared in Mark's gold-rimmed spectacles. Opposite Mark, Henry brooded. His throat bobbed once or twice, but he ultimately elected to say nothing. When Mark next spoke, his voice held the enmity of a Blade Barrier.

"Assuming Master Kilroy doesn't silence me in the next ten minutes, let me tell you the monstrous truth hidden from the world!"


Mark reached into the deep-set draw of his mahogany table and produced something wrapped in a dark aubergine cloth. He placed it carefully upon the table, smoothing its edges. With great care, he began to unfold the fabric, revealing a dark crystal globe which contained a swirling, grey mist.

Gunther was the first to react. He was up in an instant, a shimmer of radiance surrounded Henry and Gwen with a wave of his hand.

"Master Chandler, Necromancy is an offence punishable with life imprisonment." Gunther's warning was tinged with uncharacteristic malice, betraying his usual stoicism.

"Mark, are you insane?" Surya swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously. "Why do you have a Deaths Orb? And more importantly, who do you have in there?"

Agnes nervously snuck a glance towards Henry.

The Geneva Convention strictly forbade Necromancy after the Undead crisis of WWI. Any Mage caught in possession of Necromantic items faced severe punishment with extreme prejudice. The minimum sentence for the practice of Death Magic was Exile, while the maximum sentence was Execution. Even Gwen knew of the dangers of Necromancy, for one of the first lessons taught in high school was the history of the Undead crisis which lost the human race almost half of its population, begun the great exodus from central Europe, and lead to the establishment of the Frontier Cities. Now, in front of Gwen, was an actual relic from that era. An Orb of Death, an artefact used to pluck individual souls from the aether and entrap them for the pleasure and perusal of the Necromancer.

In the next few seconds, Gwen could see her Master consider his options. As Lord of the Tower, it was well within his rights to silence Mark right this instant. The moment Mark had taken out the Orb, it was the beginning of the end. But Mark also knew Henry would listen: it was in his character to do so. The others likewise awaited Henry's decision patiently. The question that burned upon their minds, however, was what Mark hoped to accomplish with the Orb.

"Not going to silence me then?" Mark asked sardonically in that steady voice of his, testing Henry.

Henry closed his eyes as if in meditation.

"You may regret this yet." Mark smirked. "But before we begin, there are those of us here who have yet to know the truth. Agnes? Perhaps you can enlighten the subject of our little debacle? Our very own Acolyte of the Void, as to how exactly her predecessor faired?”

"Henry?" Agnes asked carefully. Henry was their friend, of course, but he was still the Master of the Tower, the highest authority in the land. If the Tower was going to censor them or act on Henry's behalf, there was little they could do. Who was Agnes but a retired Evoker and a Madam in a bordello, and Mark, a Diviner with scant favours to call? They were no match for Henry. Hell, if things got ugly, they were no match for Gunther, who could be done with them in less than a minute, leaving behind no evidence of a struggle.

Henry opened his eyes, and to their surprise, he was tranquil: there was no upset in his eyes, nor any particular sadness.

“What’s to come, will come,” Henry said slowly. “To even resort to Necromancy…”

He turned to Mark.

“Perhaps it is indeed time to raise skeletons from their shallow graves. Allow me to take over the tale for a while, Agnes.”

Her Master turned to Gwen.

“Child, I am about to reveal something that is very precious to me. It is not a pleasant tale. There are no happy endings. And so, I ask for your understanding.”

“Of course, Master,” Gwen replied politely, watching the weathered lines on her Master’s face.

They waited for Henry to gather his thoughts.

“Officially, the Massacre at Noosa Heads has but one survivor. The Hero of the Brisbane Line, Elizabeth W. Sobel. Later, a task force sent to investigate the incident found her.”

“I led that task force. A group of translocation specialists and I had reached the area by nightfall. The base had been destroyed, decimated. There was a semi-spherical inlet which had formed, now filled with the sea. Everything was gone, washed away, no buildings, no Mage, no NoMs, no Mermen. There wasn’t even anything underwater. Just smooth bedrock, sand, and whatever the ocean washed in. Further out to sea, we found a dead Kraken, most of it was likewise missing, by then it was already the victim of a feeding frenzy."

“We found Elizabeth the same evening, wounded but holding steady, hiding in a cavern. Sufina administered healing, and we returned with her to the city, thinking ourselves lucky that she survived. God knows I was.”

"As I was the Marshall, I put myself in charge of investigations. It was a hot mess. Five hundred Mages dead, over four hundred were cadets, most from influential families who had thought the school safe. Mothers and fathers wanted justice, and I had to give them something. At this stage, all I could do was ask Lizzy."

"According to Elizabeth, they were attacked by a Kraken which broke through the shielding of the base. She had been with Jane, Mark's sister, having tea at the mess when it happened. The whole building had folded in on itself, trapping the Officers inside. Elizabeth protected Jane, but had to use most of her vitality to Void shield the two of them through the falling concrete slabs."

"When they finally dug themselves out, the battle was in full force. The Kraken was tearing the place apart, penetrating the base's defences by ripping out the embedded Glyphs from the buildings themselves. There was chaos everywhere, Mermen were killing the students, and the teachers couldn't hold them back. I wasn't there, so Elizabeth couldn’t use her powers without draining her life."

"She eventually made it to the crystal storage depot, using her powers to slip through the gates, she tainted the crystals with motes of Void. Elizabeth told Jane to flee, but the Kraken was upon them. The behemoth blew through the walls of the bunker, and Elizabeth had to make a call, or die a needless death. With no other choice, she detonated the containers, and the resulting explosion took out everything in the vicinity. She made a Void Shield with the last of her strength but was unable to cover Jane. When she woke up, everything was gone, and she was adrift on a newly formed beach, with the tide coming in."

"That's the story we all heard," Surya informed Gwen. "At that time, there was no reason to doubt her. This was the Elizabeth we had known for years, she never lied to us or cheated us before, and we didn't see why we should start suspecting her now."

"Ha!" Mark chortled.

"So, back to the trial," Henry continued. "The families of the victims demanded a scapegoat, someone to blame, so the brass suggested Elizabeth. I was so angry, furious. How did that even make sense? I knew - we knew, that Elizabeth had Void magic, but they didn’t! They were purely using her to cover their intelligence failure! Then there was a rumour which started, a rather truthful one that suggested that the destruction at the cove matched the very same one that Elizabeth and the group had made during the Brisbane Line incident. People started to join the dots, and some members of the brass were baying for her blood, saying that she was somehow responsible. They wanted me, me! To prosecute her. I felt helpless, even as the Marshall."

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

“But then, we had a lucky break. The Mermen withdrew! They had retreated like the Saurians! There was such a thing as seizing the moment, so I did the only thing I could. Elizabeth and I went to the British Mageocracy. We showed them how her power worked, and what she could do. We even agreed to limited testing and experimentation. They were impressed, extremely impressed, excited at the potential game changer it represented. Suddenly, all the voices calling for her to go on trial silenced. She was now a priceless asset. I pleaded her case. The Tribunal reviewed the evidence and found it in Elizabeth’s favour."

"Then our troubles began,” Henry announced with a slight shake of his head. "We had no idea what using Void magic continually did to Elizabeth, only that we went on many missions, racked up victory after victory, drunk on our success."

"What was Mark doing this whole time?" Gwen interjected suspiciously.

"I was away with important research," Mark's voice trembled, full of anticipation. "I was here and there, but insignificant in any way. Pray, continue…”

And Henry continued.

“Elizabeth and I married a month later. We had always planned to get married after the Propaganda Tour, and we were now in it for the long haul. Agnes was the bridesmaid, and Surya was my best man. Mark was indisposed. It was a small, private ceremony, very romantic. We needed each other, both in love and in craft, the others came to call us the dynamic duo."

Gwen performed a double take, choking on her water. Debora eased her breathing by patting Gwen's back.

Sufina produced another cup of mead for Henry, who drank it, then closed his eyes for a long while to recuperate his strength. The room was silent, bar Mark’s incessant tapping of his feet. After a while, Henry opened his eyes and began to speak once more.

“We performed whatever missions the council set for us, travelled all around the world at the behest of this party and that government, serving her Majesty and the Commonwealth however we could. When the war took a lull in the mid-70s, we applied for a conditional discharge. Humanities’ lands were being reclaimed all over the world, and as Magister and Magus with a long service record, we had the option of staying anywhere we liked, so long as it was away from tier 1 cities. We wanted somewhere away from it all, so we choose Eger, a Hungarian township, an hour’s flight from Budapest. No one knew us there, and we barely spoke the language, it was perfect. I bought a vineyard outside of town, hired a dozen NoMs as servants, and set ourselves up as minor aristocracy from the Commonwealth. Elizabeth seemed to like the country air, really took to it, in fact, her constitution had always been weak after Brisbane, but she appeared to get better….”

Henry touched the brittle flowers in the vase; the once vibrant bouquet crumbled into dry flakes of brown-grey dust. He sighed, searched for a dustpan, then patiently swept the remains away. He placed his suitcase by the open kitchen and walked through the long hallway toward the bedrooms. The region had once belonged to the long gone Ottoman Empire, and the architecture of the vineyard had retained its Baroque influence. The hallway was a cross-crossing network of light and shadow, alternatively lit in bright sunlight and stark silhouette.

Outside, Henry could see the NoMs tending to the grapes, row upon rows of stakes pregnant with green vines, drawing as far as the eye could see until it bent across the horizon. As a hobby, Henry had tried his hand at winemaking in the months since they arrived. Unfortunately, his talent lied only in finding and drinking the most exceptional vintage stowed in the cellar.

It was a slice of paradise, a place of their own. Henry knew the bliss was ephemeral, but the respite of the moment was difficult to let go.

How long had they fought the beasts that came from the Wildlands? Two decades? He felt as though he hadn’t stopped since stepping out of his academy. His feet stopped before reaching the double doors of the master bedroom. Watching the emerald vista outside, he recalled another sun-tossed steppe. He thought of Sydney. Where was Agnes? How was Surya? Was Mark still mourning for his sister? What were they doing? Had they carved out a home of their own, taking their respite from the war?

He walked into a spacious bedroom with a vaulted, double storey ceiling. There was a four-post bed, double-king-sized, which he had custom ordered from the local carpenter. Henry pulled over the bed-tray and placed the breakfast gingerly by the oversized bed.

Elizabeth slept buried in a mass of pillows and soft white sheets. Her complexion was bloodless, her blue veins aristocratic against her pale, flawless skin. The NoMs had taken to calling her ‘The Countess,’ which made Henry laugh. She slept carelessly, a wayward sheet covering her scandalous figure, her petite breasts forming only the slightest of suggestive mounds. Henry savoured the moment, admiring, for here in one bed lay his whole world.

“Up, up, sleeping beauty.”

He waved a hand over the bed-tray. Coffee and sweet cakes materialised from the Storage Ring.

“I bought Presszókávé and Flódni.” He lured her to consciousness with the heavenly scented breakfast.

Elizabeth slowly stirred, twirling the sheets around and curling her slender legs behind her.

“Morning…”

“Noon, you mean.” Henry smiled gently.

Elizabeth stretched; the white sheets slid from her torso. Henry looked nervously around the room. The bay windows were slightly ajar; the playful wind lifted the curtains carelessly.

“You look beautiful,” Henry remarked. “How do you feel today?”

She beamed at him, her baby-blue eyes refracting the warm glow of noon light.

“Energised. I would love to go into town later.”

“Shall I join you?”

“If you wish… have you finished all your work?”

“It’s never-ending,” Henry returned a little bitterly. “The negotiations for the Tower is taking some time.”

“I’ll be a while, lots of shopping to do. I haven’t even explored the old Market in full yet. Join me later then?”

“Sure.”

They ate the desserts he had bought. Henry wasn’t a fan, but his 'Lillybird' was very much in possession of a sweet tooth. She could pack away the Madártej, the Dobostorta, and a whole serving of Gesztenyepüré in a single sitting. He sometimes wondered why she never seemed to grow fat, though he’d thought it wiser to avoid that question lest he risked her wrath.

After breakfast, he watched Elizabeth dress in a chiffon tulip dress that reached her knees, accessorised with sandals and a broad-brimmed hat, the very picture of grace.

“Kívánok…” the servants greeted her. She asked for the driver; it would be twenty minutes to get to the market from the vineyard, and she didn't want to fly.

Henry made for the study, a spacious converted bedroom that looked over the vineyard’s south, settling comfortably into his work. Endless paperwork and negotiations. Research. Treaties. Correspondences. Repetition.

Days turned to weeks, weeks to months. It was good. The work was quiet, and Elizabeth was snug in her white sheets morning after morning. Henry loved waking with his head resting in her lap, tying him to this land, lulled by everything around. His only wish was that perhaps, this would go on, day after day, their very own slice of paradise.

“I should have known something wasn’t right.” Henry sighed deeply. “But I was blinded by the impossible happiness we had shared.”

"Even when the dead plants turned to small animals, birds and the like, I choose to ignore it. Lizzy confessed, of course, she always did. Sometimes crying, sometimes depressed, sometimes angry and in denial. It broke my heart. I should have done something, gotten her help maybe, but I couldn’t disturb the life we had there. She was so happy, always sleeping until noon, rarely going out, even then, it was just for shopping and desserts. I convinced myself this was what she needed.”

“Then one day, one of the NoM servants brought his dog, saying that something had attacked it, fearing that it was a Magical Beast which had somehow snuck through the Barrier Shields. That happened pretty often in the old days; the Magi-tech was fairly new. I knew what had happened the moment I saw it. It was a big dog, one of the hunting hounds they used to clear out the rabbits and foxes, but now it was just a husk, skin wearing bones. It looked like a drain attack had stricken it.”

“I asked him where Elizabeth had gone, and he told me she’d gone to town. I had a terrible premonition. Whenever Elizabeth had an episode, she would be fatigued, tired, delirious even. She should be in no condition to travel to town after leaking enough void mana to drain a hound of this size. I had to find her before she injured herself.”

“So I abused one of the privileges I had enjoyed as an Administrator of the new Tower and used a Teleport to get to the town. I asked around the market. It wasn’t too difficult to track someone like Elizabeth. How many pale skinned girls in white dresses could there be in an old Ottoman market? I followed her dessert-crumb trail, and true to her word, she was leaving behind a whole chain of impressed pâtisserie and bakers.”

“Ultimately, I tracked her to the Varios-a-varos Alatt, the town under the town, a network of tunnels used by the old Church to store wine…”