The battle within Sydney's urbanscape had now transformed from a defensive wall to a grand melee. Though the defenders had left tens of thousands of Mermen carcasses in the water before they reached the hastily Transmuted walls, the emergence of a dozen Dragon Turtles quickly changed the tide of the battle.

Though an Iron Golem was incredibly resilient against the breath attacks of the draconic turtles, the ones possessed by the Frontier Military were relics from the Coral Sea War. Unlike the state of the art Steel Legions used by the Americans, these were antiquated European designs that went back to the Second World War in the fifties. They remained highly potent and effective armaments; but lacked the multi-armed, herculean strength of the newer models.

As if sensing their weakness, the dozen or so Dragon Turtles that emerged from the sea lumbered toward different parts of the city, essentially splitting the Military's containment force and stretching their battle lines.

"Where's Gwen when you needed her the most," Gunther lamented. If his sister-in-craft could be here, she could have hastened the Golems by striking them with her lightning spells.

Gunther performed a tight corkscrew turn and made a low pass between two office buildings. One was already half shattered by the violent passage of a Dragon Turtle that had bested its Iron Golem counterpart. Its carcass though, lay not too far from the building itself, a hulking form three storeys tall, headless and limbless after it succumbed to a pyrrhic victory by the Frontier Militia.

Comparatively, the Tower Mages were performing their duties with minimal casualties. As Gunther flew by the shattered streets, sniping the wayward Mermen that appeared from broken shopfronts dragging civilians in cruelly barbed nets, he despairingly acknowledged the systematic failure of their collective defence network in the absence of its command centre.

"Help! Help! Oh, God! Someone help!"
"I'll boil you alive, you lobster bastard!"
"Arrrgh! Arrgh! My arm! It broke my arm!"

A pair of heavily armoured crustacean Mermen were dragging a bountiful harvest of human prisoners behind them, heading back awards the ocean. With a few water-breathing enchantments from a Sea-Priest, the prisoners could be made suitable for labour or nourishment. Their prisoners, six humans whose silhouettes were indistinct in the cumbersome net, was threatening, begging, and crying for the Mermen to release them. As a Paladin, the sight brought a terrible ire to Gunther's chest. These brazen bastards! They were already looting when the battle was hardly over!

With a wave of his hand, two beams took the Mermen in the torso, severing them from chest to groin. A third blast severed the net, allowing the trapped prisoners within to struggle free.

As the prisoners crawled from their previous confinement, they looked for their saviour, expecting a Magus to alight from the heavens and exchange a few gloating words of expected gratitude. They were left wanting, however, for the street remained deserted save for an avenue of smoking Mermen carcasses.

Having cleared the area, Gunther was already a block away and accelerating towards the next checkpoint, where a flight of Tower Mages were fighting for their lives.

His Radiant Aura transformed into a streak of light as he powered through the Quay and towards the CBD, mindful of the aberrantly quiet Tower floating above, an apathetic God without a sliver of care for its children suffering below.

At Alesia's behest, Irene assembled a Rosebay team of Elite Mages, two Magus and Three Senior Mages, including her star pupil Julia. They had an Abjurer-Enchanter, a Transmuter-Evoker, and three others covering the tasks of Healing, Transmutation, and Conjuration.

Blackwattle's fire team was Gwen and her companions, consisting of Yue, Whetu, Debora, and Elvia, as well as Alesia herself. Their barely lucid Master, Henry Kilroy, was snugly bundled and strapped to Whetu, who promised to keep the Magister safe so long as he had breath enough for one more Shield.

Alesia once again demonstrated the incredible resilience of one who had survived two major conflicts, draining a dozen HDMs in the time it took Gwen to mediate and restore half of her own. Their time for rest proved fleeting, however, and the teams had to make do with mana injectors and quick meditations.

With Ferris compliantly giving up her Teleportation glyph, Paul, the translocation specialist, synchronised the Long-Range Teleportation Platform underneath the Cathedral to the Mid-Tower base station.

"If the Tower is still in contingency mode, the Spirit Core shouldn't be announcing your arrival. However, the teleportations circles are going to be lit like Christmas the moment I activate the glyph, so expect to materialise in a hot-zone."

"That's fine, Paul. Can we teleport in 'hot'?"

A look of cunning comprehension exchanged between the two long-time teammates.

Paul smirked. "Just give me a few more minutes, I'll have the portal stabilised in no time."

While they waited, Alesia materialised an armoured robe that intensely radiated an aura of Enchantment so luxuriant as to create a pale glow visible to the unenchanted, naked eye.

"Is that…" Ferris' eyes opened just a little wider.

"Not the real deal, no," Alesia explained, throwing off her top and struggling out of her pants. She uttered a command word, and the tunic lifted into the air, slipping over her head. "It's a replica that I acquired from London after doing a few favours for the Cambridge Tower."

Once attired, the robe quickly shrank to accommodate Alesia's figure. It's sides split to offer more significant mobility, while the armoured sections mounted her arms and shoulders, conforming to her breasts. Below, skirt section bellowed out impressively in a flowing stream of crimson chiffon.

"What is it that you're wearing?" Gwen asked Alesia out of curiosity.

"A replicated Robe of the Arch-Mage," Whetu interjected with bright eyes full of wonder. "Henry has a set as well; even the replicas are priceless."

"What does it do?" Yue asked. She had never seen tier 1 Magical Items before. They were exceedingly rare in the 'countryside' that is Frontier Cities.

Alesia stretched herself out, her taut figure enhanced by the second skin of the form-fitting armoured robe.

"Permanent Resist Elements, Protection from Projectiles and Melee Damage," Alesia intoned proudly.

"The real one possesses the additional property of greatly increasing your Elemental affinity," she added sagely, twirling to show the girls the cut and make of the rare robe.

The two teams marvelled at Alesia's unique garb, using the opportunity to distract themselves from the anxious prickle of their fraying nerves. Even Irene joined in, speaking long and meticulously about the creation of the original Arch-Magi robe by the Mage Morden.

Beside them, Paul had finished changing the last of the Teleportation glyphs.

"This is a one-way trip. I hope you're all ready."

"Remember to stay in formation," Ferris informed her team. Reminding herself that the Mages in the Tower were still members of her Faction, she added a hopeful, 'Don't fire until fired upon,' which made Alesia raise a critical brow.

Though the girls were breathless with nervous anticipation; Alesia seemed entirely in her element.

"Just get us in, and we'll get the Tower back, no trouble," she confided the assemblage with absolute confidence. "Failure won't be a problem. It's death or glory, do or die."

Ferris shot Alesia a wilting look that suggested otherwise.

Both teams were buffed and warded, blessed and shielded. Irene even front-loaded each of the offensive casters with a True Strike. They were as ready as they were ever going to be.

"I am beginning the Invisibility Shield," Ferris intoned. As she initiated the chant, the air surrounding the two teams shimmered.

"Alright," Paul began. The platform began to glow with the signature quick-silver mana of Conjuration. "Three— Two— One—"

On the count of 'Two', Alesia began an invocation.

"Empowered Delayed-Blast Fireball!"

Ferris looked up with an expression of shock and dismay.

"What ar..."

The Teleportation Circle enveloped them.

Jules had been receiving a lecture from Lord Gunther Shultz, Paladin of the Tower, when a siren rang out throughout the Tower.

"NOW ENTERING QUARANTINE MODE."

He was as shocked as anyone when the Tower furthermore began to teleport 'dissidents' from its interior, leaving behind only himself and three others in the cohort of new Acolytes.

When the madcap red light of the Tower's defensive system died, a command in the familiar voice of his Grandmaster, Magister Walken, vocalised throughout the public announcement glyphs.

"This is Magister Walken— all members of the Grey Faction are to gather at the atrium for debriefing at thirteen-fifteen. Any members who fail to comply will be discharged from the Tower."

Still dazed with confusion, Jules and the others made their way hastily to the atrium. There, a hundred or so Mages, mostly juniors, had already gathered.

When enough of them had filled the chamber, the austere figure of Magister Walken dressed in a dazzling set of armoured combat robes appeared at the command dais.

The Magister and Master of the Grey Market was a quiet man with intense dark eyes. His face would have been handsome once, though now it was gaunt. Now, the Magister's presence was more or less 'forgettable'. However, it was precisely such an unmemorable figure, together with the support of his two peers, Lin and Ferris, who created the most extensive "unofficial"' trading emporium in Oceania. Standing at a mere five-foot-nine, the once unassuming Magister was now radiating an aura of command, his loosely styled dark hair cut with streaks of silver. Both of his hands were a spectacle of rare, exotic rings, while around his head rotated no less than six Ioun Stones. He was the very vision of an Archmage, inspiring his followers to let loose raptured cheers of jubilation.
Jules wasn't the sycophantic kind, but peer pressure was an infectious drug.

Above him, the Magister began to speak of dire tidings.

"Factioners of the Grey Market, I come as the bringer of terrible news. As of twenty minutes ago, we are in a state of War. The Mermen incursion which has been held back by the Tower is once again upon us. It is now our solemn duty to keep the Tower safe from enemy hands."

The illusion-empowered Glyphs built into the atrium began to construct a real-time vision of the scene below— a dozen shielding stations in smoking ruin, an armada of Mermen riding for the city.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Ragged cries of dismay broke out among the crowd below. Some urged immediate action, while others questioned what the hell the Tower was doing at a time like this. Where was Gunther Shultz? Its Knight Protector? Where was the Master of the Tower?

"I know what you are thinking. Why are we attacked? Why is the Tower disabled? Why are Message spells jammed?"

Walken paused, his tri-colon to resonating across the almost empty hall that should be housing a thousand battle-ready Mages.

"We are not in the midst of combat - because we have been betrayed! More so, the traitor is Henry himself! The Master of the Tower is not as he seems!"

The crowd gasped.

"Behold what Kilroy's selfish actions have wrought upon us!"

A series of images created through magical glamour flickered to life. The hyperrealistic vision showed a woman with skin as white as snow, massacring what appeared to be a coastal military base with dark tendrils of Void.

The crowd gasped and gagged at sight. The slaughter was utterly indiscriminate: men, women, mermen, NoMs and Mages, none escaped her life-seeking lamprey tentacles.

"That's... that's Noose Heads!" someone cried out within the crowd.

All present had heard of the Massacre at Noose Heads. It was before the creation of the Tower— a place where humanity had lost over four hundred promising acolytes to an ambush by the Mermen. But the cause for the invasion and the disappearance of the Mages remained unresolved. Jules furrowed his brows. If so, why were they been shown this now?

The second set of images showed a group of Mages piling what appeared to be another group of casters, tied and gagged, into iron cages. The montage progressed until the vision became that of a dark warehouse filled with bloodstained hospital beds where Mages, presumably captured prisoners, were being dissected for their organs. Overseeing the operation was yet again, an ageless young woman with pure white skin and dark hair.

An angry murmur spread throughout the crowd. The mood changed from confusion and question to outright resentment and hostility.

"It is with dire danger to himself that a friend and companion of our Faction was able to expose these nefarious operations. The heart of all this horror and misery lies in this woman, the very same responsible for the massacred youth at Noosa Heads."

A projection materialised, a photo of Elizabeth, looking older, more worn and travelled. The lumen-recording was an official portrait taken from the Tower's records.

A few of the senior Mages in the crowd gasped.

"That's… that's Elizabeth Winsted Sobel! She's the war hero!"
"What? The Goddess of the Coral Sea Conflict?"
"The very same!"
"I've seen her on the propaganda recordings."
"Impossible!"
"She's dead, right?"
"Is she… undead?"
"That witch!"
"Those poor kids..."
"Those poor sobs getting gutted!"
Walken matched a few of the images from the previous sets with the lumen-recording of Elizabeth, drawing gasps from the room. Jules felt physically assailed by conspiracy. It was possible to fabricate the whole thing, of course, illusions can be crafted and created by meticulous Illusionists, but the crowd saw no reason why their patron and Master would go to such lengths to deceive them. After all, Walken had brought great boons to the Tower via the Grey Market. He was well known as a generous Magister, dependable and protective of his acolytes.

Satisfied that the crowd was sufficiently incensed, Walken continued.

"At first, I too doubted my findings. How could a war hero become such a virulent plague upon our society?" Another image appeared, this time of Henry and Elizabeth in the setting of a family portrait.

"Furthermore, as some of you may know, Master Kilroy and Elizabeth Sobel are husband and wife. Why would the Master of Oceania betray his people, the same Mages he pledged to protect? For love, perhaps, or maybe a darker purpose?"

The image flickered again, this time of Elizabeth in the full fury of combat, swirling with motes of malignant darkness made the room flicker ominously. The illusionary projection was lifelike and recorded candidly, giving the gathering a taste of what it was like to face Elizabeth in combat.

"SOBEL is a Void Mage! A caster in command of the forbidden element! A step away from Necromancy!" Walken announced.

Another vision, this time a candid shot of Elizabeth draining the life from another Mage, a dozen others already dry husks beside her swirling, darkling form.

"That's Victor's team!" Another voice cried out from the crowd. "They disappeared two years ago! I got told that Saurians ambushed his party!"

Jules felt his own heart pounding uncontrollably. The revelations they received were far too shocking and horrifying to be accounted for logically. The Master of the Tower's wife was a murderer, a traitor, and now she was also a Void Mage? It was earth-shattering news!

Furthermore, the woman was deceased! Ancient history! There was something strange and illogical about it all, but Jules couldn't question the Master, not when the crowd was spitting venom.

Walken continued to speak, collapsing the image with a wave of his hand.
"I too, had thought myself mistaken. There must be some explanation for all this. In the months that followed, I shadowed Magister Kilroy and his operations— but thankfully uncovered nothing. I was glad; I was delighted that our Master was innocent, that this may not be his wife, that this could be a look-alike; a doppelgänger."

"Yet, as some of you know, Master Henry had recently acquired a new protege."

The younger men nodded to themselves, thinking of the Lightning Sorceress, Gwen Song. The lovely, lithe young girl had been a regular feature of the Tower in the last few months. She had conversed with them and shared friendly chit-chats. Many of them had designs on the girl, doing small favours for her in the hopes of catching her attention.

"I regret to inform you that she too, is a Void Mage."

Another illusion appeared, this time projecting the epic combat between a group of girls and a giant spider in some salt mine. The vision seemed to be from the perspective of one of the participants, a Transmuter. The gathered watched as she summoned sand pillars to halt the speed of the spider-creature, but was too inexperienced to provide adequate cover for her allies. As the girls fought, they saw Gwen shoot off lightning bolts that cascaded harmlessly from the creature's salt-studded armour. The spider then burst through the pillars and lunged straight for the girls, making several of the inexperienced observers stagger backwards at the hyper-reality of the illusion.

Then without warning, the spider dropped— a horrid looking parasite, half worm, half lamprey, carapace in darkness and wet with ichor, burst from the spider's thorax.

'Shaa! Shaa!" The disgusting, malignant thing cried out, its slimy, putrid body wet with strange fluids from the interior of the sand-spider.
The vision ceased.

A few of the watchers turned and hurled, triggering a wave of gags.

Walken waited, watching the crowd.

"Still, I thought my friend, Henry Kilroy, may yet be uninvolved - until a dutiful agent delivered the terrible truth to my hand."

Another illusion appeared, this time, the vision showed an office. Gwen Song was there, as well as an older blonde woman. Henry and his Familiar sat on a seat by themselves. The crowd murmured when they saw Gunther Shultz, the Paladin of the Tower, among that secret meeting. They were all listening intently to a shadowy figure deliver a revelatory address. Behind the shadow was a stone-faced Mage sitting behind a desk, looking drained and hollow.

"Ain't that Mark Chandler!" A voice pointed out.
"From the Black Cat Agency?"
"The very same!"
"Didn't he disappear last year? The Agency shut down!"
"Jesus, what the hell is happening?"
Within the vision, the gathering of Mages was watching the shadowy form of a girl, her ethereal body writhing in agony, her face a mask of malice with a palpable hatred for the living.

"Jane…" in the vision, Mark began to speak. "Jane, we don't have much time… tell them how you died."

"Died… I died…" The shadowy form of 'Jane' mouthed in her necromantic guise, her face indistinct. Suddenly, the ghost cried out, a guttural, banshee's screech that went on and on, sending slivers of ice down the spines of the observers. "Murdered... I was murdered!"

"No! Necromancy!? In Sydney?"
"Unforgivable!"

An explosion of virulent emotions erupted. Even Jules felt caught up in the intense moment, finding himself rising his fists willingly and shouting out angry slurs. Necromancy! Had the world not suffered enough under its yoke?! Who were these that dared bring Necromancy back to these purified lands of Oceania? Just because they were the Masters of the Tower, they thought they could get away with such a crime against humanity?

The image changed and shifted.

They watched the shared vision of the ghostly girl's demise, of Elizabeth's inhuman act. Of Jane's final moments in Noosa.

"Jesus…"
"Oh, Gods…"
"That poor girl..."
The crowd momentarily forgot their anger when the dark sun blossomed over Noosa Heads. When the ghost thankfully perished, they saw Mark Chandler denounce the gathering, shouting accusations in turn at Henry, then at Gwen, becoming excited and agitated with each passing second.

"Put her in the chamber, Henry! Put her in and you'll— you'll know why Elizabeth is still alive— Ha! You were all wrong! My poor Jane— if you hadn't covered it up Henry— if—"

Then abruptly, Gunther Shultz moved from where he stood and assaulted Mark Chandler. Without even incanting a spell, Gunther had reached across space between them, caught Mark by the hair, and slammed his face against the stout oaken table. Mark's limp body then fell to the floor like a sack of slack potatoes.

The vision ended with Gunther teleporting away with Mark. The perspective of the informant ended with Henry and Gwen alone in the room.

"Do you now understand the stakes?" Walken spoke to the crowd slowly, biting each syllable.

"Henry Kilroy - Elizabeth Sobel - Gwen Song, they are all vipers of the same pit. They are working together to impair our very society for their benefit! A deathless Magister that drew life from his Dryad; a deathless Void Mage that stole life from others! Furthermore! A new apprentice of both Lightning and the Void element! A serpent in the egg, which when hatched, shall be more poisonous than both Henry and his wife!"

"Not only that! The Paladin of the Tower, Gunther Shultz, in cahoots! A dog that traffics with wolves!" Walken cried out bitterly.

"We are nothing but food to this family of life-sucking vampires, livestock and chattel! We exist only to feed their hunger for power, to develop their own forsaken magics. They may not behave like lions in public, but to them, we are boars!"

The crowd silent, then inevitably, their raging, pend up emotions exploded into a fitful clamour.

"Down with Kilroy!"
"Down with Shultz!"
"Save the Tower! Save Sydney!"
Walken furiously struck the dais to steer the violent emotions of the crowd.

"We are now in a moment of crisis. I did not wish to put my contingency plan into effect. However, when Watson Bay Shielding Station became disabled earlier, it became clear that whatever Elizabeth and Henry had planned was coming to fruition. Therefore, in his absence, I took the opportunity to assume control of the Tower's core systems."

He once again engaged the real-time vision of the scene below: a Leviathan, multiple Krakens, an armada of Mermen roving into the city.
Cries of horror and frustration erupted from the Mages below him. They had family down there! Friends and allies!

"I fear the Tower will not be joining the defence of the city. I have already disabled long-range communication to prevent any further complications." Walken said grimly. "I cannot risk the Tower, the most powerful instrument we possess, falling into the hands of Henry Kilroy again. Already, I have sent out Messages explaining our circumstances and requesting immediate aid from Melbourne and Brisbane. With any luck, they should be here to aid us in cleansing the city. As well as arresting Kilroy and his ilk."

Jules felt his breath catching in his chest. He wanted to believe. Indeed, those around seemed to accept Walken without question. However, there were so many aspects of Walken's narrative that seemed at odds.
Above upon the dais, Walken was now confidently in command.

"While Gunther and Kilroy occupied themselves with the invasion, we must keep the Tower safe. As such, us Greys will assume guard duty until either of the other two Towers arrive, bringing with them the blessings of Magister Lin or Magister Luther. Do you understand?"

A smattering of 'Yessir' resounded from the uncertain crowd, more preoccupied with the dire circumstances facing their families.

"You are not compelled to stay if you are not with us. If you wish to abandon the Tower to Void Mages and Vampires - I can teleport you out right now, safely deposited inland." The crowd considered their options while Walken persisted in his rhetoric. "Friends, students, compatriots! We cannot lose this war! Sydney must survive even if we do not!"

Walken raised his voice resolutely.

"YESSIR!" The crowd chorused back.

Jules unwittingly followed suit. His mind a confused muddle of conflicting feelings against the actualities of his position. A second later, the ranking Mages began to give them orders, but Jules was too preoccupied to comprehend their hastily given commands.

There was so much that didn't make sense to him. Why would someone who is so intimately known to Magister Kilroy betray him? How authentic were the lumen-recorded illusions? Furthermore, why would the Paladin of the Tower, numbered as one of the highest authorities in the Tower, betray the institution itself? Why was Master Walken privy to so many of Kilroy's secrets, and why was it all coming out without consulting any of the other Magisters? Afterall, Magister Ferris and Magister Lin were both members of the Grey Faction, all they had to do to remove Kilroy was convince three more Magisters out of the ten. With the evidence Master Walken had demonstrated, it should prove no trouble.

Jules wanted answers to these pressing questions but lost to the momentum of the crowd. He shuffled from the room like a ghoul, unmindful of his steps as he bumped shoulders with others, who likewise alternated between fervent and perplexed.

"Hey Jules, we got the mid-section Teleportation stack." Frederick, his university alumni, tapped him on the shoulder. "How about this, huh? Lord Kilroy, a traitor and his wife a life-sucking Vampire, pretty rad if you ask me."

Jules nodded absentmindedly, masking his thoughts from his friend.

"I can't believe that sweet little thing is a Void Mage too. She was a sight for sore eyes. Did you know that I even offered to take her out once?"

"Yeah," Jules mumbled. "You tell it every other week."

"I am worried about my sis, you know. I am glad they live inland though, all the way south of the western suburbs. Sucks to be one of the coastal folks, hey? Where's your family located?"

"Canberra."

"Lucky," Frederic quipped, using the conversation to mask his growing anxiety. "Chin up, Jules, we got to hold the Tower until help arrives. I can't wait to see the vid-cast trials for this fiasco. Reckon they'll fill the Stasis Prison or just go straight for public execution?"

"Who knows?" Jules felt a shiver despite the controlled clime of the Tower's interior.

It took them a few rides on bisecting routes of levitation platforms to arrive at the mid-way Teleportation Chamber.

There were a dozen guards stationed at the Teleportation Circles, Jules included. The Evoker languishingly took up position in the dimness of the Tower's interior. Usually, the place was a hive of activity, each corridor illuminated by glowing sigils that mimicked daylight. Now, most of the passages were burning with a dull red, indicating that the Tower was in Quarantine mode.

To the acolyte's knowledge, of his Faction, only Magister Ferris was currently present in Sydney. Jules hoped that the wizened Diviner would make an appearance and answer some of his questions. Maybe it was all a misunderstanding, or mayhap the Magisters reach a compromise. There were Factions within the Tower, Jules understood that, but he'd hoped that in the face of racial extermination by the Mermen, only the "Faction" called humanity mattered.

Jules found a comfortable nook and sat, meditating to soothe out the turbulent mana stirred up by his emotions. Hopefully, whoever teleported through these circles could bring an invocation of True Seeing that would dispell the twisted illusions haunting their present reality.


Alesia's Delayed Blast Fireball enveloped the mid-Tower Teleportation Chamber a split second after her group materialised upon the platform. The damage was near-instantaneous; the sealed chamber simply lit up; there was a flash of quicksilver mana, then the world burned.

When Ferris and her party next appeared on the platform, the dizzying scent of scorched flesh and sizzling fat assaulted their nostrils.
No one had expected that a split-second into their quest, they would bear witnessed was the cold-blooded murder of a dozen members of the Grey Faction. Ferris did not doubt that she would have known at least one of the Mages, either as an associate or alumni. What if one of them had wanted to converse with her? What if they were unwitting participants of the conspiracy at hand? She felt assailed by guilt, but also glad that she couldn't recognise their charred miens. A few of the girls began to cry when one of the crispy cadavers convulsed, its involuntary struggle triggered by raw nerves still tethered to contracting flesh.

Ferris shook with indescribable fury as she turned toward the culprit, challenging the Scarlet Sorceress' cold, ultramarine eyes. Alesia de Botton looked as though she did something utterly inconsequential.

"To the Grot," Alesia announced. "We need to get Master Kilroy in there as soon as possible."

Ferris looked to Henry to see if the old Magister had anything to say about his bloodthirsty entourage. To her dismay, the attack dog's handler was inhaling and exhaling weakly, oblivious upon the Maori's back, blind to the world.

Gwen and her company likewise averted their eyes as they passed the victims, about a dozen in all. Only now did the blood began to seep out from the orifice of their charred, inanimate forms.

Ferris repressed her anger, choosing to keep her lips pursed. Bereft of her Divination, she wasn't sure what to expect after teleporting into the Tower. A standoff seemed the reasonable outcome, a confrontation with Walken's followers more than likely. What she had not expected was her immediate participation in the wholesale slaughter of Walken's acolytes. What would her ally think of them now? How could she face him and expect him to be rational after this?

"Nothing is getting between Lord Kilroy and that Grot," Gwen's sister-in-craft informed Ferris with eyes that were glazed over with single-minded determination, twinkling madly with suggestions of zealous ultraviolence.

The platform began to ascend.

"Alesia... Magus de Botton," Ferris spoke with as much diplomacy she could muster. "I ask that you refrain from taking so many lives. We need to preserve the life of every Mage we can if we wish to combat the Mermen and restore the Tower."

Alesia shook her head.

"With all due respect, Magister, they were attempting to ambush us. It was them or us - and I was faster, that was all there was to it."

Ferris held her gaze against Alesia's own. The two women said nothing more as the platform shot towards the Tower's zenith.

When they began to approach the entrance to the Grot, however, it was evident that the final chamber of the Tower was under guard.

"Halt!" A voice cried out before the platform even reached its destination. "Present yourselves! Hands in the air! Else we will disengage the platform's levitation!"

Ferris' pleading grey irises meet with Alesia's.

"I could have left you down there, but I give you the benefit of the doubt. Please, give me mine," Ferris implored. "Alesia. There has been enough death today."

From his vantage point, Alec Guerre dared to breathe a little when he saw the platform and its cargo of Mages raise their hands submissively. There was Alesia de Botton amongst them, the Void Mageling— Gwen Song, as well as Magister Ferris and what looked to be a comatose Magister Kilroy.
When the floating disc completed the final few meters of its journey, docking onto the remote platform housing the Grot with an audible click, Guerre exhaled in relief.

The two groups of Mages looked upon one another warily as Guerre fired off a Message spell via the Tower's intra-systems.

"Sir, I have Magister Ferris, Magus Alesia, and Gwen Song at the entrance of Kilroy's Grot. It looks like Kilroy is with them as well, but he looks incapacitated."

"Excellent, stall them while I gather the men. I'll be there very soon," Walken replied.

"Lord Ferris, Major de Botton, Ladies and Gents," the Magus addressed each of them in turn, eventually adding a respectful, "Grandmaster Kilroy."

"Magus Guerre, in the interests of all involved, please remove yourself from our path," Ferris intoned with a tone of command. "This is an emergency."

Guerre seemed unmoved by the Magister's command.

"I am afraid I cannot do that, Ma'am. Additionally, I regret to inform you that I must take Lord Kilroy, Major de Botton, and Gwen Song into custody."

"On what charge?" Ferris questioned, her eyes narrowing.

"On harbouring a mass murderer and a traitor who trafficks in Mage-kin, and on charges of harbouring Void Mages with dissident interests against the Tower and the city."

To Guerre's surprise, Ferris ignored his warning and persisted in dressing him down.

"Magus Guerre, I suggest you remove yourself at once, or else." To Guerre's eyes, Ferris appeared both annoyed and embarrassed that he had challenged her authority.

"I can't do that," Guerre rejected flatly, enclosing his hands in the form of a shielding incantation as he spoke. "Globe of Invulnerability!"

An invisible shield shimmered before the gate to the Grot, covering Guerre and his Mages.

The Abjurer Magus watched as Ferris flushed a deep scarlet. She must have thought her authority was sufficient, but Guerre was in no mind to follow her orders, not with the revelations that he had seen.

All of the Mages that remained in the Tower were loyal to Walken. Without her acolytes and supporter's presence in the Tower, the non-combatant Diviner was powerless.

Guerre watched the group squirm behind the magic-negating barrier. Soon, his superior would arrive, and that would be the end of these Void Mages.

The group watched as Guerre and his assemblage smugly accosted thin air, looking mightily pleased with their 'success'.

"See?" Ferris turned to Alesia triumphantly. "No need for more bloodshed. nothing like a good Grandeur."

"We'll see about that," Alesia replied ominously.

The group moved past the guards who smugly regarded the paralysed, indecisive illusions and made for the gate. Even as they passed the glamoured Mages, they seemed not to notice them. Unlike lower-tier magic, high-tier Illusions were incredibly immersive when employed under the right circumstances.

Whetu brought Henry forward. Gwen pressed her master's hand against the double-door as she had seen him do so many times before. There was a moment in which they held their breath, but the ironwood portal opened without incident.

Within the Grot, much had changed. With Sufina severely drained by the Void elementals, the Grot itself was now bog-like, damp and dark, more akin to a rotting rainforest than a verdant garden.

Alesia ushered the others into the sanctuary, led by Whetu carrying Henry. The instant they passed the barrier gate, the old Magister stirred into a semblance of consciousness.

"To the heart chamber... Gwen should know…"

When Ferris and her group sought to gain entry through the portal, Alesia lowered a hand to obstruct their passage.

"We'll hold the fort here," Alesia intoned stubbornly. "The pocket dimension can only hold so many people."

Ferris considered the cost of challenging Alesia's innocuous statement and found the prospects wanting. Had their role been reversed, she too would have barred Alesia from her Oracle room. The Magister knew well enough that within the Grot was the heart of Henry's domain. If she wished to remain their ally and benefit from the operation's success, then she mustn't challenge this particular threshold of their tenuous alliance.

"Fine, we stall them here."

Ferris could hold the Grandeur steady for a quarter of an hour; after that, they would likely have to deal with Walken's wrath.

"How long would it take to restore Kilroy?" Ferris inquired, her lips felt parched. She couldn't help feeling as though she had painted herself into a corner. Watching Alesia's hawkish gaze toward Guerre and his Mages, an uncomfortable alternative crossed her mind. Should the matter proceed toward violence, how would she commit herself? With her Illusionary abilities and Alesia's destructive potential, they could probably systematically silence every living soul within the Tower.

"How long do you propose? An hour? Longer?"

"As long as it takes." Alesia met Ferris' eyes sternly and began to renew her buffs. "As I said, its do or die."

Directed by Gwen, Whetu and the others followed into the heart of Kilroy's sanctuary until they reached a humongous Banyan. The thick, woven roots of the tree formed into a sheltered space hollowed out by the lifting timber. Above, thickly braided roots that hung as though a great beard.

With Whetu's aid, Gwen lifted the ragdoll body of her master and placed him within the heart of Sufina's Grot.

At first, nothing seemed to come to pass. The team watched with nerve-wracking agitation.

"Gwen, do you think..." Yue was the first to speak.

"No," Gwen replied sternly. "Patience, I can feel something here."

There was a sense of familiarity about the mana that seemed to surround them, embedded in the fleshy walls of the Banyan tree. Gwen thought of Sufina, of her Master, and something that would trigger a sense of recognition. The answer she found brought a smile to her lips. Gwen produced from her Storage Ring the gift she had received from Almudj and placed it upon Henry's person.

The scale grew warm in her hand and began to shed a scintillating light, painting the Grot with rainbow hues.

To no one's surprise, Debora left the chamber, attracting a discouraging snort from a critical Yue.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

The next few minutes were agonising, though thankfully, Henry's complexion eventually changed from lily to peach, indicating a slow restoration of the old Magister's vitality.

When Henry's breathing returned to a regular cadence, the group collectively exhaled, finally drawing in fresh breaths.

"Well, we did it." Gwen brushed a stroke of loose hair from her Master's face.

"Thank Master Alesia and that Magister Ferris," Yue injected a hint of nervous mirth into the conversation. "I am surprised she pulled through."

"I hope he recovers soon," Elvia added, her face regaining its colour now that there was light at the end of this particular dark dungeon.

"Where's Debora?" Gwen asked, puzzled that a member of their team was so distant at a pivotal time like this.

"She's outside," replied Elvia, who had seen Debora leave. "You know, her 'allergy' with the scale."

"I don't mind her so much these days, but man, she's such a weirdo when it comes to these things," Yue wanted to take a dig at their xenophobic friend, but Debora's recent performance compelled her to bite her tongue. The Shire girl had worked hard and done well against the Mermen, defending the two Evokers expertly during the grand melee.

Just as Gwen felt at a loss for her friends' persistent distance, Debora ducked into the archway of the heart chamber.

"Guys, we got trouble." Her brown eyes were anxious with apprehension. "There's a lot of them out there."

Gwen turned to regard Henry, sensing that her Master was breathing easier with each passing moment. She could feel through Almudj's gift that Sufina's life-tree was revitalising.

The main thing now was to stall until Henry could recover. If her Master could regain even a fraction of his powers, they could resume control of the Tower and resolve their convoluted crisis.

Gwen touched Henry's wrinkled hands. Her master had given her so much. Now was the time to repay his kindness.

"This is not going to be easy," she began, but the stirring rhetoric wasn't necessary.

"We're with you."

"Let's do it!"

"To the bitter end! Though I hope it doesn't come to that."

Gwen felt her heart fill with rapture as they huddled.
Come hell or high water; she was ready.

When the group returned to the entrance of the Grot, Ferris was in a heated argument with a grey-haired Mage impressively attired in an enchanted robe, decked with swirling Ioun Stones.

"Eric, this is insane! Stand down at once! I can't believe you've set the whole city on fire for your little games! Just wait until the other Magisters hear of this! Lin won't stand for it!"

"I am insane?! You're the one who will be persecuted by the High Council! Kilroy has been a plague; he's been hiding Sobel for decades, there's nothing you can do to deny this fact! His wife is a mass-murderer, the reason for the Noosa Heads Massacre! Who do you think barters for the Mages she trafficks! She'd tied to this invasion, mark my words!"

"That may be! It doesn't excuse the fact that you have withheld the Tower from coming to the aid of the city! You disabled communication and ensured that hundreds of Mages, tens of thousands of NoMs who might have survived are now dead! We're not warmongers, Eric! You've taken this too far."

"You don't know what I have seen, Irene. Kilroy's hand is as bloody as they come! He's in cahoots with Sobel, you'll see. How could I let the Tower fall into the hands of the enemy?"

"Don't be such a fool, Eric. I was there when they fought! Why do you think Henry is in this state? If he was alive and well, how could the Mermen even penetrate the shields? You should know better to be blinded by your ambition! Even if Henry was a mass-murderer himself, it's up to the Tower to implicate him, not you, Eric! Not you!"

The two Magisters of the Grey Faction exchanged a few more barbed accusations before separating with reddened faces. When Walken saw Gwen's group emerge from the Grot, his complexion took on a darker shade.

"Irene, for God's sake, move aside!"

The Diviner bit her lower lip until it flushed a shade purple. She knew that her ally was strongly prejudiced against Kilroy. Whoever had clouded Walken's perspective of the truth knew well the man's inclination for grudges and conspiracy.

"I am sorry, old friend. I cannot allow this farce to go any further than it already has."

Beside Ferris, Alesia stared down at Walken coldly as if daring him to try her.

"I'd listen to Master Ferris if I was you," Alesia spat venomously. "This time, it's not going to be just your library that goes up in kindling."

"Silence, hellcat of Kilroy!" Walken snapped before turning to Ferris. "Irene, I don't want to hurt you, but you're forcing my hand!"

Gwen and the others watched the exchange behind the Grot's portal, mesmerised by the spectacle of Oceania's highest ranked Mages about to square off in a chamber that was no larger than a generous classroom. A single cataclysmic spell would collapse the room and decimate every living soul contained herein.

It was a curious dilemma.
Use low-tier spells, and they couldn't penetrate each other's defences.
Use high-tier spells, and they could tear the whole place apart.

Walken's gaze fell upon Gwen.

"There! Do you see her, Irene? There's the little Void vixen that Henry is raising. She'll be the death of us all, mark my words. A walking calamity!"

Gwen was as shocked as anyone that Walken, a Magister she had never seen before in her life, was addressing her so vehemently.

"I have seen her Void Magic, Eric. She is not as you describe."

"The Council will be the judge of that!" Walken spat smugly.

Gwen followed Walken's cold, dark eyes as the Magister's gaze surveyed each inch of her figure. The man's gaze was a scalpel trying to dig under her skin and uncover how she ticked. She'd felt the same gaze before, when she'd dealt with Mark Chandler - the man was hunting for secrets that he believed was buried deep somewhere within her. As a Magister, the pressure from the man's intent gaze as immense, appearing as though he was dissecting her piecemeal.

It was Alesia who moved between them and freed Gwen from the torturous attention.

"That's enough," she intoned coldly. "You want to bully someone, try me."
"Insolent wench!"

Motes of Transmutation and Conjuration erupted from Walken as the last ounce of his patience was spent. A portal opened beside him, battering the chamber with a terrific gust that forced Gwen's company to shield their eyes. Walken was summoning his familiar, a Couatl from the Elemental Plane of Air.

"A fancy snake isn't going to save you," Alesia opened up her mana channels, igniting the air surrounding her body, menacing the Magister recklessly. "Last chance, Walken."

"Globe of Invulnerability!" Ferris's Abjurer opened with a spell that negated offensive magic below Tier 5.

"Globe of Invulnerability!" Their opposing Abjurer responded in kind.

"Wall of Pounamu!" Whetu did his part, creating a series of barrier shields that ensured they couldn't be bull rushed. In the next moment, a flood of buffs engendered on both sides.
"Bless!"
"Resist Elements!"
"Shield of Faith!"
"Stone Skin!"
"Sanctuary!"
"Death Ward!"
"Aura of Life!"
"Wall of Stone!"

Chaos and anarchy erupted as protective spells of all types and elements flooded the room, dizzying even the most experienced of Diviners.

"Ergh—"

Gwen was a split second away from dropping a Flash Bang when she felt the premonition of something so terrible as to make her heart skip a beat. Beside her, Ferris seemed to have sensed the same thing. Alarmed, she looked toward the Master Diviner and saw Ferris' eyes widen in horror, her mouth moving to utter an indistinct warning.

"Gwen—"

Gwen gasped. She never heard the belated warning from Ferris. Every once of her consciousness was now focused upon the excruciating pain that promptly wracked her body.

"Arrgh! Who—" Her instinctual cry broke mid-utterance, her breath catching in her throat so violently that her torso convulsed. She felt motes of shifting sand crawl underneath her armoured robes; construct her arms, legs, seizing her neck in the manner of a choker. Concurrently, the convulsive panic pushed the air from her lungs, turning her scarlet with asphyxiation. An irresistible force bent her spine and held her in place, helpless.

The unexpected turn of events arrested the imminent mortal combat between the two parties.

"Debora!"

"Debbie?"

"Gwen! No!" The ignited air surrounding Alesia deflated. Alesia was staring wide-eyed at Gwen, held captive by Debora's sand Spirit. Even now Alesia's disbelieving eyes were incapable of comprehending that her sister-in-craft had been captured, betrayed and made hostage.

"Walken… you…" Ferris's face was blanched. Her gaze met the resolute eyes of the girl standing behind Gwen and shuddered. Debora was utterly impassive, showing no indication that she had just betrayed her closest friend, the girl she had professed to love and desire. Her expression was a mask of nothing, a tabula rasa devoid of emotions. When Gwen struggled, she tightened her spell, lifting Gwen from the ground.

"I can't believe you fell for that twice," Debora articulated her triumph. Her voice was strange, sounding as though she had borrowed the vocal cords.

"Good work! Ms Jones," From across the room, Walken congratulated the athletic Transmuter. "I knew that I could count on you!"

The gathered crowd looked from Debora toward Walken and back again.

"Debbie! No!" Elvia's utterance was a heartrending cry. How many times had they survived dangers together? How many nights had they trained, how many days and they spend in each other's company!? The girl had risked her life to defend them only a few hours ago!

"Sheet!" Whetu cursed. His dark face flushed, the symmetry of his facial tattoos outlined by his livid face.

"Debora, if you can even imagine surviving my wrath, you will let her go, right now," Alesia snarled, her the heat of quaking hellfire.

"Bring her to me," Walken commanded delightfully.

To the Magister's surprise, Debora did not hand Gwen over.
Instead, she stood unmoving, as soon as she exited the Grot.

"Now, now, like we agreed. I will protect you. You'll be a hero. I swear by my arcane soul." Walken's voice was seductive and resonant, full of soothing allure.

Upon hearing Walken's promise, Yue's face became so full of fury that she looked ready to ignite where she stood. Opening her mouth to speak, she delivered her diatribe without reserve.

"Debora, God help me if you don't let Gwen go right this minute. If you harm her, my life's sole purpose will revolve around ensuring that you suffer the greatest agony known to man or woman. Do you think you can make it as the Apprentice of this asshole? Think again, fucking bitch. Nothing is going to save you. You know what, even if you die before I am through, I am going to kill everyone you love. Your brothers, your sister, everyone you ever loved. You will rue the day you turned traitor. You can trust me on this. I swear by my arcane soul."

Yue's words were so chilling that even the two Magisters felt their spine tingle.

After that, the time grew dilated while the gathering anticipated Debora's next move. Walken persisted in imploring Debora to deliver Gwen to him while Alesia, Ferris, and the others waited for an opportunity to free Gwen from Debora's Sand Prison.

"Don't try anything, especially you." Debora caught Alesia's subtle channel of Transmutation magic. Alesia felt her brows knit in frustration, when had the girl become so perceptive? She was at best a lacklustre Transmuter with limited innate talent.

"Alesia," Ferris' voice bloomed beside her. She was using a line-of-sight variation of the Message spell. "Something is not right. My premonition senses are going haywire. That girl is stalling, and we must find out why. There is going to be great, imminent danger. My instincts are screaming for me to flee."

Alesia growled. What could be more dangerous than their present circumstances?

The Scarlet Sorceress' eyes measured every inch of Debora's form, searching for some clue as to what was sending Ferris's Divination into a frenzy. Alesia's gaze landed on a small, non-descript ring that Debora wore on her left hand.

A ring. A standard accessory common to Mages sparkled. There were many kinds of rings. Storage Rings were standard, followed by Tracking Rings, ones that had teleportation beacons, given by Masters to their Apprentice so that they could escape imminent danger.

Suddenly, watching Debora's fingers, a stray thought invaded Alesia's imagination, after which she was no longer capable of maintaining the meditative cadence of her breathing. The hot blood in her veins abruptly turned to ice. Circumstances and events converged within like a multi-vehicular accident.

"No!" Alesia cried, her musky bloodthirst transforming into a hysterical panic. With a blast of flame, she Blinked into the Grot. Elvia, Yue and Whetu stared slack-jawed at the point where Alesia had been. What of Gwen? What if Debora made good on her threat?

"You're too late," Debora announced flatly to the still flaming air. "There is nothing you can do. There is nothing any of you can do. Not anymore."

Deep within the Grot, Henry Kilroy, Master of the Ten, Lord of the Ordo Arcanum Oceania, was stirred to wakefulness by a familiar scent of lilacs.
For a moment, he had thought himself still sleeping amongst a pile of white sheets, the heat of the Tuscan sun beating down outside as a dry wind whispered through the Ottoman architraves.

When he opened his eyes, however, the familiar sight of the heart-tree came into being. His head, however, rested not on wood, but on a pair of soft, white thighs, held in place by their supple curvature.

A face came into view, breathlessly beautiful. Eyes as soft as a mellow summer's sky held him intact within their twin pupils. Wisps of bible-black hair tickled his nostrils.

"Hey," Henry struggled to speak. "I wasn't expecting you here."

"Hey." Elizabeth smiled, her small cherry lips parting with breathless desire. "I know we only just parted, but I missed you."

For some reason, rather than fear, Henry felt free. He felt free that after all these years, they were back to square one.

"You know," Henry began. "I often wondered if it would have been better if we had all died that day on the Brisbane Line. If you and I had perished, how many innocents lives could have been spared?"

Elizabeth said nothing, for there was nothing more that needed to be said.
She leaned forward and kissed Henry full on the mouth, her passionate tongue meeting his own. Her lithe white fingers wrapped around his skull and dug into his papery skin.

Like so many years ago, like that fateful day on the Brisbane Line, Henry's wife allowed herself to let go.

When the master of a summoned familiar perishes, all manifested phenomenon created by the magical being ceases to be. And it was with the fabled Grot - the unassailable bastion of Henry Kilroy, Master of the Tower. A symbol of power and stability, the domain of 'Deathless Henry' that had for three decades taken its residence atop the tallest spire of the Brutalist Tower.

Just a moment prior, there was an ironwood portal, a shimmering gate, the distorted space of a pocket-dimension.

Now, a second later, it was as though the Grot had never existed.

Gwen was a tough woman, one not easily stirred to volatile emotions. She was a modern woman, one who believed in self-efficacy and the power of individual will to overcome all obstacles.

None of that could help her now.

Caught in the excruciating torture of her constrictive prison, Gwen sensed painful tears pour from her eyes. She had thought herself tutored in despair when the slavers had captured her, but she'd been woefully mistaken.

Now, she felt genuine despair. Sloshing and churning, the feeling was sick and sinister and viscous, its malice dragging her into the suck of a dark sea.

There was no Grot.
There was no Henry.
No Yue.
No Elvia.
No Whetu.
No Alesia.
Nothing.

There was only the figure of a dark-haired woman, her blue eyes smiling with mirth, her red— red lips a dash of red paint upon a flawless complexion as pale as virgin snow.


"Elizabeth Sobel!" Walken's trembling voice echoed across the half-empty chamber. His usually narrow eyes bulged at their sockets. How was it even possible for her to be here? Walken felt the surety of his plan falling apart with each new revelation. No Mage can teleport into to the Tower without using an attunement key, much less into the confines of another Mage's pocket dimension. How was it possible that this Void Mage was able to overcome so many restrictions?

The Magister's deliberations painfully re-aligned. The cataclysmic shift of circumstantial evidence unquestionably proved that unlike in his hypothesis, Gwen Song and Elizabeth Sobel were not Master and Apprentice.

Urgent questions begged for knowledge he did not possess.
Why was the Grot dispelled?
Was Henry Kilroy deceased?
How was the Void Mage not shunted away by the collapse of the pocket dimension? A multitude of enigmas plagued his mind, each an agonising seed of self-doubt.

Walken's eyes fell upon Debora, beside which Gwen Song, the junior Void Mage, was held captive by a prison of sand. Jones was one who had come to him, citing that she'd bore witness to Kilroy's confession of harbouring and abetting a Void Mage conspiracy. He'd then worked with Debora in secret, going as far as to promise her an Apprenticeship in exchange for whatever memory he'd extract from her. With so much evidence at hand, he'd been confident that Gwen Song and Henry Kilroy was conspiring against the Tower's interests.

Now, however, observing Debora's change in demeanour, Walken realised he'd seen that nervous look before; it was the look of a dog expecting admonishment from its Master.

Such upset seethed in Walken's chest! He wanted nothing more than to have an hour alone with Debora in an isolation chamber, strapped to a chair while a Compel Truth enchantment stripped her mind. Perhaps, Walken thought regretfully. Mayhap, that should have been the first stop when she had first approached him.

"Eric," a Message spell privately bloomed next to his ear. It was Irene Ferris, his fellow Magister whom he'd thought had made her bed with Kilroy. "Whatever is happening, we have to survive this. Even if Kilroy and de Botton are both gone, we cannot allow the Tower to fall into this woman's hands. At worst, I'd rather see the Tower burn than see it usurped."

Walken's response was interrupted by the sight of Debora, who had been entirely passive the whole while, proceeding to present herself before Elizabeth Sobel.

Debora moved, followed dangerously by the steel-like gaze of the gathered. She knelt upon one knee and supplicated before the Void Mage, bowing her head close to the ground as though she was exalting a deity.

"Eric!" Sensing his hesitation; Ferris' voice took on a tone of desperate urgency. "Henry is gone, we're on the same side now! There's been a conspiracy, and you've been played. Eric, please. Don't go down this path any further, do what is best for you and the Tower, for the Faction!"

Ferris' words struck Walken to the core of his being, momentarily draining the strength from his body. By now, he knew that the Master Diviner was right, his feud with de Botton and Kilroy had blinded his better judgement.

The moment the Grot had disappeared, 'Deathless' Henry had died, sending his familiar back to whatever Black Zone he'd found her in. With the death of his old nemesis, Walken's ploy had perished like the animus of an abandoned Familiar. He had been so sure that Kilroy's ilk was the culprits behind the crisis, but now as it turned out, he was the monkey in the middle the whole damn while.

Eric Walken, one of the Ten, chuckled bitterly.
What a world of shit he'd found himself.
With a silent thrum, one of his Ioun Stones activated.

"Magus Fiore— shut down the Disruptor Engine and cancel the quarantine." Walken paused for a split-second, a moment of self-preservation fighting the necessity of action. "Inform Paladin Shultz that the Master of the Tower is dead, that we need his aid... and that once our enemy is abjured, I am at his mercy."

"Yes, my Lord," The answer came swift and unquestioning.

"Did you contact the Brisbane and Melbourne Towers?" Ferris pursued Walken carefully.

"I did. Both are on the way."

"When?"

"Soon, I hope. While you stalled. I was stalling too."

Ferris looked over at the figure of Elizabeth, so casually and confidently standing there as though they were transparent. Either the woman was insane, or she had nothing to fear. Ferris' premonition informed her that under the circumstances, it was the latter that applied.

All they could do now was wait and hope. Hoping that with Gunther's imminent arrival, the three of them would be enough to hold out until the other Towers teleported in.

Gwen gasped for air.
With each renewed struggle, the sand prison seemed to constrain her in novel ways. Either magically compelled or by Debora's will, every attempt she made at summoning the energies of Lightning or Void resulted in a wracking agony that disrupted her mana channels.

Under her eyes, Debora moved towards Elizabeth Sobel. With each inch the Transmuter closed in, Gwen felt a sliver of fear knotting her gut like a razor was scraping the insides of her abdomen.

Was she now about to experience being consumed herself? Her scalp crawled. Gwen had devoured others before now, or at least Caliban had. Even as second-hand emphatic projections, the prospect haunted her dreams.

From the corner of her eye, Gwen could see that Debora had bent the knee. The proud girl's head lowered itself to perform a shameful petition; it gave the impression of a child begging for forgiveness.

Henry's wife seemed to possess no interest in Debora. Instead, she turned her terrifying attention towards Gwen, triggering a wave of nausea, draining the blood from her face.

"What a lovely thing you are." Elizabeth's breath possessed a hint of lilac. Gwen felt goosebumps prickle her skin, painfully, her eyes following the path of Elizabeth's survey as they swept over her supple body, tracing the curve of her waist down to her white thighs. Satisfied with her inspection, Elizabeth placed a pale, dainty hand upon Gwen's forehead. To Gwen, it felt as though five icicles were stabbing into her skull.

"So much potential. Such a waste," Elizabeth purred. "What did Henry see in you? A chance to redeem himself?"

Gwen wanted to retort, to riposte her mocking insult. Though the words came easily, she found herself tongue-tied. Her Master was dead. What else is there to say?

"Master," a voice emanated from below them. It was Debora; her head touched the floor. "You promised."

Elizabeth laughed, a thrilling trill that echoed through the chamber like silvery bells.

"Of course, my child. So I have." Her tone was kind and generous. "You have truly outdone yourself this time. What kind of Master would I be, if I could not even grant such a simple boon?"

Gwen groaned; breathing fire was an extravagance when compared to the torturous sensation emitted by Elizabeth's icy fingers.

"Some privacy, perhaps?" Elizabeth intoned.

Debora said nothing, merely silently pressing her temple against the floor.

"Very well then, I expect great things from you when you return."

Seemingly satisfied with Debora's supplication, Elizabeth expertly uttered an incantation.

"Portal."

Gwen felt yet another jolt of shrieking premonition sending slivers of shivery frost up her spine. She watched helplessly as an orb appeared beside her head, rapidly expanding to encompass her body. As the inky darkness touched her skin, she felt enveloped in something viscous and expansive, like dipping one's feet into a vat of oil.

She opened her mouth to shout and yell when the darkness finally reached her face, but in the deep dark of the bible-black Void, who would hear her scream?

Walken and Ferris flinched as Gwen and Debora became enveloped in a lightless orb darker than black. When it rapidly shrunk with an audible "Pop", the duo was gone, leaving behind a smooth concavity in the stonework that looked as though it had been carved out by master stonemasons.

Next, Elizabeth turned her attention towards them, her baby-blue eyes reserved and serene.

"Well, have you seen enough?" Elizabeth's alluring, youthful face betrayed her aura, a nauseating wave of violence and slaughter that ripped from her like rising tidal water. "Are you ready to meet your maker?"

"Back, fiend!" Walken ignored Elizabeth's goading. Instead, he forced his breathing to reach the optimum meditative cadence for mana retention.

The Void bitch had one thing right. Walken was ready.

"Mages, fire at will!"
"Shatter!"
"Water Bolt!"
"Fire Bolt!"
"Scorching ray!"
"Magic Missiles!"

Though the volume of spells that filled the air was impressive, the vast majority of the cover fire was generated by junior Mages with low-tier incantations. A scarce few of the volleys were from the Maguses, who each manifested their most offensive and destructive spells.

"Fireball!"
"Minute meteors!"
"Stone Strike!"
"Flame Arrow!"
"Air Blast!"

Elizabeth didn't even wince.
A dark egg enveloped her; the surface of her Void Shield was absorbing each spell, their effect causing nought but ripples as the magic gluttonously devoured the devastating assault.

Shielded by the pyrotechnical display, Walken produced a miniature mithril model maze with a snap of his wrist. He began to draw the Sigils for an incredibly elaborate containment spell. It took close to ten seconds for the complicated magic to manifest, the effort causing a sheen of sweat to permeate Walken's face.

With a triumphant roar, Walken executed his trump card.

"Maze!"

Both of Walken's hands pressed together upon the mithril-forged miniature, feeling the component crumple to silvery dust as the spell manifested. It was a fail-safe he'd prepared for Kilroy, fully expecting the Magister to resist his accusations until the bitter end. As his magic manifested, an invisible portal enclosed the dark egg, containing it within the space of a Demi-plane used to entrap difficult foes.

Once Elizabeth was imprisoned, Walken could keep her penned for days, until either she found a way to escape the spell, or until he was out of mana. By then, with any luck, their allies would have arrived. No matter how powerful Elizabeth may appear to be, there was no way she could stand up to the might of Gunther, the Tower's Paladin, Lin, the Grey Faction's only Combat Magister, as well as Uther, the Battlemaster of the Warring Faction.

"It's working!" Ferris muttered with evident relief. She had readied an action to cast her most potent spell - it appeared her involvement was no longer necessary.

"No, she's resisting me!" Walken grunted in alarm. "She's draining the spell force somehow! How is this even possible?! Mages! Cease your attacks now!"

Ferris cursed and redoubled her concentration, compelling her spell to once again manifest.

'Crack!'

A fracture fissured the invisible air, tearing time and space. As the Maze spell collapsed, a flood of Void mana poured from the dark egg. A viscous ooze began to drip from its surface, pitter-pattering onto the floor to form into hundreds of writhing lampreys in obsidian.

"Shit! That's what it was doing!" Walken realised too late. "A Spell Eater!"

Within a second of their aberrant birth, the creatures seemed to sense the group of Mages firing upon them and began to leap, crawl, slither and jump towards them like a dark, ominous tide.

"Fuck!"
"Shit, what the hell are those things?"
"Oh, Gods!"
"Aeee!"
"Kill it!"
"Flaming Hand!"
"Blizzard!"

Panic overruled the Tower Mages' better judgement. The majority of them were acolytes untested by the horror of mortal combat. The Maguses and the Veterans instinctively instructed the junior to retreat as the dark tide approached.

Ferris' eyes swelled with disgust and horror. She'd been holding a Power Word Pain, but with Elizabeth sheltered within her Egg, there was nought she could do in the circumstance.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"Wall of Magma!"

It was Julia, her protege from Rosebay, who had acted first, shielding her companions and Magister Ferris with a wave of her hand. The glowering walls of fire and molten stone sliced the torrent of darkly crawling worms in half, broiling them as they blindly sought passage.

"Good work Julia!"
"Magister! We need to retreat!"
"Walken! What's the plan?"

Walken measured their dire circumstance with a withering look.

"Retreat and regroup! Detach the platform! Don't let those things touch you!"

The Mages erected barriers and shields as they retreated. Even so, some of them had been too slow for the tidal swarm that now covered the floor and ceilings, a milling mass of wiggling darkness that contrasted sickeningly against the sterile white walls.

A zealous Abjurer who'd been shielding his Evoker companion became smothered by a ball of the dark worms that fell from the ceiling. His face of disgust quickly transformed into one of unmitigated horror. Like a gutted pig, the man screamed and screamed while the worms dug into his flesh, slithering wetly under his skin.

"AARRRRrgheeeee!"

The emanated cry was inhuman. Within a few horrid seconds, the Abjurer collapsed upon the floor, the dark worms bursting from the sockets of his eyes and birthing anew from his desiccated, wilting flesh.

Another Mage, a Transmuter who had found himself engulfed, howled with horror as the worms entered him.

"No! Master! Save me!"

Walken fired off a volatile blast of air, the acolyte's head exploded like a crushed melon.

"To the Platform!" He commanded the survivors, "Jump! Feather Fall if you have to!"

He cursed the excessive security of the Mage Tower. For the protection of its inhabitants, the Tower had been made so that intra-teleportation within it was impossible. Instead, translocation was accomplished through Teleportation Circles that formed an intra-net within the Tower's infrastructure. Likewise, though Levitation and Feather Fall was unrestricted, Flight and other means of aerial locomotion were severely limited within the Tower's airspace, both internally and externally.

Where they were, Henry's Grot rested atop a tubular that extended until it reached the zenith of the Tower's highest battlement. It was accessed by a slow-moving levitation platform that ensured there would be 'no surprises' awaiting the Magister in the event of an invasion. Usually, the Magister teleported into and from the Tower by using a Circle located at the platform's base station. Now, they were sitting ducks.

Slowly, the disk descended.

Even so, the lamprey worms fell from the platform in the hundreds, they did not fade or dissipate. From the greasy motes of Conjuration mana that emitted from these creatures, Walken woefully acknowledged these must be Elizabeth's "Familiar".

Though exceedingly rare, it's not unheard of for Mages to acquire hive-mind familiars. It was a matter of affinity, as the concentration and mana required for such a summon were impossible for all but the most talented of Conjurers.

What frightened Walken was that the Void woman could form a near-invulnerable Abjuration shield while co-currently manifesting hundred and thousands of the lamprey worms. Just how the hell were they supposed to defeat an enemy like that?

Abjuration, Evocation, and Conjuration, Walken prayed that these schools were all Elizabeth had mastered, for they were already outclassed and outmatched. Had the manuscripts not expressly stated that Void Casters were glass cannons, heavily limited by the drain upon their vitality? Why was this Elizabeth unperturbed by the effects of Negative Energy drain?

"Sir! The platform is overloading!"

The levitating disk was not designed to hold three dozen Mages at once. Its magic groaned and spluttered as the terrified casters piled onto the metal platform, forcing it to list dangerously.

"Sir! Look out!" an acolyte cried out.

Walken's Ring of Evasion activated, aiding his movement as he dived from the edge of the platform onto the disk, narrowly avoiding a clump of the worms that had sought to satisfy their insatiable hunger.

"Couatl!"

A flash of brilliant silvery mana manifested a Winged Serpent fully three meters tall, almost filling the chamber from the ceiling to the descending levitating platform. Its wings were a splay of changing hues, multi-coloured and resplendent. Its draconic head opened its maw to reveal a row of razor-sharp teeth laid end to end like a line of glinting daggers.

"Lightning Breath!"

The celestial pseudo-Dragon distended its jaw and let loose a line of electricity that expanded as it travelled through the mass of darkness, clearing a blighted path that penetrated the swarm until it struck Elizabeth's dark egg.

To his surprise, rather than the expectant, all-consuming ripple, the line of electricity struck the Void shield as though it were a solid object, fracturing its fragile shell as the explosive energy ravaged its surface.

"Lightning! It's vulnerable to Lightning!" Walken shouted jubilantly to the others. They needed a Lightning Mage! His thoughts exalted until it rested upon Gwen Song, following which Walken cursed vehemently under his breath. Was that why the Void woman had stolen Gwen Song away? Another stray thought struck Walken's fancy. Had Henry Kilroy been cultivating Gwen Song not for her Void abilities, but for her Lightning? Had the old man foreseen this day and knew the importance of having Elemental Lightning at their disposal?

Walken's epiphanic thoughts were interrupted by a wave of malice emanating from within the now shattered egg, a sliver of darkness, too quick for his eyes to follow, shot from the shadows.

Before Walken could even react, his chest exploded. Empathic pain from his familiar engulfed him. Walken forced himself to concentrate; his eyes caught the horrific sight of his Couatl; pinned to the white walls by a dark blade a full three meters in length. Presently, the vorpal sword had penetrated the armour of the pseudo-dragon easily, cutting a dark gash from its navel to the chest. Dark, draconic blood painted the surrounding stones, showering the Mages below in a crimson rain.

"Aella!" Walken urged his familiar to dematerialise. Unexpectedly, he felt rapid fatigue coming on, preventing his command from reaching his summoned companion. A sudden sense of vertigo and exhaustion indicated that he had been negatively drained. Desperately, Walken redoubled his efforts to retract his contracted beast into the safety of its pocket dimension.

The Couatl finally relented after an excruciating eternity, dissipating into loose motes of quicksilver conjuration mana.

"We don't have any acolytes with Lightning," Ferris announced miserably after a quick headcount. "Gwen Song was the only one. Prince's and Riverview has a few, but I doubt they'd loan us their kids for a suicide mission. Chances are they've already evacuated inland."

Walken felt at his wit's end.

"Master!" A chorus of voices called out in alarm.

Walken and Ferris looked up from their platform to see a tide of darkness descending upon them. The worm-swarm and reached critical mass and was now a roving, unstoppable expanse that cascaded toward them like an oil spill. Behind the swarm, whipping the barb-tongued lampreys forward into a feeding frenzy, was Elizabeth, her white skin smothered with bloated, leech-like creatures that pulsed with unholy vitality. She had an expression that implied she was curious as to what they would do; like a cat watching mice at play.

Walken's face turned pale. His voice, however, took on a sterner tenor.

"I am going to stall them with Reverse Gravity," he announced fatalistically. "Disable the platform and free fall to the bottom, find Gunther and inform the others. Tell them. Tell them I was wrong."

"Eric…"

"Hey, I don't plan on dying here." Walken flashed a contingency ring on his finger. "You don't think she can kill me within a split second, do you?"

WHOOMP— TSSSSSS!

Before Ferris could respond, a blast of light so bright as to burn a white shadow within their disbelieving retinas penetrated the walls of the levitation passage. With a deafening screech, the lamprey creatures burned and sizzled until they withered to motes of void dust, becoming harmless specks that quickly faded into nothingness.

From a still smouldering passage came a radiant figure whose aura filled all present space.

Gunther Shultz's robe was ripped and torn, his face caked with mud and blood, but none of that seemed to detract from his Demi-god presence.

"Eric Walken, this is not the place for you to die," the Paladin announced grimly, his resonate voice like the voice of Metatron. "You must survive; for after the Master's murderer lays dead and buried, you will face me."

Ferris' was so glad to see the Paladin that she seemed ready to burst into a cry of jubilation. A roar of ragged cheers broke from the surviving Mages, hollering Gunther's name as the tide of darkness receded to the top of the platform and dared not venture closer. From below, they could see the shadowy, silhouetted form of Elizabeth regarding them coldly from her vantage point, the whiteness of her pale skin juxtaposed against the sea of writhing shadow that smothered every surface.

Walken himself was beset by every emotion.

"As you wish, Paladin," he declared with a bitter smile upon his lips. "So long as the Tower is safe, I am yours to do as you see fit."

Gwen welcomed the cold, hard, rocky gravel.
She had landed awkwardly, uncertain of her footings until she was already falling.

Her journey through the muted vacuum of the Void had taught her to treasure each mote of light. It was as Joni Mitchell had sung, that one didn't know what one had until it was gone. She was beginning to understand why Caliban desperately desired to be manifested in the material realm. The Void was a place of nothing, no sound, no light, no presence; it was like existing within a vacuum. For having spent even a micron of a split second within that dreadful place, Gwen felt diminished, lessened, curtailed in proportion.

When she tried to stand, the sand prison that had bound her contracted, once again sending her into a convulsive fit. The pain brought back the urgency of her most recent memories.

Her Master! Her mentor! Her saviour! The wizened old Magister simply wanted to repent, to find the goodness that his wife had taken from him so long ago, he had told Gwen that she was his redemption! She was going to be his Apprentice, inherit his legacy!
And Alesia.
And Yue.
And Elvia.
Even Whetu.
Gwen couldn't believe that they were just… gone.

With a vicious sense of self-abandonment, she pulled at her constraints, feeling the sand digging into her skin, cutting into her sinews, abrasively biting into her pale flesh as she thrashed. The agony that had so paralysed her before was no obstacle to her desire to lash out, to escape her bondage so that she could visit terrible vengeance against Debora.

"Gwen, you'll hurt yourself." A worried voice intoned huskily beside her.

Her dishevelled face, half-covered by her chaotic, blood-matted hair, looked up to see the very object of her fury standing no more than a few meters away!

"I'll fucking kill you!" Gwen cried out, her speech hoarse with rage. Her comely face was a mask of distorted fury, her eyes two glowing orbs of swirling darkness. Motes of Void matter coursed through her body, feeding off her emotions.

"Caliban!"

The netherworld serpent slinked into existence beside Gwen, its serpentine body growing thick and muscular as it gluttonously fed off Gwen's life-force.

"Fuck her up!" Gwen commanded, forcing herself through the pain of the sand prison's constraint. "Tear her apart!"

"Shaa! Shaa!" Caliban rapidly expanded in size. It coiled its body and launched itself towards Debora, its lamprey's mouth overflowing with grey, globular saliva.

"Banish!"

With a singular incantation from Debora, Caliban dematerialised, becoming dormant in his pocket dimension. Gwen reeled, barely capable of breathing.

"Don't summon Caliban again," Debora advised Gwen with a face full of concern, a look that enraged her further. "You're already hurt."

With a violent tug, Gwen was launched backwards, falling onto her buttocks as the sand reshaped itself to restrain her. With Caliban having taken its pound of flesh from her already weakened vitality, she felt no longer capable of wrestling the pull of the shifting sand. In a moment, her face now faced upwards, staring into the liquid, amber eyes of Debora, gazing down upon her with the same expression she had that night in the desert; when Gwen had gifted her with the very spirit that she now used to keep her prisoner.

"Debora," Gwen forced the words from her throat, half choked with fury, half-blinded with teeth-grating rage. "Why?"

It wasn't a question asked out of despair or spite. It was a genuine enquiry as to why someone Gwen had thought a friend and an ally, a confidant with whom she'd spent almost year of her life, would turn upon her so viciously and without reason.

Was it because she had refused Debora's advances? That was absurd. Gwen couldn't even consider that possibility. If so, then why had Debora betrayed them? Was it as Walken had said, that Debora wanted to win his favour, to become his Apprentice? That made no sense either because she saw Debora kneeling before Elizabeth as a willing sycophant. Was Debora perhaps glamoured? Was she still dominated from that time in the forest, during the Field Trip? That was another baseless conjecture, no spell lasted that long, and even if it had, how could it have escaped Henry, Alesia, Gunther, and the myriads of detection spells active within the Tower's confines?

Debora no longer had that expression of servitude which she'd retained when standing before Elizabeth. Her face was now alive with emotion, so mixed as to be unreadable, changing with each passing second, alternating between tribulation and triumph.

"Why?" Debora said in that husky voice of hers. "It's because I need you, Gwen."

The absurd answer compelled Gwen to pull at her restraints haplessly. The collar around her neck, however, had been loosened enough so that she could speak. Turning her neck, Gwen seized the opportunity to take in her surroundings.

A distant building loomed with intimate familiarity. A Cathedral that was now battered and dilapidated, its precious stained glass shattered by the stress of combat. Had the rest of the Rosebay girls escaped to safety? Were they still holed up in the catacombs? Given better circumstances, Gwen's Samaritan mind would have lingered upon those poor girls whose uncertain futures haunted her. Nonetheless, her immediate crisis loomed in the shape of a psychotic Debora Jones.

"Don't be absurd, Debora," Gwen spoke with an edge of frost. Now that she was taken far away from the Tower, from the pressure of those all-powerful presences vying for dominance, she could once again hear herself think. All she needed was an opportunity, and she could turn the situation around. "If you love me so much, then why did you betray me?"

"It was the only way to save you," Debora replied.

Gwen swallowed. The two girls exchanged a measured look, Debora's eyes were patient, while Gwen's alternated between disbelief, vexation, and exasperation.

"No. I want the truth, Debora. If you're going to kill me, at least tell me the truth."

"I don't want to kill you, Gwen. I want you alive and well."

"What does that even mean!?" Gwen uttered in frustration. "Who are you, Debora Jones? What are you even after?"

"I just wanted you, Gwen. Nothing else."

"Shut up!" Gwen was howling now, Debora's tomfoolery was boiling her already risen blood. Her head felt swollen and nauseated, her cheeks flushed salmon-pink. "Don't try to play coy with me! Do you seriously expect me to believe that you did all of this because of jealousy? Because of some green-eyed monster?!"

Debora would not understand the reference, but Gwen didn't care.

"Tell me the truth! If you're going to do your worst, at least give me the mercy of knowledge. I want to know why I died."

"The truth?"

"The truth," Gwen huffed breathlessly.

"Alright,' Debora replied. "The truth."

Debora's flesh began to change and shift, her mien becoming indistinct, as like the shift of uncertain colour caught between hues. A distinct swirl of Void mana flowed over her skin like dark ink.

Gwen watched with abject horror, her once livid face now blank and agog. Debora ceased to be, replaced instead by a 'face' that was androgynous, white and hideous, whose pale, sunken cheeks were the likeness of weatherworn quattrocento statues.

He, she, or it - had a long, asymmetrical face that was small and sharply structured, with high cheekbones and large oval eyes that gave her an impression of an ethereal, otherworldly presence. The nose especially was short, squat and half-formed. Where Debora had a figure that was athletic and full-figured, this creature was anorexic and hollow-cheeked. Debora's enchanted earthen robes resized slowly, tightening until it encompassed her new form.

"What are you?"

"My mother calls me the Faceless one," Faceless replied without a particular inflexion to her tone. There was no gender that Gwen could discern, not that the circumstances could have compelled her to ask such a trivial question. For the moment, that Faceless had been Debora, and thus was a girl, should suffice.

"Your mother?" Gwen inquired, though she had an inkling as to whom the creature's progenitor may be.

"Yes, the woman you call Elizabeth."

"That means…"

"Indeed." Faceless smiled weakly, revealing broken, twisted teeth that were filthy and yellowing. "My mother had just taken my father's life."

"That's… impossible," Gwen mouthed, her mind in such shock that she had even ceased struggling. "Henry said Elizabeth had a miscarriage."

"So she did," Faceless affirmed. Her grey pupils were two disks of milky cataracts. "When you traffic in the element of consumption, your body no longer becomes capable of bearing life."

Gwen felt her breath catch in her throat. The implications of what Faceless had just told her struck her like a bolt from the blue. It wasn't something she'd considered before, even in her previous life, but the opportunity had always been something she'd taken for granted.

"Then how are you…"

"I'd be happy to tell it." Faceless replied, "but first, I want to make you an offer."

Gwen gazed upon Faceless' malformed mien, though her mind was a chaotic mess, a sliver of clarity escaped the crisis. Now that the moment of fevered rage had passed, she felt the coolness collection of rationality again suffuse her thoughts. She may be trapped and helpless, but it was clear that Faceless wanted something from her that required her cooperation.

Her mind raced. When the present gave no alternatives, then the only option was to stall; for opportunities only died when one ceases to hope.