"THEY'VE GOT A FUCKING LICH DOWN THERE, AND ITS COMING FOR YOU!"

"A lich? Like, with a phylactery?"

"YES! YOU DAFT FOOL! GO!"

Gwen glanced at the Summoning Circle. If she went, how the hell was she going to wrangle her Shoggoth? There was no way she could just leave an intact Mandala here; God knew who might use an abandoned Circle to access her unique magic to pilfer Shoggy.

"Quickly! Else I am going to SLAP you once you get back!" Walken sounded on the verge of a heart attack. "Use my Device as the Divi-Loc, I've set it just outside the western quadrant, GO!"

"One sec... got it!" Gwen turned to her Familiars. "Cali, Ariel, I want you to destroy the Mandala as soon as I am clear."

"SHAA!"
"Ee! EE!"
"Golos, can you follow?"

Her Wyvern nodded. Golos may be inept in Spellcraft, but he could piggyback on her Conjuration, using his innate mana to enable translocation.

"Shoggy... you stay here and clean up."

Gwen addressed the room full of ogling, oozing eyeballs and drooling lamprey mouths. Whatever this "Lich" was doing to her Shoggy, it wasn't pleasant, not even for a kilometre long stomach spawned from the Void.

"Dimension Door!" She opened her conduits. Immediately following her final syllable, electricity cascaded around her body, enveloping her armour. When she reappeared, she should at least be two hundred meters away, ready to recycle her magic. Assuming she took a short break, she should be within range of Dalian Tower within twenty hops.

"!"

A jolt of disruptive mana kicked her in the diaphragm, pressing the air from her lungs. The destination beacon Walken had offered abruptly winked out of existence.

The mana that had been manifesting into Dimension Door shunted back into her body, bloating her conduits and seizing her limbs. She couldn't be sure of just how far she moved, but she materialised as though launched from a wand.

"Whoa—" Limbs akimbo, she bounced off the far wall.

Above her, four hundred eyes spun in their slimy sockets. Disgustingly, or perhaps fortuitously, a particularly googly orb cushioned her forward momentum.

Gwen blinked. She righted herself, cheek-first against her Shoggoth, her arms and legs covered in its silky slime.

What the hell happened to the beacon? She tried to clear her head. Did Walken shut his device?

"CALAMITY! We must retreat!" Golos, having escaped her spell-induced disorientation, was beside her in an instant. Unhinging his jaw in the manner of serpents, the Wyvern's chest rapidly expanded, then let loose a mighty Dragon Breath. "ROOOO—"

A line of living lightning erupted against the far wall, passing through a vaguely humanoid something that had made its presence felt.

"—AAAAR!" Gwen shielded her eyes as Golos poured out his soul. Still pressed against the Wyvern's bony back, she felt the heat of the princeling's smouldering skin scald the delicate surface of her face.

She pushed herself away from the Wyvern.

"Dimension Door!" This time, she directed herself upwards. With a clearance of over two hundred meters, Gwen was positive that she could clear the bunker's depth in one leap. If not, then she was also prepared for a world of non-lethal pain, nothing her Essence couldn't absolve.

Her mana fled.
Another wave of dizzying nausea engendered.
She reappeared a dozen meters away, reeling with disorientation.

"Ariel! Cali!" she shrieked like a banshee, landing on her shoulder to soften her roll. Lich or no Lich, she would show Voldermort no quarter.

"EE!"
"Shaa! Shaa!"

Her Familiars assumed their battle forms, Caliban transforming into its swiftest variant, the spider Wanka, and Ariel into its Kirin guise. With a word and a surge of will, she convoked as much Essence as she could muster under the circumstances, leaving half for future contingencies. With a layer of Detect Magic illuminating her pupils, she pinpointed the distorted Astral Space in the room's centre.

"Ariel—"

Emerald Lightning fulminated across the length of her armour, sending her hair and her skirt into a wild flutter. Her fingers finished the somatic components in a flash.

"—BARBANGINY!"

Fearing that there might be a counter to Lightning Bolt, she chose the rarer two-stage Lightning Sphere. A split-second later, her AoE connected, enveloping a quarter of the room in viridescent electricity.

Bathed in emerald, Gwen adjusted her eyes.

_Fizzak!—BAM!_ The second stage nova rang out, so powerful that even under Ariel's control, her wall-hugging Shoggoth lost the portion of its body closest to the ground level. As the electricity drained away, she caught sight of a region where her sorcery was displaced by a subtle shadow.

"Gogo!" Gwen directed Golos to their target.

"ROAARRRRRR!" Golos let loose another breath, fulminating his guts out, howling so hard he simultaneously farted, irradiating the basement with his retina-searing discharge.

"Ariel! Ball Lightning!" Gwen's intent was to leave no quarter. Learning from her last mistake, she flooded the target space with such an excess of plasma that the concrete cracked and split, spraying shards of white-hot silica.

"Shoggy!" she commanded her Planar Ally. "If you can do something, now's the time!"

_Glug-Gloop— Glop..._

All around their fiercely gesticulating mistress, the eyes rotated wetly in their sockets.

"Fine, I guess you're preoccupied— Wall of Lightning!"

Gwen wondered if she fought a vital target, the Shoggoth would react with great urgency. Nonetheless, at her behest, the atmosphere of the bunker grew thick with motes of cascading electricity, arcing from corner to corner. Unlike her Evocation spells, the conjured barrier would continue to strike her target so long as her mana pool held out.

"Ariel! Again!" She added three more Lightning Spheres to the fray. If there was an Undead that could survive such an inundation of offensive magic, then her goose was cooked. Certainly, Gwen couldn't imagine Tei or even Gunther just standing there, soaking her magic like a lightning rod.

Plink! Plink! Plink! CRACK!

The splintering of cooling stones echoed throughout the secret basement. Gwen's pinpoint pupil dilated, adjusting to the low-light. Hanging a few feet above, Ariel sniffed the air, reporting nought but the stink of ozone. From the far wall, Caliban scanned the room with its vitality-vision, finding nothing. Finally, Golos, now polymorphed into his true form, coiled around her protectively so that she was nestled between a white wing and his plated torso.

"Is it dead?" Gwen wondered if the proctors would find her confidence impressive or foolish. "Caliban, get ready."

"Shaa!"

"Shoggy, wanna make yourself useful?" Gwen asked the room again.

The rolling eyes slowly ceased their erratic movements. By the dozen, their orbs focusing on a particular spot not far from where she had been raining down AoEs.

"Arcane Sight!" Gwen attempted a Divination Magic she rarely had the opportunity to deploy. Unlike Detect Magic, the second-tier Divination allowed her to see both invisible creatures and those hidden in the Astral Plane.

Instantly, she caught sight of a smouldering, shady figure hovering in the shadows cast by her and Golos' illuminating presence.

"CALI! CONSUME!"

Caliban transformed into a black blur. Before Gwen could blink twice, her fiend had positioned itself above its target, its gullet fully extended.

"SHAA!" The Void spider's abdomen expanded into an overlarge, misshapen pustule. Distending its underside jaws, her Familiar swallowed the shadow by scooping up a whole semi-sphere of concrete.

"Did we get em?" Gwen loaded up a Dimension Door even as she searched her Empathic Link for evidence of Caliban's meal. If the answer was "Yes, there's a Lich in Cali", she may have to drown her liver in Maotai— as well as murder Ayxin's Ginseng supplement.

Caliban shook its bulbous, arachnid arse, expelling a slab of innutritious concrete. Fighting the premonition crawling under her skin, Gwen scanned the room once more.

"!"

Her spine shivered.

"Isn't life a tiresome thing?" a male voice whispered beside her ear, causing both Gwen and Golos to whip around, she with her hair and Golos with his serpentine neck.

"Show yourself!" Gwen snapped at the empty space, as did Golos in less endearing terms.

"Is it hiding in the walls like a Wraith?" Her Wyvern demanded, frustrated by the lack of tangible prey.

"What a curious specimen you make." The hoarseness of her croaking observer called from beyond the grave. "A bloodline sorceress possessing dual-elements, and a foreigner at that. I think the Great Leader would enjoy a component such as yourself."

Gwen eyed the exit. She ha no idea if that was the Lich or not, but she had no desire to tarry and find out. In near-silence, she activated the Dimension Door she'd been nursing for the better part of a minute.

"We're not finished!" the horrible voice gurgled.

A rush of abjuring energy washed over her manifesting magic, suppressing the mana within her conduits.

Just before she lost Arcane Sight, Gwen saw the air near the entrance distort, indicating the subtlest ripple of Abjuration mana.

"THERE!" She exalted. "Gogo! CALI! ARIEL!"

"ROAARRRRRR!" Golos filled the tunnel with plasma, taking full advantage of the claustrophobic battlespace.

"ARIEL! Lightning Bolt! Barbanginy!" Gwen mustered up another jolt of Almudj's Essence so that an Emerald line of lightning as thick as her body bounced from wall to wall, leaving Lichtenberg fissures. Together with Gogo and Ariel's duplicated offensive, no shadow was left un-obliterated by their threesome vomit of awesome power.

Now! Gwen attempted yet another Dimension Door, feeding off the steely adrenaline in her Essence-thickened blood.

"CIRCLE OF DEATH!"

Her throat choked.
The bunker's already dim interior grew sullen.

The space surrounding herself, Golos and Ariel turned frightfully frigid. Before her teleport could activate, an enormous clump of vitality fled from her torso. She felt suddenly violated, her lifeforce unwillingly extracted by profane arcana. Before the last syllable even left her lips, her body all but seized up, held hostage by paralysis.

Gwen panted, suddenly short of breath, overwhelmed by vertigo and nausea. Within her arrested bosom, her heart palpitated so powerfully that her ribcage felt bruised. Unbidden, she wanted to vomit, when she reflexively clutched her chest, her left lumbar turned numb.

Terror stirred in the murk of her mana-addled brain. Was the Lich compelling her heart to explode? If so, what about Gunther's Ring? Would she teleport to Dalian or Shanghai, but dead on arrival?

_NO!_ She told herself. _Not like this! Not by a soul-stealing monster!_

Through sheer force of will, she bunched her right fist, then pounded the left-most chest plate of her Shen-teī armour. Simultaneously, she forced her Essence to circulate, bathing in the warmth of Almudj's blessing as it revivified her extremities, dispelling the tingling magic teasing her Contingency Ring.

_Splink!_

A sharp snap in the back of her neck sent a screaming roar of white-hot agony into her body. Gwen shuddered, the pain was exquisite, but it broke the spell.

The chilling gloom ebbed. The world of the living returned.

Gwen reached behind her head, wincing as her hand came away covered in blood. More alarmingly, within her palm, she found a freshly dislodged dragon-scale. Likewise mixed into the gore were the shattered halves of a Zircon Stone, the one that had been mitigating the Negative Energies inundating her conduits. It was the eruption of this crystal that had slived her neck and mattend her hair with gore.

At the sight of her injury, her chest grew tight, though thankfully not from a repeat of whatever the Lich had earlier afflicted.

Besides her, via her Empathic Link, she sensed that Golos had endured the same experience of faux-death. Though subdued, her Wyvern was magnitudes more robust than herself, withstanding the Necromantic AoE with gusto.

Ariel, comparatively, fell victim. As a young Spirit with a manifested body, its vitality was woeful compared to Golos, forcing it to return to Gwen's pocket dimension. Thankfully, unlike Gwen's Void spells, the Necromancy used by the Lich was biological and therefore, spared her Kirin's Spirit.

"You cling to life with such tenacity— how disappointing."

The owner of the ghostly voice stood at the entrance to the bunker, blocking the single physical exit. From the looks of his lightning-licked uniform, her target had not survived her bombardment unscathed.

Slowly, the Lich materialised.

First appeared an overlarge military cap.
Then a salient gold-red star.
Then a deluge of medals that covered the olive garb from neck to crotch.

_A General?_ Gwen felt her mind riot.

_The LICH was a FUCKING NORTH KOREAN GENERAL?_

And Ariel—
But her Familiar didn't matter right now. What mattered was how the fuck she was going to get the hell out of here. Can Liches smell fear? She wondered. Golos was bristling like a hog. As for herself, were it not for the Lich's absurd appearance, she would have made use of her magical underpants.

"You're in BIG TROUBLE, dead man," Gwen replied reproachfully, her brain furiously cycling through her options. If anything, only bullshit can save her now. Her only recourse was to bide for time and find an opening. "Circle of DEATH?! How dare you! Do you know who I am?"

The Lich's poker face was as masterful as its obscene command of Necromancy.

Gwen stared the Lich down, her eyes wide and arrogant.

Without replying, the North Korean General extended a pale green digit. "FINGER OF—"

"OUR PATRIARCH! THE YINGLONG—" Gwen slapped Golos on the torso with a metallic _Clang!_ Then thrust out her modest bosom with so much pride that her indignant neck grew stiff from the effort. "THAT'S WHO KIM IL SUNG IS FUCKING WITH."

The Lich paused, the spell stifled itself.

_You would lie about Father?_ Golos lodged an internal complaint.
_PLAY ALONG!_ Gwen pleaded. _OR WE'RE BOTH MEAT._

With a silent grunt, she flooded their surrounding space with all the Dragon Fear she could manage. Clearly, like Diego, the Lich was wary of the Yinglong. If so, maybe she could negotiate a ceasefire treaty, such as that she would call back the Shoggoth if it allowed her and Golos to go their way unmolested.

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

"You—" The Lich spoke, Gwen noted that its lips moved out of sync with its voice.

"YOU've heard correctly." She squared her shoulder. "Gogo here is a Princeling of Huangshan, and I am personally related to the foremost Princess of the Mount. Me and Granddad, we're peas in a pod, see? How else do you think a magnificent Uncle like Gogo is acting my bodyguard? Not only that, Ruxin— that's the crown prince— he and I? We're tight!"

She made a gesture with her thumb and her forefinger.

"...like this. Tell you what, dead guy, THIS ONE TIME— I might just forgive you for your trespass— but if you dare attempt my life again…"

Gwen narrowed her eyes, circling lightning through her emerald orbs so that her irises burned cobalt. Caught in her delusional deception, Golos growled in tandem, crackling with power.

"… Aunty Ayxin is going to shunt your withered ass into a Prison Dimension. Uncle Ruxin will rain down a TEMPEST on Pyongyang for Seven-Seven Forty-Nine days until nought but dust remains. And when our Patriarch gets wind of your actions— and trust me, he's the God of Wind... He'll separate North Korea from the Asian Continental Shelf and send it into the bloody South China Sea! How would Dear Leader like that? EH—? WHAT SAY YOU?"

The Lich was visibly shaking. "You..."

Gwen faced the creature with defiance, urging the still-confused Golos to do the same. As one, woman and Wyvern stood side by side, facing off against the General.

The Lich's LED-eyes dimmed, then burst into sickly green fire.

"YOU… DARE MOCK THE GREAT LEADER? SPEAK OUR FATHER'S NAME IN VAIN?"

Lich-fear or whatever Liches used to emulate Dragon Fear, exploded across the room, suppressing her and Golos' aura. Then, for the first time since their encounter, the Lich raised both hands.

_FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!_ Gwen raised her hands as well.

"VOID SHIELD!" She called first for protection, then started on her next invocation. "DIMENSION DOOR!"

"FOOL!" A burst of abjuring spellfire washed over woman and Wyvern. As before, she choked on the feedback. This time, the delay in her recovery was enough for the Lich to complete its malicious magic.

"SHAAA!" Caliban closed in, too late to help its mistress but close enough to disrupt the Lich's future casting.

"CALAMITY!" Golos concurrently enveloped her armoured profile with twin layers of leathery wings. With a sizzle, the death-spell struck her Wyvern's wingtip. "GAARRRRGHH!"

"Gogo!" Gwen's vision struggled to adjust to the anarchy. There was a horrid stench of decaying flesh, then she caught the hideous sight of Golos' afflicted wing, decayed to a stump. Suddenly, her chest burst with indignant fury. If Lightning didn't work, how about Void? Could the Lich spell-drain a Void Seeker?

"RUN!" Golos nudged her with his body, sending her reeling backwards. The Wyvern then teetered, too proud to lie down, too afflicted with death magic to fight the Lich in melee.

"There's NOWHERE to run!" Gwen kicked her Wyvern back. "We have to fight! CALIBAN! SHOGGY!"

The Lich had kept itself out of reach with micro-teleports, but now Caliban grew to four times its usual size. With a sickening crunch, its carapace erupted, birthing two additional heads. While five was her limit, the Lich's Circle of Death had usurped enough vitality from Gwen that she no longer had enough to max out her Familiar.

Up above, plastered across every wall and ceiling, the Shoggoth watched impassively. Gwen fumed, but her frustration was impotent. In all likelihood, the Void being was far more invested in penetrating deeper into the bunker network, where its foes possessed life and vitality.

"INSOLENCE!" The Lich dodged a corrosive glob from the three-headed Naga. Its fingers were a flurry of arcane gestures as it activated its suite of Necromantic sorcery. "If you're so proud of your bloodline, then I will present your corpse as a gift! If the Yinglong dares come to Pyongyang, we shall gladly receive it as our eternal servant!"

"FATHER WILL HEAR OF THIS!" Howling even as he limped, Golos covered Gwen with his remaining wing, knowing that the Lich could dispell her shield.

As Golos' warning echoed, Caliban reached its foe. Without hesitation, it attempted another Consume, aiming to end the threat to its mistress once and for all.

"USURP EGO!" The Lich's spell casting continued without interruption. Without warning, a beam of viridescent Transmutation struck Gwen's Familiar.

_SNAP!_ Caliban's central maw closed around the Lich's uniformed body.

_PUFFT!_

The Void Naga's head, together with a portion of its torso, burst into a shower of Astral dust.

"SHAA!" the larger of the remaining heads screeched.
"Shaa!" the smaller appendage writhed.
Caliban struck the floor, squirming like a cut-up worm. It was one thing to be hacked, lobbed, pierced and crushed, and a whole other to be reduced to powder.

Gwen meanwhile, heard the splintering shatter of the mind warding earrings she wore on her lobes. It was the left-most Creature Core, the larger of the two inscribed for fettering Mind Magic that now broke, painting her left cheek with blood.

This limp-prick bastard! Gwen flinched as the residual Mind Magic caressed her psyche. Was this it? Was this where Gunther's heirloom met its end?

She staggered against Golos. With the Lich's unparalleled command of soundless casting, she understood that turtling was no option at all. To protect herself, she would need nothing less than a Force Cube, but that was a 7th tier restricted spell, one she had no hope of accessing for some time.

If so, what the fuck was she going to do? All she had in her arsenal of spells were single target invocations and AoEs. Golos was already getting his ass kicked, and Caliban was getting pummelled to dust in the literal sense. Worst of all, after taking her vitality, her Shoggoth gave not a shit about her well-being, and Ariel was effectively banished. Cloud Kill? Could she flood the place with True Silver? She could use more Void Spells, but the feedback might just kill her.

"You are well provisioned." The Lich rose into the air. "You Tower Mages have Continency Rings, do you not? Is that the source of your courage? I tell you now, wyrmling, nothing will save you from the Great Leader's Wrath. GRASP HEART."

"Void Seeker!" Gwen panicked. In her haste, she had forgotten about her Conjuration-Evocation's significant travel-time; that and the Lich chose not to use a spell that Golos could block with its body.

"URGK!" the high-tier Necromancy struck before her Seekers completed their journey. Conjoined with the feedback, Gwen grew insensible as an otherworldly force took hold of a sorceress' second-most important mana-organ.

"G-Gogo— I— I can't breath—!"

Within her chest, the last of her Almudj's Essence battled the heart-stopping Negative Energy atrophying her cardiac tissues. Beside her torso, her arms fell limp as the precious lifeblood that sustained her body slowed to a trickle. Her brain, abruptly starved of oxygen, robbed the lustre from her eyes.

Her world grew cold— so cold.

Upon her finger, Gunther's Ring twinkled.

An explosion of silvery Conjuration suffused her whereabouts, followed by a burst of viridescent vitality.

"GREATER RESTORATION!"

Gwen gasped.
Suddenly, air suffused her lungs.
Unbidden, the frigid cold invading her body evaporated; instead, her tortured body filled with Evee-blessed motes of unadulterated life.

"Aella! Spirit Guardian!" came the howl of a fatherly, endearing voice. Above herself and Golos' prone and groaning form, a great feathered serpent, twenty-meters from head to tail, engulfed the space around them with vibrant strands of golden lightning. As for the Mage now beside them, he brushed the ash of the spent scroll from his fingers, then flashed toward her a winsome smile.

Shenyang.

Old town.

Eric Walken observed the Flight-forms of Petra, Richard, Lulan and Fudan's rented PLA guards. It had taken some coaxing for the children to accept that they were liabilities in the event of Gwen's retreat. Lulan, in particular, was fiercely combative until he had explained that if she was taken hostage, their fool friend would fight to the death.

But now Walken felt torn.

Despite his promise to the girl's companions, his prized student had not materialised after banishing the Shoggoth.

In fact, he hadn't heard a peep. Worse still, no amount of Divination had penetrated into the bunker since he received word that a signature synonymous with a Lich was headed her way.

A Lich!

Walken hadn't heard of such a name since forever. For all he knew, the damned things were an academic curio. Mythologised to be the ultimate form of arcanistry made to simulate immortality.

On record, the most famous of the monsters was arguably the mad monk, Grigori Rasputin. Though accounts wildly vary, it was said that the equivalent of no less than six high-tier casters, including three Paladins sent by the Moscow Patriarchate, were involved in the Lich's subjugation. Even so, the vacuum of power left by the Necromancer then all but condemned the fate of the Tsarists.

_But North Korea?_ Walken was utterly sceptical that North Koreans could produce a Lich of the same calibre.

Still, the acidic anxiety of Gwen's continued absence was burning a hole in his abdomen. For a horrible second, he even considered venturing into that Shoggoth-infested warren to search for his student.

_Ding!_

"Magister Walken." A Message blossomed beside his ear. "We can't Scry what's happening inside the bunker presently, but your contestant's biometrics just fluctuated wildly enough to encompass half-a-dozen lives..."

Walken's hands felt suddenly slimy with sweat. "Did her Contingency Ring trigger?"

"Surprisingly, no." Magister Jamison's tone was grim. "I hope she's got a good one, though. I don't think Dalian is furnished with whatever help she is going to need... unless she can 'CPR' herself."

"She's equipped with the best Contingency Ring. It'll take her to Beijing." Walken quickly cut the Chief Proctor off. "It's a peerless item, as you should know. You did the equipment check."

"Yes." Jamison's tone withdrew some of its steel. "But she's facing off a Lich, not a hog. Liches embody the worst of us. They know how our Rings work..."

And there it was. Walken groaned inwardly. Only this time, Gwen's conundrum wasn't just the girl's fault. It was also his miscalculation. With the Tower cutting the ley-line, the Wards under Shenyang would have lost their spell-jamming capabilities. That was why, smelling an opportunity, he had proposed for Gwen to field-test the questionable applicability of her Void Ally. Whether they succeeded or failed, a question of academic value would have been answered. And should they succeed, Fudan may yet salvage the competition.

_And what else?_ A guilty bit of cognisance demanded.
Walken's clenched fingers unfurled.
There had also been naked ambition.

Of course, he and the girl had both consented and considered the consequences. He had even asked her to re-consider, though she had adamantly expressed her desire to repair her misstep. But the dilemma now was that he, Eric Walken, was safely outside, barely a few kilometres from the Tower's strategic Ray of Disintegration, while Gwen was duelling a godless, communist, necromantic demi-god.

"Magister Jamison," Eric was surprised to hear his own voice speak without an explicit command from his brain. "May I ask you to relocate to the Tower's triage chamber? I don't trust the communists' healers."

"… good. I shall await your return." Jamison's voice drifted across the Divination channel. "Good speed, Magister Walken. Should you return, I will personally make an appeal for Fudan."

The glowing Message blinked out.

Walken double-checked the contents of his Storage Ring.

"The girl's stupidity must be infectious," he muttered to himself, wondering if he should see a Mind Mage to get his sanity evaluated. "Goaded by a Yank, what would my friends think? Henry must be laughing at me from beyond the grave."

He looked down. Dimension Dooring into a room with so much concrete, Shoggoth, and potentially a Lich was suicide. He would have to employ more subtle means.

"Aella." Walken materialised his Couatl Spirit. From his Storage Ring, he produced a golden idol in the shape of a feathered serpent, the type worshipped by the Aztecian Theocracy. "If anything should happen to me… go to Gwen, or go home."

"Eric! Eric!" the feathered serpent bopped him on the nose. Serpents, as a whole, were woeful at miming mammalian expressions. "Protect!"

Walken nodded.
There was no more time for sentimentality.

With both hands, he invoked the first phase of a tier 7 teleportation alternative known as Ethereal Jaunt. The spell was an old one, favoured by Mages who preferred delicacy, for it allowed one's physical body to temporarily cross the liminal space of the Astral Plane. Once a Mage was shifted in-between the material and immaterial, he was then free to spontaneously traverse short distances.

"… Ethereal Jaunt!" Walken finished the Mandala with a final flourish.

The world turned colourless and transparent.

Below his feet, he saw the dimension-warping body of the Shoggoth, so enormous as to bend the Astral current, displacing the edgeless grey gloom. Within that colossal, oesophagus-like body of the Void creature was the tunnel that had descended into the MSS's old secret base, inside which sat a clump of hyper-dense Negative Energy. And not far from that solidified malevolence was the vibrant silhouette of his protégé, flickering like a candle caught by the Astral wind.

Gwen gasped.

"E-Eric?" she spluttered, scarcely believing her eyes. "Why are you here?"

"SHUT UP and listen." Her instructor's berating tone cooled her feverish head. "The barrier's not going to hold. I am not a Faith Caster, and that's a stolen Relic. We've got a minute..."

_PZZZCK!_

A green ray of Disintegration, perfect for destroying barriers, struck the golden halo. Aella screeched defiantly, flapping its wings.

"... a dozen seconds at best!"

"Eric, I—"

"We will Dimension Door in tandem." Walken pulled her up by the wrist. "The Lich can't dispel both teleports. We'll piggyback each other."

"That's— brilliant!" Gwen's eyes, so dull a moment ago, lit up with hope. "If that's the case, I'll dismiss my Planar Allies! Cali! Keep the Lich busy!"

"Shaa! Shaa!" Her now twin-headed Naga persisted in its harassment. Outside the barrier, the Lich flittered to and fro, effortlessly teleporting around the chamber, evading Caliban's projectile spittle while testing the halo for weakness.

_PZZZCK!_

A second splash of emerald energy sizzled the Guardian Shield.

"Protect!" Aella hissed, still holding the barrier. "Gwen! Gwen!"

Her instructor took her hand.
His grip was hard and warm and firm.

"No matter what happens next," her steely-eyed mentor informed her. "Don't leave the Tower again. Your friends are waiting for you. Richard and Petra, and Elvia in London— they're ALL waiting for you."

"Okay!" Gwen conjured the courage that the Lich had previously beaten out of her inch by inch. "Gogo! Thanks for everything, I'll make it up to you! Shoggy! GO HOME! BANISH!"

The Summoning Mandala burst into brilliant silver as it sizzled out. Golos could return home or stay at its leisure, though for now, a retreat was obviously the preferable course. As for the Shoggoth, it shouldn't be able to maintain itself for long once she cut it off at the source. As for its continued duration— that was also a subject of the field test.

Gwen clutched her instructor's bony digits, feeling such gladness that her heart verged on bursting.

"See you on the other side." Walken squeezed her trembling fingers.

"Dimension Door!"
"Dimension Door!"

Walken brushed the scroll-dust from his fingers.

He breathed out, suddenly relieved.
The girl was safe.
His conscience was at ease.
With this, he had paid back some of his debt.

"You Teleported the blasphemer?" The Lich's consternation was as stark as blighted ice. "That wasn't a Dimension Door."

"Didn't expect that, did you?" Walken grinned at the Lich. It was impossible not to smile. When the Lich's Greater Dispel had washed over them both, it was hard not to burst out in laughter. "Wasn't that great? Scrolls can't be countered— and I know you Undead lads have no talent for Divination. You could Teleport after her if you like. For all I know, you just might pop into the Tower's range."

If stares could kill, Walken was sure the Lich would raise him just to kill him again.

"I know. I know. You feel cheated." Walken opened both hands to show he meant no harm. "Could you blame me? You were killing her outright, after all. What's the use in delivering a corpse to Beijing? In lieu of her absurdly expensive Contingency Ring, I opted for a reasonably costly scroll inscribed by none other than Magister Moseley. Do you know who that is? I don't suppose you receive the Oxbridge Almanac in Pyongyang, do you? How do you bumpkins keep up with the times?"

_PZZZCK!_

Yet another beam struck the barrier maintained by Aella. While the shield held, the strands of gold woven into the spell visibly decreased. The Relic Walken had hidden in his possession since acquiring the Couatl from its homeland would last a few more gloats at best.

"Relax, old chap. Don't be so hasty." Walken forced down the reflux simmering at his throat. "Let me introduce myself. My name is Eric Walken, a Grey Faction Magister. I'd like you to know that in our Faction, we are not completely averse to your kind..."

_PZZZCK!_

Aella shrieked, shedding feathers like softly falling snow. Its power infusion was at an end.

Walken's sped up his pitch.

"YOUR FREEDOM IN EXCHANGE FOR MY LIFE—" the Magister materialised a Divination Beacon in one hand. It was his Message Device, designed to resemble a pocket watch. "Having anticipated our encounter, this device is glyphed with a Divi-loc that will take you at least ten kilometres in the direction of Pyongyang. The city might fall, but you don't have to. My little girl's experiment might have taken down your goons, but I am sure the Great Leader would be amiss if one of his Generals were to perish."

The Lich paused.

"As a token of my sincerity..." Walken gestured to Aella.

With a wail, his feathered serpent returned to its pocket dimension.
As a spell, Spirit Guardian directly taxed the Essence of the tapped Spirit. With both Aella and its birth-relic burned out, Walken was at the Lich's Mercy, as exposed as a new-born babe.

"You would play traitor to your people?" The Lich's disgust was palpable. "And you call yourself a Tower Magister?"

"Better than DEAD to my people." Walken waved the device. "Not to mention, the Chinese are hardly my people. I've got a wife and two daughters waiting for me in London, you know. Now that I've sent the girl back safe and sound, I've got all the more reason to live…"

"Why should I trust a traitor—"

_Glurp-GLOOP!_

The eyes on the walls shifted, oozing its distinctive grey goo.

One by one, the orbs shifted in their sockets until altogether, they stared down at the duo still in the belly of the beast.

As one, a dozen mouths opened to speak.

_"Please don't die."_
 _"Bloody hell!"_
 _"Eric!"_
 _"IDIOT!"_
 _"Come back!"_
 _"You tricked me!"_
 _"Not like this!"_
 _"Bastard!"_
 _"If you die… I'll kill you!"_

Walken wasn't sure if a Lich could shiver, but he sure as hell did.

In all honesty, though Gwen's sweet moans echoed from the mincing, drooling mouths mated to the wall, the spectacle was horrific beyond belief. He wasn't sure how the phenomenon worked in theory, but he wasn't averse to taking advantage of the unexpected.

"The perils of teaching." Walken fought down his unease with a smile. It was delightful listening to the girl's woes, but he would have preferred that it came from her petals and not a chorus of lamprey-lips lined with razor-sharp teeth.

With a straight face, he turned to the Lich.

"Looks like her ASTRAL DEVOURER is finally coming home to roost. It takes effort to wrangle a beast that consumes REALITY ITSELF, you understand. But I digress. Your men are scattered, your troops annihilated. Your city is ripe for the taking." Walken dangled the pocket-watch so that it swung like a metronome. "So, General, what will it be? Is the life of a single Magister worth losing an eternity of blessed Undeath?"

The North Korean General's gaunt face remained unreadable.

Walken held up the Divination Beacon in one hand.
A bluff could only go so far without committing himself.

"Suit yourself. Telepor—"

"GRASP HEART!"

"—Arrrghk!" Walken staggered, allowing the Message Device to fall from his hand.

A little too late, a Lightning wreathed Mage Shield then sprung into place.

"HA! Worm of the Tower!" Twiddling a finger, the Lich summoned the device into its hand. "You foreigners and your weak-willed conviction will never overcome the Path of Juche!"

"You scoundrel!" Walken coughed as the magically-induced cardiac arrest seized his heart. A split-second later, a near-instantaneous and uncounterable Contingency Teleport enveloped his convulsing figure.

"I wish you repose in the afterlife," the Lich intoned, swinging Walken's Message Device gloatingly. "Until the day I call upon your service."

"ERIC! Thank God! You're alive!"

Eric Walken, Instructor-Advisor to Fudan, slowly sat, aided by none other than the premier healer-researcher of Stanford, Chief Proctor Maryam Clark Jamison.

Unexpectedly, there was a tear-stained young woman in his arms and pressed against his chest, a sensation he had not felt since leaving London.

Reflexively, he cupped the girl's face. But rather than familiar azure of Audrey or Beatrix or Angie's eyes, he met with a pair of moist green irises speckled with amber.

"Thanks for the demonstration, Eric." Magister Jamison removed her hand from his back. In her off-hand, she held a recording slate, while behind the Chief Proctor stood two medical officers with Lumen-recorders. "I wasn't expecting a live demonstration— and yet, here we are."

"A what? Of… what?" Walken's lucidity trickled back. He touched a finger to his lips and felt the warmth there. There was a sweet floral taste in his mouth. When he looked down, the girl was red-faced and buried in his dishevelled robes.

His chest ached like nothing else.

"The CPR, of course." Jamison looked a though she'd just finished an intense session at the spell range. "The girl broke a few of your ribs, but I've since restored them. I have to say, I am impressed."

Walken patted the girl in his arms. "Happy now? You gave me a heart attack."

In response, the girl hugged him so tightly that his spine groaned.

"NEVER MIND THAT!" Walken suddenly lifted his body from the gurney. This seemed to surprise the girl, who slid off with a yelp, falling onto the floor.

"Sorry, now's not a good time to play house."

"Wha—?" Gwen's adorable blush turned to one of indignation.

" _G44.22.1-Q22-41-98!_ " Walken almost howled out the coordinates. "Quickly! Someone lend me a Message Device! I need to let the Lieutenant-General know! We may yet catch ourselves a Lich!"


"So— what happens now?" Alizea Kock, the vice-captain of Pretoria, tugged her ponytail loose, drawing eyes from across the room. "What? Don't look at me. I can't do what she just did. That 'Devourer' thing isn't an Ooze."

Her captain, the lauded star of House Hertzog, was affixed to the lumen crystals he had acquired from a sympathetic proctor on a hand-held device.

"So, did we win or lose?" Alizea's voice oozed. "Against... that."

"The part where she choked a reborn Soul Flayer, moaned for a quarter of an hour, or the part where she consumed half the underground bunker?"

"All of it?"

Jean-Paul raised a pale hand. "May I speak, Miss Kock?"

"Speak freely, leech." The Ooze Mage jiggled as she leaned back, languished by the surreal sight to which they had just bore witness.

Alizea's frustration wasn't hers alone. For the better part of two days, Pretoria had exhausted themselves defending the PLA's troops, simultaneously breaching the eastern quadrant of the city. Even at the risk of injury, Schalk and the others had punched through no less than twelve checkpoints, killing six named Necromancers and countless acolytes.

However, a kilometre away from the central chamber where the highest concentration of CCs awaited, they and the PLA Mages aiding Pretoria were ordered to retreat.

The rationale? All troops had to make way for the all-consuming Void Beast that was making its way through the city centre.

The delay had persisted for a day, after which the now fabled "Devourer" revealed itself, spilling over onto the city's surface until grey ectoplasm inundated every conceivable cranny, leaving nothing organic in its wake.

Furthermore, to add insult to injury, the notice came two days later that the Purge was at an end and that the Tower would now move to occupy Shenyang's ley-line.

That was when Schalk lodged a complaint, after which their advisor returned with copies of Fudan's crystals to placate the team. Upon review, all protest evaporated as they watched Fudan's Gwen Song run face-first into a Lich, after which she had to be rescued by her instructor.

Once Magister Walken sent Gwen back to base, the vid-cast ended. When Schalk asked the others how they would have dealt with the Lich, the whole team engaged in a prolonged debate, but agreed on one thing— none of them could have held the Lich as Gwen had.

It didn't help that the PLA had then effectively 'exorcised' that very same Lich. According to the rumours, Fudan's instructor had predicted where the Lich would choose to teleport above ground. When finally the People's Hall fell, and the Lich materialised, it appeared well within the range of Dalian's adjusted artillery.

The resulting spell-cluster was a strategic bombardment involving a Mandala of Disintegration, a six-some battery of Atlas 388s, two Spell Jammers, and a projected, maximised and empowered Sun Beam from the Lieutenant-General himself. So little of the Lich's mana signature was left afterwards that at least a decade would pass before it could be reborn from its phylactery.

"Unless they're disqualified, Fudan is going to out-CC us," Jean-Paul intoned demurely, not wanting to meet Azalea's smokey eyes. "But we should advance nonetheless. I am looking forward to our home match— I am missing Pretoria already."

_"Regtig?_ And why would you think that?"

"Gwen is strong," their Void Mage continued, more confident now that he wasn't rebuked. "But she's a Spellcraft amateur in reality. The chances of her squaring off an offensive duelist from Oxford or the Massachusetts Institute of Thaumaturgy is virtually nil. Strategically, she could utilise this Devourer of hers, but from the fact that we all had to retreat, its ability to differentiate friend and foe must be minimal. If anything, the IIUC will not allow a sorceress with such an unpredictable skillset into a higher-tier competition where the stakes can be incredibly high."

"I agree with Jean-Paul," Schalk concurred. "Especially when the final two bouts traditionally take place in the Wildlands, usually conducted with, or against Demi-humans. She's simply too unpredictable, not to mention she's a magnet for trouble. As for her Void Beast, one only needs to look toward Elizabeth Sobel."

The team nodded, they had all studied up on the modern history of Void Magic thanks to Jean-Paul and Gwen Song.

"And so far, in all of her matches, she had pulled through mostly by the skin of her teeth. And during our current quest, she had TWICE almost met a grisly end…" Schalk reminded his teammates. "Comparatively, we're relatively unscathed, that has to be taken into account."

"And her teammates…" Jean-Paul's voice trailed off.

"Are _hondekak_." Lencho wagged a finger rudely.

"Lencho!" Schalk snorted at their Lightning Mage. "Gwen is twice the Evoker you profess to be."

" _Ja—ja—_ " Lencho growled. "Acting nice doesn't mean we deny the truth. Richard and Lulan are passable, but not on our level. Their Captain barely reaches your ankles. The rest of her team…"

The Evoker wiggled a pinky.

" _Bly stil_." Schalk waved him away. "Our conversation isn't private."

Around the officer's lounge, the Chinese Mages kept a respectful distance from the Afrikaners. Hopefully, Schalk glanced around the place; these junior officers didn't have Translation stones capable of filtering Afrikaans.

"We'll wait for the outcome." Schalk reset the Lumen-recording. "For now, let's review the scenes again— ours, Fudan's and Auckland's. I want each of your thoughts and countermeasures."

Magister Jamison laid down the facts with a flourish.

She had gotten her heart's desire, and now it was time to pay the piper.

"At this point, I don't think there's much point bean-counting." She pointed to the lumen screens behind her. On each was a lumen-crystal playing Fudan's highlights, which was to say, a certain Void sorceress' most valorous and lascivious moments. Though some of the recording had been blocked by the Lich's Necromancy, subjects under the Eye of Providence provided individiual Divi-Scrys via inscribed Eye-beacons. "Need I remind the Proctors that extreme circumstances call for unusual measures— and that Fudan has shown itself to be a true anomaly?"

A dozen hands raised from the long table.

"Jacqueline, speak your mind."

"Paris' opinion," the blonde Magister spoke with a haughtiness distinct to the French. "Is that Fudan should not advance."

"And the reason?"

"We are bending too many rules for them already." The Magister tapped the table with a fountain pen. "First, we turned a blind eye to the Chinese when they fed Fudan the most viable quests. Then, we capitulated to their instructor's request to use the Shoggoth in what was essentially a clear violation of the limitation of spell tiers. THEN, their instructor broke protocol and rescued contestant Gwen Song."

"Noted. Though I must remind you that as Chief Proctor, I did consult with the PLA, our host, it was they who made the request." Jamison stood her ground. "And besides, what would you do, have the girl die?"

"Absurd! She possessed a one-of-a-kind Contingency Ring!"

"She was holding off a Lich!"

"From which she was rescued, when she should have dealt with the escape on her own."

"Let's agree to disagree on that point," Jamison scoffed. "The circumstances for the violation were sound. We don't send students to duel Liches, Magister Brodeur; we don't send Magisters to duel them either."

The Parisian proctor snorted. "You may see a wonderful specimen, but I see a danger. Chief Proctor, Magister Jamison, let me be plain. I know that you got research out of Gwen Song. Thereby, I openly question your impartiality."

"No doubt." Jamison's eyes grew hard. "And it is your privilege to do so. That said, feel free to lodge your complaint. For reasons I can't possibly discern, I think Brussels will take Oxbridge and Stanford's revision over yours."

The room grew frigid.

"Now, now." Another proctor stood between them. "Let's not get so cavalier about our differences. We're all on the same side. Chief Proctor Jamison, what will it take for you to concede Fudan's advancement? I will not fault your admiration of the girl's talents, but her team won't cut the mustard, as you Americans say. The final rounds are simply too much. Consider the mediocrity of their support and the limitations of China's indigenous Spellcraft, and in particular, their rented Healer from Seoul. Haven't you heard that their Cleric now refuses to participate? At best, Fudan has a passable team of five, with the rest being spell fodder. Why send them into the next round just to be humiliated? Fudan won't even have home ground. They'll be fighting in Cambridge, Massachusetts. I am sure you know the area, yes? What possibility is there for another 'Shoggoth' to be deployed in the American heartland?"

Jamison's chocolate orbs scanned the table of proctors. Of the dozen present, most of the contingent hailed from American Universities and therefore would follow her lead. The few that remained opposed, however, weren't easy to sway nor quick to be cowed. The rules of the IIUC were ironclad, and obedience to the regulations are absolute. As their leader in Brussels once said, rules are broken only once— after that, they're just a technicality.

"That may be, but the girl's singular contributions cannot be ignored," Jamison intoned, staring down the European Magisters. "That said, if Pretoria must advance, then I shall nominate Miss Song for the title of Most Valuable Participant."

"Preposterous!" The proctor from Paris slammed the table. "There are two more matches to be concluded! AND the girl's from a no-name, third-string Chinese institution!"

"And should any of the competition's future participants fend off a Lich, consume six-dozen Necromancers, six-and-a-half thousand Undead, not to mention thousands in collateral fodder... They can then convince the PLA, an important regional ally, to offer up Contribution Credits in their name. Find me a Mage willing to do HALF of that, and I'll concede."

"Jacqueline." Another proctor placed a hand on the fuming woman's shoulder. "Leave it to Magister Jamison. We have an acceptable resolution, and she's still the Chief Proctor."

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

"Very well." Jamison motioned. "All in favour of Pretoria to advance, Fudan and Auckland to concede, and Gwen Song as the nominee for MVP, say 'aye'."

"Aye."
"Aye."
"Aye."
"Aye."
"Aye."
"Aye."
"Aye."
"Aye."

"Then I won't ask for 'nay'." Magister Jamison slid a dozen slates across the table. "Sign, please. After that, we'll tally the CCs. They should be nothing but damning, in MY opinion."

Percy endured the constant line of congratulations with the patience of an Earthen Abjurer.

It was a chore he bore with dignity. How else was he going to stomach the nauseating reality that his seniors were vicariously addressing his sister by greeting her facsimile?

"Gwen eradicated the Lich?" Mei gushed, her eyes sparkling, her grin so extensive as to appear comical.

"She was involved in the process. I'd imagine." Percy forced himself to desist in tapping his left foot, dispelling some of his aggravation. Naturally, he refused to believe the gossip. If Gwen did solo a Lich at eighteen, he may as well give up now and spend the rest of his life living in the limelight of the future General-Secretary Song.

"They say her Devourer consumed all the Necromancers! She's a hero, just like Uncle Jun!"

"But she was injured." Percy made a face, wondering when he would be allowed to visit the upper portion of the Tower, if at all. "As usual, Sis was over-ambitious and bit off more than she could chew. I imagine Babulya is going to be upset."

"And Uncle Hai as well." Mei hypothesised un-ironically, having met the charming Hai just once, Percy's father had left a wonderful impression.

"I wouldn't channel mana into that idea." Percy's tone softened. "Dad… let's not talk about Dad. If anything I think Uncle Jun would be more upset."

"When do you think we can see Gwen?"

"Not anytime soon. Our party is going back to Shanghai as soon as Shenyang re-opens the routes. But maybe we can bum a Teleport from my sister. She's loaded, after all."

"Aiyaaa! Rich, pretty, and she eats Necromancers by the dozen! Percy, you're the luckiest little brother I know!"

Percy smiled politely, then sighing, he fell into deep thought while one thumb caressed his Kirin pendant.

As usual, Gwen returned from an adventure laden with accomplishments and prospects. That his sister's Necromantic ability to stack corpses to pad her talent wasn't yet an open secret was astounding to Percy. Comparatively, he had been risk-aversive since realising the pendant's utility.

Nevertheless, though incomparable to his sister's nonchalance in swallowing her enemies on national Vid-cast, he had not wasted his time at the Front. Thanks to the invasion, he had gotten permission from his instructor to follow the 7th Recon in repelling multiple waves of the Undead Tide. As a result, by merely fighting beside the PLA soldiers, he was able to pick up not only the ethereal Essence from the perishing Undead but also the occasional jolt from a dying Mage.

For someone at his tier, his progress had been nothing short of incredible. The prolonged engagement had ensured a wealth of opportunities. Where previously he had hunted the blighted dead for days just to feed smidgens of Essence into the Kirin Core, his ancestral spirit now gorged on a feast of dissipating energies so thick as to form a miasma over the battlefield. Where the NoMs and the Undead had been locked in ultra-violence, he had felt tirelessly energised. As a result, his pendant was now glossy and nourished, its veins pulsing with an inner radiance. That and his instructor and the Captain from the 7th had put in a commendation for his excellent display of valour.

"You're right, Mei— I AM lucky." Percy slipped the pendant back into place, just above his heart. "Either way, this training trip has taught me a lot. My bottleneck on Evocation and Transmutation are both loosening."

"So soon?!" Mei squealed. "And your Abjuration is almost at tier three!"

"I AM the brother of the famous Devourer of Shenyang, after all." Percy mulled over the nickname fast spreading through the ranks. When one desired a fashionable alias, the acquisition was harder than grappling a greased orc. When it came to stupidly suggestive ones, they spread like a swarm of pissed-off fire ants.

"Are you disappointed?" Whetu and the other Maori's protruding bodies ensured that Yue hid behind a mountain of caramel flesh.

"Over what? Gwen being choice?" Yue stabbed at the grape in her bowl.

"Over Auckland being bested." Whetu glanced at their advisor, saw the woman contentedly chatting with the others, then turned back toward Yue.

"I should be." Yue scratched her chin, then pointed at the rest of her team. "But does that mob look they're moping over their loss?"

"... Oi suppose you're right."

Two tables across and crowding the soldier's mess, the Wikiriwhi brothers were slamming down free beers with the NCOs. After the declaration of the operation's decisive success, those not on duty had all assembled in the lower mess to celebrate, with the Non-Coms bringing in crates of bubbling horse piss.

Not far, Rongo, the Water Evoker, sprayed spittle all over, narrating his conquest of the Necromancers at Shimenzi. Rona, Auckland's quaterling captain, stood on a table, entertaining a group of whistling soldiers with illusions of Gwen overpowering the enemy. As for the rest, Auckland's happy-go-lucky participants wandered here and there, receiving hugs, clinking glasses, and exchanging boasts of their contributions in the war.

"Not joining them?" Yue grinned. "They told me I shouldn't drink while the healing spells are still in effect, so I've been stuck with this ginseng root brew."

"Oi'll stay ear with you." The big man blushed.

"Aw, that's sweet, Whetu." Yue giggled, then sighed. "There is something though— since you're asking. Ya know— I thought I'd caught up to Gwen by now, but so much for that, eh? Did you know that when we first started, she had no idea how an Awakening worked and spent almost three months trying to cast Magic Missile without using a Sigil? She was such a clueless hussy back then. It was cute."

"Oi am sure et was." Whetu grinned.

"And there's this time she got dragged by her uncle into a marriage arrangement thing, offered to the highest bidder, you know? And at his mansion, she got hog-tied and put up for auction, and then in the nick of time, my Master crashed through the ceiling and burned the dickhead's house down. It was in the news for days."

"That oi don't remember," Whetu chortled. "You know, are you sure that's root beer? It smells strong as anything..."

"Eh, close enough." Yue took another long swig. "So that's it, eh? Back to Sydney for me. Back to my hovel! I guess I've accomplished my objective. Got to meet Gwen, see the world, crisped up a dozen Necromancers, almost burned out my conduits. All-in-all, a good road trip before I start my new job in the Greater Sydney Militia."

"Blessed moana, Oi hope we're not taking the sheep back." Whetu paled. As a Pounamu Mage strongly attuned to Elemental Earth, the big man languished when left at sea for extended periods.

"I'll send word to our rich bitch," Yue snickered, before suddenly slapping Whetu on the thighs. "Oi oi oi— Wait-a-second—"

"What is it?" Whetu winced, startled by the unanticipated assault.

"If Gwen is free to leave Shanghai after this, and she's got crystals for days…" Yue clapped her hand. "Why the fuck shouldn't she take a detour back to Sydney? Holy shit! I have to let her know before she plans her trip!"

Gwen took a deep breath, circulating Essence to displace her nerves.

Though she had lost Ayxin's scale, the flow and control she maintained remained no worse than before. It meant that "Essentially", her training wheel stage of Essence-control was over.

As for her health, she felt fine, though according to Magister Jamison, she shouldn't be out and about just yet— not after copping a Circle of Death and a Grasp Heart, both spells from which Mages seldom walked away.

Still, her present errand had to be done. Else, she would never taste the sweet balm of guiltless sleep again.

"Ee ee!" Gwen's unseen helper offered a yip of encouragement. In turn, she patted her invisible pseudo-Kirin, then gathered up her strength for the cringeworthiness to come.

"It's me, Gwen." She knocked on the ward door. "Can I come in?"

"Gwen? Bless the Goddess! Come on in!" Mayuree's peppy voice chimed an invitation.

Gwen opened the door.

Recuperation suites in the Tower were neither spacious nor many, so the two girls who had been "Contingencied" back had been shoved into one room, their beds split by a pale blue privacy curtain.

"Gwen, they told me you were injured as well!"

"Ha— I survived, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger, eh?"

"If you say so. We've won, right? The healers aren't keen on details."

"That... isn't for me to say."

Gwen regarded the two girls in their sanatorium gowns. Mayuree had lost the lustre with which she was usually suffused. Heartachingly, her chubby cheeks had since grown sallow, and she looked to have lost her usual weight.

One bed space across, Eunae was no less adorable than her usual self, though the healer's expression when she walked through the door wasn't at all welcoming.

"Yi… yi…" Something quailed under the bed. It was Luyi, Eunae's doe sprite, covering its eyes with its hooves.

"Mia, Eunnie," Gwen swallowed. Just in case, she toned down the Essence circulation. What she needed now was a softer, sisterly touch. "Are the both of you alright? We won the battle. Shenyang is ours once more. The Undead are gone!"

"I knew it!" Mayuree punched the air, a gesture she'd inherited from Gwen. "Great work, Gwennie, I was confident you could do it! What does that mean? Are we going to advance? Are we going to America or London? Marong's currently trading with the Rare Stone and Creature Core markets over there. I am sure we'll be looked after if he makes a request, we're talking hundreds of thousands of HDMs here..."

"No..." Eunae moaned, her brow breaking out in a terrific cold sweat.

On cue, Gwen repositioned herself sympathetically, then reached out with a hand of compassion and mercy.

"Eunnie, are you feeling okay? Do I need to call the physician?"

Her healer began to cry.
Great glops of liquid leaked from Eunae's big brown eyes, painting a very picture of pity.

"Aww, don't cry." Gwen patted the girl softly, feeling every bit the remorseless villain. "Eunnie, whatever's the matter, you can tell your vice-captain, okay?"

Eunae's sobs stifled. When she looked up, her expression was both defiant and melancholic.

Okay— Post Wraith-Stress Disorder? Gwen bit her lip. Despite being a post-Lich survivor, she wasn't at all familiar in dealing with real-life PTSD. What she remembered of the subject was pure conjecture gained from reading the ABC and BBC. As for her moment of terror, it was easy to banish the spring-wrangling horror when a threat could be externally rationalised. That or she was growing a little too numb to hair-breathe escapes for her own comfort. Thrill-seeking, as her old psychologist would say, was no less self-destructive.

"Talk to me, Eunnie." Gwen put aside her problems for the moment. She wasn't a stranger to comforting young interns. As a manager, she understood the carrot and the stick, and though she had never fancied herself Merril Streep from the "Devil Wears Prada", she could be very commanding when the occasion arouse. "If it's a problem that we can solve, then we will solve it together."

"Ee ee!" Ariel comforted Luyi by stroking the doe with its furry tail. Unfortunately, Eunae's Familiar appeared dead-set on mirroring its owner's anxiety.

Assuming an expression of great patience, Gwen waited.
And waited.
Then waited some more.
And then she realised, with a little internal surprise, that there was a limit to her patience and sympathy. As Gwen had always suspected, Dr Monroe charged an arm and a leg for good reasons; that woman possessed the patience of Mother Theresa.

"Gwen," Mayuree interjected when Eunae continued to play the ostrich. "Listen, but keep comforting Eunnie."

Gwen remained still, persisting in her patience act. Mayuree was using a silent Message.

"Eunae's spooked," Gwen's Burmese companion explained. "I don't think you should be speaking to Eunae about victories. She's deathly scared of progress at the moment. I guess she blames you— wrongly— for what happened to her. That and she's frightened. You have to remember, Eunnie's just an exchange student, she got talked into the competition by the Dean just to be your support. She's not— equipped for some of the things we've seen and done."

Like usurping a country, murdering a sibling, quelling a rebellion and selling the dynast to a Dragon, Gwen thought even as she inclined her chin. That and eat people and monsters to steal their talent and Essence.

"We've been here almost ten days now, and we've talked a lot," Mayuree continued. "Eunnie's wish was to be a top physician in Tokyo or Shanghai or anywhere… away from the Front. She thought taking a turn in the IIUC would look good on her resume, but then, of course, we won in Peru. She had thought about quitting then, but her family told her to stay. When it was announced that we were going to the Front, she almost ran, but again, the Lees kept up the pressure."

"Her dad?"

"OVER her Dad, and her brother, too. Their careers had been held hostage. That's what Eunae said. The main family's influence in Seoul is unparalleled."

"Well, shit." Gwen moved to hug Eunae, but the girl drew back.

Gwen bit her lower lip.
"It's alright, Eunnie." She patted the girl on the knees. "I won't make you do anything you don't want to, alright? I'll talk to your family."

"It's no use. Gwen, we'll have to replace her." Mayuree's tone was unexpectedly stark, likely as a result of failing to persuade Eunae for several days. Still, for Gwen, the Diviner's proposal came as a surprise. After Kitty's passing and Marong's take over of the family business, her Diviner had most certainly changed, though Gwen wasn't sure if it was for the better. "Didn't Golos say Lulu could go to the Mount for lessons? Maybe you could learn that healing Lightning you told me about, we'll find someone else to replace Eunae, ideally a buffer like those Auckland girls. Then, we advertise for a Faith Healer."

"I don't know for sure if we're going to advance," Gwen whispered back. "The Shoggoth did a lot, but Walken had to save me in the end—"

"That traitor Magister saved you?" Mayuree gasped. "So the rumours are true?"

Gwen cleared her throat, blushed a little, then spoke out audibly.

"Why don't we take a walk, get some fresh air? Eunnie, you can tell me all about what you wish to do next, and I'll relay what happened after our series of unfortunate events."


On day fourteen, the marshalling rostrum on the second tier of the renamed Shenyang Tower played host to the summing-up of the International Inter-University Competition.

With all three teams standing shoulder to shoulder in the quadrangle, the Lieutenant-General of Shenyang, now the Provincial-Secretary of New Liaoning, gifted each contestant with a pin-stripe palladium medal for "Service to the Republic of China and its People".

As the lumen-recorders hovered over the gathered crowd, the students turned to salute the surviving soldiers. In response, all bowed deeply, thanking one another for risking their all to return Shenyang to the world of the living.

Atop the pulpit, Provincial-Secretary Qíao delivered an hour-long speech detailing the valour of the troops and their sacrifices. He began with thanking Mao for garnering the will of the people and ended with a special mention for Committee Chair Song, whose granddaughter had contributed significantly to the victory at Shenyang. Finally, Magister Eric Walken, formerly of Oceania, stepped forward to receive an individual medal of recognition for catalysing the banishment of the Lich Oi Kuk-ryol.

After the speech, Magister Jamison, Chief Proctor, declared that though Fudan was the overall winner of the Chinese round, they had chosen to bow out. In total, Fudan had finished the competition with a tally of 7,450 CCs to Pretoria's 4745 and Auckland's 3270. However, due to extenuating circumstances such as Magister Walken's intervention, the contestants had chosen to end their bid on a high note.

Finally, the night concluded with an officer's soiree wherein Fudan, Pretoria and Auckland traded contact details. For high-tier competitions, networking was a principle purpose; for there was nothing quite like mutual survival to bond young mages into a web way of 'guan-xi'. In the decades to follow, assuming the students survived to become Magisters, Secretaries, Ministers and Tower Masters, their youthful memories would grow into bonds of trust. Two decades on, if Minister Hertzog had a problem in South Africa, he could look to an old friend like Secretary Bai, or Magister Song of Sydney for advice or support. A few years on, they would then return the favour under no uncertain circumstances.

And so it was that after a healthy infusion of alcohol, Gwen found herself facing a deeply embarrassed and completely scarlet Jean-Paul asking for her Message Glyph.

"Shall we take a stroll?" Gwen extended an elbow. "You did say you wanted to talk in private."

"Y-yes." In his double-breasted jacket, the pale Jean-Paul was positively oozing, not unlike a lightly-salted slug.

For the farewell party, the students had changed into their best for the mass media. As before, Gwen had dressed her team in oriental-themed garbs, rehashing the same outfits from Cuzco with different accessories. For herself, she had chosen a midnight blue floral cheongsam with a classic thigh-split, paired with a pair of platform pumps in pearl. It wasn't anything outlandish, but the lumen-recorders burned bright nonetheless.

Comparatively, Auckland was decisively uncomfortable wearing three-piece suits, meaning the moment the media relented, the men were reduced to tie-less dress shirts. As for the three female members, it was Yue who naturally stood out— both for being the only Asian in a throng of caramel giants and her halter-maxi, on loan from Alesia.

And for Pretoria, the Afrikaners reminded Gwen of a wedding party, with the men stiff in charcoal herringbone, adorned with ties in sunburst and emerald, accessorised with union-jack pocket squares. In such a garb, even the boisterous Lencho was pleasing to the eye, proving that even lipstick did work on hogs. Comparatively, the women were more florid in their attire, with Alizea, Ella, Izette and Mariette igniting many an imagination.

As for her present company, Gwen wondered if Jean-Paul had intentionally morphed his self-fitting suit two sizes too large, appearing so hollow that, for a moment, she wondered if Umzokwe would crawl out to say hello.

"We're alone now." Gwen found a place by the outer wall. Gingerly, she tucked her dress against her buttocks with both hands, then sat between the jutting battlement. "So, what's Mevrou Bekker's proposal?"

Jean-Paul's face was by now the colour of boiled beetroot. The Void Mage had been shadowing her all night, leading Richard to joke that she had gained a new Familiar.

"Before I explain— how do you like my spells?" Jean-Paul began with an unusual ice-breaker. "Like… Usurp and Consumptive Orb, did you watch the lumen-crystals I sent over?"

"I watched them twice!" Gwen sighed wistfully, turning her face to enjoy the wind. With the Undead gone and the ley-line thrumming below, the night had lost its malicious chill. "Simply masterful, Jean-Paul. Compared to you, I feel like a bruiser. There's going to be so much I have to learn and relearn in London. But of course, you said they're not for trading."

"Well, they could be…"

"THEY CAN?" Gwen perked up. Flashing Jean-Paul a simpering smile, she arched her spine to present her best profile, her heels swinging like puppy tails. "Go on, I am listening. I've got CCs to burn, babe."

"Babe? YES! NO! I mean..." Jean-Paul stared at her shoes. "Oh, you meant me, right, right… er…"

Gwen awaited the Void Mage's offer, weighing the young man with considerable attention.

"Umm— look, I am going to just come out and say this. The Mevrou gave me a 'Quest', if you will, for my benefit, that is..."

"I am listening."

Jean-Paul looked her in the eyes.
She smiled back.
The Void Mage grinned, looking very thirsty indeed.
Fighting back a snort, Gwen redirected her mirth toward more constructive feelings. While Jean-Paul remained the most malformed creature she had ever seen, his unique visage now appeared to her a sort of cuteness associated with Sphinx Cats.

"Goed, I am going to say it— okay?"

"Ja."

"The Mevrou will teach you all the spells she has made if you can lend me... your _egg."_

Gwen blinked. "My _what_?"

"Egg?" Jean-Paul appeared to look for a crack to crawl into.

"Like…" Gwen made a somewhat obscene gesture with her fingers that resembled an okay sign, then poked a finger into it. For some reason, all she could think of was Ayxin and Jun.

"No! Your o..." Jean-Paul's eyes fell lower to where her waist tapered, and her hips flared out.

"You mean—" Gwen felt suddenly dizzy. "My OVARIES?"

"I think? I am not sure why I said egg... eggs."

"I think the Mevrou inferred my womb."

"Ah?" Jean-Paul looked hopeful.

But Gwen's expression was no longer kind nor friendly.

"I take it she wants to see what happens when two Void Mages conceive a child," she intoned, gritting her teeth. The vision of Axyin in her mind was quickly replaced by the face of Elizabeth Sobel. "I understand her concern, but I am really questioning her intent. Let's say I am missing a few brain cells and consent—"

"Er…" Jean-Paul looked as though he was emerging from a sauna. "I… I don't know? I mean, I would imagine marriage first… I am supposed to be Catholic."

"—Whatever. Sure. BUT then what? What happens if there IS a child? Is she going to take my BABY? Is she expecting a mother to give up her babe? For what? Her experiments? That's monstrous!"

Even as Gwen spluttered, she glared at Jean-Paul, her eyes sharp with displeasure. Together with her rising ire, a wave of Dragon-fear rippled out, prickling the shivering Jean-Paul with icy jabs of primordial terror.

"I think I misunderstood—"

"I don't fucking think so." Gwen's voice grew infinitely stiff, turning almost into a rumble. "No. No. No. Jean-Paul, you're barking up the wrong tree, mate."

"I meant no offence." Jean-Paul raised both hands. His pupils turned midnight as he circulated notes of Void to fight off the gut-clenching fear. "I think I misinterpreted my Quest."

"Whatever." Gwen stood. In her heels, her Amazonian stature towered over the little man. "A little tact could have helped to lubricate your proposal."

"I am not good with love, or romance, or dates." Jean-Paul's eyes floated like a pair of runny eggs. "I've never touched a woman either—"

"Okay, a little too much info there," Gwen groaned, realising Jean-Paul really was serious. Scattering her bubbling Essence, she withdrew the Dragon-fear. "Tell ya what, bud, I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. What are the Mevrou's exact words?"

"My Master wanted to know if it was possible for two Void Mages…"

"To conceive?"

"… to find attraction in one another, and to start a family. She often spoke of children. She also said you might be interested in learning real Void Magic."

"That's fucked up, JP." Gwen decided she should be honest as well. "First of all, I am absolutely not whoring myself out for Signature Spells, no matter how bloody good they may be. Second of all, this hypothetical kid is your son or daughter, JP, and MY flesh and blood. How the hell am I supposed to give him or her up to your Master? What kind of monstrous mother would do that? Fucken oath, I don't know about you, but my child would mean the world to me. I would never abandon them! Your Mevrou would have to pry the baby from my cold dead hands!"

Without warning, Jean-Paul misted over.

"JP! Do you understand— Whoa!" Gwen paused when Jean-Paul oozed in earnest, leaking fluids from every facial orifice.

"You're a good person, Gwen." Jean-Paul fought back his choking voice.

Gwen scratched her head, then recalled what Schalk had revealed about their Void companion. "Oh— Oooo— bugger. I am sorry if I made you remember something unpleasant."

Jean-Paul reached out with his hands.
She allowed the young man to cup her fingers.
Gingerly, the Afrikaner kissed the tip of her digits, then clasped them with his own.

"You're so beautiful and strong —"

Gwen felt goosebumps crawl up her thighs, but before she could withdraw her hand out of disgust, Jean-Paul continued.

"Gwen, I am a bastard born from a whore and a no-name Mage." Jean-Paul stared into her palm as though reading his fortune from the creases on her skin. "The farm I grew up on, it was for talented children who tested positive for rare magic. We were orphans, and we were raised by a Sister. I was there out of luck and pity, but the others— the Mevrou told me they were part of a breeding program by the country's elites. Effectively, we were livestock…"

If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

"Jesus, that's terrible." Gwen resisted hugging the poor sod. Instead, she optioned to sit beside him. At any rate, her womb wasn't for sale, though she was keenly interested in Jean-Paul's origin story. If anything, Schalk said there was quite the saga. "If you're keen to talk, JP, you might as well recount from the beginning. I think I know what the Mevrou wants, and I am not upset, really. We Void Mages are a rare breed, bud, and we should stick together… platonically."

And so, Jean-Paul began.
Gwen listened, commenting every now and then, gasping when the NoMs raided the orphanage for the first time, then fought down her anger when they returned. After Jean-Paul's beloved Mevrou finally entered the scene, she understood why the young man thought the world of his Master.

"The Mevrou told me that we were spare bodies bred to fuel the exhaustion of talent brought by the civil war. She's a little strange, but she's a sincere individual and the closest thing I have ever had to a parent," Jean-Paul explained, exhausted by the emotional outpouring. "Therefore, I sincerely believe in her vision, that together, as a pair, our lives will be better than if we went our separate ways."

Oh boy, Gwen sighed as she traced Jean-Paul's train of thought.
The idea that two Void Mages are better than one was difficult to refute.

After all, who could a Void Mage speak to about their fears?
Who would understand their unyielding hunger?
Who else could empathise with their guilt?

How could a Void Mage open themselves up to anyone but another of their kind? Even herself who had friends and family aplenty had never told anyone the explicit extent of her talent. Since her Master died, not a single other, not Gunther, not Alesia, not Walken or even Petra or her Babulya, fully understood the potential of her talent should she unshackle morality from power, damn the Noblesse Oblige.

Gingerly, she cupped her companion's head and guided Jean-Paul so that the back of his high-rising skull rested against her thigh.

"Don't move," she told the blushing young man. "Let me talk."

"Alright."

"I understand your desire, JP," she said softly. "A family, a home; the power to ward away the wolves and live a life of your own choosing. A lover who understands your fears, your pain, your suffering and your triumphs. That's nice. Those are all admirable goals. I get it."

"Then..."

Gwen interrupted her fellow Void Mage. "Shush—"

"..."

"JP, do you know what love is?"

"I think so."

"Shouldn't you marry the person you love?"

"That only happens in stories," Jean-Paul replied.

"Don't move." Gwen pushed him back against her leg.

"..."

"Good. Let's talk love and Spellcraft— since your Master is offering a two-in-one package."

Jean-Paul looked up at her.
Gwen puckered her lips thoughtfully.

"To me, having power means having the privilege of falling in love with who I want. If I was to marry you and conceive a child so that I could learn the Mervrou's invocations; I would do so to fund my personal power. And once I have what I want, I would leave, because I don't desire power for power's sake. In fact, for making me auction the most sacred part of myself, I would hate myself, and then you, and then your Mevrou. I would loathe such a thing with every fibre of my being. Even if you had made a better case, and I was to fall in love with you, I would doubt myself— do I really care for you? Or are my feelings tainted by ulterior motives? It's a no-win situation, JP, do you see?"

Jean-Paul nodded.

"I am not a romantic, Jean-Paul. I've been through enough to know that the love they show in Vid-cast dramas doesn't exist. I also know that for folks like us who can depopulate a town if left unchecked, marriage is a BIG deal. Nonetheless, I am refusing your offer. One, I barely know you and that my feelings for you are purely platonic. Two, I am rejecting you because you can do better, because one day, someone will appear who genuinely loves you, and then you'll regret everything."

"But..."

"No." Gwen shook her head. "You don't know me, Jean-Paul. You see a polished stone, but underneath, I am a mess of fractures. I am selfish, egotistical, arrogant. I am greedy, and a born hypocrite. I like to talk a good game, but I don't want to sully my hands. I honestly don't think I'll make a right partner for anyone. God knows I am a terrible friend, did you see what happened to Eunae? Did you know we had a teammate, Kitty Liang, that I abandoned to a Naga on a mountaintop, and I felt fucking great doing it?! I was singing myself praises! Viva la vengeance! Of course, eventually, I realised too late Kitty was innocent after all... after I voided her corpse... okay, now I am crying, you asshole."

"..."

The two Void Mage sat side by side, drying their eyes.

"... I ate Sister de Mulder." Jean-Paul suddenly confessed. "And the other children too."

"... fuck me dead..."

"Ja."

"Bloody oath... what a pair we make." Gwen began to laugh, thinking of Caliban's first foray. "For the record, I did that too. A whole den of NoMs and captive Mages."

Jean-Paul snorted, then paused, then joined her bitter laughter.

From atop Shenyang Tower came the roaring of two Void Mages, laughing at the world, laughing at themselves because sometimes, anything was better than silence.

"Gwen?"

"Yeah?"

"Later, do you mind if I come and find you?"

"Sure, but why not make a Tower of your own? You're Meister Bekker's Apprentice. I am a nobody."

"Hey?"

"Ah— you're too modest by half."

"So... I can visit?"

"Sure— you're welcome, bud. I don't know what the Mevrou's expecting from me, but I'll reserve a spot for you, I promise."

"Thanks."

Gwen leaned back, throwing her weight on the palm of her hands.

"Good luck with the competition, JP. Show the world what we Void Mages can do."

"I will. And..."

"And?"

"When I said I'd come to see you, I meant in a few months... I'll see you in London. Our universities are less than an hour's flight apart..."

"... Bloody hell!" Gwen slapped Jean-Paul on the forehead, causing the young man to yelp. "Get off my leg, you cad! You got me all sentimental for no reason!"

Shanghai.

For a week, the politburo debated whether a national holiday should be declared for the reclamation of Shenyang. The victory was a piece of welcoming news— but the CCDI under Secretary-General Miao advised against celebrations. Do not grow lax, Miao intoned; not when the likelihood existed that the city may be retaken.

Nonetheless, a celebration WAS in order. Thus, the largest festival since the fiftieth anniversary of the People's Liberation poured across China's cities, setting alight the night sky with fireworks and illusions.

And in and amongst the dazzling, effect-added propaganda projected from lumen-casters in every square, the citizens of the Middle Country raised cups to the team Fudan.

Of the group, Lulan emerged as the crowd favourite. From the very first broadcast, the vid-projections had emphasised her hot-blooded, iron-wrought "Patriotism".

A notch down the totem pole sat the flame-trailing Jiro, immortalised by a scene of the Fire Mage laying down Phoenix Pinions to defend the PLA soldiers. Lower still, Rene and Anita emerged as regional favourites, each upheld by their respective Frontier regions as paragons of modern Magehood.

When the news broke that Fudan had chosen not to go on ahead with the IIUC's semi-finals, the response had been devastating. But, the concession was soon buried under the reconstruction of Shenyang. While some questioned why so little vid-cast of the pretty vice-captain was shown, or why the principal CC champion fled the IIUC, their suspicions were quickly glossed over by the mass of troops, labourers and Mages marching into Liaoning. "Soon", declared Central from the People's Assembly, a thirteen-hundred kilometre long, ten-kilometre wide strip of "salted earth" would be dug out beside the Yalu River to segregate the North Korean peninsula forever.

And as each Frontier province conscripted its able-bodied men, the cries of separated families soon snuffed all interest in the IIUC.

As for the contestants, they first returned to Fudan from the Front to receive a thank you speech from the Dean in the assembly hall, then went about taking advantage of their ephemeral spotlight.

"Gwen, Richard, come see me once you're finished." Dean Lou was the very definition of courtesy. "We need to finalise your documents."

"Will do." The duo waved at the Dean.

Upon Gwen's and her cousin's return, Dean Luo had informed them that he had worked tirelessly to ensure Richard also had a placement in Cambridge. It was a kindness performed by vice-chancellor Butterfield to facilitate Gwen's uncomplaining transfer. The caveat though was that an ancient college like Peterhouse was too good for Richard. Instead, the Abjurer could enter Wolfson, one of the modern collegiates with a less severe transfer policy. Naturally, the Dean assured them, the students' performances in Shenyang had helped grease the wheels of cumbersome bureaucracy, so some credit should go to themselves.

Outside, the paparazzi awaited. Though Fudan's fame had fallen in the week since; there was more than enough mana left for the gossip magazines and the local press to make mountains out of molehills. And so, in front of the thundering globes, under Guanghua Hall, the students stood with Gwen and Tei, having their lumen-pics taken.

Now that the proverbial banquet was at an end, Gwen felt strangely melancholic. In her mind, the team was going to stay together for at least two more matches. Nonetheless, the fact that a group she had spent almost three months with was now going their separate ways was a reality she found difficult to accept.

Her captain, Tei Bai, had offered his wholehearted congratulations. After woodenly receiving a kiss on the cheek, he thanked her for catalysing his dream of taking Fudan beyond China. When Gwen asked of his future, Tei startled her by saying there wasn't much he looked forward to. To inherit the position of Clan Head was his duty, and that was that. The fact that he got to see so much of the world before he assumed his life-long vigil was enough.

The same sentiment was echoed by the other third-years, who would now be entering society. Rene looked forward to returning to the Thundering Peninsula south of Guangdong to assume future duties as de-facto head of her House. Anita chose to remain in Shanghai, though she now dithered between joining the PLA or the Pudong Tower, knowing that one offered present advantages, while the other allowed her to maintain future relationships with Gwen and company.

As for Jiro, he no longer lusted after a position of influence and power in Asia. Instead, he said that he wanted to travel the world, selling his skills and polishing his spells. In a heartfelt confession, Jiro intimated that having seen beautiful sorceresses with hair the colour of sun-silk and eyes the blue of the sea, there was no possibility of him been bogged down by an arranged spouse. If anything, he wouldn't rest until he had visited all corners of the world.

After which Rene slapped Jiro, inferring that either he was coming to the Thundering Peninsula with her, or she would have him castrated here and now. Sulkily, Jiro conceded, promising Gwen that he may very well visit when she acquired her very own Tower.

Of the remaining two, Mayuree would graduate the next year after earning her degree in Divination, though her life, much like Tei's, was set in stone. As the mistress of the House of M, she would spend her time between Shanghai and Myăma. Of her separation from Gwen, she felt unintimidated. The unspoken truth was that someone with Mayuree's wealth and influence could really travel anywhere in the world if she wished. Even if Gwen and the others were going to be in London, LR Message conferences or a monthly ISTC jolt to London, Paris, Frankfurt, or any of the larger cities proved relatively painless.

Conversely, Lulan's future was in flux. Now a celebrity, the PLA promised complete support, conceiving of Lulu as a wedge to dislodge the influence of the Clans. Nevermind that the girl herself was only interested in swinging her sword, the PLA desired a new Ashbringer. And so long as she sword-danced to the Party's tune, she would feature prominently in the future of many young Mages' minds. As for Kusu, the young man was simply overwhelmed by it all, asking if it was at all possible for them to leave China as well. Gwen's response was that she wouldn't dare deprive the PLA of Lulan, at least not yet. But, they should be well looked after once she brought Ruxin onboard.

And finally, Eunae attained her heart's desire. One of the first things Gwen enacted upon returning to Shanghai was relaying her concerns for the half-Korean member of her team. Between Secretary Song, her Babulya, Dean Luo, and the power of HDMs dispensed by the House of M, Eunae would have a position waiting for her in the first PLA Army hospital should she wished, or in Pudong Tower. However— where the "Lees" were concerned, Eunae was on her own. No one had the clout to force the Chaebol to heel, not when ten families owned more than a quarter of a nation's GDP. With so much authority, it was little wonder Eunae's uncles believed themselves Demi-gods.

And so, all good things now came to an end.
And standing on the steps of the towers, Gwen felt she had aged a decade. Gone was the last vestige of her teenagehood, for once she left Fudan's gates, a new chapter of her life would begin.

"Once more!" A reporter hailed the group. "Big grins for the Shanghai Extra!"

Gwen put on her most dazzling smile.

Suddenly, Richard wrapped a hand around her shoulder, then squeezed her tightly.

"What's sup, Dick?" Gwen whispered by his ear.

Her cousin waited for the camera to flash, then leaned across and kissed her on the side of her head, eliciting a few squeals from the watching crowd. Richard hadn't been promoted much on the national vid-casts, but he had a fan-following of girls from around the university, especially the local senior high school.

"What was that for?" Gwen touched the side of her head.

"An apology in advance."

"For what?"

"For that... " Richard pointed at the wall of bodies.

"GWEEEEEEEN! MY BEAUTIFUL NIECE!" an ear-splitting shout pierced the crowd.

Gwen shrivelled; all sentimentality, all goodwill, all feelings of effervescence evaporated.

Her Uncle Kwan, only a head shorter than Whetu and wearing a scurfy suit, stepped from the circle of reporters. "AND MY SON! THANK MAO, THAT'S MY SON AND NIECE!"

Gwen's reflexive desire was to call a Vold Bolt to rid the world of this travesty. When she finally focused her eyes, however, her heart softened.

The boisterous Kwan had clearly lost weight since the events of Sydney. Whatever his old wealth and power had been, living the better part of one and a half years as a refugee, forced to work for Surya in exchange for board and food had milled her prideful uncle down to the stumps. For Gwen, who had once been so intimidated by Kwan's mere presence, the sallow-cheeked, grey-haired Indonesian now appeared Negatively Drained. Behind Kwan, another well-known face, that of Aunt Tali, loitered in the crowd, too embarrassed to make herself known.

"Sorry…" Richard half-sighed, half-grinned. "Thank fuck we're both going to London, eh?"