The once misty dome above my command center has become translucent and brittle. Dawn has begun yet it is hardly noticeable as the light and sound from the artillery spells slamming into the dome above me is non-stop. No longer is it the pitter pater of artillery it was a few hours ago, my enemies can sense blood in the water. They are ready to end things now. So am I.

“ Sir the dome will not last another twenty minutes, you must move to the next defenses.”

“ I am not going to abandon this reality quite so easily.” I pause for a second, mostly for effect.

“ Begin! The final ritual!”

I suspect if the gold Blue next to me had been capable of rolling its eyes it would have.

“ Maker the ritual would be more effective in the sub-reality, using it here in the Other is just wasteful of resources.”

“ Question not the Maker, you have not yet been equipped with a sense of style!”

I will admit I have not slept for a very long time, I think about a week, but really who is counting? The final defense plans had been laid out almost three months ago after we lost the Battle of Boston. Still overseeing it is very different from drawing it up with a room of gold Blue’s and my personal attachés. All of my non-Copto advisors are gone now. Some because I like them too much to send to their deaths, some just disappeared in the night when things went bad.

More and more Coptos disappear into the command center leaving only carefully hidden pockets of Reds and Yellows supervised by copper Blues. It is always a shame to lose Blues but spite knows no bounds. I motion to the Violet standing next to me. It nods and shoots a bolt of fire into the air giving the signal to begin the final stage. The dome shifts, the upper parts becoming more opaque as the bottom fades out of sight. What was once a shield against the outside has become a ceiling against artillery.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

For a few seconds, nothing happens and then a roar erupts from all directions. The sound of hooves, bells, and running men fills the air. In front of me, a spearhead of the enemy forces crashes through the outermost barricades led by a mixture of mounted Fey and Knights. Behind the riders, battalions clad in bronze or steel advance slaughtering any surviving Coptos left behind from the charge. The leading Fey draw back their bows and fire. Arrows fall upon the command center some bouncing off of my personal wards.

And then reality warps, the sky above the riders stretching like plastic wrap until it tears, revealing endless darkness behind it. Something foul this way comes. The riders scatter in all directions and the battalions scramble backward. It is too late, the rip widens and the Whale emerges.

What exactly comes out of the rip is hard to describe. It is not a dark mist, though it may first seem so. It has form, but what is that form? Every time you blink it seems different and it is such a deep, all-consuming black that no texture or depth can be made out. Within fifty feet of it, light seems muted and strange. Everything near it withers, Fey fall from their deer and then dissolve into thin air, quickly followed by their steeds. Humans simply fall to the ground and lay still. The Whale moves and death moves with it. Most notable is the silence, the dying make no sound instead snuffing out like a light. The living scream yet all is consumed by the Whale. The whole command center becomes silent as meaning and existence are leaked out of reality. Gouts of green fire slash out from further down the boulevard towards the Whale, but they fade before they even reach it. Reality that cannot even support itself certainly cannot support magic.

I chuckle to myself in the deafening silence before throwing the loyal Violet that never left my side over one shoulder. It has lost consciousness. The Whale does not discriminate, any Coptos left in the command center area would be dead of essence loss within minutes.

I look into the Mundane to get one last look at my home. The city is in ruins, rescue crews running about desperately as waters continue to rise. Sirens ring out in all directions and yet a strange stillness hangs over all. I look up and smile grimly, the eye of the storm hangs above the command center. Truly the relationship between the Mundane and the Other is ever a mystery.

Breaking the connection I turn and sprint down the stairs from the roof. After a few quick turns, I reach the portal room. I toss my dying Violet into the portal without ceremony. I feel the pressure on reality suddenly release, and a second later a magical wave of force travels through the room almost knocking me from my feet. I stagger back upright before moving over to my desk. I grab a piece of paper out of one of the drawers. I pull out my pen and put a quick doodle on it before slapping on a simple enchantment. The first person to see it may simply incinerate the offending paper, but if it annoys or dispirits even one person then it will have been a victory.

I feel like I am forgetting something but I don’t have time to dawdle, my foes are going to realize that there are no more Coptos to stand in their way. I turn, and with a running start leap into my portal. If they thought cracking my defenses in this world was hard let's see how they fare in my personal domain.