Grovalt and the assassin agreed to unite against the bearded fiend laughing amidst the firestorm. In a matter of seconds, the floor had become a sea of fire that stretched across all ends of what used to be a classroom. The walls began to catch flame, and in turn the roof started to burn red and crumble under its own weight. If they wanted to put an end to this man, this was their only chance.

Grovalt harnessed a powerful orb of frost in his palms, and extended them toward the ceiling. A beam of magical ice shot out from the orb into the space above, smothering the flames and encasing the collapsing roof in a layer of sturdy rime.

“Oh, no you don’t!“ Graves raised his blazing axe above his head and quickly swung it into the floor, unleashing a wave of fire that spread across the room towards Grovalt. The fiery wave, upon reaching him, was immediately put out. As the smoke moved from view, Graves saw a man-sized ice wall that Grovalt had constructed to block the entire attack.

Without a second for him to complain, the assassin swooped in from behind Graves with her dagger at the ready. With one slash, his upper right leg was reduced to mincemeat, blood pouring out of the deep wound. She readied another strike, but before it could land a plume of smoke caused her to retreat.

“Just give up. The mages will be here soon.“ Grovalt tried to reason with Graves, but his stubbornness knew no bounds.

“Suppose I’ll keep you two here ‘till they arrive then. They can have all our heads. Or you can die here!“ Graves ran at Grovalt with no hesitation and swung his mighty axe several times, every hit falling onto Grovalt’s sturdy blade. It seemed as though the fire Graves’s axe was made of had solidified into a wieldable flame.

Grovalt unleashed a burst of frost from his left hand, stunning Graves for a second. Returning both hands to his sword, he reared back and cut a jagged gash across Graves’s chest.

From his heart, a great chaotic flame grew to unfathomable levels. Graves’s entire chest began to glow a sinister crimson that suddenly let loose an inferno, engulfing the three and the entire room once more in flame.

Pieces of the ceiling began to collapse. The ice holding it in place had vanished into the air.

The smell of smoke was unbearable, and Grovalt’s eyes stung more than they had in ages. It was getting harder and harder to breathe. Flames seared his clothes and scarred his skin. He could barely even see through it all, but what he could see was Graves’s now glowing chest. It was as if his very heart was lit aflame. Like a lighthouse in the dead of night, it guided Grovalt towards him. Every step he took was slow and deliberate. If he didn’t stop to feel the ground, he would fall. He could barely see a few inches in front of his face. However, faintly through the smoke, he could see it. Just in front of him was Graves.

Out from the haze, that same jagged blade of roaring flame cut through the miasma.

Grovalt dodged, lurching his entire body to the right.

“This is pointless. The mages will be here any second. All of us, in prison. In the Imperium. We’re all doomed. As long as we live in this city, under that Archmage. No, under her… we can never be free. All we do is for them. All that happens in Aza is for that damn Imperium, and that bitch who controls ‘em. We’ll never see the sky again.“ Hysteria had taken hold of Graves’s mind. Only now had he begun to realize what awaited them all if they were to be arrested.

“Sky… see the sky?“ Grovalt looked up at the smoldering ceiling. The wooden beams began to snap and fall, barely missing the three. He set down his weapon, making sure Graves wasn’t too close, held his right hand tightly, and started to cast yet another spell.

Chimes resonated throughout the room. Even through the chaos of embers and fire, the chimes could be heard purely and without falter.

The bands of glowing symbols appeared on Grovalt’s arm again, and from them glacial shards shot out in a torrent. The shards blew apart the roof with minimal effort, allowing for the smoke to be taken by the wind outside. Finally, Grovalt could breathe. He could see his foe. He could put an end to this. He focused all he could muster into one last spell. He fell to one knee as he channeled all of his being into it. He grunted and bit his lip. His scars from the fiery attacks he had survived burned with an unrelenting fury. Everything in his mind was telling him to stop, but he kept going until there was nothing left. Empty, he fell to the floor.

The spell had left his fingertips, encasing Graves in a spiraling snake-like rope that froze him to the bone. Graves dropped his axe as his hands went limp and all feeling in them was lost. Confusion befell his mind, then a deep despair.

The assassin moved into his view. Her jade eyes glistened, mirroring the chaos that surrounded them. “I’ll be taking your life now, thanks to that guy.“

Cityfolk began to slowly gather around the fiery mass, and with them the Imperium’s sirens began to blare over their worried cries. Mages began to close in on them.

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

Grovalt grasped his head in agony. His eyes felt like they were going to explode. Blood trickled down his arms. He looked down to see the bands of magical symbols had carved deep into his skin. He touched his fingertips together and his eyes widened. He began scampering across the ash-colored floor, grasping anything and everything. He cut his fingers on wood and slid his hands through the nearby flames. “What is this? What happened? Why has this happened!?“

The woman in black looked at the frantic Grovalt, then back at Graves. In an instant, she jabbed her vervent dagger straight into Graves’s throat with machine-like precision. Leaving only a red mark on his skin, the dagger ripped out of her hands nearly as fast as she had swung it. She glared at the disruption’s source.

A mage, mere twenty feet away, was hovering slightly above a rooftop. One of his hands was outstretched, violet runes hovering over his forearm. Others joined his side, and after signaling to each other, they each ran off in a different direction. The one that had fired at her was on his way, and fast.

She sighed deeply. “Of course. I told her this would happen.“ She knelt down to retrieve her weapon. As she did so, a voice invaded her mind. Unlike hearing someone speak, this was more so someone speaking directly within her head.

“Grab that guy. We could use him… more or less.“

“What? Zenzi, we can’t just trust some weakling human like that. I’m heading back now.“

“Stop! Maxra, I’m telling you we’ll need him. When have I ever been wrong?“

“Many times, hun. But I guess carrying someone as light as a feather is no biggie. See ya soon.“ With that, the anisai assassin lifted Grovalt and his sword up on her shoulders and leapt through the fiery miasma. In a blink, the black-clad woman had disappeared as the mages swallowed the utterly demolished Rumhound hideout with their numbers.

The mages had put out the fire within just a couple minutes. The ice encasing Graves had melted, but he was not without real shackles. On his knees, the gathering of mages parted as a large, skinny man revealed himself. He wore a mask that was totally unlike the other Aza mages. This one was of a higher quality. The lines that met in the middle of it were bold and seemed as though they were filled with stars from the sky. His robe was beautifully adorned with curvy, eccentric lines and was similarly filled with an exact replica of the galaxy. He moved as though he were a cat creeping towards his prey, ready to pounce.

Graves looked up and into the man’s wondrous mask. Promptly, he spat a glob of spit onto the ground between them. “Sorry, Archmage. I was aiming for your robes, but I guess I’m a bit too tired right now.“

A sharp pain split Graves’s head in two. His head lowered and blood began dripping down his face, his nose, and onto the ground, mixing with his spit.

The Archmage started cackling to himself, almost erupting into pure laughter but eventually coughing to clear his throat and quell his outburst. “It seems my men do not find your resistance to be as funny as I do. If they were in my position, I’m sure they would understand my amusement. After all, the only criminals in Aza have seemingly given away their own hideout, and not just that, killed themselves.“ He grasped Graves’s hair and ripped his head backward. He leaned in close. “We know that’s not what happened, scum. I’m sure whoever attacked you wanted you to be found. Wanted you to be arrested. But why? That is what I want to know, rat. Are they simply vigilantes doing the job of my mages, or, could they be threatening us? Are they saying that they can do a better job than the mages of our Imperium? Is that what they’re saying, Rumhound?“

Graves rolled his eyes. He struggled for a second to answer the magus, but he dryly coughed and spoke. “I may be a thug, but don’t think for a moment that I would stoop to yer level. I give people second chances. If he’d rather kill my men and force my hand than join me, that’s fine. At least he sticks to his own wits. You? You’re a goddamn puppet. Tell me Zandos, how does that chain ‘round your neck feel? Who’s really the dog here? Because where I’m kneeling, even when I’m chained up, you’re not in control, dumbass. She’s pulling your reins. How about you just toss me in a cell already and run on back to your sorceress?“

The Archmage rose to his feet. His stature would command the worst of criminals to obey. “I will not waste my time deciphering the barks of a mut. Take him to the hold. I’ll speak with him later.“

“Yes, Archmage Zandos!“ The mages puffed out their chests and stood to attention with their backs as straight as the blades upon them. They took Graves out to a more open area, and prepared a teleportation spell.

Zandos walked back into the smoldering corpse of the building. His eyes ran along the icy trail left on the floorboards. Amidst frost and blood, a chain of symbols had been faintly cut into the wood as well. A man, he thought, what man knows such powerful ice magic?

At the same time, Maxra had finally reached the source of the psychic link: a long abandoned clock tower that lay several blocks away from the Imperium’s gates. From its base she could see flocks of ravens circling the spire. The clock was in stasis, its inner mechanism claimed by years of neglect. Walking down a small stone staircase, she unlocked a metal hatch, and went inside the structure.

Inside was nothing short of a total mess. Bits of junk and broken machinery were strewn about here and there. Dim candles were placed in precarious places, not to mention heaps of documents and papers that were an obvious fire hazard. Dust glittered in the cold air. There was no natural light. Without the dim candles, darkness would flood their eyes in a heartbeat.

Maxra sat Grovalt down on a patchy leather couch. Grovalt weakly wrenched his eyes open, his head leaning backward. He barely managed to raise his right arm and study the aftereffects of his decision. Not only were his arms in tatters, there was something crucial missing since that moment. He touched his fingertips together again, and groped at the couch with frenzy in his eyes.

“Uh, what are you doing?“ A woman met his worried gaze. It was Maxra wearing less of a worried gaze but one of judgment.

“I can’t feel…“ Grovalt eked out.

“Yeah, yeah. You were pretty banged up after that stunt you pulled. I’m surprised you’re not wrathcursed right now.“

“No… I can’t feel anything. I have no sense of touch… why? Why can’t I feel anything?“