Time seemed to crawl as we maintained our careful charade among Ebonheart’s elite. The grand ballroom had grown warmer from the press of bodies and the countless candles that illuminated the space. The drugged wine had clearly taken effect on many guests—their laughter grew louder, their movements less coordinated, their eyes taking on a glazed quality that spoke of more than mere alcohol.
The magistrate continued to circulate through the crowd, stopping here and there to share a jest or accept random praise from his adoring subjects. His gaze occasionally found mine across the room, and each time, that knowing wry smile played across his perfect features.
I kept watching the magistrate’s movements, noting how his path through the ballroom grew increasingly purposeful as the evening wore on. Each time a servant tapped their small silver bell marking another hour, his gestures became slightly more hurried, his conversations with guests briefer. Though he maintained his perfect composure, there was an underlying tension in his bearing that spoke of anticipation. He darted his gaze to various exits and entrances, like an actor mentally rehearsing his stage directions before a crucial scene.
A subtle movement near one of the side corridors caught my attention. Two of the regular estate guards emerged, escorting another troupe of bards. Like the first group, these musicians moved with an unsettling mechanical precision as they took their positions at the opposite end of the ballroom. My eyes scanned their faces quickly, but Evangeline wasn’t among them either.
As they played, soft and subtle, I noticed something peculiar. “Corvus,” I muttered, “listen to the music.”
He tilted his head slightly. “Both groups are repeating the same melody.”
The tune, slow and hauntingly simple, looped endlessly. Both groups played in perfect unison, their timing unnaturally precise. The effect was hypnotic, like musical waves washing over the crowd.
“It’s not just accompaniment,” Corvus mused. “It’s preparation. The repetition is conditioning the audience, making them more receptive to whatever comes next.”
I watched a few guests sway slightly to the rhythmic pattern. Whatever magic it was, it seemed the magistrate was further preparing his victims for the midnight performance.
The grand ballroom buzzed with conversation and music as guests continued their socializing. Corvus leaned close to me, his voice barely a whisper. “Less than two hours until midnight. The Angels’ Mark should have begun their distractions by now.”
I nodded slightly, watching the crowd while maintaining an air of casual interest. The hellguards remained at their posts, crimson armor gleaming in the chandeliers’ light. The mercenaries posing as servants continued their practiced movements through the gathering.
Suddenly, a servant burst through the ballroom’s entrance and rushed to the magistrate’s side. The man’s face was flushed with urgency as he whispered something in the magistrate’s ear. For just a fraction of a second, fury flashed across the magistrate’s perfect features—a crack in the mask that revealed something ancient and terrible beneath. But the expression vanished so quickly I might have imagined it, replaced by his usual polite smile as he nodded to the servant.
“One of the servants seems to have urgent news to share with the magistrate,” I reported to Corvus as I watched.
A hint of a sly smile brushed his lips. “We should express our concern. See if everything is all right with our gracious host.”
We made our way through the crowd to where the magistrate stood. He turned to greet us with that same practiced warmth, though I noticed a slight tension around his eyes.
“Lord Magistrate,” I said with a respectful bow. “We couldn’t help but notice your servant’s urgency. Is everything all right?”
“Ah, merely some minor disturbances in the lower districts,” he replied smoothly with a dismissive flick of his wrist. “Nothing that should concern my honored guests.”
I inclined my head. “I have complete faith in the city’s resources and your power to restore peace and order.”
Something flickered behind those violet eyes—uncertainty, perhaps? The perfect mask slipped again just slightly before settling back into place. “Your confidence is... appreciated,” he said, seeming somewhat flustered by my response. “Though I wouldn’t have expected blackguards to concern themselves with such mundane matters.”
“Order in all its forms interests us,” I replied carefully. “Whether imposed through strength or...” I gestured to the opulent surroundings, “more refined means.”
The magistrate studied me for a moment, then smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Indeed. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I should attend to these minor issues.”
After watching the magistrate glide away, I noticed him pause briefly to whisper instructions to several of the disguised mercenaries and posted guards. Within moments, most of the regular security personnel quietly filed out of the ballroom, leaving only a skeleton crew of city watch and the ever-present hellguards at their posts.
“Something’s happening,” I muttered to Corvus. Then I described to him what the magistrate had done.
Corvus tilted his head slightly, analyzing the sudden shift in the room’s dynamics. “Interesting. He’s thinning out his defensive line.”
“Could be responding to those diversions Natalya set up in the city.”
“That is what we’re hoping. However...” Corvus’s voice carried a note of suspicion. “He could also be deliberately weakening his visible security to make us overconfident. Remember, brother. Everything he does is calculated.”
I watched the magistrate resume his rounds amongst the guests, that perfect smile never leaving his face. “Either way, it works in our favor. Fewer eyes on us when we make our move.”
The bell marking the twenty-third hour struck. I noticed subtle changes in the gathering’s atmosphere. The bards’ repetitive music took on a darker quality, though the shift was so gradual that it appeared the guests didn’t consciously register it. The hellguards had moved closer to the exits.
“Let us begin,” Corvus murmured beside me. “Keep our intended... distraction in your sight.”
The dark power within me stirred restlessly, responding to the growing supernatural energies that permeated the air. I reached into my pocket, feeling the small pouch of powder Natalya had provided. Then I scanned the crowd again, looking for the merchant we’d selected earlier as our unwitting accomplice. The Angels’ Mark had provided detailed information about the guest list, allowing us to choose the perfect target—a wealthy spice trader known for his love of wine and tendency to draw attention to himself.
“I see him,” I murmured, spotting the merchant’s distinctive red-and-gold brocade coat. “By the eastern archway. Speaking with that group of guild masters.”
Corvus shifted slightly, orienting himself towards the sound of loud, boisterous laughter. “Ah yes, I hear him. Quite the enthusiastic fellow.”
“His dramatic collapse should provide enough of a distraction.”
“Work quickly, Caelum.”
I snaked my way through the crowd, moving as if I were simply another guest mingling at the party. The merchant’s booming laugh guided me towards him. As I drew closer, I could see the fine details of his expensive attire more clearly—particularly the elaborate red-and-gold brocade coat that had caught my eye earlier.
“Quite an extraordinary gathering, wouldn’t you say?” I addressed the merchant with a warm smile, smoothly inserting myself into the conversation.
The merchant turned to me, his round face flushed from wine and good spirits. “Indeed, indeed! Lord Magistrate certainly knows how to throw a party.” He took another sip from the crystal wineglass in his left hand.
“I couldn’t help but notice your coat,” I said, gesturing appreciatively at the garment. “The thread work is absolutely remarkable.”
His face lit up at the compliment. “Ah, you have an eye for quality, sir! This is genuine Karthian silk brocade, with gold threading imported from the eastern provinces.”
“The pattern is extraordinary,” I observed, noting how the golden threads caught the candlelight. “Such intricate detail.”
The merchant practically glowed with pride. “You should see the sleeves—that’s where the real artistry lies. The master weaver incorporated actual gold filigree into the threading. Cost me a small fortune, but worth every coin.”
“Really? I’d love to see that.” I leaned in, feigning my genuine interest. “The technique must be fascinating.”
“Oh, it is! It is!” He fumbled to roll up his sleeve while he held his wineglass but stopped. “Ah, blast...”
“Allow me,” I offered smoothly, extending my hand. “I am intrigued to see the craftsmanship up close.”
“Most kind of you!” He handed me his glass without hesitation.
As he began rolling up the elaborate cuffs of his sleeves, I carefully positioned my body to block any view of the wineglass from nearby guests, guards, and more importantly, the magistrate. With practiced sleight of hand, I sprinkled Natalya’s powder into the dark red liquid. The powder dissolved instantly, leaving no trace.
“You see here?” The merchant pointed proudly at the intricate patterns on his sleeve. “Each spiral contains over a thousand individual stitches, and the gold threads are actually woven into the fabric rather than merely sewn on top.”
I leaned in closer, making an appropriate show of admiring the needlework while the powder fully dissolved in his wine. “Extraordinary. The detail is even finer than I imagined.”
“And look here at how they’ve incorporated these tiny gemstones into the pattern,” he continued enthusiastically, pointing to barely visible specks of color amid the gold threading. “Each one had to be specially set into the fabric.”
“Remarkable craftsmanship,” I agreed, carefully handing his wine glass back to him. “You must tell me where you acquired such a masterpiece.”
The merchant took a healthy swallow of his wine before launching into the tale. “Well, it’s quite the story, actually. I was in Karthia last spring, negotiating a rather lucrative spice contract, when I happened to meet this most extraordinary tailor...”
I painted an expression of interest on my face while the man detailed the coat’s origins, noting how he continued to sip his wine between sentences. The powder would take effect soon—fifteen minutes—Natalya had been very specific about the timing.
“...and that’s when I knew I simply had to have it, regardless of the cost,” he concluded with a satisfied smile, draining the last of his wine.
“A fascinating tale,” I said warmly. “And clearly worth every coin spent. If you’ll excuse me, though, I should check on my companion.” I gestured vaguely towards where Corvus waited.
“Of course, of course!” The merchant clapped me on the shoulder. “A pleasure discussing fine craftsmanship with someone who appreciates it.”
I gave him a respectful nod and made my way back through the crowd to Corvus. Behind me, I could hear the merchant already launching into another boisterous conversation with nearby guests.
“It’s done,” I murmured as I reached Corvus’s side. “Now we wait.”
“Good,” Corvus replied quietly. “We should position ourselves near the garden entrance. When the chaos starts, we’ll need to move quickly.”
We casually made our way across the ballroom, carefully timing our movement to avoid drawing attention. The magistrate, his back turned to us, was now engaged in what appeared to be an animated discussion with several city council members.
“Surely, the magistrate doesn’t know what I did. I made certain no one saw me administer the powder,” I said.
“It’s not a matter of if he knows or doesn’t know. We must always remain one step ahead of him.”
Before I could respond, a commotion erupted from where I’d left the spice merchant. He had doubled over, one hand clutching his stomach while the other grasped desperately at a nearby column for support.
“Oh… gods…” he gasped, his face contorting in pain.
The nearby guests drew back in alarm as the merchant’s knees buckled. His elaborate coat rustled as he sank to the floor, groaning. A servant rushed forward to help, but the merchant waved them away with a trembling hand.
“I need... I need air,” he managed to say between pained gasps.
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Several concerned guests were already gesturing towards the garden entrance.
The magistrate turned at the commotion, his eyes narrowing slightly as they fixed on the suffering merchant. For a moment, I feared he might see through our ruse, but then his perfect mask of concern slipped into place. Then I remembered Corvus’s words. I have to assume he knows and doesn’t know.
“Please, assist our guest to the garden terrace,” the magistrate commanded smoothly. “The fresh air will do him good.”
Two servants moved to help the merchant to his feet. He stumbled between them, his face pale and sweating. The servants guided him towards the western exit. A small crowd of worried onlookers followed, creating exactly the kind of disruption we’d hoped for.
“Now,” I whispered, grabbing Corvus’s arm.
We joined the concerned group trailing the merchant, allowing ourselves to be carried along by the flow of bodies.
The hellguards at the exit shifted to allow our group through, their fiendish helmets turning to track our movement. I felt their infernal gazes linger on me and Corvus a moment longer than the others, but they made no move to stop us.
The garden terrace stretched before us, surprisingly devoid of the hellguards and mercenaries that had been so prevalent inside. The night air was cool and crisp after the stuffy ballroom, carrying the sweet scent of night-blooming jasmine. Ornate lanterns cast pools of warm light along the stone paths, while shadows gathered thickly between the carefully manicured hedges.
“Strange,” I muttered. “No guards out here.”
Corvus tilted his head, listening intently. “My crows are nearby. I can sense their presence, but...” He frowned in frustration. “We’re still within the mansion’s wards. I cannot communicate with them. We have thirty minutes to meet Ramon’s group underground.” His voice dropped lower. “We should remain vigilant. The lack of guards is... concerning.”
I nodded and scanned the shadowy garden for any signs of movement. The absence of security could mean we’d caught a lucky break—or we were walking into another of the magistrate’s carefully laid traps.
“Let’s move,” I whispered. “Quickly, but carefully.”
The servants guided the sick merchant to a stone bench, where he collapsed, still groaning theatrically. More guests crowded around, offering suggestions and sympathy. The chaos was perfect—everyone’s attention was focused on the suffering merchant while Corvus and I carefully edged towards the darker edges of the garden.
The evening air grew cooler as we moved through the garden’s winding paths, keeping to the shadows cast by ornamental trees and hedges. Ahead, two hellguards stood at rigid attention near the garden’s exit, their crimson armor gleaming dully in the moonlight. Their fiendish helm designs seemed even more menacing in the darkness.
I guided Corvus behind a large topiary and observed the guards’ movements. Their patrol pattern was precise and predictable. Every few seconds, they would turn in unison to scan different sections of the garden, creating brief windows of opportunity.
“Two hellguards blocking our path,” I reported to Corvus. “They are scanning different sections of the area at certain intervals.”
“We need to find another exit.”
I looked around. “We can climb the wall. It’s about fifty paces to our left.”
Corvus nodded, his grip firm on my arm. “Wait for their next interval.”
We crouched in silence. The hellguards pivoted mechanically to survey the eastern section of the garden.
“Now,” I breathed. I grabbed his arm, and we darted from cover to cover, using the elaborately sculpted bushes for concealment.
The perimeter wall loomed before us, its stone surface rough enough to provide decent handholds. I went first, testing each grip before pulling myself up. Corvus followed with surprising agility despite his blindness, his trained muscles making the climb look effortless.
At the top, we lay flat against the cold stone as one of the hellguards turned in our direction. My heart pounded as we waited, barely breathing, until the guard resumed its original position.
“It’s a good twenty-foot drop,” I warned Corvus. “Ready?”
“Always,” he replied with a grim smile.
We slipped over the edge together, using the wall’s uneven surface to control our descent as much as possible. The ground rushed up to meet us. I tucked and rolled as I landed, dispersing the impact across my shoulder and back. Beside me, Corvus executed a similar maneuver with cat-like grace.
The moment we cleared the mansion’s grounds, Corvus straightened with renewed energy. Above us, dark shapes wheeled against the night sky as his murder of crows descended to greet their master. His favorite crow landed on his shoulder with a soft caw.
“Ah, finally,” Corvus breathed. His crow nuzzled against his cheek affectionately. “Much better. My crows have been watching the entire time. No immediate threats in our vicinity, but there’s significant guard movement throughout the city.”
We moved swiftly through the darkened streets, keeping to the shadows. The sounds of distant shouting and the occasional clash of steel told us that Natalya’s diversions were in full effect. An orange glow lit up the night sky to the north, and thick smoke rose above the rooftops. The flames cast an ominous light over the city, making the shadows dance and writhe across the cobblestones.
“The Angels’ Mark is keeping their end of the bargain,” I said. “The city watch will be spread thin.”
“They won’t stay distracted forever,” Corvus said grimly. “We must hurry.”
The streets were eerily empty as we raced towards our next waypoint at the edge of the wealthy district, guided by Corvus’s enhanced senses and his crows’ aerial reconnaissance. The sounds of chaos echoed through the city—shouts, running feet, the clang of alarm bells. Natalya’s people had done their work well, creating multiple distractions that drew the city’s forces in different directions.
As we neared our targeted spot, my trained eye caught a subtle detail—a sewer grate partially hidden between two buildings. What drew my attention wasn’t the grate itself, but the small symbol etched into the stone beside it: three vertical lines crossed by a diagonal slash. To most, it would appear to be simple wear in the stone or perhaps a mason’s mark. But I recognized it as one of the Angels’ Mark’s trail signs, confirming this was our entry point for later.
“Here’s our access point,” I muttered quietly to Corvus, guiding him to brush his fingers across the marked stone. “Three vertical lines crossed—exactly as Natalya described.”
Corvus nodded slightly as his sensitive fingers read the carved symbol. “Yes, this matches the route she outlined.”
Corvus’s favorite crow remained perched on his shoulder while the other birds kept their aerial watch. I gripped the iron bars of the sewer grate and pulled, muscles straining against decades of rust and grime. The grate lifted with a grinding screech that seemed far too loud in the quiet street.
“Quickly,” Corvus urged, his head tilted as he monitored our surroundings. “Guards approaching from the east.”
We slipped into the darkness below, and I carefully replaced the grate above us. The sewer tunnel stretched into blackness, the rank air heavy with moisture and rot. I withdrew my kukris from their hidden sheaths, and the purple glow of the blades provided just light to navigate by.
I spotted another subtle mark scratched into the tunnel wall—two horizontal lines crossed by a diagonal slash. “This is Ramon’s sign. We follow these and we will reach him.”
Corvus ran his hand over the symbol and nodded in understanding. Then he showed the symbol to his crow, and the bird suddenly flew off deeper into the tunnel.
“Follow her,” he said. “She will take us there.”
With only fifteen minutes left until midnight, we sprinted after the bird through a maze of passages. Soon, I began to notice the architecture looking older, their construction changing from newer stonework to ancient brick and finally rough-hewn rock. The air grew colder, and the ambient sounds of flowing water grew faint in the distance.
“I believe we’re beneath the old city now,” Corvus observed quietly. “These tunnels predate Ebonheart itself.”
We continued following the crow through several turns and intersections. She seemed to know the way precisely; I spotted each marker we passed with Ramon’s symbol. The markers were subtle enough to be missed by casual observation, but clear to those who knew what to look for.
Finally, we reached a section where the tunnel opened into a larger chamber. Several hooded lanterns provided a muted glow within the chamber, revealing Ramon and his group waiting anxiously.
“Thank the gods,” Ramon breathed as we entered. “We feared you wouldn’t make it.”
“The Angels’ Mark’s distractions worked perfectly,” I replied, quickly scanning the group. “Is everything prepared?”
“Yes.” Ramon reached into his cloak and withdrew the cloth-wrapped bundle. Even through the fabric, I could feel the power emanating from the Serpent’s Fang. “The dagger. And the passage...” He gestured to a narrow tunnel branching off from the main chamber. “It leads directly to a cellar next to the ritual chamber. There’s a ladder at the end that goes up to a grate in the wall.”
After Ramon gave Corvus his sword, he carefully handed me the wrapped dagger. As my fingers closed around it, I felt a surge of energy—neither light nor dark, but something in between. The weapon seemed to resonate with my own dual nature. I unwrapped the dagger.
The Serpent’s Fang gleamed in the lantern light, its curved blade seeming to shift and writhe like a living thing. Its dark, silvery metal was etched with ancient runes that pulsed with a subtle purple glow—similar to but distinct from the energy of my kukris. The black leather-wrapped hilt fit perfectly in my grip, and the small gems set into the pommel flickered with an inner fire. The pommel itself was carved into the shape of a coiled serpent, its ruby eyes seeming to watch me with ancient intelligence.
As I held it, I could feel the weapon’s essence—divine power and shadow magic perfectly balanced, neither dominating the other. The blade hummed with potential, responding to my own power. I secured the Serpent’s Fang to my belt, feeling its weight settle against my hip opposite the Talons of Twilight. The three blades seemed to resonate with each other, creating a harmonic hum of magical energy that only I could hear.
“Less than five minutesss till midnight,” Khalahad announced urgently, his scaled features tense. “We mussst hurry.”
“Move!” Ramon commanded, and we rushed down the narrow tunnel as a group.
The passage was barely wide enough for two people to walk abreast, forcing us into single file. Our footsteps echoed off the ancient stone as we ran, the sound of our breathing harsh in the confined space. The lantern light caught the moisture on the walls, making the rough stone glisten like wet scales.
Finally, we reached the end of the tunnel, where it opened into a small alcove. A series of metal rungs had been set into the wall, climbing upward into darkness. They were old and corroded, barely wider than my hand.
“Those bars look ancient,” I observed, studying the rusted metal. “Will they hold?”
“They’ve held for centuries,” Ramon assured me, though his voice carried a note of uncertainty. “But we should climb quickly, one at a time.”
“Let us go firssst, so that we can clear the way for you to concentrate on the magisssstrate,” Khalahad said to me.
I nodded. “Good idea. Also, watch out for the hellguards. They are his elite guards, and they are everywhere.”
“Yeah, we know,” the vulpine said. “And I have a few spells up my sleeve for them.”
Khalahad went first, his scaled hands gripping the metal rungs as he pulled himself up into the darkness. His movements were swift but careful, testing each hold before trusting his weight to it. The bars creaked ominously under his weight, but held firm. At last, he reached the grate. He braced himself carefully on the ancient rungs and pushed against the rusted metal. With his first few attempts, the grate didn’t budge. Then he shoved the old metal with extra force and it slowly let go with a grinding screech. He pushed it aside and pulled himself up into the cellar. Ramon and the rest of his group followed.
“Go on, Caelum,” Corvus instructed, gesturing for me to go ahead of him. “You’ll need to be in position quickly,” he whispered. “The ritual will begin any moment.”
I gripped the first rung, testing its strength. The metal was cold and rough with corrosion. As I climbed, each bar groaned softly under my weight. About halfway up, one of the rungs shifted alarmingly when I put my weight on it. I quickly redistributed my grip to the bars above and below, heart pounding as I carefully maneuvered past the weakened section.
Finally, I reached the top and pulled myself into the cellar. The space was dark and cramped, filled with crates and old wine barrels. The musty air carried the scent of damp wood and aged spirits. Suddenly, the clash of steel and shouts of combat erupted from somewhere nearby. Sounds of battle mixed with an otherworldly melody that sent chills down my spine. Haunting voices raised in perfect, terrible harmony.
The ritual had begun.
I thought of Evangeline. Was her voice among those ethereal sounds? Was her essence already being drawn into the magistrate’s dark transformation? The thought of her soul being consumed, of losing that fierce spirit that had captured my attention, filled my heart with pure rage.
No one will take what’s mine.
Without waiting for Corvus, I sprinted towards the cellar door, where the sounds of combat grew louder. I burst into the hallway. The scene before me was chaos—Ramon’s group engaged in fierce combat with two hellguards who blocked the way to the ritual chamber. The vulpine’s and fernalkin’s spells crackled through the air while the half-orcs traded blows with the fiendish warriors, their weapons ringing against crimson armor.
But what drew my attention was the pulsing light that spilled from the ritual chamber’s doorway. Violent flashes of purple and crimson illuminated the corridor in a strobing rhythm that matched the otherworldly music. The haunting melody had grown stronger, more compelling, like a symphony of voices that resonated directly in my soul.
The light grew brighter, more intense with each pulse. The voices rose in pitch, their harmony taking on an edge of desperation that made my dark veins burn with sympathetic energy. Time was running out.
The hellguards fought with relentless force, their crimson armor deflecting most attacks while their fiendish weapons left trails of dark energy with each strike. But they were outnumbered, and Ramon’s group fought with desperate determination.
“For Lord Valic!” Corvus roared from somewhere behind me. He charged at one of the hellguards, the clash of steel and screams filling the air.
The vulpine’s spell caught one of the creatures square in the chest, stunning it long enough for Khalahad to drive his weapon through a gap in its armor. The creature collapsed, its form dissolving into sulfurous smoke.
I pressed forward through the mayhem, keeping to the shadows while Ramon’s rebels and Corvus engaged in the other hellguard.
I drew the Serpent’s Fang, feeling its power respond to the ritual’s dark energies. Its serpentine runes blazed with purpose, its power pulsing in sync with my racing heart.
The music from the ritual chamber grew more intense, the voices reaching an almost painful crescendo. Among them, I thought I heard a familiar tone—Evangeline’s voice, twisted into something desperate and otherworldly.
I sprinted towards the sound and pulsing light. The Serpent’s Fang hummed with purpose in my grip, its power building as I approached the source of the ritual’s energy. I knew what I had to do: destroy the magistrate, save Evangeline, claim what was mine.
I slipped into the ritual chamber and froze at the scene before me.
Arcane symbols covered every surface of the chamber, glowing with arcane power. The bards stood in a perfect circle, their faces blank and eyes glazed as they played their instruments and sang that haunting melody over and over. Their combined voices created visible waves of energy that spiraled towards the chamber’s center.
There, suspended in mid-air, floated the magistrate. His perfect form had begun to change, his flesh becoming translucent as something darker pushed against it from within. Those violet eyes now blazed like twin suns, and his elegant robes writhed as if alive. Tendrils of pure darkness extended from his body, each one connected to a bard, drawing their essence into himself.
And there was Evangeline...
She stood in her designated place within the circle, her head bowed low as her fingers moved mechanically across the lyre’s strings. Her voice, once filled with passion and defiance, now emerged as a hollow, haunting melody that seemed to come from somewhere far beyond her physical form. The fierce emerald fire that usually blazed in her eyes had dulled to barely a flicker as she swayed slightly, like a puppet on invisible strings, her movements autonomous and lifeless.
The dark power in my veins flared as I gazed at Evangeline’s diminished state.
The magistrate’s tendrils of darkness wrapped around her like parasitic vines, each pulse drawing more of her essence away. With each beat of that terrible symphony, I watched another fragment of her spirit being torn away and consumed. The sight of her—my bard, my possession—being drained by this ancient horror filled me with a hatred so pure it almost choked me.
The ritual’s power increased as ethereal wisps began streaming through the ceiling from the ballroom above. The souls of the gathered elite were all drawn inexorably towards the magistrate’s transforming form. Their essence swirled around him like a tornado of spectral light, each spirit adding to his growing power.
The magistrate’s body continued to shift and change, his perfect features stretching and distorting as his true form pushed against the boundaries of reality. Those violet eyes fixed on me, now blazing with ancient malevolence and triumph.
The symphony reached a fever pitch as more ethereal forms poured into the chamber. The magistrate’s laughter rolled through the space like thunder, and I watched in horror as Evangeline’s remaining essence began to fade, drawn ever deeper into the magistrate’s shifting form.
“So predictable. So... passionate.” His voice echoed with otherworldly resonance, speaking from everywhere and nowhere at once. His head turned to me, and his mouth opened in a smile that was far too wide, revealing rows of needle-sharp teeth. “Unfortunately, you’re too late.”