They’re nearly through, Claire thought. She reached towards her magic, clutching it like a mother would her newborn babe. She looked down from her position on the rampart. The enemy seemed unending – thousands compared to her hundreds.

“My lady!” One of her servants cried, reaching out to her with his flowing white robes. They were the white robes of Homestead, a bastion of peace in a region overrun by desert savages. They would all be dead by nightfall. “We must leave!”

“We will—” Claire began.

“They’re coming!” A sergeant shouted, interrupting her. Claire turned to see the man raise a bloodied sword. “Hold them back!”

His cry was echoed along the walls as siege ladders hit the walls. The cry turned into a roar as the fighting began anew. Claire embraced her magic, reaching into the cool air that surrounded her. Ice. I need ice.

It formed quickly, the icicle floating above her hand becoming two, then three. Claire huffed, straining, and the icicle split into four. They were thin and short, only inches long. It would be more than enough.

“My lady!”

It was the same servant again. His eyes were wide, and his gestures frantic as he looked from the wall back to Claire. “We are about to be overrun!”

Claire snarled, wanting to use the icicle to disembowel the servant who dared to speak to her in such a way. Instead, she gestured, and the icicles flew forward at incredible speeds. They struck four men, all enemies. They fell to the ground instantly.

She spared a satisfying moment to glare at their corpses. Then, she turned, leaving her men to die on the ramparts.

“Follow me,” Claire said, not looking back as her servants fell in behind her. None were happy to be leaving the walls, as all of them would soon join her in death.

“Lady Claire!” came a cry from behind her. It was despondent and pleading. Claire turned to see Captain Rodrick trotting up to her. His white tabard was coated in blood, and he was breathing heavily. “If you leave, all will be lost. Please, don’t leave us.”

“You have your orders, Captain,” Claire said, biting back a smirk at how the Captain’s face fell. She had never liked him and his blind faith in leadership. “Hold the wall as long as you can. I will be conducting a ritual from inside the castle. Hold these walls to the last man. Understood?”

“Yes, my lady,” Captain Rodrick replied, looking somewhat buoyed by her words. “We will hold. Creator willing, we will.”

“I fear it is Azmar that rules the day,” Claire said. The Captain grimaced at the God of Death’s name. One only named him when either cursing his name or wishing death upon others. “Do your duty, Captain, and I will see to mine.”

“Yes, my lady!” Rodrick said, slamming a fist to his armored breast. “This place will be their Ruin!”

“See that it is,” Claire said, forcing a smile to flit across her face. She inclined her head. “Creator protect you, Captain.”

Claire turned, leaving her men. Her attendants and servants followed as she continued. They walked down the stairs quickly, Claire walking as fast as her robes would let her. They didn’t have much time to do what had to be done. Homestead would fall soon, and with it, the hopes of the Empire controlling this pathetic region.

The Kulok will rule nothing but ashes.

Cries of death and destruction reigned as she walked through the courtyard. It was deserted, but the cries of living and dying men, along with the clash of steel, rang throughout the castle.

“The desert dogs will have gotten through,” Claire said quietly. She opened herself up to her magic again and felt her attendants behind her do the same. “Be cautious.”

A murmured ‘yes, my Lady’ rippled through her attendants, but Claire paid them no mind as she ascended the stairs leading into the main castle.

It was disquieting to see the castle this deserted. She had become the Lady of Homestead once Eldric, her husband, had died, leading a raid on the scum that seemingly filled the woods surrounding his castle. She had done her best with what she had, but Homestead was little more than an uncommonly fortified outpost close to a desert filled with people who wanted her dead.

She stepped into the Main Hall, taking the sight in for the last time. Rich red carpentry lined the floor, full of symbols of the Empire that she was going to die for. Tapestries covered the walls, a vast array of colors detailing the history of the Empire and Homestead. Long tables polished to a blinding sheen waited to be used, but they would never be used again. Claire glanced at the dais where she had sat countless times with her husband, friends, and family, not knowing that their world would soon be ending.

Claire took a deep, calming breath. She clenched her shaking fists then relaxed them. She followed this with another deep breath. She drew her wand of Dominion Wood, a thin pure white stick that was beyond priceless. It allowed her to channel magic without becoming magic-less or an aged-out husk.

“Continue,” she commanded, then pressed forward through the Main Hall to the dais. Her attendants and servants followed her soundlessly, all of them no doubt considering the same things that she was.

She opened the wooden door leading to her Master Bedroom on the third floor. Despite her inclinations, she looked down at the floor. Baramor, Homestead’s Mage, would be conducting a ritual of his own directly below. He was creating a trap for those who sought to steal Homestead’s greatest treasure: a staff of Dominion Wood. With the last of the Dominion Wood trees having been felled decades ago, nations would gladly fight over it. Supplies were running low, and even small wands like hers were becoming rarer and rarer, to the extent that only Mages, not Magicians training to become Mages at the Citadel, were permitted to keep one.

Claire continued, ascending the stairs to the third floor. To her relief, the torches lighting the walls every three steps were still lit. They were running out of supplies, and she had always hated ascending or descending the stairs in the dark. The way they were designed, with their winding staircases of smooth stone, it was far too easy for Claire’s liking to trip or even tumble down them. It was not an unfamiliar event in Homestead, something that thankfully had never happened to her or someone she cared about. Just a few servants or the odd stableboy.

Halfway up the stairs, she heard a shout from behind her. She whirled to see two savages. The first stabbed one of her servants through, while the second raced toward her, smirking as his eyes raced up and down her form.

Claire snarled, both at her situation and the stupidity of her useless servant. They should have butchered these men already. She shoved a hand forward, and fire exploded out from her palm. The nearest torch on the wall flickered and died, its heat transferring to her magic’s beckoning call. The fireball struck the man in the chest, his look of glee turning into a mixture of pain and surprise. He fell to the ground, his body sizzling like charred meat.

The second man had killed two and was halfway through killing a third until one of her uninjured servants snapped to his senses. The servant attacked, his magic snapping the man’s neck as it twisted it like a top. The Kulok warrior fell with a heavy thud, followed by her third servant. He clutched his chest, his eyes wide with fright.

“M-mistress,” the man breathed. He reached out to her, his dark skin becoming more ashen by the moment as he continued to bleed out. “Please…”

Claire was elated as she stepped forward and slapped a hand to the man’s chest, ignoring the blood. Her servant’s shaky smile quickly turned to horror as she began absorbing his Essence, taking his natural lifespan as her own to fuel her magic.

At first, the servant struggled to speak, but within moments, he was dead, aged beyond recognition. Where once was a man in his late twenties now lay a man that was barely more than a skeleton, his skin hanging loosely off his bones.

Claire smiled drunkenly at the power she now felt. For a moment, she swayed until she steadied herself. “Rest, brave soul,” Claire said softly. She stood, and her servants unconsciously edged away from her. Taking someone’s Essence without permission was the highest of offences for any magical user, yet she had done it so brazenly.

It was tempting to laugh in their faces, especially considering the ritual they were about to perform, but instead, Claire composed herself. Their courage was hanging by a thread already; it would not do to give them more reasons to disobey her.

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“Come,” she said, and, this time, there were no affirmations. The group silently ascended the staircase, now down to seven instead of ten.

The ritual calls for ten, Claire thought. She looked down at the wand she was still clutching. She smiled down at it. It’ll have to do.

It was a short walk to the Master Bedroom. Their feet trod on the fine red carpet that filled the halls of Homestead. Here, there were more tapestries and paintings to catch one’s eye, all of fine quality and full of finer histories, but Claire’s eyes were locked onto the guards that stood outside her door. They barred the entrance with their crossed pikes. Thank the Gods.

She stopped in front of the door, and the guard nearest to her nodded and saluted. He pointed his pike toward the ceiling in a relaxed position.

“Lady Claire,” the guard said, his voice rumbling beneath his helm. Unlike the rest of her soldiers, these two guards wore full plate, the white tabard of Homestead replaced with the blue tabard of her house. “No one has gained entrance to your quarters. Your disciple is inside, waiting for you. What are your orders?”

Claire smiled at the man and inclined her head. “You’ve done well so far. Continue guarding the entrance to my quarters. Bar the way and let no one in, even if they proclaim themselves an ally and wear the faces of ones that you trust. I will be conducting a ritual and cannot be disturbed. My life—and all of those within this castle—depend on the success of this ritual. Do you understand?”

“I do, my Lady,” the guard said, bowing low. “It will be done, Lady Claire. We will defend this entrance with our lives.”

“See that you do,” Claire said, stepping past her guards and opening the door. She stepped inside, leaving the door open for her servants to follow. They did. Claire turned right and went around the corner to see the fruit of her labors.

The finery and draperies that covered the rest of the Master Bedroom were torn out, replaced with the stone floor that had been beneath it. At the end of the room was a table full of supplies required for the ritual, supplies that had cost her greatly to acquire.

It doesn’t matter now, Claire thought. She flicked her auburn hair and dismissed the memories of what she’d had to do to get some of the ingredients. It’s here now and ready to be used.

What took Claire’s attention was the ritual Circle, carved in runic chalk. It was a star, but within it were circles upon circles, signifying where everyone was meant to stand. At one end, one of her servants was still drawing. She looked up, reaching up to clear her blond hair from her vision and her eyes widened in shock.

“Mistress!” Varin gasped, bowing low even though she was already kneeling on the stone floor. “I was delayed, but the circle is nearly complete. I only need a few moments to—”

“Hush, Varin,” Claire said, raising her hands in a calming gesture. “We have time. Complete the Circle.”

Varin smiled and chewed her lip worriedly as she bowed and went back to her drawing. Her speed increased, but Claire was satisfied to see that the lines being drawn were still clear, concise, and without flaw. Even the most imperceptible of errors would result in the Circle being unusable, and it was to Varin’s credit that she had drawn such a large Circle in such a short amount of time.

Behind Claire, a servant shifted uneasily. She turned to face them, all six that remained could wield magic on an acceptable scale.

“Move to take your positions,” Claire ordered, jerking a thumb toward the circle. “Do not disturb Varin or the Circle. Listen to her instructions, or I will make you wish that you had.”

They followed her order wordlessly, moving to their positions. There were three empty spots, which meant that the Circle would call upon more magic from those who remained. Claire ran a thumb down her wand, taking comfort in its impossibly smooth wood. The wood of the Gods, born from the blood of Azmar, The God of Death. The only sound in the room was the sound of chalk on stone, which was comforting in its own way. Claire allowed herself to become distracted.

Azmar’s name was hated and feared by nearly everyone who lived on this planet, the first planet that Diev had created as he forged the universe. In humanity’s darkest hour, it was taught that he had betrayed them and started the Divinity War, which had nearly destroyed the world.

And now, I’ll be calling upon him in our greatest time of need, Claire thought with dark amusement. Ironic.

“My Lady,” Varin said, her voice low and meek. “It is done.”

Claire refocused to see everyone staring at her, waiting. Claire smirked and stepped into the center of the circle. She ignored the stares as she took the knife that was offered to her by Varin.

“Step in,” Claire said.

Her servants stepped into their positions, their eyes going to the empty spots. For most rituals, having an empty spot was dangerous. Anything more than one was catastrophic and should not be even thought of, let alone attempted.

None are me, Claire thought. None are as powerful or have Dominion Wood. None dare do what I’m about to.

“Open yourselves to your magic,” Claire said. She looked over to Varin, who bowed and moved back from the circle, kneeling on the cold stone floor with her head bowed. It was a pity. She was strong and reliable but didn’t have enough magic to move a flickering candle, let alone help in a ritual such as this.

Claire shivered as she felt the magic of her six servants open. Her Essence reached for theirs, taking their Essences gently and tying their magic to hers. She began to chant then, dragging her palm across the knife. She clenched her hand, keeping the blood within her hand and not letting a drop of it escape. If even a single drop hit the floor, the effects could be disastrous.

As she spoke, the circle began to glow a dark grey. When that happened, Claire opened her hand, letting her blood hit the circle.

“Azmar!” Claire called, flicking her hand so that the blood would land around her. “Grant me vengeance! Let this castle consume all of those who would dare seize it, and let this castle lie in wait for those who seek to ever take it forevermore. Take our magic and our lives but give me this! Grant me vengeance!”

At the final words of the ritual, Claire saw in the corner of her eyes one of her servants struggling to leave. He couldn’t. The Circle had him now in its grip, and any practitioner was forced by their own magic to stay until it was concluded.

It was then that the magic of her servants flowed into her like an overwhelming torrent. Claire couldn’t help the laugh that burst out of her. She had never felt so good, so free. So powerful.

“Yes!” Claire moaned, writhing in ecstasy. “Give me your power! Give it all!”

The ritual pulled at her magic, and Claire felt it flow from her servants, through her, and into the Circle. Claire found herself locked in place, but at the bottom of peripheral vision she could see her wand glowing as well. Like the changing circle below her, it wasn’t grey. It was red.

“Take what you must!” Claire shouted. “Take it all!”

Something like amusement reverberated in Claire’s mind, and the flow of magic from the ritual doubled. Claire winced but kept the ritual going. There was a scream at her side, and Claire saw one of her servants stumble back, aging from young to ancient in a heartbeat before collapsing to the floor.

“Stand fast!” Claire roared, her voice slicing through the cries of horror. “The ritual must be completed!”

Outside of the Master Bedroom, there was a sudden clash of weapons. There was one scream, then another, until there was silence a few moments later.

“Open!” A heavily accented voice shouted from outside of the locked door. A mailed fist slammed against it repeatedly, echoing throughout the Master Bedroom. “Open now!”

“Do not falter!” Claire cried. One of the servants tried to stop the flow of his magic but instead was consumed. He tried to scream, but he was gone before he could do anything but open his mouth to cry out. “Let it be finished. Take what you must, Azmar! Take it all!”

Claire felt the same amusement flicker in her mind again, before she felt the pull from the ritual double, then triple, and then continue until she felt her wand disintegrate from her hands. There were screams from those surrounding her, and Claire met the eyes of Varin, who stared back at her reverently. It was the last thing she saw before she felt her body break down. Claire laughed along with the voice in her mind as she and her servants disintegrated. Their bodies fed the ritual along with everyone else within the castle.

The last thing she heard was an explosion, which destroyed what remained of her body and everything around her, condemning the souls of everyone within a few miles to the eternal defences of Homestead.

Good, a voice whispered in Claire’s mind before she died. Good.