“I always knew that you’d kill me.” Alien stood still, his hand on his face. “Never thought you’d be stupid enough to do it by accident.”

Meanwhile, Dallion was testing the limits of his current spellcraft skill. It was tempting to cast a pearl of destruction, although there was a strong possibility that the Blue Moon wouldn’t appreciate that. While Astreza hadn’t once meddled in Dallion’s life—or anyone else’s, for that matter—since his return to Earth, that didn’t mean one had to be reckless.

“Is Katka still good in combat magic?” Dallion asked.

“Good enough. That’s why she moved in. She’s worth crap without electricity, though.”

And the generator’s location didn’t make things easy, Dallion thought. “What about the other mages?”

“One’s hiding in a library somewhere and doesn’t want anything to do with me. The others are worth crap.”

The last sounded doubtful. Alien’s voice had shifted, making it clear they were likely more skilled than he was. Even so, the argument was purely theoretical. There was no possible way they could get here in the next ten minutes, let alone sooner.

I really messed up this time, Dallion thought.

Back in the awakened world, Adzorg and many others would constantly warn him not to let down his guard. The saying was that the moment an awakened lowered his guard, they got him. It was almost comical how quickly he had forgotten than after returning to his home world. In a large part, it was overconfidence. Being a world conqueror, and later the architect, had made him think he was untouchable. How wrong could one get… and caught in a web of music, of all things.

“So, what’s the plan?” Alien asked.

“Can you fly?”

There was a long moment of silence. Grains of doubts and hope appeared within the mage’s body, visible plainly within the awakened realm. He doubted there was a deep meaning in Dallion’s words, but was desperately hoping for it to be true nonetheless.

“Planes,” Dallion clarified. “Can you fly planes?”

“Why would I be able to fly planes?” Alien sounded confused.

“Weren’t you a gamer?”

“I play flight sims, but that’s hardly…” the man’s words trailed off. “You’re not serious.”

“Can you think of anything better?”

Dallion’s plan verged on insanity, and that was precisely why he felt confident no one had taken any measures against it. Using the car was out of the question. For one thing, getting to it would be difficult. For another, Dallion had no intention of trusting anything that came from Atol. Using his instances, he had already checked all of his current clothes and belongings. No red flags had been spotted, yet that wasn’t a guarantee.

“I can’t get it out,” Alien said. His fingers moved, casting a spell to summon a large office chair next to him. “We’ll have to wait for the power to get restored.”

“Not impossible.”

Atol was likely going to pick up on Dallion’s change of behavior. The music thread she had attached to him remained useless in the awakening realms, but upon his return, she’d notice its absence. That would put her on guard and—if the organization was as powerful as Alien suggested—force her to call for assistance.

The area would be swarming with operatives soon enough. On the positive side, there was a good chance that would keep them from taking any action until reinforcements arrived. Atol knew he was an Architect and just how many skills he had re-learned. That would be more than enough to make her overly cautious in the situation, making her ripe for the perfect push.

“So, think you can fly?” Dallion asked again.

“I’ll manage. Not sure we’ll get very far with all the gas we have.”

“We just need to get in the air. After that, it’ll be easy.”

The way Dallion spoke, one would think that he had it all figured out. In truth, there were enough loose ends to make a cat choke. The last time he had been so sure about something so reckless was back when he had charged the chainling with Gloria and Veil. All of them were single digit awakened, relying on the magic of a copyette they believed to be a low-level cleric. This time, Dallion had the magic, but his plan was just as insane, if not more.

“Why don’t you control it?” Alien asked.

“Flight sims aren’t my thing. I’m more into MMOs.”

“Of course you are.” A dry smile appeared on the mage’s face.

Normally, this would be the moment when he’d respond with a smirk and sarcastic comment. To Dallion’s surprise, the man cast another spell, creating a martini glass in his hand.

“If we’re doing this, I might as well enjoy the last few minutes before we go on the run.” He took a sip. “What will Katka do?”

“You’ll fly, I’ll navigate, she’ll maintain the illusion.”

“Bad call. She’s crap at that.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

“You’ll fly and maintain the illusion,” Dallion said. “I’ll navigate, and she’ll keep anything from getting close.”

“Better. If we get my shotgun, she could—” Seeing Dallion’s warning glance, the mage stopped. “Just a thought. Won’t make much of a difference. Things are already as bad as they can get. Even if we kill a few of them on the way...”

Dark math. That’s what the hunters called it—the realization that taking a few lives would only slightly tip the scales one way or another. Many wouldn’t have hesitated. Most didn’t. They didn’t have the empathy trait, though. The boon that Felygn had given him was different from the one Dallion had in the past—it was a lot more potent. Given everything Earth faced, it had to be, yet that only made his inner conflicts greater.

“No killing,” he said.

“It might not be our choice.” Alien’s expression hardened.

“I’ll make sure it doesn’t get to that. You just be ready to go.”

“I’ll do my part.” Alien finished his drink then tossed the glass into the air. The object quickly lost shape, vanishing into a cloud of fading purple particles. “You worry about everything else.”

Dallion nodded.

“Just one more thing. Got any clothes I could borrow?”

“What?”

“I can’t risk carrying echoes.”

“What the hell.” The mage shrugged. “Might be amusing. Wardrobe, second floor.”

“Got it.” Dallion rubbed his hands. “Ready? Or do you want another drink?”

Alien snapped his fingers.

In fragments of a second, the realm around Dallion collapsed into a single dot, ejecting him back into the real world. The experience was slower and more violent than he had experienced in the past. No wonder the mage referred to it as a “rake realm.”

A jolt of lighting shot out from the socket next to Alien. The mage lazily grabbed hold of it, then drew a pattern with his fingers. The outlines of an illusion took shape. Dallion could almost admire the skill with which the former archmage wove a fabric that could change reality. As he did, the generator rippled, halving in size. A moment later, it was no larger than the basic desktop PC.

It was a hasty job. Dallion could see the threads fluctuating, distorting the shape between blinks of the eye.

“Can you keep it stable enough?” he asked, cautiously.

“It’s your plan.” The other snapped. Back in the real world, he seemed nowhere as elegant and confident as he had in the realm. “I’ll make it hold. For ten minutes. At least. Maybe even twenty.”

“Ten’s fine,” Dallion lied. He would have preferred an hour, but he was forced to work with what he could get.

“You carry the tanks.” Alien took the generator beneath his arm and left the basement.

Sure, he said to himself. Leave the one with the body trait to do the hard work.

Carrying the gas needed to keep the generator running proved more uncomfortable than heavy. Even with Dallion’s best efforts, he could only carry four at a time. Given the short amount of time Alien could maintain the illusion—according to his own words—there was no need to take any more than that. Suppressing a grumble, Dallion climbed the stairs, making it all the way to the room on the second floor.

“Nice to see you back,” Katka said as Alien and Dal entered the room.

Get ready. Alien drew in the air with a bit of electricity from the generator.

“I need some new clothes,” he said, keeping a safe distance from the window.

“I’ll join you,” Dallion said. “After I make a call.”

He grabbed his phone and called Atol again. This time the woman replied on the very first ring.

“Shithead!” the woman blasted as a greeting. In the process, dozens of minuscule music strands emerged from the device. Most of them bounced off Dallion without any effect, but a few of the more stubborn ones clinged on.

That had to be how she was keeping an eye on him. Up to a moment ago, he wouldn’t even have noticed them, proud of his ability to snap the obvious larger attacks. Re-acquiring the ability to cast spells had also developed his senses, though.

“Are you ready to go?” Dallion asked, taking the verbal initiative.

“Go? I’ve been wanting to leave this crapper ever since we got here. What’s the rush to leave now?”

“I can find another one,” Dallion lied. His tone was so steady that no one could possibly suspect. “A big one.”

“What do you mean by big?” Atol’s music attacks visibly diminished.

Got you, didn’t I? “An entire Academy faction,” Dallion said. “Alien definitely fell from grace after arriving here. He’s been trying to crawl into the organization ever since.”

“Wait! An organization of mages?”

“Seems like. He’ll need the power back up to show me.”

There was a momentary pause. The complete lack of sound made it clear that the woman had muted her end. Possibly, she was even discussing it with one of her superiors.

“Being in a mage’s house when the power comes back is a bad idea,” she said after a while.

“It’s a risk I need to take. I’m faster than him, so I can deal with anything he pulls as long as I’m close. How soon can you get things running?”

“I can’t convince the world of everything,” Atol grumbled. “People are on the way, but it’ll be a while until—”

Annoyance and fear vibrated in her voice. For once, the new information had caught her off guard, making it the perfect moment for Dallion to strike.

“Get it done.” He mixed magic with music skills.

The threads were half as large as Atol had used, made entirely out of magic. There was no way she could have protection from that. The lack of combat response made it clear he’d succeeded. If he were greedy, he could try to get her to do a few more things—reveal the rest of her organization, for example. However, Dallion had learned since long ago that nothing good came out of being greedy. Immediately ceasing his attack, he waited.

“Fine! I’ll do my best! Don’t expect any miracles.” She ended the call.

Looking at his phone, Dallion smiled, then tossed it on the floor.

Sorry, he thought. He was going to miss the guardian, but it was safer this way.

A few seconds later, a black shirt flew in his direction. Not blinking an eye, Dallion caught it midair.

“AC/DC?” he asked, holding it in front of him.

“Seemed deep at the time.” Alien tossed him a ribbed pair of black jeans. “From my goth period. Only thing I know is clean.”

Thankfully, Dallion’s senses confirmed the suspicion. The fabric felt rather rough, though, soaked with the smell of mothballs. There could be no doubt that the mage was playing a joke at his expense. That said, he seemed committed.

“Just so you know.” Dallion put the new set of clothes on the nearest chair and took off his shirt. “I didn’t come here to hurt you, but if you betray me, I will.” His voice rang with icy determination.

As if to stress the point, the back of the chair he’d touched developed a massive crack running down the whole of the wooden surface.

“Don’t worry.” Despite the fear emanating from him, Alien maintained a façade of calm. “I know what it’s like to work for someone overwhelming.”