Over a dozen watchers were placed at key spots at the airport. Some of them would blend in while others deliberately attracted attention. Whether they were meant as a deterrent defeated the purpose, for it had quickly provided Dallion with a way to identify everyone else.

All he had to do was split into instances and cast a spell to make everyone else react. At that point, Dallion would quickly fade his more extreme instances and repeat the process until he was certain that he’d caught everyone out. From there, it was only a matter of sneaking by.

The watchers had adapted from their previous mistakes. At this point it was risky gambling on the luggage trick, or attempting to convince any of them to escort Dallion to a private jet. If he were in their place, he’d react to any anomaly, especially those performed by one of their members.

“If you’re there, Gleam, I could really use some help,” Dallion whispered as he stood by a cab stand near the entrance, pretending to be waiting for someone.

Unfortunately, the shardfly didn’t react, cutting off Dallion’s easiest approach. The option of creating the illusion of a fly, or even a bird, was out of the question. A forceful approach wouldn’t work, either. It would be easy creating chaos at the airport, or even a fake scare. Yet, while Dallion could make sure that no one got hurt, he’d gain nothing. The watchers were unlikely to fall for the same trick twice.

What do you think? Dallion asked his hidden familiars. Think I should make myself into a tire?

The option had its lighthearted charm, but was unlikely to work. For ten more minutes, Dallion went through various approaches. Then, finally, everything clicked in place. Common logic suggested that the simplest solution often was the best. Politics in the awakened world had taught Dallion differently. Waiting a bit longer for the perfect victim, he approached a rather well-off couple making their way towards the airport entrance.

“Let me help with that,” he offered, even if the pair didn’t have any luggage.

“Err, why thank you,” the woman was faster to react, while her husband remained in a mild state of confusion.

“You’re the ambassador of Morocco and his wife,” Dallion whispered, using his music skills. “On your way to Los Angeles.”

Immediately, the couple’s attitude changed. An air of authority emanated from them, suggesting to everyone around that they were beyond V.I.P. status.

“And who are you?” the man asked, glancing at Dallion.

“I’m your diplomatic pouch.” Dallion reached into his pocket, where he drained enough energy from several shrunken car batteries, to cast the illusion onto himself. From this moment on, everyone would see a large bag marked diplomatic mail carried by the new “ambassador.”

Skipping the standard queue, the pair went straight to the specialized fast que, where they showed their international passports.

“There’s no need to look closely,” Dallion whispered. “Who will impersonate an ambassador?”

“Your excellency.” The airport employee waved them through. Dallion, of course, followed. After all, the pouch couldn’t be separated from the ambassador.

The screening device didn’t find anything wrong, and neither did all the people checking the boarding pass. It hardly mattered that the couple were heading to the Alps for their holiday. According to everything in existence, they were on a first-class trip to Los Angeles on the very next flight. Their diplomatic and V.I.P. status quickly let them skip all queues and checks, straight to the luxurious section of the airplane. Once inside, Dallion cast another illusion on himself and sat in one of the free seats.

“Hello,” the man nodded with a polite smile. “I’m the Ambassador of Morocco and this is my wife.” He introduced them.

“Charming.” Dallion nodded in turn. “I’m into show business.”

The chitchat ended there as a stewardess approached and offered them champagne. Dallion refused, of course, preferring to go with a soft drink.

Thirty agonizing minutes he sat at the ready should something go wrong. All the time, Nox was ready to cause an entire section of the plane to fall off should Dallion need a quick escape. Then, finally, the plane went onto the runway and into the air.

I hope I never see you again. Dallion looked through the thick glass of the airplane window. He was referring to the watchers, but it could also stand true for the world itself. Sadly, he had to wait a bit longer.

The flight was long and boring, even in first class. Dallion couldn’t afford to let his guard down, constantly maintaining the illusion of the car batteries in his pockets. The one thing he did take advantage of was the relatively good first-class internet to read about Jeremy.

The name the Tamin Emperor was known as was Jeremy O’Conner. Clearly fake, it was good enough to grab attention. According to the gossip sites, he had risen into fame three years ago after a swimsuit commercial had gone viral. Since then, he had risen to greater heights, acquiring brand deals with multiple top brands.

Interestingly enough, the greatest topic of discussion was the man’s love life. The lack of any stable partners giving rise to all sorts of rumors from him not being into women, to being highly religious and with a large family he kept away from the spotlight. Here and there among the chaff, Dallion was able to find useful nuggets of information. It was claimed that Jeremy had been an avid surfer at some point, though he refused to enter any championship. “Friends” also swore that he was a monster at swimming and beach volleyball. And while all that could be fabricated for his image, Dallion got the impression that the former emperor had retained some of his skills as well. That might pose some issues when they met, though before that there was the problem of getting anywhere near Jeremy’s multi-million-dollar mansion.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

The place was in an area of L.A. out of bounds for the normal person. Anyone that got anywhere close would instantly be tagged by the local police and the highly paid security outfit. And that was before he’d have to deal with Jeremy’s personal bodyguards.

Things are never easy. Isn’t that right, plane?

You said it, the plane replied. They’ve been promising to retire me for five years. Instead, I get double shifts.

That was the least encouraging thing one could hear from the plane they were on. Fortunately, the flight was near its end.

* * *

Every year, usually on a random holiday, Jeremy would receive a postcard. It would always come from Kraisten, containing a few standard well-wishes and a signature. Occasionally, there would be a longer message covering the picture side, written in magic threads. Only matters regarding the awakened would be discussed there—a new face making itself known, the latest stupidity from the watcher organization, or a throwback to the past.

Each letter sent was carefully preserved and kept in a leather-bound album. It didn’t matter so much what was written, but the fact that there was anything written at all.

This time, when a priority courier delivery brought a whole package with the postcard, Jeremy was confused. After getting the supermodel’s electronic signature, the courier slid the package through the designated slot by the side of the door and went on his way.

Upon getting the note for inspection, it turned out there was nothing on it—neither address, message, or even a trace of magic.

Putting it to the side, Jeremy opened the package. Its contents were even more confusing than the postcard itself—a purple ball of yarn.

Observing it for several seconds, Jeremy then picked it up. There seemed to be minute traces of magic threads within, though not enough to cast any spell. If this was an attack attempt, it was highly inefficient. If it were a joke, it was of poor taste.

The man was just about to throw it away in the nearest bin when he heard the slight vibrations of a sound. It wasn’t a beep, or a tune, but a single continuous tone. The tone went on for two full seconds, when it suddenly intensified.

Suspecting something not to be right, Jeremy let go of the ball of yarn and leaped back. His fingers moved at a frantic speed, drawing electricity from the floor itself to cast a three-circle spell.

As he did, the ball burst open, spreading yarn in all directions, revealing a single tuning fork in its core; the fork was vibrating.

The entire row of oversized windows lost their opacity as they shattered into thousands of pieces, unable to withstand the sound vibrations. Then, Dallion jumped through, still in the courier outfit.

“Jeremy!” he shouted, using his music skills in an attempt to immobilize his opponent, even if for a second.

The attempt was immediately thwarted as an aether sphere surrounded the man, causing any and all sound threads to bounce off. Even now, in this world, the emperor hadn’t dulled his reflexes.

Unwilling to give up, Dallion continued forward, striking the aether surface with his fist.

A spiderweb of cracks emerged on the flowing aether, making it shatter almost as fast as the windows.

“Been a while!” Dallion spun in the air, attempting to strike the shoulder of the emperor with an upper sweeping kick.

Jeremy successfully managed to block it again with his left arm, but as he did, a series of bloody scars emerged over his flesh, as if a particularly vicious cat had clawed him.

“Crackling claws?” The man leaped back, mildly surprised. “Guess you learned new tricks after taking over the world.”

Pitch black liquid oozed through Jeremy’s pores, covering the entire surface of his arms with a black, plastic-looking layer.

“So have I!” Jeremy used music skills of his own, while also engaging in a physical multi-attack.

Music clashed with music, while the two simultaneously exchanged punches. No one had managed to get any weapon, not that there were any that could give them nearly as big an advantage as the ones back in the awakened world.

No matter how many times Dallion landed a bow, the attack was entirely absorbed by the layer of void. Fortunately, Jeremy didn’t seem to be able to fully take advantage of the fact, since he seemed to lack guard skills.

Lux, let’s pick it up a notch. Dallion punched the emperor in the chest.

The shirt was instantly shredded thanks to Nox’s ability. Then, something different occurred. When Dallion followed up with another punch in the same area, the void pulled to the side, as if he had hit a layer of water.

You still can’t stand healing, can you? Dallion grinned.

He would have preferred to use spark point attacks, but one couldn’t always have everything in life.

Yet another punch followed, once again scarring Jeremy’s chest before the void could seep back in.

“Not bad.” The void peeled off Jeremy’s left hand, allowing his fingers to pull magic from the floor again.

Noticing it, Dallion pulled away and did the same. Since entering the premises, he had noticed the continuous current running beneath the walls and floorboards. The emperor had gone through a lot of trouble to ensure himself a permanent source of magic. Anyone unsuspecting would probably have been killed within moments without even knowing why. Yet, that only worked on non-mages.

Both sides focused on the most efficient spells they could muster. Jeremy cast a circle that poured aether needles at his enemy, like a high velocity machine gun.

Dallion, on his part, took an entirely different approach, forming a portal. It wasn’t guaranteed he’d succeed, but if he did, this action alone would negate Jeremy’s greatest advantage.

Aether projectiles drilled through his left arm and shoulder. The pain was intense, but less than he had become used to. No longer having to focus on battle, Lux focused on healing the wounds as fast as he could.

“Nice try,” Jeremy smirked as he focused on casting a second spell-circle. “You lose.”

Before he could complete it, Dallion managed to finish his portal spell. As he did, water poured out of it right onto the floor.