Two men blocked the doors. I recognized one of them immediately. His face matched the magical hologram that had ordered me to torture.

First Archpriest Rigrith grinned. He held Darko’s sword in one hand, his own—a much larger black sword—in the other. Dozens of slashing scars ran all over his face and body below, as if he’d been tortured and healed back to life.

Next to him, the tall mage appeared much like a human, if not for the bone-chilling aura radiating from his staff. His gray robe was just flashy enough to indicate a profession in magic—minimal in ornamentation, but hefty with pockets. His side-parted hair was cleanly arranged some days ago, having evolved into greasy lines.

Jordan Feryah. The man who was supposed to be my teacher.

Shena and Remy held their staves in defense, stationed on both sides of my startled self. I didn’t move a muscle, knowing that anything I could do would only hinder my protection. I’d seen how strong the girls were. I saw determination in their eyes. They would both protect me with their lives. Even Darko, swordless as he was, appeared ready to pounce.

Unfortunately, determination alone was utterly useless when faced with enemies multitudes stronger in power.

A shockwave erupted from Jordan’s staff, like an invisible pulse to signal the end of life. The air rippled as the blow connected. Remy and Shena flew back by force.

Shena burst into a bench, shattering through its wood before she collapsed. Remy tumbled across the carpet of the main aisle. The orb of her staff shattered. The remaining stick lay motionless alongside its immobilized owner.

The spell hadn’t impacted me in the slightest. I stood frozen where I had, now with nothing to protect me from the most powerful mage I had yet come across.

Rigrith’s cackling figure came next. I fell backward as the dual-wielding swordsman dashed past me, greeting Darko with an overhead swing. Darko side-stepped at the last moment, surviving with panicked eyes and a small cut on the shoulder. Rigrith’s blow hit the floor with an ear-shattering blast, the shockwave of which sent Darko sprawling on the floor.

A jolt shot through my body from below. The stone flooring cracked like glass, damage spread from wall to wall. The shockwave of Rigrith’s sword reverberated throughout the church. Old dirt fell from ceiling cracks.

“Enough!” Jordan Feryah called. “Do not kill them yet.”

“Then subdue them already,” Rigrith said.

With a disapproving look on his face, Jordan stepped deeper into the church. He lifted his staff high. The orb glowed with an oppressive purple in preparation for a spell I could only watch in terrified awe.

No explosions nor shockwaves erupted. Instead, Jordan’s spell affected our bodies directly. My muscles and mana chords were squeezed into forced submission, as if invisible shackles were placed on every inch of my body. I couldn’t even flinch my arms. And as if that wasn’t enough, a sharp blade of arcane magic materialized on my neck, not half an inch away from my skin.

Holy shit was all I could think as the same spell was repeated on my friends. Darko’s team, filled with masters of adventuring that I had treated as practically invincible, was subdued in half the time it took for us to clear the church. The four of us were utterly helpless.

With another effortless spell, Jordan lifted our bodies into sitting positions. My limbs moved like a string puppet’s.

“Attempt to fight for control, and the blade will cut your throats,” Jordan said. “You cannot win in a struggle.”

My muscles were so utterly lifeless that I couldn’t have crapped myself in fear had I attempted it. Only my face remained the slightest bit of control, enough for silent and uncontrollable tears to flow like rivers from my unblinking eyes.

It was happening again. The same, Shiela damned cultists. Not one day of peace, and here we were. Captured, this time by the strongest of the strong.

Cultists. Magic. Dead friends.

“What do you want?” Darko asked. His hands were subdued behind his back, body just as immobile as mine.

“Is this not self-evident?” Jordan asked. “We have captured three vicious troublemakers, ones that have destroyed operations in multiple major cities. Punishment is what you three will receive. As for the fourth…” Jordan’s staff glimmered again as he approached me.

My right arm lifted into the air out of my control. Jordan took hold of my wrist and examined my mana chords.

“Hallowed chords.” Jordan didn’t grin like most. If anything, he appeared sympathetic, almost sad to see me. “The unlikeliest of reports, but they ring true. You, outsider, are the most talented and rarest mage to have awakened in five hundred years.”

“We found him, then,” Rigrith said. “Exactly the man Azetoth is looking for.”

“We have indeed,” Jordan said with a frown. “My intel claims this man is a recent awakener. I have a busy schedule ahead of me, teaching him. Tell me, young mage, do you speak or understand Krose?”

“I do…” I said with absolutely no will behind my words.

“Good,” Jordan said. “In that case, we can get to work right after the mess is sorted. You can consider yourself an honored visitor. Your chords are a gift of the gods. It is a shame the very same gods have betrayed this world.”

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“No…” I said.

Why, Shiela? I thought. Couldn’t the nightmare end already? With what logic did I deserve all this? Because I was unhappy with my life on earth? Was my depression the reason for this hell?

I had done acceptably well with Remy’s help, had I not? I truly believed I was starting to understand the ways of this world.

The world had no “ways.” It had cultists and torture.

“Unfortunately, refusal is not an option,” Jordan said. “We will discuss the terms of our relationship later. For now, what will we do with this bunch?” He turned to face the rest of my team, starting with my teacher. “Remyer Ravilles. A lucky mage born into nobility, taught by professionals without a slave contract. An opposer of her fate, reducing herself to a mere adventurer. Ultimately, a failure.”

Remy struggled to keep the tears in. She glanced at me with a look of pure helplessness.

“Shena Benneft,” Jordan said. “An escapee from the village of Tulfurd. Said to be a self-taught genius. In reality, an abomination of Gorthorn techniques. A skilled mage, yet irrelevant to the world around her.”

Shena scowled back. “How do you know this?”

“Now this,” Jordan said, “is an interesting fellow. Darryl Blythe. Otherwise known as Darko the Wyvern Slayer. A descendant of a rather infamous woman.” He turned to Rigrith. “The Blythe kid is to be brought to Azetoth, in case the Master yet has unfinished business with this lineage.”

“You ass sniffers are making a great mistake,” Darko said.

“By capturing you?” Jordan asked. “I believe not. Your goal to kill us is clearly announced to the world. It would be stupid of us to consider letting you free. An old ally though you are.”

“My lineage and revenge are as good as dead,” Darko said with a scowl. “The mistake is not capturing me. The mistake is every other act you have committed. Even if you kill me, Azetoth’s reign will not last. Far more powerful mages than him exist in this world. It’s only a matter of time before the Defenders get involved in this mess.”

Jordan let out a sad laugh. “This may very well be the case. It doesn’t matter to me. Unlike Rigrith and other followers, I do not pride myself as a servant of Azetoth. I share a goal with my master, to truly master the control of magic. If we succeed, Cerdri himself would stand no chance in defeating us.”

“You know better than to truly believe those words,” Darko said with the deepest look of anger I had seen on his face. “Are you truly the same man I used to know? What in Goddess Akona’s name happened to you! What would Alyce Xastur think if she saw you in the face you own!”

Jordan’s staff glowed a sparkly red, casting a spell I could only imagine was torture. Darko screamed in pain. “I am letting you live, adventurer!” Jordan shouted. “Mention her name once more, and I will change my mind in an instant!”

Darko’s screams rang throughout the church, casting more tears onto my and my teacher’s faces. My heart paused alongside the wails, imagining the possibility that this spell could be cast on me.

Why did I choose to live on? Why?

Eventually, Jordan paused the torture, Darko’s neck falling limp. Jordan took a deep breath to calm himself.

“The mages are disposable, then?” Rigrith asked. He stood idly during his colleague’s fit of madness. “Do we have a reason to keep them imprisoned?”

“We do not,” Jordan said. “Azetoth has no use for stragglers.”

A grin took over Rigrith’s face. “In that case, allow me the pleasure. You already have the honor of tending the mage of Hallowed chords. Let me offer my meager contribution to the Master.”

Frowning, Jordan nodded. He pulled out something from his robe’s inside pockets and offered it to Rigrith. A heart pierced by… needles?

Shena’s face opened wide at the sight. “No. You wouldn’t!”

“Oh, yes I would.” Rigrith grinned. “I see you understand how this works. I congratulate you for defeating Averia. I hope you were impressed by the contraption used to fuel her magic.”

“NO!” Darko called. “Don’t you fucking dare!”

Rigrith’s inhumane chuckle gave me chills. “Your girls’ magic isn’t very useful when wielded by idiots now, is it? How about we offer their chords to someone far more capable?”

“Bastards!” Darko shouted. His brain seemed to turn off as his shoulders flailed in an attempt to be free. I watched in horror, certain that the blade would cut his head off any second. Yet, Darko did not die. Instead, Jordan focused his purple-glowing staff into subduing the raving maniac. Darko was overpowered to the ground.

The blade did not kill him. Was it a bluff?

Rigrith approached my teacher, needle in hand. “Young Ravilles. I have a history with your kind, believe it or not. Tell me, is everyone in your family as discriminating as your mother?”

Remy cried, mouth frozen open under Rigrith’s scowl.

Rigrith sighed. “Nobility should not exist. Your lives are a waste, your culture is shit, and your morals are none. I am ashamed to have been born amongst your ranks. I lose sleep counting the years I wasted mingling in your useless balls, trying to fit myself into your pretentious community. Killing you all will offer me great pleasure.”

Remy squirmed as Rigrith took a step toward her. Darko’s screams rung over my pounding heartbeat. I watched as my teacher’s tears grew into a panicked flood. Remy’s neck inched backward with each one of Rigrith’s steps. She wailed desperate pleas.

I recalled the same state of mind from just two days ago in Volés. The realization that any love I had for myself was about to be violated in the worst form, and there was absolutely nothing I could do but exist in the trapped torment about to befall. I had never in my life experienced a more terrifying rush of emotions, not even when I had jumped off the twelfth-story balcony.

Remy, my poor teacher, was living through the same exact moment.

Jordan’s focus was on Darko’s screaming struggle. Nobody paid any attention to me. Perhaps, if luck was on my side…

Rigrith, now within punching distance of Remy, raised the needle. The vilest grin lit his face as he prepared to strike. I couldn’t watch any longer.

And I knew I was the only one in the room with the slightest of chances to save my friend.

Arcane Snare - An uncommon spell within the “arcane” family. Arcane magic is known most for its destructive power. Nerds, however, will remind you of Arcane magic’s surprising capabilities in utility.

Arcane Snare will trap unsuspecting targets like magical lassoes. It’s a costly spell, not ideal to be used for extended periods of time and can easily be countered if the opposer knows it’s coming.

For surprise attacks, nothing beats the good old snare trap.

* Goddess Shiela’s description of the spell, “Arcane Snare”