The Arrival of the Alteration Master

The sound of shuffling feet echoed down the stone path leading to the college. Clad in a white, dirt-stained robe, his long beard wild and tangled, the old mage walked steadily toward the entrance. Alious—once a revered master of alteration, now a pariah—stepped through the gates, his eyes tired but filled with determination.

"Whitemane!" Alious called out, his voice raspy, weathered by years of seclusion. "Let me see my disciple!"

The guards stood firm, unfazed by the old man’s plea. Towering above them, a massive stone golem rumbled into motion, its rocky limbs creaking as it stepped between Alious and the entrance. “You are forbidden from these grounds, Alious!” the guard captain bellowed. "By order of the college, you will leave or be removed!"

Alious sighed, his wrinkled hand rubbing his forehead. "I’ve no time for this."

The golem's arm swung down like a hammer, aiming to crush the intruder. With barely a glance, Alious raised his hand and the earth beneath him shifted, forming a staircase of stone that lifted him effortlessly above the golem's swing. His movements were slow, deliberate, yet every defense crumbled before him as if the very laws of magic were merely suggestions.

The guard captain cast a binding spell, bright ropes of magical energy shot forth, wrapping tightly around Alious’s body. Yet, with a flick of his wrist, the ropes unraveled into a shower of harmless sparks, flickering away into the air like festive lights.

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“Now, now,” Alious muttered, stepping forward. “There’s no need for theatrics.”

Another guard attempted to ensnare him with an ice trap, freezing the ground beneath Alious’s feet. Instead of being caught, the ground beneath him rippled like water, and a shimmering doorway formed in the ice. Alious simply walked through it as though he were stepping into another room, emerging unscathed on the other side. The guards stared, dumbfounded, as the ice trap dissolved into a puddle of cool mist.

Frustrated, the stone golem roared again, charging with boulders ready to crush him. Alious barely raised an eyebrow as the golem’s fist came down, but before it could connect, the massive hand turned into a flurry of harmless pebbles that bounced harmlessly to the ground. The guards launched more spells, binding him with magical chains, hurling bolts of fire, but nothing worked. Each spell was undone with almost laughable ease—a fireball turning into a floating cluster of glowing embers that resembled fireflies, the magical chains slithering into the dirt as if they were nothing but vines.

At one point, a gust of wind meant to hurl him against the college walls became nothing more than a gentle breeze, carrying the scent of flowers and causing the guard’s hair to ruffle in an oddly peaceful moment. Another guard attempted to summon a torrent of water, but it splashed harmlessly into the air, transforming into a gentle rain shower.

A final attempt to entangle him in rope ended up in an even more absurd failure. The binding spell morphed into long, slithery strands of noodles, harmlessly wrapping around his arms. Alious chuckled softly as he plucked the limp pasta off his robe.

The guards, at this point, were left in a state of stunned disbelief, unable to comprehend the sheer ease with which the old mage had unraveled their attacks.

Merodach, watching from afar, sneered as the chaos unfolded. The power in Alious was no illusion—it was real, and it was dangerous. He decided to step forward, his eyes narrowing as he walked toward the heart of the commotion.