Drawn to power, it moved swiftly through dark streets.
Stinging rain sought to sap it of its strength to no avail.
It headed toward the source of the storm’s magic, reaching a broad intersection.
Bright lights and loud voices emanated from dozens of the strange, square containers filled with infinitesimally weak things.
Perhaps it would reap them after it had taken its fill from the mighty few.
The protections around the containers wouldn’t have lasted long against it when they were still up. Now that those were gone nothing could stop it from simply tearing through the sides to get to the weak ones within.
But, those were held at a distance in its thoughts.
It only had eyes for the true power, which, it realized was directly above.
Lidless black orbs gazed skyward—
The power was out of reach high up in the dark, roiling clouds spitting needle-like rain drops.
It dashed down the street, scattering chunks of asphalt in its wake as it headed for another.
It felt heat great enough to melt sand into glass before it saw the conflagration.
Steam rose from the raging fire in a plume that rivaled any awakened volcano.
A wide swathe of land around the massive fire was bone dry despite the torrential downpour.
It understood why when it moved closer.
Pale, pink flesh steamed, drying almost instantly.
The soles of its feet sizzled with each step forward.
Pain was distant, irrelevant when hunger drove it forward.
The source lay in the middle of the raging inferno.
It dared the flames, diving in like a starving beast.
A dozen yards?
Two dozen?
Pale, pink flesh burned and healed, burned and healed, burned and healed.
Black ichor boiled and steamed before it could run tracks down its face. Black orbs melting and reforming in a quick cycle.
A small hill of melted rubble rose up ahead.
Molten metal stuck to its feet like tar as it ascended.
Reaching the peak, it let out a guttural moan, which was cut off as the fire burned the air inside.
The power was still so far away.
Two, three hundred yards, though it had no concept of the measurement.
From its perspective the distance was negligible. It knew it could cover it quickly under even the most difficult circumstances.
However, this fire was beyond that.
Normal flames meant nothing to it.
Only the hottest natural flame could burn it and even then it healed just as quickly.
It knew instinctively that it couldn’t remain in this impossible fire long enough to cover the distance to the kneeling figure in the distance.
Such power!
It hungered.
Yet, it wasn’t to be.
It turned and ran, leaping, loping until it was free of the inferno and back under the unpleasant rain.
A moment to heal.
The expenditure of power made it even hungrier.
Three remained from what it had sensed earlier when the bright yellow orb had been rising in the sky.
The one that tasted of the cold depths and crashing waves was likewise out of reach.
The strongest— flickered in and out of existence, intertwining with that of the one it had once encountered.
The latter ebbed and flowed. It weakened for a span, but then grew stronger with startlingly speed.
It understood.
Strength taken from death.
Similar, yet different from its own ways.
A thought struck it like one of the occasional bolts of pale red lightning that branched in the storm like a twisted tree.
The power it knew grew stronger whenever one of the weak ones in the surrounding area perished.
It was like fattening up a cow for the slaughter.
Kill the weak ones to make the strong one even stronger.
Then and only then would it harvest.
The demon tore through the container’s side like it was made out of thin leaves.
The mewling weak ones inside cried out in terror.
One, a flickering candle in the cold dark, screamed out.
“Holy Smite!”
Warm, yellow light tickled pale, pink flesh.
A clawed swipe separated head from shoulders in the blink of an eye.
The rest scrabbled to flee like those small, furry things skittering inside the walls of its former prison.
Claws swiped.
Mouths bit.
White walls turned red.
Furry floor grew damp and sticky as the red seeped in.
It sensed, rather than saw the power flowing from the cooling corpses out into the storm.
A bare trickle, but there were plenty more.
It went to the next container on the street.
Its prey would be well-fed before the demon would claim it all.
----------------------------------------
Fin, Ghost Sorcerer doubled over with a cry.
“Quiet,” the Dread Paladin hissed.
“What was that?” he spat bile.
Great danger! Recommend avoidance. Recommend informing Cal Cruces.
“He’s busy—”
A sudden thought barged into his head like a battering ram through a castle door.
The Dread Paladin grabbed his helmeted head.
“You too?” Ghost Sorcerer took a swig of water, cleansing the filth in his mouth.
“Your rangers’ failure is going to cost me my vengeance,” the Dread Paladin rasped. “The demon is beyond either of us.”
“Not even together,” he agreed.
Distant. Will know if it is coming toward us. Moves fast. Scant warning.
“I know. We can’t do anything about it,” he muttered.
“Agreed. My purpose remains the same. You can do what you want.”
“It’s way past my pay grade. The plan remains the same.”
“Then we should hurry before it turns its attention to us.”
“Impatience kills.”
“Not as well as a demon.”
Ghost Sorcerer could agree with that.
“Fine. How about this? Impatience lets the filthy mice, at least some of them, get away.”
A strange sound emanated from the Dread Paladin’s helmet.
Eerie light regarded Ghost Sorcerer from behind the narrow eye slit.
When the dark gray-armored man spoke the rasp felt, rather than sounded, hollow.
“We only need one tonight. The rest can be hunted down later like the rats they are.”
“I want as much of them down tonight as possible and if we have to wait a little bit then we’re waiting a little bit.”
“You don’t control me,” the Dread Paladin loomed.
Ghost Sorcerer’s heart flared hot in instinctive anticipation.
“And a fight out here… between us… how does that impact our chances against the Cabal?” he snorted.
“It—”
“Lovers spat?”
A voice from the shadowed end of the alley broke the tension.
“Sgt. Aims,” Ghost Sorcerer nodded and flashed a hand signal.
The lanky ranger removed his hands from the holstered antique revolvers at his hips.
“Finally,” the Dread Paladin rasped.
“Hold on there, big guy,” Sgt. Aims held up a hand, gesturing for the rest of the ranger squad to approach, “planning first—”
“No. I’m not going to wait. The Cabal dies. For my family,” the Dread Paladin called forth his dark, terrible steed.
She climbed out of his writhing shadow, neighing maniacally as he leapt on her broad, muscular back.
“Oh, shit… guess we’re doing this without a plan,” Sgt. Aims said.
“Wait! The enslaved!” Ghost Sorcerer reached a hand toward the Dread Paladin.
“Are unaffected by the dread vow. I will… avoid them… but I won’t wait for the rest of you. Do you want to come with me?” the Dread Paladin gestured behind him.
“Plenty of room,” Sgt. Aims shrugged. “Up to you. We’ve got a score to settle,” he nodded to Sgt. Hardhat and Sgt. Dastardly, “though not as unresolved as yours.”
He pointed across the street to the parking lot where slave soldiers patrolled, unaware of what was about to hit them. “What about them—”
“I got it,” Sgt. Dastardly hit a button on her enchanted arbalest-like crossbow.
The mechanism pulled the string back, but instead of letting the magazine feed a bolt from beneath, she replaced it with one from the quiver at her waist.
“Is that new?” Ghost Sorcerer said.
“Yup. Custom Sexchanter69 work. Best she can make. Semi-auto. Ridiculously increased draw weight. Draw assist even in manual mode. All the optics. Same with the heads. Plus got a few alchemical ones from Santi up north,” she aimed and squeezed the trigger in one smooth motion.
The bolt flew with a whisper, landing in the midst of the slave soldiers.
A beat…
An explosion.
Thick, cloying gas bloomed.
The slave soldiers crumpled to the ground.
“Sleep gas,” Sgt. Dastardly said.
“You coming or what?” the Dread Paladin rasped.
Ghost Sorcerer leapt up onto the dread steed’s back. He ignored the baleful glare from those eerie, glowing eyes.
“Horses can’t turn their heads that far,” Sgt. Hardhat muttered.
“She is not a horse,” the Dread Paladin rasped.
“Intel said the Vitiator’s sanctum-whatever is on the top floor. Intel also says your horse can run straight up the side of the building,” Sgt. Aims said.
“The entire building has magical defenses on top of the ownership protections,” Ghost Sorcerer said.
“Neither will stop me,” the Dread Paladin rasped.
“Yeah, but they might force us to go through the main entrance since it’s a challenge. I could try a brute force attack, but I want to save it for inside,” Ghost Sorcerer said.
“Head for the top floor. We’ll do the brute force thing, then hit the main entrance to keep them guessing. On my ma—” Sgt. Aims said.
Ghost Sorcerer missed the rest as the Dread Paladin urged his steed forward like a rocket.
The only sound in his ears was that of the wind rushing past them.
“Damn. Fast,” Hardhat said.
“Dastardly, I’m shooting on your lead,” Aims said.
“Figure I wait till the last second, you think? So that we don’t give whatever magic those degenerates have around the building time to recharge,” Dastardly said as she loaded another bolt. This one seemed to vibrate with power. The glowing liquid in the small glass cylinder behind the head shined like a torch as soon as she had pulled the protective covering off.
“They’re going awfully fast,” Hardhat said.
“Your call, Dastardly,” Aims switched out a round in his revolver and aimed up toward the largest window on the top floor. He activated Nightvision and Perfect Aim, holding off on one more.
“Still Breathing,” Dastardly whispered.
Aims closed his eyes just as the whisper of Dastardly’s arbalest touched his ears.
He didn’t watch the glowing bolt zip through the rain-blanketed night sky like a rocket launching into space.
The countdown in his head was about to hit zero when he opened his eyes and squeezed the trigger.
Special Round: Explosive Thermite.
Dastardly’s bolt burned as a second sun on the side of the building.
As expected a magic shield shimmered to life, cracking under the strain.
Aims’ round finished it off.
The rest of the mixture scattered on the remaining surfaces, burning and melting through the wall and what remained of the window.
Just in time for the Dread Paladin and Ghost Sorcerer to flow into the building atop the terrifying steed.
“It’s like it swims through shadows,” Dastardly shivered as she lowered her arbalest to reload.
“Alright, I guess we’re attacking,” Hardhat said. “Hey! Greygrass! A tune!”
“Do I need to, sarge? This rain’s already doing a little bit of work,” Greygrass said.
“‘Little being the operative word. The wide area is causing massive diffusion to… er… to,” Lasik sighed, “‘Tlaloc’s magic…”
“Listen, you’re terrible unless you’re using Skills. Now’s your chance. Also… it’s an order,” Hardhat said.
“Should’ve led with that,” Greygrass muttered. She pulled the lute from her back and began strumming. “Something, something… uplifting? But only in an in the background sort of way. Want to save the good stuff for when we really need it,” she cleared her throat, then started singing softly.
Sometimes the world looks perfect,
Nothing to rearrange.
“I like this one,” Timber nodded.
“It’s so weird that she sucks when she’s not using Skills,” Babyapple said.
“Shut it!” Hardhat snapped. “No time wasting. Tanks—”
Bootleg Jesus and Timber hurried up to Hardhat.
“Babyapple, ward us,” she said.
The young man hurried to trace glowing sigils on the surface of the trio’s helmets.
“Babyapple, when you’re done with that you’re on magic defense with Molds. The two of you will stick to Sgt. Dastardly and Sgt. Aims,” Hardhat said. “Lasik, magic offense supporting the sergeants. Bluesilk, Vicks, the two of you are behind the shields. Look for openings, but your primary job is to handle back attacks. Which means, Cherry Chapstick, you’re tanking the back door. Your favorite,” she grinned.
“You’re just doing that on purpose, sarge,” Cherry Chapstick sighed.
“It’s what you’re best at,” Vicks laid a solemn hand on the other young ranger’s shoulder.
“We are trusting our back doors to you, Godspeed,” Bluesilk held a hand over his heart.
“My children, shall we pray,” Bootleg Jesus said.
Eyes rolled.
“Stopped being funny the hundredth time you did it,” Lasik said.
This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.
Standing tall, on the wings of my dream.
Rise and fall, on the wings of my dream.
Babyapple finished the wards over the three, then did the same for Cherry Chapstick.
Molds tapped and swiped at the phones affixed to her armored arms and thighs before taking a large tablet out and getting it ready.
“Our goal is to make as much noise and commotion as possible to draw attention away from those two,” Hardhat said. “Dastardly?”
“On it.”
Dastardly’s bolt zipped across the parking lot and exploded the front doors wide open, sending shards of glass and building material scattering.
Rayna’s Rangers entered the battle against an entire building of degenerate mages with spirits boosted by a very old song.
Near the top floor, Ghost Sorcerer found himself in a large office space.
Their explosive entrance had scattered the desks, chairs and cubicle walls.
“This isn’t where I intended to enter,” the Dread Paladin rasped.
“We definitely hit the top floor,” he replied.
“This isn’t it. The Vitiator is above us. Multiple floors at least. This is the closest I have ever been. I’m not wrong.”
“I didn’t say you were… but, I remember hitting the top floor and this is not it. What—”
Magical perception alteration.
“Some kind of spell messing with our perceptions,” he continued.
“I’m resistant to magical illusions.”
“Up to your level and maybe above depending on the class and individual. Specifically, humans. The Vitiator isn’t,” Ghost Sorcerer shrugged. “Anyways, I’m also resistant to that sort of thing. Therefore this was something different or stronger than what we’ve experienced before.”
“It doesn’t matter. We just have to go up,” the Dread Paladin punched. The ceiling was well-within reach while on the back of the huge steed.
Cheap ceiling material fell as the dark gray gauntlet went all the way through to the next floor.
Supernatural strength widened a hole with a few sweeping motions.
Hostiles detected!
Ghost Sorcerer pointed to the door at the far end of the open space.
The warmth in his chest flared hot.
A bright red orb shot through the door.
The delayed explosion rattled the entire floor.
Three life signs extinguished. Seven injured. Unknown number converging from above and below.
“They know we’re here,” he said flatly.
“Yes. The explosion would have done it,” the Dread Paladin rasped.
“Well, up we go then,” he stood and used the Dread Paladin’s shoulder to boost himself through the hole and into the next floor. “Can your, uh, horse follow?”
“No, she will spread dread to the rest of the Cabal.”
The people in question rushed through the scorched doorway behind shields, physical and magical.
Offensive magics lit up the darkness as they arced into the Dread Paladin and his steed.
An angry neigh quailed the attackers momentarily.
“Lots of dread to go around,” Ghost Sorcerer muttered.
“I Summon Black Fog,” the Dread Paladin pointed.
Writhing shadows spewed forth thick, soot-like smoke to quickly fill the large space.
The Cabal’s counters fizzled out or failed to eat through the fog.
“Summon Dreadlings.”
Small, dark, misshapen creatures emerged from every writhing shadow.
Screams and shots filled the air as the Dread Paladin leapt through the hole, landing with a heavy thud next to Ghost Sorcerer.
“They won’t—”
“They know not to attack your rangers.”
“Alright, just checking. So, I’m thinking stairs are better than elevators. Unless you want to climb the cables. Or we can repeat the trick. Punching through the ceiling, floor is probably not high on their list of expectations.”
“No. Let them know we are coming. Let their dread fulfill my Vow.”
“Okay. We better hurry then. The Vitiator’s a slippery fuck. I’m not picking up any big magics up there, but he fooled us with that trick,” he shrugged.
“Go, kill everyone above us,” the Dread Paladin rasped.
More dreadlings emerged from the looming man’s writhing shadow to rush, snarling, snapping, cackling up the stairs and—
A group clustered around the elevators.
Boosting each other they pressed the button and waited.
“Disturbing,” he muttered.
Summoned creatures fall on every part of the intelligence scale.
“Follow,” the Dread Paladin crouched, then leapt straight through the ceiling.
Ghost Sorcerer conjured spectral chains to pull himself up.
Two floors up they ran into trouble.
Open floor plan office spaces.
Heavy Cabal presence guarding the central hallway containing the elevators and stairs.
A lesser amount guarding the secondary stairs in each office space.
Dreadlings losing.
Ghost Sorcerer cast ethereal body on himself before crouching behind a row of cubicles to find a better spot to attack from.
“Agony Wave,” a familiar, contemptuous voice turned a cluster of charging dreadlings into a twitching, wailing mass.
“Cambion,” he hissed.
Focus. Controlled vengeance is successful vengeance.
He took comfort in the warm pulses originating from his chest where his heart once sat.
The Dread Paladin strode into a barrage of spells and bullets behind a summoned tower shield of dark gray and shadow. He reached out with a gauntleted hand. “Shadow Grasp,” he rasped. Writhing tendrils yanked a handful of Cabal out of their defensive barricade. Some fell into the claws and teeth of the dreadlings. The Dread Paladin broke one on the spikes covering his shield’s surface.
Fear and terror were thick enough to touch.
Ghost Sorcerer saw it more clearly with his magical eyes.
The problem was that though it empowered the Dread Paladin, it also did the same for some of the Cabal mages.
Red tinged his vision.
It took a moment to realize that it was only in the air around Cambion.
Rage, wrath flowing out of the Cabal mage and into his disciples.
Bodies swelled, distorted with emotion turned physical might.
They roared, snarling and spitting like rabid animals. Eyes only for the Dread Paladin.
The first one struck the massive shield with an equally massive hammer, sending a crack of thunder that blew out the remaining windows on the floor.
The Dread Paladin summoned a spiked mace mid-swing and pulped the man’s head like a ripe tomato.
Though already dead the man continued to fight, grabbing the Dread Paladin’s shield and allowing another to land a crushing blow with a thick blade to the side of the helmet.
A third tackled him into the wall without concern for the spikes on his armor.
They buried him in a mass of muscle, punching, stabbing, ripping, tearing.
Help?
He can handle it for a bit longer, Ghost Sorcerer thought.
Indeed, the dreadlings had gone to the aid of their summoner.
The ranger decided to take advantage of all the attention on the Dread Paladin.
He snuck around to the flank of the main group guarding the central hallway, which coincidentally brought him close to the much smaller group at the stairwell set against the outer wall of the office space.
He dropped the ethereal state and cast in the next breath.
Sinaht’s Razor Birds.
He didn’t know who ‘Sinaht’ was, but they must’ve been vicious judging by the spell.
Faint light pulsed from behind Ghost Sorcerer’s chest armor as a rip opened up in front of him.
He spread arms out wide as a cloud flew out of the hole in space.
The swarm glittered in the ceiling lights.
Tiny birds the size of bees.
Covered in edges as sharp and hard as their namesake.
They flowed over the cabal guarding the stairs.
Through eyes and ears. Into open mouths and other orifices. Or just through skin.
Rending and shredding inside and out.
A fine red mist filled the air, while bloody gibbets scattered amidst glistening bones fell to the floor.
Ghost Sorcerer was satisfied.
The Cabal deserved no mercy.
Not from him.
Not for all the countless others like him that didn’t have the same luck.
He carried their vengeance alongside his own.
The flame of which threatened to burst from his chest with maddened, unceasing ra—
Focus! Magical aura attack. Rage… wrath. Classification: Wrath Mage, Cambion. Correction: class upgrade, undetermined.
He couldn’t concentrate.
There was only one thing in his red-tinged vision.
That mocking smirk on the man’s face as he pointed from the behind his disciples.
Controlled vengeance—
“I know!” he snapped. “Malaviransor’s Rebuke,” he flipped Cambion off.
The red wrath vanished.
Cambion doubled over with blood pouring out of his eyes, ears and a few other openings.
Mana expenditure warning.
“Renzavore’s Claw!” a sneering voice said.
He turned.
A magic shield cast around him by the artifact in his chest shattered as it took the black, crackling magical claw.
One of the other Cabal elders had managed to sneak up behind him.
Zepar.
The man leered down at Ghost Sorcerer in a familiar way that took him back to memories he had thought left behind.
And yet, he was back to those days in the Cabal’s clutches all those year’s ago as an abused boy.
“I can make you feel really good,” Zepar liked red lips and flicked a finger in his direction.
He felt a stirring in his groin.
Magical attack. Forced trigger of reproductive function.
Not again, he thought. “Never again,” he growled.
Valynn’s Bindings.
Simple ropes summoned out of the ether.
What made them special was that they were near unbreakable as long as you fed mana into them.
One rope went around Zepar’s wrists and ankles.
“What the hell—”
He tied the left side ropes around the nearest load-bearing pillar and sent the right side ropes flying across the open office space into the hands of the Dread Paladin.
The Cabal had failed to notice the dark gray-armored terror finally dealing with the magically enraged.
An agony lance pierced through Ghost Sorcerer sending spasms of excruciating pain racing up and down his body.
Temporarily disconnecting nerves.
Sweet relief.
He sent a wall of flame racing toward the Cabal.
They threw hasty magic shields up.
“Pull!” he shouted, though he needn’t have.
The Dread Paladin complied with Class 7 strength.
“Wait—”
Zepar didn’t finish.
The pillar cracked, but held.
The ropes never frayed with the amount of mana Ghost Sorcerer fed into them.
The Cabal Elder came apart in three pieces.
“Pain Siphon!” another elder, Mammon cried triumphantly pointing at his fellow elder. “Yeah!” he vibrated. “You really hurt Zepar, I mean right before you killed him, but as I’ve always said, when another loses, I gain.”
“Shut your filthy mouth, murderer,” the Dread Paladin rasped. “The only thing you’ll gain here tonight is my hand crushing your face. Dread Smite.”
A wide beam of dark light shined down from the ceiling to encompass the entire Cabal formation.
The lower leveled cried out in terror and tried to flee.
The higher leveled quailed, but fought it off.
Cambion, Mammon and the remaining elder, Gremory protected themselves with their spells or relied on what he had just taken from the departed Zepar to weather the dark assault.
“Dreadlings. Kill,” the Dread Paladin rasped.
Ghost Sorcerer held off on the area attack spell in favor of a targeted beam of disintegrating light in order to avoid the dreadlings.
Not that he liked them or anything.
They were useful in keeping the majority of Cabal occupied.
He turned a young woman into ash even as the Dread Paladin waded in with sweeps of long-handled axe in one hand and punishing blows with spiked shield in the other.
“This is fucked!” Gremory said. “Acolytes! Protect me!” she turned and dashed for the broken window.
Ghost Sorcerer sent spectral chains rising up from the floor, but she banished them with frantic gestures.
It appeared that he wasn’t the only one with counterspells.
Axe became spear and in one smooth motion the Dread Paladin hurled it at the fleeing Gremory’s back.
It sank into flesh, but not the elder’s.
One of her acolytes had used a Skill to throw himself in the way.
The dark spear melted into shadow.
The Dread Paladin split a young man in the next breath.
As for Gremory?
Well, she was out the window.
Ten floors up, but Ghost Sorcerer was sure she had some way to deal with that.
Slow Fall, Feather Fall and other derivatives were lower tier spells after all.
“That bitch ditched us!” Mammon said.
“You going to join her? You’ve always been a pussy,” Cambion nodded. “Go on, run away, I’ll remain to protect our master.”
“Bullshit! If I can sense that he’s opening a portal then so can you. You’re a survivor, Cambion. I know you’ve already got an out and I’m not about to be a bag holder.”
“Surprisingly sharp for you,” Cambion snorted.
“I’m a selfish man and there’s nothing I’m more greedy for than my continued existence. I can’t gain anything if I’m dead,” Mammon said.
“That is all you have left here,” the Dread Paladin rasped, batting aside a nauseating fireball with his shield.
“Let’s work together, yeah?” Mammon said.
“Agreed,” Cambion nodded.
“Acolytes, listen up…” Mammon cleared his throat. “Influencer’s Golden Tongue,” he whispered. “You only want one thing. Protect your elders. Enflame Heart’s Desire. Greed is good,” he intoned.
“Unending Wrath,” Cambion waved a hand dismissively over the Cabal acolytes.
Red motes of light sprinkled over them like a dusting of snow.
People turned into raving mob nearly instantaneously.
They threw themselves at the Dread Paladin, heedless of the shadowy blasts and devastating blows.
A few rushed Ghost Sorcerer only to run into a conjured wall of piercing needles.
Combined Skill and spell effects. They will not cease until they are dead.
Obviously, he thought.
Mammon fled to the other end of the corridor and out of sight.
Tracing mana signature. Target: Mammon is running down the outer east stairs. Target: Cambion… has been lost.
He didn’t sense anything of his second most hated person.
“We need to hurry!” he called out.
His first most hated person was trying to escape according to the elders’ words and his own magical senses.
A lot of power was being generated at the top of the building.
His gut told him that they needed to hurry.
He couldn’t tell how clos—
“Shadow Spike Explosion.”
The Dread Paladin cleared the Cabal out in one instant.
Shadowy spikes jutted out of his writhing shadow.
The acolytes wriggled on them, lifeblood pouring down the spikes like waterfalls.
They refused to die.
Wrath sustained them.
Ghost Sorcerer gestured.
A shining buzz saw of magic ripped through the air and through several dozen necks.
Heads hit the floor.
Bodies continued to fight.
The Dread Paladin dismissed his spikes and commanded his remaining dreadlings to occupy the headless bodies as he strode to the stairwell.
Ghost Sorcerer followed.
They reached the top floor.
“The door is magically sealed,” Ghost Sorcerer said.
“I sensed the same,” the Dread Paladin said.
“The wall isn’t.”
“I know,” the Dread Paladin plowed right through behind his shield.
Automated spells fired from what seemed like every direction.
Dark gray plate chipped and cracked under the onslaught.
“Crasnadora’s Comprehensive Counterspell.”
Ghost Sorcerer gasped, sagging against the wall of the now quiet corridor.
Tiny flames licked against the floor and walls as acrid smoke filled the air.
“That took a lot more than I expected,” he tried to breathe deeply.
“I’m not waiting,” the Dread Paladin strode off.
Ghost Sorcerer followed on unsteady legs.
Use mana siphon.
“No. I’m not putting this filth inside of me,” he muttered.
The trail of magical energy led to what was once some fat CEO’s office.
The doors and walls shined with magic.
The Dread Paladin regard him with those eerie glowing eyes.
“I weakened the protection. You can—”
A great boom rang out.
The shockwave buffeted him back several steps.
When he blinked the massive, hardwood double doors were nothing but splinters.
There he stood.
Impossibly tall, but not ungainly.
He moved with a grace beyond even the greatest ballet dancers in human history.
Dark robes fluttered in a non-existent wind as the Vitiator moved around in a shielded spell circle.
He had bled a dozen small forms.
Ghost Sorcerer recognized them as children arrayed around the outer edge of the huge circle.
Slit throats poured blood, streaming to the center where a glowing doorway was coalescing out of the ether.
He peered through the static in the doorway.
It looked like a forest.
The Vitiator held something small, something wriggling in one long-fingered hand.
He turned too-large eyes toward the two interlopers.
Flaxen hair swirled to reveal long, knife-like ears.
Impossibly beautiful, yet alien.
The face that had been haunting the Dread Paladin and Ghost Sorcerer for what felt like forever.
“Understand,” the Vitiator spoke with a melodious voice.
One could be fooled into thinking it was a thing of beauty had they not known the depravity that hid beneath the beautiful veneer.
As if to punctuate that thought, he turned and held up the thing in his hand.
It was a baby.
Practically a new born from what Ghost Sorcerer knew.
Tiny arms and legs waved and kicked without conscious control as he or she laid in the cradle of the Vitiator’s hand.
The Dread Paladin’s axe became a spear, striking out toward the monster, only for it to spark off the magic dome around the spell circle on the floor.
Ghost Sorcerer watched the arcane symbols flow from the impact point before vanishing. He regarded the floor. Also protected.
They weren’t going to be able to try the Dread Paladin’s earlier trick.
“You know that you can’t escape. I’ve marked you,” Ghost Sorcerer lied. He had tried and failed. “No matter where you run from us, I’ll track you down like the animal you are.”
“Understand… I don’t flee from you two. You are still too weak. Beneath my notice,” the Vitiator said.
He regarded the looming figure in the spell circle.
So tall that he made the Dread Paladin look short in comparison.
“I simply can’t abide inelegant brutality.”
“You are fleeing in fear,” the Dread Paladin rasped. “I can feel it. I can taste it alongside your foul essence in the air.”
“He’d know,” Ghost Sorcerer agreed.
“Perhaps… but not of you two.”
“Put the baby down and fight us if you’re not scared.”
Laughter like the tinkling of wind chimes.
It sent a shiver of disgust up Ghost Sorcerer’s back. Of the Vitiator, the Cabal and himself.
The memories…
“Children. That is what you are. When you are old, gray and withered, gasping for the last bit of air into your failing lungs, you will have lived but a fraction of my years. You are nothing. You will be nothing. Insects. Born, live, die. In a blink of my eyes.”
The Vitiator raised the baby cupped in his hand.
He raised his other, conjuring a glowing blade, delicate, beautiful.
A flick of the wrist, almost too quick to follow.
The mewling silenced.
Blood streamed to join the rest at the foot of the flickering doorway.
The Dread Paladin hammered the magic shield with fury and desperation.
Ghost Sorcerer had nothing.
His mana had recovered some, but he knew that even at his maximum capability he wouldn’t have been able to pierce it in time.
The doorway solidified.
The Vitiator discarded the baby like an empty husk. “Do get stronger if you plan to find me again. Otherwise I will find you first. A lesson. Don’t reveal yourself to your enemy unless you are certain of victory. I look forward to teaching you why,” he stepped through the glowing doorway and into a forest.
“No…” Ghost Sorcerer whispered.
They were so close.
Work done the spell circle died with a faint hiss.
The Dread Paladin rushed in, but the magic doorway was already gone.
That which your heart desires is about to slip from your grasp.
The inner voice echoed Ms. Teacher’s words.
It had already slipped out of the noose.
Or had it?
Ghost Sorcerer desperately searched his belt, finding the small box he had received from a traveler from another world.
Just like the Vitiator.
“What—” the Dread Paladin rasped. “Yes, the message. Open it!” he hissed.
Ghost Sorcerer did just that.
Radiant light filled the cavernous office.
When their vision cleared the glowing doorway was back in the middle of the circle.
The Vitiator turned in the distance.
“Vengeance,” the Dread Paladin rasped, diving through.
Ghost Sorcerer was but a few steps behind.