Bageera watched the two humans walk away, then turned to Theron. “Those two really are skilled. It’s a good thing they’re good people.” Theron nodded agreement.

Both Panthras faced the entrance to the tower. “What do you think? Front door since they already know we’re here? Or in through the window like proper Shadow Dancers?”

Theron pointed at one of the multiple mage globes that glowed impishly all around the tower.

“Right right. No shadows to play with. Still, I wouldn’t feel right using the front entrance when there is a perfectly accessible secondary entry point.”

Grinning, Bageera unsheathed his claws and began climbing the side of the tower. He caught sight of Theron keeping pace. They made good time, with plentiful hand holds and places to jam a claw. Even so it took several minutes to scale that many stories, for the only window was near the top.

As they approached the window, Bageera heard a voice angrily shouting. Motioning Theron to wait, Bageera listened in to what seemed to be one side of a conversation.

“This interruption is unacceptable. I don’t care if it’s one or one thousand. I do not like disturbances in my work.”

“The front gates? Over a hundred? Bah. Rouse the guards. Yes, all of them.”

“No, I don’t want to evacuate. The latest batch still needs observation to make sure they’re viable. Any disruption could jeopardize the samples.”

“Of course I care. Redoing this project would delay me for years. The first batch had already proven intractable.”

“No, they haven’t been terminated. I may find a use for them yet. They aren’t like those beastials that escaped.”

“That’s why I had this compound constructed in the first place. They connote escape on their own.”

“But who would help those mongrels?”

Begeera knew an invitation when he heard one. Grabbing the window ledge, he flipped into the room, flourishing his cloak. “That would be us!” He heard Theron land behind him.

Standing part way around the edge of the room was a man who matched the description for Feron the Unmaker. The man had been glaring at a large murky crystal sphere set in a frame on a table. The man scowled.

“More interruptions. By mongrels no less. Be gone. I’ve no time to deal with you.”

Bageera glanced at Theron, then turned back to the mage. “I’m afraid you have no time left at all.” His hand slashed out. The throwing dagger slammed into an invisible barrier a few feet from the mage.

Feron scowled. “Bah. A pointless attack.” He raised a hand and fiery darts feathered the air, slashing towards the duo. Bageera and Theron slashed the darts that threatened them with their blades, dodging the rest.

The mage nodded, as if checking off a list. “It seems you have some skill. Very well then. You can test one of my subjects for me.” He vanished from one spot to appear at the far side of the room.

Before Bageera could move there was a flash of light and a cage appeared in the center of the room. Held within was what appeared to be a man made of fire. Some kind of bracers and collar could be seen through the flames.

It gripped the bars, seeming to stare with its eyeless face at the Panthras. “Kiiiill!”

There was an eerily human quality to the voice as it mumbled the word kill over and over, sometimes stretching it out.

“I tried to combine a fire elemental from the Shartha lands and a man to make a more powerful elementalist. Unfortunately, the results were unable to project its powers, though it is remarkably more controllable than the original elemental proved to be. This particular specimen has been able to disincorporate three other elementals already. Let’s see how long you last.”

The bars holding back the creature disappeared as suddenly as they appeared. It looked back at the mage for a moment, seemed to hesitate, then lumbered towards the Panthras.

Bageera and Theron separated, both snapping out throwing darts that embedded themselves in the flesh of the creature, then slowly melted away. It did draw more attention though as the creature turned to focus on Theron.

Bageera summoned shadows to ensnare its feet. While they weren’t completely ineffective like they were against the berserkers, they did little more than slow it down. Shadow spikes got it to twitch, tiny flames erupting from the wounds before burning the shadows away.

The shadow noose was useless against a moving target. At least Theron was able to fend off the creature with his blades and longer reach, though his cloak was singed in several places.

At first Bageera couldn’t figure out how Theron’s blades weren’t melting, then realized his friend was covering the weapons in shadows with each slash, allowing the flames to burn away those rather than harm the blades themselves.

Oh well, it had worked earlier. He sent a series of shadow bursts all around the creature, careful not to hit Theron. After several hits, the burning man seemed to hesitate, even stopped chanting.

Suddenly, the creature turned and lumbered after Bageera, who quickly backed away. Moments later there was the sound of wood breaking then a loud thwack. Everyone paused, even the creature, to look at Theron, who stood with a shadow wrapped table leg in hand.

There was a thunk that drew everyone’s attention back to the creature. One of its bracers had fallen off. It looked down at its flaming wrist, then at Theron. It started changing something else.

“Kill me. Kill me.”

Theron smashed the leg into the other bracer, which broke off with another crack.

There was a scream as the flames imploded, then vanished into tiny motes.

The mage nodded. “Hmm. Vulnerable at the binding points. Either needs more binds or have them reinforced. Perhaps somewhere more difficult to strike? The chest?”

Bageera pointed his blade at Feron. “And now it’s your turn, Unmaker.”

Feron scowled, looking around the room. “You’ve done enough damage to my room. I will deal with you elsewhere.”

The entire room filled with light. When Bageera could see again they were all outside, the mage floating overhead. Bageera frowned and threw a quick shadow burst, only to have it impact another shield.

This was why alerted targets were annoying. Not that he’d ever been sent after a mage of this skill before. Still, there were standards for this type of thing.

Feron folded his arms across his chest, his silver embroidered scarlet robes billowing around him. “I could not use this spell within my tower. However, that restriction no longer applies!”

Rings of magic swirled to life in the air at the mage’s floating feet. Bageera watched in fascination. He’d never seen a mid-air spell before. That didn’t distract him from the attack though, and he darted aside as a series of fireballs crashed down where he’d been standing.

When the fire cleared, the ground was cracked and scorched. Bageera whistled in appreciation. That was definitely not the usual fireball spell. Still, it was a fireball spell. Looking up at the mage, he yelled, “Really? A fireball? You couldn’t come up with something more original? Fire darts, fire man, fire ball. I’m sensing a theme.”

Just as Feron opened his mouth to respond, there was a succession of concussive explosions all around him. While they all impacted the shield, at least some of the force had to have gotten through, as the mage looked staggered.

Bageera looked over at Theron, who had a toothy grin on his face. “Did you just chain shadow bursts?” At the nod, he added, “I didn’t think that was possible.”

Theron’s grin widened.

“ENOUGH!” Feron’s robes were looking a little ragged, though they appeared to be repairing themselves even as the mage raged.

“You so-called Firstborn think you are so great because you think your God created you first? Well, creating life isn’t that difficult. I do that every day, bringing new races to life and improving the ones abandoned by their Gods. That makes me greater than your God.

“I will not allow you or anyone to stop me from the greater purpose for which I exist. This world and all others will belong to me and my creations!

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

“I…”

Something dark and massive slammed into the mage with all the force of an avalanche.

A female voice yelled out, “You talk too much!”

***

Palcon led the way into the barracks, flanked by spearmen and backed by crossbowmen. They entered each floor warily and slowly, watching for any more beasts or other surprises.

The previously cleared levels proved uneventful, though they did spend a moment on each to organize a party to deal with the bodies and to distribute gear to any of the former prisoners who were willing to fight.

At the door where they’d encountered the beast, Palcon was especially on edge. Leading with his blades, he stepped through the doorway. Inside, it appeared like the den of a wild animal, with bones, carnage, and quills scattered about. He looked sadly on the mangled body of Jensen. The man had been an unlikely friend.

The stairs were at the far side of the room, an area strangely clear of debris.

Palcon led the way, the wooden stairs turning to stone after only a few steps. At least they muffled sound better than wood. They also opened into a massive chamber, at least as large as the previous floors combined, with a series of wide columns down down the room.

Various bits of magical paraphernalia decorated the room, along with scores of tables, some with indescribable bodies left on them. The entire room was lined in cages, only a few empty, the rest containing various creatures and monsters, though nothing like the beast. There were even a few humans, who immediately began crying for help.

A quick scan of the room showed nothing outside the cages, so Palcon started getting the men organized, some collecting materials, others joining the former prisoner, who’d been introduced as Leon, in helping free the people, with the help of the Shadow Mages.

Palcon led a group deeper into the room, where cages held something quite different. They looked like a person with sheep wood and horns, with hooves and a slightly elongated face. The sheep eyes peering from an otherwise gentle face took a bit of getting used to, but he managed not to show any reactions.

One of the sheep people gripped the bars, a female, given her shape. “Are you with Feron? He doesn’t usually send so many guards.” She glanced down the room. “Nor does he allow his subjects out unsupervised.”

Palcon shook his head, sheathing his blades. “No, we are not. We are a faction trying to stop the excesses of the Empire, especially ones like this.”

The female nodded slowly. “Are you here to kill us, then? To eliminate the excess of the Empire?”

“What? No! You’ll be freed soon as I can get someone here to spring the lock.” Palcon looked around frantically for the Shadow Mages. “Vincent? Vincent! Over here. Get these people free.”

“Do you mean that?”

Palcon turned back to the female. “Mean what?”

She stared into his eyes. “You called us people. Do you mean that?”

Returning her gaze with a level one of his own, he nodded. “Of course I do.”

Once again, she nodded slowly. “My name is Evalyn.”

“I’m Palcon. Nice to meet you. Oh! Here’s Vincent. He’ll get you all free.”

The Shadow Mage arrived and bowed with a flourish of his robes. “One Master Lockpick at your service!” He put his hand over the lock, which almost instantly clicked open. Vincent grinned at Palcon. “All the locks are the same. Poor security if you ask me.”

Palcon smiled back and thanked the man, then opened the pen, stepping aside to allow everyone within to leave. There must have been a couple hundred of them, all standing around. They all looked roughly the same, though his good eye caught the different shades of wool and the shape of the horns.

The males were a bit rougher in quality of their wool and their horns were more substantial. The females were slimmer and had more varied horn styles.

Evalyn walked over to Palcon, her hands clasped before her. “What would you have of us, Palcon? Where are we to go?”

Palcon reached up to rub at the scars besides his good eye. “You don’t really have a place to go back to, do you?” At her level look, he cleared his throat and continued, “The Majestix have offered space for the other people we freed. I’m sure they’ll take you in as well.”

Evalyn cocked her head to the side a moment, then straightened. “And will you be going with us, Palcon?”

Palcon shook his head. “There will be more to do. The Empire has a lot that needs changing, not just what Feron is doing here. I’m going to be heavily involved in, well, you can call it a rebellion.”

“Then I will join you and your rebellion.”

Palcon blinked. “You don’t need to do that. I’m sure you’ve endured enough here.”

“Nevertheless, I will join you and your rebellion.”

Palcon gazed into those eyes that seemed so different, yet contained an intelligence all their own. He couldn’t read the expression on her face but if he had to give it a name, it would be determination. He sighed. Who knew what his mother would make of this.

“Very well. You’ll be joining me and the rebellion.”

Evalyn gave a slow nod, though she made no other comment, seemingly content to wait in silence.

Glancing around, Palcon noticed the rest of the sheep people… sheeple? Had moved out and the last were streaming up the stairs. A shout from one of his men drew him to the last of the pens.

The door to the pen had already been opened when he arrived, the people within starting to exit. They were the same general shape as Evalyn’s people, with horns and hooves. However, they more resembled goats, with longer, sharper horns, and faces even more like a goat rather than human. There were also less of them, barely a hundred.

They were also tall, over a foot taller than the men who had freed them. One was speaking to Vincent as Palcon walked up, Evalyn following behind him.

“Feron and his mages called us satyrs, something from the stories of his world. We call ourselves Tyrans. There were once a great many more of us, but the mages took many away and slayed many more. They called us intractable.”

The Tyran grinned, revealing a set of elongated fangs in an otherwise normal set of teeth. “Those of us who remain will join your rebellion, save for our young and their dams.”

It was only then that Palcon realized there were much shorter Tyrans hidden in the group. Children!

Vincent reached up to clasp forearms with the speaker. “Welcome to the Rebellion. I’m Vincent. What can I call you?”

“The name the mages gave me has no meaning to me. I will take on a new one, as I suspect others will. You may call me Raze.”

Raze turned from Vincent to regard Palcon, then looked past him to Evalyn. His lips curled into a sneer. “The replacements. How quaint.”

Evalyn gazed back at the Tyran. “I am no replacement. I am Evalyn. I have joined the rebellion.”

Raze scoffed. “So, the lamb has fangs after all. We shall see what use you have in the future.” The Tyran turned away and returned to his people.

Palcon looked over at Vincent. “An interesting ally we’ve found. Anyway, Vincent, this is Evalyn. Evalyn, Vincent.”

Vincent smiled and sketched a bow. “You were the one waiting at the bars, right? A pleasure to officially meet you. I hope we can work well together in the future.”

Evalyn nodded, though she remained silent.

Palcon gave Evalyn a curious look, then turned back to Vincent. “Is that everyone?”

Vincent nodded. “That was the last pen not containing an animal or monster. We’ll need some special teams if we’re to move those.”

“Then let’s go find our mages so we can call for those special teams.”