As Krungus stood outside the glassblower’s workshop, his staff gripped tightly in his gnarled hands, he found his mind wandering. The tension in the air, the way his instincts screamed at him—this was not unfamiliar. It stirred something buried deep in his ancient memory, something older than the cobblestones beneath his feet or the rising skyline of the City of Cities.
The last real battle.
Not the skirmishes in Syzzyzzy against the mindless horrors he had lured there for entertainment. Not the petty conflicts with unruly apprentices or feeble schemers. No—this was before. Before it all fell apart.
Before Sharrzaman betrayed him.
It was a different time, an era of grand clashes and sweeping power struggles, when his name still meant something. When wizards were feared, revered, and ultimately respected.
And it all came to a head with The Lich of Seven Graves.
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It had started as a minor nuisance, as these things often do. A rogue necromancer who had, through greed and miscalculation, crossed the thin line between mortality and monstrosity. At first, the reports were typical—restless dead rising from burial mounds, the occasional missing villager turning up pale and confused in the middle of town square, muttering in forgotten tongues. But then the relic thefts began.
It turned out this lich had an obsession. Not power. Not dominion. No, the bastard was a collector.
Ancient scepters, rings that whispered in forgotten dialects, amulets holding half-truths and dangerous promises—this lich gathered them with the fervor of a dragon hoarding gold. His lair became an ever-growing museum of artifacts that should have been kept buried or in the hands of far more responsible individuals.
Krungus still remembered standing in the grand council chamber of The Number, the echoing debates of his peers bouncing off the ancient marble walls.
"We must act," Utopianna had said, her face stoic, her eyes scanning the assembled mages. "This lich's hoard grows unchecked. If he learns how to use even half of what he's stolen, we may have another Cataclysm on our hands."
Sharrzaman, standing at the far end of the hall, had dismissed the concern with his usual arrogance. "He's just another upstart trying to make a name for himself," he had said, waving a jeweled hand lazily. "A few knights could probably handle it."
Krungus, however, had known better. The hunger in that lich’s actions, the precision with which he raided sanctums, tombs, and academies—it spoke of something deeper. Something dangerous. And so, reluctantly, they sent him.
----------------------------------------
The battle lasted three weeks.
Three weeks of grueling magical warfare across the rolling hills and misty vales of the countryside. Fields once lush and green were now scorched black with necrotic energy. Rivers ran foul, choked with the remnants of shattered skeletons and dissolved specters.
Krungus recalled the weight of it all—how, day after day, his body and mind were pushed to their limits.
The lich was crafty, slippery. He used the relics he had stolen with alarming ingenuity. The Crown of Ever-Fading Echoes let him anticipate Krungus' spells before they were even cast. The Staff of Annihilated Tomorrows bent reality itself, unraveling spells mid-air. Every encounter was a chess match, a battle of wills between ancient intellects, and Krungus had no choice but to improvise, adapt, and counter at every turn.
And then there was the Oblivion Shroud.
He had underestimated it—perhaps his greatest mistake in the entire engagement. A ragged, black piece of cloth, innocuous at first glance. But when the lich unfurled it, reality itself seemed to shudder. Light bent in strange ways, and the surrounding air grew cold enough to freeze his breath in his throat.
Krungus had barely managed to escape the first encounter, teleporting himself two miles away in a burst of blinding light. That was when he realized: This fight was not one he could win by sheer force.
He needed patience.
----------------------------------------
Week two was when the battle turned into a war of attrition.
He wore the lich down with relentless assaults, denying him the time and space to set his traps and weave his necromantic webs. Krungus' knowledge of the land proved invaluable—arcane ley lines twisted through the hills like veins, and he used them to reinforce his wards, siphon energy from the earth, and strike with devastating precision.
It became a game of inches.
The lich, realizing he was being cornered, grew desperate. He unleashed plagues that turned entire villages into walking nightmares, their eyes black pits of endless torment. Krungus countered with cleansing storms of radiant fire, scouring the land of undeath at great cost to his own strength.
Eventually, it all came down to a final confrontation in the hollowed-out ruins of an ancient abbey. The lich had barricaded himself inside, surrounded by an army of risen monks, their chants a twisted mockery of their once-holy vows.
Krungus remembered the weight of the final incantation—the raw power coursing through him as he carved sigils into the ground, one by one. He recalled the deafening roar as the abbey imploded, taking the lich and his cursed collection with it, collapsing into a singularity of swirling dust and howling spirits.
When it was over, the hills were silent.
The countryside was never the same again.
----------------------------------------
Krungus blinked, snapping back to the present.
He glanced down at his staff—back then, it had been the finest artifact crafted by the Number's artisans, a towering silver rod crackling with runes of cosmic power. Now? Who knows what kinds of weapons had been invented in his absence.
"Times change," he muttered under his breath.
Eugene glanced at him. “You good, old man?”
Krungus grunted. “Just reminiscing about how much better my opponents used to be.” He nodded toward the workshop ahead, where the hooded figures still loomed like statues in the shadows. “These lot won’t even compare.”
Eugene frowned. “Care to share?”
Krungus smirked. “Let’s just say the last time I got into a real fight, it took weeks." He sighed, rolling his shoulders. “This shouldn’t take nearly as long.”
He twirled his staff once, a faint hum of magic crackling through it. "Let's see if they have the stomach for this."
Without hesitation, he raised his staff to the sky. The air thickened with raw power, tendrils of static licking across the cobblestones beneath them. Eugene’s Void Ruby pulsed with frantic alerts, flashing text across his vision.
----------------------------------------
[Environmental Scan]
* Arcane Surge Detected
* Atmospheric Charge: Lethal
* Recommended Action: SEEK COVER
----------------------------------------
Eugene swallowed nervously, but Krungus didn’t hesitate. With a barked incantation, he slammed his staff to the ground. A split second later, a bolt of searing white lightning tore down from the heavens, striking the figures in the center of the square with a deafening boom. Eugene noticed something like a portal opening up where the lightning emerged, as if the lightning had originated on a different plane. The impact sent shockwaves rippling outward, rattling nearby windows and sending a plume of dust skyward.
For a moment, the air crackled and hummed with residual energy. Then... the hooded figures collapsed.
Their robes fell to the ground, empty, crumpled heaps of fabric. No bodies. No blood. Just... nothing.
Krungus stared at the empty clothing, his eyes narrowing further. He took a cautious step forward, nudging one of the robes with the end of his staff. The fabric gave no resistance, limp and lifeless. He crouched, lifting a sleeve, studying the faint, dark sigils woven into the hems. Symbols he had not seen in millennia.
Eugene exhaled sharply. “No bodies? No... nothing?”
Krungus didn’t answer at first. His fingers traced the ancient markings. “They were never here.” His voice was quiet, distant. “Projections, manifestations... echoes, maybe.” He stood up, eyes darting around the square. “This wasn’t an attack. It was a test. I think.”
Qlaark, feathers still fluffed in agitation, pointed skyward with a trembling wing. “Uh, Krungus... I think we just failed it.”
Krungus followed Qlaark’s gaze, and his stomach dropped.
Descending from the smoke-filled sky, framed by the dying light of the setting sun, was a figure. No, not just a figure—an imposing, towering presence. It glided downward with an unnatural grace, its long, flowing robes shifting like liquid shadow. It landed soundlessly, and the weight of its presence seemed to ripple outward, pushing against the very fabric of reality.
Eight feet tall. Hooded. Silent.
Its features were obscured in swirling darkness beneath the deep hood, and what little light escaped from within was a cold, unsettling glow. Where the previous figures had been uniform, lifeless, this one radiated something else entirely—will.
Krungus straightened, his knuckles white around his staff. “Now that,” he muttered, “is the real thing.”
Eugene took a step back. “What... what do we do?”
Krungus didn’t take his eyes off the figure. “Stay close. Don’t do anything stupid.”
The figure stood completely still, a towering monolith of silence, as if waiting. Then, slowly, it lifted one arm.
Eugene felt a sudden, crushing pressure in his chest, like the weight of an ocean pressing down on him. His vision swam for a moment before he stumbled back. “Jesus,” he gasped. “What is that?”
Krungus' voice was low, filled with a rare edge of caution. “Power. Old power.”
The figure took a slow step forward, and with it, the ground beneath its feet blackened. Strange webs carved themselves into the cobblestones, glowing briefly before fading into nothing. The air grew thick, dense with something ancient and wrong.
Qlaark swallowed hard. “Krungus... I don’t like this.”
Krungus remained eerily calm, but there was no more humor in his voice, no dismissive sarcasm. “Neither do I.” He turned slightly toward Eugene without looking away from the figure. “Can you sense anything from it?”
Eugene, swallowing his fear, activated his Void Ruby, his mind filling with a flood of new information. Lines of text scrolled rapidly across his vision.
----------------------------------------
[Entity Identified]
* Classification: Unknown
* Name: Null
* Threat Level: Extreme
* Magical Signature: Indeterminate (No Weave Connection)
* Recommended Action: FLEE
----------------------------------------
Eugene’s throat went dry. “Um… I think his name is Null? Or does that mean he doesn’t have a name?! Krungus, uh... the ruby says to flee.”
Krungus’ lips curled into a grim smirk. “Of course it does. That’s the sensible thing to do.” His grip tightened on his staff. “But we’re not doing that.”
Eugene groaned. “Why not?”
Krungus took a steady breath. “Because if we run now, we’ll just find out how fast it can chase us.”
The figure moved again, raising its sleeve, and this time the hum in the air grew sharper, the pressure so intense that Eugene felt like his bones were vibrating. Qlaark stumbled back, his wings trembling.
Krungus squared his shoulders, staring into the void beneath the hood. “Alright, you smug bastard,” he murmured under his breath. “Let’s see what you’re really made of.”
The figure’s glow pulsed, and Krungus raised his staff.
Then, a sudden, thunderous clank.
Eugene’s eyes shot toward the sound. From the north side of the square, three massive constructs—hulking, towering machines of wood and steel—came barreling in, their joints creaking with an eerie mechanical harmony. Each one stood about ten feet tall, broad-shouldered with glowing runes carved into their metal frames. Their heavy footsteps echoed like war drums across the square.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
From the opposite direction, another three emerged, each a behemoth in their own right, their gears grinding as they advanced in formation. Their eyes—pulsing orbs of arcane energy—were locked onto the hooded figure, their arms bristling with reinforced plating and arcane sigils.
Null stopped moving.
Krungus' eyes widened in genuine surprise, his grip on his staff loosening slightly. “Oh. Well, this is new.”
Eugene blinked. “Are those...?”
Before he could finish, a seventh sentry strode confidently into the square, noticeably different from the rest. This one had intricate gold detailing along its chassis and atop its broad, armored back sat Bahumbus.
The shorter, balder, and rounder version of Krungus had a wild grin on his face, his robes flapping in the wind. In his hand, he held a strange magical controller—its surface covered in glowing sigils, knobs, and pulsing levers.
The massive constructs were hooked up to an interconnected magical speaker system, and with a click of a button, Bahumbus' voice boomed through all seven of them at once, reverberating across the entire square.
“I HAVE ARRIVED TO SAVE MY DEAR, INCOMPETENT BROTHER—KRUNGUS THE TELEMANCER—FROM CERTAIN DEATH!”
Eugene nearly choked at Krungus’ expression. “Telemancer?” Krungus was visibly seething. “You’re a telemancer? What does that even mean?”
Krungus groaned. “I was once. I’m an archwizard now, he knows that.”
“KRUNGUS!” Bahumbus’ voice thundered through the speakers again, “I SEE YOU’RE ABOUT TO GET YOUR ROBES HANDED TO YOU BY THIS SHADOWY FREAKSHOW, BUT DON’T WORRY! BIG BROTHER IS HERE!”
Krungus massaged his temples. “He’s younger than me.”
Eugene smirked. “You sure? He seems to have his life together a little better.”
The creature called Null tilted its hooded head slightly, as if taking measure of the massive sentries now flanking it from all sides. Its eerie, pulsing glow flickered irregularly. Then, with deliberate slowness, it raised one sleeve– wait, no. That wasn’t a sleeve, that was a tentacle.
Before it could strike, Bahumbus pointed his controller forward, and the constructs roared into action.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Two of them surged ahead, their steel fists slamming down at Null with earth-shaking force. The figure moved unnaturally fast, twisting away just as the ground where it stood fractured into jagged cracks. The sentries followed with relentless mechanical precision, their limbs shifting in coordinated attacks.
Another sentry deployed a massive blast of flame from its arm, engulfing Null in searing fire. The dark figure didn’t scream or flinch, but it's outline wavered, its glowing form distorting under the assault.
For a brief moment, it looked... overwhelmed.
“YES!” Bahumbus bellowed. “FEEL THE POWER OF ARTIFICIAL SUPERIORITY!”
Null, seemingly recognizing the growing threat, shifted its stance. With a sudden motion, it raised both of its empty sleeves high, and a pulse of crackling dark energy erupted outward. One of the sentries, caught directly in the blast, was instantly obliterated, reduced to a cloud of molten slag and flying wooden splinters.
Eugene stumbled back in shock. “Holy—”
Bahumbus swore loudly. “DAMNIT! THAT ONE TOOK ME FOUR MONTHS!” He frantically twisted a knob on his controller, and the remaining constructs pressed the attack harder, their bulky forms charging in with renewed ferocity.
Null wavered, as if considering its options. Its head tilted slightly toward Krungus, then back toward the six towering sentries closing in fast. Its shadowy form began to ripple, its glow intensifying into a pulsating, almost panicked strobe.
Krungus' grip on his staff tightened. “It’s retreating.”
Eugene’s Void Ruby flared again with new data:
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[Entity Status: Null]
* Condition: Instability Detected
* Tactical Response: Strategic Withdrawal
* Recommendation: Pursuit Not Advised
----------------------------------------
Before Eugene could react, Null launched itself skyward in a blur of swirling robes and dark energy. A piercing, unnatural hum filled the air as it vanished into the smoke above, leaving behind only the scorched marks of its presence on the ground.
The remaining sentries stood still, their glowing eyes scanning the sky as if expecting the creature to return.
Bahumbus, panting slightly, wiped his forehead dramatically. “AND THAT, GENTLEMEN, IS HOW YOU SAVE A DAMSEL IN DISTRESS!” He shot a wide grin at Krungus. “You can thank me later, telemancer.”
Krungus' face darkened. “I am not just a telemancer anymore.”
Bahumbus ignored him, hopping down from his construct with the grace of a sack of potatoes. He waddled toward Eugene and Qlaark with an easy grin. “Good to see you two again, friends.” He stuck out a hand. “Qlaark, Eugene.”
Eugene shook it, still dazed. “Uh... yeah. Thanks for that. I think.”
Qlaark, still trembling, nodded rapidly. “That was... terrifying.”
Bahumbus patted the nearest construct proudly. “Yep. That’s why you need quality craftsmanship, my feathered friend.” He looked at Krungus. “Now, before you start whining about me showing up uninvited, we need to talk. Because whatever that thing was...” He gestured at the burnt ground where Null had stood. “I think we’ll be seeing it again.”
Krungus sighed. “I figured as much.”
Eugene groaned.
----------------------------------------
As the dust settled and the last flickers of Null’s dark energy dissipated into the night, Krungus let out a long, weary sigh. The towering sentries stood silent in their imposing formations, their hulking metal and wood frames still humming faintly with magic. Bahumbus stood triumphantly atop his favored construct, twiddling with the glowing knobs of his controller, grinning ear to ear like a child who had just won a carnival prize.
Krungus, however, was far from amused. His gaze lingered on the dissipated robes of the hooded figures, his mind racing through possibilities and ancient knowledge.
Then, with a slow turn of his head, he locked eyes with Bahumbus.
"You didn't even ask," Krungus muttered, his voice low and laced with disappointment.
Bahumbus blinked. "Ask what?"
Krungus' expression darkened. "Where I’ve been. Nine thousand years, Bahumbus. Nine thousand. And all you’ve got is 'Hey, Krungus, need a hand?'" He waved a hand dramatically, sarcasm dripping from his words. "Not even a ‘Oh, Krungus, my long-lost brother, I thought you were dead!’"
Bahumbus scratched the side of his bald head, feigning confusion. "Well, I assumed you'd gotten yourself into some ridiculous magical predicament. And, lo and behold—" he gestured grandly, "I was right!"
Krungus groaned, adjusting his glasses with a sharp flick. “It wasn’t ridiculous. It was a pocket dimension, an inescapable one, if you must know.”
Bahumbus' smirk faltered, a rare flicker of concern passing through his face. “Wait... you mean really inescapable? Not one of your ‘Oops, I locked myself in again’ situations?”
Krungus shot him a withering glare. “Do I look like I’m joking?”
Bahumbus eyed his disheveled robes and begrudgingly nodded. “Alright, fair enough.” He hopped off his sentry with a grunt, walking over to stand beside Eugene and Qlaark. “So... how the hell did you end up in one of those? You always swore you’d never be stupid enough to fall for something like that.”
Krungus’ lips pressed into a thin line. “Sharrzaman.” He spat the name out like it was poison.
Bahumbus’ face fell. “Him.” He exhaled sharply, his jovial demeanor dimming. “Of course it was him.” His hand absentmindedly ran along his tool belt, fingers brushing against the worn leather straps. “I should have known. He’s always been a slimy bastard.”
Krungus nodded grimly. “He tricked me. He knew exactly what buttons to push.” His gaze darkened. “And before I knew it, I was gone. Locked away beneath the city. Forgotten.”
Eugene shifted awkwardly. “But... you said inescapable.”
Krungus sighed, rolling his shoulders. “At first, it was. My initial attempts to escape were futile. The rules of reality inside the dimension weren’t like our world. Magic barely obeyed the same laws.” His eyes drifted toward the distant smoke still rising from the city. “But... I wasn’t completely powerless.”
Bahumbus crossed his arms. “You always were too stubborn to sit still.”
A small smirk twitched at Krungus’ lips. “Indeed.” He gestured with his staff, the tip glowing faintly. “Over time, I discovered I could will materials into being inside that place. So I began constructing... anything, everything. At first, out of necessity. Then out of sheer madness.” His voice grew distant. “I built halls, towers, stairways leading nowhere... and eventually, a whole city.” He paused, his gaze flickering with something almost wistful. “I called it Syzzyzzy.”
Bahumbus blinked. “Syzzy-what?”
“Syzzyzzy,” Krungus repeated, standing a bit taller. “A masterpiece of architecture, magic, and desperation. Seven floors of intricate corridors, floating spires, libraries filled with nothing but my own thoughts scrawled over and over.” He exhaled through his nose. “It took me seven thousand years to finish it.”
Eugene's jaw dropped. “Seven thousand years?!”
With a solemn nod, Krungus confirmed, “Yes. Seven thousand years of building. Of creating.” His gaze turned hollow. “And when it was done, I had nothing left to do but... wait.”
“For how long?” Qlaark asked, his voice hushed.
Krungus’ face hardened. “A thousand years. I lay there in the Seventh Floor of Syzzyzzy, surrounded by the monuments to my failure, waiting for an end that never came.” Slowly, he shook his head. “I gave up hope long before I was freed.”
Bahumbus scratched his beard, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “You really built an entire city? And then just... stopped?”
“I was trapped, Bahumbus. What else was there to do?” Krungus replied with a weary nod.
Visibly disturbed, Eugene cleared his throat. “And, uh... how did you finally get out?”
Adjusting his glasses, Krungus answered, “A few adventurers stumbled across the prison’s entrance and managed to open it.” A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “A deep gnome, a shy shifter, and a hedge witch. Competent, if a bit... erratic.”
Bahumbus snorted. “So three random adventurers did what you couldn’t?”
Krungus bristled slightly. “I was operating under different constraints.”
Leaning in, Eugene asked, “And now that you’re out... what’s the plan?”
“We need to find him.” His voice was low, but the weight behind it was undeniable. “We find Sharrzaman. We end this.”
Bahumbus groaned loudly, rubbing his face in exasperation. “Oh, sure. Great idea, Krungus. Let’s go hunt down the most powerful, conniving bastard on the planet with absolutely no backup.” He threw his arms in the air. “That always worked so well before.”
Krungus shot him a sharp look. “We don’t have time to waste.”
Feeling very much like the odd one out, Eugene raised a cautious hand. “Okay, I know I’m new here, but uh... don’t you think we should have, I dunno, a plan?”
“The plan is simple—we find the rest of The Number. If they’re still alive,” Krungus replied with a sharp exhale.
At the mention of The Number, Bahumbus paled, his eyes narrowing in disbelief. “You want to get them all back together?” His tone dripped with disgust. “Krungus, it was terrible.”
Ignoring the comment, Krungus began pacing in short, deliberate steps. “We need them. Sharrzaman is too dangerous, and those hooded figures are connected. I can feel it.”
Bahumbus rolled his eyes. “Look, I get it. You want to do the responsible thing for once in your miserable life. But... the Number? Really?” He let out a bitter laugh. “Do you remember how things ended?”
Stopping abruptly, Krungus stared into the distance. “I do.” His voice dropped, softer now. “That’s why we need them.”
“This is a terrible idea,” Bahumbus muttered, shaking his head. He began ticking off fingers. “Alright, let’s go down the list, shall we? First off—Natasha.” His face twisted with visible disgust. “Are you seriously suggesting we talk to her again? After everything? I’d rather just dose myself and get it over with.”
Krungus frowned. “She’s the most skilled alchemist we ever had. If she’s still out there, she’ll be invaluable.”
Bahumbus crossed his arms. “Alchemist? Natasha? The proper term would be psychotropomancer, and you know that. She’s a damn terrorist masquerading as a magus!”
Krungus waved him off. “We’ll deal with her when we find her.”
Bahumbus groaned and continued. “Fine. And then there’s B'doom.” He laughed bitterly. “You do know no one’s seen him since the dissolution, right? That’s never as in not once.” He pointed an accusing finger at Krungus. “What makes you think you can just snap your fingers and poof! He shows up?”
Krungus gave a small, knowing smile. “We have our ways.”
“B’doom?” Eugene raised an eyebrow.
Nodding, Bahumbus responded, “Big guy. Doesn’t say much. When he does, it’s usually about balance or something.” He paused. “And apparently he disappeared.”
“Then there’s Utopianna,” Krungus continued.
At the mention of her name, Bahumbus’ demeanor shifted. His expression softened, and for a brief moment, the years seemed to fall away. “I haven’t seen her since...” His voice trailed off as he glanced at his hand. “Since she lost her arm trying to save a dignitary’s child. Gave up too much of her life essence, and her arm just withered away. No way to fix it. She might be the only one of us who still has the option to end it all.”
Krungus nodded solemnly. “And she would never waste something as precious as a life. She couldn’t waste so much as a crouton.”
Bahumbus flexed his hand instinctively, remembering the intricate gears of the prosthetic he had built for her. “She’s been gone from here for millennia, Krungus. If she’s alive... I wouldn’t even know where to start.”
“We have to try,” Krungus replied with a sigh.
Bahumbus frowned but nodded. “Alright, what about...?” He hesitated.
“Little Sister,” Krungus answered before he could finish.
Snorting, Bahumbus scratched his chin. “Good luck with that. Last I heard, she wanted nothing to do with any of us.” He chuckled lightly. “She’s probably somewhere far outside the city, living in peace with some talking squirrels.”
“Little Sister?” Eugene asked, blinking.
“The youngest of us,” Krungus explained with a smirk. “She always hated the city—bureaucracy, politics, all of it. She’s free, wherever she is.”
“She’s free all right,” Bahumbus added with a laugh. “Free to ignore your stubborn ass when you come knocking.”
Krungus shrugged. “She’ll listen. She always does.”
“That just leaves...” Bahumbus began.
Both of them turned to each other and, almost in unison, said, “Stinky Malinky.”
For the first time in over nine millennia, they laughed together.
Eugene frowned. “I’m scared to ask.”
“You should be,” Bahumbus chuckled.
Krungus shook his head. “Malinky can wait. He always finds us when he’s ready.”
With a clap of his hands, Bahumbus asked, “Alright, genius, so what’s your brilliant idea for tracking down B’doom? Just yell his name into the void and hope he answers?”
A smirk tugged at Krungus’ lips. “We use our old finding ritual.”
Bahumbus groaned. “Oh gods, not the ritual.”
Leaning in, Eugene asked, “What ritual?”
With a disbelieving glance at Krungus, Bahumbus grumbled, “You seriously think that old junk we used when we were upstart children is going to work?”
Ignoring him, Krungus turned to Eugene. “Back when we were younger, when we’d, shall we say... get into things we shouldn’t have, we devised a spell to find each other in a hurry.”
“A stupid, reckless spell,” Bahumbus added with a dramatic sigh.
Krungus grinned. “A brilliant spell. It connects us to any lingering magic we’ve left in the world and triangulates the source. B’doom’s magic was always... difficult to hide.”
“So, basically wizard GPS?” Eugene blinked in surprise.
Bahumbus groaned. “Yeah, but the ritual is complicated. Everyone nearby is gonna come watch.”
“Sometimes, being subtle isn’t an option.” Krungus shrugged. He raised his staff. “Let’s get started tomorrow.”
Eugene took a deep breath. “Let me guess... this is going to attract something horrible?”