Lemien, despite warning me against summoning Ofelia one more time, brought up the banshee. I could see her floating before me, three to four feet away. She observed me with hungry eyes this time. I was tired.

My eyelid was growing heavier by the minute, but I could still see the hunger in Ofelia’s eyes. It spelled danger. I was getting tired, and sloppy. It might be dangerous to undertake another bout with the fairy, but I was adamant on seeing this through to the end.

‘You should probably give it a rest,’ Eva said. Her voice had a hint of worry to it. I ignored the sound advice and nodded at the necromancer.

Ofelia glided toward me, green glow and fairy dust following. The smell of death and decay that emanated from her was nauseating, especially at a close distance. We were now looking eye to eye.

I saw the hunger more clearly. I even felt her energy invading me. It was primal, raw, hungry. It also flowed different than us, humans. While we had Conduits to regulate Essence flow, her body seemed made only of energy.

‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ Eva asked. ‘She’s strong, dangerous.’

‘Lemien will eventually have her devour me,’ I said. ‘I’m pretty sure it was his plan all along.’

‘We can always use his benevolence and try it again tomorrow,’ Eva retorted.

‘If I back away now,’ I replied, ‘the seed of doubt will be planted in my soul. She’s strong, scary. Allow me some time to think of her strength and I might back away.’

‘Make sure we live then,’ Eva said. She understood my point.

If I’d allowed the fairy a single opportunity, I was sure she’d drain me whole. She was standing before me, breathing down my neck. I didn’t step back though. I didn’t flinch, even when she screamed and wailed. I stood there, facing her. I’d armed myself with the memories of Utar. I suffered too many losses under his command. I was determined to see him suffer, die. I wasn’t going to give up on that goal.

The banshee’s wails got louder. She screamed and I felt a putrid breeze ruffle my hair. I concentrated on Utar, on my grandfather who I barely knew. The first one wanted me dead, and I wanted the same for him too. The second one was strong, far stronger that I could imagine. But I wondered why he’d want me dead. At that moment, under pressure from the banshee’s screams and awful breath, I’d decided that I’d fight back.

What if he’s strong? What if others feared him? I was family. If he could achieve greatness, so could I. He was made of flesh and bones, like everyone else. What could be so special about him, except for experience and knowledge?

Ofelia, realizing she couldn’t make my memories of death and guilt show up, put her gnarly hands around my throat. I felt them gently squeeze then I felt her energy seep through my Conduits.

It was time to shine, time to strike back.

I allowed her energy to get in. In theory, the banshee was ten times stronger than I was. But in practice, magic was a whole lot different. Spells are usually channeled through emotions and memories. I was about to try a binding spell. It was suicidal, but it would allow me to gain the upper hand.

Why would I go to such extremes you ask? It’s because I couldn’t trust the necromancer any longer. He had a fairy to his side. Nobody would give such a creature up on a whim. I had to try that spell, but to achieve it, I needed a catalyst.

It was this that differentiated a good wizard from a bad one.

Essence was the source of power. Knowledge was required to channel that power into a spell. But knowledge and Essence alone weren’t enough. You’d need a catalyst. That’s why most wizards and sorcerers use wands, staffs, and scepters as catalysts. They are made for such purpose. Each imbued with raw energy from nature to channel some type of element or another.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

I didn’t have any of those, but I had my memories and a strong desire to live and see my vengeance carried over. Feelings and desires were also another form of catalyst. They were raw, unpredictable. Most wizards wouldn’t rely on them easily unless they were in a bind. The stronger the emotion they felt, the better the outcome would be.

That’s again on paper.

How would you define a strong emotion? What would you compare it to? What if another emotion came in to interfere with it? You needed to focus wholly into one experience, one desire, one emotion.

I chased the thought of my grandfather away. I focused on Utar. I focused on the day he imprisoned me, before Raiya came to the rescue. I went back further in time. I thought of the day he captured me and my men. I thought of how he tortured everybody, whipped some and dismembered others. I thought of the rage I felt that day, the injustice.

No, not the injustice, I chased that thought away.

I concentrated on my rage, on Utar whipping the woman I grew to love. She was strong, capable. She learned how to fight and raided with us. We formed a formidable team together. We were highly sought after as a band of young mercenaries, but that woman held a secret she didn’t even know about.

She was Listener for Dhobor. From the name, you can guess what she had to do. She’d be raised in the Cathedral in the Citadel. She’d learn about the word of Dhobor and assist the Pontiffs in hearing the Lord’s words. Listeners had great foresight. She had it too. She had even predicted our doom one night, after a terrible nightmare.

It never occurred to me that the war we fought for the Akari Kingdom was actually to protect the Listener from the Church. Remember that dream I had the other day? The one about the girl who was about to be raped by my own men? She was the one. We fought a battle to protect her, yet she didn’t even know about it.

The Akari thought her dead. I’d rescued her and trained her to be a warrior. We then became lovers. All seemed to be going our way until the day Utar arrived, with three of his companions. The companions stood aside and watched one man slaughter our hundred men army. Utar was strong, terrifying. He took joy in torturing the man who’d snatched the Listener from the Church, in other words, me.

He killed my men and raped my beloved. He whipped her to death then decided to go for my family. The rage I felt toward him now was stronger than ever. I needed that bastard to pay. He’d compelled my closest friend to turn against me. He tortured and killed my own family. I wanted to get stronger. I wanted to kill the man who changed my life for the worst, forever.

“What can you offer me in return?” a soft, misty voice asked me.

“Freedom,” I answered.

“I am already free,” the voice replied.

“You won’t be,” I retorted, “if I release the spell I have prepared.”

“Empty threats,” the voice said, amused.

“Look deeper into me,” I urged her. “Everybody around me dies, but I alone remain. Despite my young age, I’ve experienced more than a handful. How would you like to be stuck in a world of rage and fury?”

“You don’t have what it takes to release such a spell,” she said.

“You may be right,” I said. “But imagine what would happen if it worked. Better yet, imagine what would happen if it doesn’t. Don’t mess with a desperate man!”

“You want my power to exact your revenge,” the voice said. “But you won’t offer me anything in return?”

“I’d rather go insane and take you down with me,” I said. “Fairies aren’t known to make fair deals.”

“I refuse,” the voice said.

“Then suffer,” I replied.

I released the energy I had accumulated by fusing with Eva’s Fragment. I concentrated on my hatred, my rage. I pushed all of it toward the energy the banshee had used to invade my body. I felt them collide, quite violently. My knees shook, but I ignored them. I didn’t have time to worry about my body at that moment.

It was do or die.

Our energies collided and the fairy fought back. She tried to push me away, invade my body and reach the source of all Essence. If she reaches it, I will die. I wasn’t going to give in. All the preparations I’ve made. All the sleep I sacrificed and the long hours I spent with Eva were for that purpose.

I reminded myself of my parents’ death, of little Lyanna lying on the floor, blood seeping down from her tiny mouth. I thought of Utar’s swing and how he beheaded the innocent child. I thought of their heads on poles, displayed atop the city’s gates. I thought of Sam and his betrayal. I remembered all the pain, the anger, the rage. I pushed forward and the Banshee backed away.

I was winning, but it was just the beginning. The banshee was fighting back, but the real battle won’t start until I get inside of her. Her energy was different from mine. I had to battle that, and in order to do so, I needed my emotions, my catalyst, to be strong and concentrated.

I don’t know how long we struggled until I managed to push her back into her body. When I followed, I felt as though I plunged into cold water. All the emotions died away. My anger was replaced with helplessness. I felt death around me. I felt the despair and fear everyone feels before life is snuffed out of them.

My rage had died, and the memory of Utar was lost. I was now swimming in an ocean of icy-cold water. I felt like a tiny ant, trying to battle an elephant.

“Show me your resolve, mortal,” the banshee’s soft voice said. It’s unnerving how her inner voice was different from her deafening wails. “Live through this, and I am yours to command. Fail, and I shall devour your soul.”