Kel'thar winced at the sound of breaking stone somewhere in the estate. There were many problems that came with the wall-ways being broken into, but the greatest was that someone was bound to order the guards to _check_ all of the wall-ways. Having abandoned his post and stolen the house's supply of their new mystery metal, Kel'thar was in prime condition to be killed on sight. Alas, there were very few secret ways out of the house from the wall-ways, and of the ones he checked, only one wasn't being guarded.

That way didn't really lead away, though; it led to what the family called the sacred grounds, a spatial node that as far as he knew was terribly tainted with necromancy, broken enchantments, and many other disgusting things. The house had many secrets, and they worst of the secrets all had to be done there.

That was where the _thing_ lived. The one Amon had made a deal with. It was, in short, not a nice place to visit.

Still, Kel'thar figured that it was easier to find a place to hide on the other end of that particular wardspace, in the narrow stone hall concealed behind the yard. Even the voidling likely couldn't find him there, and would likely suspect he had just gone away. The last voidling hadn't found it, and while Amon had gone to great lengths to ensure that, Kel'thar could only hope the passive defenses would be enough. Those defenses were not insignificant; the creature from the Sacred Grounds had presented them with very expensive and rare gifts in exchange for... well... even a killer like Kel'thar didn't like to think of what happened to the people presented to that thing.

But the materials were worth it. Mirrorstone and banewood were each on their own excellent at repelling magic, but together--especially the "true banewood", however it got its hands on that--you simply could not sense or cast through it. Mirrorstone in particular was very rare in this part of the world; it had to be cultivated in the underworld, and most of the underworld beneath this continent had been stripped bare of the creatures that lived there.

No surprise, since they were enemies of humanity... of all surface-dwelling life, honestly.

That's why Kel'thar couldn't bring himself to trust this creature. He didn't trust it while he was working for Amon, and he didn't trust it now that he was working against Amon. That thing was an enemy of them both. It would rip his bones out _and then_ reduce the rest of him to ash. Kel'thar had been forced to watch it happen to traitors before.

Naturally, that didn't stop him from being a traitor, it just made him more concerned about being caught. He had a couple of worst-case escape plans, but the one that was the most certain--calling upon the Dark Lord--would also have the highest cost, the least part of that cost being never coming back to this continent, and probably never seeing his dear wife again. Worse, if he never came back to let her and her daughter out of their shackles, they would probably starve to death, and nobody would find them. That would be a real shame; he was very happy with his home life, and he doubt he would find a matched set like them again. They were a family, whatever those two might have wished, and he was exceedingly happy to have made it so.

It hadn't originally been his dream. As he considered the creature that lay in the sacred grounds, Kel'thar thought not for the first time that his cruel streak had gotten much more vicious the first time he saw the creature, and it only got worse the longer he spent around the thing's tainted energies. Perhaps the creature was behind Amon's cruelty, and Roan's. Janinda... he had no idea how nasty she could get, because she didn't confide in Kel'thar the way the men of the family did, but he had to suspect the creature affected her just as much.

Perhaps this was part of its revenge against humankind, spite for the children of the Arch Sorcerers. But it didn't matter, just as it didn't matter whether or not Kel'thar had been tained by the creature. His actions were on his own head, and his victims... Kel'thar laughed quietly to himself. He didn't really care what happened to them.

In any case, as Kel'thar heard footsteps and discussions in places where there hadn't been any, he moved deeper into the labyrinth, finally ending up back at the only unguarded exit--the one that wasn't an exit, and only concealed a way to the sacred grounds. The wardwalking glyph was unpowered, but a mage of his standing had no problem filling it with enough energy to allow him safe passage.

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If anything, he was happy to turn inside-out and appear in the wardspace. Most people were unnerved to know that the edges of the space were sharp, that a person could lose half their body as easily as a finger if they brushed against it. To him, it was comforting, like carrying a sharp knife; he was a killer, and knowing where to find the nearest weapon always set his mind at ease. There were many ways to kill in a wardspace, but none was as sure as driving an enemy into the boundary.

It wasn't as though he could do it on accident, anyway. As always, the edges were clear, if dim, and he cruised down the center of the space, finding the wan beam of light that was the exit. He paused, not entirely sure why, and looked back behind him. There was, as always, something a bit... off around the Egrethore estate. But now, he felt it more keenly, and after a moment of thought, he reached for the satchel carrying the metal ingots on his hip. As he laid hands on it, he felt it more strongly, a keen and piercing hatred that seemed to come from the sack itself.

All of a sudden, a hand exited the sack and gripped his own. If Kel'thar could breathe he would have screamed, but a black fire burned out from his wrist, and lines of it seemed to follow his nerves and veins up his arm and into his chest. A spike of black fire pierced his heart, and more lines of fire burned out from there, covering him head to toe with something...

It didn't feel like burning. It took Kel'thar a moment to process that; this was awful, twisted magic, but it was _magic_. And although his mind was now suddenly very sluggish, before the darkness took him completely he remembered where he had seen black fire before; it was the mark of necromancy, something only practiced by Amon and by the creature. It transcended any other magic and was its own beautiful, awful, twisted magic of chaos and death.

He had watched Amon try unsuccessfully to raise the dead, watched dozens of human beings--men and women, adults and children--beg to be returned to death as the energy made monsters of their flesh and bound them _within_ those things. It seemed to go wrong in so many different ways that it was absolute madness to even think the man would continue, but he did, time and time again.

Just in case, he'd said, but Kel'thar had never seen nor heard of a single success, and in time Amon stopped. This was a secret that Kel'thar had not spoken of to anyone--out of fear of his own safety. Not from Amon, no; he didn't fear that many any more than others. But Necromancy was a sin against the gods, and this was the worst sort of it.

The hand on his wrist pulled, and when Kel'thar's fingers touched the metal ingot, he felt as though he was touching on another world, a gateway. It was not like gates to the wardspace, designed by men and lit in columns of light. No, he felt cold, like he was on the precipice of an awful, mile-high cliff, and at the bottom was another cliff. If he stepped over the boundary, he might land upright on the other cliff... but he also might not. At worst, he might be caught in between both worlds.

That thought made him question exactly where those fingers were coming from.

Although he tried, Kel'thar could not pry his fingers off of the bar of metal. Instead, he found his arm removing it from the sack and holding it before him. Although the ingot was solid, even in the wardspace, he could swear there were eyes within it; he felt the presence of a snarling face, and he felt that he knew the face, even though he could not see it.

"Roan?" Kel'thar's could not stop the horror in his voice any more than he could control his arm. "But you're _dead_!"

The face in the metal gnashed its teeth at him. If the face could have talked, Kel'thar knew, Roan would have said something pompous and self-righteous, something about taking back his rightful place, something like that. But there was no point; they were in different worlds, and Roan needed all of his strength of will to fight Kel'thar.

It took him a long time to understand exactly what battle he was losing, and by the time he did, both he and Roan were straddling that divide. Roan, by what powers Kel'thar did not know, was taking his place in Kel'thar's own body. And although he might have fought him off if he had known that from the start, Roan had done terrible things by now to his mind, and black fire was cutting his mind to pieces.

When finally he found himself locked on the wrong side of that barrier, Kel'thar realized that it was not a cliff he could simply pass through. This world had a bit of magic, and he might in time learn to control it, but he had left behind all his sparks and all his essence together with his body.

Before he could contemplate getting his revenge, though, Roan took the piece of metal and threw it at the edge of the wardspace. And although all Kel'thar could see through the boundary was Roan getting smaller, he knew.

He knew what he would have done in Roan's shoes, what he should have done from the moment Roan started to fight to control him. He knew where the closest weapon was. As the spatial tears at the edge of the wardspace began crushing his new home, Kel'thar could only watch his own body drift back towards the Egrethore estate.

Whatever was left of Roan Egrethore was coming to get his revenge, and he had the perfect disguise to carry it out with.