The waters of the estuary ebbed and flowed unbothered by the gruesome scene taking place not a dozen yards away. Riverside buildings cast their long shadows over it as the afternoon dragged to an end. Ben crouched atop the roof of one of said buildings, a derelict warehouse in the wharf, as an unexpected sense of déjà vu washed over him.

It might have been the smell of salt water commingling with his vantage point, but for a moment, he felt almost like he had stepped back in time to the beginning of his journey, half a year ago in Dunport-Salem. Before the curtain had been lifted and the World That Is Not exposed. He smiled to himself. You still have the knack for finding trouble, Umber.

He scanned the area carefully and made sure not to skim over any detail in the scenery. The coast was clear—for now. Ben pushed himself to his feet and walked toward the brick slip chimney. Concentrate on your legs. Your knees. He took one deep breath, then another. Magic flowed toward him.

“Fortify.” Ben muttered, a barely discernible whisper. He felt the spell take hold, reinforcing his muscles and bones. A translucent shimmer surrounded his lower body. He patted his thighs and jumped inside the chimney; his every instinct screamed for him to slow his descent with his hands, but he ignored these as he plunged at an ever-faster pace.

Thump! Ben landed heavily on the empty fireplace, the armspell absorbing the shock of the fall. A cloud of soot rose to meet him, quick to render him into a coughing fit.

Ben emerged from the cramped hearth as the magic wore off, dusting himself as clean as he could. Sybil and Sam were in there, huddled together in makeshift chairs made of discarded boxes and crates.

“Any news?” Sybil asked, her voice tense with worry.

Ben nodded. “Good and bad, both. Which do you want to hear first?”

“Good news, please!” Sam pleaded, desperate to hear a positive development.

“The good news is that Bloodmask’s puppets haven’t crossed Flamel Bridge yet. It looks like we have a little more time, although I don’t know how much.” Ben answered.

A brief, shaky sigh of relief tinged with gratitude and hope escaped Sam. “That’s something, at least.”

“However,” Ben continued, his expression darkening. “Bloodmask is deliberately herding non-tempered civilians into chokepoints and creating more puppets.”

“I suspect it’s to prevent the Warlock Corps from mobilizing a full regiment,” Sam noted, hinting at the strategic implications. Ben and Sybil stared at him earnestly. Having grown up in Dool, unlike them, this new friend of theirs possessed a much keener understanding of the way things worked around here, and they hung on to every word of his.

“What of the bad news, then?” Sybil asked, her expression darkening. “What of Orangier?”

Ben shook his head. “The number of tempered puppets grows by the minute. It’s a frightening spell, alright. I don’t think it’ll be long before they have searched every nook and cranny and realize you’re not there.” He paused briefly and sighed in concern. “As for Orangier... There was no sign of him. Their battle seems to have ended, but I couldn’t glimpse him anywhere. Maybe we should make our way back to the Hanging Gardens?”

A heavy, ominous silence fell over the group like a guillotine. Occasional echoes of clashing steel or chilling wails punctuated the silence, amplifying the sense of impending danger that encroached upon them.

“Or what do you suggest?” Ben prodded. “We can’t hide forever.”

Sybil bit her lip, her brows furrowed in thought. “We need to find Orangier first. We can’t just leave him behind.”

“Wilhelm will take care of that. We’re way out of our league against—against that. We don’t even know if—”

“If what, Ben? If your teacher is still alive?” Sybil retorted before he could finish. “Orangier would never abandon us.”

“Excuse me...” Sam softly interjected, but his companions ignored him as their argument grew more heated.

Despite his wounded pride, Ben refused to back down. “Your safety goes beyond ours. Running back into the wolf’s mouth might get us all killed. We can’t just barge in there head-on.”

“Ahem,” Sam cleared his throat in order to interrupt them, but they kept at it. He ran out of patience and cleared his throat so loudly that a raw sensation lingered. “Ahem!”

Finally, Ben and Sybil stopped and turned to him. “Are you choking?” Ben asked, bewildered.

“Uh, no, thank you. But I might have an idea.” Sam replied, his tone urgent.

Ben and Sybil exchanged a glance before turning their attention back to Sam. “We’re listening.” Sybil said.

Sam took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. “Alright, so here’s what I figure: Bloodmask is, as of right now, untouchable. He has an army of tempered puppet soldiers surrounding him around the clock. Like Ben said, it was a frightening feat of sorcery. However, let us not forget the ampoule he used to power up. I don’t think what we’re seeing is the original extent of the spell, or he would’ve used it against Orangier during their duel.”

“So, it’s being amplified. What do we do with this?” Sybil queried.

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“His control of Danse Macabre shouldn’t be perfect. At least, it shouldn’t be. I believe that if we can distract him, one of us might sneak up from behind and deliver enough damage to break the spell, or at least loosen his grip over it.”

Sybil’s eyes lit up with determination. “I’ll have to be the distraction. He’s after me.”

“No way,” Ben immediately protested. “It’s too dangerous.”

“There’s no other way,” Sybil insisted. “I’ll cover my face, and Sam will be with me. I’ll be more than fine.”

“I will?” Sam asked, his voice betraying his fear.

Sybil poked Ben with a finger. “You, mister, are the armspell expert here. If anyone can get close to him before he notices, it would be you.”

Ben suspired in defeat. He recognized the logic of her plan, although it was not without its merit. And it’s not like he didn’t want to see his teacher safe, too. But what was the purpose of the Grigori if not to keep Sybil out of the enemy’s reach? “Fine. But you’ll have to be extra careful. As for you, Sam, if you see the plan’s not going our way, immediately retreat, and drag her by her feet if you have to.”

Sam brought his hand to his forehead in salute, well pleased with the degree of responsibility with which Ben trusted him. “Ready to go when you are.”

Sybil nodded, her resolve unwavering. “Let’s go.”

The trio left the warehouse and kept to the shadows as they snuck their way to Flamel Bridge, unseen, to avoid detection by Bloodmask’s forces. A siren alarm now blared continually across the streets, its wailing a sinister reverb that sprung forth out of thin air. The product of sorcery, most likely. As a result, the neighborhood had already evacuated.

As they approached the bridge, Ben took a deep breath and glanced back at his companions, one his protégé and the other an unexpected ally. “Remember, stick to the plan. I’ll strike as soon as your distraction starts. We can do this.” He awkwardly shook hands with both. “I guess we’ll see each other after this. Good luck.”

With one last look, they stepped onto the bridge and parted ways toward their respective objectives. None of them felt confident enough to face the enemy that awaited them.

⦶⦶⦶

“Looking for me, you jerk?”

Sybil’s taunts echoed in the distance. It had begun. Sweat accumulated on his forehead, and anxiety crept into his mind. He hid behind the motorcade to which the Brigid the Smith float was tethered, the sound of its constant anvil striking perfect to muffle his movements.

He sat with his back to the vehicle, peeking an eye as much as he dared to catch a glimpse of the situation as it developed. The tempered warlocks yanked their heads aggressively toward the source of the noise and immediately broke into a sprint, clearing the area for him.

Ben followed the blood-tentacles with his gaze all the way toward their origin: Bloodmask. At the edge of a distant public fountain, he sat mostly immobile—the water sprouting from it had a red tint. Sam was right, Ben thought with a shudder. The spell must be unwieldy to maintain. The Solomonari jumped from his trance the moment his puppets caught wind of Sybil, but remained glued to his spot.

The tempered warlocks were a different story altogether. They converged on Sybil, a stampede of glassed eyes and unnatural motion. She stood defiantly in the open, her face hidden beneath a mask of blue flames that Ben immediately recognized. They had both donned it during their induction into the Grigori Society. Clever, Ben thought. Sam stood beside her, trying to look braver than he felt. She raised her hands and continued with the taunts unabashedly.

“Is that all you’ve got, Mudmask?” Sybil yelled; her voice was loud and clear. “I’ve seen scarier gnomes in my grandma’s garden!”

Ben took a deep breath to calm his racing heart. This was his chance to strike. He slipped out from behind the motorcade, moving with as much stealth as he could muster. He kept low and used the cover of debris and abandoned carts to inch closer to his mark. Bloodmask’s attention was fully locked on Sybil and Sam—or at least, that’s what it looked like. Closer and closer, Ben crept, every muscle in his body tensed and ready.

Suddenly, Sybil’s voice rang out again, with a tinge of desperation to it. “Come on, you coward! Face me yourself!”

Bloodmask laughed, a chilling sound that sent a shiver down Ben’s spine. “You think you can distract me with such pitiful tricks?” He sneered, rising slowly to his feet again. “I’ve already won.”

His heart pounded in his chest. Ben was so close now. Just a few more steps. He gathered his courage and prayed for success, for he was about to attempt something he’d never tried before. Magic flowed into him, ready to be unleashed.

“Quicken. Bolster.” Ben muttered, feeling the sorcery take hold. A shimmering coat enveloped him as his arms gleamed with a red sheen. He immediately felt fatigue onset, drained by the strain of casting two armspells; unsure of how long he’d be able to maintain this state, he acted.

Ben launched himself at Bloodmask with incredible speed and actually caught him off guard. His eyes widened in surprise, but he was too slow to react. Ben’s magic-powered fist pummeled straight to its mark with a resounding crack. The force of the blow sent Bloodmask flying, his body crashing into the fountain with a splash.

The tempered warlocks and spirits under his command collapsed to the ground, unconscious from exhaustion. The plan had worked. Ben let out a sigh of relief but felt something was amiss. It was all too easy. Despite this, he couldn’t linger around any longer.

He sprinted toward Sybil, who was still on her feet; a ring of unconscious warlocks sprawled around her on the cobblestone. Sam emerged from a hiding place not far away, and they reunited as a trio again.

“I think the plan worked.” Sam said in disbelief.

Ben clasped his shoulder. “That it did, you mad genius.”

“What’s our next move?” Sybil asked urgently, scanning their surroundings for any signs of further danger.

“Right. We need to get out of here, find Orangier, and get as far away as humanely possible from this place.”

Sybil and Sam nodded. The three of them turned to leave, but before they could take more than a few steps, Bloodmask materialized before them and blocked their path.

“Oh, how the mighty have fallen. The Grigori are hiring children now, I see. Don’t know when to give up, your lot.” Bloodmask said as he held up two ampoules. He crushed one in his hand, and the liquid within it flowed right into a gash and into his veins. The other one he tucked away. “You’ll see that I have more than one card up my sleeve.”

Ben tensed as Bloodmask struggled with the renewed surge of magic that now coursed through him. As he prepared for an inevitable confrontation, he stole a look at his companions: Sybil, equally determined, and Sam, locked in an effort to maintain his composure.

Bloodmask began an incantation, his voice distorted with a horrifying inflection. “Souls of the deceased, heed my call.” The air suddenly felt heavy, and it became harder to breathe. “Curse, Vanth’s Requisition.”

A dreadful pall befell the trio. From the surrounding ground, and even from the waters of the bay behind them, spectral forms emerged from gods-know-what-forsaken, subterranean depths. Ghostly figures, hollow eyes, and twisted countenances descended upon the fallen warlocks, taking ahold of their inert bodies.

“No way,” Sam gasped, disbelief etched on his face. “T-That’s Necromancy.”

The Necromancer rumors were true, and he was a Solomonari all along, Ben thought, stunned by the revelation. We’re currently engaged in an inescapable fight with him, with no signs of reinforcements. He spaced his legs and bent his knees a little, like he’d seen his teacher do countless times. If he was going down, he wouldn’t do so without a fight.

“The festival’s been a truly enriching experience.” Ben said sarcastically.

Sybil couldn’t help but laugh despite their current odds. “It’s been a grand time, that’s for sure.”

“You guys are crazy,” Sam added, his voice aquiver.

The three of them, back-to-back, prepared for whatever came their way as an army of possessed zombies encircled them, cutting away any means of escape. The float of Brigid the Exalted watched from afar, gimlet-eyed by their futile bravery.