One by one, they stepped through: Jack, Petros, Henry, Raven, and Saul. They were battered but whole. No one lost; no one left behind.
A soft smile tugged at the corner of his lips, but it vanished just as quickly.
“You’re slipping, old man,” came the familiar voice of a child; light, lilting, and laced with ancient warning. The little girl appeared as if drawn from the air itself, her shadow long and sharp in the false light. “You're starting to care again.”
Without turning, he replied, “Shouldn’t I? The boy survived the arena. He gathered the key. His people remain intact. We both agreed success was the goal.”
“Your success, perhaps,” the girl said, walking a slow circle around him. Her dark eyes glittered, too wise for her years. “Don’t pretend your vision of victory matches mine. We both know what happens if he sees too much.”
The old man fell silent, and the scene shifted a few hours later, as Jack confronted Gondel at his campsite. He watched the drama unfold: the summoning of Ozmian’s cloak, the crackle of authority in Jack’s voice, the way fear returned to Gondel’s face like an old friend. The boy was learning to wield more than power. He was learning presence.
Then Jack sat in meditation, slipping inward.
The little girl’s brow creased. That part always bothered her.
“My spell does not reach into their spirit realm,” she said, voice now tinged with worry. “When he enters that space, he sees too clearly. He remembers too much. If he connects the right threads…”
“He’ll break the veil,” the old man finished quietly.
“And we lose everything,” she added, crossing her arms with childlike finality.
As the scene faded, a long silence passed between them. The wolf brought Jack out of his trance to bring a warning, and the pair bolted into action.
The girl turned to leave, already fading from view. “Be careful where you place your hope, old man. If Jack fails to release The Source, we cease to exist.”
The old man waited until he could no longer sense her presence. Then, alone with the wind, he dared a final glance toward the place where she had vanished.
“Perhaps,” he whispered, the weight of centuries in his voice, “our time has already passed.”
Jack and Petros raced down the road toward Pendle at a superhuman pace, magic surging through their limbs, propelling them forward. Yet, even at this enhanced speed, Saul found their stride slow; the powerful wolf could easily outpace them, but loyally kept himself in check, matching their desperate sprint toward danger.
As they crested the final rise in the landscape, Pendle revealed itself below: buildings aflame, thick black smoke billowing upward in a menacing spiral, and at the center stood a towering, storm-gray portal pulsing with sinister energy. Ominous clouds churned overhead, echoing the grim scene below.
At the outskirts of the village, Jack’s keen senses flared, alerting him to the presence of Henry and Raven concealed among dense foliage at the roadside. Jack slowed his run, signaling Petros and Saul to follow as they crept toward their friends’ hiding spot. Henry beckoned sharply, urgency etched deep in his expression.
As they ducked into cover, Jack’s eyes darted quickly over the scattered corpses of monstrous figures sprawled nearby. A brief flash of insight appeared from his journal: these gray-skinned creatures were orcs. Jack processed this new knowledge silently, noting the brutal strength evident in their fallen forms.
“I see Saul got our message across,” Henry greeted them in a low voice, his tone grave yet relieved. “And I see in your eyes, Jack, you’re ready to tear right into those brutes.”
Jack’s jaw tightened, his gaze burning as he watched distant figures move within the town. His thoughts were set upon immediate vengeance.
“Aye, lad,” Henry said gently, laying a strong hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Believe me, we share your anger. But we can’t just go in casting spells all ‘Jack-like.’”
Jack's attention snapped to Henry. “‘Jack-like?’ What’s that supposed to mean?” he shot back, a mixture of irritation and amusement flickering across his face.
Henry allowed a small smile beneath his beard. “No insult meant, friend. You’re powerful, no doubt. But Pendle is full of innocents. We need a plan or risk doing more harm than good.”
Jack exhaled, visibly calming himself. Henry was right. Reckless force would put villagers at greater risk. He nodded slowly, signaling his agreement.
At that moment, Petros raised his hand tentatively. “I...I think I have an idea.”
All eyes turned to the young mage. Petros took a steadying breath and explained his audacious plan. Jack’s face lit with a mischievous gleam as he spoke, while Henry’s brows drew tighter, deepening his characteristic frown. When Petros finally fell silent, Henry grunted skeptically.
“Lad, that’s insane,” the blacksmith said bluntly. Then, slowly stroking his beard, he allowed himself a reluctant chuckle. “But insane might be exactly what we need.”
A short time later, Jack strode confidently into the burning heart of Pendle, Petros walking slightly behind him, arms crossed and expression stony. Between them marched Henry and Raven, wrists bound with magically conjured ropes, appearing every bit the defeated prisoners. Saul stayed close to Jack, prowling like a fearsome wizard’s familiar.
Jack had donned the Obsidian Cloak of the Vanquished, the shadowy garment swirling around him in dark, shadow mist. His hood concealed his features, leaving only two distant points of starlight where his eyes glowed from within; a visage that radiated authority and danger.
As they passed orcs guarding a huddle of terrified villagers, the beasts stumbled back, uncertain how to respond to Jack’s imposing presence. Jack’s group moved unchallenged toward the massive portal standing in the town square.
Up close, the portal was an enormous oval of churning clouds, nearly three stories tall, radiating power and menace. Lightning crackled within its edges, hinting at the raw, destructive magic it harbored. Three enormous orcs, clearly leaders, stood near its base. Jack approached them directly, with an air of supreme confidence.
The rightmost orc stepped forward aggressively, thrusting out a spear tipped with jagged metal. “Kneel before Ja’zz!” it snarled.
Jack stood motionless, refusing even the slightest bow. He stared impassively from beneath his hood.
“Insolence!” roared the orc, advancing to jab his spear at Jack’s chest.
Jack merely twitched a finger beneath his cloak, sending flames erupting across the orc’s body. The creature shrieked horribly, dropping its spear and spinning frantically in vain attempts to extinguish the consuming fire, before collapsing in a smoking heap.
You have killed Alpha Orc level 37, xp gained.
The second orc bellowed with rage, rushing to attack, but Ja’zz raised a hand, halting his subordinate mid-charge. The lead orc studied Jack carefully.
“You wear Ozmian’s cloak,” Ja’zz finally growled, clearly shaken by recognition.
Jack stood silent for a long, heavy moment before speaking in a deep, menacing rasp. “Your name is seriously Jazz?”
The two orcs glanced at each other, baffled. Ja’zz growled again. “It is Ja’zz,” he corrected sharply, emphasizing the pause between syllables.
Jack began to respond, but a subtle throat-clearing from Henry behind him brought him back on track. Jack straightened slightly, fixing the towering orc with a piercing stare.
“You speak the truth, Ja…zz,” he said deliberately, drawing out the leader’s name mockingly. “Ozmian fell to my power. Now I carry forth his quest; to free our master.”
Jack silently thought to himself, Ozmian, huh? So that’s who that cloaked bastard was.
Fear finally crept into Ja’zz’s eyes, replacing his initial arrogance. “Then...you are the Dark Wizard?”
Jack gave only the faintest, chilling nod as shadows thickened around him, crackling with arcs of deadly magic. Ja’zz and his remaining guard immediately dropped to one knee, bowing their heads in submission.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Petros maintained his stoic mask, suppressing a triumphant grin at the success of his plan. Henry, however, felt unease flicker through him, momentarily unsettled by Jack’s performance; almost convinced that his friend truly had become the feared Dark Wizard. He quickly pushed those thoughts away, remembering all the good Jack had done for his people, restoring their connection to the Source and defending them tirelessly.
Saul, sensing victory, stalked forward to stand beside Jack, growling with satisfaction as the mighty orcs knelt before them.
“Status report,” Jack commanded, his voice resonating with an unnatural gravity, an eerie enhancement provided by the Obsidian Cloak.
Ja’zz opened his mouth to speak but paused as Jack gestured impatiently for the orcs to rise from their knees. The massive orc straightened, gathering his composure before speaking.
“The veil between Aerothane and Noctareth weakens with each passing moment, my lord, accelerated by the discovery of the keys required to unleash our master. Rumors speak of your triumph; two of the three keys are said to be in your possession already?”
Jack responded with a curt nod, keeping his voice low and controlled. “Your information is correct. Continue.”
Emboldened by this confirmation, Ja’zz went on. “We secured this location by establishing a stable gateway into Aerothane. Our scouts have reported the humans amassing an army at a fortress called Hajill, which is roughly a day's march from here. Another of our portals stands ready in the dark woods east of Hajill. Once preparations are complete, we shall launch a coordinated strike, crushing their resistance and paving the way for our lord's return.”
Jack stood in ominous silence, absorbing the details carefully as Ja'zz continued.
“We have also captured their leader; one they call the Warrior Queen. By Ozmian’s direct command, she remains alive and imprisoned deep within Noctareth, guarded closely until our victory is absolute.”
Jack forced himself to suppress a reaction at the mention of this Warrior Queen. Instead, he pressed forward, carefully maintaining his facade. “And what of the third key? Do we know its whereabouts?”
“No, my liege,” Ja’zz admitted hesitantly, “but our spies whisper a foolish old wizard holds it; one no longer connected to the source.”
Jack tensed slightly. This revelation was too precise to be a mere coincidence. He shared a quick glance with Petros, their suspicions confirmed when a journal page flashed clearly before Jack’s eyes:
Quest Received: Seek out Gondel and obtain the third idol, Iwazaru.
Jack swiftly opened a private voice chat with Petros.
Jack: The old man’s been keeping secrets from us.
Petros: Figures. This just keeps getting better and better.
Jack: We need that final key to maintain our cover.
Petros: What about these orcs?
Jack: We proceed with your plan.
Jack closed the chat, turning his attention sharply back to Ja’zz. “What of the prisoners you've taken here?” he demanded, gesturing toward the frightened citizens of Pendle, huddled together under watchful guards.
“We've been gathering them in the town square,” Ja’zz answered with a cruel grin. “Ozmian’s last orders were to transport the young and strong back to Noctareth for labor, and execute the weak and old.”
Jack fought to conceal his disgust, carefully weighing his following words. “Belay that order,” he announced decisively. My apprentice and I,” he indicated, Petros, who straightened his posture and masked his nervousness, “have been experimenting with a potent soul-binding spell. Why waste perfectly good souls on mere executions or trouble ourselves with transport? With our new magic, we can enslave their wills and force them into battle as mindless pawns.”
Ja’zz’s malicious grin broadened, impressed by what he perceived as ruthless ingenuity. “You certainly exceed your reputation, Dark Wizard,” he snarled appreciatively. He barked orders swiftly, and his orcs began herding the terrified townsfolk into a tight formation at the center of the square.
An hour later, every living soul of Pendle stood fearfully crowded together. At the front, still bound, Henry and Raven stared defiantly at Jack, betrayal clear in their eyes. Jack could hardly meet their gaze, feeling a sharp pang of guilt, but he buried it deep, knowing there was no room for error.
Petros carefully etched sigils into the dusty ground around the gathered villagers, meticulously creating an elaborate circle filled with arcane symbols. With each mark drawn, he fought back the creeping guilt and uncertainty; he needed to trust that Jack would see this through without sacrificing the innocents.
Completing his work, Petros returned silently to Jack's side. Around them, the tension in the air grew palpable.
Jack turned to the Orcs, his voice dripping with sinister confidence. “For your own safety, I recommend you and your soldiers stand aside. If this ritual backfires,” he paused, pointing casually toward the villagers, “you wouldn’t want to be caught in the blast.”
Ja’zz chuckled cruelly, delight shimmering in his dark eyes. The thought of witnessing either the total enslavement or spectacular destruction of the humans thrilled him immensely. He motioned to his warriors, drawing them to a safer distance, eager to watch the macabre show.
Jack cast a careful glance toward the Orcs. “Is that everyone?”
“Yes, my liege,” Ja’zz replied eagerly, anticipation etched deeply into his brutal features.
“Excellent,” Jack growled darkly. “We'll direct the spell away from your men, just to be cautious. Wouldn’t want unnecessary losses.”
Ja’zz smiled in grim appreciation as Jack stepped deliberately toward the sigil-etched ground, Petros at his side.
Facing the terrified townsfolk, Jack saw Henry's eyes blazing with fierce defiance and Raven’s gaze filled with hurt and confusion. Jack summoned his staff, Zural’thuren, slamming it into the earth before him, sending sparks of arcane energy cascading outward.
He stretched out both arms, channeling mana into the staff, and spoke aloud words of ancient power:
“Korash Zural Shavrel.”
As Jack chanted, runes ignited brilliantly on his staff, radiant energy pulsing outward. Petros mirrored Jack’s movements, murmuring in precise harmony, activating the sigils with a sinister crimson glow. Dark tendrils of magic coiled upward, entwining around the villagers. At first, the townsfolk recoiled, screams filling the air, collapsing to their knees as the malevolent energy gripped their very souls.
Jack raised his eyes to Petros, determination blazing fiercely.
“NOW!” Jack roared.
And then, all hell broke loose.
In a fluid burst of movement, Henry and Raven stepped confidently outside the sigil circle. Their magical bindings shimmered briefly before dissolving into nothingness. Instantly, they summoned their gear; Henry’s mighty hammer appeared with a metallic hum, Raven’s armor settling smoothly over her lithe form.
Without hesitation, Henry launched himself forward, a blur of motion as he vaulted cleanly over Jack and Petros, landing squarely amidst the startled cluster of orcs. The blacksmith spun swiftly, his hammer outstretched, its deadly arc smashing through armor and bone alike. The orcs within arm's reach fell back with guttural cries, crushed beneath the massive weapon’s relentless momentum.
Nearby, Raven planted two intricate totems into the ground, their magic pulsing instantly outward. Strength flooded into her allies, their wounds beginning to mend before the enemy could land a second blow. With practiced grace, Raven shifted seamlessly into her hawk form, wings spreading wide as she soared upward.
From above, she dived with deadly precision, snatching orcs from the chaos below and lifting them skyward. Panic spread through the ranks as she released them from dizzying heights, the falling bodies smashing into their comrades below. A fresh wave of fear rippled through the enemy’s ranks each time she rose into the sky again.
The Orcs took several critical moments to rally their courage and begin a counterattack. Snarling in fury, a small group led by Ja’zz broke away, charging toward Jack, while others veered off toward Petros and the townspeople. The citizens of Pendle cowered, eyes wide with genuine fear, their screams no longer staged but truly desperate, as they watched the orcs approach.
Yet, the moment the first orcs reached the perimeter of glowing red sigils, a blinding flash erupted. The attackers disintegrated instantly, leaving only a thin, smoky mist where they had stood seconds before. The townsfolk stared in shock, momentarily silent, realizing that Petros's barrier had truly protected them.
Enraged, Ja’zz roared, brandishing his massive battle axe as he charged directly at Jack, his tusks glinting fiercely. The brutal weapon descended toward Jack’s hooded figure, but sliced harmlessly through misty shadows, striking only empty air.
Jack rematerialized instantly behind the leader. Raising one hand, he released a fierce gust of wind, toppling Ja’zz face-first into the dirt. Before the orc could recover, Jack seized his head with both hands and channeled a concentrated surge of lightning directly into his skull. The crackling energy surged violently, sparks cascading outward. Within moments, Ja’zz’s head ignited, consumed from the inside out. The orc's body shuddered violently and collapsed forward, the charred remains still sizzling on the scorched ground.
"Jazz hands!" Jack called triumphantly, throwing both hands up dramatically toward Petros.
Petros groaned loudly, rolling his eyes even as he deftly sidestepped another orc and dispatched it with twin strokes of his spectral scimitars. "Really?" he called back in mild exasperation.
Nearby, Saul tore indiscriminately through the chaos, a savage blur of fur and fang. The wolf's ferocity quickly brought down any orc attempting to surround one of the group.
The entire encounter lasted less than a minute. Witnessing the violent demise of their leader, the surviving Orcs lost all sense of fight and quickly retreated, scrambling desperately toward the looming portal. Jack flung bolts of fire and lightning after the fleeing remnants, picking off stragglers and thinning their numbers, though most managed to vanish safely into the swirling gateway.
Then, abruptly, silence returned to the town square. Jack dismissed the Obsidian Cloak, its shadows receding like mist, and sank slowly to his knees, breathing heavily. Fatigue tugged at his bones; maintaining the protective spell had been far more taxing than he anticipated.
“Uh, Jack?” Petros’s hesitant voice cut through his exhaustion.
“What is it, kid?” Jack asked, lifting his head wearily, catching the anxiety etched across Petros’s young face. Petros stared blankly at the massive portal, eyes wide with growing concern.
Jack turned slowly to follow his friend’s gaze, dread pooling in his gut as he saw clearly through the portal.
“Oh, shit,” Jack muttered softly, his breath catching.
Across the shimmering boundary, the surviving Orcs stumbled straight into a formidable gathering; a vast, organized army waiting ominously beyond the threshold. Hundreds of orcs, armored and battle-hardened, their banners dark and menacing, turned in unison toward the open portal, recognizing immediately that their forces in Pendle had been crushed.
With a deep, collective roar, they began marching purposefully toward the portal; toward Pendle, toward Jack and his exhausted companions.
Jack stood slowly, gripping his staff tightly. He glanced quickly at Petros, Henry, Raven, and Saul, determination hardening his features.
“Get ready,” he growled. “This isn't over yet.”