Finley Stone.
Ghost Sorcerer, Rayna’s Ranger.
Mr. Finley of late to young kids with potential in the art of magery.
That last one was mostly fake.
A cover identity to spy in their enemy’s capital and for the opportunity to close out his revenge on the Cabal that had raped and tortured him when he wasn’t much more than a kid himself.
What wasn’t fake was the teaching part.
No.
He did that seriously and for real.
With the power of magic those kids might have the chance that he never had to protect themselves when the adults couldn’t or wouldn’t.
The night sky above D.C. was filled with loud booms and flashes of light.
Part of him wanted to abandon his revenge and personally make sure his students got evacuated, but he trusted in the rangers to do their jobs.
He hoped that they portal stones he had hid in the gifts he provided them worked as intended and that the rangers got to them before anything else did.
He slapped the iron-barred gate of the fancy mansion one more time.
Cabal HQ.
Dark and foreboding.
The windows revealed nothing.
No lights.
No moving shadows.
But that didn’t mean much with magic.
Concealment spells were standard for such people.
He had already roared a challenge for Cambion.
The last of the original Cabal members still alive.
He had killed a couple over the years.
All either as part of a ranger op and once with Cooper, the Dread Paladin.
Cooper’s revenge had truly ended when they had taken out the Vitiator and the man seemed content to serve an eternal penance with the Bat People.
Good for him.
“Cambion! Scared? Where is your wrath?”
He flicked the gates dismissively.
No response.
A pity.
It would’ve been better to draw them out.
Assaulting the mansion would endanger the Cabal’s prisoners and make his Quest more difficult.
The notification taunted him.
He could save people and be rewarded or he could completely ignore them and still be rewarded.
The iron bars vibrated.
His fingers danced.
Iron spikes erupted only to break against his magic shield.
He decided on blue since the wrath mages’ spells tended to be in shades of red.
It was just like in one of his favorite movie series.
Even his choice of clothing sort of mirrored the movie.
All white.
Long sleeve shirt, pants and a long coat that evoked images of a wandering monk or priest.
He thought it fitting since he was here to pass judgment.
Granted monks and priests didn’t do so with violence.
Although, that was back in the old world.
Monks and priests these days did violence depending on their personal philosophy towards dealing with evil.
He even had a hood to look properly intimidating with his face half-hidden in shadow.
It went without saying that his attire wasn’t just clothing.
Nope.
Everything was properly enchanted to protect him just about as good as the standard ranger armor set.
It is time. Finish it and move on to your next challenge.
The warmth in his chest thrummed.
An artifact from another world in place of his heart.
The source of his magic.
It had been getting chatty of late.
Almost like it was getting impatient the closer they got to fulfilling his one true desire ever since that long ago agreement when he drowned in that lake.
Or almost drowned.
The memory was hazy. Viewed through frosted glass like everything else from his time in the Cabal’s depraved clutches.
“It is.”
The Cabal spell had ruined their gate and fence.
Not that it was much of an impediment to him in the first place.
Neither were the streams of fire and acid from the magic crystals hidden in the light poles.
He walked through it all inside his blue shield.
The expansive lawn had been given over to their training pits.
Literal holes in the ground where they threw in prospective members.
Those that climbed out moved on to the next step, while those that failed died in the pit or went on to become playthings for the full members.
Test subjects for their magic or worse.
It was an indictment on the American government that they allowed something so heinous to take place.
It was an even bigger indictment on him and the rangers that they hadn’t already stopped it.
It didn’t matter that he was here to rectify that.
Cold comfort to the many hundreds that had already suffered and were murdered.
The next layer of the Cabal defense were those pour souls that drew their last desperate breathes in the pits.
Many hadn’t even been willing participants.
Their rage-filled spirits clambered out of the deep dirt.
Some in purely spiritual forms. Others riding what was left of their remains. Bones for the older victims and zombified bodies for the newer ones.
“There are so many kids.”
They howled as they charged across the trodden grass.
“I would’ve been just like you if I hadn’t gotten lucky.”
Wasn’t that the truth.
He had literally fallen upon that which gave him the power to never be a victim again, while they hadn’t.
There wasn’t anything special about him.
He waved his hand, casting a simple sounding spell.
Soul peace.
The library in the artifact didn’t have any of the history behind it. Nothing on the creator. Just a brief description of its effects and instructions.
The spirits vanished. The bones clattered. The zombies flopped.
They all did so with a sigh of souls finally finding the peace stolen from them.
“If there’s there’s anything after I hope it’s better than this world.”
Dark, angry spells fired from the mansion.
They twisted the very air with wrath, malice and everything evil within humanity.
Fingers danced in front of the beating heat glowing through the white, curling like an angry eagle’s talons.
Hands thrust violently forward, expelling a wave of crackling black magic.
Black talons thrust and grasped out of the leading edge of the many meters high wave.
It swallowed the Cabal’s spells, disintegrating them as it expanded into a tsunami large enough to engulf the entire mansion.
The upgraded version of the spell wasn’t one that saw use often.
Too dangerous in its indiscriminate nature.
Those crackling black talons could reach out and grab at anything in range. And that range could be surprisingly far and random.
The black wave splashed against a sudden barrier of red light.
He poured mana into his spell, watching with satisfaction as the Cabal’s barrier began to crack and flicker under the clawing talons.
There had been a lot of free time during his teaching tenure to expand his mana pool. And he had plenty of mana potions in his bags of holding and mana gems scattered on his person.
He had made certain that he’d have enough for the night’s Quest.
The red shield cracked and vanished into motes of dying light.
His black wave struck the mansion.
“While they’re busy…”
He couched in the dirt and began writing an intricate spell.
Cal had provided a detailed map of the mansion interior, which included a multi-level dungeon where the Cabal did their worst deeds.
The sprawling dungeon covered much of the property’s grounds with many tunnels leading to emergency escape doors.
He chanted the words of the spell to give it greater power.
To overwhelm their defensive wards.
When he felt them push back, he turned the simple chant into a long poem recited with all his desire for vengeance and protection for potential future victims.
Mana flowed out of him and into the spell circle in the dirt like a broken hose.
He plugged it with a metaphorical thumb to control the flow and force it to a safer, more manageable rate.
Light flared underneath him and a sudden wind erupted out of nowhere, making his long coat flutter like a cape.
“No escape, Cambion.” He smiled up at the dark mansion as he mimed tearing down a curtain. “Never again.”
Hundreds of black talons ripped the entire front facade of the mansion down.
Cabal fighters launched themselves at him, frothing, enraged. Their bodies swelling as a red haze wafted off their bodies.
Cabal assassins vanished from sight, slinking into attack approaches that suited their classes. They held their rage long enough to unleash like an explosion at the moment of the kill.
Cabal mages didn’t what they always did. They buffed the rest or launched their own spells at him without much thought toward strategy and tactics.
Attack and overwhelm.
“You are all too low level for me.”
Fingers contorted.
Malaviransor’s Rebuke, upgraded, countered dozens of spells, dealing damage to the casters in greater proportion to the original spell’s power.
Cabal mages by the dozen cried out before death. They burned, froze, melted or disintegrated depending on their spells.
As for the fighters?
“Maw of Tararez, Glutton Infinite.”
Not a spell he had used beyond initial testing.
It seemed too lean too much on the evil side of things.
However, it fit for the Cabal.
They who immersed themselves in the sins of humanity deserved to die to one.
The fighters had gathered into a tightly-packed clump in their haste to be the first to chop him with their axes, stab him with their spears or simply smash him with their bare fists.
Perfect for the spell erupting from the ground.
The ugly, slimy, gray slug-like maw opened, revealing many rows of teeth embedded at multiple angles that gave one an existential headache if they looked and tried to understand too long. Many tongues of various lengths and spinyness lashed and grabbed.
In their rage the fighters didn’t understand.
It was all just another thing to hurt.
They fought, cutting, stabbing, punching, activating Skills until the very end when the maw spell snapped shut and began to chew before vanishing back into the dirt and out of reality.
Not evil. Not good. The library strips morality from recorded spells.
“Well, you’ve said that and yet I don’t feel very good about what I just did.”
The voice remained silent.
A mental alarm chimed.
He had made it play a pleasant tune. Wordless music from the hook of a Casey Cool song from over twenty years ago, from her days in the slavery empire, so understandably she had been reluctant to revisit it and had only re-recorded it about five years ago. “Light my fireball, sexy wizard boy”. The lyrics weren’t great, but the music was a banger, as the really old people liked to say.
His defensive spell activated without conscious input.
D’Rake’s Ripper disgorged pieces of the Cabal’s sneaky types from his shadow or deposited pieces as they lost their invisibility.
An impact shattered against his magic shield the instant before he head the loud bang.
Sniper.
Too far to reach from his position and he didn’t want to lose the initiative, so he did the wise thing and kept pumping mana into his magic shield, ignoring the sniper’s accurate shots as he strode into the mansion.
Exertion within safe limit.
“I know.” He touched his chest. “Not even hot.” He took a moment to take in the dark interior of the mansion.
Nothing too weird.
It looked like any home.
Aside from Cabal corpses.
Four floors above ground.
One basement level.
The huge dungeon underneath with its sprawling three to five levels depending on where.
“Victims are all in the dungeon. Except for servants in the mansion. Willingness variable.” He sighed.
Time wasted if he took it to vet every servant cowering in hiding.
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Then there were the Cabal spells possibly in them to turn them into traps, sometimes literally.
“What do you think? Piramontariona’s Cute Aeoropies layered with stasis?”
A rhetorical question since the voice didn’t give input on spell usage unless it was a grave emergency.
“It should work.”
The aeoropies were small and quick to avoid threats and smart enough to take directions.
He cast both spells in quick succession.
The winged puppy-monkey creatures glowed with ethereal light unlike their natural counterparts.
He thought very hard at them, giving them their marching orders while fending off exuberant head bumps and wing tickles.
A simple command to find people hiding without weapons and run into them.
That would trigger the stasis spell and keep the servants out of his hair.
It wasn’t the best plan, but it was the best he could do in the time crunch.
The Ghost Sorcerer glided through the dark mansion only occasionally being disturbed by a body or body parts falling out of his shadow or air.
There were several entrances to the dungeon, but he took the main one.
It’d be the most heavily defended.
A few minutes work killing Cabal defenders, their pets and summons and he was faced with a magically sealed vault door.
Another handful of minutes and he disabled the spells, including a barrier against ethereal entities.
Ghost walk was the easy and simple spell to get him through the thick steel door.
“Cambion. I’ve been here less than ten minutes and I’m already inside your sanctum. Are you going to take that insult? Is your inner circle? They must be looking at you hiding from me and wondering if you still have what it takes to lead. They might be thinking that since I’ve only called you out that there’s a chance they can serve you up and save themselves. What will you do with that?”
There were many magic eyes and ears layered in the surfaces all around him.
He hadn’t been speaking for his personal enjoyment.
A ghostly fly caught his attention, but he left it alone.
The more watchers the better.
They saw him, but remained silent.
Their fear was palpable.
Literally, he had a fear sensing spell running passively amongst the handful he had going.
Everywhere around him, though there were several pockets that held greater fear than the rest.
Vengeance was his main goal, but not the only one.
Rescue was another.
Perhaps, it was simply to make himself feel better about what he was doing.
One could rationalize dealing out brutal, merciless death in the name of saving innocent victims.
His steps echoed across the plain concrete tunnels.
Enslaved monsters burst out of hidden alcoves only to be turned into ash with a wave of his hand.
It would be annoying to have to slow down for every set of hidden chained monster trap, so he summoned his own little monsters.
These weren’t nearly as cute as the aeoropies. It was hard to be cute when the dog-sized things had a random number of arms and legs lined with razors. Not to mention the two sphincters which could spray caustic diarrhea from both ends.
“Go run around these tunnels. Kill any monsters you find.”
They scampered away eager to obey.
His first target was just around the left from a four way intersection.
An iron-barred door blocked the way into a large room.
Less a room than a jail cell with ten naked people.
Young men and women.
Their physical states and the vacant looks in their eyes brought back unpleasant memories.
He had been just like them once.
“Cambion, you sick fuck. You do know that decades of doing this depraved shit is a guaranteed spot in Hell?”
He opened the lock with a gesture.
The smell made him wish he had his standard ranger helmet.
But, that wasn’t fair to the people.
It wasn’t their fault.
“Your nightmare is over. I’m here to get you out.”
That wasn’t entirely true.
They would have nightmares for quite awhile as they struggled through the healing process. Just like him.
He regarded the ten.
Some finally noticed him and he saw no hope in their eyes.
They must’ve thought it was just another cruel Cabal torture game.
One young woman crouched in their midst eyed him intently.
“Ah—”
She burst at him with violent intent.
A red-wreathed knife stabbing into his stomach.
Her rage empowered the steel, giving it just enough strength to pierce his magic shield and enchanted clothing to nick his flesh.
He turned her into mist with Xitol’s Expulsion. The expulsion being her from existence.
The victims were so lost that they barely reacted.
He flicked a small stone at each of them, teleporting them outside.
Cal would take care of getting them the rest of the way out of the God forsaken city.
He freed the rest of the cells.
Some included hidden Cabal, but none got as close as the first woman.
The one in the last cell tried to murder the victims as one last act of spite, but he found himself agonizingly fused into the floor where he’d eventually die.
“You have no more innocents to hide behind. Do you understand what that means?”
They did, judging by the sudden and violent response.
Shadow doorways opened everywhere he looked.
Cabal rushed out, howling.
A mage burned his magic shield with angry red fire that bloomed like a flower before falling back into the shadow door.
These ones were a tier up the level ladder compared to the ones that had been stationed inside the mansion.
A small woman wielded a machine gun meant to be mounted on a tripod or on top a vehicle with her rage abilities. She roared like a tiger, spraying bullets down the tunnel.
He cast a gravity spell, gathering the hundred plus bullets and sending them flying in every direction except his.
Few Cabal went down, though most took hits.
He sent the gravity well floating down the tunnel, saying a prayer to the lady and savior, Rayna, with a quirk on his lips.
Not that he believed in that. No one really did. The rangers just found a bit of blasphemy to be funny.
His spell sucked in Cabal and bullets from the enrage woman who didn’t let up on the trigger.
A simple fireball spell laced with ever-burning flames flashed down the tunnel.
That sealed off that side, which left the other.
Speedy rogues slashed in.
Too fast.
Empowered blades and guns drew blood past his enchanted clothing.
They sliced up his sleeves and put holes in his shirt and pants to punch painful bruises in his flesh.
“Instakill Stab!” One rogue, a grizzled old woman with her face half-hidden by a mask with a very realistic snarling demon mouth, leered as she plunged her monster tooth dagger into his chest.
Thin enough to get right through his ribs and into his heart.
Perfect placement by a hand with many years experience and the corresponding level.
He grinned.
“I’d be in trouble if I still had a heart.”
He flashed his eyes with Gaze of Basudasa.
The old rogue’s demon mask came to life, swallowing the death gaze spell.
But, the thing was he could do two things at once.
In the same breath he thrust his hand forward with an entropic blade.
It was less a whole blade than the vague outline of one as he thrust it under the old rogue’s ribs.
Her armor and clothing were enchanted, but all those things had an end and the magic blade hastened them.
He pushed the corpse aside and dismissed the spell for it would affect him as well.
The mental map in his head was clear.
The Cabal inner sanctum lay on the lowest floor because of course it did.
Down many twisting turns and tunnels filled with traps and Cabal ambushes.
He fired needles of light magic in every direction.
If the Cabal fighters weren’t wed to their rage and the uncontrollable urge to attack they would’ve fared better and drawn the fight out longer.
Instead, they died and gave him precious time and space.
He ran, returning to an empty jail cell.
The large room had enough space for his purpose.
He had never intended to fight step by step through everything the Cabal had.
Mana potions poured out of one of his bags of holding.
He drank until he was full.
Then he kept drinking.
Ms. Teacher’s lessons had yielded so much knowledge, both practical and theoretical.
There were limits, yes, but they could be bent and even broken by those with the daring, the knowledge and the will to try.
His head spun and his gut rebelled, but he slapped both into submission.
He sliced his finger tips with a small knife and began drawing the spell formula into the stained floor and walls of the jail cell.
The very air around him vibrated with the invisible waves of mana fighting to explode out of his overstuffed mind, body and spirit.
He worked quickly, he worked forever.
Time lost meaning until he finally finished and could begin.
“I am Finley Stone. I am Ghost Sorcerer. I come to this place with a singular will. Vengeance,” he chanted. “There are no innocents in this blood-soaked place. No guilt to be had. No uncertainty. Vengeance,” he continued. “I will it so it shall be done. Spirit Killers of My Will, come and let us have vengeance at last.”
The intricate formula written in his blood glowed bright enough to seer a lesser person’s eyes.
Ready yourself. This will be the most difficult and painful event of your existence to date.
He had no time to even laugh at the voice before existence turned into agony.
Time passed.
Seconds.
Or maybe years.
It was hard to say.
He woke up.
He had been awake the whole time.
The spell written in his blood had burned away to ash, leaving him surrounded in the cell.
Ghostly versions of himself.
Twisted by their, his, dark desire.
They writhed and moaned, faces distorting grotesquely, yet they all looked to him as if with a question.
The only question that existed for him in the moment.
“We take our revenge.”
The spirits of his will vanished to scour the dungeon of everything that lived and drew breath.
His body felt like it was weighed down by an iron suit of armor.
Mana fatigue and a little bit of burn, judging by the feel and the slight charring of his fingers.
He drank more potions.
Warning. You have overloaded.
“It’s a good thing my studies opened up a path of Skills to handle that. And you didn’t like her.”
Threat of discovery. Correction. Discovered.
“Turned out she didn’t care. Hurt your feelings? To be dismissed as insignificant.”
The voice remained silent.
It wasn’t entirely true that the ancient not-elf hadn’t cared.
Ms. Teacher had warned him that the artifact that had replaced his heart would one day demand something from him. That bargain they had made in that cold lake.
Unfortunately or fortunately, depending on perspective, there wasn’t anything to be done.
Even she couldn’t have removed it without killing him.
There was no escape except for death and he wasn’t ready for that.
Not until the last of the original Cabal was dead.
Mana restored he went back out into the tunnel and promptly re-opened the Cabal’s shadow doors.
“Cambion, didn’t you know these things lingered unless the caster know what they’re doing and properly sever it? Idiots. Casting spells without truly understanding how to cast spells. Satisfied with saying the words. Or maybe you thought the pinnacle of spell casting was doing it silently without even saying them in your head? Your Vitiator never taught you that? It’s a damn shame that I killed him before he could. Then again, it was hard to find the time for teaching when he and the rest of you were always running and hiding like the vermin you are.”
He stepped into the shadow door that would take him straight into the inner sanctum.
Dark spells greeted him as he stepped out.
He strengthened his blue shield and pushed it out further to give himself more space from the Cabal spells and their enraging effects.
He couldn’t allow himself to fall into the rage for it would only strengthen them.
“Calming Breeze of Kitanolji.”
Soothing softness ruffled his coat and touched him with the gentle caress of what he could only imagine a mother did for her frightened child.
“You stole that from me, you know?”
The Cabal inner council ceased their spellcasting.
There were six in the massive sanctum.
Some stood in the open.
Some, the more prudent ones, hid behind one garish or gruesome stone sculpture or another.
He only really had eyes for one.
“Cambion,” he grimaced. “Time hasn’t been kind. If it wasn’t for your mana signature I wouldn’t even recognize you.”
The last original Cabal was a weathered, Nosferatu-looking gargoyle in his dark crimson robes.
“I guess it’s true what they say. Anger does age a person prematurely.”
Cambion scowled.
He could tell that the old man wanted to lash out, but he couldn’t, not after that display of overwhelming and varied magic.
“You know me, but I don’t even know who you are.” Cambion sneered. “You spoke of my old master. An interesting lie.”
“Didn’t you wonder where he disappeared after your little shit show in slavery land?”
“He simply lost interest in this world and moved on knowing that his true disciple would step into his role and continue his teachings.”
“One of you cast a truth spell.” One of them actually did. He pointed at the woman. “Thank you. I’ll keep it brief. I and the Dread Paladin— by your reaction I can tell that you know the name— killed the Vitiator when he tried to run from the slavery kingdom when we brought it down. Do you remember that, Cambion? I know it’s been awhile and you look like you have memory problems. Let me throw in a little extra information. It won’t matter because you’ll be too dead to do anything with it. I learned from an actual archwizard. She was from the same species as your master and she didn’t have a high opinion of him and his capabilities. Middling to low level, is what she said.”
“Shut up!” Cambion snapped.
“This isn’t going to be a fight, Cambion. I’ve surpassed you. You needed your entire Cabal in perfect coordination to beat me and they’re all dying upstairs. None of you are even Level 50. I know a few and I’ve trained with them. And the difference is stark.”
He unleashed the spells he had prepped.
Withering birds that cut through a demonic crimson shield to turn the caster into giblets.
A floating stream of confusion that made two Cabal turn their spells on each other.
Falling knives like rain on the head of another.
A grinding mouth of sharp rocks that swallowed the last.
“Not a fight, but an execution.”
He formed a ring with his thumb and forefinger, placing it over an eye.
The spell started as a single green glass lens then telescoped into several more.
An intricate, elaborate visual for an appraisal spell. Granted it was several tiers better than the standard. Enough that it gave him a lot more information on Cambion’s class and levels than the shit wanted.
“A plain wrath mage. Level 46. How pedestrian and low. It does makes sense with how you’ve lived. Always running and hiding.”
Cambion snarled and began a chant.
“Is it sinking in yet? All that effort, poor as it was, only for it to end here?”
The sanctum rumbled while a red haze of distorted air steamed off the ugly sculptures and uglier trophies of monster heads arrayed on the circular wall like a silent audience.
He read the spell in the words and the mana flowing from the Cabal leader to the five corpses of the inner circle.
Zombies.
One might have been surprised to learn that zombies, for lack of a better term, as a spell could be found in many different types of magic. More diverse than the necromantic or death varieties.
Even a type one might think was traditional opposed to such had the capability to create its own version of the zombie.
For example, a nature-type mage could create their own zombies through a variety of spells.
After all, what was a zombie but a magically reanimated corpse?
Cambion’s spell shot tendrils of crimson energy into the corpses.
The dead jerked to life, swelling in size with the power of rage.
They roared, frothing at the mouth as they fixed crimson glares at the Ghost Sorcerer.
Their charge was quick.
Quicker than one would think for mages that didn’t use body enhancement spells.
He blinked backward.
A short range teleport off the ground, close to the tall, doomed ceiling.
He brushed the warm stone, sending spikes crashing down to impale the rage-filled zombies.
“Mindless brutes? That’s your best spell? I haven’t seen it personally, but I know that a really good spellcaster can create zombies that can do at least lesser versions of some of the abilities they had in life. The most powerful can turn them into true revenants.”
Cambion snarled.
“You keep talking because you’re nervous. You’re nervous because you’re afraid. I don’t remember you, but I’ve used hundreds of the weak to get to where I am and I’m not falling for your false bravado. I am the Grandmaster of the Cabal! Heir to a great legacy of power! I’ve used and buried all that have tried to stop me. You’re just the next one. Whoever you are.” He threw a mass of glowing faces. Angry, snarling, spitting.
They ripped through the stone spikes like hungry beavers did to trees. Then they flew after the Ghost Sorcerer.
He countered with a mass of glowing faces of his own.
Except, his were of chubby cheeked humanoid rodents that sang happy songs.
The magic duel erupted into volcanic heights.
Heat swirled in the tornado that became of the inner sanctum.
The crimson winds scoured stone.
The ornate inner circle table with its carvings of spiked skulls and bones began to melt, sending streams of molten stone smoking across the crater-strewn floor.
A writhing, tentacled aura of pure, destructive rage exploded around Cambion.
It lashed after the Ghost Sorcerer as he blinked around only appearing in one place long enough to fire spells that continued to chip away at the Cabal leader.
He didn’t want it to end quickly.
It was crueler to let Cambion think there was a chance for victory and life.
The duel lasted thirty minutes.
The Ghost Sorcerer ended it in what he thought was a fitting way.
The calming breeze cast and fed an amount of mana that he suspected only a handful of Earthians could.
The spell infused the burning tornado of Cambion’s rage, slowly overpowering it.
He gazed down at the desiccated face.
“Dying with a sigh? So much for being the heir.”
Cambion sagged in his torn enchanted crimson robes, looking like he had aged decades over the course of the duel.
“Drew too deep. So much for your well of rage. Not very endless, was it?”
He appraised the Cabal leader.
“Your body’s shutting down. The only question is what will go first? Heart or brain? Bet? No?”
He savored the labored, wheezing breaths as Cambion lay prone like a child underneath a heaped bed sheet. Like he had in that Cabal torture house.
The unwelcome flash of memory stayed his hand.
He dismissed the gathering spell.
“I’m going to watch you die slowly. Like the pathetic leech you’ve always been. Then, I’ll kill the rest of your Cabal that managed to survive. Then I’m going to cover everything in magical oil and burn it with magical fire. I’ve got good spells for that. Everything you’ve ever accomplished will be ash. All your trophies. All your magical items and artifacts. Everything you’ve won from your Quests. I’m not taking anything with me. Not allowing them to continue existing. There will be nothing of you left. No legacy, no matter how small.”
…
The work went quickly.
The spells filled the entire dungeon without much need for his direct control.
He watched the mansion burn, feeling the warmth of the fire soothe his soul in the cold November night.
The battle in the sky seemed like a fireworks show muted by distance and clouds.
His part in it was done anyways.
He had nothing left to contribute.
A stiff breeze did its best to knock him over and almost succeeded.
Pact fulfilled. Service rendered. Pact begun. Service required.
The voice spoke more words in a row than it had ever before.
It seemed that he was one of the rare successes worth keeping.
Choose.
“Not much of a choice, really. Go and serve or die instantly? I guess I can’t complain. I did agree way back then. To be fair, I was a drugged and desperate kid. But, whoever made you must have different views regarding age and consent.” He touched his bare chest through his torn shirt. The warmth pulsed in tune with what he knew was his heartbeat without an actual human heart. “It can’t be that critical if I have years to decide.”
He decided that there would be no decisions when his mind, body and soul were a swirling storm of pain, joy and emptiness.
There was plenty of time to talk to people and get their advice or maybe help.
Only choice. Yes or no. Honor the pact or break it.
