Rough Draft for Wizard's Wrath: Battlemage.

This is a rough unfinished draft from the Battlemage short story.

Wizard's Wrath

Battle-Mage

“A man may include the whole world as part of his ego, and set out to save or redeem this world, for no other reason than that he gains pleasure from the idea. Such a man, far from being unselfish, is extremely egotistical.” - John Whiteside Parsons.

“There is only one corner of the universe you can be certain of improving, and that's your own self.” - Aldous Huxley.

The heroes charged into battle through a steady tempest of arrows. A veritable leap of faith, putting all fear aside in place of primal blood-lust in the face of extinction. Raidax of Blades, Taurok the Barbarian Prince, Knog of Clan Ragefist, Leetheus Rivenmyst the Elven Lord, Sir Alterack of House van Orden and Skull-Basher the... Basher of Skulls. Each commanded their own squad of allied soldiers, all converging in the valley against the dark elves of Astaroth who had sworn to defend Zarghos the Lich. Each had endured more battles throughout the campaign than any sane individual should. If a round of arrows should put an end to their struggle, would it be so bad? Perhaps they had lost all sanity and could charge into a cloud of elven arrows while infecting their men with the same battle-craze. To the right of Raidax there was a soldier he'd just met moments ago, from the little town of Kylenos. Brian was his name, son of a lesser noble. There was a whining whistle and a wet thud and the young plate-clad man suddenly tumbled over with an arrow sticking out of his visor. It went in at just the right angle, less than an inch over his shield and into his eye socket. Following this first casualty, another gave out a gurgling sound as a fountain of blood sprayed from his neck. He fell over not ten feet from the first. Another young man fell, then another. No living man stopped. The thundering clank of armored soldiers moving as one became punctuated by the sounds of death, with the occasional high-pitched scream of a boy-soldier crying for his mother, as more arrows pierced the front-line. Only one among the seven heroes refused to surrender to this morbid dance, preferring to rig this lethal game of fate with magick.

Lucius of Daleth stood atop the the hill overlooking the White Serpent valley sizing up the opposition. He wore a blue battle-robe with loose-flowing trousers, runed shoulder plates and skin-tight sleeves for maximum flexibility. A dark hooded cape trimmed with golden kabalistic letters billowed at his back. He pulled the hood back, revealing the stern face of a man in his late twenties, who had seen more than eighty year-old veterans. With dark hawk-like eyes he scanned the valley, grimacing at their odds.

Going up against a vast ocean of fanatical dark-elves, dotted by columns of Laughing Skull trolls for sheer muscle, they were sadly outnumbered. This is where he came in to even the odds. This was where he belonged – the vantage point. In battle as in life he assumed the role of a mastermind, like a brain commanding heavy muscles from above. It was the way of the wizard. After all, this was a war of wizards. Archmage Devon Zarghos had mustered enough power to transcend his own death in the First Wizard's War. Now he was back from the dead, and very pissed off. Only a wizard could match another in the battlefield. Lucius pondered if he was any match to the infamous lich. He had five of the six Grailstone fragments. Though incomplete, they still radiated with power, surely he could use them somehow even if it cost him his life, or his sanity. He dismissed these musings. He had to focus on the here and now, one battle at a time.

The afternoon sun glinted off the steel helms of ten thousand rushing soldiers. They moved in rows, locked together in wide rectangular formations. The blue and gold banners of the Grand Alliance swayed as they strode onward, snapping in the wind. Other emblems of various houses and kingdoms flew proudly among the troops, especially the Gryphon of Lothaire - the kingdom with the strongest presence in the war, ruled by King Eric Lothar. Under the clear blue skies, the Gorgon Mountains stretched across the horizon North-East of the Grey Valley. The serpentine icy road they'd been marching over led around those mountains to Zarghos' dominion in Frost Peak. Even with the warming spring weather, old snow and ice sheets clung to the field like winter's last grasp on the world.

While mustering focus the wizard watched the clashing masses quickly devolve from disciplined fighting to the madness of melee combat. There were rows of dark-elf warriors in thick hide armor wielding large shields and silvered scimitars. They broke through the line of allied pikemen sending more than a few of them into a panic. Light armor allowed them the swiftness to sidestep the heavy steel of allied soldiers. Skullbasher was the closest, so the green behemoth leaped into the fray, landing with such kinetic force as to knock over a dozen foes. The troll berserker then proceeded to cleave waves of flailing dark-elves in half, arching elegant patterns of crimson mist in the air. Raidax followed through with his deadly blade-dance, carving a path of expertly butchered men in his wake. Alterack and his knights flanked around the outskirts, their powerful steeds plowing through the same row of archers firing on them earlier; every one of them putting the weight of vengeance behind a war-hammer's swing. Two enormous trolls in full Laughing Skull war paint and spiked leather darted toward the knights, but Knog and his men broke through the line intercepting the green beasts. They had all but ignored the dwarf until there was a meaty sound of an axe chop and one of them toppled over in a bloody heap missing a leg. Lucius saw the symphonic beauty of it all and understood his position as conductor of this death orchestra. He raised his consciousness to the point where he could telepathically communicate with the others, instantly directing them through the shifting nuances of this grand work of death. Since Naphelle had defected to Zarghos' tyrannical cause, they lost their trusted healer. Losing her had shaken Lucius at his very core. He still nursed a dim hope she would break free from her father's influence. But seeing as there was no room for error now, he had to bury those emotions and press forward.

The sum of all free nations across made this final push against Zarghos' Tower at Frost Peak. This was the final road in their heroic quest for The Holy Grail. Lucius felt the power of five fragments humming against his chest in the inner pockets of his blue and gold battle-robe. He was by no mean the wisest, most experienced or most powerful mage in Archanon. Yet, somehow, kings, heroes, and - most importantly - the Great Order, trusted him with the Grailstone fragments – the same relics Zarghos sought after for his grand ritual. They trusted him with power which they denied the mad wizard. He hadn't worked out this piece of the puzzle yet, why a neophyte such as himself bore this great burden beyond his station. Whatever the reason, fate made it his to bear. The responsibility strengthened his magick, adding momentum to his will; a will strong enough to transcend the human grief of his loneliness. I am alone, where I am there is no God. Words once penned by Aleph Wraith reached across the illusion of time, echoing in his mind. Filled with power, he tapped into the cosmic singularity of his soul, unleashing a torrent of spells.

The hardened wizard had lost his staff in some battle, in what seemed like aeons ago, he couldn't remember. Perhaps it didn't matter. He learned to channel spells by hand. Even Wraith's ancient grimoire hung unused in a leather strap at his belt along with his dagger. He knew these spells by heart. He dexterously weaved primordial runes and mathematical formulas shaping time-space continuum in conformity with Will. A radiant rainbow of hieroglyphs spiraled around him. His flowing ritual movements took a deliberate form as he scanned the ongoing carnage. Bright iridescent sigils of every color swayed before his eyes like dangling keys, twisting, turning, glimmering with resonance between the micro and the macrocosm. On any other skirmish he might conserve his arcane reserves by merely flicking them at his enemies. This, however, was not any other skirmish. He struck each glowing rune with open-palmed jabs shouting archaic words. Snapping a sky-blue sigil, a torrent of lighting bolts stormed the enemy line with uncanny precision, scattering whole rolls of dark-elf archers. Pummeling a yellow sigil as a warrior-monk might strike a punching bag, he caused beams of light to blind whole rows of enemy soldiers as allied troops rallied with supernatural speed and strength. A violet sigil shot several hails of arcane bolts to thin out the right flank. He had to focus his efforts there. With Leetheus and his rangers closing in from the woods, he had to break the wall of the Laughing Skull troll berserkers. Even Skullbasher, who was the strongest troll he'd ever known, couldn't possibly beat them all. Victory rested on his shoulders as usual, whether his companions knew it or not. Ahh... the old burden of the wise.

Evoking cosmic power Lucius raised his arms heavenward with open palms - a gesture as old as the first priests to serve the realm in the Age of Innocence. The universe is a violent place. The voice of his inner being whispered. We're mere hitchhikers in a planet hurling across the galaxy, anything can happen. Eyes shot open in alarm, danger flashing brightly in his mind. This was Big with a capital B - cosmic magick way above his grade. He had to focus or risk the fate of the planet. Shooting arms forward with lightning speed he assumed the Sign of the Enterer.

“Heru-ra-ha. Sun and Flesh.” Oh Sun God of my Soul-Made-Perfect. Life did not spring from the cradle of your light only to die by my folly. Raise the spell, direct my True Will.

A bright orange letter floated before him. Constant spell-casting had sent his wits into the stratosphere. He felt high as a kite, trying desperately to retain any semblance of focus. Sweat dripped over his left eye as he squinted at the rune. High Magick coursed through him like a time bomb, he had to get it out but still manage enough finesse to hit with precision. It was like playing darts, only hurling a mammoth instead. Magick was a dangerous thing in combat, sometimes just as likely to inflict casualties on both sides. He was resolved not harm his own. Closing mortal eyes he let his astral vision guide him, striking as hard as he could at the rippling sigil. It popped in a low thudding tremor knocking the wind out of the wizard, and suddenly, a meteorite fell from the sky.

The impact exploded deep behind the enemy line. Where it hadn't pulverize his enemies, it leveled the battlefield in a great rippling shockwave, clashing swords falling, combatants bracing the ground for cover. The world went black with smoke and silence from the crash. A ringing in the ear made all the screams of terror seem as distant as a fading dream – a very bad dream. The smoke began to clear revealing the extend of the damage. Even the infamous Laughing Skull trolls had become mere scraps of char, leaving the entire right column broken, a smoldering crater in it's place. The eerie ringing cleared, making the cries of agony from the dying anything but a dream. The wafting scent of roasting flesh went straight to Lucius' animal brain, triggering a sickly mouth-watering hunger. He wanted to vomit.

As a young apprentice, when Lucius first snuck into Merlin's library and picked up a spellbook, did he dream snuffing out the lives of thousands with a single word of power? In the boy's wildest imaginations, did the fire of his will reduce hulking trolls to cinder? Once upon a time he would've taken pleasure in this. Hell, he had already killed thousands wielding The Art, what's a few more hundreds of thousands? That's the great thing about war, isn't it? An excuse to revel in nearly unmitigated wrath. However, he felt no emotion now, which disturbed his humanity more than anything. The empty center of his being had reached out and touched the mortal man, leaving something not entirely human. Lucius fell to his hands and knees wreching out the bread and cheese he'd had for breakfast. He was keenly aware of cold sweat drenching his entire body. Another wave of dry heaving came and a sick roar escaped him, as if he was giving birth through his throat. Lucius fell over sideways trembling. Spell sickness. No mortal man is meant to wield so much magick beyond his grade. Looking around, he quickly cast another spell raising a mirror image of himself standing tall and heroic – an illusion of how he should look. He hoped no one had seen him fall. He was a heroic figure now, whose strong presence bolstered the morale of whole armies. It would not do to be seen puking his guts on his knees. As the Magus of Power in the Tarot, he had to put on a show and perform for the crowds. My strength is theirs. His inner voice spoke again. Mortals were made to break boundaries. If Aleph Wraith could command this kind of magick, so can I.

Shaking, he tried to get up but collapsed once more. That inner voice which always urged him to learn, grow, adapt and overcome seemed ever oblivious to his physical needs. Would it be so bad to just lie here in a pool of my own vomit? Let others fight for a change, the world will go on without me, or it won't. Why should I give a fuck? “Because you have a greater purpose in the story of life.” You mean delusions of grandeur? Look at where it got Zarghos, I'm sure he's got a grand purpose too. There was a brief silence in his mind.

“Your Oath, that's why. Zarghos forsook his Oath in favor of selfish ambitions, as all Dark Brothers do. We must all play our part.” All Lucius could muster was a weak petulant but I don't want to.

“You are a Brother in the Great Order of the Arcanum Arcanorum, servant of the Most High and Keeper of the Mysteries. You have attained the task of the Philosophus grade and must complete the Great Work. Now, get up or face eternal oblivion.”

Is this what they mean by ignorance is bliss? Alright.

A single mantra ushered him back to normal consciousness by reaffirming his priority. It was the transient nature of his in-between-grades in the Great Order of wizards and mystics which presided over all of Archanon. “Dominus Liminis - I am Lord of the Threshold.” He repeated mentally, but murmured something incomprehensible. It summarized the whole of his magickal training up to this very moment. In recent months Lucius had been attempting to complete the Samekh Ritual in order to contact what wizards called the Holy Guardian Angel – a guiding spirit or daemon that was the Essence of his Being. Since the Age of Innocence the first shamans to walk the realm had attained this grade by starving themselves in the wilderness for days. Some called it a controlled self-induced insanity, others called it inner genius or divine inspiration - whatever the name, it transformed the initiate. Though unique for every individual, it was an enlightening experience with a tremendous boost magick power and the wisdom to wield it properly. The few wizards who attained this, earned the grade of 5°=6□ or Adeptus Minor and could wield the kind of magick Lucius sought after, without suffering the effects of spell-sickness. Even if he reclaimed the final fragment of the Grailstone and drank from the sacred cup, without this initiatory level he may simply go insane or suffer a vegetative state. Lucius needed this to defeat Zarghos, yet he had failed the last three attempts to consummate the ritual. All he had of his 'higher self' were whispers in moments of great stress, such as this.

If only you loved me as I love you we'd get this over with and I wouldn't be so sick. He pushed this thought aside as a disciplined soldier might shield-bash the enemy with all his might. He kept repeating his grade, like a formula he had to solve before solving all others. “Dominus Liminis, Lord of the Threshold...”

I'm the one who needs to perfect my love.

His eyes flicked open. Groggy and confused, the wizard felt a surge of strength supporting his limbs and hobbled to his feet. Cold dirt and gravel plastered his face, dotting his dark goat-tea with a chalky gray. Sweat-drenched hair fell over his dark brown eyes. He tried his best to regain composure, dusting off his robe and cape, and wiping his face with a handkerchief. In what seemed like ages ago, he used to play the puppet master, manipulating others with mind tricks. He scorned their weak minds of superstitious peasants and ignorant nobles alike. Ironically, he now felt like a puppet himself, animated by the mysterious impulses of his own soul. He took a last glance at the mirror illusion he had raised, wished it was real, then dispelled it. No one seemed to notice.

The droning of combat in stalemate began to pick up again. Lucius blinked looking around in disbelief. Swarms of Laughing Skull orcs came barreling through the smoke over the crater ridge like soldier ants. That last spell should have sent Zarghos' forces running. Instead, there came a wave of reinforcements emerging over the slope of a rocky hill opposite to where he stood. He sensed magick in the air, a tingling sensation in the nerves like static building up in one's finger tips. There was a wizard nearby opening a portal behind the hill, he was sure of it. Not just any spell-flinger or one of Zarghos' acolytes, but a true initiate. Perhaps one of the many brothers Zarghos had managed to turn. If so, he had to deal with him fast. He closed his eyes, scanning the field with astral senses to try to identify his opponent, but all he got was an airy shroud like smoke... like incense smoke with a subtle fragrance of frankincense and myrrh. With extended senses he heard something else, however.

It sounded like distant thunder with steady beats, many thunders. Air pushed around in beating waves, beating... wings. Looking far beyond the horizon, the wizard's countenance wilted, skin turning even paler. Dragons!

Zarghos had swayed a whole flight of dragons to his cause. They had done most of damage in the burning of Port Myst, and later in the attack on the Ruins of Daleth. In those brief encounters there had been only three or four dragons. It took four veteran gryphon airmen to take down a single dragon in the battle for the skies of Daleth when Zarghos stole the last fragment of the Grailstone. This time there were at least twenty drakes of various sizes approaching overhead. In a few minutes they'd be within range to reduce the the allied troops to cinders faster than any spell he had prepared. “Dragons!” He sounded the psychic alarm to his companions in the battlefield. It's all he could do, though he had no idea what they could possibly do about it.”

“I might have something to shield my general vicinity, but it won't hold for long.” Came a mental reply from Raidax. Since long before he became a bona fide Blademaster, the adventuring warrior always sought to even the odds against magick and powers beyond the reach of his blade. In his many travels, he collected a whole assortment of ancient, rare and legendary trinkets for various situational uses. Lucius argued that most of those items belonged in museums where they could be studied. He even tried to sway his friend with promises of wealth, which Order would lavish on him for some rare talismans. His reply was always the same, “What's the fun in that?”

“Whatever you've got, it better work, Ray. I can't protect you while calling for help.” Lucius said exasperated. “Don't sweat it, do your thing” Said the cavalier swordsman with more confidence in the wizard than the wizard himself. Raidax then called the others to converge their men into a block near the center where his men stood and take defensive positions. It was a slow and sloppy mess in the chaos of open battlefield, but it was the only chance they had when the dragons reached them. Most of the troops were too far scattered to shield everyone from dragon fire.

“I'm taking to the air with a few of my best rangers, we can keep them busy.” Leetheus said calmly. Knowing the fighting could escalate to the air, they had brought a few war gryphons for just such an occasion, keeping them hidden in woods near the rangers.

All in all this was only a third of the full expeditionary force. Their vast army had to split into groups taking two different paths to the frozen valley beneath Frost Peak. Not knowing where the bulk of Zarghos' forces would hit them, they left a third of their forces standing in camp along with most of the gryphon riders, ready for reinforcing where they were most needed. Lucius had tried divination to no avail, but he had a hunch about taking this path along with his companions, believing Zarghos' would throw everything he had on King Lothar who took the other path. He meant to cut this tree of strife at the root by confronting Zarghos in his lair. Passing unnoticed among the grunts by the path of least resistance would've been nice. Yet, life was not so kind to the angry wizard, so he gritted his teeth and reached for a deep violet scrying orb in his inner pocket. The smooth orb sat on the palm of his hand like an egg. He rubbed the magick crystal between thumb and forefinger and it lit up with extended runes swirling in the air. He whispered a word and the translucent image of a tall elf with long black hair wearing a white and teal robe with gold trimming appeared before him.

“Thelemyr! The White Serpent valley is the one, we're outnumbered here. Send the backup!”

The transparent wizard's eyes widened, jaw dropping in an unusual display of surprise in the otherwise elegant and composed high-elf. Lucius knew him as a fellow brother in the Great Order. Like many high-elves, he wasn't one for emotional expressions, which is why Lucius never challenged him in a game of poker. The look in his face should've been a sign that something wasn't right, but he was too frazzled to care. “Thelemyr, start casting the portal, we need them here NOW!”

“They just left for the pass at Pallas' Tears. Zarghos just hit them full force.” He replied in a somber monotone. Lucius stood silent, perfectly still, except for an involuntary twitching in his eyelid. He had to take moment and process the full scope of the shit storm they were in. He looked up to see the dragons nearly upon them and a sorry bunch of gryphons with rangers at their backs scrambling up to meet them.

“You mean to tell me two dozen dragons, the Laughing Skulls and the Sons of Astaroth are not his main force?”

“All we have left are is a handful of old guards, a dozen untamed young gryphons... uhh” He looked around searching for anyone of use. “Umm... about a hundred wounded men with more fighting than sense left in them. They're a bit drunk.”

“You said they're wounded, how could they be drinking?”

“They're dwarves, from the Ragefist clan.”

Lucius' palm met to his face at hearing this. He had nothing against dwarves, but drunken dwarves were unpredictable in battle. A single shit-faced dwarf could take down a giant, or pass out in a stupor, you just never knew. They were already battle-worn, no less. At least they were Ragefist and would rally to Knog who was royalty in their clan.

“What else do you have?” Lucius sighed, almost afraid to ask.

“We have that clan of deserters from the Astarothi dark elves, they swore oaths to the Grand Alliance. This could be their chance to earn our trust.” Lucius had heard of them. He admired how they made a stand against tyranny by leaving a society in league with Zarghos, siding with the forces of Life, Light, Love and Liberty. They were a testament to the potential for good in all mortals, regardless of race or nationality. Still, he didn't want to pit them against their own race. Fate was a cruel bitch, he decided. He couldn't protect them from their fate anymore than he could protect himself from his. The best he could do is face it with the help of a lethal cocktail of high magick. This thought brought him to his next, and perhaps most important question.

“Are there any practitioners left besides you.”

The high-elf blinked, his face returning to a mask of propriety.

This could easily have been taken as a slight, as if implying disinterest in the Thelemyr's magick prowess in the field, but he had to know better. As a war-mage, Lucius wasn't the most diplomatic wizard in the brotherhood. Then again, war hardly brings out the best in anyone. “Any neophyte would help.” He added with a tired half-smile of a man grasping at straws.

“There is. He leads the dark-elves who defected. He is...” He paused as if searching for words, which gave Lucius another twitch of impatience. “He is a mystic.”

“Aren't we all? Send him over.” Lucius began the incantation to activate the portal.

“Wait, you don't understand.” Thelemyr leaned closer, voice dropping almost into a whisper. “He is a Master of the Temple.” Lucius froze in mid-ritual.

“And no one told me of this?”

“He's not officially in the Order, but his attainment is true, which makes him a brother by default. He goes by the name Atharvan. He is a Sun-Priest and a very powerful healer.”

“Are you positive?” Lucius asked in disbelief. This almost sounded too good to be true.

“You need only to feel his presence. You know those dwarfs I mentioned? Master Atharvan and his disciple, Andewyn Solus, saved their lives.”

“Why did King Lothar leave him and his dark elves behind?”

“Do you really need to ask?”

Lothar was a good king, but his was a generation of bigots. He didn't trust the defecting dark elves, treating them more like prisoners than refugees. The thought of petty racism being the instrument of their defeat made Lucius want to explode. A Magister Templi was a grade only attainable to those who had completed the Samekh Ritual and went on to cross The Abyss spanning between the archetypal world and the manifest world, reaching the summit of Samadhi. They were masters of all mysticism, having destroyed the Ego along with any notion of separateness between any one thing and any other thing. They saw the world as a cosmic web of pure magick - a state of consciousness so far beyond Lucius' own, he could hardly fathom it. They were also incredibly rare since most of them died in the First Wizard's War. If this dark-elf sage was indeed a Master of the Temple it would add some much needed racial diversity to an Order made of mostly pale-skinned humans and high-elves. Assimilating other races, cultures and faiths into the Order was key to their strength, as magick is most potent in diversity, not homogeneity. Most importantly, a Magister in the battlefield might be all the support Lucius needed to win the battle.

“Get them all ready and send them through. It'll have to do.” Lucius said glancing overhead. The dragons were almost upon them but he didn't look quite as worried as he'd been moments ago. Five dragons had broken away from the rest, chasing what seemed like mosquitoes in the sky. Leetheus' airborne rangers were actually slowing them down. Good. He then turned to to Thelemyr.

“I'm going to begin the ritual so you can zero in on my position then I'll leave this scrying orb so you can finish the portal. I have to do something about these dragons.” The elf nodded and proceeded to gather the rag-tag bunch of dwarfs, wild gryphons and eager dark elves in Allied colors who made up the makeshift reinforcements. The scrying orb hovered five feet off the ground giving off sparks of magick in tune with Thelemyr's portal spell.

Leaving the portal spell active on his end, Lucius then performed the time-tested banishing ritual of the pentagram to clear his mind then retraced the pentagram invoking the element of Air, he then sealed the ritual with the greater hexagram to invoke the cosmic energy needed for the next spell. He raised his arms heavenward and with a few arcane words, started gathering moisture in the air from leagues away. He could do this much without suffering spell-sickness. The air pressure grew heavy very fast, making it harder to breath than if a storm came by natural means. The body compensates for this over time, but the first few moments, it literally knocked the wind out of every combatant in the field. The movement in both sides seemed somewhat lethargic, but the adrenaline rush of desperation almost made up for it. More and more thick black clouds came rolling in with wind gusts worthy of a small hurricane. One moment the sky was a sunny blue, the next it turned an eerie blueish green only possible in those moments just before a seasonal storm. Lucius chanted words of power, rising louder and louder. This time there was no faltering or sickness, only power. He had the confidence of a master. This school of magick was as comfortable and familiar to him as masturbation. He was born under the Dire Falcon constellation; air was his element, it's whirling wrath coursed in his veins. He reached for his belt holster and unsheathed Skysaber, a long ritual dagger given to him by his mentor Abram Merlin the Warden. Kabalistic letters glowed bright yellow along the silver blade. The weapon was long enough to be mistaken for a short sword. The edge had been sharpened by spell-forging on a molecular level, symbolizing the Archetypal Mind of a wizard. With a sudden jab, he dug into the palm of his left hand and smeared blood on both hands. He re-sheathed the blade and raised his palms to the sky once more, offering his life-blood to amplify the spell. It was a sacrifice of the mortal body to the ethereal part of his soul which engulfed the heavens. As the chanting reached a climax, his feet slowly ascended above ground rising with the winds. Never before had he ever summoned a thunderstorm this potent. Lucius the Storm Wizard was determined to rule the skies.

Reinforcements had arrived through the portal just in time as he finalized the spell, letting it run it's course. With the bad weather, the wild gryphons were getting restless and attempting to break free. The largest with the most majestic white and chestnut plumes, had already torn one chain sending his dwarf handler rolling downhill spewing angry curses. That was the alpha male, the wizard knew. He hovered close to it's squawking head speaking softly in Archaian. He commanded the beast's attention with eye contact, leaning his head dangerously close to it. It could easily bite his whole upper torso off with a single snap. Sacred texts were full of prophets and mystics with supernatural animal empathy who could calm raging mammoths. He supposed this was a by-product of enlightenment, this ability to commune with nature. He never had much use for this kind of power until now, and he was betting his life on it. Maybe all this magick is frying my brain and I really am going insane. Trying to talk to a gryphon... what next? That was the voice of an old demon in his head – cynicism. He dismissed it at once. Magick is about certainty. An acrobat walking a tight robe couldn't allow the brain to wonder what would happen if he fell and hit the ground. He had to be certain of his success as a natural result of his years of practice. It was all within his power. The moment any practitioner of the Art allowed doubt to soil the will, failure would soon follow. This kind of focus was not a wish, or positive thinking or even faith. It was certainty.

He extended his touch to the beast, soothing it with a calm assertive will. “The Lord of Uncreation sends Zarghos and his agents to destroy your flight, to destroy us all. Let us fly and fight together as allies.” The great beast bowed it's head in submission, a gesture that made it look all the more noble. This was no true submission, but a temporary agreement. Hatched in the mountain peaks of Altheria, and caught in the Grand Alliance's desperate plunder of natural resources, It was not the creature's fate to be tamed by either side. But an alliance between man and beast on it's own terms suited it just fine. After all, that's all Lucius' army ever was, an alliance. The other gryphons followed their flight's alpha male, allowing Atharvan's rangers to mount them along with a few veteran dwarves who weren't too drunk to fly. They wielded an assortment of ranged enchanted weapons like flame and frost arrows, and lighting hammers. Thelemyr had even supplied the more magick-sensitive dark-elves with wands and staffs charged with arcane missiles. The Conclave, the Order's governing council of elder wizards, was very generous with the contents of it's secret vaults; it was all for a 'most dire cause'.

The alliance airmen took to the storming skies dexterously weaving through strong gusts, working with the winds rather than against them. The dragons had now reached the battlefield, furiously beating their wide wings against the gale. Their wingspan was simply too large compared to the smaller gryphons. Lucius grinned at this, few things made him happier than reaping the reward for quick wits. Until this very spell, the wizard wasn't sure if his powers had grown or he was simply delusional. His grin grew into a chuckle, then broke into a full cackle. He needed this victory, for a change. He needed something to revel in. He stood atop the hill in the throes of maniacal laughter. Rain poured over his open arms, winds so strong as to agitate his heavy drenched robe in a savage flutter. He watched his handy-work with the glee of a naughty child who'd set off a hidden stash of fireworks. No great man or woman has ever been bored by the power of the elements, the cornerstone of our world. Any curious pyromaniac child could just be your next great wizard to either damn or save the world, choosing to study by experience rather than tradition. In this matter, perhaps Zarghos and Lucius were not so different after all, but this was a topic he wasn't ready to explore. He just enjoyed the moment, nodding and chuckling with satisfaction as repeated lightning strikes lit Laughing Skull trolls on fire.

Raidax's energy shield had worked. The first dark red-dragon to dive with it's infernal fire-breath nearly choked on it's own medicine. The blademaster had flashed a magick ring of instant karma, with green and silver runes dancing and giggling like mischievous fairies at the dragon's folly. Perhaps they were fairies, Lucius considered. They were said to be masters at counter-spelling, turning one's own aggressive strength against them, like bad karma. 'What goes around comes around', the saying went. “Cause and effect at super-speed” The mage tittered to himself, enjoying the pleasant high that came with spell-casting within his mastery. A second dragon dove spewing lethal breath, but a violet ray shot out of another trinket, covering Raidax's entire row with a steady arcane shield like a magick umbrella. The molten magma sloshed against it, splashing off to the sides where an unlucky few burned to death. When a dragon comes at you, you have to settle for the least amount of casualties. The shield dissipated for less than four seconds and a green monster hurled itself at the dragon's head as it dove by. Skullbasher clung to the back of the creature's head by one arm, while flailing his axe at thick scales with the other. He screamed in rage getting angrier and hitting harder with every strike until blood rained on combatants below and the dragon ignored him no longer. The troll's hateful howling echoed across the battlefield along with the dragon's screech of agony. It flew erratically trying to topple the hitchhiker to no avail. Leetheus and one of his rangers flew by and with supernatural speed, sprayed the dragon's head with a dozen elven arrows, disorienting it further. It finally crashed against the hill top, crushing hundreds of Zarghos' orcs. Suddenly Lucius was proud to have a crew well capable of pulling their own weight. Deadly bruisers can buy enough time for a mage to cast that one spell which just might turn the tides of battle, perhaps even the war. No wizard had ever amounted to anything without the help of capable allies. No. Not just allies. Zarghos has allies. They bear no love for him and would turn on him under pressure. I have friends who would die for me.

Lucius saw another dragon, this one bearing a large scar over it's forehead. Blackscar. He remembered the infamous dragon from the night it attacked his crew ship from Port Everlast nearly an year ago. It felt like years had passed, but he didn't forget the rage he felt that night. His scales were a reddish black, thick with age. His pupils glowed a warm yellow like ancient gold held up to the sunlight, a measure of his old primal magick. His horns bore many pits and cracks from a long history of conflict for territory against other flights. He was the consort to this flight's queen; the strongest and oldest male among them. The old dragon dove for another strike at Raidax and his men, passing right above the wizard. It all seemed slow, as if they were moving under water. He could feel the subtle change in the air as the beast inhaled preparing for the attack. He could feel the grinding friction of ice particles building a positive charge in the storm clouds overhead. The hair in the back of his neck stood in goosebumps and he shivered with excitement at the metallic taste in his mouth. His cold platter of vengeance was about to warm up real quick. A flash of lightning discharged from one cloud to another, intercepting Blackscar and breaking his attack. It recoiled in mid-air spinning around to find the source of this sorcery.

“I'M RIGHT HERE, MOTHERFUCKER!” Lucius roared in the throes of battle-fever. This was a challenge to all the world since he shouted just as loud psychically. Heads on both side of the battle turned noticing the mage. He was not above the typical hubris of wizards high on magick. In these moments he really believed himself to be god-like. White-blue sparks coursed between his fingers and in the palm of his hands. Standing atop the hill, he planted his feet firmly on the ground and spread his arms wide, palms down as if reaching for the earth. He became a living pyramid. More lightning bolts flashed between his hands and the ground as he charged the spell. Why was he so attracted to this school of magick? Was it Kether's lightning-bolt descent to Malkuth in the Tree of Life? Was it the Eye of Ra destroying The Tower of the Ego in the Tarot? Or was it just the first extraordinary phenomenon mammals observed and revered as sacred? Mostly likely it was simply a child's fascination with light. From the day Merlin told him the meaning of his name he became obsessed with it. He spent most of his apprentice years studying the mysticism of Light and the science of electromagnetism. He had even written a thesis on photon as both a particle and a wave, and would have published it, had it not been for this damned war. The dynamics of Light and Shadow was an ongoing metaphor in his life. His greatest aspiration was to be a luminary connecting heaven and earth; to become an embodiment of the Mystery of Mysteries. In the face of his inevitable destiny, a couple of dragons were inconsequential.

The scarred dragon dove in his direction and unleashed an infernal blaze which engulfed wizard. The explosive fire licked every scarce piece of desiccated brush, melting rocks and turning sand into glass shards. This was no ordinary fire. Once it ate through all the fuel, dragon-fire sustained a steady burn long after there was anything left to burn. One moment there was a mage in blue robes arrogantly playing with the forces of nature, now there was only a raging pyre with a flickering hint of movement within.

Look at the fire dancing all around us, how beautiful! There was another booming change in the air pressure around the flames, and suddenly the dragon-fire shrunk. It wasn't being extinguished at all, rather, it was being compressed into a single ball of flames, like a small star. The flames parted to reveal a smug Lucius standing unharmed in his magick circle. The ground was molten lava all around him, up to the very edge of the circle. Inside, the scraggly wet grass swayed in the storm as if nothing happened. The pouring rain made for a haze of hot vapors but even that failed to disturb anything inside the white-blue iridescent circle. Primordial letters from the Tree of Life ran in a serpentine pattern along the outer perimeter. An ornate Rose-Cross sustained the inner circle like the axle of a wheel. This was his own spin on traditional circles, an elegant formula which he was particularly proud of. Best of all, this design actually worked for him, keeping him safe from all outside energy.

“Is that all you got?” The wizard taunted the old dragon flashing a defiant grin. He still held his stance, harnessing and amplifying the negative charge in the earth and the positively charged clouds above. With a simple whisper and a nod he hurled the dragon's own fireball back at him. In a slow lumbering swirl against the wind, the great dragon barely dodged the blast. A lesser drake nearby who was chasing a gryphon was not so lucky. The fiery explosion sent it plummeting like a falling star. Blackscar set all his fury upon the puny wizard. The furious elder dragon dove in for another strike, this time meaning to tear Lucius limb from limb. Perhaps with his claws, or maybe he'd bite him in half, leaving bloody legs twitching in his precious little circle. That paltry trick of his could deflect the magick in a dragon's fire breath, but not a whole dragon. Lucius heard it's thought and felt the beast's wrathful gaze as a conduit for old primal magick. Suddenly his body had the urge to run, maybe hide under a rock or something. It was utterly irrational, he recognized. This was what dragon-fear was like. Terror seeped into his psyche from a beast who'd been around since long before his forefathers, perhaps even older than the kingdoms he served. Was this hateful and destructive creature older than the Great Order? Impossible!

“Yes little shaman, run. I am as primal as the elements you call upon. Run, little one.” The deep growling voice of Blackscar sounded in his head. It's actual name, Zorioskarasatrov, flashed in his mind like the name of some terrible ancient god he should fear. Even as he continued to draw a charge for his next spell, his hands began to shake in spite of himself. Dragon-fear rose to a point where even Lucius had to admire. Anyone else would've likely ran out of the circle in a panic only to meet one of countless demises the old dragon could concoct. Not only did Lucius have the circle to soften the blow of the fear spell, he also had an unconscious way of transmuting fear into anger. This was no great spell or enchantment, it was just some deep-seeded lust for power. Fear was the antithesis of power. In fact, this was a secret key to his next attainment. Fear Nothing, for I am Nothing. Having not fully mastered this “key” all he had was anger. He hated weakness.

“Those whom you swore to protect and serve are weak, do you hate them too?” The dragon asked trying to sow doubt.

“If I do, it's not nearly as much as I hate you.” The battlemage shouted out-loud with a piercing glare of focused rage. He let his anger build, amplifying the negative charge he held. Most natural lightning strikes were the result of energy discharge created by a negative charge above and positive below. By reversing these polarities the resulting discharge would be hundreds of times more powerful. Lucius had thoroughly grounded himself, intensifying this natural phenomenon a thousand-fold. Bright tendrils of lightning sparked all around him. His eyes flashed a brilliant white light of arcane power. His fury broke into barbaric screams of pure unmitigated wrath and the earth began to humble.

Blackscar was bearing down upon the wizard in spite of the wind, coming straight for the hill where he stood. He was massive enough to flatten the hilltop if he wished. For Lucius, it all happened slowly, like a game of chess where he had an eternity to consider his every move. Only years of battle-casting could afford him such clarity when staring death in the face. The five Grailstone fragments hummed against his chest, hardening his nipples with sensual magick. Electricity surged from deep within his groin as if he hadn't been laid in months. As a matter of fact he hadn't, and not by choice. Beyond anger, he tapped into the endless reservoir of his passion. Like wrath, lust was a powerful component for strengthening a spell. After all, love and hate are two sides of the same coin. All knowable phenomena comes from this duality; this savage dance of the Cross and the Rose, the Yin and the Yang. The positive power of heaven longed for receptive sensuality of earth. Lucius assumed the role of a high priest, performing a sacred marriage of these cosmic lovers. They have waited for far too long, let them purge my enemy in their embrace.

A single passage from Liber Samehk gave him a much-needed glimpse of inner peace. He stood centered within the eye of his wrathful storm. 'I am He who the winds fear; I am He who lighteneth and thundereth; Heart girt with the serpent is my name.'

Like The Magus in the Tarot, he held his right arm to the high heavens, keeping his left arm firmly in touch with the earth. As above, so below. In that moment, Lucius was no more. Something else awakened in his place.

“You should fear me, old dragon. I AM GOD!”

There was a bright flash, and the world went white.

.'. .'.

Raidax's greatsword was beginning to sing a tired tune. His muscles burned with fatigue at every movement, just keeping up. A check here, a parry there, he was slowing down. Piercing the bit of flesh between walls of blades and hide armor was easy at first. Most conflicts ended quickly at his pace, not this one. A tide of orcs rushed in to replace the fallen dark elves, each more brutal than the next, giving the blademaster a run for his money. The storm had turned day into night and the rain made things harder on both sides. Mud caked inside his soaked boots and he slipped more than once when dodging lethal blows. He made a mental note to thank his magick-wielding ol' buddy for this dark soggy hell. Lighting would strike every so often, but always at enemy ranks. At least the wizard had learned some precision. Many dragons flailed helplessly in the hurricane winds while gryphons darted around striking where they could. An elder dragon had set his sights on the wizard, but he couldn't see what was going on while whirling away from an orc's warhammer. Raidax knocked it down using his own momentum to knock the warrior forward. He spun the blade around plunging it into the back of the brute's neck. This sad creature had picked the wrong side to fight for.

Suddenly a crystal in his necklace glowed iridescent colors from blue to green, then yellow and red, then back again. There was magick crackling all around them, not all of it from was Lucius, and not all of it was very nice. He sensed the obvious presence of some other wizard giving off the red glow in his crystal.

“Luc, there's someone else here. He's watching you.” Silence.

“Damn it Luc, can't you sense it? Quit fucking around with that old dragon.” More silence, except this time it felt as though there was some great invisible web muffling Lucius' psychic spell. Then a smooth confident voice sounded in his mind, tinged with a drop of contempt.

“You're going to sit this one out, infidel. I have an old score to settle with your friend.” There was a mental blast and Raidax felt as though his head would explode. A dark elf came barreling down upon him with murder in his eyes, but a bulky allied soldier intervened. Raidax was barely able to take a few steps back to let other soldiers through. He fell to his knees and would've toppled over if he hadn't dug his greatsword and braced himself. It felt as though a thousand people screamed in his mind. He reached inside a pouch hanging at his belt and fumbled for an enchanted emerald. His hands shook violently and he dropped the stone on the earth uttering a curse. The elegantly carved stone plopped down in filthy blood-soaked mud. It bore various whimsical engravings of fairy runes, they seemed to mock Raidax even as his world began to darken into near unconsciousness. Just then something broke the spell. All the screaming and madness became mere whispers from the steady chanting of an old mystic. “Auuuummgg.” The deep soothing voice sounded in Raidax's mind. It was the sound of unutterable peace banishing the voices once and for all. Though his eyes were shut, the image of a peaceful old monk sitting cross-legged flashed in his mind's eye. He looked like a dark-elf, except he also looked older than dirt - most of them didn't live to be this ancient. A white ornate rose-cross hung from his neck, shining so brilliantly as to eclipse the old man's face. The vision faded to darkness and he opened his eyes in time to catch a gloved hand snatching his emerald from the ground. There was a moment of brief panic, but then this other stranger then helped the blademaster to his feet. Raidax was not a superstitious man, but in his addled mind the young silver haired-elf in ornate chain-mail looked more like an angel out of children's fairy tales.

“Are you hurt?” Andewyn asked him.

“Uhh... no, just my head. The voices...” Raidax answered still shaken.

“All taken care of.” The elven priest looked away and nodded as if hearing someone who wasn't there. His eyes returned to Raidax. “I believe this is yours.” He dropped the fey emerald into the warrior's hands and hurried off to tend to the some other wounded combatant. Raidax's eyes widened as the urgency of his purpose came rushing back. He looked for Lucius atop the hill and saw lightning crackling all around him. Even in this cacophony, his furious roar echoed across the ranks. He shouted arcane words the way he often did in heated battles. Above, the old dragon dove upon the battlemage like a gargantuan demon. He looked to the other hill and noticed a warping shadow emerge, as if the very fabric of existence wrinkled all around some shrouded humanoid floating in mid-air. He could have sworn he saw another dark figure nearby, with black wings spread wide.

Raidax gripped the emerald firmly and tried in vain to alert Lucius once more. He thinks he's a god again, the blademaster sighed. He can't hear me over the sound of his awesomeness. He broke into a sprint through the battlefield, dodging his own allies trying to get as close to Lucius as possible. The hair on the back of his neck stood up and a chill ran across his body. Whoever this cowardly wizard was, he was going to ambush Lucius while he was distracted. He hoped his gloves of ogre strength would be enough of a boost. Clutching the fey emerald he rubbed it thrice with his thumb, then he coiled his right arm with all his might and hurled the magick stone with supernatural strength over rows of fighting men.

Just then, there was a bright flash, and the world turned white.

.'. .'.

Lucius, Naphelle and Raidax walked into the Sagittarius Tavern in downtown Lothaire. They sat at the bar and had a few drinks. It was a nice contrast to the cold and wet winter outside. The oak interior seemed to catch and reflect golden light of the oil lamps, adding a warm and inviting vibe to the place. Even if you weren't thirsty, you'd feel compelled to come in and and enjoy this nice refuge from dreadful cold winds. If that wasn't enough, the wafting scent of freshly baked meat pie would surely lure anyone inside. This was not one of those whole-in-the-wall places Raidax often frequentedr. The bar itself was clean, polished to a mirror-like sheen. The glasses sparkled like mana-crystals ready bear the magick of fine bourbon, whiskey and vintage ale. Whole rows of bottles lined the wall like patient soldiers waiting in formation. Young pretty waitresses sauntered about radiating genuine smiles, carrying fresh pitchers of pale ale to the sounds of laughter and good spirits. Spotless mirrors adorned the walls, giving the illusion of a more open and grandiose interior, like a temple. This was where people came to celebrate, to worship the joy of life - perhaps a graduation from the Arcane Academy or a promotion at the Royal Court. There were no dead-beats here, only folks of various means who could afford to have a good time every now and then. This was one of the few places where there were no nobles or commoners. A working class peasant could share a drink with a knight of the realm. Nothing short of King Eric Lothar himself walking in could suspend this equality among the various social classes and races drinking together. Here deals were sealed and brotherhoods forged, but never broken.

A local band had just started playing a popular tune and everyone seemed to light up with recognition at the first few notes. 'I want to break free...' The lyrics went, as more than a few patrons began singing along. ' …I want to break free from your lies, you're so self-satisfied, I don't need you. I've got to break free...' Lucius had chosen a dark and heavy chocolate stout, appropriate for the season. He loved the rich bitter-sweet flavor, even if it went down like liquid bread. He was on an empty stomach, and before long his head began to swim along with the music. '...God knows, God knows I want to break free...' Raidax had three girls hanging on his every word as he described, in detail, the time when he fell in an old catacomb and had to fight through a den of goblins living right underneath the city. He would bring them home that night. '...I've fallen in love. I've fallen in love for the first time, and this time I know it's for real...' The singing bard was half elven, with pointy long ears and strong human features. His lean flexible body and sensual movements made him universally beautiful, transcending both genders. Lucius took another gulp of his drink. The stout was a dark as the midnight ocean, but this time, instead of a mug, he held a golden chalice decked in precious jewels. It had a rose-like pattern, each petal bearing a primordial letter. He looked at it puzzled, thinking 'was this here all along? '...I've fallen in love, yeah. God knows, God knows I've fallen in love...' Lucius and Naphelle held each-others gaze and hands. They were sealed together in their love-bubble; that same bubble which tends to annoy envious bachelors. Lucius leaned for a kiss and the taste of her lips was somehow sweeter and bitterer than the most divine ale he could imagine. In that passionate kiss he felt a power much greater than the elements. It was something primordial, far older than the singularity from which the Universe had expanded. In the throes of intoxication he felt all things great and small - from super-novas or rushing waterfalls to a frolicking child playing in the sun or a fallen sparrow in the woods. With that magickal kiss he saw All things and loved All things. All he had ever known and studied, all his spells and incantations, all his ambitions to acquire power and use it for good - all of it not exactly insignificant, for they led him to this moment - yet all were mere steps in a very small latter to the stars. Still, in that instant he loved it all, even the journey itself.

Lucius swooned in a dizzy spell and tried not to tumble off his bar stool. His eyes opened to see that Naphaelle looked more beautiful than ever. In fact, she didn't look like Naphalle at all, but more like a goddess, her gentle smile exuding an inner light. A silver amulet in the shape of a crescent moon hung from her neck, not something he'd ever noticed before. Her low-cut dress was an elaborate array of rich velvet red over fine white silk. Naphelle had green eyes, but here they glowed like rare fey emeralds capable of piercing any spell and rend any veil asunder. The Naphelle he knew had long red hair. Here, her flowing scarlet hair was a cascade of the same primal flames which sparked the Universe’s will to exist. The girl he had loved was a shadow of this Scarlet Priestess now caressing him. “Sirh ma'apoh.” She spoke in Old Altherian with a smile. Lucius hadn't heard this ancient form of the language since his academy days, but he understood it and replied in the same tongue. “I love you too.”

The song had faded and now the bard was chanting something familiar to him. This was another passage from one of Aleph Wraith's many scrolls. Nearly two thousand years ago Wraith had dared to use magick as means for divine ascension. Tapping into the power of the Holy Grail, he challenged old gods, whose idea of a good time was tormenting the mortal races of Archanon. He beat Johvan the cruel God-King in a duel and banished the gods from the mortal realm. Lucius had spent years studying Wraith's inward journey towards god-like transcendence.

The song ended and Lucius glanced at the stage, only to be perplexed by what he saw. Gone was the bard, replaced by a bizarre apparition. He literally saw himself-made-perfect. He looked like a perfect reflection of Lucius, or rather, Lucius was the imperfect reflection of this solar deity standing before him. They shared the same stern features, the same perpetual scowl of intense concentration minus the arrogant smile that came with ego. Lucius' skin was a light caramel complexion, sometimes pale from too much indoor reading. He wore short hair and neatly trimmed goat-tea. On stage, however, his skin was a light bronze like that of archaic statues in the desert city of Thebes, where old priests were said to have built portals between worlds. He wore long black curls falling over a clean shaven face. Instead of dark brown eyes, his pupils gleamed with the golden light of yellow stars. His cast shadow upon the wall looked even more terrifying. It was a hawk-headed man leaning forward, flexing vast wings in open defiance to anyone who would stand in his way. The beginnings of spell-sickness began turning the wizard's stomach. Is this strange and impersonal god of war my true essence? Lucius felt his ego recoil in pain like a vampire facing sunlight.

When he spoke, he felt goosebumps. The voice of ten thousand galaxies resonated in his mind. It was a primordial language, even more archaic than the oldest texts he'd ever read. The poetic rhythm of the chant reminded him of something he'd read in preparation for the Samehk Ritual, but he couldn't be sure. Written word in old spell books were like anthropological studies. They were mummies and dead artifacts, ghosts of a past reality once filled with life. The words Lucius was hearing vibrated with infinite power, like listening to the incorruptible essence of things. Words were the seed of all creation. Mortals became wizards by mastering the power of The Word. This had to be something important, the original source of something he had read before. Lucius concentrated as hard as he could. Even if he couldn't discern the meaning, he committed the words to memory.

He was abruptly startled by a woman's hand touching his semi-erect phallus. Next to him sat a couple who'd had a few too many drinks. The young man stared at his drink, lost thought while his date slyly caressed Lucius, inebriated lust in her eyes. The blond woman could've been very attractive under different circumstances, but now she looked and acted like a desperate bar hag looking for an easy lay. She looked as if she'd passed out in a drunken stupor, and gotten up to resume drinking without bothering to even look in the mirror. She was debauchery gone too far. Together with her apathetic boyfriend, they looked out of place in the Sagittarius Tavern.

What the hell was all that just then? Was that a dream within a dream? A puzzled Lucius asked himself as instant lucidity came over him. The woman kept talking to him and leaning closer, her hands reaching under the bar and fumbling for the bulge in his trousers once more. He snapped in sudden anger, grabbed her by the wrist and shoved her away scornfully. She was not his beloved, only a shadow. She whirled around toppling drunkenly over her man, who was now startled himself.

“Honey, that pervert was tryin' to touch me.” She pointed at Lucius wailing openly and causing a scene. Everyone looked at them. The man got up, all the apathy gone, replaced by a poisonous glare. “What the fuck, man! You trying to fuck my girl? I'll fuckin' kill you!” He didn't slur or stumble as one might expect. It was as if the sudden rage alone sobered him up. He looked familiar, like an old colleague at the Arcane Academy, he couldn't remember exactly. A lightly toasted Raidax leaned out from his cloud of lusty damsels, one eyebrow raised. Naphelle's cheeks blushed with embarrassment for her scholarly friend caught in the middle of two drunken fools.

Lucius maintained his composure and stood up with all the confidence of a warrior king. Wizards spent years perfecting the art of lucid dreaming. Here, his will ruled supreme. Not suppressing his unconscious insights, but working in tandem with it to problem-solve real challenges in the waking world. Even the term “waking world” was arbitrary. For all he knew, this was more real than any other world. When you're a wizard, you have to get used to the idea that reality is not as solid as most people think. The apparitions of the masculine and feminine aspects of his Holy Guardian Angel had clued him in that an important initiatory test was coming. Not an initiation performed by hooded men in dark secret halls, but an initiation sealed by real-life trials.

The man shoved Lucius, who simply took it with a grin. Raidax lunged between them, hand on the pummel of his sword. He too grinned, but more like a cat who'd caught a mouse and was eager to play with it. Lucius put a hand on Raidax's shoulder calmly asking him to stand down. “This lover has been misled. No reason to kill him for that.” The warrior gave him a look that pretty much said 'who are you and what have you done with the Lucius I know?'

“This is just a misunderstanding. You see, none of this is real, and even if it is. I'm not at all interested in your lady-friend.” The man completely ignore him, focusing his outburst on Raidax who had just threatened him. Behind the man, the hag kept instigating. “Get them, kill them all. They don't know who they're messin' with.” She hollered and squealed in contempt, staring daggers at them. Lucius could only look at her and shake his head. Shadow, is what she is. Driving this poor fool to madness. She gave Lucius a knowing look and cocked her head, as though she'd read his thoughts and her lips twisted in a snarl. His response was one of curious detachment. “I've read about you, Samael. They call you the Evil Archangel of Discord who brings false enlightenment to the pious. You are a mere shadow of Tiphareth. Only those who worship the image, not the essence fall pray to your curse.”

“Say you so, wizard? Is not the Shadow and the Light also One?” The gray angel asked him after a self-amused chuckle.

“Only for those who have mastered both. You blind men with illusions of Light when in fact they drown in Shadows.”

“Give us the Grailstone pieces. That power must be ours!” Samael spat with a hiss.

“Fuck off! A creature like you wouldn't even know what to do with it. Besides, who is 'we'? Who is your puppet?” The malicious angel pointed at the man who Lucius still couldn't recognize. He was having an altercation with Raidax. They were heading out the door exchanging insults. Naphelle was saying something trying to pacify the blademaster when Lucius saw the man flick an assassin’s dagger from his sleeve. He was going for Raidax's throat just as he turned to face Naphelle. Lucius dashed forward with magick speed, and calling up arcane strength, seized the would-be-assasin's wrist. In one swift cat-like motion the wizard took the dagger from the man's grasp, spun around and stabbed his forearm pinning it against the oak wall.

“We're all brothers...” He paused smirking at Naphelle “...and sister under this roof.”

The man struggled in vain to pull free. He started foaming at the mouth like a rabid dog, completely ignoring Lucius' pleas for peace. Then time stopped and everything froze perfectly still. Samael's shadow seemed to melt away before a growing light.

“Is a God to live in a dog? No! But the highest are of us.” Said the cosmic voice of the wizard's True Self. Tears of reverence formed in his eyes, washing away years a self-willed atheism which only served to coddle his hubris. If the silent God of his inner soul spoke only in dreams, who the fuck was him to deny it? What the fuck did this arrogant young wizard know about his place in the Universe? This moment, this very dream, was the Mystery of Mysteries inspiring him in perfect proportion to his aspiration, like a lover in the throes of love-making pushing back up against his passionate thrust. Rose petals began to rain upon him, as it did for mythical kings arriving home from the Great Pilgrimage. In the Inner Sanctum of his unconscious, every petal bore a letter, and every letter was a number, and every number was infinite. He touched the gateway between worlds and swore to remember this dream, or vision, or whatever it was.

The light became unbearable even for him. There was a bright flash, and his world turned white.

.'. .'.

Within the space of a millisecond there were over a thousand concentrated lightning strokes between the heavens and the wizard's erect hand. His consciousness rode the lightning back and fourth, piercing the very core of the feeble old dragon caught in between. For that brief moment he was not a tired and scarred corporeal body, but pure elemental light. There is a marvelous simplicity to the world when you're pure energy, something far more compelling than an astral projection. In astral projection, the wizard knows he has a body to return to. When you're Light itself, you feel like you've just returned to your true home. Knowing this, Lucius had never feared death. In fact, part of him longed for it the way an exiled king longed to return to his kingdom. This very longing was precisely the reason why he had to go on. Where ever he came from, he must have had a noble reason to exist as a mortal. Life for Lucius, was an ever escalating foreplay leading to the final climax of death. His only will was to take all he had learned with him, in some form or another. But he knew he wasn't buying that ticket today, or anytime soon. That would've been too easy. Instead he crossed what seemed to be an endless dream-realm, returning to his body just in time for the real fireworks.

Magick exploded all around the battlemage. It was a magickal cocktail from hell, resulting in reverberating blasts of arcane, elemental, fey and dark energy. Radiant green rippled before him, diverting the brunt of a dark violet shadow-bolt, fanning it like a cone. It was still too close and his spell's discharge had left him drained. The blast launched him yards away out of his weakened circle and down the hill. There was another explosion – this one an angry flash of pain on his left shoulder when he landed and rolled on the rough gravel. The kinetic ward in his shoulder armor had overloaded; runes popped and sparked, giving off a sharp scent of smoke and burned metal. He tried to get up but the excruciating pain made his left arm limp and unresponsive. He awkwardly scrambled to his feet when Blackscar's fall shook the very earth from underneath him and he stumbled, falling on his head and rolling further downhill. Mud from the impact rained on the fringes of exhausted fighting lines near the hill. Gray and red mud covered the wizard's face as he rolled a few more yards down the slope like a helpless rag doll. Amidst of all the pain on his shoulder and myriads of stinging cuts from sharp rocks, a dawning realization nagged him as if to say 'I told you so'. I forgot all about that other wizard and now I'm paying for it.

His bleeding limp body finally came to a halt and he laid there, face down, one eye open, thinking. Muddy blood dripped over his other eye from a gash on his forehead. He turned his head to watch a wiggling earthworm inches away from his nose as he contemplated his dilemma. I called reinforcements, I beat the leading dragon. At some point during that spell I had a dream-like outer body experience where I met Archangel Samael and told him to fuck off. I came back just in time for a wonderful surprise from some asshole rival wizard and would've died if someone hadn't deflected the attack. I'm betting Raidax saved my ass, and now I owe him another bar-tab. I'm laying here with a dislocated shoulder watching an earthworm burrow for cover, while some prick out there beats me at my own game. I'm the fucking magus around here! That very thought bolstered his resolution to win the battle at all costs, even if bleeding, bruised and broken. The fact that the stranger's aura felt familiar, but he couldn't recall who it was, only made him angrier. Drawing from that anger, he began uttering words of power to supplement his failing strength. Checking the inner pocket of his robe, his confidence was reassured by touching the Grailstone fragments. He hadn't lost them when he fell, which was a good sign.

The storm began to subside, but the sounds of battle continued to rage as Lucius staggered to his feet. The afternoon sun began to shine through the thick gloom in diagonal sheets of golden light. This serene background made for a surreal setting for the cries of dying men butchered on the valley bellow. The fighting pressed on. It was as if nature could resolve her turmoils while men perpetuated theirs. But this was no natural storm, was it? No. The wizard stood, half broken, in muddy tattered robes, one eye swollen shut, the other glaring at the sky. He absorbed the sunlight gathering more power as he muttered arcane words under his breath. He waited for another magick attack, none came. The fool must have thought he killed me. A rushing gale swirled around the mage, brilliant magick sigils fluttering in the wind like Autumn leaves. Lucius could always evoke power from the elements, but channeling them took time. That last spell took him too long for the kind of dynamic casting used by dueling wizards. If he hoped to win this duel he had to harness all the power he could muster for quick battle-casting. Ignoring the throbbing pain in his shoulder, he mentally recited a list of spells for instant casting as he felt his arcane reserves replenishing. He would need them now. Damn, that wailing shoulder still hurts like hell.

Having gathered the magick strength needed, he then leaned against a nearby boulder. He'd had this happen before in one of many scuffles. He gritted his teeth, placing his arm in the right position, then slammed against the rock with his left shoulder. There was a meaty crunch and his arm popped back into it's socket. “FUUUU...” He let out a grueling scream and slid down to his knees, letting the pain ripple through his nerves. This time he could've sworn he actually saw stars. At least he had a functional left arm again. He opened and closed his hand, testing the range of movement. There was no nerve damage.

The pain subsided almost in proportion with the passing storm. Above, patches of deep blue grew with the parting clouds. The open sky called to him and he knew this duel would be fought from above. At the very least he'd call the stranger's attention to himself, sparing the troops below. There were many traditional techniques for flight among wizards. Some used implements like staves or brooms or magick carpets, others crafted circles of power and levitated them like platforms using Air magick. Lucius had one such nimbus circle once, but like his almond staff, it was long gone. Only the most powerful practitioners learned to actually levitate themselves. They ranked no lower than an Adeptus Minor, so there was something about the Samehk ritual which facilitated flight. Either way, no one ever wrote their magick formula; and if they did, it would be riddled with deliberate misdirections. This selfish hoarding of knowledge is one of many things that annoyed Lucius about his own community. Since the time when he nearly fell to his death in the summit of the Dalethi ruins, he'd discovered a new system – cosmic flight. By manipulating his personal gravitational field he could fall upwards to the sun, the moons and the stars. He hadn't yet mastered it, but it's all he had. So he cleared his mind of all turmoil and simply focused on his longing for infinite space. There was a brief moment of light-headedness then his feet left the ground. All the grit and mud fell off his body, as though repelled by elevated consciousness; his blue battle-robe, however, remained tattered and blood-stained as ever. There were butterflies in his stomach, but not as unpleasant as other bouts of magick-sickness. This felt natural to him. Boulders became pebbles and fighting men shrunk fighting ants as he slowly ascended above the war-torn valley. He whispered a word and a blue magick sphere of glowing hexagrams enveloped him as a preemptive magick shield. He was ready for combat.

“By the Old Rites of Geburah, I challenge thee to a duel. Show yourself, coward!” Lucius bellowed, flying high over the war-zone. He issued an ancient challenge from the immemorial time before the Age of Myth. As much as wizards prided themselves in civilization, there was savagery lurking in traditional customs. This was serious business. No practitioner ever issued this challenge lightly. An apprentice could challenge his master and, by victory, become a master himself. There were even rare instances when invoking the Old Rites of Geburah resolved legal disputes. It didn't have to end in death, but it often did. No self-respecting wizard could refuse this challenge and maintain his honor. The least you could do is fight and try to survive a loss with some dignity. Lucius was betting on this stranger being an outcast from the Order. If so, his hubris would surely answer the call. Even if he tried to sucker punch him again, Lucius was ready this time.

“Careful what you ask for, Frater Lux.” Came a gentle voice, distantly familiar to Lucius. The words caught his physical ears and his head whipped around looking for his foe. He was close enough to be heard, but he couldn't see him.

“ I SAID SHOW YOURSELF!” Golden light blazed from the battlemage like a solar flare, dispelling his adversary's cloaking spell. Light rippled like water waves around a human form hovering twenty or so feet from him, revealing a hooded man in impeccably clean white robes. Badges, medals and amulets of silver gold and precious stones hung on his chest, glinting in the afternoon sun. A seal on his chest bore the sigil of the Great Order - a seven pointed star of Babalon within a circle of neat formal letters spelling Sigilum Sanctum Fraterntatis and the initials A. A. The stranger nonchalantly pulled the hood down, revealing a face Lucius hadn't seen since his days at the Academy. He was a light borwn-haired ruddy man, not much older than Lucius, wearing a neatly trimmed goat-tea that added a hint of age to an otherwise cherubic face. His full lips twisted and parted in haughty grin of perfectly white teeth. Striking hazel eyes regarded Lucius with a bitter old contempt that was like sour wine aged to imperfection. A chiseled, upward-pointing nose seemed to complete the look of 'holier than thou'. Krent Redgrave, otherwise known as Frater Excelsus, hovered before Lucius in the official robe of a high-ranking member of the Conclave.

“I, Frater Excelsus, accept thy challenge.”

Lucius gasped as his heart sunk and cold sweat beaded on his forehead. The winds of his magickal sails had suddenly waned. It was all too much at once. Not only had he issued a challenge to his superior within the Order, not only was this evidence of corruption in the higher echelons within the Conclave, but this was Krent, a colleague from his days at the Arcane Academy of Lothaire. The memory of those days struck him at once and he staggered, losing a few feet of altitude.

Krent was a graduating senior when Lucius was only a freshman know-it-all. He graduated with high honors for playing by the book and not 'rocking the boat'. He was as popular as he was intelligent, with a super-human mind for processing numbers and memorizing spells, but he never challenged his master's methods. He favored tradition over innovation; memorization over improvisation. Teachers loved him for working so well with authority. They were not nearly as fond of Lucius, a gawky teenager who thrived by being a thorn at their side, challenging the establishment just for the hell of it. Having apprenticed under the legendary Abram Merlin since toddlerhood, Lucius made it his personal sport to outsmart and outwit his elders. He abbreviated most exercises so as to cast the same spell in three easy steps, instead of ten. Despite the initial clash of egos, Lucius and Krent struck a brief friendship of mutual learning. However, near the semester's end with Krent's graduation around the corner, their differences became far too divisive.

Krent was a Redgrave, a noble family from Daleth with a legacy of practitioners of the Art. Lucius' claim to nobility were shaky at best, based on people's faith in Merlin's word rather than an evident family tree. When it came right down to it, he was an orphan. He knew nothing of his father and all he knew of his mother was her name – Sophia. In his dreams, she was the revered Queen Sophia of Daleth, but cynical realism had wiped that dream long ago. He was as good as a bastard. Krent was handsome and sociable. He commanded attention when walking into a room. He could talk to people, persuade them and make them see things his way. When Lucius walked into a room, people suddenly remembered to go fold laundry or fill out their tax papers. To call him awkward was an understatement, so he shied away from others, seeking the solace of books and sketch pads. Krent was the champion and Lucius the underdog, that was the way of things back then. Since those days Lucius worked hard to improve his personality, going as far as wearing a coat of glamor spells to boost his charisma. As much as he didn't want to, life forced him into a position of leadership.

The last he had heard of Krent was through word of mouth. Only a year before Krent had become the Conclave's youngest member, wielding considerable political and magick power within the Order. The official identity of Conclave members remained shrouded by anonymity for initiates in the outer grades. But knowing him, Lucius believed the rumors. Now, to his horror, Krent had evidently been working against them from within.

“Frater... Krent... wha... what are you doing here?” Lucius stuttered.

“I am taking the fight to Zarghos, what do you think?” Krent replied as if it was obvious.

“But... you're working for Zarghos. You tried to kill me.”

“I'm required to play double agent here, so I had to make it look real. Now hand me the fragments.” He said extending his hand. Lucius eyed him skeptically.

“I have attained Knowledge and Conversation with my Holy Guardian Angel. As such, the Conclave ruled me as the best candidate to use the Grailstones to defeat Zarghos. Right now, he trusts me to deliver the fragments you hold, that's when I'll strike.”

“You've killed Alliance soldiers...” Lucius said glancing at the carnage below.

“I did what was necessary for the greater good.”

“You call this greater good? That sounds like Zarghos' rhetoric to me.”

“You have to trust me on this, old friend. Our Academy days are over, this is serious. You can't be challenging authority anymore.”

“But that doesn't make sense. They trusted me. Why would they change their mind without telling me?”

From the inner pocket of his robe, Krent produced a document bearing the Order's official seal of a seven-pointed star. He held it open plain for Lucius to see. It seemed legit, which only fueled Lucius' suspicion that the Conclave was no longer making good decisions. Krent's very aura screamed self-righteous pride, something enlightened members of the Order were supposed to overcome. What Krent was saying made sense, in a cold and logical way. Yet, everything about him felt wrong. Suddenly he remembered Samael in his dream, and how eager he was to take the Grailstone fragments from him.”

“Frater Excelsus...” Lucius cleared his throat. “Krent...” He paused like a man staring at an abyss, and about to take a leap of faith. “I'm sorry brother. But I have to go with my gut instinct on this.”

“Are you forsaking your Oath to the Order? You'll be branded a Dark Brother!” Krent snarled with escalating contempt.

“I made an Oath to something far greater than an elitist group of old misguided wizards.” The words came out harsh, but inside his heart bled. Lucius had really wanted to believe in, and be part of an incorruptible brotherhood, a The Great Order meant to serve and assist all mortal races in the path towards self-realization. Was there no organization immune to pompous assholes like Krent? Could he still afford to dream? “I'm sorry.” Lucius continued. “The fate of our world is riding on this, I can't let you have them.”

“It seems we must proceed with our duel then. Very well.” Krent said closing his eyes in a cold restrained tone. “THEN DIE, HERETIC!” Out of nowhere, he hurled a massive bolt of dark energy, burning blue and violet like a black fireball. It was like anti-matter, consuming anything in it's path. In the space of a blink, Lucius poofed out of existence barely avoiding the attack. He reappeared many yards away above Krent with a thoomping sound of sudden compressed air and a brief shimmer of warping space-time. He answered with an instant spell, a true fireball the size of a small carriage streaking across the sky at the speed of sound. Krent waved his staff like a dismissive backhanded slap deflecting the fireball. It exploded leagues away, briefly lighting up sunset-dappled clouds like a second sun.

“You've gotten faster, have you learned to add and subtract?” Krent snorted psychically. Lucius didn't answer. Instead, he spread his arms wide, angry hands clutching thin air, and summoned a few lingering storm clouds back. They formed into a billowing gray pillar above Krent who simply watched from below with patronizing amusement. Lightning bolts struck him again and again, but a sphere of rippling dark energy shielded him. He hadn't even raised his hands in defense, there was no casting at all. Looking carefully using his third eye, the wizard's sense for supernatural sight, he saw a dark angelic force hovering near Krent. With panic in his eyes, Lucius shook his head muttering to himself “No... no, not you.”

“How predictable, Frater Lux.” Krent continued mocking. “Don't you think the Order knows your every spell? We have a big fat folder on you. We will hunt you down and there is nothing you can do about it. Even Merlin can't help you.” Lucius shot his arms at Krent, launching another torrent of lightning bolts. This time they weren't natural discharges, but electromagnetic spells from his hands, bearing his own personal signature. Lucius could think of no better way to say “Go fuck yourself.” Once again, the dark force deflected his attack and Krent let out a chuckle. “How does it go again? 'He who lighteneth and thundereth?' Don't you love that quaint old speech? I actually completed that...” Lucius didn't let him finish. He raised his right hand then pulled it down violently. The cloud pillar descended as a black whirlwind catching Krent by surprise. The wizard in decorated white robes lost his graceful demeanor as he tumbled down in a free fall. He didn't fall for long, but enough to wound his pride and composure. He underestimates me. Lucius thought. He knows I haven't completed the Samehk Ritual but he has no idea how close I am.

“So you've gotten faster and learned a few new tricks.” Krent snarled. “I have attained the ritual which continues to elude you. You simply can't win, you rebellious neophyte. Give up the fragments now and you may live. I will take you into custody for a fair trial.” Lucius heard the poisonous taint of hatred oozing from those words. Even if he trusted the judgment of his allies within the Order, surrendering at this point was too big of a gamble. If wizards were lucky gamblers to start with, they wouldn't need magick. Too many factors would be out of his control. He had to fight and hope his friends would still stand by a 'rogue' wizard.

“Krent, I hate to break it to you buddy, but that thing is not your angel or higher self.”

“My attainment is evident in my works!” Krent waved his staff and a fog began forming around Lucius. The mist developed him in a pressurizing sphere to dampen his spells. Lucius answered with a quick word of power, and once again, teleported out of sight. This time, however, when he emerged out of the rippling wormhole, eleven different Lucius emerged out of eleven different wormholes displaying eleven different variations on the same arrogant grin. They all began casting a cacophony of spells throwing Krent into a frantic defense, not knowing if they were real or illusions. This was his most formidable evasive spell, based on recent discoveries of quantum dimensions. Any one of those forms could be the real Lucius, but it wouldn't be certain until all the copies were killed, or the spell wore off. No matter the odds, the real him would always be the last man standing. However, because his consciousness was split into a total of twelve points of view, he couldn't maintain it for long. They showered Krent with violet beams of arcane missiles. They streaked across the sky, leaving trails of brilliant light and hit with loud splashes, obscuring his form under bright explosions of quantum foam distorting the very fabric of reality. Lucius kept firing with all he had, chanting archaic words of power. The echoing duplicates made it sound like the chorus of a requiem. A voice from behind him and his posse caught his ears. “Do you think you're the only one with tricks up your sleeve?” He whipped around to see four of his mirror images burst into flames then fade to nothing from a wave of Krent's runed staff. He hovered amidst a dark aura with the faintest impression of wings protectively arching over him. There was another lazy wave of the staff and six other imposters went up in flame. The two remaining blue-robed wizards flew in opposite directions, this time, launching freezing bolts of cold air and water taken from nearby clouds. Just as both white beams converged on Krent, he swooped his staff in a cleaving motion and rebounded both attacks back to his attackers. One Lucius was struck by the sudden frost turning instantly into a frozen statue, which then shattered into thousands of pieces in less than a second. The last and true Lucius flashed his brilliant geometric shield deflecting his own spell. He looked around blinking for a second. And just like that, his best ruse was over.

“Krent. Please listen to me. If attainment is evident in your works, just look at us now. We're divided and fighting each-other when we should be fighting Zarghos. This this kind of discord doesn't come from true enlightenment.” Lucius shouted loudly with amplified sound waves of air magick. He wanted Krent to physically hear his words in the full the reality which they conveyed.

“I've had it with your heresy! You refuse to surrender the Grailstones because you want that power for yourself.” Krent retorted as he hurled a what looked like a ball of molten led. Lucius immediately answered with an arcane beam at the projectile. Instead of an explosion there was a booming woomp as the arcane charge portalled the Krent's spell into a vacuum. Lucius looked exhausted from the effort.

“Of course I want power! Power is power, it isn't good or evil, it's about how you use it. I only need enough to defeat Zarghos and ensure world peace by upholding the Law of Light, Life, Love and Liberty.” Lucius said, referring to Wraith's code of conduct for all initiates.

“Do you honestly think you're some knight of the Holy Grail? Look at yourself, pale from spell sickness! You are a only a neophyte. What delusion makes you any more qualified than I to bear the Grail and defeat Zarghos?” In a matter of seconds, Krent conjured moisture from the air, changed water into acid molecules and shaped them into a dozen sickly green arrows. They bolted towards Lucius who quickly fashioned a thick frost barrier. Upon impact, the ice cracked and shattered to splinters, but served it's purpose. Cold sweat beaded on Lucius' forehead. Unnaturally luminous blue veins began showing through sickened pale skin. One eye was still swollen nearly shut, the other looked dark and sunken into his eye socket. Krent eyed him with sadistic amusement. “You can barely maintain flight without getting sick. You're casting spells that are way out of your league. Give up and hand me the fragments.”

“I can't just hand them to you in good conscience.” Lucius said then suffered a dry coughing fit. “Krent, listen to yourself! Even Magus Bernard Sturm, one of the few living Magister Templi, only refers to himself as a neophyte in the Great Order. We're all fellow students, don't you get it?”

“That old fool swayed a few members against me, but I ultimately won! The Conclave ordained ME as Bearer of the Holy Grail, NOT YOU!”

“Krent, your pride blinds you! I may not be as powerful, but at least I'm introspective enough to admit when I'm a fuck-up. You've fallen prey to Samael's glamor of false enlightenment.”

“I know better than to believe your lies. My Angel told me you'd say something like that.” Krent said with reverential emphasis on the word 'Angel'. His pupils dilated like those of an addict taking a shot of dragon-seed.

“If only you could step outside of yourself and understand...” A tired Lucius lamented. Then, out of nowhere, a candle lit in his mind. He really believes himself to be doing the right thing. He thinks he is casting holy spells, but his head is so far up his own ass he can't discern true light if it slapped him on the face. The only way to see things as they are is to... The idea was so simple and elegant it brought a fleeting smile to his lips. Krent saw this and glowered at him, lips twisting in growing disgust.

“Your lies end here, Dark Brother.” Krent growled and began to cast another spell, but the words died in his lips when he watched Lucius fade from sight. He shimmered for less than a second, turned transparent, then simply faded. He was gone, except he wasn't. Krent felt his presence nearby. He uttered a guttural word and a spherical dark-violet wave expanded outwards as far as he could see. If Lucius was simply invisible, It should have revealed his location. There was nothing. “You can't run forever, traitor.”

Lucius heard him from the astral plane. He sounded distant, like someone on the surface calling for a diver ten feet underwater. In fact, his every motion felt slow and plotting like he was deep underwater. It was easy to navigate the astral plane for teleportation or out-of-body meditation, but moving his physical body in it took every bit of his will. He could still breathe, but if he remained for too long his body would begin to suffer symptoms far worse than magick sickness. Light-headed and disoriented, he had to get his bearings fast. This dimension was somewhat of a magickal juxtaposition over ordinary reality, tinting everything with shades of violet – the color of magick inherent in all things. It sharpened a wizard's third eye, revealing the true nature of things. A business entrepreneur courting investors with a winning smile might look spotless in the ordinary world, but from the astral plane a wizard might see the man as a grinning demon with sharp teeth and greedy little eyes. The clashing armies below changed as well. Over the history of Archanon, other battles might have appeared gray when the issue was wealth or land disputes. This battle, however, appeared as a veritable yin and yang of light and shadowy forces.

He took a long look at Krent using the sight. When they were apprentices, in what seemed like centuries ago, Krent was handsome and had all the young maidens of Lothaire swooning over him. Young awkward Lucius envied him. Now Krent was gray-skinned, battered and bruised; as if someone beat him, bled him, and left the shell of a man to linger and die. A shadow of sorrow covered Krent's face as he wept tears of blood. Deep red streamed down colorless cheeks, and splotched his robe which was now a soiled charcoal gray instead of white. Amulets and holy symbols became heavy chains weighing him down into a hunchback. Behind the crippled man, in a haze of gray mist, hovered his 'guiding' spirit. It wasn't male or female, but for all intents and purposes 'it' appeared as a male. His face was partially shrouded by a hood, but the gleam of his mocking eyes and a patronizing smirk shone deviously through the shadow. His flowing garments, breast-plate and shoulder-pads were various shades of gray, except for gaudy green and violet Enochian letters running along the edges. He caught sight of Lucius and the smirk became a grin. He regarded the wizard with a knowing nod, as if to say “I see you!” The battlemage watched Samael clutch Krent by his throat and whisper something in his ear. The sad vacant eyes and a slack jaw vanished, replaced by a look of tormented purpose, like a man bent on suicide. Lucius wasn't known for his compassion, yet a sudden ache tugged at his heart and tears began to well in his eyes. He didn't exactly like the guy, but he wouldn't wish spiritual slavery upon his worst enemy. What has this creature done to you? Righteous indignation fueled Lucius' next spell. Weaving the very fabric of the astral plane he began a conjuration. The air shimmered with misty molecules coalescing into a large flat shape.

“Ahh, the astral plane. Would you like to die there and save face before allied troops? I can acquiesce to your vanity.” In the space of a few muttered words, Krent faded from ordinary sight, following Lucius into the astral plane. In this dimensional slice of reality, the laws of physics were rather whimsical, making it easier for a wizard to shape reality the way a sculptor shapes marble. Lucius had conjured what looked like a floating landscape of light-violet geometric solids. Iridescent pyramids, cubes and pentagons assembled together haphazardly to create something of a small maze. Hastily etched geometrical patterns and numerical formulas adorned each block, giving off a sense of vertigo if stared at for too long. After a minute's search, Krent came a large structure with sharp uneven angles jutting out like rough crystals. To Krent, this looked more like a child's piling of pillows in a clumsy attempt at a fort, but he had to admire the speed at which this had to have been conjured. There was a wide opening between two monoliths with the words “Know Thyself” inscribed overhead. He let out a chuckle and braved the interior without so much as a pause to consider the old adage.

“You've built yourself mausoleum worthy of your failure, Frater Lux. You are Ra's extinguished light, lost in dark...” The magickal darkness inside dissipated and Krent gasped, frozen in place. Light beamed from above revealing a circular hall with nothing but arcane mirrors on every surface. Each mirror was perfectly flat, reflecting light with crisp clarity. Krent saw himself from every possible angle, staring wide-eyed, letting out a weak whimper. He stood trembling before the largest mirror, confronting himself in full measure. He saw the truth of his ragged condition. The blood tears, the chains, and most striking - the dark angel on his back. It regarded him with a paused discomfort, like thief caught in the act.

“I can't show you the future, but I can show you as you are right now. Snap out of it!” Lucius spoke from behind Krent, hovering by the entrance.

“No.” Krent started shaking his head. “No no no no” He held fists over his ears trying to block him out. “This can't be true, I've come so far!”

“I am a Dominus Liminis, Krent. I'm in the threshold of Light and Shadow. Please listen to me.”

“NOOOO!” Krent screamed. “I will not believe your lies, heretic!”

“Get over yourself, Krent. Take a good look in the mirror! You are only a shadow of your real Self. Strip off the chains of self-righteous pride. You don't have to be that way.”

Lucius watched in horror as Krent jammed his thumbs into his eyes, digging into the soft flesh underneath while screaming a chilling cry of agony. The screech was loud and high pitched, more like that of a dying animal than a man. Real blood poured out of his face as he tore his eyeballs from their sockets, unceremoniously tossing them away. Just then, a text from the Corpus Mysticus haunted Lucius. 'If thine eye makes ye stumble, tear it out.' This was a literal interpretation taken to an extreme.

“You idiot, what are you doing?” Lucius asked shaking his head, unable to hide the loathing in his voice. “You can't unsee things from the astral plane. You can't tear out your third eye.” Hearing this, Krent began desperately scratching at his forehead, nails braking this skin as if peeling an blood orange. More blood gushed, dowsing his entire face with a red mask of self-willed pain and suffering. Krent kept scratching until Lucius caught a sudden glimpse of the white of his skull amidst thick red globs.

“My. Fucking. God.” Lucius said stunned, drawing out the 'o' in 'God' in a long drawl coming out like 'Gawwwd.' He had been in the astral realm for far too long already and the sight of Krent's disgrace only made him more ill.

Hunching pathetically while covering his bleeding face with one hand, Krent pointed straight at Lucius with the other. “You did this to me, liar! You fooled me with your illusions! The foul taint of Choronzon runs deep in your soul, heretic!”

“You can't possibly believe that.” Lucius said amidst another coughing fit. “Never underestimate a lunatic.” A voice whispered in his mind.

“Asar-un-efer...” Krent began, calling upon the angel. “Bornless One of Old...” His voice vibrated with focused insanity. “Kill this interloper and bring me the Grailstone fragments. Kill him! Kill him! KILL HIM!” The volcano of madness erupted. To Lucius' shock, the archangel actually responded loud and clear in Enochian, the language of angels. “Thrice willed, thrice granted. I'll take delight in slaughtering his mind, body and soul.” Samael grinned and his wispy spirit form coalesced into a physical body with menacing astral wings. Lucius murmured a barely audible “Uh-oh” and darted away, breaking out of the astral realm with a violent crash and tearing glass-like cracks in the fabric of reality. The archangel gave chase matching the wizard's super-sonic speed.

He didn't know it could work like this, that a powerful angel would obey a psychotic wizard. There was no wizard's manual on how to battle an archangel. Worst yet, how many spirits would he have to fight to take down Zarghos. He wasn't the holy type but that also wasn't much of a comfort. At least he'd have something to write about if he lived through it all.

Flying high above the valley, Samael was catching up with Lucius. The battlemage reached out to the horizon, hailing the setting sun with mystical chants. “Eye of Ra. Life-Giving Star and Destroyer of Worlds, guide me through the Night of the Soul and into the Light of Dawn” Solar gravity beckoned him and he dashed across the heavens with an ear-shattering boom as he broke the sound barrier. The magick ward he'd erected to sustain a livable pressure was beginning to warp and bend at that speed. It took all of his dwindling arcane reserves to sustain it, or else he would die. The raging battle of the White Serpent Valley became a distant memory, far below and behind as he flew over plains and mountains in mere seconds. He raced passed foreboding snow peaks, desolate rocky ridges and forbidding canyons, crossing some of the continent's harshest and most alien landscapes. The world is so vast, and yet so small. His rugged blue battle-robe whipped and snapped violently in the wind as his ward weakened, losing some air pressure. Tears of desperation misted in the air as he contemplated death. Not out of fear, but frustration at leaving a task unfinished. Maintaining his speed, he spun around and saw the archangel still gaining on him.

A dawning realization gave him the ghost of a hope. He had never before been this powerful. Flying this fast, sustaining the ward, conjuring a hall of mirrors in the astral plane, wounded and sick as he was. He could never have done this alone. Lucius sensed the angelic glimmer of his own daemon lending him just enough power to get by. Either that or the thin oxygen was making him delusional. Either way, he'd find out soon enough.

Lucius let out a furious roar, with all the instinctual desperation of a beast confronting imminent death. He slowed down to face the gray angel. If he was going down, it'd be on his terms. He readied his posture, arching his arms in a feral stance. He bellowed sacred names and luminescent orbs of golden light formed in his clawing hands, sparks of blue lightning turning the color of the sun. Through all the blood, sweat and tears, a look of resolution came over his eyes. It was that final look of martyrs and madmen, eager to die to either save or destroy the world. The wizard's mind, body and spirit acted in unison, snarling curses at his angelic adversary with suicidal abandon. This was the one weapon he had against the archangel. No matter how much power they had, angels were spirit beings. They were personifications of large concepts and laws of nature, like Mikael of Fire - the Archangel of Electromagnetism. They were completely detached from the ferocity of sentient animals. Lucius knew this. No matter how much his mind expanded through science and existential wisdom, he was still an incarnate being evolved from animals. His instincts and emotional intensity gave his magick a rawness no archangel could match. This was why only mortals could drink from the Holy Grail and become Gods.

Samael met the wizard's scowl with his best sadistic grin and began flinging spells of his own. The linearity of their flight broke into acrobatic loops and turns. They twisted and swirled like two birds of prey. Only instead of talons, they were locked in rippling waves of magick as they matched spell for spell. Their war-dance sliced iridescent trails of arcane letters and numbers across the sunset sky. The magick fallout seemed to warp and wobble the very fabric of time and space. Cosmic fire and stardust rained from explosive bursts where their spells countered each-other. For once Lucius was glad they were flying over barren wilderness; he could really go nuts and not worry about collateral damage.

Samael matched his spells with uncanny precision, having a carefully measured antithesis to his every thesis. Lucius wasn't sure how much longer he could keep up, but he made one solemn vow. He would at least wipe that stupid grin off of Samael's face before dying. If that morning, you had asked Lucius how his day was going to go, magickally wrestling a murderous angel in the wilderness would the last thing he would've imagined. For all the power and glamor, sometimes it sucked to be a wizard.

Lucius weaved a last-minute incantation, attempting to bind the angel and banish him from the mortal realm. It was a long shot, lowering his defenses to cast a binding ritual. But it was the only shot he had. He began speaking the Enochian words when Samael actually did lose his cockiness, brief alarm flashing in his eyes. The angel lunged for the wizard, avoiding two photon beams from instant ward spells. Samael clutched Lucius' throat with a physicality thought impossible for spirits. The words stuck in his closed throat and the spell died before it was born.

“You're not getting rid of me that easy. Let's go for a ride, shall we?”

The angel then turned their motion upward and they soared in altitude. Held in the edge of unconsciousness, Lucius lost all control. His pressure ward weakened to a dim, almost invisible veil. His legs kicked and jerked helplessly, hands feebly tugged and scratched at the unrelenting grip of Samael the Gray. He was no beast of prey now. He was the prey. He was the sickly gazelle hung limply in the air, tiger's jaw slowly clamping down upon his throat. For all his bravado moments ago, there was no dignity in this, he knew it. It had been a game all along and the predator grew bored and tired. The notion that he could defeat an archangel was a delusion after all. Below him, mountains and canyons became mere dabbles of thick oil paint, shallow textures upon the planetary canvas. The sky became dark as night and he saw the curved blue haze of Archanon's atmosphere. He felt exhausted and overcome with sleep. His world gradually darkened and colorful spots began dancing in the twilight. Was he blacking out or is it how things look this far up? No wizard had ever flown beyond the planet's atmosphere and lived to write about it. Is this how Samael intended to kill him? Fulfilling his last wish? Hearing his last thoughts, the angel looked him square in the eye.

“I know you better than you know yourself. You've never wanted to be born to begin with. You were quite happy as one of us in the ether. Give up your quest, your burden. Die and embrace the All, right here, right now.”

“No, I can't. I'm here for a reason.”

“There IS no reason! There is only this moment. This is your true Grail. Drink from the empty waters of the Queen of Infinite Space. Drink from her sacred cup and die.” Samael said gesturing at the starry ocean of deep space. Lucius gazed with heart-wrenching longing. Life was so painful, it was easy to lose himself in the infinite void. He couldn't formulate an answer. The silence stretched for what seemed like ages, the warrior-mage frozen in contemplation of what laid before him. He could let it all go and just give up, why not?

“Krent was weak minded and pedantic. He was only a toy. But you? Ahhh... You are the real thing. You've earned this.”

They turned and Lucius saw the light of the Sun grazing the horizon. Sunlight flashed his eyes with unmitigated radiance, nearly blinding him. A gentle voice whispered to his mind, retorting the angel of false enlightenment. “Dominnus Liminis. Thine Oath.” The will of a mysterious solar deity, dwelling deep in Lucius' soul, broke him free from the angel's charm. There was a sudden clarity. Samael sensed this and recoiled from his grasp on the wizard, as if his hand was on fire.

Samael was right about one thing, there was no reason. Assigning arbitrary reason to random events is a way for mortals to comfort themselves, believing there is some control over chaos in the world. Reason itself is often petty and self-serving, and has no place in the inner mysteries. Lucius didn't need a reason to live. He had plenty of reasons as he begrudgingly plotted his way through life. Even his quest was only another reason - one which patted his ego on the back making him feel like a martyr. What he needed was the will to live, and that was the key to the next step in his magick attainment. He needed the will to go on, with or without the Holy Grail and without lust for results.

“No, not reason... it is my Will.” The wizard answered the gray angel confidently. “The Universe has a Will to experience itself through the cycle of life and death.” He said with star-fire glowing in his eyes. “If there was no life, there would be no one left to give a fuck. Stars live and die, planets blossom and burn away, but life will always spring fourth in some way or other. To reject this truth is to reject the Universe, which I live to serve. Nothing exists outside Consciousness, not you or all the angels and demons and gods. So long as I grasp this, you only existence because I exist.” Bright golden sigils emerged from the ether all around the mage. Samael looked at him slightly dismayed.

“Do you think the Universe cares about your little war or about good and evil? You self-important wizards are all the same. Just give up and die!”

“Death is forbidden for a King.” As the words left his lips, the dream came back to him. The seemingly familiar words uttered by his dream self, which he couldn't understand at the time. It all played back in his mind clear as a mountain spring.

“I am light, and I am night, and I am that which is beyond them.

I am speech, and I am silence, and I am that which is beyond them.

I am life, and I am death, and I am that which is beyond them.

I am war, and I am peace, and I am that which is beyond them.

I am weakness, and I am strength, and I am that which is beyond them.

Yet by none of these can man reach up to me. Yet by each of them must man reach up to me.”

In the dream, he had seen an Archetype. Heru-ra-Ha, the Sun God. Everything that ever was, and everything that ever will be. The most exalted essence of Self as perceived by mortals.

“Bullshit! All bullshit! What, you see the Sun from space and think you're a Master of the Temple all of the sudden? Just give me the Grailstone fragments, would you?” Samael said dropping all pretenses.

“No, Samael. I am a sworn brother in the Great Order of the Arcanum Arcanorum. I will protect these sacred emblems with my body, mind, soul and will. I fight in the name of The Crown and The Kingdom.” A golden aura flashed all around the wizard and he burst in cosmic flames like a second Sun. For a single moment, he had become a being of pure light. Not lost to self-indulgence as when he struck Blackscar, but wholly centered in his Will. He raised his right hand and hurled the Archangel away with a simple hand gesture. Samael tumbled awkwardly over the thin air of Archanon's outer atmosphere, but tried to regain his composure. He glared at the mage, all the mean humor and deceit gone from his eyes. He looked ready to strike in retaliation or cast a spell, but thought better of it. The fight was over.

“So what? You have these epiphanies and bursts of power, but then you go right back to being the same manipulative, self-serving, sadistic prick. You say I owe my existence to you? Well, in that case I am your Shadow. You hate my aspect within yourself but you will never be rid of me.” The angel spat.

“Don't flatter yourself.” Lucius spoke out loud as he strengthened the air-pressure ward and resumed a human appearance. “You're not my Shadow, you're just an asshole. You take so much pleasure in pain and suffering...” He said shaking his head in disgust. “Discord doesn't begin to describe you! You're the Archangel of Ignorance, Petty Strife and Needless Dickishness.”

“Well... that's one way to put it.” Samael replied smugly. Instead of Enochian, he chose to speak in perfectly fluent Avegarian, as if he'd been born and raised in Lucius' own hometown. Lucius was unimpressed. “Tell me, wizard. Is it wrong for a wolf to prey on the weakest in the herd? Mustn’t we all play our role?”

“Wolves have a biological need. You delight in ruining lives, you sick fuck!”

“You mortals have such narrow views.” The Archangel sighed. “This is why your precious Mystery of Mysteries is not for everyone, least of all the weak. My job is to test all initiates, and much to my disappointment, you've passed... Yay!” Samael cheered in dull sarcasm. Lucius glared at him with sick loathing.

“Zarghos is too strong willed for my taste, but Krent... just think of the mayhem we would've had with the completed Grail. Good times...”

“That's not why you wanted the Grailstones. There is something you're not telling me.”

“Who me? Having alternative motives? Pfff! That, my friend, is a topic for another time.” Samael took a casual glance below and cocked his head with a serpent's smile. “You should check on your friend. I think he's bat-shit crazy. Oh... and for the record, I'm not good or evil. I just really love my job.”

“Go choke on a bag of dicks, asshole.” Lucius said and dove back to Earth-Realm in an explosive burst.

.'. .'.

The insane wizard in bloody white robes screeched in agony as he flew over the battle's aftermath. He twitched and convulsed like a drug addict as blood and puss oozed from empty eye sockets. Blind in body and soul, he gathered chaos magick for his final spell. A ring of flames burned all around him, making him an impossible target for even Leetheus and his rangers. The ranger had already done all he could before retreating for cover. Three arrow shafts stuck out of the man's bloody chest. That should have killed him, but he was hate-bound to finish his death spell. Allied soldiers, who'd won a hard battle, had no time for celebration. They scattered about like helpless ants before the burning sun. Fireballs rained from Krent's conjuration, haphazardly exploding all over the valley. Even Raidax was out of tricks. He helped the wounded run for whatever cover they could find. All could hear the torment in the man's screams. It's one thing to fight oppression and tyranny, but quite another to fight a raving lunatic.

“I WILL PURGE YOU ALL, HEATHENS! DIE IN HOLY FLAMES!” Krent squealed for all to hear. The air shimmered with heat as he bolster his curse. A babbling string Archaian gibberish spewed out of his mouth. Sheer madness strengthened the spell. He meant to destroy everything within a leagues. Ready to explode, he dove for the fleeing army. Just then, a shooting star fell from the sky. It curved in Krent's direction, blazing a trail of star-fire in it's wake. Krent paid it no mind as he finalized his death ritual. He was utterly oblivious, until Lucius descended upon him at lightning speed. The battlemage snatched him by the forearm, taking him out to the mountainous wilderness.

“NOOO! You won't rob me of this, heretic!”

“Cancel the spell, Krent. You don't have to die. Samael is gone.”

“Nooo!” Krent whimpered in utter defeat. “I need...”

“Frater Excelsus. It's not to late, come back to The Order. We can heal you.”

This brief moment could last centuries in Lucius' mind. There was a deafening silence, even with the rushing winds and snapping of robes and long capes. Krent stopped kicking and screaming as he dangled from Lucius' grasp. Lucius sensed a moment of clarity in Krent, along with the painful recognition of his error. All the fear and hatred vanished, leaving only sorrow for a life lived in pursuit of a vain ego.

“I am weak. I'm sorry, brother.” Krent murmured in a barely audible tone. Lucius had turned his head and read his lips. He saw the sincerity in the words. Krent had the look of a child who'd misbehaved but was too proud to apologize out loud. Then, fleeting as a butterfly, it was gone. The ugly rage returned, contorting his face into a malicious mask of anguish. Lucius saw what came next, but couldn't avoid it without dropping Krent. He tried to yell a “NO” but it was too late. Krent reached a red-hot hand for Lucius's wrist with a spell on his lips and the battle-mage screamed as flames seared his flesh. No pain hurts quite like a burn. It consumed the spell-warded sleeve of his robe like it was straw, shooting fire up his right arm. Lucius dropped him with a curse, evoking ice to sheathe and soothe his burning arm. Krent fell screaming with satisfaction at his legacy of hatred. There was almost the hint of a smile in his twisted snarl. He wanted to leave a mark in the world, but settled for a scar on on his rival; perhaps something to remember him by. He twisted his body upside down, eagerly reaching for the ground. Fire and crackling red lightning engulfed Frater Excelsus as Lucius sped away as fast as he could, drained as he was. He had nothing but a prayer that they were far enough from the troops. There was a hot white flash, a mountainous explosion consuming leagues of desolate wilderness, followed by a spectacular mushroom cloud engulfing the heavens. The concussive shock-wave blasted Lucius' ward and catapulted him out of control. There was no magick there, just simple laws of motion.

There was a moment of realization that he might not live through this. It was kind of a shame after all he went through, but what else could he do? He was out of spells, out of tricks, tapped out, with nothing left to give. There was no Higher Self to save him this time. Even his monstrous ego was too beaten to care about looking heroic; his body would be unrecognizable after it hit the ground and he was okay with that. He'd done all he could, and at the end of one's life, what else could anyone ask for? As he toppled over dusky skies, and as consciousness faded into night, he regretted nothing. He fell into the endless dark with nothing but love in his heart. Love for a life well lived.

.'. .'.

(End of story. I decided to make the epilogue, the beginning of the next short story from Lucius' point of view.)

Following Battle-Mage:

Manhunt.

“I'm not dead yet?” Lucius gasped, waking up in a shabby military tent with the strong scent of potions and healing herbs clustered next to his sleeping-mat. An oil lamp hung safely in the center coaxing the tired wizard into a waking state. Raidax came in, followed by a thin and lanky old man, a balding dark elf with tufts of wispy silver hair clinging to a spotted scalp. Deep-set eyes inspected Lucius from beneath bushy eyebrows. He wore a traditional monk attire borrowed from the Sunset Isles fused with priestly robes of his own culture. He was draped in linen and silk dyed in spotless white, yellow and red. Raidax stood in sharp contrast to the clean sun-priest. He was ragged and beaten, sporting scars which would, no doubt, become bar spectacles for the ladies. His long black hair was matted with gore and mud. Flecks of bone and meat still clung to his short beard. Splatters of dry blood caked all over his filthy fur cloak and hide armor. The only clean thing about him was his impeccable blade, where even the handle seemed to sparkle. He was still wet from a futile attempt at washing his face. Looking at him and the darkness outside, Lucius surmised that he hadn’t been unconscious for too long since the battle. Raidax silently waited for Master Atharvan to check up on Lucius, twitching with anticipation to exchange stories with the wizard. For him everything was an adventure, especially a brush with death.

“My young friend, you are either very brave or very crazy, I haven't decided which.” Said the old priest with a thick accent. Though old and wrinkled he looked at Lucius with child-like wonderment in his eyes.

“I'd go with crazy.” Raidax couldn't help interjecting.

“He is right.” Lucius agreed with a sad smile. “When you're a wizard, crazy just comes with the territory.” He looked at nowhere in particular as the smile faded. “Bravery comes from overcoming fear, not a death-wish.”

“Yet this battle changed you, and for the better, yes?” The mystic asked, looking inquisitive, almost as if reading him with a single glance.

“There is nothing heroic about needlessly martyring myself. Yes. I will defeat Zarghos and live.”