Sebas was hurtling to the ground.

I should not have done that.

His instincts told him he could land safely — even if he went full-Blade with a hero pose. Still, it was best to prioritize safety.

Sebas landed on his feet and immediately tucked into a roll to disperse momentum, with another roll getting him back to his feet. He waved at the flying bat as he reminisced about capes and boomerangs.

Time to work.

He rolled up his left sleeve to reveal a metal vambrace. Part of him would have preferred a fancier and more traditional wizard’s staff — however, being under the employ of the Blackstaff taught him to be more practical. His vambrace was easy to conceal, and dropping it was nigh impossible — it fit his style.

“Scan’

Map Location * Complex Spell * Divination * Space * Life

Effect: The caster gains awareness of his surroundings spanning 20 steps in all directions or 40 steps in a single direction. The spell gives the caster the ability to distinguish the presence of living creatures. It also provides the caster with the general structure of mundane buildings.

Sebas’ spell was an amalgamation of his control over space and life magic. Common arcane knowledge saw space as some kind of plane that magic could bend — he believed otherwise. The butler believed the entire world and every creature in it existed in a single connection point. Space was a mere construct of the mind — seeing or moving through it merely required one to recognize the patterns.

He chose a direction and ran. Sebas was thankful for the pendant around his neck. It allowed him to absorb pure mana through the godstone, instead of the land’s tainted version of it. The mana came with memories of another world — a world where magic and mana didn’t exist. Unfortunately, the world wasn’t his own.

He was careful to avoid people running away in panic. He knew it was an emergency, but his master’s use of his horned helm would probably scar some of these people for life. It would probably fortify his reputation as the Scourge — especially once he starts burning down homes.

He continually scanned for presences in the buildings as he ran. He sent a few sparks into the air to mark the places that were safe to burn —hoping his master would understand.

An unexpected presence almost made Sebas lose his steps — what was someone doing inside their home so close to the fires? Did the person even need help if he or she could disregard the helm’s sending? He had to find out for sure.

The butler barged into an old house. The door barely gave any resistance to the charging butler as it shattered into pieces upon impact. Sebas moved towards the presence to find an old woman on her bed.

“Why didn’t you leave?” Sebas frantically asked. “Didn’t you hear the message?”

“I heard the message, dear,” the old woman answered. “If death is coming, then I welcome it. I am old and infirm — I should have died years ago with my husband.”

Her words made the butler pause. Was saving her the right thing to do — given that she was prepared, even willing, to die? Even if he saved her, she would be left homeless and penniless — a fate that most would consider worse than death at her age.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized as he forcibly carried the old woman in his arms. His loyalty was to his master. Someone dying in his master’s attempts to save the city would further sully his name — leaving the old woman to her death was not an option.

***

Lord Randson inspected his hidden stash of gold, jewelry, and knowledge. He was currently in the basement of an obscure shop that sold ceramics — a front for his dealings with the neighboring nation of Avlin.

The lord was a spy who kept records of the various nobles in Bountiful — particularly the duke that served as ruler of the city. The Lords of Avlin felt the duke held a more important position in the kingdom than that of a mere city lord.

He grabbed one of the ledgers that listed the names of their contacts and payments made to them. He was proud of his ledgers. They kept people in line and kept his life safe. The city would collapse on itself if the contents of his ledgers were ever to be made public — and he planned on doing exactly that once he finishes his mission.

His admiration quickly turned to shock as the writing on the ledger in his hand seemed to bleed and coalesce into the words — Death is Coming.

What? Fear and confusion gripped Lord Randson’s heart. Could it be a sending from Avlin or is my paranoia finally manifesting in some sort of mental breakdown?

He started flipping pages to no avail. Every page read Death is Coming until the message changed to Leave this place.

How could he even leave? Most of his wealth was hidden in this place — not to mention his ledgers.

He tried grabbing a different ledger, and then another one — all of them read the same, Death is Coming.

The lord could only scream in rage as he hurled the useless ledgers across the room. If he was somehow discovered, then he had to make away with as much wealth as he could.

He grabbed the gems, pocketing what he could and placing the rest inside a pouch. The gold would be too heavy to move and cumbersome to carry.

The lord emerged from the basement to find the ceramic shop empty as the sounds of screaming and rushing footsteps filled the air.

What is happening?

A blast of hot air sent him reeling towards the exit. A wall of the shop started to burn, blue tongues of flame breaking through the wooden planks as if reaching for the panicked lord.

Lord Randson fled the shop.

He took one final look at the burning shop that housed a significant portion of his wealth — only to see the familiar visage of the Scourge’s butler passing by and throwing greenish motes into the air.

What is he doing? Did that damned Scourge finally attack the city?

Lord Randson stood in place, for what seemed to him were hours, watching his trove burn. A sudden brightness drew his attention to the skies — and then to a flaming bat that burned the houses beneath it.

The creature flew past the shop, raining more fire upon the already burning shop.

What?

The lord squinted his eyes, trying to make a sense of it all. Why is that creature attacking the city? Why this place? And is that a person on top of it?

He fumed — the fruits of his years of spying and blackmail were now ashes and slag. He couldn’t even have the site dug up for the melted gold as his actions would draw scrutiny.

He swore to the gods that he would have his revenge on the bat creature and its rider. Spying would take a backseat in his efforts to root out the culprit and have him flayed alive.

***

Dallarath was happy.

Tomorrow, the sisters would be coming back from their trip to see the elves in the Great Forest of Dun and he could probably find Siege in one of the taverns he frequented. Their party would be complete once again and they could start adventuring.

He needed another dagger to replace the one he left with “the bullies”. He knew the tanner’s son, Dimic, was a bit slow in the head — so his actions were probably due to stupidity than malice. Heck, the kid’s friend Fiona probably put him in danger in the first place — with the perfume that she said would make animals like him better. He couldn’t even blame her entirely because she was younger than the dim-witted eight-year-old.

Which left him with one less dagger.

He had no choice in the matter. Running with the thing strapped to his waist would probably hinder or even injure him — even with the sheath.

He remembered an old wizard adage — the hidden dagger hurts the most.

The adage wasn’t about betrayal — it was about a wizard who went to battle with a hidden dagger as a last resort. The battle went well for the wizard’s side — but she found herself nicked and bruised by the dagger she strapped on the small of her back.

It was a lesson for wizards not to rely on weapons, or at least wear them properly. Distance was a wizard’s best weapon. If one had to rely on a dagger, then the battle was good as lost.

Consecutive blasts interrupted his walk to the weaponsmith. He saw fires erupting in one of the city’s residential districts.

There was no question on what to do. The half-elf rushed over to help

***

“I didn’t expect you would burn the city to save it?” the duke remarked to Jeremy.

He managed to conceal the nature of the flying bat by flying to his manor and getting the wizard to jump off. He then flew the slowly transforming bat away from the city, before deactivating its magic. A personal ring of teleportation allowed him to arrive at his castle soon afterward.

The secret of his Cinderhawk was safe but he couldn’t shake the feeling that the Blackstaff’s son somehow got the short end of the stick. The people who lost their homes — they would want someone to blame, fear, and hate. The Scourge or the Ram was a convenient scapegoat.

“Was there no other way to stop the fire?”

“None, milord,” Jeremy answered. “At least none that would minimize the damage the way my fires did”.

The duke nodded. He was weary. Using the Cinderhawk took a toll on his being. It was meant as a tool for escape — not for flying rings around the city.

Still, he was glad he used it — if only to ferry the wizard in his task. Inside the flaming hawk — or bat, for that matter — all he could do was direct the city’s soldiers and wizards into evacuation efforts and prevent them from attacking the flying bat.

The wizard’s fires certainly contained the fire. What he saw was the height of control — or close to it. He doubted if demons had the same degree of control over hellfire as the wizard — not that they needed it. The wizard’s deep blue fire was like a precise dagger tracing across the edge of the conflagration, burning only what was needed and dying out on his whim.

“You said cultists did this, did you not?”

“Yes, milord. Dead cultists.”

“What do you mean by dead?” The duke heard the lack of gravity in Jeremy’s voice and found it strange.

“I have their scent, so to speak,” Jeremy casually answered. “They should be dead in a fortnight. I will try my best to find their nest.”

“The council of nobles would want some of them for interrogation,” the duke explained. “The cultists might have information or knowledge relevant to the city’s welfare.”

“I’m sorry, milord,” the wizard shook his head. “I would not suffer any of them to live — for that, I humbly apologize and beg your understanding.”

“But the council—“

“The council will not get useful information from these cultists,” Jeremy insisted. “Their spells had a sliver of an underlying presence. That presence could snuff their lives at any given time.”

“What of the information that could be gleaned?”

“The only information your council will be taking from the cultists are ones that would plunge the city into a downward spiral,” the wizard’s voice turned cold.

The duke noticed a glint in the wizard’s eyes. Was it a warning not to meddle in his affairs? He was the Blackstaff’s son after all.

“Then I will send the city’s best soldiers and wizards with you,” he offered, glad to be of assistance.

“I think it would be best if I handle the cultists alone.”

The wizard’s words took the duke unawares. Was the Blackstaff’s son forged from the same steel?

“You would battle the cultists alone?”

“Battle?” Jeremy scoffed. “Dealing with cultists isn’t a battle, milord — it’s merely... pest control.”