Marek stumbled out of the cell that he had been working in for the past day, somehow holding the staff. He clutched it tightly, his magic coursing through his veins and demanding to be used. Marek shook his head in wonder at what he was holding—he had never felt so much power before. The amount of Essence would make me into a god.

Marek shook his head, confused about how he had come up with that idea. Where did that thought come from? He didn’t want to rule anything. In fact, one of the main reasons that he had left Velaire was so that he didn’t get dragged into the politics that inevitably followed the mages.

Marek walked up to the main floor, ascending the stairs slowly. He felt different. All he remembered was that the ritual had been completed successfully, and he could use the staff as he wished.

“Claire?” Marek called, suddenly remembering that she had been with him and helped him complete the ritual. Marek’s voice echoed off the walls, but there was no one there. A faint trickle of amusement that was not Marek’s stirred in the back of his mind. He also felt something else—a flair of energy that was sent from the staff and moved around the castle, awakening… something. Initially, Marek was worried. He wondered why he was performing magic he didn’t understand and wondering why he was feeling amused. The realization came to him suddenly.

“Here I am talking to myself all alone in a castle!” Marek said, laughing. “How crazy I must sound!”

It wasn’t particularly funny, but he felt a pressure ease in his chest. I’ve been worried sick about Yarran coming to kill me, Ako, Wyatt, and Anton. It feels good to laugh again.

Marek continued to laugh, and eventually, he was blinking back tears. He bent over double half-way up the stairs, wheezing and using the staff to support himself.

“Marek?”

Marek stopped laughing immediately. A wave of rage washed over him. Marek reached for his magic, bring it to bear as he looked up to see one of Talon’s men looking down at him uncertainly.

Khavod, a voice whispered. He is jealous of you and your power.

“How are you?” Khavod asked. He took a step back, looking uneasy as Marek silently ascended the stairs. “I heard you call for someone, and then you started laughing.”

“How dare you,” Marek hissed. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been this angry. “How dare you stand here within my castle?”

“Your castle?” Khavok asked, taking another step back. The youth smiled, but it flickered and died as quickly as it came. “This is your castle?”

“It always has been,” Marek said with a growl. For a moment, he hesitated, the very initial beginnings of alarm making him stop. That feeling was washed away at once by something else.

You are doing the right thing, a familiar voice whispered in Marek’s mind. Cleanse my castle.

“The living should not be within these walls,” Marek said slowly. “This is my domain, mortal.”

“What?”

Marek couldn’t stand the sight of Khavod. He lived and breathed and knew nothing of what he had suffered for so long. He twitched his staff. Power unending poured through it and toward the man, who looked like he wanted to bolt and run.

“Too late,” Marek said, smiling as his magic snapped Khavod’s neck. The Kulok began to fall, but Marek shook his head, sending more magic through his staff and freezing him mid-air.

“You cannot die yet,” Marek said, his lips twitching from repressed mirth. “I have a better use for you.”

Marek slowly moved to Khavod, well-aware of the suffering and immense amount of agony he was in. Marek placed a hand on his cheek and began to draw his Essence from him.

“So young!” Marek chuckled as Khavod’s eyes widened and his lips opened to scream. Marek waved a dismissive hand, and no sound escaped from the younger man’s lips. “So much life still left in you. So much Essence.”

Khavod rapidly aged, and within moments he was twice, then three times his age. Within two breaths, he was an old man, his wizened hair falling from his scalp to the floor. The Kulok warrior drew in one last, shuddering gasp, then died.

Marek released the corpse, and it fell to the floor. It clattered—it was little more than bones with skin thinly stretched over them. Without a backward glance, Marek continued to the Meeting Hall.

As he walked, Marek rolled his shoulder and then paused. He looked down at his formerly injured shoulder and pulled off the bandages wrapped by Ako. They were bloodied and old, falling apart without much effort.

“I’ve been healed,” Marek said, feeling at his shoulder with his fingers. There was no twinge of pain. “Thank you,” Marek said. He grinned and turned back to Khavod. Marek bowed to his corpse. “Your Essence has been very helpful.”

Marek turned back and made his way to the Meeting Hall. As he walked, the braziers lit themselves as he passed them, blazing merrily. My castle welcomes me, Marek thought, enjoying the feeling of complete control.

As Marek neared the Meeting Hall, he stiffened at the sound of fighting outside. It sounded just like that painful day, that day when he had used a ritual to destroy himself and her loyal servants to escape death. Everything was now proceeding as planned. He was now becoming one with the castle.

“Wyatt is here early,” Marek said, smirking. “I hope he’s brought an army for me.”

Suddenly finding himself eager, Marek started to run down the hall, holding his staff in a sweaty hand. He burst into the Meeting Hall, throwing open the doors gleefully. It was hard to restrain himself from laughing hysterically. He had waited over half a century for this.

“Marek! You got the staff!”

Marek looked for the source of the shout and quickly found it. It was Anton, who was smiling broadly, although he looked worried. He stood in the middle of the hall. There were two others in the room. Marek marked where they stood, near the doors and not too far away from Anton.

My back is covered, they can only come at me from the front.

“There’s fighting outside!” Anton cried as Marek slowly advanced on him. He was fully armored and held a sword in his hand. The Kulok were the same, holding pikes. “I think it’s the Kulok, but I don’t know who they’re fighting.”

“They’re fighting my servants,” Marek said calmly. “Soon, all of you will die and join my army.”

Anton’s eyes narrowed, searching his face. Marek let him look. There’s nothing he can do to stop me. Wyatt and his men were fighting through the courtyard, but they were quickly being overrun. Wyatt would make it—he was strong—but not enough would come with him to make a difference. The day was won, even though no one knew it yet.

“Something’s wrong with Marek!” Anton shouted. He held his sword up in a defensive posture with trembling hands. “His eyes are glowing, and he sounds different! I think he’s being possessed!”

Marek stood still as the two Kulok by the door cursed in their own language and ran toward him, their pikes leveled at his chest.

Marek raised an eyebrow, and his staff contemptuously threw them away with a burst of his magic. They sailed across the room and crashed into the doors, slamming them open.

“Marek, what are you doing?” Anton cried. He was shaking so hard his armor was rattling. “What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing is wrong,” Marek said. He raised his staff to finish the shaking boy off when he heard a roar.

“CLAIRE!” Wyatt’s voice bellowed from just outside the Main Hall. “CLAIRE!!”

Marek felt a smile slowly creep across his face. Anton scrambled away from him, trying to escape. Marek raised his staff to kill Anton but then stopped.

I don’t want to kill Anton, Marek thought. He didn’t know who he was sending the thought to. I don’t want to.

You will, Claire replied. In a series of sudden flashes, Marek remembered everything, like a fog had been lifted. He had killed Ako, then murdered Khavod and the other Kulok. He—

No, Marek thought, not wanting to think of that anymore. Anton ran to the open door. I’m not going to kill him or Wyatt.

You do not have a choice.

Marek groaned, an enormous amount of pressure pushing from the back of his mind. You are mine, Claire said smugly. Your body is mine. Your soul is mine!

“No,” Marek moaned, but he was too weak to fight her off. He had been awake for almost a day, feverishly working on freeing the staff. Claire fought hard, exploiting his tiredness and consuming him from the inside out.

The last thing Marek saw was Wyatt running in and meeting Anton in the doorway. Then, he fell back. Not physically, but mentally. He fell until he was consumed by darkness and knew nothing more.