“Marek?” Wyatt asked tentatively, slowly making his way towards whatever he was facing. It was Marek, but it wasn’t. Marek still wore his brown robes. They were now scuffed and torn—and his dressing from Ako had been removed, but it wasn’t him. He looked the same, but he was different somehow. His staff of Dominion Wood was also disturbing. How did he get it? Did Claire give the staff to him?

“Marek?” Wyatt tried again. “Are you there?

“Come, Wyatt,” Marek said, his voice tinged with malice. “You know who I am. Let’s not play games with each other.”

“What did you do to Marek?!” Anton demanded, stepping out from behind Wyatt. He jabbed his shaking sword toward Claire. “Where is he?!”

“Oh, he’s in here, with me,” Marek said, his deeper voice changing into Claire’s higher tones. Claire threw back his head and laughed. “All this time, I’ve been waiting for someone of real power, and the two of you throw yourselves into my arms.”

Marek’s body took a step forward. He grinned, which contrasted with his eyes. They glowed red and were void of any emotion. “Struggle all you want, Wyatt. Marek is mine now, as you will soon be.”

“No!” Anton shouted. He sprinted forward, his sword gleaming as he leveled it like a spear to Marek’s chest. “I won’t let you take him too!”

“Anton! Stop!” Wyatt said, reaching out with his free hand. His magic surged in his veins, all but begging for him to act. He wanted to, but he didn’t know what to do. Previously it was instinctive and in the heat of the moment. Now, he was trying to force his magic to do what he wanted.

Wyatt felt something fizzle in his chest, and some of his magic tried to leap out, but it dissipated in front of him before it could do anything useful. Strangely, he couldn’t see it happen, but he could feel it happening.

Anton had almost made it to Marek. He stopped in front of him, twisting his stance and swinging his sword like how Wyatt had taught him. The sword never made it to Marek’s neck; instead, it stopped, hovering inches away from it.

Anton struggled and heaved down on the sword, straining to bring his weapon down on Marek, but it wouldn’t budge. The entire time, Marek’s eyes were locked on Wyatt’s. He was still grinning, and it looked increasingly ghoulish and insane.

“Let him go, Claire,” Wyatt said. “He’s nothing to you.”

Marek cocked his head, as if considering this. His glowing gaze moved to Anton and then back to Wyatt.

“You’re right,” Marek said in Claire’s voice. “The boy is nothing to me.”

“No,” Wyatt said. The sounds of combat right outside vanished as Wyatt realized what was happening. He shook his head, blinking back tears. “Don’t.”

Marek said nothing, but Anton seized in place and levitated in the air. Wyatt tried to throw some of his magic, to do something, anything, but it was rebuffed by Marek and his knowing smile.

“You are weak and untrained,” Marek said conversationally as Anton twitched, still trying to resist Marek ten feet off the ground and halfway to the ceiling. He tried to speak, but he could do nothing but bulge his eyes. “You could’ve been an Archmage, Wyatt. You could’ve eventually led the Council. I heard your speech, Wyatt. You are a great leader. You would have made Velaire into a better place and served as an inspiration to many.”

“Claire, stop,” Wyatt said, still struggling futilely against Marek and Claire’s combined magical strength. “Put him down and let him go. He doesn’t deserve this.”

Marek’s face hardened. “Do not presume to order me about,” Claire snapped, and with a flick of his staff, Anton was set alight.

Wyatt stumbled and fell back, dropping his sword. It fell to the ground with a clatter as Wyatt leaned against the doorway and watched Anton scream.

“WYATT!” Anton screamed. Wyatt flinched back, the memories of his Lea and Bella burning alive, screaming at him the exact same way Anton was right now. “WYATT!”

“No,” Wyatt moaned. He covered his eyes as Anton continued to scream wordlessly. He could smell Anton’s burning flesh. PAPA! Bella screamed in his mind, her cries mingling with Anton’s until they sounded the same. HELP ME, PAPA!

Wyatt cowered, waiting for it to end. It eventually did. Wyatt didn’t know how long he hid his face. When he looked back up, Anton was on the floor, his flesh blackened by the fire. Anton was dead.

“Anton,” Wyatt whimpered. He fell to his knees and cried, heaving sobs. He had been annoying, bull-headed, and loud, but he had loved him like a son. He had always been positive, always helping others if he could, always making a quick joke to try and lighten up everyone’s mood.

Anton is dead. Ako is dead. Marek is dead.

Wyatt’s family was gone.

Suddenly furious, Wyatt looked for his sword. It was on the ground, lying close to him. Wyatt scrabbled for it, picking it up and glaring at Marek. His grin was gone, but there was deep satisfaction in his eyes as if he were proud of what he had done.

One moment Wyatt was on his knees, clutching his sword. The next moment he was running towards Marek as fast as he could, intent on killing Claire.

Marek’s eyes widened, and he sent a magical blast of pure white at Wyatt. Wyatt screamed and burst through it, charging through the second and third blast. His mind buckled from the onslaught, but he persevered, his entire will bent upon killing Claire. Nothing else mattered. He would destroy Marek’s body and then tear down the castle stone by stone if he had to.

Marek finally moved after the third strike, avoiding Wyatt’s thrust by turning ethereal. Wyatt stumbled at having stabbed through nothing. Only at the last moment did he see seeing Marek step to the side and thrust his staff at him.

Wyatt snarled. He threw everything he had into blocking the magical attack. He didn’t run through it like before, and Marek didn’t stop channeling. Marek’s white magic slammed into Wyatt’s white shield. It buckled—Wyatt had never encountered magical power like this before—but managed to stay standing.

He took a step forward, and then another. His third brought him into striking distance. It felt like shifting a mountain, but Wyatt hefted his sword and struck.

The attack never landed. The power that Wyatt had been facing redoubled then tripled. Wyatt tried to hold on, but he was blown back and off his feet. He skidded along the ground a half-dozen steps until he came to a stop.

Wyatt groaned and tried to rise, but he couldn’t. He had expended so much magical power in his confrontation with Claire—not to mention the battle he had fought to make it into and through Ashenstead—that he was utterly exhausted. He had failed. With great difficulty, he climbed to his feet. He swayed, almost falling over again.

It was now completely silent outside of the Main Hall. Everyone is dead but me, Wyatt thought, completely drained. I’ll soon join them.

“Your soul is damned!” Claire-as-Marek spat. He glared down, seemingly enraged at Wyatt for his continued defiance. His eyes no longer glowed, but his eyes, normally a dark brown, were now a harsh red. Marek no longer looked like Marek. His features were changing slowly, becoming more feminine and more like Claire. Still, it was her vessel, and Marek was still alive. For now.

“You will never see your wife and daughter in the next life,” Claire hissed. “You will not be permitted to join them! They will want nothing to do with you!”

“No,” Wyatt moaned, struck by the words. He had never felt so weak in his life. His mind was frayed, his body broken, and his powers were at their lowest ebb. “They are waiting for me, just as I’ve been waiting for them.”

“Oh, Wyatt,” Claire crooned, a cruel smile tugging at her lips. Her transformation was almost complete, and she looked nearly as ravishing as she always had. “You are the one I’ve been seeking. You are strong, stronger than anyone, man or woman, I’ve ever known. I will remake you into what you should’ve been: a vessel worthy of my glory.”

“I’d rather die,” Wyatt growled. He managed to draw his dagger and tried to ram it into his own throat.

“No!” Claire shrieked, making a cutting motion with his hand. Wyatt felt a flare of magical energy grasp his arm, halting him as the dagger stopped an inch from his throat. He tried to throw himself onto it, and to his horror, he found that his entire body was frozen as well.

“Your power is now mine,” Claire whispered. She took a step forward and took the dagger from Wyatt’s frozen hand.

“Your body is mine,” Claire continued, her voice growing louder as her magic flared. Wyatt stumbled back, blinking as he was almost blinded by it. His body had been freed from Claire’s magical grasp, but he was still an ant seeking to defy a god.

“Your soul is mine!” Claire roared, throwing out a hand and launching a magical attack on Wyatt.

Wyatt flinched, expecting to die. He then blinked as the white flare of magic soared into him, doing nothing. He looked at Claire quizzically before a searing pain seized his entire body. He fell to the stone floor, writhing in pain. His body burned like it was on fire. For a moment, he wondered if he was on fire, like Anton, but he screamed again as something entered his mind.

You are mine, Wyatt, Claire’s voice whispered in Wyatt’s mind.

“NO!” Wyatt roared. He didn’t know how, but he forced himself back to his feet, his body resisting him the entire way. He was a puppet trying to fight every movement of a manipulative puppet master. “I WILL NEVER BE YOUR SLAVE!”

You are not my slave, Claire-as-Marek’s voice echoed in Wyatt’s mind. You are my vessel, Wyatt. You are something better.

Wyatt growled and stared into Claire’s eyes. They still emitted the same harsh red that he had seen before, but she seemed curious. She seemed content with watching Wyatt struggle against the inevitable. He was like a deer fatally struck by an arrow, unknowingly waiting to realize it was dead.

Wyatt dragged himself forward. The weight of the world was on his shoulders, and it was only growing heavier. He took another step forward, snarling. He was three steps away from Marek, but it felt like thirty miles.

Wyatt shook his head as he took another step. With every ounce of his strength, he fought the malevolent presence in his mind that resisted his every move. It wanted to control his thoughts, his actions, his soul. It wanted Wyatt to vanish and become a prisoner in his own body, a slave to its will.

Never! Wyatt sent to the presence. There was a chuckle in Wyatt’s mind that was not his own, but Claire said nothing.

Do you hear me? I will free Marek! I will free us both!

More laughter. The laughter sent chills down Wyatt’s spine, even as he took another step forward. His entire body was shaking from exertion, but his aim was true as he thrust his dagger into Claire’s throat.

Claire shifted back into Marek, who gasped, the red light leaving his eyes. Marek blinked, his blankly curious expression changing into baffled confusion as his hands went to his throat.

“W-Wyatt,” Marek said, sounding like himself for the first time. He stumbled and sank to his knees. Blood spewed from his open wound, and his skin was deathly pale. “She… has… you.”

Marek exhaled, his body shuddering as his eyes rolled upward. Wyatt watched as the mage crumpled to the floor, dead. Numbly, he bent over to pick up the dagger, only to find that he couldn’t.

Do you think I could be dismissed so easily? That I could be so easily forgotten?

Wyatt tried to move, tried to scream, tried to do anything. He couldn’t. Horrified, he watched his body move on its own accord. Wyatt’s hand went to Marek’s throat, ripping out the dagger carelessly and wiping his dagger on the mage’s robes.

I wanted him, at first, but that was before I felt your power. It was intoxicating, like nothing I’ve ever felt. What good luck it was that you were never discovered by the Citadel! What good fortune it was that you delivered yourself to me! Now I have you, and now I will do what I should’ve done half a century ago. You’ve now killed the only one who can save you, Wyatt. You’re mine.

Wyatt stood alone, but soon he felt like he was falling. He fell back into the darkest recesses of his mind, where he couldn’t see or move. He screamed into the void, and the void looked back with amusement before dismissing him entirely.

Wyatt thought it would stop there, but it didn’t. The void turned back and quickly consumed him.

“Lea,” Wyatt whispered, his strength leaving him. “Bella. I love you both. I’m sorry.”