Jace pointed the scepter at Skrakch, his features twisted with rage and a madness he’d never seen in the Young Master before.

“It’s all your fault Skrakch,” Jace repeated venomously. “But we have one last chance to fix things. Yes. We’ll fix things. It’ll be easy…” He muttered to himself as he poured a trickle of his Mana into the scepter. “It’s all I need to do…yes…excellent.”

Skrakch watched this performance breathlessly, he knew he needed to run but there was something stopping him. He felt as though he was trapped in a fog, his mind slow and sluggish. It was like watching his life unfold before his eyes while he was powerless to stop it.

‘Move you, idiot! Take the scepter! You know what happens next! Move damn you, move!’

Skrakch’s brain kept screaming at him, ordering him to move, to react. It was his chance to change history! And yet…he couldn’t just reach out and try to wrestle the scepter away.

His Young Master snarled, his face contorted with rage as a gush of flame poured forth from his wand. Pushing more of his Mana in the now glowing artifact, Jace managed to conjure a stronger burst of flame that shot by Skrakch, scorching his whiskers and igniting the plush velvet curtains behind him. With an unnatural swiftness, as though fueled by his Master’s anger, the flames spread throughout the room, engulfing everything it touched.

“It’s all your fault Skrakch!” Jace screamed. “Why did you of all of them survive while everyone else suffered in agony and burned?” He continued to rant despite the flames edging closer and closer to him. They started to lick at his clothing, rapidly traveling up his tailored trousers and taking hold of his entire body. Skrakch watched with horror as his demented expression started to deform, the heat from the fire melting his flesh to reveal the muscle and sinew underneath.

Blood started to boil and bubble from his burns, pus started to flow freely, and his entire face became an unrecognizable mess of gore. Yet still, flames shot out of the scepter.

“Why? Why? Why did you have magic and not me?” Jace was screaming dementedly, his voice cracking.

Skrakch felt his own throat constrict as the flames got closer and closer. He finally managed to choke out a desperate response.

“Stop this! The whole place will burn to the ground! Drop the scepter and we can figure things out, Master!” He entreated, the heat and smoke were starting to make him feel nauseous.

“Why did I ever teach you anything Skrakch? You took everything from me! And you’re nothing but a fucking rat,” The ruined monster that was once his Master continued to scream at him. Jace pointed an accusing finger at his lowly servant, or at least what was left of his finger. The skin was mostly gone, leaving charred and blackened bone. “A dirty, fucking rat…” Jace raised the scepter again, this time shooting a blast of fire directly at Skrakch’s chest.

The Ratling was flung backward across the room from the force of the blast, his fur blackening as heat bore deep into his chest. He collided with a heavy credenza and fell to the floor in a crumpled heap of bones and burgeoning flames.

Momentarily disoriented from the pain and the surrounding smoke, Skrakch struggled to his feet. He could hear himself beginning to wheeze, his every breath felt as though the flames were inside of him, scorching his lungs and throat. It was getting harder to see amongst the thick black smoke that was filling the room.

He kept low to the ground, trying to stay below the smoke line as he groped blindly for an exit. Jace was nowhere to be seen or heard but Skrakch couldn’t worry about that now. He needed to get out. As soon as his paw came into contact with the bedroom door, he felt as though he could weep with relief. Throwing it open, Skrakch scrambled to his feet and out of the bedroom which was now pretty much an inferno.

The flames were everywhere, turning expensive furniture into nothing but kindling, the expensive carpets and paintings reduced to ashes. The flames grew exponentially larger, fueled by so many of the once-decadent possessions, spreading faster and faster, enveloping everything in its path. The smoke was chokingly thick and Skrakch’s throat was burned raw as he ran full tilt down the corridor. He tried his best to call out to the other Iskrin, desperately urging them to escape with him. It feels as though a heavy blanket was falling upon the entire manor, suffocating everything in its path.

Skrakch quickly reached the courtyard. He turned around and, to his dismay, none of the other Iskrin within were reacting to the encroaching flames. Instead, he watched helplessly as they burned just like the furniture, flames rapidly consuming them whole. The most disturbing part of watching his kin burn is that they didn’t even seem to notice the licks of fire roiling across their fur. Instead, they continued with their chores as their home burned to the ground around them, empty-minded servants missing the same spark that drove Skrakch onwards.

Before he was fully able to mourn his fallen kin, Skrakch was suddenly struck from behind. The force of the blow flung him into, and then through, the courtyard’s wooden fence, sending a shower of sparks and wood splinters flying everywhere. Jace suddenly appeared from where he’d been standing and watching the mansion burn. His body was now completely scorched, little more than soot-covered bones, his limbs still wracked with flames. What remained of his skin dangled from his limbs, melted and deformed. His blonde hair was now charred wisps that fell off like ash as he shambled towards Skrakch.

“You’ll never escape Skrakch. No matter how you struggle. You’re just a servant. You’re a pawn for people to use. You’ll always be nothing but a brown Iskrin, used by your betters until you burn up!”

The teenage boy looked down on Skrakch, more flesh sloughing off his charred bones. It pooled by his feet in piles, filling the air with the disgusting stench of burned human flesh.

“You’re never going to become Chosen, not even if you had one hundred years left on that rune of yours…”

Lying prone on his back, Skrakch could feel the flames starting to lick at his body, singeing his fur and starting to sear his flesh. His mind was pierced with pain. He hauled himself up until he was resting on his elbows, staring directly into what remained of his tormentor’s face...

And he laughed.

Reaching forward, Skrakch grabbed the burning scepter from his foe's hand, as easily as plucking a rose. Rolling the scepter in his paw for a moment, Skrakch’s entire body language changed, the fear practically fleeing his body as his strength returned. Breathing in the smoke deeply as if it was the sweetest of air, the Ratling twirled the artifact before pointing it straight at Jace.

“Honestly Master, you had me going for a moment there,” Skrakch chuckled. “I have to say, it’s a pretty good illusion but you ruined it by overplaying your hand,” He continued, his fear melting away as quickly as the mansion behind them.

The Ratling smirked as he watched the illusion of his young master froze in place. The flames around them started to ebb away and the fog in his mind seemed to be receding. The mansion was still merrily burning down to its wooden beams, which started to splinter and collapse.

One of the smoldering beams hurtled down and headed directly towards Skrakch’s skull. He turned his head upwards to watch it, refusing to move even a whisker to the side. He was prepared for the beam to crash straight down upon him but, at the last moment, it seemed to twist in the air, landing beside him.

“I have to admit, the other Iskrin were a nice touch,” Skrakch continued. “But I didn’t try to save any of them when this was real, much less now,” He swatted at some of the encroaching flames and realized that they weren’t even warm. “I don’t even think any of them had names. But really? The biggest mistake was mentioning how I’ll never be Chosen. I never spoke of my desire to you. Back when it was just you and me, Young Master, all I ever wanted was to be at your side. But now...”

Skrakch turned to watch the flames lick away at the mansion and pondered how much the illusion had backfired. It had failed at whatever it was trying to achieve. Instead, it had given him some closure on his past with Jace. Sure, he was grateful to the young Human for teaching him how to speak, read and write but the magic he knew? That was all him. It had soon become apparent to him that Jace was merely holding him back by keeping him as a servant.

“I’d risk the flames daily if I thought it would up my chance of becoming Chosen,” He said aloud. “Hells, even if I had to burn this place to the ground a hundred times over, it would be worth it.”

He chuckled to himself and turned back to the frozen representation of his former master.

“I’ve fought a dozen foes much scarier than Jace Logan,” He continued as he casually pressed the scepter into his old Master’s chest. “He could hardly light a candle, let alone use this!” Skrakch turned the magical item over in his paws, admiring the glowing runes that had been etched into the steel.

Turning the scepter over one last time, the furry rogue flashed a sardonic grin. Skrakch rose to his feet, idly brushing some fallen soot from his fur, and stood tall before the replica of his old Master. The interesting thing about scepters is that while they were often dangerous conduits of otherworldly magics, they were also steel rods.

Raising the scepter high, Skrakch drove it down into Jace’s eye, cackling all the while. The rod pierced deep, before flaring up, waves of flames burning away at the tortured form of his old Master until there was nothing left of him.

Wiping the ash off his new weapon, Skrakch turned to watch the manor finish burning, delighting as each portion collapsed.

As the manor’s structure finally gives way to the fire, it crumples to the ground as though it had been crushed by a giant’s fist, bits of embers and sparks exploding in a gust of air.

Through it all, Skrakch bubbled over with laughter, standing safely in the epicenter of the ruined building.