Baelin reached out, grasping the air before him and speaking words of power.

His mana spread, moving around the ruins of Kaz-Mowang’s palace, probing points in space—points that an abyssal knight could hide between. It grabbed something that tried to escape, wriggling like a fish caught in a net, but his magics held it in place and pulled.

Ezaliel was drawn from what seemed to be no more than empty air; the abyssal knight struggled, thrashing with his flaying beams. The faces trapped in his crystalline facets screamed in agony and terror.

But for all of Ezaliel’s struggles, Baelin's magic did not flinch.

The demon was exhausted, his strength spent, he had no hope of escaping the wizard’s grip, yet he still resisted. Was it pride, arrogance, delusion, utter conviction that he could never lose, or all four? Whatever it was had kept him from conceding to the very end.

And Baelin could almost respect him for that.

Almost.

“Well, here we are, Ezaliel.” The chancellor glowered. His cabal appeared, flanking him on both sides, while watching the doomed abyssal knight dispassionately. “Well now, it seems power has strived against power, and yours was found wanting. Your threats were hollow. Your allies are dead. And all of your servants are either destroyed or have fled.”

He gestured to Jaretha. “Keep in mind that all of this destruction? It was your fault. From the moment you stuck your nose into my world, my school, and my domain, your life was forfeit.”

Ezaliel made a noise dripping with hatred, and unfortunately for the demon…a hint of fear.

The sound was like a soothing balm to the wizard. “You have only yourself to blame for your current circumstances.” He said.

“Leave me be.” Ezaliel hissed. “You have made your point. I am defeated.”

“Ezaliel,” Baelin said. “Come now, this is merely the beginning of your judgement day: after all that you have wrought upon my school, I am nowhere near finished making my point yet.”

Sound reverberated in the air in a sonic assault, particles vibrating as one, reaching a frequency high enough to rupture mortal ears and flesh.

As for Ezaliel?

Glass hummed as though a wet finger ran along the rim of a fine crystal glass.

Then came a crack.

One that spread.

Spread until the abyssal knight was shrieking, parts of his crystalline form fractured, raining down on his burning city in shards.

“That was merely my opening salvo for one as remorseless as you.” Baelin flexed his hand, calling a vial of ink-black liquid to him. “So, now that I have your full attention, sonic destruction is too clean for the likes of you. Perhaps we should engage in something more…exotic. Tell me, are you familiar with The Hungry Light of Darukesh?”

Ezaliel shrieks kept him from forming intelligible words.

“I do not think he can give you an answer right now,” Magun-Obu said.

“Astute observation.” Baelin held up the bottle. “Perhaps I’ll tell him a story then. Once, there was a very powerful and now very dead archwizard. She sought to study the great void between stars. The deepest darkest reaches of space. And do you know what she found? Light: lonely light completely divorced from any other. Light that was tinged by madness. Hungry light.”

He moved the bottle toward Ezaliel, who was now still. “Of course, she brought it back with her to her world. A grave mistake, you see, for light is not an easy thing to trap, and in her haste, she had not researched the proper containment for it. As a result, she was quickly reduced to a soulless husk after it consumed her essence. Now the odd thing is that it can normally only feed on souls through their reflection, which it does by entering a reflective surface instead of bouncing off like most light would. It seeps inside the reflection, establishes a link with its victim’s soul and simply consumes it. I understand the process is quite painful.”

Baelin’s gaze took in Ezaliel, his nostrils flaring. “I do wonder, however, what would happen were the light to find its way into a crystalline creature? One abundant in reflections and a world of places for light to pass through and focus itself? …Would you like to find out?”

With a single word, he conjured a ward of darkness around Ezaliel, himself, and his cabal. As one, the five archwizards sheathed themselves in invisibility, leaving no chance for them to cast any reflection.

Then Baelin unstoppered the bottle and the dark ward lit up like high noon. A stream of light spilled out, darting through the air then pausing, hovering around Ezaliel in eerie silence.

Its radiance flared with yearning, suddenly shooting forward, entering Ezaliel’s crystalline’s surface without a single ripple. The abyssal’s knight's shattered body clinked like broken crystal, then a scream erupted from him that seemed like it would never end.

The Hungry Light of Darukesh raged, reflecting endlessly within his internal facets. The soul devouring light feasted on his essence and—with each pass through his internal facets—another twisted face vanished from the crystalline surface.

His cries weakened. His mana dimmed.

The abyssal knight’s power flickered like a dying candle, and with barely a sound, Ezaliel was no more.

Baelin uttered a command, awakening the vial’s magics, they drew the hungry light back in as the demon crumbled to sand. It returned to its prison, the stopper closed the bottle’s mouth, sealing it shut.

The ward of darkness fled, leaving the ruin of the abyssal knight to join the ruins of his once glorious city. It was poetic, in a sense, though Baelin would have savoured the moment more if a gnawing annoyance wasn’t growing in his gut.

“Why do they always run?” he sniffed, banishing the vial back to its extraplanar vault. “Why? It only delays the inevitable and wastes everyone’s time.”

“It’s only natural to try and preserve your own life, Baelin, even in the face of unstoppable odds,” Magun-Obu materialised in the air at his side, looking over the rubble that was once Jaretha. “What a terrible waste.” He shook his head sadly. “Such fine architecture is completely unrecognisable. It truly is a cosmic shame: I feel like some barbarian who crushed a priceless relic just because he found it disagreeable.”

“Tens of thousands dead and you worry about stone and steel.” Cra materialised, licking her lips as she eyed the body of a fallen demonic titan. “These priorities of yours are why you struggle to speak to your son, old friend.”

Magun-Obu shot her a glare. “I do not want to hear that from you. Baelin, perhaps. But not you.”

“Come now, I have had many young apprentices. In Gergorix’s kingdom alone I was worshipped!”

“And it fell didn't it? As do many of your apprentices,” Magun-Obu fired back.

“Details, detai—Hey!” Cra suddenly cried. “I saw that first!” She pointed at the broken titan corpse.

Near it, their enormous dragon cabal mate had appeared. Anaxadar’s jaws parted, ready to take a bite of titan flank. “You did not call this meal, Cra, and as they say, the faster falcon gets the dove!”

“Falcon? You are a slippery serpent who by sheer treachery, took my feast while I was occupied.”

Anaxadar paused. “...then the faster serpent gets the mouse?”

Baelin burst out laughing. “He got you there, Cra.”

The ancient witch was ready to protest when Sanii spoke. The Wizard of Steel’s mini constructs returned to her in a cloud of grey. “I suggest we move this to Magun-Obu’s tower. There is no reason to debrief here when comfort awaits you organics.”

“How very kind of you to say that,” Baelin said. “Shall we ‘retire’ before we part ways?”

The clink of platinum goblets echoed through the lounge.

Together, the five ancient archwizards toasted their victory, though Sanii’s cup was—in fact—empty.

“To victory and the destruction of enemies!” Anaxadar boomed, now back to his human form.

“To victory and the destruction of enemies!” the others echoed before collapsing on floating couches covered in silk and stuffed with phoenix feathers.

Baelin stretched, enjoying the symphony of joints popping all over his body. “I really do have to thank you for your support. Were I alone, I likely could not have contained Ezaliel and his allies so easily.”

“That is what a cabal is for.” Magun-Obu sat ramrod straight, cross-legged on his couch. Baelin could barely resist the urge to laugh.

“It is what we always do. This is not the most difficult task we have undertaken to this point.” Sanii reclined on her couch, though the position was just for show.

“Speaking of that, now that our business is done,” Anaxadar drained the goblet and placed it on a side table floating near him. “What will each of you do now?”

“Well, I am still feeling a little…frisky.” Cra sucked back her wine. The ancient woman’s throat wriggled unnaturally as she gulped it down. “There is a phantom king on an astral plane who has been making a nuisance of himself conquering other astral domains. He’s very quick to anger so I’ve been thinking that visiting him would make for a very fun fight. You’re all welcome to join me.”

“As interesting as that sounds, I will have to pass,” Anaxadar said. “Three days is long for an emperor to be away from his throne, even by dragon reckoning. I must go back to ensure that my plans are progressing along.”

“As for me, there is a contract I’ve entered into with a pantheon of water that I am close to being late in fulfilling,” Magun-Obu said. “Perhaps…I should stop by and see my son on the way there.”

Baelin gave him a nod of encouragement. “The team that went into the palace of Kaz-Mowang is no doubt waiting for me. As soon as we are done here, I must go and connect with them.”

“Riven’nam’s empire grows rapidly.” Sanii reported. “Its borders are approaching worlds I have interests in, which means it’s time for me to pay them a visit.”

“Ah, fair enough. I should really check in on my apprentice to see how he’s progressing. It’s been a while since I looked in on him. He must be quite old now and is likely running out of time.” Cra said, looking at her longtime companions. “But as usual, this has been fun, and we should do it again…and soon.”

“Agreed. But we have always said the same during the last three hundred and forty two times we have met,” Sanii said, a note of melancholy in her synthetic voice. “We never make time to get together.”

“Indeed, we really should be less busy at our age,” Baelin sighed. “But at least you four will be seeing me quite a bit, individually, over the next year. I do have this favour to repay.”

“That is a silver lining. You have been too distant, old goat.” Magun-Obu smiled. “When we depart, I will inquire from my sources about Ezaliel’s master. Knowing his personality, he would probably thank us for pruning a weak subject, but one never knows.”

“Fair enough.” Baelin finished his wine. “Then until we meet again, my old friends. Farewell, until then.”

The camp, fortunately, was mostly as Baelin had left it. His wards had not been pierced, and no weather systems had sent uprooted trees tumbling onto his work.

Even better, he found the camp now occupied.

Alex was sitting by the fire, roasting wild game, from the smell of it. Ezerak and Thundar were splitting wood on the other side of the camp, while Kyembe tended a very injured looking Ripp. Claygon stood guard at the camp’s edge…

Baelin frowned.

Celsus and Guntile were nowhere to be seen, and Claygon was coated in iron, marring much of the golem’s body.

For a heartbeat, tension spiked when the group spied him coming through the brush—he saw most hands quickly reach for weapons—before they recognised him.

Their relief was audible.

“You made it!” Alex said cheerily. “I thought we might be here for a week.”

“No, the quarry proved both stubborn and elusive, but we brought it down before it could waste that much of our time,” Baelin said, a note of satisfaction in his voice. “Now, then, tell me…were you all successful?”

“We absolutely were,” Alex said.

“Brilliant! Then let us return to the Whetstone tavern. I do believe payments are in order before we part ways.”

“Aye, and I’d like to be taken to a priest. One with powerful divinities.”

“You deserve that and more, Ripp,” Alex said emphatically. “Then once that’s all done, you and I have a lot to discuss, Baelin. A lot to discuss. But first—”

Alex looked at Kyembe, Ripp and Ezerak. “—let’s get you back to the tavern and get you paid.”

“Ah yes. The word ‘payment’.” Kyembe smiled. “No matter how many times it is said, I never tire of hearing it.”