1 Prelude

“Are you ready?” Exavidar asked gently, the thin, tall wizard wearing the black warrior uniform before them nodded tensely.

Ravalor didn’t seem particularly ready, and if anyone would listen to Exavidar, which nobody did, they would have told them that Ravalor shouldn’t be doing this. Not so soon after what had happened to him.

“This is going to be rough, you’ll be facing unwinnable odds, so just hold out as long as you can. This is not a competition, it’s just a function test.” Exavidar wanted to soothe any nervousness in the young wizard, though the stoic calm in Ravalor’s face as he nodded wouldn’t hint at anything close to it. Just grim determination. After all, it wasn’t like they told him anything he didn’t already know.

With a regretful smile, Exavidar looked up at Ravalor. A Warrior now, but the face of the Soldier still they had once brought into time.

Exavidar only wished they’d give the young wizard more time. Or that Ravalor would have given himself more time.

He had lost his Scholar way too early, and that under more than questionable circumstances. And after assisting his Wizard to rebuild the Scholar, Exavidar had known immediately that he wasn’t alright. A nervous gleam had lain in the dark eyes, a lost sense of desperation, looking for something. Something he didn’t know what it was.

The Scholar had returned to earth (and Exavidar had advised against that too. As much as they had advised him once to never choose mentorship under that troublesome Grand Wizard Zenozarax. But now as then, their advice had fallen on deaf ears.) Ravalor had returned to earth to look for the answer his own death kept from him. Only time would tell if he would find what he was looking for. And if he’d come to regret looking for it in the first place.

He should have been given time to come to peace with himself.

Instead, here he was now, the Warrior, his third part, getting ready to be thrown into combat and inevitably, die. Again. And again. Because that was expected of him, that was his purpose.

Good luck, they said gently, and Ravalor kept quiet. Then Exavidar stepped through a portal to immediately appear in the observation room. There was low chatter of the engineers and warriors overseeing the test. A very few soulturner were present too, their bright garments a stark contrast to the standardised black uniforms most common in Mezboahn, Mezchinhar’s Military circle.

Ravalor was there too, looking at the large display of the test that was about to start. His dark attire blended in with the warriors around though the Wizard did not belong here.

The Wizard looked tired as Exavidar walked up beside him, looking at the display as well, seeing the Warrior, his fingers just barely flexing and spreading again. A calm voice announced the test to start momentarily and a low countdown began.

It was too late to remind Ravalor that he shouldn’t be doing this. The Warrior was now as much part of him as any other. There was no going back. And the Warrior had a purpose and duty.

You’ll do fine. You’ve been a good Soldier. Exavidar said downright chipper, just to say anything at all. They hated the gloomy mood.

The Wizard didn’t look at them, his quiet gaze just fixated on the Warrior as the countdown drew to its end. Then just before it did, the Warrior’s eyes glowed in the dimmed light of the test chamber. And Exavidar knew the Warrior was alone now, separated from the Wizard and Scholar.

The Wizard wasn’t supposed to help him. His Warrior was to solely rely on his own senses, just as he would have to in any real combat situation facing chaos.

Are you willing to tell me now why you wanted him? Now of all times? Exavidar watched the Warrior as he defended himself against a first demon construct with ease.

For a moment the Wizard stayed quiet, part of his mind surely longing for the Warrior, involved in battle, while his other part was as distant back on earth, searching for that something.

I need him. Because it happened to him, too, Ravalor finally said.

No, it did not. He wasn’t you back then, not your Warrior. He was still just a Soldier. Exavidar corrected gently. And it was probably exactly this answer that was the reason why Ravalor hadn’t told them before.

I’m not sure that’s true. Maybe technically. But it’s not what I feel.

Exavidar heard the frown in the other’s voice, all the while the Warrior was bombarded with an array of fire that shattered against a glistening ward. Lighting bolts scattered across the room in a rain of destruction, smiting the demonic mass encroaching on the Warrior. But there were just more and more of them.

Exavidar kept quiet. It was rare to hear Ravalor express anything he felt nowadays and so they didn’t want to risk interrupting him.

I always knew it. But since I died I know exactly what it’s like. And I’m just more certain.

And after that Exavidar stayed quiet for a different reason.

Because they knew that Ravalor might be right after all. Because they knew that the Soldier that had returned from Funnix had been different. More than he should have been.

But as most of the few things they knew about Funnix, this knowledge they could not speak about.

2 The Dome

What was Chaos?

Some may say it was everything, the pure essence of all that was. The very fabric of reality.

Everything and every being in every universe made from chaos brought into order. Their atoms arranged and shaped into forms that were mere vessels to the chaos within them.

Others that had caught a glimpse of its power said it was the code of the multiverse, the internal logic of dark matter surrounding them all. A power barely containable, but adjustable. A level of magic so far beyond their own understanding, that even the greatest wizards could barely grasp its potential, ultimately restricted by the form of their own creation.

Even others would chant the words of the Circle, declaring Chaos was dangerous, because they couldn’t contain it nor could they control it.

Those afraid or bound by eternal duty said Chaos was evil. A threat to be brought to order by all means necessary.

Zenozarax knew what Chaos truly was.

It was fucking annoying.

Someone get me eyes on those bloody cultists or the Lords be my witness I’m going to flay each of you, incompetent bastards, alive myself! he barked and the soldiers, fronting his anger, didn’t even flinch before saluting out of reflex and hurrying off with an Understood, Grandmaster Zenozarax!

He turned to the one soldier that he hadn’t just threatened with death–by–superior and who had stood stoically calm with him.

Come.

The sky exploded again above them, violently the thunder crashed onto the earth. By now neither of them even reacted to it anymore as they hurried down the scorched and wet earth to the command tent. Each thunderous explosion was another chance for either of them to just drop down dead, but the threat of death had grown numb in the last hours. The rain hadn’t stopped yet. Their feet were sinking into the mud.

Grandmaster, you don’t have to shout at them, the Soldier said calmly with no judgement or other change in voice. Only raised to be heard over the rain and thunder.

I know. But it makes me feel better.

Fair enough, the Soldier just said.

Zenozarax scoffed almost amused, as plainly as it was said it could almost pass as dry humour.

The alarm howled and Zenozarax frowned as he turned to see the incoming fire and how it was shot out of the air. Again. By now the defences stood, but they had already lost too much of their weapons and supplies in the unexpected initial attack.

Then they entered the command tent, finally out of the rain, and the hectic voices died down.

Demitalek, tell me the eagles can fly, Zenozarax demanded while wiping the rain from his face, but the chief field engineer shook his head.

We’re adjusting the frequency but we have to figure out how they modify the chaos interference first because otherwise, they will just drop out of the sky again. The rain was clattering on the roof of the tent.

Any word from outside?

Nothing. The perimeter team hasn’t found a way through either.

Zenozarax’ pressed his teeth painfully hard together.

They all felt it. The terrible sensation of being cut off. And they all tried their damnedest to ignore it.

They had been well prepared – or had at least thought so. Spirits high and with certainty that this battle would be won quickly.

Not only had they apparently relied on inadequate information but they had woefully underestimated the enemy as well.

Even though it was known that no plan ever survives contact with the enemy, a disaster of this scale had been unexpected. Considered impossible even.

None of them would have suspected it. And they might all pay with their existence for it. Taking the shame of this battle into the void.

How quickly the tide had turned.

Time felt fleeting, but it hadn’t even been six hours since they advanced onto Funnix. And six hours since everything had turned to shit.

For a moment he met the eyes of the stoically mindless soldier beside him. Drenched head to toe like he himself was. Assigned his right hand just hours ago. Unlike the wizards, the situation failed to make him uneasy, his face was perfectly calm, unimpressed by the chaos outside. Zenozarax almost envied the simplistic view of the world this machine had, faced with certain death, but unshaken by it.

*

6 hours before

Grandmaster Zenozarax. I’m assigned your right hand for the battle.

Zenozarax barely glanced up from the holographic display before him. Hmhm.

Not much of a surprise. As it was standard procedure, he had expected a soldier to appear at his side. He forgot about him the moment he looked back down again, pondering over the strategy they had decided on one last time. It seemed sound. Promising success.

Under the banner of a wizard they knew only by the name Quadirymir, a cabal of Chaos had unexpectedly taken Funnix without any real resistance, claiming the shoreline with the assumed goal to advance on Marcardsmoor. It had then been up to the forces of Order to regain control over the northern shore before Chaos were to spread further inland.

With an onslaught of efficient and precise strikes, the advances of Chaos had been successfully stumped before they could have taken further hold. Now only Funnix stood as the last hold out of the cultists. They were outnumbered and outgunned dramatically. Realistically, even though in the terms of conventional warfare the cultists had a mild positional advantage, they shouldn’t be able to hold out too long. The castle would crumble against the wizards’ powers and, should conventional means not suffice, he’d blow the whole thing sky high. Grand Wizard Yoctotyr had grudgingly asked him not to, but that would be his decision to make.

Carefully considered realism tried to tell him that there was a good chance this whole insurgence was about to be over. But he didn’t want that to colour his judgement.

Because he didn’t trust this promise of an easy victory. That these cultists had not yet retreated, that they kept hold over Funnix while being surrounded from all sides, spoke either to their insanity (and Zenozarax never liked to rely on that) or could be a hint of an ace up their sleeve he didn’t know about yet (and he liked that even less).

Zenozarax looked up again and was almost startled as he saw the Soldier still standing right where he left him, not having moved an inch. Right. He muttered to himself, then raising his voice. Do you have a name? Or are you going with your designation?

It’s RACT–57

Aviation, eh? Anyways, terrible name.

You want to give me another?

Nope. Zenozarax stood up. You’ve been briefed with the plans? A pointless question.

Yes, Sir. Because of course he had.

Good. I probably won’t have any use for you, but stay close just in case. You’re with me when we port.

Yes, Sir, the Soldier repeated.

Even when he wouldn’t have told him to, the Soldier would have stayed at his side. It was his only task to make sure Zenozarax wasn’t taking any damages during the fight, sacrificing himself if he had to, because that was his designated purpose now.

Zenozarax liked to at least pretend there was a level of agency involved in all this. On either side.

It was almost time, about 15 minutes till the jump – he didn’t need a clock to know it, his internal sense of time was tracking the countdown of the advance to the millisecond.

And right on time, he felt a slight tingling in the back of his brain, a faint ping from Mezchinhar for his exact location and he accepted. Merely a second later a bright glistering portal appeared before him and another wizard stepped through.  

They did not speak. The wizard that had come through the portal straight out of Mezkrov was an ethereal looking piece of work in their white flowing robe. A wizard never meant to act more than a passing moment outside of Mezchinhar, and never to be in contact with anyone besides other wizards. They still looked somewhat human but blurred and smoothed out. An abstract idea of the human form someone forgot to colour in. Undefined, unpersonal. Alien to the human realm.

Without a word they raised the flat, perfectly smooth and unsuspecting box they were carrying. Their complete black eyes lay calmly on Zenozarax as they opened the lid with a slight tingle of magic trickling through the matt surface in ancient runes, offering its content to him.

On soft black velvet lay a seethed dagger, basked in a faint cold and misty, magical glow.

Without hesitation Zenozarax took the knife. The cold emitting from it enveloping his hands as he fixed it at his belt. The magic within it recognized him and it was like a gentle and accepting hum of a familiar friend tingling through his hand. It knew him as much as he knew it. And he had waited for it because he was supposed to have it for this battle. It was a dangerous device, the curse within it making every wizard that knew of it keep their safe distance, calling it evil in hushed whispers. A ridiculous notion, a very human one at that – because there was nothing evil about the knife, it was merely a tool.

An instrument of magic so advanced they barely understood it – but also one of the very few reliable ways to instantaneously disable a chaos wizard in battle. And with that, an item of immeasurable value to them.

The ethereal wizard closed the box and disappeared through another portal without having muttered a single word or goodbye.

They would be back once the battle ended to retrieve the blade. But for now – it had a purpose – and a name to take.

Quadirymir.

Over the communications system, it was announced to everyone who might wasn’t paying attention to their internal sense of time that they would make the jump in 10 minutes.

Come. The Soldier followed him promptly and they emerged from the command centre to the busying on the airfield of Marcardsmoor where last preparations were made.

Grandmaster Zenozarax, you seem concerned, the Soldier said with a respectfully low voice as to not draw the attention of the wizards around as they passed the airfield. The soldiers were pretty good at reading others. That paired with the total lack of any personal agencies really made them a pain in the ass.

Nevertheless, he answered, It’s that wizard that worries me. Quadirymir. We have not faced him in battle yet.

The lack of information does make the danger hard to assess, the Soldier agreed.

Whoever he is, because that’s not a name known in Mezchinhar, his powers are the wild card in this battle. And I don’t like it.

They reached their position, soldiers and wizards around them making last preparations but more and more coming to a halt, readying themselves for the jump.

Five minutes.

We shouldn’t get cocky, he said more to himself because what he meant was that he shouldn’t. So far he wore the past decisive victories on his shoulders, but he knew too well that should he stumble now, they would fall with him just the same.

The commotion around them turned eerily quiet when the one minute mark was reached. No commands were shouted, no questions asked. What was to be done was clear to all of them. Wizards with their platoons and unicorns, the wing of eagle fighters and the dragon roaring above the soldiers with their weapons ready in case of an ambush, the support units ready to set up camp the moment they arrived, the engineers ready to get up their field defences.

30 seconds.

His fingers grasped hard around the grip of the blade on his hip now. The unearthly material was cold against his skin, almost uncomfortably so, yet comforting.

Then for the first time since they met, Zenozarax really looked at the Soldier at his side now, his personal protection. Short black hair, a modest choice of facial hair that gave the sharp face some added character, tall, and overall thin as a twig. Appropriate for the job he was originally designed to do, but now as his right hand? There might be some ill will in the chain of command or the Soldier assignment department because how a Remote Aviation Combat Technician was supposed to be the ultimate choice to save him when push came to shove was beyond him to see. Unless he planned to fly an eagle around him at all times. That would be fun.

The Soldier met his eyes, utter darkness, lacking any sense of self. And with the position he had been given as the Grandmasters right hand, now with a statistically 94,6% likelihood of dying to a chaos wizard’s magic.

Zenozarax just gave him a small nod nevertheless, to assure the wizardry creation that all would be fine, even though he didn’t need it nor would the Soldier take any comfort from it.

Above them, the eagles now thundered through the sky heading towards Funnix, where the force would arrive momentarily as well.

The final seconds were counted down.

3–

The entire airfield lit up below their feet.

2–

Zenozarax steadied his stance, every muscle ready for the plane shift.

1

And with a bright flash, the entire force gathered on the wide-open space vanished into thin air.

*

For about one glorious minute things had gone according to plan.

Contact was reestablished to Marcardsmoor and Mezchinhar, the first structures of the command base became easy to guess not only 45 seconds in. Everyone working together with the mechanical precision of a well-oiled machine, the soldiers immediately secured the area, just out of reach of Funnix. The eagles arrived above, the Wingcommander confirming a clear view on the target. The first scanning pulse hummed in his brain, the assault forces split from the support unit readying up for the second jump, led by their Grandmaster while the Fieldgeneral’s orders drew them into position.

Then the world itself turned on them.

At first, it was but a rumbling in the sky, and while intense, nothing anyone truly paid attention to. But when the very ground beneath their feet trembled, Zenozarax knew that this wasn’t natural at once.

He had just reached out to alert the force, speaking to all soldiers, wizards, base and Mezchinhar when the sky exploded above them with a harsh and deafening snapping sound like reality itself was torn apart.

Reaching from a point above Funnix, it spread out in a whirl of bright light and dark lighting in an even disk, and it was quick. Too quick to react for any of them, expanding rapidly and suddenly it was clear that it wasn’t a disk, it was a dome and its sides crashed into the ground, enclosing an area around them which furthest point beyond Funnix they couldn’t even see.

More than one massive explosion lit the sky as not all eagles had managed to escape the falling dome, and those that were caught inside now fell, with murderous speed as they hailed down to the ground. In a horrible moment of irony, the first bombardment they had to ward against was coming from their own fighters crashing into their lines and the land around them. In a drawn-out, almost surreal moment he saw one of the eagles that had crashed down, it had been cut straight in half but was still very much alive, while raging flames enveloped its body, it wound and tossed, sharp claws of metal tearing the ground open as its torn engine screeched, at that moment it sounded like it was screaming in pain. Then a violent explosion ripped it apart.

The mighty unicorns stared with dead eyes into the chaos, unmoving, overwhelmed by the same force that had brought the eagles down, not few had been disabled in full stride and lay now like dead on the ground.

And in the shouting and fire around, Zenozarax felt more than he knew immediately what had happened – though he didn’t want to believe it. As the report he had wanted to give was so abruptly cut off that it was making him dizzy. Mezchinhar gone, the contact to Marcardsmoor gone, his very own connection to his own warriors and soldiers ruptured under the interference pressing down on them now. And he knew that they were trapped – that their portals were most certainly rendered as ineffective as their communication because it was the same kind of magic.

All soldiers back to base position, Warriors expect incoming fire! He shouted as it had suddenly become the most reliable form of conveying his orders. Stop standing around, get those damn defences up immediately!

Confused paralyzation had left more than one Warrior standing still, the only ones unfazed and following his command without hesitation were the soldiers now even though Zenozarax saw in their faces that they felt it too. A slight tension in otherwise emotionless faces. Only slowly the wizards snapped back from the confusion over this new state of mind.

And not too soon.

Incoming! The distant shout of some wizard or soldier barely made it through the thunder raging above them now.

And suddenly it wasn’t just lightning raining down on them, but fire too.

Zenozarax himself channelled the magic within himself to ward off the onslaught of destruction crashing in on them. The Soldier beside him was unable to do anything.

The bombardment lasted almost an hour.

Not all wards held and without ever having seen the enemy the first soldiers and warriors fell, ripped apart by violent blasts.

By the time it ended Zenozarax knew it was just the beginning.

That this would get very, very ugly.

3 The Camp

An hour after the dome had been created the sky had turned pitch black, illuminated only by the everlasting striking of thunder. Not much later, the lords forsaken rain had started.

When night fell it wasn’t quiet. Though the bombardment had stopped, the sky was flashing above them, the rumbling almost constant, drifting in the back of their minds. The heavy lightning strikes were no longer life-threateningly impacting right in their lines as heavy makeshift lighting rods drew them away from causing further harm. Everything not vitally necessary had been repurposed, taken apart and reshaped to make up their now permanent base of operations – but they had never been equipped for long term deployment. They were lacking in everything from shelter to basic workshop equipment.

It was still raining. Like floodgates had opened in the sky, it just kept on raining. Everything was soaked and wet, small streams had formed between the tents and makeshift shelters. Many of them had to be moved to more rocky grounds in the last hours.

Now completely cut off from Mezchinhar and his other Part, the exhaustion of the day had settled in his mind and every bone. Zenozarax knew he wasn’t the only one feeling so. He didn’t pay the discomfort that came with his drenched clothes much attention, the tiredness, however, was harder to ignore. The only relief was the hope that the cultists held up in Funnix had pushed themselves to their limits as well. Now both sides were too exhausted to take advantage of their opponent’s weakness. The next day would show who would recover better. Given their current predicament, Zenozarax feared it wouldn’t be them.

Zenozarax eyes looked for the dome surrounding them. It had completely vanished in the darkness and layers of rain, only occasionally he saw it react to something, most likely the wildlife trapped like them within, entering its influence and sparkling in the night. The rain dripped from his beard. He ignored it. There had been a point where he simply couldn’t get any more soaking wet. Now it really didn’t matter anymore.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” he said grimly, a fitting frown on his face.

The scale, the force, – the implications. It was staggering to think about. Chaos had just become a whole lot more threatening – as if this insane power had needed an upgrade to begin with.

The Soldier, standing just two steps behind him and watching him in silence, said,

“Wouldn’t it seem like a likely variation to the warding used to protect our own surface bases?”

No, Zenozarax said, not faulting the Soldier for being wrong. He couldn’t know. It may serve a comparable function but this one is something else entirely. And by the lords, the crippling disruption caused by it was hard to even wrap his head around. “They can’t be doing this by hand. Not for this long. There has to be a structure, probably inside of the castle, powering the field.”

“A channelling device?”

“Yes. Drawing on the chaos all around, creating this barrier. If we destroy it we win.”

“Good plan.”

Zenozarax looked back, squinting suspiciously, blinking against the rain in his eyes. “Since when do they ship you guys with sarcasm? Really.” But the Soldier stayed quiet, no emotion in the calm face. And he knew it couldn’t be sarcasm even if he would like to read it into it, just a flat comment in lack of anything else to say, out of an obligation to answer him.

He looked back at the dreadful barrier separating them from any backup or support.

The recon squads had searched the rim of the dome on their side, reaching from the shore to the north through the plain fields behind them, though the light treeline westwards shielding them from a direct line of sight from Funnix. He had not dared to send them further east where they would cross the longitude of Funnix and enter into what now had become the enemy’s half of this hellish sphere.

Marcardsmoor was just a bit over 20 kilometres to the southeast and yet it could be in another universe and it would be as useful as it was now. It was unreachable with their ability to port nullified by the same interference that had cut their connection off from the outside world.

At no point had the recon team found a way that was passable. The dome was blocking not only their connections but also physically preventing them from passing through it. A soldier had paid with his life for that knowledge.

Zenozarax hadn’t seen it up close himself yet, but the reports told of a most unusual sight. Fortunately, at least one engineer had been accompanying the team who could explain what they saw with something approaching scientific clarity. He had described the sight as akin to the distortion around a heavy gravitational pull, like that of a black hole or neutron star. He had been sure that what they saw was not the other side, but a distorted version of the inside even though at no point had they seen anyone in this distorted view. Neither from inside nor outside, hinting at a possible dimensional shift as well.

Zenozarax couldn’t imagine Mezchinhar not having sent every available force right here to find out what was happening. They should have at least seen someone on the other side.

The domes around their surface bases like Obermoor and Marcardsmoor were protective and non-disruptive. Clear communication was possible and the view from inside would show the outside. This was because these domes were not exactly that, domes, not in the physical sense. It was a gentle push that moved the entire structure into the next dimension where it stayed undetectable and unreachable to the citizens of earth.

This thing was something else.

In an almost subconscious move, he wiped some of the rain from his face. A staggeringly pointless action as mere seconds later his face was as dripping wet as before.

He looked at the quiet Soldier again. For a moment the Soldiers’ eyes seemed lost in the dark before them, and Zenozarax couldn’t help but notice how he interpreted the calm look as sombre and thoughtful. In reality, he knew that neither would apply, the Soldier did not feel, nor would he be taken by existential musing. If he even thought anything at all at this moment.

And yet–

“You know what–” Zenozarax said and the Soldier’s eyes immediately met him with sharp attention. “We might get you a proper name after all. Since it would seem like we’re about to spend a bit more time together than I had anticipated.”

The Soldier nodded “As you wish. What name would you like to give me?”

Zenozarax crossed his arms, the wet uniform was sticky and heavy, but he barely noticed it anymore. He frowned slightly. He should have thought about that before making the suggestion. “I don’t know, actually. Do you have a preference?” Chances were good he was just asking to give himself a bit more time to think about it.

He expected a No, but the Soldier actually hesitated to answer, which struck Zenozarax as extremely odd.

“What is it?”

“The wizard overseeing my construction and development referred to me as Ravalor.”

“So you do have a name! Would you look at that, and a Wizard’s name at that.” Zenozarax raised his brows in surprise.

“No. Not officially.”

“Well, you do now, Ravalor. It’s as good a name as any – better than RACT, that’s for sure,” he said with a weak smirk on his face, crossing his arms and giving the stoic soldier an approving nod. Also, a staggeringly pointless action, just as giving him a proper name, as it hadn’t changed one bit of the cold fact and purpose oriented programming of this machine.

“Tell me Ravalor, who was the one you were created by?”

“The Soulturner Exavidar.”

“Huh. I actually don’t know of them.” Zenozarax admitted though it had been unlikely to begin with. Mezhestvo, the Circle of Existence, was massive, and even when he had still resigned and worked there he had hardly known every Soulturner there was. Though I assumed it to have been a proper soulturner. I believe they must have made some adjustments to you already, right? It was tempting to just have a look and see what was really behind those calm black eyes but he knew this was hardly the time to indulge in curiosity nor was it what he should focus his attention on.

“In what way, Sir?” Ravalor raised his brows in mild confusion.

Zenozarax just shook his head slightly, even smiling weakly, waving the question away with one hand as he already turned back towards the darkness in front of them. “Forget it. It might as well be only my tired brain wanting to see things.”

And Ravalor did not inquire further for him to clarify his statement, as Zenozarax had told him to drop the matter, it was exactly what the Soldier did. He didn’t actually forget about it, but his mere baseline curiosity was not strong enough to allow him to overstep the casual command of his commander.

*

The Soldier now named Ravalor was right behind him when they entered the command tent again. He was silent now and probably would be till they would leave the tend again. This was not his place to speak.

The ground was just marginally less muddy than outside and by now the sludge of dirt and grass had soiled everything below knee height. In the artificial blue light of a glowing globe at the tent’s peak, everyone inside looked like a haunted ghost. There was a shared expression in each and every wizard’s face now that was trapped under this dome, a nervous but lost sense of things just not being right. The feeling of being suddenly terribly alone. And his senior staff was no exception to that. Neither was he.

The lack of connection to his Wizard became more unsettling with every passing hour. It was worse than when a part of him would die. Because now he knew the other was still there.

Short separations were not unusual, in fact, it was an integral part in fighting chaos wizards because a simple overcharge of chaos straight into their neural network could effectively kill every part of them within a second. True death. So the warriors would separate themself once facing chaos wizards – but that was only for the duration of the battle. Now it was permanent. And how long permanent would be in this case, nobody could know.

There was at least the comfort of knowing that his Wizard was safe no matter what would happen here.

Zenozarax made it a point to dramatically wipe away the rain from his face again before he said, “What’s our status? Give me any good news, hell at this point I take an optimistic weather forecast as vital information.”

One needn’t be an empathic genius to read the mood in the tent as anything but depressingly gloomy. His chief field engineer, Demitalek, sat at the wide table, head leaned on one hand and now downright reluctant to even look at the Grandmaster.

“When it comes to the weather, I’m afraid we have yet to see the worst of it,” Demitalekt said grimly as he leaned back. “Temperature has not dropped yet even though it is night. And I fear it might soon start to rise. If tomorrow’s attack yields no further results in this matter, I would like to request to take another team to the perimeter edge myself.”

“Granted.” Zenozarax nodded. He trusted that wizard enough to not have to question his request in detail. If Demitalekt thought this would help with whatever this lords forsaken dome was, it was worth a shot. “Now, what about our forces?

Fieldgeneral Redkevik put a small datatab on the table and stepped back for Zenozarax to take it. He immediately let his fingers connect to it, letting the onslaught of numbers, observations and what few facts there where, occupy a dedicated part of his mind while the rest listened to Demitalek answer.

“The major injuries are being treated as we speak, those injured will be ready for the fight come morning. We are however 30% down on wizards and soldiers, and 80% down on eagles. We will be able to get them in the air, but we will have to move quickly. The interference is not static and keeps shifting randomly, which makes it hard to adjust for. The longer that fight will last the worse our chances will get.”

The unicorns? Zenozarax didn’t like what he heard nor what the information on the datatab told him.

Subject to the same interference, unfortunately. They are even worse off than the eagles given their semi-independent design. Their reliance on a connection to a wizard makes them even more susceptible to the interference.

Zenozarax nodded. The failure of the eagles was one thing, but having the unicorns exhibit such a blatant weakness was a more bitter, and more personal pill to swallow. “Redkevig, Fajathena.” He waved his Fieldgeneral and Wingcommander closer to the table. Then he opened the map of the area on the table.

“The longer we stay in here, the worse off we will be, so we hit them with all we got. Fajathena you will take the shore side, Redgevik stays inland, I’ll be leading the centre charge. Spread out as far as possible till we’re close, to avoid giving them one single target. Once we reach the castle we concentrate our fire right here.” He tapped on the map at the outer walls facing inland of Funnix’s great castle.

Since we can’t rely on the eagles they will act as a distraction as long as they can, hopefully drawing their fire for long enough that we can get inside and destroy whatever channelling device keeps the dome up. Kazra, the Dragon Fire is still an option, yes?” he glanced up at another warrior who had been quietly listening with his arms crossed from the side of the tent.

“Aye.”  

“If you blow the entire thing up, that’s fine with me too.” Zenozarax kept leaning onto the table, his Firecommander chuckled humorlessly, the smirk grim in a face that was halfway scorched, with the red hair and beard patchy and cut down after burning away earlier. One minor injury of the initial attack.

“Wish we’d brought that kind of firepower now, eh Grandmaster?” Kazra’s tone was filled with bitter scoff. For hundred times and a hundred more, Firecommander Kazra, a Pyromancer by trait, would have requested permission to take out the big guns, and a hundred times and a hundred more he had been denied because it usually – almost always – was unnecessary. And now this turned out the one time it wasn’t and there was no way of changing that now. Made worse by how much of their initial supplies and weaponry had been lost in the first moments under the dome.

“Surely,” Zenozarax mumbled. Right about now he found the idea of nuking those lords forsaken bastards into atoms by orbital bombardment very appealing. One was not quick to wish Leviathan’s Wrath to strike someone down, but this sure was the day. And if he could, he would – happily ignoring any irritation that would cause Grand Wizard Yoctotyr. Who probably wouldn’t be very fond of ‘his Earth’ getting nuked.

All wishful musings aside, it didn’t matter, because he couldn’t. Whoever this chaos wizard was, he had crippled them at their weakest point. A weak point they had been actually aware of to an extent, as high enough chaos interference was known to be able to slow their connection down – but it had never been like this. They hadn’t even considered they could be cut off completely. Resupplying, communication, backup – all relying on their ability to traverse space at their will. All now a major problem due to the dome. They weren’t outfitted to last long on their own – so he couldn’t allow those cultists to keep cooped up in that castle, just wearing his own forces down while dragging this out.

“As is, take everything you need, manpower and supplies. Take apart what is not necessarily needed if you have to. We need to get in there.”

“Understood, Sir.” Kazra nodded and unfolded his arms, revealing more of the damage he had taken earlier. “Anything else?”

Zenozarax gaze fell on the warrior’s left hand, or what was left of it. The fingers occasionally twitched, artificial flesh shredded and burned away, leaving skeletal remains of shod up magic. “We’ll all meet back here at 0330. Work fast,” he just said.

And Kazra just nodded once more, then he left the tent with a slight limp.

He was about to speak again as an amplified voice from outside cut distorted through the pattering of the rain, and he let it pass. Neither of them reacted to it, just the soldiers in the tent, Ravalor included, promptly left. No alarm, but the mandatory daily muster and sync-up. Usually, the signal was sent over the com – but this would have to make do. Right now the muster was probably the only thing that would make his Soldier leave his side at all.

“Fajathena.” Zenozarax directed his eyes to the Wingcommander who stood straight with a serious expression on his face – it barely hid the exhaustion. The young wizard had survived the crashing of the eagles by what had to have been the lords’ intervention, almost miraculously bare a few scratches unharmed. However, it didn’t change anything about the fact that the eagle force the young Wingcommander now commanded counted merely four eagles and no more dragons.

“I want you with the ground troops, as I said, you take the shoreside. Get the four best pilots into those eagles and make sure they understand that their sole purpose is to keep the bombardment aways from the ground forces as long as possible. If they are going down, make them go down on those bastards. Redkevik, you’ll be escorting Kazra and the weapons, make sure they get there.” He pointed out a line closer to the northern rim of the dome. I want you to stay within the cover of the trees as long as possible. It’s imperative that you make it through.

“Understood.” Redkevik nodded. For a moment he met the Fieldgeneral’s eyes, a quiet understanding between both of them, as Zenozarax waited for any objection Redkevik may raise. He relied on it, because they had been fighting alongside each other for a very long time already. It was Zenozarax’ job to figure things out quickly, it was Redkevik’s to tell him where he hadn’t thought things through clearly when his impulsive nature got the better of him. Even now the Fieldgeneral looked calm, collected, with no sign of the exhaustion he saw in each and every other face. It was that calm that balanced out his own anger. But this time Redkevik stayed quiet. And so Zenozarax eventually said,

“We charge at 0500.”

Both the Wingcommander and Fieldgeneral saluted and left the tent. Leaving only himself and the Chief Engineer inside.

In a moment of sombre silence, Zenozarax’ eyes met Demitalek’s, who seemed in thoughts.

“There is really nothing else we can do, is there? Just throw everything we got at them and hope for the best?” the engineer finally said. Words dangerously close to questioning his command, but they had known each other for too long as that Zenozarax would even consider them that way.

“We have to try everything we can to somehow get a message outside. Tell Mezchinhar of what happened and the effect of this damn spell.” Zenozarax’ voice got low, quieter. “This blasted wizard, Quadirymir, if this is his doing – it’s the greatest threat we’ve faced in a long time. If this knowledge spreads, it will change the face of war forever. And we need to be ready for it. We haven’t been now, but this here – we have to make sure it won’t happen again.” Subconsciously Zenozarax’ fingers were once more firmly wrapped around the grip of the knife that was still fixed to his belt. Despite his clear statement that their first priority now wasn’t to end that chaos wizard’s life, every spark of the gleaming embers of anger within him longed for it.

So did the knife in turn. If only he could get one strike, this battle would be won. Letting the curse within it take control over Quadirymir, maybe even using him and his chaos magic to destroy the dome, freeing them – it seemed so simple and easy. He just needed one single strike.

Demitalek nodded.

The engineer and a select few would stay back come morning, trying further to find a way through the chaos barrier. Zenozarax didn’t ask again for any status on his analysis of the dome, because Demitalek’s silence told him enough. Would the situation be another he would have urged him to find a way to get at least internal communication back and running first and foremost, but as it was, their own victory wasn’t as important as telling Mezchinhar as quickly as possible what was happening. Both options could lead to the other, but as neither was certain he rather not bet all he got on only one of them.

“I’ll leave you to it.” Zenozarax turned around and left the tent.

Ravalor had waited outside for him after the muster, their eyes briefly met, a silent acknowledgement, then the Soldier followed him again.

Inside the command tent the pattering of the rain and the still continuing thunder had faded into the background, but once he had stepped outside again he was quickly reminded of the storm surrounding them. Just that it wasn’t really a storm – there was no wind. The rain fell perfectly straight onto them in relentless strings clouding the world before them in obscurity.

“This cursed rain,” Zenozarax grumbled while they marched through the mud to his own tent. Around them wizards and soldiers hurried through the rain, some shielding their eyes with little success, others just stoically stared into the rain. There were by far not enough tents for all of them. Crates and tools were carted from the stashes to the makeshift workshops. Whenever they passed close enough the sound of mechanical work came distorted through the rain. Zenozarax halted for a moment as he heard a harrowing scream, wailing and begging from one of the tents. It was the single voice of a wizard in agonising pain. As he was not dead yet, death would not come naturally to relieve him from his misery. Most likely he had just awoken. But the damages he suffered in the attack were too severe, not to his body but his mind. Some horrible curse within one of the blasts that hadn’t been warded off had caused an error, something in his mind was corrupted now. He was broken. And there was nothing they could do to fix him here.

A bright flash illuminated the tent from inside for a mere second.

Then there was silence. Only the rain kept rushing on.

Zenozarax’ eyes lingered on the tent.

Then he continued on his path. His own tent appeared behind the curtains of rain.

Come in. I don’t plan to sleep, he said briskly as they reached his own tent and Ravalor was about to stay respectfully outside. We don’t want you to catch a cold now, do we, he mumbled more to himself, maybe to just say anything at all and keep his mind off the gloomy thoughts that crept up further and further in his consciousness.

I don’t think we need to worry about that, Sir, Ravalor said with that stoic calm voice of his, bordering once more very close to sarcasm.

You say that– Zenozarax took off his soaked and heavy cloak and hung it over a box of equipment before placing his hat on top. He didn’t expect any of his clothes to get dry ever again so that was the extent of him getting ready for the sleepless night. But with this god damn thing over our heads, I feel like everything is possible. Then he sat down at his desk. Well, it was a foldable table, complimented with an also foldable chair. Both standing less than firm on the weakened ground.

He spun up the holographic displays against the surface of the table – they flickered and he grunted lowly at them as if that would make them decide that the chaos interference wasn’t that bad after all. At the table’s edge lay a small notebook that he now grabbed. Its pages were rippled by rainwater.

While manipulating the hologram before him with his left hand, gently pressed against the tactile resistance of the hologram and shaping a valid plan of attack, his right hand wrote down one train of thoughts. In the meanwhile, he also went through the information about the forces Redkevik had given him earlier.

He did all of that at the same time, but even though it should be nothing noteworthy, right now he felt his mind being unfocused. Again and again, he thought back to his Wizard. He hated this separation. Because even with all these people around him, it made him feel alone.

Maybe that had been the reason too why he told the Soldier to stay with him now.

Not interrupting his planning nor taking his eyes from the panel he asked, I’ve never asked this a Soldier before. It’s probably pointless, too. But do you happen to have any thoughts on death, Ravalor?

Mine or in general?

Either really, Zenozarax said, for a moment concentrating was easier as he listened for the Soldier’s answer. It was an almost futile attempt to soothe the silence left by his Wizard, but it did help. A little.

I’m to avoid death where possible, but not at the cost of a wizard’s life. I’ll not hesitate to kill if ordered to or if necessary to accomplish the mission.

That’s it, isn’t it? Zenozarax smirked lopsidedly. That’s all death is to you. A set of orders. He gave a shallow laugh Hell, look at me, acting as we’d be any better. Death shouldn’t mean anything to us – and yet here I am, pondering over it just the same.

You’re afraid. the Soldier concluded, no judgement or shift in his tone whatsoever.

Unsettled, more so. Zenozarax lay the pen down and let the terminal rest. For a moment hesitant, weighing his desire to speak freely against the slim odds that this Soldier’s memories would be evaluated after the battle was over if they ever made it out of here. Did that really matter?

Deciding to ignore any further consequences he then said, “In all likelihood, we’re all going to die here. I’ve died before – but never like this. Never with this much time to think about it. And I can’t help but keep thinking – if I die here – I know I won’t be dead. My other Part is still out there, he will rebuild me and I’ll awaken in Mezchinhar after all this is over. But I won’t remember this. Any of it. To the one that comes after me, I died the moment that dome came down. I’ll never have felt this despicable sense of mortality.”

Hm.

Zenozarax looked finally back at the Soldier.

A creation by wizards’ hands not even too unlike himself. Simpler, but the idea was the same. Maybe a reminder of what they had been once. Before they had put worth on their own lives. Before the Lords had abandoned them.

This Soldier did not care if he lived or died. He simply couldn’t. At least not under the programming he was operating under.

Made disposable by design and the choices of others.

But Zenozarax knew, or at least he was very certain, that it was true for himself as well. Maybe not even only for the Part he was, the Warrior, made to be thrown into harm’s way and expected to die sooner rather than later, but maybe his Wizard too. And every other wizard outside the first circle.

There was a mere artificial distinction claiming his life was worth more than that of the Soldier, just because he could worry about it and the other could not. But in reality, they all were just tools. Machines designed for a given purpose. Sometimes weapons, sometimes cannon fodder.

They all just followed orders.

Be as it may, the lack of answer and the emotional distance to the Soldier now was only frustrating to him. He felt silly. Pouring his heart out to a machine that couldn’t even care.

Are you tired? Zenozarax eventually asked and the Soldier shook his head.

Far from it.

He had expected as much. Given their cognitive limitations, the soldiers required even less sleep than the wizards did, easily staying awake for days on end without affecting their combat effectiveness. This was vital in drawn–out fights, but nevertheless, Zenozarax said, Take a nap anyways. You can use my bed. Rest will be in short supply for most of us, so the better you hold up, the better will be my chances.

Ravalor nodded, seeing the logic behind the order. You are tired. It would be favourable for you to take a short rest as well, he noted nevertheless.

Certainly. But not before this plan is foolproof. And I fear we’ll run out of time before that.

The Soldier just nodded again, he had made an observation, he had been answered, and that was that. He wouldn’t try to convince Zenozarax to sleep. Instead, he sat down on the camp bed. One of the very few they even had, originally meant for the engineering team to patch up any wizard not badly enough injured to be ported out immediately.

Oh, and Ravalor?

Yes, Grandmaster?

Make sure you mark our conversations here as confidential, I really don’t need the entire camp to know about me whining about life and death after you sync up the next time.

Ravalor met his eyes, and Zenozarax could swear there was the slightest hint of amusement in the stoic face. But his voice was perfectly plain when he answered.

Of course, Grandmaster. And without another word, he lay down to get the sleep he was ordered to.

Zenozarax smiled grimly to himself. There was nothing humanlike about that, just laying flat down, the eyes closed, hands folded on his stomach – and probably already asleep – and still subconsciously ready to jump up at a moment’s notice.

He would have liked to talk more, but there wasn’t much to talk about with this machine nor had he the time for chit chat. So he returned to the hologram and the task at hand.

At least he wasn’t alone, even though it was poor quality of company. But it was better than the loneliness in his mind. Better than being alone the night before his death.

Because, yes, maybe they would all die here – but he would be damned if he didn’t try to take as many of those bloody cultists with him into the void as he could manage.

4 The Battle

With a thunderous explosion one of the four eagles went up in a ball of fire, its flaming debris hailing down onto the battlements of Funnixs great castle.

Fire and lightning struck down between them, there was shouting, but it was drowned out by the storm and bombardment. But Zenozarax perceived only the silence. No communication. Not from the eagles, not from the Fieldgeneral, not from the soldiers. The usual constant, firm and precise arrays of statuses and orders was now under the dome replaced by nothing but silence in his head. It was unfamiliar as much as it was surreal – it almost felt like he was the only one in this desperate charge to free them.

But he wasn’t. There were the eagles in the sky, the warriors, the soldiers, and the unicorns on the ground, a dozen were with the Fielgeneral now, escorting the dragon fire, the others were spread out with the rest of the troops.

His own unicorn was  stoically ignoring the bombardment around them, rain whipped into Zenozarax’ face, the visor of his hat doing absolutely nothing to shield his eyes, but he ignored it, not even blinking anymore. Right behind him there would be Ravalor but he didn’t glance back to confirm if the Soldier was still there – his sole focus was the castle before them quickly drawing closer.

A bright light shot up from inside Funnix and impacted with the dome, lighting up the dark clouds for a moment with a rain of sparks and Zenozarax felt it before it even took effect. Something like a deep down-turning sound in the back of his mind, a strange wave of chaos, grinding his thoughts to a halt. Before he knew it, his unicorn stumbled the very moment he lost any connection with it, its protective ward vanished instantly, and it crashed down with the force of being in full gallop moments ago, throwing him off.

With a frustrated curse, Zenozarax dragged himself up again, just for a second glaring at the unicorn that lay like dead on the ground, its eyes merely flickering.

“Another frequency change?”

He heard Ravalor’s shout cut through the noise, and he saw him confirming that what just happened probably had just disabled every unicorn on the field again. As they had feared. “Yes. Come!” He saw the tense frown in the young face, showing too clearly that he too felt the interference. By far not as much as Zenozarax himself, because the Soldier was by design absolutely deaf to any form of magic, but the sudden change was strong enough to have an effect on his neural network nevertheless.

His feet were sinking and slipping on the soaked ground, slowing him and every wizard and soldier alike.

Another explosion in the sky, but this time the eagle was still in one piece – but just for a moment – through the rain Zenozarax barely made out its shape but he saw it leaving a trail of thick black smoke in his wake, its lights completely darkened, unable to manoeuvre anymore – one wing clipped one of the castle’s towers, sending it in a deadly twist before the whole eagle exploded against the internal walls of the castle. The Impact and following explosion shook the ground, boulders and stone flung into the sky and came crashing down with deadly force. The other two eagles were nowhere to be seen and Zenozarax prayed they had merely had to make an emergency landing due to the chaos shift.

Zenozarax feet slipped away and he stumbled, just for a moment forced to take his eyes from his surroundings – and it was in that moment that he heard a shout close by, he heard it, but he couldn’t understand it through the noise around, and he looked up to face it the very moment he was violently tackled from the side.

And the world around him exploded the very moment, by sheer instinct and muscle memory, a heavy ward materialised around him, sparking violently where it clashed with fire.

For a moment his vision was blinded, his ears ringing before readjusting to the noise around and he realised what had happened. The ward broke down in a shower of light when the markings on his arms turned dark again.

Ravalor above him, already getting back up, holding out his hand, the other still holding his rifle “Are you okay?”

Zenozarax took the hand and let himself be dragged up. “Yes.” Quickly his hand reached for his belt, a wave of relief filled him when he touched the cold grip of the seethed blade again. Realistically their only chance left to beat the chaos wizard.

They didn’t waste any more time, they couldn’t risk standing still, Ravalor took point and he quickly followed. At least as quickly as the mud allowed them to.

Distantly through the rain, he saw others – there was no telling how many were left. The castle was so close.

His eyes were drawn to his left, in the distance he saw a bright light flash up for a mere fraction of a second –  fighting in the field. Chances were good it was a chaos wizard, teleporting straight into their lines and ambushing them – but that had been expected. Losses were calculated. To spread out as far as possible just to slow their demise down long enough so that some might reach the castle.

A thunder above them as one of the two remaining eagles took a sharp turn above their heads filled him with relief. At least they could still fly!

Two more fireballs exploded too damn close.

Finally, he heard firing, the land team had reached close enough to throw their own fire.

“Ravalor!”

By a miracle it seemed the Soldier heard him and stopped, alert attention in his face. He signalled him to stay close.

“Let’s light these curse running bastards up,” Zenozarax whispered to himself, raising his hands, his fingers twitching as the magic ran through the ancient runes, the electricity in the air and atmosphere started sizzling. The earthy smell in the air suddenly turned sharp as even more thunder grew in the clouds. And suddenly it came down, a barrage of thunder strikes hit the castle in rapid succession, the world in front of them turning suddenly as bright as day, blindingly so.

And for a moment after it stopped, after Zenozarax let his hands drop with a gasp, there was silence. Not from the storm, but briefly the rain of fire was stopped. The chaos interference fought him every step of the way, his own spells were weakened by it and he realised painfully this one attack had already taken too much out of him with the exhaustion clogging his mind.

“GO!” and he hoped that everyone took this chance to run like they never ran before. He and Ravalor reached the castle wall by the time the fire started again. It would have been too damn nice if all inside would just have died.

“Fajathena, where is Kazra?!” he shouted the moment he spotted the Wingcommander and entered the warding spell one of the officers held – their hands were already shaking.

“Not many of the northern charge have arrived yet, we heard no word from the Fieldgeneral’s team. They will be slowed down without the unicorns,” the Wingcommander said quickly, too quickly as to fool anyone that he was anywhere near calm as he had to wait for Fieldgeneral Redkevik and Firecommander Kazra that lead the team guarding the Dragon Fire. Fajathena then pointed at the castle “They’ve sealed the entrance permanently if Kazra doesn’t come through, we need an alternative way in and quick.”

Zenozarax nodded, his mind racing. “How many wizards are here yet?”

“Eleven, you and me included, Sir. It’s mostly soldiers arriving.”

He swallowed the curse on his tongue. “We can’t hold this position, that warding spell is about to break and we need one ready to go. So we’re already one short. But if we can concentrate our magic we might be able to force a big enough explosion to create an entrance, he said quickly. Fajathena nodded.

Suddenly a quake went through the ground, no second later the rain was whipped by a shockwave that almost pulled them off their feet, and it was momentarily followed by the deafening sound of a massive explosion.

He turned, and he saw it – even through the rain – not too far away even, maybe a couple hundred metres at best, the blast of the fiery explosion still hung in the air for seconds, a blazing star of lost hopes, before vanishing into nothing.

Neither of them needed to say it. Both knew that had been their Plan A literally going up in flames.

“Gather everyone and keep that ward up!”

Fajathena nodded, ordering a warrior to follow him while another was to relieve the one holding the current ward.

Zenozarax hoped during the time it would take Fajathena to gather the warriors more would arrive. Because he felt it within himself – he felt weakened, already exhausted by that one spell. Their chance for a win had been already minuscule, but now he felt it fading into the realm of impossibility. Even at the peak of his strength he would have stood barely a chance against a chaos wizard one on one. Now he might as well just put a bullseye on his chest and open his arms wide saying come kill me.

His fingers were wrapped so tightly around the grip of the knife that his knuckles turned white. He had only one chance. He had to get close enough. And without portals, he would need a cosmic amount of luck for that to begin with.

Fajathena returned the warriors in tow. “We’re ready.”

Zenozarax nodded. This was a chance, a small chance to make it through and into the castle. But once they were, they would need their power.

Another explosion ripped him from his feverish thoughts, only one eagle left – but it was still flying – and suddenly his eyes darted up searching the sky then back to Fajathena. ”We’ll use the eagle.”

“Everyone!” he shouted to all able to hear him. “Get away from the wall, move! Over there! Now! Wards up and take cover!” His command was repeated, shouted further, to the next and the next soldier and warrior.

A heavy ward surrounded him and Ravalor as he positioned himself right in the open before the wall, immediately he drew the cultists fire, Ravalor returned it in kind reducing the amount of shots the ward took at least a bit – but his ward held, his hand sparking with magic to make it so.

Then he raised his other hand, a bright light appeared in front of his hand. It was a blinding star in the darkness – for any human just a constant light, but in reality, its frequency shifted, flickered just too fast to see it. For human eyes. But every wizard seeing the light could read the command he gave now clearly.

“Come one, look!” he hissed between his teeth, more and more shots shattered against his ward. He saw the eagle thundering in a tight circle above them masterfully dodging the fire from the castle, then suddenly it flew wide, disappearing in the rain.

He continued the pulse of the light, repeating his command, till the moment he saw the eagle again. The light disappeared into a glimmer, and he grabbed Ravalor by his arm who took his lead within a split second and without question.

Zenozarax ran as fast as he could, praying he wouldn’t slip now, the thunder of the eagle grew to a scream, and at once the castle wall behind them exploded when the eagle crashed into it. The resulting shockwave staggered his steps as rubble and rocks rained down on them. But there was no more hesitation as he turned around facing the wall. Or what was left of it. Around the flames of the dead eagle, the wall was destroyed – a gaping hole straight into the castle and even more of the surrounding wall was collapsing around it.

The enemy’s fire against whoever was still in the field stopped for just a moment of surprise.

“Advance!”

Quickly the soldiers in the front line took cover around the forced entry, the warriors close behind them, Zenozarax, closely followed by Ravalor, sprinted over back into the presumed safety of the wall as he knew open fire was just seconds away and standing in the open would be a really bad idea.

He held out his hand to Ravalor who without a word took the additional rifle from his back and handed it to Zenozarax. He took firm hold of it, the magic within him connecting to the weapon which lit up. He felt the low hum more than he could hear it in the apocalypse around them. The pristine glistening gun looked out of place in his own mud–covered hands – and usually, he was more of a hands–on kind of guy, preferring a direct magical approach than relying on channelling devices like this. But if he wanted to conserve his energy before facing the chaos wizard, this was necessary.

Then the first shots were fired.

The advance was slow, careful, by the time the smoke subsided in the heavy rain Zenozarax finally was able to catch a first glimpse at the men they were facing. Just that they weren’t men anymore. He saw one of the cultists dodge for cover in a better position before he was shot down dead by one of the soldiers. The body was smouldered, rampaged – and true enough, only moments later, the thing that once had been a living being dragged itself up again. Blood and dirt washed halfway away by rain, unblinking dead eyes as it grabbed its gun again. A soldier shouted something and the walking corpse was ripped apart by a fury of shots – the rifles of the soldiers whirred as they charged again, hissing as they released the build–up heat with them.

Zenozarax’ eyes darted across the battlefield – things were looking too good, this was working – but it only was working because there was no chaos wizard.

Until suddenly – there was.

Out of thin air, enveloped by a violent swirl of light and darkness, he appeared right in front of them. His hands grasped into the invisible chaos around them. And for a moment, for an extremely brief moment, Zenozarax met the chaos wizard’s eyes, saw the sickening delight within them. Then – before the first shots could have been fired in his direction, he had already risen his hands, the magical markings starting to glow brightly through smears of black blood,

“DOWN!”

Zenozarax himself did not dodge for cover, his rifle fell to the ground, his own arms shot up and at the blink of an eye two massive magical forces clashed against each other, for an agonising, pain-filled second he felt the magic tear through his own body, then it exploded between them.

The violent blast hit them like a sledgehammer straight from the front, throwing most of them back and into the mud.

Zenozarax was back on his feet before most, his entire being drawn tense against the inevitability of death right before him. His frustration and anger were sharp and filling every step he made forward. His hands sparkled with magic, teeth clenched as he drew the ice–cold blade on his hip.

In the heat and chaos, the pale knife glistered with cold sparks.

And that blasted chaos wizard smirked. Of course, he smirked. But Zenozarax had seen the quick glance towards the knife, the tension its sight caused. The chaos wizard knew very well what it was – and what it would do to him. How it would tear away any control over his own self, reduced to a puppet of the knife’s and in extension Zenozarax’ will, just to be marched to his own execution.

“Grandmaster Zenozarax, I presume?” The cocky and confident voice cut through the rain. Almost drowned out by the fire and shots around him. Undead cultists kept creeping out of the shadows around them, their bodies now already scorched and smouldering but mercilessly still moving, animated by relentless magic. The soldiers knew their shots were wasted on the wizard, so they kept the undead cultist at bay.

Zenozarax did not indulge the chaos wizard, anger burning in his guts, he wanted to tear him apart and the knowledge that he probably couldn’t, not anymore, filled him with a raging frustration.

Warriors!

With the magic in his free hand almost bursting he raised it and the concentrated anger within him exploded. The chaos wizard was about to disappear in chaos when the entire area before them lit up in a massive vortex of energy. It was messy and violent, lighting striking down as if to scorch the earth and all on it for eternity, to leave nothing and no one left alive, the sound was deafening as the world exploded into light, the ancient castle trembling under its force. Distantly he heard screams of whatever was still alive enough to scream.

The ground sparkled with electricity. Evaporated rain hung as a thick mist in the air. And the chaos wizard had been struck to the ground.

Zenozarax’ breath was hard, he felt intense exhaustion creeping up his spine, but he did not hesitate. Slowed by his inability to create a working portal he had to be quick – the knife sparked with icy crystals of concentrated energy.

The knife raised, the chaos wizard on his knees, magic still sparking from his body – he raised his head, a frown on his face, their eyes met – and the knife came down. A violently crackling ward exploded before him, catching the knife’s blade for a second before it cut through it like paper and the ward exploded into a shower of light, destroyed by the knife’s magic – but it had given the chaos wizard just enough time to dodge the hit that would have ended this fight in an instant.

Still on the ground, Quadirymir rose his hand and a blast of chaos exploded right before Zenozarax – but with the knife still in front of him, the blast never hit him, taking Quadirymir by surprise. The flash of dark light broke into a harmless glimmer as it clashed against the powerful ward of the knife. Even the chaos magic faltered helplessly against the mystical magic of their lords.

Zenozarax lunged forward, only by a hair Quadirymir managed to dodge him again, rolling over, and the very moment Zenozarax saw the swirl of light and chaos envelope the chaos wizard he grasped forward, barely able the grab the chaos wizards foot and he was yanked from the ground the very second, his shoulder gave a dangerous crack as for a split second both were in freefall, the chaos wizard’s porting disrupted by the uncalculated shift in mass. And both crashed back down into the muddy ground.

A hard kick made his finger crack, but he didn’t let go, his other hand still holding the knife as if his life depended on it – in truth, it was worse – everything depended on it.

Then another bright flash before him, just a moment before the knife came down onto the chaos wizard’s leg and sunk deep into the artificial flesh. A short, dizzying moment of triumph before his eyes darted up and the feeling faltered and fell crashing down into desperate frustration. The knife stuck in the chaos wizard’s shin, the entry wound frozen and crackling, flooding it with demon matter – but beyond the knee, the chaos wizard had disappeared.

With a frustrated yell, he tore the knife from the dismembered leg, feverishly looking around. He saw the warriors, the soldiers, the cultists, the fight, fire, death and destruction.

And the chaos wizard was gone. But he really wasn’t, Zenozarax knew that but that didn’t matter, they needed to go further, if only they found the structure channelling the dome, if only they could disable it, they would win. Killing the chaos wizard was secondary to that, though it was the only thing on his mind right now he desperately needed to do.

“Keep mov–”

Zenozarax words were cut off as suddenly a hard grasp took his throat, another took his wrist, seemingly even before he saw the wizard appearing in the swirl of light and darkness again – right in front of him. He was quick, way too quick. And at once he lost his footing, hovering just a few inches above the ground, held by the mercy of Quadirymir’s hard grip around his throat and the chaos magic within him.

The chaos wizard’s touch sent a horrifying sensation through his mind, knowing he was moments, if not only a fraction of a second away from his own death.

“You can’t beat me like this, you know that!” Quadirymir almost hissed at him, his eyes searching his’. His words were taunting, but Zenozarax heard the strain and exhaustion in his words. He had come so close, and they both knew it. His hand holding the knife trembled against the hard grasp around his wrist as he tried to break free from it. “Maybe you could have, initially, but no longer.”

“Grandmaster!” Someone far behind him, maybe the Soldier, but he didn’t really hear him. He heard nothing but the chaos wizard before him and the rush in his mind.

“What are you going to do about that?”

“Go to hell!” he croaked against the hard grip, and before the chaos wizard could react, he grabbed Quadirymir’s arm that held his throat with his own free hand, and in a last desperate attempt, the magic within him exploded, everything he had left within himself, channelling right into that cursed wizard, erupting between them. The explosion caused as the two forces clashed, ripped him away from the chaos wizard who in turn stumbled back.

His mind was dazed by total exhaustion. Then another blast.

And then. Darkness.

*

The Soldier came back to consciousness with a slight flickering in his visual input. He blinked, orientating himself. It was still raining, it was still dark. The fight was still going on. He got up, grabbed his rifle again, it was covered in mud now, its lights slightly flickering and chances were good it was broken by the same magic that had temporarily overloaded his neural network too.

Unfazed he saw another explosion, right where they forced entry into the castle – warriors and soldiers alike dodging for cover – before an avalanche of boulders and stones came crashing down on them, raised by the chaos wizards’ magic and now crushing and burying his fellow soldiers underneath, closing off the passage.

His thoughts did not linger with that. Quickly he looked around, ducked and swift, searching for Zenozarax. That was his purpose.

He frowned slightly when finally he found him.

The same explosion that had knocked the Soldier unconscious seemingly had done the same to the Grandmaster, which was unsurprising as he had been right in its centre. It had thrust him back, away from the castle. He lay on the wet ground. More precisely, in fact, he lay face down and dead-like in the build-up sea of rainwater and mud, unmoving.

The Soldier was also unfazed by that as he got quickly closer and kneeled down as he saw the wizard’s body still stoically breathing. Even though what he was breathing now was muddied, dirty water.

He pulled the unconscious body up, rolling it on its side. Water splashed from the Grandmaster’s mouth, followed by a violent cough, for a brief moment his eyes flicked back into consciousness, a short bright flicker in his eyes as his mind tried to fix the errors caused by the overcharge of magic. More and more water was coughed from his lungs, then he was gone again. Unconscious, but still functioning, and that was good enough for the Soldier.

Holstering his rifle he dragged Zenozarax up and threw him over his shoulder.

The wizard was not light, but the Soldier barely wavered, only having to catch his balance due to the ground giving in below him.

Then he turned his back to the battle, walking fast but not daring to sprint on the weak and slippery ground.

The fighting grew distant. And he heard the call to retreat long after he had made that decision himself.

5 The Anger

There was a moment of a strange disconnect.

His eyelids fluttered and Zenozarax saw the tent above him where he expected to see the sterile ceilings of Mezchinhar. He knew it didn’t work that way. And yet he was puzzled by it for a moment just the same. He had been so certain he would die that him opening his eyes now just didn’t want to make sense to him.

But then the dreadful realisation of the fact slowly started to piece itself together. He was still alive. The tent only meant that they had achieved nothing. The rain was as prevalent as before. The dome was still pressing onto his soul. His body was feeling weak, the magic within himself still strained by exhaustion. Someone had removed his uniform jacket and shirt – but the air was hot and the humidity suffocating. He felt no hint of chill against his bare skin while his soul desperately ached for it. The idea of feeling a cold breeze on a bright winter day, overlooking the sea – memories of his Wizard that seemed now impossibly far away.

He didn’t move. For a moment just closing his eyes again. Maybe with the faint hope to push away the inevitable just a moment longer before anyone could come and tell him otherwise. He took a deep breath.

He hated this feeling, he hated this situation – anger burned inside of him. Directed at everything and nothing at the same time. At the chaos wizard as the undeniable cause for this mess, at himself for having been so self-assured, at Mezchinhar for not having known more beforehand, for sending them into this blind — maybe even at whoever had bothered to bring him back here in the first place. He did not want to die, as long as this mess was going on his place was right here. But even he saw the temptation death was now, and he knew he had to be very careful in not letting that temptation fester within the wizards under his command.

“How are you feeling?”

He opened his eyes again. Looking at Ravalor who, of course, stood by his side. He figured he knew who probably was responsible for him even being back here.

“Great.” He grumbled, guessing there was no pushing it away after all. “What happened?”

The Soldier didn’t get a chance to answer, instead, another familiar voice did and he turned his head to see Demitalek approach the field bed.

“Fajathena gave the command to retreat, but it was too late as that too many could have taken advantage of it. Your Soldier brought you back here — most others weren’t that lucky.” Demitalek’s voice was grim as he came close. As he reached him he held up a small magical device which was to run a basic diagnostic check on him now that he was awake again. Zenozarax gave him a weak nod to proceed, holding out his hand. Still, he almost instinctively flinched as Demitalek pressed the small humming device against his palm, reading the display as the magical markings lit up.

“Not sure I’d call this lucky.” He glanced at the Soldier, ignoring the discomfort the sensation against his hand caused, and his tone was grimmer than he would want it to be. Yet a feat of inhuman proportions as he felt like he’d rather take the tent apart than answering halfway calmly at this moment. “Not going to thank you,” he added dryly with a nod to Ravalor who only looked back at him perfectly unimpressed.

“Zenozarax!” Demitalek said sharply, getting his attention back while he let go of his hand again. “We need you now more than ever before, we’re not many left but we can still do something here. I know you must be fuming, but let’s figure this out calmly.”

“Don’t worry, he doesn’t care about me complaining.” Zenozarax nodded at the Soldier who just slightly raised his brows. He would have found that almost delightful.

“But I do. And right about now, I need someone who can keep it together more than I need a sulking friend, Demitalek hissed, keeping his voice low so that the others within the engineering tent may not hear him.

Zenozarax nodded, finally taking the grim finality in his friend’s face seriously and letting it calm his own anger just enough to become bearable. He knew he had stepped out of line, lulled into comfort by the presence of a friend and that uncaring machine – and it had earned him an immediate reminder that there was no place for his personal feelings right now.

“Alright.” He sat up propper now. “Then give me our status.”

“Total losses amongst the warriors amount to about 80%. The chaos wizard singled out individuals during the charge one by one before you encountered him. We lost Redkevik the same way defending the convoy – Kazra had fallen behind due to his previous injuries, which made him survive the explosion of the Dragon Fire. He’s, however, worse off than before,” Demitalek recounted. “Fajathena made it back with some of the warriors, but I think this one has him quite shaken – he has barely talked to anyone since and has kept to himself despite my plea for action.”

Zenozarax felt the heavy wave of regret as he heard of the loss of Redkevik, but he wasn’t surprised about what he heard about Fajathena. The young wizard had been given command over his first wing not too long ago — now this disaster might make it his last, too. Fajahena had seemed capable enough, but it were these moments of unexpected struggle that separated those raised in the chain of command and those that didn’t. Unfortunately, the young commander seemed to fall in the latter category if what Demitalek said was true. It made Redkevik’s death even more regretful because with that he had lost a great Fieldgeneral – maybe if Redkevik had survived they could have had a chance at the last battle.

How many Soldiers are left?

42, three of which are in no condition to fight again, Ravalor answered as Demitalek looked at him for the exact answer. Their shutdown has been delayed as it was decided to wait for your waking.

Is there any way we could still make use of them? In your research? Zenozarax looked back at his friend who shrugged slightly.

Maybe. Demitalek nodded. The more hands I get the better, I’d say. But from what I heard you’d need to fix them first personally. They are badly corrupted and there’s no Engineer with that knowledge left to fix them.

Zenozarax nodded. I’ll get to it as soon as I can. Usually, it would have been a quick decision to discard them, but now Zenozarax hesitated to get rid of them too quickly. Now that he was still alive and he had to figure out another plan, he rather had all the tools available to him, even if those tools were broken.

He glanced back at Ravalor.

Maybe just a tool himself, but a tool that had saved his life twice in this battle already. The memory that he had thought of him as unnecessary just a short while ago felt utterly ridiculous to him. But there had been many things that day he thought of as ridiculous now.

He dragged himself out of the bed, trying to shake off the heavy feeling in his limbs and the still lingering exhaustion that the few hours of unconsciousness hadn’t improved. He saw the urge in Demitalek’s face to maybe tell him to slow it down – but the general situation kept him from it. They had survived till now – but how much longer they had, nobody could know. Hence there was no time to waste.

“I’ll be in my tent. Gather everyone worth a damn in the command tent in two hours,” he grunted as he grabbed his shoddy uniform jacket from the foot end of the bed and threw it over his shoulders. He felt a slight sting on his back where the engineers must have patched up whatever burns or scratches he had suffered during the battle. Just a faint reminder that he had taken damage, nothing more.

Then he froze.

An ice-cold shudder went down his back as his right hand had at first subconsciously grasped for his belt — and he grasped at nothing where he expected to find the grip of the knife. But found just the empty seethe.

Where is it? He heard himself ask, his voice not more than a horrified rasp in the back of his throat.

Where is— Demitaleks question for clarification fell silent as his eyes must have followed Zenozarax’ hand. A terrible moment of silence. You lost it?

Zenozarax stared at his friend. His voice hadn’t sounded accusing, nor shocked — just filled with numb disbelief. Even of his senior officers only Redkevik had truly known of the significance of the blade, that it was the only one of its kind, and what it did – but Demitalek had seen it often enough, he could infer its meaning on observations and rumours alone – and also what losing it would mean. But the true extent of how disastrous its loss would be he couldn’t even begin to imagine.

I did not— Zenozarax whispered I had— he had it, the explosion, he had it in his hand, he knew he had — and then there was nothing more his memories told him. Sharply he turned to Ravalor. Have you looked for it?!

Grandmaster—

Have you searched for the knife when you brought me here?!

The Soldier didn’t flinch back even as Zenozarax raised his voice and anger trembled within it as he was right in his face.

It was not in your immediate vicinity when I—

Dammit! Zenozarax drove his hands through his hair, not even noticing how everyone inside the tent had fallen silent, staring at him. But you didn’t look for it?! Do you have any idea what you’ve done?

Grandmaster, I assure you, I’d have seen it if it had been there. Ravalor stood stoically stiff, lips pressed tightly together when he ended, meeting his angry glare head–on. And your survival was—

OH yes, my survival, what good will that do now? You lords forsaken, mindless— Zenozarax pressed his teeth shut tight, a shuddering breath escaping through them as he unclenched his fist. And the glow in the magical markings died down. For a moment the anger within him had almost overtaken him. Swallowed him whole. He took a deep breath. It wasn’t the Soldier’s fault. Neither of them was at fault. He had to keep telling himself that, like a quiet mantra, he repeated those words again and again in his mind till he almost believed them.

Zenozarax?

Demitalek’s voice sounded distant to him like filtered through thick cotton.

Another deep breath, then he said, My order remains the same. Two hours, in the command tent. He turned away from Demitalek, first now noticing the awkward stares from the few other wizards and soldiers around. But the very moment his own dark frown speaking of furious anger and murder met their eyes they twitched back and hurried off to at least pretend to be as busy as possible.

Then he left the tent. Ravalor was directly behind him, despite the harsh words directed at him moments ago.

It was still raining. Of course, it was.

Stepping into the heavy strings of rain drenched his clothes within seconds and his soul with frustration even quicker. And for a moment it almost washed away his anger, just to leave behind a depressing emptiness only the lost lords could rival.

The camp was a ghost town. Unlike the night before, almost nobody was outside anymore. There were not enough left to have to stay outside. A few soldiers were on watch, a few more probably positioned further away to scout for any activity from the castle — and if not he would have to have a serious word with Fajathena. The sudden doubt in the Wingcommander made him actually ask, “Ravalor, are there Soldiers out there keeping watch?” After his anger before, his words were still harsh but had lost their sharpness.

“Yes, Grandmaster.” And there was no resentment in Ravalors words. Because there couldn’t be.

“Hm.” Good.

He continued, for a moment he almost stopped again, as his gaze wandered over the remaining unicorns that had been herded together and now stood still at the rim of the camp. Most of them already taken apart as they just wouldn’t reliably function within the chaos interference, and those that were still functional, in their limited extent, were made to not move to not disrupt the muddied ground even more than it already was.

He couldn’t stand looking at them, seeing them this broken, this useless, only fueled the frustration within him.

An amplified shout cut once more through the rain calling the soldiers for the daily muster.

“Grandmaster—” Ravalor started, a clear reluctance in his voice, but Zenozarax cut him off.

“Just go. I’ll be in my tent” he didn’t even look at him when Ravalor gave a nod and hurried towards his designated gathering point with the other soldiers for a brief resync and check-in.

Zenozarax reached his tent.

He was glad to be alone for a moment. Fearing the anger from before would overtake him again if he looked at the Soldier too long. Slowly he clenched and unclenched his fists. Closing his eyes. Letting the fire within himself wash over him. So familiar that it was almost calming. It was absolute and all-consuming — but he knew how to control it. At least he used to. Well aware that he had reached the position as Grandmaster not due to it, but despite it. Because he had learned to bury it long enough till he found a suitable victim to project it onto.

Just this time, said victim had refused to die.

And this anger had nowhere left to go.

Thinking of the chaos wizard turned his mood sourer than it already was as he sat down and spun up the holograms again. He needed a new plan and quick.

The sky above rumbled. The unstoppable rain kept hitting the tent. And his thoughts just didn’t want to give him any rest. Maybe that was for the better.

For almost half an hour he sat in silence, pondering, weighing his options, focusing. Or at least trying to.

“Ravalor! Are you out there?” he shouted and mere seconds later the Soldier, dripping wet, stepped in.

“Grandmaster?”

“Come here.” He waved him over and held out his hand. Ravalor followed and without a question, he took his hand in his. Something every wizard would flinch away from, something he himself had felt uncomfortable about just earlier with Demitalek, but the Soldier had no such fears. And neither had Zenozarax in turn. Because what Zenozarax did now was utterly harmless to both of them. Because Ravalor wasn’t a wizard.

Ravalor’s face was unmoved when Zenozarax connected to him, everything the Soldier knew and remembered laying bare before him. Zenozarax got the precise number of their remaining forces, who they were and in what condition, got the analysis the Soldier had done after the battle and compared the broad-area-analyses to his own observations. He gave an unpleasant grunt when he brushed past the memory of his own body lying face first in the mud seemingly desperate to drown if only it were possible.

His eyes darted up as he felt something unexpected in their connection though he didn’t know what it was. The look in the Soldier’s face seemed unmoved, but Zenozarax would have sworn he had seen the smallest hint of worry in it. Since that was impossible, he was very certain the exhaustion was starting to get the better of him.

But he also saw what Ravalor had told him before. In the mud, rain and chaos, there had been no sign of the knife anywhere around him. But he also saw that the Soldier had made no attempt to search for it either.

He let go of Ravalor’s hand when he felt the wave of frustrated anger tingle in his stomach anew. “Sit down for a moment. I need the company.”

The Soldier nodded and followed his order. Letting him work in silence. Usually, he would present his plans and decisions to his Fieldgeneral first. But Redkevik was gone now. So even though the Soldier had no business in deciding on any of this, Zenozarax asked, “Look at this. What do you think?”

The Soldier took in the information presented to himself, the answer barely needed any time for consideration.

“Considering the power we’re facing, I think it would be wise to not wait too long. A precise strike like this might be our best option, especially considering that, from what I heard, you might find the desire among the warriors to delay further action now altogether. They believe in rescue more than in victory. However, as I see no reason to assume the chief engineer’s efforts to break through the barrier to yield any results soon, I fear any further delay might cause more harm than good in the end.”

Zenozarax listened to the Soldier. A sour note rose in the pit of his stomach as he coloured his words with phrases like “fear” and “desire” used emptily without any real understanding of what they even meant, only pretending it wasn’t so. A cold analysis of the world surrounding him draped in meaningless words.

Zenozarax had never liked spending much time with their soldiers for this very reason. He never disliked them, he just found them ... slightly irritating at best.

“And why is that?” he eventually asked.

Ravalor’s face stayed unmoved, he sat straight and by the tone of his voice he might as well be talking about the weather. “As I understand it, there might be a good chance that, while Funnix has effectively besieged itself, we might be the only ones really trapped here. That the chaos wizard can come and go as he chooses. Furthermore, Chief Engineer Demitalek fears that the channelling device you spoke off might not even be located within the walls of Funnix. If so, we might be here for a very long time. It would be preferable to find that out as quickly as possible to adjust our strategy accordingly.”

Zenozarax knew all that. The truth of the situation calmly presented to himself, a truth he didn’t want to hear spoken out loud. But then why had he even asked?

It was unfair.

He heard the Soldier’s words, words spoken in utter honesty because he would not lie. Just a fair assessment of the situation said toneless and plain. Not caring one bit about anything he said.

And right at this moment, he found all that anger within him pointing directly in that damn mindless machine in front of him.

Who did not care. Who couldn’t even grasp the extent of the damages the loss of the damn knife entailed, not only to their ability to fight Chaos, but to Zenozarax personally as well. Who just couldn’t comprehend how fucked up this whole situation truly was.

He saw the slight alert in Ravalors face, yes, they were good at reading people.

“Grandmaster?” The Soldier stood up.

Zenozarax’ mind was on flames, trying to swallow this anger. And failed.

Why was he standing as well?

He stared into those eternally black eyes. Behind the alert attention lay a faint tiredness that he found captivating for a moment — because it looked real. The only thing even approaching the reaction of a true living being.

“I should go back outside,” the Soldier said stoically stiff but before he could have turned, Zenozarax had forcefully grabbed his wrist. There was no flinch of pain in Ravalor’s face as he looked back at him. No fear. Just undivided attention.

Magic tingled in his hand, and the Soldier felt it too, saw his eyes just briefly twitching to his arm still held hard by Zenozarax. But then he looked back up. Not moving. Accepting his own death if Zenozarax would choose so now. His sense of self-preservation completely nullified just because it was a superior officer standing before him. There was nothing he could do. Nothing that his own mind would allow him to do.

“Dammit!” Zenozarax cursed, maybe more himself than anything else, pushing the Soldier’s arm away and Ravalor stumbled backwards, barely catching his balance.

“Grandmaster—”

“Get out!” he just barked at the Soldier who straightened up immediately and left the tent with quick steps.

Zenozarax stood there for a moment, almost dizzy by the intense frustration within him. His fingers were trembling, twitching, so he closed them to fists to ignore its worrying implication.

After minutes had passed he sat down. First now realising the loose strands of hair that had fallen into his face. The tight knot he had worn them in had become undone, and as he brushed his finger through his hair he couldn’t find the hairband any longer. Downright sombre he searched his uniform pockets for another. He found one and quietly retired his hair. The act was so normal, so routine, that at this moment, right after he almost had lost himself fully in his anger, it felt ridiculous.

If only he could reach his Wizard.

Others always assumed him to be the calmer of his two parts, but that wasn’t true. Never had been. The Wizard was as prone to strong emotions, and with that to anger too, as he himself was. It was in his nature, it was part of him. But his own anger was more violent, more explosive. The only reason others usually didn’t see it was that he knew to hide it better in front of allies and to channel it against their foes. The Wizard was more mellow. He was calming in the worst of times.

And now he wasn’t here.

One part of who he was, who made him who he was, simply missing — and by the lords, he had no energy left to compensate for that missing part of himself.

His fist hit the table before he even knew it, the light furniture aching under the force, there was a slight crack in its hinges. His fist unclenched, his fingers spreading over the cold damp surface. His breath was still hard in his lungs as he stared at his hand. The same hand that had grabbed the Soldier before. His fingers twitched again.

He just had to keep it together a bit longer. The plan was good considering the limited resources they had now. The risks were as high as they could get, but really, they had reached that point a long time ago. The risk of failure and death had been hovering above their heads since this battle started and by now both had lost their sharpness. Both becoming less of a risk they took, but a dull inevitability. And with that, almost easy to ignore.

And below all that, the faintest hope still, that if they would manage to get inside the castle if they found the structure powering this dome and managed to disable it — he would be no longer alone. He would be whole again.

To kill the chaos wizard was beyond him now, but he could still fix this. Make it right. There would be hell to pay once he’d make it out of here, when he would face the consequences of having lost the damn knife — but there was no sense in worrying about that now.

With his hand still on the table, he pushed himself up again, taking a deep breath before he turned towards the tent’s entrance. The rustling of the heavy fabric was almost drowned by the rain as he stepped outside.

Ravalor just stood there. Eyes firmly staring into the distance, head held high and back straight. He didn’t look at Zenozarax. Rain dripped from his face down his chin and beard. And Zenozarax almost wondered if he was resentful or just careful. Even though he knew it couldn’t be the former.

For a moment he just looked at him, the rain was falling down on both of them without mercy, the camp was quiet around them.

“I’m sorry.” Zenozarax eventually said. This too felt ridiculous as much as it was pointless. But it also felt like the right thing to do.

Finally, the Soldier looked at him, no change in the calm face, just those black eyes Zenozarax could swear were judging him.

“There is no reason to apologise, Sir,” he said plainly. “My duty is to assist you during this battle – in every way necessary.”

Zenozarax scoffed. The words were so inhuman, so cold and alien that it was jarring. Emotionless acceptance of the idea of being beaten to a pulp or killed just to fulfil his job.

But he was designed like that. The discomfort Zenozarax felt now was intended. They were supposed to be cold, uncaring. Just to make it less likely for the wizards working with them to grow attached to them. He had never spent this much time with one of them, especially not in a situation this intimate. This closed off from anything else. And for the first time, this design choice was just frustrating to him.

It was tempting to just change that. He could, he knew very well how. But he hardly had time for that now. Nor should he be considering the idea.

“Come inside. Get dry.” Zenozarax said, not waiting for a reaction as he already went into the tent again.

A moment later, Ravalor followed.

6 The Plan

If the mood in the command tent had been gloomy the night before, Zenozarax didn’t know how to describe the one now as he entered it now followed closely by Ravalor.

There was utter silence of the wizards inside.

Kazra sat at the side and he looked like he shouldn’t have been able to walk there himself. Where the burns had looked grim before, his most recent injuries from the explosion had done all but kill him. From what Zenozarax could see, the intense heat must have burned away most if not all skin on his back and most of his left side. His left leg was splinted, but from how it looked, it was broken beyond repair and badly needed to be rebuilt. Which, under the current circumstances, was impossible. And yet from all present, the look in Kazra’s half-burned face was the most firm, the clearest.

Zenozarax knew the wizard might be broken on the outside, but right now he probably was one of the most reliable voices in the room.

Chief Engineer Demitalke was sitting once more at the table, watching him enter quietly. If he would have found anything new that could help them he would have already said it, so Zenozarax understood the look of silent frustration within his friend’s face.

Wingcommander Fajathena sat at the opposite side of the tent – physically as far away from the others as possible. His legs and hands were restless, which was concerning. He wasn’t looking at Zenozarax, if anything he was looking away just more dedicated.

Zenozarax felt a sharp sting of irritation. Kazra was badly enough injured to let him sit in peace but he had made it at least a point to acknowledge him, Demitalek had the privilege of being considered his friend so he would let him get away with a lot more to begin with — but Fajathena wasn’t his friend nor did he look particularly injured. But worst of all, he was the second highest-ranking officer on site now, and this wasn’t the behaviour he should be displaying.

Wingcommander! he snapped and it had the desired effect of flushing the young wizard from his bowed position. He jumped up and stepped close to the table. And the restlessness Zenozarax had noticed before wouldn’t leave Fajathena’s body, he seemed downright twitchy. Zenozarax knew that wasn’t good.

Grandmaster.

Zenozarax saw the uncertainty in the commander’s face. Maybe questioning why he was even still alive when the entire wing he had commanded two days ago was gone.

Again, Zenozarax felt the unfair bitterness of having lost Redkevik instead of Fajathena. It had been a gamble to begin with, sending his Fieldgeneral into the field too. While not unheard of, the Fieldgeneral’s place was usually back at base camp, coordinating the troops while the Grandmaster led them at the front line. But with the lack of communication, Redkevik would have been useless back here — and he had needed at least one of the senior officers to make it through, to make sure—

What did it matter now, they had failed and his second in command was gone.

“So, what’s the plan, Grandmaster?” Kazra hummed, his voice a deep rumble in his throat.

“We’re going to attack the castle again,” he said plainly.

Demitalek only raised his eyebrows willing to hear him out. A sense of relief in his face in trusting whatever plan Zenozarax would have come up with. Kazra just looked, calmly, his hands folded together, the healthy one wrapped tightly around what was left of the other. Zenozarax was sure that if he asked him to, that wizard would charge the castle on crutches without a moment of hesitation. Meanwhile, Fajathena looked at him as if he had lost his mind while his face lost all its colour.

“With what force?” the Wingcommander muttered in disbelief.

“None. A strike team; Me, two wizards, one of whom you know most capable in sabotage if conventional means don’t suffice—” he looked to Kazra who nodded acknowledging ”—and two soldiers, mine and if we still have one, a field technician. Kazra you will stay here, you’ll be in command till I return.” Should he return. In the worst case, the camp would be attacked while he and the team were out. Should that happen, Kazra, even in his weakened state, would make sure to give them the fight they deserved.

He looked back and saw the hurt pride in Fajathena’s face, as he was so bluntly walked over in the chain of command, probably fueling his own doubts just more. “You’ll come with me,” Zenozarax said quickly, which seemed to not only surprise the Wingcommander but Demitalek as well. Truth was, he rather had the restless commander where he could see him, instead of him starting to make rash decisions inside the camp. If push came to shove, should he break down — become a reliability — well. He would cross that bridge when it came to it.

“From what we saw, most if not all of the cultists are reanimated. They may still be walking, but they are dead. So as long as we are careful about it and don’t draw the chaos wizard’s attention, we have a chance to infiltrate the castle unseen and find that channelling device.” He paused. “That is assuming he has not brought in reinforcements. If we find no way inside unseen, we will retreat again and find another way. We can’t afford an open confrontation again, Zenozarax said and knew at the same time that the chaos wizard must be aware of that as well. And all of them could only guess as to why they hadn’t been attacked and finished off yet.

The others nodded.

There wasn’t much hope any of them allowed themselves, but at least they seemed satisfied with the course of action he had decided on.

“Let’s not waste any more time. Get me that technician and wizard and make sure they have all they need. We will meet here again in an hour for a final briefing and leave immediately after that.”

*

Zenozarax took a deep breath, unconsciously pulling at the collar of his uniform. The temperature had further risen. The humidity in the air made it almost uncomfortable to breathe while the rain just wouldn’t stop.

Carefully they advanced towards the castle, hidden in darkness and rain. They carried no light as they usually saw very well in complete darkness, but even their advanced sight wasn’t helping much in guessing more than a rough idea of the ground before them through the veil of rain.

The sky was pitch black only occasionally the clouds were illuminated by a thunderstrike. At least those had become rarer, but like the rain, they had never stopped.

Ravalor walked before them, weapon at the ready, the other Soldier had taken the rear.

Zenozarax knew there was a good chance that, despite their best attempts to stay hidden, they would be detected before they could even reach the castle. There was an equally big chance that they were running directly into a trap or an ambush. They all knew, and he sensed the tension within the other two wizards. Ravalor and the other soldier were just perfectly focused, their eyes skimming through the daze of what was even visible around them.

“It seems too quiet,” Fajathena said behind him, his voice raised well above a secretive whisper just to be heard over the rain. Now tasked with a mission the Wingcommander seemed noticeably more focused than before, however, his unnecessary urge to comment on the situation was proof enough that he still wasn’t alright.

And in the end, Zenozarax had to agree, though he only did so silently while he signed Fajathena to be quiet. The scouts, at least those that made it back, had reliably told of sounds and signs of magic coming from the castle. Now they were close enough that the black castle walls were visible before them — but in the rain and against the occasional thunder, the castle looked deserted and broken, bearing the destruction of the last attack clearly in its dark silhouette.

Ravalor raised his fist, signalling the group to get down and hold the position for a moment. Listening. Zenozarax thought he heard a strange, wet and heavy groan. Ravalor advanced slowly before he stopped, looking down at something on the ground.

“Just a soldier, Sir,” Ravalor said, turning back to the castle.

Zenozarax approached and looked at what Ravalor had looked at. In turn, the soldier on the ground looked up at him, his breath rattling in torn lungs. His fingers twitched, grasping for something but there was no strength in his grip whenever his hands grasped some of the muddy grass and shrubbery around him. It came across as small seizures going through the soldier’s muscles. He didn’t speak, he just looked, his mouth moving.

The soldier was still there — but his body below his ribcage was gone. Ripped apart during the advance yesterday. Not enough to kill him, but now broken beyond repair. Zenozarax knew he wasn’t in pain. Not in the sense that humans or even wizards could experience it. And yet he felt a strong desire to end this machine’s suffering. He glanced at the castle. If only every way of doing so right now wouldn’t point a crosshair on their back, either by noise or light.

“We’ll have to sweep the area carefully once we’re done here.” Zenozarax turned to follow Ravalor again, leaving the gargling gasp of the helpless soldier behind him.

They kept low, their advance reduced to a crawling speed the closer they got to the castle’s walls.

Ravalor, do you hear anything? Zenozarax whispered.

Nothing, Sir.

Hm. His gaze darted over the muddied ground. Each of you, keep your eyes open for that damn knife. He wasn’t daring to hope to find it. He knew it wasn’t here, because he couldn’t even sense it let alone recall it back to himself. The knife was bound to him, it was part of him in a sense. When it was close by he felt it like it was simply another limb to his body. Not so now.

But on the off chance it was still here, maybe masked by the chaos interference, he rather had all eyes at least passingly look for it. Its faint glow and its magic should make it easy to spot it in the darkness, even if it had somewhere sunken into the mud.

But eventually, they reached Funnix’s walls, or what was left of it, with none of them having spotted the lost blade. A faint creeping fear reemerged again in the back of his mind, the certainty that it had fallen into the chaos wizard’s hands. But he also dared not to think about that.

The castle before them was in ruins. The eagle’s explosion had ripped most of its front-facing wall apart but the rubble had been piled up to a half-hearted seal of the forced entry. Zenozarax knew it must have been the chaos wizard’s doing by the sheer massiveness of the individual pieces of the wall now crudely stacked on top of each other.

We might get away with climbing over, Zenozarax said as quietly as possible as the entire group gathered around him, pressed against the part of the wall still in its original state. Soldier, he addressed the other soldier whose designation he didn’t even know and with the interference in the air, his identification was unreadable to him. Get us some eyes on the inside. If you see anything move, come back down immediately.

The soldier nodded, holstering his rifle before starting to climb up.

It wasn’t a long climb, but the tension was getting worse with every careful step and pull the nameless soldier made up the rubble.

Then finally he reached the top, there was a moment of quiet, the soldier searching the inside area with his eyes, then he looked back down, waving them up.

This seems really wrong, Fajathena mumbled.

Once more, the Wingcommander was correct, however, “Silence,” Zenozarax hissed through his teeth as he followed the soldier up the rubbles. The climb was treacherous, the old stone slippery from the rain and more than once Zenozarax had to readjust his course as the broken stone just crumbled down under his weight. The only thing good the rain ever did was at least vaguely masking the sound of falling rubble.

Ravalor reached the peak before him and together with the other soldier made his way back down the other side.

There really was nobody. Behind them, Zenozarax still could see some bodies of soldiers from their side, but inside the castle’s walls, in the wide courtyard, that had been a battleground merely a day ago, was nobody. Dead or alive. Even the blood had been washed away by the eternal rain. Carefully he scanned all he could see once more but still came up with nothing. The heat had become so intense that all visible signs of life would have vanished within it by now, but he also didn’t see any sign of energy abnormalities hinting at any form of magic.

All five of them made it above with no incident and even still when they hurried towards the shadows again, finding brief shelter from the rain and plain sight under a half–broken roof, nothing happened.

The rain kept on falling. The castle stayed quiet.

Both soldiers kept scanning the area and trusting their high alertness Zenozarax turned towards the other two wizards. Both the mechanical expert Kazra had picked out to accompany him and Fajathena looked tense – but they also shared the feeling Zenozarax had. It was clear in their eyes.

This was going way too smoothly.

We’re going to split up. Zenozarax said quietly, We’ll draw more attention if we stick together than going alone and we have a lot of ground to cover. If you see anyone, do not engage at any cost. If any one of us gets spotted we’re probably all dead.

The other two nodded grimly.

The main objective is to find that channelling device and destroy it. If you find it, and you are 100% certain you can destroy it on your own, do it. Otherwise, we will return here in an hour to regroup. Hopefully, someone of us will have found it by then and we can figure out how to disable it. However, if we’re discovered before that — destroying it at all cost stands before our own survival, is that clear?

Understood.

Grandmaster.

Zenozarax looked at Ravalor. Right. Okay, he stays with me, because he won’t leave me alone without throwing a tantrum.

Ravalor looked at him, plain, stoic and serious. I would not.

And Zenozarax couldn’t help a weak smirk. What, leave me alone or throw a tantrum?

Both.

*

While the others were split up searching the top levels, Zenozarax and Ravalor slowly made their way through the lower levels of the castle.

The water had found its way inside and they waded through knee-high water the moment they reached the bottom floor. Whatever crude irrigation system there had been was obviously overwhelmed by the sheer amount of water, however, its existence was probably the only reason the entire subsurface area hadn’t yet flooded up to the ceiling.

So they moved excruciatingly slowly, passing the holding cells in the dungeon, every move they made sending ripples across the water, splashing against the stone walls.

The air was damp and mouldy, if it had been like this before, the past days of rain and heat had not done anything to improve it.

Ravalor walked before him, rifle at the ready, the flashlight moving steadily and slowly, carefully checking every corner, every turn, nook and cranny in absolute silence. While the light wasn’t strictly necessary when push came to shove both of them would be able to see well enough even in the pitch-black down here, it helped to orientate themselves in the heat, the constant noise and disarray around with its thousand dark spaces. It also conveyed a sense of safety. Much like the mere presence of Ravalor.

There was something ridiculous about the fact that Zenozarax indeed felt safer with the Soldier now — because ultimately he was just his canary in the coal mine. If they were to run into the chaos wizard, the rifle would be pointless and Ravalor dead before he would have the chance to even react. In his own current state, it was probably true for himself as well.

But the dungeon and the cells were all empty. They passed over a slight elevation, a couple of steps leading back upstairs, water was pouring down the steps, before reaching the armoury.

Ravalor opened the door excruciatingly slowly, just peeking in first, the rifle’s light turned off for a moment, the slight move already moved the water again, potentially alerting whoever could be inside if they were to pay attention.

But then Ravalor stepped forward again, the light came back on and the tension fell again from Zenozarax’ shoulders. Frankly, given the water level, he didn’t expect to run into anyone down here – but in their current situation, they couldn’t take any chances.

The armoury was empty, as were the small barracks that followed, and the storage area after that too. No sound but the constant dripping of rainwater finding its way into the castle.

They had searched the entire lower level of the castle before Zenozarax dared to speak again. Nothing. He spoke low but the frustration was clear in the one word.

Ravalor’s look was serious, maybe even slightly puzzled if Zenozarax would believe so. Curious. Not even bodies. Not from the cultists nor from the previous inhabitants.

Zenozarax hadn’t even meant that. He had only thought about the damn channelling device. So he said, Quadirymir might have reanimated all of them. They could still be upstairs.

Ravalor nodded, obviously not quick to let himself be lulled into a potentially treacherous sense of safety yet. We should return. It’s almost time.

Given we haven’t heard any screams from above, let’s hope they were more successful than us.

And not dead.

The grim thought had barely time to breathe in his mind as they quickly reached the courtyard again — and found all three of the others already there and waiting. All perfectly alive — and with a terrible look on their face as each of them realised that neither of them had found what they were looking for.

It’s empty, Sir, Fajathena said grimly before Zenozarax even reached them fully. He didn’t even bother to keep down his voice anymore. His hands were twitching around the rifle he held, barely able to stand still for the duration of his informal report. Unless you have found something, anything or one, this whole castle has been abandoned.

A stone dropped in his stomach. A terrible and ugly feeling. No. There was nothing below either. He admitted. No sign of magic?

Nothing. No channelling device, no generator, nothing, Sir. On that note, not even a single cultist anywhere either, dead or alive. Fajathena’s voice had turned from grim to hopeless.

We noticed that too.

He hated this. Not only because of its implications concerning their imminent future but also rendering the previous attack absolutely pointless in retrospect. All the warriors he had lost, for nothing. There was no device, no quick fix to this problem. They were trapped here and they would stay like that.

A wave of impossible exhaustion crept up in his mind, and faintly he did realise with an almost calm objective sense of clarity that, besides getting knocked out once, he hadn’t really slept in about four days now.

Not noteworthy under any normal circumstances, but there was nothing normal about this. His mind ached for a moment of quiet to process his memories, to synchronise with its counterpart, for that sense of safety. But even sleep would bring him none of that now. He knew that.

And yet, as the last of the hope he had crumbled around him, he felt like being buried by mind-numbing tiredness. His fingers twitched.

Let’s return to base. We will discuss this with the others.

7 The Soldier

The debriefing had been curt and factual.

Nobody asked any pointless question because nobody really dared to fully grasp the hopelessness of their situation yet. Come morning, or whatever they had to refer to as morning by time alone, they would look at him for guidance again, but tonight everyone was just quiet and tired. Coming to terms with the reality of their situation now that the chaos wizard was gone, and they no step closer to escape this soaking wet hellscape.

Now it really was up to Demitalekt’s efforts alone to find a way out of this mess. If there was one.

Ravalor and the other soldier had joined the debriefing after the muster, which Demitalek had increased to two times per day to assure the soldiers to be synced up in case of an emergency.

They had given their analyses and observations which added nothing of value or possible way of a solution and so, after ordering the rest of the soldiers to carefully explore the area around Funnix, maybe to even find the knife against all odds, the meeting had been concluded.

Afterward Zenozarax and Ravalor had followed Firecommander Kazra to one of the work tents at the Pyromancer’s request.

The tent was one of the largest, its space however as dirty as the rest of the camp. A cloud of mist and smoke had slipped out the moment they entered. It lay heavy in the air defusing the bright light.

A few of the engineers talked to each other, one pair caught in a heated discussion barely held to a whisper, ending up in hostile hissing.

Kazra ignored all of it as he led them through the tent, dragging his shattered leg. Magic and mechanics lay spread all over on makeshift tables and dirty scraps of fabric barely keeping them from the mud. Sparks flew from heavy welding, magic glimmered in the air where the wizards tried to revitalise this or that tool or weapon. Zenozarax assumed too many of them were just keeping themselves busy at this point.

At the back of the tent, like barred for their funeral lay the three soldiers Zenozarax had almost forgotten about. They wore the damages of the past battles, but weren’t fully destroyed yet.

Their eyes were closed and they did not breathe. While they looked perfectly dead, they were allegedly still physically functional.

I put them to sleep for the moment, because nobody here can do anything for them, Sir. Kazra growled, nodding towards the soldiers while he finally found a chair to sit down and rest his leg. Can’t even properly take them apart, make use of them that way.

Zenozarax stepped closer towards the soldiers, their faces seemed almost peaceful. Ravalor watched him calmly.

Usually nobody would have cared. They had broken down, they would have been replaced, and nobody would have thought about it. His tired mind knew not what good they could do now, but he was also too tired to argue.

Carefully he took the first soldier’s hand, his mind aching by exhaustion as the markings on his fingers started to glow, running up his hand and arm.

And there was nothing coherent left.

He took the second Soldier’s hand, the glow again, and was relieved to find this one a lot more intact. Carefully he looked through the massive amount of critical error that had occurred before his breakdown and the corruption they had caused. Even more carefully he resolved them one by one, either by bypassing them completely or replacing them with a more unconventional quick–fix. It didn’t take him too long because he knew exactly what he was doing.

It had been a long time, but it had been his purpose once. He had been a Soulturner aeons ago where his strong emotions had been more appropriate. When he had been still supposed to care. And even afterwards he had rebuilt himself often enough. The mind laying bare before him was easy to manipulate, easy to fix, coming not even close to the complexity of a wizard.

When he was done, he gave the soldier’s consciousness a little nudge, and at once his eyes fluttered open. No confusion or disorientation in the black eyes, just awareness.

Designation?

FE–D12, Second Commando

Hmhm. Zenozarax still held the soldier’s hand as he took the hand of the first broken soldier, connecting to him too. He wiped everything that was left of the first and replaced it with the second.

Moments later the soldier opened his eyes again too.

Designation?

FE–D12, Second Commando. The first soldier repeated, and Zenozarax nodded almost absentmindedly as he let go of both soldiers that now might look different, but were mere copies of each other. Make that D13 – so you two don’t get mixed up.

Understood.

He took the third soldier’s hand and was pleased to find out that he could fix him without replacing him too and so he said to the other two, Go and report to Chief Engineer Demitalek. And the two soldiers immediately got up and followed his order.

He took his time with the third, taking the moment of quiet, keeping his mind working, to just let his thoughts wander.

This one looked the worst, his injuries not much unlike those Kazra carried around. As to confirm his thoughts the Pyromancer said,

That one’s been with me when the load blew. But ’twas probably that initial blast of chaos that did it. Got right into the sparrow tails of it. Right after Redkevik catched the worst of it that is. Probably the only reason he still somehow managed to drag me back here before he just dropped. Kazra’s own exhaustion coloured his voice in the distinct Mezaxian drawl. The memory of his second near death experience invoked a clear sense of discomfort in the Firecommander’s face.

Hm. Zenozarax only said quietly.

The soldier had done what he was supposed to do. What Ravalor would keep doing, too. Any of them ready to throw themselves into harm’s way just to try to keep the wizards alive, even at the cost of their own lives.

The soldier woke up again and sat up.

Designation?

HF–2A3, the soldier answered dutifully. There was a lingering twitch in the left side of his burned face and Zenozarax knew he wasn’t fully okay, but okay enough to lend a hand again. Carefully he reached for the soldier’s face, his fingers glowing as he traced over the twitching muscles and dissabled them, just to give the young face some rest. It didn’t solve the cause, but at least he looked more stable. Then Zenozarax dismissed the soldier who promptly stepped aside, tending to his duties again.

Thanks, Kazra said grimly. The thank was genuine, but so was the brooding undertone in his voice. Zenozarax guessed his Firecommander shared the desire to just blow something up just to make himself feel better. He had always appreciated Kazra for sharing some of his anger at times. And the preferred solution to it, too.

But there was nothing to blow up now. No one left to fight but their own thoughts.

“How are you holding up?” Zenozarax asked and Kazra, while keeping his face in a neutral frown, met his eyes with a sense of appreciation. Zenozarax, despite his own exhaustion, understood that now more so than ever he had to pay great attention to the warriors under his command, no matter the rank.

“Leg situation is annoying. But manageable. The rest is just, well–” Kazra said, raising his hand again, or what was left of it as if to remind himself how badly he was off. For a moment it seemed to be the extent to which Kazra was willing to open up, but then he added with his voice lowered, “You know what struck me odd, Grandmaster?”

“What is that?”

An appreciative yet somewhat bitter smirk on Kazra’s face as Zenozarax indulged his musings. “I’ve been fighting alongside Redkevik since... lords, way longer than you and me know each other. Doesn’t matter. But here I was just thinking, it’s been just a couple days, but ‘tis been the longest I’ve not spoken to Redkevik since I knew ‘em.” Kazra crossed his arms as he leaned back, the frown deepened. “Isn’t that strange?”

“A little.” Despite everything, Zenozarax found a slim tired smile on his lips. Maybe it was strange but not at all surprising. Redkevik was an exceptionally private and also distant wizard – so it had been hard to miss that those two had against all odds appeared to be something like friends. He refrained from asking deeper into matters this personal because he knew they wouldn’t be answered. Instead he said, You’ll speak soon again. Though I doubt you ever truly stopped.

Kazra scoffed at that, dismissing the sentimental notion, but Zenozarax knew this wizard for too long to be fooled by it. Kazra knew that it was probably true. Maybe imagining what he and Redkevik could be talking about back in Mezchinhar right now. Eventually Kazra said, “Just one thing I know; Things are easier with Redkevik than they are without.”

“I agree.”

For a moment both stayed quiet.

What are we going to do now, Grandmaster? Kazra asked. The use of his title almost sounded like a silent accusation. But Zenozarax was too tired to mind.

We try to find a way out of here, Zenozarax answered. It felt like an automated canned answer with no substance behind it. Maybe Kazra noticed that too, because he didn’t ask further.

*

Come, Zenozarax mumbled as he entered his tent and Ravalor followed.

He sat down, his gaze just lost at nothing, while Ravalor kept standing straight and proper as he always did. Watching him with idle attention.

A whole array of questions filled his tired mind, from questioning the motivation and goal of the chaos wizard to what they could even do. But these questions were numb now, lacking the tense sharpness of the days before. He longed for an outside perspective on all of it, preferably his Wizard, but maybe it would be wise to talk at least with Demitalek. To clear his mind, put things into perspective. But Demitalek had never been that kind of friend – well, no, the truth was that Zenozarax had never been one to really pour his heart out to another wizard, especially within the context of the Order. Mostly because that always came back to bite one in the ass after any debriefing.

When you open your mouth, do never forget that they will remember. Forever.

He smiled grimly and humorlessly to himself, as he indeed remembered that sentiment of his old teacher so clearly. What a vapid and ridiculous thought in this current situation. By all future predictions, he could throw a tantrum and shout and cry in front of each and everyone here, and nobody outside would ever know about it because there would be nobody left to “debrief”.

But on the off chance that there could be the smallest chance of rescue, he would rather not.

He looked at Ravalor, their eyes met calmly. Zenozarax was surprised how calm he himself felt in this moment. The crippling sense of defeat and exhaustion had lay down over his burning anger, suffocating that flame. For now. It would come back, it always did, eventually. But right now, he was calm.

“Ravalor,” he said, even though he already had the Soldier’s attention. He always had. “Come here for a moment.”

“Sir?” Ravalor stepped closer.

“Can I adjust your personality a bit? Would that be alright with you?”

Ravalor blinked, Of course, Grandmaster, but may I inquire, if there is anything I did wrong–

No. It’s not that. You’ve been performing well so far. Zenozarax assured Ravalor, first realising how naturally he wanted to soothe his worries and only after the fact remembering that Ravalor — right now — didn’t worry about anything. He was just asking for the protocol.

Ravalor looked at him for a moment, considering his words. “You desire company again?”

“I guess I do,” he admitted.

Ravalor nodded.

Zenozarax smiled softly. Realistically he knew the Soldier couldn’t make that decision, he was incapable of understanding what it meant for him. He had asked if this was something Zenozarax wanted, and when he said yes, that made the decision a yes for the Soldier too — because every part and aspect of his existence was only meant to support Zenozarax in every way, shape, or form.

“Sit please.” He pointed over to the second chair and then close to the table. Ravalor took it and sat down, without further question he rolled up the sleeve of his right arm and laid his arm on top of the table. His eyes rested calmly on him.

With only a brief moment of hesitation Zenozarax took the Soldier’s hand. It was slightly colder against his own skin, the fingers almost bony as they instinctively grasped around his wrist, their palms pressed together. It struck him that in this quiet moment where he had time to really think about it, it felt almost absurd to him. A gesture so simple, and yet most wizards flinched away from it even when it wasn’t another wizard touching them.

Of course, as before with Ravalor and the other soldiers, there was no harm for either of them in this, it was safe, as the ancient runes running up his fingers and arm started to glow softly and connected with Ravalor. Barely more than a glorified data storage device that happened to walk and talk.

To do this with another wizard, to connect each other’s minds fully like this, would be detrimental for both, horrifyingly unpleasant at best and actively harmful at worst when the two minds clashed. More so, a chance to simply die by magic or chaos.

But Ravalor wasn’t a wizard. What he was, lay bare before him now. Everything he was, straight forward simplicity perfected over aeons. But not quite standard.

“Hm,” he hummed to himself. “Interesting.”

He saw Ravalors brows rise just slightly, a quiet question as he had no way to interpret or relate to what the wizard did. At least I’m not going insane. You are different.

How so? Ravalor asked, seemingly only out of politeness sake.

Do you remember Exavidar ever doing this?

No, Ravalor answered. Unsurprisingly, the soldiers were returned to draft point after most battles, wiping their memories clean.

They might get jealous when I do this now. Zenozarax chuckled, Ravalor’s hand twitched light in his as his core values were changed on the fly. Most of it is inactive of course, we don’t run blueprints like this in active battles. But you got a lot of work done already, I am pretty sure they are planning to make you whole sooner rather than later, Zenozarax explained as he sifted through more and more of the delicate setting that made this Soldier who he was. Or, who he was supposed to be one day. He felt a pleasing sense of calm as he did so, working on the fine magical task and explaining it to the Soldier. A sense of excited passion in his words that he thought had lost with the connection to his Wizard. Explains the name, too. You’ll be a wizard one day, Ravalor.

Ravalor’s fingers twitched again in his, and this time it was accompanied by an almost surprised but small gasp. Zenozarax watched him closely, every little move in the previously so emotionless face. As he twisted and turned in his mind, and he saw the moment the distant black of his eyes became more. It was not fear, no discomfort, but a faint sense of helplessness.

A sign of life. Of course, he was still very much aware that it was an illusion. There was an artificial point, they called it Tynaizhestvo, the lords’ turning of the soul. As with many of their concepts it really didn’t translate very well outside of Mezchinhar — but it was the point when a simple construct capable of thought and perception would turn truly sentient. When it would form its own fears, urges and wishes. Start to feel beyond its sensory input and become a wizard. Ravalor was still far away from it. Everything was still just a very smart program, pretending. A proof of concept, the blueprint of the wizard that would one day carry his name.

Grandmaster— Ravalor’s voice had turned weak for the first time since they met.

The runes on his arm turned dark again, but he kept holding the Soldier’s hand as he asked, How do you feel?

Ravalor hesitated for a moment before he said, Good. I think.

Good. Zenozarax nodded. There’s still more but, for now, let’s see how you handle it.

Almost absentmindedly Ravalor nodded, undoubtedly occupied with the whole new set of thoughts and impressions now processing in his mind.

There was a morally unjustifiable conflict here. His own desire for someone to freely talk to and to receive a genuine reaction, a relatable reaction, versus the dread of their situation being made palpable to this mind that was till now unfazed by it.

Even for what he had done here now he would feel the scorn of the engineers in charge should they ever learn of it. Zenozarax sure wasn’t ignorant nor rusty in this field. Even after having laid down the title of Soulturner himself, he had created himself, the Warrior, plenty of times after his many deaths, a very few times the Wizard too. But that didn’t give him permission to fuck around with army property to his liking. Or other wizards’ pet projects for that matter.

Grandmaster. Ravalor’s eyes had lingered for a moment on their still intertwined hands before he looked up, a faint gleam of curiosity in them now that was so much more alive than anything he had seen from him before. May I ask, why do you shun the company of your own?”

Delightful curiosity or not — he might have made a great mistake after all. How this Soldier managed with pin-point precision to ask the most uncomfortable question he could have asked right off the bat was sorcery to him.

I’ve created a monster, he growled more to himself receiving only a patient raise of his brows from Ravalor. Zenozarax smiled weakly when he answered the Soldier’s question nevertheless,

“Because wizards are annoying. You should know that better than anyone by now.”

Ravalor frowned slightly. “I don’t—”

“I know. But if you must know, I guess I dislike the pretence above it all.”

“How so?”

Zenozarax pondered over his answer for a moment, his eyes falling back to their hands. A gentle reminder that he could undo what he had done now in an instant, not being bothered to answer these kinds of questions. But he also realized that his mind enjoyed the brief moment of respite. To just be reminded of something familiar and more pleasing than the dooming situation they were in — and if that was his general dislike of other wizards so be it.

“We praise one another while at the same time nobody trusts anyone at arm’s length. We’re paying respect to the titles and ranks we earned and yet it can be all taken away in an instant if the first circle wills it so. We pretend to live our own lives while nothing of it is our own decision. They all know it, and nobody will say it, just acting like it isn’t so. So whenever I look another wizard in the eyes, when I hear those vapid words of praise and assurance, about accomplishments and plans, — it makes my skin crawl. Maybe it’s my position, my rank— he looked away, a deep furrow in his face as he was speaking out loud what he usually would only brood over with the Wizard, You won’t notice it at first. No. When we’re primal we’re allowed nothing and yet it’s the freest you’ll ever be. Even still as a Scion or Acolyte. But after that… with every rank their grasp around your decisions will grow tighter and tighter. It’s frustrating.” His hand came down on the table to underline his words and first at that moment, Zenozarax realised he had let go of the other’s hand as he talked. He felt a faint and comforting sense of anger, and a sudden pang of bitterness as he realised that he complained about pretending to be a mere machine who could only do that.

But then again, wasn’t he too?

Where was that turning point really?

Ravalor though only nodded softly. Zenozarax knew the Soldier was still unable to truly relate to it, but at least he was indeed much better in pretending now. But you do have a purpose. Ravalor finally said.

Oh to hell with that, as if that would make any of it better. In fact that’s the very problem! We’re given one – we’re not choosing. We only pretend we can!

Hm. Ravalor nodded again briefly, thinking, probably still failing to see the problem, then said, “You do seem like a rather complicated character.”

“Okay that’s it, I’ve made a mistake, give me your hand.”

Ravalor looked at him, but failed to keep his face as free of emotion as before, and Zenozarax saw a troubled distress in the black eyes as he seemingly had done something wrong but struggled to understand what it was. And still he just calmly and acceptingly lay his arm on the table again.

Zenozarax only sighed as he took Ravalor’s hand again, just considering for a moment. What was he doing? Blaming this Soldier for what he himself had done to him. He deserved better than that.

You shouldn’t care, and I shouldn’t make you.” The lines on his hands started to glow again. “I shouldn’t make you feel anything really,” Zenozarax said downright grim.

“I think it’s alright,” Ravalor said, for the first time since they had met, sounding almost uncertain. Not worryingly so, but not quite sure about what he was supposed to be thinking in the first place. Afraid to say something wrong again. And Zenozarax hated it. He didn’t want that.

Then, as Ravalor felt what Zenozarax was doing, or better said, was not doing, he sounded genuinely surprised, almost relieved if Zenozarax would believe so, “You’re not reverting it?”

Zenozarax glanced up, meeting Ravalor’s eyes. Do you want me to?”  

Ravalor had to think about that for a moment. And Zenozarax gave him the time he needed, intrigued to hear the answer as the Soldier, for the first time, had to decide what his own desire was.

No. I don’t think so.

Then I won’t. Zenozarax said quietly, and as he saw the way the Soldier looked at him now, he knew he had already gone too far. But that was alright. For now. Maybe there would be consequences later, but right now that didn’t matter, nor did he think about it at all. So instead of doing the right thing and undoing what he had just done to Ravalor, he explored the Soldier’s consciousness a bit further, introducing a bit more of who he was. It was okay. And I won’t do it to punish you for anything you might say from now on. I promise you that. I want you to speak honestly to me. Freely. Can you do that for me?

Ravalor nodded.

And for a while, Zenozarax just lingered on their hands and the still cold skin against his.

Is there anything else you want to know?

*

Zenozarax woke up feeling almost good. For a brief moment, even while still feeling exhausted, his mind was at ease and calm. Then the prattling of the rain and rumbling of thunder reminded him that he still had plenty of things to worry about after all.

Properly disgruntled again he rose from his damp field bed, forcing his body to comply as his tired mind assured him that more sleep would fix everything. It wouldn’t, not while being trapped in here, cut off from the comfort of his Wizard’s presence. He felt the air against his wet skin and shuddered for a brief moment – surprised to consider that this probably was akin to what sweating felt like. As he didn’t sweat naturally, this was an interesting experience. It was also disgusting. Caused by the fact that the air was hot and should the humidity rise more they all would soon be swimming around in this thick, disgusting air.

“Since when are you awake?” he asked as he forced himself into his uniform shirt again – as it was as wet as ever getting dressed was a challenge in and of itself. He let the jacket and cloak rest aside as he didn’t feel like wrangling with them too, but faintly he suddenly did wonder where his hat had gone. He must have lost it somewhere.

Ravalor had noticed him waking and had stood up. “About four hours ago,” he answered plainly and Zenozarax glanced at him, not sure if he had suffered some intense hallucinations last night or not.

But no, it was there alright, even if it was easy to miss. A subtle change in his face. In the way he looked at him now. A sense of familiarity.

Ravalor had also taken some rest – what Zenozarax had done with him had left him rather exhausted too. But of course, he still required a lot less of it, as his mind was not desperately trying to reach any other part of himself.

“The Chief Engineer was here and requested to speak with you at your earliest convenience.”

“When?” Zenozarax glanced up briefly from trying to pull his pant’s into place.

“Briefly after the first muster.”

“What – how late is it?” With a puzzled frown Zenozarax halted, and he knew the answer the moment he paid attention to his own sense of time, but Ravalor answered nevertheless.

“Current earth time, quarter past eleven.”

“Are you – why didn’t you wake me?”

“You seemed exhausted. It seemed the wisest decision to let you get some rest and the Chief agreed.” Ravalor explained with a staggeringly judgmental tone in his voice as if to imply he should have rested already long before.

“Oh now you two are plotting for my well being together, that’s how it is? Alright, okay, I see.” Zenozarax cursed as he hobbled from one foot to the other, water splashing from his boots as he put them back on again and immediately he felt small stones and rough mud press against the sole of his feet. “By the lords I hate this cursed, bloody,–”

he took a deep breath, focusing his anger and gently pushing it down, putting a tight lid on it. For now. What made that easier was the slightest twitch of an almost amused smile on Ravalor’s face as he watched him curse and complain. And with that he was glad he had done what he had done. It was delightfully refreshing. If it reduced him to a source of light amusement for Ravalor who had obviously already figured out when his anger was of a more casual nature, so be it.

“Okay.” Zenozarax raised up properly. “What did he want?”

“No breakthrough concerning the dome I’m afraid,” Ravalor said as he must have seen the faintest glimmer of hope in Zenozarax’s face. “It’s about that expedition towards the rim he talked about the other day. He wants you to assign the wizards and soldiers to go with him.”

With how few there were left, a not unexpected decision to leave it up to him.

“Very well then, you’re up for a romantic walk in this lords forsaken rain, Ravalor?”

“Excuse me?”

“Let’s go with him, I haven’t seen that blasted thing up close myself. And I assume we now have all the time in the world anyways.”

8 The Rain

It was the middle of the day – at least that would be factually true outside the perimeter of the dome of chaos in which the few surviving wizards and soldiers were trapped in. Inside however it was dark.

The unnatural clouds were towering and pitch black, blocking out every hint of sunlight. So in the shine of their magical lights, the small expedition team made their way south. They had left the imaginary safety of the trees and made their way through the open plain now. Where the rocks and roots before had provided still some resemblance of stability of the ground below their feet, the flat, marshy grassland had by now turned into a swamp. The constant rain had carved small rivers through the mud where the downpour found its way back into the ocean. They followed the flow of the water.

“We should be reaching the shore soon,” Demitalek announced through the rain, his voice raised considerably to be heard.

“Great, Zargothax shouted back. Any particular reason you want to go for a seaside stroll now?”

“I have a suspicion.”

Zenozarax just grunted at that while he pulled himself forward, dragging his boots out of the mud just to sink back in with every following step. Ravalor was right beside him and more than once either of them had to catch the other from losing their balance.

Remind me that romantic walks in the rain are for now crossed off the list of fun recreational activities, Zenozarax murmured just loud enough that Ravalor could hear him. The Soldier smiled very lightly, glancing at Zenozarax with an almost apologetic expression on his face.

I don’t know, I find it strangely interesting.

Of course you do. Everything’s going to be interesting to you now. Another soggy squelch of his boots being dragged from the mud. I fear my excitement for the inconvenient has died some couple thousand years ago.

Ravalor nodded thoughtfully. Well, I do find it interesting, but I don’t think I like it.

That’s comforting. At least you’re of a sound mind then.’’ At that comment Ravalor, for the first time, gave a low scoff – and Zenozarax glanced at him, still strangely surprised. It was a pleasing kind of novelty to hear such a reaction from the Soldier.

As to immediately punish him for that brief moment of delight, the ground beneath his next step gave in way more than anticipated and he almost had graced himself with another bath in the dirt had Ravalor not caught his arm in the nick of time.

Thanks, he grumbled while in spirit cursing the world, dome and sky again.

Zenozarax had opened up the closing of his uniform shirt halfway and rolled up its sleeves – and while it did not help against the heat, it fooled his mind into thinking it did. Not that it mattered, neither of them would die from a heatstroke here – unlike however every other living creature that would have been caught within. Whatever had been still alive when the dome came down had to be dead by now, as the temperature was far above any livable levels for organic life. Naturally, it didn’t affect the wizards or soldiers, but that didn’t change anything about the implied discomfort it evoked for the mere pretence of being human. A quite pointless pretence in the current situation, but he wasn’t yet insane enough to start tinkering with his own mind and body without his Wizard at his side.

Suddenly Ravalor spoke up again.

“Chief, do you think this weather is a deliberate effect of the dome or an accidental consequence?”

Demitalek glanced back, Zenozarax wouldn’t even have to see his friend’s face to know why, as the mere fact that a soldier just out of the blue asked such a question would be puzzling enough for most wizards. It kind of amused him more than he felt guilty about it.

“Well, as a matter of fact, I’m trying to find exactly that out,” Demitalek answered hesitatingly, before continuing his slow straining path forward. “As is, it could be both. Finding out the truth about this might give me some information about its nature.

Ravalor nodded and Demitalek focused on the imaginary path ahead again.

The swampiness of the ground slowly ceased as they reached the sandy shoreline. While the land had been torn apart and dragged by water towards the sea it was still easier to walk here.

“We should be close now.” They followed the shoreline a bit further and then the dome came into view.

At first, Zenozarax didn’t even quite grasp what it was he saw. Through the veil of rain, a strip of light appeared in the darkness. It wasn’t very bright, a faint shine of white and purplish glowing embers that sparked from rolling waves of mist. As they came closer a sound added to the unfamiliarity of it. A sizzling like water dropping onto glowing hot metal.

Then what he saw finally made sense.

They had reached the rim of the dome. Whereas the border seemed almost invisible on land, disappearing into the darkness, where the magical force field dove into the sea it reacted violently with the molecules. The water touching it was boiling and evaporating, while bright sparks shot across the waterline.

“So we’re getting steam fried,” Zenozarax noted dryly.

“I suspected as much,” Demitalek said, getting closer to the rim. “I think the increasing heat and lasting rain is caused by this. However, the thunder might be the sheer amount of chaos in the air. We know that manipulation of chaos can influence the weather as much as regular magic. Consequently as the temperature has risen, closing the difference between the air and the superheated chaos of the dome, the thunder has lessened.”

As his attention was drawn back to the weather, Zenozarax first now noticed how the everlasting rain had been reduced to a drizzle and he looked up. It made sense, he supposed, the curvature of the dome naturally pushed the storm clouds towards its centre. Also, it was a bit brighter here now. There was no visible sunlight passing through the dome’s surface which seemed dark and upset now, but still, some of the light from the other side seemed to make it through. Then he asked, “Does this help in any way?”

“I’m not sure yet.” Demitalek picked up a small stone from the muddied sand beneath their feet. With just enough force he threw it against the dome. The moment it impacted the stone seemingly exploded into a sizzling and violent rain of sparks. It made each of them flinch to varying degrees as they had just received a visual reminder of what happened to the first soldier that had tried to pass through the barrier.

“Fascinating.” Demitalek frowned.

“You know what I hate?” Zenozarax asked, indulging that ugly feeling of dread.

“Is that a trick question?” Demitalek glanced at him, a hint of his usually so joyful nature in his face that had all but vanished when the dome had come down. Zenozarax ignored the counter-question with an exasperated frown. But both appreciated the little quip, as it took a bit of the gloom from the situation.

Nevertheless, Zenozarax continued, “This thing, the dome – it doesn’t feel or look stable. It looks – unclean. Unrefined.”

Ravalor had stepped beside him, he held his rifle again even though both of them felt he would probably not need it here. Now he looked at him with quiet curiosity, so while Demitalek surely understood what he was saying, he added for Ravalors sake, “It’s like this is the first draft of a very powerful spell. Either that or it was cast by an inexperienced wizard – but since we have to assume it was Quadirymir’s doing, I think the former is true. He tried something here – this might as well be a field test and we’re his subjects.”

Ravalor frowned slightly, nodding in understanding while Demitalek, still under the impression it was him Zenozarax talked to, answered, “It would seem so, no?” The Chief Engineer had closed in on the dome’s border even further, trying to get some reading from the cobbled up devices he had been working on over the last days. That he quietly cursed to himself was not very assuring.

“The chaos is a lot stronger here – as was to be expected. I can barely get anything from it.”

Demitalek was close enough to the dome’s rim that the space bending effect seemingly distorting spacetime around it started to distort the vision of him in front of Zenozarax’ own eyes. He trusted Demitalek to be careful, yet it was making him uneasy. The chaos was so violently ripping through the fabric of reality that looking at the slight distortion for too long made him feel dizzy.

Zenozarax looked back at Ravalor who was quietly watching Demitalek. The now light rain dripped relentlessly from his bearded chin and his nose, the short black hair was sticking to his head.

And Zenozarax was surprised to see a hint of frustration in the young face.

What is it? He asked quietly, sure that Demitalek was busy enough with his reading and far enough away as to hear him.

Ravalor looked at him, an undeniable reluctance replaced the frustration but then he said, I wish I could help. But I don’t know anything about this.

Zenozarax realised, uncomfortably so, that he might have given this Soldier an expanded sense of self and a more complex array of emotions – just for him to feel useless now. That he sure hadn’t intended.

It’s not like I’m an expert either, Zenozarax only murmured. Nobody is. Because it’s chaos. The only thing I know how to defeat it is to throw as much force against it as you can muster and hope for the best.

Curious.

Hm?

With how powerful Chaos seems, it seems strange to not use it in turn. Or are there chaos wizards in Mezchinhar?

Of course not, Zenozarax said without having to think about it. We can’t use it, it’s too dangerous. It’s corrupting. We can’t control it, so it’s forbidden to use to prevent future harm. The words came so easy because he had heard them often enough, etched into his mind since the day he had come into time.

They can, Ravalor said, wondering carefully. The chaos wizard.

Zenozarax wanted to answer but fell quiet. Looking back at the dome. It wasn’t often one came to hear words of doubt concerning Mezchinhar’s truth – but this Soldier knew nothing of it. He had never been taught what to think because naturally he shouldn’t be thinking much of anything. He just saw the practical logic of the facts presented to him now. Hm. What a terrible idea though, to fight fire with fire. Horrible, unstable and barely controllable fire. He could vividly imagine the destruction it would entail.

Once aeons ago, when he had been merely a Scion he had been taught all there was to know about chaos. All they understood at least. A concept of magic so advanced they barely began to grasp it – and probably never truly would. Nor should. It was within the might of the Lords to wield this magic to their liking, to control it. It wasn’t for them, the lords’ wizards.

He had understood all that. Never questioned it. Another fact of the life given to him.

But then why, as they were created by the Lords and given the qualities they possess, if Chaos was not intended for them to use, yes, then why could some so effectively? Was it an accident? The proverbial monkeys thrown into a spaceship and accidentally managing to start the weapons systems? Or by design? Given a weapon just slightly too powerful, too unknown, to be wielded reliably.

Questioning either the Lords’ or the First Circle’s intentions would not garner him any good reputation, but that was hardly of importance right now.

Nor were any of his musings helpful.

He couldn’t utilise the chaos around him even if he wanted to, even if he were to decide it was their only chance to destroy the dome. Because controlling chaos was a skill, knowledge, he did not possess. Neither of them did. And so while he could sense the chaos around him, pressing down onto him more relentlessly than the blasted rain, he couldn’t even begin to grasp it.

Because it was a curse that had to be given. Or taken. Not learned.

Demitalek turned back towards him, and he didn’t have to say it, Zenozarax saw on his face that he wasn’t satisfied nor hopeful about whatever reading he had gotten.

“Done?” he asked, willing to give the engineer time till camp to ponder over it.

“Yes. Let’s get back.”

*

Now walking against the natural stream of the water, the way back was even less pleasing. He felt the artificial sense of exhaustion in his muscles that merely reminded him of the strain of what he did but didn’t affect him beyond that.

They were quiet. And so was the world around them as the rain and rushing of water had slowly become like white noise in the back of their consciousness. Always there, but no longer to be paid attention to.

Their clothes were heavy on their bodies, their movement impaired by it sticking to their limbs. Their uniforms soiled up to their tights in mud and torn from the battles before.

And yet there was almost something soothing about this moment. A calm, even if horrible, acceptance of the situation. A new normal.

The heat and rain. The mud in his boots and his wet hair sticking to his head. That unsatisfied frown on Demitalek’s face promising no hope. But also the thoughtful look in Ravalor’s face, still pondering over his own new thoughts.

And he began to accept the idea that they may be stuck in here for a very long time. And maybe they could make that work. The castle was still there, with some repairs it should make for some proper shelter from the rain. Maybe, given time and some peace, even in this horrible situation, they would find a solution one day. There was a faint idea of hope in that. They truly had more time than sense on their hands now.

That was mere moments before that weak idea of hope and the premature calm was violently ripped apart.

They had almost reached the camp again, through the veils of rain the first magical lights could be spotted, when suddenly the world broke around them.

Zenozarax didn’t know what came first, maybe none of it did, maybe all of it truly happened in a perfect strike all at the same moment, ignoring any restrictions of time and space.

The world around them was suddenly illuminated by flashes so bright they were blinded. The strong, cold light  violently assaulted their eyes that had gotten used to the darkness and diverted the world into an abstract rendering of black and white.

The sound was deafening, a sudden and shaking screeching no natural being could produce, a distortion in the vibration in the air yet sounding like a scream of agony.

The world trembled as something like explosions shook the ground.

And the feeling of being buried below a rockslide with a force horribly unnatural and crushing hit Zenozarax so unexpectedly that he lost his balance. His mind was on fire, torn apart by raging, violent chaos, it hurt, and it hurt badly, his hands grasping for his head, he couldn’t block out the light, nor the sound, nor the feeling – he couldn’t even understand at that moment what was happening.

The light flickered, as did the scream. But it didn’t stop.

He couldn’t even notice he was held, propped up and kept walking.

*

The clouds above seemed to have vanished in the light of a thousand cold suns. In the distance, Ravalor saw for the first time the entire surface of the dome as it was now flashing in a violent white shine with every new scream in the air that ripped through the air like an explosion.

Ravalor held the barely conscious wizard, one arm around his waist the other holding Zenozarax’ arm over his shoulder.

The constant flickering of the bright light turned the world around him to a balking slideshow, but he kept walking. Another soldier had grabbed Demitalek.

He frowned, glaring up briefly at the dome and the violent explosions going through it. He felt it too, it was a continuous buzzing within his mind that made it hard to even think straight – but he was still there. He still functioned. Mere moments ago he had found himself complaining that he was ignorant about magic, and now his own deafness to magic was turning out a blessing more than a shortcoming again.

He was just a Soldier. Not a wizard. He knew bare to nothing about magic but to try to keep himself safe from it in a combat situation.

However, he wasn’t blind nor stupid.

In the flickering light, he saw nothing that would cause this kind of reaction of the dome – and he assumed it to be a reaction because it seemed to be the same he had seen earlier when the chief engineer had thrown that rock at it. Just on a completely different scale. He could even see the points of concentrated light where whatever it was that was impacting on the dome’s surface. From the outside.

And he assumed, based on this observation that Mezchinar tried to breach the dome now with force. Bombarding it with whatever means necessary. And they had no idea what reaction it caused inside.

Ravalor heard the pain-filled groan of Zenozarax. And he felt an uncomfortable rush of concern. Unfamiliar and distracting. He wanted this to stop, so it would stop hurting Zenozarax. A simple desire surely, but it caused too many sensations, too many thoughts.

They reached the camp. And the bombardment of the dome had not stopped.

Soldiers came running up to him, not a single wizard in sight confirming his suspicion that all of them suffered the same effect. As his fellow soldiers saw the state of the Grandmaster they turned to him for leadership. It was a quick and simple consensus as neither of them sought a position of power but Ravalor’s close position to Zenozarax made him the most logical choice in the chain of command. He was surprised to find out that he didn’t feel very comfortable with it.

Nevertheless, he said firmly, “We don’t know how long this will last, gather the beds, boxes and tables if you have to too, and get all of them inside the command tent and stay with them!” he shouted against the screeching in the air — and his command was promptly followed while he himself dragged Zenozarax towards the command tent.

With the apparent disappearance of the chaos wizard, the dome had just turned from a terrible inconvenience to the most threatening enemy they were facing now. And there was nothing he could do about it.

9 The Shift

It had been almost an hour before the dome above calmed again.

For Zenozarax it had felt like a torturing eternity stricken down by the overwhelming chaos pressing onto his mind. A force so all-consuming and alien that he simply couldn’t understand it.

When finally it became quiet again he heard voices around him, a low mumbling, some shattered words. He also heard the rain and low rumbling thunder. And, after the onslaught of deafening noise before, it was strangely comforting. But it couldn’t cover up the deep unsettling tension he felt within himself. Something had changed, and he felt it.

Grandmaster?

A quiet voice beside him and finally, Zenozarax saw again. His eyes hadn’t been closed but he hadn’t perceived the world around him, not until he realised that he was still here, and blinked. And he saw Ravalor. He stood beside him, looking down at him, a clear sense of worry in a face that usually should bear no emotions.

What happened? he heard himself ask, his voice not more than a rasp in his throat till he cleared it. He sat up.

We assume Mezchinhar tried to breach the dome, Ravalor said factually, and it almost hid the unsettled undertone in his voice. But none of the wizards were able to make observations of the event. We’re already giving them all we’ve seen.

Zenozarax looked through the tent. He wasn’t the only one coming by again, he heard the same question asked by the other wizards, the diligent answers of the soldiers. Then he spotted Demitalek who stood up from the pair of boxes he had sat on, searching his eyes as he already walked over to him. He seemed still a bit shaky in his steps and so as he reached them the engineer just sat down on Zenozarax’ field bed, bluntly ignoring any idea of proper distance. A ridiculous thing to notice given the circumstances, but he couldn’t help it.

Do you feel that? Demitalek asked grimly.

Zenozarax nodded. There was only one thing to truly feel right this moment and it was grating on his nerves, tearing them apart slowly but mercilessly.

The dome has changed. Demitalek frowned like he was suffering a bad headache. He was not meeting his eyes, blinking hard as if the afterimages of the flashing lights still burned in his memories. It’s frequency, tune, whatever— it’s gotten more hostile, he said, struggling to even put his words straight.

I have a hypothesis, Demitalek then added.

I hope you do. Especially on how we prevent this from happening again, Zenozarax answered grimly, moving slightly to make more room between them.

I wouldn’t go that far, Demitalek admitted. If I’m right it makes things only more complicated actually.

Hm, Zenozarax murmured, having expected no less.

I think this dome might actually be a sort of construct. An actual physical manifestation of chaos. That’s why we haven’t found a channelling device yet. It’s autarkic. It exists independently outside any wizard’s influence.

And what makes you think that?

The readings I got were odd, but this violent reaction to the bombardment — it reacted almost as if it were alive. Magical barriers, chaos or not, do not react this violently to impact. Don’t change like this and then stay like that. We poked it, and it really didn’t like that. Demitalek said, a deeply unhappy grimace on his face. And now it’s irritated.

Zenozarax would have liked to say that it sounded insane, but it really didn’t. Not when he still remembered that ear-shattering screeching that had filled the air and the horrible pulsing of chaos.

I don’t think it is under the chaos wizards’ control anymore. If it ever had been.

Zenozarax kept quiet, looking up to meet Ravalor’s eyes. And he saw the slight change in the Soldier’s face as he undoubtedly could read the hopeless expression clearly in the wizards’ faces, because then Ravalor asked, So we can’t destroy it?  

Demitalek, seemingly exhausted enough to just accept the Soldier’s unusual behaviour, looked up to Ravalor too and nodded. I think, if Mezchinhar hasn’t been able to breach the dome by conventional means, there is no chance in hell that we can with our limited resources from inside here.

Maybe we can’t destroy it. Maybe we don’t have to. Zenozarax said quietly, looking back at Demitalek. There has to be a way to get through. First of all chaos of course. But you’ve seen the light at the rim… that came from the other side too. It can’t be impenetrable. Tell me you still have some ideas left to explore?

Demitalek nodded. A few.

Then explore them. Zenozarax stood up and Ravalor followed him promptly.

Zenozarax. Demitalek called out, making him stop What are we going to do now?

Zenozarax ground his teeth, felt the endless frustration grow and consume him from inside. He did feel like having a headache though it wasn’t that. He understood that Demitalek wasn’t talking about the dome any longer. Because they both felt it. Things would get very tense now. I will think about that. Until then, just keep trying to find a way through, let me worry about the rest. He paused, looking back at Demitalke before he said more quietly Also, record everything you know. And write it down too, store it with the soldiers as well. Hell, carve it into stone tablets or something, just to be sure. We don’t know what will happen next, but we have to make sure Mezchinhar will somehow learn of what happened in here. If we only get out of here dead, I never want to run into this blind again.

Demitalek nodded somberly, but then all their attention was drawn to the far left of the tent where suddenly a bit of a commotion ensued. Zenozarax heard Kazra curse loudly, not aimlessly, but directed at Wingcommander Fajathena. Cursing his name, honour and purpose with the angriest and most colourful words Mezchinhar and the human realm combined had to offer.

He stepped closer as Kazra had already fallen silent again and had dropped down on one of the field beds. He was still barely able to stand on his own.

The frown in Zenozarax’ face deepened as he saw Fajathena lying motionless on one of the beds. And he knew exactly what had happened. What the Wingcommander had done.

He’s gone? he asked nevertheless and Kazra nodded grimly, confirming Farathenas desertion.

And just to make it perfectly clear Kazra growled, Damn coward. May Leviathan strike him down. His deflating anger was filled with disappointment.

Zenozarax did not say anything to that, he felt the forlorn eyes of the wizards around him, the stoic calm of the soldiers, as he stood above the young Wingcommander’s lifeless body looking down onto it. His eyes were still opened but even the white was black now. Shut down and left dead. And Zenozarax was glad nobody could see the clear contempt in his face made only worse by the fact that he understood perfectly well why Fajathena had done it.

He had known this would happen. Chances were good Fajathena would be only the first to choose death over staying trapped in this hellhole that became more and more hostile to them. Giving in to the temptation and the knowledge that once they ended their existence here, they could live again outside, in a new body, forgetting all that had happened here.

His anger was wrapping its cold burning fingers tightly around his heart again, and yet, as he turned around his voice was calm. His face could not hide his anger, but his words were firm and clear.

We have a duty. He looked at his fellow wizards that looked pitiful and weak. And we have a purpose. That lords forsake chaos wizard may have fled this realm, but now our survival is even more crucial. We’re facing one of the greatest threats our forces have encountered in aeons. This knowledge can’t be lost. Because each and every one of you knows that this won’t be the last time we will encounter this. So for our own damn sake, all that we’ve seen here has to reach outside. And we will find a way to make it so!

Some nodded, maybe some of them even believed in his words, but at least they sparked that faint sense of purpose again. Because that’s what they needed. Because without a purpose, a wizard was all but useless and lost.

He continued, his voice was for a moment softer, almost compassionate, I know you’re all tired and you want nothing more than to return home. And you will. But for now, we need to stay. The resolve in the wizards around him grew stronger, at least a bit, he could see it in their faces, and so his tone grew firm and commanding again Firecommander, you will help to organise the Warriors to assist Chief Engineer Demitalek in his research. Each of you will take direct orders from him now, if he tells you to get a spoon full of dirt from the opposite side of the dome, you’ll do it on the double. Is that understood?

The combined Yes, Sir. He received as an answer sounded confident enough. They were all still shaken, but given a clear order like this was sweeping some of the uncertainty away.

So he nodded and turned to leave again.

Zenozarax stepped outside followed by Ravalor. The lasting darkness was briefly illuminated by another thunderstrike and it made him involuntarily flinch and stop dead in his tracks as he feared another bombardment from outside. But what followed was just the thundering rumble they all had gotten used to.

For a moment he just stared into the darkness, while his mind was taken over by the continuously scratching tension in the back of his brain.

The rain was like a curtain shrouding the world around into a faint and distorted afterimage of reality. The magical lights barely illuminated the area and where they stopped it was pitch black. But within the strings of rain, the darkness seemed moving.

Another thunderstrike lit up the camp as bright as day. For a second he could clearly see abstract, dark tendrils reaching from the flooded fields and rushing rivers yielding to water erosion, overexposed and casting hard shadows. Then it was dark again – and the strange shadows turned back into dying trees vanishing in the darkness.

Water dripped from his face, loose strands of hair stuck to his forehead, his hand twitched as his thoughts lost themselves into the quietness of his own mind, the loneliness and dread.

“Grandmaster Zenozarax?”

And suddenly he was there again. His mind snapped back into reality, the sound of thunder and rain rushing back into his consciousness, the darkness around becoming still and dead again. And he turned towards Ravalor. He wanted to say something, anything to soothe the concern in Ravalor’s voice. But maybe for the first time in his existence, he didn’t know what that would be. So he just lightly shook his head to himself and started to walk again. Ravalor’s steps were close behind him.

The entire camp seemed deserted as most soldiers tended to the wizards’ needs inside.

Once he had entered his own tent he merely stood there for another moment while he heard Ravalor close the tent behind him. Then he walked past him and stood at the side, just watching Zenozarax quietly. But unlike before there was a restlessness within his body, and Zenozarax guessed for the first time in his life Ravalor too was struggling to find the right words to say.

He wasn’t the only one. And by the lords, Zenozarax wished he would say something, just anything. Taking his mind from the fact that he didn’t know what to do.

The scratching in the back of his mind became louder the quieter it got around him. It almost was a sound, almost like something scratching at the fabric of the tent from the outside, wanting to get in. But there was nothing. Or if there was, Ravalor didn’t seem to notice it, which seemed highly unlikely.

He sat down back at the foldable table, the chair almost lost its balance as by now it barely found any solid ground to stand on. He spun up the holographic interface in lieu of anything else to do. It flickered even harder now than it had the previous nights, confirming how the chaos interference had only increased. Strangely enough, as if his mind didn’t want to deal with this fact, he took notice of his soaked boots, filled with water and mud, every slight movement of his feet making a soggy noise. He pushed the wet hair out of his face again and retied the firm knot as best as he could.

The hologram kept flickering before him.

“Can you feel it too?” he finally asked.

Ravalor didn’t answer, for a moment having to think about his words before he said, “I think– I do feel that something is different. But I don’t know exactly what it is.”

“Hm.” He had meant the dome but he felt they weren’t really talking about that.

“What do you feel?” That gleam of newfound genuine curiosity again in Ravalor’s voice, still trying to put his new feelings into perspective. And by the lords how glad he was Ravalor kept talking.

“Dread,” Zenozarax answered without even thinking about it. “Suffocating and all-consuming dread. It’s the chaos pushing down on us now… I feel nervous.” A humourless chuckle. “I haven’t felt that in a very long time.”

The sudden sound of movement made him flinch, but of course, it was just Ravalor. He was scolding his own mind, who else would it be. Ravalor came towards him and took that second chair again, sitting down, still eying him curiously, but undeniably worried too.

“Will you be alright?”

“I hope so. Just have to get used to this,” he said without believing it himself. And because he didn’t like that he added, “I just have to make sure this thing doesn’t drive us all insane before we get anything done.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

Zenozarax looked at Ravalor, his first answer would have been doubtful, but he had given this machine the ability to feel, and now it was his duty to give him some purpose too. “Just make sure I keep it together. The warriors need someone to look up to now, strong leadership — they should not see that I’m as bad off as they are. So don’t let me lose my shit in front of them.”

Ravalor nodded.

And then Zenozarax grinned — but his face didn’t really want to do that, so whatever expression ended up in his face was just humourless and bitter. He leaned back a bit, shaking his head to himself. I really fucked this up.

Ravalor frowned slightly puzzled. You couldn’t have known.

I feel like I should have, though. Somehow. Considered it a possibility. Maybe he should have, but Ravalor was right. He couldn’t have. Didn’t change the fact that he wished he had. It’s always been a tight race. Them trying to fuck with our magic and we with theirs. As of late it really looked good. We’ve done well. The current generation of wizards have the strongest link and barriers against chaos interference we’ve ever created. We were solid. But now they brought a god damn lightspeed skiff to a horse race. No, worse than that, they built a bloody wall directly on the track.

Hm. Ravalor just nodded along, and anyone else Zenozarax may have accused of just passively indulging him in his frustrated rambling — but, as strange as it was, he knew Ravalor better than that. He’d never be overly chatty, but he was listening, and he listened with genuine interest and concern, even though it barely showed through the stoic facade of his face.

It was nice to know that.

I will be so pissed when they demote me, Zenozarax mused, finally really leaning back against the backrest of the chair and almost lost balance as its support sank into the mud. He would expect the demotion should he make it out of here alive – but he doubted it, and he knew himself well enough. It would be a slap in his face made worse by him having no clue what had even happened.

Why would they? If we really don’t make it out of here, they won’t know what happened either, Ravalor said, clearly judging that possibility as unquestionably unjust with naive conviction. Zenozarax would agree with that, but neither of them would be asked their opinion when it came to it.

Doesn’t matter. I lost the knife and potentially all wizards under my command. Though the knife’s what will really do me in. Nobody cares about a few replaceable warriors. He gave a low sigh, his fingers tracing a low ridge on the table. Truth to be told, they wouldn’t have put up with me for as long as they did if it weren’t for that damn knife. He glanced up from his hand back to Ravalor and almost smiled at the clear curiosity in the Soldier’s eyes. He was burning to ask — and yet he didn’t, because he knew it to be sensitive information. And Zenozarax knew he really shouldn’t be talking about it. But there was a lot he was saying now he wouldn’t have in any other circumstance. Things he hadn’t talked with anyone about ever, because it would either undermine security or himself. Now he offered it voluntarily.

It took a liking to me, Zenozarax said, giving a weak shrug because, in the end, he understood that artefact only slightly better than any other expert on these artefacts crafted by the lords. And it’s really picky with that. You can’t force it to do anything, it lets you, if it wants to. And if it doesn’t like you, it’s no more than a dramatic butter knife. He paused, letting the crystal clear images of impossible old memories replay in his mind.

Before I became Grandmaster, I had been a Firecommander for a long time, and that made sense, because I designed those unicorns, gave me plenty of observational data to improve them.

You made them? Ravalor seemed surprised, but more in an awestruck than doubtful way. Why though was beyond Zenozarax to see.

Still am – we’ll see if that stays that way too. To be fair, you didn’t get the best first impression of those bloody things. Usually, he loved them dearly, but right now he was just frustrated about their failings. His own too.

I didn’t get the best first impression of anything, I’d assume. Ravalor just noted with a thoughtful nod.

Zenozarax smiled tiredly. I may include myself in that. Anyways. I never was under any illusion to even hope to become Grandmaster – I was a good Firecommander, it wasn’t that, but I had… well, burned a few too many bridges for any promotion. There’s a lot of bootlicking involved in that – never quite my taste.

Worst was probably Fleetmaster Nemoneleus. That nihilistic son of a bitch has way too much pull. Shipped with him once as Firecommander, my first and only time on the Leviathan before becoming a Grandmaster – didn’t go too well. I’m pretty sure every time I kindly request him to fire now he’s just tempted to let that laser twitch just a little bit over onto my position. Fortunately that wizard runs only on duty and order and not his personal feelings, Zenozarax said only half-jokingly. It felt good to just talk for a moment, because as long as he kept talking it kept the scratching in the back of his mind at bay and the twitching of his fingers easy to ignore.

And Ravalor listened, a bit overwhelmed, but with the faintest hint of a smile on his face. He recognized it as endearing. But at the same time, he realised he was starting to get carried away – one short relive or not, somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he hadn’t all the time in the world.

But that’s beside the point. I’m pretty sure since then I was always at the very bottom of the list. Maybe they got desperate though, because one day they took me aside, told me to disconnect from my Wizard and gave that knife to me. It starts glowing, I’m just confused because it felt really weird, alive if that makes sense, and they look at me like they wished I’d have just imploded.’’ That aspect of the memory never failed to amuse him and even though the moment of nostalgic levity was short–lived, it was  welcome.

And that was that, suddenly I was Grandmaster. His words became quieter as he added, Pretty sure they did that with all the suitable candidates, and they all were just discontinued afterwards, not even remembering why they weren’t chosen. A bitter scoff in his voice. And as he fell silent the quietness suffocated the short sense of ease as quickly as it had come.

It was an unsettling reminder that there were plenty of things he had done in the line of duty, following Mezchinhar’s order, that he simply didn’t remember because he had died. What made it unsettling was the idea that there would have been missions that he had survived — but knowing things he shouldn’t. It wasn’t a question if Mezchinhar had killed him before, the question was, how often.

He really had too much time to think and it didn’t do him any good. Now he was here, exhausted to the bone and desperate to return home, and he found himself dreading that possibility at the same time. He saw his fingers twitch again and curled them into a fist. Out of sight, out of mind. If only it were that easy.

After a heavy moment of silence, Zenozarax took the Soldier’s hand. There was slight confusion in Ravalor’s face but Zenozarax barely saw it as his eyes were focused on the Soldier’s hand in his own. Still colder than his. A deceivingly pleasing sensation against the heat surrounding them.

The magic tingled slightly in the tips of his fingers as their minds connected and he felt the soothing calm of the stoic Soldier. Still so simple, but so much more now, too. He was a good Soldier. And he would be a kind wizard. But right now he was also what felt like the last anchor he had that tethered him into reality. And while the sensation of slowly losing his mind was terrifying, when he felt that cold hand in his, it was almost easy to ignore.

I’ll stay with you, Ravalor said, seemingly unprompted, but Zenozarax merely smiled softly.

It’s what you’ve been built to do, he said, knowing that what he himself was lay bare before the Soldier’s gaze now as much as it was the other way around. Just that Ravalor couldn’t understand what he saw. Only sense enough to get a vague understanding of the feeling of loneliness. And in turn, he also knew that Ravalor was genuine beyond his given purpose.

He sensed the affection as the rudimentary program tried to grasp its first concept of trust, maybe even a first precursor of friendship built in a hurry, hastened by hardship and the hopelessness surrounding them.

He was already so much more. And he was learning, growing. Much quicker than he’d ever seen it happen within the calm of Mezchinhar. He found a faint sense of intrigue in that realisation. A fast track to building character by hardship and struggle — a cruel revelation he hoped nobody in Mezchinhar would ever have.

His eyes lingered on Ravalor’s hand in his, the light glow of the markings running up his thumb as it brushed over the Ravalor’s palm, the magic connecting them was a faint and pleasant tingling where their skin touched.

Once Exavidar would make this Soldier the wizard he was supposed to be, what they did now would be considered insanely reckless behaviour. Almost no wizard would ever, willfully, fully connect to another. While a faint connection was possible without harming each other, it was a sign of immense trust. And impossibly rare in Mezchianhar.

Ravalor would learn to keep his distance, to not trust any wizard to touch him. Not even in Mezchinhar – because the tendril of chaos spread far and deep. There was no safe place from it. There was no telling who was carrying that dreadful curse and who wasn’t.

He would learn how cold Mezchinhar could be.

Ravalor must have noticed his heavy thoughts because he sensed the concern. Distantly he saw memories of the flashes before back on the Soldier’s mind. Felt the slight disconnect as he saw what he knew had happened but couldn’t really remember himself. The sky illuminated by that unnatural and horrible flickering light.

Suddenly he froze. As if it had only needed his mind to look away for a moment, a horrible idea popped up in his mind.

They must have seen it too! His hand tightened around Ravalor’s.

What?

When they attacked the dome, we saw that! In here! So there is a chance that when we shoot at it from inside, they will see the reaction too! He said feverishly. He couldn’t be sure of it, but it was possible. It won’t destroy it, but we can send a message! Pulses just timed right –

Grandmaster, surely it would do the same to you again! Ravalor objected.

That’s why you’d need to make sure that it works! We’ll all be out, but you can send that message! We have to prepare, find all the weapons we have left, we can blow up the unicorns too, Demitalek and Kazra will have to make sure it’s set right and–

He stopped. Looking at the almost painful expression on Ravalor’s face.

What? He didn’t want to hear it.

And he didn’t.

He saw Ravalor talk, somewhere he also heard something about the amount of weaponry left, the situation, and concerns.

But he didn’t really hear.

The scratching in the back of his mind got louder and louder, growing into a screeching that was deafening but not there at all. Something in the air shifted. Again.

“Grandmaster?”

He barely heard Ravalor’s alert voice, his own eyes locked onto their hands and he realised that his hand was tense, near breaking Ravalor’s fingers, and at this rate, it would be mere moments to find out if the Soldier’s durable build could withstand his own inhuman strength.

His breath was flat as he felt Ravalor desperately trying to pry his hand open, heard his voice but not really – and then the sound was there, the world around them lit up even through the tent’s fabric – and Ravalor froze as well, as he understood that it was happening again.

Then the world before Zenozarax’ eyes turned dark.

10 The Chaos

How long Zenozarax was swallowed by darkness he could not tell once he came by again. Faintly he remembered memories, brief moments of clarity of Ravalor at his side, words he had spoken and his own slurred answers, but what they had been he could no longer tell.

It was quiet again. Just the rain.

He tried to sit up, his scattered mind spurred his body to move, making him restless. But his arm gave almost in when he pushed himself up.

Careful.

There was Ravalor. He grabbed him, holding him stable till he was sure Zenozarax was sitting properly and was no longer in danger of keeling over once more.

Zenozarax barely noticed him while his feet, still wearing his dirty boots, splashed into the muddy ground again. His legs twitched and he had to press his hands against them to keep both still. He knew what that meant, as clearly as he had seen it before in Farjathena. He was unravelling and sooner rather than later he would just break.

His thoughts were swirling, there were too many things to think about right at this moment. He understood that Mezchinar must have tried to breach the dome once more. Not as bombastic as the first time, maybe a more scientific approach, but the result had been the same.

The stain on his own mind had increased, even more, the onslaught of chaos chipped away on his own mental stability even further – and he knew each of the others must feel the same way. He dreaded to find out how many wizards they’d lose after this. How many of them couldn’t take it any longer?

He also understood that should Mezchinar try another time to free them from this dome – they might as well be just killing everyone still left alive. He doubted there would be much left of his own mind by that point if it didn’t shut him down for good in the first place.

Leaving only the soldiers to be trapped within it forever.

“Ravalor!” Feverishly he grabbed the Soldier’s hand again, he saw the alert in Ravalor’s face but couldn’t think about that. I have to revert it.”

Ravalor didn’t have to ask what he meant and at the realisation, he felt the cold hand twitch back, but Zenozarax held it still hard in his grasp, the markings on his skin starting to glow. As he couldn’t shake Zenozarax off, Ravalor asked, and there was almost something close to freight in his tone, “Why?”

“Because I can’t have you feel once you’re the only one left in here. I won’t put this one on you. You don’t deserve that.” Zenozarax said breathlessly. “I can’t leave you here like that.”

“Then don’t,” Ravalor said firmly, and with a hard pull he finally escaped Zenozarax’ grasp who just stared at where Ravalors hand had been a second ago, it was as if he didn’t quite understand what was happening. Maybe that was true.

“Ravalor – you don’t understand, if they keep doing this, we – every wizard left – will sooner or later die one way or another. You will be alone in here for lords only know how long.”

He met Ravalor’s eyes, his face was stoic and calm, but in his eyes gleamed a confident sense of defiance, accentuated by a light frown. And strangely enough, it was like a cold shower, shaking him awake just that little bit more. And he chuckled dryly, dragging his fingers through his now unravelled hair. “Lords, who made you this stubborn? Was that Exavidar or me?”

“Grandmaster–”

“You know what, given how I currently don’t feel like the Grandmaster of fucking anything, could you please just call me Zenozarax.”

“Zenozarax –

“Thanks.” He felt his legs starting to twitch again and held them again down forcefully.

“I do understand your concern, but I fear you’re giving me too much credit. I’ll be fine.” Ravalor assured him.

Zenozarax looked at him, the restlessness within him for a brief moment vanishing into the back of his mind. “You really don’t want me to,” he concluded. And it was a terrifying thought. Even now Ravalor should not be able to oppose a direct request from him – and here he was, vehemently clinging to his own decision.

Just the more reason to put a stop to it immediately. Maybe he was giving him too much credit. Maybe he did read too much into it, letting himself be fooled by his empathy and the horrible idea of being left alone forever. But maybe Ravalor underestimated himself in turn. The Soldier didn’t realise how much of Ravalor he already was.

But then he saw the determined look, the oh-so stubborn look, in the young face of the Soldier looking at him – carrying genuine concern.

And with that, the moment of feverish reasonability had passed. As he now met Ravalor’s eyes, he found himself no longer capable of doing what he knew would be the right thing to do.

There was a charitable way of looking at it, he supposed. Ravalor had made his decision, and Zenozarax ought to respect that. He might not understand the full scope of its consequences, but it was his decision. He deserved this level of autonomy. If Zenozarax ignored that now how much better would he be than those in Mezchinhar he blamed for taking that same autonomy from himself?  

But at the same time, it was for his own selfish reasons as well. If these were the last days, or maybe hours of the existence of this part, which he in all likelihood would never even remember when he passed into the void, then he didn’t want to spend them with an emotionless machine at his side. And maybe, hopefully, it would keep him from doing anything stupid.

So he nodded, taking a deep breath against the crawling feeling within him, his fingers twitching, before he quietly said, “I won’t abandon you.”

“Good,” Ravalor said, still looking down at him.

It was almost comical. But Zenozarax failed to find the humour in it while his fingers tapped nervously on his legs.

Do you need anything? Ravalor asked.

Plenty. A bath first and foremost. Zenozarax mumbled almost absentmindedly. But Ravalor’s perfectly neutral-sounding answer surprised him.

If we weld together a basin it should fill up within the hour. Given the current temperature, I doubt we’d need to heat it up.

Zargothax chuckled as he looked up again, meeting Ravalor’s eyes. Dry humour, eh? Suits you. Though he suspected it surfacing now was a stress response – the pressure and worry starting to get to Ravalor too who did his best to hide it behind a calm voice and face. But his eyes would always betray him.

Then Zenozarax sighed and managed to focus again, knowing that jokes wouldn’t help any of them. Though he appreciated Ravalor indulging him for a moment. Do you know what the status with the rest is?

No, the last Soldier reported before you woke up. At the time everyone was still unconscious or delirious. Ravalor admitted. But I’ll know more after the next muster. It’s almost time.

Zenozarax nodded, hearing clearly the reluctance in Ravalors voice. He didn’t want to leave him alone. You should go. Make sure to keep an eye out for the wizards, if you see any of them seeming overly restless, pacing around and fidgeting, take note and make sure the soldiers don’t leave them alone. – he would go and check on them himself but right now he felt still embarrassingly weak and feared an attempt at standing up would lead him face-first into the mud.

You mean like you. Ravalor’s voice was plain, yet carrying an impossible mix of concern and judgement.

With a deep frown, Zenozarax forced his legs to be still again, his fingers grasped into the wet fabric of his pants. Yes.

Ravalor was quiet for a moment, when he spoke again, he sounded like he didn’t want to say any of it in the first place. I ordered the Soldiers to gather all the weapons and explosives we still have.

Zenozarax looked up, but Ravalor already continued.

It won’t be enough for a long message, but we might be able to tell them to stop.

And Zenozarax understood the horrible discomfort within every word with every fibre of his being. What a terrible choice. They couldn’t risk not telling Mezchinhar to stop, but at the same time, it may be the one thing that broke most if not all of them for good. He felt it within himself and Ravalor knew it too.

But he’d have to make that decision. Though it really wasn’t a decision. They had to do it because they didn’t know what Mezchinhar would do. Assuming they would try to breach the dome by all means necessary was the only safe bet – and so they had to keep them from it even if it would leave most wizards inside a shambling mess.

“We have to do it,” he finally said.

Ravalor nodded, his expression speaking only of helpless frustration, knowing that Zenozarax was right, but before he could say anything more, the shout came from outside, calling the soldiers to the muster.

Zenozarax– Ravalor was about to object but Zenozarax raised his hand.

I know – but this can’t wait, we will lose many of them as is and we don’t have much time. I’ll need to assure them personally as soon as possible. I just fear my current state would do more harm than good. Give me a few more minutes and an overview. And set everything in motion to send that message. Tell the soldiers to inform all wizards. And just be quick about it. I won’t go anywhere. I promise.

Ravalor nodded, hesitated, then he was gone.

The magical light in the tent flickered irregularly. So did the hologram at the desk, Ravalor didn’t seem to have bothered turning that one off again. Rain dripped through where it had formed heavy pockets of water at the tent’s roof.

He was alone.

It was a strange sensation being proven over and over again that whenever he thought it couldn’t get worse, it did.

It always did.

He felt the shift in energy right before him a fraction of a second before he even saw it.

Suddenly a blinding violent light swirling with darkness erupted before his eyes, snapping into existence, and Zenozarax instinctively knew what it was. Immediately he reacted, wanting to jump up, but as he had feared before, his legs gave in and he stumbled, a horrifying sensation as he faced mortal danger and his body failed him – but he didn’t fall. Instead, he was grabbed, a hard hand at his throat that pushed him back and onto the field bed.

His heart was pounding in his chest, but for the moment – unexpectedly – there was no sudden death, but calm.

The hard grip around his throat was painful but unmoving as it pressed him down, making it impossible to speak as he now looked into another wizard’s eyes.

Quadirymir.

A smirk of amusement on his lips, malicious jest in the black eyes.

Between all that though, Zenozarax was surprised he found himself noticing that the chaos wizard was the first not soaking wet person he had seen in a week. It was a surreal thought, given the clear threat to his life, but maybe it was just doing it’s best to escape that very thought.

Grandmaster, Quadirymir greeted him obnoxiously carefree, a faux sense of military respect in his tone only there to mock him.

Zenozarax wanted to say something but the crushing pressure on his windpipes and vocal cords made the only sound he could produce a raspy croak. The humiliation over his own compromised and weakened state burned almost as bad as the anger now being fueled in his core.

To Zenozarax’ surprise, Quadirymir smiled seemingly very satisfied and actually loosened his grip around his throat. But he didn’t let go of him.

What do you want? Zenozarax spat, coughed, clearing his hurting throat.

Want? Quadirymir raised his brows, sounding almost insulted if it weren’t for the chipper gleam in his eyes. I don’t want anything, Grandmaster. What is there for me to want that I don’t already have?

Zenozarax frowned deeply, his breath hard, but trying to calm himself. Given that he wasn’t dead yet, there had to be a reason for it. His thoughts rushed, maybe it wasn’t a coincidence, maybe the chaos wizard was here now because whatever Mezchinhar was doing could actually work. Maybe they just needed a little bit more time. And Quadirymir wasn’t willing to give it to them.

He could try to call for help, but he knew that would only end with all of them dead sooner. In their current state, none of them had the power to kill a chaos wizard seemingly in the prime of his powers.

Zenozarax felt his thoughts rushing nevertheless. The part of Quadirymir before him now wasn’t the one he had fought initially. The fact he had both his legs was proof of that. With the statistical fact of most wizards having three parts, disabling another one might be all they needed to at least stall him. He didn’t need to kill him, just damage him enough. With only one fully working Part left, even a chaos wizard would not engage in battle. But relying on statistics was a big risk.

Then why are you here?

Quadirymir tilted his head ever so slightly, his other hand raising and Zenozarax almost flinched back wouldn’t he have forced himself to keep perfectly still. Almost gently the chaos wizard shoved the wild wet strand of hair out of Zenozarax’ face, just looking at him for a moment, downright thoughtful. It made him feel sick to his stomach.

Curiosity. I think. Then his thoughtful tone shifted abruptly, sounding almost excited as he added, And to really annoy you. How am I doing?

Zenozarax ignored the question because Quadirymir was doing very well, A+ on the annoyance scale, So you want to see how your experiment is progressing?

If you want to be pedantic about it, yes that’s what I want. Quadirymir exasperatedly rolled his eyes, before tilting his head with an amused chuckle, mustering him. You’ve impressed me, Grandmaster. I didn’t think you’d hold up this long without your precious circle. A downright regretful sigh. If it’s any consolation to you, your plan to look for a way to destroy it inside the castle wasn’t that stupid. Originally at least. The channelling device immediately broke down though when this thing got a mind of its own, so, I can’t blame you for being wrong about that. But that’s what we’re here for. Learning from our mistakes. Your mistakes I mean.

Zenozarax almost groaned. People may accuse him of loving the sound of his own voice too much, but it seemed he had found his equal. Be as it may, he better kept Quadirymir talking because as long as he did that, he wasn’t killing anyone. Though Zenozarax knew he was just delaying the inevitable. There was no need for Quadirymir to tell him any of this, this was just show and play. If any of it was even the truth he probably only told him to humiliate him even further, not even giving him a quick death because he didn’t have to. He didn’t see him as a threat or an opponent to defeat anymore. There was no rush because there was nothing they could do to stop him.

Why are you doing this?

Oh, why, why, why. Quadirymir waved his free hand theatrical, mocking his tone, before he looked down at him with that damn, obnoxious smirk again, coming way too close. His voice reduced to a threatening whisper as his thumb almost gently caressed up his neck, loosening his grip ever so slightly. I tell you why, Grandmaster. Because I think it’s fun.

Zenozarax understood that he was facing a wizard not driven by creed or conviction, but a wizard just relishing in the chaos he could bring to the multiverse. His own hands twitched hard, the anger boiling up his throat where the cold hand of the other wizard still rested. All this pain and suffering for nothing but the chaos wizards’ sick amusement. The hatred for this wizard was blinding and he barely remembered when he had felt this strongly the last time.

“By our almighty sweet lords – don’t take this so personal. Just look at how much you hate me,” Quadirymir noted, almost amazed as if he had read his thoughts, but he merely had to look into his face. “Why is that, Grandmaster? Is it because of what I did to your warriors? Or is it because of what I did to you? The humiliation? They will have your head for this, you know that, right? Of course, you do.”

Zenozarax barely heard the chaos wizards words anymore, his heart beating hard and purpose-driven, his eyes meeting that of the other directly, unwaveringly, every sense sharpened.

That cold hand against his throat.

He would die here, there was no way around it. But the only thing left he could try was to at least give the others a last chance for rescue. To give them another day to try. A little bit more time. And that meant to kill the chaos wizard above him now by all means necessary.

To fight fire with fire.

Chaos with chaos.

Then the tent was opened.

And everything happened within seconds. The soaked flap hitting aside, a soggy step on the muddy ground. It was Ravalor. But Zenozarax only saw him from the corner of his eyes, he didn’t look. Quadirymir did, surprised glancing at the Soldier, but not worried, a slim almost delighted O on his face.

“Oh well–” Quadirymir, halfway rising.

“Zenozarax–” Ravalor, reaching for his rifle.

“Ravalor, get out!” Zenozarax barked the moment he took hold of the chaos wizard’s hand still at his throat. Quadirymir’s eyes snapped back at him, widened in surprise, but his mind was violently assaulted with the same force Zenozarax was as their minds clashed against each other, the markings on Zenozarax’s hands brighter than ever, suddenly erratic, flickering. It was a split second before Quadirymir jumped up, tearing himself from Zenozarax’ grasp, staggering slightly – and he laughed, a wide, utterly delighted grin of disbelief on his face. “Oh, Grandmaster – how daring!” he chuckled. “Well then–” His arms wide. “– let’s see what you do with it shall we?’’ Almost taken by a laughing fit, Quadirymir vanished into a violent swirl of light and darkness.

And for a moment it was quiet.

It really truly was.

It was all gone. The scratching in the back of his brain, the tremble in his hands, the fog surrounding his thoughts. He was there, and he felt as if he had never seen… never thought... never been so clearly in the now and then as right in this moment. Suddenly everything surrounding him right at this moment made sense. He understood it like he simply couldn’t before – all the while he stared still at his hand that had held the chaos wizards mere seconds ago. Where chaos had spread into what he was and now filled his entire being, revelling in the power surrounding him. Suddenly the immense pressure of the Chaos was no longer a burden. It was a temptation.

But he knew he was already dead. Had to be. Even if it was in his power now he could not leave the dome, could not dare to reach out or even try to destroy the dome himself – he had to die in here – to keep his Wizard safe.

The only thing he could do was to make sure Quadirymir went with him into the void. Maybe it would stall him long enough. If anyone would make it out of here alive, they would know what he did. But his Wizard would live.

Zenozarax? Are you alright? What happened?

Ravalor’s voice brought him back into reality. He looked at the Soldier before him, trying to speak but fell silent before one word had left his lips.

Then the sirens wailed. Shouting from outside. An explosion. Then several more.

Stay here.

Zenozarax jumped up, his anger in perfect tune with the chaos within him now, the exhaustion of the past days all but gone as he felt this new unrestrained sense of power tingling in his fingers. Only briefly he met the helpless confusion in Ravalor’s eyes.

Zenozarax, what is going on?

He couldn’t answer that. There was no time. Just stay back! This will get ugly.

The tent suddenly shook by a violent draft that grew into a storm before he had even exited it.

Zenozarax! Wait–

And he entered a world of fire and destruction the moment he stepped outside, he felt Ravalors grasp at his arm, heard his voice distantly, but his eyes searched for someone else.

Fire and lightning rained down onto the camp, the clouds in a whirlwind, a storm surrounding them, drawing its eye upon them. And in its centre the earth bent, mud and stone groaning as it was raised. And on top stood the chaos wizard Quadirymir himself, bending the chaos around him by his will.

Zenozarax did not stop one moment in his steps. He met the other wizard’s eyes, over the apocalypse surrounding him he heard shouting, panic, even shots being fired that could not touch the chaos wizard, and above all else, he heard the chaos wizard’s laugh as he tore the world below him to shreds.

And then he raised his own hands.

Magic and chaos flickered down his arms and he felt the reality around him, the very atoms that made up this earth, felt how it would yield to his will if only he grasped it right. It was intoxicating. At once he took it, electricity, chaos, mud and water hurled at the chaos wizard, tearing the ground apart and exploding violently as it clashed with Quadirymir’s own power.

And he did not stop. Somewhere around him, he saw wizards and soldiers run, dodging for cover or to just get as far away as possible. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he noticed that the rain had stopped within the centre of the storm.

But his world was reduced to him and the chaos wizard in front of him, and that obnoxious grin in his face fueling his anger. It burned hard within himself and he felt it tingling through his fingers. And when suddenly he gasped hard into the fabric of reality surrounding them, action by pure intuition born from the desire to reduce this cursed wizard to atoms, space itself collapsed before his eyes about to swallow and crush the chaos wizard, he saw that grin falter for the first time, making room for surprise.

A bright flash of light – an explosion making the earth shook as the compressed space erupted violently, expanding outwards again – but the chaos wizard was gone.

Behind you!

Ravalors voice came out of nowhere, and he barely computed that it was there, that Ravalor was still there, he sounded alert, no, more than that. He had no time to think about it as he swirled around, but it was already too late. Quadirymir was right in his face, a hand shot up, but before he could grasp him, Zenozarax had already reacted by sheer instinct alone and chaos exploded right between them, throwing each of them back.

He got back on his feet, slipping on the muddy ground, his hands trembling now again. His breath was heavy. And then he froze.

This one’s really fond of you, isn’t he? And he’s not even a wizard, Quadirymir said, a delighted hum in his voice. He stood behind Ravalor, his hands resting on the soldier’s hips, his face half nuzzled against his neck as if he was embracing a lover. Ravalor stood frozen stiff, the undeniable realisation in his face that he was about to die. And he was no longer unaffected by that idea.

Get away from him, Zenozarax growled, making a careful step forward, his fingers sizzling with magic and furious rage.

Oh, and you’re of him? Delightful. Quadirymir chuckled, a chiding tone in his voice. You really should know better than this, Grandmaster.

Quadirymir sounded carefree enough, but he wasn’t fooling Zenozarax – he heard the strain the exhaustion of the fight caused him too.

But there was no negotiation. Because there was no single shred of leverage Zenozarax held over the chaos wizard and both knew it. Before Zenozarax could have said another word, or made another step, he saw the magic on Quadirymir’s hands light up, a violent shock went through Ravalors body and he collapsed in front of him.

Even before the limp dead body had hit the mud, the rage within him exploded. And so did the world around them.

Magic and chaos violently ruptured through spacetime, clashing with Quadirymir’s own magic, and then – a brief moment of absolute quiet, a breath – the sheer amount of concentrated energy in the air reaching critical levels and time itself bent to its uncontrollable force.

A triumphant moment in which he saw Quadirymir’s surprised face as Zenozarax’ even rudimentary control over the chaos around him exceeded his own.

A frightening moment of absolute power that was so massive nobody should ever be able to make it bend to their will.

A terrifying moment in which he understood that he had no control over it anymore and the chaos embraced everything around him.

A cold moment in which he knew it was over, that this was his death.

A sombre moment as he saw Ravalor dead on the ground.

A horrific moment in which he saw the Soldier’s hand twitch and couldn’t even tell if it was just the erratic shadows playing tricks on his mind.

All of them converging into one.

He reached out to Ravalor.

And then chaos.

Light.

Dark.

Void.

11 The Wizard

With his face drawn into a light sneer of disgruntled frustration, Zenozarax looked up onto the dome. Standing up on the rim of the northern observation platform he could oversee most of the area surrounding it. The dome itself was staggering in size, reaching far enough into the atmosphere that the top more often than not disappeared within the clouds.

Around him and on the rim below wizards walked and talked, discussing one theory and another and their failures so far. A few robes, a few jumpsuits, and many uniforms.

Military engineers and officers clad in black directly from Mezax and Mezbohan respectively, some scholars and keepers out of Mezdovat draped with their golden trinkets, the bland and practical rest probably sorcerers and enchanters out of Mezhenxen. Experts pulled from all planes and chapters of Mezchinhar’s circles – and yet, even with all that expertise and knowledge, they were all clueless as to how to proceed from here.

In the distance he saw Redkevik, standing alone, away from the other wizards, observing the dome in solitude just like Zenozarax did. They had talked earlier, briefly, but what was there to say? Redkevik, who had been here even before Zenozarax had arrived two days ago, had been even more quiet than usual, and both had come to the conclusion that they had nothing to say to each other right now. They could only wait.

For a brief moment he met his Fieldgeneral’s eyes – just that right now Zenozarax wasn’t technically the Grandmaster, and Redkevik wasn’t his Fieldgeneral. Redkevik’s Warrior inside the dome was dead. And they all could only guess what had happened. Then he looked back to that abomination in front of him.

The dome seemed in flux. He had been told it had been calm and translucent when the first responders from Marcardsmoor had arrived. By now, however, the chaos of the dome was violently swirling within its bounds, like storm clouds rushing over its surface.

This was concerning. It had become worse with each attempt of them breaching the dome and so any further attempt was temporarily put on hold till the engineers and scholars would agree it wouldn’t blow them all up in the process.

Besides the obvious disconnect to the forces inside they had no idea what it did, how it did it, or what it would do should they poke it some more.

Zenozarax frowned slightly as a bright pulse went through the surface of the dome. Was that good? Bad? He didn’t know. Based on the downright enthusiastic mumbling of the wizards closest to him they didn’t either. Their excitement was irritating.

Because the worst was – he knew his Warrior was still alive. In there, somewhere. And he felt like this horrible sense of tension wasn’t fully his own. He knew it was impossible, in theory, but then again, he wasn’t used to being separated this long from his Warrior. Not with him still being alive that was.

“Zenozarax.”

He glanced back and his frown did not soften one bit as he saw Yoctotyr approach. You really should leave.

Not yet, Zenozarax growled, looking back at the dome.

Yes, he shouldn’t be here, he understood that well enough. This close to the dome that may or may not would kill his Warrior, he could be considered in mortal danger. There was the chance that if something went wrong now, both of him, the Warrior and the Wizard, could die here, and then that would be that. He would be truly dead. He saw it in the way Yoctotyr looked at him, probably questioning his sanity and/or will to live.

But he had to come here, risks be damned. He had to see it for himself, to do something. Understand it.

Unfortunately, he was no step closer to it.

“The dome is getting more unstable. Lords only know what will happen when it collapses. You’re in danger here,” Yoctotyr repeated only what he already knew. “You shouldn’t even be on this earth right now.” The Grand Wizard said these words not out of concern, but a sense of unavoidable obligation, Zenozarax knew that too, because they never really liked each other all that much. There was no pretence, no–nonsense between them – and he appreciated that.

At first, Zenozarax only glanced back at Yoctotyr, then back to the flickering dome.

“That’s me still in there, Yoctotyr. A brief pause. Yoctotyr may not like him much, but there was a sense of quiet understanding in his face. Zenozarax scoffed. And to be candid, I can’t pass up the opportunity to witness you of all people nuking me to hell and back if it comes to it, he said only half–jokingly. The frustration over the situation made it hard to keep his words free from anger.

I’m not enjoying this, Zenozarax.

I know. And in the end, he couldn’t even really blame him. It wasn’t really his choice.

The Leviathan, under the command of Fleetmaster Nemoneleus, was in orbit right above them waiting for the command to strike. In a turn of ironic fate, it was Zenozarax now who would be reluctant to commit to orbital bombardment. The last time he had spoken with Yoctotyr, the custodian of this earth had urged him to keep collateral damage to a minimum where possible. But now they were running out of options.

They had shot it, and that didn’t work, they had tried to disrupt it with magic, that hadn’t worked either, so now they were back to bombing it – just a lot harder. Wizard problem-solving at its finest. Zenozarax wondered if the dome would stay if the planet itself was gone – but there was still a chance they wouldn’t have to find out.

Yoctotyr stayed silent, his hard stare now lay on the dome as well.

For a moment they witnessed the wizards on its rim, dozens of them making readings, observations, trying to figure this thing out. They weren’t unsettled, because none of them present were inside the dome too.

He knew of the actual, very worldly and not magical chaos of the surrounding area. What they did here had not gone unnoticed. How could it? The whole of Funnix and its great castle swallowed by chaos and the consequential concentration of wizards suddenly appeared in the area. The dome itself was visible for miles on the flat land.

Of course, the simple humans living here had noticed and they were scared shitless because those that saw it didn’t even understand what they saw. The magic, the uniforms, the vehicles and temporary buildings erected around the dome now, several millennia out of time – just alien and threatening to them. He wondered if the idea that there was a ship in orbit right above them with enough firepower to potentially vaporise the entire planet would even make sense to them. Probably not. It would probably be rationalised as the wrath of some god.

And none of the wizards really cared about calming their fears of the unknown. Many of the humans had fled their farms and homes when chaos had ravaged the land. And now with this abominable dome looming over them most of the rest had followed, trying to get as far away as possible from what they sensed was impending danger. A smart decision.

A few that had traded their sense of self-preservation for faith had to be escorted away as their manic confused devotion only disrupted the wizards’ focus on the task at hand.

He hoped they would be done here before word reached far enough to summon this or that army to defend their land against this evil sorcery.

Once this was over, this event would get obscured into legend, a story of magic and wizards – a story of death and destruction in all likelihood, too. It would be another cautionary tale.

From the corner of his eyes, he saw Redkevik move, displaying an uncharacteristic sense of haste.

Then, suddenly a faint hum started to fill the air, raising his hackles as he uncrossed his arms.

Yoctotyr had noticed it too.

And both of them saw it. Everyone did.

The dome’s flickering increased as did the strange aura of light it emitted. The swirling of space on its surface became more erratic and suddenly arches of black lighting erupted from it. An alarm blared, the wizards below suddenly hectic as they all received an immediate order to evacuate and one portal after another was opened and disappeared again.

“We should leave,” Yoctoty said calmly, opening a portal of his own.

Zenozarax nodded but was frozen in place as he watched the dome. It seemed like it was growing, expanding, but from all he really could see it stayed the same size – just more – brighter. He was feeling… something. His heart was beating hard in his chest, just pretending, but still reacting. He didn’t know what it was, but he knew his Warrior wasn’t alright. It had gotten worse with every day – and now, at this moment, when the dome before him became as bright as the sun, blinding him, it reached a sensation of absolute dread – and for a split second it was crystal clear, for a split second he almost knew, almost remembered –

“Zenozarax!”

– it was the same moment the dome before him exploded.

A blinding light.

A firm hand on his arm.

Then the portal collapsed and he blinked. Blinked again, looking at Yoctotyr who quickly let go of his arm, stepping back. He realised that they were back in Marcardsmoor. He turned towards Funnix with his eyes wide as he stared into the apocalypse. A horrible ball of violent light and darkness growing against the turning sky.

There was shouting and running around them.

The sky turned dark, the chaos ripped through the sea, land and air, uncontrollably as thunder exploded in the sky.

The earth was trembling below them, the explosion was like a horrifying sunrise in the south, the swirling mass of chaos growing bigger and bigger, coming closer and closer, the earth breaking apart, being swallowed by the sea and storm. The land was dragged into the air, boulders the size of castles, earth and everything it touched uprooted and torn into the pitch black sky.

“We can’t stay here! Everyone, abandon base!” he heard himself shout, his Warrior was dead, he knew that, felt it painfully clear, and so without a second thought he compensated for it, taking his words, his role, as best as he could.

And his word was followed. The wizards around them abandoned Marcardsmoor as the force of chaos rolled towards them.

The wind was howling.

The sea raging.

Chaos snapped across the sky.

Zenozarax looked back only briefly one last time. The memory of the last dreadful sensation of his Warrior was still clear in his mind. It felt like a warning and sent a horrible fear down his spine.

He had come here desperate to understand what had happened.

Now he was no longer sure that he should.

12 Epilogue

In earth’s time, it had been a bit over three weeks. In Mezchinhar it was not more than a blip, a time span barely considered noteworthy.

Usually.

But things hadn’t been quite usual since then. It was rare that anything within the universes was able to send ripples as far as Mezchinhar. But what happened on that one single planet, that one earth out of countless, had made waves large enough to unsettle the calm sea of complacency and safety built over aeons. A new form of disaster had struck, a new form of weapon introduced to the eternal war of chaos and order. The balance had tilted again.

Exavidar felt tense, maybe even nervous, after the message they had received. The first good news coming out of Funnix – and very personal news for the Soulturner at that.

Everyone still referred to the area as Funnix, but where once the castle stood was now nothing left but a massive crater in which centre, spanning several kilometres, a thundering vortex had opened up in the sea and had not yet calmed. Some said it might never would.

For miles and miles the surrounding land was no more. The world was torn to pieces while chaos still ravaged the order of nature.

Mezchinhar’s forces had waited a week, hoping the chaos would calm. When it hadn’t, the first careful excursions had been made into that now very earthly but also very magical chaos.

Retrieving any information about what had happened turned out downright impossible. The explosion of chaos had, as it seemed, all but vaporised everything inside of the dome, and for two weeks they had found nothing, no materials, no traces, no pins, not even a single boot or any sign of magic.

The fleet was scanning the sea, and soldiers searched what was left of the land. But all of their efforts stayed fruitless. There had seemed to be nothing left.

Exavidar found their hands restless so they rearranged their tools once more. The plain assembly table was long ready and waiting.

Most had given up on the hope that anything bearing information would have survived the explosion. And then came the news.

The fleet had found him. Of all Wizards and Soldiers that had disappeared into the dome, they had found Ravalor.

Exavidar would have believed it a poor joke, if only the news hadn’t come directly from Fleetmaster Nemoneleus (who was known for a lot of things but humour wasn’t one of them), inquiring as to whom the Soldier should be delivered to oversee the memory retrieval.

A sparkling portal opened up in the laboratory, and Exavidar took a sharp breath, they hadn’t even realised they had stopped breathing.

Through the sphere of folded space a towering mountain of a wizard stepped into the laboratory.

Yetta– Exavidar said breathlessly, already hasting towards him as he saw whom Yettadeimos was carrying in his arms. Almost feverishly they took the Soldier’s hand, touching his face with the other.

You’re not to touch him yet. Not a threat, no concern,  just a low spoken reminder from the Mindcrawler.

He’s not alive, Exavidar noted regretfully as they immediately let go of Ravalor again, slightly flustered, knowing they had let themself get carried away by worry.

He’s also unharmed, Yettadeimos said plainly as he walked past Exavidar and lay down the Soldier on the prepared table.

Careful, Exavidar begged, receiving only a low grunt from Yattadeimos who stood almost three heads taller than Exavidar. Then he stepped back, letting the Soulturner examine the Soldier for a moment.

But you’re right, Exavidar mumbled more to themself, utterly amazed and confused alike. Are you sure he had been in the dome? Exavidar looked up, meeting the glowing and eternally cold eyes of Yettadeimos.

Records show him to have been at the Grandmaster’s side during the jump. They also found him right in the centre of the vortex, Yettadeimos explained, utterly passionless, his voice not raised above a deep rumble.

Exavidar stared at Ravalor again. He did look like he had been through battle, yes, he also looked like he had spent about three weeks at the bottom of the ocean, hurled against bedrock and debris by the murderous current of the vortex. His torn uniform was still damp. But, as one couldn’t fail but notice, he did not look particularly vaporised. Now that he was here it really made even less sense than before. He must have been shielded by… something. Or someone?

Yettadeimos only met their questioning gaze with utter silence, saying, You ask questions. I’m here to get answers. Let me do my job.

So they did, Exavidar stepped back. Nodding towards Yettadeimos. While Exavidar was dying to know what had happened, they were under strict order to not try to connect to the Soldier before they were not hundred percent sure he wasn’t carrying any curse or worse chaos within himself that could be harmful to Exavidar. That was why the Mindcrawler was here.

Yettadeimos stepped close to the table, one of his massive hands grabbed the Soldier’s head, the other grasped his hand. The scarred ancient marking that always had a faint shine on his skin lit up bright and Exavidar tensed up. Soldiers usually weren’t able to carry chaos within them, but with all the unknowns of the situation it was better to be on the safe side. And while they were worried about Ravalor (quite irrationally so, but that didn’t matter, it was what they felt), they also couldn’t help the tense bitterness of seeing Yattadeimos potentially signing his own death warrant once more.

A jolt went through the Soldier’s body as Yettadeimos’ magic shot through him, muscles spasming and a dead cough splattered some leftover seawater from his lungs. Then he was quiet again. And so was Yettadeimos.

Exavidar watched silently and patiently.

It took a while till Yettadeimos let go of the Soldier again. Turning towards Exavidar, no emotion betrayed his stoic and serious face as he said, He’s badly corrupted. But he’s safe.

What happened? Exavidar asked with a breathless gasp as they once more had forgotten to breathe. The question drew for the first time a slight change in Yattadeimos’ face, as his frown became more serious, puzzled even.

Unclear. It will take time to decipher what is left of his memories.

Exavidar stepped close to the table again, now taking Ravalor’s hand in theirs. They trusted Yettadeimos in his assessment so they knew it was safe. But the moment the delicate markings on their own hand lit up and they connected their mind to that of the Soldier Exavidar was staggered by the extent of the damages they faced.

This Soldier might be the only information Mezchinhar would ever get concerning what happened inside that mysterious dome, but now Exavidar doubted it would be much. All they could see were artefacts of memories and personality, scattered and near unreadable.  

But there was also something more. This Soldier was not who he had been when he had been sent into battle. Exavidar recognized whom he had tried to become because it was his design – but it was even more than that, it had already started to grow beyond that. Worryingly so. But how and why they could not tell.

The vague images of his memories were so distorted that it was hard to even see them, impressions and sounds like a screeching in his mind, skipping, rushing. But of course within all that, true to his given purpose, the idea of one wizard emerged again and again with great importance.

Grandmaster Zenozarax.