Fortress For The Crows

[Ganondorf]

Lysundren sat cross-legged on the cold stone floor, hands open and palms facing together before his chest. With eyes closed he focused on the spell, one that he was building on the fly, one that he wasn’t even certain could be constructed. Truth be told, meddling with an uncertain weaving of mana could produce disastrous results, ones beyond his ability to mend.

But this was simply too important.

He furrowed his brow as he felt the mana press back against him, revolting against the unnatural manipulation of its essence. Mana, with the open-minded understanding of its nature, could indeed be shaped by a learned practitioner in many ways. It could be brought into physical form as bolts of pure energy, or crafted in any elemental strike one could desire. It could produce unseen force able to lift objects at a distance, or build illusions indistinguishable from reality. It could command the clouds to gather and spill rain upon the land, or tear holes in space-time itself to seamlessly transition from one place to another instantly.

However Lysundren’s spell insisted that mana perform in a way apparently contrary to its own nature. It resisted like a tall oak tree against gale force winds, like a boulder against the clash of a blade. Lysundren grimaced, the muscles in his neck and forehead tightening, as a heat stoked upon itself between the space of his palms. He touched fingertips together to enforce his control over the spell throbbing to life, but he could already tell the house of cards was about to topple.

Lysundren released his grip and shouted. A sphere of translucent white light expanded from his separated hands, quickly shredding into thin ribbons before disappearing entirely.

The Grand Arch-Sorcerer jumped to his feet and stomped about the room, cursing over and over again.

The huge wooden doors to the chamber swung open laboriously, the hinges groaning with their weight. A man with rounded spectacles entered, his long black and red robe swishing by his ankles. A crescent of light decorated the top of his bald scalp as he stood a distance from Lysundren, a look of bemusement on his face.

“Are you all cursed out yet, Grand Arch-Sorcerer?” Suthbeld asked in a dry tone, hands held behind his back.

Lysundren paused and shot Suthbeld a glare. “Fuck! Fuck shit damn fuck! .... Yes, now I’m done.”

“Good.”

Suthbeld turned to the four huge statues against the far wall where Lysundren had been facing. Easily thirty feet tall, they had been cast in ageless bronze, still as glossy and gleaming as the day they had been forged. Four people, two men, two women, dressed as sorcerers.

Lysundren had never revealed who they were or why he chose to immortalise them like this. Suthbeld was also the only other person who knew about this chamber. And that was the way it would remain, as far as Lysundren was concerned. If Suthbeld wasn’t such an amazing and trustworthy assistant, he never would have learned about it either.

“I was this close,” Lysundren said, almost pinching index finger and thumb together, staring with one eye through the gap. “This close.”

“I’m sure you’ll get there eventually, Grand Arch-Sorcerer,” Suthbeld said.

Again, as much as Lysundren left a lot of The Ancient Dawn’s administration to Suthbeld, he wouldn’t reveal what he was working on. There were some things other people wouldn’t understand.

Or handle well, if the truth came out.

Lysundren pushed his black ponytail off his shoulder and sighed. “I assume you want something. You know I don’t like being disturbed in here.”

“All too well,” Suthbeld said. “There is someone here who wants to talk to you.”

“They better be important,” Lysundren said, placing hands on his hips.

It was common for a member of his sorcerer academy to request his presence. While there were many able teachers scattered throughout The Ancient Dawn, some of the more capable or risk takers would wish to have him oversee them specifically, usually about a variation of a spell – making it more efficient, producing new effects with similar techniques, or discovering a brand new way to wield mana entirely.

They rarely paid off in such a way, but it was vital to make himself available. The next generation of sorcerers needed to push the boundaries of their arcane knowledge. How else would they improve? How else would they unlock more mysteries of the universe? Lysundren’s interest in their pursuits helped to motivate them to take risks and be noticed. Eventually, one of them would stumble upon something noteworthy.

“I think that supposition is accurate,” Suthbeld said. “But it isn’t a student. it's someone.... external.”

Lysundren squinted and turned his head, keeping his gaze on his no-nonsense assistant. “You aren’t fucking around with me, are you?”

No one, and that meant no one, came to The Ancient Dawn without permission. The organisation’s very existence was a secret that even the Arcadian government hadn’t uncovered. For thousands of years.

When potential sorcerers were recruited, they were done so secretly by sorcerers of his order that searched the towns of Erde Nona for divergences of mana from the Manastream - indication of someone with a natural affinity for magic. If they chose to train as one of his acolytes, they were returned to the giant castle. If not, or if they didn’t meet Lysundren’s exacting entry requirements, their memories were wiped.

The giant castle complex was also invisible to the outside world, having glyphs etched into its stone. The glyphs were spells encoded into symbols that, when lubricated with mana, produced an effect – in this case, invisibility. The glyphs siphoned small amounts of mana from the Manastream, effectively maintaining the illusion indefinitely. They had to be recast or rescribed as time went on and they degraded, but decades could pass before maintenance was needed on such a rudimentary spell.

For someone to arrive unannounced at his castle door and demand an audience with him – well, that got his attention.

“Well? Don’t make me read your mind, out with it!” Lysundren said with more frustration than he meant.

“Grand Arch-Sorcerer,” Suthbeld said, adjusting his glasses, “it’s an envoy of the Unmade.”

 

[Ganondorf]

Lysundren’s snarky attitude instantly fell away. “An envoy?”

Suthbeld nodded.

The presence of Darkseid’s minions on Erde Nona had largely been contained, apparently by an anthropomorphic mouse if reports were to be believed. Still, Lysundren had seen the way that corrupted, twisted power warped those it touched. He had heard the reports of Govermorne. Really, who hadn’t by now? Lysundren had never tried, but he doubted even he could obliterate a plane of existence.

To let such a corrosive energy run rampant went against everything The Ancient Dawn stood for. Sorcerers of his order had tended to the populace where they could – not revealing their true origins, of course – to help both stem the tide of the corruption and learn whatever they could about it. Some of his best sorcerers were researching it, but so far their efforts to unravel its methods and origins went unsatisfied. Sure, they knew it was Darkseid who was the progenitor of this terrifying malaise, but how did he do it? How did he discover it?

Those that joined the Unmade’s ranks also tended to be less on the talkative side. More action oriented. More interested in slashing throats and razing civilisations. What did it signify that one had come to talk? Also, how did they know they were here, or who he was?

“Did they – it? – ask for me directly?”

Suthbeld nodded. “They didn’t use your title, Grand Arch-Sorcerer, but they know your name.”

Lysundren cracked his knuckles. “Not how I thought my day would go. Whatever. Let’s go see what Darkseid has to say.”

In truth, despite the risks and apparent ease with which the Unmade found his invisible magic fortress, Lysundren’s curiosity was piqued. All of their intelligence suggested that they were a destructive force sweeping through the realms, trying to eradicate or corrupt everything in their path. He had never heard of the Unmade wanting to parley with anyone.

Suthbeld stepped before Lysundren as he walked past and put a hand on his chest. “I don’t think that’s wise.”

“Why not?”

“They could be luring you into a trap,” Suthbeld said. “We know barely anything about the Unmade, much less about their motives for singling you out.”

“It’s fine,” Lysundren said, brushing away his assistant’s hand. “I’ll cast ManaSelf. Where is this Unmade envoy waiting for me?

“Outside,” Suthbeld said. “And they brought an army.”

Lysundren bared his teeth and clicked his tongue. “Guess I wouldn’t turn up to an impregnable magic castle without some backup, either.”

He followed Suthbeld into the main chamber, a long rectangular room where an elevated throne oversaw everything within. The great iron wrought doors to the castle stood forebodingly at the other end of the chamber. Fires raged in wall mounted braziers, though plenty of small arch shaped windows let in an abundance of light into the room – Lysundren just liked the feel that flames gave to a room. A long, gold trimmed red carpet ran from the throne to the castle doors. Crimson tapestries emblazoned with The Ancient Dawn’s logo – a golden half-sun – hung intermittently on the wall down the length of the chamber.

Lysundren took his place on the throne, his gloved hands gripping the ends of the armrests. His best sorcerers lined either side of the main chamber, facing the doors. Suthbeld had obviously gathered them in case things went south. It was always nice to have a contingency plan, but even if the Unmade were stupid enough to assault the fortress, Lysundren would be more than enough to wipe them out.

“Stay on your guard,” Suthbeld noted as Lysundren closed his indigo eyes. “This is unprecedented territory.”

“This is where I thrive,” Lysundren said.

Suthbeld humphed. “That’s what concerns me.”

In moments, a ghostly purple apparition of Lysundren stepped out of his resting body. He breathed in deep – though he felt the air rushing through his lungs, it was his meditating body experiencing it, not his ManaSelf – and stepped down from the throne. As he strode down the length of the main chamber, the violet transparency of his ManaSelf receded until he was visibly identical to his regular self.

The doors parted with reluctance, releasing a loud boom as Lysundren’s ManaSelf stepped out onto the air. Ripples of violet-blue light emanated with each footstep, his magic clone stepping on the invisible bridge between the hovering castle and the pointed cliff face which it loomed over. Far below, waves crashed against the rocks.

He looked over his shoulder as the doors collapsed together, removing the inside of the castle from view, replacing it with the far, unending sea and sky.

Ahead, he saw the Unmade.

The corrupted army stood to attention behind a lone figure. Odd how they waited patiently, their twisted forms almost unmoving. Any report of an Unmade force described how voracious their appetite for slaughter was – not something that lent itself to silent reflection. The one in charge must have wielded authority even those mindless simpletons would not dare ignore.

As his magic copy grew closer, he could make out the leader. A dark, dirty purple miasma clung thinly to its body. One hand, fingers ending in four-inch long curved spikes, wrapped around a staff with a black gem at its apex. The other arm had been transformed into a tentacle, lax at its side. A tattered dark red robe, stained with black marks and age, covered most of the creature’s thin body. A hood shadowed its face, though Lysundren could see the leathery, pale blue skin of its jaw, and the lipless, exposed teeth of a predator.

They weren’t going to win any beauty pageants, but Lysundren had cordial arrangements with other organisations with similarly unsettling appearances. Still, as he strode towards them, he knew the Unmade were not known for polite discussions – hell, any discussion besides an animalistic gurgle before tearing out a throat was virtually undocumented. Each step only heightened his inquisitiveness.

Finally, Lysundren stood before the Unmade envoy. The thin purple fog silhouetting the leader moved and swirled in the breeze, though it never detached from their frame. Their head tilted down and stayed down despite Lysundren’s magic proxy’s arrival. For a moment, he wasn’t sure it was even still alive.

“Lysundren,” the creature clicked in a raspy, feminine voice. “You do me a great dishonour by not meeting me in person.”

 

[Ganondorf]

Before Lysundren responded to the Unmade envoy, he noted three things immediately. One, the creature knew his name. That in itself was extraordinary. Two, she spoke with much greater eloquence than he expected, despite her decidedly unpleasant voice. Three, she knew that he wasn’t physically present – she sensed the spell, ostensibly without performing any spell itself to decipher that.

Tread carefully, Lysundren thought to himself. There’s more going on here than you understand.

Even still, the Grand Arch-Sorcerer couldn’t help being himself. “Oh right! The Unmade turn up on my invisible floating doorstep, knowing both of my thousands-year old secret society and the name of the leader, with a small army! I should’ve rolled out the red carpet and sent a marching band to celebrate your arrival! I mean, I’m not trying to provoke you, but come on! What did you expect?”

The creature flinched, as if biting back an instinctual response, but didn’t react otherwise.

Lysundren calmed himself. There was information available for free here, staring him in the face. If he could tame his snarky attitude, this meeting could turn out to be quite profitable.

“All right, so you know my name,” Lysundren said. “Let’s start with yours.”

The creature growled low for a moment, considering. “My name is Wra.”

“Excellent,” Lysundren said. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

“Learn to hold your tongue,” Wra said, “lest we choose to tear it out. This peaceful audience of the Unmade is rarely given.”

It was Lysundren’s turn to stifle himself.

“OK,” Lysundren said with some effort. “Please, tell me why you’re here.”

“I’ve come to you with a choice,” Wra said. “Join the Unmade. Add your power to Lord Darkseid’s already formidable ranks. Grant him the use of The Ancient Dawn. In doing so wilfully, you will be awarded a position of authority and importance among Lord Darkseid’s elite, and retain most of your personality. Decline, and you will be torn apart.”

Never had Lysundren heard any reports of the Unmade proffering amnesty, such as their flawed vision allowed, to anyone. Especially offering a seat as some form of commander among Darkseid’s forces. Was his spy network that valuable to the dark Arbiter?

“Before I do that,” Lysundren said, holding no intentions to join Darkseid’s mindless followers, “tell me how you learned of my castle. How did you know my name?”

Wra dipped her head slightly. “You will discover this upon bending the knee before Lord Darkseid.”

“I need some sort of token acknowledgement of trust. Tell me how you uncovered my millennias-old secret and I will join.”

“Trust?” Wra said, then chuckled hoarsely. “There is no trust. You accept the offer, or you don’t. Many beings do not get this opportunity. To demand more is foolish and risking your life.”

Lysundren frowned. He should have expected the Unmade to be singular in conversation as they were in action. Manipulating this Wra was not easy. She focused only on the worthless offer she made and nothing else.

“How can I believe in this power if I don’t know how you found me?” Lysundren said, attempting to attack Wra’s pride. “For all I know, this is all an accident. Maybe there is nothing to Darkseid’s power.”

Wra tilted her head up for the first time. Red pinpricks of light shone in the shadow of her cowl. “There are no accidents in Lord Darkseid’s design. The Unmade do not share secrets among outsiders.”

“But if I’m joining you, that doesn’t make me an outsider anym-“

“Do you accept the offer or not?” Wra barked, slamming her staff into the ground.

The Unmade’s envoy’s patience had evaporated. So much for intel.

“Give me a moment to consider,” Lysundren said.

“No!” Wra said. “Answer me now!”

“Well, if that’s your attitude,” Lysundren said as his magical proxy began to fade away, “the answer is no. Now kindly get off my lawn.”

Lysundren opened his eyes. The interior of the main chamber filled his vision, his sorcerers still at the ready.

“What happened?” Suthbeld asked.

“They want me to join their club,” Lysundren said, standing from his throne. “And I assume that means that all of you join as well. I’m certain they won’t take my refusal well.”

The Grand Arch-Sorcerer strode down the chamber, leather boots on red carpet, his cape shifting.

“So what now?” Suthbeld called out.

“I’ll remove them,” Lysundren said, still walking towards the doors. “I’ll shout if I need assistance.”

But I won’t.

The doors parted as Lysundren floated into the air. Wind buffeted his cape and tunic as he rose, surveying the army of Unmade. Inch-tall figures had already began charging towards the hidden fortress, the vanguard sprinting two at a time across the invisible bridge. Wra watched her forces from the cliff, the gem of her staff pulsing with black light.

“Let’s start with the easy part,” Lysundren said to the wind.

He clicked his fingers. The Unmade monstrosities scrambling over the invisible bridge found no solidity beneath their feet and they tumbled, screeching and howling, vanishing into the ocean below. Others broke apart on the rocks, though their viscera was too far away to see.

The remainder of the Unmade army halted on the cliff tip and backed away.

“And now the fun part.”

Lysundren faced clawed fingers at each other, rigid and trembling, as small arcs of electricity jumped between his digits and palms. The tempest of the storm raged against his demands, screaming to be released. And so he did.

He threw his hands at the Unmade army below and writhing streaks of lightning burst forth like starving luminescent vipers. The electricity struck the first twisted beast, jamming it in place while it shook from the voltage coursing through its body. Forks of electricity emanated out from the first creature, linking each Unmade soldier together until they all were consumed by the spell.

Wra waved her staff before her as a bolt of lightning approached her. The blast sputtered into sparks against a black barrier that she had conjured around herself. The electricity continually pressed against the defensive spell but it did not falter.

Satisfied with the spell, Lysundren stopped. Every Unmade beast collapsed in a jittering, blackened heap, except for Wra. She gazed up vengefully at the Grand Arch-Sorcerer.

“You think I need Darkseid’s boon?” Lysundren said, arms outstretch, his cape flapping in the wind. “I have more power than I know what to do with!”

Wra took her staff in her tentacle while she stared at her elongated nails. She flexed them as sparks dripped from their tips. “Yes.” She looked to the space where the invisible castle floated. “I understand now. I see how it works.”

The Unmade sorcerer thrust her staff forward. The black gem at its apex illuminated with dark light so powerfully that Lysundren had to shield his eyes from it.

As the light faded, Lysundren heard a massive crack. He turned to the cliff face.

The Ancient Dawn’s fortress, his bastion for centuries, if not millennia, had become visible.

And it was collapsing.

 

[Ganondorf]

“No.”

The brickwork of the castle broke apart like dry clumps of sand being crushed, the mortar holding it together simply vanishing.

Lysundren thrust out an arm, sending coils of ethereal power towards the crumbling structure, trying to grab all of the loosened pieces and draw them back together. Yet the telekinetic magic did not work; for lack of a better word, his magical grasp was too slippery. Each attempt to suffuse his will into the falling masonry ended in failure.

He levelled his other arm to help steady and strengthen the spell. When that didn’t work either, he impulsively did something he hadn’t done for centuries.

He unsealed one of his five dormant mana links.

Lysundren shuddered as a new surge of mana coursed through his body. He had forgotten how invigorating the sudden rush could be.

Refocusing his mind, he poured even more power into his telekinesis. Finally, still with great effort, he latched onto the bricks. Despite the extra power, he still couldn’t gather them up, nor the hundreds of sorcerers inside. The best he could do, even with two mana links open and available, was slow the descent of the castle’s constituent parts.

Teleport now! Lysundren sent to the minds of his order. If you have any hold on your mana, get out now!

Thankfully, he sensed the teleportation spells among the screams and chaos, but it wasn’t a clear sensation. It was like hearing sound through a wall. He knew it was there, but it was disjointed and lacking definition.

But how? He cast a glance at Wra. She still aimed her staff at the cliff face, the black gem glowing with its insidious light. The Unmade was somehow casting magic powerful enough to interfere with his?

The sudden strain caught Lysundren by surprise. He instinctively released his hold on the shattered fortress, watching as a few more sorcerers blipped from view, while the rest plunged beneath the ocean’s surface amid a hail of brick and stone.

The Ancient Dawn had been destroyed.

Lysundren snapped his head back to Wra. “You!”

“I warned you, Lysundren,” Wra cackled. “You should have sided with Lord Darkseid.”

Thick bands of electricity writhed all over Lysundren’s clawed hands as he shook with rage. Dark clouds gathered in the sky above him. Bolts of lightning punctuated every syllable as Lysundren addressed the Unmade mage, “once I’m done with you, your precious boyfriend Darkseid is next!”

Righteous electric fury exploded from Lysundren’s hands. Strands upon strands of jagged neon electricity spooled around each other, thickening in the brief seconds they rushed for their target, racing to land first.

Wra turned her staff upon the encroaching spell and another black sphere enveloped her. The lightning spell crashed against her defences, once more grinding sparks, but failing to penetrate and strike her directly.

Wra’s eldritch laugh made its way into his head. Do you think I came here underestimating your power, Lysundren? Lord Darkseid has given me strength abundant in order to stomp you.

“Oh, we’re just getting started!” Lysundren roared back.

Furious and heartbroken, Lysundren was losing his composure. All he wanted was to obliterate Wra from the face of Erde Nona. No matter the cost.

For a second he thought he could hear a memory of Suthbeld reminding him to reign in his emotions lest they control him. Luckily, that second past incredibly swiftly.

Lysundren opened the second locked mana link. This time the torrent of power did not distract him. The single-minded resolve overrode all other sensations.

The new font of mana fed more and more electricity from Lysundren’s fingertips. Soon the column of lightning expanded out in all directions, forking outwards to strike anything it could reach, crashing into random places on the cliff face. He could tell he was losing his grip on the spell. It was too much, too fast. He hadn’t cast spells with three open mana links in even longer than he had with two, and his blinding fury only made matters worse.

Still, even with his haphazard control over the spell, its power was undeniable. If he redirected the attack, he could carve deep trenches into the earth, hundreds of metres thick.

And still Wra stood beneath the onslaught, projecting her calm and upright posture mentally to Lysundren, mocking him. She cackled hoarsely through sharp, carnivorous teeth.

This is hardly the time to be holding back, Lysundren. I know you have more than this. Don’t you want to crush me?

“Oh, you want more?!” the Grand-Arch Sorcerer screamed, his words inaudible even to himself. “I’ll give you all the more you can’t handle!”

In any other situation, Lysundren would have never even considered doing what he was about to do. Any situation. But then, he had never been in this situation before. The Ancient Dawn was shattered, their arcane knowledge sinking into the ocean depths, his sorcerers dead or lost, their millennia-old castle blown apart like dandelion spores dislodging against the wind.

If there ever was a time to do this, it was now.

Lysundren unlocked all of the remaining sealed mana links. His pupils and irises drowned beneath a wave of vivid purple. His full power came to bear.

Even Wra’s knees buckled momentarily at the introduction of so much mana into the physical world. Truth be told, Lysundren had never drawn open all six of his mana links. There had never been a need. What would he even want to achieve, with such colossal, godly power literally at his fingertips?

Now he knew. This. Revenge.

Wra started bending at the knees as the unearthly force of the lightning finally pressed her to the limits of her strength. Lysundren laughed, a booming sound that overrode the crackling of the electricity.

“NOW YOU SEE HOW YOU MISCALCULATED?” Lysundren said as Wra dismissed the visual of her struggling form from his mind. “I AM SO POWERFUL, THE MANA AFFECTS EVEN MY VOICE! MY ONLY REGRET IS THAT YOUR SUFFERING WILL BE OVER SO VERY, VERY QUICKLY!”

One of the lightning bolts firing from his fingertips turned black. Then another. And another.

This is what I was waiting for, Wra projected into his mind. For you to expose yourself.

The blinding white lightning bolts turned black, one after another, until they all matched in colour.

Half of the lightning column disintegrated into black soot and flew off into the breeze.

“Wha...?”

Lysundren cancelled his spell in shock. Somehow, Wra had sealed five of his six mana links. How? Did she use his own spell to cast one of her own directly into him?

“That’s... impossible...” the Grand-Arch Sorcerer murmured, floating back to the ground. His vision danced, his sense of balance swooning. The abrupt cut of mana from his soul completely overwhelmed and disoriented him.

Wra dissolved her magic barrier and approached the kneeling Lysundren. “Nothing is impossible with Lord Darkseid, Lysundren. You would have learned that if you had simply submitted when you had the chance.”

Lysundren forced himself back to his feet, but he wavered, the world about him spinning. Even in his state, he tried to reopen his mana links, but they would not unstopper.

“What... did you do to me?” he said. “My... mana...”

Wra levelled her staff at Lysundren. The gem shone black. “It’s gone. And so are you.”

Wra shrieked and stumbled to the side. A black blur looped in the air and landed by Lysundren’s side. A crow with glowing yellow eyes.

“Lysee! What the fuck is going on here?!” the crow said.

“I... oooh... I don’t feel so good...”

Wra regained her posture and pointed the staff at Lysundren again.

“We gotta go!” the crow yelled. “Teleport us out now!”

“Tele... port...”

Lysundren moved his fingers around each other. A purple rune materialised as the crow perched on his shoulder.

“You’re done,” Wra said as the gem at the apex of her staff lit up.

The rune floating in Lysundren’s hands shone brightly.

The next moment, he felt the wind rushing against his face. The sensation brought back his wits as he realised he was falling.

He had enough time to open his mouth and scream as he slammed into mud.

Sitting up, Lysundren spat it out and hung his head, catching his breath. He barely felt the impact from the fall. Mud caked his fancy cape and tunic.

“Hey Lysee,” the crow said, landing on the wooden fencing around the mud. “I think we have some things to talk about, don’t you?”

 

[Ganondorf]

Lysundren hung his head. His long, black hair had fallen out of its ponytail and draped down his shoulders and chest. His eyes settled on the mud surrounding him as he breathed in and out. It was all he could do to avoid the crushing, overwhelming aftermath of the last ten minutes.

Something sloshed around in the mud nearby, its feet puttering up to him. He heard an oink but it didn’t draw his attention. How could it, while he struggled to feel numb lest a tempest of raw emotion drown him?

“Hey Lysee, looks like you got a little friend there!” the crow said from somewhere close.

Lysundren lifted his head, still breathing heavily, and tilted his eyes to the sky. Clouds drifted by. Birds darted overhead in groups. The wind made the cold mud clumped against his skin chill even more.

Still the world kept turning, even as his had disintegrated around him. The world cared not for his tragedy.

The crow flittered over onto Lysundren’s bent knee, examining him with a glowing yellow eye. “Lysee? You gonna fill me in on what happened back there or what?”

The Grand Arch-Sorcerer did not respond.

“We’re gonna draw attention to ourselves real soon,” the crow said. “Not every day a peasant sees a noble sitting in their pig pen with a talking bird with glowing eyes.”

That dark magic Wra had wielded… how did she find it? Was it truly gifted to her by Darkseid? Could such a being exist with such unimaginable, nightmarish power? And that was the stuff that Darkseid gave to his underlings? What universe could stand up to the full depth of his -

“Ow!”

The crow bit Lysundren on the neck.

“What the fuck was that for, Morask?”

Morask tilted his head. “Seriously? That’s your question? I’ve been watching you mope about – in the mud no less – while you completely ignore me! Tell me what the fuck happened already!”

Lysundren sighed, drawing himself out of his mind. Maybe talking would help him process his new reality.

The pig snorted and flopped down beside the two guests to its pen, happy to listen in to the conversation.

“The Unmade decided to invite themselves to The Ancient Dawn’s fortress,” Lysundren said. “No idea how they found it. They had a leader, Wra – a name I will never forget – who asked me to join forces with Darkseid.”

“Ha!” the crow laughed, throwing his head back. “I can’t imagine what you said to that idiot.”

“It went a lot worse than I expected,” Lysundren continued. “I don’t know if it was Darkseid’s boon or her own power before she was twisted into an Unmade, but it took all six of my seals to be open in order to make any headway in her defences.” The Arch-Sorcerer looked at Morask. “Did you hear that? All six.”

The crow tsked, raising a claw to its beak in a decidedly un-crow-like manner. “So what happened? Why didn’t she get fried?”

Lysundren took a deep breath before speaking. “Somehow, she cast a spell through my own that plugged my mana seals. I don’t have any fucking idea how she did it. I didn’t know it was possible.”

“Plugged your seals?” Morask repeated. “Damn, that’s some bullshit right there. So how did you get us out of there?”

“One seal hadn’t closed,” Lysundren said, looking at his mud caked glove as he flexed his fingers. “I cut the contact before Wra could complete the set. So I still have some access to mana left, just not nearly as much as I should.”

“And the fortress… Wra broke the spell that bound it together. When I tried to reforge it, I just couldn’t affect the bricks. Even the sorcerers inside… some got out, I know. I sensed the teleportation spells. But not all of them. And not many. The Order is broken, Morask.”

Morask scratched at his feathered chest with a claw. “That’s bad, Lysee. Really bad. But… uh… look on the bright side!”

Lysundren stared incredulously at the talking crow. “Oh, you did not just say that fucking platitude right now! There’s no bright side here! There’s just picking up the fucking pieces!”

“OK, not the right phrasing, I get it,” Morask said. “But you can’t just sit here in the mud feeling sorry for yourself! You’re the Grand Arch-Sorcerer of the Ancient Dawn, remember? Even if there’s no fancy invisible floating castle, the Order still exists as long as you do! Plus you said not all of your sorcerers fell with the castle, didn’t you? Some of them are out there, waiting for your leadership. What would they say if they saw their glorious leader squatting in a pig pen having a cry?”

Lysundren bared his teeth and was about to unleash on the ebony bird, but the main thrust behind his words took centre stage in his consciousness.

“You’re right!” Lysundren said, standing up abruptly and scaring away the pig. “That was a whole lot of bullshit back there, but the past is done!”

At least, for now.

“That’s the spirit!” Morask said, flap-hopping onto Lysundren’s shoulder.

“We’re going to find those of my Order that escaped, rebuild, research into those fucking Unmade, and when we’re back at full power, tear Darkseid’s balls off and stuff them down his throat!”

“Love the imagery!” Morask said.

Lysundren swooned, suddenly feeling light headed, and dropped onto his knees. “Ooooh. We’ll start in another five. That mana hangover is killer.”

“Yeah, all right,” Morask said.

The pig trotted over to them again, giving them a few grunts.

“You sure are charismatic to the pigs,” Morask said. “You ever thought about being a butcher?”

“Begging your pardon, my lord, but are you OK?”

Lysundren turned his head. A man in a simple tunic and long pants, stained with dirt, stood outside the fencing to the pig pen, holding a pitchfork in one hand. He grabbed the rim of his straw hat as a breeze rushed through, attempting to steal it away from him. He seemed concerned for Lysundren.

“Oops,” Morask said. “Looks like the commoners are involved now.”

Lysundren shrugged weakly. “It wouldn’t hurt to get something to eat.”

The farmer opened the pen door. “Of course, my lord. Come this way.”

Lysundren pulled himself to his feet, brushing away the thicker clumps of mud on his now ruined outfit, and stomped out of the pig pen, Morask perched on his shoulder.