Light continued to push its way everywhere in the depths of Caen’s sewers. The cacophony of screams, carnage and on the higher levels did not reach here, it was all but a mere “unfortunate side effect” from the creation of a Beacon like this. A Magical Beacon, so powerful was its light that no matter if the right person didn’t see it, they would feel it in their soul, the summoning. And the people there were counting on it.

The Demiurges had planned this for years, carefully planting hints hidden enough to keep away from the Church’s nose but clear enough for Him to notice and follow.

“Hold on just a bit longer, everyone!” A leader had raised among them, one of the younger Demiurges that had managed to retain both his determination and the ring on his finger. “The gate is already opening, I can feel it!”

The Beacon was not the only spell they were attempting to summon, no. There was more to that cauldron than just lights and noise: deep within, hidden on all the display of power, the very fabric of existence was being pulled from two sides by invisible hands. It would be just a matter of time before the smallest of tears appeared and then, if their theory was correct, winds of Magic would once again begin blowing  in Jericho. It was a farfetched, desperate solution, but it was also the only one they had reached after years of independent and conjoined research.

Today was the day of their Great Work, the day the entire world recovered its blessings.

But then, they heard steps splashing in the water. Light, slow and relaxed, advancing against the light and the fluttering winds coming from their beacon. Some people turned around, only to see a petite figure in white robes advancing towards them, his hair covered by a big, white hat. Some of them couldn’t recognize this figure, but those who did felt their jaws drop in an instant, their hands trembling. The Man of Stone stood right there, in front of them, seemingly undisturbed by the sheer power of their spell.

“M-Mustafá…!” The leader yelped, suppressing the need of leaving everything behind and just turning slightly to look at the man in white. “Quick! We are so close! Come and help us!”

The Man of Stone remained in place, his cold golden eyes darting from one member of the group to the next, before focusing on the Beacon of light they had created. After taking it all in, he finally and simply asked.

“What in the blazes do you think you are doing…?”

There was consternation among the Demiurges, what could that question mean? Was it a test, was he demanding someone to define the process in detail? In the middle of it all? Was he making sure they were doing their job properly? Or was he actually just truly and completely confused? Whatever the case, the leader cleared his throat and spoke up.

“Our Leader has returned, everyone! Let the Beacon fade!” The light dimmed slowly, the darkness of the sewers regaining a bit of dominion over everything… but the cauldron still illuminated slightly. One could now see, clear as the day, red threads flowing slowly into it, dripping from the ceiling. “Master Mustafá! We are opening a Gate to Babel! We are finally ready to receive its blessing!”

“A gate to Babel, are you insane?” The Man of Stone spoke with no emotion, and yet his words carried a dumbfounded, angry weight. “Do you have any idea what is going on outside? It’s a Pandaemonium, a horde.”

“Yes, we calculated that possibility as well! The emotions produced in it are giving us more than enough fuel to maintain the process!”

“And have you thought, for a single moment, the amount of attention you are pulling to yourselves?”

The Demiurges gasped, looking back at the leader while he started to feel his past determination shrivel up and die in his chest. Still, he held fast to his belief and confronted his master with growing frustration in his eyes.

“We will be gone far before the Church can arrive! It will be easy!”

“The Church is already here.” Mustafá narrowed his eyes. “You were sloppy, they expected you.”

“W-What!? But… but, how…”

People put down their hands, breathing heavily as panic began to wash over them in violent waves. All that magic they had gathered began to dissipate and spread back into the air before even the tiniest of breaches could break through reality. The Church, had they really found the hints they had left across the world all this time? But they made sure their Master could be the only one who could read them. It was impossible for anyone else to decode them, unless…

“You… you sold us out…” Someone whispered, but no one saw who.

“Now you shift the blame on me. How blind can you get?” Mustafá shook his head slowly, a small sigh escaping his lips. “You’ve become so enamored with your own ideas that you didn’t even see the despair you’ve planted growing into the vines that now strangle you.”

“We are the bearers of the torch of progress, the only ones who understand magic and its nuances! Can you really blame us for disregarding the ideas of the uninitiated?”

“Not really, that much I can understand. There’s little value in the words of a fool.” The Man of Stone was willing to admit. “But the Church has powerful magicians of their own, you are not the only ones in possession of knowledge. Have you really grown so full of yourselves that you couldn’t even consider that fact?” Silence, no one really knew how to answer that. Mages in the Church? How hypocritical could they get? “And besides. They are not the only ones you should be afraid of right now.”

A tremor began shaking the entire sewer system. Demiurges looked at each other in confusion, as cracks began appearing on the ceiling, spreading further and further. Mustafá was either ignorant or uncaring of this, turning his back on those who had tried to learn from him for all these years. He only had a few final words for them.

“You are, by far, my biggest disappointment.”

Mustafá closed his eyes as blinding light poured from the cracks on the rock before completely breaking through. The demiurges covered their eyes, trying to shield themselves from it. When they opened them again, Mustafá was already gone, but not only that: the ceiling had fractured completely, leaving a wide hole exposing them to the absolute chaos of the surface.

And standing atop the ruins of the sewers, right in front of them, there was a new figure. A red headed woman, with hatred burning in her eyes.