Lord-Commander Terrick stood on the uppermost balcony of Wardenholt, the Warden’s traditional headquarters, looking down over the city of Stormbreak. A nervous pall lay over the entire city, an aura of uncertain dread over what was to come. From his vantage point he could see where several rows of tenements had recently been demolished and the rubble cleared away to expose the lines of an ancient section of the Stormbreak Array. Over the course of the two centuries since the last time the entire array had been needed, the citizens had forgotten it, and construction had spread atop its expanse. Now that the time had come again, all of it had to be cleared away. Notwithstanding the fact that charging the array might destroy the buildings anyway, it had to be inspected before the mages of the Hold could risk reactivating it. The lower offices of the Wardens had been awash with complaints for weeks, and Terrick had been prepared to issue standing orders to arrest the more angry ringleaders. Such threats proved unnecessary once the Storm Breakers completed their assessment and began linking the array together.

Outrage gave way to awestruck fear as swirls of lightning began to coalesce above the nodes, and the tenuously-leashed display took the will out of the protesters. Even those shopkeepers who hadn’t been involved with the protests edged their wares away from the roiling vortices. Now that the array was gathering energy, Terrick could begin to make out the pattern of the enchantment laying beneath the stones. Though not a mage himself, his class dealt with mana enough that he had some limited grasp, and even to his half-opened senses, the air seemed to hum with ancient energy -- and he knew it was far worse for the actual spellcasters.

As awe-inspiring as the work the Storm Breakers were doing was, no less so was what they hoped to counter by their efforts. The western sky was filled with grim, black clouds, lit from within by dread power in a riot of every imaginable color. It was rare for a storm to be more than a dot on the horizon, a far-off challenge to the Storm Breakers’ power. Lesser firings of the array were usually sufficient to shatter the cloud formations into smaller, far less dangerous squalls that dissipated long before they threatened even the least-equipped merchant convoy or fisherman fleet.

History attested to more threatening storms, of course; though the city’s archives were spotty and incomplete, with only scattered clues as to the storm systems’ origin, it was obvious to anyone caring to look that they were by no means natural. Appearing every year from beyond the western horizon, they waxed and waned with the seasons, growing most powerful in the summer and fading into nothingness with winter’s chill. Something drove them out of the west, far beyond the sight of even the most daring scouts. Rumor and superstition offered a thousand tales to explain them, but such speculation was a luxury the Breakers could ill afford, especially now.

Terrick looked down, not at the city below, but at a silver disk in his palm. Slightly larger across than the gold coins that mediated trade in the merchants’ sector below, it was inset with a wickedly-gleaming red gem that lent the whole an uncomfortable warmth. It represented a contingency, one which he hoped would never be needed in his life. But what we want to be and what comes to pass are ever at odds. He closed his fingers around the disk, the thought like bitter poison in his mind as he tucked it into a pouch on his belt.

“Sir!”

The shout and sound of footsteps broke him from his reverie, and he turned to see his secretary approach, clutching a notebook under one arm. “Latest reports are in by way of the old semaphore towers, sir!”

“Thank you, Megyn,” Terrick responded. “The array is simply drawing too much magic around the island to get a scry through. How bad is it?”

His assistant wore a confused expression and didn’t respond immediately, a sign the news was different than she or he had been expecting. It had been several weeks since the Constable had vanished in a welter of fire and mayhem, and Terrick had been silently dreading reports of slaughter and bloodshed at the hands of another monster alongside The Defiler. Sightings had been sporadic and impossible to confirm, villages all over the interior of the island sending messages telling of bursts of flame in the night and screams in the wilderness. An unbound demon had the potential to be only marginally better than the Defiler, and many had been Terrick’s nightmares where he ended up having to put Zizzy down.

“There’ve been no murders even remotely resembling The Defiler’s work since she fought him at Ridgewater. There was a copycat near the Pine Lodge crossroads, but the Lieutenant stationed at the village has experience with tracking magics and sniffed out the bastard. He’s on his way to the Pillar after confessing.”

Terrick only just managed to stop himself from sagging in relief. “So she’s keeping him away from more victims, instead of rampaging on her own.”

“That’s the good news, sir.” Megyn seemed reluctant to continue. The girl was newly classed and not yet accustomed to working as his [Secretary], but Terrick knew one could not level easily without actually doing the things aligned with that person’s class archetype, so he softened his tone to put her at ease.

“I’m not one to kill the messenger, Megyn. Just breathe and finish your report.”

The young woman closed her eyes and took a breath, then glanced down at the notebook she held.

“Reports from Highfort Ruins confirm its destruction. Mages sent to investigate reported substantial traces of hellfire burned into the stone. The bridge over Thunderfall Gap will need repairs as well.” She glanced up at Terrick, then back down to her report. “Commander Danram was close enough to three of the sightings to give us more; he sends word from the Pillar that he believes she’s wearing him down. But, sir...he also thinks he’s heading for the Isle.” She fidgeted in place, looking up.

Terrick nodded his agreement with the analysis. “Even the non-mages and classless can feel the array for hundreds of miles. He has to be hungry for magic, and the central array must be like a second sun to his senses.”

“I thought the array drew on the ley lines beneath the island, sir…”

“It does,” Terrick acknowledged, “but it can’t use that magic while it’s down there. The nodes of the array act like a siphon, bringing it up and concentrating it into something the Breakers can actually use. A [Mage-Eater] couldn’t touch a ley line, but once the magic is on the surface they could feed on it unimpeded.”

The storm-shadowed skies flashed a brilliant gold several times in rapid succession, and even the dampening enchantments around Stormbreak Hold were insufficient to completely muffle the sound. Low rumbles shook the air, felt in the chest more than heard by the ears. The array was approaching full charge, and the Breakers had to keep the swirling energies balanced while the power gathered. At least, that’s what Terrick assumed. His own knowledge of actual magecraft was largely academic outside of the enchantments his class used, as he had no use for outwardly-directed spells.

“The last sighting was at Thunderfall near the bridge,” Megyn continued after a moment. “It’s only three days by cart, so he could be in the city already!”

Terrick rubbed his chin, thoughtful for several long moments. “I don’t think they’ve reached the city yet,” he disagreed. “Both the [Mage-Eater] and the Constable would gain strength from the magic being drawn into the city, and noticeably so. I doubt they’ll be able to hide when they arrive, either one of them.” They fell silent, looking out over the city.

The evening sun backlit the dark clouds to the west, an approaching wall that the city had been dreading for months. The sky over the city itself was clear, but high winds drove waves across the harbor and whipped between the buildings and down the streets. The island’s fishing fleets and merchant vessels had been pulled into drydocks where space was available and the captains had coin to pay, but many were stuck in the harbor. Only the truly insane would risk a run to the mainland with such a storm bearing down. Many ships had been put to anchor in the bay, sails stripped and sometimes even the masts taken down. The Breakers had held the storms at bay for over a millennium, but the fear was palpable despite their track record for reliability.

Megyn began to fidget, waiting for him to continue or dismiss her as he stared out over the city. He turned, gesturing for her to follow him into the Warden’s offices. “Looks to be a long night. Time to brief the night shift before they relieve the current guards.”

“All of our mages are helping the Breakers,” his secretary said. “We’ve deputized just about everyone in good standing with the courts who has melee skills and experience to guard the nodes while the Breakers charge the array.”

Terrick strode into the central hall of the warden’s office, keeping his face calm as officers and deputies of Stormbreak’s different districts turned to face the Lord-Commander. “I’ll keep it short,” he said simply, not needing to raise his voice. “We expect the Defiler at any moment. There’s no way to predict where he may show up in the city, but it’s almost certain the Constable will be right on his heels if the reports from the rest of the island are anything to go by.”

He looked at the assembled officers and deputies, veterans and rookies both. “Do not, under any circumstance, try to cast a spell at the [Mage-Eater]. Enhancements and self-augmentation should be safer, but rely on physical skills and abilities as much as you can.”

One of the older sergeants spoke up, asking the question those younger and less experienced Wardens were afraid to voice. “Rules of engagement, sir?”

His response was swift and certain. “Kill on sight. Do not try to detain. We’re to put him down if possible, and keep him away from civilians to the best of our abilities.”

“And the Constable? Rumor has it she’s broken her bindings.”

“Let me deal with Constable Zizzy. If she’s capable of being reasonable, there shouldn’t be any issue. If she’s truly gone berserk…then there’s not much we can do but be as quick and merciful as possible. She deserves that much for her service.”

More than a few of the assembled expressed relief at the last statement. Many were those who joined the Wardens after Zizzy had saved them from some disaster or another, Terrick included. The possibility of having to fight someone who had been a fixture of so many lives was not something the Wardens could countenance lightly. After dismissing them to their duties the Lord-Commander headed for his own office.

A young boy waited by the door to his chambers; a messenger, judging by his well-worn boots and letter-pouch on his belt. He seemed extremely anxious, but too fearful of the Wardens to interrupt. Terrick stopped before the door and smiled kindly at the boy.

“You have a message, son? We don’t bite without cause.”

“Not scared of Wardens, sir; the Temple sent me. It’s Father Janim, the Diviner. They say he’s trying to do an Augury, but he’s too old!”

Terrick’s heart skipped a beat at the boy’s proclamation. “Go,” he said crisply. “I’ll be right there.” The boy took off running for the main doors, and the Lord-Commander continued towards his office. Shoving the door open, he threw on his coat and adjusted his sword belt. No carts or horses traversed the high streets of the upper district; the flask he snatched up from his desk contained a restorative brew to help him with the sprint he would need to make. Megyn raised a hand to ask him something on his way back out, but sat back and remained quiet when she saw his face as he passed the reception area.

He kept himself calm all the way down the upper street terrace far above the city below. A mana-lift transfer station allowed passage between the Warden’s cliffside tower and the upper district, and what seemed like an eternity passed entirely too slowly while he waited for the platform to cross the gap. Janim! What are you thinking? You old fool!

His thoughts were bitter. Terrick and Janim had been like brothers once, pulled out of a burning warehouse by a certain constable…one hereditarily immune to fire. She had shielded over a dozen children to bring them out of their own personal hell, one of her earlier accomplishments after the council finally agreed to allow her to serve the city in exchange for feeding her; a bargain Terrick had felt Zizzy had repaid the city for thousands of times over.

He put his thoughts aside as the platform slid to a standstill with a quiet whisper, locking in place on the city side of the gap in the cliffs. He started with a light jog to loosen up old muscles that, he had to admit, didn’t get as much exercise as they needed at his age, then relaxed into a steady run. The streets were deserted, a combination of the nervous anticipation that had infected the city and the late hour. The glowing runic nodes every few blocks cast an eerie golden light and threw sections of the street into deep shadow. He crossed a footbridge that led to a fork: the right-hand road hugged the cliffside and led into the lowest residential section of the Upper District, where Zizzy kept house; the left cut through a gap in the cliff, the forked tines of Stormbreak Hold visible on the other side, arcs of golden lightning rippling up their length.

Turning into the gap, Terrick finally used a Skill. [Phase Dash] cost him a healthy amount of Stamina, but closed merchant stalls and shuttered houses passed in a blur and a rush of wind. The sound barely registered in his ears, the familiar effect of his skill shielding him from being buffeted by the air as it was shunted aside to allow him passage. Trained mages could formulate spells with similar effects, but the inherent skill was a rare one that he had learned while working as a delivery boy in his own youth before gaining his Class. Continued use of [Phase Dash] brought him closer and closer to his destination.

The temple itself was layered with protective wards and had its own guards; the two at the door drew their blades halfway from their sheaths as Terrick appeared out of thin air. People milled about just inside the gates, as did several more of the temple guards. They weren’t career soldiers, merely older retired classers who took an easy posting for quiet work and the meager stipend; they didn’t seem to know what to do about a crisis that wasn’t an actual attack. An older priestess sat on the steps, her saddened expression telling Terrick all he didn’t want to know.

“He’s asking for you,” she said quietly.

“I’m too late to stop it?”

“He waited until the atrium was empty after evening bell for supper. Blocked the doors with one of the pews; nobody expected him to skip a meal. He claimed he had to, but…his heart couldn’t take it. The healers say his regen is simply not enough to sustain him.”

“Blocked the door with one of the pews?” Terrick asked disbelievingly. “Those heavy iron-oak bastards?”

“It was always easy to forget how strong he was in his prime, you know.” The priestess chuckled grimly. “Go on, he’s waiting for you, and the elixir will wear off soon. I don’t need divination to know what will happen then.”

He strode past the priestess, up the steps and through the main doors. Supplicants and temple staff alike packed the hall, the doors to the temple atrium standing half-ajar with a broken pew leaning to one side. He could hear his old friend fussing before he closed half the distance.

“Move aside, you slack-jawed goblinspawn! Terrick’s here! And I need to tell him!”

“He’s almost here and you know it, now lay back so you don’t burn through the elixir any faster than you have to,” responded a quietly commanding voice.

“I’ve known the moment of my death for days, you old hag! Terrick!” The portly priest was shouting by the time he called Terrick’s name. The sad truth of recovery elixirs was that even if they weren’t enough to restore a patient to health, they still made a person feel restored. Until, that is, they wore off. Many had been the adventurer who, under the false aegis of a healing potion, had refused treatment only to die of what proved to be mortal wounds after the tonics wore off.

“Calm down, old man, I’m here.” Terrick spoke with a joviality he did not truly feel, but his friend deserved more than his anger in his last moments. “Was this truly the only way?”

“Bah,” retorted the dying priest. “I’ve been dreaming my death for weeks; knew today was the day for a while now. And there’s things you need to know. I wasn’t going to survive to see tomorrow’s dawn regardless.”

“You’d say that either way, old friend.”

“Regardless, you need to know.” Janim pushed a fussing temple acolyte away after repeating himself, and struggled upright, using the altar for support and pushing his scrying orb and incense chalice out of the way. Ritualized divination was a Stamina- and Mana-intensive ordeal, and the circle drawn in chalk on the floor still glowed with traces of the old diviner’s magic. “The Defiler.”

Terrick crouched down next to his friend, concern and grief sequestered in the name of duty. “Go on.”

“He’s not coming for the city, Terrick. The array has been pulling in Mana from the ley lines under the island, and he’s following one while getting stronger. It’s how he’s gotten ahead of the Constable.”

“Is she not drawing from the ambient magic as well?”

“She is, yes, but not as quickly. And your Warden’s contingency is useless. The [Oracle] herself sundered the chains of the Geas, both the summoner’s bindings and the Bloodbind Gem the council demanded when they let her join the Wardens.”

Janim coughed suddenly, the intensity fading from his voice as he slumped against the altar. “I guess the potion is wearing off. You have to hold him off until the Constable arrives.”

“Where? You said he’s following--”

“The ley lines!” Janim responded, his eyes burning with a fierce intensity. “They all run to--” The priest wheezed, rapidly growing too tired to continue.

A dull horror worked its way into Terrick’s voice. “Stormbreak Hold. The circle under the spires.”

“You don’t have to worry about the Constable, Terrick,” Janim said quietly, mortality robbing his voice of power. “Succubi all want to be mothers, and their damnation…is that they can never bear children. Zizzy sees us, all of us she saved, as her children. She won’t…can’t harm us.”

“And The Defiler…” Terrick’s sadness broke through in his words.

“He killed children, Terrick,” gasped the priest. Even on the verge of death the old man managed a vicious grin. “Just hold him off until she catches up.” He coughed, breath starting to come more rapidly. “I’m glad I get to go first...to show her the way…” His grin gave way to a beatific smile as he turned his eyes to the ceiling.

And then, the light faded from his eyes and Janim slouched, his head drooping as his last breath rattled out of his lungs. The healer who had been trying to ease the priest’s last moments stood in shock. “The--” He choked on the words.

“Yes, The Defiler. He warned me in time,” replied Terrick, pulling the bottle from his belt and taking several long draws of the bitter solution. Standard practice among apothecary and alchemist classes was to make such brews taste strongly medicinal to keep people from abusing them without need, but need was what he had today. “Send runners,” he instructed. “All you have here, to all the nodes. All available men are to make for the Hold immediately.”

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, glaring at the motionless healer, the bitter tincture harshing his words even above his intent. “Don’t gape at me like a fish, man! Send word, the Wardens! To Stormbreak Hold!”

The healer recoiled as if slapped, backing away before shouting for messengers. Terrick knelt down and closed Janim’s eyes. “You told me in time, old friend. Sleep easy.” He didn’t wait any longer, activating [Phase Dash] while still within the temple. It had been years since he’d had reason to use it twice in one day, and months since he’d used it at all. He ignored the aches in his legs, refusing to admit he was even older than Janim. He cleared the front steps of the temple on his way out the door, a muted thunderclap following in his wake as his heels slammed into the flagstones to launch himself down the approach. From the Temple to the main boulevard of the Upper District took him less than a handful of heartbeats, and his momentum carried him into the side of a shuttered brick storefront as he made the turn at speed. His boots left cracked imprints in the stone wall as he kicked off to sprint towards Stormbreak Hold.

I’m sure I just woke somebody up in there, he thought with a twinge of amusement. He had no time to stop and express his apologies, however. He raced onwards, up the low hill upon which sat Stormbreak Hold itself. Magic pulsed in the air and in the ground, and even his mastered [Phase Dash] skill was beginning to have trouble pushing the mana aside. Three swirling bands of energy flowed in twisting ribbons from larger nodes in the lower parts of the city, spiraling through the air to connect to the front of the building. They crackled and spat like lightning, but the flow of mana pulled the sparks back into line before they could drop to the ground. As he approached the Hold, nothing appeared amiss, so Terrick ran to the left, circling the structure. Arcs of mana flowed into the building from all sides, and as he rounded the corner to the south face, he noticed that one such arc was weaker than its mates, flickering worryingly.

He slowed to a stop, seeing nothing wrong with the building itself. [Phase Dash] fading left him feeling slightly drained, and he took another swig from the bottle on his hip. He could hear alarm bells in the distance, and stopped himself just short of following the flickering mana-stream into the boulder-strewn hills and ravines that lead south into the interior of the island. Above the hold itself, a vortex had formed between the three forked spires, and the Mana began to flow faster, crawling up the building to feed it. Two figures in the signature grey-and-green warden uniforms came dashing out of a side entrance, baring steel before recognizing their commander.

“He’s coming,” said Terrick. “No spells. Be ready.”

Both Wardens saluted before falling into step to his left. The sky to the south was lit in eerie red hues, as though a fire raged just beyond the horizon. “Sir! I thought he didn’t have magic of his own!”

“He doesn’t,” replied Terrick with a smile. Hellfire had a familiar tint that was unmistakable to any who had ever witnessed it. “We just have to hold him for the Constable. She grows stronger as well.”

“Are you sure she can take him?” the third warden asked. Terrick answered with his blade and another Skill, [Quickstep], turning on his heel and stepping a pace to the side. His dueling blade parted the air with a snapping whistle as it crossed where the Defiler’s neck had been a fraction of a moment before. The [Mage-Eater] dropped its glamour as it realized Terrick had seen through it. “More observant than the others,” it growled at him. The form was hunched with elongated arms, seeming to blend into shadows while fighting the light that tried to illuminate its body. “Even that hellfire bitch couldn’t spot me that fast.”

The Lord-Commander was too slow to stop The Defiler as the beast -- having long ago left behind the trappings of humanity for whatever abominable class he had unlocked -- leapt back, and the two younger Wardens dropped to the ground. The twin thumps of their bodies were followed by the twin thumps of their severed heads, eyes widened in their final shock. Terrick raised his sword, relaxing into a practiced stance.

“Whatcha gonna do with that pig-sticker?” the Defiler taunted.

Terrick, Lord-Commander of the Stormbreak Wardens, did not grace the beast before him with a reply. The [Spellsabre Duelist] had no need for words at the precipice of battle. He invoked his class abilities, feeling them start to pulse through his body in sync with the beat of his heart. He enjoyed a significant advantage here, against a [Mage-Eater] -- he was no mage. His mana stayed within him, not heeding the Defiler’s ravenous hunger.

Bestial eyes gleamed as the monster took a deep breath. The pull intensified, and the flickering mana stream above it bent, dipping to within a few feet. Sparks flew off and were drawn into that shadowy maw, the beast inhaling the magic; the shadows wreathing its form grew even darker as it set its stance.

“All that time I wasted on children and boring old women. There’s so much fun to have here in this world, and no one to stop me.”

The voice rumbled low and gravelly, barely understandable with the physical changes to the vocal cords. Terrick still did not respond, stepping sideways to keep himself between the monster and the building. He could feel the array gaining power, and knew he had to keep his foe away from the vortex. The Defiler paced side to side like a prowling cat, and Terrick met every exploratory lunge with the tip of his blade.

Without warning, the beast charged him, low to the ground and on all fours. Even with [Haste] aiding Terrick’s movements, he barely managed to step aside. His sword flickered out in a riposte, a rapid flurry of strikes as he danced out of reach and left the monster hamstrung and bleeding, the thick black ichor sizzling and smoking as it hit the air. He almost got me there, Terrick thought grimly. Can’t let him close; I’m in better shape than Janim, but my own regen isn’t as good as it used to be…

And so, Terrick danced. A few years younger, a little bit faster, and he may have been able to end it right then and there. But the Lord-Commander’s beard had been grey for years, with aches and pains in his joints having long become an everyday ordeal instead of the occasional annoyance. It was only decades of experience, and no small bit of luck, that kept him from losing his head when his boot slipped on a bloody patch of stone. He tucked himself into the fall, a clawed hand passing close enough to his head that the wind of its passage tugged at his hair. He rolled back, using [Quickstep] to recover his footing and face The Defiler once again.

“You don’t scare like the others. Finally. Someone worth the trouble, even if you ain’t pretty like the young ones.” Its growling voice seemed somehow respectful.

“A man I considered my brother died a few minutes ago. Compared to that? You’re merely a distraction, a loose end that needs tying off before I move on to actual important things today.” Terrick’s tone was flat and empty, devoid of emotion and his words slow and measured. It mocked the defiler in its matter-of-fact delivery, the Warden refusing to take the bait. The Defiler abandoned conversation with a blindingly fast leap forwards.

But the Lord-Commander’s words had been slow and measured because, to his own perception, he was already moving extremely fast. The [Spellsabre Duelist] didn’t engage in flashy spellwork like a [Mage]; his magic was focused inwards, and he had activated another skill the moment the beast had been revealed. Terrick saw the monster approach in slow motion from the effects of his own internal [Haste] skill. The skill was much more Mana-intensive than [Phase Dash], and it was something he had to use sparingly at his age with his reduced regeneration. But its usefulness was undeniable; it permitted him to take measured steps sideways and back while ducking under the onrushing arm, talons seeking his heart. His sword came up, flicked down, then came up again. The arcing magic overhead flashed. The blade swept sideways, then back and down again.

He let [Haste] fade away, panting to catch his breath. The Defiler had managed to avoid being decapitated, but four distinct pieces of one arm and a gnarled and disfigured foot lay on the ground. The beast itself thrashed in mixed fury and agony, its gurgling snarls painting the stones with sprays of ichor. It rolled away from the Warden, rage boosting its speed. Its severed limbs were already growing back as it lurched upright. The shadows around it deepened as it inhaled again, and the band of glowing magic above them snapped.

The Defiler gulped down the raw mana, growing larger and more hideous. When the ribbon of light connected to the building snapped back into place, the stone erupted. Terrick could hear screams from inside the breached wall and the vortex above began to wobble dangerously. Thunderous cracks and explosive shards of magic flew off in all directions as it bounced between the tines.

The monster heaved on all fours, gasping gravelling breaths. “I don’t know why you people would build such a thing, and I don’t care. I think I’m gonna stay here after I kill you all, and just keep eating the magic. Do you think there’s enough to make me a god? I might leave then, go back to my old world to have some fun.”

Terrick kept his eyes on the beast as the golden light began to shift into a deeper red that cast a vivid sunset hue on the courtyard. He flourished his blade, letting his Magic flow into the steel. The Defiler watched the blade with wary eyes, already cut more than once.  “You don’t throw your magic,” it observed carefully. “You hold it. But that won’t save you, it just means I have to get closer.”

“Try me, beast.” Terrick gave a flourish, letting his sword go from fiery red to icy blue. The roaring cyclone of power above the magical fortress drowned out the approaching wingbeats, and he grinned with savage triumph. Just as the creature was readying itself to leap again, an enraged and empowered Constable Zizzy slammed into the middle of its back with both feet. Most of her uniform had been burned away, but her boots had been made of sturdier material than the rest of her attire. The unbound demon descended upon the Defiler with enough force to shatter the pavement and drop it two feet below the roadbed.

Terrick stumbled back, fearing she had destabilized the array even further. Several [Mages] had already reinforced the broken wall, shoving the rubble away and shoring up the damaged section on either side. It left the interior of Stormbreak Hold open to view, where over a dozen robed figures stood around a massive table displaying a map of the island and its surroundings, above which floated a series of concentric bronze rings. .

The Constable screamed, primal fury given a terrible voice. She, too, had been drawing on the gathered magic to grow stronger -- and it showed. Every beat of her wings shed sparks of hellfire that lingered on the stones and burned tracers into Terrick’s vision. She was a living inferno, an ember hellstorm writ in crimson flames, and the Defiler screamed in return as those flames burned into its back.

The beast inhaled, and instead of the arcing Mana of the array it was Zizzy’s hellfire that flowed into its maw. It screamed again as the fires began to burn it from the inside, and the laugh that came from the succubus chilled Terrick’s spine despite the growing heat. Her laughter was short-lived, however, as the flames glowing within the monster’s chest began to darken and dim. The fire went from crimson to black, shadows growing as the Defiler gave a grim chuckle. A shadow-wreathed hand snapped up and latched around the succubus’s neck, and then slammed her into the ground once, twice, a third and fourth time before the monster stood up.

“I ripped one of your wings off already,” it growled. “If I take both, will they stay gone this time?”

Zizzy tried to roll away, her crushed face already beginning to heal, the broken nose and flattened mouth crunching as bones shifted into place and regrew. The Defiler reached down and picked her up by one ankle to stop her escape, swinging her up and overhead to slam her back down into the ground. This time, the heavy wooden door that had once adorned the wall of the Hold broke her fall. It splintered but did not break, and the beast pushed her face-first into it as it straddled her shattered form. Terrick felt hope begin to die as it wrapped one arm around Zizzy’s neck, pulling her head back. A beheading was a sure-fire way to banish a demon.

Zizzy’s eyes met his, and she smiled -- and laughed. Her skin blurred, and her broken legs suddenly snapped backwards around the monster’s waist, locking together by her ankles. Her arms likewise encircled the grotesque form as her face melted away to reappear nose-to-nose with the Defiler. “Mine now,” she breathed at him, voice husky with a desire that knocked Terrick back from almost twenty paces away.

And then the Constable Kissed the Defiler.

Intimacy and lethality had never been so closely intertwined as in the case of a Succubus and her Kiss; it attracted and repelled at the same time, a sensuously deadly display that weakened the knees and averted the gaze. Terrick’s cheeks burned hot to behold it as Zizzy devoured the beast from the inside, setting aflame what she did not consume. The Defiler tried to pull his face away from hers, but to no avail. The monster seemed to shrivel as the demon fed. A thread of burning black energies trailed out of its mouth as the Constable inhaled, her expression languid and almost sleepy, her own fires brightening to a vivid crimson as the shadowed flames of her prey dimmed and faded. With one final exhausted gasp, the last of its life vanished into her mouth. Terrick found himself unable to stand, shaken by the sight. He had never before witnessed the Constable in the act of feeding.

She sat there, then, cradling the dried-out husk of what had been the Defiler, seeming to luxuriate in the afterglow of her effort. She sprawled on the ruined wooden door like a courtesan on her bed, oblivious to the splintered edges gouging her skin. The remnants of her uniform were merely singed tatters that did nothing to preserve her modesty, but he could see that the badge remained affixed to the last remnants of her tunic. Neither the Demon nor the Lord-Commander had any words for the moment, one threat ended -- but the future left uncertain. The destabilized vortex of energies swirled with magical violence above, and the tines of the three forked spires groaned audibly while lightning flashed overhead. Zizzy shoved the dessicated corpse to the side, flowing up to her feet with a graceful flick of her wings. Decency was restored as her demonic glamour regrew the image of her uniform around her.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she said to Terrick. “I’m still me, even unbound.”

He grinned back at her, lurching himself to his feet and dusting himself off. “You never can tell. You’re a Warden yourself; you know what I’m thinking.”

Before she could respond, a pair of robed figures came rushing out of Stormbreak Hold, stepping across the rubble to approach Terrick and the Constable. Mana crystals floated around the Storm Breakers inside the building, and coruscating ribbons of power circled the team controlling the Array.

“The array is destabilizing, Lord-Commander! We don’t have enough power to keep it under control!” said one of the wizards, the golden brooch with the broken storm emblem gleaming on her collar. “The Arch-Master and the rest of us will hold it as long as we can, but you need to evacuate the island. The city, at the very least; when we lose the array, it’ll take the whole mountaintop with it!”

“Someone needs to send word to the mainland, if anyone survives,” continued her male counterpart, his face ashen with fear. “He must have damaged one of the southern nodes, and the backlash from blowing the wall didn’t help either. But we don’t have enough power to be sure -- when it blows it’s just as likely to make the storm worse as it is to split it up.”

Zizzy had simply stood there, staring up at the vortex while the mages gave their report to Terrick. She seemed unfazed by the dread news, while his heart twinged in fear for the people of the island. And the mainland too; the Mana-Storm was worse than any in living memory, rivalled only by dim legend. The only reason he had not already taken off running was that there simply was no time. Not for an evacuation, even if the Breakers could hold the Array for an entire day. If there were a Wavecutter from the Swiftwater Guild at the docks, he could possibly at least get a message out. But one ship could never take enough people to make a difference in the coming destruction. Terrick opened his mouth, not entirely sure what his next orders -- his last orders -- would be.

He was saved, however, by a sensuous voice. “If you had more power, would it work?”

Terrick and both mages turned to look at Zizzy as she spoke. She never looked away from the vortex, her wings rustling gently while her tail flicked back and forth, much like a cat’s.

“You said you don’t have enough power to fire it. It’s destabilized, and gonna blow the island, right? So…if you had enough power, everything would be alright?”

“Uh…Yes, that’s technically true,” said the woman. “But there aren’t enough Mana Potions or crystal wells and other artifacts on the entire Island to make a difference.”

The constable shook her wings and stretched languorously before turning to face Terrick. “It’s just a matter of time before the council has me banished, you know. They won’t risk an Unbound, and I won’t fight them.”

“What do you mean? You’ve earned your place here! Saved so many!” The words scraped their way out of his throat, and he had crossed half the distance before she rose into the air and out of his reach.

“I did save a lot. My kind have no children, Terrick...but I have hundreds.” Her face looked serene, voice calm and relaxed as she spoke. “I hope all of you remember me. Demons don’t get Stories. And no one would remember me if all of you die.”

Before he could say another word, Zizzy shot upwards, great beats of her fiery wings bearing her skyward, level with the tips of the spires and then higher still. She hung there a moment, with Stormbreak Isle spread below her.

Then, she heeled over and dove between the spires, a red aura wrapping around her and granting her a comet-like tail as she plunged into the vortex’s heart. The golden bands writhed and changed color to a deep red, before brightening to a hellish crimson.

Terrick could only watch, mouth agape, as the vortex howled like the demon who had just fed it, bolts of crimson lashing between all three forks. It stopped wobbling, holding steady and pulsing like a great and terrible heart. Its spin stabilized, growing faster with each passing moment.

The Storm Breakers around the table stood straighter, galvanized by the sudden infusion. “It’s working!” one of them called from her position. Terrick could barely hear her, but evidence of her words was abundant as traces of sulphurous light crawled up the tines, the underlying array saturated with hellfire.

As the vortex shrunk, the mages raised their arms in unison, the Arch-Master’s cowl falling back to reveal a shock of yellow-grey hair atop intensely focused eyes. A silver sphere grew into existence between his hands, covered in thousands of tiny runes which glowed to match the fires of the Constable’s sacrifice. He floated it over the table, positioning it above one particular section of the grey, stormy mass.

“Targeting is set!” he called, voice partially muffled by the wind. “Make ready to fire the Array!” Power thrummed beneath the mages, and before Terrick had a chance to shield his eyes, night turned to day.

The vortex squeezed tighter still, then shot away like a great lance, shattering the acoustic enchantments and setting the entire island to shuddering. A solid red-gold blade of light sliced its way through the air, rocketing towards the west to banish the darkness.

The sound of the Array’s firing had been as a physical blow, and it had flattened the Lord-Commander and the two mages unfortunate enough to be outside the hold. Terrick clambered back to his feet, ears ringing. The spires above Stormbreak Hold had already begun to fade into dormancy, the magic returning to the subterranean leylines now that its purpose had been fulfilled. Inside the hall, the Arch-Master leaned against the table, the other mages variously sitting or laying on the ground and trying to catch their breath. The man seemed older than Terrick had ever seen him, the effort wizening him. His hearing had recovered just enough to make out the man’s words as he spoke, surveying the table:

“It is done,” he said in wonder. “We’re not out of the woods…but the Worldstorm has been broken.”

As if that had been what he was waiting for, the Arch-Master collapsed to the ground.

Terrick, Lord-Commander of the Stormbreak Wardens, grieved in silence.