The road back to his sanctum was short, but it felt like an eternity. Eight-hundred and fifty years of life, and in all of it he had never felt so much anger.
The undead fought because they had no choice, the trolls because in their backward and savage ways they believed they had a right to this land. A wretched was nothing more than a parasite on society itself.
When their people died, when their home was taken away what remained tried to rebuild what they could, but every step on the road to the recovery of their kingdom was dogged by those trying to feed off of its remains.
Pathetic wretches with no control over their urges, that would harm the few of his people that were left were the worst of the worst.
The wretched stabbed away at their already dying people as they barely held back the tide of the undead.
He had hated the wretched since the first among them emerged, their twisted bodies a perfect represantation of what they were. Vile creatures of no worth.
Now one had harmed one of his students, and kidnapped another. This would not stand.
Meledor helped as much as he was able, but the steps of his student were growing weaker, and he found himself supporting more and more of his weight.
By the time they reached his sanctum Meledor was nothing more than dead weight. The boys breath, once coming out in ragged heaves, grew more and more silent.
He pushed past the protective wards, carrying the boy now.
When they entered his living quarters he hastily placed his charge on his bed, and he ran to his laboratory. He hadn't expected a need for potions like the one he would need for Meledor, but he had many for just such a purpose.
There was a large abundance of potions of all kind within the city, The reduced population allowing for far greater distribution.
He grabbed a large flask filled with glowing red liquid, before teleporting downstairs in a blink.
He paused at the sight of an empty bed, before a whispered "Instructor." caught his ear.
As he turned he was met in an instant with a fist to the face.
The power behind the blow broke his jaw, nearly tearing it from its place on his skull. Antheol managed to let out a wet gag and lift his arms, now sparking with magical flame, before two hands clasped around his wrists.
Immediately he felt his power in the spell draw away, before more was pulled directly from his body. He fought it as soon as it came, dragging his mana back from his captor as he stole it away.
His hands lit up with flame once again.
Through the stars in his vision and the pain he saw Meledor, savagely grinning at him. It struck him in an instant.
Scourge. This was a trap, and he had fallen for it perfectly.
"No incantations for you, magister."
The voice that met his ears was both Meledors, and someone elses. It was too arrogant, too superior.
He pushed the flame onto the creature in a light application of mana, increasing its power as they struggled for control. Meledor's hands began to melt as if made of wax, and the smell of burning flesh met his nose.
They remained like that for a few moments, before the creatures hands tightened its grip, both of them shaking from the strain.
The creature leaned forward as they fought, its grin growing before it erupted into maddened laughter.
His students face began to peel away from the heat as it laughed, the sound taking on a haunting tone
Keeping his concentration on tapping into his foe's mana and maintaining the spell was all he could manage, and it was growing difficult.
He needed to find a way to draw back, regroup. If he had a moment to think, a moment to gather himself he could crush this creature in an instant.
They struggled for what seemed like hours, the undead uncaring of the damage the flames did to its body, and Antheol's experience and knowledge allowing him to keep up his assault.
Eventually the face of his student faded away into a partially blackened skull. It wasn't long before a reddened glow emerged from its eye-socket.
The thing spoke like a child that had grown bored of a toy.
"Enough."
Antheol screamed, his wrists breaking as the monster possessing his student increased the pressure on them.
He felt his mana drain further as his concentration broke, the slight trickle of his power draining away becoming a flood.
He fell to his knees as all but a small portion of his magic drew away into the body of his student.
His arms were released, and he watched as his students body twitched, before stumbling back.
From the bodies mouth a blackened mist emerged, before forming into a vaguely elf-like shape
The body of Meledor straightened in an instant, suddenly moving mechanically forward, a puppet instead of a suit to wear.
The figure kneeled in front of him, reaching into the ruined remains of its robes, and withdrawing a glass vial.
It popped the cork of the vial, before grabbing him roughly by the back of his head.
He could only watch as it forced the vial into the remains of his jaw, and poured the liquid down his throat.
He knew what was coming as soon as the smell of the mixture met his nose. His shoulders slumped as the realization came upon him.
They wanted to steal his will from him.
"You fought well."
His consciousness faded away just as the body of his student forced him to face the darkened visage of a specter, a single tear going down his face.
Master.