Tartarus could barely contain his excitement in hearing the location of the elixirs from Minnie's cats. He could already feel a plan beginning to formulate as he equipped Faris's various gear. His first stop was Gurant's workshop and forge.

"...Boy," Gurant grunted noncommittally.

"Old man" Tartarus retorted with the level of joking disdain he heard in Faris's voice, letting out a casual smirk.

"Oh? That's a relatively new look, Faris." Gurant raised an eyebrow, "You look like you're about to raise hell."

"...Something like that."

"And… what would that be?"

Tartarus looked over at the array of flintlock pistols, rifles, muskets, cannons, and various other 'hot weapons' Faris and Gurant had designed and worked on. "It's time to test out the guns."

Gurant raised an eyebrow. "Are you planning to use it on someone?"

Tartarus looked at Gurant for a few seconds. Despite being in 'control', he found himself swayed by Faris's emotions and sensibilities. It allowed him to imitate Faris relatively well, but it also made him subject to Faris's tics and vices. He fed Ventus, spoke respectfully to Martha and Yura, spoke kindly to their children, joked with Gurant, and acted friendly with his friends and allies, he, however, had leeway with those Faris had no real care or relationship with. But I'll change that soon. "Well Gurant, if you made me a sword, I'd likely plan to use it on someone, wouldn't I? It's not a point of me using it, but who I'll use it on."

"Interesting words. Alright then boy, who do you plan to use these guns on?"

"My enemies."

Gurant narrowed his eyes. "I've never heard you refer to anyone or anything simply as… your enemies."

"That's because the people I plan on fighting will normally be considered good people by society."

Gurant shrugged. "Take the guns then, Shade, tell me what you discover." Not hearing Tartarus's response, Gurant continued. "It's been a few days, the bird and the cat have been on edge around you, even an old man like me can tell, I heard about what happened to you those months ago."

"And… why haven't you said anything?"

"You didn't kill me, or the girls, did you?" Gurant shrugged, "I'm old, and perhaps because I'm old I'm getting softer, I don't want to see that boy hanging from the gallows, even if it's not…him inside."

"You won't have to worry about that much longer." Tartarus shook his head, "this complicates things slightly, you know my identity but do not try to stop me, if not for 'morality' what of the knights and mages?"

"Worried?" Gurant asked playfully, "I'd think you were just a-" He was cut off as he was struck in the back of the head by a heavy blow. As he fell, blood dripped slightly from his mouth and nostrils.

Tartarus stepped over the old man's unconscious body, even as he moved his mind wracked with pain as Faris fought against him.

"Shhhh… soon now, you'll be rid of me, as I of you." Tartarus smiled as he gathered up all the useful tools he could, suppressing Faris's mind further.

…

"Where'd that damn kid find his way off to."

Bergan's first instinct was to check the abandoned barracks that Uglauw had hidden in with his smugglers. The Council of 13 member could immediately sense a large number of life within the building, several hundred smaller signatures that he eventually recognized as animals, and three larger signatures with shielded minds.

"It looks like they sensed me." He cautiously entered, activating his wards. The building was still charred beyond recognition, and a few spots here and there were rife with dark clumps of soot, he avoided those spots. As he made his way through the soot and ash-infested ground, he found his way to the massive double doors that led to the center of the Barracks. Before it had become the makeshift warehouse and base of operations of Uglauw and his men, it had been a mess hall. Bergan remembered watching soldiers enter these barracks in preparation for the war against the Varden, their dull red uniforms reminded him of a sea of dark wine. Shaking himself from the old memory, he passed through the double doors, streaming past him were countless cats, which he mostly ignored, making his way into the room. What awaited him was an odd sight, a large cat with a spotted white coat, an owl, and a short, stout young man covered in injuries. The strangest thing about the sight was that the owl, despite being the smallest of the three, had spread its wings and was covering as much of the cat and boy as possible. As Bergan got closer, he recognized the young man as a student mage by the name of Minstrel. "Why are you here?"

The young boy, eyes shut tight, turned his head to Bergan's voice. "...Sir Bergan?"

"What happened to you?" Bergan took out his crystal, reaching into his reserves to begin healing Minstrel.

"B-behind yo-!" Minstrel was interrupted by the thwap of arrows clashing against Bergan's wards. Bergan turned around, eyes scanning the room, at his feet lay arrows, but he could not detect who shot them, nor could he sense any differences in the room. "Assassins Sir Bergan!"

Bergan sighed in annoyance.

…

"Dammit! Dammit!" Faris knew Tartarus's plan, even as they fought each other, they were privy to each other's memories, emotions, and thought processes. Tartarus was going to take the elixirs, and combined with several potions Faris had learned from Angela, he would temporarily increase his magical capacity by an extreme amount, in exchange for his life. Using that magic, he would summon spirits, force them to his will, then combine Faris's knowledge with the Spirit's ability to bypass standard magic to forge himself a new body and discard Faris's. There was a slight chance Faris could survive, even if the potions consumed his life force, much of it would be regained simply via being a conduit in the transfer, but even if he 'survived', he'd likely be: crippled, brain dead, or at the very least, left with debilitating mental and physical deformities so severe it would be easier to simply believe he died. Faris cared little for the fact that there was a huge chance he may die, or for the fact that he could only hope to live the rest of his life as a cripple even if he survived.

"Something wrong Faris?" Tartarus appeared before him, no longer as a reflection, but as a human-shaped mass of darkness, the contours and features exposed by reflecting lights. The constant dripping of viscous goo from the being's body gave off the appearance of a person who had been dunked in black paint.

"I can't let you!"

"Let me what?" Tartarus smiled, "Faris, I know everything about you. I know your tics, your habits, your vices, and your strengths. Basically, Faris, I know what's in your head. I was foolish to simply acknowledge the world Damien came from, the world of the Earth as the way to go about my business, so what it's more advanced in the way of science, this isn't Earth, and you've not applied your knowledge, so I will use what we've already established. The story of Thuviel, the elf who lost his dragon and killed himself and the island, dooming hundreds of riders with him but keeping Doru Araeba and all of Vroengard from Galbatorix's hands. It's so simple, I don't need to fully understand physics to cast a spell like that, all I need is intent and basic understanding."

Faris shuddered in anger, he knew that in the instance that Tartarus began casting such a spell, he would be able to cause a chain reaction, causing all matter within a 100-meter radius to become as volatile and explosive. It didn't matter if Venka was within the city, Faris's words of protection could not hold if he and Tartarus were separated, and if what Faris suspected was true, the suicide spell wasn't just nuclear fission, but rather, anti-matter annihilation.

"This is insane! We don't know the planet's full dimensions, but this could literally wipe out almost all life in Alagaesia, and even further beyond, you might rupture the mantle!"

"That's my point, I'm here to destroy. Why do you think Durza helped Galbatorix? Why do you think Vraug was so erratic? You saw the shades we spawned, they were all monsters, bastards, and hedonistic fiends, those are human vices, Spirits are beings of instinct, of basal urges, we don't understand humans. I don't remember being 'born', the thousands of years I may have spent flying free, exploring the world, enjoying the wonder of the weave of magic is incomparably short compared to every second of agony caused by being alive, why would any of you enjoy it? Pain and torment are novel, but I quickly became bored, aren't you bored Faris?"

Faris widened his eyes in the growing realization.

"As it is, I have little time to deal with you." Tartarus's inky blackness engulfed Faris…

…

A young man hummed happily to himself as he stared at the two vials before him, the room was illuminated by nearly a dozen magic lights, clearly illuminating his deep black hair and clear blue eyes that stared at the vials gleefully.

"You best keep your distance boy." A gruff older man called out to him. He had a deep tan and waspy, white hair that covered the top of his head like a mist.

"Boy?!" The young man bristled in anger, "I'm a young man, thank you very much, besides, everyone must be young for you, geezer, you look like you'll keel over in seconds." He shook his head, popping the collar of his long white coat. "Besides, I don't need those vials, I'm simply admiring my hard work."

"Hmph, you simply had the inspiration, you would have gone nowhere if not for our funding and Researchers." The man wore a black robe with gold insignia, signifying his belonging to the Researcher Guild. "Talent only goes so far as the support and nurturing it receives."

"Pshh… you sound like Mendel." The young man scowled. "That loser was always screaming about his shades and the power that lay untapped in spirits, but he can only make immature brats powerful." He turned to the old man, "Hey, Bently, you wanna know how I succeeded where that loser failed?"

Bently, the tanned old man, rolled his eyes, but nodded, he'd heard the brat's arrogant spouting, but humored him, if only because of his use.

"Before your 'gracious' group rescued me and my fellows during your attack on Mendel's base, I was stuck as an assistant researcher to that mad idiot. Day in and day out we'd be forced to attack spirits and be attacked by spirits, record our findings, and measure their response to various stimuli. It's hard you know, spirits can emulate the greatest of joys to the worst of despairs. To the point where some researchers died from shock and brain aneurysms. I myself probably lost a lot of my lifespan, it really messed up my mindset, y'know? I could barely eat or talk."

"Oh… how tragic."

"Don't interrupt me, old man…" The wild-eyed researcher shook his head, smiling ruefully. "That idiot wanted to grant humans the powers of a shade, but without having their egos lost to the spirits. But no matter how hard he tried, he could only turn brats, and only a few brats at a time, into the 'enhanced humans' he was looking for. Children are malleable, easy to trick, and very simple, but stupid they are not." He turned to Bently, "Old man, guess what happened when a bunch of kids after going through horrific torture got superpowers?"

"They turned against their creator."

"Exactly!" The young man clapped in glee. "They really did try to kill him; if it weren't for the black hand members, Mendel would be a stain on the floor and I'd have regained my sanity just a bit sooner. But… I should thank him. Watching those trained adults defeat a bunch of shade-powered children via numbers and experience taught me a valuable lesson." He lowered his voice to a whisper, "power isn't everything. Who cares if an individual has the power of a shade? If he fights 100 weaker mages prepared to fight to the death, he's a dead man. I began to conduct secret research on the side, if our leaders knew about it, they didn't care, or they thought my results would be more fruitful. Either way, I researched. I examined the bodies of mages and non-mages, alive and dead, young and old, male and female. Do you know what I, the great Castor, discovered?"

Bently rolled his eyes, "...that everyone-"

"That everyone can use magic!" Castor interrupted, his eyes flashing in excitement. Everyone is capable, there isn't a special organ, or… namely, there is no appreciable biological difference between a mage and a non-mage. The power is accessible to both, there just needs to be a spark, something that opens the pathway. And that's what my elixir does. It doesn't create a new magic-user, it simply allows one to tap into what they already had, and tap into it with greater focus!" He turned to face the vials. "These are my magnum opus, in a year, nearly every citizen will have access to magic, you fellows in the Anti-Mage faction hate mages because they contort themselves above others, right? Well, if everyone could use magic, there'd be no point in the discrimination." He laughed, "I will go down in history as the man who spearheaded both the peace of mages and non-mages and the advent of humanity's golden age!" He smiled gleefully. "Of course, this is a combined effort, without the funding and test subjects, we wouldn't be nearly complete, Mendel would always ignore my proposals, and the number of volunteers I had, well, they were… inadequate."

Bently shook his head in irritation. "You can stop talking now, your words are giving me a headache." He yawned deeply.

"My words aren't that boring!" Castor interjected but yawned immediately afterward. "What the…" he began to sway slightly, the floor, walls, ceiling, and implements on his experiment tables began to sway unnaturally. "Old man….what… the hell's… happening…" He turned to see the old man had already collapsed. "Oi... old man… Bently! Wake up!"

"Oh shush… he's alive…" A voice called out.

"Who's there?!" Castor fell to his knees, fighting to keep himself awake. He could barely make out the red, shoulder-lengthed hair that maned the figure approaching him through his lidded eyes.

"Don't worry too much about who I am, by now, you should be properly hallucinating, just know your work isn't in vain." The figure, Tartarus, chuckled, "I quite enjoyed your story, you're right you know, power isn't everything, in fact, power is nothing without direction and control. But pretty soon, I'll have all three in abundance."

"How… why… who…"

"Those last two questions have no satisfying answer, for you, just know that it's better I came here. The ones who should have come… hoo boy, you and that old man would be dead." Tartarus was silent for a few seconds, "Oh, he's asleep," he yawned, then immediately reached into a sack, taking out some herbs he began to vigorously chew on them, the fatigue leaving him almost immediately. He turned to the center of the room, and to the cause of the lethargy, a bundle of herbs contorted and burning. Herbs Faris learned of from Angela that served as anesthetics, sleeping aids, and minor depressants. It would numb the senses of those who continuously inhaled the fumes, dulling their senses ever so slightly, by the time they'd notice something was wrong they'd have consumed too much to recover quickly, so even if they had escaped the room, Tartarus would have had no issue dispatching them, but he preferred to be in this room. He looked at the ceiling, and at the glowing green metal that lined the ceiling of this room. The room blocked magic, but in exchange, no one would be able to trace his actions with spells.

"This world's forensics aren't anywhere near the level of Earth's." Tartarus mused as he picked up the two vials. He wore thick cloth mitts smothered and dried in tar and wrapped in thick bandages, making his normally slender but calloused fingers resemble bloated sausages. He placed the vials in another sack filled with downy feathers then turned towards the entrance. Waiting outside, looking quite cross, were a man and a woman, wrapped in the same dark garb as the assassins that infiltrated the shared Urgal and Dwarven inn. "So, you two will make fantastic scapegoats." Tartarus smile as he casually reached into his rucksack, pulling out a revolver.

"Why is Faris Ser here?" One of the figures muttered to himself. "This complicates things, does that mean that Mistrel failed…?"

Tartarus cocked his head in confusion. "Minstrel? You mean that rather sad midget?"

One of the assassins burst into a fit of giggles, causing the other to sigh in irritation. "Shut up, as it is, Minstrel's failure means nothing, we simply need to kill Faris, Minstrel is being silenced as we speak."

The one who laughed turned towards Tartarus, "you hear that? We caught on to your little game, we know you somehow defeated and forced Minstrel into your employ, your little cat and bird are now going to die alongside that brat, how do you feel about it?" The sound of thunder filled the assassin's ears. "Shit… what was that?" She shook her head, "we need to finish him off quickly, someone likely heard." She turned to her partner, blanching as she noticed the pool of blood seeping slightly through his collapsed form.

"To be honest, 'I' don't care about the lives of Minstrel, that cat, or that bird. But I'd also be disappointed if someone of your caliber somehow killed them." Tartarus cocked the revolver, walking over to the woman. She rushed back, preparing words in the ancient language to strike down the boy before her. Her words were short-lived as two more blasts of thunder rung out through the air, an explosion of pain hit her thigh, followed by another, deeper pain in her chest. She collapsed, unable to breathe, mind reeling in shock at the speed and finality of the boy's attacks. Tartarus walked out of the green room, smock wafting from the gun. He shook his head, "for what it's worth, it's a shame a lovely young lady like you ended up becoming an assassin, I'd have made you a shade instead". She tried to gurgle out a plea for mercy, but Tartarus ignored her, firing his gun again; splattering his would-be assassin's grey matter all over the floor. He stepped over the body, smiling in delight as he made his way out of the secret laboratory...

…

"Daert! Threyja eom haina iet fjandí, Vrangr thringa!" ("Dart! Seek to harm my enemies, wandering thrust!") A shimmering dart, formed from the compressed air began to zip through the room at rapid speeds, striking every inch and corner of air and ground that wasn't Bergan, Minstrel, the werecat, or Ventus.

Blood spurted from random locations in the ground and air as the magic needle pierced the invisible enemies scattered throughout the room.

Immediately, the windows to the warehouse exploded inwards as dozens of robed men and women rushed into the warehouse.

"Kill the traitor!" One of them shouted before the earth softened beneath his feet, sinking him below.

Bergan, holding on to his crystal tightly, turned quizzically towards Minstrel, but turned to face the oncoming threat. "I don't know what's fully going on, but I'm annoyed that Jaya somehow predicted it. So…" He took out three quarts crystals and cast them to the burnt ground. The assassins backed up as soot, ash, wood, dirt, and stone rose, forming three distinct humanoid shapes. "I'm going to make sure at least a few of you are coming back with me." He took out his sword…

...

"Hey… it's that loser." Some teens snickered to each other.

Damien ignored them.

"Hey, loser, can I borrow a book?" They began laughing.

Damien continued to ignore them.

"The little bitch is too scared to talk back, daddy grounded him for his 'bad behavior'."

Damien rolled his eyes, "shut up."

They turned to look at Damien incredulously, "What did you say to me? Huh?!"

Damien turned to look at the teens. "I told you, to shut the fuck up."

"How about you make us?" The first teen stood a good 6 feet tall and had sizeable musculature. He stepped forward only to be punched hard in the throat.

"Dylan?!" The other teen shouted in terror.

Damien smiled lightly at him. "Fuck you." He took out his pencil, stabbing the other one in the eye. As the blood poured out he slammed the teen's face into the floor several times until he stopped moving.

"Monster!" Teens attracted by the noise came forward, screaming and shouting in terror, but instead of running away, they rushed forward.

Damien's face twisted in anger as he watched the teens rush towards him, but with practiced movements he charged forward, punching, kicking, grabbing, twisting, and stabbing with all his might. He lasted 5 seconds until the wave of teens knocking him over and crushed him to death. His last sight was someone's foot crashing down on his face.

"...Dammit…"

As he got up from his bed, Damien groaned helplessly, November 30th, the day after he was punished by his father for losing the book. The day began with his parents not looking at him, then kids in his school bullying him. Whether he talked to them or not, two teens would tail him on his way to the bathroom and mess with him. In reality, he'd have been beaten for a bit then a teacher would have found them. In this… nightmare he kept experiencing, they upped their bullying, pushing harder and harder until their taunting laughter was exchanged with wrathful ravings, then they killed him. He'd then wake up. Eventually, he began to fight back, but unless he killed them decisively, they'd eviscerate him, and, like now, even if he did kill these imaginary bastards, others would swarm and murder him. Damien felt exhaustion, he didn't know when this started, when he started repeating this day, but he knew why he was repeating this day.

"Faris needs my help."