Chapter 8

The Prophet's War

Ah, Jarl, at long last...Our 'alliance' is over—and it brings not a tear to my eye. Your treachery ends here...No longer shall I suffer your deception, your manipulation. You used my own fear against me, twisted the truth to your own needs. Ah, but eyes open, blade in hand. Give me your best shot—if you're prepared for the Void!

The Void. A limitless hole formed of spatial distortions and the disorientation of awry magical consumption. A realm of negative and positive energy that cause rifts in the space-time continuum. A legend among Mystics and Guardian humans, Enlightened and Earthbound. Mystics called it by its name—an evil sunny realm for all of the humans who would strive against the might of their Lord Magus. The Guardian humans referred to it as the Abyss—a timeless vortex that sucks the living from the dead to utter non-existence. Enlightened often titled it as Ghenna—the waiting period for those foolish enough to try their hand against the god Lavos. Lastly the Earthbound, with their limited access to such philosophical information, merely named it the Black Hole—big ugly place where the bad people go.

Whatever it was, Jarl was heading straight for it.

Magus whipped about the myriad silver hallways of Kajar, his lavender cloak billowing behind like a great violent curtain such was his speed. Several colorfully dressed Enlightened commented on his lack of courtesy as he passed them by with nary a glance. One even mentioned his aura told the story of his heart—an aura of aversion.

Of course, the shadow sorcerer didn't give a damn about auras or whatever nonsense they conjured. A mere two hours before the doom of living—his Day of Lavos. Still, Magus couldn't proceed with his plan until Jarl had been vanquished. As lightning he could descend upon the Ocean Palace in just the crucial moment.

"Idiot!" muttered the dark wizard. "Imagine, he thought to use me, Me! Magus!" In recess of his mind, Magus witnessed the retribution for the betrayal in the form of Jarl—burned at the stake, struck by three bolts of gold lightning, or maybe just sucked up in the Obsidian Sphere of Oblivion. "Play with fire and you get burned," came his whisper, soft and lethal.

In such a state of pre-murder fury, Magus didn't even notice Schala almost until they collided. His eyes had stained crimson but instantly dissolved at the sight of her. Her face was more careworn than usual. Once his sister had been lively and thoughtful. Thoughtful she was yet; no longer lively. Worry creased her brow, her arms folded in front of her.

Janus hovered by his sister's leg, eyes wide with a mixture of fear and disgust. Ah, beautiful, just beautiful. I hate myself. I quite literally hate myself. The dark wizard tossed the thought away as he tossed back his vibrant azure hair.

"I have never willed ill upon anyone before," Schala murmured brokenly. "But one day you will get yours, Prophet."

Magus seemed to dismiss the comment with a simple swipe of his hand. In reality, the words cut deep into his heart. "Don't forget what I have said. You speak and he is dust. Do you understand me, Princess?" He invested a coldness to mask the pain inside.

Meanwhile, Janus picked up a silver candleholder and menaced it at Magus. His older self had to stifle laughter. Was I really that naïve? That childish? Janus feigned arrogance but Magus knew himself well enough (and why wouldn't he?) that the eyes did not fool him. They shadowed with fear. Somehow the young prince knew that it would be he that ended up as 'dust' if things should not proceed so well.

Indeed, who wants to die? Surely not I, as I have much to do in this life.

Schala returned his steely gaze steadily. One had to admire the spirit. The world as she knew it was falling apart yet the princess faced it. She openly admitted her fear yet didn't allow it to devastate her. "I won't forget. Not on my life...or his."

A completely irrational urge swept Magus. The need to embrace his sister nearly overwhelmed him but the dark wizard restrained it. It disturbed him, but Magus passed it off as his fear of losing her again. An illogical fear. To reveal his identity at this crucial moment would be foolhardy.

Pulling his hood down to further to shadow his face, the self-proclaimed prophet turned on a heel to retreat, his heart as heavy as his steps.

Next, the sorcerer explored the Zeal Palace. Perhaps the foolish false oracle hoped to recruit allies. Magus chuckled softly. Another idiocy to pile onto that man's wall of sheer stupidity. Alura was dead. Dalton hated Jarl almost as much as Magus himself. The Queen couldn't care less. Besides, anyone who dared support the insurrectionist would meet a most unpleasant end.

Walking straight in, the wizard ignored the looks of contempt and fear the Enlightened gave him. He was well acquainted to such looks, having endured them all his life. He proceeded under a golden archway, cape whispering as it dragged on the cold blue-black tiles. He ascended several gold-glossed hardwood steps and continued pass parallel statues of platinum goddess into the center antechamber.

"You can run Jarl," Magus laughed hatefully. "But you can't hide."

Inside the dim hallway, two blue Nus stood sentry to another flight of stairs. Neither spoke nor moved to prevent him entry as Magus climbed the steps. They had not been there before...perhaps something to do with Jarl? Or his mother? Did they fear assassination? Neither mattered. He would have his answers soon enough.

In an hour and a half, in fact.

The dark prince swept in. Her majesty's throne room was a massive chamber several hundred feet wide. A canopy of purple carpet cascaded from the ceiling to the floor. In the center had been erected an enormous throne with red and violet cushioning with a platinum interlacing gold. A crimson carpet led up to the chair, currently empty...

Or so he had thought...

In a wink of light, Dalton appeared slung casually over the seat.

"Oh, it's you..." muttered Magus, veiling none of his disgust.

"Ah, nice to see you too, Prophet," Dalton sneered. "Are you looking for Ceres Jean? Sorry, you'll have to take up your business with me."

Though the sorcerer came with no intention of speaking with his mother, Dalton's casual address of her and his infuriating condescending tone inspired immediate retaliation. "You'll address her as everyone else, Advisor," Magus retorted with the same voice Dalton used while 'quoting' his occupation. "Nor do I speak with her lapdogs."

A chuckle emanated from the Advisor's throat. "Oh, come now, don't you think I mean a bit more than formal titles to her? I'm more than any lapdog. Why just this afternoon we—"

"Spare me the details," Magus cut in, making a sour face. "I've come looking for Jarl."

At that moment the Queen of Zeal appeared from a side door. She looked jubilant, beautiful, entirely in her element. Her gown of blue-gold silk swirled as she walked up to her throne. As she often wore, a gold torque encircled her neck, and a bejeweled crown sat upon her blue head. Dalton made a show of grandly stepping down but to the dark wizard it was clearly a retreat. Her sharp eyes sent the Advisor back to his place—as lapdog.

"Your majesty," Magus spoke respectfully though he desired nothing more than to wring her neck. "I've been looking for the other...ahem...prophet...However, have been unable to locate him. I...prophesize doom if we do not find him."

"Indeed?" Her sapphire eyes sparkled. Amusement? Annoyance? He could not tell.

"Yes, your majesty. His interference shall be the ruin of our beloved kingdom." The dark wizard concealed his smile. He would ride this lie all the way. About time Jarl received some of what he dished out to Magus. About time he felt the lies entangle him, the secrecy unfolding, his future unraveling.

"Funny. He said the same thing about you," Dalton noted.

Skepticism flashed in his mother's eyes as well but she relented. "I'll send some guards to search for him."

"My deepest gratitude, your majesty. By your leave I shall search for him myself." As the dark prince turned to return through the archway the Queen called him back.

"Not so fast, Magus. There is a matter I wish to discuss with you...It's about Schala."

As if all the air to be had vanished, Magus could barely draw breath. Had Schala revealed 'his' attack? If so, the curtains would fall...And how ironic would it be that should they unearth his true identity as they sentenced him for the attempted 'rape' on his own sister?

Each word the Queen spoke were as daggers to his skin. "Schala has been acting strangely lately. She has disobeyed me and countermands my orders in front of my attendants. She totally flaunts her rebellion and I fear she has been a bad influence on Janus as well. I've taken measures to see that remain apart for the most part." The air that had been held inside burst out in gush, causing Magus to choke on his relief. Still, her last remark dissolved the fear, replacing it with blinding anger. So not only did you deny me your love but your tried to deny my sister's as well!

"We must do something about her."

"Ah, and what did you have in mind?"

"We need her power to activate the Mammon Machine and summon the Great Lavos. She has refused me every time. My own daughter! As you know, time is running short. If she is not willing to generously offer her aid, we shall have to take preemptive measures to ensure her participation."

Indeed, Magus knew all this, having lived the entire ordeal firsthand. Being so young, and not all that inquisitive, Janus had only learned of the mad scheme too late. But not too late, of course, to be a part of Zeal's downfall. How every did they manage to wrestle Schala into aiding their mother?

Now he would.

"We just take her," Dalton supplied. As if illustration, the Advisor walked his middle and index finger in mid-air, snatching them up with his other hand.

"What? Kidnap her?" came Magus' gasp.

His mother scented his hesitation, as a wolf on a blood trail. "She will not go on her own. She endangers the future for all Zealians. Our lives which could span centuries and beyond she has cut short. In that sense, she is killing us."

In desperation, Magus tried to order his mind. The barrier helped some, preventing outward manifestation of his confusion, but ultimately the dark wizard couldn't fathom the use of force on his beloved sister. Still, no words had ever swayed his mother, so why did Magus think he could change her mind now?

"I volunteer," Dalton said with a grand bow.

An image of the pompous advisor groping Schala flashed through the sorcerer's mind. He spoke up immediately. "While I have no doubt that your Advisor is able dispensing with the business," the dark wizard said, with a sardonic nod of his head to Dalton. "Perhaps I should handle the matter. You see she has become quite trusting of me and thus I may be able to make her see the seriousness of the situation. I could spirit her away with the minimum of fuss."

The sapphire eyes of Ceres slid from advisor to prophet. She must have known that each had his agenda for the Queen announced, "Thank you for your offers but I will deal with this myself. She is my daughter and thus my concern."

Standing, indicating an end to the meeting, the two men remained unmoved, waiting for leave to go. With a wave of her hand, the Queen dismissed them. Magus dispelled some anxiety, the kind that often shadowed him during the visits with his mother. That trepidation rapidly returned when a hand crept upon his shoulder and brought him about face. About face to his mother.

Magus had never anticipated complete control as this was the woman who'd given him life and had, indirectly, taken it away. However, he hadn't thought the mere up-close sight of her would make his stomach clench so.

"You are always so eager to get away from me...What is it? Am I really that ugly?" she teased.

"Ah—I—No. No, your majesty," he sputtered, disgusted at his floundering.

Her chuckles seemed innocent. That they were not. "A jest, I assure you. But seriously now what do you think of my daughter? Is she pretty?"

Normally, the dark wizard could envision his opponent's move but this left him baffled. Pretty? Certainly, but why did it matter? "Of course. She is as lovely as her mother."

Again, that silkily voiced laughter. "And you must have a clever mother." Yes. And unspeakably evil.

"Dalton you may go." Ceres added a sharp look to her Advisor when he appeared to linger. He didn't leave happily, irked that the prophet had one-upped him like a favored child, yet again.

She pulled him by the collar so close, the sorcerer of shadow feared she might be able to see her son Janus, in his eyes. Her breath made the dark wizard grit his teeth. "Between you and me, I think Dalton is a poor choice for my sweet Schala."

All Magus could think to say was, "As do I."

"So what do you think? Make a good bride for you? I mean I have to marry her off to someone and I can't possibly stomach the thought of handing her to Dalton—"

"No! I mean yes! Yes, your majesty."

Her hands clapped together loudly. Much too loudly. She was a riot of sight and sound. "You may go. If all is well, we will all rule with the power of Lavos."

Giving a curt nod, Magus fled the throne room. Inside his stomach churned until all he could think about was how badly he needed to regurgitate. However heaving in front of two sophisticated Enlightened attendants wouldn't have been deemed dignified.

Magus contained himself, acting nonchalant. What made his usually pale visage a deathly hue, however, was the immediate presence of a lovely young princess.

Schala. Had she heard him agree to her mother's proposal—to force her hand in both marriage and summoning Lavos?

Her eyes told all.

"Schala..."

Spinning on a heel, the hem of her gorgeous blue gown floating, Schala took off down the golden steps. Every cell in the so-called prophet's body screamed at him to run to her, to tell her how very sorry he was. To tell her that he was her brother and would never betray her in such a manner. But the words fell from his lips as fine sand through fingers.

"Was that the princess!?" shrieked Dalton. He whacked Magus on the shoulder. "You let her get away!"

With a deliberate cruelty, the dark wizard snapped his arm around and thrust the Advisor to the wall. "Out of my way. I'm going to see my sister."

Let all who should stand before my path die before I lay a hand upon them for any demise shall be more merciful than that which I shall inflict.

Lost and irreplaceable. Forever. Oh, Jarl you slick bastard. You destroyed whatever hope I'd had of mending the relationship with my beloved sister.

As the wizard swept down the steps, a swirl of magic blurred his vision momentarily. Blood rushed in his veins with a vicious joy—his quest to seek out his sister momentarily forgotten. Earlier in the day, the sorcerer had 'tagged' Jarl with a tracer spell. As part of the incantation's effect, it would let the user know whenever their victim attempted to channel to the arcane arts.

Working quickly, Magus weaved his hands in several arches to initiate a transport that would lead him straight to the other prophet. He had to act swiftly before the signature dissolved and the tracer rendered useless.

Magic is meant to be cast slowly and with due attention. Magus had done neither. His focus solely on the treacherous Jarl, the spell ended prematurely, landing him head first into a snow dune. The breath blasted from his lungs, the wizard gagged, spitting out snow.

As he tried to assemble himself, two hands wrapped around the sorcerer's wrists. The force was unbelievably strong—perhaps artificially enhanced—and Magus found himself dragged to a nearby cave. At first, struggling against magic-induced disorientation, the self-proclaimed prophet didn't even know his own location, let alone that of Jarl's. But the image of a shimmering blue portal and an inner rock face brought recognition soon enough.

Magus broke from the hold, staggering back against a cold cavern wall. His breath came as knives to his own ears when the dark wizard gazed at his 'captor'.

Jarl. Just who he hoped to find.

Whipping off his prophet's cloak, Magus demanded, "What in the name of Zeal have you done to the portal?"

Jarl had not fared well since last they'd met. His jaw slackened as if unable to contain the weight of his lower teeth, his skin had become emaciated and formerly sharp eyes sunk in with shadows. Still, as steel, his voice held, "Just what needed to be done, Magus. We shall be as one. Janus will be whole—the time fractures will close.

"This game will be over."

Magus' fiery eyes flashed hatefully. "The game has just begun." Tossing his bloodish cape over a shoulder, the former prince withdrew his scythe. "You've completely lost it, haven't you?"

Lifting his head, Jarl also lifted a blade—identical to Magus' own. His downcast demeanor almost—but not entirely—concealed a deceptive mind. The wind continued to howl outside as a vicious beast. "The more you deny it, Magus, the closer you come to it—you can not escape yourself! I know where I stand—do you!?"

More times than he cared to remember did Magus come face to face with 'himself' and the sheer trauma of what he'd become. He would never be at peace with himself, he knew. Tragedy would follow the dark wizard all the days of his life and though he walked through fire, darkness, and death he feared nothing, for the greatest fear was that of oneself.

And in single breath, Magus challenged that fear.

"I would rather be no one than the someone you would have me be. If history is to changed so let it. If the world is to be destroyed so bet it. If my fate is to die, I must simply laugh." And that laughter which emanated from his throat contained no mirth, as cold as the winds that screamed over the Terran Continent.

In the end there can only be one.

And that one would be him.

Like a mirror, flames coiled both prophets to be tossed in a ring of heat at each other. As the blazes died down, Magus and Jarl fell back, briefly stunned by the combined force of magic. Magus recovered first. Snatching up his scythe, the blue-haired wizard whipped in an arc to behead his adversary.

Jarl reacted quickly, evading the fatal blow. His scythe a few feet away, and inconveniently out of reach, the black-haired wizard summoned magic to conjure up an ice-sword which he promptly threw at his foe. Magus darted to the left but not swiftly enough before the sword impaled his arm.

His cry of pain was brief but sharp. Instinctively, the sorcerer erected a magical forcefield, glimmering multi-hued in the light of the fluctuating portal. He collapsed on both knees, scythe falling from cold gloved fingers. The glacial weapon in his arm melted. It had not been created to kill, merely to maim, incapacitating the victim by slowly freezing the systems and ultimately leaving him at the mercy of Jarl.

The arcane barrier kept Jarl occupied while Magus concentrated on reviving his faded limb. A sluggish cold sank its teeth into the wizard, sapping his consciousness but he fought it off. Using his lowest level fire spell, the sorcerer softened the ice until it broke around his wound and life rushed in. Magus gasped, breathing in relief.

Not a moment too soon either. As Jarl continued with in his ice-magic vein, Magus boosted his spell of fire. The energy produced by opposite ends of the magic spectrum collided with a force enough to shake the cave's foundation and raining down dust particles into the hair and cape of the combatants. Eating each other, as magic of such direct opposites would, eventually the energy fizzed out. Like a fire quenched by a stream or ice melted by heat.

This time, Jarl came up first in a flurry of cave dust. The flat of his blade caught his enemy at the shoulder as Magus attempted to spin on his heel. The combined momentum hurled him hard to the ground, bruising a rib. Reversing the arc, Jarl aimed the weapon downward to stab the dark wizard.

As Magus scampered away, misfortune struck him again in the form of a blade. It missed his back but hit his lower left leg. Blood gushed out in a ribbon of red and Jarl withdrew the weapon then dived in again to finish the job. Magus dodged steel and reached out for his own scythe. Jarl intercepted, however, using the curve of his blade to throw Magus' scythe out into the blizzard.

Magus cursed, the pain shooting up his leg. Jarl advanced, murder in his eyes. The present to the past, the past to a dream. Again, in the dream world. Again, the terrible sight of his sister's death. Again, the sight of his own.

A silhouetted figure, carrying his scythe, advanced on the unsuspecting young woman. Danger! Fear fueled his heart to thrash and yet the sorcerer himself could do nothing, constrained by means beyond his comprehension. The former prince, helpless to save his precious princess as he'd been those many years ago.

The scythe made no sound as it cleanly sliced Schala in half. His sister simply slumped over to her side without a word. Her mysterious killer said nothing.

Jarl...

A milky veil nearly engulfed Magus' vision as his consciousness reasserted itself. In the background, soft whispering sounds could be heard...the sound of rustling cloth, of an unleashed weapon, of the approach...

Coming closer–to him.

Crying out in fear, pain and rage, Magus leapt up to grab Jarl's scythe, attempting to wrest it out of his rival's hands. The two struggled with the weapon, hands burning from the pressure of wrenching it from each other's grip. A failed kick to Magus' midsection gave the dark wizard more opportunity to claim it but at the last second he faked a grab only to punch Jarl in the nose.

With a gasp prompted from the stinging of his leg, the blue-haired sorcerer stumbled outside, in the snow and wind. A vicious winter storm screeched upon the barren land, impairing sight and hearing. Magus slumped to his knees, his hands digging into the hard-packed snow for his lost scythe. His breath rang harshly as the dark wizard fought off faintness. Though blood ceased to pour from his wound, it continued to sap his strength. It was at that moment that the shadow sorcerer direly longed for a healing spell.

He chuckled caustically. The Prince of Darkness—a healer? Not likely.

The sound of footsteps. Reacting instinctively, Magus lifted up the scythe to meet Jarl's attack. The unexpected parry jarred both men, immediately breaking the locked blades apart. Jarl kicked Magus even as he himself flopped down. The force of the thrust knocked the former prince face down into the snow.

Magus lay still. Play dead. Let the fool come to me.

Silence. Just the cry of the unquiet wind. No footsteps. No cursing or taunting. No ring of steel. No chant of magic. Had Jarl left, thinking him dead? Still, Magus couldn't afford to pass off the opportunity and refrained from movement, not even shivering in the damnable cold. His nose and mouth clogged with the snow. Magus knew he would have to come up from air, eventually. Hopefully it wouldn't come to that.

It didn't. A hand grabbed his hair by the blue roots and hauled the dark wizard to his feet. A scythe's blade came to throat. Air flooded his face, so much the sorcerer could barely breathe, like a thirsty mariner in a salt-water ocean. Between tight fingers Magus flicked his own weapon with a twist of his wrist.

Magus ducked down from Jarl's blade and spun around on a knee, stabbing outward. Jarl parried not a second too soon, sending sharp sparks into the blizzard. At a distinct disadvantage, the former prince leapt back, swiping out with the scythe warningly. As a magician, he returned to his element.

Muttering with two frozen lips, and swirling a hand, he sent a sizable ice chuck to repel his attacker. Positively convulsed with the cold, the dark wizard resorted to breathing in his hands to increase circulation. I have to get out of this weather lest I freeze. Still, Magus didn't relish the idea of returning to the cave to meet what seemed like the Void.

As the former prince summoned his magic, Jarl began to gleam. He appeared demonic, as midnight hair flowed down to match his cloak. His eyes were as hard as steel as he whipped out his hands in reverse semi-circles. Magus recognized the spell—a shifting magic barrier, the same he employed against the time travelers.

Having used the spell before, the dark wizard knew how to combat it. Remodulating his casting spectrum until a spell inflicted damage, Magus stepped forward and extended his hands. Golden beams of light with harsh bolts spanned out but failed to pierce the wall. Not lightning then. Magus resorted to cones of fire, spheres of ice, and the deadly magic shadow.

The last attack injured Jarl so the blue-haired prophet prepared for his most potent spell: the Shadows of the Damned, or more commonly known as Dark Matter. But even as his hands whirled in the air, Magus noted the eyes of his opponent—a victorious smile danced within.

Should I be so foolish to put all of my energy into a spell he will likely alter his barrier. He smiled then, sardonically. The 'Heroes' had moronically done so in their battle. Magus credited himself with having a bit more intelligence. He'll change the frequency as soon as the magic's spent and spell cast.

Quickly, Magus dispelled the shadow energy. Instead of fancy words, he turned to hard steel, leaping at his adversary with a scythe. Jarl parried. More sparks, more rings of steel. Cursing against pain, Magus spun his blade in a shining arc downward. Jarl dodged artfully, then retaliated, sweeping his own scythe at Magus' ankles to trip him. The former prince jumped over the blade. His blade came out in a thrust. That, too, left no mark as the other prophet stepped back to evade his blade.

"Remember Magus. If I die, you die!"

Magus slashed. Missed. "Neither of which would be a bad thing."

"Oh, come now, Magus. Admit it—you want to rule Zeal yourself! You're just like me!"

Hatred poured into the dark wizard, stained his eyesight red. His attacks came fast and furious. "I am not like you—I am nothing like you! I could never be so sick, so evil."

"Really?" Jarl taunted, eyes flashing as he made a sideways thrust. "You killed Cyrus after all. You transformed poor Glen into a frog. You even abandoned your own sister!...I say you're the more evil one of the two of us!"

Magus staggered back. Though he hated it, the wizard felt himself pressed back to the cave. Wind harassed him from all sides and Jarl's assault seemed endless and vicious while his own was as child's play. While grateful to be shielded from the blistering cold, Magus felt a lump of fear in his throat.

His blood ran cold in his veins at the sight of the portal.

Blackness, as deep as his soul, invaded the depths.

"What...In the Void...?" Magus stumbled, his head spinning. His numerous wounds stung fiercely and he tasted blood in his mouth. Both hands refused to say still.

Jarl stepped casually in, smiling wickedly. "Precisely that, Magus." He struck the dark wizard in the face with the shaft of his weapon, knocking his victim down. Now the world swam before the prince's graying vision and Magus forced himself up on a good hand and knee. His beautiful sapphire hair fell over a shoulder so that the shadow sorcerer only heard his opponent.

"The Void. You are a part of it—you can't escape it! Live in it and despair! What you see is your past and your future!" With an exalted shout, the false prophet kicked Magus in the stomach, thrusting him into the swirling pit of madness.

In seconds, the train of thought vanished in Magus' mind. Indeed, the mind itself seemed to fade. His body was only halfway in, to the waist, but enough so the former leader of the Mystics could experience the full force of the negativity of the Void.

It was darkness so black it quenched all sight. Yet images floated within that never-ending night, darker than the shadows it penetrated. For a moment, time was broken; the past and present merged...

..."Janus...Still, I can't. I'm sorry."...

..."You'll make a good assassin."...

..."Magus...I have something for you."...

Magus moaned, entrapped in a past he could not evade, its pain as fresh as reopened wounds, the blood of hurt washing over him. Like quicksand the blackness sucked him in, draining the wizard. In desperation, Magus flailed his arms about. He might as well have been fighting the wind. Jarl's voice came as if from another dimension, from time's flowing river.

"Give in, Magus! We are as one! Our destinies are intertwined...You have felt incomplete since childhood. You have never been whole. Bring back Janus!"

Matter reformed so that the dark wizard could see his enemy with blurry eyes as if truly underwater. But before the sorcerer could say nay or yea, the images swallowed him again. This time it traveled to a future that had already been written.

..."Schala!"...

..."No, Janus! Stay away!"...

..."But why...? Ahh!"...

The intensity of the pain drove into his skull, tearing his body seemingly apart. Blackness of lost consciousness made his body limp even as it floated in the nothingness. I'm tired. So very tired. Let me sleep. Let this be ended.

Just as his eyelids drooped, the biting edge of cold metal revived him to this plane of existence. Magus grabbed the necklace tormenting his cheek, intent on hurling it aside. The pendant...Schala's amulet, the gift for him as a child...He squeezed it between stiff fingers, feeling her love surround him, as it had those many years ago.

I must not give up. Not now. Not ever. Schala depends on me. Everything depends on me! The quest stands on the edge of a knife...or scythe. It will fall to the ruin of Lavos' darkness...But hope returns...if a little boy forgets the shadows but instead looks into the light...

Magus bought the amulet up to his cracked lips and kissed the blue diamond. Like a mother's medicine (though certainly not his mother!) it poured reassurance into his raging soul. With the renewed strength, he bolted upright on his seat. Jarl started, white as death. In an act of sheer emotional desperation, Magus dove at his hated adversary and used the momentum to hurl himself out even as he shoved Jarl in.

Unprepared for the maneuver, Jarl fell straight in, swallowed up by total blackness. His scream, a thing born of hell, made Magus' ears bleed. Collapsing to his knees, the former prince shook off the horrific feeling of the Void. A hand reached up to his vibrant blue hair. In shock, he counted several silver strands.

The Void. It depleted my strength and probably consumed years of my life. It invaded my mind, tore at the delicate fabric of my sanity...I shall never be the same again...

Having fed the pit of madness its desire, that of a living person, the Void dispersed, leaving behind the blue portal. As Magus watched, transfixed, a humanoid being emerged. After it stepped past the fluctuating field, the portal sealed shut.

Though not very tall, certainly inches shorter than the dark wizard, the man cut an imposing figure. He wore ivory robes with a gold rope belt. A teal-blue cloak fell from his shoulders like a waterfall. His hair—a silvery white—enhanced the sharp blue of his eyes. When he turned to view Magus, the dark wizard noted a peculiar intensity of his pupils.

Quietly Magus bent to lift his scythe. His fingers tightened, anticipating a need for action. Slowly, the wizard climbed to two wobbly feet. He prepared to spring at the bizarre intruder, hoping to catch him unaware and bring the matter to a swift conclusion.

But the intruder caught sight of the weapon. "Oh, now, stop that!" He whipped out a hand, instantly disarming Magus. "I'm not here to harm you. In fact, I might do you a lot of good."

In a motion too swift for Magus to react, the man grabbed him by the hands and rapidly chanted. The ground fell away from their feet. Still, he remained inert, unpleasantly aware that the slightest resistance on his part could prove fatal for them both.

They reappeared inside the Valor Library. Deserted, for the most part. Likely nearly everyone had disembarked to focus their aid on the Ocean Palace in its glorious hour. Books lay here and there, some still smoldering from Jarl's fire frenzy. Immediately, Magus broke apart, words of the Mists of the Void on his lips. He choked it down, however, as the sorcerer recognized the man who now lounged on a chair before him.

"You...You're the man in that painting..."

His smile slid lazily between two lips. "Zephyrain in the flesh. Although, I've never quite understood that statement: 'in the flesh'. I mean, who's flesh would you be in, other than your own?"

Despite the man's mild manner, Magus remained wary. For all he knew, Jarl had one last card up his sleeve. "What do you want with me?"

Zephyrain chuckled. "To thank you for assisting me. Jarl's been quite a nuisance trying to track down. Now that you've sent him back into the Void I should be able to keep him out of trouble."

"You're responsible for that bastard?! Kill him!"

He frowned at that. "I can't. He's my son."

Magus tossed back his hair and laid two gloved hands on the table before Zephyrain. His eyes flashed. "I would murder such a child in its crib. Do the world a favor and rid us of him. If he's your son, then he's your responsibility to eliminate."

Standing up, the white-haired wizard leaned forward. "As is yours to kill your mother?"

Magus flinched. The thought of murdering his own mother haunted the mystic magician daily, nightly. The evil of his matriarch that had been invested in him since birth could be effectively destroyed with her demise. Still...

"Not so easy, is it?"

"Shut. Up."

A smile of satisfaction on his lips, Zephyrain strode down the rows of bookshelves. Every book of every conceivable size, shape and color spanned for several hundred feet. Primers on prophecy. Tomes on magical spectrum. Books of time fragmentation and manuscripts on portal spawning. Several manuscripts labeled 'Beings Born of Dreams' lay on a side table. Here and there an Enlightened labored to salvage victims of Jarl's book-slaughter.

Zephyrain dismissed the mess, propping up another table with a book. He selected a couple of primers, tapping each spine in thought as he proceeded along. Finally, he gathered three, carried them to the table and immediately leafed through reach. At length, the enigmatic man presented a passage to Magus.

Lost and irreplaceable...But should one know how to bend the Wings of Time to his will he can alter the flow of time...

Patience—not a virtue Magus was acquainted with. He snatched the book out of the old man's hands. Scanning the neat lines of text, the blue-haired sorcerer tossed the book onto the table and seized the white-haired intruder. "You know how to change time, don't you old man?! Tell me! Tell me how!"

With a yelp, Magus released him, victim of a repellent magic barricade. He rubbed his burned hands as Zephyrain spoke. "For one thing, keep your hands off. Second of all, I am not an old man! I still have my beauty youth." A hand streamed his silver hair. "And, lastly, don't be so quick to change time to your needs. Think things through."

Think? Think! Magus was literally livid. The world stood up the precipice of annihilation and some rickety hunchback man wanted him to twiddle his thumbs! Keeping his voice neutral, he muttered, "We'll discuss that in a minute. I want to know if Jarl is under control now. Will he further threaten Zeal?" Because if he does, I'll use your ribs in which to stab him.

"No." Magus was almost disappointed. Almost. "Jarl is my problem. I'll deal with him on my own good time and in my own good way. Consider him taken care of."

"Why was he even here, then? What was with all that 'as one' nonsense?"

"Ah, that," Zephyrain mused as he sat down. "As I'm sure you've guessed already, he's not quite right in the head. He doesn't play with a full deck of cards, as they say. Although I'm not even sure who this 'they' are that everyone keeps referring to." He chuckled at his own joke. When Magus didn't appreciate it with a laugh, Zephyrain continued, "He fell into the Void as a child. Messed with his brains, you see."

"I fell into the Void when I was younger."

Zephyrain's eyes widened. "Oh...and you turned out just fine!" Magus' dark expression hurried him on. "Any rate, he then saw your face. He claimed your minds melded briefly—as one. Ever since then he's been determined to seek you out."

Overwhelmed, the dark wizard turned away and squeezed his forehead with a hand. "Janus...the portal. No, it was more than a portal. It was the Void." He glanced over a shoulder. "So, he truly believes his own screwed logic. He wasn't lying..."

"No. Not as far as he knew, I assume. And so saying, I must be off." Straightening, Zephyrain clapped his hands. "No telling what manner of grief Jarl can still do with a mound of nothing. I wish you the best in your battle with Lavos. Remember this well: a pebble may do nothing but a few stones thrown together might change the course of history."

Magus watched the wizard cast a teleport spell. A part of him longed to ask for the aid of the true prophet; pat of him repulsed of lowering to the level of begging for help. He was the Prince of Darkness, the Leader of the Mystics. He didn't need the help of some ragged old bones. "Stones? You mean allies, don't you? I have no allies. I need no allies—I stand alone."

"He who stands alone, stands not at all."

With that Zephyrain vanished in a cone of iridescent dust. In an ill humor, the shadow sorcerer cast the book aside. Screw destiny—he'd make his own. Damn allies, too! His strength and magic proficiency had served him well throughout the dangerous, lonely years. Damn it, damn it all to the Void!

"Ah, there you are, you jackass prophet! Where's your cohort?"

So intent upon his twisted mission, that Magus didn't even see Dalton stroll through the gold-and-glass doors of the Library. Cape flowing as he strutted, the Queen's Advisor yanked on Magus' hair. "Answer me! Where's Jarl?"

In a simple twist of his arm, Magus swiveled on a heel and shoved Dalton against the table, pinning him effectively. Dalton's cheeks crimsoned and he squirmed in the ironclad grip to no avail. "In the Void," came Magus' cold voice. "Exactly where you'll go if you pull one more stunt."

"Very funny. Get the hell off me or else!"

"I'm not joking."

"And neither arm I. I'll call for the guards—"

With disgust, Magus dropped the Advisor. Had the dark wizard cared to enjoy it, Dalton fell with little grace, cursing Magus' parentage. Amusing, that, since the advisor had no real idea as to Magus' legacy. Neither snared his attention, though. All he could think of was of the day, of the time. Evening had fallen over the Kingdom of Zeal. A thousand stars shined as a thousand diamonds among a sea of black.

It was time.

The Day of Lavos.