Baltor looks around the ruins as they crumble into the sea. He can feel his heart beating in his chest, his ears fill with the sound of blood rushing through his body. His eyes seem to sharpen as he watches hairline cracks form in one of the broken pillars, it crumbles back into the ocean in slow motion. He is well and truly pissed. How dare they! The Council of Light had lied to him. And even worse: He had believed them! He had believed Griffin when she'd told him of the death of the two princesses, killed by the Ancestral Witches themselves. Even when she betrayed him not a week later, he still believed the royal line of Sparx had ended. Who could possibly survive a direct attack by the source of all evil? He wondered for a second if the council had not known of her survival. He would've used the knowledge of his enemies' failures against them if he'd been in their position. But he discards the idea immediately. They had known. The girl, Bloom, had obviously grown up in one of the royal courts. Likely the court on Eraklyon. They'd been stalwart allies with Sparx for centuries. Cold fury settles under his skin as he calmly flies away from the ruin. They deceived him, and in return? He will destroy them.

•*•..•*•.Grounded.•*•..•*•

The witches are still knocked out when he finally gets to them. He finds them lying on a small outcropping of rock. They look like they wound up on the wrong side of a particularly large troll. He scoffs " You're just a couple of third-rate witches. Stupid Ancestral wannabees aren't you?". His only reply is the distant caw of a flock of ravens flying overhead. He studies the unconscious women with disdain. He could leave them be. Let them wake up to find him gone as they struggle to escape the authorities. Then again… they're self-serving enough to use his name as a bargaining chip when they inevitably fail to escape. He refuses to work with them again. He barely managed to retain his sanity in the last few days. Well then, looks like he has a little problem to take care of.

" I can't say it's been a pleasure. But I believe this is where we part ways." It's a good thing he put a silencing spell on them, they look to be in fine form as they mouth profanities at him. Sitting on the ground, arms bound trapped by glowing bands of suppression magic, they look like deranged mutts spitting and snarling. He twists his features into a sinister grin. "I can't rely on your silence regarding my identity, so I suppose I have to deal with you. How…unfortunate." The silent screams seem to be stuck in their throats as they start trembling. Their heads flushed, sweat beading on their faces as they quickly shake them in protest as he stalks towards them. Finally, they realise he is the one with all the power. The fleeting thought enters his mind, maybe he could've spared himself the pain of their company if he had taught them this lesson earlier. Well, no matter, it is over and done with. He gives them no time to try to appeal to him as he strides forward. Magic gathers in his palms and he directs it towards the witches, a dark purple glow suffuses his hands. " Esquecer!" The glow expands and covers them, obscuring them from sight. When the spell ends they're laid on their backs, asleep. It takes him a total of 3 seconds to decide that he will leave them there. If Andros has a capable military the witches should be easy to find. He grins as he realises they'll wake up with a splitting headache. Serves them right. He flies back to the cave that served as his temporary base and removes all traces of his existence. Eventually, he dispels the scrying screen and moves to the mouth of the cave. Time to move on. Now, what realm to conquer next?

•*•..•*•.Grounded.•*•..•*•

It's dark, dreary and filled with shadow monsters. He hates it. But it's dry, it has actual rooms and to his surprise, a functioning, if slightly dilapidated, library. Shadowhaunt. He supposes he could do worse. He could do a hell of a lot better though. He idly wonders how Darkar could stand this place. Even a Shadow Lord should have some standards. Not to mention the company he kept. His mind spins in useless circles. He should probably find a bedroom of some kind. The fact that he's thinking about Darkar's disposition at all means that his excuse of having slept for 17 years obviously doesn't stand. Although he's sleep-deprived he just needs to work on the library. Nobody can ever know, but he is aware that he's what other people would call a nerd. Baltor strolls into the library. The room is a decent size, with multiple levels. Strangely enough, there is a pedestal with a half cast containment ward on it. Looking at the size it couldn't have held anything big. He studies it for a moment. It wasn't cast wrong he realises. It was sabotaged. He wonders who managed to fray one of Darkar's spells for long enough that they managed to get to whatever the phoenix was trying to contain. Discarding the pedestal as unimportant he focuses on the books. The few books that are still salvageable are sparse. As he regards the titles a thick book captures his attention: The rise and fall of the Dragon: A history of Sparx. It is not a title he knows and when he checks the publication information his eyes catch sight of the date. This book is only 15 years old. Supposedly it was written after the fall of Sparx. He sets the book apart and refocusses. He lets his passive Magick flow through the room and identify all books that can be saved. He covers those books with a protective spell before he promptly incinerates the rest. As the air clears he pulls on the magic that creates his own personal pocket dimension and a rift opens in front of him. The books fly out with a will of their own and settle on the shelves. Just the way he wants them to. He allows his magic to light the torches that are spread around the room bathing it in a warm glow. Spotting a dark leather couch he grabs the new history book and settles in for a long read.

•*•..•*•.Grounded.•*•..•*•

Those idiots. His dark laughter echos through the room. They were so confident, so stupidly arrogant, they gave him everything he needed to destroy them. They removed his name. His identity boiled down to a few words: "A servant of the Ancestral Witches, the Demon was tasked with the removal of the military command structure put in place by King Oritel II. While greatly effective, this brutal creature was captured only days before Sparx's destruction and was executed immediately." They ' killed ' him. This really couldn't have turned out better even if he had re-written history himself. He wouldn't have to worry so much about his identity. The Council of Light would still know his name, as would most of the royals and upper court members throughout the dimension, but the regular people would be blind to his existence. And Baltor had always been a man of the people. They were so easily influenced, so easily turned against their kinsmen and rulers. He could start riots with a few well-placed words in a bar here and there and neither the Council of Light nor the royals would be able to stop him. It had worked wonders on Sparx. It would be even more effective now. After all, no one knows his name. Wait. There is one person who knows. Bloom. Princess Bloom of Sparx. He had expected her to know who he was and had given his name as if it didn't matter. Stupid. How could he be so careless? She only had to mention it to one wrong person and he'd be back to fighting for his life against the Council. She needs to be stopped before she can tell anyone. The only way to do that would be to speak to her again. No, he can't. It would be extremely suspicious if she was to encounter him again. With anyone else, he could wear a glamour, but with her ability to see straight through those it would be useless. Speaking to her wasn't really necessary though. If he could get close enough to cast a small suggestion spell on her it should work fine. But how to get close enough without being recognised?