A dark figure in a mage's robe, his long beard flowing in the wind, stood at the edge of a towering skyscraper. He gazed over the city, its cold, lifeless lights stretching endlessly into the night. Behind him, another figure emerged from the shadows, dressed in black from head to toe.
"Master," the disciple said quietly, "the last remnant of magic has left this world. There's nothing left for you here. Why won't you come with us?"
The mage didn't turn. He kept his eyes on the horizon, as if searching for something only he could see. "You already know the answer," he said, his voice heavy with time. "As the squire of my king, I must wait for him. I swore an oath."
The disciple's hands clenched at his sides. He had heard these words for centuries. And for centuries, they had meant nothing.
"Master… he is gone." His voice was tight with frustration. "Can't you see? This world has presidents, democracies—there is no place for a king anymore! You have waited nearly two thousand years."
The mage exhaled slowly, his gaze never wavering. "As long as she is here… he will return."
The disciple hesitated. His fingers tightened around the object he carried.
With a sigh, he held it out.
A scroll.
The mage took it with careful hands. But as he unraveled it, his breath caught. The parchment trembled in his grip. His fingers, suddenly weak, loosened.
The scroll slipped from his hands, tumbling to the rooftop.
His voice was barely a whisper. "No… she should be sealed. Who unsealed her? How did she escape?"
Silence.
Then—
"Hello, old friend."
The mage's body stiffened.
Slowly, he turned. His voice was like ice. "What did you just say?"
A laugh, smooth as silk, echoed through the darkness.
From the shadows, she stepped forward.
"How's it going?" she purred, amusement dancing in her voice. "Did you miss me?"
She was beautiful.
Slender, her jet-black hair cascading down her back. A flowing purple dress clung to her frame, shimmering in the dim light. But the beauty was a mask. Her presence made the air feel colder, heavier. The darkness around her pulsed like a living thing.
The mage's eyes darkened. His fingers curled into fists.
"You," he breathed, his voice thick with fury.
She smirked. "Oh, come on, don't look so surprised."
His grip on his staff tightened. "How could you escape?"
Her grin widened.
"You should be asking—why now?"
The wind howled around them. The city below, unaware of the storm about to come.
Fire tore through the skyline. The city burned. Neon signs flickered, their dying glow swallowed by the smoke and chaos. Glass shattered from high-rises, raining onto the streets below like falling stars.
Screams filled the air. People ran, desperate, but the darkness was faster. Shadows slithered across the ground, twisting around their legs like hungry snakes. They shrieked as the void dragged them down—into nothingness.
The mage stood in the destruction, his robe torn, his silver beard smeared with soot. He lifted a hand, and the earth obeyed.
Vines burst from the pavement, thick as tree trunks, tearing civilians free from the shadows' grip. With a flick of his wrist, a gust of wind hurled them to safety—just before a jagged spear of obsidian-black magic shot through the air, missing them by inches.
Laughter rang through the night, sharp and cruel.
"You're slowing down, old man."
She stepped out of the abyss, untouched by the city's dim light. Darkness clung to her like living armor, shifting and writhing as if whispering secrets in her ear.
The mage exhaled. His breath turned to mist in the sudden chill. "You would let innocent people die for your war?"
She tilted her head, her smirk widening. "They were dead the moment they set foot on our battlefield."
She raised her hand.
Shadows swirled, thickening into the shape of a massive serpent, its obsidian scales shifting like liquid. Its eyes glowed like dying embers, fangs dripping with pure void.
"Sath'kai moris vel'tah!" she commanded. The serpent struck, its jaws stretching wide, ready to consume him whole.
The mage slammed his staff into the ground. Golden runes spiraled outward. The streets trembled.
"Ruh'vah sela mordun!"
A tower of stone erupted from the ground, smashing into the serpent's skull. Its head crumpled, exploding into black mist, but before the dust settled, she was already moving.
The battle had begun.
She flicked her wrist. Shadows twisted into spears, daggers, and whips, lashing toward him in a storm of darkness.
The mage countered.
"Fae'run ignis torrum!"
A river of fire surged from his hands, colliding with the shadows mid-air, turning them into bursts of smoke. But she was relentless.
She leaped forward, her hands weaving sigils in the air.
"Kel'vahn noctis ra'tal!"
The sky cracked open. Tendrils of void magic poured from above, stabbing into the earth. The ground beneath his feet blackened, crumbling away like burning paper.
The mage gritted his teeth and slammed his staff down once more.
"Terra'kai mor'sa!"
The ground answered. The cracked pavement pulled itself together, shifting and bending under his control. A massive spike of stone erupted beneath her feet, but she twisted, vanishing into the shadows before it could impale her.
She reappeared behind him.
A whip of pure darkness snapped toward his spine.
He turned at the last second.
"Aqua'renis torvah!"
Water surged from the air, solidifying into an icy shield just in time. The whip struck, but the ice shattered, knocking both of them backward from the blast.
The city trembled from their battle. Buildings groaned, their structures failing. Power lines snapped, electricity dancing in the air.
And then, she grinned.
"Let's see how much you can protect, old man."
She raised both hands high.
"Noctem'kai sa'tharin!"
The shadows beneath her spread like ink, swallowing the ground. Then, they surged upward. A thousand hands of darkness clawed toward the sky, grabbing onto everything—cars, debris, people.
The mage's eyes burned with fury.
He slammed his palm to the ground.
"Lux'tor em'vahris!"
A golden explosion erupted from his body, blinding and searing hot. The hands of darkness recoiled, shrieking as they burned away.
She staggered back, growling.
"Impressive," she muttered. "But you're still too slow."
She blurred forward.
Her blade, forged from the void itself, slid between his ribs before he could react.
Pain exploded through his body.
"Too predictable," she whispered, twisting the dagger.
The mage gasped. Blood bloomed across his robes, hot against the cold air. But he wasn't done.
He slammed his palm onto the wound.
"Vita'reh ren'san!"
Roots burst from his flesh, twisting around the dagger, sealing the wound with raw magic. His body trembled, but he held firm.
A third figure watched from the shadows—the swordsman.
He had not moved. His katana remained sheathed. His face unreadable.
His master had always told him: Strike only when the time is right.
The mage turned, locking eyes with him. He nodded slightly. Trusting.
She laughed.
"Oh, he's loyal, isn't he? Like a dog on a leash." Her gaze shifted. "But tell me, swordsman—have you chosen your side yet?"
The swordsman stepped forward.
His grip tightened on his sword.
The mage turned fully now. "My boy—"
Shadows surged.
The katana flashed.
The mage's words choked into silence.
The blade, wreathed in inky darkness, drove through his chest.
His eyes widened. Shock. Pain.
The vines that had sprung to protect him shriveled and blackened. His staff slipped from his grasp, clattering against the broken pavement.
She sighed in satisfaction. She stepped closer, resting her hand lightly on the swordsman's shoulder.
"Good boy."
The mage trembled. His fingers, desperate, clutched at the swordsman's wrist. His magic flared—green, raw, defiant.
A final burst of life.
Then—
Silence.
The old mage collapsed.
The city groaned like a dying beast.
And the shadows swallowed him whole.