Private Tales Trapped Inside One's Mind

[Alistair Krixus]

She was going to drive him insane with all this worrying. Yes, he knew they could die, and he really did not want that to happen, but he did not need to be constantly reminded of it.

"I'll be ready...I think you are done here. Let's find someplace for you to hide and then I'll finish off he rest of my work until he arrives. That sounds good?"

Alistair would lead her away to wherever she would go, hopefully, her room or a closet to hide in, or something, while he finished this fight. However, when they arrived at Katja's chosen destination, Alistair would quickly place his hand on the back of her neck and try to cast a sleep spell on her.

"You'll thank me for this later."

Katja

 

[Katja]

Katja tried to take solace in Alistair's words, but the knot of anxiety in her chest refused to loosen. She nodded numbly, her mind racing as she thought of where she could hide. The cellar, she decided—a small storage room tucked behind the wine racks. It was cramped and dark, but it was quiet and concealed. It would have to do.

When they arrived, she stepped into the dim, musty space, her arms wrapped around herself. The faint scent of dust and aged wood clung to the air. As she moved to settle against the wall, a strange tingling sensation crept down her spine. Her instincts screamed at her, and she whipped around to face Alistair, her eyes wide.

"Wha—"

Before she could finish, her legs buckled. Her eyelids fluttered as the sleep spell took hold, her body crumpling. The world around her dimmed to black, and the last thing she saw was Alistair’s face as he stood over her.

 

[Alistair Krixus]

Never say Alistair wasn't a nice man...Although that thump had been her head hitting the floor, maybe he should have caught her. He dragged her body over to the corner where he placed her in a semi-comfortable position.

When she woke up, Alistair planned to have already killed her master. If that didn't work and he died, then she could at least claim that Alistair had broken free and then snuck up on her. The plan wasn't perfect, but it gave her some plausible deniability.

He closer the door behind her before he hurried back towards the tower where he planned to lay his ambush. There was no need to worry about conserving power for this fight. The mage would not know his home well. The longer the fight lasted, the less of a chance Alistair had. He needed to finish this quickly and efficiently.

So only one question remained. How much time did he have?

Katja

 

[Katja]

Alistair had thirty minutes.

Then, the muffled sound of crunching snow outside marked the arrival of the carriage and soon the door creaked open, spilling a cold draft into the manor, carrying the crisp scent of frost and pine.

​

Evander stepped inside, shaking off the chill of the journey. In his gloved hand, he carried a heavy sack slung over one shoulder, whatever was inside emitting a faint, blue glow. He paused before his next step, his sharp eyes narrowing with suspicion. Something was wrong. He could feel it like an itch at the back of his mind, a disruption in the carefully laid balance of his home.

“Katja?” he called out softly, though his voice echoed unnaturally through the halls, amplified and carried by a subtle weave of magic. It was a spell designed to project his voice and listen for responses from every corner of the estate, and though she could not respond, Katja felt his voice wash over her like ice cold water.

The silence that followed felt heavier than it should have. Evander’s expression hardened, his free hand twitching as a faint spark of energy crackled along his fingers. He stepped forward, his boots clicking against the stone floor as he surveyed his surroundings with cold calculation.

“Where are you, my dear?” he murmured, his tone deceptively gentle.

 

[Alistair Krixus]

Alistair was able to put the finishing touches on some of his runes, but ultimately their wasn't much he could do in that amount of time. When he heard the arrival of his target, he slipped into the shadows while activating a stealth rune. He was only going to have one shot at this before it became a straight-up fight.

The man was impressive, he had only made it a few steps in before he was already sensing something was off. Apparently, Katja would meet him at the entrance or something, but thankfully he would not be hearing from her for some time if his plan worked.

He allowed Evander to walk further in before the first rune went off, turning the ground beneath the man into quicksand. It was an older spell of his, but it was easy to set up and worked surprisingly well.

Simultaneously, Alistair darted from his hidden position with a dagger in hand, aimed at the man's back. It aimed at internal organs to kill him quickly, but even if it wasn't an immediate death, it was hard to perform magic with a knife in your back.

Katja

 

[Katja]

Evander's senses flared the moment his boots stepped over the threshold into his carefully warded domain. Something here was deeply, fundamentally wrong. His steps were measured, his sharp eyes scanning the flickering wards around him for distortion. He hadn’t made it more than a few strides when the first trap sprang to life.

The floor beneath him shifted unnaturally, its texture morphing as the solid stone rippled into a liquid-like consistency. His feet sank into it, the viscous surface dragging him downward, and it wasn't long until he was waist-deep.

"Fucking runt." Evander spat. Rather than fight against the spell, he used its momentum, spreading his fingers wide and pulling at the very magic around him. The quicksand quivered unnaturally before swirling into a whirlpool beneath him, controlled by his will, keeping him stable even as it threatened to pull him under.

With a grunt of effort, Evander redirected the magic entirely—forcing the quicksand to solidify upwards into jagged stone, creating an uneven pillar that rose up, lifting him free from the trap.

But the moment his focus shifted, Alistair's dagger sliced through the air with lethal accuracy.

Evander turned sharply, too slow to fully avoid it. The blade struck him high in the shoulder, embedding itself with a sickening thunk. He staggered, his face contorting with pain, and his teeth bared in a snarl. Blood bloomed across his winter coat, but his expression only darkened, twisted with fury.

With a pained breath, Evander’s fingers closed around the dagger’s hilt. His other hand flared with magic—ready to retaliate.

“Well played,” he hissed through clenched teeth, eyes sweeping the shadows for Alistair. “But you’ll regret that.”

He yanked the dagger free, ignoring the blood now trickling down his arm, and let it clatter to the floor.
Evander’s lips curled into a cruel smile, blood dripping from his shoulder, but the pain did not slow him. He lifted his uninjured hand, fingers spreading like the claws of a predator as magic flared violently to life around him.

His body shimmered, warping like a mirage under a desert sun, and then the room itself seemed to bend. The air rippled and fractured along the perimeter, as if reality were splitting apart at its seams. From the shadows of the corners, four forms flickered into life and stepped forward—perfect replicas of Evander.

Each double solidified in an instant, their outlines crystallising with unsettling precision. They looked exactly like him—clothing, the bloody shoulder, even the sharp menace in their gazes.

The five figures turned in unison, each surveying the room with chilling calm.

“Let’s see you work through this,” Evander’s voice echoed, but it came from all of them, layering over itself in a maddening chorus.

Then they moved.

As if bound by a single will, the Evanders stepped forward, fanning out with calculated precision. They made no sound, save for the soft thud of their boots against the stone. One replica reached down to pick up Alistair's dagger, flipping it lazily between its fingers before tossing it into the air and catching it with a sinister grin.

“Come out, boy,” they all taunted, their voices overlapping in a mocking harmony. “Let’s see if you’re as clever as you think you are.”

 

[Alistair Krixus]

The man was good. He almost instantly reacted to the quicksand, while not hard to do, it did take some quick thinking and a good reaction time. That allowed him to avoid death, if only by a few inches.

Alistair wanted to curse under his breath, but he was already fading back into the shadows as soon as his attack landed. Fighting fair was drastically overrated and was how a lot of competent people got killed early in their lives.

Scratch that, this guy wasn't just good. The cloning spell would have been a battle-ender against most other mages, but Alistair wasn't most other mages. When you had eyes like his, it would be strange if he couldn't spot the difference between an image made purely of mana and a regular person. Of course, this was done so well that even he had to look closely at each of the figures. That in itself indicated to Al just how skilled Evander was.

A set of runes lit up on Al's pointed finger and he brought it up to his lips. He whispered softly, "If I was clever then why would I come out? Let's keep playing the game." Although he whispered, his voice came out loud and clear but the direction of his voice was thrown in the opposite direction leading down the hall and further into the estate.

Katja

 

[Katja]

Evander’s brow furrowed, his patience already threadbare. This was not how he wanted the night to go—blood on his coat, an intruder skulking in his home, and his dear Katja nowhere to be seen. He snarled softly, his eyes narrowing as Alistair’s misdirected voice echoed down the hall.

“You’re wasting my time, boy,” Evander muttered, his irritation laced with venom.. "Did you harm her?.. Or did my little Kat help you?.." he asked, his nose wrinkling with a sneer.

The replicas each paused for the briefest moment before splitting off in unison. Two peeled away down the hall in pursuit of Alistair’s decoy voice, their movements precise and silent, while the remaining two turned and began methodically searching other parts of the manor.

Evander himself stayed rooted in place. He reached into the folds of his coat, pulling out a polished black crystal, its surface gleaming like liquid obsidian. He held it aloft and murmured a guttural incantation, his voice thrumming with power. The crystal pulsed with light, sending out rippling waves of magic that slithered through the air like living tendrils.

“Let’s see how clever you really are,” Evander growled, a cruel satisfaction colouring his words.

The crystal’s glow intensified, the tendrils of light spiralling out like searchlights as Evander stalked forward, his sharp gaze scanning for even the faintest disturbance in the air.

“Let’s not make this harder than it needs to be.” His voice was soft, but it carried an edge of menace that promised suffering if his patience ran out.

 

[Alistair Krixus]

"You're not very clever to just leave a girl to guard me. It was child's play to deal with that...and we haven't even started yet."

At those words, several chains shot from hidden runes along the walls. Each chain was infused with various elements, ice, fire, and lightning, and even one was just shining bright with light. All aiming to wrap up around Evander.

Simultaneously, Alistair jumped out again launching his own magical barrage looking to end this all as quickly as possible. Everything from magical purely magical attacks to just launching a blast of rocks shards at the man.

Overkill was overrated. This was one of those moments where there was no point in holding back, throwing the kitchen sink at him.

Finally, Alistair drew his sword and grinned, "I didn't kill her, though she may wake with a bad bruise. Can't say the same for you."

Katja

 

[Katja]

The chains shot toward Evander, elemental fury coiling through the air, but the crystal in his grasp surged to life. A translucent barrier of shimmering energy expanded outward, catching every attack mid-flight. Ice hissed against it, fire crackled impotently, and lightning danced along its surface before disappearing into the crystal's core.

The crystal absorbed it all, pulsating in Evander's palm like a living thing, its rhythm wild and erratic. He grimaced as the magic thrummed violently, scalding against his skin. His jaw tightened, but he refused to let go. Sweat beaded on his brow, and the light from the crystal grew blinding as cracks began to spiderweb across its surface.

"You're persistent," Evander hissed through gritted teeth, his voice taut with effort and pure magic burning in his eyes, threatening to consume him entirely. "I'll give you that."

Alastair didn’t stop. More spells launched at him—jagged shards of rock, waves of pure force, and another chain infused with light. The crystal devoured it all, its internal glow now raging like a storm barely contained. The heat radiating from it seared his palm, crawling up his arm, his skin blackening, but Evander held firm even as the fractures cut into his skin and blood seeped through his fingers.

“Lets put this power of yours to better use, shall we?” he growled, his voice low and venomous.

With a final squeeze, Evander directed every ounce of the energy it had absorbed. The barrier around him pulsed before erupting outward in a devastating wave. The explosion was deafening.

Fire roared as it surged out, melting through stone. Ice shards turned into razor-sharp projectiles, embedding into walls and pillars. Light radiated in blinding arcs, shattering every window in the grand hall as it ricocheted wildly. The shockwave toppled furniture and sent debris cascading from the ceiling.

Evander stood at the epicenter of the storm, his form silhouetted against the chaos. His hand was trembling, the crystal dull now, its glow extinguished. Smoke curled from his burned palm, and the scent of scorched skin filled the air.

He swayed slightly as he glanced up, his sharp gaze searching through the dust and destruction.

 

[Alistair Krixus]

What kind of crystal was that? That had to be cheating right? He wanted one! All these thoughts ran through his mind as Alistair saw what was happening. He quickly shut down his attacking offensive, but by then the damage was too late.

"Fuck." He mumbled under his breath before throwing up a shield just as the magical wave boomed outwards.

Alistair went flying, slamming back into a wall. There was silence for a moment before the dust dispersed revealing a very much injured Alistair who now held his sword more gently, seeming to favor the right side of his body.

While his own shield seemed to have negated most of the elemental damage from the blast, it was not able to disperse all of the kinetic force behind it. The young Dreadlord's clothes were ripped and he was bleeding from several wounds caused by the debris of the surrounding chaos.

"Wow, nice trick. Got any more of those?"

Already it looked like runes were trying to repair the wounded man while he held a defensive position, one hand holding out the sword and the other ready to cast whatever spell he needed for the battle.

"I would say don't use it anymore, but I don't know how many more of those you can take."

Katja

 

[Katja]

Evander took a deliberate step forward, the crystal still smoking in his seared palm. He turned it over, studying the cracks like they were marks of victory. His lips curved into a faint, humourless smile as he looked up at Alistair, who appeared to be struggling to maintain his defensive position, his blood dripping onto the ruined floor.

“It’s called a Leyspire Stone,” Evander said coolly. “Rare, temperamental, but perfect for... experiments. And you, Alistair, are going to feed it.”

He closed his fist around the crystal, murmuring an incantation under his breath. The energy shifted in the room, oppressive and heavy, as if the air itself was thickening.

Before Alistair could respond, one of Evander’s doubles appeared in the distance, emerging from the shadows with a slow, measured stride. In its arms was Katja, still unconscious, her head lolling to the side like a discarded doll. The double approached Evander, who beckoned it forward with a slight gesture.

The clone carefully laid the girl at Evander’s feet, retreating a step as Evander cast a brief glance down at her, his expression unreadable. He crouched for a moment, checking her pulse and ensuring she was still breathing. Satisfied, he rose to his full height, and at the same moment, the remaining two doubles materialised behind Alistair, silent and grinning with matching, unsettling smiles.

Each held a shadowy weapon —one a jagged spear, the other a cruel-looking sword. They flanked Alistair, cutting off any hope of retreat.

“Noble of you not to kill her,” Evander said, his tone soft but icy. “But noble men die just as well as wicked ones.”

The crystal in his hand glimmered faintly again, as though anticipating the chaos to come.

“I’m going to need a lot more of that blood.” He said, casting his gaze toward the glistening crimson at Alastair’s feet, which seemed to collect, forming into a small puddle and rising into a little floating orb of blood.

“Fortunately for you, I no longer need you alive.” the two Evanders beside Alistair spoke in unison before they launched their attack.

 

[Alistair Krixus]

"I've actually found the wicked ones die quite easier. Let me show you."

Alistair's eyes could see the gathering of power inside the room, and that was not going to do for the purposes of this battle. He motioned with his hand and the ambient mana inside the room rippled, not disrupting whatever magic Evander was performing but just making it more difficult and requiring more focus, like Alistair kept shaking a cup of water that Evander was holding.

Then quickly, Alistair lashed out with surprising speed at one of the clones, aiming for the one with the spear. His own sword flashed with several runes along the edge that made it glow with a steady warm heat.

As much as he wanted to send more spells at the main Evander, he did not want to fuel the gem any more so he would have to do this a more slow and methodical way for now.

This time Alistair got to show that he just wasn't a mage as his skills with the sword were at a time once considered prodigal, but alas the loss of his main vision had muddied his skills. However, he was still a match for an even above-average swordsman...When he was in good condition.

Katja

 

[Katja]

Evander’s lips curled with disdain as he felt the energy in the room ripple under Alistair's manipulation.. His hand tightened around the stone, its pulsating energy burning hotter in his palm as the chaos of the room mounted.

He shifted his weight, eyes narrowing as Alistair’s blade flashed with runic heat. The sudden burst of speed toward one of the doubles drew a flicker of surprise across Evander’s otherwise composed expression. The first double staggered back as the glowing sword struck true, its shadowy spear dissipating into mist as it flickered and shuddered, unstable.

The oppressive energy in the room grew heavier, threads of shadow pulling from the air itself to reform a protective barrier around him. His incantation faltered slightly under the weight of Alistair’s interference, but he pressed on, his voice a steady hum of power.

“You’ll tire before I will,” he said, his tone sharp. “Your little tricks won’t last forever.”

As Alistair moved to engage the second double, Evander’s eyes darted toward Katja, who had begun to stir at his feet. He knelt beside her, gripping her face and jolting her awake fully.

“Time to rejoin the living, girl,” Evander said coldly.

Katja gasped, her eyes snapping open, wide with fear as Alastair's face swam into view. It was the last face she'd wanted to see. She clutched at her head, the pounding ache disorienting her. “What... what’s happening?” she asked, her voice quivering.

“How did he escape?” Evander demanded, his tone icy.

“I—I don’t know,” Katja stammered, struggling to make sense of the chaos around her. “One moment he was there, and then...”

Evander’s lips curled into a sneer, his frustration evident. “Then you were careless. You remember how much I loath carelessness. Get up, and make yourself useful. Kill him, before he kills you." he sneered, gripping her by her collar and yanking her to her unsteady feet. A shadowy blade conjured into her trembling hands, he shoved her through the barrier protecting him, and she stumbled toward where Alistair fought.

Meanwhile, the remaining double fought Alistair with relentless aggression. It swung its shadowy blade in wide arcs, but Alistair's skill and precision allowed him to parry and riposte with almost mechanical efficiency. Each strike from his runed sword caused the double to shudder and weaken, its form flickering as the blows took their toll.

Evander’s gaze flicked toward the Leyspire Stone in his hand, its energy still gathering, and he called upon Alistair's blood, that which he'd bled, and that which he'd yet to bleed. He'd pull it from his veins drop by drop if he had to.

“You’re making this harder than it needs to be,” he called out to Alistair, his voice filled with icy authority. “But I suppose that’s the Dreadlord way. Always stubborn. Always foolish.”

 

[Alistair Krixus]

"I never took you for a coward, Evander. Well, they don't make evil wizards like they used to."

Alistair quipped while in his duel. He felt the pulling on his blood and life force so Alistair clamped down once again with his anti-magic to disrupt the stone. However, the momentary switch of focus provided an opening for the double to leave a nasty scratch on his leg.

Alistair followed the pain with a low growl before lashing out once again at the double before diving forward and piercing the chest with his blade, dismissing the final double.

By now, Alistair looked horrible. Cuts covered his body, his clothes and armor left in mostly tatters and now a large wound hindered his left leg. All that stood before him were Evander and now Katja shakily holding a dagger. A sigh escaped his lips.

"I do not wish to kill a servant Evander. Let us fight."

To emphasize the point, Alistair launched several magical bolts that curved around Katja and slammed into the defenses of the evil mage. As soon as he launched the magic, he felt the effects of his anti-magic slip as more blood was pulled from the air, so he was forced to stop his spellcasting and focus on combatting the stone's effects.

Katja

 

[Katja]

Evander’s lips twisted into a grin at Alistair’s words, a low chuckle escaping him as he surveyed the bloodied state of his opponent. His eyes flicked to Katja, who stood shakily with the dagger, a clear tremor running through her hands. The look in her eyes was one of hesitation, uncertainty, but also fear.

"You think I don't know she helped you out of my dungeons?" Evander's voice was dark and dripping with disdain. "You think I can't see her mind when her life is bound to me? Perhaps I told her to.." He stepped forward, slowly, his presence radiating dominance.

The malicious laugh escaped him again, echoing through the shattered room, before he casually shrugged, as though the threat was nothing more than a mundane fact of life. “She has one last chance at redemption, and that is killing you. If not..." he trailed off, leaving the threat to hang in the air.

She was dead. She was going to die, by Alistair's hand or Evander's, either way, it was over.

He gave a short nod, his expression becoming more focused. The damage to his defenses from the magical bolts was evident, but he held tight to the Leyspire Stone which seemed to blacken his hand, his wrist, his arm, with each passing moment.

“You’re exhausted, bleeding, and your focus is slipping. Are you still the weapon they sharpened you into? Or is the Dreadlord just a man... broken by his own arrogance?” He took another step closer, his eyes flickering with the thrill of the impending confrontation as he continued to drag the blood from Alistair's veins

Evander’s free hand extended, the fingers flexing as he began to channel the growing energy in the room into a barrier around himself. The oppressive weight of the magic in the air seemed to press down on Alistair, trying to suffocate him, to drown him in the sheer force of Evander’s spellwork. The Leyspire Stone pulsed again, its glow intensifying.

Katja, meanwhile, gripped the dagger tighter, her face pale with fear as she walked toward Alistair. She was bound to Evander, his blood magic had saved her life, ran in her very veins. If he wanted to control her, he could do so, he could take the choice out of her hands entirely...

Blood.

Katja’s head was spinning, her breath coming in sharp gasps as she watched Alistair struggle against the relentless pressure of Evander’s magic. The stone pulsed again, sending waves of oppressive energy through the room, and she could feel it, like claws scratching at her insides, tightening its grip on her. But something else stirred within her too—a surge of power, a whisper in the back of her mind that she hadn’t fully understood until now.

Evander's magic. The threads of it had been running through her veins ever since Evander had claimed her—his power entwined with her very blood, like a dark, poisonous root feeding on her life force. On her magic.

Her fingers tightened around the dagger. Katja’s heart pounded fiercely as she slashed the dagger across her palm, wincing at the sharp sting. Blood welled up instantly, slick and hot. The blood that flowed from her veins was no longer just hers. It was laced with the remnants of his spell.

She closed her eyes, focusing all of her will into the incantation she’d barely remembered, the ancient words she had once dismissed as too dangerous to try. Her blood burned with power, and she whispered the words under her breath.

With one final, desperate push, she hurled her blood-slicked dagger toward Evander’s protective shield. It wasn’t just a physical strike—it was a spell, a spell using her own blood and his magic. The moment the blade struck the air around him, it stuck, levitating in the air. The barrier trembled violently, and then it shattered like glass under the pressure.

The force of the impact sent a shockwave through the room, sending shards of glass flying in all directions.

His head snapped toward Katja, disbelief flashing across his face before twisting into pure, unbridled rage. His violet eyes burned, his lips pulling back in a furious snarl.

"You—" His voice came out strangled, caught between shock and fury. His fingers twitched, and the dagger rose into the air and flew directly for her.

"GO!" Her voice rang out, raw and desperate. Alistair had the chance he needed.

 

[Alistair Krixus]

Every cast of a spell seemed to only sap Alistair of more of his strength. His vision blurred and he nearly stumbled to the ground as the weight pressed upon him. It would arguably be a toss-up if Katja did decide to kill him. Normally, he would back himself in a fight, but he was a little less confident when he could not entirely see straight.

Only one thing was forcing his focus to stay sharp in the moment and that was shit-talking because one of Alistair's most redeeming qualities was his petty nature. A chuckle escaped his lip but was sourly interrupted by a glob of blood.

Too tired to utter words, Alistair seemed to only be able to try and weather the spells pushing down on him in the hopes that an opening would present itself.

Any boy did one ever, a look of complete and utter surprise crossed his face as he watched Katja use some sort of blood magic before shattering Evander's shield. It was a chance, the only chance that the dreadlord would need.

But his body moved first, rather than charging Evander, he instead imposed himself between the dagger and Katja. The blade pierced directly into his chest and Alistair crumpled to one knee a week laughter filling the air from the assuredly dying young man.

"Y-You may be right. I am not the weapon they made me into...I'm better."

The lifeless form of Alistair Krixus fell to the ground with the dagger firmly planted in his chest. The end to a story of the darkest shadows, but also the brightest of lights...or so some troubadour would surely have written if this indeed was the end of such a tale.

First came the cracks millions of tiny grain-like cracks that as they multiplied merged into much larger fissures that covered the body until it could no longer support itself. The body shattered into millions of glass-like pieces, and in that momentary pause of silence in which the only sound was the soft tinkling of glass, a body slipped from the shadows behind Evander, plunging two large daggers directly into his back.

An exhausted-looking, but certainly living Alistair Krixus stood with a wolf-like grin on his face as one of his attacks firmly and finally plunged into the mad mages' flesh.

"I liked your idea so I borrowed it and made it better...but you are right. The Dreadlords did not teach me that trick."

Katja

 

[Katja]

Katja barely had time to breathe. Only a moment to accept her fate - but Alistair was already there.

The moment the dagger met flesh, the world froze.

No.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

Her crystalline gaze widened in horror as Alistair crumpled before her, the blade sunk deep into his chest. Her breath hitched, and her lips parted, but no sound came.

No. No, no, no.

Her knees hit the floor, her body moving on instinct, reaching out, trembling hands grasping at his tattered clothes. His laughter—weak, breathless, fading—clawed at her ears, and the panic set in like a wildfire.

"You idiot—" Her voice cracked, raw with something between grief and disbelief.

And then, things got weird. A thousand tiny fractures rippled across Alistair’s form, spreading, deepening.

And then—he shattered.

Not like a man dying, but like glass breaking. Her shaking hands grasped at nothing as shards of his body sifted through her fingers, dissolving into dust.

The breath she had been holding rushed from her lungs in a choked, disbelieving gasp. Her hands, still trembling, curled into fists, closing around nothing but air. It wasn’t real.

Then, before she could fully process what had just happened—before the shock could even settle—

Evander jerked. A choked, startled noise tore from the mage’s throat, his body suddenly seizing up, his back arching—

Katja’s head snapped up.

And there he was.

Alistair.

Alive.

Behind Evander.

Katja could only watch, her mind reeling as the nightmare unfolded before her. Her breath hitched, a trembling hand clasped over her mouth as the leyspire stone in his hand betrayed him, accepting it's new offering. His eyes, once filled with dark triumph, widened with wild, unhinged rage. A ragged cough wrenched from his throat, blood splattering his lips, and yet—he still held on.

His fingers curled around the leyspire stone in a death grip, desperation twisting his withered features. The stone seemed to pulse, a hungry, insatiable beast finally unchained.

It was feeding.

Katja's eyes glistened as she watched the corruption spread, creeping up his arm in blackened, withering tendrils. His flesh shrank inward, curling and decaying like old parchment caught in flame. His body spasmed, his breath rattling, yet still, he refused to let go.

It wasn’t until the ruin reached his chest that a raw, horrified realisation flashed across his face. His mouth parted as if to scream, but no sound came.

His body collapsed inward, the stone greedily swallowing the last of his existence. The once-great Evander, the cruel, wicked mage who had wielded power at the cost of all else, crumbled away to nothing but a pile of blackened dust.

Silence.

A deep, heavy silence, so profound that for a moment, Katja wasn’t even sure if she was breathing. Her fingers twitched. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest, hammering against her ribs like a caged thing.

And then—a gust of air. The remnants of Evander scattered, carried away like ashes in the wind. Katja swallowed hard, her gaze snapping to Alistair, her body still trembling.

 

[Alistair Krixus]

All of the tightly wound tensions that was driving Alistair's body seemed to unravel in relief as he felt his blades find purchase. His body sagged in relief only for him to half to stumble back in horror as he watched Evander's body become consumed by his magical stone...Note to self, don't touch the stone with barehands.

At that moment, he nearly fell over right then and there but turned over to see Katja, a smile spreading onto his face assentuated by the exhaustion on his face.

"See, I told you I would get him...Nice job back there."

Without further fanfare, he fell over onto his back and just laid there for a moment. He could feel some of the debris digging into his back making this a less-than-comfortable resting spot, but he was too tired to care at the moment.

Several deep breaths later with his eyes closed, he finally opened them again and called out to Katja,

"Sorry about the trick, I needed him to believe it...Pretty good though, right?"

Katja

 

[Katja]

Katja let out a sharp breath, her chest rising and falling in erratic, uneven shudders. The whirlwind of emotions crashed down on her all at once. Relief, disbelief, exhaustion. She had survived.. She was free.

She turned toward Alistair, and despite everything—the blood, the wounds, the sheer hell they had just endured—he was smiling. That same smug, infuriatingly cocky grin, only now softened by exhaustion.

A choked, breathless laugh escaped her lips. She almost scolded him, but the relief was too overwhelming. It bubbled up in her chest like a dam finally breaking.

"Sorry about the trick, I needed him to believe it... Pretty good though, right?"

She huffed out a laugh, shaking her head, but something was wrong. Her breath hitched, and the world tilted.
A strange, creeping cold seeped into her limbs, curling in her fingers, dripping down her spine. She looked down.

Glass. Large, jagged shards protruded from her arms, her chest.

Her breath caught, and the flushed colour of her cheeks drained instantly as the adrenaline that had been keeping her upright vanished all at once, leaving nothing but the raw, biting agony in its wake.

"Pretty good…" she whispered.

 

[Alistair Krixus]

Alistair had not looked over to see Katja's obvious injuries; instead, he thought the whispering was a sign of her exhaustion as well, even if he had done most of the work. He laughed in relief that it was all over.

"Well, it was more than pretty go..."

The young dreadlord finally turned his head enough to get a look at her and what he was made his words shrivel up in his throats. Where he got the energy he would never know, but Alistair was on his feet in a flash running over to the girl.

"Woah, hey now that isn't good...Lay down, carefully."

Alistair wasn't the best healer, but like many Dreadlords, he had learned the basics in the Academy and he had done pretty well in biology. Runes flared across his eyes as he activated a spell that granted him enhanced vision to better check out the wounds, but he only got a glance before the rune fizzled out. He was nearly sapped of his mana, frankly, it was a miracle he was still standing.

"Ok, try not to move,e and...we'll try to take these things out."

He did not wait for permission as he ripped off pieces of her clothing looking to make bandages, he would use his own but they were essentially in tatters after the fight.

"Just a small flesh wound...you'll be fine."

Katja

 

[Katja]

Katja barely felt the ground as she sank down, her body folding under her own weight. The pain was there—gods, it was there—but it felt distant, muted beneath the heavy fog settling over her mind. Alistair was saying something, but she could barely hear him over the rushing in her ears.

There was no panic in her eyes as she looked up at him. No fear. Just utter sadness. Disappointment.
She had been free—for all of seconds. For moments, she had believed she would walk away from this, find her family, start over. Now? That was looking extremely unlikely.

Her throat tightened as silent tears slipped from her eyes, tracking warmth down her cold, blood-smeared cheeks. She swallowed hard, the bitter taste of iron thick on her tongue.

Her body, her mind—it knew. It was already trying to shut down, to pull her into the dark, to shield her from the worst of it. Her lashes fluttered as her gaze drifted, her brow knitting slightly.

"Most of them..." she murmured in response, laughing drowsily under her breath, her unfocused eyes dropping to the largest shard, buried deep in her chest.

She lifted a trembling hand, as if she meant to pluck it out herself, but her fingers barely grazed the glass before she lost the strength to hold them up. "It's alright." It wasn’t. She wasn’t. But life was cruel, and she had accepted that a long time ago.

 

[Alistair Krixus]

Alistair moved quickly, taking out the smaller pieces first and stopping their bleeding. It felt like sealing up cracks on a shatters pitcher of water. Still, his hands moved quickly and with utter precision. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a thought told him that normal people would be shaking at this moment, but he was not normal. He was accustomed to death, this would not even be the first time an ally had died, his thoughts briefly flashed to Walter Banick.

Yet, his jaw tensed, he was tired of losing. Tired of losing power, losing control, losing people. For once, he just wanted to have a perfect win. Where all the pieces lined up just how he planned and there were no losses or sacrifices.

His mind scrambled for something to do even as his hands when to the large piece of glass that sat center of her chest.

"Hey now, you beat that crazy mage. This is nothing. You're going to be fine, and then you can find your family. Make sure you let them know how cool I am."

There it was, that false bravado that always came out when the world closed in on him and when things became too much for Alistair to deal with. It was such an obvious defense mechanism, so why did it actually never defend anything?

With a quick and sudden jerk, Alistair slid the piece from her chest. Not knowing what else to do, as Alistair did not know healing magic, he did the only thing he knew how. He called on the mana, all of it, everything in his body, and even anything he could take from the air around him. Driving the magical energy into her fading body, he willed it...begged it to just hold her together, to keep her hear, to piece it all back.

He would pay the price if he had too, it would not be the first time, and if someone had to pay then let it be him. Let him pay for his own mistakes. It was unfair to push it off on someone else.

Katja

 

[Katja]

Katja shivered violently now, the cold burrowing deep into her bones, wrapping around her like a deathly embrace. Every breath she took was sharp and shallow, rattling through her chest. She barely felt Alistair working, his hands steady and sure, but she knew he was there.

She managed a weak laugh at his joke, lips curling faintly into a smirk. "Cool? …Really?" she huffed, voice barely above a whisper.

Her brow knit together, lips pressing into a trembling frown. "Don't leave me here... Please." She didn’t care what he did—whether he burned her, buried her, threw her into the sea—just as long as she wasn’t left here. Not in this place, left to rot beside him.

Her body tensed, every nerve alight as he grasped the largest shard. The moment he pulled—agony. White-hot, all-consuming agony that no amount of adrenaline could dull.

Katja screamed. A ragged, soul-deep wail that echoed through the ruined manor. The sound tore through the air, through her throat, until it was stolen by the pain itself.

Her vision blurred. Her ears rang. Her pulse wavered. Then slowed. And slowed.

Until—nothing.

Her chest stilled. Her fingers went limp. The light in her eyes faded as the creeping darkness finally won. The world dimmed. Faded. A pregnant silence fell...

.

.

.

Alistair’s magic flared. Desperate, wild, unrelenting, it clawed at the frayed threads of her life, grasping them, forcing them to weave back together. Her veins glowed faintly, light threading through every break, every wound, reaching deep.

Her chest lurched, and a sharp, choking gasp tore from her lips as her lungs filled with air. Her heart stumbled back to life, striking a staccato in her chest. Katja’s body arched, hands clawing weakly at the floor as her nerves reawakened, and her eyes flew open, wild and unfocused, pupils blown wide.

"I hate you." she growled through her gritted teeth.

 

[Alistair Krixus]

The silence, sharper than any blade Alistair owned, descended on the grounds as he felt the last breaths of Katja beneath him.

"No, no, no, no!" He screamed, not willing to give up even as he felt the magic beginning to slip away from him.. Just as he was about to give in, feeling his magic beginning to fade like the muscles of a man finally unable to lift a boulder up a hill, a sharp gasp shook the air as Katja was thrown upward as the chains of life bound around her once again.

Alistair laughed.

There was nothing else he could even think to do at this moment. It was all too wonderful for relief not to wash over him. He had healed her, never having even learned the proper spells, but he had still done it on instinct alone.

For once, instead of ending a life, he had saved one.

"I'll take that as a thank you then...How about you just rest for now."

The last words were directed just as much at himself as they were at Katja, as the young dreadlord fell back onto his but taking deep, raspy gulps of hair as he tried to hold of the exhaustion that loomed over him, protected only by the adrenaline of the moment.

Katja