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