Scientific Sorcery: MagiTech Continuum, #1

Scientific Sorcery by Matthew Wayne McCabe is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.

For bulk purchases or other matters, contact the author at the address below:

Matt McCabe 

Box 328 

Seal Rock, OR 97376

matt@scientificSorcery.com

Cover designed and illustrated by Nicole Cardiff at artofnicolecardiff.com

Printed in the United States of America

Second Edition

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2

Other books by Matt McCabe

MagiTech Continuum

Scientific Sorcery

Non-Fiction

Good People, Bad E-Mail

For London

I

Dr. Kerr Fitzroy shivered as thousands of microscopic needles slid into his flesh, like ice cubes tumbling over his entire body. He closed his eyes and waited. The suit was beginning a system check. In rapid succession his fingers flexed of their own accord. First on one hand—onetwothreefourfive—then the other, like strumming a desk. Kerr’s weight shifted onto his heels as his toes mimicked the movement of his fingers. First one foot. Then the other.

It was strange to have the Jump Suit controlling his body. Controlling was a strong word, he thought. He preferred the term assisted. The suit didn’t possess any intelligence. It gave the body some extra oomph when called upon. Kerr smiled. He couldn’t believe he was wearing it. There were two in existence, and they were years away from mass production.

He had read so much about the potential, but he doubted he would get the opportunity to push any limits today. He was going to be observing, not fighting.

Kerr ran fingers over his arms, trying to calm the stinging gooseflesh as the suit did a second system check. Closing his eyes, he felt the rush of adrenaline. His heart thumped and his legs bent. He made fists with his hands—his choice, not the suit. He felt alternate rushes of fear, anger, and happiness, but they weren’t his emotions. They were artificial, generated from the drugs dripping into his system. It was like he had consumed a dozen energy drinks. He felt like running laps or doing pushups.

A cloud of green pulsated in Kerr’s peripheral vision. That was a notification alert from his LENS. He blinked three times to turn on his CorneaScope.

System check . . .

complete.

The green words skimmed across his field of vision and then faded from view.

LENS sync: complete . . .

Vision test commencing.

Kerr placed a hand on the wall to steady himself as his world bent. The bench in front of him seemed to draw near while the walls pushed away. In a moment, the world reversed, and the room pulled in on him. Now it was stretching, while the room seemed to shorten. He realized he could now see both sides of the room without turning his head.

Room targeting . . .

Environment mapped.

Each phrase floated upward into view and then faded away before reaching the horizon of his vision.

The Jump Suit he wore was ink black. The glistening fabric looked like silk sheets, and it tickled the hair on his arms and legs. The fabric was thin and malleable, stretching over Kerr like a glove. At the same time, he knew it was stronger than the toughest body armor. The special threads tightened on impact—the harder the impact, the tighter the weave became. It would hurt like Hell if somebody stabbed you, but at least there would no bleeding involved. The suit could even take a bullet. The operation manual recommended wearing body armor in addition to the suit if one expected to take fire. Bullet protection wasn’t the point of a Jump Suit. Not getting hit was more of the point. Or, failing that, having the ability to get away from a fight. That’s why some called it a Flight Suit.

Kerr hoped that where he was going today, he would have little need for the suit. He was delivering the Gift. He wasn’t expected to perform any military action. He was more of an advisor than anything else.

Kerr pulled his camouflage pants up over the jump suit. Then a long-sleeved, button-up khaki shirt completed his outfit. He glanced at his reflection in the mirror, brushing back his hair. You could just see the line of black fabric at his wrists. You wouldn’t even know he was wearing it.

He turned to the locker-room door, which slid open ahead of him.

In the waiting room Private Leber jumped to his feet, heels snapping together. Puffing his chest out, he fixed his eyes straight ahead. Sir? Are you ready? His voice was tight and anxious.

You don’t have to call me that. Kerr was Air Force, and this was an Army base. It always made him feel weird when he was out of his lab. All of these men kept saluting him. He had finished Basic, but was no soldier.

Sir? Private Leber’s face showed confusion.

Kerr sighed. It wasn’t worth arguing. They didn’t pay this level to think independent. That’s all right, Private. We can go.

Like being released from a leash, Private Leber moved to the waiting room door, which had just enough time to open before him. Kerr fell into step behind.

Leber hurried down the carpeted hallway. This time of morning, very few others were awake. Leber had awakened him at 0500 hours to tell him the mission was ready. Kerr’s irritation at the hour changed to excitement as he oriented himself. Today he was travelling through time.

Leber almost flew onto the walking conveyor, glancing back to Kerr. Kerr responded by quickening his steps. The private stopped at the end of the walkway and waited for Kerr.

It’s right up here, he said. Leber took a right turn into a small alcove. It held a large potted plant and nothing else.

Leber reached past the plant and pressed his palm to the wall.

The wall pulsed red under Leber’s hand as his identity was confirmed. Now Kerr understood the hour. Even the entrance to Dock 6 was a secret.

With a hiss of air, a door-sized section of wall pulled back and then slid aside. They were bathed in brilliant white light. Private Leber nodded to Kerr. Kerr looked to where the potted plant had been moments before. It was gone. Had it been a projection? Kerr ducked his head and stepped through the doorway, squinting. Leber followed. Behind them the wall slid back into place and reclosed with a small click.

The long hallway before them was curved on all sides, and it was bright. Why did it have to be so... white? Light seemed to emanate from the walls. Whoever designed this hallway had seen one too many science-fiction movies—or spy thrillers—perhaps both.

At the end of the short hall, two guards stood beside a round hatch with a round turn-handle. A pressure door? Like a submarine? That was a bit much. Both guards wore white uniforms. Of course they would be wearing white, thought Kerr. To match the hallways. He tried not to roll his eyes. During his months here on the base, Kerr had never seen white uniforms. Did they have them specially made? He was beginning to feel like he was in some kind of movie. Something old. His lips curled as his brain shouted, No, Mr. Bond. I expect you to DIE! He allowed himself a smile to his private joke.

One of the guards held up a hand for them to stop. Leber spoke from behind, Private Leber escorting Captain Kerr to Dock 6.

The guard checked his clipboard, turning up the first page. Kerr closed his eyes to keep from laughing. The clipboard was also white. Kerr imagined a huge military warehouse containing nothing but white accessories... pencils, calculators, clipboards, toothbrushes.

The second white guard turned to a white keypad and punched in the access code. The heavy metal hatch clicked. He took the round handle in both hands and gave it a swing. There was a hissing sound and then the door swung toward them.

What was all this pageantry for? Was it to impress visiting dignitaries?

Private Leber went first, bending his head through the round opening—first one foot, and then maneuvering his whole body through. Kerr bent his own head to follow.

In a wild contrast to the hallway outside, the circular room inside was almost black. Kerr blinked as his eyes adjusted once more.

He felt a tingle around his eyes.

Adjusting levels . . .

white point set.

And just like that, the entire room was bright, like someone had flipped on the light. Was that something his LENS could already do? It was very cool that the Jump Suit just seemed to know. He wondered how that worked.

Computer stations formed a horseshoe pattern starting on either side of him and circling the round room. Three wide steps down took Leber and Kerr to the main floor. There were two more computer stations here, and a large table surrounded by five soldiers in fatigues. The infamous Colonel Braun was one of them. All eyes looked up as they approached.

Colonel Braun was a large, muscular man; his neck lost in an ocean of shoulders. Both sleeves were rolled to half-expose football-sized biceps. His face was red, in sharp contrast to his buzzed shock of white hair.

You’re late. His voice was cold and flat.

Private Leber snapped to attention. He pounded one arm to his chest and then extended it in salute, two fingers pointing forward. Kerr could hear a cheering crowd in his mind as he watched Leber move. My heart! To the future!

Braun eyed him, chewing on his cheek. I seem to remember sending the Private away at 0430. Seeing as how it is now 0630, I would think that my statement should have elicited some kind of a response from our private. Would all of you agree?

The other soldiers at the table nodded. Two of them smiled.

Braun drew himself up, growing by a few centimeters. He threw a folder of papers on the table, ignoring the scattering of sheets. He turned his full body toward Private Leber and began walking toward him with slow deliberation. Perhaps I should have asked that in the form of a question.

He was four steps from Leber. He punctuated each step with a word, his voice rising in volume and intensity as he grew closer to his target. "Why. Are. You. Laaaate. Private?" The last word was a controlled scream, like a drill sergeant, delivered right into Leber’s face. The private couldn’t help flinching back. His arm still held his salute. Kerr could hear chuckles from the soldiers still standing at the table. The technicians sitting to both sides were staring at their monitors with wide eyes, but kept to themselves.

Kerr stepped forward to defend Private Leber, I was slow getting dressed, Colonel. We came straight here.

Colonel Braun’s burning glare shifted to Kerr. One of his eyes twitched, and Kerr could feel the heat of his gaze. Braun looked like he was considering turning his wrath on Kerr, but he said nothing, turning back with a growl.

He tossed one hand over his shoulder like throwing away something distasteful. Dismissed!

Private Leber dropped his salute, turned, and wasted no time getting out of the room. Braun and the other soldiers continued their discussion in hushed voices, none of them looking up at Kerr. Uncomfortable, Kerr looked around. Computer screens illuminated the faces of intent technicians at the workstations. One of them glanced at him and then looked back at his screen. Kerr felt out of place. No one here seemed to understand the magnitude of what was about to happen. Or maybe they had seen it too many times already to be impressed.

This is it, thought Kerr. I’m actually going.  A handful of elite scientists were permitted to prepare or deliver the Gift.

Kerr couldn’t wait to sleep that night. He alternated between reading previous mission logs, the Jump Suit manual, and historical notes for the time period.

Colonel Braun’s head swiveled sideways, snapping Kerr back to the moment. "How long is this going to take, Ensign?" the title was delivered with a twist of his lip, exposing a yellowed canine. Kerr thought at first that Braun was addressing him and drew in a breath, and then the word Ensign registered in his brain. He turned to look at the stooped man, sitting in a plain metal chair just underneath the metal railing. He sat motionless so Kerr hadn’t seen him before. The Colonel may as well have said nothing, for all the effect it had on the graying soldier.

At first glance, the old man had the look of someone in his late eighties. His hair was thin and drained of color. His head was tilted down, but Kerr could still see his face. It bore deep creases of frown and worry, still visible through an ill-kept white beard. Small, round-frame glasses perched on the end of his nose, threatening to fall. Veins stood out on the back of his liver-spotted hands and neck. He leaned forward in the metal chair, resting his weight on a curved, wooden cane.

Kerr swallowed, looking closer. He could see the name on his uniform, Ravensdale. At that moment, the old man turned his face to look at Kerr. His eyes flashed recognition. Kerr’s mind reeled. He knew this man. His first name was Bob. Kerr had gone to Air Force academy with him. This man had been a freshman when Kerr had been a senior. Ensign Bob Ravensdale was right around thirty. He shook his head, unable to reconcile it. He tried to tell himself that this was a relative. An older uncle, maybe? But he knew what being a Keeper did to you. He knew deep in his gut that this was Bob.

Bob had trained to become a full Keeper at school. It was a rare ability, and Bob had his sights set on it. He was already past the optimal age. In an ideal world, anyone who could walk a Passage was discovered before their teens—this is the one way they would be of any real use.

Students were taught the morality of using a Passage. They were forbidden to use their powers without the express approval of those in charge. But along with the ability was the curse. Every time the Passage was opened, a few more months were taken from a Keepers body. Kerr had seen the results under a microscope. Their DNA structure was altered with each trip, breaking down bit by bit. It could not be explained, and there was no cure. Every Keeper died before his time.

Kerr hadn’t seen Bob since the academy. He had meant to keep in touch, but when Kerr’s ability was deemed too slight, he was discarded from the program. It had taken Kerr ten years to retrain into a different career that still kept him close to the Time Program. In those busy ten years, he had never gotten around to looking up Bob. In those same ten years, Bob had gone from a twenty-something to an eighty-something.

Perhaps it was nature’s way of balancing things. Those who can walk time have less time of their own. The Anti Alteration Alliance took it as a sign that time travel was an abomination—that mortal man was not meant to tamper with destiny. Kerr disagreed. He believed in building a better future. That was the stance of his whole department. When the papers were presented to the UN, that was the spin. The world could be better for everyone in it.

Kerr blinked himself back to the present moment. Bob’s faint look of recognition had flitted away into something else, and his attention had moved back to the floor. Kerr let himself wonder if everything they were doing was worth what was ravaging Bob. He took a quick breath to steel himself—brushing the thought away—and moved to the table with the others.

II

Char edged forward through the darkness, sandals crunching on the rock-strewn floor. Thick fog surrounded him—a menacing presence that pressed in on all sides, hot and clammy.

Char’s mage staff sensed the evil in this place and projected a dim green glow, just enough to see by. The light reflected off the wet rock of the cave walls. Hair on the back of his neck swirled and prickled. His throat and stomach clenched tight. His mouth was dry. Was he panting? He stopped walking and bowed his head. He concentrated on slowing his racing heartbeat. He had to control his emotions. The workings of his magic would suffer if he didn’t. Any mistake at this point would be fatal.

He knew he had power—raw power drawn from the crust of the earth. Every night before bed he practiced drawing as much of that power as he could hold. His capacity for holding magic grew greater with the passing of every day. Every morning he channeled power into his mage staff—a magical battery that could allow him to cast giant spells without burning himself out. The staff seemed to age along with Char—it seemed to hold more and more power each day.

The prophets had foretold that Char would be a force to be reckoned with. He would be a leader among mages. He would lead a glorious life. He was the Chosen One.

That was all fine and good, but so far his life had not amounted to much. Master Thomas was the family he had ever known. He had rescued Char from the fire that had killed his parents. He was still just a baby. He was found clutched tight to his dead mother’s chest, coiled under the fabric of her headscarf. Thomas had to hack and dig through walls of black ash and charred, disfigured bodies. He had to unlock the husk of expired mother, unhinging her stumps to locate the breathing baby—all while the fire raged around him. When he had escaped the burning building, he had held the coughing baby high in the air, smiling and laughing through tears. He was still alive. His face was black with soot, but his eyes shone a brilliant blue in the sunlight. Your name is Char, for you have been delivered from the flames! Thomas loved telling that story over and over to any who would listen. Everyone in the village knew it by heart. Everyone in the jungle knew it by heart.

Thomas had been looking for him. He had sensed his power and had arrived just in time to save him. Why had he been looking for Char? Thomas never told him. He said Char was not yet ready. Who were the prophets that had foretold of his greatness? Not now, Thomas always said. He had lived with Master Thomas in the jungle for 23 years. He practiced and meditated. Every day he grew stronger. Char asked him if he was ready every day. Is today the day?

Now he wished he could hear those words again. He awoke this morning in the hut alone. He would never see his master again. So much for his great magic foretold by legend. His throat clenched and he tried to swallow. The sadness stabbed at his chest. He was starting to hyperventilate.

How was he supposed to wield the mysteries of the unknown without a teacher?

Breathe, Char. Breathe. He brought his mind into focus. He had to stay in control. He imagined leaves swirling in a fall breeze. He imagined the bending of grass in a clearing. He had been so happy in that clearing. His master would teach him spells to move the world around him with a gentle touch. Anyone could use magic to smash and destroy, he said. You must be a stronge wizard. You must have the delicate control to brush a ladybug from a leaf without burning down the entire forest. Char smiled. His master had always had a way with words.

His breath came even and strong now. He moved his hand in the air. As he did so, particles of air glowed and swirled. He played his fingers through the glitter of air and then released it, letting it sprinkle to the ground. He was in control—at least for now.

The glow of Char’s staff began to intensify. He was nearing the end of the tunnel—near his goal. The lair’s entrance had been easy enough to find. In fact, it had been marked. A narrow path wound up the mountain, ending in a man-sized opening in the rock. Above the opening, words were carved into the stone. They were a warning, written in three languages. All of them forbade entrance.

Inside the cave he had found three magical traps, each in a chamber by itself. They had been easy to dispel. It was almost as if they were built for Char. His master had trained him well.

Once past the first three chambers, he had come to this darkened passage. As soon as it was difficult to see and the fog surrounded him, he started to feel nervous.

You can still leave, you know.

Char’s eyebrows rose in surprise. It was his own voice, spoken direct to his mind, and yet it was not his own; there was magical telepathy behind it. It was the voice of the Overlord. He was trying to force Char to leave this place. Was the Overlord afraid? The hopeful thought sprang to his mind. Char cast it out.

Overconfidence breeds foolishness. The wise words of Master Thomas came to him again. He could almost see the old man dressed in his tattered brown robes raising a finger to scold him. The memory was bitter-sweet.

Char waved his hand in a small gesture and spoke one word, Clear.

The fog around him fled upon his command. As it cleared, so did Char’s mind. Fear scurried away from him. He pressed his lips together. The nerves he had been feeling had not been his own. It had all been a spell of fear.

The fading fear was replaced by anger. He was seething with anger. The Overlord had killed his master, and Char had come to seek vengeance. He spoke to the darkness, Enough games, Overlord. I’m not leaving. You’ll have to show yourself.

The voice in Char’s head laughed. It was Char’s laugh, making him feel like he was laughing at himself. He ground his teeth. Is it bravery or stupidity that makes you come here and think you can command me? Very well, then.

On both sides of the cave torches sputtered sparks, flickered, and burst into flames—one after another. The room was filled with heat and light. Char resisted the urge to squint against the bright glow. He held his staff tight and tried to affect a defiant pose. Now he could see his true surroundings.

Char was standing at the entrance to a huge throne room. Each marble wall held torches in ornate golden fixtures. The flickering lights caused something in the back of the room to glitter. Char’s eyes were pulled to the stacks and stacks of gold. It was a pile fit for a dragon. There were coins, goblets, flatware, jewelry, medallions, and heavy-looking bars of gold. Dotted amongst the loot were jewels of every color, in every imaginable size. The sight made his eyes boggle. He swallowed hard.

And there, in the middle of the treasure sat a fat, golden throne. Atop the throne, the Overlord lounged, sneering at him.

Have you come to join your master?

The Overlord’s dress was dramatic, like a king. Purple robes and fur-trimmed cape draped thick over each armrest, pooling on the marble floor. His curly blonde hair coiled and bounced on both shoulders. He had a Cheshire cat mustache that curved upward on both ends meeting his round cheekbones.

Char forced himself to look at the Overlord’s face. His skin was translucent—a side effect of living too long on another plane of existence. It was just a red mask of sinew and bone. Char could see the muscles moving under his face as he smiled.

An ornate scepter in the lap of the Overlord was also difficult for Char to look at. It seemed to emit a black glow that pulled at Char’s soul. That must be the Overlord’s power source. It dripped magic.

The Overlord was a dark sorcerer of the highest order. Master Thomas had always warned him to stay clear of the Overlord. He was a magical mercenary for hire. He’d been fighting wars on both sides of the fence for years. For this reason, he was unpredictable. Thomas told Char to be careful, If you see him, you won’t know if he is friend or foe.

Char’s master didn’t agree with the Overlord’s methods, but had respected his power in the dark arts. They seemed to give each other a wide berth in this territory. But then, when the Overlord was sent after Char’s master, they were forced to fight. And now, Char had no one.

The Overlord shifted in his throne. The words were spoken into Char’s mind again. Now I can see it. You do have power, young one. You might have even grown strong enough to be a threat in time, but you still lack the skill to use that power. Your master knew that as well. Too bad he’s not going to be around to teach you any more. Did he teach you enough to survive on your own? It was not smart to come here. How foolish you are.

The Overlord cleared his throat and a small, haggard creature appeared from behind the throne.

It was wrinkled and green. Pointed ears jutted straight out from both sides of its head. A hooknose hid two black eyes resting in deep sockets. Fat lips did a poor job of covering yellowed slabs of teeth, which jutted out at strange angles. White hair covered its chest. Its only clothing was a tattered, yellowing loincloth. It hobbled and limped on bow legs. Its crippling yellow-orange toenails were so long they clicked on the marble floor when he walked. Both knobby feet were turned inward.

Though it looked like it could not stand or walk, it managed to hold a round, golden tray aloft without spilling the contents of the jewel-encrusted goblet. Moving as fast as it could to the Overlord, it stopped with head down. It wiped a strand of gray hair back from his brow, crossed its legs, and curtsied in a self-conscious motion.

The Overlord snatched the goblet and guzzled it without acknowledging the creature. Char watched his exposed throat muscles work the liquid down his throat. The whole time, the Overlord continued to eye Char as if trying to make up his mind.

When he spoke, his voice was haughty and bored, Do you like my pathetic little minion? I summoned him from a dirty dimension full of countless masses of things just like him. I didn’t have to compel him to my bidding. He seemed to be so grateful just to leave the place. He stared at the creature until it glanced up at him. Then he frowned and sneered at it. This caused it to babble and bow its head even lower. The Overlord chuckled, looking back to Char. That’s my business, you know. I spend most of my time going from place to place, finding creatures to enslave. If you find enough of them, you don’t have to do any of the real work.

Char said nothing in response, so the Overlord continued. There’s a trick to controlling creatures, you know. Did your master ever tell you? He leaned forward in his seat as if he were reaching the best part of his story. Your name is Char, right? He waved a hand, You don’t have to tell me. I could see that plain as day in your mind. No first name. No last name. Just Char. And it’s not a nickname? You should guard your young mind. You don’t know who might use what they find there against you.

The Overlord widened his eyes for a moment and smiled wide. Char. I command you to approach my throne.

Before he knew what was happening, Char was gliding forward. He hadn’t meant to, and realized that he could not make himself stop. He tried to pull back, but his legs wouldn’t listen. He moved forward, straight-legged like a stiff soldier.

It isn’t much of a compulsion. I’m not even trying. You should be able to break my control if you want to. The Overlord widened his smile. His exposed teeth made him look like a rotting corpse.

Char squeezed his eyes shut, concentrating hard. He slowed his breathing. He found his core and he focused on it. He was one with everything and everything was one with him. He felt the Overlord toying with his mind. He pulled back from it, and it scattered away. Char stopped moving.

There, said the Overlord. That wasn’t so hard, was it? You could be trained to do what I do. He waggled a finger. "And that brings us back to the trick. The trick is all in the name. If you do not know a being’s true name, you cannot control it. I know that your true name is Char, so I can make you do anything I want. He shrugged, looking to the green creature to his side. This sad thing had no name. All I had to do was say ‘Goblin’ and he was all mine. He looked back to Char. Your name might as well be ‘Goblin.’ You have your name pinned to your forehead, don’t you? You need something else. Maybe try going by an affectionate name. How about Thomas Junior?"

Char ground his teeth. I have no times for games, Overlord. I am here to kill you. I have the power and this day will be your last.

The Overlord sat back in his throne, crossed his legs and gave Char a look of mock surprise. He cracked his knuckles and straightened the rings on his fingers. "If I had any feelings, I think they might be hurt. Were you not paying attention just now, boy? You are nothing. I am the one with the power here. You come in here with threats while I could turn you to cinder and ash. I could make you bow to me and pledge your unwavering devotion. I could destroy you with ease. I could even make you kill yourself and save me the trouble. The problem is no one has paid me to kill you. I have a strict code about such things. If I start giving away killings for free... well, that’s just bad business."

Besides, said the Overlord, glancing at him over clasped hands, If I wanted you dead, I would have stoked the fire hotter when I burned your parents.

It was like a punch in the stomach. Char gulped in the air. He felt his magic rushing to him even before he called for it. A tightness gripped his chest, like the world was crashing in around him. His vision grew black at the edges. He hefted his staff high above his head. Die, Overlord!

The air around Char sizzled and snapped. An explosion rocked the walls as bright light surged from his staff, streaking through the air in a jagged arc. Char could feel the magic coursing inside him, burning hotter than his own anger. Simultaneous thunder rocked Char’s eardrums, making everything ring. The bolt of lightening struck its target, pinning the Overlord to the back of the throne like an arrow through a board. White energy flashed across his muscles as they convulsed. His body thrashed under the current.

Hot tears streamed from Char’s eyes. You took everything from me! he screamed, channeling his anger into the magical lightening, burning it even hotter. The Overlord’s robes burst into flames. He could hear his flesh sizzle and pop. Char clenched his jaw as he squeezed as much power into the lightening bolt as he could.

And then it was gone. Char stood panting, hot tears flowing unstopped down his cheeks.

Then the Overlord started to laugh. Char couldn’t help but gasp. His robes continued to burn, but the Overlord started to pat out the flames with his hands. Smoke drifted up from him in lazy circles. He was still smiling. He was still alive! How could he have survived that?

The Overlord leaned forward, placing his goblet back on the goblin’s tray. The mumbling goblin stood trembling, looking scared out of its mind.

The Overlord lifted a hand, displaying a gaudy garnet ring.

What kind of mercenary would I be if any random wizard could vaporize me with a lightening bolt? See this ring? No creature from this realm can ever harm me. He pulled back the ring to gaze at it. Too bad I had to kill the witch after she crafted it. You can’t risk that kind of protection falling into the wrong hands. He looked down at himself. I am afraid that you’ve ruined my robes. It’s so hard to get a good tailor to travel to the top of this mountain. I suppose I deserved it with that whole thing about your parents. Business is business. I hope we can move past this.

Char opened and closed his mouth. All words were lost to him. He was feeble compared to the Overlord. He had also depleted some of his limited magic out of anger. It would take much more than a lightening bolt to defeat him. That is if he could be defeated. He swallowed.

The Overlord fixed his gaze on Char. I think we should start over, young man. Why don’t you sit down, Char? It was spoken as a question, but Char felt the power of compulsion pulling him to his knees. He tried to banish the Overlord from his mind as he did before, but this time the control was stronger. Even though you haven’t been too polite, I will still give you another chance, Char. There is much I could teach you. I have been meaning to take an apprentice...

You... Char faltered, licked his lips, and started again, You took everything from me. You killed my family and my master. Why would I ever work for you?

When The Union wants someone dead, I’m not going to argue. He turned his head to look at the treasure piled behind him. Their gold was quite impressive. I think I have it stacked back over there somewhere.

Char felt despondent. Everything was gone. What could he do? Was there enough magic for him to do anything? He felt another wave of despair wash over his mind. He felt dizzy. If he hadn’t been kneeling on the floor, he would have fallen over.

What could he do? He berated himself. Why had he come here? What did he expect to accomplish. What did it all matter?

And then the anger was there again. It nibbled at the side of his perception. It dripped into his lungs. It tightened his chest. He had power. He had purpose. The Overlord couldn’t just do whatever he wanted. The words of another spell played across his mind. The head of his staff burst into flames.

The Overlord shook his head and tisked his tongue, "Didn’t we just discuss the ring? He sighed. Very well. I can tell that you’re not going to change your mind.  Learning is not your strong suit. It’s a waste. The Overlord stood and lifted his scepter. Just remember that I gave you alternatives to your suicide. I have other matters to attend to. You are wasting my precious time."

The aura of magic surrounding the scepter expanded outward, changing from black to deep purple and finishing with a bright red. Char could feel the wave of magic nearing him. It seemed familiar. He tried for a moment to recognize the spell and decide how to counter it, but then the magic hit him like a wall of blistering wind. He leaned back, closing his eyes.

And then the ground began to rumble.

I might as well make your death something extraordinary. I mean, look at you, you’ve come all this way. I have many creatures at my disposal. Most of them are strong enough to kill you. But you don’t want an every-day death, do you? Hmmm... He tapped his chin with a finger. Then he nodded, coming to a decision, Yes, that will do. The best for Char. May I introduce you to my demon, He chuckled. For your sake, I wouldn’t fight back. It will be over faster.

Char could see something appearing in the air before him—a sliver of light yawning open. It sliced the air until it connected floor to ceiling. Then it began to stretch wide, letting in a flood of light. Char had seen this before. That’s why the magic seemed familiar. The Overlord was opening a Gateway to another world and summoning one of his minions. A demon? Could Char defeat a demon?

The Overlord smiled, satisfied. That should do it. Come, Goblin.

He turned and walked away from Char, his blackened robes trailing after him. Behind the throne, he waved his hands in the air and a gilded door shimmered into existence. At his nod, the goblin inserted a golden key into the lock and turned it with a click. The door swung open by itself. With a final look over his shoulder at Char, the Overlord passed over the threshold, leaving the door open for the goblin to close. When the door closed, it faded again into shadows. Char was alone in the throne room. The Gateway before him was wide. The light pulsed and hummed. He didn’t have much time.

Char’s mind shouted at him to get away. Rising to shaking feet, he half turned to run. Once again the words of his master stopped dead in his tracks.

No magic is stronger than other magic—just different. The strongest fire can be snuffed by the opposite in air. Water can both pulverize and purify. For every spell, there is a counter. If the magic cannot be overcome, try moving the target.

Yes, but how?