Despite all evidence to the contrary, Cage Meriwether was not a complicated man.

He enjoyed the pursuit of knowledge and found pleasure in learning, in indulging new experiences, and in seeing new sights. It was very much his drug of choice. Where others found psychological nourishment in the oblivion provided by a needle or by flavored smoke, Cage's nirvana was a well-thought puzzle or an intricate knot of problems. He rarely cared about the where, the what, the why, or the how of an enigma and its solution. Cage cared only for the end-result, the experience. There was no avenue he would not take to reach it.

Stabbing a man in the heart was not the greatest evil he'd committed in his chase for solutions. That old chestnut about knowledge being power was true—and that power often begot the attention of dangerous individuals, or led its holder into his own carefully wrought demise. Evil was the art of knowledge. Cage knew that well.

That selfish, if innocent, need to learn was what originally brought the studious augur into the presence of the King Below. He'd simply spoken aloud a name—a name lost to history, a name written only once in all of Terrestria's duration, an epithet so long buried in the crumbling wreckage of empires left to rot, it'd been nothing but a whisper breathed upon a stone slate. A whisper had been enough. In 1851, a bargain was struck, and Cage's life was forever altered.

Cage sighed through his nose and banished the thought as he strolled around the construct's outer limit, keeping pace with his own script woven in its middle. Lucian remained at the construct's head with his palm held prone before himself, feeding the convoluted circles a steady stream of energy. Cage passed behind those Black Iris boys who stood monitoring the spell's integrity, and they knew to keep their gazes lowered.

Never meet the devil's eye. An old saying in the syndicate, it'd begun life as a tongue-in-cheek phrase when Cage had founded their little congregation, but it'd since taken on a nefarious mien. Never meet his eye. That man's dangerous.

Brings a whole new meaning to 'does not play well with others,' Cage mused with a smile as he came to stand at Lucian's side.

"Why are you grinning?" the younger mage asked, a line forming between his brows. "This is not funny."

Cage only winked.

Lucian muttered something unintelligible before taking a breath, settling into the spell once more. His sleeve was rolled up to his elbow, and his veins were braced against his braced muscles. "You told him you were laying a spell upon that mana ampoule."

"I did, didn't I?" Cage tapped a finger against his chin. "When did you become so nosy, Luke?"

"You did nothing to that ampoule. What game are you playing now, Micajah?"

"Game? This is no time for a game! Why, there are lives at stake, Lucky Luke! Well—." Cage nodded at the body still laying prone in the construct in a pool of his own blood. "Not his. Already dead."

"Do you take anything seriously?"

His voice rose with anger and Cage paused their dialog to check on the witches. The youngest, Saule, was shaken after witnessing Cage stab Darius in the chest, and was now sitting against an interior wall with Mistress Voronin attempting to coax her into drinking something. The other women, Mistress Stavros and her own coven member, were watching the mages with covered, attentive gazes. They didn't trust Lucian's boys anymore than Cage trusted her.

"You allowed yourself to be captured."

Cage glanced at Lucian, waiting for the question.

"Why allow them to snare you again? You will not always be able to get free. They will find a way to pin you, eventually. Or they'll kill you out right."

Cage shrugged, feeling the weight of the objects in his pockets pull upon his shoulders. The obtrusive glow coming off the charged construct and scripts bathed both mages in a mixture of yellow and blue light. "Torturers have loose lips, ol' boy. I feed them inane bits of information while in their care and they reciprocate ten fold. Honestly, they should learn better, but they never do."

"That's insane. You know that."

"I never said it was pleasant."

A sliver of discomfort lodged itself in Cage's throat and he cleared it, fingers toying with the ends of his ribbon.

Lucian tracked the motion of Cage's hand but made no mention of it. He knew what the ribbon was for. "I once read a fascinating treatise written by Armando Rinald of the Emerald Quill Syndicate about the transposition of energy through the void and the resonances of various signatures in the absence of relative motion." 

"Oh dear god," Cage groaned.

"It was an educational reading."

"Rinald was a hack." He paused. "Actually, didn't the Blue Fire boys label him an outlaw and strap him to a pyre?"

"They did indeed." Lucian gestured for another mage to come over and transferred control of the construct to him. The Black Iris Master released a tired breath as he massaged his hands. "It was revolutionary for its time, and we know what Blue Fire does with revolutionary men. Anyway, he supposed that the frequencies elicited by various forms of magic obey the conservation of momentum when being transported through the void, but momentum could not be achieved by our known frequencies on the other side of the void, as the variation in friction results in terminal energy loss. He went into great depth about the various ideal actions and elasticity of mage magic versus witch magic and how they are affected by the lost energy—."

"Lucian," Cage interrupted, holding a hand over his heart. "Lucian, my dear boy, I am exhausted. I spent nearly a week in that cell, and they were not tender with my care. I enjoy trading lectures with you and would love to tear Rinald's theories to metaphoric shreds—but could you get to the point?"

Lucian scowled as he sniffed, lowering his hands to his sides. "While our spells are capable of moving through the void when they originate here in Terrestria, they cannot be triggered in the other realms. You didn't give Pride a spell. He wouldn't be able to use it in the fallen Isle."

"And?"

"How is he supposed to return a spirit to form a body without the means to retrieve the spirit in question? He is incapable of using any spell, prepped or not prepped, to bring the spirit to any source of power—and such a spell doesn't even exist, regardless of its usability."

"Remind me when this is over to tell you all the ways in which you're wrong."

"I am not wrong."

No, he wasn't wrong. He was too clever for his own good sometimes, and Cage would've complimented him on that under different circumstances, but Cage had been instructed not to enlighten Darius of the truth.

Discomfort rose again and Cage pressed his fingertips into his throat, soothing the ache in his esophagus. A single word followed the pain, wispy as the utterance of a waking dreamer.

<Now.>

Cage blinked, clearing his eyes of the red haze, and turned. "It's ready. Perform the spell, Lucian."

He did. The man lifted his hands in steady, memorized patterns and spoke the proper lines. Cage paced the construct's edge, arms braced behind his back, and voiced the specific syllables needed to finish the script's cycles.

The light changed, losing saturation, and a few of the younger mages shielded their eyes from it. Cage stopped and used the kinetic motion of his hands to change how the script was interacting with Lucian's construct. Power infiltrated the manor and set the runes ablaze.

In a moment, the spell finished running through its strictures, and the proper resonances were met. Cage timed each spin of the construct's cycle, as it was written by the scripts and runes. Though the work was different, such spells weren't totally dissimilar from computer programs. They both completed tasks based on the execution of designed commands.

Cage was fascinated by the intermingling of magic and technology and how they could be meshed together—but now was not the time for him to think of such things. He concentrated on finishing the spell, and breathed a final ebb of energy into the complicated web.

Magic crested and he tasted metal on his tongue. The air rippled at the construct's center, and a new body appeared by the first.

"Bless my blood," one of the witches exclaimed. "It worked!"

Lucian was not pleased. From his spot at the construct's head, he was glaring at Cage. He did not like when the older black mage involved the syndicate with matters of Cage's...affliction, and he understood that the spell couldn't have been completed without outside influence.

Too clever.

The bone witch hurried to the room's center before any of them could think to move. Cage watched as Saule knelt at Sara's side and felt for the woman's pulse. Her small hands were shaking. "Her heartbeat's not strong."

"It won't be until her mind is settled. We require Darius."

Darius had yet to move. Cage's eye twitched with impatience.

An elderly mage came sprinting from one of the upper levels, hastily dressed and panting as he gripped the balcony's railing.

"Master Lucian!"

Both Lucian and Cage looked to the man. 

"The dampening field! It's down!" 

The black mages froze as the implication dawned upon them. They'd forgotten to reinforce the field. It was meant for smaller, more general and ambient spells, not huge, complicated creations such as this. They must have lit up half of Itheria with the amount of energy they'd utilized.

Fuck.

Cage only had enough time to throw a solitary barrier over the bone witch and her charge before the roof exploded.

Stone and wood broke under the calamitous pressure, the concrete foundation splitting across its middle. Mages were flung into crumbling walls and one of the witches let loose a blood-curdling shriek that rose above the din of the building's collapse. Both Cage and Lucian were thrown off their feet, the former slamming his head into the floor with enough force to daze him.

The Absolian lowered himself through the torn ceiling with misleading tranquility, taking in the wanton destruction with a gentle hum and a click of his tongue. His resemblance to the Sin of Pride was remarkable.

"What spell are you creating here?" the Absolian asked as he landed atop the piled rubble. Cage could have sworn it was only noon, but a sudden storm of black clouds had swept across the sky, darkening the world. "It must have been quite the feat."

The barrier over Saule and Sara had protected them from the main bulk of the downpour, but they'd still been pelted with smaller bits of concrete and splinters. Saule had her arms around Sara's middle and was dragging her from the Absolian toward the wall. 

"Mistress Voronin!" Saule screamed, and Cage spotted the Mistress slumped by a cracked section of flooring. Her middle was bloody, as was her paling face. 

Cage rolled to his knees and winced at the sudden, sharp pain radiating through his left hand. One of his fingers was broken, and he used his other hand to realign the bones and weave an invisible bit of cloth-like energy about the wound, holding the bone steady.

The Absolian noticed his swift spelling and turned to him. Aurelius smiled.

The sound of the Absolian's blow hitting Cage's hasty shield reverberated through the blasted foyer, though the creature hadn't actually moved. He'd only looked at Cage. The black mage gasped as his shield splintered and agony again ripped through his hand.

Liquid fire bubbled forth from his soul and Cage choked on the flames, swallowing before they could fully consume him. Not yet, not yet.

"Reconstitute the field!" he shouted, hoping one of the Black Iris men or Lucian heard. "Standard Thirty-Six with—." Another blow blocked, another shield broken. The Absolian was toying with him. "—with fourteen deviations!"

The spell he'd outlined would change the nature of the dampening field that had fizzled out when they'd summoned Sara from the Realm. Instead of suppressing latent energies, it would push them outside of the field, and the fourteen deviations within the construct would heighten the field's responding frequency.

In other words, it would siphon off some of the Absolian's power and dampen his abilities—if someone could get it working. If Cage could distract the bastard. If the Absolian was weakened and Darius succeeded in reclaiming his Seat, they might just walk out of this place alive. Might.

A sad smile graced his dirty face as Cage took one end of the ribbon in hand. "Just one more time, Fi'. I promise...."

He pulled, and the silver ribbon came free.

Again the fire came forth from his soul and Cage sank into the embers, his mind surrendering to a disassociating haze as a familiar presence that was not his own assumed control of his thoughts and being.

The Baal laughed, and his voice rushed forth from his shadeborn's lips as Cage sprung upright. The black mage felt his injuries screech in protest, but the Baal didn't. Unlike Sara Gaspard, Cage was a failed shadeborn. Imperfect. Veleph's shade was too overpowering, and they did not exist in harmony with one another. They were two songs in the same body, screaming different rhythms into the night. The shade did grant the Baal possession of the mage when the King Below desired to see Terrestria through mortal eyes.

"Break my soul, I hardly believe it. Iadlim's favorite little traitor, Aurelius. How's your rebellion going?" the Baal taunted as he wove a complicated series of images through Cage's mind. The black mage grasped the nature of the spells, though he didn't quite comprehend the entire scope of their effect. The Baal showed him again—then flooded the mage with power.

The Absolian's mouth opened to respond—and Cage slung green fire from his broken hand, fingers writhing to form a stronger, better shield. Aurelius was wise to the fire by now and he deflected it, cold eyes alight with malice as a taloned hand slashed through the air.

Cage's shield broke and he flew backward, striking one of the room's remaining pillars. Something broke and he slumped, droplets of scarlet dribbling past his lips.

"Getting too old for this."

<Cage.> Veleph's voice rose, cold and unforgiving. <Cage, move.>

Aurelius struck, his power shrieking like a wild cat as it lashed out, and Cage's hand moved on its own, diverting the attack so it collided with the far wall and shook the building.

Where is Lucian? Cage sought the other mage out but didn't see him, and he prayed the man had run for the field constructs on the upper floor. The witches were on their own side of the room with Sara partially under Saule's leg as she worked on Mistress Voronin's injuries. Stavros's witch wasn't moving.

Cage wagered they would've run by now if the building had a bloody door. The mirror was shattered to pieces.

Where in the blighted hell is Darius?

The Absolian turned on the women, his glamour shifting like a loose veil in a passing wind.

<Stop him.>

I'm trying to, you ancient asshole! Cage bit into his arm, and though his eyes streamed with painful tears, he spat the blood between his teeth and formed a new spell. Rubble shot upward as rebar curled from the concrete, crackling with unveiled static. In an instant, the solid rods of metal curled through the Absolian like a cat's claws, pinning him in place.

The High King's creation only scoffed as he summoned another tide of power. Cage's pulse sang in his ears as gravity lessened and bits of rock floated in the air. It was only the swift barrier thrown around the Absolian by Cage and the only remaining mage that saved them all from being disintegrated.

The metal bars piercing Aurelius melted, dispersing into burning particles with the rest of the debris enclosed in the barrier with him. The barrier burned to nothing moments later, and the Absolian remained wholly untouched.

Cage pulled a ragged breath through his torn lungs as Aurelius turned to the women again. They had no where to run.

We're doomed.