The mission began under the cover of a suffocating darkness.

  Alaric, Duke Thorne, Commander Bristane, and three elite knights moved silently through the dense Blackwood Forest. They were miles away from the main road, deep in the sector where Alaric had previously found the artifact.

  "Here," Alaric whispered, halting the group.

  He raised a hand, his mana flaring silently. He casted his ever so reliable spell.

  "Creo Aqua: Deep Mist"

  A thick, unnatural fog rolled out from his position, swallowing the trees and dampening the sound of their footsteps. It reduced visibility to almost zero, turning the forest into a world of gray.

  "Let’s camp here," Alaric signaled. "One kilometer from the artifact's range."

  They settled in for the wait. Alaric didn't know when the enemy would come, only that the magic stone was running dry. It could be for hours or days.

  The wait was grueling. For two days and two nights, the six of them lay prone in the damp earth, wrapped in camouflage cloaks that suppressed their mana signatures. They spoke only with hand signals. They ate dry rations. The cold seeped into their bones, but Duke Thorne didn't flinch. He lay like a stone statue, his eyes fixed on the distant clearing through the fog.

  Finally, on the second night, Alaric’s mana sense twitched.

  Movement.

  "Contact," Alaric mouthed.

  Through the shifting mists, silhouettes emerged. There were five of them. Four were heavily armored mercenaries, carrying weapons. But the fifth figure stood out. He wore a long, dark robe that trailed over the forest floor, and even from this distance, Alaric could feel the density of his mana.

  That one, Alaric analyzed, narrowing his eyes. The one in the robe. He is strong. Far stronger than a standard mage.

  The group didn't ambush immediately. Alaric, Thorne, and the knights lowered their breathing, suppressing their mana to the absolute minimum to blend perfectly with the background radiation of the forest.

  They watched as the robed man knelt by the base of a large, checked out the tree. His guards formed a perimeter.

  The robed man began to dig. Moments later, he pulled up the clay cat statue. Its purple aura was dim, flickering like a dying candle. He reached into his pouch and produced a fresh, glowing magic stone pulsing with vibrant, malicious energy and swapped it into the artifact.

  Beside Alaric, the air grew hot. Duke Thorne’s hands were gripping the dirt so hard his knuckles were white. He was trembling, not with fear, but with a simmering rage.

  These were the bastards. These were the men who had driven his territory into chaos, killed his people, and forced his everyone into danger.

  Alaric pleaded to Thorne, signaling him to wait.

  We can't just ambush them, Alaric thought, his mind racing. If we charge, they might have a suicide pact. Or a trap. If they die before we get information, this will never end.

  He needed to incapacitate them instantly. He needed something far faster than humans.

  Alaric stood up slowly in the fog, hidden from view. He took a deep breath and began to weave a spell he had already tried in his days in the academy.

  "Creo Ignis: White Flame."

  He superheated the air between his palms, heating the atoms until they became plasma. In plasma the electrons stripped out of the nucleus.

  Protons to the right hand. Electrons to the left.

  He visualized and manipulated the heavy air particles, the nucleus settling in his right palm and the light, electrons gathering in his left. The potential difference grew immense. The air crackled. The charges screamed to bridge the gap, creating a jagged stream of pure lightning arcing between his hands.

  He didn't just let it arc, he aimed and manipulated the pure lightning with mana to shoot outward of his palm.

  Zap.

  The lightning stream shot out from his hands, tearing through the fog at a speed no human reflex could match.

  BOOM!

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  The four armored mercenaries convulsed instantly as the electricity washed over them. Their muscles locked, their nerves overloaded, and they collapsed into the mud paralyzed but alive. Alaric had carefully modulated the voltage enough to incapacitate and not enough to fry them.

  But the robed man was different.

  In the fraction of a second it took for the lightning to travel, the priest sensed the attack. A shimmering barrier flared around him, deflecting the arc into the ground.

  "Now!" Alaric shouted.

  Thorne exploded from the brush, a juggernaut of iron and rage, swinging his greatsword.

  But the priest moved with unnatural speed. He kicked off the ground, launching himself backward thirty feet in a single, fluid motion, creating distance between himself and the ambushers.

  The priest landed lightly on a tree branch, looking down at them. He didn't look afraid. He looked amused.

  "We got busted huh?" the priest chuckled, his voice smooth and mocking. "That's a shame. This game was so entertaining."

  Thorne roared, pointing his sword at the man. "How dare you create so much suffering for my citizens! And who are you?!"

  The priest laughed, a cold, grating sound. "No need to know. You lots will be dead, when the time comes anyway. Why struggle?"

  He reached into his robe and pulled out a silver chain. Dangling from it was a dark, spherical magic stone that pulsed with a terrifying, erratic rhythm.

  "Anyway," the priest sighed, swinging the chain. "Can't keep evidence."

  Alaric’s eyes widened. He sensed the mana inside that stone. It wasn't like a normal spell but rather a collapse. A ridiculous amount of mana was being forced into a single point. Alaric felt it before.

  "Get back!" Alaric screamed. "That’s an enchanted weapon! It’s about to activate!"

  The priest didn't throw it at Alaric or Thorne. He threw it at the ground, right in the middle of his four paralyzed guards.

  He’s destroying the witnesses, Alaric realized with horror.

  The stone hit the mud. Immediately, the world seemed to warp.

  It was a Dark Magic Singularity. It was similar to the spell Demon General Malakor had used, but volatile and unstable. It detonated.

  The sphere of darkness expanded at near light speed. It was a void that ate light, sound, and matter.

  "No!"

  Alaric knew what that void was capable of. It would atomize anything it touched. He couldn't save everyone, but he had to try.

  He thrust his hands forward. The magic circle inscribed on his gloves flared blindingly bright.

  "Null Magic: Magical & Physical Barrier x20."

  Layer after layer of translucent hexagonal shields materialized in front of the expanding void. One, two, ten, twenty barriers stacked in an instant.

  CRASH.

  The singularity slammed into the barriers. They shattered like glass, one after another, but they did their job and slowed the expansion just enough.

  Alaric lunged forward with wind-enhanced speed. He grabbed the ankle of the closest paralyzed mercenary and yanked him backward, throwing him clear just as the black sphere expanded to its full five-meter radius.

  The other three mercenaries didn't scream. They simply ceased to exist. The ground, the trees, and the air inside the sphere were spaghettified and erased, spilling the atoms into the void.

  While Alaric was saving, Duke Thorne did not hesitate.

  He maneuvered around the expanding sphere of destruction, moving with a speed that was unbelievable for his size. He launched himself at the priest, his large sword glowing with aura.

  "You won't escape!" Thorne bellowed.

  The priest watched the blade come toward his neck. He didn't block or flinch. He just smiled.

  He jumped back, his body seeming to blur and distort in the air, dodging Thorne’s strike by a hair's breadth.

  "Well, Ironwall," the priest said, landing softly a dozen meters away. "You're strong, so let me at least introduce myself."

  He bowed theatrically.

  "I’m Priest Raul of the Covenant. It will be dangerous if I fight you guys too long, so let's not meet you ever."

  He laughed again. And then, he didn't run. He didn't even fly.

  Pop.

  He vanished.

  There was no smoke bomb. No invisibility spell. Alaric immediately flared his Mana Sonar, sweeping the entire forest for a signal.

  Nothing.

  The man was gone. Erased from the area completely.

  Alaric stood panting, his gloves smoking from the strain of the barriers. He ran over to Thorne, who was hacking at the empty air in frustration.

  "What happened?" Alaric asked, scanning the perimeter. "Where did he go?"

  Thorne lowered his sword, his face grim. "He was a member of the Covenant. He is a dark magic user... so he likely had some spatial manipulatory abilities and teleported."

  Thorne spat on the ground. "I've only seen that kind of magic when high-ranking Demons. But a human? Doing that?"

  Alaric felt a headache coming on.

  Teleporting opponents? Yes even Malakor cut through space while traveling he thought, sighing in deep annoyance.The problems just keep getting stronger.

  He looked down at the one mercenary he had managed to drag out of the singularity’s range. The man was unconscious, drooling from the paralysis, but alive.

  "Well," Alaric said, wiping sweat from his brow. "At least we saved one. We can get some info."

  Thorne turned to look at Alaric. The Duke’s eyes weren't filled with anger anymore. There was a profound shock in them. He looked at the smoking crater where the singularity had been, then at the unconscious man, and finally at Alaric’s hands.

  Lightning magic... Thorne thought, watching the young Viscount. No one has magic like that. And those barriers... he tackled against a singularity in a heartbeat.

  Thorne shivered, realizing that the boy he had protected was rapidly becoming something else entirely.

  When did he even learn that? Thorne wondered. What a terrifying monster he has become.