Nikolaos was sipping wine in his mage tower. He was a proud bat-kin noble of the Cabal. Their armies of magical constructs were marching on the Empire even as he sat in his comfortable home. It was a true showing of power. Convenience was the greatest expression of power, in his opinion.

  That was when the alarm in the town outside his tower began to blare. Someone was blowing the horns to the south of the city. This was not common in the Cabal capital of Trivante. Protocol dictated that all mages needed to respond when the alarm was sounded; otherwise, worse duties would be assigned, like marching with the automata.

  With a sigh, Nikolaos put his wine aside and headed for his teleportation room. While every other nation relied on crystals, his nation had discovered that the same effect could be achieved with ritual circles. The best part was that the circles could be encoded to one’s own unique mana signature. He still posted guards outside the room, just in case his peers wanted to play pranks, but it was far more convenient than the typical teleportation method.

  Getting rid of teleportation crystals also meant that the peasantry—made up of the magicless masses—could not leave as easily. As a result, they were far more dedicated to their current living situation.

  Stepping onto the appropriate circle, he was suddenly standing on the southern wall. Looking around, he discovered he was only the third mage to arrive. Strolling up to a mage he recognized, he peered past the wall but saw nothing.

  “Grand Magus Faust,” he greeted the oddly colored fox-kin. Unlike most foxes, Faust had black-and-white fur. His sharp eyes never left the horizon.

  “Dragons were spotted,” Faust answered before the question could even be asked. “It is simply a precaution, but we should make sure the shields are fully charged.”

  With a nod, Nikolaos walked up to the nearest charging crystal. There was one on every parapet. They were merely the tips of a crystal lattice that ran through the entire outer wall of the city. It was not untrue to call it a reservoir. Responsibility rotated, but it was the duty of every mage in the city to ensure it stayed full. When Nikolaos touched the crystal, however, his brows knitted together.

  “Why is the reservoir so low?” he asked Faust.

  Faust gave him a look of confusion before touching another crystal. He immediately clicked his tongue.

  “Looks like we will be having words with a great many mages,” he fumed. “They probably drained it to get the automata marching.” He sighed deeply. “It seems we will be here a while.”

  “Indeed,” Nikolaos growled. “This is negligence of the highest order. We should levy penalties. What is the point of projecting power if they leave the city vulnerable?”

  “It will take a great many mages to refill this to any measurable degree,” Faust noted. “Just how many automata did they march with? I hope those fools did not leave with our entire stockpile.”

  “They probably did,” Nikolaos replied with a sigh. “It is procedure to maintain enough automata that they can either fully drain the city or fully recharge it. So they likely took everything.”

  Stolen novel; please report.

  Faust continued to mutter curses under his breath. He was just starting to inform the universe exactly what it could do with those fools when flashes of elemental energy appeared in the distance. Gouts of fire, forks of lightning, and the more esoteric glow of celestial energy lit the night sky.

  Something tickled at the back of Nikolaos’s mind, but he could not place it.

  “All those attacks were aimed at the ground,” Faust observed. “Soldier, blow the horn again. Any mage in the city who does not respond this time is to be shackled and dragged to the wall. Signal both the alarm and the All Call.”

  The nearby soldiers sprinted to spread the message.

  As they did, the pieces began to fall into place in Nikolaos’s mind. He could not see clearly in the darkness, but few dungeons would deploy ground forces against dragons.

  An explosion shook the city. A directed blast erupted from the ground and tore into the sky. Several dragons were ripped from the air, their bodies flung aside like broken toys. The displaced air ruffled Nikolaos’s fur even from this distance.

  Nikolaos risked a spell. He preferred sound magic, but light was not beyond him. Conjuring a bow of light, he loosed an arrow of solid radiance. When it burst, his blood ran cold.

  What was revealed was a wall of black and red scales. The illumination climbed higher, revealing the head of a massive serpent. The creature was wider around than the wall was tall—an impossibility made flesh. Nikolaos had never heard of a creature so vast. Its furious serpentine eyes tracked the remaining dragons in the sky.

  He watched as a pouch at the base of its jaw swelled, then violently compressed. Another devastating explosion tore from its maw, ripping the final dragons from the heavens.

  “Wyrms don’t get that big,” Faust whispered in horror.

  “Apparently they do now,” Nikolaos muttered as he poured the last of his mana into the city’s shields.

  The Wyrm descended upon the fallen dragons, tearing into them with savage hunger. As it fed, it grew larger still. Faust and Nikolaos watched in mesmerized horror. It took barely an hour for the creature to finish its grisly feast. By then, the sun had begun to rise, casting enough light for them to see its eye—an eye that turned and locked onto the city.

  The Wyrm began to slither forward, malice burning in its gaze as it closed the distance with terrifying speed.

  Neither Nikolaos nor Faust attempted to flee as panic swept through the city. Some citizens tried to escape through the opposite gate. Others manned the walls as if they could oppose the monster. A handful of mages arrived to reinforce the barrier, while others teleported as far away as they could.

  The Wyrm reached the city and nudged the shimmering barrier with its snout before rearing back. It studied the city for a long moment, its gaze raking over every detail it could perceive.

  A whimper escaped Nikolaos as the pouch at the base of its jaw began to swell once more.

  An air-shattering roar split the sky. For a creature of its size, the interruption was astonishing. A chitinous, winged cat with a spiked tail fell from the clouds like a meteor, slamming into the Wyrm’s skull. Nikolaos saw the Wyrm’s massive eyes roll back from the impact.

  Then the rest of the pack arrived, diving from above the clouds like birds of prey. They struck the Wyrm with ruthless precision. Each impact rang out with the sounds of cracking scales, shattering bone, and grinding stone.

  The Wyrm’s pouch began to expand again, threatening another catastrophic attack. Several manticores tore into it, rending flesh until the internal fluids erupted outward. Orange liquid spilled across the Wyrm’s body and splashed against the ground outside the barrier.

  The Wyrm screamed its defiance, but the sound only drove the manticores into a greater frenzy. They swarmed it mercilessly. The creature reared back, preparing to smash its head into the ground to dislodge them—then froze as a violent shudder ran through its massive body.

  It collapsed forward, slumping against the barrier and slowly sliding down its curved surface before coming to rest outside the city. When its bulk struck the ground, the barrier shattered like a ruptured soap bubble.

  Blood rained down upon Trivante as those who had witnessed the battle struggled to comprehend what they had seen.

  Nikolaos and Faust exchanged a silent look as blood soaked into their fur. Without a word, they both understood that their priorities had just undergone a dramatic realignment.