The distance closed rapidly. One hundred feet. Fifty feet. Twenty feet. "Die, traitor!" the lead city guard yelled. He lunged forward, thrusting his sharp steel sword directly at Caster’s chest. Caster did not dodge. He did not block with his wooden stick. He simply raised his empty left hand. A soft, gentle wave of warm golden light pulsed from his palm. The golden light hit the guard’s sharp steel sword. The sword did not explode. It did not melt. It simply turned into thousands of soft, beautiful, glowing yellow flower petals. The guard stumbled forward, holding an empty hilt. The yellow flower petals blew into his face, smelling like sweet summer honey. The guard gasped in absolute shock. He dropped the hilt and fell to his knees in the mud. The rest of the mob crashed into Caster. A large man swung a heavy iron pipe at Caster’s head. Caster blinked his golden eyes. The heavy iron pipe turned into a splash of clean, cool, fresh water. The water washed over Caster’s face

The Great Square had been a trap. Just one hour ago, Caster Spellbound had stood on the edge of the massive, glowing green crater. He had prepared to fight Inquisitor Graves to save his friend, Sikoa. But Graves had not stayed to fight. Graves was a coward and a spy. When Caster’s golden magic flared, Graves had smiled his terrible, sick smile. Graves had grabbed Sikoa, stepped backward into the toxic green light of the torn dimension, and vanished. Graves had teleported away. He took Sikoa with him, fleeing directly to the heavily guarded borders of the Crimson Alliance, leaving his twenty Enforcers behind to shoot at Caster. Caster could not save her then. He had to use his golden gravity to knock the Enforcers to the ground and escape back into the shadows. He had failed to catch her, but he refused to let her die. Now, Caster stood inside a small, damp, lead-lined safehouse deep beneath the city. The room was completely hidden. It was lit by a few dim, white magical lanterns.

General Verne stood frozen. She listened to the sounds coming from outside the concrete walls of the War Room. Normally, Fort Ironcliff was filled with the sound of marching boots and disciplined soldiers. But now, she heard shouting. She heard angry, betrayed voices. The thousands of soldiers in the fort had seen the broadcast too. They realized they were being sent to die for a lie. They realized their General was a monster. "General," a commander whispered, pulling his own pistol from his belt and stepping away from her. "You sold our boys to the furnaces."General Verne looked around the room. Her own officers were drawing their weapons. They were not pointing them at the door. They were pointing them at her. Her empire was collapsing in real-time. The truth was burning her fortress down faster than any magical bomb ever could. The exact same scene was happening miles away in the Crimson Alliance. Elias Thorpe stood in the command deck of his giant walking machine. He watch

The giant monster made of fused, melting dead bodies charged at Caster Spellbound. It was fifteen feet tall. It was a horrible mix of gray Glassview steel armor and blood-red Crimson Alliance leather. It had five heads and four twisted arms. It glowed with the sick, toxic green light of the torn dimension. The monster raised its sharp, broken bone spikes. It roared with five different voices all at once. It was coming to tear Caster to pieces in the muddy trench. Caster did not run. He did not pull out his sword. He stood perfectly still in the freezing rain. He reached deep into his empty chest and woke the tiny golden seed. Caster’s gray eyes ignited with blinding, solid golden light. The heavy, warm, absolute power of divine truth flooded his tired veins. He raised his right hand. He did not throw a fireball. He did not create a wall of gravity to crush the beast. He knew what this monster was. It was not evil. It was just a collection of dead soldiers who had been mutated by

A young Crimson soldier, barely nineteen years old, stared at the red glass tank on his gun. Before today, he had been told that the red energy was just highly concentrated blood magic drawn from the earth. He thought it was a miracle of science. But now, he knew the truth. He stared into the bubbling red liquid. Deep inside the glass, he saw the faint, ghostly shape of a human face. The face was twisting in eternal agony. He heard the faint, high-pitched, screaming sound coming from the glass. It was not the sound of magic. It was the sound of a living human soul burning in hell. The young soldier’s hands began to shake violently. He felt physically sick. "I am holding a person," the young boy whispered. Tears filled his eyes. "I am shooting people."He looked around. The other soldiers in the trench were doing the exact same thing. They were staring at their weapons in absolute horror. Grown men, hardened veterans with scars on their faces, were weeping openly. They realized t