Caster looked at the glass. The screen was glowing with a sick, deep, bruised purple color. The exact same color as the necrotic batteries. The exact same color as the Ash Warden’s dead dimension. And in the center of the purple screen, bright red numbers were climbing rapidly. 10%... 40%... 70%... The numbers stopped. 90%. "Ninety percent," Sikoa whispered. A single tear rolled out of her eye and fell down her scarred cheek. She felt completely, utterly betrayed. "The machine says your internal mana signature is a ninety percent match for the residual taint of the Ash Warden."Caster stared at the glowing red numbers. He could not breathe. He felt like the ground had just dropped out from beneath him. "Sikoa, the machine is broken," Caster gasped. He reached a hand out toward her. "It is picking up the background radiation of the room! The central node is right beneath us! It is making a mistake!""Do not touch me!" Sikoa screamed. She slashed her dagger through the air, forci

The dark hand reached out. It was covered in swirling, pitch-black ash. The fingers ended in sharp, freezing shadows. The hand moved straight toward Sikoa’s throat. Sikoa was frozen in place. She knelt on the smooth white stone floor of the Grand Archive. She stared up at the man who used to be her friend. Caster Spellbound’s face was completely blank. His eyes were missing. In their place, two terrifying, pale gray flames burned with the cold, dead light of the Ash Warden. "The vessel is mine," the heavy, grinding voice of the dark god echoed from Caster’s lips. "And the judgment begins."The black hand was only one inch away from Sikoa’s skin. The freezing cold radiated from the dark magic. Sikoa could feel the skin on her neck turning numb. She closed her one good eye. She prepared to die. Suddenly, a loud, terribly human scream ripped through the silent room. "NO!" It was Caster’s voice. It did not sound like grinding stone. It sounded like an old, broken man screaming in abso

Caster lifted his scarred, burned hands. "Every time I used my 'golden magic' to compress those batteries," Caster whispered, "I was actually opening a door in my soul. The tiny fragment of the Warden inside me drank the dark radiation from the batteries. It drank the cold entropy. It was like feeding raw meat to a starving wolf."Sikoa gasped. "General Verne’s weapons factory... it wasn't just building bombs. It was an incubator. It was growing the god inside you.""Yes," Caster nodded. "But the purple batteries were only the beginning."Caster looked at Solon. "The real feast started when the war began," Caster said. "When Elias Thorpe marched his Crimson Engine across the plains. When his chaotic red blood magic crashed into the cold purple magic of the Glassview cannons.""The planar explosion," Solon whispered. "The explosion ripped the sky open," Caster said. "It caused the ancient Blackthorn Network to reboot automatically. Millions of minor rifts opened across the continent

"It is a bioweapon," Caster explained. His voice was completely calm. He was explaining a science experiment, not his own death. "It is tied directly to my specific, unique magical heartbeat. It is tied to my soul."Sikoa stared at him. She slowly reached out and took the cold silver ring from his hand. "I am going to climb down the ladder," Caster said, looking deeply into Sikoa’s one good eye. "I am going to plug myself into the machine. I will start the shutdown sequence for the global network."Caster pointed a dirty finger at the silver ring in Sikoa’s hand. "While I am working, the Warden will try to take over," Caster said. "You must stand at the top of the hatch. You must watch my face carefully. If I am successful, I will shut the machine down, and I will climb back up."Caster swallowed hard. "But," Caster whispered, his voice dropping to a heavy, terrible tone. "If the pale gray fire returns to my eyes. If the black ash covers my face. If you see the monster take control

Sikoa slowly opened her dirty, bandaged fingers. Resting in the center of her palm was the simple, smooth silver ring. It was cold. It was heavy. It was a weapon designed to murder her best friend. Sikoa looked at the ring. Then, she looked up at Caster’s face. She saw a man who had lived for two hundred years. She saw a man who was covered in dirt, blood, and gray ash. She saw his bruised cheeks and his broken nose. She saw the absolute, naked terror in his eyes. He was terrified of dying. He was terrified of the dark god inside him. But despite his terror, he was willing to let the monster eat his mind just to save her and Solon. Solon watched them. The pale archivist was completely paralyzed. He leaned against the ladder, barely breathing. He understood the gravity of the moment. If Sikoa kept the ring, Caster would die. If Sikoa did not keep the ring, the world would die. It was an impossible, horrible math problem. "Sikoa," Caster pleaded, his voice breaking. "Please. Get r