The rain fell like divine punishment, slamming into the rooftops of Grimglade City with the intensity of a wizard’s hangover. Lightning cracked across the sky like it owed the world an explanation. And there, in the abandoned ruins of Warehouse 9, sat Rico “The Alchemist” Maldino, cross-legged on a levitating pillow, surrounded by half-burnt incense, broken potion bottles, and a questionable smoothie.He was shirtless, his scarred chest rising and falling with every deep breath. A tattoo of a smiling skull winked from his left pec, and a golden chain with a phoenix pendant glimmered against the candlelight. He wasn’t just meditating — he was transcending.“I am one with peace. I am one with the universe. I am not about that life anymore,” he chanted, holding a yoga pose so advanced it probably broke a few ancient laws of physics.Just then, BOOOOM!The rusty warehouse door was blasted off its hinges, flying across the room and smashing into a stack of empty enchanted protein powder co

Time froze. Not literally — but it sure felt like it.Rico Maldino stood motionless, heart pounding, as the shadows coiled and took shape around the warehouse. At their center: Varnox — once a high-ranking sorcerer general, now presumed dead for five years. Rico had helped put him in the grave himself... or so he thought.Varnox stepped forward, face shrouded beneath his dark hood. His eyes glowed with ancient corruption, pulsing red like molten lava in deep cave veins.“I saw you fall,” Rico said, wand in hand. “I watched you explode into a flock of evil ravens!”Varnox chuckled — a low, chilling sound. “You always underestimated my contingency spells, Alchemist.”Rico didn’t flinch. “You always underestimated my aim.”Juno stood behind Rico, arms raised, fingers twitching with charged illusion magic. “Tell us what you want, Shadow Boy.”Varnox ignored her, gesturing to the crates of glowing Enchanta behind him. “I don’t want anything, Rico. I have everything. Your old formula, your

The sun never really rose in Smogtown, it just decided not to fall asleep. A thick haze of alchemical fumes floated above cracked towers and crooked chimneys, painting everything in a toxic glow. This was the kind of place where spells went to die, and where Rico Maldino once thrived.Back before he was “The Alchemist,” before the robes and titles, he was just Rico, the street rat with quick hands and quicker feet. And Smogtown was his old playground.Now it was the last place he wanted to be.“Remind me why we’re here again?” Juno asked, swatting away a floating rat with wings and a bad attitude.“Because I need a war tactician,” Rico replied, hood up, cloak wrapped tight. “Someone crazy enough to draw up battle plans in the middle of a noodle shop.”“I don’t see how that narrows it down.”“It does in Smogtown.”They turned a corner and approached a crumbling building with a glowing neon sign that read: “Xiao-Mage’s Wok & War Room.”Juno stopped. “You’re joking.”“I wish I was.”---

The sky turned red.Not metaphorically. Literally — a swirling crimson vortex had opened above the city, crackling with lightning and spewing the occasional lost cow. Varnox’s Spire of Screams pulsed with magic, a tower so tall it scraped the clouds and insulted gravity itself.Rico Maldino stood on the balcony of the rebel base, wearing enchanted armor made from dragon scale and street junk. Around him, his ragtag army prepped for war.Misfit mercenaries. Retired bounty hunters. Mage bikers. One very angry librarian with a rocket wand.“Tell me again why we’re attacking a flying tower protected by death magic and guarded by elite shadow assassins?” Juno asked, loading her crossbow.“Because,” Rico said, lighting a cigar made of calming herbs, “he pissed me off.”Zara Flame landed beside them, flame-bladed sword over her shoulder. “Also, he put a bounty on your head. A big one.”“How big?” Juno asked.“Like, ‘people-who-don’t-even-know-you-want-to-kill-you’ big.”“Charming.”---The B

Peace is boring.That’s what Rico Maldino told himself as he stared at a stack of rebel council reports, most of which read:“Wand tax riots in South District.”“Lava rats infestation (again).”“Someone enchanted the mayor’s chair to scream.”“Wasn’t me,” Juno said, mouth full of pastry.“You’re the only one with a cursed cherry wand,” Zara pointed out.“I’m being falsely profiled.”Rico ignored them both. Something was wrong. It wasn’t just instinct—it was a tickle in the air. A magical itch he hadn’t felt since the last time he was set up.The problem wasn’t outside the city.It was inside.---A Spy Among RebelsIt began with whispers.Supplies vanished. Surveillance spells went blank. An entire outpost fell silent overnight, only to be found days later, burned to ash — no survivors, no tracks, no answers.Rico gathered the core team in the war room: Zara, Juno, Fritz the goblin, and Munk, their two-headed strategist (one head was a pessimist, the other head was just hungry).“We’v