In an instant, the smile disappeared. Not that the girl’s face had changed—the entire girl had vanished. So had the table. The tea-set. The vines around Favel. The clearing itself—they weren’t even in the same place anymore. The garden had stretched and grown in the dimming light into a forest that loomed dark overhead. Brinn could still make up the girl’s laughter on the chill breeze as Favel fell to the ground. His chair had also vanished. At least the act was over, but the real threat was finally here.

  Favel shot up.

  “Keep your head down, and don’t get in my way,” said the elf and charged off, a haste spell already active. Brinn gawked for a moment, then chased after him as he heard rustling in the trees, sore muscles creaking and groaning with the effort. Brinn wasn’t going to keep up with the wizard, but he didn’t need to. He just followed the lingering signature of the elf’s mana, icy and chaotic, as it traced between the trees. As Brinn expected, the wizard’s figure blurred again—and he was gone, a trail of mana behind him. Brinn slowed his sprint. He needed to pace himself. Part of him resented Favel for immediately leaving him behind like that—but it was the right decision. He wasn’t a fighter. He was there to support, and to blow up the traps that Spinny couldn’t disarm. It had been a fluke they’d had to rely on his skills so heavily this far.

  No. Brinn wasn’t in over his head—at least not yet. He was older than he looked—every alchemist was, and Favel was treating him like a kid.

  He kept his eyes focused on the ground a few paces in front of him to ensure he didn’t slip into a ditch, and stole quick glances to his peripherals when the coast was clear. The forest was silent, save the rustling of his own feet through the underbrush. Ominous as it was, that turned out to be a blessing. After continuing after the mana signature for some ways Brinn heard it clearly when the first of the girl’s sewn monstrosities neared him, chasing after in a four legged sprint. The thing lumbered over a fallen log to his right, its full form haphazardly obscured by the nearby bushes. He could smell the stench of putrid flesh as more of the things darted through the trees behind him, but something was wrong. They weren’t running after him. They were running after Favel, too, towards a break in the tree line that Brinn could just barely make out as he ran.

  Except for one, that didn’t seem to be following the same plan. It made a beeline directly for Brinn, crashing through underbrush. He dodged the first pounce, but it sent him stumbling. He slammed his shoulder into a branch and slipped face-first into the forest muck. Slowly, almost mockingly, a vine reached for him. He scrambled away, crawling, and then to his feet. He ran. The creature ran off past him, but just when Brinn thought it might join the others, it doubled back and made another charge. His mind raced. They were smart. Maybe he could scare them off? Brinn slowed, trying to bait the sewn undead beast into pouncing ahead of him in its next assault—and got hit with the force of a carriage. It took him from the side, sent him spinning away, nearly throwing him off his feet again; but his gambit had worked. Some of the others, farther off, began to close in on him, but the assaulting creature had misjudged its attack, knocking Brinn away instead of taking him to the ground with it. The creature rolled, collided with a tree, but Brinn wasn’t done. He threw a vial. The contents were a cool, dull yellow—until they shattered across the creature and ignited as the liquid met air.

  It hissed and burned; and Brinn pushed his mana into it to catalyze the reaction. In an instant, the forest and Brinn were splattered in rich, black ectoplasm. A few more that had begun to close in on Brinn quieted, getting their distance from the sudden intensity and heat. He couldn’t tell how many were after him, but as he chased after the thin trail of Favel’s haste spell, he began to make out a strange light in the distance. The cold blue of Favel’s mana that left an unstable fizzing taste in his mouth when he stared at it too long, and the subtle shifts in reality that implied the wizard and their hostess were fighting—but another light. A familiar, golden glow. Brinn’s heart soared as he redoubled his efforts.

  Could it be? He thought, as he charged into a sudden break in the tree line and bore witness to a strange sight.

  A massive horde of sewn abominations filled yet another clearing identical to the last. Creatures charged past Brinn from the treeline on either side to join the fray, yet most of the creatures seemed to be wandering around aimlessly, the real fight was happening above their heads. Brinn could barely follow it with his eyes—he’d been watching Favel’s haste spell for years, the strange sputtering way the ice mana seemed to flow, where heat normally powered a haste spell. He’d never convinced Favel to tell him how he’d managed that.

  But a group of undead was stirring. Moving. Something in its center surged, and Brinn saw that same golden light. He was focused on another figure, cutting through the horde in repeated waves of golden light: Alexander. Brinn roared in triumph as the Paladin smashed his way through the undead towards him.

  “Thought I was the only one left,” shouted Alexander over the fray. His armor and face were covered with ectoplasm, like he’d killed hundreds of the beasts; but that was only right. It was what Alexander had sworn to do: destroy undeath, wherever it reared its ugly head.

  “You may be, soon,” said Brinn, dodging to the side as a body shot from the massive horde of beasts and made a beeline straight at him. He could hear great rushes of air and the crackling of Favel’s ice magic as the wizard dueled the girl, but he could barely see it over the crowding undead.

  Alexander crashed into another aimless group of undead and Brinn followed close behind. The Paladin’s holy aura spread around Brinn, searing any undead that got past his blade. Brinn had only two explosive vials left, he couldn’t simply . Alexander would be able to protect him until he ran out of mana. The magical show around them as Favel launched blast after blast after the girl who seemed to be doing…very little in response. Every so often, she would dart forwards, swing at Favel with something—likely the massive sewing needle that she’d held like a scepter at the table. Despite the starless night, the magical duel and Alexander’s holy strength lit the clearing up in flashing colors. Brinn stared as he tried to think of something he could do, some way to contribute.

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  “You got any tricks up your sleeve?”

  “No,” said Brinn. “Maybe you should have brought a cleric?”

  Alexander guffawed as he strained against the weight of the undead, trying to keep his barrier up.

  He grabbed a handful of the Frostwheat seeds he’d harvested earlier. Raw ingredient alchemy was shoddy work, but he wouldn’t be making any more potions mid-battle. Pressing his mana into it, a crackle of icy magic flooded his palms, amplified by the ingredient’s power. He pressed his hands down into the grass, and imagined his mana seeping into it like groundwater. For a moment, nothing happened. Brinn flooded more mana through the seeds—nothing. He listened close with his magical senses, trying to find the right strength—and there it was. He felt resistance. The raw ingredients fought him, for a moment, worse than he remembered. Then, something in them broke, and the seeds popped. With them, came a wave of cold mana that spread from his hands in a slowly growing circle. It seemed to bleed into the grass, and slowly, he could feel it begin to freeze And grew. And grew. Slowly, Brinn emptied all of his mana into the makeshift spell, covering a wide swathe of the clearing in ice just thick enough to slicken the ground.

  Alexander’s plate begin to crunch in the frozen grass. When the Paladin realized what Brinn was doing, he took a low, steady stance—and together they watched the undead around them collapse from a raging horde into a tangle of waving limbs. The entire mess of them was so packed together, and constantly moving in reaction to Alexander, Favel, and Amelia; that it was impossible to move without them bumping into each other, sending them skidding across the ice in every direction. This bought Brinn and Alexander some time. Only the occasional monster managed to get a footing on the ice and leap towards Alexander.

  “So,” said Brinn. “Where in the hells have you been?”

  “I turned around in the hallway and you were all gone. Then I walked through a door, and…”

  “Tea party?”

  “Tea party.”

  “Yeah, same thing happened to us. Seen the others?”

  “No,” said Alexander as he cleaved an entire abomination in half with a single blow. He hesitated for a moment to catch his breath.

  “Like I said, thought I was the last one left.” There was an unbelievable sense of relief in his voice.

  It was a good thing they’d been adventuring together for so long. They fell into the same rhythm they always did, Favel taking the offensive while Alexander held the line and Brinn tried to interfere with the enemy—but Brinn was out of ideas. He stood, back to Alexander, gazing towards the tree-line to make sure none of the beasts tried to flank them. Suddenly, a figure shot out of the mass of enemies from the side and appeared next to them. Favel. The elf was haggard, and exhausted. He had taken some blows—but he also seemed to glow with a manic energy. Brinn raised an eyebrow as he watched the mana twist and bend in the man’s body.

  “She won’t stop teleporting. It’s like she has an endless supply of energy.”

  “Drawing directly on a phylactery to enhance her mana,” said Alexander, confident but frowning as a crackling golden barrier formed around him. Alexander grunted with the effort. The man was starting to shake. Mana starvation. Brinn was feeling the effect start to come on himself, a cold shiver spreading through his body that couldn’t be explained by the thin layer of ice below him.

  “You learned an ice spell?” Favel looked down at the slick ice that Brinn had created, it seemed to shift out of the way as Favel’s steps hit the ground, each footfall landing on soft, stable grass.

  “Mana filtration with raw ingredients.”

  The ice mage sniffed.

  “You do any damage?” said Brinn.

  “I can’t even get her to stay in one place.”

  The undead abominations beat against the golden dome with their sewn-together fists. The cool intelligence behind their eyes was what chilled Brinn the most. These creatures were built to hunt, chase, and kill.

  “This won’t hold long,” said Alexander. Brinn watched the golden flow of order mana traveling through the man’s body and into the dome with every passing moment. “Favel. You’re going to have to do it.”

  The elf began to pace back and forth in the dome. He looked even more troubled than he had when they’d only been about to die.

  Brinn didn’t know what “it” was, but he hoped Favel did it soon.

  But the elf didn’t answer. Brinn watched in horror as the dome began to dissipate and thin. Cracks spread through it like glass. Favel stopped pacing. The first undead fist punched a hole into the dome. The second. Brinn crouched into a fighting stance, activating his alchemical flame, ready to burn the face off of whatever inevitably tried to kill him. In the distance, he could see Amelia—floating, needle in hand. A grin on her face.

  Favel spread his arms wide, and Brinn felt the mana in the dome begin to shift. The temperature began to rise.

  As the dome collapsed around them, Brinn watched in horror as the elf spoke a single word. A word that ate into his mind, dug into his very soul, and seemed to sit there. Brinn’s eyes widened. An invocation.

  “Burn.”

  A massive surge of heat mana surged inside of Favel. Brinn stared, confused. He felt a spell—a seal—shatter, unweave itself into nothing—but it wasn’t the dome, it was inside of the wizard, layered in every breath he took, invisible until you were looking for it.

  In an instant every last drop of ice mana in the air…changed.

  A torrent of white hot flame erupted through the clearing, blinding Brinn as it burned the creatures in front of him to ash. Brinn smelled the hair on his arms begin to burn. Again, he hadn’t the time to get his goggles from his belt. He made a note to start wearing them on his head, as he blinked away the massive blotch burnt into his vision. Wiping the tears from his eyes, he stood straight. The three of them were alone in the clearing. Yet somehow, their enemy still stood. Across from them, stood Amelia. Much of the flesh on her body was burnt off—though her dress stayed oddly spotless. Brinn could see mana pulse up from the garden, healing her. On the ground, now, the same smile on her face.

  “Father told me you were holding back…and the rest of you barely even played. It won’t be so easy tomorrow.” she said, and with a small burst of light—she was gone. Brinn felt the clearing begin to shrink, the forest closing in around them—and there they stood, in the middle of a regular, nighttime forest.

  “You don’t use fire magic?!” demanded Brinn, rounding on Favel in an instant. “Why the hell would you lie about that?!”