The Null Tower was a dead thing — and dead things stank.

  Fauna said as much as she and Klax approached the perimeter of wards. The barrier shimmered high above them, faint and gossamer to the eye, but to those sensitive to the weave of mana, it was a strangling dome. No Skill could pass through it. No Spell could ignite inside it. Even the Archon's powers were nothing here.

  So the Guardians of the Archon were here to deal with that.

  As Tara wiped the blood of the old guard off her daggers, the remainder of the team converged at the base of the tower, all of them clad in [Onixian] leather armor that conveyed near-total invisibility under cover of night.

  Borlor had really outdone himself.

  “You really haven’t grown out of using such witty one-liners, have you?” Klax asked Tara, a smile forming behind his facemask.

  “Oh, come on big guy,” the Minxit hissed. “I know you find them purrrfect.”

  “Another one of those, and I’ll raise the alarm so both of you can at least get a room.”

  Fauna parted the two of them, totally serious, totally committed. Instantly, the pair straightened up. With the task they had before them, they couldn’t afford a single misstep.”

  “The bodies are hidden?” she asked.

  Klax nodded. “The Drytchlings have them in the tunnels. We’re clear.”

  Fauna allowed herself a smirk of satisfaction. Phase one was complete.

  It had taken the Geomancers of Cormyr a long time to tunnel under the city. They’d thought the task impossible until Ethan revealed to them the secret that would form the backbone of their infiltration strategy against the capital: the vacant tunnels of Moratavious, which had lain dormant ever since his demise, ran right under Eastmarch. All it had taken was a month or two of digging to link up with them and finish what the dark Shroud himself had started two centuries ago.

  Now, three hybrids of Sanctum had made it inside the barrier of the last human stronghold on Argwyll that resisted them. What they did now would make history – and all of them knew it.

  “It’s worse than it was last week,” Fauna muttered as they crouched in the shadow of the tower. “They’ve reinforced the pulse lines. Every floor of the Null Tower’s drawing from a central core.”

  “Meaning what?” Klax asked, eyes narrowing.

  “Meaning if we cut the core, we cut everything.” She glanced toward the spire. “We drop the shield.”

  “And Brightmyr screams,” Tara added, checking the balance on her curved blade. “Music to my ears.”

  Fauna nodded once, though she shivered at the thought of finally confronting that vile woman. She’d been keeping watch on her – in mouse form – for the past fortnight. The spell was simple enough that most high-level mages didn’t even bother trying to detect it. As with most humans who practiced the Art of magic, pride would be this Casssandra’s downfall

  “It’s time,” Fauna whispered. “Let’s begin. And remember: quiet. Once the barrier drops, everyone in this city will turn their eyes towards the tower. After that – it’s up to Ethan.”

  The three of them thus resolved, they proceeded with the plan.

  The back wall of the tower was lightly guarded — likely because no one had ever made it this far. Tara counted four sentries. Not guards. Not soldiers. Apprentices, barely older than her students back in Sanctum. She pitied them.

  A little.

  She drew a second blade and ghosted through the street. One soft breath later, three of them were clutching at their own throats, blood frothing from mouths that never got to cry out.

  The last reached for his staff. Klax stepped out of the shadows and crushed the haft in his hand before driving a palm into the boy’s chest. There was a quiet snap, then silence.

  “Three,” Tara said.

  Klax shrugged. “Could’ve been four.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You want points? Get me a souvenir.”

  Inside, the tower was pure austerity. Stone floors. Cold sigils carved into every inch of wallspace. Nullified torchlight hummed with static energy, keeping the halls in a perpetual haze.

  They crept along the left corridor, blades drawn, spells banked.

  On the first landing they saw what they feared: chained Hybrids kneeling in silent prayer, acting as living power anchors. Their eyes were glazed white. Klax grunted, recognizing the slow pulse in their throats. “Still alive.”

  “They’re being leeched,” Fauna hissed. “Brightmyr’s running power through them to keep the shield up.”

  Tara moved fast. She cut the chains. Fauna followed behind, placing each slave gently onto the stone, eyes glowing softly as the sleep-curse was dispelled.

  A warder entered the hallway, jaw opening to shout. Klax caught him mid-breath and slammed him head-first into the column wall. He didn’t get up.

  After that, the three of them sprinted for a spiral staircase that would take them further up. The stairs were tight — and worse, they echoed.

  At each turn, Fauna kept her eyes on the walls, hoping no magical sentries appeared to accost them. She hated this feeling of being utterly numbed by the barrier these humans had wrought in their desperation.

  Meanwhile, Tara slipped between landings like smoke, catching pairs of guards mid-conversation and silencing them before they even realized what they were hearing.

  By the third floor, the resistance stiffened. The mages here were in formation — two-guard pairings with small, fast null-wands and necks wrapped in purity threads.

  Tara became a whirlwind of death. Her blades still shining with blood, she rushed two apprentices and severed their hands before they could cast a single spell, finishing them off with a swift arterial cut across their necks. Klax barreled straight through the third — ending his life by crushing every rib he had.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  “Think they know we’re here?” Tara asked dryly.

  Klax wiped blood from his knuckles. “Brightmyr would’ve sent better than this if she knew. Come on.”

  They continued up the stairs, leaving the bodies where they lay.

  …

  At the fifth floor, the smell changed.

  Burned oil. Magic ash. Sweat.

  A long rectangular room with rows of seated hybrids — shackled and unconscious — fed by a central crystal pylon that pulsed with quiet agony. Magic coursed through sigil lines into a node suspended above, linked directly to the shield’s apex.

  And there she was.

  Archmagus Cassandra Brightmyr. Her back to them. Golden robes, long white gloves, a floating spellbook unfurled in front of her. She was adjusting incantation lines — not noticing that her entire guard force had been cut to pieces.

  Fauna gave Tara the go-ahead to strike. The Minxit licked her lips, twirling one throwing knife in her hand and throwing it right at the back of the Archmage’s exposed jugular.

  And with an ethereal gust of wind, the knife simply went flying away.

  The tower groaned. Brightmyr froze. Then turned.

  She stared at the three intruders in the archway. Tara standing with a blade over her shoulder. Klax bristling with silent power. Fauna with her staff now unwrapped, its orange-glow blooming.

  Brightmyr’s voice was a whip. “So, the Archon’s famous trio have graced me with their presence.”

  The smile that stretched across her face was a parody of human joy.

  “TO ME! GUARDS! TO ME!”

  No answer. Slowly, her smile began to fade.

  “TO ME!” she howled again, stepping back.

  “Bad news,” Tara said, resting a hand on her hip. “Your boys are suffering from a bad case of dead.”

  Brightmyr’s eyes narrowed. “You? You’re… hybrids.” Her voice cracked. “You’re filth.”

  She said this as though she was currently in some sort of waking dream. And yet her words did nothing to dispel this new reality – three hybrids, slathered in the blood of her mages, who had come to end not only her, but all of Camoran itself.

  Klax took a step forward. “Filth that walked right into your sanctum. And you know what’s going to happen now, Cassandra Brightmyr.”

  The Archmagus began casting. The air snapped with power as layers of anti-spell glyphs surged out from her, forming a cage of absolute null around her position. Pure suppression energy roared to life, bending light and heat.

  “I’ll erase you,” she hissed. “You – and all your kind.”

  “Not before we break your toy,” Fauna said, pointing her staff at the core. With a muttered word, the weapon’s glow became more intense, flaming like a living, breathing fire. Thus charged, she struck the pylon directly.

  The pulse stuttered.

  Brightmyr’s eyes went wide. She turned to reinforce the glyphs.

  That was her mistake.

  Tara dashed in. “Klax—angle!”

  He moved to intercept Brightmyr’s Mending-spell, slamming into her wards with brute force. She screamed as her shielding matrix cracked. Tara flipped over her, slicing a glyph-seal on her belt. It fizzled and burst.

  Fauna struck the core again, this time with more force – and the entire tower shook as its wards began to die.

  The pylon pulsed once, then cracked down the middle.

  Brightmyr screamed. The energy flooded out, breaking the containment seals.

  The shield above Camoran — visible even from here — flickered, fluttered… and broke.

  “FILTHY BEASTS!”

  The pylon cracked.

  The sky screamed.

  The barrier shattered above Camoran like a veil pulled from a corpse’s face.

  And Cassandra Brightmyr lost her mind.

  "No!" she hissed. "No, no, no!—"

  She threw her hands to the air and screamed a command in High Nullspeech. The floor beneath them vibrated. From the walls and alcoves of the central tower chamber, two dozen life-sized marble statues — angelic figures with serene faces and sword-tipped wings — began to twitch.

  Their eyes glowed sapphire. Their joints cracked to life.

  "Protect your mistress!" she shrieked.

  The room erupted.

  Statues leapt from their pedestals with inhuman speed, landing in iron clanks. Swords swung. Wings slashed. Two barreled toward Fauna.

  "On it," Klax growled.

  He intercepted them mid-charge, taking one straight to the chest — only to grab it mid-swing and hurl it bodily into another. Stone shattered. Marble dust billowed. One statue’s blade cut into Klax’s side. He barely flinched. He grunted and drove his knee through its ribcage, breaking it in half.

  Another came at Tara, blade arcing for her head. She ducked low, spun under its legs, and flicked two knives into the backs of its knees. The joints buckled, and she twisted up its back like a shadow, plunging her blades into its neck.

  Fauna stood still, surrounded. Her staff pulsed. She felt the power of her spells return – her skills renewed and her magic finally free.

  It was like being able to breathe oxygen again after a long stint clouded by smoke.

  "Grow," she whispered.

  Roots exploded from the floor, wrapping around two statues’ legs, crushing them in place. Thorned tendrils ripped into marble eyes and carved through joint sockets. One statue tried to swing its sword, only to have its arm pulled clean off by bark-covered ropes.

  Cassandra threw out her arms, screeching. Her floating spellbook flared, pages turning violently.

  "You think you can win!? I’m Archmagus of the Tower! I command in Kaedmon’s name! I walk the righteous path!"

  Hexes spat from her fingers — words in burning script. One hit Klax dead-on. A black brand of forbidden magic crawled across his chest, searing through skin and fur.

  He roared, buckling, paw to the floor. Then he surged upright, teeth bared, ripping the hex from his flesh with sheer will.

  "What kind of monster—!?" she gasped.

  "Not a monster," Klax growled. "Not yours."

  She snapped her fingers again. The air warped. Curses shaped like glass daggers rained down on Tara. Fauna raised a barrier of bark and bramble, catching most of them — but Tara still took two hits to the thigh.

  She didn’t fall. She gritted her teeth, blood staining her leathers, and vaulted up the back of another statue, kicking off it toward the dais.

  "She’s bleeding magic into the statues!" Fauna shouted. "We need to break the tether!"

  "You first," Klax barked, dodging another blade, catching a statue by the face, and shoving it straight into the floating book. The tome snapped shut, cracking like thunder.

  Cassandra’s eyes widened.

  "You ruined it!" she screamed, and her hands became claws.

  She hurled a blast of screaming blue fire at Fauna — a soulflame curse meant to sear through spirit and bone. Fauna bent low, staff braced, chanting through gritted teeth. Roots surged up just in time — not to block, but to devour the curse, feeding on the magic, pulsing with it.

  The next time Fauna whispered, it was not a spell. It was a prayer.

  And the roots exploded toward Cassandra like spears.

  The Archmagus spun, using her own warding glyphs as shields. She cut through the roots midair — but one tendril clipped her shoulder, slicing her robe and drawing blood.

  She stared at it. Her blood. Her pain.

  "Impossible," she gasped.

  Another statue cracked. Then another. Tara danced through them, dodging slashes, slicing ankles and hamstrings, leaving a trail of broken limbs and eyes gouged with steel.

  Cassandra’s breath hitched. Her fingers trembled.

  "They’re hybrids," she muttered. "They’re inferior beings."

  Another of her curses fizzled before it left her hand. Her mana was draining. Her power was bleeding away.

  "But… how? How are you..?"

  None of this made any sense.

  They’re hybrids, Cassandra’s mind roared as she beheld the three gruesome warriors rushing towards her as one, totally unafraid, totally present, as keen-eyed and focused as the most well-trained Inquisitorial assassins of the Cardinals.

  Her confusion was that which came from a failure of imagination. Though she had been blessed with the talents of a master mage all her life, she ultimately still believed that reality followed certain rules. That cold logic could be applied to people as well as charms and wards.

  And what she now saw was more than just a challenge to that notion. It was a decimation.

  They’re hybrids, she thought. And they’re…not running.

  Cassandra staggered backward, watching the last of her constructs fall. Klax snapped the arm off a statue and flung it like a club into the Archmagus’s wards. They broke.

  "No…" she rasped.

  Then Tara was there.

  One second, Cassandra was blinking sweat from her eyes, trying to shape another spell.

  The next — there was a Minxit in front of her.

  Tara’s yellow eyes gleamed. Her burnt fur glinted with blood and soot.

  It’s not possible…Cassandra’s mind railed. Not…possible…

  She denied her defeat right up to the second Tara’s daggers found her throat.