Crack.

The sound echoed through an endless nothing, neither growing louder or quieter. It just was.

Marek felt as though he was cocooned by a warm blanket. It was almost impossible to think, but gradually he felt his senses return to him. The warmth was still there, but it was beginning to retract itself. It was slow at first but eventually streamed away at increasing speeds. Marek grimaced and tried to snatch at it, but he couldn’t move still. He didn’t want to. He wanted to fall into the warm void and stay there forever. His eyes were shut, and he kept them closed.

Marek.

The voice was soft and inviting. Marek’s head twitched.

No, Marek thought sluggishly, feeling as though he had drunk enough alcohol to fell a dozen men. His head pounded, and it was impossible to breathe. The thought didn’t bother him as much as it should’ve.

Marek. Come.

The voice was now tinged with annoyance, although the words still flowed like honey.

Go away, Marek sent to whatever was calling him. I like it here.

You don’t have that option, Marek. Obey!

Marek screamed, his eyes flying open as he was dragged through a swirling maelstrom. Colors exploded in front of him, dazzling him. He closed his eyes, covering his face with his hands.

Marek came to on a cold floor, retching. He tried to spit, but there was no moisture in his mouth. He blinked, but everything was fuzzy. Cold air flowed through his lips and exited out his throat.

“What is this?” Marek wheezed. He tried to rise but found he couldn’t. His arms and legs felt like they were made of lead. His body jolted, but it was completely out of his control.

“Your new existence,” a familiar voice said.

Marek slowly raised his head up, blinking back tears as he tried to find the source of the voice.

“Where are you?” Marek asked, his words tumbling out of his lips in a muted whisper. He couldn’t breathe. He forced his unwilling arms to cooperate, moving them to his throat. The moment his trembling fingertips touched the gaping wound, Marek started to breathe heavily. He could feel the wind escaping his throat, and he moaned.

“Yes,” the voice said. “This is your new lot in life, Marek. You’d best get used to it.”

“Show yourself,” Marek whispered. He let his head fall, resting his forehead on the cool floor. He didn’t remember how he had gotten into this situation. The last thing he remembered he had been in a strange castle with Ako, Wyatt, Anton, along with Talon and what remained with his men. Then… nothing.

“What?” the voice asked. Marek started as he heard someone beginning to walk toward him. They were so close to him that Marek could feel the vibrations of the voice’s footsteps. “You don’t remember your Second? I’m hurt, Marek.”

Wyatt, Marek thought, momentarily excited. He began to rise, pushing his hands against the floor, but he hesitated.

“I don’t believe you,” Marek said, forcing the words from his lips as most of the hissing air left his ruined throat. His arms shook as he struggled to hold the weight of his body. “Show yourself.”

“With pleasure,” Wyatt’s voice said.

Marek found himself lifted from the floor by a pair of strong arms. Marek struggled, trying to resist, but he couldn’t. He didn’t have the strength to push himself off the ground, let alone fight.

It was becoming easier to see. Before, he could barely see the grey floor below him. Now he could see further away, far enough to see Wyatt’s familiar face.

“Hello, Marek,” Wyatt said, smirking. His eyes glowed.

Marek swayed and almost fell. Wyatt maintained his tight grip on Marek’s shoulders, keeping him upright. For a moment, the two men stood, studying each other.

“Wyatt,” Marek began. He shook his head, trying to clear the fog that pervaded it. “What happened?”

Wyatt’s smirk grew into a grin. “You don’t remember?” Wyatt asked before his glowing eyes flickered away to look at something over Marek’s shoulder. “That’s disappointing but not surprising.”

“What are you talking about?” Marek asked. He blinked and squeezed his eyes shut, willing whatever caused the malaise in his mind to retreat. It didn’t. “I don’t know what’s going on.”

“You will,” Wyatt promised. He then let go of Marek and took a step back.

Marek’s knees buckled. He would’ve fallen if not for Wyatt thrusting his staff at him, using magic to halt his fall.

“You have magic?” Marek asked in wonder. He squinted his eyes, studying Wyatt’s staff. "That’s… a staff of Dominion Wood.”

“Very good, Marek,” Wyatt said approvingly. “Have you seen this staff before?”

“No,” Marek breathed, staring at it in awe. “I would remember such a treasure.”

“Oh, but you have seen it before,” Wyatt said, his voice shifted, changing into something that was not quite his own. It was lighter, more feminine. “It caused your death, you see. It is powerful beyond measure, but in the hands of the wrong person it’s deadly to all, including its wielder.”

“If you’re truly Wyatt, he would’ve told me this,” Marek said with a confidence that he didn’t feel. “Wyatt didn’t keep many secrets from me, and not important ones like him having magic.”

“You’re right,” Wyatt said, nodding. His voice was continuing to change. Now it sounded like a woman’s voice, a voice whom that was hauntingly familiar. “But he feared you. He had power, but he was content with his strength at arms. He revealed his powers only to Anton, who swore to protect his secrets. He feared that if you knew, it would only be a matter of time before he was handed over to the Citadel to do with as they will. This was the one secret he kept.”

“I would have never done that,” Marek said, shaking his head. The act pained him, but through the tears in his eyes, he glared at whatever this thing was in front of him. “Wyatt knew better.”

“He did, and yet he had suffered at the hands of mages his entire life. He couldn’t trust you even if he wanted to,” Wyatt said, and yet it wasn’t him. Wyatt’s body was shifting to something smaller. Even the mode of dress was changing from his armored leathers to something white and almost see-through.

Marek said nothing, watching as Wyatt changed into a woman. She was beautiful beyond compare. She had light auburn hair, gray eyes, and a small nose. Her lips were full, and they smiled invitingly.

“Hello, Marek,” Claire said.

At that moment, everything came back to him. He remembered the desperation he felt, how he had wanted the staff both to save his people and to make himself powerful, and how he had fallen for Claire’s supernatural beauty and charm.

“You bitch,” Marek uttered. His lips curled into a sneer. He had never loathed anything as much as he did Claire. “You murdered my friends.”

“Me?” Claire laughed. Like everything else about her, it was beautiful, but there was also an edge to it. “You killed them, Marek. Not me. Your friends didn’t die by myhand. It was yours. Ako is dead because of you, and—”

Marek roared, seizing his magic and hurling it at Claire. It had no shape to it. It was formless and nearly colorless. He didn’t care about form, only about function. He wanted Claire dead, and he would do anything to kill her.

“Such strength!” Claire shouted; her grey eyes tinted with a glowing green. Her chest heaved as she repelled his magical assault with a translucent red shield. “Such power!”

Marek continued his attack, throwing everything he had to destroy Claire. His chest was seizing from the strain, and he was beginning to see spots, but he didn’t care. I already died. What else can she do to me?

Claire seemed to exult in their struggle. Bursts of magic exploded off her shield, slamming into the walls and ceiling around them. Chunks of rock fell, and dust began to obscure the air.

If we continued, I’d bring this place down upon our heads.

As quickly as the thought came, Marek dismissed it. He didn’t care. He wanted to die. He deserved to. If he could take Claire with him, he would perhaps receive some sort of absolution in whatever afterlife he found himself in.

With that thought propelling him forward, Marek continued to push. He used all his magical power, uncaring of the cost to him. He could feel his skin loosening, the first warning sign that he would soon be expending his own body into his magical onslaught.

Claire must have noticed this too because her eyes widened, racing up and down Marek’s body. This was enough of a distraction for Claire to be pushed back a few inches. Marek smirked at her, and Claire’s own grin was replaced by a look of incandescent rage.

“You fool!” Claire shrieked. She drew more power from her staff and thrust it forward, overwhelming Marek immediately and sending him crashing to the ground. The weight pressing upon him was heavier than a mountain, and it was all Marek could do to keep himself lucid. He stared up at the ceiling, which now had cracks in it. Above it, he could see stars in the night sky.

“You would destroy yourself,” Claire’s voice said, sounding as though she had immediately calmed as she saw that Marek was defeated. “And for what? Petty revenge?”

Marek made to speak, but he couldn’t. The weight was too much. Claire noticed this and allowed the weight to slacken just enough for Marek to speak.

“The lives of my friends are not petty,” Marek rasped.

“Oh, but they are,” Claire said. She suddenly loomed over him. Marek tried to flinch back, but he couldn’t. “They are nothing compared to the likes of us, Marek. They are insects to be stamped out whenever you please.”

Marek snarled and tried to reach for his magic again. He found almost nothing, faint dregs at the bottom of a barrel, but he reached for it.

“I wouldn’t,” Claire said. She was smiling again in a way that she knew something that he didn’t.

Marek ignored her and reached for his magic anyway. The moment he did, he heard the same crack that he had heard when he had first awoken from his death.

Pain came in a rushing torrent. Marek screamed and thrashed on the floor. It was as if lava had replaced the blood that flowed through his veins.

“Like I said, Marek,” Claire said conversationally, her voice cutting through Marek’s screams. The pain lessened enough so that Marek could hear and understand what she had to say. “You’re mine.”

“Azmar take you!” Marek cursed.

To Marek’s surprise, Claire threw back her head and laughed.

“Azmar will take us all!” she shouted. Her smile was feral. “All of us serve him, whether they’re Archmages, Emperors, or even the smallest of insects. It’s those who know better, who serve him without being asked, that will be rewarded. I have returned to continue his work, and you are an instrument to be used to exert Lord Azmar’s will.”

Marek shook his head, his eyes leaving hers to look around the room. Bodies were everywhere, torn apart in a cataclysmic battle. Marek flinched at a burned body that was probably Anton’s. It had the right shape and size, but besides that, he was too charred to even tell.

“Where’s Wyatt?” Marek growled. An image of Ako’s desiccated body flashed before his eyes, but he shoved it away. He forced himself to look back at the expectant Claire. “What did you do to him?”

“Oh, he’s here,” Claire said. Her head titled, and she shifted and grew, taking Wyatt’s form. He was wearing his leathers, his sword was strapped to his side, and his shield was on his back. “He’s with me, now. In here.”

“Let him go,” Marek said lowly. He was shaking with rage. “Leave him be. Take me instead.”

Claire-as-Wyatt raised her eyebrows, lifted her hand, and snapped her fingers. It was the same crack that Marek had heard before, and he barely braced himself when the pain swept over him again. He screamed, and the pain never seemed to end.

“Why take just you when I can have both?” Claire asked mildly, the pain vanishing as she spoke. “No, Marek. I will not have just one, but two men who have enough power to be Archmages at my disposal. Together, we will change the world and prepare it for Lord Azmar’s arrival.”

“Even if I wanted to, I’m in no condition to serve you,” Marek grated out.

Claire considered this for a moment before she nodded. Marek found himself lifted again and Claire’s magic sweeping over him again. He tried to move, but he was frozen in place. A ritual circle formed beneath Marek, gleaming the same red her shield had.

“You’re right,” Claire agreed. “If you’re to serve me, you must have a body that can serve.”

Marek’s eyes widened as blood came from bodies all around the room, flowing into the air and congealing into a red ball. The ball hovered there for a moment before it flew toward Marek, washing over him. A soothing heat covered him, forcibly reminding Marek of the comforting void that he had been taken from.

Closing his eyes, Marek gave in to whatever was happening to him and passed out.

When Marek came to, he was breathing again. Light streamed through the cracks in the ceiling. There was also a wand of Dominion Wood next to him on the ground. Seizing it, he scrambled to his feet.

There was no one in the Hall with him. He looked around, looking for the bodies, looking for Anton, but there was nothing. Marek remembered the blood flowing from the bodies and winced.

Marek’s hand flew to his throat, feeling at it. It was smooth and unscarred, as if the dagger had never slit it open.

“So, you’re awake.”

Marek whirled to find Claire-as-Wyatt standing in the doorway, assessing him.

“Don’t,” Marek said, turning away. He scrubbed at the tears that threatened to spill from his watering eyes. “Don’t wear the body of my friend like a cloak.”

A moment later and Claire was in front of him, glaring at him. He hadn’t heard her move.

“I will do whatever I please,” she hissed, snapping her fingers with a crack. The wand slipped through Marek’s nerveless fingers, and he fell to the floor, writhing in pain. His throat was slit again, and he pressed his hands against the open wound. Blood poured through his hands, staining them and the fine brown robes he was wearing.

Once again, Marek felt his life rapidly leaving him, but with another crack, Marek’s throat was healed, and the blood vanished. If Marek hadn’t known any better, he would think that it had never happened, that Claire had dominated his mind so thoroughly that she had made the impossible a reality. It hadn’t. Marek didn’t know how he knew, but this was real.

“Whatever is given can be taken from you,” Claire said.

Marek stared up at the ceiling, ignoring her. He wanted to die. He wanted this to have never happened. He closed his eyes.

I’ll wake up in the Citadel, Marek thought desperately. This has all been a long, horrible dream.

Something small and wooden rolled against the floor. Marek instinctively threw out a hand and grabbed the Dominion Wood wand that was rolling toward him.

“Azmar rewards ambition,” Claire said. Marek opened his eyes to see Claire kneeling before him. His eyes went to her breasts before they went back to her eyes, making Claire smirk.

“Plot all you want, Marek,” Claire said, her voice going soft as she ran a smooth hand through Marek’s hair. “Think of how you want me dead. Dream of it. But don’t act on it. The moment you do, you’ll wish you never had.”

“Why?” Marek asked, looking up into Claire’s eyes. He almost became lost in them, like he had just a few hours before. With effort, he pulled himself out of their inviting depths. “Why, Claire?”

Claire patted Marek’s cheek like a loyal dog and stood, looking down at him.

“Because I can end you with the snap of my fingers,” Claire said, her lips twitching into a smirk. “And because I like watching you struggle. You are cowed for now, but you’ll soon forget your place and try to kill me.”

Marek said nothing, glaring up at Claire. He would, but he wouldn’t do anything right now. The endless pain was still too fresh.

“If you’re good, you will be rewarded by Azmar… and me,” Claire said, smiling at him in a way that made Marek feel warm again, but there was nothing peaceful about this warmth. Lust boiled within him, and with effort, Marek stamped it down.

“Think about it, Marek. When you’re done moping, come and find me. We have work to do.”

With those words, Claire left Marek lying on the floor. For a wild moment he wanted to seize his wand and fight her again, but with a staff of Dominion Wood, she would destroy him at every turn.

I need to separate her from the staff, Marek thought. She would still be more powerful than him, especially if she could call upon Wyatt’s powers as well, but he had to try.

However, a small part of Marek’s mind remembered when he had kissed Claire and how good it had felt. If he let himself, it would overwhelm him once again.

Diev forgive me, Marek thought, pushing himself to his feet. He was too weak to oppose Claire right now, so he would have to do her bidding… for now.