“What the hell do you mean you won’t serve him?” Hana’s shrill voice cut through the bustling crowd, causing several heads to turn in our direction. I was trying to shush Hana, telling her that we could go elsewhere and that it wasn’t a problem but I’m pretty sure Hana couldn’t even hear me anymore, judging by how mad she was.

“I saw him walkin’ the streets yesterday. I don’t serve vagrants,” the man said with a stern shrug. He was cleaning his hands on a long towel that laid over one shoulder. His muscles rippled underneath his shirt. The dude must have been like six foot five or something.

Hana was leaning over the counter now, both hands supporting her so she could get even more in the face of the guy. Well, not the face exactly given that he was at least two heads taller than her.

We were currently at some small hole-in-the-wall shop. It reminded me of a Japanese ramen noodle store, since only a curtain separated us from the street and the restaurant wasn’t deep enough to offer any seating except along the counter. I was standing half in the restaurant, half outside, Hana about a foot in front of me looking like she was about to slap him.

I hated attention like this. I was the kind of guy who would take a messed up order at Starbucks without a single complaint and couldn’t tell the waitress at a shitty Italian restaurant that the food was raw. In fact, it was bad enough that my parents joked I wouldn’t even attend my own wedding for fear of too much attention. Not that I had any viable prospects in that department.

But here was Hana, red faced and yelling at a guy that could probably crack open both our heads with just one hand.

“That is the most disgusting, spineless discrimination I’ve ever heard! How dare you say that!”

The man looked more annoyed than anything by her and crossed his arms firmly over his chest. “No vagrants. End of story.”

Hana suddenly reached over the counter and grabbed the man by the shirt, pulling him close. Her voice deepened so low that it sounded like Satan himself, with distant crackles of fire and brimstone.

“This is not ‘end of story’. You will serve us. Now.”

And with that, we were both seated at the restaurant, being served a steaming bowl of beef brisket noodles. The man, seemingly shaken to his core, had served the food and retired somewhere behind a door. He had been rattled by Hana so bad that I wondered if we could leave without paying. Guess you don’t mess with illusionists.

We had almost finished our meal when Hana’s servant arrived. In his hands he held a glowing compass, which I assumed was some magically infused compass that could track Hana. A little creepy but I guess we did the same back on Earth with tracking apps and all that.

“Mistress Hana, Arch-High Mage Zeckmas has agreed to see you. He is currently waiting at his office at the School of the Arcane.”

“That was fast!” Hana said, obviously as surprised as I was. This dude works quickly. “Thank you, Angar.” With an overly dramatic flourish, she dismissed him and he began walking down the street.

Hana dropped some coins on the counter and hopped out of her chair. “Come on, let’s go get this all figured out!” I followed.

As we walked, I found myself struggling to start a conversation. I cursed my lack of social skills for the millionth time. I was totally out of my element. Conversation never came easy to me, not like it did for some of the other kids I know… or used to know? Eventually, though, I was able to come up with something. “You think he’ll really be able to send me back?”

Hana didn’t seem to mind having walked in silence but she certainly lit up at the talk of magic. Maybe it was because she loved explaining things. “If it was magic that brought you here, it’s also magic that can send you from here. Of course, I’ve never seen a teleportation ritual that can send someone to another world but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.”

“What do you think is needed to do a spell like-”

“Ritual,” she interrupted.

“Ritual,” I said, correcting it. “What are the necessary components for a ritual like that?”

“Honestly, probably a lot. There’s a reason there’s not more of you Earth people here. Like if any old mage could do it, I feel like it would be known. I’m willing to bet money it requires at least a few mages.”

“Damn…” That was not a great thing to hear because it meant that getting home was just that much harder. But it also meant that the killer didn’t just bring me by himself. Was he a lone wolf or did he really have a crew of mages behind him?

Hana saw my dour expression and nudged my shoulder. “It’s going to be alright, Griffin. We’ll send you home, don’t worry.” I had to admit, her smile had such a soothing quality to it, enough to ease even the most tense nerves. It was really amazing that so many intense emotions could be expressed by such a tiny person.

As we walked, Hana started to talk of her experiences growing up. It didn’t require any real prompting on my part to continue the conversation, meaning I could just sit back and let her fill up the silence, which was nice. I liked things this way. A recluse by nature, my dad would always say. Eventually though, we reached the School of the Arcane’s main building. It was an incredible place, looking more like a large university campus than Hogwarts. Or wait, wasn’t Hogwarts based off a university campus? I never watched or read Harry Potter.

It was almost like a little sanctuary in the heart of the dense, urban jungle of the city. Campus buildings surrounded a green quad, trees, bushes and flowers stationed meticulously throughout to create an organic atmosphere. The main building was a magnificent stone structure, looking like something straight out of the Baroque period, with intricate trimmings and designs, Gargoyles attached the roof, and a huge flight of stairs that lead up to a pillared entryway. In fact, the entryway itself looked like it could fit almost a hundred people standing side by side.

Of course, Hana refused to let me marvel at the sight, tugging me briskly along. Perhaps if I was really sent back home I could move into architecture. Many architectural students and professors were into philosophy nowadays. Wouldn’t be too bad of a change.

Up the steps and through the doors we went. Honestly, the speed at which Hana dragged me left me disoriented and confused. Right, left, right, left, right, right, left. A maze of twists and turns through old hallways didn’t do much to help my poor sense of direction but eventually we stopped in front of an oak door. It was covered in flowers and the wood itself took on a variety of colors, a dazzling display of deep blues, fiery reds, and soft greens, all coated the door so naturally that it had to be magic.

Hana knocked fiercely on the door. We waited. I tried to listen in, to see if I could hear a shuffling behind the door but either it was too thick or Zeckmas hadn’t heard Hana. A moment passed and she tried again, this time more intensely. It was so loud I thought her knuckles were going to break.

Yet no response was given. Hana was about to try a third time, reeling her arm back as if she were about to punch it when I stopped her.

“Maybe he’s not in the office?” I said.

“He said he would be in here,” her voice starting to color from a growing anger. She tried the door handle and, to both our surprise, she was able to push it open.

“While I appreciate your endless sense of adventure, Hana, I’m not sure it’s smart to sneak into the office of the dude who can create flaming dragons.”

“Oh hush, you’re ruining all the fun.” She pushed the door open fully. It was a rather large space, looking almost like a mix between a library and a chemistry lab, potions scattered across a multitude of desks and books lining every wall. Runes were scribbled onto the desks and some of the equipment in there even vaguely looked like legitimate chemistry equipment, beakers and all.

Wait. What I thought looked like a mess was actually more than just that. It looked like fire had scorched the walls on the right and part of the ground was soaked deeper in the room. Desks and tables had been overturned, the tile flooring giving way to a barricade of trees and shrubbery. Hell, I think I saw the telltale signs of lightning scorches on the ceiling.

“Ok, now I’m really thinking it’s a bad idea,” I said again, hoping to stop Hana’s slow advance into the room.

“Oh my gods. What happened?” she asked, as she proceeded further into the room.

A bad feeling grew in my gut. This looked like a battle zone more than an office.

And then Hana screamed.

I rushed in, turning to look at what she was fixated on. It was Zeckmas, body strewn on the ground, his chest on the floor and head twisted to the side, looking lifelessly at us, eyes having been gouged out. His hands and feet had been nailed to the floor, blood still slowly growing underneath. His tongue had been cut and placed on the ground next to him. Most disturbing of all was the chalk drawings around him, a large series of circles, triangles, and squares surrounding him like some satanic ritual, with Zeckmas placed in the dead center of it all. Several lines connected his hands and feet to the outer rings of the circles but the creepiest part was the trail of blood that had been drawn, erratically moving all over, running over chalk and body alike, creating a snaking line through it all.

“Oh my god.” Hana fell to her knees. I felt sick and bile rose to my throat. I threw up everything I had eaten and more. It was violent but eventually there was no more to throw up.

I wiped the dribble off my lip and turned to Hana. Something else had caught her gaze. I looked. On the wall nearest to the High Mage was a message, written in blood.

Now I am become death, destroyer of worlds.

And I knew it was him. I knew it was Percival.