Page 75 of The Misfit Mage and His Dashing Devil

“Doesn’t mean I won’t try.”

I searched through the notes I’d taken, looking for the one which might help hack Ian’s artifacts. He’d kill me for sure, but I’d drag him down with me if it was the last thing I did.

Before leaving, I paused and opened a window.

“If I don’t return, please, use the seal I placed in your tank to escape once your new exoskeleton hardens.” That air sigil would carry him outside the motel window safely. “I wish I could offer more after everything you’ve given me.”

Ian and Bez would reach the Regiment Headquarters before me, and there was no way Ian would delay his attack. He was erratic, fueled by a vendetta, and probably wanted to make the most of his Diabolic binding. Even if I had something to enchant for flight, no way would I beat them. Hell, they could already be there. If he used Bez’s speed, he could end up anywhere in the city in a blink.

Wait. Not Bez’s speed. Mora’s dimensional weaving. She could transport anyone, anywhere, instantaneously. Her place wasn’t far. I raced down the street, ignoring the pain in my legs. I needed to reach her so I could save Bez. Save the Collective. The Mythics. The city.

Time to be the misfit mage everyone accused me of being and go kill a real misfit mage.

26

26

Beelzebub

Ian and I descended, landing across the street from the Regiment Headquarters. The night sky was hidden behind the lights of the city. So bright and sparkling, it was a wonder mortals managed to find rest this late at night. Traffic wasn’t thick like when I escaped with Walter, but cars still moved in this busy area. Mana filled the air like thick, sweet humidity. Guess they kept their mages working around the clock since the attack on the Magus Estate.

“It’s doubtful the chancellors are here. We’ll have to make do killing the regiment fodder assigned here nights.” Ian traced incantations in the air, opening a tiny rip in front of him. A hole barely big enough for a finger to fit, yet Mythic residue wafted out, spilling tremendous magical energy which latched itself to Ian. Once imbued, his mana boomed. Even a novice would feel such a massive amount of power.

It came from the witch artifact he’d stolen. Agatha’s something. Kidney, liver, lung. No. Heart, maybe. I’d mostly tuned Walter out when he’d cataloged it and the organ looked more like stone than a savory piece of meat.

I considered swaying him, convincing him a morning assault might fare better for his plot. Then I remembered I couldn’t speak. Not easily, anyway. When I tried, it was like talking while needles jabbed my throat, claws shredding my vocal cords at the mere attempt of forming a syllable.

“Once we begin, it won’t take the chancellors or that wannabe magus long to arrive or bring their best with them.” Ian conjured fire in his hands; the flames burned small, tightly swirling inward to remain contained. His veins bulged as he laced the elemental magic with saturation.

Artifact or not, a skill of that level required precision. By pouring his mana into the cast, he ensured the flames would burn hotter and longer. Depending on his capability, he might even be able to control the fire’s movements once released. Something few mages mastered.

I scoffed. Just another reason to kill him if the opportunity presented itself, which felt less and less likely with each passing second.

“I want you to destroy everything and everyone.” Ian hurled a fireball into the street, knocking a car off course and colliding with a second before both crashed into the sidewalk at the front steps of the Regiment Headquarters. “Tear it all down. The building. The mages. The street. Hell, the whole district. I want your flashiest, strongest magics unleashed before the world. Understand me, devil?”

I nodded reluctantly because I had no choice in any of this. Shame. Killing mortals under any other circumstances would make for an entertaining evening, though even during my flashiest outbursts, I respected the need for discretion. After all, the devil Beelzebub didn’t need the entire world aware of his presence.

I conjured electricity from the static in the atmosphere, weaving my Diabolic essence between the tiny sparks and amplifying the jolts a hundredfold. With a swing of my arms, I guided the black lightning onto the street, ripping the concrete apart.

If we survived tonight, we’d have the Collective sweeping up our mess. If Ian achieved the exposure he sought, we’d have the entire world of mortals on our heels. I sighed. This would be an insufferable existence.

It didn’t take the mages long to respond. Vanguard dressed in crimson and sentinels wearing their blues flew out, incantations and elements at the ready. Ian hovered above without the assistance of his broom. Impressive use of his sigils. He’d embedded new ones within the fabric of his shirt and the bottoms of his boots. Not only very difficult to do but required incredible coordination as well as massive amounts of mana. The artifact helped on that front. Ian hurled fire at the mages. Sentinels created shields to block his elemental blasts while vanguards prepared to parry with their own elemental strikes.

Mages belonging to the infiltration regiment flitted by, prioritizing glamouring civilians and obscuring the magic at play. Normally, I’d only note their presence to avoid a secretive strike from the shadows, yet I had orders.

Orders. I choked on the word.

I couldn’t make this attack broad and seen by the masses if these mages removed the spotlight, so I unleashed telekinesis, lifting them up and into the path of Ian’s flames.

Their bodies burned, consumed by the fire, skin crackling down to the bone. Fire like that was on par with a Diabolic’s level. That artifact truly held unmatched ability.

Ian laughed, distracted and indulging in the death before him. The level of destruction he released on charred corpses was wasteful and unnecessary. Most importantly, it was boring.

Wave after wave of intense fire turned this street into carnage. Ian’s laughter became unhinged as he relished in the deaths. He didn’t savor them, instead lapping up the experience in a way I used to. I’d been this hateful and angry once upon a time. Hell, still was most days. It didn’t lessen the disdain I held for Ian or the joy his death would bring. But I understood the insatiable drive to burn down every threat. I simply wished not to be the match he used to light the fire.

A few sentinels skirted around the huge flames, their eyes locked on Ian. I unveiled my wings and soared toward the Regiment Headquarters’ front door, where the bulk of the defense formed. Ian commanded me to kill everyone. He never commanded me to watch his back, so if his arrogance got him killed, I could live with that.

Well, die with that. Semantics.

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