Page 77 of The Misfit Mage and His Dashing Devil

The sentinel chancellor and acting magus sliced through incantations Ian summoned, the pair moving in tandem. Given Alistair had mentioned the two despising each other, they didn’t show it in their synchronized strikes. Despite all the magic the artifact offered, Ian struggled to counter or evade the onslaught. A swift slash broke the incantations Ian had conjured for flight. It sent him plummeting to the ground.

I gasped, feeling the air knocked out of my own chest, along with a few cracked ribs. Good. Hope they chopped the bastard’s head off next.

“Help me,” Ian shouted.

I pivoted, preparing to futilely attack the artificer’s unbreakable shield. After all, Ian had demanded I kill everyone I could, so this washelping.

“Dammit, devil. Stop them!” Ian’s voice carried down the street.

I turned my attention, resisting the command knowing full well it’d offer the artificer a chance to strike me down.

A glint of a shadow dancing atop embers hit my peripheral. In the second it took to turn my attention back to her, she’d vanished entirely—shield left discarded—and the saturation she’d tended to the field quickly dissipated in her absence.

Strange. Mages could manipulate instant transportation through high-tiered incantations and Fae magics, but their movements should still be slow enough to register. These shadows weaved with such ferocity it appeared almost Diabolic, yet I was the only Diabolic here.

Ian’s unanswered command burned my muscles, stabbing my insides and twisting my body into obedience.

I soared over the corpses and debris, obeying the newest command. Chancellor Alden flew back at the last moment, abandoning her blade. Not sure if that gave me relief or not. Killing Walter’s mother wouldn’t please him, yet considering how she treated him, if he survived this slaughter, his life would likely be easier with her dead. All the chancellors, actually.

My claws dug into Chancellor Driscoll’s back. Correction, acting Magus Driscoll. Certainly not the magus I longed to kill, but this old prick was pretty annoying the last time we crossed paths.

I gripped his spine, crushing the lowest column and snatching out the entirety of the bone in one quick motion. It snapped from the vertebrae connecting to the skull and cracked away from the ribs, taking a few with it. Blood splattered. The body went limp, collapsing like a deflated doll. A dying gurgle quieted everything else on the battlefield.

Driscoll had made his own bed, conspiring with Ian and framing Walter. And for what? A chance to hold a title? A title that proved as durable as his bones.

Vanguard mages flew toward me in force, disregarding Ian, who continued struggling to catch his breath. The massive surge of mana which spiked earlier had faded, all but vanishing. He must’ve known the artifact possessed a short lifespan. Still, I would’ve considered something created by witches to hold more longevity. Agatha’s petrified organ was no better than a basic incantation boost.

A vanguard coated in enhancement incantations swept by with lightning in hand. It sizzled and scorched my bare chest, nearly breaking the flesh. I spun around and smacked him with the bloody spine. The three coming to his aid met the same fate as I pummeled them into the scorched earth until the bloody skeleton was covered in more of their blood than Driscoll’s.

“That was fucking fantastic.” Ian stood. His body buzzed, rejoicing at the bloody sight.

It was something I would’ve enjoyed more under different circumstances. Perhaps with Walter. No. He’d never accept this type of brutality. He was too kind, too gentle, always thinking of everyone above himself. He likely would’ve wanted Driscoll spared despite all he’d done to Walter. But Driscoll deserved his fate for framing Walter, sending him on the run, plotting to kill us, and I suppose all the other misdeeds involving conspiring on assault at the Magus Estate. Old prick. Not the magus I wanted dead, but it’d do.

“He was a total asshole.” Ian smirked, kicking the dead magus and rolling him onto his back. “Christ, just look how sunken in his face is. Is that what happens when you take out someone’s spine? Fuck. You made it look so casual. How’d you do that? No, don’t answer. Your voice is grating. Fucking awful sound.”

A completely mutual feeling, for certain. How I hated Ian’s voice. The joyful lull, mixed with polite confidence, did little to mask his arrogance. Or the deep-seated hatred that seeped from his pores. How I hoped to rip out his tongue as I had the treacherous Driscoll’s spine.

Ian knelt, grabbing Driscoll’s chin.

“You don’t belong here.” He mimicked the surly old man’s voice. His broken jaw crackled as he wiggled the chin up and down. “Who belongs here now?”

Ian stepped back, conjuring flames. They flickered in and out. He shook his sweaty hands. Frustration squirmed inside me. Insecurity. Paranoia. I scanned the street. Most mages had died, remained too injured to attack, or had fallen back to regroup. I swallowed hard. These weren’t my feelings, but those of Ian’s in his struggle to manifest his elemental control. His emotions latched until the Diabolic essence coursing inside him, spread to me like a virus eating away at my own.

“He treated me like shit for being some fluke of a human who possessed inherent skills which he claimed belonged to my betters. Mages born and bred and raised in this elusive world. Then, when I wowed every fucking person here, proving I had more strength, skill, potential, power, and destiny than any of them—the old bastard tried to recruit me into his regiment. As if. Of course, when I declined, he whispered lies that I was screwing Chancellor Alden, that her clout was the only reason I succeeded.”

I rolled my eyes. Fuck. He was really going to give me his whole damn life story in the midst of battle.

“But I never spent long nights with Victoria for favors. Our discussions veered toward change, not conquest. Chancellor Alden knew old man Remington wasn’t leading his mages to the future.” Ian burned the corpse of the acting magus. “Though, this is not the change she sought.”

Driscoll’s body gave off a sweet and putrid aroma, mixing with the smoke of the battle, blood on the ground, and tired sweat caught in the air. This was what living smelled like. Living to be the last one standing. However, it seemed someone else worked to be the last one standing.

“Speak of the devil,” Ian said, chuckling at his own lack of humor. “She’s almost as wicked as you, dog. Minus the whole Diabolic thing.”

Chancellor Alden walked through the rubble alone, carrying an enchanted sword. Water and wind swirled behind her, arching overhead so she could readily defend if Ian or I conjured fire or lightning. Might need to switch to earth. Impressive that she’d pinpointed the elements we favored in such short succession.

My heart pounded. She had set all this in motion.

Chancellor Alden was behind the coup.

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