I won’t offer you a second chance."

None of them did. The Lowland Academy wasn’t a snake I could cut the head off of, but a hydra. The only reason I’d managed to kill Robert was because he’d stuck his proverbial neck out from the rest. The robed ranks closed in, and the entire class took one step toward me. They raised their hands, and launched their unified attack. This wasn’t the queen-killing spell they’d fired earlier; that took too long to recover from, and frankly, it was overkill for someone like me. No, this was an endless stream of rudimentary spells all meant to wear down my shield. It was a boringly effective strategy. Counterattacking so many spells would deplete me all at once, and so I was trapped within my own defensive shell, doomed to drain myself to nothing just to survive another second…

DESTINY

… but of course, I wasn’t there. No Lowland detection spell would ever reveal the illusion of Zander Fredeon, for I projected every molecule of bone, blood, muscle and organs within him. The projection was nearly a person itself, and it was an incredibly taxing spell. Even with my deep reservoir of magic, I could only keep up the illusion for a few minutes. Fortunately for me, the largest shared magical reservoir in the world had delivered itself to my doorstep. All I had to do was sneak into the Lowland mages ranks while Robert and Zander exchanged banter, and kill the only mage who had a chance of detecting me. Zander Fredeon’s reputation was so great that no one questioned why Robert’s inferno spell had backfired into his own hands when Zander was fifty yards away. That counterattack had been instantaneous; almost like it had been performed by someone standing right next to him. No one noticed the blue-haired woman wearing Lowland robes as she stepped into the red gore that used to be Robert Usich. No one noticed anything at all. And as the Lowland’s finest minds rained spells upon Zander Fredeon, no one noticed that one of their members was grossly overdrawing from their shared reservoir. And so, for twenty minutes the Lowlanders sapped their reserves dry trying to kill a thing they themselves were giving life to, and the wolf amongst them smiled from her blue-sheened lips, and waited.

An older mage passed out, and fell like a tree onto his side. A younger man dropped to his knees, then face-planted into the snow. A middle-aged woman fainted, and dropped dramatically before her classmates. One by one, they sapped themselves, and one by one, they wilted into the snow. Though I was projecting a mighty shield around Zander, his greatest defense was his own reputation. None of the mages questioned what they were seeing. To them, this man was a mythical demigod, so of course he possessed infinite and unknowable power! Of course he could withstand a few hundred paltry mages; why, they might as well be street magicians compared to him! This was Zander Fucking Fredeon! This was the First Mage of Alkandra, the immortal servant of the Dark Queen, the slayer of dragons, the impregnator of sirens, the occultic master of the forest-dwellers! What chance did mere mortals have against him?! They didn’t know that he’d been bested in the streets of Ardeni by a handful of Highland rangers and mages. They didn’t know that he’d nearly been killed by alcohol poisoning at least a hundred times. They didn’t know that a man with a strong enough uppercut and the element of surprise could kill him just as assuredly as twenty Lowland mages, for in truth, that was all they would’ve needed to defeat the great Zander Fredeon, but they allowed his reputation to blind them, and so they killed themselves to kill their perception of him.

Soon, there were just a dozen of us left standing. I could practically smell the desperation wafting from the remaining mages, who were bow-backed and on their knees, their eyes bulging with the strain of the battle. One by one, they dropped into the snow until there was only one other left standing. This was a man still in his teen years, hardly a man at all, but he was the strongest of the lot. Though tears poured down his cheeks, and sweat poured down his brow, he soldiered on through gritted teeth. He fell to one knee, then onto his elbows, but still, he fired his stream of attacks at Zander.

"Hey!" He yelled at me, "Hey you! I’ll hold him off; you make a break for it!"

Ah, what a gentleman. Who said chivalry was dead?

I disengaged from Zander, and watched the poor young man waste himself on my illusion.

"What are you doing?!" He yelled, collapsing onto his belly, "Run!"

"How old are you, boy?"

"WHAT?!"

"What’s your age?"

"Get the fuck out of here, you stupid bitch!" He cried, his fingers trembling with the effort of his spellcasting. With a groan of comingled exhaustion and dismay, he collapsed, and his spell evaporated.

I ended the illusion, and assessed my surroundings. Two-hundred-forty-nine of the Lowland’s finest were sprawled out in the snow, comatose with fatigue. It seemed a damn shame to kill them all, but there was no alternative. They were too dangerous to keep as prisoners, and too dangerous to let go. I muttered a second apology to Prestira, and got to work massacring her students. The least-taxing killing spell was to induce cardiac arrest, and so I went up and down the rows of unconscious mages, tapped my finger to their chests to avoid unnecessary expenditures of energy, and killed them while they slept. Some coughed blood, some spasmed, but most just stopped breathing. It was humane, I supposed. I didn’t really care. After a while, murder was just as ponderous a job as factory work. It was only when I got to the last mage, the young man who had tried to save me, that I paused. I saw something in him that reminded me of… well, me. Not me as Destiny, but the young Zander Fredeon I had been so many years ago.

Revisionist history, old man, I chuckled to myself. This boy was brave and virtuous, and I had been a sniveling coward hiding behind a bookshelf while my whole temple was massacred. Still, it touched something in me. I turned the boy over onto his back, and awoke him with a spell. His eyes fluttered open.

"Did we win?" He croaked.

"One of us did." I said, and briefly transformed back into Zander before donning Destiny’s more appealing visage.

The boy blinked. "You mother fucker," he whispered.

"I know." I smiled compassionately, and rested my hand on his chest, "How old are you?"

He tried to spit in my face, but only managed to splatter saliva all over his cheeks and eyes. I blotted him clean, and asked again, "How old? Don’t make me pry it from your mind."

"Nineteen."

"And already so powerful?" I raised my brow, "What a little overachiever you are. Prestira must’ve loved you."

"Don’t speak her name, you bastard!"

I rolled my eyes. "None of you knew her; I don’t know why you’re all so keen to defend her. She would’ve ground your bones to powder if she thought it would’ve given her complexion a nicer glow."

"Fuck you!"

"She was a psychotic drunk who only respected those stronger than her, which is why she ran off with me and Yavara, and abandoned all of you without a second thought."

"Lying slut!"

"She certainly was."

"You know what I mean!"

"You are a stubborn little fucker, aren’t you? Some people think stubbornness is a virtue, but look where it got you." I tapped him on the chest, and smiled, "Adaptability is what survivors have. Let’s see if you’ve got any of it. How would you like a job?"

"What?"

"An apprenticeship, actually. I need to reestablish the Alkandran Magical Order, and there’s a dearth of candidates within the Great Forest. How would you like to be my first?"

The boy just stared at me with his mouth agape. I watched the gears in his mind tick behind his eyes, and I felt a pang of disappointment when he made the decision to try to kill me. He raised a feeble hand to touch my chest, and I burst his heart. Blood shot out of his mouth, and speckled my face. With his dying breath, he croaked out a single guttural word, then his eyes rolled back into his head, and he went limp.

I frowned, and looked at the place where his forefinger was touching my breast. I peeled back my robes, pulled my bra down, and revealed a small black dot just above my nipple. What had he said with his last breath? "Cancer." The little fucker had used a death curse on me.

"Oh, you bastard." I chuckled to myself, watching the black dot vanish into my flesh. That’s what I get for trying to be nice.

How much time did I have left? Hours at the most. It would metastasize rapidly, eating through my blood, then my lymphnodes, then my organs. Already I could feel a fever setting on from my weakened immune system, and a dull ache in my chest.

"Well," I muttered, "no reason to be cautious now." I got to my feet, and surveyed the burning city, "Time to have some fun."

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