Chapter 652

"Finish her. Then we’re leaving."

Only after a long silence did Kaecilius finally speak.

Something about what had just happened was deeply wrong.

The spell Clea had unleashed before collapsing had shaken him badly. Chen’s veins had burst beneath his skin, his flesh splitting apart in a grotesque display that looked like he’d been flayed alive.

Kaecilius had seen more than enough magic to recognize what he was looking at.

It was unquestionably dark magic.

He knew several spells capable of producing similar results, but every one of them was advanced enough to require extensive preparation even for someone of his skill.

And Clea was a legitimate Kamar-Taj sorcerer.

The fact that she knew dark magic was strange enough. Kaecilius could almost explain that away by assuming the Ancient One had relaxed the rules and adopted a more experimental teaching philosophy.

But Clea was far too young to possess magic of this caliber.

More importantly, she’d been stabbed twice only moments before casting it.

Reality wasn’t a video game. Having one sliver of health left didn’t mean you could keep moving normally.

Two blades driven deep into the body. Massive blood loss. Shock. Pain. Dizziness.

Even the Ancient One would struggle to maintain perfect concentration under those conditions, much less unleash a spell that powerful without preparation.

Then there was the strangest part.

Kaecilius hadn’t seen Clea cast it.

There had been no visible buildup. No obvious gesture. No warning.

Nothing.

Only when the spell took effect had an inexplicable sense of dread seized him, like something terrible had suddenly stepped into the room.

Judging by the pallor on the faces of the other sorcerers, he wasn’t the only one who’d felt it.

A woman who could create her own martial art.

A young woman capable of advanced dark magic.

There had to be a limit to genius.

And then a far more disturbing thought occurred to him.

What if Clea was the Ancient One’s secret disciple?

What if she wasn’t nearly as young as she appeared?

What if she was another centuries-old monster who had extended her life through sorcery?

The possibility was terrifying.

Kaecilius became convinced.

If Clea really was this dangerous, she absolutely could not be allowed to live.

His followers moved toward her.

Then footsteps echoed from the darkness behind them.

Everyone turned.

A figure emerged slowly from the shadows.

Yellow robes.

A hood hiding the face.

Hands clasped behind the back.

The unmistakable bearing of a master.

The sorcerers tensed.

Then they relaxed almost immediately.

Seriously?

Again?

Their leader had already seen through one fake Ancient One. Whoever this was had terrible timing.

Just watch Kaecilius expose the disguise again.

One of the sorcerers even looked toward their leader.

"Come on, boss. Show us what you’ve got."

Instead, Kaecilius took one look at the figure.

"Ancient One!"

He pointed dramatically.

Then he turned around, opened a portal, and ran.

The others stared after him.

That was when it finally clicked.

This one was real.

"Oh, hell."

They abandoned all pretense and bolted after their leader.

The Ancient One calmly removed her hood.

Her gaze immediately found Stiller’s corpse.

Then she turned to Clea.

She crouched beside the injured woman, rolled her onto her back, and raised one hand.

Golden light gathered around her fingers.

With a small gesture, the two short blades embedded in Clea’s body tore free and flew backward.

The Ancient One pressed three or four points along Clea’s body in quick succession, stopping the bleeding as best she could.

Then she opened a portal and pursued Kaecilius and the others.

The doors of a room inside the New York Sanctum slammed open.

Evenson hurried inside.

Several people stood around the room, all wearing grim expressions.

Ollivan looked especially devastated.

He seemed to have aged twenty years in a single night. His eyes were red, and he was clearly fighting to keep himself from breaking down.

At the far end of the room stood a bed.

Clea lay motionless upon it.

Her face was deathly pale.

The Ancient One had barely left in pursuit of Kaecilius when Ollivan and the others had arrived. They had immediately moved Clea to the Sanctum for treatment.

Evenson saw the scene.

Everything inside him went cold.

He crossed the room in three hurried strides and dropped beside the bed, seizing Clea’s bloodstained hand.

It was cold.

Far colder than it should have been.

His lips trembled as he reached toward her throat and checked for a pulse.

There.

Weak.

But real.

She was alive.

The relief hit him so hard his legs gave out.

He sagged beside the bed, laughing and crying at the same time.

"You’re alive..."

His voice broke.

"You’re still alive..."

Ollivan stepped closer and gently placed a hand on his shoulder.

His voice was thick with grief.

"She was stabbed twice. The wounds reached deep into her chest. The Ancient One stopped the bleeding, but..."

He swallowed.

"It was only enough to buy her some time."

His old face twisted.

"She doesn’t have much left."

Tears finally spilled down his cheeks.

Ollivan had raised Clea himself.

Whatever Evenson felt for her, Ollivan’s bond with her went back to her childhood.

Watching the girl he’d raised bleed toward death was unbearable.

Somewhere inside his grief, he’d already made a decision.

If he ever found the traitors again, he would kill one of them even if he had to drag himself to death doing it.

He’d bite one of their throats out with his own teeth if necessary.

"You should say something to her," Ollivan said.

He reached out again, his trembling hand settling against Evenson’s shoulder.

"She may not be able to hear you, but she’d want to hear your voice."

This time, Evenson knocked his hand away.

He shot to his feet, fury flashing across his face.

"You people..."

He stopped himself before the curse escaped.

Then he forced the anger into a single question.

"Where are the people who attacked her?"

A female mage around Clea’s age wiped tears from her face.

"The Ancient One went after the ones who escaped. Three others were killed by Clea herself. One survived, but he’s unconscious from a severe head injury."

Her voice trembled.

"She was incredibly brave..."

The woman covered her mouth as tears began spilling again.

Evenson’s eyes widened.

"There’s one alive?"

There was something almost joyful in his expression.

"Bring him here."

He raised his voice.

"Now! Bring him here!"

The young mage stared at him in surprise.

Only after Ollivan nodded did she turn and hurry from the room.

Ollivan misunderstood completely.

He assumed Evenson wanted the survivor brought in so he could kill him in front of Clea and give her some measure of revenge.

Frankly, Ollivan approved.

He had only one request.

Once the bastard was brought in, Ollivan wanted the chance to beat him with his staff.

Twice.

No.

Two hundred times.

It wasn’t long before two sorcerers dragged the unconscious man into the room and threw him onto the floor.

Nearly everyone at Kamar-Taj had a soft spot for Clea. She was young, cheerful, and impossible not to like.

Watching her hover between life and death had left the entire Sanctum furious.

The fact that they’d restrained themselves from killing her attacker outright was already remarkable.

"I’ll kill you!"

Ollivan raised his iron staff over his head.

The first time he’d met the traitors, he’d managed to keep his temper under control.

That restraint was gone now.

His daughter was dying.

He was done being reasonable.

But before the staff could come down, a green light suddenly enveloped the unconscious mage.

His body convulsed.

His flesh shrank.

In seconds, he looked as though every ounce of water had been sucked from him by some grotesque magical procedure.

Skin clung to bone.

Then even that withered away.

A skeleton collapsed onto the floor.

Ollivan froze.

Then he turned.

Evenson stood beside Clea’s bed with one hand clenched around a stream of green energy.

The glow sank into his body.

Ollivan understood immediately.

This wasn’t merely revenge.

Evenson was draining the man’s life force.

And he intended to use it to heal Clea.

Ollivan’s eyes widened.

What kind of evil magic was this?

He slammed the butt of his staff against the floor.

"Then hurry up!"

His voice cracked like a whip.

"Stop wasting time!"

Dark magic or holy magic, he didn’t care.

If it could save his daughter, it was good enough.

Evenson gave him an exasperated look.

Then he leaned over Clea.

His lips parted.

A dense mass of green mist churned inside his mouth.

Life force.

Everything he’d just taken from the captured sorcerer.

All he had to do was transfer it into Clea.

He didn’t care anymore that a Warlock’s magic carried fel energy.

He didn’t care what consequences it might have.

Right now, there was only one thing that mattered.

Clea had to live.

Evenson leaned closer and prepared to exhale the energy into her.

In his mind, the scene practically wrote itself.

The dying woman would recover.

The wounds would close.

Clea would rise from the bed.

And Evenson would raise her high into the air and announce to everyone:

"A new warrior is born!"

The room would erupt in cheers.

Perfect.

Except...

That wasn’t what happened.

Just as Evenson was about to breathe the green mist into Clea, the supposedly dying woman suddenly opened her eyes.

Her entire body arched violently upward.

Her feet kicked against the mattress.

Evenson jerked in surprise.

The green mist he’d been holding in his mouth shot backward down his throat.

He choked.

Then coughed violently, green smoke bursting from his nostrils.

No one else seemed to notice.

But Evenson was only inches away.

He saw her eyes.

For one brief instant, black energy flickered through them.

And more importantly...

The wounds covering Clea’s body were gone.

Every single one.

She was completely healed.

"Clea..."

Evenson was still coughing when he stared at her in confusion.

"What... what did you do in there?"

He hadn’t expected an answer.

Clea barely seemed conscious.

Her eyes were only half open, and she looked as though she were sleepwalking.

But something had changed.

She whispered softly.

"The secrets of the abyss..."

Her voice was faint.

"Let them remain in the abyss forever."