Return of the Runebound Professor

“You do not know for what you ask,” Sievan said. Unlike every other sound, Sievan’s words did not vanish into the endless void surrounding the obsidian platform they stood on. Every one of his words echoed through the air, commanding attention with the presence of a king. “You seek to steal from those whose power eclipses yours like a mountain to a grain of sand.”

Wizen’s lips pulled back in a cold smile. Sticky, who stood several feet behind him, swallowed nervously as Wizen met Sievan’s gaze without flinching.

“The more I am told that something is impossible to attain, the more convinced I become that it isn’t. There is a manner in which a soul can be returned to life. I know it. I have seen records of it, spawned from the existence of your own followers.”

“There is a difference between preventing a soul from passing on and retrieving one from what waits beyond,” Sievan said, crossing his arms behind his back. “They are not one and the same.”

“But it is possible. Not once have you said otherwise,” Wizen said. The key in his hand hummed with crimson energy and he pointed it at the Demon Lord. “It would be a trivial matter for you to open the path. I would prefer it that way, but I have brought sufficient power to challenge even you.”

“Yes,” Sievan said, his head tilting to the side in observation. “I know of the artifact you bear. The power does not belong to you.”

“It does not,” Wizen agreed. “But I wield it, nonetheless. It seems our paths were already set. If you will not do what I ask, then I will take the power to do it myself. Step back, girl.”

Sticky glanced nervously from Wizen to Sievan. She swayed slightly in place, then pressed a hand to her chest and winced. She slunk back a step, moving closer to the edge of the platform and farther from the rising tension in the air, and sank down, hugging her knees to her chest.

The air around Wizen’s key thrummed. Runic pressure exploded around Wizen with such force that the obsidian beneath him shattered. Large fragments of it snapped up around him and were lifted into the air, taking flight as they were caught up in a building maelstrom of power surrounding the mage.

Claws of crimson light cut through the air and crawled into Wizen’s arm, biting deep into his flesh. His veins burned with energy and Wizen’s teeth ground in pain.

Sievan made no move to stop Wizen. The demon watched on in complete silence, his expression no different than it had been moments ago. It was impossible to tell if he was even watching Wizen.

Wind howled through the void and Wizen lifted into the air. The inside of his body lit with brilliant flashes of red lightning that ripped out through his skin and filled the air with their buzzing energy.

Pressure roiled off Wizen. Loud cracks rang out as more of the obsidian beneath him shattered, but the power was entirely contained within a ten-foot sphere around Wizen, not so much as getting close to touching Sticky or Sievan.

Wizen lifted a hand. Molten red whips of energy lashed across the ground and twisted around him like the tendrils of a burning eldritch being.

“You do not fear my magic,” Wizen said. His words boomed through the void and bolts of red lightning slipped free from his tongue and curled up around the sides of his face like smoke as he talked.

“No,” Sievan replied. “I do not fear you, Woven Man. There is only one thing in life that I fear, and it is not you.”

“Then you are a fool.”

Wizen brought his hands down. Red tendrils shot forward.

They seemed to carve through reality itself. Jagged cracks raced out around them, sending brilliant white light spilling in from a void beyond.

Sievan lifted a hand.

The energy vanished before it could reach him. Reality mended itself with a pop, returning to the same state it had been instants before.

“To you, I am Death,” Sievan said softly. “Are you certain you wish to do this? Snuffing one lesser than me does not bring any satisfaction. It is a waste of what could be a worthy end.”

“There is no worthier end than this,” Wizen replied, his voice as cold as ice. “And you have not witnessed the full extent of my strength.”

“Then show me, Woven Man. Meet your end.”

Wizen’s hand lifted to his neck. He pulled a small necklace free from within his shirt. It was studded with six emeralds. Inky energy twisted within four of them, but the final two were dull and lifeless.

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The necklace shuddered in the storm of red lightning surrounding Wizen. His hand tightened around the gems that still glowed, and ironclad determination etched itself into his expression.

“Weave. Give me my power,” Wizen breathed. “All of it. I release my bindings.”

A deep thrum echoed out. Wizen lifted his left hand, and four taut gray strands pulsing with immense energy materialized around his fingers. They stretched off into the void and vanished out of sight.

The air around Wizen shattered. White light spilled out from growing white cracks, illuminating him in its ghastly glow like an avenging angel descended from the heavens.

Black fire ignited along Wizen’s palm. It roared forth in a tsunami, swallowing half of the platform and crashing down over Sievan in a split instant. The fire twisted away and vanished, drawn into the Archdemon’s palm, but Wizen was far from done.

The air split as gray lightning screamed down and slammed onto Sievan’s shoulders. Sievan staggered, a flicker of surprise passing over his features. Smoke curled from his suit, which had been slightly charred.

Red whips of light shot out from Wizen’s palms, leaving even more cracks in reality in their wake.

More black fire erupted from Wizen and rose hundreds of feet into the air before him, completely blotting out the void and roaring toward Sievan.

Sievan flicked his hand. A wave of nothingness passed out from his fingers, demolishing every strand of Wizen’s power it touched, but Wizen didn’t so much as flinch. Even more magic poured out from him.

A sickly, pulsating beam of black light erupted from his palms and slammed into Sievan’s chest, sending the demon sliding back across the platform. The Archdemon’s expression tightened and his hands clenched down on the power, shattering it.

Even as it vanished into motes of light fading into the air, more lightning crashed down on Sievan from above. He staggered and Wizen sent his tendrils shooting out for Sievan once more.

Sievan snapped his fingers.

A pulse ripped out from his body and washed over the entire platform. Wizen’s magic vanished the instant his power touched it, but this time, not all of the white cracks in reality mended itself.

“You are a powerful mortal,” Sievan said. “Stronger than any I have fought before. But you cannot defeat me. This does not have to end this way. Our other guests will arrive soon.”

“I am far greater than the sum of my parts,” Wizen replied. Blood trickled down from his nose and ran across his lips. “And I am no longer a patient man.”

His grip on the key tightened. Red light pulsed around him and poured out from his skin, lighting his body from within. The air around him shattered. Huge swathes of it evaporated, transformed to white portals that lead to nothing. Wizen clenched his free hand.

A gray strand emerged from within the void. It wound around Wizen’s wrist, digging into his skin. The world around Wizen thrummed.

His head flew back as a roar of pain and defiance ripped from his lips. Cracks raced across his skin and peeled back like he was a broken clay pot. White energy pushed out from within the gaps and poured from his eyes and mouth.

Sievan extended his hand toward Wizen.

Black smoke poured forth from the sky and formed into a massive palm the size of a three-story building. It crashed down on Wizen, who thrust his own palm upward. White energy ignited at his palm.

A brilliant crack split through the air as their magic connected. There was a brilliant flash — and Sievan’s magic evaporated.

Power roared all around Wizen and tore through the stage around him, but it continued to keep a wide berth from Sticky, who watched on in awe, eyes wide, lips parted in disbelief.

A mortal was holding his own against the Lord of Death.

“You wield powers that are too great for you to control,” Sievan said. “You grow closer to my domain, Woven Man. It is not too late for you to spend what you have left.”

“I have already spent it,” Wizen snarled. He brought his hands together with a loud clap. Jagged white lightning tore out through the air from between his palms, swirls of black flame and gray energy twisting within it.

The strange magic slammed into Sievan and launched the Archdemon off his feet with an earthshaking explosion. There was only a brief instant for Sievan to look surprised before he vanished into the void.

Sticky’s mouth dropped fully open. “You did it?”

“No,” Wizen replied. “Not yet. He still does not view me as an opponent.”

“Because you are not one.” Sievan’s voice echoed through the darkness. Streamers of black smoke poured out from the darkness and onto the stage. The Demon Lord’s body reformed. Smoke curled off his chest, and a tiny white crack glistened on his stomach where Wizen’s magic had hit him. “And you do not attempt to be one. You have only utilized a small portion of your strength, even as your body crumbles.”

“I’m saving the rest for something more important,” Wizen replied. “Fight me, Sievan. In true. Let me witness your true strength, Lord of Death. Mortal I may be, but you will not be able to defeat me with anything less.”

Sievan didn’t get a chance to answer.

A thrum ran through the air.

Bright purple magic shimmered, drawing a line in the air. It expanded outward to form a large, rectangular portal. A towering demon clad in black armor stepped through the portal, a massive, chipped sword slung over his shoulder.

Wizen’s eyes widened in disbelief.

Not at the demon, but at who came after him.

A woman with bright red hair and green robes.

A demon girl whose hands ended in slight claws — claws that Wizen had felt wrapped around his own wrist just a short time ago, back in the mortal realm.

And, after them, a man with a huge grimoire slung over his shoulder.

Wizen’s skin prickled. It was the other wielder of Weave.

Impossible. Sievan planned for this?

“Ah,” Sievan said with a satisfied smile. “It seems the rest of our guests have arrived. Now we can get started.”

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