Paragon of Destruction

The moment Arran realized the cavern housed a large city, he regretted the large ball of bright fire he’d sent up into the air. If there was anyone here, he’d just unmistakably announced his presence.

He concealed himself with a Shadowcloak at once, but that would not hide the fact that a mage had arrived — not with a bright white light illuminating the area for hundreds of paces around.

For several minutes, Arran stood still as a statue, his eyes and Shadowsight both alert for any sign of movement in his surroundings.

Yet the city remained completely still. Finally, he relaxed.

The lack of a response did not mean there were no enemies present, of course, and he wasn’t so foolish as to let his guard down. But if there were enemies, it seemed they would not attack immediately, and worrying about an attack that might never come would do little good.

Instead, Arran turned his attention to the houses built into the sides of the vast cavern.

Now that he could take a better look, he saw that the houses were placed on narrow terraces that were carved into the rock walls. Each of these terraces was about twenty feet high, and they ran all the way to the ceiling, with steep stone stairs connecting the levels.

Well over a thousand of the stone houses could be seen from where Arran stood, and he had little doubt that many more lined the walls in the rest of the cavern. The city, when it was still inhabited, must have been enormous — comparable to even the largest cities he’d seen aboveground.

That wasn’t all, however. While the walls held thousands of houses, there were more buildings at the center of the cavern, half a mile from where Arran stood. The light wasn’t enough to make out their numbers, but even at this distance, he saw that they were far larger than the houses along the walls.

Arran spent some minutes considering his next move. While he was curious to discover what lay at the center of the cavern, he was reluctant to advance without any idea of what was ahead. An abandoned city might still hold dangers.

After giving it some thought, he decided he would first search some of the houses. Perhaps that would tell him more about the nature of the strange city and give him an idea of what to expect at its center.

The first house he searched was completely empty. Its metal door swung open smoothly when Arran gave it a push, and beyond the door, he found a spacious interior with stone furniture and little else. Although the house was large enough to house a full family, there was no sign that anyone had ever lived there, with no items or objects to be found anywhere.

Arran frowned when his search turned up nothing. Either those who had lived in the house had taken all their belongings when they left, or the house had never been inhabited at all. But either way, the empty building did nothing to answer his questions.

He tried another house, but the result was the same. No sign of life, past or present, could be found within the building.

Two next few dozen houses he searched were no different. He found them as empty as the first two, with not the slightest sign of habitation to be seen in any of them.

Although the buildings told Arran little about the people who had once inhabited the city, from the state of the abandoned buildings he knew that they could not have left in a hurry.

Still, he didn’t intend to give up the search. Even if the city’s previous inhabitants had taken care to bring along all their belongings when they left, there must be traces of them somewhere — things they overlooked in leaving.

Yet before he could continue, a man’s voice suddenly sounded.

"Stop wasting your time with empty buildings and come visit me."

Arran’s eyes went wide with surprise. The voice was calm and sounded like it came from right next to him, but he was certain there was nobody nearby. And that suggested that the speaker was a powerful mage, capable of either hiding himself perfectly or casting his voice at Arran from far away.

He threw a quick glance at the exit tunnel a few hundred paces away, already considering whether he should try to escape. Yet he decided against it almost instantly — if the mage was as powerful as he suspected, then running would be of little use. In the tunnels, there was no place to hide.

His best bet, he thought, was to go see who the speaker was.

Still, before Arran ventured to the center of the cavern — where he guessed he would find the mage — he put on the ring and armor he’d received from the Matriarch, along with an enchanted robe. Between the two protective treasures, he should have a chance of surviving against even a strong enemy.

Then, he dropped his Shadowcloak and set off toward the buildings at the center of the cavern, relaxed but ready for battle.

Well before he reached the cavern’s center, he saw a figure approaching in the distance, coming toward him with unhurried steps. As he drew closer, he saw the figure was a man, but one whose appearance caused him some shock.

Tall and black-haired, the man’s gaunt figured was dressed in a long black robe. Yet his skin was deathly pale, as white as paper, and his eyes were the same color — completely white, lacking even pupils.

Arran came to a halt when he was about fifty paces from the robed figure, and he looked ahead warily, unsettled by the mage’s unusual appearance.

The other man came to a halt as well, and a small smile formed on his thin lips as his white eyes focused on Arran.

"So, a Shadowflame mage has come to my home," he said in a dark tone. "It seems we have some business to settle."

The mage raised his hand in a calm gesture, and although Arran could Sense no Essence coming from the man, he immediately understood the situation. There would be a battle.

In a single movement, he rushed a dozen paces to the side, recasting his Shadowcloak as he moved. It was too late — an unseen attack smashed into his body an instant later.

There was a bright flash of light as the attack hit — the Matriarch’s ring, Arran realized, protecting him from the spell. And rather than injure him, the spell merely caused him to stagger back a pace.

It was an opportunity he would not waste, and he rushed forward at once, crossing the fifty paces between himself and the mage in an instant, sword already drawn and ready to strike.

When he was just a dozen paces from his opponent, the gaunt man waved his hand again, and this time the Matriarch’s ring did not protect Arran. He was struck by an irresistible force that sent him sprawling across the ground.

The blow knocked the wind from Arran, but he could not give in to the pain. Instantly, he rose to his feet, then sent his most powerful Shadowflame at the figure, imbued with his full insight into severing. Behind it, Arran himself followed, sword raised to attack.

Yet the black-robed man blocked Arran’s Shadowflame with a casual gesture, and with a second gesture, another staggeringly powerful attack smashed into Arran.

Again he was sent sprawling to the floor, and again he rose in an instant. He sent another Shadowflame at his opponent even as he charged at the man, but once more, two simple gestures stopped his attack and sent him to the ground.

Arran could not give up, and as he got to his feet, he threw more spells at his opponent — a Flamestrike, a Windblade, another Shadowflame — and charged again, only to find himself on the cold ground once again some moments later.

Again and again, Arran attacked, but all his attacks were stopped with casual ease. And whenever he came close to his opponent, an invisible spell would smash him to the ground.

After a good ten minutes of this, he understood that there was no winning this fight. His opponent outclassed him in both strength and skill, and it was a small miracle that he was even still alive.

He rose from the ground again, but this time, after launching a Shadowflame at his opponent, he turned around and ran as fast as he could in a mad dash for the exit tunnel. It was no use — he had barely set two steps before he was hit in the back by yet another spell.

He got up again, but instead of attacking, he lowered his sword. "What do you—"

The sentence was cut off when he was hit with another spell that knocked him to the ground again.

For a full hour, Arran tried everything he could — fighting, fleeing, pleading, remaining on the ground — but each time, the result was the same. More attacks that he had no way to resist.

By now, he long understood that the mage had no intention of killing him. While the attacks had caused him some serious bruises, they had done no damage other than that — except, perhaps, to Arran’s ego.

Then, finally, when he rose to his feet once more, Arran found that no attack came.

"What do you want?" he asked in a rough voice, coughing from the pain of being pummeled with attacks for a full hour. He did not bother to attack or even raise his sword — against this enemy, it would be pointless.

"Revenge, or so I thought," the white-eyed mage answered in a somber voice. "But I think you’ve paid your debt by now."

"My debt?" Arran stared at the man in confusion. But then, understanding dawned in his eyes. "You’re Karanos?"

"My name still lives on, then," the man said, his tone pensive. He shook his head, then continued, "No matter. Tell me, what has happened in the outside world since my departure? Has Amydon been rebuilt?"

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