While dozens of concerned reporters swarmed on the dying Edwin Francis like ants on an abandoned crumb, Storm scrambled to find an egress from his disastrous situation. He found himself in a long, suspended catwalk above the main floor, a small hoard of guards and hardscrabble men following him with loud calls amidst the chaos. The long, polished sand colored marble ahead of him was pristine and unblemished, a sharp contrast from the limitless entropy he left in his wake.

“Up there, the red tie! Grab him!” The chorus of calls from behind the white noise generally paraphrased to some similar appropriation. The sun shone in at a low angle through the tall, broad windows that marked the eastern side of the hallway, dust particles dancing gently and indifferent to the petty humans that trifled beneath them.

How much longer can I wait!?

Tobias Stalt held a very high reputation in Radasanth, perhaps one of the few whose name raised as many eyebrows as Storm’s did. In spite of this, the desperate electromancer knew his time was fleeting; waiting for the dapper gentleman would be his undoing if he continued to push his chips behind the wager of divine intervention.

Screw it. Time for my own f*cking divinity.

With a wave of his hand, Storm tore the iron railing from its cemented wrest, a tremendous effort that drained the blood from his face. The screeching, creaking scream of the twisted metal joined with the railing creating a fine blockade behind the wizard and before the oncoming flood of humanity. Furious, a symphony of pitiful clangs and swears sounded his way as his pursuers were stopped at the wall of freshly turned iron atop the catwalk. Behind Storm, a single wall of office doors remained conspicuously closed, no doubt pencil pushers locking their work-homes from the inside.

Gotta move, gotta move. Shit, gotta move.

To his right, the catwalk ran another hundred feet before another set of heavy marble stairs spilled down to the same chaotic floor, where men sprinted awkwardly in their expensive suits to get at him. Echoing his earlier move, the powerful mage pulled the iron footings clear of their small cement foundations, blocking off now both paths to attack him.

A single crossbow bolt missed him, an armed guard firing the small lead bolt at him from the floor below. He didn’t even see the dart, just heard the whistle-thwack of the projectile striking the wall above and behind him. Instinctively, he jumped back and squatted, hiding himself from the archer’s angle of attack. Another wave of swears and curses roared his way as he looked to his right at the new wave of pinned pursuers.

Reaching behind him, Storm found his hand on the doorknob to one of the three accessible offices. The door handle resisted him, but very little effort was needed for him to use his abilities to unlock the metal tumblers. A simple turn, and…

(THUMP)

The door was blocked from the inside, where the hinges for the door sat cleverly hidden. He was completely trapped, and noticed archers moving for the stairs.

They get up here, and you’re screwed. Fish in a f*cking barrel.

From his perch, hidden from the view of the outraged people below, the sun shined down in a compassionate yellow glow upon the great evil man. The window panes were fairly thin, and certainly metal, hanging some twenty feet in front of him.

Shit. That’s it, then. Only live once.