The world moved before him in a blur, as each footfall led to an increased degree of hostility. He was steeled by each step, more confident and committed to the notion of killing Arius. Shinsou and Felicity and the Thayne all had incredible power, but also introduced their own new vessel for the evil time mage to assume. The only way that Storm Veritas could guarantee the form would be isolated would be to face him alone; perhaps better still he rationed this wise as only his magics had near-infinite speed. In the absence of time manipulation, preposterous speed was what he figured to be their best bet.

No distractions. No hesitations. No mercy. Keep it simple; you see him, you confirm it’s him, and flash fry him with every possible droplet of your power. He dies today; this ends today.

The wizard moved with a motivated gait but without running; his mind fixed on scenarios that could transpire as small currents of dust rose and fell silently by him. The fresh air was a welcome replacement, his mind clearing of the muddled scents of death as he considered the iterations of what lie before him.

All or nothing. If it means destroying the clocktower, all of Whitevale… hell, all of Corone… it’s got to happen. He’ll keep bouncing around countries and islands, killing thousands, taking new forms, overthrowing governments.

There’s just no one else to stop him.

Leaving the sun for the cold threshold of the clocktower, Storm’s footfalls once again reverberated in the small, stone building. The large church was a connected but fully standalone structure from the tower, a tall, narrow passage with thin cut windows lining the stairs that spiraled northward. The aging electromancer effortlessly strode up the stairs near the outer wall; a careless footfall would be such an anticlimactic end to this arc. A voice from above ushered down.

“You’ve come for me alone, old man? Your form is disinteresting; there’s still time for you to turn around.”

The taunts of the voice above confirmed that Arius was waiting. Storm stop to catch his breath, settling the anger that reflexively quickened his heartbeat. There were so many options here; the notion of pulling the tower down from below dawned on him. Still; he had to see Arius die, in whatever form he existed in. Simply assuming the most powerful entity he had ever encountered would not survive a cave-in felt a fool’s errand.

Or maybe fly up, catch him by surprise?

This notion rose two tendrils of doubt in the experienced adventurer. He had suspended his own disbelief into thinking that he was fast enough to hit Arius with lightning; as fast as lightning traveled, it was still decidedly not instantaneous, and therefore could be too slow for the monster awaiting him. Nevertheless, as “slow” as lightning was, his flight was little more than directionally surprising. No; Arius had wanted him here; the wizard would otherwise have either fled or attacked by now.

As many insults filled his mind, Veritas bit his tongue and soldiered forward. The door before him at the top of the stairs shielded the gears of the working clock, as well as the wizard who had filled his life with so much dread. Arius was responsible for the fall of Tylermande; the attack on Shinsou. He had created insurrection in Whitevale, and killed Canen, stunning Felicity in the meanwhile. His time to die was overdue.

Deep breaths. Be ready. Be charged.

Storm reached forward, glancing down quickly at over eighty feet of vertical drop. He’d love to sling Arius’s carcass down this cavern, to see how long the final vessel’s bits would scatter. He turned the knob slowly, announcing his presence.

“Kind of you to wait for an old man, sorry for the present I’ve…”

There was no clocktower gear room. There were no large metal cogs, nor nefarious wizard. There was merely a single black oval, with a pink eye glowing behind it. The eye began to close as Storm gazed upon it, feeling his body pulled through the narrow aperture of the doorway and into the darkness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The lights came back without pain, a sun shining down upon his body as he rose from the dust. The soil was red, a clay like consistency, and the sun pushed down through clouds with frustration, unable to break free.

No!

Disbelief. His eyes shot about, noticing the scorched earth he slowly struggled to rise from. His body ached, not of injury but rather of something more like atrophy; a weakness he could not subscribe a specific point to. About him, black broken tree trunks scattered the surface of the bumpy area; large deciduous trees laying about in charred pieces. There were fragments of life existing in the soil; dark brown grasses that thrived and an odor of sulfur that dominated the area. He had been to this place before, and it was unmistakable. It was confirmation that all was lost.

It was Raiaera.