#wizard impulse

No time to explore the implications of that. Not after all the training, all the resource gathering they’ve done. No, there’s no more time to waste, no more preparing they can do. Today, no matter what happens, they will find out what Magistrate Dolios is hiding. 

TFC tries to psych himself up, despite every fiber in his old bones telling him not to go in. Ever since he was a boy, almost every story he was told warned him not to enter the Hangman’s Playground. The stories never quite explain what happens within these woods, but the tales of those who dare enter only got more horrifying as he got older. 

Grian, on the other hand, walks straight through the bushes and into the forest, much to the shock and horror of everyone else. He knows the stories, true and legend, he just doesn’t care. Soon after, Etho follows in, then Tango, Joe, xB, and Jevin. One by one, following after the cheerful angel, until only TFC and Mumbo are left at the forest interface. TFC places his hand on Mumbo’s back. “I wouldn’t recommend being last, with your back to the forest and all that.” 

It’s enough to get him moving, running to catch up with Xisuma. The Forest of Memories swallows the hermits whole, trees letting in only dapples of light across the ground. The smattering and ever changing light plays tricks with the hermits’ heads, flashes of things that shouldn’t be here appearing in their eyes, sounds that don’t belong in a forest playing distantly with the wind. 

They do their best to stay directly atop the red hued leyline of dark magic, Ren every so often recasting his spell to keep from losing the trail. They pass by a herd of goldhorns, grazing in a clearing alongside a wild herd of shleep. The night sky wool wisping into the air and playing in the distorted light. Zedaph almost runs off to join the shleep, were it not for Impulse holding him by the capelet. `Turuls and Anzus flit between full crowns of trees, the latter spitting water and breathing fire as it plays. 

It was a perfectly normal forest. But between every twitter, there was a scream. Behind every dappled ray of light, there was a world long gone. The Forest of Memories is sinking it’s teeth into the hermits. 

A flash of light blinds Stress, and she’s no longer in the calming, quiet forest, hiking with her fellow hermits. The sounds of birds and the breeze replaced by a low roar of voices and lush music. The snug, warm, and durable robes of her outfit is gone, rather feeling sterile, starch silk shift across her legs. She feels so exposed in the rich, beautiful dress. And when the light fades from her eyes, she’s standing in a grandiose ballroom. Her parents’ ballroom, full of people, all wearing similar dresses and suits. All wearing the same smile.

“What do you think you’re doing?” A shrill voice Stress immediately recognizes as her mother shouts. The tight bun of brown hair, the same shade as Stress’s own, leans down and hauls her skirts up. “These shoes are peasant wear! And look at your posture!”

“But mother,” Stress whimpers. 

“Don’t talk back! You are a lady, act like it!” 

“I don’t want to be a lady! It’s borin’, mother! I don’t want to use my magic to make swan sculptures,” She waves to the side, knowing that an ice waterfowl is just nearby. Of course she knows- this is her memories. “I wanna make something grand and beautiful! Something no one has ever made!”

The ball fades for a moment, like fog in the night, and her mother has been replaced by a different face. A face she knows, though is much, much younger. But his voice betrays the illusion. “Stress, stress! Snap out of it!”

Mumbo’s face regains his mustache, matching the grownup voice of her fellow nobleman, and something cold, smooth is pressed into her hand. The talisman fights away the illusion, until the mist has dissolved in the summer sun and her true family stands before her again. Twenty something concerned faces, BDubs and Iskall helping her stay standing. “I...I was back in Milliara, in ma family’s manor.” 

Xisuma shakes his head. “You were here the whole time. It must be the forest. It’s like what Queen Erlea mentioned, the forest uses our mind against us.” 

“Such a peaceful forest,” Cleo whispers. “Yet it harbors such dangerous magic.” 

“It felt so real. I knew it was a memory, but in the moment….” Stress shakes her head. “In the moment, I was trapped as a lady again.”

She runs her fingers over the talisman, then pulls it over her head. With the help of her friends, her true family, she regains her step and they move forward. But every shimmer in sunlight, Stress’s fears only grow. 

The forest isn’t after her. Xisuma is always the logical one. He’s deduced that the forest seems to play off people’s memories, latching onto their emotions. The ghost in Addows mentioned that she only thought happy thoughts, and the Forest didn’t have control over her. So Xisuma thinks happy thoughts as well, simple and to the point. He thinks of his fellow hermits, building his beloved tower. 

He built his observation tower with Ex. And just like that, the forest has found his weak spot.  He’s not standing among the trees, but rather in front of his observation tower. And only one other person was with him. Standing, hackles raised, was his brother. 

Ex’s white hair was luminescent in the sunshine of the Ashioll sea, red cloak discarded and tucked beside the wall of fresh, unweathered, and unblemished stone. No burn marks from Tango or Impulse, or mismatched windows after Grian would throw a rock just a bit too large. No, there were only two people on Eremita. 

Not anymore. “We can’t let any random person on our island! We hardly know anything about this poet guy, he could be working for the Council!” Ex waves his hand in the general direction, where their newcomer is tapping the end of his quill against his chin. Leaving an ink stain. “This is a place to hide, for us to be free, brother. You’re too trustworthy!”

“And you’re a coward!” X’s voice rises over his mask, forged by his brother to protect him from the sunlight. “You’ve blinded yourself with your own light, and you can’t see that we’d be stronger, safer with more. We can’t be a guild with just two brothers.”

“I never wanted to be a guild.” Ex surges till the twins are nose to nose, the supernova mage’s eyes burning with the heat of a thousand stars. Xisuma’s are as dark as night. “I just wanted somewhere for us to be free, aren’t I all you need?” 

The words fall from X’s mouths, stinging as he says them this time around. He should’ve never said them, but now he’s being forced to relive this horrible moment all over again. “I don’t need you, I never needed you!” 

Xisuma finds himself on the ground, his mask knocked loose. But the sunlight wasn’t the only thing burning his eyes. Blood falls across his face, perpendicular slashes oozing red ochre, and the same dripping from the end of his brother’s staff. 

In his foolishness, blinded by the sunlight, by his brother, Xisuma fights back. He summons his magic, and hurls twin lashes of void at his brother. Knocking him over, grasping against the frozen burns across his own face. Xisuma stumbles to find his mask, ignoring the blood. “An eye for an eye. You aren’t my brother.” 

The pain feels real, the sensation of the blood running down his face, the scent of ozone in the air feels real. But Xisuma remembers that day clearly- the worst day of his life. The day he lost his brother. And he knows he wasn’t crying. 

It’s not real. Xisuma reaches up, and feels the wet stain. It doesn’t coagulate like blood, the tears that run from beneath his mask. It’s an illusion, Xisuma.

Logic is Xisuma’s strength. He wasn’t logical that day, but he is now. And he cries, for the loss of his brother, his best friend. He focuses in on those teas, something the forest can’t hide from him. He closes his eyes, feeling the guilt and sorrow. Wishing he wasn’t so cowardly to reach out and make amends. 

Distantly, he feels someone touching his arm, his hand. But it doesn’t feel like his body. A cool metal band slips around a finger, and he can finally find his way out of the illusion.

When he opens his eyes, he’s in the forest again, the illusion shattering and sparkling like starlight in the sun. Like the tiny stars his brother used to make when they were boys. Xisuma jumps out of his skin when a hand lays on his arm, feeling all too real. Joe stood next to him, other hand retreating from the moodring on Xisuma’s finger. The first newcomer to the island. He offers peace, but Xisuma can’t find it within himself. 

The forest is in his head, twisting his memories and reminding him of all his wrongs. Turning his mind against him. He can only focus on walking, follow the line of hermits before him. Wishing for the horrible thoughts to end. And wishing for his brother to be at his side. 

Xisuma isn’t the only one who lost his family. But at least his is alive. Zedaph, Impulse, and Tango tried to steel themselves in preparation of what they knew the Forest of Memories would bring up. They thought they were prepared, able to fight off the Hangman’s Playground. Both physically and mentally. Even Zed thought he’d be able to shepherd away the intrusive thoughts.

The forest is smart, however. And it goes for him before the others. Zedaph feels the heat against his face, and closes his eyes. He will not see that night. Zedaph hears the screams, of his own guild dying around him, and he hums to himself. He will not hear that night. He tries to block it out, to block out the forest, to refuse it access into his head to hurt him further. 

“Go, Zed!” The voice is so crisp, so real, it’s not just an echo of a memory. He can’t help but look up, searching for his guildleader. 

And he sees scicraft burning. He watches as the fire hurls across the sky, and ash coats the massacre in a fine layer of dust. But he realizes, experiencing this night all over again, that it’s not just ash dancing in the air. Mixed with the burning embers are the fragmented pieces of husks- those attacking the guild. Husks before he even knew dark magic existed. 

Zedaph collapses to his knees, alerting the other hermits to his vision. Impulse falls victim next, his face red as the sensation of burning is played through his head. As, in his illusion, he’s running through the fire. Calling out for the other guild members, even though he knows there’s no hope. He’s trapped in the past, forced to relive the day he lost his family. Until all he had left was Zed, Tango, and a memory. 

Tango rushes to try and retrieve a potion, liquid happiness that was brewed to perfection by Stress. He digs his hand through the bag of supplies, until his fingers close around...fabric. Tango retreats his hand, no longer digging through his backpack, but rather digging through the ashen remains of his guild. He’s holding a torn, burnt cape, stained in blood. 

In one fell swoop and one horrible shared memory, all of Team ZIT is in the clutches of the forest. It plays with their mind, their memories. Turn them on themselves, blaming themselves for the loss. Survivor’s guilt. The other hermits try to snap them out of it, placing talismans on them and forcing potions across their lips. 

It’s not until Doc takes control of Zed, and uses his friend’s magic to dispel the thoughts are they able to get ZIT in any state of relief. Doc feels horrible, but it was a necessary evil. The ZIT trio hold each other close, the thoughts lingering like mist in the morning, whispers of the forest still controlling them. 

He didn’t mean to say that. But the words that were on the tip of his tongue came out as what he was thinking. Damn truth spells, his words have done little except make the pilgrims feel worse! Impulse offers a meek smile, and hops over the husked thunderbird, a well-timed explosion tossing him over the enormous bird’s head. 

Ren’s hands cross, fingers symmetrical before snapping outwards, twisting and turning to summon his magic. “Let’s get this little birdy wrangled up, y’all.” 

With a chuckle, Ren casts his magic. The circle tightens, trails weaving into a braided rope. Just as he imagined, a lasso appears in his hand. Beside him, False calls out orders. Like the general of an army. “Tango, Impulse, keep it distracted for Ren!” 

“Hey Impy, think it’ll taste like chicken?” Tango laughs, fire blazing around him. He taps his heel against the cloud beneath his feet, and condensed water burns into steam, the floor falling away from the thunderbird. Together, the two keep the bird preoccupied, completely oblivious to the spinning rope of Ren’s lasso. 

Of all the cities the hermits thought would be safe from Dolios and his dark magic, surely the city in the sky would be. But the reports of unrelenting storms and flocks of broken-winged birds led them straight to the crystal. Nestled in the heart of a hot spring spa, in the depths of the clouds and open to the sky, False and Ren managed to destroy the corrupted crystal. But not before this thunderbird discovered them, and attacked with the strength of a hurricane. 

“I think he’s mad he didn’t do his job! Protect the crystal, kill any nosy townsfolk.” Impulse chuckles, snapping his fingers and blasting the flank of the bird. Ash of the husked form collapses, head rearing back and lightning crackling under the wings and feathers. Generated by the beat of the beast’s wings. But before it can release it’s thunderous caw, matched with the bolt of lightning, amber magic twists and wraps across the thunderbird’s beak. 

“Got’em, boys! False?” Ren grins, digging his heels into the cloud vapor. HIs ears tuck against his head, fur meeting hair as he struggles to keep the eagle from escaping into the sky. What Ren wouldn’t give for a buff from Wels right now. 

False doesn’t hesitate. She never does. She leaps onto the back of the bird, heels digging between feathers and flakes of the soulless, lifeless body, and raises her blade. The rippling metal turns bright red. As hot as freshly forged metal waiting to be doused in oil. Without wasting another second, she cuts the husk down. 

The form beneath her feet crumbles like fall leaves, ash and embers picked up by the winds of the cloud city, with False left to collapse onto the ground. For a place built in the clouds, her ass feels anything but cushioned. 

But she’s grinning all the same, accepting Tango’s hand to help her up and elbowing Ren in the stomach. “One less creepy beast in the world. And one more crystal in the books.” 

“I’d say we earned ourselves some rest and relaxation. Edenswell does have some of the best spas and retreats in Lairyon.” False lets her sword clatter to the cloud, pulling a hand through her hair and the clumps of blood and dirt from her locks. 

“I dunno about a spa, but I saw the Festival of Mimé is going on, and I wanna have some fun while we’re up here with our heads in the clouds.” Tango points out, which causes Impulse’s eyes to light up. 

“The festival of Mimé? That’s the biggest fireworks showcase in the kingdom! They have a contest every year to see who can do the best exhibition, and I’ve always wanted to see it.” Impulse has already turned towards the sound of music and celebration, in honor of the god of joy.

“Why not just watch it if you can join it, my dude?” Ren points out, stretching aching muscles, hands over his head and pulling them taut. Both Tango and Impulse stop dead in their tracks, and False only groans from her spot on the ground. 

“Ren, you mad genius. We’re going to blow that contest away. Literally.” Impulse’s toothy grin appears, matching his friend’s. False finally rises up, shaking her head. 

“You guys are adults, you do what you want. Just...don’t burn down the damned city.” False waves them off, and goes in search of somewhere peaceful to rest and recuperate. She could use some healing as well. That thunderbird did a number in battle.  Ren, Impulse, and Tango are left to their own devices. 

A dangerous thing. The three clamber over one another to be the first at the entrance to Mimé’s temple. At the mouth of the open courtyard, color blossoms across the grass in flowers, flags, and festivities. Kids run past dragging kites and blowing pinwheels, while adults are celebrating with their own joyous creations. As soon as the hermits are through the archway, flower crowns have been set upon their head. Impulse even managed to find ones that wouldn’t catch fire upon Tango’s hot head. Music and dancing fills the open air, surrounded by brightly colored food and even brighter laughter and crafts. 

Ren lets loose a low whisper. “Guess Mimé and Blumiere share one thing in common- creativity is joyous.” 

“We’re going to wake the ancient ones with our joyous fireworks show.” Tango grins, searching for the contest. But he notices another pageant going on. “Hey, Ren, look. A pet agility course.” 

Ren rolls his eyes, but his tail wags without his consent at the idea of running it. “I’m an imagination mage, not a dog. It was one mixup.” 

“One mix up that left you with ears, a tail, and a joy to chase carts.” Impulse snickers. “Come on,  RenDog, you’d be the most handsome dog in the whole pageant. And the fastest.” 

“What’s the harm? It’s all good fun, Mimé would want that. I dare you.” Tango’s words are all that Ren needs to hear, and the mage plods off to join the pet parade.

Tango and Impulse waste no time getting to work. A hellbound mage and an explosions wizard, teaming up to make the best fireworks ever seen by the entire kingdom.Mixing together all colors, all patterns, daring to go bigger and better than any other contestant, it’s Tango’s wild ideas and Impulse’s refined magic that allows them to slowly tune towards perfection. 

But not without a few mistakes along the way. Their first attempt at a spectacular sight turned into a show fit for ants, not for gods. And there aren’t even ants in Edenswell- it’s a city in the clouds, for Stratis’s sake. 

The next mistake was loud enough that even False heard it from the hero’s spring baths that healed her wounds. She peeked one eye open, seeing yellow and red blossoming in the open roof of the Hero's baths. She only sinks lower into the azure waters, shaking her head. They’re adults, she doesn’t always need to run in and be the S-Class mage. She’s going to enjoy this rest, dammit. 

After trial and error, error and trial, night falls on Edenswell and the fireworks shows begin. Sound mages ease the explosions to sensitive ears, allowing music to swell with the colors that blossom in the sky. Sincere shows, wishes in the sky, and large extravaganzas dazzle the crowd and illuminate the air in place of the sun. 

Tango and Impulse are last to show, and with each entry before them, they get more excited. Tango just wants to snap his fingers and light it up now, so everyone can see all the hard work they did. Ren disappeared hours ago, and they’ve only caught glimpses of his brown ears or colorful outfit since then. But at least False arrives just in time for the show. “Where’d you lose Ren?”

The two shrug, noticing that her wounds from this morning’s battles have already faded to scars and False looks more refreshed, ready to battle than ever. Whoever duels her next better watch out. “He joined the pet party or whatever. Seems like he was having a good time last we saw.” 

Tango laughs at Impulse’s words, still in disbelief their friend actually crashed a pet show. But that’s Ren for them, wild and innovative, and never backing down from a dare. “You ready to see the biggest, best, most awesome and perfect fireworks-ification you’ve ever had the honor to lay eyes on?” 

“I’m ready to see whatever it is you two have created.” False steps back, materializing a large shield, the blade pointed out and disk protecting her chest. “From a protected and safe distance away. I’m not making another cannon mistake.” 

“Oh, ye of little faith.” Tango grins, and snaps his fingers. Fire erupts at the base, dancing along an intricate, twisting sequence that False can only compare to Mumbo’s redstone lines. Fireworks blast off into the sky, dancing in spinning circles and straight lines, set off at the perfect time that when they explode, they paint the dark night with colors that twist and dance, intricate patterns flowing in seamless design. Music swells with the dazzling paint, the musicians inspired by the incredible sight before them. False is mesmerized, feeling the purples and blues and greens and whites light up on her face, the joy of watching such a show reminding her what it means to be a hermit. To see her friends create, to see the beauty of unrestrained magic. 

The finale blows the sky open with every color of the rainbow and then some, illuminating the entire city, but even under the crescending music False hears Tango and Impulse curse at the same time. The colors fade into streaks of light, embers falling to the city like a meteor shower. False shakes her head, realizing at some point in the show she put her shield down. She was too enamored by the fireworks. “Okay, I’ll admit- that was fantastic.” 

“But it wasn’t perfect.” Tango grumbles. “We messed up the pattern in the grand finale.” 

Ren bowls into the three, tail wagging and eyes alight. “Dudes, I could tell that was your fireworks, that was the coolest thing ever! Mimé must be stoked, he probably hasn’t seen something that epic since the ancients!”

“No, it really wasn’t.” Impulse kicks the ground. “We fucked up the end, it’s not what we imagined.”

There’s a loud thwap, sparks flying from Tango’s head while Impulse hisses, rubbing the crown of his brown hair. “That was the most incredible fireworks show i ever saw. You two are gifted with explosions- that I already know- and that was badass. Even if it wasn’t what you imagined, I thought it was beautiful. Because it was you two’s work, your heart and soul, even your mistake was a part of you guys.” 

“False is spitting truth, bros.” Ren adds, nodding his head. “That was so cool, you guys made your idea come to life! Wasn’t it fun making it?” 

Tango and Impulse pause, looking at the sizzling remains of their fireworks. The ash stained grass, a few chunks missing from the cloudcover. And they laugh. “It definitely was a blast.” Impulse croons. “I hope Mimé thought that was as cool as it was to make.” 

“I definitely think it was a joy to watch.” False hums. She rolls her shoulders, eyes roving across the festival. People’s eyes sparkle, conversations and fingers pointed towards the sky. “And I think others feel the same way. Congrats, hermits. No only did we save the day, you guys made it a little bit brighter here as well.” 

“And I won best in show!” Ren chuckles, showing off his medal. The others laugh, and he tucks it away. “None of you guys tell the others about this.” 

“This is outrageous!” Exactly on cue, Dolios is cut off by the voice of his own Council. Idelens stands, brushing out the golden tassel of her robes so that they’re perfectly placed. She is a beacon of perfection- even the angry creases in her face are situated just so to exemplify her emotions. “Magistrate Dolios, your wise leadership has gone too far! An illegitimate group of street rats, winning the Chimaera’s Championship? They are not even a guild!”

All around Idelens, the other councilmembers voice their own displeasure- except for Apatia, who seems to be too lazy to stand. “Magistrate Dolios, you have led our kingdom into an age of prosperity and strength unlike those ever seen before.” Gadai bows as he speaks to Dolios, earning a humble smile from the bearded leader. “But it was only through your laws to organize guilds and streamline all of Lairyon’s power that this age has been ushered! This...this horde of troublemakers is the exact opposite of the prideful guilds that have spent years training and preparing for this day! A team like this has no place among the Chimaera’s Championship, much less winning! The cup, the gold, the glory should go to a real guild like mine!’

“Do you realize how hard our guilds trained?” Sidero hisses, eyes boring through the hermits. “I’m gonna-”

The entire council goes silent the second Dolios raises a hand, his red sleeve falling in a cascade of gold trim and wine fabric. Glittering eyes close, his head shaking. Brown curls of hair, tied back in a well kept ponytail, dance across the blue capelet resting on the Magistrate’s shoulders. “This is not about gold, or glory, or guilds, my dear council friends. The Chimaera’s Championship is a show or unity, of joy, of creativity for Lairyon. It is something we all love, whether it is the common farmer or richest guildmaster. Virtues this team here proudly exemplifies, a team we should be proud to call victors.” Dolios turns his gaze, which sharpens as he lays eyes on the hermits. “Though they may not be a guild, but rather a conglomeration of independent wizards working together solely for this event, they are champions nonetheless.” 

Ren and Mumbo have to cover their ears at the raucous roar that erupts from the mass of spectators around them. Cheering for Team STAR, cheering for Magistrate Dolios. His warm and charismatic smile never falters while the hermits step up to take their prize. He remains standing from his chair, above King Sor’s empty throne and above the council’s throng. 

The crowd shuffles, going quiet as heads and bodies bow. Bowing to the hermits, the champions of the games. Days of grueling competitions designed to push them to the limit and test their attributes against the best of the best. Common folk winning a game that has been dominated by only the most elite guilds for the past decade. It was a sign of respect and reverence to the gods the games were dedicated to, even their fellow non-guild teams bowing. Though Ecto was snickering the whole time. Only one person refused to lower his head at the introduction of the winners. 

Magistrate Dolios. He remained firm, not even blinking as the chalice full of gold and gems is handed off the guild. He raises his chin slightly at the mention of the gods, of the dragon spirits, the noble guardians in the sea. Grian’s skin crawls, feeling Dolios’s gaze burn into him. The charismatic glimmer in the magistrate’s eyes turns frenzied, the smooth edges of his smile become hard and cold. But all of that is gone when the crowd rises. The only remaining proof that any of it happened is the unnerving sensation left in Grian’s body. 

Cub does the next most sensible thing, knowing his fellow hermits- he portals away all the riches and the chalice back to Eremita. And he feels great, none of his magic sapped away. He feels like he could teleport all the way to Kilton right now, his excitement and freedom bubbling inside him. 

The hermits scrabble back to their inn as quickly as possible. Funny enough, as soon as they're out on the streets, out among the crowd of spectators, no one seems to notice they’re walking besides Chimaera Champions. Is it that they don’t look like a team, or they don’t act like a winning guild would? Maybe it’s that, among the busy streets, no one’s going to notice one or two hermits traveling just a few paces behind the next bead of the string. The only stranger to congratulate them was the tavernkeeper, ordering rounds on the house of their best ale- whatever taste that would be. 

TFC feels a weight press around his body, cold metal against his back and his entire weight lifted off the ground. TFC isn’t a heavy man, but he’s got the bones of any good miner. However, Jason in his cyborg form could easily pick him up, hugging him with one arm while grinding a human fist into Zed’s hair. “Congratulations, hermits! You really gave us a run for our money. But don’t be expecting us to go easy on you next time, twerps!” 

He lets go of the two he’s captured, inviting the whole group to sit with him. Grian bounces into the seat beside the automaton man. “Where’s the rest of your team? Did you guys get out alright in the labyrinth?”

Jason waves off his worries. “We were crushing it until we got to this real nasty chimaera. Should’ve known they’d be there, it’s literally in the name! The rest of those idiots are upstairs packing.” 

“Invite them down!” Iskall laughs, grabbing hold of the tankard placed and taking a large swig. Curiously, the ale is actually quite good, the mead having a fruity flavor and even the froth light and almost marshmellowy. 

“Get the wanderers too, they should get in on this celebration!” Joe adds, prompting Mumbo to be the soul to find them all. 

“The wanderers left already.” Jason has already finished his first round, and is going in for another. 

“Were they that disappointed in losing?” Xisuma questions, pulling his chair to face backwards and crowd in the ever growing table. 

“No, they were quite happy when you guys won. But they left suddenly, following after some guy with long white hair in a ponytail.” X nearly chokes on his drink, but Jason continues. “As soon as they left, we did get this lovely letter from the Council.” 

“Oh, great. Official hate mail.” Cleo sneers. She’s the first to pick up the paper, reading over it’s contents. “Ugh, it’s nothing even interesting. Just reminding all three teams that we are to disband immediately. We aren’t legal guilds, in case any of you didn’t remember.” 

“How could we forget?” Doc sneers. 

“We should leave sooner rather than later.” TFC hums, picking up the paper and reading across the elegant handwriting. All seven council members signed it. “Just in case the arcane guard decides to remind us again.” 

Xisuma recovers from his near death experience with his beer, eyes watering but otherwise back to his normal calm personality. “I have to agree with our guildmaster. We should get out of Milliara as soon as possible. I don’t think I want to be near here when the magistrate discovers our...intrusion.” 

“What about telling the king?” Impulse tips his head to the side, nearly catching it on fire with how close team ZIT is sitting. All three are still holding onto the mark of their dead guild, despite the joy of winning. Some scars never fade. Across the table, Jason just drinks away his confusion. 

“We can easily send a message from the Ashioll sea to the king. At least on Eremita we’re safer, it’s harder to reach us, but we can still message the king. Phoebe’s a good bird.” Grian still feels unnerved about how Dolios stared at him. 

The team shares one more drink, this time with all of the members of Team Crafted, before waving them off. It’s their turn to pack. Days of clothes strewn across beds, floors, and furniture. Gathering supplies, from hair brushes to gemstones, even Tango’s hair gel to keep the flames for locks from burning his pillow. 

They know they’re ready to leave when Scar tumbles down the stairs, his medals clattering against one another like a bell. His monstrosity of packing left much to be desired, but the hermits always knew they had everyone when Scar arrived- he was always last. With everyone gathered, they can finally leave Milliara. 

Coming to the city, they only hoped to leave with information on who attacked them. They didn’t expect to win any of the events- the Championship was simply a guise. But now, walking through the canal lined streets on their way home, they would return as champions. People pointed towards them, smiling and even cheering at the sight of Team STAR. Would they cheer if they knew they were an illegal guild? 

Passing through the nobility district, unfortunately in between them and the western gate, a crowd has already gathered in a wide plaza. At the sight of the arcane guard, the Council’s personal military, the muscles in every hermit tightens. They were warned to disband- this must be the legion here to make sure they do so. 

The throngs of people part, revealing the one person no hermit wanted to see. “Ah, I’m so thankful I was able to catch our victors before you returned to the countryside.” 

Magistrate Dolios stood before a large, ornate fountain. Gilded statues of various species and wizards, water casting up and down steps and terraces in the crescent shaped cascade. The water captures the torchlight of the evening air, dancing across Dolios. Shadows cast across his body, illuminating him from behind and hiding most of his features. The only defined part of him is the golden, sun shaped clasp holding his cape, light bouncing off the lustrous material. Among the group, a short scuffle breaks out. Tango and Zedaph are barely able to hold Impulse back, to keep him from blowing the magistrate off the face of this kingdom. The whole plaza was watching. 

“Hello, Magistrate. For what do we owe the...honor?” TFC steps up, putting himself between the dark mage before him and the team behind him. That magnetic smile never wavers, Dolios’s eyes sweeping across the cityfolk around them. 

“I came to congratulate you all personally. And to invite you all to capitol hall for a feast in your honor. It’s not every day that a non-guild team wins the Chimaera’s Championship. You are exactly the reason why I opened the games to teams, and you proved me right in doing so.” Dolios waves his hand. “Please, join me for a feast, champions.” 

The magistrate’s eyes flick to the side, quickly running across the faces of the people around the hermits. TFC follows his gaze, at the hundreds of people standing around them. Waiting for their answer. He can hear them whispering, the honor to be invited to dine with the leader of Lairyon. The hermit guildmaster can feel the pressure to agree. Turning down such a proposal would be like turning down a gift from the gods. 

A flash of metal catches TFC’s eyes, as does the fearful faces of the hermits. The arcane guard, initially holding back the watching crowd, has moved in on his guild. While the swords of the guards remain sheathed, he can clearly see the sharp, shear edges of hidden knives held at the backs of each hermit. The carrot and the stick, laid out clearly before TFC. He has no choice. “We are so grateful for such an offer, I simply can’t refuse.” 

The delighted smile on Dolios’s face does not mask the hungry gleam in his eyes, and the magistrate walks away from the fountain. TFC can clearly see his face now, the smooth brown hair of his beard and well tamed curls of his ponytail. “Let us feast, in honor of the gods, the ancient ones, and the good people of Lairyon that have made this kingdom wonderful.” 

Guards close around the guild, moving between the townsfolk at hermits like they’re trying to protect them. But every hermit can feel the cold, sharp metal against their backs. They’d be safer in a pit of afanc than here among the arcane guard. They have no choice but to follow Dolios, away from prying eyes. They travel up the steps of the capitol hall, the ornate doors of the building swallowing them whole and closing it’s lips with a heavy wooden slam of the doors. 

“We need to take care of it.” Impulse rises from his crouch, an easy smile on his face as he cracks his knuckles. “Let’s get this thing out of our hair.”

Impulse flicks his hands, shocking yellow magic appearing in the air. He pulses the magic forward, and a concussive blast ripples from his hands. The ground blossoms red and orange, dirt tossed across the group remaining on the train grounds. 

But when the dust settles, the crystal is nestled in the crater Impulse blew apart. Slime had been eviscerated, only the black rock left behind. He tries another explosion, focused and sharp. Still nothing. Impulse sighs, knowing he needs help.  “Tango, can you perhaps lend a hand, man?” 

Tango grins, cracking his knuckles and joining Impulse in the fight to break the gem. Leaving Zedaph with Mumbo. “Alright, I’ll put it to fire and you blow it to pieces. I got your back.” 

The two share a fistbump, and activate their respective magic in tandem. Tango’s pattern curls and pops red like a fire, while Impulse explodes yellow outward, shockwaves and blasts in his circle. Two impish smiles and fiery eyes look down at the tiny crystal.

And they don’t hold back. A wall of fire, so hot it turns blue, burning at the gem and it’s dirt surroundings. Warping the stone and dirt it nests within. Zed and Mumbo find themselves flung backwards by Impulse’s blast, their heads spinning and teeth rattling. Impulse and Tango managed to stay upright, hair sweeping back and feet dug into grass in an attempt to not meet a similar fate as their friends. Tango sees it first. “This stupid fucking gem won’t break!” 

Fire erupts around Tango, but he’s quick to tamper down any of his frustration, aided by his friends. Impulse and Zedaph join him, glaring at the crystal as they plot on how to destroy it. They don’t just want to break it- they want to obliterate it. The crystal siphoned energy from TFC, attacking him when he used it. Zedaph closes his eyes, grimacing as he remembers the black veins and pale skin that marred their guildmaster. His soft purple irises remain closed as Tango and Impulse continue.

“Maybe we can borrow False’s cannon?” Tango whispers. 

“I don’t think she’ll give us that ever again.” Impulse looks over his shoulder, seeing the dark oak and stone brick home, the forge nestled in the crook of the house. A part of the roof is new wood, but Tango and Impulse have still yet to fix the other hole in the back of the house. 

Zedaph opens his eyes, and sees Mumbo. Standing a distance away, shifting from foot to foot and watching the grass at his feet sway in the sea wind. Awkward and alone. “Hey Mumbo. You have lightning magic, right?” 

The multi-mage jumps back into reality, patting his foot over the indent he dug with his boots and tugging on the seam of his sleeve. “Oh, y-yeah. Not well, per se, but I have lightning magic.” 

“Maybe we can be a little cleverer- more clever? I dunno, whichever- about evicting this gem from existence.” Zedaph smooths his hair, nodding Mumbo to join the trio. “I’m not exactly the crystal guy, but gems tend to have a lattice structure to it, yeah?” 

“That’s what they taught us in middle school.” Tango chuckles. He tucks one hand under his forearm, still feeling the exciting energy of casting his magic. Hellbound magic was unstable, changing on a whim and easy to lose control. Not just of the magic, but of oneself. He spent years just training to keep himself in check, making sure he never falls victim to the nature of magic. Admit it’s danger, but find beauty in it, in the same way Zedaph sees a soul to shepard in even the most rabid animal, and Impulse can refine any explosion into art like a flower. 

“Well, if Mumbo can excite the lattice of the crystal, it will be less stable. You two can go at it with the booming and blazing, and bam! No more creepy gem wanting to take over our grandpa.” Zedaph rests his hands on his waist, looking around at the others.

Impulse and Tango are all in. Among the ZIT trio, Zedaph is the one with the craziest plans. The ones that always somehow end up working. But Mumbo isn’t so convinced. “You guys are placing a lot of faith on me and my magic. I don’t know if I’ll be able to control it like you want. I can hardly even summon it.” 

Just to prove his point, Mumbo opens his hands. A wobbly red circle casts in each palm, before falling apart. Mumbo’s shoulders drop, and even the tips of his robes collars seem to wilt with his emotions. 

“Come on, Mumbo. We’ve seen your power- you’ve got more than most of us combined. You’re a multi-mage, that’s so cool man!” Impulse’s cheerful excitement exudes off him like sunshine, rippling out like an explosion’s heat. And just as energetic. 

“You’ve been training with Grian and Iskall, and when you really put your mind to it, you destroyificate them.” Tango adds, grinning as he remembers seeing those two cocky hermits get blown off their feet by the newbie. “That’s not one but two S-Class wizards you can easily hold off. This wimpy little crystal should be trembling in it’s cleavage.” Zedaph and Impulse can’t help but giggle at the word. Still immature adults. 

“Bu-but I can’t control when that happens. We haven’t figured out how to yet.” When he’s not training with Grian and Iskall, he’s digging through Joe’s library and talking with Xisuma. So much power, it takes so much to call upon, to release. It’s like breaking open a dam, and the power rushes out of him when he does. If he’s not careful, it can take control of him, instead of the other way around. 

“Just give it a shot. You never know until you try!” Zedaph pushes Mumbo in front of Tango and Impulse, and retreats. His magic isn’t exactly useful in this situation. 

Mumbo’s quaking in his boots. “Oh, oh dear. Well, I guess I’ll just-” He raises his hand, fingers shaking as he draws up his sigil. A blossoming red lotus of redstone and electricity, flecks of magic falling away like embers. They drift into the sky, carried up towards the bright blue atmosphere and fluffy white clouds. Zedaph can’t help but notice that they look like sheep, his ungulate allies in the barn he calls home. 

When he looks back down, the circle has been cast. But what the trio sees erupt from Mumbo’s hand looks less like a great bolt of red lightning, and more like a static shock stained ruddy. Mumbo whimpers, watching it disappear like the embers of his circle. He doesn’t have the courage to tell the trio he told them so, because he’s so focused on his own failure. 

“Aww, it’s okay Mumbo. Just try again- I’m sure you can do it.” Zedaph, dares to step forward, giving a hearty pat on Mumbo’s back. Zedaph grew up in the rural countryside around Foresta, where everything is rough. Calloused hands from years of farming give the tightest hugs.

And a weak city boy like Mumbo just wasn’t prepared for Zed’s strength. There was no malice, but his lanky body just couldn’t handle the slap on the back. He stumbles forward, hands catching himself on the ground- and sparking the magic deep within him. Magic flows freely from his fingers, redstone forming a circuit along the verdant grass and into the crater Impulse has created. Magic rushes through him, overwhelming each and every atom and fiber of his being. He doesn’t have control of his magic. His magic has control of him. 

The circuit connects to the gemstone, the dust illuminating and lightning ricocheting free from the trail. Mumbo blinks, his eyes filling with red light as magic takes over his whole body. So much magic, uncontained by a circle. 

“Guys, do it now!” Zedaph orders, noting the way the dark crystal rocks in the dirt. It glows from within, red light and lightning escaping the darkness of the opaque gem. Being ripped apart by Mumbo’s astounding magic. Zed knew Mumbo was strong- but this? This is unlike anything he’s ever seen. Including two different forms of magic. 

Impulse doesn’t waste a second. He waves his hand, casting a spell and snapping his fingers. The crater grows deeper as the dirt erupts in an explosion, smoke illuminated by deep red and yellow fire from Tango’s magic. They don’t  stop, they don’t let up. Only when the dust settles and smoke clears away, Mumbo’s circuit going dead, does Zedaph dare to peek into the cavity caused by his friends. 

The crystal has been obliterated. All that’s left it dust, caught by the wind and scattered into the azure waves of the sea around them. Team ZIT celebrates the defeat of the crystal, grabbing one another and pouncing on their backs. Howling with joy and rubbing their knuckles rough into each other’s hair and back. Mumbo stands up silently, bolts of lightning escaping from his hands. Striking around him, turning the grass a burnt black color. And growing stronger.

“We did it, guys! We showed that stupid crystal it messed with the wrong guild!” Impulse cheers, his smile so wide across his face it hurts his cheek. 

“Mumbo, dude, that was incredible.” Tango looks over Zedaph’s shoulder, brushing dirt off of the pink capelet. Mumbo doesn’t answer Tango’s compliment. He’s just standing in the grass, eyes closed. Zaps of lightning grow more frequent each second. “Mumbo?”

Zedaph steps away, pulling free of Impulse and Tango’s touch. He reels back as a bolt of lightning nearly hits his leg, all his blond hair standing on end. “Mumbo? Mumbo can you hear us?” 

Mumbo’s eyes snap open. But those grey irises, filled with inquisitivity and anxiety, are overshadowed by a glowing red. Sparks like static electricity crease free from his eyes, staring blindly out. Mumbo’s not in control of his magic. Impulse is the first to notice his feet losing connection with the ground. “He’s going into a power surge!” 

Impulse and Tango run into the lightning storm, each grabbing a sleeve of Mumbo’s black robe. Holding him down, their faces creased with pain when lightning courses into their body. They can feel the air turn to ozone, the scent of a storm on the horizon. Tango clenches his teeth, digging his heels into the ground. They shouldn’t have pushed Mumbo when he wasn’t ready. He needs to have control of his magic. “Zedaph! Do something!” 

Zedaph is already summoning his magic circle, the intricate spell requiring a number of motions to draw it up. Taking control of an animal is one thing. A human is something completely different. And a friend, more than anything. He hates having to remove their free will- but Mumbo isn’t in control. He has to do something. Impulse slips from his grip on Mumbo’s sleeve, fingers digging into the gold trim near the newest guildmember’s ankles. The grass is becoming further from Mumbo’s feet, weightless like a feather. 

“Mumbo!” Zed calls as he casts his spell. The two souls find a connection, Zedaph pulling on Mumbo’s soul. Trying to bring sense back from the senseless entropy of magic. Zedaph is standing still, but his face is contorted as he works to calm his friend down. He’s a shepherd mage, this is his job. To herd minds in the direction he so pleases. Animals, humans, he has the ability to speak to things beyond human language. To people beyond talk. To Mumbo, trapped and warped in his own magic. “Mumbo, calm down. Take control again.” 

Zedaph’s voice was no louder than a whisper, but to Mumbo it was a roar. His eyes blink away the red that blinded him, falling back to the ground with a stumble. His mind feels hazy, his body two steps ahead of his actual consciousness. Grass brushes against his hands, a gentle tickle against tingling skin. He finally looks up, and finds he’s not the only one on his knees. Zed has fallen down, his face pale but still smiling. 

Mumbo struggles to stand, struggles to understand what happened. Until he hears a crunch at his feet. He looks down, moving his boot out of the way. The blades of verdant green have been charred black, rocks and dirt flung aside. Like lightning struck the ground. “Oh, oh dear.” 

Joe grasps for his journal, pulling it free from the silty water and scribbling his quill along the paper. It’s fast, but careful. The spell casts, stretching out and encasing Ren’s shield with another layer of protection. The deeper the guild sinks, the faster the sand engulfs their bodies. Either the crystal breaks through Ren and Joe’s shield, or they become buried alive by magic. 

“Doc, can you try to gain control of the townsfolk?” TFC questions, twisting and trying to pull himself free. It only makes him sink faster. The water within the quicksand chills, Stress pressing her hands into the mix of water and mud to attempt to slow them down. But she’s battling with the husked wizard, fighting for control. 

“I-ugh, I’m trying, but they’re already being controlled by something!” Doc growls, yelping as the suction around him drags him deeper. He’s up to his chest now. 

“I can’t- Guys!” Grian whimpers, his head craned back. Just his hands and face remain above the quicksand. Stress is in a similar position, crying out as her magic fades and she focuses exclusively on surviving. “Help!”

“Hang on y’all, I got it.” Cub, up to his waist and ignoring how quickly he’s sinking, closes his eyes. Focuses on his magic. Everyone is crying out around him, but he finds calm. Ignoring the ground swallowing him whole, faster and faster. Feeling energy build up in his body. His finger reaches out, dragging free from the grip of the mud and casting his spell. In the cavern air heavy with pressure and filled with his friend’s screams, Cub’s magic circle appears.

And when he opens his eyes, the husk people are gone. A blue portal remains where they stood, fizzling away. Cub doesn’t know where they went, but all that matters is they're gone. The quicksand solidifies to mud, inches away from swallowing the shortest members whole. Giving everyone one short breath of relief. But while one enemy is gone, there’s still another to handle.

“Great, awesome we took care of the creepy ass village people,” Ren spits, his brow knotted and sweaty, “But that didn’t stop the angry crystal walloping Joe and me!” The crystal’s smoky mist berates them again. And again. The hermits can see cracks forming on the shield spells.

“Let me take a whack at it.” Iskall grins,  summoning his magic. He reels his arm back and strikes his circle. It reverberates out, crackling and sharpening into a bolt of radioactive energy. It warps around Joe and Ren’s shield, crashing into the suspended gem. The mist retreats,  radiation shocking and sizzling across the smooth siding. “It’s distracted, lets get out of this corrupted crystal cave of doom!” 

“Watch your toes, guys!” Scar chuckles, before casting his magic. The ground beneath them rises up, squeezing the hermits free from the sand trap that threatened to bury them. Grian and Stress retch the quicksand that invaded their throats. Scar stands free of the liquid mud, continuing to raise the ground beneath them with incredible strength. Impulse rolls to his back, aiming his magic to the roof of the cave quickly approaching them. He holds his arm steady with his opposing hand, a sly smile appearing as magic grows within his body. 

Before Scar’s magic can crush them, Impulse releases his spell. Like a shot, the explosion arches into the roof, digging through the ground and bursting into the fresh open air above. Wind magic released by Grian shoves the falling debris out of their way. Cub grabs Scar as he sways to the side, about to collapse from the strength of his magic as it slows and stops above ground. The entire guild is in a moment of shock, gasping for fresh air and a moment of quiet. 

“What...what was that?” Mumbo runs his hand through his hair, blinking as he tries to sort out what just happened beneath them. “What happened to those people? And that crystal?” 

“I’ve never seen a crystal like this before.” TFC raises the tiny piece he’s chipped off, rubbing his chin as he looks through it in the sunset light. No light filters through it, and just holding the tiny gem feels pressuring. 

“I think we have something to tell Magistrate Dolios.” Xisuma flops back, staring at the sky above him. He hates being in caves, it’s so tight and he can’t see the sky. The open void above him. 

“We should head there immediately. Tell him about this...this crystal corruption. What it’s doing to the land, to the people.” Zedaph states, holding Impulse’s arm. He burned himself blasting through the ground. Grian flutters to his side, wings appearing as he begins to heal the wounds of his fellow hermits. 

“You think what those people were like had to do with the crystal?” Cleo questions, rising to her feet. She pulls off her boot, draining quicksand out of her shoes. 

“They had to be,” Tango nods in thanks as Grian moves on from Impulse, helping his friend stand up. “I don’t think that creepy hand wave was just coincidence.” 

“Something was wrong with those people.” Doc shakes his head. “I’m sure if I wasn’t drowning in sand, I could’ve taken control of them. But something else was already forcing them to do that. For the wizard to use her magic, to attack us. They didn’t look right, you saw them? They looked like their skin was made of ash and charcoal, and flaked just the same. They were just husks, no mind or soul. Just the remains of what once was a wizard.” 

TFC stands, pocketing the crystal in a small pocket of his tunic. Somewhere close where he’ll notice if it gets lost. “You all go to Milliara, tell the magistrate what we found. I’m going to return to the island and do some research of my own.” 

Xisuma bites his lip, pulling off his mask. His hand runs through his ponytail, fingers catching on brown tangles and rubble in his hair. “Are you sure it’s okay for you to go back alone?” 

“I’m not that old, X. I can handle twice as much as any of you youngsters.” TFC grins. “I’m sure you’ll find information while you’re there. Xisuma, you can look through the Crown Library and see if there’s any mention of a crystal like this. Doc, think you can get in contact with some of your underground buddies and see what they might know?” 

“You know it, T.” A coy smile appears on Doc’s face, easing across the green skin and silver metal of his hybridized features. 

Grian steps up to TFC, opening his palms. A soft white glow emanates from his hands. Flecks of energy drift upwards, leaving trails of gilded light like fireflies in the sky. “Are you hurt at all, guildmaster?” 

“Nah, just a bit lightheaded.” TFC rubs his head, pushing Grian’s hands away. “Must’ve been from how heavy the pressure that crystal had. We shouldn’t waste any more time, you guys head right to the capitol, claim our reward and tell Magistrate Dolios what you saw. Send Phoebe when you get updates, and I’ll meet you all at the island. Stay safe team.” He steps back, pulling out a bead of howlite. In a flash, he’s gone. 

“Best we get moving as well.” Xisuma turns back to the remaining hermits. He gave up being the guildmaster awhile ago, but he often finds he’s still the one people look up to. He just falls into a leadership role. 

“But X, can’t we at least take a break?” Grian whines, flopping down next to Iskall and Mumbo. “We just fought an angry crystal and two husk people, can’t we at least rest?” 

“Man, I can’t tell if that noise is my stomach or a banshee screeching.” Scar rubs his stomach and pouts. What he wouldn’t give to be back at the island, resting in his underwear and a purple robe, some fuzzy slippers and fruit. 

Xisuma sighs, his shoulders falling. Exhaustion washes over him as well, dragging him towards the ground. “Let’s...Let’s at least get out of this corrupted land. Then we can all rest until tomorrow.” 

Weak cheers escape the fatigued wizards. They help one another to standing, and begin their march back south. To Milliara, to the capitol. To deliver the dark news and terrifying findings to Magistrate Dolios. Hopefully he will have answers the hermits don’t, and a solution to ease their fears.