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Standing in silence, he stared, dumbfounded, at his hands once more. The power ran through him, living within him, reaching out whenever he commanded, changing reality around him. All he had to do was set it free.

Luci's order, along with the look in her eyes, was all the motivation he'd needed to believe, even just for a moment, that he had absolute power. That nothing was out of his reach.

The other mage's spells of defence had held him back, but he knew that if they had not turned tail and fled, he would have swept through the shields in time, swept through and done damage to their flabby bodies. Wonderful mystical orbs could only do so much to protect them.

Even now, as he stood breathing softly, feeling the rise and fall of his deep chest, he could sense his power renewing. It would never stop. He would never stop. How could you stop cosmic energy from beyond the stars? An element bound to living things such as dragons?

His mind reached out. He saw the landscape ahead, a land he'd never set his physical eyes on before. But it was there, in his head. He saw the swarms of brave goblin warriors holding off Nisgarant's attacks. Saw the gnolls slipping into the sewers, heading for the inner city, unseen. Saw Hemlock the bulky reptid officer wiping sweat from his scaly brow as his horse rode back and forth along the advancing battle lines.

This should have been his war.

It still could be.

"That was amazing."

The girl's voice cut through the commotion of battle, and he snapped back to the present. He looked at Lucinder blankly for a moment, before returning to his hands.

"He looks knackered," declared his Lieutenant.

"I'm fine," he said softly.

Brook sniffed. "Sure. So... what are our orders, sir? Not that we're going to be doing very much while you're busy flinging lightning about."

"He's somewhere else," The Dragon explained. "He's experiencing what it's like to be one of us. To be everywhere at once, to have seen all, and to see all. It's... quite the mind melter."

"Oh, is that right? I'll bring him back." The goblin kicked him in the shin. "The universe isn't going to stop collapsing by itself, you know!" she yelled. "Sir," she added, just to on the safe side.

He lifted his grey head. "I'm sorry you missed your chance to go home, Luci."

She shrugged, "if the universe really does collapse, it doesn't make much difference where I die, now, does it? And I suppose I kinda do feel a bit responsible for Bromor. Maybe I wished or believed him away, while I was healing him? In a sort of 'He needs a safe place' kind of way? My heart may have spoken louder than my words."

Anar smiled a small smile, "your heart is very big, to keep all of us in it."

"I suppose it is," she smiled back.

"Awww, look at you two, being all cute. Now, what's the plan regarding the rat and that stupid stick of his?" Brook demanded.

"Kill him. Take the Sceptre. Give it back to The Dragon who can return it to a dark magic universe. That's about it."

"And what, no more army? Everyone go home?"

He thought a moment more and nodded. "That's about it. If The Dragon can travel around at will, perhaps it can send Luci back to her world."

Brook pulled a face, "go back to that miserable lot? I heard them. They were patronising! Belittling!"

Anar held out his hands, calling for reason, "they won't all be like that. Calm down. I'm sure Luci has lots of friends and family who will miss her."

"Maybe you could come back with me?" she asked, gently.

His eyes met hers. "Maybe I could."

"Luci's boss and his mates will be back for the Sceptre though, won't they? We don't want him to get it back. That won't change anything."

"Brook's right. I am the only one who can remove the Sceptre from this universe," The Dragon frowned. "The Council of Sorcerer's are a force to be reckoned with, when they want to be. That's how my weapons were taken. Border Control spotted my Power spike on their radar as I arrived, and a whole security team swooped in. Beating them would be easy, but they were not stupid - they targeted their spells at my collection, not me. They would have destroyed it. I couldn't let that happen. All my years of hard work would have been for nothing. A dragon's hoard is its motivation to keep existing. It is our weakness."

Brook's pointy green ears twitched. "So, if they'd have tried to destroy the Sceptre, and it's made of dark magic, would that have worked?"

The Dragon shook its long head, solemnly, "the two sides of magic repel each other. The Sceptre would have remained. We'd have still been in this predicament. It cannot be destroyed here. I know you were hoping that you could have snapped it, Anar, I'm sorry to dash your hopes."

He set his shoulders back, "as long as I never see that awful thing ever again, I'm satisfied."

"Without Chanlon, I'm not going to be able to do anything to help. Unless I have a weapon," Luci sighed.

"I'll find you a dagger or sword or something, don't you worry. I got you!" Brook grinned.

"Thanks. I suppose I'm not going to need these..." she removed the still bleating MagiMetre from out of her pocket and tossed it on the grass. "Useless, right, Anar?"

"Useless," he agreed, snapping a finger. The annoying box burned up and disintegrated.

"Peace at last," Brook announced.

Her clipboard followed suit, the list of things she had used her precious supply of magick for, now forgotten. Smoke drifted on the breeze.

"Not much I can do about these stupid work robes, though."

"Oh, I don't know, you can take them off and I'll burn them as well if you like..."

She gave Anar a playful nudge but said nothing.

Brook smirked.

The Dragon looked mildly confused.

"Let's get to that mountain, shall we? Give those soldiers the shock of their lives. See what Nisgarant makes of his dead General kicking his ugly hide. We're almost there. I can see the dust clouds from his war machines already."

"I'll follow you anywhere, sir," Brook saluted.

"Thank goodness for that," he smiled.

The sound of hoofbeats was rhythmic in his tiny ear slits as he rode his now tiring pony back and forth. His voice was rasping. He could feel what was a trickle of blood going down his throat. How had Warlock done this, and still had enough wind left to chat to the men in the evening?

His sword was heavy in his hand. He didn't really need a sword, he was a reptid. He was naturally equipped with pointed teeth by the dozen, and massive curved claws at his long, scaly hands and feet, with one especially long scythe-shaped talon situated at the inner toe. His disembowellers. Reptids came in assorted shapes and sizes. Some were meaty giants with tiny forearms, others had heavy bone shields about their heads. He was a smaller breed, lightning fast and slicey. Officers were expected to be seen with swords, though, as daft as it was. Upon the first chance he got, he would give it away nobly. All he needed was a soldier to lose theirs, or have it break.

The waves of archers stood fast, firing their volleys, ready to duck out when depleted and have the line replaced with fresh men standing ready behind them.

Foot soldiers advanced in shambling rows, slowly pushing through the walled city's defences. They had the numbers for sure. The goblins swarmed in the thousands, but tiny green creatures were easy to kill.

The gnolls had been sent in by Threllif to do their thing and slip into the city unseen, via the stinky water pipes.

A heavy Twang! and a whistle overhead announced the arrival of another boulder launched from one of the war machines creaking around at the back of the battlefield, out by the medic tents and field forges.

The battering ram they had used was already lying abandoned in the icy grass now its single purpose was done with.

Pieces of wall were sent flying. Nisgarant didn't care about leaving places he'd visited repairable. He broke them and moved on. Like a toddler with too many toys.

When a clear path had been hewn then he would be expected to canter around the city, still shouting, corralling the troops. Sod that for a lark. He was going to stay out here, safe in one piece for as long as he could.

Threllif was already throwing him dark looks from atop the battlements. How he'd enjoy getting his clawed hands around that fluffy neck, pinning him against a wall before digging one of his scythes deep into the mangy dog's bloated belly, spilling its warm gory contents out onto the ground before his evil canine eyes grew dim. He was under no illusions that the gnoll was fantasising a similar scenario, one that ended with him a broken and bloody mess under his hindpaws. If anything should happen to Nisgarant, they would be coming to blows before his corpse could grow cold.

There was a wheeze, and his pony's head veered sideways with a whinny as a fluffy paw grabbed at the rein.

Hemlock went to slash with his talons, sword be damned, but stayed himself.

It was Feiknor, one of Threllif's finest scouts. His coat was slick, he was flecked in blood. His eyes looked wild. Well, wilder than usual.

"I have urgent message for Lord Nisgarant," he wheezed again. More blood dribbled. The gnoll looked like he had just escaped death.

Hemlock's reptilian pupils widened. "What happened to you?!"

The gnoll pulled at the pony again, his bristly muzzle close to the reptid General's face, "General Warlock is coming! He will kill the rat! I have seen him! With my own eyes!" he cut off in a fit of splutters and crimson dribble.

Hemlock looked back, his pulse quickening. He had a duty. He had his responsibilities. But what he really, really wanted, was to pass all of it back to the one man who knew what he was doing.

"Go! Lord Nisgarant is at the city gates!" he commanded with a point of his sword to show the way, digging his heels into his exhausted beast who would no doubt be finding itself on the menu soon enough. It picked up its weary hooves and cantered.

The gnoll loped off, avoiding flying debris and the occasional daring goblin that had made it this far like a pawn trying to cross the chessboard and finding itself in the midst of the big, dangerous pieces.

"Keep up the assault!" Hemlock shouted as he carved a path rearward, to the war machines and the medic tents stationed behind everyone.

Threllif would be watching. Threllif would be stood there, spinning his rusty mental cogs for a few seconds before the dumb mutt figured out that the new General was off in the wrong direction and not looking back.

Nisgarant's fighters were well past breaking point. The urgent murmuring that had started up from Hemlock's well-chosen words the night before had become wild stories by dawn. A ghost General, throwing magical fireballs, who would have his revenge on the rat who had murdered him in cold blood, who had ripped apart their happy lives and given them this hell they now endured.

If General Warlock should enter battle, it would all be over.

He could bear it no more, he had to find out for himself if the aardvark still lived.

There was darkness, and there was peace. It was eerily still here, in the gap between time and space. No chill wind, no warmth from the sun, no sounds to be heard. Occasionally small lights flashed, signifying Gates opening and closing. Gates between worlds. Gates between universes. He had tried to chase one down, but they were like rainbows. There was no end to find. As he stood, counting his heartbeats in an attempt to keep track of how long he had been here, his mind filled with fleeting glimpses of past visions.

He'd been here before, in the beginning. This was his true home. The Astral Plane. When the arrow had hit, and the pain had become too much, his form had transported itself here.

The Dragon had said that he would find his ability when he was in need. He'd wondered what that ability would be. He could remove himself from the mortal realm at will. As long as he had energy enough to bring himself here, he would endure forever. This was where he had been before he'd arrived at the orchard all those years ago. Someone or something had sent him out into the mortal world. An ancient power beyond his understanding. It had given him a name.

Destroyer.

He was a war horse. A horse of war. A prince amongst Nightmares. A proud and noble beast fit for a lord, an emperor, a king. He would run from nothing. He would not shy or falter. At his call, his brethren would be summoned from every corner of the combined worlds ready to follow his charge.

He could feel his thigh and shoulder wound healing up as he waited. The mage lady had tried her best, he was sure of it, but his body hadn't liked her magic. It didn't feel right. So, it had rejected the aid.

When he was ready, he would find his rider again. He liked his magic. It filled him with a warmth inside. He felt powerful. Unstoppable.

As he thought of his master, a warmth like magic crept up his hindquarters. It was pleasant. He closed his equine eyes.

Then a primal growl caused him to fling his eyes open again. He swung his heavy head down and swiftly realised that it was not a warmth from happy thoughts that he had felt, rather a warmth from an Astral cat that was rubbing itself against his leg.

The panther was as dark as the mysterious space he was standing in, yet its pelt was filled with a million stars at the same time. Another magical being, clearly. It curled up against a hoof and purred happily, giving him a brief glance with its bright amber eyes before pulling a paw across its whiskery nose, dozing off.

He smiled to himself. It was nice not being alone. He watched the cat's fluffy chest rise and fall, rise and fall. It was almost hypnotic. More flashes lit up in the vast stretching darkness.

He arched his neck, testing his muscles. They felt good. He stretched out his leg behind him, careful not to disturb the sleeping cat. That felt good too.

It was time. Time for Destroyer, not Bromor, to return to the mortal realm, to return to his designated rider. Time for him to call the others and lead the charge for battle.