Then he saw Richard Mandragon striding past pieces of broken wall, bloody fire blazing in his hands.
The first burst of crimson fire erupted forth, and Lucan knew that his wards would not hold against it. So he dodged, moving with psychokinetic-propelled speed. The bolt screamed past him to explode against the ground. Again Richard unleashed a blast, and again Lucan dodged, moving with such speed that gales howled through the plaza.
But he could not dodge forever. Sooner or later his strength would wane, or the manifestation would get lucky and land a hit. Lucan had to take the offensive, soon.
Richard flung a bolt of fire, and Lucan jumped, his psychokinetic power fueling the leap, and he flew up into the air.
And up, and up.
The arc of his leap peaked a thousand yards above the plaza. Lucan felt himself fall, and again focused his will, hurling himself down like a falling star. The manifestation scrambled out of the way with gratifying speed, but Lucan wasn't aiming for him.
He sheathed himself in a cocoon of invisible force an instant before plunging into the ground. Every paving tile for a hundred yards in all directions exploded, and Lucan sank at least forty feet into the earth, his impact throwing up a huge mass of shattered rock from the mountain's crest. He began casting again, throwing all his power and will into another spell to fling at the tumbling rubble. Even with the aid of the bloodstaff, he would never have possessed the psychokinetic power to move that much rock.
But adjusting the path of the falling debris...that was just within the limits of his strength.
Richard Mandragon's eyes grew wide, and then a boulder the size of a plow horse slammed into him. The impact drove him back a dozen yards, sent him tumbling. Another boulder crushed his legs, and another impaled his chest. More and more fell, and the manifestation disappeared beneath a cairn of jagged boulders.
Lucan lowered his hands, chest heaving from exertion.
He climbed out of the impact crater, the rough edges hot against his hands, and staggered into the plaza. The battle had left the surrounding city in ruin, with some towers destroyed, and many more damaged. Few of the massive reliefs of Lucan's memories remained intact. If the black city represented his mind, he wondered, had the battle destroyed his memories? His very self?
He gazed at the massive pile of rubble covering the manifestation with satisfaction.
At least the Demonsouled power would not take control of him.
The cairn trembled, beams of red light leaking out between the broken boulders. The ground shook, and Lucan jumped backwards, his spell-fueled leap taking him to the far side of the impact crater.
The cairn exploded, boulders raining in all directions.
The blood-colored dragon emerged from the rubble. The great beast was wounded, its scales marred and torn by cuts and gashes. Yet it still radiated strength and power.
“We are one, Lucan Mandragon,” said the dragon, its voice like thunder. “When you fight me, you only fight yourself. It is inevitable!”
The dragon sprang into the air with a terrible roar, its black wings blotting out the storm overhead. The fanged maw opened wide, and a cone of crimson fire blazed forth, the fires devouring the stone of the ground. Lucan raced away, moving with the enhanced speed of his magic, but the dragon's fire pursued him.
The manifestation circled overhead, loosing blast after blast of flame. The fires burned even after the dragon passed, consuming the ground in walls of heat and smoke. Lucan soon saw the manifestation's plan. Bit by bit, the dragon was boxing him in, trapping him between the walls of flame and the ruined towers. Soon, Lucan would have no more room to maneuver, and then the manifestation would take him.
Unless Lucan cheated.
He backed towards the corner of the plaza, and the dragon swooped towards him, black wings spread wide.
The manifestation’s dragon form could fly.
Why couldn't Lucan?
He jumped, his spell-enhanced leap carrying him high into the air, higher than the wall of flames, higher than even the dragon, which somehow managed to look startled.
And he kept going, pushing against the ground with a psychokinetic grip. Had he attempted this in the material world, the sheer speed would have killed him or torn his body in two. Yet here, in the spirit world, he soared past the plaza, over the great towers of the black city, the mountain and the dead forest and the black sea spread out all below him.
It was terrifying.
Exhilarating.
Despite his terror, despite his exhaustion, Lucan laughed with the wonder of it.
The dragon banked over the city, pursuing him. The beast was just as fast as Lucan, its black wings driving it forward with terrific speed. Its maw yawned wide, and blast after blast of crimson flame lanced for Lucan's back. He dodged and weaved, soaring and plunging to avoid the flames. Soon he discovered that while the dragon could match his speed, he was far more maneuverable, and could dance around the flames with ease.
Yet he was tired. The long journey up the mountain had drained his strength, and this battle had exhausted more of it. If he did not land a killing blow, the manifestation would win out of sheer endurance.
Unless Lucan let his blood spill upon the ground...
No. Not that.
But if the alternative was letting the manifestation take control...
Lucan drove himself faster, weaving back and forth over the black city like a maddened bee. The dragon circled after him, filling the sky with crimson fire. Lucan rose higher, the writhing black clouds drawing closer, the red lightning flickering and dancing.
Lucan frowned.
The red lightning...
He doubted it represented any aspect of his mind or soul. Therefore it was something of the spirit world. The raw power of the place, perhaps? Magic charged the spirit world, imbued its creatures with great power. And if Lucan could tap that power, redirect it toward the manifestation...
He had no better ideas.
He soared upward, the dragon following. Red lightning flashed and sparked, eerily silent, and Lucan began a spell.
A bolt shot from the sky, and Lucan caught it, the lightning drawn by his spell.
Pain erupted through him, and he screamed, fingers of red light coiling up and down his arms. The dragon saw its opportunity and surged towards him, mouth yawning wide. Lucan threw out his hands, and red lightning erupted from his fingers in sizzling arcs, tearing into the dragon, blasting scales free from its sides. The dragon bellowed in agony of its own, limbs twitching, wings growing limp. Through the agony Lucan tightened his grip on the psychokinesis spell, tried to push himself away from the dragon.
He was a half-second too slow.
The dragon's foreleg wrapped around his waist as it fell, the talons sinking deep into his belly.
Lucan screamed and tried to rip free, but pain roared through him in debilitating waves. The dragon plummeted towards the black city, still twitching and writhing in the red lightning's grasp. Lucan tried to focus his will for another spell of psychokinesis, but he could not concentrate through the agony.
The dragon hurtled towards the ruined plaza. The ground rushed up to meet Lucan, and then everything went black.
An instant later he felt the sensation of flying through the air, and he slammed into the ground, sliding over the broken tiles.
It felt as if every bone in his body had shattered.
Lucan came to a stop against a chunk of wall, the carved relief showing Tymaen turning her back on him.
He tried to stand, failed, slumped against the rubble.
The dragon lay a few hundred yards away. It, too, had taken a terrible battering in the fall, its scales smashed, hideous gashes carved into its limbs and flanks. Yet the manifestation seemed to be recovering. Once it got back on its feet, it would come for Lucan.
He had to escape.
But he could not even stand.
Lucan tried to cast a spell, any spell, and found that he could not. He felt weak, his strength shattered. His body could not be destroyed, not here in the spirit world. Had he exhausted his magical strength? Had his mind been scarred and maimed?
Again he tried to stand, and could not.
He could barely lift his arms, could barely turn his head to look at the dragon. The manifestation shuddered again, its talons scraping against the ground. Once the beast recovered, it would destroy Lucan.
No. It would merge with him, take him over. The Demonsouled corruption would dominate Lucan, and he would become a creature like Ultorin, a ravening monster driven mad.
Frantic, Lucan flicked his shaking wrist, letting droplets of his blood fall upon the earth.
The burning Demonsouled power rose up to fill him...but he could not grasp it. He didn't have the strength. He shook more blood from his palm, and more power rose up...but he could not seize it.
It dissipated a moment later.
The dragon's tail lashed back and forth, smashing boulders as it struggled to regain balance.
Lucan struggled to stand, even to crawl away. He would not let the manifestation claim him. He would not turn into a monster like Ultorin. He would not!
But he could not move, could do nothing but tremble.
A clicking noise reached Lucan's ear.
A boot heel, striking the paving stones.
The Old Demon walked into Lucan's field of vision.
“Ah,” said the Old Demon. “Did I not say you would find the answers you sought here?” He glanced at the struggling manifestation. “Though it appears the answer is that you will be devoured by the Demonsouled corruption and twisted into a monster. Unless Corvad kills you first, of course. Assuming he manages it. My grandson has proven less...competent than I might hope.”
“Have you,” said Lucan, his voice a shaking whisper, “have you come to gloat?”
“Yes,” said the Old Demon, grinning. “I did warn you, did I not? You ignored me, and you are going to pay the price very shortly.” He glanced at the dragon. “At the exact end of this conversation, in fact.”
“Shut up and go away,” said Lucan.
Stone grated as the dragon's legs straightened.
The Old Demon laughed. “Defiant to the end. I approve. So I shall give you one more chance.”
“To do what?” said Lucan.
The dragon shook itself.
“To accept my offer,” said the Old Demon.
“No,” said Lucan. “No.”
“I can aid you,” said the Old Demon. “You are moments away from destruction, both in the spiritual and material worlds. Say the word and I shall restore you to your body, hale and healthy once more, with your full powers at your command.”
“And you'll take my conscience,” said Lucan.
The Old Demon shrugged. “A workman deserves his wages, does he not? But you needn't fret over that. Removing your conscience will not impact your free will in any way. You'll still be free to choose good and evil, like any other mortal. And I won't even take your conscience right away. A promise to remove it at a later date is all I require.”
Lucan hesitated. “I...no. I don't need your help.”
The Old Demon laughed again. “Yes, you're doing so very well on your own.”
The dragon heaved itself to its feet with a growl.
“After all,” said the Old Demon, “do you even need your conscience? You've done a fine job of ignoring it so far.”
The dragon turned in a circle, its massive head swinging back and forth as it sought for Lucan.
“No,” said Lucan. “For the last time, no.” He pushed at the ground, managed to sit up despite the pain. Blood still poured from the hideous punctures in his side and stomach. In the material world, he would have bled to death by now.
The Old Demon did not move. “As you wish. Though this is stimulating. Which fate will befall you? Will Corvad use your blood to create a Malrag Queen, or will the corruption devour you first?”
The dragon's glowing eyes focused on Lucan.
“The good money,” said the Old Demon, “appears to be on the corruption.” His smile widened. “Farewell, Lucan Mandragon. Perhaps I'll see you in the material world. Or what's left of you.”
The dragon hobbled towards Lucan, kicking aside boulders in its path.
Lucan half-crawled, half-dragged himself backwards, trying to get away. The dragon moved slowly, but he saw the burns from the lightning healing, in the same way the wounds of a Demonsouled healed. He tried to stand, tried to cast a spell, tried to think of some clever plan, some weakness he could exploit, some way he could overpower the manifestation.
Nothing.
Lucan remembered how Ultorin's bloodsword had transformed the Dominiar knight into a misshapen, raving horror. What kind of monster would Lucan become once the corruption devoured him?
The dragon drew closer…
No.
“Wait!” Lucan shouted.
The Old Demon smiled. “Yes?”
“Fine! Yes!” said Lucan.
The Old Demon sighed. “You have to say it. I need permission. I can't do anything until I have your permission.”
“You can help me.” The dragon loomed over Lucan. Would it devour him alive, shred him with its talons, or simply burn him to ashes? “You can help me! Help me!”
The Old Demon sighed in pleasure.
The dragon roared, mouth opening wide.
“Stop,” said the Old Demon.
And the dragon stopped. The manifestation stepped back from Lucan, eyes fixed on the Old Demon.
“That's it?” said Lucan. “You just told it to stop, and it...stopped?”
“Of course,” said the Old Demon, grinning. The rime of red light covering his gray eyes grew brighter. “Don't you understand, my boy? I am the master of all Demonsouled. The wizards of the ancient world opened the door to the darkness outside the world...and I was the first. Long centuries have passed, and the ancient world is dead...but I am not. All living Demonsouled are my descendants. Their blood belongs to me. And their power, their Demonsouled essence, belongs to me.” He looked at Lucan. “And the power you stole from Mazael, the power you wielded in your bloodstaff...that belongs to me, as well.”
Lucan shivered. The Old Demon still looked like a man in his middle years, tall and lean. Yet the red haze in his eyes, the way his black robe billowed like dark wings...for the first time he looked ancient. A thing of evil that had survived the fall of empires and kingdoms, growing ever stronger, gathering ever more power.