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The world broke open again.
Explosions stampeded through the Mirror World as hellfire, dark magic, and the meteors of Hell scraped their claws across the ground. Space lifted and dipped as if it were a sheet being shaken, and the Tower Master’s stitched horizon quaked as though a single breath might shatter it.
He coughed twice into his sleeve and tasted iron.
Necrobix was not an ordinary foe. It was a being that moved like a god, a will that held its power with absolute control. Its spells did not wander or spill. Every surge sought Ketal alone, and whenever a stray echo brushed the barrier, it was only a ragged edge. Even that was almost more than the Mirror World could bear.
“If I were in there with them, I would be dead already,” the Tower Master murmured, tightening magic circle after magic circle with hands that would not stop trembling. “All those puppets were children’s toys compared to the original body.”
This was the true weight of Necrobix.
“I hope you win, Ketal,” he whispered to no one. “If you do not, the world ends.”
The Mirror World became Hell’s worst precinct. Heat thickened into a presence. The air reeked of iron and old smoke.
Inside that furnace, Ketal advanced without haste. He carved the smallest openings with his axe, wove his steps through the narrowest lanes, and slipped through spaces that did not truly exist until the instant he passed through them. Even so, not every threat could be avoided. Necrobix twisted...
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