The Shelby tears through the streets at speeds no mortal machine could achieve, the air around us shimmering faintly from the spells enhancing the car’s performance. I can feel Zefpyre’s anger radiating from the backseat like a second engine. He doesn’t even need to speak—his tail thrashes against the leather upholstery in a rhythm of disapproval.

  I laugh, relishing the complete unnecessary use of magic. “What’s wrong, Zef? Don’t like my driving?”

  Mattie lets out a startled scream as we hit a bump, the car launching fifty feet into the air before slamming back onto the pavement. Her hands flail wildly, gripping the dashboard. “I hate this! I hate this! I hate this!”

  We reach the Order’s headquarters in just under seven minutes. The car screeches to a halt, and I don’t bother parking. With a flick of my wrist, the Shelby shrinks and floats neatly into my jacket pocket. “Come on!” I bark, striding toward the entrance.

  The moment we step inside, I let loose. “Listen up!” I shout, my voice echoing through the marble hallways. “We need backup! Call in everyone we’ve got—the A-string, the B-string, the reserves, every single person associated with the Order on Earth needs to be here NOW!”

  The place erupts into chaos as Order members scramble, but I don’t slow down, heading straight toward the main hall. Gabriel appears in a flash of golden light, his flaming sword in hand, his wings unfurling with a dramatic burst that could rival a Broadway show.

  “What’s going on, Holmes?” he demands, his voice booming.

  Zefpyre steps forward before I can answer. “Arcane Ritualist confirmed,” he says flatly.

  Gabriel’s expression hardens, the glow of his wings intensifying. The temperature in the room spikes as his sword flares brighter. “Arcane Ritualist?” he repeats, his voice dripping with urgency.

  Mattie, ever the student, pipes up, “What’s an Arcane Ritualist?”

  I glance at her, my tone clipped but explanatory. “An Arcane Ritualist is someone who uses the fundamental forces of the universe to power their rituals. Even a Trainee-level Arcane Ritualist could accidentally blow a hole in the universe because they aren’t channeling their own power—they’re channeling the universe’s.”

  Mattie, quick on the uptake as always, finishes the thought. “And when you don’t use your own power, you’re at the mercy of it instead of commanding it.”

  “Bingo,” I say, my voice grim. “And that’s what makes them dangerous.”

  She frowns, her brow furrowed. “But Boss Man, if he’s really an Arcane Ritualist, what’s with the overuse and waste of materials? That doesn’t add up.”

  “Maybe he’s an amateur,” I suggest, though the idea unsettles me even as I say it. “Maybe he’s self-taught.”

  Gabriel’s wings flicker as he turns to me, his fiery sword casting long shadows. “How does a self-taught Ritualist learn the arts of the Arcane?”

  I throw up my hands, exasperated. “That, I don’t know. If I did, we wouldn’t be standing here yelling about it.”

  Gabriel’s gaze shifts to Zefpyre. “How confirmed is this?”

  Zefpyre straightens, his golden eyes meeting Gabriel’s. “On my honor, it comes from a credible source.”

  Mattie and I exchange confused glances. “On your honor?” I echo.

  Zefpyre smirks faintly. “You’re not the only one who can cast wasteful magic spells, Holmes.”

  Gabriel nods, his expression grim. “Autumn! Sound the alarm. Call in the cavalry.”

  From her desk in the corner, Autumn doesn’t even look up as she flicks a switch, setting the magical alarm system into motion. The sound reverberates through the building, a low, resonant hum that sends shivers down my spine. As the call goes out, I can feel the energy in the room shift. Reinforcements are coming.

  I glance at Autumn. “Thank you, Ashley. You’re a great help.”

  She doesn’t even blink, her focus on the task at hand. “Go away, Holmes.”

  I grin, turning back to Gabriel. “Alright, Pendragon. What’s the plan?”

  Gabriel sheathes his sword, his wings folding neatly behind him. “We wait for reinforcements, then we confront this Edmund Hastings.”

  “Wait?” I scoff. “Gabriel, he’s holed up in the Presidential Towers. For all we know, he’s preparing another ritual right now.”

  “And if we go in without backup,” Gabriel snaps, his tone sharp, “we risk losing you, the Trainee, or worse. I won’t authorize it.”

  I glare at him, but he holds firm, his presence unyielding. “Fine,” I mutter, turning to Mattie. “Grab your kit. We’ll prepare while His Majesty gets his ducks in a row.”

  Zefpyre snickers as he pads after me. “Holmes, for once, try not to explode before the cavalry arrives.”

  “No promises,” I growl, already planning my next move.

  The Order’s armory is a cold, cavernous room filled with rows of weapons, artifacts, and enchanted gear. The walls hum faintly with protective wards, the air thick with the energy of magic long stored and seldom used. This place is for emergencies—for when all other options are off the table. The fact that we’re here now tells everyone just how serious the situation has become.

  Mattie follows close behind me, her excitement barely masked by her attempt to look serious. Zefpyre pads beside her, his tail swishing with a mixture of tension and irritation. Gabriel strides ahead, his flaming sword lighting the path.

  “Pick what you need,” Gabriel says as we enter the room. “But be quick about it.”

  I scoff, my boots echoing against the stone floor. “You think I don’t know how to prepare for a fight, Pendragon?”

  Gabriel doesn’t respond, his attention already elsewhere. I ignore him, focusing on the task at hand.

  Mattie rushes to a nearby rack, her eyes scanning the rows of enchanted items with awe. “Boss Man, do you think I could use—”

  “No,” I say without looking at her. “Focus on the basics. You’re not ready for anything advanced.”

  She pouts but nods, grabbing a simple wand and a small shield engraved with runes. The shield hums faintly as she straps it to her arm. “Fine,” she mutters. “But one day, I’m going to use something cool.”

  “Today is not that day,” I reply, my voice sharp.

  I approach a locked cabinet at the far end of the room. The air around it crackles with power, a warning to anyone foolish enough to tamper with it. I place my hand on the sigil engraved in its center, the magic recognizing me instantly. The locks click open, and the door swings wide.

  Inside rests my Wizard’s Staff.

  The staff is a masterpiece, a relic from another realm, its surface carved with runes so ancient even I don’t fully understand their meaning. At its top, a crystalline orb pulses faintly, the light within shifting like a storm contained in glass. The staff hums as I take it in my hands, the power coursing through it resonating with my own magic.

  I hate this. I hate that I’m pulling it out for some mortal—for a problem that shouldn’t even exist on this godforsaken plane. The staff belongs in battles between gods, in wars waged on higher realms. But here I am, holding it for a fight against a self-taught Arcane Ritualist.

  “You really think this is necessary?” Zefpyre asks, his golden eyes narrowing as he watches me.

  I glare at him. “If it wasn’t, do you think I’d be doing it?”

  He doesn’t answer, which is answer enough.

  Mattie stares at the staff, her eyes wide with awe. “Boss Man… I didn’t know you had a staff.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t advertise it,” I mutter. “And don’t get used to seeing it. I hate using this thing.”

  “Why?” she asks, her voice soft.

  “Because it’s not meant for mortals,” I say, my grip tightening on the staff. “And every time I use it here, I feel like I’m spitting in the face of what it was made for.”

  Gabriel approaches, his expression grim as he takes in the sight of the staff. “You think it’s that bad?”

  “I don’t think,” I reply, my voice cold. “I know.”

  He nods, his wings flicking slightly. “Then we’ll treat this as the highest priority.”

  I smirk bitterly. “Finally, some sense.”

  Mattie finishes strapping on her gear, the runes on her shield glowing faintly as she tests its weight. Zefpyre hops onto a nearby table, his tail flicking as he observes us with the disapproving air of a bureaucrat forced to attend a battlefield.

  “What about you, Zef?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “You going to do more than watch for once?”

  He yawns exaggeratedly. “I’ll be there to clean up your mess, as usual.”

  “Typical,” I mutter, turning back to the staff. Its orb pulses again, the light within growing brighter, responding to the magic in the air. I take a deep breath, steadying myself.

  “Alright,” I say, my voice firm. “Let’s get this over with.”

  As we leave the armory, the weight of the staff in my hands feels heavier than ever. It’s not just the physical weight—it’s the responsibility, the history, the power it represents. And for the first time in a long time, I feel the full weight of what it means to be a Master Wizard.

  This fight isn’t going to be easy. But with the staff in hand and the Order behind me, I’ll make sure Hastings knows exactly who he’s up against.

  Gabriel Pendragon stands at the head of the briefing room, his wings glowing faintly as he commands the attention of every magical practitioner present. The room is filled with a diverse array of Order members: alchemists, hedge mages, warlocks, summoners, and a Master Wizard. The air hums with tension and magic as Pendragon’s flaming sword, now sheathed, casts flickering shadows against the walls.

  “We’re dealing with an Arcane Ritualist,” Gabriel begins, his voice sharp and authoritative. “This isn’t a typical magical incident. Hastings has the power to tap directly into the fundamental forces of the universe. That makes him unpredictable and extremely dangerous.”

  He strides to the center of the room, a map of the Presidential Towers projected in the air before him, glowing faintly with magical runes. “Here’s the plan,” he says, pointing to the towers’ base. “First, we need to evacuate and secure the area. The entire complex will be cleared of civilians. Alchemists, you’ll assist with the evacuation—use containment brews and confusion charms to ensure everyone leaves quickly and without panic.”

  The alchemists nod, already murmuring among themselves about the brews they’ll need.

  “Once the area is clear,” Gabriel continues, “we’ll lock down the towers on all planes. That means physical, magical, and ethereal. Summoners and hedge mages, you’ll work together to set up the wards. I want a full containment field—nothing gets in, nothing gets out.”

  The summoners exchange tense glances, their expressions resolute. The hedge mages, less confident but equally determined, nod in agreement.

  “Next,” Gabriel says, gesturing to the top of the map where a faint glimmer marks Hastings’s suspected location, “the infiltration team will move in. Master Holmes—” his eyes flick to me briefly “—will lead the charge. You’ll assess the situation and neutralize Hastings. If he resists, eliminate him.”

  “Good to know where we stand,” I mutter, gripping my staff tightly. Gabriel ignores me.

  “To the rest of you,” he continues, his gaze sweeping the room, “your job is to maintain the wards and monitor the situation. If anything goes wrong, I want immediate reports. No hesitation.”

  Zefpyre, perched on the edge of the table nearest me, lets out a faint sigh. For once, he’s quiet, his golden eyes fixed on Gabriel as if assessing every word. I glance at him, and for the briefest moment, something shifts. His form flickers, the edges of his fur glowing faintly like embers. I blink, and in that instant, I swear I see something else—a towering, fiery figure with burning eyes and an aura of raw power.

  Then it’s gone, and Zefpyre is just Zefpyre again, lounging lazily as if nothing happened.

  “Something wrong, Julius?” Gabriel asks, his sharp tone pulling me back to the moment.

  “No,” I say quickly, my voice steady. “Just waiting for you to finish assigning roles.”

  Gabriel narrows his eyes at me but presses on. “Master Holmes will be supported by two teams. The first will consist of combat specialists—ward breakers, spellcasters, and summoners. The second will handle reconnaissance and containment within the building.”

  Mattie shifts beside me, her shield glowing faintly with the runes she’s etched into it. “What about me, Boss Man?” she whispers.

  “You’re with me,” I say, keeping my eyes on Gabriel. “And don’t call me that here.”

  She suppresses a smile and nods, gripping her wand tightly.

  Gabriel finishes assigning roles, his voice carrying the weight of command. “We move at dawn. Every second we delay gives Hastings more time to prepare. Be ready.”

  The room begins to empty as the various teams disperse to gather their equipment and finalize their preparations. Gabriel approaches me, his wings folding neatly behind him. “Holmes,” he says quietly, “don’t take unnecessary risks.”

  “Define unnecessary,” I reply, my tone dripping with sarcasm.

  He glares at me. “You know what I mean. Hastings isn’t just another rogue practitioner. If you get reckless, people will die.”

  I meet his gaze, the weight of my staff grounding me. “I’ll handle it,” I say, my voice firm.

  Gabriel studies me for a moment before nodding. “See that you do.”

  As he walks away, I glance at Mattie. His soft Purple eyes meet mine, and for once, there’s no sarcasm or judgment in her expression—just quiet understanding.

  “You saw it, didn’t you?” I ask softly.

  Mattie doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, she stretches lazily. “Saw what, Boss Man?” she says, her tone carefully neutral.

  I don’t press the issue. Instead, I turn from Mattie. “Get some rest,” I say. “You’ll need it.”

  “What about you?” she asks, her voice tinged with worry.

  “I’ll be fine,” I reply, my grip tightening on the staff. “I’ve got a ritualist to stop.”

  As we leave the room, the weight of what lies ahead settles heavily on my shoulders. For all the planning, all the preparation, I can’t shake the feeling that we’re walking into something far more dangerous than any of us realize.

  The briefing room had cleared out, leaving only the core team preparing for the mission. Gabriel stands near the glowing map of the Presidential Towers, his flaming sword sheathed but still radiating a faint heat. The room’s tension is palpable, the weight of the coming confrontation pressing down on everyone.

  A shimmer in the air near the doorway catches my attention. The space warps slightly, rippling with the telltale signs of high-level portal magic. In a flash of light, two figures step through, their presence immediately commanding.

  The first is a towering man clad in robes that shift like liquid silver, his piercing blue eyes scanning the room with sharp precision. The second is a woman wrapped in a dark emerald cloak, her aura so tightly contained it feels like a coiled spring ready to snap. Both carry staffs that hum faintly with power, their carved runes glowing in response to the ambient magic.

  Gabriel strides forward, his wings unfurling slightly in a gesture of respect. “Master Seraphin, Master Celeste,” he says, inclining his head. “Your presence here is an honor.”

  Seraphin steps forward, his expression unreadable. “When the Order calls, we answer,” he says simply, his voice deep and resonant.

  Celeste offers a faint smile, her gaze sweeping over the room. “And when a Master Wizard calls for aid, it’s rarely a trivial matter. We’re here to ensure this situation doesn’t spiral out of control.”

  Gabriel nods, his wings folding neatly behind him. “Your support is invaluable. We’re dealing with an Arcane Ritualist—a threat we can’t afford to underestimate.”

  Seraphin’s brows furrow, his grip tightening on his staff. “An Arcane Ritualist on Earth? That’s… rare.”

  “And dangerous,” Celeste adds, her emerald eyes narrowing. “Even among the most skilled practitioners, tapping into the universe’s raw power is a gamble. If this Ritualist is as unstable as you’ve described, the consequences could be catastrophic.”

  Gabriel glances at me briefly before addressing them again. “We’ve been preparing for this, but your expertise will be critical. Master Holmes has already devised the approach for neutralizing the threat.”

  Seraphin’s gaze shifts to me, his expression assessing. “Julius,” he says, nodding slightly. “I’ve heard much about you.”

  “Don’t believe everything you hear,” I reply dryly, gripping my staff tightly. “Except the parts where I’m brilliant.”

  Celeste lets out a soft laugh. “And modest, I see.”

  Gabriel clears his throat, drawing the focus back to him. “We’ll surround the towers, clear out civilians, and lock it down on all planes. Your role will be to reinforce the containment wards and ensure no magical interference disrupts the operation.”

  The two Master Wizards exchange a glance before nodding. “Understood,” Seraphin says.

  Gabriel’s tone softens slightly. “Thank you both. I know the Other Realm has its own issues to contend with, and pulling you here isn’t a request I made lightly.”

  Celeste waves a hand dismissively. “The safety of the realms is interconnected. What happens here could ripple outward, affecting us all. You were right to call us.”

  Gabriel inclines his head again, his expression solemn. “Then let’s ensure this ends swiftly—and with as few casualties as possible.”

  I can’t help but smirk. “Well, now that the cavalry’s here, what could possibly go wrong?”

  Celeste raises an eyebrow at me, her smile tinged with amusement. “With you involved, Julius? I imagine plenty.”

  “Touché,” I mutter, turning back to the map. The stakes just got higher, but with Seraphin and Celeste here, I can’t deny we’ve got a better shot at pulling this off. For now, all that’s left is to make sure Hastings understands exactly what happens when he crosses a Master Wizard—and his friends.

  I sit on a battered chair on the rooftop, overlooking the city as it hums and pulses with life below. The skyline is bathed in soft, amber light from the setting sun, the faint chill of the evening biting at my skin. I take a long drag from my cigar, the scent of Dreamer’s Leaf curling around me as I watch the world move on, oblivious to the chaos brewing beneath the surface.

  I hear her footsteps before I see her. Light, measured—Celeste has always been deliberate, never wasting a single movement. She steps up behind me, her emerald cloak catching the faint breeze, the smell of her magic faint but unmistakable.

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  “It’s been a long time,” I say without turning, my voice calm but carrying the weight of a hundred unspoken memories.

  “Honestly? Not long enough,” she responds, her tone sharp but lacking the bite it once had.

  I smirk faintly, leaning back in the chair. “You look great. Congratulations on achieving Master. Working toward Grand Master?”

  “Sage, actually,” she says smoothly. “More my style.”

  I nod, blowing out a plume of smoke. “Fitting. You were always more about understanding than ambition.”

  She crosses her arms, watching the horizon for a moment before cutting to the chase. “Julius, I’m not here to talk about the past.”

  “Of course not,” I reply, my tone dry. “You’re here to ask if we’re overreacting—if calling in half the Order is premature when all we’ve got is the word of two hedge mages, no visible Arcane Magic at the scene, and nothing but questions about the evidence.”

  Her silence speaks volumes. Finally, she nods. “Pretty much.”

  I flick ash from my cigar, my eyes narrowing as I stare out at the city. “Celeste, I’m not going to lie to you. This case makes no damn sense. We’ve got rituals beyond this realm’s understanding. Somehow, House Lazur is involved. And then there’s…”

  I trail off, the words catching in my throat.

  She picks up on my hesitation immediately, her gaze sharpening. “You sure their house isn’t clouding your judgment?”

  “Cassidy is here,” I admit in a faint whisper, the words slipping out before I can stop them.

  Celeste stiffens, her emerald eyes narrowing as she turns to face me fully. “My Lords, Julius. Now I’m questioning all of this.”

  I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “Celeste, I swear, I’ve done my due diligence.”

  Her gaze drops to the staff resting across my lap. “And yet, here you are, holding that. Don’t tell me you’ve got this under control while that thing’s in your hands.”

  I grip the staff tightly, its hum of power vibrating against my fingers. “It’s precautionary,” I say, though the words sound hollow even to me.

  She takes a step closer, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Julius, you need to get your emotions under control. If you let them cloud your judgment, you’ll tear this world apart—and don’t delude yourself into thinking I can stop you. Neither can Seraphin.”

  I look down at the staff, the weight of it feeling heavier than ever. “I won’t break the world,” I say softly.

  Celeste snorts, the sound laced with disbelief. “That promise means little coming from you.”

  “I know,” I whisper, my voice barely audible.

  She hesitates, her expression softening for the briefest moment. “Did you call her?”

  I glance up at her, my eyes meeting hers. “What do you think, Celeste?”

  She sighs, shaking her head. “You’re a child, Julius. Always have been. Just think of how much stronger we’d be with her summons at our side.”

  I take another drag from my cigar, exhaling slowly as I look back at the skyline. “Fine. I’ll call her.”

  Celeste watches me for a moment longer, then turns on her heel, her cloak billowing behind her. “See that you do,” she says, her voice cutting through the cool night air before she disappears back down the stairs.

  I sit there for a while longer, staring at the skyline as her words echo in my mind. The staff hums faintly, a reminder of the power I carry—and the weight of the choices I’ve yet to make.

  Here’s the scene with a polished touch, keeping the humor and tension intact:

  I pull Cassidy’s calling card from my pocket, the faint hum of its magic sparking against my fingertips. The card glows softly as I activate it, her connection reaching across the realms. I hear her voice almost immediately, clear and familiar, and it nearly shatters me.

  “Hi, we’re trying to reach you about your car’s extended warranty,” I say, my tone dripping with faux professionalism.

  I blink, caught off guard. “I don’t even own a car…” I start, then pause. “Wait—JuJu?”

  My voice softens instantly. “Cass?”

  “Hey, Cass,” I say, my voice steady but quieter than usual.

  There’s a long silence on the line. Too long.

  “So,” I continue, forcing my usual sarcastic tone back into place, “I was thinking, if you have some free time, maybe you could come with me and help kick an Arcane Ritualist’s ass.”

  There’s a snort on the other end, followed by a short laugh. “Very funny, Julius.”

  “I’ve missed this, Cass,” I say before I can stop myself.

  Her laughter fades, replaced by a quieter, more guarded tone. “Julius… please.”

  I swallow hard, the weight of her voice settling in my chest. “I’m serious about the Ritualist. We found your thief.”

  “So I was right,” Cassidy says, her voice regaining its edge. “I knew I sensed Arcane magic.”

  “Celeste is here,” I add.

  There’s a pause, and then: “What?” she says sharply. “With Seraphin? The Nephilim?”

  “Master Nephilim,” I correct, my tone dry. “He’s a Master now. Celeste, too.”

  “Wait, Julius.” Her voice tightens. “You’re really going after an Arcane Ritualist? Why don’t you just banish him?”

  “With what authority, Cass?” I shoot back.

  “Call your mom,” she says, her tone matter-of-fact.

  I groan, rubbing my temples. “Why don’t you call her? You know my limitations. Besides, I doubt she’d even answer me. We haven’t exactly been on the best terms lately.”

  Cassidy’s voice softens again, just slightly. “Julius…”

  “Look,” I interrupt, “are you coming or not?”

  There’s a brief silence before she sighs, her tone shifting into something almost playful. “Well, I’m not going to let you and Celeste have all the fun.”

  Before I can respond, there’s a blinding flash of magic, the kind that feels like sunlight cutting through a storm. When the light fades, Cassidy is standing in front of me, her golden-pink eyes sparkling with barely contained amusement.

  “You know,” I say, trying to keep my tone light, “my handler would yell at you for unnecessary use of magic.”

  Cassidy smirks, crossing her arms. “I’m surprised he has any voice left, considering how unnecessarily you love to use magic.”

  I laugh, the sound more genuine than I’ve allowed in years. “Touché.”

  For a moment, the weight of the world lifts just slightly. But only for a moment.

  The moment Cassidy appears, I rush forward, pulling her into a hug before she has a chance to push me away. For a brief second, I feel her arms wrap around me in return, the familiarity of the moment almost enough to undo me.

  Then, like the universe has a personal vendetta against me, two blinding flashes of light interrupt, and the unmistakable presences of Celeste and Seraphin join us.

  Cassidy and I shove each other away as if we’ve been caught stealing candy from the gods, both of us doing our best to act casual. Celeste raises an eyebrow, a knowing smirk playing on her lips.

  “Good,” she says, her tone sharp but amused. “Cass is here.”

  Seraphin steps forward, towering over all of us with his imposing figure. He extends a hand toward Cassidy, his movements precise and measured. “A pleasure to meet you,” he says, his voice deep and formal.

  “You can call me Cassidy,” she replies, shaking his hand firmly.

  He nods once, his expression unreadable. “Cassidy, then.”

  “So,” Cassidy says, brushing her hands against her cloak. “Catch me up.”

  I take a step back, adjusting my trench coat. “Well,” I say with exaggerated casualness, “I’ve been on Earth for the past ten years, solving magical crimes for the Order, exploring Chicago, and training a young wizard.”

  Her sharp gaze locks on me. “About the Ritualist, Julius.”

  “Oh. Him.” I pause, glancing at Celeste, who rolls her eyes. “We’re dealing with an Arcane Ritualist who’s way in over his head. And... we’re pretty sure he’s connected to a string of ritual murders in an apartment on the north side.”

  “Details,” she says, crossing her arms.

  I take a deep breath and launch into it, telling her everything we know about the apartment murders—the bodies, the ritual circles, the stolen materials, and the bizarre mix of amateur execution and advanced technique. Seraphin listens silently, his expression impassive, while Celeste nods along, her gaze darting between Cassidy and me like she’s cataloging our every reaction.

  By the time I finish, Cassidy’s golden-pink eyes are narrowed in thought, her mind clearly turning over the information.

  “Thoughts?” I ask her.

  She looks at me, then at Celeste, before settling back on me. “It’s sloppy, but dangerous. Whoever this Ritualist is, they’re reckless. And that makes them unpredictable.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know,” I mutter.

  Cassidy raises an eyebrow. “If you already knew, why am I here?”

  I smirk faintly. “Moral support?”

  She snorts, shaking her head. “Julius, you’ve always been terrible at asking for help. But don’t worry—this time, I’ve got your back.”

  For a moment, the tension eases, but it’s short-lived. The reality of what we’re facing looms large, and we all know this is just the beginning.

  The street outside the Order's headquarters is a sea of flashing red and blue lights, patrol cars stretching in every direction, blocking off State and Jackson. The chaos of the mortal world trying to contain something far beyond their comprehension is almost amusing. Almost.

  I step into the street, pulling my car from my pocket with a flick of my wrist. The Shelby roars to life, the matte black paint gleaming under the harsh glare of the patrol lights. “Mattie, Cassidy, Celeste—you’re with me,” I call out, opening the driver’s door.

  “Not without me,” Zefpyre declares, hopping up onto the trunk with the regal air of someone who’s been inconvenienced.

  “Fine,” I mutter. “The hairy fire elemental rides in the trunk.”

  “Meow!” Zefpyre protests indignantly.

  “Whatever,” I say, ignoring him as I slide into the driver’s seat. Mattie hops in the back, clutching her shield and wand like a soldier prepping for battle. Zefpyre pads into the trunk, muttering something about indignities and bureaucratic overreach. Cassidy slides into the passenger seat next to me, her presence both comforting and maddening. Celeste sits quietly beside Mattie, her calm demeanor masking whatever plans are turning in her mind.

  As the engine rumbles to life, Cassidy smirks, leaning back in her seat. “This is quite the downgrade from a flying pegasus,” she says, her tone light but teasing.

  I raise an eyebrow at her. “You want to get me one?”

  She scoffs. “And where exactly would you keep a flying pegasus? In your coat?”

  From the back, Mattie chimes in with a giggle. “He’d try.”

  Cassidy laughs, the sound both familiar and cutting. “You’re probably right.”

  I shoot a glare at Mattie through the rearview mirror. “Mind your rank, Trainee.”

  Mattie sits up a little straighter, but I can still see the grin tugging at her lips. “Yes, Boss Man.”

  The car procession starts moving, patrol cars forming a long, serpentine line as we make our way toward the Presidential Towers. The lights of downtown Chicago blur past as the tension in the car thickens. Cassidy taps her fingers on the dashboard, the rhythm matching my growing sense of unease. Celeste sits silently, her piercing gaze fixed out the window, while Zefpyre grumbles faintly from the trunk.

  “Are you sure this is going to work?” Cassidy asks, breaking the silence.

  “No,” I reply bluntly, my grip tightening on the steering wheel. “But since when has that stopped us?”

  Her smirk fades, replaced by a faint look of concern. For once, she doesn’t have a snarky comeback.

  As the Presidential Towers come into view, their sleek, imposing silhouette cutting into the Chicago skyline, I can feel the hum of magic in the air—dangerous, unstable, and pulsing with an energy that doesn’t belong in this realm.

  This isn’t just another job. This is something bigger. Something worse.

  “Ready yourselves,” I say, my voice low but steady. “This is going to get messy.”

  As my hand reaches for the car door, Mattie’s voice cuts through the tense silence. “Wait.”

  Her tone is sharp, commanding—not the usual playful chatter we’re used to. For a moment, all three Masters in the car freeze, turning to her in unison. For Mattie to command us, something seriously has to be wrong.

  “What is it?” I ask, my eyes narrowing.

  Before she can answer, Seraphin lands outside my car with an earth-shaking thud, his Nephilim wings folding neatly behind him as he surveys the scene. Around us, the Order swarms like ants, moving in every direction as they prepare for the operation. The air buzzes with magic and tension, every spell and ward being hastily deployed adding to the crackling energy around the Presidential Towers.

  “We all forgot about the lesser demon that was summoned,” Mattie says, her voice calm but filled with urgency.

  I stiffen, a wave of realization hitting me like a freight train. “Fuck,” I mutter. “How is that possible?”

  Celeste is already analyzing the situation, her emerald eyes narrowing. “A charm,” she says. “Most likely something cloaking its presence.”

  I glance at her. “That’s more your wheelhouse.”

  “I’ll work on it,” Celeste replies, her voice clipped as she slides out of the car, already muttering incantations under her breath.

  Cassidy leans forward, her golden-pink eyes burning with concern. “A lesser demon with a damn Arcane Ritualist, Julius? Are you serious?”

  I shrug, trying to keep my tone even. “I didn’t organize this.”

  “That’s obvious,” she snaps. “Because if it were you, there’d be an Arch Demon in the mix instead of just a lesser one.”

  “You’re exactly right,” I reply, deadpan. “I’d never be this sloppy.”

  Cassidy’s face glows with anger, her magic flaring faintly in the confined space of the car. “Seriously, Julius? Seriously? You want to talk about being sloppy right now?”

  Before I can respond, she throws open the door and storms out, her cloak billowing behind her. The crackling energy of her anger seems to leave scorch marks in the air.

  “FUCK!” I yell, slamming my hand against the steering wheel. “Smooth, Boss Man. Very smooth,” Mattie mutters from the backseat, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

  I glare at her through the rearview mirror, but she just raises an eyebrow, entirely unimpressed. “You should probably go after her before she levels something.”

  “She wouldn’t,” I say, though even I don’t sound convinced.

  Zefpyre’s disembodied voice drifts from the trunk. “I don’t know, Julius. She looked very tempted.”

  I sigh, grabbing my staff as I slide out of the car. “Stay here,” I snap at Mattie, who looks like she’s about to argue. “You can help Celeste.”

  She nods reluctantly, watching as I step into the chaos outside. Now, not only do I have a Ritualist and a lesser demon to deal with, but also an extremely pissed-off Cassidy. And if there’s one thing more dangerous than a demon, it’s her.

  “Cassidy, wait! Please,” I call after her, striding quickly to catch up.

  She stops mid-step, turning just enough for her golden-pink eyes to bore into mine. “Not here, Julius,” she snaps. “Actually, not ever.”

  Before I can respond, Gabriel appears, his presence as commanding as ever. “We’re ready,” he says, his tone brisk.

  Cassidy nods curtly, clearly eager to move on. Gabriel’s sharp gaze flicks between us, but he doesn’t comment. “Call out your summons,” he says.

  Without hesitation, Cassidy begins an incantation, her voice smooth and commanding as ancient words roll from her tongue. The air around us thickens with magic, and in seconds, radiant Celestial creatures shimmer into existence, their forms glowing with an otherworldly light.

  “Find the Arcane Ritualist,” Cassidy orders, her voice ringing with authority. The creatures scatter instantly, taking to the air and ground with terrifying efficiency.

  Across the battlefield, I catch sight of Celeste, her long staff glinting in the dim light. Fire bursts from the rubies embedded in its head, casting her in a fiery glow as she weaves through her enemies, magic exploding in controlled precision.

  Above us, Seraphin takes to the skies, his flaming blade roaring to life as he dives into the fray. His strikes send shockwaves through the air, his Nephilim form a beacon of divine power.

  And then there’s me.

  I sigh, gripping my staff tightly. “I guess it’s time to get into position,” I mutter.

  But running? Not happening. I haven’t run since high school, and I’m certainly not about to start now. Instead, I walk deliberately, each step measured and calm. The staff hums in my hands, its power responding to my every thought as I begin to weave intricate spells in the air.

  The symbols glow faintly, their energy coiling around me like a protective shield. I can feel the overwhelming power of the staff, a force that could reshape the battlefield—or erase it entirely—with a single flick of my will.

  I stop for a moment, staring up at the Presidential Towers. If I unleashed the full power of the staff, I could wipe the entire structure, the Ritualist, the lesser demon, and every trace of their presence off the face of the Earth.

  The problem? The blast would most likely unravel the delicate threads of reality around us, sending everything within miles into the void—or worse, drawing the attention of higher powers who would see to it that I spent eternity in the Underworld.

  “Not today,” I mutter under my breath, gripping the staff tighter. The stakes are high, but I’ll have to find another way. Wiping reality isn’t exactly on my to-do list.

  I weave another spell, the runes glowing brighter as the hum of magic fills the air around me. “Alright,” I say, my voice steady. “Let’s do this the hard way.”

  With that, I step into the chaos, ready to face whatever comes next.

  The moment my spell locks onto the Ritualist, something feels off. It’s too easy, far too easy for someone supposedly wielding the raw power of Arcane magic. I glance around, scanning the chaos below me. The creatures fighting the Order aren’t the elite summons of a skilled Ritualist—they’re lesser imps, abyssal vermin barely above magical cannon fodder.

  Mattie is probably having a field day downstairs, kicking ass and gaining confidence. I smirk at the thought, but the feeling doesn’t linger. This doesn’t add up. None of it does.

  I let the spell carry me upward, flying with controlled precision until I reach the twentieth floor. The spell shatters the glass as I break through the window, landing in a dimly lit room. And there he is—Edmund Hastings, the so-called Arcane Ritualist.

  But my magical senses scream at me the moment I step inside. Stop moving. Dismiss the spell. The room hums with layers of complex magic, the kind of enchantments designed not just to contain but to trap. My aura flares as I sweep the space with a subtle pulse of energy, piecing together the threads of the trap.

  "You little whore," I say, my voice a low growl as I glare at Edmund. His face twists in confusion and fear, the runes around him glowing faintly as his spell falters.

  “How… how… how?” he sputters, backing away.

  “You idiot,” I snarl, my staff crackling with energy. “I am a Master Wizard firmly on the Path to Grand Master. You think I wouldn’t sense a prison strong enough to contain me?”

  Edmund stumbles, his hands trembling as he clutches a charm around his neck. My anger flares, the runes on my staff glowing brighter. “Well, no worries. I know exactly what to do with you,” I say coldly. “You see, I was granted the authority to put you down hard. And I see no better way than to send a message to your anonymous benefactor.”

  My grip tightens on the staff as the room crackles with magic. To cast a spell like this, you need three things: emotion, intent, and willpower.

  Emotion? I had it in metric fuck tons.

  Intent? I focused every fiber of my consciousness on the exact outcome I wanted.

  And willpower? I opened the floodgates, letting my magic surge forth like a tidal wave, holding just enough back to make sure the world wouldn’t unravel. The power flowed through me, washing over every inch of the room.

  I raised the staff, my magic pooling into a single, devastating strike. The air shimmered with purple energy, and with a single flick of my will, I unleashed it. The spell hit Edmund like a sledgehammer wielded by Thor himself, obliterating the trap he’d so carefully laid.

  When the light faded, it was over. Before me stood the remains of Edmund Hastings—or rather, what was left of him. His body had been reduced to a charcoal statue, frozen in a final pose of terror.

  I lowered the staff, the energy dissipating around me. My breath came in slow, measured beats, but my mind was racing.

  That was far too easy.

  I glanced around the room, the faint hum of magic still lingering in the air. Edmund had been sloppy, careless even—but this? This wasn’t the work of an Arcane Ritualist on the rise. Something didn’t add up, and the nagging feeling that I’d just played into someone else’s plan refused to go away.

  The air shimmered with a familiar surge of magic as, with a blink, Cassidy, Celeste, Gabriel, Zefpyre, and Seraphin appeared around me. The tension in the room immediately tripled.

  “What did you do?” Cassidy demanded, her voice sharp, her golden-pink eyes blazing with anger.

  “I took your advice… kind of,” I replied, my tone flat but laced with defiance.

  “Explain, Julius,” Cassidy pressed, stepping closer.

  “Well,” I began, gripping my staff tightly, “I sent his soul to the Underworld, and his body is now the home for a gargoyle. He won’t be bothering us again.”

  Gabriel’s wings flared slightly, his presence growing even more imposing. “What about interrogating him, Julius?” he asked, his voice heavy with frustration.

  I snapped my fingers, summoning a magically-bound journal from the air. The book flew into my hand, and with a flick of my wrist, I tossed it to him. “Here, Pendragon—your answers.”

  Gabriel caught it, scowling. “You’d better hope this is enough.”

  Before I could respond, Celeste chimed in, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Hey, idiot, did you forget about the lesser demon?”

  “Fucking A! How?” Gabriel exclaimed, his face etched with disbelief. “What lesser demon?”

  Cassidy’s expression darkened. “The demon at the apartment ritual. For some reason, we keep forgetting about it.”

  “I forgot about it too,” Celeste admitted, frowning. “Even after we discussed it in the car. How is that possible?”

  Seraphin’s deep voice cut through the conversation. “Some powerful magic is at play here. Look at this ritual.”

  For the first time, I took in the entirety of the room. The scale and intricacy of the markings, the layering of symbols, and the use of impossibly rare materials hit me like a thunderbolt. “This… this is a Master-ranked ritual,” I muttered. “And the materials alone would have cost a fortune.”

  “This doesn’t make sense,” Cassidy said, shaking her head. “Where’s the offering?”

  I looked at her, my voice flat. “It was supposed to be me. The trap was for me.”

  Gabriel, still flipping through the journal, added grimly, “From his notes, the plan was to use you as a magical battery to summon an army of greater demons and take over the world.”

  Mattie, who had just arrived, spoke up, her voice hesitant. “But why would he need Master Holmes? He was using Arcane Magic.”

  Gabriel answered, his tone sharper now. “He was clearly a rookie practitioner. This journal is filled with his failed experiments. He didn’t have the skill to pull it off without a power source as strong as Holmes.”

  “Does the journal say how he discovered this Master-ranked ritual?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.

  Gabriel shook his head. “No, but it mentions a benefactor. No name, no details—just cryptic references.”

  Cassidy’s jaw clenched as she looked around the room. “This benefactor… they’ve gone to great lengths to stay hidden. Whoever they are, they’re pulling the strings.”

  The next two days were a blur. The Order worked tirelessly to clean up the aftermath at the Presidential Towers. Edmund’s small army of summoned imps and other abyssal minions had scattered across the building, and every corner had to be purged.

  His apartment was another nightmare entirely. The residual magic in the air was so dense that standing inside felt like being in the Other Realm. Wards and cleansing spells were layered over and over just to bring the place back to something resembling normal.

  Despite the physical cleanup, one thing lingered in all our minds—the benefactor. Whoever they were, they weren’t finished. And this? This was just the opening move.