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The gathered goblins out in the churned, muddied fields below their citadel were concerned to say the least upon the rumbling and shaking that occurred as blue light lit up the snow dusted mountain that they called home. They watched helplessly as their ancient walls crumbled.

When the fanged flying ponies had scattered them from within the streets and alleyways and central square of the mountainside fortress, the rat's soldiers had finally taken the hint that they were not welcome here, that the rat's battle for Everdwell was lost, and that there were no repercussions now for refusing to fight. They had all fled in a mass exodus back to the safety of their far-off homelands.

This had been a promising sign for the goblins that today's terrible events were now coming to an end, that the mysterious grey magician who had been cheered on and encouraged as he rode in to dispatch the rat, would be aiding the goblins and making everything right again.

Instead, he had blasted their home to bits!

Their Royal family was still up there somewhere, in all the dust and debris, along with the Royal Guards. If they perished it would be a complete disaster. Not only would the goblin citizens need to rebuild their dwellings, but also instate a new ruling family and appoint fresh advisors and counsel.

Everdwell may never fully recover.

With wails and grumbles at the loss of their beautiful city all they could do was wait here, surrounded by debris of battle and abandoned war machines, and let sorcerous events unfold before them.

Luci reached out with a trembling hand towards the lizard that lay bleeding in front of her. Her heart thumped loudly in her ears as the fountain above them bubbled gently, a serene corner full of tranquility compared to the bedlam going on elsewhere.

The tang of blood was in her wide aardvarkian nostrils. Hemlock's skull had been soundly fractured and dark crimson liquid pooled around his still, slumped form.

Use your spark, Anar had commanded. Doubt furrowed her brow beneath her sweat covered fringe. What exactly did he mean? That she had some natural magical powers? There had been a jolt, hadn't there? When she had touched him, feeling his Sceptre wound. He'd alluded to a spark before, but she hadn't understood. Magic needed belief. If she did have a touch of untamed natural magic within her, no matter how far-fetched a concept that could be, it would require absolute belief on her part to work. How could she believe in something that she wasn't certain was even there to begin with?

The pale stone surrounding them in every direction split in pieces, cracks appearing on every wall and floor, the foundation of the citadel crumbling with Anar's power as he bombarded the rat with everything he had.

Luci closed her eyes, the pressure being almost too much. If she couldn't do this, then Hemlock was dead. Anar believed in her. Now she had to believe in herself. This was tougher than any mage exam back at the polytechnic. This was no gentle afternoon spent at a desk under a softly ticking clock with a piece of paper to fill out, displaying her written knowledge of Power and its uses and limitations; no, this was healing in the middle of a cataclysm using a form of magic she had only just recently had any sort of dealings with!

Her fingers pressed against the cool scales of the reptid officer. There was no pulse. No life. He had slipped away while she had been hesitating.

Anar had called him Hemmy. This was one of Anar's very few friends. And she had let him die.

With shaking shoulders and a half sob half groan, Luci pressed her flattened palm out against Hemlock's chest and pushed her mind out as deeply as she could, screaming her inner thoughts to the void: "I am a Licensed Laymage from the Council of Sorcerer's and I WILL HEAL YOU!"

I will.

I can.

You are healed.

You will live.

This is true.

It has to be true.

A curious sensation like a bubbling in her blood rose up within her and her dainty fingertips tingled. Natural magic had resided within her, somehow, lying dormant, sleeping, unable to be used because she had not believed in it. Until now.

Warmth spread out, delivering healing intentions as it travelled, closing up oozing gaps in damaged scales and refilling depleted veins with precious life force.

With a heave and a lurch Hemlock took in a great gasp of breath, filling his lungs as his long maw opened wide. His reptilian eyes opened, just a crack, and his hand reached up to touch hers softly in a feeble gesture of gratitude.

"I did it! I did it! I have magic!" Luci muttered frantically, in awe of her glowing blue aura. There was no going back now. This power was hers, and she was going to jolly well use it!

Spinning round on the dirty broken cobblestones, Hemlock hacking and gasping as he sat upright beside her, she could see plenty of things to be getting on with, starting with safely relocating the goblins hiding in the collapsing tunnel...

Nisgarant screeched and howled as he was held in the air, kept aloft by the magic of the dead General who had him firmly in his grip.

The Sceptre was refusing to assist him anymore, its Power levels had already dropped more than it was happy with.

Anar closed his fist, and the rat could feel his windpipe narrowing. He scrabbled for his own scrawny throat, but it did nothing. He choked. Surely the Sceptre wasn't going to let him die? Not after all he'd done?

"Give me the Sceptre, Nisgarant, and the world will be saved! The whole universe will be saved! Give it up, Nisgarant! Surrender! This is all over!"

The rat thrashed again, his narrow tail whipping, but the aardvark's words were coming into a clearer mind now.

"I can kill you and take it, and you know I won't hesitate. But there's been enough death. I'm giving you a chance, rat! I'm giving you more mercy right now than you've shown in a lifetime!"

He grimaced and whined, like a child who's at risk of losing his favourite toy as punishment for being naughty. "It's too late to stop it!" he snivelled, "the Sceptre has been unleashed for too long!"

Anar dismounted, drawing closer to his floating captive, who's own Dark Power was keeping him just out of reach. He offered an open grey hand.

"Stop fighting me, Nisgarant, and hand it over! The Dragon will return it to where it belongs."

At mention of The Dragon though, the Tri-Horn rebelled by sending a mighty burst of pain jolting through the rat's body, causing him to convulse and vomit weakly onto his already matted fur. He cried out with hurt. "I... I..." there was a pleading in the rodent's small black eyes. He wanted to, in that moment. He so desperately wanted to rid himself of this bullying weapon that was causing him so much distress. But it had a grip on his mind like a vice. And it was not afraid of hurting him just enough to keep him complying with its ill will. It had given him so much, and it would just as quickly take it all away.

Blood poured freely from his whiskered nostril as his skinny furred arm slowly reached forward, offering the long three-pronged horned staff to his old commander. It took every ounce of strength remaining in the tortured rodent, and the Sceptre was fighting him at every inch, trying to pull his arm back away from the General. Bone creaked and sinews snapped.

"Take... take it...please..."

As Anar's magic had flowed out towards Nisgarant in a blast that would take great lumps of masonry and floor with it, the colourful Nightmare that Brook and Worrel were astride took off into flight with a graceful leap and a swoop of its shimmering wings.

"I don't suppose now is a good time to say I don't like heights?" Elden squeaked.

Brook whipped her head round, "you live half way up a flipping mountain, you fool!"

"Yes, well, it's still solid ground, isn't it?"

"Where's your sense of adventure?!" she demanded.

"I think I left it back down there..."

The Nightmare wheeled gracefully above the commotion and destruction occurring far below. The ominous rip in the sky pulsed and rumbled like an oncoming storm.

"What is that, exactly, Brook?"

"That is the universe collapsing. The big ugly stick Nisgarant has is a Dark Magic weapon from another galaxy or something, and it's been here too long, so everything is going to explode."

"Oh."

"Right?"

"So... how are we going to stop that happening? Can we stop that happening?"

Brook frowned, "that's what the magic flingers are going to try and do. If not, this has been the shortest romance on record."

His arms squeezed her a little tighter. "You know, I've never had a girlfriend. Can I kiss you?"

Brook gave the handsome goblin Captain a small smile, "I'll allow it," she said, "but only because it's the end times!"

Much to the relief of everyone gathered on the muddy battlefield, one by one the Royal family and elders of the goblin citadel were safely transported into their midst by one of the curious grey magical creatures that had turned up earlier.

Luci offered her apologies and attempted to explain as best as she could what was transpiring on this very eventful day. The rubble, she assured them, could be put back. The injured could be healed. What she couldn't promise was the disappearance of the big hole in the sky. That was beyond her abilities. Maybe beyond the abilities of even a dragon. Or Anar.

She wrung her hands that were still glowing faintly blue, trying not to have an existential crisis in public. They were running out of options, and there was no denying it. The Dragon's powers were depleted so it couldn't save them all even if it wanted to. Her new found powers were faint too, and suffered from lack of practice, saving the day was well beyond her scope that was for sure. How was Anar going to mend a tear in the very fabric of reality itself? He'd barely been managing his magic up til yesterday! After all this effort, and drama, and loss of life, it was still merely delaying the inevitable. She hadn't said as much out loud, of course, no, she was already the Debby Downer of the group wasn't she? The others were all under the illusion that a solution would present itself somehow and all would be well. Everything would miraculously go back to 'normal' or some semblance of it, anyway. They'd all go home...

Luci felt her stomach churn. Her hopes of going home rested on the shoulders of one man. And he was currently attempting to wrestle a Dark Magic Sceptre from the evil clutches of the Warlord Nisgarant.

Within the epicentre of splintered stone and noisy whirling magic, the familiar haughty voice of a certain Senior Mage carried on the wind.

Oh no...

"Stop right there! Halt, I say! Desist!"

A streak of yellow lightning impacted the space between an open grey hand and the offered Sceptre.

As one, Anarchy Warlock and Lord Nisarant turned slowly to see who had foolishly entered the fray.

Holding aloft blazing orbs of light like mini suns on ivory carved staffs, the Senior Mage of the Council of Sorcerer's, along with Sebastian and not-Sebastian, planted their shiny brogue-clad feet firmly on what little remained of the citadel's courtyard to take up a fighting stance.

"That's quite enough from you, dragon! This is Council business! Step away from that Sceptre!"

"Did you not learn from last time?" Anar growled. "Back off!'

"D-Dragon?!" Nisgarant demanded, faintly bemused. The sceptre buzzed within his scrabbly claws, hungry for the abundant power of the unwelcome visitors. His eyes glazed over slightly, the dark magic of the staff seeping back into the mists of his mind, taking over once more.

"Oh, great," Anar exclaimed, gesturing to the vibrating rat with a sweep of his hand, "now look what you've done!"

The gathered magic users all acted at once, bursts of energy and crackling Power whipping round like a vortex as they bombarded each other with fire and lightning. The darkening sky lit up in bright sheets and flashes.

"We've got more fire power this time, dragon!"

"For the last time, I'm an aardvark! I just have a dragon's power, that's all! I'm going to give it back, honest!"

"A likely story! I suppose this big hole in the sky is nothing to do with you, neither?"

"The universe is collapsing you great idiot!"

"Aha! You admit to it, then?"

"WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE!"

Sebastian sent a whip of lightning round Nisgarant's clawed feet, causing the frenzied rat to screech and lash out, black sparks spitting from the spiralled horns of his much sought-after weapon.

The resulting shock from the clash of magic knocked the human off his feet.

"What the-??"

"It's Dark Magic! Don't target the Sceptre, hit the rat!" Anar ordered.

"I'm a senior Council member of over twenty years, I don't need a dragon telling me what to do, thank you very much!"

"Well you clearly do, if you don't know how to handle Dark Magic!"

"Nonsense! It can't be Dark Magic!" he sent a jet of bright blue flame hurtling towards the Tri-Horn Sceptre.

The resulting explosion knocked another tower off the citadel.

Anar flicked his wrist and sent more magical energy thudding into the Council mages' conjured shields. They wavered, weakening with every assault. He needed reinforcements. "Destroyer!" he bellowed into the magical wind.

The muscular black form of the Nightmare prince barrelled into the gathered humans, sending Sebastian sprawling for the second time in as many minutes. He skidded at the far end of the courtyard.

"My Lord! I shall call upon my brethren for aid," he neighed, as dark shapes once more gathered in the damaged sky like a cloud of locusts about to descend upon crops.

The Senior Mage hesitated. "What sorcery is this?" he demanded, "to summon magical beasts to do your bidding?"

"Nightmares, mage, they're Nightmares. Bitey kickey buggers. You still sure you want to fight me for this Sceptre?"

"Who the Hell are you?! If you are not a dragon?"

"I am Anarchy Warlock, survivor of the Tri-Corn Horn Sceptre, friend of dragons and Nightmares. And, I'm telling you now, you do not want to fight me!"

Nisgarant stabbed at the shimmering protective sphere around the humans, it spat blue sparks and wobbled.

The rip in the sky extended with a vacuum howl.

The Sceptre was still here. Still in active use.

The sky darkened again, broody and foreboding.

"Attaaaaaaack!" Destroyer bellowed, launching his powerful hindquarters into a full-on gallop towards the Council.

The winged horses dived, ramming the magical forcefield with each pass, depleting the Power of the human's gathered tame magic spheres. The Nightmares rebounded with flashes of lightning that zipped across the destroyed courtyard.

"YES!" Nisgarant cackled, the Sceptre emanating a purple glow as it broke through the Council's defences at last, and poor Sebastian, who couldn't catch a break, was skewered through the neck by a sharp spiralled horn. He dropped to his knees like a lead weight, the black spidery lines of Dark Magic covering his skin as his eyes blanked and he slumped open-mouthed.

The Senior Mage recoiled in terror. His surviving assistant was similarly disturbed at this macabre turn of events.

Nisgarant took another step towards them, the Power infused Sceptre poised to strike, hungry for death.

"This didn't have to happen, mage!" Anar roared angrily at him. "If you would have just listened!"

"No! No, no, no! I can't return empty-handed! Not now!" The aged male human's eyes were wild, his face a flood of emotions. "You!" he pointed at Anar. "This was all because of you! This is your fault!"

"What? What are you talking about?!"

The Senior Mage scrabbled for a small black box in his pocket as he retreated away from the advancing rat. "You'll pay for this, Warlock! I'll see that you do!"

In a whirl of swirly blue portal he was gone, leaving his other unnamed assistant behind, with a look on their face that said they could not believe that they had been sacrificed in this way. As they stood spluttering, the Sceptre swung to seal their fate.

Nisgarant turned to face Anar once more, the Nightmares wheeling above them in the dark torn sky. His eyes were glowing an eerie shade of green, the Sceptre crackling with stored Power. His teeth seemed sharper, his claws longer, his fur bristled as he breathed steadily.

The Sceptre was in full mastery of him now.

Anar held out his open palms, the blue orbs rolling within like animated raindrops. "I guess this is it," he said flatly.

"You have been a massive pain, Warlock. But it ends now. You tasted death once. Tell me, do you welcome it again?" Nisgarant's voice had a metallic edge, an echo almost of the Sceptre's true voice as it controlled him.

Something shifted in the corner of the General's vision, but his fine discipline did not allow him to give it away. "Death is peaceful, rat. You will find no peace as the Sceptre's puppet. You were willing to hand it over..."

Nisgarant hissed and spat, "I was weak! But now I have fed again, I am strong. True strength lies in doing that which no ordinary mortal creature can. War and murder, terror and horror! I am one with the Sceptre now, I will endure forever, bringing about the end of all things as I travel the many universes accessible to me. I will never die. I will always be."

A ripple of fashionable black leather appeared beside the rat and a scaly hand materialised from nowhere, snatching the Sceptre from Nisgarant's distracted clutches, and in a moment of swirling black mist, both it and the figure holding it was gone.

The rat's eyes bulged as a deep scream of grief built up in his chest, but Anar had heard enough noise from this awful rodent for a lifetime, and with a pulse of natural magic and accompanying wet slap, Nisgarant's beating heart melted into a gory liquidised pool inside his chest. He crashed down in a crumpled heap, no more a danger to anyone or anything. Not even himself.

There was a silence. A faint cool wind blew on Anar's warm grey skin. He was alone in the ruins of a once fine citadel. This had all started with death. His death. It had now ended with death, too.

The Dragon had patiently waited out on the fringe of the action, biding its time for the opportune moment to strike. The Sceptre was now, hopefully, being taken back to its origin universe where it would stay. Had they averted disaster? Had the others in the group survived? It was time to find out.