Inside the tallest tower of the castle, the old mage suddenly collapsed after the attack had been taken by Silva. Somehow, he received a backlash.
The man fell to the ground and coughed up a huge amount of blood. The mages all gathered around him, trying to find out what happened.
The old man struggled to open his mouth when speaking. “Run, all of you run, you will die,” the old mage managed to say, but the mages didn’t understand what he meant.
But the next second, a dark shadow covered the tower. The old mage’s eyes trembled in fear. He tried to get up, but he was too weak. He stumbled down but tried again, pushing the confused mages off his body.
He crawled to the door, opened it, and crawled out. He got to the stairs and didn’t even try to go down—he allowed himself to fall down the circular stairs without any sort of protection.
The mages were shocked by this. Everyone screamed and shouted in panic, scared that the mage would die on his way down.
But they had bigger issues because a roar sounded—a roar so loud it caused all of them to bleed from their ears, fall to the ground, and writhe in pain. After a few seconds, the temperature suddenly rose exponentially.
Purple flames slammed against the tower, the heat so intense that it burned through the stone tower walls and killed all the people inside, burning them into ashes.
Their screams lasted only a few seconds before they were not heard again. Their skeletons were turned to ash; nothing remained of any of the mages.
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The entire top of the tower was burnt open, the purple flames still burning brightly over them.
After burning it down, Silva left the castle. He was not ready to come for the king yet, so he flew off, returning to circling the capital.
The old mage managed to escape the flames due to the fact he was descending quickly, though the heat caused him to suffer many severe burns.
He used his wind magic to protect his head on the roll down, making sure to constantly cast every second and use the wind to keep his head from hitting any place.
This was a very difficult task because, as he fell, his body was receiving different injuries from the fall. His bones cracked, his flesh was cut up in different places, and his body swelled up.
With every step he fell, he experienced immense pain that nearly drove him insane, yet he still had to ensure that he didn’t stop casting that wind spell to keep his head safe.
After what seemed like a never-ending fall of pain, he finally made it to the bottom step, covered in blood and barely alive.
After he reached there, the urge to give up came to him, but he knew his mission was not done. He started casting a wind spell that would help push him along the ground. He kept going until he made it to an alley where some panicked guards stood.
The guards spotted the mage, their eyes widened as they saw the bloody sight. Could someone be this bloody and still alive?
One of the guards broke out of his shock and ran to the mage. He wanted to pick him up, but he didn’t know how to do it—the mage was injured everywhere aside from the head.
The guard didn’t know what to do. The mage suddenly coughed and spoke, “Ple-ea-se, t-t-tell, the, ki-ng, t-to r-r-r-run.” The mage managed to say, and then his eyes dimmed, and he died right there.
The guard looked at his fellow guards. Fear was in all their eyes. Was it possible for them to fight against a person that could do this to their strongest mage?
The guard picked up the body of the mage, steeled his resolve, and ran toward the throne room, where the king was.
The royal guards at the doors of the throne room saw the guard and tried to stop him, but he started yelling why he was here.
“The grand mage sent me to give a message to the king!” the guard said. The guards blocking him looked at the mage in his arms, then opened the door and let him in.
The king was seated on his throne, a middle-aged man in purple robes, a chest piece over the robes, and a sword in his hands, as if waiting for a fight.
He raised a brow when he saw the guard run in, but when he spotted who was in the guard’s hands, he immediately stood up and rushed to meet the guard halfway.
The guard stopped and placed the mage on the ground. He bowed to the king, his head touching the ground.
“Your Grace, I have a message from the grand mage before he died. He said you have to run,” the guard said, his head still on the ground.
“Do we really have no way to defeat this sudden threat?” the king asked, his voice shaky. He tried to sound calm, but he could not hide the trembling in his voice.
“Your Grace, you should take the queen, the prince, and the princess and flee. We will make sure that the enemy does not touch you or get to you,” the guard said.
“You expect me to abandon the place of my birth? My kingdom? This place that my father ruled, and his father before him? They brought it to where it is today.
I might not be the greatest king, I might be very superficial and a greedy person, but I will never run from the sight of war. I will never abandon my kingdom and its people.
People are dying out there right now, and you say I should run? No, I’ll stay here, and I’ll confront this enemy. But this is my order to you: take the guards, head to the queen’s chamber—she is there with the children.
Take them, even if you have to drag them. Make sure they make it out of this alive. I leave them in your hands.”