Victor's Chamber Crater – Minute 18
The mountain still shuddered from aftershocks. Victor's once-majestic chamber had become a 40-meter-wide crater of molten glass and twisted adamantine. Residual fire mana burned green across the rubble. Blood mist hung in the air, copper-sharp. Illusion fractals flickered at perception's edge before dissolving into nothing.
Three Level 3 wizards hovered at annihilation's brink.
Solara—fire-type Dean of School of Elements—knelt first. Charred skin sloughing off regenerating muscle. Both arms stubs, regrowing in painful twitches. Mana reserves flickered at 11%. Her magma-orange eyes dimmed to embers.
Victor—blood-type principal of School of Runes—slumped against a molten throne fragment. Chest cavity exposed, heart pumping visible arcs of crimson mana through severed arteries. Pendant still glowed against blood-slick skin. He lowered his head.
Lona—illusion-type Dean of School of All—dropped last. Nine remaining fractals collapsed into her true form. Silver robes shredded. Face bloodied from shattered mirage backlash. She bowed her head with calculated grace.
All three Level 3 wizards knelt before Wilson on the crater floor.
Level 4 spatial authority pressed down like gravity x10. Air thickened. Light bent around Wilson's form—early sixties, silver hair perfect, spatial mana so refined it made Level 3 signatures feel crude.
Wilson's hand moved.
No gesture. No incantation. Reality folded.
Victor's necklace vanished from his neck. Pendant—the beacon—the otherworldly object that started this war, disappeared from blood-crusted skin. Reappeared in Wilson's palm. Spatial transfer cleaner than teleportation. Zero mana ripple.
The three deans stared. Confusion replaced exhaustion.
"Everything that falls in my sector belongs to me," Wilson said. Voice carried no distance, heard in every mind. Final. Absolute.
Solara's regenerating fingers clenched. Victor's exposed heart stuttered. Lona's remaining illusions winked out completely.
Wilson smiled—predator's calculation, not warmth. "What work did I give you three?"
Lona spoke first, voice layered with fading phantom echoes. "To take care of the schools."
Wilson nodded once. "These schools exist for my apprentices. Not your wars. Not your personal grudges."
He held up the beacon pendant. Otherworldly glow pulsed brighter in his spatial grip—Earth-tech alloy, unknown runes, mana incompatibility that made Level 3 wizards salivate.
"These other worlds will be given to the person who does his job rightly," Wilson continued. "In two months, I will open the gates of my space. Apprentices from all three schools can participate."
The deans exchanged glances—blood, fire, illusion minds processing simultaneously.
Wilson's gauntlet revealed:
"In my space, the apprentice who extracts the most resources—measured by total mana value—will win. The otherworldly beacon goes to the Dean of that school."
Solara's breath hissed through charred teeth. Victor's blood membrane sealed enough to speak. Lona's eyes gleamed—perfect political chess."Now stop this mess," Wilson commanded. "Start preparations."
Spatial fold swallowed him. Beacon vanished with Wilson. Four Level 3 wizards remained kneeling in the crater, alive only by his choice.