As they neared the postern gate, Aleksander's instinct flared—a cold prickle at the base of his neck.
"Get down!" he barked, spinning around.
He shoved his hand forward, manifesting a Barrier Spell. A translucent, sapphire-blue shield of raw mana shimmered into existence, shaped like a massive riot shield. Just as the spell took form, a roaring fireball slammed into it. The impact was deafening; the shield groaned and spider-webbed with cracks, the blue light flickering as it absorbed the heat, but it held.
Aleksander didn't wait for a second volley. He thrust his palm outward, launching a Plasma Bolt—a softball-sized sphere of crackling electrical energy.
The attacker didn't flinch. With a casual, almost bored flick of his wrist, he swatted the bolt aside as if it were a common fly.
As the smoke cleared, the figure stepped into the moonlight. He was tall and unnervingly thin, his frame possessing the lean, corded muscle of a distance runner. His skin was a deathly, translucent pale, pulled so tight over his features that his face resembled a polished skull. Long, messy crimson hair fell over a forehead branded with a glowing red sigil: the fiery heart of R'hllor.
He bared his teeth—jagged, yellowed fangs that looked more beast than man—and his maroon eyes locked onto Aleksander with a predatory glint. Dark, textured leather robes hung from his frame, and his long fingernails, dyed a deep black, twitched like claws.
"A Red Priest?" N'Jadaka hissed, sliding into a defensive stance.
"No," Aleksander muttered, his heart hammering against his ribs. He could feel his mana reserves screaming. "Something much worse."
The figure's lips pulled back, revealing his jagged, rotted teeth in a grin that didn't reach his piercing maroon eyes. He moved with a fluid, unsettling grace, his head tilting to the side like a curious predator.
"A young sorcerer," Durza drawled, his voice a dry, rasping hiss that seemed to vibrate in the cold air. "How... quaint."
He took a slow step forward, the black-dyed claws of his fingers twitching rhythmically against his dark leather robes. The glowing sigil of the fiery heart on his forehead pulsed with a sickly light, casting long, distorted shadows across his death-mask face.
"How rude of me," he continued, his tone dripping with a mock politeness that felt more like a threat than an apology. "I am Durza. High Priest of the Great R'hllor. And you..."
He paused, sniffing the air as if catching the scent of Aleksander's fading mana. His eyes crinkled with a sinister amusement."You are a very intriguing one. And you smell of such delicious desperation."
He spread his arms wide, his movements jerky yet precise, exactly like a puppet master admiring a new set of dolls. "Tell me, do you truly believe these small tricks will buy your freedom? Asshai does not surrender its treasures so easily."
Aleksander's breath came in ragged gasps, his vision blurring as he struggled to remain upright. Beside him, N'Jadaka gripped a stolen guard's sword, his knuckles white. Melisandre stood rigid; though her face was a mask of defiance, the air around her hummed with the cold, sharp scent of her terror.
With a roar of effort, N'Jadaka lunged forward, the blade whistling through the air.
Durza didn't even turn to face him. He simply flicked a dismissive hand, and an invisible weight slammed into the boy's chest. N'Jadaka was hurled backward like a ragdoll, his body hitting the stone wall with a sickening thud before he slumped into unconsciousness.
He snapped his black-clawed fingers toward Melisandre. A localized surge of telekinetic force, sharp and precise as a whip, struck her across the temple. Her eyes rolled back instantly, and she collapsed beside N'Jadaka, her red hair splayed across the cold stone like spilled wine.
"No!" Aleksander cried out, his voice cracking.
Durza's grin widened, his sharp, rotting teeth gleaming in the firelight. "I can feel it in her," he hissed, his gaze sliding toward unconscious Melisandre with predatory hunger. "The girl... she is a vessel waiting to be filled. A perfect candidate for the Great R'hllor. As for you, little sorcerer, I shall peel back your mind to see what makes your magic so... unique."
He tilted his head, his maroon eyes dancing with malice. "But you won't give up so easily. Let us give you a reason to despair."
Durza traced a slow, elegant arc in the air. The flames from the four nearby torches tore away from their braziers, coiling into serpents of living heat. With a sharp jerk of his claws, he launched them toward the defenseless fallen Melisandre and the fallen N'Jadaka.
Aleksander reached out, his fingers trembling, but he felt nothing—his mana was a dry well, his body a leaden weight. Then, the world stuttered.
Time didn't just slow; it congealed. He heard the heavy, rhythmic thump-thump of his own heart, beginning as a slow, funeral march before accelerating into a frantic, thundering gallop. The despair reached a breaking point, and something deep within his soul—something ancient and primal—snapped.
Aleksander threw his head back and let out a harrowing scream of pure, unadulterated rage.
The earth beneath him groaned. From his very center, a gargantuan pillar of brilliant, sickly green energy erupted, tearing through the roof of the corridor and piercing the blackened sky of Asshai. The sheer force of the release sent a shockwave through the city; high above, the soot-clogged clouds began to swirl into a violent, emerald-tinged vortex.
Across the city of shadow, the atmosphere shifted. In their dark cells and high towers, the pyromancers, bloodmages, and warlocks all froze. They felt it—not just magic, but a raw, celestial force that made their own spells feel like guttering candles.
The fire-serpents Durza had conjured didn't just go out; they were obliterated, dispersed into nothingness by the pressure. Durza himself, for the first time, lost his mocking composure. The shockwave caught him full in the chest, his heels skidding across the stone as he was forced back, his robes snapping violently in the wake of the emerald gale.
In the center of the storm stood Aleksander, his eyes glowing with the same terrifying, verdant light, the very air around him screaming with power.