The inner chamber was exactly what Evan expected: dramatic lighting (red and purple, because subtlety was for amateurs), a throne-like chair carved from what looked like compressed evil, and a man in dark robes standing in front of it, posed for maximum impact.
The man was... a lot. His robes had so many layers they probably had their own ecosystem. His staff was topped with a crystal that pulsed with malevolent light. His beard was styled into points that could probably function as weapons. His eyes glowed—actually glowed—with what was presumably dark power and possibly poor dietary choices.
The air hummed with magic. It smelled like burnt marshmallows and ozone and something Evan couldn't identify—spite, maybe. Spite had a smell, apparently.
"EVAN CARTER," the dark mage intoned, and his voice boomed off the walls, multiplied by what was probably a magical amplification spell. "YOU DARE ENTER MY SANCTUM?"
"Dare is a strong word," Evan said, looking around. The chamber was impressive, he'd give it that. Lots of skulls. Lots of candles. A disturbing number of chains hanging from the ceiling. "More like 'wandered in while looking for the bathroom.' This place is confusing. You should put up signs. Maybe little arrows. 'This way to evil overlord, that way to existential dread.'"
The mage's eye twitched. "Your ARROGANCE will be your downfall!"
"My downfall is usually around 3 PM when the caffeine wears off," Evan said. "We've got time. Wanna chat? I have questions. First: why the skull motif? It's a bit on the nose, don't you think? Very 'I am evil, in case you couldn't tell.' What's wrong with subtlety? A single tasteful skull, maybe, as a conversation piece. But this many? It's overkill. It's like you're trying too hard."
The mage stared at him.
"Second question," Evan continued, "do you have a name, or do I just call you 'Spooky Robes'? Because I need something to put in the report. 'Defeated dark mage, name unknown, referred to him as Steve throughout encounter.' That's going to look weird."
"I am MALAKAR! The SHADOW-WEAVER! The DOOM OF—"
"Malakar. Got it. Steve would've been easier, but okay." Evan took a step forward. The floor beneath his foot lit up with a rune that immediately decided not to activate. "So, Steve—can I call you Steve? It's shorter—what's the endgame here? World domination? Complaining about property taxes? Because I've got to tell you, the whole 'hidden fortress in the mountains' thing screams 'midlife crisis.' Very 'I'm not getting any younger, better build something spikey.'"
Malakar snarled. It was a good snarl—deep, throaty, properly villainous. He raised his staff and launched a barrage of shadowy projectiles.
They swirled toward Evan like angry smoke. Dark. Hungry. Destructive.
Evan yawned.
The projectiles hit an invisible wall about a foot from his face and... dissolved. Not explosively. Just sort of... gave up. They drifted apart like confused fog, made a sound like a disappointed sigh, and faded into nothing.
"You see?" Evan said, picking a stray wisp of darkness out of the air. It squirmed in his hand for a moment before dissolving. "This is why you can't have nice things. You invest all this time and energy into doom and gloom, and then some guy just... ignores it. It's demoralizing. For you AND the doom. That shadow stuff probably had dreams, Steve. It wanted to be scary. And now it's just... gone. Think about the collateral damage to your own magical constructs."
Malakar's eye twitched. Both eyes, actually. Both eyes were twitching now.
"ENOUGH!" He raised both hands, staff spinning above him. The chamber shook. The walls glowed. The ceiling crackled with energy that smelled like burnt lightning.
Evan waited.
Emma, from the doorway, pulled out a bag of nuts and started eating. "This is the best entertainment I've had in weeks."
Lydia was taking notes furiously. "Fascinating. The dark magic is building to a crescendo, but it's... hesitating. Like it's not sure it wants to commit."
Ashe drifted closer, watching with interest. "He's afraid."
"Of what?"
"Of you. Of what you represent. Of what you might do to him."
A massive spectral dragon formed above Malakar. It was impressive—easily forty feet from snout to tail, made of shadow and starlight and pure concentrated malice. It opened its mouth and roared.
The roar was silent, but Evan felt it in his bones.
The dragon dove.
Evan raised one finger.
The dragon stopped. Mid-air. Three feet from his face.
It hung there, spinning slowly, looking down at him with eyes that had gone from "murderous" to "confused."
"Hey, buddy," Evan said softly. "You look tired. When's the last time you stretched? Got any hobbies? Maybe you'd like to be something else. Something less... dragon-y."
The dragon tilted its head. The malice in its eyes flickered. Dimmed. Shifted.
And then, very gently, it nuzzled Evan's hand.
The nuzzle was cold—like being touched by frost—but also weirdly affectionate. The dragon's massive head pushed against his palm, and for a moment, Evan felt what it felt: exhaustion. Centuries of being summoned and dismissed and summoned again. Loneliness. A deep, aching desire to just... rest.
"Oh, buddy," Evan murmured. "You've been through a lot, haven't you?"
The dragon nodded. Actually nodded. Its eyes were almost teary.
"Go ahead," Evan said. "You're free."
The dragon smiled—a terrifying expression on a creature made of shadow and teeth—and dissolved. Not into nothing. Into something else. Into a thousand tiny motes of light that drifted upward, spiraling, dancing, finally free.
Malakar stared. His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
"What... HOW..."
"I think he was lonely," Evan said. "You should get a pet. A cat, maybe. Less maintenance. Fewer existential crises."
Malakar slumped onto his throne, looking like someone had just explained that his entire life was a tax audit. "All my plans... my POWER... you didn't even TRY."
"Trying is overrated." Evan walked over and patted him on the shoulder. Malakar flinched but didn't pull away. "Look, Steve. Here's my advice: diversify. Try gardening. Maybe take up knitting. Villainy is a dead-end career with terrible benefits. No 401K. No work-life balance. Constant risk of hero attacks. Is that really how you want to spend your life?"
Malakar put his head in his hands. "Just... take whatever you came for and leave."
"Already did." Evan held up a glowing amulet he'd somehow acquired without anyone noticing. It pulsed with soft light. "This thing, right? It was just sitting on your throne armrest. You really should hide your evil MacGuffins better. Maybe invest in a safe. Or a lockbox. Something."
"It's been there for three hundred years."
"Exactly my point. Three hundred years, and I just walked in and took it. Security review, Steve. You need a security review."
Malakar's shoulders shook. It took Evan a moment to realize he was laughing. Or crying. Possibly both.
"Just... go," the dark mage whispered. "Go before I remember how to be angry."
"Sure thing." Evan headed for the door, then paused. "Hey, Steve? For real. Try gardening. Marigolds are nice. Very forgiving. Good for beginners."
He left Malakar sitting on his throne, surrounded by the remnants of his failed power, staring at nothing.
In the corridor, Emma was finishing her nuts. "You broke him."
"Everyone needs therapy," Evan said. "Especially people who live in spike-covered castles and summon lonely dragons."
"Steve's going to be okay?"
"He's going to become the most terrifying gardener the northern territories have ever seen. Mark my words."
Lydia closed her notebook. "That amulet, by the way, is the Heart of Shadow. One of the most powerful dark artifacts ever created."
"Oh." Evan looked at it. It pulsed gently in his hand. "Cool. Can I trade it for coffee?"
"You can try."
"I'm going to try SO HARD."
They walked out together, leaving the fortress behind. Behind them, somewhere deep in the mountain, a dark mage sat on his throne and started making plans for a vegetable garden.
***