Asunder
blood."
                He let out a sound that was half laugh, half desperate sob. "And where else should it end? I'm dead already."
                The mage extended his hands, a wide arc of flame bursting forth, but Evangeline was already moving. "Get back, Your Eminence!" she cried, hoping the Divine would hear. She charged into the path of the fire, feeling the heat of it lick against her cheeks, and brought her sword down onto his chest.
                She had power of her own, the same power that all templars shared. It was a power the mages feared. As the blade struck him she channeled it forth, feeling it surge through her and into her weapon. There was a bright flash as the mage's flow of mana was disrupted, his flames guttering to a halt.
                "Bitch!" he cried, staggering back. There was blood where his surcoat was rent. He ran his fingers in it, staring at the blood as if shocked to see it there. Then he looked at Evangeline, his face twisting into blind hate.
                She rushed at the mage, realizing what he was about to do, but it was too late. The blood on his hands sizzled and evaporated as he drew mana directly from it. The blood on his chest smoked, and his eyes burned with a dark and evil power.
                Evangeline felt the wave of force hitting her before she reached him. She attempted to raise her aura of protection, but the magic shattered it as if it were thin glass. It knocked the breath out of her, and she felt herself flying back through the air. She crashed to the marble floor, tumbling end over end as she slid. Her head hit something hard.
                She lie there, the world spinning dizzily around her as she tried to push herself up. Her arms didn't seem to want to cooperate. The screams in the ballroom were deafening, seeming to come from everywhere at once. She could also hear the shouts of the guards trying to get inside, but there were too many nobles trying to push past them. Somewhere behind her the priests were shouting, begging the Divine to run.
                Evangeline felt the blast of heat before the flames struck her. She only barely managed to summon her aura once again, and this time it held. Even so, it buckled under the assault, and the pain as the flames seared her skin was agonizing. She screamed. Her vision dimmed, and she felt the last vestiges of power inside her ebbing away.
                It might have been a moment or an hour later when Evangeline reopened her eyes, she wasn't sure. She was crouched low on the floor, her blistered hands covering her head. Her sword was gone. She must have dropped it in the fall. The air was filled with the acrid smell of smoke— something in the ballroom had caught fire, and it was quickly spreading. The panic had redoubled, reaching a fever pitch as the guests tried to get out in what ever manner they could. Someone threw a chair through one of the vaulted windows, and it shattered with a resounding crash.
                Then she looked up. She saw a pair of black boots. They belonged to the mage, and he was walking toward the Divine. Her headdress had fallen off, but her red robes were unmistakable even through the haze. She had retreated to the far side of the ballroom, backed against the wall like a cornered animal. She watched the mage approach her warily, refusing to give in to terror as everyone else had.
                Evangeline saw the mage hold up his fist, power forming around it. "They already fear us," he snarled. "Now let them have a reason."
                With a great cry, Evangeline pushed herself up. Gritting her teeth against the pain, she lunged toward the mage and just barely caught his surcoat. As she yanked him back, he attempted to twist around. Flailing hands sent a gout of flame hurtling upward. For a single moment it seemed as if the entire ceiling was awash in ribbons of red and

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