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Rage and Ruin
 
Narkazan’s scream of rage erupted from his lair near the spirit realm’s Caverns of Doom. The scream was so loud—and so malicious—that it shattered several enormous icicles hanging from the frozen cloud that hid his lair. Of the icicles that remained intact, many turned a vengeful shade of crimson; others started to drip not water . . . but blood.
 
His face, narrow as an ax blade, scowled at the pair of mistwraiths who hovered before him. He shook his head, making his battered black earring clink ominously against one of his tusks. As red as those tusks were, they paled next to the fiery centers of his eyes.
 
“Escape!” he snarled. “You allowed that miserable, meddling son of Sammelvar to break in here—and then escape!”
 
The mistwraiths trembled fearfully, their forms quaking like shadows within shadows. That was highly unusual, since normally it was the role of the mistwraiths to make everyone else quake with fright. Everyone, that is, except their brutal master, Narkazan. He knew exactly how to punish them with excruciating pain—and, if he chose, to eliminate them completely.
 
As the warrior spirit glared at them, both mistwraiths crackled with black sparks. Hovering just above the floor like living blots of darkness, they slid slowly backward until they pressed against the vaporstone wall of the lair. For a long moment, they remained there, held by Narkazan’s gaze.
 
“He even killed one of your company—how, I cannot imagine,” Narkazan rasped angrily. “Not only that. He freed my prisoner, his sister the Seer.”
 
He waved a bony hand at the empty room that had served as Jaladay’s prison cell. “Her skill at seeing the future would have proved useful in the coming battles.”
 
A low growl came from his throat, echoing in the chamber. “Worst of all, he made off with my scrolls—my battle plans! How,” Narkazan demanded, “am I supposed to conduct my War of Glory with those detailed plans now in the hands of my sworn enemy?”
 
Bravely, one of the mistwraiths slid forward, spraying black sparks on the floor. Though it still trembled with fright, it managed to make a sound that combined harsh crackling and strangled gurgling.
 
Clearly surprised, Narkazan listened intently. Then, in a much quieter voice, he said, “I suppose you’re right. How could I expect you to have stopped him when you weren’t even here when he broke in?”
 
The mistwraith sighed with a shower of sparks. It trembled a little less.
 
“After all,” continued the warlord softly, “you can’t be expected to be everywhere at once.”
 
Turning a shade less dark, the mistwraith ceased trembling altogether.
 
“Except,” added Narkazan, his eyes suddenly flashing with rage, “it was your job to protect this place!”
 
As Narkazan shouted those words, the mistwraith screeched loudly and started to back away again. But before it could join its companion against the wall, the warlord snapped his wrist and hurled a bolt of black lightning. The mistwraith screeched in utter agony, exploded with a spray of sparks, and vanished completely.
 
All that remained of the dark being were a few last sparks. They quivered, sizzling on the floor. Then they, too, disappeared.
 
Fixing his gaze on the surviving mistwraith, Narkazan watched it shudder with terror. Finally, he spoke again in the quiet tone that was his most dangerous.
 
“Never, never, never fail me. Or your fate will be the same.”
 
The mistwraith crackled fearfully. Black sparks charred the vaporstone wall.
 
“Good. Now heed this new command.”
 
Still trembling, the mistwraith did its best to stand at attention.
 
“Call all the mistwraiths together. Tell them they must divide into two groups—and complete two essential tasks. One group must find that cursed Promi, the son of Sammelvar who bears the mark of the Prophecy on his chest. Yes, find him and bring him to me!”
 
The growl returned. “I want him alive, do you understand? Not reduced to ashes as you mistwraiths are so fond of doing. No, I want him to suffer through every pain, every torture, I can possibly devise—until he willingly gives up his spirit life forever.”
 
Crackling in assent, the mistwraith bowed.
 
“And watch out for that buffoon Grukarr, who claims to serve me but keeps botching his tasks. If he ever gets in your way . . .”—he paused to snap his fingers—“destroy him.”
 
The mistwraith gave another bow.
 
“The other group,” rasped Narkazan, “must go to that mortal wasteland Earth. Worry not about the veil, for my scouts have confirmed that it can no longer impede us, no matter how large the force. Somewhere down there is the one thing I want most, the most powerful object in any realm.”
 
He clenched his jaw, hissing as he exhaled through his teeth. “The Starstone. It is hidden on what mortals call Atlantis—the island with so much magic of its own that it conceals the magic of that treasure. Atlantis will be the very first place on Earth I will invade—to take all its natural magic for my own uses. But first I need you to find the Starstone and bring it straight to me.”
 
Glowering at the mistwraith, Narkazan added, “Don’t take more than six of your number, for any more than that will trigger the island’s power to repel invasions—another of Sammelvar’s old curses. But six of you should be more than enough to overpower any foes and find that crystal.”
Impatiently, he tapped one of his tusks. “That wretched Promi robbed me once of the chance to turn the Starstone into a weapon—the most destructive one in the universe. He will not do so again!”
 
Through gritted teeth, the warrior spirit vowed, “And with the corrupted Starstone . . . I shall triumph over all.”
 
Bowing again, the mistwraith crackled eagerly.
 
With a grim nod, Narkazan announced, “While you warriors do your work, I shall do mine. I will turn my thoughts to two of my servants already in the mortal world. First of all . . . that sea captain turned machinist, Reocoles, will soon have another dream. A truly memorable dream.”
He rubbed his pointed chin. “And second, from deep in that rancid pool on Earth’s newest island, that place called Atlantis . . . a being will emerge. A monster filled with deep hunger. Yes—the kind of hunger that can be satisfied only by death and destruction.”
 
In a raspy whisper, he added, “And that monster will carry with it something else—something that will make my ultimate conquest of the Earth much easier. Once that is done . . . nothing can stop me from seizing the rest of the universe.”
 
The scars on his face darkened. “That monster could serve another purpose, as well. That fool Promi cares far too much for mortals, proof of his weakness. And the monster from the pool might just bring him out of hiding.”
 
The mistwraith trembled excitedly.
 
Narkazan strode over to the metal chest beside his cot, the spot where he’d kept the precious scrolls with his battle plans. And then, for the first time in a long while, the malevolent warrior smiled. Though it looked more like a predator baring his teeth, it was for him a real sign of pleasure.
 
“Now I know,” he said aloud, “what to do about those wasted plans.”
 
He nodded with confidence. “If this new idea works . . . it will ensure my victory.”
 
Turning back to the mistwraith, he barked, “Now go!”
 
Instantly, the shadowy being zipped across the chamber and through the doorway.