Antok realized his folly almost as soon as Sevra vanished through the woods, bound towards her home village. Hours had passed, and he was trapped as firmly as he was when they first arrived at the stone circle. When he thought about it, he was trapped ever since he inherited the necklace from Bernard. He walked forward once more, no longer trusting his own legs underneath him.
“Faith,” he whispered, closing his eyes and concentrating firmly on putting one foot in front of the other.
He strode ahead, inevitably falling to the ground once he neared the perimeter. His own body rebelled against him, no longer responding to his commands. They were doing another’s bidding - someone who wanted him to stay put. The portal stone no longer responded to him either, he may as well have been trying to slice a hole back to the keep out of thin air.
The echo of laughter in his head continued, incessant and mocking. He wasn’t losing his faculties, nor control over his body or gift. In the game of strategy that was a wizard’s duel, where attacks and parries were made at the speed of thought, his loss was complete. He wasn’t even aware they had been playing until he was huddled in the corner, licking his wounds.
Kubathu bested him. Who knows how long he had been compromised, making a series of nonsensical decisions to serve the demon’s ends. All the while none of his magi dared to stand up and question him simply because he was in charge. They were all fools, himself included. Especially himself, thinking he could control a force none of them understood, nonetheless one whose structural integrity they knew was compromised.
Alone in the darkness, he lay on the ground, utterly defeated. He had only enough strength to push himself upright when he heard footsteps approaching, otherwise he was more powerless than any time he could remember. His gift was no longer within his reach, the thin veil to the spirits replaced by an iron wall; he couldn’t even do something as mundane as detect who approached. Kubathu’s laughter intensified at his weakness.
“Sevra? Is that you?” he asked into the night.
The footsteps came to a stop, and he received no answer. Light flooded the area around him, harsh and blinding. He tried to move but his legs would not obey. The maniacal laughter returned in his head.
He felt the strength fleeing from his body, the vitality that sustained him slowly draining away. His eyelids grew heavy, and he tried to speak but the muscles around his mouth drooped, not working properly. He fell from his knees, prone onto the ground. The ability to think clearly was the last to go. Deep inside he knew it was over, and the world would feel the ramifications of his folly. It should have concerned him, but he felt deeply at peace. It was time to sleep. His last sensation was a feeling of lightness as the necklace was removed from his possession.
“I’m sorry, but you don’t deserve Him,” Sevra said.
The blinding light faded to blackness, and those were the last words he would ever hear.