With a flash of his yellow eyes, Sefron disappeared.

Both boys lowered their weapons just in time before they barreled into each another. They collapsed against the stone, their trousers soaking up the gelling potion.

“Where is he?” Bet cried as she raced to them, clutching her satchel to her side. “Where is—”

A shadow flitted behind her, and as Evin watched in horror, Sefron reappeared. Raising his wand—his other hand still clutching the vial of potion—he spoke words of magic.

“Watch out!” Evin and Jorick screamed in unison.

Bet ducked just in time, rolling across the dusty roof as a bolt of black magic flew harmlessly above her head. Sefron laughed.

“Too late!” he shouted, his voice wild, his hair falling over his crazed eyes. “You are too late!”

And then, he brought the vial to his lips, swallowing the entire contents in two big gulps.

Evin, Jorick, and Bet lay on the ground. They watched in stunned horror as Sefron tilted his head back and let his arms fall to his sides. The vial slipped from his fingers, shattering into thousands of glass shards against the roof. The evil wizard took one big, final gasp and then began to rise into the sky, hovering before the moon like the remnants of the dome that still floated there.

For a moment, the world seemed to stand still. Then, Sefron let his last breath out in a whoosh like a rush of wind. More and more air seeped from his lungs and swirled into the sky, flecked with bits of blood. As he breathed out, his cheeks began to sink, pulling tight against his skull. His fingers shriveled and his robes began to hang differently as every part of his body became skeletal.

His last breath ended with a swirl of magic worming from his open mouth, twirling at the air like some tendrilous tongue. His chest no longer rose and fell. His body was gaunt. His hair and his goatee were stark white.

Sefron lowered his gaze to look at them.

His tight lips pulled back much too far, revealing yellowing teeth. His eyes seemed strange, glistening as though gelatinous. Then, his eyes melted and poured down his decaying cheeks like vile tears. Deep within his empty eye sockets, pinpoints of red light glowed.

“From this moment forward, the world shall call me the Ebon Lord,” he gasped, his voice like the rustle of dry leaves in fall. “I am the King of the Monsters. You shall all bow before me.”

Chapter Thirty-One

No,” Bet gasped.

“Yes,” Sefron—the Ebon Lord—wheezed, his voice like a rush of wind. “Now this world shall tremble. Now its kings and its queens shall learn why they should never cross one as powerful as I. Now they will watch as I tear their lands asunder and make them mine!”