Aaron whirled. He was as Call had seen him only a few times before, no longer Aaron. He was the Makar, the wielder of chaos. His palms began to blacken. “I know plenty about loss,” he said. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know about Constan — about Call,” said Joseph. “Don’t you want your mother back, Call? Don’t you want her to live again?”

“Don’t you dare talk about Sarah!” It was Alastair. Either he’d torn away the metal ropes or Tamara and Jasper had freed him. Either way, he was still wearing the Alkahest.

He ran at Call.

In that heart-stopping moment, Call knew he was going to die. He remembered the chains his dad had readied in the basement of his own house, remembered the words that Master Joseph had shown to Call, carved in the ice by his own mother’s hands with the same blade that Alastair had thrown at him: KILL THE CHILD.

Finally, thirteen years later, Alastair was going to do it.

Call didn’t move. If his own father really hated him this much, if Alastair was prepared to end his life, then maybe he really was too much of a monster to live. Maybe he should die.

Everything slowed down around Call: Aaron, Tamara, and Jasper running toward him but too far away to reach him in time, Master Joseph struggling and shouting in the Chaos-ridden’s grasp.

“Let go of me, I command you,” Call heard Master Joseph say — and to Call’s numb shock, Stanley released him. The old mage darted toward Call, throwing himself on top of Call to protect him from his own father. Call’s knees buckled and he went to the ground, Master Joseph pinning him down.

But Alastair didn’t pause. He ran past Call and Master Joseph and straight to the preserved body of the Enemy of Death. There, he stopped. “Joseph, did you really think you could tempt me to betray my own son? As soon as I got your messages about trying to put his soul inside this villain’s corpse, I knew what I had to do.” With that, he raised the Alkahest, gleaming and beautiful in the dim light, and brought it down hard, slamming his metal-clad hand over Constantine Madden’s heart.

Master Joseph screamed, pushing off Call, who coughed and rolled to his knees, staring.

Light shone from underneath the skin of the Enemy of Death — and where it shone, the body around it began to blacken, as from fire. Alastair howled with pain as the Alkahest turned scarlet with heat. He was screaming as his hand pulled free, covered all over with red burns.

“Dad!” Call staggered to his feet. The room was full of a burning stink and smoke that stung his eyes.

“No! NO!” Master Joseph cried out, picking up his staff and flinging himself toward Constantine’s body. He yanked the Alkahest free, yelling in pain as his hand closed on the hot metal. Still, he didn’t drop it. Instead, he swung his staff and magic exploded from it, surrounding the Enemy, trying to halt the force that was devouring Constantine’s body. Energy crackled in the room as he cast his preservation spell again and again.

Call limped forward and then stopped, overcome by a wave of dizziness. The edges of his vision were starting to turn dark. What’s happening to me? he thought as he slid down to his knees. He felt no pain, but his body was shaking, as though he was being destroyed along with Constantine.

“Run, Call!” Alastair shouted, clutching his burned arm. “Get away from the tomb!”

“I — can’t,” Call gasped, and then there were figures around him, Aaron and Tamara and Jasper, and someone was trying to help him to his feet but his legs wouldn’t work. “Go,” he whispered. “Go without me.”

“Never.” A hand gripped his arm and he realized it was Aaron’s.

“What’s happening to him?” Jasper’s frightened whisper was drowned out by Master Joseph’s cries; Constantine Madden’s chest was collapsing inward, like a balloon with the air sucked out of it.

“Seize the Makar and his friends!” Master Joseph shouted at Stanley. “Kill everyone but Callum!”

The Chaos-ridden began to lurch toward them. Call heard Tamara’s frightened cry and felt her arms around him; all of them were trying to pull him toward the steps, but he was dead weight. He slid from their grasp and hit the floor in front of the steps.

Then everything seemed to vanish, the voices of Call’s friends fading into silence. All he could do was try to keep breathing as a roiling darkness rose in front of his eyes, a pure blackness he had seen before only when it had come from Aaron’s hands, the lightless darkness of the void. Chaos filled him, his thoughts shredded by it, his responses overwhelmed by the power expanding inside of him.

Slowly breath ebbed back into Call’s body. He raised his head, his face wet.

The room was in chaos. Stanley had obeyed Master Joseph’s command and attacked Call’s friends. He loomed over Tamara, who was backing away, summoning fire. She threw it, but it only seemed to singe the Chaos-ridden. It left a burned scorch along Stanley’s chest, but he barely seemed to notice.

Aaron jumped on Stanley’s back, his arm circling the Chaos-ridden’s neck, tightening as though he was attempting to pull Stanley’s head right off. Jasper was using air and earth magic together to throw dust in Stanley’s eyes. Stanley thrashed around but seemed more annoyed than damaged.

Alastair and Master Joseph were struggling over the Alkahest. Master Joseph cracked him across the face with his staff. Alastair staggered back, his face bloody.

“Leave him alone,” Call shouted, crawling toward his father.

Master Joseph spoke a word and Alastair’s legs gave out. He fell to the floor.

Constantine’s body was partially burned away, his chest concave and blackened. Call could see the burned bones of his rib cage through his charred skin. A fresh wave of magic washed over him suddenly, pushing him back into immobility. It felt as if he were watching something unreal, happening at a great distance.

“Call.” Tamara’s voice cut through the fog in Call’s mind. “Call, you have to do something. Order the Chaos-ridden to stop.”

“There’s something wrong with me,” Call whispered, spots dancing in front of his vision. The pressure inside him was still expanding, pushing outward against the limits of his control. He didn’t know what it was, but it felt as if it were going to break him apart.

Tamara’s grip on him tightened. “There’s nothing wrong with you,” she said. “There never has been. You’re Callum Hunt. Now tell that thing to stop attacking us. It will listen to you over Master Joseph. You can stop it.”

And so Call brought up one hand, meaning to thrust it forward to hold off Stanley, meaning to tell the Chaos-ridden leader to stop. But as he raised his hand, the pressure inside him broke through the thin shell of his control, like an explosion in slow motion. He stared in shock as his fingers flexed and opened, and for the first time ever, Callum Hunt summoned chaos into the world.

Darkness exploded from the palm of his hand. The shadows rose, circling Stanley, surrounding him with ribbons of blackness. The Chaos-ridden turned tortured eyes toward Call, and Call could see the feeling of betrayal in them. Stanley began to shriek, and Call understood the cries as words, each one stabbing into his ears: Master, you made me — why do you destroy me?

The shadows collapsed inward, crushing Stanley out of existence.