Dark Mystic soared over Philadelphia, defying gravity by the sheer force of Jalzabel’s rage within him. He swooped down, clawed his two dark-suited tormentors, and darted back into the smoggy, twilight sky.
The older of the men in black, Carden, fired a dart that hit Mystic’s shoulder.
Strength sapped from his body, hurtling him earthward. He kicked to break free of gravity’s relentless grasp.
The young newcomer fired another dart.
Jalzabel’s bestial howl tore from Mystic’s throat. Hit again. Dark Mystic raised his hands and unleashed a pair of black fire-balls towards the younger.
The older man threw the younger to the ground, then stood. “Demon, descend!”
Jalzabel snarled. “Carden, you can’t drive me out! Ian needs me!”
Before Dark Mystic could protest the use of his true name, the ground smashed into him and knocked the breath from his lungs. Gray sparkles filled his vision as he pressed a button on his metallic green belt.
The sparkles solidified into fog. Only one man could save him from these misguided exorcists: the Sword. “My friend.”
Jalzabel spoke in Ian’s ear as the fog turned to black. “The fool.”