-the battleground. I rise above it, Trill at my side, Iepa hovering before us, infinitely sad.
I know you doubt, the maji says, and I can hardly blame you. But please believe, no matter the mistakes my people have made in the past, this one we wish to unmake.
A line of demons fall, the ground crumbling beneath them, swallowing them as they scream in agony. Witches shift to save them, earth magic joining with Sidhe.
Your father is correct, Iepa says. Not all of us have the best of intentions. Like all races. The formation of the demon planes, the division of their race, was never meant to go on for so long. An experiment? Yes. We've tried for time unknowing to perfect our creations.
Witches die under a cloud of poisoned smoke, choking, lifeless even as the Sidhe retreat from the advancing sorcerers. We're losing, badly.
This can't happen. The very earth protests, heaving and bucking beneath the feet of the enemy, but for those who fall, ten more take their place.