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weight of my father’s rage—they would certainly  endure
            beyond this creature’s grip.
               I  threw  off  the  monster’s  hold,  and  as  it  staggered
            backward,  surprised  no  doubt  that  I  had  overcome  it,  I
            delivered my fist hard and fast across its perpetually grinning
            face. The thing tumbled to the floor, and the tides of fleeing
            killers  reversed  their  course,  realizing  the  elemental  was
            clearly the lesser of the two presented threats. I was pleased,
            but the elemental and the army were peripheral to my course.
               I  could  feel  the  Red  Dream  fill  my  body,  thundering
            through the cracks of the mundane Deadworld, powering my
            efforts at negotiating the combat at hand. Now renewed and
            then some, I assumed the Prince of Smoke would be a fairly
            easy name to cross off my list. I was to learn otherwise.
               Magic shares much in common with dreaming, in so
            much  that  it  is  an  effect  without  explanation—a  staple
            feature of any dream. And contrary to the more common
            assumptions  about  magic,  it  isn’t  merely  the  defiance  of
            reality, but is more specifically the annihilation of causality.
            This realization ran to the forefront of my mind when I saw
            the Prince appear from the choking smokes of unchecked
            fires, moving towards me with a grace borne from practiced
            lethality—an attitude that had no place within the spoiled
            spaces of any one of the triplets. Here was magic, surely.
               My amazement rapidly turned to pain. The Missing Child
            had already risen from my blow and was quick to put me
            into the stone and mortar of the false castle. Its attack was
            more  than  sufficient  to  send  me  flying  through  the  wall
            and into the next room. Unsurprisingly, the creature failed
            to follow through with its bid to kill me, as it was clearly
            more focused on the Prince. I found it humorous to think of
            such an undead monstrosity as this carrying around a list of
            names, periodically perusing it for direction.
               The fires from the initial meeting between the army and
            elemental continued to flood through the structure, spilling
            across  wooden  fixtures  and  climbing  into  the  rafters.  I
            244 | Mark Anzalone
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