Humans were not normal.

In fact, they were very much abnormal, bordering on insane.

Just what in the seven hells was wrong with them?

Councilor Irgoll angrily swiped at the air in a desperate attempt to get rid of the "System window" blocking his view.

It disappeared, as they always did … but that did not make its appearance any less aggravating.

Those godsdamned humans had actually managed to infect magic itself with their nonsense.

How?

Was their need to understand and quantify that pathological?

All the other races had made normal contributions.

The ability to grow stronger had come from his own people, the dwarves had added the ability to resist ignominious deaths for those above a certain degree of power, while the elves had split magic into the more basic "empowerments" and proper spellwork, with the latter being learnable by everyone, and finally, the fae had made it so those who reached the peak of power were given a power unique to them alone, powerful beyond all measure … so what had gone wrong with the humans? What mental malady had driven those madmen to depths of insanity not found in any of the other races, not even the slaves?

Yes, it was a known fact that all others were inferior to his own people, who lived closest to magic and had been able to monopolize it for hundreds of years before being forced to release it due to the arcane's stubborn refusal to accept their superiority … but how could a sapient race, any sapient race, be this insane yet still live? And not only live, but survive the initiation?

After all, that was how this was meant to work: magic, once unshakled, would cause havoc for a bit, while simultaneously ensuring that the civilization regaining access to the supernatural would be protected from everything but the initialization.

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His own people had handily weathered the storm, then conquered all other races who, well, hadn't, while the changes said races made to magic had been beneficial, each and every time.

And now … this.

What in all the realms had these savages turned magic into? A bloody game, according to the "patchnotes" that had been shown to all those who had already been a part of the enlightened world when humanity had joined them.

The door to Irgoll's office flew open, causing his head to snap around towards it, one hand flashing towards the crossbow he kept beneath his desk, the other gathering lightning in its palm.

There were exactly three people who dared enter his office in that manner.

Firstly, Assassins.

Secondly, the king when he was too drunk to remember he didn't want to be involved in governance, Balor's spawn once more proving that Balor the Younger had none of his father's … anything.

And thirdly, messengers carrying information so disturbing that it had made them forget all propriety.

If it was option one, attacking was the correct choice; option two would mean he'd merely have to find someone to take his anger out on once the idiot was gone, and if it was option three … well, he'd have to wait until the message had been delivered to hurl the lightning.

He sighed when it turned out to be the final one. Not only did that mean he had to restrain himself, but also that something had happened that was bad enough for this fool to risk his wrath.

"What?" he snapped, not even bothering to dismiss the crackling orb of lightning now flickering in his left hand.

"General Omna has been defeated …" the messenger wheezed, breathless, apparently having run for long and hard enough that even his Fomorian stamina had hit its limit.

Once again …

"How?"

"Uh …"

"Oh, you're useless," Irgoll snapped and hurled a lightning bolt at the messenger, hurling him back out of the room, hitting the far wall of the corridor as a cloud of ash.

That … that had, perhaps, been rash. But that message had to have come from somewhere; it should be easy enough to find a copy.

But it was clear what had to be done: a full mobilization, and proper training for the troops. It was clear those lazy bastards had gotten far too used to easy victories!

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