Venger sat on a throne in a room of his castle that had been untouched for ages. Everything was gray with dust. Everything, everywhere gray.

He reached out, as he had done countless times before, with that magical, mental calling.

No response.

Again he summoned, this time accompanied by the calling of his name aloud.

Nothing.

He was forced to acknowledge a stillness and a silence and an emptiness he had never known. Since he had become Venger, there had been the shadow servant. He had never been without him. Always by his side had been the Dark familiar, now gone. 

Shadow Demon was gone.

The Ranger!

"He will pay for this," Venger whispered in a murderous tone. "He will suffer. He will die!" He pounded his fist against the throne, disturbing the dust and cracking the arm. Pieces fell to disturb more dust on the floor.

He looked down at this, and then turned to face the regal seat as he rose and backed away a step. For a moment, he stared at it, his face twisting ever more in anger until he lunged with a roar and pummeled the whole of it to shards and splinters. When he finished, he was on his knees, his eyes glowing with crimson flames, amid a cloud of the remains of the throne's structure — ancient stones, aged wood, and the bones of dead wizards. 

He took a handful of debris and crushed it into yet more dust. This is what I will do to the Ranger and his friends.

Sheila sat on the ground. She couldn't take her eyes from Hank's form, which was crouched perfectly still, as he stared out intently at nothing in particular. It was like he wasn't there, yet his presence was very much felt, as evidenced by everyone's subdued demeanor some distance away from him.

Bobby sat grumpily beside her. He had wanted to go to Hank, and she'd had to stop him. Naturally, he had asked why, but she hadn't been able to think of a way to answer so that he'd understand. Now, he was fidgeting with his club. She knew he was about to say something.

He scooted over closer to her. "What's going on, Sis? I don't get it. Why are we sitting over here, and Hank's all alone way over there? He killed Shadow Demon!—"

"Keep your voice down, Bobby, please."

"Why? Why can't we talk? Just tell me what's going on. I don't like this. I mean, why isn't everyone happy? Everybody's acting like Hank's gonna bite or something."

"Ya think?" said Eric, but no one responded to him.

"Bobby, Hank's changed somehow, okay?" Diana began something of an explanation. "He's not acting like himself. I don't think he'd hurt any of us, but we need to be careful. Hank has all the powers of our weapons, and. . . ." She stopped and looked to Sheila. 

Sheila understood. No one had a good answer for Bobby. No one wanted to say that Hank was a threat. No one wanted to say that it seemed as though Hank were turning evil. 

That was something that Sheila simply couldn't accept. She felt she should do something, but she didn't know what. She hated sitting by while Hank was in trouble. And he was in trouble, she knew, whether anyone else, including Hank, thought so or not.

"This is so stupid!" Eric said in hushed tones. "Sitting over here like children put in the corner for acting up! We gotta do something about him!"

"Yeah, Eric, but he just put Venger in the corner," said Presto, and then he sighed. "I think I'd rather just leave him alone for now. He'll come around. He's probably over there trying to figure out how to get the powers back where they belong right now." He took off his hat and just looked at it as though it were a dead beloved pet in his hands.

Everyone fell silent again, and Sheila went back to uselessly staring at Hank.

It's not enough. . . . It's never been enough! Venger's too powerful. 

I should have known. I should have realized! It makes sense, and I didn't see it!

All the times we succeeded because of a lucky break, or because Venger overlooked something. . . .

Dungeon Master. Venger. Us. . . . Where do we fit in? What's the answer? What is he keeping from us?

Damn it! They were never enough! And Dungeon Master knew it! He's always known!

For you, Sheila. For all of you. For everyone. I know what I have to do.

The wind. . . . Who else but Dungeon Master? But why? And why not make himself known? What kind of game is he playing?

Venger was now in a forgotten library. He absently fingered the bindings of various texts. Those that were not protected by spell fell to dust.

Has this castle stood so long?

As soon as that thought ended, he turned and walked out of the room. He went up and up, until he could go no higher. He kicked the wall away and climbed through to stand on the outer wall. He craned his head back, and then fell across to the highest tower and walked up its outer wall until he reached the top. There, he stood and stared dead into the lowest of the suns, soon to set, and thought.

Venger knew the Ranger's next move. It would be what his own would have been. He would go to the Dragons' Graveyard. The ways of the weapons would show him how to unite their magics. It would be as easy as replacing the powers to their corresponding hosts. And he could think of no way to stop him.

Perhaps he wouldn't have to. Dungeon Master may yet intervene. Perhaps it had been Dungeon Master who had stopped him before. There was one other possibility — albeit a remote one, one that he couldn't quite bring himself to truly believe.