"Spider..." he pleaded, "Help... me..." The narwhal returned to ashes. Spider with a Top Hat was alone. The wand was empty and destroyed, and as he looked around he saw only needless death and destruction. A genocide of his kind. Spells and other beings born of magic. Dead. All of them. His friends. In a way, his family. Spider looked in his own hands and saw what had preserved him. A small ball of pure magic, kept safe by the powerful spell. The last of magic. Spider clenched his hat in a rage. "Whoever did this..." he growled, "Is going to pay..."