Back in the throne room of the Dark Fortress, the Dark Sorcerer watched as the image of Benjo, Lyra, and Rico faded from his magic mirror. His last resort had worked; they were banished to a different reality.
A sense of satisfaction washed over him. He had bought himself some time, time to regain his strength, time to plan his next move.
Yet, as he looked at the empty throne room, a sense of loneliness crept in. He was once like them, fighting for Lumina, surrounded by friends. But his choices had led him down a different path.
He thought of Benjo's words, his declaration of never becoming like him. The Sorcerer couldn't help but wonder if he was right. Would Benjo choose a different path? Or would he, too, succumb to the darkness?
He shook off the thoughts, focusing on his next move. He needed to prepare for their return. They were stronger than he had anticipated, but he was not ready to give up his reign.
As the Sorcerer delved into his dark magic, he couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation. The final battle was yet to come, and he would be ready.