If magic were an engine, mana would be the fuel.
Scholars had long debated where it came from or how it was formed. In the end, they could only agree that it lingered mysterious within the ether, which is a fancy way of saying they didn't know.
What was known was you cannot cast a spell without it.
If you don't have mana, the words of power you utter are meaningless gibberish.
When the Old Twit was trying to teach me about mana, He dumped me on worlds where mana was thick and plentiful. It clung to the breeze like fog. There, I could cast spells beyond the limits of mortal men as, driven by excess of fuel, my engine roared.
Then He'd chuck me onto worlds where barely a wisp of the stuff could be found.
And, worse, worlds where there wasn't even a drop of it.
Desert worlds where technology served the function of magic. Hideous smelly places full of people with dead eyes and hearts.
His lesson was to show that magic could make you as powerful as a god and as weak as a worm depending on how much mana you could reach.
Suppression devices, such as the token in Colin's hand or the manacles about my wrist, formed a field which blocked all mana. Whatever mana had been there before fizzled away and became useless.
They were devilishly difficult to create, being made of exotic materials and engraved with runes not many enchanters had the capability to carve.
In short, they were excellent tools to trap rogue mages.
And, without exception, none could wriggle free of their limitations to cast even the simplest of spells.
At least, that's what Messheim's History of Dark Mages claimed.
If only the Mage Guild had stocked a copy of Tarringfield's Guide to Exotic Magical Theory, they may have discovered, to their disappointment, that suppression devices worked to suppress mana, not suppress magic.
And that, like witches and warlocks, void mages did not rely on mana to cast their spells.
You see? Collecting reputable source material is much better than filling your library with cheap tomes of regurgitated twaddle and half-baked unproven surmises presented as facts.
I felt even better about punting their trash into the void as I felt the blade screaming towards my back and let some of my favourite words tumble across my tongue.
"Numuruz'wyd M'ffz."
Colin screamed.
The two guards on either side of me screamed.
The guards towering over Enid screamed.
A couple of Council Members who preferred to witness my death than get a cup of tea in the cafeteria screamed.
Quite frankly, there was a lot of screaming going on and it was hurting my ears.
Thankfully it all stopped with a wet crunch as the portals closed.
I tried not to take too much satisfaction in the knowledge that both the guards and Colin were right now being hideously gnawed upon by an Elder God, but I'm afraid I wasn't able to hold back the satisfied grin from spreading across my face.
The Meeting Room echoed heavily with the sound of a delighted hum, which I knew was sign the Old Twit was enjoying His meal.
I was always happy to provide.
"What?" The Headmaster yanked himself to his feet. "Impossible! You're suppressed!"
"Henry, you fool," Enid said softly. "He's a void mage. The only thing he has in common with us is the word mage."
I peered at Henry down the length of my nose which wasn't as long as I would have liked. "That's debatable," I said seriously.
"It doesn't matter," he scowled. "I can still deal with you!"
He yelped out a few words of power which I didn't recognise. That was enough to make me consider his future.
But instead of a spell, the words seemed to trigger some of the Meeting Room's defences, including the dropping of two large stone golems. Each golem was very rough-looking. Heavy crystals in their heads glowed with fierce red light.
I already knew beams of fire, hotter than a million suns, would shoot from them at the slightest provocation.
They let out a long hollow roar, their breath blasting over me.
I winced.
It smelled of burnt iron and old peas.
"Oh," I said. "You two again."
The Old Twit wouldn't eat them, and I didn't blame him. I'd had some scones which were like rocks, once. I'd never try it again.
"Crush him!" The Headmaster howled, pointing at me with a long imperious finger.
They barrelled forward eagerly, their footsteps shaking the foundations. Fury carved into their brutish stone faces.
Enid tensed to run.
Glanced at me.
Sighed.
And slumped in resignation as I waved at the incoming golems.
"K'n Bakku P'rei."
Tentacles whipped out of the ground, eagerly wrapping around the stone creatures. The golems struggled to inch forward. Each step a battle to escape the implacable grip of the void.
But the void is eternal.
One cannot escape it.
And soon, their straining slowed as the mana which powered them began to leak away.
One of the golems let out a long plaintive whine.
"There there," I said, reaching up to pat an exposed part of its knee. "You made it two steps more than last time. I'd say that's a small improvement. Better luck next time, chaps."
"Insolence!" The Headmaster's words whipped my ears.
I looked up in time to see him thrusting a small triangular token into the air. It gleamed with a dull blue glow and a bell tinkled somewhere in the distance.
Not a pleasant bell.
A sort of off-tune bell.
Low and sullen.
Something you might hear at a funeral.
"Oh," I said. "This is new."
"Fire!" Enid cried. "It's a fire spell!"
"Really?" I peered at the little token with greater interest. "What does it do?"
"Burns you to ash," the Headmaster said with a leer as pinpoints of bright yellow started sparking to life behind him. There were a lot of them, I noticed. "Now, die!"
I didn't like the sound of that. No one wants to be turned to cinders before they died.
Just in case, I raised my hand. "S'lob N'tha Nobb."
A hole ripped open in front of me just as the bright points of light shot towards me like bullets. The air fizzed in their wake, and I thought they looked quite a lot like shooting stars.
But they entered the void just as easily as anything else.
I watched them plummet through the dark to be inhaled by the neutron star which had been waiting within.
More food for the void, I thought.
"Impossible," he gasped, staggering backwards. Then, his hand ducked into his robe and he pulled out a wand.
I groaned.
Not another wand.
"I'll just have to make more," he hissed. "You can't stop them all!"
Fire flew from all corners of the room as he chanted words of power. Sweat beading on his forehead. Eyes burning with desperate rage.
Fireballs of varying sizes.
Rolling waves of flame.
He even managed to cast Weller's version of Fire Storm.
The problem wasn't his power. And my strength wasn't my own.
You see, the real issue with mages when they faced a void mage was that they combined a limited education with arrogance. They assumed they knew everything because they'd read a pamphlet which fed their insecurities and reinforced their ego by boldly claiming that mana-based magic was superior to anything else.
What he was refusing to accept was that I could quite literally stand there all day and flick his spells into the void.
I could stand in front of entire armies and kick them soldier by soldier into the void until not a single man remained.
I could pick apart the world if I wanted to.
And then take every little piece and feed it to the Old Twit.
Because the void was unfathomable.
And it was endless.
That's why most sensible mages picked up their robes and ran when they saw me.
I snatched another fireball with a snap of a portal.
Leaving the Headmaster heaving and panting as he leaned on his chair.
His eyes met mine.
And I saw in them defeat. I saw in them fear.
"Now, Headmaster," I said, casting small portals in the manacles so they dropped at my feet with a final clank. I pulled out a crisp piece of parchment on which I had written a list. "It really is time we discussed my grievances, don't you think?