Ivan’s life-avatar burrowed frantically into the Mastermage’s. He found a point of weakness (an unsuccessful relationship with a certain acolyte, many years ago) and with spikes it attacked the life from inside.
As Ivan struck, Klaus watched the sage intently. The Mastermage closed his eyes. Pain? Was he watching memories crumble? Or, was he preparing-
The blue avatar shook, and reformed into a sphere around Ivan’s. It began to crush the life on all sides.
The sage’s move was ludicrous. These battles always played like fencing matches: battles of attrition. But this was savagery.
Ivan threw his head into his hands. Everything began to slip away—not in pieces, but all at once, until he was on the ground, crying. Finally, he forgot his own name, then his brother’s. And he vanished.
Klaus stared blankly.
“Partition magic,” the Mastermage said. “The All reformed him, most likely as a nameless laborer in a Qinto rice field. He is not dead, but you will never meet again.”

Klaus’ hand clenched into a fist.