|Copyright - Randy Mazie|
When the protective wards collapsed and the stench of evil inundated the compound, Magnus knew his survival depended on the magical arts his family had been the acknowledged masters of for countless centuries.
As dawn broke over the smoldering ruins of his ancestral home, his people were dead, victims of a withering assault of eldritch energy. He alone remained.
This story was written for the weekly Friday Fictioneers flash fiction photo prompt.