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FliptheRed
Moon
- Joined
- Feb 21, 2024
So I'm planning on publishing this and you lot get to be in on the ground floor of reviewing my work! Congratulations!
Currently working on setting up Facebook group for it etc so will post here at a later point.
Will be publishing under the name of Kaisel MacLeod
I would very much appreciate constructive feed back, and yes at some point it will get pushed through a spellchecker, im aware my spelling is questionable at time but it's hard for me to notice when i get hyper focused.
Rage and Grace
A figure knelt, surrounded by shadows with weapons; swords and spears pointed in a threatening pose, ready to strike. The light of dusk glinted off the blades granting the ruby hue of blood freshly spilled. The nightmare was the same every time; dark, dangerous, a man hunted and haunted b y the ghosts of his past. It all culminated to this moment. The blades drove forward into the flesh of the shadowed figure, smoke pouring forth from his wounds, the spilled blood incinerating in small blinding flashes as it fell upon the accursed ground surrounding the victim. The scream of pain shook the world as the figure shrouded in darkness crumpled forward, consumed by the smoke and embers that poured forth from his wounds.
The smoky cloud enshrouded the figure, suffocating, clawing at his lungs. Thunder crashed above, the clouds slowly began to churn high above the gathered mob of assailants. From within the impenetrable smoke the screams of agony began to change, laced now with rage that grew stronger with each passing moment. Flashes of deep crimson light pulsed from within it's depths, each wave bringing a stronger rumble to the fury building within swirling smoke that was gradually transforming to a dark churning tempest in tandem with the storm high above. The wind shifted as though being drawn towards the deepening shadows the dark smoke was becoming. It spun now in time to the clouds above, perfectly mimicking their rotation as a funnel began to form. Green lightning crackled along the underbelly of the skies, streaking towards the epicentre of the event.
The rage that laced the grew thicker and heavier, almost palpable, as it reached a crescendo; the creeping fingers of electrical malevolence coalescing to a single monstrous arc. It forked forth in an instant at the same moment as the shadowed smoke exploded outwards in a tsunami, obscuring vision for a long moment. The smoke, dust and darkness cleared, revealed what now lurked within. A tall man dressed in a flowing robe of deep hunter green, glittering stones sewn into the hems and cuffs. Beneath he wore a plain black shit and dark mahogany brown pants with sturdy boots of similar deep mahogany tones. He stood with his hand held high above his head, a staff of violet so dark it was almost like condensed shadows given physical form. Darkness rose from it's length in tight wisps that writhed as though alive. Emerald energy crackled across it's surface, highlighting the runes embossed into it's surface.
All around him lay rack and ruin; the force of the transformation levelling everything in it's path, merciless in the face of stone, steel or flesh. The staff was slowly lowered until it tapped twice upon the ground with an echoing knock that rattled the ages. The man in the centre of this ring of desolation finally spoke, his eyes shining with the emerald hue of power finally unleashed. His shoulder length hair whipped in the winds, his voice carrying out with the tone of command only the ancient knew.
"See what your lies and hate have wrought. The scales will be balanced, accounts settled, oaths fufilled and vengence made real." He proclaimed.
He slammed the end of his staff into the ground, sending cracks outwards, ripping open chasms in their wake, pulling down shadowed buildings and ruins into their yawning maw.
------
The nightmare ended and Marcus bolted upright, his hand shot out for his staff and found nothing. It took him an uncomfortable few minutes of panic to remember that he didn't have a staff, not any more. He has surrendered that along with his powers after the war had needed. They didn't need their weapon once the dust had settled. Sweat covered his skin, highlighting the lean form in the dim light from the lamp by his bed. It's light flickered as thunder grumbled, local magic currents being disturbed by the collision of natural forces above.
Every night the nightmare, the memories twisted by the lens of torment that age had brought, returned to him. He had done terrible things in the name of war. At the time he felt no emotion over his actions. It had been a necessary evil, a burden he had gladly shouldered. The night when he had surrendered his staff, his position and powers had been when the dreams had started, as though he had shed a suit of armour that had shielded him from the moral consequences of his actions, leaving him raw and exposed to the memories. He wiped his hand across his face and forced it to stop trembling. Was that fear or excitement? It was hard to tell, had he awoken as man or monster?
Thunder rumbled once again, drawing his attention to the window where, thankfully, no army of Custodians stood to restrain him. He forcefully reminded himself that he has met their demands, given up his abilities, that he was safe. He slid out of bed, revealing the multitude of scars that lay across his skin in a faded gild of pain and loss. Each came with it's own story and history, none of them pleasant to recall. He had endured all sorts of injuries from knives and swords to bullets and bombs. The burns were most prevailent, not large as burns go, but vivid. The touch of wild magic funnelled through a mental scope left wounds to took longer to heal, were somehow more real.
He pulled on a tshirt from the pile of clothes by the bed, leaving his soft plaid sleep pants on and headed across the hall to the kitchen. He knew all too well he wouldn't be able to return to sleep again this night. He touched a soft glowing stone by the door and the room was bathed in a soft light from above. He may have given up his powers, but there were plenty of gadgets around to make his civilian life easier. Magic and electricity, though the two didn't often mix well as observed by the storm, when used in careful combinations, small things could be achieved.
Like perfectly brewed coffee, or a midnight snack of left over pizza reheated just right. He poured himself a cup from the steaming carafe, the familiar tingle of fire magic skittering across his skin. He gasped as it touched a burn and a memory flashed through his mind; flames, screams, charred flesh, the shattering of glass. It lasted only a moment but had been enough to cause him to drop his mug, shattering on the floor by his feet, staining the wooden boards the colour of old dried blood. The smell of charred flesh still filled his nose and it took him a moment to realise his food was burning.
He cursed to himself and quickly pulled it from the re-heater before it burned worse. He set the plate down on the table and closed the door of the old device. The stone that provided heat was cracked and made it malfunction occasionally. A few swipes of a rag cleaned up the spilled beverage and the trash can welcomed the broken pieces of mug. He sat heavily in the seat at the table, his head in his hands. Would he ever be free of these memories or would they forever haunt him? He forced the feeling back into the darkness. He was better than this, he was the WarFang, the ultimate answer to all things.
~Exactly, you were the WarFang~ He thought.
A sigh escaped his lips as he finally got the warring emotions under control and focused on eating what remained edible of his meal.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A few hours later Marcus sat in his favourite chair on his small porch with a new cup of coffee in his hand, watching the sun rise over the tower blocks of the city. Rain pattered down softly, easing from the earlier storm, soaking everything it touched. A drop dripped down into his cup but he hardly noticed; he was focused on the woman walking up his short driveway, having pulled up in a black Tahoe. She stopped just short of the porch and nodded at his cup, "Like it watered down these days?" She jibed as another drop landed in his cup.
"Adds a more natural flavour." He replied coldly and took a purposeful sip.
She starred at him with a hint of a smirk on her face before she spoke, "Not going to invite me up?" She asked.
"Nope. Only my friends get invited up." He said, a sharpness to his tone.
Her smirk flickered to a hurt look before she smothered it with a neutral professional expression, "Pretty sure saving your life qualifies me as a friend." She remarked.
He couldn't help but chuckle at the absurdity of her statement, "Luring me into a trap hardly qualifies as saving anything except your own skin." He spat back at her suddenly.
"It wasn't a trap. We had to intervene before you got too out of control. You know that." She spat in return, the hint of hurt returning to her voice.
Screams echoed on the edge of his hearing again, something only he could hear, as he settled back and muttered, "I did what had to be done to stop the threat."
"I'll be sure to tell the refugees when I patrol the slums again. The orphans will understand completely." She said coldly.
He stared daggers at her, his temper rising, "Just what the hell do you want Katerina? I don't have anything left for you to take." He snapped.
She stepped up the few stairs to the railed porch, ignoring his intensified glare and pulled a thin file folder from insider her ankle length jacket.
"Some strange bodies, half charred from the inside. Sound familiar? Where were you during the last week of the Erebus?" She asked, flipping open the folder and tossing the contents on his table.
His eyes flicked to the pictures for a moment, the images threatening to pull up the distant past. The method was familiar, he had used it throughout his bloody career. Instead he nodded to the sedan that sat a few doors down.
"Why not ask your lapdogs over there, Custodian." He said, the last word dripping with venom and anger. "Wasnt it enough for you to castrate my soul after I loyally served, now you are gonna accuse me of murdering random civilians?" He snapped again.
"They weren't random civilians, they were the former Shadow Delegation from Amarok. A week after they show up in the city, the last targets you had are murdered in the same way you used in the war. Like someone is saying the WarFang still has teeth. Bit of a coincidence don't you think?" She pressed. She had to know before the Fathomers decided to rummage around in his head.
The revelation gave him reason to pause, eyeing the pictures again. "Whoever did it, I cant say I blame them. The Shadow Delegation were monsters that turned civilians into sleeper cells that didn't even know they were walking time bombs." He said.
She glared at him, lips pursed in frustration and socked him in the face. She grabbed his wrist in the moment he was yelped, stunned, and slapped a monitor band on his wrist.
"What the fuck?!" He yelled in indignation.
The monitor beeped, a confirmation of a negative detection of magickal energies.
"You're lucky I don't drag you to the Fathomers to make sure." She snapped.
The devices were almost impossible to fool, given the natural reaction between magic and electricity. If he had managed to regain any of his powers it would have told her so. She nodded once at the result and moved to the front door, swinging it open and striding inside, all to the furious protests of Marcus. She pulled out a hand scanner, strapping it onto the back of her hand and swept it slowly back and forth around the room in wide arcs. A small projection of the room appeared before her, several dots glowing orange on a light blue background. Each dot represented a magickal device or source of magick.
She checked off each device from a mental list in her head. She paused in front of a bookshelf that contained a dot that was unaccounted for. Frowning she threw open the doors on the central cabinet display. What she found sent a chill through her, horror and pain grabbing at her mind. Before her was a picture of a young girl, beside it sat a ribbon for hair, a small stuffed bear and a necklace of fine silver chain with a thumb sized magical stone attached. She recognized it all and slowly reached out, picking up the necklace, rolling the stone between her fingers. It had belonged to their daughter Sapphira.
"I thought it was all in Victim Storage? How did you get these from the Custodians?" She asked, her voice trembling.
"I used my last favour, and my last spirit stone, to get five minutes alone with the room." He said, his voice suddenly soft.
She carefully set the necklace back on the shelf, in pride of place. It had been the first spirit stone their daughter had found in the forest on vacation. Marcus, her ex-husband, her daughter's father, had helped her infuse it with her essence. Naturally since he helped, his was mixed in there too, just a little. It was right to be here with him. It was possibly the last thing left of her all these years after her death.
She closed up the cabinet and cleared her throat, touching her temple and speaking clearly as she sent a message to her supervisor, "All clear, no sign of recovery or any illegal devices, it's not him." She said. She strode back out onto the porch, wiping a stray tear from her eye and paused at the bottom of the steps.
"I'm to give you a message since you are all clear...the Council of Minds wants your help on this." She said to the world in general before she set off to her car, not waiting for a reply. They'd fought enough for one day.
He watched her go, feeling that old tug at his heart but pushed it away. She had betrayed him in the worst way he could think of. She was the reason he no longer had his powers. The reason he was magically crippled, stuck as a normal person. He turned to go back into the house but not before flipping the bird to the surveillance car he had pointed out earlier.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Another night, another nightmare, another midnight snack. Thankfully no flashbacks as he poured his cup of coffee. He sat at the table with the newspaper, reading local news, the rather frim deaths of the Amarok dignitaries had made the papers. Strangely they had been attributed to a vehicular accident. It didn't surprise him that they had covered up the true cause of death, but it was unusual for the deaths to have been publicized at all given how rocky the relationship between the two nations were. Although that tended to be the result when the Council of Minds sent him somewhere to 'solve a problem'.
Eventually they began to to see him as a problem as well and 'solved' him with deception and trickery. He would never forgive them for that. Marcus had just poured himself a second cup of coffee when he heard a vehicle pull up in front of his small apartment. He glanced out of the window and once again saw his ex-wife Katarina step out and walk up his short driveway. She stopped in front of his door, hand raised to know and...hesitated? He made the decision for her and pulled the door open, glowering at her over his coffee. His swollen lip from her strike the previous day making him slurp quietly.
"Here to punch me again? Trespass in my home again?" Let me make this simple Kat. Fuck off." He said before he slammed the door in her face, harder than necessary.
Her voice was slightly muffled by the door as she spoke, "Don't say no to this offer Marcus, they just want to talk, get your input on who could have done this." He thought he could detect a hint of pleading to her tone.
He didn't answer, instead walking down to his basement. It was the older style with no windows and rough stone walls with wooden floor. In the middle of the room was a beat up old two seater loveseat, the cheap boards in front of it covered with an equally cheap rug. The walls around the room were lined with shelves filled with books, all non-magickal, and small trinkets and oddities he had been allowed to keep from his previous lodgings. Mostly there were minor oddities he had found on his travels. A star shaped stone, a double acorn, a luminous flower that never wilted as long as it had water, and other curiosities no one else really cared about.
He also noticed the charred and blackened heart sitting on his mantle. That was new. He approached it slowly, glancing around for an intruder. He was mildly surprised they had managed to get in considering the level of surveillance he was under. The two down the street were a standard distraction from the real level of surveillance. Next to the heart in an elegant script was a note. He carefully picked it up and read it to himself.
~The vengeance oath has been fulfilled, Brother. I have finished what you started so long ago at Grimsale.~
A shiver ran through him, the air taking on an menacing edge as the memory of unfettered rage and hate threatened to spill over into his conscious mind. So much anger, so much hurt, so much blood...
A voice startled him out of his memories, Katarina stood at the bottom of the stairs, having let herself in. How long had she been standing there? He hadn't heard her come down those old creaky steps, or had he simply been so lost in those memories that it hadn't registered?
"Well that at least provides proof for sure that you arn't in league with whomever is doing this." She said as she walked over to inspect the gruesome item. "You never were one to keep trophies."
She glances at his collection of oddities on his shelves, "At least not ones as gruesome as this one." She finished with a grimace. She held out her hand for the note which he handed over with a glower. "Still don't understand the concept of private property do you?" He asked.
"Well considering the place is owned by the Custodians, and I'm your assigned case worker, I'm fairly certain I have every right to enter." She cock an eyebrow at him as though daring him to contradict her.
He couldn't of course, the house was indeed owned by the Custodians. A halfway house they called it, yet he was provided all he needed, provided he stayed within his restrictions. A veritable luxury prison as it were. She fished out an evidence bag and put it over her hand before picking up the heart and pulling the bag over it. She pocketed it within one of the large pouches inside her coat. He sat down on the worn out sofa and motioned around the room with a sweep of his arm.
"So when will the Fathomers show up to raid through my stuff and my head?" He asked with contempt colouring his tone.
"They won't. This is a matter of High Security. The Council of Minds has declared only Custodians may handle this due to...special circumstances. We don't want to cause a panic."
"You mean you don't want people to think the WarFang is still alive?" He asked.
She rolled her eyes, "No they all know you are alive, but we don't want a bunch of amateur vigilantes trying to storm this place if they find out the methods were the same." She said.
"As if you lot would let me escape your watchful 'protection.'" He spat out the last word, venom lacing his tone.
"It's necessary in case of a...relapse." She spoke the last word quietly as though it hurt to say.
He looked away from her with a snort, "A relapse? Like following unsavoury orders no one else is willing to do is a disease." He snarked.
"You went beyond the scope of your orders!" She snapped.
"I neutralised the threat!" He snapped back.
"Wholesale slaughter of an entire embassy doesn't fall under that concept." She retorted.
He looked back at her and scowled, "You would have preferred I left the killer of our daughter to roam free?" He yelled, suddenly angry.
"There was no threat there! They didn't kill our daughter!" She yelled back, hands on her hips.
"I told your bosses where to find the proof! They didn't want to go find it so I did it myself! I found it and the ones who did it!" He fired back and slammed his fist into the arm of the sofa.
"And just where was this evidence? Oh that's right, any evidence there might have been got incinerated when you went off the rails! We couldn't go kicking down the door of the Basrian Embassy just because you say the Shadow Delegation is hiding there with no solid proof." She yelled.
He jumped to his feet and snarled, "You were cowards! Ezra is...." His voice died off as grief entered his words at the mention of his second twin daughter's name.
"Ezra is the reason Sapphira is dead, Marcus!" She continued yelling, "As much as I wish it wasn't true, her wild goose chase got Sapphira killed and herself locked away somewhere even I can't access. You need to accept that!" Tears fell as she yelled, raw emotion showing wounds that were still oozing and exposed.
He stepped back as though slapped, yet anger coloured his words, "Get out! I don't know why you are even here other than to harass me!" He barked and pointed up the stairs.
She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and stepped back. When she opened them again the hurt and anger were gone, replaced by professional neutrality. She pulled an envelope out of her jacket and held it out to him.
"Against my better judgement, the Council and my commander have decided to solicit your help in these killings." She stated matter of factly.
"What? You couldn't find another sucker with access to infernal magic? No Soul Scorchers jumped at the chance?" He asked, referencing his old platoon of dark magic wielders.
"They were the first we asked, the next day they disappeared, leaving only their spirit rings on their bunks. Since then we've found them all...dead. You were the strongest of them all, more so even. We need you." She said.
He couldn't speak for a moment, his platoon had been the last resort black ops crew, used when the government was out of other options; given vague orders to allow them the flexibility to achieve their goals. A lot of this flexibility required selective blindness to their operations. As long as they weren't caught or identified on a mission, their extreme measures were generally sanctioned.
"That's impossible. What the hell could have killed a dozen elites? What do you expect me to do? I don't have my powers anymore. I'm normal remember, hell less than normal." He said darkly. He could see a pained expression cross her face as though the very thought repulsed her. Finally she spoke.
"Since you have been cleared of any involvement, I have been authorised to bring you along with me on this investigation." She said. She pulled a small softly glowing stone from her pocket. He recognised it immediately as she continued.
"I've also been authorised to allow you use of your abilities should I feel they be needed." She said.
He snorted at the almost insulting offer, yet it meant he could get out of this deceiving prison, even if only for a while.
"Needed? Like a watchdog or something? A glorified security guard?" He asked.
"Essentially, if -" She said but was cut off as he held up a hand.
"No thanks, I'm not some mutt you can bring out at your beck and call." He said, "It's tragic to hear the demise of my former comrades, but from what I've heard and seen so far, this isn't my fight."
She frowned at him, "You would let more people die? More of our comrades?" She asked. He answered with only a shrug. She knew that a different tactic would be required.
"Well I guess it makes sense, being afraid to fight someone who is clearly better than you at using your own magickal nature. You've already disgraced the name enough, what's one more maniac running around doing the same?" She half taunted.
He cocked an eyebrow unwilling to be tricked into an ego contest, yet she continued.
"You were known for being merciless regardless of your enemy, may as well let this nutjob add child killer to the list." She said, raising her own eyebrow in response.
It was his turn to frown, "What are you talking about?"
She pulled out a small stack of pictures from within her coat and showed him each one in turn.
"It wasn't just the Shadow Delegation he murdered. He went after their families too. Dozen of teens and young kids. E even left the same note at the scene of two previous kills we couldn't connect. You are now that connection. For whatever reason, he seems to be doing this in your name. Killing kids who's only crime was being born in Amorak." She said solemnly.
She let this information slowly sink in, paying close attention to his expression.
"Can you really let this guy stain your name, your legacy, in this manner?" She stared at him as she asked.
He didn't answer at first, his eyes glazing over as the memories surfaced briefly. Smoke, screams, desperate grasping hands, terror as those same hands plummeted out of his grasp. He closed his eyes and turned slightly as he forced the horrors back into the darkness of his mind. When he looked back into her eyes, hardness had taken over, the facade restored.
"Fine, but if you choose to do something stupid, you are on your own. I'll back you if you are attacked, but I won't be your weapon just to try and strong arm anyone." He said with finality.
He climbed back upstairs, grabbing his jacket and walked down to her truck with her. They climbed in, in silence, and set off into the city.
~Six Months Ago~
The darkness had eye. It stared relentlessly at the kneeling figure. The figure, a middle aged man with deeply tanned skin and chiselled muscles, was bound with leather ropes tight enough to cut off sensation. His head was bowed, long brown hair obscuring his face. His bare torso glistened with moisture that dripped around him from the ceiling, pooling in puddles on the concrete beneath him. A single light from above emitted a cone of illumination that cut through the darkness around the kneeling man.
"I prostrate myself for your wisdom and blessing, Oh Great One. Allow me to become the Avatar of your Will." The man whispered, his voice trembling in time to the fluttering in his gut.
Green smoke slowly trailed out from the deep shadows, writhing like vines, alive and dangerous. His breath caught at the sight of the trailing smoke and he almost pushed himself back. He knew he had to be strong to receive the gift. He had to be strong to fulfil his purpose, to finish what the WarFang had started. He would make his idol proud, make him notice him. His voice trembled once more as a tendril rose in front of him, taking on the form of a generic blank face.
"Great One, I offer myself as your vessel. Grant me the strength to fulfil my mission." He whispered.
~You seek great power? You ask much but offer so little. I will instead take you as my own...~ A voice murmured in his mind, cold and ancient. More tendrils rose around him, serpents of living smoke regarding him with their eyeless stares.
"Great One, I have offered you much! The lives of traitors, the ones who would defy your will! Surely that is enough?" He questioned, his muscles trembling at the sight of the smoke gathering around him in increasing numbers.
His skin stung as though burning as a tender slithered around his neck, holding him still and lifting him into a high kneel. Deep laughter came from the face in the smoke, it's eyes now glowing with a deep emerald hue.
~A few petty lives? Hardly. The life of a zealot though shall be a delicious meal.~ The voice said malevolently.
The sting flared into a scorching burn and the man screamed, echoing around the empty space. At the peak of the scream the face surged forward and invaded the mouth of the man. Smoke raced down his throat, the energy of the being absorbing into the man's body. His muscles thrashed in a seizure, straining against his bonds. Green energy flowed down through his veins, standing out from his skin. The leather creaked as the muscles beneath bulged and flexed. As the last of the smoke filtered down into the body, the scream ended and the bindings snapped, his arms stopping straight out from his shoulders.
Slowly, with practised grace he rose to his feet, the green glow coalescing bright in his now Emerald Eyes, the iris glowing brightly. He looked down and the same deep laughter that had been in his mind came forth from him now.
"This body will do nicely," He said with a chuckle.
He held his left hand in front of him and watched a sphere of jade flame form above his palm. With a grunt he threw the sphere to the ground in front of him. It exploded upwards, enveloping him entirely. When the flames cleared, the man was gone. The only trace being the broken leather cord from his wrists that crackled for a moment with energy before it too, faded.
~Present~
The Tahoe pulled up in front of burned out shell of a building where the Shadow Delegation and their families had been exterminated and their hearts cut out. Yellow and black tape had been strung across the entire perimeter of the ruin. Marcus and Katarina stepped out and surveyed the scene. It had been a warehouse once, back when magical labour was still cheaper than average people, before the restrictions, before the war.
There were still hints in the charred remains of what had once been piles of arcane ores, their energies now long depleted. The dead shells of crystal would have been repurposed as decorative stones or crushed into fine powder for holistic medicines. Katarina stopped at the hazard tape and nodded at the wreckage.
"We came to investigate an arson and found the bodies inside. The Fathomers found traces of Infernal magick within the corpses. Specifically Infernal Lightning." She let the statement hand in the for a moment before continuing.
"You are the only person on record with that particular type. You teach anyone else about it on the sly? As a just incase? Like one of your old team?" She asked.
He shook his head and ducked under the tape, striding into the wreck, not looking to see if she followed.
"That's not how it works for us. We don't make contracts like others. We focus the essence of the energy through ourselves, through the lens of our soul and it manifests in a unique way. Most is with fire, each subtly different than the next. Each also usually has a speciality only they can use." He said.
He paused in the middle of the floor, his foot brushing around some of the debris and detritus. Something felt...off. He knelt down and scuffed his fingers through the charred junk. After a moment his fingers brushed a piece of leather cord, charred at the edges but still recognisable. The world shifted and flashes filled his mind. Violence, pain, screams, the crackle of lightning. He shook his head and forced the images down. What the hell had that been?
"You find something?" She asked as she caught up with him.
He subtly wrapped his hand around the piece of cord, careful not to let her see him pocket it.
"No, but the Fathomers were right, definitely Infernal energies were here, this place is saturated in it. That would be why he chose this place. The ores would have soaked up the residual energies until one of them ruptured and triggered a chain reaction of hellfire through the entire place." He said, brushing his hands on his pants.
"How can you tell? You arn't supposed to be able to use magic with your powers sealed." She said with a frown.
"Using and feeling are two drastically different things. Just because you shut off the source doesn't mean you can't smell the gas when someone else uses it." He said.
She checked the stone in her pocket to confirm his seal was still in place and nodded.
"Alright, what else do you sense here? The Fathomers couldn't find a trail our of the building. It was like the perp just vanished." She said.
He sighed and shook his head. That was the problem with being part of a shady unit for the government. No one outside the circle got to know your secrets, but now he was the only one left in the circle.
"Infernal perk. If we arn't actively channelling then we don't give off a signal like regulars." He said.
She frowned again as she spoke, "So that's how you managed to get inside the Keep on the Amarok border. How you managed to catch them off guard." She said softly.
He nodded slowly, looking around the site, peering at carious spots, looking for further indications of a signature for whomever did this. He ignored the sound of rubble falling, soldiers screaming that echoed in his thoughts at the mention of the the night at the Keep.
He refocused himself and kicked some ashes off a deep etching in the floor, a magick circle. The Fathomers had cleared it off thoroughly to examine it. Katarina walked over and joined him, looking down at the circle and it's exotic runes.
"We've never seen anything like it. Not even our contact in your branch could tell us anything about it." She said.
"Of course not." He said as he squatted down and lightly touched the edge of the circle, it crackled at his touch before fizzing out in a puff of smoke.
In a heartbeat she had drawn her pistol and pressed it against his temple. "Easy slick, don't try anything." She said.
He rolled his eyes and kept his hands still, "I didn't do anything, It's residual energy from a ritual. I'm not sure of it's purpose but a lot of energy passed through here." He said. Something spoke to him about this circle. Studying the runes further as she put her weapon away, it dawned on him that this was a summoning circle. A circle for something big maybe, but he couldn't be sure.
"Something was summoned here and not just for a conversation." He said tracing the runes with his finger tip.
"Summoned? That's not possible, the WardNet around the city stops anything like that." She said incredulously.
"And yet here we have a clearly used circle for that exact purpose..." He said.
His fingers lingered on a specific symbol in the sequence around it's edges. The sign of Mardo, old school rune casting. He hadn't heard about the Cult of Mardo for decades. Had one survived? No, they wouldn't have left the circle intact. They had been smarter than that. Everyone knew you didn't leave a doorway standing. You had no idea what might come knocking on it's own.
The Fathomers had made sure that the circle was disabled, evidenced by the large X scored through most of the design, but not quite enough to fully disperse the last traces of energy. This was looking more and more like the work of an amateur. A dedicated psychotic amateur, but beggared the question; where and how did this amateur get the materials for this design? This type of magic was outlawed in Kodampa specifically because of the damage an imperfect ritual could wreak upon a city.
Shutting down foreign circles on battlefields had been his team's speciality during the wars, so he knew all kinds of horrors that might pop through. But nothing as complex as this. While it was clearly an amateur, somehow he/she had access to circle schematics well beyond their level. It didn't make sense.
He stood and walked back towards the car with Katarina trailing behind.
"Where are you going?" She asked, "We aren't leaving until you enlighten me."
He stopped by the passenger side door, "I'll tell you on the way, I've got a bad feeling about this." He said.
She sighed in resignation, she couldn't complain, he had figured out on his own in five minutes what it had taken a full team of Fathomers and an Archival Link to figure out. As of yet, they had found no gaps in the WardNet, or any indication how the summoning had gone undetected. She climbed in and followed the directions he gave.
~Six Months ago~
The Man with the Emerald Eyes watched the crowds flow back and forth from his perch upon the roof. Such change in the time he had slumbered, so much to take in and learn. He revelled in the passing thoughts of the mortals beneath, such creativity, such cruelty. Countless lives driven by greed, lust and rage. He closed his eyes and turned to face the expansive residential blocks, letting his senses cast out into the night. Yes, he was out there, he could feel him. The one whom he much of his success to. He would repay what had been gifted to him, to give aid so this other could rise just as he had. Then they could take their rightful place at the peak of all.
These people needed to learn their place, to fear that which towered above their pitiful station. He knew exactly where to start. He cast his senses out once more, expanding across the city until he felt a prickle of thought, flashes of images darting across his mind. Laughter, malice, a bloodied young girl. This is where he had to begin the foundation, a solid background before he made his offer. Recalling his mind, he felt a smile split his face as he stepped off the roof, leaving only a faint green haze in his wake. Time to even the score.
~Present Day~
Marcus stepped off the curb, his eyes darting back and forth as he watched for traffic. He jogged across the street, waving an apology to a driver who had to slow to avoid him and blared his horn. He hopped up onto the opposing curb and looked up at the towering building before him. The Central Bazaar, the hub of all magickal trade in the city, both clean and murky. He waited for his babysitter to join him before heading inside, weaving between groups in the crowded entrance lobby.
"What are we doing here, Marcus?" Katarina asked.
His stride barely slowed as he glanced over his shoulder and spoke, "To as a weirdo about weird things." He said.
As they entered the main doors an alarm bleeped a shrill note as she passed through it. Two large men in cheap suits with dark glasses and long slender canes hanging from their belts. No doubt true sight enchanted and loaded with stunner spells. The smaller of the two held up his hand in front of Marcus and Katarina.
"No unrestrained arcane objects in the market, Miss." The smaller man said.
She responded by pulling out her Custodian ID.
"Custodian, I'm authorized to carry as I see fit." She stated, making sure they got a good look at her badge.
The man nodded and stepped back, allowing her to pass.
"Just keep it to a minimum, a lot of volatile magicks floating around these days." He said.
They disappeared into the crowd as quickly as they had appeared, leaving the two of them to their own devices. Marcus headed straight for the lifts, open air platforms with simple railings. They rode to the 13th floor and began walking amongst the stalls.
"What are we looking for?" She asked as she trailed behind him, trying not to get distracted by some of the more questionable merchants.
"Stall 13, it'll have 13 of every item." He said.
She raised an eyebrow in question to this but followed his lead. They finally found it, 13 stalls from the back by the 13th pillar of the floor. The stall held 13 different items in groups of 13. Clearly this stall owner believed in the Old Methods, before magick had re-emerged into the main stream world.
Marcus cleared his throat and knocked on the table thirteen times. At once a wizened old man appeared in a puff of theatrical smoke, coughing and hacking at the fumes. The stench of brimstone filled the air. Katarina coughed as the cloud dispersed, waving her hand to try and clear the smoke.
"Brimstone? Really? Stereotype much?" She asked dryly.
The elderly man straightened and brushed his robes flat, scattering glittering dust everywhere. "Only the weak of mind and spirit consider such things in such a light." He proclaimed in a slightly squeaky voice.
Marcus tilted his hand once in a slight wave of greeting and smiled at the indignation.
"Hey Rufus, what's shakin'?" He asked.
Rufus adjusted his wire rimmed gold spectacles and peered at him. His eyes widened and his wild grey hair trembled as he threw his arms into the air.
"Frost and Flames! It's you! I thought you were under house arrest?" He exclaimed.
Marcus nodded to himself and reached up to scratch the back of his neck and twitched a thumb at Katarina. "Yeah, they let me out on a leash." He said sarcastically.
"One that's about to become much shorter if you don't watch your tone." She said sweetly in the same sarcastic tone.
Rufus stroked his long white moustaches in mild amusement.
"Well what are you in the market for? A potion? A spell? A traditional ritual mat? I have some very nice Celtic Runestones in stock, hard to find." He said in a low conspirational tone.
"And also very illegal." Katarina said, putting her hands on her hips.
"Only if they are used for dark magicks, as an inert decoration they are very stylish." He paused to glare at her, "You're not a cop are you? Nosy bastards are always sticking their nose where it doesn't belong." He said.
She had her badge ID out in a flash, the movement showing off not only the standard issue pistol on her hip, but also the enchanted revolver on her shoulder. Enchanted Iron for things that go bump in the night. She smirked at his startled jump and nervous fussing with his beard.
"Well, I, uh, you'll find everything on the level here." He said as he kicked a box behind him through the curtain.
Marcus headed off the confrontation by holding up his hands between the two of them. "Easy both of you, we aren't here to cause problems or disturb your business, we just need some information." He said in a level tone.
She put her badge away and adjusted the pistol on her hip, drawing a gulp from Rufus.
"Certainly, of course, what is it you need to know?" He asked.
Marcus pulled the piece of leather cord out of his pocket, a move that drew a look from Katarina. He made a point to ignore it. "I found this at a site that had seen some pretty heavy stuff, I cant go into details, but I need to know if you felt this energy any time before last night?" He said as he handed it over to the old man.
Rufus took it in his aged hands and peered at it through his spectacles, muttering as he did so. "Simple cord, enchanted for strength, saturated with...Infernal magicks." He said with a pale face. "I don't know who you are after but whoever it is, is most likely working for the government, though they'd never admit it. They are the only ones who would sanction that kind of magick use." He finished.
Marcus shook his head in response, "Definitely not government, someone else." He said.
"That's a problem then, a rogue Infernal magick user is not something I'd want to run into on a dark night." He said. He pulled a box of crystals up from beneath his stall and began rummaging through them.
"Oh good, crystals," Katarina said, her voice dripping sarcasm.
Marcus shot her a glare and motioned Rufus to continue, "Ignore her, she's just mad she has to have me around for security." He said.
She humphed and turned her back on the stall, glaring out at the crowds, watching customers flit from stall to stall. Rufus began pulling out stones, holding each above the cord on the table for a moment before discarding it back into the box. Finally one of them began to glow and vibrate softly. He set it down beside the cord and nodded. The jade gemstone slowly pulsed, brighter each time, vibrating harder and harder. The old man's eyes went wide for a moment.
"Oh dear, you might want to -" He started to say but was cut off when the stone shattered with a loud crack.
Katarina jerked and spun, pulling her Enchanted Iron free as the magic escaped the stone and dissipated. She had the hammer of the big piece cocked, finger half squeezing the trigger, riding the edge.
Marcus quickly grabbed her by the wrist and crook of her elbow, forcing her hands upwards. The sudden movement jerked the trigger a hair more, setting off the weapon. Bright orange fire swirled around the barrel and screamed out towards the ceiling where it struck the warded stone and dissipated with a shimmering shudder as the thunder faded and the noise of the Bazaar fell silent for a few moments before gradually resuming. It wasn't unusual for items to react in a loud and flashy manner, though not many did so quite as intensely.
Marcus shoved her hands away from the old man and snarled, "Are you crazy? It's just a sense stone!"
She pulled her hands away and holstered the weapon. "I heard the bang and felt the magic, custodians have wound up dead because they didn't take such things seriously." She said glaring at Marcus as she continued. "I know how to handle Iron, Marcus. Touch me like that again and you'll find out just how well. We are NOT married any more. Boundaries." She said, just as fierce.
She turned to the stall owner who cowered behind the counter. She put her hands before her, palms together in apology, bowed her head solemnly and spoke respectfully.
"I apologize for scaring you Sir, being a Custodian is a dangerous job." She said.
Rufus swallowed, his attention fully on the pile of dust that had once been a sense stone, "Well my dear, I fear your job has just gotten considerably more dangerous. Whatever was carrying that energy is not a denizen of this world."
He snapped his fingers at his stock, boxes and displays which began closing by themselves.
"I don't know where it was pulled from but I don't intend to stick around and find out." He said as he shoved the now small containers into his carry case and hurried off into the crowd without saying anything else.
Marcus frowned deeply as he watched the old scurry away into the flowing crowds.
"That's the first time I've seen anything unsettle him that badly," He said curiously.
"What did he mean by not a denizen? Everything, even the uglies from over yonder, have some kind of link to this realm," She said, hand on her hip just above her pistol.
"Really? Everything?" He asked.
She nodded and picked up the cord he had given the old man. "Yes, everything that emerges from a portal is born from mortal thought. Think anthropomorphic personifications for nightmares." She said.
He shivered at her words as memories surfaced; the roars of horrors echoing through his mind for a long moment. He had fought his fair share of things from beyond on the battlefield and he knew that even though they were born from mortal thought, they had a life of their own.
"So they exist because we imagine them?" He asked.
She shook her head and explained further, "They do, but they are more than that. They have their own energy and life on that side but take the form that our expectations have on them, what we have imagined them to be since the dawn of mankind." She said, "That's how they link to our world and can be summoned through circles, they use our perceptions."
He rubbed his chin as he pondered this. He had experience dealing with summons on the battle field and in strange deserted keeps in the middle of no where, where odd cults decide they could make the world in their own image. He had seen many circles being activated and the aftermath of that activation, but he had little knowledge of the actual mechanics of setting up a circle. He also knew that not everything had a perceived form. Some things were so primordial that they had drifted even out of myth. Deep, base things like Rhy-dem, and almost forgotten deity of a long extinct tribe of jungle shaman.
An over enthusiastic archaeologist scholar had summoned him way out in the boonies of the southern jungles and became enslaved to it. IT had manifested as a raging flaming tornado, though the texts described it as a 'Manabere'. Problem was, no one knew what that was or what it looked like.
He turned from the now empty stall and started walking through the crowds. Katarina walked by his side, eyeing those around them.
"So what now? He didn't exactly tell us much," she said, clearly disappointed.
He shook his head in response, "He told us plenty, we just need to figure out who would be powerful enough and crazy enough to summon something so ancient it scared the wits out of Rufus." He said.
"What;s so special about that guy anyway? What makes his particular brand od fear an authority on what we are dealing with?" She asked
"Believing it or not, his is a leading authority on the things that go bump in the night. Pretty sure he wrote the literal book on summoning that the military uses." He said.
She stopped and grabbed his arm looking into his eyes with shock, "That was Rufus Plack? THE Rufus Plack? How on earth do you know him and why the hell was he working a stall in a magickal market?" She demanded, her eyes darting around trying to spot him again despite being long gone.
"Let's just say that certain things happened and certain people were very upset so he had to make a quiet and subtle exit from the world. He's quite happy with his new quiet life, at least he was until today." He said thoughtfully.
She released his arm and continued walking the way they had been headed.
"We need to talk to an archival link. I need to know what other incidents match the warehouse traces." He said.
"I'll see who is on duty right now, the Fathomers have most of them tied up these days." She said pulling out her cellphone.
~Six Months Ago~
The agent of the Shadow Delegation watched the shadows from his post by the main gates. His Breath hung in the frozen night air. It was always cold during the Erebus, so named because the sun dipped below the horizon for three months straight and the dark that remained was categorically stygian.
Snow fell in tiny flakes, glittering in the lamp light like stars again the plutonian shade that draped this part of the world. He had heard that to the south they had the opposite, where it was warm daylight for three months. He didn't know what it was called but it sounded divine. He was so tired of the dark and the cold. The crunch of snow in the black broke him out of his daydream and he cast his flashlight around at the gloom.
"Oie, Oie, quit muckin about and show yourself, alright?" He said firmly. He cast the light around some more and thought he heard soft laughter out there in the dark.
"I hear you kids out there! I'm only gonna tell you once you hear? Hop it!" He shouted to the shadows.
~Bloody kids...~ He thought to himself.
Currently working on setting up Facebook group for it etc so will post here at a later point.
Will be publishing under the name of Kaisel MacLeod
I would very much appreciate constructive feed back, and yes at some point it will get pushed through a spellchecker, im aware my spelling is questionable at time but it's hard for me to notice when i get hyper focused.
Rage and Grace
A figure knelt, surrounded by shadows with weapons; swords and spears pointed in a threatening pose, ready to strike. The light of dusk glinted off the blades granting the ruby hue of blood freshly spilled. The nightmare was the same every time; dark, dangerous, a man hunted and haunted b y the ghosts of his past. It all culminated to this moment. The blades drove forward into the flesh of the shadowed figure, smoke pouring forth from his wounds, the spilled blood incinerating in small blinding flashes as it fell upon the accursed ground surrounding the victim. The scream of pain shook the world as the figure shrouded in darkness crumpled forward, consumed by the smoke and embers that poured forth from his wounds.
The smoky cloud enshrouded the figure, suffocating, clawing at his lungs. Thunder crashed above, the clouds slowly began to churn high above the gathered mob of assailants. From within the impenetrable smoke the screams of agony began to change, laced now with rage that grew stronger with each passing moment. Flashes of deep crimson light pulsed from within it's depths, each wave bringing a stronger rumble to the fury building within swirling smoke that was gradually transforming to a dark churning tempest in tandem with the storm high above. The wind shifted as though being drawn towards the deepening shadows the dark smoke was becoming. It spun now in time to the clouds above, perfectly mimicking their rotation as a funnel began to form. Green lightning crackled along the underbelly of the skies, streaking towards the epicentre of the event.
The rage that laced the grew thicker and heavier, almost palpable, as it reached a crescendo; the creeping fingers of electrical malevolence coalescing to a single monstrous arc. It forked forth in an instant at the same moment as the shadowed smoke exploded outwards in a tsunami, obscuring vision for a long moment. The smoke, dust and darkness cleared, revealed what now lurked within. A tall man dressed in a flowing robe of deep hunter green, glittering stones sewn into the hems and cuffs. Beneath he wore a plain black shit and dark mahogany brown pants with sturdy boots of similar deep mahogany tones. He stood with his hand held high above his head, a staff of violet so dark it was almost like condensed shadows given physical form. Darkness rose from it's length in tight wisps that writhed as though alive. Emerald energy crackled across it's surface, highlighting the runes embossed into it's surface.
All around him lay rack and ruin; the force of the transformation levelling everything in it's path, merciless in the face of stone, steel or flesh. The staff was slowly lowered until it tapped twice upon the ground with an echoing knock that rattled the ages. The man in the centre of this ring of desolation finally spoke, his eyes shining with the emerald hue of power finally unleashed. His shoulder length hair whipped in the winds, his voice carrying out with the tone of command only the ancient knew.
"See what your lies and hate have wrought. The scales will be balanced, accounts settled, oaths fufilled and vengence made real." He proclaimed.
He slammed the end of his staff into the ground, sending cracks outwards, ripping open chasms in their wake, pulling down shadowed buildings and ruins into their yawning maw.
------
The nightmare ended and Marcus bolted upright, his hand shot out for his staff and found nothing. It took him an uncomfortable few minutes of panic to remember that he didn't have a staff, not any more. He has surrendered that along with his powers after the war had needed. They didn't need their weapon once the dust had settled. Sweat covered his skin, highlighting the lean form in the dim light from the lamp by his bed. It's light flickered as thunder grumbled, local magic currents being disturbed by the collision of natural forces above.
Every night the nightmare, the memories twisted by the lens of torment that age had brought, returned to him. He had done terrible things in the name of war. At the time he felt no emotion over his actions. It had been a necessary evil, a burden he had gladly shouldered. The night when he had surrendered his staff, his position and powers had been when the dreams had started, as though he had shed a suit of armour that had shielded him from the moral consequences of his actions, leaving him raw and exposed to the memories. He wiped his hand across his face and forced it to stop trembling. Was that fear or excitement? It was hard to tell, had he awoken as man or monster?
Thunder rumbled once again, drawing his attention to the window where, thankfully, no army of Custodians stood to restrain him. He forcefully reminded himself that he has met their demands, given up his abilities, that he was safe. He slid out of bed, revealing the multitude of scars that lay across his skin in a faded gild of pain and loss. Each came with it's own story and history, none of them pleasant to recall. He had endured all sorts of injuries from knives and swords to bullets and bombs. The burns were most prevailent, not large as burns go, but vivid. The touch of wild magic funnelled through a mental scope left wounds to took longer to heal, were somehow more real.
He pulled on a tshirt from the pile of clothes by the bed, leaving his soft plaid sleep pants on and headed across the hall to the kitchen. He knew all too well he wouldn't be able to return to sleep again this night. He touched a soft glowing stone by the door and the room was bathed in a soft light from above. He may have given up his powers, but there were plenty of gadgets around to make his civilian life easier. Magic and electricity, though the two didn't often mix well as observed by the storm, when used in careful combinations, small things could be achieved.
Like perfectly brewed coffee, or a midnight snack of left over pizza reheated just right. He poured himself a cup from the steaming carafe, the familiar tingle of fire magic skittering across his skin. He gasped as it touched a burn and a memory flashed through his mind; flames, screams, charred flesh, the shattering of glass. It lasted only a moment but had been enough to cause him to drop his mug, shattering on the floor by his feet, staining the wooden boards the colour of old dried blood. The smell of charred flesh still filled his nose and it took him a moment to realise his food was burning.
He cursed to himself and quickly pulled it from the re-heater before it burned worse. He set the plate down on the table and closed the door of the old device. The stone that provided heat was cracked and made it malfunction occasionally. A few swipes of a rag cleaned up the spilled beverage and the trash can welcomed the broken pieces of mug. He sat heavily in the seat at the table, his head in his hands. Would he ever be free of these memories or would they forever haunt him? He forced the feeling back into the darkness. He was better than this, he was the WarFang, the ultimate answer to all things.
~Exactly, you were the WarFang~ He thought.
A sigh escaped his lips as he finally got the warring emotions under control and focused on eating what remained edible of his meal.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A few hours later Marcus sat in his favourite chair on his small porch with a new cup of coffee in his hand, watching the sun rise over the tower blocks of the city. Rain pattered down softly, easing from the earlier storm, soaking everything it touched. A drop dripped down into his cup but he hardly noticed; he was focused on the woman walking up his short driveway, having pulled up in a black Tahoe. She stopped just short of the porch and nodded at his cup, "Like it watered down these days?" She jibed as another drop landed in his cup.
"Adds a more natural flavour." He replied coldly and took a purposeful sip.
She starred at him with a hint of a smirk on her face before she spoke, "Not going to invite me up?" She asked.
"Nope. Only my friends get invited up." He said, a sharpness to his tone.
Her smirk flickered to a hurt look before she smothered it with a neutral professional expression, "Pretty sure saving your life qualifies me as a friend." She remarked.
He couldn't help but chuckle at the absurdity of her statement, "Luring me into a trap hardly qualifies as saving anything except your own skin." He spat back at her suddenly.
"It wasn't a trap. We had to intervene before you got too out of control. You know that." She spat in return, the hint of hurt returning to her voice.
Screams echoed on the edge of his hearing again, something only he could hear, as he settled back and muttered, "I did what had to be done to stop the threat."
"I'll be sure to tell the refugees when I patrol the slums again. The orphans will understand completely." She said coldly.
He stared daggers at her, his temper rising, "Just what the hell do you want Katerina? I don't have anything left for you to take." He snapped.
She stepped up the few stairs to the railed porch, ignoring his intensified glare and pulled a thin file folder from insider her ankle length jacket.
"Some strange bodies, half charred from the inside. Sound familiar? Where were you during the last week of the Erebus?" She asked, flipping open the folder and tossing the contents on his table.
His eyes flicked to the pictures for a moment, the images threatening to pull up the distant past. The method was familiar, he had used it throughout his bloody career. Instead he nodded to the sedan that sat a few doors down.
"Why not ask your lapdogs over there, Custodian." He said, the last word dripping with venom and anger. "Wasnt it enough for you to castrate my soul after I loyally served, now you are gonna accuse me of murdering random civilians?" He snapped again.
"They weren't random civilians, they were the former Shadow Delegation from Amarok. A week after they show up in the city, the last targets you had are murdered in the same way you used in the war. Like someone is saying the WarFang still has teeth. Bit of a coincidence don't you think?" She pressed. She had to know before the Fathomers decided to rummage around in his head.
The revelation gave him reason to pause, eyeing the pictures again. "Whoever did it, I cant say I blame them. The Shadow Delegation were monsters that turned civilians into sleeper cells that didn't even know they were walking time bombs." He said.
She glared at him, lips pursed in frustration and socked him in the face. She grabbed his wrist in the moment he was yelped, stunned, and slapped a monitor band on his wrist.
"What the fuck?!" He yelled in indignation.
The monitor beeped, a confirmation of a negative detection of magickal energies.
"You're lucky I don't drag you to the Fathomers to make sure." She snapped.
The devices were almost impossible to fool, given the natural reaction between magic and electricity. If he had managed to regain any of his powers it would have told her so. She nodded once at the result and moved to the front door, swinging it open and striding inside, all to the furious protests of Marcus. She pulled out a hand scanner, strapping it onto the back of her hand and swept it slowly back and forth around the room in wide arcs. A small projection of the room appeared before her, several dots glowing orange on a light blue background. Each dot represented a magickal device or source of magick.
She checked off each device from a mental list in her head. She paused in front of a bookshelf that contained a dot that was unaccounted for. Frowning she threw open the doors on the central cabinet display. What she found sent a chill through her, horror and pain grabbing at her mind. Before her was a picture of a young girl, beside it sat a ribbon for hair, a small stuffed bear and a necklace of fine silver chain with a thumb sized magical stone attached. She recognized it all and slowly reached out, picking up the necklace, rolling the stone between her fingers. It had belonged to their daughter Sapphira.
"I thought it was all in Victim Storage? How did you get these from the Custodians?" She asked, her voice trembling.
"I used my last favour, and my last spirit stone, to get five minutes alone with the room." He said, his voice suddenly soft.
She carefully set the necklace back on the shelf, in pride of place. It had been the first spirit stone their daughter had found in the forest on vacation. Marcus, her ex-husband, her daughter's father, had helped her infuse it with her essence. Naturally since he helped, his was mixed in there too, just a little. It was right to be here with him. It was possibly the last thing left of her all these years after her death.
She closed up the cabinet and cleared her throat, touching her temple and speaking clearly as she sent a message to her supervisor, "All clear, no sign of recovery or any illegal devices, it's not him." She said. She strode back out onto the porch, wiping a stray tear from her eye and paused at the bottom of the steps.
"I'm to give you a message since you are all clear...the Council of Minds wants your help on this." She said to the world in general before she set off to her car, not waiting for a reply. They'd fought enough for one day.
He watched her go, feeling that old tug at his heart but pushed it away. She had betrayed him in the worst way he could think of. She was the reason he no longer had his powers. The reason he was magically crippled, stuck as a normal person. He turned to go back into the house but not before flipping the bird to the surveillance car he had pointed out earlier.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Another night, another nightmare, another midnight snack. Thankfully no flashbacks as he poured his cup of coffee. He sat at the table with the newspaper, reading local news, the rather frim deaths of the Amarok dignitaries had made the papers. Strangely they had been attributed to a vehicular accident. It didn't surprise him that they had covered up the true cause of death, but it was unusual for the deaths to have been publicized at all given how rocky the relationship between the two nations were. Although that tended to be the result when the Council of Minds sent him somewhere to 'solve a problem'.
Eventually they began to to see him as a problem as well and 'solved' him with deception and trickery. He would never forgive them for that. Marcus had just poured himself a second cup of coffee when he heard a vehicle pull up in front of his small apartment. He glanced out of the window and once again saw his ex-wife Katarina step out and walk up his short driveway. She stopped in front of his door, hand raised to know and...hesitated? He made the decision for her and pulled the door open, glowering at her over his coffee. His swollen lip from her strike the previous day making him slurp quietly.
"Here to punch me again? Trespass in my home again?" Let me make this simple Kat. Fuck off." He said before he slammed the door in her face, harder than necessary.
Her voice was slightly muffled by the door as she spoke, "Don't say no to this offer Marcus, they just want to talk, get your input on who could have done this." He thought he could detect a hint of pleading to her tone.
He didn't answer, instead walking down to his basement. It was the older style with no windows and rough stone walls with wooden floor. In the middle of the room was a beat up old two seater loveseat, the cheap boards in front of it covered with an equally cheap rug. The walls around the room were lined with shelves filled with books, all non-magickal, and small trinkets and oddities he had been allowed to keep from his previous lodgings. Mostly there were minor oddities he had found on his travels. A star shaped stone, a double acorn, a luminous flower that never wilted as long as it had water, and other curiosities no one else really cared about.
He also noticed the charred and blackened heart sitting on his mantle. That was new. He approached it slowly, glancing around for an intruder. He was mildly surprised they had managed to get in considering the level of surveillance he was under. The two down the street were a standard distraction from the real level of surveillance. Next to the heart in an elegant script was a note. He carefully picked it up and read it to himself.
~The vengeance oath has been fulfilled, Brother. I have finished what you started so long ago at Grimsale.~
A shiver ran through him, the air taking on an menacing edge as the memory of unfettered rage and hate threatened to spill over into his conscious mind. So much anger, so much hurt, so much blood...
A voice startled him out of his memories, Katarina stood at the bottom of the stairs, having let herself in. How long had she been standing there? He hadn't heard her come down those old creaky steps, or had he simply been so lost in those memories that it hadn't registered?
"Well that at least provides proof for sure that you arn't in league with whomever is doing this." She said as she walked over to inspect the gruesome item. "You never were one to keep trophies."
She glances at his collection of oddities on his shelves, "At least not ones as gruesome as this one." She finished with a grimace. She held out her hand for the note which he handed over with a glower. "Still don't understand the concept of private property do you?" He asked.
"Well considering the place is owned by the Custodians, and I'm your assigned case worker, I'm fairly certain I have every right to enter." She cock an eyebrow at him as though daring him to contradict her.
He couldn't of course, the house was indeed owned by the Custodians. A halfway house they called it, yet he was provided all he needed, provided he stayed within his restrictions. A veritable luxury prison as it were. She fished out an evidence bag and put it over her hand before picking up the heart and pulling the bag over it. She pocketed it within one of the large pouches inside her coat. He sat down on the worn out sofa and motioned around the room with a sweep of his arm.
"So when will the Fathomers show up to raid through my stuff and my head?" He asked with contempt colouring his tone.
"They won't. This is a matter of High Security. The Council of Minds has declared only Custodians may handle this due to...special circumstances. We don't want to cause a panic."
"You mean you don't want people to think the WarFang is still alive?" He asked.
She rolled her eyes, "No they all know you are alive, but we don't want a bunch of amateur vigilantes trying to storm this place if they find out the methods were the same." She said.
"As if you lot would let me escape your watchful 'protection.'" He spat out the last word, venom lacing his tone.
"It's necessary in case of a...relapse." She spoke the last word quietly as though it hurt to say.
He looked away from her with a snort, "A relapse? Like following unsavoury orders no one else is willing to do is a disease." He snarked.
"You went beyond the scope of your orders!" She snapped.
"I neutralised the threat!" He snapped back.
"Wholesale slaughter of an entire embassy doesn't fall under that concept." She retorted.
He looked back at her and scowled, "You would have preferred I left the killer of our daughter to roam free?" He yelled, suddenly angry.
"There was no threat there! They didn't kill our daughter!" She yelled back, hands on her hips.
"I told your bosses where to find the proof! They didn't want to go find it so I did it myself! I found it and the ones who did it!" He fired back and slammed his fist into the arm of the sofa.
"And just where was this evidence? Oh that's right, any evidence there might have been got incinerated when you went off the rails! We couldn't go kicking down the door of the Basrian Embassy just because you say the Shadow Delegation is hiding there with no solid proof." She yelled.
He jumped to his feet and snarled, "You were cowards! Ezra is...." His voice died off as grief entered his words at the mention of his second twin daughter's name.
"Ezra is the reason Sapphira is dead, Marcus!" She continued yelling, "As much as I wish it wasn't true, her wild goose chase got Sapphira killed and herself locked away somewhere even I can't access. You need to accept that!" Tears fell as she yelled, raw emotion showing wounds that were still oozing and exposed.
He stepped back as though slapped, yet anger coloured his words, "Get out! I don't know why you are even here other than to harass me!" He barked and pointed up the stairs.
She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and stepped back. When she opened them again the hurt and anger were gone, replaced by professional neutrality. She pulled an envelope out of her jacket and held it out to him.
"Against my better judgement, the Council and my commander have decided to solicit your help in these killings." She stated matter of factly.
"What? You couldn't find another sucker with access to infernal magic? No Soul Scorchers jumped at the chance?" He asked, referencing his old platoon of dark magic wielders.
"They were the first we asked, the next day they disappeared, leaving only their spirit rings on their bunks. Since then we've found them all...dead. You were the strongest of them all, more so even. We need you." She said.
He couldn't speak for a moment, his platoon had been the last resort black ops crew, used when the government was out of other options; given vague orders to allow them the flexibility to achieve their goals. A lot of this flexibility required selective blindness to their operations. As long as they weren't caught or identified on a mission, their extreme measures were generally sanctioned.
"That's impossible. What the hell could have killed a dozen elites? What do you expect me to do? I don't have my powers anymore. I'm normal remember, hell less than normal." He said darkly. He could see a pained expression cross her face as though the very thought repulsed her. Finally she spoke.
"Since you have been cleared of any involvement, I have been authorised to bring you along with me on this investigation." She said. She pulled a small softly glowing stone from her pocket. He recognised it immediately as she continued.
"I've also been authorised to allow you use of your abilities should I feel they be needed." She said.
He snorted at the almost insulting offer, yet it meant he could get out of this deceiving prison, even if only for a while.
"Needed? Like a watchdog or something? A glorified security guard?" He asked.
"Essentially, if -" She said but was cut off as he held up a hand.
"No thanks, I'm not some mutt you can bring out at your beck and call." He said, "It's tragic to hear the demise of my former comrades, but from what I've heard and seen so far, this isn't my fight."
She frowned at him, "You would let more people die? More of our comrades?" She asked. He answered with only a shrug. She knew that a different tactic would be required.
"Well I guess it makes sense, being afraid to fight someone who is clearly better than you at using your own magickal nature. You've already disgraced the name enough, what's one more maniac running around doing the same?" She half taunted.
He cocked an eyebrow unwilling to be tricked into an ego contest, yet she continued.
"You were known for being merciless regardless of your enemy, may as well let this nutjob add child killer to the list." She said, raising her own eyebrow in response.
It was his turn to frown, "What are you talking about?"
She pulled out a small stack of pictures from within her coat and showed him each one in turn.
"It wasn't just the Shadow Delegation he murdered. He went after their families too. Dozen of teens and young kids. E even left the same note at the scene of two previous kills we couldn't connect. You are now that connection. For whatever reason, he seems to be doing this in your name. Killing kids who's only crime was being born in Amorak." She said solemnly.
She let this information slowly sink in, paying close attention to his expression.
"Can you really let this guy stain your name, your legacy, in this manner?" She stared at him as she asked.
He didn't answer at first, his eyes glazing over as the memories surfaced briefly. Smoke, screams, desperate grasping hands, terror as those same hands plummeted out of his grasp. He closed his eyes and turned slightly as he forced the horrors back into the darkness of his mind. When he looked back into her eyes, hardness had taken over, the facade restored.
"Fine, but if you choose to do something stupid, you are on your own. I'll back you if you are attacked, but I won't be your weapon just to try and strong arm anyone." He said with finality.
He climbed back upstairs, grabbing his jacket and walked down to her truck with her. They climbed in, in silence, and set off into the city.
~Six Months Ago~
The darkness had eye. It stared relentlessly at the kneeling figure. The figure, a middle aged man with deeply tanned skin and chiselled muscles, was bound with leather ropes tight enough to cut off sensation. His head was bowed, long brown hair obscuring his face. His bare torso glistened with moisture that dripped around him from the ceiling, pooling in puddles on the concrete beneath him. A single light from above emitted a cone of illumination that cut through the darkness around the kneeling man.
"I prostrate myself for your wisdom and blessing, Oh Great One. Allow me to become the Avatar of your Will." The man whispered, his voice trembling in time to the fluttering in his gut.
Green smoke slowly trailed out from the deep shadows, writhing like vines, alive and dangerous. His breath caught at the sight of the trailing smoke and he almost pushed himself back. He knew he had to be strong to receive the gift. He had to be strong to fulfil his purpose, to finish what the WarFang had started. He would make his idol proud, make him notice him. His voice trembled once more as a tendril rose in front of him, taking on the form of a generic blank face.
"Great One, I offer myself as your vessel. Grant me the strength to fulfil my mission." He whispered.
~You seek great power? You ask much but offer so little. I will instead take you as my own...~ A voice murmured in his mind, cold and ancient. More tendrils rose around him, serpents of living smoke regarding him with their eyeless stares.
"Great One, I have offered you much! The lives of traitors, the ones who would defy your will! Surely that is enough?" He questioned, his muscles trembling at the sight of the smoke gathering around him in increasing numbers.
His skin stung as though burning as a tender slithered around his neck, holding him still and lifting him into a high kneel. Deep laughter came from the face in the smoke, it's eyes now glowing with a deep emerald hue.
~A few petty lives? Hardly. The life of a zealot though shall be a delicious meal.~ The voice said malevolently.
The sting flared into a scorching burn and the man screamed, echoing around the empty space. At the peak of the scream the face surged forward and invaded the mouth of the man. Smoke raced down his throat, the energy of the being absorbing into the man's body. His muscles thrashed in a seizure, straining against his bonds. Green energy flowed down through his veins, standing out from his skin. The leather creaked as the muscles beneath bulged and flexed. As the last of the smoke filtered down into the body, the scream ended and the bindings snapped, his arms stopping straight out from his shoulders.
Slowly, with practised grace he rose to his feet, the green glow coalescing bright in his now Emerald Eyes, the iris glowing brightly. He looked down and the same deep laughter that had been in his mind came forth from him now.
"This body will do nicely," He said with a chuckle.
He held his left hand in front of him and watched a sphere of jade flame form above his palm. With a grunt he threw the sphere to the ground in front of him. It exploded upwards, enveloping him entirely. When the flames cleared, the man was gone. The only trace being the broken leather cord from his wrists that crackled for a moment with energy before it too, faded.
~Present~
The Tahoe pulled up in front of burned out shell of a building where the Shadow Delegation and their families had been exterminated and their hearts cut out. Yellow and black tape had been strung across the entire perimeter of the ruin. Marcus and Katarina stepped out and surveyed the scene. It had been a warehouse once, back when magical labour was still cheaper than average people, before the restrictions, before the war.
There were still hints in the charred remains of what had once been piles of arcane ores, their energies now long depleted. The dead shells of crystal would have been repurposed as decorative stones or crushed into fine powder for holistic medicines. Katarina stopped at the hazard tape and nodded at the wreckage.
"We came to investigate an arson and found the bodies inside. The Fathomers found traces of Infernal magick within the corpses. Specifically Infernal Lightning." She let the statement hand in the for a moment before continuing.
"You are the only person on record with that particular type. You teach anyone else about it on the sly? As a just incase? Like one of your old team?" She asked.
He shook his head and ducked under the tape, striding into the wreck, not looking to see if she followed.
"That's not how it works for us. We don't make contracts like others. We focus the essence of the energy through ourselves, through the lens of our soul and it manifests in a unique way. Most is with fire, each subtly different than the next. Each also usually has a speciality only they can use." He said.
He paused in the middle of the floor, his foot brushing around some of the debris and detritus. Something felt...off. He knelt down and scuffed his fingers through the charred junk. After a moment his fingers brushed a piece of leather cord, charred at the edges but still recognisable. The world shifted and flashes filled his mind. Violence, pain, screams, the crackle of lightning. He shook his head and forced the images down. What the hell had that been?
"You find something?" She asked as she caught up with him.
He subtly wrapped his hand around the piece of cord, careful not to let her see him pocket it.
"No, but the Fathomers were right, definitely Infernal energies were here, this place is saturated in it. That would be why he chose this place. The ores would have soaked up the residual energies until one of them ruptured and triggered a chain reaction of hellfire through the entire place." He said, brushing his hands on his pants.
"How can you tell? You arn't supposed to be able to use magic with your powers sealed." She said with a frown.
"Using and feeling are two drastically different things. Just because you shut off the source doesn't mean you can't smell the gas when someone else uses it." He said.
She checked the stone in her pocket to confirm his seal was still in place and nodded.
"Alright, what else do you sense here? The Fathomers couldn't find a trail our of the building. It was like the perp just vanished." She said.
He sighed and shook his head. That was the problem with being part of a shady unit for the government. No one outside the circle got to know your secrets, but now he was the only one left in the circle.
"Infernal perk. If we arn't actively channelling then we don't give off a signal like regulars." He said.
She frowned again as she spoke, "So that's how you managed to get inside the Keep on the Amarok border. How you managed to catch them off guard." She said softly.
He nodded slowly, looking around the site, peering at carious spots, looking for further indications of a signature for whomever did this. He ignored the sound of rubble falling, soldiers screaming that echoed in his thoughts at the mention of the the night at the Keep.
He refocused himself and kicked some ashes off a deep etching in the floor, a magick circle. The Fathomers had cleared it off thoroughly to examine it. Katarina walked over and joined him, looking down at the circle and it's exotic runes.
"We've never seen anything like it. Not even our contact in your branch could tell us anything about it." She said.
"Of course not." He said as he squatted down and lightly touched the edge of the circle, it crackled at his touch before fizzing out in a puff of smoke.
In a heartbeat she had drawn her pistol and pressed it against his temple. "Easy slick, don't try anything." She said.
He rolled his eyes and kept his hands still, "I didn't do anything, It's residual energy from a ritual. I'm not sure of it's purpose but a lot of energy passed through here." He said. Something spoke to him about this circle. Studying the runes further as she put her weapon away, it dawned on him that this was a summoning circle. A circle for something big maybe, but he couldn't be sure.
"Something was summoned here and not just for a conversation." He said tracing the runes with his finger tip.
"Summoned? That's not possible, the WardNet around the city stops anything like that." She said incredulously.
"And yet here we have a clearly used circle for that exact purpose..." He said.
His fingers lingered on a specific symbol in the sequence around it's edges. The sign of Mardo, old school rune casting. He hadn't heard about the Cult of Mardo for decades. Had one survived? No, they wouldn't have left the circle intact. They had been smarter than that. Everyone knew you didn't leave a doorway standing. You had no idea what might come knocking on it's own.
The Fathomers had made sure that the circle was disabled, evidenced by the large X scored through most of the design, but not quite enough to fully disperse the last traces of energy. This was looking more and more like the work of an amateur. A dedicated psychotic amateur, but beggared the question; where and how did this amateur get the materials for this design? This type of magic was outlawed in Kodampa specifically because of the damage an imperfect ritual could wreak upon a city.
Shutting down foreign circles on battlefields had been his team's speciality during the wars, so he knew all kinds of horrors that might pop through. But nothing as complex as this. While it was clearly an amateur, somehow he/she had access to circle schematics well beyond their level. It didn't make sense.
He stood and walked back towards the car with Katarina trailing behind.
"Where are you going?" She asked, "We aren't leaving until you enlighten me."
He stopped by the passenger side door, "I'll tell you on the way, I've got a bad feeling about this." He said.
She sighed in resignation, she couldn't complain, he had figured out on his own in five minutes what it had taken a full team of Fathomers and an Archival Link to figure out. As of yet, they had found no gaps in the WardNet, or any indication how the summoning had gone undetected. She climbed in and followed the directions he gave.
~Six Months ago~
The Man with the Emerald Eyes watched the crowds flow back and forth from his perch upon the roof. Such change in the time he had slumbered, so much to take in and learn. He revelled in the passing thoughts of the mortals beneath, such creativity, such cruelty. Countless lives driven by greed, lust and rage. He closed his eyes and turned to face the expansive residential blocks, letting his senses cast out into the night. Yes, he was out there, he could feel him. The one whom he much of his success to. He would repay what had been gifted to him, to give aid so this other could rise just as he had. Then they could take their rightful place at the peak of all.
These people needed to learn their place, to fear that which towered above their pitiful station. He knew exactly where to start. He cast his senses out once more, expanding across the city until he felt a prickle of thought, flashes of images darting across his mind. Laughter, malice, a bloodied young girl. This is where he had to begin the foundation, a solid background before he made his offer. Recalling his mind, he felt a smile split his face as he stepped off the roof, leaving only a faint green haze in his wake. Time to even the score.
~Present Day~
Marcus stepped off the curb, his eyes darting back and forth as he watched for traffic. He jogged across the street, waving an apology to a driver who had to slow to avoid him and blared his horn. He hopped up onto the opposing curb and looked up at the towering building before him. The Central Bazaar, the hub of all magickal trade in the city, both clean and murky. He waited for his babysitter to join him before heading inside, weaving between groups in the crowded entrance lobby.
"What are we doing here, Marcus?" Katarina asked.
His stride barely slowed as he glanced over his shoulder and spoke, "To as a weirdo about weird things." He said.
As they entered the main doors an alarm bleeped a shrill note as she passed through it. Two large men in cheap suits with dark glasses and long slender canes hanging from their belts. No doubt true sight enchanted and loaded with stunner spells. The smaller of the two held up his hand in front of Marcus and Katarina.
"No unrestrained arcane objects in the market, Miss." The smaller man said.
She responded by pulling out her Custodian ID.
"Custodian, I'm authorized to carry as I see fit." She stated, making sure they got a good look at her badge.
The man nodded and stepped back, allowing her to pass.
"Just keep it to a minimum, a lot of volatile magicks floating around these days." He said.
They disappeared into the crowd as quickly as they had appeared, leaving the two of them to their own devices. Marcus headed straight for the lifts, open air platforms with simple railings. They rode to the 13th floor and began walking amongst the stalls.
"What are we looking for?" She asked as she trailed behind him, trying not to get distracted by some of the more questionable merchants.
"Stall 13, it'll have 13 of every item." He said.
She raised an eyebrow in question to this but followed his lead. They finally found it, 13 stalls from the back by the 13th pillar of the floor. The stall held 13 different items in groups of 13. Clearly this stall owner believed in the Old Methods, before magick had re-emerged into the main stream world.
Marcus cleared his throat and knocked on the table thirteen times. At once a wizened old man appeared in a puff of theatrical smoke, coughing and hacking at the fumes. The stench of brimstone filled the air. Katarina coughed as the cloud dispersed, waving her hand to try and clear the smoke.
"Brimstone? Really? Stereotype much?" She asked dryly.
The elderly man straightened and brushed his robes flat, scattering glittering dust everywhere. "Only the weak of mind and spirit consider such things in such a light." He proclaimed in a slightly squeaky voice.
Marcus tilted his hand once in a slight wave of greeting and smiled at the indignation.
"Hey Rufus, what's shakin'?" He asked.
Rufus adjusted his wire rimmed gold spectacles and peered at him. His eyes widened and his wild grey hair trembled as he threw his arms into the air.
"Frost and Flames! It's you! I thought you were under house arrest?" He exclaimed.
Marcus nodded to himself and reached up to scratch the back of his neck and twitched a thumb at Katarina. "Yeah, they let me out on a leash." He said sarcastically.
"One that's about to become much shorter if you don't watch your tone." She said sweetly in the same sarcastic tone.
Rufus stroked his long white moustaches in mild amusement.
"Well what are you in the market for? A potion? A spell? A traditional ritual mat? I have some very nice Celtic Runestones in stock, hard to find." He said in a low conspirational tone.
"And also very illegal." Katarina said, putting her hands on her hips.
"Only if they are used for dark magicks, as an inert decoration they are very stylish." He paused to glare at her, "You're not a cop are you? Nosy bastards are always sticking their nose where it doesn't belong." He said.
She had her badge ID out in a flash, the movement showing off not only the standard issue pistol on her hip, but also the enchanted revolver on her shoulder. Enchanted Iron for things that go bump in the night. She smirked at his startled jump and nervous fussing with his beard.
"Well, I, uh, you'll find everything on the level here." He said as he kicked a box behind him through the curtain.
Marcus headed off the confrontation by holding up his hands between the two of them. "Easy both of you, we aren't here to cause problems or disturb your business, we just need some information." He said in a level tone.
She put her badge away and adjusted the pistol on her hip, drawing a gulp from Rufus.
"Certainly, of course, what is it you need to know?" He asked.
Marcus pulled the piece of leather cord out of his pocket, a move that drew a look from Katarina. He made a point to ignore it. "I found this at a site that had seen some pretty heavy stuff, I cant go into details, but I need to know if you felt this energy any time before last night?" He said as he handed it over to the old man.
Rufus took it in his aged hands and peered at it through his spectacles, muttering as he did so. "Simple cord, enchanted for strength, saturated with...Infernal magicks." He said with a pale face. "I don't know who you are after but whoever it is, is most likely working for the government, though they'd never admit it. They are the only ones who would sanction that kind of magick use." He finished.
Marcus shook his head in response, "Definitely not government, someone else." He said.
"That's a problem then, a rogue Infernal magick user is not something I'd want to run into on a dark night." He said. He pulled a box of crystals up from beneath his stall and began rummaging through them.
"Oh good, crystals," Katarina said, her voice dripping sarcasm.
Marcus shot her a glare and motioned Rufus to continue, "Ignore her, she's just mad she has to have me around for security." He said.
She humphed and turned her back on the stall, glaring out at the crowds, watching customers flit from stall to stall. Rufus began pulling out stones, holding each above the cord on the table for a moment before discarding it back into the box. Finally one of them began to glow and vibrate softly. He set it down beside the cord and nodded. The jade gemstone slowly pulsed, brighter each time, vibrating harder and harder. The old man's eyes went wide for a moment.
"Oh dear, you might want to -" He started to say but was cut off when the stone shattered with a loud crack.
Katarina jerked and spun, pulling her Enchanted Iron free as the magic escaped the stone and dissipated. She had the hammer of the big piece cocked, finger half squeezing the trigger, riding the edge.
Marcus quickly grabbed her by the wrist and crook of her elbow, forcing her hands upwards. The sudden movement jerked the trigger a hair more, setting off the weapon. Bright orange fire swirled around the barrel and screamed out towards the ceiling where it struck the warded stone and dissipated with a shimmering shudder as the thunder faded and the noise of the Bazaar fell silent for a few moments before gradually resuming. It wasn't unusual for items to react in a loud and flashy manner, though not many did so quite as intensely.
Marcus shoved her hands away from the old man and snarled, "Are you crazy? It's just a sense stone!"
She pulled her hands away and holstered the weapon. "I heard the bang and felt the magic, custodians have wound up dead because they didn't take such things seriously." She said glaring at Marcus as she continued. "I know how to handle Iron, Marcus. Touch me like that again and you'll find out just how well. We are NOT married any more. Boundaries." She said, just as fierce.
She turned to the stall owner who cowered behind the counter. She put her hands before her, palms together in apology, bowed her head solemnly and spoke respectfully.
"I apologize for scaring you Sir, being a Custodian is a dangerous job." She said.
Rufus swallowed, his attention fully on the pile of dust that had once been a sense stone, "Well my dear, I fear your job has just gotten considerably more dangerous. Whatever was carrying that energy is not a denizen of this world."
He snapped his fingers at his stock, boxes and displays which began closing by themselves.
"I don't know where it was pulled from but I don't intend to stick around and find out." He said as he shoved the now small containers into his carry case and hurried off into the crowd without saying anything else.
Marcus frowned deeply as he watched the old scurry away into the flowing crowds.
"That's the first time I've seen anything unsettle him that badly," He said curiously.
"What did he mean by not a denizen? Everything, even the uglies from over yonder, have some kind of link to this realm," She said, hand on her hip just above her pistol.
"Really? Everything?" He asked.
She nodded and picked up the cord he had given the old man. "Yes, everything that emerges from a portal is born from mortal thought. Think anthropomorphic personifications for nightmares." She said.
He shivered at her words as memories surfaced; the roars of horrors echoing through his mind for a long moment. He had fought his fair share of things from beyond on the battlefield and he knew that even though they were born from mortal thought, they had a life of their own.
"So they exist because we imagine them?" He asked.
She shook her head and explained further, "They do, but they are more than that. They have their own energy and life on that side but take the form that our expectations have on them, what we have imagined them to be since the dawn of mankind." She said, "That's how they link to our world and can be summoned through circles, they use our perceptions."
He rubbed his chin as he pondered this. He had experience dealing with summons on the battle field and in strange deserted keeps in the middle of no where, where odd cults decide they could make the world in their own image. He had seen many circles being activated and the aftermath of that activation, but he had little knowledge of the actual mechanics of setting up a circle. He also knew that not everything had a perceived form. Some things were so primordial that they had drifted even out of myth. Deep, base things like Rhy-dem, and almost forgotten deity of a long extinct tribe of jungle shaman.
An over enthusiastic archaeologist scholar had summoned him way out in the boonies of the southern jungles and became enslaved to it. IT had manifested as a raging flaming tornado, though the texts described it as a 'Manabere'. Problem was, no one knew what that was or what it looked like.
He turned from the now empty stall and started walking through the crowds. Katarina walked by his side, eyeing those around them.
"So what now? He didn't exactly tell us much," she said, clearly disappointed.
He shook his head in response, "He told us plenty, we just need to figure out who would be powerful enough and crazy enough to summon something so ancient it scared the wits out of Rufus." He said.
"What;s so special about that guy anyway? What makes his particular brand od fear an authority on what we are dealing with?" She asked
"Believing it or not, his is a leading authority on the things that go bump in the night. Pretty sure he wrote the literal book on summoning that the military uses." He said.
She stopped and grabbed his arm looking into his eyes with shock, "That was Rufus Plack? THE Rufus Plack? How on earth do you know him and why the hell was he working a stall in a magickal market?" She demanded, her eyes darting around trying to spot him again despite being long gone.
"Let's just say that certain things happened and certain people were very upset so he had to make a quiet and subtle exit from the world. He's quite happy with his new quiet life, at least he was until today." He said thoughtfully.
She released his arm and continued walking the way they had been headed.
"We need to talk to an archival link. I need to know what other incidents match the warehouse traces." He said.
"I'll see who is on duty right now, the Fathomers have most of them tied up these days." She said pulling out her cellphone.
~Six Months Ago~
The agent of the Shadow Delegation watched the shadows from his post by the main gates. His Breath hung in the frozen night air. It was always cold during the Erebus, so named because the sun dipped below the horizon for three months straight and the dark that remained was categorically stygian.
Snow fell in tiny flakes, glittering in the lamp light like stars again the plutonian shade that draped this part of the world. He had heard that to the south they had the opposite, where it was warm daylight for three months. He didn't know what it was called but it sounded divine. He was so tired of the dark and the cold. The crunch of snow in the black broke him out of his daydream and he cast his flashlight around at the gloom.
"Oie, Oie, quit muckin about and show yourself, alright?" He said firmly. He cast the light around some more and thought he heard soft laughter out there in the dark.
"I hear you kids out there! I'm only gonna tell you once you hear? Hop it!" He shouted to the shadows.
~Bloody kids...~ He thought to himself.
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