Chapter 10
Invisible to the eyes of mere humans, the Shadow Hunter moved swiftly through the crowd of New Yorkers and night-lifers.
The neon signs overhead were making him extremely dizzy, and the crowd brought back some leftover claustrophobia from his childhood. But he had little choice. If he stayed in the crowd, the mages of the Silent Circle would think twice before attacking him.
As he rounded a corner, the night sounds of Manhattan died away. It became abruptly quiet, and the Hunter called off his invisibility spell.
He was in a deserted alleyway, and there was no sound except for a crow's cawing. A bedraggled junkie lay in a messy heap in a dank corner. The smell was intorelable.
The Hunter knelt beside the junkie, whose bearded and pock-marked face was partially hidden in shadow.
"Let me pass," whispered the Shadow Hunter.
The homeless man turned to look at him with sunken eyes. He uttered feebly, "What's the code?"
"None shall speak within the Solem Barrier," replied the Hunter.
The man's lifeless eyes seemed to roll upwards into their sockets, and the whites stood out prominently in the darkness. Then the man let out a painful, resigning yell, and from the concrete floor rose a cylindrical structure the Hunter recognised as a Lock Stone.
Like the floor, the Lock Stone was concrete. It looked extremely plain, especially in the dark, where the exotic black markings could barely be seen. A vertical slit sat on the flat concrete face.
The Shadow Hunter slipped Cerberes through the slit, as if the Lock Stone were a giant sheath. As the hilt touched the topface, the markings lit up in a brilliant blue, illuminating the alley.
The junkie was still writhing against the brick, graffitied wall as it cracked resoundingly. The crack worked its way up the wall, slowly at first, then at breakneck speed.
Suddenly, the building that formed the right wall of the alleyway imploded. The Shadow Hunter brought his hand up to shield his eyes from the sudden burst of light. When he got used to it, he stepped towards it, through the crumbling hole.
As soon as he disappeared through the debris, the wall sealed itself back up.
There was a chair, and an old coffee table, and a blinding lamp. Behind the table sat a hunching, hooded figure.
As the Hunter removed his own hood, the figure did the same, revealing the wrinkled face of a haggard old lady. She smiled, flashing approximately six yellowed teeth.
"Cabal Strider..." sneered the woman. The Hunter could hardly take his eyes off hers: one was white and dead, while the other was green and alive with a fire he could not quite place.
He sat on the chair facing her. "Tell me, Madam Reika." He placed the files he had stolen from the High Order's HQ on the coffee table.
Without moving any other part of her body besides her mouth, Madam Reika said, "Wormwood...the accursed town."
The Hunter nodded uncertainly. "What about it?"
"The town plagued by its demonic past. The town plagued with the sin of its founders. The town plagued by a thousand days of total darkness..."
Reika rose, very slowly. Her voice grew eerily soft as she said:
"There is a village by yonder woods,
where once the abyssal demoniacs stood.
Water and wine they lacked not;
only their hearts had they forgot.
And so a curse by their fathers' mistakes:
a curse to either fulfill or break;
a curse from hell's blackened hands;
a curse that up till now still stands."
The Hunter found it hard to breathe. He stood, took the files and turned to leave, uttering his thanks to the hag.
But a skeletal hand grabbed his wrist, preventing him from leaving.
And before he knew it, Madam Reika's face was beside his. She was short, and she stood on a chair to reach him. As she spoke, the Hunter felt his blood freeze.
She said, "Hellfire wants to come back..."
And she cackled.
Sunday, March 02, 2008
Monday, February 18, 2008
A Warning
Chapter 9
Now deep in the forest of Wormwood, four mages found themselves exhausted and dehydrated.
From thin air, Tobias conjured three flasks, passing them around to his fellow magicians. They drank sparringly, though they knew any one of them could just conjure more water if they ran out. Still, it was better to play safe; magic required energy, and a dehydrated mage was a dead one.
Bane handed his flask to Longfang, whom Tobias had conveniently forgotten while producing the precious water. Longfang drank, spat, and took another gulp.
"Way to go," said Tobias, the disgust in his voice emminent. "You just wasted a mouthful of water."
Panzer looked at the elf with amusement in his eyes. "I'm sorry. Once I get my Channel back, I'll repay you twofold."
Tobias lunged forward, but Alyson--who had been recuperated by Bane--held him back.
"Relax, Tobias," she said soothingly.
Gritting his teeth, the elf slackened his muscles, and Alyson took her cue to let go.
"Enough of this, Tobias," Bane ordered. "We have more important things that you can waste energy on, so save it for now."
Reluctantly, Tobias replied, "Yes, sir."
Bane turned to continue moving when something bounded past him, causing him to jump back. That something rounded about, rearing up and kicking its hooved legs. Bane, Tobias and Alyson pulled out their Channels defensively as the creature stamped on the ground.
It, or he, had sapphire eyes. A mop of long, black hair framed his squarish, bearded face. His naked torso was that of a human male, and was broad, sloping down towards his lean abs. His muscular arms were crossed proudly across his hairy chest.
Of course, that did not seem at all strange. What was strange was that this rather handsome man's upper body was attached to a tanned horse's body, hooves, tail and all. Bane knew instantly what this creature was.
He was a centaur.
"What do you want?" Bane asked, his finger tight around the trigger.
"I should be asking you that, human," rumbled the centaur.
Bane lowered his weapons, taking a step forward. The centaur watched him warily.
"He sure has a thing for trusting people today," Alyson muttered to Tobias.
The elf shrugged. "Maybe we're still in that wisp."
Then they both shushed; Bane had spoken. "My name is Justin Bane. That's Alyson Reed. The elf's called Tobias Bolt, and the rugged-looking man's Panzer Longfang."
He was being completely honest. He had to be; centaurs had a knack for recognising and disposing of liars. And there was no way he wanted to be part of a centaur's Burning Ritual, their annual sacrifice to the Forest Spirits.
The centaur seemed extremely wary of them, and when he spoke he did so with much caution in his voice. "My name is Blitzon, from the Nothern Tribe. You are in our territory."
"I'm sorry," said Bane, slowly. He wracked his brains, deciding to take a gamble. "We're looking for a group of lost children. There has been deaths recently. Have you seen or heard anything?"
"Are you accusing me of something?" demanded Blitzon, scratching the dirt with his hoof.
Bane took a step back, lowering his body. "No, I wouldn't dare. But it is important, if you know anything, that you tell me about any suspiscious happenings in this forest of late."
Blitzon was silent, and Bane knew the centaur was wondering if he could trust them. Finally, he relented, saying, "Recently, another human has been passing in and out of the Solem Barrier. She had children with her. We have tried to drive her out, but..."
And suddenly Bane understood. They had lost to a human being, and a woman at that. It was a disgrace to their tribe, and they probably grew more careful after the confrontation.
"A woman, you say?"
Nodding, Blitzon said, "A blond-haired one. Her prowess over the magical arts are extensive, to the point that she doesn't even require an external Channel, like you possess."
Bane, Alyson and Tobias gasped in unison. A mage with no Channel taking down a band of centaurs? How in the magical world was that possible?
"I warn you, human," Blitzon continued, his gaze intense, his voice low. "Do not attempt to go after this woman. For if you do, you would most surely die."
And with that, the centaur galloped off, disappearing through the foliage.
Bane turned, his eyes meeting Alyson's, then Tobias'.
"Did you guys hear that?" Bane asked, his mind numb.
Both Alyson and Tobias nodded. The former said, "Looks like Longfang is innocent, and our problems just got a lot worse."
Now deep in the forest of Wormwood, four mages found themselves exhausted and dehydrated.
From thin air, Tobias conjured three flasks, passing them around to his fellow magicians. They drank sparringly, though they knew any one of them could just conjure more water if they ran out. Still, it was better to play safe; magic required energy, and a dehydrated mage was a dead one.
Bane handed his flask to Longfang, whom Tobias had conveniently forgotten while producing the precious water. Longfang drank, spat, and took another gulp.
"Way to go," said Tobias, the disgust in his voice emminent. "You just wasted a mouthful of water."
Panzer looked at the elf with amusement in his eyes. "I'm sorry. Once I get my Channel back, I'll repay you twofold."
Tobias lunged forward, but Alyson--who had been recuperated by Bane--held him back.
"Relax, Tobias," she said soothingly.
Gritting his teeth, the elf slackened his muscles, and Alyson took her cue to let go.
"Enough of this, Tobias," Bane ordered. "We have more important things that you can waste energy on, so save it for now."
Reluctantly, Tobias replied, "Yes, sir."
Bane turned to continue moving when something bounded past him, causing him to jump back. That something rounded about, rearing up and kicking its hooved legs. Bane, Tobias and Alyson pulled out their Channels defensively as the creature stamped on the ground.
It, or he, had sapphire eyes. A mop of long, black hair framed his squarish, bearded face. His naked torso was that of a human male, and was broad, sloping down towards his lean abs. His muscular arms were crossed proudly across his hairy chest.
Of course, that did not seem at all strange. What was strange was that this rather handsome man's upper body was attached to a tanned horse's body, hooves, tail and all. Bane knew instantly what this creature was.
He was a centaur.
"What do you want?" Bane asked, his finger tight around the trigger.
"I should be asking you that, human," rumbled the centaur.
Bane lowered his weapons, taking a step forward. The centaur watched him warily.
"He sure has a thing for trusting people today," Alyson muttered to Tobias.
The elf shrugged. "Maybe we're still in that wisp."
Then they both shushed; Bane had spoken. "My name is Justin Bane. That's Alyson Reed. The elf's called Tobias Bolt, and the rugged-looking man's Panzer Longfang."
He was being completely honest. He had to be; centaurs had a knack for recognising and disposing of liars. And there was no way he wanted to be part of a centaur's Burning Ritual, their annual sacrifice to the Forest Spirits.
The centaur seemed extremely wary of them, and when he spoke he did so with much caution in his voice. "My name is Blitzon, from the Nothern Tribe. You are in our territory."
"I'm sorry," said Bane, slowly. He wracked his brains, deciding to take a gamble. "We're looking for a group of lost children. There has been deaths recently. Have you seen or heard anything?"
"Are you accusing me of something?" demanded Blitzon, scratching the dirt with his hoof.
Bane took a step back, lowering his body. "No, I wouldn't dare. But it is important, if you know anything, that you tell me about any suspiscious happenings in this forest of late."
Blitzon was silent, and Bane knew the centaur was wondering if he could trust them. Finally, he relented, saying, "Recently, another human has been passing in and out of the Solem Barrier. She had children with her. We have tried to drive her out, but..."
And suddenly Bane understood. They had lost to a human being, and a woman at that. It was a disgrace to their tribe, and they probably grew more careful after the confrontation.
"A woman, you say?"
Nodding, Blitzon said, "A blond-haired one. Her prowess over the magical arts are extensive, to the point that she doesn't even require an external Channel, like you possess."
Bane, Alyson and Tobias gasped in unison. A mage with no Channel taking down a band of centaurs? How in the magical world was that possible?
"I warn you, human," Blitzon continued, his gaze intense, his voice low. "Do not attempt to go after this woman. For if you do, you would most surely die."
And with that, the centaur galloped off, disappearing through the foliage.
Bane turned, his eyes meeting Alyson's, then Tobias'.
"Did you guys hear that?" Bane asked, his mind numb.
Both Alyson and Tobias nodded. The former said, "Looks like Longfang is innocent, and our problems just got a lot worse."
Friday, February 15, 2008
Framed
Chapter 8
High above a towering building, at the top floor, a large man sat in a tall armchair. His dark, shaved head seemed to glimmer in the dim light of his office, and his muscles rippled beneath his coat. He looked out of his one-way window, a mirthless smile etched on his face.
The computer on his desk, which had been on screensaver mode for quite some time, lit up with a beep. The man swivelled his seat about calmly, his gaze falling upon the screen. Upon seeing its contents, he smiled, and returned to the window.
"I'll make you pay," he said, his voice a rumbling bass tone. "I'll make you pay for breaking in."
The man reached beneath his coat, retrieving a fat cigar. Placing it in his mouth, he held up his free hand.
A small tongue of fire ignited in his open palm, which he brought towards the cigar. He inhaled deeply, then blew out a puff of smoke, still smiling.
Then, as he pondered about the events that were about to take place, he broke into low, frightening laughter.
*** *** ***
The Hunter had fallen into a half-sleep in the tent he had conjured up. It was all an illusion--the luxurious bed, the soft pillow, and the warm covers--but an illusion that fooled the mind into thinking the body was living in comfort; an illusion the Hunter did not mind falling into.
Dreams came and went, foggy in the Hunter's mind. They woke him up, along with the sounds of the woods. But slowly, his eyes would flutter, and he would be asleep again. It was an annoying cycle, but one that would keep him alive.
He could not remember when was the last time he had had a sound sleep. Now, he could not afford such a pleasure: alertness was the key to his survival.
When the Hunter fell asleep, the homely illusion would be shut off--another safety mechanism of the spell, lest he completely drifted off. However, this time, it did not.
And so the Shadow Hunter fell, for the first time in years, into a deep sleep...
*** *** ***
Something woke him up. The crunch of footsteps on fallen leaves perhaps? How long had he been asleep?
Immediately, he reached for Cerberes, rendering himself invisible. He exited his illusionary tent cautiously.
A blast from nowhere, too sudden for the Hunter to respond to, brought him to his knees. He found himself bound by a thick, glowing rope. Another blast, and he felt something coiling around his neck.
Mages and wizards, many of them. They could see and target him, which meant most of them were advanced spellcasters.
No longer focused, the Hunter's invisibility spell wore off. He groped whatever was suffocating him, trying to pry it off him, but a third blast threw his hands above his head, completely immobilising him.
As his consciousness began to waver, the Hunter saw a familiar face emerging from the darkness. But the face became unclear, shrouded in a growing mist.
He was falling faster and faster into a deep abyss...but, no, he couldn't. He couldn't stop now...
"CERBERES!" he managed to choke.
The enchanted blade emitted a powerful glow, bursting forth from its sheath and spinning wildly. The light that emanated from it flew in several directions, exploding into the enemy mages and the Hunter's binds.
Free, the Shadow Hunter took a moment to breathe and regain his full consciousness. Then he sprang to his feet, grabbed hold of Cerberes, and was gone in an instant.
One of the mages who had been thrown back by Cerberes' attack cried, "He's gotten away!"
The other wizards rose to stand, brushing off the dust on their cloaks and coats. The man known as Greg said, "What now, sir?"
Jonah Elisior sighed wearily. "He's sure to lay low after this. Return to the Circle and continue tracking him."
Ten mages teleported, leaving behind ten puffs of smoke and dust.
High above a towering building, at the top floor, a large man sat in a tall armchair. His dark, shaved head seemed to glimmer in the dim light of his office, and his muscles rippled beneath his coat. He looked out of his one-way window, a mirthless smile etched on his face.
The computer on his desk, which had been on screensaver mode for quite some time, lit up with a beep. The man swivelled his seat about calmly, his gaze falling upon the screen. Upon seeing its contents, he smiled, and returned to the window.
"I'll make you pay," he said, his voice a rumbling bass tone. "I'll make you pay for breaking in."
The man reached beneath his coat, retrieving a fat cigar. Placing it in his mouth, he held up his free hand.
A small tongue of fire ignited in his open palm, which he brought towards the cigar. He inhaled deeply, then blew out a puff of smoke, still smiling.
Then, as he pondered about the events that were about to take place, he broke into low, frightening laughter.
*** *** ***
The Hunter had fallen into a half-sleep in the tent he had conjured up. It was all an illusion--the luxurious bed, the soft pillow, and the warm covers--but an illusion that fooled the mind into thinking the body was living in comfort; an illusion the Hunter did not mind falling into.
Dreams came and went, foggy in the Hunter's mind. They woke him up, along with the sounds of the woods. But slowly, his eyes would flutter, and he would be asleep again. It was an annoying cycle, but one that would keep him alive.
He could not remember when was the last time he had had a sound sleep. Now, he could not afford such a pleasure: alertness was the key to his survival.
When the Hunter fell asleep, the homely illusion would be shut off--another safety mechanism of the spell, lest he completely drifted off. However, this time, it did not.
And so the Shadow Hunter fell, for the first time in years, into a deep sleep...
*** *** ***
Something woke him up. The crunch of footsteps on fallen leaves perhaps? How long had he been asleep?
Immediately, he reached for Cerberes, rendering himself invisible. He exited his illusionary tent cautiously.
A blast from nowhere, too sudden for the Hunter to respond to, brought him to his knees. He found himself bound by a thick, glowing rope. Another blast, and he felt something coiling around his neck.
Mages and wizards, many of them. They could see and target him, which meant most of them were advanced spellcasters.
No longer focused, the Hunter's invisibility spell wore off. He groped whatever was suffocating him, trying to pry it off him, but a third blast threw his hands above his head, completely immobilising him.
As his consciousness began to waver, the Hunter saw a familiar face emerging from the darkness. But the face became unclear, shrouded in a growing mist.
He was falling faster and faster into a deep abyss...but, no, he couldn't. He couldn't stop now...
"CERBERES!" he managed to choke.
The enchanted blade emitted a powerful glow, bursting forth from its sheath and spinning wildly. The light that emanated from it flew in several directions, exploding into the enemy mages and the Hunter's binds.
Free, the Shadow Hunter took a moment to breathe and regain his full consciousness. Then he sprang to his feet, grabbed hold of Cerberes, and was gone in an instant.
One of the mages who had been thrown back by Cerberes' attack cried, "He's gotten away!"
The other wizards rose to stand, brushing off the dust on their cloaks and coats. The man known as Greg said, "What now, sir?"
Jonah Elisior sighed wearily. "He's sure to lay low after this. Return to the Circle and continue tracking him."
Ten mages teleported, leaving behind ten puffs of smoke and dust.
Saturday, February 09, 2008
Life Story
Chapter 7
The computer beeped, and a man slouching on a chair sat up. He clicked on an incoming message, which opened into a web video. The man, whose sharp nose was hooked like a beak, turned to his colleague.
"Hey, Greg. Take a look at this."
Greg, a thin man with crew-cut black hair, wheeled his chair towards his friend's screen, as the latter replayed the video. They both stared at it, frowning.
It showed a towering, hexagon building set against the starless night sky. As they watched, the video proved uneventful at first, but as it hit fifty seconds, there was a flash of blue. Then a shape had crashed out of one of the windows, disappearing as quickly as it had appeared.
"Whaddya' think?" said the man who had received the video.
"Who's it from?" Greg asked.
"Lemme check." The man typed something, then pulled out a ovular thumbdrive. He attached the device into his CPU, activating a magical link between the computer and his own mind. He closed his eyes.
A second later, he opened them. "I've got nothing. Whoever sent it doesn't want to be traced: I'm being Spellbound."
Greg watched the video again, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
"See that," he said, pausing the video at the point where the shape had burst out from the building. "See that tiny grey spot there? Window Guy here can teleport in mid-air."
Teleportation usually required great concentration, especially for lower-end mages. For an inexperienced (and sometimes, even experienced) mage to teleport while falling meant two things: he would either end up somewhere completely unexpected, or he would remain where he was.
"That's high-level man...unless..."
"Yep," Greg said with a nod. "Chaos Magic."
*** *** ***
The Shadow Hunter stood from his resting place. He was in the middle of a far-flung forest, safe from the prying eyes of both humans and mages. He had cast protective spells over his campsite, and was now eating stolen bread.
The Hunter pulled out his cellphone, an ancient model, but no doubt the most modern thing he had with him. No one knew his number, but it helped him keep track of time.
March 11, 2010. Two years had passed since he left the Silent Circle of Magic. Two long and eventful years. He had accomplished so much, and yet, nothing at all.
He used to have a name, a name well-recognised in the Circle. He used to have a great reputation as a mage, and a promising future. He was even about to get married to a beautiful brunette who--despite not being a mage--knew all about the magical realm and its secrets.
Everything changed one fateful, moonless night.
His name was Ian McKane, but everyone knew him as the Reaper, for he carried a scythe as his Channel. Insanity could not be used to describe him, for he had well surpassed that.
The Shadow Hunter, who then had not adopted the pseudonym, was having dinner with the girl of his dreams when his phone rang. It was call from the Circle, warning him that the Reaper was in his vincinity. The Hunter had insisted that he sent his girlfriend home, but they encountered him nonetheless.
Scythe and katana clashed in a heated battle of magic and blades, and a stray spell ricochetted off the alley walls, colliding into the Hunter's belle as she hid behind a trashbin.
The Hunter screamed as his fiance fell to the ground, her eyes wide open, but void of life. His rage was converted into raw power, and that night he killed the Reaper, but he himself would forever be changed.
He left the Circle to roam as a vigilante, knowing he would never regain the broken pieces of his life and humanity. Knowing he would never hope or love again.
Without lowering his hood, the Shadow Hunter cried. No one was looking or listening, so he cried his heart out...
*** *** ***
"Magnify and scan further," ordered the Chief Sorter, Elder Jonah Elisior.
The man did as he was told. The picture--a screenshot of the anonymous web video--was already a thousand times magnified, and on an ordinary computer could go no further. But this was no ordinary computer.
Even when two thousand times magnified, the picture remained blurred and unclear. Elisior took over, magnifying it to three thousand.
Finally, they got it. The picture revealed a rugged face Elisior immediately recognised.
"Cabal Strider," breathed the Elder. "Where is he now?"
"I've tracked him. He uses magic like I drink whiskey," said a mage.
Elisior sighed inwardly, murmuring, "Why did you turn to the dark side, Strider?"
The computer beeped, and a man slouching on a chair sat up. He clicked on an incoming message, which opened into a web video. The man, whose sharp nose was hooked like a beak, turned to his colleague.
"Hey, Greg. Take a look at this."
Greg, a thin man with crew-cut black hair, wheeled his chair towards his friend's screen, as the latter replayed the video. They both stared at it, frowning.
It showed a towering, hexagon building set against the starless night sky. As they watched, the video proved uneventful at first, but as it hit fifty seconds, there was a flash of blue. Then a shape had crashed out of one of the windows, disappearing as quickly as it had appeared.
"Whaddya' think?" said the man who had received the video.
"Who's it from?" Greg asked.
"Lemme check." The man typed something, then pulled out a ovular thumbdrive. He attached the device into his CPU, activating a magical link between the computer and his own mind. He closed his eyes.
A second later, he opened them. "I've got nothing. Whoever sent it doesn't want to be traced: I'm being Spellbound."
Greg watched the video again, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
"See that," he said, pausing the video at the point where the shape had burst out from the building. "See that tiny grey spot there? Window Guy here can teleport in mid-air."
Teleportation usually required great concentration, especially for lower-end mages. For an inexperienced (and sometimes, even experienced) mage to teleport while falling meant two things: he would either end up somewhere completely unexpected, or he would remain where he was.
"That's high-level man...unless..."
"Yep," Greg said with a nod. "Chaos Magic."
*** *** ***
The Shadow Hunter stood from his resting place. He was in the middle of a far-flung forest, safe from the prying eyes of both humans and mages. He had cast protective spells over his campsite, and was now eating stolen bread.
The Hunter pulled out his cellphone, an ancient model, but no doubt the most modern thing he had with him. No one knew his number, but it helped him keep track of time.
March 11, 2010. Two years had passed since he left the Silent Circle of Magic. Two long and eventful years. He had accomplished so much, and yet, nothing at all.
He used to have a name, a name well-recognised in the Circle. He used to have a great reputation as a mage, and a promising future. He was even about to get married to a beautiful brunette who--despite not being a mage--knew all about the magical realm and its secrets.
Everything changed one fateful, moonless night.
His name was Ian McKane, but everyone knew him as the Reaper, for he carried a scythe as his Channel. Insanity could not be used to describe him, for he had well surpassed that.
The Shadow Hunter, who then had not adopted the pseudonym, was having dinner with the girl of his dreams when his phone rang. It was call from the Circle, warning him that the Reaper was in his vincinity. The Hunter had insisted that he sent his girlfriend home, but they encountered him nonetheless.
Scythe and katana clashed in a heated battle of magic and blades, and a stray spell ricochetted off the alley walls, colliding into the Hunter's belle as she hid behind a trashbin.
The Hunter screamed as his fiance fell to the ground, her eyes wide open, but void of life. His rage was converted into raw power, and that night he killed the Reaper, but he himself would forever be changed.
He left the Circle to roam as a vigilante, knowing he would never regain the broken pieces of his life and humanity. Knowing he would never hope or love again.
Without lowering his hood, the Shadow Hunter cried. No one was looking or listening, so he cried his heart out...
*** *** ***
"Magnify and scan further," ordered the Chief Sorter, Elder Jonah Elisior.
The man did as he was told. The picture--a screenshot of the anonymous web video--was already a thousand times magnified, and on an ordinary computer could go no further. But this was no ordinary computer.
Even when two thousand times magnified, the picture remained blurred and unclear. Elisior took over, magnifying it to three thousand.
Finally, they got it. The picture revealed a rugged face Elisior immediately recognised.
"Cabal Strider," breathed the Elder. "Where is he now?"
"I've tracked him. He uses magic like I drink whiskey," said a mage.
Elisior sighed inwardly, murmuring, "Why did you turn to the dark side, Strider?"
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
The Wanted Man
Chapter 6
The panther circled, its yellow eyes locked intently on the trio. It bared its fangs, growling a low, threatening growl.
"You sure this is Longfang's Channel?" said Alyson in a hushed voice. Her gaze frequently shifted from Mach's screen to the large cat which had tried to kill her.
"Hell I am," Bane confirmed. He knew Alyson was trying to dig up Panzer Longfang's file using Mach's magical connections to every wizard's computer in the world.
Mach beeped, signalling Alyson's search had just bore results. At that instant, the panther leapt forward.
Instinct kicked in, and Bane raised his gun. He jammed on the trigger; out of the nozzle flew a net weaved from silver thread. The net wrapped itself around the panther in mid-air, impeding it and throwing it to the soil.
The panther roared its contempt, scratching at the seemingly unbreakable, magic net.
Then, a purple aura covered the creature's body. The aura contorted into a ball, expanding, stretching the net to its seams. With a snap, the net burst apart, its pieces disappearing into wisps of light.
The panther recovered as soon as its hold had been broken. It roared, then produced a golden horn from the middle of its forehead. It charged fiercely, aiming for Bane.
The veteran mage countered with a gunshot to the earth, from which shot forth thin, threadlike vines that whipped around the panther.
However, this time, the beast was ready. Its physical form faded away, disappearing into the wind like dust. Then, from behind, it leapt at Bane.
Tobias acted swiftly. He flung out his staff, suspending the demon cat in mid-air. It growled contemptuously, scratching at nothing.
Stepping back, the three mages formed a circle around the panther, scruinizing it.
"It's amazing how an animal can be a Channel..." said Alyson, her voice distant with wonderment.
"He's no animal," a mellow voice said.
Everyone whipped around; out of the foliage and greenery stepped a balding man with blond hair and a rough beard. His face bore telltale lines that ran down to his nose. His sapphire eyes were extremely striking, and seemed to sparkle compared to the rest of his body. He wore a brown overcoat and faded khaki pants.
Bane recognised him immediately, for he had seen his face several times on 'wanted' posters in the Circle.
Panzer Longfang.
Very calmly, as if this were an everyday happening for him, he said to the entrapped panther, "Get down from there, Scarface."
The panther named Scarface laughed, a laugh which startled Alyson and Tobias. Bane would have jumped too, but he hadn't noticed. His senses were fixed solely on the criminal wizard before him.
As Bane stared daggers at Longfang, his hands tightening around his Desert Eagles, Scarface said in an icy, drawling voice, "Fools. They don't know who they're messing with."
Then the panther dropped to the ground on all fours, though Tobias was certain he was still holding him with his spell. The beast stared at him, then its mouth curled into a misshapen smile.
"Your lousy spells can't hold me, elf!" he sneered, then stalked to his master's side.
"I'm sorry for his rudeness," said Panzer, still with an air of nonchalance and calm. "You know how demons are, always talking as if they knew everything."
Scarface growled.
Before anyone could say or do anything else, Bane had whipped out a gun, pointing it straight at Panzer Longfang's head. His eyes were aflame.
Panzer just smiled. "What are you gonna do? Shoot me?"
Bane gritted his teeth. "Try me."
From out of nowhere, Bane felt a sudden pain in his gut. He felt the wind knocked out of him, and he tumbled backwards with groan. There was rapid movement.
Tobias had drawn an arc with his staff, and Alyson had jumped several feet away, typing furiously on Mach. Before Tobias' spell could take effect, Scarface's blurred shape had disarmed him. Then, suddenly, the whole forest was engulfed by complete darkness.
There was eerie silence. Then...
"Welcome to my world," boomed Alyson's voice. Bane closed his eyes; opening them would make little difference. He would let Alyson take over from here.
"Light is nothing to me...darkness fails to scare me..." came Panzer's voice, hollow and echoing. He said those words over and over again for several, gruelling seconds.
Alyson screamed, and the light was restored.
She fell, but Bane caught her just before she hit the ground. She struggled to speak, "He...countered... Used...dark magic..."
"I'm terribly sorry, but you forced my hand," said Panzer, his smile replaced by a frown. "You are mistaken about me. I didn't kill those kids..."
"Then how do you know about them?" snapped Bane. He did not notice, but Tobias had produced an energy blade.
Panzer said slowly, "I'm a drifter, and I hear things. Now, I'm just looking for my son."
"Liar," snarled Tobias, his blade positioned to kill. "You don't have a son. If you did the files would have said so."
Scarface countered, "Please. You think those Sorters of yours know everything?"
Sorters were members of the Circle who collected data on wizards all around the world, storing them in computers connected to the magical realm. Alyson was a Sorter.
"Look. Eight years ago I gave my son to one of the villagers. I was a wanted man, and I knew I could not risk taking him with me while I was on the run," said Panzer, his voice now possessing a tinge of grief. "He should have never been born...but his mother was so beautiful..."
"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you," said Bane, not caring one bit.
"Because...I can help you. I can help you find those kids."
"I don't trust him, Bane," Tobias said, his eyes still locked on Panzer.
Scarface growled, "Let's just kill them, Panzer. It'll be quick..."
"No!" said Longfang. He pulled out a white, transparent orb and flashed it at his demon panther. "Desist, Scarface!"
With a disapproving roar, Scarface was sucked into the orb. His body broke up into feathery bits of black hair, disappearing into the orb, which now glowed purple.
"Here, if you don't trust me, you can keep Scarface," Panzer said, holding out the orb.
Bane propped Alyson up on a nearby rock, walking towards the Chaos mage's outstretched arm.
"Bane, it might be a trap," warned Tobias, but Bane shrugged his words off.
Taking the Summoning Sphere from Panzer Longfang, he stowed it in his pocket, where he could feel its soft warmth radiating through his coat and shirt.
"Besides," smiled Panzer, "a Channel is merely a tool. True magic lies in here."
He gestured to his heart.
The panther circled, its yellow eyes locked intently on the trio. It bared its fangs, growling a low, threatening growl.
"You sure this is Longfang's Channel?" said Alyson in a hushed voice. Her gaze frequently shifted from Mach's screen to the large cat which had tried to kill her.
"Hell I am," Bane confirmed. He knew Alyson was trying to dig up Panzer Longfang's file using Mach's magical connections to every wizard's computer in the world.
Mach beeped, signalling Alyson's search had just bore results. At that instant, the panther leapt forward.
Instinct kicked in, and Bane raised his gun. He jammed on the trigger; out of the nozzle flew a net weaved from silver thread. The net wrapped itself around the panther in mid-air, impeding it and throwing it to the soil.
The panther roared its contempt, scratching at the seemingly unbreakable, magic net.
Then, a purple aura covered the creature's body. The aura contorted into a ball, expanding, stretching the net to its seams. With a snap, the net burst apart, its pieces disappearing into wisps of light.
The panther recovered as soon as its hold had been broken. It roared, then produced a golden horn from the middle of its forehead. It charged fiercely, aiming for Bane.
The veteran mage countered with a gunshot to the earth, from which shot forth thin, threadlike vines that whipped around the panther.
However, this time, the beast was ready. Its physical form faded away, disappearing into the wind like dust. Then, from behind, it leapt at Bane.
Tobias acted swiftly. He flung out his staff, suspending the demon cat in mid-air. It growled contemptuously, scratching at nothing.
Stepping back, the three mages formed a circle around the panther, scruinizing it.
"It's amazing how an animal can be a Channel..." said Alyson, her voice distant with wonderment.
"He's no animal," a mellow voice said.
Everyone whipped around; out of the foliage and greenery stepped a balding man with blond hair and a rough beard. His face bore telltale lines that ran down to his nose. His sapphire eyes were extremely striking, and seemed to sparkle compared to the rest of his body. He wore a brown overcoat and faded khaki pants.
Bane recognised him immediately, for he had seen his face several times on 'wanted' posters in the Circle.
Panzer Longfang.
Very calmly, as if this were an everyday happening for him, he said to the entrapped panther, "Get down from there, Scarface."
The panther named Scarface laughed, a laugh which startled Alyson and Tobias. Bane would have jumped too, but he hadn't noticed. His senses were fixed solely on the criminal wizard before him.
As Bane stared daggers at Longfang, his hands tightening around his Desert Eagles, Scarface said in an icy, drawling voice, "Fools. They don't know who they're messing with."
Then the panther dropped to the ground on all fours, though Tobias was certain he was still holding him with his spell. The beast stared at him, then its mouth curled into a misshapen smile.
"Your lousy spells can't hold me, elf!" he sneered, then stalked to his master's side.
"I'm sorry for his rudeness," said Panzer, still with an air of nonchalance and calm. "You know how demons are, always talking as if they knew everything."
Scarface growled.
Before anyone could say or do anything else, Bane had whipped out a gun, pointing it straight at Panzer Longfang's head. His eyes were aflame.
Panzer just smiled. "What are you gonna do? Shoot me?"
Bane gritted his teeth. "Try me."
From out of nowhere, Bane felt a sudden pain in his gut. He felt the wind knocked out of him, and he tumbled backwards with groan. There was rapid movement.
Tobias had drawn an arc with his staff, and Alyson had jumped several feet away, typing furiously on Mach. Before Tobias' spell could take effect, Scarface's blurred shape had disarmed him. Then, suddenly, the whole forest was engulfed by complete darkness.
There was eerie silence. Then...
"Welcome to my world," boomed Alyson's voice. Bane closed his eyes; opening them would make little difference. He would let Alyson take over from here.
"Light is nothing to me...darkness fails to scare me..." came Panzer's voice, hollow and echoing. He said those words over and over again for several, gruelling seconds.
Alyson screamed, and the light was restored.
She fell, but Bane caught her just before she hit the ground. She struggled to speak, "He...countered... Used...dark magic..."
"I'm terribly sorry, but you forced my hand," said Panzer, his smile replaced by a frown. "You are mistaken about me. I didn't kill those kids..."
"Then how do you know about them?" snapped Bane. He did not notice, but Tobias had produced an energy blade.
Panzer said slowly, "I'm a drifter, and I hear things. Now, I'm just looking for my son."
"Liar," snarled Tobias, his blade positioned to kill. "You don't have a son. If you did the files would have said so."
Scarface countered, "Please. You think those Sorters of yours know everything?"
Sorters were members of the Circle who collected data on wizards all around the world, storing them in computers connected to the magical realm. Alyson was a Sorter.
"Look. Eight years ago I gave my son to one of the villagers. I was a wanted man, and I knew I could not risk taking him with me while I was on the run," said Panzer, his voice now possessing a tinge of grief. "He should have never been born...but his mother was so beautiful..."
"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you," said Bane, not caring one bit.
"Because...I can help you. I can help you find those kids."
"I don't trust him, Bane," Tobias said, his eyes still locked on Panzer.
Scarface growled, "Let's just kill them, Panzer. It'll be quick..."
"No!" said Longfang. He pulled out a white, transparent orb and flashed it at his demon panther. "Desist, Scarface!"
With a disapproving roar, Scarface was sucked into the orb. His body broke up into feathery bits of black hair, disappearing into the orb, which now glowed purple.
"Here, if you don't trust me, you can keep Scarface," Panzer said, holding out the orb.
Bane propped Alyson up on a nearby rock, walking towards the Chaos mage's outstretched arm.
"Bane, it might be a trap," warned Tobias, but Bane shrugged his words off.
Taking the Summoning Sphere from Panzer Longfang, he stowed it in his pocket, where he could feel its soft warmth radiating through his coat and shirt.
"Besides," smiled Panzer, "a Channel is merely a tool. True magic lies in here."
He gestured to his heart.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Predator
Chapter 5
Had Bane been able to see through the thick fog, he would have cursed at all the greenery around him. But as soon as he and his two companions stepped into the forest of Wormwood, they were plunged into a complete lack of vision.
Neither Tobias nor Alyson were anywhere in sight, but Bane knew they were close by. He treaded carefully, hearing the fallen leaves crunching under his fake leather boots. There were other crunches, apart from his own. This further confirmed that Alyson and Tobias were not far away.
Crunch, crunch, crunch. The sound was beginning to annoy. Bane gripped his Channels, a pair of Desert Eagles handed down generation after generation by his mother's side, silently hoping there would be no need to use it.
Cautious step after cautious step; Bane was beginning to wonder why he had yet to hit a tree. He could barely see the path before him, yet no giant root rose up to trip him, or wandering magpie stumbled along his way. A thought began to bubble into Justin Bane's mind, a thought left behind so long ago during his days at the Silent Circle Academy.
The Will o' the Wisp, or Wisp for short, was a demon entity that had no real physical shape or form. It often appeared as a thick mist or fog, sometimes even pockets of dark, nothingness. No one, not even the Elders or Masters, knew where they originated from. Theories had been made that they were created by Chaos magic, or by mere, heinous thoughts of dark wizards.
Bane did not give a rat's ass where they came from, he just wanted this particular one gone.
"It's a Wisp," he said. At the exact same time, Tobias' voice echoed his words.
"Know any spells?" asked Alyson, her voice barely audible. This was one of the demon's tricks, Bane knew. Warping and bending reality to create subtle illusions: a person might feel that he had wandered too far off into the forest, but in actual fact he was still at the town's borders, or vice versa.
"Just one," responded Tobias, a little too late, such that his reply seemed abrupt.
Bane stopped moving. To continue walking within a Wisp's body would be as good as taking a hike towards insanity. He waited...
There was a bang, followed by a halo of light. A bloodcurdling scream enamated through the forest, unheard by the people of Wormwood. As the scream died off, so did the impeding fog. Finally, Bane could see again.
Tobias was on his left, staff out. Alyson was to his right, laptop open and whirring.
"That was so not fun," groaned Alyson as she tapped a few keys.
Bane cocked an eyebrow. "Why? Because there was no connection?"
"Yep," she replied, rather predictably. "But it's back on for now. You owe me, Bane."
Bane was trying hard not to laugh. He turned to Tobias for support, only to find the elf was barely suppressing his urge to find humour. Unable go on further, both men burst out in what Alyson felt was cruel, mirthless laughter.
Rolling her eyes, Alyson said, "Let's go before you two guffaw your appendix out."
"I already had mine out," commented Tobias as they began to move again.
A sudden rustle of leaves halted them, and Bane strained his ears. There was not a breeze in the forest, and now that the Wisp was gone, it felt rather humid. The rustling was definitely out of place.
"Can you tell where it's coming from?" Bane said in a half-whisper to Tobias, whose elf ears were twice as sensitve as a human's.
"Not really, but I might be able to see our hidden friend," replied the elf quietly. "Eagle's Eyes!"
To Bane and Alyson, the forest still appeared the same: tall, moss-covered trees; patches of prickly wild grass; murky, eutrophication-stricken ponds. But to Tobias, the entire environment had changed.
His elf vision--very similar to that of a human--warped at his command. Immediately, the range of his peripheral vision tripled, and his eyes focused on tiny details not many would have noticed, like how many leaves were on the ground at his feet, and how many veins each individual leaf had. The world lost its colour, but gained so much more detail.
Turning to what he thought was the source of the sound, Tobias focused his eagle-like vision on a fruitless bush. He saw nothing at first, then, out of the blue, there was sudden movement.
Like a set of binoculars, his eyes homed in on whatever had betrayed its location. It had moved again, so swiftly that most would not have seen it, but Tobias' peripheral vision told him what it was.
He shut off the Eagle's Eyes, for he no longer required it. Their stalker had pounced. It had a sleek body, dirty yellow eyes and a shiny coat of black fur. It bared its glimmering fangs.
Bane fired without hesitating. The panther fell to the ground, unharmed. It snarled, then did something completely unexpected.
Swirls of Chaos energy began to gather around the beast's open jaws. Bane, Tobias and Alyson were too perplexed by the sight to react. The swirling vortex of energy had become a black, sparking ball. The panther released the energy orb.
It hurtled towards Alyson, who typed swiftly on Mach, her laptop. The ground below her blew open as a gigantic root lifted her up into the air. The orb blasted into the root, exploding it into bits, but with her martial arts background Alyson skilfully leapt off her destroyed perch, landing safely beside Bane.
"Crap," cursed Bane as he raised both guns. "Avalon was right: it IS Panzer Longfang."
Had Bane been able to see through the thick fog, he would have cursed at all the greenery around him. But as soon as he and his two companions stepped into the forest of Wormwood, they were plunged into a complete lack of vision.
Neither Tobias nor Alyson were anywhere in sight, but Bane knew they were close by. He treaded carefully, hearing the fallen leaves crunching under his fake leather boots. There were other crunches, apart from his own. This further confirmed that Alyson and Tobias were not far away.
Crunch, crunch, crunch. The sound was beginning to annoy. Bane gripped his Channels, a pair of Desert Eagles handed down generation after generation by his mother's side, silently hoping there would be no need to use it.
Cautious step after cautious step; Bane was beginning to wonder why he had yet to hit a tree. He could barely see the path before him, yet no giant root rose up to trip him, or wandering magpie stumbled along his way. A thought began to bubble into Justin Bane's mind, a thought left behind so long ago during his days at the Silent Circle Academy.
The Will o' the Wisp, or Wisp for short, was a demon entity that had no real physical shape or form. It often appeared as a thick mist or fog, sometimes even pockets of dark, nothingness. No one, not even the Elders or Masters, knew where they originated from. Theories had been made that they were created by Chaos magic, or by mere, heinous thoughts of dark wizards.
Bane did not give a rat's ass where they came from, he just wanted this particular one gone.
"It's a Wisp," he said. At the exact same time, Tobias' voice echoed his words.
"Know any spells?" asked Alyson, her voice barely audible. This was one of the demon's tricks, Bane knew. Warping and bending reality to create subtle illusions: a person might feel that he had wandered too far off into the forest, but in actual fact he was still at the town's borders, or vice versa.
"Just one," responded Tobias, a little too late, such that his reply seemed abrupt.
Bane stopped moving. To continue walking within a Wisp's body would be as good as taking a hike towards insanity. He waited...
There was a bang, followed by a halo of light. A bloodcurdling scream enamated through the forest, unheard by the people of Wormwood. As the scream died off, so did the impeding fog. Finally, Bane could see again.
Tobias was on his left, staff out. Alyson was to his right, laptop open and whirring.
"That was so not fun," groaned Alyson as she tapped a few keys.
Bane cocked an eyebrow. "Why? Because there was no connection?"
"Yep," she replied, rather predictably. "But it's back on for now. You owe me, Bane."
Bane was trying hard not to laugh. He turned to Tobias for support, only to find the elf was barely suppressing his urge to find humour. Unable go on further, both men burst out in what Alyson felt was cruel, mirthless laughter.
Rolling her eyes, Alyson said, "Let's go before you two guffaw your appendix out."
"I already had mine out," commented Tobias as they began to move again.
A sudden rustle of leaves halted them, and Bane strained his ears. There was not a breeze in the forest, and now that the Wisp was gone, it felt rather humid. The rustling was definitely out of place.
"Can you tell where it's coming from?" Bane said in a half-whisper to Tobias, whose elf ears were twice as sensitve as a human's.
"Not really, but I might be able to see our hidden friend," replied the elf quietly. "Eagle's Eyes!"
To Bane and Alyson, the forest still appeared the same: tall, moss-covered trees; patches of prickly wild grass; murky, eutrophication-stricken ponds. But to Tobias, the entire environment had changed.
His elf vision--very similar to that of a human--warped at his command. Immediately, the range of his peripheral vision tripled, and his eyes focused on tiny details not many would have noticed, like how many leaves were on the ground at his feet, and how many veins each individual leaf had. The world lost its colour, but gained so much more detail.
Turning to what he thought was the source of the sound, Tobias focused his eagle-like vision on a fruitless bush. He saw nothing at first, then, out of the blue, there was sudden movement.
Like a set of binoculars, his eyes homed in on whatever had betrayed its location. It had moved again, so swiftly that most would not have seen it, but Tobias' peripheral vision told him what it was.
He shut off the Eagle's Eyes, for he no longer required it. Their stalker had pounced. It had a sleek body, dirty yellow eyes and a shiny coat of black fur. It bared its glimmering fangs.
Bane fired without hesitating. The panther fell to the ground, unharmed. It snarled, then did something completely unexpected.
Swirls of Chaos energy began to gather around the beast's open jaws. Bane, Tobias and Alyson were too perplexed by the sight to react. The swirling vortex of energy had become a black, sparking ball. The panther released the energy orb.
It hurtled towards Alyson, who typed swiftly on Mach, her laptop. The ground below her blew open as a gigantic root lifted her up into the air. The orb blasted into the root, exploding it into bits, but with her martial arts background Alyson skilfully leapt off her destroyed perch, landing safely beside Bane.
"Crap," cursed Bane as he raised both guns. "Avalon was right: it IS Panzer Longfang."
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Infiltration
Chapter 4
The air-conditioner was turned on at full blast. It was summer, but the night air outside was cool. Stepping into the building was like a blizzard in winter.
The Shadow Hunter ducked past office-goers and a couple of janitors. He remained invisible, which greatly strained his body; he could only hold the spell for another fifteen minutes, tops.
He had arrived at the elevator lobby. Going in would be too risky. He surveyed his surroundings: no one. His body became visible again. Tapping into the Chaos energy he had gathered within him, he morphed himself into a body of shadow, a shadow that could contort its shape and phase through walls.
The shadow pressed itself against a wall, slipping upwards through the ceiling and into the second floor. It repeated the same action for every floor, and finally the spell was wearing the Hunter out, and he reconfigured himself, becoming invisible again.
He stepped past a long row of drapeless windows, and the reflection of his hooded face caught him by surprise. He wasn't invisible. Something was interfering with his spell on this floor.
A man dressed in a heavily starched cotton shirt stepped out from a door. He seemed preoccupied with the brown coffee stain on his collar. Eventually he gave up on trying to remove it via fingernail, and looked up. Before he could shout or produce any sound, his eyes lolled up lazily, and he toppled onto the floor.
The Hunter stepped over the man, who was now in a deep sleep. He corked the bottle in his hand as a wisp of smoky gas escaped its rim. The sleep potion would take care of anyone he did not wish to hurt, but for others who proved too big a threat...
Cerberes was aching for blood.
It would seem this was the floor he had been looking for, since there was an active Spellbind here. He no longer cared about being seen: one man unconscious on the cold floor would definitely send guards running if the body were to be discovered. It would not be long now.
The Hunter broke into a stride, sleep potion ready, Cerberes drawn. His stride became a run as his ears perked to the sound of another door opening. A gun was cocked, but the guard was down before he could get a clear shot. Two minutes later, and an alarm was blaring.
How long was the damn corridor?
The Shadow Hunter did not stop running. He passed rows and rows of labelled doors, none of which he was interested in. Gunshots rang out from behind him, but he twitched his blade, and the bullets and guards flew backwards.
Lounge, lecture hall, lecture theatrette. Everything appeared to be for students. Suddenly a label that seemed out of place stopped the Hunter.
Experimental Lab.
He tried the handle; it wasn't locked. The door swung inwards without a creak. He stepped inside.
Several guns were cocked simultaneously. The Hunter smiled: finally, some real competition.
Instead of bullets, out of the guns came jets of light and cosmic energy. They were not high-level spells, and the Hunter deflected them easily. He filled his body with the magical energies that so freely swirled around the Earth, and felt his stomach lurch as he moved at the speed of light, dodging energy blasts and stunning spells.
Three seconds later, Cerberes was satiated and the wizard scientists were no longer breathing.
The Hunter surveyed his surroundings. The lab was uncomfortably cluttered. Documents and computers were all over the many long desks. Everything seemed made of steel, and the bright lights overhead was nauseating. Shelves of reference books, test-tubes and vials of coloured liquid stood at one corner, the only things that appeared neat in the small lab.
There were some yellow files on a table, and the Shadow Hunter took them up. The first was marked 'Lucy', the other 'Wormwood'. Both were equally compelling. He opened the first one.
The door flew open with a bang, and the Hunter felt a powerful sensation gripping him. It was as if an invisible hand had pressed against his throat, crushing his windpipe.
The Hunter's mind was racing as he gasped for breath. Surely he would have been able to see even an invisible foe with his Aura Sight, unless...
But before he could even finish that thought, he was turned one hundred and eight degrees around and flung out the lab door. He crumbled onto the floor, the pressure on his neck gone. His anachronistic cape was all about him, and Cerberes was a feet from him.
Clambering to his feet, head spinning, the Hunter saw his foe at last. It was a woman, her face unclear in his blurred vision.
Knowing better, he called for Cerberes. He caught a glimspe of a blue lightning bolt whipping towards him as he smashed his way out of the building, disappearing into the night.
The air-conditioner was turned on at full blast. It was summer, but the night air outside was cool. Stepping into the building was like a blizzard in winter.
The Shadow Hunter ducked past office-goers and a couple of janitors. He remained invisible, which greatly strained his body; he could only hold the spell for another fifteen minutes, tops.
He had arrived at the elevator lobby. Going in would be too risky. He surveyed his surroundings: no one. His body became visible again. Tapping into the Chaos energy he had gathered within him, he morphed himself into a body of shadow, a shadow that could contort its shape and phase through walls.
The shadow pressed itself against a wall, slipping upwards through the ceiling and into the second floor. It repeated the same action for every floor, and finally the spell was wearing the Hunter out, and he reconfigured himself, becoming invisible again.
He stepped past a long row of drapeless windows, and the reflection of his hooded face caught him by surprise. He wasn't invisible. Something was interfering with his spell on this floor.
A man dressed in a heavily starched cotton shirt stepped out from a door. He seemed preoccupied with the brown coffee stain on his collar. Eventually he gave up on trying to remove it via fingernail, and looked up. Before he could shout or produce any sound, his eyes lolled up lazily, and he toppled onto the floor.
The Hunter stepped over the man, who was now in a deep sleep. He corked the bottle in his hand as a wisp of smoky gas escaped its rim. The sleep potion would take care of anyone he did not wish to hurt, but for others who proved too big a threat...
Cerberes was aching for blood.
It would seem this was the floor he had been looking for, since there was an active Spellbind here. He no longer cared about being seen: one man unconscious on the cold floor would definitely send guards running if the body were to be discovered. It would not be long now.
The Hunter broke into a stride, sleep potion ready, Cerberes drawn. His stride became a run as his ears perked to the sound of another door opening. A gun was cocked, but the guard was down before he could get a clear shot. Two minutes later, and an alarm was blaring.
How long was the damn corridor?
The Shadow Hunter did not stop running. He passed rows and rows of labelled doors, none of which he was interested in. Gunshots rang out from behind him, but he twitched his blade, and the bullets and guards flew backwards.
Lounge, lecture hall, lecture theatrette. Everything appeared to be for students. Suddenly a label that seemed out of place stopped the Hunter.
Experimental Lab.
He tried the handle; it wasn't locked. The door swung inwards without a creak. He stepped inside.
Several guns were cocked simultaneously. The Hunter smiled: finally, some real competition.
Instead of bullets, out of the guns came jets of light and cosmic energy. They were not high-level spells, and the Hunter deflected them easily. He filled his body with the magical energies that so freely swirled around the Earth, and felt his stomach lurch as he moved at the speed of light, dodging energy blasts and stunning spells.
Three seconds later, Cerberes was satiated and the wizard scientists were no longer breathing.
The Hunter surveyed his surroundings. The lab was uncomfortably cluttered. Documents and computers were all over the many long desks. Everything seemed made of steel, and the bright lights overhead was nauseating. Shelves of reference books, test-tubes and vials of coloured liquid stood at one corner, the only things that appeared neat in the small lab.
There were some yellow files on a table, and the Shadow Hunter took them up. The first was marked 'Lucy', the other 'Wormwood'. Both were equally compelling. He opened the first one.
The door flew open with a bang, and the Hunter felt a powerful sensation gripping him. It was as if an invisible hand had pressed against his throat, crushing his windpipe.
The Hunter's mind was racing as he gasped for breath. Surely he would have been able to see even an invisible foe with his Aura Sight, unless...
But before he could even finish that thought, he was turned one hundred and eight degrees around and flung out the lab door. He crumbled onto the floor, the pressure on his neck gone. His anachronistic cape was all about him, and Cerberes was a feet from him.
Clambering to his feet, head spinning, the Hunter saw his foe at last. It was a woman, her face unclear in his blurred vision.
Knowing better, he called for Cerberes. He caught a glimspe of a blue lightning bolt whipping towards him as he smashed his way out of the building, disappearing into the night.
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Hidden in Shadow
Chapter 3
"Two dead kids, Bane! Two! Missing I can handle, but dead!?" Leonin Avalon, one of the twelve Elders, looked livid.
Stubby grey beard, balding grey scalp and nearly lifeless grey eyes. Grey was the colour that best described Avalon. However, at this point of time, the most ideal colour would be red, blood red in fact.
Bane stared at the Elder in silence. He knew what this meant, and that he would be blamed for his negligence. After all, Wormwood was under his charge, and for nearly a year now reports on missing kids have been coming in from time to time. Mages have tried in vain to locate them in the forest; it was guarded by the Will o' the Wisp, a creature with a fog-like creature who enjoyed mind games and hallucinations.
Missing children were bad enough. Dead ones were worse.
"Well?" demanded Avalon, flushed and breathing hard. He seemed ready to explode.
"I'll get a team, and I won't rest till I find out what's happening," said Bane, his voice dangerously soft. He was burning inside, burning at the fact that two innocent lives had been lost because of him, that his lack of attention had resulted in such a disaster.
"Don't come back till you find Panzer Longfang!"
"Longfang?" said Bane.
"That's right!" Avalon snapped. "This is his doing, I tell you. That no good Chaos wizard."
Panzer Longfang was at the top of the Silent Circle's wanted list. He was suspected of heinous crimes such as kidnappings, torturings and murders. The victims were usually teens, and sometimes fellow mages. Longfang's dwellings in Chaos magic were also infamous in the magical world, and Avalon pinned every unsolved crime on the man.
"Right...I'll go get my team." Bane made his exit.
Standing just outside the door was a young man with wavy blond hair and unearthly green eyes. His ears were long and pointed, unlike other humans'; that was probably because the man was no human. He was an elf.
"Tobias," Bane called. "Wormwood, let's go."
Tobias Bolt put down the file he was studying, sighed, and gave a curt nod. Bolt was new to the Circle, one of the few pure elves left in existence. He had been partnered with Bane once, and they defeated a vampire together. In fact, Bane had saved Tobias' life.
But it was not only that which made Tobias feel obligated to obey Bane. In the magical world, Justin Bane was perhaps the most well-known name around. The founder of the Silent Circle was said to be his ancestor, and a direct one at that.
Grabbing his staff, Tobias followed Bane out of the Main Office.
*** *** ***
Channels, that's what they were called. External tools that allowed a wizard to maximise his potentials and channel magical energies through. They could be anything; they used to be staves, but as people grew more wary of the supernatural, they became common weapons. Guns, swords, knives, even electronic devices. They could all be Channels.
Cerberes shimmered in the half moon's glow. Most Channels could not feel, but Cerberes felt hungry.
A towering building stood before him, nearly forty stories high. Cerberes quivered in his master's hand, the master who could not be seen. The master who called himself the Shadow Hunter.
The building was called the High Order. The Shadow Hunter watched, unseen in the night, as several lights went off. People began leaving the building, people who appeared drained and weary. The Hunter clutched his katana--his Channel--and muttered a few words. Soon his vision changed, and he could see a spectrum of colors.
As he suspected, a series of dark purple were emanating from the red and green bodies of the individuals exiting the High Order. A common man with heat-sensitive binoculars would find it strange (that is to say, if they could even see the odd streams of purple energy), but the Hunter did not.
Chaos energy, that's what the purple auras were.
Invisible in the shadows, the Shadow Hunter took off. Cerberes was waiting, hungry, but that would have to wait. There were more urgent matters at hand...
"Two dead kids, Bane! Two! Missing I can handle, but dead!?" Leonin Avalon, one of the twelve Elders, looked livid.
Stubby grey beard, balding grey scalp and nearly lifeless grey eyes. Grey was the colour that best described Avalon. However, at this point of time, the most ideal colour would be red, blood red in fact.
Bane stared at the Elder in silence. He knew what this meant, and that he would be blamed for his negligence. After all, Wormwood was under his charge, and for nearly a year now reports on missing kids have been coming in from time to time. Mages have tried in vain to locate them in the forest; it was guarded by the Will o' the Wisp, a creature with a fog-like creature who enjoyed mind games and hallucinations.
Missing children were bad enough. Dead ones were worse.
"Well?" demanded Avalon, flushed and breathing hard. He seemed ready to explode.
"I'll get a team, and I won't rest till I find out what's happening," said Bane, his voice dangerously soft. He was burning inside, burning at the fact that two innocent lives had been lost because of him, that his lack of attention had resulted in such a disaster.
"Don't come back till you find Panzer Longfang!"
"Longfang?" said Bane.
"That's right!" Avalon snapped. "This is his doing, I tell you. That no good Chaos wizard."
Panzer Longfang was at the top of the Silent Circle's wanted list. He was suspected of heinous crimes such as kidnappings, torturings and murders. The victims were usually teens, and sometimes fellow mages. Longfang's dwellings in Chaos magic were also infamous in the magical world, and Avalon pinned every unsolved crime on the man.
"Right...I'll go get my team." Bane made his exit.
Standing just outside the door was a young man with wavy blond hair and unearthly green eyes. His ears were long and pointed, unlike other humans'; that was probably because the man was no human. He was an elf.
"Tobias," Bane called. "Wormwood, let's go."
Tobias Bolt put down the file he was studying, sighed, and gave a curt nod. Bolt was new to the Circle, one of the few pure elves left in existence. He had been partnered with Bane once, and they defeated a vampire together. In fact, Bane had saved Tobias' life.
But it was not only that which made Tobias feel obligated to obey Bane. In the magical world, Justin Bane was perhaps the most well-known name around. The founder of the Silent Circle was said to be his ancestor, and a direct one at that.
Grabbing his staff, Tobias followed Bane out of the Main Office.
*** *** ***
Channels, that's what they were called. External tools that allowed a wizard to maximise his potentials and channel magical energies through. They could be anything; they used to be staves, but as people grew more wary of the supernatural, they became common weapons. Guns, swords, knives, even electronic devices. They could all be Channels.
Cerberes shimmered in the half moon's glow. Most Channels could not feel, but Cerberes felt hungry.
A towering building stood before him, nearly forty stories high. Cerberes quivered in his master's hand, the master who could not be seen. The master who called himself the Shadow Hunter.
The building was called the High Order. The Shadow Hunter watched, unseen in the night, as several lights went off. People began leaving the building, people who appeared drained and weary. The Hunter clutched his katana--his Channel--and muttered a few words. Soon his vision changed, and he could see a spectrum of colors.
As he suspected, a series of dark purple were emanating from the red and green bodies of the individuals exiting the High Order. A common man with heat-sensitive binoculars would find it strange (that is to say, if they could even see the odd streams of purple energy), but the Hunter did not.
Chaos energy, that's what the purple auras were.
Invisible in the shadows, the Shadow Hunter took off. Cerberes was waiting, hungry, but that would have to wait. There were more urgent matters at hand...
Monday, January 21, 2008
Half Moon
Chapter 2
A thick bank of clouds was obscuring the light of the moon, and the alleyway remained shrouded in shadows. Loud, noisy music was blaring, and silhouettes moved through the darkness.
High above, on the rooftop of a nearby building, two figures crouched. The light of a laptop screen shone obviously but unseen, illuminating the face of its user, a woman in her late twenties. Her face seemed to bear no lines whatsoever, but had a kind of unspeakable maturity about it. Brown eyes matched auburn hair that curled around her face. She seemed quite absorbed in whatever she was doing, her fingers swiftly running across the keyboard.
Her companion, a slightly older man, turned to watch her. He had dark hair that was cropped short, and eyes that were compelling pools of black. His coat flew freely in the breeze like a cape as he shifted his weight.
"Wat'cha doing?" he asked.
His partner replied, "Going through some files. Why are we here anyway?"
"Cuz' I'm bored and Andy's watching Wormwood for me," he said with a grin.
She rolled her eyes. "Let me rephrase that, Bane. What am I doing here?"
"Well, you're off duty, and I get lonely while watching the homeless."
A muffled scream interrupted their pointless conversation, and both parties craned their necks to see what was the source of the sound.
About sixty feet below, a large man had clamped his gloved hand over an older woman. Her eyes were wide opened, and the whites of them seemed so out of place in the blackness. The two figures on the roof thought they saw a glimmer of the robber's knife.
"Alyson, you see that?"
"Yes, Bane. Duh."
"How about it?" Bane cocked his head towards his friend, an eyebrow raised.
Alyson Reed rolled her eyes again. "Fine, let's go."
*** *** ***
The veteran mugger had one hand pressed against the old lady's mouth. His knife hand deftly slid the weapon back into its hold, and ripped the handbag from the lady. She tried to struggle, but the thug was way too strong for her.
Claiming his prize, the man turned to run. No doubt, the old lady began to scream for help, but by the time any help came, he would be gone.
There was no warning, except for an almost inaudible swooshing sound. From nowhere, a manhole cover zoomed out, slamming into the robber's gut. He felt the wind knocked out of him as the circular hunk of metal threw him on the floor, flying off like a boomerang.
Struggling to get up, the thug felt his whole body freeze as the air resounded with a defeaning bang.
A man's voice spoke, "Stay here till the police arrive."
The robber wanted to nod, but he could not move a single part of his body. He was in an awkward position; his body was bent to one side, with one hand pressed onto the floor. His other hand held the knife he had extracted as he was falling, and one leg looped over the other, as if he were about to jump back up to his feet.
"You're safe now, ma'am. Try not to be out this late next time alright?" he heard a second voice--a female one--say. The old lady he had attempted to mug uttered her gratitude and pried her hand bag from the paralysed robber's body.
As her heels clicked against the pavement, the thug heard another sound. An old song he used to enjoy listening to. By the Eagles, perhaps. Or was it Bon Jovi? He could hardly remember now. Though he felt no pain as of yet, he was pretty sure the sensations would come later.
He heard the man who had first spoke say, "What? Alright, we'll be right there."
"What's wrong?" said the woman.
"We gotta get back. Have you called the police?"
"Yep." At this, the robber gulped nervously. It had been a long time since he last left prison.
"Let's go then."
There were two cracking sounds, like those of bullwhips. Then a wisp of smoke passed by the robber's range of vision; all he could see was the graffiti of the wall his contorted and frozen body was facing.
*** *** ***
Justin Bane hated teleportation. He hated the whirring in his ears, especially during long-distance teleportations. The hated the dizzying feeling that followed, and he absolutely hated having to concentrate on his destination, lest he ended up in a ditch somewhere.
In about two seconds, his surroundings warped and twisted like a fog, then those of his destination materialised: immaculately clean flooring, large computer screens, ancient staves on display in glass cabinets. And above it all, high up on one empty wall, was the emblem of the Silent Circle of Magic.
It was quite a ridiculous sign, Bane thought. Three intersecting staves wrapped by a blue circle. That was it. Even a nitwit could have drawn that.
From behind an automatic door a young man in glasses scurried out. His curly hair bobbed with his quick steps, making him look rather comical. He approached Bane and Alyson, his sneakers squeaking to a halt.
"Mr. Bane! Here's the report," said the man a little too quickly. He added, "Good evening, Miss Reed."
"Hi, Robert," said Alyson with a smile, which the young man nervously returned.
Bane flipped through the files rather lazily--he hated documents and anything to do with reading or numbers. His eyes searched the page, looking for the crux of the problem he had just been rendered.
Then he saw it, and he frowned. He re-read it again.
"Two boys found dead in the forest. Investigation pending."
A thick bank of clouds was obscuring the light of the moon, and the alleyway remained shrouded in shadows. Loud, noisy music was blaring, and silhouettes moved through the darkness.
High above, on the rooftop of a nearby building, two figures crouched. The light of a laptop screen shone obviously but unseen, illuminating the face of its user, a woman in her late twenties. Her face seemed to bear no lines whatsoever, but had a kind of unspeakable maturity about it. Brown eyes matched auburn hair that curled around her face. She seemed quite absorbed in whatever she was doing, her fingers swiftly running across the keyboard.
Her companion, a slightly older man, turned to watch her. He had dark hair that was cropped short, and eyes that were compelling pools of black. His coat flew freely in the breeze like a cape as he shifted his weight.
"Wat'cha doing?" he asked.
His partner replied, "Going through some files. Why are we here anyway?"
"Cuz' I'm bored and Andy's watching Wormwood for me," he said with a grin.
She rolled her eyes. "Let me rephrase that, Bane. What am I doing here?"
"Well, you're off duty, and I get lonely while watching the homeless."
A muffled scream interrupted their pointless conversation, and both parties craned their necks to see what was the source of the sound.
About sixty feet below, a large man had clamped his gloved hand over an older woman. Her eyes were wide opened, and the whites of them seemed so out of place in the blackness. The two figures on the roof thought they saw a glimmer of the robber's knife.
"Alyson, you see that?"
"Yes, Bane. Duh."
"How about it?" Bane cocked his head towards his friend, an eyebrow raised.
Alyson Reed rolled her eyes again. "Fine, let's go."
*** *** ***
The veteran mugger had one hand pressed against the old lady's mouth. His knife hand deftly slid the weapon back into its hold, and ripped the handbag from the lady. She tried to struggle, but the thug was way too strong for her.
Claiming his prize, the man turned to run. No doubt, the old lady began to scream for help, but by the time any help came, he would be gone.
There was no warning, except for an almost inaudible swooshing sound. From nowhere, a manhole cover zoomed out, slamming into the robber's gut. He felt the wind knocked out of him as the circular hunk of metal threw him on the floor, flying off like a boomerang.
Struggling to get up, the thug felt his whole body freeze as the air resounded with a defeaning bang.
A man's voice spoke, "Stay here till the police arrive."
The robber wanted to nod, but he could not move a single part of his body. He was in an awkward position; his body was bent to one side, with one hand pressed onto the floor. His other hand held the knife he had extracted as he was falling, and one leg looped over the other, as if he were about to jump back up to his feet.
"You're safe now, ma'am. Try not to be out this late next time alright?" he heard a second voice--a female one--say. The old lady he had attempted to mug uttered her gratitude and pried her hand bag from the paralysed robber's body.
As her heels clicked against the pavement, the thug heard another sound. An old song he used to enjoy listening to. By the Eagles, perhaps. Or was it Bon Jovi? He could hardly remember now. Though he felt no pain as of yet, he was pretty sure the sensations would come later.
He heard the man who had first spoke say, "What? Alright, we'll be right there."
"What's wrong?" said the woman.
"We gotta get back. Have you called the police?"
"Yep." At this, the robber gulped nervously. It had been a long time since he last left prison.
"Let's go then."
There were two cracking sounds, like those of bullwhips. Then a wisp of smoke passed by the robber's range of vision; all he could see was the graffiti of the wall his contorted and frozen body was facing.
*** *** ***
Justin Bane hated teleportation. He hated the whirring in his ears, especially during long-distance teleportations. The hated the dizzying feeling that followed, and he absolutely hated having to concentrate on his destination, lest he ended up in a ditch somewhere.
In about two seconds, his surroundings warped and twisted like a fog, then those of his destination materialised: immaculately clean flooring, large computer screens, ancient staves on display in glass cabinets. And above it all, high up on one empty wall, was the emblem of the Silent Circle of Magic.
It was quite a ridiculous sign, Bane thought. Three intersecting staves wrapped by a blue circle. That was it. Even a nitwit could have drawn that.
From behind an automatic door a young man in glasses scurried out. His curly hair bobbed with his quick steps, making him look rather comical. He approached Bane and Alyson, his sneakers squeaking to a halt.
"Mr. Bane! Here's the report," said the man a little too quickly. He added, "Good evening, Miss Reed."
"Hi, Robert," said Alyson with a smile, which the young man nervously returned.
Bane flipped through the files rather lazily--he hated documents and anything to do with reading or numbers. His eyes searched the page, looking for the crux of the problem he had just been rendered.
Then he saw it, and he frowned. He re-read it again.
"Two boys found dead in the forest. Investigation pending."
Saturday, January 19, 2008
Wormwood
Chapter 1
The townspeople never knew. They lived each day in routine fashion, never knowing about the great tragedy that had befallen them so many centuries ago. A tragedy that, had it not been for a band of forgotten heroes, would have wiped out the rest of the world.
Even though no one remembered the sacrifices made to save the Earth from a hellish evil, the heroes still continue to watch over humanity, lest the dark powers of Chaos returned.
In the town that was made to forget, the town known as Wormwood, there was a small forest. Once a playground to local children, it became out of bounds after two siblings, followed by a whole lot of other children, went in to explore and never returned. The mothers mourned for their presumably dead kids, while the fathers took comfort in the condolence money given out by the town mayor.
Those who did not wish to think of their children as deceased went into the forest in search of them, only to return, petrified and unwilling to speak. Trauma soon erased whatever memory they had of their experiences in the woods, and of their lost children.
Young John Martin was eleven. His generation enjoyed the luxuries of technology, even in such a rural town like Wormwood. Nearly every household had a television set, no matter how tiny or screwed up it was. Faded cartoons served well in capturing a child's attention, but it was not just cartoons that filled the media.
John Martin, having had some glimspe of the outside world, was getting to become rather rebellious. His mother credited his behaviour to not just television, but his best pal, Scott Riley, a notorious troublemaking twelve-year-old.
Like many other mothers, John's mother had told him a million times not to enter the forest, lest he wanted to 'be torn apart by them goblins'. It would seem like a wrong choice of words, for 'goblins' only heightened John's curiosity and desire to enter the woods.
It was Scott's idea to explore the forest. Or, more accurately, John dared him to take ten large steps into it; Scott double-dared him, and John concluded by suggesting they both go in. If they died, they died as best buds. If they survived, they would return as brave, revered heroes.
The plan was to wander the woods for ten minutes, using a stick to mark their path so they could return from whence they came.
With a deep breath each, the two boys entered the woods. It was deadly silent, as if they had been sucked into another world. Wormwood seemed a million miles away: the sounds of the town--infants crying at their mothers' breasts; newspaper vendors screaming their businesses; good-for-nothings making known their grieviances--faded away to an eerie, compelling silence.
Every step they took seemed to draw them closer into a thickening mist. Scott suggested they hold a second stick (no self-respecting twelve-year-old boy would be caught dead holding another boy's hand) so they would not get separated. Many times they called out each other's name; just hearing the response would be a greatly settling.
John glanced at his digital watch, a gift from his travelling uncle, vaguely making out the glowing numbers in the mist. Eight minutes had passed since they first stepped into the forest. Time seemed to move so slowly; those eight minutes had felt like an eternity.
The numbers changed again, indicating another minute had passed. John called out to his friend, "Scott? We only have to stay another minute!"
No response.
John clutched the stick tight, holding his breath. He let it out when he felt the counter-resistance. "Very funny Scott. I ain't scared of you!"
No response.
Gulping nervously, John stopped in his tracks. The stick didn't move, but remained in its position, as if still held by two persons. John called, "Scott! C'mon this ain't funny! Scott!"
Suddenly, the stick in his hand fell into the ground with a soft thud. Visibly shaking, John took two steps back. He whimpered, "Scott...stop it..."
There was no wind, but the thick fog was cool to the touch. Unable to see where his steady backtrack was taking him, he tripped over a root, and found himself staring up at whiteness.
"Scott!" he screamed, on the verge of tears. "Scott!"
And then the whiteness was gone, for an unnatural wind had blown past, swooshing aside the blinding fog.
Scott Riley stood over John, laughing victoriously. "You should have heard yourself screaming!"
It took some seconds for John to return to reality and calm down. "That wasn't funny, Scott!" He pushed his friend, who was still laughing, onto the moist soil.
"Okay," Scott choked amid laughs. "Okay...I'm sorry, John. Now let's head home before our folks notice we're gone."
Cursing under his breath, John helped him up, and they both turned. Something was wrong.
"Where's the track?" said Scott, anxiety mounting within his young heart.
"Ha-ha, Scott. I ain't falling for your tricks no more."
But Scott did not appear to be faking it. "I'm serious! I can't find the track I drew!"
"It's probably here," said John, running towards the spot he had fallen.
There was nothing there. He whirled round wildly, but suddenly the fog had returned. He called for Scott, but like before, there was no response.
"Scott, stop kidding! We've got to get home!" John shouted, angrily this time.
A tingle ran down John's spine, and, instinctively, he whipped around again. He screamed.
Staring down at him was the last thing John ever saw. His screams echoed through the forest, but he had unknowingly ventured too far from town for them to be heard. The next day, John Martin and Scott Riley were deemed missing and dead, and nobody, not even their parents, dared go looking for them...
The townspeople never knew. They lived each day in routine fashion, never knowing about the great tragedy that had befallen them so many centuries ago. A tragedy that, had it not been for a band of forgotten heroes, would have wiped out the rest of the world.
Even though no one remembered the sacrifices made to save the Earth from a hellish evil, the heroes still continue to watch over humanity, lest the dark powers of Chaos returned.
In the town that was made to forget, the town known as Wormwood, there was a small forest. Once a playground to local children, it became out of bounds after two siblings, followed by a whole lot of other children, went in to explore and never returned. The mothers mourned for their presumably dead kids, while the fathers took comfort in the condolence money given out by the town mayor.
Those who did not wish to think of their children as deceased went into the forest in search of them, only to return, petrified and unwilling to speak. Trauma soon erased whatever memory they had of their experiences in the woods, and of their lost children.
Young John Martin was eleven. His generation enjoyed the luxuries of technology, even in such a rural town like Wormwood. Nearly every household had a television set, no matter how tiny or screwed up it was. Faded cartoons served well in capturing a child's attention, but it was not just cartoons that filled the media.
John Martin, having had some glimspe of the outside world, was getting to become rather rebellious. His mother credited his behaviour to not just television, but his best pal, Scott Riley, a notorious troublemaking twelve-year-old.
Like many other mothers, John's mother had told him a million times not to enter the forest, lest he wanted to 'be torn apart by them goblins'. It would seem like a wrong choice of words, for 'goblins' only heightened John's curiosity and desire to enter the woods.
It was Scott's idea to explore the forest. Or, more accurately, John dared him to take ten large steps into it; Scott double-dared him, and John concluded by suggesting they both go in. If they died, they died as best buds. If they survived, they would return as brave, revered heroes.
The plan was to wander the woods for ten minutes, using a stick to mark their path so they could return from whence they came.
With a deep breath each, the two boys entered the woods. It was deadly silent, as if they had been sucked into another world. Wormwood seemed a million miles away: the sounds of the town--infants crying at their mothers' breasts; newspaper vendors screaming their businesses; good-for-nothings making known their grieviances--faded away to an eerie, compelling silence.
Every step they took seemed to draw them closer into a thickening mist. Scott suggested they hold a second stick (no self-respecting twelve-year-old boy would be caught dead holding another boy's hand) so they would not get separated. Many times they called out each other's name; just hearing the response would be a greatly settling.
John glanced at his digital watch, a gift from his travelling uncle, vaguely making out the glowing numbers in the mist. Eight minutes had passed since they first stepped into the forest. Time seemed to move so slowly; those eight minutes had felt like an eternity.
The numbers changed again, indicating another minute had passed. John called out to his friend, "Scott? We only have to stay another minute!"
No response.
John clutched the stick tight, holding his breath. He let it out when he felt the counter-resistance. "Very funny Scott. I ain't scared of you!"
No response.
Gulping nervously, John stopped in his tracks. The stick didn't move, but remained in its position, as if still held by two persons. John called, "Scott! C'mon this ain't funny! Scott!"
Suddenly, the stick in his hand fell into the ground with a soft thud. Visibly shaking, John took two steps back. He whimpered, "Scott...stop it..."
There was no wind, but the thick fog was cool to the touch. Unable to see where his steady backtrack was taking him, he tripped over a root, and found himself staring up at whiteness.
"Scott!" he screamed, on the verge of tears. "Scott!"
And then the whiteness was gone, for an unnatural wind had blown past, swooshing aside the blinding fog.
Scott Riley stood over John, laughing victoriously. "You should have heard yourself screaming!"
It took some seconds for John to return to reality and calm down. "That wasn't funny, Scott!" He pushed his friend, who was still laughing, onto the moist soil.
"Okay," Scott choked amid laughs. "Okay...I'm sorry, John. Now let's head home before our folks notice we're gone."
Cursing under his breath, John helped him up, and they both turned. Something was wrong.
"Where's the track?" said Scott, anxiety mounting within his young heart.
"Ha-ha, Scott. I ain't falling for your tricks no more."
But Scott did not appear to be faking it. "I'm serious! I can't find the track I drew!"
"It's probably here," said John, running towards the spot he had fallen.
There was nothing there. He whirled round wildly, but suddenly the fog had returned. He called for Scott, but like before, there was no response.
"Scott, stop kidding! We've got to get home!" John shouted, angrily this time.
A tingle ran down John's spine, and, instinctively, he whipped around again. He screamed.
Staring down at him was the last thing John ever saw. His screams echoed through the forest, but he had unknowingly ventured too far from town for them to be heard. The next day, John Martin and Scott Riley were deemed missing and dead, and nobody, not even their parents, dared go looking for them...
Thursday, January 17, 2008
New Story
hhI've given up on Lost Legacy. Maybe when inspiration comes again I'll continue it. =) As for now, I'm starting on a new concept. I've also given up on MAGE. Gosh it's scarey to think how many unfinished projects I have. Here goes.
CIRCLE OF SILENCE
Magic. It existed long before anything else. It swirled around the planets and dimensions, binding everything together. With science and reasoning came the outcasting of the ancient artform, and as the world became revolutionized, mages and wizards lost their practices.
It soon became a form of entertainment rather than something serious. Illusionists, stage magicians and street magic became commonplace as people sought the new and unimaginable. But those of true magical stature knew otherwise.
The Silent Circle of Magic existed as long as magic itself. Nobody of the outside world knew about it. There were only rumors and myths about them. Some called them the Circle of Witchcraft, others the Evil Ones, but throughout history, the Silent Circle has protected mankind from the real evil ones...
There are two kinds of magic. White Magic, also known as Common Magic, and Black Magic, or Chaos Magic. For a thousand years, the Silent Circle has had a powerful enemy, an enemy born of the Chaos Magic they have sworn never to practice.
But not all who swear keep their oaths.
Not even in the Watchers' journals could the exact date be found, but at some point in the Dark Ages, a wizard named Graham Necross unleashed a terrible evil upon the earth. Its name was Hellfire. With it came plagues, murder and despair, and the town in which it was set free--Wormwood--fell into a shadow.
Unbeknownst to the world, the Circle stopped Hellfire and its forces of Chaos, ending one of the most terrible threats before it could spread throughout the globe. As was the Circle's policy, Wormwood was made to forget all that had happened.
*** *** ***
To be continued...
CIRCLE OF SILENCE
Magic. It existed long before anything else. It swirled around the planets and dimensions, binding everything together. With science and reasoning came the outcasting of the ancient artform, and as the world became revolutionized, mages and wizards lost their practices.
It soon became a form of entertainment rather than something serious. Illusionists, stage magicians and street magic became commonplace as people sought the new and unimaginable. But those of true magical stature knew otherwise.
The Silent Circle of Magic existed as long as magic itself. Nobody of the outside world knew about it. There were only rumors and myths about them. Some called them the Circle of Witchcraft, others the Evil Ones, but throughout history, the Silent Circle has protected mankind from the real evil ones...
There are two kinds of magic. White Magic, also known as Common Magic, and Black Magic, or Chaos Magic. For a thousand years, the Silent Circle has had a powerful enemy, an enemy born of the Chaos Magic they have sworn never to practice.
But not all who swear keep their oaths.
Not even in the Watchers' journals could the exact date be found, but at some point in the Dark Ages, a wizard named Graham Necross unleashed a terrible evil upon the earth. Its name was Hellfire. With it came plagues, murder and despair, and the town in which it was set free--Wormwood--fell into a shadow.
Unbeknownst to the world, the Circle stopped Hellfire and its forces of Chaos, ending one of the most terrible threats before it could spread throughout the globe. As was the Circle's policy, Wormwood was made to forget all that had happened.
*** *** ***
To be continued...
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