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."

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.

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...

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."

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...

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...