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.