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?"