Spoiler (Click to Show)
The one lone woman at the scene thought this dully as she trudged through the dried dirt ground. She was young, barely of adulthood, bearing long dark brown hair that began as a straight fringe and ended down her back. Her features were round and childish, though marred by a distinct scowl that found its way on her lips. And on her person, a simple white hoodie and skirt, the former which she sorely regretted wearing under the intense heat.
But she had a job to do, and this she begrudgingly knew. She lifted her gaze to see the warehouse ahead of her in close proximity, all too keen on flipping it the finger. Instead her hand went to her ear, where a headset sat snugly.
"Recon one has reached the extraction zone," she spoke with a dull, unamused voice, "awaiting orders."
A pause, before her headset crackled to life. A male voice, deep and professional sounding, though obviously an act.
"Roger that, recon one. Reading you five-by-five. You have orders to find and extract our person of interest. Avoid hostile targets in any, and engage combat only if required."
She nodded, her expression unchanged.
"Any chance I can drop this military speak thing?"
"Negative. You lost that bet."
There was a sigh, but no more was said. Why was she made to do this? It wasn't even actual military speak. An accusatory glance was shot at the warehouse. Your fault, she mouthed.
"Roger wilco. Moving," she intoned once more, and her hand dropped to her side, feeling the familiar grip of a pistol, shoved roughly into a crude holster at her belt. Nothing was around to threaten her, but the simple knowledge of having a weapon soothed her nerves greatly.
Her eyes darted about her surroundings. There was only a barren landscape to be seen. No cover to hide behind, but nothing could hide from her line of sight either. She mentally hit herself then, when she realised that she may be overdoing it.
You're paranoid, Alicia, she thought grimly, just find the woman and be done with it already.
She approached the warehouse apprehensively, pressing her ears close to its rusted walls. The interior seemed deathly silent. She continued, motioning along the side and turning around the corner of the building.
There it was. A body amongst a patch of dried grass in the distance, laid facing away from Alicia. There was blood, but nothing else she could identify.
“Got a visual,” she spoke in the headset, too engaged in the situation to be embarrassed by what words she was forced to say, “looks like our person of interest.”
“Copy that. Camera’s catching it just fine,” the voice in the headset cracked, “approach the target. And stop being so stiff.”
Stiff? She gave an even deeper scowl. Of all the things she could be chastised upon in a potentially hostile and unknown environment, it was her caution. She moved on regardless, approaching the area with darting eyes. Even though the vicinity was as quiet and empty as it had been before she could feel her muscles tense, and a dreaded feeling gripped at her mind.
Seconds ticked by. The body grew visible as Alicia got a better view through the yellowed grass. A woman, undoubtedly, long auburn hair trailing her side and bearing a noticeable skirt that was torn in some places.
“You know, in games this is where the baddy gets you.”
Those words crackled in her ear in an ominous tone, and Alicia instantly swung her head back. There was no one in sight.
“This isn’t a game,” she breathed, unamused by the scare.
"It is to me."
She could almost see a grin behind those words as they were said, and she lost all patience to deal with the situation. She just had to flip over the damned body to check, that was all.
And flip over the body she did. The face of a woman came to sight, carrying sharper features yet seemed only a little more older than Alicia was. The edges of her eyes were damp, as if tears had once been there.
"That's looks-"
"Behind!"
Alicia froze as she felt cold metal press the back of her head following the crackle of her headset. A wave of dread washed over her being as her mind
processed what had happened.
This is where the baddy gets you
"How intriguing, that cockroaches flit to food so quickly as it is placed," a drool voice came from behind, unmistakably a man. Alicia went straight for her pistol, but her hand moved no more than an inch before the metal was pressed harder against flesh.
"Don't think about it," she could his breathing down her neck, almost taunting in nature, “I’m in charge of your life now; whether you live or die is decided by this one finger.”
“Fucking psychopath,” Alicia managed. That only elicited a coarse laughter from the other.
“Who the hell are you anyway?” she questioned through gritted teeth, “what do you want from me?”
“Suck liveliness, coming from a cockroach,” he sneered, “I am but the mere host of a party. And is it not the host’s duty to clean up pests like you?”
She jolted as a coarse hand went down her shoulder, and the breath behind grew more heated, closer. He was doing his darndest to to unnerve her. And it was working.
“Go fuck yourself,” Alicia snarled, twisting her body to grab the pistol behind her head with her left hand. With one forceful kick to the stomach she sent him stumbling backward, and the gun clattered onto the dried dirt away from them.
And yet, when she had recovered from that one move, there was not the sight of a man kneeled over in pain. Instead she saw him crouched slightly, left arm poised in front of his stomach. A small imprint was left on the black sleeves of his tuxedo, but not more.
“Your turn is over,” the Host spoke, the slightest smile twitching at his lips. Within an instant he closed the distance between them in two strides, throwing a punch that seemed almost deceptively fast for his attire. Alicia swung her palm forward in turn, barely managing to force his first away from the intended target.
A swipe came from the side, knocking her head back and disorienting her from her impact. Another punch came, and she was forced to backpedal before it could reach. There was a short pause as she caught her breath, trying to make sense of the entire situation.
He wasn’t just a madman. He’s a madman who can fight.
She immediately went for her pockets, flipping out a switchblade. But no sooner did she thrust forward was her hand caught and her wrist firmly struck, forcing her to drop the weapon as soon as she brought it out. And for her trouble, the man struck her plainly with the back of his fist, sending her stumbling from the blow.
Alicia grasped her nose, feeling her eyes tear from the resulting pain. Where she was already gasping from mild exhaustion, his appearance was unchanged, barely a sign of exertion in his features. It was clear that she could hardly stand against him, let alone win the fight.
“Disappointing,” the Host gave a mock sigh, leaving his crouched stance, “A single gladiator could dispose of you; what hope do you have of fighting back?”
He motioned to walk forward, but was made to halt abruptly as the dirt before him burst forward in a mini eruption. A crack sounded the same time, unmistakably from a rifle. Slowly, the host turned to his right, to be greeted by another man in the distance. His casual wear belied his somewhat muscular build, and seemed almost unfitting to the military grade rifle held in his hands.
“More cockroaches,” the Host’s lips twitched, “or rather, an uninvited guest.”
“You flatter me,” the other replied, tone dripping with sarcasm, “what’s someone like you doing here, hm? Hardly the one to sight see.”
“One has to see their guests properly returned to their homes,” the host answered plainly.
“Good to know you welcome with fisticuffs.”
A smile crept to his lips, “t’was a mere test. Her head would be long gone were it not.”
Another crack of the rifle, this time the Host was forced to back away before bullet met flesh. Still his expression maintained a deadpan one, unmarked my fear or apprehension.
“I’ve overstayed my welcome, I suppose,” he shook his head. Slowly, he withdrew, and as his figure seemed to shimmer into transparency, he raised his voice to convey one last line:
“A final word...you are fighting an ideal, Jeffrey. Not a single man or a group of people. I hope you understand that fighting will carry you nowhere.”
The other pressed the trigger once more, but there was only a small burst of dust as the bullet hit dirt; the host had long gone, leaving no trace of him ever existed at all. All there was to mark his disappointment was a slight scowl, before he ran toward Alicia, still grasping her nose.
“Alicia are you-”
“Bloody fine, thanks to you.”
“Look I-”
She gave him no leeway for excuse. There was a resounding blow as she struck him on the cheek.
“Look at me, Jeff,” she roughly grasped his collar, her own teary eyes staring straight into his. He obliged, holding her gaze level without another word.
“I don’t care what tricks you play or jokes you crack,” she continued in a quivering voice, “but don’t ever do this to me again. We do everything together, or we don’t do it at all. Got it?”
A silent nod in reply, and he was released, though not with another apprehensive look by her.
“Are you really alright, though?” Jeff reiterated again, no longer bearing his casual attitude. What else could he say? He nearly had her killed, and even drove her to crying; that should have never happened at any circumstance.
“I think my nose is bleeding,” she put a knuckle to her nostrils, withdrawing a slight drop of blood, “doesn’t hurt much more though.”
“Right, right,” he nodded slowly, visibly relieved, “Sorry for bringing you out alone. Won't do it again. Promise.”
She gave him no more than a slight nod of acknowledgement, her expression unchanged; it seemed as though it would take more than a few words of apology before she truly forgave him.
"Come on, back the business," she said, swiping off the moisture around her eyes, "we're trying to recover a person-of-interest, aren't we?"
“We are,” he affirmed, walking over to the body to examine. Though the camera had moved before he could take a better glance, he already knew who it was. Another look only served to reaffirm that thought.
“Kalena...” Jeff knelt beside her, shaking his head, “...didn’t think I’d see you like this. That tournament was a mistake.”
She was breathing; her chest movements told him as much. A quick examination seemed to suggest most of her wounds were properly tended to. Healed, even. Whatever blood that was on her was long dried.
“Is she fine?” Alicia followed him over, bearing a somewhat worried expression.
“Sounds like they took care of her,” Jeff answered with a slight frown, “guess she was too good a money maker for them to leave her dead.”
“Here,” he crouched down, one arm under the legs and neck each, before carrying Kalena in a way not unlike a groom and his bride, the irony which was not lost upon him.
“Let’s hope she doesn’t have existing spinal injuries,” he muttered, before gesturing toward Alicia, “come on, back into the car. We can search the rest of this place afterward.
He was met with a nod in response, and the two silently withdrew from the area. It would take one more trip back before they could return home, but one thing was already clear to Jeff. They would soon have to do something, before the situation escalated. The system will not have its success without more than a few problems.
++
"Your papers, sir."
The archmage lifted his eyes from the report in his hand to see his young apprentice stride into the office with brisk steps. In his hands carried a massive stack of papers, tall enough that it had to be wrapped tight to avoid coming loose and spilling over the floors. That invited a brief scowl from the other, before he addressed his apprentice.
"My thanks, Corvon," Logan replied with a curt nod. With a loud thump the stack was placed onto the corner of his desk, and he shot it a mild look of disdain.
"This all looks serious," Corvon commented with a frown, "i've never seen the council issue a report this...large."
"I seek to change the foundation of which magic is taught," Logan answered with a dour tone, "the council wouldn't want their archaic methods to be
displaced so effortlessly."
"Changing the foundation..." the apprentice mused, his attention slowly shifting to the massive bookshelf at the side of the room. His memory of the college happenings were not lost on him; traditionally magic was taught under the pretense of several elements...until Logan announced himself that there was no basis for it, and that the actual basis of magic was far more complicated. The outrage from both practitioners and the magic council could only be imagined.
"But I digress," Logan continued, setting aside the report to bring his full attention at his apprentice, "your health, Corvon. You haven't been well."
There was a gulp as Corvon felt his cold stare pierce through his being, "I'm fine, sir, I-"
"You are more assuredly not," Logan interrupted sharply, "you space out when you should not, and your work has declined. Mistakes that should not have happened have happened. What other reason might you have?"
When he was met with stark silence, he continued, "speak your mind; your secrets will stay within these walls."
"I-that is..." Corvon bit his lip, trying to find the words to use, "I'm not quite sure what I'm doing or why, now."
A raised eyebrow beckoned him to explain.
"I came to this college because I had potential, Master Logan," he continued with a faltering breath, "i train myself every day, but to what end? Even I don't
know. I feel as though I...don't have a purpose in life."
Logan's expression did not change. Merely, his eyes turned to the papers at his desk, "life has no inherent purpose, Corvon. Part of living is to find your own. I will give you all the time to do so now, if only so your work no longer suffers. Even the sewer boy understands that he works to keep his family fed."
Purpose. Goal. Destiny. The same words seem to revolve in Corvon's mind. Images flashed, and with each whisper to his consciousness, each vague scene that blinked by so quickly, the world seemed to turn on its hinges, desaturating in colour until everything was almost a dull grey...
...Purpose. Goal. Destiny....
Everything seemed to distort, yet felt so appropriate. Comfortable, even. And in the midst of this strange event he could hear, just loud enough to stiffle the incessant whispers, his own voice conveying one last question.
"Master Logan, what is your purpose?"
"My purpose?" At that, the archmage stood, striding over to where his apprentice was. At the same time his features slowly distorted to softer ones. Wrinkles receded, and the once greyed hair was coloured to a lighter brown that shone through the monochrome background. And when he finally reached the other, Corvon no longer saw his master, but a woman, gazing at him with a smile yet with eyes that seemed tell of a mute sorrow.
Her lips moved, but he heard nothing. All he could see was his companion, standing so ever close to him...
__________
"KALENA!"
That name came screaming through his throat as Corvon sat awake, stopping only when he noticed the voice was his. He blinked, and it dawned upon him quickly that this was no afterlife or dream; he was alive, even when he should not be. He lay on a bed, in what seemed like a small bedroom, modestly furnished with wooden furniture. A metal rod lay resting on the wall beside him, the only object of note.
"You're awake."
The sound of a young woman's voice, almost melodic, brought his atten