Chapter 7-Dark Illusions

Saya woke up to the sound of extremely off-key whistling. Her head was resting in Kira’s lap, a soft blanket keeping her warm as she got some sleep. She could hear angry yelling inside the room they were sitting next to.

“Hey.” Saya looked up at Kira, who was running his hand up and down her arm.

“Hey.” Saya sat up with a groan, glancing up at the doors next to them. “Are they still at it?”

“Yeah, auntie started raising her voice, then Sai started shouting too. That was about an hour ago.” Kira said.

“Great.” Saya sighed.

Mai and Sai were having a very long discussion with a couple of men in black suits, probably the STAF agents sent in response to the terrorist attack at the school. The twins had been sitting in the hallway of the hospital their father was taken to listening to their aunt threaten the agents with violence should they even look at the twins funny.

Sai burst out of the room with a kick to the door, angry and irritated.

“Stupid bastards.” He growled, plopping down into the set next to Saya with a scowl. “Maybe if they did their jobs right we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

Sai looked at the twins and forced himself to calm down out of respect for them. He looked at Saya, who looked significantly worse off than her bother.

“Are you feeling okay?” Sai asked softly.

“What do you think?” Saya replied bitterly.

“I’m thinking you look terrible.” Sai shot back with a small smile.

“Saya just woke up a few minutes ago. She’s a bit agitated.” Kira said, holding Saya’s hand. “How’s dad?”

“We’ve got some of STAF’s most talented healers working on him at the moment.” Sai said. “Your dad will live, but the wound you gave him was really deep. Even with powerful healers, it’ll be weeks or even months before he’s on his feet.”

Saya whined and put her head in her hands. She could barely remember what happened after her episode back at their apartment, but the image of her father lying on the floor with a bloody gash in his side was ingrained into her memories. She hurt her father, just like she hurt all those children so long ago.

“But it’ll be alright. He’s in good hands. Everything’s going to be-“

“How can you say that?” Saya growled, jumping up on unsteady legs. “I just learned that I killed my entire preschool class at the age of fucking three. I nearly killed my brother, had both of our minds wiped, and put my dad in the fucking hospital. How can you even think that things are going to be alright?”

Saya immediately felt guilty when she saw Sai’s face fall. She didn’t mean to be so harsh on him, especially when he’s in the middle of this too.

“So, are they going to take us away?” Kira asked. Sai looked up.

“Take you away?”

“Yes, as in send us off to some military compound to keep us away from the bad guys.” Kira frowned. “We’re dangerous, right? And those people are going to keep trying to come after us-“

Sai flicked a small blue orb at his head.

“Idiot. You really think that Ms. Asakura is just going to let you two be carted away like that? You two are still the same Kira and Saya from yesterday.”

“You dumbass!” Saya growled. “It’s not that simple.”

“It is. You two are extremely powerful, but with training you can control it.”

Sai knelt in front of the twins and held up his hand, which glowed royal blue.

“You can see my aura as well as yours, right?”

The twins nodded, looking at each other. Kira’s aura was a bright red, while Saya’s was pitch black. Both auras were strong and bright, brighter than Sai’s, they could tell it had something to do with how magically strong they were.

Sai waited until a nurse passed them and disappeared around a corner. “Watch my aura carefully. I’ll try to do it slow.”

His aura brightened by a fraction and then a dozen azure threads of light wiggled towards the center of his palm. They converged at a single point and began to glow like a filament in a lightbulb. More threads were added and the tiny ball grew. Soon a ball of blue light the size of a grape was hovering three centimeters above Sai’s palm.

“Wow.” The twins whispered in awe.

“It’s something else when you can actually see someone else’s aura, huh? Few people can see another person’s aura like you two can. Even among sensory magicians it’s a rare skill.” Sai smiled at the light in his hands. “This is how my dad taught me. Our auras are like a second skin composed of light that is born from our mana, which fuels our magic. As Nephilim, you two naturally have larger mana reserves, so it’ll be easier for you to learn the basics.”

“Was your dad a strong mage?” Saya asked.

“The best. He was a member of Xing’s Hunter’s Union, and he’s the one who got me into the Junior Division when I turned twelve.” A light shown in his eyes as he talked about his father. “He taught me everything about magic, and how to fight. He was the one who taught me to never use violence unless it was to protect someone.”

“Smart man.” Kira smiled.

All of a sudden Saya felt very shallow. She had just spent the past few hours feeling sorry for herself. She had almost killed her own father, but it was likely-not, he would most certainly recover. Her mother was also still alive, and apparently still gave a damn about them. But Sai: his father was gone and his mother buried herself in work abroad and lived with a stranger. He had it rougher than her, but he never pitied himself no matter how many times he complained.

“So, your dad taught you magic, right?” Kira asked.

“Yup, dad could use water magic just like me.” Sai said. “He taught me everything I know.”

Kira watched Sai play around with the little energy ball for a minute before asking, “So what now?”

“Well your aunt’s given me permission to teach you magic to protect yourselves. Shouldn’t be hard considering how naturally powerful you two are. However learning to harness your avatar abilities will be a bit harder considering the only other two avatars are outside of the country. That’s going to be a bit more trial and error.” He replied.

“Okay, so we’re going to start learning magic.” Saya nodded, her mood lightening up to this news. “But if we aren’t being sent off somewhere, then where will we stay?”

“For the foreseeable future, you two are staying with me and Amaru.” Sai grinned widely. “We have enough room for you guys, so it’s no problem for us.”

“It’s no problem. You guys are being hunted by my past demons, and I can’t have that.” Sai stood up with a grunt and clapped his hands. “I’m going to teach you two how to defend yourselves from any bastard that wants to start something with you. You two aren’t alone in this anymore. I’ll keep you guys safe no matter what!”

Kira and Saya, though still emotionally exhausted, felt their spirits lift at having help from their aunt and friends. The world had gotten a whole lot scarier, but they didn’t feel so alone anymore now that they knew that some people were on their side.

XXXXXX

The night air was filled with a strange energy, tense and full of anticipation. It was always exhilarating, the last moments before going in. conditions were perfect with the cool evening air and the London streets shrouded in fog. Few civilians would be about this early in the morning. Perfect hunting conditions-but Captain Roger Ferguson could take no pleasure tonight. The enemy was crafty and had been long in chasing down. There could be no mistakes.

“Merlin Squad to base, we have confirmed visual on the target.”

“This is HQ. What’s the target’s status?” Came the staticy reply from the radio. “Do you have a clean shot?”

“Negative.” Fergusson said back. “We’re picking up too many wards around the building, and there are at least three other people with her.”

“Mages?”

“Maybe.” The captain said. “Could be residents, could be guards. What do you want us to do about them?”

The reply was a long time in coming.

“Standard entry procedure,” They said at last. “Take them down hard and fast, tear through those wards. Take the Sycamore alive if you can, but lethal force has been approved. She must not be allowed to slip past us a second time.”

“Understood, HQ.” The aging man replied with an edge of conviction. “Captain Fergusson out.”

The middle-aged officer returned the radio to his belt and ran a rough hand through his still thick, whitening hair. Staring out across the gulf that separated the captain’s roof-top observation point and three-level flat in which his target had taken up residence, his sharp blue eye picked out the form of a frail girl with russet colored hair sitting at the window. She was a pretty girl, no more than sixteen or seventeen years of age. Her feature were blurred by the distance but Captain Fergusson’s mind filled in the blanks.

It was a face he was a face he was well acquainted with, heart-shaped, with a small upturned nose and bright, wide green eyes. So sweet, so innocent, and completely oblivious to the danger she was in.

Fergusson snorted at that thought.

“Maintain visual, Corporal.” He said, glancing down at the soldier lying prone beside him. Like himself, the Corporal was dressed in olive green fatigues and shiny black military issue boots. The junior officer was staring down the sight of a matter colored sniper rifle and a communications bead was stuck in his ear.

“Roger that.” The Corporal said with a cheeky grin, to which Fergusson scowled tiredly. You share a first name with a homonym for military slang and you never live it down.

Without a reply, Fergusson strode across the roof to descend down the rope ladder that had been suspended there. Parked within the alley was a drab military issue supply truck. Soldiers wearing flak jackets, helmets and black balaclavas stood about idly, checking and double checking their assault rifles and the various pieces of anti-magic equipment strapped to their belts.

“Places lads,” Captain Fergusson announced once he had reached the bottom, slipping on a flak jacket as he did so. “We’re moving in three.”

With only a unified salute for acknowledgement, the soldiers hustled out into the cordoned off street, splitting into two groups. One group made its way towards the back door, the other to the front.

“We’re in place, sir.” Two voices spoke at once, causing Fergusson’s earpiece to shriek and the Captain to wince painfully.

“Bloody hell, I hate these things.” He said, tuning the comm bead as he took up position with his men at the front door, rifle swinging from a strap across his chest.

“Sir?” The voices spoke again, this time without triggering feedback.

“Nothing, continue with the countdown.”

“Yes, sir.”

As the three minutes ran down to one on his watch, Fergusson could not cease a minute smile from spreading across his lips. His leather gloves squeaked as he gripped tighter on his gun’s stock. The ten second warning timer beeped once. Sweaty rolled down his brow as he gulped down his anticipation, his heart pounding hard in his chest.

Three. Two. One.

“Go!” He shouted, his cry echoed across the comm channel as his soldiers burst through the front and back doors with a white flash and stun grenades were hurled into the interior.

Streams of flame and bursts of ice were lobbed in return even after the concussive forces of the grenades ripped through the building, but volleys of mana enhanced gunfire put an end to the counter attack. The soldiers streamed inside, their rifles’ floodlights blazing and illuminating the bodies of the fallen. Those who still lived were secured with mana-suppressing handcuffs and then hit with a dose of heavy anesthetics. Both groups swept through the ground floor to meet at the staircase with nary a scratch amongst them. The storming had barely taken thirty seconds.

Fergusson’s gaze swept through the devastated parlor. Whole patches had been ripped out of the molding gray carpet by the force of the stun grenades, while cheap spindly furniture had been toppled or splintered by either the blasts or the toppling of senseless bodies. Twelve humans in various states of dress rested on the ground, their wrists newly secured. The only things within the room that remained undisturbed by the scuffle was a portrait of the queen hanging above the mantle. The Captain took a moment to salute her.

“The floor is secured, sir.” One of the masked soldiers said. “Twelve suspects apprehended-“

“Yes, I know.” The captain growled with impatience. “You men remain here and keep this floor secure.” He gestured at three men, then waved at another eight and said, “The floor plans showed a basemen, go check it out. The rest of you lot follow me.”

“Yes, sir!” Sixteen strong male voice called in unison, echoing simultaneously through Fergusson’s earpiece and causing him to grimace at the hard volume.

The captain and his men dashed up the stairs, coming out into a narrow hallway lined with doors, likely bedrooms. Another flight of stairs stood at the opposite end of the hall.

“Corporal, what’s the target doing?” Fergusson called to his rooftop sniper as his men began a systematic sweep of the floor.

“Hasn’t moved a muscle.” The Corporal’s voice came back, slightly distorted by the way. He sounded puzzled. “Surely she’s heard the ruckus you’ve been making down there.”

“Then she’s waiting for us.” Fergusson had to shout slightly as his men burst through another door. He frowned slightly at a sudden thought. “Is our visual an illusion?”

“Negative,” Came the answer. “Her heat signature’s too consistent-though I suppose that can be fooled. But the meter’s reading her mana signature square, and I have yet to see anyone pull the wool over on this gadget.”

“Capitol,” Sai Fergusson. “And how’s the Ward Buster doing?”

“She’s still trying to configure the power frequency of the Sycamore’s ward. And at the rate it’s been going I’d wager she won’t be ready for another five to ten minutes.”

Fergusson sighed.

“Well, as soon as its charged, get it loaded right away. If you lose contact with us and she’s still there, don’t wait for the rest of the lads to have a go at her. Put the buster right through that tart’s block, got it?”

“Yes sir.” The Corporal’s acknowledgement took more than a second to come through. Fergusson didn’t blame the man for his hesitance. Under normal circumstances he too would have been reluctant to commit indiscriminate violence against a woman, let alone a girl, but this was different. This wasn’t a girl they were dealing with, but an animal. A monster. There could be no mercy.

“Floor secure, Captain.” One of his men said, saluting as the man and his companions took up position around their leader.

“Right, last floor then, lads.”

Fergusson led them up the stairs, but not without incident. The moment the Captain’s heavy boot touched down on the top step, the rest of the stairs lost all substance. Three of his men fell through with a unified yell of surprise. One of the others dropped his gun and grabbed hold of the handrail, leaving him dangling comically with half his legs sunk through the floor and the wooden rail creaking in dangerous protest. Fergusson’s last man had a better time at keeping his wits about him and had cast his spell the moment the trap had been sprung. He now floated nearly a full meter above the nonexistent stairs, now standing atop a cloud of air keeping him aloft.

“Peterson, O’Toole, Creevy, are you lads still alright? Respond.”

After two fearful seconds a familiar voice groaned over the line.

“O’Toole here, sir. Creevy and I are alright, the kitchen table broke our fall.”

Fergusson let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding.

“And Peterson?”

“The table didn’t break my fall so much as the sink,” Came another man’s voice, strained and short of breath. “And my sternum.”

Fergusson grunted as he spoke again.

“Cleese, is the basement clear?”

“Aye, sir. A lot of right dodgy stuff down here, but not a soul aside from us.”

“We’ll worry about that later, just get Idle back up to the kitchen and get Peterson patched up, then get the rest of your men up here on the double. And mind the disappearing staircase.”

“Copy that, sir.”

Blood and adrenaline still pumping hard through his body, Fergusson forced himself into a calmed state and glanced about. The hall was as narrow as the one before it, but with only three doors: one at the far end of the hall and one on either side of the passage halfway down. He knew that their target was waiting for them behind the door on the left.

“We’ll be a bit more cautious this time, lads.” Fergusson said, taking a palm-sized leather pouch from his belt. He began to lightly shake the pouch’s contents, a fine gold colored powder, out onto the floor in wide arcs. A narrow path of gold was left upon the floor, less than a meter in width. The dust that landed outside of these confines turned an ugly shade of magenta.

“Follow the yellow dust road.” The rifle-less soldier remarked as he drew his handgun, drawing a withering glare from his fellow soldier and his commanding officer. “I’m not apologizing.”

The three moved carefully in single file, the Captain spreading the dust trail as they marched. The path of unenchanted ground arched ninety-degrees and parallel to the left hand door. The last sprinkling of dust on the portal itself revealed the door to be defended.

“Allow me, sir.” The man with the rifle said, moving forward with a hand-sized hammer made of mana-infused crystal-Dust. At once, Fergusson and the pistol wielder backed away to the edge of the safe zone and covered their ears. The hammer struck once, filling the air with a loud, hollow resonance. Again the hammer came down, but this time a golden flash like lightening lit up the air, blinding the on-lookers. When the stars had cleared from Fergusson’s eyes, it was only to find the soldier lying on his back, limbs twitching spasmodically.

Almost simultaneously, a bang sounded behind. Rotating on his heel, the Captain found that his last mad had staggered off the safe zone and was now snoring on the floor. Swearing, he checked the pulse of the electrocuted man and sighed with relief when he found that the other was but unconscious.

“All you had to do was knock.” A female voice said, speaking casually as the door slid open with a sonorous creak.

Captain Fergusson rose stoically to his feet and strode into the room, his teeth set in fierce but controlled anger, and his rifle trained on his quarry.

“I’m here for your arrest.” He said. His words were conversational, as if asking what she wanted with her tea.

“Of course you are.” She agreed with the slightest edge of sarcasm.

She had changed in the last two years. The thick russet curls and the thin taunting lips were the same, but they accentuated the fact that she was thinner. The throne-like wheelchair looked ready to devour her tiny, wasted body.

“Had an accident, did you?” He said, indicating the swatch of her bandages wrapped around her right eye.

“I had to have a little eye surgery.” She said coyly, her visible green eye bright with mischief and hidden meaning. “I’m glad that you’re so concerned, Captain. We haven’t seen each other in an age.”

“It’s been far too long, my dear.” Fergusson answered with a grim sincerity. He had thus far ignored his first impulse to pull the trigger, but his rifle never left her heart.

“Why, whatever is the matter, Roger?” Margareta Walcott asked, studying him with intense energy. “Surely you’re not upset by the little pranks I left you? Those were merely welcoming gifts, to let you know how glad I am to see you. Or perhaps it is that little incident from two years ago that has you so worked up?” Her mockery was unconcealed as she wagged a finger. “Tut, tut. The Association should know better, putting an officer with a personal vendetta in charge of a mission.”

“You killed my granddaughter, you devil!” He couldn’t help himself. Only the strongest impulse of conscience stopped him from gunning her down right there. “You drove her mad and then killed her. And those other cadets as well; you’re classmates. Are you so surprised that I would not be the one to hunt you down and make you face justice? You’ve really underestimated me, Ms. Walcott. You’re under arrest for murder, treason, and the defilement of the sacred oath. Now come quietly or I’ll make you unfit to hold water.”

Her lips were pursed in a haughty pout, spidery fingers steepled beneath her chin. “I suppose I did underestimate you, Captain. Your dedication to duty is truly a thing to admire.”

“Now, girl! Drop your wards and cancel your magic.”

Margareta’s smile was coquettish and unconcerned.

“Oh, Captain Fergusson,” She said with it a dreamy sigh as she brushed aside a strand of hair from her eyes. “So full of life, so full of commitment. So full of…passion. That’s what I’ve always like about you, you know.”

He tried to steel himself for the psychic counterattack, had put up every mental barrier he had ever been trained for, but she tore through them all with unnatural ease. The pressure of the ocean filled his skull, threatening to explode outward. He could see the silver gleam beneath the bandages, the heavy miasma that floated about her. He took his only chance and pulled the trigger; but instead of the ratta-ratta-ratta of mana infused bullets marching down the barrel there was only a single metallic click and an apologetic whir. Margareta smiled as she waved the weapon’s magazine in her hand.

He cast it aside and raised his hand but as soon as it began the flow of mana stopped. His entire body had frozen save for his eyes, which widened to impossible proportions at the sight of her sitting there, half a meter away, her bony fingers wrapped delicately about his own.

Fergusson shut is eyes, trying to block her out. He imagined his granddaughter Emily, from her infancy in his daughter’s arms through grade school. He remembered the last picture they had taken of her, proud and smiling in her new STAF cadet’s uniform, flanked on either side by her friends and sparring buddies Braun and Huang. Margareta skulking in the background…wait, she wasn’t in that picture. Then the photo burned away and he was in the training room. Emily was sprawled at an unnatural angle, her red hair stained with blood.

His eyes snapped open just as Margareta stood up. Fergusson gawked. Her eyes were level with his, far taller than a one hundred ten centimeter girl. Her right was unobstructed and was brilliant silver. The plain cotton robe fell away. Her body was no longer emaciated by a lifetime of physical weakness, but was full and voluptuous, Aphrodite herself. He told himself it wasn’t real, shouted and cursed like his drill sergeant had whenever he and his mates had been caught picking up women while on day pass. He imagined Emily and her mother as child, all purity and innocence. When the succubus image thrust itself back into the center of his consciousness, Roger Fergusson felt panic for the first time in his life.

Wasn’t that ward down yet? Her skin was so soft. Damn it, Corporal, take the shot already! Her hair smelled like fresh cut flowers. That sleep trap had to have worn off by now; it was such a small affair. Her arms were about his neck, she was so soft and warm. How long does it take to scale a staircase? Her lips were brushing his, they tasted of honey. Where were his men?

“Passion, Captain,” Her voice was sharp in his ears. “Is a dangerous thing.”

“And beautiful.” He whispered, Emily’s face and name were trampled by the desire to wrap his arms about her supple waist.

“Oh yes,” She said, her full red lips were inching towards his own. “Very.”

XXXXXX

When the rest of Fergusson’s soldiers arrived moments later, it was to find their Captain dead on his back, blood oozing from all orifices of his skull and a grisly smile stretched across his face. The immediate cause of death, as reported by the coroner, was intense hemorrhaging of the brain and the spontaneous bursting of his heart. When questioned, the disbelieving Corporal reporting to have observed Margareta turn her wheelchair to face the door. Then her form had blinked, wavered, and vanished with the morning mist.