Chapter 014

Revenge for Gyrak

Twenty-five minutes.

Ebony had counted twenty-five minutes, give or take, since she’d left her squad to inform James along with the others of the criminal they’d managed to capture. By mere luck or coincidence, they’d secured a lead to uncovering the truth about the ongoing “Missing Mages” Case. And yet, the small victory, much like the kidnapped soldiers, had vanished without a trace. As they returned, Ebony extinguished an astonished gasp. On the side of the street, they found Striker. He was laying on his back with his legs spread apart and one of his arms resting on his forehead. Fortunately, he was still breathing. His chest quiveringly inflated in between the fractured puffs of air expelled out his gaping mouth.

Sabine darted past Ebony to check on her fallen comrade. “There, there,” she whispered in a comforting tone. Crouched on a knee, she helped the soldier sit up, placing a hand behind his back to support him all the while gluing her concerned glance at he who’d yet to even open his eyes. Hazel, on the other hand, got to work inspecting their surroundings. She first analyzed the rope Ebony recognized to be the same that had previously restrained the Gyrakian when she’d recovered from her stupor. Hazel spent probably half a minute quietly staring at it in her hands before casually discarding it, dropping the rope back onto the ground as her inspection brought her elsewhere.

Meanwhile, their team leader hadn’t spoken a word. Tapping his foot, he scanned the area. His distinguished frown only continued to grow. “What happened?” he finally asked, penetrating the sky with a look of disappointment. “I thought you said you’d apprehended one of the suspects?”

Ebony gulped. “We had.”

“Really? Then how do you explain this?”

“Apologies, sir. I haven’t a clue. Perhaps they were ambushed after I left?” the mage stammered, fishing her brain for the most likely possibilities.

“Save your breath, Ashborn. For now, let’s concentrate on finding our escapee. If what you say is true then he couldn’t have gotten too far.”

“And another thing,” Hazel added, a few meters ahead of them. “Any idea where Everburn went?”

Overwhelmed with questions and concerns, Ebony had neglected to acknowledge the absence of her teammate. Rune had always been someone who could handle himself. In terms of sheer magical strength, she could comfortably claim he surpassed her by a decent margin. He should’ve had no problem handling the situation even if Striker had fallen. Then why had he disappeared as well? Was he currently pursuing the criminal? Did he secure another lead? Perhaps. Although it didn’t explain how he could so easily abandon Striker in the state he was in.

James cursed. “Great, now we’ve another problem to deal with.”

“I’ll say.” Ebony, as well as James, turned to Striker who was slowly but surely coming to. He coughed into his fist, trails of silver bile seeping out the sides of his lips. Upon approaching him, Ebony’s eyes widened. At the center of his navy uniform was an enormous burn mark. The dark, cloudy shape spawned from his chest and expanded a good way past his waist. The scar had permanently engraved itself into the suit’s fabric. Smaller, circular-shaped burns decorated his sleeves. The charred uniform omitted a foul odor similar to the smell of burning cotton. Striker spat a ball of red onto the ground and side glanced at Sabine. “Man, this is embarrassing. And here I was thinking this night couldn’t possibly get worse. Now I’ve to look forward to your gloating later on.” His tiny chuckle was interrupted by an abrupt cough, forcing him to grab his stomach. “Ryas, this hurts,” he grumbled.

“Don’t fret, it’ll take way more than that to keep you down,” Sabine smiled. “And it isn’t in my nature to gloat, rest assured. I’m not as shallow as you.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it, sweetheart,” he grinned.

“Dolton,” James said, crouching so he could meet him at eye level.

“Sorry, Major. Because of my screw-up, I might have just compromised the entire operation.”

“Dwell on it no further. Tell me what happened. Who did this to you?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Striker choked. “That bastard! When I see him again he’s dead meat!”

“Wait...” Ebony uttered, taking a step back from them. “You’re not saying...”

“I am! We’ve got a traitor amidst our ranks. That rat Ransford’s got some explaining to do.”

No. She couldn’t make sense of it. Nor did she want to accept it. During her time serving as a combat mage, as brief as it may have been, she’d come face to face with many criminals. There was no end to them. They came in every shape, size, kind, and type. Murderers. Terrorists. Kidnappers. Even traitors. No matter who they were, with a single glance, it became evident that she was no longer dealing with an ordinary member of society. For one reason or another, they saw fit to obstruct the natural order. To utterly disregard and dismantle the laws put in place by the sovereign. To men and women like them, she held no remorse. Criminals, no matter who they were, always needed to take responsibility for their wrongdoings. This was what she believed.

After partaking in so many missions of similar design, after experiencing what it was like to hunt the snakes walking amongst the common folk, she liked to think nothing could surprise her anymore. That she could sever her emotions when the time came. That she could complete any task without allowing the opponent that was her mind to interfere with what needed to be done. Yet there she stood, clutching her chest and baring a dumbfounded expression, disregarding the hardships, lessons, and training she’d lived through. This internal turmoil would entirely revolve around a revelation she couldn’t comprehend.

“Rune’s not a traitor,” she claimed, unsure of whether or not she actually believed the words she spoke. Nevertheless, she reclaimed her wits, as well as her confidence. She stiffened her spine. Regained her fragile footing. Cleared her mind. “There has to be something we aren’t seeing here. For all we know, Rune might’ve been placed under a trance like me. He might be unaware of what he’s doing.”

“Hate to disagree with ya,” Striker countered. “The kid knew exactly what he was doing.”

“And how can you be so positive?”

“I’m a soldier, or have you forgotten? I can tell who and what my enemies are. Ransford wasn’t hypnotized or poisoned. When he looked me in the eyes, I felt it. I knew then and there we weren’t on the same side. Not anymore.” Striker lowered his head, heavily pounding his knuckle onto the ground. “If only I had reacted faster, then he wouldn’t have gotten the jump on me.” He stared at Ebony again, detecting her doubt, her suspicion. At least, Ebony assumed as much when he muttered, “Believe me if you want to. Couldn’t care less if you don’t.”

“And the Gyrakian?” Sabine inquired.

“Before I blacked out, I saw Ransford untying him. I can only assume they made a run for it together.”

“So Ransford’s flipped sides. Who could’ve seen this coming?” Hazel unaffectionately sighed.

“No!” Ebony retorted. “There has to be a logical explanation. Rune should be given the chance to defend himself. He’s earned at least that much, hasn’t he?”

“You’ve made your point, Ashborn. Above all else, we must first deduce where he went,” James interrupted loudly, capturing their attention. He glanced at Sabine and ordered, “Inform Leones’ party of the recent developments. Tell them to forget about their previous mission. Our top priority, for now, is locating Ransford and the Gyrakian.”

“Understood, sir!”

Next, James stared at Ebony. He released a sigh and walked over to her, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Look, I get it. You’re confused, maybe even upset about what’s happening. Regardless, as of right now, I’ll ask that you keep a clear mind.”

“Y...Yes, sir,” Ebony uttered. “From what I can gather, you’ve known Rune far longer than the rest of us. Surely you don’t think...”

“I don’t know what to think!” he snapped. It seemed as if he too was having trouble containing his many conflicting emotions. Though his temporary outburst seamlessly dissolved as he washed a gloved hand over his face. “If we’re going to get to the bottom of this,” he said, regarding her with a look of total indifference. “we’ll need to find Ransford first.”

Above him, storm clouds gathered.

Rune shoved the captive in front of him with so much force he almost tripped. Though he didn’t keep his disdain a secret, the criminal sending an onslaught of foul leers and curses at Rune whenever the occasion arose, he was surprisingly cooperative. Maybe it was because he knew how powerless he was. Against a mage, an average human stood not a chance. It was the reason people like him resorted to using enchanted items and weapons. It was their only means of combating those who could utilize Ryas’ gift. Having lost his flute and stripped of the weapons he’d concealed within hidden compartments scattered around his body, he’d no choice but to follow his captor’s commands. Even if it meant going against those he’d pledged allegiance to. “How much farther?” Rune grunted, shoving a palm onto the man’s back.

“We get there when we get there,” the Gyrakian spat in a broken, dehydrated voice. Rune had no way of ensuring the man’s directions were true or not. As they advanced he kept a vigilant watch on his environment. They were completely alone. No longer did market stalls and restaurants surround them. Instead, decrepit buildings and half-finished formations of concrete encompassed the area. The street lamps which had provided light barely functioned, some of them flickering on and off until burning out permanently. The road itself was less refined. It appeared as more of a sloppy trail of uneven earth. “It’s not too late, ya know,” the man said, glancing back at him. “Release me now and you could spare yourself from a world of suffering.”

Rune struck him with a swift smack to his nape. “You think I’d be willing to do this if I could scare so easily?”

“I just assumed you were stupid. Or eager to meet your maker.”

“Sorry to disappoint, nobody’s dying tonight. So spare me your warning and be quiet.”

“I disagree. Where we’re headed, why, I doubt you’ll be able to see the light of day again. If you ask me, you'd have a better chance of surviving if you kept with the bastards whom I assumed were your allies. Loyalty must be lost on you filthy Esterans.” Rune shook his head. It wasn’t as if he was necessarily wrong. A pack of wolves had a better chance at beating their prey than one by himself. A lone hunter barely reaped the best rewards. However, this was a risk he was willing to take. He couldn’t allow the others to interfere. Not when he was so close. He highly imagined that when he reunited with them again he’d be court-martialed, maybe even expelled. Attacking a fellow officer was a serious offense. Then again, he didn’t really care much for what happened to himself. What he desired more than anything else was finding the murderer responsible for ruining his life.

The Gyrakian chuckled, his chin magnetizing to his chin and his shoulders bobbing up and down. “What’s so funny?” asked Rune.

“Don’t mind me, brat,” he happily replied. The man stopped in his tracks. He could barely contain his laughter. There wasn’t a hint of humiliation or anger on his face. He was completely and utterly ecstatic. “We’ve arrived, Esteran.”

The half-finished buildings accompanying them on their trek had bid farewell. Suddenly, Rune recognized where exactly the Gyrakian had taken him. True though it was that Star Bell was primarily a shopping town, most of its less popular sectors were on the verge of collapse. This one was no exception. Rune glanced from side to side. The giant husks of metal stood quietly in the dark. Each of the abandoned warehouses bore nearly an identical resemblance to the other. Cracked windows. Dilapitaded doors. Weeds and plant life climbed up from the ground and scaled their sides. It was a rather pitiful sight to see. The grinning Gyrakian led him further into the silent site until, eventually, Rune’s ears discerned the shuffling of dirt. His vision hardened. They weren’t alone.

His suspicions were soon confirmed as a shadowy figure stepped out of a warehouse ahead of them. He was dressed in ripped, dark clothing with a red scarf covering the bottom half of his head. The captive halted his advance as did Rune, reluctantly following his lead. Then another of them appeared. And another after that. Before he knew it, Rune had become enclosed in a ring of the men. He counted thirty, no, forty of them. Each of them donned a shredded attire. They were mummies drenched in faded cloaks of cloth whilst red scarves functioned as an effective means of concealing their identities. Their golden eyes studied him. None of them said anything. The deafening silence was so unnerving Rune was tempted to be the first to speak. At least, he was, until one of the men began barking in his native tongue. The Gyrakian beside him responded. The next to speak was Rune’s captive. He couldn’t understand any of them as he was never well versed in the language of their neighboring country. As such, he remained figuratively and literally in the dark.

It wasn’t until one of the men advanced towards them did he take caution. He swiftly drew a magic circle with his right index finger, one so small he doubted any of them noticed. The spark it made as it disintegrated barely inflicted a dent in the darkness they were shrouded in. Rune thought about activating the spell. Even if it wouldn’t be as strong as a spell from his tome, if nothing else, it’d provide him with some measure of defense. Though, he ultimately erased the idea. He’d already scanned most of the men present. From what he could tell, they were each equipped with a firearm, either a rifle or a hand pistol. Additionally, a curved blade was strapped to their waist. Rune was confident in his abilities although he was fairly certain it took longer to cast a spell than it did to pull a trigger. For the time being, he’d adopt the role of a helpless intruder.

“Apologies for my late arrival. My brothers, my sisters. Hopefully, you will accept this sorcerer as a token of my apology,” Rune’s “captive” so boldly announced. Abandoning any ounce of fear or anger he might have still had coursing through his body, the man smiled and said, “He’s a pretty powerful magic user with a lot of mana inside of him. He’ll make a fine battery indeed.

Battery? Rune became on edge as a small group of men approached him. They muttered something amongst each other, words and phrases Rune remained ignorant to, before one of them grunted, “Come with us, sorcerer. I’d advise you not to cause any trouble. Lest you favor having a bullet lodged in your brain.” Not much of a choice then, is there? Rune did as they said. He nodded his head and erected his arms.

His enemies weren’t fools. Before anything else was said and done, they swiftly confiscated his tome as he expected they would. They also took his radio, hence stripping away his only means of communication. Not that he necessarily needed it. They then led him to a nearby abandoned warehouse, a building with a partially collapsed ceiling and walls littered with craters. A thick, musty smell of rust permeated the atmosphere. Rune would’ve covered his nose if he wasn't at gunpoint, the mage subtly glancing behind him and at the pair of soldiers pointing the business ends of their rifles at his rear. Any sudden movements or noises could potentially usher them into shooting. He was no use to anyone dead.

Obediently, he did as he was told. Sat in a chair at the center of the room and allowed for them to tie his hands behind his back. For a time, the men indulged in their own affairs. Some chatted with each other while a good portion of them went back outside. If only my Gyrakian was better I’d at least understand what they’re saying. Marching through the doors directly in front of him entered a man with a distinguished scowl. A large, black scar ran down from the top of his skull, across his golden skin, and through his right eye. In his possession, he carried Draken. Skimming its pages, he regarded Rune with a glare consumed by spite. Rune assumed he was their leader based on the others’ reaction, or at the very least a high-ranking member. The twelve or so men present stiffened their spines and shouted a foreign solute.

The scarred man ignored them. Slowly, he advanced towards Rune, stopping mere inches from his knees. “Can you read my tongue, child?” he inquired in a raspy voice. “You understand me, yes?” Rune gave a reluctant nod. “Good, because I don’t want there to be any misunderstandings between us. My men tell me you put a dent in our operation yet you permitted yourself to be escorted here. To our base. I want to know why. What would make you so willingly come to the den of your enemies?”

Rune frowned. “Some of the story is a little bit skewered.”

“Then enlighten me, Esteran rat.”

“My business is with a man calling himself Trevor Thatch. I’ve got a couple of questions for him.”

The scarred man tilted his head, his eyes twitching with annoyance. “You truly are a fool. As if our supreme leader has time to spare dealing with such trivial matters.”

“So, I take it he’s not around. If I may ask, when will he be returning?”

“You seem to not comprehend the predicament you’re in, Esteran,” the scarred man spat. “When sorcerers of this rotten country are claimed by the sons and daughters of Gyrak their lives are forfeit. They serve their purpose as batteries, as will you. Your rotten souls will help us forge a befitting future for our beautiful homeland.”

“Quit trying to act so noble. I’m already aware of your crimes. You’re kidnapping and murdering combat mages, yeah? Stealing their essence for an undeniably despicable project.”

“And yet I sense this hardly bothers you.”

“Not really, no. I’m not familiar with any of them and I didn’t accept this crazy mission because I wanted to rescue them. I just want to see Thatch. Tell him to step forward and I promise not to make a mess of things.”

“You Esterans are all the same. Acting so high and mighty as if you own everything under the sun! Soon you’ll learn your place.” Walking to the left side of the room, he gently placed Draken atop a metal table. Then, he picked up a small, turqoise fragment radiating like a thunderbug. Holding it tightly between his fingers, he viciously scowled, “Since coming to this country, I’ve seen how you Esterans live. You act as if the war never happened. Like the pain and suffering you put us through hardly matters. You devils have forgotten but we’ll soon jog your memories.” A toothy smile spread from lip to lip, an aura of elation completely engulfing the Gyrakian. “Once the Day of Zero arrives justice will finally be served. Gyrak will have its long-awaited revenge and the souls purged during those hellish days will be at peace.”

So they’re pissed about the war? It wasn’t too much of a surprise. The dreaded 7 Year War was a stain on their history books. A prolonged conflict involving Esteras and most of the countries surrounding it. Had it not been for the creation of the tomes, courtesy of the great Professor Zenobio, the Esteran forces wouldn’t have stood a chance. It was because of these mythic weapons they managed to overcome anyone daring enough to oppose them. Once the war was concluded, a peace treaty was signed between the countries though this didn’t mean everyone had moved on from such a travesty. Even now, relationships between Esteras and Gyrak were complicated, to say the least. Rune had always heard talk of Gyrak potentially issuing another war against them in the future but he never paid too much mind to it. However, as he stood strapped to a chair and confronted by the infuriated Gyrakian, he pondered if Gyrak really did have war on their mind

“Day of Zero? What’s that, some kind of spell?”

“What point is there in telling you? You won’t be alive to witness it anyways.”

“So, I take it you’re gonna steal my magical energy and then kill me, right?”

“It would seem your brain works after all, boy,” the scarred man grinned. “First, we have to wait until he shows himself, the damned sorcerer. Just stay put until we’re ready.”

“No can do.” More of the soldiers pointed their rifles at him, their wobbly fingers caressing the triggers.

“It’d be in your best interest to comply with us, boy. It’ll make the process a lot more bearable for you.”

“I said I only came here to find Thatch. If he’s long gone then what reason is there to stay? If you were smarter, you would’ve kept your trap shut. Thanks for telling me everything I wanted to know, idiot.”

“You’ve got a big mouth, Esteran. I’ve yet to discern if your either brave or stupid. Still, what makes you think you can escape so easily? Unless you’ve forgotten, you don’t have your tome. And the moment you try anything funny we’ll light you up with lead. Sure we need your "essence" but it’s not worth risking our base’s security. If push comes to shove, we’ll find another battery.” He crossed his arms and smirked confidently, “Face reality, you moron. There ain’t anything you can do to stop us.”

“I beg to differ,” Rune smirked. “I knew from the beginning nobody present was well versed in the mystic arts. Why do you think I’ve been so complacent until now?”

The scarred man frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“You fine gentlemen probably aren’t aware seeing as how all of your victims were hypnotized. A word to the wise: When dealing with a mage, always be sure to keep a constant eye on their hands.” A fire’s roar bellowed inside the compact room. Its walls turned orange and an intense heat washed over exposed flesh. Though restrained to a chair, plumes of flames rampaged out of his palms and swiftly ambushed those closest to him. Astonished, none of the Gyrakians were given the chance to counterattack as the fire knocked them back. Scorched bodies and dropped to the ground.

“Ignis Saltare,” Rune muttered.