Chapter 015

Duel at Dark

The mage refused to stop in order to rest or replenish his supply of depleting essence. He couldn't care less about his well-being. Cloaked in wild, untamed electricity, Daze hopped from rooftop to rooftop alongside his glittering tome shooting through the air a short distance from his rear.

He was a lightning bolt. A blur of brilliant, sizzling white energy that teleported from one position to the next in a matter of seconds. In the back of his mind, he acknowledged that he was acting completely unprofessional. This wasn’t part of the mission nor had he received any specific orders for him to begin his pursuit in the first place. Nevertheless, the moment his team was updated on what happened regarding his so-called ‘Master’, he knew then and there his presence was required elsewhere. He could just barely identify the astonished expressions of his teammates as he zipped away without bothering to explain himself.

None of this was making sense to him. Sure, Rune had a streak of being reckless, it was the major reason most despised him back at their own branch. To jeopardize the mission, attack his fellow teammate, and disappear into the night with one of the alleged terrorists, why, Daze could only guess as to what must have been going through Rune’s head in order to make such a bold decision. He wasn’t an idiot in any regard. In fact, despite what others might say of him, Daze recognized his superior to possess a tactical mind when such dire or risky situations arose. He’d never do something if it meant it would result in a mission’s failure. Unless of course, it related to the individual he was so adamant about capturing.

Daze stopped at the edge of a pointed roof, its surface made slippery and unstable from the hollering volleys of precipitation. A sharpened gaze of revelation peered forward into the town of Star Bell as everything was beginning to make sense. Rune never spoke about it often, well, not with him specifically, yet, he’d made it exceedingly clear that he only became a combat mage in order to track down someone responsible for killing his family.

Are these terrorists somehow related to the Ransford Cremation? His mind filled with questions as he brushed damp strands of hair out of his eyes. Now that I think about it, I never actually asked why he sought to help Major Griffin in the first place. Could it be these terrorists had a hand to play in his family’s deaths? Daze pulled out the vibrating radio on his waist and held it to his ear. “Brigadier General Leones, sir. I think I...”

“Have you lost your mind, Private Springs?!” his booming voice roared out the speakers. “Just what were you thinking abandoning your post like this?! You are to report back to our position at once!”

“I apologize, sir, but I’m going to have to refuse your order.”

“This might be an unofficial mission, son, though it would seem along with losing your mind you’ve also forgotten your rank! As Brigadier General, I am ordering you to...”

“I think Sergeant Ransford is in danger, sir!”

“...What are you talking about?”

“Ransford, he...he’s going after his family’s murderer! That’s what I think anyway!”

“His family’s murderer?”

“Yes! And if I’m right, he’ll need all the help he can get. There’s no telling how strong a criminal like that could be! Fire mages aren’t known for being weak!”

“And do you honestly believe you’ll fare any better?”

“No, I do not! But what’s important is providing him with assistance before he gets himself killed!” Daze corrected. “Forgive my arrogance, sir. Please, feel free to punish me later if you must. But right now, I need you to report this to Major Griffin’s group at once. Also, tell First Lieutenant Leland to lock onto my essence signature! You can use it to keep track of my location. In the meantime, I’ll catch up with Mas...Ransford and lend him a hand.”

Daze could hear a snort escape out of Leones’ frowning mouth. “First that idiot Griffin and now you? Jeez, has the ranking system lost its meaning?”

“It’s only temporary, sir. I assure you.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” the general grunted. “And how exactly do you plan on finding Ransford anyhow?”

“I’ve been doing it for a while now.” His pair of baby blues ignited as arcs of static electricity danced across his black uniform. “Don’t you worry about me, sir. It doesn’t matter how far away he is. I can pinpoint and recognize his essence signature anywhere in this country.”

Sliding his radio into his pouch, Daze leaped off the ledge of the building and blitzed in the direction of Rune’s pounding heart.

In a burst of orange, Rune broke free of the blackened rope binding his wrists. Rising out of his chair, he analyzed who’d fallen and who’d retreated. “Even without my tome, that spell packs a punch.” He directed a confident gaze to the exit where the trembling scarred man, accompanied solely by a pair of equally intimidated soldiers, stared at him blankly. “Now, if you’d be inclined to tell me where I can find Thatch, I’ll be on my way.”

“D...Damn you!” the scarred man cursed, lunging out of the room, the soldiers hastily following behind him.

Rune shook his head. Cowards. He held his hands to a pile of black, shattered metal that used to be a table and summoned his tome. The enchanted book floated into the air before shooting to its master cloaked in furious, red energy. Hovering in front of the mage, it opened its covers and revealed to him its contents. “Pallium Salamandra,” Rune muttered under his breath. His blonde hair floated. Essence courses through his veins. His right eye burned with magic. Blinding orange energy engulfed the warehouse, concentrated beams of light escaping through the building's shattered windows and crevasses. A layer of fire devoured the mage. He had become a torch illuminating the night. He headed for the door, stepping outside with a growling grimace.

Swarming storm clouds surged, blocking the moon’s rays. Buckets of water avalanched out of these tempered nimbuses and onto the city. They spilled over the ledges of the warehouses' ceilings, liquifying the terrain into a slippery and moldy pool of mud. A bolt of lightning struck out the blackened sky, veiling the horde facing him in a brief film of white. Rune’s eyes shifted from one enemy to the next. He counted at least fifty of them. Each brandished their rifles in his direction. Many of their faces were concealed yet he knew underneath the scarves their mouths had carved into scowls. “We’re giving you a final chance, sorcerer!” shouted the scarred man, standing safely at the rear of his legion of subordinates. “Surrender and you won’t have to get hurt! Refuse, and we’ll send you to kingdom come!”

“Yeah? Then I refuse,” Rune muttered his answer. “Now, give me Thatch.”

“Out of the question!”

“Then I’m afraid this can only end one way.”

The scarred man gritted his teeth. “Screw this,” the Gyrakian cursed. “Listen, men. This country’s filled to the brim with powerful sorcerers! If this one’s no good we’ll just retrieve another, won’t we?!” Pointing a finger at the fire mage, he screamed with spit flying off his lips, “Show him the fury of Gyrak! Kill this Esteran rat!”

On their commander’s man, a rapid swarm of lead sprung through the night, across a damp battlefield, and at the blazing mage. Each of them struck him, but no sooner than they made contact did the bullets incinerate into microscopic specs of gold. Rune smirked at the outcome. The spell he’d activated was a protection spell, what only could hurt him was a force even hotter than the fiery suit he proudly wore.

Out of frustration, the scarred man shouted, “Looks like bullets won’t work on a fire sorcerer. Men, switch to your mythos swords! Slice and dice this arrogant mage to your heart’s content!”

Once again, they followed his orders without delay. Each of the Gyrakians present unsheathed crooked swords of steel from their waists. Running down their blades were small, archaic symbols releasing infant rays of turquoise. Sparks of sizzling energy arced atop the surface of the blades, infusing them with a power comparable to a mage. Enchanted weapons were created so that an ordinary man could be just as, if not, even more, powerful than a magic-user. One couldn’t ignore the benefits they gave society, although they were extremely dangerous if put in the wrong hands.

Rune rotated his shoulder, preparing himself for a fight. Primal roars ejecting out of their mouths, the army of Gyrakians charged him. The mage did the same, springing off his spot and kicking mud into the air. “Ardens Pugnis!” he shouted as Draken turned its pages and his fists ignited with aggressive flames. Sprinting full speed ahead, Rune buried a blazing fist into the first Gyrakian daring enough to challenge him. Swinging his right arm behind his head, Rune released a deep-rooted grunt as his punch implanted into the stomach of his attacker. Silver bile escaped the man’s mouth as he was removed from his feet and sent flying several paces away, his back colliding into the hide of a metal building. His next foe feared no better than the last.

Planting his boots into the mud, Rune sent a barrage of fiery comets at the men, bombarding them with countless blows of putrid flames. The young mage didn’t give up, his scorching knuckles vanquished cheek, rib, neck, and gut without bearing signs of fatigue or discrimination. Those who were more skilled, however, didn’t allow themselves to be defeated so easily. Shouting Gyrakian phrases at one another, they surrounded Rune in a circle. They were more than likely aspiring to trap him before attacking all at once. A decent strategy. But it wouldn’t so easily work on Rune.

“Regaleo!” he cried. From the soles of his boots streams of fire boosted him into the sky. Once airborne, Rune gazed down at his startled enemies before sending their way another, equally astonishing surprise. Raising both hands above his head, he forged into reality a massive orb of pulsating, orange fire. Shouting, “Anguis Fragor!” at the top of his lungs, Rune threw the burning bomb towards the earth. It detonated as soon as it kissed the ground, launching the five of his enemies in different directions. Those who remained conscious after the destructive spell's aftermath didn’t even attempt to get back up. They must have only now realized how hopeless their situation was.

Landing on wet soil, Rune was instantly ambushed from behind. A pair of them swung their swords, aiming for his nape and shoulders respectfully. Rune quickly spun around, chanting the name, “Ignis Globus!” In the palms of his hands, flickering balls of fire were birthed. Rune wasted no time in launching them at his attackers, the first of which struck the man on the right whilst the Gyrakian on the left jumped out the way. He wouldn’t abandon his hostile pursuit, mind you. Once he regained his footing, he lunged at his target, infiltrating Rune’s territory. Swift strikes of his enchanted blade eagerly hunted him, the boy forced to duck and dodge out their paths. As he avoided the Gyrakian's eager slices, Rune took gradual steps backward, maintaining a watchful eye on his surroundings. Noticing a trio of the terrorists darting for him, Rune ducked his head, the edge of the blade severing tiny strands of his blonde hair. He would then jump to the side, aim the palm of his hand at the swordsman and knock him down with a fireball to the chest.

Inhaling a deep quantity of air, he traded his concentration on the three incoming attackers. Slamming a foot into a puddle, Rune roared the might name of, “Anguis Mordeo!”, spraying his foes in seas of incubated orange. Altogether, the three of them had their bodies painted in a coat of black before pathetically dropping to the ground. By reducing his spells’ essence output, Rune could also limit their intensity. In other words, though his flames burned and felt like actual fire, they would never be enough to kill anyone. If he lost control, well, that would be an entirely different story.

As more of them approached a roaring Rune redirected his fire-vomiting palm in their direction. Wherever there was a hostile there soon was fire not long after. One after the other, Rune felled his enemies, not even sparing them the opportunity to counterattack or regroup. Their apparent leader, the scarred man from earlier, possessed a bit more determination than the rest. Though his body was riddled with burn marks, to the point where strips of his clothing molted off and disintegrated, he leaped out of the fire stream holding his mythos sword over his head.

“Die, Esteran!!” he belched, swinging the blade downward in a blind rage.

Rune, paying him little interest, sidestepped his obvious attack and then proceeded to assault the man at the center of his lower jaw. In one fluid motion, Rune rocketed the main into the air with a fire-powered uppercut. The scarred man’s eyes turned white, the mythos sword flailed from his hand, and his limbs went numb. By the time he met the earth again, his body had already been deactivated. “What can’t you morons understand?! I only want Thatch!” Rune angrily grunted. Summoning Anguis Mordeo, he laid waste to his remaining enemies. They tried and they failed. Waves of attackers carried out their redundant efforts but to no avail. None of them was a match for the walking inferno known as Rune Ransford. “You can’t win! Tell me what I need to know! Do that and the pain stops, guaranteed!” Another enemy, partially scorched by a prior fire spell, jumped towards him. He was instantly stopped as Rune spun around to knock the sword out of his grasp. Grabbing a handful of his shirt, the mage pulled him closer, retracting his fist to incapacitate the foolish foe for good. Though, in the span of only a second, Rune was struck with an uncomfortable realization.

The boy he had at his mercy looked to be younger than himself. His eyes, plagued by terror and regret, reflected in his own. Raptured by hesitation, Rune’s ignited fist trembled nonstop. What was he meant to do now, he pondered. This person, if he was allowed his way, would go on to make a mess of Esteras. Did he deserve sympathy, especially after he quite clearly tried to purge his life? It didn’t make sense, a contradiction that ravaged Rune to his very core. He was just another enemy. Just another criminal to detain. So why then? Why did he freeze like some kind of novice suffocating from inexperience? Silently, he observed at all that he’d done. Dozens of smoking bodies littered the warzone. They deserved every bit of what they got, didn't they? Clouded by rage motivated by his yearning for the truth, Rune neglected to acknowledge that, regardless of their intentions, they were, like him, human beings. As a mage, he was taught the importance of restraint. During his rampage, he'd forsaken any semblance of it. Glancing at his fist set ablaze, a single world started to replay in the crevasses of his mind: “Monster”.

“What are you waiting for?” Rune looked away from his captive and at the man approaching them. He’d spiky black hair made wet by the buckets of pouring rain and sported a muscular frame contained inside of his damp attire. His pair of golden eyes observed the situation whilst his lips curved upwards. There was also a tome strapped tightly to his waist. This man, he was a mage. “You hadn’t a problem slaughtering the rest of my men, what’s different now?”

“Sir...” the young Gyrakian uttered.

Rune’s eyes flashed. Throwing aside the inexperienced terrorist, he grunted in exhaustion, “Are you their leader? Are you...Trevor Thatch?”

The man clapped his hands. “Looks like I’m just as famous here as I am in Gyrak. Yes, I am he, the one and only. And let’s see, you must be Rune Ransford, right? I read about you, kid. You’re a fire sorcerer, an especially talented one at that. Even after all that fighting, I can taste a strong flavor of mana dwelling within you. A mighty fine battery you’ll make.”

“Finally, I’ve found you.” Brushing away his creeping fatigue, Rune concentrated on increasing the output of his essence, his flickering flames dancing with delight and intensity. “Listen, Thatch, I’ve got a few questions I need to get off my chest.”

“Prioritizing personal matters over your military’s objectives? Is this what all of you Esteran combat mages are like?”

“Zip it!” Rune spat. “You’re a fire mage like me, ain’t you? Well, that’s reason enough to make you a suspect! You see, when I was just a kid, some animal broke into my house and killed my family with fire magic! I have to know, was that you?”

Trevor elevated an eyebrow. “Your...family?”

“You better answer me, otherwise I’ll be forced to beat the answers out of you!”

“Will you now?” snickered Trevor. “And just how do you plan on doing that?”

“Simple, I'll do to you what I've already done to your men,” Rune countered, assuming an attack stance.

“Your skills, while impressive, are no match for my magic.”

“If you think you’re better at using fire magic than me, then you’re in for a rude awakening. I’ve harnessed and perfected its strength for many years, all so I could best the monster responsible for ruining my life.”

“Fire magic? Is that what you think I meant? That’s hilarious!” Trevor's tome radiated. Flying from his waist and out in front of him, the magical book activated the Gyrakian’s spell. From his left palm, he shot a stream of wildfire into the sky. From his left, an unforgiving storm of icy wind screeched at Ryas. Out of sheer astonishment, Rune made a trembling step backward. This wasn’t in the reports, he thought. “I can understand the confusion, it’s a common mistake. During the war, I only used my heat side. Truth is, I don’t use fire magic, it’s too mundane for a guy like me. No, you see, I specialize in an even greater form of mystic arts!”

“Th...Thermal magic?!”

“Now you're catching on! It allows me to regulate the temperature of my environment. I can incinerate and I can freeze. Melt and cool. My magic grants me the powers of both fire and ice, two of the most potent elements in the world!” he proudly announced, pointing a thumb of crimson and a thumb of silver at his smirking mug. “After all, they don’t call me the Coldfire Sorcerer for nothing.”

As shocked as he might have been, Rune realized he couldn’t afford the luxury of being thrown off his game. He needed to stay focused. Being so close to the truth, he had to disregard his emotions in their entirety. Clenching an incubated fist out in front of him, he declared, “Personally, I don’t care who you are or what kind of magic you specialize in. Just tell me what I came here to find out. If you keep testing my patience, I’ll show you just how hot my fire can be!”

Trevor’s grin widened. “My, my. What an interesting fellow Gala has brought me.”