2006, 29th January

Reykjavik, Iceland

“Have we managed to find any trace of them?” Aaron asked.

“Of course not,” Pierre grumbled, “I don’t even know anyone in this frozen pit. Do we even have a single lead on this Hans guy? Or does the supreme leader simply expect us to pull miracles out of our ass?”

“We are mages, Pierre. Miracles are well within our purview.” Ciara said.

She had barely been around that day, choosing to leisurely roam what seemed to Aaron to be the length of the entire city.

“So, did you find something?” Aaron asked her.

“I did, actually. I saw Hans’ image imprinted in the memories of a number of people, especially around the harbor. There also seems to be another man I don’t recognise accompanying him in most of the memories I examined. Very tall, very muscular, easily stands out in a crowd. They commandeered a boat to take to the sea, apparently.”

“So now we’re supposed to comb through the whole sea looking for the guy?” Pierre sneered.

“It’s what we’re here to do, isn’t it? Might as well get it over with. I’ve arranged a boat for us too.”

“Great. So we roam the open seas hoping we stubble into these guys, is that it?”

Ciara crossed her arms in front of her.

“For a mage, you have a very mundane perspective, don’t you?”

Aaron clicked his tongue, cutting across any brewing arguments.

“We’ll use our Sight, obviously. Cover far more ground that way.”

Aaron found it ironic how he and Ciara always used to be at each other’s throats and Pierre always had to be the adult in the room.

It seemed Michael had pulled a layer back from them both, exposing something he hadn’t expected to see.

“Let’s move,” Ciara declared decisively, storming out towards the harbor.

Shortly, they were on the boat Ciara had acquired by means she had declined to share.

She had never been shy about throwing around her magic but Aaron noticed a growing callousness as she developed her abilities even further.

He sighed; he really should be focussing on other things right now.

“What are we even going to do with Hans if we happen to come across him?”

“Apprehend him, I imagine,” Pierre said, “There’s only one of him and three of us. Unless we’re moving into a trap.”

“I see them,” Ciara declared calmly, pointing to a dot on the horizon.

Aaron turned his senses to the direction she had pointed to, sensing a heat signature as well as a single signature of a mage's power through his metamagic perception.

“Two of them,” Ciara continued, “One is a werewolf.”

Aaron felt a chill rattle down his spine, and Pierre groaned.

The Ulfhednar had shapeshifting and regenerative capabilities on par with even an expert life mage, and immense physical power.

Their nature as offshoots of horizon denizens also meant they were beyond the concept of normal anatomical vulnerabilities, and as such, the only way to meaningfully harm them was through heavy firepower that they did not possess, or by exploiting their vulnerability.

“Anyone carrying any silver? Ciara? Pierre?” Aaron asked, hoping against hope.

They both simply shook their heads.

“Should we avoid closing in? Simply observe from a distance?” Pierre asked.

The trawler on the horizon turned towards their boat.

“They’ve seen us. Obviously. Hans has the sight too.” Ciara said.

Aaron grunted.

“No backing down now.”

Something blurred in the corner of their vision, like a heat haze on the horizon, and Aaron sensed the temperature drop in one very specific spot.

A humanoid shaped spot.

“Something’s here.”

Something washed over their boat and settled over it like a layer of condensation, and Aaron began to feel immense discomfort, his breath fogging in front of his face.

Pierre was similarly affected, but Ciara seemed entirely unmoved, her psychic defenses firmly in place.

Then the first attack came, a javelin of what looked like black mist, hurled by something with immense force behind it.

They all darted out of the way, and it slammed in the floor of the boat, leaving an indentation before disappearing entirely in a shadowy puff.

And with a loud thump, there was now a fourth passenger on board, having leapt through the air right behind the javelin.

“Never fought a mage before. Now I get three.” He growled.

“Werewolf!” Ciara cried.

The creature had leapt over fifty metres through the air.

And its flesh was beginning to warp.

A massive wolfman tore through its clothing and flesh alike.

At that moment, Aaron flicked its gravity upwards, hoping to send it hurtling to the upper atmosphere-

Not fast enough-

One massive clawed hand shot out and grabbed the railing, anchoring the beast, which then promptly used that as leverage, hurling itself through the air on the strength of a single arm, claws outstretched-

Right at Aaron.

He rolled out of the way, and the steak knife sized claws still bit through the flesh of his shoulder, the force of the blow even carrying through his forcefields.

Aaron cried out even as he lost concentration and the gravity of the monster snapped back to its natural orientation.

The beast seemed to be spurred on even further, ignoring gunshots to its back from Pierre’s hastily drawn firearm, lunging at Aaron once more-

Only to freeze in place as Ciara grimaced in concentration, overclocking his brain functions to trigger a seizure.

The beast roared, breaking free of even this spell, swinging a claw at Ciara-

The attack that should have taken her head off went wide, with a nudge to the mind of the beast.

Aaron prepared to cast again, when the beast’s legs carried it backward at impossible speed, powerful leg muscles making complete mockery of conservation of momentum.

Its heavy frame hit Pierre square, knocking the useless firearm away from his hand, and the monster reached behind its shoulder, claws pinching over his clavicle and shoulder blade, and slamming him on his back in front of it.

A sharp cracking sound reported the state of Pierre’s spine, but before the beast could run him through with its claws, Aaron’s spell took hold once more, this time carrying the werebeast through the air-

Where its flight was arrested by a sheet of black fog.

And above them, a man with golden hair, a brown leather jacket, and wings of pure shadow stuff carrying him in the air-

Hans Muller had arrived.

“Are you really all they sent?”

His voice was as cold as the air around him.

Sheets of darkness raced from his outstretched palms, shadows with liquid consistency, rushing forth to engulf them.

Ciara disappeared under the onslaught with a shriek.

Aaron scrambled after the firearm that had fallen to the deck-

The flesh on his hand started to decay in front of his eyes, attaining wrinkles and liver spots accompanied with excruciating pain.

He fumbled, falling on his back, and the behemoth wolfman landed on the deck behind him.

Aaron snapped the tether of the beast’s gravity, pointing it towards its back and sending it flying away from him.

Where it was intercepted by a wall of solid darkness.

“If this is all you can do, you really should not have come here.”

Hans waved his hand once more, his magic accompanied by a meteoric drop in temperature, and their boat was stranded, surrounded by a floor of ice.

The wolfman bared its teeth in a gruesome approximation of a smile.

Then froze, before howling, clutching its skull in what appeared to be agony.

Ciara had dug her way out of the blankets of shadow constricting her, and made her move.

Then the beast rose to its legs again, crouching, then springing, claws outstretched-

Right at Hans.

Who intercepted the charge with a whiplash of air, given an almost liquid consistency, snapping aside the beast with a cracking report, and it was flung, snarling, onto the ice.

And Hans turned his attention on Ciara-

Frowning as his vision exploded in a blinding cacophony of colours, his mind fed an array of modified information-

Followed by an epileptic attack.

Aaron tugged at his thread of gravity, but wings of black mist anchored him in the air much too firmly.

Ciara pulled herself from the writhing mass of darkness with a herculean effort, kicking her way out and moving towards Aaron.

An ear splitting howl stopped her in her tracks.

The werewolf was back, entirely unharmed, and flung itself at Ciara.

Aaron, knowing he could not alter momentum yet, did the only thing that occurred to him, and moved himself to bodily shield Ciara, hoping his forcefields would stand against the force of the blow.

They did not.

Something ripped through his shoulder, and they were both he and Ciara were flung away by the force of the blow.

The pain was too overpowering for Aaron to even remember to breathe.

But then Ciara blocked away his pain receptors, and he was able to see through his tears again.

See that the wolfman approached.

And that the shadows drew suffocatingly closer.

“Get us out of here,” Ciara hissed urgently in his ear.

So he grasped their own gravitational polarities with the force of his will-

And tugged, pointing them to the side.

They flew off the deck, uncontrolled, freefalling in the wrong direction.

Soon the spell wore off, and they were both pulled in the icy water, Ciara’s arms wrapped around Aaron’s waist, pulling his barely functioning body to the surface.

Again, her voice insisted in his mind. Just once again.

So Aaron pulled on the power of his soul again, and they began to sail through the air, Iceland this time a speck on the horizon, growing larger.

And crashed into the docks, his forcefields kicking in once more.

The whole populace of Reykjavik should have been gathering to witness this uncanny spectacle, but they moved along with their lives as if they did not even notice.

As if they had not been allowed to notice.

Ciara maintained the psychic field around them, diverting the thoughts of the people around them, struggling to support Aaron’s weight on her shoulder as they stumbled through the city.

Aaron’s strength failed him, and he passed out.