Improper Procedure

The heat hit me in the face like a runaway freight train, the sudden and drastic increase in temperature enough to cause winds strong enough to pick my tiny body up and hurl me back out of the alley in a tumble of fur and pain. Even as I flew through the air I could feel my organs baking inside me as what little of my fur poked out through the oil coating my skin instantly ignited and the blood coating me turned to steam, turning me into a smoking meteor for the brief moment before I impacted the ground hard enough to uproot the rough cobblestone and doubtlessly fracture my ribs.

Hp -127

Fire Resistance +5

Blunt Force Resistance +1

Pain Resistance +1

I groaned in agony, feeling a cloud of bloody steam and charred flies whoosh through my teeth as I did. My ears were ringing badly and my whole world was still spinning end over end for several seconds before the sounds of not-so-distant screams met my ears.

It took me a second to slowly sit up, taking several deep and painful breaths as I silently thanked my own foresight for deciding to start from the inside of the rune and end it on the outside; I would definitely be dead if I was inside the titanic pillar of flame currently raging. Extreme Paranoia had shown me the rune erupting into flames when I finished it, but it hadn't seen far enough to show exactly how enormous or how hot the pillar of flame it would create would actually be.

I could feel the flames reflected in my black eyes as I stared in horrified awe at the obscene conflagration I had inadvertently created. It had to be over a hundred feet tall and at least ten wide, a towering flame that roared its fury into the wind as it’s sheer, tremendous heat turned the buildings around it to slag without even touching them. Part of me was thrilled to have produced such a menacing flame, another part was calculating if and how I could potentially use such a thing in the future, but most of me was shitting my metaphorical pants over how close to killing myself I just got; I was intimately aware that I had fucked around with magic I didn’t fully understand, and nearly paid for it with my life.

That part of my mind that resembled a screaming, terrified rodent smaller than I had ever been took over and before I was even consciously aware of what I was doing, I was on my feet and sprinting full tilt away from the rapidly spreading blaze I had started. However, I had only gotten perhaps twenty feet before I felt the raging heat behind me grow noticeably weaker and saw the intense light around me visibly dimming; curious, I risked a glance over my shoulder.

My eyes narrowed in consideration as I saw the tower of flame begin to notably dim and die down, rapidly losing height and heat right before my eyes for a moment before it suddenly guttered out, dying just as quickly as it appeared. Now, this didn’t put out the flames that had been started by the pillar and it didn’t unmelt the surrounding stone, but without the titanic eruption present, I was tentatively willing to label this as less of a catastrophic disaster than I initially thought.

It also made my percolating thoughts of using giant runes as weapons in the future much less viable.

Nothing remained of the bodies I had so painstakingly arranged, though the now blackened bones of the arm and ribs that made up the Burnpike logo I made were still in place. Personally, I think it looked even better charred and covered in ash, but the absence of both the stake and the bodies impaled on it was rather disheartening; I spent a fucking long time painting that picture, damnit!

Of course, I only spent a few quick seconds taking in the scene before I resumed sprinting full tilt away; the area was still on fire and people had definitely seen that light show, I wanted to be well away from here before anybody came looking to see what the hell was going on. I wasn’t too worried about any sort of response from the local government given they completely didn’t give a shit the last time the city was on fire, but the odds of the gangs, what passed for civilians around here, and decentralized criminal (for as much as such a term means in a lawless shithole like this) elements ignoring their home being set on fire again was not one I’d bet my life on.

While I don’t much care about the gang being implicated in this, I absolutely do not want to be here holding the damn knife when a bunch of angry and scared thugs arrive looking for someone to blame.

I sprinted as fast as my tiny legs could carry me, which turned out to be actually rather quick if the way the alley flew by was anything to go by. I darted over, under, and between piles of trash and suspiciously humanoid lumps of filth that clogged the alleyways, ignoring how much of it had been set alight by falling debris with what was becoming uncomfortably practiced ease. I was never a soldier, never one to throw myself into danger or delight in chaos in my surroundings, but in the short time I’ve been in this shithole world I’ve faced enough incendiary carnage to make my blood-soaked ancestors smile.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

There were advantages to being small despite the shortness of stride it provides, one of them being that when a rather large fellow in dark leather suddenly jumped out from a blind corner and wildly swung a large and crude curved blade seemingly wrought from raw iron, I slid right beneath both his blade and his legs without so much as a moment’s pause. He seemed baffled for a moment when his blade struck nothing at all, staring in bewilderment at the alley in front of him and his own barely sharpened hunk of metal before whirling around and shouting at my retreating form.

I didn’t spare him a second glance, far too busy getting anywhere but here to care what some random back alley murderer wanted.

Given the screams that followed and the sound of a heavy body hitting the ground and rolling about in trash, it seems his lack of proper priorities during a fucking wild fire had lead to predictable results; namely, the stupid motherfucker got set on fire. Unfortunately, based on how he kept screaming and I didn’t receive any notifications, it would seem he didn’t have the good grace to fall over and die. Shame, that; I always prefer it when my enemies manage to kill themselves before I have to bother. Oh well, I’ll just have to kill him later if I get the chance.

I sprinted as fast as I could, dodging falling debris and burning wreckage before skidding across the ground as I reached a hard right turn. In that brief moment as my feet slid across the dirty pavement, I took the opportunity to glance behind me, seeing the rubbish behind me engulfed in flames and, to my surprise, finding the thug that had taken a swipe at me rising to his feet. I only had a moment to take him in, noting his messy brown hair and ragged black leather cloak as my dark gaze locked with his burning blue eyes for a brief moment. There was a strangely intense hatred blazing out from those cerulean orbs, made all the more intense by the flames clinging to his tattered cloak and glinting off his crude blade.

In that infinitesimal moment before my feet found purchase on the slick ground and I drove myself forth once more, I observed the strange man.

Name: Olixandor Merthoux

Race: Human

Main Title: Scarlet Shadow Of The Eight Points

Level: 78

Hp: 12,278/12,432

Sp: 9,276/9,334

Mp: 726/726

Main Trait: Scarlet Windows: He can see the blood pumping beneath your skin, see it flow through veins and arteries, see it form in your marrow. He can see even a single drop of the liquid that defines his life through any obstacles, including the bodies that house it.

My eyes widened for a moment but I quickly shoved down my shock as the grimy brick corner swallowed my view of the man. I didn’t have time to panic over what the fuck that guy’s stats and title meant, I needed to be long gone before either he starts coming after me or this portion of the city turns to slag.

For now, my priority is reporting my success to Markus and laying low until the quite literal heat dies down. A part of me highly considered simply running off while the city burns, but a niggling piece of my mind can’t deny that even though it nearly killed me, the knowledge those bastards provided was the only route I currently had towards magic; magic that even now was burning a city down. I may not like them, but I can’t deny that their training has been beneficial.

Well, that and I don’t know where the hell else I’d go currently, not to mention that I’m relatively sure they’d send people to hunt me down.

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Wizened hands pulled a black cigar covered in golden art away from a wrinkled face, the cloud of smoke that billowed out to follow it not long after doing nothing to prevent sharp blue eyes from gazing down upon a city once more aflame. A cold cerulean gaze locked onto a dying pillar of fire as its owner leaned ever so slightly against a railing higher above the heads of those now burning than they could ever imagine being.

He took another long drag, releasing it with what wasn’t quite a sigh as his inhuman servant approached. For a long moment he said nothing, merely watched the city he had built with his own hands millennia before anyone now dying within had been born as it burned. “That’s the second fire to break out in Sector Three this month,” his voice sounded undirected, as if he were merely musing aloud; any who knew him, however, would know well that he never does anything idly.

He didn’t turn to face the well dressed abomination as its impossibly long stride placed it behind him, his eyes firmly fixed on the place a pillar of fire once stood. “Jarvel, dear, I’m beginning to think enemy agents are already spreading havoc in my city. Why, if I didn’t know any better I’d say this looks like someone stirring up trouble in preparation for an invasion.”

For the first time since the walking defilement of reality approached, the deceptively old man turned to look at it. “In fact, it looks almost exactly like the work of the Tu’kron’s forward sabotage units.” He picked his wine glass up from the marble top of the railing, taking a long, slow sip before setting it back down with a faint click. “I only say “almost”, because normally their terror squads attack far more vital targets and at a quicker pace; but then again, it has been decades since they last tried to bother me so perhaps their procedures have changed.”

The metal toothed monstrosity behind him released a burst of ear bleeding noise, the sound seeming to tear apart the air between them rather than travel through it. Where a lesser man would have found their brain dribbling out their ears, the silken robe-clad old man merely tilted his head in consideration. “Hmm, perhaps. Unless the Crows have been subverted, of course.” Another burst of liquid static violated the air around him, drawing a hum from around his cigar.

After a moments thought he chuckled, “Oh, very well old friend, go run off and find the source.” The moving sin against reality was halfway out the door before its master commented once more, his jovial voice sounding halfway to laughter, “Though, do be sure to leave them mostly intact, my dear, it wouldn’t do to have to drag their soul back just to figure out what’s going on here.”