As the second squad of hitmen storm into the canteen, I cower behind an overturned table while Maus hurriedly scurries over to my side. Both of us had assumed the "position", that strange combination of squat crouching that provided a measure of invisibility, even if we were spotted right in the open. The hitmen hadn't noticed either of us yet thanks to the overturned table but it was only a matter of time before we needed the protection afforded by the position.

"Why in the world did you lead us straight into the second squad of hitmen?" I hiss at Maus while cautiously peering around the side of the table.

"That squad was never meant to be here." Maus squeaks back, pressing herself against the table's base, "I simply copied the route Carl always uses to escape this ambush."

"What in the world are you talking about?" I whisper in disbelief, "Are you seriously telling me that Carl has survived multiple exactly the same assassination attempts on his life?"

"Yes and no." Maus begins readies herself to slowly creep forward, "I know this is confusing for you, Robert. But explanations are going to have to wait."

"We're going to have a long talk, you hear me?" I adopt the tone Mom's so fond of using when she's trying to ream me over something or other.

"And that talk will happen. Preferably after we're no longer in danger of getting shot, stabbed or exploded." Maus rebuts sharply, "So settle down and concentrate on the matter at hand."

I nod to my rodent companion as both of us keep a watch on the hit squad. The only bright spot in our current situation is that the hit squad blasted a path clear to the outside during their dynamic entry into the building. Once the hit squad begins moving, Maus and I would use the position to sneak past them and toward freedom.

Except not a single one of the heavies in front of us shows any indication of continuing their charge deeper into the building.

"Why are they not moving forward?" I mumble, "Aren't those guys here to whack Carl?"

"They're waiting for someone." Maus answers, "Be patient."

A tapping noise resounds throughout the canteen and the goon squad immediately stands at attention. The roly-poly man in the tiger print jacket strides through wreckage left behind by the explosion, his heavy cane clacking on the floor tiles. The fat man's florid face is flushed and sweating profusely, causing him to carelessly wipe his brow with a handkerchief.

"Stupid heat." the fat man makes an irritated grunt, "My undershirt's already sweaty."

"We're ready to proceed with the assault, Burke." one of the heavies reports to the fat man, fingering his assault rifle eagerly.

"Hold your horses." Burke shoves his handkerchief away into his trousers, "We've got some time to spare yet."

Burke then opens up his tiger print jacket, revealing several bandoliers strapped on his rotund girth. He taps each bandolier with an index finger before nodding with satisfaction to himself.

"Holy crap." I mutter, "Are those bombs? How much firepower does fatso have on him?"

"Not nearly enough." Maus says to my surprise, "Burke is a fairly mediocre enforcer of the Wyvern Security Consultancy. He uses explosives to even the odds, but that's a poor substitute for actual strength."

"Wyvern." I muse. Something about that name rings a bell. And not in the blackout, hallucinating migraine way I've been experiencing lately. Its something I've seen or heard of recently. I just can't put my finger on it right now. Before I can ask Maus on how she knows about Burke, the man himself abruptly looks upward at the ceiling.

"Get ready." Burke tells his men, "The target is almost here."

Right on cue, a spiderweb of cracks erupts on the surface of the ceiling. So Maus was telling the truth, Carl does intend to flee through the canteen. But instead of following the corridors, he's going to punch his way right through the floors.

"Burke, are you sure about this?" one of the heavies nervously asks, "The first squad has already been taken out."

"Carl is just one man." Burke snorts with a roll of his eyes, "He won't be getting past us."

Burke sounds carefree and confident in his declaration, yet his hands tighten around that cane to the point I can see the knuckles turning white. Whatever show of bravado Burke is putting on, he doesn't feel it in his heart.

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With a loud crash, part of the ceiling disintegrates and Carl begins his descent amongst the rubble. Even with his clothes in tatters and marred by bloodstains, pretty boy is as cool as a cucumber. Not a single trace of worry or panic adorns that marble like face. Even the ethereal sword in Carl's hand is as graceful as he is, the blade light and thin, the guard embossed with intricate patterns, even -

Wait, how did Carl get that sword?

"Look closely." Maus interrupts my stunned silence with her commentary, "Notice the thin line of mana linking Carl's sword to his heart?"

Yes, now that Maus mentions it, there is a thin string like trace of mana linking the sword to where Carl's heart should be. Pulses of raw power are pulled along that sorcerous wire, letting the blade gorge on the lifeforce being pumped by Carl's heart. And that can only mean one thing.

"Carl has an awakened soul?" I breathe out in awe. This was big, really big news. Magic might be common in the world, heck introductory courses in magic are even taught in school. But that kind of magic is linear, vulgar and ultimately limited. Based on ritual, words of power and gestures to create predetermined effects.

An awakened soul is a living, fluid thing. There's no need to memorize complicated formulae when your power springs from your own soul. All such magic requires is desire and will. And everything is possible, as long as your soul can bear the weight of that desire.

"Being awakened is nothing to be envious about, Robert." Maus scolds gently, "It attracts far more insidious dangers of its own."

I watch transfixes as the hit squad opens fire at Carl with their rifles. Carl's eyes barely flick towards the incoming attack and his sword shimmers like liquid mercury, extending and bending at impossible speeds to intercept the incoming bullets. There's no wasted movement or exertion on Carl's part. That sword, formed from his soul, is literally part of himself.

"How tiresome." Carl's urbane, elegant voice dismisses the best attempts of the hit squad to kill him.

"Keep firing!" Burke roars at his men, sweat beading his forehead.

The hit squad keeps blazing away at Carl and not a single one of their bullets gets past his impenetrable defense. Carl's sword effortlessly deflects every attack. And all too soon, the only noise coming from the rifles are empty clicks, their magazines completely dry. Carl's blade extends and lashes out like a striking serpent, almost too fast to see. But the results are clear enough. One of the heavies goes down screaming, having been bisected at the waist.

"Goddamn." I groan, feeling the taste of puke rising up my throat. It takes a substantial effort to force the vomit back down. This was the guy I had picked a fight with earlier. He could have destroyed me any moment he wanted.

I seriously could have died this morning.

"Hold it together." Maus squeaks, "Just for a little bit longer."

"Out of the way!" Burke yells at his men and they scatter. Burke's left hand traces invisible runes in the air while his right brandishes that cane menacingly. Burke's flabby frame quivers as whatever arcane force he invokes crackles like static electricity. The fat man lifts one leg up and slams it down hard on the floor like a piston.

The tiles shatter as Burke's strength is magnified multiple times over and that stomp catapults him right at Carl. Burke streaks across the canteen like a flabby comet and swings his cane in a vicious arc, straight at Carl's head. Carl's soul sword immediately retracts its blade, just in time to perform a parry. Sparks fly as Burke's cane rebounds off Carl's weapon, but it isn't enough to stop the momentum of Burke's charge. Carl keeps skidding backward with Burke leaning into him, so close that both of them are in a virtual embrace. I catch a look of disgust on Carl's face as he's assaulted by Burke's fat guy smell.

"Now!" Maus orders, "While the way to the exit is clear!"

With that, Maus begins shuffling into the open, making her way toward the building's rear exit while everyone's distracted. I follow suit, keeping pace with the rodent as best as I can. The partial invisibility provided by the position keeps us unnoticed as everyone else is too busy running around like headless chickens. Seeing one of your comrades get bisected in front of you has a tendency to do that I suppose.

I don't dare look back as Maus steadily leads us both to the exit. But my attention is drawn again to the fight between Carl and Burke, as Burke is thrown back violently. Carl had very quickly turned the tables on his opponent and as Burke spins through the air, he hurriedly chants several stanzas of arcane script, strange alien sounding words. The wind whips around the fat man, forcibly righting his entire body and letting Burke land on his feet.

"Amazing."

Maus might claim Burke to be no one great and yes, Carl's awakened soul powers are certainly more impressive. But Burke has shown considerable savvy in how he has used the magic he knows. He's certainly weaker than Carl but I get the impression from my fighter's instinct that Burke is nevertheless punching above his weight here.

"Stop gawking and keep moving!" Maus urges, "The position won't keep us safe forever!"

I get what Maus is saying. I just can't help it. One of Burke's bandoliers is now empty. And looking back at Carl, there's a fresh, noticeable bulge in one of his blazer's pockets.

"I win." Burke grins, a look of elation on his tired face.

My eardrums shriek in protest at the explosion, a blooming flower of death that envelopes Carl completely. Even Maus stops dead in her tracks, struggling as her sensitive rodent senses go haywire.

"Nice try." a bored voice hums as the smoke clears, "But cheap tricks like that won't work on me."

Carl stands tall, his clothes now a charred ruin and minor burns dotting his lean body. Pretty boy just tanked an explosive with only minor injuries. The hit squad falls back in confusion, totally at a lost at how to deal with such an opponent. Carl advances upon them like a lion stalking his prey.

But Burke doesn't care about any of that.

He's too busy staring at me.

I only now realize that the position doesn't work on Burke.

And he's been able to see Maus and I all along.