This day had begun like so many others did for Theodgar Müller. The sun hadn’t yet had the time to rise over the endless, dead, and sand-filled plains of Central-America. The man, who had never truly likes that place, had spent a few minutes thinking about he could escape it. He wanted to go somewhere, anywhere, really, but after the War his love exploring picturesque places had dies almost as fast as his love for living.
Having no work to do thanks to his high position within his current organisation, he finally came to the conclusion that he would be called on when or if he were needed, and hence, he decided to play into this nostalgia that had overtaken him this morning. After cracking a small crystal, he found himself in the busy train station of the city where he’d met his first love; Geneva.
He strolled through the streets, reminiscing of a time where buildings weren’t quite as tall, and people didn’t dress quite as plainly. He didn’t look old enough to have known those times, and if anyone were to ask, he’d reply that all he knew of the war were the tales his parents told him, and the propaganda he’d been shown at school.
Following the flow of tourists, he found himself at the ‘place de la Victoire’. Before the War, this plaza had been occupied by a row of houses, the skeletons of which could still be somewhat seen where cobblestone and concrete clashed. Now, an imposing statue stood in its centre. Theodgar almost lost balance, and would have fallen over if not for his cane, when he saw who the statue was of.
A woman; taken before her time. Long, light, upbraided hair, eyes full of hope and determination, skin of that sickly white characteristic of those who stayed too long within the dead-zones. Well, that was how she’d look when she was alive at least. The metal statue did not portray her as such. In fact, it portrayed her standing over the corpse of a phoenix, and accompanied by people Theodgar did not recognise. Nathalie did not enjoy walking, even less so over a corpse. She would fly or hover, defying the most essential law of the universe by her mere existence.
A group of tourists approached the statue, and their guide began rambling on in a broken Italian about the history of this plaza.
“This figure was given to the city by the director of Red Tiger Bank. Are any of you members there? Or perhaps work?” The guide repeated well-rehearsed words. “Well Red Tiger Bank has sponsored a lot of post-war renovations around the world, and that was even before they expanded out of Asia.”
Theodgar nodded, as things slowly began to fall into place. After what the European Alliance had pulled off during the war, if did surprise him that they’d put up a statue of Nathalie out in the streets. But if it was a gift from Red Tiger, then there was a really good chance that the man who’d given his name to the bank was the one to force this tiny tribute to his ex-team member into the streets of Geneva.
“The four people around the woman represent each of the four big powers, and the woman is symbol of the peace that they brought by working together.” The tour guide continued.
“Are they not all five anti-mages?” Someone in the crowd asked. “I herd there was a tribute statue of the ati-mages in Geneva.”
“Yes, but not this one.” The tour guide replied. “The one on the southern bank. It had the names of all the known anti-mages engraved in it. If you want to visit, don’t go at sunset. From time to time crazy people who want to bring the anti-mages back gather there for magic rituals.”
“Oh, that is forbidden on Accra.” Someone from the crowd spoke.
“Yes because people are not crazy there.” Someone else replied.
“Freedom of belief is a big movement here in Europe.” The tour guide attempted to explain.
“Yes, but if their freedom is preventing us from exercising our freedom of access, then can it still be considered as such?” The visitor from Accra continued.
Theodgar had heard enough. They weren’t teaching people the truth about the War, about what it had cost to win it. But then again, wasn’t that the whole reason why he’d move to the Americas in the first place? Unlike Europe they did not outright lie about what they had done during the war. The simply presented things in a way that made people un-interested in them.
Occasionally leaning onto his cane, the man continued his walk to the northern embankment. Th thing had bene made of wood even back in his time, so he knew it would have changed, as things always did with time. Despite the time that had passed and everything he’d been through, despite now being an adult, and knowing he should not get attached to such simple things, Theodgar hoped for that embankment to remain the same. Because if it were, it would be an anchor for him. He could look up at the sky, just like when he was a little boy, and spot a dragon, flying far, far above his head, just like he had all those years ago. And no one would believe him when he’d tell that story. No one would want to dream and hope for a world where ‘magic’ was more than a synonym of ‘skill-induced’.
The embankment had changed.
The wood was new, and the benches were pained an ugly green.
The sky was empty of everything but the occasional and those ugly straight lines that tailed behind airplanes. All this scenery did was remind Theodar of his complex and mixed feelings towards the change that the world had undergone after the war.
But the man quickly realised that some thing never changed, as he spotted a young artist scribbling down a distorted portrait of reality. He observed from afar, not wanting to disturb the artist’s flow of creativity. But as soon as the sketchbook and pencil had been put down, Theodgar rushed in with a greeting.
“It is very avant-garde.” Theodgar commented, wanting to come-off as a man with certain expertise, rather than an annoying passer-by.
The artist turned around. For a moment Theodgar could have sworn that it was Nathalie. But his friend had never picked up a pencil in her entire life, definitely not in this context, and very likely not with her hands. The more he looked at this young woman, the more he realised she looked nothing like his friend. Her hair was the wrong shade of blond, and her eyes, although the right colour, were too wide compared to Nathalie’s.
“Thank you. But I was going for realism. I think I still need more practice.” The young woman replied in French.
After a brief exchange, Theodgar realised that she had one of those translation skills, and, since it was all the same to her, switched to his mother tongue as he began explaining how spot-on she’d been in her portrayal of reality.
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Theodgar Müller walked away from the scene as fast as his ageing knees would allow. He could not believe what he’d just seen. That white short sword; there could be no mistake. But it was too early to celebrate just yet, as Theodgar had yet to learn about the identity of the owner of the blade.
The man crossed the thousands of kilometres separating him from his workplace in an instant, and hastily headed back to his habitation pod. It was one of many similarly dull half-buried husks of cement that littered the flatlands. Although these bunker-like houses did a decent job at keeping out the monsters, they also brought on a certain nagging feeling of dread to their inhabitants, Theodgar included.
As Theodgar pushed open the heavy airtight door of his home, he was greeted with a familiar minimalistic room, dimly lit by hundreds of runes engraved into the walls. It was only when he shut and locked the door behind him that he allowed himself a moment to breathe and collect his thoughts. With a well-tested certainty that no one would be able to spy on him in here, Theodgar sat on the edge of his bed and took out the piece of paper he’d taken from the heir of Namura.
The scribbled drawing was an ironic reflection of what Theodgar’s life had become after the death of Nathalie Dubois. That woman had been a symbol of many things, and a key instrument in ending the war. She was also an unfortunate victim of the system, not the ‘capital S’ System that had granted her nullifying powers, but rather the system that governed the minds and deeds of modern men. But he had no time to dwell on those thoughts once more. He had already wasted most of his day doing so.
Theodgar was faced with an impossible reality. The blade of Namura had belonged to Nathalie who would have passed it down to one of her children. However, he knew from a very reliable source that none of them had survived the accident.
“Dammit.” Theodgar swore in his mother tongue. He really should have remained in touch with Nathalie after her wedding. He might have known more then; he might have helped –
There was always the very unlikely possibility that the sword had found herself a new owner. But the blade was very temperamental and had many ways to dispose of those she deemed unworthy of wielding her.
Theodgar rubbed his fingers against the paper, taking a moment to feel its rough texture. As strange as it might have seemed, currently this drawing was his only way of uncovering the truth. Well, he could have done what he would have done back in the day and tortured the girl to get some answers, but he didn’t want risk harming Nathalie’s child, nor did he want to anger Namura. Perhaps it was finally time to start making calls and reforming old alliances, Theodgar thought. He had a friend, a man whom he was actually close with, that same man who had confirmed the death of their ex-leader and her children. He wouldn’t be easy to get a hold of, but he would be able to read through time and find out who the owner of the sword was.
There was a knock at the door.
“Just in time.” The old man muttered under his breath.
“Mister Muller, it’s about the incident from earlier. We’ve had a report about you using your powers without authorization.” A female voice spoke.
Theodgar folded the sketch back up, and put it away in a pocket of his vest. Leaning onto his cane, he slowly walked towards the door before opening it.
“Sofia,” He said with a cold smile. “Would you do me the honours of being the first?”
The middle-aged woman dressed in a business-like attire, having no doubt come to fetch him straight from her office, gave him a confused look.
“The first of what?” She asked, covering her chest with an arm.
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“The first to die.” Theodgar replied with a broad smile.
Before she’d had the time to use any skills, or call for help, Theodgar brought his cane over her head and smashed it inwards, the same way one would kill an animal at the slaughterhouse.
Luck + 1
“Hey!” Someone called out. “What’s going on?”
“Those of you who are not true believers, run!” The old man called, his voice echoing off the concrete tombs that served as houses. “Unless you want to put your faith, and worse yet, your theory that we are all born equal, to the test.”
“I knew Adrian was wrong in trusting you!” Someone else called out.
Vines began to grow and twist around Theodgar’s feet.
Walls of Babylon
Radius – Self
MP - 5
Thin slices of quartz-like crystals appeared like a shield around Theodgar. For a brief second, they floated in mid-air, before falling onto the ground and severing away the vines. Then, they returned to their floating position, before disappearing out of sight.
Theodgar waited and watched as several people rushed into their houses or away. His position as head of international relations did grant him a few bonuses, and those who denied his authority were few and far between.
But they still ‘were’ and were eager to try their luck at taking him down. A jet of energy headed right for Theodgar’s head, but it splashed against the now invisible barrier and disappeared into the ground.
Radiance of the dawn
Radius – 10 meters/ self
Cost : 2MP/minute
Light rose from the ground, and spread in a circle around the old man. Anyone unfortunate enough to be trapped in this zone fell to their knees, screaming in pain, as their flesh began to burn and peel away.
Theodgar suddenly felt the urge to run away, as if the sight of his own skills frightened him to the core.
Resist
613 vs 31
Success
Counter?
As his senses returned to him, Theodgar shook his head and carried on towards his destination. He wasn’t going to waste 31 MP on ‘fear’ or some other similar low-level skill.
By the time he’d reached the ‘main street’ of this hammock, the other residents had given up attacking him. Perhaps they thought that they’d be spared that way, or perhaps they’d understood how one-sided this fight would have been. Hence, the circle of light emanating from the ground promptly vanished.
The two guards in military uniform stepped away from the door of the community centre when they saw Theodgar approaching. The old man frowned, thinking back to all those times they’d ask him for ID before letting him in, simply because it was ‘protocol’. As he passed the guards, he whistled a short melody. It wasn’t needed to activate his skill, but it added flair.
Anshar’s call
Radius – 2 meters
MP - 2
The two guards suddenly turned towards one another, one aiming their gun, and the other their spear towards the other. Satisfied with this little preview of what was to come, Theodgar headed into the building proper.
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“I see you’ve finally turned to the dark side.” Adrian spoke.
He was sat in his unusual place; in the centre of this identity-less building that had been a church and an office before becoming the siege of affairs for their little group. He was busy filling notebooks with words, as he always did. His sharp cheekbones and sunk-in eyes which made him look much older than his 25 or so winters were testament to how much he cared about his work. The marine-blue locks of hair that fell over his face and his unkempt beard were testament to how little he cared about everything else.
“We both knew this would happen one day.” Theodgar calmly answered, as he stood a good few meters away from the desk the other man was slouched over, leaning onto his blood-stained cane.
“No, we don’t.” Adrian dryly replied.
He didn’t bother looking up at his visitor, and Theodgar was well aware that he didn’t have to in order to see him.
“Really?” The old man asked. His tone was just as dry, and perhaps a tad impatient, but he was in fact surprised at hearing those words. “You knew I wasn’t a true believer like them. I was and have always been very vocal about that.”
“Yes, perhaps you were.” The younger man agreed. “But you were also desperate, lonely, in need of a purpose. You could have gone anywhere, done anything, and yet you stayed here. You never thought anyone would try, or the five lords forbid, succeed in stopping you. We are a family. A very large, and sometimes dysfunctional family, but we are. We cared for you, you cared for us. So, tell me, what changed?”
Theodgar shook his head. Yes, Adrian was right, as always, but that didn’t mean that he was about to babble on and help the other man adjust his predictions of the future.
“I am curious, about your powers.” The old man spoke instead.
“So you’ll grant me the favour of answering your questions before you kill me? I’ll pass. No offence.” Adrian cut him off. “And if I were you, I’d get to it sooner rather than later. Backup is on the way.”
Theodgar raised an eyebrow and smirked.
“Who? The clones? Well, let’s just hope that David had equipped them with proper skills this time.”
Adrian raised his eyes to meet those of the older man. Theodgar had never seen that look of apprehension, it wasn’t fear quite yet, on that man’s face. That look was quickly replaced with that of pain, as the younger man began rubbing his neck.
“You can’t really see the future, can you.” Theodgar stated with a soft smile. “You must have some other way of knowing, I’m not doubting that, but you can’t see it, not in the same way you spy on everyone here.”
“No matter how I answer, you will call me a liar.” Adrian replied as he lowered his head back to his writings
“Hmm.” Theodgar agreed.
He’d suddenly realised that he was choosing not to get any answers out of the kid. He could make him feel pain like he’d never had before, but it would take time, and effort. Perhaps his age was finally catching up to him, but truth of it was that he simply could not be bothered.
Theodgar picked up his cane, holding it as a club and crossed the short distance between him and the other man. Adrian didn’t flinch, instead, he spoke:
“Stop. Go back to your house, maybe not this one if you hate it so much- go back to your stolen paintings. You can still play pretend that your world hasn’t ended. We can put this behind us.”
Theodgar’s expression darkened, but he did not strike, leaving the other man an opportunity to carry on.
“You are valuable to us, beyond your skills. You are a one of a kind historian, there’s only a handful of languages that you can’t speak, and despite whatever this little temper tantrum is, your heart is in the right place.”
“You don’t value their lives; do you even value yours?” Theodgar asked. Perhaps he would not be able to know the truth about the powers of this man, but maybe he’d gain some insight into his motivations.
“I value our work, Theodgar. I value our cause. I know deep inside you do to, because you know that what we do, what we strive for, is the only way to achieve the kind of peace you yearn for.”
“No.” Theodgar nodded, as if a theory of his had just been confirmed. “You’re just scared of those stronger than you.”
“I’m not scared of you Theodgar.” Adrian raised his eyes up once more. This time, he’d stopped writing, perhaps for the first time in days, and closed his notebook. “You are many things, Theodgar. I don’t know what happened or went through your head in Geneva to upset you so, nor why your little hobby has now extended to stealing from civilians, but I know you, perhaps even better than you know yourself. I have watched and I have seen you go through joys and hardships. You are not a violent murderer. You’ve never killed anyone you saw as your equal.”
Theodgar nodded.
“Thank you.” He said.
Adrian smiled.
“You see,-” The younger man began, but he was cut short by a cane smashing into his skull.
Under the strength of the blow, his body leaned sideways, and fell off the chair, splattering all the notebooks scattered on the desk with blood.
Luck + 1
“He really couldn’t see the future.” Theodgar spoke loudly, his voice echoing through the empty building.
“He could, to an extent.” A male voice answered from the doorway. “I believe he was just unable to see his own death. But that’s irrelevant now.”
“How do you want to do this, David?” Theodgar asked, turning around to face a tall man with olive skin and dark, almost black, hair. “You look horrible without a beard by the way.” He added.
“Yes,” David rubbed his chin. “I was a in a bit of a rush to get here. Thought that skills were more important than appearances, you know?”
“So we’re doing this?”
“I guess.” David shrugged.
A circle of swords, some growing form the ground, and others floating in the air, appeared around Theodgar, as the other man crossed the distance between them in an instant, enclosing both of them in this makeshift arena. Swords flew towards the other man, but were suddenly stopped by a crystal barrier, seemingly appearing out of nowhere.
David gave his opponent a curious look, as if asking where the barrier had come from, before materialising a sword in his hand.
“David, you don’t plan on going all out on an old, crippled, man?” Theodgar said with a tone that struggled to mask his amusement.
“If you have an alternative, I’m all ears.”
“No.” Theodgar simply replied with a coy tone.
Throne of peace
MP - 50
Three thin circles of red energy formed around David, before suddenly growing thorns and collapsing onto him. The man let out a cry of pain, before collapsing to the ground. The circle of swords promptly vanished.
Luck +1
With a ‘I told you so’ sigh, Theodgar walked around the remains of the man, and headed outside. There, the streets were still empty, as everyone who was still alive was hiding withing the illusionary safety of their houses.
This killing spree wasn’t essential to Theodgar’s course of action. Adrian had been right, as he could have just left in search of the heir of Namura. But, now that there was hope to restore the world to a proper order, he couldn’t leave any loose ends. Especially not when they were sitting right under his nose.
He’d go after the rest of the branches after finding the identity of the heir, and perhaps even after meeting with her again. There was also a slim, very slim, chance that the Eye of Calchas, the other magic item that had been in Nathalie’s possession at the moment of her death, would resurface as well.
But those were all theories and plans for later. First, Theodgar had to do what he had come here to do all those years ago, before the death of his dear friend had led him to change his allegiances.
Anshar’s call
Radius – 550 meters
MP - 550
Theodgar expanded most of his remaining MP into that skill. Cries began to emanate from the sad concrete houses, as it took effect, and Luck points began to roll in. The man dismissed it for now, as he returned inside the community centre, and headed towards the kitchen. If he remembered correctly. that’s where they kept their matches, alcohol, and oil.
He fund what he needed easily enough, and headed back towards Adrian’s desk. He didn’t bother flipping any of the notebooks open, as he knew that that man used a code only he could decipher. Those notebooks were said to hold record of everything that will be, and many things that were, thanks to Adrian’s habit of spying on those around him.
Theodgar knew that burning the books wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but he couldn’t afford to take the risk of them falling into the hands of any of the other branches of this organisation. So, he poured cooking oil all over the floor, and soaked the notebooks in alcohol, before throwing a lit match atop. It was such a primitive way to get rid of something, and yet, it was just as effective as a fire-skill would have been.
Theodgar slowly walked away, as the luck points he had gained from his most recent attack had began rising in the triple-digits. This very same morning he was aimlessly strolling around. But now, he finally had a purpose once more.
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