What followed up their arrival was nothing worth mentioning, Sebastian rushed out of the car and ran into the club, coming back with few man that worked for Baldie, enough to grab Luke out of the car and bring him into the back of the club. There were talks about calling the „doctor” they had on call that took care of injuries that weren't supposed to be noted on official records but Luke waved them off with difficulty, still unable to speak, he sternly gestured that he didn't need any medical help and just needed to get some rest.
It took 5 men to bring him to the top floor, 3 of them had to shift on stairs because of his mass. Finally, after alot of struggle, half concious and barely aware, he was dropped onto the bedding and was left alone. Sebastian closing the door behind him with a look of trepadition painted on his face.
As the doors closed, a heavy weight pressed upon everyone in the buliding, a blanket unseen and immaterial that wrapped tightly around them and pressed down on their shoulders, making it difficult to breathe.
Drops of sweat poured down their faces as each step taken by the mortals seemed as if walking underwater. Each and everyone of them felt threatened, and everyone unanimously left the building, not speaking a word to each other. Only when the twenty-ish people distanced themself to the front of the parking lot did the pressure relent. They looked at each other suprised and perplexed. Wordless questions communicated through dumbfounded looks.
Sebastian sighed heavily, and started rubbing his scalp, feeling the short, regrowing hairs prickle his fingers.
Suddenly, he clasped his palms laudly, getting everyone's attention on him.
„ALL RIGHT! FAJRANT NA DZIŚ! EVERYONE GOES HOME, REST AND WAIT FOR MY MESSEGE!” He yelled at the top of his lungs, startling everyone on the lot. Murmurs spread but they knew better than to challange or question the right hand of the boss.
Everyone left in a hurry, the situation bizzare and unusual. Everyone who worked there already knew not to ask questions, if they needed to know something, they would be told. Asking too many questions is what makes you end up tied in a basement, or naked in the forest.
Hopefully alive.
And as the workers scattered, Sebiastian pulled out his phone and stopped moving as he held it in his right hand, gathering himself up for the talk with the boss.
His palm was trembling, even his fingers, he had an issue actually dialing up the numbers on the touchscreen, and as the numbers unnecesarly doubled or triplled he cursed under his breath. With determination, he pressed the call button strongly enough to almost crush the glass screen. His jaw clenched shut, he pressed the phone to his ear and waited.
BEEP
BEEP
BEE-
The signal cut off, and before Baldie could even get a word in, Sebastian started.
„Boss, we have a problem...”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
„WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN HE DROPPED FROM THE SKY?!” Baldies roar shook the room of his private studio in his little mantion, the desk trembled as his clenched fist hit the polished mahogany.
„....that's not all, look boss, this is what the cameras caught from the inside of the building and the fall, and what followed after was caught by one of our stake out cars with it's dashcam. Just...look.”
Baldie downed 2 glasses in of highly expensive vodka in the time it took Sebastian to compile and run the video. The Boss was extremely worried, it is rare for a Breaker to fail a job, especially so in such a loud way. When he got the call from his subordinate he thought he must have been dreaming and actually started laughing. How could a Breaker not only fail some routine fishing trip, and come back without a catch, and on top of that destroy parts of the building in enemy terretory, drop from the top floors and not only survive but also wreck the whole parking lot in maddened frenzy.
The last part was the thing that made the most uncomfortable.
Rage?Frenzy? This is not how a Breaker approaches his job. They always did their runs with as little emotion as possbile, while adrenaline and battle high did it's job, they never made it personal. That would make them more erractic and prone to mistakes. It was simply not their job to care, their job was to complete the Deal.
This...this situation stank to Baldie, something was extremely not right and he did not like when matters of his little domain were slipping between his fingers.
Thankfully, the Veil and it's reach just as easily manipulated electronic files as it did memories. Little known truth is, that todays programming launguages were influenced in a way so that they are all compatible with the Runic Programming of The Veil, a precausion taken on the precipe of the digital era, a good call from a Farseer working for the Council.
The Big Foot effect, or the UFO effect. The Veil tends to cause the files to deteriorate quickly and through simple switches in the contents of the code changes the contents of the preserved images and sounds. Making it either too unrealistic to believe in or exchanging it for something more probable.
In this case, programing of the Veil decided to show a Man in a black, spiky hood and really long sleeved black coat escape from Luke with the infants, dropping behind himself explosive charges that Luke dodged and reflected with breath stopping agility and skill, almost beyond what a mortal could achieve.
The video compilation showed immense parkour, cut off's caused by explosions in places no amount of editing could make sense of what happened(like when Luke was dislodging through floors like a pickaxe) and ended on a scene that showed the kidnapper using a hook line straight out of a spy movie to travel across the roofs, and Luke followed him using his belt. Once the kidnapper landed, he cut off the line, making Luke drop from many stories onto the car. The destruction of property that followed was kept mostly 1:1.
Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
All of this was watched in pure silence and wory, the men almost isolated from reality as they took in the havoc that was caused. As the compilation ended, they both stood there in total silence, and as if on signal, they both turned to each other and stared, both at a loss of words.
Finally, Baldie stated.
„We have a problem...”
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The turmoil that set within Luke was indescribable, the clash of guilt and anger so powerful it almost ripped flesh in half, mind to shreds, and will into pieces.
The failure, the failure, it was simply to much.
It brought something to light that always clung to him in his shadow, in the darkness he carried all his adult life.
Grief, shame, the feeling of filth cloaking every inch of his skin. The sickly stickiness of an oily substance that coated his limbs, mouth, eyes, even ears. It was suffocating, overbearing, it made every second a torture unbearable.
He felt their body heat, he saw their bloodshot eyes, he could taste their tears, he could smell the adrenaline they emitted in their fear.
He could feel the neck of their kidnapper between his palms, a phantom feeling that made him clench his palms and dig his fingers into his hands deep enough to draw blood.
Their screems, the cries of terror, they pierced his mind so deeply, they howled like starved wolves. It drove him insane, he had to do something or he will go mad.
So he did something.
He dismissed the roar of his body that was soaked in pain, he discarded his restraint and caution and truly went all out.
His veins ignited with molten magma as he flushed his power channels full of energy, all the leaks in them hurting like being scarred by a branding iron, his face contorted in pain and focus of equal measure. He mapped out where his powers failed him, he found the glaring points of his own weakness.
With true essence of fire, he forged his will, and in agony he found reprieve, he found the way to get stronger. He Cultivated for 3 days straight, unending stream of Primordial Chaos reshaping his pathways, they stopped being streams, they became roaring rivers, depthless and treacherus. His mind shook from the impact and fought back against the Will, but Will triumphed over instinctual fear and crushed it under heel.
The cultivation started in the Real, but within minutes the magic density released with the scorching heat coming of his body engulfed him and the room, and the Veil dragged him into the magical. He remained uncaring, his body already secluded from outside energy by his own hurt psyche, subconciously, he wanted to be separated from the world. He needed to work it all out, he needed to be left alone.
Once the Pathways stretched beyond their limits and the wounds in them were clogged by his power, they settled down and hardened. Like cooling smitten metal from the forge, they became stronger and more resiliant, more enduring.
His flesh came next, and with it came more suffering, which he welcomed with broad arms.
He tried to force it's development as he did with his abstract powers, but reality still held sway over the physical.
Not enough mass consumed, not enough calories. The hunger restricted him. It quickly became unbearable.
So he went out to hunt.
In a rabid mania, he set off, and scoured every nook and cranny surrounding the Club. The magical beasts, phantoms, manifestations, all became prey that he feasted on in abondon, and through their flesh, his was reforged. The Powers that fueled him burned through the reserves his body held from mortal food quickly, and so he searched for better feed.
Rushing out like an arrow released from the bow, he shot out into the city, body mangled and power bursting out of him. He smelled them nearby. He could taste them on the tip on his tongue.
He targetted all that moved and felt wrong to him, spirits, monsters, beasts, manifestations, it did not matter. Bursting into congregations of power, he ripped malformed creatures to shreds and feed on their ichor and meat raw and quickly, always chasing for the next one in his range.
The Hunt took 3 weeks, 3 weeks he was lost in battles and violence, in bloodshed and insanity focused into one point, one goal.
To feed.
He needed it to fuel his growth, he craved it so he could be enough. To finally be enough.
To defeat monsters, he needed to become a monster once more.
Within the span of 2 weeks, the surrounding 5 kilometers were made barren of magical life. With barely few exepctions that did not „feel” wrong to Luke, he slaughtered and slayed all that he could perceive. The land became empty, a vacum of life and magical beings. With only one, desperate, shattered man in the center of it.
He stood there, surrounded by mounds of corpses and skeletons, torn skin and discarded body parts that he deemed inedible. Apparitions of mind-breaking visage were strawn around him like a macabre exposition.
In the breaks between hunts, when his body was full and needed to burn off the excess, he trained without restraint. Going beyond his limits again and again, straining the body, mind and his creativity as he forced the powers at his disposal to grow and yield to him.
He used the knowledge he barely held on to in his madness, gained from the voult of his mentor, to sharpen his edge, to become more lethal. On the wheatstone of conquered flesh, he sharpened his powers.
Covered in viscera, he stood amidst floating car parts that were ripped from the parking lot, rebar and concrete hovering all around him like snowflakes kept in air by unseen gust of wind.
His body Burned, it released heat and light, it seeped from his pores. Sweat evaporating before it could hit the groud with a prolonged hiss. Muscles boiled under skin stretched taught, yet they adopted and improved to the new form.
His heart was beating wildly as it strained under the draw of the endless power. The air was hissing around him making any sounds from outside of his own body unrecognizable to him.
Around him, debris and metal pieces circulated in erratic movement, spun and shuffled, colided and zig-zaged. All an erratic movement born of a twisted matrix from a telekinetic spell.
Delayed release, power drawn from the pad situated under his legs that were thundering against it endlessly, feeding it power, and last construct made for ripping pieces of the surroundings and filling them up with speed, trajectory and power.
Power meant to hit him.
He created a zone around him, it's width measured by the lenght of his limbs and his reaction time.
He focused on sharpening his martial prowess. He bombarded himself with projetiles from every angle possible, creating thundering booms on each smash of his fists, elbows, knees or the debris hitting his body and throwing it off balance, only to make it a victim of even more punishment untill the spell run out.
He was battered and broken, but was getting better with each trial. His body adapted to the strain, and his mind absorbed more information and digested it quicker. Vectors of movement were analized immidietly, body reacted in wild and unpredictable motions to either dodge or hit, he had no blind spots.
Even that was not enough, his body could not keep up with 100s of projetiles a minute, no matter how boosted and accelerated, he was pushin the boundries but the boundries still held true. It was not a sudden jump, it was a gradual and slow march.
So he added more.
More challange, more powers.
Lightning lit up the parking lot and a cascade of flames washed over the boiling asphalt and charred rock. Plumes of magical powers flashed and punched around, shoving the arriving projectiles of trajectories or turning them to dust.
Raw and chaotic, his casting of elements was untamed and instinctual. With each thunder came a roar, each cone of flame was started by a deep inhale that turned to scorching heat while leaving his mouth.
His arms spasmed from exhaustion and misfired electricity that seeped into him from his magic. All of this was born of frustration, yet, it worked.
His powers grew day by day.
Another hour blended with those that passed before it, and Luke lifted his knee high to his chest, his leg close to his body.
BANG!
It dropped down like a hammer, and made a plate of stone rise up in front of him, covering him from a hail of projectiles that rattled against the wall like a machine gun being emptied.
Digging both his palms into the wall of stone as if into butter, he heaved and rotated from his hips, swating away more rock projectiles that attacked him from all sides. One of his arms fell out of the wall, and it made him sway and loose his footing, the weight of the wall dragging him with it's momentum.
Sliding on his heel, he clenched the arm that still remained in the wall, and with a growl, tossed it over his head, and it flew forward with a whistle, crashing into the wall of the Klub behind the Veil, making the foundations rumble and the building itself crack from the bottom to the roof.
„FUCK!” Luke yelled in his rage.
The quaking of the building was loud, the foundations rumbled as they settled after that crash.
„Watch out there, tough guy, you will get my new dress filthy.” He heard a soft, melodic voice as it slid gently into his ears and his body froze.
A beat passed and something blanketed his mind, forcing additional calmness and for him to stop his thrashing around.
He growled and mentally slapped away the weird feeling, snarling as he put more power behind his intent untill the „blanket” shattered and was pulled away.
„Rude, I'm only trying to help.” Now, that his magics were halted and no more bombardment threatened to deafen him, he could hear her clearly.
His head snapped upwards, to the roof of the Klub, and on it, there she stood. Her long and lithe form immidietly recognizable, with the full moon behind her giving her form an even more etheral feeling.
„Hi there Tough Guy, remember me?” She asked with a sweet smile on her face.