“Agent… Smith? Really?” the interrogator asked, looking up from the ID the man had shown him, “does the CIA have no creativity?”
“Are you going to get in our way?” the agent asked.
“No,” he shrugged, handing the ID back, “I’ll warn you though, this Orlan is… different.”
“We have our ways,” Smith said, gesturing to the three techs behind him and the cart they were working hard to move through the lobby. Despite it only having a small case, about the right size for a violin, they struggled to move it, “is there space near the subject we can set up?”
“There’s an office that shares a wall with his cell, there’s ten inches of reinforced concrete between them though.”
“That’s fine,” the agent waved for the techs to take the cart further into the building, one of building security offering to lead them to the room, “I’d like to observe the subject.”
“Right,” the interrogator said, heading for the observation room.
“Manage to get anything out of the subject?”
“He’s sticking to the story about magic and… honestly? I’m starting to believe him,” the interrogator admitted, hurriedly adding, “I’m not saying it’s actually magic, but it’s clearly something we don’t understand. I’ve tried everything to get him to break, I told him we have his knights in custody, he told me he could contact them telepathically or something.”
“So?”
“I was skeptical too, until he told me the results of last night’s baseball game. He’s been in the cell, without contact with the outside world, for almost three days now. I’m the only one who’s spoken to him, and even the staff aren’t allowed to access their cell phones here. I had to get my phone from security to check if he was right,” the interrogator shook his head, “we tried to drug his food, he asked for the recipe. Not for the food, for the drug. Said it could be useful for training or something, but he showed no signs of it taking effect even after downing the whole meal.”
“What about starving him?” the agent asked, following the interrogator through the complex building.
“We tried that, I woke up this morning to find him eating some kind of trail ration.”
“He snuck in rations?”
“No, he just… pulled them from thin air.” The interrogator sighed, unlocking the observation room, a series of screens showed different camera angles of Orlan sitting, cross legged, in his cell, eyes closed, “I’ve witnessed him teleporting through solid matter, he broke the cuffs like they were made of cardboard. Honestly? He’s only here because he wants to be.”
“And he spends most of his time like this?” Agent Smith asked, gesturing to the screen, “in... meditation?”
“Yup, unless someone approaches one of the doors or he decides to eat, he just sits there. Haven’t even seen him use the toilet yet.”
“So long as he remains still,” the agent shrugged, “the scanner will get something from him.”
“Scanner? Is that was what was in the case?”
Before the agent could respond a muffled voice spoke through his earpiece. Smith tapped his ear and told them to proceed.
“Everything about my visit is classified,” Smith explained, “anyone who needs to know will know, so tell no one I was here.”
“I know how this works,” the interrogator rolled his eyes, “I’ve been doing this for- wait, what’s going on?”
Orlan’s eyes had opened and his head snapped to the left where he seemed to stare at the wall. On the other side of that wall was the office he’d told the techs to set up the odd scanner.
“What’s he doing?” Smith asked, the other man simply looking confused before Orlan began to stand, vanishing from sight before he was even on his feet.
“Where’s that office?” Smith demanded, the Interrogator nodding and rushing from the room. They ran down a series of halls, past a number of confused looking security. He barely even paused upon reaching the office, shouldering the door open to find Orlan holding what he assumed was the scanner. It was a simple box like device atop a reinforced tripod. One side had some kind of hatch that Orlan was just closing with his finder. The Protector Lord looked up, fixing the two of them with a glare.
“Where did you get this?” Orlan demanded of the Agent and Interrogator, gesturing to the scanner, “you couldn’t have gotten this from a rift.”
“Put the scanner down,” Smith snapped, drawing a pistol and aiming it at Orlan.
“No, I’m keeping this,” replied Orlan, lifting the scanner before it vanished from his hand, “do you even realize what it is you have?”
The CIA agent replied by firing his pistol twice, both rounds hitting Orlan in the torso. The Protector Lord jerked back from each impact before stepping forward, somehow covering the distance between them in a single stride. He wrenched the pistol from the agent’s grip, tearing the weapon apart till he pulled the magazine out and eyed the bullets.
“Teir one bullets?” Orlan asked, scratching at the topmost round with a nail, “made from bone? Carapace? You made bullets from the bones of creatures from a rift?”
Shaking his head Orlan tossed the remains of the pistol aside, even the CIA agent starting to look worried. A number of security guards, drawn by the gunshots began filling the hallway behind the agent, rifles at the ready but hesitant to fire with the friendlies in the way.
“Alright, as much as I’ve ‘enjoyed’ our time together, I’m leaving,” Orlan declared, nodding a farewell to the interrogator, vanishing before the agent could respond.
-----
It took Orlan three steps to find his way out of what appeared to be a small, converted office building. The parking lot was small, barely enough for a dozen cars, and a chain link fence separated the grounds from a dense forest. A small sign indicated that the building belonged to some obscure government department. It was exactly what Orlan imagined when thought of hidden government black site, almost frighteningly so.
But what concerned him wasn’t the bland structure but the armored truck in forest green that had positioned itself in the entryway to the parking lot. A large man in simple fatigues that barely fit over his giant muscles stood next to it, a low profile pack on his back and a large knife in his hand.
“How are you radiating so much mana?” Orlan demanded of the larger man who, by way of responding lifted his arms into a fighting pose. The mana Orlan sensed coming off the man was on par with a tier three, or even tier four monster, yet something was wrong. Mages were more efficient with mana, to radiate the same amount the man would have to be fifth sphere, but when the odd man rushed forward it wasn’t with the kind of speed he’d expect of a fifth sphere mage.
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
It was, however, much faster than any normal human, racing across the hundred feet between them in a few seconds. Orlan swayed out of the way of the first strike with the knife, batted a punch aside and countered with a punch to the man’s gut. His opponent staggered backwards, but Orlan remained frozen in the stance, fist outstretched, knees bent.
“You’re a tier two, core-ward human?” he asked, looking shocked, “But how are you giving out so much mana?”
The man didn’t respond, instead charging back into combat. His arms seemed a blur to the security guards emerging from the office building, but no matter what he did neither his fists nor knife managed to strike anything but air. After nearly a minute of fighting Orlan vanished, appearing behind the man to drive a fist into the plastic backpack. The casing shattered under the force, revealing a series of pouches filled with a glowing red-white liquid. Tubes lead from the pouches, passing through the other side of the pack.
“Refined monster blood?” Orlan asked as the man spun, swinging his knife wildly, “are you some kind of attempt to make a super soldier? You’re basically doping.”
The man seemed to grow angry at this, speeding up his attacks, yet Orlan continued to avoid or deflect them with ease.
“But with so much mana, how are you still only second tier?” Orlan asked as they fought, more staff from the building emerging to watch, “Is it that you don’t know how to break through? Whoever made you clearly knows there’s higher tiers of power, but their best solution was to simply pump you full of mana and hope for the best? Do you realize how dangerous that is?
“How many died to get one success? Did they even tell you?” the Protector continued, “you want to know what happens to most people who absorb the amount of mana you have? Their mind collapses, their body warps under the power becoming a monster. A beast. I bet they don’t even know why that didn’t happen to you.”
By this point everyone from the office building was outside, including Agent Smith and the interrogator, watching in awe at the superhuman fight between Orlan and the large man. Back and forth their battle took them across the parking lot, faster than any normal man could run, all while exchanging blows that left dents in the bodies of cars in the lot, but barely fazed either of them.
The larger man was more skilled, more experienced, in fighting other people. That much was clear by his movements that spoke to decades of combat experience. Not only was Orlan unarmed but he was more used to fighting monsters. Yet the large man had yet to land a single blow of any significance.
“Prepare more shackles,” Agent Smith said to the Interrogator.
“For him or us?” the Interrogator asked, looking at the agent for a moment, “I’m barely following what’s going on, but even I can tell your man is losing.”
As if proving his point, the large man went flying into the side of a car, crumpling the door into the vehicle with his body. The exposed pouches on his back burst, spraying mana rich fluids over the interior of the car.
“I don’t understand, he has decades of experience, combat experience,” Agent Smith said as the large man slowly extracted himself from the crumpled metal, Orlan walking towards him with an angry scowl on his face.
“All you’ve done is pump him up with what amounts to magic steroids,” the Protector Lord snarled, “compared to a proper mage he falls far short. Even if he was the same tier as me, he’d still lose.”
“How? How are you so much stronger?” Smith demanded, matching Orlan’s fury with his own, “how are you stepping through space? How do you pull objects from thin air?”
“Stay back,” the large man grumbled, speaking for the first time before Orlan could reply, “it seems I have to get serious.”
As he spoke, he spat out a mouthful of blood and faced Orlan down, pulling a spare knife from inside his boot. But before he took a stance he pulled a pill from a pocket and tossed it into his mouth, swallowing it and taking a fighting stance. Orlan paused as the mana coming off the man nearly doubled.
“More magical drugs?” the Protector asked, reaching his hands out, gauntlets appearing on them as he pulled them back, “lets see if you can make me get serious.”
“Pull out your spear,” the man rumbled, the ground seeming to shiver as he spoke.
“Prove you’re worth killing,” Orlan retorted. With a grunt the large man shot forward, his speed on another level from before. Orlan dodged the first strike with a knife only for the man’s fist to crash into his face, sending the Protector flying. In a nimble flip Orlan landed on his feet, a grin on his face.
“A mana boost in a pill? Fascinating,” Orlan said, readying his fists, “you want to know why I’m so much stronger? Then watch carefully.”
The large man charged in again, the pavement cracking as he pushed off. Orlan stepped forward and vanished, reappearing behind his opponent. Orlan spun, lashing out with his elbow as the man dove forward, avoiding the attack as he turned to face the Protector. But Orlan had vanished through space again, his gauntlet covered fist slamming into the man’s back and sending him tumbling across the parking lot. Before he’d even come to a rest Orlan reappeared, kicking the man in the side hard enough to launch him into, and through, the chain link fence that surrounded the parking lot.
“Fire!” Agent Smith shouted. A dozen security guards lifted their rifles and sent a storm of bullets towards Orlan. Only for a runic circle to appear and form a barrier, blocking every single round. The rounds fell to the ground like rain as the large man shot back into the parking lot, his face bloodied and one arm hanging limp at his side.
Orlan seemed to flicker in and out of reality, flashing around like a ghost, landing punch after punch on the large man. While their strength and speed seemed to be on par now, Orlan’s magical abilities more than made up for losing his advantage in physical power. Runic circles popped into existence to block kicks even as he beat the man. As skilled as the marine was, he had no experience fighting a proper mage, there was simply no way he could have been. What had once been his greatest strength, the superior skill in fighting people, became his greatest weakness. Orlan’s magic allowed him to move and attack in ways no human could. It was less like fighting a man and more like a ghost.
Still, the man was tough, taking the beating and continuing to get back up.
Until he couldn’t.
Both of his legs refused to listen, the muscles torn from repeated strikes and being pushed too far by the mana booster. Orlan stood over the man, panting.
“You could have been good mage,” Orlan commented, “too bad you’re a dead man walking.”
“I wasn’t even good enough to see your spear,” the bloodied man said with some mix of a chuckle and cough.
“I can only pull Kayla out when I intend to kill,” Orlan replied, “it has nothing to do with your strength.”
“What am I lacking? Why can’t I match you?”
“Your process is wrong, true magical power doesn’t come from being pumped full of mana. You have to build your power up over time, carefully. There’re many ways to pile stone, but only a few of those result in a tower.”
The man nodded, closing his eyes and leaning back seemingly passing on. Orlan stepped forward, aware of the gazes of the dozen security guards and staff who’d kept him contained for the last few days. He knelt down and reached for the man’s dog tags, only for the man to suddenly lunge up, his eyes snapping open and a small stiletto blade appearing in his hand. The Protector Lord jerked back, which is the only reason the blade missed his heart and instead stabbed into his thigh. He looked down in shock as the blade sunk into his flesh, realizing it wasn’t a normal weapon, it was a tier two weapon, probably made from monster parts.
In an instant Orlan’s spear appeared in his hand and he thrust it down through the heart of the other man, piercing through his chest and even cutting deep into the pavement below. Returning the weapon to his personal space he reached down to grab the knife in his thigh only to pause. The CIA agent was shouting something and pulling out a second pistol, this one smaller, but radiating enough mana to indicate it had mana infused bullets as well.
With a wave of his hand a series of barriers spells sprung up, intercepting both the magical bullets from the agent and the mundane ones from the other security guards. Leaping to his feet, leaving the knife in his leg for the moment, he stepped backwards through space. A few more rift steps as he turned and was deep into the forest.
“We’re on the way, Orlan,” Lailra’s voice spoke in his mind, her concern for him evident, “I felt you take a hit, are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” he replied, he’d called for her to come pick him up as soon as he decided to leave. Even if he didn’t know where he was his knights could sense his location just as he could sense theirs. He quickly explained what had happened as he continued to run through the forest, no longer using his rift step to conserve mana.
“I thought there was no magic on this side,” she asked as he finished the story, “could all of this be the result of them messing with mana from monster bodies?”
“If it was just the man and weapons, I’d say it was,” said Orlan, slowing to a walk as he pulled the strange scanner from his personal space, “but this… I don’t understand.”
As he spoke, he ripped the scanner open, revealing it to be far simpler than it appeared. The electronics were all false, designed to make the device look like some advanced technology, but contained within, inside a housing reinforced with monster carapace was the true heart of the scanner.
Tossing the rest of the scanner aside he looked down at the object he’d found inside it. A human eye, preserved in glass or crystal. Even he felt the weight of it, as it weighed several hundred pounds, far more than a small glass bauble should. But neither the weight nor the fact it was a human eyeball that truly caught his attention, it was the amount of mana coming off of it.
It was a tier nine item.