It was a good day for a massacre.
Light wisps of smoke marred the brisk September air. The only noises were the soft crackle of the burning shingles from the guard tower of the prison. The wire fence around the prison was ripped. Death hung in the air even though there were no bodies.
Stilas kicked a pile of prison orange suits. He snapped his fingers and flicked embers onto the stack. The fabric caught fire and flared up.
The Dark Mage walked past the fire. This was his fourth prison. Each time it was getting easier. All he had to do was open up the prison cells and let the prisoners run wild. His power stone let him know which prisoners to seal. Most of the prisoners had very little power. If they had then they wouldn’t have still been in the prison.
Shingles fell off of the building behind him. Stilas paused and listened. Besides the low wind and crackling fires, there was another small noise. He spun around and saw a mousy thin pale skinned inmate. The inmate’s dull green eyes looked with Stilas. The inmate flinched and slipped on some gravel as he tried to scurry away.
He walked over and grabbed the man’s greasy brown hair. With little effort, the Dark-haired Elf flipped the inmate over and pressed his knee into the frail man’s chest.
“Please.” The inmate begged, “Lemme go.”
Stilas punched the inmate in the mouth. He pressed his right hand over the inmate’s bloody li then flipped his palm over so the stone could absorb the blood. The red paled and the stone turned from red to white.
The Dark Mage shoved the man’s head back and stood up. There was no reason to kill him without an elemental to take.
He began to walk away from the building. He needed to find a safe place to open a portal. Somewhere that the pesky Elders wouldn’t find it if they looked.
“You’re going to let me go?” The inmate’s shaky voice froze Stilas mid-step
He had tried to let the man go, but if his “friend” tracked down this witness, there would be a price to pay. A memory spell could allow a mage to view a memory, and all of the Elders were strong enough to utilize one of those. If he was seen as walking away, then he could’ve justified it as just forgetting, besides, his face was obscured, so only one Elder would know it was him anyway. But one was too many. He spun around and clicked the pen twice. A black bolt shot out of it and knocked over the old inmate. The human’s eyes rolled back as it collapsed. Witnesses were a liability.
Stilas replaced his pen in his pocket. He slipped through the torn fence and jogged across the field to the tree line. Once he was far enough away from the prison, the Dark Mage pulled a map out of his back pocket. He crossed the one he had just raided off and weighed his options on which one to hit next. Oregon would be out of the way enough so that he didn’t establish a routine or pattern that could be used to guess where he’d be next.
“What are you doing?”
Stilas sighed. His “friend” was starting to irritate him.
The Dark mage turned to face the black hood of the Dark Master.
The black robe of the Dark Master flowed over the pine needles on the ground. Its sleeves completely covered the Elf’s hands and the cowl was draped so that shadows hid the owner’s face. Stilas wondered why the Dark Master spent so much time hiding on Earth, but it did provide some security on the off chance that he was captured, his “friend’s” identity would stay hidden.
“I’m moving on to the next prison.” Stilas picked up a knotted stick and started to draw a circle around him.
The circle had finished about a quarter of its arc when the stick flew into the Dark Master’s hands. “You’re making a scene.”
“Really?” Stilas thought about reaching for his pen, but he knew he’d never make it. “You told me to start taking bigger numbers faster.”
“You’re sloppy.” The Dark Master snapped the stick over his knee and threw the two halves on the ground. “Kark has noticed.”
“Ha!” Stilas crossed his arms, “You’re afraid of that runt?”
“I respect his dragon.” The Dark Master made sure not to say Zeus’ name.
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Stilas grinned, “Don’t you have your own Dragon?”
The Dark Master’s voice grew raspy, “There is no Dragon alive that is stronger than that red. Not even mine.”
“What does he know?” Stilas asked
“I don’t know.” The Dark Master whispered, “But he has looked into your first attack.”
“He can’t know anything or he would’ve made a move.” Stilas looked at his feet, “We’re safe.”
“You have to be quieter.”
“I am being quiet.” Stilas looked up, “No one has seen me.”
“But they have seen that!” The Dark master shot a boney finger towards the burning prison.
“It looks like a prisoner used his powers.” Stilas sat down
“It’s sloppy.” The Dark Master barked, “You’re trying to get caught.”
Stilas suppressed a smile, “I would get stronger Elementals from the hunters.”
“You would get killed.” The Dark Master spat, “You couldn’t kill Mettan back then, you won’t be able to kill him now.”
“Mettan Cascade?” Stilas grinned, “He’s here?”
“You will not fight him again.” The Dark Master ordered, “We had to fake your death last time.”
“I’m stronger now.” Stilas smirked, “I’ve got more power.”
“Stolen power is nothing compared to what you were born with.”
Stilas bristled. He started to reach for his pen but thought changed the motion so that he brushed some dirt off of his uniform. His “friend” would take any aggression as a threat. Even though he knew how to use the power he had stolen, it still wasn’t enough to be able to win a direct challenge right now.
“I can beat him,” Stilas promised
The Dark Master stepped up to Stilas and pinned him against a pine tree.
“You CAN’T BEAT HIM!” Hot breath burned Stilas’ neck, “You can’t beat Mettan. You can’t beat Kark.”
Stilas suppressed the urge to fight back. The Dark Master let him go and backed away. He could feel the burning gaze that was hidden under the hood.
“What do you want me to do?” Stilas didn’t hide the contempt in his voice
“Find a way to collect Elementals quietly.” The Dark Master poked Stilas in the chest, “Leave Mettan and Kark to me.”
Before Stilas had a chance to respond there was a blink of light and the Dark Master was gone.
“ARG!!!” Stilas swiped at the air with his right arm. He pulled his pen out of his pocket and flicked it at a small cedar tree in front of him. The tree shattered under the force of the raw magic blast.
“Mettan’s Elemental is mine.” Stilas turned and blasted another sapling.
Three more saplings fell victim to Stilas’ pen. Then the pine tree that he had been slammed into earned two scorch marks.
Stilas began panting and leaned against the tree. He had used too much magic this morning and his rant had taken up reserves that he didn’t need to waste. The Dark Mage pushed off of the tree and began walking through the woods.
He walked in silence for ten minutes. Any birds or animals in the area were smart enough to run the other way.
Stilas emerged from the woods on the edge of a subdivision. He jumped a chain link fence and landed in a sandbox. Once out of the sandbox he cleared the short backyard and stepped onto the patio. The smell of roses greeted him as he kicked at the glass patio door. The glass shattered under the force of his boot. He broke off the corners of glass and stepped into the living room of a very dirty house. A TV was face down on the floor in the corner to his right. Its stand was knocked back into the wall. Clothes, magazines, and empty food boxes littered the blue couches that were facing the TV. A black coffee table was in the middle of the mess. At least it looked black. There was so much clutter on it that he couldn’t tell for sure.
He moved through the mess towards his right. On the far right side of the living room was a hall. He stopped once he reached the entry to the hall there were five closed doors. Three doors were to his left and two doors to his right.
Stilas grabbed the knob to his far right and twisted. The door groaned as he pushed it open. Clothes, towels, papers, and even a dresser drawer were piled up in front of the door. He kicked the clutter out of his way as he forced the door closed. Once inside he slapped his right hand on the crack between the door and frame. He closed his eyes as he focused on the mark on his right hand. The tattoo began leaking black sludge onto the doorframe. There was hissing and popping as the sludge burned its way into the wood. After a moment he broke the link and withdrew his hand. There was a black handprint where he had been pressing. The mark had fused a seal on the doorframe. If anyone tried to open the door before he dispelled it, they would receive a blast of raw magic.
Stilas turned around. The room was a mess, but he just needed a place to sleep. He stepped up on the back of a brown dresser that was face down on the floor. He walked across it to the only clean spot on the floor and looked around.
Behind him was an open door to a bathroom. To his left was a computer desk that looked older than the old, bulky computer monitor sitting on it. In front of him was a king-sized bed. A second dresser drawer was flipped upside down on the bed, its contents littering the room. A lone pillow stood guard at the foot of the bed.
There was a window on either side of the bed. Under the window to the left was a four-drawer grey filing cabinet. Under the right one was a nightstand with a shadeless lamp. The light bulb was broken and shards of glass glistened on top of the tan nightstand. On the right wall was a two-door closet, the doors were pulled shut, but slightly off their hinges.
With one sweep, he knocked onto the floor and then tossed the pillow up to the head of the bed. He wrapped his arms around the pillow and closed his eyes. He needed a nap. After that, he would go back to hunting.