Everything had fallen apart in Allen’s life since he had met the Witch. He wanted to blame and resent her for all of his misfortune, as she was the only person that remained physically present to account for his grandfather’s death. All of the inconclusive answers he had received until now and his own disturbed memories swirled within his mind, forming murky pools in his muddled thoughts.
After the hellish howl had ceased within the prison, a deathly silence had fallen over the cell. Waiting a few apprehensive moments, the old mage finally emerged once more. Announcing, after some struggle, that the werewolf was dead. Obliterated by a precautionary condition of the hex the creature perished abruptly, any clues towards the caster’s identity dying along with it.
After this report of the werewolf’s demise. They left the Alliance holdings, with Rika and Chief Guard Brunes accompanied the despondent Allen back to the upper levels. Listlessly he had wandered behind them for a considerable distance, before Chief Brunes suggested he take a room in the trainee dorms for the night.
In no condition to argue, Allen accepted. Unable to take in their surroundings Allen only recalled being ushered into a simple room. Laying on a squeaky cot abandoned in its corner, then vacantly staring at the wooden boards of the ceiling for an unknown amount of time. Until, finally, his body relented from exhaustion. Entering at last, into a deep sleep.
***
A knock awoke Allen from his slumber.
Two weeks had passed since he had entered the Alliance. Reluctant to return to the farm after the events that had transpired there and curious towards his grandfather’s past, Allen had been persuaded to stay on as a Hunter in the trainee. Long days occupied with rigorous training sessions and procedural lessons, prohibited him from learning more of the Witch since. Let alone tracking her down in the vast labyrinth that was the Alliance headquarters.
Protesting with spasms of aches and pains, his body adamantly rejected its sudden removal from bed as the knocking persisted. Only five hours since their supplementary weaponry drills ended, Allen stretched groggily trying to coax his muscles into movement yet again.
Attempting to pull a shirt on sorely. The person outside, who had grown impatient, swung open the door briskly. Stomping into the room the intruder said loudly, “What’s taking you so long man?”
Tall and lean, Tristan Hurst was a Hunter trainee along with Allen. Both legacies, they had been thrown into classes together immediately. The constant comparison received from their fellows and the expectations of seniors, had led the two recruits to inevitably be pitted against each other. Although perceived as natural rivals among the trainees and instructors. Tristan, who received the inherited teachings of his Hunter parents and possessed prior knowledge of the Alliance, had taken pity on Allen. Endeavoring to educate him on the organization’s inner workings at every turn, the two had come to be on good terms.
“Don’t just come into someone’s room like that!” Allen scolded, clumsily catching the pair of boots Tristan tossed at him from beside the door.
“I’m tired of your face too dude, but if we don’t get down there early those tanks from the third division will eat everything again.” Tristan complained, already on his way out.
Shoes tied haphazardly and hair sticking to the side of his face. Allen hurried after Tristan along the corridors of the trainee dorms. Entering into the canteen, both sat still breathing heavily. Most still dreaming happily in their beds at this hour, they had no problem finding a place on one of the benches lining the substantial oak dining tables. Their plates piled high with food in front of them, the two men began to eat exchanging few words between them.
“Um, excuse me.” Said a meek voice, “Is this seat taken?”
The Hunters looked to see a woman with glasses and mousey blonde hair framing her plump round face fidgeting uncomfortably opposite them.
“Not at all.” Allen replied with an accommodating smile “Please have a seat.”
Sitting on the bench, her wide eyes peered at them coyly from behind circular gold framed glasses, almost too big for her face. “I’m Allen,” he said extending a hand towards her, “and the one inhaling his food is Tristan.”
Receiving his greeting, she shook it softly “Oh, my name is Morose.” She answered, her cheeks turning faintly rosy hue. “I’m a Day Gate trainee.”
Unlike the buildings that housed full order Guardians, trainees were made to share the same dorms and facilities. This arrangement was held until the day came that they were officially accepted by a Gate. Reasons for this were mostly due to hierarchical traditions of not mixing higher ranking members with those whom had not yet proven their worth.
However, it also held a practical element. Since it was common practice to form partnerships with persons from other Gates to complete future missions, this shared space prepared them for this by allowing them to be better acquainted.
“One of those magic types, huh.” Tristan remarked between bites, “Must be nice to just point and zap things away.” He said, illustrating his words with a flick of his fork in the air.
Morose laughed uncomfortably, clearly embarrassed by Tristan’s uncouth manners. “W-Well it’s a little more complicated than that.” She replied, nibbling at a small piece of bread she tore from a slice of toast. “I s-still have to learn s-spells.”
“How about hexes?” Allen asked. The words had escaped him before he had even realized it. Seeing the apparent look of alarm dash across her features, Allen felt instantly remorseful at having uttered the question. “Sorry, you don’t have to answer that.” Apologizing as quickly as he could manage in earnest, his speech spilled forth “I don’t really know much about magic and was curious is all, I didn’t mean to make you feel pressured by it.”
Morose, who had recovered some of her color, gave Allen a sympathetic smile. Seeming to understand that magic must be intriguing for those who had never used it, she decided to humor them. Bending forward across the wide table, she lowered her soft voice to a secretive whisper.
“H-hexes are dark magic.” Morose explained, “It’s illegal for elemental w-witches like me to use dark magic.”
“Really? What happens?” asked Tristan, now mopping up what remained of his breakfast with a piece of toast snagged from Allen’s plate.
Morose’s response was a single word, “B-banishment.”
The office filled with the serenity of the subtle white noise of each person’s solitary or otherwise mundane activities. It was the frustrated sigh which stood out amongst them as Chiri stared at the black and white squares of the board in front of her. The mild amusement that her opponent as he derived some enjoyment at her expense, evident by the sly smirk on his face. Chiri finally plucked her bishop from the board, her brow furrowing as she placed the piece in the last movement available to her, she slouched back onto the soft leather couch in resignation.Aware of her defeat without him having to state it, Cazer still smiled as he declared smugly, “Check mate.” Sulking as she sustained another loss, Chiri crossed her arms in front of her chest as she muttered back at him sourly, “I hate this game.” The smirk of confidence he possessed from beating her repeatedly at chess that morning, unrelenting as he continued to stare back at her. The expression would have irked her more had s
The smell, like death and decay condensed. It seemed to cling to the walls of the tunnels and hang in the air as repugnant as one might find a corpse which still swayed in its noose. The heinousness of the scent, only becoming more egregious as they continued further into the catacombs beneath the bustling streets of Ineset, Allen found that each breath he drew provoked a repulsed churning in his stomach.A rat, made fat by feasting on the bones of the deceased and the other hapless creatures that might live within them, brushing past his foot. Allen released a mild gasp, before recoiling back against the wall of the tunnel in disgust. Already traversing the morbid labyrinth for at least an hour now, he began to hope for any sign of the rogue mages’ hideout to be uncovered soon. Whilst acknowledging that their unlit corridors and seclusion were perfect for those who did not want to be found, Allen could not fathom how it was inhabited by any member of the living for long.Their route,
The small wooden frame of the bed moaning as someone shifted on its lumpy twin mattress, the noise prompted Chiri’s eyelids to flutter open slowly. Awoken from her deep sleep, she rolled onto her back to observe the person who sat on the edge of the bed they had shared. Her long hair tangled beneath her, she watched his broad back silently as he pulled on the few articles of the uniform that had been scattered about the floor during the night. Her gaze, apparently felt by him after a while, Allen Pierce turned. Greeting Chiri with an affectionate smile as she blinked the sleep away from her eyes, the skin around his blue gray irises crinkled from the extent of the contentment within this moment. The springs of the mattress displaced again as he leaned towards Chiri, Allen cupped her cheek tenderly in his hand to say gently, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” His thumb caressing her cheekbone lightly as he spoke, Chiri smiled back at him tiredly from the pillow. Her hand, rising
Amidst the forgotten streets and the forlorn inhabited who were relegated to their drenched cobblestones, was a place that remained far removed from the eyes of the public. The location of the business, only known to the few who required specialized or otherwise illicit magic items, Allen was perplexed to once again discover himself at the threshold of Ekral Manstein’s shop. The dismal weather, causing the gray steps that led down off of the street to become slick beneath his feet. Allen descended them cautiously, before finally arriving at the door. Issuing a knock, he passed a long minute or two out in the persistent drizzle, before the little compartment on the door slid open. A pair of dark and tired eyes revealing themselves to him, they scrutinized Allen, whose hair and clothes had come to cling damply to him as they grumbled, “What brings you here?” A few drops of rain from the mantle of the door, falling to slide down the back of his neck, Allen shivered as he replied, “I need
The final weeks of summer saturated by a persistent drizzle, it left gray pools on the footpath. Branching out into different avenues between the headstones, Cazer did not pause to consider the names etched on each nor did he become weighed down by solemn reflection as he progressed past them determinedly. The patent leather of his shoes, marred by the dirt of the cemetery as he entered into the more ancient part of the Alliance burial grounds that was shaded by the gnarled branches of a few mature trees. Cazer proceeded past the mossy and worn graves until he came to the one he sought.A sandstone mausoleum to one of the Alliance’s founders, Regus Sieg. The foreboding bars, clamped shut over the structure’s hollow opening, were only made more grim by the effects that time had over its once pristine stones and columns. Weathered and darkened by centuries of dreary days, such as this, Cazer mounted the few steps that led up to its gates. Placing a hand onto its cold metal, there was a
The room, silent, aside from someone tapping out an odd stunted interpretation of time with their fingers. Allen discovered himself in the company of an unusual assortment of friends and acquaintances he had never once expected to encounter. All there under the reasonable assumption of what joined them together, Tristan Hurst, Morose Akena, Horus Crouse, and Lance Armistice eyed each other awkwardly from their varying positions amidst the office. Unsure of whether to broach their purpose for being there or to feign normalcy by engaging in small talk as they awaited the final members of their group, Allen found that his foot too now drummed along to the peculiar rhythm set within the room. The anxious wiggling not ceasing, he contemplated the wisdom of joining these diverse characters together in their mission. Although operating seemingly well in their exasperating partnership, Cazer and Allen acknowledged that their plans to launch an more offensive strike on the Moon Gate mages wou