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Chilvarous Misogynst
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Joined: 30 Apr 2013
Topics: 1
Posts: 8
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Legends
Fables
112 Strata-gems
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 Posted: Sun Oct 20, 2013 12:18 am Post subject: Magic |
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The pain’s a reminder to move. Every jolt of fire that lights up my leg keeps me from passing out onto the grimy pavement. I’m moving damn fast if you don’t mind me saying so. With a bullet in my lung and another in my calf, I dare say I deserve a medal.
I’m still hurtling down Kingsway Ave like a train, the thick cloud of steam erupting from my mouth and eyes adds to the image. It’s rush hour. Every well paid slave and brave vendor have flooded onto the streets. Downtown’s the place to be on the weekends if bitches and booze is your type of party. Right now it’s clogged with hollow looking businessmen and shrewd peddlers. I dodge as best I can while sprinting towards the subway tunnel. A man too big for his shirt I have to shove aside. An old lady texting on a stone aged phone is given the shoulder.
Our feet pound a rhythm on the side walk with offended seniors and bewildered pedestrians emphasize the chase with offbeat accentuations. I take a sharp left by leaping over a bench occupied by an unfortunate looking couple cup caking. The girl screams and the guy shouts. I’m already a speck before he can get up. I dash across the street, dodging a minivan and a scooter. I can see the descent into the subway up ahead.
The floor suddenly gives out to a steep declining staircase bisected by a thin iron railing. The right hand side resembles some lethargic massive wyrm, constantly dilating and flexing, pulsing with disgruntled energy. I’m not even going to try to bully my way through that. The beast is thick and the alternative is boring.
No worries, there’s a spell for that. I already have a dozen working, what’s one more? This was what I was born to do. I mutter another minor enhancement charm and clap my hands. I hear a private thunderclap and confidence floods my racing form and my legs and core start to tingle.
I catapult myself onto the worn railing and keep running without breaking a stride.
“Woah, what the fuck!”
“Damn.”
“Dude, there’s a line!”
“Sir!”
I’m kicking ass. My legs are strong and my breathings good. I don’t even have to watch my feet. Just go forward. Charge. The wind is whistling in my ear, no, more like cheering for me. It’s urging me to go faster and my body obeys. The spells are pumping my thighs like hydraulics and firing my calves off like pistons aid me. Oh my god, this is amazing.
My hunters respond with their own thunder. Rapid gun shots amplified in the tunnel sound like a sharp yet grinding tempest. People are screaming and the men keep firing. The stair steps ahead, behind and around me start to combust into fragments, choking the air with stone fog. I don’t stop and neither do they. Three men in cliché black suits running down the left side of the stairs firing submachine guns with one hand and charging some nasty looking hexes in the other.
I hit the ground running and don’t bother paying. The attendant isn’t there to protest. I probably only have a few minutes until police arrive and the train I need is about to close its doors. There’s people running everywhere, screaming the names of loved ones and deities. My pursuers are still firing at me as I tear through the crowd towards the white and graffiti colored salvation.
Suddenly, I feel the ward for my back shatter and a fire erupts in the middle of my back. I stumble but I do not fall. Gaining back my stride, I quickly turn and hurl a hex towards the nearest gunman. Something cold.
It arcs from my hand to my assailant. A second after its impact, his inhuman screams puncture the platform’s roar. It’s soon cut off as the expanding ice inside him mangles his vocal chords. It tears through him slowly and methodically, taking the form of a tree, its birth accelerated. I don’t see his head pop off to make room for the trunk, but I hear it.
The terror of the crowd changes from a roar to a force of nature, it blocks all other sounds out.
I make it inside the train, the door nearly closes on my hand as I toss my smoldering jacket out. The conductor is in no mind to linger and we start off abruptly. The train is packed just like the platform. Many passengers had probably intended to get off at the last stop and had wisely reconsidered their decision. No one notices me. Everyone is too busy texting, tweeting, Snapchating, Facebooking and talking to pay attention to the scrubby out of breath college student.
By some miracle I find an empty seat and lean my head back. I do a quick check and I’m not too disappointed by what I find. The bullet in my calf is gone, its wiggling withdraw aided by my marathon, and it’s starting to heal. The one in my lung is now near to my nipple as it were. Its departure probably won’t feel pleasant. My back isn’t too bad but the crispy flesh and the tattered t shirt are bound to raise some questions.
I close my eyes. A few months ago, I had been struggling to pay my student loans and gather the testosterone to ask out a pretty girl. Now, I’m mage. Killing demons and familiars. Raising the dead and slapping a sorceress’s ass. I made a man explode. That’s pretty damn noteworthy.
I search for remorse every time I take a life. But I find nothing. There is no bubbling guilt that wells up every time I melt a unique snowflake. I feel bad, but then I forget to feel bad. It’s not that important. It’s like when you accidentally run over the neighbor’s toy he forgot about and left on the curb. I’m sorry it happened, but it shouldn’t have been there.
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