Cole bursts through the doorway of the branch office running full tilt. He braces himself against the nearest tree and retches violently. He wipes the corner of his mouth with his sleeve, which is covered in warg blood, causing him to get sick all over again. He walks over to his bike and throws his leg over the seat. He reaches into a saddlebag and retrieves a thin silver case, roughly the size of his palm. Pressing a button on the side, he folds the case open to reveal a half dozen smokes on one side, two packs of matches on the other. He pulls two from the case and lights one up immediately. The second he tucks behind his ear while he stows the case back in the saddlebag.
The smoke helps to settle his nerves and calm his mind. He takes long, slow drags as he stares into the middle-distance, unblinking. He can still feel the magic power flowing through him, settling into his body. If what he learned in school is correct, it is fortifying his body to become a more suitable "host" for the magic energy. Most people are not capable of absorbing magic energy like Cole just had. It is unknown what makes people like Cole different, or what mechanism they use to absorb the magic. Whatever the reason, when the magic embodies a host, it results in the host exhibiting a collection of common traits: improved durability, rapid healing, exceptional strength and fitness. In addition, hosts can exhibit other abilities because of their mana, but these abilities are neither consistent nor guaranteed.
Cole looks down at the injuries the warg inflicted, finally realizing he should be bandaging them or tending them somehow. He peels his bloody, tattered shirt off to inspect the wounds further and is shocked to see that they've almost fully healed.
How long has it been? Ten minutes? Cole asks himself. He didn't feel completely confident in that answer, but it seemed close.
Changed into a fresh shirt from his saddlebags, Cole pulls his bike helmet over his head. He lifts the kickstand of the bike. Then he takes a look in the side mirror and sees the doorway to the branch office standing wide open.
He sighs, looking down at his hands. Why me? Why now?
This change is more than just an upgrade to his body – it represents a societal shift for him from citizen to Hero. Capital H, that's how important they are. In a world where Heroes exist, they have a duty to protect the general citizenry.
That's what the Second Era society teaches us, anyway. In the First Era, the policies surrounding Heroes was quite different: they operated entirely in a mercenary capacity, under the employment of whoever had the most coin to pay them. Typically they were on the payroll of nobility, but as the First Era progressed to its inevitable end, private citizens with vast business empires began enlisting Heroes to apply pressure to their enemies and forge inroads with their allies.
The First Era ended with an all-out war between several factions, each of which controlled a sizable army of Heroes. The destruction that was brought upon the people and the lands of this world were incalculable. The landscape and climate were permanently altered. Creatures were made extinct, others sprung into existence as a result of errant magic energies. Their world of highly controlled miraculous magic had reached critical mass. All the citizens of the Second Era can do is try their best to put the pieces back together and recreate the majesty that once was the First Era, minus their infatuation with violence and greed.
The Second Era treats its Heroes with respect and honor, but saddles them with equal amounts of responsibility. Anyone capable of absorbing magic energy (also known as a Hero) is eligible for a stipend from their local government. In exchange, they will be tasked with keeping that territory safe from monsters. This means not only literally battling any monsters that are discovered, but also absorbing naturally occurring magic to prevent it from attracting monsters. In many cases, natural magic can cause normal plant and animal life to become horrifying versions of what they once were, as was the case with the warg in the branch office.
The job opportunities for Heroes outside their stipend are nice as well: expedition firms employ Heroes to locate, explore, and plunder the lost architecture of the First Era. The treasures found in these ruins (can you call them ruins if they aren't ruined?) is then utilized to suit modern needs. Antiquated magic items are broken down at the Enchantworks, their energy used to infuse new equipment. Items that have held up through the centuries are sold as-is in the same locations. Nonmagical treasures are the bulk of the reward from delving into these dark and dangerous places, and that reward would be motivating enough. The gems, coins, and jewels that have been hauled out of these angular buildings are the fundamental building block of Second Era society. There is a lot of money to be made as a Hero. It would be a huge step up. Katrina is going to lose her mind when she finds out.
Cole blinks again, snapping back into the present moment. His eyes dart to the side mirror again.
F*ck. Let's get it over with.
He dismounts the bike, this time leaving his helmet on, and trudges back toward the door.
Stepping back through the doorway, Cole instinctively crouches a bit, trying to stay low and out of sight. I don't know for sure that there are other monsters here, but I'm not going to get surprised twice.
He creeps along the path that he first took, making his way to the corpse of the warg. It is lying twisted like a ragdoll, its head completely unrecognizable from what it once was, only bloody fur and gore. Cole looks down at it and fights his gag reflex.
Going to have to get used to that, I guess.
He steps away from the body and looks around the inner workroom. He looks at the paperwork on the desks and it seems… less valuable somehow. All the same, he collects it into a tube for safe transport.
There is only one direction left to explore: a narrow side hallway off this room. Cole takes up a fighting posture in anticipation of danger as he makes his way into the hall. He's relieved to see that it is a short passage, with only a single door at the end. The door features a painted-on graphic of stairs; the paint is worn and chipping but still visible.
The door is cracked slightly. When Cole notices that, the hair on the back of his neck stands up. He silently stalks toward the door, opening it carefully. There is a staircase leading down to a dark lower floor. Cole gulps anxiously and walks down the steps.
Suddenly an unearthly stench hits Cole like a ton of bricks. It is humid and mildewy in the basement, and there is a distinct scent of rotting meat. Cole hoped that this was where the warg kept its kills but he wasn't banking on it. He's never been that lucky. As he reaches the final step, he surveys the room.
The low ceiling makes the entire space feel cramped and claustrophobic. His eyes have adjusted to the dark only through the good fortune of his newfound Heroism. Cole sees several indiscernible masses of flesh on the ground. It looks like bodies that have been stacked on top of one another. Everything about the scene is unsettling and uncomfortable, and he doesn't want to spend any more time here than is necessary.
There should be a magic source around here for me to absorb, too. That's Heroing 101 stuff: First Era firms always built their structures on natural magic springs.
Cole steps further into the space to get a better view. He pays little attention to the dismembered bodies and gut-turning viscera that litters the ground, searching instead for any indication of magic.
There it is.
Built against one wall is a semicircular well that stands three feet high from the basement floor. Standing beside it now, Cole can see a pool of glimmering blue liquid. It looks exactly like the liquid inside the mage-glass tank of his bike, confirming his suspicion that this is the spring. He plunges his hand into the liquid mana. The sensation of cold water engulfs his hand, and the liquid level begins to diminish immediately, as though his hand was drinking it in. Outside the cold feeling, the sensation was almost identical to the first time that he absorbed magic from the stone. It is a primally satisfying feeling – like drinking gulps of water when you are parched or emptying your bladder after an especially long wait.
He watches the level of the liquid mana as it retreats lower and lower in the well's basin. He wiggles his fingers, delighting in the feeling, a smile growing on his face. And then, without warning, a hot sensation erupts in his abdomen. Looking down at the pain, Cole sees and feels the blade. It is a thin blade, and the tip is sticking out of his stomach just to the right of his belly button. While he's watching, the tip recedes back into his body, and the pain screams out as the blade is pulled out of him entirely. The pain is unimaginable – far worse than the warg's claws and teeth.