"Please,"
A desperate cry pierced the air as a man sprinted with all his might, his terrified gaze darting back over his shoulder to check if his pursuer was on his tail, but all he saw were yellow eyes closing in on him fast.
He increased his already fast pace, his heart thudding loudly in his chest, and looked over his shoulder again to see if his pursuer was still onto him, but he saw no one.
Just as he thought he found salvation, he dashed sharply into the nearby bush.
[Rule number one,] a voice echoed through the darkness. [Never make a run into the bushes—when you are being pursued by bloodthirsty demons.] A figure whose legs remained casually crossed on a nearby rock let out in mockery as he observed the chaos with detached interest.
The man who had dared into the bush, burst out into a clearing, his frantic gaze scanning the surroundings for a place to hide or someone to aid him. He was close to the Barrier of Wysteria, but the area was eerily deserted. Just as he attempted to move forward, the yellow eyes that had been pursuing him emerged from the darkness, encircling him.
He dropped to his knees, his pleas tumbling out in desperation. "Please, please, I have a family... please don't harm me."
The eyes, however, remained unmoved. As they transformed into their true forms, the rest of their battered bodies materialized.
The demons' voices rose in unison, their cries and laughter blending into an unsettling cacophony. "Your soul!" they chorused, closing in on their prey.
The man scrambled to his feet, attempting to make a break for it. But he froze mid-step, realizing one of the demons stood behind him. A bony hand clamped onto his head, and the demon's mouth yawned open, releasing a stream of yellowish liquid that threatened to engulf the man's face.
Just in time, a stone hurtled into the demon's mouth, halting its gruesome plan. The demon coughed wretchedly, and its companions turned to confront the unexpected person who intervened.
Their gazes locked onto the figure from earlier, standing on top of another huge rock, with four stones clutched in his hand.
He waved to them with his free hand and asked. [Miss me?]
As soon as they laid eyes on him, the demons let out a blood-curdling screech and transformed back into their ethereal eye forms. They attempted to flee in a different direction, but the figure was too quick. He blocked their path, a taunting glint in his eye.
[Were you all about to leave without saying goodbye?] he asked with sarcasm.
The eyes darted in another direction, attempting to escape through a different route. But the figure was relentless, appearing in front of them once again.
[Did you just turn away from me?]
The eyes began to move back, emitting pitiful sounds that resembled pleas or cries. The figure raised his hand, pointing at the demons with his index and middle fingers. The cries of the demons intensified at the mere movement of the figure's hand.
With a swift motion, the figure separated his middle finger from his index finger which were clasped together. The demons' cries reached a fever pitch before they suddenly burst into dust, leaving behind a faint cloud of particles.
The figure dusted his hands, a dismissive gesture, and turned to the man still cowering on the ground. The man's eyes widened in gratitude as he scrambled to his knees, bowing deeply.
"Thank you! Thank you, my hero!" he exclaimed, repeating the phrase like a mantra.
But the figure's didn't look pleased.
[Hero? Please, ] he snorted. [Some of us were born to be greater.]
He motioned for the man to rise, and the man hesitantly obeyed, his eyes still shining with gratitude.
[You're going to help me get the barriers open so I can get in, ] the figure stated, his tone brooking no argument.
The man's eyes widened in alarm. "I-I cannot do that," he stammered. "That's why I've been stuck out here, chased by demons."
[Of course you can't. You're half-demon now, thanks to the dark magic consuming your soul. But perhaps you know how to bypass the barrier?]
The man shook his head fervently, and the figure's expression turned glacial.
[Well, then, ] he said as he inched closer to the man. [You are of no use to me.]
With a swift, deadly motion, the figure reached into the man's chest and ripped out his heart. The man's eyes went wide, his face pale, before he crumpled to the ground, lifeless.
As the man's body hit the earth, the Wysteria barrier began to rise.
The figure's eyes gleamed with delight.
[Who knew it takes heart to get in?] he quipped, as he stepped through the opening barrier.
Though he knew it wasn't the heart that had granted him access, the figure couldn't help but feel a twisted sense of satisfaction.
The figure stood tall, breathing in the fresh air of Wysteria with arms outstretched in triumph.
[Just as it was foretold. Now, where is my Gambit?]
***************
Few hours earlier in Wysteria
"Octavius? Octavius!!!"
Octavius snapped out of his trance as he heard his name being called repeatedly by his friend, Thorne.
"Are you sure you are up for another round? I won't go easy on you,"
Octavius scoffed and said, "That's my line," as he continued using the hand wraps to tie his hand as he prepared for a combat session with Thorne.
He stood up, cracking his neck on both sides, and then ran through some basic arm exercises.
"Show-off," Thorne snorted.
Octavius grinned and they made their way to the middle of the stage. They circled each other, sizing each other up. Thorne pushed forward, attempting to land a hit, but Octavius dodged the attack.
The two fighters went back and forth, exchanging blows and dodging attacks. Thorne landed a solid punch, but Octavius quickly countered with a kick. Octavius swung at Thorne, who blocked the hit and retaliated with a quick jab, followed by a swift kick that sent Thorne stumbling back. Thorne regained his footing and charged forward, but Octavius was ready. He dodged Thorne's wild swing and countered with a precise combination of punches that left Thorne
Thorne attempted to retreat when he suspected he had broken something, but Octavius pursued him, landing a series of rapid-fire jabs that kept Thorne on the defensive. Octavius feinted a kick, and when Thorne raised his arms to block, Octavius landed a solid punch to Thorne's stomach.
Just as Octavius attempted to throw another jab at Thorne to end the round on a high note, he noticed a small crowd gathered around the stage.
But instead of cheering him on, they watched with disdain, whispering to each other.
Their hostile gaze caught Octavius off guard, and for a moment, he lost focus.
Thorne seized the opportunity, charging forward and pushing through Octavius's defenses with his arm and shoulder, striking him at the waist. Octavius stumbled, falling to the ground.
Thorne pounced, unleashing a flurry of blows that rained down on Octavius.
Octavius coughed up blood as another knuckle struck his cheek.
His sparring partner and friend, Thorne, stood up and grinned in content. "I draw the first blood, so I win!"
Octavius wiped the blood from his lips before taking a napkin from the stand to wipe off his sweat. Thorne did the same, his grin still plastered on his face.
"That's because I was distracted," Octavius muttered as his gaze darted around the few people watching them. They gave him suspicious glances, whispering to their companions.
Octavius ducked his head, and scanned the ground not wanting to meet their gaze.
He knew what they were whispering about. The rumors had been circulating for weeks, and Octavius had grown accustomed to the wary looks and hushed conversations.
Thorne chuckled and clapped Octavius on the back.
"Well, rumors or no rumors, you've always been the center of attention. Take it in stride, like you do when women fawn over you."
Octavius made a weak attempt to grin but he could only muster a grimace.
He never thought there'd be a point in his life where he would miss the attention— at least the good attention.
His height and slim body build, had been a thing that drew so much attention from the girls and dare him say— the boys too.
He had always dodged the admirers, refusing to indulge anyone romantically, till he got into the Academy.
But ever since the news of his father's mysterious death – with rumors of suicide circulating, despite his own conviction that it was murder – had spread, everything had taken a turn for the worse.
As the son of the former Chief Mage and Headmaster of the prestigious Wysteria Academy of Magical Arts, Octavius had grown accustomed to the whispers and stares.
But the rumors that now circulated about his father's final moments cut deep. They suggested things that Octavius knew his father would never do. But his father wasn't alive to prove it, leaving Octavius to face the fallout alone.
"At least I knew what it was they thought of me with their glances," Octavius muttered after a while.
"You mean what they wanted?" Thorne teased, his brows twitching upward in a playful arch as he pumped a heavy iron dumbbell up and down between his thighs.
A loud laugh ripped out of Octavius' throat at his friend's antics. It died down after a while, and Octavius' expression returned to its usual moody state.
No matter how he tried to act like he was okay, he really wasn't. But he was grateful for the few friends who had stuck around, that being Thorne and his friends.
Just then, his sister Lynn and her friend walked in. Her friend rested her body on a nearby wall, scrunching her nose in disgust. While Thorne and Octavius's cheeks turned pink in embarrassment.
They'd been at it for a while, so the stench that emanated from them was to be expected. Unless Lynn's friend was exaggerating.
Which Octavius found weird, because usually, his sister was the one with attitude. But there she was, smiling sweetly at him as she stood next to him.
Octavius finished wiping himself clean and tossed the towel at Lynn, expecting a witty retort. But she simply said "Oh" and removed the towel from her face, draping it over her arm like a delicate lace handkerchief.
Thorne and Octavius exchanged a look. "We should probably run," Thorne whispered in Octavius' ear, and they began to move back.
"Not so fast!" Lyn's friend yelled, making Octavius and Thorne halt in their tracks immediately.
She cleared her throat and tried to adopt a more feminine tone. "I dared your sister to hug you. Now, be a good brother and let her do it, or she'll have to...ahem...take a faceful of dung."
"Do it." Octvaius quickly let out.
While Thorne said. "I'm quite surprised she didn't offer to do that herself when you dared her."
Octavius turned to his sister. "You have finally succeeded in transferring your ugly attitude to your friend, Bravo!"
But his sister just stood there, looking at him with longing eyes.
"Okay, okayy" Lynn's friend said, making her way to Lyn to grab her by her arm. "Let's go."
Octavius and Thorne watched them as they disappeared into the distance wearily.
"Is it weird that I felt the creeps from your sister's friend instead of your sister, like I normally do? It's almost like they swapped bodies."
Octavius rolled his eyes as he grabbed his clothes.
"That would mean they did blood magic, and my sister abhors blood magic," he said, pulling on his shirt. He turned to Thorne. "Now, you don't see a preacher's child practicing the opposite of what their father preaches, do you?"
"Actually," Thorne began, but instead of finishing his sentence, he discreetly nodded towards a boy their age, who was busy flirting with a group of girls.
Octavius rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean. Especially with the death of my father, and the rumors that are going around. She hates it more than I do, trust me."
"I know."
Octavius sat on the provided bench in the arena.
"I just wish I could talk to my Father personally. Even if I couldn't prove to the others that he's not guilty of what they're accusing him of, hearing it from him would be worthwhile."
Thorne dropped the napkin he was using to wipe his sweat and turned to Octavius. "You know, I think there's a way for you to do that."
"Man, the only way is with blood magic -'d you know that attracts demons to your soul. I am desperate but not that desperate. Are you forgetting we can't wield magic, especially since we haven't attended the essence ceremony yet? We don't even know what essence we'll harness."
"That's the thing – we don't have to use magic to talk to him. I found a way— thanks to my mother."
Octavius stared at him blankly, waiting for Thorne to reveal that he was just joking. But Thorne's expression remained solemn, and Octavius' curiosity got the better of him at the mention of Thorne's Mother.
"What way? What did she say? Can we leave now? How do we–"
Thorne pressed a finger to his lips and glanced around the room. "Not here," he mouthed. "And don't worry the process will be quick. Just Wait for me at the old oak tree. I'll show you then."
"But the ceremony starts in a few hours," Octavius began to object.
"It starts at sundown. My Father told me, so don't worry. We'll be back on time to celebrate your birthday too." Thorne responded, dismissing his worries.
As a member of the Wysteria Council, Thorne's father was not only a skilled mage but also a respected authority. The council oversaw the activities of Wysteria Academy, as well as the entire magical community of Wysteria. Thorne's father and Octavius' father had been close friends since their teenage years, which had led to Thorne and Octavius growing up as inseparable best friends.
Octavius knew it was unlikely that the ceremony's timing would be postponed, but he suspected that the change might be due to his father's passing. As the former Headmaster, Octavius' father had traditionally led the Awakening Ceremony. Now, alternative arrangements had to be made.
The last day of the year had finally arrived, and with it, the Awakening Ceremony – a sacred rite of passage that marked the transition from adolescence to adulthood. For Octavius, this day held extra significance, as it coincided with his birthday.
"Okay," Octavius finally agreed. "But let's check on Lynn first. With everything going on, I don't want her getting bullied."
"Man, have you met your sister?" Thorne chuckled. "She's the one doing the bullying. Plus, remember, we've got people keeping an eye on her? She's in good hands."
Octavius still felt a pang of concern for his sister, who was two years his junior. The death of their father had hit her hard as much as it did him, and although she did very well to mask her pain, he knew it was taking a toll on her.
However, with the ceremony looming and the potential to finally speak with his father again, he knew he had to prioritize.
This would do us both good, he reasoned
He knew if he skipped this he might never get the chance to talk to his father again.
"Why do I have to wait though? We could just go together." Octavius said standing up.
"No, wait," Thorne stopped him. "I don't want people suspecting us. And remember, you're not exactly popular at the moment. So, wait for me at the old oak tree, alright?"
Octavius felt uneasy with how Thorne insisted he wait for him. A wave of sadness washed through him at the thought of his friend being ashamed to walk with him. But he brushed it off, thinking if his best friend was ashamed of him due to the rumors, he wouldn't be sparing with him.
He attempted to smile, but it seemed forced. "Okay," he replied.
———
As he stood at the edge of the forest, awaiting the arrival of his friends, Octavius's mind wandered to the ceremony that lay ahead. The day was both a joyful experience and a sad one for him:
In a world where darkness reigned and vile creatures lurked in every corner, magic was woven into the very fabric of existence. The people had long practiced magic as a means of survival, honing their abilities to fend off the malevolent forces that sought to destroy their realm.
The people possessed one of four distinct essences, each accompanied by a unique fraction that served as a tangible manifestation of their abilities. These essences were:
Conjurers- They possessed the ability to summon and command the primal forces of nature, bending the elements to their will.
Leviathans- These warriors harnessed magical energies through their swords, wielding them with precision and skill to vanquish their foes.
Healers- Healers could restore balance and well-being to living beings, curing wounds and ailments.
Architects: Most possess no magical abilities. The rare individuals who do exhibit abilities, but not as Healers, Leviathans, or Conjurers, are referred to as Talents.
Octavius had always harbored the dream of succeeding his father as Headmaster one day. He had worked tirelessly to make that vision become a reality one day, pouring all his energy into his studies and his responsibilities.
To ensure his goal remained on track, Octavius had deliberately avoided any distractions, maintaining a steadfast focus on his ambition.
But now, Octavius felt empty and distressed. His father had eagerly anticipated this moment, longing to see his son's magical heritage unfold. It was meant to be a step closer to fulfilling his dream of taking over as Headmaster, but that was before his father's passing.
Octavius checked the sky for what felt like the hundredth time, his annoyance growing with each passing minute. The sun was almost down and Thorne and his friends were nowhere to be found. He was starting to feel like a fool for waiting this long. It was almost time for the ceremony.
Where were they?
The longer Octavius waited, the more his frustration simmered just below the surface. Just as he had given up on Thorne's arrival and started making his way out of the forest, a rustling in the underbrush caught his attention.
A horse came into view, and when Octavius looked at the rider, he realized it wasn't Thorne. He couldn't hide the Disappointment that coated his features.
"I was asked to take you to meet the others," the rider said. "They're waiting."
Octavius recognized the rider, he was one of Thorne's acquaintances. "What about Thorne?"
The rider's expression turned grim. "He asked me to fetch you."
Octavius wanted to ask why his friend didn't come to get him, but the rider's look made him rethink. He decided to ask him once he got to Thorne.
He didn't waste any more time. He swung his leg over the horse's back and sat behind the rider.
As they rode to their destination, Octavius couldn't shake off the feeling that something was wrong. But, he dismissed it, attributing it to nerves.