Next chapter update will be on Friday 28th February
Joe's office was surprisingly large for a man of his demeanor. Sawyer hadn't pegged him as someone who'd opt for such a spacious workspace, though it made sense given his position as head of the department. Still, most of the space seemed unused, adding to its almost sterile and impersonal atmosphere. The polished mahogany desk sat like an island in the center of the room, and the few chairs scattered around looked more like they were there for show than for actual use. The walls were bare, save for a single, framed certificate hanging crookedly near the door, and the only personal touch was a small, wilting cactus on the windowsill.
"Zara, pull up the Red Desert cams from last week," Joe called out, leaning back in his expensive leather chair, which creaked slightly under his weight. "And get us some coffee. What do you like?" he asked, turning to Sawyer with a practiced, almost rehearsed smile.
"Uh, no cream, two sugars… or maybe another bubble tea," Sawyer replied, slightly distracted by the sheer size of the room and the overall lack of character. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was in some kind of corporate showroom, rather than a real office.
Joe smirked, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes. "Get him a large donut too—magic infusion thingy, you know…" He winked conspiratorially.
Zara was already out of the office before Joe finished his sentence, her heels clicking sharply against the polished floor. He shook his head slightly, a small, almost imperceptible sigh escaping his lips, and turned back to Sawyer. "Now, back to you, kiddo."
He stood, tapping a sleek, black remote control in his hand. The enormous screen on the wall, which Sawyer hadn't even noticed before, flickered to life almost instantly, displaying the company logo for a split second before resolving into a live feed.
"What does this have to do with—" Sawyer started, a knot of unease tightening in his stomach. He had a bad feeling about this.
"Just watch, man," Joe interrupted, his voice low and serious.
The screen displayed a live feed from the Red Desert. The stark, desolate landscape stretched out under a harsh sun, the red sand shimmering in the heat haze. A man in black combat fatigues stood on the sand, a bulky, metallic device strapped to his chest. A small screen on the device glowed with complex symbols and numbers. Two other soldiers flanked him, their voices crackling through the audio feed.
"Area 61 checked," the man on the feed said, his tone brisk and professional. "Magic fluctuations increasing by 1.2 knots over frequency. Projection indicates a break by the end of the month. Copy?"
In the background, the other two soldiers joked casually about the attractiveness of the office secretaries, their laughter a jarring contrast to the serious report being delivered. The casualness of their conversation, the way they treated what seemed to be a dangerous situation, made Sawyer even more uneasy.
Joe coughed, his eyes narrowing slightly at the screen. He seemed annoyed by the soldiers' unprofessional behavior.
"Sorry, you weren't supposed to see this last part," Joe muttered, though his eyes remained glued to the screen, as if he knew what was coming next. Sawyer's attention, however, was riveted to the feed.
The scene descended into chaos with terrifying speed. Something massive swooped in from the sky, its shadow momentarily darkening the sand. It snatched the largest of the group, a burly man with a shaved head, and hurled him far into the distance with impossible strength. Then, creatures resembling reptiles with thick, blood-red scales, some as large as dogs, stormed toward the fallen man. Sawyer winced as they tore into him viciously, ripping him apart limb by limb in a gruesome display of savagery.
The remaining two soldiers froze in horror, their laughter dying in their throats. One screamed, fumbling for his assault rifle. He fired blindly into the approaching horde, the muzzle flashes lighting up his terrified expression in the dim light. His hands shook violently, making it nearly impossible to reload. Glancing nervously into the distance, he tried again, his breath ragged.
A low, guttural groan sounded from behind him, a sound that seemed to vibrate through the speakers and into Sawyer's bones.
"Shit!" the man cursed, whipping his head toward the source of the sound. The camera, still transmitting a shaky image, caught a chilling sight—a towering humanoid figure with crocodilian features. Its red-scaled body shimmered in the harsh desert light, and its golden, slit-pupil eyes glinted with malice. It was easily twice the height of a normal man, and its powerful, muscular frame radiated an aura of raw power.
It smiled—a grotesque expression of mockery and hunger—before hissing loudly, a sound that was both reptilian and disturbingly human.
The man stood frozen, too terrified to act, his rifle hanging uselessly in his trembling hands. The creature opened its jaw, unhinging it wider than should have been possible, revealing rows of razor-sharp teeth. Without hesitation, it lunged forward, swallowing the man, the camera, and everything else in its path whole. The feed cut out abruptly, leaving only static on the screen.
"Fuck," Sawyer muttered, sinking back into his chair, his face pale. His head fell into his hands as he tried to process the horrific scene he had just witnessed. He felt nauseous, and his hands were shaking.
Joe sighed deeply, rubbing the back of his neck wearily. "Sorry you had to see that," he said, switching off the screen. "Listen, Sawyer—"
The door burst open, cutting Joe off mid-sentence.
"Breakfast?" Zara announced, her voice cheerful and slightly sing-song as she strode into Joe's office, her back to them. She turned, revealing a large, silver tray piled high with golden-brown toast, glistening scrambled eggs, plump, sizzling sausages, and a steaming, fragrant cup of what looked like herbal tea. The aroma filled the room, a welcome distraction from the tension that had been hanging in the air since the Red Desert video.
"Thank you, Zara," Joe replied with a small, genuine smile, a flicker of warmth softening his usually stern features. "We'll take ours with everyone else." He gestured vaguely towards the outer offices, implying a communal breakfast area.
Zara groaned softly, rolling her eyes playfully as she turned to leave. "I told the staff we should start doing group breakfasts, build some camaraderie, you know? But no one listens to me!" she muttered good-naturedly as she exited the office, the click of her heels echoing down the hallway.
Joe chuckled, a low, rumbling sound, and turned back to Sawyer. "Don't mind Zara. She's a bit of a handful sometimes, but her heart's in the right place. Now, breakfast?" He gestured towards the door Zara had just exited, a silent invitation to join the rest of the staff.
**************************************
Maggie sat quietly on the edge of Melinda's bed, watching as her friend slept peacefully. Sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air and casting a soft glow on Melinda's serene face. Her mother had left for one of those long witch gatherings, a coven meeting that often stretched on for weeks, sometimes even months. Maggie had decided to bring Melinda home with her, instead of resorting to charming the motel owner every night. She knew overusing spells like that, especially charms and illusions, could have serious consequences—brain damage, or even tumors in some cases, not to mention the risk of attracting unwanted attention from the authorities. It was a risk she wasn't willing to take with Melinda's safety.
Melinda's chest rose and fell steadily, her breathing even and deep. Her face, usually animated and expressive, was relaxed and peaceful in sleep. She looked so sweet and vulnerable, a far cry from the tough, street-smart persona she usually projected. Maggie knew people misunderstood Melinda, seeing her as something she wasn't. The guilt gnawed at her as she thought about everything Melinda had been through—losing an arm in that horrific accident, for one. The memory of that day, the screams, the blood… it still haunted Maggie's dreams.
Maggie couldn't shake the feeling that she was partly to blame for Melinda's misfortune, even if only indirectly. Her mother had never taken her seriously, always dismissing her as the dreamy, "head-in-the-clouds" type, more interested in fashion and daydreams than the practicalities of life. Maggie often wondered if things would have been different if she had been more assertive, more responsible.
She sighed, a soft, breathy sound, and stood up, smoothing the fabric of her white dress. It was her favorite, not just because it was beautiful, with its delicate lace and flowing skirt, but because it was the only thing her father had ever made for her. He had been a successful fashion designer in the bustling, cosmopolitan city of Pestco, a world away from their quiet, rural town.
Her mother had always kept them apart, insisting that it was better that way. Maggie could never quite understand why, but she knew better than to argue with her mother. Still, she missed him in ways she couldn't quite put into words. She missed his warm smile, his gentle voice, and the way he always seemed to see the best in her.
He always sent her gifts, little tokens to remind her he cared, sketches of his designs, swatches of fabric, and once, a beautiful, hand-carved music box. Sometimes, Maggie would sneak a glance at his fashion runway shows on TV when her mom wasn't watching. The dresses he created were nothing short of breathtaking, each piece flowing with an elegance and artistry that felt almost magical. She often dreamed about what life might have been like if she had stayed with him. Maybe she would have followed in his footsteps, taking over his craft, becoming a celebrated fashion designer herself.
But Maggie knew better. Her magic frequency, the inherent energy that flowed through her veins, would ruin him. It wasn't safe for witches or wizards to stay around "normals" for too long. Prolonged exposure to magic frequency caused them to undergo unwanted infusions, a horrific and unpredictable process that had no cure. Watching someone suffer through it was unbearable—it either ended with you putting them down mercifully, a mercy killing to end their suffering, or witnessing their slow, agonizing death. Neither choice left you unscathed, the trauma etching itself into your soul.
This truth was drilled into every young witch and wizard from their very first day at the School of Magic: No normals hooking. The rule was absolute, etched in ancient law. Interacting with normals was risky, like walking a tightrope, but staying close to them for too long, forming close bonds, was downright dangerous.
The magic frequency was like an incessant, staticky buzz in a witch's mind—soft enough to be ignored on normal days, a background hum, but grating and unbearable when their magic surged, a deafening roar. Yet around normals, that buzz vanished completely. It was like a radio being switched off, and in the silence, you could feel how truly free they were, how unburdened by the constant hum of magic. The peace was intoxicating, tempting even, a siren's call, but Maggie knew the cost of indulging in it too well.
Maggie heard Melinda stir in her sleep, a soft sigh escaping her lips, snapping her out of her reverie. She plastered on her usual giggly smile, the one she used to hide her worries, and hopped off the wooden chair. Rolling a silver tray laden with snacks – a selection of fresh fruit, a small plate of pastries, and a steaming cup of chocolate tea – toward the bed, she tried to keep her demeanor cheerful and light.
Melinda's head throbbed as she stirred awake, disoriented and groggy. The lingering remnants of sleep clung to her, making it difficult to fully grasp her surroundings. How long have I been out? she wondered, her thoughts sluggish and unfocused, as she slowly, deliberately, lifted her head from the plush pillow. A gentle, reassuring hand pressed against her back, helping her sit up. Her eyes, still heavy with sleep, scanned the room—a large, airy space painted a cheerful, vibrant pink, filled with an abundance of plush toys of all shapes and sizes, whimsical wall art depicting fantastical creatures, and the unmistakable, comforting charm of a child's sanctuary. Her gaze finally settled on Maggie, who was smiling down at her with a warm, genuine expression as she adjusted the pillows behind her back, making sure she was comfortable.
"You're up?" Maggie asked, her voice chipper and bright, as she turned back to the rolling tray laden with refreshments. She began pouring a cup of what smelled richly of chocolate tea with steady, practiced focus, her movements precise and deliberate.
"How long was I out?" Melinda asked, her voice still thick with sleep and slightly hoarse.
"Two days," Maggie replied casually, not looking up from the tray. She was now meticulously stacking snacks—assorted biscuits, delicate cakes, and colorful cookies—onto a floral-patterned plate, creating a small mountain of treats.
"Maggie," Melinda called out, arching a brow in mild amusement.
"Huh?" Maggie responded, finally looking up.
"That's too much," Melinda said, eyeing the plate, which was now piled precariously high with sweets.
"Oh! My fault!" Maggie said with a sheepish laugh, realizing her mistake. She turned to hand over the steaming cup of chocolate tea, nearly spilling it in her haste, but Melinda caught it just in time, preventing a messy accident.
"Chocolate?" Melinda asked, taking a cautious sip of the fragrant tea. The rich aroma filled her senses, a welcome change from the lingering fogginess of sleep.
"Special chocolate tea!" Maggie declared proudly, a hint of childlike enthusiasm in her voice. "It's my mom's secret recipe. Helps restore magic quicker." She carefully placed the overflowing plate of snacks on Melinda's lap.
"And the biscuits?" Melinda asked, glancing at the assortment of baked goods on the plate.
"Oh, just regular biscuits from the high-end store downtown. My mom's favorite," Maggie said, her voice trailing off slightly, a subtle shift in her demeanor.
"I see," Melinda replied, her gaze softening. She took a closer look at Maggie, noticing her trembling hands. She was nervous, Melinda realized, probably blaming herself again for what had happened.
"Maggie," Melinda said softly, her voice gentle and reassuring, "you know this isn't your fault, right?" Her eyes flicked briefly to her missing arm, a phantom ache resonating within her, before returning to Maggie's worried face.
Maggie avoided her gaze, her usual bright smile faltering. She stared at her feet, nervously knocking the tips of her pristine white loafers together repeatedly, a tell-tale sign of her unease.
"Maggie, I'm serious. You don't have to blame yourself," Melinda insisted, her voice firm but kind.
"But I—" Maggie began, her voice breaking with unshed tears.
Before she could finish her sentence, the door to the room burst open, interrupting their conversation.
**************************************
Sawyer had never seen such a chaotic breakfast hall in his life—this was pure, unadulterated bedlam. He felt like he had stepped into some kind of bizarre, magical free-for-all.
Food zipped by on small, levitating air trays, some missing their intended destinations entirely and splattering against the pristine white walls, leaving colorful, sticky messes. It wasn't just food that flew through the air; people were airborne too. Some had magnificent, feathered wings, soaring effortlessly through the air, others simply levitated a few feet off the ground, and a few launched themselves across the room in bursts of raw, untamed magic. Sawyer ducked instinctively as a floating plate of scrambled eggs whizzed past his head, followed closely by a laughing kid who was doing mid-air somersaults with seemingly no effort.
"Is it always this… hectic?" Sawyer asked, his voice edged with disbelief and a touch of apprehension. He couldn't help but wonder if he was in some kind of shared hallucination.
"Not really," Joe replied, completely unfazed by the chaos around them. He casually resumed his conversation with a humanoid rhino wearing a sharp, impeccably tailored suit, as if they were in a quiet, orderly restaurant. "The dining hall is the only place where we allow complete freedom with abilities. No restrictions."
Sawyer frowned, still struggling to wrap his head around such a rule. It seemed utterly counterintuitive to him. But as he looked around the massive hall, he could see how much it meant to everyone present. People laughed, played, and indulged in their unique abilities with a carefree energy that was almost contagious. It wasn't just chaos—it was joy, pure and unadulterated.
The hall itself was surprisingly massive, with a clean, modern design that contrasted sharply with the pandemonium taking place within it. Everything was painted a pristine, almost sterile white, from the gleaming, polished floors to the smooth, unblemished walls and the incredibly high ceilings, which were illuminated by soft, bright lights that seemed to emanate from nowhere. Rows of long, grey-tiled benches stretched from one side of the room to the other, packed with people of all shapes and sizes, all enjoying the unrestrained use of their magical talents. The orderly, almost clinical design of the hall stood in stark contrast to the absolute mayhem taking place within it, creating a bizarre and fascinating juxtaposition.
Sawyer sighed, narrowly dodging a flying croissant that seemed to have a mind of its own. He wasn't sure if he admired the sheer freedom and uninhibited use of magic displayed in the dining hall or if he feared for his personal safety. The line between exhilarating and terrifying seemed precariously thin.
"What are you hungry for?" Joe asked, casually guiding Sawyer to join the seemingly endless line of people waiting for their meals, each holding a silver tray. The aroma of a thousand different breakfast foods filled the air, a mix of sweet and savory that was both enticing and overwhelming.
"What do they have?" Sawyer asked, eyeing the bustling, chattering crowd ahead, a sea of diverse individuals all clamoring for their morning sustenance.
"Everything," Joe replied with a wide, almost mischievous grin.
When Joe said "everything," he wasn't exaggerating. The sheer variety of options was utterly overwhelming—scrambled eggs, boiled eggs, fried eggs, deviled eggs, white eggs, yellow eggs, scrambled whites, eggs with mysterious grey spots (which Joe casually claimed could make you high, though Sawyer wasn't entirely sure if he was joking, and he wasn't sure he wanted to find out). The egg station alone seemed to stretch for miles.
The buffet stretched endlessly, a culinary cornucopia filled with every breakfast combination imaginable. There were mountains of pancakes, waffles, and French toast, platters of cured meats, bowls overflowing with fresh fruit, and even a section dedicated entirely to exotic cheeses. But Sawyer, overwhelmed by the sheer abundance, decided to keep it simple, picking a few slices of toast, some sausages, a couple of strips of crispy bacon, and a large mug of strong, black coffee. Satisfied with his relatively modest tray, he moved toward an empty bench, hoping for a moment of peace to collect his thoughts, only to be stopped abruptly.
"Where are you going?" Sarah asked, appearing seemingly out of nowhere, her voice playful but firm.
"To eat," Sawyer replied, glancing back at her with a puzzled expression.
"Not like that! You're not sitting alone like some brooding high school kid. Come join my table," she said, already tugging at his hoodie before he could even protest. Her grip was surprisingly strong.
It was clear this wasn't a suggestion but a command. With a resigned sigh, Sawyer allowed himself to be led away. He had a feeling that arguing was futile.
To his surprise, Sarah didn't lead him to the table he expected. He had assumed she would sit with the reptilian humanoids at the far end of the hall—something he knew sounded judgmental, but he couldn't help it. He had simply made an observation based on their similar appearances. Unfortunately, his face betrayed his thoughts, a flicker of surprise and perhaps a hint of prejudice crossing his features.
Instead, Sarah brought him to a table brimming with winged creatures—pixies, as Joe had called them earlier. Zara was there too, casually nibbling on a biscuit and chatting animatedly with one of the pixies. What stood out the most, however, was the literal mountain of food piled high on their table, easily larger than any other spread in the entire hall. It was a feast fit for a king, or perhaps, for a swarm of pixies.
"Don't stare too hard," Sarah teased, flashing her sharp, mischievous grin. "Pixies have big appetites."
Sawyer sighed, realizing he wasn't going to escape this breakfast unscathed. He had a feeling this was going to be an experience.
"Are you actually going to eat all that?" Sawyer asked, his tone tinged with concern as he watched a male pixie hovering just above the gargantuan pile of bread on his plate, rubbing his tiny hands together like a cartoon villain gleefully anticipating a grand feast.
The pixie glanced at Sawyer, then back at the food with a mischievous glint in his eyes.
"This is his second plate," Sarah commented casually, leaning back in her chair as if this was perfectly normal behavior.
Before Sawyer could fully process her words, the pixie dove headfirst into the mountain of food, tearing through it with alarming speed and ferocity. In mere seconds, the once-massive pile had vanished, leaving only a few crumbs and a slightly bewildered Sawyer. The pixie let out a loud, resounding belch, a sound that echoed through the hall, rolled onto his back on the now-empty tray, and promptly slid off the table with a soft thud, seemingly sated and content.
"Jesus Christ!" Sawyer exclaimed, visibly startled by the pixie's impressive consumption and subsequent dramatic exit.
"No, no," Sarah corrected with a teasing grin. "You're an Enforcer. You're not supposed to favor one particular god."
"An Enforcer? And there are… more gods?" Sawyer asked, his head spinning as he tried to wrap his mind around what he'd just witnessed and the implications of Sarah's cryptic comment.
"You'd be surprised," she replied cryptically, clearly enjoying his confusion.
"That's enough," Joe interjected, placing a firm but gentle hand on Sawyer's shoulder and gently pushing him down onto a nearby seat. "Eat before your food gets cold. We've got a lot to cover."
As Sawyer adjusted his tray on the table, Zara's hand shot out like lightning, attempting to swipe one of his pieces of toast.
"Hands off!" Joe barked, slapping Zara's hand away with a sharp, warning look.
Zara pouted but retreated, muttering something under her breath about sharing being a virtue and the importance of communal eating.
Sawyer sighed, realizing that breakfast here was less of a peaceful, nourishing meal and more of a bizarre, chaotic, and utterly unforgettable spectacle.