Next chapter update will be on Tuesday 18th March.
Sawyer stood in the vast, echoing hallway, bending down to properly lace his combat boots. The cold air, pumped in from the nearby airfield, bit at his skin, sharp and unrelenting, a constant reminder of the harsh reality of their mission. But he didn't mind; the chill was a welcome distraction from the butterflies fluttering nervously in his stomach. He straightened up, adjusting his black bomber jacket, a practical garment that also happened to look pretty stylish. If he was going to save the world, or at least try to, he might as well look good doing it.
His outfit was simple but sharp, a blend of functionality and a touch of youthful flair: a black bomber jacket, practical and warm, paired with matching black cargo pants, offering ample pockets for whatever he might need, and black combat boots, a splash of color against the darkness, a reminder of his youth and the life he was fighting to protect. The distant roar of carrier jets gearing up for takeoff echoed through the facility, a powerful symphony of impending action. Sawyer took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves, and mentally rehearsing his plan, a simplified version of the complex mission ahead. Get on the plane. Close the gate. Save the world. Bring Mom back. Then give a speech, move cities, and start over. Easy, right? The sarcasm was thick in his thoughts.
"Do you always talk to yourself?" Joe's voice startled him from behind, breaking through his mental rehearsal and making him jump.
"Yeah, sometimes," Sawyer replied, trying to sound nonchalant, masking his surprise. He turned to face Joe, forcing a casual smile.
"Good, because I do too," Joe said with a grin, clapping a hand on his shoulder, his touch surprisingly reassuring.
Joe's appearance was, as usual, a mix of casual chaos, a reflection of his eccentric personality. He wore a pair of white sleeves with the cuffs rolled up, a practical measure against the chill, and a rose-patterned vintage tie that hung loosely around his neck, a touch of whimsy against the stark backdrop of the military facility. The wind, whipping through the open doorway, caught his pants, revealing mismatched red-and-yellow striped socks, a bold fashion statement.
"Interesting sock choice," Sawyer commented, raising an eyebrow, unable to resist the playful jab.
"They were a gift from Zara," Joe said with a grin, his eyes twinkling. "I promised I'd wear them one day."
"And you chose the day you're sending me to certain death? How thoughtful," Sawyer shot back, his tone laced with sarcasm, but a smile playing on his lips.
Joe chuckled, trying to ease the tension that had settled between them. "Maybe we shouldn't dwell on death so much. Positive thoughts only, remember? Let's just get this done."
"Fingers crossed," Sawyer replied with a smirk, a flicker of hope in his eyes, stepping out onto the takeoff zone, the vast expanse of the airfield stretching before them.
The noise hit him like a physical wall, a cacophony of sound that assaulted his senses. The planes were deafening, their engines roaring like mythical beasts, their vibrations shaking the ground beneath their feet, as crews scrambled around them, preparing for takeoff. Sawyer had to yell just to be heard over the din.
"That's one big plane!" he shouted to Joe, pointing towards the massive transport aircraft that would carry them to their destination.
"What? You said you shit your pants?" Joe yelled back, completely misunderstanding his words, his face a mask of concern.
Sawyer paused, blinking at Joe in disbelief, momentarily speechless. "I said…you know what, never mind." He waved him off, shaking his head and chuckling to himself, walking toward the staging area while leaving Joe scratching his head in confusion.
Ahead, Sawyer spotted Sarah briefing her team. They were an eclectic bunch, a motley crew of supernaturals: a few reptilian humanoids, their scales shimmering under the harsh lights, a couple of half-giants, their massive frames casting long shadows, and a towering troll, his features rough and intimidating. All of them were clad in sleek black combat suits, their movements fluid and coordinated, exuding an air of readiness and professionalism. Except for Sarah, of course.
She stood out, as always, a beacon of individuality in the sea of uniformity. She wore a black tank top under her bomber jacket, a practical choice in the warm climate, paired with pink camo cargo pants that hung low on her hips, revealing black shorts underneath, a touch of rebellious flair. Her high black boots completed the look, adding to her already imposing presence, and her confidence practically radiated from her, a palpable aura of self-assurance.
"That's how you rock into a fight with style," Sawyer commented as he approached her, admiration in his voice.
Sarah glanced up, smirking, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "You're just jealous I pull it off better than you ever could."
"Maybe," Sawyer admitted with a laugh, "but I'm still here to save the world. Ready when you are."
"Is it just me, or have the two of you gotten closer?" Joe asked with a sly grin, appearing seemingly out of nowhere.
"Of course not."
"I'd rather die."
Both Sarah and Sawyer replied in unison, their voices sharp, glaring at each other briefly before looking away, their reactions betraying a hint of the truth behind their denials.
Joe chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Sure, sure. I'll leave you two to it," he teased, walking off toward the loading area, leaving them in their awkward silence.
Sarah turned back to her team, her commanding voice cutting through the cacophony of the airfield. "Alright, everyone, listen up!" she yelled, her voice amplified by a small device attached to her collar. "Meet Sawyer. Our mission is simple: deliver him safely to the Red Desert, straight to the gate, no scratches, and then get him back. Think of him as precious cargo. If Sawyer dies, we might as well dig our own graves because we're all screwed. Understood?"
"Yes, ma'am!" the team chorused in unison, their voices ringing with disciplined obedience.
"Dismissed," she said, turning back to Sawyer as the team dispersed to continue prepping the plane, their movements efficient and practiced.
"That's it?" Sawyer asked, raising an eyebrow, a hint of disbelief in his voice. "That's the entire briefing?"
"Yep," Sarah replied nonchalantly, pulling out her phone and immediately immersing herself in a game of Crush the Bar, her fingers tapping rapidly across the screen.
"No advanced tactics? No battle formations or strategy sessions? No maps, contingency plans, or anything?" Sawyer pressed, his anxiety growing.
She smirked, not looking up from her game. "Do you always play this many video games? It's not that deep."
"Still feels like we should be doing more—" Sawyer persisted, his unease growing.
"Dammit, this stupid sucker!" she cursed, losing a level in her game, her frustration momentarily eclipsing her nonchalance.
"Plane moves in five!" she suddenly announced, her tone shifting seamlessly back to professional. The team, as if on cue, glanced at their watches, nodded in acknowledgment, and resumed their preparations with renewed urgency.
Sawyer felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to see a towering half-giant standing behind him. The man was nearly seven feet tall, with a broad nose, thick lips, and a rugged, hairy figure, his appearance both imposing and strangely friendly. Various gadgets, wires, and blinking lights were strapped to his chest, giving him the look of a walking tech lab.
"That's Mark," Sarah said, barely glancing up from her phone, her attention still glued to the game. "Our IT guy."
"Nice to meet you, Mark," Sawyer said, raising his voice to be heard over the roar of the engines.
Mark handed him a pair of sleek, noise-canceling earbuds and a matching, minimalist watch. Sawyer plugged in the earbuds, and the chaotic noise around him instantly faded, replaced by a comfortable silence.
"Better?" Mark's voice came through the earbuds, deep and gravelly but surprisingly clear.
"Much better," Sawyer replied, relief washing over him. "What's the watch for?"
"It monitors your heart rate, magic levels, hydration, and acts as a tracking device in case we…get lost by accident," Mark explained, a hint of nervousness in his voice.
"Lost by accident?" Sawyer repeated, narrowing his eyes, a sense of foreboding creeping in.
"Anything can happen in the Red Desert," Mark replied with a shrug, his expression nonchalant.
"Have you been there before?" Sawyer asked, his curiosity piqued.
"The Red Desert? Nah. This is my first outfield job," Mark admitted, a touch of self-deprecation in his tone. "Every IT tech has to complete at least five outfield missions to qualify for promotion."
"Promotion?" Sawyer echoed, surprised.
"Yeah, man, I need the racks. I just got a new girlfriend, and she's really pretty," Mark explained, his face lighting up with enthusiasm.
"Hey, hey!" Sarah's voice cut in sharply, interrupting their conversation. "Save the love stories for later. Let's focus! We're moving out!"
"Already?" Sawyer asked, surprised by the suddenness of their departure.
"Yes, buttercake," Sarah replied with a smirk, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Your carriage awaits."
Sawyer heard a chorus of laughter over the comms, the team clearly enjoying Sarah's playful teasing. He groaned inwardly, strapping the watch to his wrist and glancing back at the hallway entrance, a flicker of doubt crossing his mind.
"You're not thinking of bailing on us now, are you?" Sarah asked, raising an eyebrow, her gaze sharp and perceptive.
"No, no, of course not," Sawyer said quickly, trying to sound confident.
"Good," she said with a grin, her eyes sparkling. "The party can't start without the star of the show. Now hop in your ride and let's go!"
"Anymore of this, and I'll walk to the desert," Sawyer muttered under his breath as he reluctantly headed toward the waiting plane, his steps heavy with apprehension.
From a distance, he saw Joe waving at him, a wide grin on his face. He waved back, catching what sounded like a faint "Good luck" from Joe's direction.
"Yeah," Sawyer thought grimly as he climbed aboard the plane, the reality of the mission sinking in. "I'm going to need a lot of luck."
The plane lurched violently, shuddering as if it might fall apart mid-air, a metal bird caught in the grip of a tempest. Sawyer clutched the straps of his seatbelt tightly, his knuckles turning white, his heart pounding against his ribs like a trapped animal. He seemed to be the only one remotely concerned about the turbulence, the violent shaking threatening to throw the plane off course, sending them spiraling into the unforgiving landscape below.
Meanwhile, Sarah was entirely unbothered, seemingly immune to the plane's erratic movements. She led the soldiers in a round of raucous songs, their voices loud and off-key, punctuated by casual games of cards and dice. She moved with effortless grace, walking along the walls of the swaying aircraft as if gravity didn't apply to her, her tail curling around a nearby strap for stability whenever the plane shook particularly violently.
Occasionally, she glanced at Sawyer, her eyes briefly meeting his. "You good?" she'd call out, her tone more perfunctory than genuinely concerned, not even waiting for his response before returning to her rowdy crew.
Thankfully, Sawyer wasn't entirely alone in his growing panic. Mark, the towering half-giant IT technician, sat beside him, seemingly oblivious to the chaos around them. He was entirely focused on tapping away at a glowing red holographic keyboard that hovered in front of him, suspended in mid-air. His thick fingers, surprisingly nimble, moved with incredible speed, and he muttered numbers and technical phrases into his headset, his brow furrowed in concentration.
"What are you doing?" Sawyer asked, desperate for any distraction from the plane's erratic movements, his voice trembling slightly.
"Measuring magic frequencies," Mark replied without looking up from his keyboard, his voice deep and gravelly. He continued typing with intense focus, ignoring Sawyer's bewildered stare.
"What's a magic frequency?" Sawyer asked, genuinely curious now, his fear momentarily forgotten.
Mark paused mid-typing, his fingers hovering over the holographic keys, and turned to look at him, his expression somewhere between disbelief and pity. "Are you serious?"
Sawyer blinked at him, unsure how to respond, feeling a flush of embarrassment creeping up his neck.
"You're not joking, are you?" Mark said after a moment, shaking his head in disbelief. "You're supposed to save the world, and you don't even know what a magic frequency is? Unreal." He sighed dramatically, closing his keyboard with a quick swipe of his hand before fully facing Sawyer, his expression now one of mild amusement.
"I just got here!" Sawyer snapped, his voice defensive. "No one's told me anything!"
Mark rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, excuses. Fine. Welcome to Magic Class 101. Today's lesson: what the hell magic frequencies are and why they matter."
Sawyer adjusted his seat, trying to make himself comfortable amidst the continued turbulence, relieved for the unexpected distraction. He was genuinely curious, and Mark, despite his initial disbelief, seemed willing to explain.
Just then, his phone chimed loudly in his pocket, startling him. He hesitated, glancing at Mark before pulling it out. On the screen was a notification from an unknown sender: one document attached.
Sawyer frowned at the screen, a sense of unease washing over him. He held it up for Mark to see. "Should I open it?"
"Of course, open it!" Mark said, sounding exasperated, as if the question was utterly ridiculous.
Sawyer swiped to unlock the phone, and the screen instantly flooded with messages, PDFs, videos, and other attachments, a torrent of information that overwhelmed the small screen. The sudden influx of data made the device vibrate uncontrollably, almost slipping from his hands.
"What the hell is this?" Sawyer asked, staring at the deluge of information.
Mark smirked, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "That's the study material for Magic Class 101. Congratulations—you're officially enrolled. Now, let's begin."
Sawyer groaned, already regretting the question. It was going to be a long flight.
"That explains it," Sawyer said, his voice tinged with both relief and confusion, the pieces of the puzzle slowly falling into place.
"Now you're getting it!" Mark replied, clapping his enormous hands together, the sound booming like thunder, echoing through the plane despite the noise.
"So, you're saying magic is like… a radio signal? I can't see it, but it's there, and I can…tune into it somehow?" Sawyer asked, leaning forward, trying to piece it all together, his mind struggling to grasp the complex concept.
"Not just hear it—it's like tuning a radio," Mark explained, gesturing with his large, hairy hands, his movements surprisingly graceful despite their size. "You have to adjust to the right frequency to channel enough power for the spell you're trying to execute. Think of it like finding the right station to hear the music you want."
"And those weird words they shout when casting a spell?" Sawyer asked, his curiosity growing with each new piece of information.
"Oh, that's like pressing the 'execute' button," Mark said with a chuckle, a deep, rumbling sound. "Calling out the spell name helps direct the signal correctly, ensuring it reaches its intended target, and triggers the execution. It's called a channel language. Every spell has one, a specific set of words designed to activate its power."
Sawyer rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his eyes narrowing as he processed the information, trying to visualize the complex interplay of frequencies and incantations. "But I still don't hear the static sound you mentioned…"
"500 seconds to red airspace!" Sarah's amplified voice rang out over the comms system, interrupting their conversation and snapping Sawyer back to the present.
"Red airspace?" Sawyer asked, looking between Sarah and Mark, a flicker of anxiety in his eyes.
"We'll be entering the Red Desert airspace in exactly eight minutes, thirty seconds," Mark replied, glancing at his watch, his tone matter-of-fact.
Sawyer quickly set a timer on his own watch, the digital display flashing the countdown, then glanced down at his phone. He flipped through the files Mark had sent earlier, frowning at the dense numbers, complex equations, and technical jargon that dominated the pages.
"Did you know the highest magic frequency ever recorded was 200 years ago?" Mark said suddenly, breaking the silence, his voice taking on a more serious tone.
Sawyer raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Really? That's… a long time. But why bring it up?"
Mark smirked, a hint of mystery in his eyes. "Because we still get spikes—readings—from the Red Desert. Even after all this time."
"Wait, you mean…" Sawyer began, his mind racing, connecting the dots.
"Yes," Mark interrupted, his voice grave, the amusement gone. "The highest recorded frequency originated from the Red Desert itself. And even now, centuries later, we still detect fluctuations there. It's a hotspot of magical energy, unlike anything else we've encountered."
Sawyer leaned back in his seat, his mind reeling. "But wouldn't it be impossible to—"
"Exactly," Mark cut in again, his tone sharp, emphasizing the impossibility. "It's highly unlikely unless… unless the Red Desert itself is a Mundus Fictus."
"Mundus Fictus?" Sawyer repeated, the phrase sounding vaguely familiar, as if he'd heard it whispered in a dream.
"A fabricated world. A place artificially created and sustained by magic," Mark explained, his gaze distant, lost in thought. "A world woven from magic itself. But it's just a theory… for now. A fringe idea that most academics dismiss out of hand."
Mark sighed, a heavy, drawn-out sound, then turned back to his holographic keyboard, swiping the air as the glowing interface reappeared, his focus returning to his work. "I should get back to work. Don't want to miss any data. Especially now."
As Mark resumed typing, his fingers flying across the holographic keys, Sawyer sat back, staring blankly at his phone, the screen now displaying a complex diagram of interconnected magical frequencies. His head buzzed with questions, his mind struggling to grasp the implications of what he'd just learned. The more he learned, the more he realized just how little he truly knew about the world he'd been thrust into, a world far more complex and dangerous than he could have ever imagined.