Taylor's frame was wiry, almost sickly, but his speed was shocking. He was already putting distance between them, weaving through the crumbling structures like a stray animal. For a split second, Asmon considered his options. Chase him down? No, his body wasn't built for long sprints—not without burning through his cigarette stash. Shoot him? With this distance? He wasn't confident in his accuracy. That left the third option.
Asmon took a deep breath, gathering his magic. Then— He released. A deep pulse of energy exploded outward from his left hand, sending a visible ripple through the air. "Sound Burst"
THWANG! A shockwave roared forward, moving at the speed of sound. Before Taylor even realized what had happened, it hit. The force sent him tumbling, limbs flailing as he crashed into the ground.
Asmon strode toward him at a steady pace. His body was already feeling the strain—his magic reserves were running low, and if he didn't pace himself, he'd be relying on cigarettes sooner than he'd like. Taylor lay sprawled on the dirt, hands clamped over his ears, his body trembling. Blood seeped through his fingers, trickling down the sides of his face.
Asmon sighed. Sound Burst was a spell normally used for sensory tracking—allowing a mage to scan their surroundings with vibrations, almost like a bat's echolocation. But when overcharged, it turned into a concussive weapon, wreaking havoc on the inner ear.
Judging by Taylor's state, not only were his eardrums wrecked, but his balance was probably shot too. Asmon grabbed Taylor's limp ankle and rolled him over.
Bang!
A gunshot cracked through the air, followed by an explosive burst of magic. The bullet struck his barrier—one he had placed as a last-minute precaution—and shattered it instantly. The force sent a ripple through the air, kicking up dust and debris. "A sniper." His mind worked in overdrive. The first barrier had done its job, but it wouldn't hold up against another round. In a split second, he funneled more magic outward, reinforcing the protective field around him. This one wasn't just a flimsy shield—it was sturdy enough to withstand an anti-tank round for at least a moment.
'Safe, for now.' Asmon exhaled, flicking his cigarette to the ground. He pushed magic through his body, dispersing his energy in all directions, making himself a noticeable presence in the area. A warning to whoever was out there.
The fatigue that had been weighing on him faded. His senses sharpened. Even as death had come screaming toward him, he felt nothing. No fear. No panic. The looming concerns of his future, his survival, his next payday—all of it burned away in the presence of immediate danger. He focused. Nothing.
His magic had scanned the area within a kilometer radius, but aside from a few homeless squatters, he picked up nothing useful. Either his attacker was well beyond his reach, or they had cloaked their presence with an advanced concealment spell. Either way, this was a problem. He glanced down at Taylor, who was still curled up, hands clamped over his bleeding ears. The guy hadn't even tried to fight back, but someone out there was sure as hell eager to put him down.
'Why?' Asmon's gaze dropped to the ground where the bullet had hit. Lower section of the barrier… A headshot. It wasn't meant for him. They weren't trying to rescue Taylor. They were trying to silence him.
His mind raced, piecing things together. The Scavengers must've put the hit out. 'Taylor knew something—something that couldn't reach Achilles Corporation's ears. And whoever pulled the trigger wasn't planning on letting him walk away.'
Most bounty hunters would've taken the kill and pocketed the cash, never stopping to wonder why someone wanted their target dead. The story would die along with him. But Asmon wasn't most bounty hunters. And he wasn't the type to let a sniper who took a shot at him get away with it. He needed a reputation—one that made it clear that "Ban" was not someone to mess with. That if anyone came for him, there would be consequences.
Without hesitation, he pulled out his pistol and leveled it at Taylor's head.
Bang!
The gunshot echoed through the empty streets. Taylor twitched once. Then, nothing. Jenny had mentioned she preferred targets alive, but that was more of a suggestion than a rule. If they were useless, it didn't matter whether they were breathing or not.
Whatever secrets Taylor had died with him. But Asmon wasn't interested in secrets. His priority was the sniper. Then, he felt it—a shift in the air. A tiny, nearly imperceptible ripple in the magic field around him. It resonated with his own energy, the faintest disturbance in an otherwise still atmosphere.
'Gotcha. Roughly 600 meters away.They hadn't left yet.' Asmon rolled his right hand in a slow, deliberate circle, gathering magic at his fingertips.
Whoosh!
A deep pulse of energy built within him. He shaped it, bending it into something destructive. A technique he had never actually tried before—one he had only known in theory. But if it worked the way he thought it would… He thrust his hand upward. "Thunder Calling."
The sky flashed electric blue. A heartbeat later—BOOM! A bolt of lightning tore through the air, hammering down on the exact location he had pinpointed. The explosion sent shockwaves rippling outward, rattling the ground beneath him. The sheer force of it left a bright afterimage burning in his vision. Asmon exhaled slowly, staring at the aftermath. He had watched plenty of other mages use lightning spells before. In games, in battle simulations. It had always felt… distant. But seeing it in real life—feeling the raw power vibrate through his bones—was something else entirely. This was magic at its purest form. This was his magic. His first real lightning strike. And it had exceeded his expectations. Was the sniper dead? If they had been slow, there was no chance they survived.
Asmon walked toward the impact site, his boots crunching against the cracked pavement. When he arrived, all he found was a smoldering crater—about two meters wide. No body. They must've escaped. Or had been fast enough to dodge the strike. He considered tracking them further, but in the end, he let it go. He had already sent his message loud and clear. From now on, anyone in this city who heard the name Ban would know exactly what kind of mage they were dealing with. There would be no second chances. And that was exactly how he wanted it.
Suppressing the faint unease creeping up his spine, Asmon hoisted Taylor's lifeless body, bundling it into a sack he had prepared earlier. Just in case trouble found him on the way back, he lit another cigarette, inhaling the familiar rush of energy it provided. Of course, he knew he'd pay for it later—muscle fatigue, headaches—but that was a problem for another time. Asmon never wasted his magic on strengthening his body. Magic was his weapon, his shield, his last resort. Unless he was in a fight, he'd rather conserve it. He took one last glance at the deserted alley before turning back toward Zone 49.