Rising over the sand dunes like the head of a giant, the sun cast its beaming light over the little encampment. The government official guards standing watch at the camp outpost shuffled around in the morning light, struggling to keep the weather at bay. The wind and the sand worked together like a wrestling tag team, suffocating and blinding the guards. They raised their hands to protect themselves, a logo showing on their wrists with the words: Aplistia. Little did they know, however, they weren’t the only ones the wind was biting at. Just over the edge of a large dune, two figures lay in the sand, unperturbed by the weather. They were waiting. For what was unclear. A signal perhaps? Fischer Onogunomski lay on the right. His deep, purple eyes kept watch on the horizon, his long pointed ears as alert as a sentry. His cult robes were picking up sand, but Fischer didn’t notice. He just kept watching, him and his partner stretched out and silent on the ground next to each other, as though they were having a deep telepathic conversation. They stayed in this position for a while, until suddenly, something caught Fischer’s eye. Silently, getting to his feet, he looked over at his partner. “Ready Iosif?” he whispered. Iosif, also on his feet, nodded in reply. They began to sneak towards the camp, moving swiftly and almost gracefully, the sand making soft little patting noises. As they advanced, some orbs full of a milky white substance materialized around Fischer’s wrists, three per wrist, where they began to circle. A small robotic drone had appeared in Iosif’s hands, and he clutched it tightly. Their faces were pictures of quiet determination as they marched relentlessly towards the camp. There was fire in their eyes. Soon, the Aplistia guards would have more than just sand to worry about.
Fischer and Iosif approached the sentry post from an angle, their march slowing to a silent sneak as they got nearer. When they were close enough, Fischer stepped out in front of the guards. Guard one raised his gun immediately. “What’re you –“ was all he managed before his head was swallowed by a thick, sticky blob that had an overpowering aroma of glue, blinding and suffocating him, eliminating the senses. Guard number two didn’t even manage words before he suffered the same fate, falling weakly to the ground as his struggling subdued. Two empty orbs appeared on Fischer’s wrists, joining the already full ones, and instantly began to refill. All this happened in the space of a few seconds. Fischer had flung the orbs forth at his command, moving his arms brusquely as though he was sweeping something unpleasant aside. He and Iosif dragged the bodies of the guards into the shadows created by the post, leaving no evidence. It was as though the ground had just swallowed them up. From within the shadows, Fischer nodded at Iosif. Objective one complete. “Nice little party trick you have my friend,” grinned Iosif. Fischer gave a small smile in return. “Nothing compared to yours,” he said, “now let’s get going.” Iosif held his drone out. “And now ladies and gentlemen, something so spectacular you won’t be able to unsee it,” he trilled, giving his best imitation of an announcer at a magic show. He threw his drone upwards, quickly as though it was on fire, and it hovered in the air, about fifteen feet off the ground. Iosif clapped both hands together and pointed them at the drone. It was a small metallic thing, round in shape with one propeller in the middle and two gleaming lights on the front that seemed to represent eyes. Iosif adopted a stance that suggested he was about to spar with the invisible man, one hand held out in front of his face, settling between his blue eyes, while the other was held closer to his body at shoulder height. He began to move the hand that was closer to his body, upwards and then left, floating his hand as though stroking a cat. The drone began to move with the hand; a puppet, and Iosif the puppet master.
Fischer held a wry smile on his face. “You just love your gadgets, don’t you?” “Of course,” exclaimed Iosif. “I’ve got the best ability out of everyone.” “I’d like to hear what Wera thinks of that,” returned Fischer. “And speaking of which, don’t keep her and the others waiting any longer.” “Of course not,” agreed Iosif, and his drone began moving towards camp, hovering over the shack rooftops, like a hawk watching its prey. It only made a low buzzing noise as it floated through the air. Guards had begun to emerge from shacks, and the rate at which they emerged increased when the drone came into view. Some gestured and stared, while others drew their guns to shoot it down. They saw it as a threat. And they were right to do so. Suddenly, before any shots could be fired, a great bright flash of light engulfed the camp like an explosion. It was only seen inside the camp. From the outside, it looked as though nothing had caused the guards to suddenly grapple their faces, covering their eyes and screaming, some falling to the floor. And it was from the outside where they came. Four figures, all in a peculiar type of robe, ran into camp and began eliminating guards. A large and muscular bearded man, ruggedly handsome, simply walked past guards, and as he did they begun to clutch their throats rather than their eyes, choking and gasping for air; eyes bulging and mouths gaping in a silent scream. Only a few seconds later, they made no sound at all. The man smiled gravely as each one stopped moving for good. One very slim male wearing a droopy elven hat, crept around nearby, using a sharp little dagger to finish off those who weren’t quite dead. His face remained expressionless like a mask throughout this grim task, using his knife to draw neat red lines on throats. Some unfortunate guards, who had still been in their shacks when the flash had gone off, came running out, ready to face the enemy but doomed from the moment they showed themselves. A woman with a heavily scarred face wearing a hood approached the group. Her eyes were as wide as orbs and sparkling unnaturally. She muttered some words as she advanced, her light red eyes fixed on the remaining guards. Usually, the guards would have reached for their guns, drawing them and peppering this imposter full of bullets. But this wasn’t a usual imposter. They all stared stupidly ahead at her, transfixed on her eyes. They found they couldn’t do anything else. What big eyes you have, grandma. Suddenly, once the guards were closely grouped together, another woman leapt over the first and landed right in front of them. The two were very different visually. While the first bore sensible features; straight brown hair down to her shoulders and an ordinary circular face, the second was stunning in more ways than one. Full lips coupled with deep brown eyes a man could drown in and then crazy purple hair tied into many individual bunches, so it looked like lots of little trees were growing on her head. Both however, were ready and focused. “Hiya fellas,” woman number two shouted, holding one hand to the side of her mouth to sound louder. “Got a little something for ya, hope ya have a ball with it.” And with that, she burst into laughter, hurling a small blue ball into the centre of the group. Upon hitting the floor, the ball bounced upwards once before sharply changing direction, as though it had a mind of its own. It struck one guard in the stomach, doubling him over, before striking the ground again and bouncing upwards into another, all the while getting faster and faster and ever more lethal. It broke an arm here, knocked someone out there. Despite its size, the ball was as deadly as getting hit with a wrecking ball when at full speed. The poor guards were no more than skittles, there to be knocked over and cleared out. “Strike!” yelled woman number two. And indeed, had it been bowling, Wera Smithies would have just won ten points.
The ball had disappeared upon dealing its last blow, leaving no traces. The camp, so quiet and still not long ago, now resembled the inside of a slaughter house. And that thought played very much on the mind of the bearded man. “Lester,” he said abruptly. “Do me a favour and clear this mess up.” Lester, the slim man, nodded in reply. Holding up one finger, he drew an invisible circle in the air, hooking two fingers on either hand into the edges of the circle and pulling each way, as though he had his fingers in the corners of his mouth and was pulling a face. Once it was big enough, Lester pulled the circle over the bodies, like someone putting a glass over a spider so they can dispose of it. The bodies vanished upon being touched by the invisible circle, simply cards disappearing out of a magician’s hand. All evidence was cleared up. Objective two, complete..
Fischer and Iosif strolled over to the other four. They had waited behind the sentry post for the attack to be over. Wera applauded as they approached. “Merci per le support monsieurs,” she said, mimicking an awful French accent. “No bother mademoiselle,” said Iosif, bowing. “Of course, it was mainly down to me why that went so well.” “Oh shut up,” laughed Wera jokingly, throwing her arm out in the air as though to hit him, “that drone of yours wouldn’t last five seconds against my ball.” “Ah, that’s what you think,” said Iosif half seriously, raising one eyebrow, “but your condescending attitude will cost you.” “You’ll be blind before you’ve even had a chance to summon your ball!” “Why don’t you –“ began Wera, before she was interrupted by Fishcer. “Why don’t you both relax,” he said in a quiet tone, turning his head towards the bearded man. “Jokes aside, it was a team effort, right Victor?” Victor nodded. He looked haggard. “Yes Fischer, it was, it always is,” he said, managing to break into a big smile, “not that the Applistia give us much to worry about.” “Yeah,” jeered Wera, “if there were half of us, we’d still take em.” “You still need me to distract them first though Wera,” said the hooded woman, staring directly at Wera and smiling. “I could still take em on my own,” growled Wera, frowning, “you know that Faustina.” Faustina kept smiling back and said nothing. Meanwhile, Fischer had kneeled down on the ground, reaching into his robes and bringing out a flask, taking the cork out top. It was unusual for a flask; spindly and curved like a snake frozen in movement, with multi-coloured stripes spiralling up it. Fischer took a deep swig, tipping his head back and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand when he was finished. The liquid was gooey like a smoothie, with large chewy bits floating around in it. It also had a distinct alcoholic taste and reeked of glue. A bizarre combination. What Fischer had just drank was a cocktail; or more specifically, what he called a ‘strong vodka sticky’ – a cocktail of vodka, muscle and edible glue. Muscle and glue are what makes up Fischer’s orbs. When he summons and uses them, he uses up his ewel energy; energy that allows him to perform magic as a magical being. When ewel energy is completely gone, life energy is next, until the user is completely drained. Ewel energy needs to be restored or else beings like Fischer cannot use their magic. It can only be restored through the consumption of cocktails particular to a user’s power. Hence why other members of the group were taking out or putting away flasks of their own. The cocktails can only be found at certain magical bars; nadi as they known. Nadi bars are only found in the most remote places, and are designed so only magical beings know how to get in. Fortenza knew plenty of locations, and Fischer was grateful for that as he downed the last few drops from his flask. His skin had grown some complexion back and he looked remarkably better than before he had had a drink. He pushed the cork back into the top after refilling it and put the flask away, belching loudly. “Thank you for that,” said Iosif, bowing. A low chatter had grown over the group, like a gang of students gathered together in the playground after school. And it was broken up by the teacher figure out of them all, Victor. He watched his comrades, smiling, before standing up. “That is another camp down my fellow Fortenza,” he bellowed, addressing them all, “but of course, there are many many more to go.” The rest of the group started to gather around, heads raised and listening attentively. “But that doesn’t bother us,” continued Victor, his voice rising, making gestures with his hands that wouldn’t be out of place at an army rally, “we will keep going, we will keep fighting and we…” he paused to take a deep breath. “We will never give in!” he roared, the rest of the group raising fists or giving a cry in return. “Come on,” Victor said in a much lowered tone, almost whispered. “Let’s be on our way.” And with that, they all moved stealthily out of camp, leaving it bare and empty in the baking sun, looking very much like a ghost town.
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