Fury drove the old wizard, who found himself moving with purpose and a swiftness he hadn’t felt in ten years. The creaks his knees and hips usually offered in disapproval of his efforts were conspicuously silent. With his hands and shirt still bloodied, people in the streets stole indirect stares, terrified of the rapidly moving villain as he pushed forward in defiance of the emerging rain. The packed dirt beneath him popped up, dusty puffs little explosions with each devastating droplet, leaving a thin cloud for Veritas to push westward through. The people about him, bustling to find shelter, were merely slowly moving obstacles, ones he sidestepped, outran, or even leapt as he pursued his goal.

Can’t let them reach the west gate; they won’t stay covered for long. Shit, they could be long gone by now. You waited too long.

Thunder surrounded him, a sort of metaphor that fueled him. Lightning struck to the north, a tremendous explosion that seemed in tune to his running. The Storm’s coming… he thought to himself, simultaneously lavishing in his own power and grimacing at the awful pun. Regardless, the glares at him had turned away towards his target. The chatter and hollers from people clearing the way before him began to turn as a singular, ordinary stucco building some two hundred yards from him flashed white with an audible bang. It was magic; the commotion leading many townfolk-idiots to surround the building in a loose, safe thirty foot perimeter. They were curious, but not stupid.

Storm didn’t need to examine the building to know it was his target; coincidences rarely existed upon Althanas. He also intuited that a simple knock on the front door would be a spectacularly bad idea, as he skidded to a halt some hundred yards from the sun-bleached white building. This was no fortress; by standing tall over the growing crowd, large gothic windows dotted all sides of the building, sad eyes letting in the natural light.

Not screwing with this wall of sad humanity. Last thing I need is another hero getting in my way.

East of the building was a smaller building, a flat-topped mixed-use building that doubled as a small grocer and home for a well-acquainted family. Without thinking, Veritas popped up in the air atop the roof, catching the eyes of only three or four citizens who were otherwise concerned with the ruckus before him. A few fingers pointed to the bounding electromancer, but he wouldn’t give them time to consider the implication of it all. In five long strides he was off the roof, somersaulting gracefully through the air and landing between the world’s most cowardly lynch mob and the target building. This was accompanied by a few gasps and whispers. He was frightened of what may lead ahead, but this fear was overwhelmed by anger. Resolute, Storm elected to blast a focused shot of electrical energy at the window as he leapt for it. Whomever was inside would likely be ready to fight.

Bring it. You’re fucking with the wrong bull today, my friend.

Obediently, the window exploded inward, leaving him a rough, slippery footing of broken glass and splinters. His hijacking of the action was met with relative quiet; the familiar scent of ozone mixing with the acrid, sour smell of blood and fire. Blood was everywhere, and a few tables had been overturned, glass dishes and plates shattered upon the oak hardwood floor. To his left, a tall, thin figure stood by the door. With a smooth, bald head and wide, toothy smile, Arius Mephisto held a devil’s grin for the intruder. He spoke without hesitation or fear, adjusting the Brotherhood ring on his finger.

“Lovely parlor trick, Mr. Veritas, but I’m happy to report the tandem of Tenedos and Damascus have been dealt with. You’re welcome. I took the liberty of cleaning up their loose ends, to avoid local investigative complications with our Brotherhood.” He gestured to the blood-stained floors, where the largest two concentrations of blood in a room of abject carnage was pouring between floorboards, leaving an ever-thinning puddle in their wake.

Bullshit. Nothing here feels right.

Storm paused for a moment. His instinct was distrust, but was he sure? Shinsou trusted Arius implicitly. How would this stranger have known where to go before he could get here? Who gave him authorization to kill the assassins, before their intentions were made clear? And since when did the city manager have magic? Sneering, Veritas felt his nostrils flare as all signs were pointing to the man before him.

“Relax.” Arius continued, barely looking up from the back of his hand as he smirked with confidence. “I can see your simple brain connecting the dots, we can cut to the chase. You two failed the Brotherhood in Radasanth, at the moment of our greatest opportunity. The Castigars should be sitting around the Council table of Radasanth Square, not squabbling for table scraps.”

Storm’s eyes pulsed white as his rage grew with the same exponential fury that had leveled literally hundreds of Radasanthian guards atop the western wall of Radasanth. He wouldn’t give Arius another word, and instead held up his hand to unleash hell.

Nothing.

Aghast, Veritas literally stumbled back at his sealed magic, a baby deer upon newfound legs. Arius merely smiled again, rubbing his thumb over the shining red jewel in his ring.

“I told you to relax, young man. Those lovely powers of yours have a place in the new world. Unfortunately, Shinsou was the merciful one; I knew that despite his power, his empathy would be our undoing. You can still be a hurricane, but for Vaan Osiris wastes his immense abilities whenever a friendly face throws doe-eyes at him.”

Storm had experienced enough of this. He had the kris dagger in his left hand, behind his back, and wouldn’t give Mephisto a moment to catch himself. With the speed of the cobra, the wizard whipped the knife across the room, through the smoky white cloud where Arius had just stood, before bouncing harmlessly off the door and sticking in the floor.

He had been bested, and there could only be one place that Arius was going. To finish the job. Storm moved to pick up the harmless looking knife, sheathing it in spite of shaking hands. His legs wobbled with fear and helplessness, as he struggled to soldier forth for the window once more. He had to create the mask of a bold face as he ventured out towards the spot that would need him to race.

Shinsou.