The Magekiller

by Orlando A. Sanchez

  Magekiller

  A Division 13 Story

  Orlando A. Sanchez

  ONE

  Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?

  Juvenal

  My blood Pollocked the wall outside of the new Abyss Club with fresh spatter, as the blasts of energy punched into me, introducing my body to the brick wall with force. I wiped the blood from my lips and tried to catch my breath. This night had taken a seriously dark turn.

  This was just supposed to be a simple recon op. Luca assured me low to no contact with hostiles. My body begged to differ.

  The Abyss had been rebuilt after Bruce opted for early retirement by Luca, the Division’s second-in-command and occasional acting director. The Stone Troll Clan, which Bruce belonged to, decided it was good business to keep the club open, and started on the renovations immediately after his death. Division 13 left them alone as long as they adhered to the rules. This was my first stop and, if I wasn’t careful, it was looking to be my last.

  “Fuck,” I managed, when the air returned to my lungs. “That hurt, even with the dragonscale I’m wearing, you bastard.”

  I may as well have been speaking to the freshly bloodied wall. Judging from the vacant look and fresh drool dribbling down his chin, the mage in front of me was clearly on an extended mental vacation. This was not good.

  He kept gibbering about fear and darkness under his breath. His unstable mental state seemed to have little effect on his aim though. As dangerous as the little shit was, I realized the real threat stood behind him.

  My brain was still trying to process the image. Just beyond the mage, like some kind of freakish bodyguard, stood a mishmash of fresh nightmare. It stood as large as an ogre, but had the features of a rummer. Besides being hideous, infecting the street with its odor and destroying any hope of my smelling anything ever again, it was the behavior that threw me…it was waiting.

  Usually these kinds of creatures had two settings: mayhem or destruction. Patient observation wasn’t in their wheelhouse. The fact that this thing just stood there, watching the mage trying to reduce me to a pulp, was more unnerving than having it race at me mindlessly, set upon my destruction.

  I glanced around to make sure Mr. Serling wasn’t in a corner, drink and cigarette in hand, explaining my journey into an alternate dimension of sight, sound, and mind.

  My gun, Thorn, lay shattered in several pieces on the ground next to my feet.

 

  I heard Cait answer in her cybersexy voice.

  Sounded like great advice.

  Cait was my Combat Artificially Intelligent Techbrace. Every operative in Division 13 wore one. My model was equipped with all the bells and whistles; some were even approved by the head of the Division 13 Sciences Department, Reese. The techbrace was connected to me on several levels, and was designed to work with an operative’s unique DNA signature. This allowed me to ‘speak’ to silently as I assessed the situation.

  On occasion, depending on my focus, and how much damage I’ve sustained, the silent function took too much effort. It was similar to my trying to have a coherent conversation in the morning without Deathwish, not physically possible and incredibly taxing on a caffeine-deprived brain.

  “You ask too many questions, Ronin,” the mage slurred. “Questions that will get you killed.”

  “You know what they say: no such thing as a stupid question.”

  “Yours are stupid and fatal.”

  “My feelings are all hurt now,” I said, trying to gauge how much of this was the mage, and how much of it was whatever was inside him. “No need to be insulting.”

  Someone, or something, was controlling the mage and killing him. Someone powerful.

  The mage smiled in response. All teeth and demented intention. He lowered his head and started laughing. That’s when I knew this little bastard was going to try his best to kill me. Angry black orbs of power formed in his hands, even as blood trickled down his nose and out of his eyes.

  “I’m going to end you now,” Crazy Mage hissed. “The only good operative…is a dead one.”

  “I’m not going to take that personally, because clearly you’ve left insane and sailed right into batshit crazy.”

  I drew my backup weapon and fired. It wasn’t Thorn, but it was lethal. 9mm runed rounds were effective against humans, even those who wielded magic. They were devastating, powerful, and immediate. I hit the mage three times center mass, and watched them punch holes in his body.

  “Kill him,” the mage said, as he fell to his knees and slowly departed this plane. “Kill him—now.”

  Crazy Mage crumpled to the ground and breathed his last even as the blood continued to exit his body. I looked up at the ogrummer and we locked eyes. I want to say we made a connection. Very similar to when a gazelle gazes upon a hungry lioness and realizes it’s on the menu.

  “You don’t have to do this,” I said, raising a hand. “I’m sure he was mistaken. I think he meant to say: ‘I killed him’, which if you look, he was right.”

  Thorn carried my negation rounds. I looked down at my shattered gun and holstered the backup. Ogres and trolls were ridiculously runically resistant. Shooting the creature with regular runed rounds would do little more than tickle it. I’d probably do more damage if I threw the gun than fired it.

  “Time to die,” the creature growled. Its voice was a cross between crushed gravel and nails on a chalkboard. “You’ve made a mistake. A lethal one.”

  “Look at you,” I said, stomping on the fear threatening to squeeze my bowels empty as I backed away. “Using words and everything.”

  Rummers didn’t speak, and ogres less so. They were mindless engines of thirst, mayhem, and destruction. Conversation wasn’t part of the package. Whoever was playing Frankenstein with these creatures, was getting creative and making the hybrids intelligent. This night just slid into full-blown horror show mode.

  At least, I had an advantage.

  Ogres were usually lumbering hulks. You set them to destroy and unleashed them. I could outmaneuver this creature, using Cait to enhance my strikes and put it down. That plan ended when his fist smashed into my side, bouncing me off the nearby wall.

  These hybrids were not lumbering anything. They moved fast. Faster than anything that size had a right to move. I rolled to the side and avoided another brick-shattering fist.

 

 

 

  I backed up even further, and circled around as I tried to gain my bearings. I pushed the pain away as Cait flushed my body with a medkit. The only thing that saved me from being a broken heap was my dragonscale-lined suit.

 

 

 

 

  I pulled out my blade, Sliver. It was designed as a wakizashi—a short sword used by samurai to end their lives. The irony wasn’t lost on me. Honor, a mage and old friend was the current leader of the Light Council. He was also the owner of Dragonflies, which operated as part of the Central Archive, a neutral location.

  He had given it to me a few months ago. His words came back to me: “Bullets, even runed ones, won’t work on
everything you face out there. This”—he handed me the blade—“won’t run out of ammunition. When you learn to understand it, you will have something better than any gun.”

  Sliver was a paradox for a technomancer like me. On the one hand, I favored using and manipulating tech. On the other hand I didn’t enjoy being reduced to a bloody pulp. I didn’t understand the magic behind it, but energy is energy, tech or otherwise. As long as it worked, I didn’t need the details. I needed it to cut the menace in front of me.

  I felt Sliver pulse in my hand. The blade was covered in soft, blue, glowing runes. This wasn’t one of those sentient, creepy-as-hell blades. I told Honor I’d shoot him if I woke up one day to the blade speaking to me.

  “What’s that?” the creature said, looking at the blade. “You plan on stabbing me?”

  “Something like that, unless you’d like to call off the whole ‘breaking me into little pieces’ plan?”

  It laughed in response and grinned.

  “I’m going to take that as a no,” I said, closing the distance.

  TWO

  Division 13 made sure that their operatives were trained in several forms of combat. Operatives with designations under ten, were considered the Upper Echelon and trained harder. I was designated 003. Which meant I was placed in the Prolonged Advanced International Network combative training with Luca, she was also the current D13 combat instructor, a lethal combination of intelligence, determination, sensuality, and drive.

  This translated into regular sessions of my ass getting kicked in new and creative ways with all kinds of weapons. I’d like to think that, after so many years of being her training partner, I had picked up a few things, besides how to bruise.

  She was the reason I stood in front of this creature now. It was her request to look into the Redrum X situation, that brought me to this club. That same request sent me looking for her informant, who was currently bleeding out inside the Abyss. A result of being forcibly introduced to a wall several times by gross, mean, and ugly, standing in front of me.

  “You don’t have to do this,” I said. “I’m willing to let you off with a stern warning.”

  The creature circled around in a disconcerting display of strategy. It intentionally stayed away from my blade hand.

  “Have to?” it asked with a sneer. “I know I don’t have to. I want to.”

  “Full marks for enthusiasm,” I replied, keeping my distance. “But if you keep this up someone is going to get hurt.”

  “I know,” it said, and lunged.

  CQC, or close quarters combat is designed for dealing with an enemy in a short range scenario. When I trained in CQC, I never imagined that the enemy in question would be some hybrid ogre-rummer creature.

  It lashed out with a fist. I ducked under the swipe and sliced upward, leaving a huge gash in the tree trunk doubling as its arm. We were both surprised.

  It responded with a growl as black blood flowed. I backed up, putting more distance between us, while glancing at Sliver, its runes now glowing brighter. In the split-second that I had removed my focus from the creature, it closed the distance with intent to maim.

  A swift kick landed on my chest, catapulting me down the street. I landed hard and rolled for a few meters. Surprisingly, Sliver was still in my grip, considering my hold on the reality of the situation wasn’t as secure. Cait chirped, and flushed my body with another medkit. I was pretty sure nothing was broken. I stood unsteadily as the hybrid laughed.

  “You’re getting too old for this, Ronin,” it jeered. “Why not let me put you out of your misery?”

  “Thanks for the offer,” I said, using the wall for support. “I’ve grown attached to my misery, but if you would do me the favor of standing still so I could stab you, I’d really appreciate it.”

  It smiled again. “Fuck you, Ronin. They’re going to sop up what’s left of you from this grimy street, with a sponge.”

 

 

 

 

 

  Once I gave her this instruction, she dumped the equivalent of eight hundred milligrams of caffeine into my bloodstream. The effects were immediate and shot my body into overdrive. My reflexes and reaction times were heightened, along with my hand-eye coordination.

 

 

 

  The Deathwish state, named for my favorite coffee, usually lasted about a minute, when my techbrace wasn’t trying to mother me. For that minute, I was a Tasmanian devil of pure devastation. If I tried to push it longer, I’d be entering cardiac arrest territory. Nothing will ruin kicking a monster’s ass more than having your heart seize in the middle of the attempt.

  “Thirty seconds it is,” I said, feeling the rush of caffeine hit my system. I turned to the hybrid. “Let’s dance, Thugly.”

  THREE

  The tunnel-vision that accompanies heightened senses can be a danger in itself. On one end, you have hyper-vigilance and increased situational awareness. On the other, everything slows down and your target is the only focus. That explained why, even in my heightened state, I missed the side door opening and the other ogre blindsided me.

  It wasn’t a hybrid, but it still hit like a truck.

 

  I dodged to the side and managed to deflect the fist headed for my head. It smashed into my brachial plexus and shut down my arm. The dragonscale dampened the impact, meaning instead of shattering every bone in my shoulder, I just lost sensation and use. Very much like how a bus won’t crush you all at once, but pound you into the next street. It’s the landing that does the lasting damage.

  Sliver dropped to the ground, the metallic clang of the blade traveling down the street. My right arm hung limp, numb from the shoulder down.

  “Well, shit,” I said, slumping back against the wall. “You ready to surrender now?”

  “I told you, Ronin,” the hybrid said, heading back to the club. “You’re getting too old for this. Consider this your retirement beating. I was going to finish you off myself, but I was taught not to play with filth.”

  “That’s mighty kind of you, I appreciate—”

  “This time, I’ll let the help take out the trash. Goodbye, Ronin.”

  “You should reconsider this course of action,” I said. “I have to bring you in for attacking a Division 13 operative.”

  The hybrid looked around the back alley.

  “You see a Division 13 operative around here?” he asked. “Because all I see is an old man who went rogue and is out on the streets…alone.”

  “I’m not alone.”

  “Really?” he said, crossing his massive arms. “Go ahead, call for backup, I’ll wait. Who’s it going to be? Luca? Maybe Sauveur himself?”

  “They’re probably all busy right now, pursuing other leads.”

  “I’m sure they are,” he said. “Or could it be they don’t give a shit about a rogue operative who stepped into a situation way beyond his pay-grade.”

  “Don’t make this more painful than it needs to be.”

  “Painful?” he said with a chuckle. “That Ogre is going to have you for a snack, and I’m going inside to finish my dinner. When I come back, I’ll have the cleaning crew sweep up what’s left of you.”

  The hybrid used the same do
or the Ogre utilized to surprise me, and left me in the back street with the ‘help’ to finish the job. One arm, no backup, no weapons, and about four hundred plus pounds of angry Ogre looking to squash me. Things weren’t looking good. I felt Cait flood my system with another medkit as I backed away.

 

 

  The odds of fighting an Ogre with Thorn, two working arms, and my rune-enhanced blade were close to fifty-fifty. In my current state, it was next to impossible. It didn’t mean I was completely defenseless. The Tesla shield integrated into my techbrace, converted kinetic energy into bioelectricity. Basically, the greater the impact I encountered, the greater the electric charge response.

  Ogres hit hard—that was the upside, and...also the downside. With the shield fully charged, it would still take several blows before I could unleash a kinetic response strong enough to do any damage. Then, there was the side effect. The Tesla shield would unleash a kinetic punch around an electric charge. Dragonscale was excellent at dampening impacts, but not so great at neutralizing electrical charges.

  When I set off the kinetic punch, I would experience some of the fallout. The Tesla shield was meant for defense purposes only. It was strictly an ‘oh shit’ feature which, considering my present situation, was appropriate.

  Bottom line—this was going to hurt, in more ways than one.

  I stepped into a fighting stance.

  The Ogre growled and then charged.

  “This is a terrible idea,” I muttered, as the creature closed and swung a fist.

  FOUR

  I ducked under the fist, and into a knee aimed at my chest. I managed to deflect the knee strike with my good arm. The impact sent me into the wall at high speed. I rebounded off the wall into another fist. The ogre was taking its time and enjoying itself…lucky me.