Early Afternoon, Sylva Outskirts, Wistal.
Swooo...
A peaceful wind drifted through the ruins of the forest. Most of the trees had been uprooted, while the survivors stood scorched, barren, or stripped of their leaves. The ground was bare and cracked, as though a war had been waged there.
The silence stretched, until...
Whirl! Swirl!
Fast, swirling blades tore through the air as a massive, black helicopter-like airship descended from the clouds. Its colossal propeller churned the wind as it hovered above the forest floor.
Swirllll...
The vessel landed heavily, sending dust spiraling skyward until the roar of its engines quieted. A great door groaned open, shifting and reshaping itself into a metallic staircase.
Two men dressed in black suits stood at the entrance, sunlight glinting off their sunglasses.
"Arrrgh..." A voice thundered from within.
From the shadows, a man emerged. He was dressed in a black tuxedo coat that reached his knees, layered over dark trousers and shirt. A golden wristwatch flashed as he stepped forward, each step dripping with authority.
His thick black hair matched his attire. Every footstep left behind an invisible aura.
"Sir Glock!" The two men straightened instantly.
The man yawned lazily, waving them down. "Don't forget to add the Harbinger," he muttered as he approached the stairs.
Sunlight struck his face, but he didn't flinch. His gaze lowered to the scarred earth, and widened.
"Whoa..." His lips curled into a dry chuckle. "This place is finished."
He reached into his pocket and drew out a cigarette, slipping it between his lips.
One of the men quickly flicked a lighter. Switch! The flame caught.
"Suuu..." Glock inhaled deeply, exhaling a perfect ring of smoke. "Think there are any survivors?" he asked coolly.
Another man, arriving late, joined them, holding a steaming cup of coffee. Nervousness trembled in his hands as he offered it to Glock.
But before it reached him, the man's grip faltered.
Clink!
The cup shattered on the ground. Dark coffee spilled across the dirt, as a single drop splashed on Glock's shoe.
The two men stiffened, exchanging a horrified whisper.
"Shit."
"Now he's done it..."
The man's gaze crawled up from the stained shoe, to the tuxedo, and finally...into Glock's face.
Glock wasn't scowling, and neither was he furious.
He was smiling. His eyes had narrowed into slits, his pupils stark and black.
The man staggered backward, gulping frantically.
"Aww, good grief," Glock purred, stepping forward and resting a gentle hand on the man's shoulder.
"What's got you so nervous?" His tone was smooth and almost kind.
"Uh..." The man stammered, unable to form words.
"You need to be careful..." Glock's smile widened, then darkened.
Sweat broke across the man's brow, as Glock's grip tightened.
Then...
"You motherfucker!"
Glock yanked him downward, smashing his head into the shards of the broken cup.
Blood sprayed across the floor.
But Glock wasn't finished. He seized the man's hair, slamming his face again.
Smash!
"Got nervous because you soiled my shoe, huh?"
Smash! Smash! Smash!
The man's screams turned into gurgles as his face was rammed into glass again and again until only blood and ruin remained.
At last, Glock exhaled, brushing his tuxedo clean. "Ahh. I went too far again," he murmured, almost regretful.
The man lay still, his face mangled beyond recognition, a pool of blood spreading beneath him.
The other two men shivered, unable to move.
But Glock only waved casually. "Nah. We're cool."
With a cheerful smile, he descended the staircase.
Checking his wristwatch, he sighed. "Time's ticking. You two sweep right. I'll go left. Report everything - we don't want to piss off the old man."
"Yes, sir!" They replied, bolting into the ruined woods.
Glock strolled the opposite way, muttering irritably. "I decide to take a break from Blackthorn, and HQ calls me out to some dead forest? What the hell..."
He wandered deeper until he suddenly halted.
A massive trench yawned beside him, large enough to swallow five airships whole.
"Whoa..." Glock's grin returned.
From its depths, a faint energy pulsed. Weak to ordinary sorcerers, but Glock Harbinger was no ordinary sorcerer. He was a 1st-grade.
"Hehe..." Without hesitation, he leapt into the abyss, landing with ease.
Darkness swallowed him, but he pressed forward, eyes gleaming with anticipation. The deeper he went, the stronger the energy choked the air.
And then he saw it.
A grotesque mound of demon flesh, bones, and viscera were piled high.
"Good grief." Glock smirked. "All this from just a corpse?"
That was impossible. Once a demon's slain, it's anti-tenzen energy should dissipate. Yet...here it lingered.
He pressed a hand to the flesh. A soft blue light glowed from his palm.
"If the energy's from here, it will fade," he whispered.
But in contrast, the light refused to fade.
"The energy's not coming from the demon..." Glock realized.
Spinning around, he searched. Nothing but corpses and blood lined the floor.
Then suddenly, his eyes caught it.
Amidst the sea of gore, something stood different.
He crouched low, staring at it.
It was a single drop of blood.
Red as the rest, but... something was wrong.
It didn't splattered, didn't mix with the demon's carcass. It remained whole, suspended in a perfect spherical form.
And it radiated the energy he had felt all along.
"Oh my..." Glock whispered.
He reached out to it, as his fingertip brushed it.
Psst!
The droplet suddenly surged, shooting like liquid fire into his skin.
"Ugh...!" Energy ripped through his veins, as his eyes went bloodshot. Then slowly, he calmed, smirking.
"Hehe... the real deal."
From his suit, Glock produced a glass vial, carefully taking the droplet. Once it was sealed, the oppressive energy dissipated completely.
"Worth the trip," he muttered, slipping it back into his suit.
When he climbed back out, the two men were already waiting.
"Find anything?" Glock asked lightly.
"Yes," they said together.
His brow arched. "Another source? I didn't sense that."
One man stepped forward, holding a white envelope stamped in gold.
"A letter."
Glock's expression soured. "A letter?"
"Yes, sir. Hanging from a branch, with a golden stamp. We thought it important."
Golden stamp. That mark meant only two possibilities: a Sorcerer-General... or a 1st-grade sorcerer.
'Then one of them was here,' Glock thought grimly. "Was he the one who killed the demon? Was he hiding the blood?"
He snatched the letter, reading the address.
"To Sir Zelazny Zoldrak, SG, WAS, HAZEN."
And beneath...
"From a god..."
Glock froze, his jaw tightening. He didn't need to read further.
"That bastard..." His smile twisted. "Ackerman."
He wanted to tear it open, but law forbade it.
A golden seal addressed to a Sorcerer-General demanded untouchable respect.
Grinding his teeth, Glock pocketed the letter and barked, "Let's move."
The three vanished back toward the airship.
And in the trench below, only silence remained.
***
To Be Continued...