Rain fell heavily on Central City like it attempted to wash away the numerous crimes it contained. Detective Adrian Vance watched as it streak down the window of his unmarked sedan, turning neon signs into blurry smears of light.
11:47 PM.
He should have been home two hours ago.
His radio crackled. "—another disappearance in the Midwack District. Third this month. Patrol units report no signs of struggle, or forced entry. And the nearby cameras detected no one entering or leaving the area. The whole family just kind of disappeared overnight."
Adrian thumbed the mic, his voice sounding weary from the day's stress. "Vance here. Any magical residue?"
"Forensic mages say none."
"What exactly is going on in this city." Adrian sighed wearily.
On the surface, you would think it's safe. The Grand Mages had promised progress and protection to every non-mage citizen. But underneath, a lot of crimes are happening. The police are well aware of this, but such news can't be revealed to the public.
Adrian had felt it for months: a pattern of missing people, hushed-up reports, evidence vanishing, security cameras having issues. He'd made the decision of voicing his suspicions to his captain yesterday, but like always, he'd been told to drop it.
But he hadn't dropped it, he'd gone to the archives instead. Cross-referenced missing persons with properties owned by members of the Mage Council. He found a warehouse registered to a shell company that traced back to one of the high mages, known as Silas Lightborn.
Adrian had filed a request for a warrant this morning, it had been denied by noon.
He turned the key in the ignition. The engine revved to life. His wife, Lisa would have been asleep by now, curled all alone in bed. Maya and Leo, seven and five, would have left their toys scattered in the living room despite her protests. His mother, living with them since his father's passing, would have tidied them up with a grumble and a hidden smile.
Home…
The one place in this broken city that felt normal and peaceful to him.
He pulled onto the slick streets, the wipers beating a steady rhythm against the downpouring rain. His headlights cut through the rain, illuminating the empty, glistening pavement.
His mind kept circling back to the high mage. The charismatic and philanthropic Silas, who healed sick children in public events and gave speeches about civic unity. But underneath that, he wasn't who he claimed to be.
As Adrain turned onto his street which usually brought a quieting of his nerves, he realized how different it felt tonight. His skin prickled like something had gone wrong. In fact, the rain seemed even more aggressive and louder than before.
His headlights swept over his front yard, the white picket fence his son had helped him paint last summer. That's when he saw that the front door was open. It swing gently in the wind like a slack jaw.
Adrian's heart raced faster, his thought swirling wildly. It was unusual for their door to be open, and from the looks of things, it seems to have been damaged by someone.
He killed the engine, and drew his service pistol from his jacket pocket; it is a mundane, lead-shooting gun.
"Lisa?" His voice cracked as he stepped inside, but there was no response. Instead the smell of blood hit him.
He moved the flashlight towards the pool of red blood on the floor, and then traced it back to the source.
His wife lay on the living room floor, her favorite blue rug darkened beneath her. Her eyes were open, staring at the ceiling with fear. Her abdomen had been punctured by a knife, which seemed to have been thrown off to the side.
Adrian's legs gave out. He collapsed beside her, his hands hovering, afraid to touch her. "No, no, no—"
He stumbled to his feet, careening into the kitchen. His mother was slumped at the table, a half-knitted scarf still in her lap. She had suffered from the same attack.
The children's room.
He couldn't make himself go in. He stood at the hallway, shaking, listening to the rain and the ragged sound of his own breathing. The door was slightly ajar. He could see Leo's stuffed dragon on the floor.
From his jacket pocket, his phone buzzed. He ignored it. It buzzed again, and again.
Some detached part of him registered that he should answer. That it might be important. He fumbled the device out and saw Ben's name… his partner at work, and only friend.
He lifted it to his ear but didn't speak.
"Adrian?" Ben's voice was tight, strained. "Jesus, Adrian, are you home?"
"They're dead." The words came out flat, empty.
A pause. Then, faster, urgent: "Listen to me. You need to get out now. I just saw the bulletin. They're issuing a warrant for your arrest."
Adrian blinked. "What?"
"They have a video, Adrian. A footage from your own house. It shows you… it shows you killing them with a knife."
"That's impossible." His eyes swept the room. "I didn't do this, I just arrived home now. I've been at work since morning."
"I don't know Adrian, but the warrant's already signed. Half the precinct is already on the way. You have maybe ten minutes to escape."
The world tilted. Adrian braced himself against the wall, and that's when he saw a letter on the kitchen cabinet. He moved to read the contents of the letter.
"This is why you shouldn't mess with someone powerful than you. Consider this a gift for not killing you myself."
As soon as he finished reading the letter, he could see the entire paper shredding into bits of pieces by itself. It was evident that magic was involved. And even if Adrian wanted to prove his innocence, the evidence was already destroyed. There was nothing else he could do.
Adrian's brows creased; "Silas… you did this!"
He stood in the hallway of his dead family's home. He could hear sirens coming from the distance, soon they will arrive at his home.
They'd taken everything from him, framed him, and then made him a monster who killed his family.
A cold, crystalline clarity settled over him. He could just surrender and let the cops arrest him, but no one would avenge his family's death. He needed to bring the main perpetrator to justice.
He walked to the small closet under the stairs, the one Lisa always said was haunted because it was so crammed with old things. They used to belong to his father before he died.
He shoved aside winter coats and boxes of decorations until his fingers found a small, bounded trunk. His grandfather's.
Bryce Vance had been a strange, quiet man who spoke of how their family used to be from the line of mages to ever exist. He'd given Adrian as a gift on his eighteenth birthday.
"I'm sure one day, when all things seems to be falling apart, it'll come to use." he'd said.
Adrian had thanked him politely and stored it away, dismissing it as the ramblings of an old man.
Now he lifted the trunk out. It was heavier than it looked. He carried it back to the living room, placing it on the floor beside Lisa. His hands trembled as he worked the clasps.
Inside, resting on faded velvet, was a single book, bound in leather so dark that it was almost black, with no title on the cover. He opened it.
The pages looked handwritten, and at the same time, it doesn't. The ink was a crimson red that made him wonder just who or how it was written.
"To the descendants of the Vance family,
If you're reading this, the world has broken its covenant with you. You stand at the precipice. Below lies oblivion. Ahead lies a path of crimson and consequence.
Our lineage carries a very powerful magic which originates from a pact made long ago, when our ancestors fought beasts and monsters. They paid in blood for power to protect their own. That power rests in our veins.
This book contains the learning of Crimson Magic—the rites of Hemomancy. It is not a gentle art. It is born of sacrifice and sustained by will. To awaken it, you must offer blood that is tied to you by love or loss. There is no power without price. No justice without sacrifice.
Choose wisely. Or choose not at all. But know this: once the blood-song begins, it never truly stops.
—Alistar Vance."
Adrian looked from the book to Lisa's face, to the blood soaking into the rug. Somehow, he seems to understand the words of the book, and what it requires him to do.
The police sirens were closer now. Blue and red lights flashed right outside the street. He had only minutes, maybe even less. He then begin to read.
As he spoke, the blood on the floor: Lisa's blood, his mother's blood, the children's blood he could not bring himself to see, began to stir. It gathered itself from fibers and floorboards, beading upward like reverse rain.
It flowed toward him like a slow, deliberate stream. It coiled around his ankle, climbed over his leg, until it reached his chest. His heart hammered against his ribs like a frantic bird in a cage. The blood pressed inward, through his skin and bone, sinking into the core of his heart.
Suddenly, a deep agony erupted. It was as if his veins were on fire. His back arched, a silent scream tearing through him. Visions flooded his mind, not of his own, but of his dead family's.
He could hear Lisa's last thought, the fear she felt before her life was abruptly ended. His mother hadn't even noticed the presence of the stranger when a knife was lunged deep inside her. His children's were the worst. They were mid-sleep when they were murdered.
From Lisa's memory, he could see the perpetrator behind their death. His fists clenched tightly as hot tears run down his face.
Their lives, their essences, were merging with his own in a torrent of love and loss.
Inside him, something cracked and then re-formed.
A blood core, burning like a coal in the center of his being. Wild and powerful.
He collapsed slightly, gasping, every nerve of him alight with alien sensation. He could feel the blood in his own body moving. He could perceive the spilled blood around him.
He pushed himself to his knees. The world looked different now. He could see, actually see the faint, fading glow of magical traces in the room. One trail led from each body, converging, then exiting through the back door. The signature was arrogant, unconcealed. It tasted of coldness and pride.
Adrian rose. His body felt both heavier and more powerful. His grief was still there, a vast, hollow ache, but it was now lined with a new, terrifying purpose.
He looked one last time at Lisa. Reached down, touched her cold cheek. Smeared her blood on his own forehead, a final, terrible benediction.
"I will make them pay for what they did to us," he whispered, the words were a vow etched in pain.
He moved to the back door, and just like that, he slipped out into the pouring rain, quickly leaving the vicinity.
At that moment, the cops were already in front of the house. The sirens blared loudly as they moved toward the damaged door. While some went to check Adrian's car, only to realize that he was gone.
"Prime suspect of a family murder, Adrian Vance."