Excerpt from the ‘Races of the Pamthe Continent’, Author unknown, Battauri Empire, 311X

  There are many races spread throughout Pamthe, and they are not so often prone to making themselves known. Surely, had there not been so many of the elves, they’d much prefer to hide their identity from the world, but alas, they had to make their own kingdom, lest they be ruled by one of the surrounding entities.

  But this chapter is about a different race. The Lavarzans. They have lived in the central part of the lower peninsula for as long as the records mention them, yet they never spread out much. This is, undoubtedly, due to two factors.

  One is that the surrounding entities fear them. They do so for good reason, of course, and they do their utmost best to not let the Lavarza kingdom spread. The Lavarzans, of course, are easily distinguishable from the others by their too-green eyes, and quite above-average height, which is what makes them such fierce warriors.

  But what is more unique, and terrifies the kings and khans around so, is the fact that some of them can directly access and manipulate mana without further help. It’s a strange phenomenon, one that they claim comes from their ‘mana hearts and third eyes’, yet there have been no such organs found in their bodies.

  They call the people with just the hearts warriors, as if they were nothing more, yet they are a squadron unto themselves. But the combination of both of these aspects? Those are called mages, apparently coming from an archaic word almost as old as their gods. Taker and Alighter. The Maizha spit on the heretics.

  The problem with these mages, however, is great. They do not require equipment, drugs, or any other means to access this mana, and can intake much greater quantity. Most of them seem to be somewhat feasible to defeat, but apparently there isn’t a mage that unlocked their full potential yet, at least according to what the generals say.

  They laugh, taking these people as nothing more than a pebble in their path to conquest. Fools. These mages are making all of the lower peninsula shake in their boots.

  What if a mage who can unlock his full potential is born?

  Marco

  Marco spit on the ground, cursing his luck, the gods, and everyone he’s ever known. He loved being a part of the Red Crest. Every day he got to do some work that really required some action, work that others disliked doing, but he didn’t. Maybe there was something wrong with his head. Probably was, he knew, but it didn’t matter.

  But today changed his view of this gang. How was he supposed to know that the red-haired kiddo had a mage master? She looked as clueless as the rest of the rich kids—looking around all dazed, thinking of what thing to buy next, as if there weren’t people starving in the city! Buying trinkets, beasts to have as pets. Disgusting.

  And so he did what he always did. Knocked her out, threw her into the wagon, and told his boys to get a move on before somebody comes looking. But the man found him too quickly. And what about the elf? Why was there an elf in here, of all places?

  Marco’s face, of course, ended up all wrong after the mage used his good hand to burn his face to a crisp. It still hurt, hours later, but not as much as before.

  “I’ll kill that asshole.” He muttered for who knew which time that day.

  “Pfft, sure you will. Let’s attack the academy next time, shall we?” Fink said from the other bench, leaning against the cages.

  Marco thought of barking something back, but decided against it after short deliberation. As much as he hated to admit it, he was right. The spellswords were too powerful for normal men to take on, at least alone.Soft whimpers came from inside of them every now and then, but the runts knew to not cause a ruckus. Each loud sob meant another whip by a belt, after all.

  Marco stood up, rolling his shoulders. Perhaps he should whip one of them after all. Nothing better for letting stress out, after all. He walked over, the dim light of the torch behind letting a weak ray of light illuminate the ‘goods’ inside. He shouldn’t do this, he knew. But it wasn’t like the folks from the Steppes would care much anyway.

  As long as they healed before arrival, all would be fine.

  He grabbed the cage of a blonde kid he kidnapped today as well, one that remained after his boys handed the red haired kiddo back to its master. They were unlikely to have any connection. He knew that, deep inside. But he was Marco’s only remainder of the kid, and the mage that caused him a permanent scar.

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  “You.. sure about that, Marco?” Fink said, not bothering to stand. “You roughed them up a bit too much the last time. We had to give a discount, remember? Boss didn’t like that much.”

  “It’ll be fi—” he began talking, but suddenly a loud boom sounded, deafening Marco for a second, soon followed by a strong quake that shook the ground, making the cages clink as the chains inside hit them.

  “What the-” he began asking, but loud screams sounded from inside. By the taker, it sounded as if somebody was being pulled apart by their limbs. He met Fink’s eyes, unsheathed his knife, and began walking up the steps from the basement.

  He felt as excited about the prospect of fighting as he was scared. Marco and Fink both loved a good scrap, but mostly against weaker opponents. Dishonorly to many, sure, but Marco didn’t give a crap about honor or similar crap. He just liked the feeling of his baton cracking a bone. The look of his victim as they screamed in pain.

  But what could have caused such a ruckus? His mind wandered towards the monsters from Azbokeus, an old legend the folks liked to scare children with. But everyone knew it was closed shut almost what.. a century ago?

  Deciding he needed to know what was going on for certain, he dashed up the last few steps, opening the wooden door with a wild swing. He expected the small grassy patch separating the two gang buildings, maybe see some of his gang members fighting some cocky spell-sword novice or something like that. Though he always thought that they were below the spell-swords’ notice.

  But that wasn’t the case. In front of him was hell.

  The grass was nowhere to be seen, instead replaced by burned ground, blood-soaked dirt and corpses. A lot of corpses. The fire would suggest that they were burned by something, but that wasn’t the case for all of them. There were limbs, heads and torsos thrown all around, some cut through cleanly, others truly as if pulled apart.

  The smell hit him almost as soon as he registered what was happening. The smells of burned meat, clothes, hair and blood all mixed into something so pungent that even Marco had to fight the bile in his throat. Fink, behind him, didn’t win his fight, and the sounds of retching soon reverberated through the small area.

  What, by the gods, happened? There were some sounds coming from the other, larger building. The boss’ house, where he and his best fighters stayed. ′Marco considered going in for a moment, but the sounds of more screams quickly made him decide.

  “Fink.”

  “Yeah?” He asked groggily, wiping his mouth.

  “Let’s run.” Marco said, not taking his eyes from the burning building. He gulped, and turned toward the gate.

  Surely the guards must have been coming. Inside, there was surely a demon, and they’d probably need spell swords to exterminate it.

  He didn’t wait any longer, and made a first stride, discovering that Fink was already just at the gate, gripping the iron handle and pulling with his weight. Good man. They’d make it out alive. Screw the gang, Marco would find a different job. Maybe make his own gang, if he could.

  Suddenly, with an oomph, something flew by Marco’s head, made a splurging sound as it collided with Fink, and made a thunk immediately after. Marco froze, not daring to move. The demon came for him. He watched in front of him, as Fink slid down to the ground, slumped.

  With a big hole in the center of his face, already leaking a fountain of blood.

  “Now where do you think you’re going?” A furious voice sounded from behind Marco. A familiar voice, though he couldn’t place it immediately. It was so full of resentment and gravitas that it threatened to choke Marco’s own voice out. “I am not done with you. I saved you for last.”

  Finally, it clicked. The mage. The fucker who burned his face. Fury replaced a portion of the fear in Marco, but not all of it. If he did something like this… did he somehow mess with an archmage? Or whatever the strongest were called? Surely not every single one of them could do something like this.

  Slowly, he turned, putting on his best innocent face. “I am sorry, I—”

  The ground under his feet turned to a wet sludge, and he felt his pants wet as he fell, his whole torso and legs submerged, and then the ground got solid once again, trapping him. The man walked closer, and Marco felt himself shiver.

  His black hair swayed with the wind, his face barely visible through the dark of the night. The dark hid his features, but not completely. The stump of an arm he had, his green eyes, more vivid than any others Marco had ever seen. He looked like how all the mages should look. And he was all the more scared for it.

  “Tell me now, before I kill you. Where are the children hidden?” The man said, not meeting Marco’s eyes. “I assume they are in the building behind you?”

  “Y-yes, lord.”

  “Lord?” The man spat. “Respectful when at death’s door, huh? It won’t save you, I’m afraid.” The man crouched, and finally met Marco’s eyes. It felt as if he was being stared into his very soul. “When the taker takes you, I pray that she deems you not worthy of her mercy. This kingdom, and her realm both would be better without things like you.”

  With that, he stood, and started whispering something. Panic surged in Marco. “Please, lord! Mercy! I may be a rat, but—”

  “A rat? No. A rat has a use. It can feed the stomachs of homeless people. Feed the circle of life. But you?” He began walking toward the door which Marco left only a few minutes ago, and stopped at the doorway. “You serve no purpose at all.”

  The man disappeared from Marco’s sight, just as giant flames rose all around him. They didn’t burn him directly, but it was hot. Very hot.

  It didn’t take long for the blisters to start forming, for his hair to begin burning. He screamed, more than he had in his whole life combined.

  It didn’t help with the pain.

  When abyss came, it was release.