Chapter Nineteen

A booming bang jolts me from my sleep, and for a split second, I see the cold grey stone walls of my tiny cell and hear the cackling laughter of my father, letting me know he’s in a mood today and my torture is going to be particularly brutal.

“Love!” Someone calls, and I frown. That’s definitely not my father. There’s only one person who calls me Love, and that’s Loki.

My eyes snap open, and I breathe a sigh of relief at the sight of my room at the academy before I quickly jump up off the floor, not having any idea how I ended up there in the first place. I rush to the door to open it for Loki.

He takes one look at me and bursts into laughter.

“What?” I ask, reaching up to my hair and realising that it’s sticking out in every damn direction. “Why are you banging on my door?”

“Oh shit yeah, we’re being sent out on another job.”

“Fuck, now?”

“Yeah, get dressed. It’s time-sensitive apparently, so we need to get going immediately.”

Behind him, I can see the others all rushing around to get ready, and without a word I strip out of my pyjamas and call my armour to me. I pull my shirt on, and my magic wraps the rest of my armour around me. Just because I can do it this way doesn’t mean that I always do. It promotes laziness, and I can’t afford to be lazy.

When I turn back around, ready to go, it’s to see Loki leaning against the door frame, his arms crossed over his chest, his muscles tense as if he’s stopping himself from reaching for me.

“You’re beautiful.” He compliments and, without giving me a chance to reply, adds, “we need to get going.”

I follow him into the lounge in somewhat of a daze until Rival hands me a bag like I used last time, and I pull it on as Mayhem hands me a buttered roll.

“Eat. We won’t have time for anything else.” He practically orders, and instead of bristling, I do as I’m told.

“Shit, is Kill back?” I ask, around a mouthful of food.

Storm pauses on his way to the door, “No, he’s not, and we can’t afford to wait for him. This is time sensitive. We’ll have to read the file properly on the way. All I’ve got so far is a location, which is fortunately only a couple of hours away. I’m not familiar with the route, though, so we’ll use a locator stone to guide us.”

A locator stone is similar to the GPS things that they have in the earth realm, except instead of talking to you like those things seem to, it projects the route ahead and buzzes if you go off track. So, you activate the stone, study the map and then put it in your pocket, and it’ll guide you. It’s similar to looking at a map on parchment, but it's far less susceptible to the elements. Not as convenient as having someone tell you exactly where to go like the earth ones do, but then again, their voices annoy me, and I have a feeling I’d argue back.

I nod my agreement, not bothering to reply since he’s already left, and the guys are following. I’m worried, not only because we weren’t supposed to be going out so soon, which is highly suspicious after what we've learned about the Headmaster, but also because Killian’s not here. I think that may have been a strategic move, although how the Headmaster knew that Killian was gone is concerning.

“Don’t worry, Farren. Hopefully, Kill will use that uncanny timing ability he seems to have and be waiting outside the gates for us.” Rival says with a smile as we practically run through the still quiet corridors of the school and out to the stables.

“Hopefully,” I reply simply. When we step out into the only just starting to lighten night, I add, “what time is it?”

“Four am,” Reaper replies gruffly, clearly not a morning person.

“I guess it’s a good job that we were all so tired last night that we went to sleep early.” I shrug and receive only a grunt in return. “What exactly are we riding into?”

“An unknown Rogue has been terrorising a small village. Judging from the amount of destruction it’s left behind after each attack, we’re assuming it was a similar level to the one yesterday,” Storm answers me, striding ahead; he must’ve managed to read the file before we got out here, most likely when he was looking for the location.

Well, at least it looks like we got a bit more information this time, although it’s unusual that they wouldn’t know the kind of Rogue it is. Any supernatural can go rogue for a number of reasons, and it pretty much means that they give themselves over to their baser and more dangerous instincts or in magic wielder's cases, they give themselves over to their magic completely, meaning it does whatever it wants. The thing they all have in common is that they want death and destruction. Once a supernatural has gone rogue, there’s no known way to revert the process.

When we get to the stables, all of the horses are already tacked up, even Revel which I’m shocked about since no one would go near him yesterday. There’s no time to question it as we all jump on. Storm activates the stone, looks at it for less than a minute, nods and then takes off at a trot.

“Surely, he doesn’t already know where we’re going. If it’s time-sensitive, we can’t afford to get lost,” I say, looking over at Loki, who is riding next to me.

“The stone is just a precaution, really,” Loki starts as the gates come into view, and I desperately hope that Kill is waiting outside of them, “he has a photographic memory. He only needs to see it once, and that’s it; he’ll remember it.”

“Wow, that’s pretty impressive, handy too,” I reply.

“It is, but it means he remembers everything in great detail. You know how the brothers react when their father is brought up; Killian has told you enough. Storm remembers it all vividly.”

“Holy fuck,” I grimace, my stomach sinking as sadness permeates my heart. That explains why he is like he is.

Some things shouldn’t be remembered.

Loki says nothing else as we finally exit the main gates, and I’m not the only one to find myself looking around for Killian. When it’s apparent that he’s not here, Storm encourages his horse into a gallop, and we all follow, trusting him to lead us. There’s no time for conversation on the ride as we push the horses hard, and my mind wanders to what we could be up against. With the amount of sleep we’ve had and the strain of yesterday, we aren’t exactly all at peak form, and I think that may be the reason why we were sent out again so soon.

We need to get to the bottom of who wants me dead and why, but we can’t exactly do that if we’re constantly distracted with jobs.

“The village should be just over this hill. We can do what we did last time and find someone to get more information from. Hopefully, we can deal with this just as quickly.” Storm yells over the sound of the rushing wind and the horse’s hooves.

When we finally crest the hill and look down on the village though, we all bring our horses to a sudden stop. It’s a small village, only a row of shops and about thirty houses dotted around in the valley, and in the early morning light, it’s easy to see that it’s all destroyed, walls are missing, homes are still smoking, blackened and burned. Roofs have collapsed in, and there’s debris everywhere.

The worst part though is that even from here, I can see disfigured bodies lying in the street and surrounded by dark patches that can only be blood.

“Fucking hell. Were we too late?” Loki asks, shock and horror evident in the pull of his lips and frown between his eyes.

“Really late, the fires have burned down, and the blood is dried from what I can smell. We had no hope of getting here in time.” Reaper rumbles.

“Another set up,” Rival mutters, “but why? What the fuck does this achieve, and if he knew about this village, then he knew they needed help way before this.”

“Not necessarily. He could’ve gotten word that the village was decimated and decided to send us under false pretences instead of sending the proper people who can make sure that these villagers get the burial and respect they deserve,” Mayhem finishes with an angry growl. His horse moving agitatedly from side to side, picking up on his rider's upset.

“We can discuss why later. Right now, we need to see if there are any survivors and if whatever did this is still here.” Storm rides off ahead, picking his way carefully down to the village. We all reluctantly follow.

I’m surprised that he doesn’t have his wings out again, but maybe he only likes using them in actual combat situations. Now is hardly the time to ask him; we have bigger things we need to focus on, and he wouldn’t answer anyway.

“Oh goddess, I don’t think it would be lucky to survive this; watch everyone you love die horrifically and then wait it out until help comes,” I whisper.

“Me neither, goddess be with anyone who did survive because this will never leave them.” Loki answers.

The death and destruction are even worse the closer we get. No one has escaped the wrath of the monster that’s done this. Men, women, children, and pets they’re all slaughtered brutally. I force myself to look, it may not be a pleasant thing to do, but one of the easiest ways to determine the monster that killed them is from the victim's wounds.

“Everyone spread out and see if you can find anyone alive. Check any hidey hole you can think of; Children have a habit of finding the most unlikely places to hide themselves and announce your presence and where you’re from in every place you go. We don’t want to scare anyone further. Keep an eye out for whatever did this too,” Storm orders, his stoic facade firmly in place as he moves stiffly through the streets, the tell-tale blaze of fire burning between his horns a sure sign of his hidden emotions.

Instead of carrying forward on horseback, I dismount and, pulling my work mask on; I move towards the body of a young man caught between a shift when he died. My emotions get pushed away to the deepest part of me. I need to know what killed them so I can bring the culprit to justice and help these supernaturals rest easy; I can fall apart and grieve for them later.

“What are you doing?” Rival asks me, the only one who’s stayed behind.

“I’m checking the wounds to see if I can identify what kind of creature did this,” I explain.

“Good idea,” he replies, getting off his own horse and walking over to join me.

My nose wrinkles at the smell of the body. He’s been here a while, at least three days. Which either means he was one of the first to die, or we’re three days late to help. I crouch down next to him, trying not to touch him. Some supernaturals can leave traces behind that damage anyone who touches the body after it’s dead, and I’m not risking it. Fortunately, his clothes are torn thanks to his partial shift, and it’s easy to see his wounds.

“Something strong enough to tear an arm off a shifter,” Rival mutters, his voice clinical, which is the only way to deal with this.

“Claw marks covering most of the torso,” I add, and lean closer, ignoring the stench as I study the wounds.

Something isn’t quite right about them, and I can’t put my finger on what. I move around the body to have a look at them from another angle and frown.

“What is it?” Rival asks.

“Well, normal wounds bleed a lot, and you get a level of bruising around them. All of the claw marks on his body don’t have that, which means they were inflicted after he died and weren’t the cause of death. The severing of the arm wasn’t either. Shifters can heal that with enough time.”

“So what killed him then?” Rival asks, frowning and bending closer to study the body.

“I have no idea; he might be too mangled for us to figure out exactly what it is. Let’s have a look at someone else and see if they’ve got similar wounds.” I suggest.

We only have to walk two metres until we get to the next body, this time, it’s a woman, and there’s no obvious sign to say what supernatural she is. She at least has all her limbs but once again is covered in claw marks.

“It’s just like the other guy; the claw marks were made after she died.” Rival mutters, studying her carefully.

“Look at this,” I say as I spot the wound directly over her heart. It’s about two inches wide and has a thin slit, suggesting it’s been made by a sword, which would only kill a few supernaturals. We’re notoriously complicated to kill. What has me intrigued though, is the dark blue veins spreading out from the wound.

“It’s a stab wound, and I’m guessing they used a poisoned blade,” Rival says, getting up and going back to the other body, he uses a stick to carefully move the scraps of fabric off the guy’s chest, and sure enough the same wound is there.

“Well, this wasn’t done by a Rogue. They use their gifts, never weapons, and their minds have deteriorated enough that they wouldn’t have the foresight to poison the blades first.”

“I’ll have a look in some of my books when I get back. Maybe that will give us a clue as to who’s behind this.”

“Good idea. Let’s check some of the other bodies and make sure this wasn’t an isolated incident.”

He nods grimly, and we walk through the nearest buildings and houses, checking bodies. They all have the same wounds that the previous bodies have.

“Did you find any survivors?” I ask the others as they all ride up to Rival and me.

Judging from their desolate faces, they didn’t.

“No,” Loki answers bluntly.

“What about you two?” Storm asks, watching us curiously.

“No survivors, but we don’t think that a Rogue caused this. Look,” I start, and all of them dismount and walk over to the latest body, Rival, and I are checking. “See, all of the claw marks were done after they died to cover up the real cause of death.”

“Which is this,” Rival takes over the explanation showing them the stab wounds in the heart and the blue lines coming out from it.

“So they were poisoned, murdered and not by a Rogue.” Reaper sums up before crouching next to the body and bravely taking a large inhale. “I can’t smell the poison used, which is strange. Most things leave a trace of a scent behind even if they are supposed to be scentless.”

“I’ve seen something similar before, but it was dark magic, and the poison lines were dark purple.” Storm frowns as he talks.

“Well fuck. Dark magic users are as dangerous as the rogues, if not more so, because their minds are still intact. They know perfectly well what they’re doing and can plan accordingly.” Loki curses.

“We can’t do anything else now. Let’s get back to the academy. Hopefully, Kill will be back, and we can fill him in.” Storm suggests.

We all get back on our horses and head off.

“I still don’t understand the motivation behind sending us here,” Reaper says a few miles into the ride.

“Distraction possibly?” I suggest.

“Or to shake us so that we’re not on our game for something else.”

“We’ll stick to the plan and keep a closer eye on the Headmaster when we get back.” Storm says decisively.

“If Poca decides to show back up, I can have him keep an eye on him for us. It’s less risky, and no one knows when Poca is around if he doesn’t want them to.” I suggest.

“Good idea. Until then, though, it’ll have to be Killian and I since we’re the only ones that can adequately mask ourselves.”

After that, we pick up the pace and soon, we reach the gates to the academy and a very pissed off Killian pacing outside, his tail whipping back and forth and his horns blazing with blue fire. As soon as he spots us, he folds his arms over his chest and waits.

“What happened to you?” Loki asks, “I thought you were going to be back sooner?”

“I was, but I got held up. What happened?” he asks, looking over us with concern.

“It was another set-up, but not like last time.” Storm starts, “Come on, I’ll explain while we take the horses back.”

By the time we get to the stables, Killian is filled in and even madder than he was before, especially since he didn’t really manage to find out anything about the assassin that was sent after me as he got caught up in settling a couple of other disputes.

“Alright, I need a shower,” Loki says as we get back to the castle.

We have barely set foot in the academy when the Headmasters magically projected voice sounds through the hallway, and all the surrounding students become quiet as we listen.

“All students are to report to the main hall. An emergency assembly has been called.”

“What now?” Loki groans.

“Maybe we’ll finally get some answers about what’s been happening with the teachers and Zev’s vision.” Mayhem suggests.

We follow the flow of students into the hall and take our seats, staring up at the stage with the Headmaster front and centre, and all the teachers sat behind him, looking apprehensive.

“I’ll get straight to the point. The realm has started the Warrior games. Every member here will be expected to compete, and classes will be geared towards the need to get you all prepared in time.”

The hall becomes a cacophony of noise, a mixture of excited chatter and outright terror.