Post by Lone Dancer on Nov 29, 2022 8:31:09 GMT
Chapter 12
Hawthorne’s Fight
Hawthorne, his savior, was a little worse for wear. His hoodie was bloodied and ripped up in some parts. Yet the surgical mask remained on his face, alongside the baseball cap. The sunglasses had one of its lenses shattered, revealing Hawthorne’s resolute grey eye behind it.
And in his hand was the still smoking silenced gun. Carlos saw as his savior gazed downward at their sorry state, checking over his wounds. They glanced back up to look at Jade, before looking back down at him. They took off the silencing disk from the handgun, and placed it back in their holster, and the disc in their pocket.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t faster.” His words were quiet, muted. He knelt down beside Carlos, pulling out a familiar metal flask from their pocket. He didn’t question how it fit in there. They popped the cap open, feeding it into his lips. Soothing elixir dribbled down into his mouth, mending the pain. Pushing it back to manageable levels.
“Warp back now, Carlos,” Hawthorne told him. The weight of the medallion inside his death grip was present in his mind. Following the instructions, he channeled a slight amount of Arcane into it, the medallion’s symbols flashing with light and the world blinked to white as reality shifted.
###
Once he made sure that Carlos safely left, Hawthorne turned his attention to Jade. The girl was faint, weak. A stark contrast from the strong young lady she normally presented herself as. He winced as his side flared up as he made his way to her—damn Homunculus.
He made sure his flask was ready. The elixir within wasn’t cheap, but the price of life made it pale in comparison. He only needed to administrate a few sips to get Jade functional enough to warp herself back.
Speaking of, the girl stirred to life as she was nursed back to health. She was looking around in a haze, trying to spot her friend. He put his hand on her shoulder, asking for her to warp. She looked at him, her green eyes searching for something, before complying.
He watched as she pulled out her own medallion, and blinked out from existence, still leaning against the wall. Now all alone, he gazed around to make sure things were in order. Or as much as they could be.
The place was a mess, lines of charred concrete trailing out from where Jade was. To their fortune, most potential witnesses were too wrapped up with other things. Mainly due in part with Homunculus’ ability to make Mortals ignore their presence. Their very hunters in the Mortal Realm is also what shielded them in a twisted way.
But it was not time to stay; more would be swarming the place soon enough. They always had numbers to spare. Pulling out his own medallion; it was more ornate than the ones given to his two students. However, such things didn’t matter at the moment as he activated it, sending him back to the Defiant Guild’s base.
The world blanked to all-consuming white before it turned to the familiar stone walls of home. Their place of entrance was abuzz with people moving back and forth. Hawthorne let relief flow through him when he realized that his students were being carted off to the infirmary.
He got his own set of concerned looks, but he brushed them off with a wave. He would be fine, ultimately. He just had to make sure his students were. The two grew on him. They had potential, and wanted to learn. Jade was her own untapped powerhouse being an untapped True Elementalist, and Carlos was still searching for his own way.
As he made his way his way out of the hustle and bustle of the warp entrance hall of the Guild, a place plenty busy with people always leaving and arriving from missions, he thought. As he did so, he checked in with his surrounding fellows. Some were injured, most fine. One dead, if the commotion to his left was anything to go by. His heart did ache for those afflicted, but he didn’t know enough details, and nor did he want to
But he resumed back to his thoughts as his body began walking on autopilot. He took his broken sunglasses off and placed them into his pocket. He thought back to all the questions Carlos would ask him about how his magic worked, about his sigils. Hawthorne had to admit to himself it was hard to explain the true struggle it was to create a style that suited oneself. He was trying to warn off Carlos from following in his path, for you can only walk in someone else’s footsteps for so long, and the shoes might not even fit.
For the best results, one wanted to make a magic style with Arcane that clicked with them. For Hawthorne, it was sigils and runes intertwined. An ancient spell so old, it was considered part of reality now. Runes were an accomplishment so many tried to strive for. It was considered the ultimate spell.
The spell that became a part of Baseline, a framework others could work off of—the basis for just about every single damn magic artifact and item in existence. But he was getting ahead of himself. Runes were a magic he incorporated into his own because he understood them like a second language.
They were a way to visualize and direct his magic in a way that reality could mostly agree with. He would inscribe those sigils with his Ego, have them channel his power. But he doubted that his path would work for Carlos. Not in the same sense. It required a specific past. He shook his head to clear it. Now was not the time for ruminations about the path ahead for his student.
But as he resumed his walk, his mind began to wander again, back to when he had Carlos and Jade leave. To what just happened.
###
He didn’t think they would find them all so fast, but you could never know with the Homunculi. He kept his gun trained and steady at the staircase as the first of the Homunculi tromped down into sight.
They were in clothing that you’d expect any other person to be, jeans and a t-shirt. And the ever-present pair of sunglasses, this pair tinted blue. And as always, their face was entirely forgettable.
He opened fire, the kick of his gun evident, but nary a noise was made beyond a grunt as the now wounded Homunculus registered the hit. Blood began to trickle out from the hole in its chest. Keeping his gun trained he fired on the Homunculi as they entered his sight, making sure that he was walking backwards to the set of doors that led him out of here. He heard the doors shut behind him with a click right as he began shooting.
With his non-gun-wielding hand fumbling behind him, he was able to grasp the door and push it open. He was counting the shots in his head, one, two, three, five, seven, ten. Five bullets left before he would need to reload. Only three Homunculi were down, each one taking at least three shots each to ensure they stayed dead.
It was eerily quiet, the Homunculi not saying a single word, only grunting when shot. And his own gun was utterly silent. He pulled himself out of the small room with the staircase just in time as by now, the Homunculi drew their own guns and began firing.
Bullets began clanging off the steel doors of the stairwell which he was behind, the sound mingling with the report of gunshots. Hawthorne shoved the door closed behind him with his shoulder, feeling the impact of bullets shake the entire thing. He began backing away from the doors as bullets began to tear through it, ripping holes.
Hawthorne could hear the screaming as people began hearing the gunshots, and he made sure to stay as unassuming as he could. He’d rather not get shot by a random civilian. Keeping an eye on the doors, he fired his last five shots when he saw it began to open, aiming at the Homunculus behind it.
It was enough, the Homunculus dropping down dead with blood pooling out from underneath the door as it began to shut close again. And in that time, he was able to pull one of the spare magazines from his pocket.
But the problem was he only had two. He wasn’t expecting a firefight, and the only reason he brought spare magazines was the voice in his head that always had him be prepared for anything. Well, this certainly reinforced his prepper mindset. But now was not the time, he brought his focus back to the door as he slotted in the fresh mag.
He kept his gaze locked onto that set of doors as it began to open again, this time multiple Homunculi shoving through. Thanks to his quick pace, he was a bit too far to confidently make any shots, and he wanted to conserve his ammo. He wasn’t a Cultivator with their heightened senses. The issue was the Homunculi had no such qualms and resumed firing upon him, bullets makings holes in the walls beside him.
He had another problem, however. He was nearing the panicked crowd, and the veritable feeling of suppression washed over him. Even if he wanted to, with this many people nearby, he wasn’t casting magic.
He cursed under his breath, reminding him of the mask he wore. He considered taking it off, but the less identifying info Homunculi had on him, the better. Being added to their database was one of the last things he wanted. One bullet landing far too close to his feet spurred his pace. He was hesitant to turn around and give his back to them, but he couldn’t walk backward any faster.
He found himself in the lobby room now, people streaming out the front doors. He was able to spot Carlos and Jade at the forefront of the human tide, reassuring him they were fine. Jade was dragging Carlos again as well.
He was reminded of the situation at hand when more gunshots rang out, and bullets landed in the carpet in front of him. But being in the lobby gave him more room to work with compared to the narrow hallway.
Taking cover from behind the corner, he was able to peer into the hallway, snapping his head back when a hole blasted into the wall just in front of his eyes. He cursed again, having spotted at least seven Homunculi in the hallway.
Spirits blasted Mage-hunters. He was wary of them when he first arrived into the Mortal Plane to scout out the upcoming heist location, but he didn’t think they would find them, especially so quickly. He could feel his heartbeat, and he took some calming breathes. This wasn’t his first time in a firefight, and it wouldn’t be his last.
His lack of magic was particularly un-comforting, however. Thankfully, no one was looking back, far more concerned with leaving the building than to look at the guy with the gun at his side. It was also the other reason he kept the mask. Cameras were everywhere in this building, and the last thing he needed was his face on the news.
All these thoughts happened in a split second as more bullets began trailing after him, even behind the corner. Ducking down, he grabbed a nearby standing lamp, the cord being ripped out of its socket. Taking the lamp, he poked it out of his cover. Immediately the lampshade was turned to swiss cheese, and the light bulb within shattered.
Good thing that wasn’t his head. But it spoke of bad news, that he wouldn’t be able to peek back and open fire himself to halt their approach. He would have to make do. Retreating back further against the wall, he made a beeline toward the now vacant receptionist’s u-shaped desk to his right.
Jumping over it, he took ducking cover behind it just in time as the group of Homunculi entered the room, now holding their fire as they searched for him. They moved without saying a word or any sound of acknowledgment, only the shuffle of feet the sound of their arrival.
Hawthorne checked the mental layout in his head. He was in the center back of the lobby hiding desk, as the Homunculi arrived from his left. He didn’t trust the structural integrity of his cover, but all he needed was for it to eat just enough bullets so he wouldn’t.
He checked over his own handgun, making sure everything was in order. It was loaded and ready to continue fire. Holding his breath, he listened for nearing footsteps. He would only get one chance at this. He did take note of the fact that there were few people nearby directly observing him.
By now, it was life or death and any consideration for triggering the nearby wards was out of his mind. In fact he hoped that by triggering them, they would draw the attention off him. While Companies had their ways of operating in the Mortal Plane without overly angering Homunculi, they had their limits.
The heist was a lost cause; there would be no recovering after the Homunculi appeared. Azure Sun would recognize what happened, and draw their own conclusions. But that didn’t matter at the moment. All these thoughts were racing through his head before he calmed them.
Gun in hand, he centered his mind, ready for magic. The air around him began to hum, and he could hear the Homunculi suddenly scrambling to face the sound. His sigils resonating into place. They were dim at first, as he pressed against the natural suppression of the Mortal Plane. But experienced assurance allowed him to punch through and his magic shone to their normal splendor.
Mantras took place in his head, as he pointed his sigils upward, toward the ceiling. Bullets began to rain through the desk, but they only pounded against an Arcane boundary he forged, designed to sap kinetic energy from objects, bullets plinking at his feet. His Ego was his helper, a second mind he could work with.
It bought him enough time to do what he wanted. The growing light show was drawing attention, and he could feel the suppression begin to stack. So, he opened fire. With a resplendent hum, he inscribed his will on reality.
Pulses of dangerous Arcane light smashed into the ceiling causing chunks to start falling. More and more tumbled down, filling the lobby with the white dust of drywall. Another pulse around him revealed the position of the Homunculi. One was squashed by the falling ceiling, a heavy table from the upper floor landed on them.
While they were disoriented by the dust and firing blindly, he used the opportunity to use his own gun. Raising from behind the desk, he used his pulse as a sort of echolocation, searching for the empty spaces.
With this technique, he was able to down four, leaving three left. However one of the remaining three in their blind fire killed another Homunculi, leaving just two. But Hawthorne was out of ammo. Because he couldn’t see all that well either, it took both of his remaining mags to kill four successfully.
Grimacing underneath his mask, he checked his options. Blasting the Homunculi directly wasn’t an option, the suppression effects would be too strong. So he continued bringing the roof down. Trying to indirectly squash them was his best bet right now.
More furniture from above was littering the floor, but none landed on the two remaining Homunculi. The dust still obscured him, but he knew they would be tracking the sound of his sigils. And he’d have to dispel them before he risked one of the Homunculi touching one.
But the quiet moment of refuge gave him enough time to try a new method. Mental patterns taking shape in his mind, he conjured a hand made from interweaving runes. He had to dispel his other sigils, but they weren’t needed anymore.
He was nearing the ends of his reserves, the Mortal Plane sapping a lot of his magic. Using the large hand he brought to existence, he picked up a fallen chair and hurled it at one of the Homunculi. It was a miss, but he had plenty of ammunition around.
The strain on his mind was real, to pick up heavy physical objects, but he’s been through worse. And that kept him going. He tossed a second chair, also a miss, but the following small table successfully hit.
The dust was beginning to settle, and he was glad for the mask and glasses he wore. Nonetheless, he was coated in the stuff, and it gave the two Homunculi proper sight lines on him, albeit one was in the process of throwing off the table on top of it.
Picking up one of the fallen desks by an edge with his conjured hand, he used it as a bludgeon. The table whistled through the air as it moved swiftly to its target, before slamming repeatedly on the Homunculi underneath the previous table. The resulting mess was gruesome and the desk ended up blood-splattered, but he was certain that it was dead.
He made to toss the table at the sole remaining Homunculi, but the Homunculi was quicker. With a deafening crack, it pulled out its gun and fired. Hawthorne could feel his abdomen erupt into fire and his conjured hand winked out from existence. Momentum kept the table sailing, though, and in the end it still hit the Homunculi and sent them tumbling down.
Hands shaking, Hawthorne knelt down. Feeling faint and blood pouring from his burning abdomen, he tried to grasp at the flask he always kept on him. He had a small storage artifact, a carved wooden urn the size of a grape he always kept in his pocket. He moved his hand down to touch it.
Gritting his teeth he yanked the mental impression of the flask and felt the cool solid weight of it in his hands as he pulled it his torso. Seeing darkness and spots in the rim of his vision, he pulled off the cap and let the healing elixir within dribble down onto his chest.
This direct application burned, even more so than the bullet wounds, but he could feel his body knit back together as they pushed out bullet casings. He felt nauseous doing so; the sensation was always unpleasant when doing it this way, but it was quicker.
It wasn’t the first time he had to do this, either. Pulling himself back up, he pulled down his mask to spit out some blood. The sudden taste of tangy copper filled his mouth. He moved the mask back up, the ground in front of him littered with his blood.
Slowly he positioned the flask back upright, putting the cap back on. He sent it back into his storage urn. He would have to refill it at the healer’s office, but that was a concern for later. He trudged his way to the Homunculi who was struggling underneath the desk. Beside them was their gun. It was bulkier than his own handgun, but the shape was similar. It appeared modified to go full auto, as his own abdomen experienced.
Picking the gun up, he felt its weight in his hands. He slid out the mag, and confirmed there were still rounds inside. Slapping it back in with a click, he pointed it at the still struggling Homunculi. If there was one thing he hated, it was how much they looked human.
It was a saving grace then; they had forgettable faces. He squeezed the trigger, and the Homunculi went still. He grimaced again, looking all around the lobby. The white dust has since settled, but there were corpses all around. Corpses that looked human enough. The ceiling was almost entirely collapsed inward, and he had to take snaking paths to weave around fallen objects.
A benefit of the fallen dust is they coated the windows, blocking any view inward or outward. But he had to go. The constant presence of alarm bells in the back of his haven’t gone away yet, and he didn’t feel like sticking around.
Making the safety was flicked on, he placed the gun into his storage urn as well. His holster wouldn’t be able to fit it, and it was also occupied by his original handgun. Quick check over done, he made tentative steps toward the exit doors. His torso hurt, but he could manage. His new priority was making sure his students were okay.
And he already had a trail to follow if the glimpse of a stalking Homunculi going down a set of streets was any indication.