A World Apart: Original Souls Part 1

A World Apart: Original Souls.

by Kyle Thomas Miller.

Short Reference List.

Of notable and possibly confusing terms throughout the book.

Maledictus. It is said that to even utter a word of it is to curse your own tongue. It was the most commonly spoken tongue before it was deliberately replaced by English, concerning communication and the spells of the eight Worlds. It's known in this book as a blended language composed of several others that existed long before it. In our reality is predominantly composed of Spanish and Latin, with some terms in Maledictus being complicated fabricated.

English. If you're reading this and understanding it right now ... you probably know a thing or two about the English language. But within the pages of Original Souls, English is a secondary, worldwide language that has taken root in place of the cursed language, Maledictus. Spells in English are much weaker than the spells in the language of its predecessor. Thus, most who can manage to wield in the cursed language seize the opportunity than user the faulty newer language of modern times.

The Great Eight. The long gone creators of the eight existing Worlds. They lived a little over a millennium ago.

Ancestry Wars. Are the setting for the dates noted beneath every chapter heading throughout the book. A little over a millennium has pa.s.sed since the wars that tore apart the original land, which led to the majestic creation of the current eight Worlds. The ending date of the war marks the separation of the first h.o.m.ogeneous race spreading into the heterogeneous eight races. These eight newly defined, different races have eight differing eye colors that denote their ancestral lineages to the eight wagers of the Ancestry Wars.

8ights Council. A group of elected official in the modern eight Worlds that govern an act as heads of state. The eights Chancellors reflect the image of the Great Eight, whom are their ancient ancestors.

Puente Del Cielo. A modern earth spanning bridge that can be seen from outside the planet's atmosphere. It traverses the earth in crisscross bands, connecting the eight Worlds that were once separated by the corrosive Ancestry Wars.

Llave. (p.r.o.nounced; ya-bay) A mostly golden skeleton key shape affect that serves as a conduit for wielders to cast spells. Each llave is cut from something called a Maximo Llave, or a magnum key. These keys rotate midair at a wielders chest. The spiraling motion, driven by the wielder's strong-hearted desire, picks up charged energy, a powerful stamina from the wielder that is then converted into extra power for casting spells. Some llaves have spells engraved on them that protect their vulnerable rotations from being perturbed by other wielders. But some simply choose to use their llaves as if they were old-fashioned wands, which llaves replaced decades ago. Many elderly choose to use actual wooden wands because llaves feed off physical and emotional energy from the wielder. So, it can be a tough task for some oldies to get it up into rotation, ,making wands a preferable choice.

Pixies and their Dust.

Golden pixie dust has become the most commonly used pixie dust in the human dimensions. It's revered for its ill.u.s.trious beauty and readymade molding in objects of nearly any magical design.

Bronze pixie dust is not common, in that the bronze pixies have never before been seen by human eyes. They live and stay inside the Fairy-lares, which are a dimension apart from earth and its eight Worlds.

Silver pixie dust is known for its near indestructible durability, and unique ability to ward off evil magik. But decades ago the silver pixies oversold their product and ended up stranded on both sides of their dimension. All pixies survive on their dust physically and financially. Trading with the human, and a few other creatures, provides them with the provisions for continued subsistence. But after the silver pixies started selling off more than they produced, they began to die off. They have hard time crossing between the borders of the eight Worlds and the surrounding dimension, like their home dimension the Fairy-lares, because there is just not enough of that dust left to keep them alive and vital.

Aurora Boreal Inst.i.tution. The most prestigious and diverse school in all the Worlds. It's set up under a protective force field on the far north side of the smallest World, Hyperborean. Its namesake is that of the ill.u.s.trious Northern Lights that occur at the planet's north pole.

Draconia. Currently the most politically powerful of the eight Worlds. With the signature of race in this novel being a person's eye color, and not their skin tone, Draconians stand out for their differing, shimmery ice-cold shades of bright blue eyes. As well, they standout for their generally icy and dicey personalities. This World is the only one restrictive enough to ban the use of magic to all civilians within its borders, whether you're of their blue-eyed Draconian blood, or not!

La Envidia. Spanish word for envy. And these green-eyed folks that bear the name are prompted by their jealous thoughts so innately that it often times makes the very rash, deceptive, and judgmental people.

Hyperborean. The smallest World and farthest north. It's the former home of Aurora, the creator of the Aurora Boreal inst.i.tution, and of the Great Eight era. These yellow-eyed dignified beings that descend especially from her are known for their stark pride. A pride that can often times lead them to repet.i.tively falter, repeating past mistakes without regard.

Lirio. A World of self-absorbed pretty boys and girls. These pink-eyed beauties are normally boisterous and conceded beyond bearing. Lirio is one of few Worlds that still teaches Maledictus to students, and isn't afraid to utter phrases of it in conversation as well. Lirians are generally beautiful, selfish, indifferent to sports, disgusted by animals, and possess a host of other idiosyncrasies that make then some of the most annoying people on the planet. Their one redeeming quality, Lirio is the most socially equate and open-minded World out of all eight.

Arco. These brown-eyed lovers are often sensitive and warmhearted. With that said, they can easily mistaken for weak crybabies. The most respectable and respectful of the eight races. The smallest of stature, both physical and political. Their society reveres peace, but often, Arcan individuals have a fuse burning inside them that can lead to explosive fractures in their surface personality when pushed too far.

Velocidad. These purple-eyed city dwellers live in an asphalt utopia. Nearly as socially experimental as Lirio, and still they often have brainy qualities. They live fast paced lives, but one thing that can slow a Velocidadian down, is their argumentative nature. They'll abruptly stop the flow of events just to argue about the pleasure derived from having experienced said event.

Blanco. These stoic, sharp-tongued people are a race different from the others. Their appearance, much less diverse. Their traditions, much more observed. They are completely white-eyed folks, pupil as well as the iris. They have all white hair, head as well as the body. While their facial attributes may vary among family members, the entire race has an uncanny, sometimes unbearable resemblance to one another.

Imperativo. Now, these gray-eyed fiends are quite the card, considering the disastrous and manipulative games they love to play. Imperativo is a place of knowingly impaired judgment, but a quick-witted self-idolization refrains its entire people from ever caring about the heart wrenching societal development of the prejudices they propagate. The Draconian people are more openly ruder and cruder, but the Imperativans use undertone and covert indignation to one up any who dare crosses their path.

*You'll find many terms throughout the book that seem to be certain omissions from a list such as this. But to include more plot driven terminology would have spoiled the adventurous journey just a page or two ahead. Still, my grandest hope is that you'll come to agree, if you so choose to read on. And I hope that the small amount of formatting issues don't mentally rip you from the story, as they were necessary to deal with kindle conversion and the few slips from my weak eye. Sorry. THANKS!

A World Apart: Original Souls.

Kyle Thomas Miller.

"Eternity Will Become Reality"

Chapter 1:.

Little Boy Close To Blue.

March 21, 1002 ~ Nightfall.

"Magik" is a strong word. It holds so much meaning here in my home World, Draconia. Unfortunately, it's a negative meaning. I'm not sure yet whether banning it to civilians was a good idea. Still, it's perfectly legal for me, a standard blue-eyed, dark-skin Draconian, and the team of men standing behind me in this abandoned factory.

This narrow hallway we're pa.s.sing along stretches for miles it seems. It's so dark ahead of us that I can't tell if it ever ends. The floors are covered with grimy dust, and the walls have a syrupy oil slicked a crossed them in some ritual-like fashion. The oils are shaped in figures that sort of look like portraits of animals. Mythical animals of spliced species, dragons and such, while-some of the other images take the form of a myriad of nature's inhabitants. But they aren't exactly the greatest artist caliber of work, so they aren't so easy to make out. Everything here looks as if it's been tinted by a gray and blue filter. It's a drab place to be tonight.

There's a missing kid. A young boy about eleven years old-I -think? Maybe the report said a twelve-year-old? No matter, either way we have to get this boy out of here alive. The report said that he's been missing for a while now. Luckily, a credible tip recently came into the receptors down at Squadron, our policing station. That's why I'm here now with my squad to check things out. I'm truly surprised that I was dispatched to this case so abruptly, considering my dreadfully ironic history.

This unit use to solely deal with missing person cases, but we were rea.s.signed after ... well, I just couldn't do it anymore. It helped that I'm the unit leader though. My men didn't want a new guy bossing them around, so they all came along with me when I was rea.s.signed by the Chancellor of the 8ights Council here in Draconia.

'8ights,' is what most call them. They're elected in each individual World to guide and govern that World, and its relationship with the other seven. I've known the Chancellor of Draconia, Sebastian, all my life. He and my father were childhood friends. He gave the eulogy at my dad's funeral. He's like family. That's why he approved my entire unit following me to my new a.s.signment in the less specific field of, city patrols, even though we're all trained specialist. I appreciated that. It would have been difficult getting to know new Squadron members while I was going through so much at the time.

At this point we've already progressed far down the hall, well into the darkness that's keeping us from telling how long this path really is. "Put your flashlights on guys, we don't want any surprises," -I hollered back behind me. We probably should have done that already, but I can't help but be distracted by the c.r.a.ppy scenery. Looking up at the tall ceilings,I can't imagine what kind of people would be staying in a place like this. Though with those wall markings, someone's got to be hiding out somewhere in here. Probably a couple of stray b.u.ms drinking runoff sewer-water, turning themselves into the rats they cook and eat for dinner. Harsh, but likely true during these darkening days.

From the lens on top of our Absorption Guns, flashlight after flashlight flicked on. They gave a better view to the unwelcome sight of a dead cat carca.s.s on the gray cement ground. A black cat at that, tucked up against the wall as we pa.s.sed by. Bad omens don't mean much to me, but I know some people who let that stuff dictate their entire lives to them. Dreams, psychics, coincidences, dingy-smelly-rotting-dead cat carca.s.ses. Must be fate trying to tell me something? Or perhaps, -it's just a dead cat? Either way, people's superst.i.tions never seem to prepare them for the worst-case scenario, so why bother?

These well-equipped, double-handed guns afforded us a new sense of dread, as we can now see just how pitiful this place really is. Fitting, since their purpose is to absorb rouge magik wielders' sad and defiant little spells. I'm hoping we won't have to use them at all. No activity recorded yet, besides that cat, though it wasn't too active. But that doesn't mean there isn't anything going on. Still, the report read that the guns would be required since this abandoned factory is believed to be inhabited by the Gente Peligroso. Traveling rouge magik wielders from all eight Worlds. They refuse to give up their power, and considering they live on the streets and places like this closed down factory, they refuse all constructive fashion tips as well. Well, only those rogue-b.u.ms traveling through Draconia would have to stop using magik for a time. And possibly dress in clothes that don't smell like hot garbage.

Magik is still valued almost everywhere else. And I can't say I disagree with these rogues for not following the rules. Who could live without something they've known and loved all their life? The only problem is that they use their power to destroy things in every World. It's only a matter of time before Worlds other than Draconia start banning magik wielding by civilians. We're going to need these guns if we run into any of those Peligrosos. We've been instructed to bring them in alive, if possible, for questioning. We can't simply use our superior wielding abilities to take them out. Most of the Gente Peligroso are young and untrained teens. They generally recruit runaways and social outcast. Those types you see in school at the back of the cla.s.sroom playing with an army knife. Eyes on fire, just daring you to give them an excuse to use it. Most who've never been properly taught to wield magik or cast any long term spells. Their leaders are all most likely powerful wielders, but they simply don't have the man power to teach most of the new and younger recruits. The 8ights have hunted them to near extinction, but they're still around. Growing even. That doesn't make much sense, but they don't pay me enough to ask questions like that. Or rather, they couldn't pay me enough.

The tunnel started to open up, we stumbled upon an intersection. There's a leak, better, a stream of water falling from the tall grated ceiling. The water hit the ground at the center of the intersection, splashing vigorously against our black, Valid steel-toed boots. Valid is the strongest steel there is, just really a symbol of the 8ights power and prestige. The men behind me started spreading out, while attempting to avoid getting wet. The liquid bounced all around the sides of the walls, resembling rain droplets as it beaded on the cement. Our black jumpsuit uniforms started to shine a bit as we fully penetrated the pentagon shaped intersection.

My earpiece communicator meant nothing cooped up in this dead factory. The walls must be too thick. I can't get any signal. I took it off, and threw it down into the small puddles of water all around our feet. A little electric shock went out as the water reacted with the mechanics inside it. It bothered the left side of my neck around my hairline too. I figured it would be in my best interest to get rid of it. However, I could have just put it in one of my many pockets. These jumpsuits are like the overalls version of cargo pants. I hate cargos, thus I hate these constricting uniforms.

My dark hair isn't even very long, especially where my ears are. I have a virtual crew cut with a bit more length and style. I'm sure most of the guys behind me are feeling the same annoyance from their earpieces. But it'd be better if they simply stored theirs in these busy jumpsuits. Communicators aren't cheap. Lucky me again that I'm in charge here. Most of them have longer hair than I. Especially,Evan. He has longer hair than most guys in Draconia. He's a special case, but it's considered downright disgusting for a guy-to sport long locks in our home World. There's no place like home, some say. That is, if your home's a prison, because that's exactly what Draconia feels like from the inside.

"Why couldn't we see this light from back there?" Evan said abruptly. My second in command just brought up a really good point. One I can't exactly answer.

His jet-black hair gleamed from this very suspect light swinging above our heads. He wasn't perfect as far as being a unit commander. More because of his looks than his actual ability to lead. He's a lot younger than most Squadron commanders. Twenty-nine isn't so young, but unfortunately for Evan, he looks like a college kid. His blue eyes being the signature of the Draconian race, paired with that so pretty haircut, his naturally tan skin-that's not too much lighter than my own-and that all makes him a viable bachelor, for sure. This all might go over well with the girls, but in Squadron it makes him seem like a snot-noise kid. His a slender face, looking like a weasel's, but I'm sure he's an honest guy. Haircut, slightly shorter in the back, with a couple of long strands swung over the side of his left eye. I guess it's some kind of fashion statement, but he actual resembles some of the teen runaways that fall into the Gente Peligroso. Without his eye color shining through those loosely, yet meticulously placed strands of hair, he could be mistaken for one of them ... again.

It seems that he's transitioned out well enough. Evan was born to two Draconian teen runaways. They fled the repressive Draconia for the Peligrosos. Just like most gangs, these Peligrosos have an insignia. Have to turn your eyes blood-red to fit in with the misfits. Their signature mark to separate them from the eight"normal" races. A tattoo on the face would be less jarring than seeing a hippie looking dude walking down the street with completely red irises. But when Evan was just seven years old, he ran away from the runaways. We met a year before then, but I'm five years his senior, so he pretty much looked up to me when we were kids. That's why I knew I could convince him of leaving that nomadic, dangerous lifestyle. From then on, we grew up together. He lived with my parents and me. He's the little brother I never wanted, but somehow ended up with.

I've known him forever. And happy to say so, that he's good for the job. "Perceptive," would be the best word to describe him. He's brought up a good point about this light, but I still don't have the slightest idea to how it got there. I figured I've waited long enough to respond, while he blankly stares at me, so I gave him a crude, unedited answer. "Well, maybe the light wasn't on before we got this close," I realized how ridiculous I sounded as the last word left my lips.

"Well, then we would have seen it come on, right?" Evan countered.

"Yeah, good-d point," I said with a slight stutter, while the other men looked around for clues of which direction we should head in first.

"So, don't you think that's a bit odd," his curious tone p.i.s.sing me off a little more than it probably should have.

My mind was elsewhere, and he kept dragging me back to reality. Not where I want to be right now. Thinking of myself as a kid again and my family reminded me of someone I long tried forgetting about. To no avail, of course. That would be too easy. "Well, of course I do," I declared with authority, "but what more can be done about it. We couldn't see it there before and now we can. Whatever the reason, we can't waste time guessing to. We have a mission, so let's stay focused and complete it."

"Yes, sir." Evan nodded to acknowledge my concerns for this kid we desperately need to find. Then he cautiously asked, "so what's the plan, Criston?"

"I'm not entirely sure," I admitted, "when we first walked up I was more shocked to see that there is running water as oppose to that light.

"Should there not be?" he asked while peering down one of the paths ahead.

"No, not at all. The water has been shut off for years. The 8ights made sure of that when the reports of the Peligrosos hiding out here started pouring in. For that matter, the electricity is off as well. Where could they be getting either one of those utilities? I doubt that anyone could wield a spell for this long without overdosing themselves. I wouldn't suspect that there's magik at work here."

"Well, maybe they have backup generators, stolen ones even. They steal all the time, we have thousands of surveillance videos and reports on that," Evan offered.

"So that could possibly explain the electricity, but not the water," I said while pondering my options. "The water system is controlled by the city. That can't be accessed without getting into the water department's mainframe," I told him, and then paused in thought for a good long moment. "But, if we head up these paths I'm pretty sure we'll find out more." I then shouted out to the whole team. "Let's split up, men! It'll help us find the boy faster if we track each of these paths at once! We meet back here in fifteen! Set your watches, and move out with your teams!" I said it quickly, because being in this building a second longer, is much too long. It's got a psycho feeling to it.

There are twenty of us. We moved out in teams of five. Each in a different direction down the four paths at this total five-way intersection. Geary walked up behind me and to my left. From my peripheral view, I saw him looking just as mischievous and immature as usual, with his light brown mop hair flopping around on his head. Don't want to lose sight of him or else he'll likely wander off and get himself killed. He's always a part of my sub-team. So, Geary, the team, and I took the path directly ahead that veered slightly to the right of the other dank tunnel next to it. No sooner than we entered the walkway, and pa.s.sed beyond the second light swinging from the ceiling like the remnants of a hanging, did we see something that changed the mission entirely. The boy . . . my boy- <*>.

I woke up with a small light beaming into my left eye. It almost seemed like a laser pointer, or even a strobe light, because it kept shifting back and forth. It's as if it were looking for something specific. It seemed liked a few hours blew by. My mind took hold of me, and I began to wonder why is it that only my left eye is open? I tried to open the right one, but it wouldn't budge.

Another few hours seemed to pa.s.s while I tried to focus on opening my right eye. Slowly, I realized that I couldn't feel the rest of body either. Nothing about me seemed to be responsive, except my left eye. The laser light continued to bounce around my retina, as it began to let in other shapes and figures hovering over me. I made out a few of the reflected images, and saw a man in a white coat. There was a woman beside him. She wore a white outfit as well, but it fit different about her frame. She had a hat on, too, and like everything else, it was white.

Suddenly, I started feeling a certain part of my body reawakening. My neck, the left side of my neck started tingling. The feeling became increasingly profound, and it began traveling through my chest and down my arm. It started to burn . . . bad! My body was on fire before I knew it. It felt like I was engulfed in flames. Every limb started freaking out, jerking like a seizure. Then, I sporadically shot up off whatever surface I was lying on into the stratosphere. My body had suddenly been brought back to life by some strange force of nature.

I'd imagine that force to be an adrenaline shot. Couldn't be much else, could it? I didn't realize they were distributed from the neck nowadays. I was in a doctor's office, or a hospital room, whichever you call it. Something I did know for sure was that these two had just saved my life-I hope? I don't know how I could've sustained a life threatening injury in the first place, but why over think it? I turned to the doctor and his nurse to thank them, when a sudden slap came across my fragile feeling face. It came from an oddly thin, yet somehow familiar hand.

"Julia!" I yelled in surprise when I turned to see my attacker. My wife threw her arms around me in dismay. She appeared somewhat happy, but her grasp was weak and tired. She hung on to me for what seemed like several hours. But at this point, I'm totally convinced that my sense of time is as dead as my body was just a few moments ago.

The woman I thought to be an everyday nurse turned out to be my wife, Dr. Julia Gambit. Though she was a doctor, she always dressed in a nurse's uniform. I guess it helped her identify more with her female coworkers, who were larger in number among nurses than doctors. The uniform fit her perfectly. However, her body looked surprisingly thin. Not that she'd ever been anything but a shapely woman, but this looked to be the result of stress. Long hours and little sleep will do that to you. Especially when your husband goes on a.s.signment for weeks at a time. Not to mention . . . your only child has been missing without a trace for nearly two years.

Julia had definitely thinned out. Her waist nearly disappeared inside that uniform, but the beige belt wrapped around her mid section saved the look. From there,the rest of the b.u.t.ton up outfit closely hugged what was left of her curves. It was a short dress, coming just above her knees revealing the tapered end of the long white stockings she was wearing. Paired then with the clunky white shoes all the nurses and docs wore. They helped them to cope with being on their feet for so many hours at a time. Most spouses would have the opportunity to notice a drastic change in their wife's appearance, but not me. Ever since Corinth's disappearance, Julia and I have had an icy relationship. She had a lot of grief and resentment towards me. It's all behind those shiny green eyes that she won't let me look into right now.

She, understandably, blamed me for Corinth's kidnapping. After all, I was a specialist in the field. I've apprehended more criminals, rescued more children, and even adults from the hands of their captors than most. Corinth's kidnapper could have been some vengeful fool whose plans I ruined years ago. Though Squadron checked for connections like that when he went missing, and nothing particular came up. Still, Julia couldn't escape the thought that if she hadn't been with me, if she married a man with a less dangerous profession, she'd still have her son to tuck into bed at night. We virtually became an estranged couple after that. It's the worst thing in the world to not know where your child is at night. What condition they'll possibly be found in. Whether they're dead or alive? It was too much to bear, so I'd go on several long-range a.s.signments to escape our problems. They took me and my men far from Draconia at times. It was selfish to leave her alone to deal with the aftermath. But it felt like the world I knew was collapsing around me, and I just had to get out.

"Are you okay, Cris?" Julia asked in her silky voice.

"No," I said flatly, "I feel like I'm going to throw up."

"That's just a small side effect of the Booster Shot the other doctor injected into you," she informed me, like some sort of hospital official.

"So, that's what that was," I offered with a timid voice, because I didn't really know what else to say. Here I was, speechless, sitting on a hospital bed looking at my wife's brown hair swooped across-her forehead. A white nurse's hat trapping the rest of her long locks underneath it. I couldn't see her face because she still wouldn't look up at me. It made me feel like sc.u.m for not being able to comfort her. "What's wrong, Julia?" I asked with as much sensitivity as I could choke out of my voice.

Her hardened exterior cracked up at the sound of my voice, fell to bits of several untraceable fragments. "It's Corinth, Criston, he's . . . he's!"

"He's what?" I shouted abruptly, her tone seemed so out of context. I had just seen my son for the first time in what felt like years on years, and he actually appeared fine. Absolutely fine! I thought they had him in another room. Somewhere safe! The statement, 'it's Corinth!' started to echo in my mind. A million thoughts ran through my head when she said Corinth's name. It may be hard to believe, but I had almost forgotten that we found him the way we did. Though just having seen his bright face is the reason I'm in the hospital. "What, Julia?" I pressed on. "What's wrong with Corinth?"

"He's dead, Criston!" she cried.

"No!" I shouted. "No, that ... that's not possible. I found him alive! Our son is alive," I grabbed her face with both hands and cried out from my gut. "I looked him in the eyes, and I saw him move, Julia. I heard him speak. He was more than just alive ... he was, he was-"

"No, Criston, he's not," she interrupted, as she slapped my hands away. "The boy is dead!" she yelled, "and it's your fault!"

That hit me like a ton of bricks. She finally said those words that I dreaded hearing for so long. She had never voiced her true feelings about the abduction. Normally, she avoided talking about the situation all together. She eluded and indirectly indicted me, but things must have come to a head for her.

I suppose I could have imagined he was alive when I saw his face, but it all seemed so vivid. Finding out that he's dead is too surreal to take seriously. Then again, I had always dreamed that we'd find Corinth alive, and I'm sure Julia has too. I guess that's why it's so hard for her, and why she now is so readily admitting her belief that his disappearance is somehow my fault.

But something she said is eating at me. She called Corinth, 'the boy.' For a grieving mother it sounds so cold and distant. Two traits that Julia does not possess. Again, her appearance comes to mind. Her eyes are filled with a rage I've never seen in her before. Likewise, I thought before her weight is considerably lower than just three weeks ago. There are many reasonable answers to these questionable thoughts. But I now know for sure that I saw a living breathing boy in need of help, just before I pa.s.sed out.

I know this, because as I stare at the hostile woman standing in front of me, I realize that her eyes aren't green. As Julia's eyes are. They're red! Gente Peligroso!

She was fast! This witch saw me reach for the golden key dangling from the silver chain around my neck, before I realized that she had swiped it away from my grasp. I'm nearly defenseless without my llave. I can't wield a touch of magik without it. And she just knocked it halfway across the hospital room. But, of course, she definitely has hers right when she needs it most.

She took two large steps back, within the square room, and quickly tossed the llave into midair. As always, these keys stop from their free fall just as they reach the s.p.a.ce that connects your heart, mind and soul. In the middle of your chest is the central focus of your perceptions, emotions, and most of all . . . your strength. This is where the special power of magik exists. I looked into those red eyes as she circled the room. I moved too, as her llave kept with her, rotating midair at her chest. It was clear that she was fixated on destroying me.

I stepped as far back against the white walls as I could go, but this room is so small. I guess they planned this well. Keep me held up in a tight s.p.a.ce so that there was no chance of escape. They definitely sent one of their best to finish me off. Why they didn't destroy me while I was unconscious is a question for another time, because this chick is striking like a cobra. She started at me, jumping forward only to take two steps back. I see now that she's hesitating to do her worst. So, I figure this is a perfect opportunity to maneuver myself toward my llave lying on the floor across this brightly lit room. But I have to do it without her noticing where my attention is focused. She's quick, but small and her face holds a hint of apprehension. I saw my opening and took the chance.

I zipped across the room diagonally, pushing off the front of my toes as hard as I could. I ducked and rolled on the ground forward, and then I slid with one leg out, trying to knock her over. But somehow, she was still faster. I guess her blinking wasn't my opening after all. She jumped high to get out of the way, twisting her body midair and turning to face the opposite direction. She came-back down to the surface with a fierce stomp on the ground that I could have sworn rattled the entire hospital room. She met me face to face, as I redirected my body, lying on the cold floor reaching toward my llave. She was bent over me like an oversized cheetah. Her llave spinning in my face as a grim reminder of how much she was in control. But then a bright idea came to mind. If I can't have my llave-then why should she have hers?

I feel bad, but I reached up from the floor and punched this girl in her face so hard that I don't think she'll wake for an earthquake. She was down for the count, and her llave dropped out of its familiar rotation a moment later. When it did, so does fall this illusion that I'm in a hospital room. It's amazing what magik can do. I hadn't even left the area just beyond the five-way intersection. The one me and my men met, what was most likely, just moments ago in real time. But minus my men and Corinth. My biggest concern is whether Corinth was a part of that illusion, orif he was really here? Well... there's only one way to find out. I've got to wake the dead.

I walked over to where the poor girl lay. I picked up the golden skeleton key that is my llave, and hers too, from behind her sprawled out body on the smooth gray cement ground. She's pretty in her own right. Black hair, ghostly white skin, with rosy cheeks. She almost looked delightfully gothic. If those two things have an almost point between them. She's young, as I know it, the Gente Peligroso is mostly composed of teen runaways. Though, this girl was more skilled than the average runaway to step up an Adlucinatio, or trap illusion, of that caliber. She's most likely too young to know anything about the cursed language, so I'm sure she set up that illusion in plain English.

I have no idea how one language splinters into another. Two very different languages. Why different? We could have stuck with the first one. The one I can barely speak anymore. That's why I hate going to others Worlds, like Lirio. Not knowing what they're saying, because I don't speak Maledictus very well. And I know they speak English too, everyone does. They do it just to spite me as a foreigner. However, even though I don't speak the whole language, I do know most of the spells in the Maledictus. The old-language is more powerful than English. A dark power for magik. I guess that's why people stopped speaking it. But for some reason in certain Worlds they still speak it openly. Not just to wield magik either. Even in daily conversation, and taught at the schools. Though they say it curses your tongue to mutter even a word of Maledictus.

That reminds me, I'm getting old. It's weird how I know much more information just by sheer fact of my age. As well an amazing education. I'm pretty sure that had something to do with it. I mean, I'm not that old yet, but I'm most likely twice this girl's age. So young, but so frail and jagged were this cheetah girl's features. Looking at her in her natural state, I can't believe she was able to pull off Julia's likeness with a sense of ease. It's sad, because a talent like hers is hard to come by. She had an apparent knack for creating illusions, that much was obvious. But a wasted life with organized crime-folk like the Peligrosos is a terrible fate.

Though her life couldn't be much more grand as a great magik wielder here in Draconia. Especially because I'm an enforcer of the laws that restrict people from using or even learning about the wonders of magik anymore. Then again, the law has come to exist for good reason. Nights like this remind me why they were introduced. If they hadn't, our society would be run over by ferocious biting dogs without muzzles or masters to hold them at bay. Too many wielders had gone rouge. Something had to be done. The 8ights Council had no choice but to censor the use of magik in Draconia.

But this girl is no longer from Draconia now. The acting Chancellor, my good friend Sebastian, has disowned all those who take to the Gente Peligroso. So, I guess in some weird way, she wasn't truly breaking the law when she tried to break my neck. It's all semantics, but it's still kind of true. I don't want to do what I'm about to do, but it must be done. I've got to wake this gothic beauty from the fist induced slumber I put her in.

As I tossed my llave in the air, I started to think... what if Corinth was just a part of this girl's illusion? What if my boy is forever lost, and Julia and I will never reconcile? This had turned out to be a mission into h.e.l.l. It's much easier to be detached when it's someone else's child at risk. But bringing back all these feelings about him is too much to handle. My llave dropped to the ground, and so did I. As I collapsed not so far inside of this eerie intersection, feeling bad for myself, but worst for my son- I heard a sound. A distinctive sound, much different from that of the water, and the buzzing lights attached to the ceilings. I heard footsteps!

Who could it be? I checked my watch. Only minutes had actually pa.s.sed. The other men weren't set back this way for another nine minutes or so. But the halls could have been shorter than I antic.i.p.ated. They could be doubling back early, or worst ... in trouble. Then it hit me. Where are the four other men I set out with? They had disappeared with the illusion, but didn't reappear as it fell apart. Corinth, he isn't here either. I already knew this, but hadn't processed the full extent of its meaning. They're all either gone, or I'm still under somebody's spell.

I picked my llave up again, storing it and the cheetah girl's llave in one of my many pockets. I headed farther down the hall to investigate. The direction I'd been heading in before all this magik got in the way. My absorption gun was nowhere to be found. I'm convinced at this point that other forces must be at work. This wielder must be powerful, because I can't make out what's real from what's fake anymore. Nothing is out of place. The factory seems so perfectly proportioned. Who could be powerful enough for an illusion without any flaw? I've been wrong about things like this before, but there's no other explanation that I can see.

I turned the corner at the end of the path, and there lay a large towering flight of stairs. They're so creepy and so gray. And just like everything else in this building, they have more of that greasy oil slicked across them. I put my black steel-toed boots on the edge of the first step, and tried lifting myself up by pulling on the railing. Lest I knew, the railing was covered in that grease too, not just the walls and steps. I lost my footing when my hand suddenly whisked itself forward and into the air. Then my entire body followed suit. I fell from grace just like that. No warning or anything, just the cold floor to comfort me as I hit hard, with a loud thud to the back of my head. I reached behind myself, grabbing my upper back and head in horror. It hurt bad. But more like one of those quick sharp pains that come and go. I wasn't down for the count just yet. But another trip like that and no one knows where I'll end up.