“I’ve lost sight of him.” Shui Jaing’s soft voice pierced the team’s magic comlink.

  Shui, a human female of below-average height with long black hair cascading past her shoulder blades, sat perched atop a suspended cargo container high above the bustling shipyard. The chains holding the container creaked under the strain, swaying gently with even the slightest movement she made. Her vantage point offered an unparalleled view of the area, allowing her to monitor her team through her rifle scope's thermal setting.

  She toggled between thermal and scotopic (low-light) vision, her eyes scanning the area meticulously as she searched for her target. Shui’s precision marksmanship had earned her the top spot in her class, a testament to her exceptional skill and dedication. Her diminutive stature made her a difficult target to spot, giving her an advantage in situations where stealth and surprise were paramount.

  Adalissie, known for her keen eye in recruiting talent, recognized Shui’s potential immediately. In Shui, she saw the perfect blend of skill, stealth, and adaptability—qualities that were invaluable for the mission at hand. Shui’s presence on the team was a calculated decision, one that Adalissie was certain would yield results.

  As Shui continued her vigilant watch, the shipyard buzzed with activity below, unaware of the watchful eyes above. She adjusted her position slightly, ensuring the chains remained steady, all the while keeping her focus sharp and her senses attuned to any sign of her elusive target. The success of the operation depended on precision timing and clear communication, and Shui was determined to fulfill her role with unwavering accuracy and resolve.

  “Skathor, time for Plan B," Adalissie panted through the comms, her breath coming in ragged bursts as she navigated the chaotic labyrinth of the shipyard.

  Adalissie was a taller-than-average human female with brown hair that fell just to her shoulders, and she moved with the agility and determination that had made her a respected leader. She sprinted through the maze, leaping over abandoned lift trucks and dodging obstacles with practiced ease. Her mind raced as she recalibrated their approach, knowing that Plan B was always a last resort.

  Sliding to a stop, she pressed her back against the cool metal of a towering cargo container, taking a moment to catch her breath while she waited for Shui’s directions. The air was thick with tension, the kind that came with the knowledge that the situation was more precarious than anticipated.

  “I hate Plan B.” Rorgal piped into the chatter.

  Adalissie's second in command, Rorgal Daymantal, was a seasoned dwarf with a grizzled, yet suave appearance. His long, braided beard reached down to his hips, a testament to both his age and experience. Despite his rugged exterior, Rorgal had a keen strategic mind, honed through years of navigating perilous situations.

  As he caught up with Adalissie, he tapped her shoulder lightly—a silent signal that he was in position and ready to support. This subtle gesture spoke volumes about the trust and camaraderie they had built over the years. Rorgal had mentored Adalissie, guiding her rise to leadership within their team, and now he was content to let her take the lead on this mission.

  Their paths briefly diverged as they split to cover their respective flanks. Adalissie scanned the left, her eyes sharp and focused on the path Shui had directed her towards. The containers loomed like silent sentinels, casting long shadows in the dim light. Her mind was a flurry of calculations and contingencies, but she moved with purpose, confident in her team's abilities.

  Rorgal, meanwhile, turned his attention to the right, his instincts on high alert. His presence was a comforting constant for the team, his experience invaluable in moments like these where uncertainty reigned. Despite taking a back seat, he remained vigilant, ready to spring into action should the need arise.

  With a puff of air, Adalissie blew her bangs out of her bloodshot eyes. “He’s built like an airship. How is he so fucking fast?”

  Sweat rolled down her olive-toned forehead into her eyes, making them sting. The coms remained silent until Rorgal chuckled, as he struggled to catch his breath as well.

  “You’re just out of shape, girl,”

  Rorgal’s aging body struggled to maintain the relentless pace of the chase, and Adalissie was acutely aware of it. Despite being in her late twenties, she too felt the strain, her muscles protesting as she pushed herself to keep moving. The adrenaline from the high-stakes pursuit coursed through her veins, momentarily dulling the fatigue that threatened to slow her down.

  Adalissie snorted. “Look who’s talking, old man. Don’t die of a heart attack this close to retirement.”

  Their target, a Dragonkin, had lured the team into the labyrinthine shipyard off the coast of Staera. Dragonkin were a rarity outside their homeland of Uzon on the East continent, making this encounter unusual and dangerous. Known for their innate magical abilities, the Dragonkin were powerful sorcerers due to the dragon blood coursing through their veins, a gift that made them formidable adversaries.

  As they raced through the shipyard, Adalissie considered the gravity of their mission. It wasn’t just about capturing a fugitive; it was about upholding the delicate balance of power and order in a world where magic was both feared and revered.

  Aware of her partner's limitations, Adalissie knew they needed to act decisively. The Dragonkin could not be allowed to escape, not with the potential chaos he could unleash. The team had to rely on their training, their unity, and their determination to succeed against such a formidable opponent.

  With Rorgal covering her flank, Adalissie pressed on, her resolve as unyielding as the steel containers surrounding them. The chase through the shipyard was far from over, and both partners knew they had to give everything they had to bring this dangerous mission to a successful conclusion.

  Skathor, the other member of their team, broke the silence of com chatter.

  “Authorization approved from HQ. Quit the chatter. I need to concentrate.”

  Skathor Muse, a young Cambion with ambitions as fiery as his lineage, clutched his components bag tightly. His red forehead furrowed with concentration as he prepared to cast a location spell, a crucial part to plan B. This was his moment to prove himself, to demonstrate that his unique heritage and skills could be a powerful asset.

  In front of a large blue container, Skathor meticulously painted several arcane symbols in white, each stroke precise and deliberate. These symbols, ancient and potent, would channel the necessary energies for the spell. He reached into his worn, brown leather bag and retrieved a handful of bloodhound fur, a key component due to the animal's renowned tracking ability. With a flourish, he scattered the fur across the wet paint, the symbols absorbing its essence.

  As he began to chant, the air around him seemed to hum with latent energy. The demonic incantations flowed smoothly from his lips, each word resonating with power. His eyes shifted to a vibrant neon yellow, a telltale sign that the spell was taking effect. His vision narrowed, sharpening and extending beyond the physical realm to hone in on the Dragonkin’s unique magical signature.

  With his senses attuned, Skathor could perceive the Dragonkin’s aura, a swirling mix of colors and energy that marked his location amidst the shipyard’s maze. This vital information would guide Adalissie and Rorgal, ensuring they could close in on their target with precision.

  Despite the pressure of the mission, a sense of determination filled Skathor. His role was pivotal, and he was ready to meet the challenge head-on. The success of the team depended not only on their collective strength but also on his ability to harness the arcane arts effectively.

  As the spell solidified, Skathor felt a surge of confidence. He was proving himself to be more than just a young recruit; he was a key player in a high-stakes game, determined to show that he belonged among the elite tasked with maintaining order in the three kingdoms.

  “East corner of the yard. He’s stationary for now. Possibly alone. Heart rate has increased. He’s panicking or preparing a nice feast for us.”

  A moment of silence before Shui spoke over the com. “All clear. Both sides. I have eyes on him. Container unit 5793 sitting in a clearing straight ahead. Recommended formation Alpha Delta.”

  “Moving.” acknowledged Adalissie.

  Rorgal gave a subtle nod of approval as Adalissie signaled for silence, pressing a finger to her lips. Her other hand moved in a slow, circular motion above her open palm—a gesture that Rorgal recognized from their years of working together. Both instinctively raised their firearms, ready to advance cautiously through the labyrinthine corridors of the shipyard.

  Adalissie tapped Rorgal’s back lightly, and without exchanging a word, they crept around a fork in the path, entering the narrow passages flanked by towering stacks of metal containers. The distant blare of a foghorn from a passing ship echoed through the shipyard, the sound bouncing off the steel walls around them and adding to the tense atmosphere.

  High above, Shui moved with practiced agility, leaping down from her vantage point and swiftly disassembling her rifle for easier transport. As she jumped silently from one container to the next, she kept Adalissie in her line of sight, providing aerial support without compromising her stealth.

  Similarly, Skathor mirrored Shui’s movements, tracking Rorgal from above. His heavier footsteps occasionally reverberated through the empty containers, reminding him to tread carefully. The subtle vibrations served as a constant check on his enthusiasm and eagerness.

  Deep within the shipyard lay unit 5793, the designated location of their target. It was a wide open area, riddled with potential hazards and blind spots that put Adalissie on high alert. Her instincts screamed of a trap, but the team had no choice but to move forward. She crouched low, sticking close to the edge of the container rows, careful not to reveal her presence prematurely.

  Recognizing the tactical advantage of elevation, Shui and Skathor broke off from their current paths, maneuvering to encircle the area and secure better vantage points. Their goal was to cover as many angles as possible, minimizing the risk of ambush.

  Adalissie and Rorgal held their positions, blending into the shadows cast by the towering containers. They waited with bated breath for Shui and Skathor to signal that they were in position, ready to launch a coordinated approach. Patience and precision were key; with their team working in concert, they hoped to outmaneuver the Dragonkin and bring this high-stakes mission to a successful close.

  Comms were suddenly lit up with a mix of deafening static and broken up voices of the team talking over each other. “Shit, we… play… target… eyes up…”

  “Adie, move your ass!”

  Adalissie heard Rorgal shout towards her before blurs of green and blue crossed her vision. Cold steel pressed against her body as she heard shouting and gunfire muffled by faint scuffling. A dim golden tether floated by her, leaving a faint sparkle in its wake. Her vision blurred and a high pitch deafened her hearing.

  “Blood of my blood. This is not your time.”

  Her consciousness faded to black.

  ***

  Hemp rope cut into Adalissie’s skin, binding her hands and feet as she lay on a cold, hard surface. Her head throbbed with a relentless, pounding pain. Adalissie struggled to piece together the fragments of her memory, trying to recall where she was and how she had ended up in such a precarious situation. The room was unfamiliar, its stark, bright lights glaring down on her and intensifying the throbbing in her head. The contrast between the harsh illumination and the shadows it cast was disorienting, making it difficult to get her bearings.

  Taking a deep breath, she attempted to calm herself, focusing on the rhythm of her breathing to anchor her swirling thoughts. As her senses slowly adjusted, the high-pitched wailing began to resolve into distinct voices, each talking over the other in a cacophony of sound.

  She strained to make out the words, hoping to find a clue in the chatter that would explain her current predicament. Amidst the overlapping conversations, a voice stood out—one she didn’t recognize, its tone sharp and authoritative. It cut through the noise, giving orders or perhaps asking questions, though the exact words were lost in the echoing environment.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Adalissie’s instincts told her that whoever the voice belonged to, they were likely in charge, and understanding them might provide the key to her situation. Despite the fear and confusion, she knew she had to remain composed and alert, ready to seize any opportunity to gain the upper hand. Her thoughts flickered to her team—Rorgal, Shui, Skathor—wondering if they were nearby, if they were safe, and how soon they could regroup to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

  “Ah, the girl awakens.”

  Adalissie shook her head to clear her senses. “W-what?”

  Rorgal leaned closer to Adalissie. “You took a bad tumble back there, girl. Thought you wouldn’t make it.”

  The harsh light from the overhead lamp beamed directly into Adalissie's face, intensifying the oppressive heat that bore down on everyone in the room. Sweat trickled down her temples, adding to the discomfort of her throbbing head and the ropes that bound her. She squinted against the glare, trying to maintain her composure as she assessed her surroundings.

  Emerging from the shadows with a deliberate air of menace, a Dragonkin stepped into view. His imposing presence filled the room; the tips of his horns nearly brushed the ceiling. The sound of a chair scraping across the concrete floor echoed ominously as he positioned it in front of his captives. He exhaled sharply, flaring his nostrils in a display that was both casual and intimidating, amplifying the tense atmosphere.

  With long, black claws, he gripped the back of the chair and spun it around smoothly, straddling it so he faced them directly. His muscular, scaled legs anchored him in place, and as he settled in, the colorful bronze scales covering his body caught the light.

  The Dragonkin's colorful bronze scales shimmered under the harsh light, casting an array of shifting shapes against the drab, concrete walls. This kaleidoscope of reflections added an oddly mesmerizing element to the otherwise stark and intimidating setting. His dark brown serpentine eyes, sharp and calculating, moved swiftly between his captives, taking in every subtle movement, every flicker of emotion.

  Rorgal stared into the Dragonkin’s eyes without blinking. “Don't give into his intimidation tactics. He’s teasing us.”

  Adalissie could feel the weight of his gaze, each glance a silent assessment of her and the others. She forced herself to maintain a neutral expression, aware that any sign of fear or weakness could be used against them. Her mind raced with thoughts of escape and the wellbeing of her team, but she knew patience and observation were key right now.

  The Dragonkin's presence exuded authority and danger, his confidence unmistakable. He seemed to revel in the tension, his nostrils occasionally flaring as if tasting the air for hints of their resolve or desperation.

  The room was silent except for the occasional drip of water and the creak of the lamp swinging slightly overhead. Adalissie knew that the Dragonkin was waiting for something—perhaps a reaction or a question to break the silence. She steeled herself, determined to remain unyielding and to seize any opportunity that presented itself to turn the tables on their captor.

  “Let’s begin.”

  The Dragonkin's voice rumbled through the room, a guttural sound punctuated by a low growl that resonated with an underlying menace. His presence was commanding, exuding an air of authority that was impossible to ignore. Adalissie sensed the weight behind his words, the kind of weight that came from someone accustomed to being in control.

  Adalissie scanned the room more thoroughly, and her heart sank slightly as she realized they were not alone. The Dragonkin had backup—several figures stood in the shadows, their outlines barely visible but their presence undeniable. This revelation explained much about why the Dragonkin had been so elusive, so difficult to capture. He was not just a solitary fugitive; he was part of a larger network, a well-guarded operation.

  The people with him, though not as physically imposing as the Dragonkin, exuded a quiet confidence and shared purpose. They watched the captives with alert eyes, seemingly ready to act at a moment's notice.

  “My name is Tiphuc Dravull.” He closed his eyes and tilted his head down in respect before continuing. “Tell me, do you know the reason why your Kingdoms hunt down sorcerers?”

  With a quick snap of his bulky fingers, the Dragonkin commanded attention. A lanky human, appearing no older than twenty, stepped forward, carrying an unusual contraption. The device was an oblong container, its surface faintly glowing and pulsing with an ominous purple energy. It seemed almost alive, each pulse like a heartbeat, exuding a sense of latent power.

  The container's design was intricate and organic, with twisted supports reminiscent of gnarled tree roots. These supports extended to connect two broad, leaf-shaped ends, giving the device a semblance of natural form despite its arcane function. The energy within swirled and pulsed, casting an eerie light that danced across the walls, adding to the surreal atmosphere.

  Adalissie's eyes fixed on the contraption, her mind racing to comprehend its purpose. It was unlike anything she had encountered before, suggesting technology or magic far beyond what was typically seen in the anti-magic kingdoms. Whatever its function, it was clearly of great importance to the Dragonkin and his cohorts.

  The presence of such a device hinted at a larger plan, one potentially involving forces or energies that could tip the balance of power in dangerous ways. Adalissie felt a tension in the room shift, as if everyone present understood the significance of the moment. She couldn't allow herself to be distracted by the contraption's allure; instead, she focused on observing and devising a strategy to disrupt whatever the Dragonkin intended to do with it.

  “Sorcery is outlawed for a good reason. It’s blood magic and nothing good comes from using it.” Shui said.

  The group of humans in the foreground erupted in a unison laugh and stopped when Tiphuc lifted his hand.

  “Is that what they teach you?” The Dragonkin, known as Tiphuc, chuckled with a tone that was both mocking and intrigued. “Magic isn’t free for those who are not blessed with power. Some pray for it, some sacrifice items in favor of it, while others lose more than they bargained for.”

  Adalissie listened carefully, sensing that these words, though intended to provoke, might reveal valuable insights into Tiphuc's motives and worldview. The mention of dead gods and hidden truths hinted at a deeper narrative, one that might involve ancient powers or forbidden knowledge long buried by the anti-magic regimes.

  Tiphuc rose with a fluid grace that belied his bulk, pushing the chair aside effortlessly. His dark, serpentine eyes settled on Skathor, the young Cambion whose heritage linked him to both demonic and human origins. “Tell me, Red, where does your magic come from?” Tiphuc's voice was deceptively calm, yet it carried the weight of a challenge.

  Skathor met Tiphuc’s gaze, his expression a mixture of defiance and curiosity. The question cut to the heart of his identity, touching on the source of his magical abilities—a subject often shrouded in mystery and personal struggle for Cambions like him. Skathor knew the dangers of divulging too much, yet he also understood the importance of maintaining composure under such scrutiny.

  Adalissie watched the exchange, aware that the Dragonkin was probing for weaknesses, looking for cracks in their resolve. She hoped Skathor would tread carefully, using his wits to navigate the conversation without giving away anything that could jeopardize their mission or their safety.

  The tension in the room was palpable, a delicate balance between fear and courage. Adalissie steeled herself, ready to support Skathor and her team.

  “It took me years of my life to study the spells I know.” Skathor said.

  “But where do you draw power from? What is your focus?” asked Tiphuc.

  “Valgrea, The Tree of Death.”

  Tiphuc sauntered over to Skathor with a measured deliberation, his imposing presence amplified by the close proximity. The Dragonkin's snout hovered just inches from Skathor's face, and Skathor instinctively leaned back, trying to escape the dragon's foul breath and the intimidating proximity of those massive claws. Those claws, though lethal, now cradled the peculiar gadget with a surprising tenderness, suggesting its crucial importance to Tiphuc’s plans.

  As Skathor tried to maintain his composure, the tension in the room shifted. Two of Tiphuc’s followers moved in behind him, their presence disconcerting. With deft hands, they untied his bonds, lifting him to his feet. Skathor's initial relief at being freed was tempered by the understanding that this gesture was not one of kindness, but rather a calculated move in Tiphuc's larger scheme.

  The release of his restraints allowed Skathor to stretch his limbs, though he remained wary of the Dragonkin's intentions. The gadget, still pulsating with its strange purple energy, was brought closer, its glow casting eerie shadows across Skathor’s features. It was clear that Tiphuc intended for Skathor to interact with the device, perhaps to test his magical abilities or to manipulate him into revealing something about his own powers.

  Skathor's mind raced, weighing his options. He knew he had to be careful not to play into Tiphuc’s hands, yet he also sensed an opportunity to learn more about the Dragonkin’s objectives. He glanced toward Adalissie and his team, seeking silent reassurance and support as he prepared to face whatever challenge lay ahead.

  In the charged silence, Skathor resolved to use his wits and his understanding of magic to navigate this encounter.

  “That is a Cambion religious faith. Made up to keep you devils in line. I will show you raw arcane power. Power that you can touch, smell, and see.” Tiphuc handed the object to Skathor.

  Skathor reached out and grasped the apparatus, pulling it closer with a mix of curiosity and newfound confidence. As his fingers closed around the strange device, the low hum it emitted began to rise in pitch, its purple glow intensifying with each passing moment. The pulses of energy became more frequent, and soon, the arcane machine's sound swelled to a deafening crescendo.

  A smirk slowly spread across Skathor's face as he realized the device was somehow amplifying his inherent magical abilities. The surge of mystic strength coursed through his veins, invigorating and empowering him in a way he hadn't anticipated. It was as if the contraption had unlocked a reservoir of potential within him.

  In an instinctive response to this newfound power, translucent blue crystals began to sprout from his palm, coalescing and reshaping themselves into a small, elegantly crafted dagger. The crystalline dirk shimmered with an inner light, reflecting the glow of the apparatus that had catalyzed its creation.

  Skathor flipped the crystalline weapon deftly in the air, his movements confident and controlled. He marveled at the dagger's balance and sharpness, feeling an unexpected comfort in its presence. The realization that he could harness such energy filled him with a sense of purpose and possibility.

  “This is incredible. I can cast magic without components or incantations.”

  Skathor summoned multiple ice daggers and threw them at the closest wall. He coughed up blood the second he cast. The ice daggers melted, unable to maintain composition.

  “What-” pain shot through Skathor’s arm. “What’s happening?”

  His arm vibrated as the humming grew louder, The intensity building with each passing second. A moan withdrew from Skathor’s lips as his body buckled, bringing him to his knees. Veins in his arms bulged and pulsed in sync with the machine, creating a disconcerting rhythm that reverberated through his entire body. Screams involuntarily escaped from his mouth as his body became overwhelmed with purple energies cracking and bursting outwards from beneath the skin. Slowly, his skin began to harden, taking on a stony texture as the purple energies from the machine overwhelmed him. His once vibrant red skin, now dull and lifeless.

  Tiphuc regarded the hollow ash sculpture that was once Skathor with a detached curiosity. With a gentle breath, he blew softly at the fragile remains, and the sculpture crumbled effortlessly, collapsing into a pile of dust at his feet. The rest of the room stood silent, absorbing the gravity of what had just transpired.

  “Repentance.” Tiphuc retrieved the contraption from the ash pile and placed it in Adalissie’s hands. “Are you ready for judgment?”

  “Fuck you.” She spat at his feet, making sure not to lose eye contact. A statement that she didn’t take threats lightly. “Do you think of yourself as some kind of replacement for the Gods?”

  Frustrated, Tiphuc clasped her neck, his claws digging into her through, and momentarily he contemplated ripping her throat out. The thoughts lingered for a while before he ignored them and instead, slammed her face into the ground. It was almost cathartic for him, like his primal instincts took over reverting him back to full dragon.

  Adalissie’s blood drained down the back of her throat causing her to cough. The weight of the dragon’s hand squishing her face into the cold ground. Her bangs were dyed red from the open gash on her forehead. Tiphuc showed no signs of letting go, his warm breath caressed her neck as he inched closer for the kill.

  “Let go of me!” She snarled.

  Shui and Rorgal strained against their cuffs, their efforts to break free seeming futile as they watched the escalating situation unfold before them. Their minds raced for a solution, but they could do little more than bear witness to the power that was now manifesting in Adalissie.

  As Tiphuc came to a halt, the device in Adalissie's grasp emitted an intensifying hum, its energy resonating with her very being. Her eyes flickered from their usual brown to an illuminated gold, a transformation that signaled the awakening of something deep within her. The roots of her brown hair began to bleach, turning a stark white that spread rapidly along each strand.

  Tiphuc's eyes widened in shock and perhaps a hint of fear as he observed the dramatic change. His confidence wavered at the sight of Adalissie's transformation, realizing that he might have underestimated the latent power she possessed.

  With each passing second, Adalissie felt the surging energy within her, a mixture of strength and clarity. She sensed an opportunity—a chance to turn the tide and break free from the perilous situation they found themselves in. The room seemed to vibrate with potential, the air charged with magic and anticipation.

  “Interesting.” Tiphuc let his grip slip in his wavering resolve. “So, some of the Gods still yet live.”

  A brilliant flash of light erupted within the room, momentarily blinding everyone present and creating a disorienting burst of luminescence. The sudden brightness overwhelmed the senses, casting stark shadows and distorting the scene into silhouettes and shapes. As the afterimages danced in their vision, the sounds of struggle and chaos filled the air—shouts, clashes, and the ominous hum of the device, which had grown to a fever pitch as it channeled and built up ambient magic.

  Then, almost as swiftly as it had begun, the cacophony subsided. The room plunged into an uneasy silence, punctuated only by the soft creak of a hinge as the cargo door slowly swung open. Through the haze of settling dust and dissipating light, a large, horned figure emerged, its silhouette imposing and unmistakable.

  The figure dragged a lifeless body behind it, moving with a deliberate and unyielding stride. As it exited the room, the oppressive atmosphere seemed to linger, leaving a palpable tension in its wake. The scene was one of stark contrasts—the brilliance of the light against the dark fate of the fallen, the stillness following the chaos, and the echoes of power that had just been unleashed.

  Tiphuc still breathed, but couldn’t move much more than his torso. His burnt corpse was still smoldering as Adalissie crouched above him.

  He looked at Adalissie, spewing blue blood as he spoke. “Nine Hells take you, Sem’Varian.”

  “Take me?” Adalissie leaned closer and whispered in his ear. “The Nine Hells didn’t want me.”

  She reached for the knife that was strapped to her leg. Inch by inch, she inserted the blade into the carotid artery. With Tiphuc’s last gurgling breath, she sheathed her dagger, satisfied that he would no longer be a threat. Bones cracked as she grew shorter and her horns retracted back into her forehead.