The Wielder of Death Magic

“I’m happy,” she said and sat, “-I feel like a big sister.”

“You always were and will be my big sister.”

“Igna, I can’t tell you how much this means to us. I’m not exactly in a position to help, look at me, heavy and holder of a little fellow’s life. I hope it to be a girl,” her frozen cheeks flushed, “-sorry again, I wasn’t able to help in your time of need.”

“Don’t worry, my heart is not of concern,” he moved to her side and kindly exchanged glances at her belly and stare, “-I killed the person I was to become king. Sacrifices ought to be made, and I’ll happily do it again to save my people.”

“There,” she flicked his nose, “-hard as you try, you’re a hero deep down.”

“No,” he shook his head, “-don’t smudge the title of hero with my name. The only title I care for is Devil.”

.....

“There’s a deeper look on the face,” she commented, “-it’s like the gods I’ve met and spoken to... you’ve reached enlightenment, haven’t you?”

“Does it look so?” he crossed her examination, within the darkest depth of bicolored pupils, after a hublot into his mind, a golden spark swirled timidly, “-regardless, it doesn’t matter. The little fellow will carry the Sultrian name.”

A vacant gloominess filled her lips, “-yeah...”

“Sorry?”

“The Haggard name, it’s a curse,” she said, “-a curse of excellence. I don’t want that kind of pressure on my child. I’ll make sure they grow to become a good person, nothing extraordinary, being related to living legends is a reality check no one wants.”

“Living to our name is second,” he said, “-mother’s the head of the house, her orders were to never run after success, rather, let success run after you. I’m sure she heard so on some movie,” they laughed.

“I picture it,” her breathing eased, “-what now, Igna, what’s next?”

“The birth of Alrosia. I have my suspicion – the empire wouldn’t have made a move without insurance, I know there’s more to it, more intrigue and data, perfect for me.”

The conversation ended prematurely, “-I ought to leave,” he said peering over the balustrade. Monstrously expensive-looking cars laid in wait, the guard gave much hassle till a faint interference granted access – two white-slabs folded automatically, the sand scattered road led into a stone bricked driveway.

“Igna,” came from downstairs, “-you got visitors,” yelled across.

“Right,” on his feet, “-see you later, sister. Take care of the babe,” he reached in and kissed her forehead, “-tell me if there’s ever a problem. I’ll be there for you.”

“Take care, little brother.”

Solid colors, warm and unassuming interior, more of the likes to be sharp and clean – great emphasis on natural beauty, gave onto very modern set-of stairs. A black rod upon which laid white rectangular tiles, a safety hazard at first glance, on foot and the grip prove ten-fold of the security. The manor’s ground floor, open and with barely any walls, had retainers running to and fro, at the center, the emperor in pajamas and a bowl of cereal.

“You’re here,” he said with attention on the news, “-people from Odgawoan are here. They say they’re from Raven.”

“And you allowed them inside the property?”

“Don’t look so baffled,” the spoon dropped into the pool of white, he side-glanced and gave a childish smile, “-my brother-in-law is the devil of Glenda, I pity those opposing him.”

“Markus,” he shook his head and exchanged fist-bumps, “-bananas would go better than strawberries, trust me.”

“No,” he refuted, “-eating such a throbbing long member seems...”

“Just break it,” the head shook in jest, “-go check on big sister, she felt lightheaded earlier.”

“On it, and you take care.” After the battle, Igna found himself in Melmark, therein, a very heated message drove into his phone, the sender, Eira. Unable to argue, he packed himself and flew to the manor, where they’d lived for one day and two nights. The aura was very friendly – take away the title and responsibilities, the couple was but lovebirds expecting their fruit.

“Master Igna,” said a flush-cheeked maid, “-h-here,” her arms trembled at the opening the door.

“Please don’t,” he said, “-I can take care of it.”

“Y-yes sir,” she scurried into the eternal open-maze.

A push opened the gateway to heaven, the brightly colored sun blasted into the already vivid interior, “-greetings, master,” said a stunningly beautiful lady, long hair allowed to rest free on her shoulders and back, thin brows, a small flushed nose, and perkily shaped lips, a look reminiscent of Vesper’s sharp gaze, ending in a sharp chin. Her outfit was warm compared to the actual weather, leather jacket and tightly fitted jeans,”-pleasure to make thy acquaintance,” her temples, albeit hidden by her locks, grew to show signs of sweat, the glaring heat stabbed her back, “-I’m here on Asmodeus’s orders,” she said.

“...”

“Master?” it took a few minutes before he spoke.

“Master?” she kept on waving to get his attention, “-are you there?”

The five-minute mark crossed, “-yes, I’m here. Pardon the wait, it was amusing to see you fight against the heat.”

“A sadist,” murmured under her breath.

“Pardon?”

“Nothing, the thoughts of my master being a gentleman seemed far from what I’ve seen.”

“Why are you here, Medusa?”

Her smile dropped, the curves straightened into a straight line, “-how did you know?”

“I’m your master,” he shrugged, “-I’d know,” he spun, “-let’s have a drink.”

“It’s 09:45...”

“Better,” the duo settled face-to-face separated by a counter. Retainers brought juice, “-this what you meant by drinks?”

“Obviously, what did you expect?”

“Nothing, perhaps something more strong?” she reached for an orange-colored glass.

“No,” her arms froze.

“Pardon?”

“You think I wouldn’t notice, drink water. You’re hungover.”

“Yeah,” she dropped her head, “-I’m sorry. Lord Asmodeus told me to gather information at a bar... I-I, I love alcohol, I activated my powers and froze the damn client. It’s a pain,” she facepalmed, “-I screwed up and thought to drown in my sorrow. Is it so bad a thing?”

“Quit the fake crying,” he pressed an ice-cold bottle against her ears, “-you’ve made a good impression. I enjoy the company of eccentric people.”

“Master,” her face rose till her chin rested on her curled elbow, a slight tilt and flushness, “-I waited years to meet you,” added she very coyly.

“And I’ve avoided you for years.”

“Stop playing hard to get,” she smiled.

“Right,” he sipped, “-enough drinks, why are you here?”

“We have a problem; I was sent to fetch thee.”

“A problem?”

“Yes, a massive problem, concerns the casinos.”

“Right,” he stood, “-sadly, I only have beach shorts and a white T-shirt.”

“Who cares,” she followed, “-wear slippers, the owner of Raven should have the liberty to wear what he wishes.”

“Beachwear,” he looked about whilst walking to the door, “-excuse me,” he stopped and called onto a maid, “-can you take a message to Markus?” she gave her full attention, “-thank you for the warm accommodation, I’ll see you around.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes, my warmest thanks to the retainers, you made our lives so much easier. Take care,” thus, the stay at the manor ended on a high note.

During the travel, any question about the problem was averted and skillfully dodged. Medusa made a point to stare at Igna and boldly refute his worry – cars led into a helicopter, the latter turned into a jet and in a matter of hours, they crossed Fuda Mountains, flew over the expanded city of dreams, passed Carter Lake, and landed at the airport. The infrastructure reinforced in a full-fledged terminal.

“Tell me more on the problem.”

“No. Master, when a lady says no, a gentleman ought to accept her decision.”

“And I don’t care. The gentleman can go screw himself with a walking stick,” they exited the jet, “-it’s cold,” he said, “-beachwear isn’t much of help at our altitude.” The afternoon sun, or in Odgawoan’s case, the afternoon clouds, reflected on the transport. The driver made sure to take the route for the De Costle stripe. Traffic wasn’t much on an issue, ‘-been a while since I’ve come here,’ he wondered, the outskirt casinos and buildings impressively guarded the sanctuary.

“Question.”

“No,” she refuted, “-master, I’m driving...” the convertible roared to greatly impress the bystanders.

“I wouldn’t consider speeding along the strip to be driving...’

“Stop complaining,” she laughed, “-no speed limit. Drive like a maniac and die like one,” she stepped, the engine blasted through the loosely packed cars.

“Look at them,” commented a pair of young adults inside their own supercar, Medusa’s scary image closed on their rear-view mirror, “-press on the gas, we’re racing.”

“Understood,” said the driver, he pulled out and slammed, the battle rattled the spectators, she passed without breaking a sweat, a would-be race turned humiliation.

“Medusa...”

“Yes, master?”

“Were they not driving a supercar?”

“They were,” she said, “-a cheap supercar,” she laughed, “-this baby is mine, I’ve tuned it to perfection. Besides, the brand Raven, since the championship has grown very popular. This model is not regulated, nor will it ever be regulated, not legal to drive...”

“Then?”

“Screw the law, we’re Raven’s. Alphia is a capitalist society, no matter the pretty words they add to it, those in power have deep pockets. Evidently, our pockets are stockings.”

“Freak.” A side-road escaped onto the upper plane, there, she surprisingly slowed to match the others, “-where’s the flamboyant lass-”

.....

“I know what you’ll say, and I don’t care. I’m not endangering innocent lives for my entertainment. We have better ways to do so,” the shops screamed of class and wealth, from roads to the roadside trees and plants, everything felt expensive, as told by vehicles in the hundreds of thousand parked nonchalantly.

“Let’s buy you a suit,” she pulled to a rustic brick-building, a glance inside sufficed to give an idea on the price, “-head-on inside, I’ll park the car,” to which, the black beast wiped into a side-alley. ‘-let’s buy a suit she says,’ he pushed the door.

“Look what the wind dragged in,” said a sharp-gentleman dressed in a very expensive-looking suit, “-pardon me, sir, our establishment serves only the best of the best, I’m afraid,” he looked at his slippers, “-an imbecile who doesn’t care about his appearance has no business here.”

‘Right...’ he looked at his toned muscles, ‘-I look like a surfer...’ he breathed a smile, “-long as I have the money, it’s no issue, is it?”

“Money isn’t the problem,” said the tailor, “-I pour my heart and soul into my craft, I won’t allow my masterpieces to be worn by...”

“Stop being a snob,” the door opened.

“Lady Medusa,” he gawked, “-I apologize, a rat seems to have snuck into the shop,” a snap called onto a lovely assistant, “-please escort the tan man outside. I’ve readied the suits,” he turned, “-I presume tis for lord Asmodeus and Lord Mammon. I’ve used the best fabric to paint the perfect picture. The best piece to be worn on special occasions, I admit, the size isn’t for either...”

“Charlie, those suits aren’t for Asmodeus or Mammon,” she leaned against the counter, “-it’s for that man,” she pointed, “-the founding owner of Raven.”

“S-sorry?” he blinked, “-Raven, as in the mafia?”

“Right on,” she smiled,” -don’t be nervous.”

“N-not nervous, a little shaken is all,” said the few coughs.