Cyber Magic: Introduction

Artemvian Delacreu Moneti was sitting on a stump, waiting for his assassins to arrive.

It was raining and the sky was dark, for midnight had passed long ago.  He debated infusing his body with flame-elemental mana for the sake of keeping warm but decided to enjoy the cold.  There was something to be said about feeling new sensations so near the hour of his death.  It could be because he was growing sentimental in his old age, but Artemvian regretted not spending more time outdoors instead of cooped up in that library.

There were many other things he regretted.

He’d been trained by the wetboys of The Empire since he was no more than 6 years old.  He had no memories before that, except for a weeping woman who received a fat coin pouch after she gave his hand over to a cloaked man.  The woman’s hand had been warm and safe.  The cloaked man’s hands were cold and clammy, unpleasant.  But he knew better than to fight back, even at that age.  Artem remembered looking back one more time, leaving the weeping woman behind.

Since then, his life had been one filled with death and violence, until the pathways of his mind ran with rivulets of blood.

It hadn’t always been bad.  Sometimes, he helped people.  He had liked doing that.  Back nearly four scores ago, when dark things still walked the night and The Empire had yet to grow strong enough to protect every nook and cranny.  The wetboys doubled as guards of the night, protecting the populace from all sorts of devils, daemons and sometimes, from their own foolish selves.  

Yes.  It hadn’t been the worst.

He smiled as the first of the assassins reached him.

The assassin stepped out of the shadows and even without the moon, the young man exuded a presence.  Perhaps it was more correct to say lack of a presence but noticeable nonetheless.  The night seemed to grow darker, the shades a little bit longer.  The sounds of rain became muffled, and through those subtle signs Artemvian knew that the assassins had arrived.  Surely, this man in front of him wasn’t the only one.

It was only out of courtesy that he’d come alone.

“Magus Artemvian.”  The assassin spoke, his voice warbled through the enchanted mask.

Artemvian bowed his head a fraction of an inch in acknowledgement.

“You should’ve ran.”  He spat, stepping aside as more assassins filled the clearing.

“Would’ve ben dishonorable.”  Artemvian smirked, knowing that the man could see him.  Then he placed a finger over his heart, making the shape of an X.  “Make it quick and I won’t fight back.  Cross my heart.”

The assassin hissed.  “It’s not too late.  We can keep the other assassins at bay, buy you time to get away.”

The ancient mage sighed, shaking his head and seemed to grow older.  “I’m tired, brother.  Besides, the Emperor will find out.  And then he’ll have you hunted down.  Then that someone might lose you and then he’ll have to be hunted down.”  The mage raised his head higher.  “The cycle ends with me.”

“Don’t be a fool.”  His voice became filled with purpose.  Urgency.  “We can take care of ourselves.  You did more than enough for this Empire and the Emperor.  Leave, Artemvian.  Just leave.  You’re nearly a hundred years old, enjoy what little years you have left.”

“Perhaps I’ll live to be two hundred if you let me go.”  Artemvian quipped.  “Then someone will see me walking around with a cane and you’ll still get in trouble.”

The man snorted through the mask and the tension between them lowered somewhat, their conversation easing into a familiar rhythm.  “And how would you do that?”

Artemvian waggled his fingers.  “Magic.”  He said dramatically.

The two of them said nothing.

“The Emperor’s scared of you.”  The assassin said at last.

“He should be.”  Artemvian had a faint smile on his face.  “Magic, remember?”  His smile turned bitter.  “Besides, I know too much.”

“I’m just the relic of a bygone era.  We both knew what would happen when the Prince became Emperor.  I was too connected to his father.”  Artemvian shook his head.  “Get it over with.”

“Artem… it doesn’t have to be this way.”

“It does,”  Artemvian snapped, “By the stars, I’m not perfect.  One day, I’ll be tempted.  To prolong my life by a few years, or to become emperor myself.  Or perhaps I’ll end up falling in love-”

The assassin snorted but Artemvian continued.

“-with a beautiful woman with great curves.”  Artemvian’s voice grew heated.  “I’ve lived long enough.  The things I know should be buried with me and end with me.”  Then in a sad voice, he added, “I’ve already burnt the library.”

“What?!”  The assassin took a step closer.  “You mean-”

“The Library Academ Magica.  The most complete collection of books, scrolls and research on our art that one can find anywhere.”  The mage stood up, stretching his legs.  The rain matted his robes down to outline his nearly skeletal body.  “The knowledge… dies with me.  Or it will be misused.”

“This is the only way.”  The assassin muttered.

Their mantra. The only words that kept them sane when doing unspeakable deeds that they would not wish on their worst enemies.

“This is the only way.”  Artemvian Delacreu Moneti agreed.

“Thank you, for everything.”  With those words, the Assassin blurred into motion and thrust his dagger into Artemvian’s chest, right in his heart.

Artemvian looked into his killer’s eyes.

“Good hunting, apprentice.”  

“...Good bye, master.”

And Artemvian died.