The Adversary

At a small outdoor cafe in the heart of Alcorith, a very different father and son duo sat waiting to order their Sunday brunch.

The older of the two, Asher, was a man of short temper and sour nature. A mop of flame-red, mussy hair was pulled in a short ponytail and frayed bangs framed his sharp green eyes. The gray sweat suit he wore was baggy and dotted with small holes and tears. His skin was a fairly dark tannish-brown, contrasting to the child sitting next to him. On his lower back, a dark blue brand burned into his skin symbolized his graduation from the familiar guild.

His ten-year-old son by adoption, Pilate, had his head down, thoughts fully focused on the sketchpad he was drawing on. His hair was long and platinum blond, unevenly cut so that some strands went past his shoulders. Pilate wore a long sweater and cargo pants, and a pale bandanna wrapped around his forehead.

Pilate practiced biourgy, which was the magical art of creating life. Through the use of a ritual pencil, he was able to create detailed sketches of a creature he wished to summon, along with a set of necessary runes. He surged his magical energy through the symbols, and the creature was temporarily brought to life to be his servant.

"Master," Pilate said cheerfully, tapping a page in his notebook with the blended graphite of his ritual pencil. "I finally finished the bird I was drawing last night! She's gonna be an awesome summon!"

Asher rolled his eyes, taking a long swig from the glass of beer he had in front of him. "Pilate, I don't care. Just shut up and let me enjoy my morning, alright?"

Pilate, unfazed by his familar's rude behavior, went back to his drawing. He stuck his ritual pencil into one of the pockets on his cream-colored pants and retrieved a mechanical pencil. He flipped the sketchbook page and began to intently draw cartoons.

Minutes later, an apron-clad waiter waltz towards the table, carrying a plate of toast and butter. Sitting the tray down before Asher, the young man gave him a confused look.

"Hey, um, does the little boy want something to eat too?" he asked, twirling his finger in Pilate's direction.

Asher grunted, smacking his hands on the metal table. "He's not hungry, you idiot! I woulda ordered him something if he wanted food! Now get out of my face or your tip will be as small as your brain!"

Startled, the waiter sped away, clutching the tray to his chest.

As Asher began to his eat his breakfast in the most aggressive manner possible, Pilate eyed the plate hungrily. He smiled nervously, tapping the tips of his fingers together. "Actually, master, I am kinda-"

Asher abruptly stopped eating, slamming down his fork. "Pilate, what did I JUST say?! If you keep your mouth running like this, you won't be getting any breakfast tomorrow either!"

No, no! Pilate thought, hastily returning to his drawings and avoiding eye contact with Asher. I have school tomorrow!

Asher ate in silence while Pilate tried his best not to further enrage him. The meal passed away quickly, the only noise being the sound of Pilate's pencil scratching against paper and Asher's glass clinking on the table.

"Pilate!" Asher suddenly hissed, smacking the young boy on top of his head. "Duck down! Don't let them see your face!" Despite being confused as to who wasn't supposed to see him, Pilate complied, slouching down in his chair.

Asher retrieved the menu the waiting had left at the table, carefully holding it in front of his face.

Just then, a group of five people walked by, composed of two grown men, a short boy, and two women. The two men walked hand in hand with the boy (who seemed to be about his age), and the two women (at least, Pilate thought the smaller, green haired person was a girl) followed a couple inches away. They seemed to be cheerfully chatting with each other, the man wearing a beret talking the loudest.

"You see that guy? The black one?" Asher whispered, kicking Pilate from under the table and snapping his attention to the dark skinned man that was walking passed them with his companions.

"Yeah, who's that?" Pilate mumbled back, talking quietly. Despite the fact that the people were several yards away from their table, he didn't want to take the chance that they could hear him.

"Umbra Mortis, my least favorite person in the universe." Asher muttered, spitting out the name like it was acid. "We went to the same familar guild together. He's my sworn enemy."

Pilate decided that it was in his best interest not to question Asher's sudden and intense distaste for what he thought was a random stranger, so he simply nodded his head.

"Did you hear what those idiots were talking about?" Asher growled, his knuckles turning white from gripping onto the edge of the table. "Umbra and whoever the crap the rest of those people were signed up as mercenaries! That's my thing! I can't believe this!"

"Did they enlist at the same guild as we did?" Pilate asked, his mind going to the child that was with Umbra. Maybe we could be friends...

"No, no, I heard him talking about Alcorith Horizons." Asher snorted, a smirk coming to his lips. "Sucks for them, I guess. I couldn't bare to look at Infinty that long; I'd throw up."

Asher stood up, shoving away the chair he was sitting in. "C'mon, twerp. We've gotta go finish up mission for our guild." He reached into his wallet, throwing several bills onto the plate and stomping off.

As Pilate rushed to catch up to his father, he couldn't help but notice he didn't even leave a tip. Thinking quick, he tossed all the change that was in his pocket (which was only about a dollar) onto the table, hoping to pay the waiter back for putting up with his master's foul attitude.

Pilate followed Asher through the busy streets of Alcorith, eventually stopping at the more secluded part of the city, surrounded by closed and condemned buildings. Asher dragged him to the mouth of a dark alley, giving him a sour glare.

Asher shuffled through the pockets of his sweatshirt, producing the switchblade he always carried with him.

"Alright, to catch it, I'm gonna need bait first. That's your job, kid. Don't screw this up." Before Pilate could question him, Asher sliced into his arm with the knife, knocking him to the ground.

The boy cried out, clutching the gash on his arm. The sight and feeling of warm blood leaking between his fingers churned his stomach, sickening him to his core.

The man pointed to the end of the alley, shoving the blade back into his pocket. "Now crawl over there and smear the blood around. That'll attract it. When it comes, keep your mouth shut." Asher gestured at the building standing near them. "I'll be up there, waiting to strike. I swear, if you mess this up.."

"I've got it." Pilate said, nodding his head frantically. Standing up on trembling legs, the boy staggered to the back of the alley, intentionally leaving a steady stream of blood behind him.

With a red flash, Asher changed his form with ease. Pilate's eyes trailed the majestic, orange-plumed bird as he flapped his wide wings, perching on the roof. He had the extravagantly long train of a peacock, but the massive talons and hooked beak of a hawk.

Asher's narrow eyes glowered on Pilate as the seconds ticked by with the steady procession of blood down his arm.

He swallowed dryly, unsure of what to expect. Asher had not informed him of the specifics of their mission, so he had no idea as to what he was playing bait for. Concern lurked in the edges of his mind as he started to wonder why his familiar had cut his arm. Was the creature they were trapping attracted to blood? If that was the case, there was a large chance that it would attack him!

Master would let me get killed! Pilate assured himself, trying to control his breathing. Or would he? A new nauseous feeling climbed into his throat as he considered the notion.

Before he could brainstorm any further on his father's ethics, the soft sound of paws hitting concrete interrupted his thoughts. Pilate glanced up, surprised by what he saw.
A plump white cat bounded towards him, tail swishing back and forth. Pilate's gaze shifted nervously from the pink-eyed cat to the bird on the roof, but Asher simply nodded, urging him on.

As the cat trotted to Pilate, it transformed mid-walk, turning into a young boy. The boy had a round, feminine face and curly hair, and he wore a white tunic. Small, floating wings stretched across his back.

Biting his lip to keep himself from talking, Pilate watched as the boy kneeled by him, lightly touching his arm.

"You are injured..." he breathed, frowning. "Allow me to heal you."

Pink runes glimmered under the boy's body and magic twirled around his fingers. He ran his index finger down the wound, the gash stitching itself together and the blood dissipating. Within seconds, there was no sign of any injury on his arm.

"Finished! Now you are all better. Please be careful as you travel home." the boy said cheerfully, clapping his hands and beaming at Pilate. As he stood up to walk away, a long, orange feather floated to the ground, landing at his feet. "Oh? What is this?" he asked as more feathers started to drop down, forming a circle around him.

Pilate scooted away from the feather-circle, fully aware of what was about to happen. The boy turned around, staring at him in confusion.

"What is-" His question was cut off as the feathers ignited, forming a tight ring of fire around him.

Asher glided down from the roof, landing gracefully on his feet in human form. "That wasn't that hard," he murmured, watching the boy writhe in fear of being burned. "Now we just have to deliver."

Author's Note- Aaah, long chapter. Really long chapter. Also, a new type of magic! I couldn't use 'biomancy' since the suffix 'mancy' refers to divination, which isn't what Pilate does. 'Urgy' means work, which matches the description pretty good to me.