The taste of failure; he was no stranger to it. That foul flavor was hard to erase.

Oddly enough, his past experiences served to help him not at all to numb his frustration, his humiliation. Trevor nearly tripped over his pair of soggy feet, stuttering over unstabled, grimy soil. 

How was he expected to face his men, those who had placed their trust in him? Those who craved to slit Esteras' throats and counted on him to materialize their grand ambitions? If a leader couldn't even bring proper results then what good were they?

For a time, these thoughts drizzled his brain much like the rain plopping atop his scalp. Over the course of his miserable and wet trek, however, he longed for nothing more than to escape the putrid night storm. 

He rendezvoused with his men, or at least, those that survived the fire sorcerer's ruthless ambush, at the northern sector of the district in a compact pocket of earth surrounded by soaked, metal structures. When he arrived he could sense their disappointment jetting at him without even having to look them in the eyes. 

Then again, he wasn't too concerned. So what if one of their bases were compromised? So what if their forces had been crippled? What did this change? Not a thing. The heart of Esteras would turn silver regardless.

Uttering a curse, Trevor plumped his behind onto a wooden crate and dropped his arms, still partially covered with patches of ice, onto his trembling knees. He'd expended nearly every ounce of essence in his body. 

He amazed himself at how he hadn't fainted yet. All of his remaining men, shivering shadows trapping him in a ring, chose not to speak. More than likely afraid to voice their concerns to a leader who looked ready to pounce at any living creature out of anger. Little did they know he'd barely have the strength to form a proper scowl, much less move.

This didn't stop one brave soul from approaching him, though. A man by the name of Harrow Felt. His second in command. It was always easy to discern him from the crowd courtesy of the distinguished scar running across his golden skin and over a squinted eye like a blackened trench. 

"Sir," he began. "I've rounded up everyone who could still move. The others, well, they're a lost cause."

"Noble sacrifices to the greater picture. I shall remember them well when the promised day comes," Trevor mumbled. "And what of the manite crystals?"

"Already taken care of." Harrow motioned to a pair of men a short distance behind him. In their hands, they both carried a black, leather pouch that emitted a bright, cerulean glow out of their opened mouths. "Everything's secure, don't you worry."

"Very good."

"However, the Esteran sorcerers are here. I highly urge that we vacate this place. Otherwise, we will assuredly get caught."

Trevor was no fool. He was barely a match for a single sorcerer. They'd be quickly annihilated if they were to face an entire squadron of the devils. A gurgling groan collapsed through his teeth as he slowly rose to his feet. "Any word from . . ." Harrow rushed to his aid, managing to catch him before he plummeted to the mud. "That sorcerer . . ." he continued. "Has he jumped ship?"

"We haven't spoken since before this mess started. Though, if he's got any brains, he wouldn't dare show himself now. Not after everything that's happened. If he truly is still on our side I'm sure he'll try to contact us soon. For now, my top priority is to get you out of here."

"R- Right, let's move."

A sudden spark of energy singed his spine. He'd felt it before. A grief-stricken expression covering his face, Trevor pushed away from Harrow and started looking for the source of electrifying essence. 

"Sir, is everything alright?" Harrow hesitantly inquired. 

Trevor paid him no mind. None of his men were sorcerers like him. They couldn't detect the danger he was in. Golden eyes vividly scanned the area, working their way from bubbling mud, up the shining walls of warehouses, and finally, to the rooftops towering above them. It was there he found the intruder. 

A bolt of lightning clapped throughout the sky, dressing the sorcerer in a layer of blue and shadowing his cold, unforgiving glare. Crouched on the very edge of a roof the sorcerer's silent gaze met his own. On top of the building a short distance in front of them, Trevor sensed his enemy's magical energy continue to expand, begging to be released.

"Open fire!" he heard Harrow shout, his abrupt and loud order infiltrating his unsuspecting oral cavities. 

The scarred man leaped in front of him and, with the rest of the men present, began firing their rifles. Metal bullets shot across the air yet none of them met their target. In the blink of an eye, the sorcerer, coated in white electricity, surged from the roof and down towards the earth, completely avoiding the swarm of lead. 

The way in which he moved, why, Trevor was fairly certain the sorcerer had teleported. One instance he was above them and the next he stood at the center of the men who'd yet to realize what had happened. Harrow was barely able to belch an excited scream before the electric explosion commenced.

The tome's magic and his magical energy coalesced. As he shouted something into the night sky from his body pulsed an enormous storm of lightning so bright Trevor was forced to shut his eyes. It consumed them all, Trevor just barely discerning their high-pitched, pain-filled shrieks over the sound of the roaring buzz of lightning. 

When the spell had concluded and the electricity faded, each man stood exactly where they were. Frozen in time. Smoke poured off their bodies. Each individual strand of hair on their heads petrified and erected. Skin and clothing alike had been unaffectionately cooked, now covered in streams of unsightly obsidian. 

Like statues, they remained standing, until finally, their paralyzed bones loosened. One by one they dropped to the ground with gaping jaws and whitened eyeballs. Everything was silent say for the endless, commenting droplets of rain.

Standing victorious at the center of a field of hushed tongues and smoked weaponry, the sorcerer directed his gaze at Trevor. Sensing his hostile intent, Trevor drew a sloppy magic circle in the air and shot his palm at the enemy. His spell wouldn't be as powerful as it usually was but, if he could land a successful hit, it'd surely purchase him enough time to make an escape.

This plan never saw the light of day.

As Trevor briefly shut his eyes and opened them again, he couldn't find the sorcerer. What instead he felt was the stinging blow of an uppercut to his chin. He saw him for a split second as the pain migrated into his face. The sorcerer was in front of him, staring deeply into his soul. 

Then he vanished. 

Then the pain assaulted him once more, this time originating from the right side of his waist. 

This pattern would continue much to Trevor's agonizing dismay. The sorcerer would appear, strike him with a lightning-infused punch, and disappear. He moved so quickly Trevor was beginning to suspect there were multiple of him.

At first, he could discern brief glimpses of him but, as the minutes passed and the attacks kept landing, he wasn' sure what to believe. His eyes only caught zagging trails of lightning and instant flashes of a boy in black.

Whether it be his neck, chest, stomach, waist, or spine, the bullets of pain assaulted him without discrimination with a burst of force. Bang! He was trapped in an electric cage with no way out. Forced to bear the seemingly endless waves of agony. 

It hurt. 

It hurt so badly he wanted to die. 

Bang! His pain turned to fear. 

Bang! 

His fear turned to frustration. Bang! 

This frustration transformed into anger. 

And that anger fueled his blood-curdling cry.

"You dare make a mockery of me?! I'll kill you for this, filthy Esteran!" Trevor roared.

Trevor slammed a frosty hand to the ground, jetting a cloud of icy wind in every direction. At last the pain stopped. His bleeding and ravaged body was spared a moment of relief. Gasping for breath, Trevor gazed out of his swollen eyes to see if he'd done it. If he'd vanquished his tormenter. 

The sorcerer answered his crumbing inquiry by materializing right in front of him, standing so close their noses nearly kissed. Widened eyes stared at him whilst his lips whispered in a chilling tone the name of the spell. The name of his demise. "Fulmeno Pisto.". The sorcerer placed the tip of his surging forefinger softly against Trevor's chest.

His screams exploded. Frozen in astonishment, The Coldfire Sorcerer felt the electricity rape the core of his being until only a smoking husk of a man who desired to spark a revolution remained. He dropped to his knees, the last semblance of lightning out his veins. His sizzled body flinched and shuddered. Not only could he taste defeat but also blood coagulated across his tongue. His vision had become distorted as he could hardly discern the face of the sorcerer who had bested him.

"You'll surrender if you know what's good for you," instructed the young yet firm voice. "You'll be taken to Golmirch Prison until the date of your trial is set. Refrain from doing anything that would further serve to worsen your inevitable sentence."

"Shut...the hell...up," Trevor croaked, blood leaking out his mouth and nose. "Kill me...I'd rather die...than be taken prisoner...by you animals."

"That's some pride you've got. Is it really worth dying over? Oh, and I'm not going to kill you. Not every combat mage thinks the same, I have you know."

"You're just a kid...I wouldn't expect you to understand...not a thing..."

"Yeah, well you wouldn't be the first," he sighed. "You aim to harm Esteras, yes? My home? Frankly, that's all I need to understand. It's reason enough to stop you, at least. Now please, do yourself a favor and be quiet. Arguing with me won't change anything."

Is a punk like this really gonna be the guy to do me in? Me?! Though he could barely feel anything, Trevor clenched his teeth so much his cheeks began vibrating. It wasn't supposed to end like this! If I just had some more essence! If I could get my hands on a manite crystal! I'd be able to wipe this sorcerer out with a single spell! Trevor plummeted a fist onto the wet ground and shut his eyelids. His body shuddered with rage. This can't be happening! Not after everything I've sacrificed! This can't be...

Along with advancing footsteps a new voice appeared. "Pathetic. Can't I count on you Gyrakian miscreants to do anything right?" Trevor opened his eyes and looked forward. Granted, he still couldn't see anything. His world had become shrouded by a thick fog. However, he could detect an essence signature he recognized. It was enough to make him want to leap to the heavens with joy.

"It's you..." Trevor grunted. "It's you, isn't it? You've finally come, have you? Worthless sorcerer!"

"It's me," the voice answered plainly.

"Stop right there!" shouted the lightning sorcerer. "Step into the light where I can see you! Very slowly."

"As you wish, combat mage."

Trevor heard the sorcerer shuffle next to him as he belched a bewildered gasp. "What the?! What is the meaning of this?! Wh- Why are you here?!" he fiercely demanded. "Say something!"

"You seem promising," the voice replied, its words veiled in regret. "I'm sorry it had to be you, child..."

* * *

They arrived in a field of corpses; the scent of ash was still thick in the air.

Men and women drenched in scorched clothing yet kept damp from the buckets of rainwater were plentiful, some kissing the mud whilst others faced the heavens with white pupils and spread out limbs. 

But this grim, darkened sight wasn't what first acquired Ebony's attention. Stepping inside of the warehouse district turned battleground, the girl detected the sizzling sensation of essence particles having yet to fade into the obscurity of the atmosphere.

Mages and mageborn alike had the potential to sense the presence of essence, even at a young age. The more skilled, however, were even capable of recognizing the identity of a mage simply based on the kind of essence they emitted. Scholars and researchers claim that every mage's essence has a different "sensation", so to speak. 

While many held their reservations towards this abstract notion, Ebony certainly believed it held a semblance of merit. After all, even if she'd remained ignorant of their situation until this point, she would have nevertheless realized Rune was the culprit behind this oil painting of disaster. His unique fiery spirit and passion burned like wildfire in each and every essence particle.

"I always knew he was powerful, but this..." stuttered an astonished Philips.

Ebony trailed James and the others as they advanced further into the muddy graveyard. James himself slowly scanned the area, tapping his top lip as he did so. Obviously, this wasn't part of his plan that he was so confident in. Nevertheless, considering the situation, he did well at masking the frustration that Ebony was certain lingered deep within his core. "Spread out into groups. If Thatch is still here then we have to find him before he gets away," the major ordered. "Ransford and Springs too."

"Ashborn, you're with me," grunted Rikter.

The girl didn't bother to question or refute his order. Nodding, she swiftly answered, "As you wish, sir."

His brown-colored tome hanging from his waist combusted into emerald flames before flying into the air, hovering patiently in front of him. "Armis Instruo!" the combat mage instructured. In a period of what Ebony counted to be five seconds, Riker was consumed in a flash of aggressive light before his skin hardened. 

He was like armor, or rather, a walking mannequin coated in a shining layer of reinforced steel. This was the first Ebony had seen metal magic up close and in person. Quite a sight to behold, even if it was a simple equipment-type spell. "Ironheart" was an appropriate title for the man known as Rikter Leones. Being the only notable master of metal magic in the country he quickly made a name for himself, even if he maintained an infamous reputation for being reckless.

Rikter glanced back at Ebony over his shoulder and said, "Keep close, Ashborn. There could still be enemies running about."

"Yes sir,"

She and Rikter headed eastward, leaving Philips and Hazel to check the west sector of the locale whilst James, Sabine, and Striker began to round up the parade of burnt puppets. They followed the muddy trail gradually and carefully. The deeper they plunged inside of the distinct, the more compact it became. 

Metal buildings constructed winding roads, although, occasionally, they would arrive at large square-shaped clearings. Little else would be found here, discounting piles of metal pillars and the occasional wooden crate.

Ebony made sure to stay close to her commanding officer, the mage's reinforced gaze attentively analyzing the path as his tome hovered near his right shoulder. Rainwater drenched his smooth, metal exterior, managing to partially capture Ebony's own worried expression and reflect it right back at her.

"Do you think they're alright?" she asked worriedly. "Ransford and Springs, I mean."

"They're both capable combat mages, are they not? I can't imagine Griffin recruiting them if he deemed their skills to be lacking."

"R..Right, sir."

Rikter frowned. "Keep your guard up, little one. Someone's essence signature is growing stronger. We're getting closer."

No sooner did he say this than a man dressed in a cloak, a Gyrakian by the looks of his exposed, brown skin, leaped from around the corner of a building. With a dagger in his right hand, the man wildly charged at them with little regard for his own safety. 

A foolish decision, Ebony thought. 

She sensed that he retained a below-average amount of essence inside him. He wasn't a mage, not in the slightest. Henceforth, attacking a pair of well-trained combat mages wouldn't reward him with the results he sought. 

However, as he closed in on Rikter, who stood in between them both, she noticed a trail of turquoise-colored symbols running down the blade of his weapon. The dagger had been enchanted.

"Die, Esteran mutts! This is for Gyrak!!"

Rikter stood still as the tip of the dagger struck his skin, only for its blade to shatter into numerous, diamond-shaped fragments. The Gyrakian, partially thrown off by what just happened, found himself stumbling backward as the metal man he'd attacked mere seconds prior hadn't moved in the slightest. "The hell?! How are you alive?!" he cursed.

"You'd be wise to remember that imitations of magic fail to compare to the genuine article."

Rikter blitzed off his spot and at the stunned Gyrakian. Taking into account his hulking size, and that he was covered in magic-enhanced armor, Ebony was more than shocked to see him move so quickly. The same could be said for their enemy as he didn't even try to move. Swinging his arm back, Rikter buried his metal-coated fist straight into the center of the Gyrakian's face. Bones crunched and blood splattered.

A herculean amount of force instantly pulverized him, sending him to the floor and with a crater for a face. Even if he went to the best doctors or medical mages in the country, Ebony feared there was little that could be done to restore the man to how he used to look. In the reports that she read regarding the Ironheart Mage, there was always an emphasis on how ruthless he could be during a duel. 

Apparently, those accounts weren't exaggerations as she once fought. Rikter was a complete monster. If this was how he behaved against a regular human, then what would he become when he fought against an actual threat? The thought alone made Ebony shiver with reluctance.

"Now then, let's be on our way."

"Shouldn't we restrain him, sir?"

"Trust me, he won't be getting up any time soon." Rikter regarded the downed man with a pitiful glare. "And I didn't even hit him that hard."

After their temporary bout, they pressed onward.

Just like Rikter had mentioned earlier, the essence signature was indeed growing stronger. She followed the metal hulk in between a tight passage. What was interesting about them was that they'd been smeared in spiraling waves of black. 

The remnants of uncontrolled flames. There was only one mage she would be responsible for this mess, and her suspicions were quickly proven to be true. She exited the passage after the general, only to find him petrified in place, staring blankly at the boy in front of them. To her relief, Rune didn't look to be injured. 

He sat at the center of a clearing cluttered with melting bricks of ice and sparkling sprites of ignited embers crouched on his knees and with his head slumped to the ground.

"Rune..." Ebony started.

Before she'd the chance to finish her sentence, Rikter bolted for the boy. He grabbed a handful of his uniform and yanked him into the air, pulling him ever so close to his face so that Rune may bear witness to every ounce of the general's furious expression. 

"Ransford, you young fool! Do you have any idea what you've done?!" he roared, his booming voice echoing throughout the vicinity. "Assaulting a teammate! Pursuing the terrorists alone and without consulting the rest of us! Your actions tonight have jeopardized our entire operation! And for what?!"

Rune offered to him a deflated frown. "I'm sorry..."

"You can only muster a feeble apology like that?!" Rikter shouted, his nostrils flaring like vibrating mouths of caverns.

"...I thought...I thought I was close," Rune continued. "Close to finding...the person who..."

Rikter looked away from him and dropped the mage onto the floor, mud splattering from underneath his bottom. "I'm not interested in your excuses, Ransford. All that matters is the present." He reached into pocket, pulling out a radio and holding it to the side of his head. "You stay put. Ashborn, keep an eye on this sorry excuse for a combat mage. I'll contact Griffin. Hopefully, he has better news than us."

Ebony didn't bother to respond as the brigadier general responded. She only looked at Rune, his hands and knees kissing the grimy earth. When he glanced his head upward at her, she recognized the grief, the pain oozing from his eyes. She imagined what he was going through currently wasn't that much different than what she had experienced in the past. At least, in regards to the festering emotions that constantly pestered their psyches. 

She wanted to say something, wanted to ease him of his burdens and rest his conscience. But what was she to say? She couldn't so easily ignore what he'd done. Everything Rikter said was true. Rune had, in fact, compromised the mission. Why should she be trying to help him when he'd acted so selfishly?

"I'm sorry. Is that what you want me to say?" he muttered, tears beginning to cascade down his cheeks.

Ebony frowned. "Rune..."

"Yeah, I get it, okay? I messed up! I messed up big time! But Thatch, he was a fire mage like me! The chances of him killing my mother, ruining my life! I couldn't ignore that possibility?! That's all I could think about! Blame me if you must. But if you were in my position, if you thought the murderer of your family was staring you straight in the face, what would you have done? Or rather, what did you expect me to do?! I'm only human..." Rune held his head back and screamed into the showering night skies, "I'm only a human, dammit!!"

Ebony stared down at the grieving mage and said, "I won't sugarcoat it, Rune. The blame for this mission's derailment is undeniably yours." She told him the unfiltered truth, even if he didn't want to hear it. "However, at the very least, I can understand where your head was at. Simply put, you only did what your heart thought was right. And at the end of the day, that's all most of us realistically can do. Even so, we should still be prepared to face the repercussions of our selfishness. Don't you think?"

"I did all of this for nothing, Ebony. At the end of the day, that bastard Thatch wasn't even the guy I'm looking for." He slapped a hand onto his dirty face. "Ryas, I feel like such an idiot!"

"It's okay, everyone makes mistakes. What's important is that we don't repeat them." She extended a hand down at him, gifting him with a smile. "Now let's get you off the floor and out of the rain already. How embarrassing would it be for a fire mage to catch a cold?"

Though he hesitated, Rune seemed as if he was about to accept her genuine offer. That was until Rikter erupted behind them. "Dammit!" he cursed. Ebony glanced around to see the mage drop his radio into a heap of mud. He stared at them both not with a fiery rage that he'd brandished at Rune not too long ago, but with the blue expression of sadness.

"What happened, sir?" Ebony inquired.

"There appears to have been...an incident," he croaked. "We've got ourselves a mage down."

"W...What?!" Rune exclaimed, his eyes wide with shock.

* * *

"What a mess..."

Half-opened eyes stared at the gruesome sight before him. What had, at one point, been a promising young mage that, because of Ryas' graces, was granted an exceptionally rare gift was no a lifeless corpse eternally resting atop a marsh. Streams of red and fleshy, pulsating entrails alike gushed out of chest, flooding out to create a pool of blood that stained the earth. This development would definitely complement things.

According to Sabine, reports of explosions and gunfire had already made their way to the soldiers and medical mages of Star Bell. It was to be expected. At this rate, James predicted outside forces would be arriving any minute now. And once they did, their so-called "secret mission" would be revealed to the world. 

Everything they'd accomplished until this point would be for naught. Just the mere thought of it made him want to shout and kick in an unbridled fit of frustration. But, regardless of their situation, he was still their leader, even if he was a doomed man. As such, he acted accordingly, reserving himself to simply bawling his trembling fists and assaulting the corpse with conflicted glances of grief, disappointment, and rage.

His attempts at masking his true emotions must have failed to convince, however, as it wasn't long before Sabine rested a hand on his shoulder. When she did, James felt his whole body shake abruptly. Taking a deep breath in and exhaling out his nostrils, he acknowledged her with a restrained look of indifference.

"This wasn't your fault," she told him.

James looked at the corpse in front of him, and then proceeded to release a series of deflated chuckles. "Sure it was. I who coerced him into this, did I not? If I had just let things be the way they were, he'd still have a golden career awaiting him," he responded, covering his forehead with a palm and then gazing upward at the rainy sky. "Maybe it should've been me. Maybe I should have died..."

Sabine struck him on the rear of his head, James nearly stumbling onto the ground as a result. "Don't talk like that, sir! It isn't like you!"

"But I..."

"There are always mishaps in battle! You and I learned this the hard way during those seven years of hell, didn't we? Times are different now. Young boys and girls aren't forced into the military to become murderers. They have a choice. And he chose to join us," Sabine declared, her once confident voice breaking the longer she spoke. "He knew what he was getting into and what the risk was. Even if it turned out like this, I doubt he'd want for us to give up. If we do, then everything, including his death, will truly have been for nothing."

James hung his head. "I..I..."

"Don't drive yourself crazy over this, sir," she advised, stepping closer to him. "The most important question you can ask yourself now is: What exactly should our next move be?"

To her inquiry, James adopted a firm assertion and an unwavering disposition. He turned to face Hazel and Striker who were preoccupied with rounding up the Gyrakian terrorists, and at Philips a few meters behind them chatting on a radio. James walked up to the mage and grabbed him by the arm, Philips understandably gasping by his major's sudden, alien action. "Listen, to me," James muttered. "I need you to round up three of these guys, alright?"

Philips raised a brow. "You are referring to the Gyrakians?"

"Yes, I am."

"Pardon me asking, but for what purpose? Reinforcements will be arriving soon."

"We don't have much time," James grumbled. "Just trust me on this, will you? Pick out three of them and escort them out of here. Am I to be understood?"

"And if they retaliate?"

"Then you have my permission to exercise force in order to "nudge" them in the right direction," James answered. "Your magic is good for that sort of thing, isn't it?"

"I'm not exactly sure what you're planning, sir, but my captain has faith in you. As do I," Philips said, giving him a salute. "Leave it to me."

James nodded at him before rejoining Sabine, and a curious Striker as well. "Should I even ask what all of that was about?"

"I'll explain later. Any updates of Thatch?"

"Nope," Striker denied. "That bastard's like a ghost. He and a few of his men disappeared without so much of a trace. The cowards."

"No, with his base exposed, there's no point in staying here. Let's just pray he hasn't gotten too far. If he's still in Star Bell, then we might be able to..."

"Major Griffin!" a loud voice called. James turned to find Rikter returning from his patrol, Ebony and, most notably, Rune following behind him. Quite interestingly, Rune's face was masked with an overwhelming amount of anxiety. Although, given the circumstances, it wasn't hard to deduce why that was. "Is what you said true? Is he..."

"I'm sorry," James cut him off.

Sabine grabbed her left arm and reported, "He was already dead by the time we found him. Even if the medical mages were with us, there was nothing they'd be able to do, I'm afraid. He's gone..."

"Where is he?" Rune uttered.

Striker brandished a feral scowl. "You've gotta lot of nerve showing yourself like this! I outta bust your skull for what you did to me!"

As justified as his aggression might have been, James nonetheless halted his advances, tugging the soldier tightly on his arm. For he knew what it was like to lose someone close, may it be a family member or, in this case, a friend. Rune and himself were much alike, in that regard. Therefore, he didn't say anything, allowing the disheartened mage to pass them and trot to the corpse.

"W...Why....did this have to happen?" he asked, tears starting to fill his eyes. Rune's knees collided with the ground. He reached a quivering arm towards Daze, that goofy, pure-hearted smile of innocence no longer gracing the novice's face. "....I never wanted this! Why?!" he cried again, slamming a fist into the mud.

"This is the gamble of being a combat mage, Ransford. We can't always save everyone." James looked over in the direction from where the sounds of marching feet synchronously stepped into the mud and men's voices could be heard. "It's impossible to fight death, especially if it finds us first. What only we can do for the ones we've lost, is live."