The Summoning
Zackly Mendenhull made sure that enough blood was on the dirt magic circle.
He had employed the help of his friend Myles, who he was grateful for giving him the butcher shop’s pig blood. Zackly. was wrought with excitement for what was to come when he drove to the woods tonight. He knew that Myles was feeling the same way. This tournament, the fifth one, was finally beginning, and Zackly had made sure that he would be the first to go through this ritual to start it. To be the magus who would begin this War, to set in motion the sacred ritual that would pit himself against other prestigious magi, to be the one to stand victorious above them, and be able to obtain the most coveted of magics, was the highest of honors. These thoughts raced in his mind and projected through the shivers through his violet sweater.
He felt good that Myles was in the cave with him, giving his silent support in the background as he began the incantations for the summoning. Myles was a fellow magus, but from a second-rate family of magi. Unlike the upper class clans that were obsessed with achieving godlike power, Myles’ family was content with polishing the current knowledge of the known magics. The Tournament was the least of his priorities.
Zackly was relieved that he did not have to worry about going to war with his dear friend; because if that was the case, then he would have to put his personal feelings aside to partake in this tournament, like all magi were expected to. In this world, tradition superseded one’s own individuality. Zackly was relieved that he did not have to learn that the hard way.
Taking a big gulp to wipe out any apprehension in his voice, Zackly began to recite the words.
Myles sighed. If only Zackly knew how much their friendship meant to him. So of course he was upset that Zackly decided to participate in this War, because in Myles’ world, as a member of the Syndicate, their mission superseded one’s own individuality. Myles’ mind was fraught with a repeating phrase that blared louder than the babbling brook beside him: Why are you doing this? Whether Myles was talking to his friend, to himself, or both, he did not know. All he knew was that he had to carry out the deed. His mission was simple: prevent this War from ever happening.
Why are you doing this?
Myles reached into the adjacent rocks and with great care and silence pulled out the Glock 19 he hid there a few hours prior. He adjusted his grip on the pistol and walked behind Zackly as he began reciting the incantation. While he had to be quick, he moved in a way that did not indicate hurriedness. He would hate for Zackly’s eyes to meet his at this moment. He felt his sneakers sink in the mud with each step. Pulling himself together, he carefully aimed at the back of his friend’s head, the first weakness of a magus.
He pulled the trigger.
Myles felt his ears pop from the echoing bang and his muscles jerk from the recoil. Both caused him to blink. When he opened his eyes after a split second, Zackly had crumpled over and fallen headfirst on his intricate magic circle. Myles could see bloody streams pour out of Zackly’s skull and form a new pool of red, intermingling with the blood of the pigs. The magic bullet had shredded his brains and magic circuits like cabbage. If he was still alive, he would never be able to use magic again.
But Myles had to be sure the threat was gone. He did not spare a second to fire another magic bullet through Zackly’s back. Bang. The heart was the second weakness of a magus. After that, Myles was sure that he would not get up again.
Myles sat down on the rocks. Taking a deep breath, he called the boss.
“It’s done.”
With the death of this aspiring magician, he took comfort in his mission succeeding, and that the city, as well as his family, would be safe once more.
Setting inspired by Fate/Stay Night, owned by TYPE-MOON
