Pyromancer- The chronicles of Isaac Karthall

The city of ash and the northern fire-brand.

None of the soldiers would have any lating illness, the low-charge flame runes on the bullets merely seared their wounds shut rather than lit them. Briefly, the attaker wondered if the men knew he could have killed them all instantly with a sweep of his hands.

Down the long corridor, The attacker found the blast-door seperating the main building and the bunker. The half-metre thick, steel and lead slab of a door would take a while to bash his way through with just the explosive blasts he could summon with his hands. Dighing inwardly, the attaker drew his combat knife. The weapon was simple affair, a basic handle, simple striaght blade, the only interesting feature being a small circular rune on the blade. He slipped the knife through the padd of his forefinger, and squezed the resultant cut. The attacker raised his hand and began to paint a circle on the door. He swirled his finger inwards, creating a spiral and then cutting through it three times, creating a spiral with a triangle within it. An explosive rune. The attaker took a couple of steps back and clapped his hands together.

BOOM.

The force of the blast ripped through the fabric of the attacker's greatcoat in a dozen places, and his pony tail was forced out from beneath his gas mask. The 'door', or rather what was left of it, was a knee high chunk of slab blown outwards. The attacker took a step over it. And narrowly avoided being hit in the face by a fire ball.

“I've been waiting for you, Isaac Karthall.” The attacker, Isaac, grimaced under his mask. How the hell did this bastard know he was coming?

Isaac slamed his hands together and a blaze of flames erpted from his outstretched arms, the residial fire taking root on the surface of Isaac's arms. The fire expanding up to his soulders and licking at the cut off ends of his greatcoat. The flames illuminated the dark hall. Isaac's eyes widened as he took in the horror around him. Across the hall stood his target, Victor fire-brand. Military deserter...and mass murderer. Surrounding him were the burnt corpses of dozens of people. Victor stood, his face illuminated by a ball of flames he held in his hands. Victor laughed at Isaac's obvious discomfort. “Bastard. What the hell did you do? Why this city, why these people?”

Victor grimaced, and his brow furrowed. “the-Answer. Why? I wanted them dead, that's why!” a gout of flames sprayed towards Isaac, but he had been expecting it. Isaac's revolver leapt into his hand and he snaped open the chamber.

“I know you might be immune to my flames, karthall, but how about lead?”

Victor threw back his cloak and revealed a sawn-off shotgun. “oh for fu-” Isaac's curse was interupted as he was forced to dive away from the hail of pellets.

Victor held the shotgun in one hand, his body muscled from years in the military.

Isaac pulled a half-dozen bullets from one of the many pockets in his coat,knocking more out in the process. Isaac sweeped his arm to create a wall of fire betwwen himself and Victor, but the latter dispersed the blaze. As he dived again, Isaac's bullets slipped through his fingers. “Damn it!”

“Can't keep this up, Isaac. Only one outcome here, you die and I live.”

“Would you mind shutting it with the crazy talk It's really starting to piss me off!” Isaac threw down his revolver, and began to bombard the fire-brand with flames.

Just as fast as Isaac threw his flames, Victor dispersed him.

Fighting fire with fire never worked, as the saying went.

Isaac was in trouble. Big trouble. If victor got a semi-clear shot with the shotgun, it would be all over.

Thankfully, all of the fire they'd been creating had formed a fairly dense cloud of smoke.

“coward! Face your death llike man!”

Victor's northern accent seemed to be getting stronger the angrier he got.

Victor began firing wildly into the smog.

“yeah, no thanks. I'm quite alri- Arrg!” a stray pellet lodged in Isaac's leg, and he fell down with a cry.

Victor barked a triumphant laugh “you talk too much, bastard!”

“go to hell! I'll meet you there later on!” Victor knew where he was now.

The fire-brand walked over to the wounded Isaac, and pointed the shotgun at him.

“ha. They send you to kill me? Ha! I am victor fire brand, and I am death to you! The military are stupider than I think if they send someone so pathetic to defeat me.”

“Ass. Fucking. hole.”

Victor frowned and for a moment his expression clouded, like he was confused.

Than he shook his head and looked back down at Isaac, his intent clear.

Isaac smiled beneath his mask as he heard a quite click sound. Most people wouldn't recognise the sond, maybe vaguely, but Isaac had heard it a hundred times prior.

Bang. The shotgun fell to the ground with a dull clunk, and Victor with it. A small crater of brain matter and bone fragments had appeared in the back of his head.

“About damn time.” Isaac said as he looked up at his rescuer, who's black, unmarked revolver's barrel still smoked.

Isaac took in his savior. A woman, mid-twenties, long shiny-black hair, rather appealing figure hidden by a great coat, similar to Isaac's own. And chocolate brown eyes.

The woman smiled coyly at Isaac, one eyebrow raised.

“Eleanor. You took your freaking time, didn't you?”

“sir, you know that I came as fast as I could.”

“and yet, I still seem to be of the opinion you must have stopped at a bar to have taken so long. Now if you don't mind, my leg hurts like crap.”

Eleanor holstered her gun, and offered Isaac a hand, encased as it was in a grey glove that matched the colour of her great coat.

Isaac took the hand and stood with a grunt, nearly falling over as he put weight onto his injured leg and flt pain shoot through his thigh.

“Damn it I was told that asshole was an ice runist, if I'd known he was a pyromancer I wouldn't have accepted the damn assignment.”

'sire, you sound like a child.”

“you sound like a nanny”

Eleanor Staffon had been Isaac's assistant and bodyguard for years. Just before Isaac had accepted the task of eliminating the rogue fire brand, Eleanor had been rdered by an anonymous senior officer to investigate a murder in the close south.

An unusual request perhaps, but one that was nessacery to be completed also. Isaac'd sent a radio message to the comand centre requesting her return, and apparently it had been accepted. If too late for her to meet him before he left. Isaac, assisted by Eleanor, limped over to the fire-brand's corpse.

Dog tags. Dog tags would be proof of Victor's death that the military needed.

The city outside was a barren land of death and destruction, and the air in the bunker was stuffy and smogy.

“By the way, why did you incapacitate the guards? Why not just show them your Id?”
“I...maight have...misplaced it....”