The explosion rocked the very foundations of the large, brick and mortis building. Another followed, and another. With each massive boom of sound the outside of the building was scorched with a new layer of ash. The ashes of dozens of lives pooled between bricks as the wind concussed by the explosions swept them from the charcoal ground. All around the building lay the ravages of war; the burnt husks tht remained of soldiers, burnt cloth and flesh peeling where flames had scorched them. Ash wastes spreading out, dust billowing through the blown-out carcasses of building mode of less sturdy material than the centre of emergency that now barely withstood an onslaught of flames. The entire city had fallen, reduced to ash, mud and charcoal. Men, women and children all killed, murdered by a monster masquarading as man. The entire city was a graveyard. Nearly the entire population of the simple, if not peaceful people were dead. All that remained was several dozen people, mostly women and children, still held up in the building. Every explosion was heralded by a loud cracking sound, Altough those hiding within the centre couldn't hear it over the massive bang of the explosions themselves. The building's corrugated and reinforced doors were fastened closed, near immpossible to break. But the source of the explosions was trying it's damnedest. Behind the door, a pair of soldiers, two of just fifteen trained men left alive, stood with their rifles braced against their shoulders and their feet planted in the ground, sweat pouring unbidden down their brows as they awaited whatever over or whoever it was attacking. It had only been hours before that both men had been at home with their families, and now their entire city was dead. Their greyish-blue longcoats were drenched with sweat. Dehind them steretched the central hallway that led in a slight downwards, into the heart, the emergency bunker of the building, within which another eight guards and dozens of women and children prayed for the explosions to stop. The rest of the guards stood in rows down the corridor, all guns aimed squarely at the massive door. Each rifle had the power to easily kill a man with a single shot to the centre mass, and all of the soldiers trained extensively. All of the men had the hammers of their rifles already cocked back, ready to fire in an instant. The foundations of the building were already strained by the immesely strong explosions periodically rocking them. One of two soldiers just infront of the door took a step backwards, he had a strange feeling, as tough the room's temperature had rapidly increased to the point of un-bbearabilty. The soldier's throat dryed, and he tried to swallow the lump rising in his throat. Another explosion was heard, and the soldier would swear that s small red-tinted circle had appeared in the door. He squinted to look at it closer, as another splosion smashed trough the air. There was no denying it: there was a big patch in the door where the rediculously thick steel had acquired an orange tint. Boom. Crash. A circular piece of the door flew forwards, a molten chunk of slag plunging through the air. The soldier who had stepped back narrowly avoided beig hit by the slag, and dropped to the ground as drops of liquid metal flew into his eye, sizzling through flesh. The soldier second closer to the door was not quite so fortunate. The molten slag hit him with tremendous force, knocking him back through the air and killing him even before the liquid metal could begin destroying his flesh. The rest of the soldiers reacted instantly, taking up cover position behind hastily erected barricades made from everything from turned over carts to cast-iron pots. They all aimed at the smoking, man-sized hole in the massive door, ready to fire at the slightest provocation. The smoke from the hole obscured their vision, so they wouldn't know if anything crawled through it. But no one would be crazy enough to do that, any part of them that touched the still super-hot inside would burn. Well, apparently that wasn't true. None of the soldiers saw through the haze, a man dressed in a smoke-grey military greatcoat with It sleeves torn off and its front open to reveal impressive musclulature , as well as grey trousers and black military boots. These items as well as a charcoal-black gasmask he wore to shroud his face allowed the man to blend easily with the smoke. The attacker had a small, steel revolver in one hand, a strange circle carved into one side of its case. His other arm, from the shoulder down, was on fire. Flames bubbled and broiled over his skin, feeding on the somehow unharmed fleh. The fames weren't burning, or even paining, not so much as bothering the attacker. And indeed, upon closer inspection one realised that the flames weren'tfeeding from his entire arm, rather from a circle similar to the one on his weapon, branded into the palm of his hand. Usually the Atacker would throw a fire ball at his opposition, it was an ideal situation to do so as most of the barriers were made of wood. But the explosions he had made outside had drained him of his energy, so the revolver would have to do. While the runes carved into his hands, runes of fire, took his energy, that carved on the side of his gun, one of binding, combined with the already charged runes of fire on each and every bullet he had, wouldn't tire him in the least. Aiming carefully, the attacker made his first shot. A bullet, trailing flames through the air, smashed into one soldier's rifle, rendering the weapon useless. The hammer clicked back again, and a second bullet flew through the air. With a satisfying thunk, another soldier's gun was made useless. Finally the men regained their wits, and several bullets flew through the air. But the attacker had a decade of military experience, and the power of his runes to help him. All over his attire small runes brightly lit up, haloing him in a bright blue as the wards nearly over-loaded trying to black the bullets. This particular form of rune wasn't the attacker specialty, and the wards were only just strong enough to block the shots. As it were, most of them over-loaded and became useless. The attacker shot again, taking a man in the leg and another through an ear, dropping both of them. Both of the remaining soldiers were fearful now, and one turned to run deeper into the building. An armour penetrating shot went straight theough his shoulder, and another through his leg. The final soldier dropped his gun and drew a knife even as his comrade fell. The attaker momentarily marveld at the man's courage, but still put a bullet through the latter's shoulder. The soldier fell heavily, falling nearly onto knife, and saved only by the attacker shooting the knife out from under him.
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....”