Jackson storms out of his office, people parting on pure survival instinct. Every step echoes through the halls, the shadows in every corner tremble in anticipation, longing to be called upon in his fury. His fists are clenched by his side, the knuckles turning white, nails digging into his palms. He hops into an elevator, people evacuating at the sight of him. He stares into the mirrored walls, wondering what people see in him that evokes such fear.
Forest green eyes stare back, a face void of expression. No snarl of rage exposing fangs, no scarlet red eyes. He is in command of his magic and his emotions, both his to control as he sees fit for the first time in ages.
And he is pissed beyond belief.
A cultist was in his city, right under his family’s nose, and dared to lay a hand on someone he cares about.
He races out of the parking garage, smoke filling the air around his screeching tires, shadows snaking close behind, awaiting their command. The Nocturne family has a powerful presence in Solomon City, aside from the business his father handles. They rule over the Winter realm and assist in keeping the peace. One of those duties involves helping keep cultistsout of the metropolitan area, filled with so many civilians whose magic couldn’t keep them safe. Normally the police would reach out to ask for help in situations like these. And typically his father or another senior member of his mother’s inner circle would handle the request.
But this, this was personal. Hakeem is Jackson’s roommate, his friend, his mana match.
Mine!
The police shouldn’t complain if Jackson can bring the suspect in himself.
Jackson got a description from Wendy: five foot ten approximate height, lean build, pale blue eyes and dirty blonde hair. It’s possible his appearance is a disguise or illusion spell. Jackson figures ordinary methods won’t work to find this guy, so he decides to put Hakeem’s training to use. Pouring his mana into the shadows surrounding him, making sure his intent is clear, he visualizes finding the bastard and making him pay for making Hakeem cry.
The shadows don’t fight back, accepting the command and racing across the city. Jackson pulls over, letting his focus fill the shadows. He takes deep, steadying breaths. He isn’t going to let this guy get away because he lost control. He can feel every dark alley, every shadow cast by a body in the sun, any spot untouched by light is his. The dark is where villains go to hide, where they lurk waiting for their next victim. Unfortunately for them, the dark is where Jackson’s rule is now absolute.
“Found you,” Jackson growls.
Jackson peels off once more, narrowly avoiding another car in the process. The man in question is only a few blocks away from ‘Shape of Brew’, hiding in the twisting alleys of the city. He’s using a shroud of shadows to secure his escape, not knowing he’s only sealing his fate. Jackson can feel the damned energy of the shadows the man tries to command.
Demonic magic.
Jackson finds the alleyway in which he tries to exit onto a main street, parking his car in front to block the escape route, and steps out to meet Hakeem’s assailant in the shadows of the alley.
“9-6-3, what’s your emergency?”
Jackson gingerly holds the phone in his right hand, as he casually slips the other into his pocket. He strolls towards the growing mass of shadow, dispelling it with a tilt of his chin.
Child’s play.
“This is Jackson Nocturne, I believe I have located the suspect of the incident involving a cultist at ‘Shape of Brew’ on Sunrise Boulevard. I’m not sure of my exact location so please trace my signal and send officers. I will keep him here.” Jackson’s eyes narrow as he spots Donnie, whose eyes glow black. He was getting ready to fight his way out of this mess.
Oh, Goody. Jackson needs to let off some steam.
“Understood, Mr. Nocturne. Solomon City appreciates your assistance. Try to avoid direct confrontation if possible, officers should be on the scene soon.”
“Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. Do forgive any screams you hear on my end. I will try to be gentle.” Jackson leaves the call going but slips his phone into his pocket, muffling the operator’s concerns.
Donnie’s hands flare with dark flames, the putrid mana lacing the air of the alley. “Don’t get any ideas kid, you’ll only end up hurt.” His voice is shaky, forehead slick with sweat, expression panicked.
Jackson chuckles, a deep and low grumble, his own eyes flaring to life. Forest green, his magic paying full attention to his commands. “Funny, you took the words right out of my mouth.”
Balls of dark flame hurl through the air as Donnie unleashes demonic magic towards Jackson. Jackson raises a hand, a wall of shadows forming at his command, snuffing them out.
Jackson tilts his head as the shadows dissolve into inky black pools by his feet, a devilish smirk spread across his face. “My oh my, impressive. My turn!”
Chains of shadows ensnare Donnie, no command given, just a thought to execute. He cries out in pain when they slam him into one of the alley’s walls, dark flames dissipating from his hands.
Hakeem said once the basics were mastered Jackson should be able tocast with pure intent fueling his mana, that’s how powerful he believed Jackson could get. For the first time in decades, Jackson believes that too. Perhaps because he’s fighting for someone else’s sake.
Chains wrap Donnie’s arms and legs, his mouth gagged by shadows. He’s pinned to the wall as a strained cry attempts to escape, only to be muffled by darkness.
Jackson decides this is an opportune time to demonstrate another spell his Hakeem showed him. He forms his hand into a claw, mana sparking between his fingers.
“Lihab”
