Collin J. Earl & JC Anderson
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Chapter 48 Arcane Mercenary - Ghost of the Wastes
🕑 Added 2026-01-09 22:27:04 +0000 UTCCale
I moved down the hallway as I heard the notises of commotion and people screaming. there was large set of double doors that looked for more ornate than it should. I rammed up Kenita and Reinformaent and simply slammed the door with my weight and full might of my mana. The door gave way under my shoulder.
The wards didn’t scream or flare. They peeled back, layers collapsing inward as if the structure had reached the same conclusion I had—there was no point pretending anymore.
I stepped through. The room was too large. Too open. I might have been a ball room at some point something where rich people would socialize and network. Now it was retrovefited to hold people.
I felt my anger again hot and visceral.
There people there alot of them. and not just children.
Women, too. Half a dozen at least, pressed together in the center of the space. Some held children to their chests. Others had wrapped their arms around shoulders that shook too hard to stay upright. Fear had arranged them into a single, tight shape—backs touching, no space left between them.
Men lay on the floor around them.
Dead.
These were not mercenaries or the zealots curently hovering threateningly over the people. . One sprawled near the wall, his head turned at an unnatural angle. Another lay closer to the group, one arm extended as if he’d tried to shield someone and hadn’t been fast enough. These were civilians, men who had seen a need and stepped up to protect the most vulnerable. Heros; heros that would be remembered.
Bonnie’s voice came through my ear, tight and brittle.
“Cale— I broke three feeds. Word got out. Some people realized what this place was.”
I didn’t answer.
The smell hit me next it was a ordor of blood. and burned stone. Old incense clinging to the air like something meant to sanctify what had happened here.
The zealots were already in position.
A dozen of them, maybe more, spread in a rough arc around the captives. They wore layered armor and robes stitched with overlapping symbols—none of which mattered to me. Aura rifles rested against their shoulders, steady and aligned.
They weren’t aiming at me. They were aiming at the people in the center. One of them was shouting, voice raw with conviction.
“The signal’s been given! No more delays—this ends now—”
Two men broke from the side of the room they were unarmed and desperate.
They tackled two of the soliders trying to get to their rilies. The other Zealots adjusted their weapons the Aura rifles snapping up .. The molten hotmetal shot out of the rifles killing the men and the commards of the zealots.
The women screamed. The children cowdered.
They were too quiet. Too still. Shock had locked them in place, eyes wide, mouths open without sound.
Something inside me went very cold and in considered my approcah.
Bonnie was talking—numbers, angles, warnings—but none of it mattered. I didn’t need a breakdown.
I needed space cleared.
Now.
I stepped fully into the room.
Someone saw me.
A shout went up. Rifles began to pivot.
Too late.
"Everyone" I yeild magically ampilying my voice reinforming the command with compulsion and taregting the civilins "Get on the ground!"
Every single person exluding the Zealots dropped tro the floor.
I pulled Arcanum up hard and fast, no finesse, no layering. This wasn’t a spell meant to be admired. It was heat, compressed until it screamed inside my channels. Lightning burned beneath my skin, white-blue and contained, while Aura locked the power in place.
Aura Fortis and Reinforcement anchored me to the floor.
I raised my hand.
The beam, the size of a large tree trunk came out like a geyser" .
It cut forward from my palm in a straight, unforgiving line, white-hot and absolute. There was no roar. No crack. Just light.
The first zealot vanished.
Not burned.
Not thrown.
Gone.
I feed more power than and meant. I meant to destroy the zealotsI didn't mean to destoroy The wall behind them.
Stone didn’t collapse—it ceased. Reinforced masonry unraveled into nothing as the beam punched clean through the structure. The line continued on, carving through rooms beyond, through supports and corridors I couldn’t see, leaving a glowing wound where a building used to be.
One hundred meters.
Maybe more.
The sound arrived late. Air rushing in to fill the absence. A thunderclap that shook the floor as reality slammed back into itself.
I swept my arm.
Deliberately.
The beam tracked across the arc of zealots. Rifles disappeared. Bodies came apart. Faith failed them all the same way. Anything the beam touched was erased. Anything near it was thrown aside, scorched and broken.
Aura rifles detonated as their matrices failed. Shockwaves tore through the room, flinging zealots who hadn’t yet realized they were already dead.
The floor cracked beneath me, glowing fissures spreading outward as pressure bled into stone.
I felt the cost immediately. Channels screaming. Vision narrowing. Copper and ozone flooding my mouth.
I held it anyway.
I cut a clean barrier between the captives and everything else, then snapped the beam off.
Silence fell like a dropped blade.
Smoke rolled through the room. Glowing debris clattered and cooled. The far wall was gone—night visible beyond a jagged opening, stars framed by steaming stone.
The women didn’t move at first.
Some stared at me like I might vanish if they blinked. Others cried without sound, breath shuddering in tight, broken pulls. One got her knees, hands clamped over her ears, rocking as if the world might still be tearing itself apart around her.
A little girl looked up at me from the floor.
Her face was streaked with soot and tears, eyes too large for how small she was.
“Is it… over?” she asked.
I didn’t answer right away.
I lifted my hand and let the last of the lightning bleed out of my channels, drawing it inward until the air stopped buzzing. Then I pushed Aura outward—not as force, not as threat, but as structure.
The barrier unfolded around us in a wide, shallow dome. It settled into place with a low, steady pressure, the kind that told the body it was enclosed and safe. The shattered edges of the room lay outside it now, smoke and night held back as if by an invisible wall.
Only then did I look at the girl.
“Yes,” I said. My voice was rough, but it held. “It’s over.”
Her shoulders sagged as if the word itself weighed something off her.
My knees finally bent, but I forced myself upright. I stayed where I was and forced my breathing to slow. In through the nose, hold for a count I didn’t track anymore, out through the mouth, longer than the inhale.
Again.
The tremor in my hands eased. The backlash settled from a scream into a dull ache. Only then did I let Sanatio move.
I opened it up and let it spread. The magic bled outward as a low, pale mist, warm against the skin, rolling across the floor and rising to waist height before thinning. It didn’t glow. It didn’t sparkle. It felt like standing near a hearth after coming in from the cold—heat that didn’t demand attention, only presence.
People inhaled without realizing they were doing it.
I felt the change ripple through them as the Sanatio took hold. Bleeding slowed, then stopped. Cuts drew together just enough to hold. Bruises softened from anger purple into something survivable. Shock loosened its grip, not erased, but eased—breaths deepening, shoulders lowering, hearts finding something closer to rhythm again.
The woman nearest me let out a shaky sound that might have been a laugh or a sob. Another sank fully to the floor, not collapsing this time, just sitting as if her legs had finally remembered they were allowed to stop.
A little girl stood in the mist and looked at her hands as the warmth curled around her fingers.
She glanced up at me, eyes wide and earnest.
“Are you… a Saint?” she asked quietly. “Like the Twelve?”
The question landed harder than anything else that night. I was little surprised that she wasn't scared of me. I had just killed a bunch of men and my mask wasn't exactly kid friendly.
I shook my head once. Gently.
“No,” I said. “Just someone who got here in time.”
She seemed to think about that, then nodded, satisfied in the way only children can be when the answer is simple enough to hold.
The mist thinned as the spell finished its work, fading back into nothing once it had done all it could.
It wasn’t perfect healing.
But it was enough.
Bonnie’s voice came back through the comm, breathless and unsteady. “Cale… every sensor on the island just screamed.”
I closed my eyes for half a second and let my breathing settle again.
“Good,” I said.
I stayed where I was, one hand on the floor, the other steady as the healing finished its pass.
I looked up at the nearest woman. Her hands were shaking, but she was upright now, eyes clearer than they had been moments ago.
“Everything is going to be ok?” I said my office soft.
She nodded.
“When I say move, you move,” I said. “Stay together. Don’t break formation.”
More nods rippled through the group. Not confident. Not calm.
But willing.
I let my gaze pass once over the bodies outside the barrier—the men who hadn’t made it. I didn’t linger. There was no time, and they wouldn’t have wanted it.
Bonnie spoke again. “Knight Order is seconds out. Full response. They saw everything.”
“Tell them to secure the perimeter and bring medics,” I said. “We’ve got survivors.”
“They’re asking who did this.”
I glanced at the scorched floor, the open night beyond the shattered wall, the space where zealots had stood and no longer existed.
"What did you tell them?"
"I said they wouldn't blieve me if I told them."
Despite myself. That made me laugh.
Comments
Yoursinta
thanks for the suggestion i will read over it
Bradley Weyers
Just found your story very enjoyable. One suggestions you used angry in a lot of spots where it should be anger. I was or got angry. Versus I used my anger.
Yoursinta
thanks - and I think I might just keep that line - ok I won't but still funny. I need to run it back through the software.
Caleb Reusser
Needs some editing: I fel;t my angry again hot and visrual. There people there alot of them. and not just children.
