The Wielder of Death Magic

“What business would you like to discuss?” the man took out the cigar and watched. “God’s ale,” the reply fast and stern. Hearing those two words, the man coughed. Due to smoke or bafflement, he was none the wiser.

“Excuse me, but did I hear you right?” the heavy accent whelmed his voice. “Listen,” Staxius leaned back in the chair, “-I’m not so keen on repeating my words,” the voice firm.

The response was a bit unique. None had ever dared use said tone with the boss – frankly, he didn’t know how to act. Was it wise to be angry or just bow down to the man who intrigued him fully? “I’ll be honest,” he leaned and rested the elbows on the table. “-I didn’t like the tone you used just about now. I’d like this conversation to go as smoothly as possible. I may be shooting in the dark but as powerful as someone like you can be, I’ve got just the same if not more influence over most of the people here. I won’t say my guards can defeat you, but the people outside, a single call could potentially turn the whole kingdom against you,” the threat finished with a smirk.

“Honestly, apologizing at this point would be a waste of breath. You could try and turn this kingdom against me.” Tharis got placed on the table, “-the question we should be asking is; whether the gun kills you first or that phone rings and ends me,” a deadlock, Staxius didn’t back down.

The atmosphere changed subtly, from quiet and eerie to agitated. “Touché,” the boss straightened his posture. “Glad we can agree,” as a sign of peace, the tone used grew friendlier as opposed to condescending.

“You wish to speak about God’s Ale,” the threats ended, now negotiation began. “There’s no further need for hiding the truth. Having sought this organization out from who knows where – you must know all the details. To that, I’ll simply ask, what is it that you offer?” a simple question and a neutral tone.

.....

The hands reached inside the pockets, Staxius took out a vile containing a fluid. The same flask used to contain the healing potion, but this one had a greyish color. “I’m an alchemist recognized by the guild.” Alongside the potion; the badge of alchemy came out. The boss’s face reddened, the expression changed from neutral to amazed.

“Judging by that expression, I don’t need to explain what this means.” The flask slid across the table, “-that’s a sample of God’s ale I brewed.” Hesitant, he took the flask and opened. A few sniffs later, it was placed on the table again.

“You needn’t worry,” Staxius added, it broke the man’s thought process. “-I’ve removed the substance that turns people into mindless shells. Though trusting a stranger would not be the wisest thing.”

As soon as he would reply, Staxius teleported out and back in. “I’ve found a good test subject,” the tone casual. The mage who was abducted could not but remain still and try to figure out what happened. “I’ll personally administer the drug,” the boss stood and made the poor man drink the concoction.

It took a few minutes, but the effects began to manifest. “See, that man is having the time of his life,” Staxius commented whilst carefully watching. The mage was full out drunk – the mind traveled in another world; a smile could be seen. As opposed to the normal harmful God’s ale, the effect of mindlessness wasn’t present. It took a few moments but the mage retained his wit.

Joyously, the mage stumbled out of the room. “So?” Staxius sat back down and waited. “I must say it’s impressive,” he sat opposite and thought carefully. “Being an alchemist requires a level of intellect most of our suppliers don’t have. It’s normally done using a recipe, very inconsistent with the quality. At times we get lucky and others the consumer is left to suffer the aftershocks.” Nothing complicated was being negotiated, not now anyway. Tis was but a demonstration of things to come.

“I can’t vouch for the complete safety of the consumer; there are side effects that come with such a substance. Though I guarantee that none will turn into a mindless shell. People that consciously want God’s ale are better than a slave who isn’t but a waste of time and space,” a sound argument, the alchemist held a smile.

“Let’s say I was to accept; how much could you possibly export and how much of a cut would you take?” the real negotiation began now. “On average, I could probably produce around fifty high-quality flasks. Given that the process to remove such substances is expensive, that’s the most I can do with the current equipment. However, if it’s about the old nasty stuff, the amount per week could potentially double. In short, you’ll get 50 flasks of high grade that needs to be deluded. Or 100 flask of the bad stuff that also needs to be deluded.” That was the offer, the boss took a few minutes to think.

“Using our old supplier, it’s around 150 flasks per week,” he didn’t seem to like the offer. “But, considering you’ve got a new recipe and new way of making – I could give it a try for a month, how much of a percentage do you want?”

“Fifty percent of the profit. I’m not backing down from this offer, either take it or leave it. Other rival gangs are willing to pay seventy-five percent.” Staxius forcefully made the boss feel under pressure, a bit of Dark-arts was used – emotional control.

“Deal,” he agreed. “-also, people around here refer to me as the godfather but you can just call me Renaud,” another cigar lit. “Renaud, the product will be delivered in a week after I return to Hidros. ”

“Not a problem, just contact Karlson – you’ll find him in the capital,” the voice friendly. With that, the negotiations ended. The partnership wasn’t fully effective, the product was yet to be delivered. It all depended on how the customers react to that new stuff.

“Let’s hope for a fruitful future,” they shook hands. “Also, if there are people to be assassinated, do tell Karlson – I do enjoy a bit of bloodshed,” he winked and teleported out.

‘Interesting,’ he sat, ‘-very interesting. I like this boy, having an alchemist working for the god’s ale trade will only bring more profit.’ The door closed, the night ended, Staxius fell asleep in the hotel. Sophie’s plane landed.

“Wake up,” rather than a snobbish voice speaking – a feminine and gentle voice spoke. “Aceline?” he sat; the eyes barely adjusted to the sunlight. “Yes, Scott asked me to come wake you. He had to leave earlier, apparently; we need to head to the stadium soon,” her voice felt afraid. Feeling how on edge she was, he stood and rushed to the toilet. Rather than explaining the situation, the television turned on.

“Three days before the main event, a riot has incurred in the arena. The public service has its hands full trying to calm down the spectators. The nature of said uprise has yet to be discussed though it’s speculated that some harmful substance was used.”

‘Don’t tell me,’ he heard the news, ‘-I swear if it’s drugs, the situation might get out of hands substantially.’ It turned out that the assumption was correct. After God’s ale was delivered to the clients earlier that night – some decided it would be a good idea to share it with others. And by a cruel twist of fate, that batch was the worst quality ever made.

“Aceline,” he got ready, “what is it?” she sat on the couch with the face of a frightened little girl. “Did Scott ask you to come?” a question asked out of curiosity. “No, he explicitly told me to stay home – but I c-can’t just sit back and do nothing.”

*Click,* the door locked, “don’t try and be a heroine. Your life is at risk and as the one in charge of thy protection. I simply can’t let you go,” he stood firmly against the door. The television displayed images of people going wild, the crowd grew more aggressive.

“I should have never woken you,” she added in disgust, “-why did I ever think doing such a thing would be helpful,” the disappointment in her voice could have made anyone give into her will.

“Sure, guilt shame as much as you want, I’m not moving till that situation is handled. Honestly, either have a good and logical solution or sit at home and watch television.”

It put her mind in a state of confusion, neither did she have a plan nor solution. The initial thought process was to head over there and decide what to do next. Nothing more nothing less, primitive at most.

The television continued displaying images from said uprise – the people present grew more and more dangerous. ‘Drugs can’t have such an effect on people,’ it felt weird.

The meeting organized by the Order was missed by Sophie. She overslept, the reason why mages had been called was due to this riot. It was predicted far in the past, the reason the citizen acted this way – a spell. A mind-control spell that a hidden scholar worked on behind the scene. Away from the leaders and away from most prying eyes. A spell that the creator asked to be funded but got rejected.

“Please, I’ve discovered the next step to advancing our combat mage’s capabilities,” a white-haired scholar stood before a council. This happened a few weeks ago,

“Nonsense, controlling the human mind is forbidden by the Order. Direct control that is, forcefully using a spell to disrupt the brain into doing something unsightly is not allowed. Illusion spells don’t fall in that category for most people can avoid its trap. A rather shallow spell and harmless. What you have proposed is to directly inject mana through the air into the victim’s head and force them into a state of perpetual suffering and pain.” Surrounded by hooded men and women – the idea was rejected without an argument. Having tried to do something the Order never enjoyed, the man was ousted.

This lit the spark for revenge, to that end, after threatening the order for so many days. The plan to execute the spell in the arena came to pass. The scholar proved to be smarter than anticipated, he kept them guessing for weeks on end. Calling S-ranked mages to stay by as backup in case of an emergency was the true reason.

“THERE’S A MAN WITH A GUN,” the reporter live on the scene shouted, the broadcast ended. “I apologize, we may be having interference,” the news reporter in charge sat, her breathing erratic.

“Things are getting out of hand, Staxius – if we don’t do something, m-my m-music will never r-reach the people I want it to,” she spoke in a lowered and saddened voice. “-I’m being selfish, I know that; but please.” She stood,”-please let us go to the show, I want to try and help MY FANS.” The determination pulsed throughout her veins, the eyes shone with resolve.

“This is going to cost extra,” he walked over and grabbed her arms. “Try not to puke,” *Ancient Magic: Teleportation,*

“EVERYONE CALM DOWN,” the entire vicinity screamed. Yells, cries, gunfire, it was chaos. Shoes and bottles were thrown on stage, the musicians could not perform; their lives were at risk.

“Please, get all the performers into the vehicles; the show is being closed down.” In a blue mist, Staxius teleported near the stairs leading up to that fabled podium. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?” Scott, the manager who led the evacuation cried out.

“A casual visit, what’s the situation?”