Dark Wizard's Case

If Alex had been the same person he'd been four years before, he would've responded with a full-fledged attack. His Decaying Fire spell would have forced Bromwoord to defend himself, and he would have followed it up with Hellish Lightning, his fastest and most powerful spell.

Seizing the initiative would have bought him enough time to figure out what to do about the damn staff. As his teacher used to say, magic wasn't like fighting with clubs, where the larger club won. It was a duel with rapiers, the kind of encounter where victory went to the person who was smartest and most skilled.

But he wasn't the same person. Four long years had gone by.

They may not have been good for his health, physical or mental, but they'd still taught Alex a few things, restraint and prudence chief among them.

The last time he'd checked his magic capacity, the doctor had clocked it at 1132 mana points. That was above the minimum threshold of the Mystic level, which ranged from 1000 to 3000 points.

In other words, Alex was a level eleven Mystic. Not bad at all, even regardless of the fact that he'd reached that level at age 16.

Over the time he'd spent in prison, he couldn't possibly have lost more than 30 mana points.

But Bromwoord was holding a magic battle staff capable of releasing 750 mana points instantly, unlike Alex's spells, and it would be using two elements at once. That meant Alex would have to shield himself against both if he wanted to avoid taking damage.

He might have been able to do so if he cast his spells quickly enough, but that was highly unlikely.

He was powerful, not omnipotent.

"What's the matter, Bromwoord?" Alex sighed. "We used to work together so well. I pulled a few things over on you, you pulled a few things over on me. It may not have been honest from beginning to end, but it was great. Mutually beneficial, too."

"I'm not going to repeat myself," the dwarf said through clenched, square teeth. "Get out, Alood. Don't make me do something I'd hate to do."

Again, the man Alex had been four years ago would've flared up instantly, but the Alex of that day just caught the dwarf's turn of phrase.

"You'd hate to do it? Why?"

As far as Alex could remember, the dwarf had never been tender-hearted or good-natured. He wouldn't have been able to keep his business running for so many years in Atlantis' most crime-ridden district otherwise.

"Try to put yourself in my shoes, Alood. I want my beard back. Stones and rocks, at my age, I should be thinking about a wife! Two wives, even!"

Alex squinted at him. Then he had a flash of insight.

"Was it the Syndicate? Did they get to you?"

"Those human gangsters?" Bromwoord snorted. "If it was them, I'd happily give you your money back, and then I'd also buy that thing poking out of your pocket so seductively. And none of your homophobic jokes, please."

Alex pulled a small notebook out of his pants pocket. Using ink he'd made from the rubber soles of his prison sneakers, he'd written down about a dozen different spells over the four years.

"Think about it, Bromwoord. This is pretty good stuff right here." Alex waved the notebook back and forth slowly, then put it down on the table next to Bromwoord. It was close enough for him to see the greedy flash in the dwarf's square-pupiled eyes. (Dwarves seemed to only have square body parts.) "Dark battle magic. Several curses. Two of them with a bit of demonic magic mixed in. The maximum mana generation goes up to four hundred, enough to pierce any cop's magic-proof vest."

"And they'll get through it?"

"They will," Doom replied with a nod. "I'd stake my reputation on it, not to mention—"

"Enough!" The dwarf, his staff still aimed at Alex's face, shook his head like a dog trying to get dry. "Stop trying to change my mind with your tall tales. You had a reputation, Alood, but that was four years ago. There's new talent on the market now, and law enforcement is really tightening the screws on dark magic and dark magic practitioners. If something like that found its way onto the streets, I'd be arrested in a flash."

"Why…" Alex didn't finish his sentence. He looked into the dwarf's eyes and cursed, loudly and emotionally. A sudden pain stabbed at his heart. It wasn't a strong one, but it was still unpleasant. "I should have guessed how the prosecutor knew about all my cash flows."

"You'd have done the same, Alood," Bromwoord replied with a dismissive wave. "What else could I do? The uniforms leaned on me hard. I'm already bald, and if I were broke, too, I'd spend the rest of my days in some circus gnawing on stones to make humans laugh."

"So, you sold me, Bromie. You sold me out to avoid inconveniencing yourself."

"You'd have done the same, dark wizard," the dwarf said again.

No, I wouldn't have.

"If you need e-cash that badly, I'll discount the stuff and—"

"I don't need it discounted. Not for free. Not even if you pay me!" the dwarf barked. His breathing became ragged, gray vapor burst out of his mouth, and his c.h.e.s.t rose and fell like a bellows. Outside his glass-enclosed office, the many magic items and artifacts started to quiver. The staff wasn't the only argument the dwarf had to back him up there in his workshop. "Don't you get it, Alood? A little while ago, I got a visit by some men so powerful that…that… Damn you, Alood! Don't make me do it. I'm asking you in the name of Black-Bearded Budut, don't force my hand! Please, just leave."

Alex finally realized what was behind the dwarf's outburst.

In all their years of illegal activity, all the dozens of deals they'd made with the worst bastards of High Garden, he'd never seen Bromwoord show fear.

Not even once. Until that day.

The most unnerving part was that he wasn't afraid of Alex. It was the people he'd just mentioned that terrified him.

"Who could have you this scared, Bromie? Who was it?"

"I'm saying this for the third and final time, Doom. Leave."

For a few moments, they played a silent staring game. As Alex peered at the man—dwarf, rather—his heartbeat gradually slowed.

He should have been used to it by then. He should have accepted that simple truth a long time before.

Dark wizards don't have friends.

They only have temporary allies and eternal enemies.

"This is the last time we'll be meeting, Bromwoord, son of Baburd." Alex stood and went to button up his suit only to realize he wasn't wearing one. There was no vest or even dress shirt, either. He'd been arrested while jogging in track pants and a T-shirt, and an attorney had brought him the leather jacket he was wearing. It was the only help he'd dared offer. "Because the next time we come face to face, I'm going to kill you."

His piece said, Alex turned and left the workshop of his old—no, not friend—former business partner, one who was now on the other side of a barricade along with the rest of the world.

He ascended the staircase and found himself back in the storefront, where he stole a glance at the Probationer. The latter backed away into the farthest and darkest corner of his fenced-off workplace, whining pitifully as he went.

The bulletproof glass was no longer hissing and spitting up red-hot sparks. The melted gun had stuck to its surface like a steel crust.

Alex took out a pack of cigarettes.

"N-n-no smoking in here," the pimpled boy mumbled.

Alex froze and stared at him in astonishment.

"The world is off its rocker," he whispered as he walked out without lighting his cigarette.

There was one more thing he had to do before heading to the apartment the state had provided him with.