Chapter 1
Chapter 1:
An Unexpected Shadow
The streets of New Monmouth City were ill kept; piles of trash swarmed with rats and flies even in the dark night. The downtown was long ago abandoned by everyone who could only afford to flee, leaving behind only the poor, the desperate, the criminal, and the ultra-wealthy who could afford the security needed to live in the city. Most thought the city had reached bottom in the 2010s, but after the riots and the wildly successful demands to defund the cops, things had gotten even worse. Storefronts now resembled something closer to a makeshift fortified building out of a zombie movie than any normal place of business outside of New Monmouth. The streetlights were sparce and often dark, partially due to disrepair, and partially due to the city’s new energy (and budget) saving initiatives.
It was in yet another dark alley of New Monmouth, in the east side near the docks, one thought abandoned by the older man who was leaving his night shift cook job at a Pancake House, where things began. A couple of thugs appeared from behind a dumpster as the cook walked through the alley head down and steps quick, one dragging on a glass pipe while the other held a rusty combat knife.
“Come on, Boomer,” the one with a knife said, “you know the routine.”
“Yeah… yeah…” the old cook stopped short and held his hands open and wide to show he had nothing in them, clearly having been through this before. As he slowly and deliberately reached for his wallet, the knife-wielding mugger kept walking forward and the pipe-smoker set aside the crack pipe and pulled out a small revolver, pointing it menacingly at the cook, “tell me, you want the cash or also my credit cards and ID.”
“Just the cash tonight,” the knife-wielder said, his voice sounding with false magnanimity, “don’t feel like goin’ through the trouble of dealing with plastics.”
“What about neither?” a voice suddenly resonated around the alley, somehow muffled and indistinct all while being perfectly clear.
“What you say?” the knife-wielder stopped mid stride and began looking around suspiciously, his knife coming up into a guard.
“I didn’t say anything!” the old cook looked panicked as the gun-toting mugger began advancing, his pistol held high above his head and sideways to look intimidating.
“I said: ‘What about neither?’” the voice came again, this time much more distinctly from behind the two muggers opposite where the old cook stood.
Both men spun away from the cook to look in the direction the voice had come from. The cook, realizing his fortune, shoved his wallet back into his pocket hard and began running out from the alley, fearing they would turn around and chase him. He need not have worried though, as the muggers stood transfixed in shock by what they saw: before their eyes the shadows of the alley themselves seems to rile and coagulate into a humanoid figure, a dark figure wrapped in a hooded cloak of darkness and shadow that seemed to move and about him.
“Oh boy, we got ourselves an Irregular tryin’ to be a hero here?” the knife-wielder said, “look, I’m sure you feel all special with your fancy abilities but you ain’t got what it takes!”
The cloaked figure chuckled.
“Well… maybe you’re right… but I did let your mark get away.”
The knife-wielder spun to look and let out a series of curses.
“Well, good for you, you Irreg bastard,” the knife-wielder started walking away, “Sam, light him up and show him why all those like him stick to being contractors and not heroes.”
Sam raised his revolver and pulled the trigger three times in rapid succession. The reports echoed loudly through the alley, causing everyone a moment of deafness, their ears ringing. As the echoes faded a burst of darkness streamed out from under the dumpster and slammed into Sam hurling him off his feet and throwing him hard against the asphalt, the revolver skittering out of his hand and across the pavement. He lay there stunned even as the knife-wielder spun back around, seeing the flash of an outstretched hand in a black leather glove that seemed to have directed the shadows to attack Sam. Cursing, he charged, but the Irregular had more than enough time to respond. With another motion of his hand another hammer of darkness pulled itself from the darkest corners of the alley and slammed into the charging mugger, sending him sprawling to the ground his head striking the ground. Shadows and light flickered across his eyesight as he noticed the figure approach and knelt besides him.
“Fun fact,” the voice, still muffled and indistinct despite the person standing right next to him, “it’s only 98% of Irregulars who stick to being contractors. But pedantics aside, tell your friends that good people have had enough of the decay and crime here. I am the Skiamancer, and I own the shadows and darkness of this city, they are mine now, do not use them for harming others.”
The figured stood and walked towards the entrance to the alley but never made it all the way, the shadows and darkness around him rose up and drew the Skiamancer into them leaving no trace…
“God that was close!” Dubhan Sullivan let out a long breath as he sat in the driver’s seat of his car, the shadows that he had stepped through to return here sliding back down into the cracks and cervices of the vehicle. He took a few minutes and then pushed the button to turn the car on. The engine turned over and started up, air blowing from the vehicles vents even as the radio began playing the late-night talk station it was tuned to. Dubhan tuned it out ignoring conspiracy laden droning about spiritual visitations, letting the adrenalin leave his system and replaying the events in his head.
It was an easy idea. Cruise around the damned city of New Monmouth at night, keep an eye out for petty crime, and step in. But this was the first time, and while he was sure his Irregular powers would give him an edge over any criminals armed with melee weapons, he’d not been sure about their ability to stop bullets. Fortunately, it appeared hardened shadow was quite bulletproof and once the fearful moment of gunfire had passed, the techniques he’d been practicing since his powers manifested proved to be perfectly able to handle the two muggers. Two muggers, his debut as the “Skiamancer”. Another long, shuddering breath, and probably enough for tonight. He’d proven he could do it, now was not the time to push his luck, not yet.
Shifting the car into drive, Dubhan quickly made his way through the mostly abandoned streets of the city driving west into the suburbs. Picking up the highway it took less than thirty minutes of driving before he pulled into the suburban apartment complex he called home. Parking his car and tapping the fob to lock it he got out and walked up the short flight of steps to his third floor (of four) apartment. He was about to unlock the door with his keys before he shook his head and pulled the shadows up and around him, stepping through them directly from the door into the darkness of his bedroom in the two-bedroom flat. He didn’t bother to turn on the light as he threw his clothes off and onto a pile in the corner of the room before laying down on the full-sized bed, tossing and turning a bit to get comfortable.
The action in the alley kept replaying in his head as he tried to get to sleep. So many things could have gone wrong… but they had not. The news regularly had reports of Irregular vigilantes who died trying to intervene, and never any reports on those who actually succeeded. Another shift in bed, tugging at covers to get them into place, and finally Dubhan felt the weight of sleep begin to bear down on him. Slowly he drifted off.
An Unexpected Shadow
The streets of New Monmouth City were ill kept; piles of trash swarmed with rats and flies even in the dark night. The downtown was long ago abandoned by everyone who could only afford to flee, leaving behind only the poor, the desperate, the criminal, and the ultra-wealthy who could afford the security needed to live in the city. Most thought the city had reached bottom in the 2010s, but after the riots and the wildly successful demands to defund the cops, things had gotten even worse. Storefronts now resembled something closer to a makeshift fortified building out of a zombie movie than any normal place of business outside of New Monmouth. The streetlights were sparce and often dark, partially due to disrepair, and partially due to the city’s new energy (and budget) saving initiatives.
It was in yet another dark alley of New Monmouth, in the east side near the docks, one thought abandoned by the older man who was leaving his night shift cook job at a Pancake House, where things began. A couple of thugs appeared from behind a dumpster as the cook walked through the alley head down and steps quick, one dragging on a glass pipe while the other held a rusty combat knife.
“Come on, Boomer,” the one with a knife said, “you know the routine.”
“Yeah… yeah…” the old cook stopped short and held his hands open and wide to show he had nothing in them, clearly having been through this before. As he slowly and deliberately reached for his wallet, the knife-wielding mugger kept walking forward and the pipe-smoker set aside the crack pipe and pulled out a small revolver, pointing it menacingly at the cook, “tell me, you want the cash or also my credit cards and ID.”
“Just the cash tonight,” the knife-wielder said, his voice sounding with false magnanimity, “don’t feel like goin’ through the trouble of dealing with plastics.”
“What about neither?” a voice suddenly resonated around the alley, somehow muffled and indistinct all while being perfectly clear.
“What you say?” the knife-wielder stopped mid stride and began looking around suspiciously, his knife coming up into a guard.
“I didn’t say anything!” the old cook looked panicked as the gun-toting mugger began advancing, his pistol held high above his head and sideways to look intimidating.
“I said: ‘What about neither?’” the voice came again, this time much more distinctly from behind the two muggers opposite where the old cook stood.
Both men spun away from the cook to look in the direction the voice had come from. The cook, realizing his fortune, shoved his wallet back into his pocket hard and began running out from the alley, fearing they would turn around and chase him. He need not have worried though, as the muggers stood transfixed in shock by what they saw: before their eyes the shadows of the alley themselves seems to rile and coagulate into a humanoid figure, a dark figure wrapped in a hooded cloak of darkness and shadow that seemed to move and about him.
“Oh boy, we got ourselves an Irregular tryin’ to be a hero here?” the knife-wielder said, “look, I’m sure you feel all special with your fancy abilities but you ain’t got what it takes!”
The cloaked figure chuckled.
“Well… maybe you’re right… but I did let your mark get away.”
The knife-wielder spun to look and let out a series of curses.
“Well, good for you, you Irreg bastard,” the knife-wielder started walking away, “Sam, light him up and show him why all those like him stick to being contractors and not heroes.”
Sam raised his revolver and pulled the trigger three times in rapid succession. The reports echoed loudly through the alley, causing everyone a moment of deafness, their ears ringing. As the echoes faded a burst of darkness streamed out from under the dumpster and slammed into Sam hurling him off his feet and throwing him hard against the asphalt, the revolver skittering out of his hand and across the pavement. He lay there stunned even as the knife-wielder spun back around, seeing the flash of an outstretched hand in a black leather glove that seemed to have directed the shadows to attack Sam. Cursing, he charged, but the Irregular had more than enough time to respond. With another motion of his hand another hammer of darkness pulled itself from the darkest corners of the alley and slammed into the charging mugger, sending him sprawling to the ground his head striking the ground. Shadows and light flickered across his eyesight as he noticed the figure approach and knelt besides him.
“Fun fact,” the voice, still muffled and indistinct despite the person standing right next to him, “it’s only 98% of Irregulars who stick to being contractors. But pedantics aside, tell your friends that good people have had enough of the decay and crime here. I am the Skiamancer, and I own the shadows and darkness of this city, they are mine now, do not use them for harming others.”
The figured stood and walked towards the entrance to the alley but never made it all the way, the shadows and darkness around him rose up and drew the Skiamancer into them leaving no trace…
“God that was close!” Dubhan Sullivan let out a long breath as he sat in the driver’s seat of his car, the shadows that he had stepped through to return here sliding back down into the cracks and cervices of the vehicle. He took a few minutes and then pushed the button to turn the car on. The engine turned over and started up, air blowing from the vehicles vents even as the radio began playing the late-night talk station it was tuned to. Dubhan tuned it out ignoring conspiracy laden droning about spiritual visitations, letting the adrenalin leave his system and replaying the events in his head.
It was an easy idea. Cruise around the damned city of New Monmouth at night, keep an eye out for petty crime, and step in. But this was the first time, and while he was sure his Irregular powers would give him an edge over any criminals armed with melee weapons, he’d not been sure about their ability to stop bullets. Fortunately, it appeared hardened shadow was quite bulletproof and once the fearful moment of gunfire had passed, the techniques he’d been practicing since his powers manifested proved to be perfectly able to handle the two muggers. Two muggers, his debut as the “Skiamancer”. Another long, shuddering breath, and probably enough for tonight. He’d proven he could do it, now was not the time to push his luck, not yet.
Shifting the car into drive, Dubhan quickly made his way through the mostly abandoned streets of the city driving west into the suburbs. Picking up the highway it took less than thirty minutes of driving before he pulled into the suburban apartment complex he called home. Parking his car and tapping the fob to lock it he got out and walked up the short flight of steps to his third floor (of four) apartment. He was about to unlock the door with his keys before he shook his head and pulled the shadows up and around him, stepping through them directly from the door into the darkness of his bedroom in the two-bedroom flat. He didn’t bother to turn on the light as he threw his clothes off and onto a pile in the corner of the room before laying down on the full-sized bed, tossing and turning a bit to get comfortable.
The action in the alley kept replaying in his head as he tried to get to sleep. So many things could have gone wrong… but they had not. The news regularly had reports of Irregular vigilantes who died trying to intervene, and never any reports on those who actually succeeded. Another shift in bed, tugging at covers to get them into place, and finally Dubhan felt the weight of sleep begin to bear down on him. Slowly he drifted off.
