Magic Hunters

No one knew when it had started, only that the pattern recurred every eight years. Long ago, the obsidian obelisk had been a godsend. The magic it granted allowed entire empires to rise and fall. It allowed slaves to free themselves, allowed cultures to spread across the globe. Without magic, I wouldn’t be where I am today.

The magic was powerful. It could do things no manmade creation could ever hope to accomplish. It served its wielders, and in turn was served. Its strength was that of the gods.

Until it wasn’t. No one knew when the consensus around magic had shifted. Before then, everyone had revered the magic wielders as gods. They worshipped those who could make or break fires, those who could water fields and stop tsunamis. They looked up to those who could feed their windmills and purify the air, those who could plow their fields and deter earthquakes.

They were fools, blinded by their uselessness. They were content to live beneath the thumb of magic rather than try to solve their own problems. They would much rather have an all-powerful being correct their mistakes than learn and grow, and improve.

Nowadays, we don’t take too kindly to magic. They held us back for far too long, and it became time that we crossed them out of the annals of history. It became time that they paid for making us into the submissive, subservient livestock that we are.

I wasn’t one of the first hunters, but I came from a long line of them. There were eight at first. One for each of the original gods. They had fought tirelessly, and they had succeeded in freeing us from tyranny. Now, it was my turn to follow in their footsteps.

I stood outside the compound. Intel had told us this was where the new gods had holed themselves up. We didn’t know much about them, only that this generation was reported to be stronger than the previous. Just like every generation of gods before.

I gripped the handle of my sword tighter. Its blade was thin and delicate, yet jagged, and etched out from obsidian, the only material that had proven effective against the gods.

Outside the doors, I could hear their voices. The gods were talking among themselves, working out how to survive the oncoming storm. They spoke about the potential of their magic and the best way to enslave the world again. And they spoke about those whom they’d already had to put down.

My gaze narrowed as I listened, thinking back to what they’d already stolen from me. My sweet, wonderful daughter, bless her heart, had been taken by the gods. No longer was she with us, and no longer could I call her the jewel of my life.

She was the reason I’d joined. Not to pay the gods back for what had happened, but because I had nothing left to live for. Why not go on a suicide mission, after all?

The breach was quick. Smoke filled the air as the door blew inward. The others rushed in ahead of me. Screams and shouts echoed off abandoned shipping containers and decaying walls.

Waves of fire rushed across the floor. A heavy storm blotted out what little light filtered through the windows. The earth underfoot trembled as we charged.

There weren’t eight of us this time. We’d learned from our mistakes. Against eight gods, we faced them with fifty mortals. It still wasn’t enough. More of us gave our lives than took one.

It was hard to see through the smoke and rain, hard to hear over the roaring fires and crashing thunder. My crew was little more than dark blots against an ever-shifting backdrop. The gods were nothing but red smudges on a gray world, stained by my rage. If nothing else, I would make sure that the god who took my daughter paid.

When I saw her, the rest of the chaos filtered out. It was just me and her. The storm quieted to a tranquil breeze. The rain cleared to give me the perfect sightline to her. I charged.

She never saw me coming. All at once, the storm shattered. No rain remained to wash away her crimson essence. No thunder crashed to hide her agonized screams. No fire lingered to warm her dying body.

I snapped my blade off in her stomach. Pieces splintered away. She collapsed to the ground. She tried to fight back. I pressed my heel against the hole through her abdomen. She screamed.

“Dad!”

I took what remained of my blade and spun it around in my grip. She watched me with tears in her eyes as I brought it down. The very same thing that had given her power took it away.

As her tears trailed down dead cheeks, as her eyes lost the beautiful amber shine of life, as her last breath eased out, I felt nothing. And why would I? The gods had taken everything from me.

“I have no daughter.”