There exists many smells in the world. All of which have varying strengths and effects on a person. The smell of coffee or tea in the first breaks of dawn, the smell of delicacies, familiar or not, the smell of nature in the different seasons. Even the smell of family and friends, whether you are in touch with them or not.
Especially the smell of rubble, dust, mana, blood and corpses that are strewn about.
It's interesting how so many things can be common with the presence of a scent yet so different in the effects they have on a vast variety of people, depending on many of the professions of life, legitimate or no.
'I guess this is what people call "shower thoughts". ' The young man thought as he looked blankly at his handiwork.
The hall was like the aftermath of a miniature hurricane carelessly blowing through. Cracks, holes and sizeable craters peppered the large space. Furniture, or at least what was once furniture, reduced to useless splinters and burnt metal. The ceiling was blasted off, letting the pale rays of moonlight pour into the wrecked building.
Mangled bodies were scattered relentlessly all over the place. Blood stains, small and large, told signs of a massacre with the pungent scent of the remains wafting in the air. Such stenches coerced a cough out of the young man along a slight wrinkling of his nose.
His eyes stopped scanning his surroundings and focused on the one corpse he stood over that still resembled a human, albeit barely. A soft yet persistent ringing assaulted his ears.
The lavish clothes of fine silk reduced to tatters, exposing cuts, stabs, burns and slashes that peppered the body. A good amount of its torso was blown apart letting whatever mushed organs that weren't vaporised to spill unto the floor. An arm and leg nowhere to be seen, with the others being charred a nasueous shade of blackish purple.
The man's face was contorted into an expression of horror, his once neatly combed brown hair, now matted with blood and sweat. His eyes lacking the pale blue colour that they had shone with mere moments ago, now an empty abyssal colour.
Myuriem recalled Wicken Torden's final words vividly before he passed.
You won't succeed. You're going to fail this oh so righteous journey you're on, no matter how many of us you hunt and destroy. Even if you hunt us all down, she will stop you, vile monster.
A frown adorned Myuriem's face. His mana swirling and roaring beneath his skin and biking in his veins. An incessant itch urging him to scatter the remains of the filth he stood over. The grip on his bloody sword hardened, mana flowing from him into his blade and coalescing into a coating of water, cleansing it of the gore that covered it's sheen silver blade.
With his arm raised and the water coating his blade growing thicker, roiling into a wild yet precise blade, he snarled, "I'll just send her to the grave too, now won't I."
A swift strike and with it the force of a vexed tidal wave consumed the body, the large hall room and the ominous building burst apart, relentlessly torn asunder and reduced to crushed rubble.
_____________________________________
The first rays of daybreak peeked over the sky and seeped into Myuriem's bedroom, licking his face and shirtless body with a warmth that sank into his skin.
His eyes, a mix of pale blue and purple, sluggishly glanced at the window. With a slight squint and a minor spell, the curtains slowly closed with a breeze. Stubborn was the day as it's light shone persistently through the drapes.
With a slight huff, he sat up on the bed graciously given to him by the inn keeper and held the bridge of his nose with annoyance. The events of last night stayed fresh in his mind. The authorities of Elfas Kingdom were scurrying about this town, Milrada, due to the reported unprecedented assault on a branch of the Dahlia Garden that was situated on the outskirts the capital rules over.
Myuriem lightly scowled at the thought.
The organisation aided in providing people that greatly helped in fighting off the Shades whenever they reared their heads towards any of the towns as well as the nation's capital. Since they had been situated about three years ago, casualties have dropped considerably and the quality of security has increased for the kingdom. As such, they gained the trust of the king and were funded quite well to proceed with any of their operations, so long as they continued to provide aid to the kingdom. Even if said operations required the conscriptions of the townsfolk or the taking of resources from Milrada.
A sigh slipped out of the man.
'Associating themselves with a shadow mercenary guild, giving them legitimacy and their backing without any questions asked, how dumb can the king and the council be for Bram's sake.', Myuriem thought to himself.
A low rumble from his stomach reached his ears.
"I've already taken care of them." Myuriem whispered, "None of their most recent reports show any kind of communication with the other branches and it's been that way for five months now."
Myuriem cupped his chin as the memories of last night's raid came back to him, "Could this branch have been discarded and cut off that far ahead of time? Even if the other branches knew of someone taking them out, they wouldn't know the direction or pattern of their disappearance as I made sure it was completely random in each nation I went too. Not only that but this base had been established here earlier than all the others I took care of, so the thought of new but vulnerable links can't apply here."
As his mind spiralled, a thought occurred to him and it made him scowl.
"She must have known I was acting to decieve them by moving sporadically. Erase any and all contact so that by the time I get here, a long standing base of their's, I wouldn't find anything worthwhile to trace where to go next."
His mana boiled with frustration.
Another low rumble reached his ears, eliciting a huff of resignation.
"No point thinking about it now. What's done is done.", Myuriem relented.
Glancing at the clock that hung from the wall and the few clamours that he could hear from downstairs, breakfast was underway.
He marched over to the bathroom to freshen up, cleaning whatever remnant of blood and gore his water magic did not cleanse as well as any possible stench.
Upon entering, he first sees the mirror. Looking back at him was a tanned skinned man with a toned frame and a messy mane of dark blue hair that turned into a slightly dark shade of purple. His face was peppered with a few scars, the most notable being the jagged one that started from the right corner of his forehead and ended at his right cheek.
A slight flinch shook him.
"Looking as awful as ever, hm?", Myuriem said dejectedly, no reply being given to him.
A certain kind of heaviness settled in his chest as he looked into his reflection.
Slowly but surely, he looked away from the mirror, a sorrowful expression creeping up his face.
"Whatever." He spat venomously, "I thought they assured me that they would remove the mirror when I asked."
Letting the slightly cold water rinse him down, a slightly different feeling than when using water magic to bathe, the heaviness continued to dig it's way into his chest. Last night was just another fiasco, another awful massacre. Scrubbing with the sponge available and the soap lathering it, scrubbing until the filth of gore that may or may not have been there was cleansed. Scrubbing until he felt his skin, the impervious skin that had not once been scarred since that awful night all those years ago, heat up with the friction.
A shaky breath in and an even shakier one out. The soft ringing in his ears grew more ever so slightly.
"You're fine, you're okay.", Myuriem mumbled to himself, "You're okay, you're fine."
Like a sort of mantra, he repeated these words until the ringing stopped, the heaviness, while not absent, let him breathe without any overwhelming hindrance.
Stepping out of the tub, he took a calming breath in and releasing it. Focusing on the mana flowing within his veins, he called upon the a warm gust of wind to circulate around him, drying his cold and soaked skin. The circulation of wind took his mind away from the worries clouding his thoughts, enveloping him in a sense of calmness.
Hearing an even greater clamour from downstairs of varying customers further anchored him to reality. As well as reminding him that breakfast may soon end.
He dressed up in the clothes he had worn since coming to this nation. A dark red shirt with a somewhat leather texture, a green scarf with golden patterns adorning it's front, a pair of black, slightly loose pants that were ripped at the knees and finally a pair of grey high top shoes.
Before leaving his room, he glanced back to inspect his equipment: the dark red bow resting against the table at the foot of his bed, the set of leather armour that laid on the floorboards, a pair of bronze bracers on the bed covers, the weapon he personally dubbed a wand sitting on the table and finally his sword, it's silver sheen catching the glint of the morning rays and the dark purple handle waiting patiently against the wall.
A sense of fondness came over him. Odd to others but the equipments he has are like friends in his eyes, companions that won't betray nor will they fail him in any situation he may find himself in up until this point in time and past this point.
"I guess it won't be a problem leaving them as they are right now." Myuriem mumbled absently.
Stepping out of his room, the smell of eggs, bacon, pancakes and other meals flowed from downstairs to his nostrils. Another pang of hunger rumbled from his stomach.
"I'm going to end up collapsing at this rate." Myuriem sighed as he trudged downstairs.
The inn/bar/restaurant was a somewhat bustling atmosphere. Knives, spoons and other utensils clattering against their respective plates, the clamouring and loud conversations of it's customers as they told jokes and stories to one another.
Myuriem made his way through the crowd before stopping at the curved wooden counter, the waiters and waitresses zooming in and out from the counter to the kitchen and to the main lobby.
Catching the attention of a middle aged waiter, Myuriem gave his order.
"A stack of pancakes with some maple syrup, three strips of bacon and two glasses of water. I'd also like to end my stay here in about two hours."
"Right away sir. Please take your seat at one of the empty tables. We'll be with you shortly."
Finding his seat at an unoccupied wooden round table, he waited patiently for his meal.
From the tables in front and next to him, an assortment of men and women were exchanging gossip.
"Did you hear? That Dahlia Garden place got absolutely demolished last night." One of the men whispered, "The investigation is going underway but the knights from the capital haven't made heads or tails of what could have destroyed the place like that."
Myuriem focused his ears on the conversation, his eyes elsewhere while tapping his fingers away.
"I heard that the mana at the huge crater where the building used to be is pointing to the possiblity of a horde of Shades being the cause."
"Forget about that place, what about what ol' Grucius said he saw?", a woman retorted, "Apparently it was a mage that stormed the place and told him to get out of there or else he'd get caught in the cross fire. When I asked what they looked like, he couldn't remember for the life of him."
Myuriem frowned at that comment.
'The hell? I don't remember running into anyone and telling them to leave...'
"Did someone get there before I did? Was that person there when I-"
A tapping of knuckles interrupted his thoughts.
"Excuse me," a velvet laced voice called out to him, "Is this seat taken by any chance?"
Myuriem followed the arm and met a young woman smiling softly at him. Tanned skin, a youthful face adoring a few scars and a lengthy amount of dark red hair with amber streaks stopping just above her waist. She wore a light brown shirt with her sleeves pushed up, revealing a pair of brown and white bracers covering her forearms as well as a pair of gloves worn underneath them. With a pair of black pants and high buckled shoes, she gave off a surprisingly rugged yet beautiful look. Her most striking feature was her eyes; slightly slanted like a feline's and a cream colour with pupils that looked like spirals. Like a void, it sucked him in and couldn't help but feel like falling in wasn't all that ba-
Myuriem shook his head lightly, 'Where in Bram's name did that come from?'
At the same time, the woman replied, "Oh really? Thank you, I hope you don't mind me."
Myuriem quirked an eyebrow, "It's not a problem. You can sit here if you want."
And sit she did as she waited for her order. The same soft smile remained on her face as her eyes scanned the lobby, her gloved fingers tapping methodically against the wood.
After a few moments, the waiter Myuriem had talked to as well as another waiter, likely for the woman sitting opposite to him, arrived with their meals.
"Here you are sir. Your meal has been served. As for your request to end your stay, please come by the counter when you have fully retrieved all your belongings so that you can you can return the keys."
"Sure. Thanks for your help." Myuriem replied.
As he started to dig into his meal, the woman sitting with him soon started to make conversation with him.
Your pancakes look pretty good there, are they as fluffy as one would expect from pancakes?" She asked while eating a sandwich.
Seeing no reason to decline answering, Myuriem replied, "I'm not sure what kind of pancakes you've had, but I can say that you would probably enjoy these. The syrup is where the flavour starts to shine."
"That so? I'll take your word for it when next I get the opportunity to try them. Seriously, I'll be holding you to it."
Myuriem rolled his eyes, "You can always try ordering them right now. Besides, you make it sound as though we'll be seeing each other after this."
The woman rested her head on her palm, eyes closed as that same smile he had seen her with remained static in her face.
"Oh I'm sure we'll be seeing each other loads after this. Of that, you can be assured." She said ominously.
Myuriem continued to eat his meal but now he was subtly aware of two changes that he hasn't noticed until both of their meals arrived.
The seemingly muddled sounds of the once loud atmosphere of the restaurant mere moments ago. And the presence of a spell taking place, affecting both of them alone.