Kyle the Apprentice Warlock

10:53 AM September 13^th 2026

Radio Empire Concert Hall New York, NY

DJ Deveraux was just packing up to get a head start on the afterparty when he heard the call. The drummer and the second bassist of Maiden’s Voyage were out of commission and the lead singer was desperately calling for anyone who could fill in from the openers.  Before he could muster the arrogance to volunteer himself, someone else chimed in that ‘DJ Deveraux is a technomage, he could cover both parts”.

“Really?”  The leather-clad singer grasped at the statement with desperation and relief.  “Where is he?  He hasn’t left yet, has he?” Swallowing the crow of joy that threatened to leap from his throat, Devereaux sauntered up to the frantic frontliner as he turned to look for the technomage.

“I’m right here.”  Devereaux gave the other musician a big friendly grin even though he knew the star would never have given him the time of day in any other circumstances.

“Did you hear?  Are you willing to stand in?  There are thousands of tickets we’d have to refund if…”  The man trailed off as Devereaux held up a hand graciously.  One might even say he did it calmly.  This was it.  This was his chance.  This was his one shot at being famous for his music.  He was shocked that his hand didn’t quiver even the slightest and his voice was clear and firm, reassuring even.

“I’d be honored and delighted.”

As if the entire backstage had been holding its collective breath for a frozen second, unsure if he would accept, some hoping he wouldn’t so that they might have a chance, then the spell broke, and everyone sprang into action.

“Alright, Comeon.”  The singer had an accent that Devereaux hadn’t noticed at first.  Now it came out strongly.  Though the technomages could not place it.  “I got George’s bass on stage.  Hey, you, roadie,” he called out to one of the technicians dressed all in black that were all over the backstage and most definitely weren’t all part of this particular band’s personal roadie group.  “Set up the bass for hands-free operation.”

“Don’t forget the drums,” Devereaux added.

“The drums too?”  The technician called back uncertainly.

“They’re electric, aren’t they?”  He turned to the singer from Maiden’s Voyage who nodded.

“Yeah?”  His tone was voice made it clear that he didn’t think they could be used that way.

“Then I can operate those hands-free also, I can switch back and forth between the two if you like.  The grin of delight that met his words was immensely gratifying.

“I do like.”  He clapped the DJ on a shoulder as they walked to their locations on the stage.  “I would like that very much.”

Before he knew it, the curtains were going back up and he was reading sheet music someone had discreetly placed for him.  It was cleverly lit with one of the effects lights that were on him.  But it wasn’t necessary.  He recognized the song from the radio, and he was playing it mostly from memory. 

They’d started out quiet and the announcer was letting everyone know that Technomage DJ Devereaux was guest appearing with the band.  Like no one was going to notice that he was covering for two missing members.  That was fine. 

His magic was humming through the drums and the bass as he sat down and started playing by hand.  The singer and the backup were belting out the lyrics, but they were not looking good.  They were looking quite bad actually.  Sweating and swaying like they were about to topple over.

The lead singer lost it first as he ran for the side curtain.  He barely made it past the sight of the crowd before tossing his cookies all over the stagehand who had rushed to bring him a bottled water and a bucket.  There was a faltering in the cheering of the crowd before DJ Devereaux started a crazy drum riff. 

He rolled out the snare into a fast complicated rhythm on the toms that wasn’t part of the song but that he knew would punch it up a bit.  After laying into the hi-hat with a crash for good measure, Devereaux chucked the drumsticks out into the crowd.  Then he pointed at the lead singer’s abandoned guitar lying on the stage and made that baby stand up and walk into place as it rejoined the song.

The lead guitarist waved at the technomage to get his attention and clutched at his abdomen.  Devereaux nodded and gestured for the guitarist to toss his instrument at him.  With a doubtful cock of his head, the musician complied.  The audience lost their minds. 

And Devereaux flicked out one hand and caught the guitar with his magic only to set it playing immediately.  With a quick gesture of his other hand, one of the abandoned microphones leaped into his fingers.  Coordinating so many instruments at once was only a light strain for him.  He’d practiced this kind of thing for years.  Now, he began to sing, finishing up the song he’d started.

Three songs later, the lights went out as every piece of electronics in the Concert Hall not hardened against magical overload whined with a piercing crescendo.  Cell phone batteries exploded in people’s pockets while cameras burst into flames taking a few hands with them.  Plastic cases started melting and the music stopped.

It wasn’t Devereaux’s doing.

10:55 AM September 13^th

The two motorcyclists chasing the Mountain King Movers van approached quickly.  Though the van was now speeding through the streets, its driver was unable to shake the more mobile bikes behind it.  Knowing there is nowhere for their quarry to go, the duo close on the vehicle quickly.  Their expertise allows them to avoid falling or crashing despite the less-than-ideal road conditions in this part of town.

Dodging cracks and potholes as they swerve around corners, the bikers are undeterred even with freeway overpass pylons flashing by.  Closer and closer they creep until one is able to reach out with their left hand and touch the handles on the back gate of the truck.  The other cyclist grabbed the left handlebar of the first cyclist’s bike as the first biker grabbed the truck.

Smooth as silk, the transition.  The first cyclist jumped over the handlebars of his bike onto the back bumper of the truck as their partner took control of their bike and pulled it along with them.  They used their grip on the handle to pull themselves forward and up.  It was a maneuver intended to protect the vehicle rather than let it fall to the ground and be damaged.  They wanted a fast getaway.

After taking a moment to stabilize their position the grim bandit shoved one hand through the solid metal rear gate of the moving truck.  The metal tore with a screech.  Once they had the more secure handhold of the deformed gate, the attacker took their other hand off the handle and used it to help push the opening they’d made even further open.  Little by little, they forced their way inside.

Staccato gunfire echoed around the intruder, ricocheting off their head and shoulders. From inside one of the defenders shouted.

“Either they’ve got the mother of all defensive magic or they’re not human.”  His words are followed by curses.  “Barrier up.”  The hum of a spell activating chimed loud enough to be heard even over the gunfire.

Behind the barrier and the armed men was the one unarmed man and his metal box.  He cowered with terror and seemed to try flinching with the sound of each shot fired.  Upon hearing the guard’s shouted warning about the attacker’s defensive magic, he began frantically working to open his box.

“What are you doing?”  One of the two guards who was inside the barrier with him called out angrily.  The man they were guarding had distracted the guard at a critical time and it might…it did.  One of the two guards outside the barrier was pummeled with a crushing blow from the unknown attacker.

“This artifact will disable any magical protections he has.”  He was fumbling hastily with unlocking the box when a gurgling scream drew his eyes up from his task.  The scientist, or whatever he was, stared in horror as the second guard outside the magical barrier was chucked out of the mangled rear of the truck to bounce sickeningly off the pavement.  It was then that he remembered that there was not one, but two such terrors to worry about as the second motorcycle rider dodged the rolling body with both bikes, keeping pace with their fleeing vehicle easily.

Now nothing stood between them and the thin but sturdy barrier protecting the thing they wanted.  The tall humanoid shape disguised in thick motorcycling gear stalked toward the group and began smashing down their barricade.

“What are you doing?”  The keeper of the box screamed hysterically.  “Shoot them!”  He’d paused only briefly in his fumbling to open the box as layer after layer of protective insulation was ripped off in his haste.

“If we fire before he takes down the barrier the bullets will just bounce around inside it and hit one of us.”  The leader shouted back.  This was not how today was supposed to go.  It was supposed to be a simple relocation job. 

With a whoosh, the barrier came down and the two remaining guards began to fire.  They only stopped when they had to reload but there wasn’t any point.  They were going to die.  Then the civilian shrieked in triumph. 

“Yes!  Take this, whatever kind of monster you are!”  There was a high-pitched whine, like the sound batteries made before they exploded from magical overload.  The protective barrier was trying to sputter back to life, but it didn’t matter because the person-sized attacker went down like a thousand-pound sack of flesh, hitting the floor with a clang.  Behind the van, the remaining motorcyclist following them lost control of both motorcycles and rolled away in a devastating flipping disaster.

 Then the whining sound was followed by a whump that shook the whole van as it moved.  A few seconds later there was a small compressive explosion inside the van, and everyone ceased moving.  That might have been the end of it, but the cause of that small explosion was an enormous surge of magical energy.  A devastating shockwave of arcane power spread from the scene of the event.

Luckily the city was built to harvest and direct harmful quantities of magic.  The infrastructure built into the roads directed the wave of power into the conduits that fed the city’s magic collectors.  The magic collectors, miraculous workings of science and magic that protected all of New York City, in turn, made a similar high-pitched whining sound albeit magnified a thousand times before they too were overloaded by the massive influx of magic. 

Across the city, batteries exploded, plastic melted, and Prometheus-brand emergency flares went off, their color-coded light, notifying residents of how much magic they were currently exposed to.