When Fantasy Glitches

"Alright, let's move!" Alwen announced, glancing at Magnus and Kolten before heading into the passage. The corridor was tight, barely wide enough for two at a time, so after Alwen, Kolten and Magnus slipped in. The rest of the soldiers lined up behind them, moving in double file.

Their footsteps echoed against the old stone stairs as they made their way down the narrow tunnel. Alwen was the first to reach the bottom.

Kolten and Magnus were only a few steps behind when they heard Alwen curse.

"Dammit."

Kolten leaned forward, trying to peer past him with what little light reached this deep into the passage.

"What is it?"

"It's blocked. They sealed both the top and bottom entrances," Alwen explained, frustration clear in his voice.

"We can break through, but it'll be loud. We might lose the element of surprise." Kolten hesitated, running through their options in his head. That's when he felt a hand on his arm. He turned to find Magnus, who motioned for him to step aside. Magnus's right hand was already reaching for the sword at his waist.

"I'll handle it," Magnus told him quietly, drawing his sword in one smooth motion. The sheath seemed to merge with the blade as he pulled it free—there was no rasp, no sound, just the quiet glide of something unnatural.

Neither Alwen nor Kolten tried to stop him. They both knew Magnus's sword was some sort of magical artifice, though its full abilities were still a mystery. The thing with magical artifacts was, you could never tell what they really did just by looking. Shape and size meant nothing. Sometimes, the materials used as a catalyst might give you a clue, but even that wasn't always right—especially not with Magnus's sword.

Its blade was just a shell for the energy field to fit around.

As Magnus stepped forward, he whispered the sword's name and swung in a sharp line at the sealed exit.

"Ruptor."

A simple name, taken from some half-remembered Latin word buried in his mind. In plain English, it meant only one thing.

Breaker.

In an instant, the condensed field around Ruptor expanded—not as a flat sheet, but as a cone that swept outward with Magnus's swing.

The effect was strange to witness, but stranger still to feel.

Alwen and Kolten could sense it: the energy spreading wasn't mana, but something different. Yet the cone didn't erase everything it touched. Only what Magnus chose disappeared. The molecular bonds holding the seal together unraveled, the heavy barricade breaking down into fine powder, and then even that dust was stripped apart, until there was nothing left but empty air. Light spilled through the open exit, revealing a hallway that looked nothing like a run-down maintenance tunnel.

Instead, it was fully furnished, obviously expensive—closer to the entrance of an exclusive club than the passage of an underground syndicate. Where they'd emerged, the wall just looked like a patch of mismatched color that had vanished.

Alwen and Kolten didn't hesitate. As soon as the way was clear, they rushed in, senses stretching out in both directions.

"Hallway's clear," Kolten announced as Magnus stepped out behind them.

"Cain, you already know the plan," Alwen called back, not bothering to go over the details again. He turned to the first few soldiers emerging from the passage.

"From now on, you take orders from Cain. Stick with him and help where you're needed. Don't give him anything he needs to report back to us about. Understood?"

The soldiers exchanged glances, then nodded in unison.

"Yes, sir."

"Good." With that, Alwen and Kolten didn't wait another moment. Barely exchanging a glance, they darted down the right corridor, moving so fast they blurred out of sight.

Magnus watched them go, then looked over at the soldiers. He stretched his neck, let out a long breath, and his thoughts flickered.

Well, guess it's time for my final switch. Kind of a shame, but here's hoping he- No, here's hoping I play nice with the soldiers.

His whole body stilled for a split second. Deep inside, his mind shifted, like rearranging the gears of a machine. Then he relaxed, hands settling on his hips as he looked around, almost talking to himself.

"Finally made it. Honestly, it feels like a dream after everything I went through just to get here."

A moment later, a quiet voice broke in.

"Um... sir?"

Magnus turned, noticing all the soldiers had filed out of the passage and were now lined up in the hall.

"Hmm? Oh, right—you're here too." Magnus's words got no immediate reaction—not because they made sense, but because the real surprise was how different he suddenly seemed. Up until now, most of the soldiers barely knew anything about Cain beyond what they'd been told. He'd always been mysterious, almost distant, and right up until a few moments ago, he'd acted exactly as they expected.

That's why, as soon as Alwen and Kolten were gone, his sudden change in attitude left everyone unsettled. For the soldiers, it wasn't what he said that was strange—it was the way he said it, like he'd flipped a switch and become someone else entirely.

Still, orders were orders. Even as Magnus clapped his hands and grinned, none of the soldiers moved much.

"So, I've never actually led a platoon before... but I did once volunteer to help with a kindergarten field trip. Don't ask for the details—I was desperate and failing a lot of classes."

He gave a cheerful shrug.

"Anyway, I doubt there's much difference. Everybody, pick a buddy and stick together. No wandering off." With that, Magnus started down the left corridor, moving with a casual air that felt wildly out of place for enemy territory.

Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

Behind him, one of the soldiers mumbled, "What?"

The confusion was clear.

"I... think he just told us to split into pairs and follow him?" Another said, not sounding convinced.

In the end, they did their best, grouping up in twos as they followed. Training kicked in, and they settled into a formation that made sense, splitting into small units behind Magnus. He was already fairly far ahead of them, his every movement casting flickers of orange torchlight along the walls.

For a while, the only sound was the steady march of boots—until they neared an intersection, where the corridor split four ways.

Ahead, voices drifted through the air.

"Why'd they call us all here, anyway?"

"No clue. Maybe there's some big meeting going on?"

"Or it's about all the shit that's been happening. We lost a whole branch overnight—we're being targeted, obviously."

"Ooh, are we gossiping?"

Five Nightshade members stood, or rather, lounged around the intersection, armored and carrying weapons far better than anything street thugs could afford. Their conversation died instantly. There had been five of them a second ago—now, suddenly, there were six.

Those leaning against the wall straightened up fast, and the ones crouched shot to their feet. The sharp scrape of weapons being drawn echoed down the corridor.

"Y- You! Where the hell did you come from?!" One of them shouted, sword leveled at Magnus, who was leaning back against the right wall.

Magnus looked up, sounding almost disappointed.

"Huh? Gossip time's over already? That's too bad—I had some juicy stories to share." He let out a flat sigh behind his mask, his whole posture slumping as if he really was just bored.

"Agh!" Another Nightshade member—standing to Magnus's right—wasn't about to humor him. Without hesitation, he swung his sword in a wide arc straight for Magnus's neck. That single move seemed to spur the others; before the first swing was even halfway, the rest were lunging in too, attacking from every angle.

But as their blades closed in, something strange happened—their speed dropped off sharply. In a blink, all the force behind their attacks just drained away. The swords froze in midair, hanging perfectly still. No matter how hard the men pushed, the weapons wouldn't budge. Their arms strained, veins bulging beneath armor as they struggled against something invisible, but the swords refused to move.

"What the hell!?" One of them gasped, gritting his teeth as he fought against the unseen force. It wasn't just that they couldn't strike Magnus—they couldn't even pull their swords away.

Magnus glanced down, toying with a small necklace at his throat.

"Huh, I have to admit, she really outdid herself this time." He smiled behind his mask, then looked back at the trapped men.

"Well, since you're not going to use these..." He reached out and, with casual ease, started plucking the swords out of the air one by one. The Nightshade members could only watch, helpless, as their weapons were pried from their grip—some holding so tight that the leather of their gloves tore when Magnus yanked the swords away.

Just like that, Magnus was holding all five blades in one hand, pinched between his fingers like a bundle of throwing knives.

He glanced at the group, a grin in his voice.

"Looks like the whole 'shoot first, ask questions later' thing didn't work out for you guys. So, I guess it's my turn now. Let's keep this simple." The Nightshade members instinctively stepped back, their eyes locked on the swords in Magnus's grasp.

Suddenly, the metal started to glow—dull red at first, then hotter and brighter. The blades were heating up, the air itself rippling from the sudden heat.

Realization flashed across one man's face.

"W-wait, this guy's a mage... He's the Wraith! The one who wiped out the Jackals!"

Fear broke out among them; confusion twisted quickly into panic.

Magnus, meanwhile, was more amused than anything. He cocked his head, voice light behind the mask.

"The Wraith? Is that what you guys call me?"

None of them bothered to answer him. Instead, as soon as one of them realized just who Magnus was—and how bad things were about to get—he did the only thing that made sense: he spun around and ran down the hall, away from the intersection.

Magnus's gaze locked onto the fleeing man, the grin behind his mask stretching wider.

"Well, that's rude. I haven't even asked my question yet." With an easy motion, Magnus plucked one of the still-glowing swords from his hand. The blade was so hot it looked almost molten, heat rippling from it in waves. He held it by the tip, as casually as if it were nothing more than a toy, and with a flick of his wrist, he threw it.

[Self Body Puppetry] powered the throw. The burning blade shot forward, cutting through the air so fast it was nearly invisible. It punched straight through the runner's chest, blood immediately boiling as it was splattered into the air and onto the surrounding surfaces as the blade slammed into the ground and pinned the man in place. His eyes went wide, the pain catching up a second later, and then the hall rang with his scream.

He was pinned to the floor by the sword, the metal searing him from the inside out. Instinct made him reach for the blade to pull it out, but the heat just burned him worse. His gloves offered no protection.

The sight—and the sound—froze the other four Nightshade members where they stood. No one else tried to run.

"Yikes, that looks painful, huh?" Magnus remarked, clicking his tongue and shaking his head in mock disappointment.

"He could have avoided all of that if he had just answered my questions." There was something in his voice—through all the filters and the flat tone, you could almost hear the humming notes in his words.

Just then, the soldiers assigned to Magnus caught up, rounding the corner. They stopped short, caught off guard by the scene: Magnus, relaxed with four radiant swords in hand, four enemies standing around him, and a fifth pinned and screaming further down the corridor.

Magnus barely spared them a glance.

"Wow, you guys are really slow. Then again, I guess everything's slow compared to teleporting, so I'll let you off this time."

He turned his attention back to the remaining four, tilting his head, his mood never dipping.

"Now, about that question. This base is pretty big, and from what I overheard, you've all been gathering here. So—where are the rest of you hiding?"

What happened next was hard to describe. For the soldiers, nothing in their training could have prepared them for what followed Magnus down here. All four men broke under his 'interrogation.' The fifth died first, but in the end, all five ended up the same way: impaled by their own swords—one pinned to the floor, three to the walls, and one left hanging from the ceiling.

It wasn't the pain that broke them, but the desperate wish for it all to end.

But Magnus was far from finished. Using the directions he'd forced out of the Nightshade members, he led the soldiers deeper into the base. Just as they had expected, the halls were crawling with people. With just those few directions, they ended up running into more and more members of the syndicate—everyone from low-level thugs to guards already stationed inside, and even a handful of surviving Titan Soldiers who had been out on missions when Magnus and Niall first attacked the guild. It didn't take long for word to spread: intruders were in the base, and soon the whole underground complex was on high alert.

Not that it made much difference to Magnus. In his eyes, they might as well have all been the same.

At one point, they came up against a barricade—a wall of men in heavy armor, shields locked together, completely blocking the hall. With only one way forward and back, and such a solid defense, breaching it should have been impossible.

But all it took was a thought. Deep inside their bodies, a deadly disease began to grow, quietly devouring their strength and energy. Within minutes, those standing at the front could barely hold up their shields. With another thought, Magnus let out a laugh, and those still clinging to their weapons found those weapons suddenly frozen solid, as if trapped in arctic ice for centuries. Their swords and shields cracked and crumbled in their frostbitten hands.

Magnus wasn't the only one moving through the base, of course. He could feel faint tremors in the earth, echoing throughout the underground stronghold. Maybe it was Alwen and Kolten, maybe others from his faction—he wasn't sure. But one thing was obvious: chaos was only just beginning.

News of the raid was still spreading, but it couldn't keep up with the pace of destruction.

With no mages or knights left to stop him, Magnus strolled through Nightshade's base as if he owned the place. The soldiers trailing behind barely had to fight at all. Most just watched, silent, as the scene unfolded around them.

One of them couldn't help but think to themself, uneasy as they marched through the trail of carnage left behind by Magnus.

This doesn't even feel like a raid... This feels like we're just watching an extermination.