There was a loud crack as Brennon’s skull was slammed into the brick wall of the alley, hard hands pinning him tightly against the stone. It knocked the breath out of him, his consciousness reeling as pain flared down his spine. Stunned, his hands fought to circle his assailant’s wrists, desperate to somehow break the hold, but his effort went in vain. 

Even in the thick shadows and against the starless sky of night, Bren could see the hulking mass of the man that gripped him. He was twice Bren’s size, arms thick with muscle beneath his coat. The man’s hair fell in long, lank strips over his face, making only his eyes visible, dark and shining against the dim. “A little runt like you shouldn’t be in these streets,” the gruff voice muttered with hot, stinking breath. 

Bren found himself wincing at the stench, turning his face away only for the man to grab his jaw and force him to meet his gaze. 

The man chuckled deeply, shaking his head slowly as his teeth shone through the darkness in a grin. “You’s not goin' nowhere. Not for free. Turn out your pockets.”

Bren’s heart skipped a beat at the man’s words, feeling the stranger’s grip shift so he could reach for his valuables. Looking away from the man, Bren’s bright eyes flicked to either end of the alley, past the dark shapes of crates and heaps of discarded trash. There was no one walking the dark cobblestone streets beyond, the pools of light from lanterns barely visible.

They were alone, no witnesses.

The assailant shook him violently, Bren rattled as he stared up at the man who shouted, “What are you waiting for? Give me the gold!”

Gritting his teeth, Bren’s upper lip curled in a snarl. “You want what's in my pocket?” Bren slipped his fingers into the deep, velvet pocket of his cloak…and grinned. “It's all yours.” 

The moment he touched the thick metal coin he felt the prick of magic on his fingers; a spark igniting. It was like ice, a chill surging through his veins as a dark light glowed from the coin and smoke seeped from his fingertips. He brought out his hand quickly, gripping the coin in a vice. An unnatural wind swept through the alley, the glow in Bren’s hand growing brighter as power surged from the connection. 

The man dropped his hold instantly, eyes wide with fear as he stumbled back. “Fuck…you’re an Umbra!” 

The word made Bren flinch with unexpected rage, his grin turning to a grimace as he stepped toward the man. “That’s right,” he spat, jerking his hand out toward the stranger. Before the man could move, an unseen force blasted him backwards, the hulking figure falling defenselessly at Bren’s feet. “Might want to be a bit more careful next time you choose your target.” 

Though he’d been confident he had the upper hand, it was short lived as a scraping metallic sound echoed off the stone and Bren saw a glint of metal. Letting out a sharp breath he moved his hand, the magic around him forming a shield as the man lunged up for him and brought down a dagger. 

Bren grunted, fighting against the sudden clash and pressure of the blow as the blade collided with his magic. Fulgurant sparks shot out at the impact, like liquid lightning as the blade chipped away at the barrier he’d created. 

Letting out a noise of fury, Bren pushed back, the two of them locked in a struggle of force. The man grinned menacingly as he pulled back his arm and brought it hammering down in an arc once more, almost splitting through the dome that enveloped Bren. “Scum like you doesn’t deserve to be here!” the man shouted, his voice making Bren’s ears ring. “You’re corrupted!”

The coin in Bren’s hand vibrated, threatening to slip out of his grip. Waiting for the man to pull back and strike him again, Bren brought down his shield and sliced his hand quickly through the air. Lightning cracked along the path of his movement, dispersing into sharp, jagged shards that shot outward in an instant. Like a barrage of bullets they ripped through the man standing before him and collided with the opposite wall of the alley in a shower of fragmented light. 

Bren was panting for breath, trembling as he watched the man slump forward onto his knees, the knife clattering to the ground. The man let out a gurgling sound as he slowly pressed his fingers to his chest. Even in the dark, Bren could see his hand come away slick and red with blood; it seeped out in inky splotches, spreading through his clothes. His stomach bottomed out, knees weak as he saw the man tip forward without resistance and fell face first into a pool of his own blood. 

Everything went quiet in the alley as the magic in Bren’s hand died down. The glow dissipated and the coin stilled, hot and burning in his hand as if he’d held it over a fire. His eyes didn’t leave the crumpled figure of the man as he tried to catch his breath, half expecting him to spring up again like he had the last time. Bren was frozen and immobile, gaze fixated on the man’s thick blood that flowed through the grooves and cracks of the cobblestone, trickling toward him as if it were drawn to where he stood. 

Pulling up his hood over his dark hair, Bren was ready to walk away when there was a sudden rush of footsteps that sounded near the mouth of the alley, getting louder as people ran toward him. A flash of lamplight flooded the narrow street, Bren flinching as he saw the crisp red uniforms that were fitted to the couple that stood there. 

Prosecutors. 

A blaring alarm sounded as a red flare shot up high above the rooftops, igniting into an ominous ruby glow of falling flames above them. An automated voice blasted through the night, deafening him even over the wailing alarm: “UMBRA SIGHTED. DANGER. CLEAR THE STREETS.” It rang out on repeat, and not just through the alley, but through all nearby streets, alerting everyone in the vicinity of his presence.

The prosecutors charged forward at rapid speed, drawing their firearms and pointing them directly at Bren as they closed the distance. “You! Don’t move! You’re under arrest by order of the Manos—!”

Bren didn’t let them finish as he rubbed his fingers over the coin in his hand once more, awakening its power. Swearing under his breath, Bren squeezed his eyes closed, focusing every effort on the magic that channeled through him. Each muscle in his body tensed and prickled, a cold numbness washing over him before his eyes flew open and he felt all the power pulse outward. Swirls of smoke swelled around him in a plume of black, the alleyway disintegrating into a dark void where only the rush of wind battered his senses. 

He felt like he was falling, plummeting through the earth at lightning speed, though his feet were rooted in place. His body was painfully tight, the pressure threatening to split him apart and shatter his bones. There was a moment where he couldn’t breathe, clutching at his chest as he became desperate for breath. Darkness ebbed at his vision, Bren fighting to stay conscious as the smoke passed over his eyes in a fog. 

Slamming down on his hands and knees, Bren gasped for air, spluttering and coughing as if he’d nearly drowned. He dropped the coin beside him, all magic coming to a sudden, dead stop as it thunked into the earth. His fingers dug into the damp soil beneath him as he anchored himself from falling over, his mind still spinning as he tried to fill his lungs with deep breaths. His chest ached, heart pounding against his ribs as if he’d run a mile. His skin felt bruised and battered, all of him trembling as sweat drenched his dark hair. 

That had been too close. 

Bren sat back on his knees, his stomach squirming as he looked down at where his hands rested on his lap. His eyes widened as fear flooded him. His fingers were black as if they’d been stained in ink, nails thick and clawlike. Dark spines coated his fingers and the back of his hands, quivering as he curled them into fists. He could hear his own pulse in his ears, drumming as adrenaline flowed in his blood. 

This was the corruption that overtook him after using too much magic… 

The consequence for being an Umbra. 

Scum like you doesn’t deserve to be here! You’re corrupted!

Gritting his teeth, Bren shut his eyes against the memory, grunting as images of the man that had nearly killed him flashed behind his lids. 

Desperate to push aside the anguish and terror of almost being killed—almost being caught—Bren looked up at his surroundings. For a moment, he let out a sigh of relief; he was far away from the alley and the prosecutors. He knelt between lush trees, growing in perfect rows at the edge of a pristinely manicured lawn. A garden of roses was misted with dew, illuminated by golden light that shone from the intricate crystal windows of a manor house.  

Bren flinched as he saw a shadow pass by a window, quickly grabbing the coin he’d dropped before pushing himself up and stepping behind a large tree trunk, hoping he hadn’t been seen. Panic flared in him as he leaned back against the rough bark, trying to remind himself to stay calm and breathe. 

He looked down at the coin in his hand, feeling the spark of connection like a jolt of electrical current. Keeping his magic dormant for the time being, Bren let out a harsh sigh as he examined the coin. It looked charred, singed black around the edges and engraving. 

Swearing under his breath, Bren pocketed it before he peered out from behind the tree, waiting for movement. When there was nothing for a long while, Bren found his courage to sprint across the back lawn, keeping close to the high, stone wall before he pressed himself to the side of the manor house. Trying to keep quiet and aware of every rustle of his cloak and brush against the stone, Bren looked around for his means of escape.  

There was ivy winding up the side of the house, thick vines looking strong enough to hold him. Stealing himself another moment, Bren anchored his footing and grasped the vines, hauling himself up. The shuddering leaves rattled as he climbed, each slow movement producing more noise than he’d anticipated. 

Just as he neared the top of the wall, almost within range to hoist himself over to the ledge, there was the sound of a door slamming open, Bren hearing rushed steps before a voice shouted loudly, “You! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”