The air whistled over the Kharal as it slipped through the night. Its passengers barely felt a sensation of motion as they received their final briefing.
“This should be a simple op; S.M.D. units have discovered a group of freeborns. Normally they would have dealt with it, but evidence suggests that this cell’s been around long enough to know what their doing. They requested backup, and we’re it…”
Fiol spaced out as the briefing moved in to the layout of the building they had studied before mounting up. He flipped his visor away from his Mage-Marked eyes to rub at them. The gem imbedded in his wrist throbbed faintly, and he traced it absently with a finger.
“Drop in ten seconds…”
He slid the visor back over his eyes, and leaned against the curved hull of the Kharal.
And the hull behind him fell away, letting him slide from the craft into the cool night air.
He opened his eyes, opened them to the craft that ran in his blood, and the world dissolved into a faint background image, covered in a vast web of threads.
He didn’t worry about the glow of his eyes alerting the targets, the tinted visor would hide the glow from anyone who chanced to look up.
Reaching to the closest threads, he twisted them into a rope, choosing the treads that would lead him to the right building; he grasped them, and slid down the rope.
Thirty feet above the ground, the first problem hit. The rope of air he had been holding suddenly went slack, before he could weave another one; a knot of force flew up from the shadows.
He grabbed a few threads of force, throwing them into a hasty net, and then jumped off it an instant before the far stronger ball of force smashed through the weak net.
He threw a fireball; fire was always easy for him, the threads seeming to leap into his fingers…and watched as the small figure revealed by the flames caught the knot of burning threads and sent it back at him.
His mind rushed as he continued to fight, that shouldn’t have been possible; no freeborn mage should have access to the studies and texts explaining the interactions of the threads. Each one should be restricted to his or her birth element. Only the nobility had the training to use more than one form of Magic.
That meant that the worst had happened. He tapped his ear piece, setting it to transmit to the whole squad.
“Wolf to all, the rebels have at least one blood traitor, stay alert.”
He was still fighting the traitor, so he left his radio on the all hands frequency. He heard their screams as one by one, they died.
By the time the last ragged keening stopped, he was already trussed up, and sitting in the back of some sort of transport.
In the long hours he sat there before the blindfold was removed from his eyes, he contemplated just how to kill the small mage that had stolen his honor.