Wyatt wiped the sweat off his forehead. He looked over to Isabell, who was in the trees, her hair tucked into a ponytail. She was focused as she drew out her bow and nocked an arrow. The arrow flew into the air and into a guard's neck. He stumbled before falling forward, officially dead. Isabell gave a thumbs up from the trees.

"That's the last one on patrol," Isabell whispered.

Wyatt felt heat radiating off of something next to him. He looked over, and his eyes widened at Torch's body.The boy was coated in red hot flames, rising ten feet above his hair. The most amazing thing, however, was the fact that Torch was untouched, no signs of burns on him at all.

Torch grinned. "I'm ready. You ready, Wyatt Clark?"

"No."

"Aww, come on, Wyatt," Isabell pouted, jumping down from the tree. "You'll never get any stronger if you don't learn how to kill your true enemies. You can't hesitate."

Wyatt grit his teeth. He felt nausea pass over him in a sudden wave. He'd killed someone before, and the experience hadn't been the most pleasant. "Yeah, lets go."

The trio nodded at each other before separating. Immediately, Wyatt heard whooping, and then shouts as he visibly saw men flying upward, their clothes on fire. He laughed quietly. "Oh, Torch."

Wyatt ran through the woods and hid behind a small shack, with bars protecting the windows. Go figure.

He grabbed a metal shovel from the shed in the backyard he was in. The crude wood and rusting metal oddly reassured him as he tiptoed behind a guard on duty. With a clang, he brought it down. The metal made a satisfying crack against the guard's cheekbone. He tipped sideways like he was drunk, and then collapsed on the floor, his eyes fluttering shut.

There was an outcry and Wyatt spun around...to find a swarm of guards, armed to the teeth and ready to stab him thirty seven times in the chest.

He slowly raised his hands up. "Whoops."

The guards growled and one of them stepped forward, shoving the barrel of the gun into Wyatt's chest. "This baby's loaded, dumbass, and if you make one wrong move, I'll give you an extra hole to breathe through."

Wyatt winced. "Sure. Do what you want."

He remembered a saying that Royce had taught him long ago, "If you're ever caught, use your pretty words. Be innocent as you can be, and when you find an opening, strike quick and fast."

Interesting. He was using Royce's tip to kill Royce's men. Wyatt laughed. He stopped when he felt something bind his wrists together, digging into the veins in his wrist.

"We'll take him to the boss later. Lets keep him in the headquarters for now," one guard planned.

"Good idea, Maurice," the other one said.

As Wyatt walked, he attempted to reach Thane into his mind. "Thane?"

"What? I'm busy," Thane complained.

"Are you busy enough to ignore me when I ask for you to help me kill some people?" Wyatt bribed.

Thane was silent. Then, in a hesitant way, he answered, "I suppose, Wyatt. I'll help. But the next time you ask, you're on your own."

Wyatt smiled gratefully. "Thanks, Thane."

As they entered the large granite building, Wyatt felt his magic level rise. He felt...powerful, like he could take over the world with a simple snap of his fingers. With a jolt, he realized that the feeling was what Thane had experienced when he was alive. Dangerous power, enough to corrupt even the most selfless of people.

He grinned and stopped walking at once.

"Remember this, Wyatt, when I control you, I force you to move in ways that only the most skilled warriors, and your magic is used in ways that skilled Magis can only do. In other words, your fighting experience is my fighting experience, while your mind is still yours. If you don't like the way I do anything, tell me. One more thing," Thane paused, and then in a ominous tone, he left his last sentence lingering like a bad omen, "some people who were Death Magis in the past got corrupted by my power. They were so greedy, they relied on me to fight for them, to kill everyone and follow their every rule. In the end, it didn't matter. Do not be like them, Wyatt, or your fate may be just as bad as the most greedy of all."

He nodded mutely. "Alright, Thane."

"Hey," the guard grunted, prodding him in the back with his shotgun, "Keep moving."

Wyatt felt his body respond with a roundhouse kick, the heel of his shoe digging into the guard's gut. His suddenly sharp eyes could see the shock prominently displayed in the guard's eyes as blood came out of his mouth and he skidded backwards, crashing out of a glass window.

Maurice looked back in shock. "What the hell?"

Wyatt broke his ropes open and walked slowly towards Maurice. The guard stumbled backwards in fear, looking like he was going to burst into unmanly tears when Wyatt grinned evilly.

"Let's see," Wyatt whispered, "What shall I do to you, the captor? Boil you in oil? Ooh, maybe I could do those movie torture things where you leave the victim to slowly die out," he drawled.

Maurice shook his head. "N...no...please..."

Wyatt reached down into his pocket and pulled out the switchblade he carried. "Your first mistake," he said stoicly, "was taking me in the first place. Do you know who I am? I am Death itself. I choose to end your life or not." He placed the switchblade on the man's neck. "You should be honored."

With a quick slit, the man was dead, lying in a heap against the wall, blood dripping from his neck. Wyatt looked down and almost puked.

"Thane," he groaned, holding his hand over his mouth, "you are too brutal."

"You'll get used to it," Thane said, almost in a bored tone. "There is no way you can't avoid this. Shall we go upstairs, my dear Host?"

Before Wyatt could answer, he felt his legs move on his own, travelling up the long staircase quickly. He caught his reflection in the mirror and jolted.

His eyes, instead of that "creepy silver", as Cassie had called it, was red. His hairstyle changed, from the messy bedhead to Chase's hair style. He looked...sinister.

Wyatt continued up the stairs.

When he got to a wooden door, he heard voices.

"I swear, if Maurice and Eddie don't come back, then something's bad," one guard argued.

"Do you think they died?"

"If so, who?"

"That's impossible, idiot, Maurice used to be a pro wrestler, and Eddie fought people twice his size for a living!"

Wyatt grinned and stepped back. He kicked the door down with brutal force, shocking people into a panic. "Maurice is here," he announced, pointing to the blood on the switchblade.

They all stared before charging at him in anger. They wanted to kill him. They wanted to make Royce happy.

Wyatt thrust his hand out. The floor beneath them opened, opening to a fiery pit as a cluster of unlucky guards fell. A plume of smoke and flame arose, then died, before the trapdoor closed.

"Don't just stand there, kill him!" someone yelled.

He whipped around, using his hand motions like a conductor. As Wyatt fought, he began to almost list down ways to die.

"Burn!" A wall of black flames scorched the guards to a crisp.

"Drown!" He laughed and breathed normally as black water filled the room up, drowning a few.

"Dome!" The attack that had killed the pedestrian was used once again as guards turned into ash.

"Choke!" The air levels went down and those still coughing up water had no chance with life.

"Bones!" He heard the sickening crack of body parts as everyone screamed.

"Soldiers!" An army of the dead arose, taking down almost everyone, except for a remaining few.

He extinguished the black wisps of magic dancing around his palm. "Congrats to those who survived. You get the most honorable death." He whispered, "Elysium."

Instantly, all the remaining guards turned into smoke and drifted off into a hero's land, leaving the fresh smell of roses behind.

Wyatt sighed in exhaustion. His heart was beating rapidly, sweat falling off the tip of his nose when he bent his head down. His hands were shaking. He walked over to the window nearby and punched the glass, diving into the river below. With experienced diving lessons, he straightened his body and cut throught the water easily.

There was a diver. Wyatt peered through the murky water and swam forward, suddenly grabbing the diver's mask off and pushing the man down. Soon, the diver drowned. He swam up to shore and spotted Isabell, firing arrow after arrow. She glanced at him.

"I killed them."

"Good job, son."

"Shut up."

She grinned, before suddenly screaming, "Look out!"

Wyatt spun around before feeling three hundred pounds of muscle crash into him. He felt beefy hands around his neck, cutting off his air, and black spots danced in his vision.

It didn't last long, because soon, someone ordered, "Stop." The guard paled and stood up, running away.

Weird. Wyatt retched before standing up to see his savior.

He remembered this boy, back when Royce had let them go to school. It was Jackson Smith, his brown hair flopping over his eyes, perfect body structure, and that annoyingly playboy smile everyone fell for.

Wyatt felt like puking.

"You're supposed to be human. You're supposed to be dead," Wyatt stammered.

"Too bad. I have magic."

"What magic?"

"Enhancing Magic. I can enhance anything I want. It's great for physical or magical battles."

Wyatt raised his eyebrows. "As in?"

"Well," Jackson scratched his head, a trademark sign showing he was uncomfortable.

At that moment, Wyatt knew. This person wasn't Jackson Smith. He was an imposter.

"In a physical battle, I can enhance the strength of my blows, so it hurts a lot more and deals more damage. In a magical battle..." he raised his eyebrows. "Put it this way, have you ever heard of the word 'rupture?'"

Wyatt nodded. "To break, right?"

"Exactly," Jackson grinned, "I can make your magic so overwhelming, you can't do anything but break trying to hold it in."

Wyatt laughed. "Interesting, you know that much, considering the fact that there is no way you would be Jackson, imposter."

The person was silent for a minute. Then, he laughed like a maniac. As he did, there was a glow, and in a flash of purple, the boy revealed himself.

Wyatt was shocked. The boy was wearing a leather jacket, jeans, and a white shirt, like a stereotypical gangster. He wore several rings on his left hand, as well as a knuckleduster in his right. A purple gem hung from his ear. He had linen covering half his face, and Wyatt noted the cold blue eye that glared at him with menacing amusement.

"You're good, Wyatt Clark." The boy spread his hands. "That's right, I'm not Jackson. I was sent here to kill you, to whoop your sixteen year old butt."

"I don't even know you, stranger."

"Oh, yes, where are my manners?" The boy grinned and slowly removed the bandage around his head. It fell to the floor and revealed another blue eye, a purple gem tattoo, and a twisted, grotesque scar on his face. He spread his hands, the rings and knuckleduster glinting in the sun. "I am Griffin Lighting."

Wyatt recognized the last name and stared at Griffin's face. He finally remembered where he'd seen those blue eyes.

In the video chat, back at Royce's place, where he'd seen Duke smile.

Griffin looked exactly like him.

"You're the Lighting's son," he stated calmly, "the runaway murderer of the Lightings."

Griffin's hand twitched. He looked like he was itching to punch something before he forced an unnaturally bright smile on his face. "Good job, Wyatt! A+! Now, you can die!"

"Why are you after me? What did I do?"

"It's quite simple, actually. I'm working under my godfather, Royce. To prove my worth, I have to kill you." Griffin's happy face changed immediately into a dark look.

"Woah, bipolar much?" Wyatt mutttered.

"Bye, Clark." Griffin raised his hands, the beginning move that a...Summoner did. Wyatt was confused. Wasn't Griffin a Transformation Magi?

As soon as Griffin summoned what he summoned, his essence vanished. Wyatt stiffened.

"Do you like slots, Clark? If you do, then that's good."

Wyatt spun around, shocked to find Griffin wearing a bartender's suit and leaning against a slot machine. He planted his feet firmly on the ground, trying to muster out as much courage as he could. "I don't do casinos."

"Too bad, then. This particualar machine doesn't gamble on your luck," he grinned, "it gambles on your life. I wonder what I'll get if I spin."

Realization hit Wyatt like the bullet he'd gotten to the arm a while back. "You're a Hybrid. You do two types of Magic, Summoning Magic and Transformation Magic. You're like me."

"Good job, Einstein!" Griffin mocked. "Time to die."

Griffin snapped his fingers. The slot machine came to life, spinning, ane then it abruptly halted, showing three identical pictures of a skull. Griffin leaned over, checking the signs, and grinned. He raised his arm above his head, the palm of his hand directed towards the sky. "Jackpot."

Wyatt looked up, just in time to see a cloud of ravens decend. Their beaks stabbed into him, tearing his clothes and causing bloody cuts all over his body. Wyatt cried out before collapsing.

He was still catching his breath when he heard the deadly tone of slots spinning once again. "Oh, no."

"Water!"

A tank formed around Wyatt. Thousands of gallons of water crashed down on Wyatt. It was a wonder that it didn't break his back as the water forced Wyatt to hold his breath beyond his limits. He could feel his face turn purple as he frantically swam.

The tank vanished, and Wyatt tumbled out, coughing and spluttering.

Griffin clapped. "You've done great! Just a few more times before you die!"

Wyatt glanced up in horror as the slot machine spun one more time, landing on a green cloud. Griffin sighed, "Oops. Fatal Blow. I guess this was the last spin."

Wyatt was dizzy, and the next minute, he was trapped in a windowless room. Nozzles surrounded the top of the room. He suddenly realized what Griffin was about to do and panicked, trying to summon his Magic.

A voice cackled over an intercom. "You're such an idiot, Clark! There's no way you can use magic in a room made from Celestial Silver! Haven't you learned? Celestial Silver breaks the bonds between the Magic and the Magi! You can't use Magic if you're even within a ten mile radius of that stuff! Goodbye!"

Wyatt could only stare as a green cloud of gas shot out. He caught a nasty whiff before choking, taking the collar of his shirt and putting it against his nose. He could start to see black spots, saw an eerie angel girl and a boy in broken chains.

"It's the Gatekeepers," he whispered. Legend had always said that if you saw the Gatekeepers to the Afterlife, then you were close to death.

Wyatt forced himself to wake up. He desperately called out to the only person near him. "Thane?"

"Wyatt, you are about to die. I can't let that happen. Will you grant me the ability to take control and help you escape?"

Wyatt collapsed on the floor. In his final words, he whispered, "Yes, Thane."

His eyelids fluttered shut.

*****

Chase Clark

He slammed the door to his room open, the doorknob ramming into the wall and making a giant hole. Chase was angry. He'd gone to Royce. He'd listened patiently to Royce as the psychopath had rambled on about his genius plans. But for what? To realize that there was no way that his brother would live?

Chase punched the wall, screaming, "Dammit!" as tears fell. His knuckles hurt. Good. Maybe it would take his mind off things.

He glanced at the wine glass sitting on the table, filled to the brim with red liquid. He crossed the room in two strides before taking the glass and downing it, enjoying the feel.

Just then, Cassie walked in. She shrieked before snatching it out of his hand. "What are you doing!?"

"You lied, Blaze. I heard Royce's plan. There's no way Wyatt will live!" he let it out in one breath.

"You don't know that, Chase James Clark!" Chase winced at his middle name. "Wyatt is strong! And frankly, I think he's doing a lot better than you're doing!"

"He won't be doing anything by tomorrow! He's going to be dead!" Chase screamed.

She slapped him, yet this time, he fought back. Chase let out a guttural cry of rage as he tackled her, pinning her to the ground.

She was staring back at him, her chest heaving with pants. "You're drunk, Chase."

"I'm not. I'm sober, and I know that Wyatt will die."

She struggled under him. "We'll just see about that, Clark."

"I don't even need to see. He's going to die."

Cassie growled and, with her free hand, punched him square in the jaw. He fell back, a bruise forming. "You don't even have faith in your brother, asshole!"

Chase let himself loose as he pinned her to the wall, his lips inches away.

"That's right, I don't!"

She screamed bloody murder at him. "I can't believe you, Chase!"

Chase laughed, and his voice dropped to a low, slurred whisper.

"You're right, Cassidy Blaze. I don't have any faith. I lost it all, and now I'm just an empty shell that no one will believe anymore," he murmured, leaning in.

Their lips met and Cassie and Chase cried silently as they both shut up.