#009. Sector 49 (1)
The vehicle carved a curve through the landscape.
The surrounding scenery rushed at the boy with savage intensity.
In that split second, a fully upright man timed his leap perfectly and lunged toward the speeding car.
Thud!
The man barely clung to the hood.
The impact spiderwebbed cracks across the windshield.
Though shocked by the suicidal maneuver, Ray couldn't afford to stop.
He kept his foot jammed on the accelerator while peering through the only clear section of glass not blocked by the attacker's body.
The road now pointed beyond Sector 50's borders.
Just a few more kilometers would take them into the wastelands connecting to Sector 49.
"You...goddamn...!"
The hood-rider's shouts tore through the wind as he stabilized his footing.
Though the actual words were lost to rushing air and fractured glass, his volcanic rage needed no translation.
Screeeech! Screech!
Violent swerves left and right failed to dislodge the stubborn assailant.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
The man began battering the windshield with a crowbar, then - dissatisfied - reached into his coat.
"...!"
Cold black steel glinted in his hand.
A pistol.
Ray's body moved before his mind caught up.
One hand white-knuckled the steering wheel.
His accelerator foot stayed planted.
The other hand summoned swirling mana to his palm.
Huuuuum.
Focus crystallized into anger.
Crimson energy coalesced into a single searing point.
"I'll...fucking...kill..."
The gunman steadied himself against the car's violent rocking.
Simultaneously, Ray's gathered energy condensed at his fingertip - a glowing red ember matching the pistol's deadly stare.
Click.
Huuuuum.
Gunmetal and magic pointed at each other's hearts.
Three seconds stretched into eternity.
The attacker's eyes locked on Ray's face.
Ray's gaze never left the gun barrel.
As the trigger finger twitched,
Ray cranked the wheel hard left while jerking his head aside.
Bang-Ziiing!
The bullet grazed his cheek and buried itself in the headrest.
Ray whipped his face back around to assess the damage -
Two new holes decorated the scene:
A bullet entry in the windshield.
A matching cavity in the attacker's forehead.
Thud!
The corpse slid off the hood like a discarded puppet.
Ray watched the shrinking figure in the rearview until it disappeared.
"......"
When he turned forward again, wilderness stretched before them.
An endless expanse of scrubland and metal graveyards flanked the Elton River road.
The fractured windshield now webbed his view with cracks.
Ray rummaged through the glove compartment and retrieved a long wrench.
Clang! Clang!
Shattered glass rained down as he cleared the windshield completely.
Cold desert air rushed through the new opening as he accelerated harder.
Whooosh—
The rushing wind cooled his sweat-drenched hair and burning scalp.
Ray drove nonstop, the car now sporting a makeshift windshield cobbled from scrap metal.
Though ugly, it served its purpose.
The rearview showed no trace of Sector 50 now.
No going back. Not until he gained the power for vengeance.
His lips moved unconsciously.
"...Revenge."
Until now, life had been directionless - a stone tumbling wherever kicked.
Let them throw him.
Let them break him.
Meeting the bridge children had given his first shred of purpose.
Their deaths extinguished that light.
Yet ironically, Niles and the children's demise forged a new purpose -
An unquenchable flame of vengeance.
No more uncertainty.
This fire would light his path.
First destination: Sector 49.
To find the strength matching that indigo-mana mage.
Ray glanced right.
The Elton River stretched to the horizon.
"All numbered sectors line Elton's banks."
At least navigation would be simple.
To the left, on elevated highways, massive vehicles intermittently passed -
Some dumping waste, others hauling cargo.
Their polished exteriors suggested origins in higher-numbered sectors.
After hours of driving:
Sputter-sputter—
The overheated engine groaned its protest.
Though sunset painted the sky, ground heat still shimmered.
Time to rest.
Ray parked in a rocky riverside shade.
Creeeak—
Tension bled away, replaced by gnawing hunger and fatigue.
He collapsed across the seats, staring at the rust-colored sky.
Rushing river.
Blood-red sun.
Dust devils dancing below.
This desolate beauty composed his entire world.
Revived by trunk supplies - bottled water, preserved rations, fuel -
"Thorough as always, old man."
Click. Gulp-gulp.
Water flowed through him like monsoon rains on parched earth.
Canned meat and biscuits sharpened his fogged mind.
The horizon now glowed cobalt blue.
Despite half a day's drive, the view remained unchanged -
Infinite wasteland.
Sector 49 wouldn't be reached in days...perhaps weeks.
No wonder adults rarely left Sector 50.
Ray fashioned a bed from burlap sacks in the backseat.
Gathered riverside kindling made a respectable firepile.
Crackle-crackle.
No lighter needed when you wield magic.
"...Magic."
He closed eyes, focusing on his pupils.
Upon reopening them, reality had transformed.
A world woven from mana.
Swirling colors intertwined like oil paints across a desert-sized canvas.
The darkening sky made their hues more vibrant than daylight.
"Hooo."
Randomly selected mana strands resisted his pull -
Like dragging half-set cement.
After painstaking collection, he blended them into navy blue.
Zap!
The coalesced mana sparked with electric energy.
Two mana types existed:
Ready-use (like rage's crimson mana)
Requiring color-blending
Most fell into the second category.
Incompatible mana types repelled like magnets.
Only specific combinations/ratios worked -
Hence magic's mental toll.
"If I could manipulate mana smoother..."
Emotional states helped, but weren't enough.
He needed fundamental solutions -
Like the ring-vessel that one-eyed mage possessed.
Ray probed his lingering anger,
Ignoring the equally massive grief beside it.
Only rage mattered now.
Huuuuum.
Red mana flowed into his chest...
...then leaked out when concentration broke.
Repeated attempts left him haggard.
"......"
Maintaining constant emotional states was impossible.
Another approach needed.
For now, he'd research blending formulas.
Previously half-hearted attempts gained new desperation.
Ray raised his dust-coated face.
Beneath the grime lay canvas-white hair.
Before him stretched the world's largest palette.
Days cycled like clockwork.
Drive by day.
Experiment at dusk.
Elegant hand motions summoned intuitively compatible mana.
Huuuuum.
Colors swirled toward convergence.
Ray's eyes widened as they nearly merged—
Zzt!
The energies repelled violently.
"......"
No disappointment.
His patched heart couldn't break again.
He tried different combinations.
Adjusted ratios.
Five minutes.
Two hours.
Six.
Evenings brought ice formations, wind gusts, stone shards.
When mental exhaustion hit, he'd collapse under rags in the backseat.
"Lucky progress comes this fast..."
Soft snores rose as stars watched through hazy skies.
Tap. Tap.
Sunlight baked Sector 50's riverbank as footsteps scurried.
"Check that side!"
"Where could it be...?"
Hector's gang members searched nervously,
Furtive glances toward a parked car on the bank.
"Still nothing?"
The car's low murmur carried unnatural clarity.
A high-ranking thug scrambled up the bank.
Through the open window sat a monocled man in tailored suit -
The picture of refinement.
"S-sir! We're searching diligently, but—"
"We appreciate your efforts." The monocle glinted.
"J-just a bit more time—"
"Grab it."
A cane extended from the window.
The gangster trembled as he grasped it.
Zzzzt!
"G-gah!"
Ice encased his hand, spreading rapidly.
Within seconds, a terrified ice statue stood there.
The monocle man tapped his cane.
Clink!
The statue shattered into meaty ice chunks.
Below, gangsters ducked their heads, searching feverishly.
"Found something!"
The monocle man emerged, inspecting:
A scorched mark on concrete
A fist-sized gray stone fragment
"Golem remains. Correct."
His gaze swept the bridge.
Atmospheric mana swirled strangely—
Linear and spiral patterns indicated powerful spellcasting.
He paced, reconstructing events:
"Shot from here...impact here."
Conclusion:
A master mage had obliterated his golem.
But Sector 50 had no mages...
Investigation revealed tent stakes and rope marks under the bridge.
"Children lived here?"
"Y-yes! Orphans probably! They...might've relocated!"
The monocle man frowned.
Mana traces here differed from the attack's - more refined.
"A street rat using magic? Preposterous."
Yet evidence suggested it.
"Kkkkh...kkkh..."
His laughter made gangsters flinch.
"Self-taught mage? That brat would be legendary!"
Scoffing, he redirected:
"An outsider did this. Find them."
Snap!
Gangsters scrambled to obey.
The Elton River roared its approval.
