Kyle the Apprentice Warlock

2:00 PM September 13^th, 2026
Outside the New York Preparatory Academy Ice Bubble

It was done.  Or at least as close to done as it could possibly be until the corpse contaminating the city was removed.  He’d killed all the monsters which had been besieging the survivors of the school attack.  The ones inside Anna’s ice bubble were gone.  Most of the ones outside had either been killed or driven away.

So, why was Kyle more on edge now than he had been at any other point through this entire ordeal?

The warlock took a minute and surveyed the interior of the ice bubble to ensure the monsters really were all dead.  They were.  That was good.  Then he steeled himself for the uncomfortable part, squaring his shoulders as he did so.

People had noticed him.  Not just noticed him but noticed that he wasn’t really known for being an overpowered warlock.  There would be questions.  So many questions.  Ugh!  His shoulders which he’d just straightened, slumped dejectedly.

Kyle hated those questions.  Whenever he did something exceptional like this everyone was like: ‘OMG how did you do that?’  ‘You claimed you were just an average warlock, why would you lie about your abilities?’  ‘You do know that deliberately hiding your magic level from the Department of Magical Licensing is a felony that comes with fines up to one million dollars and up to twenty years in prison?’

Yeah.

It was a pain.  But the problem was, Kyle really was just an average warlock.  It was his talent for wizardry that let him do incredible things.  And wizards didn’t have a reliable internal source of magic, they took their magic from the surrounding environment.  That was why most wizards lived in high magic zones. Kyle liked living in low magic zones.  He liked civilization.  And he honestly loved studying magical artifacts and history.

All those reasons were why he had chosen to become a warlock.  As a warlock of the archivist, his almost non-existent internal magic stores were seriously augmented by the archivist.  He got a cadre of spells from the archivist, and access to the greatest collection of magical knowledge the world over.  Being a warlock meant he didn’t have to risk his life every single day in the back of beyond just to quench that tiny thirst for power that gnawed at him.

Because he was man enough to admit he thirsted for power.  Magical power, not you know, power over others.  But it was a thing with him.  A tiny thing, yet still a thing.  So warlocking it had to be.

His mom hadn’t been pleased at his choice of patron.  She hadn’t been happy with yet another one of her children choosing to go another route with their magic.  Not a one of the three older siblings had followed her family’s tradition of making a pact with a powerful military minded patron.  Yes, they’d continued the tradition of service to others, but in their own way.

Davelor, the eldest had become a healer.  Samantha was an engineer working with the Magic Crimes Division of the FBI.  Kyle worked at the most prestigious educational facility for the investigation and containment of magical artifacts.  None of them fought like she did.  Davelor had the build for battle.  He was huge and ripped with muscles everywhere.  Sam had the pact item for close combat with magical creatures.  Gleipnir was flexible and had that nifty magic containment ability.  And Kyle, if the ambient magic was high enough, Kyle could copy pretty much any spell that had ever existed.

So, Camina was most disappointed with Kyle’s choice to become the studious academic that he’d become.  Even with the magical boost from his patron, Kyle’s abilities under normal circumstances were extremely limited.  The warlock of the Archivist’s magic was so limited that under normal, magic collector protected location circumstances Kyle was just barely able to meet the Magicorops requirements for recruitment.  One might argue that didn’t matter, since fighting would be done in high magic zones where he’d have free reign with all the magic his wizarding ways could ask for.  One would be wrong.

Train how you fight.

Kyle couldn’t put up a good fight in low magic.  This meant he could not protect a populated area from a monster incursion.  He could only go to high magic areas and fight there.  What was the point in killing monsters in their home territory and releasing their magic into the environment to raise the AMD?  What was the point in killing monsters in an area that would just spawn more monsters?  As a warlock, Kyle Wattkins was worthless to the Magicorps.

Sighing again, Kyle launched himself off the ice ramp that everyone else had slid down.  He didn’t use his suit’s thrusters but had spread his wings to slow his descent.  Even doing that made him morose as it reminded him that the very suit he wore, was a spell he could only use due to the high AMD flooding the city at the moment.  The group of waiting teens cheered as Kyle landed with a thud.  Wings spread, he let the joint mechanisms in the suit absorb the force of his fall and he landed down on one knee like a superhero.

Okay.  That had been fun.  They began a rush toward him until Jones called out.

“Keep the kids back.  That suit is mighty powerful and one of you all could get hurt if he bumps into you.”  That had the teachers and staff urgently joining in the get the group back and ordered.

“Where are we evacuating to?”  Kyle asked as he opened up the faceplate in his helmet.  A tall serious and rather severe looking woman stepped forward and spoke up.

“The rest of the students were evacuated to the Plaza de Saint Germain hotel about eight blocks away.”  She informed Kyle while looking him up and down in a way that both confused him and made him uncomfortable.  It was that way educators had of assessing a student to see if they could maybe, possibly, under the best most optimum circumstances pass muster.  And this woman’s look said she seriously doubted Kyle could handle the task.

Well, excuse her.

“Alright, Ma’am.”  The young warlock decided that not showing how much she intimidated him was the right course.  “Let’s get everyone there.”  The woman’s eyes narrowed.

“Do you know where it is?”  She genuinely seemed to think Kyle didn’t know she was talking about the oldest most famous Vampire run luxury hotel in the United States.

“Yes, Ma’am.”  Clenching his jaw so that he didn’t say something flippant that made the staff mistrust him, Kyle kept his tone neutral and steady.  “I know how to get there on foot.”  The principal – this could only be the principal that his mom hated for letting that brat Sara bully people for years – harumphed and placed her fists on her hips.

“You don’t think it would be better for us to seek shelter in one of these buildings?”  She gestured to the relatively intact buildings around them.  Most of them had shattered windows on the first floor where monsters had penetrated the buildings.  Her eyebrows and chin lifted, and her head tilted ever so slightly to one side.  It almost was as if she was hoping he’d say what she wanted him to say and he frowned at the woman.

“No, Ma’am.”  Now Kyle thought he understood what she was doing though his brow still furrowed with confusion.  Anyone could see that those buildings were not particularly safe from external monster attack.  “Those residential buildings might be magically hardened to protect against monsters forming inside.  But even if they are up to the mandatory basic code for New York City, you can clearly see they’ve already been breached by monsters.”  Then Kyle’s frown deepened as he recalled the desperate chaotic drive to get there.  “Or possibly looters.  We ran into some earlier.”

That caused the woman to draw back in alarm.  Her eyes widened and her sharp exhale was echoed by several of the other survivors.

Alright.”  It was quite possibly the weirdest, most passive aggressive standoff Kyle had ever participated in.  “Lead the way Mister Wattkins.  I’ll have my head of security coordinate with you to keep everyone safe.”  She waved her head of security forward as she retreated to relay the news to the rest of the staff and students.

“Holy shit.”  Kyle exclaimed as he took in the appearance of the man before him.  “I didn’t know the school hired mercenaries for their security.”  He chuckled a little and kind of internally gloated that he got to meet a mercenary while Sam was stuck babysitting dead dragons.

“Private security contractor.  Mister Wattkins.”  The man who was dressed all in black corrected him.  He was in black pants with lots of pockets.  And wearing a black long-sleeved shirt with lots of pockets. 

His name was on a patch on one pocket like it was a military uniform and his company’s logo was on the arms like military service patches.  A protective vest full of huge pockets with ammo and gear covered his chest, a magic message scroll was on one arm, a wand holder on the other.  The look was finished up with a loaded handgun in a holster strapped down on one thigh.

Kyle laughed thinking it was a joke.

 “I am not a mercenary Mister Wattkins.  I’m a private security contractor.  And for legal purposes I will require you to say that to anyone who may inquire in the future.”  The definitely-not-a-mercenary made a big obvious wink at Kyle.

“Oh.  Oooh.”  Kyle’s lips pursed in an ‘o’ shape for a bit as the words sunk in.  “Gotcha.”  With a shrug, Kyle accepted the statement.  There wasn’t time to ponder over the implications now.

“Call me Kyle.”  The warlock offered.  And that was that.