Cameron was exhausted. Current events had been taxing. His back throbbed. His arm screamed in pain. The adrenaline from the fight wound down, and now his body was telling him of the day's results.

I'm not going anywhere fast with these injuries. I need something for the pain. I wonder if this ability streches to medical supplies?

"Morphine. Painkillers. Oh come on, man! Paracetamol, 500mg tablet form?"

Nothing appeared. The pain in his forearm flared, as if in protest to the experiment's poor results.

"A roll of bandages? GAUZE? A FUCKING TISSUE?!"

Still nothing. He thumped the ground with a closed fist in frustration.

"A lot of fucking help you are, then." He shakily exhaled.

It did say I would die. God, he was probably right. Death by infection from a shitty pig.

Cameron's mind searched itself for an alternative. The first thing coming to mind was his t-shirt. A dead end. It was covered in brain matter and sticky dark blood. The same story with his jeans. Underwear was out of the question. What about my socks...? They were fresh when I put them on... it'll have to do. Removing a boot, he balanced on one shaky leg, slowly removing his sock, remit to stagger and put his now sockless foot right into the pooling blood beneath him. He placed his foot back into his boot, and got to work fashioning the sock into a makeshift bandage. Examining the wound again, he found it smaller than the last time he saw it.

Did I exaggerate? I could've sworn the hole was bigger. And how is it clotted already...? What did he do to me...

He was alarmed by the implications. Do I heal faster now? Or am I just blowing it out of proportion?

Unwilling to test his hypothesis given the situation, he wrapped the sock as-is around his arm, finagling the ends into a knot. Satisfied with his work, he filled his lungs with air and exhaled the longest breath he could muster.

Now to get out of this blasted crater. Heh, nice pun.

Crawling to the top of the crater yet again, he found himself buffeted by the fresh, cool countryside air kept from him by the hole. He'd enjoy the feeling more, if it didn't aid the blood in drying upon his face and clothes. He felt gross. Surveiling the field, all he could see was tall trees; A close facsimile of birch and oak dotted the end of the field before coalescing together to form a woodland to what he assumed to be east, south and west. He wondered if the sun of this world still sat in the west.

At least this star isn't white. Fuck you, Cartographer. Hmm. I think he can read my thoughts.

He attempted to glean some information from the new sun. It was a dull red, and seemed larger than Earth's counterpart. No moons or stars were visible to him, at least in the day time, however long the day/night cycle might've been there. The sky seemed to be the same blue he had always lived under. The tall swaying grass was green, along with most of the foliage bar a few clover and dandelion looking species dotted around the field. To the north he saw the terrain grow more rugged, dotted with rocks and bushes, elevating slight up along the way as if to block the horizon from Cameron's purview. The one thing that stuck out was a slight grey plume of smoke elevating itself to the sky. A promising sign of civilisation? An advance signal that he had arrived for the forces that were supposely after him? He couldn't tell. What he could tell however, is that he would do anything for a bath, and a cold glass of water. The drain of battle and the retreat of the adrenaline circling his bloodstream left him with no real energy to speak of.

Ah right. I have no fat. Great for a modeling agency, shit for a survival situation. I'll look great in my coffin, though.

His brand of self deprecating jokes did nothing to raise his own spirits. He debated cooking the plentiful boar he had dispatched, before convincing himself the fire would put him at risk should any more animals come running. Any scavengers could most likely smell the feast already. The forests were a no-go. Any magically enhanced monster camouflaged from sight by the brush and closely knit trees could kill him before he could blink. The reality of his situation threatened to make him an anxious mess. He had to keep moving, to get away from the massive gourmet trough he had created, and to keep the useless postulation at bay.

Wide open plains it is then. Large sightlines? Check. Ambush opportunities? Smaller than the woodland. Civilization? I sure fucking hope so.

He imagined the shotgun on his right shoulder disappear. As it left, he smiled. A small victory.

"Famas, 5.56mm chambered, mounted ACOG sight?"

His wish was the world's command. The bullpup former standard-bearer for the French army appeared in his hand. He stuck a finger between the hand guard on top, and curled it around the trigger shaped charging handle, racking it. The gun dispensed a round on to the ground, but Cameron didn't care. The action confirmed the gun's existence to him. It felt almost comforting. He held it horizontal, checking the sights. Seems zeroed? He hoped he was correct. He couldn't afford a bullet going astray due to misaligned sights, but he didnt want to spend any time on it. He felt vulnerable.

Time to move.

Moving felt better to him than standing. He could only think while stationary. In the commotion, he hadn't realised that his pain in his arm had faded to a whisper of the red flashes it had once been. His back gave him no problems. The fear and anxiety of the repercussions of a new world, and one with the dangerous and unknown element of mana, persisted, yet moved to the rear as the minute to minute actions of his trek to the crest of the plains filled his mind; He focused on each step, and scanned the land in front and to the side of him for any movement. He found his finger slipping on to the trigger, before moving it back against the side of the gun. He had nothing to shoot yet, after all.

His efforts ended his mile trek up the slight incline of the plains. As he came to a lip in the terrain, he went to his stomach and crawled forwards. Death, or opportunity? He had no way to know. He could only cross his fingers.

"What the fuck are those?"

Disbelief. He focused on the vaguely humanoid beings he saw in front of him. He saw... horns? He couldn't be sure.

"Binoculars."

He didn't think it was too far removed from his ability, given the sight on his gun, but nothing happened yet again.

"Stupid thing... Hmm. Rangefinder?"

He was pleasantly surprised when in his left hand appeared some sort of unbranded rangefinder. It fit in a single hand quite well, and switching the device on and directing it to the scene gave him a reading of 500 meters. It also gave him a clear view of the figures in the distance. They didn't have horns, they had antlers. Small, but there, on the top of their heads. Their ears were angled upwards, and looked like deer ears. Deer men. Holy shit. The amazement pushed itself to the forefront of Cameron's mind. Their faces could be mistaken for human, if not for the short fur lining the crown of the head, and the back of the neck. They had the same cute button noses. Siblings? Realisation dawned as he saw their expressions. Fear. He drew his eyes over to a wide, open shelter type building. It was on fire. Moving in the distance, he saw some sort of quadrupeds fleeing away from what he now theorised was a stable, probably terrified of the fiery element consuming their home. He spent no time on it, moving back to the three people gesticulating in the stable's direction and shouting at each other. The expression of fear still coated their faces, eyes wide and lips trembling.

What are they scared of? Surely they can just rein in their livesto-

5 red orbs cascaded towards them. Cameron could only gasp when his limited field of view from the rangefinder crossed with the fiery balls, and detonated at the Deer men's feet. The ensuing detonation was as loud as his shotgun escapade, and messier. One of the Deer men flew back as if hit by a truck, his stomach punched forward from the force of the blast, and continued on 10 feet into a log cabin the men probably called home. His body dropped down to the ground. Cameron couldn't tell if he was dead, or just unconscious. A second man didn't get the luxury of blunt force trauma. Two of the orbs flew directly into his midsection, and seperated his intestines from his stomach. His body was blown backwards, and bounced off the swept earth of the homestead before coming to a rest. The third, stood still.

How?

Cameron questioned his eyes. The man was upright, in a crouch, holding a hand in front of him. Eminating from his hand, was a translucent convex shield of blue light, a bulwark against the remaining magicks aimed at him. His expression was of immense anger. His face turned red at the loss of his associates, and he opened his mouth wide and screamed in mourning. Cameron could feel and hear the pain in his voice, 500 metres away. The Deer man raised his other hand, pulling it back into his armpit and shooting it forward. His efforts released a vortex of wind from his hand, a high powered ring of air shooting forwards with a slight white shine. Cameron followed it with the rangefinder, and moved it ahead of the projectile. He spotted the attackers. Four of them stood there, in various states of raising their own blue translucent convex shields.

Humans? Soldiers?

In contrast to the simple medieval style farming overalls and leather boots the deer men donned, the humans were wearing Iron-topped leather armour that convered their torso, with high leather boots that came up just below the knees, and thick bracers on their forearms. Underneath, they wore lightly padded green jackets, and brown hose pants of an unknown material. Plain iron swords donned their waists, attached with a black leather belt, and one of them had a bow across their chest, and a quiver on his back.

One of them stood out. A demarcation on his shoulder, a pad on which two lines like backslashes the mirror of eachother surrounded a single circle.

Definitely soldiers. That has to be a millitary insignia. Probably ranked higher, given the fact he's shouting at the rest.

He couldn't tell what the leader said, but with a yell and a point forward they moved closer and closer to the remaining deer man, keeping their arms, and shields, aloft. The vortex projectile met the shield, but dissipated and faded on contact. The soldiers smiled. The deer man maintained his shield, and instead turned his palm upward, fingers turning rigid and their tips turning a cold dark blue.

That's fucking lightning.

As if throwing it, he whipped his hand in an arc to the side of his shield. The lightning he unleashed wasn't as immediate as Cameron expected, but it was still frighteningly quick. It traveled in fractures, as if feeling for the correct path of least resistance, and found it's home in one of the soldier's shoulders. The soldier's shield faltered, and he took the brunt, shoulder burnt and marred from the electricity. He fell to the ground like a board, as if rigor mortis took it's hold as soon as the attack met it's target. Cameron could see no signs of life. The victim's allies barely spared a glance, keeping eye contact with their enemy, but now running forward at full pelt. The deer man readied his spare hand for another attack, but instead raised his brow in disbelief. The shield disappeared. His protection had failed him.

Did he... run out? Of mana?

The antlered man paced back, wide eyed, before attempting to run, but the soldiers arrived first. The boss of the group put his shield-hand down, and bulldozed the man onto the floor with interlocked arms in a ramming maneuveur. Cameron caught a faint white glow from the mans arms before he met his prey, and sent the deer man into the cabin wall like his accomplice before him. The defeated man didn't get a breath into his winded lungs before the soldier drew a catheter tipped metal object into the man's side. The last farmer went from winded and angry to timid and withdrawn. He looked like he was mumbling nonsense, his eyes wandering to and fro, seemingly unfocused.

What is that? A syringe? Probably poisoned.

The events were indescribable to Cameron. A whirlwind of emotions formed in his head.

First came wonder. A battle of wizards. A deadly exchange of mana to and fro. How could he not be amazed?

Then came confusion soon after. Why were they fighting? What did they have to gain? Who was wrong here? ...Did Cameron have anything to gain by trying to assign blame?

Then fear. Slowly at first. Fear at all the ways they could kill him. A demonstration of what he lacked in a world that flourished with it.

Then finally, dread.

Is this MY fate? I piss off some mage somewhere and get fried from the inside out? How can I fight this?

The accumulated stress and fear came to a head. He was in a loop of imagination. Imagination of the horrible things his enemies could inflict on him. Of the fact he was marked for death. Of the certainty powerful people wanted him dead. It was almost funny to him. He already gave up on earth. Why was life so important to him now? He unconsciously closed his hands around the rangefinder and the handle of his rifle, knuckles white with exertion. The rangefinder's plastic shell slightly cracked and warped. The rifle on the other hand, discharged.

"We've been waiting for you to get back, you furry fucker." A sneering soldier called to the delerious man.

"Sir, what now?" The tallest among them by 3 inches, and the freshest faced human soldier turned to his superior with a knowing grin.

"You know what, soldier. The mana siphon's done it's job. Ask the gentleman kindly where he's kept our gold."

The superior kept his chin held high, looking past his nose at his subordinate, yet allowing his mouth form a knowing smile back at the man. The third man spoke with a deep voice, a questioning inflection in his tone.

"Horty's dead sir. I didn't think this horned piece of shit still had it in him. What's the story for the rest of the guys?"

"They wont care. Still... If anyone asks, he was ripped asunder by those clawed little buggers who walk on two feet."

"We call them shufflers, sir."

"Hoh. How apt." The superior sniffed, nodding with acknowledgement.

"How is the interrogation proceeding, soldier?" He motioned to the fresh faced one, before turning his gaze to the antlered man who was now sporting fresh cuts from the edge of a sword on his arms and face.

"He's delirious, sir. I think the siphon worked too well. He's probably going through mana withdrawal."

"Blast. Well, we have some tim-"

An explosion sounded, and echoed across the plains to their south. Three cracks followed, and three objects impacted to their right, straight into the now dying fires of the stable.

"They have an ally in the plains. FIND him!" The superior cursed, spittle flying out from underneath his bushy moustache.

The soldiers settled into their battle form, easy on their legs and arms aimed forwards for casting, and summoned their shields towards the probable source of the enemy.

Alarms blared in Cameron's head. The three men were running now, in his direction. The leader's eyes glowed the same white his arms did, and his other hand readied a fiery orb, floating just above his palm.

"Is detection picking up anything, sir?" The taller man asked his superior through harsh breaths.

"I see nothing! Set the whole bloody field ablaze! Burn them out!" With a flick of the wrist, the fireball in the man's hand shot forward, arcing in the air, and landing 30 metres shy of Cameron. This one didn't explode, instead it seperated on collision, sending burning elements of fire across a 5 metre radius.

"If you surrender yourself, I'll kill you quickly." The leader bellowed out. His subordinates released their own fireballs, one after the other, impacting the ground and torching the grass and earth.

Not happening.

The adrenaline surged again through Cameron's veins. There was nothing but the enemy to the front to think about. He was downwind of the fire, spared from the smoke and heat that was now licking at the soldiers. He flicked the two thin metal arms of the bipod on his firearm down, and steadied himself. He moved the sights over the soldier on the left, who was half way done casting an additional fireball. A loud report rang out, as Cameron pressed the trigger, and the round sailed forward towards the man's chest. The shield did nothing to save the man. The bulet passed through the translucency into his rib cage, and through his lungs, causing the man to fall to his back and lay amongst the tall grass, out of Cameron's view. Cameron was ecstatic!

It fucking worked! Thank god! Now for the other two.

The shock on the remaining men's faces was palpable. They saw no bullet. They did, however, see their ally rupture blood out of his back, and fall to the ground.

"S-sir! His shield did nothing! What do we do?!" The taller man amongst them panicked. The most ubiquitous spell of all mage-kind failed him. It was an anti-mana spell, that remained operational as long as the caster's mana pool had a speck of mana left. Depending on the severity of the attack, mana would be depleted scaling on the damage of whatever spell it kept at bay did. What they couldn't have realised was that their adversary did not employ mana.

"Fucking swine! I'll skin you alive! Tear your limbs from your body!" The superior was enraged. His nose flared and his eyes became bloodshot, bulging. Two of his men were dead. HIS men. Useless men, but HIS. He was indignant with hatred. He let his shield flicker from existence, and almost instantly replaced it with a red one. This shield was a sphere, covering his entire body. His legs glowed white. Cameron had seen that before, and it had never been healthy for him. The man started to run. He gained speed at an inhuman pace, his stride unnatural. Each glowing leg took him closer and closer to Cameron. The man had found him.

Cameron pressed and held the trigger down. Round after round slammed into the shield. The gun spit out the casings on it's right side, rocking back and forth from the recoil. He held the gun pressed against his shoulder. 5 bullets. 10. 20. He was almost empty. The counter dripped dangerously down, but he noticed a fracture in the raging bull's shield.

It's working. More.

Each round took him closer to victory. To safety. The superior's face dropped at the sight of his impenetrable bloodline magic failing him. The magic surved his noble family for generations! It guaranteed the safety of his ancestors! How can an accomplice of a burnt out half beast warrior burn out HIS birthright?

His entitlement failed to save him. Every additional round caused cracks to spiderweb into his shield, and his pride, until the ruby sphere shattered. The last three rounds found a home in the man's chest and head. He was dead. The remaining soldier shook. His leader was dead, the best of them. He didn't stand a chance.

"I surrender! Please, spare my life! I won't attack! On my honour!" He yelled southward into the field. He saw movement. He saw a devil. A man with metal in his hands. Strange garments. Every part of the man's body was covered in red. The soldier felt faint. The devil spoke.

"Get on your stomach! Face the ground and put your hands on your head!" Cameron screamed at him, his voice breaking slightly. He held the rifle level at the man's head, and jogged to the compliant man, summoning a magazine along the way and reloading his weapon. The remaining soldier did as the devil said, laying down and trembling.