Chapter 5
"Why wouldn't he give me the book?" Zevir muttered to himself.
The chill night air curled around him, rustling the hem of his black-collared jacket. A crisp white shirt peeked through the front, tucked into bootcut jeans that rested neatly over scuffed black boots. He leaned against a rusted fence, eyes tracking the skyline. Streetlamps buzzed above, their glow flickering with the hum of mana cables running under the street.
Behind him, a dozen cars crouched like predators—steel, mana, and rage. Enchanted hoods shimmered faintly with sigils, their engines breathing slow, glowing puffs of light.
"Did you say something?" Zephyr asked, voice casual.
Zevir turned slightly. "No."
But he heard it—Zephyr's surface thought brushing against his awareness like a breeze tugging on cloth:
He's brooding again. Probably over that bookstore visit… good. Let him stew.
Zevir didn't flinch. Just watched as Zephyr gestured toward the approaching figures. "These are my people."
Three students walked over—two guys, one girl. All around their age. Dressed in normal street gear: jackets, boots, mana-thread gloves. But beneath their calm exteriors, Zevir felt the pulse of their thoughts.
Hope Zephyr lets me race this time. Been practicing all week.
Don't look nervous. Don't look nervous.
That guy's the new one. Zevir. Looks cold. Dangerous.
So these are his followers, Zevir thought. And not one of them trusts the others.
Zephyr clapped once. "We'll start in fifteen. I'm joining too."
Zevir's eyes swept over the cars. They weren't normal by any stretch—some growled with arcane plasma sealed in reinforced glass, others had etherburn thrusters with unstable containment glyphs scratched into the metal. Every one of them illegal. Every one built for speed and chaos.
"Who else is racing?" Zevir asked, still scanning.
Zephyr dropped his voice. "Don't tell anyone. This is underground. Real stakes. No rules, no wards. If you die… well, you die."
Zevir's mind brushed against his again.
Let's see if he backs off. I'd respect him more if he doesn't.
Zevir didn't speak, didn't react.
Then Zephyr stepped forward. "You thinking about joining?"
Zevir remained still.
C'mon. Say no. You're smart enough to know better. But stubborn enough to say yes.
Before Zevir could respond, Zephyr added, "Tell you what. Let's make this interesting."
Zevir arched a brow.
"I want you as my subordinate this semester," Zephyr said. "You've got raw skill. Talent. I don't want to waste that. If I win tonight, you work under me. No questions."
Zevir narrowed his eyes. "And if I win?"
Zephyr smirked. "I don't lose."
But Zevir heard the flicker of hesitation beneath it.
No way he wins. But if he does… well, he'll want something. Probably information. Maybe freedom.
Zephyr shrugged. "But fine. If—by some twist of fate—you beat me, I owe you. One favor. No limit."
Zevir glanced toward the track again. The air was thick with smoke and mana haze. A crowd was forming—students, city delinquents, rogue alchemists. Most looked excited. A few looked terrified.
Nearby, one racer ran through warmup chants. Another spilled mana into a core using a silver-tipped funnel. The tension buzzed like static under Zevir's skin.
He stepped forward, gaze sharp, tone calm.
"Deal," he said.
Zephyr grinned. "Try not to die."
Let's see what you're really made of.
Zevir said nothing. But inside, his thoughts burned.
I already know what you're made of. Now let's see how fast you fall apart.
————-
A siren blared like a war cry.
Twelve cars lined up at the edge of an abandoned highway, engines snarling, exhaust pipes glowing with mana fire. The moon hung above like an indifferent witness as blue-white wisps of energy spiraled up from the road's arcane grid.
Zevir sat in a low-riding emerald green car, etched with flickering flame designs. His foot hovered over the accelerator. Runes lined the dashboard, humming in time with the mana core buried deep in the engine.
His eyes narrowed.
Twelve racers. Two with enhanced vehicles. Three with spell-based sabotage. At least four with hostile intent. Two… already dead inside. The girl's just here for the thrill.
The thoughts of his opponents swirled around him. Each one loud, frantic, bloodthirsty.
Zevir's gunblade, already in gun mode, rested across his lap. In this race, magic wasn't just an enhancement—it was survival.
And Zevir wasn't just fast.
He was cold.
⸻
A girl wearing cut-off shorts and a manic grin stepped up to the center podium, twin braids bouncing. She raised her wand, which sparked pink and gold.
"No rules," she purred, voice amplified by a charm. "No limits. Just get to Levitan Bridge… and back. Use anything. Magic. Weapons. Murder. Just don't bore me."
She winked as the lights flashed overhead.
RED.
Engines growled. The air trembled.
YELLOW.
Glyphs lit up under tires. Mana cores surged.
GREEN.
VROOOOOOM!
Twelve mana-powered beasts howled into the night. Tires shrieked against pavement. Boosters exploded. The highway turned into a war zone of speed and fire.
Zevir's green car launched forward like a thunderbolt, his left hand on the wheel, right hand already channeling a spell.
Shield the engine. Lethal points first.
Ice crystalized across the car's hood, encasing the engine in a thick sheet of translucent frost. The car hissed as it adjusted to the temperature drop, but the protective layer shimmered with runes—a custom spellwork Zevir had crafted himself.
Behind him, mana bullets tore through the air—BOOM! CRACK! ZZZZZAP!
Two racers were already gunning for him, one aiming at his rear wheel.
Slow him down—pop his wheel—get close, then throw—
"Too late," Zevir muttered.
He flicked his wrist. The rear tires spiked with ice, anchoring him mid-skid. He yanked the handbrake, twisted left, and counter-drifted into a perfect swerve. At the same time, he fired his gunblade—one, two, three shots.
CRACK.
The first attacker's tire exploded. The car spun and slammed into the divider in a flaming spiral.
The second attacker cursed and tried to launch a fireball—
But Zevir was already past him.
"Keep up," he muttered.
⸻
A shadow leapt.
One racer—either cocky or insane—jumped from his car, leaving it on auto-pilot, twin daggers drawn mid-air. He landed hard on Zevir's windshield, stabbing downward.
Zevir's response was ice-cold.
He didn't brake. He accelerated.
The sudden G-force launched the attacker slightly upward—just enough.
Zevir aimed his gunblade through the shattered sunroof and pulled the trigger.
BLAM.
The mana bullet punched clean through the man's chest. Blood sprayed across the hood as his body tumbled backward into the night.
Don't jump on my car again, Zevir thought dryly, kicking the windshield open with an ice-covered boot.
Behind him, the man's car—still rolling—veered into another racer.
BOOM. Twin explosions lit up the street like fireworks.
⸻
Up ahead, Levitan Bridge shimmered into view—an arched structure floating above a ravine of glowing mana mist. The bridge pulsed with unstable currents; chunks of it flickered in and out of phase, rippling like water.
Zephyr's blood-red car was just ahead.
He was one-handed on the wheel again, lazily tossing lightning spears at competitors. One struck a blue car, frying the core—BOOM—the wreckage flipping end-over-end and vanishing into the mist below.
Zevir caught Zephyr's internal monologue:
Still behind me, huh? Let's see if that ice magic's worth anything…
Zephyr snapped his fingers and sent a thunder glyph sliding across the bridge like a tripwire.
Zevir grinned.
He raised his hand.
Frost spiraled from his palm, racing ahead like a frozen serpent. The glyph froze mid-air and shattered harmlessly into dust as Zevir's car flew through.
Screeeeeeeee—
Zevir drifted across the flickering bridge, ice coating his tires, allowing him to skate rather than drive. The physics-defying maneuver gave him just enough lift to dodge a collapsing section of road.
This guy's unreal… another racer thought—moments before her car plummeted off the bridge.
Zevir swerved past two more combatants exchanging fire, raising a jagged wall of ice behind him that blocked their line of sight.
"Freeze."
He whispered the spell, and the road behind him slicked with frost. One driver lost traction completely, spinning out into another—BANG!—metal crunched, mana cores exploded.
⸻
Only three racers remained.
Zevir.
Zephyr.
And a silent third in a black car trailing just behind, preparing a complex spell—a mana bomb rune forming between his palms.
Kill both. Win big. Take the prize money and disappear. Easy.
Zevir didn't need to hear more.
He veered, pulled his gunblade from the side holster, and channeled ice bullets—fragments of frozen mana, sharp as obsidian.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
The bullets struck the black car's hood, then the windshield. The driver staggered, spell fizzling.
"Wrong move."
Zevir cast Shatter.
The frozen engine core detonated—BOOM!
The black car flipped twice, then vanished in a flaming arc off the side of the bridge.
As the glowing finish line came into view—just beyond the last stretch of broken road—Zevir and Zephyr were neck and neck.
Their cars were no longer just vehicles; they were projectiles, roaring down a highway laced with shattered glass, bloodstains, and broken dreams.
Zephyr snarled, sweat trailing down his brow, hand glowing with pure lightning as he embedded runes into the road ahead.
I'm not losing to fucking newbie.
The air crackled. A chain of lightning traps surged to life across the road, arcing dangerously.
Zevir saw them forming—read Zephyr's thoughts as if they were his own.
Damn. He's going to overload the field.
Zevir channeled mana through the car's underbelly, forming an ice-blast propulsion—a move so wild, so unstable, he hadn't even tested it yet.
"Let's fly," he muttered.
CRACK!
The car leapt.
An explosion of frost rocketed from the rear, launching Zevir's car upward, skimming over the crackling field of death.
Zephyr's eyes widened. He slammed both hands on the wheel, roaring as his car zigzagged between his own traps, one of the wheels now sparking, the frame screaming under pressure.
The crowd leaned in.
Ten meters.
Six.
Three.
Zevir's car descended from its icy arc, landing hard, skidding sideways. Zephyr's car pulled beside him, paint stripped, engine hissing steam.
They were door-to-door.
And then—
Zevir froze his rear tires, flared a final ice burst, and drifted sideways across the finish line, sparks flying in a blinding halo of frost and flame.
Half a second.
That was all.
Enough to win.
⸻
The siren wailed.
A red flare shot into the sky.
The race was over.
Zevir climbed out of his car slowly, frost trailing from his boots as if the cold still clung to his soul.
The crowd around the ravaged road held its breath.
Zephyr stepped out of his battered red car, face unreadable. He looked at Zevir.
Eyes locked.
How? I was perfect. I never lose.
For a second, it looked like he might say something—curse him, challenge him, laugh it off.
But instead… Zephyr turned.
Wordless.
His friends gathered behind him, silent, tense. One of them reached to pat his shoulder, but he brushed it off.
Then they vanished into the shadows of the alleys, their mana cloaks flickering like dying embers.
⸻
Silence.
Until—
Clap. Clap. Clap.
The girl announcer from before walked up, grinning wide, braids swaying. Her eyes sparkled with genuine thrill.
"Alright, mystery man," she said, spinning a mana-coin between her fingers. "That was some damn good driving."
Zevir said nothing. His breath was still fog in the night air.
She tilted her head, clearly entertained. "Name?"
He hesitated.
"…Zevir."
"Zevir," she repeated, as if tasting it. "Nice. Got a rebel ring to it."
She pulled out a heavy bag made of enchanted velvet and tossed it at him.
It hit his chest with a thud—heavy.
"Prize money," she winked. "Should be enough to buy yourself a better car. Or a new life. Up to you."
He caught it, slinging it over his shoulder.
Before walking away, she added with a sly smirk, "If you ever wanna race again—underground league's always watching. And you just painted a big ol' target on your back, Frost King."
She disappeared into the shadows, her laughter trailing like wind chimes in smoke.
Zevir stood there alone, engine still ticking behind him, city lights flickering in the distance.