The Arcans: The Chosen One

Prologue

The Labs of Westernly had quite a reputation.

Other lands do not have such modern technologies, or such expert scientists.
Westernly had people from the past that discovered new theories. Like relativity, or gravity, or the solar system. Albert Einstein, Isaac Newton, Nicholas Carponicus, Galileo Galilei, and so many more..

But their lab was small.
And hidden from public.

Recently, they had discovered a method to bring out superior abilities from fellow Arcans, after 10 years of trying and searching and testing. The public knew, though, they made fun of it, since there were barely any Arcans left.

They didn't understand, perhaps, that Arcans were human beings just as them. They reproduce and grow. Their numbers were very little, but every intellect of Westernly knew they were still out there, still alive and well, but in hiding.

Arcans have long last cause chaos in the Italye City, with cases of earthquakes and sandstorms, and ruined birthday parties.
The Scotts Town had a boogeyman case, started by an Arcan.
And the Woods Tribe-satyrs, and centaurs-had broken and missing musical instruments, suspected as another Arcan case.

Of course, the Westernlian Intellects-an army, with a fancier name than, well army- had to take care of it all (all the Woods Tribe did was shout and curse with names like Zeus, or Dionysus, whomever they were) and deliver the guilty superiors to the Labs.

Of course, some Arcans were clever and cunning enough to escape the Labs, but Westernly knew better than to spread it wide to the other lands. They had pride, and dignity, to keep.

The weather was not a particularly happy one. The clouds swarmed the whole sky, engulfing lights from the Sun.
"Well," said an Westernlian Intelect. "Looks like it's gonna rain."

"Thank you for the weather forecast, Mr. Stating the Obvious."
"Hey now, Amy, I was just saying it."

"It's going to rain," Amy the Westernlian Intellect scoffed. "So keep moving, we have to deliver him to the Labs, fast."
"Why now, what's the hurry?"

"You know the feeling, Kilby, when your favourite show will start soon, but you still have work to do?"
"Yeah."
"That's my case right now," she grunted. "Go faster."

The Arcan in between them was scrawny and dirty, around the age of 13. Even in chains, he held back and refused to move on. Amy had to drag him forward.

"What's the show?"
"Gilmore Girls."

"Oh."
"Kilby, can you please push him forward with me here?"
"He's an Arcan. He might be up to something."

"Gilmore Girls, Kilby."
"Fine."

They pushed and pulled him so hard, he fell and bleed. They paid no mind to his injuries, lifting him up to his feet. For the first time ever, he spoke, "I'm bleeding."

"So you are."
"I'm an Arcan," he said. "I can move and destroy you anytime. Better not treat me like this."

"If you can destroy us, how can we capture you?"
"Yeah, why didn't you destroy us earlier?"

He said nothing, and obliged. "Oh goodness, 10 more minutes, hurry up! It's just at the hill there. I'll carry you if I have to."
"She's desperate."

"Yes, I am."
"That's nothing to be desperate of, a mere show on television," the Arcan snorted. "What you should be desperate of now... Is your lives."

"What-"
His whole body and every inch of his clothes turned black. He quavered, and slipped out of the chains, like he was a liquid. Kilby and Amy reached out the black body, but it was like a shadow, creeping to the ground.

"I hate Arcans." Amy took out her mechanical shooter- which was Westernlian's more complicated choice for the word gun- since they though they'd sound smarter that way. She shot at the ground, aiming the shadow that swiftly moved away.

Kilby couldn't even take out his mechanical shooter, when he fell, a black hand around his ankle, and another reached out for the weapon.

A shooting sound.

And it wasn't from Amy.

She stared, in horror, while holding her weapon stably to the Arcan. She dared not to shoot, unable to look at it, too near to Kilby's dead body.

Then the shadow left.
Leaving a Westernlian Intellect horrified.
And another, well, dead.