Page 1 of Magic & Secrets (Twisted Magic #1)
LAVINIA WAS A VAST continent, surrounded by an endless ocean. Before the time of man, who divided the land into seven Territories, ancient beasts infused with dangerous magic roamed freely in the once common darkness. Over time, these creatures spawned mankind to worship them.
When the world warmed, the ancient ones were forced underground, into the shadows and perpetual slumber while their creations flourished.
Mankind spread out over Lavinia, building settlements on land once claimed by the ancient ones. The government ruling over all seven Territories was called the Murade. These humans shunned magic, worshipping technology instead.
Despite their claims of magic being a thing of the past, the Murade knew the ancient ones’ violent magic still danced across the wind, polluted the soil, and twisted the flesh.
They set up zero entry zones, yet outlaws and curious humans found themselves traversing through dangerous places like Pandorium Forest, which spanned many Territories.
The first Elves were born in the wet woodlands of Varema Territory. The original Shifters—a tribe capable of transforming into panthers—were found in the drier climate of Golyana Territory. The Digne Vampyres appeared in the heart of the Murade’s territory of Orvician.
Humans quickly instituted rules to deal with magic folk: kill them young, hunt them down wherever they lurked, never sell to them, and refuse to treat them as family even if they were born as kin. Only destroying the magic folk could keep the humans solidly in power.
Despite the strict guidelines, armies of powerful creatures rose against the oppressive human government. Wars were endlessly waged. Humans began to lose territory within Lavinia.
The Murade refused to bow. Mighty metal monsters were built. They carpet-bombed magical lands like Pandorium Forest. Ancient trees were torn from their roots. The fearsome dragons—once pets of the ancient ones—were wiped out or sent into deep slumber.
Elven tribes were destroyed. Both Digne and Chauve Vampyre nests were burned to a crisp. Shifter packs were chased down from hiding place to hiding place, wiping out entire bloodlines.
Yet, the Murade couldn’t destroy magic at its source. The ancient gods, hidden deep underground, continued to twist those who walked above it. Magic folk persevered and multiplied. Pandorium Forest grew back, spreading over new Territories. Magic refused to succumb.
After their massive metal machines didn’t work, the Murade created my kind.
On a military base in the brutal tundra of the Zorata Territory, we were designed in a lab, birthed from artificial wombs, and raised by androids until we were ready for war.
Our gifts included shifting into every predator roaming Lavinia.
Thanks to human scientists, we were nearly indestructible, often healing before we even realized we were hurt. My kind stood over seven feet tall with limbs as muscled and thick as tree trunks. We barely felt pain. We rarely registered fear.
Unleashed upon the Territories, the Bane Shifters annihilated every rebel faction. I had stolen more lives than I could count. Yet, at the time of my retirement, the magic folk remained powerful.
Eventually, the Murade created tenuous alliances with the various creatures. Mankind and magic folk attempted to live side by side in tenuous harmony.
A century had passed for the Bane Shifters on the ruined Mt.
Elysium. The mountain still wore the shape of majesty, but its land was poisoned from the snowy summit to every blade of grass near its base.
Only creatures as powerful as the Bane Shifters could live here without dying or becoming twisted into a new form.
Mt. Elysium allowed us to live separate from the outside world.
My kind knew nothing of the current state of politics. No one from the Murade had visited the mountain in a dozen years. For all I knew, we could be the last species left on the planet.
I was relieved to leave behind the endless battles. The spoils of war were never for the Bane Shifters to enjoy. We were slaves to bloodthirsty humans. The Murade knew nothing but war by the time we were invented. Their entire society was built around fighting one threat or another.
Mt. Elysium offered my kind a peaceful life. Over the century, I lost my bloodlust. My days were spent high on the mountain, searching for food or enjoying the sun filtering through the toxic green haze left behind from a long-ago battle.
Occasionally, I traveled to a small village at the base of the mountain inhabited by the Murade’s failed experiments. The Bane Shifters at Haven Junction couldn’t shift, or at least not for long. They didn’t heal as quickly, either.
The scientists at Operation Overlord used them as guinea pigs and unpaid labor around the base. These Bane Shifters never saw battle. It would be easy to view them as lesser.
Our pack leader, Tempe, had insisted they be granted freedom when we were. Now, they lived in their village. Whenever I visited, they always cooked me stews filled with the odd vegetables growing from the polluted land.
Mostly, I lived wild, remaining in animal form and hunting for my meals. I rarely encountered other Bane Shifters on the massive mountain. I enjoyed the solitude.
Tonight was anything but soothing as a magic-fueled storm surged across the land. The winds howled with an unnatural tempo. Yellow mist oozed from the clouds, glowing faintly with a mysterious flaxen light.
Bolts of jagged energy cracked in the sky. Hefty hail pounded the terrain, tearing through trees and leaving destruction in its wake.
As I searched for refuge, the falling ice tore through my fur and flesh like daggers. The magic left behind plucked at my nerves, blinding me with pain. Only my superior healing kept me from faltering in the storm. I finally found refuge in a cave near the mountain’s rocky peak.
Shaking off the moisture from the coat of my black bear form, I settled into the darkness. The air outside stank of magic gone foul. Yellow and green lightning flashed bright enough to temporarily blind me. A sickly citrine fog spread across the mountain.
Retreating deeper into the cave, I curled up and recalled a time when this mountain belonged to the Jaala Elven Tribe.
The Bane Shifters were mere younglings back when the humans demanded all magic folk register their people. The Jaala had refused, viewing the Murade as a waning power. Many within the magic folk communities believed the Territories were ungovernable by a single entity.
Concerned about a potential uprising, the Murade decided to make an example of the Jaala Elven Tribe.
The war lasted less than six months. Thousands of humans died at the base of Mt. Elysium. The Elves could have waited out a million humans, using the mountain’s brutal environment to their advantage.
As the war dragged on, the Murade feared more uprisings throughout the Territories.
The Digne Vampyres had stopped fighting each other long enough to convene a meeting over joining forces to fight the humans.
Ten dozen Shifter packs across four Territories joined together for a summit on their future.
Fearing they were on the cusp of losing power, the Murade ordered their planes to drop a toxic cargo over Mt. Elysium. The poison destroyed all it touched. If the Murade couldn’t claim this mountain, no one would have it.
Even defeated, the Jaala refused to flee.
Huddled together in their main enclave, they summoned the last magic in their bodies from the eldest to the newborns to place a curse on this mountain.
If the Elves were deprived of their home, they would ensure no member of humanity could ever set foot on it, either.
Their poison and magic from that day left a scar across Mt. Elysium. The surviving wildlife became malformed and diseased. No tribe of man or magic folk could call this place home except the Bane Shifters .
The Elves died before I was old enough for battle, yet I still felt their magic nipping at my flesh from time to time. Traveling through the woods, I’d sensed the echoes of the Tribe crying out for vengeance.
Magic couldn’t truly die, but the Murade never admitted this fact during our training. They treated magic like a parlor trick or the temporary effects of a powerful drug: something that could be eliminated. In truth, magic could only change forms.
Many millennia ago, an ancient beast called this mountain its home. Like the other old ones, it was believed to be dead. Yet, as I hid in the cave, I could feel the low humming of its magic reacting to the fierce storm outside.
The fog rolling across Mt. Elysium made my snout twitch, forcing me to hide my face under my heavy limbs to block out the stink. The cave rumbled around me, buzzing in a way that proved both alluring and heinous.
I envisioned a monstrous entity with no eyes, yet it could see. The creature had no mouth, yet devoured many. The horrific beauty of this ancient one had once brought humans to tears. They wept as their blood was spilt in sacrifice.
For many millennia, the Murade’s official view on the ancient gods was that they were mere myth. They denied how the old ones continued to transform Lavinia to their liking.
Back at the arctic base, our commanders admitted the truth. The more magic that was allowed to fester in the world, the hungrier the ancient ones would become.
“Annihilation of the magic folk is the only salvation offered to the world,” was drilled into our heads since we were younglings.
Even with the Bane Shifters at their disposal, the Murade could never wipe out their enemies.
New ones were continuously born to humans.
The Jaala Elven Tribe had originally been human.
The renegade humans were driven into Pandorium Forest, where they survived the brutal environment long enough for the magic to twist their bodies and minds.