"Agent 25800, report." a cold, frigid voice ordered. 

"I have successfully made contact with the individual in question." A second voice said. 

"Good, what is your first impression of the individual, Agent?"

"She conceals her true nature, like all of her Kin, with supreme excellence. She is sly, treacherous, and intelligent." 

"That was to be expected, they are a slippery lot but their continued existence threatens the natural order of things, Beings like them have no right to raise their heads, and only god knows what other abominations they hide behind their well maintained walls. Their existence alone gives too much credit to the genetics of those Gutter Rats in the Slums. " A third, equally cold, voice said with undisguised disgust. 

"I understand." The second voice intoned.

"That is good, agent 25800. We expect nothing less from you." 

"But my Lords, excuse my curiosity; why now? There must have been plenty of opportunities earlier on, not now when they are at their most brilliant." 

"Our own negligence was at fault; we could have tolerated them if they had not stepped into their current rank, if they had not gained ancient magic like they did."

"Ancient Magic?"

"You ask too much, Agent 25800. I assume that comes with your age, so we will indulge you, this time. We are talking about the individual in question, that Oath Mage. It has reached Seventh Order; the highest ever recorded for their kind. It is already stronger than its peers by leaps and bounds Their fourth, the Shadow Mage, shows the same inclination in terms of talent. But the target is the true problem. Oath magic is among the strongest of ancient magics; it holds the keys to bring us all down and destroy the current fragile balance… If the individual ever discovers its true potential and truly grows into its powers by becoming an eight or, god forbid, ninth order Mage." 

"I understand."

The blond lanky man bowed his head, a glint of viciousness in his eyes as he retreated carefully from the room. Barely outside, he walked upwards through dark unlit corridors and opened a door towards the outside of the bunker. Exiting, only to stand in an alleyway, listening to the bustling shopping streets and the voices of hundreds of people. A few meters further, he left the alley and stepped onto on the main shopping street right among the vibrant colors of life.

Right and left stores were open with mothers with children walking through them, some of them eating ice cream. The air was suffused with the sweet smell of street food, and a musician was playing a faintly familiar sounding tone. The people were chatting and speaking to each other, the voices becoming a shooting music to him. 

He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath before he put on a slight smile and vanished into the streets among the people; just another one of a thousand faces. The sun was shining down and in the distance the tower of the Lumiere rose to its great height. It was so contrasting, the Lumiere lived right in the midst of busting life and filled with people, while the Tarajan preferred calm forests and distance from the society they were part of. 

Sometimes he wondered which of them was more monstrous in their screwed up world. At least the Tarajan carried their inner beasts with pride and did not hide them behind the fickle facade of civility and justice like the other families. The Zhang, who tore each other apart for power and who shreded their siblings into pieces while still in their cradles if they showed potential. Or the Lumiere, who were obsessed with the purity of blood to the point of disregarding and forgetting anything else.

 
He stopped by a small stall and saw the word Crêpe written on it. With a weak smile, he succumbed to the sweet smell and waited in front of the stall until a serving lady came and smiled at him, "How can I help you?" she asked, her voice carrying a slight timbre. He smiled back, and for once it was sincere,. 

"One Crêpe please, with chocolate and banana, to go." He requested after a quick glance at the list of flavors they offered. 

"Certainly, just a moment." The woman prepared the crêpe in front of him, and the simple act of watching her make him something to eat brought peace back to him. He let out a relieved breath. Soon, the warm Crêpe was placed into his hands and he paid before walking away with it, waving at the rest of the customers. 

Biting into the food, he enjoyed the taste of chocolate, the thin dough, and the banana on his tongue. How long had it been when he ate something like this? He couldn't remember. Passing by, he looked into an alley and saw from the corner of his eyes a small child who was scavenging through the trash. It seemed the people of the slums now even dared to head this far into the main city in their search for food. That, or this child was truly desperate, getting caught there meant in the best of cases a public beating. 

The people enjoyed that, seeing someone they thought lesser getting beaten. He never really understood why they enjoyed it, but he guessed it was just part of society; the sacrifice of the few needed to be made to keep their own safety. 

He arrived at his apartment and opened the door, stepping into the silence of his living space. He hung up his jacket carefully while slipping out of his shoes at the entrance. Now relaxed, he deposited the remains of his Crêpe into the trash can next to the door. 

The room’s sparse furnishing’s were white; the walls were also white, and not a single picture or personal item hung on them. The windows opened up to a wide view of the city as he settled down on the couch and sat there, doing nothing for a while, just getting lost in his thoughts. They wandered almost immediately to his newly made acquaintance, his goal, it was quickly boding to become an obsession. 

She had pretty green eyes, I expected them to be blank but instead they really were strong, friendly and naive, too naive for a Tarajan. Strange. She shook my hand as well. It did not feel like the handshake of a monster, but I shouldn't get myself fooled, her kin they are monsters, they cannot be anything else but monsters.It is no use doubting that now, she merely hides it better.

Taking out a photo from his jacked, he pinned it in front of him on the bare wall. On it, a young woman, her green eyes smiling, and her brown hair tousled by the wind. 

Titania Tarajan. 

He looked at her and touched her cheek as he stared at it. 

She is truly a dangerous individual, no less, if not even more so, than her siblings. She is literally an unknown, except her being a seventh rank oath mage and a member of the Tarajan we know nothing about her. Furthermore, she does not seem to have any friends, we do not know of her free time activities and the only incidents where she leaves the house officially is when she is planning something with her siblings or going to the Academy. 

And she is always without exception accompanied by at least one if not more bodyguards.

He stared at the pretty smiling face and bit his lip. 

I will rip off that well maintained facade, I will not be tempted. 

Walking back to a snowy white desk, he took out a few papers and stared at them with gleaming eyes. 

Tarajan

Was written on the files and he opened them. The first thing jumping at him were images, five images. 

Marcia Tarajan, head of the family. 

He touched her image and read through the information for the Nth-time, he couldn't remember how often he had already read this, he knew every word by memory, every of her crimes was deeply imbedded into his memory, burned into it. 

An illusion mage, a major powerhouse focusing on turning illusions into form and capable of unleashing an army of illusionary monsters. She also is very good at hiding in plain sight and at screaming out her presence with her magic, it is so powerful that despite illusionary having been categorized as a useful but low ranking magic type, she managed to make her rank up to the most powerful magic users currently alive.

Deaths she is responsible for, directly or indirectly, over 20,000 but the numbers were never confirmed.

 

Next Raon Tarajan, weapons master, eight order assassin and killer, has stepped down from his post as heir due to mental issues for the sake of the family.

Kills, 1935 confirmed but most likely there is a higher dark number of kills he is responsible for, those kills have been confirmed during the last major monster attack on the city when he decided to go on a killing spree in the midst of rising from seventh to eight order.

 

Crysamthe Tarajan, potions and charm maker, the heavyweight earner of the family, has been known to be extremely capricious and is accused of over a hundred cases of human experimentation.

 

Last but not least, Cedric Tarajan, fifth order shadow mage and despite being the youngest their internal center of information, if someone knows something in this city it is certain to reach his ears, he is also the most likely one to be nominated next family head by Marcia Tarajan since none of his older siblings have shown any inclination to take the helm.

The other people known to serve them are the Butler Drake, their maid Anne and this redhead here, although no one knows who he truly is. It is suspected he works for their killing department, though. 

The images were there, the crimes too, but never had there been a single instance where anyone had been able to pin it on the Tarajan. Instead they had merely laughed at the people who tried to do so and continued to do whatever they wanted. 

It was frustrating in the very sense of the word. 

Closing his map again, he looked through the empty room. Soon, many more images would join the first on the wall. He took those from his files and pinned them around the first one. 

He needed to know who worked for them, who owed their allegiance to them, and whom he needed to slowly eradicate. Not only that, but he already figured who his first victim would be. 

He placed his hand on the image and smiled. 

This would be the first step to the eradication of the Tarajan. For now, he just needed to put on a mask himself and become friends with Titania, it would not be easy to fool her, but she was the only accessible one. 

He stepped away and wandered to another white pristine wall, hit against a spot, and then it slid open revealing a hidden compartment. 

Guns, knives, swords, every imaginable kind of weapon hung there. He picked out a relatively large rifle and slung it over his back. 

A crystal powered sniper will do just fine for this job. 

Picking up another tool, a small charm, he suddenly vanished in plain sight. 

It is time to go on a hunt. 

He could feel the blood in his veins and licked his lips, excited at the prospect of a sweet kill. It would be a balm on his already strained self-control.