Goons are attacking innocents.

The screams are growing more urgent, louder and filled with anguish. I rush to the window.

For the first time in my life I'm able to perceive the psychic vibrations of fear, anxiety, and anger. The people on the street are awash in dark boiling reds, and limp purples, the air around them feels like it's booming with a great bass, shaking and trembling like a beaten dog. The wave of negativity washes over me, I can feel my stomach lurch and my mind fill with wanton thoughts of **** and ****. I breathe in a steady stream of mana, my mental landscape sharpens into a glinting crystal, I can feel my wits return.

There’s a group of men in biker jackets, a black skull is emblazoned on their leather backs. The skull blazes with the color of purple mana. I focus on the skull, sending mana to my eyes. I can tell that whoever made the emblem is skilled, the mana well engineered, and meant to last.

I look at the goons themselves, nothing about them looks magical, in fact, it looks like all of them are STR and DEX junkies. I nearly vomit, the men are bashing in the heads of passersby and robbing nearby storefronts, I shiver as one of the men throws such a punch so powerful he manages to put his entire fist through a shopkeeper’s gut. There’s blood curdling down the curb, one of the men rushes in a blur of motion, winding up his leg to kick the legs out from under a grandma. “Hey! What’s that creep doin looking at us?” One of the goons points a gloved finger at me. I duck away from my window, trying to formulate a plan. Those guys are only armed with bats and brass knuckles, if I can use some spells I can probably take them out.

Spells. I don’t know any spells. I close my eyes and try to focus on my mana. What would be good to take out multiple enemies but not cause too much collateral damage? A Molotov cocktail comes sailing through the window. The cocktail lands and shatters into a carpet of flames. To my surprise, I’m not at all surprised. I snap my fingers and will my mana to become colder and colder, I then will the flow of mana to wash over the spreading flames. A cool blast of air blows forth, filling the confines of my room with a cloud of cold air. Specks of ice begin forming, I can feel the power of the cold at my finger tips, a sense of freedom washes over me. I will it to grow stronger and colder.

An entire sheet of ice flowers out from my right foot, coating the ground in a solid layer of frost. The fire fades, soft clouds of frost float up from the frigid floor. "What the hell happened to the fire?” I hear a shrill annoying voice from outside. Whomever that voice belongs to deserves to never speak again. I rush the window and will my mana into the shape of three sharp stakes. I can feel a massive headache bloom over my brain as I blast the shards of ice at the group of goons. “Holy shit! Watch out!” One of the larger men throws his comrades to the side and casts his arms out to protect them from the stone cold missile barrage.

Two shards sink into his leg meat and one splices open his neck. “It’s a fucking mage! Get into that building and kill him!” The leader lifts a dagger into his right hand and readies a throw.

Uh oh. I take in more mana, filling my body until it feels like I’m bursting with power. I can feel the nausea approaching, this will probably be my last spell. I can’t help but admire the intricate way mana functions in our world. Everywhere I look, mana is flowing, existing in even the most minute of objects.

There. Under the men, below the ground is a large surging of natural mana. I close my eyes and extend a string of my energy and attach it to the leyline. Five towering shards of ice jut out from the black road and impale the men in leather jackets. Blood spews and waterfalls down the mountain shaped spikes. The men scream in horror and beg. The cracking of the ice drowns out the rest of their moaning. Four thinner spikes slither up from the ground, looking for their prey like hawks. The thin spikes then go and pierce each man right between their eyes. Killing them in an instant. I’m filled with a stark sense of disgust at my actions, and the scene before me. The mana you will into this world is an extension of you. And I. I just killed four men in cold blood. I felt the way the ice pierced through their flesh. I was that ice. I vomit on my carpet.

How long have I been in my room? All I’ve done is meditate and open my eyes occasionally to take notes. I'm a murderer now, that's a weird thought to try and handle.

I check my phone, sure enough, it’s been nearly a month. Is a month enough time for gangs of stat crazed murders to start roaming the streets? I feel dizzy, and wrong. I take a deep breath, trying to urge those horrid images away from my mind’s eye. I need to get a grip. My hands are clenched tight, “Those goons deserved it. They were killing innocents.” I’m just trying to rationalize it, it helps a little. I try to take a deep breath and sink into a calm mind again.

Those men were wearing emblems imbued with mana. These were no ordinary attackers. What can happen in thirty three days? Organized magical crime seems like a stretch to be perfectly honest.

Anything’s possible I guess. If so, there’s gotta be someone to stop them. I grab my trustee hoodie and stretch. Trying not to stumble as I ready myself to go outside for the first time since all of this has happened.

I make my way downstairs, it’s empty, has been for the past month. I live by myself, I go to an Academy a couple of blocks down. I try my best to keep things tidy, but the dust has built up quite a bit in the last month. I don’t even want to look in the fridge. I can still hear screaming from outside. I rush to the door and head outside. It’s a rush of information, of bloody, gory, gut-wrenching information. There are several dead bodies, and even more injured people. Limbs have been wrenched in horrendous directions, entrails and organs are pulsing in puddles of blood on the street. People are lying in pools of their own vitality, screaming for help.

I freeze for a moment, overlooking the bloody scene in front of me. "Please help. Please." The shop keeper with the hole in his chest is looking at me. His eyes are nearly glazed over and the blood won't stop. I want to say in that moment I could think of nothing else but helping that old man. But that would be fucking lying. All I want to do is go to my room again, and hide. The old man reaches out a hand to me, I take it into mine, I don't know what to do.

Healing spells. I need healing spells.

The UI pops up again.

NEW QUEST!

SAVIOR OF MIDTOWN: Heal the innocents that were hurt by the attack.

**** SPREE FOR EXP: Finish the job and kill the innocents.

I should be appalled but this makes sense, the quest system doesn't have a moral compass, it simply generates the best activity for garnering experience. How wretched, it seems killing people gives you EXP, in fact, killing anything will probably give you EXP. "It hurts." The old mans sputters words and blood.