It was the fifth house this month. The modus operandi was the same, or at the very least appeared to be at a surface level. The locale? A family home smack dab in the middle of an upscale suburb. There had only been one outlier so far, and that had been an apartment in the heart of the city.

  Pietro went through all of the information he had gathered so far. The perpetrator would blow out the locking cylinder of the front door before entering the homes. They never entered through a window or back door. At the surface their methods seemed almost professional. It was more in line with the work of a practiced assassin than a spree killer.

  The victims told quite a different story however. The killer never seemed to go for vitals when they did their foul work. They were practically blowing their victims apart one piece at a time. Some of the younger agents had assumed they might be using some high caliber weapon, but guns weren't exactly known for their ability to turn an arm into a fine mist.

  One thing was clear in Pietro's head. The killer wasn't ordinaire. Only through magic could one so brutally slaughter people within their own home without raising suspicion from concerned neighbors or passersby. It would've sickened him more had the killer shown some motive, but as it stood it seemed no more than your ordinary rampage.

  Victims blown apart by magic gave him a lot to work with. Most nonhumans could be written off. They were far more likely to use their superior natural abilities than resorting to magic when doing their dirty work. Had it been a nonhuman it would've most likely been closer to an animal attack than what could only be described as an execution.

  He left the car and began walking towards the home. Brick walls and a tiled roof. It was only a single story house, which made it look small compared to his own. The other agents were waiting by the door as he approached.

  They were all dressed in the standard nondescript business suits that the organization preferred. One of the agents was a woman of below average height while the other was a tall man with long auburn hair. Pietro could practically feel the unspoken romantic tension between the two, and would endeavor to take it up with command once the investigation was over.

  "We got here early this time, Pietro, so there should still be traces we can analyze," said the junior agent whose name he believed was James.

  "If you've properly contained the house, James, then we should have all the time in the world to figure this out."

  Pietro stepped through the waiting door and the agents followed him like a piece of gum stuck to a shoe. On first inspection the house looked almost untouched, but when he stepped into the living room the nightmare made itself known.

  Someone less experienced than himself would only have seen what looked like a tragic woodchipper accident. But what his eyes saw were the remnants of two bodies ravaged by some incredibly destructive magic. The furniture in the room looked like it had been hit by grenade shrapnel.

  He stepped up to the living room couch and began digging the shrapnel out. With a bit of effort he managed to extract a splinter of bone that had dug itself into the cushion. He could feel the energy still clinging to the splinter as he studied it closely.

  "What are we actually looking at here?" the female agent asked him nervously.

  He opened up his senses and felt the remnants of magic clinging to the area. It was tainted by the emotions the caster must have experienced, but underneath the swirl of excitement and maddened euphoria he could sense a very familiar darkness.

  "It's a good thing that the two of you got here early and put up a proper containment."

  "Thank you, Pietro, so what exactly do you make of all this?" James asked him from the hallway.

  "We're clearly looking at the work of some very dark magic, the powers of a warlock."

  Warlocks were his specialty since he had been one in his younger years. They were defined by their use of the most destructive and insidious kinds of magic. Curses, mind enslavement, and the most sadistic forms of combative magic. They usually had very particular psychological profiles and reveled in their superiority over the common ordinaire. It was a good thing the junior agents had called the expert.

  "Warlocks? Thought we didn't have any on avalon," the male agent scoffed.

  "You are a fool if you think a warlock couldn't fly under our radar, and it is very lucky for us that this one is still experimenting with their newfound power."

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  The female agent raised her voice, "What exactly makes you think they're green if I may ask?"

  He focused on all the traces of magic hanging in the air. They were unstructured and slowly deteriorating. Formed through intent and strong emotion rather than a skilled touch.

  "They are casting the magic through intent rather than structured spellcraft, it's a very clear sign they must've recently emerged."

  "So are they just using their power for their own sick pleasure or something?" the female agent asked him in disbelief.

  Pietro rubbed his temples. The warlock was certainly getting quite a bit of pleasure out of the killings. But the traces in the area indicated that they possessed prodigious strength and more than likely quite a bit of natural talent as well. While they were still just a common magic user at this time, they would surely grow into a very dangerous magician if they didn't catch them soon.

  "This is just some sick form of practice, but it is very efficient," Pietro muttered under his breath.

  "You think we've got a warlock flinging deadly magic at ordinaires for practice?" James exclaimed.

  "Do not discredit the value of field testing, were it not for our specialized training program you would still be as green as this warlock."

  James looked at him in disbelief. Pietro's words had struck him like a pile of bricks. It was only natural that James would feel somewhat emasculated by the fact he had been little more than a low grade magic user before the organization found him.

  "However, I believe this warlock has a mentor of some sort keeping them hidden."

  "What makes you say that?" the female agent said.

  Hidden behind the more obvious magical traces left by the warlock there was something else. Remnants of some incredibly efficient spellwork that would have surely decayed by now if not for the early containment. In Pietro's eyes it appeared to be some sort of sound affecting ward. Most likely put up so the warlock could rampage without being detected by outsiders.

  "Our warlock has a very protective patron of some kind, probably a mentor."

  "You got that from just reading the traces in the air?" she said.

  Pietro sighed before he opened his mouth to speak once more, "There's signs of a sound blocking ward cast around the house far too complicated to be the work of the warlock themself."

  "So the warlock's got a teacher, but wouldn't that mean we have two warlocks?" James asked him.

  "No, we're looking at what is most likely an upstanding magician in the process of creating a disposable weapon."

  "Who the hell could be irresponsible enough to train up a warlock instead of handing them over to us?!" the female agent exclaimed with hurt and confusion painted all over her words.

  It was true. The organization was always doing its best to find and rehabilitate warlocks before they managed to attain any significant power, but warlocks were powerful weapons when they had the right motivation. They rarely had any moral compass or were so driven by emotion that they would kill and kill again until someone put them down for good. They could be far more destructive to the public than even some nonhumans.

  "I imagine the patron most likely seeks revenge for some slight and have turned to training this warlock to create plausible deniability," he stated matter of factly.

  James slammed his fist into the wall out of indignant rage. A pitiful display of emotion as far as Pietro was concerned. It had added absolutely nothing to this investigation. He made a note of it to bring it up with high command at later point in time.

  "Do you think you could identify the patron by their spellcraft?" the female agent asked him carefully.

  She however was adding a lot to this investigation. She helped his thoughts along with her questions and sometimes added observations of her own when appropriate. Her earlier emotional outburst was all but forgiven. Pietro felt like he should recommend her for more advanced training in the future.

  "Sadly the patron's skill means they're most likely using a style they wouldn't usually, which will make them impossible to identify by spellcraft alone, but otherwise it was a good bit of intuition from you."

  She was practically beaming after his compliment. In time she might grow to be a useful agent, while James would remain no more than a simple enforcer. It would be good to put them in different teams in the future, but that could wait until this investigation was over.

  "Hey, Pietro, I never knew you were such an expert on warlocks," James said to him.

  "Well I used to be one, and I am proof that they can be rehabilitated if you capture them early in their development."

  He hadn't really been captured early in his development. He had only said it to put James at ease. Pietro had turned himself over to the organization shortly after he met his future wife. It had meant removing the target he had been carrying on his back and getting himself a cushy job all at once.

  "The two of you should call some other specialists to look this place over one more time before you clean up the mess."

  "Are you sure you're done with the crime scene, Pietro?" she asked him one last time.

  "There is nothing more for me to add here, and I would like to get home before my wife goes to bed."

  He gave the two of them a quick nod and walked out of the house. There were some thoughts he hadn't shared with the agents, but he would take them up with command in due time. Slowly he lit a cigarette and leaned back in the drivers seat of the car.

  This warlock would definitely strike again. It wasn't a question of if but when. They had gotten a taste for the killing and would only hunger for more. All warlocks were the same in that respect. Didn't matter what their vice was because they would always keep seeking out another fix no matter how vile. It was a fact that he knew very well.

  So far the warlock had been targeting ordinaires, but as time went on they would most likely victimize others of their kind. Most ordinary magic users would stand no chance if the warlock chose to make them a target. Whatever magic that warlock wielded would be able to easily overpower them. And he doubted the warlock would ever think to give them a chance to fight back.

  He pulled up into the driveway outside his home and stepped through the front door. He saw his daughter laying on the couch watching the late night broadcasts with a bowl of freshly popped popcorn in her lap.

  "I see you're up late, Jennifer, anything good on the tv tonight?"