Industrial Mage: Modernizing a Magical World

01 - Death Is a Social Construct

Ethan's fists pounded the punching bag, sending a rapid series of jabs that landed with resounding thumps, each strike punctuated by ragged breaths. Sweat slicked his back, but a smile played on his lips. Each satisfying thump against the leather fueled him, thus he refused to stop, refused to surrender to the burning in his muscles or the rawness of his knuckles. He remained focused on punching.

He glanced across the gym at the rest of the boxing team. They sprawled on benches, catching their breath, even the coach looked like he needed a recharge. Ethan, however, felt energized. He reveled in the burn in his muscles, the raw ache in his knuckles. Boxing was one of his passions. The other being engineering.

More, Ethan thought, his muscles burning as he threw another combination of jabs and cross punches. More, more, more.

This love for the sport had blossomed years ago, fueled by late-night sessions in his garage, pounding away at a worn-out bag. It started as a way to unwind after long days spent hunched over engineering textbooks, a way to test his physical limits, and a way to let his father live a dream through him. But now his father lay dying in a hospital bed, and Ethan was exhausted. Mentally, emotionally, and physically. His muscles burned and his knuckles were raw.

But he couldn't stop.

A shadow fell across him, momentarily breaking his concentration. He turned to see Jacob, his sparring partner and closest friend, concern etched on his face. "Oy, mate, you should take a break," Jacob said.

Ethan chuckled, wiping the sweat from his eyes. "Almost there. Just gotta squeeze every ounce out."

"Easy there, you've been training like a madman. Harder than anyone else here. Take a breather before you collapse."

Ethan shook his head. "Not yet. I need to be ready."

"Ready for what?" Jacob raised an eyebrow. "You've improved like crazy since you started. You're a natural. We're the ones who should be worried, not you."

Ethan opened his mouth to reply, but his phone cut him off, the insistent ring echoing in the gym. He glanced at the caller ID, a flicker of worry crossing his features.

With a mumbled excuse, he jogged towards the locker room, leaving Jacob watching after him with a furrowed brow.

"Everything alright, man?" Jacob called after him, but Ethan didn't answer. As Ethan pressed the phone to his ear, a knot of apprehension tightened in his stomach. He picked up, his voice tight.

"Hello?"

The world seemed to tilt on its axis as the voice on the other end spoke.

...

Ethan hated funerals, but he hated this one more than the rest. The funeral was a blur. Ten minutes of solemnity, a eulogy nobody listened to, and then—dirt on a box. Everyone scattered like startled pigeons, leaving Ethan alone with the smell of damp earth.

He sat on a cold metal bench outside the church, a cigarette smoldering between his fingers. Smoke curled skyward. He felt... hollow. Empty.

He exhaled a plume of smoke, watching the way it dissipated. His father's voice echoed in his head.

Just as the cigarette was about to burn itself out, a huge magic circle suddenly materialized with thousands of smaller interlocking symbols that glimmered as they spun. As it touched the ground, it grew larger until the church was encompassed within the radius.

Ethan paused; shocked. What's happening?! He bolted up, looking around frantically. Then, just like that, the circle exploded and engulfed him in light. He didn't think, nor could he; it was just way too fast. There was a brief moment where everything was blinding whiteness. Ethan brought up his arm to shield his face—