A Guardian Spy

March 7, 178 HE - Imtiaz Ahmed

His mission was to spy and gather information, and that was what he would do. A long black kurta, sunglasses that analyzed mana pathways to very fine detail, and a modern cut that was low at the sides and swept back at the front.

This was not Imtiaz Ahmed's true form. This was a disguise procured by the transformation magic circle. A discovery of Lady Frey Suleiman, third wife of the Caliph. The patent of the magic circle was known only to the sorcerers of the Alhambra Guardians. His true form was older and dressed in a luxurious green thobe, added with a bisht and a black cord, an agal, tightened around the dark red ghutrah. It was the trademark of the rare mages, wizards, and sorcerers in the Alhambra Guardians. A golden crescent moon was stamped on the breast of the thobe—the mark of the Alhambra Guardians. But not today.

Today, under the behest of the Honoured Wife of the Caliph, Imtiaz Ahmed was ordered to live amongst the ordinary and gather information on the identity of Jack the Ripper. Imtiaz was not alone in his mission. At the end of the Nebulous Bazaar was the main headquarters of the Alhambra Guardians, the Magnificence. The shape of the headquarters was reminiscent of a traditional mosque, with a large central green dome rising majestically above and flanked by smaller domed structures and minarets. The exterior walls were made of white marble, with accents of blue tiles and calligraphy detailing. The entrance was marked by a grand archway that, unknown to the naked eye, was the start of a barrier. Without the golden crescent moon pin, access to the Magnificence was denied, a system devised by the Honoured Wife, Lady Frey.

Magic was not well-liked within the inner walls of the Alhambra Guardians. To train among the Alhambra Guardians was to focus on classical weapons such as spears and swords. Thus, Imtiaz was one of the scores of wizards and sorcerers under Lady Frey, a number that she had planned to grow exponentially. As a start, she had taken fifteen students under her wing from the Old Mage Tower and was pleased by their progress. She even made headway in convincing the Honoured Wife in building a department for magic at the Magnificence.

The project had been making headway until the massacre of Gate 10.

Until the slaughter of Jack of Ripper.

Only one student among the ten Lady Frey sent returned. The humiliation, the vengeance, and the hate came crashing all at once. Lady Frey ordered all sorcerers at hand, even Imtiaz, to conduct a search, leading Imtiaz to draw the transformation magic circle for each and every one of them. His specialty lay in magic circles, hence why he came out last and with the least amount of confidence. Imtiaz Ahmed was a sorcerer, not a spy, and he did not know where to begin either. He walked directionless.

"Please, my daughter! Have you seen her? Please! W-we just reunited and—"

Along the way, he saw a middle-aged father that everyone else was avoiding like a snake.

The father dashed from person to person, begging for them to look at the poster. Imtiaz stopped, catching a glimpse of the poster and the redhead illustrated. He stepped back and retreated.

Imtiaz pursed his lips. 'What am I even supposed to look for? Disguise yourselves among new players and find the one responsible…yeah, right. As if it would be that easy.'

Many of his compatriots headed to the Underground. Knowing Jack, it was likely he was hiding under the shadow of the Black Tower.

Imtiaz was smackdab in the middle of the Nebulous Bazaar where food stands and restaurants ran rampant. It was almost chaotic but it was the kind of chaotic that Imtiaz was acquainted with. He was born and raised in Pakistan and proceeded to spend the adult part of his life in Bangladesh, working as the right-hand man for a wealthy family in the textile industry.

Smelling fresh oranges reminiscent of his home city, Bhalwal, he headed into a store called the Mango Pulp. Inside, he was blasted by the scent of fruits and the messiness of a local shop.

"Hello, sir," greeted the owner, Manish Gogawale. He hardly looked at him, busy with another costumer. "How do you do? Take out or package?"

"Dining," Imtiaz replied, brushing past him to get to a table. The place was surprisingly busy. Men spoke boisterously with glass drinks in hand. Manish followed Imtiaz to his seat, chasing him for his order. "Mango lassi please."

"Yes, sir!" Manish returned a minute later with the drink in hand. "Enjoy please!"

The drink cost fifteen points, which Imtiaz casually paid off. Ranked a Sipahi, he was above the riff-raff that were the Ghazis. He was promoted faster than the norm for his adept skill in magic and unwavering faith to the Caliph. He was subsequently put under Lady Frey, whose orders he followed thick and thin.

Imtiaz swept his gaze over the store. To pretend he was doing something, he sat at the corner table and watched. 'Maybe Jack likes Indian drinks. I don't know.'

Because really, they knew nothing. Nothing aside from the rumours of his lack of statue in the Hall of Players, his relations with the Templar Order, and his presence during the Great Schism. Imtiaz participated in the previous Heavenly Games so this was all new to him. Until the newspaper began printing about the tragedy, he had no clue who Jack was at all.

'How do they know it's Jack anyway—oh, right, the fake gods.'

Some players were closer to the "gods" than others—and it was a fact that the "gods" were allowed to watch any and all gates. Generally, they only watched raids and gates affiliated with their respective mythos.

Imtiaz wasn't too interested. Zeus or Odin or Athena or whoever they were, they were just monsters. False gods that were blasphemous to Allah. He didn't think for a second that they cared for humanity or were of truly divine nature. They were fakes. An opinion Lady Frey shared and coming from her, that held weight. 

He finished his drink and considered flagging Manish for another until the bell chimed and a new customer entered. His jaw clenched. His eyes widened behind his sunglasses.

'Astaghfirullah...'