Stymie

In the basement of the embassy, reality flickered. Then a crack appeared, forming a vertical line that then split into horizontals and diagonals. With the sound of breaking glass, a black fracture appeared in space, and out from it stepped Her Majesty’s 2nd Royal Spellsayers. Dressed in No. 8 temperate combat uniforms, black berets with a gold rim and the unit’s emblem proudly displayed on the left, they secured the lower rooms with careful sweeps of their HK417’s.

The last man out of the break in reality uttered a single word, closing the breach behind him. Hand gestures were rapidly signed, causing the unit to break off into smaller parts. With the advance gesture given from the point man, they began to move out of their entry point. Another whispered word came from each man, hushing their footsteps and halting any sound from their equipment giving their position away. It was easier for them to mask the sound than the sight of them.

As they made their way along, small detachments broke off to secure the ground floor, sweeping for the terrorists that had instigated the hostage situation. Their gremlins had already been deployed down the phone lines, carefully trained and instructed to discretely disrupt security systems and mislead the enemy. Each man of the Spellsayers knew where their fellow was even when out of sight, such was the bond instilled in them. With the plan and map of the embassy gone over in detail as they prepared for the entry, their take over of the lower floor was effortless.

The forwards unit began to assail the second floor, building up their will and catalyzing it into energy before speaking the words that turned the potential in that energy into effect and action. They didn’t even need to fire their rifles as they made short work of the spartan guard posted outside of the meeting room, before forming up at the double doors that swung into the room.

Two on each side of the doors. The unit commander standing in the middle flanked close behind by two others. Other groups of men covered the fire exits from the room, just in case. The scryers, kept back, did their work at a distance, probing with their minds with feather-like touches to give the deployed men an idea of what they’d be walking into.

The two on each side of the door touched their fingers to the hinges and uttered ‘burst, and as the doors toppled in the unit commander was already speaking, eyes fixed on the terrorist group.

“Stymie!” He declared, feeling his knees grow weak from the power the spell took from him. As if hit on the head, the visible expressions on the enemy became dazed and unfocused, their gait unsteady. One word, one spell, and the opposing force was rendered prone. The rest was simply mopping up and securing the hostages.

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