[ WP ] Science and Magic are merely opposite sides to which the pendulum of time swings . It has leaned for the past few centuries towards the Laws of Science but even now it begins to return ever faster back towards the Laws of Magic .

The abject silence of the city streets was interrupted only by the crackle snap of the electrical fires. A lone man meandered down the middle of the road towards one of the many desolate buildings on Birch Street. He was an average sized man with a crop of short and unkempt dirty blonde hair. His face, obscured as it was with a sodden rag, offered little information about him. The most striking feature were his radiantly yellow eyes. Eyes with no pupils or whites. The eyes of the infected. 
 
 
 The wanderer pushed his way through an abandoned barricade of military vehicles, strewn about with the rotting bodies swaddled in decaying combat gear. Nobody bothered to steal from the dead except the crazies, these days. It did n't take much to become sick, after all. The leering pockmarked skulls of the National Guardsmen attested to that fact quite vividly. 
 
 
 Tightening his facemask to keep out the rancid stench of decay, the man pushed on towards what had been a grocery mart. A large red `` BIG'' was over the door. The `` Y'' had fallen to the ground and was, like so much of the city, currently on fire. The automatic doors were unpowered, and boarded up from the inside. 
 
 
 The man put his hand against the glass. The words reverberated through his mind and the mask was unable to muffle their resonance. His radiant eyes flared with energy. 
 
 *Shin-karaz ratka* 
 
 All of the nails hammered into the thick slabs of wood began to vibrate intensely as they sought to escape their prisons. At first one, then a few, then *hundreds* of small nails ripped themselves from the barricade and fell to the ground. A pleasing sound not unlike rain could be heard as they bounced to the grimy tiled flooring. 
 
 
 The man silently pushed the doors open, and walked into the store. The eldritch light in his eyes fading just as quickly as it had shown up. In his wake he left footprints, where the bed of nails had seemingly avoided contact with his feet. 
 
 
 So began the search for food. An experienced survivor, the man quickly discounted any of the frozen food or perishables. With electronics and machinery failing around the world almost simultaneously, it was impossible to get meat, vegetables, or fruit unless you got them naturally. He made his way down to Aisle 6, canned goods. They were heavy to carry but kept exceptionally well through travel. More importantly, they were sealed air tight. 
 
 
 Taking his dusty pack to the floor, he began to fill it with Spaghetti-O's and cans of soup. He felt the gun's barrel settle on the back of his neck before he heard its owner. The gun's barrel was plastic. A slurred and drunken voice spoke to him. 
 
 
 `` I saw what you did, freak. Oh... no no no. You're not as god intended, *ai n't you*? Pete ai n't lettin' you into his home, oh my no. Definitely no, no no no.'' 
 
 
 The man with the yellow eyes slowly turned to regard `` Pete''. He was ragged and smelly, but that is where the similarities between the two men ended. Pete had lost most of his hair, and was bleeding steadily through his ears. He was dressed in old Gym shorts, and a pair of hiking boots. A belt was cinched over the shorts to keep them on his wasted frame. Dried blood and putrid scabs ran the length of his neck and chest. His mouth hung open, slack and drooling. The tongue was twice the natural size and covered in sores. His eyes were filmed over with yellow, cracked red veins showing up in stark contrast to that. In his hands he held a bright orange Nerf dart gun. 
 
 
 Pete was in the advanced stages of what scientists had called Afluenza HT560. It was the newest scare in a long series of scares to keep the organization relevant and funded. This one for whatever reason had turned out to be the real deal. It started out with the typical Flu symptoms, runny nose, coughing, headache, and the whole 9 yards. Within a week infected developed violent skin conditions and painful ear infections, so sharp as to be incapacitating. Within two weeks, most were in the hold of a severe dementia. At three weeks, the tongue began to swell. If you did n't choke on it and die, you would succumb to the blood loss and fatigue. The disease had been casually nicknamed after its most vile and identifying symptom, `` Tongue Rot.'' The eyes of the dead were always yellowed and faded. 
 
 
 Pete prodded the Yellow eyed man with his nerf dart gun threateningly. 
 
 `` You are n't right, no no. Dead like me, dead like we! Like the *rest* of them.'' 
 
 Pete leaned conspiratorially over to the Yellow eyed man and whispered into his ear. 
 
 `` I put them's what is n't movin' anymore in the freezer. They like it there. Otherwise they stare at me. No no no. No more. Not in Pete's house'' 
 
 
 The yellow eyed man quickly grabbed Pete by the sides of the head and gripped tightly. Pete began to flop and struggle like an animal in a trap. He could not shake the yellow eyed man's grip with his wasted muscles. Pete dropped his trusty Nerf gun on the floor in the struggle. It did n't even have darts loaded into the barrel. He began to blather incoherently, spit flying from his cracked lips. 
 
 `` I KNEW, I KNEW YOU WAS ONE OF THEM! NO NO, NOT IN PETE'S HOME! NOT THE DEAD ONES!'' 
 
 The yellow eyed man spoke. with each Syllable his eyes grew more fearsome and defined. 
 
 
 *Rag'ash Nazkro, Et Ellyne Nahro! * 
 
 
 A flash of energy erupted from the wanderer's fingertips and into the skull of the dying man. Crazy Pete began to convulse violently as several of the overhead lights shattered. His wasted limbs flailed with an awesome electricity, splitting open cans where his fists struck them and showering both men in stale soup. Veins stood out on his forehead and Pete screamed in pain. A burning sensation beginning in his ears slowly travelled throughout his body. It was as if each nerve individually was being plucked from his skin. When the fire reached his chest, Peter passed out. 
 
 
 Peter Korbin woke up not quite knowing where he was. The last he could recall was entering a supermarket in a rush to get supplies and cold medicine. It was a wall of sneezing, coughing, sick human flesh. People were trampled and nobody was bothering to actually pay for what they took. Panic dulled the sensibilities of the individual and mob mentality took over. He remembered stealing some Tylenol from a large man's cart. Threats were exchanged. He remembered grabbing the man... The rest was a solid wall of fog. 
 
 
 He tried to stand and his legs gave out, he fell against the shelf of food next to him and hit the floor hard. He was suddenly ravenously hungry, and began to shovel soup from the burst cans around him into his mouth. He almost did n't notice the man lounging a few feet away, observing him intently. The man had the brightest yellow eyes he had ever seen, and his face was wrapped in a dirty soup stained cloth. He looked Dangerous. 
 
 
 `` I'm not wanting any trouble, man. There's plenty here for the both of us, i ai n't seen nobody else around yet. The name's Pete. Pete Korbin. Who are you?'' 
 
 The man with the yellow eyes spoke. His voice was calm and low but commanded extreme respect and promised danger. 
 
 `` I am called Sinclair. How are you feeling, Pete?'' 
 
 Just then, Pete's heart skipped a beat as the realization hit him like a fastball pitch. *How did he feel? * 
 
 He felt... He felt **GREAT**. His head was clear, his ears were n't splitting his skull in half, and he was n't bleeding any more. The skin of his neck was raw, but no longer stank like a gangrenous trench wound. Tears of joy rolled down his cheeks. Pete gawked at the man standing before him. 
 
 `` Oh my god. I'm cured. But how? *Oh thank god! *'' 
 
 
 Sinclair raised one eyebrow, smiling under his mask. 
 
 `` You have... potential. I sensed it in you during our altercation. This is why I chose to save you from the brink. It is up to you whether or not you accept your gifts, or scorn them like so many others do.'' 
 
 
 `` Potential? What do you mean potential? I'm just a... I mean I *was* just a car salesman.'' 
 
 
 Sinclair's eyes began to glow softly, and the ambient light spilling into the shopping center seemed to fade. His profile was alight with ethereal energy, and his voice seemed to come from the broken loudspeakers planted in the walls. 
 
 `` Potential to be one of the touched, and shape your own destiny. The sands of time are shifting, and the pendulum swings back to where it once was.'' Sinclair gestured around himself grandly with one free hand. `` The creations of man are failing, his greatest designs thwarted by the fates. The true future of man resides in controlling the wild energies of the earth.'' 
 
 
 Sinclair stuck a gloved hand out to Peter Korbin, and spoke softly. 
 
 `` The old ways are resurfacing to take their rightful place. Will you accept mastery over them, or be broken by their strength? Take my hand now and i will lead you to greatness.'' 
 
 
 Pete was shaking as he grasped Sinclair's hand in his own. A shiver rattled his emaciated frame, and in some corner of his mind he knew a dire Contract had been signed. What he did not notice immediately were his own eyes. They were yellow like a dead man's. Burning within them was an infinite potential. 
 
 
 **Prologue for something i was tossing around. This prompt is really great and i absolutely love the idea of it. I'll continue this once i'm able to make my own subreddit, if anyone is interested let me know. Thanks for reading! ** 

