President In A World of Magic

The Price of Power

The darkness enveloped him like a thick, suffocating blanket, smothering all light and hope. All five senses he had when he was alive were gone; he couldn't see, hear, touch, smell, or taste. All he had was his mind. And all he could do was ponder and think about what had happened to him.

And even though he had all the time to think about everything he had ever done, only one memory lingered, one that caused his eventual downfall.

It all started when he won the Presidential election for the second time. The news reporter's voice filled his mind, "To exceed the father's legacy, President Damon Watts has won the Presidential election again, winning 304 electoral votes and doing what his father could not do."

He smiled, turning off the news on his smartphone before opening the car window and waving to his supporters. Armored vehicles filled with secret service agents were put in place to protect him, and his supporters screamed his name even though the sun was brightly shining on them.

Suddenly, he saw an item reflecting light from the sun for a split second; he could have sworn it was a ring dropping from the sky.

"Must be nice to have that many supporters," the Vice-President beside him said, taking his attention away.

"It is," Damon replied before chuckling and continuing to wave, forgetting what had just happened.

"Enjoy it. You never know what might happen next." the Vice-President replied.

"I don't remember you being the talkative kind of guy, I dont even remember you talking at all!" Damon laughed while closing the window and opening another can of beer.

As Damon took a sip from his can, the car ahead of him suddenly erupted in flames, sending the motorcade into a frenzy. The deafening explosion caused his ears to ring, muffling the sound of gunshots that became increasingly louder by the second.

Damon turned to look out the window and saw his secret service agents die before his eyes, they were the world's greatest forces, but here they were, dying like ants being trampled to the ground. The crowd scattered as they tried running for their lives.

The situation was getting more dangerous by the second; it was clear that they had to get out of there as soon as possible. "Hey! We got to get out of here!" he shouted at the driver, only to be ignored.

"Get us out of here, you idiot!" he bellowed, his fists clenched in fury as he leaned over the driver's seat. Suddenly, a voice from the window interrupted his rage, causing him to freeze mid-punch.

"Mr. President! Run!" One of his secret service agents shouted before his head got blown by a high-caliber round. Blood splattered all over his window, causing Damon to jump back in fright. "Drive!!!! Drive!!!!" He screamed, covering his ears and closing his eyes, his eardrum still in tremendous pain from the explosion.

"That's enough, Mr President..." the Vice-President collectedly articulated while adjusting his tie as if he was not affected by the situation.

Damon looked at his VP, confused about what was happening, "Victor?" He asked, knowing that something was very wrong with him.

Victor shook his head, "I am not Victor." He replied before drawing a gun out of his suit. The imposter then ripped off the face mask.

Damon's eyes widened before he tried opening the door, realizing what was happening, but it was no use; they locked the door. He then lunged towards the imposter trying to grab the gun before getting hit on the head and being knocked back to his seat.

Blood trickled down his head, and as he stared at the agent, he whispered, "CIA… You're from the CIA… " He said. He had seen a recording of CIA agents using masks that could make you look like anybody, and this technology was perfected by them, not used at that level by any other organization on earth.

"You're not in a position to ask questions, Mr President." He drew out his gun, pointing it at Damon's head.

"You're not thinking in your right mind... Think about this, if you pull the trigger, you will anger everyone in this country. Do you really think you can get away with this?"

The CIA agent let go of his finger before staring at Damon, "Do we look like we give a damn about what anyone thinks?" He asked before placing the finger on the trigger.

Before Damon could even say anything, he felt a slight pain in his head before his whole vision was gone.

As the flash of memory dissipated, he was still pondering why the CIA did what it did, but no matter how hard he thought, he couldn't put his finger on it. 'Sigh, it's useless…' he thought, 'I'm dead anyways; what's the use of thinking when I can't put it to any use?'

'So this is death… I guess everyone was wrong about it then….' He thought before he saw an object floating in the void.

'What the?' He thought as he looked closely at the object, 'Huh?' He almost felt like he could feel something. Ever since he has been in this void, he has lost his senses. 'I'm not dead!' He thought before he immediately picked the ring up.

'Wait, isn't this the ring that Father gave me?'

'Why is it here?' He thought before realizing it resembled the ring he saw at the motorcade.

His father, the previous President of The United States, bought the ring from a market, and the lady who sold it to him claimed that it had been used at least once by every President that has ever existed. Of course, his father didn't believe her, and he had only bought it because it was a good conversation starter and an excellent way to get the crowd to laugh in his campaign.

Now here was Damon with that same ring that he considered useless in the void with him, 'God, please….' He looked at the ring with hope lingering in his heart before his hands could be seen. He then quickly put on the ring before his five senses returned to him, only for his body and eyes to be paralyzed by some force as if he was in a sleep paralysis.

'Move!' He tried moving his finger, and as he lifted it, he felt the weight on his entire body being released immediately.

As he opened his eyes, he saw a window in front of him with someone's back there; he was inside a very soft and beautiful interior, and from the sound of a horse, 'A carriage?' He assumed.

'Is this a memory? A flashback? A dream?'

He then pinched his face causing a slight sense of pain. "What on god's green earth?" As he knocked on the window, he whispered that he saw the rider, "Where are you taking me?" He wondered if the rider was an angel sending him to paradise.

"The family mansion, young master." The rider replied.

'Young master?' Damon thought, confused about why the man called him using such a title. 'And a mansion... surely this must be paradise!'

Damon approached the window to ask another question before a fast horse ran past the carriage, nearly hitting it.

The horse was being ridden by a man whose face was masked and whose hands were as pale as a dead man.

Damon ignored it and turned towards the carriage rider, "Where are we?"

The rider looked behind, "We're at-"

His head was suddenly severed from his neck, a clean cut from the horsemen which returned. "Gahh!! What the hell!! Not again!!" He shouted as the blood from the neck was splattered on the window.

The horse turned its back on the carriage before kicking it, causing it to topple down the road and the hill.

Damon struggled to breathe as the carriage started to fall, with his body floating for one second and slamming onto the floor and doors of the carriage the very next second before the carriage arrived at the very bottom of the hill.

"Ahhh… Goddamnit…" He cursed while holding his ribs which he felt had been broken to the point of irreversible damage.

He looked around slowly, seeing that the windows had been shattered; he exited the carriage through it and fell onto the grassy ground.

He then tried standing up before his legs gave out, dropping him to the floor. His shin had also been broken.

Using his very little energy, he laid his back on the broken carriage, the only thing he could use for now, "This shouldn't be happening to me, damn it… I'm the President of the United States…" He whispered, his last energy leaving his body; his adrenaline had run out, and the pain started torturing him.