The arrival of the Genesis Corps came as sure as the light of a new day, and all they found was a few corpses and a broken down church. They were trembling, each of them with a hand forever guarding the hilt of their swords as they explored the abandoned building looking for a sign, any sign, of their target, any survivors, or a so-called “Monster” roaming the area.
The captain was dumbfounded, scratching the back of his neck once the whole building had been combed and not a single person had been found. He expected some of this, for the Chamber Priest himself had said to not make a big effort to look for any children in the chapel, as to give them a chance to run and be spared from the trials to come, but he expected at LEAST a deranged pseudo-wizard to be hiding, entrenched among books and forbidden artifacts.
When they eventually DID find the Demiurge’s vault though, they finally understood the reason for his absence.
The putrid smell of a charred body, evaporated blood in the air, and a corpse mangled by lightning, all waiting to be discovered in a torture chamber taken straight from some horror story.
Notes were taken, quick drawings were made and objects were carefully listed: tomes on psychology, engineering and even a copy of Damaya were found among the many forbidden books in the chamber. Surgery utensils, torture utensils, clockwork mechanisms, and even fragments of fully charged amber were confiscated and gathered for a pyre, besides the corpses of some unidentified children, and the remains of what they assumed were their Demiurge.
The victim of the Witch.
“It all lines up with what she said.” The troupe’s second in command approached his captain to talk to his ear, while the others prepared the blessed fire. “That woman, Marina. There are marks of magical energy all over the room, and that body…”
“I was praying for her to just be exaggerating, but I cannot ignore these signs.” The captain gave a sign to his subordinates, each of whom completed the blessed Rune inscribed on their torches to see the beautiful white flame rise. “As soon as this is done, I want everyone to prepare for pursuit.”
As flames of pure white rose on the pyre and the disgraced building, the old captain couldn’t help but sigh. What a shame, all of it. He had made a promise to his Priest to uphold mercy above all things today.
But promises cannot get in the way of his duty.
“Today, we add a new Witch to the watchlist.”
—
Lights were flickering inside of the room I rented, the candles they gave away were simply horrible. To pay for a place as tacky and small was simply criminal, but at least it provided me with enough privacy for a talk with “my guest”.
I had arrived just in time. My intuition never failed: just as the cards had predicted, another incompetent Demiurge had fallen prey to his own creations. And luckily enough, this one had left behind his assistant.
“Words don’t describe how thankful I am, sir! It’s been a while since I’ve had breakfast this good.”
I had to spare the coin for some food for the woman, just to convince her to speak all of the details. As the old lady talked and talked, my eyes continued to pace between her face and the book in her hands. The target, it was so close… but something told me that I needed to wait.
“Oh my dearest Enrico! Oh, whatever did he do to deserve this fate! Attacked by the Witch he showed such compassion for!”
She continued her never-ending stream of bullshit without pausing, barely breathing between each of her lies. Now and again my right hand twitched, itching with the right rune for the job— but my curiosity always gets the best of me.
And something told me she had a pearl of knowledge that could be useful.
“This has been the worst day of my life, no doubt. I am so lucky to be alive and unscathed! I wish I could say the same of my dearest Enrico…”
When I found her, her audience had already left. They probably had told her not to say a word of this story to any more civilians, but those idiots always forget how easy it is to force open a mouth eager to talk.
“I am so glad that the Church is taking action! I hope that the Witch is captured and burnt as they all deserve! Did you know that we found it buried in an old park!? Buried, alive! If not for its crying, we would have never noticed it was there.”
My eyes opened a bit more. Did they unearth her? A baby buried alive? Did they leave her for dead…?
“I tell you, its parents tried to get rid of it, they tried to save us from this tragedy! But my Enrico, he was too kind for this world. To think that she would grow up to start gathering occult material like that is a tragedy…”
I had to work hard not to roll my eyes, her lies were so transparent I was surprised anyone gave her the time of day. But this witch… now she seemed more interesting.
“At least it is all over… ah, sir! Could I once again ask your name? You boarded me so quickly that I didn’t even think of asking.”
“My true name is not really important, I know that your people are very fond of Demiurgic Pseudonyms and such.” The young man finally broke his silence, standing from the other side of the little table with a single hand lifted.
Marina almost choked on her food. “Demiurgic Pseudonyms”, the names a person takes to embark on the journey to the Origin of all Magic; that was not a term that anyone knew and much less spoke so lightly. The old lady put down her fork and knife for a second, staring at the person in front of her.
“But if you must know, people often call me Mustafa.”
Mustafá. Marina knew this name, she had heard it in the few reunions of the Guild she was able to attend: a mysterious mage, a lone wolf of sorts, and a filthy vulture that often took the works of fallen comrades.
The old lady’s hand squeezed the book she was holding, slowly setting it on her thighs.
“I see that my reputation has reached you.” Said the man, right hand up and finger pointed at her, ready to draw at any moment. “Then you know what I want, don’t you?”
Marina’s breath quickened, her left hand leaving the book right there under the table, and slowly grasping the knife.
“Please, don’t waste our time with theatrics.” Mustafá simply shook his head. “Is this really the hill you wish to die on?”
“I am never giving him to you, his heart is mine, you hear me!?” Marina brandished the knife menacingly. “All mine! If anyone will continue his work, it is me!”
“Your career is as good as over.” The man got up from his chair, his face maintaining the same bored expression. “If you think that the members of the Church will believe that a child is responsible for your Demiurge’s actions then I guess the mercury infection has really gotten to you.”
“Be quiet! I warn you, I am not going to hesitate!”
“Put down that knife, before you—”
The old lady was not playing: she did not hesitate, not even for a second. The moment Mustafá tried to talk anymore, that knife pushed straight into the man’s eye… and remained there. Pressing against an eye that now felt as solid as a wall. Mustafá simply stared, letting Marina gasp and try to stab him again. And again. And a third time. But she couldn’t even bruise the alchemist.
“What… what are you…”
“I guess my legend has not fully reached you. A shame.”
The mage’s finger moved quickly, tracing an inscrutable form in the air and then tapping the wooden table. Deep within the heart of the unfeeling alchemist, in a room isolated from it all, a flame of greenish light would burst alive for a calculated second, snuffing itself as quickly as it came to life.
The table would tremble and deform at the man’s command, a wooden spear forming and violently pushing from its surface and straight into the woman’s neck. Blood spurted through the entire room, a loud gasp was heard… and then the gargles of a broken throat, before the body fell, twitching until life had left Marina’s eyes completely.
Mustafá sighed, kneeling to bloody the knife in the wound as the spear retracted back into the deformed table. A suicide, it would look like, and a very amateurish one at that, needlessly cruel.
Perfect for a nun, thought the alchemist, shaking his head and recovering the bloody book from the floor. It wasn’t a mere tome, even if the killer treated it with such disdain there was a hint of respect for the pages he held. After all, he knew he had stolen something precious.
The Heart of a mage
The book where all thoughts and ideas rested, one of the fountains of any respectable mage’s magic and inspiration! So many private ruminations and secrets now bare for the alchemist to see, even if he wasn’t particularly interested right then. No, what Mustafá expected was something a tad more tangible: the Demiurge’s Ring. After all, he knew for a fact that this man had to have one, hidden among its pages maybe?
“There is always a ring…” Mumbled the mage, narrowing his eyes. No matter how much he shook the book, there was no ring to be found. “If not here, did this idiot leave it in the body…? A shame…”
With a disappointed sigh, the magician simply shook his head, and disappeared from the room with the sound of breaking glass. A shame, for his collection would remain forever incomplete.
The arrival of the Genesis Corps came as sure as the light of a new day, and all they found was a few corpses and a broken down church. They were trembling, each of them with a hand forever guarding the hilt of their swords as they explored the abandoned building looking for a sign, any sign, of their target, any survivors, or a so-called “Monster” roaming the area.
The captain was dumbfounded, scratching the back of his neck once the whole building had been combed and not a single person had been found. He expected some of this, for the Chamber Priest himself had said to not make a big effort to look for any children in the chapel, as to give them a chance to run and be spared from the trials to come, but he expected at LEAST a deranged pseudo-wizard to be hiding, entrenched among books and forbidden artifacts.
When they eventually DID find the Demiurge’s vault though, they finally understood the reason for his absence.
The putrid smell of a charred body, evaporated blood in the air, and a corpse mangled by lightning, all waiting to be discovered in a torture chamber taken straight from some horror story.
Notes were taken, quick drawings were made and objects were carefully listed: tomes on psychology, engineering and even a copy of Damaya were found among the many forbidden books in the chamber. Surgery utensils, torture utensils, clockwork mechanisms, and even fragments of fully charged amber were confiscated and gathered for a pyre, besides the corpses of some unidentified children, and the remains of what they assumed were their Demiurge.
The victim of the Witch.
“It all lines up with what she said.” The troupe’s second in command approached his captain to talk to his ear, while the others prepared the blessed fire. “That woman, Marina. There are marks of magical energy all over the room, and that body…”
“I was praying for her to just be exaggerating, but I cannot ignore these signs.” The captain gave a sign to his subordinates, each of whom completed the blessed Rune inscribed on their torches to see the beautiful white flame rise. “As soon as this is done, I want everyone to prepare for pursuit.”
As flames of pure white rose on the pyre and the disgraced building, the old captain couldn’t help but sigh. What a shame, all of it. He had made a promise to his Priest to uphold mercy above all things today.
But promises cannot get in the way of his duty.
“Today, we add a new Witch to the watchlist.”
—
Lights were flickering inside of the room I rented, the candles they gave away were simply horrible. To pay for a place as tacky and small was simply criminal, but at least it provided me with enough privacy for a talk with “my guest”.
I had arrived just in time. My intuition never failed: just as the cards had predicted, another incompetent Demiurge had fallen prey to his own creations. And luckily enough, this one had left behind his assistant.
“Words don’t describe how thankful I am, sir! It’s been a while since I’ve had breakfast this good.”
I had to spare the coin for some food for the woman, just to convince her to speak all of the details. As the old lady talked and talked, my eyes continued to pace between her face and the book in her hands. The target, it was so close… but something told me that I needed to wait.
“Oh my dearest Enrico! Oh, whatever did he do to deserve this fate! Attacked by the Witch he showed such compassion for!”
She continued her never-ending stream of bullshit without pausing, barely breathing between each of her lies. Now and again my right hand twitched, itching with the right rune for the job— but my curiosity always gets the best of me.
And something told me she had a pearl of knowledge that could be useful.
“This has been the worst day of my life, no doubt. I am so lucky to be alive and unscathed! I wish I could say the same of my dearest Enrico…”
When I found her, her audience had already left. They probably had told her not to say a word of this story to any more civilians, but those idiots always forget how easy it is to force open a mouth eager to talk.
“I am so glad that the Church is taking action! I hope that the Witch is captured and burnt as they all deserve! Did you know that we found it buried in an old park!? Buried, alive! If not for its crying, we would have never noticed it was there.”
My eyes opened a bit more. Did they unearth her? A baby buried alive? Did they leave her for dead…?
“I tell you, its parents tried to get rid of it, they tried to save us from this tragedy! But my Enrico, he was too kind for this world. To think that she would grow up to start gathering occult material like that is a tragedy…”
I had to work hard not to roll my eyes, her lies were so transparent I was surprised anyone gave her the time of day. But this witch… now she seemed more interesting.
“At least it is all over… ah, sir! Could I once again ask your name? You boarded me so quickly that I didn’t even think of asking.”
“My true name is not really important, I know that your people are very fond of Demiurgic Pseudonyms and such.” The young man finally broke his silence, standing from the other side of the little table with a single hand lifted.
Marina almost choked on her food. “Demiurgic Pseudonyms”, the names a person takes to embark on the journey to the Origin of all Magic; that was not a term that anyone knew and much less spoke so lightly. The old lady put down her fork and knife for a second, staring at the person in front of her.
“But if you must know, people often call me Mustafa.”
Mustafá. Marina knew this name, she had heard it in the few reunions of the Guild she was able to attend: a mysterious mage, a lone wolf of sorts, and a filthy vulture that often took the works of fallen comrades.
The old lady’s hand squeezed the book she was holding, slowly setting it on her thighs.
“I see that my reputation has reached you.” Said the man, right hand up and finger pointed at her, ready to draw at any moment. “Then you know what I want, don’t you?”
Marina’s breath quickened, her left hand leaving the book right there under the table, and slowly grasping the knife.
“Please, don’t waste our time with theatrics.” Mustafá simply shook his head. “Is this really the hill you wish to die on?”
“I am never giving him to you, his heart is mine, you hear me!?” Marina brandished the knife menacingly. “All mine! If anyone will continue his work, it is me!”
“Your career is as good as over.” The man got up from his chair, his face maintaining the same bored expression. “If you think that the members of the Church will believe that a child is responsible for your Demiurge’s actions then I guess the mercury infection has really gotten to you.”
“Be quiet! I warn you, I am not going to hesitate!”
“Put down that knife, before you—”
The old lady was not playing: she did not hesitate, not even for a second. The moment Mustafá tried to talk anymore, that knife pushed straight into the man’s eye… and remained there. Pressing against an eye that now felt as solid as a wall. Mustafá simply stared, letting Marina gasp and try to stab him again. And again. And a third time. But she couldn’t even bruise the alchemist.
“What… what are you…”
“I guess my legend has not fully reached you. A shame.”
The mage’s finger moved quickly, tracing an inscrutable form in the air and then tapping the wooden table. Deep within the heart of the unfeeling alchemist, in a room isolated from it all, a flame of greenish light would burst alive for a calculated second, snuffing itself as quickly as it came to life.
The table would tremble and deform at the man’s command, a wooden spear forming and violently pushing from its surface and straight into the woman’s neck. Blood spurted through the entire room, a loud gasp was heard… and then the gargles of a broken throat, before the body fell, twitching until life had left Marina’s eyes completely.
Mustafá sighed, kneeling to bloody the knife in the wound as the spear retracted back into the deformed table. A suicide, it would look like, and a very amateurish one at that, needlessly cruel.
Perfect for a nun, thought the alchemist, shaking his head and recovering the bloody book from the floor. It wasn’t a mere tome, even if the killer treated it with such disdain there was a hint of respect for the pages he held. After all, he knew he had stolen something precious.
The Heart of a mage
The book where all thoughts and ideas rested, one of the fountains of any respectable mage’s magic and inspiration! So many private ruminations and secrets now bare for the alchemist to see, even if he wasn’t particularly interested right then. No, what Mustafá expected was something a tad more tangible: the Demiurge’s Ring. After all, he knew for a fact that this man had to have one, hidden among its pages maybe?
“There is always a ring…” Mumbled the mage, narrowing his eyes. No matter how much he shook the book, there was no ring to be found. “If not here, did this idiot leave it in the body…? A shame…”
With a disappointed sigh, the magician simply shook his head, and disappeared from the room with the sound of breaking glass. A shame, for his collection would remain forever incomplete.
