3rd of September, 1991 AD.
“Ah, Miss Giada, how was your way here?” As Giada steps out from the backseat of the jet black colored Wartburg, the young appearing American wizard of the International Magicians Bureau with deep crimson red bob cut style hair wearing their standard uniform, consisting of a long, double breasted dark leather trench coat, a suit and a dark bluish shirt with the folded collars left untied and unbuttoned for her revealing her fair toned neck. The young adult Giada came here to help solve recent case involving five former necromancer’s disappearance. Even on Earth, the magical Aspect of Death is forbidden to be used or even studied by the Bureau and the Vatican. Depending on one’s involvement, practicing the dark arts of necromancy could result in a death sentence, especially in the western side of the planet, while in the eastern bloc during the Cold War and even the past year, the worst these offenders suffered was a few years in a cell, which could be reduced by sharing their knowledge with the authorities. The five of those were such a case, who after served their time settled in the nearby countries, and the past five to six years disappeared one by one without leaving a single trace, making the local magical authorities scratching their head.
“Thank you Mr.Dórián, the Valley of Visegrád is as beautiful as I read about it!” Giada replies with an enthusiastic smile on her reddened supple lips as she shakes the hand of Dórián, the head of the Corvinus Family of Mages, one of the older families in eastern central Europe that survived to this day. The much taller gentlemen wears a dark suit with a clean white shirt and a red silken neck tie, his short, neatly trimmed hair is elegantly combed to the back and his thick moustache is well-groomed, muffling his words when he speaks ever so slightly. “Come you must be starving!” Dórián says as she grabs the heavy suitcase from Giada’s hands and then calls for the servants to help unload the rest from the car. “Oh, that won’t be necessary, I couldn’t impose this on you Mr.Dórián.” Giada says while gently pulling away her gloved hand. “Please, I don’t mind, I’m not like the other family heads here.” Dórián says with a tender smile on his aging face adorned with wrinkles and a few minor scars.
“Then, köszönöm szépen!” Her lips start moving as she starts her sentence, then for a moment she stops and then speaks her gratitude in hungarian, recalling the words from one of the tourist books she read on her way here inside the car. “Oh my, the pronunciation was quite good Mrs.Giada!” Dórián exclaims in a rather loud manner, his voice echoing between the trees that surround the mansion on the hillside while picking up the suitcase.
The two start climbing the long set of stairs of a white stone like material, essentially concrete mixed with a few magical fluids harvested from fairies native to the region. On the top overlooking the valley from the east is the grandiose Corvinus Mansion hidden under wards, made in a mix of Baroque and Renaissance architectural style, in an elongated fashion, spreading on top of the hill, with botanical gardens on each side along the steps going up. Thanks to the magical properties of the stairs, the two of them reach the top in a rejuvenated state and as she turns back, Giada is amazed by the sight of the forest spreading into the distance down the side of the hill even as gloomy clouds approach from afar.
Entering the enormous, ornate wooden doors Giada is welcomed by the sight of the large entrance hall with dark, wooden stairs leading to the open balcony of the second floor leading further inside the spacious mansion. The Corvinus Mansion is the oldest still standing mansions belonging to a wizard family, built during the rule of the Turul Dynasty, during the early 10th century. Originally it was built from stones enchanted with spells that expanded its space, allowing the quite large family even back then to live there, hold their ancient rituals in the underground section built into the hill itself. The wards themselves were inscribed into the stones during the invasion of the Golden Horde, and maintained throughout the ages. The last time the mansion itself was renovated was during the 170 day long reign of the Nyilaskeresztes Party during the Second World War where it gained its current appearance.
“János will show you to your room, for now I’ll have to take care of a few things, but we will talk about the case during dinner. So if there’s any question you have, just ask János or my sons, they should be in the study room in the western wing. Now if you’ll excuse me Miss Giada, see you at the dinner!” Dórián’s voice faintly echoes in the entrance hall, bringing the amazed looking Giada back to reality from staring at the large paintings depicting past members of the Corvinus family killing or holding up the severed heads of various beasts straight out of fairy tales, including one where a knight clad completely in plate armor is surrounded by a light bluish sphere assaulted by the flames of a large red dragon. “Ah, yes see you at the dinner.” The short red headed wizard says as she gently bows to Dórián who reciprocates and then disappears to the left before handing Giada’s suitcase to the elderly servant that is János. “This way missus!” The old servants, deep hoarse voice scares Giada a little bit, but she thanks him just as the other servants arrive with the rest of her luggage from outside.
“The dinner will be at seven o’clock. For tonight the chefs are making Fisherman’s Soup, Meat Pancakes of Hortobagy and Dobos Cake, if there is anything about the menu that missus may not like, tell us now to make some modifications!” As they arrive inside the room prepared for Giada, János informs her about the menu in a motionless cold tone while Giada is inspecting the room. “Changes won’t be necessary, I’m not picky.” Giada replies while looking out the window, basking in the scenery of the valley from atop. “If the missus need anything, just ring the bell and one of us will come to aid. If there is no more questions, I’ll leave.” With that the elderly servant leaves, quietly closing the ornate dark wooden doors behind himself, while Giada strips down her leather trench coat and drops it onto her large double bed before pulling a package of cigarette out from her suit’s waist pocket.
She walks to the window and takes in the scenery once more as she lights her cigarette, then heads out from her room without unpacking. “Shit.” She curses softly as the smoke coming from her cigarette enters her eyes, burning them intensely. She scrubs her teary, reddened eyes before looking back up in the well-decorated empty corridor before recalling where the study room should be. Coursing through the twists and turns of the mansion’s corridor, she arrives at the large library like study room with an open second floor housing mostly bookshelves riddled with ancient tomes with the native ancient runic texts on their spines embroidered in gold and other expensive materials that noble families like the Corvinus could afford back in the mediaeval ages.
Stepping in she slowly approaches with an amazed look on her face the at least two meters tall humanoid bat creatures skeleton placed in the middle of the first floor with its claws in the air, ready to strike at the air. “One of the many spawns of Dracula himself.” The gentle, yet somewhat deep voice of Miklós brings Giada back to reality, the young man approximately in his mid-twenties appearance wise like Giada enters the room, wearing an elegant vest and white shirt with its collars unbuttoned, spreading out like the flapping wings of a bird. “Oh excuse me, Corvinus Miklós at your service.” The young man with long auburn hair combed to the back and tied into a bun quickly apologizes and greets Giada who smiles back at him while shaking his hand.
“I heard a lot about them, and how they kept the Carpathians in terror during the Ottoman invasion.” Giada says as the two turn towards the displayed skeleton of a Greater Vampire Spawn of Dracula. “Yes, this is one of his late children so to speak, struck down by one of my ancestors back in the early 19th century, a few decades prior to his sire’s departure. Allegedly she fought with the creature for three nights before she managed to strike down the beast during the hour of midnight, at the height of their strength. Quite the tale.” Miklós speaks with his eyes staring at the polished white skeleton with the gleaming eyes of a young children, making Giada feel a bit of familiarity as she looks upon his face before once again inspecting the skeleton from top to bottom, imagining the scene of a witch-knight dueling with the beast still possessing its tough, grave tinted skin and flesh with jaws and fangs that could tear the throat of a horse out with ease.
“I’d love to hear it one day.” She softly says while staring up. “Maybe after you’re done with your job, and I’d like to hear the tale of your parents taking on the Court of the Empty Sun.” As the words enter Giada’s soft ears, she tenses up ever so slightly. “Maybe.” She says with an uneasy smile and gloomy eyes looking down for a moment before she’s back to her bright looks. “Well… anyway, I’ll go search for the book I came here for, if you need anything, just call me, okay?” Breaking the few moments of silence, he walks to the ladder and disappears on the second floor leaving Giada facing the skeleton before she starts searching too.
The day quickly goes by as Giada searches through the study room, checking each book on the first floor of it, then she lets out a sigh while noticing that the room started darkening, and decided to return to her room after not finding anything that would help her with tomorrow’s investigation.
**
After the dinner Giada quickly went to the much larger library of the mansion, where after a thorough search she found a tome detailing the research gained from the captive necromancers throughout the Cold War from each communist nation, including even the smaller ones like Cuba or North Korea, while also mentioning that each of these necromancers were a part of a group, worshipping an ancient entity of death predating humanity itself, with this entity being their source of knowledge on the new applications they shared with each other and later with their respective authorities.
Sara Domek, a polish agent of the Eastern Bureau and one of the victims, a former necromancer secretly part of this group was amongst the cited of the tome, prompting Giada to take it after hours of looking through the expansive library of the mansion. The first five pages name the most prominent members of this group, the special ink with mind sub-aspect qualities translates even the names to Giada. Each of the five names are matching with the ones who disappeared the past few years, including Sara Domek who was one of the founders who took a contract with the said entity they called the Harvester of Time. They regarded the Harvester so much that they even dedicated a page to him, a full page adorned with clawed, massive arms with scales, with the lower four of the six faded intentionally. Between the arms, in the middle of the page is what appears to be a featureless figure depicted through its ages from infant to elderly surrounded by swirling scratches of ink that flow to a dark patch with four menacing eyes staring down at it. Close to the frames surrounding the depiction are various necromantic sigils, which seem to be impossible to translate into Giada’s mind compared to the magical runes of the Blessed Aspects. Then as she continues reading through the tome, she spots the door to her room slightly open, spotting a white eye glistening in the light of the moon and her bedside lamp.
“Wait.” After the initial feeling of slight dread, Giada shouts softly at the figure who realized they have been found out, quickly disappearing. Giada quickly gets out of the bed and rushes to the door, swinging it open. The empty, dark corridor welcomes her and she creates a small ball of cool light that dissipates the dim darkness around her. First she turns to the left, and as her head turns to the opposite, she spots a tall, slender figure peeking from the turn before once again disappearing. “Biztos vagy benne hogy a nyugatiak nem tudnak róla?” As she rushes to where she saw the figure, she sees them on the edge of her vision as she turns and immediately runs towards the spot where she saw them, the same interaction follows for at least four or five times before she hears the voice of Dórián coming from behind one of the doors.
„Huh Miss Giada, what are you doing this late in the night?” After hearing the rushing footsteps of her, the family head walks out from his office while excusing himself from the phone. “Ah, I just… nothing. Probably my mind playing tricks in the dark.” Giada says with as she softly wheezes staring in front of herself while searching for the figure in the edge of her vision. “I see. You should rest, tomorrow is going to be a long day.” Dórián says while scratching his throat. “Oh before I forget, I won’t be able to come with you. But my eldest son, Mikló. He is just as knowledgeable as me about the case.” Dórián then starts walking back to his desk, but turns back and to inform Giada. Without waiting for a reply seeing Giada still focused on searching for the figure, Dórián calls for a servant before closing the door.
Several minutes pass by with Giada walking back and forth in the corridor hoping for the figure to show itself, then a young maid with gleaming, fiery hair appears and leads the tired Giada back to her room, where she quickly falls asleep unaware of the figure standing over her silently, watching.
**
The cold wind gently breezes Giada’s and Miklós’s hair as they are standing in front of the old, decrepit looking village house of Sara, built with special wards that keep it hidden from peering eyes of the locals. “Were the wards reset?” Giada breaks the silence first that settled between them as they arrived to the home of the missing necromancer. “No, they were still up when my father and his colleagues checked the place out after she was reported missing by one of the Watchers.” He quickly answers while walking up to the door, holding it open for Giada who thanks her while entering.
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Stepping inside the hallway Giada activates a spell inscribed within her right eye allowing her to see magical residues left behind, and starts slowly inspecting each coat, jacket that hangs in front of her, noticing small amounts of mana forming into a transparent deep bluish patches. “Was she using some disguise type spell?” She asks while forcing a bit more of her mana into the spell. “Yes, as you can see, she used illusion to mask the side effects of necromancy.” Miklós quickly walks past Giada entering the living room, then appears with a photo of a mature looking woman with long straight fiery auburn hair, deep brown eyes and a bow shaped lip, then his voice echoes as he chants, his hand waving in front of the photo that quickly turns the mature looking women in her late 40s into an elderly in her early 90s with gray, receding hair, winkles and pimples and a small nose that is seemingly decaying, almost resembling the textbook image of an eastern European witch from their fairy tales.
“How long did she practiced?” Giada asks as she holds back her disgust as she looks at the real Sara Domek. “Well from what I read from the reports, she started her practice around the early autumn of 1947 and got caught in the summer of 1972.” Miklós says while putting the photo down to one of the shelves fastened to the white wall. “But according to her testimonies, the side effects became apparent in 1950.” He quickly adds as he recalls the testimony. “That wasn’t in the tome.” Giada murmurs to herself as she follows the trail of mana leading into the quite spacious living room that is seemingly left untouched, both by the authorities, and by the assailant. “Well, the truth of the matter is that the forbidden aspects side effects vary, and during the witch hunts many necromancers were executed before they could advance in their studies.”
She walks all over the place, following the line from the bottom edge of her vision while looking for other signs left behind on the furniture, other decorations like the paintings, candles and books. She circles around the room until she notices the faint line diverging from the rest, heading into the kitchen facing the south straight into the line of trees and bushes surrounding the house.
“Did you found something?” Miklós asks as she silently follows Giada who is seemingly focused as she slowly heads into the small storage room of the kitchen. “Yes.” She replies in a low voice as she enters the small area and crouches down to lift a set of beer out of the way, revealing a mark that appears familiar to her, something she seen a long time ago that seems both out of place and fitting here, in the Carpathians. A vast dark tree with roots and branches spreading out, glowing with an indescribable color in her magic enhanced vision as the trail connects to each root that spreads towards the ground and gradually increase as they head up its massive hull into the numerous branches that spread out towards the window high above it. But unlike what she saw in an old document of her father, the hull of the massive tree is adorned with cracks that almost resemble half open eyes staring emptily back at her, assaulting her mind with cold dread that makes her sweat ever so slightly.
“The World Tree” The dread within her gradually grows and spreads like a disease, her muscles tense to point where she can’t move a finger, her lips tremble and a part of her just want to scream and cry like a five year old child whose toy has been taken from them, then the feeling suddenly subsides completely as Miklós exclaims looking at the naked drawing of the symbol representing the world tree that appears in many mythologies in Europe.
“World Tree?” As the spell ends by the will of Giada, the dissipating mana tickles her eyes, making them tear up a little, and while the feeling lessens after a bit of debating, she asks Miklós about the sign carved into the wall. “How to explain it short?” Miklós ponders for a little before he crouches down too and points his index finger at the center of the symbol. “A few decades ago, a Táltos who was deported during the 56 revolution was sent into a deep trance, in which he traversed the stars. As he traversed through the void that we call space he accidently got sucked out of what he call a Tear that sent him into a sea of nothingness in which he gazed upon the World Tree. Before he returned he touched the ethereal bark of the World Tree, and visions of many different worlds flowed into his mind. Our world according to him on his drawing, is located somewhere here in the massive hull of the tree, while the branches are the realm of the Gods and various other entities while the roots are what we call Hell and some smaller pocket planes where horrors that defy the laws of God lurk.” While he goes into a monologue Giada pulls out her notebook from her coat’s waist pocket and quickly draws the symbol, while taking notes as she manages to keep up with his explanation.
“Have you seen this symbol before?” Miklós asks as Giada closes her notebook and deeply stares down, focusing on the symbol. “Yes. In an old case file from the Isles a few years before the First World War.” After a bit of hesitation, Giada answers while the two head out. “But the thing is, that cult disappeared before it could root itself.” The two head up to the second floor and start searching through the bedroom and what appears to be a study room filled with shelves and towering stacks of books. “But seeing all this makes me question whether they just went into hiding and spread to the east when the Second World War ended.” She continues as she lifts a book written in Hungarian, picking her interest as the World Tree is etched in golden onto its hard leather cover. “Well, that could be the case. Allegedly the Táltos was last seen in East Germany at the late sixties after he got released, conversing with some group that seemed to had the same dreams. From what my father told me, the Táltos changed drastically after his experience, rambling about a sweet tune he heard while floating outside the World Tree’s boundaries.” Miklós recalls while picking up a book from one of the many stacks too. “Wait. I recall a photograph my father showed me that they took after his return from the traverse, a similar mark appeared on his back, but it was more like scratches or like cracks upon a window that took a shape akin to the World Tree symbol.” Looking up from the book he almost yells out as the image of the photograph enters into his mind once more.
“Can I take a look at that photograph?” Giada asks as she puts the book away. “Yeah, but it may take a while. It is in the Hidden Archive of the Széchényi Library. So it may take a day or two for it to arrive.” He says while putting the book back on top and walks to Giada who inspects the room through her magical eye, trying to find a trail but after seeing nothing out of the ordinary she leaves the room with Miklós.
“Now for this ritual, I have to ask you to leave. If there is anyone else within the vicinity of the spell, which may complicate things.” With a contemplating look on his face Miklós leaves the house. Giada hangs her coat over the seating of one of the sofas in the living room and loosens her neck tie. The sound of bones cracking echo loudly, the warm feeling of her mana flowing out of her body, forming into runes unseen to the naked eye, spreading onto every facet of the home including the plants, walls and furniture. Then with her will, she carefully imbues the mana with the essence, concept of time. The daylight lit scenery of the room slowly changes, shadows deepen on the walls and furniture, then the warm light of candles and the lamp illuminates them and the date on the calendar shifts to the previous weeks, the sound of door creaking followed by soft footsteps as the crooked old figure of Sara Domek enters the room prompts Giada to turn her head and then follow.
Sara walks through Giada with a concerned look on her face and heads first to the stairs. Giada tails after her while her hands are in perpetual motion around a white ball of energy framed by a swirling blue aura, her right eye imbued with the mana residue trailing spell. She watches from the door frame as Sara goes through one stack of books, and after finding one she carefully builds the tower back with telekinesis even in her slightly frightened state. The signs of mana swirling in her hands and spreading out the windows, encompassing it in a large bubble appears in Giada’s vision making her walk to the window, right past through the old, retired necromancer and the stack of books. As she peers out the window into the dark forest, she spots the outline of a tall, masculine and frail figure veiled in dark robes, his head hidden under a large hood that even covers his face. The figure stands still, completely frozen in time then when Giada hears Sara move out from the room, making her turn back, the figure disappears and she feels a cold settling on her fair cheeks, the chill of dread spreading within her.
She has to force herself to move and follow after Sara who now stands in the completely dark living room, facing the stairs with an empty look just as Giada steps down. An eerie silence fills the house and the surrounding, even the previous soft breath of the wind halts, the leaves seemingly frozen stiff on the trees and bushes, the grass pointing towards the empty dark sky. Then the silence is broken by the slow, soft laughter of Sara, her dry voice fills the darkness, her eyes pulsing green pearls, then in a quick moment as Giada approaches her slowly, her every fiber of being ready to cast a spell in case, turns into clean silvery white with her voice also deepening, becoming more masculine and fluid with a hint of Germanic accent, while also picking up on the faint sound of bones creaking and twisting, flesh tearing. Then in the next two steps, her voice shifts to a deep, feminine one while her pupils turn as blue as the clear spring sky, and her crooked form cloaked in darkness grows in height with each step, towering over the young Giada, her arms spreading as she seemingly prepares to hug her, splitting into even, then as Giada lunges a large ball of whirling flame at Sara, the orange light of it highlights her twisted appearance. Her skin seemingly remains pitch black, swallowing the light of the moon and the spell at the same time while her jaw extends down towards her waist, seemingly replacing her chest with a gaping hole filled with misaligned rows of teeth, and tongues wriggling inside drenched in dark ichor before they shoot out towards the incoming fire element spell, wrapping around the spherical shape followed by a scream of a dozen voices mashed together.
“Shit.” Giada curses as she tries to end her spell, realizing that this is not a vision of the past anymore, but somehow she got stuck in the not so distant past of last week. She quickly ducks down, evading the incoming mass of tongues that penetrate through the wall, the dark ichor that covers each corrodes the frames of the hole. The temperature within the room quickly falls, ice appearing around the weird legs of Sara, encasing, gluing them to the wooden floor, just as Giada gets up and starts sprinting out the room and the house which fails as she feels the slimy touch of tongues wrapping around her ankles and yanking her through the wall. Thanks to her quick reaction, she erects a ward that dampens the hit. She manages to slice off the tongues with a blade made of her pure mana, resulting in the ear piercing screams of Sara, followed by the rough sound of her tearing the legs off, falling to the floor with a hard thud that sends a small shockwave through the foundation of the house.
Sara swiftly crawls her distorted body through the floor, tearing the floor with her gaping jaw that makes up almost half of her body. Giada breaks one of the windows nearest to her with a wind element spell and then funnels her mana to the bottom of her foots, propelling herself out the window just as the three of Sara’s split off arms grapple onto the right frame of the hole, pushing herself inside. With her other seven arms she grasps the other frame and keeps herself in the air, her dark ichor like blood pouring out endlessly to the floor below, encompassing the floor both in the hall and the living room, while her damaged tongues wrap around each other, forming into a sharp end, quickly thrusting towards Giada who is midway through outside. Just as she reaches the end, the cracks of the present she travelled back from appear, she screams bloody murder as the immense sharp pain courses through her whole being as the tongues impale her in a twisted fashion, pinning her down to the rubble filled floor. Then a pain nearly impossible to describe makes her go silent as she bites onto her tongue, spitting out the outer end of it with a mouthful of her own blood, her vision blurring as the world starts to fade.
As a last ditch effort, she channels her mana through her whole body, and golden white flames engulf her arms and legs, and erupt the whole mockery of a body that belongs to Sara Domek, as she aims at where she senses her cold, empty presence. The screams of Sara slowly fade as the darkness dissipates around them, replaced by the cool light of the day she came from, the soul shivering scream substitutes with the slow creaking of the door followed by slow footsteps. Then Giada groans as she feels the elegant boots of Miklós push into her sides as he gently pushes her on her back.
“Seems like you are made of a tougher material.” He speaks with a cold, callous tone as he stares at Giada gurgling out blood from her lips while holding onto her wound, trying to heal herself with a mixture of time and life sub aspects of Aether magic. But her efforts prove futile, even as the pain seems strangely absent, her flesh and bones broken and torn remaining as is while her vision gradually darkens.
“Well, at least I have a new toy to play with.” Miklós crouches down and gently caresses her head while talking to her with a disturbed smile on his face, his voice breaks as he giggles like a child. “Go to hell.” With a little effort, she did manage to fix her tongue at least, and as she realizes that she can’t escape death, tears appear in her eye, and old memories of her parents, and childhood flash before her eyes as she closes her eyes. Then with the last of her strength she spits in Miklós’s face and smiles back at him eerily. “Te kis ringy…” Then she channels all of her remaining mana into her wound, where a swirling flames of gold and white appear, creating flames as hot as the sun, leaving nothing behind just a crater in the woods.
**
“Miklós nem élte túl igaz?” Dórián asks with a somber look on his face as he stares at the figure that once was his youngest son while holding his thin crooked cold hands, who once resembled a healthy kid with an ever cheerful smile, now more of a sickly pale ghost with his once abundant hair fallen out completely, his face malformed and skeletal with eyes fallen in and sharp cheeks with the bones almost visible, a few cracks appearing on his withered skin, his eyes a white as the snow surrounded by a small pond of darkness, gleaming with indifference at the second tome written by them.
“Milyen kár.” After several minutes passing by, feeling almost an eternity to Dórián, he leaves the room and He lifts his head up watching the shadows deepen over the valley and the Danube as the sun slowly descends beyond the horizon, the dry voice of Sara coming out from it filled with the regret of tasting a delicacy that one may never taste again.
“Hamarost, találkozunk öreg barátom!” Sitting in the dark, the moon light shines upon Him, dressing him in its ethereal silver light, needlessly lighning up the room and the tome He is so lost in, bringing back memories from time immemorial, distant yet familiar as He reaches to the page with another depiction of the Harvester of Time, a similar one, but this time the four menacing eyes contain divine, yet primal reptilian eyes somberly glinting back at Him. The words leaving his mouth are accompanied by an intimate tone clashing with His deep, low ethereal voice that would fill anyone with the inevitable, the dread, the calm, and relief all at the same time. “Hamarost.”