"Riddle me this..."
Beneath the dim lights, amidst the grating music, Merlin, slightly tipsy and donning a black cowboy hat, lifted his drink and posed a question to the drunken man across from him:
"What belongs to you, yet others use it far more than you do?"
"Uh... let me think, I'm sure I know this one! Everyone says I'm the smartest."
The man's eyes were bloodshot from too much drink, and he couldn't remember why he decided to play this guessing game with the young man in sunglasses.
But with liquor dulling the senses, his muddled mind couldn't grasp anything else.
He mumbled about solving the riddle, but as he pondered, the boorish man's head lolled and soon, his deep snores added to the cacophony of the small bar.
Technically, no alcohol should be sold to those under 21, but who would care about such rules in the midnight hour, in the bar's busiest moments?
Come on, it's 1989. Even cell phones haven't become widespread, computers and the internet are mere playthings for a few, and the future's glow of technology is only just dawning. Tradition still reigns, especially in these depths of America.
Merlin leisurely finished his drink, fished out a crumpled bill from his pocket, and placed it under the glass. Glancing at the time, he prepared to leave with his suitcase in tow.
His train was about to arrive...
As he passed by the slumbering drunk, Merlin steadied the man to prevent him from toppling off his chair and whispered the answer to the riddle in his ear:
"The answer is your name. The most common thing that everyone has."
Merlin then pilfered a few bills from the tattooed arm of the inebriated man, shrugged his shoulders, and pushed through the midnight revelers to leave the nondescript bar.
Stepping out into the dark street, the chilly wind from Lake Michigan jolted him to sobriety.
He examined the bills in his hand, shook his head, and handed most of them to a huddled homeless man at the roadside. With the man's raspy thanks behind him, Merlin pocketed his left hand, lugged his heavy suitcase, and walked alone towards the nearby station under the pale streetlights.
In the wind, Merlin's wistful whisper echoed:
"What a pity... I've completely lost it."
This is Chicago, the second stop on Merlin's aimless odyssey.
Departing from Madison, Merlin arrived in the metropolis of Chicago. He remembered a story from when he was four, set in Chicago and brought to life on Broadway, even reaching the folks in Wisconsin with its impact.
Those stories unfolded beneath his feet, but alas, Merlin was in no mood for theater.
He didn't come for pleasure.
On a street not far from the train station, Merlin observed various neon signs and strolled until he reached a cramped storefront.
The shop's sign, fashioned from blue and red neon tubes, formed a mysterious pattern, and even from outside, Merlin could smell the heavy incense wafting from within.
Ordinary people rarely used incense, let alone in such quantities.
This was a medium's shop, a relic of Western feudal civilization. This was Merlin's main reason for coming to Chicago; he had learned on the train that this local medium seemed quite effective.
As a common man of 18 years, how else could Merlin seek the secrets of magic if not through unreliable mediums or remote Indian shamans in reservations? Surely he wouldn't abandon all decency and join a cult, would he?
Yet this wasn't the first medium Merlin had visited in the past half-month.
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Standing at the shop's entrance, he eyed the store with skepticism and scrutiny. Truth be told, he didn't believe the people inside could truly help him.
He had seen several mediums touted as miraculous, all without exception charlatans.
This made him think this path might be a dead end.
So, after a moment of silence, Merlin shook his head and stood up:
"Sorry for wasting your time, but I think my problem might be beyond your ability to solve."
He intended to leave, but the old man, seeing a business opportunity slipping away, lowered his voice, adopting an ominous tone:
"You have fallen into darkness!"
"Hm?"
Merlin paused, prompting a sly smile from the old man. A con artist's life hinged on reading people, and seeing Merlin's hesitation, he knew he had guessed right.
He continued:
"You've experienced something unimaginable, something terrible. I bet it involves some legendary beings. You must be terrified... Come, tell me, maybe I can really help you?"
Merlin turned around, his face etched with mockery.
Such words were nearly identical to those of the previous few sham mediums.
So, he reached up and removed his sunglasses, revealing eyes where red sparks flickered like embers. The sight frightened the old medium so much that his body stiffened, and his hat, meant to impress, fell to the ground, revealing his true self.
A... bald man.
"This issue..."
Merlin pointed to his eyes and asked:
"Can you solve this?"
The medium was speechless, and Merlin, seeing the fear on his face, shrugged:
"Too bad, it seems you can't."
With that, he shook his head, put his sunglasses back on, and decided not to waste more time. He had been in Chicago long enough; it was time to leave.
But as Merlin reached the door, the old man, gritting his teeth, called out to him:
"Wait, kid, your problem is something I've never seen. To solve it, I need to use something dangerous... It means you'll have to pay a premium!"
"?"
Merlin turned to see the old man holding a box.
He seemed to feel belittled by the young man, which to the self-proclaimed great medium was humiliating. Most importantly, if this youngster started spreading stories, it would harm the business he had worked so hard to improve.
In the world of con artists, reputation is everything.
"This thing!"
The bald medium held up the box as if it contained a true treasure, speaking to Merlin with reverence:
"This was once revered by an Indian tribe, rumored to contain a terrifying spirit. Even I, a powerful medium, fear its power... Kid, if it weren't for the severity of your problem, I would never use it."
A sly glint flickered in the medium's eyes as he continued:
"Every use costs me a piece of my life, so the price for this inquiry is steep, a thousand dollars! Otherwise, you can leave."
Merlin didn't leave, for he could see a strange aura wrapping around the box held by the old man, obscure and dangerous, but it was the first time he had truly seen an item glowing with magic.
It seemed the medium did have something of value.
Merlin pulled out all his money and threw it on the medium's table, a few hundred dollars in scattered bills.
He looked at the man and said candidly:
"This is all I have. If you still refuse to use it, then there's nothing I can do."
The medium frowned at the money but, considering the day's poor business, he finally nodded, pointed to a chair, and told Merlin:
"Alright, for the sake of you being a kid, I'll make an exception and help you this once. Sit there, and no matter what you see, don't be afraid."
Merlin complied.
He watched the medium open the box, anticipation stirring in him. He was tired of being tormented by his curse and desperate to be rid of it.
The old man chanted incomprehensible "spells," formed mysterious hand signs, lit candles, and under Merlin's watchful eye, pulled something out of the box.
It was a... bell.
A green bell, aged and covered in verdigris, resembling artifacts from ancient civilizations. But as soon as the medium held the bell, Merlin's face paled.
He recognized that aura; it was very similar to San Gong's, albeit weaker and more subtle. Yet, the suffocating scent of sulfur, the faint sensation of being scorched by flames, it was...
The breath of a demon!
"Don't touch it!"
Merlin screamed, rising to stop the recklessly foolish old charlatan.
But the medium misinterpreted the action, stepped back from Merlin's outstretched hand, and declared:
"Evil spirit! I command you, leave this young man's body!"
With the flick of his wrist, the ominous green bell rang.
"Ding ding ding, ding ding ding."
The crisp sound pierced Merlin's soul like red-hot needles. He clutched his ears, howling in agony on the floor, as the dark powers hidden within his soul, remnants of San Gong's influence, were agitated by another demon's presence and began to rage uncontrollably.
The young man's ears filled with demonic laughter, his vision turning blood red.
Fear, hatred, anger, all sorts of negative emotions erupted from Merlin's core. The dark forces, finding an outlet, surged from his fractured soul and began to manifest on his body. Black smoke rose from his fingers, his flesh disintegrating like sand.
It was as if Merlin himself was vaporizing.
Amidst the black smoke, sinister red sparks writhed, like the aftermath of a flame's death.
"Stop it! Stop!"
Merlin screamed and wailed. But his pleas and transformation were mistaken by the ignorant old fraud as a successful "exorcism," prompting him to shake the green bell even more vigorously.
"Demon! Be gone!"
"Ding ding ding, ding ding ding."
The ringing grew more frantic, the startled dark forces spreading faster. Finally, as Merlin raised his head once more, his eyes turned pure white, and the dark will within frightened the medium into retreating several steps.
But... it was too late.
In the next moment, Merlin's body disintegrated, becoming a swirling storm of black ash, like an awakened dark creature, tearing apart the entire room and the old charlatan who had committed a grave mistake.
"Boom"