Penny's grip was light, her fingers cold against his skin. He regarded the sensation with mild disdain but did not pull away. She closed her eyes and drew in a long breath. Her hands trembled as if she were bracing herself for some great ordeal.

"Very well," she said, her tone heavy, her eyes still shut. "Let us contact the dead."

He remained quiet. There might be value to discover here—a glimpse into how this realm's inhabitants understood the mystical arts, even if their methods were unsophisticated.

Penny tightened her grip slightly and tilted her face upward. "Oh, spirits," she proclaimed. "We call to thee! If there are souls who wish to speak, we invite you now! Make yourselves knoooown!"

The pendulum stirred and faintly swayed. Morthisal’s eyes narrowed, his attention sharpening. Was it a draft? The vibrations of the table? Or something more? He glanced at Penny, whose expression remained tight, as if in deep concentration. Her lips moved silently, murmuring prayers, or perhaps an invocation.

"Do you feel that?" she whispered; her eyes flickered open for just a moment to meet his.

"I do not," Morthisal replied.

"They are here." Penny exhaled deeply, her breath catching slightly as she continued. "Spirits of the beyond, if you are present, give us a sign! Move the pendulum, speak through the board, or send your energy through me!"

The pendulum moved to the left, then to the right, before stopping again. Penny gasped softly and her fingers tightened around Morthisal’s hands. Her eyes remained closed, lips parted.

Morthisal fought the urge to scoff. He had performed rituals that had shaken the foundations of Mythralon. Torn open rifts through which souls had screamed and clawed their way to freedom. This display, while quaint, was nothing compared to the power he’d once wielded. And yet… there was something about the pendulum’s motion that gave him pause. It did more at her command.

"Do you see?" Penny whispered, her voice trembling with excitement. "They are here. The spirits are with us."

Morthisal tilted his head slightly, studying her face. "I do not sense them."

"Tell us your name," she intoned, her voice quieter now, almost reverent. "Who are you, spirit? What message do you bring?"

"Something is not right here," Morthisal muttered.

"I feel it, as well. The power required. I don't know if I can continue. Hurry. Reach out through me and find your Thalindra," Penny said breathlessly.

Morthisal stretched out his awareness and carefully avoided relying on a thread in case she herself had parted the veil. He strained but there was no one there.

"It is not working," Morthisal stated.

Penny sighed heavily and said, "I feel her. The woman named Thalindra. You two were close. I can sense it. But the ways are hard to navigate today. I will try, but due to the danger involved with navigating the space between this world and the next, I need to ask for a little more money."

Morthisal’s eyes narrowed as Penny leaned back. The pendulum had stilled. He folded his hands together, his knuckles brushing against the worn wood of the table.

“You require more coin?” His voice was quiet.

Penny nodded, visibly uneasy. "I apologize, but I did mention it might cost a little extra. A small donation helps me since I will be unable to perform the ritual with anyone else for the rest of the day, because this is hard on my psyche-"

“Enough,” Morthisal interrupted her. He reached into the veil, power still pulsing beneath his skin, and seized another thread. It was thin and tenuous, sinuous even. Morthisal lashed out and wrapped it around Penny. Her body froze mid-gesture.

Morthisal stood and stepped closer, leaning down to inspect her. The thread vibrated faintly. She was held in his thrall, unable to lift a finger.

A small smile creased Morthisal’s lips. He pushed against her mind, probing past the surface. Her thoughts were chaotic and cluttered, full of ideas about crystals and energies that reeked of fanciful nonsense. Chaotic colors and patterns fought for dominance.

But no true power coursed through her—no raw potential. Yet... there was something. He realized it was tied to the things she had consumed.

“Tea,” he said. “Penny. Tell me about this potion you consumed.”

“Oh sure. Shrooms. They help me relax and see the universe as it truly is.”

He tightened the thread. “This is how you controlled the pendulum?”

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Penny grinned, reached under the table, and pulled her dress up to reveal a strap around her lower thigh that held a bar of iron. She pulled it loose and laid it on the table. The pendulum was drawn to it.

“Magnet. The stone has metal in it. Clever, right?”

Morthisal nodded, though he once again felt disappointed that her 'powers' were not real. “Indeed.”

“These shrooms. You can procure more?”

“Of course."

"Let us test this, then,” he muttered. Tightening his hold on the thread, he channeled his consciousness through her, using Penny as a crude vessel. The shop’s cluttered walls and dim lighting faded, replaced by awar of colors, patterns, and strange animals that danced around her consciousness. He reached outward, his awareness riding the veil until he felt it: the faint pull of Mythralon. He pushed toward it.

A scene appeared, shadowy and distorted, as though seen through warped glass. There, hidden beneath the Heart of Shadows, lay his body. It was alive! His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. He was in a tent with a small fire pit in the center. Nothing adorned the walls. There was a chest before each man’s cot. Another man, unfamiliar and snoring softly, was sprawled on the other bed across from him.

How had this Vince escaped the castle with his head still attached?

He reached for his old body. It was time to reclaim it and return to it! His consciousness brushed against it, testing the connection. It resisted him. Cursing under his breath, he tried again. A faint flicker of power responded, just enough to make the body’s hands glow faintly. It was maddeningly inadequate.

Morthisal pressed harder, trying to pour himself into his old self. The glow in the body’s hands intensified but offered nothing else. He could barely sense his body’s consciousness.

Then came the pull. A sudden, violent tug yanked him backward, toward the Earth realm. He resisted, tightening his grip on Penny, using her as an anchor. She fought back, and he suddenly realized his body could not draw breath.

He was forced back into his borrowed body on Earth with a snap. He first noticed the sound—an ugly, stuttering rasp. Penny. Her mouth was open in a silent scream, her face pale and turning a sickly shade of blue. Her chest convulsed as she clawed weakly at her throat.

He released her immediately, the thread falling away. Penny collapsed back into her chair, gasping violently.

“How?” she rasped.

Morthisal sat back and steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “Penny. Why did you deceive me?”

“I’m sorry,” Penny said and began to sob. “I’ll give you your money back.”

Morthisal sat back. “You may retain the money. In truth, I find your act of minor villainy, er… commendable.”

“Um, thank you?” Penny said, more a question. “How did you do that? You actually used me as a conduit.”

Morthisal put his hands behind his back and launched into a short walk around the table as he spoke. “Dear Penny. I am not of this world. I come from a place far far away. A land of what you would term mythical creatures. I was a, eh, let’s say… a leader. Respected by many. Loved by many more,” Morthisal’s voice grew wistful.

“I saw it. You dragged me there. I don’t understand. Must be the shrooms. It’s gotta be the shrooms. Or was it? No. It’s the drugs…”

“I have some understanding of the effects of certain mushrooms. I can assure you, Penny, what you just experienced was real.” Morthisal returned to pacing. “Now, as I was saying…”

Morthisal came to a sudden stop. His head swam, and the power that had been racing through his body was fading. He had to hurry, but what did he have to accomplish here? He’d exposed Penny’s ruse, even if he was somewhat impressed by it.

“As I was saying. I have some power, not as much as I had before when I commanded armies of the dead. Yes. I was a dark lord. Thus was I called after I began my war of…” He stammered the last bit, because he had suddenly been reminded of his mother and father. Lying in their bed, face down, decapitated, quartered. Some body parts had been missing.

Cursed heroes. All of them.

“A dark lord? Wow. So that’s why you have so much psychic energy.”

“Well, no. I must very painfully draw it from a source… it doesn’t matter.” He waved his hand.

“So this dark lord energy. Can you give me some?”

"I barely have enough for myself, and it would be useless to you." Morthisal snapped his mouth shut, paused thoughtfully, and said, "That is to say, the power might be useless to you now, but it won't be forever. I would, of course, be willing to share with you. In exchange, I ask for your help with certain situations, as well as your loyalty. What do you say, dear Penny?"

"If you say so." Penny's eyes fluttered closed, and her head dipped forward. She caught herself and sat back. "So sleepy."

"Penny? Do you understand what I offer?" Morthisal tugged at the remains of the thread.

"Yes. Sorry, I can barely keep my eyes open."

"So we have a deal."

"Yes. We do," Penny said.

Morthisal rose from his seat, satisfied with acquiring a new ally, even if her abilities were questionable, at best. Penny's head bobbed forward again, her rainbow-dyed hair falling across her face.

"Rest now," he commanded. "I shall contact you soon."

Penny mumbled something incoherent and slumped further in her chair.

The drain on his power reserves left him irritated. Such a waste for so little gain, though the glimpse of his original form had proven informative. He was still shocked to find his old body still existed. Would it be possible for him to return? This required more time and contemplation. Perhaps more power, but he would need to be careful. From reading about electricity, he knew that too much could have unintended consequences, like frying his shell to a blackened husk.

The bell above the shop door chimed as he stepped out into the evening air. His gaze fell on the shirt establishment across the street. It was the location where the man giggling about his BDE shirt had emerged.

An idea formed in his mind.

The shop's cramped interior assaulted his senses. Racks of blank garments lined the walls in various hues. Behind a scratched counter sat an array of machinery—a metal contraption with a flat surface that opened and closed like a demon's maw and a box-like device that hummed with an inner light and was connected to a computer.

A woman with multiple rings through her nose glanced up from her phone. "Can I help you?"

"I require a shirt with specific text." Morthisal approached the counter.

"Sure, whatever. What do you want it to say?"

He described his vision, and she turned to her screen, fingers tapping at the keys. After several minutes, she spun the display toward him. He made a few suggestions. She went back to work and spun the display again.

"Yes. That is it!"

The design was perfect in its simplicity—bold letters spelling "DLE" with "Dark Lord Energy" beneath in a smaller font. The text had an appropriately ominous style.

"This pleases me," he declared and presented Vince's card for payment.

Minutes later, he emerged, holding his prize aloft. The shirt would serve as an excellent reminder of his true nature to all.