There is a notion in this world that magic is a fantasy, no more than a misinterpretation of science and advanced technology that we romanticize into supernatural power. Though this often is the case when dealing with the various entities of the universe, there are notable exceptions. The man in front of him was one such exception; was, being the key term. The pile of twisted bones and blood-stained carpet told Kathlan that he wasn’t a very good practitioner but admitted that it took a certain level of skill to horribly disfigure oneself in such a manner. The scene was common enough that people coined these victims as “pretzel magicians”. Kathlan chuckled, not at the man for his arrogance but the fact he suddenly had a craving for a salted pretzel.
He sighed as he suppressed the craving and methodically unraveled the mangled limbs to inspect the body. Luckily, the man seemed to possess very minor knowledge of mana channeling, so the body had only partially contorted his arms, legs, and head. Kathlan had seen a pretzel magician of some renown in the districts twist himself into a 3-inch diameter rod. The corpse still retained its ability to hold a magical charge and was promptly given to RnD for experimentation and had heard a rumor it was used in the assault against a class-3 manifestation.
The current victim was mostly intact, save his eyes which had been squeezed out of their sockets, as well as most of his brain matter.
Kathlan quickly found what he had been looking for, a small yellow gemstone that hung on a silver chain from the man’s snapped neck. It pulsed with a sickly green and gold internal glow. Kathlan sighed heavily again, these were becoming more common than he liked. He tugged the stone from the body and let it sit un his open left palm before pulling the energy within into himself. The world faded from his consciousness as he closed his eyes and focused into a standing meditation. He felt prison doors open as the flood of auras assaulted his mind with emotions; Fear, hatred, regret, and most prominently directed at him, pride. A shadow pulled from the void in his mind and formed the smoky aura of the entity who held the keys to the prison.
“Well, my morning had been fine.” The smoke stated, “But, now it’s a beautiful day. A hunter enters my humble abode. Tell me, how long do you think you can survive in here.” The entity had no face, but Kathlan could imagine it was smiling like an idiot.
“I say my chances are pretty decent.” He replied dryly. “You’re trapped in here as much as I am.”
“Is that so?” He heard it purr. A wave of oppressive energy burst out from the shade and washed over Kathlan.
Kathlan stood still, looked around the void and back at the entity, who was noticeably a smaller smoke cloud than he had been before.
“Was that it?” The man asked, staring disappointedly into the cloud. “I was expecting more since you have about twelve souls in here. Plus, you just ate, you should be full of spunk by now.” He sighed and tightened his fist around the stone. “I suppose I expected too much from you. I guess it’s true for warlocks too, you get way you pay for.” Kathlan closed his eyes and deeply drew in the magic the stone contained.
“Wait, stop!” the entity shouted. “I can tell you things. I could give you the name of the one who bound me. I could make a pact and become your familiar!” the shadow pleaded as the cloud shrank. “I’ll do anything, please! I’ll become your spy; you could banish me!”
“Oh, there’s no need for any of that.” He responded with his eyes closed, his own thoughts dominating the prison realm of the spirit. “I can get all of that anyways.” He opened one eye sly towards the haze which was no bigger than what he imagined a fart cloud would look like.
“What?!” the smoke squeaked. The ball shrank before flaring into a billowing cloud, the emotions of a desperate spirit running crazy. “No! NO! You’re human; a hunter. It is forbidden to feed on the souls of spirits! You can’t do this! I will take that sack of flesh and slaughter everything you love! I am Lestnas, 7th captain of Mephesto, I will not be such an easy meal.” The cloud raged as red lightning struck and flashed inside it.
Kathlan smiled. The smoke grew again before condensing quickly back to its fart like size.
“Who said I was a Hunter?” he asked, both eyes staring intently into the cloud. The smoke cleared and a single crystal hung in the air with a faded image of a young German man standing beside it. The specter glared at him; his black military uniform was emblazoned on the sleeves with an iron cross. “In fact,” Kathlan continued “I don’t recall saying I was human at all.” He grabbed the floating crystal in his right hand, held it up to the specters face and forced his essence into it. There was a bright flash before the crystal turned a solid teal steel grey color, the German man disappeared with a single word that was left echoing in Kathlan’s mind as he looked upon the broken mage on the floor.
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“Vershlinger.”
The high-end apartment returned around him, the realm of dreams fading quickly into the aether it had come from. Now that the amulet had been taken care of, the scene was much safer to explore. Kathlan had heard of this incident from the shades of the south tunnels; a group of spirits who inhabited the lower Manhattan subway system. Luckily, he had been the first one on the scene and had already taken precautions against prying eyes. He looked at the door, the yellow grey seal sat silently. No chance anyone would interrupt him, no matter what was happening.
The apartment was small, maybe for a lawyer or low-level executive. The drawers contained a prescription for trazodone, files with serial number, and a bottle Jose Cuervo. Kathlan scoffed.
“Didn’t even bother for the top shelf stuff.”
The files contained a series of court cases, dossiers, and notes on potential profits on court costs. Lawyer was right, but he seemed a little more hawkish than Kathlan would expect of a man. Perhaps it was ambition, or maybe distrust that led him to this work. Whatever the case, these weren’t his kind of interesting. He scanned the room but saw no sign of hidden spaces. He gave a sigh and allowed his eyes to glaze with the fog.
His sight was lost but the visions he saw now were far more helpful. The sense of tan and green energy made up the majority of the room. Envy and loathing, an apt description. The green mellowed out towards the desk to a brackish brown. Kathlan frowned, still nothing he would consider interesting. The chance that this was merely his first step into the swamp of magic was low, but the evidence was slowly mounting. He turned his head and caught the tail swirl of red flip in the air towards the bedroom.
Kathlan’s eyes snapped open and walked intently toward the room. It was a single king bed with a gaudy black and gold silk canopy. The furniture was dark redwood but laying open on the bed was a silver box. His fingers drew the symbols out of reflex; a spell designed to create a barrier between the world and its user. The barrier acted much like a Kevlar glove against the world, keeping it a particles reach away. The ornate box lay with its lid resting against the dark patterned bed sheets. The interior was padded with a plush purple velvet material, a small recess for a necklace lay empty on the left side. A large bound book rested in another recess of the box, its tan leather and black iron latches closed tightly with an arrowhead shaped lock.
A series of runes and glyphs had been carved into the leather. Immediately, Kathlan recognized the demonic script. The Book of Mag-Li Ma Boka: Second Priest of Babylon. The warding glyph was a standard charm of the Harnfrether, a coven of magicians dedicated to the Babylonian rituals of Baal. While the prospect of knowledge gained from such a tome may seem advantageous, he knew that such a book was mostly low-level parlor tricks compared to the ones he'd turned into the Mage’s Archive. Those usually came with a hefty reward; they’d barely thank him for burning this one.
He allowed his eyes to accept the fog once again, searching the room for more energy. The book emanated a low blue glow, but underneath the book swirled the small red energy he had sensed before. He lifted the book and unceremoniously threw it aside. Further inset into the case was another recess, this one a gem slightly larger than the one he destroyed around the pretzel magician’s neck. He reached for it as his eyes came back in full. A bright flash emanated from the gem, a burst of red smoke, then the sound of rushing wind. Kathlan turned his head back to the case to see the socket empty.
He sighed in discontent and peered at the book on the bed. The reverse side of the tome bore a containment seal, this one distinctly different from the traditional Harnferther construction. Intricate, encrypted, warded, and locked; this was the work of a well-trained magician. From what he could translate and tell from the spell’s construction, it was designed to contain a sentient item, a clausal condition was plainly labeled in the bottom workings of the barrier circuit.
If an energy unregistered to this seal breaks the seal, by either removing the seal or rendering it inert, the item shall be returned to the designated failsafe location. An aura signature is taken and processed remotely. We shall be in touch.
Polite, formal, and informative. Regardless of his personal feelings about being tricked, he had to admit that he possessed a great admiration for this mages professionalism. It’s not often spells inform you of their consequences so plainly. He was still frustrated by this item getting away, but the book seemed like it could prove useful after all. He picked up the enchanted tome and stored it in his side satchel. His friend at RnD might be able to shed some light on the more complex formula of the spell, if Kathlan was lucky, even be able to profile the mage in question.