A gentle and warm wind picked up the desert sands as I stood over the yawning abyss, staring into a deep hole that went straight down. As I was about to turn away, the sand started moving, and like a pale golden river, it flowed into the opening, taking with it.
I then andered through stone corridors far too large for any human. I was looking for it. I knew where it was. I knew of the books in the strange library. And then the whistling ca. I ran as the short, low sound was getting closer and closer, now accompanied by a stronger and stronger wind.
I knew I was close, so close to the library, but then I saw its outline, a strange monolithic thing standing out against the tapestry of darkness.
I fell face-first and hit the floor—the wooden floor of my room in the cheap motel.
I looked around, slightly confused, as my mind only started to wake up. The room was lit by the morning sun. Looking to my left, I noticed that I’d tripped over Peter, who was sleeping on the carpet after I dragged him to the room yesterday.
I could feel a lightly pulsating headache spreading from my temples to the back of my head as I groaned. I’m pretty sure the mutant was having better sleep than I was.
Sighing, I got up from the floor and prepared to get to work. Sadly, I knew this headache wasn’t going away today, and no painkiller would do anything. That’s what I get for overstraining my magic.
First on my agenda was getting Peter out of the room and into a safehouse. And I needed help with that. Happy about the prospect of sharing my headache with a friend—that’s what they are for, I hear—I called Q’Shar.
“What do you need?” grumbled the cat, clearly woken up by my phone call.
“A safehouse for a mutant.”
“...and why do you need a safehouse for that? Wait, wait, oh God… Sam, did you get a soul injury and mutate a conscience? And now you don’t want to kill even a mutant? Sam, please, is it really you?”
“He needs help with his soul—”
“Oh God, and now you’re helping people. Oh, Sam, what happened?”
“And I want him as a test subject.”
“Oh, and you’re back,” the cat said with fake disappointnt.
I rolled my eyes.
“And I’ll need so cleanup around the case. I think I can do so work with the local police, but if you need the Vatican to help, then wait until I ransack the tomb.”
“I wouldn’t dream of interrupting your grave-robbing, don’t worry. And what is it about the mutant?”
“The hook’s victim. His soul is now made up of pieces of others. I’m not sure how that happened, but it’s interesting. So you get him a safehouse and soone to fix his body, and I’ll deal with him once I’m back.”
“Once you rob so graves.”
“Explore a tomb, yes,” I sighed into the phone.
“Okay, what can we expect from the police case, and will it get out of the town?”
I then explained the whole investigation as fast as I could to the increasingly pissed Q’Shar.
“Could you make yourself less guilty-looking?!” he hissed into the phone.
“I could have, yes.”
There was a bit of silence on the phone.
“God, you’re a headache, you know that?”
“Aw, so we’re friends.”
“What?”
“Nothing. You fix it on your end. I’ll talk with my police guy. It should be fine.”
“Fine. And that safehouse will cost you, you know. The Vatican won’t pay you for this if you don’t report it.”
I clicked my tongues in annoyance. “Take it out from my money, I still have so left from the pouch.”
“Got it. Good luck grave-robbing,” said the cat, and hung up.
After a few hours, the fruntarii people ca to pick up Peter. For now, he would be in my storage room, and they would move him to an off-grid location later.
Next, I went to the ghost hunters after I asked them to gather in Victor’s house. His mother was out with so relatives.
I got out of my car, but before going for the door, I stopped and massaged my temples. The dream was still playing on repeat in my mind, making distracted and intensifying the dull ache. I could hear the whistling, feel the rough texture of the sand, and most of all the carving along those walls... This didn't happen before. I shook my head to get so of the sleeplessness off before the talk with the ghost hunters.
When I walked in, the first thing I saw was Victor trying to eat cereal using his new hand—a bizarre sight even by my standards.
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After greeting them all, we gathered in the living room. I could see that their gazes were strange. A mixture of interest and fear crossed their faces when they looked at . And now even Rey wouldn’t et my eyes. I could also see varying degrees of sadness, with rcy and Rey being the most affected.
Once everyone was seated, we spoke about what ca next.
I explained to them the sa thing I always did: rcy, Liz, and Rey were not to tell anyone anything, while Victor was a tougher case. It might be explained as a deformity, but the hand was fully functional, so he was to keep it hidden and away from caras, preferably tied to his body with a bandage.
I also gave him the cats’ contact number if anyone was asking too many questions. Usually, that wouldn't be enough, but soon an additional hand wouldn’t be much of an issue, so a temporary solution was enough in my book.
When I asked them about their end, it turned out that yesterday they did call an ambulance, giving so excuse about Cecil getting electrocuted. It was bullshit, of course, but I doubt there would be an investigation with witnesses, one of whom was a cop.
Finally, we decided on a version of the story where Rey would tell the cops about an unknown killer they encountered in the forest. The local police would then soon get information from a state agency that their man had been found, but chose to take himself out. All that with so proper fake docuntation, of course.
And that closed the mundane part of the case.
I was sowhat curious what they would do now, but that wasn’t my business. I could check up on them so other ti.
Today I would need to recuperate, and tomorrow see about the tomb.
I said my goodbyes after all the explanations were done, then set out for the motel.
Once I got back to my room, I tried to fall back asleep.
But sothing was bothering , not letting rest, surfacing in my mind like a lake monster popping out its head to observe the surroundings. And that sothing was my dream. Usually, any other would dissipate from my mind as details would beco more and more blurred as if hidden by a fog.
But this ti, not only was it much more intense, it was also still running in my head, bothering . After my ascension, the dreams beca more vivid, but this ti, after casting a spell this high, I could recall the whole thing.
I was turning from side to side in the bed with the scene in the desert vivid in front of my mind. And then an idea ca to . Since it was bothering so much, why not let it out sowhere, preferably on paper? Make it tangible, like a writer dealing with a sudden burst of inspiration.
I took a pen and paper and wrote it down alongside any abyssal song that accompanied the night vision. And to my surprise, once that was done, it let go, as if satisfied. I was left slightly confused, looking at the strange gibberish I had written, not entirely understandable ot myself.
Then, shrugging, I finally went to sleep. Not the ti to ponder the dream.
The next morning I was back to full. Mana replenished, head not pounding, twisted visions of the void not invading my headspace—a good day all over.
I looked at the hook. I didn’t unwrap it from the hand, as it was helpful as a holder for the thing since I didn’t want to touch it for now. But it was starting to sll. So it was ti to try and hold the artifact myself.
I took it and slowly unwrapped the hand. The hook lay before . It was a strange weapon. It had a handle in the shape of the letter T, like butcher hooks might. The hooked portion was slightly elongated, the whole thing being the size of a long dagger. But the most striking part was the edge that went all around the inside part of the hook. I could see it was razor sharp without touching it.
The problem now was binding the artifact. It was similar to my staff, aning the artifact had a core of its own. Once bound, one would always know its place and control it with a thought, no magic needed. The ascension allowed to connect a second artifact, and I kept that place open for the hook. Now the question was: should I do it now?
I was thinking about the tomb's door. Would just any idiot with the hook be able to open it? I doubted that.
I took a deep breath and picked up the weapon by the handle.
It was my first ti touching it. The tal was cold, seemingly colder than the room, as if it had been pulled from a refrigerator monts ago. Even though it was shiny, the handle had a rough surface, and there was sothing else unusual about it. I did feel the artifact's natural fascination, but when I picked it up, I felt sothing else–It’s will.
It wanted to be used. It craved the souls of others. I felt it try to force into it. It whispered about how beautiful it would be if I slamd it into the back of soone’s skull.
Lovely. I knew we would be friends the mont I saw it grow into the hand of a mutated teenager.
I pushed down the whispers and extended myself to the weapon. Its core was interesting. It was very similar to the ethereal and strange feeling of soul magic. Now to bind it. The trick was to connect my spark to the core.
I spent a few hours slowly but surely extending my own magic to the hook. It wasn’t easy, as the thing almost had a mind of its own, trying to swat away and get to do its bidding. Thankfully, my mind was strong, and I could push away the need to kill.
Finally, I managed to create the connection. Now, to finalize it, I would need to readjust the artifact’s core, basically changing part of it into the sa frequency as my soul. As I went deeper, the pressure on my mind strengthened. I gritted my teeth, slowly starting to repeat my mantra.
I began moving slowly, bit by bit. Overall, the hook seed like a bloodthirsty teenager with no brakes. It had a constant need to devour, to be used, to be needed—but underneath it was also a need to be bound to soone. It was strange. It was the first ti I saw an artifact with this much… personality.
But finally, once I felt its need to have an owner, I leaned into it and made the connection.
Sothing clicked in my soul, and a presence entered it. The artifact also stopped screaming at about tearing soone’s soul out, now waiting for a command. The sensation was similar to having another limb–a strange, needy limb.
I also realized that it was much more complicated than simple soul-tearing. It was a weapon as much as it was a tool, but as to what it could exactly do, I wasn’t sure. I would need the help of a fortune teller.
I grimaced, thinking about the old, greedy crow.
Now was the ti for the exciting part. I waited until I was sure I was back to full strength and made my way to the tomb’s entrance. After checking around to make sure I was alone, I finally approached the sigil of the Eternal Soul.
Taking out the hook, I placed it close to the opening. It fit, but I didn’t push it in just yet.
I took so ti to center myself, rechecking all my gear and ntal defenses. Only once I was absolutely sure I was ready did I insert the artifact into the wall.
Sothing clicked, and mana flowed behind the stone. For so ti, nothing happened, and just as I was worrying that maybe the ancient magic gave out over ti, I felt it—a pull. Sothing entered through the artifact and, sensing my connection with it, went into . Just as I thought, being bound was the requirent.
I t the conditions to open the tomb, as apparently happy with whatever it sensed, the mana retreated from , and the sizable stone door started to move, first back and then to the side.
The resting place of one of the best soul mages in history. Legacy of the dreaded butcher of Karhirs. It stood there before .
I looked inside, excited.
And then imdiately jumped back to duck a massive tallic fist flying at my face.
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