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106. Case closed, tomb opened
🕑 Added 2025-10-17 21:43:00 +0000 UTCA gentle and warm wind picked up the desert sands as I stood over a 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 me with it.
I then meandered 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 came. 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 disappointment.
I rolled my eyes.
“And I’ll need some cleanup around the case. I think I can do some work with the local police, but if you need the Vatican to help, then please 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?”
“He’s a victim of the hook. 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 someone to fix his body, and I’ll deal with him once I’m back.”
“Once you rob some 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 are 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 some left from the pouch.”
“Got it. Good luck grave-robbing,” said the cat, and hung up.
After a few hours, the frumentarii people came to pick up Peter. For now, he would be in my storage room, and they would move him somewhere off-grid later.
Next, I went to the ghost hunters after I asked them to gather in Victor’s house. His mother was out with some relatives, as he apparently told her he was planning a small gathering with friends, so we had the place to ourselves.
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 me distracted, which was unusual. I shook my head to get some 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, which was a rather strange sight, to say the least.
After greeting them all, we gathered in the living room. I could see their gazes were strange, a mixture of interest and fear, when they looked at me. And now even Rey wouldn’t meet my eyes. I could also see varying degrees of sadness, with Mercy and Rey being the most affected.
Once everyone was seated, we spoke about what came next.
I explained to them the same thing I always would: Mercy, Liz, and Rey were not to tell anything to anyone, 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 cameras, preferably tied to his body with a bandage.
I also gave him the cats’ contact number if anyone was asking too many questions. Normally, 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 some 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 some proper fake documentation, of course.
And that closed the mundane part of the case.
I was somewhat curious what they would do now, but that wasn’t my business. I could check up on them some other time.
Today I would need to recuperate, and tomorrow see about the tomb.
I said my goodbyes after all the explanations were done and set out on my way to the motel.
Once I got back into my room, I tried to get back to sleep.
But something was bothering me, and that was my dream. Usually, any other would dissipate from my mind as details would become more and more blurred as if hidden by a fog.
But this time, not only was it much more intense, it was also still running in my head, bothering me. After my ascension, the dreams became more vivid, but this time, 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 still showing in my head. And then an idea came to me. Since it was bothering me so much, why not let it out 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 dream.
Once that was done, finally, the vision let go, as if satisfied. I was left slightly confused, looking at the strange gibberish I ended up writing.
Then, shrugging, I finally went to sleep. Not the time to ponder that.
***
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 then looked at the hook. I didn’t unwrap it from the hand, as it was useful as a holder for the thing since I didn’t want to touch it for now. But it was starting to smell. So it was time to try and hold the artifact myself.
I took it and slowly unwrapped the hand. The hook lay before me. 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.
Now the problem was binding the artifact. It was similar to my staff, meaning 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 me 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 door to the tomb. Would just any schmuck with the hook be able to open it? I doubted that.
I took a deep breath and picked up the hook by the handle.
It was my first time touching it. The metal was cold, seemingly colder than the room, like it had been pulled out of a refrigerator moments ago. Even though it was shiny, the handle had a rough surface, and there was something else unusual about it. I did feel the natural fascination the artifact had, but when I picked it up, I felt something else.
Its will.
It wanted to be used. It craved the souls of others.
I felt it try to force me into it. It whispered about how beautiful it would be if I slammed it into the back of someone’s skull.
Lovely. I knew we would be friends the moment 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 create a connection between my spark and 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 me away and get me to do its bidding. Thankfully, my mind was strong, and I could push away the need to kill someone.
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 same frequency as my soul.
As I went deeper into the hook, 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 seemed 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 someone. It was strange. It was the first time 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.
Something clicked in my soul, and a presence entered it. The artifact also stopped screaming at me about tearing someone’s soul out, now waiting for a command. The sensation was similar to having another limb. 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 time for the exciting part.
I waited until I was sure I was back to full 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 some time to center myself, rechecking all my gear and mental defenses. Only once I was absolutely sure I was ready did I insert the artifact into the wall.
Something clicked, and mana flowed inside the wall. For some time, nothing happened, and just as I was worrying that maybe the ancient magic gave out over time, I felt it—a pull. Something entered through the artifact and, sensing my connection with it, went into me. Just as I thought, being bound was the requirement.
I met the conditions to open the tomb, but I doubted that that was all that was needed to inherit what was inside it.
Apparently happy with whatever it sensed, the mana retreated from me, 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 me.
I looked inside, excited.
And then immediately jumped back to duck a massive metallic fist flying at my face.
