Slumrat Rising

Merkovah thought his office looked like some kind of conspiracy nutjob’s “special” wall. There were little scraps of paper laid out on the floor, different books had been positioned carefully at different heights and angles to the paper, and while it was probably a coincidence, the sunlight streaming through the window seemed to catch just enough of the back of his chair to form an illuminated rune on the ground. Which rune was debatable.

“So you’ve been busy,” Said Merkovah.

Truth looked helpless. “There are too many options, and I don’t want to limit myself, but all the spells promise the moon. I’m pretty sure they are all lying, and many are plainly evil.”

“Why would you think that?” Merkovah asked, grinning.

“‘Will cause the woman you love to leave her partner and fall hopelessly in love with you. However, write the incantation on a tin amulet and hang it around the neck to prevent possession by demons.’” Truth pointed at a particular passage. Teacher Merkovah started sputtering.

“A lot of these spells are designed for sex criminals,” Truth continued. “Look, this one even has pictures. That’s not ok.”

The spell came with a diagram explaining how the ritual doll would be made. The doll was to be tied with specially treated string in a remarkably complex binding, with particular attention paid to both the type and placement of the knots. Into the doll was jabbed a variety of needles. Silver for the hands, feet, ears, and eyes. Gold for the forehead, mouth, and heart. Gold again for the groin, though the spell took careful note to emphasize that if conception was a concern, the golden groin needle could be replaced by an iron needle to inhibit fertility. The accompanying spell was four pages of dense evocation.

“Hardly criminal! Young man-”

“Tommy Wells. Certified talisman maintenance technician.”

“Mr. Wells, these are an ancient legacy! These spells have been used quite consensually by loving families for millennia.”

Truth gave him a disbelieving look. “I know enough about spells to spot a scuffed one, and these aren't. This is a working rape spell. Just because the book calls it “erotic binding” doesn’t change that fact. These are criminal spells. No wonder you work full-time as an exorcist. You must be busy as Hell.”

Teacher Merkovah’s mouth worked soundlessly for a moment. “Young m- Mr. Wells, have you ever heard the term “Pre-Nuptual Agreement?”

“Sorry, no, I have not.”

Teacher Merkovah started weakly chuckling. “This is going to be an interesting working relationship, isn’t it?”

Truth looked surprised at the beardy expert. “I am excellent at following instructions and am told my lack of complaining is a genuine wonder.”

“Hah. I guess I’ll see. Look, what do you want from a spell? That’s the first thing. You have a top-notch body already, and I would bet more than a Birr that your stellar resonance is sky-high. Pardon the pun. So do you want to build up that advantage or complement it with something else?”

“Can you give me an example?” Truth asked.

“Sure. I assume you are familiar with some version of a sharp spell?”

“Intimately.” Truth said, flashing back to several unpleasant memories.

“Well, there you go. At Level Three, a decent Sharp spell will further reinforce your body, give you a degree of armor against physical damage, and let you cut things from the very tiny to the very big.”

“As long as they are within arms reach.” Truth concluded.

“Yes. But also no. The spells I’m offering are all fueled directly by much more powerful energies than the ambient cosmic “noise” you have been working with. So a Sharp spell invoking one of those powers would be quite different.” Merkovah slipped on his teacher hat.

“Invoke Andras, and you will become a murderous beast, killing everyone around you. Sharp would be purely a tool for indiscriminate slaughter. Invoke Botis, and you will find yourself almost impossible to hit in combat but also better able to find peaceful solutions to problems. The Sharp offered by Botis can even resolve philosophical disputes at the highest level. Invoke Caym, and you will find yourself an agile debater as well as a skillful warrior. Learning languages would be trivial,” He concluded.

“These are all demons in the Goetia.” Truth nodded.

“Yes, just not employed in the way you are used to. And there is a good reason we aren’t using angel magic- under level four, it’s likely to burn you out very quickly. Though I will teach you how it works. How is your demon finding all of this?”

Good question. How are you finding all of this?

Extremely fucking concerning. Also fascinating. It’s pretty clear that the main System works the same way all this does, but it… sort of filters it out first. It can’t replicate all the actual powers of these… beings… but can structurally mimic them. The result is that it cuts out the major demons and angels from direct access to its slaves. Nifty.

Got enough to start making custom spells?

Oh yes. Yes, I really think I do. The System didn’t have fluids, but there was something upsettingly moist, almost carnal, about its tone.

“It’s got enough. It’s getting to work now,” Truth said.

“Good. Then we will too.”

Merkovah waved grandly at his spell carriage. Truth had seen safer-looking landmines. “Go on, get in.”

“Thank you for your kind intentions, Teacher, but I have my own two-wheeler.” Truth tried to escape. Merkovah was having none of it.

“Nonsense! This will be much more comfortable, and I can explain the job to you on the way.” Praying blindly to whatever gods or demons looked after new hires, Truth gingerly opened the door. He was pleasantly surprised when it didn’t fall off in his hand.

The seat was the next challenge. The car promised to reek, but he had been spared that so far. And yet. The seat. With its upsettingly gnawed-upon fabric and exposed foam. Truth gingerly sat down and closed the door.

There were no seatbelts. Or offensive smell, now that he thought about it. He wiggled back into the seat. It was… really comfortable. Not too hard or soft, and he would swear it was subtly adjusting itself to be even more comfortable. There seemed to be functional air conditioning too. Astonishing. Merkovah slid in next to him and prodded the chained spirit to life. The carriage made a terrible racket of grinding axles as it pulled away from the gated parking lot, though Truth noticed that there was no friction or vibration to be felt.

“The chariot is disguised?”

“You would not believe the places I have to park it.”

“I’m surprised anyone dares touch it.”

“And yet. Anyway. We are off to visit the home of Widow Yettran. She is convinced her illness is caused by a demon and wants me to do something about it.”

“Is it?” Truth asked.

“Eeeh. Maybe? It does happen.” Merkovah shrugged. “The bigger problem is where her house is. Two blocks from the cemetery, I suspect the home is built on top of an old family tomb, and to cap it off, there is a slaughterhouse just a couple of blocks over. Demon is a maybe, but evil spirits of the dead? That is almost certain.”

“Okay? So what should I do?”

“Well, mostly just follow me and learn how the job goes. Anything physical comes at me, do keep it off of me. As I said, I’m not much of a fighter when it comes to physical things.”

Truth nodded. He had no idea how that could be possible. He thought about it a bit more. It eventually occurred to him that the overwhelming majority of people in the world were not in the Starbrite PMC. And yet, despite this, they managed to level up, make things, and generally grow as a mage. So… it was reasonable for this weirdo to not know how to fight. Not that he was going to test him. He knew how powerful a level seven body was, after all.

The Widow Yettran lived in a nice little house. It was a single floor and had a terracotta tile roof. The walls had been painted yellow not too long ago, and it was far enough from the city center that its neighbors weren't crowded around it. The cheerful lace curtains fluttered by the open windows. It even had a little garden.

“It’s cursed.” Truth said.

“Big time.” Merkovah nodded.

“The fact that all the flowers in the garden are black and rotting in the sun is my first clue.” Truth tried to look wise.

“Really? For me, it’s how the inside of the house looks pitch black even though the curtains are open. Also, who leaves the windows open in the middle of the day on the equator?” The beard of Merkovah wagged disbelievingly.

“Ah, the expert’s eye.” Truth was starting to get a feel for Merkovah. He seemed fairly easygoing as long as it didn’t touch on religion.

There was a sharp explosion, and the bottom of the front door suddenly deformed. Truth looked puzzled, but Merkovah was already dashing to the door.

“Mrs. Yettran! Mrs. Yettran, can you hear me? Mrs. Yettran!” He started banging on the door. Truth shoved him aside and kicked in the door. His eyes raked through the gloom. A silvery outline was in the shadows, a large man stabbing into the dark desperately with a spear.

“Help her, quickly! I can’t hold them back any longer!” The spirit cried.

“You grab the widow. I’ll deal with the ghosts!” Yelled Merkovah. He had a silver talisman out, and a spell was forming on it fast.

Truth moved in, eyes constantly in motion. His hands felt empty, hating not having a spell ready for the thousandth time. The widow was on the ground, mottled green, gray, and black. He scooped her off the floor- she weighed almost nothing. He turned in place, trying to get back out the door. A snake appeared, its head rising chest high, neck flaring, fangs dripping poison. Eyes of dim embers and boiling smoke.

He kept his momentum rolling forward, lashing out with a kick to the snake’s head. The snake read the kick and slipped back. Then lunged forward, fangs dripping, aiming for the calf. Truth checked his kick with inhuman speed, then turned the blow into an axe kick. His heel smashed down on the snake’s head. It hissed and recoiled. Truth took two more quick steps towards the door before it struck again.

This time, the serpent came low. It weaved along the floor and put itself directly between Truth and the light. It went for his calf again. He could feel the hiss rattling his ears, trying to throw off his balance. There was something in the dark. Something about the dark pressing down on him. He could fight through it, but the snake was coming at him fast. Too fast!

The old lady groaned in her arms. Her face contorted with pain. Her breath was raspy, rattling. Too short. He had to get her out. Truth dodged to the side, avoiding the fangs with a faerie’s grace. He went for a stomp. Now it was the snake’s turn to bonelessly dodge. Merkovah’s spell was starting to light up the room. The warrior spirit was suddenly there, stabbing with its spear. The snake screamed and recoiled. “Go, quickly!” The spirit yelled.

Truth feinted for the door once more. Though wary of the spirit, the snake once more moved to block him. Truth tightened his grip on the Widow Yettran and dove out the window with a single explosive leap.

She gasped in the sudden sunlight, choking and sputtering. Her eyes opened, green and ophidian. Something forced its way out of her mouth, triangular head, sharp fangs extended. Truth grabbed it just below the head and yanked it out of the old lady. Then crushed the filthy thing in his hands.

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