Indomitable (Harry Potter/World of Darkness)

[Skyfish]

Any chance Harry will use the clout of Heir of Slytherin? lol

 

[Bland Eggplant]

The heir, the heir… I remember hearing something like that.
The shit doesn't matter though, because someone is digging up dirt on me. Whoever could attack cats and paint with blood on walls? If we were on the Philippines – I would've said Hiro Onoda, but here, at Hogwarts, only I am awesome enough.

Although, why do I care? Nothing's really changed, right? They all think that I'm a looney house client anyway and that won't change. All the Sherlocks of the Wizarding World are already after me. They'll only get one more clue that will lead them… somewhere.

Class, raise hands who care where the fuck it leads them? No hands were raised.

After making these simple deductions, I left the crime scene and went to the kitchen. For some reason, I was starving and in the mood for a drumstick with some potatoes.

House-elves always looked at me warily, but now they were outright shaking when I appeared. It would've been flattering if, well, it was because of something I've actually done.

"You, squirt, over here." I beckoned one of the big-eared folk. He inhaled in terror and slowly approached me, his legs stiff and unbending.

"S-sir Ha-arry Potter called?"

"Yep." Looks like stuttering is the Hogwarts' latest fashion. Well, at least the shorty didn't wear a turban. Hm, why did I start comparing overs to Quirrel? "What's yer name?"

"Romn…"

"You know, I don't care. You all are bloody similar anyway. Why the hell are you all almost hysterical ever since I came? It's not like it's the first time."

"But you are the Heir!"

"Of factories, ships, journals, and boats? Maybe, I don't know. What the hell is up with this heritage?"

"Sir, you are the Heir of Slytherin himself!"

I choked on a piece of chicken. Someone from the family of devoted snake-lovers is digging up dirt on me? Bloody wonderful.

"Alright, big-ears. I am not gonna ask how did you even arrive to that conclusion – it's all clear as day. Neither I'm gonna tell you that the cat's not my doing. But I will ask you what the hell is up with the whole Salazar's family and all the hereditary bullshit."

"As you say, master." The elf squeaked.

"Yeah-yeah, stop bleating and start talking."

The shorty told me an interesting bloody tale. Long ago there lived Salazar Slytherin and he was senile. Salazar kept on living, his senility was getting worse, and one day it got so bad that Salazar decided: magical abilities can only be hereditary! And not only that, those normal people, muggles, envy the sorcerers very-very much and spend all do everything they can to impose their children onto sorcerers.

The idea was as simple as they go: those kids with muggle parents brazenly showed up in the nice and cozy Wizarding World and 'mudded the magical blood'. All those kids must be chased from Hogwarts with pissed-on rags or, even better, smothered in their cribs. Amen.

Naturally, the Party didn't like his ambitions at all and whupped his old wrinkly ass. Salazar, naturally, held a grudge and came up with a cunning plan: the Chamber, which can only be opened by his descendants and the Beast, who, again, will listen only to his descendants. The idea was as follows: the Heir comes to Hogwarts, finds the Chamber and orders their family chupacabra to slaughter all the 'mudbloods'. Rinse, repeat, wait for the next Heir.

Mr. Senile, however, didn't count on two things: his descendants didn't care about his opinions, didn't care about mudbloods, and certainly didn't fucking care about going out and looking for the Chamber. Yeah, no shit, what if the Beast is hungry? This is why the Chamber was opened around one or two times in Hogwarts' history, with only one genocide of muggle-born children. Well, they actually only killed one girl and that was the end of it. Such genocide.

After the dinner I didn't understand only two things: what kind of person even gets the idea of magical eugenics into their heads and what the hell is wrong with these loopy-eyed elves? Crazy masochists, all of them. No seriously, where did they come from? Magical shortsacks who like to help people for free. I would've called them bogans, but those faeries wouldn't have tolerated any kind of humiliation – they are helpers, not servants.
Although they aren't the first twisted faeries that I met: trolls, goblins, now bogans… It's like somebody seriously messed up their genes (or whatever the magical creatures have instead of them), but left sorcerers alone. Or maybe this isn't about genes?
Yeah, totally isn't about them, all the ghost-dementor happy couples hint that something is seriously not right here.

About my 'heritage'… Fuck it. They aren't going to stop looking for me anyway. Let the snake-fucker have his fun, I am not going to poke a young Hitler and his fairytale critter without proper preparations – tried doing this once and now I'm a hobo.

***

With these thoughts I wanted to go to sleep, but my safe corner was occupied by four furiously arguing ghosts:

"I am telling you that he is not the Heir!"

"Sure, Bernard, according to you all the dark wizards just need a cup of hot chocolate to become good again," Albert snorted.

"Precisely! Bernard, you make excuses for the scoundrel? He's more poisonous than his beast!" Nick expressed his very important opinion.

"I think that our monk is right. It's unheard of for descendants of a Founder to end up in other Houses," Bloody Baron shook his head. "Mister Potter belongs in Gryffindor and, therefore, cannot be the Heir."

"I'm here, by the way. Nick, you decided to celebrate your deathday in the best friend's company? I'm flattered. Where's the cake with a stripper?"

The ghosts stopped talking and looked at each other, with only Nick opening his mouth in anger:

"You, how dare you!.. Me!.."

"Calm down, Nicholas." Baron held him back. "No need to show your temperament."

"There is no temperament, only constant hysterics." Albert waved him off and Nick, I swear, got covered in in gray spots. Is that, like, flushing? Look how far the progress has advanced – ghosts now have a blood flow. "Harry, please forgive us for the late visit. We are very worried about the whole story with The Chamber of Secrets. Please, tell us that this isn't your doing."

"Nah, I was sitting here, playing with my iron. So you don't know who's the school's smartass that decided to pin his nazi-deeds on me?"

"Uh, no. We all were present at our friend's celebration." He squinted at Nick, who only huffed in response. "Our monitoring duties were put on hold."

"Gotcha. So, the only time I was without an observer and shit immediately happened. Seems legit. But you got one thing wrong – I'm not the Heir."

"Are you sure, Harry?" Albert asked again, insistently.

"Listen, I don't care what you think, so I won't even bother convincing. If I said that it's not me – then it's not me. Deal with the Head-Boy yourself."

After that, poor Nick exploded:

"That's it! This is crossing all possible lines! I endured for a long time, monsieur, but I will not stand you insulting my plight! No one ever insulted me so! And I…"

"Calm down, my friend, I am sure that Harry didn't want to offend you," Bernard said in a peaceful tone. "But Harry, if you are not the Heir, then who can it be?"

"Oh holy cow, who cares?" I exhaled tiredly. "Some greeny decided to have a little fun, no reason to rattle all the dishes. He attacked a cat, not robbed a bank. What a heinous crime."

"No, mister Potter." The Baron shook his head. "This is not some prank. Only the Heir can open the Chamber of Secrets and if he targets muggleborns then the history will repeat itself."

"Alright, this is interesting. What happened?"

"A girl died the previous time the Chamber was opened. And if it repeats, then we will have another dark mage beginning his path of destruction."

"And how did you come to that conclusion, Puaro?"

"Because the previous time it was Thomas Riddle."

"Who the hell is that?"

"You don't know?" The dead man was surprised. "This is the birth name of Lord Voldemort."

Of course, it was him. It's always our local bogeyman.
A terrorist attack in London? Voldemort.
Snape is being a dick? Voldemort.
You suffer from enuresis? His Darkest Darknesness personally cursed you.
If your dick is short and lame – Voldemort's the one to blame!

And I just started forgetting that this fairytale had a Big Bad.

"Bloody hell… Alright, fine." I rubbed my face. "Tell me – is this really Voldemort or it's just his loyal fan? I mean, can it be a copycat?"

"Well…" The corpses looked at each other. "Yes. But it doesn't matter, because the Beast is always the same and is always deadly."

"You guys sure are good at cheering me up. What kind of Beast are we talking about?"

"Nobody knows, monsieur," Nick said. "It is powerful, but leaves the Chamber so rarely that nothing can be known for sure."

"Sir Nicholas, stop pretending to be an idiot. Anyone who actually gave it a thought knows what kind of creature it is." Albert noted with irony. "Slytherin was obsessed with snakes. The creature is extremely deadly and, according to Mirthle, can kill with a stare. It's a basilisk, for sure."

"Nonsense! A basilisk is too large to move through the castle!" The Gryffindor's dead man immediately started arguing.

"Stop, stop. If you're gonna fight – wait until I get popcorn, so I'll at least have fun. What is a basilisk?"

"Well, imagine a snake. A big snake."

"Like a boa?"

"Like a small train. An adult basilisk can weight up to three tons."

I whistled in amazement. Yep, my handgun ain't gonna cut it.

"A big beastie. Damn, what am I supposed to do now – abandon everything and get out? Looks like it."

Bloody Baron stared at me in surprise.

"Oh, so you decided to leave the muggleborns for the Beast to slaughter?"

"Well, nothing forces me to cross paths with… what's his name? Riddle, right! And, since he has a pocket dinosaur, I really don't want to in the first place."

"How did this man got sorted to Gryffindor?" Nick sighed quietly.

"Put your head up your ass, Headless. Why the hell should I mess with a snake the size of an elephant that can also kill with its eyes? What, you're going to pay me? Or maybe I have a certified 'snake charmer' tattoo on my ass?"

"Harry, think about it this way…" Bernard began talking to me. "You indeed can leave, but who would know that? Everyone would still think that you are in the school. When the Heir will attack and kill a child - and if he is even a little bit like Voldemort, he will kill –you will be branded a child murderer. The infamy will stay with you forever."

Hell, the fatty is right. Leaving now means leaving the Wizarding World for good. There is a chance that no one will die this time, sure, but I'd rather not take it.

"Sounds convincing, you devil. I'll regret this, but fine - you got me. So, what now? We sit here and wait for the Heir to go for a walk with his pet snake? The plan's shit."

"Why do you keep insisting that it's a snake?!" Nick yelled. "What, there are not enough monsters to choose from? Basilisk wouldn't be able to hide within the castle. It's too large, my sirs, you need to face it."

"Perhaps the Chamber is big enough." Albert shrugged. "We don't know anything about it, after all."

"Wait, Al, repeat that for me. What do you mean 'we don't know'? I thought you knew everything about the castle."

Ghosts mumbled something and started avoiding my direct stare.

"That is true, but… Mister Potter, no ghost ever entered the Chamber of Secrets. We never even encountered its defenses, as if it doesn't exist at all." Baron finally said.

"Bloody. Awesome. Correct me if I'm wrong: I must kill a giant snake that can kill with its stare and that also obeys a fascistic maniac, while living in the Chamber of Secrets, about which we, by the way, don't know anything. And this is my badass ghostly recon, huh. And if I refuse, then I might as well leave the Wizarding World for good, right? Oh, yeah, there will be no reward if I succeed, not even a simple 'thank you'. Did I miss anything?"

The four dead men looked at each other.

"Well, no. You are mostly correct."

"You know, guys, this looks like a bloody scam. We have a full castle of aurors and if the reptile is real – they will find it. Why can't they deal with the Heir and the Chamber?"

"Because many looked for the Chamber and yet failed to find it. Because aurors can't even catch you, nevermind the Beast hidden by Slytherin himself. Because you need to do this and they don't."

"You're a jackass, Baron, and all your friends are jackasses. Alright, let's assume you convinced me. All that is just empty talking anyway, because I am definitely not going anywhere until I have a location."

This time they didn't have anything to say. People tried to find the Chamber for centuries, why the hell we'd find it now?

"But we can't just do nothing!" The monk exclaimed. "We need to prepare and find a proper weapon…"

"And this is the task for you, fattie – I am not going to jump the dinosaur without a good plan. Until you learn where the hell it's hiding – don't count on me."

The ghosts had to swallow that. After some thinking, they started discussing ideas about how to find the Chamber and track down the Heir and his pet. Hang out at my place every evening, except for Nick – he rarely visited. Well, not going to cry about that.

The dead people and me occasionally had some good ideas.

First of all, the Slytherin's Heir. What is a heir of Slytherin? A heir of his ideas? Of his genetic line? The guy who wore his favorite slippers that one time? Bloody Baron suggested that the Heir can be revealed by him talking to snakes. Salazar could do that, his children-grandchildren could do that, and Voldie, of course, could do that too.
It's logical to assume that the new Heir is very good at hissing too. So, we need to find a Slytherin that talks to snakes – and the problem's solved. But actually doing the thing would be very fucking difficult – there are no snakes or snake language clubs at Hogwarts.

Second of all, the Chamber of Secrets. Gray Lady, Ravenclaw's ghost, suggested that the Chamber doesn't exist. Well, it does, but it is hidden in a space-anomaly similar to those I'm hiding in. Why no ghosts ever find it? Because it only opens for the Heir. Cool story, pity we can't test it.

I meanwhile was looking through all my knowledge about World of Darkness, trying to remember something useful: I never heard about that Slytherin before, but maybe I heard something about space-time holes and passwords? Couldn't remember anything, sadly.

Well, I did remember some things, just not what I needed.

I remembered a couple things about snakes in World of Darkness and didn't like what I remembered at all. The thing is – there are at least two groups who worship snakes and both of those are such murderbeasts that my poor anus tightened so hard a needle wouldn't fit through.
For starters, there are Followers of Set: a big clan of vampires, they serve and worship god, patriarch and scumbag named Set. They can do magic and intrigue so hard that Medici aren't even comparable to them, they also are literal bloodsuckers and sadists.
They seem to fit the theme perfectly: magic, evil, snakes, intrigues and stealth – full set. But there are no vampires around Hogwarts and in the whole Wizarding World – too few people to feed any big enough vampiric groups. Well, they could feed them alright – just not stealthily. Maybe, like, ten or so vampires would've fit into the place, but the whole magical Britain wouldn't be able to keep even one vampire hidden, even if they are a Follower.

Now, the option number two, the one I like even less: Wyrm. Probably gotta make a little intermission here to explain who the hell is he.
If I remember correctly, in the beginning there were three great powers of creation: Wyld, the Wild, the embodiment of chaos and energy; Weaver, The Spider, shaper of the chaotic energy into forms and structures, the spirit of order; Wyrm, The Serpent, the embodiment of destruction, who got rid of no longer needed structures. And everything was fine until Weaver didn't suddenly flew off the handle and bound the Serpent with her webs to make him stop destroying her structures. Then Wyrm himself went insane too and, trying to get out, created for many new heads, every single one of which became its own type of destruction: Annihilation, Corruption, Devouring, Rot, etc. And, while the main body (if you can say that about a spirit) was lying bound in the web, his heads got out and started partying hard: creation of lesser spirits of destruction, starting wars, depravities and cults – generally fucking shit up for themselves and everyone.

There is nothing wrong in destruction on itself. The problems begin when it is performed to worship one of Wyrm's heads. That worship, by the way, can take all kinds of forms: from a gang of druggies with really unusual trips and mumbling about snakes to completely legitimate transnational corporations who serve the destruction completely out of their own will: guns, tobacco and news companies, pharmaceutical corporations and many, many others. And, of course, sorcerers can serve Wyrm too.
In that case everything is easy – sects, all kinds of shamanic dances and ritualistic rapes, bloody sacrifices – and here you go, mister sorcerer, come and get your increased magical powers together with a couple-triple deformities: a maw somewhere on a body, twisted muscles or rotting skin. And madness, as much madness as possible right into the sorcerer's empty head! Paranoia, hatred, schizophrenia, maybe some meekness – shaken, not stirred. Oh, one cool fact about Wyrm's servants – they never work alone. Too crazy for intrigues, but conscious enough to gather in masses.

Sometimes I question: how the Wyrm's myth correlates with God, creation of angels, Lucifer and all that stuff? Hell if I know. Maybe they existed at the same time, but at different, as Mag called them, Edges; maybe Wyrm and others appeared after the rebellion, maybe it's something else. I don't know.
I really hope that Wyrm is not related in any way to the basilisk, Salazar and Voldie, because then it would be a real painful kick in the balls to all my plans.

***

Meanwhile, time passed and snow fell. Granted, it happened at the end of November, but it fell. People almost stopped looking for me, even Moody looked somewhat lost. More than that, Albus himself visited the school!
Only one time, under heavy protection, the visit was short, but, nevertheless, His Beardiness grew very brave indeed! He still didn't stand up from his chair, although the enchanted seat allowed him to move around just as fast as on his own legs.

We still didn't know how to find the Heir. We even thought for some time that the attacks stopped because it was just some clown pranking everyone on Halloween, but our hopes were soon crushed: a dead muggle-born Hufflepuff was found at the 4th​ of December in a corridor.

Nothing changed for me personally, with the only difference being that students started naturally shaking at the sound of my name. Ah, yes, the newspapers also rolled all over me with articles depicting me as an evil, heartless bastard, similar You-Know-Who.
And what the hell am I supposed to do now? Gotta find the Heir as fast as possible, and for that I need to talk with those in the know. The ghosts are good at recon, but they died a long time ago, so maybe the living noticed some details?

I needed to talk with Timone and Pumbaa.

I found Crabbe and Goyle two days after the murder. Would've done so sooner, but renewed patrols and teachers' protected convoys of students corrected the plan. But still, at the second day I met them at a bathroom, when the teacher, professor Sinistra, decided not to enter and guard the entrance. After sneaking inside, I took off the Cloak.

"Sup, brer-rabbits."

The boys shuddered and turned to me. Goyle immediately prepared to fight while Crabbe pulled out his wand and stood behind. Still, they didn't hurry to cause ruckus.

"Came to kill us, Potter?" Crabbe asked.

"Why the hell would I?"

"Was thinking the same thing too - we're purebloods, after all. Go kill some mudbloods instead."

"You too, huh. And here I was thinking you too smarter than that. I didn't kill anyone."

"Well. Who killed Underwood then?"

"That's the thing I want to find out. Gotta find the Heir and prescript him a knock-out dose of fist to the face."

Crabbe silently swore.

"So, no idea who the killer is?" Goyle asked.

"I don't know. Looks like you too. Guys, ask around your House – I need a snake-speaking fascist who knows the place."

Slytherins laughed.

"Sure, Potter, such unique characteristics. No one guessed them before."

"Ha-ha, very funny you idiots. I need to start somewhere and don't have that much going."

"Why should we trust you and what would we get?"

Heh, how could I doubt the two? Even if they weren't Slytherins I still would've expected the question.

"I thought you'd ask about me and Dumbledore. What would you get? Hm. I'm going to teach you something you'd really like. And about trust – think about it like this… I'm already in the shool's deepest ass imaginable for three months already, and yet suddenly a month ago I decided to go even deeper? I just needed to sit tight and then just get the hell out of here. The Heir either doesn't care about me or is out for my blood."

"That sounds cool and all, Potter, but what's in it for us? You're not only asking us to help you, but you also want us to dig under the Heir. It stinks of trouble."

Geez, guys, why the hell are you so smart? You're just at the second year and already have enough brains to piss off even a patient guy like me.

"I told you – training. Remember how in the first year I passed all exams without studying? A real magic trick, not some bullshit. Or flight. You wanna flight without a broom, Goyle? And that's not all the list. If you are not interested – time to split."

The boys were interested and already wanted to ask something, but at that moment the professor knocked on the door.

"Alright, guys, think about this, I'll find you a couple days later – we'll talk."

And with those words, I put on the Cloak.

My reconnaissance machine started working at decent power. The ghosts gathered rumors inside the castle, while the Slytherins, after agreeing, tried to find the Heir in their own way.
Still, there was no result.
People were leaving en masse at Christmas, so I and the dead men wanted to explore the castle at a faster pace, especially those parts that ghosts rarely visited: the greenhouses, the inner yard, the first floor, and the kitchen.

We, actually, had a logical-sounding theory. The only sure way to reveal the Heir is snake-talking. The only way you can enter the Chamber is by proving that you are Salazar's descendant. It's logical to assume, that the Chamber can only be unlocked by using the snake-language.
But that doesn't fucking mean anything – we don't have a snake-charmer nearby, we don't know what the password is and, besides all that, we still don't know where to speak said password… And, in the end, we are only assuming this.

Ladies and gentlemen, I officially declare us completely and utterly fucked.

***

There was another murder, at New Year. A Ravenclaw this time, fifth year, Helen Chambers. The previous corpse was more or less clean, which can't be said about Helen – she was bitten in two, with the upper half lying on the first floor's staircase and the rest lying fifteen meters further down the corridor. Needless to say, one big and whole Helen was much prettier than two small ones.

Alright, serious time. A clusterfuck of epic proportions was approaching surely and not fucking slowly. Newspapers howled like steamboat sirens. They all forgot about the girl pretty quickly and started pouring shit at me, as the new Dark Lord (and also a maniac, a murderer and soon-to-be cannibal), and Dumbledore, who let all that happen and couldn't restore order in his eparchy.
Never would've assumed that I and Beardie will and in the same boat together after everything that happened.

But, in all that mess, there was something positive – Helen died on the first floor. Why is it considered positive? Because the cat was found paralyzed on the first floor. Because the second victim too was found on the first floor. And even Mirtle was killed on the first floor, in the bathroom.

We finally had a pattern!

The ghosts searched every inch and every crack, they even looked into the bathroom's shitters. I am pretty sure that even Founders knew the first floor worse than the spirits by the end of it. And yes, we did find a clue: the only one in the whole floor small engraving of a snake on a girls' bathroom sink.
Fuck my mother, that was it!
The ghosts flew through all the available space near and inside the sink, didn't find anything, but that certainly was it – during an interrogation Mirtle remembered seeing something terrifying before her death right near that exact sink.

The first good news after a fucking shitton of time.

Experience points: 2
Total experience points: 31

Click to shrink...

"What now?" Albert quietly approached me.

"Now, my minions, we sit and wait. We can't get inside without the Heir and even then I won't go there until I find out how to kill the reptile."

"We are not your minions, Harry." The corpse-man backed off.

"Eh, I don't want to argue every small issue with a minion. How do we kill a snake?"

"Like any living creature." Al shrugged. "We can cut its head off, blow it up, strangle it – there are many ways. The problem is, strangling a three-ton snake is not an easy feat. It is truly a terrifying monstrosity, Harry."

"Alright, I'll sit here and think while you watch the entrance. And tell the others to remember the password that the Heir will use."

"It will most likely be a barely recognizable hissing."

"Then try to remember how exactly he will hiss!" I cut him off.

***

A couple of weeks later, I came up with a plan. A shitty one, but it still was better than nothing.
Just to be safe, I decided to spend my experience points. Who knows, maybe I'll need to improvise.

Fiendfire: +1
Fiendfire: 3
Total experience points: 10

Path of Fiendfire upgrade: Lightning. You now can hit your enemies not only with fire but with lightning as well. The damage caused counts as Lethal, can damage the target through a conductor and affect electrical appliances.

Click to shrink...

Yeah, now I have something to roast the snake with! Although that's only a backup plan.

Shortly speaking, Peeves and I, as the only ones capable of working with our hands, carried supplies from the kitchen and stored them in a hidden place near the bathroom. It was hard since even the school's kitchen couldn't keep up with our demands.

Well, a serious business requires serious investments.

Still, I trained my summoning during transportation and, by the end of it, even started to get results. Summoning is when an item disappears in one place and appears where I need it. It was complicated, I needed to know where an item is and how to reach it, the process also wasn't instantaneous: after disappearing in kitchen, an item needed roughly fifteen minutes to appear in my stash.
But! At least I didn't need to carry the stuff in my hands. I love the Path of Telekinesis/Summoning.

Should've started training it sooner, but who could've known?

In any case, on February 2nd​, when an agitated Bernard barged into my room, I was fully ready.

"Harry Potter, we got her!"

"Her?"

"Ginny Weasley from Griffindor! I have no idea how it is possible, but she is the Heir of Slytherin!"

"Chinese Godmother, and here I was hoping to never cross paths with Weasleys again, but they are bloody everywhere." I moaned. "Did the girl pass through the sink?"

"Yes, Harry, around four minutes ago. I immediately went to you."

Alright, looks like it's time. Fuck me, it feels great! I spent a lot of time preparing and now feel great: I am ready, I know what waits ahead, I am going to make an awesome show and fucking hell, the monk just told me this and I can already feel the adrenalin flowing out of my nose.

"So, Bernard, ready to go on a safari?"

 

[Skyfish]

Why'd this get taken down on SB?

 

[Bland Eggplant]

Why'd this get taken down on SB?

Click to shrink...

It's not taken entirely down yet, it's on Amicus Review and stuff. The main problem was with the validity of my claim about the author's permission - they need him to register there and write them.

Sadly, the author has... disappeared somewhere and I can't quite reach him. It's quite awkward, really.

Also, they told me to remove all the 'faggots' from the text, that's why you don't see those here.

 

[heralding_bubble]

Damn I thought this was gone for good when I couldn't find it on SB.
Thanks for translating!

You'd probably get more views on NSFW CrW and could maybe keep the translation without censoring it as well.

 

[Bland Eggplant]

You'd probably get more views on NSFW CrW and could maybe keep the translation without censoring it as well.

Click to shrink...

When I asked the mod about the rating, I specifically asked if it should be in NSFW. I didn't feel that would be necessary, since there isn't any, you know, 18+ stuff. Except, maybe, for some mild gore and lots of swearing.

No reason to put it there, I was answered. And I agree. It belongs in 'Creative Writing'.

 

[heralding_bubble]

When I asked the mod about the rating, I specifically asked if it should be in NSFW. I didn't feel that would be necessary, since there isn't any, you know, 18+ stuff. Except, maybe, for some mild gore and lots of swearing.

No reason to put it there, I was answered. And I agree. It belongs in 'Creative Writing'.

Click to shrink...

Ah, alright then.

 

[Bland Eggplant]

Near the bathroom's doors, I immediately spotted a lot of ghosts. Not as many as on Magdiel's September party, but enough to be considered a rally. My good old friend Albus restricted students' movement through the corridors so the ghosts weren't in danger of attracting attention.

The only good thing that the killings brought.

I approached the Bloody Baron first. The toilet wasn't his territory, it was occupied by a ghost named Myrtle, but nobody cared about the hysteric's opinion. In short, right here and now Baron was in charge. Simpler that way.

"Sup, deadman. I heard that the icky Weasley managed to sneak her ass into the Slytherin family?"

"Lord Harry," The spirit nodded at me. "Greetings. I still cannot believeit, but Myrtle insisted that it was her."

"Baron, did you put Myrtle to look over the entrance? Really?"

"This is her bathroom." The ghost nodded again.

Now I need to waste my time and listen to the cow's crying. And then go down to meet basilisk and Weasley.

Who's the lucky guy?

Harry is the lucky guy.

Bloody wonderful.

"Baron, do you know a ghost's main disadvantage?"

"Uh, that we are dead?"

"Close. I can't punch your transparent faces even if I really want to." I sighed deeply, ramping myself up. It's nothing new, just gotta fight on. "Alright, lead me to that dumb bitch."

As if answering my loudly said words, one of the stalls started making crying noises. Looks like I found Myrtle.

"Looks like I found her, thanks."

Baron stopped me just when I turned to the howling stall.

"My lord, forgive me, but why do you need Myrtle?"

"I dunno, maybe to ask her the password? The sink…" I looked at the fixture. "…is closed, after all."

"If you allow me, I will offer my services. Myrtle revealed the password to me."

Ho-ho, looks like I was wrong shitting on this dead man, he actually can think. Occasionally.

"Thanks, mate, such a weight off my mind. Open it." I shrugged impatiently.

Baron nodded once again and flew to the sink. He leaned forward, so his face was right near the engraving, and whispered something unintelligible.

A ripple passed through the masonry, pipes started moving and the ceramics went all cracked and mixed with the rippled mass of stone.

I and other thirty-forty curious spirits looked at the dark chasm, which was suspiciously similar to the hole to which I often recommend people to go for a walk through.

"Yeah, gotta be more careful with the profanity. Or else I'll one day send someone to copulate with horses and will get something similar." I mumbled.

"What are you talking about, Harry?" Albert quietly approached from the side.

"Nothing, just got a poetic mood." I shook my head. "Right, Al, is your group here?"

"Yes, Harry, everyone is ready."

"And Peeves?"

Ghosts shook their heads in doubt until Baron finally answered:

"He is waiting, but is it wise to count on him? The poltergeist is frivolous."

"If you are ready to take his place – I'll take you right away. Oh, wait, but you can't hold even your own dick in your hands, you dead face. I have no other options than Peeves!"

Baron winced, but stayed silent. Serves him right. Don't rub my nose with shit you can't do anything about.

"Alright, lets go. Al, send your guys to check what's down there."

The one-eyed spirit waved and two ghosts went down the chasm. They returned five minutes later:

"It's a very, very long pipe that leads to a room full of small bones and torn hides. We didn't see anyone, neither the snake or Weasley."

"Good, then go down there and watch, if anyone comes in – grab your fat asses and scream the alarm. To your posts!"

When the scouts went back in, with six more assigned by Albert when he ensured that it's safe down there, I began the first stage of the operation – which was summoning the stolen kitchen supplies and throwing them down the pipe,

"You want to summon these two times? Wouldn't it be better to just summon these when we reach the place?" The Baron inquired.

"No. I suck at summoning things, yet, so don't want to work with too big of a distance. Besides, this is a space anomaly. Maybe I wouldn't be able to summon anything to go down there."

"Then what is your plan? You are not going to feed the basilisk to death, are you?"

"No. We have as many as four options: to blow it up, to blind it, to fry it and to poison it."

"To poison? The basilisk?"

"Yep. This here package…" I patted my rather voluminous bag on my belt. "…contains year's worth of Hogwart's rat poison. Although, I have no idea how to get the snake to swallow it. But if it eats me – at least I won't die alone."

"I don't remember this basilisk ever eating people," Albert noted.

"Me too. That's why this a backup plan. The third backup one." I managed to say while chucking the bags down the hole.

"And the others?" The monk approached from the side.

"You don't you know? Then why the hell did I read a whole bloody lecture to these two a week ago?"

"I was busy praying for the safety of the school and its students." Bernard smiled.

"A sincere believer, a ghost and a sorcerer all at once. You are an interesting man, Bernard. Alright, cutting it short – I want to blind the reptile. Peeves has five flasks with acetic acid, I have another four. The problem is to melt the animal's eyes before it kills us. And for that I need all these flour sacks."

"Wait, Harry, didn't you say that you need these to create an explosion? I didn't understand you back then, but remember your words clearly." Albert complained.

At that point, I grew kinda tired of waving my hand back and forth to throw the bags with telekinesis and decided to give myself a breather.

"Whew, I raided the kitchen well. About the explosion… We can create a fuel-air explosion, but I don't like the idea that much. Quiet, Bernard, I'll explain this right now, exclusively for the educated monks of the thirteenth century. A fuel-air explosion occurs when all the air in a confined space ignites at once. Gas, flour, or some other small shit powdered in the air, if ignited, will light up and burn everything to kingdom come, better than any 'Bombarda'. We only need a good enough concentration and for that we need the explosion to happen in a room. Do you even know the word 'concentration'?"

"Harry, I am a monk and a mage, not a serf. Of course, I know that word. I understand you now. And the problem is that you'll need to be in the same room to ignite the flour, right?"

"Yep, and that sucks. The second thing that sucks – is me not even remotely knowing how much flour we need in the air for it to blow up. The third – that even if I knew, I still don't know how big the Room actually is and can't prepare accordingly. And to top it all off – we will be underground, under the school, within a probable space anomaly that no one knows the functionality of. I don't think that starting fires and explosions would be a good idea, hm?"

"Wait, are you saying that the explosion may actually threaten Hogwarts?"

"I said 'to kingdom come', Bernard, did you even listen? I also said that I'd rather avoid that."

"Of course," Bernard shivered. "Better to make do without destruction."

"Then we need to prevent the beast from seeing us before I or Peeves use the acid. And if we fail – then I'd rather risk it and burn the worm. I won't be able to fight it anyway, at least I'll launch some fireworks." I shrugged, chugging the last sack down the pipe and levitating after it.

***​

It was dark down there, smelled of both mold and terrarium. It certainly isn't Hugo Boss, I even regretted not taking a gas mask. Although, with the overall lighting level, I still would've taken it off.
I could've lit my way with 'Lumos', but it would've been extra senile with the Cloak on.

There was literally a carpet of bones under my feet. Which was weird, since the basilisk was supposed to be a giant snake and all the skeletons here belong to small critters, like mice and hares. He would have eaten them, right?

And even then, don't snakes swallow their prey whole? Then why are all the bones here?

Oh, good old Tommy, you zoo-necro-pedophile, you were the one who brought all this here!

Or was it Weasley? No, doesn't seem like it, the bones are very old.

And these were not just lying around, gathering dust: small bones were on the perimeter, skulls were in the middle, surrounded by spines and ribs. Carefully placed in a specific order and I can swear on me suffering from constipation for a week – they were placed like this for a reason. There was some bad shit happening here long time ago, a ritual or some other fuckery.

I don't like this.

I carefully placed the sacks near a wall and untied them: it was time to let the safety off…

The exit was in the furthest part of the room, the same-looking pipe as the entrance one, but it was straight and traversable. There also was a ghost floating there, one from Albert's group.

"Hey, on the post! What's new on the frontline?"

"Nothing, lord Harry. There is a long corridor ahead with many offshoots. There is too few of us to scout them all, so we sent for reinforcements."

"Ha, good! Where are the other six ones?"

"They are inside the galleries, looking for the Chamber and the Heir."

"Harry," Sounded from behind. That was Al and another ten ghosts. "What a disgusting place."

"Heh, a ghost doesn't like a graveyard? That's new. What's next, bees against honey?"

"Dying didn't make me tasteless, my young friend. But even so, there is something more to this than just a pile of dead animals – I feel uncomfortable. I haven't felt this way… for a long time."

"How uncomfortable?"

"As if my dementor is around." Al answered and others started nodding.

Yeah, and how am I supposed to understand that? How should I know what a ghost feels near his Shadow, especially when it got away from him?

"All this is very interesting, but now is not the best time. Send the corpses down the corridor, the clock is ticking."

The ghosts silently flew into the galleries' depths, while the three of us (me, Albert and the postghost) waited for any developments. The silence, the smell and the occasional dripping of water somewhere deep grated on nerves. I was doing okay, but ghosts really didn't look all that good. The postghost sulked and became… greyer, while the always calm Albert started looking around nervously.

Another spirit has returned soon, just as exhausted, but pleased nonetheless.

"I found the way, gentlemen. It leads to some locked gates."

"Locked, huh… Gotta call Baron down here and hope that the passwords are the same."

"There is no need, Harry. Bloody Baron told me the password."

"Hm. In that case, can you tell it to me?"

Albert hissed something unintelligible. No, it was obviously sensible in some way, but it was like listening to a wookie yelling from 'Star Wars', but without subtitles.

"You know, Albert, I think you'll have to open the door."

***​

The three of us were going deeper and deeper down the corridors. The air was getting more humid, but, strangely, smelled better. Not as bad, at least.

Corridors were looking like pathways in a cave, those that every wannabe-Indiana Jones dreams about. Wet, smoothed rocks, moldy walls, heavy air and almost no light. More correctly, there was no light at all, other than those that ghosts emitted.

My subordinates became my flashlights. What an illustrious career.

We passed by several offshoots already, with a ghost meeting us in every one of them. I couldn't pinpoint any system in the corridors – whoever dug them was fucking crazy. On the other hand, trying to navigate this place alone is a death sentence.

Finally, we reached the massive stone gates, with a bas-relief depicting some old man's face and snakes. The face looked as if someone stepped on the old geezer's favourite callus – so much rage and contempt were in his expression. Whoever cut this thing out was surely high on meth – jagged corners, broken symmetry, out-of-place swellings…

In short – grandpa wasn't feeling so good.

Why the hell are all the old farts in the Wizarding World assholes? This one even looks the part.

"Great Salazar…" Albert whispered reverently.

"Hey, on which side are you?"

"My apologies, Harry, but this is such an exciting moment. There are almost none accurate images of Salazar left! And this one, while of poor craftsmanship, is similar to other ones."

"I think the craftsmanship's fine. The snakes look great, see?"

"True. Maybe Salazar himself decided to immortalize his visage like this? But why?"

"Because he was a sick bastard. Or banged the sculptor's mom, I dunno. Open it already."

The dead man sighed heavily and hissed something at the face. The already similar ripples on the stone changed the bas-relief in seconds: the face, instead of looking evil and contemptuous, looked evil, smiling and anticipating.

And still completely fucking degenerate.

Smiling Salazar cracked right in the middle of his ugly mug, with the door opening in two wings. The scratching and scraping traveled down the corridor as an unpleasant-sounding echo. Fuck. Now the enemy knows we are here, or at least suspects.

Of course, Ginny might've missed that, but counting on it would've been stupid.

"Alright. You, trooper." I turned to the guide. "Fly back, tell Peeves to be ready and come over here. Also, all others are to leave the offshoots and stand watch on the main pathway. I don't need you all tired. We, meanwhile, are going in."

After fifty meters of the same boring corridor, the gallery turned into a big room, like a plane hangar. We managed to look it over, while hiding in the corner. Two pools, full of dirty muddy water near the walls were spotted immediately.

Simply standing tall in there was unpleasant, as if something pushed you down.

Snake statues with burning eyes stood on pedestals behind the pools, illuminating the room with green light, which gained sickly yellowish tones after being reflected by water.

In the furthest part of the room already familiar Salazar's smug face was looking at the entrance, but this time it was a statue and much bigger.

On the central platform, between two water reservoirs, kneeled a half-naked Ginny, rocking back and forth to a rhythm only she could hear. She sang a weird, unnerving song of an unknown language, giving me a headache. Her naked torso was covered in bleeding cuts, with old scars of similar wounds being visible where the skin wasn't covered in blood.

In front of her, on the floor, lied an opened notebook, with some kind of brown smoke hovering over it.

I still couldn't see the snake and it raised some uncomfortable questions.

"Al," I called out quietly.

"Yes, Harry?" The spirit answered.

"I need your advice."

"I understand your problem, Harry, and I don't know what to say."

"You sure? Do you understand that I don't even need to fight the fucking basilisk right now – just kill the girl and get out?"

"Except you still need to, though. If you want to clean your name, then you'll need to show the world the students' killer."

"Let's assume you are right. But that doesn't solve the main problem. I am a scummy fucking bastard, true, but I'm not a child-murderer."

"I don't know what to say, my friend," Albert whispered.

We sat for some time in silence, without a single thought in my head. Well, there were two, just not very useful.

The first one - the red-haired snot was an eleven-year-old girl.

The second one – she already killed two people and is not going to stop.

Those two thoughts replaced each other over and over, in rhythm with her words, in rhythm with the smoke's movements, and I suddenly caught myself on tapping my thigh in rhythm with her song.

Damn it!

"Alright, Al, we gotta end this. This is a bad place, we can't sit here for long. Al?" I turned to the quiet ghost and was startled – the ghost was whispering something with glassy eyes, head rocking in rhythm. "Al, what the fuck is this flash-mob? Fucking hell, Al!"

Turns out I might've said that too loud, because he wasn't the one who answered me:

"He doesn't hear you," Said Ginny, but in a voice that didn't feet an eleven-year-old girl. It didn't sound human at all, as if sounding over itself and was definitely male. "He can hear only the Labyrinth now. But I am surprised that you are not listening to my words, Harry Potter. You truly are an interesting foe."

"Weasley, right? Your family brought me nothing but problems." I said and held the wand tighter. I was still wearing the Cloak, but without the hood my head was visible.

"Don't you dare to tie me with those degenerates." The girlie snarled. "I already stained myself too much with their filth and will not tolerate any reminders."

"Oh, and how should I call you then? My little princess?"

"You can call me your Lord." The girl sneered.

"Lord? Not a Lady? Ginny, balls don't look good on a girl, the surgery will only hurt you."

"Potter, you fool, the girl, pathetic as she was, is no more. You are speaking with Lord Voldemort, you insect."

"Woah, did Mommy make you wear dresses when you were little? Is that's why you chose to possess a girl?" I laughed nervously.

My first encounter with this nazi went okay, since I ambushed him. Won't work this time.

On the other hand, if Ginny is like Quirrel, then I won't make it worse for her no matter what I do.

With one movement I pull the hood down and fly up.

"My mother died during childbirth, Potter, and I only regret not helping her with it." The possessed girl snarled and the place where I just stood turned into a lake of fire.

I was in the air and it missed, but immediately understood all seriousness of his intentions. Lightning surges towards the girl's head, but fucking Tommy had a deserved reputation of a good fighter:

"Protego!"

And my lightning hits a shield and falls apart as sparks.

"Ho, little boy wants to play it rough." He clicks his tongue in surprise. "What an interesting spell. Aren't you afraid to hurt the girl?"

"She's either dead or voluntarily agreed to become your leisure suit. In any case…" I cast another lightning, which gets again stopped by a shield, and dodge a green flash of the Killing Curse. "…she's a goner."

"Yes, Potter, you are strong. With time, you could've even become dangerous." Voldemort chuckled. "But the girl is still alive and I entered her through deceit. I need a sacrifice for my resurrection and this blood-traitor will do splendidly. The ritual cannot be conducted yet, but the time will come soon."

"You know, Voldie, I have a real good sense of smell – and you smell like you're full of shit. What'cha gonna say about that?" Shoot him twice with the gun, but the possessed girl puts up some sort of shield that I've never seen before, never even heard of it. Stops bullets just fine though.

"You are free to not believe me, little Potter, but are you ready to kill an innocent child because of your suspicions?" He hissed. "And remember: my name is Lord Voldemort! Fiendfyre!"

An enormous serpent made of fire flew out of his wand, coiled around his master and started spewing fire all over the room. One hell of a fire-show, I tell ya.

I hoped up behind one of the statues, occasionally deflecting gusts of fire with my counter-spells and feeling like I'm slowly boiling alive.

And then, the first jet of flame got through the shield and licked my leg.

Two dice for damage. Two damage points. Lethal damage cannot be absorbed.

Health: 5/5/5 (Bruises: -1 dice for rolls)

Click to shrink...

Shit, it's lethal damage. Looks like I'm in trouble.

Thankfully, his Darknessness ran out of breath and put out the spell.

"What, Potter, hiding like a rat in a gutter? Your parents hid too. Fear and worthlessness seem to run in the family, correct? You know, after what you did the last year, I wanted to kill you myself, with my own wand, while looking into your eyes and enjoying your terror and suffering. But you are cowering like a rat and I am tired of looking for you. You, like many other rats, will be eaten by a snake." After the pretentious monologue from behind the pedestal, a distinct long hissing was heard.

I couldn't see the snake-fucker from my position, but the view at Salazar's head was fully open and, for the second time today, the asshole-face changed expression onto an even more degenerate.

This time it was a joy of a serial killer, who finally caught his prey. The mouth opened – and I out of place remembered a joke about an Invisible Man and a blowjob.

And it really was out of place, because something big was moving inside Slytherin's mouth, slowly bringing its ugly mug to the light.

This is it! This is the moment!

I concentrated on the inner light, on my power, on my goal and, with a wide wave of my wand, summoned all the flour right under the Chamber's ceiling. They appeared in a flash, some opened on their own and others fell onto the snake's head, making it tear them apart and spread the flour-screen.

Mana: 0/2

Willpower: 6/10

Click to shrink...

I felt dizzy and something wet was running down my face – my stuck-out tongue reported that I got a nosebleed. But I did it!

"Hey, Voldie! Are you always this lazy or did you run out of juice to kill me? In any case, I'm gonna butcher your animal and sell its innards! I even have a buyer already!" I shouted, while searching for a flask with acid. "Peeves, now!"

The whole room was covered in thick white 'fog', making it very hard to orient. But still possible. Of course it was hard – a whole of sixty-two sacks of flour and all that above a bloody basilisk!

Still, its general shape was still visible and that was enough. Two uncorked flasks with acetic acid, obeying the wave of my wand, flew right into the monster's eyes, while it was towering over us in the cloud.

Peeves, the bastard, didn't appear and I could hear his distinctive giggle echoing in the corridor.

However, my presents were still delivered right to the needed address, burning out the basilisk's eyes and making it roar, while ramming its head into the walls and the ceiling. Now I only needed the flour to settle and then kill the snake with my weak, but trustworthy lightning bolts. Didn't want a stray spark blowing everything up here, after all.

Sadly, the possessed girl had other plans that day.

"YOU WILL PAY FOR THIS!" Voldemort howled and cast the already familiar spell. "Fiendfyre!"

"Oh fu…" I couldn't finish that and was forced to dive, ending in the water even before the Dark Lord finished his fucking flaming snake.

I just managed to submerge before the first spark reached flour.

Fuel-air explosives are not that destructive compared to high explosives. I mean, they are very powerful, but the main destructive force is kinda weak. Where a fuel-air explosive will destroy, say, a building's floor, a high explosive charge will level the building itself.

But the pressure at everything: at walls, at items, at everything – is much higher. And now, not a very powerful, but still a fuel-air explosion purified the whole room with fire and pressurized the rotten water reservoir I was hiding my skinny ass within with all its power.

Six dice for damage. Six points of damage. Four points of lethal damage absorbed by Toughness roll.

Health: 3/3/5 (Mauled: -2 dice for rolls)

Click to shrink...

With great difficulty and wobbling hands, I swam to the surface and crawled out of the sludge. Fuck, guess I'll need to once again steal Pomfrey's medicine – I don't like how the water looks at all.

But first things first.

The only thing that was left of Ginny – was her charred, mangled body, with both arms and a leg missing.

The basilisk looked a little better - like an over-fried beaten-up sausage. Bones were sticking out here and there, most of the body surface was charred, but the corpse was still big. If I still understand something in trading, Andrew will give me a non-stop year-long blowjob for some of this roast.

There also was that notebook, from which the possessed girl was reading her folk songs. But, no matter how long I searched the room, I couldn't find even a scrap of paper. What a waste of a trophy.

But, if my guess is correct – it's for the best.

Experience points: 11

Total experience points: 16

Nature replenishes your Willpower.

Willpower: 7/10

Click to shrink...

This is for both the basilisk and the possessed, right? Five-six experience points per each head?

And, if the snake-fucker told the truth, the girl died for no good reason.

Eh, screw that. Tommy's the one who should feel guilty – she's his victim.

Alright, how Albert's doing? Looks like he's slowly coming around – shaking his head and all that.

Gotta leave this party. It would've been very nice to cut the basilisk and put all the squishy parts into different packages, but wasn't looking much better and didn't have any packages anyway. It wasn't going anywhere.

"Let's go, Al," I only waved off his unasked question. "Later."

On the way back we discovered that I, thankfully, overestimated the explosion's power and the corridor was, while kinda wrecked, only until the door. The door itself, however, evidently managed to close on its own and was blown the fuck away from the hinges, lying on the floor. Which was good, because otherwise I would've needed a sledgehammer.

The most difficult thing in the whole return was crawling all the way back to my hideout. My body hurt, I couldn't hear because of the hydraulic impact and my muscles felt as if a tank battalion rolled over them. I tried levitating, but couldn't concentrate at all and it didn't work out.

I needed to scramble myself up again at least two times, when I was crawling out of the bathroom and when I was crawling into the hideout.

In the end, I fell on the mattress without undressing.

***​

I woke up because of a waterfall. Well, I thought it was a waterfall, but it was only Peeves with a bucket of water, who immediately flew away while laughing in joy.

Looks like my hearing restored a bit.

"Harry, please, wake up," Someone's bass-like voice sounded right near me.

"Bernard?" I managed to whisper through the dry throat.

Holy moly, I feel fucking awful. Almost as bad as after that evening with Albus.

"Lord Harry," Bloody Baron appeared in my field of view. "Your wounds look terrible. Both eyes and ears are inflamed and are starting to fester, the burn on your leg smells of disease. You need medicine and care, as soon as possible."

"Not now," I croaked. "At night, when everyone's asleep."

"It is already night, Harry," The monk said. "You need to go now. We should've done it sooner, but the patrols just calmed down and we couldn't bring you any medicine ourselves. Please, my friend, you need to move."

And so, I shambled my way to the hospital wing, while swearing at Voldie and his suicidee's diploma. Under the cloak I was invisible, but still made enough noise for at least ten transformers. Thankfully, ghosts helped me to evade patrols and I managed to grab me some drugs. Don't know which ones, I just threw into the bag everything Bernard pointed at.

Drank one flask right at the spot and, still barely navigating the place, shambled back.

Gotta get Pomfrey a present – she saves my ass for the second time already, even if unknowingly.

Back at the hideout, I cleaned up my burn and other wounds, drank all the potions, smeared all the ointments, bandaged everything I could and fell asleep.

I woke up the next day's evening, feeling much better and with Health at (5/5/5). Well, lethal damage is hard to heal.

But now, it's safe to say this – I won. I fucking killed a basilisk and kicked Voldemort in the ass the second time!

Oh, ye blessed Hugh Hefner, I am so fucking badass.

The girl died, though. Not that big of a loss, but I can already see newspapers blaming her disappearance on me. They even will be sorta right, but… hell, that'll be frustrating.

There are also Aurors in the school talking about the ground shaking. They hope it's not an earthquake, but Hogwarts was built among mountains.

Eh, it was good to keep them on toes. I, meanwhile, needed to visit the Chamber once again and finish something.

***​

In the next morning, the whole Hogwarts could appreciate the basilisk's head nailed to a wall with a spear and a lightning-burned message under it:

'Looks like I once again saved your asses, sorcerers. This time from the Heir.

Harry Potter, the most awesome.

P.S. Albus, did you like the back rub? We can always do that again.'

Click to shrink...

Experience points: 2

Total experience points: 18

Status (Magical Britain): +1

Status (Magical Britain): ***

Click to shrink...

 

[Bland Eggplant]

I sat on Dumbledore's throne in the Great Hall and crossed my legs. It's two o'clock in the morning, so there won't be any witnesses.

The place, as it turns out, provides a great view. The big empty hall, glistening sky of Umbra, waving tapestry – the architects and decorators had a great taste.

I'm gonna remove all the tables out of here anyway – my throne room will not be a soup kitchen. Sadly, it is also the only place a bowling line can fit into, so I'll have to enjoy more progressive activities (namely whiskey, whores and pool) in some other places.

It's a pity that I won't be able to occupy the castle anytime soon. Even with the changed rhetoric about me in newspapers, I am still a wanted criminal. Yep, attack on a Chief Justice, who is also a minister of education, who is also a local UN Secretary-General which brought grievous bodily injuries does that to people. I wonder how the old man snatched sorcerous analogs of all these positions?

Well, that doesn't really matter, since the old man abandoned two of these because of his declining health, now remaining only Chief Justice. Whatever it's called here? Chief Warlock of Wizengamot, I think, kinda like that.

Grandpa put Snape, the known asshole, into his post at Hogwarts. Also, according to ghosts, Snape was a master-alchemist, a terrorist, a professional traitor, a spy, and a drug/alcohol-addict of big proportions. Truly, a man of great talents.

By the way, both me and the old fart started appearing on the headlines unpleasantly often and both of us in a very controversial light. 'The Uncatchable Potter' was once again crowned a hero, a monster slayer, and a children savior. After all, the severed head of that snake was solid proof that I didn't simply win it at a kiddy party. And yet, that didn't excuse me attacking the old man and evading capture successfully for a long time. Also, where is the proof that I'm not the Heir who wants to clean his reputation and this isn't my snake?

As I understood it, at the moment dissident journalists and the common folk saw me in a good light, while the government wanted to see me in the deepest prison cell possible. I had only one explanation to that – the Minister wanted to cover Dumbledore in shit and I was the perfect tool for that.

His Beardiness was treated in the same way, but for different reasons. The honored relict of Magical Britain, a hero of long-forgotten (by sorcerers) war, he was respected by everyone but any minister official didn't give a fuck about him – the grandpa all these years was demonstrably apolitical. Gotta admit, having all these posts and doing that is very hard, but he managed somehow. So, in the end, when Albus got from me a ticket to the hospital, all the government officials decided that Akela has missed and now they can at first grab some of that freed political power and, in the end, just chase the old cripple away with pissed-on rags.

And then Albus showed his teeth. And he did that so damn scarily that all the Ministry needed a change of pants and to hire a lot of people for all the sudden vacancies. His people were everywhere, his interviews were devastating, his support was overwhelming, and the trauma only made the people see him as a heroic martyr.

And Albus would've remained the king of the hill, but then I stepped into the arena and rolled in the basilisk's head.

We have an interesting picture here: heroic Albus was attacked by heroic Potter. So, either Albus is not a hero since Potter attacked him, or the opposite is true and the Beard is a cool guy and Potter is a jackass. But heroic Potter is still a hero because he saved the children from a horrifying monstrosity, which, by the way, was missed by heroic Albus.

And the Ministry tries to capitalize on the situation by making journalists drown Albus and praise me.

While I was sitting on the throne and thinking about the situation, mainly about ways to clean my name, Hogwarts all to himself and a cohort of sorcerers as my personal ubersoldaten, I suddenly felt an almost forgotten sensation of other's thoughts in my head:

"Harry Potter. You are still alive and free, I feel it. Commendable."

"Ho, Mag! Long time no hear. Just came back?"

"I had problems and needed to visit the Wizarding World temporarily."

"So… Did you already come back from Umbra and then managed to find trouble back on Earth?"

"Correct. I left the Edges back in September. A wondrous place. But it's not the time, where are you right now?"

"Still at Hogwarts, we had a good scuffle here too."

"We need to meet. Make it happen."

Yep, just go and make it happen. I'm kind of besieged in here, you know. Although… To be honest, I could've left a long time ago. Why not now?

"I agree, we have stuff to talk about. So what, two days later in the same park?"

"No, I am currently in the Wizarding World. Passed through the column on the Kings Cross. I shouldn't appear in London – the Earthbound is on the hunt."

"Fucking… Mag, couldn't you, like, warn me? There are no flags strewn and the tablecloth is all dirty."

"It seems that our mind link does not work between worlds. I called, but you didn't hear, and so my options were limited. Two minutes ago I thought you dead."

Alright, seems like I have to help out my troublesome ally. But where would I even settle her? At Hogwarts, like me? I would've rented her a room in a hotel or something, but all my money are in Gringotts and I don't want to find out how law-abiding those freaks are.

"Yeah, doesn't look good. Oh, are there any sorcerers on the platform right now?"

"Yes, three men."

"Good. Make one of them show you the thing called 'Floo Powder' and then forgot about you. Or steal it from him, or something similar. Can you do that?"

"Yes." She grew quiet.

I limped from the throne room into a network of tunnels that connect the school and Hogsmeade – a nearby village. A minute later, the demon's voice sounded in my head again:

"I have acquired the powder. What next?"

"Awesome, Mag. Now, look, there are occasional life-sized fireplace-like niches in the station's walls. See any?"

"Yes, I do."

"Now, step inside one, throw a handful of powder at your feet and say 'Hogsmeade'. You will appear in a small village. Go down the street, near the last house there is a big stone. I'll be there."

We finished speaking and I crawled into the already familiar corridors. Got kinda annoyed by them, to be honest. I want to find a sofa, sprawl all around it, open a bottle of cold one and watch a movie.

I need a vacation, no doubt.

I exited the underground through my favorite path in all Hogwarts – Honeydukes sweets shop. There were other exits, sure, and they were safer – this exit was famous and, therefore, often patrolled by aurors. But the wand-wielding wankers are trying to catch me for almost a year now and got all lazy, so sneaking out was easy.

There still were a couple coppers on the street and, if the night was wet or snowy, I would've needed to change the plan and hide my tracks. Why aren't these two sleeping?

Although the right one kinda sways from side to side in a very specific way, the boys must've been out drinking. Then it explains it – Moody's legs can't be bothered and hurt too much to go all the way here, so the aurors decided to have a little fiesta, since they got such a nice watch without their one-eyed boss.

In any case, the night was dry and warm, so the road to one cold Indian woman was free.

The demon stood at the spot and patiently waited for me.

"You have come." She said.

What an interesting way to greet someone.

"As if I had a choice," I said, taking off the Cloak. And not a single 'hello' was said. "Let's walk and talk? I don't leave the castle often, you know, at least it'll feel nice."

"As you say. You are the owner." Magdiel shrugged.

I took her to the hills that showed a great view of the castle, and the lake, and the forest. I could recall only one more impressive place – Hogwarts' walls. Maybe also some strip-clubs from my past life.

To note – I meant 'impressive' in a positive sense, because there also is a lot of memorable bad/weird shit and places. The Chamber of Secrets, for example.

"Alright, spill out. What kind of trouble did you run into?"

She was silent for some time, but finally answered:

"He grew tired of waiting for me to break and decided to subjugate me by force. Gangs started attacking more often, people that knew me started suffering from visions. A month ago one of them cut His name on his veins and then came back to life as a ghoul. I was forced to destroy him. I, meanwhile, couldn't track him. Frima, my other Deal-maker, found one of his ritual victims and through his corpse we learned the Creature's name… But that's it. No known cultists, no place, nothing. Yesterday his slaves ambushed me at my workplace, but I fought back. Meanwhile, at home… Tony is dead now." She finished quietly.

Owch. Looks like someone caught her real hard by the ass. It's not so surprising now that she escaped into the Wizarding World without preparations.

"My condolences."

"For what?"

"Well, you kind of loved your husband and stuff."

"And I still love him. His death is just a temporary inconvenience, I have his soul..." She caressed her necklace. "…so I will simply resurrect him. It will be difficult, but I will resurrect him."

"Glad to know you have a plan." I scratched my chin in doubt.

I am not sure if I was a normal… who he was, a dentist? A shop accountant? Anyway, to die from the hands of fanatic cultists, to then live in a necklace, to then get resurrected right in the middle of a war and all that only to learn that your wife is a demon.

Well, what can I say? Good luck in family life, man.

"So, what happened next?"

"I could've asked to become a Court of Hell's servant, it's better than the Earthbound and I have a reputation there, but decided to look for opportunities here – the Wizarding World, at least, will not demand my servitude. Maybe I would even learn how to enter that… Umbra on my own volition."

"Ah, by the way, how was the camping trip?"

"Unusual." The demon expressed bewilderment. I wonder if I'm the only one who notices how she forces herself to express emotions or did her colleagues notice too? "You know, long ago the Creation was like a layer cake, but now it's an endless patchwork quilt. Every Edge is now its own separate world, with its laws and denizens. It is difficult to accept. I can say only one thing – Umbra is full of huge opportunities and dangers. It is teeming with monsters."

"Congrats, you've just discovered America. The moment I saw that thing in the ceiling – immediately thought that I have lots of unfinished businesses in Argentina. You, survival and all that. But the ceiling seems safe so far. And, well, I was here playing Hiro Oonoda and living in walls. Even managed to kick Voldemort's ass one more time."

"It's that evil sorcerer?"

"Yep, that huge asshole. You know, I have a suspicion that he isn't such a nasty fucker on his own. Did you hear about Wyrm while you were in Umbra?"

"Yes, I did." Magdiel frowned.

"The evidence is circumstantial, but I can just feel it with my ass that something isn't that simple with Voldemort. And that makes me uncomfortable."

Mag didn't answer. Probably was remembering what she heard about Wyrm. Well, alright.

Still, I had a very important question to ask of that Indian.

"Mag, do you remember me asking to find a certain skin-donned box?"

"Yes. I found it and now it is hidden."

"Good, you're as hot as fire. Can I have it?"

"No."

Oh, you fucking… Alright, I can understand when humans act like complete asshats, but why a demon would… Fucking hell.

"Didn't get it. What's the problem?"

"Consider this my guarantee. You are useful and I don't want you to let me down. You will get your container after the Earthbound's death."

"You look like such a respectable demon and you turn out to be such a bitch." I spat. "Alright, don't piss your pants, I won't get away. I don't want to do fuck all around Hogwarts for all my life, would've ended up in London eventually. He is my enemy too, you know."

"Good. The more reasons you have to war with Him, the better. Now you fight for a reward too." She grinned.

"Not only the container, its contents too!"

"I'm not a Devil, I don't play with words." Mag huffed indignantly.

"With you sly-asses, I am not sure about anything anymore. Some take my stuff as a 'guarantee', others wanna be taught… Alright, what do you want me to do?"

"I want you to learn everything about the cult. We cannot defeat the Earthbound now, but we can deprive him of servants and Faith to make him vulnerable. You will be my eyes outside, in the big world, you will find his slaves and the source of their power and then we will think of how to eradicate the disease."

"First-class bitch, just as I said." I laughed. "You wanna conscript me, your more than, hm, weak ally to solve a problem you ran away from so fast there was a dust cloud."

"I can't do it myself." Mag winced. "He knows me, he knows the traces of my power. One day he will track me down and subjugate me instantly and the more I look for him or influence reality – the sooner it will happen. You are different. He doesn't know you, he doesn't expect you and your sorcery is too unnoticeable for him. And besides, you are human – your kind is almost impossible to subjugate involuntarily."

"Alright, alright. But! You then will start dealing with Voldemort. I don't know where he is hiding, but the bastard seems to be real dangerous."

"Very well. Where should I start?"

"Ask Hogwarts' ghosts, they'll bring you up to speed, since I am leaving. Bernard, Albert and Bloody Baron know their stuff, good men. And look into those Slytherins that graduated – Voldie recruited lots of servants from that House. Also, since you are going to be here anyway, do me a favor – it'll make my day. There is a ghost in the castle, named Peeves. The fucker screwed me over, badly, so can you just…" I demonstratively dragged a thumb across my neck. "…don't know how to say it about a dead man, but it certainly isn't 'kill'. I would've done that myself, but he is surprisingly good at hiding from me – only managed to burn his ass a couple times."

"Very well, Harry Potter, I will do it."

"Done with that, then. What about me?"

"What about you?"

"Where should I start?"

"I don't know much. The Earthbound calls himself Uvir-Dasab, but this might be a pseudonym. I do not remember anyone with such a name among the rebels. Although, I do not remember much anymore. Also, contact the girl named Frima Gillan, she lives at the corner of Torriano and Leyton-road, she might be of use." The demon pulled out a notepad and quickly wrote the address down.

"That Deal-maker you mentioned?"

"Yes, she helps me occasionally."

Welp, in the light of new events, gotta go and grab my stuff: I've nothing on me aside from the Cloak, clothes and the wand.

I wonder how she is going to live in the Wizarding World? Maybe she'll just settle in the castle and live like me? He-he, Moody will be surprised.

Things don't go too bad, actually. Well, aside from me departing to look for a cult of demon-worshipping maniacs in a multi-million city.

We did everything rather quickly. Got to the hidden entrance, got into the castle and got to my hideout. On the way called for Bloody Baron.

"Did you call, my lord?" The ghost asked nervously, glancing at Mag.

"Yep. I'm getting the hell out of here, so you have a new boss now. She wasn't here for long, doesn't know anything about our podunks, so get her up to speed. Also, Baron, do me a favor?"

"What is it?." He nods.

"When you next time meet second-years Crabbe and Goyle, tell them that I remember about the agreement."

Instead of waiting for his answer, I continued packaging. I didn't have that many things: stuff on me, ammo, the handgun, two kilos of basilisk meat in stasis-jars from the local kitchen – a very useful sorcerers' gizmo. The rest of the basilisk too was lovingly put into similar jars, even though I got really fucking tired sawing it apart. All the canned goods were in this very hideout.

I was going to sell these to Devourer if there won't be a better use of them.

Welp, looks like I'm ready. Time to go.

"Alright, Mag, I'm out. Don't raise Cain while I'm gone."

***

The way back was surprisingly pleasant – I had no idea how bloody tired I really was from all the damp corridors, Hogwarts and constant hiding. The air of Kings Cross station, where I got through Hogsmead's Floo, kicked me in the head like a shot of tequila on an empty stomach.

Near the column that leads to London I just couldn't keep it and, with great pleasure, took off the Cloak, brazenly saluted the station's caretaker (who certainly recognized me) and stepped through the barrier.

…Yeah, I kinda forgot that London is a dirty cesspool. In my memories, with each passing day it turned more and more into a Disney cartoon, but no, there was just as much trash on the roads and traffic jams (even at night). The last remnants of pink paint rot away when a swollen, dirty junkie crawled out of some alley and tried to grab me by the shoulder.

I don't like junkies.

Mana: 1/2

Click to shrink...

Didn't even pull out a wand, just gave him three-four hundred volts when he touched me. The degenerate shuddered and then collapsed, sprawling on some trash bags. The smell somehow got worse.

But my mood was still high: I didn't need to hide, think constantly about escape paths or turn at each and every noise. I still did all that, automatically, but the sensation of the open space (as open as a city can get anyway) on itself was amazing.

I reached the place almost in the morning. Didn't have money for a taxi, didn't know the city that well and didn't even have a bloody map. Navigated mostly by asking the rare passers-bys.

And they were really rare, despite each and every road being full of cars. Maybe they all traveled by metro? I have no idea, but Londoners sure didn't like walking. It wasn't that obvious in my last visits: those happened at day, with lots of transport and people around.

Still, after talking with around two dozens people, I learned the way to go and limped all the way to Frima's place. The multistories building with a locked metal door and without an intercom. Very welcoming. Although, when you have a wand and know telekinesis – locks just kinda open themselves after barely any effort. I wanted to do the same with the flat's closed door but decided not to ruin our first meeting and just rang the doorbell instead.

A very sleepy red-headed girl of twenty five (or close) years old opened the door:

"A-a-amh?" She yawned questioningly.

"Missus Gillan?"

"Miss Gillan." She answered after blinking away the sleep. "What do you want, boy?"

"Name's Harry Potter, I'm from Magdiel," I said while pushing the flabbergasted girl out of the way and walking in. "And, thanks to one Indian woman dropping it on my poor head, we both have a lot of work to do. But now I need to sleep – the night was real tiring."

Her two-room flat had an amazing sofa, onto which I immediately landed without even undressing.

"Wha… what are you doing, you little?!"

"All questions later, when I wake up. Until then – don't touch me."

And with those words, I fell asleep. For the sake of variety today I decided not to watch any dreams and just enjoy the silence.



***

I woke up in the evening, with the sky already darkening. The flat was empty, with only the air conditioner making any noise. My stomach very bluntly reminded that there are no house-elves in the normal world and so I quickly went to explore the fridge. Welp, looks like we are having scrambled eggs and ham, the girl's fridge was rather empty.

Alright, not so empty that a mouse hanged itself, but the missy certainly wasn't a big fan of food. And, judging by the ham, not a big fan of dieting either.

While I was cooking the un-complicated dinner, the flat's owner had returned. She tiredly, while walking, took off her coat, shoes, sweatshirt and, just like me several hours prior, fell onto the sofa face down.

"Hey there, miss I-don't-look-so-good."

"Huh?" Sounded from under a pillow.

"Get up, let's introduce ourselves."

She quietly grumbled, but still started moving. After finally sitting up, she slowly looked at me devouring her scrambled eggs. Jesus Christ, those are some big bags under her eyes. I was so impressed that even put the plate aside.

"I just knew that some supernatural shit will happen to me. Alright, who are you?" She said resignedly.

"Potter. Name's Harry. Magdiel advised me to contact you."

"The demon, huh." Frima nodded. "Didn't she run away?"

"Yep, and she asked me to solve her problem. Was very persuasive."

Frima looked at the ceiling and massaged her eyes for a bit. Where the hell did she get so tired, in the morning she looked much better. Or maybe I just didn't notice?

"So she started involving children… Just as bad as the rest of 'em."

"And how many of them did you meet?"

The girl looked at me grimly.

"She didn't tell you anything, did she?"

"About what?"

"About what I'm doing for her."

"Nah, I didn't ask. I'll learn eventually." I shrugged. "Here, eat some protein-rich food, you look like you'll die any second. And I don't want to look for the cult on my own."

The girl quietly swore, but nevertheless took a plate and started slowly chewing with a sour expression.

"Maybe you'll tell me who you are for starters? When little boys barge into my home and say names of supernatural horrors I get somewhat nervous."

Well, she is right here, even if I can't show her my passport. After all, she should learn about her new boss.

I think Magdiel wouldn't mind.

"As I said before, my name's Harry Potter and from today, sunshine, I'm your new boss. We and Mag are kinda-sorta allies, and while she helps me with my problems (and we have lots of them out there, don't you doubt) I replace her here.

"So you're a demon too?" The girl moved back from the table.

"Nope, I'm a human. And you know what? Really fucking proud to be!" I leaned back on my chair. "I'm, just so you know, a sorcerer and believe that you can take every monster that leeches of humanity and shove it its self-importance so deep, that it won't be recoverable without deep mining. If you do it right, of course."

"Sounds great." Frima relaxed. "But I know what they can do. I don't think that it's a good idea for a boy to get involved in all this."

"And nobody…" I pulled out the wand and lifted our plates into the air, created a fire on each of them, put it out, cleaned from all the ash and grime and showed the flat's owner the squicky clean dishes. "…asked you."

The girl only raised her brow skeptically. Looks like she already saw some pyrotechnics somewhere.

"Alright, alright, I got it, you are a great and powerful sorcerer. What next?"

"And next you will tell me everything you know about that cult Mag asked you to look into."

The girl almost spat out her tea.

"She wants you to look for the cult? That's… you are dead, boy."

"Don't piss yourself, reddie, I survived worse things."

"You didn't survive things like that."

"Oh, then maybe you'll finally tell me, since you are oh so smart?"

She sighed heavily, as if really not wanting to open her mouth, but started talking anyway:

"I am a medical examiner, cut people apart in a morgue. The job's shit, never wanted to end up there, but… well, it happened. Once upon a time met that Magdiel and made the Deal with her, being naïve and stupid. Back then it seemed like a great idea and I was happy that my wish came true, but, again, nothing is that simple. Aside from granting my wish, she also granted me… well, an ability." The girl cringed. "I see through the eyes of dead people."

"And that works how?" I got interested.

"And that works by me being able to see the last minutes, sometimes hours, of the dead person, by looking into the corpse's eyes. I can see who died from what."

"Not bad."

"It sucks." She snarled. "There is nothing good in death, I always knew that, but now… I can see the agony of a cancer patient, a shootout between gangs, a young girl dying to a rapist maniac and all that through their eyes, time after time, hundreds and hundreds of deaths… My job is shit, but these eyes made it worse. But there is more. Turns out, not everyone dies from illnesses, old age or criminals, no. A lot of people die to monsters. Did you know that vampires exist?"

"Of course I did know. Just like werewolves, mages, and evil spirits." I nodded.

"Well, I didn't. The first time I met a vampire through the eyes of a thug, who died because of a heart attack. That was weird, he was thirty years old and really burly. Do you know what I saw?"

"Tell the tale already, I'm getting impatient."

"I saw a gang of seven bikers who wanted to get some money from an old man in an expensive suit. He didn't want to. Then one of them punched him in the face and then started screaming because he broke a finger. All bandits draw weapons, one shot at him."

"No result?"

"None. They all started shooting and that monster just stood there and laughed. He had, like, fifty bullets in him and he didn't give a shit! Then he frowned and… I don't know how to describe it, as if you are looking in the eyes of the Terror itself. I heard the dead howling and just knew that they call me and that this creature will take me to them. I just looked through the eyes of that biker, I have no idea how he felt in reality, back at that gas station. All the bandits just froze, they couldn't move. And then he turned to me, to the one I was looking through, and said 'Kill them'. It was like a nail into your brain, like a bloody bell between my ears. The biker went to his friends and shot every single one into their faces. I felt him crying while killing his friends, while reloading the gun as they pleaded, and he could do nothing. Nothing! When he killed them all, he turned to that monster and he just smiled with his mouth full of teeth. I don't know what happened, maybe all that was just too much or maybe the vampire did something, but at that moment his heart just stopped. When I came to my senses, the corpse was just… torn apart. I tore it apart, while obeying that creature's order, who I only saw through the dead man's eyes!"

"Huh, so Domination worked in that way? Didn't expect that. But, all that is fun and good, Spielberg would've loved it, but you wanted to tell me something about the Earthbound?"

"That cult, yeah. I saw a lot since then: demons, vampires, bandits. That's what I do for Magdiel – tell her about 'interesting' corpses. Through these eyes I was torn apart, devoured, killed so many times I am not sure I'm even alive at all." The girl seemed to be so stressed before, that right now she just didn't care, despite clearly remembering something really heavy. Good, she will be useful. "But sometimes there were cases that… I don't know how to explain it. Deaths by complete accidents, suicides, overdoses, and often I felt the presence of something eldritch, something big. It's as if you are tied to a pole and there is a heavy-duty dump truck behind you. You hear it, feel it, see a shadow of a huge car, but you can't turn and look. Nothing certain for the first few, but these corpses were appearing for some time already. Like, there goes a happy woman, who was just proposed to by her beloved. And then she jumps in front of an upcoming train. Or a student injects a dose, a small one. I can feel it's a small one! But his eyes refuse to work and the knife just comes in and out of his chest and I can see only murky moving shadows and that name."

…At that moment, I admit, I got hit by an idiot ball. Like, got really stupid. I should've warned her or stopped her in time, but… Oh well.

"They called him Uvir-Dasab." And at that moment the room was filled with cold, fetid wind, which stopped almost immediately. "The Gifter of beauty and The Great Painter. I heard the titles many times, in many dead eyes, but the name sounded only recently, with that student."

"Fuck me…" I just let my head hit the table. I can't believe I just fucked up like that. Fucking hell.

"What?"

"Looks like it's his real name," I said in an even tone. How else was I supposed to react after such an epic fail? "Tell me, melodrama girl, you spoke with Magdiel mentally, right?"

"Yes."

"And how did you call her?"

"Uhh… I called her by name." Frima got all thoughtful for a second and then her eyes widened in terror. "You mean..!"

"Yep. You, stupid-head, just told Him that we know about him, are looking for him and you also showed him our faces. And now we can only hope that he didn't pay attention to us or didn't see where we are."

Yeah, I did not expect that from my first day in London. You will be my eyes, Magdiel said. You will only scout it out, Magdiel said.

Honestly speaking, I didn't know what to do. I mean, we got up and left the flat, sat down in the café on the opposite side and started looking at the entrance, but no one unfamiliar entered. And that meant absolutely nothing, since the demon could've just ignored us or decided to send his servants later,

On the one side, I needed to leave Frima's house, run as far as I could and then keep working without her. The problem was, I had no idea where to start. And the girl worked in a morgue, had very specific abilities and was very useful.

So, after a short discussion, we decided to return. If there were no immediate attack, then we had time to prepare.

I still won myself a sofa and moved it to a window – if something happens, I'll get out through it and I didn't care that we were on the eighth floor.

 

[RuberFF]

Can someone explain to me what "World of darkness" is? Wasn't it a game that should have come out years ago, but got cancelled?

Is it the world of Vampire the masquerade?

 

[Caerwen]

Can someone explain to me what "World of darkness" is? Want it a game that should have come out years ago, but got cancelled?

Is it the world of Vampire the masquerade?

Click to shrink...

So yes, but not just vampire the masquerade.
per wikipedia:
White Wolf Publishing developed the following game sets in the Classic World of Darkness between 1991 and 2003:

• Vampire: The Masquerade
• Kindred of the Ebony Kingdom (not a distinct game-line, but a sort of spin-off of Masquerade)
• Kindred of the East (this, conversely, was essentially a distinct game-line, although it required Masquerade for a few basic rules of play and thus was not completely standalone)
• Werewolf: The Apocalypse
• Mage: The Ascension
• Wraith: The Oblivion
• Changeling: The Dreaming
• Hunter: The Reckoning
• Mummy: The Resurrection (like Kindred of the East, this was not entirely playable without access to a base rules system such as Vampire)
• Demon: The Fallen
• Orpheus

 

[Bland Eggplant]

"Alright, what's next?" Frima asked, un-corking a bottle of beer.

Looking at the swill in question felt a little funny. I certainly remember liking beer, but my body feels completely indifferent to it.

We sat in her flat, discussing our current situation with a TV murmuring in the background.

On most accounts, Miss Gillan is fucked. Because of being the demon's battery she is more than interested in Mag doing alright, otherwise she might start draining energy from the redhead through the Deal they made. Needless to say, it fucks with her health, both physical and mental.

On the other side, she was the one who said the Earthbound's name, her face is the one the monster saw and it's her flat that is in danger. So, the damsel would be better off running to New Zealand or somewhere as far away.

I am not doing that bad since I didn't show my mug to the Earthbound. Probably. I hope so. I, myself, have another big problem – there are no other leads aside from that student-junkie. And that's not a good lead, because cultists could've just grabbed the first person on a street, who knows what rituals they are into.

"Next, my darling, I'm going to act out a likable fatty named Puaro. You would've probably fared better, but I have no idea how to explain to you what I look for. "

"Awesome, didn't want to stick my nose out anyway. The further I am from all that supernatural stuff – the better." The girl nodded, pleased, and took a long sip from the bottle.

"Not so fast, bae. You'll do for me the same stuff you did for Miss Cawl." I said to her bluntly, making the girl choke on beer. "I need all the possible information from all the dead you can find. About demons, naturally, I don't care about truck-drivers that died to bootleg whiskey."

"Hell no! Do you know what I did when I heard from Anila that she's leaving? Got wasted so hard that my head still hurts. I'm done living out others' deaths."

"Hoh. Alright, but you better order yourself a coffin beforehand."

"What are you talking about?"

"Well, think about it this way. You wanna screw with Mag. If not cultists, then she will cut you into small chunks no matter where you go. Of course, she might kick the bucket earlier, but I wouldn't count on that. Also, no one will protect you from the cult except for me. But here's the trick – I am not going to put my ass on the line if you don't want to work."

"Maybe she won't find me," Frima stuttered, unsure.

"And to think you didn't look stupid just a second ago. You made the Deal. Get it? She doesn't need to look for you, she just needs to want it and you'll experience such unforgettable sensations that an electrical chair will seem a massage one. And it wouldn't matter where you go: to Chili, to Tasmania or to a nearby bar."

Miss Gillan looked at me with empty eyes. Twenty seconds later she finally managed to squeeze out the result of her brainstorm:

"Fuck my life…" She moaned, leaning back in her chair.

"Strangely, that's the most reasonable reaction." I nodded with approval. "If it'll make you feel better – you'll be working for the sake of humanity. Feel free to count yourself a heroine."

"Please, shut up." The girl asked. But, after finishing the beer bottle, decided to continue talking. "So, you need me to find people murdered by demons."

"No-no-no, wrong. I'm looking for unusual murders, suicides, too-quick illnesses. Who was the killer: a demon, a human or a cat – doesn't matter. It only has to be unusual. I'll then filter it and find 'our' cases."

"And if they'll find me? You know…"

"Cultists? Hm… alright, take this." I pulled the handgun out of my backpack. I can't carry it in London anyway: I don't have a holster and pulling it out of the bag is too long. "But be careful – it has a strong kick."

"Wow." Frima weighted the weapon in her hand. "But weren't these banned?"

"You can give it back." I shrugged. Frima only huffed at that and put the gun in her purse. "Do you know how to shoot?"

"No."

"Well, if you wanna live – you'll learn. Also, we need to communicate somehow. Buy a mobile, no, two mobiles."

"Are you joking? They are bloody expensive!"

"I don't give a shit. If you know any other way to quickly call me for help – I'm happy to listen."

"You'll do without a phone, brat. I don't have that much money."

"Suit yourself. But when a truck hits you – imagine me screaming 'I warned you, idiot!'. Also, I just gave you my favorite gun, could've paid me back with a phone."

And so we argued, slowly creating our further plan of action. Well, there wasn't much to it. She went back to work and I went with her – needed to know that student's information. While she was digging through the documents I sat in 'O'Tolly' café right across the street and waited for my subordinate.

What a good-sounding word: subordinate.

"Here. Wesley Gable, West London University, psychology." Sounded near me when I finished my burger.

"Oh, that's good."

"What's good?"

"Well, that he was a psychology student. I don't like psychologists. Good that they killed him and not, say, a biology student."

"You're such an asshole." The redhead sighed.

I only shrugged in response and sank my teeth into the remains of a burger.

"How do you even eat this?" Frima asked. "It looks disgusting."

"Don't like it – don't eat it," I grumbled. "About our guy. Do we have an address?"

"Yes, it's here." She gave me the documents.

"Lived with his parents, huh? Got it." I closed the folder. "I'm off then. And you go slave away, corpses won't dissect themselves."

She snarled something back, but I didn't listen. After that, I just caught a taxi to Gable's house.

I'm running out of money, by the way. Gotta do something about that.

***
Standing near Gable's house, which looked suspiciously similar to the Dursleden, I mulled over a problem. I had no excuse to enter the house – his family probably won't eat up that I'm his grieving relative or a classmate.

Although I have an idea.

A grim, grizzled man opened the door. The father, I guess.

"What do you want?"

"Well aren't cha polite today." I grimaced. "I'm here with condolences for Wesley and you just ruined it."

"Who are you?" The man frowned. "What do you care about Wesley?"

"My name is Draco Malfoy, Wesley volunteered to help in our orphanage from time to time. When we heard about his death, I decided to come and see if I can help out somehow. He was a good guy."

"I see," The man's expression softened. "Didn't know he was working in an orphanage though."

"He told us a time or two that he needed that for his studies or something. Are you gonna let me in now, mister?"

"Thanks…" The man said with sadness in a deep voice. "…but that's our grief and our problems. We'll make do." And after that, he closed the door in my face.

Welp, talking it out didn't work. Gotta do it the old way, with the Cloak, levitation and through open windows. There is one on the second floor, by the way. After waving my wand around, I flew into the house.

Looks like the window lead to the family's bedroom. What can I say – it's as normal as they go. Grey walls, white sheets, a mirror above the dresser. Still, it doesn't feel comfortable in here, as if I'm in a hospital room. Everything is orderly to the point of seeming sterile, there is no life in the interior.

What a boring life the lovebirds live.

I quietly opened the door and went down the corridor. Magic is cool and all, but it's no reason to hurry. I wonder where his is room?

Found it on a second try. Not that I was, like, completely sure that it was the room I needed, but a baseball cap on the table and wrinkled underpants on a chair clearly showed that the room belonged to a slovenly young man. Now I gotta find something important. Too bad I'm not a detective.

After twenty minutes of vacuuming the floor with my nose, I found nothing unusual or suspicious – just some notebooks with lectures, his clothes and a guitar. Well, also a package of weed behind the wardrobe, to no one's surprise.

Looks like I won't find anything here, gotta go to the university, ask around both students and administration. Too bad my tale about an orphanage won't do shit there.

"…Potter?"

The hell? Did someone just say my surname?

"No, I don't know any Potters." The voices were coming from downstairs.

"Are you sure? A boy about this height, has black hair, green eyes, a scar on the forehead?"

"Ah, yeah, he passed through here. Told me a different name, though. He went further down the street."

"That's him. Hey, Dolish! He was here, bring the veritaserum." How the hell did they find me?

"What are you doing?" The second voice asked menacingly.

"Calm down, sir, everything is going to be fine. You won't even remember anything. Confundus! Now let's go into the living room."

And then a terrifying roar emanated through the whole building:

"FOR THE GLORY OF THE MASTER!"

A shudder passed through my body. It sounded as if a truck rammed into a mountain of styrofoam.

"What the..! AAAAH! Reducto! Reducto, damn you!"

"Incarc… guah!"

"What the hell is this?! Seko!"

After peeking out from the second floor, I saw a real-life horror picture: the same man, who didn't let me inside the house, was tearing three Aurors apart with his bare hands from Kingsley's team, uncaring about their attempts to blow him up. Although, now he only barely resembled a man: his body, no longer covered by a shirt (clothing isn't immune to spells), was instead covered in eyes, didn't care about spells hitting it, with bloodied hands now showing off spectacular claws. After ripping two Aurors to shreds, the monster jumped across the room to the third one, who stood near the exit and started eating his face. The sorcerer was still alive and howled in pain as if he was butchered alive… which wasn't that far from the truth.

He killed them all in around four seconds. I would've shaken his hand if he wasn't an insane fanatic-cannibal.

I quietly flew behind him and raised my wand.

Mana: 1/2

Click to shrink...

The lightning bolt hit and the monster fell onto the parquet, convulsing and breathing heavily. He didn't die, even though I roasted him real good, no power outlet can compare.

Let's make it double.

Mana: 0/2

Click to shrink...

The creature finally died and with it died the last sorcerer. I took out Petunia's knife and stabbed it into the predatory motherfucker's neck, just in case. This does not guarantee shit, of course, and Dumbledore is the living fucking example, but it's better than checking the bastard's pulse with my bare hands.

By the way, turns out he was a cultist after all. What a freak of nature. His muscles are all twisted and the eyes grow in the most unlikely places. Looks like I got a lead on our cult. Thank you, valiant Aurors, I wouldn't have done that without you.

Looks like the man sacrificed his son. Was that for a ritual or just a proof of his faith? Who gives a shit, the fanatic is dead anyway. And what am I going to do now? I can't interrogate the dead fucker. And interrogating him sounds really scary: the fucker was impressively strong, tying him up prolly wasn't even an option.

Still, looks like I myself cut the only lead I had. Which sucks. Alright, gotta sweep the place clean, maybe I'll find something.

Wait! Wesley lived with his parents, right? With two of 'em, I mean. Where's the mother?

I immediately readied the wand and started slowly walking around the house. She probably wasn't there, otherwise she would've jumped out, but better be careful.

While looking over room after room, I was getting more and more confused – this was just a normal house. No altars, no prayer books, not even a shitty 10-pound painting from IKEA. As if the house was unoccupied.

I just didn't get it, were these people cultists or robots in disguise?

And those sorcerers, how did they find me? Alright, that guy on the station probably told them that he saw Harry Potter, but after that, they would've needed to search through the whole fucking London. I don't get it. What lead them to this house? Some kind of a searching spell, maybe a tracker or something. Wait, no, they don't have any searching spells, otherwise they would've tied me up all the way back at school and to place a tracker they would've needed to find me first.

Alright, gotta leave the place. If the wife of this madman will come in with a company, then I just might stay here forever. One freak is beatable, I can jump around him while invisible, but facing more than one? No, thanks. Although, not all cultists are like Gable Senior, probably, the man was created with fucking people up in mind.

Gotta clean the place, first. Getting rid of corpses is no use, but getting rid of mentions that some corpses were sorcerers… Well, I don't want the insane demon learning about the Wizarding World.

The living room still resembled a butcher house when I entered. Trying to look for sorcerers here would be like sinking your fingers into a heap of ground meat, but what can you do.

Aurors' clothes were similar to all other sorcerers' clothes, the only difference was that their bathrobes were uniform. What a magical cop can have in terms of gear? A wand, but that's obvious. What else should I take? They had no potions or cuffs. Only three wands.

By the way, about wands. Those are their only magical items and I also happen to own one. They probably didn't track me by the Cloak, so they must've done that by the wand. But I cast spells the previous morning, at Frima's place!

What a sloppy job, coppers!

Although, the last one had two potions with him. No idea what are those, but could be useful. Oh, wait, the system identified them. I'm one lucky sonnuvabitch.

The Laggerius' Potion

Click to shrink...

Bloody. Awesome. Everything else is behind a paywall, eh? I remember reading something about these but don't remember jack shit about Laggerius or his potion.

While I was digging the potions from under all the meat, I looked at the cultist one more time. One of his eyes, the one growing on the back, was giving me a mean look. Never would've thought that a mutated creature's shoulder blade can have such an expressive stare. Should I try it out in front of a mirror? Nah, never parroted dead people's backs and not going to start.

"The hell you're looking at?" I asked the corpse while shuffling through another dead man's pockets. It, of course, didn't answer.

After the scavenging, I tried to rotate the gears in my skull. The fact that the boys don't have any magical stuff on them doesn't guarantee shit. If Frima can see in corpse's eyes its past, then why can't Uvid-dasab? Or, even better, why can't he just raise the corpse and interrogate it? I can't risk it, I need to get rid of the bodies.

I won't be able to teleport them away: these are not sacks of flour, these are sacks of meat. And even then, I'd either need to teleport them out of here, or go to the endpoint and try to summon them to me. Both options force me to leave the ground meat alone for some time, which is a bad idea.

I can burn them right here. Together with the house, yeah. Then the wife of my observant friend will get a new place to live and I'll lose the bloody lead completely. I really miss Albert right now, I could've just burned the place down and the ghost would've followed the woman anyway.

In any case, I gotta think quickly. Since sorcerers found this place, they most likely found miss Gillan's flat too. Gotta hurry there.

With a sigh, I put all bodies into a pile. I might still find other cultists, but I have only one Wizarding World. The choice is obvious.
The flame must be very hot, but nothing impossible here.

Ten minutes later I observed the burning building from a neighboring street. The place turned out to be a good crematorium, to my relief. Nobody can interrogate a pile of ash.

Well, maybe the boys at Guantanamo can, but comparing the Earthbound and the American military… Not even funny, guys.

Experience points: 1

Total experience points: 19

Click to shrink...

***
After walking a couple blocks I caught a taxi to Frima's home. It was five o'clock and the girl should've still been at her job. Well, that was for the better – she wouldn't interfere.

The door was closed again and I really didn't want to open it again. Not when I'm wearing the Cloak, heh. I'll totally erect Dumbledore a statue after I bury his ass behind a garage – him gifting me the Cloak was totally worth a couple points.

The Aurors are gonna get a nice surprise from the backdoor… And by 'backdoor' I mean 'window'.

Ah, here they are, little duckies. Six of them. Fucking too many. I won't get them all even if I really try. Although, that's for the best. Let them think they just waste their time here, maybe they'll get tired and go away, think this place a dead-end, learn about their other group being wiped out and remember that there is still beer left at 'Leaky Cauldron'. One may hope.

I settled in the same café Frima and I hid in yesterday until we decided that her home is safe. After two hours, the sorcerers were still there and Frima finally returned. I managed to catch her while she was fishing for a key in her purse.

"Wait up, reddie. Let's grab a snack."

"Harry? Listen, I'm tired, let me at least drop my purse."

"There are six burly men in there and every single one wants to ask you a couple questions. Still wanna drop it?"

"Fuck me… Alright, let's go, I really am hungry."

Ten minutes later we sat in the café, thinking about our next step.

"Are those cultists?"

"Nope, those are sorcerers, I know them."

"What? Then why are we hiding here?"

"Well, I'm kind of a wanted criminal and those guys are the police," I admitted.

Frima gave me a long and heavy stare. After saying nothing, she returned to her food.

"I have a plan, but it kinda sucks." I started talking, slowly.

"What kind of plan? How to drown my life even deeper in shit?" Frima answered darkly.

"How to get those guys out of our flat."

"Let me guess, I'll need to use the gun?"

"Are you joking? There are six of them. You could've offered to storm the parliament, same chance of success. We'll simply find a hobo and pay him twenty pounds to pretend to be the flat's owner."

"You're an idiot. Any hobo will sell us out immediately."

"That's why the plan kinda sucks." I agreed. "But I don't have another one. Listen, most sorcerers don't know shit about the normal world. Let's try it, we ain't losing anything."

"Maybe we'll just call the normal police then?"

"Nah," I cringed. "All those bobbies and officers can be dealt with in a wand-wave. We'll just waste our time."

She shrugged and pulled out a couple twenty-pound bills from her wallet.

"Here, go and do this. And I, by the way, count all the expenses. So far you cost me forty-four pounds per day."

"Heh, no. You go and do this. If they'll start interrogating him with magic, it would be better if he told them about you than about me."

"And why's that? You're a mage – you deal with the magical police."

"I'm not a mage, I'm… Ugh, doesn't matter. Listen, that's the whole idea. If they learn that the hobo was sent by me, then it would mean I'm somewhere around, their ambush is discovered but still right where it should be. But if they learn about a muggle woman… Well, who knows what those muggles think. In any case, they'll think that I already left and you are just a worried owner."

"It's so stupid, it hurts to listen." The red-head massaged her forehead.

"Well, I can't hear any other ideas, genius. I can be a critic too.."

Ten minutes later we were out, looking for hobos in the alleyways. After finding a more-or-less sane one, the girl started recruiting. Another ten minutes later we followed him with our eyes to the closing front door, sitting in the same café.

Although, we very quickly changed our location to the neighboring one, just in case if aurors would go out to check the hobo's tale.

We still had the same view at the door, though.

"Alright, now we have to wai… Ah, fuck me." I almost spit out the tea, looking at two figures in gray cloaks and gray costumes underneath approaching the front door.

"What?"

"See those two?"

"Yep."

"They are lockpicking the front door. Quickly and without attracting attention, but still."

"Yeah, seems so. The nerve of some criminals these days. Why now, at day?"

"Looks like your apartment building is popular today, so I can bet those forty-four pounds that this ain't a coincidence. The boys are heading to your place."

"But if those aren't sorcerers…"

"Those aren't sorcerers, trust me. They open locks with spells and shit."

"Of fuck me…" Frima repeated the words I said earlier.

For the whole minute, we sat in silence, without even moving. And then there were flashes of light in her window.

"Frima?"

"Yeah, brat?"

"Looks like you're moving out."

"Yep." She answered melancholically, looking at the less and less often flashes of color. "I liked the place."

"Changing the name also would be nice."

"Mmhm."

The flashes stopped. One minute later, a single gray-wearing man exited the building and, heavily breathing, walked away. One of his sleeves was burned.

"Sit here." I quickly told to the girl and rushed to the exit with the speed of a lightning bolt, while pulling out the Cloak from my bag.

In a second, I was in an alleyway with it hiding me. The cultist went down the street, swaying a little left and right, didn't turn anywhere and didn't even call a taxi. That won't do. I can't just follow him, he might've already contacted his 'boss'. I need to clean up the fight scene and quickly.

So, near another alley entrance, I rammed into the guy, forcing him to stumble into the said alley. Well, not just rammed – the guy and his friend just slaughtered a hobo and six trained aurors, so I didn't ram him, even from invisibility.

I did, however, rammed the bastard while frying him with electricity. There is no problem that can't be solved with a correctly placed electricity charge.

Willpower: 9/10

Click to shrink...

The man fell down in the middle of the alley and convulsed a couple times, before going still. Good. Another one, just for sure!

Willpower: 8/10

Click to shrink...

The dude started smelling of fried meat, the puddle around the body bubbled. Alright, this corpse isn't my problem anymore. Gotta get back and fast.

The pathologist wasn't in the café when I came back.

"Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, I told her to sit here, why does no one ever listen to children?"

I was still wearing the Cloak, so I just flew to the window, opened it with telekinesis and went inside.

Frima was inside, vomiting all other the place.

And there was a good reason for that too. I called Gable's residence a slaughterhouse, but only because I was yet to see Frima's place. The Aurors were all ground up into mincemeat: two had a mauled open chest cavity with guts strewn all other the floor, one was torn in half… lengthways. The guy looked like someone took him by the legs and pulled into opposite directions. There was a somewhat recognizable lung hanging down from the lustre.

One auror lied mostly whole, with a wand being stuck all the way into his eyehole, the back of his head exploded outwards as if he did that himself and then cast something like 'Expulso'.

The last one, number six, was mostly undamaged, with the only exception of him now looking like a rotten tomato, covered in ulcers, leaking puss, with bulging veins and white balls instead of eyes.

What a pretty fucking picture.

There was also a body, charred and crispy, which could only be the other cultist. Looks like Aurors finally found a spell that kills the bastards and it is something fiery. The freak, weirdly, didn't look like Wesley's father at all and had different mutations… At least there were no fangs or eyes all over the body.

And finally, under the dinner table lied the hobo with a broken neck. Not the worst way to go, if you look at everyone else.

"Frima."

The girl didn't answer. She seemed to be out of the stomach's contents and I was getting worried that soon she'll start puking her guts away.

"Frima, fucking hell! You are a tempered fucking woman, you literally see death every day. Get a hold of yourself!" I raised my voice, although even I felt uneasy here.

Burn, burn it all to the ground. Don't even look for stuff, just pile up the bodies and burn the place. This place feels… wrong. Corrupted. Especially that rotten guy.

The girl still didn't answer. I did the only thing I could – marched to her and gave a good slapping. Her eyes became more focused, concentrating on me.

"This… a-and they…" She started leaning forward, feeling nauseous again.

"Alright, listen here. You will go out, you will buy a bottle of water, you will wash your face and you will drink some. Then you will wait for me near the front door. Got it?"

She didn't answer.

"Frima! Got it?"

"Yes, yes." She slowly, as if in trance, nodded and just as slowly exited the flat.

I looked back at the front of work and, with a sigh, began. Levitated all the bodies into a pile, found some burnable chemicals in the kitchen, poured it on the pile. Also, there is basilisk's meat in the fridge, gotta get that.

Standing near the exit, I looked over miss Gillan's place for the last time. It wasn't as pretty anymore, covered in blood and guts. Time to end this.

A flick of the wand – and the curtains caught on fire. One more – and the sofa followed soon. The last one – and the corpses were lit ablaze.

The girl was waiting for me outside, pale and with an almost empty water bottle.

"Give me some."

She gave me a bottle. Shit, this day sure got me, I even enjoyed drinking simple water.

"What now?" Frima asked me in an uncaring voice.

"Now?" I looked at her and then at two kilos of basilisk in my hand. "Now, I think, we need a new place and I know who can help us. Call a taxi, please. We need to visit the countryside."

A/N: Aaand this is the last chapter posted on SpaceBattles before the fanfic got placed under review. It might take some (a lot) time to finish up the next one. Until then, bye.

 

[Skyfish]

"Frima?"

"Yeah, brat?"

"Looks like you're moving out."

"Yep." She answered melancholically, looking at the less and less often flashes of color. "I liked the place."

"Changing the name also would be nice."

"Mmhm."

Click to shrink...

That was some funny shit.

Dumbles just lost a lot of men. It's always nice when enemies start fighting each other. Too bad Harry needed cultist info though.

It sucks that the next chapter won't be up at the same frequency as these ones. Still, thanks for the translation man.

 

[Bland Eggplant]

Finding a taxi wasn't a problem; financing our little expedition was – I didn't have enough money to ride that far and Frima's savings were currently turning into ashes three stories up and two blocks to the south. There were still the savings in the bank, naturally, but going to one after burning down a place with a dozen corpses inside seemed like a bad idea.

"You know how to drive?"

"Not really," The girl mumbled, still pale.

"Yeah, that's no good. I know how, but I'm too short to reach anything. If the bobbies stopped us, bullshitting them would be a pain."

"We don't have a car anyway."

"That's not a problem," I huffed. "Getting us a car is easy. We are already deep in it, so committing one more crime won't make a difference. Might as well do an auto theft."

"I'm not sure I can drive right now."

Not a minute without the optimism. Would it hurt her to say just this once: 'Yes, I'll do that, Harry'?

Alright. Getting money is easy. I only need, like, five to six pounds. By using telekinesis I managed to pickpocket a purse, all the while wincing from a headache since I didn't use the wand. I can't use it until I find out how Aurors track them.

This lead to my Willpower depleting just like that.

Also, just for the sake of ruining it, the jacket-wearing man noticed that his purse was missing, blinked a couple of times, then turned around and saw me counting the money.

"We gotta leave, babe," I muttered and lead Frima through some alleys.

London's streets are not very confusing but they still have their places to hide in. However, the man had one advantage over the both of us – long legs. After walking two blocks it became obvious that we couldn't lose him like this, not with a barely-shambling red-haired woman that just experienced a house fire.

For a moment there was a question of 'why the hell am I even dragging her with me', but I decided not to think about it for now.

I'm also kind of responsible for what happened to her, after all.

"Alright, see that arch? Just gotta get to it and we can rest a little," I told her, attempting to lift her spirits.

When we walked through the arch, I hid inside it near the entrance and prepared to spring the trap. The purse's owner was big, walked loudly, and couldn't run for shit. The moment he stepped out I tapped him on the shoulder. It made him shudder, go limp, and fall to the ground.

Willpower: 6/10

Your Nature replenishes your Willpower.

Willpower: 7/10

Click to shrink...

Hell, I got too used to casting with the wand; I almost forgot how to do stuff without it. On the other hand, there were only two times when I over-exerted so much and both times I felt like shit.

"Did… you…"

"Relax, I only knocked him out. Imagine that our sponsor was hit by a taser – same power." I tiredly waved her off, while massaging my temple. Gotta do something about this, walking around with a constantly cracking cookpot doesn't sound good at all. "Alright, let's get that damn taxi."

***​

Fifteen minutes later we were already traveling to Andrew. Where else were we supposed to go? I don't have other contacts in the city and I can at least do business with him. I wanted to go to him sooner or later anyway, just to sell this piece of a snake before it started rotting.

I just hope he wouldn't figure out that we are bare-assed in terms of assets and already have two groups after said asses. If I were him, I would've either raised all the prices to high heavens or shoved the guests back outside to freeze to death. Maybe sicced the dogs on them as well, to make them leave faster.

I don't like these options at all.

"Frima?"

"Yes?"

"We are now going to visit one very serious man, who can solve if not all, then most of our problems. It would be great if he thinks that we are doing just fine without him. Feuerstein?"

"Give me a second," the girl nodded with understanding. After five or so minutes of sitting still, she started digging into her purse with a heavy sigh. Yep, just what I expected of her to do – to go after the cosmetics and shit.

"Oh you… Yeah, fix the mug too, but most importantly – control yourself. We are visiting the man to trade, not to beg."

"It's gonna be alright," She reassured me.

'Alright' is 'alright', she's a woman, she knows better how her head works.

But really, after making her bruised face more presentable, Frima got much calmer and not as twitchy. Not so easy to say after only fifteen minutes of observation, but looks like the combat camouflage did a good job.

After twenty more minutes of tense silence, she started talking again.

"Say, Harry, you knocked out that guy with magic, right?"

I, very surprised, looked first at her, then at the driver. The man in question sat in his front seat behind a plastic barrier and listened to loud music.

"I thought it was obvious, Reddie. I also thought you were more observant."

"I'm just making sure," she answered, before going silent again. This time the pause was short. "Is it hard?"

"And why do you wanna know?" I answered her question with my question. I don't like where this is going.

"Nothing. It's just… well… Can you learn it?"

Fuck me… Just what I needed. She was a normal, depressed and angry woman, did I influence her this badly just after a couple days?

"Frima, why the hell would you want this? Weren't you kinda sick of everything supernatural?"

She shook her head in sadness.

"Well, since I'm neck-deep in it – gotta navigate somehow. Since, you know, I probably won't climb out anytime soon."

"And that's why you wanna learn sorcery? Heh, good luck."

"That hard, huh?"

Well, reddie, it really, really depends. I got my sorcery for free when woke up in Dursley's house. But to learn from the very beginning, without any mana… Yeah, that's a challenge.

"Oh, Frima, you ask real deep questions. Honestly speaking, the only thing you need is determination. Ironclad determination. Or, more accurately, it all starts with it. If you make the first step – it will get easier. The main problem is that making this 'first step' is just as difficult as DiCaprio winning his Oscar."

"For whom to what?"

"Leo. Don't you… Ah, right, it's ninety-three. Forget about it. About sorcery – that is one hell of a challenge. Oh, look, we are already here. Let's do it this way – now we will make another deal with a demon and I'll tell you what I know in simple terms."

"With who?!" The girl paled again.

"With a demon. And be a dear – smile." I said to her, opening the car door.

Before entering the forestry's territory, I quickly walked to the forest and hid the package under a fallen tree. It wouldn't stay there for a long time, but I don't need it to. Only until the talks' end.

Andrew wasn't at his place. One of the workers told me that he'll tell Andrew about us and left.

"You dragged me to another demon?" my companion hissed into my ear.

"Was I supposed to drag you into a soup kitchen for homeless corpsers?" I snarled back.

Andrew appeared soon enough and he looked just as pleased with his life as before.

"Harry, my friend! Happy to see you."

"Get that expression off your mug." I frowned. "Remind me, what's your cook's name?"

"Ursula," the demon laughed. "She'll be happy to know she's getting popular. And who is your charming companion?"

"This is Frima. Frima, this is Andrew, he's the big boss here," I answered in a tired voice. "What, are we gonna just stand here?"

"Yep," the demon nodded, "until you explain to me why the hell you've come without calling first and almost in the dead of the night?"

"I missed your un-earthly smile," I bit back. "What's hard to get? I have some goods to sell, I have a want to use your services, and I have time. And, I'm sorry, but the last time we met you forgot to give me your business card."

The demon looked suspiciously at our tired faces and huffed.

"Alright, let's go to my place. Ursula! Make something for dinner, we'll be there in twenty minutes!"​

***​

Nothing had changed in the demon's office, aside from a particularly tall stack of papers on his table. The Devourer looked at his workplace with disdain and sat on the couch. Frima and I, therefore, were forced to share a chair and a stool.

Needless to say, I was the fastest one to the chair.

"Alright, business first, food and other stuff later."

"As you say. I need a flat, new papers for this girl, a hundred thousand pounds, to find one person and, if there's anything left, to tinker with my body."

Andrew froze for a second, before making very wide eyes:

"Brat, you went off the bloody chain. Do I look like a fairy godmother? Well, I don't have a dress, but really want to get rid of one annoying little ass. Is there even a reason for me to listen further?"

"Just tell me your price. Remember that dragon blood? I'm offering meat this time, and the critter's much more interesting."

"And why can't I just take it by force?"

"Then you'll have a real hard time finding it." I shrugged. "I don't think you found where I'm getting my stuff. Aside from that, you'll lose a supplier, so that will be the last package you'll get. The second one too. Is this how you do business?"

"I can punch the answers out of you."

That, I was afraid of. Of course he could. I really hope that I'm being persuasive enough right now.

"Or maybe you can't. Personally, I don't think you'll manage."

"Death no longer covers for you, she got her tail slammed."

"Ha, she didn't give a fuck anyway!" I laughed. "You can't get into my brains and I'm very good at enduring pain. Moreover… come on, Andrew. You're a warrior, not an executioner. Are you really that good at torturing people as you think you are? Sure about that?"

The demon didn't answer. For five minutes he didn't emit a sound. The poor pale medical examiner sat on her stool like a statue, afraid of moving an inch.

"Alright, brat, you are one little jackass, but you are also right about some things," the Devourer finally spoke. "You're alright to do business. I think. Dance your lambada, I'll listen. But first of all, your mangy hide." He looked me over. "There is nothing I can do to improve it further, this is your age's development limit. If you don't fuck it up 'till you're twenty, you'll be an Olympics winner at anything you choose. I can upgrade you beyond human limitations, but then you'll live only to the next medical check – and a butcher table."

A pity. Here I am wanting to break Roy Jones' face at my age. Bugger.

"Next, I don't have a hundred thousand for you. You'll have to make do with ten grand, you're almost taking the shirt off my back anyway. What kind of papers do you need?"

"This girl here got herself some fans who started to annoy her. They annoyed her so much that she decided to get rid of the old flat, buy a new one, change her name, her surname, her job, and her alma mater."

"I don't do any of those."

"But you have connections, right?'

Andrew frowned, but nodded anyway.

"It won't be quick. And you, cutie, can attract the attention of some very serious people."

"She already did. Better like that than like this."

Andrew nodded with respect:

"Who exactly did you piss off, miss, if you're afraid of them more than my contacts?"

"We'll get to that. So, can you handle the papers and the flat?"

"Yes, but, I repeat, it won't be quick. You'll have to live in motels for some time. Now, about that missing person?"

Another 'bad' place in the dialogue, because I am, essentially, asking Andrew to get into things very few people willingly would get into. And if I lie – he'll strangle me with my own guts the moment he'll learn about it.

And if I tell the truth – he'll just refuse to do it.

What to do…

"Alright, here's the deal. This guy here…" I gave him the very folder with Gable's data that I carried in the backpack until now. "… today lost his house in a fire. His dad as home and also went to the Land of the Eternal Hunt, but his mom was somewhere else. I need to know where she'll settle, what she works as, what her hobbies are, who her friends and colleagues are, all that."

"Doesn't look too difficult…" Andrew said, taking the folder with doubt. "What's the catch?"

"Catch, uh… You see…"

"Stop with the mumbling." He frowned.

"She's a servant of the Earthbound. And her husband was too. And Frima's fans."

"Fucking… No. I am not stepping into this shit."

Welp, looks like my negotiations just went tits-up. I can only hope it's not all over yet.

"Can you at least help me with the rest?"

"Go fuck yourself! I'm not my own enemy. Anila tried to fight him and where's she now? Back in the Abyss. And I think she got real lucky with that. Get up and get the hell out."

"Why'd you think she's in the Abyss? Anila's alive and well, preparing an orchestra for her triumphant return. She was the one who asked me to deal with your nutjob of a relative."

"You? What can you even… Wait, Anila's alive?"

"Yep. Sorry, but I'm not gonna be a mailman between you two."

"Alright, and I'm not gonna get involved with this shit. Get out and close the door behind you."

"Fuck you. I'd rather point Him at your prosperous business so you'll get involved anyway. I know his name and can call at any second."

"How in the world would you even learn his name, you monkey? The likes of him keep them secret. You, at best, know one of his aliases." Andrew got angry.

Looks like the talks aren't going great. No, I think I already persuaded him that he needs to help us, but would he do business with me after that – no idea.

And I still had two and a half more tons of basilisk back at Hogwarts to sell.

"Give me a pen."

I took one of the papers on his table, wrote 'Uvir-Dasab' and gave it back to the Devourer.

"Here. Feel free to check if it's a real name. When we did that - the lady lost her home."

"Damn," the demon exhaled.

"Yep, this ain't a bazaar and I'm not selling you oranges, this is serious."

"No, not that. I know this name."

Frima and I looked at each other.

"Elaborate."

"I can't, I don't remember. Need to get my memory in order. Alright," he sighed heavily, "I'll help you. Remind me, you wanted a full package of documents, ten thousand pounds and a place to crash in London? Is that right?"

"Whoa-whoa, slow down! Take it easy. I give you a multi-charged WMD and you trade back only some ten grand, a passport and a flat?"

"I am not going to risk his attention." He pointed at the paper. "Whatever you tell me – no."

"I got that, oh brave Devourer. First of all, I want two passports and mine must not have 'Harry' in it. Second, it must be a good, spacious flat – I'm tired of living in gaffs. Preferably with good sound-proofing."

"Don't make me angry, brat, I'm not a realtor," Andrew growled.

"Listen 'till the end, will you? Alright, a hundred grand really is too much, but a dozen is not a sum I'll trade my stuff for. Fifty."

"Dragon doesn't cost that much." He refused.

"Maybe, but what would you say about two kilos of a three-ton snake that can kill with its stare?"

He agreed to help the moment he realized what I was selling. Even if a basilisk can't kill a demon with its stare, it'll kill off their henchmen - which will leave the demon alone against the full might of the giant man-eating demonic reptile. That's worth a lot.

The fact that I was selling meat instead of blood was an important nuance too. Andrew could cut the meat into smaller pieces, dry them, and then use whenever he felt like it; thus giving himself ten or so portions of the delicacy.

Some might say that I got a raw deal, but I didn't have any other buyers anyway and I had enough meat in stock for when he comes for more.

The System rewarded me with not one but two messages:

Experience points: +2

Click to shrink...

Total experience points: 21

'Harry Potter and The Chamber of Secrets' storyline complete.

Experience points: +5

Total experience points: 26

​

Click to shrink...

​

And all that not even counting the delicious dinner made by my dear Ursula, whom I never actually met, and five thousand pounds from Andrew's personal safe right away.

What? He didn't offer us to stay for the night and we couldn't afford a motel.

We promised to visit him a week later and called a taxi.

***​

After picking up the meat package, the long car ride gave us plenty of time to think about more important matters.

Frima was silent; the bargaining must've completely exhausted her, even if she was only an observer. Welp, I could only hope that she forgot her previous question, because I have no idea how to teach someone sorcery from a complete zero.

By the way, about sorcery; I still have several wands and two potions in my pockets, including my own wand that served me well for two whole years. Yet, I can't let Aurors constantly know my location. Do they follow a wand itself like a tracker or only when I cast something? That's a mystery.

I mean, I know that the Trace Charm is somehow working on underage sorcerers and that they are certainly tied to a wand, but how exactly do they function?

I'm going to risk it. I'll carry the wand around but not cast anything. If they don't find me in the following days, that means I can use it as a last-resort weapon.

But, anyway, gotta forget about this way to do sorcery for now. Let's go the alternative way.

Mana: +2

Mana: 2/4

Total experience points: 5

Click to shrink...

Would've been nice to up 'Meditation' to four dots, but I don't have enough EXP. It's too bad that all the meditative philosophy is such boring dogshit – otherwise I would've raised the point for free.

Eh, whatever. At least I know what to strive for.

Frima fell asleep while we were riding in the car. I asked the driver to drop us at some decent hotel and did my best to fight drowsiness until the end of the ride.

Otherwise that nice gentleman would've driven us to a place where even birds don't fly, slit our throats, and get away with our money.

Nah, let the redhead sleep it out. She's the poor one here.

The ride was uneventful and, afterwards, we entered the hotel with an unpronounceable name, shining lamps, and a gloomy porter.

"What do you need?" He grunted at us.

"One room, two beds."

"For how long?"

"For a week."

"One hundred and ten pounds."

The room turned out to be small but relatively clean; so, considering our situation, we weren't doing too bad. The redhead dropped asleep the moment she got near the bed.

I looked out the window and managed to catch a glimpse of a shadow appearing out a dark alley and swiftly disappearing in a manhole.

Time to go to bed, I'm tired too.

***​

The following morning greeted me with a bloody sunbeam trying to burn my eye out through an eyelid. Alright, since I can't use the wand anymore, I need to re-acquire my habit of meditating everywhere. Got a little rusty after a year-and-a-half without old Filch and his detentions.

So, need to concentrate on the feeling of power inside me, find it, touch it…

A calm, constant glow…

My companion found me doing just that and, since I didn't bother with any lotus-poses, she just saw me just sitting on a stool in the sun's light.

"Hey, Harry, the money is in the backpack, right? Hey! Wake up, I'm hungry."

"Fuck your mum's leg, bae. Why the hell are you interrupting someone's meditation?" I flinched and almost fell off the stool.

"Oh, don't be such a show-off. 'Meditating', pfft. Is money in the backpack?"

"Of course they are. Couldn't find them yourself?"

"I am not searching through others' bags. And I don't take other people's money," she said back, pulling out a couple of banknotes.

"Tell that to the fatty whose money you used to ride around all day."

"Go to hell, Potter." She jeered. "You want anything?"

"Something light, a burger or a pizza. Maybe some juice."

"Sure." She was already behind a closed door.

I returned to replenishing my mana.

The redhead returned when I was already done. Time flows funny when you're meditating – I felt like I was sitting there for, at most, twenty minutes, but it was three hours before she woke up and an hour and a half later when she returned.

"You were gone for so long I thought your stomach burst."

"Thanks to your prayers, it didn't."

Frima gave me my order: two burgers and a packet of juice.

Two vegan burgers.

"What? You wanted something light," she said in a surprised tone at my annoyed stare.

"Not this light. It's so light I'm gonna float if I eat it. Get normal ones next time, with meat."

"For breakfast? You sick man… Ugh, look who I'm talking to. Okay, what's the plan?"

That was a really good question. I had no ideas whatsoever and the past day gave no room to make the Five-Year plan.

Well, no time like the present.

"At first, pal, you'll sit tight and hide. From now on, you are fired from your job and dead to your family."

"Hell no. I came to London to study and to work, so I can send money to my parents."

"Then you'll pretend to be a sponsor at some other time. Right now you are dead. And you need lots and lots of luck for them to not try to find you through your relatives."

"Are you sure?"

"Well, I would've started with them. Or maybe they'll decide that you died in that fire, which will be just awesome. Fuck, I should've told Andrew to do it this way!" I slapped my forehead.

"Could he?"

"No idea. It doesn't matter anymore, we missed the opportunity. He won't appreciate us coming back and putting up conditions again. I totally wouldn't have. And I already made him very pissed yesterday."

"Well, he looked calm enough… mostly."

"He's a demon. To him we are just monkeys who fucked up the world that he fought for." I shrugged. "His human half is evidently peace-loving, but how patient is it? And I don't want him blowing off steam through fucking me up."

"And Anila is just like him?"

"She's a completely different demon, an avatar of death, but still a demon. Yes, in many ways she's just like him."

Frima pursed her lips.

"That's all very interesting, but what's next? The things I saw yesterday… I want to be as far away from them as possible."

"And that's exactly what you won't get. You are so stained in this shit that there is no way to come clean. But I'll give you a week off. Then you'll get a new name and find a new job, one that'll help with gathering info."

"Like, a morgue?"

"Sure, if you don't mind being found. A forensic expert or a journalist, something like that would be better. It'll depend on your 'new' education. By the way, yesterday you had too strong of a reaction for someone who supposed to have experienced other people's death so many times."

"Looks like in real life the experience is very different." She smiled nervously. "It was terrifying. Honestly terrifying. That wasn't someone else's death, with me safe and not in danger, that… slaughter happened right in front of me. Like, reach out and you'll grab someone's guts. I'm kind of recovering, but…"

"Swell. It's for your own good to recover as soon as possible. You are nostrils-deep in shit but you've only seen the surface, I hope you understand this. I am not going to drag you to the frontlines, but anything can happen."

She nodded. Not bad, really. I expected worse.

"Hey, what about magic? Will you teach me?"

Oh Santa Maria Lucia, why? Everything was going great.

"Reddie, I might've been able to teach you something, but there's a problem. What is sorcery?"

"Uhm, I don't know… Spells?" She assumed.

I waved it off.

"Leave those to idiots and speech therapists. I mean, yes, you can do sorcery with those too, and if you are to somehow learn sorcery – you'll, most likely, will use spells. But all that is secondary."

"Secondary?"

"Yep. You see, sorcery first and foremost is an act of will."

"I don't get it," she said. When she understood that I wasn't going to say anything, she continued. "Like, you want it, and then you do it?"

"No, that is magick and it's unlearnable. You are not a mage and you will never be one; just like me, most likely. Which is good – mages have their own share of problems. We are talking about sorcery here. An act of will is… a feat, a heroic deed. Have you heard stories about people who turned cars over to save a child trapped underneath? Or about that guy from ancient Greece who ran forty kilometers in full armor to carry the news about the victory at Marathon to the city? Or, another example, a military surgeon who operates on soldiers for days and days without resting or stopping. He shouldn't be standing - much less working - but he just keeps saving lives. That is an act of will."

"And what does sorcery have to do with all that?"

"That is sorcery. Our world has some very non-obvious natural laws in it. For example, there is gravity." I lift the plate a couple centimeters up and then drop it. "An obvious law. And there is control over fire." I lift my palm and ignite a small flame on it. "A non-obvious one."

Mana: 3/4

Click to shrink...

"The trouble is that those laws are hidden, hard to cognize and learning to control them is even harder. We, humans, can do that with our willpower. And this is the most interesting part." I look at her curious, eager face. Yep, totally doesn't like the supernatural. Everyone likes the supernatural. But I sure believe it scared the shit out of you. "How to learn to control them with our willpower? I, personally, have no idea. Humans can do it on a reflex, like, when your boss screams and pisses you off so much, but you clench your fists, steel yourself, and calm down. In principle, this is the same thing as sorcery, but you direct your efforts on your own mind, inwards. That is a natural mechanism. Directing them outwards is a very difficult task."

"But you can do that?" the girl asked quietly.

"I can." And this, reddie, is where I start lying to you. To be more precise, I'll tell you the truth, but not the whole truth; because I can't be bothered to teach someone and I'm not going to tell anyone that my world is a role-playing game. "Because I was born with mana."

"With what?"

"With mana. Or with prana, or with chi, call it whatever you want. There is energy in the world. Often it takes the form of mana, a special kind of energy which some people can accumulate in their bodies. With it feeling those hidden natural laws gets much easier, it happens almost on reflex. And after finding them for the first time, it becomes easier to influence them with willpower. Then you begin to understand just how exactly your willpower affects the world. Every time it is just as difficult as lifting a car, but now you know how to do that; you understand the process and how to do it again. As a matter of fact, it's entirely possible to never learn how to use willpower and to influence the world with only mana. I know sorcerers like that… several hundreds of them, even. But all that is not that important. So, willpower comes first and it is the core of a sorcerer's power. Got it?"

"I think so. That means only those who are born with mana can become sorcerers?"

"Of course not, anyone can. But they need to learn how to influence the world with their willpower without mana helping them. I have no idea how to do that and, therefore, cannot teach you. I never had such a problem. After learning to use willpower, it's even possible to feel mana and accumulate it, but, again, I don't know how to do that for the first time."

"What are spells for, then?" the girl made another attempt.

"A spell is a way to concentrate, to gather your willpower and, on its own, a nice crutch. Let's say you can control fire. Cool, you are a badass sorcerer, now try to not untie your navel while trying to create fire out of nothing. But, if you have a burning lighter in your hand, using the hidden ways to control fire gets much easier. After all, the fire is already in your hand, even if it's not created by you. What next? The world responds to said words and that's a fact. Try saying ten times that everything will be okay in the morning – and something will go wrong during the day, I guarantee it. That was a primitive curse. By combining these methods and the flexibility of their subconsciousness, sorcerers invent new ways to influence the world, write them down in books and pass them onto their students. But without an act of will all of that is useless."

Frima sat there as if I just waterboarded her through my little lecture. Yeah, that was a big bummer for her, but at least I won't have to crack my head teaching her.

I was thinking that for the whole fifteen minutes.

"But still, I want to try," she suddenly said.

I totally offended someone important up there.

"Listen, do you really want to lose a lot of time, nerves and energy without any guarantee of success?"

She nodded.

"Well, bae, I don't. This might turn into years of wasted effort. What I'll get from this? Nothing, most likely. And, come on, do I look like I have a beard, a pair of glasses and a tweed jacket hidden somewhere? Why won't you spend time on a firing range instead and learn how to shoot the gun? I'll even give it to you for good if you can hit ten targets out of ten from twenty meters."

"Harry, I will learn how to shoot, sure. But, since my life went sideways because of you, you must at least try."

"Frima, let's talk without this girl bullshit." I cringed. "Yes, I played some role in that, but your life fell apart when you made a deal with a demon and the remains turned to ash when you spoke the divine name of another demon. Don't wrap me into this, I saved your ass more than I screwed you over."

"But why can't we at least try? You have nothing to do for this whole week anyway." She said with despair in her voice.

"Because there won't be any gain from it, that's why. I won't get anything, even a loyal subordinate – you belong to Mag in body and soul." I massaged my nose.

This is starting to really annoy me.

"Well, we could choose not to tell her about this. She won't know that I have value and won't pay attention to me. Then I'll be able to support you."

"Why the hell do you even want to learn it anyway? You didn't look that impressed with my skills before."

"Because yesterday there weren't half-a-dozen butchered corpses in my home!" the girl yelled out.

I'm getting pissed off and eager to feel her face with my fist. Nobody made me so angry ever since I talked to Ron Weasley that last time and it's a bloody achievement.

By the way, about using willpower to calm down.

Willpower: 6/10

Click to shrink...

"Alright, let's do it this way. We have a week before I go to collect our new papers and we start working. If, during this week, we achieve at least some progress, however meager – I'll keep teaching you. If not, then we will never talk about this again. Deal?"

"Deal!"

…Who could've known that she'd make it?

A/N: Turns out, I have Chapters 17 and 18 translated on my flash-drive, I suspect I did those back at February. That's good.
Also, I want to thank FatBaldBastard for beta-ing the chapter. He did a great job.

 

[Akuma-Heika]

"Because yesterday there weren't half-a-dozen butchered corpses in my home!" the girl yelled out.

I'm getting pissed off and eager to feel her face with my fist.

Click to shrink...

I'm impressed how human you are making Harry. When he encounters a person who wants to learn for very similar reasons why he did, he gets pissed off that they do. Excellent work.

 

[Skyfish]

This chapter came out a lot faster than I imagined lol

 

[Bland Eggplant]

I'm impressed how human you are making Harry. When he encounters a person who wants to learn for very similar reasons why he did, he gets pissed off that they do. Excellent work.

Click to shrink...

I'm just a translator. I didn't 'make' Harry to act in any way. The author did and he did a great job.

 

[Bland Eggplant]

When I agreed to teach her, I had a very agreeable plan in my head. I'd give the woman difficult, useless tasks and then sit back and watch her waste time and energy. I'd also give her some lectures about sorcery, supernatural creatures, and the various politics of the World of Darkness. I'd even gave her some actually useful knowledge, but I didn't know where to start.

We sat in a café in one of London's many parks.

"Alright, reddie. First of all, we gotta find out what kind of sorcerer you are."

"What, they are different?"

"Naturally, they ain't made at factories… aside from Hogwarts. The sorcerer, first and foremost, is a method and a resonance."

Frima gave a frustrated look.

"What's that even supposed to mean?"

"If you keep interrupting me, I'll send you to Tibet to look for enlightenment with the mountain goats and you'll stay there until you become one."

"But I really don't understand," the girl huffed.

"Then listen to my wisdom. Resonance is like your individual handwriting. The special quirk of your power, your affinity in sorcery. Take me, for example – my resonance is flowing light."

"Ah, those flashes when you do magic. Don't all sorcerers have those?"

"No, it's like with fingerprints. One of my mates, Dumbledore, creates gusts of fire when he casts spells. The resonance doesn't close off any areas of sorcery to you, but – I believe – if something correlates with your resonance, it will be easier to master."

"Like what?"

"Don't piss me off, will ya? I'm getting to that. There are a lot of resonances, but we can roughly divide them into three groups: movement, permanence, and breakdown. Dynamic, static, and entropic. Let's take, say, two sorcerers; one of them has a dynamic resonance and the other has an entropic one. They both cast some fiery spell-thing. The first one will get a bright, hot, intense flame; the other, a weaker, very smokey fire, but its embers will stay hot for much longer. Naturally, it will be easier for the first sorcerer to master the Path of fire than for the second one. And then we get other, smaller differences. Take two sorcerers with an entropic resonance; one's got a 'rotting' resonance, but the other, it's 'shining'. The curses cast by the first sorcerer will have a higher chance of giving a disease, while the second sorcerer will more likely cause blindness with his."

"What do you mean by 'higher chance'?" Frima asked, dubious. "Isn't the result predictable?"

"If you use some specific curse – then yes, but if you want to just kinda lazily curse someone and then trust your luck – the differences will be very obvious."

"So you just have to use the specific spells and the result will always be the one you want?"

"It's always the one you want. I explained this already – a resonance is just a sorcerer's writing style. The method makes all the difference." I sighed tiredly. "Frima, interrupt me one more time and we'll be done for today. You can ask your questions later."

"Got it."

"So, methods. You see, there are a lot of magic types. Say you want to predict the future. How are you going to do that? Find a spirit and scream at it until it starts answering? Create a horoscope based on the stellar bodies' movement? Get some LSD and see a colorful picture of the coming future? Or math out an incredibly difficult analysis formula and look at the results? All of these are methods of sorcery, but they all are so different that the sorcerer often ends up trapped in the borders set by his method. For example, you call upon a spirit of knowledge to foresee the future. Can you then curse someone with a multi-houred ritual and a lot of latin chanting? No. Well, you can, but the methods are so different that you'll never know beforehand what kind of result you'll get. You, an experienced sorceress, will use a method in which you are barely a novice. And because of that you cursing someone will be the same calling upon a spirit, but this time to a malicious one, who will harm the target for you."

I decided to take a short break – after all, if my tea gets cold, I'll be very disappointed. I really don't like being disappointed, so I gotta drink it. And besides, I'm the boss here, let the girl sit and wait for me with attentiona and respect I deserve.

"And here is where we have the problem. Usually, a mentor teaches their student their own method. A shaman teaches a shaman, a black mage teaches a black mage, a priest teaches a priest, and so on. I cannot teach you my method. Wait, don't get pissy yet." I stopped the girl who already prepared to be offended. "The thing is, my method is sorta natural. I've always instinctively known how to use it, nobody taught it to me. It's not even a method, more like a," I looked at my character sheet at the edge of my perception, "a constant hallucination; thanks to which I always know what I can and cannot do. A psychological anomaly that appeared on its own. And I have no idea how to shake up your cellar and get the same result, not that I care or want to. So, bae, you gotta find your method on your own. I'll help, of course; I still have some knowledge left from my education. But first, you need to do this – think about what resonance you could potentially have. I'll expect the answer by tomorrow morning, so you have enough time to think about it. Meanwhile, I'll deal with the Gable's family remains, I gotta find out where the mother moved to. Any questions?"

"How am I supposed to figure out what my resonance is? I don't know any spells and I probably can't just fantasize about it, right?"

"Of bloody course not. Imagine yourself becoming a sorceress, an experienced and powerful one. What resonance would you have? That's what I want to know. The most important thing here is to not get lost in the fantasies. I sure like to imagine myself being a badass mofo, standing on a high tower with, like, storms and lightning all around. The idea is awesome, yeah, but it's a fantasy. I don't feel it, it's not right. The right picture for me has a lot of moving, flowing lights in it. I'm gonna tell you right now – determining resonance like this sucks ass, but we gotta start somewhere."

"Alright, alright," the girl sighed. "I'll try. Another question then – since all the methods are, as you said, essentially the same sorcery, why even choose one? Can't you, like, just do magic without all that nonsense?"

"How to answer that… Let's say you want to learn self-defense and find yourself a trainer, right? He will not teach you how to kick ass and break faces 'without nonsense', he will teach you a particular style: boxing, karate, kung-fu, sambo, those funny dances, whatstheirname… ah, right, kapoeira. Same with sorcery. Go read about different styles of doing magic and decide which one interests you more? Like, reading holy texts, Voodoo, or some other eastern bullshit. Look it up."

"Where would I even look it up, I don't know any sorcerers except for you. I can't just go to a library."

"You can and you will, there ain't that many options. So." I slapped the table, finished my tea in one go and stood up. "I'm gone. See you in the morning."

I had some fried-up cultists' neighbors to interrogate. There was a thought to visit a police station, but I would've needed to crawl everywhere under the Cloak, and it's very hard to get the documents you need even if you are invisible. Well, at least I thought so; who knows how the paragons of the law keep their papers?

***​

Time flied during the investigation. First I talked with the neighbors and learned that poor Wesley's mother died hell knows how many years ago and his old man, Frank, lived with a new wife. I also learned that said old man changed a lot in recent times, became all moody and way too nervous. Yep, didn't doubt that one bit.
On the next day, I bought copies of all the local newspapers and carefully analyzed the lot. While the parts about two fires and a grieving widow were easy to find, there was nothing about her current whereabouts. I then visited the morgue while wearing the Cloak – Frima had assumed that since Wesley was delivered to her, his father might follow the same path - so papers concerning the two could possibly be found at her old job. As it turned out, Gable senior was indeed delivered there, but the paper trail was already cleaned up; I didn't find anything aside from notes sayings Frank died from severe burns. No mentions of his, uh, additions; there was nothing about claws, extra eyes, or any of the rest. The doctor couldn't possibly have missed that.
All of the information regarding his wife started and ended with the name 'Helen', but I knew that already. I also knew her phone number, left 'just in case'. I tried to look her up in the phonebook, but it wasn't listed, since she used a mobile phone.
Damn you, scientific progress!

Looks like I have to go to the police anyway. There must be at least some trails left and I don't have any other ideas. After confirming the results of my mostly worthless investigation, I decided to visit the coppers by the end of the week and went off to visit the neighbors once again. Just as I thought, the police left them some contact info in case if they remember something.
I was forced to beg for a long time, even gave out several pounds, before the fat fuck stopped telling the 'little shit' to fuck off and finally went to grab his notebook.

The thing I got from that – fat people are assholes. Dursleys were assholes, this bribe-begging fattie is an asshole, I even suspect that Voldemort, while still alive, was so fat he couldn't walk without magic.
Although, Dumbledore kinda falls out of the scheme, but he eats candy by the handfuls, so all the instincts of a fat slob are there. Maybe there is something wrong with his metabolism? He's not a young boy anymore.
There is no way in hell that Beardie is not an asshole.

Nevertheless, I found out which station I should go to for the info. I hope I won't have to visit even worse places after this.

***​

Meanwhile, Frima was learning the complicated craft of sorcery. In the morning she answered that an image of a calm, somber, and displeased witch, surrounded by green smoke and shadows, struck close to home. Her answer seemed kinda similar to Gingema.
Well, I thought about it and came to the conclusion that a normal person probably wouldn't fantasize such things about themselves, so maybe she really did guess her resonance? In that case, it's something entropic-poisonous. We'll know for sure later, but for now we gotta work with that hypothesis.

Entropic resonance correlates with controlling luck, curses, shadows, and prophesizing - and I know fuck-all about that.
That is, aside from one thing in particular - the Path of Fiendfyre. On its own, it does not correlate with entropy, but some of its modifications do - about which I also don't understand shit. We gotta start somewhere, however. If she can learn even basic control over fire, she'll understand how to control her power, and then I'll be able to teach her about all the hardships of mastering curses, predictions, and all that crap.

I even would've recommended her to start with the resonating Paths right away, but I have no idea where to start with them. Buy lottery tickets? How would I determine if that was her gift or just dumb luck? Make her guess what a random playing card will be? Same thing.

Then we started thinking really hard about the method. The easiest way would've been to teach Frima Hogwarts-style, with me having some spare wands and knowing something about the stuff. The problem is, Frima does not accumulate mana, which means that finding her a fitting wand through the classical 'wave it and watch the sparks' method won't work.
Most importantly, however, is that sorcerers monitor the usage of wands. I can now say this with all assuredness, since no one came to retrieve the unused wands after all this time.
In other words, I need to modify Hogwarts' instructions for other tools. Although - prophesizing doesn't require a wand, right?
Hey, it's not so bad after all.

Frima, after reading some mystical bullshit in the library, chose as her methods Voodoo - which I, again, know fuck-all about - and ancient Judean demonology, a.k.a. Solomon's Key.
Surprisingly, there were mentions of that in Hogwarts' library - as a very exotic way of killing yourself.

"Tell me, honestly, do you like your job so much that, since you can't butcher corpses anymore, you decided to become one?"

"What's the problem? All of our problems come from demons, right? This is the way to control them!"

"Alright, cool, just hold off on starting for a couple of hours, I need to get to the mainland first."

"Can you just explain it properly, without all this?"

I scratched my chin. Becoming Dumbledore's puppet started to look like not that bad of an idea.
"You see, reddie, you gotta understand demons' nature. They are the creatures that - at the very beginning of it all, when there 'was the Word' - existed to fulfill a specific function. I mean, they LITERALLY were physical laws. If right now the sun is a giant ball of burning gas, then in the ancient times it was a powerful angel who illuminated the world with his glow. Lightning bolts did not happen from the electrostatic stuff happening in the clouds, those were the heavenly heralds blowing their pipes. Solomon's method is based on you being more pious than them and having a more divine presence. Then you can order them around - by knowing their names, their weaknesses, and pointing out to them that God thinks you're a more deserving man than them. Notice, 'deserving man', Solomon created his method only for the dick-bearers. So, you gotta be a saintly male Jew, know the name and the weaknesses of every demon you want to use, and not make any mistakes in a several-hours-long ritual, otherwise, you will be left one-on-one with a very unhappy biblical monstrosity and with nothing stopping it from ripping you apart. And, to end this whole thing, I am pretty sure that Solomon wasn't a sorcerer, but a mage. That's a completely different weight category. So, wanna do it before or after dinner?"

"Alright, I got it, I was wrong. What do you want to start with then?"

"As weird as it sounds, miss Gillan, I want to start with a very similar field. Hogwarts' sorcery is kinda based on that method, after all."

"So, we're gonna summon demons? Of course, when it's you who is proposing it, it immediately becomes a good idea. Wonderful."

"Don't jerk me around, not while I'm at this age. Hogwarts' sorcerers were pissy little losers but their pots were bubbling just right. As I understand it, they too used the methods similar to Solomon's Key. Look, here are our winged friends. They just created the world and started to control it. A flood there, a dry year there, turn Loth's family into pillars of salt… Or was that after the war? Doesn't matter. The thing is, when they still were the big things, they had Names. Strictly speaking, they were their Names, while at the same time being both powerful entities and natural laws. If you know the Name – you can bind an angel (or a demon) to your will and control the aspect of nature they represented. Well, if you can force a demon to obey, that is."

"That I understand, but you are talking about the same demon summoning that you just warned me about."

"No. Look, demons lost the war and ended up in the Abyss. Angels too disappeared somewhere. But the World Mechanism is still there. In other words, the system got an auto-pilot. Now you can't control, say, all types of metals just by knowing one Name; now you need to decipher every command for that auto-pilot, which makes a spell. A certain result needs a certain spell. To control the air in ancient times you only needed one demon - you need a thousand spells to do that today. The method isn't that efficient and the spells are generally weaker than Solomon's Key, but at least your ass will be relatively unmolested."

"So, what's the problem? You know the spells of that… Hogwarts, right?"

"It's not that simple. By using the Names as the foundation, you get a lot of minuses. A spell is tied to a certain method of casting. In other words, you can scream 'Wingardium Leviosa' all day long, but, without a wand and some very specific movements, nothing will ever happen. And without willpower, of course. It'd be like saying the words with a wrong pronunciation – the Great Mechanism will not understand the command and, therefore, will not accept it. We need to adapt the spell for something other than a wand.We need to adapt the spell for something else, not a wand. I kinda jogged my noggin over here and maybe managed to adapt one spell – 'Cereus Inflammare'. The words itself are useless here, there are no spoken Names in the 'Inflammare' series. Every Name in it is described by visualizing the secret symbol and the wand pattern, a cascade of three movements from the wand's roll axis - which must be pointed at the target - followed by a quick wave upwards. The movement pattern symbolizes flames. You must also imagine the seal of a powerful demon during the entire process." I showed her a piece of paper with a seal of Duke Haures painted on it. It's surprising what kind of stuff you can find in normal bookstores. "Here, in the circle, is his Name and you must never say it out loud. The majority of demons, whose power Hogwarts' sorcerers use, have long since escaped the Abyss and will hear if you call them by Name. That's why all seals for the spells in Hogwarts are being taught without using Names. By compensating for the inaccuracy of the image with mana, a wand with a magical core, and a detailed command said out loud, that 'Cereus Inflammare' spell can become equivalent to saying the Name.If I hadn't already known about Solomon's Key and done so serious digging in Hogwarts' library, then I never would have found this information. But anyway, the seal with the Name in it - filled with your willpower - will make the Mechanism respond. You pretend to be a duke of hell and make the world obey your will. And the cascade of wand movements we will replace with…"

While somewhat incredulous with myself that I was actually doing this, I pulled various items out of my backpack: a pack of cigarettes, a candle, rosemary, wormwood, juniper, and a few other components for making incense.

"…movements of these cigs."

"Really? You want me to use a cigarette instead of a magic wand?

"Come on, it's the symbolism that matters. The flaming scepter, the Name of the duke who rules over fire, the movement of the tool that symbolizes burning, these are all viable components. Naturally, you won't be able to cast just anything with a cig, but for something fire-related? It's a sure thing.

"Then what's all this grass for? I get the candle, it's for learning to start a fire, but the hay?"

"It's for stimulating your prophesizing abilities; you should be decent at it if we haven't messed up with guessing your resonance. But that's for later, we only need some rue at the start. Don't look at me like that, I'm the head clown in this circus. The rue's smoke can help you fall into a sort of trance. If I am not mistaken in imagining all this, that should help with concentrating your willpower on the seal."

Frima shook her head, not trusting this a bit, but took the cigs.

"I don't smoke, just so you know."

"And that's smart – cigs on the islands are fucking trash. If you manage to light up the candle, we'll continue with something less health-damaging."

"How do I even concentrate that willpower of yours?"

"Well, sunshine, there is no manual. It's completely personal. Although… what do you feel when trying to interrogate the dead?"

"Uh, exhaustion, maybe? When I'm going to watch someone's death, at the start I feel sort of an uplift, as if I'm giving myself a slap and saying to myself 'Yes, you can do this. You can do everything.'. And then I just stop caring and there's only apathy, but that's after watching the memories."

"So that's how it feels for you… Welp, that makes it easier. Try to feel this way," I said, while placing the rue around and lighting it up.

The System reminded me about using a Mana point and the room started filling with the smoke of the burnt plant. The candle was on the table, the cigarette was between Frima's teeth, and with a wave of my hand, I lit the latter.

"Listen here, reddie, the paper with the seal is right in front of you. Memorize it well, picture it in your imagination with all the details. Ready? Good. Take the cig into your hand and make these movements." I demonstrated to her the cascade of the spell that was taught at Hogwarts to first-years. Eh, if only I was at the same calm place after meeting Fluffy for the first time! Should've started visiting the library earlier, but, well, what can you do? "Wrong! In both the first and last moments the cig's end must be pointing at the candle. Yep, like that. When performing the last movement, keep the duke's symbol in your head, concentrate on it and try to replicate those sensations you told me about."

"Didn't work, ack," the girl started coughing.

Yeah, we smoked out the place pretty bad. I hope they won't chase us out of the hotel.
Eh, it doesn't matter, we have enough money to carry on for a couple of days – it's almost over.

"Bloody hell, of course it didn't work. No one makes it work on their first time, especially without a normal wand and on willpower alone. But you have an advantage, two even. One, you already know how to influence the world with your will. And two – you have me, and I am telling you that the method is correct. Sit here, hypnotise the candle, I'll go clear my head."

Three days passed like this. On the fourth day, Frima, half-crazed from all the smoke and cigs, spent her time in a park, recovering after Harry Potter's Cram School of Sorcery. She had continued to fail to light the fire and so ate her grief away with ice cream. The idea of her becoming a sorceress didn't look that good anymore, but she had the grit, which I approved of.
While I was asking around Gable's neighbors for the last time and - unfortunately - realized that I did need to go to the police, she returned from the park and, as she told me later, just automatically repeated the movements without burning the rue.

And the candle lit up.
Then it stopped burning, but the sorceress-in-training already got the principle and, after a couple more tries, could repeat the effect at will, when I returned.

"Well, what can I say? Congratulations. You've taken your first step on the path of sorcery. By the way, did you notice that the flame was not normal for a candle, but rather a lighter?"

"Uh… It's a little blue? And very calm, it doesn't flicker at all."

"Yep. You know what that means? That means that your resonance is not fucking entropic and certainly isn't poisonous. No smell, no thick smoke. It's a static one, I tell you. Can't say more, though… But that's alright, we'll return to it when you learn other areas of sorcery. Methinks we are done with tobacco, fire sorcery, and all the good things for now."

Experience points: 1

Total experience points: 6

Click to shrink...

Frima nodded and started cleaning the herbs from the table. We left the candle in peace, but the cigs went right into the trash bin. Damn, we really did worsen the room's smell, huh?

"Hey, why didn't the maids scream at you for this after all this time?"

"Because you are now forty pounds poorer," Frima shrugged.

"Hm. Yeah, makes sense. Was the right thing to do, in principle, but if you touch my money again without asking or, at least, telling me later – I'll teach you how to cast a shield spell. And I'll test it personally, with my lightning. Got it?"

"Hey, come on," the girl waved it away, "it's better than moving forty times."

"Alright, reddie, let's clear up something. We are not friends and we are not a family. We are colleagues, comrades at best, and we have a common target – the Earthbound, and I don't see you doing anything to help with this. Know the bloody limits."

"Listen here, you little shit. I didn't call for you," the girl got all riled up, "and I didn't ask for you to burn my flat. Maybe you don't remember, but it was you who came to me for help."

"Hoh, what a funny tale. You know, since I am so forgetful, maybe I'll just open the door and your Insulted Majesty will get the fuck out?"

Frima looked out the window, then at me, angrily, mumbled something like 'little asshole' and left to read the library book about prophesizing methods. Well, I too had things to do, so I left for the police station.

***​

I needed a certain, judging by the card, officer F. L. Jefferson, with him curating the case about the burned building. There was a thought to just ask about a meeting, like, I had some info he might use, and then, after finding his workplace, go away and return at night. However, things turned out to be much easier – there was a screen in the lobby, with workplaces of certain workers on it. Jefferson was on it too.

The police station was filled to the brim with polizeis, with some sprinkled on top, so I needed to either wait until night, which was preferable, or somehow divert their attention. Like, turn on the fire alarm, or something. Maybe even ignite something.
But then it'll be three fires in a row, even connected to each other… So, I waited until dark.

At night everything went smoothly, as if gliding on butter. The station was empty and 'Alohomora' opened all the locks I needed. After surfing through the documents for some time, I found the casefile about Gable's house arsony.

It turned out to be quite a read.

Not a single hint about supernatural, it even looked like they were going to archive the case. Frank Gable was blamed for the arson. According to the documents, after his son's death he started smoking, drinking heavily, and, as a result, one time got so drunk that he didn't even react to the fire caused by his own cigarette. The Aurors were presented as unknown people with signs of heavy drinking, and with Helen Gable's testimony saying that her husband suddenly found some new drinking buddies just before the fire.

The painted picture was so sure and non-conflicting that I was almost completely confident about one thing – the cult either hand-feeds the police the party line or there are enough cultists in the force itself that they don't have to. Although the last one is debatable, the police are just too useful of a tool to monopolize. Vampires, mages, demons – all of them would've declared war with the organization that started controlling the police more than themselves. The officers are probably just getting a hefty addition to their paychecks for not asking unnecessary questions.

But, most importantly, I finally learned Missus Gable's address. It really was an unusual discovery, because at the current moment she lived in a flat given to her by the company 'New Architecture Industries' as a part of the social package she got due to her work contract. The woman herself was a company worker and not just a common manager, but the H.R. head. By the way, the good old daddy Gable was the head of security at the same company.

Looks like I found the lead!

Experience points: 2

Total experience points: 8

Click to shrink...

Other than that, there was nothing for me to do at the station, although I took the documents with me. If the police notice them missing and start digging into the cult, that would be nice. If not, these papers will be more useful with me than sitting in an archive.

Gotta start looking into that 'New Architecture Industries'. Where are they located, what are they doing, that sort of thing. Heh, I really could've used the Internet right now, but it won't become widespread or commonly available anytime soon. I'll need to do it the old-fashioned way – through asking people and personally going to places.
However, I just don't think that a visit by a thirteen-year-old brat will be correctly understood by the company's security. I could've sent reddie there, but since there were two cultists in the company - at some important positions, no less - we can safely assume that the place is crawling with them. And they are probably still looking for Frima.

Hm. Alright, I can think about that later. Right now I needed to gather some things and go to Andrew; the horned merchant should've prepared everything already.

***​

In the next morning, I rode away to the demon, after leaving my companion back at the hotel studying an astrologycal atlas. Since she has a static resonance, she should learn the types of predictions that involve solid, describable schema: astrology, cards, runes, things like that.
And, for God's sake, let her do something useful – the girl was way too pleased ever since she lit up that candle, I'm envious.

Andrew's welcome wasn't as warm as usual, but, considering what I ordered, that was understandable. This time we dealt with the business quickly; I gave him the packaged meat and he gave back the folder with papers, new passports, reddie's diploma, my metrics (the whole fucking world wants to remind me that I'm a kid) and the case with forty-five thousand pounds inside.

"Pleasure doing business with you, Andrew."

"Yes, yes, I do my job well, even if the client is an asshole." The Devourer frowned. "Now get the fuck out of here."

"As you say. You now know where I live, so don't be afraid to call. By the way, how do I call you? I don't want you bitching again about not warning first."

After saying goodbye to the demon, I picked Frima up and we left for our new residence. On the road the girl was looking through the papers and at some point started laughing like a looney, forcing the taxi driver to look back in surprise.

"What's up?"

"Nothing… cousin." Frima's smile widened.

"What?"

"Yep, it says so in here. I'm now Vera Palmer and you are my cousin Sam Brody."

"Bloody- he's fucking with me! I asked for a normal name, goddammit! Alright, let those be for the wide public, but I'd rather stay Harry Potter. Especially in front of sorcerers. However, you, ahem, Vera, have nothing else to do – gotta find a job with these documents. Get used to it."

"I sure will, but the name's kinda weird. Sounds American. Although, nah. Doesn't matter."

Our flat was on the twelfth floor of a multistory building and allowed us to enjoy the view, even with the house not being on the shore. A spacious place. It ain't Hogwarts, of course, but will do as a temporary base.

Now I just need to not fuck up this place, too.

 

[Birdsie]

Is there gonna be another update anytime soon? Or should I go to the original?

 

[Bland Eggplant]

Is there gonna be another update anytime soon? Or should I go to the original?

Click to shrink...

At some point (when I'm done with some things) - there will be.

I am mostly waiting for the response from the author. Need it for SB... and the dude wasn't online since April 18th. Makes me worried. Really worried.

EDIT: Also, you should always check the original first. Translations are good, but... They are not the original, which is usually superior.

 

[Birdsie]

EDIT: Also, you should always check the original first. Translations are good, but... They are not the original, which is usually superior.

Click to shrink...

Thanks, mate. I'm pretty... decent, in Russian? I've been learning it since middle school but I was never quite confident enough to actually read books/online fiction in it, but I suppose this is a really good reason to try.

 

[Bland Eggplant]

What does a company look like when the workers worship an eldritch monstrosity?
It looks like an exemplary taxpayer and a very successful moneymaking mechanism.

That was the total of my knowledge after six days of investigation; it seemed that finding anything actually helpful was going to take a lot longer.

'New Architecture Industries' was a large construction company that barged into the world of big money barely five years ago. After the retirement of the previous CEO - someone named 'L. Johnson' - their list of services greatly expanded. I don't know what was the company doing under the old boss, but now they were building everything that could be built - and I mean everything. According to their brochure, they had built residential houses, office buildings, administrative buildings, two theaters, laid a lot of roads and sewer tunnels, and, as the cherry on top, had constructed an entire stadium in Greenwich.

They did all of this and no one has ever sued them. Over the course of five years, to reiterate. Not one building behind schedule, not one failed project, and not even a single complaint on file. Do they hire robots in there?
Now, I understand that when complaints do arise, the hairy paw of the new director, Henry Mills, gives out a stack of crunchy banknotes with the Queen's portrait to certain people. But to work without any complaints at all?

"Listen, why are we even poking the hornets' nest? Anila asked us to just find the cultists' lair, right?"

"Well, on one hand, Reddie, you are right. But think about it like this: here I come to Mag and tell her that all the cultists work in 'NAI'. And then she'll ask me: 'Are you sure that all of them work there? Also, Harry, where is their altar? Where is the reliquary?' And that's it, we'll return here, to this very place, but now we've shat ourselves in front of the boss-lady."

"Weren't you bragging that she isn't your boss?" Frima asked snidely.

"She's holding on to something that belongs to me. I want it back." I frowned. "But that's for later. What's your diploma?"

She dug into the papers and soon answered:

"Jurisprudence, Sheffield Hallam. Wow!"

"Is it, like, any good?"

"No idea, but I know nothing about these law-and-order things. Almost nothing."

"Almost?"

"Uh, yeah." The girl stopped for a second. "There was that one time… Well, this whole mess started with it. I rolled over a woman that one time, both investigation and court declared me innocent. So, I kinda understand the system from a defendant's position."

"Wait a second, what do you mean 'started with it'?"

The redhead sighed, looked at me, and then asked in a colorless tone:

"You won't just let it go, right?"

I raised my eyebrow as if to answer with 'you ask stupid questions'.

"Well, aren't you a curious little asshat. Alright. So, my conscience started torturing me. It didn't care that I was innocent and that the woman herself ran in front of the car from behind a billboard. That was the first dead person in my life, get it? No, there also were, like, dead relatives and stuff, but that was different. I started coming to that woman's grave, my studies went downhill… I was falling apart, in short. And then, in the graveyard, one tired-looking Indian woman approached me and offered to help."

"Ah, now I get it. And how much did it cost?"

"As much as needed."

"But still?"

"I wanted to talk to that woman and ask for forgiveness. That's all."

Wow. There aren't that many things that can genuinely impress me, but this, right here, did. Firstly, it's bloody awesome, I think. Secondly, it's really fucking stupid. Not in the sense that Frima wished for some bullshit – everyone is weird in their own way – but because Mag can order souls around, including telling a soul to be nice and to say that she forgives her murderer.
I wonder, was it Magdiel fooling Frima or genuine forgiveness from the dead hag?
Well, not my business and not my problem.

"Alright, the memory minute just ended. Since you have a diploma that you can only nail to a wall, let's do it this way – try to find a job in some local newspaper."

"I'm a lawyer, not a journalist." The girl waved her diploma in front of my face.

"Well, don't go to 'Times' then; go to some smaller paper, where they take non-professionals too."

"And why would they want me there? I don't know anything about journalism. Won't they just kick me out a week later?"

"Think about it. If you start having problems with getting the job, we still have some cash we can use to make it easier. Next, you don't understand jack in the job, that's true. If only someone powerful was there to tell you where to go and where look for interesting events..."

"Let me guess, it would be you?" the girl huffed.

"No, it wouldn't be me. You're a witch, stupidhead. Read the stars' will, burn a lottery ticket for luck, or whatever – and you'll get a dozen sensations lying around. Who was the one prophesizing to me with tea leaves that I'll find happiness in an unexpected place?"

"You didn't find it yet." She skeptically shook her head.

"Then what about those twenty pounds I found near the store?"

She had little faith in her sorcerous powers. I, to be honest, not only 'had little faith' – I knew for a fact they weren't working. However, she had a hold of the basics and had learned to consciously control her willpower. It will all come with lots and lots of practice.
Yeah, I didn't teach her for long. A pity I can't teach her my method.

"When you get the journalism job, start quietly and carefully asking around about 'NAI', especially anything that's out of the public eye. The keyword here is 'quietly'! Don't name the company, don't ask their workers, only the reti… No, leave those alone too. But I need the list of their projects, of the people they ever worked together with and their history. Get to work, minion!"

***

Thus we began our work. Well, more precisely, Frima's work started, or Miss Palmer's, as she was named in her papers. The girl managed to find a job at the 'Independent', which she insists she did without bribing anyone. Counting through the contents of my money bag was too much work, so I decided to believe her.
I probably should've taken the money and stored it in a bank or something. But it wasn't that urgent.

So, the newspaper. Frima and I had the plan of the investigation and it consisted of five points, each of which could help uncover some 'NAI' leads.

First of all, there was the old CEO, the unknown Mister L. Johnson. We didn't know anything about him except for his name. We also needed to go chasing after the clients, both satisfied and not. Although, to be more precise, 'NAI' had zero dissatisfied clients, but there were those who had some… trouble after the partnership ended. So, we still had what we could call "unsatisfied" customers.
Those three items were bad for one reason – they meant talking to people and I already learned that people do not like being honest with me. This is where the twenty-to-twenty-five-year-old journalist will help me out! The perfect candidate for cautious questioning. If only the demon's servants weren't looking for her…

Well, those who don't risk only drink water.

There were two more directions worth exploring. First of all, looking over the stuff 'NAI' specialized in – utility systems. Roads, sewers, what are the other types? Hell if I know, we'll start with these ones. Uvir-Dasab started with them too and that's certainly for a reason.

The second one is more interesting. When the company changed its line of work (or, more precisely, its spectrum of services) there was a reason for that too. We needed to look over the buildings they made after the re-branding.

There also was an idea to dig into the taxmen's reports, but either I won't find anything or I'll learn that the company isn't all that prime and proper… which is not a sign of the demon's presence.

I was going to visit all those places personally, sometimes wearing the Cloak and sometimes with all the bling. But first I needed to know what exactly to visit, so I sat quiet and stealthy for one more month, looked over Hogwarts' library in my dreams, and waited for Frima to give me a target.

***

The first clue, as expected, was mister Lawrence Johnson, ex-CEO of 'Johnson's Utility Systems', who was currently living his last years in a small flat of 25 square meters. The man was younger than forty, but he was chained to a wheelchair after catching some sort of an exotic disease. The doctors managed, albeit with great difficulty, to cure it, but his legs gave out as a result.

That time Frima returned in the late evening.

"So?"

"It's all so fucked, Harry." She sighed heavily. "The man's practically made of steel. He founded a large company from zero, looked over three old relatives, and was paying off a loan for the house after his wife died."

"Should've started even earlier then. A long time ago, in a…"

"Oh, shut up." The girl waved it away. "You just didn't see him. All of his relatives are dead, he lost his house and lives in some flophouse, he can't walk and yet he still holds onto his life! A very strong man, with a good sense of humor."

"Did you learn anything useful or did you just go there to look at the badass cripple?"

"Yes, I did. In short, the company was created under him, but fast growth started roughly six years ago. He specifically mentioned Henry Mills as a very results-producing worker."

"Isn't he the new director?"

"He is. Johnson also mentioned that Mills himself was a little dumb and lazy, but then he suddenly gained almost animalistic intuition for profits and lucky deals. You know, Lawrence…"

"Lawrence?"

"Lawrence liked the man. He said that Mills was very charming."

"So that 'ironman' of yours gave him a good review?"

"I didn't say that. According to him, Mills wasn't very picky about his methods. When he was a foreman – he often saved money by building from cheap materials instead of those mentioned in the budget. He got caught on that sometimes… at first, then these complaints disappeared."

"Interesting."

"It gets better. Doctors couldn't understand what kind of disease Lawrence got. One day his legs just started turning into rotting mincemeat. He showed them to me, after being, supposedly, cured, but… Let me put it this way – I am really surprised they didn't amputate them. I saw a lot when I worked in the morgue, but I never saw someone's flesh so… disfigured. And all that with his wounds already healed." Frima shivered.

"Shouldn't he have been researched under all the microscopes in the kingdom?"

"As weird as it is – no. Lawrence has no idea what was going on and thinks that it's common, but his case didn't interest anyone, despite being obviously unusual. The doctors only healed the symptoms, the effect of which was very debatable. The treatment quickly ate through his insurance and he was forced to…"

"Sell the company, gotcha. And Mills bought it. What a lucky coincidence, nothing left to say." I scratched the back of my head. "And then it all went downhill, right? He didn't have enough money and was forced to leave the hospital and go home. Then he couldn't pay off the loan anymore and was forced to move out to his new flophouse."

"Yes, just as you said." The girl nodded. "So, did you learn what you wanted?"

"Yep. Good girl, go buy yourself a chocolate bar." I said magnanimously. "The story by itself might be a string of coincidences, but that unknown illness happening so luckily for the director – that looks like something right up our alley. It isn't confirmed yet, but let's think of Mills as another servant of our infernal friend. Just in case."

***

One week after that I got a list of all projects 'NAI' ever completed. And they completed a lot! Mostly laying and repairing sewers, but the list was very long, that brochure didn't mention even a tenth of the real stuff. After hearing Johnson's story, finding out about the four new hospitals they built was extra funny. One may wonder how they accomplished all that, but then one remembers that the whole company is under the demon's control and it starts to make sense.

After looking through the list, I divided it into four groups: buildings that are actively functioning (they were the ones mentioned in the brochure), buildings that are barely functioning, abandoned buildings and destroyed buildings. While Frima was working with her own list of clients, I went sightseeing to all of Uvir-Dasab's landmarks.

My first target was very simple – roads. Yes, 'NAI' was building roads and they were building a lot of them. Investigating those gives me a single result – nothing. Nothing suspicious, unknown or unpleasant. Ideally flat, wide and capable of functioning without maintenance for decades. That got me really surprised and I spent two days cracking my brain in search of some hidden danger but didn't achieve anything. In the end, I was forced to spit on it and paint a large question mark near the word 'roads' on my investigation board.
Frima teased me about it all the time, but I wanted an investigation board ever since I was a kid.
For some reason, the redhead called it 'the nutjob's board'.

That was the last time I used the board, even with it still hanging on the wall. Yeah, that was a bad idea.

Taking into account Frima's legless friend's biography, I visited the hospitals next. Three of those were thriving establishments, built as monumental, serious-looking buildings; the other one was a barely surviving hospital, built with a similarly robust architecture, which hadn't even started to decay.
The hospitals themselves felt uncomfortable, with an air of hopelessness in the corridors, but aren't all hospitals like that? Right?

After investigating the theaters I started suspecting that the monster decided to build all over the city as a form of charity. Yes, that was absurd, but the theaters were built to last and, more importantly, were very popular.
Their repertoire, however, was… strange. I don't like modern art, it smells of shit and gayness. Sometimes literally.
But, then again, who am I to lecture English gentlemen on how to spend their free time?

***

Almost half a year passed this way – I ran around investigating shops, residential and office buildings, police stations, and restaurants. I even crawled down into the sewers several times, all that while pulling my hair in frustration of not knowing what the hell was going on. Frima's interviews brought similar results – people were either swimming in money or barely scraped by, but 'it must be something else, the building is great!'.

Frima, by the way, found herself a fuckboy back at work, so I now periodically left the place for eight or so hours to breathe some fresh air. Coincidentally, my body discovered that the thing below my belly, also called a 'dick', was there for a reason.

So, naturally, I immediately discovered another obstacle in my life – I just wasn't attracted to girls of the same age.
Holy tomatoes, I am thirteen! They are thirteen! I am not a pedophile!

Unfortunately, the ladies I was attracted to thought the same way.
The whole world was against me.

So, in my walks around London, I was time and time again surprised by how much bleaker and darker it looked compared to what I imagined before visiting.
And then it hit me, like a lightning bolt – that was it! That's what he was doing! Well, maybe not only him, maybe the modern times are also at fault, but he is partly responsible for the city's architecture.I think I understood the idea; he purposefully makes it lacking. Colorless gray boxes, scarily functional and just as scarily faceless, gray, and despair-inducing.

Although, the roads, sewers, and theaters stuck out. Especially the theaters, those were beautiful.
Yes, the buildings themselves for sure – but not the plays. Maybe the demon used the architecture to influence both the spectacles and viewers' perception of them?

After realizing the scheme, solving the sewers was easy. 'NAI' mostly worked on them in the same districts in which they already built hospitals.
And, when I remembered Johnson's story, it all fell into place.

"The bastard is poisoning the city. Fucking awesome."

After looking through some private archives and documents (under the cloak, of course), I got a confirmation. The city's epidemiological situation got worse.
Mostly illnesses transmitted through liquids, nothing too dangerous or contagious, but it makes people go to hospitals, in which dead-tired doctors subparly heal their patients, who then go to bars, clubs, shopping centers, and theaters, but instead of relaxing only get hit by more bleakness. Then they go to their jobs, into the buildings 'NAI' worked on, do the boring, fruitless and repetitive tasks without any passion or interest, dreaming only about going home and taking a warm bath… and then again end up in hospitals.

I also looked at the road map, but couldn't find what was the deal. I lacked the specialized knowledge but was already sure that something wasn't right with those either.

The problem is not that big yet, however. No matter how hard the demon tries, he only worked for five years and London is a very big and old city. His influence is noticeable, but not critical yet. But, if it keeps increasing or if he manages to get his tentacles on other cities – the picture will be bleak.
And that word will be the best description.

So, I uncovered 'what' the demon was doing but not 'why' he was doing it. Although, I'm not sure I want to know what's going on in the head of the abomination.

Experience points: 3
Total experience points: 11

Click to shrink...

Still, that didn't bring me any closer to actually solving the problem. I still didn't know anything of value about Uvir-Dasab, aside from his ties with 'NAI'.
How strong were these ties? Were all the employees in his cult or only some influencers? Where is his reliquary?

It looked like I must go there personally. And I really, really didn't want to.

***

"Are you crazy?" That was the first question Frima asked.

We were back at home and I just told her about my intentions to go into the cultists' den.

"Relax, I'm small and sneaky." I waved her off, not nearly as calm internally.

"I know you have the cloak, but think about how widespread his operation is! He spread his tentacles all over the city, all of them through 'NAI'. The place must be full of the guys who came to my apartment." Frima tried to dissuade me.

"Alright, honey, give me a better alternative. We still don't know the cult's vulnerable spot. We can beat him in two ways: destroy his reliquary – although Mag should be the one fucking around with this, it's not in our weight category – or kill all the cultists and make him fall into a coma from the lack of faith. And, in the end, we can really offer none of these. So, I'm going in – we need information and I'm the only one who can get it. Capiche?"

"I'm not stupid, Harry, and that's why I'm saying that going to crawl up the demon's ass for a not guaranteed result is!"

"Listen, I know I'm not going to a kindergarten," I answered, annoyed. "But we've been stomping around one place for half a year and have fuck-all to show for it. So what that we learned about him infecting the city? Should we start blowing up buildings then? Great fucking idea, Al-Kaeda approves. No, we need one precise strike right at the bastard's heart. Which we need to find first."

Frima sat down and frowned.

"The sky'll be clear today. I'll try to make a prediction, maybe it will help you. But I'm against it."

"Doesn't really matter whether you're against it or not. I have a job and I must do it. Thankfully, I got my advance already, time to pay that off."

I decided to start on the next day as I wanted to fully rest before the venture. In the morning, Frima cheered me up with a prediction that everything will suck but I, most likely, won't die.
As if I didn't know that already.

"Here, take this." She offered me a string with some symbols painted on it. "For good luck."

"Didn't know you're superstitious."

"I'm not, it's a ward… or something. I decided to try making some, maybe that's the way I should go. I don't know if it will work or not, but it shouldn't make things worse."

"Uh, thanks, I guess," I looked closer at the string.

A string with Fortuna's markings. One time per story turns a botch into a failure.

Click to shrink...

"Don't worry so much, reddie. I'll come back soon. And if I don't, you can forget about the demon and live at my place with my money. If Mag doesn't have other plans for you, of course."

The cloak was in the backpack, the wand was in the jacket's inner pocket, and Petunia's knife was tucked into the holster.

'Mean Sonnuvabitch' stayed with Frima, since she honestly visited a shooting range for a month. I upheld that promise.

***

'NAI' met me with an impressive façade and a smiling girl on the reception. I was already under the cloak, so she must've smiled at her own thoughts.
It was a four-stories building with its own warehouse on the underground floor. There was no elevator, nor was there any name tablets on the office doors, so I walked around mostly blind.

A lot of people worked at 'NAI' and it looked like most of them came that day. They were running around, exchanging documents, and screaming all business-like. I really damn hoped that not all of them served the demon – sneaking through the crowds was already difficult enough.
Imagine what would've happened if all these 'harmless clerks' turned into monsters and started looking for little old me.

I passed through rooms, I shuffled through table drawers, I read through documents when the workers departed but was yet to find anything unusual. Then again, it would've been really weird to find a prayer book ornated with human skin in Joe Schmoe's desk. Despite my suspicions, 'NAI' was also a successful commercial organization.
But if I wouldn't have tried – I wouldn't have found anything anyway, right?

Of course, looking through the bigwig's offices would've been more productive, but, as I said, there were no name tablets.

And just like that, step by step, I passed through the first floor and a half of the second one before freezing still. Some asshole turned on the fire alarm. I was prepared to throw caution out the window and follow after it, running like a darkie from a man with a gun, but the clerks reacted… non-standardly. They all poured from their cubicles into the corridor, all without jackets, and started waiting for something.
I was already near the window when I noticed that and decided to stay and observe.

So far it looked as if the fire alarm was not, in fact, an alarm and was, instead, some sort of a motivational exercise.

Another jacket-less man with a smirk on his face walked into view in front of the whole crowd and, after looking over the corporate slaves, took out a microphone.

"I'm happy to see you, guys! Are you happy to see me?!" He asked in a hoarse, but very pleasant voice.

Clerks answered with an energy-less buzzing of agreement.

"Yes, we haven't seen each other for a month and I already forgot your faces and your fighting spirit. Are you still the same lost, dead-beat horses as before? Have I only wasted my time with you?!"

This time the buzzing was negative.

"That's right, guys, that's right. You can do anything and I'm here to remind you of it. Do you know why?"

He looked over the silent audience.

"Me neither. I never was a loser. So, instead of telling you what you shouldn't do, I'll remind you of what brings us all success. Do you want to be successful?"

"Yes."

"Yes…"

"Y-yeah."

"Yes."

"What is this braying, are you wolves or are you sheep?! I ask you this every time and every time all I hear is mooing, braying and hiccuping. A man must be determined, disciplined, and self-assured. Discipline is needed to follow orders when needed, this is the only way a pack functions. Determination is needed to not bend under hardships and I'm telling you – there will be a lot of those. Self-assuredness is to keep the doubts from sneaking in and completing whatever task you are doing as a man should."

He put the microphone away for a short time and opened his case, to take out the water bottle.

"Alright, guys. Our general director Mills asked me to remind you about keeping a good attitude. Most of you treat the job as a precise and routine activity. That's correct, in some sense, the job sure has routine and needs precision. But only those who put their souls into it really climb up the ladder. And if you are passionate about your job – then it's not just a job anymore, it's art, creation, and inspiration. The art within us, the creator inside us, is always ready to support us. Who remembers what I'm talking about?"

"About the Great Painter, sir?" Someone shouted from behind rows.

Uh-huh, I heard that title before.

"Exactly. Looks like you didn't smoke out all your brains yet, eh? Ancient Kelts called the creator inside us, the one who makes a common mason into a sculptor, a man with a club into a warrior, a greedy asshole into a merchant, the Great Painter - or, in their language, Uvir-Dasab. And I'm telling you, the ancients may have been barbarians, but they weren't stupid."

"We remember, sir." The rows answered with various degrees of boredom.

"Do we have to say all that bullshit, sir? I mean, it's the end of the twentieth century, and the last time I checked we weren't barbarians," a man in the first row said.

"My friend, the psychological relaxation department works together with Great Britain's best universities; you can ask them for confirmation. I'll tell you this – if it works, then it's a sin not to use it. It doesn't matter that it was made by unwashed Kelts, what matters is that the company - and all of us - get richer thanks to it. So, guys, repeat after me."

He straightened up and put the index and middle fingers on his right hand onto his forehead, clenching the other fingers. Then he clenched the left hand into a fist and put it onto the right hand's elbow. The crowd repeated after him, some clearly bored and annoyed and others pleased.

Finally, the motivator and, most likely, the priest started the bla-blaing, with others repeating after him:

"O, The Great Painter, direct the strength of my soul for the greater good, lead my feet, speak through my tongue. O, The Gifter of Beauty, I praise you…"

I didn't stay to listen further, it was obvious enough. Good news – the majority of 'NAI' workers had no idea who they worked for. Bad news – that didn't stop them from praying.
I wondered if every floor held the prayer at the same moment.

Unexpectedly, the investigation showed that no, not on every floor. Maybe they were holding these throughout the month? The priest said he didn't see the flock for a month too.
I didn't know and wasn't going to stick around for that long to check.

The next four hours went smoothly. Searching through the offices got easier once the whole floor went praying and paralyzed, while I was sneaking around.

After not finding anything of value in the offices, I snuck into the underground floor where, theoretically, the warehouse should've been. Instead, I found a large empty hall with a weird pano through the whole wall.
There were several doors leading elsewhere, but the artwork intrigued me – dark, cruel images in green, black, and white colors created an evolving motif.

"What it was painted with?" I whispered. "Never saw a paint like this."

Considering that I've spent the last year and a half visiting museums and such, that really says something.
I approached it, looked closer, and swore softly through my teeth – it wasn't paint, it was mold that had been grown onto the canvas. Holy…

The pano showed a story of some creature. At first it was humanoid and symmetrical, but at the same time rather ugly. Which was weird, because objectively it was even beautiful, but something was just… repulsing about it. The creature was busy either growing flowers, giving them color, or turning grass into flowers – it was hard to say.

The next scene showed it, and many others, as a shield for smaller humanoids, which strongly resembled humans.

Another image – a human kills another human and a black vortex appears above them, swallowing the creature and others like it.

The creature no longer looks right and beautiful, but at the same time is more pleasing to the eye. Green clouds from its hands destroyed its enemies, other creatures in armor with the sun shining behind them.

The images of war repeat several times and the main character gets uglier and uglier, turning into a rotting thin abomination, but it's painted with such awe that it even feels nice to look at. Its enemies die in greater and greater pain, their heads from image to image turn more and more into faces with only one emotion on them – fear.

The last painting from the war shows the creature being chained and left in the void.

In the next scene, only the imprisoned creature is made out of the mold. The void is painted with such furious streaks of coal, it is as if someone took a whole burned log and just started swinging it around with unimaginable hatred.

A barbaric-looking old man summons the chained creature.

The old man is dead, his village has burned. The abomination stands among the ashes and the black void is spreading under its feet.

The monster creates a sculpture from the bones of its victim and makes the skull of that poor warlock into its heart.

In another painting, the creature is dissolving and leaking into the altar's bones.

Barbarians gather around the bone idol and then go to war. They fear no weapon now, for their arms are made into claws.

Elders carry the idol away, as barbarians die under the swords of Roman legionnaires.

Once again barbarians pray to the monster, but this time they are enslaving other barbarians.

Men with crosses on their chests and black hats destroy the monster's servants.

The last painting shows the lonely idol standing in the dark underground. But this time it's not that coal-y darkness, it's made out of the mold.

…

How much of a self-loving asshole one has to be to leave their whole life story in the middle of London, nevermind in such a way and so brazenly.
I wanted to go to other doors and look there…

"Do you like it?" …But then I head a hoarse voice coming from behind.

I turned back and saw two broad-shouldered men looking right at me. But I'm wearing the cloak!

Slowly, I walked away from the place I was standing, but they kept tracking me. The one on the right, a thin man with a twitching eye and a broken nose, smirked:

"No need to run, invisible man. Our master granted us many gifts. He…" He pointed at the companion, a gray-haired man with a moustache and a sizeable gut. "…smells you and I hear you. Your heart, for example. It's beating so fast! You are afraid, intruder."

"He is not afraid." the companion interrupted him. "He is anticipating it. I don't smell fear."

"Is that so?" The first one looked surprised.

He wanted to say something else, but I didn't wait. The second one is right – it's been a while since I participated in a good fight!
The moment I reached out for the wand (fuck the secrecy) the fattie rushed at me with a speed of a bloody Olympic sprinter! I barely dodged his hands, which were covered in claws.
I wouldn't have made it without spending some mana – helped me to accelerate.

Mana: 3/4

Click to shrink...

"Ernie, you idiot, mister Mills told us to take him alive!" The thin one screamed, making weird hand movements in my direction.

I didn't care for that at all and decided to fry the good old Ernie with a lightning bolt.
He squealed, but other than that his fat ass didn't even slow down. He once again jumped near me, but this time preparing a punch.

We already tried that, Ernie! I got away once again!

"Why is he moving, Lars?"

"I don't know, maybe he isn't human?"

"But he smells…"

He didn't finish that one – a lightning bolt shut him up. The mustache-man roared and jumped at me, but this time I couldn't dodge it. Or, more accurately – I dodged just fine, but the fattie followed right after me, moving maybe even faster.
For me, rushing takes serious concentration, but Ernie seemingly had no problems at all.

Ten dice for damages. Six damage points. Four points of lethal damage blocked by stamina roll.

5/5/7 (Bruises: -1 dice for rolls).

Click to shrink...

I fell on the floor several meters farther from him and, right from the lying position, gave him everything I got without risking overexertion.

Mana: 0/4

Click to shrink...

A bolt of bloody thick lightning hit the fat Ernie right in his chest, making the bastard croak something and fall onto the floor. The freak was still moving but obviously incapacitated.

Oh hell, my head was spinning like crazy. Did the fattie hit me that hard? No, those are only bruises, I got those a lot. No, really, I was barely standing and swaying from side to side.
Now I need to finish the other one…

Right! The other one!

I turned and saw Lars whispering something and making hand gestures at me, with my eyelids getting heavier and heavier. Fuck no, asshat, I won't go down that easily.

Willpower: 9/10

Click to shrink...

The last thing I managed to do before darkness took me was to break the wand in my hand.

Spoiler

A/N: Here and back again. As usual, huge thanks to FatBaldBastard for betaing the chapter.

 

[heralding_bubble]

Aww fuck yeah, a new chapter. Time for a reread.
Thanks for the translation.
Did you manage to get in contact with the author?

 

[Bland Eggplant]

Did you manage to get in contact with the author?

Click to shrink...

Silent like a Belorus partisan. PMed him some more times. Eventually he'll respond, I hope.

 

[heralding_bubble]

Silent like a Belorus partisan. PMed him some more times. Eventually he'll respond, I hope.

Click to shrink...

Ah damn. I hope he's okay.
Thanks for updating anyway.

 

[Blackgutter]

Damn, amazing read. Great crossover too. I was expecting hazbin hotel and demon the fallen crossover to happen first but this good too.

 

[Bland Eggplant]

Damn, amazing read. Great crossover too. I was expecting hazbin hotel and demon the fallen crossover to happen first but this good too.

Click to shrink...

This one is actually pretty old, all the way from 2015. Not sure if HH was a thing back then.

 

[Blackgutter]

This one is actually pretty old, all the way from 2015. Not sure if HH was a thing back then.

Click to shrink...

nooo, is a dead fic

 

[Bland Eggplant]

nooo, is a dead fic

Click to shrink...

A finished fic.

 

[nick012000]

One minor translation note: the game stat you've translated as "Vigilance" should probably be "Alertness", since that's the closest stat in the English version of the cWoD games.