Prologue: An Unexpected Find
A/N: I put out a prompt two weeks ago (from this day, the 26th of May, in the year of lord, 2019), seeing how many Reviews and PM's could be garnered to reward the faithful readers with a sneak preview of the upcoming story.
With 4 Reviews and still 2 Private Messages, you guys have hit the Par (barely)! And so, I come baring gifts of the whole Prologue.
Hiatus will commence as soon as this is posted (followed by rewatching the whole series, and maybe the new live-action Titans if I can get it to que up. I hear they might be making a Season 2). I'll be working on some of my other stories such as (Bioshock) Two Halves of the Same Tear, and maybe (Warframe) The First of Their Kind, during this period as I've been extremely negligent toward them, so I hope I'll read some of you guys there.
A/N: If you are a first time reader of this story, this is the third installment of this particular series. There won't be a ton of context provided (because I wrote this assuming you, the reader, had context), so if you haven't already, please read the first story "Falling Apart", and the second story "The Proposition". Both of these are on my Stories page, and labeled in order via Sequence #. I will also post the links to my Biography page.
Also, this is rated T with a potential for M. For questionable elements of course that did not fit into the Summary. Things like Language, definitely Violence, maybe some Blood, the occasional implication and initiation of other "stuff". Unless something changes, it stays T, but you've been warned all the same.
READ DILIGENTLY. I await your questions and realizations.
If it's too big of a realization for you to comfortably post without the fear of possibly revealing SPOILERS! for everyone else; Private Message me. I'll get to your message as quickly as time, energy, and focus allows. I may not answer your questions (as that would SPOIL the anticipated answer in the story).
Disclaimer: I've been down this road so many times, I should get frequent travel miles.
Without further ado. *Que the dimming of the lights*
Magicks That Bind:
Prologue: An Unexpected Find
Two Months Following the End of the Proposition -
In a Little Coffee Shop-Book Store called Paper Wings (421 Bakers Avenue, Old Town, Jump City, California), that also doubled as an Apartment for the Owner on the second floor, Morgan Lassiter.
Morgan took a deep breath through her nose as she held a strained smile to her face.
"So do you guys have NickFlurry's?" a bright-eyed, but snooty customer asked, having already taken up five minutes of her sweet time asking for things that clearly were not on the menu. "It's like my cheat day today, so-"
"No," Morgan strained through clenched teeth. Whoever first said there was no such thing as a dumb question(s), was dumber than that line of thinking entailed. "NickFlurry's are from NickRonald's, or, if you're into puns and comics, a walking copyright infringement. This place only sells coffee, tea, muffins, donuts, bagels, and according to the lunch menu, a variety of soups and homemade sandwiches. If you stick around for dinner ('Please don't!'), we're making homemade lasagna." Her cheeks were burning from the sheer strain of maintaining her smile. "We also sell books."
"Oooooh! Do you sell magazines? I haven't caught up on the Cosmopolitan," she asked, clearly not understanding what acute context a "book" entailed. "Ooh! Do you have-?"
"No," she answered intuitively, having just laid out the menu in earnest. "We don't have burgers, fries, tacos, burritos, fudge, or ice cream; unless the item in question consists of a breakfast variety. There's only vegetarian if we remove the meat option, and there isn't a vegan option. And don't you dare order a hot venti sugar-free soy caramel latte, no foam, extra whip with a cherry on top. And no, we don't sell magazines."
The customers mouth was left half agape. "How-? Wha-? Can you read minds?" she asked incredulously, leaning in slightly.
'Yes, but then I run the risk of frying what few brain cells you have left you basic white bi-.' "No," she answered, keeping her magicks in check like the responsible adult she wished she wasn't. Power aside, reading minds was intrusive and potentially dangerous for the untrained, and she wasn't exactly mind-reader of the year. "I'm just really good at my job."
"Not that good if you don't even have NickFlurry's. Like, tell your boss that I'm gonna leave a bad review on Twitter," the customer snarked, throwing her hair over her shoulder in a huff as she whipped out her smart-phone… without ordering anything. Thankfully, she knew where the exit was; Morgan was afraid she'd have to show her where the door was too.
"Don't forget to post to Tumblr, Instagram, and Facebook. Does this place look like an international fast-food franchise?" Morgan muttered sarcastically under her breath, letting her cheeks relax for a moment. She wasn't about to tell her that she was the owner. Sometimes, you just couldn't fix people anymore than you could fix stupid. She just sighed, and let it go. There were more than a few loyal customers, and she was busy enough.
"Kids these days, am I right?" an older gentleman chuckled from his seat at a table, gently sipping over a mid-afternoon brew while he browsed the paper with a retiree's leisure, sitting calmly with his equally aged comrades.
Morgan just chuckled slightly as she shook her head. "Careful there, Earl. That's my generation you're talking about."
"You don't worry about her," another gent spoke, half-gesturing toward the shop door. "You make a good cuppa joe, Lassie, and that's what keeps 'em coming back."
"You better watch 'im, Lassie. Ol' Pete'll try sweet talking ya into a free muffin 'fore his ol' lady catches 'im." A round of laughter broke out from many of the patrons.
"Jim! God did not intend for man to eat only fruits and salads. I'm too old to worry about somethin' like a diet. If I'm gonna die, it'll be with a… mmhmm… blueberry muffin in my belly."
Do what you love, and you'll never work a day in your life. How embodied she felt in those words. Paper Wings wasn't just her home or her business; it was a place good people gathered, congregated, relaxed, smiled. Sure, she was traditional in many of her approaches, and didn't bother with the free Wi-Fi for her business, just to attract the people that spent all day in their phones. But that was okay. The atmosphere was warm and filled with ease. It felt unifying, without the need to socialize; rather than the disconnected feeling of an electronic device, despite the people that surrounded you.
Overall, she loved what she had accomplished. Plus, she loved getting to know the regulars. She knew most of their names by now and had some of their favorite orders down. She was truly happy here.
"Morgan, dear," one of her afternoon full-timers called as she walked over, an older black lady by the name of Naomi, and, since she was honest, her most loyal supporter. "Are you watching the time, honey?"
Morgan looked up at the antique mantle pendulum clock on the wall. "Oh! Thank you." She was going to be late for class if this kept up. She turned to Naomi worriedly. "Are you gonna be okay here? I can always stay and pick up the class notes later. My teacher will understand." She looked around warily, noting the rather busy… no, "productive"… state of her business.
"It's fine," Naomi smiled, leaning in like she was sharing a secret. "A young entrepreneur juggling night school, work, and a business? Your too young to be worrying about an old lady like me. Get upstairs and get ready." To emphasize her point, she gestured with her chin toward the stairs to her apartment. "Go on."
Morgan gave Naomi a quick, but grateful hug. "Thank you. I'll try to make it up to you, I promise." Before she began briskly walking toward the stairs.
"You the boss," Naomi chuckled before stopping fast. "Oh! Package came for you! It's sitting in front of your door. New book?"
"It's probably for the store," she called back.
She could hear Naomi chuckle behind her. "Not when it's label for a "Miss Morgan Lassiter"."
Her ear perked at that. Almost instantly, she began to skip every second step as she rounded a corner and jogged up the remaining stairs. Sure enough, the package lay there in waiting just shy of the door, all of seven weeks late for God-only-knows what reason! She half-wondered how it got lost in the postal system to begin with. She scooped it up as she fished out her keys (thankfully remembered this time), turning the deadbolt and knob-lock before opening the door.
She was greeted by inquisitive eyes as Satoshi, her Japanese Akita, grumbled a welcome-back, huffing like the ol' dog he was as he jumped down from the couch to greet his friend.
"Hey buddy," she said as she bent down, rubbing his ears. His response was to turn his head into her hand, groaning pleasurably as she scratched "the spot" just behind his left ear. "How was your nap?" He just continued to groan.
She ceased, earning her a protest from the canine as he proceeded to a full-body shake. She set her package on the table, moving to her bedroom to begin the process of preparing for school. Backpack? Check. Books? Check. Writing utensils? Check. Ten-page essay that's due? … … On the table! Of course! Grabbing her stuff, she walked out, grabbing the sheets of paper in question and nestling them between a pair of notebooks so she could find it easily without having to tear apart her backpack.
If she hurried, she'd have time to shower before rushing off to Jump City University.
"Krrrrrrrrrrr!"
She looked back at Satoshi with a mix of bewilderment and worry. In their couple years together, she'd only known him to growl on rare occasions. He sat on his haunches in front of the table, starring– no, glaring, at the newly arrived package, his neck bristled. He didn't bare his teeth, or stand at attention, and the hackles of his back stayed at ease, but that didn't make his actions any less intriguing.
"Hey, what's wrong?" she asked, crouching down to rub his shoulder. He didn't look at her, but let out an impatient moan, licking his lips slightly before releasing another chesty growl. "That's not a package for you," she humored, hugging him and kissing him on the head with a smile. "I have to get ready for school, so you behave."
She looked at the package again with a raised eyebrow. She gently held out her hand over it, feeling as magenta wisps of her own power weaved around it, appraising it carefully. The item inside the box was definitely magical. "See, there's nothing to worry about," she said reassuringly, more for her than it was for the dog.
It was fine. Until it responded back. She felt a jerk tension from her hand as a gentle hum began to emanate from the box in question, filling the air like a resonant chord struck from a guitar.
Satoshi's growl quivered, and Morgan took a steadying breath. That was a first. Because why not. She'd never felt a tangible response from an item of magic before, at least, not one so maintained and consistent, steady even. Swallowing, she let some of her energy leak out again, watching again for a response. Nothing.
She waited, nothing happening.
"Nooo. No, no, no, Lassie," she moaned miserably to herself. "You've seen enough shitty two-dollar horror movies to know that you just don't. You don't walk into the dark basement with the flickering lightbulb. You don't watch haunted videotapes…." She looked down at the postal box, clear tape holding the top and bottom shut as though it were the seal that prevented the end of the world. It looked harmless enough, but- Her nose scrunched in frustration. "… and you most certainly do not open magically responsive postal boxes. We all know what happens then. Monsters. Demons. Ghosts. Leprechauns. The Tooth Fairy!"
She knew she was over-exaggerating but still. Curiosity was a bitch! It poked and prodded at her, tempting her forward when paranoia told her not to. She sighed to herself. It wasn't going to do any good to leave it in the box anyway. The magic wasn't from the box, it was from the item within the box. A potential ninth century relic of unknown value, unknown origin, and unknown utility. Despite the fact she'd rather finish getting ready for school, she was going to have to call this one in. Perhaps it was nerves. Perhaps it was excitement after waiting so long. Perhaps it was the fact that her tongue clicked sharply in resignation to what she wanted.
She looked at Satoshi as she fished out her cellphone. He was still glaring fangs and claws at the box. She dialed the number, kind of surprised that the residual magic from the book in the box wasn't messing with the phone's service, though not complaining about it in the least. "Yes, Professor Lansy…. Hi, it's Morgan Lassiter…. Yeah, I'm calling in to let you know that I won't make it tonight…. Oh, no! Nothing bad. The pipes hopefully won't burst again any time soon. I just received a package that's significant to my work and I need to make sure everything goes smoothly…. Yes, I do have the essay done. I can e-mail that to you now…. Thank you. And if it isn't too much trouble, could I perchance get ahold of the class notes…? Thank you so much. I appreciate it…. Uh-huh, I won't stay up too late…. And you too. Bye."
Crisis Number One averted only just with not a false statement to be seen, she hung up, looking at the unopened box in contemplation as she tapped the phone against her upper lip in thought as she walked over to do exactly as she said she would. Pulling out her computer from between the couch and the wall, she quickly went about entering her protective password and opening up a browser so she could e-mail her essay. It took less than five minutes, and the moment she was done, she returned her computer to its designated spot. Luckily, she had only one class that evening, and the timing conveniently served her well. Unlike tomorrow, which held four of her classes and a chapter test.
Her preparations complete, she walked back over. Using her fingernail to get under the corner of the tape, she began pulling it up along the side as though the cardboard would bite if provoked too much. Satoshi let out a close-mouthed barked that sputtered past his chops, but otherwise didn't participate in his friend's hesitation as he continued to watch vigilantly.
"Welcome to your new home," Morgan said in intrigue, looking down at her purchase. Although… the artifact in person, without the grainy photography to impend its splendor, was something else… if one was into that sort of thing.
Up close, the book's white leather looked as soft as velvet, with an almost invisible imprinted design along its cover as if the cover hide had been hard-pressed; more picture than ancient script, though what it depicted wasn't clear to her. The metal corners were knicked and unevened by time. The metallic ring was in the dead center of the cover, also adorned with signs of age. The pages were cut hide, tinged yellow, and smelling of age and the animal glue the tome was bonded with. Along the spine, a slight bend at the top was notable, possibly from being pulled from a shelf regularly. A strip of dark gray metal also seemed to make up part of the binding, though it didn't show as much age as the corners or ring.
"Fascinating," she muttered, reaching in to touch the cover. It felt as soft as it looked. If she was a weirdo, she might have rubbed her cheek against it to feel just how soft, but she wasn't a weirdo, so instead she continued to observe it critically. "For a ninth century tome, you, my little friend, are very well preserved."
She pulled it out of the box, pushing the cardboard to the side as she pulled the book up from the burial of packing peanuts, inhaling from the tome. Oh yeah; nothing like the smell of an old book met with centuries old magic. You'd have to be a genius to falsify something like that. Still… five-thousand dollars for it was cheap. Whoever had owned it previously obviously didn't know what they had….
Or they were trying to get rid of it.
Morgan looked back at Satoshi, who had been silent. He looked up at her, cocking his head inquisitively, as if somatically wondering why she was looking at him.
"Well, might as well find out what you do," she said back to the book, "but first…." She put her hand over the cover-ring, letting her magic pour out gently in a spell over the book. "… to check for traps." After the Assassin Vine Sigil incident five years ago, she made a habit of checking before she opened magic books and scrolls. Sherlock the Turtle would have been going on fifty-four years old if she had only checked for magic traps. She'd be damned if she lost Satoshi too.
'Deciphering basic magic structure. Clear. Isolating arcane components. Clear. Analyzing spell…,' she thought systematically, her magic swiftly cataloging the entire format of spell work. "… Four-fold Transmogrification, Retainment, Imprisonment, and Curse," she finished with interest. It wasn't a trap; not when something, or maybe someone, was already caught and caged. But some of the spells used all together were familiar. "Alchemic dimensional folding, essence entwinement, mana siphoning, and the Chains of "friggin'" Algaaron. Ergo, something big and powerful."
She snorted hysterically, chuckling to herself as she looked at a confused Satoshi. "I just bought a magic prison." She chuckled to herself again. "I bought someone's magic prison with God knows what in it. With my luck, it's an ancient Djinn hell-bent on revenge." Pessimistic as usual.
She looked at the book again, logic taking precedence over the slight panic she was feeling. "Bu-ut you'd need a powerful catalyst to contain something like that. An ordinary book would have vaporized." She picked it up turning it this way and that. Well… she'd already checked for traps.
She gingerly peeled back the cover, listening as the spine creaked, and pages crisped. She almost screamed ecstatically. 'Oh-ho! Jackpot!' Never mind that something was trapped within the book!
She knelt down, throwing her arms around the baffled Akita as she kissed him on the head. "Guess what we got!" she cooed. "Guess." She gestured at the book as though she was presenting it to the dog. "That, is a genuine wizard's spellbook."
Satoshi snorted slightly, groaning as he turned to look at the couch instead, as if to say, "I got out of bed for this?"
She pulled down the book to show him, sitting cross-legged as she nestled the covers on her knees. Inside the cover was adorned with a series of emblems.
"Holy shit," Morgan lipped slightly. "Whoever used this thing, he made a lot of friends to get this much recognition. Here," she said, pointing at an emblem she recognized, "the Order of Ouroboros. Ooo! The Lament of Labors! The House of Life. Now that's old. Or here, the Imperium of the Moon Lily."
She looked over at the table, the latter emblem's namesake growing peacefully in its fire-hardened clay pot. Smiling, she returned to her perusing. One of the insignias quickly dominated over all others. A crooked wand crossed with a ruffled quilled feather in front of a sword, all positioned in front of a tower. At the tip of the tower stood a star, encompassed in three thinly drawn, but equilateral rings.
"Arch Mage and Grand Wizard of the Third-Order," she said in one breath, followed by wide eyes and a sharp inhale through her nose. There were only two levels higher in the old wizarding hierarchies, so the owner was by far an important figure; only outranked by the five Wizards of the Second-Order, and the sole Wizard of the First-Order; such as it was in those days. By comparison to the owner of the grimoire in question, she didn't even count as Mickey Mouse in the Sorcerer's Apprentice cartoon; she was more like the broom before it was enchanted, or maybe the never-enchanted bucket. Her luck, which was terrible to a "t" on average, was, perhaps, starting to shift. Of all the things to end up in her possession, this was by far the most valuable; prison or no. Giddy at prospect of her purchase, she turned the page.
The next page was organized with a strange geometric design, a series of circles interconnecting, spear-mounting into an octagram; an almost stencil-cut image taking up the center. Each line was hand-drawn, eloquent, and symmetrical where it counted, but easily deductible as the work of an amateur or apprentice from the ink smudges and… whatever else had been spilt on the millenia old text; the owner's first attempt at a custom spell no doubt.
"Whoever drew this was a genius. No wonder they were made a Grand Wizard," she commented in wonder. "The fluctuation-to-regulation field is a little weak, but overall the execution is near flawless." She looked over the spell formulae in awe, almost absently noticing a scrawled set of notes on the side. 'What's better than a genius?' she pondered. The notes were encoded both magically and non-magically. This guy was smart. Really smart. And cautious as anyone she'd ever known. Clearly he didn't want anyone pulling apart his spell. Luckily for Morgan, she had a pension for reading the designs, even if she didn't fully understand its purpose.
With that came a disturbing thought. "If this is your spell book, why did you use it to imprison something? You were smart, cautious, and powerful from what I can tell. What could have been so bad that you had to use your spell book as a containment catalyst? You didn't have time to use anything else, perhaps?"
Satoshi gave a nasally sneeze in response, shaking his head lightly.
Morgan looked back at the image in the center of the octagram, feeling a chill almost radiating from it. Eight star-points, same as a compass rose, representing the eight configured cardinal directions seen in magicks world-wide. The image was easily distinguishable, etched out in abstract detail that left little to the imagination.
The side-view of a dragon, as though it were laying within the spell work. The terrestrial look and saurian form, combined with the massive wings immediately pointed it out as a True Western European varient; like the kind one would expect to kidnap a princess away to a cave full of horded treasure.
Funny… the first custom spell devised by a young prodigy wizard, who went on to become a Grand Master and an Arch Mage, and it was a spell derived for or from one of the most powerful creatures ever to walk the earth or fly the skies. Why?
Morgan suddenly had a bad feeling about what exactly was trapped within the book, given it's impromptu use as a prison. But as long as she didn't probe too deep, she wasn't worried. What was she going to do otherwise? Rub the book spine, make three wishes, and call everything peachy?
She cautiously leafed through the pages, finding a multitude of various spells and their corresponding encoded texts, though none were as intriguing as the first. Morgan could deduce enough of the spells by sight alone, without decoding any of its master's notes: ionic plasma combustion, stone step, boost dexterity, heal wounds, call storm, and the like. The guy knew plenty of different spells, she'd give him that. A little over half-way through the grimoire was where things got interesting.
Newer pages, as if they were added later to the book's already impressive arsenal. Covered in illustrations and decipherable characters that spelled out a story. It wasn't encoded, and the handwriting itself was different from what was seen along the various spells. If she had to guess, it was a scribe's recounting rather than penned by the wizard himself.
Morgan frowned. She wasn't interested in some romanticized recounting unless it was penned by the wizard themselves; who had that kind of time for biased history? It was like getting all your facts from a cereal box. No thanks. She already had homework to cover all the literature she didn't want to read, and a whole book store for the stuff she did. Somewhat disappointed in the last half of her find, but still undeterred, she snapped the ancient book closed.
"Oomph!"
Morgan froze, her eyes turning slowly in their sockets to the book in her hand. Satoshi's neck began to bristle again, a sharp grumble exiting his mouth as he stood to all fours at attention.
'Oh God! You finally did it, Lassie! You finally got us killed! There isn't a Holy Hand Grenade in sight; so if this thing summons a Vorpal Rabbit, I will personally haunt you until the worlds end!' she over-exaggerated to herself in panic.
Just barely aware that her breath was held, she very carefully put the book down on the floor, as she scooted away.
"Mmmh," she heard again, vaguely aware that the sound was audible, given Satoshi's rising growl as his head lowered, his lip twitching. "Huh? Where did everything go?"
Morgan had to slap a hand over her mouth to keep from answering like an idiot. Before she had time to process much else, she felt a soft caress touch at the forefront of her mind, almost asking permission as much as it was cautiously probing. She acted instantly, her mental fortifications erecting even as energy formed around her outcast middle and ring fingers. Her grey eyes began to glow silver as her red hair lifted and billowed in response to the arcane flowing from her, as if caught in an updraft of wind.
Satoshi growled warningly in response with his human, his back bristling with his neck.
"Oh, my apologies," the book said. "I was unaware an enchantress was present. Along with her… faithful companion."
Before she could stop herself, she reacted with a yelp, her magicks lifting up and wrapping hastily around the book, forming chains of power that clinked as she snapped her fist closed, tightening the ensnarement.
"State your purpose, entity," she commanded with as much courage as a barely novice enchantress could muster with not but herself and her pet. "And while we're on that subject, what are you? What are your intentions? Where are you from? And who are you?"
"You know the questions to ask, but not the subtlety to get them," the book commented, almost disappointed. "Clearly a self-taught curr. No discipline, and no manners."
Morgan could almost see an invisible hand brush to the side, her spelled chains fading almost instantly as the book continued floating in place.
"Now, my turn." The book opened, a stream of pages shooting from its spine as it created a maelstrom of parchment that quickly wrapped around Morgan, fastening her arms and legs, and leaving little if any wiggle room. The air crackled and the lights flickered before fading, leaving only the glow of magic and the afternoon sun through her windows as the sources of light. Without a proper means to stay aloft, she tipped forward, landing heavily on her chest with an "Oof!" She was just glad she kept her floor clean. Landing awkwardly on anything would have hurt worse.
"Where am I? Who are you? Why do I feel strange? What did you do to me? And how did I come to be here?"
"And you said I had no manners," she snorted, even as Satoshi began pulling at the pages that bound her, growling in frustration before he nuzzled her face, licking her head with a nosy whine. "Yes, I'm fine," she reassured. "Thank you for the kisses, just-"
She began spitting and sputtering as one of Satoshi's "kisses" landed right on her mouth. "Gross! What did you eat?!"
The Akita only huffed in offense.
"Clearly, the beast is distracting," the book commented, another page snapping out and wrapping around his snout. The dog moaned pathetically as he tried kicking it off with his paws, but to no avail. "Now answer me!"
Morgan glared at the book, or rather, the entity trapped within the book. Slowly. Very slowly, a smile creeped onto her face. "No one. Muzzles. My. Dog."
"Wha-" The book suddenly collapsed to the ground, the spell holding it aloft suddenly dissipated. "Ow."
Morgan slowly sifted out of the loosened pages, groaning at her sore ribs as she rolled over on her back, splaying her arms out as she reveled in the feeling of non-constricted arms, even though she had only been bound for less than a minute.
"Wha- what did you do to me?"
Morgan just scoffed. "Double-layered spell. Chain binding mixed with a reactive timing to mana worms. The moment you used your power, you were finished." She chuckled to herself.
"Impressive," the book commented, still laying prone on its cover. "A praise-worthy feat. Even if your mana is weak, you do know how to use it efficiently. Even if it was under-handed."
"Says the Djinn in a book who just got his ass whooped by a "self-taught curr"," she retorted smugly.
"I'm not a Djinn," the book growled in offense, suddenly confused. "Wait… I'm trapped in a book?"
"A spell book," she pointed out unhelpfully. "Wait. You're not a Djinn?"
"A spell book?! How did I become trapped in a spell book?!" the book demanded, slightly hoping from the ground in exclamation. In a much softer mutter, said, "Did the spell rebound? It would explain much. If that's the case where is-?"
"Wait a second," Morgan groaned, pushing to her feet, as she walked to the book, snatching it up off the floor before pointing two crackling fingers toward the books center. "If you're not a Djinn, then what are you?"
"A wizard and sorcerer. What else?" the book asked, as if the answer had been obvious, completely ignoring her spell-lit hand. She felt an analytic wave of energy roll through her. "Just as I suspected. An enchantress."
"Ohhhh! I'm so sorry," she replied sarcastically, quickly blocking it out. "It should have been sooo obvious that you were a wizard and sorcerer. I mean, of course you're a wizard and sorcerer. It must have been written right on the cover. So obvious."
"Sarcasm ill becomes your position," it chastised back. "It lacks all sense of decency, poise, and grace befitting your station."
"Sorry, not sorry, to disappoint," she commented indifferently, somewhat rudely tossing the book on the table. She pulled out one of the chairs to sit down. "You're a "watcha-ma-call-it" trapped in a book. There's no reason to trust anything you say. For all I know, you were trapped for a good reason, and you just want out."
"Who wouldn't want out? It's cramped, my spine is straighter than it's ever been, and, if forced to endure reading myself, how utterly boring everything would become."
"Fair," she admitted, before quickly adding, "But I still don't trust you." She took a moment to digest just how quickly the conversation had changed. "And I'm talking to you, like you didn't just bind me and muzzle my dog, and knock out my electricity." She got up in exasperation, holding a hand to her face in contemplation, looking questioningly at Satoshi, who had long since pulled his parchment off. His old dog eyes just looked at her, clearly just as confused by her actions as she was.
"I'm afraid I don't have proof, but perhaps…." The book opened of its own accord, pages rapidly leafing by. "Yes, yes. Figures," he commented to himself before saying, "Now, do you know any truth spells? If so, they may prove relieving for you, and fruitful to me."
Morgan looked at Satoshi with a raised brow, before resting her hands against the table, looking down at the book in question. To her amazement, the lettering was gathering, the ink pulling across the pages as it reshaped into a slowly emerging picture of shades between ink, charcoal, and hide.
Before long, all that she looked at, was a youthful face she had never seen before, eyes that reminded her slightly of a cat's staring from the page. The face was framed by lighter hair that fell past the page, bangs falling over a surprisingly gentle brow. The nose lead smoothly from between thin brows to a gentle point. The jowls were angled and lead down to a slightly jutted chin. The lips were what caught her off guard, almost non-existent, except for the simple definition that could be determined through shading. If it wasn't for the smoothly rounded ears peaking from behind its hair, it would have reminded Morgan of how she imagined a fairy-kin to look. Maybe like one of Tolkein's graceful elves from his Middle-Earth novels. The portrait was certainly handsome enough.
However, it was the slender throat that caught her eye; the larynx: the air passage and voice box. It was oddly pronounced, the trachea given definition as it disappeared past the page edge, shaped in a way that Morgan found… unnatural.
Well, the slightly slit eyes too. But mostly the throat.
"An-nd who is that?" she asked, eyebrow raising at the book… before remembering that it didn't have any eyes.
"My original form," the book answered simply. "Or at least, the last I can remember of it. I don't exactly know how long it's been since I've seen a mirror."
She nodded somewhat before taking a deep breath. "Okay then." A small enchanting circle of energy formed over her hands, lighting up the room, two more stacking atop it as they began turning, as if puzzle pieces were jaggedly attempting to fit.
"What is that?"
"An honest-to-goodness truth spell," she stated. "It just needs some calibration."
"And you can do this naturally?" it asked, curiosity layered in the voice.
Morgan just shrugged as the circles stopped, collapsing into one. Without so much as a comment, she palmed the circle against the book, the spell hovering just shy of the cover.
"Now," she said, her brows furrowing seriously, "who are you?"
"Jarl Sigdrid of the Northern Lands," it answered, as if it were watching the circle for a reaction, like a child seeing just how hot the stove was. The spell glowed red hot, a sizzling sound scalding its way to Morgan's ears as the circle edged closer to the book. "Nggh!" it groaned painfully, just before Morgan's fingers sparked, the spell raising again in response. "G-good to see your spell works."
"And I'm not playing around," she growled, reverbed by a like growl from her four-legged companion.
The entity in the book just sighed humorlessly. "I am Arch Mage and Wizard of the Third Order, Rorek of Nol."
Morgan watched the spell with a frown. Nothing happened. It was telling the truth. "Third Order? So that's-"
"My spell book I'm trapped in? Yes."
"Then how did you get trapped in your own spell book?"
"That is what I'd like to know."
A knock at her door startled her, as she shot around. "Morgan, honey? You still here? The power's out." It was just Naomi.
Gently collecting herself, she turned back to the book, only to see that the page had returned to normal text. "Yeah, I'm still here. I'll check the breaker box, see if the circuit was tripped."
Things were definitely going to be interesting.
Across the city, in Suburbia...
He was laying on the "safe house" mattress, staring up at the ceiling. It was dark, the only indication of light coming from around the edge of the blackout curtains. The space was empty save for the bed, but clean, smelling slightly of fresh lemon zest and a recently vacuumed carpet. Other scents, like fresh-baked cookies, pizza, and something like homemade chicken noodle soup also hung in the air; giving it slightly heavier, but homey feel. If only it were real.
He wasn't alone either in this rather temporary and luxurious (as far as he was concerned) suburban abode. There were three others, all of whom scared the ever-living daylights out of him, though only one of them was anything resembling kind. Worse yet, he had been in his own personal living hell for the past four months: Not a single comic, video game, or collectors set to keep him company. Worse yet, he could see Spoilers through the fourth wall for every major show he enjoyed… had enjoyed. His interest had faded with his broken heart. To top it off, none of his "comrades" were interested in talking. About anything, accept the imposed mission he'd been roped into! Nothing remotely interesting exited their mouths.
Overall, he was dead inside.
Just because he could see and hear things no one else could. Crazy? They didn't seem to think so. At this rate, he wished he was just the average challenger and villain he had been once upon a time.
Regardless, at least there were homecooked meals, even if most of the time they were closer to charcoal briquettes whose only purpose was to reduce the chance that the food itself would poison them. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had home-food before basically being kidnapped… with his consent? He wasn't sure any more, which made him wonder if he was a little Stockholm.
He sighed as he leaned back in the bed he occupied, splaying out like a half-melted stick of butter, wishing there was something remotely fun to do in the midst of his perpetual limbo.
("It's time," the call came.)
He sat up fast enough to give himself whiplash as a series of images entered his mind, connecting him across the Primal Monitor as the Greatest of Evils spoke directly to him for the first time since that fateful and horrendous day. The things that had been, the things that were, and sometimes, the things that would be. The Reviews, the Private Messages, the teases; many of the things that had transpired in his absence.
"You sick bastard," he growled at the author that had decided their fates, the fourth-wall's revelation of currently transpiring events and connected dots blazing through him. "You had that bird-brained asshole propose to that lovely and genuinely sweet alien beauty?! As if he'd ever appreciate her?! And don't even get me started on the sorceress and the changeling! You have so much unresolved bull-crap there, it would take you a year to clear it out! A pox upon you! May the fleas of a thousand camels infest your-!"
"Excuse me?"
He shrieked indignantly, clutching his chest at the silence of the robed figure that had practically stalked into the room, oven mitts and an apron suggesting she had been cooking again. Judging by the scorch marks on the mitts and the char smear on the apron, he wouldn't be at risk of poisoning for at least a week.
The other two were generally absent, which was fine by him. If the older man was here, he wouldn't have hesitated to slice him in half if he thought he had insulted the woman in front of him. He was just glad that that younger psychopa- *clears throat* woman he called daughter wasn't present either; she might have decided to cut him up on some misconstrued principle regardless.
"Not you," he denied, waving his hands wildly, before taking a deep breath to calm down. "He's back! That blue-eyed, unshaven, pony-tailed bastard contacted me again. He's fucking with the timelines, and somehow, it makes perfect sense in that semi-idiopathic brain of his! Whatever's going to happen will happen soon. God only knows what he'll do to my nemesai!" He clutched his face in exasperation. There was a nervousness to his voice that took the figure back.
"When, Eugene?" she asked, using his birth-name gently.
Eugene Thomas, a.k.a. Control Freak, looked at her with something like fear as he shook his head, the pages ahead already mostly-written. "It's too late. We can't stop it. We can only follow his notions and hope the Titans live to see Sequence Four."
*Que Theme Song
A/N: Whacha guys thinking? Too much? Too little? Just enough to satiate you over? Can you guys live off of this for the next few weeks/months?
Once again, this is a Rough Draft, so if there is anything that needs edited, or is connecting in a weird way for you guys, let me know and I'll try to clean up the text. I do accept grammar and spelling errors too. (A copy and paste, but hey, some things are worth repeating for you fine folk)
As always (and I'll just keep posting this because its true), keep posting your constructive criticisms, as they will help me know what to look for in my future writings, and for the days I decide to do a hard edit. A writer should never stop growing, and I have no intention of stopping now.
I wanted to start off with the same feeling I had at the end of Sequence 2: With Morgan Lassiter's mundanely magical life. I hope the intro came with as much anticipation and surprise as could be expected. There is a whole story about this coming your way, so watch out!
As for Control Freak, I couldn't very well leave him and his "captures" unannounced, especially since they didn't make a showing in Sequence 2.
I hope you guys enjoyed this new beginning, so please Read and Review, and Private Message if you're shy or prefer your inquiries to be... well, private. Please indulge my curiosity, and let me know what parts you liked, what parts need work, and overall what you guys think about it :D
Upcoming Magicks That Bind - Chapter 1 (still don't have a chapter name for it yet) in a few weeks or months, however long it takes to finish the series again, and maybe get a few more chapters out of my other stories.
You guys enjoy your upcoming Summer!
