Chapter 41: Spell Trap

A soft whispering filled Jim's ears and there was a flickering of light just behind his eyelids. His amulet was reaching out to him, his magic bidding and willing him awake. The teen didn't even want to open his eyes, he didn't even want to acknowledge the pounding in his head, but he could feel his magic singing up at him, bidding him to move, to open his eyes, to do something!

He almost sunk back under into the calming darkness and its blissful ignorance, the blue flicker too far away to really do anything, when there was suddenly a red spark. Then there was a harsh stinging in his hand where his Blood Mage's blade had tasted his blood and stitched him back up.

The teen hissed in pain sitting up with a flinch as he pulled his arm into his chest, his hand becoming a fist as he tried to will the burning pain away.

Gritting his teeth, his vision still blurry, Jim blinked groggily as he tried to observe his surroundings. He … was on the floor … in his house … in the middle of the living room? Wait? Why?

Brain still catching up, the teen stared at a strange painted line on the floor before him. Had he done that? No, no. He hadn't had any recent art projects and mom hadn't painted in ages. In fact, what was he doing at home? Wasn't he bound to Trollmarket? No, wait! He had escaped and finally got home. That's right! He finally made his way home after a few weeks of being stuck in Trollmarket and … mom wasn't there … Angor Rot was there instead.

Sitting up straight in a panic, forgetting the pain in his hand, the teen was halfway to his feet and ready to sprint out of the house when suddenly a large hand grabbed him from behind by the ankle, yanking him back down. Jim's bark of surprise was cut short as his chin slammed down onto the wood floor, the teen biting the inside of his mouth slightly. The rush of blood in his mouth was the least of his problems though as the youth kicked his leg free and backpaddled away from his capturer.

Unsurprisingly, Angor Rot had been right behind him the whole time, sitting there on the floor with his back against the couch, rifling through Jim's bag and the whole house from the look of it with the odd collection of things sitting around him.

Waggling his pointer finger as if chiding a child, Angor Rot stated simply, "You won't move from that arcane circle if you know what's good for you, little seer."

Wiping a dribble of blood from the side of his mouth, Jim's eyes flickered around him, the direness of the situation hit him. That wasn't just paint on the floor. It was lines upon lines dancing in a complicated overlapping network to form an arcane spell that Jim was situated inside of, candles and glow stones encircling the edges just to illuminate how fucked he was.

Taking a deep breath, telling himself not to freak out because that wasn't going to get him anywhere, the teen decided that maybe speaking with his capturer would get him farther than a fight. It also might buy him some time to get out of this. Vendel had started teaching him the basics about arcane circles and summoning lines after all. This kind of reminded him of the binding circle from his last life, but none of those yellow stones were about. Plus, the lines and symbols were all wrong and way above his current training. It pained him to admit, but Angor Rot was a skilled mage in his own right. He even, technically, had a staff already.

Patting his chest to see if his amulet was still there, Jim's heart sank. It was gone. Not too surprising. He would have been more surprised if Angor Rot hadn't completely disarmed an opponent.

Eyes wandering around as he tried to see where his amulet was being held, the teen swallowed before asking, "Why are we still at my house? What do you want with me? Or should I say, what does Stricklander want with me? I know he has the Inferna Copula and that you … have to do as you're told."

The glare that Jim received from the troll could have melted metal, but it didn't stall the troll as he rummage through a bag ... Jim's bag from Trollmarket specifically. And, there, right next to his bag and strangely the only living aloe vera plant in the house, was his amulet. It seemed to flicker weekly as if calling out to Jim.

Promising he'd snatch it as soon as he could, the teen acted like he was getting into a more comfortable position, stretching out his leg. He was hoping to test the edge of the circle with his shoe. If he was lucky, nothing would happen, and he would take the chance to sprint away and grab his amulet as he went. And if he was unlucky, maybe he would get electrocuted or activate a barrier or something. Nonetheless, trying to move slow enough that Angor Rot didn't notice his casual stretch, he added, "I could help you if you just asked. We don't have to fight. I could even get the ring from Strickler."

He secretly wanted to add that he had done it before ... even if it had ended badly for one or two parties.

That caused the troll to stall in his rummaging, the hunter's expression flat like he didn't believe a word out of the boy's mouth, "So that I could belong to you instead? A mageling a few spells away from becoming a Blood Mage? Call me unconvinced."

Jim twitched at that, the boy feeling like he had been slapped as he wipe blood from the edge of his mouth again. Despite himself, his pride stinging, the teen groused, "It was just for the cutting enchantment. I needed the blade to go home."

"And I just wanted to save my village," said the troll almost bitterly adding as he continued to sort the odd collection of things around him. "One step in the wrong direction is all it takes."

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, the hunter then slammed his dagger down into the wooden floor not far from Jim's foot, the troll grousing, "And I see your foot growing ever closer to the edge of that spell circle. Continue if you wish to lose a toe."

Glaring at the troll, Jim pulled his foot back. He then adjusted the way he was sitting, his pinky hopefully hidden by the mass of his legs as he crept his left hand toward the edge of the arcane circle behind him.

The troll glared for a minute more before he finally fished the skull cap out of Jim's bag. He tilted it around as if assessing the thing's value. Then, with little grace, he dropped it in front of him like a cauldron. He then started opening pockets on his belt, throwing an oddity of herbs and objects in as he muttered to himself.

Watching for a moment, Jim glanced around a bit more covertly. Ah, there was his Blood Mage's blade next to his remaining grave sand and alignment stones. Just when he was dwelling on if he should try to get his blade back as well when he fled, the teen jumped slightly as the troll started grinding away at his concoction with a pestle, little sparks of red and yellow flaring up at the edges of the skull cap as if the troll was griding down fireworks.

Staring at Angor Rot's pilfered things, part of him not wanting to know what the troll was up to, Jim tried to think of the right thing to say. Instead, his teen brain blurted out the first thing it could think of, "You know it's rude to go through someone else's stuff."

Angor Rot didn't even stop stirring, he just raised a brow before chuckling, "Who are you to shame me, mageling? I'm not the one with a skull cap and grave sand in my satchel. Though, I am glad you brought one to the surface. I've been needing a new skull cap, and it's such a chore to scoop the innards out before the body completely turns to stone."

Jim could only lean back slightly in disgust. He hadn't really thought about where the skull cap had come from or how it was made, but now he had a very vivid image he didn't really need.

Shaking off that thought and Angor Rot's attempt to shame him for owning 'dark mage' goods, more than aware that Angor Rot was still messing with him, the teen watched the assassin working for a moment as he tried to think of a way out of this. Strategy was more Claire's thing but if he could just buy enough time, there was a possibility he could just luck his way out. Toby and he really did luck their way out of more things than he'd like to admit.

Trying to get some answers, Jim allowed his fingers to creep to the edge of his circle. "Are you going to answer any of my first questions? Like why are you here capturing me instead of trying to kill the Trollhunter? Certainly, that's more useful to Strickler than some random teenager that can guess real good and sometimes make books float."

Angor Rot snorted at this as if Jim had just said a joke, the troll stalling in his work to meet the human's gaze, "Do you know nothing of your breed, child? Not only are wars started over lesser types of foretellers, but young magelings like yourself bleed magic into the area around them. Long lost magics are revived and fortune can be brought to the denizens caring for such a being … unless the mage goes dark that is. Then, a mageling will be nothing more than a curse."

Shifting uncomfortably in the arcane circle, his fingertips seeming to get hot as he started to push them over the lines, Jim wondered if he could scratch off the paint and disrupt the thing, "Oh … I hadn't gotten to that lesson yet."

An awkward silence hung there for a moment, the assassin going back to his work as Jim start to try and quietly claw at the painted line, "So, is that what Strickler wants me for? To be a magic battery?"

"And for your foresight abilities as well, I'd wager," said Angor Rot simply, before he stopped grinding and picked up his blade instead.

"I thought no one could force me to reveal my premonitions," said Jim carefully as he watched Angor Rot mess with his blade. The strange conversation he was having with Angor Rot was kind of surreal, but he still didn't trust the troll as far as he could throw him.

"One cannot, little seer, without inviting false premonitions," said Angor Rot as he started to oddly tap his blade on his forearm. "But Strickler seems the patient sort while you are anything but."

Slightly insulted, whatever thoughts Jim had next were completely scattered when suddenly there was a flare of golden light behind him, the arcane circle apparently having enough of Jim's prying as it lashed out. The teen yipped and snatched his hand back, wincing as he looked at the slightly blackened tips. That was definitely going to blister.

Hissing as he cradled his hand, scooting away from the edges slightly, Jim threw a genuine glare at the troll when Angor Rot chuckled at him. The troll then shook his head at the boy's murderous glare, adding, "I had warned you, seer, not to touch the edges, but that also tells me that this cannot wait. I will not have my freedom sprint away under the guise of a temperamental whelp. I know it will take much more than a boundary bracelet to keep you."

At that, Jim's stomach already sinking at the troll's odd words, he watched as the troll suddenly cut into himself, peeling away some of his top flesh until it came off in a small chunk. Then, seemingly unbothered by his own wound, the troll dropped the piece of stone-flesh into the skull cap bowl and went back to grinding, little sparks of yellow and magenta magic now spurting like wayward firecrackers.

Sitting there, hand still cupped near his chest, Jim frowned deeply. Not only had Angor Rot's words been foreboding, but watching the troll cut into himself was downright disturbing. He had recalled something about a flesh sacrifice from the Blood Mage book. Those kinds of spells could easily backfire for the unskilled. Yet, one of the most disturbing parts was that Angor Rot wasn't even notably in pain. Stone-flesh was still alive after all and still had pain receptors. In fact, the hunter wasn't even bleeding after cutting into himself. Trolls don't bleed much the way it was, but they consumed flesh and organic goods for a reason. Having learned basic troll healing from Vendel had taught him that much. So how was Angor Rot just chipping away at himself and not bleeding? In fact, there were just chunks of him missing here and there … was he even alive?

Can anything truly be alive when it doesn't have a soul?

Looking down at his hand, hating the pain but glad for it at the same time, Jim wondered if Angor Rot felt much of anything. Was he stuck in an undead-unalive purgatory? Could he even eat? Sleep? Did he feel the warmth of a night breeze or the cool crispness of a midnight rain? Just what did it entail when one did not have possession of their own soul?

Suddenly pitying the troll, part of him recalled how past-life Angor Rot had pleaded for his soul to be returned. Jim had instead watched as the troll's soul had been destroyed.

Unable to stop himself, Jim found himself speaking softly like he was dealing with a crippled animal, "Does it hurt to exist without your soul?"

The enraged look that slowly took over the hunter's face almost made Jim regret his words, the troll's own voice almost a growl as he responded, "I do not need your pity, mageling. Soon, the only one that will need pity here is you."

Frowning at that, unable to chase away the nature of a hero's heart, Jim added, "Sorry for feeling empathy, but it's just that I'd think that'd hurt … or do you not feel anything at all?"

The way Angor Rot's fingers twitched spoke volumes. It didn't quiet the troll's tongue for long though.

"It hurts less so than the gaping wound of a lacking soul," growled out the hunter finally before he poured some dark liquid in and grabbed a stirring tool, little golden and magenta sparks spitting everywhere and threatening to start the floor on fire as he stirred vehemently. Jim had obviously pinched a nerve. It was now painfully obvious how very little Jim knew about the hunter and yet past-him hadn't found him worth helping. He had turned down the plea of a slave.

Jim winced at that thought, his guilt ten folding for not answering Angor Rot's call … especially when he recalled the troll's madness when his soul's container had been destroyed. It had driven the assassin to madness.

Rubbing the back of his neck, feeling really heavy all of a sudden, Jim found himself asking, "Why don't you just ask the Trollhunter for help? They can't deny a real call and being basically enslaved by the Pale Lady and forced to do other people's bidding kind of sounds like something they would help with."

Yep, he couldn't believe he just pushed that responsibility onto Kanjigar. Just another case against Jim being the Trollhunter to begin with.

The troll stopped stirring his potion and looked at Jim as if he was mad, almost in awe as he added, "Seers really do set out to get themselves killed, don't they? Spouting madness like that. Your kind should all be de-tongued for your own safety."

Jim's face scrunched up in insult, but Angor Rot just continued as he rose to his feet, stating, "The evening grows old and darker still, child. It's best to get this over with before other night creatures besides myself notice your presence above ground and far from the Hearthstone's light. So, seer, do you want the mark on your back or chest? I will allow you that much choice since soon you will unlikely have any at all."

Eyes going wide, Jim was to his feet and trying to gather magic in his hand before Angor Rot was even over the threshold of the arcane circle. It was a pathetic glow compared to how his magic usually burst to life when he had his amulet on, but he was still surprised that it came at his call. It wasn't strong enough to form a sword or something useful, but Jim still managed to encase his hand in a magic sheen and make a fist with it. He didn't have a spell or the right words for what he wanted, but he hoped the intent was enough. He then threw an uppercut at that stone chin as the troll drew near.

The assassin dodged elegantly to ignore the hit, but even Jim saw his wince as little arches of electricity jumped onto the troll's flesh and seemed to bite into him before sinking in.

Wiping his cheek with his spare hand, seemingly having felt pain from Jim's magic, the troll glared, his words echoing, "Impressive, little mage. Perhaps if you would have used your base magic instead of that blood blade, you might have managed to get away. Not for long, mind you, but no one ever escapes me for long."

The scuffle didn't last long given the enclosed space and Jim's lack of gathered magic, but Angor Rot didn't seem to mind. He actually played with Jim, parrying each electric jab with his hand as if happy for the thrill of pain as the blue magic arched over his stone skin with each impact. He might have even allowed it to go on for hours with the rancor grin he held, but Jim soon found his magic failing and running short. He didn't have his amulet after all, and soon Jim was pinned to the floor with a knee on one shoulder.

"You're going to crush me!" Jim snapped, his free arm clawing at the floor fruitlessly. "Humans need air!"

"You seem to be getting enough if you can yell," replied the troll almost cheekily. It really bothered Jim how differently the troll treated him as the seer. It likely had something to do with how Kanjigar and the rest of Trollmarket treated him as well. He was a mageling: a child of magic.

He wasn't a child! He was a teenager!

And with that rage filled thought, Jim slapped his free hand back and hit Angor Rot with all the magic he had left. The troll shouted in surprise, the attack likely stinging, but it was Jim that paid the price, his arm painfully pinned and his face pushed into the floor.

"Enough," finally growled Angor Rot, Jim finally making him angry it seemed, "I haven't time for games anymore. This will be done now and quickly."

And with that, Jim felt the back of his jacket being tugged and shredded, the troll quickly poking around at the skin of his back left shoulder, muttering something to himself. Then, oddly enough, Angor Rot released his head and offered up a wooden spoon, stating simply, "Bite into this. I know how frail human teeth are and how easily a human can bite out their own tongue. And for this spell to work, I need you alive as long as possible."

Turning his head away, hating that Vendel was right, and not only was Jim receiving some kind of cursed mark but was recaptured.

Beside himself, finally feeling defeated, moisture started to gather in his eyes, the teen's words almost a whisper, "Please, you don't have to do whatever this is. I promise I will try to help you."

"I trust mages less so than the Trollhunter, child," said Angor Rot surprisingly softly. "Now bite and this will be over quickly."

Hating himself, somehow feeling this was divine punishment for ignoring Angor Rot's call in his last life, Jim bit his lip and buried his face into the floor, ignoring the wooden spoon. The hunter muttered something about the stubbornness of magelings and started dipping his claws into the strange inky concoction in the bowl, showing that Jim was out of time.

The boy refused to cry out when he felt those same claws finally start to dig into the flesh of his back, his chest feeling like it was fire as the troll started to carve his cursed symbol, the air filling with magic.

…

Sergeant Ben Gulager sat at this desk, staring at the report before him blankly. He didn't want to finish typing it … he really didn't because he was a man that had always tried to uphold his principles and here he was about to lie on another report. Yes, another. He had already lied about the troll that basically scrapped his car on the bridge the other night. He had said it had been dark. Maybe it was a bear or some prank that had gone completely wrong, but it seemed that the lie had been presented a day short and a penny late … something was already after him.

He could feel it sometimes when he was out on the street, serving the public. It was like he was being watched. At first, he blamed the kids and Jack for imbuing paranoia in him. He wouldn't even stand near culverts or sewer openings anymore because apparently trolls and such creatures dwelled there. Haters of the light apparently. And at first, he thought it odd that he was getting call after call to end up in such places. Places that were dark, out of the way, and secluded.

And then today, that FBI agent that claimed to be sticking around to further investigate Jim Lake Junior's disappearance, smiled at him. It was not a friendly smile. It was … cold … and hungry … and wrong. And for the briefest of seconds, he was certain he had seen that man's eyes glint like that of a wild animal.

His hands had shaken when he called Jack about it a few hours ago. The younger man had been surprisingly calm, stating he knew what to do, and that he would help him. They just needed to test this FBI agent, make sure he was a monster, and then move on from there. Jack said he'd call back in a little bit, still muttering something about horseshoes and iron bear traps.

Ben didn't know what to think about that, but Jack was a little touched in the head. He never developed socially right after losing his brother. It was like something was stuck in the man's head, always haunting him.

Wiping a hand down his face, wondering if it was too late in the night to go check on Jack since the man hadn't gotten back to him yet as promised, Ben perked up as one of the call operators echoed over his and everyone else's radios in the small station.

"Hey, who's free to go speak with some joggers over in West Arcadia Park?" said dispatch tiredly. "It sounded like another false sighting of that missing kid, Lake, but some of the details are fishy. For one, he was filthy and seemed to be running from someone. And from what the joggers could tell, he was heading towards the culva sac where the Lake's house is located."

Ben, more than glad to ignore his report, was quick to volunteer along with a few younger officers. It wasn't that he was hopeful if it was actually Jim, he was honestly terrified if it was. Because, according to Tobias, that dark troll from the bridge, Bular, was out for blood when it came to Jim. And, fearing for his own life nowadays, Ben wasn't sure how much he'd be able to help the poor kid.

…

Jim's nails dug into the wooden floor as the boy ground his teeth, trying not to even whimper as Angor Rot literally carved some kind of symbol into his skin. He had no idea what it was or what it was for, but if the assassin was involved it couldn't be good.

Finally, after what felt like ten consecutive minutes of having his flesh parted and feeling blood pooling down his back, the troll stopped muttering above him and pulled his claws away. Unable to stop himself, Jim completely collapsed onto the floor, tears blinding him. He couldn't believe he had pitied this monster just a few minutes ago.

"Humans really do bleed too much," muttered Angor Rot above the teen, before he lifted his knee off the youth's back and reached for a towel from his collection of pilfered goods.

Jim didn't even get to gather a deep breath when suddenly there was cool water being dumped on his back, the troll immediately patting away the blood with the towel. The mage-in-training might have thought the act a small kindness if the troll did grumble about twitchy mortals and went back to carving into the youth's back, apparently making some final touches.

"P-please stop," finally whimpered Jim, hating how his voice broke with each word as the troll made his final corrections. "I said I would h-help you, so why are y-you doing this to m-me? And w-what are you doing to me?"

"Shifting someone's gaze," said Angor Rot cryptically as he dabbed Jim's back once more making the teen hiss. "And taking the power I need instead of begging for it like a fool."

Then, reaching for his own blade, the assassin lifted his hand over the skull cap cutting into himself as he started rehearsing an actual spell. This time his wound actually seemed to bleed, droplets of troll blood falling into the bowl as an unnatural wind started to form in the room, the candles that hadn't melted completely down to their wicks flickering.

Jim tried to translate the words, tried to understand what the assassin was cursing him with in old Trollish, but the heat in his chest was growing tenfold like his skin was on fire. Then, apparently done with the spoken part of his spell, the hunter poured the remaining concoction all over the carved symbol on Jim's back. The teen didn't even get to yip at the feel of the black goo when Angor Rot started pressing his cut hand over the bleeding symbol.

Electricity immediately seemed to ripple forth, blue electric arcs pouring out of Jim's wound and seeming to snap at the golden electricity coming out of Angor Rot's own wound. It was like two thunderstorms had suddenly met, biting and ripping at each other, each trying to devour the other. It might have been a real battle, a competition of magics, but soon the arcane circle was glowing, seeming to absorb both beings' magic.

And yet … there were plans besides Angor Rot's blooming forth, more than happy to throw a wrench into the predicament.

Jim, seemingly unable to take the pain anymore, was suddenly withering below his capturer, barking about the heat ... and the fire. And yet, just when Angor Rot was about to bark at the boy to be still, that there was no fire, there were purple flames there. They were crawling up from under the teen's shirt and up the human's back … and to the two intersecting wounds.

Before Angor Rot could try and halt the spell, to pull away or react appropriately, a third magic-type had intercepted. The purple flames immediately overwhelmed the original spell, causing it to implode in on itself and backfire.

The hunter was violently ripped from his spell work and thrown across the room while Jim was tossed a little less harshly against a nearby wall and right out of the arcane circle.

Jim was the first to recover as magic rippled and faded in the air, the teen wheezing as he patted at the purple flames under his shirt. He soon was ripping some kind of scroll from under his jacket, the thing bursting into flames as soon as it was away from the boy's flesh. The teen didn't even get to see if he had been burned by the Bargainer's scroll or even wonder why it had activated now of all times when Angor Rot was speaking.

"What spell trap have you cast, you little fool," barked the troll shakily, traces of purple and blue magic jumping over his stone-flesh as he hunched over himself in the ruins of the Lake's coffee table and couch. He was obviously in some kind of pain, the troll's cut hand being gripped tightly at the wrist. It seemed like the spell had rebound on its caster with the way Angor Rot was now bleeding from his wound, a blue arcane circle now etched there in his palm.

Pushing himself into a sitting position, a hand on his chest, Jim merely panted before stating, "I don't know. I didn't do anything."

That didn't seem to be a good enough answer for the troll though. And, despite his obvious pain, Angor Rot shakily lifted himself out of the ruins of the couch and headed towards the breathless boy across the room, the troll's killer intent obvious.

Jim, uncertain if Strickler's command was going to keep him alive or not after that spectacular backfired, panicked as he tried to get to his feet. He needed to get his amulet and get out of there!

And yet, just when the assassin was two strides from grabbing Jim, there was a bang and crash. The back door to the house had literally been kicked in and was now sliding across the floor. The teen didn't even get to blink properly when suddenly the room was filled with the soft magical of spelled armor, a troll's roar filling the room. None other than Kanjigar was now in the fray and kicking the assassin away from the mageling, the Trollhunter roaring at Angor Rot to stay away from his charge.

The human might have taken a second to be amazed or even impressed with Kanjigar's explosive entrance, if the cry of police sirens hadn't soon joined the troll battle forming in the middle of the room, red and blue lights flashing almost as brightly as Daylight as he tried to slice the assassin down.

...

Across town, far from the ensuing troll-battle forming in the Lake house as it was surrounded by cop cars, was a sleeping nearly-immortal nineteen-year-old. His name was Douxie Casperan.

Currently, he was camped out in the back room of his place of work on a cot. You might think that the business owner might frown at that … if they knew it was there to being with. A spare spell here and there, and no one saw a thing. It was perfect for a wayward wizard-in-training that had yet to find their place in the world and create their first staff.

In fact, Douxie had been searching for a long time for a way to complete himself, but there was just something missing in him. It was like a word had been unspoken and a spell had only been partially cast, leaving him in this place of limbo: a mage that may never become a full wizard.

And yet, if that was what Casperan dreamed of or not, it matter little because suddenly there was a cat-familiar jumping on the young man's chest, batting at his cheeks as he pestered him to get up.

Batting away at Archie's paws, Douxie groaned and rolled over, wanting to go back to bed. And yet, unsurprisingly his pillow fell to the floor and his only blanket escaped, leaving the mage lying there on a cold cot.

Sighing, knowing that that was a sign to get up, the wizard-in-training slowly sat up, hair escaping every which way as he gave a tired glare at his companion.

His muttering was barely audible as he rubbed a hand down his face, "Why Archie? Some of us have to actually work around here and need to get some sleep for the next day."

Archie, now sitting on a desk piled with books and other magical oddities, flicked his tail as he muttered, "Well, you might have to call in tomorrow because we have a situation on our hands. It seems that oddity has finally shown itself again. In fact, it seems to have waken the other as well."

Frowning deeply, not liking the sound of that at all, the young man rolled off his cot and padded with bare feet over to the desk he had pushed into the back corner with him. Said desk was piled with magic oddities, spell books, and crystal vials. All the things a mage-in-training needs to become a full-fledged wizard. And yet, there was one curio that stood out from the rest. It was an old Landlord's board game that looked like it came from the early 1900s, the greens and blues seeming painfully faded with the bright little crystals placed all around it. In fact, a few of the little stones were glowing, flickering like ghost lights.

Douxie, swallowing sharply, asked calmly, "It's back, isn't it?"

"The one that took the children," clarified the familiar as he poked at a small crystal with a claw, the thing flickering a sickly yellow.

"And the oddity as well has finally shown itself," added Douxie as he squatted before the desk, getting eye-level with the crystal figures, especially the one that was flickering a soft blue. "And there is no doubt in my mind that chaos will follow in its wake. It doesn't belong here."

"That doesn't stop it from being here regardless," said the cat as he jumped down the floor, stating simply, "Now, come along. We have an enigma to investigate. It was Merlin's last command to you after all."

Watching another little crystal flicker to life on the board, part of him feeling like this was all some kind of greater domino effect, the mage muttered, "Yeah, this mystery has drug itself out long enough, hasn't it? It's time for this to be put to rest."

And with that, the immortal young man slid on his boots, ready to see what all the fuss was about.

XXX

Paw07: There, I finally brought Douxie up … and I have no idea how to write him. I need to rewatch Wizards or something. And yes, Jim finally got that troll tattoo he wanted back in season one. I'm sure it's super badass and totally not cursed. XD