Page 32 of Magic in My Bones (Delightfully Dark Arts #1)
32
Depths of Identity
Ren
The world fell away as I slipped deeper into the trance. Only Dorian's desperate voice calling my name anchored me to reality, though even that seemed distant now. The Chain of Echoes pulsed in my grip, the runes flickering with an eldritch light. Around me, tortured spirits swirled in a maelstrom of anguish and rage, their ghostly figures distorted by the twisting currents of necromantic energy.
The spirit who had sought my aid materialized in front of me. Gratitude emanated from its being, a warm glow amidst the turbulent sea of tormented souls.
“Ren Wickens,” the spirit said. “I cannot thank you enough for bringing me here.”
Relief washed over me, momentarily quelling the doubts that had plagued my mind. Perhaps I had made the right choice after all, despite the unsettling nature of my surroundings. The spirit's appreciation felt like a validation of my efforts, a glimmer of hope in the darkness.
But then, something shifted. The ethereal figure began to morph and twist, its features rearranging themselves into something grotesque. His skin glistened with a sickly sheen, slick and rubbery like the hide of some deep-sea monstrosity. Bulbous, unblinking eyes stared at me, devoid of humanity, while gills fluttered grotesquely at the sides of his neck.
The horrifying creature let out a wet sigh of relief, the sound a distorted mix of bubbling water and rasping breath. Its transformation was complete, and where the benign spirit once hovered now stood a thing of nightmares, towering and unnatural. I stumbled back, my grip on the Chain of Echoes tightening instinctively.
“Ah,” it crooned, its voice still carrying the faint echo of the spirit's earlier tone but now warped, guttural, and dripping with malice. “Finally, free of that pathetic guise. You have served your purpose well, Ren Wickens.”
The gills on its neck flared as it inhaled deeply, as if savoring the air of the ritual site. A cold dread slithered down my spine, the weight of my mistake crushing me. My voice wavered as I forced out the words. “What… what are you?”
The creature's grotesque lips curled into a facsimile of a smile, revealing rows of jagged, uneven teeth. “Not what, boy. Who. I am Alistair Grimshaw. Or at least, what remains of him. You were so eager to help me, and here we are.”
“Alistair?” came Dorian’s shaky voice behind me. “But I don’t understand. If you were bound in the Chain of Echoes, then who’s been doing all this? Who set up this ritual? Who—”
The creature—Alistair—let out a gurgling chuckle that sent shivers racing across my skin. “You still haven't figured it out, have you, Dorian? And here I thought you were the clever one.”
A figure emerged from behind one of the towering stones that ringed the ritual site. My heart plummeted as I recognized the familiar face of Dean Vane. He stepped into the flickering light, his usually pristine suit replaced by black robes.
Fisk let out a shriek of terror and dove into the water.
“Hello, Ren,” Dean said, his voice like silk sliding over sharpened steel. “I must admit, I'm impressed. I never thought you'd make it this far.”
I gaped at him, my mind reeling as I tried to process the betrayal. Dean Vane, head of the very department where I’d been studying, Dorian’s boss. He had been working with Alistair all along.
“Why?” I rasped, my voice trembling under the weight of my anger and disbelief. “Why would you do this?”
Dean Vane’s eyes glinted with a dangerous fervor, his expression carved from equal parts arrogance and contempt. A twisted smile curled his lips, more sneer than smirk. “You really are clueless, aren’t you?” he said, his tone laced with mock pity. “The academy has lost its purpose, its prestige . We’ve been reduced to pandering to mediocrity, shackled by trivial notions of ethics and morality.”
“Ethics and morality are not trivial!” Dorian snapped, his voice steady but brimming with indignation. “The dead deserve dignity, not exploitation!”
“They’re dead,” Vane spat, his face twisting in disdain. “What value does dignity have to those who no longer exist ? The living should command their legacy, not cower before it!”
Alistair stepped forward, his webbed fingers trailing along the cold, rough stone as though drawing power from it. “The academy was a beacon once,” he intoned, his voice rich with disdain and nostalgia. “Before it fell to the weak men like you, Professor Crowe. Men who poison greatness with their obsession for equality, ‘spirit rights,’ and compassion for the dead. Pathetic. ”
Dorian’s jaw tightened.
“Compassion is not a weakness,” Cassian insisted. “It’s what separates us from monsters.”
Alistair’s laugh was cold, hollow. “Then perhaps it’s time for monsters to take their rightful place. Strength, power, dominion… That is the future. Not sentimentality.”
Dorian stepped forward, placing himself between me and the abomination that was once Alistair Grimshaw. “That's where you're mistaken, Alistair. True strength lies in compassion. It takes real courage to lift others up, while only the weak drag people down in their desperate climb to the top.”
Vane scoffed, a sharp sound that cut through the tension like a blade. “Spare me your lectures, Crowe. You’ve always been soft, blind to the truth that power demands sacrifice. Alistair understood that, understands it even now.”
Alistair flexed his clawed hands, the movement unnatural, joints cracking wetly. “And now I will reap the rewards,” he rumbled. His eyes fixed on me, and I felt as though I was being peeled apart layer by layer. “Ren Wickens, you brought me here, unknowingly, perhaps, but willingly nonetheless. A key in the lock.”
I shook my head, the denial rising in my throat before I could stop it. “No. No, I didn’t know! I wouldn’t have—”
“But you did,” Alistair interrupted, his gills flaring. “Your intent is irrelevant. The ritual is already underway, and my bond to Dagon will soon be sealed. Immortality will be mine. All I need is a little of your blood.”
I backed away, clutching the Chain of Echoes like a lifeline. My mind raced, trying to find a way out of this nightmare. Dorian's hand found my shoulder, steadying me. His touch was a comfort, an anchor in the chaos.
“You'll have to go through me first,” Dorian said, his voice low and dangerous. There was a hardness in his eyes I'd never seen before, a steely resolve that sent a thrill down my spine despite the dire circumstances.
Vane laughed, a harsh, grating sound. “How noble. But ultimately futile. You can't stop what's already been set in motion.”
He raised his hands, dark energy crackling between his fingers. The very air seemed to warp and twist around him. Alistair stepped forward, his malformed body undulating grotesquely.
“Come now, Ren,” he crooned. “Just a few drops. A small price to pay for the glory I will attain. You could join me, you know. I could give you everything you've ever wanted. The body you’ve always known you should have, and one free from the trappings of mortality. Power beyond your wildest dreams.”
I stared at Alistair, my heart pounding as his words sank in like poisoned barbs. The offer hung in the air, a twisted promise that made my stomach churn. I swallowed hard, my grip tightening on the Chain of Echoes until my knuckles turned white.
“You're wrong,” I said, meeting Dorian's eyes briefly. His unwavering faith in me had taught me more about self-worth than any magical transformation could. “I don't need your empty promises or your warped ideals. My body, my life—everything I am—is mine because I fought for it. Maybe my life isn’t perfect, and maybe my body doesn’t fit into a nice, neat little box, but it doesn’t need to be remade. I’m not something to fix because I’m not broken. I never was. True power isn’t about what you can take or control. It’s about knowing yourself and standing unshaken. And I know who I am, Alistair. I am enough. I always have been.”
Dorian's hand squeezed my shoulder, a silent affirmation of my words. Pride shone in his eyes when our gazes met, and in that moment, I knew I had made the right choice. I stood tall, my resolve unwavering in the face of Alistair's grotesque form and Vane's malevolent sneer.
“You insignificant whelp,” Vane snarled, his face contorting with rage. “You dare reject such an offer? You're nothing but a pathetic, confused child playing at being a man.”
Anger flared hot in my chest, but before I could retort, Cassian stepped forward, his burly frame radiating a quiet, simmering fury.
“That's enough,” he growled, his deep voice reverberating through the chamber. “Ren is more of a man than you could ever hope to be, Vane. He knows who he is and what he stands for. That's a strength you'll never understand.”
Rowan moved to stand beside Cassian, their delicate features set in a look of grim determination. “Your words have no power here,” they said, their usually gentle voice now sharp as a blade. “We won't let you corrupt the sanctity of life and death any further.”
Vane's eyes narrowed, dark energy crackling around his fingertips. “Then you will all die,” he hissed.
Alistair lunged at me with a snarl, moving with unnatural speed. I stumbled back, nearly losing my grip on the Chain of Echoes. Dorian was there in an instant, a barrier of shimmering energy springing to life between us and the twisted creature.
Across the chamber, Cassian and Rowan moved to stop Dean Vane. Cassian's fists smashed into the rock, narrowly avoiding Vane’s head while Rowan wove arcane symbols in the air.
“Ren, the circle!” Dorian shouted over the crackling of dark magic. “Use the Chain to disrupt it!”
My mind raced as I scanned the intricate lines etched into the stone floor. The runes pulsed with a sickly light, the air above them shimmering like a heat haze. I could feel the wrongness of it, the perversion of the natural order.
I raised the Chain of Echoes, the silver links glinting in the eerie glow. The runes along its length flared to life, resonating with the power of the captured souls. I could feel their anguish, their desperation, and beneath it all, a flicker of hope.
“I'm sorry,” I whispered to the spirits bound within. “But I need your help.”
With a deep breath, I plunged my consciousness into the Chain, allowing my essence to merge with the enslaved souls. Their memories, their emotions, their very beings flooded through me. It was agony and ecstasy, a maelstrom of sensation that threatened to sweep me away.
But I held fast, clinging to the core of who I was—Ren Wickens, a man who had fought tooth and nail for every scrap of self-acceptance and belonging. I reached out through the Chain, guiding the spirits' energy, shaping it into a weapon of my own making.
With a cry of defiance, I lashed out at the ritual circle, the Chain of Echoes whipping through the air like a serpent of silver light. Time slowed to a crawl as I watched its trajectory, my heart pounding in my chest like a drum beaten by a frenzied musician.
But just as the chain was about to strike the ritual circle, a blast of Dorian’s magic sent Alistair careening into its path. The runes along the chain flared with blinding intensity as they made contact with his grotesque flesh, searing into his skin like white-hot brands.
Alistair let out an inhuman shriek of pain and rage, his bulbous eyes bulging even further from their sockets. Viscous, dark blood oozed from the wounds, splattering onto the stone floor in thick, ropey strands. To my horror, the droplets fell directly onto the pulsing lines of the ritual circle, causing them to flare with a sickening, crimson light.
“You fool,” Alistair gurgled, his voice a wet, bubbling rasp. “Do you have any idea what you've done?”
Vane's face contorted with a mix of disbelief and fury as he stared at the now glowing ritual circle. “The blood,” he snarled. “It wasn't supposed to be his. You've ruined everything!”
The ground beneath my feet began to tremble, a deep, bone-rattling vibration that sent shivers racing up my spine. The ritual circle pulsed with an angry, crimson light, the runes twisting and warping before my eyes. I stumbled back, nearly losing my footing as the stone floor heaved like the deck of a ship in a storm.
“Ren!” Dorian shouted, his voice barely audible. His arms closed around me and he pulled me back.
The air grew thick and heavy, pressing down on me like a physical weight. It was hard to breathe, hard to think, as an overwhelming sense of wrongness pervaded the chamber.
And then, with a deafening crack, the center of the ritual circle split open, a jagged fissure that raced across the stone like a lightning bolt. From the depths of that unnatural chasm, a geyser of brackish water erupted, spraying the room with a foul-smelling mist that clung to my skin and clothes.
The geyser of water settled into a large, undulating shape, its movements strange and unnatural. A hulking form emerged, its outline shifting and unsteady, with dark, glistening scales catching the dim light. The air around us seemed to grow colder, the very atmosphere thickening as if reality itself was bending in the creature's presence.
Dagon had arrived.
Beside me, Dorian stood motionless, his breath caught in his chest. I could understand why. The sight before us was beyond anything our minds had prepared for. He was indescribable, and yet my mind scrambled to make sense of this nonsensical being from the depths.
Alistair’s face went pale, his eyes wide with raw panic. He staggered back, his body convulsing as he tried to flee, but his steps were clumsy. His hands grasped at nothing, his breath ragged as he fell to his knees.
A black tentacle snaked out from the shifting form, coiling around Alistair’s waist with unnatural speed. His screams faltered as the tentacle tightened, its grip unyielding.
The last thing I saw was the look of pure terror on Alistair’s face before the tendrils drew him into the creature’s vast, shadowed form. The air filled with an eerie, final silence, and the ground seemed to tremble as it consumed him.
The creature let out a low, rumbling sound that was almost like a contented burp, and the air seemed to shift, the oppressive weight of its presence easing, if only slightly. With a final, lingering glance at the scene before it, Dagon began to retreat back into the depths from which it had emerged. Its massive form undulated, disappearing into the shadows of the ocean with an eerie grace, leaving nothing behind but ripples on the water’s surface and the scent of brine in the air.
A chill ran through me as the silence stretched on. Dorian's hand found mine in the darkness.
Dean Vane, having watched Alistair's fate unfold before him, seemed to snap out of his stunned stupor. His eyes flickered with panic, and in a desperate, jerky motion, he turned and fled the way he’d come. His footsteps were hurried and erratic, his mind clearly scrambling to escape whatever horrors he had just witnessed.
But before he could get far, a low hum filled the air. It was soft, almost imperceptible at first, like the vibration of the earth itself. Rowan stepped forward, a calm, predatory look in their eyes. The air around them seemed to ripple, like a distortion in the fabric of reality itself.
“Stop,” Rowan's voice cut through the tension, and with it, the world seemed to pause. Dean Vane froze mid-step, his body stiffening as if he were suddenly caught in an invisible net.
The psychomancy magic flowed from Rowan like a silent storm, wrapping around Vane's mind, dampening his will, subduing his movements. His face went slack, his eyes glassy and unseeing, as though he'd been struck by some unseen force. The panic on his face faded into something more blank, less human.
“You're not going anywhere,” Rowan added, their tone cold but oddly gentle. “Except to stand before the council to answer for your crimes.”
With Alistair devoured by the eldritch horror he had sought to control, and Dean Vane held captive by Rowan's psychomancy, an eerie calm settled over the chamber. My heart still raced, my mind reeling as it tried to process the rapid succession of events.
I turned to Dorian, seeking comfort in his presence. His face was pale, his eyes wide with shock, but when our gazes met, I saw a flicker of relief, of pride. He pulled me into a tight embrace, his warmth chasing away the lingering chill of Dagon's presence.
“You did it, Ren,” he murmured into my hair. “You stood your ground. You were magnificent. I’m so proud of you.”
I clung to him, burying my face in his chest as the adrenaline began to ebb, leaving me shaky and exhausted. “I couldn't have done it without you,” I whispered. “Without any of you.”
Cassian approached, his large hand coming to rest on my shoulder. “You've got a strength in you, kid. Don't ever forget that.”
I nodded, feeling a swell of gratitude and affection for my friends, my mentors, my chosen family. We had faced the unimaginable together and emerged victorious, though the cost had been high.
My gaze drifted to the shimmering remains of the ritual circle, the runes now dull and lifeless. The Chain of Echoes lay where it had fallen, the silver links glinting in the dim light. I stepped forward, bending to pick it up with a trembling hand.
The spirits within were silent now, their anguish and rage quelled by the destruction of the circle. I could feel their presence still, a gentle hum of energy that pulsed in time with my own heartbeat.
“What do we do with it now?” I asked, turning to face the others. “The Chain, the spirits... we can't just leave them like this.”
Dorian's brow furrowed in thought. “We'll need to find a way to release them properly, to guide them to the afterlife they deserve. It will take time and care, but it's the right thing to do.”
Rowan nodded in agreement, their eyes soft with compassion. “They've suffered enough. We'll make sure they find peace.”
I clutched the Chain to my chest, a fierce protectiveness welling up inside me. “I want to help,” I said firmly.
Dorian put a gentle hand on my shoulder. “And you will, Ren.”
I nodded, my throat tight with emotion. The weight of what we had just faced settled heavily upon me, but beneath it, a flicker of pride sparked to life. I had faced my demons—both literal and metaphorical—and emerged on the other side. Battered, bruised, but unbroken.
Dorian's arms tightened around me, his lips brushing the top of my head in a gesture of comfort and affection. “Rowan, will your spell hold on him long enough to get us back to the academy?”
Rowan considered for a moment before nodding. “I’ll have to hold on to him, but yes. I can hold him as long as you need.”
“Then let's go home,” Dorian said softly, his fingers intertwining with mine. His use of home —not back to the academy or to my cottage, but simply home— made my heart swell. After everything we'd faced, that's what we'd built together: a home. “I think we could both use a quiet evening with tea and each other.”
I couldn't agree more.