Chapter Text
Mirrors knows,
Where my shoe wrings.
I'm not looking in it
Anymore.
Tight mask
Is my rescue.
All day and night
I'm perpetual slave of it.
And what's under it - nobody knows.
It happens as it always has been -
Unwish to make harm to you
I will entertain you again.
Again!
You want to look
What is under mask, but, alas,
I don't want to lost you.
To lost you!
“Mask” – Korol i Shut
Our world is extremely diverse. It is inhabited by many amazing creatures, the origin of which is still unknown. The greatest prevalence can boast of the race of humans. But in addition to them to the numerous races can be attributed elves, gnomes, dwarves, orcs and goblins. And much rarer are aarakokra (bird-men), sylves (spirits of the Milternest forest, messengers of the Great Tree itself), dragonborn and ha-sit (cat-men). In addition, there are those with the blood of several nations in their veins. These creatures are known as half-bloods. They include half elves, half orcs and the like. A separate place among them are such races as genasi (half-elementals) and tieflings (half-demons).
But our world is inhabited and dark entities. They include undead and demons. The latter are of three kinds: primordial demons, demons of fire and demons of the Abyss. Primordial exist since the time of the dragons, but, unlike the ancient lizards, cannot boast of intelligence and wisdom. Demons of fire, according to one version, are the Ancients, who became so fond of studying pyromancy that they burned themselves, turning into pure fire. Dark entities of the latter type disappeared without a trace after the first war of Darkness with the Ancients. The Ancients imprisoned all unclean forces against life in a place that became a grave for all that was to be forgotten.
The Ancients themselves are a long-extinct, little-studied race. They existed as far back as the First Age and were the first wizards. Whether they created magic or simply discovered it is not known. But the Ancients mastered sorcery to perfection, which is why many races consider them Gods. In the ruins that once belonged to these creatures, still find artifacts, the purpose of which is not yet given to understand mere mortals. In addition, far to the west is a citadel of mages, where the spells and legacy of the Ancients are studied and new wizards are trained.
Much has changed since the First Age, and magic has filled every corner of our world and become an integral part of life. Many and varied schools have sprung up. But with light charms are always neighboring dark ones, and with them powerful entities, whose power is sometimes beyond our comprehension.
A cool breeze rushed through the forest, as if playing, causing a leaf to fall from a tree onto the yellowed paper. Iron-gloved fingers slipped over the lines and brushed away the intruder. And then there was the quiet rustle of pages turning.
"Races, demons, magic..." the man whispered under his breath, leafing through the book in his lap. "Only common knowledge, and with mistakes. I already know all that."
He slammed the book shut and leaned back against the trunk of the low tree under which he was resting. His face was hidden by an iron mask that revealed only dark gray eyes filled with quiet wisdom. His hair was hidden beneath the hood of a dark green robe, the worn fabric of which slid over the armor beneath it, making it possible to see the occasional metallic gleam between the halves of the garment. It was almost noon, making the sunlight glisten on the man, barely breaking through the lush tree crown. Before him stretched a small clearing flooded with warm rays and surrounded on all sides by a dense forest. There was not a single cloud in the sky, and a fresh breeze swayed the tall grass that glistened in the sun as if it were the crests of the waves of a green sea. Somewhere on the horizon, the top of a mountain could be seen, which gradually changed to the foliage of the trees at the base of the ridge.
The masked man covered his eyes and listened to the sounds of the wildlife that surrounded him on all sides as the atmosphere of the quiet and serene forest world enveloped his soul. Somewhere in the grass some animal was rummaging, in a tree a bird was making a nest, and in the distance could be heard the even stomping of hoofs on the ground. The man did not notice the presence of any strangers, so he looked around the clearing again and rose. It was a couple hours' walk to the nearest village, so he didn't want to delay. He picked up his hiking bag, slung it on his shoulder, and picked up his staff, which had been leaning against a tree. It looked like a long wooden cane, with a gilded tip, the patterns of which were intertwined to form a quadrangular shape.
The traveler looked again at the book in his hand, pondered for a while, and then put it into his sack. He had found this work in a dungeon in the rock not far from here. He had to go through it to avoid going around the mountain range. However, the literature turned out to be useless, because it contained only uppermost truths. But he didn't want to throw it away, because even for it he could try to get a couple silver coins. So he simply continued on his way, and soon his figure disappeared among the trees, and the clearing was once again calm and immovable.
***
Despite the heat of the day, the village was vibrant. As soon as the masked man passed the low wooden gate, he was surrounded by the sounds of voices coming from everywhere. The narrow street was crowded with travelers and locals. On either side of it were chains of monotonous log cabins, which sometimes neighbored stone houses. The rustic buildings were not distinguished by their refinement, so it was not the buildings that attracted the eye, but the small shops along the houses, behind which clever traders were actively praising their goods. There was a lot of food, jewelry, weapons, and even enchanted items. Because the village was located near the port, there was always an abundance of all sorts of curiosities, and many travelers could be found on the streets. The man pulled his hood up, as if trying to hide his mask from the eyes of others, but no one paid attention to the stranger in the strange clothes. Apparently, rather unusual creatures often dropped by this village. In the past, for example, one could spot an elf with pointed ears that drew the eye, or a dwarf who would argue with anyone who dared not notice him in the crowd, or worse, push him. Even among the merchants selling gear, there was a huge orc who glanced lazily down the street from the height of his stature. And near one of the stores, the man noticed a figure in a cloak with a cat's tail peeking out from underneath.
This village was famous not only for its large turnover of magical artifacts, but also for the wandering wizards who often came here. So the traveler had come here to talk to the local mages and maybe purchase some enchanted seals, for there was a haunting voice in his head too often lately.
As he passed the tavern, he felt a hand on his shoulder, which made him grasp the dagger at his belt and tense up. But it was only a clearly tipsy girl, who literally hung on him. Her dark curly hair was disheveled, causing a few strands to fall over her flushed cheeks, and her brown eyes glistened from the drink. Her light dress was wrinkled and dirty in places, but it didn't seem to bother her as she continued to smile slyly.
"I haven't seen you here before. You're a traveler, aren't you? Would you like to relax with me in the tavern? It belongs to my father. He'll lower the price for the room if you agree," the stranger whispered in a stammering voice, biting her brightly painted lip.
The masked man closed his eyes slightly, trying to calm down, and took his hand off the dagger. He looked around and noticed quite a few people whose attention he really didn't want to attract, so he only tried to pull away from her.
"I'm not here for a while, I'm not looking for an overnight stay," he said calmly, and then thought for a moment before adding. "Where is the nearest magic shop around here?"
The girl blinked incomprehensibly as her alcohol-addled mind slowly parsed what she'd heard, and then sighed disappointedly. She pulled away, swaying absurdly, and waved her hand toward the street leading deep into the village.
"Go that way and you'll see her soon," she replied, and then she noticed another man and quickly switched to him, causing her to sway her hips seductively again.
The traveler gave her a glance and then walked in the direction she had indicated. He followed down the street for a while, blending in with the crowd, and soon spotted a small shop with a brightly colored sign that glittered with magic dust. He climbed the steps and opened the creaky door, and found himself in a cramped room filled with various vials and trinkets. The room reeked of magic, which made the masked man stand still for a moment, listening to his inner senses and looking around. From the ceiling hung various amulets to ward off demons, cages with magical animals, and brightly colored cloths that, judging by the enchantments on them, were needed for disguise. On the shelves there were vials of potions, ingredients and books, which were the most abundant here.
The man sensed someone behind him immediately, so he stepped aside. He was just in time, for the boy carrying some boxes that were blocking his view would have run right into the visitor. But when the short blond boy finally noticed him, he immediately put the boxes on the counter and wiped his hands on his pants, smiling broadly.
"Good afternoon, Sir, what brings you to our shop?" he addressed the shop guest in the shared language. But the masked man was surprised that he spoke with an accent, because it was very unusual. Most likely, he was from such distant lands that even the shared language is not common there. However, such places are becoming fewer and fewer every year.
"I need to speak with the shopkeeper," the man pulled his hood even tighter, trying to hide his mask. He didn't believe this child was in charge of the shop, but he might have been a simple apprentice.
And the boy, confirming his guess, nodded and disappeared through the doorway on the right side of the counter. Muffled voices came from there, and then a gray-haired, hunched old man with wrinkles in the corners of his eyes, who was apparently the owner of the place, came out of the next room. He looked at the guest and smiled kindly.
"Can I help you?"
"Yes. I'd like to know if there are any good exorcists in your village or nearby," the man said calmly, looking at the salesman carefully. He raised his eyebrows in surprise, then stroked his gray beard.
"Exorcists, you say..." he said thoughtfully. "We have a couple guys who are able to handle some sealing spells, but it's hard to call them exorcists. There's an island not far from here that's rumored to be inhabited by priests, but we don't cross paths with them, so we don't know much about such matters."
The visitor squinted a little when he heard about this island, because he could be helped there.
"Where is it? And how do you get there?"
"It is located to the south of here, and how to get there I have no idea," the old man smiled awkwardly, wrinkles appearing at the corners of his mouth, and then added. "You can ask the sailors, they should know about the ships that go to the southern island. Or go to Ebina's inn, she told me the other day that she had a traveler staying there who was headed that way."
The shopkeeper shrugged and coughed softly.
"I don't know much more than that, unfortunately."
"Thank you for that," the traveler replied, then nodded respectfully and glanced at the goods on the shelves before asking about the sealing artifacts.
The old man became animated and began to talk about the various items that could hold magical energy, and mentioned potions, amulets, scrolls, and other things, hoping that this unusual guest would buy them as well. As soon as he waved his hand, the items landed in his palm, sliding through the air. Magical potions shimmered with bright colors, and if he opened the vials, they emitted brilliant smoke, which then dissolved into the air. The books floating around the shopkeeper flipped through with a wave of his hand, talking nonstop about something. Birds with clever eyes chirped in their cages, lizards with shining scales ran from one shoulder to the other, and the guest only listened with fake interest while he tried to unobtrusively push the seller to the right items.
***
Soon the wanderer did leave the shop where he had bought a couple of enchanted scrolls. But on his way out, he asked about the location of the inn where the traveler was staying, that he was also on his way to the island. He hoped that the stranger who was making his way to the priests knew something about exorcism. Maybe he even possessed the skill, which would make meeting him a necessity. The man tucked the papers in his bag that would aid him in applying the seals, then heard an ironic voice that came from his subconscious and echoed in his head.
How entertaining. What's next? Are you gonna try to shut me up with a prayer?
He frowned and covered his eyes, trying not to listen to the owner of the annoying voice. But the voice only laughed and its velvet baritone ring in the recesses of his mind like beads scattered on a marble floor.
And you think you're an exorcist? Not even a thousand seals could shut me up, you pathetic saint.
The masked man merely pulled a silver watch from his pocket, letting the taunts pass. He only wanted to know how far to sunset, but he froze in surprise as a chill of fear ran through his soul. The hour hand moved smoothly in a circle, overtaking the minute hand.
"Is it really right here? In the middle of the village?"
The sounds of the busy alleyway were gone in an instant, echoing in his ears only with the sound of someone's heels hitting the stone. The black, elegant gloves creaked as graceful fingers adjusted them, the long snow-white feather in his triangle swayed, and a slight grin appeared on his pale lips.
A moment later the obsession subsided, and the exorcist sank back into the maelstrom of sounds. He glanced at the dial, where the hour hand was pointing toward one of the alleys. Looking around to make sure his hiccup hadn't attracted anyone's attention, he adjusted his hood and headed where the watch pointed.
This watch was a gift from a deceased comrade in honor of the completion of clearing the tunnels in the ruins of the ancient city. They were literally overflowing with evil that was killing the inhabitants of neighboring settlements. Therefore, it was glorified exorcists were asked to deal with this cursed place. However, the intelligence was clearly mistaken, because the dark creatures turned out to be much more than expected. But together with his team, the talented hunter of the undead was still able to successfully accomplish such a difficult task, completing the mission without casualties among his comrades, which was truly amazing. After that, rumors about them spread around the world, and he, as a commander, was given this watch for his excellent work.
Now that none of his men were alive, he kept the watch as a memento. But they also had a practical purpose. The hour hand pointed in the direction of the demon if it was within twenty yards of the owner of the artifact. The strange thing was that the professional exorcist didn't feel the brat under his nose. This could only mean one thing. The unclean force was strong enough to blend in with the crowd. In such a situation, the man was obliged to find the demon, because it could pose a serious danger to the villagers.
So he quickened his steps and turned the corner of one of the buildings, finding himself in a dimly lit alley. It was a narrow alleyway between houses these blocked the sun, so that the slanting rays fell across the walls without illuminating the area. The masked man moved forward cautiously, his attentive eyes gleaming through the slits of his mask. He moved deeper into the semi-darkness, trying not to make a sound and glancing at his watch, its hand pointing forward. But he saw no one there, and a bad feeling gnawed at him from the inside, making him feel as if a dagger's edge was being drawn across his skin, which was covered with scarlet drops of anxiety.
Suddenly the hour hand returned to its rightful place, causing the man to realize that he might lose the Darkness Brat. His cautious stride turned into a quick step, and then he began to run, the light clinking of armor echoing off the walls in the alley. He came to a crossroads several times, pausing for a moment to check his watch, and then he was back in the web of narrow streets. The farther he got from the main street, the more he realized that he could hear nothing but his own noise. The only sounds that reached his ears were the sound of his own footsteps and convulsive breathing. The traveler continued to pursue the faceless figure, catching only its shadow around the next corner. But as soon as he rounded the corner there was no one there again, and the hand of the watch continued to point inexorably forward, as if broken. Someone was playing cat and mouse with him. And it wasn't the exorcist who was acting as the predator, far from it. Blood pounded in his ears, drowning out all other sounds, but he kept running forward, daring not to stop. This was exactly what the demon had hoped to do, affecting people's senses, causing panic attacks. But he had chosen the wrong victim.
Suddenly the fear receded, and the man found himself in front of a lively crowd, and its clamor literally crashed into his ears, creating a strong contrast to the ringing silence. Dark eyes glided over the villagers, and the man himself didn't understand why he hadn't heard the people sooner.
"Magic? No, I would have sensed it. There's something different here," he thought, and his thin eyebrows shifted to the bridge of his nose.
When the wanderer looked at his watch, his gaze grew even more somber. The hour hand did not move, indicating the beginning of the third. The polished silver edges only reflected the bright rays of sunlight sliding bunnies across the metal mask. There was no way to know where the demon had gone, for he could have blended in with the crowd and slipped out of sight. That's exactly what was likely to have happened. The Exorcist looked once more at the travelers going about their business. There were no individuals standing out from the crowd in front of him. His gaze only glanced at the scantily clad locals and the dusty cloaked travelers. The brat toyed with the man, then disappeared as suddenly as it had appeared.
Maybe you should run more often if you can't catch up to a demon even with your watch.
The mocking voice rang again in the masked man's subconscious, and its light tinkle was like the sound of bells swaying in the wind. But he was not at all thrilled to hear another barbed remark against him, and so he ignored it.
"What on earth are you?" he hissed mentally, thinking about that unusual demon that had literally slipped out of his hands, then put away his watch and headed towards the inn the shopkeeper had mentioned, as it was the only thing he could do.
The traveler mingled with the crowd, moving away from the alleyway, not noticing around the corner a short figure in shadow whose was watching him closely. The semi-darkness prevented a closer look, making only an emerald gleam visible, as if someone were rolling a precious stone between his fingers. A few moments later, the figure pushed off the wall and walked away. And the chiming of heels dissolved into the noise of the crowd.
***
Finding the inn belonging to Ebina wasn't easy. The owner of the magic shop described its location so vaguely that he had to ask the villagers for directions several times. But eventually the masked man stopped in front of a low, two-story house with a small courtyard behind it. The wooden walls were cracked and peeling in places, and the sign that read "Old Fisherman" was faded with age.
After climbing the unreliable steps, the traveler pushed the creaking door open with his shoulder and entered a bright and crowded room. Despite its shabby appearance, the inn was clean and pleasant inside. The entire room was filled with round oak tables where customers sat. It seemed to be a popular inn, for all the seats were taken. Maneuvering between the tables, the man made his way to the counter that was on the opposite wall from the entrance. As he walked, the attentive gaze of his gray eyes slid over the guests of the place. There were both noisy companies and individuals drinking alone who were already literally sleeping on the table. It was possible to notice a couple of girls of a rather swaggering look, as well as those who were sitting peacefully at the table and discussing something softly. In addition, there were some pretty women who were serving the food and trying to get rid of the drunken guests who were showing them signs of attention. Once at the counter, the traveler looked up to see an old woman standing behind the counter, talking to one of the customers. There was a low bundle on her head, her hair was gray, her face showed traces of the blush she used to hide her wrinkles, and she wore a discreet dress that reached to her ankles. Her features were not unpleasant, but old age had taken its toll, making her look chronically tired. But the smile that graced the stranger's thin lips seemed to transform her appearance, drawing the eye, if only for a moment.
Coughing, the man dressed in a robe addressed the woman.
"Good evening. Could you tell me where a certain Ebina could be found?"
The lady turned her brown eyes to him and smiled lightly as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
'It's me," she said, laughing softly before continuing. "Did you want something?"
"Yes, I heard that you have a traveler staying with you on his way to an island south of here that is famous for its priests. I would like to speak with him. Unfortunately, I don't know where to find him."
"A traveler, you say?" Ebina stretched out thoughtfully, touching her lips with her index finger, but then her face seemed to brighten and light up into a wide smile. "You must be referring to Finny?"
"Maybe," he shrugged, and then wanted to ask something, but the innkeeper interrupted him.
"Yes, yes, he told me he was going there. He asked about the ships that would take him to the southern island. Oh, such a nice young man, so nice!" her voice was like the chirping of spring birds in bloom.
"How can I meet him?"
"You know, no one has ever listened to me with such awe before!" she continued, ignoring the question. "Everyone in the village thinks I'm a chatterbox, so they don't take me seriously anymore, but sometimes I just need someone's attention! Do you understand me?"
It was as if a spring had exploded inside her that had been holding back the flow of words. But suddenly she was silent, and then looked carefully into the gray eyes of the opposite, which were visible in the slits of the mask. Apparently, the woman was waiting for an answer to her question, but as if dumbfounded the interlocutor could only nod. Having satisfied herself with some reaction, she spoke again.
"You see, after my husband died, I had to take over the inn. And I didn't know anything about it! I'm just a poor woman who can't even fish. This place used to be famous for its fish! It's hard, I don't even have anyone to share it with. All I can do is try to maintain this place, but it's not a woman's job, you know?" Ebina turned to her interlocutor again, and then slapped her finger on her lips. "Oh, I'm distracted. What were we talking about? Oh, yeah, Finny. He's amazing. He listened to me all night, even fixed the porch in the backyard. All he did was read a couple words from some book, and that's it! The porch is as shiny as new. It's amazing what magicians can do, isn't it? I've been asking the local carpenters for a month, and they keep saying for tomorrow and tomorrow. I'm so angry!"
The masked man slightly raised one eyebrow, but continued to look at the lady, unable to stop her outpourings of heart, and only nodded occasionally. He had to listen to her stories about her late husband and the inn for a while, until it came to Finny. He realized that this man was a mage, which was interesting. It gave him hope that he had a knack for exorcism as well.
"Where can I find him?" the man asked as gently as he could, trying not to offend the woman, lest she begin to tell him again about her plight.
She was silent for a couple of seconds, flapping her eyes in surprise as if she had already forgotten who she was talking about, and then looked toward one of the tables. There was a small group of men sitting at it, talking about something. But her gaze was not on them, but on the blond-haired young man who was sitting next to them, with his foot on his leg, listening to the conversations with a slight smile.
"There he is," Ebina said to the masked guest, then raised her voice slightly so the visitors could hear her. "Finnian, come here, please!"
The young man turned to the counter, allowing the stranger to see the patch covering his right eye and the emerald gleam of his left. Squinting slightly, he threw a studying look at the person in the unusual armor and said something softly to the men sitting at the table. Rising from his seat, he picked up the scarlet camisole hanging on the back of the chair and the triangle, then slipped it over his head and approached Ebina.
"Is there anything I can do for you, mademoiselle?" he asked courteously, smiling with the corners of his thin lips.
"Come on, Finny, when you call me that, it makes me regret my age," the woman said, her light laughter a haze of serenity while her cheeks flushed, and then she added with a playful shake of her index finger. "If I were twenty years younger, I'd hit on you for sure!"
"Then I'm afraid I'd have no choice," said the young man and spread his hands, squinting at the eye not hidden by the bandage, which made the hostess blush even more.
"Oh, yes, that man wanted to talk to you," she said, pointing to the arrived guest who had been looking at the young man intently all this time.
The man turned to look at him, so that he could get a closer look at him. Finnian, as the innkeeper had called him, was facing him, leaning one arm on the counter and crossing his legs, which were clad in tall brown boots. On his head was a black triangle, from which protruded a long snow-white feather. His short blond hair, shining gold, framed his face, covering a dark round eye patch. He was dressed in a light white shirt with the top buttons undone and black pants. His hands were covered with black gloves that covered his wrists. The red camisole was slung over his shoulder, and Finny held it carelessly with two fingers.
His posture was easy, relaxed, which, coupled with his slightly tanned skin, made him look like a conqueror of women's hearts. And if the masked man had met him not in an inn, but in a mansion, he would not have doubted that he was a man of high class. His facial features were too regular and his skin was perfect, though there were thin scars in places. This young man seemed like he should have made a pleasant impression, but for some reason he didn't like him. Perhaps it was the look in his eyes. His eyes, the color of a bright green mineral, looked somehow too attentive, too cold, but his thin lips, on the other hand, had a friendly, warm smile. And despite the blindfold, the exorcist could have sworn that both eyes were looking at him.
His intuition, hardened by his battles with evil, had saved his life more than once, and he wasn't going to ignore it now, but he couldn't show any obvious distrust. This man could be useful to him.
"I heard that you were going to the southern island, to the priests," he got straight to the point, "that's why I wanted to talk to you. The thing is, I'm looking for experienced exorcists to help me with a case."
Finnian smiled thinly at those words, then sat down at the counter, hanging his camisole on the back of a chair and adjusting his hat.
"I understand you're on business, so you'd better sit down. There's no truth in feet, is there?" he laughed softly, bowing his head while a twinkle of interest flashed in his eye. "Shall we have a drink? Miss Ebina personally oversees everything served at this inn, and I'll tell you in confidence, the food and drink are excellent."
The woman, who had already gone to one of the workers, heard his words and tucked a strand of blond hair behind her ear in embarrassment, not daring to interfere with the conversation, but listening to it nonetheless.
"I'll refrain," the man said, but sat down on a neighboring chair, returning to the topic of conversation. "I wondered if you were an exorcist."
When his interlocutor heard this, he leaned against the counter and rested his cheek on the palm of his hand, examining closely him. His left eye, which looked like an emerald, was laughing, and the earring in his left ear in the shape of a long bluish crystal wobbled slightly, sparkling in the warm light of the candles that illuminated the room.
"No, I am far from this school of magic. I know a couple of imprisonment spells from books, but no more," he finally said with a shake of his head and then continued. "I may still be able to help you, however. But to do that, I need to know what your case is. Would you care to share?"
The cloaked man set his staff down beside him and then squinted his eyes, examining Finnian studiedly. The prospect of confiding in this stranger did not appeal to him, but it was worth telling the basics, or he risked being left with nothing.
"I have a spirit imprisoned within me that I must destroy. I'm an exorcist, but I don't know how to transmute souls, so if I destroy the spirit, I'll die too. That's okay, I just need a real professional. But what are you looking for on the island?"
"You're a very interesting person," the young man smiled with the corner of his lips, listening attentively to his interlocutor, and then he adjusted his gloves and suddenly changed the subject. "Perhaps we should start by introducing ourselves. My name is Finnian, and what is yours?"
He held out a gloved hand to the exorcist, which he shook after a moment's hesitation.
"Call me Dante."
Finny nodded and squinted slightly, as if memorizing his name, then answered his question:
"What am I looking for on the south island? Libraries belonging to the priests. The thing is, I was once an apprentice to a mage working for a powerful family. The Rein family, you've heard of them?"
Of course Dante had heard of the Rein family. He knew only general facts, because he'd never been interested in them, but it was impossible not to know that the Rein family was one of the richest aristocratic families in the world. And he was about to answer the question, but he heard a quiet laughter in the depths of his subconscious. He froze, frowned incomprehensibly and listened to the enchanting voice, whose owner, after noticing such close attention to himself, only grinned and finally fell silent. It was as if he were mocking. The Exorcist didn't care about the creature's behavior, but he couldn't help but recognize that it was odd. When he finally noticed his companion staring intently in his direction, waiting for an answer to his question, he spoke.
"Nothing specific, just what everyone knows."
"I don't know much about them myself," Finnian went on, not reacting to the hesitation. "I was a child, after all, when I learned magic from my mentor. But I've learned that the Rein family has a lot of magical artifacts and books. Some time ago, they had some tragedy and they don't need libraries anymore, and there was so much unique material in them. It would be a waste not to take advantage of it."
He smiled slyly, and then he automatically corrected his eye patch and continued speaking.
"Only their location was, of course, carefully concealed. My teacher didn't know where their libraries were located either. Even if he knew something, he won't tell me from the grave," the mage's eyes darkened for a few moments with a twinge of sadness, and his lips tightened into a thin line, but soon he tried to hide the traces of his weakness and smiled lightly again. "But that is not so important. More importantly, when I was still just an apprentice, my mentor and I visited a southern island whose priests had cooperated with the Rein family, so the people of the island must have kept information about her in their archives. I might be able to find something important there. At least, I don't have any other leads yet. That's why I'm going there."
Dante sighed. In the end, he hadn't learned anything important. And, apparently, the young man realized it.
"Don't despair, the priests of this island are masters of their craft, so you can come with me. As long as it's on the way," he smiled brightly, then added. "But how did it happen that you, an exorcist, let an evil force into you?"
The man was silent for a while, pondering. Despite his first impression, this young man didn't seem dangerous anymore. He seemed to be just a mage driven by a thirst for knowledge. People like him could be found all over the world. And the idea of going to the island together was quite logical. The man wasn't looking for traveling companions, for obvious reasons, but it was only for a while, so it was foolish to refuse. And since companion shared his story, it would be rude not to tell anything about himself.
"I was hired to banish an ancient creature back to the Abyss. But I was tricked, and it turned out to be stronger than I thought. At the cost of my crew's lives and with the help of my one powerful artifact, I locked it into the only available vessel."
Finnian slid his hand down his neck, touching the strip of dark cloth that clung tightly to it, and then smiled with the corner of his lips and answered.
"I should probably be frightened, but I'm actually more fascinated by this than frightened. So I still suggest we head to the harbor together tomorrow. Do you agree?"
Dante nodded, then looked up to meet his friend's laughing emerald eyes.
"Good. I'll see you in the morning, but I'll take my leave now, because I need a good night's sleep. I advise you to do the same," he picked up his things and headed out of the inn, saying goodbye to his newfound companion as he went.
The masked man looked around, noting that the place was noticeably empty. Particularly drunken individuals were already sleeping on the table, the more sober ones had gone elsewhere to have fun, and those who had hardly touched alcohol were already going home. It was late, by the looks of it. It was unwise to go out at night, so the man took the suggestion to meet in the morning positively. For now it was worth renting a room from the landlady and spending the night here.
He opened his watch and looked at the hour hand, which showed about eleven o'clock. But it was certainly not that late now. And then he froze abruptly when he realized that the watch wasn't pointing at the time, but at someone. The exorcist's head slowly rose and his eyes looked in the direction of the clock hand, which was pointing exactly at Finny's back, who was just coming out of the inn. There was no one near him for the clock to react to. Thoughts flashed through his head like a swarm of buzzing bees, and then all but vanished in the blink of an eye as soon as the man felt it.
The dark energy flowed like a wave over everyone present. And then Finnian froze, as unnaturally as if someone had cut the strings of a marionette, robbing it of its ability to move in one motion. And then the blond head began to twitch until it turned a hundred and eighty degrees, its gaze fixed on the exorcist. The emerald eye rolled back, making only the inflamed whites visible, and a dark substance dripped from its mouth, falling onto the snow-white shirt and spreading in crooked blotches. The professional in the destruction of evil was about to cast a protective spell, sharpening the creature of Darkness, but suddenly realized that he could not move, and only wheezes instead of hollowed out spells came out of his mouth. There was no fear, only doom staring back at him with empty white eyes.
After a few moments that seemed like an eternity, he felt Ebina's hand gently on his shoulder. She'd asked him for a place to stay and offered her services, but he hadn't responded, staring at one point, so she'd dared to touch him. And immediately regretted her action, seeing the heavy look of dark gray eyes, which mixed anger, anxiety and... fear? The man glanced at the watch, which was back to normal, and then at the door leading to the street. There was no one there anymore.
***
"There is clearly something wrong with this young man. I can't tell if he's connected to the demon I met this afternoon, but the chance of two different powerful Darkness spawn in one small village is slim to none. I'm going to assume that Finnian is the one I was chasing during the day. But I also don't know if he's a sorcerer, possessed, or simply cursed. I cannot travel with him without finding out more accurately and exorcising the demon, if it has indeed taken possession of the poor young man's mind."
Such thoughts crossed Dante's mind as he meditated in the small room that was his lodging for the night. He had no need for sleep after his imprisonment, so he often spent his nights in meditation, so as not to become like his enemies, the shadow dwellers. Prayers helped clear his mind and at least temporarily silence the pleasant but irritating voice of his subconscious. Strangely enough, it did not interfere this night with its eternal irrelevant remarks, as if its owner had finally given up completely. That would be rather strange, for in fact this body had once belonged to this particular dark creature.
When the exorcist had lost all of his comrades in battle with it, he had realized that his inevitable death awaited him as well. But he, like no one else in this world, did not want to die, and so he had to use an artifact that transferred his soul into the body of the monster and sealed the consciousness of that deep in his head. And even though it was extremely unpleasant to control this body, there was no other choice. It was necessary to destroy the voice in his head, because all those who use the power of darkness have the same fate: to disappear without a trace.
He spent the entire night in meditation, trying to regain his strength for a possible battle. If someone had looked into the room at that moment, they would have seen a rare sight: the traveler had taken off his robe, revealing armor that had clearly seen more than one battle. The metal plates, polished to a shine, were not broken, but still scratches, scuffs, and signs of repair covered them almost everywhere. Only the symbol emblazoned on the breastplate, both front and back, was not crossed by a single mark. It represented a red cross inscribed in a white circle. This symbol, and the skillful icon standing on the bed, before which the man was kneeling, gave him away as a follower of the Mother Neva. The red cross symbolized the blood-drenched world and pointed to all four sides of the world, and the white circle was the perfectly clean garment of the Goddess of Mercy herself, who protects all people from unclean forces, despite their sins. This doctrine was the most widespread among people, and it was possible to meet its followers in almost every corner of the world. So it was not surprising that the exorcist prayed to the Goddess of Light. However, the strange thing was that even in front of the face of his patroness he did not remove his mask and armor, remaining in full attire.
It was this picture that Ebina, who had come to awaken the guest at his own request, saw.
"It is dawn, Mr. Wanderer, and you asked me...."
But the man did not let her finish. He silently got up, collected the altar, put his robe on his shoulders and, after giving the woman a couple of coins, immediately left the room. Soon he came to the exit of the village. Travelers who were heading to the port always took this road. Already from here they could see the bay where the ships were arriving, and in the distance the lights of the lighthouses glittered, dissolving in the rays of the dawn sun. Just as the man in the cloak passed through the wooden gate, he heard a soft voice calling him:
"Dante, you're already here!"
He turned and looked at the young man, who was coming toward him at a brisk pace. His hair was beautifully golden in the dawn light, and his movements, though quick, did not seem hurried. His feather swung with every step, and his thin lips curved in a benevolent smile, which showed a glimpse of neat white teeth worthy of an aristocrat. His boots shone clean, even though their wearer was walking on a dusty road, and his shirt looked perfectly ironed, as did his camisole, this time worn over his shirt. It fit just as perfectly as the rest of the garment, not bunching or creasing anywhere. The traveler could only envy such a perfect appearance, but his thoughts were darker than a cloud, and his head was full of other things. His experienced eye noted the dexterity of his companion's movements, which, combined with the smallsword hanging from his belt, made him look like a skilled swordsman. Dante was not a novice in the art of combat, but he was no match for the demon's strength and speed, so he had to scout the situation carefully and attack stealthily if he had to.
"Good morning, young man. How did you sleep?"
"Fine, Mr. Dante, just fine!" Finny laughed contagiously, finally coming up to the exorcist. "And you?"
"Luckily, me too," the exorcist let the satisfaction slip into his voice, though the amusem*nt of his companion did not affect his seriousness. Not only the young man's life depended on his skill, but perhaps his own. And perhaps also the lives of dozens of other people.
The man moved to follow the young man, who was actively trying to loosen his tongue by asking him questions. But he answered monosyllabically, and soon the conversation died down of its own accord. This, however, did not seem to upset Finnian in the least, who was still looking around with the same smile at the terrain. The village was located a short but still noticeable distance from the water. From the tavern owner's chatter yesterday, which he had heard on the way to his room, he realized that this was to keep the village equidistant from both the port and the mines that were nearby. In addition, the road looped because of the forest that lay between the port and the village. That was probably what had prevented the village from becoming a full-fledged port town. But that was to Dante's advantage, because he didn't want to put the innocent villagers in danger. He walked quietly along the road until the massive wooden gate hid around the corner, and then he decided to take action.
He folded the fingers of his left hand into a sort of cross and whispered a prayer that would help him see his companion's aura, and then he stumbled on the ground, almost dropping the staff from his hands. He saw a black stream of demonic energy rushing upward from the young man, which was literally poisoning the environment, causing the life force of plants in the area to decay from the breath of the Abyss. Dark eyes looked around at the mortal's body, covered head to toe with the hands, clawed paws, and vile tentacles of the creatures from the lower world. The exorcist realized that these were mere visions produced by a fear-stricken mind under the influence of the Darkness, but still he could not shake them off, drowning in a viscous slurry of images. This aura showed that his traveling companion was not simply cursed. The young mage held demonic power derived from a pact with the Abyss itself. That meant it was Dante's duty as a loyal servant of Neva to banish the evil force to his homeworld, and to consign Finny to the purifying fire. He was about to take one of the sealing artifacts he'd bought out of his sack when the same slightly low tenor came to his ears. Only, if it had been so sweetly cheerful before, now it was as cold and harsh.
"You shouldn't have done that, Mr. Exorcist."
Immediately the sack, knocked from his hand by the sudden movement of his arm, flew out of the man's hands and fell into the nearest bushes, causing him to react instantly, bouncing back and removing the gladius from his belt in a precise, measured motion. The warlock across from him was also ready for battle. He stood in the posture of a skilled swordsman and held smallsword in his right hand. The transformation that had taken place in the creature opposite was like a sparrow turning into a griffin. A short time ago he had seemed a friendly and affable young man, but now, looking into those glassy eyes, it was clear that it was all just a skillful deception that he used to entangle his victims like a spider weaving a deadly web. The smile did not leave the thin lips, but it looked cold, faceless. Even the iron mask looked real compared to that smile. The exorcist realized from this face alone that he was not dealing with a random victim of demonic deception. The man in front of him was a cruel and calculating man who knew the price of a pact. He had met such madmen before, consumed by lust for power, and he knew that he could not feel pity for them, or they would stab you in the back without hesitation, even if you had just eaten from the same plate. So he gripped the consecrated short sword tighter and put his feet shoulder-width apart, also preparing for the fight. He couldn't lose to some demonic spawn, couldn't give up the lives of men to him.
Dante moved in a circle, stepping smoothly from foot to foot as if he were going to get behind his opponent. He moved as skillfully as if he were gliding across the ground. The masked man threw his robe off his shoulders without stopping his step or tossing it aside. It slid off his body with a slight rustle fell to the ground in a heavy clump. There was a soft clinking sound as the steel plates sewn into it for protection banged against each other. The servant of Neva needed freedom of action now. He was a professional mercenary, but he was still a priest rather than a soldier, unlike his enemy, who, judging by his stance and movements, had been trained in swordsmanship as his primary method of combat. This meant that he would only be able to stand up to the demon if he put all his efforts and used all his skills as an experienced fighter.
He kept moving and put the fingers of his left hand together, making them look like a shield. As he whispered a prayer, he felt the Light fill him, covering his skin with invisible but demon-proof armor. With a learned movement , he folded his sword from his fingers and with another prayer, the exorcist gripped the hilt of his sword with the new strength granted to him by his patroness. Now he was ready to begin the fight.
But why didn't his opponent even try to interrupt the priest preparing for battle? Is he so confident in his powers that he thinks prayers won't help Dante? It's a logical conclusion, given that his enemy is a deceitful warlock. Then he's in for a disappointment in his own abilities. But young man hadn't realized that yet, so he just smiled back, leaning more on his hind leg, which made his stance relaxed. Everything around him was quiet, as if nature itself was holding its breath before this battle. Only the hum of the wind blew across the forest road, softly touching Finnian's golden hair.
Throwing forward his free hand, the servant of Neva threw forward a small crystal, chiseled in the shape of a cross. It had previously been stored in a special glove holder, and a sudden movement of his hand caused it to fly out. A short word in one of the dead languages - and the crystal exploded with multicolored dust, from which the sunlight reflected. And if it was just a bright flash for a man, for the servants of the Abyss it was a burning glow that made it impossible to see the priest's sword. As it flew through the cloud of crystal particles, it was completely covered by them, making it shine like a lantern burning in the night. But the attack only cut through the air, because the young man bounced back, squinting and muttering something under his breath. No matter how much he squinted and cursed Dante, and he was sure the brat was doing just that, his eyes could not escape the scorching light of the Neva, and now he was blind. And so the man simply took a new step forward and brought his glowing sword to put a stop to the warlock's story. But the man, without opening his eyes, managed to dodge to the right from the chopping blow that almost grazed him, and after a half-turn made a lunge. The point of the sword slid across the plates of the armor, not hitting the man himself, but forcing him to jump back so that the enemy's weapon would not hit one of the joints of the armor.
This was possible only in one case: this mage knew where the exorcist was without using his eyesight. He had met such opponents before, and though it added to the complexity of the battle, he was still confident of victory. Without sight, the creature would still be unable to get between the plates of his armor, and therefore unable to wound him. Apparently, this fight had already been won by a single sacred crystal. The masked man grinned lightly, then took two steps forward and swung, intending to cut through Finnian's chest and kill him. But the man managed to dodge again, and the gladius only drove its tip through his skin, splitting his shirt and turning it scarlet. That was a very good sign. The red color of the blood showed that it was only the forces of a demon in a human body, not a full-fledged child of the Abyss with immortality in this world. And it also meant that the other's reaction was not perfect, and Dante could strike the enemy in the cursed heart with quick attacks. The lips beneath the mask parted in a smirk, and the fingers of his empty palm folded in a cross.
"Neva, grant me your blessing and strength, that I may destroy the filth that fills your world and corrupts your people," was the translation of a prayer from the dead language that Neva's servant uttered before the final series of blows. It fills the servant of the goddess with a divine energy that sweeps away the barriers that limit the speed and power of human reaction, and allows him to act with a swiftness unavailable to most living beings. But it requires serious preparation of body and mind, as well as - long rest afterward. The perfect spell to end a fight quickly. No matter how much Finny sharpened his senses, he would not be able to dodge such a swiftly moving blade. The priest stepped forward, quickly closing the distance, and made four short, lightning-fast lung strikes to different points on his body: heart, lungs, and liver. After that, he decapitated his opponent with a slashing blow. But immediately pain pierced his side, and he jumped back, dodging the sword flickering in the air. The young man dodged all the attacks, and the last attack he parried with a smooth movement of his weapon's tip, forcing the gladius to the left. Without stopping his arm's movement, he struck back clearly between the articulations of the armor and pierced the flesh. Had it not been for the divine protection, this blow could have resulted in a far more serious injury.
The man retreated another two steps, eyes widened in surprise as he stared back and forth at Finnian's clenched eyes and his blade.
"How was he able to fend off my attack?" was the only thought that bounced around in his head like a frightened bird in a cage. But the answer came rather quickly. Lowering his gaze to his own wound, Dante saw a thin stream of blood trickling through the fingers he had pressed against it and flying through the air to the fingers of the young man, whose palm looked as if he were holding something rounded. Indeed, his blood soon began to collect into a sort of ball that settled in the mage's hand. It was only after a couple of long seconds that he finally realized what it meant, and then he crossed the wound, cutting off the flow of blood. The warlock twitched the corner of his lips slightly, making his lifeless smile turn into a sinister grin, and put his palm with the ball to his own face. That lump of scarlet liquid burst like an overripe berry, but it didn't spread across his face, instead trickling into his clenched eye. When all the blood from his face had seeped between his eyelids, he finally looked at his opponent with the meaningful gaze of a sighted man. The once emerald eye was covered in a red mist that made it look like a deep bloody lake looking into his very soul.
"Of course he's a blood mage! Then it's clear how he sensed me without the aid of sight. He sensed not me, but my blood. But how he dodged the sword... He allowed himself to be wounded in order to dodge his own blood on the blade! This brat is many times more dangerous and cunning than I thought," the man's brain began to work with renewed vigor, trying to find a way to kill the demon before it killed him, but his train of thought was interrupted by a voice from deep within his subconscious.
You've already lost, Exorcist, though you can't see it. How entertaining.
He was about to recite a prayer of confinement so that nothing would distract him from the battle, but the owner of the voice had already disappeared into the darkness of the recesses of his mind. It was very suspicious, but he didn't have time to find out the reasons for such strange behavior. Finny, instead of continuing to fight with magic, put his sword forward again, preparing to defend himself against more attacks. It was encouraging to see that his blood magic was at a beginner's level. This fact, although it made the task more difficult, did not make it impossible for an experienced hunter of evil. The battle is not "lost" yet, as the velvet baritone assures. Victory will be for the Warrior of Light!
Dante took two steps in a circle, again trying to avoid his opponent from the back, and the latter, keeping his distance, moved in the opposite direction with smooth steps. Except he just wanted to return to his bag, which contained magical artifacts. With their help, he would force the Abyss brat to be defeated. Apparently Finnian doesn't know what lies in the hiking bag, or he would have never let him near it. The priest picked up the sack with the toe of his boot, then pulled it toward him and bent over it slowly, trying not to take his eyes off the demon worshipper. But he, clearly mocking him, looked down at him with a cold smirk and did not even try to stop him. He was expressing the mockery with his whole self: his posture, his gaze, even his facial expression. It couldn't help but be annoying.
When the exorcist's fingers finally found the artifact he wanted, a tired smile appeared on his lips. This relic would put an end to the foul creature. Taking his palm out of the pouch and hiding a small object in it, he raised it up and clenched his fist. There was a soft crunch, and a pure white light streamed between his fingers, stretching into a long line that he held in his hand. The young man didn't change a bit in his face when he saw it, but he leaned his body forward and prepared for a tug. The man noticed this and smirked. The servant of the Abyss was not afraid of the spear of pure Light for nothing. But he wasn't going to let the enemy take a step back, so he threw the relic without aiming. It would find the evil-affected heart and destroy it in the blessed divine fire.
Time seemed to slow down for the follower of the goddess's teachings, who followed closely the flight of the spear, which took the form of a bright ray. Its tip rushed to the chest of the warlock to return the creature to the lower world, where it came from. But the artifact was still unable to reach the body.
Suddenly Dante stepped back, his eyes racing over his opponent. He was not a victim of Neva's anger; instead, he seemed to emanate a power that he had never emitted before. The masked man felt goosebumps run through his body as Finnian's hands grasped the spear of light frozen in the air. Instead of trying to dodge the priest's strongest weapon, he thrust it into his own chest, right in front of his heart. Unable to look away, the exorcist watched as the spear of holy flame slowly turned black. The demon spawn didn't take advantage of the other's confusion, as if all his attention was focused on the weapon. The young man slowly pulled it out of his own chest and unclenched his hands, causing the beam to scatter with countless black sparks that swirled around him, merging into a single line. A tar-black liquid began to pour out of the hole in his chest in jolts, sliding down his clothes in clumps, staining them blue-black. As it flowed down his legs and up his arms, it began to gather into a kind of tentacles growing out of the warlock's body. Pushing into the ground, these tentacles lifted his body into the air. And his face did not seem to have changed its expression, but now it reeked of an otherworldly, cursed inhumanity, like a monster trying to replicate the grimace of a recent victim. The light of the morning sun was suddenly extinguished, as if someone had turned it off, and the blue sky was replaced by a dark dome that absorbed all the light and destroyed all the colors of the human world. And in this horror-soaked world, there was only one living creature left, staring with dark gray eyes into the jaws of the unseen monster. Dante felt a chilling fear, no, horror slowly taking over his consciousness, stiffening his movements and robbing him of the ability to think straight. He tried to take a step back, but realized he couldn't move a finger. The messenger of Darkness, who had taken possession of the young sorcerer's body, extended a tentacle in his direction.
"I've had enough of you, insect. Die."
An inhuman, rough, cold and animalistic voice filled the priest's head, penetrating every nook and cranny, penetrating to the bone and slowly killing him. And it was echoed by a mocking baritone, which left its distant cubbyhole in the subconscious and also penetrated into the weakened consciousness of the novice of the Goddess of Mercy:
But he's right, sanctimonious one. It's time to die.
And the man was unable to contradict the voice. Despair filled him, forcing him to submit to his fate. He felt the bones in his body begin to crumble and crack, causing terrible pain. Shards dug into his flesh and internal organs, cutting through tissue and muscle. His legs buckled of their own accord, and the man fell to his knees. At any other time, a follower of Neva would never have allowed himself to humiliate himself in front of a creature of the Abyss, but now it didn't bother him one bit. His body was destroying itself, organs ripped to shreds, bones ripped outward, cutting through muscle, flesh rotted at an incredible rate, and nails grew and twisted, cutting into his skin. Eyes leaked out of eye sockets, eardrums burst, and the nose fell off, exposing a hole in the skull. But despite the horrific pain that filled every cell in his body, that destroyed all conscious thought, the exorcist could not die. He couldn't move, he couldn't moan, and he couldn't even think anymore. He could only suffer. For a long time. Forever.
***
The holy spear did not reach the young man's body, scattering into the air as it flew. Everything his adversary had seen was nothing more than horrifying visions, destroying his sanity. Finnian watched with a smirk as the dark eyes visible through the slits of the mask were covered by a veil. He counted the seconds as he watched his enemy's body convulse. When he counted to ten, he snapped his fingers and finally destroyed the last remnants of his soul. He exhaled tiredly, adjusting the strands of silky hair that had fallen over his eyes, and was about to sink down onto the log to give himself a few minutes' rest, but he was forced to grip his sword tighter.
Instead of collapsing into a sack, Dante took a step backward, hunching over and clutching at the mask with his fingers. Scarlet light shone from between his clenched palms, and his ears were cut by a loud scream that grew into an unbearable shriek after a few moments. The horrifying scream even made the warlock put his hand to his ear, writhing. But it was soon cut short, as suddenly as it had begun, and his arms hung lashing along his body. The mask, split in two halves, fell to the ground, but the face was hidden by bright red hair. There was a quiet chuckle, and a scarlet line ran down the armor, cutting straight across the plates. The pile of metal crumbled to the ground like scarlet leaves, exposing pale skin. The man hitherto hidden behind the armor wore a white shirt, the top two buttons undone, exposing sharp collarbones and a thin neck. Black cloth pants were tight around his thighs and calves, emphasizing his muscles. Bloodshot eyes stared mockingly at the young man, and long hair spread over his shoulders. The blood that had cut through the armor trickled down his body back to the wound in his side and flowed into it, after which the flesh immediately healed, leaving only a faint scar in place of the deep hole. The stranger ran his fingers through his hair in a light, familiar motion, adjusting it. He grinned and bent his body forward, revealing long white fangs that flashed between scarlet lips, and then looked Finnian over from head to toe.
"Good afternoon, Lord Rein. Monsieur V'Soran at your service."
