Academic gathering with a lich-Chapter 43 - 42: The Rite of Madness

About one or two minutes’ worth of walking in the darkness brought them into a dimly lit room illuminated by candlelight. Lyle saw a gloomy room before him; they were very cautious, opting not to use Light Bats, but rather old-fashioned candles instead—probably because candles don’t have mouths to betray their wrongdoing. Of course, it could also be part of the ritual.

"Magic Curses are the essence of secrecy, and secrets are not to be revealed. The first lesson for the Spellcasters of the Magic Research Society is to maintain the mystery. The fewest possible witnesses ensure the highest chance of success. This is not mere fiction; many new powers have emerged from the solitary research of individuals."

The speaker was a Gentleman, whose eyes could see into people’s hearts.

Lyle heard the sound of bubbling, a sound he knew all too well—the sound of boiling broth. He saw a large black cauldron, big enough to more than accommodate him. A large ladle stirred inside it. A chilly heat flushed his nostrils, carrying a hint of mint. It was only a resemblance; the sensation was hard to describe. Lyle felt an impulse, a desire to jump into the cauldron and drown in its contents.

Another voice emerged from a dark corner near the cauldron, "Catch him. His talent has not awakened, and the temptation of instinct is too strong. I want him at least ten steps away from the cauldron until I finish the Magic Potion."

Miracle reacted swiftly. He snapped his fingers, and the stones on the wall stretched into a whip that coiled around Lyle like a snake.

Gentleman supported Lyle, who was beginning to collapse, "Hold on, Plague Doctor. This is normal. It’s your biological instinct responding to the opportunity for evolution. Don’t give in to it. Endure. Everything is fine. It’s all normal." 𝕗𝐫𝐞𝕖𝕨𝐞𝗯𝚗𝕠𝘃𝐞𝚕.𝐜𝗼𝚖

"That’s not normal at all. A normal reaction isn’t this intense. Besides him, the strongest addiction I’ve seen resulted in trembling all over. Look at him now; only his feet can move, and they’re trying to crawl here. Why is that? Is it because of the side effects of harbored desires?"

"Not sure. Isn’t that why we’re here? To study the patterns in which desires manifest. Inspiration." Miracle began etching an Array onto the stone slab at the center of the room.

It was a complex, inverted pentagram.

"Miracle, I wasn’t informed that an awakening ceremony would involve a Demon Array. Are you planning to borrow power from a demon?" The Gentleman, as a guardian, voiced his concern.

"Ignorance. Do all the pentagrams in the world belong to demons? Yes, I do intend to borrow power, after all, the God of Magic is like a rusted machine with a frozen brain, not permitting any unconventional behavior. Did you see a goat’s skull? No! Did you see a Soul Coin? Neither! Did you see Contract Parchment? Still no! The material I need is just this."

Miracle proudly took out a cloth bag. After unveiling it, inside was a lump of rotting, oozing black flesh, "I call it the Flesh of Deception. It’s a synthetic meat block mimicking sea monsters. Rather than dealing with cunning, contract-abiding devils, I prefer to trade with fools. Indeed, my source of borrowed power is the Ancient God sleeping in the Star Sea. As long as It consumes this, Its power will flow out like constipation, at my command."

"Awful metaphor. On behalf of the literary society, I express my dislike of you."

"Tsk, the Literature Society that loses itself in trinkets and disdains true beauty. I’m not the least bit concerned about it."

"Oh, didn’t you submit a piece this year?"

"..."

"Alright, I’m finished here. Configuring a potion with abandoned equipment is really time-consuming," said Inspiration, scooping up a spoonful to check the color; under the dim light, it was pitch black. "There, with a sprinkle of green onions to finish it off, the Magic Potion is ready."

"Green onions? Inspiration, you’ve altered the Magic Potion on your own again. I remind you, if it fails, I will write an article that will ruin your reputation," the Gentleman was still very concerned about the wellbeing of his protegee, the Plague Doctor.

"No problem. Don’t you remember Inspiration’s talent? His talent is Pseudo Proposition; with his paradoxical methods, he is certain to succeed."

"Alright, now we have the Magic Potion, the Array, and the awakening materials. Let’s begin the ceremony."

Using magic, Inspiration moved Lyle onto the circular stone slab, right at the center of the pentagram pattern. The ink was not yet dry, and the spreading liquid snaked into Lyle’s clothing like growing tendrils.

"We must remove his clothes; they are inconvenient for observing the experimental results."

"No! Andrey guarantees the privacy of every member. Stop this at once, or I’ll report you both to the authorities now."

"Gentleman, you’ve really done enough," Lyle said bitterly. "It was you who contacted us first, and now you want to kick us into the water, to burn the bridge before we even cross the river."

"I didn’t know back then that you had designs on our members with desires. We each took what we needed, and now I’m starting to regret it."

"No matter. Inspiration, put on your clothes and pour the magic potion."

Under Inspiration’s command, the cauldron levitated, its scalding contents cascading down upon Lyle’s body. In an instant, he ceased struggling and stopped breathing.

From there, the hallucination took hold.

It was like floating on a lightless sea, with the profound ocean at his back and the stars ahead. But those specks of light didn’t shine bright. It wasn’t the darkness that highlighted the light but the light that accented the darkness—a sickly and infected radiance.

Whispers seemed to drift to his ears, like the obscure verses of an unknown ballad.

"The teardrops of the sleepless soak my eyes, I shall sink blindly."

Lyle sank down into the abyss, reaching out as he did, only to see tiny bubbles of his own struggle escaping his fingers. The light grew distant, and the faintest glimmer of brightness, so different from the dark, melded indistinguishably with it.

"The shadow of the innocent climbs my back, I shall no longer be alone."

A sound of growth, Lyle could feel it—something like rust or like plants—spreading across his back. He looked at his hand, melting into the seawater with only a dim green outline remaining. Soon, he would be consumed completely, leaving nothing behind.

"The mercy of the heartless takes up my arms, I shall witness my... god."

The current moved, pulling Lyle toward a distant figure glowing faintly. He drew closer and closer, yet the figure never became more distinct until... it stirred.

Lyle realized that it was not a human figure, but... an iris, a peculiar vertical slit. The starry sky was its eyelid, the ocean its sclera, and the figure, its iris.

Yes, I have seen the true face... of my god.

Blind self-aggrandizement, reckless and audacious.

The deep-sea pressure crushed his fragile shell in an instant.

"The desire of the ignorant awakens the arrogance within, devouring my god."

Lyle’s shattered limbs, like drifting debris, slowly blurred into a shadow, a new iris.

I am the god, and you are the remnants.

The stars sank into the ocean, no longer observing the debris. The phantom rose from the seabed to the surface, and it heard the stars singing for it.

"Propagate its kind."

Lyle’s eyes snapped open as he awoke from the hallucination.