Hastum
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143. Missing
🕑 Added 2026-01-12 22:43:01 +0000 UTC“Where are we exactly?” I asked with a frown, my eyes still on the runes decorating the gate.
“Not sure,” William replied. “The church just said it was somewhere safe.”
“Yeah, like the sabbath?” I chuckled, to which William just sighed.
I then got up and took a closer look at the gathered people. I recognised a few, but my eyes finally stopped at Astrid, who was here with the old Oracle. The woman was clearly tired, her eyes closed as she rested on Astrid’s shoulder. The girl didn’t pay attention to the older woman. Instead, from time to time, she nervously looked toward the opening of the corridor.
The rest were sitting in tight groups, also resting, although a few were up and about, talking in hushed voices. The room itself was similar to the one we had come from, but not exactly the same. It lacked the militaristic defence installations and instead had more decorations. Most of the carvings and statues were cracked, and any paintings had faded beyond recognition or were covered by dust so thick they became unrecognisable. The space was lit by sconces, their warm yellow light once pleasant, now casting long shadows over darkened doorways to smaller rooms and corridors, reaching to the sides of the room. The overbearing, ancient atmosphere was further strengthened by the old, cracked decorations.
I approached Astrid and greeted her in a whisper, so as not to wake the old woman.
“She’s tired from using her gift. Conversation won’t wake her,” Astrid replied with a sad smile.
“So…” I started, not sure how to bring the topic to whatever it was that made her so unwilling to go further underground. “Not a fan of tunnels?” I finally asked.
She chuckled. “Yeah, not a fan of this one in particular.”
I was itching to ask if she or her master had a vision, but I knew better than to get involved without her asking me to.
“Anything to watch out for?”
“Not sure. I don’t like it here. It’s like a crypt. All this place is missing is a few zombies.”
I let a light smile pass my lips.
“Well, we should be going back soon, right?”
“Hopefully.”
We then had a short talk about what happened with her tribe. Apparently, the chief’s son didn’t regain his magic, and his family got pushed away from power, with another elder taking the spot. Aside from that, it was like with the rest of the magical world: everyone was preparing, trying to gain any power they could. They were apparently trying to take some magic veins with the help of the Oracle. It was the usual politics.
After the short talk, I went back to my spot next to my friends and decided to use the break to figure out exactly what I had done at the end of that fight. I connected very closely with the eldritch magic. This should have had horrible consequences, but I didn’t feel anything that different. Sure, my spirit was strained, but that was it—no mutation, no horrible visions, only the additional part of the dream, with clear instructions whispered directly to me.
I went over the moment when I attempted silent casting. I connected deeply with the eldritch magic, then tried to communicate using simple thoughts, as I would with mana. The good part was that I succeeded. The problem was that I shouldn’t have.
The difference between mana and eldritch energy was that you could impart your understanding to mana as is, and it would do your will. Eldritch energy was different. Once I got it into the world, it was impossible to simply show it exactly what to do. The problem was that speaking in the real eldritch tongue wasn’t really possible—not by any worldly entity. The same went for the forbidden knowledge. All I could use were things close to it: concepts that border on insanity, impossible to truly understand.
Eldritch spellcasting was basically trying to impart unknowable concepts in the energy and moving it so that it wouldn’t kill the caster. The way of doing that was the same as normal casting for wizards: I used my Intelligence to retrieve the knowledge and Willpower to impart it into the energy and control it. The issue was its rigidity. Any adjustments were a pain and usually required some verbal components to anchor the command in reality. But the way I described what the tentacle should do and then told the magic to stop its flow—the distortion between what I could understand as a human and what was really eldritch was gone. The magic took in the concepts without any pushback.
And I had an idea why.
I took out my personal scroll and dropped some blood onto the arcane circle at the back. All my attributes were the same, aside from one.
***
Faith: 2 → 3
***
It made sense. In that moment, the tiredness and damage to my body strained my mind, muddling the consciousness, like the first warlocks who tried to contact the Great Old Ones—a ritualistic, trance-like state. In that second, I didn’t use my Intelligence attribute to retrieve the knowledge from what I had learned, but used my Faith to tap into the concepts themselves. As if a priest, using the gift of their god.
And thank fuck I only did it for something like “stop” and some movements. I’m pretty sure if I tried doing an entire cast like that, my mind would be gone.
But it was interesting. If I could use Faith for casting, there seemed to be no translation gap between worldly knowledge and the void’s non-existent principles. Not sure of the consequences, though.
I then looked through my dream journal and began reading everything I had written, especially the part about the voices, looking for further explanation. A lot of it was gibberish, and names of some beings I wasn’t sure were real, or would answer me, and most of all, whether I wanted to know what it was I was describing. But out of all of it came a pattern: a way of controlling the energy I was apparently pondering in my subconscious mind.
It looked like a way to attack with the magic itself. A spell similar to shatter, releasing the void magic into one deadly blast—a simple cast I could actually repeat without much strain. Or maybe summon the tentacles of Squirming Void and move them like additional limbs rather than just by short commands. The possibilities were endless.
I also realised, while trying to decipher a diagram of strange runes I had written in a trance, that my last dream about the Mother seemed to bring another name to my dream journal—one that might belong to one of the Young. A name perfect for my latest eldritch spell, although deciphering it would take time.
I felt a slight pressure at the sides of my head, telling me to stop straining my brain so soon after overusing it, so I put down the journal.
Finally, groaning, I brought my gaze back to what was happening around me and saw that nothing much had changed. People still sat around or walked, whispering in small groups. Most conversations were accompanied by cats, I realised—although there weren’t many of the felines here.
Looking at my friends, I saw that they were still recuperating—mostly Luna, who must have patched up quite a few people in the last few hours. I got up and walked to William and Darius to talk about the battle, trying to grasp any details, but nothing new came up. Finally, we decided that it was time to talk with the pope.
His group was stationed the furthest into the room. They sat together, close to some nobles.
But as I approached them, I noticed something was wrong. There was an edge to the whispers, and while the popes and cardinals knew how to control their faces, the two lower priests who managed to join the group didn’t, and confusion and panic could be seen. I could also see another sign that something was wrong: Nathan—the kid who had accidentally released the demon in Brazil. His expression was very different. Anger mingled with the cocktail of worry and confusion.
When I got closer, two paladins in full armour and a massive woman with tattooed knuckles barred my way.
“I wanna talk with the pope,” I informed them.
“They are in the middle of an important discussion,” one of the paladins answered.
“Right. I’m pretty sure they had the past few hours for discussions. I want to know when we are going back.”
“You will be informed when we decide it is the right time,” the man barked.
“Riiight, well, there is a bit of an issue with that. And that would be my need-to-know right about now. So, how about you tell me what the situation is, or I make a commotion. And I’m pretty sure the best healer is on my side—and quite a few people owe her a favour by now,” I said, sweeping my gaze over the people still recovering to the side.
The man took a step forward, but the tattooed woman yanked him back by his shoulder with enough force that the man almost ended up on his ass. She then took a step forward, looking me up and down like I was some curious animal.
Finally satisfied with whatever it was she saw, she nodded and introduced herself. “Helga.”
“Samuel.”
“Pleasure. My apprentice told me you’re powerful—and an asshole.”
I saw Nathan wince in the background.
“Well. I know a cat that would agree with you.”
She nodded and paused for a few seconds before speaking. “We have a bit of a situation here.”
“Miss Helga—” one of the paladins protested, but all he got in return was a look a parent might give to their least favorite child.
“Oh? I’m a specialist at ‘situations.’”
“So I’ve heard. Come,” she said, and led me past the paladins.
The armoured men tried protesting, but she just ignored them. As we approached the talking men, their conversations stopped, and frowns deepened when they saw me.
“What is the meaning of this?” the mortal world’s pope—whose name was Leo, as it turned out—protested.
I expected her to give him some explanation, but she ignored the man like she did the paladins and led me in front of Clementus II instead, which seemed to piss Leo off. I had a strange feeling this was some power play I wasn’t sure I wanted to be part of.
“Your Holiness,” she said, bowing to the man. “Samuel Alhazred, specialist at ‘situations.’”
For the first time, I got a closer look at the man himself. He seemed… dull. He was an overall average-looking Italian man around my height, with black, mid-length hair combed to the side. His features were clearly noble but also forgettable—the effect most likely caused by the dull eyes. A puppet chosen by the mortal church, but the woman still seemed to be loyal to him.
“Welcome,” Clementus said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you face to face.”
“The pleasure is mine,” I said mechanically, and then went on with greetings as the rest of the people came closer after being ignored.
“Mr. Alhazred,” one of the two cardinals, by the name of Zenon, spoke. “We understand your concern, but we ask that you go back to your people and wait until we open the doors again. We are simply waiting to be sure the enemy was dealt with.”
“Yeah. That’s a lie,” I said with a fake smile. “We’re having a situation, I heard.”
As I said that, I noticed Zenon and the two priests throwing a hateful look at the woman.
“There is no situation,” said the cardinal.
“Mhm. So, where’s the rest?”
“What do you mean?”
“The rest of your people. A wizard has a good memory, you know. I’m pretty sure there should be one more cardinal, a priest, and two more paladins in your group. Are they sightseeing? Did they go on a relaxing stroll?”
“Mr. Alhazred, I assure you—”
“They went on to look for the key,” Helga interrupted.
“They what?” I asked.
“Well, um,” Clementus started after Helga finally broke the topic. “They were sent to look for the key to the gate. It was… kind of lost.”
I looked at them for a second, as no one would meet my eyes.
“Right, but it wasn’t the only key, right?” I asked, to which Clementus nodded—although he didn’t seem very sure of himself.
“Yeees, but—”
“Mr. Alhazred,” Leo broke in. “It is an unforeseen circumstance, but one we are dealing with. If you could please return to your friends, we will handle this situation shortly.”
“Mhm, and just in case you don’t handle it shortly—where are we trapped, exactly?” I asked, looking toward the dark corridor going deeper down.
Once again, no one would give me the answer.
“So you’re telling me that you lost—” I started, speaking loudly enough for most people to hear me.
Zenon panicked, shushing me. “The old war command,” he hissed to stop me. “This corridor leads to the ancient war command. The old city underneath the Vatican.”
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