THE MAGICIAN
CHAPTER ONE
Damian was a man of silence and
smoke, the kind of soul who lived between shadows. In his early thirties, with
storm-gray eyes and a quiet presence, he often walked unnoticed through crowded
rooms—just the way he liked it. Nonchalant, precise, and deliberate.
His great-grandfather had once
dazzled Victorian courts with sleight-of-hand.
His grandfather escaped Nazi-occupied
Europe by hiding in illusion. His father, Richard
Osborne, passed down the art like a sacred weapon. Damian didn’t
shine in school—math bored him, literature confused him—but when it came to
tricks, to crafting wonder from nothing, he was a prodigy.
Birthday parties. Open mic nights.
Arena gigs when money allowed. He poured everything into his craft.
But lately, everything was
unraveling.
His father, once a towering figure
of elegance and charisma, was wasting away in a hospice bed, riddled with
stage-four cancer. Damian had burned through every dime on treatments, trying
to buy time from a god that didn’t barter. Meanwhile, his mother—Loise—was a
ghost. She’d vanished when he was five, a whisper of perfume and slammed doors.
All he ever had were his father’s cryptic words: “Your persistence always
reminded me of your mother.” And nothing more.
So when an unknown number flashed
across his screen, he almost didn’t answer.
But he did.
“Hi, Damian… it’s your mother.
Loise.” Her voice was brittle, wrapped in a layer of guilt that didn’t even try
to hide itself.
Damian’s throat tightened. “What do
you want, Loise?”
“We need to talk.”
“About what?” His voice cracked into
anger. “About how you left me? Left Dad? How you disappeared like a cheap trick
and never came back?”
There was silence. Then: “Please,
Damian—”
“I have to go.”
He hung up.
The quiet of his minimalistic
apartment returned like a blanket. Clean walls. One chair. A tiny kitchen. A
suitcase filled with smoke bombs, flash powder,
steel chains, and tricks of the trade. His hands trembled as he packed,
slipping his wand into its custom velvet sheath. The call had shaken something
loose.
Damian hadn’t cried in years. But
now a single tear trailed down his cheek. He wiped it away, furious at himself
for letting her back into his head.
He took one last look around the apartment
before locking the door and heading into the cold night.
---
Downtown L.A. glowed with neon
breath as he checked into a motel near the Showtime
Arena. He dressed in silence—polished shoes, tailored tuxedo,
crimson silk bow tie. His top hat rested like a crown on his head. Every piece
of his look was deliberate, a symbol of control in a life that had none.
Backstage, ballerinas pirouetted,
singers warmed up their voices, and crew members buzzed like ants. The
promoter, a wiry man in a sparkling blazer, nodded as Damian passed. “You’re on
in twenty, maestro.”
Damian gave a curt nod and waited in
the wings.
When his moment came, the house
lights dropped. A hush fell over the arena.
“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and
girls… Prepare yourselves! Tonight’s featured performer: Damian the
Magician!”
With a sudden burst of flame and
smoke, Damian appeared center stage, unscathed, tall and still. The crowd
erupted.
He bowed once. Then, with a flick of
his wand and a swirl of silk, a woman emerged from an ornate black box. The
audience gasped.
Next, he levitated, hovering inches
above the ground, his body rigid, eyes closed. More applause.
Then came the escape trick.
Shackled in steel cuffs, he swallowed the key and locked himself inside a
transparent capsule filled with water. The crowd murmured, nervous. Thirty
seconds. Forty-five. A minute.
Then—CRACK!
The cuffs hit the floor. Damian
burst to the surface, gasping. A second later, he bowed with theatrical flair.
The arena roared.
---
Back in the motel, he slumped onto
the bed, soaking in the silence. The adrenaline faded fast, leaving him empty.
His phone vibrated.
A voicemail.
> “Hi Damian… it’s Loise. There’s
something I need to tell you. I’m landing at LAX tonight.
Please… it’s important.”
The message ended. Damian sat still,
staring at the ceiling. His heart pounded—not from the show, not from the
crowd, but from the weight of that voice.
She was coming.
After all these years… why now?
And what the hell did she
want?
CHAPTER TWO
Damian is a struggling magician who
has a deep and dark family secret...
The sky hung low, bruised with rain
and despair. A cold drizzle had passed through earlier, flooding the streets of
L.A. with trash, oil, and old regrets. Puddles reflected the city's broken neon
like smeared makeup on a tired face. The sun hadn’t set yet—but the day was already
steeped in shadow. A bad omen, Damian thought.
His mother had flown in from Georgia,
their old home. The home of broken memories. The home of his father. And
of Clara.
He hadn’t spoken to Clara in years.
She had vanished into the wind, slipping through the cracks of their fractured
family like sand through fingers. She was always the rebel—defiant, fiery,
unwilling to play the role assigned to her in their cursed bloodline.
He remembered her clearly, that last
time they spoke. She was thirteen, her voice full of hope and rage.
"Let's go—we can leave this all behind. Dad’s drinking, Mom’s cheating,
the yelling... it can be you and me against the world," she had
whispered beneath the flicker of a dying hallway bulb.
"Who's going to take care of Dad?" Damian had asked, more
out of guilt than love.
He smiled faintly now, bitterly. The
memories came back like ghosts—sneaking out to midnight showings of R-rated
movies, racing back home before dawn to avoid their parents' wrath. They used
to play with BB guns in
the yard, swim on weekends when their father was sober enough to drive.
But those good days drowned quickly.
The beatings came harder. His
father’s drinking more violent. One night, the old man had spiraled into
madness and beat their mother so viciously, she spent three weeks in the ICU.
When she finally healed, she left without a word, abandoning them to the very
man who almost killed her. Clara was taken into foster care. Damian never saw
her again.
And now… he missed her. The bond.
Her wild curls, her freckles, her laugh that could cut through the darkest of
nights.
The motel room was dimly lit, the
buzzing light above flickering like a bad omen. Damian froze as he opened the
door—his mother sat on the edge of the bed, still and silent. Her once-blonde
hair was now silver, her proud posture wilted. The glamorous, confident woman
he remembered was long gone. What remained was a ghost: exhausted, aged,
weighed down by regret.
Two worn suitcases stood by her side
like silent witnesses.
“Damian… we need to talk,” she said
softly.
“About what, Loise?” he
replied coldly.
“About what happened. About your
father. About Clara.”
“You left us,”
Damian snapped, his voice raw. “You left us when we needed you most. Dad was a
monster, Clara disappeared, and you were gone! You're dead to
me, do you hear that?! Dead!” His voice cracked as tears brimmed
and spilled down his cheeks.
Loise didn’t flinch. “Come. Sit with
me,” she said, calm yet broken.
Damian hesitated, but eventually sat
beside her. She smelled of burnt wood and ash, a strange, lingering scent that
made the air feel heavy.
“I loved all of you,” she began.
“But life isn’t black and white. Sometimes adults make impossible choices, ones
they regret for the rest of their lives. I left to survive. And for that… I am
sorry.”
“I loved you, Mom…” Damian choked,
his voice breaking into sobs. Loise pulled him into a gentle, trembling
embrace.
“I’m here now, my son.”
The Next Morning
Sunlight streamed through the motel
curtains, cutting gold bars across the dusty room. Loise sat at the small
kitchen table, nursing a cup of coffee. Damian shuffled in, bleary-eyed and
barefoot.
“Morning,” she greeted.
“Morning,” he replied, taking the
seat across from her.
“I made you breakfast—avocado toast,
sunny side up eggs, bacon. Just the way you like it.”
Damian stared at the plate. “So
we’re just gonna pretend you weren’t gone for twenty years and play
house? I’m not five, Mom.”
“I know, Damian…” she said, her
voice strained.
“I’m here for a reason,” she
continued. “Something bigger than apologies. Something you need to hear.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Your father… wasn’t just a
magician.”
Damian scoffed. “Yeah, I know. He
was a drunk with a cheap top hat and an ego the size of Texas.”
“No. I mean real magic.
Your father and I—we were part of something ancient. A secret society
called The Magic
Order. We’re protectors of humanity, warriors against the
darkness. True magicians with ties to the underworld. And I fear... that
darkness is rising again.”
Damian blinked, then laughed. “Wow.
What a load of absolute—”
He stopped mid-sentence.
Loise stood up abruptly, her eyes
narrowing. “Wait,” she said. “There’s something here.”
She slipped a wand from her sleeve,
her voice rising into a chant.
“Erastrius von
Namos!”
Suddenly, a dark figure materialized
in the room. Cloaked in black, featureless—its very presence sucked the warmth
from the air. Its shape wavered like smoke but loomed tall and menacing.
“What do you want?” Loise demanded.
The creature’s voice was hollow,
distant. “All will be revealed...” it whispered, before vanishing into a
plume of shadow.
Damian stood frozen, wide-eyed.
“What the hell was that?!” he
shouted.
Loise looked at him with a calm
intensity. “Do you believe me now?”
The Magician
Chapter Three
The sun hung low, a molten disk
sinking into the horizon. Central Park shimmered
in the golden glow; every blade of grass bathed in the tender warmth of summer.
People picnicked on plaid blankets, joggers traced the winding paths, and the
air pulsed with laughter and idle conversation.
Tall trees stood like silent
sentinels, their leaves whispering with the breeze. Vendors manned their carts,
filling the air with the scent of grilled hot dogs, candied nuts, and sweet powdered
donuts. A rainbow—fragile yet vivid—arched across the sky, its colors spilling
from yellow into violet, pink into deep blue.
Then, without warning, the air
rippled.
In the heart of the park, a ring of
fire ignited from nothing—blazing, whirling, wild. The crowd didn’t notice;
they laughed, fed pigeons, took selfies. Out of the infernal vortex stepped
Damian and Loise, emerging from the motel-room illusion into the sunlight.
Damian paused, letting the warmth
soak into his skin. “What? How did we end up in Central Park?”
“I opened a portal,” Loise replied
flatly, her oak-and-graphite wand lowering as the fiery ring began to
shrink. “Von Namos.”
The flames collapsed with a sound
like a thunderclap.
As they walked, Damian noticed how
no one looked their way. “Can they see us?” he asked, almost like a child
testing the rules of a game.
“No. I’ve placed a glamour. We’re
invisible here.”
They strolled under canopies of
green, the shade cool and laced with the scent of pine and yelk. On a bench,
they sat beside an elderly couple deep in conversation about Italy—the
food, the weather, the coastline they longed to see again. The couple never
glanced at them.
Damian turned to Loise. “So… what
was so important you couldn’t tell me in the motel?”
“I fear we’re being watched,” she
said. “Daemons hate
sunlight. Here, we’re safe. And it’s about… your sister, Clara.”
Damian’s breath caught. “I haven’t
seen her since she was taken from us.”
“She’s in Limbo,”
Loise said quietly. “And we have to fetch her.”
“Limbo? You mean hell?”
“No. It’s a middle world between
Hell and Earth.” She stood abruptly. “I’ll explain on the way. Valesta von
Namos!”
A new portal erupted before them,
its ring of fire shimmering like molten glass. Damian stepped through
cautiously—and the world changed.
Limbo
Twilight pressed down like a
physical weight. The air was thick with sulfur and acid, every breath a slow
burn in the lungs. Vast pits of fire pulsed across the desolate land, their
glow carving jagged shadows across black stone.
Mist coiled around Damian’s legs,
curling higher with each step, until shapes moved within it—shadows gliding
just beyond focus. Sounds were muffled here, as if the world were wrapped in
damp cloth. Time felt broken, each second dragging into eternity.
Souls wandered without aim, their
faces blank, their movements puppet-like. Above, enormous bats with ember-red
eyes swept through the dark. Damian flinched as one swooped low, but Loise
didn’t break stride.
“They can’t hurt you,” she murmured.
They approached a throne of skulls,
towering over the wasteland. Upon it sat a scarlet-skinned daemon-woman,
crowned in curved black horns, draped in black leather, her giant moonlit sword
resting against the steps. Damian felt his strength ebb under its glow.
“Damian,” Loise said, her voice
taut, “meet the Dark Child—Queen
Regent of Limbo, Sorceress
Supreme of the underworld… and your sister, Clara Osborne.”
Damian dropped to his knees. “My
God.”
Clara rose, descending the throne’s
steps with measured grace. With a snap of her fingers, her demonic form melted
away, leaving the woman he remembered. She embraced him briefly before stepping
back, her eyes hard.
“You want my help?” she said, her
voice cold with irony. “Aren’t you the reason I’m here? Stuck for eternity?”
“That’s the past—” Loise began.
“Silence!” Clara’s shout cracked the
air. “You struck a bargain with Asmodeus and I was
the bargaining chip!”
Loise’s face tightened with regret.
“I’m sorry. But a dark force is coming—Trigon has
been awakened.”
“Trigon?” Damian asked.
“A myth,” Clara said. “A children’s
tale to scare fledglings.”
“He’s real,” Loise said sharply. “If
we don’t act now, Earth will fall.”
Clara tilted her head. “Earth? You
mean the place where you robbed me of my childhood?” Her voice dropped,
dangerous and measured. “I’ll help… on one condition. When it’s over, you take
my place here.”
Loise hesitated, then nodded.
A slow, predatory smile spread
across Clara’s lips. “Then let’s go home.”
The portal roared to life, spilling
smoke and fire into the shadowed air.
Damian a
washed-up magician discovers his family holds a deep and dark secret…
CHAPTER FOUR
Damian was puzzled as he stood on
skulls as he sank deep into its crevices. They were black like obsidian and
were in thousands astern across a vast land, they were pulling him deep into
the ground like a sinking ship. He screamed for help but no sound came from his
mouth. The sun was bloated and it was dark as night, the sun’s red gleam
radiated like a blood moon, its fire burning infernal. From a distance he could
hear a ribald evil laughter, as he the sound of crushing skulls beneath his
feet became more prevalent.
The black skulls filled with
cartilage were fragile like a loose skeleton bone covered in soot. Where
am I? he asked himself. He walked slowly over the skulls trying to
regain balance and composure. He drowned in its profanity like a sinking ship.
As he looked up, he could see a huge withered tree that seemed to be old as age
itself.
The huge tree had a huge trunk and
its leaves were no longer existent, like a lost memory. On top of the tree was
a body that looked somewhat familiar. He gasped in shock at the horrific sight,
the body was suspended on a noose hanging from one of its branches. On his
docile body were engraving on his torso that said:
Death
created time to grow the things that it would kill.
The engravings were curved in blood
and gore. Atop the head of the deceased body was a crown of antlers and thorns.
His face was covered with blonde hair that blew radiantly by the ghastly wind,
causing a nail-biting chill over him, leaving him with goosebumps. He looked
again at the body and to his amazement it was him.
Damian woke up from his expired
dream with a jolt gasping for air. He was drenched in sweat. He leaned over the
bed side table and drank some water. It was just a nightmare he consoled
himself. He looked pale and pall, his heart was throbbing fast and in
synchronization with the sound of the train that lingered in the air.
He woke up in a dimly lit apartment
dust and the scent of mildew rented the air. Across the room was Loise, his
mother and Clara Osborne, her sister arguing over something he could not
decipher. From the sight of Damian’s awakening Loise rushed towards him,
handing him a warm towel. She tried to wipe of the perspiration but Damian
reluctantly pushed his head back and took the towel to wipe it himself.
“Another nightmare?” asked Loise
“Yes” confirmed Damian.
“Quickly explain it to me…” said
Loise.
Damian explained the whole dream
with great precision: the black skulls, the dead body and the engraving on its
chest vividly.
“You might have the sight” said
Loise.
“What do you mean” asked Damian.
“The Magic
Order have three fraternities: The seer, the healer and the enforcer”
said Loise.
“The seers are able to transmigrate
in between portals and go into a deep trance where they can see the future and
locate enemies of the Magic Order. The healer from its name is able to heal any
kind of wounds and finally the enforcer is able to cast strong and powerful
dark magic spells to destroy its enemies. Let us go we do not have much
time. Trigon is
at hand” she said eloquently.
Clara Osborne with
great disdain rolled her eyes and followed them out of the motel room.
“Where are we going?” asked Damian.
“All your answers will be answered
my child, be steadfast and have faith” said Loise.
Loise hailed a taxi cab from outside
the establishment and they all entered the tiny cab.
“Providence
Library” she said to the Indian cab driver.
A few moments later they arrived at
their destination. The library was huge, decorated with gargoyles at
the roof watching over the people like silent sentinels. The entrance was
filled with huge steps that gave room to a huge double door that stretched
twelve feet high. Inside there were a thousand if not hundreds of books that
seemed to be infinitely spread across the towers of the library.
Loise approached the receptionist
librarian and handed her a golden coin.
On it was an angel like
figure its wings spread across its surface and on the other
side was a daemon of
some sort with hooves on his head and a serpent for a tongue. The librarian
nodded swiftly and stood frantically. She took the coin and put it in her small
pouch inside her overall.
They went deeper and deeper into the
library, the librarian pushed a lever and a hidden room appeared. Inside was a
stairwell that snaked down like a spiral, a deep descent.
“Lestra
inferna!” she said in great strength her
hand glowed with fire lighting the way in great supreme light. A spell cast
that seemed all too powerful and ominous. They reached the lower level and put
the lamp lights on, inside was an even a bigger library spread across several
rooms.
“Impossible” said Damian beneath his
breathe.
“Damian, welcome to the Magic Order
Headquarters” said Loise.
“In the next few weeks, you will be
trained in the dark arts,
practicing with you and your sister until you’re ready to face Trigon.” Said
Loise.
Damian in complete shock agreed with
bubbles of excitement while his sister looked at her mother suspiciously.
The journey had just begun.
THE MAGICIAN
CHAPTER FIVE
Beneath the marble floors of
the Providence
National Library lay a secret world—hidden from mortal eyes by
an ancient glamour.
The Magic Library was
vast beyond comprehension, a spiraling labyrinth of corridors that seemed to
twist endlessly into themselves. Staircases floated midair, drifting and
reshaping like obedient serpents of stone. Books with paper wings flitted
overhead, whispering in forgotten tongues as they fluttered between shelves
that stretched far beyond sight.
The air was thick with parchment
dust and candle smoke. Golden motes danced in the still air, illuminated by a
strange, fiery orb suspended above—the Library’s own miniature sun. It burned
bright, yet harmless, casting a warm, eternal dawn upon the halls.
Massive portraits of ancient
Archmages and Grand Masters adorned the bronze-and-marble walls, their painted
eyes watching all who passed. Clara once told him that the mantle of Wizard
Supreme was handed down from century to century—one chosen magician to
the next. Some of the faces on the walls were so old that even their names had
been lost to time.
The furniture was ancient too: dark
Victorian wood, dust-layered and carved with sigils of protection. The place
smelled of power and memory. Here, among the tomes of forgotten magic, Damian
Osborne learned his craft. He studied spell books that pulsed faintly
with life—books that taught him to summon fire, weave invisible glamours, forge
forcefields, and bend the very molecules of matter.
Clara Osborne—his sister, sharp and
severe—was his teacher and guide. She told him of the Magic Order,
their ancient war against the Dark Order,
and the rise and fall of mages whose power could split mountains.
“I thought manipulating molecules
was a form of alchemy,”
Damian once asked during a late-night lesson.
“There’s a fine line between alchemy
and magic,” Clara replied, eyes glinting under candlelight. “Before magic,
there was alchemy. The mages of old crafted potions, changed matter, and healed
the dying. Magic evolved from their art—but we owe everything to alchemy.
Without it, there would be no magic at all.”
That night, she presented him with a
wand.
It was slender, carved from dark
ashwood, polished to a silken gleam. A soft golden metal capped the handle,
etched with his initials.
“This is yours,” Clara said simply.
Damian grasped it gently. The wand
felt alive in his hand—warm, like it recognized him. He gave it a slow,
experimental swing, and a faint shimmer of light followed the motion.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
Loise Osborne, his mother, entered
quietly behind them. Her presence filled the room like the calm before a storm.
“I see your training is going well,”
she said, her voice both proud and weary. “But listen—I have to leave for a
while. There’s something I must do. When the time comes, and when you’re
ready…” She placed her hand over Damian’s heart. “We’ll take on Trigon.
Together.”
Her eyes glowed with defiance—and
fear.
Days bled into weeks. Weeks became
months. Damian’s training consumed him. His hands were burned, his mind
stretched, but his power grew.
One evening, as rain drummed against
the enchanted glass, Clara entered his small room unannounced. She looked
different—dark lipstick, raven hair tied back, her usual edge sharpened.
“You know she’s going to abandon us
again,” she said flatly.
Damian looked up from his open
spellbook.
“How could you say that?”
“Because I’ve seen it. It’s in her
nature.” Clara’s voice was soft, but it cut like a knife. “Don’t get too
comfortable, kiddo. She’ll break your heart.”
She turned and vanished down the
hallway, leaving only the faint scent of lilac and dust behind.
It was deep into the night when
Clara stormed into his room again.
“Damian! Wake up—we have to go.
Mother’s waiting.”
He blinked, dazed.
“Wait… where are we going?”
“No time to explain. Just move.”
He hurriedly dressed and followed
her through the winding staircases of the Library until they reached the grand
atrium. There, at its center, hovered a blazing portal—a
swirling vortex of crimson fire.
They stepped through.
The heat and light vanished
instantly. They emerged into the cold, desolate tunnels of the New York
City subway. The hour was late. The streets above were silent, abandoned.
Somewhere, a gust of wind dragged a stray newspaper across the floor like a ghost.
“Why are we here?” Damian asked.
“We’re looking for a warlock
gargoyle,” said Loise, her eyes scanning the shadows. “He’s lived here for
centuries. He knows things—about Trigon.”
“A gargoyle?” Damian said
incredulously.
“Yes, Damian,” Clara hissed. “A gargoyle.”
They descended deeper, following the
scent of sulfur and wet stone. The tunnels grew narrower, the air heavy and
sour. Finally, they reached a massive metal gate, engraved with
strange, twisting symbols.
Loise lifted her wand and
whispered, “Inspira visibla.”
The gate shimmered and expanded,
revealing words carved in a forbidden script—The Gate to
the Pit. Damian recognized it from the ancient texts of the
Magic Order.
Loise knocked twice.
A shadow stirred behind the bars.
Then came a hiss of metal and fire. The creature that appeared was both
grotesque and magnificent—a gargoyle, with leathery wings and stone-like
skin cracked by veins of molten light. Its eyes burned amber, its fanged mouth
twisting into a grin.
“Loise Osborne,” it said, voice deep
as thunder. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Loise stepped forward, retrieving
a golden coin from her pocket—the same token used by the
Order’s elite. She slid it across the desk before him.
“Information,” she said. “Where is
Trigon?”
The gargoyle—Darren—paused,
his clawed fingers trembling slightly.
“Ah… Trigon.” His voice dropped into
a rumbling whisper. “He is everywhere, Loise. He has eyes and ears in every
shadow. The Dark Order freed him after a millennium of confinement. He draws
power from them now—dark, ancient power. Some of your own allies serve him.”
“Impossible,” Loise snapped. “I
would have known.”
Darren chuckled—a horrible,
fire-crackling sound.
“You’ve been gone a long time, my
dear. The world has changed. Trigon prepares for the Second Coming of
the Underworld. His followers—your former brethren—are already making
ready.”
“You’re lying,” Clara muttered.
“Am I?” Darren leaned closer. Smoke
curled from his nostrils. “The Magic Order is compromised. And there is nothing
you can do to stop it.”
Loise’s eyes hardened. “We’ll see
about that.”
“Good luck,” Darren said with a
sinister grin, snapping his ledger shut. “You’ll need it.”
A heavy silence filled the room.
Damian turned to Clara, his pulse
racing. She looked back, pale and wordless.
Trigon was free.
The Magic Order had been infiltrated.
And the war they had feared for centuries—had already begun.
Beneath the city, there is a city beneath it, home to half demons and half human creatures composed of warlocks, reptilians and gargoyles. Damian, Clara and Loise Osborne went to collect certain information from a gargoyle named Darren, only to find out the news they were longing for was a set up for more chaos.
THE MAGICIAN
CHAPTER SIX: A DUEL OF WANDS AND BLOOD
The subway was the city’s underbelly — a living, breathing labyrinth that rumbled beneath New York’s glittering skin. Down there, time felt slower, heavier, as if the weight of millions of footsteps had pressed the years into the tiles themselves.
Damian, Clara and Loise Osborne were on the hunt for Trigon. His acolytes were the Dark Order, had secretly set him free and was now roaming the Earth without the Magic Order knowing…
They ascended the cracked concrete steps, a familiar gust of warm, stale air rising to greeted them carrying the scent of rust and rainwater, the tang of electricity and the musk of vermin. Rats could be seen dashing back and forth. The sound of the subway trains swooshed by them with a deafening sound.
At last, they emerged to civilization. The people of New York were seen moving helter skelter, the crowd immense, everyone seemed to have a divine purpose. White collar men carrying their briefcases with a forcefully tied tie across their necks heading to their mundane nine to five jobs.
Pigeons flew above them circling like vultures. A slight drizzle engulfed them only for the crowds’ underbellies to give rise to the warm sun. Time seemed to move fast above the underground subway. Street vendors were selling all sorts of cheap savory meals from hot dogs to falafels, the smell-exquisite and pristine.
A man with tattered clothes approached them asking for some change. He muttered to himself, it seemed futile for his cries were a form of dead prayers. His voice swallowed by the echo of distant rails. Construction workers working more than eighty hours a week were seen erecting sky scrapers while some were having a break having sandwiches with fizzy drinks.
The walls were grimy, lined with faded posters and graffiti — declarations of love, defiance, and loneliness. Each mark told a story no one cared to read anymore. Rats scurried along the tracks, fearless as kings of their dark domain, while puddles shimmered with oily rainbows beneath the dim fluorescent light.
Loise hailed a cab as the street gave way to the main roads…
She looked at her reflection from the driver’s car and she stopped suddenly.
“We are being followed” she said laconically.
Damian shocked looked behind and would see know no sign of suspicious activity.
“By whom-?” he asked childly
“Quick no time” she answered motioning Clara and Damian to get in the cab with her.
“The docks” said Loise as the taxi driver sped off.
The Indian taxi driver pulled down the window, his ethnic music blaring from the car’s speakers. New York was alive. Its people pulsating with fervor.
Moments later
The docks stretched like steel veins along the great river’s edge, pulsing with the restless life of the city. Rusted cranes loomed against the bruised clear sky, like huge sentinels watching and deciding their fate.
The scent of salt, diesel and sweat clung to the air like an unwashed cologne dry and musky. The river reflected the slow hum of the city, its infidelities, its harshness and its flow of constant change. The world was harsh here, Loise could feel a bad taste in her mouth of aluminum and ash.
Sea gulls hovered above them like vultures looking for prey. They got out of the taxi and a warm smell of fish and guts rented the air like a strong perfume. Barges and other small ships drifted aimlessly near the harbor between piers, their horns resonating deep within their souls loud and submissive.
Outside the warehouse four men in black robes appeared.
They walked mystically as if floating through the air, a black mist hovering around them. Loise and Damian got out their wands. The four brothers an evil sub group of the Dark Order that challenged the fraternity in every away. They were disbanded from the Magic Order hundreds of years ago for their treasonous acts of war and now they have found their way to New York after their release of their master, Trigon.
“Abra cadabra” hissed Loise, her voice cutting deep like sharpened steel. She raised her wand high, a lightning bolt fired from the wands pointy end only to be blocked by a magical forcefield, its surface covered with dark runes. Weakening her instantly.
“Quick get Damian to safety, I will hold them off!” said Loise sharply to Clara.
One of the four brothers wearing a dark robe covering his disfigured face approached them slowly. With his hands raised he released a huge fire ball that aimed towards Damian.
“Defensa Frostas!” Loise cried, her voice echoing across the magical spell, casting a glacial shield that burst from her wand, form a crystalline barrier around Damian and Clara. Her wand flaring up with jagged ice spikes and almost shattering beneath the heavy weight of the spell.
“No! I can help!” Damian shouted across the harbor as Clara shoved him out of harm’s way.
Clara stopped at her steps, transfixed, her clothes seemed to fall off as if melting away. Her pale skin turned to a fiery red skin.
“I summon the demons of Limbo” she said in a dark tone with a huge bass.
Suddenly, black wings appeared from her back that stretched over six feet tall, leathery and docile with black feathers. A magic sword woven on her right arm that glowed yellow like the sun with an infernal fire surrounding it.
“Who dares challenge the Dark child” said Clara her voice demonic and sinister.
On her head were horns that were obsidian black with hooves that matched her dark antler-like horns. She muttered something in an ancient language like a verse from a bible. A portal opened up from where the four brothers stood. A mirage of demon like creatures appeared from the fiery portals seizing two of the four brothers.
They ripped them apart like a boneless creature, the sound of shattered bones could be heard from the docks as they screamed and writhed in pain. The demons tore them apart one by one. His companion armed with a scythe slashed aimlessly at the vile creatures’ blood and gore was eminent, as the brothers were occupied Loise retreated quickly and opened a portal.
“Trigon will be free and roam the Earth. And this world will be ours!” said one of the acolytes adorned in a dark red robe screaming for his life as the demons with their sharp razor teeth devoured his flesh until he was no more.
“What was that?!” asked Damian completely petrified.
Clara transformed back to her human body instantly and remained quiet like a monk. They entered the portal impetuously and ended up in a desert like plane full of sand and dunes. The suns scorching their skin. Damian bewildered and completely gob smacked breathed heavily as if drowning.
“Where are we?” he asked
“I believe the Sahara dessert we must visit the ancient one. Make haste Trigon is coming…” said Loise.
THE MAGICIAN
CHAPTER SEVEN: THE ANCIENT ONE
Sahara dessert
Damian, Clara and Loise Osborne stepped out of the portal and into the large sand dunes of the Sahara dessert. Damian in complete and utter awe marveled at the scenery. The sand stretching beyond the grasp of mortal sight. The horizon was covered in a pale wash of gold blinding Damian.
Waves of sand rose and fell in solemn procession, each dune a giant frozen in mid-breath. Their curves were sculpted by centuries of whispered storms, their crests sharp as the edge of a forgotten blade. The sun shimmered against the yellow sand making it impossible to see. The dessert was a cruel place. A gust of wind swooshed passed them like raging fireball of a stallion.
The heat was very torrid and Damian had to take off his shirt to protect his eyes from the sun. There within the depths of the dessert their feet dragged against the thick sand sinking deeper into its under belly. Loise almost stepped into some quick sand but freezing spell did the trick.
They walked to what seemed like hours until they reached the forbidden city resting ground for the ancient one. There inside a canyon the weather was cool, a huge statue of child seated with his legs crossed holding a book was carved into the small mountain towering over them like a looming giant.
“Sjvilda!” said Loise with a motioning of her wand and the glamour barrier came down revealing the entrance into what seemed to be a huge towering door made of oak knitted between the canyon like a parchment.
She approached the tall door with tiny footsteps and removed an enchanted stone from her pocket. It was emerald green and looked like a fiery chisel. She pointed the chisel like artifact on the door and started to tap it as if looking for some kind of weak points and that she did. Sparks were flying out of the stone, each creating a rune like symbol on the door.
Finally, the door opened.
Inside, there was a foyer with a huge chandelier at the entrance. Time seemed not to exist here everything felt very surreal. The huge amount of sand did not exist here it was as if the they were transmigrated into another realm. Up the stairs in the back were a huge sigil of the same boy child seated in a meditation stance holding a book.
A bald-headed man wearing yellow and red robes appeared out of nowhere. His skin was ruddy and healthy and he was somewhat lean. He held what seemed to be beads for meditation purposes, as he talked, he would repeat a mantra over and over again. In between his speech he bowed reverently towards the trio.
“Welcome, the ancient one will see you now,” said the bald-headed man.
They sauntered into a Japanese style room no furniture was present just some pillows and in the middle of the room was a small stove boiling some fresh tea the aroma was exquisite and seemed to give the room life. They sat on the pillows patiently waiting on the ancient one with their legs crossed in a meditation stance.
A few moments later a child walks in, his robes too big for him. His head bald and moisturized. His eyes were sharp as steel and he would talk in a soft and collected tone.
“You are here for sustenance” said the boy child.
“Yes, oh ancient one we seek your eternal wisdom” said Loise bowing with benevolence.
“The world has changed Loise Osborne, Trigon is at hand. He seeks to destroy all of human kind and bring Limbo to our sacred Earth.” Said the ancient one.
“That is why I am here. How do we stop him?” asked Loise laconically.
“You do not. This is a battle even you can not win. You and your family, not to forget the Magic Order. Trigon is too powerful; his evil acolytes have gained enough Dark Magic to keep him present in the Earthrealm and the Netherealm. That kind of power is too much enough even for your sacred Magic Order” said the child eloquently and in a low tone as if whispering.
“So that is it?! We are going to let Trigon destroy Earth even without a fight!” said Loise her blood boiling.
“I did not say that,” said the child.
“The journey ahead will be long and tedious” he said and then momentarily clapped his hands together.
An array of monks came into the room holding various artifacts.
“My gifts to you, equip them and defeat Trigon” he said.
The servants placed the ancient artifacts and sped out of the room hurriedly.
Covered with a soft linen cloth were these precious wands and some gem stones.
“I have taken your wands and made them stronger for your journey ahead. Each with its own unique abilities. Loise yours is the blue wand a sign of strength and calmness. You will be able to summon the storm gods and use lightning as your primary line of offence.
Clara, you have the red wand not only will you be able to summon demons from Limbo but also cast infernal fire straight from Hades himself. And you Damian yours is the black wand, black is the signature of a new beginning here in the ancient world.
You will be able to cast shields and forcefields at your own accord. Take these gifts, Trigon is at hand” said the ancient one who disappeared into thin air with his last words.
They reached out for their wands radiating and glowing. They studied them with scrutiny and awe. Later hiding them in their sleeves. Loise stood up slowly.
“We have to go now” said Loise.
“What’s wrong?” asked Damian.
“It’s your father…He is dead” said Loise coldly.
Damian sunk after the morbid news, tears rolling down his cheeks.
“We have no time Damian you will mourn later” she said opening a portal with her new wand.
They stepped inside the fiery portal unscathed.
THE MAGICIAN
CHAPTER EIGHT: REVELATIONS
The rain fell hard on this dull gray day in long unbroken threads, stitching the sky to the earth as the funeral begun.
The clouds hung low and heavy, bruised with grief, as though the heavens themselves had come to mourn. Each drop struck the ground with quiet insistence, darkening the soil around the grace until it became a mirror of sorrow carried by those who stood there. Umbrellas bloomed like black flowers, trebling in the wind, their edges dripping tears they could not hold.
Richard Osborne had died, father to Damian Osborne and Clara Osborne, widowed by Loise Osborne. The funeral procession was less crowded in retrograde of Richard being a famous figure in the entertainment industry but that was his wish: Let me go silently like a thief in the night. He would say to Damian.
Damian was Richard’s favorite child. He always took care of his father with at most love and affection: the drunken nights, the household abuse and his illness all through his life. Cancer, they said it was, unbeatable and assuring for the kiss of death. The coffin rested beside the open grave, polished wood dulled by rain, its surface slick and cold.
They all wore black. Damian clad in a black tuxedo with a white shirt, Clara and Loise both wearing matching black dresses with black veils hiding their so-called grief. Loise seemed not to be taking it too well, tears trickled down her cheeks like a raging waterfall. She wiped the tears cascading off her ruddy cheeks with a black handkerchief. Her sorrow pierced through her like sharp glass leaving pangs of pain deep within her heart.
Dear Richard so much was left unsaid I hope you can forgive me she said under her breath as her hands were trembling. The pastor presided over the church rituals with long contemplating prayers that seemed as if he was chanting an old ancient missal from centuries ago. Close family and friends had their faces downcast. Nobody spoke; the rain swallowed the priests’ word with one huge gulp. The rain said everything words could not.
The priest finally closed his remarks and finally came the crescendo. The first shovelful of soil striking the coffin. A dull, final thud. After the coffin was lowered it was time to say goodbye a familiar gesture, they all had one another. Damian bent over the grave picked some soil and lunged it slightly to the ground so did Clara and Loise. Their faces down and long.
And in some kind of miracle from the gods, the rain stopped. Mist could be seen rising from the ground as if exasperating from its long toil. A colorful rainbow danced around the sky giving off yellowish purple hues striking the newly cleared blue sky. The scent of fresh air clouded them and it made breathing all the more easier.
The undertaker with his huge shovel appeared out of nowhere like a ghost. His overall garments torn and dusty and did not seem to care for the rain for he was soaked, drenched in sweat and rain. He was a cyclops one eye covered by an eye patch sling wrapped around his head. His front teeth were missing and his skin was wrinkly like that of an old man.
He bent over and covered the grave with soil with his huge spade haphazardly. When the last mourner had gone only the bereaved family stayed behind sulking like a wet dog. They paid their last respects, putting flowers over the grave. Moments later, they entered a taxi and hailed it to their motel.
They stepped inside the room, removed their mud filled dress shoes and proceeded to the dining table. They had ordered some Chinese food and were famished from the days’ activities. The silence was loud and deafening. Nobody spoke just the sound of food being devoured slowly.
“So, what’s next?” asked Damian childly.
“We will have to summon Trigon ourselves,” said Loise confidently.
“You want us to bargain with a cosmic entity which seeks to destroy all of mankind?” asked Damian shocked, his jaw dropping.
“We need to strike a bargain with him. He is too powerful…,” said Loise.
“That is bullshit. How are we going to conjure a demon, strike a bargain and loose the only fighting chance we have?” said Damian his blood boiling in anger.
“I am not going to lose another member my family. I cannot put you and your sister in that situation. I cannot risk that!” Loise said banging her visit on the table with a loud thud.
“Shut up Loise!” said Clara her eyes turning red as the blood moon.
“This was your plan all along. I knew you couldn’t be trusted…” Clara added almost summoning the DarkChild within her.
The hot kettle ringed with a hiss from the kitchen counter. Loise stood up surreptitiously and went into the kitchen and made a cup of coffee for herself. Not saying a word. Clara stared at the checkered floor as if in a trance like spell casted on her, making her zombie-like.
Loise took a sip of her coffee and sat on the kitchen.
“You are a coward. You always have been!” shouted Clara in a huge cacophony of bass making the rest of the family tremble in fear.
She dashed to the door carrying a jacket. Slamming it behind her
Silence prevailed once again.
“Clara, wait!” said Loise, her voice cracking like a frog.
“You brought this on yourself!” shouted Damian as he followed her sister into the musty air outside.
Loise sat on the kitchen table not saying a word seeping on her coffee, her face looking disappointed as always. Lamenting on her life’s choices.
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