The Wielder of Death Magic

Chapter 940

Chapter 940: Angio

*Ching,* chimed a dropped golden coin; Angio’s last moment played under the dead of night – a summoned mist swallowed the area. Amidst vague outlines, to and fro’s, and chatter, a contraption tied the man’s head onto a solid table, a lever turned at slow intervals – a plunger-like hat pressed, tightening by each shake of the lever.

‘Why didn’t they listen to me,’ pressure increased, ‘-why didn’t anyone want to hear what I said, why me, why not them. My lord,’ an involuntary gasp escaped, cranial pressure amplified – the church used morbidly interesting ways of ‘-cleansing,’ the unfaithful. One of bishop Greg’s favorites was the head-crusher, a straight-to-the-point contraption.

Through heavy curtains, Angio, once a revered member of the church, had his head locked in where many heretics, criminals, and enemies of the church previously shared their last moments. To call unfairness would have begotten a sneer, and if lucky, perhaps a grunt of discomfort. ‘-my last moments,’ he exhaled, unable to resist the inevitable, ‘-everything ends, my faith and passion didn’t matter, what a shame,’ knelt and naked, a burnt insignia was spotted on his chest – a magical symbol of unknown origins. Torturers often branded their prisoners with similar symbols; in Angio’s case, the mantle was attended personally by the bishop.

Wind wept the curtains, sending tremors across the tent and shivers down the man’s spine, the cold spurs dug into the exposed flesh, adding color to the complexion. The sufferance of the unfaithful, such as the ways of repentance. *Ching,* a chiming ray of memory passed, the sound of cracked bones churned even the strongest of stomachs – muffled and painfully slow, it was hard to listen. ‘-my faith brought me here, I wanted to honor my lord – all for naught... why would he willingly reject a devotee, why would my god not reach out and help. My comrades, the amounts of lives lost – they don’t care, they won’t care, I warned and warned, still, they run into the battle willing to die,’ a feather glided to the damp ground where a frigid breeze carried its weightlessness across the torturous room, falling into a puddle of brownish-red, white and pure taint – ‘-if they won’t accept me, I’ll find refuge somewhere else. The chiming,’ pressure made blinking a headache, ‘-it’s he, the devil, he calls for me,’ a strong glare defied the crushing pain, “-SO BE IT!” he muffled, “-I ACCEPT,” a flash of purple blurted, catching the attention of stationed guards, boots rushed from a padded surface to the cold harsh ground, “-where’s Angio?” questions, no answer – a coin laid in wait – empty, a bland piece of black, almost as if it had been thrown into a fire. Farther in, a half-bloodied feature tiptoed in a shallow puddle.

*Gasp,* “-where am I?” he coughed, unable to open his eyes and breath.

“Calm down,” said a monotonous voice, a nimble clap soothed the worse of his injuries, Angio reawakens in a room suspended in time and space, lost in the infinite annals of time, unknown and unseen by the general mass, “-who are you?”

“Must I answer?” said a strong figure atop a throne of gold, “-Angio, by relinquishing thy intrinsic values, a feat of tremendous effort, you were able to reach out and accept. Tell me,” the legs crossed, “-child of Lucifer’s realm, what is thy wish.”

.....

“My wish?” he knelt and straightened the back, “-what do you mean, wish?”

“To make a deal with the devil,” he added, “-speak, Angio, what is it that you truly wish?”

“Go back home.”

“Go back home?”

“Yes,” he painfully shouted, “-I’m done, I don’t want to see that wretched realm again, I don’t want to feel betrayed, I warned them, I tried to say... my words meant nothing, humans are imbeciles, they sentenced me, an angel, to death, how am I suppose to feel? Alongside pain flamed the fire of pure ire, a sight of utmost relish for the devil.

“Is that all?” narrowed the devil, “-nothing more, just going home?”

“Is that wrong?”

“No, but I suppose you wouldn’t know. When a soul dies in a realm, not of his, the spirit makes a long returning journey to where he belongs; sometimes guided by the angels of death. Once home, the soul restores to a state before the departure, rendering the travel a little bit more of a dream. So, you see, dying when one is from another world doesn’t count as death.”

“Seriously?” palms dropped against the floor, “-you saying that... that I didn’t have to do anything?”

The devil gave a sympatric nod, “-suppose not. Now what?” the tone swapped for familiarity; “-intent alone suffices for a soul to sign a deal. Going home will happen eventually,” the crossed-legs posture straightened as he moved his body forward confidently, resting the elbows on his thighs and interlocked the fingers in a wall-like structure, “-tell me, Angio, what about vengeance?”

“Vengeance?”

“Yes, why not give to more humanistic desires, why not seek out revenge?”

“Not me,” he exhaled, “-I rather not stoop to a human’s standard.”

“It was a human who captured and nearly took thine life – what of it now, change of idea?”

“Put that way, I guess I’m being snobbish. Devil, I’m empty, I don’t know what I want – my sole desire was to return home. Now, you’re saying I would have returned if I kept my mouth shut. Happens, my soul is already bound by contract, do as you would, I’m done.”

He rose, throne disappeared, each step the devil walked shortly vanished – seemed the world in his shadow didn’t matter as it crumbled into nothingness, showing but the abyss.

“I’ve never had one give himself too readily,” Igna held Angio’s chin and lifted, “-look, there a myriad of ways we could end the arrangement, and most involving me doing nothing. Instead of giving up,” he tightened the grip and pulled closer, “-why not work for the devil,” he whispered, “-Lucifer didn’t help for a simple reason,” he murmured, “-I ended him and there’s no coming back,” Lucifer’s wings sprawled and settled.

“Lucifer’s dead?”

“Who knows?” the distance greatened, “-what will it be, Angio, serve me or be lost to the fate awaiting forsaken souls.”

“A hard bargain,” he whispered, “-I accept, I don’t care what happens, use me as you see fit, devil, my body and soul are already yours.”

“Great, I’ll see you soon,” a cold gust swept, throwing the room into a never-ending fall of the great unknown.

25th of March, a few days passed since the unknown projectile crossed Rotherham’s airspace, ‘-time sure goes by fast,’ beamed Igna hunched over a workstation, many apparatuses and instruments of Magiological research were arranged neatly, “-and I’ve done it,” a wipe of the brow, “-turning solid Maicite into liquid without activating the element. Eye of truth,’ he covered the left side, crimson part of the bicolor pupils, ‘-it not only reveals reality but can be restrained depending on what I focus on,’ prior belief was as follows, the eye of truth could only unravel reality and show the world beyond – for said reason, using the ability greatly strained the mind – not to mention the affinity was also amplified on the day Staxius accepted the Nox’s curse.

All changed on a chilly morning at the campus, Igna woke from his skyrise apartment and made his way to a temporary laboratory shared by the generous Marie, now a well-liked professor.

Cigarette in mouth, Igna entered the campus wearing a classy overcoat, ‘-students,’ he slowed his step, drawn to the crowd. “-Alright, refocus the lens,” cried a student, he took notice of a bench and sat, content on finishing the cigarette. The students were hard at work, “-looks fun, doesn’t it,” added another sharing said bench.

“Yeah, it does,” he puffed, “-I don’t envy their assignments.”

*Chuckle,* coughed the bystander, “-I agree. By the way, have I seen you before?”

“Yeah, I work at the lab,” he tapped the ash, “-what about you, sure seem interested in what they’re doing.”

The man motioned by raising an open palm, “-don’t make it sound so scandalous.”

“Wasn’t my intent,” returned Igna, “-Lord Mevy.”

“Ah, you know of me,” he smiled, “-They sure are taking their time in figuring how the camera works. I’m pretty sure,” he scratched his head, “-whatever my students built won’t work,” he laughed, a distant figure call for his name, “-I should get going,” nodded the young long-haired professor. Mevy masterfully handled the invention, calibrated the focus, and turned it towards Igna, tis then, a eureka moment sparked, the shutter, ‘-how could I have been so blind!’

Mevy snapped, “-looks blurry,” said a student.

“Looks fine to me,” he beamed, the picture captured the moment after realization, a blurred figure rising against the sharp clearness of the bench and background foliage, “-I like it.”

‘A simple solution,’ he figured, back to present time, ‘-how I focus controls the level of detail I can gather from the world. Thanks to that, controlling the eye of truth is second nature,’ he left the lab, seeing as the hard part was solved. *Incoming Call: éclair,*

“Hello,” he answered.

“Hello master, I have urgent news.”

“Speak.’

“Queen of Elendor wants an audience.”

“Pardon?”

“I know, it sounds crazy, I’m sure the queen died... she’s alive, truly.”

“Yeah, I know that,” he firmed, “-I was the one who rescued her. What does she want?”

“No idea,” said a solemn response.

“Fine, I’ll be at the capital in a few hours,” the call ended, he entered a commuting room and draped the coat over Marie’s favorite couch, ‘-good,’ he stood back, admiring the work of art, a turn and Igna left the research area – latter of which was placed out of sight and out of mind, a restricted zone allowed only to the brightest and best. He touched onto the stone walkway, and nodded a few friendly gestures at renowned researchers and members of the secretive alchemist sect, more prominently, the blue-eyes Clarise.

“Young Master, you finished for today?” inquired well-armed guards.

“Yeah, taking a break,” he lit a cigarette, “-I’ll be back, and if Marie asks, tell her I drowned.”

“O-Okay?”

Briefcase in one hand, coat in the other, he made his way to the campus parking, threw the luggage inside a nice car, and sped away, ‘-Ela,’ wandered across his mind, ‘-why’s she back?’

A few hours ride, “-Rosespire Station,” read across large fonts, doors parted, “-master,” waved an impatient attendant, “-I’ve been waiting.”

“Angio, I said you were free to explore the city...”

“My apologies,” bowed the pretty boy, Angio was a type of man lusted after by many, men, women, and non-humans alike, a princely charm, nicely combed hair, and a suave personality. Employing him as a retainer felt more of a mistake, as Igna frowned at the unwelcomed attention, ‘-why did I,’ he shook his head, ‘-why do I always turn those working under me into interesting characters. Angio would have remained silent and inattentive if I remained quiet, instead, when he arrived at my doorstep, I offered him another deal, one that brightened his mood... a free pass to Lucifer’s domain. Seems the pretty boy was a popular kid at the academy.’

“Master,” they arrived at a private parking lot, “-I’ll say it again, I’m grateful for the generosity.”

“Enough with the compliments. Angio, ever consider a life of fame?”

“Why do you ask?” trains moved overhead.

“Look at the poster,” he pointed, “-a handsome face can make it easy in Rosespire’s entertainment world.”

“No, why would I, master, you’re far more handsome than I.”

“Okay,” he dropped the tone, “-there’s a line where compliments become disturbing, and you, Angio, have sprinted right over.”

“No compliments?”

“No,” thundered Igna, “-come on,” a tap and off the duo went, arriving at the castle later in the afternoon, once inside, on pulling around the fountain, a butler hailed, “-welcome back,” he smiled, “-allow me to park the car.”

“Fine,” keys flew, “-Angio, take this.”

“A letter?”

“Yeah, you’re being posted under General Minerva’s watch.”

“WHAT?”