Field journal of Nathaniel Faust, Curse-breaker and Master of Mystic Science
21 Jan. 20–
The mortal government is usually nothing more than a source of mild entertainment, a nuisance at most, for the majority of mystics (and mystical beings seldom take any notice in any of our human affairs anyway). I will admit, I did vote in the last couple of elections, but, considering I hardly read more than the headlines and the classifieds (maybe the obits as well, just in case) to be aware of any odd happenings in the country, I pretty much had no idea who was on the ballot. I think last time I voted for that wizard guy. Seemed like he would at least not bother me by doing anything that might cause any trouble. Suffice it to say, I, like most people with my lifestyle, am entirely apolitical. That was part of why it was so annoying to have federal agents knock on my door this morning. They’re even bigger tight-wads than Alastair is.
I started my morning like any other: having been awake until some time after the stars started to fade out of the sky, I woke up to find myself with my jaw resting on the edge of a long-warm lemon-basil Blue Goat energy drink and a stiff neck. Upon moving slightly to try getting more comfortable, the can tipped over and spilled caffeinated battery acid (or whatever is in those things) right in the embarrassing area of my pants. At least this time I wouldn’t have to spend my morning extracting the stuff from The Eight Hells of Eirnwn, like the last few mornings. That book is way too boring to be so important, but, as Master always said, “a book a day keeps the mind-eating demonic bats from killing everyone.” I wonder whether Master Al’Zili would agree with that sentiment (knowing him, he’d say that the bats represent the natural culling of anyone who doesn’t know all the proper maneuvers of their chosen blade).
I groaned, stretched, massaged my sore jaw, and got up to check if that was the last Blue Goat in the fridge. If not, there was always that crate of whatever it was that Gina sent us from her last sponsor (Fahrenheit , I think it’s called). On reaching the kitchen, my day brightened immensely from the note I found left on the fridge:
Nathaniel:
Due to it being the feast day of St. Agnes, a l of us who fo low the TRUE magic of HMSR have decided to return to Britain for the annual blessing of the Kingdom’s girls (and restoration of virginity to those who have suffered from i l-treatment at the hands of scurrilous knaves). I leave the duties of the Temple to you in the meantime, do try not to run it back into the ground where it was when I took over its management, as we sha l be gone for a day and a night at most.
Behave yourself,
Alastair
His smugness permeated the paper. I took great pleasure in setting it on fire with my eternal flame lighter, until it reappeared on the fridge a moment later. Even this guy’s sticky notes are harder to get rid of than Eirnwnian mind bats once they manage to get into your house. Regardless, the fact that I would get even a day to air out the mansion from his lavender and garlic “vampire repellant.” My mood also improved when I found that someone, probably either Benton or Gina, had refilled the fridge with Blue Goats (they even got my favorite grape watermelon flavor !:). It was hard to limit myself to just one, but Rel says that too much caffeine can negate the effects of both spirit spirit and goro aether; if I wanted magic to work, I’d need to sacrifice.
I made my way up to the second floor parlor, or what used to be the parlor, before Sir Snootipants came and turned it into an “arena” for training. I found Beton sitting in lotus pose over by the fireplace, where he would have been sitting on the floral patterned maroon sofa if things were still ideal.
“Was it you who went out to the store?” I made a show of sipping from my second most vital potion.
“No, I’ve been here… meditating on solitude,” my first disciple cracked a smile at the statement.
“Yeah, been a while since we’ve had guests. Who constantly get lost and yell until we find them,” we both started cracking up a little.
“Or need someone to help them use the bathroom without getting–”
“-sucked into a drain,” I finished, and we both wound up in stitches at the memory. Granted that happened a while ago, but it was never not going to be funny to remember, especially when that snob starts ranting about how un-cultured the New York sect was compared to London’s.
I was about to ask if he’d seen either Rel or Gina, but the tingling vibration that meant someone was approaching the house began prickling my skin. I was shuddering a lot, so there were at least four people. Unusual, but a former client might be referring someone, I thought. Benton rose, figuring he should try to make the parlor more hospitable while I went down to welcome our guests.
“Four, at least,” I predicted, leaving him to get ready, “maybe make some tea or coffee or whatever,” I called back over my shoulder.
“Got it!” his faint voice rang down the stairway.
I stood by the door, waiting for them to ring the doorbell. Nothing happened, despite them lingering on the premises for a while. Interesting, I wondered what their problem was; only those with problems can find the bell, and only those who need my help (our) help can ring it. If they were waiting, it probably meant that they only had the former requirement, or else they would’ve knocked. I rarely answer knocks.
The sensation began to abate, they must’ve figured nobody was home (likely because of the sign that said to if nobody answered the bell after two minutes) and decided to leave. I was about to go back upstairs to share with Benton the cake he was undeniably slicing for our guests’ tea (so considerate of him to always have cake on hand) when I noticed that the visitors weren’t leaving. Their presences were faded, true, but they were still there. After years of handling clients, I was well aware that the type to hang around like that, despite the foreboding aura that emanated from the house (by design, of course), wouldn’t leave without someone coming to see them. Usually that meant they were crazy, as desperate people usually managed to ring the doorbell (or passed the “desperate” vibe check that would alert us to shier, less likely to actually ring the bell types). I reluctantly opened the door as far as the chain would let me to see a group of five, three men and two women (the tingle test is not perfect), in black, coordinated suits. The one with the most imposing eyebrows saw me through the crack (not sure how, since those brows could probably serve as natural snow goggles) and came up to the door.
“Nathaniel Faust,” Eyebrows’ voice was almost comically stereotypical for a government agent on a tv show; he seemed to know who I was, since he hadn’t asked it as a question.
“I am he,” I responded regardless, “what can I do for you?” as though it wasn’t something easy to guess.
“The United States government requires your service in a matter of–”
“I don’t work for governments,” I interrupted, “only individuals with problems. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some furniture to rearrange in my parlor,” I closed the door, but Eyebrows had managed to stick his foot past the threshold.
“As a citizen of the United States, we have every right to call you into service of the–”
“I don’t think that’s how it works, is it? I haven’t taken civics since the seventh grade, but don’t draft notices usually get sent through the mail first?” I asked, knowing full well that the house rarely ever managed to get anything delivered to it, which made it a drag when there was a cool sale on amazon, but was very helpful in avoiding bills (but somehow, not junk mail).
“We’ve sent five letters,” the government suit was now clearly annoyed.
“Hmm… must be a clerical error, then. Why don’t I go down to the post office now and see if they have them?”
“No need,” his tone was drier than the sand in Liúshā as he held up a couple envelopes, each bearing large RETURN TO SENDER ADDRESS UNKNOWN notices stamped on them.
“Ah, you must’ve gotten the zoning code wrong, happens all the time–”
“Quit your smart-assing,” now it was his turn to interrupt, “and come help your goddamn government,” Eyebrows’ face was redder than a unicorn’s liver. Spittle started to come out of his mouth as he started yelling at me about patriotic whatever, my gaze drifted over to his comrades, who, so far, hadn’t moved from the places they’d been when I first opened the door. The older of the two non-currently-yelling-in-my-face gentlemen looked familiar. I couldn’t place him, until I caught a glimpse of the familiar american flag tattoo on his wrist. A tattoo, which, as I’d had explained to me the first time I’d dealt with the government,1 had a much deeper meaning than what most people (myself included) would’ve associated it with.
1 See entry for 7 Aug. 20
“Agent Avery!” I called out to the man who, last I’d seen him, was sailing calmly off into the sunset in the middle of the Indian Ocean. As soon as I said his name, he seemed to come to life, stepping forward and addressing the man whose face had started to turn the purply color of a mind-eating bat’s tongue.
“Sir,” James Avery put his hand on Eyebrows’ shoulder and turned him away from the door, “I believe it might be better if I handled this. I’ve dealt with Mr. Faust’s insubordination before, I know how to handle him” the jab stung a bit, but he was probably right that I’d be better handled by someone who was already on good(ish) terms with me.
“Mister Avery,” Eyebrows’ face was not getting any less steamed, “must I remind you that you are no longer even in active service, and were only brought along to find this goddamn David Copperfield house !”
“If I may, sir, that’s exactly my point: I was brought into this operation because of my prior experience with Faust’s–”
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” not really, but I’d heard the tea bell ring, “but why don’t we have this conversation inside?” I offered, “you all must be very cold standing out there, and my friend has been preparing some tea and cake, if you would care for something to warm you up,” I could see in the eyes of the remaining agents that the invitation for something warm was like someone inviting them to have some fresh water after being stranded in the middle of the ocean for days. Unfortunately, their leader’s eyebrows must have been so insulating that he didn’t seem to appreciate the offer very much.
“Now wait a GODDAMN MINUTE YOU!” his breath as he yelled this formed a cloud so volatile that the house’s protections kicked in to prevent it from entering, “YOU THINK IT’S FUNNY TO MOUTH OFF TO ME AND THEN JUST INVITE US IN FOR SOME GODDAMN TEA?!”
“You are all welcome,” I directed my attention at the four agents who weren’t currently the color of prunes (I honestly don’t know how Eyebrows managed not to have a heart attack of some kind), “I will listen to your story over tea, and then decide whether or not to help you.”
“UNBE[expletive]LIEVABLE ! YOU’LL ‘DECIDE WHETHER’ YOU’LL HELP US?” he suddenly got less shouty and more serious, leaning in to continue, “Well what makes you think you’re even capable of helping, huh? If you can’t even offer some respect for the greatest goddamn country on Earth?”
“Two things, Mr. Eyebrows: I have faced legions and defied emperors that control entire dimensions, I have literally died protecting this planet and dimension from destruction, I assure you that being the ‘greatest’ nation on a single planet is not something that impresses me, especially when there are over one hundred others, several of whom have larger and happier populations and more abundant natural resources,” I mentally bargained with the house spirits to darken the sky around the outer defenses in order to show the arrogant government ass the universe (and intimidate him with my power) without even pausing, “and as for whether I can help you, I do so like no one else can.”
I turned and stalked off into the house, heading upstairs. After a beat, Avery followed, though the others were still frozen scared for a while before the cold and the promise of cake pulled them in. It wasn’t until I reached the parlor and told Benton that there were five guests, though one might not join us, that I noticed I’d still had the energy drink stain right in the middle of my pants the entire time, and hurried off to my room to change, praying to anyone that I hadn’t embarrassed myself too much.
A fresh pair of wool slacks, along with a red shirt and vest lay on my bed, though I hadn’t asked anyone to do so. Rel must’ve guessed I’d need new clothes before she returned to work, making sure the Amuring fluid was properly tended to in order to make spirit spirit. After dressing, I hurried back down to the parlor, taking a swig of the dregs of spirit spirit remaining in my flask. Hopefully, I thought, swirling the brew, this government job won’t require much actual magic.
Avery, who I knew as “lieutenant,” sat on the rose-patterned sofa, which Benton had restored to its proper place next to the fire, alongside the younger of the two female agents. The lilac sofa held the other two agents who’d remained silent at the door. They were all politely holding china plates with slices of cinnamon cake, staring at each other in complete silence. Eyebrows was nowhere to be seen. Benton swept into the room, apologizing for the delay and assuring our guests that their leader would eventually be able to pass the protective wards around the house. He made a pointed glare at me, as though I could do something to hasten the process. After exchanging a few pleasantries, learning that the other agents’ names were Daisy, Harold, and, coincidentally, also Avery, I sat in the plush velvet easy chair facing directly at the fireplace.
“Alright, tell me,” I pulled the Stylus of Setne and a pad of paper from my side table, activating its recording enchantment to officially take down my visitors’ request:
Well… since Colonel Chamberlain is… absent, I suppose it falls to me to tell you. As you know, my name is James Avery, and I work, or, that is, worked with army intelligence, handling sensitive, odd occurrences that come up from time to time. Usually, such things are just, officially, ruled off as gas leaks, etc. as the anomaly in question is handled by the military. However, sometimes, like that time with the demon cannibals2 we need the assistance of civilian experts, like yourself. Actually, you’re the second person we’ve approached about this current predicament, and if we weren’t still in over our heads, I would’ve held to our deal back then. However, even the techniques employed by our current contractor don’t last long enough to allow the president the peace of mind he will need to run the country. Now, before we proceed, I need you to read and acknowledge this document.
2 Entry for 7 Aug. 20–
Avery handed me an incredibly complex-looking NDA that, as far as I could tell, was basically the “Top Secret” document version of a mail receipt.
“What, is it gonna say ‘for my eyes only’ and blow itself up after I read it?” my joke was met with silence. I signed my name. Avery handed me a large file folder that read: For Your Eyes Only; this document will self destruct 3 minutes after opening.
“Yes,” he finally answered. Avery then continued his official request:
Honestly, we aren’t sure whether anything in that folder will actually be of any use to you, which is why we all came here. The document that you signed included the provision that, if you tell someone unvetted and/or unaffiliated intimately with this case, we have to kill you. I’m aware that all this seems cliché and made up, but I’m sure you remember from last time that I’m completely serious here. Now we can get to the meat of the matter: the White House is haunted. We don’t know if it’s demons, or ghosts, or whatever, but we do know that it has killed at least three aides, an entire cleaning crew, and has created an… “atmosphere of terror” throughout the grounds. As you may be aware, the fact that a new president is to be sworn in today. We’re aware of the highly divisive state of politics today, but we hope that you can manage to put partisan differences aside for the good of the country. Help us exorcise the spirit before Mr. — takes up residence. Then you can disappear again.
“That’s what you said last time, lieutenant,” I reminded him, “nevertheless, as I said at the door, I don’t personally care about the United States of America. However, since you asked me, and it is my duty to protect the continent at large from misbehaving spirits, I’ll help. Just don’t let Eyebrows ever come back to this state again; his aura is… annoying.”
“Anything,” both Averys said in unison. They must have both been about the same decision-making authority. I’ll admit, I got a little kick as I walked out of the room to prepare, having overheard the lady Avery say through her earpiece that “the magic man says Chamberlain is banned from the Empire State,” with all the urgency of a follower having received a divine proclamation from their God-king. It’s always fun when I can make the unenlightened cater to my whims (in unserious cases only, of course).
Having left the suits to their tea and cake, I ventured across the hall and opened my study with the enchanted key. Fortunately, Alastair can’t force me to give up this room, even if he can force me to shave my head bald, meaning that everything within it is always just as I leave it. I grabbed my trenchcoat from my chair, checking to make sure it had my blade and all the standard crystals, etc. I then opened my exorcism/dispelling/purification drawer, selecting the best all-purpose incense, along with a pouch filled with the Dusts of the Dead, and, as an afterthought, my old rosary, just in case the ancient beads could still do anything after being bathed in his blood.3 Finally, moving to my bookshelf, I selected the Book of the Benevolent Many, figuring its focus on spirits and spiritual and physical spells would be more useful to the current job than my other primary grimoires.
3 See –––––––––––
Having gotten fully prepared for the job, I returned to the parlor, where Benton was collecting everyone’s tea. Unfortunately, although they wanted the assignment taken care of before noon, the government agents had no way of getting us to DC, much less the White House by then, so I had to figure out a way that we could reliably make it down there. Considering the state of my soul, a portal would be too risky and taxing, and the suits wouldn’t be able to use the mapamundi or survive a helljaunt. Benton apologetically asked to be given the day off to rest, which, considering how much harder Alistair pushes him than anyone else, I couldn’t refuse. That was when we all heard yelling outside.
Former pop megastar and supermodel Amanda Regina “Gina” Collins was evidently very confused why a man with incredibly bushy eyebrows was yelling at her to leave the premises of her secret home-away-from-home, not the least because people shouldn’t be able to even see it. Her timing couldn’t have been more perfect, however, as it not only provided us with a basic-competent mystic without any soul damage, but also provided my latest student with the opportunity to practice creating sustained portals that people would actually move through.
After bringing her inside (yelling at Eyebrows to leave the state immediately or suffer my wrath), we brought the novice up to speed on the relevant bits of our job. Despite being decently shaken by her experience at the door (“like, I thought he was gonna attack me!”) she agreed to an impromptu portal lesson. I reminded her of the pattern needed to create a complete portal, and used the tv set in the parlor to bring up some news footage of the preceremony for the inauguration in order to help with geovisuallization. Meanwhile, our clients stood off to the side, somewhat horrified at the idea of going through a portal created by someone actively getting a lesson (I don’t get that fear very much, I mean, people drive alongside student drivers all the time).
Gina clapped her hands, touching the Rings of Maman Brigitte together to bring her violet-hued spell tracer into being. She carefully used the basic textbook method (haven’t had time to teach her any others), managing a pretty decent aetherial carving. She drew the circular(ish) shape properly, with the right spells woven into the border to create an effective portal. One that would definitely have worked for flies. Who wanted to visit the Vale of Constant Screaming.
It took a couple more tries, but she managed a stable, seven foot in diameter portal showing the White House within only five minutes. To demonstrate that it was safe, I sent Avery (the male one) through to the other side. After he didn’t dissolve into liquid form (as is common when using poorly made portals), the rest of us followed. Gina, after crossing over last, so as to not break the connection early, promptly fainted, saving her from the lesson on closing a sustained portal that several people have walked through (which really is one of the more important lessons that Benton ought to teach her. I usually just used my blade, even when I could close it myself).
Having reached the location of the supposed haunting, I focused on seeing through the Curse from L, opening my mind’s eye to the barrage of images that were the foundational energies used in the creation of everything in sight. The lawn, it seemed, had no traces from other dimensions, though it did have one or two patches of golden sunlight, presumably left over from some first cat or another. I doubted that the Egyptian cat blessings were in any way tied to the matter at hand, and left them be. I drew my focus back to the physical plane.
“What? What did you see?” the agents figured that the trance I’d been in was something that showed me what was wrong. I solemnly shook my head.
There’s nothing here, at least, not that would create an ‘aura of terror’ or whatever you said,” I walked closer to the building, trusting that the problem was so great that there was less security than normal. A slew of people came pouring out the door, running at me. There’d been some advance notice of my visit, apparently, because the frantic crowd urged me to go into the building quickly. Odd, I mused, anything this terrifying should be visible from the exterior, unless…
“The people who died,” I turned to the crowd, hoping one of them knew (or that an agent could hear me), “what did you find?” Unfortunately, everyone started answering at once.
“They found clothes–
“And weird shadows–
“Like nuclear outlines–
“Burn marks–
“Knocked over bucket–
“Enough!” I snapped, then, more calmly, “enough. That’s enough information.”
The crowd backed away, hovering at a respectful distance. The Averys pushed through to the front of the crowd, and told me I basically had my run of the place. They even made little shooing motions towards the door. I would’ve liked to have Gina’s help, but she looked more drained than I would’ve if I’d done the portal, so I let her sleep.
“You said I wasn’t the first you contacted to handle this?” I directed my question at the female Avery, since she seemed more in tune with the actual details.
“That’s right, sir.”
“Who, may I ask, did you contact?”
“A local stage magician, she calls herself ‘Nymph,’” the agent continued, “we reached out to you, because we’re pretty sure she’s a charlatan. She’s been on retainer for the past three months, and the only thing that’s changed is that she can seem to dispel the aura from whatever room she’s in, but not the entire executive mansion.”
“Oh, Nymph, huh?” I must say that I was honestly surprised, “I would very much like to have a meeting with her. Is she inside?” Avery nodded.
“She should be in the main entry. It’s the room that’s had the most… activity in the past.”
I thanked the crowd, warned them not to follow me, and entered the building.
“You!?!” a surprised yelp echoed in the empty hall. A young woman with bright green dyed hair and a familiar scar on her palm stood gaping at me.
“So, you call yourself ‘Nymph’ now,” I gave a slight chuckle, “ironic, since nature magic is usually what I use to beat you, Jade.”
“You better–
“What? I was invited to solve this little problem,” I held up my hands in a “truce” pose, showing her my nearly identical scar.
“I don’t need your help, pig,” she turned and took up a ritual chant for exorcising demons.
“I think you do, since this little problem is not a demon,” she looked up. I opened the Book of the Benevolent Many, and showed her the page on demon home possessions.4 “See?” I prompted, “a demon would’ve left behind their mark.”
4 Book of the Benevolent Many, pg. 57,947
“Did you think I don’t know that?” she pushed past me to point at a wall, “this is the work of a shadow god. His name’s Kurokek, I’ve been fighting him for months.”
“Shadow god–?” now it was my turn to be surprised, “but then, that would mean you’ve been–”
“Trying to access his dimension. The only problem is, that because of you and your idiotic altruistic bullshit, no demon wants to come help a hellmark bearer,” she started chanting again, this time probably to calm down.
“Ok… well if that’s been your problem, then we should be able to figure this out together,” I f lipped to the section on demon-adjacent otherbeings.5We passed a while in silence, myself reading, Nymph softly chanting. At around eleven, someone tried to come in, but the ward I’d placed on the door to keep out intruders held. I finally found the right passage, “look, it seems like two hallmark users can manage a demonaic portal, if one of them acts as a demon!”
5 Book of the Benevolent Many, pg. 302
“Even if that would work, then one of us would get stuck in his dimension, or did you forget that any demonaic spell requires at least two to–
“Send me in, then,” my confidence took her by surprise, “if whichever one of us that goes in managed to beat him right, they might convince him to send us back, and even if that doesn’t happen, it’s my job to deal with this.”
“If you expect me to fight you on that, I won’t. It’s basically suicide.”
“Great!” I clapped, “that way, we can use you as a battery, and the one of us with actual skill gets to handle the problem.”
“So long as you admit that I have more power, I’ll still help,” she replied flatly.
“Undoubtedly,” I relented, “but that just means you’re better suited for battery work.”
She swung her arm out and grabbed my right hand with hers, engaging a hallmark demonaic bond. The air filled with a miasma of sulphur and blood. We both practically doubled over in pain from the effort, but we were able to rip open the universe at the point where our hands met.
“See you!” I shouted as I dove into the breach between worlds.
“Hope not,” I heard as I tumbled through the between. I fell through swirling layers of colors and lights and shadows, seeing the room in the white house, as well as the stars or alien universes as well as the bodies of massive giants as well as sheer chaos. I fell, directionless, sometimes falling up, sometimes sideways. All the while, I chanted, following the wisps of shadow that permeated every scene until it was the only thing left. I woke in darkness.
It was at once familiar and alien, like living inside a memory from another person’s life. The realm was lacking in virtually all forms of stimuli: no light, no definite surfaces or objects, it wasn’t even a discernible temperature. Without my survivors’ tattoo, I doubt I would’ve been able to breathe. I turned to the Crescent Eye, looking at the realm the way L would see it, with the foundational energies and magics all laid bare. This only revealed the extent of the darkness.
“ Ahhh… THE MORTAL WHO STITCHED HIS SOUL BACK FROM NOTHING. I WONDERED WHO THE MORTALS WOULD BRING IN TO DEAL WITH ME,” the voice was imposing, for sure, but it gave away the location of the realm’s progenitor. I wasted no time trying to bargain with it, and launched a shocked quartz straight at its head. It connected, releasing a blinding flash throughout the area, which revealed that the dimension was, in fact, only a plane of existence. There was nothing more than space here. My unprompted attack enraged my host, who countered by compressing the void around me. I responded by enveloping myself within an orb of fire from the eternal flame lighter, driving back the darkness, if only just from my immediate surroundings.
The shadow god was crafty, however, and managed to eliminate the blaze with pure darkness. Our battle continued for a while, neither one of us giving an inch. I would use the Dusts of the Dead to attempt to capture him, he would then scatter it to the furthest corners of his realm, and attempt to do the same to me. Eventually, I started to run out of stamina, and had to resort to using hellfire, which caught him slightly off guard. We fell as the dark inferno spread across his skin, revealing a tendril-wrapped draconic form. I knew this would be the only time I could get him with that trick, so I flung myself towards the shadowy cluster that promised to be his core, and drove my blade deep into his hide.
The bellow that was released nearly tore me apart on its own. He wouldn’t die from such a small wound, not in his own realm. That left complete subjugation as my only viable strategy; I leaned down to drink of his ichor, using what energy I could glean from the black essence to prepare a forbidden spell. Master Al’Zili’s favorite of the darkest arts. My body went rigid and cold, as though I were dumped in a freezing lake. My eyes, nose and mouth felt the worst of it, literally siphoning the god’s essence into my body until there was nothing left. Except me.
Kurokek is a relatively powerful shadow god, an otherbeing that resides within and can absorb shadows. While shadow god is a designation of an entire class of otherbeing, there are, in many cases, overlap between them and the spiritual and religious beliefs of those who encounter them, meaning they are, in many cases, elevated from otherbeing to full god. Kurokek is one of those who was not encountered by any of the mortal dimensions, and therefore is little more than an otherbeing (due to lack of worshipers’ souls). Perhaps counterintuitively, he is most dangerous in full light, as opposed to darkness, as his power comes from manipulating the shadow of the being he wishes to consume, which gets overshadowed by the power of others of his kind when that individual is surrounded by other darkness. His true name is pronounced something like “Ho’nt’igrew’stk” and he is older than the majority of shadow gods. Like the rest of his ilk, he is loath to leave the dimensional space corresponding to his personal realm in whatever world to which his influence spreads. Therefore, it’s recommended to simply leave the area where he feeds in order to escape him.
The incident involving his encroachment into our world, centering on the White House, was resolved due to harmonious cooperation with one Jade Harper, aka Nymph, who aided in both lessening the god’s impact on the public for months, and in opening the gateway by which his vanquishing was possible. Harper then disappeared without a trace, shortly after the portal was opened. Kurokek’s entire essence was absorbed into the body of Nathaniel Faust using the forbidden method of shadow consumption; a close eye should be kept on him for changes in mood or behavior. If any notable changes do occur, he should be ritually purged, but if none appear, it is not necessary by any means to rid him of the essence, particularly as it is capable of being a great boon in terms of power. The agents of the United States’ government were not given a thorough debriefing, despite their demands, and were merely told that their problem had been resolved. The new president was able to move into the Executive Residence without any issue, other than relatively low start-of-term approval ratings. The government generously provided fare for two f irst-class tickets to New York city, and has formally banned a Col. Arthur Chamberlain from entering the airspace or territory of the sovereign states of New York, New Jersey, Massachusetts, Connecticut, Vermont, Pennsylvania, Rhode Island, New Hampshire, and Maine. Master Alastair of the New York temple was not informed of anything that occurred in his absence, but was greatly upset that the parlor furniture was restored in the short time in which he was absent.
Case Closed
About the Author
John (Jack) Turcotte is a sophomore from Minnesota majoring in history. He spent most of elementary through high school daydreaming about superheroes, and uses what he remembers for creative writing. The cat’s name is Pumpkin Spice Latte.
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