Lord of Mysteries 2: Circle of Inevitability - Chapter 318

318 Price
Lumian recited in ancient Hermes, following the precise summoning ritual as described in Aurore’s grimoire and the mystical knowledge of Contractees.

“The Fool that doesn’t belong to this era;

“You are the ruler above the gray fog;

“You are the King of Yellow and Black who wields good luck.

“I beseech your shelter.

“I pray for your attention.

“I!

“In the name of The Fool, I summon:

“A peculiar creature that roams the upper realm, the enigmatic severed hand, the bluish-black throat crusher.”
Lumian crafted this summoning incantation based on insights from the Abscessed Hand’s data. As the ritual afforded some degree of protection to the subject of the invocation, and since the Abscessed Hand was not deemed perilous, he omitted the terms “weak” and “friendly,” infusing it instead with other phrases that would effectively pinpoint the target creature.

The bluish-black candle flames surged, intertwining to shape an ethereal doorway adorned with cryptic symbols. A faint gray mist filled the surroundings, instilling an eerie atmosphere.

Gradually, the door creaked open, and a decaying bluish-black severed hand emerged. It loomed twice the size of Lumian’s palm, with the potential to crush a human skull.

The afflicted severed hand hovered before the enigmatic illusory entrance. Its fingers extended toward Lumian’s throat, yet it abstained from aggression.

Lumian retrieved a flask of military-grade alcohol, differing in hue, unscrewed the cap, and drizzled a few drops towards the altar where the Abscessed Hand stood.

The liquid struck the ground midway, but with a glint from the Scotch Broom-shaped brooch, the Bribe was discreetly consummated.

Only then did Lumian speak. His voice resonated within his throat and chest as he enunciated alien syllables.

These were words he had never encountered, sourced from the mystical knowledge of Contractees, empowering him to master their pronunciation and essence.

They fell under the Mystical Language of Fate, an integral part of this arcane tongue.

Lumian’s vocal resonance coalesced into silvery-black glyphs, akin to symbols, materializing from thin air.

They descended upon the faux goatskin resting on the altar, melding into a brief yet uncanny covenant.

As the pact solidified, Lumian established an intricate connection with the Abscessed Hand, akin to utilizing the Summoning Dance to anchor it to his very being.

Through this conduit, Lumian gleaned the rudimentary abilities and traits of the Abscessed Hand, sensing its yearnings in the process.

These yearnings were the price Lumian had to pay.

“Locate my body, or godhood shall elude you forever!”

An advance payment and a debt to be settled later… Could this be the unfolding of the Bribe? No, that’s not it. Upon sealing a contract, the price is promptly remitted—manifesting as my inexorable fate of ascending to demigodhood. Once I uncover the remaining segments of the Abscessed Hand, the reward shall naturally replace the price… Presently, it’s akin to providing ample collateral… Lumian’s musings raced as he gleaned the crux of the pact.

Concurrently, he found the coveted spirit world traversal ability from the Abscessed Hand’s attributes and qualities, inclusive of its anti-divination, quasi-invincibility, and the skill to snap the necks of those without godhood.

A trait intrinsic to the Abscessed Hand, not a mere ability. Its effects marginally deviated from Lumian’s expectations, yet remained within tolerable thresholds.

With Decency’s utilization window limited to fifteen minutes, the cost was bearable, and its attributes neared sufficiency. Lumian squandered no time, summoning the other candidates and vowing in ancient Hermes.

“I shall aid you in finding your body. Until then, godhood shall elude me.”

These words fused with the surroundings, morphing into wisps of bluish-black mist that seeped into the faux goatskin parchment.

The Abscessed Hand descended, leaving a tincture of yellow-tinged, sanguineous pus within the contract’s vacant space.

Spontaneously, the covenant ignited, yielding myriad silvery-black symbols and words.

They interlinked, configuring an intricate and enigmatic pattern, abruptly condensing onto Lumian’s shoulder.

Though concealed beneath his attire, Lumian’s psyche conjured an image of his right shoulder.

A curious black seal-like emblem materialized there.

Instinctively, Lumian apprehended that upon activating the contract sigil, he could harness the Abscessed Hand’s attributes to traverse the spirit world. Dissolution of the contract was only conceivable upon the demise of either party—a destiny preordained.

Without bothering to experiment with spirit world traversal, Lumian terminated the summoning and embarked on a fresh ritual.

…

“In the name of The Fool, I summon:

“The vengeful spirit that wanders the void, the headless bride in her eternal plight, and the wellspring of a bloodline’s malevolence.”

Once again, the enigmatic illusory portal manifested, enshrouded in bluish-black flames interweaving. A frigid wind swept forth, transforming the summer night into a wintry chill.

Lumian observed a form materialize from within the illusory entrance. Adorned in a vibrant red festive gown, meticulously threaded with gold, the figure stood before him.

Without question, the figure lacked a head, exuding an aura of deep-seated malice and resentment.

Lumian meticulously followed the prescribed procedure—utilizing the liquor as a “bribe,” reciting the contractual pledge. He discerned the price demanded by the Headless Bride.

“Sacrifice a kin or friend.”

“Thank you for your presence,” Lumian murmured with a sardonic smile, concluding the summoning.

From this seemingly fruitless summoning, he gleaned valuable insights. He confirmed that Bribe wielded a degree of influence.

The original demand from the Headless Bride entailed a kin’s sacrifice; however, Bribe had managed to expand the scope to encompass friends.

Lumian’s sights next shifted to the Human-Faced Mantis. He had formulated a summoning phrase: “The vindictive spirit that wanders the void, a hunter adopting mantis guise, a shapeshifter adept at donning human semblance.”

Amidst a peculiar swooshing sound, an immense, translucent cyan mantis emerged from beyond the illusory door.

Its head bore the visage of youth, handsome and radiant, inadvertently lowering one’s guard.

Sensing the summoner’s presence and gender, the mantis swiftly transformed into a resplendent woman attired in a black evening gown.

Internally scoffing, Lumian meticulously fulfilled the entire sequence: Bribe, recitation, and perception.

The Human-Faced Mantis delineated three categories of offerings, requiring solely one to be met: “Contractor’s reproductive organs; Contractor’s capacity for lying; Contractor’s immolation at the stake.”

Post-Bribe, the stipulations underwent some relaxation, affording an additional choice or two. This entity seeks but a single thing—human anguish… The first aligns with his malevolence towards men. If I were of the female gender, this option likely wouldn’t surface… The second corresponds to slanderers and false accusers, while the third aligns with the stake he himself endured… Lumian swiftly concluded.

As a Pyromaniac, the third demand posed no grave challenge. On one hand, he exhibited formidable resistance to flames, and on the other, enduring agony was his forte.

Were this choice absent, Lumian intended to forfeit and subsequently summon several comparable spirit world beings later. Depriving him of the power to lie would markedly undermine his capabilities, rendering survival in a place like Trier implausible. He also wasn’t certain if his reproductive organs would return at 6 a.m. after sacrificing them; he didn’t want to take the risk.

Without delay, he found the Niese Face he sought from the arsenal of the Human-Faced Mantis’s abilities.

“Niese” had been the name of the Human-Faced Mantis during its living days. The essence of this ability leaned more toward illusion than corporeal transformation. Nevertheless, absent the means to nullify it or godhood, piercing through the illusion remained beyond reach.

This occasion saw the black insignia affix to Lumian’s left shoulder, accompanied by surges of crimson flames welling from his feet.

Unperturbed by Lumian’s actions, they ignited his attire and charred his flesh.

Sensations reminiscent yet distinct from his encounter with Susanna Mattise enveloped him. An amalgamation of familiar and unfamiliar torment coursed through his consciousness, assailing his senses.

Swiftly forsaking his cherished belongings, Lumian clutched the Decency brooch in his palm.

The conflagration endured for a full three minutes. Lumian’s skin charred, his clothes imprinting scorched marks onto his body.

For a Pyromaniac, such wounds posed no mortal peril—they scarcely even qualified as severe. He maintained the vitality to prepare for the ensuing summoning.

“The enigmatic entity that roams the upper realm, a mass of flesh bedecked with myriad eyes, a participant in the abyssal realms of nightmares.”

As the chant resonated, a creature of flesh and sinew rolled forth through the illusory door. Each flesh fragment sported a white eye, its pupil veiled in obsidian.

Clasping the aluminum-white military flask, Lumian’s grip faltered, and he abruptly descended into a profound slumber, ensnared by the myriad gazes.

After an indeterminate stretch, he snapped back to consciousness, realization dawning that the ritual had concluded on its own accord. The Thousand-Eyed Evil had retreated to the spirit world, forgoing a genuine assault.

I was lulled to sleep by mere sight. Communication is impossible… Also, this level of influence lies beyond the ritual’s inherent protection… Lumian exhaled, seizing the Salle de Bal Brise pocket watch to ascertain the time.

Thankfully, I only slept for a few minutes. There’s still about three minutes left… Lumian focused, initiating afresh, summoning forth the Shadow of Shriek.

…

“The spirit that wanders in the void, a confluence of myriad silhouettes, the progenitor of incapacitating shrieks.”

Once more, the mysterious illusory entrance swung ajar. Yet, what met Lumian’s gaze wasn’t an anomalous shadow coiled into a blob, but a nebulous silhouette draped in a pitch-black armor resembling fish scales.

Distinct from all armors documented in newspapers and magazines, this suit bore scales each akin to miniature, writhing shadows.

Hmmm… Could the summoning incantation have been imprecise, yielding a kindred spirit world creature? It seemingly boasts an incapacitating shriek. Let’s first gauge the prospects of cementing a pact… Lumian fathomed the situation and embarked upon another cycle of Bribe, utterance, and apprehension.

The armored shadow stipulated an offering: “A blood tribute of ten or more lives or gold amounting to 100,000 verl d’or.”

Courtesy of Bribe, the prerequisites exhibited leniency, demanding the sacrifices be rendered within three months. Failing to comply would precipitate contract retribution, a potentiality encompassing control loss or, worse yet, fatality.

A sum of 100,000 verl d’or… Lumian discerned this to be modestly manageable, thereby delving into the ability roster and traits of the armored shadow to locate the coveted incapacitating shriek.

While scouring, he happened upon an ability bearing an intriguing nomenclature: “Spell of Harrumph.”