Marvel Magic Case Files

Chapter 138 A Little Adventure in the Dark Forest (Second Update!)

The sorcerer gripped his wand, leaped over the low bushes, and stomped hard on the monster that had been hiding behind them. The monster let out a cry-like wail, but Salomon quickly silenced it with a magic missile. However, the magic missile couldn't kill the ghoul. The sorcerer nimbly jumped back, dodging the razor-sharp, bony claws. He chanted a spell and struck the ghoul's head with the open, orange-red Ring of Raghadore.

This wasn't the first ghoul he'd encountered. The Dark Forest at night was like a vast underground labyrinth, extremely difficult for anyone to traverse, as no one knew how many lives were buried within. These ghouls would emerge from every grave, darting through every shadow like hounds. So far, Salomon hadn't found any trace of the other three team members, but the ghouls were appearing one after another. If he hadn't been carrying that disposable wand loaded with 50 magic missiles, these monsters alone would have been enough to exhaust him.

Thanks to the second-circle spell Darkvision, Salomon wasn't tripped up by twisted tree roots protruding from the ground in the forest, but his vision was still affected by the darkness beyond 60 feet. He had tried using Dance of Light, but that only made him more vulnerable to attack.

After Salomon dealt with the ghoul, he suddenly heard the sound of hooves—this was very unusual, because even the hardest horseshoes couldn't make a sound on the soft, black soil of the forest. A moment later, the hooves stopped, very close by; Salomon could even hear the horse snort. Immediately afterward, the low bushes around him rustled against each other. The arcane mage gripped his wand tightly, lifting the ghoul at his feet further away to avoid interfering with his battle.

But what emerged from the bushes weren't rubbery monsters, but several humans dressed in local clothing. The sorcerer remained vigilant, for he smelled a strong stench of rotting corpses emanating from them. Their decaying eyeballs were covered in dirt and maggots, and some of the bodies bore the marks of ghoul bites. The sorcerer wasn't unfamiliar with corpses, but these rotting carcasses filled him with nausea. These weren't living people at all, but corpses. These corpses weren't undead creatures born from dense negative energy, but rather corpses that had risen from their graves, controlled by some unknown force.

The sorcerer felled the corpses one by one, summoning a fiery radiance from the sky—the [Holy Flame of Vishanti], a spell Salomon had modified himself. Whatever controlled these corpses, fire and light were the greatest enemies of their manipulated shells—the brilliant flames exploded in the pitch-black forest, charring the bones and rotting flesh while dispelling the nearby shadows. Salomon glanced quickly and saw countless more corpses slowly emerging from the dark corner behind these bodies. He saw a swarm of three-foot-long, fat, two-headed maggots crawling out from beneath the charred bones and flesh.

This might be the thing that manipulates corpses. The sorcerer had no idea what kind of creature it was, nor did he want to think about it.

Salomon retreated, drawing his Fireball wand and beginning to cast a spell on the corpses and maggots. As the incantation ended, a dazzling flash shot into the shadows, followed by a muffled thud. The explosive flames engulfed the bushes, trees, and walking corpses. Soil and fallen leaves were hurled up by the expanding shockwave before falling back to the ground. In addition, various types of rotting limbs and blackened entrails rained down like hail.

The shadows were dispelled as the sorcerer's magic instantly dried the moisture in the bushes, turning them into low, crackling bonfires. The corpses seemed somewhat afraid of the flames, hesitating before the burning bushes. The sorcerer turned and left, feeling that his situation was worse than in the TV series "The Walking Dead," because the pungent stench of decay was even more unbearable under the heat.

As soon as Salomon left, the corpses stopped moving. A man, entirely black (more like onyx black in fact), but without any African features, appeared among the walking pile of corpses. His limbs were long and somewhat unnaturally bent, and he held a copy of the Book of Azathoth in his hand. This black-clad man thoughtfully kicked at the burning leaves at his feet, finally letting out a rather helpless sigh. This was just a little game of his, for which he had summoned his servants, simply to create a terrifying atmosphere.

He figured his brother wouldn't mind his little pranks; it was just a joke. As long as the girl was back by his brother's side, he wouldn't care about anything else. Except for that soul, that already-predetermined soul—he loved Salomon's fireball spell. In any world (Glarion), he loved this spell, loved the extreme chaos and disorder that accompanied its appearance. Besides fireballs, he also loved things that exploded bigger, and the charred limbs flying everywhere.

Oh, except for this last one, it always feels a bit smelly.

But not necessarily! The black-clad figure blinked—maybe one of the avatars would like it?

No, why should I even consider them? Get out of my way, get out of my head, and don't interfere with my game!

The chaos he enjoyed tonight was not enough for him, not enough! How could this chaos end here? Comedy and tragedy would intertwine here, reason and folly would corrode each other here, let those servants of the false gods be even more fanatical, let blindness crawl into everyone's mind like worms, he would show everyone the scriptures he had written.

How did I write it again?

forget.

The man in black licked his lips, opened the book, and read:

"On the final eighth day, God returned to the earth and examined all that he had created after meeting the One with a Thousand Faces. God asked the man why he wandered in God's world, and the man replied, 'I came here to take it into my possession.'"

The One with a Thousand Faces slew the god with his greatsword and usurped his throne. Then, the man cried out from the highest mountain in the land: "My name is Nyarlathotep, the Chaos who lurks, and all things shall know this name."

Yes! That's right, that's it! I am their god!

whee!

Salomon ran through the dark forest, leaving the burning trees behind him, their warm red glow illuminating his path until he re-entered the cold shadows. He didn't know if the commotion had attracted the locals, but he didn't have time to think about it. He had to confirm one more time whether anyone else from S.H.I.E.L.D. had come here—they were ordinary people, and it was his mission to keep them away from the bizarre magical world.

But as he walked toward the cave, Salomon smelled a stench of wild beasts—a nauseating mixture of the stench of fur and rotting protein, a stench that was not only pungent but also stinging to the eyes. He saw a massive arm covered in soft black fur emerge from the bushes. The strange arm split into two at the front, each finger tipped with a sharp claw. The arm alone was as long as Salomon himself. The owner of this arm slowly emerged from the shadowy bushes. Its head was vastly different from that of ordinary wild beasts. Two pink, glowing eyes protruded from the sides of its head, but what was even more terrifying on that bizarre skull was a huge, vertically opening jaw that split from the top of the head to the neck. The gaping maw was filled with sharp, enormous yellow teeth, and foul-smelling saliva dripped incessantly. If someone stood above it, they could clearly see the monster's throat.

The moment it saw Salomon, it let out a roar of ecstatic joy. Its sacrifice had come to fruition, and the result was right before its eyes: all it had to do was capture this delicious human and devour him…

"Alright." The sorcerer glanced at the wand in his hand, then at the enormous monster and the distance between it and himself.

Salomon turned and ran.

I desperately need your votes!!

(End of this chapter)