Marvel Magic Case Files

Chapter 537 Essence? Humanity? (Second Update)

"I don't want to go to Kamar-Taj!"

Salomon, his face grim, escorted Merlin onto the assault transport. He would personally oversee the transport of this troublemaker until the Venerable One met Merlin. "Don't call him," he said, showing no respect whatsoever for an elder. A glass of juice was more than Merlin deserved. "Or I'll call Balthazar."

Merlin immediately slumped. His disciple had endured his pranks for over a thousand years, making him somewhat hesitant to face Balthazar. "Isn't he doing quite well now?" the increasingly youthful Merlin muttered softly. "He even has a wife now, and I…"

"I'm sure he'd be happy to beat you up, Master Merlin."

"Please, don't make me go to Kamar-Taj!" Merlin, devoid of any elder's composure, immediately adopted a tantrum-like expression, as if he would throw himself on the ground and flailing his arms and legs if Salomon didn't agree. "I can train spellcasters for you!" he shouted, "One! No, two! Two top-tier spellcasters!"

"And then you'll take me to N-Gara, right?" Having received the Sorcerer Supreme's instructions, Salomon knew he couldn't believe Merlin's lies. "Tell me how to see the Earth Mother first," the sorcerer said. "I know N-Gara is short-handed guarding the seal of Sithon, but I believe I can solve this problem. Not now, but in the future."

"I don't know!" Merlin seemed genuinely about to lie down and roll around. But under Salomon's stern gaze, he ultimately refrained. "The floor is too cold, it's all iron plates." He coughed twice, straightened his clothes, and sat down next to Salomon. "The Earth Mother knows about your recent achievements; I've already reported it to Her… Don't be surprised, prophecy is my forte. Don't you remember the prophecy I told Vortigern about the red dragon?"

Taking advantage of Salomon's inattention, Merlin placed his palm on Salomon's forehead.

"prophecy!"

Salomon struggled to open his eyes. He found himself lying on exquisite marble tiles, the blood-red sunset streaming in through the stained-glass windows in front of him. This was likely a religious site; long banners hung on either side, and Salomon vaguely made out crosses, lilies, skulls, and eagles. Several ropes hung from the wooden beams, each ending in a dark shadow, blood dripping from the corpses' feet onto the ground. Drip, drip. Before he could recover, the scene before him shifted again—he saw a woman kneeling before several mounds of earth, weeping. Wooden crosses were planted on the mounds, and the pale winter sunlight illuminated the graves and the distant, blazing fire. He walked forward obliviously, his nostrils filled with the stench of burning flesh and blood. He saw flames cascading down the river, spreading from the clouds to the streams, even evaporating the moisture from the rocks. Countless people cried out, flames shooting from their mouths and eyes. Then, he saw night fall—not a peaceful summer night, nor a harsh winter night, but a silent darkness. There were no stars, unease churned in the air, pale, eerie flowers bloomed in silence, and will-o'-the-wisps flickered at his feet.

He was startled and quickly took a step to the side. He realized that he was wearing a long robe that reached his feet, with a gold belt tied around his chest.

Night came alive, and more and more will-o'-the-wisps lit up. He saw boulders scattered across the empty field not far away, broken branches lying haphazardly, as if a storm had passed, or a giant had vented the rage imprisoned for millennia. The lightning and thunder had faded, and horns sounded. He looked in alarm at the shadowy figures in the distance. The figures gathered in greater numbers, surging towards him like a tidal wave.

These were all dead. From ruthless tyrants of antiquity to flamboyant court prostitutes, from Viking kings in armor to turbaned sultans of the East, from nobles with wigs to lowly dung collectors, a dense mass of the dead passed by him. They murmured something, but Salomon couldn't hear them. They opened their withered mouths, jostling like grains of sand, their once-filled eyes now dull and stiff with vulgar desire, their cheekbones high and their faces sickly. Their once-splendid clothes were now tattered, their already ragged garments hanging haphazardly on their bodies. Poor Englishmen in filthy mourning clothes stained with soot and coal dust mingled with Frenchmen in patched shirts and hats, as if something were chasing them from behind.

"Whoosh—" He struggled to swim upwards, as if he were underwater.

Salomon jolted awake from his hallucination, trying to stand up from his chair, but was pulled back by the seatbelt. He was drenched in sweat and still somewhat shaken. He waved his hand, refusing to let the android come forward to help him. Salomon quickly regained his composure as the air conditioning system of the assault transport ship hummed, cooling the sweat on his back.

"I never expected you to use illusions to deceive me," Salomon said with a gloomy expression. "No wonder the Venerable One said your prank was quite wicked."

"This isn't some prank," Merlin said nonchalantly, as if what had just happened was as ordinary as eating a small cake. "It's a prophecy, child," he said. "It's not necessarily your prophecy; it could be someone else's. I don't know what it is, I only know it's something you're meant to see. Remember those nightmares you kept having? Dreaming of being on the harbor—this is the aftermath of that dream. Essentially, it's information brought to you by your stigmata, but for the sake of your mental state, your teacher asked me to block out a portion of it. In other words, you've been under the influence of my magic all along."

"I was affected by your magic?" Salomon asked incredulously. "Then how come I couldn't detect this mind-affecting magic?"

"It's not a mind-affecting spell, but a protective one. I combined this spell with the protective incantation your teacher cast on you, which is why you couldn't detect it. I doubt you checked the spells the Sorcerer Supreme placed on you, did you?"

"Avoid being targeted by the prophecy's virtual location and counterattack..."

"It seems you do have some skill." Merlin tapped Salomon's ring. "The essence of this spell is the same as these three rings—it's a tool for stabilizing Stigmata. However, its stabilizing effect isn't as lasting as the three rings, and it doesn't have as much symbolic meaning. Do you know why Stigmata cause high temperatures? It's because of the nature of Stigmata..."

"You've said too much!" The Sage Supreme slammed his folding fan on the table, interrupting Merlin's speech. "Salomon is a human," the Venerable warned Merlin sternly. "I believe he is, and he believes he is, so he always will be!"

"You decide," Merlin shrugged. "I'm not the one ignoring the facts."

"This is the philosophy of Kamar-Taj." The Venerable glanced at Merlin. "You may leave now," the Venerable said to Salomon. "There are some things you will only know at the appropriate time."

Salomon nodded and left the meditation room. He saw the apprentices gathered in the training ground, watching the homunculus assault transport ship arrive. "I think every arcane mage should be equipped with a gun," Salomon said to Mordo, "or a metal staff, the kind that can fire bullets."

Modu dismissed Salomon's ramblings as nonsense.

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(End of this chapter)