Marvel Magic Case Files

Chapter 653 Apology (Second Update)

This town had been rebuilt after being abandoned, and then abandoned again for unknown reasons. Therefore, Salomon and Wanda could see a mix of 18th and 19th-century architectural styles. The dilapidated old inn at the town entrance reeked of a terrible musty smell, and under the illumination of the magical orb, rodents scurried out in panic. The inn's sign was blurred, and many uncleaned tables and chairs were covered in mud, the stench of an ancient tomb assaulting their nostrils. The extreme temperature fluctuations of New England had turned this place into a breeding ground for pests; all the furniture was warped and deformed, and the once-preserved mirror lay on the floor, covered in rat droppings. Wanda covered her mouth and nose with a handkerchief, clinging to Salomon's arm to avoid falling against the collapsed ceiling during the sudden earthquake.

"There's nothing to see here," Salomon said, helping Wanda leave the inn. This was a forgotten place; even the oldest people in the surrounding area couldn't recall any rumors about it. It was a cursed place; even the most mischievous children would instinctively avoid this ominous place, and even homeless vagrants wouldn't rest here. The other shops in town weren't much better. All the buildings were in the Puritan style, and the 18th-century furniture would be priceless today. Salomon and Wanda went inside but found no signs of theft, as if thieves wouldn't bother with this place. Almost all the glass was intact, except for a layer of dust, and even cobwebs were rare.

There were no corpses; the entire town was deserted overnight. The inhabitants were only rats; there were no insects, no birds, and nobody knew what they ate to survive.

The church in the town center was the most sinister building in town, its white wooden spire in the Puritan style eroded gray by rain. The rusted bronze bell leaned precariously, seemingly on the verge of falling, and the church's hinges and windows were rotten and blackened. The rusted hinges couldn't stop the sorcerer, but the nauseating stench of decay within the church constantly assaulted his senses. Salomon warned Wanda to be vigilant while casting a spell to protect them both. The rusted hinges emitted a startling creak, sounding like a booming bell in the utterly silent town.

Another minor tremor shook the church, sending dust raining down from the roof. Compared to the stench of the material world, the church appeared far more filthy to the two spellcasters; the acrid, rotten smell, perceptible only to spirits, was almost blinding. Salomon chanted a spell, and the brightness of the magical orb suddenly increased. Like a bolt of lightning from the blue, a blinding white light instantly illuminated the entire church, allowing the spellcasters to witness its entirety in the impenetrable darkness—rows of dusty pews sat silently beneath them, and an oak pulpit stood at the other end. Salomon noticed a light-colored square on the wall, as if something had once hung there. He walked to the mark and roughly measured its size with his finger.

If he wasn't mistaken, the painting in the car trunk must have come from this place.

Salomon heard Wanda let out a muffled gasp.

“I’ve seen that pulpit before. James Boone used to stand there.” A terrified voice came from behind the handkerchief, so Salomon had to pat Wanda on the back to comfort her. “I also recognize the symbol, the inverted cross. And those strange artworks,” she said. “And that book on the pulpit… the one you’re looking for, *De Vermis Mysteriis*.”

A low, mournful chant echoed through the cursed church, filled with fear and longing. She heard echoes from the ground, a malicious writhing sound beneath her feet, and a gray, viscous substance seeped from between the rotting wooden floors. A chill ran from her feet to her scalp. She saw a crazed, dark-haired man burst into the church, slump over the pulpit, and loudly chant obscene prayers. Countless inhuman shadowy figures sat on the pews, emitting frenzied cheers. Flocks of nightjars swooped past the windows, emitting devilish cries.

Fear descends! The earth rises! A shadowy, madman laughs maniacally! The undead crawl out of the ground! A festering, gray monster leaps from the earth!

Another earthquake struck, far stronger and longer than the previous ones.

In a daze, Wanda saw the inverted cross hanging high fall down.

Immediately afterward, a golden ray pierced the dusty glass, a soaring hymn banished the blasphemous prayers, and the shadowy figure screamed as it turned to dust. All illusions vanished like ink dropped into the ocean. No magical orbs were needed for illumination; Salomon, having unlocked his stigmata, was the source of light himself. The sour, rotten smell of the ethereal realm, like spoiled milk, was expelled, and the corner shrouded in darkness was no longer gloomy and terrifying. Only the musty odor of time lingered, but because of Salomon's presence, it became as warm as a dusty, rekindled fireplace.

"You've fallen into illusion again, Wanda." The sorcerer lowered his voice, but to Wanda, his voice resonated throughout the church, pulling her from her chaotic thoughts. The sorcerer withdrew his worried gaze. Like the marks on the wall, a book had once sat on the pulpit. "Perhaps we left something here while looking for it, but we don't know where that book is now," he said in a warning tone. "Don't fall into illusion again. We don't need your inspiration; it's the curse of chaos. Every seemingly effective vision is a crisis of falling into darkness. Risk is always with us. Control yourself, or you will fall sooner or later. You should know what I will do if you fall. Don't force me to do that, Wanda."

His warning threw Wanda's emotions into turmoil.

Moderation is the first lesson for all spellcasters. Every potential spellcaster is a gifted individual, and restraining one's talent is the only way to avoid falling into darkness. Salomon had taught Wanda this more than once, but the inspiration brought by the chaotic magic was irresistible to her. Yet the feeling was beautiful, like a gentle breeze across a turquoise lake in the morning, like the lingering passion in aphrodisiac incense. Whether mentally or physically, the magic brought her an unparalleled experience.

"You really don't know?" she asked, somewhat displeased. "You really don't know what that feels like?"

"I know what that feels like. Temptation, as if everything is within reach, all pleasure and dreams are at your fingertips." He spoke as if describing a dream, not something that happened to him. "It took me many years to slowly get rid of that feeling."

"But I haven't had many years!" the witch involuntarily raised her voice. "I haven't been exposed to magic as long as you've spent learning to read a book! I'm just a beginner!"

The sorcerer seemed speechless, as if he hadn't expected his obedient apprentice to speak like that.

He was silent for a moment.

"I apologize, Wanda. I was too hasty." Although the arcane mage, now with his stigmata activated, showed little expression and spoke with utmost calmness, Wanda could still detect sincerity in his voice. The light gradually faded, but darkness would not return. "We will find a way to help you complete this lesson." The arcane mage regained his humanity. He grasped the sobbing witch's hand. The unapproachable idol vanished, and standing there was the gentle and understanding Salomon.

"Take your time, but don't give up, okay?"

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(End of this chapter)