Chapter 22: Darkness

Now that Zack had set a goal to himself, quite an easy one, track Makun and get the book, he acted.

He searched for a bowl that was in his bag. Brought it out. Then came a dagger.

He used the dagger and slashed his hand. Blood welled up, dark and thick. He held his palm over the bowl and let it drip.

One drop. Two. Three.

Enough.

He set the bowl on the floor near the mirror and turned off everything. The background music stopped mid-note. Silence filled the room.

He moved to the lamp on the desk. Clicked it off. Then the overhead light.

The room plunged into darkness.

Only the faint glow from the street outside leaked through the curtains. Not enough to see by.

Zack pulled two candles from his bag. Thick. White. Unscented. He placed them on the floor in front of the mirror and lit them with a lighter.

The flames caught. Small at first. Then steady.

The only source of light present for him to use.

With that, he drew a circle right in front of the mirror.

Not with chalk. Not with paint. With his blood.

He dipped two fingers into the bowl and traced a wide circle on the hardwood floor. The blood spread thin, dark against the wood. He closed the circle precisely, edge meeting edge.

No gaps. No breaks.

The candles sat inside the circle. Flames flickering. Casting long shadows that danced across the walls.

Zack stepped into the circle. Stood between the candles. Faced the mirror and began muttering.

Not words. Not any language someone outside the mystic world would recognize. Chants. Old ones. Binding phrases meant to open channels and form connections.

His voice was low. Steady. Rhythmic.

As soon as he started, the fire of the candles started blowing in every direction. Left. Right. Bending almost horizontal.

However, the fire did not go out.

It twisted. Writhed. But stayed lit.

While standing in the circle, Zack tapped two times on his frontal lobe to activate his Sight.

The room shifted.

Colors deepened. Shadows gained texture. The air itself became visible, thick with particles and streams of energy he couldn’t see before.

He could now perceive everything better. The energies were far clearer.

He obviously, as a third grade Adept, had better Sight when compared to Makun.

With his Sight active, he could see energy leaving the blood on the floor. Thin threads. Red and black. Rising like smoke.

They reached into the mirror.

And the mirror responded.

The corrupted glass rippled. The smoke inside thickened. And at the center, a vortex began to form.

He stood patient. Muttering never stopping.

The vortex was turning. Growing. A vortex one could not see with normal eyes. One had to be a mystic.

The smoke in the mirror spiraled inward, faster and faster. The glass itself seemed to bend, pulling reality toward a single point.

And then.

Images.

Fractured. Flickering. But there.

As the vortex grew bigger, fractured images started appearing on the screen.

Zack could see the market scene. The Night Market. Old Town. The plaza with hooded figures and impossible goods.

He saw himself. Standing near the veiled lady’s stall. Fist raised. Energy surging.

And then the moment he spat the blood and it landing on Makun’s shoe.

Frame by frame. The blood drop separating. Falling. Attaching. The mark forming.

Zack’s pulse quickened.

It was working.

He could see Makun staying still and speaking with the veiled lady. Their lips moved. Hands gestured. The pendant exchanged.

What they were saying, he had no idea. The mirror showed images, not sound.

But he didn’t need sound. He just needed location.

Then he noticed Makun walking in the direction of the plaza. Leaving it behind.

The image shifted. Followed Makun through the empty streets. Dark alleys. Cracked pavement.

Makun was walking empty streets.

Zack was quietly watching, eager to know where Makun was going. He was going to finish him up.

The image flickered.

Just once. Brief.

Zack frowned but kept chanting.

The scenes continued. Makun at a bus stop. Boarding a bus. Sitting in the back.

The image flickered again. Longer this time.

Then the scenes started flickering. Becoming weaker and weaker.

Zack hmphed.

What?

Did that Makun guy have some protection I could not detect? That should not be the case.

I saw his spiritual energy. It was quite weak. He should be new in this world.

Zack could not accept whatever was happening. The image was fading. The vortex losing cohesion.

No. Not after all this.

That is how he exerted pressure on his wound and drew more blood out of it.

If it wanted to flicker out, he was just gonna make the connection bigger.

He squeezed his hand. The cut reopened. Blood poured out of him, falling on the ground. Pooling. The energy rising faster now.

The threads thickened. Surged into the mirror.

And the vortex responded.

VROOO.

The candles’ fire started moving faster and faster, as if a battle was happening. The flames whipped violently. Left. Right. Spiraling.

But still they did not go out.

The more blood Zack poured, the more the scenes were flickering.

As if something was using his energy to block the scenes.

He saw Makun getting off the bus. Walking through an industrial district. Dark. Abandoned.

Then the image shattered into fragments.

Zack forced. He could not let the book go.

He slashed his palm again with the dagger. Deeper this time. Grunted.

Blood flowed freely now. His hand shook but he held it over the circle.

The energy surged. The vortex expanded.

The image reformed, as if to show Zack what he needed.

Then collapsed.

Zack’s breathing was heavy. His hand burned. He failed. He did not have it.

PHEW.

The candles flickered out. Instantly. Both at once.

And the bottom of the mirror cracked.

A sharp sound. Like ice splitting.

A jagged line appeared in the glass. Thin. Black.

And then.

Darkness covered the room.

Complete Darkness.

Not normal darkness.

Darkness the likes of which Zack never saw.

And he knew this wasn’t normal.

He could not feel a thing. Not the floor beneath his feet. Not the air around him. Not his own body.

He could not feel himself existing.

The only thing he felt was fear. Fear of the unknown. Cold. Deep. Suffocating.

Like the dark itself was alive and watching.

That is how he fell. On the ground.

However, in his head, he felt like he was falling in empty air. No impact. No sound. Just falling.

Forever.

THUD.

Zack collapsed.

Blood everywhere. His hand still bleeding. The circle smeared. The candles dark.

The mirror cracked but silent.

He lost consciousness.

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