Eldritch Guidance

Chapter 107 – Reverse Divination

In the back room of The Mortar and Pestle, the air was thick with the scent of crushed herbs, their pungent aroma mingling with the musty smell of old parchment and the earthy undertones of the room itself. The walls, lined with shelves of jars containing all manner of strange and exotic ingredients, seemed to close in around the small group. Joe stood to the side, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the two men working intently at the table.

Wren, at the center of the room, was methodically grinding herbs into a dark, sticky paste. The smell was strong—something between clove and something more exotic, like the undercurrent of the old ways. His hands moved with practiced precision, the steady rhythm of his actions betraying a quiet confidence despite the tension that hung in the air. He was using the paste to carefully trace lines within the incomplete ritual circle, the thin black lines slowly forming a complete web around the quartz crystal that held the hex fragment in its center. The circle, though still in its unfinished state, seemed to hum with potential as Wren worked.

Crowley, however, was a picture of tension. His eyes flicked between Wren’s movements and the open book in his hands. His fingers traced the lines of the ritual instructions, scanning each word carefully. Every so often, his gaze would lift from the pages, scrutinizing Wren’s hands as they worked. He didn't trust the herbalist—or his methods—but he had little choice but to comply. He knew Wren’s expertise in matters of cult rituals was undeniable, but that didn’t mean Crowley had to like it. Each stroke of the brush that Wren made on the ritual circle seemed to set off a low warning bell in Crowley’s mind, but he forced himself to remain calm and focused. He couldn’t afford to let his suspicions get the better of him now.

Wren, sensing the tension, occasionally glanced up from his work. His eyes, dark and unreadable, met Crowley’s for a brief moment, almost as if daring him to question his every move. But he said nothing, returning to his task with a steady hand. He knew Crowley was no fool—he had likely been trained to read every nuance, every shift of a spell or ritual. Wren wouldn’t let that distract him.

Joe, watching the two of them, could feel the tension between them. He had hoped the agreement to work together would have smooth things over, but it hadn’t. Wren’s reluctance to trust Crowley was clear, and Crowley’s barely veiled suspicion of Wren was just as obvious. Despite that, Joe knew that there was no room for failure now. They had to make this work. Lives were at stake, and the more time they wasted arguing, the more danger people were in.

Joe: “How's the ritual looking, father?” he asked, trying to break the awkward silence in the room.

Crowley: “Everything seems to be in place. I’ve not found anything strange within this book or with the ritual Wren is preparing.”

Joe: “See, Father Crowley, Wren can be trusted. He’s not a bad guy. So, could you please keep that promise and not tell the church about him?”

The former priest let out a heavy sigh, his chest rising and falling with the weight of the moment.

Crowley: “That was before you told me he was a cultist.”

Joe: “Come on, hasn't he proven to you he’s not like those other evil cults?”

Crowley: “The only thing he’s proven is that he might be good at hiding his intentions. But, fine. I will not report him to the church. However, I will be keeping an eye on him and try to make him change his ways. I’ll come by over randomly to try and convert him away from those malevolent entities.”

Wren: “I supposed getting preached at is better than getting driven out of town,” he mumbled while continuing to work on the ritual.

As Wren finished painting the final lines of the circle, Crowley finally closed the book with a soft snap. He looked over at the ritual circle one more time, then met Joe’s eyes, his expression unreadable.

Wren: "It’s all set," he said, though there was a slight hesitation in his voice, as if he were still waiting for something to go wrong.

Joe nodded, though a knot of unease twisted in his stomach. This was it. There was no turning back now.

Joe: "Let’s get it done," he said, his voice steady but tinged with the weight of the moment.

Wren gave a single nod, then moved to stand beside the crystal, and started chanting some strange language Joe didn’t understand. The air around them seemed to thrum with anticipation, the quiet stillness of the room broken only by the soft crackle of hum of a strange energy in the air.

As Wren chanted, his voice steady and rhythmic, he gestured toward Crowley, signaling it was time for him to perform his part of the ritual. The former priest stepped forward, positioning himself in front of the quartz crystal. He took a deep breath, steadying his nerves, and began to move his hands in deliberate, circular motions. Golden strands of energy emanated from his palms, shimmering like liquid sunlight.

The radiant energy hovered momentarily before spiraling into the air, forming a glowing disc that spun gently above the crystal and the arcane circle painted into the table. Crowley focused intently, his brow furrowed with concentration, as he guided the energy with precise movements of his hands. Slowly, the golden light began to funnel downward, narrowing into a steady stream that poured directly toward the crystal.

Beads of sweat formed on Crowley’s temples, trailing down his face as the intensity of his focus grew. The energy swirled faster, spiraling with a graceful yet forceful momentum. The room seemed to hold its breath as the golden stream touched the quartz. Instantly, the crystal absorbed the energy with an almost voracious pull, as if it were a parched desert soaking in rain. The swirling golden disc diminished gradually, its light dimming as more of the energy was drawn into the quartz.

Finally, as the last traces of were consumed, the once-clear crystal darkened completely. It transformed into an opaque, obsidian-like black, radiating an unsettling aura that seemed to pulse faintly with the same ominous energy that had once been a tiny speck at its center. Crowley lowered his hands, exhaling deeply, his body visibly tense from the exertion.

Wren acted quickly, pulling out a pair of long tongs and carefully picking up the crystal. He avoided letting the ominous object touch anything—or anyone. With steady hands, he placed the crystal inside a wooden box, before setting the box back gently in the center of the ritual circle. The box itself was unassuming, but as Wren placed the lid on top, it became clear it wasn’t ordinary. Embedded in the lid was what appeared to be a compass, its needle spinning wildly in all directions, as if frantically

Behind him, Wren cursed loudly, scrambling to gather whatever tools or improvised weapons he could use against the encroaching creatures. Joe tightened his grip on his gun, bracing himself for what was rapidly escalating into a fight for survival.

During Joe’s frantic struggle with the slime creatures, Crowley stood firm, positioned between the other two men, his expression sharp with focus. The moment his gaze locked onto the monstrous beings, he began chanting in a low, commanding tone. His words carried the weight of an experienced spellcrafter.

As he chanted, Crowley extended his hand, and a small, swirling orb of necros aether began to coalesce in his palm. The dark purple energy radiated a chilling aura, its presence commanding attention. The slimes slithered closer, their grotesque forms brimming with malevolence. Just as they were about to overwhelm the group, Crowley’s chant crescendoed, and with a sharp, deliberate motion, he crushed the orb between his hands.

A massive pulse of necros energy erupted from the shattered orb, rippling outward in an unstoppable wave. The energy swept over Joe, Wren, and Crowley, making each of them feel its peculiar weight. Joe gasped as the pulse passed through him. Though it didn’t hurt, it felt like the air had been forcibly knocked from his lungs, leaving him momentarily breathless. His limbs grew heavy, and a wave of fatigue tugged at him, as though the energy sapped a small part of his vitality.

The necros pulse continued its inexorable path toward the advancing slimes. The moment it touched the creatures, their movements ceased. The semi-translucent red of their gelatinous bodies dulled, the vibrant hue rapidly fading to an opaque, lifeless gray. Within seconds, their forms began to crumble, breaking apart into fine, powdery dust that scattered across the floor, leaving no trace of the once-threatening monstrosities.

Crowley lowered his trembling hands, the strain of the spell evident in the slight quiver of his fingers and the labored rise and fall of his chest. The room fell silent and the three men stood amidst the remnants of the destroyed slimes. For a brief moment, the danger had passed.