4 Rules of Engagement

Every marchen had a set of rules that they were forced to follow. A set of rules ordained by the cosmos and the heavens above. They'd often know these rules even before they knew their own names. The marchen mysteriously becoming aware of the rules shortly after they became aware of their powers. (Which was generally sometime during their prenatal development)

These rules were meant to both constrain and protect the marchen, constraining its activities and the breadth of its influence, protecting the marchen from both the universe and itself.

One could choose not to abide by these rules, but in such cases the crime was often its own punishment. Stepping out of line would generally mean diving head first into the frothing and chaotic unknown. Complete freedom came with a requirement of being able to bear the responsibilities for one's own existence.

Most marchen would rather abide by the rules than risk suddenly finding themselves in the wide and open yonder, swimming in dark waters as a little guppy while they spied continent-sized leviathans drifting in the depths below.

Desmond was no exception to this. To keep his powers from overwhelming him and keep the more dangerous entities of Nishant from finding him, he abided by the rules that were set for him.

This meant every night, between midnight and 4AM, he was forced to keep a vigil. He would wait in his bedroom. A room he kept mostly empty for the sake of avoiding having his things trashed. He would wait, sitting on his bed with a revolver on one side of him, and his laptop on the other.

Each night, his connection to the distorted realms would be strengthened. Through that connection, his own powers would be bolstered as the energy of the great distortion flowed through him.

The chaotic magic of the distorted realms would clash with his own overly stable internal magics and force it into motion. This circulation would allow Desmond's powers to grow without his power overwhelming him. This was how the tintenklopfer cultivated.

Like a river in the making, he drew in the tides and used them to clear and erode the sandy, icy, detritus that clogged his inner channels.

Eventually, when that river was fully developed, the banks would overflow and then he'd slowly find himself becoming a sea in the making, but that was a story for later. He tried not to think of it because like everything else, when it came to magic, entering that particular stage of his development, would likely come with its own prices and consequences.

Desmond already had his hands full dealing with his current stage of development. As things currently stood he was forced to spend every night of every passing day, staying up and hoping nothing too dangerous popped out of his closet.

Between the hours of 12AM to 4AM, he would be visited by creatures and beings from all of Nishant and its distorted realms. In truth, his soul's need for growth, and its need to avoid being overwhelmed by his magic meant that this warping of time and space would have to happen at some point anyway.

For a tintenklopfer to survive the steady increase of its magics, meant that it would have to make contact with the deep magics of the distorted realm no matter what. It was only by following the rules that things could be kept predictable and controlled.

For Desmond, the knocking ritual was more of a warning system than anything else. He'd knock his closet door three times, three raps each. This would designate an entry point for his "visitors" and set up a sort of cosmic security key. The security key wouldn't necessarily keep people from coming but it would assure that he could distinguish those who could do him harm from those who couldn't.

*Knock-Knock-Knock-Knock*

Desmond startled. Four knocks meant trouble. He leapt off of his bed and onto his feet. His aura surged, and his shadow began to spread across the walls and floors of the room. Bathing everything in darkness.

Desmond opened the door of his closet and saw a man standing there. Old and wizened, with one of his eyes missing and replaced with an orb of glowing black metal. Going by the robes the old man was some sort of mage. As the mage saw Desmond, he began to chant, his gnarled fingers quickly began to move through a series of hand signs.

The old man was only able to get as far as the second syllable of whatever spell he was about to cast before Desmond pulled the trigger on the revolver he was holding. He pulled the trigger once, he pulled the trigger twice, he pulled it thrice. The revolver roared like a devil-king escaped from hell, as its cylinder turned with each pull of the trigger.

Instead of bullets, three blasts of super-concentrated darkness magic, super-concentrated light magic, and enough kinetic energy to dent a tank, came flying out of Desmond's revolver.

The gunshots sounded like thunder, and the pressure released with each shot made it feel like he was holding an artillery cannon instead of a handgun. If Desmond hadn't enchanted his home and its internal spaces ages ago, he'd likely be staring into the next room right now, if not the room of the house across the street.

Desmond glared into his closet, coldly gazing at the shocked expression of the mage, as he was blasted back into whatever place he'd come from. Despite the huge hole his "midnight bullets" tended to put in things, the wound would likely be bloodless.

The darkness magic would eat the mage's blood, while the light magic and kinetic energy twisted and cooked the man's insides.

Desmond waited to see if his visitor came back through the void that was currently occupying his closet. Sometimes killing them the one time wasn't enough.

After three minutes went by and he felt the magics that had created the connection between wherever the old mage had come from and his bedroom, Desmond closed the closet door. Then with a tired sigh he returned to his bed and the forum posts he'd been reading on his laptop.

Desmond took solace in knowing that tonight's ordeal was almost over, it was 3:45 in the morning now, with half an hour more to go. With an average of three visitors per hour, there was barely just enough time for one last "visitor" to show up.

It was also entirely possible no one else would come, however, Desmond had learned not to be too optimistic when it came to dealing with the distorted realms.

It wasn't till around 3:50 that the last visitor came. Desmond waited through three sets of three knocks. When the third set came, he sat in silence staring at the door, waiting for whoever, or whatever, lay on the other side to screw up and give themselves away as a hostile presence.

Ten minutes went by and after ten minutes a dull blue-green glow started to creep out from beneath the closet door. Desmond got up off the bed, with his revolver in hand. Instead of holding it, he tucked the gun into the back of his jeans.

Seeing that blue-green glow meant that the next visitor would be a "friendly" one. The knocking ritual was a kind of litmus test, only those without ill-intentions could pass. Anyone who tried to play tricks and pass themselves off as friendly when they weren't, would soon discover that on occasion a door can knock itself.

Desmond opened the closet door, doing so just in time to see the shadows within congeal together to form the void through which his visitors tended to enter his room.

Out from the void stepped a young woman. A petite figure wearing a blood-splattered nightgown.

She had black hair that fell past her hips. Her heart-shaped face was dominated by a pair of large green eyes, that sat behind a pair of thick, horn-rimmed, glasses.

Her skin was pale as if she hadn't seen the sun in a very long time, and Desmond couldn't help noticing that there were bruises, scratches, and cuts all over her.

The young woman stepped out through the void doorway and out of the closet. Disregarding her host, she took a tour of the room she was in, gazing at everything in Desmond's room with an expression of curiosity and a kind of childish awe. Eventually, she realized that there wasn't much to look at and turned her attention to the one other person in the room.

"M-, my name is Lamia Otieno. Nice to make your ac- acquaintance, sir." said the young woman. The lights in her eyes seeming to dim and sputter as she met Desmond's gaze.

Instead of answering immediately, Desmond sat on his bed, carefully placing his revolver at his side. He didn't think the girl would give him any trouble, but it was better to be safe than sorry. Finally, he turned his attention to the young woman, his neutral expression seeming imposing and sinister, in the gloom of his bedroom.

"Hello, Lamia. You may call me, Midnight. Welcome to my humble abode. If I may be blunt, you look exhausted so by all means, please have a seat."

The girl opened her mouth without saying anything and then looked around. She hesitated if unsure whether Desmond meant that she should sit beside him on the bed, or sit on the floor.

Then she turned around and noticed the chair that Desmond had conjured up behind her. Lowering herself onto the seat with the grace one would expect of a wealthy household's young mistress.

"So what can I do for you on this fine evening?" said Desmond. His tone light and amiable as if he hadn't just spent the last few hours killing countless monsters and villains who'd tried to barge into his room.

"I...Uh…"

The young woman didn't seem to know what to say. Desmond was used to that kind of response. Most normal people who found their way through his closet generally didn't expect to find themselves there.

Nishant was a magical world, everyone understood this but the powers-that-be still tried to do their best to keep the nature of the world a secret. As a way of bolstering the all-important shield of self-protective skepticism, that helped keep the distorted realm's influence at bay.

The government hid the supernatural behind labels such as "high(or mad) science" or "mysterious power". Covering up monster attacks and the emergence of great horrors from the distorted realm and simply calling them "calamities."

While the existence of magic was an open secret, one known to all those who had any semblance power in society, the average person knew less about magic than they knew about how cellphones worked.

Add to this the fact that not everyone who did a silly "made-up" ritual would encounter any kind of paranormal phenomenon, and the young woman's response became a fairly standard one.

"Well, then. Just to start. There a few rules of engagement here. First off, you have my word that I won't purposely harm you and yours while you're here unless you provoke me, or you ask me to do so. Secondly, if you decide that you do not wish to ask anything of me, or strike a bargain, you may always exit through the door through which you entered, with no consequences. Thirdly, all bargains once struck are permanent and cannot and will not be annulled outside of the case of certain extreme circumstances." said Desmond. Rattling off the self-introduction he'd grown so used to giving.

"....Bargain?" said Lamia

"Yes, bargains. That's what most people come here for, whether they know it or not as they're making their way here. If you have questions that you want answered. If you're looking for the kind of answers that can't be found through the use of a search engine. The kind of answers that are hard to find simply sitting on the web somewhere….I can supply those, but you best be prepared to pay in kind, and answer some of my questions in return. If you want something done. Something you can't do yourself. Whether dark, secret, or seemingly impossible I 'might' be able to help you...However such requests generally come with a cost that'll need to be paid in either money, treasure, blood, souls, or a reciprocal favor." said Desmond.

Captivating the young lady's attention and using his magic to alter the layout of the room. Changing it from a bedroom and making it into an office. Changing his bed into a desk and chair. Conjuring a coffee tray from his kitchen downstairs.

"Now, while you're thinking on that do you take coffee or tea?" said Desmond.

"S-, sorry?" said the frazzled looking Lamia.

Desmond pointed to the tray on the desk in front of him. She blinked and frowned slightly as if aware that something had changed but hard pressed to tell what or when.

"....Tea, please?" said Lamia.

"Excellent. Any particular variety, or will simple black tea do?"

"Er...if you have green…"

"Green? No problem at all." said Desmond. He looked up the girl's drinking habits using the akashic plane, then he appraised her with eyes that could read everything about a person's physical body and look straight through the core of a person's soul, to see what her ideal cup of green tea was.

Finally, he prepared the tea with items that sat on the tray in front of him. Once the tea was prepared Desmond used a chantless spell to cool the tea to a level where it was still warm but just the right temperature for drinking.

Lamia took the cup and absentmindedly took a sip. Desmond watched her drink and was quietly gratified to find that she seemed to enjoy the tea. He'd grown it himself in his private garden and took pride in both his hosting skills, and his herbalism.

"So….You said you do requests?" said Lamia.

"Yes...for a price. Mind you, I also hold the right to refuse a request at my own discretion. In which case, there will, of course, be no price exacted. Similarly, any attempts to double-cross me, or get out of paying once services have been rendered will come with….dire consequences." said Desmond. Making himself a cup of earl grey.

".....Mhm, I-, I suppose that sounds fair. Do I get to know what the price is for a given request before everything's said and done or is this an open-ended sort of situation?"

"Perish the thought, my dear. Of course, you'll know what you're paying before the deal is struck. It's not a real contract if the essential terms aren't set, after all." said Desmond.

"I….Okay. I guess in that case, I'd like to make a request, please," said Lamia.

Desmond said nothing. He simply sat staring at the young woman in front of him, using the akashic to skim through her life up until this moment and make a guess at what kind of request she would make.

"I would like to end my life," said Lamia.

Desmond blinked, he occasionally got such requests. Receiving them from the dying and those who found themselves in a particular kind of straits that only a clean quick death could fix. He hadn't expected it from the girl though.

If she was going to go that route, she could have just done the job herself using the pistol she'd left on the other side of the void-gate she'd stepped through. Or the poison she'd been brewing for herself before she'd had to use the pistol to fight off her fiance.

"Wait...wait...I think I most misspoke... I'd like to clarify that, please." said the girl. Her rapid words making Desmond snap back to himself and realize that several tendrils of shadow, his plan B in case he ever found himself disarmed, were flying towards the girl as jagged spikes.

He got ahold of himself, restraining his blood and death hungry powers, with great difficulty. Forcing his shadow to return to being a simple shadow. It was hard, incredibly hard. In that moment, Desmond was a hungry dog with meat in its mouth and it was agonizing to make himself not swallow the girl whole.

Finally, Desmond was forced to pick up his revolver and shoot at the shadow on the ground. A wretched screech echoed through the room, like the keening cry of a pained beast. Desmond coughed blood as if he'd been shot in the chest.

He wheezed, trying to draw air into his lungs. His visage growing paler while his body struggled to recover from the backlash. It took a full minute before he was able to speak.

Despite knowing it was more his own fault for being unable to fully repress his darker nature, than it was the girl's fault for getting his stupid shadow all hot and bothered, he couldn't help glaring at the young lady across from him.

"Just for future reference...when dealing with beings such as myself...Imprecise wording can be the death of you, my dear," said Desmond. Panting softly, still struggling to catch his breath.