The Edge of Dark Magic

The aura of the powerful creature that had been unleashed was pressing on his shoulders and making the blacksmith's subordinates feel extremely uncomfortable. It was as if they were enveloped in a viscous swampy slime, suppressing any will to resist and preventing them from thinking clearly. 

"A name is enough," Anton Arkane's hoarse, creepy voice made the otherworldly creatures present shudder slightly and shake off the strange obsession. - How long have I been imprisoned?

"Fifty-eight years," Brother Night began to answer cheerfully, but he faltered and even took a step back when he felt a hard stare. - The warlocks did their best to create your dungeon... It was only through an unbelievable coincidence that I was able to calculate its coordinates and break the broken seal.

After a few seconds, during which the dark mage managed to curse the idea of letting Black out into the real world three times, Anton still covered his eyes, demonstrating that his body still had some semblance of skin, more like a red translucent film.

"I see, Spectre and Zatara had indeed managed to create a near-perfect prison. It's like my mind has been in stasis all these years, preventing me from using the powers of Rot. Who are you, by the way?

"Brother Night, but you probably remember me as Eldon Pekk," he grimaced slightly at the mention of his mortal past. - I attended a few parties at your castle, and at one time I was in the business of supplying bodies for dark rituals.

"Hmm... I only remember one person with that name. So you're that necromancer-caller... I see you went the way of transformation into a lich, but for some reason you didn't complete the transformation, mixing death mana with demonic mana... Strange decision, - the avatar of the rot slowly walked around the trio in a circle, as if flowing from place to place. - He must have picked up some unusual phylactery and hidden it in the lower levels of the Underworld so that you couldn't be killed permanently. But I wonder how you are going to get to the phylactery in case the body is destroyed? - Arcane said thoughtfully, only to immediately answer his own question. - Huh, so that's what this strange balance of energies is for! So that the Grim Reapers would pay less attention to another little demon. Curious, very curious.

"I didn't even doubt that the strongest dark mage of the last century would easily solve the riddle of my immortality," Brother Night smiled strainedly and tried to quickly change the subject. - What do you plan to do now?

Frankly speaking, the man was not happy that he had decided to take this adventure instead of turning to some demon that the sorceress had managed to mess up during her long career as a heroine. The old acquaintance was too smart, though the effects of the rot were bound to reduce his cognitive functions, but it was probably the stasis that had kept his mind clear.

"I can sense Crimson's presence, so I'll deal with him soon, and then I'll take my revenge on the Parliament of Trees," the immortal creature's voice traced a note of restrained anger.

"Red has an avatar? - The blacksmith asked in surprise. And his surprise was logical, for the appearance of an entity of such magnitude should not have escaped the attention of the netherworld.

"No. More like a potential receptacle. It feels incredibly faint right now, and if I were any farther away, I wouldn't even be able to detect it. But in any case, I'm not going to give it a chance to develop into a full-fledged avatar.

"That's how... I just thought you'd want to keep yourself safe from those who managed to imprison you in this prison in the first place. I'm well aware that you can't just get rid of Spectre, but there was a second mage. I must warn you that Zatara has been the owner of the Naboo helmet for ten years... But he has a beloved daughter! - Brother Night hastened to justify himself, noticing that the enchanted stone beneath Black's avatar's feet was rapidly turning black. - She's a simple sorceress, so capturing her shouldn't be a problem.

"It seems that Zatara has done you a great disservice, so you've decided to turn the Rot against him... Or is it his daughter? A "simple sorceress," as you put it? - Anton's voice became serious. A moment, and a large clawed paw, devoid of flesh, tightly clutched the blacksmith's throat, lifting him slightly off the ground. - Don't try to deceive me, Eldon," he emphasized the name of his interlocutor, seeing that he didn't like it. - You are alive only because you let me out, but my patience is not unlimited.

Another moment, and the powerful creature falls backward, returning the limbs to their familiar appearance.

"Aha..." - rubbing his slightly blackened throat and magically washing away the other's emanations, Brother Night tried to smile in a friendly manner. - I understand. Please forgive me.

"It's not a bad idea," the skinless man said calmly, as if he hadn't almost ripped his liberator's head off, "but I'll deal with Zatar's family later. I'll deal with Zatar's family later, but I'll deal with Zatar's family later," he said calmly, as if he'd almost ripped off his liberator's head. Hmm, I'm taking out the competition.

Black's avatar began to change rapidly, causing the otherworldly creatures to take a few steps back. In a matter of seconds, he had grown a pair of three-meter-long leathery wings made of rotting flesh, and his legs had gained additional strong muscles. A sharp gust of wind, and Arcane was already soaring a few meters above the ground, heading away from his dungeon.

"I don't think the idea of releasing the avatar of Rotten into the real world was quite right," Ghost Romaldi said tactfully, glancing at the bloody silhouette.

"I think you should shut up if you don't want to repeat Amber's fate," said the necromancer, who had managed to get rid of the rotting flesh on his neck with great difficulty. The necromancer had managed to get rid of the rotten flesh on his neck, but he'd only been able to do it with the necro-energy circulating through the magical channels.

"It just seemed to me that he wasn't going to be proactive for fear of attracting the attention of the warlocks."

"It doesn't matter so much anymore. Black's emanations are quite difficult to hide, which means that the whole world will soon know about the appearance of his avatar, and Zatanna will definitely interfere."

***Republic of Sudan, Khartoum***

There was a deafening scream in the large hotel room that temporarily housed the traveling circus troupe.

The trio of artists jumped up from their beds and recognized the youngest worker as the one screaming. The teenager had only recently joined them, but had immediately become a megastar due to his unusual powers.

"Are you having nightmares again, Beast Boy? - A large, tall man with a heavy, athletic build asked good-naturedly. He plopped down on the bed beside his ward, making the wooden furniture creak in protest.

"Yes... No..."

"Yes or no? Oh, you're shaking all over! - only now the big man noticed that the boy was trembling, and immediately put a broad palm on his forehead, checking his temperature. - You're not sick, are you?

"No... I guess," the boy quickly calmed down when he felt the presence of someone close to him. - It's just that this time it was... Well... Not a pack of gorillas, but some kind of moving mound of meat and bones..." He described what he saw uncertainly.

"Damn it, guys, I told you not to watch horror movies at night!"

"Hey, it was a regular action movie, there was no such thing at all."

"Hassan, don't bullshit me. Why does the Beastie Boy have such horrible dreams?"

"What the hell do I know? And anyway, we should go to sleep, it's a long day tomorrow," Hassan turned away from the wall, ending the useless conversation and wrapping himself more tightly in the blanket. 

"Rob, stop calling me Brute," the teenager asked quietly, reluctantly shoving his palm away and trying to adopt a stern look.

"Ho-ho-ho-ho," the big man laughed good-naturedly, and, ignoring the sluggish resistance, ruffled his younger comrade's hair, "but what else? You don't respond to a name, and you're still growing up to the proud title of Beast.

"Beastboy."

"Pfft, this superhero stuff again," the man snorted contemptuously. - No one's going to hire you, you're so small, and your abilities... Let's face it, they'll only help you against ordinary criminals. Or to scare girls if you turn into a mouse.

"Hey, I can turn into big animals, too."

"Uh-huh, for ten seconds. A cool achievement, no doubt," the strongman's voice was full of sarcasm.

"You said yourself I'm still growing!"

"That's right. When you grow up, keep in shape for at least ten minutes, and then you'll be on your way, but for now, forget about this nonsense."

"But..."

"No buts. It's past your bedtime, or you're going to be a pudgy little thing," Rob said, wrapping the boy in a blanket and returning to his room. They had a busy day ahead of them, and sleep deprivation and fatigue could result in serious injuries.

***

The call from the sorceress caught us at the exit from the bridge connecting Gotham to the mainland. She congratulated our awesome tandem on joining a real superhero team, praised me personally for my spectacular appearance and good speech, and then asked me why I'd called last night. As I suspected, Zee was completely unaware of the magical zombie apocalypse that had occurred in the city, and even the award ceremony was only on tape, because she'd been dealing with a freaky necromancer with the sonorous nickname Brother Night. Naturally, I didn't miss the opportunity to tell about my epic adventures, because even without embellishment they could give a hundred points to any detective action movie with elements of mysticism.

In the course of the story, the voice of the charming interlocutor became more and more tense, and leading questions began to suggest associations with the confession of the inquisitor, who decided for once to communicate with the victim, who had been imprisoned in the casemates, instead of immediately driving hot needles under her fingernails, seeking confession of all mortal sins.

In the end, the sorceress couldn't stand it and asked us to slow down somewhere. What are we supposed to do? If they asked us to, we had to. Harley stopped at the nearest gas station, and twenty seconds later, a sexy illusionist in her legendary costume appeared out of thin air.

Her spectacular appearance was accompanied by a loud clap, reminiscent of a whip. The drivers standing nearby startled, but realizing that it wasn't some idiot who'd decided to smoke next to the speaker, but just a beautiful girl in a beautiful open outfit, they greeted Zee with an approving whistle that quickly died down when the doors of the unremarkable Toyota opened, revealing a stunning hero with a gorgeous scarred smile and slightly crazy green eyes that matched her hair perfectly.

"It's been a long time," I got out of the car and immediately gave the girl a tender kiss.

"Hey, isn't the Joker dating Batman's sidekick? - came a low whisper at the edge of my hearing.

"I think he's dating Harley, you know, who's kind of a clone."

"That was ages ago. I recently saw a clip on Wayne Instagram of him kissing Batgirl in some coffee shop," a third participant interjected.

"For real?!"

"I'm freaking out. Eh, he's as ugly as a nuclear war, especially with that creepy smile... Why the fuck are pretty girls hitting on him?"

"Women love bad guys, but they sincerely believe that they can change them for the better, and here is a ready-made option, - wisely said one of the participants of the conversation.

"Heh, maybe I should try on some villainy, too. They say you can buy alien weapons in Blackport," he said, his voice serious and thoughtful.

"Yeah, and you can go straight to Blackgate for it... Although you can. You'll get your privacy that way, especially if you wear Superman tights with your suit at the beginning of your career, ha ha ha ha."

"Damn it, Jay, when I said I had to stop the car, I meant some deserted alleyway, not this," the sorceress interrupted the kiss, glancing at the laughing motorists, who were already reaching for their gadgets, obviously expecting to sell the racy footage to some publisher. A short word of command, and the men froze in place, unable to remember what they were going to do or why they were at the gas station in the first place.

That's pretty strong, considering the disorientation weave was woven in almost no time at all. The general framework, and then snap, and the structure is complete. It takes me almost forty seconds to do such a trick, and I have to use fun memories and prana to fill the nodal points with energy faster. It's clear that the dark-haired beauty has been practicing magic all her life, but still, this method looks quite unusual and seriously contradicts the theory of weave creation that I know.

"I gave Zee another peck on the cheek and helped her into the backseat of the car, watching as people slowly came to their senses and looked at each other in confusion. - Listen, I've been meaning to ask you why you're doing that weird magic thing. You say the words in reverse order, and it's as if the weave becomes more complicated on its own.

"The answer lies in the first part of your question," the sorceress's voice had a mentor's tone, as it had been during our studies. - Harley, when we get into the Village, turn down Fifth Street, we need to stop at a place before we go to your new demonic friends.

Zee's words stumped me. The thing is that sorcery and magic are of the same order. That is, both help to control reality, but if magicians use their own strength and knowledge, clearly realizing the sequence of actions, then sorcerers use borrowed power, and most of them don't even understand how magic laws work, relying on various amulets, certain rituals, or their patron, acting as a kind of server.

Take, for example, the simplest fireball. To create it, you need a shell, the flame itself, and a way to deliver all this goodness to the target. The magician forms all the structures independently and it does not matter in what way: it can be runes, and invisible to the eye threads of energy, and standard seals, and even special chants. A sorcerer, on the other hand, can simply say: "fireball", visualizing the end result and supplying the charms with energy to get the desired. Obviously, even this method has options to reduce mana expenditure or change some properties, but it all comes down to the need for an intermediary doing the main work. Deprive such a reasonable person of a connection to a patron or magic trinkets, and he'll cast harmless sparks at most. Not to mention the fanatics of Melholm, who managed to create a flesh golem on the basis of enthusiasm and blood magic.

In general, a sorcerer can be compared to a charmer who simply spins a knob and maybe understands a little about the construction of his instrument to make repairs or improve the sound a bit, whereas a true magician is a musician potentially capable of learning and playing almost any tune.

"Okay. Zee, don't tell me you're messing with some deity or Dark Lord."

"Not really. You never paid attention to the portraits of my ancestors when you went to load diamonds?"

"Hmm... I think I saw Leonardo da Vinci," an image of a blue-eyed old man with a very piercing gaze appeared in my mind, sitting at a table with an unfinished drawing of a Vitruvian man.

"That's right, my family has Italian roots."

"So that's why you're so hot!" Harley looked away from the road for a moment.

"Exactly," the dark-haired beauty replied with a smile, her skin lightly tanned by the bright Brazilian sun. - In addition to da Vinci, I also have in my ancestors other famous fortune-tellers and magicians: Alessandro Cagliostro, Nicholas Flamel and Nostradamus. I think you know very well that I belong to a branch of humanity called Homo Magi. I don't know whether our species is an experiment of some ancient gods or their distant descendants, but we can cast spells without using mediators. That said, it is my family that is famous for being able to create spells by simply saying the words backwards. It's like some sort of mutation passed down from generation to generation. I would even suggest that it's a manifestation of metasil, but they don't have that kind of stability. Even parents whose manifestation is to enhance physical characteristics can have a child with no superpowers at all, or with some sort of telekinesis.

"So you're really a sorceress? - The blonde asked curiously.

"Yes and no. I am fully aware of how my spells work, and I can use standard methods if I wish. It's just silly to abandon your core and create a whole weave every time, when all you need is a general framework and a little imagination. I cast my first spell when I was three, asking a teddy bear to dance, saying the phrase backwards, like my father did during his shows," a slight smile of nostalgia appeared on the beauty's lips.

Hmm, just like the Uchiha of the magic world. In the Naruto universe, there was a clan of eyeballers whose members could awaken their bloodline, giving them serious buffs to illusions and memorization. Their eyes were like a miniature computer, taking up a decent portion of the load. At maximum development, they even allowed them to use some unrealistic abilities, like summoning a huge energy armor or black flames. Zee has roughly the same thing going on, and the curious thing is that I probably know the reason why. It's all about Me, or the soul superstructure that is responsible for creation. But I highly doubt that such a thing could be created by an ordinary mage, which means there must be some sort of near-divine entity involved.