Chapter 12: Jorren's Trial
Chapter 12: Jorren's Trial
In a dimly lit hall, the flickering flames of candles suspended from chain cradles provided the sole source of illumination. Ten figures occupied the space, arranged in a peculiar configuration resembling a descending staircase, with the highest position at the center and the platform gradually diminishing in height with each subsequent seat. The room was shrouded in darkness, casting their features into shadow and revealing only their silhouettes.
Clad in black robes adorned with intricate, emblematic designs, the individuals sat in silence, each holding a paper in their hands. The documents were all too familiar – they were copies of Lucifer's wanted poster.
The person seated in the highest and most elevated position produced another piece of paper, their voice cutting through the stillness, "Myumaska has a different request."
The nine other figures, each occupying their designated chair, acknowledged the statement with nods. A feminine voice permeated the room, inquiring, "What does he desire?"
"I shall read it as it is," declared a deep and husky voice, taking on the role of an announcer.
"Make Lucifer the most wanted man in the world! Anyone finding him will be granted one boon from me!" The words resonated, filling the space and making everyone present aware of the demand.
A skeptical female voice, this time, the one who occupied the 10th seat in contrast to the 7th prior to this, began to voice her concerns, "That's another crazy request."
"Those have been going out of hand lately.", she said.
Others merely remained silent, as if they were going to agree. Seeing this, she tried to protest, to change their thought, "Is this a wise decision, though? Is he not just—"
Her words were abruptly silenced by a youthful male voice, interjecting with determination, "Another devil worshiper. It matters not. We must obey Master Myumaska's desires. He holds the authority over us, the Law."
The young man's gaze swept over the room as he raised his hand, his voice commanding, "So, who is with me!?" His hand remained suspended high in the air, a symbol of allegiance.
Without hesitation, eight of the figures nodded in agreement, raising their hands in unity. The only exceptions were the one who had read the demand aloud and the female whose protest had been cut short.
As the majority of hands raised in agreement, the man in authority declared, "Very well. It shall be upgraded."
A solemn tone resonated through the room as he continued, "Lucifer will now be proclaimed the most wanted individual in this world, surpassing the previous title holder, Jack, the Reaper."
His words concluded with a resounding thud, evoking a sense of finality. However, the meeting was far from over, as another pressing matter demanded attention.
"Our final topic of discussion pertains to the Devil Worshippers. They have launched an assault on the Temple of Diablos, not the primary temple, but one that holds significant influence in the Western region."
The mere mention of the Temple of Diablos triggered an immediate alertness among those present. A collective tension filled the room as they absorbed the gravity of the situation.
"They dared to attack the Temple of Diablos?" The voice that erupted with anger belonged to none other than the young man who had previously interrupted. His right fist pounded on the wooden table before him, the impact resonating through the room.
The man in authority, the one occupying the highest seat, turned to the young man and asked, "Grand Wizard Jorren, what actions do you believe we should take?"
Jorren, a Grand Wizard and an ardent follower of God Diablos, held the distinguished rank of 5th in the global hierarchy of wizards. Rising from his seat with palpable anger, he spoke with an air of authority, "There is no need for discussion on this matter. I shall address it personally."
His proclamation was accompanied by a startling transformation. His form began to dissolve into black smoke, and within moments, he vanished from the room, leaving only a void in his wake.
"Very well, he shall handle the matter," the old man declared. With his words, a unanimous decision was reached. The meeting drew to a close, as one by one, the remaining wizards and witches transformed into black smoke, exiting the chamber until only the old man remained.
With a commanding voice, the old man called out, "Genor. Dear boy Genor, are you there?" The enormous steel door creaked open, revealing a faint light that gradually illuminated the previously dark hall. A silhouette emerged from the shadows, advancing into the newly revealed light. Tall and lean, about six feet in height, he carried a well-proportioned figure. The light seemed to caress his skin, lending him a fair and luminous appearance.
"Yes, master? You summoned me?" the young man inquired as he moved forward, his features now discernible. At twenty-two years of age, he exuded a handsome aura. Kneeling on the ground, he balanced on his left hand, his right hand offering support to his body and touching the floor.
The husky voice continued, relaying its instructions. "There is news that needs to be delivered. Summon the council, and include Willy Mortis and his disciple in the list."
"Of course, master," Genor responded, poised to seek permission to depart. However, the old man's voice halted him.
"Dear boy, how is your progress?" the unexpected question startled Genorl.
"Pardon?" he queried, surprised by the inquiry.
"Are you not studying my book nowadays? The draconian spells?" the old man clarified.
"Ah, yes, master. I am approximately halfway through it," Genor replied.
"Good boy. Work diligently. I need you to complete it as soon as possible."
"Yes, master," Genor acknowledged, his voice tinged with determination. He rose to his feet, seeking permission to leave, and then exited the hall.
'The Child of Dragons must be ready to face the Child of Evil.', the old man thought to himself as the gigantic door started to close.
Left alone in the dimness, the old man began to transform, his body turning into smoke. The transformation commenced with his left wrist, followed by his right, gradually enveloping his form until he vanished completely.
.
.
.
In a rather illuminated chamber of Jorren's residence, shrouded in the subdued light that managed to breach the window, a transformation occurred. A cloud of black smoke materialized into the form of Jorren himself. His gaze was drawn to a prominent portrait adorning the wall before him. The image depicted a figure holding a wand aloft, while beneath him, a throng of people bowed in reverence. It was the portrait of Diablos, the revered deity praised and followed by many.
Beneath the portrait, a desk held a worn and rust-covered diary. Jorren approached with measured steps, his presence commanding and contemplative. Settling onto a wooden chair that seemed to move of its own accord, Jorren's attention shifted to a nearby ink pot adorned with a quill. The quill's tip was coated in red paint, a vivid contrast to its dark surroundings.
Carefully picking up the quill, Jorren positioned it above the diary, allowing a drop of red paint to fall from the quill's tip onto the rusty cover. A peculiar reaction followed. The diary's pages began to stir, at first languidly before picking up intensity. They turned with rapid fervor until coming to rest on a specific page, numbered 274. The page, its paper aged to a brownish hue, initially appeared blank. But gradually, faint lines materialized, forming words in italic script.
'Child, are you ready for the fourth trial?'
The words emerged on the page, posing a question that held profound significance.
Jorren's response took form as he employed the quill to inscribe his answer: 'Indeed, master, I am prepared. However, is it permissible for me to disregard the assault on your temple and proceed with the fourth trial?'
The reply from the mysterious source materialized beneath his words: 'Absolutely, my child. Your trial takes precedence.'
Understanding the directive, Jorren pricked his thumb with the quill, allowing a drop of his own blood to fall onto the page. Placing the quill back onto the desk, he directed his gaze at the diary. As seconds passed, the book began to levitate, its pages flipping at an accelerating pace. A faint, ethereal light emitted from the diary, gradually intensifying.
In a matter of moments, the inexplicable occurred. Jorren was drawn into the diary itself, as if the pages had opened a portal to another realm, whisking him away from his chamber.
As Jorren's eyes blinked open once more, he found himself immersed in an eerie environment, adorned in an equally peculiar attire.
A mask, entirely black and devoid of any markings and made from finely polished wood, concealed his face, yet he could perceive his surroundings as if gazing through. Draped over his frame was a dusty brown robe that enshrouded him completely.
His gaze wandered about, revealing a scene of an unusually atypical cave, shrouded in complete darkness. Clutched firmly in his right hand was a wand, while nestled in his left was the accompanying diary.
He opened the book, which automatically flipped to page number 275 this time. Page number 274 had vanished. It was a common occurrence he had encountered previously, as all other pages had vanished too, from page 1 to page 274. That didn't mean the pages weren't present; he simply couldn't access them! No matter how he turned, he would land on page 275 automatically.
He used his wand, transforming it into a quill and wrote down his question.
'What is this place, master?'
'Entrance to a hideout filled with people with the Devil's curse,' the reply came from the book, the words being engraved. Jorren's eyes widened, though not visibly due to the mask covering his face.
'What exactly is my trial? Capturing them?'
Upon asking that, the book revealed something that brought a crazed smirk to his face.
'The fourth trial demands the blood of the evildoers. You need to kill 500 people affected by the Devil's curse.', These words, etched into the book, not only made him smile but also caused his hand to tremble - not out of fear, but out of excitement.
He kept staring at those words, about to reply when suddenly, he heard a feminine voice from behind.
"Who?"
Almost instantly, he pivoted, only to find a young girl standing there, her wand pointed at him.
It was Maya, who had walked all the way from the Dark Forest to the cave. The distance wasn't too far, so she had chosen to walk since she couldn't use the Stynom spell anymore.
"Identify yourself," she said, her wand still pointed at him.
"Ah, dear, I am a guard of this place," Jorren's voice softened as he spoke to her.
"A guard? Why the need for a mask then!?" Maya's voice raised, and she took a step or two back.
"Ah, that, my face is scarred. So-" Jorren attempted to pretend and play with his words, but Maya was no fool.
"Scar? I have a friend whose face is scarred as well. He is famous too, yet he isn't allowed to wear a mask."
"Remove it. Identify, who are you!?" Maya pressed further, the tip of her wand glowing as she prepared to cast a spell.
But Jorren maintained his silence, his gaze shifting from her to the diary in his hands.
"Wanted to do it peacefully, but you ruined it," he muttered, almost as if to himself. In a swift motion, he lifted the quill which transformed into a wand, its tip aglow in red almost immediately.
Surprised by his action, Maya hastily unleashed a spell she had secretly chanted: "Petrosium Petrifico!" - a petrifying spell.
However, before the spell could even leave her wand, something unexpected occurred. Maya's eyes widened as blood began to trickle from her nose, followed by her ears.
"Wha-" she began to exclaim, her confusion evident.
She witnessed Jorren mutter something under his breath, a faint glow emanating from his wand. Yet, perplexingly, she couldn't hear any incantation. Bewilderment overtook her as she reached up to touch her nose and ears, her hand coming away stained with red. Before she could process the situation fully, her world turned crimson as blood dripped down from her eyes, obscuring her vision.
"No-," Maya managed to begin, her voice filled with shock and fear. However, before she could utter anything else, a disturbing sensation washed over her. Suddenly, she became aware of her body growing increasingly hot, and to her horror, blood began to ooze out from her skin, as if it were seeping through her pores.
"Wh-"
"What did you do to me…?", he voice slowly faded, the last words barely audible as finally, blood gushed out her mouth as well and with a thud, she fell to the ground.