Xenogregnasus, the dark wizard of
Umptunshire, waited for the train. He checked his watch. 11:43.
The train was late. Again.
Xenogregasnus sighed. The train was always late. He looked up at the
arrivals board; there it was, the 1745 to Blombard, arriving at
Platform 17 at 11:40.
Platform 17. It was always Platform 17.
Greg to his friends closed his eyes and
sighed. He was a 43rd level Dark Wizard, privy to the
secrets of the Tome of Answers, knower of the Knowledge of
Yn-Malsoom, practitioner of the Magic of the Nine-Million Souls. And
the train arriving to Platform 17 was always late.|
Time slowed around Greg, the world took on a dark, hazy hue; glowing phone screens became incredibly vibrant lights in the darkness, but faces refused to be visible in the gloom. Greg's eyes glowed with an unholy inner light, and as his back arched and his toes curled he slowly raised off the ground, hovering in place. The inner light began to leak from his eyes and ears, his mouth opened to emit the light in horrible rivulets, accompanied by the sound of the eternally wailing souls of the nine underworlds known to mankind and one only known to marmots.
Time slowed around Greg, the world took on a dark, hazy hue; glowing phone screens became incredibly vibrant lights in the darkness, but faces refused to be visible in the gloom. Greg's eyes glowed with an unholy inner light, and as his back arched and his toes curled he slowly raised off the ground, hovering in place. The inner light began to leak from his eyes and ears, his mouth opened to emit the light in horrible rivulets, accompanied by the sound of the eternally wailing souls of the nine underworlds known to mankind and one only known to marmots.
With a sudden burst of energy the light
exploded within him, without him, around him, everywhere was the
sickly purple light. As Greg slowly lowered to the ground his eyes
returned to their normal black-red tint, and he wiped the remains of
the purple sludge from his lips. He looked around him, time still
moving at a bare crawl; everything was tinged in the purple glow of
the 53rd Cantrip of the Dread Lord Jungunmir. Junnie had
taught it to him the summer previous, he used it mostly to find the
remote control on movie nights.
Slowly details began to emerge from the
purple, hints of other colors, each signifying a different magical
influence; blues were regular human magic, the kind everyone could do
and usually did without even realizing it. A woman's entire face was
blue, her real face only barely visible beneath the facade she had
created for herself. Another man's left foot was blue. A small child
held a blue ball.
The reds were what he was looking for, the influence of negative feelings and emotions, the demonic influences. They were plentiful but most were small, bench seats that were uncomfortable, a clock that ran slow, a ticket-taker who just didn't like people. Nothing like the kind of directed malice that would be necessary to delay a train on a daily basis just to inconvenience a single person.
The reds were what he was looking for, the influence of negative feelings and emotions, the demonic influences. They were plentiful but most were small, bench seats that were uncomfortable, a clock that ran slow, a ticket-taker who just didn't like people. Nothing like the kind of directed malice that would be necessary to delay a train on a daily basis just to inconvenience a single person.
The colors began to fade; the spell was
powerful but necessarily brief, and has time resumed its normal speed
and the usual colors came back into prominence Greg sighed again.
Same result every day, nothing new coming out to reveal itself,
nothing to hint at the source of his misery.
He was a 43rd level Dark
Wizard.
And one day he would have his revenge.
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