Book 4: Chapter 42: A Whole New Warlock

Book 4: Chapter 42: A Whole New Warlock

Benedict Emerson leaned forward, checking his reflection in the shattered mirror. Even though cracks marred the silvery surface, he could still see his features clearly enough.

And the sight was pleasing.

In the past, Benedict had never been referred to as handsome. His skin was too sallow, his body was thin to the point of looking malnourished, and his complexion had long been marred by acne scars. Now, though, when he looked upon his own reflection, he could see none of that. His skin was still pale, but rather than looking like a waxy corpse, he resembled a vampire – the sexy sort usually played by a teen heartthrob. That impression was supported by his glistening black hair and sharp cheekbones.

Of his acne scars, there was nothing left. Just smooth skin. And his body had filled out quite a bit since he’d escaped that dungeon beneath Easton.

Apparently, getting a Demon Core did the body good.

He took a step back, adjusting his long, leather coat. Beneath it, he wore a simple, white shirt and a pair of black pants – all Simple-Grade, if he had to guess, and elegantly cut. They were the sort of clothes worn by a young and eligible aristocrat.

Like Mr. Darcy in the Pride and Prejudice movie, though without all that English reserve.

“Looking good, master,” hissed a voice beside him. “Very dapper.”

Benedict took a deep breath through his nose, then glanced at the imp. It was tiny – barely bigger than a hare – with huge, bat-like ears, a forked tail, and wickedly sharp teeth. At first, Benedict had considered it a poor substitute for the hordes of undead minions he’d once possessed. However, there were two key differences that had convinced him otherwise.

First, and perhaps most importantly, the imp didn’t lower his Regeneration. Instead, summoning it and binding it to his service had required certain reagents and reserved a defined portion of his Ethera. One was barely even noticeable, but the more imps – or other demonic entities – he bound to his service, the more onerous the burden would become.

The only problem was the talking. Rarely did a moment go by when the stupid thing didn’t have some comment or other. Most were sycophantic, but in the sort of way that Benedict just knew the imp was being sarcastic. Other times, it gave backhanded compliments. Or whispered insults under its breath that were only loud enough for Benedict to hear a word here or there. But what he did hear was enough that he’d actually kicked the little creature across the room on more than one occasion.

“Shut up,” Benedict said. “Or I’ll kick you again.”

“Master is the best at kicking,” the imp said. “Truly a prodigy of the foot.”

Benedict kicked the thing, sending it sailing across the room before it hit a mannequin. It toppled over with a clatter, and despite the noise, he smiled with no small degree of satisfaction.

Until the stupid imp climbed out of the wreckage and gave him a thumbs up.

After that, Benedict had to take a deep breath to keep himself from crossing the room and kicking it again. Once he’d calmed himself, he turned his attention from the imp and looked over the shop. It had once been one of Easton’s most prestigious, and the wares were truly impressive. Or they had been before all the looting. Now, ball gowns, tuxedos, and expensive hats lay trampled on the floor. Most had been burned in the fire that had gutted the place, too.

That his current outfit had survived was a minor miracle.

So, Benedict straightened his coat, then stepped through the shattered window and into the street beyond. He glanced up at the night sky, and in the moonlight, he could see circling carrion birds. They were high enough level that if their intended prey had yet to die, they were more than capable of correcting that issue. More than once, Benedict had been forced to exercise his power to drive them off.

Fortunately, they seemed to have learned to leave him be. The same couldn’t be said for the other survivors.

There weren’t many left.

Apparently, when people had the power of superheroes – even if they were C- and D-Team superheroes – mortality rates of any conflict went through the roof. Especially for the noncombatants who had so few protections against those with martial classes. Benedict had missed the worst of the fighting, but even what he’d seen had been brutal.

Of course, he’d added his own brand of chaos to the mix, using abilities like Heat Blood and Infection to whittle enemies down. By the time they recognized the issue, they were too far gone to recover.

That was Benedict’s preference. For all that he was a willing killer, he didn’t like direct confrontation. That was the advantage of his minions. He could send a horde of undead at the problem and never be forced to get his own hands dirty. Yet, with his new Demon Core, that tactic had been taken from him.

And he’d gotten an imp instead.

Despite the other advantages, he wasn’t certain if it was a good trade. Sure, he was stronger, faster, and more durable than ever before. In addition, his spells were far more potent as well. Yet, the loss of what he considered his class-defining ability was difficult to see as a net positive.

According to the demon Thakon, a single imp was more powerful than a hundred undead minions. And it was only the beginning. Eventually, not only would he be able to summon multiple imps, but he would also be able to add other, more powerful demonic creatures to his budding army.

For now, though, he was vulnerable.

Benedict glanced at the imp. “No. I have a use for him,” he said.

By that point, poor Jerry had already collapsed. However, Heat Blood alone didn’t work nearly as quickly as when it was combined with Infection and Empowered Affliction, which he’d used on the other two would-be bandits. So, even if Jerry was on the verge of incapacitation, he would last a while longer. Hopefully, it would be enough time to accomplish his goal.

Benedict approached the agonized man, whose entire body had locked up. He knelt beside the trembling figure, then tapped him in the head. “I know it hurts. I can stop it. I can make it end. Do you want that?”

Jerry summoned his courage and spat, “Fuck you!”

“No, thank you,” he said politely. The very idea of letting anyone touch him in that way was abhorrent. “You will suffer for quite some time. Hours, at least. Your death will not be quick. As I said, I can end it. I can give you solace. I only need your permission.”

To his credit, Jerry lasted for nearly five minutes before he was begging for mercy. Soon after that, Benedict cast Demonic Pact, and thrust the deal upon the man. “Do you, of free will and without dishonesty, accept my terms?” he asked. “The terms being that I will take your spirit in exchange for ending your suffering.”

Jerry screamed something unintelligible. Apparently, having one’s blood on the verge of boiling was quite painful, even when one took enhanced Constitution and Regeneration into account.

“I need your agreement, Jerry. Please. I want to help you.”

Finally, Jerry shouted, “Yes!”

“Good, good,” Benedict breathed, smiling as he felt the spell complete its cast. The moment it did, a blinding light erupted from Jerry’s chest. Benedict blinked, and when his vision cleared, he saw a tiny, purple crystal hovering a few inches above the now-dead bandit. Benedict grabbed it, and when his fingers wrapped around the crystal, he felt a torrent of energy envelope him.

He struggled against the power of Jerry’s spirit, using every ounce of willpower he possessed to keep it contained in the gem. His struggle only lasted a few seconds, but to him, it felt like an eternity. Once he’d forced it under his control, he used another ability:

Summon: Ritual Dagger

Manifest a dagger used in demonic rituals.

It was a simple but necessary spell, because without it, he would be incapable of casting the second most important spell in his repertoire:

Empower Summoning Circle

Use a contracted spirit to empower a ritual circle drawn with the blood of an enemy.

He could have used a normal blade to cut into Jerry’s corpse, but according to Thakon, the ritual circle would be far more powerful – and more likely to be successful – if he used the summoned Ritual Dagger. Not one to gainsay a clear expert in all things demonic, Benedict had taken the powerful archdemon at his word.

Over the next few minutes, Benedict hacked into Jerry’s corpse, eliciting a spurt of blood that he used to draw a very precise rune upon the ground. Thakon had cautioned him against making any mistakes, so he drew the circle as perfectly as possible. Fortunately, he had enough Dexterity to steady his hands to a supernatural degree.

Once he was finished with the circle, Benedict placed the spirit gem in the center and cast Empower Summoning Circle. The purples crystal once again blazed with light, but it only took a second for that glow to transfer to the circle itself.

That’s when he finally cast the final spell:

Summon Demonling

Using an empowered summoning circle, summon a Tier-1 fel servant and bind the creature to your will. Cooldown based on Ethera attribute. Current: 18.6 Days.

The circle erupted into flames, and the imp clapped in glee. Then, abruptly, the flames petered out, revealing another imp.

“Master,” it said in its rough but high-pitched voice. “I serve.”

“I serve, too!” said the first imp.

And so, Benedict’s demonic army had begun to take shape. The only question was what he intended to do with it. For now, he only wanted to leave Easton behind. But the future? He wasn’t sure. He supposed he would have to take that as it came. So, he rose to his feet, motioned for the imps to follow him, then strode down the street, silently hoping that someone else might try to rob him.