The Wielder of Death Magic

Inside, after the white door, came multiple men and ladies vested in costly attire. Never judge a book by its cover, prior doubts faded in favor of confusion.

“Good to see you, Lord Igna,” waved an unfamiliar face. The butler soon escorted the four upstairs and into a pretty well-maintained room. “-Please wait a moment,” asked the attendant gently tapping another door, the latter briskly opened to a hasty lady. Her steps were followed by a broader man, who, apologized briefly and fled down the stairs.

“My apologies,” said a man in a monocle, “-I never expected my invitation to be answered.” A desk of weird proportions stood in the middle, original works of art from lesser-known artists hung about the premises. The strides lessened for a glimpse, Vanesa took one look and clocked out. The golden rims of the appraisers’ glasses fell harmoniously onto the fair complexion.

“We meet again,” said Igna pulling a seat, “-I was certainly surprised about the exposition. I hear tis from an unknown collector?”

“Yes,” he replied, “-the host is very much keen on war-depicting pieces. I’ve seen the very illustrious battle of Dorchester, painted by Vnaan Dourke, at the current show. The gruesome detail of human deaths sure is haunting, the absurd reality makes me quiver.”

“Very interesting,” he made subtle glances to the unknown man, “-I heard the art gallery was asking to buy a painting from any random source?”

.....

“Yes,” replied the appraiser(same man from the auction) “-I’m currently looking for potential pieces on a new project. The future of Arts in a society influenced by the Arcanum.”

“Long title.”

“Ought to get the message through. Needless to say, when art is brought up for discussion, either one cringes, looks bemused, or outright ignores the matter. Not to say, many love to admire the work of artists. I’m lucky enough to work for Stiol. Pardon the late introductions, I go by Thomas Edson, a private appraiser for Stiol. By private, it just means I’m free to work when I want and how I want.”

“Don’t be so modest. I’ve seen the magazines. The rescuer of the art world. The Battle of Dorchester was a lost piece of which you recovered singlehandedly. I’m sure the sources were dubious and unprecedented. No matter, the exploits stack one onto another. The ability to earnestly judge work and instantly put a price tag has made the replica-filled sea of pieces swimmable. One can say, the limitation of an art critic to be an appraiser was indirectly instated by you. We are sure to believe the people aren’t sham.”

“I admire a man who does his research.”

‘Beautiful,’ thought Thena, “-these pieces resonate deep inside. Are artists in the mortal realm so blessed?’

“Thena,” hailed Igna, “-we’re headed to the expedition.”

“Pardon me,” the crowded room emptied, Thomas personally escorted and gave a tour of the current highlights. “There we have it,” they reached a large room, three vertically hung frames kept the big piece as one. The way the images transposed seamlessly after the blank separating added to the beauty. “The masterpiece of our show.”

Confidence sparked a smug expression, Nike and Thena were lost in admiring the pieces. “Over here,” whispered Igna, “-I’d like to discuss a business proposal.”

“Artifacts for auction?” interjected Thomas.

“No, I have pieces made to be evaluated...”

“My lord, please, this isn’t the time for jests. The market is already filled with talented painters. Slapping an image on a canvas doesn’t equal money. Besides, the painter must be recognized or otherwise be a monster in art, a genius of sorts. I know the argument of beauty is in the eye of the beholder, yet, tis can’t be applied to the real world. Money controls what is valuable, and I’m afraid, Collectors are fixated on old and rust, not new and fresh. They want clout, not pieces. Similar to watches and jewelry, they’ll buy it under the guise of knowledge and investment... between you and me, we know they’re but rich children flaunting their wealth to attract the opposite sex.”

“Very true,” said Igna, “-I don’t wish for money. Take an objective look at a few pieces I have, don’t use the appraisal skill, judge it as an art critic. If possible, slew or burnt it, you have my permission.”

“I don’t get it...” he glanced to Thena, “-well, whatever you say.” Later on, black rectangular bags hoisted atop the stairs to the same office, there, Igna made audience with Thena and Nike.

“What now?” shrugged the unimpressed god, “-I admit, humans have a lot of talent.”

“Just wait and watch,” he said. The paintings were laid one by one, “-have thine pieces ever be subjected to criticism?”

“Subjected to criticism?” her brows knitted, “-I’m the god of arts and craft, my wisdom knowns no bound. If I say it’s good, then it’s good, no argument.”

*Click,* ‘-we shall find out, won’t we?’ smirked he.

Menacing footsteps echoed to the three displayed pieces, ‘-what in the world is this?’

“Lord Igna, I thought you brought paintings, not a child’s scribble. I can’t even make the arguments of it being modern or else avantgarde. There’s no meaning, no context, and no feel, the strokes are lackluster and sloppy. I don’t care if it looks somewhat interesting, the foundation is lacking,” *Appraisal,* “-my skill displays zero, tis worthless. I’m tired of these types of attempts, people see money being thrown at random pieces and think it easy to replicate or mimic. The first one, trash.” So on and so forth, the evaluation concluded with a very angry statement. More he looked, more the blood boiled. “-I’ll stop at two, the third one is... boring.” A crash toppled the work, a sense of dejection fueled his mind and body, the fist attempted to curl, a clear expression of, ‘-who does he think he is?’ carried onward.

“There we have it,” said Igna, “-the god of arts and craft was judged and said to be worthless. How does it feel to be rejected by a lowly human? Don’t mistrust his skill, that man is Thomas Edson, a man blessed with Appraisal, he can objectively identify and price items. Station, prestige, a god?” he cackled, “-how very childish. Here I thought the god of art would at least repay the cost of the paint. No matter, we’re headed back, I have urgent business to attend.”

“I want food,” complained Vanesa, “-pops...”

“And get food too.”

The man froze, no words nor emotions emanated, Nike watched on from the side, baffled and intrigued. The head swayed left and right, Thena to Igna, one held the upper hand over the other.

‘He said my works were worthless,’ a cloud fell and marred a proper outlook onto the world. Silence forced Nike to carry his friend to the vehicle, from which, they returned home.

“Was it necessary?” inquired Nike.

“Whatever do you mean?”

“You know very well...”

“No, it was an earnest choice. Titles easily cloud a person’s judgment. If I were to name you the god of dance, would thee suddenly be the best at dancing?”

“Good point,” she squinted, “-yet, it feels wrong.”

“Call it a proper start.”

The attended business was a live feed of the gambling house. ‘-The damned pest has decided to attack the Raven’s again. Was the 1 million but a carrot leading Kul and Asmodeus. Who’s the conspirator...’

“Master,” displayed éclair, “-I’ve identified the perpetrator. Tis Esvalo, he wishes to storm the building and steal our produce.”

‘A pitiful operation to find the formula,’ he sighed, ‘-toggle the AFR and slay any who enters the premises.’

Sun glared onto the bystander-less streets, ‘-no way I’m letting these two make money off my head...’ vans pulled to the entrance, ‘-anyone who messes with the mob must pay, and especially people who know too much. Why did the boss have to contact them, my compatriots can’t sell their produce... Saku’s the only option, they’ll buy at a very low price, if we negotiate, bullets will fill our heads.’

“Boss, we’re ready to storm.”

“Hold on a moment,” he paused, “-are you sure the building is empty?”

“Yes, Kul and Asmo left for Dostein on orders from the boss.”

“Then who am I to interject,” cigar lit, “-have at it.” The gates of hell opened, the instant the metal flung inward, turrets sprouted out the walls and floor, *bang, bang, bang,* no less than two seconds, five people were shot in the head. “GET DOWN,” ordered he, the cigar fell, ‘-what in the world?’

“THEY HAVE TURRET-” end of the message.

‘What’s this again?’ awoke a man from a bruised lady, “-the red-district workers here are very resilient,’ the curtains parted to a buffed and naked man, ‘-ever since her death, I haven’t enjoyed the company of another woman. I’m an idiot, allowing rage to take over like that,” nonchalantly checking the lady, “-don’t act like a princess, you damned doll. Feelings aren’t necessary for thy line of work. I appreciate the courtesy... big breasts and very nicely curved thighs, a man’s fantasy,’ he lit a cigarette, “-too bad your nothing than a toy for the wealthy,” he inched for a better look. Mouth gagged, hands cuffed to the bed and slashes across the stomach and legs, “-at least have the decency to shave,” he sat and wrapped his hands around her face, “-a very nice specimen indeed,” the cigarette extinguished in her neck, the bed rocked till half an hour later, the lady curled into a precarious position, her face smothered in sweat and fluids, “-workers deserve no respect,” *spat,* “-fuck you.” The unknown figure ambled into the shadowy corridors.

‘The sound of gunfire, this place is very active,’ coat on, the taller than average customer made for the square, there, a grandly priced car waited, ‘-what’s the deal with the shootings?’

The parked vans soon fled the scene, corpses were left to rot. Workers from the neighboring brothel curiously made for the motel from which they helped in taking the bodies inside. “Thank you for the help,” said a demoness in a pretty lady’s body.

“No problem,” replied a human lady, “-us girls must stick as one and survive the harshness of the world.” The world be damned, screw the misogynistic fools who abused the hardened maidens of the night, such went across the demoness’s mind. Regardless of the race, and despite their patronizing look on humans, they felt the same per shared experiences.

Igna reached home finally and dashed for the study. Countless files and information were compiled for review, the truth behind the attack needed to be found. More he read, the clearer grew a vague picture, the four families are allied as one, instead, tis two versus two. Yonak and Vermillion pitted against Leon and Saku, the peace was more of a deadlock as opposed to an understanding. A factor knew too only a few. ‘-Esvalo is directly involved in the invasions. Tis insanity, does he not realize the might Raven hold? Perhaps someone is guiding his actions. The families aren’t involved in Cimier’s affairs. Together, the four could pull enough men and assets to rival their organization. Wait a moment...’ a eureka moment dawned his mind, ‘-Esvalo is associated with Cimier. If I replace said bit of information as to his motive, most of the foolishness becomes clearer. The cunning elapses expectation, a very nicely carved fa?ade. Avoiding suspicious and keeping the factions from banding as one. Cimier’s more resilient as I’ve imagined, time to prove the plausible truth.’