Page 12 of The Misfit Mage and His Dashing Devil

I could leave, quick and quiet, silent as the night was deadly—this chaotic invasion made for the perfect distraction. However, a splashy return would make for a hell of a hello to Seattle.

I raced out of the repository. Each inhale brought a taste of carnage. Fresh death permeated every corner of this manor. The aromas of blood and mana and magic slicked my throat, settling deep within my chest. I wanted to savor every satiating scent. I wanted to indulge in all the returning sensations as my essence rooted through every single nerve ending of this new host body. I quaked, obsessed by simply feeling. How I longed to return to my true form, yet this would do as an appetizer to life renewed.

I paused in a hallway, stretching my limbs, cracking every joint of this fresh vessel, and groaned. It’d been so long since I possessed a body, had the freedom to do so, I suppose I’d gotten rusty. The steep learning curve was worth all I’d be able to achieve now. So many things to accomplish…

Taking a deep breath, I sniffed out Magus Remington’s scent amidst the surge of blood and mana bombarding my senses. A few Mythic aromas dwelled among the mages, too. Pathetic dying wretches.

Dead. Inhale. Dead. Inhale. Dead. Inhale.

Each breath helped pinpoint Remington. Deep and filling these lungs entirely, something the former owner never achieved given the thick black tar rotting and coating the thin tissue of these organs. I groaned. It’d been so long since I’d possessed a body. Enjoyed it. Fixed it. Conquered it.

Walter’s conversations held some benefit. I replayed his nauseating descriptions of his leisurely tours through the estate when he needed to stretch his legs before another night of long-winded studies. All the obnoxious oddities he’d stumble upon during his trip helped me navigate this labyrinth. Golem-created marble floors. Mythic aristocracy lined the wall leading out of the East Wing. A dragon-scale armored suit at the entryway of the central estate. Leaping above the staircase, too impatient to bide my time, I rushed ahead. I knew I needed to pause, though, slow my desire, my craving. Arrogance had led to my downfall before; I wouldn’t make the same mistake this eve. Once I reached Remington, I’d gut him quick and brutal. Enough to break him yet allow me to savor his death.

He needed to feel the same pain I endured. The same devastation and heartbreak. Destruction and death without dying. He wouldn’t die tonight. He wouldn’t die for a long time.

I panted outside the study centrally located in the living quarters of the North Wing, exactly as picturesque as Walter described it a dozen times over. Minus the busted, bloody walls, broken trinkets, and the dead bodies. So many freshly snuffed-out lives.

My entire being quivered in excitement. Remington dwelled within. Frightened, perhaps. Shocked and confused, maybe. Bound by the lingering mage magics singing in the air. I’d have to check on him for clarification. How I hoped to find him squirming and in agony.

Stepping over corpses of sentinel mages and infiltrating Mythics, I tightened my core, preparing to unleash a furious and deadly opening blow. I’d hurt him tenfold.

“You, old bastard.” I unflexed, releasing unnecessary energy rather than wasting a shocking surprise strike I no longer required.

No wonder his scent rose above such heated death. Magus Abraham Remington sat in his chair behind his desk, book dropped onto the floor, blood soaking into the open pages. Here he was, impaled by a half dozen blades, dead as a fucking doornail. Even the soft expression in his blank stare seemed peaceful. He’d likely died the instant the blades struck.

“Fuck you, Abe.”

A convergence of superfluous events had offered me a taste of freedom, a chance for our ill-fated reunion, yet he’d found a way to ruin it. He’d ruined everything. I hated him. Every single thing about this magus. A disgusting monster.

I sniffed, ignoring revulsion. Pain. Memories. History. None of it mattered. I withdrew a blood-soaked blade from Remington’s chest. No hilt to hold, but the sharp steel didn’t cut through this flesh imbued with my power.

“What did I wish to taste most of all? Your death. You just had to die before I arrived, didn’t you? Worthless bastard.”

I kicked his chair over, letting his limp body and the remaining blades crash onto the hardwood floor.

“Alas, perhaps I can find a few of your loyal regime wandering the halls.” I grinned, though I’d need to make this quick. A scaled attack such as this would only last so long before the regiments serving the former magus gathered to investigate. “I will squash everything you valued. All that you loved. I’ll rip it to shreds.”

5

5

Walter

I held the railing, slowly taking the steps down the East Wing. The estate had never been this empty, this dark. I stopped walking to catch my breath because every part of my body ached. My face throbbed from the beating. I gripped the railing too hard and winced. Blood trickled out of my palm. I’d sliced it open trying and failing to catch Beelzebub’s orb.

A literal devil had been unleashed in the estate. I needed to find Magus Remington and other sentinels, but I hadn’t seen anyone since fleeing the repository. Thankfully the devil’s possession took time because I’d blacked out after the assault. When I came to, he was still in the process of claiming the body.

I should’ve done something. He was a devil, though. Nothing could kill a devil. Even if he’d been a simple demon, what was I going to do? I couldn’t think of one artifact in the archives capable of containing a devil.

A blade whooshed past me, nearly slashing me as I reached the last step, and I gasped. Before I turned something—someone—slammed into me. A tackle that sent me tumbling down the step, head smacking against the hard floor. A heavy pressure pinned against my back. I squirmed beneath, stuck on my stomach, and too exhausted to break free.

“You look like absolute shit, Walter.” The raspy voice of the mage who’d attacked me held a faint echo. An echo belonging to the devil who’d possessed him. “Given the beating you’ve taken, that face of yours is already looking better. I can fix that, though.”

Pressure lifted off my shoulder blade. I sucked in a shaky breath from the momentary relief, but then the heel of a boot pressed against my cheek. Heavy and sticky. Was Bez standing on my back? My skull throbbed. I screamed. He was a moment from crushing my head.

“What do you want?” I shouted.

“Relax. I was just saying hi.” He lifted his boot. “You’re so emotional.”

---