Time halted. Voices vanished. Space plunged into darkness. Suddenly, a crack materialized out of nowhere, wide enough for only one person to pass through. John, holding the remnants of the Silver Wick sword, which was now reduced to a third of its original size, observed as the super magic crystal that once adorned its hilt had vanished, leaving behind a majestic purple hue created by magical power.
Taking a step forward, John pondered the aftermath of the massive explosion he had survived. He had expected to be severely injured, yet it seemed the magic had spared him from the worst. The magic crystal embedded in his gauntlet was destroyed, and as he tentatively inserted the Silver Wick sword into the crack, it disappeared without a trace. It was as if the sword had never existed. Trapped in this unchanging space, John realized his only option was to move forward or remain lost forever.
Taking a deep breath, John tightly gripped his wand. He noticed a golden mark beneath the skin of his left hand, indelible and mysterious, contrasting with a black mark on his other hand. With no other choice, he stepped towards the crack.
Beyond the crack lay an expanse of nothingness, devoid of any sense of direction, with countless shattered mirrors scattered in every direction. If the Misty Illusion was akin to minimalist art, this place was its complex and ornate counterpart. Walking on the mirrors produced a creaking sound, yet they held firm under John's weight. Without any indication of an exit, John had no choice but to press on, realizing his sword was nowhere to be found. "Could it have ended up somewhere else?" he wondered, choosing a direction to explore.
After an indeterminate amount of time, John encountered a mirror. Upon touching it, the reflection shifted, revealing a disheveled man feverishly adding ingredients to a cauldron. His face twisted in madness, he severed his own hand in a fit of rage after an insult from his wife, who fled in terror. Undeterred, the man continued his alchemical pursuits for ten years, dying without achieving his desired result.
John, intrigued, touched another mirror. This one showed a different alchemist, one who led a seemingly perfect life filled with love and kindness. Yet, this man too was consumed by his secret alchemical endeavors, ultimately dying alone in his hidden laboratory.
Mirror after mirror, John witnessed the lives of countless alchemists, each driven by an insatiable quest, regardless of their fortunes or miseries. Suddenly, a mirror revealed not a reflection, but a man looking directly at John with a knowing half-smile.
"John Wick, I'm glad you've arrived," the figure spoke, stepping out of the mirror. He was adorned in feathers, resembling a large white bird, and appeared to be in his twenties, holding an oak cane.
"You know me?" John asked, wary of the stranger.
The man smiled warmly. "Of course, I know you. I know all alchemists, but you are the most unique among them. You've reached this place in the blink of an eye."
"Shining?" John queried, puzzled yet intrigued by the mysterious figure's knowledge and the enigmatic realm he had stumbled into. John followed the mysterious figure, his mind racing with the implications of their conversation. "Time seems to jump erratically here. The last visitor I saw has long since turned to dust, and yet, you stand before me," the figure remarked, his eyes shimmering with a pink hue that seemed to pierce into John's very soul. They stopped before a door that appeared quite ordinary, yet it felt both in harmony and out of place within the peculiar space they occupied.
The man turned to John, offering a smile that held centuries of secrets. "You are among the rare few who have found their way here over the years. You may call me Alchemist Zero. And this," he gestured towards the door with a gravity that belied its simple appearance, "is known as the Gate of Things. Only those who have mastered the pinnacle of alchemy can hope to cross its threshold."
John examined the door, finding nothing remarkable about it at first glance. Yet, driven by an insatiable curiosity, he employed his insight. Suddenly, the door transformed before his eyes, revealing a maelstrom of chaotic symbols that assaulted his mind. Staggering back, John gasped for air, overwhelmed by the door's hidden complexities.
"You've glimpsed the true nature of the Gate of Things. Impressive," Alchemist Zero remarked with a nod of approval. "Go forth, for what lies beyond is your reward. Be it magic, wealth, or power, it can all be yours."
His words were enticing, yet John, with a penetrating gaze, asked, "And the price?"
Alchemist Zero was momentarily taken aback by the question. "Ah, you are astute. Many forget to ask. The price... it varies. It could be a limb, your sight, perhaps even your very soul."
As he mentioned the soul, a sly smile crept across Alchemist Zero's face. "But such things seem trivial to someone of your caliber. The Gate of Things offers rewards beyond even the Sorcerer's Stone. Few would resist its call."
John stood silent, contemplating the door. The Gate of Things represented the zenith of alchemical achievement, capable of granting any desire at a cost. An equivalent exchange was demanded, a fundamental principle of alchemy that John was all too familiar with.
His thoughts drifted to his primary goal - a way back. The Gate of Things might offer a solution, but at what cost? As he approached the door, Alchemist Zero's eyes gleamed with a mocking sneer.
Pausing, John turned, "The highest reward for an alchemist, you say?"
"Indeed," Alchemist Zero replied, confident.
Yet, John's next words caught him off guard. "Have you ever encountered Nicolas Flamel?"
The mention of the name startled Alchemist Zero. Seizing the moment, John's movements became a blur as he lunged forward, his wand reversing in his grip. Alchemist Zero barely had time to react before a sharp crack echoed, and the wand's tip pierced through him like a venomous strike.
As Alchemist Zero collapsed, disbelief and rage contorted his features. "Do you realize what you've done?" he gasped, clutching at his neck, his voice a raspy whisper.
John's response was cold, laced with disdain. "Did you forget our encounter outside this realm?"
With a flick of his wand, a drop of inky black substance fell to the ground, not blood, but something far darker. Before being drawn into this strange space, John had glimpsed a face marked by a curse, a face belonging to Extis, the creator of the Dementors. This encounter was no coincidence, and John knew that magic, in this realm, was beyond his reach. Yet, this realization brought him a sense of peace. In a place where magic was nullified, John found an odd sense of sanctuary.
"Nicolas Flamel refined the art of alchemy beyond what many thought possible," John mused, his thoughts turning to the legendary alchemist. "But even he understood the importance of balance and the dangers of seeking power without considering the cost."
As Alchemist Zero lay defeated, John's resolve hardened. He knew the path ahead would be fraught with peril, but the encounter had reaffirmed a crucial lesson: the greatest power lies not in what one can take, but in what one can resist. The Philosopher's Stone is undoubtedly the pinnacle of alchemy, and its creator, Nicolas Flamel, is hailed as the greatest alchemist of all time. It was almost laughable to think he would be present here. John's face twisted into a smirk, clearly doubting the credibility of Extis's claim. It seemed impossible to him that Nicolas Flamel could still be alive, which explained Extis's shock upon hearing Flamel's name mentioned. Caught in his deception, Extis's expression darkened momentarily before he let out a mocking laugh.
"John Wick, it is thanks to you that I found my way here, and it is also thanks to you that I have been awakened once more," Extis declared, his arms unraveling like cocoons, with black silk threads draping from his body. He raised an eyebrow, a sarcastic smile playing on his lips. "As a token of my gratitude, I shall turn you into my newest masterpiece."
"There's no need for that," John retorted with a sneer, his grip on his wand tightening. He thought to himself how this old trickster had masqueraded as an NPC to deceive him into unlocking the door. "Let's see if I can put an end to your schemes!"
_________
If you are tired of reading I also have this converted to an audio novel on my youtube
https://www.youtube.com/@NovelAudioForge/featured
Direct Link to playlist
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f_Hg-qsW4rM&list=PLKskshYG-OcPTR4-Nw7IWFEBZm07D8pBV&ab_channel=NovelAudioForge