In a dusty, dimly lit room of an abandoned house, a soft glow illuminated a strange scene. A boy sat on a worn sofa, staring in disbelief at a pair of trousers sitting across from him.
The room was filled with stolen jewelry and many other expensive items like pocket watches and trinkets.
On a small table between the sofas, there was a delicate porcelain teacup filled with steaming tea and a plate of biscuits.
*Sip*
Oz took a sip of his tea, his eyes drifting to the biscuits before dipping one into the cup. It melted into the warm tea.
As he chewed, he noticed the candies on the table and popped one into his mouth, the flavors bursting as he ate. Despite the strange situation, the tea-time treats were delightful.
"So, what's your name?"
Oz finally asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.
It was a question that tested his sanity. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined asking such a thing to a pair of trousers, yet here he was, sitting in an abandoned house, drinking tea with them.
Across from him, the trousers appeared deep in thought, as if considering how to respond. They continued to enjoy their own tea and biscuits, as strange as that seemed.
By this point, Oz had given up on trying to understand how a pair of trousers could consume foods and drinks.
*Scribe* *Scribe*
Suddenly, the trousers reached for a piece of paper and a pencil that had been lying on the table. They scribbled something quickly before sliding the paper toward Oz.
[My name is Pinocchio, but just call me Pino. Nice to meet you :).]
Oz blinked in astonishment. Of course, trousers couldn't speak, but they could apparently write, at least.
"My name is Oz."
Oz replied, still struggling to process the absurdity of the situation.
—Hmm, what creature are you?
Oz thought to himself.
Typically, magical creations could only perform simple tasks, moving or following basic commands. But these trousers, seemed to possess their own personality.
"Verinomus Animaviso!"
Oz whispered, casting a spell with a quick wave of his hand.
Suddenly, he saw it, a swirling, miniature spiral galaxy flickering within the soul of the trousers.
—Hmm, so it's an Automaton.
Automatons were creatures crafted through the insertion of verinomus into objects, allowing them to move and think. However, only human verinomus could bring an Automaton to life. Verinomus from other sources, like celestite, cant do the trick.
Because Automatons used human's verinomus, they were considered part of the Dark Arts.
[Thank you, Oz, for freeing me :).]
Pino's note brought Oz back to the present. The trousers seemed genuinely grateful, the little smiley face drawn on the paper emphasizing their joy.
[I was able to move again after you broke the curse from that damn inquisitor.]
Suddenly, it all clicked. Oz remembered stealing these trousers from someone some time ago. He hadn't thought much of it at the time, but after discarding them, the trousers had come to life.
The curse that had immobilized Pino must have lifted when the trousers had changed ownership to Oz.
"So, what are you doing here?"
Oz asked, now genuinely curious about Pino's strange journey.
[Academy! My father sent me on an adventure! I want to go to the academy, just like you, Oz!]
Oz stared at the note, confused for a moment. He glanced back at the trousers, wondering what kind of "father" they were talking about.
—An Automaton's creator?
"Um, but walking trousers will draw a lot of attention…"
Oz pointed out hesitantly.
Not only would Pino attract attention from ordinary people, but more dangerously, from Inquisitors. Automatons carried a dark stigma, even if Pino himself wasn't evil.
[One day, if I become human, I want to join the Academy! :).]
"How have you avoided detection by wizards?"
Oz asked, raising an eyebrow skeptically. It was almost impossible to avoid the eyes of the hundreds of wizards that live in Mistheaven, yet Pino had somehow managed to slip through unnoticed.
[My father taught me many things! I can fly, disappear, and run as fast as the wind!]
Pino's writing was filled with enthusiasm, and as they scribbed their note, they doodled little drawings of themselves sneaking past the guards in Stellarkeep, flying over their heads.
—Hahaha, no wonder so many dark wizards can get into this place. Their security is a joke.
Pino had even drawn a little sketch of how they had snuck onto the fifth floor, hiding inside the luggage of one of the students, evading detection entirely.
[Pocket watch. There's a ghost in Oz's pocket watch.]
"What? A ghost?"
Oz pulled a pocket watch from the pocket of his robe. It was Eben's pocket watch. For over a week, Oz had been trying to uncover the secrets of the pocket watch, but he hadn't found anything yet.
Pino reached for the watch. After examining it briefly, Pino turned the small brass dial, setting the time to 00:00, then pressed the button on top of the watch.
*Click*
*Tick* *Tick* *Tick*
The hands on the pocket watch began to spin rapidly, faster and faster. A thin stream of smoke began to emerge from the watch, swirling in the air before forming into three ghostly figures.
[Ahem... How can we assist you, master???]
The three ghosts, their voices overlapping, spoke to Pino. Their confused expressions suggested they were unsure why they had been summoned by a pair of trousers. The sight was so strange that Oz had to rub his eyes, at the thought of ghosts talking to a pair of trousers.
Pino handed the pocket watch back to Oz and gestured for him to press the button once more.
*Click*
[How can we assist you, master?]
This time, the ghosts turned their attention toward Oz, hovering silently as they awaited his response.
"First of all... who are you guys?" Oz asked.
[Allow us to introduce ourselves. I am Past, the one to my right is Present, and that one over there is Future.]
The ghost in the white robe spoke, his voice and face were equally puzzling, a disorienting mixture of youth and old age.
Present, who had a long, silver beard flowing down to his waist and wore a forest green robe, nodded in greeting.
Future stood silently, cloaked in black like a grim reaper, his face hidden in the shadow of his hood.
In this world, the existence of ghosts was common. However these ghosts weren't the spirits of the dead roaming aimlessly. Rather, they were products of human magic, creations bound by sorcery.
Specifically, when someone was near death but held onto deep grudges or had unresolved matters, certain wizards trapped their souls to prevent them from passing on to the afterlife. These souls were then tied to objects, cursed to linger in the physical world as ghosts.
In the case of these three, their souls were bound to the pocket watch that now rested in Oz's hand. If the watch were destroyed, their spirits would be freed and pass on to the afterlife.
"Why are the three of you bound to this watch?"
Oz asked, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.
[When we were alive, we were known as The Carols. We were famous seers.]
Past's voice was small and childlike but instantly shifted to that of an old man.
[Unfortunately, we could not foresee our own demise at the hands of a dark wizard who sought to use our power for his own gain. He trapped our souls and bound us to this watch, turning us into ghosts.]
This time, Future spoke with a deep, echoing voice. There was a weight to his words that suggested frustration.
[We will finally be freed after performing 1,000 divinations. We've completed 936 so far, meaning there are only 64 more before we can pass on.]
Present added, his tone weary as though they had been carrying this burden for far too long.
"Oh, seer ghosts? No wonder Eben panicked when he lost this pocket watch."
Oz muttered to himself, his thoughts racing.
"Alright, let's see what you've got. Try to read my fortune."
The three ghosts exchanged glances before nodding in unison. Together, they raised their ghostly hands into the air, each of them emitting a soft glow.
"Finally, I can get a divination!"
He thought, his heart pounding with anticipation.
[…]
But then, without warning, the light from the ghosts' hands flickered and dimmed, leaving only an awkward silence.
The ghosts lowered their hands, looking embarrassed.
"So… what's the result?"
Oz asked, his voice shaky.
For as long as he could remember, he had always failed at divination, no matter how hard he tried. He had convinced himself he was simply untalented.
[Um… this is embarrassing.]
Past said, his face crumpling into an awkward frown.
[It's the first time we've ever failed to perform a divination for someone.]
The ghosts seemed to feel shame, their pride visibly wounded. Never in all their years, whether alive or as ghosts, had they encountered someone they couldn't read.
[Since the Stargazer Dark Lord performed her ritual, our divinations have been less reliable.]
Future admitted, his voice low and somber.
Oz's expression darkened immediately. The brief spark of hope was gone, replaced by a wave of frustration.
"Well then, keep trying until you get it right. You're ghosts, you don't need sleep, do you? Muehehe."
This time, Oz's grin was wide and sinister, his expression now far more terrifying than that of the three ghosts standing before him.
[A-a-alright. We'll try a different method.]
The Ghost of Past said nervously.
Once again, the three ghosts raised their hands, and bright light burst forth from their fingers, illuminating the room with a blinding glow.
"Will it work this time?"
Oz's eyes wide with wonder, much like a child witnessing a magic trick for the very first time. His heart raced with anticipation.
[I am the Ghost of Past. This time, we will travel back in time to witness the beginning of a tale.]
The bright light slowly dimmed, and as it faded, Oz found himself in a new scene. He was inside an orphanage filled with children, most of them ragged and dirty, their faces pale and sad.
Among dozens of children, one figure stood out to Oz. It was someone he recognized all too well.
"Oliver Twist."
Oz's own body now appeared translucent, as if he had become a ghost himself. His body able to pass through objects as though he were nothing more than mist. He realized he was unable to touch or interact with anything, much less communicate with the people around him.
[This is your past. No matter what you do, the past cannot be altered. It has already been written.]
—This ghost must be blind. My face doesn't resemble Oliver's at all.
Despite the success of the divination, Oz felt a disappointment. It wasn't his past that the ghosts had revealed but Oliver's.
"Oh well, let's keep going."
Even so, Oz's curiosity got the better of him. He had never learned about Oliver's past. The most important thing he knew was that his master had taken Oliver's verinomus and given it to Oz.
The scene revealed Oliver's younger years. He was one of the many children with no family to claim him, left to survive in the harsh conditions of the orphanage.
Oz saw Oliver sitting at a small wooden table with two other children. One was older, his face sharp and hungry, while the other was younger, his eyes wide with fear.
Oliver appeared to be around ten years old, his expression a mixture of innocence and misery.
"Ugh, this gruel isn't enough to fill my belly."
The older child complained, stirring the thin soup in his nearly empty bowl with a look of discontent.
"How about we ask Mr. Bumble for more gruel? We'll draw straws to decide who goes."
In the older boy's hand were three pieces of straw. Two long and one short. The children each drew one.
When Oliver picked his straw, his heart sank as he saw it was the short one. He had no choice but to approach Mr. Bumble.
"Excuse me, sir. Could we have some more gruel? The portions are too small for us."
Oliver's voice trembled with fear, and as expected, Mr. Bumble's eyes flared with anger.
"You ungrateful wretch. We give you free food, and you have the nerve to ask for more? Get back to your seat!"
Oliver's small frame shuddered under Mr. Bumble's furious gaze. With a heavy heart and a sad expression, he returned to the table, where the other children laughed at his misfortune.
—If it were me, I would've beaten those kids to a pulp by now. Or better yet, I'd slip some rat poison into their gruel to get rid of them.
[Let's skip ahead a little,]
The Ghost of Past said, sensing Oz's discontent.
*Whoosh*
Once more, a bright light surrounded Oz's vision. When it cleared, the scene had shifted.
Oliver was now in a different orphanage, which was cleaner and better maintained.
Mr. Bumble was now take five coins from a caretaker dressed in fine clothes.
"Fagin's Orphanage."
The name echoed in Oz's mind.
This was the orphanage owned by his master. From the outside, it looked like a typical orphanage, but Oz knew better.
Behind its clean appearance, Fagin's Orphanage was a cover for dark experiments.
The children there were put through harsh treatments involving human transmutation, a horrible practice that almost always ended badly for those involved.
"So, your name is Oliver?"
Asked Mr. Sowerberry.
"Yes, sir."
Oliver replied, his voice soft but clear.
Mr. Sowerberry inspected Oliver carefully, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction after examining the boy's verinomus, which contained a remarkable amount of starlight.
Oliver, though unaware, possessed the qualities of a future Grand Wizzard. Mr. Sowerberry no doubt saw the boy as a prize, a gift worthy of presenting to his master.
—If only Oliver had gone somewhere else. He might have had a chance to become a great wizzard.
*Whoosh*
The scene transitioned to a bustling, vibrant city, filled with noise, vendors, and hurried footsteps.
Oliver, accompanied by several other children, moved swiftly through the crowd.
"Rapio!"
With a swift movement, Oliver whispered the spell and extended his hand toward a passerby.
The spell was basic, but effective. Unlike the more advanced Rapio Subtilis, which could be cast from a distance, this one required direct contact.
Oliver's fingers brushed against the man's coat, and with a faint shimmer of magic, a pouch of coins slipped into his hand unnoticed.
At Fagin's orphanage, the children were not only taught magic, but they were also trained to use it for crime. Stealing, conning, and other illicit activities were routine.
"You little thief!"
A deep voice boomed from behind Oliver, breaking through the marketplace.
The man whose pouch he had just stolen turned and grabbed Oliver by the wrist.
Caught in the act.
In moments, the city guards arrived. Their iron-clad boots echoed as they pushed through the crowd to seize Oliver.
Within hours, Oliver found himself in a cell. But Fagin's orphanage wasted no time in acting. They knew the value Oliver held, particularly his verinomus.
Gold coins exchanged hands, and Oliver was released just as swiftly as he had been taken. The police was bribed, let him go without a second thought.
—Of course they'd go to any lengths to free him. Oliver is too valuable with his verinomus.
*Whoosh*
The scene changed again, this time wrapping Oz in a bright, blinding light. When it faded, he saw an older version of Oliver. Now around 15 years old, Oliver stood inside a grand, well-furnished house.
The contrast with the orphanage was clear. Shiny floors, fancy rugs, and the warm light from the fireplace showed wealth and comfort.
[This is the present. Look at what you've achieved now.]
The Ghost of Present hovered nearby, watching alongside Oz.
Oliver was seated in a lavish room, accompanied by two older men, their faces friendly and warm.
"Thank you, Mr. Brownlow and Dr. Losberne."
Oliver said, his voice brimming with gratitude.
"You both helped me escape from Fagin's orphanage. I don't know what would have happened to me without your help."
"Hohoho, there's no need to thank me. You're my adopted son now!"
Mr. Brownlow chuckled, patting Oliver on the back. He then glancing at the paper in Oliver's hand.
"Oliver, I heard you've been accepted into Mistheaven."
Dr. Losberne said.
"Congratulations. I'm thrilled for you."
—Wait a minute! How did Oliver get accepted into Mistheaven? He was supposed to have died at Fagin's orphanage.
The reality unfolding before him seemed wrong, completely different with the truth Oz knew. He had heard nothing of Oliver ever escaping, being adopted, or getting into Mistheaven Academy.
"Ghost of Present."
Oz asked, his voice tense with confusion.
"Why is the present I'm seeing so different from what actually happened?"
The Ghost of Present hesitated for a moment before responding
[… I'm not sure either. But, as I mentioned earlier, our divinations have been unreliable since the Stargazer Dark Lord performed her ritual.]
—Could this be an alternate present? A reality that might have been if Oliver had escaped Fagin's orphanage?
In the room, the conversation between Oliver and his companions continued, though Oz's attention remained divided, his thoughts still puzzling over the situation.
"I heard your half-brother died on his journey to the New World."
Dr. Losberne remarked as he sipped from a fine cup.
Oliver's face darkened slightly, but he nodded.
"My half-brother wanted our father's inheritance. He tried to erase me to secure it for himself."
Mr. Brownlow sighed and shook his head.
"Such greed. Even after all this time, it never ceases to amaze me."
Oliver was the illegitimate son of Mr. Leeford, a powerful and wealthy man.
Legally, Oliver had rights to a share of his father's estate. But Edward, his half-brother, had sent Oliver to orphanage to erase his claim and take everything for himself.
—Edward Leeford.
Oz thought, narrowing his eyes. That name sounded familiar. He had crossed paths with him once, perhaps during one of his visits to Fagin's orphanage. He hadn't paid much attention to the man then.
As far as Oz knew, Edward was still alive. Yet in this present, it appeared Edward had died.
—Hmm, I'll need to check on this later. If Edward is still alive, then this divination truly has failed.
*Whoosh*
Once again, the white light engulfed Oz, carrying him to a new vision. The surroundings shifted dramatically, and now he stood amidst the ruins of a city, the sky above burning red.
Oliver, now visibly older, around 20 years old, stood in the desolated city.
—Yep, that's definitely Oliver, not me.
Oliver wasn't alone. Amidst the rubble, another familiar figure emerged.
—David.
Both of them and a few others Oz didn't recognize were injured. Their bloody clothes and tired faces showed they had been fighting hard against someone or something.
Around them, the ruins of the city were littered with bodies, both human and monster.
Dark smoke emerges into the air from the collapsed buildings, and flames flickered around the streets.
It was clear that the city had been under attack by a horde of nightmarish creatures.
"Monstrosity Dark Lord, we won't let you destroy this city as you please!"
David's voice rang out, firm and resolute, though his body trembled from both exhaustion and fury. His eyes locked on something that towered over them, nearly three meters tall.
Standing before them was a grotesque figure, a fusion of mismatched human parts sewn together.
Metal wires, bolts, and pieces of iron protruded from the monster's torso, sparking with electricity every few moments.
The monstrosity stood on legs uneven in length, its massive arms covered in stitches, and its face was a hideous amalgamation of several human faces grafted together.
Its eyes, some of them clearly stolen from different people, glowed with electric blue light.
The creature that David and Oliver faced was none other than the 124th Dark Lord—Frankenstein, a vile creation born from the failed experiments of human transmutation.
His followers, much like their master, practiced forbidden magic, grafting body parts from humans and even magical beasts to strengthen themselves, creating abominations of flesh and metal.
Frankenstein's creation stemmed from Transmutation followers who, in their greed for power, sought to create soldiers from human corpses.
Yet their experiment had gone terribly wrong. Frankenstein rebelled against his creators, slaughtering many in his wake.
While Frankenstein feared the Transmutation Dark Lord, the Monstrosity Dark Lord harbored a deep hatred for all of humanity, for they were the ones who had turned him into the horror he had become.
"Foolish humans. You will never defeat me."
Frankenstein growled, his voice deep and broken.
"Even if you manage to destroy me, the 1st Dark Lord, Saint Germain, will rise again, and he will erase your pathetic existence! Hahaha!"
Frankenstein's laughter echoed like thunder through the shattered remains of the city, sending chills through the survivor. Despite the odds, Oliver and David did not falter.
"We won't give up."
Oliver shouted, wiping the blood from his face, his body barely able to stand.
"Come on, David! Even if we don't make it out alive, we'll take down this Dark Lord before us!"
David gritted his teeth, raising his wand with trembling hands. Oliver, beside him, also summoned a blazing wall of fire. Together, the two mages charged forward, unleashing every bit of strength they had left in their bodies.
But just as the battle was about to reach its climax, Oz's vision was once again engulfed by the blinding white light.
*Whoosh*
He found himself back in the abandoned house's dusty room, sitting exactly where he had started.
"Hey, it was just getting exciting!"
Oz yelled in frustration, glaring at the three ghosts. He felt like he'd been watching an action movie, only to have it abruptly switch channels.
[Ugh, we're sorry. We can't see any further into the future.]
The ghosts looked almost embarrassed as they began to fade back into the shadows.
The three spirits quickly dissolved into clouds of smoke, vanishing into the pocket watch Oz held in his hand.
"Oi! Come back! I hate cliffhangers!"
*Click* *Click* *Click*
Oz pressed the buttons on the pocket watch repeatedly, but the ghosts didn't reappear. He sighed in frustration.
"Ah, this thing's broken!"
He cursed under his breath, tossing the watch aside on the dusty table. The frustration of having the vision cut short left him restless.
"Hmm, since Oliver is already dead, does that mean the future I saw isn't valid?"
As he pondered, Oz finished the last sip of his cold tea and reached for a biscuit on the table, munching thoughtfully.
"Divining the future has become unreliable. Perhaps I should ask about Stargazer Dark Lord to my master."
Oz muttered to himself. His eyes narrowed with suspicion as he thought about the mess the divination had shown him.
In truth, Oz didn't care much about the fate of the world. His only concern was staying alive, doing what was necessary to survive. But hearing about the end of the world and the return of 1st Dark Lord had stirred something in him.
Curiosity, perhaps?
Without realizing it, Oz glanced at the clock on the wall. It was already 11 PM, and curfew would soon begin.
If he didn't return to his dorm, Sam, August, and Nathan would no doubt start searching for him.
"Looks like I should head back. It's almost curfew. Stay safe, Pino. Don't get caught."
[You be careful too, Oz. The master of that red flies is still out there.]
Oz froze, eyes widening at the message that appeared from Pino.
"What? Do you know who it is?"
[Of course I know. I even saw that bloody rituals from beginning to end.]
"Tell me then, who is it?"
*Scribe* *Scribe*
The scribble from Pino made Oz's expression darken.
"No way…"