Jean-Philippe squinted at the smoggy skyline of Chicago as they whizzed past skyscrapers and billboards advertising everything from potion-infused coffee to enchanted self-repairing cars.
The city's mix of mundane and magical industries thrived amidst chaos, and Louis's motorcycle weaved seamlessly between mundane cars and sleek magical vehicles, their engines humming with runic power.
"Always hiding in the woods."
Jean-Philippe muttered, tugging at the collar of his trench coat as the cold October air bit at his skin.
"Do all Klan offshoots think they're druids or something?"
Louis chuckled.
"Nah. Druids actually care about forests. These guys just want somewhere quiet to do their creepy little rituals without anyone noticing."
He gunned the engine, the runes along the frame flaring briefly.
"Guess we're lucky. No one's tailing us—yet."
Jean-Philippe glanced over his shoulder out of habit.
"At least, no one obvious."
"Paranoia suits you, Phil."
Louis smirked, accelerating as they slipped onto a highway off-ramp toward the city's northern edge.
"And hey, try to enjoy this ride! Not every day you get to fly over a mess this big."
Jean-Philippe groaned.
"Remind me again why we didn't just teleport into the woods?"
"Because."
Louis said, his grin widening.
"You love blending in, remember? Plus, Chicago's teleportation wards are a nightmare—crisscrossed with so many layers of protection, even I wouldn't dare mess with them."
Jean-Philippe rolled his eyes.
"Convenient excuse."
Louis only laughed louder as they left the urban sprawl behind, the towering glass-and-steel skyline giving way to patches of woodland and abandoned industrial zones. Soon, the heavy din of the city faded, replaced by the low rumble of the enchanted motorcycle.
They entered a quiet stretch of forest bordering Lake Michigan, where the trees grew thick, and the underbrush swallowed the faint trails crisscrossing the area. Louis slowed the bike to a crawl and eventually came to a stop, the engine sputtering out with a soft chime.
Jean-Philippe slid off the motorcycle, brushing stray leaves from his coat.
"Alright. What are the odds there's a Klan hideout nearby?"
Louis leaned on the handlebars, chewing gum with an obnoxious pop.
"Pretty high. I've heard some chatter from my contacts—these guys love sticking close to ley lines, and this forest sits right on top of a pretty fat one."
"Ley lines."
Jean-Philippe sighed.
"Why is it always ley lines? Can't these fools ever pick a normal location?"
Louis shrugged.
"Easier to fuel rituals. Plus, ley lines help them cloak their wards."
Jean-Philippe tapped his wand against his leg, considering the landscape.
"We should be close, then. But if their wards are active, we'll need more than a simple detection spell to get in unnoticed."
Louis grinned mischievously.
"Good thing I brought some tricks."
He reached into the side compartment of the motorcycle and pulled out a pair of enchanted goggles.
"Wear these. Should let you see any cloaking runes they've hidden around the place."
Jean-Philippe took the goggles reluctantly and slipped them on. The lenses tinted the world in strange hues, with faint threads of magical energy now visible between the trees. He scanned the area—and there it was. Just a few meters away, almost invisible beneath a tangle of roots, was the shimmer of a ward line.
"Got it."
He whispered.
"Perimeter ward, basic repulsion with an illusion overlay. Easy enough to break. And the dozens of blackout wardstones won't cause issues."
Louis joined him, slipping on his own pair of goggles.
"Nice. Now let's see what they're hiding."
With a flick of his wand, Jean-Philippe traced a counter-sigil in the air, muttering an incantation under his breath. The ward shimmered, then dissolved into thin wisps of smoke.
"Voilà."
He said with a smirk.
"Lead the way, Louis."
They pushed through the dense underbrush, following the faint traces of magic that pulsed deeper into the woods. After a few minutes, they found themselves standing at the edge of a clearing, and there, nestled among the trees, was an old stone chapel—weathered, overgrown, and suspiciously out of place.
Louis whistled low.
"Yup. Classic Klan hideout."
Jean-Philippe narrowed his eyes.
"This is too well-hidden for a coincidence."
He crouched, tracing patterns in the dirt, and frowned.
"These runes… they're recent. Someone's been reinforcing the wards."
Louis leaned closer, scanning the chapel's walls with his goggles.
"And look at that—more wards inside. They've layered them, like they're expecting company."
"Or hiding something very important."
Jean-Philippe murmured.
He stood and adjusted his coat, his grip tightening around his wand.
"Alright. We go in quietly. No flashy spells unless absolutely necessary. If we spook them, they'll bolt."
Louis grinned, drawing his own wand.
"Quiet is my middle name."
Jean-Philippe shot him a flat look.
"Your middle name is trouble, Louis."
They moved toward the chapel like shadows, silent and deliberate. As they reached the entrance, Jean-Philippe placed a hand on the door and whispered another incantation. The ancient wood creaked open without a sound, revealing a dimly lit interior.
The air inside was thick with the scent of old incense and stagnant magic. A faint humming sound echoed from somewhere below—a basement, perhaps, or a hidden chamber.
Jean-Philippe exchanged a glance with Louis.
"Stay sharp. Something isn't right."
Louis nodded, the playful glint in his eyes replaced with focused determination. Together, they crept deeper into the chapel, following the hum of magic like hunters on the trail of prey.
Whatever was waiting for them in this forgotten hideout, Jean-Philippe knew one thing for certain—it was going to lead to more trouble.
And just maybe, that was exactly what he was hoping for.
They advanced, climbing the stone steps from the basement to a chamber room. The paint of the church was faded, yet its architecture retained a silent dignity. A chill permeated the air, and the light cast by their spell stretched farther than natural.
Louis halted, his attention sharpening as a faint sound brushed his ears. It was a low murmur, akin to a whisper, carrying a tone that unsettled his nerves.
"Phil, you hear that?"
Louis whispered, his voice tight with unease.
Jean-Philippe nodded, narrowing his eyes as he scanned the room. The distant whispers floated through the air like a faint, unsettling melody—words half-formed, slipping in and out of comprehension.
They exchanged a wary glance, then advanced cautiously toward the source of the sound. As they walked, the temperature seemed to drop, and the shadows along the walls stretched unnaturally long, as if alive and watching.
The whispers grew clearer with every step. Disjointed phrases swirled in the cold air:
"The waters welcome... surrender the mind... join the eternal current..."
Louis shivered.
"That... that doesn't sound friendly."
They reached a set of stone steps leading downward. Ancient water stains streaked the crumbling walls, and a damp smell permeated the air. As they descended, the whispers became more coherent, tugging at their minds like ghostly fingers.
At the bottom of the stairs, they found themselves in a large, partially flooded chamber. Murky water lapped against the walls, and the wooden pews from what was once a church now lay rotting in the stagnant pool. In the center of the room, something shifted.
Emerging from the dark waters was an enormous, serpentine creature—an Aboleth. Its eel-like body writhed slowly, gleaming with a slick mucus that shimmered in the dim light. Long fins along its back rippled as it turned its lamprey-like mouth toward them, revealing rows of jagged, jawless teeth. Three alien eyes glowed with an eerie, greenish-blue light, each filled with an unnatural intelligence far older than anything human.
The whispers became a deafening presence in their minds:
"Come... become one... forsake the land and breathe the deep..."
Jean-Philippe's stomach turned as he felt the creature's psychic influence pressing against his mind.
"Phil..."
Louis's voice was shaky.
"What the hell is that thing?"
Jean-Philippe's jaw tightened.
"Aboleth."
He muttered.
"An ancient psionic nightmare. It doesn't just kill—it enslaves."
He pointed to the water, his voice urgent.
"Its mucus transforms anything it touches, turning them into mindless thralls. We need to get out of here—now."
Louis gave a nervous laugh, trying to cover his rising panic.
"Why do I feel like you're understating how bad this is?"
Without a word, Jean-Philippe reached into his satchel, pulling out several explosive concoctions.
"No time to explain. Run!"
With a flick of his wrist, he hurled the bottles into the chamber. The enchanted explosives hissed as they ignited, sending plumes of flame and water spraying into the air. The Aboleth let out a mind-wrenching screech that echoed through their minds, and the brothers bolted up the stairs.
"Dammit, Phil!"
Louis shouted as they raced through the narrow passage.
"You could've warned me before throwing bombs in an enclosed space!"
"Just keep running!"
Jean-Philippe barked, his eyes wide with urgency.
"If that thing catches us, we'll wish we were dead!"
As they emerged into the cold night, the forest trembled as the chapel's ancient stone walls exploded outward, sending debris and dust billowing into the night air. The Aboleth, its grotesque body glistening under the moonlight, slithered through the ruins with terrifying speed.
Its massive form rippled like a nightmare, the rows of lamprey teeth glinting ominously as it hissed, the sinister whispers still echoing in the minds of the fleeing investigators.
"So many humans... Join me... Serve eternally..."
Jean-Philippe cursed under his breath, dragging Louis farther into the forest.
"This is not the kind of night I signed up for."
"Yeah? Me neither!"
Louis growled, glancing over his shoulder at the abomination slithering in pursuit.
"Why do you always have to blow things up, Phil? Couldn't you just sneak away like a normal person?"
Jean-Philippe shot him a glare.
"If you want to have a chat with an ancient psionic fish, be my guest!"
He spun on his heel and aimed his wand at the crumbling path behind them.
"Seventh-tier, Flame Eruption!"
A wall of flame erupted from the ground, briefly slowing the Aboleth.
The monstrous creature hissed, water vaporizing against its scales as it writhed, searching for a way through the flames.
Then, from the treeline ahead, dark figures appeared. Black-clad, with glowing, lifeless eyes, they moved with eerie precision—Liam and his homunculi, their steps deliberate, as though they had been waiting for this exact moment.
"Well, isn't this just getting better and better."
Louis muttered, gripping his wand tightly.
"Who invited them?"