The Potter raised a hand, cutting off the Brahmin mid-sentence with a casual, dismissive gesture. Without a word, he lifted his empty glass and gave it a slight tilt, signaling the bodyguard to pour him another drink.
The bodyguard looked over at the Brahmin, uncertain. The Brahmin's expression was tight, strained, but he gave a slight nod, silently instructing him to refill the Potter's glass. The bodyguard obeyed, filling it to the brim, then stepped back, gaze lowered.
The Potter took a long, slow sip, savoring the brandy. Then he placed his hands on the arms of the sofa, leaned back with a smile that could have been mistaken for friendly, and spoke in a smooth, almost lazy tone.
"You'll understand… in time."
He offered no further explanation, letting the sentence hang in the air, thick with unspoken menace. Silence settled over the room like a heavy fog, stifling any further attempts at conversation.
After a few minutes, the silence was broken by the sound of the door creaking open. A man entered, dressed neatly in a dark suit, with gold-rimmed glasses perched on his nose and a polished watch gleaming on his right wrist. This was Dorian, the Onlooker, one of the Brahmin's trusted deputies and a rare 1D-level wizard whose ability allowed him to discern the traits and rankings of other wizards. He was a valuable asset to the gang, an essential part of maintaining control and order among their ranks.
Dorian's gaze flicked nervously to the Potter, his intuition picking up on the aura of danger that clung to the man like a second skin. He swallowed hard, trying to maintain his composure, though his fingers twitched slightly.
"Chief...you wanted to see me?" Dorian asked, his voice tight.
The Brahmin forced a polite smile, his eyes darting between Dorian and the Potter. "Yes… this gentleman here has requested your presence."
Reluctantly, Dorian turned to face the Potter. The stranger rose from his seat and extended a hand, his smile widening in a way that made Dorian's skin crawl.
"Pleasure to meet you, Dorian. I am the Potter. We'll be… traveling together for a while," the Potter said, his voice thick with implication.
Dorian blinked, thrown off by the word. Travel? Was the Chief sending him on some sort of business trip? He had no idea what the Potter meant, but the presence of the Brahmin and the bodyguard in the room gave him a sliver of reassurance. Hesitantly, he reached out and shook the Potter's hand, feeling a strange warmth in the man's grip that unsettled him further.
"Um… what exactly do you mean by 'traveling'?" Dorian asked, glancing warily between the Potter and the Brahmin.
The Brahmin, equally bewildered, tried to interject, but the Potter silenced him with another raised hand. He leaned in close to Dorian, his smile widening as he spoke in a low, chilling voice.
"It's quite simple. I'm collecting wizards with… delusional traits," he said, his tone as casual as if he were discussing a hobby. "And you, my dear Dorian, will be joining my collection."
The word "collecting" echoed in the room, strange and unsettling. The Brahmin's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Collecting? What exactly do you mean by that?"
The Potter barely acknowledged him, giving a dismissive wave. "Oh, nothing complex. Just… gathering a few of you for a purpose of my own."
He looked back at Dorian, his gaze sharp and calculating. "Now, there's only one issue. You're rated at 1D. That's a bit… low for my tastes. I need you to be at least C-level."
Before anyone could react, the Potter snapped his fingers and turned his gaze to the bodyguard. "Let's make that upgrade happen right here, shall we?"
The room's atmosphere shifted violently, the air thickening with a chilling intensity. The Brahmin felt a wave of dread ripple through him as he sensed the Potter's energy shift, darkening, revealing a lethal intent that had been masked beneath his calm exterior. The bodyguard sensed it too and made a desperate attempt to draw his weapon, but his body froze. His limbs stiffened, his skin hardening until he felt as if he were encased in fragile porcelain.
Panic flashed in the bodyguard's eyes as he tried to move, to even breathe, but his body betrayed him, rigid and unresponsive. His skin had taken on a glossy, brittle texture, like the surface of a porcelain doll. Cold sweat trickled down his face, his mind racing with terror. He hadn't even felt the Potter's touch; hadn't sensed when the transformation had begun.
The Brahmin watched in horror, his instincts screaming at him to act, to do something. His hand hovered near the pistol at his waist, but logic overpowered the impulse. What use was a pistol against a B-level wizard? He let his hand drop slowly to the table, keeping his gaze steady, determined not to provoke the Potter any further.
The Potter chuckled, clearly amused by their fear. "Smart man," he said, nodding approvingly at the Brahmin. "You know when to submit. That's why I'll let you live… for now."
He leaned closer, his tone darkening. "But do me a favor, will you? Stop holding back the other wizards in this city. I need a bit more… prey with potential. It's hard to find any worth my time around here."
The Brahmin swallowed hard, nodding. "I… understand," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.
Without another word, the Potter reached out towards the immobilized bodyguard, his hand sliding into the man's chest with a sickening ease, as though pressing into soft clay. When he withdrew his hand, he held a heart in his grasp, red and glistening, yet somehow eerily clean; no blood stained his fingers. The bodyguard, still frozen, didn't even flinch, his face locked in an expression of muted horror.
The Potter tossed the heart to Dorian, who caught it reflexively. His eyes widened in shock as he realized what he was holding. The heart was warm, slippery, almost surreal in its lifelike texture, as though it were some grotesque toy rather than the core of a living being.
"Crush it," the Potter commanded, his voice cold and indifferent, as though he were giving instructions on the most trivial of tasks.
Dorian's hands shook as he held the heart, his breath coming in shallow gasps. He looked from the heart to the Potter, then to the Brahmin, desperation filling his eyes. This was no request. He could feel it, chilling him to the bone.
His mind reeled. They weren't wizards. They weren't even people to this man.
They were… livestock.
Just like animals in a pen, raised and kept at the Potter's whim. And now, with trembling fingers, he understood the cost of being chosen.
The room fell into a suffocating silence as he stared down at the heart, the weight of his fate settling upon him.