"Demonic nature attracts demonic nature. He is destined to be estranged from ordinary life. He will discover his own abnormalities—something beyond his control."
The Sorcerer Supreme gazed at the bright star on the eastern horizon and spoke to her disciples.
"His talent far surpasses yours, but that may not be a good thing. The strange forces you have never encountered—he will face them throughout his life. Do not envy him, Mordo, Kaecilius. I will impose a responsibility upon him that does not belong to him. He will suffer."
—
Jezebel was in unbearable pain.
She had been abandoned—or rather, she had abandoned herself.
In the vast city of New York, she had no one to rely on.
When she fled her country to escape the marriage her father had arranged, she carried only a few dollar bills, which were now all spent paying the smugglers. If not for the small hammer she had found on the ship, she might not have even been able to protect her chastity.
Yet she had no regrets. Even though the cramped quarters on the smuggling vessel barely allowed people to stand, even though relieving oneself was a struggle, even though sickness and fever swept through the passengers, causing many to be thrown overboard—she never regretted escaping her homeland.
She did not want to marry Old Korah, the balding neighbor. From the age of ten, when his greasy gaze lingered on her, Jezebel had always shuddered. By the time she was nineteen, Old Korah had offered her father 100,000 New Shekels for her hand, and without hesitation, her father had agreed.
Not only because her younger brother—who had never served in the military—would need a large enough wedding house in the future. Not only because the household's many siblings required financial support. But also because their pilgrimage to Jerusalem would demand a significant sum.
Jezebel wanted to scream.
Their family was one of the poorest in their Haredi community, yet they were surrounded by equally destitute neighbors. The men of the household did nothing but nod along in prayer, while the women were the sole breadwinners. Her family could not afford for her to study mathematics or science.
She did not want her future to be like those women she had seen—standing in the dust-covered streets, holding children in their arms, their eyes lifeless except on the days government aid arrived.
Jezebel could already imagine it—if she married Old Korah, she would become just like them, a puppet drained of life.
She had resisted before, but her defiance only earned her beatings from her father and increased labor. He wanted her to become an obedient wife—at least obedient enough for Old Korah to pay for her.
During those times, she endlessly recited the name of Yahweh, hoping that a prophet would take her away.
Then, one day, the water from the taps turned to blood. This happened for seven days.
Her father dismissed it as rust in the pipes.
Jezebel, who had only studied the Torah, saw it as a sign—just as Moses had convinced Pharaoh.
So she stole the money her mother had earned and fled, escaping to the land of milk and honey, the land that claimed to be free and democratic.
But how could a girl with only basic religious knowledge survive in a foreign country?
No matter how hardworking her hands were, she had no identification and could sign no contracts.
Jezebel barely survived on meager daily wages. To avoid harassment, she disguised herself as a non-Jew, covering her pale beauty with a veil.
Then, one day, she felt nauseous.
A fellow immigrant told her—she was pregnant.
She could not believe it.
She was still a virgin.
She panicked, but after checking her body, she confirmed her chastity.
Yet as her belly grew, she began to dream of a figure bathed in light.
"Give birth to him, and you shall be sanctified."
She was terrified.
This was the god of another faith.
Even if this god was real, she could not accept divine blessings.
She was not Mary.
Jezebel did not know whether this was a hallucination or the presence of a holy spirit.
But she could not bear to let go.
This child was destined to be fatherless.
She would not seek out a Joseph for a hasty marriage.
And the faith she knew did not allow her to abort.
So she abandoned the idea of seeking a doctor's help.
Jezebel worked tirelessly despite her growing burden, but her wages were insufficient to sustain both mother and child. She grew thinner, her limbs weak, and she struggled even to work.
Losing her job meant losing her shelter.
A priest, hearing her story, took pity on her and offered her refuge.
During the day, she cleaned church benches for scraps of bread and leftover communion wine.
At night, she slept in the church's parking lot, with only the blankets and hot water the priest provided.
Jezebel was grateful.
As the child grew, her movements became difficult.
She forced herself to eat, just to ensure her baby's health.
And on a freezing night beneath a bright star, she knew—it was time.
But her malnourished body was at its breaking point.
The child inside her drank her life away like a parasite.
When the Ancient One, clad in yellow robes, appeared before her, Jezebel could only weep, barely managing to rise, and in a feeble voice, beg the Sorcerer Supreme to save her child.
"I followed the stars to you."
The Ancient One knelt beside her, pointing at the bright star in the sky.
"Your child is about to be born. He will be my disciple."
The Sorcerer Supreme opened a small chest and placed gold, frankincense, and myrrh beside Jezebel. With magic, she sustained the flickering flame of Jezebel's life.
When the baby was born, the Ancient One saw ten ring-like wounds on the crying infant's fingers, glowing red.
Jezebel did not see them.
"I can no longer save you," the Sorcerer Supreme said. "Your life was too harsh while carrying this child."
To the Sorcerer Supreme's eyes, Jezebel's body had been surrounded by a soft white glow—the only thing keeping her alive.
But when this extraordinary child was born, the light faded.
Not even magic could keep her alive any longer.
In her final moments, Jezebel wept and closed her eyes.
"Salomon," she whispered.
"Salomon Damonette—he will be the maker of miracles," the Ancient One declared.
Jezebel used the last of her strength to nod.
"Your soul shall rest in paradise."
A great beam of white light shot into the sky.
A silent hymn echoed through the night.
Jezebel was gone.
The Sorcerer Supreme wrapped the child in a red sacred shroud. The wounds on his fingers healed, leaving behind ten circular scars.
She opened a portal, taking Jezebel's lifeless body and the newborn to Kamar-Taj.
When the priest awoke to the beam of light, he rushed to the parking lot—only to find gold, frankincense, and myrrh on Jezebel's bedding.
The young woman had vanished.
Back at Kamar-Taj, disciples gathered around, sensing the disturbance in the city.
The Sorcerer Supreme silenced their questions and handed them the child.
Jezebel was buried near Kamar-Taj.
That very night, demonic creatures surged into Earth, causing chaos.
The Sorcerer Supreme had to visit the Abyss and negotiate with its lords to stop the incursion.
The wounds on Salomon's fingers—she called them stigmata.
As she healed them with magic, the glow in his hands flickered and dimmed.
Within the newborn's mind, countless memories surfaced—of a recluse, a fallen mage, a lich, a servant of the Outer Gods.
And yet, just before his soul could be consumed by madness—
The light in his stigmata vanished.
Salomon Damonette finally fell into a peaceful sleep.