Eldritch Guidance-Chapter 107 – Reverse Divination

In the back room of The Mortar and Pestle, the air was thick with the scent of crushed herbs, their pungent aroma mingling with the musty smell of old parchment and the earthy undertones of the room itself. The walls, lined with shelves of jars containing all manner of strange and exotic ingredients, seemed to close in around the small group. Joe stood to the side, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the two men working intently at the table.

Wren, at the center of the room, was methodically grinding herbs into a dark, sticky paste. The smell was strong—something between clove and something more exotic, like the undercurrent of the old ways. His hands moved with practiced precision, the steady rhythm of his actions betraying a quiet confidence despite the tension that hung in the air. He was using the paste to carefully trace lines within the incomplete ritual circle, the thin black lines slowly forming a complete web around the quartz crystal that held the hex fragment in its center. The circle, though still in its unfinished state, seemed to hum with potential as Wren worked.

Crowley, however, was a picture of tension. His eyes flicked between Wren’s movements and the open book in his hands. His fingers traced the lines of the ritual instructions, scanning each word carefully. Every so often, his gaze would lift from the pages, scrutinizing Wren’s hands as they worked. He didn't trust the herbalist—or his methods—but he had little choice but to comply. He knew Wren’s expertise in matters of cult rituals was undeniable, but that didn’t mean Crowley had to like it. Each stroke of the brush that Wren made on the ritual circle seemed to set off a low warning bell in Crowley’s mind, but he forced himself to remain calm and focused. He couldn’t afford to let his suspicions get the better of him now.

Wren, sensing the tension, occasionally glanced up from his work. His eyes, dark and unreadable, met Crowley’s for a brief moment, almost as if daring him to question his every move. But he said nothing, returning to his task with a steady hand. He knew Crowley was no fool—he had likely been trained to read every nuance, every shift of a spell or ritual. Wren wouldn’t let that distract him.

Joe, watching the two of them, could feel the tension between them. He had hoped the agreement to work together would have smooth things over, but it hadn’t. Wren’s reluctance to trust Crowley was clear, and Crowley’s barely veiled suspicion of Wren was just as obvious. Despite that, Joe knew that there was no room for failure now. They had to make this work. Lives were at stake, and the more time they wasted arguing, the more danger people were in.

Joe: “How's the ritual looking, father?” he asked, trying to break the awkward silence in the room.

Crowley: “Everything seems to be in place. I’ve not found anything strange within this book or with the ritual Wren is preparing.”

Joe: “See, Father Crowley, Wren can be trusted. He’s not a bad guy. So, could you please keep that promise and not tell the church about him?”

The former priest let out a heavy sigh, his chest rising and falling with the weight of the moment.

Crowley: “That was before you told me he was a cultist.”

Joe: “Come on, hasn't he proven to you he’s not like those other evil cults?”

Crowley: “The only thing he’s proven is that he might be good at hiding his intentions. But, fine. I will not report him to the church. However, I will be keeping an eye on him and try to make him change his ways. I’ll come by over randomly to try and convert him away from those malevolent entities.”

Wren: “I supposed getting preached at is better than getting driven out of town,” he mumbled while continuing to work on the ritual.

As Wren finished painting the final lines of the circle, Crowley finally closed the book with a soft snap. He looked over at the ritual circle one more time, then met Joe’s eyes, his expression unreadable.

Wren: "It’s all set," he said, though there was a slight hesitation in his voice, as if he were still waiting for something to go wrong.

Joe nodded, though a knot of unease twisted in his stomach. This was it. There was no turning back now.

Joe: "Let’s get it done," he said, his voice steady but tinged with the weight of the moment.

Wren gave a single nod, then moved to stand beside the crystal, and started chanting some strange language Joe didn’t understand. The air around them seemed to thrum with anticipation, the quiet stillness of the room broken only by the soft crackle of hum of a strange energy in the air.

As Wren chanted, his voice steady and rhythmic, he gestured toward Crowley, signaling it was time for him to perform his part of the ritual. The former priest stepped forward, positioning himself in front of the quartz crystal. He took a deep breath, steadying his nerves, and began to move his hands in deliberate, circular motions. Golden strands of vitos energy emanated from his palms, shimmering like liquid sunlight.

The radiant energy hovered momentarily before spiraling into the air, forming a glowing disc that spun gently above the crystal and the arcane circle painted into the table. Crowley focused intently, his brow furrowed with concentration, as he guided the energy with precise movements of his hands. Slowly, the golden light began to funnel downward, narrowing into a steady stream that poured directly toward the crystal.

Beads of sweat formed on Crowley’s temples, trailing down his face as the intensity of his focus grew. The energy swirled faster, spiraling with a graceful yet forceful momentum. The room seemed to hold its breath as the golden stream touched the quartz. Instantly, the crystal absorbed the energy with an almost voracious pull, as if it were a parched desert soaking in rain. The swirling golden disc diminished gradually, its light dimming as more of the energy was drawn into the quartz.

Finally, as the last traces of vitos were consumed, the once-clear crystal darkened completely. It transformed into an opaque, obsidian-like black, radiating an unsettling aura that seemed to pulse faintly with the same ominous energy that had once been a tiny speck at its center. Crowley lowered his hands, exhaling deeply, his body visibly tense from the exertion.

Wren acted quickly, pulling out a pair of long tongs and carefully picking up the crystal. He avoided letting the ominous object touch anything—or anyone. With steady hands, he placed the crystal inside a wooden box, before setting the box back gently in the center of the ritual circle. The box itself was unassuming, but as Wren placed the lid on top, it became clear it wasn’t ordinary. Embedded in the lid was what appeared to be a compass, its needle spinning wildly in all directions, as if frantically searching for something but unable to lock on.

Reaching for the strange green paste he had prepared earlier, Wren smeared it along the edges of the lid. The paste acted like an adhesive, binding the box shut as it hardened almost instantly. The faint scent of herbs and something acrid wafted into the air. Once the lid was securely sealed, Wren stepped back and gestured to Crowley, signaling it was time for the second part of the ritual.

Crowley nodded, his expression still tense. Taking a deep breath, he raised his hands and began to move them in slow, deliberate circles. Unlike before, when the bright golden energy of vitos had radiated from his palms, this time it was a dark, purplish energy—necros. The ominous light swirled upward, forming a shadowy vortex above the sealed box. The energy spun faster and faster, drawn downward toward the wooden container.

As the necros energy made contact with the box, it wrapped around it like a cocoon, encapsulating the entire object in a pulsating, dark purple glow. The energy then began to seep into the box itself, phasing through the wood as though absorbed into its very essence. The room grew heavy with an eerie silence, broken only by the faint hum of magic at work.

Then, as suddenly as it had started, the swirling energy dissipated. The compass embedded in the lid, which had been spinning erratically just moments before, began to slow. The needle stuttered, twitched, and finally stopped, pointing steadily in a single, unwavering direction.

Wren let out a breath of relief, glancing at the compass.

Wren: “It worked,” he said, his voice low but firm. “The vitos has temporarily empowered the corruption and the necros has reversed the flow so the source can now be located.”

Joe: “Does it say where this ritual is being performed?”

Wren: “The compass in this box is pointing towards where the spell is being cast, or at least, where the spell was cast. But, based on what you’ve told us about pursuer slimes, it’s not a ritual you can pick up and move. So, it should just be pointing towards the ritual that is currently active.”

Joe: “That’s it? It just points towards the ritual,” he said, sounding disappointed.

Considering the effort it had taken to execute the reverse divination ritual, Joe had expected something more precise—perhaps even an exact location for the slime summoning ritual. Yet, as he stared at the compass embedded in the sealed box, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment. The device didn’t offer a pinpoint destination, only a vague directional indicator, as if whispering, this way, rather than shouting, here it is.

Joe let out a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck.

Wren: “What do you mean that's it? Did you want the reverse divination to tell you exactly where the purser slime ritual was being cast, teleport you there, deactivate the slime summoning spell, and then cook you dinner while it was at it?” he said facetiously.

Joe: “Yeah, can I have that version of the spell?” he said, being a smart ass.

Wren: “… just take this compass. It will point towards what you're looking for no matter how far it is. Once you're close to what you're looking for the compass will change direction if you pass the location,” he said, too tired to deal with Joe’s bullshit at the moment.

Joe: “Fine, but there is one thing I want to clarify. Does this thing—”

Slurp!

The wet, gurgling sound cut through the tense atmosphere like a knife, freezing Joe mid-sentence. His head snapped toward the source of the noise. His eyes narrowed as the unsettling slurping grew louder, emanating from the direction of the basement door in Wren’s shop.

From the narrow gap at the bottom of the door, something began to ooze out. A viscous, crimson mass spilled forth, glistening with an unnatural sheen. As more of it seeped through the opening, its form started to coalesce, growing steadily larger with every passing moment. Joe's stomach twisted as he recognized it for what it was—a red pursuer slime.

The creature's gelatinous body pulsed and expanded, as if sensing the presence of its prey. It moved with a dreadful purpose, its eerie gurgling noise reverberating throughout the room. Joe instinctively reached for his weapon, his heart pounding as he braced for the inevitable confrontation.

Wren: “OH! Fuck no! It’s one of those things!” he screamed while pointing.

Joe’s eyes darted to Wren, who was pointing frantically in a direction opposite to the basement door. Following Wren’s gesture, Joe spotted another pursuer slime crawling up and out of the drain in the backroom sink. Its crimson form slithered with the same dreadful intent as the first, leaving a wet, glistening trail in its wake.

For a moment, Joe’s attention split between the two threats. That brief distraction cost him. A high-pitched screech pierced the air, sharp and grating, drawing his focus back to the first slime. The creature had fully emerged from the basement door, its entire body vibrating with a disturbing, otherworldly malevolence. Before Joe could react first, the slime lunged toward him with terrifying speed.

Acting on pure instinct, Joe channeled his aether and summoned his null-magic. He concentrated on a metallic drum nearby, its surface glinting faintly under the dim light. With a surge of magnetic force, he hurled the drum directly at the approaching slime. The impact was devastating, the drum smashing into the creature with an audible thwack. The slime’s main body was sent hurtling backward, splattering against the floor with a wet squelch.

But Joe’s relief was short-lived. The remnants of the slime that had splattered across the room began to stir unnervingly. Each piece coalesced into smaller, autonomous slimes, their diminutive forms just as malevolent as their larger counterpart. They quivered, regrouping into a menacing cluster that oozed forward in unison.

Joe quickly drew his gun, leveling it at the nearest slime as it slithered toward him with relentless determination. He opened fire, the sharp crack of gunshots echoing through the room. Each bullet tore through the gelatinous mass, leaving small holes that closed almost instantly as the creature’s form shifted and reassembled.

The slimes didn't flinch, didn't slow, didn't even seem to notice the attack. The bullets, which would have stopped any normal foe, were utterly useless against the strange, otherworldly substance of the creatures. The slimes continued their relentless approach, their movements eerily fluid and unnervingly purposeful.

Joe: “Damn it,” Joe muttered under his breath, stepping back as he prepared for the next wave.

Behind him, Wren cursed loudly, scrambling to gather whatever tools or improvised weapons he could use against the encroaching creatures. Joe tightened his grip on his gun, bracing himself for what was rapidly escalating into a fight for survival.

During Joe’s frantic struggle with the slime creatures, Crowley stood firm, positioned between the other two men, his expression sharp with focus. The moment his gaze locked onto the monstrous beings, he began chanting in a low, commanding tone. His words carried the weight of an experienced spellcrafter.

As he chanted, Crowley extended his hand, and a small, swirling orb of necros aether began to coalesce in his palm. The dark purple energy radiated a chilling aura, its presence commanding attention. The slimes slithered closer, their grotesque forms brimming with malevolence. Just as they were about to overwhelm the group, Crowley’s chant crescendoed, and with a sharp, deliberate motion, he crushed the orb between his hands.

A massive pulse of necros energy erupted from the shattered orb, rippling outward in an unstoppable wave. The energy swept over Joe, Wren, and Crowley, making each of them feel its peculiar weight. Joe gasped as the pulse passed through him. Though it didn’t hurt, it felt like the air had been forcibly knocked from his lungs, leaving him momentarily breathless. His limbs grew heavy, and a wave of fatigue tugged at him, as though the energy sapped a small part of his vitality.

The necros pulse continued its inexorable path toward the advancing slimes. The moment it touched the creatures, their movements ceased. The semi-translucent red of their gelatinous bodies dulled, the vibrant hue rapidly fading to an opaque, lifeless gray. Within seconds, their forms began to crumble, breaking apart into fine, powdery dust that scattered across the floor, leaving no trace of the once-threatening monstrosities.

Crowley lowered his trembling hands, the strain of the spell evident in the slight quiver of his fingers and the labored rise and fall of his chest. The room fell silent and the three men stood amidst the remnants of the destroyed slimes. For a brief moment, the danger had passed.