This town had once been rebuilt after falling into ruin, only to be abandoned again for unknown reasons. As a result, Solomon and Wanda could see the intertwined chaos of 18th- and 19th-century architectural styles. At the entrance stood a decaying old inn, reeking of a foul mildew that clawed at the senses. Under the glow of magical orbs, rodents skittered out from under broken floorboards. The inn's sign was illegible, its uncleared tables caked in filth, exuding a stench like that of ancient tombs. The wild climate swings of New England had turned the place into a nest for pests—every piece of furniture was warped beyond recognition. A once-pristine mirror lay face-up on the floor, flecked with rat droppings. Wanda covered her mouth and nose with a handkerchief. She clung to Solomon's arm to avoid collapsing under the sudden tremors that shook loose chunks of the inn's ceiling.
"There's nothing worth seeing here," Solomon said, guiding Wanda out. This was a place lost to memory. Even the oldest residents in nearby towns had no recollection of it. A cursed land, avoided instinctively even by mischievous children and homeless wanderers. Other shops in town fared no better. Their Puritan style spoke of a bygone era. In today's market, 18th-century furnishings would be worth a fortune—yet here, not even thieves had bothered. Not a single broken window, just layers of dust. There weren't even many cobwebs.
No bodies. The entire town had vanished overnight. The only residents were rats—no insects, no birds. No one knew what the rats were surviving on.
The church at the town center was the most sinister structure of all. Its Puritan white-wood spire had long been grayed by rain. A rusted copper bell hung precariously, threatening to fall at any moment. The windows were rotted and black. Rusted hinges posed no obstacle to a magus, but the stench inside triggered every nerve in Solomon's body. He warned Wanda to stay alert and began casting protective spells for them both. The groan of rusted hinges echoed like thunder through the silent town.
Another tremor rattled the church, causing dust to rain down from the rafters. In their mystic sight, the filth of the church was far worse—an acidic, rotten stench only detectable by spirits made it nearly impossible to keep one's eyes open. Solomon chanted, and the magic orbs flared in brightness. The flash of light was like thunder erupting from still ground, exposing the entire church interior in a brilliant blaze.
Rows of dusty pews sat in silence. An oak pulpit stood tall at the far end of the chapel. On one wall, a rectangular patch of lighter wood revealed where something had once hung. Solomon stepped closer and used his fingers to estimate its dimensions.
If he was right, the painting in his car's trunk had once hung here.
He heard Wanda gasp sharply.
"I've seen that pulpit—James Boone stood right there," she whispered through her handkerchief, and Solomon reached out to gently pat her back to calm her. "I recognize that mark too. The inverted cross. And those strange artifacts." She added, "And the book that sat on the pulpit… it was the one you're looking for. De Vermis Mysteriis."
Low chanting reverberated through the cursed chapel—tones filled with dread and longing. She heard echoes from beneath the floor, sinister slithering that brushed past her feet. Gray, viscous ooze seeped through the cracks in the decaying wooden floorboards. A chill ran from her soles to her scalp.
She saw a crazed, dark-haired man burst into the chapel, throwing himself on the pulpit and chanting foul prayers. Inhuman shadows filled the pews, screaming in mad applause. Nightjars shrieked demonically outside the window.
Terror descended. The earth rose. Cackling madmen danced in delirium. The undead clawed their way from the ground. A pustule-covered gray monster leapt from the depths below.
Another quake struck—stronger, longer than the last.
In a daze, Wanda saw the inverted cross above fall from its chains.
Then, a shaft of golden light pierced the dusty glass. Holy hymns drove out the blasphemous chants, and the shadows screamed as they disintegrated into smoke. Every illusion melted away like ink in water. No more need for magical illumination—Solomon, having unveiled his Stigmata, became the light. The putrid stench of the Aether was banished. Darkness no longer choked the corners of the chapel. Only the musty smell of time remained, subdued by Solomon's presence into something like an old hearth, dusty but warm.
"You were trapped in an illusion again, Wanda." Though the magus spoke softly, to her his voice rang out like a bell in the church, pulling her out of chaos. He withdrew his gaze from her, full of concern. The pulpit still bore traces of something once left atop it.
"Maybe the book we're looking for used to sit here. But we don't know where it is now." His voice turned stern. "Don't fall into illusions again. We don't need your clairvoyance—it's a curse of chaos. Every so-called 'vision' brings you closer to the abyss. Danger is always near. Control yourself, or you'll fall eventually. And you know what I'll do if you fall, Wanda. Don't force my hand."
His warning sent her emotions spiraling.
Restraint was the first lesson of every spellcaster. Every potential magus was born with talent. Containing that gift was the only way to avoid darkness. Solomon had told her that more than once. But the sensations brought by chaos magic were intoxicating—like morning breezes across emerald lakes, or the languid haze of scented incense. Spirit and body alike were touched with exquisite delight when magic flowed through her.
"You really don't know?" she asked, her voice tinged with frustration. "You really don't know what that feels like?"
"I know," he said quietly. "Temptation. Like everything is within reach, all joy and dreams dancing on your fingertips." His tone sounded as if he were recalling a dream, not a memory. "It took me years to let go of that feeling."
"But I don't have years!" she shouted, unable to hold it in. "I've practiced magic for less time than it takes you to read a book! I'm just a beginner!"
The magus was caught off guard. He hadn't expected such defiance from his normally quiet apprentice.
He paused.
"I'm sorry, Wanda. I was too hasty." Though his face remained stoic and his voice calm beneath the mark of the Stigmata, she still heard the sincerity. The divine light slowly faded, but darkness did not return. "We'll find a way—help you through this lesson." The humanity returned to his eyes. He took the trembling witch's hand.
The unreachable divine vanished. In its place stood the gentle and compassionate Solomon.
"Take it slow. But don't give up, alright?"
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Fairy Tail: Igneel's Eldest Son (Chapter 256)
I Am Thalos, Odin's Older Brother (Chapter 336)
Reborn in America's Anti-Terror Unit (Chapter 542)
Solomon in Marvel (Chapter 924)
Becoming the Wealthiest Tycoon on the Planet (Chapter 1284)
Surgical Fruit in the American Comics Universe (Chapter 1289)
American Detective: From TV Rookie to Seasoned Cop (Chapter 1316)
American TV Writer (Chapter 1402)
I Am Hades, The Supreme GOD of the Underworld! (Chapter 570)
Reborn as Humanity's Emperor Across the Multiverse (Chapter 660)
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