Author's Note:
I tried to write a new chapter for Bahamut Effect: The Voidwalker Fleet and Kaleidoscope Adventure (DC): A Mistress of Finality, drafting a few fragments of it, but my mind constantly brought me back to writing this chapter.
XXX
Story Arc: Out-of-Town Visitors
Episode 1: A Ruined Evening (III)
Chapter 3: I'm starting the night shift
Plot: Welt closes his shop and prepares to become the Black Warlock once again. The NCPD big shots hold a short meeting and, finally, Captain Cold and Heat Wave put their plan into action.
XXX
POV Narrator
The wall clock struck 9:00 PM with a metallic click. The Owl House was officially closed: the lights in the main hall had been partially dimmed, leaving the room in that cozy twilight typical of the end of the day. Customers and employees had already left, emptying the environment of the usual buzz.
Unofficially, however, the shop was still in a limbo of semi-closure. Inside, wrapped in the evening silence, only Welt, Nia, and Natsumi remained.
"Mr. Welt, are you sure I can take this pizza to my house?" Natsumi asked. Her voice sounded thin, cracked by a hint of insecurity.
The young girl held the cardboard box tightly out in front of her, almost as if she feared someone might snatch it from her hands. Among her green hair, a rebellious strand hung over her forehead, while her gaze flickered between the man and the container. Inside were about ten leftover slices, a messy mix of different toppings: everything that remained of the small party organized on impulse by Lola a few hours earlier.
"I do not like cold or reheated pizza. Besides, I did not pay for it, Lola did, so you can do whatever you want with it," Welt replied. His tone was flat, devoid of any double meaning; he truly preferred fresh, steaming, fresh-out-of-the-oven pizza.
"Thank you so much, Mr. Welt. For keeping me around, for letting me participate in the party, and... for letting me keep what's left," Natsumi declared. A sincere smile spread across her face, so bright that it contrasted with the modesty of the gift. It was almost moving to see how a box of cold leftovers could make her so genuinely happy.
Welt observed her, sensing the weight of that held-back gratitude. "No big deal. However, at this rate, when you reach the minimum age... fourteen, right? You'll get yourself a little part-time job here," he said, moving his hands in a vague gesture to indicate the place. He wanted to help her in a more direct way, but he knew he had to play the long game; there were rules to respect and other responsibilities to take on.
Natsumi's eyes widened, her hands gripping the pizza box tighter. "Are you serious?" she asked aloud, her voice rising an octave in disbelief.
"It would be useful to have an adorable little girl who speaks the same language as the children," Welt replied, curling his lips. A perfect mix of truth and calculated lies.
At those words, the young girl tilted her head to the side, her expression twisting into a confused grimace. She had never seen herself in that light. "But I'm not adorable or pretty," she countered, as if to correct an objective error.
"You are wrong. You are an adorable little girl," Welt Blight insisted. He took a step forward and, with a slow movement calibrated not to scare her, placed his hand on her green hair, stroking her head with paternal gentleness. "You are just Cinderella who hasn't received a visit from her fairy godmother yet... (or from a Step-Warlock)."
Under that caress, Natsumi suddenly froze. For a second she looked like a small wild animal standing still in front of an alien showing it a telekinesis trick: caught off guard, confused, with her breath held. Then, slowly, the tension vanished from her shoulders and she surrendered to that contact, enjoying that rare moment of warmth.
When Welt withdrew his hand, the young girl's cheeks had turned as red as a ripe tomato. She tucked the box under her arm, her gaze lowered but bright with obvious happiness. "So... in thirteen months will I have to call you Boss?" she asked, trying to strike a confident tone.
Welt caught the numerical detail instantly, straightening his back. "Thirteen months... does that mean next month is your birthday?" he asked, narrowing his eyes slightly, suddenly very interested in the matter.
Natsumi gave a half-shrug, downplaying the event with a wave of her free hand. "Yes, on July 23rd I'll turn thirteen. It's no big deal, it just means I've lived another year."
'Good. I have exactly one month to organize a surprise party,' Welt thought, while his mind already began calculating timing and logistics. 'I'll have to talk to that neighbor of mine with the curly pink hair. Then invite Natsumi's near-friends.'
Memories brought back the image of Natsumi who, from time to time, sat down to chat and play cards with Steven and the trio of troublemakers, AppleBelleLoo.
'Steven's adoptive mother, Pearl, I know her: she provided me with legal counsel, she will agree to let Steven come to the party. Belle's older sister is one of my part-time employees who takes care of the second floor, she will say yes. The Apples are good people, they will surely consent, especially considering that I buy a crate of apples from them every week, a nice supply of apple-based sweets, and that every now and then I repair their tractor engine... I'm good with mechanics. But... I don't know any of Loo's guardians,' the man reflected, rubbing his chin as he mentally planned how to deliver the invitations and get the green light from their respective guardians.
The shop owner stood staring into space for a few seconds, undecided whether to clear out the second floor to set up a private party room or whether it would be more appropriate to rent an external venue. Maybe a bowling alley?
That flow of logistical thoughts was abruptly interrupted by the creaking of his right-hand man's footsteps on the wooden floor.
"Good evening, Welt-chan," Nia said.
Her voice, speaking in fluent Japanese, broke the suspended atmosphere of the room. The woman made her entrance onto the ground floor of the shop, wrapping herself in her black coat, the straps of her backpack secured tightly on her shoulders, ready to call it a day.
Nia, despite rarely wearing feminine clothing, looked great in her neutral and masculine-cut clothes that highlighted her slender figure.
"Good evening, Nia. See you tomorrow afternoon. Make sure to escort the little girl if you want a small bonus," Welt said. He had organized that little babysitting service specifically for Natsumi.
The idea of a twelve-year-old girl—no, almost thirteen by now—walking home alone late in the evening in the dark was not something he liked at all. For this reason, all employees who finished the evening shift and took the bus home, like Nia, Sadie, Mordecai, and Rigby, received a small $5 incentive if they got on the same bus as Natsumi, keeping an eye on her until she arrived safe and sound in her neighborhood.
Nia bundled up in her coat, offering a half-smile. "I would do it even without the monetary incentive. Once she grows up, I could make her my little assistant: she has a natural talent for drawing, she could become a mangaka one day," Nia said in Japanese, turning for a second to look at the young girl with warmth. She, too, was becoming very fond of Natsumi.
'I'm a quarter Japanese, but I don't know a single thing about Japanese. I wonder what Mr. Welt and Ms. Nia are talking about?' Natsumi thought, crossing her arms over the pizza box. She hadn't realized yet that she had earned herself an Onee-Sama and an Onii-Sama willing to look after her like that.
"Welt-chan, I see you're staying in the shop after closing time once again. Do you like your office that much, or are you afraid of spending the night in your haunted house?" Nia asked playfully, tightening the straps of her backpack. She knew well that her boss had the bad habit of lingering around The Owl House long past closing hours.
"I have paperwork to handle and I need to consult with my artist. Volume five needs to come out next week, and I'm thinking of creating limited-edition action figures. I get more silence and inspiration here... lately, one of my neighbors has been sleepwalking and causing a disturbance at night," Welt said, stretching his fingers. He was telling only a fraction of the truth regarding his business.
In reality, the owner of the duck-shaped parade float had truly become a troublesome sleepwalker: the previous night, fast asleep, he had thrown rocks at the pseudo-bandit's house, triggering a domino effect of noise that had woken up the entire neighborhood.
Nia leaned her back against the column near the cash register, her gaze becoming more intense. "Maybe Lola is right, you should move. Have you thought about selling that old house and finding another place? I could host you in my apartment for free... but you'll have to wear a rather special outfit," Nia said. A mischievous expression crossed her face, though her eyes remained incredibly sweet.
'I wonder what they are talking about. Nia has a strange look in eyes. It reminds me a bit of my mother's customers, but much sweeter? Purer? Innocent?' Natsumi thought, raising an eyebrow and scrutinizing the two of them. She was a much more perceptive girl than others believed.
"Do you want a butler?" Welt asked, crossing his arms and playing along with that useless but highly entertaining banter.
"Sounds like a fair deal to me. I dress up as a maid, you dress up as a butler, and we're both happy," Nia said, stepping away from the column and putting her hands on her hips, proud as a superhero proposing to found a team.
'Nia is an otaku woman and an occasional cosplayer, but I think she might have some kind of fetish for servant uniforms. Lately, she's been mentioning maids far too often,' Welt thought, without judging her negatively; after all, if maid cafés existed, there was a reason.
"A butler and a maid... shouldn't we be serving someone?" Welt asked, trying to lighten the conversation and leaning forward slightly.
"The little one could be our Ojou-sama," Nia said jokingly, shooting a brief, knowing glance at the green-haired girl.
Welt smiled slyly, preparing his counterattack. "If you become a billionaire, I might agree to be a house husband, but you'll have to adopt Natsumi," he said in a completely fake tone, landing a blow that turned out to be super effective.
For once, Nia went completely silent. Her mouth opened without making a sound, and her cheeks suddenly turned scarlet; her mind must have just pictured a far too vivid scene.
"Natsumi, let's go! If we're late, we risk missing the bus!" Nia said abruptly, spinning on her heels to hide her embarrassment. She grabbed the green-haired girl's hand and literally dragged her toward the shop's exit.
"See you tomorrow, girls," Welt said, raising his hand to wave as they crossed the threshold.
"Good evening, Mr. Welt!" Natsumi exclaimed, almost swaying as she was marched away at a brisk pace.
Before closing the door completely, Nia leaned back in one last time. "Welt-chan, if that artist of yours flakes on you or lets you down, I know a thing or two about making a comic or a manga. If we adjust my hours and my pay, I could give you a hand. Think about it!"
A second later, the front door of The Owl House closed with a dull thud.
"At least I can't say I get bored at work," Welt commented to himself. He turned the heavy brass key in the lock from the inside, throwing the bolts, and turned off the main lights on the ground floor, letting darkness envelop the room.
In the perfect darkness, Welt lifted a foot and stamped on the wooden floor three times with sharp thuds.
Instantly, a spell was activated. For a fleeting fraction of a second, both inside and outside the structure, complex translucent glyphs came to life on the shop walls, glowing with a silvery light before vanishing into nothingness.
"This space is closed and severed from the outside," Welt announced aloud, now enveloped in the certainty of complete security against prying eyes and ears.
In response to his words, his phone's fabric case and the smartphone itself began to vibrate, shifting their texture before his eyes until they returned to their true form: a heavy chain necklace and a small Grimoire.
"I'd say Welt did a great job. Mordecai and Rigby did something useful, Natsumi felt good and is heading home with a fuller stomach than usual, Nia lost the teasing game for once, Lola was Lola but offered you plenty of pizza and martial arts lessons on Sunday... and finally, Origami didn't show up today," Sora, the sentient Grimoire, said, giving a quick and precise summary of the day.
"I'm not sure if that last thing is good or bad. Origami is a very beautiful woman, very direct, and she tells me many interesting things about her work with the police... things that are definitely useful to Warlock," Welt replied, walking with long strides down the corridor that led to the basement stairs.
"Master, what are the plans for tonight?" Sora asked, hovering around him and emitting a light magical glow, hoping for a somewhat special night.
'Let's skim through The Owl House's paperwork quickly, I'll finish the final pages of The Adventures of Black Warlock, after which an hour of reading in the Library of Alexandria, switch back to being Warlock and do my night patrol, then finally head home to sleep,' Welt thought, having the entire schedule for the night already printed in his head, identical to that of every other night.
"You know, Master, people usually wait until old age to start writing their stories or bibliographies," Sora said mockingly, wanting to tease Welt a bit; it was an activity that made her days much happier, especially for herself.
"It's not a bibliography, just a creative project of my own that serves to protect Black Warlock's rights and image, as well as making some money I wouldn't know what to do with," Welt admitted in a low voice, passing the last flight of stairs and reaching the heavy door of his office.
On the dark wooden surface, two shiny nameplates stood out: WB's Office and Master of the Owl Dungeon.
That door didn't slide open with a simple electronic badge; it required a second key, an old-fashioned physical key, a mechanism Welt had specifically wanted to defend his privacy.
First, he opened the electronic lock with his badge, then he inserted the physical key into the classic lock, turned it with a loud clack, and entered the office along with Sora to begin the routine work before heading out into the field.
XXX
During his first days in Nightfall, when Welt Blight found himself living in that old haunted house in the company of Sora, he had been a driftless individual, even lost and without a purpose.
If Toxzon, Nightfall City's first supervillain, hadn't made his debut and if Welt hadn't happened to be around taking a simple walk, well, instead of Black Warlock and The Owl House, there could have been the Gray Hermit, in the truest sense of the word, and a mundane video rental shop, closed and in ruins.
Putting the "ifs" aside... after his third mission in the field, Welt/Warlock seriously thought about being a superhero not just on a personal level and for the benefit of the city, but also on a social and economic level.
Welt had thoroughly studied the superheroes who were already famous in the world, such as Iron Man, Spider-Man, the Fantastic Four, and the Justice League, noticing deep differences between them. For instance, all the money spent by fans to buy Iron Man toys and t-shirts went straight into Tony Stark's personal account, who used it to finance his own technological projects; conversely, the Fantastic Four and the Justice League used those proceeds to support numerous beneficial and charitable causes.
Then, he had read about Spider-Man: a great hero, but with a terrible reputation, constantly exploited by everyone. Toy factories manufactured Spider-Man costumes and action figures without paying him a single cent in royalties. The Daily Bugle sold millions of print copies by slapping his photos on the front page. Even some supervillains had opened souvenir shops or merchandise lines dedicated to the battles fought against him.
Welt Blight was not so greedy as to want to act like Tony Stark, nor so generous as to emulate the Justice League, but he certainly did not want his symbol and his name to be used by heartless capitalists to promote products of doubtful utility.
Therefore, he acted first. He went to the best law firm in Nightfall and ended up having the attorney Pearl Quartz as his consultant; with her precious legal assistance, he officially registered the Black Warlock trademark under his own name.
Afterward, he made a few calculated moves to associate that trademark with the city's hero, who at the time did not yet have a real name and whose image had not yet been clearly captured by anyone. He bought a tripod, a used camera meant for birdwatching, and a stopwatch, organizing the details for taking the first sharp photograph of the local hero down to the finest detail.
Once he obtained the perfect shot, Welt sent the photograph anonymously to the most well-known freelance journalist and photographer in the city, Charlotte Gagnepetit, who ran the famous blog and web channel Steambird. Along with the envelope containing the photos, he enclosed an old-fashioned letter, made by pasting together letters cut out from different magazines; in that moment, Welt had completely let himself go to his noir fantasy.
In the letter, it was clearly written: "If you want more photos of Nightfall's first hero, publish these photos on Steambird, but make sure the hero's name is Black Warlock. Signed, Himeko."
As soon as Charlotte published the shots, associating them with the chosen name and instantly grabbing the entire local public's attention, the superhero took advantage of it: during his fourth public appearance, he casually stated to the media that he liked the nickname Black Warlock and that they could call him that from then on.
With this grand and complicated scheme, Welt Blight had managed to secure the rights to his own image without raising the slightest suspicion, passing in the eyes of the world as merely a lucky bastard. If anyone had investigated deeply, they would have realized at most that he was a clever and somewhat manipulative bastard, nothing more.
Later on, when Welt became the owner of The Owl House, he decided to take a step further to lock down the copyrights and increase control over his alter ego. Remaining in the shop well past closing time and using magic as a shortcut to speed up production times, he published a fifty-page comic book centered on Black Warlock. In the story, the hero was presented as an adventurer, an explorer, and a treasure hunter from another world, capable of using a magical portal to travel from his place of origin to Earth and vice versa.
This narrative was very far from reality, but in addition to selling a good story, it served to reinforce the theory that Black Warlock was an element totally external to Earth, throwing anyone off the scent of thinking he could be a normal human being like Welt Blight.
The amateur comic, titled The Adventures of Black Warlock, became a regular monthly release: a work limited to only fifty volumes in total, available exclusively on the shelves of The Owl House, rapidly transforming into one of their most precious niche goods sought after by collectors.
To prevent people from asking uncomfortable questions like, "Where does the owner find the time to draw so many pages every month?", Welt had invented a perfect cover. He had spread the word that the work was drawn by Tesla Noceda, a freelance artist who worked strictly on commission, manically attached to her own anonymity, tasked only with translating the scripts written by Welt onto paper.
XXX
In Nightfall City, due to the size of the territory and a population that now reached 90,000 residents, public order management was entrusted to a Centralized Police Force. There were no small peripheral districts: the sole, imposing headquarters of the NCPD stood in the heart of the Blackwood District. It was the historic neighborhood of the city, a cluster of ancient and striking architecture where the historical museum, the Catholic girls' high school, the old Gothic cathedral, the monumental cemetery, and the historic clock tower were concentrated.
As daylight faded, activity inside the central station showed no signs of slowing down. On the second floor of the large building, inside the main meeting room, the air was thick with coffee smoke and tension. Seated around the oval table were the four big shots of the department, joined by a brilliant young external consultant.
At the head of the table sat Commissioner Yoji Itami. A thirty-seven-year-old man of half-American and half-Japanese descent, Itami maintained a seemingly relaxed posture in his office chair. Standing 175 centimeters tall, he possessed a slender, lean build without exaggerated musculature, though his body was in excellent physical shape, hardened by fifteen years of tough service in the field. His dark brown eyes stared at the open files in front of him, while one hand absently ran through his short, black hair, styled in his usual slightly messy way. Less than a year ago, he had been promoted, very much against his will and his desires for tranquility, to the supreme command of the department.
To his right sat the captains of the three key bureaus of the NCPD.
The first was the Head of the Investigative Squad, Motoko Kusanagi. Despite being 37 years old on record, Motoko visually looked barely twenty. She sat motionless with a magnetic and unflappable presence, standing 168 centimeters tall. Her proportionate and elegant curves stood out even within the rigidity of the room (B97 / W61 / H92), and her clinical gaze analyzed every single report with the coldness of a computer.
Next to her, with her back straight as a spindle, was the Head of Patrols, Ch'en Hui-chieh. At just 25 years old, this half-Chinese, half-American woman was the rising star of the police department; whispers in the corridors already suggested she would end up running the entire station, if she weren't recruited first by the FBI or other elite government agencies. Standing 168 centimeters tall, Ch'en displayed a lean, extremely well-trained, agile, and springy physique, devoid of exaggerated muscle mass but ready to spring into action in a tenth of a second (B85 / W58 / H87). Her long, dark blue hair was tied into two separate twin pigtails that fell over her shoulders, framing two ice-blue eyes that brooked no argument. She wore her NCPD officer's uniform with manic precision, every button and badge perfectly in place.
The final operational arm was the Head of Services and Administration, Maria LaGuerta. Forty-two years old and 164 centimeters tall, LaGuerta was of Afro-Latina ethnicity, characterized by a warm amber complexion, large, dark, expressive eyes, and a mane of typically long, thick, dark hair. She wore an impeccably tailored women's professional suit. She had been transferred to Nightfall from Miami just seven months prior, following some unspecified friction with Internal Affairs, and she managed the district's budget and bureaucracy with an iron fist.
The last person present at the table, sitting slightly apart but with her own personal technical files, was the forensic consultant, Dr. Origami Tobiichi. An extraordinarily attractive young woman of only 22 years, Origami was petite, standing just 152 centimeters tall (B75 / W55 / H79). Her blue eyes and short, silver-white hair cut into a bob, embellished with three clips on the right side, gave her facial features that many compared to those of a porcelain doll, both for their objective beauty and for the total and absolute lack of emotional expression. Her attire was a perfect mix of formality and field work: low heels, dark leggings down to her knees, a blue pencil skirt, a white shirt with a highly elegant dark bow around her neck, and, over it all, a white laboratory coat. Despite her young age, Origami was a child prodigy: having graduated with honors from MIT at just 17 years old, she had subsequently earned specializations in Forensic Sciences and Criminology, while simultaneously maintaining a rigorous, high-level sports practice in Karate and Kendo.
'I don't have a problem with feminism or successful women; in fact, I wouldn't mind taking early retirement and leaving Ch'en in charge,' Commissioner Itami thought, casting a subtle glance toward the blue-haired woman in uniform, who sat impeccably on the other side of the table.
'But how is it that at the top of this department there are only women except for me, especially two prodigy women who should be at the Pentagon or in more important places than Nightfall? Wonder Woman and Supergirl must have had an excellent influence on the younger generations, keep it up,' the man continued to reflect to himself, running a tired hand through his jet-black hair.
He rested his elbows on the polished wooden table and sighed. "I have a bucket of ice cream, a frozen pizza, and a bed waiting for me at home, so let's make this short," the Commissioner said in a visibly exhausted tone. He too, like many other citizens of Nightfall, had recently found himself with several kilograms of free ice cream in his freezer due to the oddities of the week.
He turned his gaze toward the investigator. "Motoko, is the missing persons case one hundred percent resolved?" Commissioner Itami asked.
"Yes, we can consider the case closed," Motoko replied in a calm, firm tone, intertwining her fingers on the table. "The kidnapped people have been found and are in stable condition at the hospital. The culprit is under arrest. Inspecting his residence and the abandoned ice cream factory, we uncovered numerous pieces of irrefutable evidence. Tomorrow I will send a couple of detectives to gather the official testimonies of the victims."
The purple-haired captain expressed absolute confidence: that criminal would be tried for his crimes and punished according to the strict laws of Massachusetts.
"As always, you have the entire situation under control," Itami commented, relaxing his shoulders. He could sleep soundly knowing Motoko was handling serious investigations like homicides and disappearances.
"But didn't you receive a bit of assistance from that vigilante?" LaGuerta interrupted abruptly, tilting her head to the side as if she had uncovered a dirty secret. The police officer from Miami was not a fan at all of men and women who roamed the streets wearing masks and tight costumes.
"Warlock took care of freezing the criminal, showed us where the kidnapped people were, and gave the paramedics a hand in freeing them. Everything is duly recorded in my report," Motoko replied, displaying pure and icy professionalism. She had no intention of hiding the facts or taking credit for someone else's merits.
Itami let out an amused smile, willingly accepting the presence of the masked figure in the city. "It's nice to have a friendly hero giving us a hand. Next time I see him, I'll offer him a Butterbeer."
"Warlock doesn't drink," Motoko stated flatly, having already gathered various data on the local superhero.
"Then a pipe with unicorn weed," Itami insisted, trying the card of another bizarre magic-themed commodity.
"Warlock doesn't smoke," Motoko countered with an even flatter tone. Being the officer who had interacted with the hero most often and most closely,
'This world was only missing a new category of freaks,' LaGuerta thought to herself, regretting with all her heart the old days of active service in Miami before the coming of Iron Man and Superman. Back then, the world still made logical sense, not like now, and especially not like in Nightfall.
"I will have to perform thorough analyses on Ice Cream Man's inventions and the other devices we confiscated from the previous supervillains," Origami declared, intent on dissecting the secrets of what was now being called Tinker-tech.
LaGuerta leaned forward in her chair, proposing a more aggressive approach. "Perhaps we should bring Warlock into the interrogation room and ask him directly how he knows these things. In fact, we should open a formal investigation to figure out who is hiding behind that mask."
"I neither love nor hate Black Warlock, but opening an official investigation into him would be a terrible move for both the Department and the entire city," Ch'en interrupted her, maintaining her usual neutral and pragmatic line toward the vigilante.
"Superheroes are extremely possessive and sensitive about their secret identities," Motoko echoed her, mindful of previous experiences in the field.
"Perhaps Warlock doesn't have a real secret identity," Ch'en hypothesized, leaning her back against the backrest. "But he might have a family or a home somewhere here in Nightfall City, or even a dog. If we were the ones to discover it, others might do so too, and the entire situation would degenerate quickly." It was a dynamic she had often noticed while watching certain action movies.
"I fully agree with Ch'en and Motoko," Itami decreed, putting an end to the dispute. "I would much rather have a friendly, furry Harry Potter in the city than find myself with a new Frank Castle or a John Wick with superpowers."
LaGuerta did not give up and turned toward the forensic consultant. "Dr. Origami, what do you think?"
"I am an external consultant," Origami Tobiichi replied, staring at her with her blue doll-like eyes, completely devoid of emotional expression. "Do not try to get me caught in the middle of your police conflicts."
Itami gathered his papers, tapping them on the table to align them. "The meeting for today is over, we can all go home. Except for you, Dr. Origami: I want to speak with you in private for a moment," the Commissioner concluded, certain that there was nothing else relevant to discuss at this hour of the night.
The three police officers stood up, adjusting their uniforms, and left the room one after another. The heavy meeting room door closed with a click, leaving Commissioner Itami and Dr. Origami alone in the silence of the room.
"Doc, were you very busy today? Weren't you able to pick up my orders from The Owl House?" Itami asked, leaning back against the backrest and addressing a purely personal matter, now away from the gazes of his subordinates.
"Unfortunately, I could not meet Welt today, nor pick up your goods," Origami replied. She continued to speak, maintaining her typical detached, almost clinical tone, yet an imperceptible, very slight variation in frequency could be felt in her vocal cords.
Itami spread his arms in a resigned gesture. "Nothing can be done about it. Duty before pleasure," he commented, aware of how much their work was as vital as it was parasitic to free time, continuously requiring small and large sacrifices.
He slid his gaze over the young forensic scientist, returning to the charge with half a plea: "Tomorrow, if you have a free moment, could you drop by The Owl House? If I could, I would go myself, but the higher-ups demand that the new Commissioner maintain a dignified public image... not that of an otaku who collects limited-edition action figures," Itami complained, twisting his mouth due to those unwritten obligations tied to his new and unwelcome chair.
"No problem. These errands do not cause me any trouble... and besides, I have a valid excuse to see Welt," Origami replied with absolute stoicism, not moving a single muscle in her face.
Itami visibly raised an eyebrow, scratching his chin with curiosity. He truly knew very little about the girl's love life. "But him... isn't he like your boyfriend?"
"As things currently stand, we have not applied any type of formal label to our relationship," Origami replied automatically, almost as if she had consulted a pre-studied line of code in her head.
"Excuse me, that was a far too personal question," Itami cut it short, raising a hand in apology, convinced he had crossed a boundary of privacy.
Origami did not seem shaken by the comment in the slightest. She slid her right hand into the pocket of her blue pencil skirt and pulled out her personal smartphone. "Could you do me a favor?" she asked, staring at him with her large, blue doll-like eyes.
Itami immediately straightened his back. His expression turned hard, the shadow of the tired policeman vanished to give way to a mask of pure investigative seriousness; in an instant, he seemed like a completely different person. "It depends. What exactly is it about?"
Origami unlocked the screen and turned the phone toward him, showing the start of a video recorded in high definition. It was the video of the violent brawl that had broken out that afternoon inside The Owl House between Welt and a bearded, muscular man.
"This man's name is Garrett Bobby Ferguson, alias GBF," Origami explained with her clinical voice, pointing at the frames of the forbidden blows exchanged in the shop. "This afternoon he attempted a physical assault against Welt and his employees, Mordecai and Rigby."
Itami observed the screen, studying the movements of the contenders and the surrounding devastation. "Did they file a formal complaint?" he asked, narrowing his eyes and hoping with all his heart that the girl was not about to ask him for a favor that smelled of a cover-up or favoritism.
"Not yet. But I believe that for safety reasons it is appropriate to send a patrol to the scene to ask a few questions," Origami replied. She wanted to be thoughtful toward Welt, moving the pieces at her disposal; after all, even though no one in that district suspected it, she was to all intents and purposes the shopkeeper's number one stalker, as well as his unwitting contact inside law enforcement.
Itami shook his head slightly, crossing his arms. "Sending officers without an official complaint... that would constitute an abuse of office or an abuse of power, Doc. You know I can't do that."
Origami did not lose her composure. She slid her thumb across the phone screen, closing the video to open an official PDF document, which showed a mugshot of the exact same bearded brute. "Yes, I know. But Garrett Bobby Ferguson is currently wanted for aggravated assault in the state of Massachusetts, in Boston. He beat a teenager half to death inside an arcade game room, simply because the boy had beaten him at an old fighting video game. There is an active arrest warrant."
Itami took the phone into his hands, reading the details of the judicial warrant. A huge sigh of relief left his lips and the tension abandoned his features. He was truly glad that Origami was not asking him to do something illegal or immoral to protect the shop she was interested in.
"This radically changes everything; it makes the matter much simpler," Commissioner Itami decreed in a relieved tone, returning the smartphone to her. "I will send a patrol tomorrow morning before the lunch shift."
XXX
In the deep sewer system of the Blackwood District, enveloped in a darkness broken only by the cold beams of their flashlights, Leonard Snart and Mick Rory were moving. Both wore dark, heavy work jumpsuits, stained with soot, and carried large bags of reinforced canvas slung over their shoulders that clinked with every step.
"Snart, we're done placing the devices. Can we move into action?" asked the muscle of the team. Rory ran a hand over his sweaty face, clenching his fists, anxious to get to work after days of grueling planning.
"Rory, this is a delicate procedure. Just a minor mistake is enough to make everything fail," Snart warned him with his usual icy and detached voice. With steady and precise fingers, he positioned a high-tech device, a sort of large C-shaped metal clamp, over a massive power cable that ran along the vault of the tunnel, directly connected to the power line of the civic museum.
"That's exactly why we tested it last night on the electrical cables of that supermarket. Nobody noticed the power loss until reopening," Rory grunted, spitting on the ground and referring to the preliminary heist pulled off in the Midtown district.
"Yes, a highly successful test. These gadgets block the flow of energy, preventing the power from moving past the junction point without damaging the main line and, above all, without triggering the security alarm systems," Snart explained, tightening the last bolt with a metallic click.
Rory adjusted his bag, slipping his hand inside. "Are we planting the explosives now?" he asked, his fingers twitching with the desire to handle something that could catch fire.
"Don't call them explosives, Rory. They are not classic firecrackers that make sparks, smoke, and noise. These are ultrasonic discs," Snart corrected him. From his own bag, he pulled out a flat device, shaped like a compact disc but much thicker, on whose surface a small backlit digital display stood out in place of the center hole.
"I prefer the classic methods," Rory commented, narrowing his eyes. His weakness for noisy blasts and live fire was evident; pyromania was at once his greatest flaw and his most lethal destructive strength.
"The world only goes forward, we must keep up with the times. These devices will do the exact same job as a C4 charge, but without drawing anyone's attention for miles around," Snart replied, confident he was orchestrating a masterstroke.
Rory observed the display emitting a faint bluish light, skeptical. "Snart, are you sure these shiny toys are truly reliable?"
"They will do their job, I have performed all the necessary verifications. Only dogs can perceive the sound frequencies emitted by these discs," Snart explained with an aseptic smile, reassuring his partner.
The duo of supervillains resumed their march through the mud of the sewer system, moving with stealthy steps directly beneath the foundations of the historical museum.
Snart, however, had made a massive error in judgment based on rumors. In Nightfall City, due to his bizarre appearance, Black Warlock was labeled by most of the residents as a sort of Dungeons & Dragons-themed "friendly furry." That definition made him seem almost harmless in the eyes of professional criminals: a species of living joke, a whimsical attraction suited only for lovers of animals and stranger things.
Nobody, however, had ever asked the fundamental question: what kind of creature that hero truly was, and whether, in addition to his most obvious animalistic traits, he also possessed the biological gifts and ultra-developed senses of an animal.
XXX
Returning to the basement office, the room appeared almost completely enveloped in darkness, with the exception of the faint glow emitted by a small desk lamp, carved to resemble a sinister flickering candle inserted inside a Halloween pumpkin.
On the wooden surface of the desk lay an orderly mess: an open accounting ledger, several printed spreadsheets, a scientific calculator, and a rectangular piece of very high-quality paper. On the latter, the detailed sketch of an Anime-style cover stood out.
The drawing portrayed Black Warlock in the company of what looked like a small anthropomorphic dog-like animal with a skull-shaped head; next to them stood an elf princess with green-dyed hair with brown roots and a dark-skinned tomboy elf, who gripped a shield and a sword.
In the bottom right corner, a prominent and stylized number 5 stood out, while at the top, in the center of the page, the working title loomed: The Adventures of Black Warlock - The Rescue of the Clawthorne Sisters.
Welt was sitting in his office chair with his hands relaxed in his lap. Floating just a few centimeters above his open palms was a perfect and semi-transparent geometric cube, which appeared to be made entirely of brilliant gold, wrapped in microscopic luminous particles floating in mid-air.
The owner of The Owl House kept his gaze fixed into space, his eyes dull and devoid of expression, as if only his physical shell were in that room and his mind were somewhere else entirely. The same was true for Sora, who was devoid of that subtle magical aura she usually emanated.
Without any warning, Welt's eyes regained their vital spark. In that exact same instant, Sora's leather cover began to vibrate with energy once more.
"Master, at this rate, it will take us ten thousand years just to read one percent of that library," Sora commented, as if she had just spent hours and hours scrolling through heavy college-level tomes.
"The Library of Alexandria... there is no better name to describe the computing function of this artifact, which goes far beyond my comprehension," Welt replied, lifting his fingers slightly to make the golden cube hover. "An object so small containing such a vast immaterial library within it... it feels like Daedalus's labyrinth, but with only bookshelves instead of walls," he murmured, taking off his reading glasses and rubbing his eyelids, feeling the weight of deep mental fatigue.
"A real shame that the immaterial space guarding all that knowledge follows a regular time flow," Sora complained, finding one of the very few flaws of that priceless artifact. "An hour spent inside reading is equivalent to exactly an hour out in the real world. If time flowed faster in there, we would have made much greater progress."
"We can't have everything in life," Welt replied with a half-smile. "Sure, it would have been convenient to have both the Hyperbolic Time Chamber and the Infinite Library. But I'm content with being the Keeper of the Library of Alexandria and being able to consult it whenever I want, even if it takes a massive amount of time just to find the exact book you're looking for."
At that moment, Welt was beginning to understand why Gilgamesh, the King of Heroes, didn't have the slightest idea of what precisely was guarded inside his Gate of Babylon: he was facing the exact same logistical problem, but applied to books instead of all the treasures of the world.
With a slight movement of his wrist, Welt made the gold cube vanish into thin air, and then let himself go to a big, deep yawn.
"Do you need a coffee, Master?" Sora asked, noticing the tiredness on his face and seeing him much more worn out than expected.
"Don't even say that as a joke. I detest the bitter taste, and I care about keeping my heart healthy and my sleep-wake schedule perfectly on track," the man promptly replied, while with an agile leap, he stood up directly on top of the desk.
"Right, coffee is your number one enemy," Sora murmured with a hint of sharp sarcasm in her voice, acting like a younger sister who was far too smart for her own good.
Without making any useless spectacles or excessive theatrical movements, a ring of pure blue light materialized in mid-air, floating right above the head of The Owl House's owner. The magic circle slowly descended, enveloping his body; as soon as the process was complete, the figure of Welt Blight vanished into thin air, and in his place appeared Black Warlock.
"It feels so good to be back in one's own fur!" Warlock exclaimed aloud. The fatigue and seriousness of a few moments prior had vanished all at once, as if he had just freed himself from the straitjacket of an asylum.
The hero of Nightfall spread his arms, forming a perfect 'T' with his body, then tilted sharply forward and intentionally let himself fall from the desk. Instead of crashing face-first against the wooden floor, at the very last microsecond, Warlock disappeared in a lightning-fast flash of blue light.
XXX
And he reappeared in the night sky of Nightfall City, suspended at cloud height, in a full free fall.
"This is a thousand times better than any coffee in the world!" Black Warlock exclaimed loudly. He brought his arms vertically along his sides, assuming an aerodynamic posture, just like a swooping hawk or an expert skydiver.
"Master, you should pull out your staff or cast a flight spell, otherwise you risk finding out very soon how an egg feels when it splats against the ground," Sora warned him, her amplified voice resonating, loaded with concern.
"I am about ten thousand meters from the ground, I have about three minutes of free fall before becoming an omelet," Warlock replied, maintaining absolute control over his trajectory.
At the mercy of the freezing stratosphere wind, his heavy Speakers-style cloak began to shift and change texture: its shape lost its medieval and fantasy lines to become a much more modern and utilitarian structure. Reinforced leather straps and metallic buckles materialized on his chest and shoulders, anchoring themselves firmly to his torso, preventing the fabric from blowing away. The sleeves and sides increased in thickness due to extra fabric that had been previously folded in. Between his arms and torso, and in the space between his legs, three large membranes of flexible and ultra-resistant fabric stretched out.
That structural mutation revealed an unprecedented detail on the tunic, right in the center of his chest: an embroidered symbol, consisting of a small luminous circle surrounded by a second concentric circle, connected in turn to a smaller sphere via a straight line.
"Imperial Privilege: Wingsuiting," Black Warlock murmured. Instantly, he spread his arms and legs wide, catching the air current and transforming his vertical fall into an elegant and silent glide.
"Okay... I am slightly impressed. Normally, when you cheat using that trick, you experience a tremendous desynchronization between mind and body in the first attempts," Sora admitted, observing the stability of the flight.
Imperial Privilege was an exceptional skill that allowed the user to temporarily manifest and possess capabilities, skills, or powers they normally would never have had, all through pure willpower, faith, and perseverance. Currently being at Rank-C, Black Warlock could manifest only one skill at a time, limited to purely practical abilities such as swordsmanship, arts, charisma, or similar disciplines. Such skills had to be concrete, not abstract, and devoid of a supernatural nature.
On paper, it was an excellent strategy, but suddenly receiving the notions of a violinist in one's brain did not mean the hand muscles were immediately capable of perfectly executing the complex instructions received. Furthermore, that skill was fueled solely by inner conviction: if Warlock did not blindly believe he could do something, the spell would vanish.
"I prepared myself for a long time for this experiment," Warlock confessed, tilting his body to the right to veer and head toward the dark silhouette of the clock tower. "In the last month of school, Natsumi had to hand in a science project on the flying squirrel. I helped her do it and got passionate about the subject. After that, I watched a documentary on skydiving, several Batman videos to study how he glides with his cloak, and I even read Kite Man's blog... a terrible Gotham City criminal, granted, but an excellent engineer expert in aerodynamics."
"A Gotham City supervillain runs a blog?" Sora asked, finding it bizarre.
"He has even written several books on skydiving and how to build professional kites. Kite Man spends a lot of time in prison; he has to do something to not die of boredom and reduce his sentence," Warlock explained. He preferred to draw upon that material from the real world rather than searching for semi-normal concepts inside his massive immaterial library. The internet was a chaotic place, but the presence of a search bar made consultation much faster compared to the Library of Alexandria, despite the distractions and irritating advertisements.
"You know, Master, I believe Imperial Privilege works much better if you already have a good basic idea of the skill you want to obtain. In short, it is easier to raise a building if there are solid foundations," Sora observed, accustomed to studying the man's every move to support him in the best way possible.
"I think so too," Warlock agreed. He abruptly closed his arms and legs to perform a rapid dive downward, then reopened them just enough to brake the impact with the air, executing a perfect landing on the summit of the old clock tower.
The vigilante stepped closer to the stone ledge and observed the illuminated horizon of Nightfall City.
"Six months ago, I used to say that skydivers are all crazy. Now I can state that I am definitely crazier than a skydiver," Black Warlock joked, putting his hands on his hips and inhaling deeply of the fresh night air.
"Dynamic entry completed. Now what do we do? Do we lean against a gargoyle and go on our night patrol toward the south, north, east, or west?" Sora asked jokingly, returning to her service duties.
"You know, it would be a great scenic image: Black Warlock perched on a gargoyle at night, watching over the city," the hero commented, letting his fantasy wander.
"You just love taking photos of yourself alone and sending them to Charlotte to have her publish them on Steambird," Sora teased him, knowing his every background story. That sentient Grimoire was proving to be worse than the two stalkers who kept an eye on Welt's daily life.
"Yes and no," Warlock confessed, scratching his cheek with a bit of embarrassment. "I admit that I like being the anonymous informant who passes shots and tips to Charlotte; it makes me feel like I'm the protagonist of a noir film. Plus, I earn some pocket money outside of the shop's accounting ledgers." At that moment, the man had more than two thousand dollars in cash stuffed inside the pockets of his utility belt; it wasn't a fortune, but it was enough to buy something to eat while on duty or make purchases that Welt Blight couldn't justify. "And besides, I love the Steambird channel; I'm one of their subscribers." He used that platform to keep himself updated on the more ordinary news of Nightfall City and the outside world.
"Or maybe you like the investigative journalist Charlotte with her red Steampunk/Vintage Journalist-style uniform, or her dress for special occasions in a Classic Detective/Classic Whodunit style," Sora continued, teasing him like a younger sister making fun of her brother for a crush on a celebrity.
"Charlotte undoubtedly has her charm and I appreciate her work, but I don't want her to become my Lois Lane and me her Superman. Wonder Woman, Black Warlock, and Supergirl are excellent examples to follow, no matter if you are a man or a woman... but Lois Lane has always seemed reckless to me, remaining alive until today only because Superman constantly flies around her. And honestly, I don't want to know what they do in their private lives," Black Warlock decreed, firm in his positions. "Let's look around to see if anything is happening, then we will head... East," he chose, establishing the route by pure chance.
"What are we using? Binoculars, a telescope, or magically enhanced vision?" the Grimoire asked.
"Magical vision, I am sure I've improved in that field," Warlock replied, while his irises began to emit a faint blue glow.
"Master, better not. The last time you tried to see two kilometers away without physical supports, your eyes almost exploded," Sora immediately blocked him with a worried tone, reminding him that magic never offered one hundred percent security, especially that kind of sensory alteration spell.
"I will use the telescope, if that makes you feel more at ease," Black Warlock yielded. From his belt, he pulled out an antique bronze telescope, which looked like it came directly out of an old pirate movie. For the next few minutes, the hero remained motionless on the clock tower, methodically scanning the streets and alleys of the Blackwood District.
"Do you see anything interesting?" Sora asked, curious to know if there were any emergency situations.
"Only two things. The first: ten rabbits flying by using their ears as if they were bird wings and their tails in the manner of helicopter propellers. They just stole legumes from the Nightfall City Community Garden and are heading at full speed toward the forest," Warlock reported, describing the first bizarre anomaly of the night.
"Lola's father will be sad and/or angry: one of his first projects as the mayor of Nightfall was the construction of a couple of Community Gardens in every district of the city," Sora commented. It had been a nice idea to unite the community, teach children some fundamental values, offer a productive hobby to those who loved getting their hands dirty, and guarantee a small, healthier, locally sourced food supply.
"The second oddity... the four penguins from New York City entering the sewers. Those are the only interesting things I see," Warlock said, lowering the bronze telescope and slipping it back into his utility belt.
"One day we really should investigate those penguins. How do they escape from the zoo so often and why do they always move together?" Sora asked, considering the penguin matter far more bizarre than a group of flying rabbits.
"I say we should follow the rabbits; they are an absolute novelty for Nightfall. I just hope it's a colony that drank from a puddle of radioactive waste and not some mad scientist using genetically modified hares to commit thefts... I've reached the point where I can utter nonsense like that without batting an eye," Black Warlock exclaimed with joy, as if he had just accumulated enough experience points to level up in the hero class.
"Right, let's go rabbit hunting, Master!" Sora exclaimed, enthusiastically accepting the madness of the night.
Black Warlock gave himself a strong push and threw himself from the summit of the clock tower, spreading his cloak to glide fluidly above the asphalt of the deserted street.
Suddenly...
ZIIIIIIIIII!
A sharp, shrill, and violently loud hiss propagated throughout the entire neighborhood. Dogs, cats, mice, hamsters, bats, and even moths were seized by a frantic agitation. Being the most widespread large animals, the dogs began to make a hellish racket, howling and growling wildly; and they could not be blamed, blasted as they were by that impact frequency.
In addition to the beasts of the surrounding area, someone who did not belong to the animal kingdom also distinctly perceived that tremendous sound, and the experience was not pleasant at all. For Black Warlock, that ultrasound was one of the worst physical tortures he had ever experienced in his life. The pain pierced his brain like a red-hot needle; he instantly covered his ears with both hands, completely losing control of his trajectory and compromising the aerodynamic shape of his glide.
Dazed, confused, and blinded by the sharp pains, the local hero no longer cared about being in a free fall: his only priority was pressing his palms against his ear canals to block out that destroying frequency. Until, inevitably... SMASH!
Warlock impacted violently against a moving automobile. His body slammed with a dull thud onto the metallic hood of the vehicle, while his head struck the front windshield, spiderwebbing the laminated glass with deep cracks.
Despite the massive surprise, the driver at the wheel demonstrated exceptional reflexes. Although her view was completely obstructed by Warlock's furry silhouette stretched out across the hood, she did not lose control of the vehicle: she kept the wheels in a straight line for a few meters, executed a controlled turn to the right, and slammed on the brakes, pulling the vehicle over to the curb.
Due to the abrupt deceleration, Warlock rolled off the smooth hood of the car, winding up stretched out on the hard asphalt. He remained supine, gasping, his gaze instinctively turned toward the silhouette of the museum, the exact spot from which that sonic torment seemed to originate.
Just as it had appeared, the ultrasonic hiss abruptly stopped.
"A small mercy," the local hero commented through clenched teeth. He felt as though he had just walked out of a dentist's office after a massive extraction surgery without anesthesia, except the pain, instead of radiating from his gums, radiated directly from the inside of his ears.
The driver's side door swung open with a sharp click. The driver rushed out of the damaged vehicle, dashing toward the hero lying on the ground.
"Warlock!" the woman exclaimed, her purple hair standing out under the streetlamps' lights.
"Chief Investigator Motoko," Black Warlock wheezed, immediately recognizing the owner of the vehicle upon which he had just plummeted from the sky.
"What happened? Do you need an ambulance?" Motoko asked, maintaining an admirable calm as she knelt by his side and began running her hands over his torso and arms, searching for any fractures or internal injuries.
Warlock let out a faint smile beneath his mask, ignoring the aftereffects of the impact and the slight embarrassment of being felt up like that. "I know you can't help but come looking for me... but putting your hands on me like this, without even a date... you are certainly the boldest and most direct woman in the entire police force."
Motoko let out a short, quiet sigh of relief, withdrawing her hands. "If you still have the time and strength to joke, it means you're fine," the captain said, offering him a steady hand to help him back to his feet.
"You are definitely my favorite policewoman in this city," Warlock replied, grabbing her grip and pulling himself up. Thanks to the sturdiness of his physical form, the pain of the impact was already fading.
"Don't be an idiot. Tell me what happened: were you fighting someone up there?" Motoko asked, immediately bringing her hand to her service holster and beginning to scan the surrounding roofs and alleys for a potential threat.
"I was doing my usual night patrol, spotted some flying rabbits, and wanted to investigate, so I took flight. But then, all of a sudden, I felt this deafening noise... as if they were driving rusty nails inside my ears, and I crashed straight onto your automobile. By the way, I'm sorry... I'll fix it for you as soon as we close this matter," Warlock said, casting a remorseful glance at Motoko's personal car.
It was a high-performance sports sedan of an elegant purple color; looking closely, it wasn't in such bad shape: it featured a cracked windshield from his head's impact and a visible dent with the imprint of the hero's body on the front hood, along with some possible minor damage to the internal engine components.
"Very kind of you. But what deafening noise are you talking about? I didn't hear absolutely anything," Motoko countered, narrowing her eyes and trying to analyze the situation.
Warlock looked around, gesturing with a nod of his head toward the various stray cats running terrified through the alleys and the incessant chorus of howling and whimpering rising from the neighborhood houses. "You didn't hear that noise? Really, it's impossible."
Motoko observed the state of panic among the local animals. The din of the barking dogs was spreading like wildfire throughout the historical district. "You can perceive ultrasounds," the detective declared, not as a question, but stating the scientific fact of the matter.
"In a way, I'm half-canine, so you might be entirely right," Warlock replied, shrugging his shoulders casually.
"Where precisely did that signal come from?" Motoko asked, immediately sensing the severity of what was unfolding before their eyes.
"It came straight from the museum," Warlock answered, pointing his gloved index finger toward the imposing facade of the building just a little further down the street.
"This week at the museum, there's an exhibition dedicated to diamonds. Some of those pieces are worth tens of millions of dollars," Motoko declared, drawing her investigative conclusions with absolute speed.
"Good. That means tonight, instead of hunting rabbits, I'm going to hunt diamond thieves," Black Warlock declared, a small vengeful smile appearing on his lips, still annoyed by the pain in his ears.
"Don't you dare act on your own. Wait a minute," Motoko immediately blocked him with her serious and authoritative voice as head of the investigative squad. She marched toward the back of her purple sedan. "I need to put on my protective gear, and then I have to radio dispatch to report what's happening. Fortunately, I always keep a spare heavy bulletproof vest in the trunk." For her, safety and preparation came before everything else in the field.
"As you wish, captain. Who am I to turn down the close support of a hot super-cop?" Warlock joked, positioning himself beside her. In reality, he had no problem having his back covered, especially if it was being done by an investigator of Motoko's caliber.
The woman raised the trunk lid, revealing a special armaments case. "I also have a military-grade assault rifle in here," Motoko said in a slightly less formal but extremely determined tone, as she slipped the heavy ballistic vest over her civilian clothes and tightened its straps.
"And I have a vampire-killing whip, if you'd care to try it," Warlock countered with his usual playful tone, not intimidated in the least by his companion's firepower.
Motoko grabbed the firm grip of the tactical rifle—a precision weapon whose value likely exceeded that of a normal highway patrol car—and chambered a round with a sharp, effective clack-clack. She looked him straight in the eyes through the slit of his mask. "Are you brave, stupid, or did you just get a bad concussion?"
"Maybe all three at once," Warlock replied.
With a sharp stomp, the hero struck his foot against the asphalt: instantly, his cloak shifted texture, returning to its standard floating form, and with a blue flash, his magical staff materialized in his hands, ready for action.
To be continued...
XXX
Author's Note:
Honestly, I have nothing to say, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I had a lot of fun writing it.