Paul stood frozen in the temple's oppressive, abyssal atmosphere. His gaze locked with bright, sapphire eyes. The air around him was contaminated with a potent smell of metal, sulfur, and something else unrecognizable. Dust clung on his cloak, and the weight felt as though it was drenched in water. His hands were shaking underneath from adrenaline and the weight of his decision.
His thoughts were racing with his broken inherited legacy. Old, rotten journals. Withering runes on familial amulets. Stories of an ancestor's attempt to bind a creature just like this, cursing their generations to come with an unfulfilling, ravenous desire.
The sound of Paul's breath echoed in the temple. The genie tilted his head farther than any human head could. His long, skinny neck extending forward. Needle-like teeth sparkling in the flickering light produced by the flashlight, a predator savoring the inevitability of the moment.
Paul spoke with a steady voice. Years of careful study and preparation have led him here.
"I wish for supreme knowledge of the esoteric. I want to know all magical theories, rituals, and hidden truths of the occult. Including the power to see, summon, bind, and destroy entities beyond the veil. Taking effect now, without harm to my mind or soul, unbound by limits, excluding my own will."
The genie's grin grew as wide as seemingly possible, stretching across the nearly human face.
"Ambitious," he murmured, his voice acting as a golden thread laced with venom.
"You seek the keys of the unseen kingdom. Very well then."
He lifted his hand slowly. Long, slim fingers ending in black nails now growing into claws. A deep, consistently low-frequency filled the temple, vibrating through Paul's bones, as if the stones were awakening from an eternal sleep.
Then the knowledge hit him all at once. A Kabbalistic Tree of Life glowing with energy flashed in his mind. Flooded by alchemical symbolism and inverted light. Enochian and demonic writings filled every corner of his sight. He saw circles and sigils forgotten by grimoires. Scrying methods reflecting veiled truths.
The flow of knowledge was nonstop, filling his mind with symbols and spells. He understood how to invoke, banish, and sense what's hidden. Exhilarating and simultaneously terrifying.
Paul gasped and fell back on the cold wall, dropping the flashlight. The genie watched him, his form becoming unpredictably translucent. His chuckle reverberating in the temple like thunder.
"Wield it wisely." With these words, the genie dissolved, his body unraveling into wisps of ink like streams that faded into the temple's void. Then silence.
Paul held his head as the new knowledge settled in. With a shaking finger, he drew a simple symbol in the dust on his left arm. A sigil of protection composed of elder futhark runes glowing faintly crimson under his new senses. He closed his eyes and, for the first time, saw faint, unmistakable traces of the genie's presence. Then, he noticed others, presences like dark stars in the hidden firmament, stirred by the shift.
As Paul stepped toward the narrow entrance of the temple, the first subtle torments became apparent. A fleeting vision of a ritual. A large, complicated circle covered the floor of a small stone room lit by torches; people, hidden by cloaks, swarmed the outside. The silhouettes of individuals involved all blurred. A human-shaped vessel cracking in a burst of malevolent light.
What was this? Was this knowledge really pure? He forced his worries away and stepped into the cold desert night. Looking back, the temple was no longer there.
Sand stretched endlessly under the stars. The wind chill was relentless. His walk back to camp passed in an instant, thoughts clouding with newfound knowledge.
He felt the hidden world open. He could sense lines under the ground and distant oddities. By the time he reached his small camp, just a worn tent and a dead fire greeted him. The first light of dawn filled the sky red.
He sat down on a cheap, worn lawn chair, thoughts running rampant. He held his head, fingers pressing into his scalp, feeling the pressure of his familial history. One thing stood out. Hatred. He grew more tired, and the troubles in his mind escalated.
As the sun rose over the landscape, Paul stood up. He pulled back his hood, showing a pale face littered by exhaustion. Hollow black eyes with dark circles from years of chasing answers. Messy, long black hair fell down to his shoulders, sweat and sand stuck to his face and neck. His legs stopped working, unable to maintain composure. His knees fell to the sand as the sun rose, and he gave in to his new reality.
A hunt lay ahead.