Chapter 4: The Scalper's Glimpse
The Quad at Nevermore Academy was a labyrinth of shadows, its damp air clinging to Oliver Smoak's skin like a second skin, the chill seeping through his rumpled navy uniform. Mist curled around the gothic arches, heavy with the scent of wet stone and a sharper edge—ozone, like a storm brewing just out of sight.
Oliver stood beside Wednesday Addams, her black dress a stark silhouette against the gray, her braid motionless, her obsidian eyes scanning the horizon with forensic precision. She's a machine, cold and unstoppable. His fingers brushed the compass in his pocket, its faint hum a tether to the System's cryptic guidance, a reminder of the mirror's warning and the metallic tang from his dorm.
[SYSTEM: Cursed Artifact Residue Detected. This is a Warlock's Calling Card.]
The message lingered from their earlier scan at the Weathervane, urging him forward, his heart racing with dread and determination. This is real. No turning back.
Wednesday's voice cut through the mist, cold and businesslike. "The tremor was a magical signature." Her eyes flicked to him, fingers twitching as if reaching for her knife. "I want to know its origin."
Her tone was a command, not a request. Oliver nodded, throat tight, framing the System's alert as instinct to keep his secret. "Got a… gut feeling about it," he said, voice steady despite the lie.
His fingers twitched toward his tie, the fabric grounding him as Wednesday's gaze narrowed, a spark of suspicion in her eyes. "Gut feelings," she repeated, her voice flat, lips twitching as if she smelled the deception. She's too sharp. One wrong move, and she'll carve the truth out of me.
The air grew colder, the ozone scent sharper, tying this moment to the dorm's anomaly and the Serpent's cryptic message. Their footsteps echoed on the cobblestones as they moved toward the Weathervane, the mist swirling like a living thing, watching their uneasy alliance.
The Weathervane's warmth was a fleeting comfort, its air thick with burnt pastry and bitter coffee, a stark contrast to the Quad's chill. The wooden counter was scarred, warm under Oliver's fingertips as he muttered a Revelio spell, the System's magic surging like a current through his veins.
The air hummed, a sterile, metallic scent rising, linking to the dorm's anomaly. His skin prickled as faint burn marks glowed on the counter, their edges jagged like a wound.
[SYSTEM: Cursed Artifact Residue Detected. This is a Warlock's Calling Card.]
The message jolted him, its vagueness forcing him to think. A warlock. The Scalper? His pulse quickened, the compass in his pocket humming louder, a tether to the Serpent's mystery.
Wednesday knelt beside the counter, fingers tracing the burns, inhaling the ozone scent. "Deliberate," she said, her voice rapid, clinical. "Not accidental. A summoning residue, tied to a larger artifact."
Her deductions were a torrent, each observation a piece of the puzzle Oliver struggled to grasp. She's a magical Sherlock, and I'm her confused Watson. He nodded, trying to match her pace, his mind racing to connect the burns to the System's cryptic warning.
He spotted a charred coin under a napkin, its surface etched with a twisted serpent, cold and heavy in his hand. His fingers trembled as he lifted it, the System blaring:
[SYSTEM: Artifact—Fragment of the Wandless Serpent. Seek the Serpent's Head.]
The message was maddeningly vague, his jaw tightening as he pieced it together with Wednesday's observations. It's part of something bigger. He showed her the coin, voice low. "This mean anything to you?"
Wednesday's eyes flicked to it, fingers brushing its edge, a spark of recognition in her gaze. "It's a conduit," she said, softer, almost reverent. "A piece of a ritual."
Their eyes met, a shared understanding forming, though her suspicion lingered in the tilt of her head. The metallic tang sharpened, tying to the mirror's message, a thread pulling them deeper into Nevermore's maze.
The trail led to a dead end outside Jericho, the coin's hum fading in the open air, the mist thicker, the ozone scent gone. Oliver's frustration mounted, fingers clutching the coin, its weight a reminder of their failure. We're missing something.
Wednesday's posture stiffened, lips pressing into a thin line, patience fraying. "This is pointless," she said, voice sharp, braid swinging as she turned to leave.
But the System spoke, urgent:
[SYSTEM: New Path Unlocked—The Catacombs Beneath Nevermore. A Secret Passage Lies Within the Library Archives. Find It.]
Oliver's heart lurched, and he lied, voice steady. "I heard a rumor about a passage in the library."
Wednesday's eyebrow quirked, intrigue crossing her face, suspicion tempered by curiosity. "Lead the way," she said, her tone a challenge.
The air grew colder, mist curling like a warning, their reluctant partnership solidifying. The catacombs called, a new thread in the Serpent's mystery, linking back to the library's residue and the dorm's anomaly.
"Wednesday's a blade, cutting through the fog, but she's still watching me. I can't let her see the System. The coin's hum, the metallic tang—it's all tied to the Serpent. I'm not just a student; I'm a player in a game I don't understand. The Scalper's out there, leaving clues like breadcrumbs, and I'm stumbling after them. Wednesday's deductions are my only map, but I'm starting to trust my own gut. The System's vague, pushing me to think for myself. The catacombs are next, and I'm not ready. But I'm going anyway. Nevermore's a puzzle, and I'm not failing this level."
The catacombs beneath Nevermore were a labyrinth of forgotten secrets, air thick with damp earth and the metallic tang of ancient magic, echoing the Weathervane's residue. Crumbling stone walls pulsed faintly under Oliver's flashlight, faded runes glowing like ghosts of forgotten spells.
His breath came in shallow bursts, fingers brushing the compass in his pocket—its hum erratic, almost frantic. The air prickled his skin, tying to the Quad's ozone scent, a reminder of the Serpent's warning.
Wednesday moved ahead, her black dress blending with the shadows, braid swinging like a pendulum. Her knife gleamed dully, a silent promise of violence. She's built for this. I'm just a guy with a magic app.
The silence was broken by rats rustling and bones creaking in the dark. Oliver's heart raced, fingers twitching at his tie, a nervous tic. Wednesday didn't glance back, her silence louder than words—she wasn't afraid, unlike him, haunted by a mirror's twisted reflection and a voice demanding he survive.
The crypt was worse, its ceiling sagging, air heavy with iron and something older, making Oliver's teeth ache. A stone gargoyle perched atop a cracked tomb, wings spread, eyes igniting with a malevolent green glow.
Stone claws scraped the floor, the sound like nails on a chalkboard, sending a shiver down Oliver's spine. The air grew colder, the gargoyle's shadow devouring the light, its energy tying to the Weathervane's warlock magic.
Wednesday's posture stiffened, knife raised fluidly. "I handle monsters," she said, voice precise, deadly. Her eyes narrowed as the gargoyle descended, movements unnaturally fluid for stone.
Oliver's pulse spiked, breath shallow. The System was silent, offering no guidance. This is Eldric's work. The same green glow, the same oppressive energy. It wasn't random; it was a trap, a message from the Scalper.
The gargoyle lunged. Wednesday dodged, braid whipping as she rolled aside, claws tearing through the air, leaving a green mist. Oliver stumbled back, back hitting the cold stone wall, the impact jarring.
He was cornered, mind racing through System lessons—Focus your intent. Channel your will. The magic's inside. He'd never cast an offensive spell, only used the System for simple tasks.
But with a stone monster bearing down, he had no choice. His hand shot forward, raw power building in his palm, hot and untamed. "Impedimenta!" he shouted, the spell rough but erupting in a wave, slamming the gargoyle back.
Its green eyes flickered like dying embers. Oliver's chest heaved, shock and pride warring. It's not the System. It's me. He'd cast a spell, his own power, not the System's command.
Wednesday's gaze flicked to him, a spark of surprise—or approval—in her eyes. Her lips twitched, a rare nod. She saw it. She knows I'm more than a normie.
The gargoyle collapsed, cracking like brittle ice. Oliver kicked it, boot thudding, and a glowing violet gem fell from its chest, pulsing with a sinister hum.
[SYSTEM: Artifact Found: Fragment of the Wandless Serpent. Seek the Serpent's Heart.]
The message was cryptic, Oliver's jaw tightening as he picked up the gem, cold and jagged. Wednesday knelt beside him, fingers brushing its edge, eyes narrowing. "This is a conduit," she said, voice flat but heavy. "It channels magic."
The green glow lingered in her mind, a color from her visions. Her fingers tightened around her knife, a flicker of unease. She's connecting dots I can't see.
The crypt's air grew colder, the damp scent sharper, the gem's hum syncing with Oliver's pulse. This is Eldric's game. The runes' glow was a warning, tying to the coin and the Serpent's mystery.
Wednesday stood, eyes scanning the shadows. "We need someone who understands relics," she said, her gaze meeting his with rare collaboration.
Oliver nodded, the gem's weight a reminder of their cost. We're not safe here. The question hung: Who could decipher this relic, and what price would they pay?
"The catacombs are alive, and they hate us. That gargoyle wasn't just a trap—it was Eldric's calling card, like the coin. Wednesday's a blade, but she's starting to trust me, maybe. I cast a spell, my spell, not the System's. I'm not just its pawn anymore. The gem's hum, the metallic tang—it's all tied to the Serpent. Who's Eldric? What's he hunting? The System's vague, but I'm starting to think for myself. We need help, but who can we trust? Nevermore's a maze, and I'm not failing this level."
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