Alone in his room, Marcus made sure the door was locked and then sat at his desk.
Surrounded by the smell of lavender and sweaty teenage boy, he swept aside the piles of documents, pictures, articles, and magazines of supernatural creatures and hunting techniques on his table.
Reaching under it, he pulled out the oversized ledger taped to the bottom and placed it on the desk.
His mother was still downstairs, watching her soap operas now that Marcus was in his room, which meant he wouldn't be disturbed.
Now he could be alone with his thoughts.
He opened the book slowly, going through each page—each memory—of the different OCs he'd come across throughout the years.
Goblins, Loveland frogs, gargoyles… each page held a different creature. And a little memento, whether that be pieces of whatever makeshift weapon he'd used, or remnants of the OC in question—left behind after disintegration—like scales or nails.
On each page was scribbles and notes about recent sightings, techniques that worked against specific OCs, and stories from folklore that highlighted strengths and weaknesses.
A proud smile sat across his face.
He finally flipped to the last page: a half-filled scribbly mess about ghosts.
So far he'd never been able to find or hunt one, and any information he'd gathered on killing them spoke of methods he could only employ if he was—or had—a holy man, or if he was a relative of the deceased (and had a holy man).
But as he sat at his desk, an uncomfortable feeling slithered through him.
Ghosts were the souls of the deceased that were killed wrongly or had some unfinished business to attend to here on earth. And if he were to believe in ghosts, vengeful spirits, and the likes—which he had no reason to deny—then didn't that mean his dad…
He closed the ledger and tapped it back underneath the desk; there was no use thinking of stupid things that would never happen.
What he needed was to focus on how he would find Lucan Silas—the man that killed his father—and eradicate him alongside every OC in existence.
"Stray," he muttered. That was the name of the organisation of evil Witchcasters.
According to Parks, Lucan Silas was once a member of the CC who turned rogue after finding a way to subdue and control OCs—using them for his own personal agenda. He was some kind of radicalist whose vision led to the deaths of many, including Marcus's dad.
Before he could be taken in, he escaped and founded Stray, and now operates towards a goal the CC is yet to fully grasp.
As to what this radical vision was, or what little information they had about members of Stray or Lucan's whereabouts, he didn't know.
To Marcus, Parks hadn't told him much of anything because he'd already gotten a grasp on Marcus's nature, and he knew that telling Marcus any of that information would lead him to immediately go after Lucan and Stray.
Parks wasn't wrong.
His current lack of information was one of the reasons he'd joined the CC, and Parks knew how to give him just enough to make him stick with them, but not enough to make him independent.
Remembering the events of today, everything just seemed so… unreal.
He started the day an average teenager (who killed monsters) and ended it as a Witchcaster. Now, he had soul essence flowing within him.
The coldness was still there, deep in his stomach. It was a bit uncomfortable, but River mentioned how, in time, he'd get used to it.
Speaking of River, she didn't seem happy when he joined the CC. Something told him she wasn't the type to spill everything on her mind if he asked, but she wasn't as good at hiding her feelings as she thought.
Her face was like a window to her mind. The blinds were shut, but situations blew them apart every now and then, giving a glimpse of what was inside.
Parks told him his training would start tomorrow, and he'd be given a test mission a few days after, before he'd officially be part of the CC, which genuinely excited him. But when he eventually started his training, he just knew getting along with River would be a pain.
That was assuming he'd be seeing her again anytime soon.
He swerved in his chair (it was the type you could spin in) and walked to his bed, tossing aside the clothes piled on his bag before taking out his phone. Thankfully, the CC were kind enough to return his bag and property to him.
The moment he unlocked it, a barrage of messages left by Redrick filled his screen. "Crap…" he sighed as he slowly swiped through the messages.
He'd been blowing off hanging with Redrick a lot lately, and that didn't change whatsoever today. He hadn't replied to any of his calls or texts—for understandable reason—which he knew would piss Red off.
He would've called back, doing so now—when he hadn't come up with a good enough lie yet—would only get him in more trouble with Red. Lying to Redrick—or telling him a bad lie—would make things way worse than they already were.
Redrick was kinda like what he imagined having a girlfriend would feel like: an overly worried person who always looked out for him and nagged his ear off when they weren't having fun together.
Not like he'd ever have a girlfriend.
Regardless, he had a lot to think about, particularly concerning the CC and tomorrow's training.
As reluctant to hand out information as Parks was, when Marcus asked when the CC was created, he was given his answer, as disturbing as it was.
The CC were founded in the year after the great sinking had taken place.
The year humanity was nearly wiped out…