Just how long had it been since they were free of that wretched prison? Oh, how they missed the smell of the air, the sensation of it on their… well, this man’s skin. They didn’t have any skin of their own to feel with, at least not in this mundane plane of existence. This man’s body would have to suffice, weak and fleshy as it were. It was gangly and awkward. They would need to work on their fine motor control in this new body.
The air was cool and sent what these humans call goosebumps up this body’s skin. They grimaced at the sensation. They flexed the body’s ---—- now their body’s — fingers and raised them in front of their eyes. Unnamed iridescent colors shone off the skin. The world thrummed with the magic that coursed through everything here.
They could feel the man’s consciousness pressing against their own, trying to resist. It was futile. Once a Maltherion was in a human’s body, there was no way to take back control. Maltherion. That was what the humans called them. The irony in calling them evil beasts when they were the ones to wretch them from their home.
They stood there for a moment, stretching and flexing. Feeling out the movements of this body before wondering, what era was it? The last time they inhabited skin and bones, Rome was falling. Fortunately, they had access to all his host’s memories. They stood there in a dead stare, while pillaging the consciousness of the man they inhabited. There were many striking things that stood out to them.
Primarily, their host was a talented mage. His knowledge of manipulating raw magic alone was impressive for a human. The way he wanted to apply that to the study of human biology. The Maltherion shuddered. How monstrous would a human become if they were enhanced with magic at their cellular level? They, like the host had thought, believed that it could make even someone unattuned to magic able to wield it. It would be like repairing a severed connection.
Secondly, they marveled at the technological advancements the humans had managed. Computers, cellphones, microchips. The way they manipulated electricity was akin to magic itself. Mundane as they were, humans were quite resourceful with their mundane world. Compressing gases to form explosions, and using the energy generated to… spin wheels? Cars, trucks… engines. How primitive. And it was ruining their planet at that!
Oh, but the real marvel was nuclear power. The mightiest power these creatures could harness from their natural world. And it was used to wage war. Terrible, disgusting creatures. They could power countries for years with little more than steam as a byproduct and they still chose to burn… the remains of dinosaurs? No, that was a misnomer. It was the remains of eons-past trees. Still, such unbridled destruction from such small resources. Even magic didn’t match that, not in this world at least. The magic here always took more to use than one could output.
Fifteen-hundred times this planet had circled its sun since the last time they breathed air in this world. That means nearly two-thousand years since they were ripped from their home. Two-thousand years of human hubris, and they were teetering on destroying their own world, or so their host thought. Little humans. The Earth was billions of years old. It would not be destroyed by the tittering of human squabbles. Humans would go, but the Earth would persist and heal. Mundane as it was.
Ixtrexis - that was their name, at least as close as one could get it in English tongue – strode to the mansion this host had just left. Apparently, the host’s mentor was an even more capable mage than he inhabited now, which was largely thanks to this storehouse of passed on magical knowledge. A tickling scratched his mind. Not just the host’s, but their own mind too. They noticed the dancing colors across the walls of the house, the glowing runes etched into the wooden frame underneath shone through as well.
It was a peculiar charm enchantment that seemed to attempt to dissuade the charmed away from the object of enchantment. It took a powerful mage to imbue that into the entirety of this house. Ixtrexis’s lips spread into a wicked, wide-eyed smile as they pulled in magic. Fingers danced intricately before them, and after a few moments of weaving a spell, every sixth sigil etched into the building that made up the enchantment had an extra mark of emphasis etched into it. The spell came naturally to them. Theirs' was not a learned magic, but an innate attunement to the very fabric of magic. A Maltherion could wield the magic of this world in ways even the most experienced mages could only dream. It was natural though as they were creature born of magic. The enchantment’s pressure on their mind faded, the spell rekeyed. Now, it would repel everyone but themself.
They stepped into the dreary house, dust-covered dust covers draped over anything that could bring even the slightest beauty to a human’s inhabitance. This place, which was once deserted, would make it the finest place for him to call home. Another incantation, another woven spell, but this time, the air smelled faintly of burnt hair. The layer of dust that covered everything was gone. The marble floor shined as if recently waxed. The wooden railings of the staircase had a slick sheen as if oiled.
Magic in this world could only do so much, so they could not just reshape and reform the house to their whim, like they could in their own realm. However, they could at least see to it being clean, the opulence restored. Dust covers disintegrated, their remains carried to the outside wind. The house had no light switches, a modern lighting convenience Ixtrexis found in this host’s memories. That was perfectly fine. Their vision didn’t need artificial light, but knowing what color something was to a human could prove useful in blending in. At least for as long as they bothered to keep up the charade, that was.
No light switches, but there were lightbulbs… Interesting. Perhaps this was a lack of knowledge on this host’s part about what constituted electricity when this house was built compared to homes of his time. The home was over a hundred years old and likely not renovated. Their regards for this mage may have been misplaced. Latent magical talent, sure, but he couldn’t even deign himself to know his societies’ advancements in just the last hundred years? The hubris of these creatures to believe in progress when they don’t even know what they are building upon!
Ixtrexis traced the newly gained memories once more. This home belonged to this host’s mentor. Someone older, marginally wiser, and perhaps more knowledgeable about this modern society than this mere twenty-one-year-old toddler. He had barely come into existence by Maltherion standards.
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The mentor owned this home. Inhabiting him would make residing here marginally less difficult. Apparently, these people were allowed to own their own land and property. It wasn’t just owned by their rulers. They considered the memories again. Perhaps it was just the illusion of ownership, but it would still be meaningful for the charade.
Ixtrexis quickly chanted, magic condensed around him. The very space around him condensed. Everything around him appeared to bend and warp before going black. In an instant, they were no longer standing in that backcountry mansion but rather standing at the front of a large rectangular room. It was filled with rows of tiered seating that ascended towards the back of the room. Behind them, a whiteboard with “MAGIC PROOFS” written atop it was on the wall, there many different magical symbols and sigils meant to arithmetically represent the manipulations and control of magic.
The room was empty, and it was growing late. There would not be another lecture in this room until the next day. Ixtrexis ascended the steps and left the room, sifting through Henry’s - that had been this host’s name - memories. They hooked a right down the hallway and proceeded to Professor Renaldo’s office. They walked with stern determination, catching the gaze of some other university students as they walked by.
One student even tried saying hello, someone that recognized this body. The girl appeared earnestly excited to see Henry, but Ixtrexis paid her no attention. They continued passed her without so much as a nod. It wasn’t worth the time to entertain another human that was not furthering their goals. The girl looked confused, then scorned, and walked off.
After traversing another hallway, they had reached the professor’s office. The door was open for office hours. Ixtrexis stepped in. Bookshelves lined the walls, brimming with dusty tomes and sleek, hardbound journals. At the center of the room stood a broad wooden desk. A “lap-top” sat in one corner – a folding device with an electronic screen. There were fine ripples in the air that flowed to and from the device. Its screen showed a digital star chart. Papers littered the rest of the desk. They were thinner and stark white with little black lettering on them. Nothing like the papyrus of old.
The scent of cinnamon and musty tomes filled the air. Campus lights and the scenic garden outside showed through a large window, partially obscured by heavy black velvet curtains. The city’s light pollution muted the starry night sky. Ixtrexis frowned from such natural beauty masked by artificial luminescence. There was an ornate staff, whose shaft separating out into tendrils that wrapped around an onyx orb, propped up against the corner of the window. Ixtrexis could see the implement’s effect on magic gentling warping the ebb and flows of magic that permeated everything.
Professor Renaldo sat at the desk, reading over a parchment in his hand. He had a bushy salt and pepper beard, and dark, wavy hair that had been combed back. He wore a tailored, charcoal-grey tweed blazer with a cream-colored button-up shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, a gentle contrast to his olive toned skin. When he looked up, surprise spread across his face.
“Henry, you’re back quick,” he said, standing up to meet them. He looked expectantly at Henry – now Ixtrexis. He had sent Henry to fetch a tome for him. It mattered not.
Ixtrexis closed and locked the door behind them.
“Henry,” concern now in his voice. “Is everything okay? Where’s the to-,” he was cut off.
Black smoke billowed from Henry’s nose and mouth and shot towards the professor. He tried to cry out, just as flutily as Henry had. There was nothing that could be done.
Henry coughed, body trembling. His throat felt like it had been sliced to ribbons. His eyes burned, and even his nostrils stung. His limbs were weak. He fought to move them, but they resisted as if not his own yet. He found himself lying on a carpet in the professor’s office. He struggled to pick himself up. He saw Renaldo striding towards him from the desk. Henry looked up to see a letter opener in the professor’s left hand. The professor was smiling in a twisted, cruel way. The smile faded as he strode toward Henry.
He tried recalling how he got here. Why was Professor Renaldo coming at him with a knife? He remembered the mansion. He had found the tome. However, he had also found something else. Did the professor find out he stole something? That glass orb must have been magically trapped… But he had smashed it. No. That black smoke from the shattered glass orb had shot out towards him.
“Were you not an abomination, it would be a shame to end you here,” Renaldo said, his voice low and gravely, not its usual warm tone. “You are a generational talent… for your kind.”
There was a look in the professor’s eyes. Uncaring. Admonishing. A look of indifference, like killing Henry would be a routine chore rather than a savage act of taking someone’s life. Henry felt like a bug waiting to be stomped for invading someone’s home. Henry tried mustering up magic. Something. Anything. The professor stepped on his hand, preventing him from manipulating the flow of magic he was pooling together.
A brown leather shoe cracked against his head, throwing him into a daze. He was pulled up to his feet with insane strength. Magical reinforcement of muscles? When did he have time to cast such a spell though? No implements or hand gestures to control the magic’s flow, not even a chant. He had drastically underestimated Professor Renaldo’s magical ability to cast spells if he could do so at a whim. But this wasn’t the professor, not really. It couldn’t be. Even if Renaldo had found out what he’d done, he wouldn’t kill him for it. Renaldo would likely just cancel his apprenticeship. Was it that smoke? Henry recalled the voice in his head, he remembered that same voice in his mind as if it were his own while in the house. The Professor was choking him now. The lights in the office seemed to dim; Henry started to see stars.
In a blink, they were standing in a park. Bitter, cold wind whipped at his face. There was a lit pathway a bit away that Henry could see, the sound of cars off in the distance. The knife stabbed into his chest, blossoming with pain. He tried to cry out, but the grip on his neck was too tight.
Henry tried reaching out to claw at Renaldo’s – now Ixtrexis’s – face, even kicking them, but Ixtrexis ignored the pain. New York City Central park had been the first location in the professor’s mind that Ixtrexis found suitable for hiding a body. It was closed at night so there should be no witnesses. However, it was public enough that the body would be found rather quickly. He didn’t want the student to go missing, especially after being seen in the school. Heading towards the professor’s office as Henry implicated him enough as it were.
Ixtrexis plunged the small knife into Henry’s chest and stomach repeatedly before dropping him to the ground. He stood over his former host, looking around. The park was quiet this late at night. They had landed in a part of the park surrounded by trees and bushes. Even if there had been passersby or a one-off cop patrolling, they would likely have passed without seeing past the shade of the trees. Blood threatened to stain his clothes, but it did not matter. The same spell that had ridden this host’s mansion of dust, when tweaked just the right way, began to erase the blood and dirt from the fine clothes Professor Renaldo wore. Light warped around them once again, and again they were in the office.
They took a moment to scan the room, while reaching into the professor’s mind. He was a man of means, even if his fortune was crumbling. He had some recognition around his peers and influence over students. Ixtrexis would need several skilled mages for his plans. Professor Renaldo was perfect. Older, respected, more connected. None of his pawns… No, his students would question his authority. Several students’ names rippled to the surface of his thoughts as he sat at the desk and began to write.
