Mostly Harmless Prophecies

I hesitated, the thing writhing in my grip, and then, with a resigned shrug, I bit into it. The taste hit hard, foul and rancid, like moldy socks left to stew in gutter water. But as I swallowed, something changed. The bitterness melted into a strange, heady warmth, spreading through me, igniting every nerve. Colors sharpened to a razor edge, the air buzzed electric. My senses crackled awake, alert, hungry.

“Extraordinary,” Mildred said, as I caught my reflection in a silver pot. My bluish skin had a green tinge, with patches forming new, thin skin-like material. I could smell the room better now, picking out the different spices and herbs.

She poured a coarse powder onto my hand, and it burned like acid. I tried to pull away, but she held firm, watching the sizzle against my skin. I dared not strike her or fight back.

Finally, she let go.

“What the hell was that?” I demanded, watching as my skin returned to its normal state, the burn fading.

“Table salt,” she said, showing me the package.

“I know it was table salt. What was the deal with that little experiment? I’m going to need more than that.”

“Oh, Jack. You’re not just undead; you’re a Devourer. At least, in part.”

“A what-now?” I asked.

A Devourer… Frank’s voice echoed with recognition. I felt something familiar about you, Jack. This makes sense.

“Care to elaborate?”

Before she could answer, Molly entered with a book, setting it on the table in front of Mildred before vanishing like a ghost.

That’s just creepy, I thought.

You are one to talk. A voice—not Frank’s, but younger and female—chimed in my mind. Molly?

I’ve really got to watch what I think around here. I hate this place.

The book had a charcoal sketch of a hideous beast, a mashup of body parts from different creatures. Terrifying.

It’s a beast from my world, Frank said. Rare as an honest man in a poker game. They hunted them down to the edge of extinction… for their uses. Their blood holds a dark, twisted magic, potent enough to let species breed that would otherwise be impossible matches, binding life where nature would draw a line. The first Hexborn, as you call them, wouldn’t even exist if it weren’t for a splash of Devourer blood in their ancestry.

“This half-life of yours wasn’t granted, Jack,” Mildred said, her eyes narrowing, sharp as broken riftglass. “It’s something inside you—something ancient that’s been lying dormant, waiting. No one built you; they just woke it up. And what they woke isn’t just rare—it’s damn near impossible. Devourer blood.”

She leaned closer, her voice dipping to a hushed intensity. “Not a trace, not a dash, Jack. You’ve got the real thing. And it’s only just beginning to stir.”

“You mean to say—?”

“Yes, my boy,” she interrupted, her tone heavy with certainty. “I do believe you’re a Hexborn.”

Jack, Devourers pick up bits and pieces of what they eat—their traits, their weaknesses, Frank chimed in, his voice crackling through my head like static. Take that last snack. It had a salt allergy. When she hit you with the salt, you sizzled like bacon. But the effects seem temporary—burned through whatever you’d absorbed, stripped you back down to your base zombie model. Adds a whole new meaning to ‘you are what you eat.’

“That explains the imp.” I muttered, ignoring Frank’s gleeful tone.

Mildred’s eyes glinted as I spoke.

“After I ate it, my skin felt… colder. Just on that patch.”

“Fascinating.” Her lips curved into a thin smile. “The imp’s blood granted you its senses—and its weaknesses, its sensitivity to cold. As its essence leaves your system, so will the changes… unless you consume more.”

That explained the lingering cold sensitivity. “So why’s the imp blood still in me?”

Mildred tilted her head, her gaze unyielding. “Well, Jack, how much did you eat?”

I hesitated, my stomach twisting. “A lot,” I admitted.

She nodded knowingly, her smile curling into something almost predatory. “Then it’s no surprise the changes are lingering. Devourer blood doesn’t just take—it integrates, merges. And the more you consume, the harder it’ll be to tell where you end and the monster begins.”

Her voice dropped, the casual edge replaced by a cold seriousness. “You’ll want to keep this little detail quiet, Jack. There are plenty of souls—myself included—who’d pay handsomely for blood like yours. Some would kill for it.”

I tensed, her words sinking in like cold steel. She caught my worried glance and let out a soft laugh, dismissive but calculated.

“Relax, Jack. I’m not about to tie you up in my basement and drain you dry. Besides, you’re too early in the process for that to even be worth my while. Right now, your blood’s worth about as much as anyone else’s. And your secret?” She leaned in slightly, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Safe. At least as safe as any secret is around here. But it won’t be spilled by me or mine.”

I nodded, but the knot in my gut didn’t loosen. Something about all of this felt like a mistake—a big one.

“How do I stop this? My Humanity... it’s been ticking away. It spiked a little after the imp, but I’m losing ground.”

Mildred’s expression shifted, her amusement fading as her tone turned clinical. “Of course it did. Your System is struggling, Jack. It’s not infallible—especially your System. It’s trying to make sense of something it was never designed to handle. Jack, there’s never been a Devourer bloodline awakened this side of the Rift. And certainly not one with your level of Enhancements.”

I stared at her, waiting for the punchline, but none came. She pressed on, her voice softer now, almost reverent.

“But here’s the thing: you’re thinking about this the wrong way. You’re not trying to maintain your Humanity anymore. That’s a human’s perspective, and Jack, you’re not fully human anymore. You’re Hexborn. You’re trying to maintain your Inhumanity. ”

Her words hit like a gut punch, leaving me reeling as the implications settled in.

“You’ve got options,” she continued. “Nightstone, raw Infernum, pure Aether—they’ll stabilize you. Maybe even heal you in time. But you’ll need to embrace what you are, Jack. Fighting it will only make the cracks bigger.”

I nodded again, slower this time. The unease in my stomach hadn’t disappeared, but now it was mingled with something else: a faint, unsettling curiosity about what I was becoming.

She stared off into the distance, like she was listening to a phone call from far away. “We don’t have much time, Jack. We must move on to your next request.”

She led me through more rooms, the space warping and shifting with each step. The house didn’t follow any logical rules.

We ended up in a cozy sitting area. Sunlight streamed through stained glass windows, casting a soft glow over plush armchairs and potted plants. Candles flickered, their light dancing over the pages of open books scattered around.

“Now, you want me to identify something for you,” she said, a statement, not a question, as she gestured toward the wooden side table between us.

I fumbled with the key in my hand, its cold metal pressing into my palm before I set it down on the small, unassuming wooden table. Mildred’s hands didn’t reach for it, though. Instead, she watched with an intensity that made the room feel smaller, as if the walls were creeping closer. Molly appeared, her movements silent, carrying a delicate porcelain cup on a platter, and I couldn’t help but wonder if she had always been there, lurking in the corners of my perception.

The cup was offered to me with a bow of her head, and then, like a shadow, she was gone, leaving only the faint scent of lavender in her wake. I held the cup, feeling the warmth radiate through the thin china, and glanced at the dark liquid swirling inside. Mildred’s voice cut through the silence, sharp and unquestionable.

“Drink,” she said, the word a command cloaked in the illusion of suggestion.

The aroma was foreign, earthy, and tinged with something almost metallic. My thoughts flickered to the familiar bitterness of coffee, the way it anchored me to reality, but this... this was different. Mildred’s gaze pinned me down, and reluctantly, I lifted the cup to my lips. The liquid slid over my tongue, bitter and strange, with a warmth that unfurled through my chest and curled around my spine. I swallowed, and the sensation spread, a deceptive comfort settling into my bones.

“What is this?” The question slipped out before I could stop it, the unease bubbling up despite the drink’s warmth.

“Protection,” she replied, her tone flat and matter-of-fact, as if that single word explained everything. “It tells my Muse you’re no threat. She’s... possessive, you understand. Best not to tempt her wrath. Now, drink every drop. You’ll need it.”

The urgency in her voice propelled me to obey, and I drained the cup quickly, the last traces of the strange tea burning slightly as it went down.

Mildred finally lifted the key from the table, her fingers curling around it with an almost reverent care. Her eyes closed, and the room changed with her, the air thickening as if charged with unseen energy. The lights flickered, then dimmed, casting long, wavering shadows that danced on the walls. The atmosphere grew heavy, oppressive, as though the very fabric of reality was bending under some ancient will.

Mildred was no longer the frail woman sitting across from me. She became something more, something vast and unknowable, as if the darkness itself had been drawn to her, swirling around her like a living thing, alive with secrets and power.

A voice not her own reverberated through the room, deep and resonant, and all that was became smaller.

“The key must never meet its twin, Long sealed, an ancient shadow sleeps within. Bound by lock and fate, the prison’s chains, A union’s touch, and darkness reigns.”

“Oh great, a riddle,” I said, shaking my head.

“Silence!”

Mildred crawled toward me, her face inches from mine. But the face no longer belonged to her; it had become something stranger, more wicked. Her eyes carried the weight of death, love, and an incomprehensible loss. She caught the scent of the tea on my breath and stepped back slightly before continuing, her breath carrying a stench as foul as death.

***

“All things change, the spirit sighs, Echoing with ancient, unending cries. The world tilts toward the void’s embrace, Fissures in space, rifts in place.

Time drips slowly, darkness draws near, A matter of moments before it’s here. The abyss reaches back, a shadow wakes, As light falters, and last hope breaks.”

***

The spirit’s grip on Mildred loosened, and she slumped slightly before straightening up. The weight of the encounter seemed to settle heavily on her shoulders as she turned to face me, her expression solemn. My heart pounded against my chest, the frantic thump reverberating through my body, before dwindling back to its usual silence.

“Fat lot of good that was,” I muttered.

A little pitchy, and it barely rhymed. Prophecies aren’t what they used to be.

Mildred gave me a flat stare before speaking again.

“Think you can do better, either of you? Feel like giving it a shot? I’m sure the Muse would love...” She reached out toward me, fingers twitching theatrically.

“I concede.” I pulled back, hands up in surrender.

Her eyes lingered on me for a beat longer than necessary before she rolled them dramatically and shook her head with exaggerated disappointment.

“It seems, Jack, you’re dealing with something the Muse cannot speak of plainly.”

“If it’s that important, wouldn’t it make more sense to come right out and say it?”

“Even the spirits are watched. Think of a riddle as a code, a way they can tell you what they aren’t supposed to, reserved for matters too significant, too powerful, to be stated outright, lest they be censured.”

“Any idea what it means, aside from doom, doom, and more doom?”

“That’s between you and the Muse,” she said with finality.

It seems she’s implying an ancient demon is trying to breach this realm, Frank said.

“But full demons can’t enter this realm,” I argued. “Not ones with higher intelligence. They go mad and die.”

‘All things change,’ Jack.

“You need to be careful,” Mildred warned. “The stakes are higher than you realize.” Her words lingered like a storm cloud, dark and foreboding.

There was a long beat before anyone spoke again.

“You can stay here as long as you need,” she offered, her tone soft yet firm. “But I have a feeling you’ll want to leave soon. Perhaps not before enjoying a cup of coffee in the garden.”

“Unfortunately, I can’t really taste the stuff since…”

She waved off my protest with a dismissive glance toward the door. “Yes, I think a cup of coffee will do you just fine. There’s a good boy.” Her voice brooked no debate. “I’ve business to attend to, Molly will see to you. Off you go.”

Right on cue, Molly slipped out from a shadowed door, guiding me through a labyrinth of corridors that seemed to twist under their own weight, until we reached a glass door that opened onto a garden path. The path wound and weaved like a serpent, each turn revealing a new corner of the estate’s secretive splendor. It was as if Escher himself had a hand in designing this arboretum, a place where beauty and disorientation walked hand in hand.

At last, we came to a secluded nook, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and an almost overpowering sense of life. Molly reappeared, as silently as before, a steaming cup in her hand. She placed it before me with a nod that said more than words could, and then she was gone—vanishing into the verdant tangle, leaving me alone in a garden that pulsed with more life than most cities. More life than I had in me, that was certain.

The garden hummed with aether, a soft, insistent pulse that wrapped everything in a gentle glow, just enough to wipe away the grime left by the rifts. The plants here were resilient, shrugging off the soot like a stray dog shaking off rain. They stood tall and proud in a riot of color so vibrant it nearly stung the eyes—so much color in a world that had grown accustomed to shades of gray. The aether weaved through the leaves, an invisible melody that made the whole garden shimmer as if it were caught in the web of a half-remembered dream.

But aether wasn’t from the Otherworld—no, it was something older, something that slipped through the cracks from a place we were better off not knowing. The whispers on the street corners told of Surges clawing their way up from the deep, and of aether drifting down from on high. Demons and angels, they murmured, relics of some ancient war that left its scars on the world. But I didn’t buy it.

Magic theories were for the deluded, and the damned demonologists and casters who thought they could actually handle whatever lurked out there in the dark. Play with that kind of fire, and you were likely to end up burned—or worse, twisted into something unrecognizable and snuffed out like a candle in a storm front.

Let the casters hoard their secrets, mess with their spells, and tinker with aether. Let them indulge in their reckless games of fire-starting, minotaur-tipping, spirit-summoning nonsense while the rest of us cleaned up their messes. If they weren’t so damned keen on meddling with forces they couldn’t control, we wouldn’t be stuck with half the crap we were dealing with now.

Me? I was just a zombie, with a bad headache and a week that wouldn’t quit.

Feeling a bit cranky, Jackipoo? Frank asked.

Shut it, Frank.

Molly reappeared a moment later, pressing a chipped mug of black coffee into my hands before I could protest. “I really don’t think I need a—“ I started, but Mildred’s back was already retreating into the shadows. I considered dumping it out, cutting my losses and heading on my way. But in Mildred’s house, you learned fast: when she gave a direct order, no matter how illogical, you didn’t argue.

I eyed the cup begrudgingly, imagining the rich aroma I could no longer truly smell. Mildred was acting strange, but I knew better than to wonder aloud. Whatever strange cogs turned in her brilliant, chaotic mind was a mystery that even the gods would pay dearly to unravel.

Lifting the cup to my lips, I tried to summon the taste of coffee—the faint bitterness, the dark edge. Even that small pleasure had all but vanished, leaving only an empty pantomime—much like so many things in my life these days. I took a sip, hoping for a spark of flavor to ground me. Maybe I was getting moody, after all. But could you blame me?

I took another sip, then let out a deep breath. There was something here, something grounding in the ritual, the simple act of lifting a cup and tasting its familiar warmth. For a fleeting moment, it made everything seem a touch more normal, as if the chaos around me had pulled back, giving me just one breath of calm.

And then, peace shattered as a sharp crack split the quiet, my hand jerking as the cup exploded, sending porcelain and scalding liquid in a violent spray.