Wheeler Trevil wants to be the most powerful witch in the world. The only problem? He has no magical abilities whatsoever. However, Wheeler's luck changes when he meets a demon who offers him unlimited power all for the small cost of his immortal so...
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Author's Note: Wanted to share this wonderful art of Mulock I received from @surili_05 on Instagram! I absolutely love it! Any fanart I receive I'll be featuring at the beginning of future chapters, so if you ever would like to share your art with me, you can send it to me on Instagram @captaincleanfreak
Wheeler was trembling violently as he was finally shoved before his professor. There was a wild look in Milton Slengeborn's eyes, somehow reveling in this monstrous work.
The masked guard reached forward, roughly yanking back Wheeler's hood. The moment it fell back, exposing Wheeler's face, Milton's exhilarated expression fell.
His face went ashen, horror flashing across his gaze. "Oh no," he breathed. "You shouldn't be here, Mister Trevil."
"Professor," Wheeler choked, unforgiving tears still spilling from his eyes. "What's going on? Why are you doing this?"
"Because it's what needs to be done," Milton replied, his voice tight. He reached out, laying a hand on Wheeler's shoulder. The boy flinched back at the contact, bile rising up the back of his throat.
"Don't worry, Mister Trevil," Milton said softly. "You're far too important to die here."
"Professor," Wheeler sobbed, "I don't understand--"
"Shut your mouth and get behind me," Milton interrupted sharply.
Wheeler didn't move, simply staring at him, petrified in terror.
"Are you fucking deaf? Get behind me now, " Milton barked so loudly it nearly made Wheeler cower back. The professor roughly grabbed him by the arm, forcefully yanking Wheeler behind him. Murmurs of confusion rippled through the crowd at the action.
"There has been a small error," Milton announced, his voice echoing through the chamber. "I was sent by the Golden One to act on his behalf... and I speak for him now when I say that this boy is to be spared for a later purpose."
A few gasps and sounds of surprise followed the statment, but no one protested.
"Now stand there and stay quiet," Milton hissed. "I'll explain everything once this is all over."
"You can't kill them," Wheeler cried out between desperate sobs. "Professor, please--"
"I said, stay quiet," Milton snapped, removing his wand as he swung it in a single sharp motion in Wheeler's direction. "Now," Milton continued, pointing to another guard. "Pick the next."
As the masked guard dragged another victim forward, Wheeler attempted to cry out in protest. To his horror—no sound came out. A jolt of alarm shot through him at the realization that Milton must have put an enchantment on him.
The guard yanked back the hood of the next victim, revealing a frightened young boy who couldn't have been older than fourteen. The boy made no attempt to struggle, simply standing there, sobbing silently. The sight made Wheeler's stomach drop.
There had to be something he could do.
He needed to save them.
Milton reached forward, dragging his finger across the boy's forehead as he began to paint that God awful golden eye.
Wheeler glanced desperately around him. Perhaps there was a way he could split his consciousness like he had in Vera's office. If he could use half his magic to get the victims out, then maybe he could use his remaining power to create a distraction that would keep Milton and the guards occupied. But there was also the issue of the crowd below them. Could he possibly split his consciousness a third time? Was that even possible?
As Wheeler frantically attempted to formulate some sort of plan, Milton stepped back, the eye on the boy's forehead finally complete. The masked guard moved into place, slowly beginning to kneel with the golden bowl clasped tightly in his hands.
Wheeler began to reach for his wand, his fingers wrapping around it while Milton was still distracted by the ritual. He still had no concrete plan, but he had to do something. How could he live with himself if he didn't?
As Wheeler attempted to discreetly slip his wand out from beneath his robes, his attention snapped to a sudden movement at the back of the chamber, realizing someone had just slipped through its massive doors. Wheeler strained his eyes to see who it was.
The withered figure of count Vivok stalked silently forward, removing his own wand from his sleeve.
Wheeler hadn't realized it was possible to feel such overwhelming relief from seeing someone as frightening as the Count. Surely he was about to rescue the victims and put a stop to all this. He'd spent years trying to avenge his long lost wife and the moment had finally arrived.
It took everything in Wheeler to fight back a smile as the Count slowly began to raise his wand. He sent a silent thank you to the heavens that they were about to be saved.
Vivok's mouth parted as he began to whisper an incantation, his wand moving to cast it.
When Wheeler saw what spell it was, the flutter of hope in his chest was instantly replaced with a nauseating wave of horror. Wheeler knew this incontation, inˈfərnō. He'd learned about it in his studies; a spell so horrible and forbidden it was practically a death sentence for everyone involved.
With his wand already in hand, Wheeler frantically began to cast a counterspell to shield against the monstrous incontation, panic overtaking him.
Only a second after the spell left Wheeler's lips, the chamber exploded.
The building crumbled, bodies flying and writhing through the air as the platform collapsed. All Wheeler could do was silently scream, limbs and organs falling around him like a bloody snow fall.
Wheeler saw Milton's decapitated head fly past him; the professor's face frozen in an expression of horror as it bounced off the shield Wheeler had cast to protect himself. The sight was so horrible that Wheeler found himself keeling over, vomiting violently.
He just wanted everything to stop, for this to all be some horrible nightmare.
But there was no waking up from this.
Amidst the carnage, Count Vivok began to laugh hysterically, the only other person still standing amidst the slaughter. "I've avenged her," he cried out triumphantly. "The day of reckoning has arrived and justice has finally been done." As the final words left his mouth, he collapsed, the immense power needed to cast the spell finally killing him.
Wheeler had never seen someone die from the overuse of magic before. It was a horrific sight. His body seemed to rot and deteriorate before Wheeler's very eyes, curling up on itself until only dust remained.
And thus, Wheeler was left a sobbing, hysteric mess, the only living soul amidst a sea of broken corpses.
