Wolf of the Tesseract

Chapter 16

"Home. My home," Rob replied. "We must enter the Prime." They skirted the edge of Limbus, passing much the same way that they came.

As they passed silently through the somber city, a darker pall fell over the land. Likely it always existed, but the further they traveled from the center of Limbus, the more pronounced it grew; with less ambient heat, the air temperature cooled the further they got from the populated parts of the city.

Rob and Claire stood at the outskirts of Limbus. A very pronounced line distinguished the borders where the cracked, parched soil of the wasteland began. Rob exhaled a sigh; his breath crystallized into frost.

High above, the nearly starless sky reminded them of the danger of this realm. The obsidian monstrosity that hung above them, scraping the horizon, seemed to devour the light from even the furthest solar bodies, sucking it all away into the nethersphere. As the unholy devourer lurked at the threshold, awaiting the profane invitation, the darkness remained an ominous reminder of the high stakes.

Claire turned to Rob, her breath also exploded into mist. "Why didn't we just go straight to the Prime from Stonehenge?"

"They would have been able to locate us immediately," he replied. "From this realm, we could conceivably go anywhere. It takes us entirely off their radar; they won't know where to begin looking—we're in the wind, so to speak."

"So then, we're going to a new portal location?"

"Yes."

"And what are the two possible locations for it?"

Rob was quiet a moment, knowing she would struggle with the choice. "Either to a secret place on the Prime, where any of my remaining kin will have gathered... or to Earth."

Claire nodded. It was her turn to keep silent and introspective. She handed Rob the Stone Glaive. He stared blankly at her, convinced she didn't know the significance of the gift she'd given him. "And what if I wanted to return to Earth?"

"You want to rescue your father?"

Claire stared forward into the barren wasteland that stretched before them. "It doesn't matter right now. We can't do anything from Limbus."

She stepped forward, striding ahead with purpose. The ground crunched underfoot like broken glass: the only sound for miles as the duo walked ahead, into the unknown.

. . .

Victor Adams drummed his fingers on the heavy magic book which the warlock had left behind as a monument to his sincerity. None of the Illuminati could decipher the writings, and so they remained indebted to Nitthogr unless they could find another person capable of understanding the eldritch text, preferably someone who was also able to wield its arcane power.

The book lay upon the wooden table that had always been the appointed place for The Seven's meetings, except that their number was now one fewer. Adams looked down and stared at the weathered golden rings adorning his stumpy fingers.

How many men's heads had he personally caved in with the golden, skull-shaped jewelry? He'd shed much blood back when he was a low ranking hit-man for the Persian Syndicate. That was before Nitthogr found him and made him great, before he became a part of the Heptobscurantum and decimated his opposition, seizing control of the Syndicate by his own power and the power lent him by his warlock advisor.

He gave his rings a quick polish against the breast of his jacket. Any moment now Summers' people would deliver their newest candidate, the current leader of the Ordo Templi Orientis, a man heavily endorsed by their other contacts within the Order of the Golden Dawn.