Demon Prints
Nazri Noor
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This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
DEMON PRINTS
First edition. September 25, 2020.
Copyright © 2020 Nazri Noor.
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 979-8-6883-6864-2
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Ex Inferis
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About the Author
1
The Testament of Spheres was as good as mine. Granted, the fact that the sorcerer didn’t have a security system installed was more than a little suspicious. I sensed no protective wards in his study, no sign or smell of animals, whether mundane pets or magical familiars. The air was laced with the comforting aroma of old parchment, of yellowing pages and moldering wisdom.
But there was no harm in being prepared. I traced my fingers through the air, quickly drawing out the glyphs for a shielding spell. Just in case. I whispered the word to complete it.
“Arma.”
A film of red light settled over my skin, then vanished. Nobody had to know it was there. It’d take a pretty hefty amount of force to break through my defenses, which was more than I could say for the Testament. It was just sitting there on a sleek wooden lectern – no glass case, no visible traps to speak of. Either this guy was an amateur, or he was really, really confident that no one would break in to take his stuff.
Not that I consider myself a thief, of course. I don’t steal books and tomes and scrolls. Very uncouth. I take them for myself, often in clear view of their owners as they clutch at their broken bodies. Not a thief. I’m a collector. Big difference.
I crept deeper into the study, the hairs on the back of my neck tingling with anticipation as I studied my prize. The Testament of Spheres wasn’t just rare. It was totally unique. Forget second editions and reprints. Anyone can get their hands on a copy of the Dictionnaire Infernal, or the Malleus Maleficarum. This grimoire was one of a kind, a key to the secrets of dimensional travel.
A nearby patch of air shimmered just then, the faint outline of a man solidifying into view as he dropped his invisibility spell. He was thin, almost gaunt, his hand shaking as he pointed it at me, his forehead damp. Huge eyes flitted up and down my body as he assessed me. I assessed him back, scowling, daring him to fire the first shot.
This was a problem. See, the man of the house, the sorcerer in question? He was a portly gentleman in his forties, his manicured beard and wireframe spectacles the only features about him that could be considered wizardly. This man, the thin man, was nothing approaching that description. Instead of a beard and glasses, he wore an expression of panic and a rank sheen of sweat. He was an intruder, like me.
“You don’t belong here,” I growled.
“You don’t either,” he stammered.
So, news of the Testament had leaked, then. More mages like the thin man were probably coming to find it from all over the state, maybe even the continent, drawn like moths to a flame. I clenched my fist, stifling the smile that threatened to break across my face. Hah. Flame. My favorite. I’d have to take the tome for myself – but first, I needed to eliminate the competition.
I could hear my tutor’s voice in my head. “Strike with subtlety,” he rasped in his old, papery voice. Growing up all these twenty-four long years, Dantaleon had taught me practically everything I know. He could be a little set in his ways, but I had to admit, he had the experience to back him up. Comes with being a thousand years old. What an old fart. No wonder they had to preserve his soul in a book.
Subtlety, he liked to say in his lectures, could go a long, long way. There was a right time for shock and awe, and a right time for precision. I hated how it implied that I had a flair for histrionics – which, it’s true, but hush. Dantaleon’s voice croaked in my memory again. “Be subtle, be strategic. Why use a hammer when a needle does the trick?”
But I didn’t do subtlety. I liked hammers.
The air around me hummed and swirled with building heat as I mentally gathered my energies, centering them in the spaces between my fingers, bending them to my will. I rammed the palm of my hand into the thin man’s chest, relishing the look of terror in his eyes as I spoke the word to activate the spell.
“Ignis.”
A roaring wave of fire ripped itself from my skin, slamming into the man’s body. The air split with the sound of breaking glass as he flew off his feet, his own protective shield shattered by my assault. He twitched on the ground for a moment before picking himself up and running straight out the door, making terrified whimpers the whole time.
I closed my fist, snuffing the flames out and savoring my little victory. Subtlety has its strategic uses, sure, but blasting lesser mages into giblets is way more fun. I flicked my wrist, extinguishing the last of the fires, then turned back towards the lectern.
Finally, the Testament of Spheres. This was all I wanted. In the blackest depths of my heart,
