Gregory Samin approached the Museum of Aphro-Arcana in Baton Rouge, Louisiana with trepidation at first, but when he really looked at the stately structure, he wondered exactly what place he had arrived at. From the name alone, he’d expected something smaller, more obscure, maybe a house that had been converted into a museum, but after he’d made his way from the parking lot along the cemented pathway with wirey trees and vines overgrown at each side, to the steps of the building, he marveled at the museum that was more akin to the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York. It wasn’t as large as the Met, but it had the same presence, and was made of grey stone with pillars and a grand staircase. Approaching it was like entering a different space than the neighborhood Gregory had entered to find it.
The neighborhood was modest with mostly single story homes, some in better condition than others, and all of the inhabitants had dark brown skin. There were convenience and dollar stores and at least one liquor store, a few churches, and fast food restaurants, and they were all mostly closed or people set up inside reselling things of value for money. And then there was this massive museum with an unassuming parking lot at the end of a dead-end road with a walkway through unkempt trees.
He should have seen it, he thought as he ascended the steps, the building was large and it should have been visible over the trees from the parking lot. Gregory felt a sense of wonder as he approached the large, ornate double doors with brass knobs and accents.
As he raised his hand to knock, the doors flew open on a large room that was like a lobby. The floors were black and white like a chessboard and the high ceiling had three elaborate chandeliers with white lights that glistened like diamonds. All of the wallspace of the interior was a bookshelf with rows and rows of books and seemingly no gaps in-between. There were three carpeted staircases that led up to the second floor balcony that wrapped the entire room and had closed doorways every three feet or so between the rows of books that made the walls.
There was roping inside the entrance that created a walkway to a large wooden kiosk and behind the front desk was an elevated chair that looked like a wooden throne with black and white padding. Gregory walked along the black and white squares inside of the roping toward the kiosk. There was no one there and he looked around himself. Then the front doors closed like a rush of wind had moved them and he startled.
“You’re jumpy for a visitor to a place such as this one,” he heard a voice from above him.
Gregory saw a man in a black turtleneck shirt and dark slacks standing at the top of the middle staircase that was just behind the kiosk.
“And to what do I owe the pleasure of welcoming a guest such as yourself?”
The man was saying pleasant things, but he did not look happy to see Gregory in his bewilderment at the kiosk. The man seemed inhumanly large to Gregory with his dark brown skin and bulging muscles.
“I have come to beg the aid of the Master of this place. The hell we endured at the opening of the twisted trees changed everyone everywhere, and thankfully the trees are gone, but there are more pressing matters now. Devils have been unleashed from the mouth of hell.”
The man descended the stairs and stopped in the middle of the staircase. As he moved, a black cape billowed behind him, revealing shimmering and ornate green designs on its underside.
“And,” Gregory continued, “they are unlike any devils I have encountered and I…”
“You are Samin, Seer Extraordinaire. Your reputation precedes you. I heard about your escapades during the Nights of the so-called Illuminatos. You are alive by the graces, my friend, and the length of your warm welcome in this most sacred place is very short. Tell me what you want from me so that I may decline and end this interaction.”
“You must be Issac Washington, the man I came here to see. You have a reputation yourself, Master Washington. You are known as a good man and you single-handedly protected all of the inhabitants of your neighborhood from the taint of the dank weed. I am begging you to help the greater world just as you kept your people safe.”
“And if the tables were turned, Samin, would you answer a cry for help from this neighborhood? Maybe before the Nights? Before your eyes turned black and pupils red in the middle. Under the taint of the dank weed, you made yourself a master and the pleas for help meant nothing to you. You were a king and you relished it. How many people did you kill, directly or as a consequence of your apathy? How many people have you used for your pleasure? You have a great excuse, Samin, but I know what everyone is happy to ignore; the taint of that dank weed only illuminated your deepest, darkest desires. Everything you were, was everything you wanted to be, everything you would be now if not for the shame.”
Gregory hung his head sadly. He’d done truly horrible things during the two years the world was plunged into the Nights of Illuminatos, practically everyone who had survived it did horrible things. He could have used his magic like Issac had to protect his community, but he was overcome and corrupted by the spores before he knew what was happening and he was unable to resist the influence before he became his worst self.
“I beg your forgiveness,” Gregory said, “and admit my shortcomings. I have great power and I wasn’t able to use it for those who depend on me. I failed and that is why I am here. You are more than I have ever been or ever will be. You are the Master of Arcana on this planet and we all need you…”
“The world has been saved from it’s worst pests; the obnoxious humans. Or, some still persist, but the worst have been purged and the catalyst has been removed. The world is as close to ‘as it was’ as it will be. So there is nothing I can do for you and you should return to your community to help recover from the darkness. I bid you good travels on your return.”
“You have to listen to me,” Gregory said and fell to his knees. “The Oweynagat is not as it should be. Years ago, before Illuminatos, the first devil emerged, few people saw it or believed it’s existence, and it fled before anyone could capture it. It could be anywhere in the world. Since that time, I’ve seen another devil emerge, huge with eight long legs, and just as soon as I laid eyes on it, it changed into a man and disappeared.”
“This does not concern me,” Issac said.
But Gregory continued, “None of my magic worked on the devil and you know what that means.”
Issac stared at him, more angry than he had been.
“If what you say is a lie, I will end you myself. I will send you to the deepest pit of Hell where not even the souls of your ancestors can find you.”
“I didn’t travel all this way to lie to you. The devils must be found and the mouth of Oweynagat must be sealed.”
“Samin magic is First People’s magic. If your spells are ineffective, then these devils are not of this planet, do you realize that?”
Gregory nodded solemnly, still on his knees.
“I didn’t come all this way for nothing. If it was in my power to handle this, it would be handled. The world needs you.”
“If something emerged from the Oweynagat that is immune to Earthling magic, it can only be from one place. Are you saying that the runes have been disturbed?”
Gregory stared at Issac with confusion.
“What runes?”
“I thought you were the Seer Extraordinaire, the maintenance of SoEl’s runes is your duty. The Samins have been charged with the protection of SoEl’s runes forever, before you all even had that name. Your predecessor should have explained all of this to you, but I guess that didn’t happen. Your abilities come with responsibilities, it’s not just a trick to make you more formidable than the average man. Your abilities are a gift, given on the condition of duties fulfilled.”
As he finished, Issac began to levitate from the staircase and he hovered over the kiosk. He raised a hand with his palm down and his fingers arched into talons.
“Because you are ignorant of your purpose, your powers are suspended by order of the Supreme Aje.”
As he spoke, a beam of vibrant, blue energy shot up from Gregory’s head and into Issac’s palm. Gregory screamed with agony and he curled over his knees. When the beam stopped, steam or smoke drifted up from Gregory’s body. He looked up at Issac.
“What did you do?” he asked, sounding weak.
“My duty,” Issac said. “I am the Master, or are you ignorant of the duties of the Master of Universal Arcana as well?”
Gregory slowly stood and he panted like he was out of breath.
“I am at your mercy, Master. The world must be rid of the devils that change their shapes and I pledge all of myself to you in correcting my mistakes. Teach me and I will assist you, I will give you all of me.”
Issac slowly descended to the floor and when he stood before Gregory, he put a hand on his head. Issac’s fingers were long and they gripped Gregory’s forehead and temples. Then he squeezed, seemingly cracking Gregory’s skull, and he ripped it away with the skin to expose Gregory’s brain. He stared at Issac with a blank look in his eyes and his mouth hung open.
“Let’s see how helpful you can be,” Issac said as he rummaged his free hand around Gregory’s brain matter.
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