The Virtues' Magecraft

Page 55: Weary Night

Hector stared at a grand screen.

He was back at the Eagles' Fortress. Underground and safe, healed and secure, standing in silence and in a cold, stone room. The room, like most of the others in the subterranean division of the fort, was walled with stone bricks all throughout. Each wall, as above, so below with dull grey bricks.

Hector didn't mind it for an underground operation room. But his mother attempted to adorn with furbished chairs and tables, rugs and lights, even colors on occasion. Those attempts always made him smile.

It was time for Mammon to be summoned into the realm of Midgard. Or just about, at least. For each of the previous demons, the Golden Dawn had sent a group of summoners in order to finalize the project.

And yet, their sights hovered over a forest. No blinking lights or radiation to dictate people or positions. Arnhild's magical familiar of a crow flew above and circled around a general location.

No indication of anything.

There was nothing worth seeing for Hector, just the simple sight of dense layers of branches and their leaves, stacked tightly and pushing against each other with the close trees.

He spat out a sigh. Turning to the side, he noticed the Titan sitting in silence, his face buried in his phone. Well, Hector thought it was a phone. But according to the Atlas, it was something far different.

So he said.

Hector stared at him and called. "Atlas."

"Yo."

"Why don't we have summoners on Midgard?"

"We do," he responded, his sights still focused on his glowing screen.

Hector spat out a sigh. "Okay. Why don't we have summoners... on the land that we're supposed to summon the damned demon?!"

The Titan finally looked up. "Which demon?" he asked, forcing himself to his feet and digging his device into the pocket of his long, black coat. And with it, he shoved his hands into his pockets as well. "Mammon?"

"That's right," he told the Titan.

He began approaching Hector. His back was rounded off and his neck leaned forward, just as it did with his head. His eyes were sunken, with black undereyes already formed. His black hair was always the same, left shaggy and unkempt with each time he ran his fingers through it.

Atlas was a tall and skinny man. But his handsome face was training with his own lack of sleep. And lack of health for that matter. Had it not been for the reasonable amount of muscle he carried, the Demon-Born would look like nothing more than a skeleton.

And even with his saddening posture, he stood a handful of inches above Hector.

His obsidian eyes fixed themselves on the massive screen on the wall. His dull gaze remained. Nothing more than a simple stare and a slight groan from his lips.

"You really called me over for this, brat?"

"Huh?"

One of Atlas' wide and bony hands grasped hold of Hector by his face. "Are you an idiot?"

Hector quickly smacked down Atlas' wrist and broke his grip. "What are you talking about, dude?"

"We have no summoners there because we have no need for summoners there."

"But we summoned the past two!" Hector proclaimed, quickly disregarding what Atlas had just done to him. He had already judged the Titan's lack of sanity, and he had already confirmed it for himself more than a year ago.