The Legend of the Eight: The Gifted

Epilogue: The Alchemist

EPILOGUE: THE ALCHEMIST

HE KILLED HER WITH A dagger—a spelled dagger older than magic itself, if he was being technical. The blade had been cursed to kill someone even as powerful as her and had done exactly that.

It was just after she'd stripped him of his magic and he stabbed her right in the chest. He watched as a crimson-colored stain consumed her shirt around the blade and as the light faded from her golden eyes. Her body disappeared once the curse was through with her and she remained lost to the afterlife.

Bartemius Thawne replayed that day in his mind more than a thousand times over the last sixteen years. He memorized every second, down to the most specific of details. It was his proudest moment—up until that which he restored his magic and returned to his place as the most powerful being in the Three Realms. That moment would come soon. Until then, he looked back on that day fondly. The rush of killing her was unlike anything he'd ever felt.

Evangeline Athos. He'd killed the Alchemist.

Across from Bartemius was a wooden chair and in that chair was a boy. But he wasn't just any boy. He had light, buttery curls and deep navy eyes. He was just shy of six feet tall and a bit on the thinner side but not like he'd been starved. He was just small.

Bartemius nudged the boy's foot with his own, hoping to wake him but it seemed the spell was keeping him too weak to even lift his own head.

"Campbell," Bartemius scoffed his son's name as he stared at him. "Why would my beloved Jessica give you such a pathetic name? A family name, sure. But still. Hideous."

Behind Bartemius, the latch on the door lifted and in walked Jeremiah—looking rather worse for wear. In the time since they'd returned from Purgatory, Jeremiah's paranoia took the best of him, eating him away bit by bit.

"Perhaps that anti-aging magic could use a tune up," Bartemius joked, nudging Campbell once more. Again, the boy didn't move.

Jeremiah had a twitch in his dark brown eyes and glanced around the room as if he suspected they weren't alone. It wasn't a large room. If they had a visitor, there was nowhere to hide.

"Both Javier and Martin's bodies were found this morning," Jeremiah said of two men who stood guard outside the south tunnels. "They had traces of her magic on them. She's getting closer, Bartemius. She'll be here soon."

"If she is at the tunnels, she is already here," said Bartemius with a groan. "And she can—and always could—waltz in here whenever she pleased. These recent theatrics are simply her way of toying with you."

"And when she decides to stop playing games?" Jeremiah sounded breathless and dangerously desperate.

"Then she will come for you and she will kill you. Or she'll give you a second chance to do what you were sent to do but I doubt that. She's never been one for incompetence."

"Incompetence?" Jeremiah barked back. "None of this would matter if you stuck to the plan!"

"A plan which was flawed," Bartemius reminded him. "Now, about this spell you did. It doesn't appear to have worked."

Jeremiah all but rolled his eyes. "If you recall, I told you the spell may take a day or two to take. You won't feel its full effects right away. I can assure you, though. My spell was successful. Unlike others, I don't fail."

He walked forward and grabbed the boy's pant leg, lifting it to expose an ordinary leg beneath it. Bartemius didn't understand the relevance.

"See that?" Jeremiah asked, gesturing to the skin. "The marking is already gone. Your son's magic is pumping through your veins now. Death will come for him shortly."

Bartemius reached into his back pocket and unfolded the blade he kept there. It was short but sharp and had taken countless lives before.

"Well," he said as he admired the knife. "Why wait for the inevitable?"

And then he plunged the dagger into his son's carotid. Campbell bled to death right before their eyes and Bartemius didn't even flinch. Jeremiah waited impatiently and then asked,

"Now that I've helped you take care of your problem, care to lend yourself to mine? Seeing as you are the reason it became a problem in the first place."

Bartemius removed the knife and wiped it clean on his cloak—which was marred with tears, burns, and ounces of dried blood from his victims. Blood poured out of his son's throat in a steady stream, pooling on the ground beneath him. A familiar hunger stirred within Bartemius as he watched—the hunger was a side-effect of a decision made long ago.

"You know," Bartemius said after he regained control of his urges. "The Alchemist proved easy enough to take down. Bernadette will be a cake walk by comparison."

"That's where you're wrong," said Jeremiah and he almost sounded afraid. "She's worse. Much worse. And we'd be foolish to put ourselves on her bad side."

Suddenly, Bartemius was chuckling. He nudged his son again—as if he was making certain of his death. Then he turned back to Jeremiah and a wicked smirk twisted onto his face.

"Well then. It appears that you are one foolish man..."

To be continued...