TO Rewrite: B3 — 38. Black Slime

PoV:

1. Aleister Crowley

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Aleister Crowley traced his finger along the rim of his wine glass, the deep crimson liquid swirling hypnotically within. The ritual chamber beneath his castle still hummed with residual energy, the massive root of the World Tree pulsing softly in the chamber’s center, veins of ethereal light running through its ancient bark.

Incense hung thick in the air—not the cheap variety used for cover, but ancient resins that opened neural pathways long dormant in the human brain.

He’d shed his ceremonial robes for something more comfortable—a silk smoking jacket embroidered with golden symbols that shifted subtly when no one was looking directly at them. The evening’s gathering had been particularly successful; three Members of Parliament and a Saudi prince had participated, their consciousness expanding beautifully under his guidance.

“My dear Archie,” Crowley addressed the acolyte standing attentively at the chamber’s entrance, his voice rich and sonorous, “I trust our newest initiates found the experience…transformative?”

Archie, a slender man with the anxious devotion of the truly converted, nodded eagerly. “Yes, Master Crowley. The MP for Essex was particularly moved. He’s already asking about the next gathering.”

“Excellent.” Crowley smiled, setting down his glass. “The stars have been most cooperative lately. We should see another ten influential souls joining our communion within the fortnight. I believe the Russian ambassador has finally succumbed to curiosity, and that delightful weapons manufacturer from Singapore. Our network is recovering after the initial…trouble we had. It was wise of our dear leader to come to me when her husband failed us.”

He moved with deliberate grace toward the World Tree root, placing his palm against its surface. A pulse of energy flowed between them, causing the veins of light to briefly intensify.

“Every new consciousness that opens itself to the Great Work strengthens our connection.” Crowley spoke as if reciting poetry, his words carrying ritualistic weight. “The Law of Thelema spreads not through conversion, but through revelation. ‘Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law’—but first, one must discover one’s true will.”

Archie cleared his throat. “Speaking of will, Master Crowley, the hunter has returned. Shall I send him in?”

Crowley’s eyes gleamed with sudden interest. “Our Legend of Jim Corbett? By all means. Let us see what our morally ambiguous friend has procured.”

As Archie retreated, Crowley adjusted his posture, adopting the theatrical presence he maintained for such interactions. Jim was a useful tool, but tools required proper handling. His Legend was a modest one, considering his own, but his talents in hunting dangerous prey and being able to infiltrate areas was of some degree helpful. Though, out of everyone Adele had sent this mission, Crowley had not expected this man to be the one to succeed.

The man who entered was a study in contradictions—immaculately dressed in modern attire yet carrying himself with the wary posture of someone accustomed to moving through wilderness. His legend was written in the careful way he surveyed the room, in the perfectly balanced steps that made no sound on the stone floor.

However, the shadow that loomed in the background caught his gaze—Archie didn’t even seem to recognize he was there due to his enchanted cloak. Jim no doubt could feel his presence, but didn’t ask questions since there were other shadows in the room and all around his home… His enforcers.

I was right. Adele has someone within Arthur’s circle. Breathing in the incense, he heard the murmurs of his beloved divine. Ah… Arthur’s nephew? Mmm. Which one is still shrouded in mystery. Lovely!

He ignored the figure, choosing to address Jim.

“I see you’ve returned intact,” Crowley observed, gesturing the hunter forward. “Ireland’s hospitality remains as warm as ever, I presume? I’m surprised you made it out. Several others who I thought were more capable weren’t as lucky… I underestimated you.”

The hunter’s mouth twitched in what might have been amusement. “Oh, I had to call in a few of my own favors to handle this mission. Balor’s seal is weakening in certain areas, but crossing that barrier still cost me three good men and two heavy favors. The old demon keeps his island well-protected.”

“Yet not protected enough to stop you.” Crowley smiled indulgently. “Tell me, what did you observe of Ireland’s current state? The veil between our worlds has grown rather opaque where that emerald isle is concerned. Hell has been rather disgruntled about Balor’s open rebellion against its many vying factions.”

“Famine’s returned after a short reprieve,” Jim replied, using a remote controlled forklift to set down a reinforced case on the ritual table he was directed to. “The resistance managed to counter the curses for a bit, or so I heard. But livestock’s disappearing, crops failing in patterns. The locals blame wandering spirits, but it’s systematic. Something’s hunting—preparing, in my humble opinion.”

“Fascinating.” Crowley’s eyes lit with genuine interest. “Balor works through indirect means, even now. And our prize? Did it give you much trouble?”

The hunter unlatched the case, revealing a container of shimmering obsidian glass that seemed to absorb rather than reflect light. It took up the whole table, large enough for a few men to comfortably occupy. And within it, something dark and viscous moved with unsettling purpose—a mass of black slime that pressed against the container’s walls, testing for weaknesses.

“Had to track it through three counties… That’s where I lost my men to Balor’s army. This little bugger you had me tracking took out quite a few fiends that targeted it,” Jim explained, watching the slime with wary respect. “It’s been feeding—cattle, sheep, even a few devils who got too close. Saved my ass in one encounter with a banshee… Took me a week to find a pattern in its movements to lure it into the trap.”

“Does it communicate?” Crowley asked, leaning closer to the glass, his reflection distorting strangely on its surface. He knew the answer, but was interested to see what the man’s opinion was.

“Not in words. It behaves like an animal—all instinct and hunger. But it’s smart. Adaptive.” The hunter tapped the glass. “This is Otherworld obsidian that I got from a Greek Legend, fused with lunar ashes from a Legend in the South China Seas, which is a mess right now, filled with piracy, by the way.”

“Indeed.” Crowley glanced at him through the tinted glass. “It is a good thing you were able to acquire such materials with our network… Was it worth the trouble to obtain access to our resources and connections?”

“…In more ways than one,” he muttered, vision going dark and lifting a hand to pull down on his collar to run his hand along a glowing blue scar. “You’ve given me all I need on the Myth of the Byakko to resume my hunt… The new weaponry is also appreciated. As for this creature, nothing else would hold it other than this stuff. I tested a dozen mythical elements and enchantments, yet it swallowed all of them.

“Even this,” he wrapped the glass with his knuckles, “it’s adapting to, learning the glass’s composition. Finding ways to digest it. I wouldn’t give it more than another few days as a warning. It’s your problem now.”

“Marvelous,” Crowley breathed, his fingers pressing against the surface. “Such perfection in its corruption.”

The slime responded to his proximity, gathering itself against the glass nearest his hand. There was intention in the movement, a terrible awareness that belied the hunter’s assessment of its nature. Behind gnawing hunger was a suffering child.

“Say what you want about Legends, Myths, and Fables, the Aberrantkin are perhaps the most fascinating products of The Oscillation,” Crowley mused, circling the table slowly. “Neither human nor mythic, neither beast nor legend. They exist in the margins of classification—true outsiders… Tainted by the smallest touch of the Eldritch. Some exhibit this more than others, and fewer embrace that element within themselves to obtain more power.”

He traced a symbol in the air with one long finger, the movement leaving a momentary afterimage hanging in the space between them.

“So many humans carry the psychological precursors for such transformations. Young women especially—beautiful creatures who see themselves as monsters, empty vessels crying out to be filled, viewing the world through a distorted vision. They move through life wearing masks of normalcy while carrying voids within that can never be satisfied. Such is the case with her.”

Jim shifted uncomfortably, realization coming on. He was a hunter of dubious nature, a poacher, and talented at what he did. Trafficking animals? Sure. Monsters? Even better! Yet, the blurred line of human and monster was something he’d not had to grapple with as of yet.

“Is this…a person… This is one of those Abarrantkin? Hmm. A young woman? That wasn’t in the report? If that’s the case, we’ll need to renegotiate the reward.”

“Oh, I expect we do!” Crowley replied, his voice dropping to a reverent whisper. “What you managed was more than you know, saving her from the fate that awaited her in Ireland. You are a hero, Jim. She is perfect.”

He caught the hidden knight’s cold eyes on him as Jim processed the information. If he was here, it was to talk to Adele, but she was currently preoccupied with something to do with her daughter in Montana. It wasn’t his interest. He had too much to do here in the UK.

“Observe,” he whispered, slipping his hand into his pocket, withdrawing an amulet—a small disk of tarnished silver etched with symbols that seemed to writhe under direct observation. “Despite her outward hideousness, there is a girl crying out for deliverance from a hunger she cannot escape from… A hunger and envy that used to be metaphysical, now made manifest through her Seed and its attachment to her hidden identity.”

He pressed it against the obsidian glass, murmuring words that slithered through the air like living vines. They slipped inside, weaving into the tar-like slime to infuse into it a portion of the gathered energy they’d managed to store during the previous ritual.

The slime within the container reacted violently, thrashing against the walls before suddenly contracting. As they watched, it began to take shape—limbs forming, features emerging from the amorphous mass.

Within moments, the silhouette of a teenage girl was visible within the glass, pressing her hands against the surface, quivering with the stress before relief crossed her features—the hunger abated, for now.

“Ah, there you are,” Crowley whispered, his smile widening. “Welcome back to sanity, Nora White. So far from home, so very hungry…but you are safe here.” He turned to his acolyte who had returned silently to the chamber’s entrance. “Tell Adele we have acquired the final component and that all the work we’ve done paid off. She’s stable, at least as of now. The vessel is ready.”

The fleeting human shape within the glass dissolved back into formless slime, though it settled into a limp puddle, exhausted and likely coming to terms with what she now was.

“What exactly is this for?” Jim slowly asked, unable to hide his discomfort entirely as he watched the humanoid shape melt into a puddle. “I’m not participating in anything…unsavory?”

Crowley laughed, the sound echoing unnaturally in the chamber. “Do you truly wish to know? Knowledge carries its own price. But if all you wish to know is what will happen to the girl you’ve saved from Balor’s eye, then it’s that we will be returning her to her big sister, who has been worried sick about her. She will be well taken care of, and we will be exploring ways to…keep her in a more stable condition.”

The hunter considered for a moment, then shook his head. “That’s good enough for me. I delivered what was requested. That she turned out to be a tortured girl is certainly a surprise… I’d like more information the next time you hire me. Our business is concluded.”

“Indeed it is.” Crowley reached into his jacket and produced an envelope. “Your payment, as agreed…with extra. The Japanese Tiger Myth isn’t the only prey you’re targeting. I understand you have your eye on a certain lizard in Germany, though…I’d personally advise against going after that Kaiju-Class Myth. Nonetheless, the Scarlet Hand rewards competence generously. Have a good evening.”

At the mention of the organization, Jim’s expression hardened slightly. “The Scarlet Hand. You didn’t mention who you were working for when you hired me, Crowley. That’s a rather…inflammatory group to connect your own organization to.”

“Did I not mention it? Infamy comes with power, my dear man,” Crowley’s smile remained fixed as he gestured toward the exit. “In any case, an oversight, I’m sure. Do be careful on your journey home. The world grows more interesting by the day, and I’ve received word that the tiger is now hunting for you.”

“Humph. That only makes things easier…”

After the hunter departed, Crowley returned his attention to the captured slime as the knight slipped into the hallway to intercept Adele, no doubt.

Things are moving in intriguing ways. I must thank this Rachel woman Adele is so cautious of… She’s put me in a glorious position. Of course, all joy comes from the divine. Perhaps I’ll be able to rope her into joining one of our gatherings. Wouldn’t that be enlightening?

He started to notice the obsidian glass had begun to develop microscopic fractures where the creature had pressed most insistently against it. Jim didn’t know how close he’d been to becoming Nora’s first human victim. He could feel it in the weight of her adaptive energy—she had yet to feast on human souls, which would seal her fate and awaken something deep within.

“Soon, my dear,” he murmured, running his finger along the container’s edge. “Soon you’ll have a purpose worthy of your appetite.”

He closed his eyes, feeling the World Tree root thrumming behind him, the cosmic energies flowing through its deceptively ancient form. This living entity wasn’t new, as many believed. The stars were aligning perfectly. Adele would be pleased with this acquisition—the final piece needed for Fiona’s eventual cooperation. Whether willingly given or not, her participation was inevitable now.

“The second ritual at the root proceeds exactly as planned,” he said aloud, knowing that unseen eyes were watching, unseen ears listening. “And when the veil between worlds thins, we shall all discover our true will.”

The slime girl pressed against the glass once more, forming for just an instant a face of terrible hunger and awareness, pleading for help, before dissolving back into darkness.

“Soon, my dear. Soon. Just be a little more patient with your big sister.”

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