9:45 AM

Vernon stepped through the open laboratory door, rapping the hard, solid wood a couple of times to announce his presence. “Knock knock, I’m coming in.” He entered, seeing a mess of things.

Originally, this lab was meant for general magical research so it was fairly large, about the size of a small open gym, and had countless of magical what-nots that Vernon couldn’t begin describing, and about as many tables and counters as a small cafeteria too. Metal partitions were embedded within the walls where, with a remote, they could be closed to divide the lab for whatever purpose was required. Here, it was completely open, and Problem was at the center.

The tables were pushed towards the walls, stacked against one another with chairs on top, neatly piled in blocks; on the tables closest to Problem were various textbooks and notebooks and loose papers and diagrams. Below their feet were white chalk. Non-magical chalk. It seemed they were experimenting with another ritual. Tons of circles, geometric shapes, weird glyph-things—somewhat similar to Althea’s runecrafting, somewhat not—and within the plot were a measuring tape, a compass, and some other scribing stuff.

Problem hadn’t noticed Vernon coming in.

Vernon knocked on a table, loud enough to break Problem’s concentration. They shot up; he waved. “Hi.”

“Fusil’s brother,” greeted Problem, returning to their work. They telekinetically lifted the tape measurer and began measuring the distance between two circles at their centerpoint. “To what do I owe the visit?”

“Ah, I’m asking ‘round about something. What are you doing though? Well, I mean, what are you trying to do?” Vernon leaned against the same table he knocked on. Problem lifted a notebook and a pencil with magical energy, having enough finesse to write. Neatly at that.

“Failing to make a demesne,” they answered. “Why have you come?”

Vernon shrugged, awkwardly standing a far distance away because he didn’t want to ruin their work. “I dunno. I’ve noticed something weird was going on with the Supportive Program so I thought I’d ask you.”

“There’s many ‘weird’ things going on; elaborate more,” replied Problem as they set their notebook down and measured another two circles.

“Alright alright…” Vernon rubbed his neck. “...Like, I asked other people before you, right? They either didn’t know or didn’t have a good answer. So, and don’t turn me into a sacrifice for Satan: do you know where some of the artisans went? I tried finding Fred earlier, Frederick Campos, and I couldn’t find him. I tried texting him but he blocked all communications for some reason. Can’t reach him. He's alive, thank God for that, but unresponsive.”

Problem didn’t seem disturbed by this revelation. “He’s worshipping Satan someplace private. As I hear, satanism isn’t a popular ideology on college campuses, especially if one of the investors happens to be, I don't know, Angels Guild.”

“Haha, funny.” Vernon took a few steps closer to Problem’s craft, still maintaining a careful distance. Beside him was a diagram of some magical device: a magical conduction rod, which aided the facilitation of magical concentration for relevant mana constructs. In simple terms, it better channeled mana into things like runes, or in Problem’s case, rituals. Neat.

“To reassure you though…” Problem began, “...Seraph ordered a portion of the magical engineering personnel to Pillar Dawns; your friend, Frederick Campos, is among them. Since the roads are blocked, they’re taking the subway tunnels."

"Right right. I've been hearing that the entire city is ready to send us people. Once, y'know..." Vernon made some vague gesture. "We clean the streets. What does she want with 'em anyway?"

"I don't know, which is the intention. Thus, communications are blocked," answered Problem, still doing their work.

“I see. Good for 'em. I guess. It makes sense though ‘cause Pereyra is probably listening in on us. If that’s the case—” Vernon cleared his throat and turned to the ceiling, “—hey Pereyra! Here’s a secret for ya: I dated three girls in high school! At the same time!”

“Good Satan, are you trying to embarrass Pereyra to death?” Problem asked. “Another secret and maybe you'll kill it.”

Vernon smirked. “I’m a virgin.”

“I said a secret.”

“I—!”

“I regret asking. One more secret and you'll kill me instead."

Vernon felt attacked, brutalized, and slaughtered, and now he wanted to cry. This was worse than Alexander or Althea bullying him; wherever he went, there was a target on his back and people kept kicking him. “I regret associating with a satanist. Isn’t that what ritualism is? Dark magic?”

Problem shook their head, then said, “It can be, but no, not generally. The ritualism I practice performs magical spells through rituals, or magic circles really. When I first began studying this system, I followed predetermined, easy-to-craft rituals. Though, and not to sound haughty, if you want to become a genuine ritualist, you need to create your own given the circumstances present. It involves a lot of mathematics, geometry particularly, and glyph configurations.”

“So like runecrafting? Althea uses that system too,” asked Vernon, glancing over the diagram of the magical conduction rod again.

“They're both written magick.”

“What’s the big difference then?”

“Rituals are used to worship Satan; runes are for Valhalla.” Problem chuckled after saying that. “To answer your question, it’s, well, the answer can be quite complicated depending on which branch of ritualism we’re speaking about where each serves their own purpose. The one I spoke of earlier is practical ritualism: rituals but for practical uses. Sometimes it is also referred to as ‘general ritualism’ or 'magical circle configuration', essentially if you see 'magical circle' anywhere, or 'circles' really, it's what I'm doing.”

“What.”

“Which is the closest to runecrafting I’d say, since they both deal in more universal applications. All I need is the knowledge and a natural magical binder, like specialized chalk, water, even blood if you’re daring. We have a sea's worth in Gallery Street. Though if you speak about spiritualistic ritualism, or ceremonial ritualism, occult ritualism, they all mean relatively the same thing. Think skulls at the center, sacrificing a goat, wearing all red robes and speaking dramatically, maybe even having sex because there are some rituals that require it. They deal more in the paranormal while I live in the general magical area.”

“How do I get you to stop—”

“Those branches are further away, and some require you to pay a price that is always too costly. They’re in the same vein as faith-based magic such as miracles or divinations, or if you want an eastern example, I don’t know, Shintoism or cultivation in some subsets. While runecrafting is originally Nordic, it’s quite well-known in the western world compared to say, the Tao Te Ching and the east, which leads to a popular theory among sorcerers like myself: the more known the magick system, the more it naturally appears within Slayers similarly to genetic traits, hence why channeling and conjuration are most common due to how simplistic their systems are. It also explains why some systems are regional—like I referenced earlier, cultivation is primarily a system found in Pacific Asia while runecrafting is widespread around Europe. It’s called the ‘Relevance Theory’—”

“Professor.” Vernon raised his hand and Problem stopped talking, thank Satan for that. “I’m so sorry for giving you backtalk. Just don’t ramble like that again.”

“Rambling? I wasn’t”—Problem stopped, realizing they rambled—”well, maybe I was. What sort of magick do you practice? I’m curious.”

“Me? Uhm…” Vernon generally remembered where his skills were. “Mutation for one of ‘em, Greek elementalism, demesne implementation… That’s what I know off of the top of my head.”

[Close Eye], which allowed him to magnify his own perception, was a form of mutation magic, where it directly altered one’s body. [Four Elemental Kisses] obviously involved the Greek elements (wind, earth, air, and fire), and [Perch] established a demesne.

Vernon felt sick. Magic was too damned complicated.

“Similar to your brother’s then,” said Problem. In a way, they were right. Mark trained for years to master himself. First, he combined both demesne implementation and the certainty principle into one, then through enough elbow grease, combined that with mutational magic. As a result, he turned himself into a walking demesne, and in that demesne was a singular law: All projectiles, unless met with a qualifiable interference, will hit its intended target.

That was his honor he created himself: [Cloudtrace].

Archknell was a master in weaveform, which used strings as its base while combined the enchanting magick system, thus he could essentially imbue his strings with a myriad of effects. What Vernon had seen was nothing compared to his true power; though, he hoped Archknell will never go all out. The entire city could literally be destroyed. In summary…

“Slayers are terrifying,” concluded Vernon. “Here I wanted to be a systemic engineer. A weapons designer. Oh! This always bothered me, but what magic do you use in battle? The purple magic circle stuff?"

"Oh that?" Problem chuckled. "Predetermined rituals. I manifest my mana into a physical shape, which happens to be the exact combat rituals I use. It took years of practice in order to have it become muscle memory."

"Really? Damn, no wonder you're, what? High-A? At twenty-five? How do you do it?"

Problem shrugged. “I have a personal philosophy, which many of the top-ranking Slayers agree with: you cannot be someone special if you follow the System; rather, you must use the System to create yourself. It’s a guide to many; it pads the numbers for us, a good thing really. But it’s a tool most of all; it separates the followers from the leaders. All S-Ranks in the world and above? They are innovators.”

“Use the System, huh…” Vernon thought back to Alexander, which made him question why. Then he found his answer. Earlier, he was talking to him about skills and Alexander explained his [Certain Shot]. In Hangzhou, after finding a pistol in an abandoned police car, he didn’t have the necessary experience nor training to shoot it.

So, Alexander trained by throwing rocks at water bottles from various distances. He marked bricks, battered them. Did it to smaller things, like cans. Over and over and over, until the System gave him the first version of [Certain Shot], [Incomplete Steady Shot]. Took a dozen hours, maybe more, he said. By the end, his shoulder was crying but it was well worth it. Even at seventeen, he was smart enough to use the System in his favor.

“Problem,” raised Vernon, “why did you become a Slayer?”

A light chuckle came from them. “We are but stardust in the soup of cosmos, Vernon. I want to reach the place where ants touch the setting sun. In that pursuit, I was foolish and became cursed. So I suppose I have another objective. Yes, I'm only twenty-five but I feel a decade older.”

“You have ten years worth of mistakes?"

“I don’t think of them as mistakes but as lessons. Otherwise, I’ll never move on.”

What a wise thing to say. “Y’know, I always wondered if I needed them. Lessons. Alex and Thea went through ‘em, Mark did too. I was raised pretty comfortable. More than that. I have people who wait on me. Right now, they’re hiding with the rest of the VIPs down in Primordial Zero. My parents and my sister-in-law too. And if I was at home, I’d be there, praying that Mark comes back.

“Now I think I’m an awful son because Mom and Dad know their sons are out there fighting. Maybe that’s why I chose to stay. I could’ve asked Archknell to arrange a transport to Prim-Zero, but I stayed. Do you know what it was like for us? A decade ago?”

Problem didn’t respond. They gave an approving nod, allowing him to continue.

“My family was boiling alive. My dad’s business went under, he argued with Mom a lot, that sort of stuff. I remember it vividly actually. When I was five, Dad had gotten so drunk that we couldn’t find him for two days. He was outside the city, picked by the police. Sometimes, we didn’t have power to our house. Made winters rough. When we ordered pizza, it was always a small cheese pizza and that was considered a treat. At any day it seemed, we will be torn apart.

“But Mark… Mark was our way out. Having a high of a Growth Potential as he did, he was our only hope. He got a full-ride into OU, became the top-ranking Slayer in his class, and Royals picked him up in a snap. Now, he’s a Head Officer. Since he was accepted into a Big Four, our lives got better just like that.

“He made money. Dad got sober; to this day, nine years, thank Satan for that, right? My parents got over themselves and resolved their issues, and Dad has a thriving business in electronics, and Mom’s enjoying the easy life. And Mark found the love in his life in OU too, Rose, who's a teacher.

“I had it easy compared to everyone. Compared to Mark. Mark did everything to keep us together and he had. He achieved everything he wanted in life, and because of him, I can do whatever I want with mine. No wonder he’s pissed at me, ‘cause I’m pissing all over his hard work.

“Maybe that’s why I like Althea a lot. She’s everything I wanna be: someone who gets through stuff, y'know? And she’s pretty cute too. There’s that. So…” After spilling his heart out to someone whose face he hadn’t seen, he shrugged. “...Do you think I’m a dumbass? For going about things the hard way?”

Problem stopped working on their ritual; although Vernon couldn’t see their face, they seemed to smile. “That’s why you have tomorrow, so you can see what comes of it. By the fact that you haven’t ran away yet, even at the prospect of certain death, even with your brother’s pressure, you’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. Smarter and wiser too despite what anyone says. Isn’t that what you rag on Alexander Shen for? Belittling yourself?”

Vernon laughed, nodding. “In my defense, Alex is a man’s man but hardly considers himself one. He’s a bigger dumbass than I am. But uhm, yeah. Yeah, you’re surprisingly sociable despite looking like a satanist.”

“It’s a ploy to convert you,” they teased. “It’s not my choice to dress up like one.”

“Because the curse made you so hideous?” he asked.

“Something along those lines, yes.” Problem lifted a textbook and brought it over. “You have friends, Vernon. Whether or not you struggled more than they had, it doesn’t matter. You haven't ran away when you had every excuse to. That’s a merit in itself.”

“Yeah…” Vernon thought to stay longer, but he really shouldn’t take up more of Problem’s time. Satan knew how little they had. Everyone had. “I’m gonna head out. Good luck on your rituals.”

“Keep yourself tall,” said Problem as a farewell.

“Mhm.” Vernon left the laboratory, going wherever his feet sought.

He prayed that Mark was doing well and Primordial Zero didn’t have to worry about a thing.

Though, a part of him wanted to argue against what Problem had said: compared to everyone else, Vernon really was a dumbass.