Not My Area of Research - Writing Battle short story

It’s that time again, folks! Another Writing Battle gone by, another short story for you all to enjoy. I had a lot of fun with this one, and really leaned into a bit more of a comedic tone (ironic, given the grave nature of the genre). My prompts for this battle were: Dark Omen, Brewer, and Classroom. If you want to check it out on Writing Battle, you can find it here. Anyway, I’ll shut up and let you enjoy the story!

Not My Area of Research

Listen.

I never wanted any of this.

I was so happy with my quiet little life at Wyrmstongue College. Teaching my classes, brewing my potions, and spending my quiet evenings down in the study with the cats, translating ancient tomes full of cursed arcane knowledge into useable, practical spells. None of this ‘combat’ nonsense. Adventuring should be left to the ruffians and the hooligans; those with more swords than sense.

Not me. Not an intellectual.

I was in my study beneath the astronomy tower, sipping at my chalice of mulled wine as I pored over my dusty books, when I noticed something strange in the corner of the study. A book I hadn’t seen before, quite large, and bound in thick red leather, being hissed at by one of the fatter, older cats. There were flames carved into the leather, spiralling around a central, gleaming ruby.

‘Curious,’ I thought to myself. Rare it is, indeed, for me to come upon a book I’ve never seen before, and in my own study, mind! ‘One of the students must’ve been poking around my tomes.’

I shooed away the sour old puss, placed the book on my desk, and waved my hands over it, reciting the ancient words of wisdom and knowledge. I felt the spell take root, and with my alchemist’s eyes, saw the golden flames of dawn radiating from the book. I staggered back, shielding my eyes. I dropped the spell, and the light disappeared, and suddenly I was alone again in my dim, cool study.

I picked it up gingerly, daring not to open it. I crouched down, glaring as I inspected the underside of the book, finding absolutely nothing of interest. The leather had worn away in the corners, where it had rubbed when being removed from a shelf, and the paper had begun to bow with age, but nothing seemed untoward about this mysterious tome.

“What are you?” I pondered aloud, but the book, rudely, gave no response. “What are you hiding inside?”

I went to my alchemy table and prepared a potent acid of gorgon venom. It was quite strong, I was sure, more than strong enough to eat its way through ordinary leather.

With the utmost care, I dripped a single droplet from my vial onto the soft red leather of the book’s cover, careful to hold my breath as the acid fizzed and popped and… disappeared? I watched in shock as the leather absorbed the acid as if it were spilt wine.

‘How can this be?’ I thought. A drop of that acid could have burned a hole halfway through the fundament of the world. And yet, there the book sat, not even a mark where the acid had been absorbed.

Now, I must admit, my academic curiosity was piqued. Was it the actions of a wise man to open the book?

Yes. Yes it was. I was wise, and a man.

But was it altogether advisable?

No. No it was not.

But, as they say, curiosity killed the catsheep, and satisfaction brought him a drink, or something. No matter the saying, I had to know what could possibly be hidden within.

I ever-so-slowly peeled open the front cover, revealing three words burned into the first page.

I see you

I shut the book immediately.

“Nope,” I said, and walked out of the study, scooping up one of the cats and heading straight to bed. It wasn’t the bravest thing to do, I admit, but I never claimed to be brave. I was no barbarian; I would never debase myself into heroics.

No, I went to bed, and had a rather splendid sleep. I woke the next day, almost having forgotten about the book, and got on with being an alchemist. I taught my class, I brewed my potions, but then the evening came, and it was my usual time to go down into my study. I hesitated at the top of the spiral staircase, staring down into the darkness, unsure of what I’d find down there. I ultimately decided it was best I got to bed early that night. And, come to think of it, the night after that. It wasn’t until the third day that I finally decided I was being silly, and went down into my study.

I creaked open the heavy wooden door, and to my surprise, what do I find? No book. I searched everywhere, pulled all the scrolls and parchments off all of my shelves, emptied every chest, upturned every cat in search of it, but could find it nowhere.

That’s when the paranoia really began to set in. I retreated to my chambers, with only seven lazy cats for company, who couldn’t gut a rat between them. I refused to see anyone; I would have no visitors, except the attendants bringing my mulled wine and supper.

And there I sat, for near a week, probing every arcane source I could possibly think of that might give me insight into where that bloody book was. I could hear it in the walls, I was sure, stalking me like an actually good cat would stalk a mouse. I glared at Ser Mittens, the white shorthair that sat at the edge of my bed. He cocked his head and mewed at me, before returning to licking himself.

“You’re right,” I said aloud. “It’s just a silly book. One of the students probably left it while they were nosing about in my study, and went back and grabbed it while I wasn’t there. I’m being ridiculous.”

“Yes, you’re being ridiculous,” the voice said, from behind me.

“Yes, exa—” I froze. The voice had been smooth, and welcoming, and I did not recognise it. But there was something hidden beneath it. Something sinister, serpentine.

I turned around, and there, sitting on my nightstand, was the book. The ruby gleamed in the candlelight of my chamber, a faint orange glow that reminded me of a warm summer’s day. I said nothing, but took a spare cloak and draped it over the book. I took a deep breath, closing my eyes and pinching the bridge of my nose.

“Books usually don’t speak,” I knew; I’d taken a class on sentient objects during my time as an apprentice. “Though, to be fair, I haven’t asked every book in the world whether it can speak or not. When books do speak, it’s usually not a great sign.”

I sighed deeply, before removing the cloak from the book.

“S—sorry about that,” I said. “It was rather rude of me to cover you up like that.”

The book said nothing, though now I was keenly aware of it watching me, eyeless as it was. I reached out a hand, almost picking it up, before pulling back.

“I suppose you want to have a conversation… I suppose you want me to read you…” I still couldn’t bring myself to just pick the damned thing up.

“That is usually what books want, I assume… What do you think, Ser Mittens?” I said, rather foolishly looking to my useless cat for help. He stared at me, vacuous, before opening his mouth and vomiting on my bed.

“Oh, fuck it,” I said, and opened the book.

The void consumed me. I felt my body tear away, left behind as my mind was ripped from my skull, soaring with unimaginable speed through the empty void. I looked back, and saw the small dot of my world shrinking with every passing moment. I felt the red-hot grip of flaming claws burying themselves deep into my soul, dragging me through space. I would have screamed, if I still had a mouth, but all I could do was feel it as I saw a burning ball of primordial fire rushing toward me.

The sun.

I plunged into its liquid surface, the searing flames washing over me, engulfing me on all sides, overwhelming everything I was, or ever could be. There was no sensation left. There was no world, or truth, or soul, or separation, there was only the fire.

This went on for some amount of time. It could have been a fraction of a second, it could have been the age of the universe, there was really no way to tell, but I eventually entered into the hollow centre of the liquid plasma, a vast space of infinite light and heat and pressure. There was an eye protruding from the liquid wall before me, the size of a small city, with its eyelids pulled back by thick metal chains, glowing white with the heat. The chains seared the flesh around the eye, and the entire chamber of liquid plasma shook as I heard it screaming. The eye locked onto me, its pupil shrinking as it watched me.

“I see you,” the voice reverberated in my head, and the white-hot surroundings turned cold as the world faded around me. Now I stood in a grassy field on a warm day, with only a few serene clouds swirling in the distant sky. I saw the sun above me as it began to expand, first just a bright light, then a scouring inferno that burned the land and sundered continents. I saw cities collapse into the Earth, I saw mountains melt and boil. A hand reached down from the sky. It was wrapped in chains, still white-hot, and it scooped a city from the melting ground, and squeezed it until red lava spilled out.

I could feel the heat, but was unable to die, unable even to scream. I should have turned to ash, but all I could do was watch as the giant descended to Earth.

Then, from behind me, came a figure, walking through the fire. They wore a long, hooded robe, hiding their face. They lifted their hands, speaking the ancient words, and a beam of black ice descended from the heavens, striking at the burning giant.

The figure turned, and drew back their hood, revealing… me. My own face, looking back at me. The other me flicked their hand, and I was sent hurtling back through time and space, back to my chamber full of cats and my warm bed. The book was in my hands, open. The page was black, except for two flaming eyes staring out at me.

The eyes of the giant.

“He is coming,” the book whispered. “You are the only one who can stop him.”

My breath rushed back into me, and my hands went numb. All I could remember was the heat of the fire, and the burning world.

Ser Mittens rubbed his head against my leg as I stood, frozen.

“Fuck that,” I said, and immediately clapped my hands together, summoning the opening to a sub-plane between them as I drew them apart. I dropped the book into the black hole in space, resealed it, and leapt into my bed. Chosen ones and apocalyptic prophecies were not my area of research. Besides, that all sounded like adventuring to me, best left to the ruffians and the hooligans of the world.

Ser Mittens cuddled up beside me as I drew in the blankets, and together we slipped off into the warm embrace of sleep.

The End

I hope you enjoyed, I had so much fun writing this one. I know I usually write with a more sombre voice, but it felt natural for this narrator and this world that it should have a bit of a comedic undertone. I had an idea for a longer story that had a similar premise, and this was a great excuse for me to explore this idea without committing to a full book if I didn’t like it. I may (or may not) come back to this and turn it into a longer story one day.

In other news, I’m still busy typing away on ‘Sons of the Carrispont’. It’s coming, don’t worry, but it’s taking its time, as all good books should. To hear more about it and to stay in the loop, be sure to subscribe here for a free bonus horror short story!

But that’s all for now, and as always, thanks for reading!