Chapter Text
Gilmore felt his back crack as he straightened. He sank back onto his heels, taking care not to smudge the sigils he’d finally finished painting on the floor the cavern.
“Finished, Gilmore?”
He turned at Master Brown’s approach. “Yes. It will be dry enough to bring the subject in shortly.”
Brown nodded in acknowledgement, silent as he studied the spell circle. Gilmore followed his gaze, allowing himself a proud smile as he looked over his work. It sprawled across the center of the cavern, overlapping layers of paint and blood and chalk twined together in what was the most complex spell Gilmore had ever created. If it worked, it would be his masterpiece. All it needed was the canvas.
“You’re confident that it will work even without knowing the subject’s true name?” Brown asked, turning narrowed eyes onto Gilmore, who waved the question away.
“The next few steps should ensure no complications. Assuming that the subject is—”
“Vaffanculo!”
“—compatible with the magic,” Gilmore finished dryly, turning to the cavern entrance.
Coming out of the shadows of the tunnel was a golem, a struggling figure carried over its shoulder. Gilmore didn’t have to speak the language to understand the general sentiment of his words. “Perhaps we should have considered a gag.”
Brown chuckled an agreement as the golem came to a stop before them. Behind it, Ryan hurried in, a caged and hooded falcon in his hands. He cast the struggling man an anxious look before veering off to the side, where a small sacrificial altar was arranged. Gilmore followed after him, while Brown directed the golem to arrange the subject.
“Are you all right, Ryan?"
“Yes, Professor, of course. I just…” Ryan trailed off, nervously rearranging the knives on the altar. “I don’t want to question your designs, Professor, but after the last experiment… Are you sure this will work?”
“Of course it will work,” Gilmore snapped. “My calculations are perfect.” He took a deep breath, softened his voice. “Grafting extra limbs and altered parts to a human just wouldn’t work; the muscular and instinctual control over them just wouldn’t exist. Forcing the body to grow the organic parts may be harder, but the end result will be far superior.”
“Of course, Professor. I—”
“Figlio di una buttana capra dal viso! Stare lontano da me!”
Gilmore winced at the now steady stream of obscenities. “We should get started. Are you ready?”
“Yes, Professor.”
“Hand me the dagger.”
The cursing cut off when Gilmore cut the falcon’s throat and started draining the blood into a bowl. He passed the corpse to Ryan, letting the younger magician prepare the eyes as he crossed back to the subject, blood-filled bowl in hand.
He stopped next to Brown, really looking over the subject for the first time. Tall and thin, which would work well with the planned modifications, though younger than he’d expected. Blue eyes glared out from under red hair, rage almost completely masking the fear in them. And even kneeling in the center of the spell circle, naked but for the bindings on his wrists and ankles, he still spat at Gilmore’s feet. “Li mortacci tua, figgh’i buttana!”
“Charming,” Brown commented.
“Spirited,” Gilmore countered. “It bodes well for his survival.”
“Perhaps.” He stepped back, giving Gilmore room to work.
Gilmore circled around the teen, brush in hand, to add sigils to his back, but he kept shuffling around, keeping Gilmore in his line of sight. Gilmore sighed and turned, gesturing to the golem standing motionless just beyond the circle.
“Hold him.”
The golem lumbered forward and put a hand on the teen’s head, pressing down until his face was pressed against the floor. He still twitched as Gilmore painted blood sigils down his spine and across his shoulders, the small motions not enough to throw off Gilmore’s brushwork.
Once he finished, Gilmore instructed the golem, “Upright, head back.” While the golem manipulated the teen, Gilmore stirred the remaining blood to make sure it wasn’t congealing too quickly.
“Professor?” Ryan stood to one side, holding a smaller bowl filled with a falcon eyes crushed into a paste.
Gilmore took the new bowl, passing the old one to Ryan. “Heat that slightly, make sure it remains liquid.” To the golem: “Keep his eyes open, carefully.”
Even the golem’s grip couldn’t keep the teen from thrashing when Gilmore rubbed the paste into his eyes, enough so that a good portion of it ended up smeared across his cheeks. By the time it was finished, Ryan was back with the warmed up blood.
“Pinch his nose shut,” Gilmore ordered, waiting until Ryan had complied to hold the bowl to the teen’s lips. The teen pressed his lips together in response, glaring daggers as Gilmore. The stalemate was short; the teen parted his lips just the slightest bit to hiss a breath in between his teeth. It was enough for Gilmore to shove the edge of the bowl between his lips. Just as much blood spilled down the teen’s chin as went in his mouth; Gilmore just hoped it was enough, and slapped a hand over the teen’s mouth until he swallowed.
Gilmore stepped back, pulling a rag from his pocket to wipe blood and paste from his hands. “Release him.” Both Ryan and the golem let go of the teen, stepping back beyond the circle.
The teen convulsed, gagging; Gilmore waited, but he stilled after a moment, slumping back to the floor. Once he was sure the teen wouldn’t be sick, Gilmore stepped back and placed his hand on the activation point of the circle. “Preparations are complete. Clear the casting area.”
Brown and Ryan faded back to press against the cave walls, leaving Gilmore crouched alone next to the subject. With a deep breath, he sent a pulse of magic into the circle.
Blood, paint, and chalk started glowing as the magic seeped into it. It spread inward, pausing for just a breath before slithering up the teen’s legs and over his shoulders to gather in writhing knots just below his shoulder blades.
A heartbeat. Another. And the magic sank under the teen’s skin.
His eyes snapped open, wide and blind and bright. The two shining knots pushed out, knobs of bone and muscle struggling to rise even as the rest of his torso restructured itself around them.
He snapped upright, his keening scream almost covering the sound of ripping flesh as two wings tore out of his back.
The room seemed frozen as the magic faded, the only sound in the cavern the teen’s labored breathing. His wings arched in the torchlight, copper feathers visible underneath the blood and gore coating them. They flapped weakly, then again, and Gilmore found himself rushing forward even as the teen tipped forward. He caught the teen’s shoulders in time to keep him from hitting the ground. He brushed feathers out of the way and felt for a pulse. “He’s alive!”
“Wonderful!” Brown strode forward, a broad smile on his face. “Fantastic work, Gilmore. This will accelerate our schedule quite a bit.” He turned to a wide-eyed Ryan, starting to detail instructions. Gilmore tuned him out, unable to keep the giddy smile off his face as he ran his hand over the wing closest to him. “Magnificent.”
His masterpiece was complete.