ALL NOVEL Chapter 7: Chapter 7: Mysticism
Monty's eyes refocused, and the momentary lapse in composure seemed to slip from him like a mask shifting back into place. He didn't even flinch at the unnatural hand Lex had summoned earlier. Instead, he reached into his suit pocket with a calculated grace and pulled out a small, weathered box. The wood was old and cracked, the edges worn smooth from years of handling, and he placed it gently on the table between them with a soft click.
Inside the box lay a small, withered monkey hand, its pale skin shriveled, as though it had been pulled from a corpse long left to rot. Embedded in the palm was a bright red gemstone, an unnatural, almost demonic red, that seemed to pulse faintly in the dim light. The room grew colder, the air heavy, and for a moment, it felt as though something in the space itself was holding its breath.
Monty's smile was a thin, cold thing, lacking warmth. It was the kind of smile that promised nothing but emptiness.
"Are you familiar with Mysticism, Lex? The foundation of the sequences?" His voice was smooth but edged with something dangerous, like he was carefully watching her every reaction. He wanted to know—did she know?
Lex studied the hand, her gaze lingering on the grotesque sight. Her fingers twitched, and for a brief moment, she considered reaching out to touch it—but something held her back. It was the same kind of instinctive hesitation one would feel before touching something cursed.
She leaned back into the old, cracked leather couch, the smell of mildew seeping from the worn material, and fixed her eyes on Monty. There was no reason to lie to him. If she was going to work with this man—and in the dark world she now found herself in, working with anyone was dangerous—honesty was likely the best option. There was no benefit in deception, not when dealing with someone as... attuned as Monty seemed to be.
"I know nothing. I've forgotten most of my memories," Lex replied flatly, meeting Monty's eyes without flinching. She had no use for pretenses in this place.
Monty chuckled softly, but there was no warmth in it—only an eerie amusement. "Well, we'll start with the basics, then." He ran a finger along the edge of the box, his gaze flickering briefly to the hand inside before returning to her. "In the world of Mysticism, those with powers are called Beyonders. You, myself, and Nigel—all of us are Beyonders. Every pathway has nine potions, corresponding to sequences 9 to 1. When a Beyonder hits sequence 4, they experience a qualitative change, a transformation—they become Saints. And at sequence 2, they become Angels. Beyond that, I'm not sure what comes next. I've never reached those levels myself."
The air in the room seemed to thicken with each word, the weight of the knowledge pressing down on Lex's chest. Monty's voice was even, calm, but there was something in the way he spoke—an undercurrent of reverence, perhaps even fear, when he spoke about the higher sequences.
Lex took a sip of her tea. It was lukewarm, bitter, but she didn't mind. She was too focused on the implications of what Monty was saying.
"The next part is where it gets... interesting," Monty continued, his voice lowering slightly, as though what he was about to say was a secret, forbidden knowledge. He was watching her carefully, gauging her reaction to every word. "When a Beyonder dies, their characteristic manifests beside their body. These characteristics are like anchors—they can be harvested to help brew the potion of the sequence the Beyonder belonged to. If no one finds and collects the characteristic, it may attach itself to an object—a non-sentient object, something mundane—and transform it. Give it powers tied to the potion."
Monty gestured toward the revolver resting on the table, his fingers brushing the cold steel with a possessive reverence.
"My revolver here, The Brunswick, is believed to be infused with the characteristic of a Sequence 7 Pyromaniac," he said, his voice almost reverent. "Even objects like this have their uses. But that's not the important part." Monty paused, allowing the weight of his words to settle before leaning forward, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinized her.
Lex's mind raced. So, even mundane objects could become vessels of power. This world was far more twisted and complex than she had imagined, and she could already feel the weight of its implications pressing against her.
"Wait," Lex murmured to herself, the realization hitting her like a sudden gust of cold wind. If I kill a Beyonder, I should wait for the characteristic to appear before fleeing the scene... It seemed like a small, but crucial piece of strategy in this new, horrific game she had just entered. She would have to plan for that.
Monty was still watching her, but he didn't seem disturbed by her thoughts. He'd no doubt seen the look of calculation flicker in her eyes. His smile deepened, but it was sharp—like the edge of a blade.
"The next lesson is... not for the faint-hearted," Monty continued, his voice turning colder, darker. "One out of every one hundred Beyonders possesses a secret method. The Oracle himself instructed Mr. H to make sure you knew of this. And I warn you—you must never speak of this." He leaned in closer, his gaze darkening, and Lex felt a sudden, piercing cold in the room, as if the very air around them had sharpened.
Lex narrowed her eyes, feeling the shift in atmosphere. There was a dangerous edge to Monty now, the smile gone, replaced with something far more sinister. His words dripped with a cold intensity, as though her silence was of paramount importance. She nodded slowly, her lips pressed together, the weight of his warning settling like lead in her stomach.
"I won't say anything. You can calm down, old man," she said with a smirk, her voice deliberately flippant, though she could feel the tension thickening in the air.
Monty cleared his throat, though the hint of menace still clung to his words. "The best method to digest your potion is called the acting method. You must act as the sequence you are trying to embody, and understand the underlying principles of that sequence. The faster you can grasp these principles, the quicker your potion will digest. Some have managed to digest Sequence 9 in less than eight months using this method."
He paused, allowing the scope of what he'd just said to settle. The idea of acting as a killer, as a monster—of becoming something else entirely—was chilling in its simplicity.
But Monty's face grew somber, and his voice dropped to a whisper. "But heed this warning: Never lose yourself in the act. If you do, you will succumb to madness. You will become what you pretend to be. Remember... at the end of the day, it's all just acting."
The weight of his words hung heavily in the room. Lex could feel it, the suffocating knowledge that, in this world, she would have to walk a razor-thin line between power and madness. There would be no easy path forward.
Lex nodded enthusiastically, her face betraying no sign of the unease building in her gut. "Thank you for the tips, Monty. I'll make sure to repay you for your wisdom," she said, rising from the couch and stretching.
A grin, sharp and predatory, curled at the corners of her lips. "So... what's the first mission?" she asked, her voice steady, but with a hint of excitement, eager to step deeper into this shadowed world.
Monty's smile returned, though it was darker now. It's begun, he seemed to say, and for the first time, Lex wondered if she'd made a grave mistake stepping into this web of shadows.