The Dark Mage Of The Magus World-Chapter 77 - 78: The Violin

A severed woman’s head rested upon the windowsill, its lifeless gaze frozen in eerie silence. Behind it, a headless corpse stood like a grotesque sentinel, its presence steeped in something both ancient and unnatural.

In its left hand, the corpse held a violin. Its right hand, with unsettling tenderness, caressed the severed head as though soothing it into slumber. The room was drowned in an oppressive quiet. Even the demon flowers, which had once stood in eerie bloom, had closed their eyes, lowering their heads in what seemed like reverence—or fear.

Hutson ceased his digging, rising to his feet, his eyes locking onto the expressionless visage before him. The stillness was suffocating.

Then, the corpse lifted the violin, resting it against its shoulder. With unnatural grace, it brought the severed head against the strings and began to play. A haunting melody filled the air, each note trailing rivulets of crimson as blood dripped along the strings, staining the wood with dark, sinuous veins.

The woman’s lips curled into a faint smile. Her eyes fluttered closed, as if savoring the melancholic tune, lost in a moment of tranquil rapture.

Dark energy swirled by the window, a malignant force gathering unseen yet unmistakable.

Hutson did not hesitate. In a single swift motion, he loosed three corrosive arrows. They streaked through the air, striking the corpse with unerring precision. The moment they landed, a sizzling hiss filled the chamber as the arrows ate into the decaying flesh, sending up tendrils of acrid smoke.

The woman’s eyes snapped open, fury twisting her expression. Though her head remained severed, pain contorted her features.

Hutson raised his hand. The ring on his finger flashed, a small fireball coalescing within his palm before he hurled it forward.

But the violin’s lament rose again, its melody weaving through the air.

The corpse’s right arm suddenly pulsed, grotesquely swelling, the flesh stretching and splitting as red fur burst forth. In an instant, it had transformed into a monstrous limb, grotesquely oversized, a blasphemous distortion of its former self.

The fireball struck, exploding against the monstrous arm. Flames licked at the corrupted flesh, filling the room with the stench of burning meat. Yet the creature did not falter.

The violin’s song surged once more.

The monstrous limb lashed out. Hutson barely had time to react. The impact struck his protective barrier, shattering the outermost layer with a sharp crack. The force sent him hurtling backward, his boots skidding across the stone floor as he struggled to regain his footing.

He rolled to a stop, quickly adjusting his stance, drawing his longsword in one fluid motion. A quick glance confirmed what he suspected—his ice shield had absorbed most of the blow, but it was severely weakened. One more direct hit, and it would shatter entirely.

Murmuring an incantation, he activated another enchanted artifact. A gust of wind surged around him—the Blessing of the Wind Sprite. His agility heightened, his reflexes honed.

His gaze locked onto the headless corpse. Then he moved.

The violin’s song dictated the battle. The corpse swung its grotesque arm, but this time, Hutson was faster. He dodged with supernatural ease, gliding through the shifting shadows of the chamber.

The corpse’s attacks were powerful but cumbersome. Each strike carried devastating force, yet every retraction left a vulnerable opening.

Hutson seized his moment.

In a flash, he closed the distance. His sword arced downward, aiming for the violin itself.

A metallic clang rang out as his blade met enchanted wood. Sparks flew, but the instrument held firm.

Hutson had anticipated this. Tightening his grip, he struck again. And again. Each impact resounded like a hammer against an anvil.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

Fractures began to spread across the violin’s body, the once-pristine instrument now marred with deep splintering cracks.

Then, without hesitation, Hutson lunged forward and seized the violin in his grasp.

With all his might, he slammed it against the ground.

The music ceased.

But he did not stop. Again, and again, he smashed the violin against the cold stone floor. Against the walls. Against anything in reach.

CRACK! THUD! SNAP!

The once-magnificent violin shattered beneath his relentless assault. Strings snapped one by one, curling like the severed tendrils of a dying beast.

Hutson stomped down, his boot grinding the remains into dust.

"Corrosive Arrow!"

"Fireball!"

Arcane energy crackled as he unleashed a final barrage of spells, ensuring no remnants of its accursed magic survived.

When the last trace of dark energy dissipated, he lifted his gaze.

The headless corpse had slumped against the windowsill, its monstrous arm withered back to its original form. Its ruined garments hung in tatters, revealing pale, lifeless flesh.

Hutson exhaled, his grip tightening on his sword.

"Should be dead now," he muttered.

His gaze flicked to the shattered remains of the violin. A peculiar thought surfaced—had he merely destroyed an instrument, or had he killed something far more sinister?

A rustling sound stirred behind him.

The demon flowers, which had remained eerily still, were now peeking at him, their petal-like eyes wide with something akin to curiosity.

The moment his gaze met theirs, they recoiled, snapping their attention elsewhere. A ripple of unease passed through them as though they feared him more than the headless musician itself. 𝙛𝒓𝒆𝙚𝒘𝒆𝓫𝙣𝓸𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝒄𝒐𝓶

Hutson, satisfied that no further threats remained, retrieved his shovel and returned to his task.

A dozen more demon flowers remained.

Soon, the garden was filled once more with eerie, unearthly wails as he continued his grim harvest. To an outsider, the cacophony might have resembled the raucous revelry of some strange, unholy festival.

Nearly half an hour later, the final demon flower was unearthed. Forty-two in total—an impressive yield.

Hutson surveyed his surroundings one last time. Nothing of further value remained.

With that, he turned and departed, leaving behind the shattered remains of the violin and the lifeless husk of its cursed musician in the silence of the forsaken garden.

Hutson pressed forward, his boots barely making a sound against the cobbled streets. Yet behind him, footsteps echoed once more.

He slowed his pace, muscles tensing. The encounter with the violin had left him wary—if that cursed instrument had lurked within one of these dimly lit houses, what horrors lay hidden within the others?

The thought gnawed at him. The town was... shifting.

The deeper he ventured into Creek Valley Town, the more buildings seemed to appear. He could still recall the view from the mountainside before entering the valley—there hadn’t been this many houses. But now, in the gloom of flickering lanterns, the structures seemed to stretch endlessly, looming over the empty streets like silent sentinels.

A voice shattered the stillness.

"My lord! I finally found you!"

Hutson spun, his hand instinctively tightening around his sword hilt.

There, gasping for breath, was Robert. The man’s voice had rung out too suddenly, too conveniently, in this cursed town.

"Stay where you are," Hutson commanded, his tone cold as steel. As Robert instinctively stepped forward, Hutson drew his sword, the blade gleaming in the lantern light. He pointed it directly at the man’s chest.

Robert halted, hands half-raised, an awkward expression crossing his face.

"My lord, it’s really me," he said, taking a careful step back. "I swear I am not... one of them."

Hutson’s eyes remained locked on him. The violin had played. The corpse had danced. Who was to say this Robert was the same man who had accompanied him into this town?

"Where have you been?" Hutson asked, his voice unwavering.

Robert frowned, as if only now realizing the strangeness of his own predicament.

"I... I don’t know," he admitted, confusion flickering in his eyes. "I remember us drinking at the tavern. One moment, you were there, the next—you were gone. I went looking for you, but the town was empty, completely deserted."

His breath came in shallow gulps, as though recalling something deeply unsettling.

"I knocked on the door of one of the houses," he continued, "and the next thing I knew... I was inside."

His voice dropped to a whisper.

"I don’t know how. I didn’t step in. I didn’t open the door. I just... was there."

A shiver crawled down Hutson’s spine.

"I panicked," Robert admitted, his tone edged with frustration. "I tried opening the door, but it wouldn’t budge. It was as if it had been sealed shut from the inside. I thought about breaking a window, but—" He shook his head. "Impossible. No matter how hard I struck, it wouldn’t even crack. That glass was... unnatural."

Robert exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple as if trying to make sense of it all.

"And then—" He hesitated. "Then I blinked, and suddenly... I was here. Standing on the street. And there you were, just ahead of me."

A long silence settled between them, thick with unspoken thoughts.

Hutson’s grip on his sword remained firm. He had seen enough things tonight to know better than to trust too quickly.

The town was shifting.

And now, so was reality itself.