Poe's Gnosis

Lumière turned to face the House of Cards as he stepped back into the foggy street. It had lost all of its charm and had begun to look like any other building. The attendant he had met earlier- the one named 'Osiris' had disappeared.

'I should ask the book about the cards? Do books even talk?'

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the aged black leather-bound book.

'It didn't seem unordinary when I pulled it away from the labyrinth in the shadows. So why did that grand being mention it specifically?'

Lumière raised the book into the air, eyeing it curiously. His sleeve slipped a bit, revealing the mark that Osiris had clawed into his flesh- the eye with an upside-down cross like a slitted pupil, with a serpent curling upwards. Immediately, the pitch-black mark began to glow a bright silver, and the snake curling around the cross shot up his wrist, settling on the surface of the book. Lumiere's eyebrows furrowed slightly. He watched as the snake immediately began to twist itself into a different shape- much like a budding tree. Then, the inky creature wrapped itself around the trunk of the tree and began to glow a faint silver colour. In unison, another snake reappeared on the mark on his wrist and became inanimate once more.

'Poe's Gnosis, huh?' Lumière thought humourously, slightly shaken. Over time, it had become apparent to him that strange things would continue to happen to him now that he was associated with a place like the House of Cards. Therefore, he kept his heart in a constantly steeled state, so it would take something drastic to shock him greatly.

Alongside the glow of the book's cover, several pages of the book turned a faint silver along their edges. Lumière hesitantly brushed his fingertips along the leather cover, flipping it open to the first page. On its illusory surface, there was a single line scrawled in black ink.

— Welcome to horror, thou who art a murderer. This journal is your lament. This journal is your haven. This journal is you.

'Murderer? Isn't that what those illusory voices would say?'

Besides the single line on the first page, there were several red marks on the page underneath. Seven thumbprints were set in a line, marked with blood.

'Why seven? I think it unlikely that the owner of this book had seven thumbs, so what could that mean? Past readers, maybe? But if someone owned this book once, why did they leave it behind in that eerie labyrinth?'

Lumière hurriedly flipped to the second page, his gaze brushing over the stanzas of black ink that looked as if they were quickly writing themselves onto the paper before his eyes.

— The world is harsh- filled with many discrepancies and dangers. This 'Gnosis'- this 'Guide' of all knowledge I have acquired will help you navigate this world safely. When it begins to glow silver, the Gnosis's heart will begin to beat, and it will begin to scrawl out information in its black blood. For your sake, you detestable murderer, this beautiful creature will suffer, and then when it has served its purpose, it will die. I cannot escape the cost of guilt, either. I'm the one who set this all in motion, anyway. Because you are like me, you are prone to receiving my journal. It's just relative attraction, I'm sure. It's not unlike magnetic force. How cruel must you be to be like me, I wonder?

Lumière's brows furrowed slightly, and a grimace crossed his face. The more he focused, the more he could recognise that the mild pulsing he could feel was not from his heartbeat, but rather the soft tremors of the book he had been holding. He had several urges to throw the book far away from him, but instead, he let out a harsh sigh and flipped to the next page.

'Living creature? I'm either being messed with, or this world is truly just cruel and horrifying. How better off would I be, not knowing of these things?'

— You are a 'heretic'. That is not some sort of personal slight from me. That is what my colleagues have chosen to label one of their certain sins- a 'domain' of magical power. Its derivative history isn't too important. The only thing you should be able to grasp is that it is because you are the worst of people. You are a killer. You are a sinner. So, you are a heretic. That is all.

Lumière continued to read, his expression growing more tense as he walked through Orulinde Street and turned the familiar foggy corner.

— In the following entries, I will meticulously describe the powers you've unlocked from your sins, you detestable bastard. At the cost of life, you are now quite powerful. Isn't that wonderful? Because you are a killer, your powers are quite relative to that. You will be able to draw power from blood cleaved from human and animal flesh, forsake your beloved Goddesses, deceive your enemies, weave the gaudiness of bright silver flames, and become the world's most detestable liar. Of course, 'liar' is just an insult towards you. You will become an illusionist, the world's most profitable liar.

Lumière couldn't help but allow his expression to twist, his lips curling downwards.

'What do you mean, 'detestable'? When have I ever killed, you fool who knows nothing at all…' Lumière cursed inwardly. 'Rather, why am I, the reader, being insulted so much? What could you possibly know of me? You're probably long dead, so are you looking at me from some grand plane above, choosing to make fun of me in this way?'

'Illusionist- huh? Despite all the badmouthing of this author, he seems to know that part of me well- the part of the liar.'

Lumière's gaze softened slightly, and he flipped to the next silver-glowing page of the journal. Thick black liquid twisted on its surface, etching lines in the Iles language, which had been commonplace throughout the Western Continent for thousands of years. Its grandiose complexity was hard to read for most commoners, and so the Thalis script- which was much simpler, made up of lines and shapes, had been born from its roots. Lumière knew both because they were both common in the scripture of the Crown of Thorns, so with a little bit of effort, he was able to read through what seemed like ancient text within the Gnosis.

— As a liar, your illusion is one of your best abilities. For now, as a little fledgling, I'm sure it's all you can do to conjure simple lies. Perhaps you can fill the air with subtle 'illusory murmurs' to confuse or mislead your enemies. As a liar, you can sketch images into the air, or disguise yourself as small creatures. Of course, because you are just a liar, it's all just an illusion. You won't really be whatever you choose to look like. As a drawback, because you're still a fledgling, these illusions won't last too long, so using the ability sparingly is necessary.

— As a murderer, the blood you sow becomes incredibly important to your skillset. As of now, all you can probably do is 'trace' that blood- rather, use it as a source of tracking. If your opponent runs, but you manage to spill his blood, you can gather its general origin, and track him down. I'm sure since you're so prone to death, you'll be able to detect the presence of blood, and therefore some sense of danger around you. It's all that comes with being detestable.

— As a heretic, you can blaspheme the Goddesses. The further you go, the more power you'll be able to draw- the grander the effects will be. Of course, this power comes at the cost of backlash. Most often, the cost of your enhancement will be the immediate draining of your remaining stamina after a short time has passed. There's a slight chance, however, that the drawback will exceed the draining of stamina, and have much more adverse effects on your body.

'Blaspheme the Goddesses? Isn't that incredibly dangerous? The Gnosis describes a natural drawback, but isn't drawing on the ire of the Goddesses incredibly dangerous apart from that? Couldn't drawing their gazes towards me increase my inclination to madness? No, I guess that doesn't really matter. It won't change my goals, even if I go crazy.'

— As a human, you've been gifted fire, despite the wishes of the Gods. You'll be able to conjure bright silver flames and control them in a certain range.

Lumière's face twisted upon reading this line. Horrifying memories rushed through his mind, and his heart began to beat faster. He immediately closed the book and slipped it back into his pocket. He had no motivation to read further and just wanted to go back home and slip into his bed. His vision grew a bit blurry, and he had to reach up and wipe the cascading tears away from his eyes just to see clearly. Lumière sniffled a little bit, blaming it on the cold spring air, and descended the flowering steps that led to the lower borough. He passed Etten-Leur and came to the familiar signpost that marked the entrance to Cobbler's Street.

He stumbled down the street, past the lonely hillside and up the stone steps that led into the monastery. Through the doorway, he entered the hall where oil lamps burnt a dim light and stepped up to the second floor. Standing in front of his door, he could feel an eerie dull pain in his head, and an ache across his body that accompanied a chill. He placed his hand on the brass doorknob, which felt as if it had frozen over, and pushed the door open. Greeting the sight of his warm room, he couldn't help but let a relaxed smile creep up his face, although as he stepped through the doorway, it quickly dropped from his expression.

The room quickly shifted around him, a deep abyss enveloping the open sky.

He stood in a long dimly lit stone hallway with several doors, although some of them looked as if they were at the height of someone walking on the ceiling. On the far end of the hall past the multitude of doors was a circular room lit by dim orange torches. It was carved out of marble, held up by large ancient pillars surrounding the room. In the centre of the room was a large half-circle stone table with ornate carved trim. Eight high-back chairs sat around the table, and they all faced a large carved stone throne that sat above the curve of the table. At the long end of the left side of the table, sitting in a plain high-back chair, a man with black hair tinged with grey, and deep black eyes that seemed as vast as the cosmos stared calmly at Lumière.
As he met Lumière's gaze, a gentle smile curled up on his face, and he leaned back in his seat, almost beckoning the magician's approach. Lumière's body still felt intensely cold and stiff, but he lurched forward towards the room. Almost immediately, as the man watched over him with a goading expression, the entrance to the hall shifted. Lumière fell through the open doorway, and the space around him seemed to shift, spinning on a clockwise axis until Lumière was forced to fall flat on his side. Glancing up, a room of shadow took form around him. The only obvious illumination came from the ceiling, where the stone structure had begun to crumble, and the light of the star-like object in the centre of the abyss shone through.

In the centre of the room, there was a single wooden chair lying underneath a hung noose.
Immediately, the Gnosis in Lumière's jacket pocket began to glow a bright silver.

—

In the capital of the Forger Empire, Lindgram, an attendant came stumbling through the door of the ornate room of two noblemen with a message stumbling from his lips.

"Mr. Alisander is dead?"

A curt laugh interrupted his sentence. A man with bright orange hair and emerald eyes had a harmless smile on his face, his legs resting atop an ornate table. He had been twirling a chess piece between his fingers, but after hearing of the news, he had thrown it to the side and sat forward. A man with the same aesthetic, albeit his locks longer, his eyes tinged with grey, and his clothes wildly more feminine spoke out.

"Who was it? Who killed our little merchant?"

The attendant who had passed on the news held a fearful bow, and his body immediately crumpled onto the floor in a heap. The light had ceased glimmering in his eyes, and his flesh and bones began to twist in unusual ways. Fragments of his bones poked through his skin, and blood soaked into the already crimson carpets below. The attendant slowly stood up once more, and his eyes glowed a fierce, otherworldly hue. He was a demon, now masquerading in the corpse of a boy.

"Euler, who was it?" The man sitting down at the table asked him.

"It was his rival- Alain Monroe, and another man- Lumière Croft. It was quite a spectacle, a little duel between mortal men." The demon- Euler, smiled.

"I don't care about how it came about. I just care about the outcome, which is that my sponsorship has been for naught."

"Mr. Orion-" The demon spoke furtively.

He was quickly interrupted.

"Calister." Orion corrected the demon, before slipping back into his seat. "I'll pay them a visit, then."

"Sorry, Mr. Calister- but is it wise for you to abandon the Noble's Gathering this early? Discussions about your estate will surely arise soon."

Orion turned towards the man in feminine attire who stood beside him, leaning against the wall.

"Will you stay here, Pandora?" Orion asked of him, a warm smile curling up on his face. "I'll take care of our 'little problem' in Leiden, so sit here for the Noble's Gathering, and then join me there."

"It will take you a while to reach there from the Capital, won't it? Will you be all right by yourself? You won't get lonely?" Pandora asked in return, worried. His voice was soft and supple, as if he were willingly below his brother in terms of dominance. In aesthetic, demeanor, and tone, he resembled a woman more than a man.

"I'll be fine, brother. There's no need to worry."

Orion stood up from his seat, cracking his neck as he looked down towards the demon, who had begun to look hobbled.

"Euler, grant me your power this time. I'll give you another servant as payment."

The demon boy's lips curled up, caked in blood.

"Thank you, Mr. Calister. You truly are the most kind, to grant me so much."

"Shut up. You stay here, too. I don't need you, just your power."

Orion stepped out of the room, having rolled up his sleeves. Without the presence of his brother, his genial expression had faded, malice quickly taking over.