Author's Note:
Sorry for not publishing anything this week, but I had writer's block and a cluttered mind. I will explain everything at the end of the chapter.
Anyway, I hope you enjoy the read.
XXX
Story Arc: Out-of-Town Visitors
Episode 2: Weekend with Surprises (IV)
Chapter 8: Warlock's Greenhouse
Plot: Once he finished talking to the police about what had happened at the harbor, Nightfall City's hero took flight; but instead of returning to the Cauldron, he decided to visit another place.
XXX
POV Narrator
The night sky of Nightfall City was a shiver of cold air against Black Warlock's face as he hovered high in the air aboard his magic staff. Below him, the metropolis lights faded rapidly, giving way to the impenetrable mass of shadow of the forest. He wasn't aiming for the clouds, where a single teleportation spell would have hidden him from prying eyes, but was descending straight toward that green tangle. A distorted place where silhouettes of flying bunnies and far more bizarre creatures moved among the branches, and where the foliage pulsed with lethal toxicities, even more dangerous than industrial waste.
"Whoever said that women are the weaker sex clearly hasn't met Ch'en or any other woman living in Nightfall," Warlock muttered, resting his tired forehead against the wood of the staff, his eyes ringed with fatigue.
For a good half hour, Captain Ch'en had targeted him, trapping him in a crossfire of questions and demanding clarifications on every single detail of what had happened.
The young D&D-themed hero had to wait for the perfect moment: only when Ch'en turned around to give strict orders to her subordinates did he manage to secretly move his fingers. Evoking a Mage Hand spell, a spectral and invisible hand floated in mid-air to the opposite wall, slipping out a sticky fragment of Spider-Man's web to keep it as a sample.
With Ch'en just a step away, however, it had been impossible to do anything else. He would have loved to pocket a certain plush toy of an electric yellow mouse as a souvenir, but the policewoman had been categorical, glaring him down: Black Warlock could not touch, let alone take, a single thing from a crime scene.
From the pages of the Sentient Grimoire hanging around his neck, a whispered voice rose. "If Ch'en gained out-of-the-ordinary abilities, you could retire," Sora said in an clearly playful tone, while the book's pages rustled slightly in the wind.
"Sora, you're ridiculous. Ch'en doesn't need super-powers or magic," Warlock commented, tightening his hands on the staff as a shiver of intimidation, mixed with deep admiration, ran through him at the memory of the blue-haired policewoman. "Give her a greatsword and the position of Commissioner, and local crime would be virtually non-existent. Extraordinary cases would think twice before acting."
The pages of the tome lit up with a faint magical light. "Master, I am quite convinced that you have a soft spot for strong women, especially if they wear uniforms or if they are of Asian descent," Sora said, visibly enjoying teasing her Master, who was always so pure and modest when certain topics were touched upon.
Warlock abruptly turned his head aside, pretending to scan the darkness below in search of a specific spot among the trees. "I don't know what you're talking about," he cut her off, annoyed.
"Motoko, Nia, Origami, Ch'en..." Sora listed mercilessly, naming one after the other the four women of Asian descent, all shared by a uniform and the firm character of someone who is used to taking charge.
Warlock forced himself to keep his back straight on the staff. "Charlotte and Lola are not Asian," he replied, playing defense and bringing up the two girls: a pretty, half-French reporter and a one-hundred-percent American athlete.
"Charlotte goes around in a red steampunk journalist uniform taking pictures of dangerous things, and Lola is a multi-award-winning Olympic champion who could strangle a tiger," Sora countered instantly, as if to double down on the matter of strong women and uniforms.
"No comment," Warlock snapped. His cheeks flushed with a conspicuous blush that he tried to hide by wrapping himself in his cloak, determined not to fuel that conversation any further.
The grimoire vibrated against his chest, softening its tone into a vocal cuddle. "Master, you can always confide in me about both important and trivial things. Juicy topics like what you like in a woman are just as welcome," she added, acting exactly like an older sister who loves to embarrass her nerd little brother and then run to his aid.
"I appreciate the intent, but Warlock has Warlock work to do," the hero of Nightfall City answered firmly, straightening his flight path and forcing himself to maintain a professional demeanor while he was on duty.
"Once we are home, after a midnight snack, we'll have a little chat while you watch an episode of Lieutenant Columbo," Sora countered, hitting the mark and proving she knew by heart every single habit and television preference of her keeper.
'Come to think of it, in some aspects Sora is a stalker even worse than Origami and Lola combined. The only difference is that she does it completely unintentionally, bound as she is — both literally and figuratively — around Black Warlock's neck.'
"We have arrived at the Greenhouse," Warlock finally announced, interrupting the bickering. With a fluid movement of his arms, he tilted the magic staff downward, cutting through the air in a controlled dive toward the large structure emerging from the forest.
XXX
Most superheroes can count on a futuristic secret base, a private fortress that contains everything needed for the fight against crime: a global command and monitoring center, latest-generation scientific and technological laboratories, an emergency infirmary, maximum-security cells, high-tech training rooms, evacuation quarters, and even a heavily armored vault to keep trophies and dangerous artifacts.
Warlock, for the time being, made do with the Cauldron. Built in a hidden basement beneath the foundations of his house, that underground shelter had been painstakingly reorganized to be an all-purpose place, a cross between an alchemical laboratory and a makeshift headquarters.
However, the hero of Nightfall City had been in action for more than six months now. He did not lack the time to design and build something decidedly more imposing and, as far as resources and practical skills were concerned, well... magic and certain innate abilities wove the very fabric of his being, proving to be nothing short of formidable tools.
In addition to Golden Rule, which guaranteed him a blatant fortune in his everyday life, and Imperial Privilege, which allowed him to flash improvised talents like a magician pulling an ace out of his sleeve, Warlock could rely on two abilities specifically modeled for fabrication and great mystical construction.
The first was Item Construction of Rank C: an innate talent in creating enhanced objects, capable of ranging from the most lethal weapons of war to everyday tools. A true biological predisposition to apply his powers to the production process, channeling magical energy into materials to forge unique artifacts.
The second, even more impressive one was Territory Creation of Rank A. This gift bestowed upon him the necessary skill and architectural instinct to shape a specialized territory, altering the surrounding environment to make it advantageous to its creator. It could take the form of a traditional laboratory for distilling potions, a lethal labyrinth to trap enemies, or a consecrated temple where he could cast spells far more powerful than normal.
Despite possessing these two formidable abilities, Warlock did not feel an urgent need to enlarge the Cauldron. However, he saw the far more strategic necessity of expanding his operational bases.
After all, as the old saying goes: it's better not to put all your eggs in one basket.
Though, to be completely honest, the logic guiding the young man was decidedly more unique and rooted in pop culture. As he flew over the forest, he found himself reflecting to himself: 'In Mighty Morphin Power Rangers, Zordon hid a secret base under an already secret base, saving his teenage heroes in moments of crisis. I should do that too. But a basement under another basement just seems like the best way to make my house cave in... Better to build true autonomous shelters in other strategic spots of Nightfall City.'
XXX
Warlock remained hovering a few inches above the treetops. Beneath his feet, for a radius of miles, there was nothing but an endless expanse of alien vegetation: colossal mushrooms glowing with a fluorescent light, patches of multicolored moss crawling and moving on their own across the ground, multi-headed snakes hissing among the branches, and armored turtles as big as dogs, whose blooming shells strikingly recalled the various evolutionary stages of Bulbasaur, Ivysaur, or Venusaur.
It was the flora and fauna of Nightfall City in all its post-mutated glory. Quite why these animals had not yet left the forest to devastate the rest of the surrounding ecosystem remained one of the many unsolved mysteries of the place. An enigma that went hand in hand with the debated existence of the so-called Lake Sea Monster—a legend that few believed anymore, especially after the bizarre activities of the old man at the scrapyard had prompted public opinion to label it a colossal hoax.
Warlock directed his staff downward and landed with a light rustle in front of two ancient trees. Their branches intertwined upward with geometric precision, curving to form a perfect arched doorway. On the gnarly bark of both trunks, an ancient rune carved into the wood stood out.
"Let's insert the key to avoid trouble," Warlock said. He gripped the magic staff firmly with both hands, raising it as if it were a spear ready to strike, and thrust it decisively forward.
Immediately after, he began to move the weapon through the air with wide, fluid gestures, as if he were wielding a huge invisible paintbrush. Each of his slashes left behind a thick trail of arcane magical energy that hung in mid-air, illuminating the darkness. Warlock continued that complex ritual dance until the luminous trail closed into a large, perfect circle, inside of which pulsed a precise sequence of protective runes.
Sora let out a slight magnetic sigh. "Master, I think you've overcomplicated your life with this extra security system. The first line of defense was more than enough. I mean, you don't have major enemies, and none of them have ever shown magical abilities of any kind."
Sora was right, after all, considering the track record of the opponents Black Warlock had faced up to that moment: a string of common criminals, extravagant and bizarre felons, mad scientists, Tinkers obsessed with inventions, gangsters using hyper-technological weapons, mutant beasts, talking animals, and an industrial quantity of crackpots with several screws loose and a distinct preference for tight, colorful costumes. No magic, just ordinary urban madness.
"It's like getting a vaccine, better safe than sorry," Warlock replied with a skeptical smile. He took a step forward and poked the tip of his magic staff straight into the heart of the glowing glyph, mimicking the gesture of someone firmly pressing the 'Enter' key on a keyboard to submit a password to the system.
At the touch of the mock spear, the spell reacted. With a sinister creak of living wood, the branches and roots of the two large trees began to twist and retract, thinning out the dense vegetation and revealing the clean frame of an entrance door.
"Let's see how the plants are doing," Warlock said, lowering his staff. Without showing the slightest hesitation, he crossed the magical threshold and stepped inside.
XXX
Once the hero of Nightfall City had crossed the magical boundary, the air and the scenery changed radically. While outside the entire area appeared as a suffocating tangle of ancient woods, with massive trunks and branches as long as tentacles, the inside opened into a perfect circular clearing, completely clear of trees.
As a first line of defense, Warlock had woven a Bounded Field around it. This was a refined geographical technique, an invisible barrier of magical energy shaped to isolate a specific portion of space from the rest of the world, altering the rules inside it or along its very perimeter. Practitioners of the arcane arts relied on it above all to protect their safety or their property. In Warlock's case, the field had the task of screening the area from the sight of others, turning away both busybodies and mutant animals with an imperceptible mental input.
However, anticipating that someone might be immune to the barrier or capable of bypassing it, the young mage had erected a second, more aggressive security cord. Along the edge of the clearing, partially hidden by the grass, stood multiple stones carved with runic sequences, arranged to form an immense protective ring. There was only one way to step onto that lawn without unleashing hell: entering the correct 'password' at the entrance arch. Anyone who got the access or the combination wrong would have to deal with the fury of the surrounding flora.
Unfazed, Warlock strode toward the exact center of the clearing, where the imposing structure he liked to call the Greenhouse stood.
It was a majestic dome of glass and solid wood, as tall as a two-story house. At first glance, its architecture recalled a classic birdcage of yesteryear, but its bars were sturdy wooden beams, and the space between them was occupied by thick, crystal-clear panes of glass that reflected the moonlight. A little further away, at the back of the greenhouse, the atmosphere became cozier: two tree trunks had been skillfully cut and smoothed to serve as benches, arranged around a stone fire ring and a sturdy wooden table. Apparently, Warlock didn't just use this place for his botanical experiments, but kept it as a secret corner where he could camp in peace, far from the chaos of the metropolis.
"Master, remember to take some time to carve an anchoring sigil, so we can use teleportation to get here in an instant," Sora reminded him from his chest, thoughtful as always to save him from unnecessary night flights.
"Thanks for the reminder, but first I'll finish sorting this thing out," he replied, continuing to walk. Beneath his boots, the blades of grass gave way to an orderly mosaic of stone slabs that made up a small path.
The hero thus arrived in front of the entrance door of the Greenhouse, a structure built entirely of seasoned wood that showed no trace of metal, except for the shiny handle and the keyhole.
'I'm surprised by what I managed to put together using Alchemy and Plant Magic, combined with the basics of Construction Magic,' Warlock thought to himself, almost struggling to believe that this masterpiece was the work of his own hands. His first attempts, after all, had been a disaster: they had ended in disastrous structural collapses and pieces of the ceiling raining down on his head... literally.
To tell the truth, after the third consecutive collapse, the hero of Nightfall City had almost thrown in the towel, seriously entertaining the idea of falling back on very mundane plastic tents or a prefabricated building from IKEA. It had been Sora who convinced him not to give up, pushing him to try again after making him absorb some fundamental concepts of architecture.
Without touching the handle or the lock—which served as a final, lethal trap for intruders—Warlock raised his magic staff and tapped its tip against the wood of the door exactly three times. At the third toll, the hinges creaked and the door swung open inward on its own.
"You really like playing the wizard preparing his tower," Sora commented, finding adorable the way her Master grew passionate about those construction works.
"It's not Legos, but it's close," Warlock joked, crossing the threshold. "But I'm not the type to build an Archmage's tower from D&D or a scary fortress like Barad-dûr or Castlevania. I much prefer something style The Owl House or the Mystery Shack." His tastes, despite the immense magical potential he harbored, remained decidedly more humble and realistic compared to anyone else who might have found themselves in his shoes.
"For someone who flies just a step away from the clouds and goes around dressed like an ancient member of the Speakers, you are a decidedly down-to-earth guy," the voice of the grimoire observed.
"Unfortunately, I can't exactly fly up there forever. I have to regularly come back down," Warlock replied, pronouncing those words with a nuance that oscillated between the literal and the metaphorical.
Together, the hero and his Sentient Grimoire crossed the threshold and stepped into the glowing heart of the Greenhouse.
XXX
The inside of the greenhouse was an extraordinarily welcoming environment, a perfect blend of seasoned wood, rough stone, glass walls, and intricate metal irrigation pipes running along the ceiling.
The entire space was divided into a myriad of micro-areas dedicated to the cultivation of different species of flowers and plants; it was, for all intents and purposes, the ideal place to supply a top-tier herbalist shop. The whole layout followed a precise, almost obsessive order. While three-quarters of the plants grew freely in the open air, the last quarter was kept inside glass cases, under special protective domes, or sealed in transparent, bulletproof cylinders. Those under close surveillance were not common species: many were the result of the bizarre mutations of Nightfall City's forest, others had been altered by Black Warlock's magic, producing unique effects or some that were still entirely left to decipher.
In the exact center of the greenhouse, where anyone else would have placed a fountain, a large ornamental tree, or comfortable benches, Warlock had installed three massive tables arranged to form a large 'C'. Atop them, there was space for sophisticated advanced chemistry equipment, old-school tools for grinding herbs and turning them into medical remedies, a stack of dusty herbalism manuals, and a blank notebook dense with personal notes.
In addition to the purely mechanical irrigation system and the alchemical stones that provided the internal lighting, the Greenhouse hosted a modified version of Warlock's Abominations: his disposable golems. These prototypes, born from a mixture of clay, stone, and climbing vines, had gnarled fingers and small glowing flowers instead of eyes. Their figure was humanoid and slender, characterized by disproportionately long arms and legs. They were creatures endowed with a basic intelligence, but more than enough to look after the health of the plants and carry out simple daily instructions.
A hint of a smile relaxed Black Warlock's face when he crossed paths with one intent on carefully watering a bush of yellow flowers. With a snap of his fingers, his magic staff and his heavy cloak vanished into thin air, allowing him to move with greater lightness.
"In the past, I wasn't a big fan of flowers... that was my mother," Warlock said, with a bittersweet note in his voice. He approached a slightly withered calyx and gently raised it toward his face. "As it turns out, many branches of magic require precise ingredients and complex elixirs. And if I want quality, I have to produce it with my own hands."
He channeled a shiver of magical energy through his fingertips, making the stem straighten and the petals reinvigorate instantly. "I still don't fully understand the visceral love for botany, I grow them mostly as a matter of practicality. But I must admit I like their scent," he concluded, putting the flower back in its place.
"Master, are you feeling alright?" Sora asked from his chest. That intimate tone of voice always made her worry.
"It's nothing. Just fragments of a past I can never get back. Fortunately, now I am a creature of the present," Warlock replied. He slapped his cheeks with the palms of his hands to give himself a jolt and chase away the melancholy.
Without lingering on other flowers—even though some of them occasionally tried to hit the walls of the pot they were locked in—he went straight to the desk occupied by the chemical instruments. With quick and precise movements, he retrieved a pair of plastic gloves, a surgical mask, and protective goggles from his magic belt, putting them on quickly.
"You look funny dressed up like that," Sora commented, lightening the mood. "But I prefer laughing at this rather than worrying when I see you blow up from a chemical explosion, or witnessing your healing factor having to put your face back together after a lab accident." Sora, after all, had been a witness to an impressive number of 'workplace injuries' in front of that desk.
"I learned my lesson quickly: never tinker with unknown substances without proper protection," Warlock replied. He then extracted the fragment of Spider-Man's web from his belt; the ability of that magical storage to freeze time for the items placed inside it proved more useful every day.
The hero of Nightfall City placed the filament between two slides and set it under the lens of the electron microscope. "At first glance, I can tell you that Spider-Man is an authentic chemistry genius," he murmured, adjusting the focus. "The substance at the base of his web is a masterpiece of complexity. I'll need extensive testing to isolate every component, but basically, it's a liquid polymer with properties very similar to nylon, which solidifies instantly upon contact with the air."
"And you're the one who calls himself an idiot?" Sora asked, plainly skeptical. She was certain that most people wouldn't understand a tenth of those dynamics from a simple preliminary analysis.
"But I am an idiot, look what I do with my life," Warlock countered with an ironic smile, spreading his arms to indicate his blue tunic and the secret laboratory in the middle of nowhere.
If Sora had possessed a face, at that moment she would have shown an expression of pure disbelief and exhaustion. "Master, answer me seriously. Do you realize that you are extremely intelligent and that you have a monstrous talent for magic? You started with the bare minimum basics and, in the span of just six months, you have surpassed in terms of raw power many heirs of magical houses who are initiated into Magecraft from an early age." Sora said this with good reason: she had observed him since day one, and his progress was not that of just any amateur, but of someone with an extraordinary innate predisposition.
"I really appreciate that you care about me and want to support me, Sora, but you get irritating when you try to act as my therapist," Warlock huffed, beginning to show the first signs of impatience.
"Please, answer my question, so I can put my mind at ease," Sora insisted firmly.
Warlock sighed, his gaze fixed on the microscope. "My teachers, my parents, and many of the people who ended up knowing me well have always said the same thing: that I am a smart guy, above average, serious, dedicated to work, a bit lonely and introverted, but perfectly capable of communicating and collaborating with others if stimulated in the right way." He made a very quick summary of words he had heard repeated during his childhood, adolescence, and early adult years. "Even the psychologist expressed themselves in similar terms. And I emphasize psychologist, not a psychiatrist. I'm not crazy, though I might have become so since I set foot in Nightfall City and Black Warlock appeared," he ironized, joking about having lost his mind along the way.
Sora decided not to press any further on that wound, preferring to listen to the rest.
"Personally, I consider myself very good at Mechanical Engineering, Electronics Engineering, and Software Engineering, and I have decidedly above-average knowledge in Chemistry, Biology, Mathematics, and Natural Sciences," Warlock continued, listing his own scientific strengths without counting his magic-related tricks. "I understand and accept that I am smarter than the average man, it's just that sometimes you tend to forget it. I'm good with art, mechanics, and sciences in general, but in everything else, many others surpass me. And if you think about the real big shots out there... people like Iron Man, Mister Fantastic, or Mister Terrific... well, compared to them, I'm not much." He knew perfectly well that he was just a small fish in a narrow pond.
'Perhaps I should take an example from my Master and start broadening my horizons,' Sora reflected to herself, uncertain of how to frame him. 'Because I just can't understand whether the Master has real self-esteem issues or if he is just a humble realist.'
"If we are done with this improvised therapy session, I have work to attend to," Warlock cut her off, leaning over the microscope again to resume his study of the web.
'I have a feeling we'll be staying in here all night,' Sora thought, resigned to the idea that her Master, when it came to research, always ended up letting himself be completely absorbed by the enthusiasm of the moment.
XXX
At exactly midnight, Warlock decided to grant himself a truce, taking his eyes away from the microscope lens.
"Without a shadow of a doubt, the wall-crawler is a chemistry genius far more skilled than I am," he admitted with absolute honesty. He retrieved a clean notebook from his belt and began to transcribe the first results in dense handwriting, careful not to mix his superhero formulas with the purely botanical notes of the greenhouse. "The main ingredients of Spider-Man's web are salicylic acid, toluene, and methanol, mixed with other carrier substances."
From the ring on his chest, the grimoire let out a skeptical rustle. "You spent hours racking your brain just to figure this out?" Sora asked, surprised that her Master was proceeding in baby steps.
"I told you, Spider-Man is a genius. He created a tool that is seemingly simple and versatile, but structurally so complex that for an ordinary man, lacking industrial laboratories, it would be impossible to decipher. But I can cheat," Warlock added with a sly smile.
He set the pen aside, slipped the web fragment from the slide, holding it tightly between his fingertips, and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath, uttering just two words: "Structural Analysis."
Instantly, thin geometric lines lit up along the skin of his hands and arms—blue circuits with a fluorescent glow that pulsed at a steady rhythm. It was the unmistakable sign of Magecraft at work. An avalanche of three-dimensional data regarding the intimate nature of the filament began to project in Warlock's mind, but the cognitive strain was immediate: sweat beaded on his forehead and his face contorted into a grimace of pure pain.
After fifteen very long seconds, Warlock snapped his eyes open. Evoking a spark, he set fire to the web, incinerating it in a flash before it could degrade.
"So? Did you manage to find out the exact dosage of this cake?" Sora asked, knowing full well what kind of information she was looking for.
"Yes... but my head is splitting. Thoroughly analyzing biological or synthetic matter is infinitely more draining compared to an inorganic object," Warlock commented, pressing a hand against his aching forehead. He was used to scanning circuits and engines to understand where they were broken, but polymer chains were a whole different story.
"With time and practice, you'll see it will become automatic," Sora encouraged him, softening her tone. "For today, though, I'd say stop here with the diagnostics. I have no desire to see you pass out or catch a sudden lightning migraine."
"Don't worry, I'm almost done for tonight," Warlock replied. He grabbed the pen and opened a second column in the notebook, jotting down the millimetric proportions of the components. "If I were a chef, I could say I've isolated the ingredients and the exact weight of the dish... but I'm still missing the recipe. I don't know the order in which to mix them or the cooking method."
Sora was curious. "Master, but why do you insist on wanting to create your own version of Spider-Man's web? Doesn't your purple slime already work perfectly to stop criminals?"
Warlock turned toward her, raising an eyebrow. "Sora, why do I do all this? Why do I go out at night?"
"For fun?" she answered instantly, knowing all too well the deep motivations of her protégé.
"See? You know me all too well," he chuckled, grabbing a glass vial containing another sample of that white substance. "I don't need Spider-Man's web itself; I don't have a real use for it. But reverse-engineering technology like that is damn fun. Although I admit it's exhausting: that boy really outdid himself to lock down his formula."
Sora let out a resigned sigh. "So, what are your intentions? Do you want to stay here deciphering the recipe for Spider-Man's white paste, or are we going home? I remind you that in less than seven hours you have an appointment with Lola, and she is not the type who likes to wait."
"I'll work for another hour or so, then straight to sleep," Warlock conceded, feeling the weight of fatigue bearing down on his shoulders. "A quick meal and then I'll enjoy the first episode of the second season of Lieutenant Columbo."
"Then hurry up, I want to be home within an hour," the grimoire urged him.
Warlock smiled sideways. "In D&D, after all, Warlocks are still tricksters. And I am a Warlock living in America... Imperial Privilege: Biochemistry."
Activating the ability, a new wave of artificial notions and talents forced its way into his brain, aligning his thoughts with the needs of the laboratory. "There, now we're talking," he muttered. He extracted more web samples and threw them without much ceremony into a small alchemical centrifuge. "I don't need to fully understand Spider-Man's original science to use it to my advantage."
He took a vial containing a deep purple fluid and poured a few drops into the machine, starting the rotation. Within a couple of minutes, under the effect of the centrifugal force and the magical reagent, the web dissolved, turning into a very light lilac liquid substance. Warlock poured it into a clean glass vial, sealed it with a stopper, and placed it in his belt with a triumphant smile, as if he had just knocked out Hulk himself.
"Now I have a theoretically infinite supply of Spider-Man's fluid," he exulted, showing Sora three vials loaded with the mixture. "Now I just need to come up with a decent launching mechanism."
"Excuse the question, but couldn't you have done that from the very beginning?" Sora interjected, exasperated by that immense detour. From her point of view, her Master had wasted precious hours playing scientist when he could have cheated from the very first minute.
"Because I don't want to win just as a Warlock, Sora. I want to win as a science nerd too," he replied with pride, turning the page in the notebook and grabbing the pen. "Thanks to my hours of study, the notes taken, and the temporary bonus of this Expert Biochemist subclass, now I can devise a totally original formula. There are two paths to create my web: the way of the Fauna and that of the Flora."
He drew two sharp lines on the paper. "For the Fauna, I'm sure one could develop a solution based on fibroin, the protein extracted from silkworm cocoons, combined with chitosan obtained from the exoskeleton of crustaceans and insects. With a pinch of alchemy, you'd get a base identical to Spider-Man's. For crustaceans there are no problems—Nightfall's fish market is immense—but I haven't the slightest idea where to get silkworm cocoons. So," he concluded, crossing out the first option, "we'll go with Flora. It's decidedly more within my reach."
Beneath the vegetation column, the pen ran fast: "The main structure will contain cellulose acetate, zein extracted from legume seeds, natural latex, and rosin."
Satisfied, Warlock turned toward one of the mud golems standing nearby. "Abominations, go gather the ingredients I just listed."
While the creature walked away silently to execute the order, Warlock decided to optimize the downtime. 'While we wait, it's best to draw the anchoring sigil for the teleportation,' he thought.
He took a block of simple clay and knelt down on the floor, in the exact center of the Greenhouse. With the precision of a human compass, he drew a perfect circle three meters in diameter on the ground, gradually enriching it with runic symbols and diagrams of flawless geometry.
"Phase one completed," he muttered to himself, setting down the remaining clay. He raised his right hand, bent three fingers, and held only his index and middle fingers together: from the tips sparked a small bluish flame, concentrated and extremely hot like a plasma torch. Following the chalk lines he had just drawn, Warlock passed the fire over the floor, carving and etching the sigil deep into the ground so that no clumsy step or drop of water could ever erase it.
Once finished, he stood back up, flexing his back. "Phase two gone. Let's move on to the final act."
He extinguished the flame and slipped a silver flask containing a liquid metallic mixture from his belt. The last step was the simplest, but also the most spectacular: filling the grooves carved into the floor with that compound based on mercury and quicksilver. With a slight wave of his hand, dozens of liters of molten metal began to flow from the flask—which by spatial logic shouldn't have held even a tenth of that—and the substance, almost as if endowed with a will of its own, channeled itself perfectly into the grooves of the sigil, sealing the magic circle in a silvery reflection.
"Well, this version 2.0 of the anchoring sigil is a whole different story compared to the scribble we drew on the floor of the home library," Sora commented, decidedly impressed by the cleanliness of the work.
"That was just a prototype, this instead is the finished product," Warlock replied, giving a final pleased look at the floor before turning his back on the silver circle and returning to the desk, where the Abomination assistant was already carefully depositing the requested botanical ingredients.
The young mage rolled up his sleeves, his eyes shining behind his protective goggles. He would spend another good half hour working hard on those new biochemical prototypes, carefully dosing the natural latex and zein to stabilize his plant formula.
After that, finally, he would activate the newly born sigil to vanish into thin air and return home. Connecting the two teleportation sigils makes the displacement faster, safer, and consumes less energy, even if to do so you must stand on top of a teleportation sigil.
Anyway, back at the hero's house, a silent kitchen, a well-deserved hour of absolute rest in front of the TV to enjoy the first episode of the second season of Lieutenant Columbo, and immediately after, a deep and thoughtless sleep would be waiting for him.
XXX
At that very same moment, inside an exclusive residential complex for the upper-middle class, Origami was completing one last task before finally allowing herself some nightly rest.
The white-haired doctor wore a sophisticated, matching summer lingerie-style pajama set, a two-piece outfit of haute couture. The lightweight camisole top, supported by incredibly thin straps, was made of a glossy, slippery ice-white silk fabric that caressed her skin. Both the deep neckline and the straps were embellished with a delicate, semi-transparent lace trim. The matching shorts, fluid and of the same silky texture, featured a soft gathers at the waist, adjustable in the front by a thin knotted drawstring, with a finely finished hem on the lower part that left her slender legs uncovered.
Origami was in the panic room of her apartment, an armored environment that she had actually reconverted into a private laboratory to carry out those secret duties that no one in Nightfall City was ever supposed to discover.
Dominating the desk was an ultra-high-end computer, a unique piece whose commercial value far exceeded that of a luxury car: avant-garde hardware by Stark Industries, which Origami herself had upgraded and modified by installing experimental microchips from WayneTech. For a very brief instant, the liquid crystal monitor showed the incomplete blueprint of an explosive device of frighteningly complex technology, whose lines recalled the structure of an electromagnetic railgun.
With a quick tap on the mechanical keyboard, the scientist changed screens, bringing up the chemical formula for the synthesis of a metal alloy with unique molecular properties.
"That's enough for tonight; continuing further would be unproductive," Origami said in a low voice. Before turning off the computer interface, she made sure to encrypt and save her latest progress on the secure server.
Without the glare of the monitor to draw attention anymore, a small silver frame stood out on the polished surface of the desk. Kept inside it was a photograph of Welt Blight, portrayed with a pair of headphones around his neck while he waited peacefully at the bus station platform. That shot might have seemed completely harmless to a stranger's eyes, were it not for the angle, which was clearly compressed from top to bottom: a detail revealing that whoever had taken the photo was perched on the roof of a building opposite or behind the glass of a distant window, using a powerful birdwatching or, more likely, military espionage lens.
Origami pressed the tip of her index and middle fingers against her own lips, and then transferred that silent kiss directly onto the glass of the photo, right on Welt's face.
"You have no idea how useful you have been to me so far, Welt, with your technical advice; I would so love to reward you," Origami said. Her voice maintained a flat, monotonous cadence, yet deep within that cold tone vibrated a tiny, hidden, and authentic speck of intense emotion.
The white-haired woman slid her hand over her left breast, clutching the white silk fabric at the exact instant she uttered the word 'reward.'
"In six months with your semi-regular help, I have made progress that I would have made in perhaps two or three years. I wonder how much progress I could make if I brought you here and we worked on the entire project and not just on small pieces," she continued to herself. The temptation to lure Welt into her apartment was almost magnetic, both to give a definitive acceleration to her scientific research and to satisfy an intimate desire she struggled to keep at bay.
Slowly, Origami lowered her gaze, detaching her blue eyes from the photograph of the engineer.
"I can't do it. Welt is a civilian. Extremely intelligent, true, but he is also an all-too-kind, good guy. Just look at how he takes care of that poor girl, Natsumi, by not firing those good-for-nothings Mordecai and Rigby, and how he helps his neighborhood and Applejack's Farm with his mechanical engineering talents," Origami muttered, demonstrating that she knew down to the most minute and obsessive details the man's entire daily routine, bonds, and acquaintances.
"I must complete this mission alone. After that, I can work toward becoming Mrs. Origami Blight... or Mr. Welt Tobiichi... maybe Mrs. and Mr. Blight-Tobiichi," she murmured, letting herself go into that romantic delusion about the future and which of the two surnames should prevail after marriage.
Origami's hand descended further, caressing the fold of the silk lingerie: it passed from her chest to her torso, until it rested on her belly, where her fingers began to trace small, slow concentric circles on the glossy fabric.
If there was an appropriate definition to describe Origami Tobiichi at that precise moment, it was undoubtedly the formula of a stalker completely madly in love.
Better to change the scene before Origami turns this scene into a Hentai.
XXX
Warlock and Origami, after all, were not the only citizens of Nightfall City staying awake until late at night consuming their energy at their workplace.
In her tiny and messy apartment, Charlotte Gagnepetit was submerged under piles of sketches, busy with a gargantuan task of photo editing and drafting. Her fingers raced frantically across the keyboard to complete the promotional article that would come out in the early hours of the morning. She was absolutely certain of it: her exclusive shots, portraying the unprecedented field collaboration between Black Warlock and Spider-Man, would cause a massive sensation throughout the city.
Meanwhile, in the dim light of her small bedroom, little Apple Bloom had curled up under the sheets to avoid being discovered. Clutching an old lantern that projected warm circles of light onto the fabric of the blanket, she fervently flipped through the worn pages of a mysterious textbook. Her eyes shone with excitement and curiosity, animated by the bizarre and innocent desire to test one of those rituals the next day, just for pure fun.
However, the night in Nightfall City knew how to be decidedly less sweet for others. Huddled in a dark corner of an isolation cell, Garrett Bobby Ferguson chewed bitterly. He had been arrested only a few hours prior and, by ironic twist of fate, found himself sharing the cramped space with the gang of thugs and smugglers just apprehended by the duo composed of Spider-Man and Black Warlock. As soon as those criminals discovered the reason for his arrest—namely, having beaten a kid bloody just for losing a video game—Ferguson would, without a shadow of a doubt, live through the worst day of his entire life.
A short distance away, locked in an aseptic interrogation room at the police station, the head of the smuggling operation remained as mute as a fish. He stared at the one-way mirror with a glazed gaze and crossed arms; the only time he had opened his mouth since they handcuffed him was to demand his legitimate right to a single phone call.
Meanwhile, on the top floor of a luxury hotel, the atmosphere was imbued with a far more seductive danger. A lethal Femme Fatale slowly swiveled a glass syringe between her fingers. Inside it pulsed a mysterious chemical substance that glowed a vivid fluorescent yellow, while her eyes coldly scanned the screen of a tablet loaded with the profiles, names, and photographs of several police officers in full uniform.
And again, hidden in the back room of a degraded neighborhood, a lonely madman sipped a cup of scalding coffee. He had his gaze fixed on vacancy and a distorted smile on his face, while his thoughts put the final touches on an insane and imminent plan.
Enfin, even in the dark heart of the mutated forest, life did not stop. A small flock of flying bunnies frantically flapped their stretched wings, carrying small fragments of stolen food toward their underground burrow, ready to feed a family that was numerous to say the least, and their gigantic and bizarre mother.
Far from a weekend full of surprises: for the inhabitants of Nightfall City, a week of pure, total madness was looming ahead.
To be continued...
XXX
Author's Note:
Ready to hear my creative lamentation that has haunted me for more than a week?
Everything had started out great!
I finished reading The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers and started reading the third book.
I finished watching the first season of Mighty Nein and the fourth season of Vox Machina.
In short, I am extremely pumped up on Fantasy.
I wanted to start a new story about D&D, Lancelot of Mordor going to Waterdeep, but I gave up on the idea because it was a niche within a niche.
Then, I tried with Siegfried joining Vox Machina, but he was too OP for the setting.
I then moved on to Mighty Nein... the result was... interesting, but too pirate-like or resembling a deep-sea adventure.
I gave up on Fantasy for the time being and switched to Science Fiction... a move that drove me crazy. I spent days making and remaking builds, devising blueprints and ideas that branched out in ways even I didn't imagine.
Here is the result:
- Supergirl and Batgirl, lost in space after stopping an unstable portal to save the city, end up befriending a bounty hunter / Space Cowboy with the powers of the Force (Star Wars).
- A LexCorp teleportation experiment ends with an explosion that brings an alternate version of Kal'tsit to Earth, whose purpose is the colonization and recreation of the ancients' civilization; she ends up hiding in the South Pole where she creates her own version of the Fortress of Solitude, but with the production capacity of a mega-factory.
- A rift opens in the Bermuda Triangle: from it emerges a Seaborne specimen (Arknights) that develops into a single hive mind, claiming the depths of the sea and declaring war on Atlantis.
- An Aegir (Arknights) with his super submarine crosses a rift and ends up in Earth's ocean, where he decides to become a pirate / anti-hero.
- An alien world is attacked by a great threat; the leader of one of that world's seven nations creates a gigantic Noah's Ark-type Starship to save what can be saved of his people and culture. This ship ends up on Earth, where the leader decides to colonize/conquer a country.
- A Demi-Servant Leonardo Da Vinci ends up in the MCU at the beginning of Iron Man 1 and creates her own tech agency; her purpose is to promote Earth's technological progress to prepare it for future dangers and, at the same time, create a harem of Robot-Girls.
- A MANTIS (Honkai Impact 3rd) obtains a liquid-metal High-Tech armor and the command of a Tomb World (Warhammer 40k) with a legion of Necrons at his service.
- Finally, an idea for which I don't have a plot but just a build with several bipolar powers gathered into one archetype.
In short, in one week I created 11 ideas and several drafts, but as much as I tried, I couldn't develop any of these ideas to the very end... for now.
Therefore, I went back to writing about Black Warlock, since for some reason it comes easy to me to write about him.
But among these eleven ideas, three have remained impressed deep inside my head and I am sure they won't go away easily.
Expect the appearance of new stories in the Kaleidoscope Adventure series in the near future.