nano/lit/-6  MAGICIAN



The Cita Mage sat touching the thrumming new Ward he had just made.
Uksor came in the room.
“Leuker! What have you done? Is this your latest work? It’s amazing! It’s so.....big and strange! And it glows so ominously! What is it? You HAVE to tell your wife!”
The Cita Mage stood up and the Ward turned a deeper red.
“This is my greatest work yet, Uksor. I constructed it using proto-light/vibration Bhaotic magik. This form of magik is of my own design, the result of a lifetime of focus on the Art. I think I will call it the Acausal Form. It is inspired by the process of creation of the universe itself, which is why it works so well. It will change everything once I found my School for the Cita Arts and train neofites in its implementation. It requires the Acausal Luminant and an iron will. The Creator must vibrate the thoughtform using Bhaos-Light - the manifested light magik from within, then energize the repeating/vibrating design thoughtform using the Luminant. This virtualizes the moment of creation which was when the chaotic, acausal lightlike energy flash entered this empty universe and entangled itself via a certain number of opposing triangular lines of force, knotting its energy into particles of matter. Our consciousness was born then, this is how Bhaotic Magic works, which is the sudden manifestation of light or the ability to see or transport yourself anywhere light of the desired type is found. This is also why light seems to be a particle and a wave simultaneously: it actually takes whatever form our consciousness wills it into. The Chitta : the kernel or particle of our consciousness is the cousin of the photon. They both derive from the same protoenergy.”
Uksor looked confused.
“I knew you would be a great Mage one day, that’s why I married you despite all my friends saying I could do better. But now that you told me how you made that thing, can you tell me what it does?”
A kaliedescopic light comes from Leuker the Cita Mage’s hand and the Ward lifts from the ground and slowly spins, taking up most of the room. It looks to be made from some kind of crystal and seems to be several alien forms intertwined- they are six-legged, with a strange tube for mouths and disturbing asymmetrical eyes.
“This is a Ward that will protect this entire plain of existence from these creatures, known as MEF. I gained knowledge of them using the Bhaotic Method. Far in the future, will they threaten this Realm. But so long as this Ward exists, they will not be able to gain hold or enter here. Its color indicates the status of the MEF: red means they are moving away. Blue means they are coming closer. And violet means they are here. They are a super ancient race of Hunger Gods, Uksor. They will devour all Life in the Middling Realm if they are allowed to enter. But I stopped them.”

The Neks Mage clicks in anger from the shadows where he watches from..........







tick tick tick
the sound of typing on a keyboard was his most familiar sound
the memories would come back in waves
tick tick
the ideas would flow like the tide
tick
the last one is back- we are complete
lines of code covered his multiple vertical monitors
few knew the truth about the seemingly useless lines of C
the machine code that made memory dance for some unknown reason
a metaprogram set to execute beyond the cyberworld
tick tick tick tick
there were 32 others like him
working within linux, android, bsd, windows
developing, silently
they didn’t need to communicate using computers
they were far more kiatically connected than that
they collectively made decisions and directed their efforts
like a school of fish or flock of birds
tick tick tick
tap
not even they knew where they learned the art of cybermancy
or the use of computers and electronics to gather the Kia of people
together so that they could feast upon it
they were the kiatic consumers
the black dot
this new art came to them like swimming to a baby
they are the new cyber-druids designing a new world
evoking millions of kia bots born to bleed your soul
tick tick
and they are not a fucking joke


















Antoine was sucking on his wand, feeling bored. He had just graduated from the magic university of Lindastana and he felt like he learned every spell there was, or at least every legal one. He knew how to summon balls of light, how to burn something, how to move things around, he even could make his own spells, that would effectively help him wake up, make his morning cup of tea and bring his phone to him and instantly open it to his favorite porn website with effectively a single charm. It was a long road, but it was worth it. However, he was getting bored. He knew everything, or at least so he thought. While the potential of magic was endless, it only had so many techniques and magic words and to a hard learner like he was. That's why Antoine started to go deeper than he originally expected he would get. He started to visit libraries in search of the books on dark magic, bt he couldn't find anything. People thought he was going mad, mad from the stress of the university and the exams, but that didn't stop him. Soon enough he came on some old cabin on the edge of Lindastana which could have been a library at one point but after probably decades of nobody even bothering to do basic reapers let alone any modernisation it could easily pass for an average logger's cabin. however, he knew about this library, since it had many different books that didn't exist anywhere else. If there was one place that was going to have knowledge on dark magic, and maybe even some other kinds of magic not known yet or simply not sought publicly, it's going to be here.

An old librarian greeted him, asking him what kind of books he wanted. After explaining why he was here, the librarian nodded. He obviously got many requests like that, and already started shuffling threw the shelves. Soon enough, Antoine was reading "Introduction to the dark magic" by Vulpes Aurelio, and he quickly read it. It made an impact on him. It talked about some things he didn't even think could be done! it was things like summoning energy, communicating with angels and demons, and even proving the existence of God. He started getting angry, not knowing why wasn't he taught any of this at one of the biggest magic universities in the world. As he continued on, he started to learn more darker spells, the ones that Ade dark magic equal evil. The ones that could curse entire cities and give people plagues and bad luck.

Atoine practiced some of the spells, just to confirm they worked, and by next day, the magic university of Lindastana was no more.







If someone had told me early in my training to become a member of the High Chaonate that there lies in hatred more power than in any other known Kiatic source, I would have laughed. Laughter is another great source of Kia, used often to give a work more power. More change. We who worship nothing more than our own autonomy. We, the Illuminates of Thanateros; the enlightened of the sex and death, are now the ultimate in occult power on Earth and the Chaonate is our network that pulls the strings of just about everything. How could such a sage and erudite group of supersorcerers miss something that contains 10 to the 10th power more power than any other human emotion? Is hatred dangerous? Or is it just feared by the elite occultists of today?

It was when I realized that the giant rats that call themselves humans enslave themselves that I began to learn to hate them. Once planted, the seed of hate can sleep for a time, and like most other rational magick-users I didn’t like the disturbing feeling of pure hate. It calls for extirpation, destruction, genocide. Hate is a destroyer, pure and bright, and it brings the flavor of burned metal into the mouth. It is not a binding force. Hatred is a separator, and I discovered this right away. My eyes would smoke over with ferrous metal fumes when I began my unexpected journey down the Path of Hate. I was the first, a pilgrim. My mundane name will never reach chaos magick fame; I am known as the Odjo. In an ancient and forgotten tongue, it means, surprisingly, ‘hate’. My path was to become the Path of the Odjo. And it was in this way I finally became completely free.

Follow not my footsteps, ye of simple desire. The Odjoic Path will take you to the Abyss, the Unavoidable Void, the Darkness that Devours. One could argue that the Path IS the Void. For Hatred with a capital H will cleanse your Kia with the Black Light and cut away the bramble of Karma. Hate will set you free, for a terrible price.

The first thing I learned on my embryonic Path of Hate was that there is no room for simply hating that which should be hated. Or rather, that order of hatred isn’t enough. No, you must learn to hate Everything and All if you are to become a disciple of Odjo, you must learn to hate the darkness and the light, you must hate this very universe [for a prison it is, and zero doubt] and all it’s structures and radiant energies, all of its brightening and undark denizens. You must hate the brilliant along with the hyper-black knight of the Void that waits at the end of every line of time. It is only once you begin to become a being of pure Hate, the Odjo, that the powers begin to come to you.

It is not love that created this universe, but rather bright and cold Hate! I’m running out of space, I’m about to become Liberated. I have power over the Void: I invoked it on humanity and they are all gone! All of them! The Tunnel of Odjo is taking somewhere else! Begone, Prison of the Demiurge!









There's a creek not too far from our home, and there's this old oak tree there. Something must've hurt it, since half of it is dead. The tree is sort of leaning in to the water, so when you look at its reflection, you can hardly see the other, green side -- it just looks like a dead tree. My mom would always say not to climb the tree from that side, else a branch would break while I'm climbing it and I'd fall into the water, and I'd drown. I liked my mom, I loved her really, and I never would've climbed the tree from that side anyway, since it was scary to look back down and see nothing but the dead branches.

One morning, I woke up and heard my father talk with some other man. I couldn't recognize that other man's voice, but I guess he was a friend of my father. I know it's no good to listen in on adults speaking but I simply overheard, and not much, really. The man -- he was the one talking, and my father would say "uh huh" every so often -- he was talking about gold, and woods, and God a lot. Miss Bell told us that there used to be a lot of gold in that creek, maybe that was what the man was talking about. Then the man said something about a head, I couldn't quite make it out, but a head which he maybe found in the creek, and my father said "Jesus!". If my mom would've been there, she'd have given him a bad look, and I'd remember that. I was scared that God was looking down on me listening in, so I stopped after that.

I went to the creek that afternoon. I don't know why but I thought I should climb it from the dead side. Mom would never let me go back to the creek if I came back home wet, she'd know I tried climbing the tree from the wrong side, and she'd be really mad. I looked around and I held on to one of the bigger branches, and pressed up with my foot on the trunk, to start climbing. I was a good way up, but a branch broke when I tried to hold it. I closed my eyes at the cracking sound the branch made when it broke, and when I opened them up again I was on the ground. I was really wet and my head hurt really bad. I thought I must be bleeding. No one falls like that and gets up without bleeding, I thought. I opened my eyes but I didn't get up, I just laid there. There was a tooth stuck between a few rock pebbles, and the water was hitting against it and it twirled in place. I wasn't moving though, I guess I was pretending to be dead. I don't know how long I stayed there, trying not to blink and look really dead, staring at the tooth. When I did get up, I took the tooth, and I thought it must've been Jesus' tooth, the one he lost when they brought him down from the cross. I took it and I held it tight in my hand so I could feel it and I didn't lose it when I was getting up. I put it in my pocket after that. I climbed the good side of the tree and, when I was sitting on one of the branches, I took out the tooth and I put it in my mouth and started sucking on it with my tongue.
















The hive of flies gray goo anti-color filled the shitty studio apartment overlooking the Subductance Zone. An ancient radio wave TV, set to pure static, wove black and white fluttering forms in the mind of Merr and the greasy gray light danced on his face and in his bloodshot eyes, within the mutated layers of his ab-normie subtle bodies. The electronic chaos-snow was that which enabled Merr to commune with his current non-human crowd of amalevolent astral beings. At least he hoped they were amalevolent. They didn’t want to let him go. One of them, the most aggressive, did some crack-dancing with his 13.5 appendages on the screen. There was a flash from the window overlooking the Zone. Another one bites the dust, Merr thought. What is that, the 13th one today? He couldn’t be sure. 13 and a half, the berostriper seemed to say as he spun around on the screen.

A static knock at his door. Hide the stimulants. Prepare for the worst. Open the door. Carefully.

It was his dealer, Gol.

“I need you check this shit out man. This is not fucking normal. Fucking Ki-Ki disappeared into the Zone and I’m freaking out because it was that bitch Tay that fucking pushed her in! Man, I really liked that broad!”

“So what the fuck you want me to do, Gol? Go in after her? You know that nothing comes back from the Zone. I thought I saw a fucking quasar in there yesterday. That shit is definitely like some other universe.”

“Can’t you like do some kind of ass-trail shit and track her down? See if she dead or what? I got you on more methly-hex. Got a vial with your name on it right here.”

The vial of clear crystals Gol held up seemed vibrate and get larger in the eyes of Merr. He swiped it up with the quickness and ran hunched over to his station in front of the ancient static-casting dream-machine, spilling some crystals out and snorting them in a single succinct movement. The berostriper trapped there crack-dancing on the screen seemed to get more excited.

“Do you have something of Ki-Ki’s? Like something she wrote, preferably.” Merr asked Gol without turning around.

“Yeah, I got this piece of paper she wrote her number on.”

“Give it to me.” Gol gave the party flier to Merr.

Back in the static-snow world of shifting forms, Merr tried to track down Ki-Ki. After scanning the various astral levels, he suddenly found her, to his surprise, dancing with a glimron. What is this, dance-day?

“Ki-Ki dead bro. Never seen a living bitch do the Perkilator with a glimron before. Whatever happens to those that get thrown into the Subductance Zones, it must be fatal. I imagine it must be hard to live without, like, any air. Seeing as that shit looks just like space did several billion years ago.”






































A billion Teegardens far, Teegarden's Star, shone the answer into Teegarden's telescope transcriptor. Teegarden, royal wizard of Castle Chillion, was honered with the star's current denotation after ridding one of the king's daughters of hookworm. But, as it stood, things weren't good. Teegarden had had it. So he asked the star,
"Can you make it end?! Can't it be made to end now!?"
And the star replied
"I could come over. Some of me could come over"
And he said
"Yes! Come over! Burn down Chillion! Burn down Switzerland!"
And the star said
"But I have to be attracted, it has to be sexy"
So he set out for sexy. He set out for a ridicilous concetrated amount of it.
A scream was heard coming from deep within the royal bathouse complex. The daughters covered themselves in haste as every guard and son barged in to invastigate. Every door was locked behind them. The pools were filled with aphrodisiac. The rooms were filled with steam. It was hot then hotter and it went on for hours and it got so hot that Chillion burned down and Switzerland burned down and the rest was toast.































I tried it again. Sigils I carved into treetrunks around my house hummed with an amber glow. A loud cracking noise shot through the forest. I thought it had worked, at last. The bounty of my study and toil drawn near!
It hadn’t.

The forest returned to silence; its glow dimmed. I stumbled into my chair, distraught. It had begun to rain again, and I stared out at the grey misty impalpable world looking for answers. I sat alone, in a house of my own making, at the edge of a dead world, forlorn and forgotten by the gods, submerged in silence, destitute and damned.

I remain the last human alive on earth, rejected by whatever being whisked the rest of you away.

Tomorrow, I’ll try again to bring you back.































Black robes bent and swirled amid the chill and fogging air,
And the sky above was a foreboding, iron gray,
As the tower rose, a pinnacle of onyx black
And upon its highest heights there rose its sharpened peaks.

On the summit of the tower, pealing to the skies,
Stood the bending man who stooped a moment now to gaze,
Downward, down below, upon the forest that was stretched
Outward, edging outward, to the horizon's far reach.

And the wizard, raising his pale hands, with fingers long
Stretched out his pale fingertips and gazed into the sky
And from his open fingers and hands there gleamed and flared
Sparks of an electric red, a red both cold and cruel.

All across the black forest that to horizon's edge
Stretched, there likewise rose into the air the cold, cruel red,
Hellish, neon red, and shone demonic in the dark
Of the wintry sky, and the clouds reflected its light.

Then amid the air and in the forest there arose
Something that was opening the hidden doors of space
Crawling, oozing outward from the cracks between the worlds,
Something that itself reflected hellish, neon red.

And the wizard smiled as his summoning was blessed
With the answer of the entity that he had sought.
The crack in the edges of the universe grew wide
And a red eye, empty, vast, peered out upon the world.

And a red eye, empty, vast, beheld what it would eat.


















Boisterous shouts rang through the crowded pub. In a corner, far from all the jubilation, sat a withered old man. He had wrinkled skin and tired eyes, his wispy beard as grey as a thundercloud. He extended his hand, causing wisps of fire to dance between his fingertips, before snuffing them out with a fist. He felt a distant call, a nostalgic voice of a bygone time. His life, spent in service of lofty ideals, had left him with nothing but the same powers he came into the world gifted. With a resigned sigh, he left a few coins on the table and slipped out the door, the pub's cheerful bustle fading behind him.








































In the days of my youth, there was no incantation past my ability, no cantrip I couldn't incarnate, to wrest out of the hands of the latent undercurrent running throughout the world of phenomena, and bring it into being. My limits were the limits of magic itself. Once, I might have created a manner of a personal space, where my mind is indistinguishable from a law, to which all manners of existence would capitulate.

I might have stayed there. A willow I'd planted upon a knoll, my cottage a short walk away, maybe a league or two; short enough as to avoid undue strain, long enough to give the journey value. Nothing of value comes easily, not at first anyway. Beneath the grassy willow, its bark ever at the point of transition, mossed and pungence, I should have stayed. I could have stayed. In that place where time had no meaning, I grew to miss the company of men. Funny, that -- never had I considered myself the type. After a time, the gentle sunlight had become harsher, and no amount of adjustments minor or otherwise could tune the orb to just the right luminescence, just the right visual timbre, to affect that particular, stark sunshine which floats through the cooling air and sings the last vestiges of summer. I'd forgotten it. When your mind expands outwards its solipsism and grows encompassed by itself, the freedom to create becomes inevitably a burden. The limits of the place become your ability to envision them, this ability which lies beyond even magic.
 I'd tired of this place, old fool I am. I'd wanted to leave, and I did. I'd come back to the brutality of an uncurated slice humanity. I'd wanted, finally, having lived my natural lifespan manifold over and more, to speak with my fellow men. I'd wanted to sit amongst them quietly, to drink in the minutiae of their daily lives, and to pass my days free of the relentless pursuit of perfection endemic to one's own private dimension.

Yes, I'd had power once, real power, of the kind most men could only dream of. First, they'd taken my hands. Gagged and restrained, the iron had bitten through my bone like an heifer chewing cud, requiring a second, a third, a fourth cut, succeeding only by virtue of its weight and the sweat glistening upon the constable's forehead. The scold's bridle'd wedged open my mouth, sangre threatening to drown me, my tongue tossed aside, and then they'd left me. They might as well've gelded me.

On the street I sit. Alms! I want to cry. I might have, were I able. Passersby pay no heed to vagrants, however destitute, however thin the threads of their lives fray as they near the end. I lay back on the ground, an arm reaching with a phantom hand up towards the endless blue, the dirty hem of my robe hiking itself downwards past an emaciated wrist. The breeze is cool today, the sun's wan gaze pasteled autumnal across the scattering clouds. Summer is ending. It's perfect, I mouth. I've found it. Something approaching gratitude forms faintly before I recede.











The final wizard sat restrained in the dank holding room, dimly lit by a single artificial candle. I observed him through a pane of glass; my supreme confidence in the anti-magic resin that covered the room displayed through my grin. He had finally come to, and I savored his expression of primal fear and shock before it morphed to the silent dejection more befitting of his type. We both knew that he was the final piece left on the board, and now it was time to change the game.

Wizards had a tendency to become too powerful given enough time. And time was something they had in abundance, with the life extending magicks they reserved only for themselves. The high families had reached an understanding: powerful magicians with free volition were dangerous. The mass graves of former high families would attest to that. The age of artifice is coming, and control of the magical would be made mundane.

Now the final wizard was inspecting the artifical candle, the only object present in the austere cell. This was the best part, when the haughty fools would realize just how depreciated their skills had become. Our task has finally come to an end, and I begin to laugh as I recall my youth, when I aspired to join the ranks of wizards myself. Outside, I can hear the crowds growing ever more restless. I silently thank the high families for giving me this wonderful charge. My laughter increases in intensity as I leave the observation room and motion the guards to escort our last guest to the guillotine.