"Appalachia. Really?" I said, a bit baffled at first, but I quickly put the pieces together. We had cleaned up the apartment as well as we could reasonably manage after all of the fighting and were gathered in what was left of the living room.
"I suppose it makes sense in a twisted kind of way. Nobody visits an ex-mining town in the middle of bum-fucking nowhere. The whole place can't have more than a few thousand people."
Alex had just arrived and was clearly irritated about the state of the apartment, but she was far more concerned by Priya's explanation of the side effects of the Blockbuster Venom Serum. Bone breaks and burst vessels were apparently the least of what she should expect during the metamorphosis.
"It's also probably easier to contain in case something goes wrong," she said, though she didn't sound convinced.
"Both are good enough reasons," Shelim said, leaning back into the couch cushion, "but they're non-factors for somebody like Artisan." He tilted his head, thinking. "If I were a betting man, I'd say she picked Harlan because of the ghost stories. Mining towns are full of them. Mineknockers, buried devils, hell portals." He wiggled his fingers, making ghostly noises. "It's basically fertilizer for Jujutsu."
Nobody laughed.
I frowned. "I'm missing something."
Priya, perched on a stool, raised a brow. The look she gave me made it very clear she found my ignorance offensive on a personal level.
I ignored it.
"Conceptually, I understand why it would matter," I said. "But I don't understand how she turns all that potential negative energy into Cursed Energy."
Shelim rubbed his stubble. "Right. I never explained how we were actually made."
That got everyone's attention. Even Priya went still, irritation swept from her face.
"Artisan used a method your old man pioneered—soul grafting," Shelim continued. "It's how he made the first generation of sorcerers. He split off pieces of his soul, each carrying parts of his technique, and stitched them into other people. That gave them access to Cursed Energy and converted their natural magical, and psychic energy stores to Cursed Energy."
He exhaled slowly.
"And because he was a genius, he also modified their bodies, souls, and brains so the whole thing doesn't tear them apart. Even now, I'm not sure Artisan can fully replicate what he did. She's been brute-forcing the process for an entire decade using binding vows, luck, and a mountain of corpses."
My blood ran cold.
"So you're saying every sorcerer out there got their technique and Cursed Energy from Artisan's soul?" I asked.
"Pffft…" Shelim waved dismissively. "That's what you took from that? No. Our Cursed Energy mostly comes from trading our own psychic and magical potential for more output. The technique side is still messy. Best guess? She's got vengeful spirits of first-generation sorcerers stored somewhere, and she's been harvesting them this entire time."
Alex blinked. "What's a vengeful spirit?"
"They're what happens if you kill a sorcerer without Cursed Energy," Priya said. "They rarely keep their minds. At best, they're echoes of who they used to be. Dangerous, but predictable."
My heart sped up slightly.
"Does that mean she might have my father's vengeful spirit somewhere?"
Shelim and Priya shared a look. Priya shook her head.
"Your father was far too powerful," she said. "Artisan couldn't afford to hold back. And even if he became a vengeful spirit, she wouldn't be able to restrain him, much less control him."
That helped barely.
"So, in addition to nearly perfecting mass-produced sorcerers, she might also have nine Special Grade Cursed Spirits lying around," I said.
Shelim sniffed. "That's about the long and short of it."
I rubbed my temples. "And what does any of this have to do with Harlan?"
"I'm getting there," Shelim said. "After the grafts, the body mods, and the vow, comes the fun part—waiting. More than ninety percent of soul transplants fail. The lucky ones die fast. Body rejects the soul, and they just…poof." He flared his fingers and made a crude popping sound.
His voice cooled as he continued.
"The rest of us…well, we have to fight our way through."
He stared at the wall.
"Becoming a sorcerer is like dying from cancer. Only worse. Months of relentless training while your insides liquefy and your mind starts to break. The pain gets so deep and abstract that you barely remember who you are, let alone fight back against Artisan's conditioning. By the time you come out the other side—if you do—you're grateful to her. You buy into the whole 'chosen people, new age' bullshit."
He trailed off.
Priya had gone completely still, only just remembering to breathe. The silence stretched before Shelim spoke again.
"Right. Harlan." He shifted slightly. "She targets people who've got high magical or psychic potential. The first is rare; the second can be anyone, really. All you need is just a shit storm of trauma."
Something settled uneasily in my chest.
"A place like Harlan does half the work for her," he continued. "Built-in myths, generational fear. Make a few Mine knockers and hell demons, push the right buttons, and the whole town starts gushing with the stuff."
He shrugged.
"If that's not enough, she can bring more people in and keep the cycle going. And if I know her, she's probably got a few telepaths in there keeping everyone right on the edge. Not enough to break. Just enough to feed the system."
"Jesus," Alex whispered, her face pale.
Shelim shrugged. "This is all speculation, but I'd expect an army waiting for us if we try to storm the town."
"You think Harlan is her new central base?" I asked.
"Maybe. Makes sense logistically," he said. "Then again, she can make teleporters now, so who knows?"
He looked at me directly.
"What I do know is this. Going to Harlan means risking a lot for results that'll be mixed at best."
"Mixed?" I said sharply. "She's taken an entire town hostage."
"And?" he asked.
The word hit harder than it should have. Logic warred with sheer outrage before I remembered who I was talking to.
"We can't let her keep growing her army," I said finally. "That doesn't end well for any of us."
"True," Shelim said, tapping his fingers against his knee. "Especially after the run we've been on. What we need is to isolate her and put her in the ground. That's the easiest way to end this."
"And how do we do that exactly?" I asked. "You said it. She has an army of teleporters, telepaths, sorcerers, spirits, and god knows what else."
"With more bodies," he said simply. "Enhanced ones. Blockbuster, metas, whatever we can get." He nodded at Alex. "You can handle that, right?"
Alex hesitated a beat too long. "Yeah. I have contacts."
He turned to Priya. "And you'll keep making the muscle juice? I doubt many supervillains will want to go up against Artisan."
Priya scoffed. "Anyone with sense will stay out of it."
"And we don't?" I asked, more emotion slipping through than I intended.
She studied me for a long moment.
"You're still a child," she said calmly. "A powerful one, but a child nontheless. Throwing more bodies at this won't win the fight. It will only drag it out. And you've already burned the faction most likely to help you."
She was, of course, talking about the Justice League.
I narrowed my eyes. "If you think we can't win, why help at all?"
"Because you're still my best chance at saving my family."
The tension lingered until Shelim shattered it with a snap of his fingers.
"I know what we do next," he said.
We all looked at him. "We call Constantine."
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