#yellow mallevolent

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

"Corrupted" Snippet - The Magnus Archives x Malevolent WIP

Danny Stoker died trying to keep a weird, cursed book away from some very bad people.

Tim has the book.

Tim has no idea.

Opening it has thrust him into an entirely new world.

A snippet in which Tim tried to find help at the Magnus Institute, and did not - and the conversation thereafter is beginning to make him wonder what is truly inside his head.

(thunder)

-------------------------

Stairs just ahead. Take your time.

He does, one step at a time, using the excuse of concentration to be silent.

He wipes his leaky eyes.

Are you all right?

“No. Gonna have to be, though, apparently, because I don’t want to take his deal.”

I promise you, Bouchard will be watching us regardless of what we do.

“Well, fuck that guy, then,” says Tim. “I guess consent isn’t on some fear god’s radar.”

John snorts. I don’t know why you ever thought it would be. You’re at the bottom. Where now?

“I don’t know. I’m trying to think. Can I just walk somewhere? Get away from this place?”

Walk to your right. There isn’t much traffic.

Tim does, and doesn’t speak again until he’s found a comfortable pace and position that seems to keep him from smashing into anyone.

John directs, corrects, and lets him ponder.

“So here’s what I’m thinking,” Tim finally says. “If all this is real, then other things must be. So. Are there good fairies, or something? Wishing wells? Forest spirits of mercy, or kindness, or whatever?”

There’s a pause.

Tim… I don’t know everything, but I do know this: no. There are no beneficent fairies. No good and kind spirits just waiting to freely give of themselves to undeserving mortals. Everything that exists only does so because it has not been eaten or used by something else, including you - from your immune system to your choices, you also fight to survive. Yes, I believe we will find help, but it will come at a price. It's just a matter of what price you’re willing to pay.

Strangely, this is different from John’s usual calming tone. It’s not crazy-smooth; it’s just quiet, and Tim suddenly feels like this is the first time John has been genuinely gentle with him.

Tim’s throat feels tight. “Bit of a downer, there,” he manages after a minute. “So what do we do?”

You truly don’t feel what he offered was worth what he asked?

“Just being in that building made me feel paranoid, and that isn’t like me. I started to get angry, over, just… nothing. No. Whatever price I have to pay, I’m not losing myself for it. That guy didn’t even have a solution, anyway. Just a what-if. Not worth it.”

Then we keep looking.

“I don’t know where to look, is the problem. And just so you know, John? Maybe I am surviving, like everybody else here, but that doesn’t mean I can’t make choices and be a good person and help other undeserving mortals.”

Seeing yourself as the hero, are you?

Tim snorts. ”No. I’d be a cheerfully bisexual bard, at best, not a protagonist. I just mean… I don’t know. You make every living thing sound like an asshole, and I don’t think all of us are.”

John chuckles. A slutty bard? Really?

“It’s a DND ref- wait. You understood that?”

Yes. I’m familiar with the trope. I’m merely amused you used it.

So that has some implications, holy shit. “How the hell are you familiar with an internet meme?”

Well, two ways. The first is that as long as we share a body, some of your knowledge will sink into me – a little bit like water through porous stone. Not much, but enough to give us some common contextual ground. However, in this case, it’s because not everyone who kept this book was only a cultist. Some of them were nerds.

“What, did they just keep you on the table while scrolling through I Can Haz Cheezburger?”

Sometimes.

This doesn’t feel like the full truth. There’s something else John is not saying here, but Tim doesn’t know how to get at it. “I can talk to you in memes,” he says instead.” I’m going to be insufferable.”

John chuckles.

Or… maybe that was the truth, and Tim just feels paranoid thanks to whatever the hell that place was. “How does anyone even manage to work there without all becoming axe murderers?” he mutters.

I believe if you are inclined toward the type of fear and information-gathering that god prefers, it grants some sanity so you can keep feeding it. I’ve seen the like.

“A whole fear-god economy. Fuck me, that’s wild.”

Indeed.

“And by the way - what was all that ‘mine’ stuff about?”

John sighs. I apologize. I… felt strange, in that place. I could feel it feeding on you, and I didn’t know how else to react. I thought perhaps it would respect some kind of… prior claim. Obviously, that didn’t work.

Tim laughs weakly. “Oh, we are definitely not going back to Spooky Manor, then. But where do we go instead?”

I have an idea, if you’re willing to try it - but first, you need to eat. He was right about that. Man shall not live by peanut butter alone.

It is deeply unnerving to hear all these deeply human references, used with such easy familiarity. “I don’t want to try dealing with a restaurant. Find me a take-out place.”

Keep going. I’ll get you there.

It’s going to be okay, Tim tells himself on repeat. It’s going to be okay.

Though a tiny part of him is beginning to wonder if, somehow, his family might be cursed.