Unlike the ancient Grimoires of Doctor Strange, Billy’s book was a living record of chaos and intent. He ran his fingers over the embossed sigil on the front—the Demiurge’s star. As the cover creaked open, the room dimmed. The pages weren't paper; they were sheets of solidified moonlight, etched with glowing indigo ink that pulsed in time with his heartbeat.
Billy’s eyes sparked with blue electricity. He didn't flinch. He grabbed his twin-headed staff, the brass glowing white-hot. He began the incantation—the rhythmic, repetitive chanting that was his trademark. "IwanttofindhimIwanttofindhimIwanttofindhim..." WICCAN'S Wicked Spell Book of Shadows!
But the book slammed shut with a sound like a thunderclap. The rift vanished. Billy fell back, gasping, as the indigo glow faded into the floorboards. On the cover of the Book of Shadows, a new symbol had burned itself into the leather: a silver lightning bolt entwined with a blue vine. Unlike the ancient Grimoires of Doctor Strange, Billy’s
The Book of Shadows began to levitate, its pages whipping back and forth in a localized cyclone. Blue runes bled off the parchment and circled Billy, forming a cage of light. He felt the weight of the Demiurge—the cosmic entity he was destined to become—pressing against the back of his skull. The pages weren't paper; they were sheets of
Suddenly, the shadows in the corner of the room lengthened, detaching themselves from the walls. A voice, slick and cold like a winter wind, echoed from the book’s gutter. “Intent is a heavy price, Little Mage. To find a speedster, you must learn to make time stand still.”
He realized then that the book wasn't just a tool for spells. It was a diary of his destiny, and it had just told him that his brother wasn't just lost—he was being hunted.
Billy stood up, his cape billowing despite the lack of wind. He tucked the Book of Shadows under his arm. The spell had worked, but as always with magic, it had left him with a warning: The shadow you cast is only as dark as the light you carry.