The sheer mental force of the basilisk struck Corvus like a tidal wave. He had expected power, yes.. but not this, not the relentless storm that battered at his mind. Yet every lash of its will met not a wall or shield, but a vast, cold emptiness. His mind did not resist in the way the serpent anticipated. Instead of a fortress to break, it found itself lost in a void without end.
After nearly a dozen attacks, frustration edged into the basilisk's hisses. Where is your soul, Speaker? it demanded, its voice thick with confusion and fury. I have hunted many spirits here, prey that wandered too close. Where is yours? Its attacks faltered for an instant, confusion dulling the blade of its assault.
Corvus allowed a faint smile to touch his lips. He offered nothing in defense, letting the creature's agitation grow, while his own tendrils of thought seeped into the serpent's mind. Unlike the wild, untamed spirits of the raven and the tiger he had conquered before, the basilisk's mind bore a strange structure. a cavern, just like the one they inhabited now, its very walls forming a barrier around its essence. Beyond that barrier lay a pond, dark and waiting. There, coiled and silent, the serpent's soul crouched, biding its time.
Corvus slipped deeper, reading the echo of its memories. He saw how it hunted, animal spirits drawn here, clashing not with teeth and claws, but with locked gazes. Will against will. One always absorbed the other, strengthening itself, while the weaker ceased to exist. The serpent had grown strong this way, feeding on the souls of beasts too weak to withstand it.
But among those memories, Corvus found what he sought, a dragon, a mighty Hebridean Black, coiling in defiance, its soul burning with violet flame. He watched as the serpent engaged it and for the first time he saw the basilisk recoil, its hiss edged with pain. The dragon's fire seared its attacks, disrupting the serpent's waves of mind.. or rather soul force. The beast had triumphed in the end, but not without cost.
Corvus fixed every detail in his memory. The stance of the dragon, its fire, the cadence of its roar. Then, within the emptiness of his mind palace, he began to craft them. One by one, spectral dragons materialized in the endless darkness, wings spread wide, eyes glowing like molten gold. They turned their fury toward the basilisk.
The serpent's eyes widened, its coils tightening defensively as the first dragon lunged. Flame washed over its scales, and it hissed, the sound filled with rage and unmistakable pain. Another dragon followed, then another. Soon, seven circled the beast, jaws snapping and fire billowing. Each projection drained the serpent's focus, forcing it to squander its power fending off phantoms.
Corvus pressed harder, sending wave after wave of his own will interwoven with the dragons' assaults. The cavern of the basilisk's mind quaked as if the stone itself might shatter. In desperation, the serpent lashed out, opening its mouth, it's venom dripping to the floor of the cave, sizzling while melting the surface it touched. The dragons closed in from every side. One raked at its flank, another clamped spectral jaws onto its coils and a third drove fire straight into its face. Bound by fang and flame, the great serpent writhed helplessly.
Corvus struck then, his own mind, his presence bearing down with relentless precision. When it tried to retreat from Corvus' mind palace, his dragons pinned it, pressing their weight until the basilisk could do nothing but take the beating. Losing it's focus with it's presence getting weaker. It's eyes closes at last in weary surrender and it's presence from wizard's mind gone.
Corvus left his mind palace. Returning to where he met the serpent. At the edge of the pond. The Basilisk bowed it's head in defeat. "You win, Speaker." It hissed weakly. "My master once told me… it will be like sleeping." Was the last of it's words.
An ancient beast from times forgotten surrendered. "No hunt lasts forever, old one." hissed Corvus. "You can rest now..."
He extended his hand and touched its snout. In an instant, the colossal form dissolved into smoke, rushing into his chest. Force and might, cold and ancient, sank into his being as the basilisk's essence became his own.
--
Corvus stood still for a long while, letting the weight of the basilisk's essence settle within him. It was not merely strength he had gained, but instincts as sharp as fangs and memories old as crumbling stone. Closing his eyes, he allowed the torrent to wash over him. Living the serpent's life anew, moment by moment, year after year. He felt the warmth of the egg, hatched under the hands of an Egyptian dark wizard. He lived the thrill of hunts, of chasing prey through moonlit sands and shadowed ruins nest to Nile. He fought other beasts, manticores, chimeras, wyverns and even knew the clash of war, when legions of armored Romans drove their banners into the soil at Actium. The basilisk remembered the hiss of steel, the roar of catapults, the shrieks of dying men. Yet in the end it was not human hands that felled it, but dragons. Hebridean Blacks, wings like thunderclouds, spewing purple flames. The last thing the serpent saw was a world turned violet fire, scales blistering, fangs cracking, before its soul moved to this twisted realm of spirits where time and space knotted upon themselves. And now, it had fallen once more. This time forever..
When Corvus opened his eyes again, his gaze shifted to the pond. Slowly, deliberately, he let his body change. Bones elongated, muscles thickened, scales erupted across his skin until he no longer stood as a man but slithered as a basilisk. The legendary beast's body coiled with crushing power, its dark scales gleaming faintly. Its eyes, however, were not yellow green. They shone with Corvus' own turquoise silver hue, slit pupils cutting through the shadows like blades. He slithered to the pond and sank beneath its surface, the cold water rushing over his scales. From below, he looked upward, imagining the ancient serpent watching him enter the cave, feeling the same hunger and excitement of a new prey, another fight.
At length, he rose again and coiled upon the stone, lowering his massive head toward the pond's surface. His reflection stared back. Jaws wide, ivory fangs curved like swords, eyes glowing with inhuman light. With a slow flex, he opened his mouth and let venom drip into the water. Thick, bright green drops fell with heavy plunks, sinking deep. The pond bubbled and frothed where each fell, the water hissing as if alive, corroded by the toxin's fury.
He slithered around the cavern, testing each coil, each flex of muscle, each shift of his immense weight. The sensations were alien, yet exhilarating. Finally, he drew back into himself, form shrinking, shifting, until he once again stood in human guise. He inhaled deeply, chest heaving, before letting out a low chuckle. The sound echoed against the cavern walls, sharp and edged with amusement. He imagined Menkara's face when he learned what Corvus had bound to his soul, and his grin widened. No true enmity lay between them, but the old ritualist's eyes were sure to bulge. He plucked a tail feather from his shadow raven form, then a whisker from his white tiger. Now, it was time for reckoning and perhaps a little mischief at his teacher's expense.
--
Corvus opened his eyes again to find Professor Menkara dozing in his armchair, the old ritualist's head lolling forward. Corvus wondered briefly how much time had passed while he was lost in the ritual. Stretching the stiffness from his limbs, he quietly went to the professor's kitchen, brewed a pot of tea, and poured two cups in the sitting room before returning to the ritual chamber. He cleared his throat politely, waking the old man.
"Boy," Menkara muttered, blinking groggily. "Tell me, what is it this time? A magical beast? Mundane? Out with it."
Corvus chuckled, amused at the old man's impatience. "What's the rush, Professor? Even if I wanted to show you, I doubt there's enough space or the correct environment here."
Menkara's eyes gleamed with sudden interest. "Oh? A dragon then? Or perhaps a kraken?" His tone rose with excitement.
Corvus couldn't help but laugh, shaking his head. "You just want another keepsake. A feather or whisker, don't you? Admit it." His smirk only deepened. "But as I said, there isn't enough space nor the correct environment."
The ritualist frowned in thought, then clapped his hands. "The backyard, then!"
Corvus shook his head, still enjoying himself at Menkara's expense. "Not there either. Trust me, Professor."
The old man's patience snapped. "You will show me your form, boy! I conducted the ritual, and I will have my keepsake. It is my right!"
"As you wish, Professor," Corvus said smoothly, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "But not here. Let's move to the forest, outside the fortress."
Menkara, already convinced it must be a dragon, agreed eagerly. But before he could gather his cloak, Corvus opened the window, glanced back with a sly smile, and shifted into his Shadow Raven form. His dark wings beat the air as he took flight, still hearing the Egyptian's colorful curses below, which he cheekily answered with a few mocking caws.
At the forest's edge, Corvus landed, shifted back and transfigured the ground into a broad clearing. He conjured tall fires at the corners, anticipating his basilisk form would appreciate the warmth against the winter chill. On a scrap of parchment, he scrawled, 'Prepare crystal vials, strong ones.' Shifting back into his raven form, he dropped the note where Menkara would see it.
Sure enough, after some time, the old ritualist trudged into the forest, bundled against the cold. He bent to read the note and muttered darkly. "Insolent brat. He could have just told me this in before I walked here." With a grumble, he conjured three crystal vials and carefully layered enchantments upon them.
When he finished, he straightened and shouted into the night. "Where are you, boy? Do not keep an old man waiting in this weather!"
A sharp caw rang out in response. Moments later, Corvus swooped into the clearing and landed, his body elongating, feathers shifting into scales. Before Menkara's astonished eyes, the boy transformed into a massive basilisk. Its enormous form filled the clearing, turquoise silver eyes gleaming faintly beneath a protective membrane.
Menkara froze, his jaw slack, before releasing a stream of curses in rapid Arabic. He stumbled back, tripped, and fell flat on his back. "O Amun…!" he gasped, eyes screwed shut, continuing his tirade. Corvus lowered his massive head and flicked out his forked tongue, gently brushing the professor's beret. That was the last straw. The old man fainted dead away.
Corvus shifted smoothly back to human form, laughter bubbling up. He conjured an armchair, increased the fires, and even added floating orbs of Lumos Orbis for extra light. Then he placed a heating charm on Menkara's prone form. With a grin, he summoned Tibby.
The elf appeared with a crack, looking around and then blinking up at him. "Yes, Master?"
"Tea, Tibby. And a few empty vials, if you please," Corvus said, voice still warm with amusement.
Tibby tilted his head, muttering, "Black madness… Old Kreacher say old Blacks always do this," before popping off. He returned moments later with the items and vanished again.
When Menkara finally stirred, he found himself warm and not comfortable, not at all. Blinking blearily at the sight of Corvus lounging with a cup of tea, calmly enchanting crystal vials. His wand snapped to his hand, ready to hex the boy.
"Wait, Professor," Corvus said smoothly, eyes dancing. "You asked to see my new form." His smile widened into something wickedly amused. "Careful, or I might shift back."
"You nearly killed me!" Menkara thundered, though the heat in his voice was undermined by his embarrassment.
Corvus laughed, unbothered. "Consider it settling accounts, Professor. Your treatment of my other forms wasn't exactly… gentlemanly, now was it?"
The ritualist groaned, torn between outrage and reluctant admiration, while Corvus sipped his tea with smug satisfaction.
--
Menkara conjured an armchair with a flick of his wand, dropped heavily into it, and immediately demanded a hot cup of tea. Corvus, already expecting this, Called Tibby for two cups of tea with a faint smirk tugging at his lips. The old ritualist wasted no time, his questions began to flow rapidly, sharp and insistent. He wanted to know everything about the Basilisk. Corvus, explained what he had seen and felt: the ruins, the cavern, the pond and most importantly the protective membrane that allowed the great serpent to be near others without killing them with its lethal gaze. He described the battle of minds, the ancient memories of the beast, and the way it had finally yielded.
Menkara listened with rapt attention, finishing his tea without even noticing. Once Corvus had concluded, the professor leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "Shift back," he said simply. Corvus obliged and in moments the towering king of serpents lay coiled in the clearing. Menkara approached cautiously, awe and fear clear on his lined face, and carefully drew three vials of venom from the beast's fangs. When he asked for more, Corvus hissed sharply in warning. The sound alone froze the old man in place. Muttering in a mixture of Arabic and German about stingy, ungrateful youth, Menkara tucked the vials away and pretended not to sulk.
The testing began in earnest. They caught animals from the forest. One massive moose, a pair of foxes, and four unlucky hares. When exposed to the basilisk's direct gaze, the victim fell instantly, lifeless, as though struck by a Killing Curse. With Corvus' new shield spell, Veruscut, as well as layers of other protective magics, the result was unchanged. The gaze cut through everything. A direct look meant certain death. Reflected gaze was different: a fox and two hares were petrified instead of killed, statues frozen in the moment of their last breath. It was grisly, yet undeniably fascinating.
For Menkara, the temptation grew unbearable. At one point he edged closer, clearly plotting to pry a scale loose for his collection. Corvus hissed again. Low, dangerous, final. The professor backed away at once, launching into a tirade about lack of respect for scholarly curiosity. Corvus hissed in amusement to his murmurs.
At last, the experiments were finished. Menkara placed his hand reverently on the serpent's shimmering scales before Corvus shifted back into human form. "Boy," the old ritualist said, voice thick with something close to reverence, "this is one of the most unforgettable moments of my long life. To touch a Basilisk, to look into its majestic eyes and still live. Few can claim such fortune." He straightened, a rare seriousness settling over his features. Holding his wand, "I give you my word. Let my magic be my witness, I will never speak of this form or your others, not to living, not to dead, unless you deem it otherwise." The oath sealed and settled, heavy and binding.
They returned to the castle together, both in uncommonly good spirits. Menkara still muttered now and again, half curses, half awed praises. But Corvus walked beside him with quiet satisfaction. For all the old man's eccentricities, he had honored the moment with sincerity.