Mack sprinted full tilt down the subway platform, staff clutched like a lance, sandals flopping with each step. Somewhere behind him, the MTA worker was shouting into a walkie-talkie.
"We've got a guy in a bathrobe—repeat, bathrobe—with a stick and possibly a bomb! He just blew up the MetroCard machine!"
Mack didn't hear that part. He was focused.
He vaulted over a bench.
"There it is!" he roared. "The Soul Wagon! The great iron centipede of the lower world!"
The subway train rumbled into the station, sparks flicking in the darkness behind it like dragon breath. Passengers looked up from their phones. Some recorded. Some ran. Some just… stayed seated. This was New York, after all.
Mack stood at the platform's edge, wind catching his robe."This is it," he whispered. "The Beast approaches."
The train doors opened with a pneumatic sigh.
He dove in.
The moment he landed, the doors hissed shut behind him.
Silence.
Dozens of people sat around him. Businessmen. Tourists. One guy with a pigeon on his shoulder. All now staring at the barefoot man with trash-glazed robes and mustard stains across his chest.
Mack stood, arms wide, as if revealing a miracle.
"I have entered the beast," he declared. "Fear not, citizens. I come in peace, unless the walls start talking again."
The guy with the pigeon got off at the next stop.
Meanwhile, aboveground, the situation escalated quickly.
Emergency vehicles were already circling the 7th Ave station. Police had cordoned off the entrance. A hazmat team was poking at the still-smoldering MetroCard machine.
A weary officer looked up from his report."So let me get this straight. He shouted something in Latin?"
"No," said one eyewitness. "Fake Latin. Sounded like… 'Inflammatus Finantium'?"
The officer raised an eyebrow."Is that supposed to mean 'explode the money machine' or something?"
The hot dog vendor chimed in: "He said it was an Oracle. Then he yelled about cursed nuggets."
The officer clicked his pen."Right. That's domestic terrorism."
Back on the train, Mack had taken a seat between a man with earbuds and a lady knitting something vaguely judgmental.
He leaned over."Do you sense it?" he whispered. "This place is alive. It breathes. It hungers."
The man nodded slowly, then changed seats.
Mack turned to the woman."Fear not. I shall tame it."
The woman kept knitting. Faster.
Then the intercom came alive.
"Attention passengers. NYPD units will be boarding at the next station. Please remain calm."
Mack perked up.
"The Tribunal! They've sent agents!"
He stood quickly and slammed the butt of his staff to the floor. A burst of purple static crackled from the tip and zapped a nearby Metro map, which immediately flickered out.
Someone screamed.
The entire car jerked to attention.
"Sir, please sit down," said a man in a Yankees hoodie. "You're scaring the kid."
Mack turned dramatically to a six-year-old in a Spider-Man backpack."Young knight," he said solemnly. "If I do not make it, remember—never trust rectangles. They lie."
The child burst into tears.
At the next stop, the doors opened—and four officers stepped aboard.
Mack froze.
Time slowed. In his mind, drums beat. A hawk screamed. A wind blew from nowhere.
He gritted his teeth.
"Kevin," he muttered, "evasive maneuver delta-five."
He threw a chunk of chicken nugget in one direction, leapt in the other, and slammed his staff into the floor.
A poof of purple smoke filled the car.
When it cleared, he was gone.
Cut to: The subway tunnel.
Mack was crawling through a side maintenance door, muttering spells that were definitely just misheard IKEA instructions.
"Flarvik… Hemnes… LÖRBY…"
Behind him, shouts echoed through the tunnel. A flashlight beam swung toward the wall.
"Suspect is in the tunnel!" an officer called. "Repeat, wizard in the tunnel!"
The phrase hit the police scanner like a bad joke.Dispatch paused."…Wizard?"
"Yes. Bathrobe, stick, smells like fire and mustard."
Aboveground, news spread fast.
BREAKING: UNKNOWN SUSPECT TERRORIZES NYC SUBWAY — POSSIBLY DELUSIONAL, DEFINITELY DANGEROUS
Footage of the explosion shows a man in purple robes yelling something in Latin before the card machine combusted. Witnesses report he then 'fled the scene' and entered the subway.
One outlet even posted an AI-generated image labeled:
"Terror Mage Strikes Midtown"
Meanwhile, Mack emerged from a street-level grate in Central Park, coughing, disoriented, and victorious.
He stood beneath the sunlight, blinking like a raccoon seeing God.
"I have escaped the belly of the beast," he said hoarsely. "The trial was long. The gates were many. The air was... piss-flavored."
He looked around, triumphant.
"This realm has officially recognized me as a threat," he declared to no one. "I am now a Class-One Incantational Outlaw. Praise be."
He turned to a passing dog.
"You there. Inform the Council. The war has begun."
The dog barked and kept walking.
"Good. He understands."
...
Mack had lost a lot of his energy and was walking around, trying to get a feel for his surroundings. He passed by several buildings, which he admired and examined, but most of the time someone would come out and start yelling at him.
Mack spent the rest of the day fleeing from random people.
"So... The people of this realm are incredibly hostile..."
He grinned, before speaking again:
"I suppose I must show these people how wonderful a wizard I am!"
There was a long pause.
Then, a foul squelch.
Mack looked down at his sandals. Trash juice, still. His robe, stiff with mystery stains. His hair looked like it had been struck by lightning, then electrocuted for lying about it.
"No," he whispered solemnly. "This won't do."
He turned to a nearby puddle and examined his reflection.His eye twitched.
"It is time for... the Purification Ritual."