“Nyx…not to be confused with the Greek goddess of night, this Nyx was once a mortal who stole divinity through an unknown source, all researchers and historians know is that the son of Leviathan, Tempestitas is at the heart as to how Nyx received his divinity. Nobody knows of Nyx’s age as some say he is newly immortal and others claim that he is thousands of years old…no story has been confirmed nor denied. A god of winter, darkness, snow, ice, death, sleep, the weather and moon, Nyx is not a god to be trifled with nor is he one that you want on your bad side; as multifaced as the moon: one moment he is serene, quiet and peaceful and the next is the wrathful visage of death incarnate hunting you down like a wolf to a wounded fawn.” I read the first section about him, as if to accentuate the deep cold feeling of dread welling up in my stomach, a crack of thunder peeled outside.
I took out my phone as I quickly found photos of that man I saw in the ads: Anthony Varga. The face in the photos was an exact T to the ones in the lithograph prints in the pages: same storm cloud of pitch black kinky hair, same miss-matched eyes, same intensely freckled skin and gapped front teeth, but the pictures I found online alongside videos, interviews and things showed someone who could not feasible be a god of death and ice itself. I saw a person with a heavy love of suntanning, notable for charitable deeds and creating outreach programs on both nonhuman and human sides of the world along with all sorts of…opposites to what I saw in the lithographs. There was one picture I found though, that showed a sleeping figure that was not Anthony Varga, but a tall, broadly built, powerful looking man: long messy wine colored hair and covered in tattoos, I could sense the Shade on the picture and flicked my fingers, the figure seemed to morph a touch: the hair got wilder, a huge pair of opalescent antlers coiled off his temples with a large diamond shaped pearl set central along his window’s peak, but his skin…was covered in scales, a weird texture of half-serpentine half-fish with nearly leaf shaped scales in blues, greens and grays, some areas even being black. Spiny fins adorned his ears and back and this gills were visible along his sides. I flipped to the next photo that with the Shade showed Kálmán glaring with a single eye open from having been awoken, as the Shade was peeled away: pristine human teeth gave way to triangular piranha like ones with giant fangs, brows gave way to scales and his human eye which was a confusingly golden amber color milked away to reveal two…solid glowing yellow ones without pupil or iris.
I nearly dropped my phone as I flipped a thick chunk of pages back to a picture of Tempestitas: the curvature and shape of the antlers were the same, the forehead jewel was the same…but four glowing eyes without pupils…that is a feature I’ve never seen someone have…and the pictures lined up. If I hadn’t known Varga is Tempestitas…this would have been every single nail in the coffin. My eyes flicked back to the few things I had brought from the shop: a nautilus shell and a few shells and a fish skeleton. The bundle of objects met with the pictures on my phone and those in the book all made my coffee table look more like some sort of strange ritualistic altar. I…really need to be able to get into contact with Kálmán…Cian’s life may depend on it.
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