Friday the 13th: The Nocturnis Arc – 1989
#7: Friday, January 13, 1989 – The Serpent's Coil: A Fatal Lure
The new year brought no respite to our grim task. If anything, the air in Nocturnis felt colder, the perpetual rain more biting, as if the city itself was growing impatient with our efforts. Micki, Ryan, and I—Gabriel—had become a grimly efficient unit, our lives now consumed by the hunt for Lewis’s scattered horrors. We had faced insidious toys, mind-bending illusions, and manifestations of pure avarice. We were tired, yes, but hardened. We believed we were gaining ground. Mammon, it seemed, had other plans.
The lure came in the form of an antique map, found in the charred remains of a warehouse fire in the city’s forgotten industrial zone. It wasn't just any map; its lines shifted, glimmered with an unholy light, and promised the location of a vast, hidden cache of gold—a legendary fortune said to be lost during Nocturnis’s founding. A fortune that could fund our entire operation indefinitely, perhaps even provide the means to contain Mammon’s influence once and for all.
But I, Gabriel, felt a cold knot of dread tighten in my stomach. This was too easy, too perfect. Mammon’s gifts, even indirect ones, always came with a steeper price. Yet, the promise was intoxicating, appealing to Ryan’s pragmatic desire for resources, and Micki’s hope for an end to this nightmare. It was a fragment of the Archdemon’s own essence, a direct lure, something that whispered power and escape.
We followed the shifting lines of the map, deep into the forgotten catacombs beneath the city, places where the very stones seemed to sweat despair. The air grew heavy, thick with the metallic tang of old blood and something far older, far more malevolent. The faint, disembodied whispers we’d grown accustomed to were now a chorus, echoing off the damp walls, promising unimaginable riches, eternal power, and the sweet release of our burden.
Then, we found it. Not a vault of gold, but a cavern filled with an impossible light, a swirling vortex of shimmering coins and jewels that flowed like water, forming and dissolving into shapes of impossible grandeur. It was a vision of pure, unadulterated greed made manifest, a cosmic apocalypse miniature on a personal scale. And at its heart, radiating an icy, oppressive presence, was a shimmering, serpentine coil of pure gold—the true cursed object. It was a direct extension of Mammon, an anchor, and a trap.
As we stepped into the light, the whispers solidified, coalescing into a chorus of mocking laughter. The shimmering gold hardened, forming a grotesque, ornate cage around us. The way out vanished. We were caught. Caught by the very essence of the evil we fought, lured by the promise of the ultimate wealth. Mammon had decided it was time to collect.
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