#6: Friday, October 13, 1988 – Mammon's Mark: The Gilded Hand Mirror
The task of retrieving Lewis’s cursed objects was a relentless, soul-draining grind. Each item was a miniature nightmare, a test of our resolve. Gabriel, ever our stoic guide, warned us that some objects were more than just cursed; they were fragments of Mammon's very essence, insidious lures that preyed on the deepest human desires, particularly greed.
On this October Friday the 13th, the lead came from a series of suicides in Nocturnis's financial district. Not desperate, broke suicides, but prosperous, ambitious individuals, found with smiles of utter serenity on their faces, yet surrounded by mountains of worthless paper or the physical remnants of impossible wealth that had suddenly, inexplicably, vanished. The only common thread: each had recently come into possession of a small, antique Gilded Hand Mirror.
This was Mammon’s mark, Gabriel confirmed, his face pale. This mirror didn't just reflect your image; it reflected your deepest, most avaricious desires for wealth and power. And as you gazed into it, as those desires intensified, it began to show you something else: the grotesque, demonic entities that fed on greed, slithering through the shadows of Nocturnis, made visible only by the mirror’s unholy light. They were Mammon’s unseen minions, beckoning, whispering promises of more, driving the user to accumulate wealth at any cost, until their minds shattered under the weight of unimaginable visions and their ill-gotten gains dissolved into dust.
Our target was Elias Thorne, a ruthless corporate raider who had recently acquired the mirror and was on the verge of collapsing one of Nocturnis's oldest, most ethical banks. He had locked himself in his penthouse suite, surrounded by holographic schematics of his impending hostile takeover, a manic gleam in his eyes. When we finally breached the heavily fortified penthouse, the air was thick with a cloying scent of ozone and something akin to stale blood. Thorne was hunched over his desk, mumbling deliriously, the Gilded Hand Mirror clutched in his trembling hand. His reflection was not his own; it was a monstrous, leering visage, its eyes burning with a hunger that was distinctly un-human.
"More!" Thorne shrieked, his voice distorted, his fingers scrabbling at the air as if trying to grasp invisible riches. "I see it all! The true wealth! The… things!"
The room seemed to pulse with an unseen energy, the very shadows deepening, twisting into forms that seemed to writhe just at the edge of our vision. It was Mammon’s presence, raw and terrifying, channeled through the mirror. This wasn't just a cursed object; it was a direct conduit to the Archdemon, a piece of his essence made manifest.
Getting the mirror from Thorne was a battle against his possessed strength, but also against the insidious whispers that tried to plant seeds of ambition in our own minds. We managed to wrestle it away, and as its gilded frame left Thorne's grip, the monstrous reflection vanished, replaced by his own terrified, broken face. He collapsed, whimpering, lost to the horrors he had witnessed.
Back at the shop, as we carefully secured the Gilded Hand Mirror in our newly reinforced vault, the silence felt heavy, oppressive. We were no longer just retrieving objects; we were fighting against the very essence of evil Lewis had served. Mammon’s influence in Nocturnis was deeper, more pervasive than we had ever imagined. The task was unending, the danger escalating, and every Friday the 13th served as a chilling reminder that Lewis's legacy was our terrifying, unending inheritance.
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