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I used to be so foolish. I used to think that the world was too small for me, that
I was always destined to break through the invisible doors that kept me enclosed
among the mundane. Oh, and I was right about that — and I was terribly wrong,
too.
Oh yes, I was always destined to break through those doors. I’ve done it.
But I was wrong when I thought the world was too small. It isn’t. It’s too
large. There’s so much space out there between the stars and behind the doors…
so much space that the things that should never have come to be thrive out there,
pulsing and growing and waiting.
Waiting for fools like me.
— Chashmal of the Mysterium
This book includes:
• A collection of dangerous
threats for any
Mage
game,
antagonists ranging from the
living mage to horrors born of
no womb
• A treatment of
Mage
as a
potential horror game, with
advice on how to bring the
terrifying, maddening and
gruesome elements of magic
into a chronicle
• Dangers that go beyond
simple entities — constructs,
locales, even conditions and
infections poised to plague
the Awakened
For use with The World of Darkness and
Mage: The Awakening rulebooks.
52799
9 781588 463784
PRINTED IN CANADA
WWW.WORLDOFDARKNESS.COM
ISBN 978-1-58846-378-4 WW40324 $27.99 US
1
Prelude: Revelations
I don’t remember how I got here.
Weird shit has been happening to me ever since
vacationing in London a month ago, when I had that
really fucked up dream about the tower.
It was late, and Casey was driving me home from the
movie theatre, I know that. Then something horrible
happened. I heard the tires screech and felt myself
being jerked violently forward as Casey slammed on
the brakes. The glass
shattered — and then
what? I don’t know.
I think something hit
my head and I blacked
out. Everything that
happened that night is
just broken fragments
and dim memories after
that.
My head hurt. My left wrist hurt, too. Maybe some-
thing was broken. Maybe I should look. I opened my
eyes. Everything was dark and still, and there were
branches coming through the windows. The autumn
air infiltrating the car was chill, and the scent of dry
leaves mingled with hot rubber, smoke, and some
vague, metallic smell. Did the car go off the road?
Casey was still beside me, but something didn’t seem
right. Her breath was coming in rapid, shallow bursts,
and her face looked waxy in the moonlight. She was
staring vacantly past me into the night. “Casey?” I
rasped in a choked whisper. No response. Sluggishly,
my eyes traveled down her form. The driver’s side
door had intruded, and the lower half of her body was
crushed. A lot of blood, black in the darkness. I saw
I don’t remember
bone, jagged and white, protruding from her thigh,
but mostly I remember the long, deep gash across her
stomach. That was the moment I knew we were in
serious trouble. Casey’s guts were pouring from the
wound. Intestines hung from her body, wet and glis-
tening in the weak light, like slick, coiled ropes.
I didn’t hear sirens. Nobody was coming, and I was
so tired. I fumbled weakly for my purse with my good
hand. Just find your cell phone, Ava, everything will
be okay. Everything will
be okay. We won’t die
out here.
When I woke the fol-
lowing morning, safe and
warm in my bed, I thought
it was all a bad dream. I felt
the intense relief that fol-
lows waking abruptly from
a nightmare — none of it was real, and life is just the
same as it’s always been. I marveled at how vividly I
could recall the details of the dream as I poured my-
self a glass of orange juice for breakfast. Distracted, I
flicked on the morning news. The reporter, a hard,
angular woman with thin lips, was droning on about
the weather.
“Another beautiful fall day, today, folks. Low humid-
ity, clear skies, and a high in the low 60s…”
Then I noticed a thin, blue scar encircling my arm.
It was barely visible in the early light pouring through
the window — a faint, but distinct line, just beneath
the surface of my skin, right above my left wrist.
“…as the conflict continues, the United Nations
has elected to send aid…”
2
how I got here.
Confused, I strained to recall the pre-
vious night. I went to see a midnight
matinee with Casey — a slasher flick.
We sat in the back making fun of it,
taking bets on who would die next. And
then? Casey was going to drive me home,
but all I remember is that dream. It
was
just
a nightmare, right? Shakily, I dialed Casey’s
number on my cell phone. No answer.
“In local news, a young woman, Ms. Casey
Paull, 24, was fatally injured in a car accident
early this morning…”
I clapped the cell shut.
“…Authorities say the broadside collision
occurred late last night after the driver of a
BMW allegedly ran a red light at an intersec-
tion in Lakewood Metropark and
struck Ms. Paull’s vehicle, sending
both cars careening off the road and
down a steep incline. The owner of the BMW,
Mr. Andrew Miller, 46, is currently missing, and
wanted for questioning by the police. Mr. Miller was
arrested earlier this year under multiple DUI charges,
and faces…”
A mug shot of a doughy, middle-aged man faded onto
the screen. He was overweight and greasy, with thin-
ning, straw-colored hair, abnormally large, pink lips,
and small, piggish eyes that were too close together.
This
couldn’t
be happening. It was just a nightmare!
If I had gotten into that car with Casey last night,
shouldn’t I be dead, too? If it wasn’t a dream, if I
really was there last night, how did I end up safe at
home with no injuries? Why did Casey die, but not
me? Nothing made sense. It had to be some kind of
mistake. I would drive over to Casey’s apartment right
now, and she would answer the door. She would tell
me that she missed my call because she was in the
shower or something. Then we’d both laugh about
how freaked out I’d gotten over nothing. Hurriedly,
I grabbed my coat and keys. On my way to the door,
I almost tripped over the package that was sitting in
the foyer.
It was a large, unmarked, corrugated cardboard box. I
bent down to open it, and immediately recoiled. Inside
was a hideously deformed creature. The thing had the
body of a barely-formed fetus, tiny and red, absurdly
attached to the head of a full-grown man with dirty,
pale yellow hair and empty, close-set eyes. I stared,
in shock, at Andrew Miller, still recognizable despite
the deep lacerations carved across his face spelling the
“…Authorities say the broadside collision
occurred late last night after the driver of a
BMW allegedly ran a red light at an intersec-
down a steep incline. The owner of the BMW,
Mr. Andrew Miller, 46, is currently missing, and
wanted for questioning by the police. Mr. Miller was
arrested earlier this year under multiple DUI charges,
A mug shot of a doughy, middle-aged man faded onto
the screen. He was overweight and greasy, with thin-
ning, straw-colored hair, abnormally large, pink lips,
and small, piggish eyes that were too close together.
be happening. It was just a nightmare!
If I had gotten into that car with Casey last night,
shouldn’t I be dead, too? If it wasn’t a dream, if I
really was there last night, how did I end up safe at
word “LOST.” I thought I saw a thread of faint blue
around the thing’s neck, and I leaned in closer to look.
A deep, gurgling sound erupted from the creature’s
throat, and it moved its tiny, underdeveloped arms
as though it were trying to pull itself up. Horrified, I
slammed the lid down and stomped upon the flimsy
box as hard as I could. Stumbling backwards, I slid
down against the opposite wall and rocked myself as
the monstrous chimera shuddered to final stillness
beneath the crushed cardboard.
I tried to fight back a wave of nausea. Failing, I
lurched unsteadily into the bathroom and heaved
bitter bile into the sink.
Then the doorbell rang. Peering through the blinds,
I saw a police officer standing on the porch.
“Just a second!” I managed, wiping my chin. Stomach
3
Confused, I strained to recall the pre-
vious night. I went to see a midnight
matinee with Casey — a slasher flick.
We sat in the back making fun of it,
taking bets on who would die next. And
then? Casey was going to drive me home,
but all I remember is that dream. It
was
just
a nightmare, right? Shakily, I dialed Casey’s
number on my cell phone. No answer.
“In local news, a young woman, Ms. Casey
Paull, 24, was fatally injured in a car accident
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