The Six Point Club

Displaying an obsession with altered anatomy, reading ancient unintelligible tomes and then tearing loose the last page, and other such puritanically trivial pursuits, the club is comprised of six of the best deliberately nameless black magicians the country has ever seen…

The first, 1ne, is an expert in increasing sight, X-ray specs not needed, he can focus eyeballs through walls, skin, heads, hearts. Nothing is hidden. 2wo, the second, is simply superb at sound, able to audibly feel the breath of the sun’s rays, the stamp of an army ant, quickening blood in veins, all of it. The third 3hree’s theatrical trait is taste, the sour swell of fear in the air, the soft sticky serotonin released by love and any other floating foul delicacy, is set for his tongue. Besides thoughts, 4our is able to inhale the scent of the past, present, future. All of it, from the first corpse ever to lie on the earth to the last burning cinder of the end times, he must constantly filter through it, nostrils to cranial membrane. 5ive is touch, fingering instant pleasure, endless panic, sugary pain, fleeting epidermal epiphanies. 6ix is simply there for balance, possessed of no particular powers, but a talent for the hustle. She can make you believe. And that is all she needs to gain entry for, and protect, the others.

Living out of tatty stickered suitcases, on expired canned soup, meeting the dying and diseased, the living and easily pleased, they search for answers for their master, a small but connected seventh circle drugged slug demon called Traxgarz. Deprived of any nerve endings, and devoid of imagination, it must be fed experiences, and in return it promises them short contacts with passed love ones and famous co-habitants trapped in Haedes. So they must serve until they are ash, and they must feel until full. And then they will be freed into nothing, the gift.


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