Allen stood on the platform, the busy atmosphere of Baker Street station washing over him. He held the small, printed Tube map, comparing its lines and stations repeatedly with the Arcane Eye tracking the lizard-like icon on his internal map.
"The Bakerloo line connects here… the Jubilee line runs there… yes, it's undeniable. The creature is exploiting the Muggle public transport system. Unless it changes its pattern entirely, it's following a scheduled route. I just need to intercept the line where the icon stops next."
"Unless something entirely unexpected happens, I'll simply wait here, and the 'lizard-man' will eventually come to me," Allen predicted internally.
He found an empty bench and settled down, appearing to the passing Muggles as a boy lost deep in thought. In reality, he was intently monitoring the pulsating, tree-like icon—representing the cursed creature—as it moved rapidly across the London grid. Subway trains roared in and out of the station, the platform perpetually swarming with a rushing, oblivious crowd.
"Here it comes," Allen muttered, rising from the bench with a calculated confidence.
He walked forward, merging seamlessly with the dense crowd waiting for the arriving train. The air brakes hissed, the automatic alarm rang, and the train doors slid slowly shut.
In that single, final instant before the doors sealed, the entire scene before Allen's eyes changed completely. The transformation was silent, profound, and utterly horrifying.
Time itself seemed to have frozen: the middle-aged businessman was caught mid-sentence, his hand still raised in an impassioned, silent gesture; the beautiful young woman's smile was fixed, unchanging; the young man wearing headphones had an impassive, vacant expression, his body locked immobile.
Even the subway car's environment had warped. The ceiling panels had been replaced by strange, pink, fibrous tissue. The seats were the most disturbing element, their pale backs shaped like giant, overlapping fish scales.
Each of these scaly seat backs had transformed into a living, pale, bipedal creature.
Contrary to the "lizard-man" label, these entities resembled massive, eyeless worms. Their bodies were sickeningly pale, their wide, vertical mouths suggesting a void. Where a nose should have been, they sported clusters of writhing, short, pink tentacles, some of which ended in deformed, pulsating growths.
The lower half of these abominations had merged into the chair cushions, perfectly forming the seats. On either side, thick, single claws extended outward from the pale monsters, forming the armrests. The Muggles who were sitting were positioned directly on the bodies of these creatures, while those standing were grasping their tentacles for support.
Colored vapor—various shades of dull brown, sickly gray, and bruised purple—was slowly emerging from the faces of the petrified Muggles. The vapor was being gently drawn into the mouths of the short, pink tentacles, where it vanished.
"So, these are the lizard-men," Allen whispered, a cold knot forming in his stomach. "What in Merlin's name are these ghostly things absorbing and destroying?" The scene surpassed any horror Allen had encountered in his previous life's fiction. It was pure, existential terror.
Instantly, the Magic Orb of Fowles, clutched securely in Allen's pocket, worked its silent magic, dispelling the negative mental state that was threatening to overwhelm him with confusion and fear. His mind cleared, and his magical defenses solidified.
The terrifying silence in the subway car was abruptly shattered by the sound of scales rubbing together, followed by a soft, dry applause. In an instant, the eyeless heads of every creature in the car pivoted with unnerving synchronicity, focusing their attention entirely on the young wizard who hadn't even started school. Allen felt an involuntary chill crawl down his spine, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood rigid.
Regaining his composure, Allen managed to speak. "Um… hello. I am a wizard. May I inquire if you understand the language I'm speaking?"
The creatures continued to stare intently, their lack of eyes making their attention feel more piercing.
"Perhaps they don't speak English at all?" Allen realized he had no other option but to slow his movements to avoid provoking a misunderstanding. He slowly, deliberately, pulled out the Fowles Magic Orb he had risked so much to obtain. He wondered if it was his imagination, but the intensity of the lizard-like people's focus on the orb seemed to possess a stinging brightness.
"Greetings, esteemed wizard. Please accept our apologies for this necessary rudeness. It has been a very long time since we have had contact with living human consciousness."
An ancient, dry voice echoed not in the air, but directly inside Allen's mind. It was distinctly alien, carrying the clear, unsettling texture of scales rubbing together, like the rattling flick of a serpent's tail.
Allen turned, as if recognizing the source of the 'voice,' even though he couldn't perceive it with his ears. A lizard-like creature, far more composed than the others, appeared in the rear of the car. It wore a golden crown inlaid with deep red gemstones, and the scales around its mouth had turned a pale blue and seemed to be slowly peeling away. Beside it stood an even shorter creature.
Unlike their brethren who had merged with the seats, these two still retained their lower, leg-like bodies.
"Hello. We are the followers of Fowles, the Goddess of Luck, also known as the Lucky Elves. My name is Foulnis, Chief of our tribe, and this is my grandson and designated heir, Fortel." Foulnis's mouth remained utterly motionless as he gestured towards the shorter figure. Only then did Allen fully grasp that the voice he heard was a complex form of telepathic projection.
"Chief Foulnis, Chief of the… Lucky Elves," Allen began, carefully correcting his terminology.
"Does the outside world now refer to us as 'lizard-bodied people'?" Foulnis's projected voice contained an immense weight of grief and simmering rage. "Who now remembers the genuine help and joy the Lucky Elves once brought to humanity?"
"Chief Foulnis, please forgive my extreme ignorance and rudeness," Allen responded, bowing slightly. He realized he had unintentionally committed a massive offense, though he couldn't reconcile the creatures' horrific appearance with a legacy of 'help and happiness.'
"A long time ago, Fowles, the Goddess of Luck, entered into a profound wager with Eris, the Goddess of Misfortune. Fowles held that human nature was fundamentally good, while Eris maintained that human nature was ultimately evil. They chose a single, virtuous family, favored by Fowles, as the subject of their bet, and Eris won the terrible wager.
Thus, we, Fowles's faithful followers, were condemned to an eternal curse, while Eris's vicious pets were given free rein to rampage across the world without pretense," Foulnis explained, his projected emotions betraying deep disquiet. "However, Fowles left a single divine message: When an individual appears holding her Magic Orb, the salvation of our entire race will come. You must help us fulfill this message and reclaim our salvation."
Foulnis's eyeless head shifted, glancing excitedly towards the magical orb in Allen's hand. Allen understood: the creature possessed a form of sight that transcended physical eyes, perceiving his thoughts and the magical energy of the orb.
Beyond the System Quest, Allen found himself moved, wanting to genuinely aid the victims of this cruel 'Game of the Gods.' "What, precisely, must I do?"
"If you truly wish to save us, you simply need to recite this specific incantation to activate the Magic Orb." Foulnis glided forward silently, appearing instantly in front of Allen, and gently extended a rolled piece of dry parchment.
Allen took the parchment. The unfamiliar symbols and characters on the paper shimmered and shifted, instantly rearranging into a perfectly translated English incantation—though the words themselves held no understandable meaning.
"Chief Foulnis, before I begin, please forgive my final impertinence, but why are you still called the Lucky Elves?"
"That is a fair question, wizard. Aside from being the chosen elves of the Goddess of Luck, our original function was to feed upon the negative emotions that people emit—fear, despair, anger—and, in return, gift them with feelings of happiness and joy,"
Foulnis answered, puffing out his chest with a hint of lost dignity. He then sagged slightly, his voice taking on a sad timbre. "But now, in addition to satisfying our necessary hunger for those negative emotions, we are forced by the curse to do the precise opposite."