A Fantasy Mage in a Cthulhu World

Summer, 1908. London. A fierce wind howled and rain poured down in torrents, the heavy drops hammering the ground of Faraday Baker Street. Shopkeepers on both sides of the street cursed their luck as they hurriedly shut their doors and windows. The owner of The Great Vic Restaurant stared at the storm outside and sighed heavily; there would be no more customers today. He gave a meaningful glance to the buxom waitress, signaling for her to close the door, then surveyed the empty dining room and sighed again. With a loud crash, the restaurant door was thrown open. A drenched Jonathan Napier burst in with the wind and rain. He strode past the waitress and sat down directly at the best table in the center of the room. Seeing the owner and waitress still standing there stunned, Jonathan impatiently rapped the table. "I'd like to order". The waitress glared at the muddy footprints on the floor, then at Jonathan. His soaked clothes couldn't hide the violently torn collar, revealing the lines of his chest muscles. The rain-plastered short hair didn't conceal the cuts on his face, but it didn't detract from his resolute features. This handsome young man looked like trouble. She took two sharp breaths, then swayed her massive hips over to Jonathan's table and handed him a menu without a word. "Meat pie with cream sauce, ham and eggs, a cup of coffee, a fruit dessert, a large steak with all the trimmings, and smother it in gravy." Jonathan didn't even glance at the menu; he had long ago decided what his last meal on earth would be. "That will cost quite a bit," the waitress said, looking at Jonathan's attire, then hesitantly toward her boss. "I know. And a large glass of iced beer," Jonathan added. As the waitress turned away, a bitter smile crossed his lips. Just three days ago, he was a good twenty-first-century corporate drone. His only hobby was eating good food, and his only dream was to earn enough money to eat his way across the country like a famous blogger. Unfortunately, the corporate world churned through its drones too quickly. At thirty, he lost the "blessing" of a 996 work schedule. On his way back to his hometown, he struck it lucky (with a car) and woke up in the last century, in London. The body he’d transmigrated into belonged to a young man named Jonathan Napier. Originally a minor member of a noble family, he was drawn in by the detective novels popular in London and became a private investigator. Unfortunately, he soon died under mysterious circumstances. The transmigrated Jonathan had no specific memories of the original's death, but he discovered that a Dungeons & Dragons rulebook, the spellbook edition, had come with him. It contained every spell from a world of magic, even the path to godhood and immortality. But his excitement lasted only a moment. He soon found that this world lacked the necessary magic for the codex. Unable to draw power from the outside world, the codex not only refused to open but began to draw on Jonathan's life force as a substitute to sustain itself. If Jonathan couldn't find magic to feed the codex within three days, he would be drained of life and die. On the first day, Jonathan ran to every church in London, but the codex remained inert. On the second day, he visited every psychic and spiritualist he could find, ending up with nothing but an empty wallet. Today was the third day. As time grew short, his actions became more frantic. He even suspected the government might be hoarding magical power and deliberately caused a scene to get himself locked up in the police headquarters. But alas, there wasn't a trace of magic. By the time he was released, it was late at night. The countdown to his death read 00:59:59. Seeking a final sliver of hope in the downpour, Jonathan had found peace. Since death was inevitable, he might as well accept his fate with dignity. Lured by a strange, fragrant aroma, he decided to have one last grand meal before facing the end. The buxom waitress tiptoed to the restaurant owner's side, tugged his sleeve, and gestured with her eyes toward the sole customer. The owner discreetly turned and followed her gaze to Jonathan, who was devouring his food. They began to whisper. "Boss, I told you we shouldn't have served this disheveled, bruised ruffian. Look at him eat! He eats meat like a wolf, vegetables like a pig, and drinks beer like a hippo". "He's already eaten two steaks with the bone in, a meat pie with cream sauce, four ham and eggs, a cup of coffee, two fruit desserts, and three extra-large beers. That's ten shillings and ten pence! Do you really think he can pay?" The waitress anxiously clasped her hands to her chest in prayer, the magnificent sight nearly stopping the owner's heart. "They're huge... Oh, I mean, the portions at our restaurant are quite large. Not many people can eat that much. But since he's already eaten it, we can only try our luck. Don't mind his tough appearance; I'm not afraid of him. I'll go have a word with him in a bit". "There are too many ruffians like him around lately. I'm worried about you. Let me walk you home, sweetheart." The owner puffed out his scrawny chest, trying to reach out and touch the waitress's magnificent assets, but she slapped his hand away. Since transmigrating, Jonathan's senses had become particularly sharp. He could hear every word of their whispering but didn't care. They had been kind enough to serve him, drenched in rain, at such a late hour. A little suspicion was nothing. Looking at his life's countdown—00:29:37—Jonathan gestured for the owner to bring the bill. He planned to die somewhere far away, so as not to trouble the kind man. Rubbing his reddened hand, the owner approached Jonathan's table and stood respectfully. Before he could speak, Jonathan, still scraping the last of the sauce from his plate with a piece of bread, slapped a 1-pound note onto the table. The owner, realizing his whispers had been overheard, gave an embarrassed laugh. He didn't take the money. Instead, he pulled up a chair opposite Jonathan, sat down, and timidly pushed the bill back. Mustering his courage, he said, "Sir, I can see you are a man of imposing bearing, a truly remarkable fellow. This meal can be on me. I just have a small favor to ask". "No, I don't have time to help you." Jonathan, who hated wasting food, continued to meticulously wipe his plate clean with the bread. He figured not dying in the man's restaurant was a big enough favor. "No, no, please hear me out. I'm just a poor businessman. You see, at this late hour, only my restaurant and one other on this street are still open. I don't know what plague has befallen me, but for days now, no customers have come in". "I swear, it must be the work of the owner of that restaurant across the street. Otherwise, why would he even change his business hours to be as late as mine?" The owner's face was pleading. "Please, do me a kindness and help me. If you just teach that owner a lesson so he stops targeting me, I'll not only treat you to this meal but also pay you a reward". Jonathan wiped the sauce from his mouth with the last piece of bread and tossed it into his mouth. Helping the owner would be incredibly simple. All he had to do was leave this restaurant, walk into the one across the street, sit down, and die when the time came. Problem solved. But he had no intention of wasting his final moments on a petty business rivalry. Before the refusal could leave his lips, a loud "Gurgle~~guu~~gugugurgle" sounded from behind him. Jonathan and the owner turned to see the buxom waitress hiding behind the counter, sneaking food from the kitchen. Turning back, Jonathan teased the owner, "Your waitress is starving. How can I believe you'll pay me?". "No, that's not it! I've never skimped on her meals! I make her all sorts of delicious things every day to please her. Really, please believe me. If this continues, my restaurant will go out of business. Please help me. I can pay you a portion of the reward in advance," the owner explained anxiously. "Gurgle~sa~gurgle~ya." The strange gurgling sound came again. The owner, at his wit's end, yelled at the waitress, "Stop hiding and go eat in the kitchen! You're embarrassing me—Aaaah!". Before he could finish, the owner clutched his face and screamed in terror. Jonathan followed his gaze and saw that the waitress's legs had vanished. More accurately, her feet were being sucked up into her body, and miraculously, not a single drop of blood was spilled. The waitress, however, seemed oblivious, continuing to stuff food into her mouth with abandon. Then her lower body disappeared, followed by her torso, until only her two arms were left, relentlessly grabbing food and shoving it into her mouth. The shocking scene left even Jonathan stunned. He watched, frozen, as her hands and head disappeared, leaving only a chewing mouth suspended in the air. Then, it lunged toward them and vanished into a puff of black mist. The CodexMythical Creature Encountered: Formless Spawn (Incomplete Summoning)Minor Sanity Loss ResistedNew Status Acquired: Parasite of the Formless Spawn (A spawn of the Great Old One is now a parasite in your stomach. You will periodically fall into an imperceptible state of hunger. If you cannot satisfy the Formless Spawn's appetite, you will be devoured by it.)Countdown: 04:38:49Death has been delayed. Jonathan was overcome with ecstasy. Without a moment's hesitation, he swung his arm and slapped the restaurant owner hard across the face. "Talk! Tell me everything about the waitress". The slap snapped the owner out of his shock, and he broke down, wailing, "No, no, it wasn't me! I don't know anything! Salia, oh, my Salia, my God!". Jonathan swung his arm again, hitting the other side of the owner's face. "Calm down. Now, you will answer my questions". Countdown: 04:27:11 After a series of miserable cries, Jonathan pushed open the restaurant door and disappeared into the rain.