The car could nearly break the sound barrier, but tonight it settled into something slower. Something smoother.
Jazz.
3,000 miles of jazz. 50 hours of smooth brass and bass.
A low, buttery saxophone whispered through enchanted speakers as the black 1954 Mercedes 300SL hugged the midnight highway like a shadow stitched to the road. The headlights, rimmed in silver runes, sliced through fog and drizzle but barely registered on any passing vehicles. Not that there were many. This stretch of road—between Boston and nowhere—was just empty enough to be forgotten.
The car, however, was unforgettable.
To the untrained eye, it was just a vintage muscle car—classic curves, matte black paint, custom plate that read: EX0RC15T. Not much else. But if you looked under the hood—figuratively and literally—you'd find a war machine dressed like a gentleman.
Knox hadn't thought much of it when he saw it at the Sotheby's auction in London. But the pull had been immediate. Irresistible. He had to buy it. He didn't even bother shipping it.
"I just apparated it to Boston," he'd once casually said.
Over time, he took it with him on his travels across magical communities around the world—Africa, Australia, Egypt, France, India, Mexico, the Middle East, Spain, the UK, the USA—and everywhere he went, he found someone willing to upgrade it. If not? He nudged them with his compulsion magic until they thought they owed him a favor.
Some wards he added himself. Most came from the kindness—or curiosity—of strangers. The speed ward was his favorite. Gifted by a thrill-seeking Arabic wizard with a death wish and a grin.
Every inch of the car was enchanted: anti-scrying, anti-tracking, anti-Muggle detection, invisibility glamours. A subtle ward made it unnoticeable to No-Majs—a sort of magical "forget-me-not." It ran on something between intent and ambient leyline energy. No fuel. No parts. Self-repairing. Capable of pushing Mach 1 while keeping the interior as calm as a cozy jazz bar.
And best of all?
It played music based on Knox's mood.
Which is why, right now, a smooth Coltrane track rolled through the cabin like an incantation. Peaceful. Mellow. The calm before whatever storm lay 3,000 miles west.
Knox leaned back in the leather seat, one hand on the wheel, the other brushing the tattoo beneath his sleeve that still hadn't stopped pulsing.
"Gluttony," he muttered. "Lit up like a damn Christmas tree, and all I got for it was a nightmare and a cracked mirror."
He sighed and stared at the rain-slick road ahead. Then something shifted.
Words—ghostly and faint—appeared just above the windshield like a magical heads-up display.
[System Sync: Complete.]
Knox blinked. "Oh. We're doing this now?"
He cleared his throat. "Open Interface."
Nothing.
"Access... data matrix?"
Still nothing.
"Engage magical telemetry dashboard?"
The jazz skipped a beat.
Knox narrowed his eyes. "Fine. Activate magic menu. Open sesame. Alohomora. I solemnly swear I'm up to no—"
[Interface Opening...]
He froze. "Oh, piss off."
The windshield shimmered. Four icons bloomed like stained glass: Stats, Skills, Inventory, Quests.
"No tutorial, huh?" Knox muttered. "Figures."
He mentally tapped the first icon.
⬛ [STATS] ⬛
MP: 92
HP: 100
Agility: 7
Endurance: 9
Strength: 9
Wisdom: 15
Intelligence: 19
Luck: 3
Charm: 8
Unsealing Progress: 2%
Note: Excessive use of unknown tattoos may accelerate corruption.
"Guess I'm not dying from leg day anytime soon," Knox muttered. "Still, low luck. Classic."
He flicked his gaze to the next tab.
⬛ [SKILLS] ⬛ (Proficiency: 0–10)
Charms: 9
Transfiguration: 7
Defense Against the Dark Arts: 10
Potions: 6
Herbology: 4
Ancient Runes: 10
Divination: 2
Arithmancy: 5
Wandless Magic: 7
Occlumency / Legilimency: 10
Exorcism & Ritual Magic: 10
Musicianship (Piano/Guitar): 7
Writing & Composition: 6
Business Sense (Investment/Negotiation): 8
Bar Management: 5
Note: Skill growth tied to use, rare books, quests, or memory re-sync.
"Bar Management, huh? You cheeky bastard of a system."
Next tab: Inventory.
⬛ [INVENTORY] ⬛
Capacity: 1,000 cubic meters
Temporal Stasis: Active
Current Inventory: EMPTY
Tip: Focus on an object and mentally issue a 'store' command.
Knox raised an eyebrow. "This can be useful. Right. Let's fill the void."
He reached into the back seat where his duffel sat open. One by one, he touched the contents and focused.
Wand? Stored.
Holy water flask? Stored.
Consecrated bullets in a silver case? Stored.
Slytherin heirloom ring? Stored, reluctantly.
Alfred's "Do Not Drink Unless Dying" whiskey? Stored—with a mental label: emotional emergency only.
Each item blinked out of the physical world and into the space between moments.
"Huh," Knox said. "That... is going to be addictive."
Then he eyed the final tab.
⬛ [QUESTS] ⬛
📜 Active Quest: The Sevenfold Seal
Type: System-Assigned
Summary: You bear a magical binding composed of seven sigils, each corresponding to one of the Deadly Sins. One has activated. Six remain dormant.
Objectives:
Identify and awaken remaining sigils
Survive the side effects
Learn their perks and purpose
Discover their true origin
Progress: 1/7 Unsealed
Known Perk (Gluttony): Enhanced sensory perception, linguistic comprehension
Next Activation: Unknown
Reward:
Next Sigil Unlock
Passive or Active Perk
System Evolution
Note: The tattoos are not just power. They are a key. A lock. A weapon. What they unlock is… unknown.
Knox read it once.
Then again.
And again.
"Seven sins. Seven tattoos. Perks I can't control. Powers I don't understand." He let out a slow breath. "No idea where they came from."
The system pulsed faintly—like it was waiting.
Knox smiled, eyes narrowing. "Sounds like a quest to me."
Another notification blinked in.
📜 Quest Updated: Find John Winchester
Type: Ongoing
Summary: Dean Winchester has requested aid in locating his missing father.
Objectives:
Arrive at Stanford
Assist Dean in investigating the disappearance
Analyze magical traces in the area
Reward:
Favor Debt Cleared (Dean Winchester)
???
Sin Sigil Trigger Chance
Note: Risk level unknown. Magical interference highly likely.
Knox closed the system with a flick of his mind. The HUD faded, leaving only the rain, the music, and the blur of the road.
He leaned forward and tapped the steering rune carved just beneath the dashboard.
The engine shifted with a growl.
Wards engaged.
Speed charms tightened.
The air inside held still as magic coiled beneath the tires.
The car pushed past Mach 0.7.Then Mach 0.8.Then—
Mach 1.
Wind didn't matter. Physics didn't care. The car was warded to make its own path.
Jazz still played. Mellow. Unbothered.
Knox smirked.
"If I'm doing 3,000 miles," he muttered, "I might as well do it before lunch."
And with that, he disappeared into the blur—Westbound, storm-chased, and sigilbound.