Karl watched the two...things, but regardless of how much he looked, he couldn't help but see a certain luster of clarity reside deep in their eyes.

Despite their battered bodies, the two puppets seemed to be in considerably better shape. Their eyes were a tad bit lucid, shining through as if some part of their consciousness was fighting against whatever control Olmer exerted within them.

If I'm not imagining it, then what brought this change? he thought, as he should have, considering that since all his time here, nothing special had happened—well, except for the boy who had died. but other than that and the dream, there was nothing else exceptionally unique. What did that mean?

Karl reined in such thoughts, preferring to stay calm and learn whatever he could from the duo.

And to do that, he had to force the answers from them.

In a timid voice that sent a wave of cringe deep within, he asked, "Sir, what exactly is happening?"

The male puppet stared silently at him with a robotic expression. When he responded, his voice was calm and flat. "Do not concern yourself with that."

Then what should I concern myself with? Karl frowned. "But there was a quake. Is the master okay?" he pressed on.

There was a moment of silence after he uttered those words. Hope bubbled in his heart—hope that the master of the castle would find some use for him. A use that might result in him being unchained from this cage. If that were to happen, then it would be seen as a first step from escaping this castle. At this point, other than killing Olmer for his own desires, karl cared little for whatever mission the Mysteries school of thought was carrying out.

The mission could drown in the sea of souls, and he would still not care for it!

For a few seconds that seemed to stretch into eternity, the male puppet illuimated by the stick torches remained silent, as if it was busy receiving new words to speak. After that time had passed, he finally said, "The Master is alright. Something odd happened, but it was quickly resolved."

"Praise the Master!" Karl shouted, his stomach twisting at the very words that left his lips.

He felt disgusted.

The puppet froze. Oddly, Karl saw a hint of emotion in those flat eyes. it was different from the lucidity which they carried, instead It seemed more like pride, or perhaps joy. Regardless of what it was, there was surely an emotion in them—an emotion that likely reflected the state of their master.

This was good, but he still hated what he had to do to achieve it. It would seem that not always was the path desirable because of the outcome.

Karl didn’t mind humiliating himself if it gained him something; he was willing to do anything for power and his eventual freedom. However, it was different when the one who held him as a slave required him to humiliate himself. And for what reason? So that his captor would feel enough pride to let him go?

This was the tactic of a slave, and Karl was not that. He was no slave, but yet he had to be one. He had endured the slave farms for years with the belief that freedom lay outside its boundaries, but in the end, it was less freedom and more of him being under new management. And here he was, calling his new manger Master.

Very disgusting.

He heaved a breath, feeling the emotion he was violently trying to rein in crack a bit under its restraints. He wondered how long it would be before he could no longer hold himself back; a week? A Day or maybe a couple of hours. Regardless, he was sure it was going to happen. He knew undoubtedly, that he would soon be consumed with so much rage that he could not restrain himself any longer.

It would be similar to his state when he killed Anderson!

He suddenly shuddered.

Why was he afraid?

He reined in his thoughts, which, due to the effects of cognitive ability, took only a few seconds, and then he lowered his head.

"Greet the Master for me."

"He already knows," the puppet said, then glanced at the corpse of the unnamed mutant.

Did he just prove the theory? So indeed, Olmer can hear and see what the other puppets can hear and see. Alright, this is good. This meant everything he had done to now actually was being seen by the Master...It was just a matter of time before he would be set free.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

What would his mental state be then?

The male puppet took steady steps toward the dead boy. He handed his red burning torch to the female puppet, then leaned down, grabbing the boy by the arm and placing him over his shoulder.

With that, the two began walking out of the cage, locking it with a clanging sound behind them. The light started to dim with their every retreating step, but before they disappeared, the female puppet stopped and glanced at Karl. She then slid past the walls, vanishing.

What was that? Karl thought, then shrugged. In most certainty, it was likely Olmer getting a good look at him—which was good. The more he intrigued the master, the more chance he had of being freed from these chains before he lost all his energy and ended up a shriveled corpse. On the other hand, their was also the possibility that the female puppet was lucid enough to do that.

It wouldn't be that, right?

With them gone, the darkness once again swallowed everything, but this time, there was nobody he could share it with.

The silence, which before this solitude castle was a place he would relax in, was now an errie environment.

Too much of everything was not good at all.

Karl spent the next few days in silence, or at least it seemed that way, after all, he had no true way of actually knowing the time. Nonetheless, since his throat now had a glass shard in it, the puppet did not need to come to give him food. Instead, like clockwork, every day, he would feel the warm or cold bland bone soup wash down his throat. It was a strange feeling as if an external pipe was connected to his throat, feeding him without an external hand.

He made sure not to cough during the process, lest he risk dying by choking. That would not be a good end. Other than that, nothing of importance happened throughout. There was only him, the silence, and the darkness, which now was beginning to take shape according to the whims of his imagination.

And it didn’t help that his imagination was now quite active, worsened by the fact he was in a place that greatly overlapped with the Astra, a realm saturated by invisible deadly monstrosities like the balloon creature. An artist would have long gone mad in this darkness.

Karl remained motionless through the ordeal, mostly to save his strength. He pondered many things—from the nature of Sanguines, the Astra, and his promise to his friend.

It was strange how he hadn't heard his friend's voice for a while. Why was that? Did it mean he was abandoning the one friend who had protected him with his own life? The one person who perhaps never wanted to control him in any way? What did that make him? A traitor?

He frowned but remained silent. If he was no traitor, after all, he had not once forgotten about his promise.

At some point in the darkness, Karl began to see a strange silhouette moving within it. Did someone come? Who? One of the faction members?

His mind raced with various thoughts, but soon the figure expanded, becoming more visible. How was that possible? He was still in the dark. So how was he even seeing that?

But it was. Currently, before him, the figure seemed ostracized from the rest of the darkness, as if its own body was glowing with a subtle bluish light, like some pale ghost, thus pushing away the darkness from its body.

Karl's eyes widened as he recognized the person before him.

The person—a man—had striking dark red hair and sharp black eyes that held a menacing, intense expression. The man was naked, his body charred black as if it had been subjected to intense heat.

But that was not what terrified Karl; it was the fact that the man—Anderson—was holding his head in his arms, while his headless neck spewed fountains of red warm blood.

Karl nearly flinched at the blood but could not because of the chain. It rained down on his face, legs, and arms, drenching him in the metallic-scented blood. He was being bathed in it. Washed by it.

"Hey Kid," A hoarse strained voice sounded from the corpse. "Killing me made you the new boss, right?"

Karl did not respond—still stunned by what was happening. This couldn't be real. This person was dead, so why was he alive? Was everyone he killed like this? Did he turn into a ghost of sorts?

"Can't you answer kid?" The headless naked man drew closer, his steps silent in the dark-covered room. "I just want to know whether you later became the boss, and also how in the black did you even kill me?"

Karl quickly closed his eyes, tightening them shut. He was sure what he was seeing was a figment of his imagination. His madness that was slowly cracking out from the suppression he was holding in. But it did not matter, he was not ready to surrender to the madness yet. And so, he did what he did best...He reined in his emotions, thoughts, everything.

They were not real. They were dead! And nothing comes back after death!

This he echoed to himself

He heaved a couple more breaths, and slowly opened his eyes.

What met him was the silence and darkness.

This won't break me.

But despite what he said, he knew it was but a matter of time. Soon, no amount of resistance he could muster would be able to stop it. Maybe, if he was not sealed, he could attempt to do so with the help of the cognitive, but now, that the power was not functioning at the usual levels, he was mostly left to hold back the tides using his own will...alone.

I need to escape from here...From these chains.

But how?

----------------------------------------

Jean opened her eyes to a blurry golden thing hanging high above the gray ceiling. She blinked a couple of times, settling her eyes from its blurred state. With that, she could now clearly see the golden thing; it was a chandelier.

Soon after that, the sweet scent of flowers—though toxic yet pleasurable—filled her nostrils. She yawned, feeling the ache in her bones and the pain of previous injuries had greatly subsided. Her back wasn't hurting as much as it was before.

Giving pleasure always made her feel better.

But where am I?

The last thing she remembered was bedding a beggar after she had been slashed by a guard from the… Ventures.

Klaus.

She recalled his gorgeous face as he was violently afflicted by the illness. Would he survive? Likely, yes. He was a member of the Ventures. While they weren’t at the level of the Twelve Great Houses ruled by the Twelve High Lords, they were not far from them in power. As such, she doubted her poison would have actually killed him. At best, he would be bedridden for a few days—maybe weeks.

What would he think now?

Perhaps because of the way she met him, or the aura he exuded, a part of Jean was pleased with the idea of him surviving. True, he was a Venture, but he hadn’t met her knowingly and likely didn’t even know who she was. This meant that, in her quest for revenge, Klaus would at best be collateral damage.

But was he a collateral that she wanted?