Vin panted, pressing her hand against her chest in an attempt to calm her frantic heartbeat. She glanced at the composed Invigilator who stood over the corpse of the maw.
The dead man’s eyes, once dark, were now hollowed and replaced by gaping black wounds that leaked dark, viscous blood. His nose and mouth shared the same fate, and his body had withered, clinging tightly to his bones as though stripped of all flesh.
What in the Black happened? Vin’s back slid down the wall, her knees drawn up. She lowered her gaze to the dark stone floor, tracing its cubic joints. How did he even die? Suicide? Maybe, but how? He wasn’t a sanguine, and even if he were, what kind of power kills its own user?
She turned her attention to the Invigilator. He appeared disturbingly calm, as though this were something familiar. She watched him for a moment but soon grew impatient. Rising, she placed her hands on her thighs and asked, “What happened?”
The Invigilator turned, his pale eyes glinting with an almost purifying intensity. “He died.”
Well, brilliant. I thought I’d missed it. Vin forced a smirk. “I can see that, but how did he die?” She paused, then added, “You don’t seem surprised. If anything, you seem...aware.”
“And how do you determine that?” the Invigilator asked, his tone neutral.
Vin thought for a moment. “For one, you covered my ears and blocked my sight, meaning there was something I shouldn’t hear or see.”
“Now that you understand, why are you still curious?” he replied.
The room seemed to brighten slightly.
Vin nodded in understanding. Something is definitely happening with the Maw.
A thrill rose within her.
The whole situation smelled of excitement and adventure.
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Dunn sat cautiously in the high-backed stone chair. Across from him sat the knight in golden armor, who had yet to remove a single piece of his armor since his arrival in the dominion. Doesn’t he ever get hot in that? Dunn wondered.
He knew he would.
Standing beside the knight was the revered Scribed Maiden, her head lowered, still shrouded by a golden hood. Despite the weakness that washed over him every time he glanced at her, he couldn’t resist looking. Beyond their roles, the maidens possessed an almost irresistible beauty.
The grace of God dwelled within them.
Silence grew heavier with each passing second. Dunn considered speaking first to break the tension, but doing so would imply an authority over the silent knight. So he held back and waited.
Fortunately, the wait was short.
“You trained yourself in sun-breathing?” the knight’s voice boomed, giving Dunn the impression that the very walls of his sanctum trembled. Dunn imagined that if the knight ever shouted, no walls would remain standing.
“No,” Dunn replied. “I don’t know anything about sun-breathing; I was merely imitating something I’d seen others do.”
“I see,” the knight said. “Quite a talent you have. To master by accident what takes others years to achieve.”
Dunn flushed at the compliment. “Mastery is a bit of an exaggeration. By the Warrior God, I’m still just an adept.”
“Nevertheless, you will soon become the truest version of yourself,” the knight said, his golden armor radiating an intense energy. Dunn found himself wondering: Could mana be golden?
He quickly refocused. No room for distractions in front of the knight. Should I ask why he summoned me?
The knight placed his plated hands on the table between them, causing it to groan under the weight. “In a few hours, we’ll depart on the rescue mission, but before we go, I have something to share.”
The true nature of the rescue. Dunn’s attention sharpened. He couldn’t afford any distraction now.
The knight continued, “I suppose some of you, if not many, have wondered about the mission’s purpose.”
Surely.
“In truth, I am here to retrieve something from these lands.”
“What?” Dunn blurted out. Shattered heavens! May my mouth fall silent.
The knight looked at him—or it felt that way. “My true purpose is to bring back a Shard Armor of the Giants—by the Sovereign’s command.”
Dunn nearly frowned. Lies!
He simply nodded
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Time had lost all meaning—or at least, it felt that way to him.
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He was left alone with his thoughts, which, due to the solitude, were growing increasingly frantic. He started seeing things that weren't there. He saw the beastmen who had died in the shed, the eternally smiling Astrid, the vengeful Anderson, the bewildered female Newman, and even the proud Accountant. They all appeared before him.
They gathered around him like moths to a flame—some approaching close enough to whisper angry voices filled with pain and regret. Astrid, with her unwavering smile, stood opposite him, her eyes full of silent judgment. Why had he given them hope, only to abandon them?
Then there was Anderson, his face hardened with rage. He kept asking how he had died—a question Karl could not answer, or rather, did not want to answer.
The apparitions were unsettling, their presence maddening as they wandered around the cage, drawing close to whisper and then fading away. He had thought he felt nothing for their deaths, but it turned out he was wrong.
A muted feeling? Karl mocked himself inwardly.
How much longer? How long before he crumbled entirely? He had stopped responding to the apparitions—not even trying to dispel them. He’d attempted that countless times, but each time they reappeared.
Only one way remained to rid himself of them: escape these chains. At least, with the full power of his mind, he might be able to silence such thoughts for good.
Yet since their last visit, the puppets had been scarce. Instead, they kept him alive by routinely filling his stomach with bland soup. He had to escape.
"Forget everything else. Just focus on what you must do," a voice echoed in his mind.
It was not one of the apparitions. No, it was his friend, returning once more to guide him through the darkness. Recently, he had started hearing him, but what could he do? He lacked the strength, the power. How could he free himself and focus on what needed to be done?
"Take whatever steps you must for freedom—no matter the pain," the voice urged.
Karl remained silent for a moment, then gritted his teeth.
The chains felt tight, unyielding, unbreakable. There was no way to escape them…
At least not in the conventional way.
Anything for freedom...to survive. Karl clenched his jaw and pulled.
He began tugging at the chains. Summoning the last remnants of his strength, he pulled. The blue glow from the chains seemed to brighten, and with each surge of light, he felt his strength wane.
Soon, his wrists throbbed with pain, but he didn’t stop.
He kept pulling at the chains...Of course, he knew it was futile to break them. That wasn’t his goal.
He groaned but kept pulling.
Now, the apparitions drew close, watching like an audience, eager for a spectacle. Astrid wore her smile, Anderson remained wrathful, and the others observed with varied expressions. The Accountant, ever prideful, looked at him with a scornful sneer.
But Karl was undeterred. He pulled and pulled, his wrists burning with intense pain. His bones tightened under the force. It was as if they were on the verge of snapping, ready to tear from his arms.
That was what he wanted.
Since he couldn’t break the chains or gather strength, only one option remained: if the chains were meant to restrain his arms, then let them. This world was filled with powers of all kinds, and somewhere, there existed healers who could repair almost anything—the sanitarium. With them, perhaps he wouldn’t have to live without an arm. But even if not, it was better than living as a slave to a master…to Olmer.
He kept pulling. The pain intensified beyond anything he’d endured, yet he screamed and pulled harder. If a puppet heard his screams and came, then Karl would ensure his freedom was within reach.
Warm blood began to trickle down his wrist, sliding into his armpits before dripping. He wanted to stop, to return to the silence and peace. But he couldn’t. Freedom wasn’t a painless path, devoid of suffering—instead, it was marked by it. He understood what he needed to escape.
He needed pain.
To hell with trying to please Olmer for freedom. That was the tactic of a slave, and Karl was no longer a slave. He once had been, but no more.
"Do what you must!" the voice boomed, and Karl obeyed.
He pulled, feeling the top of his wrist grow numb.
Then, perhaps a pain-induced hallucination, Karl saw a glow spread through the room.
Soon, a puppet rushed in. The figure held a torch and froze when his vacant eyes found Karl.
But Karl didn’t stop. He kept pulling.
The puppet quickly produced a key, inserting it into the lock. The door opened, and he entered.
Just as his eyes found Karl, a bright blue light flared from the chains—sapping another part of his strength.
You think that’ll stop me? Karl screamed in agony but pulled harder. If anything, the thrill of pain made him feel stronger, and the sensation had dulled considerably.
He would be free soon!
The puppet moved closer, seemingly realizing the draining light was no longer enough to subdue him.
The figure’s footsteps echoed through the cage.
Come closer!
Karl kept pulling
The puppet stepped closer, his blank eyes fixed on Karl with an odd expression of confusion. Why was he confused? Or rather, why was Olmer confused? Did he really believe his prisoner favored him? Since when had a slave ever been content with bondage?
Just come closer! Karl’s vision began to blur as lightheadedness crept in from blood loss.
Come closer, damn it!
The puppet gradually drew nearer, his vacant face now betraying hints of sadness, pity, and bewilderment.
Yes, let it overwhelm you! Karl kept pulling. By now, he was certain his wrist was shattered, but even that pain would be worth it if it meant escape.
The puppet finally approached, stopping just inches away.
“Why are you doing this to yourself?” the puppet asked calmly. “You could have joined me to serve God.”
Karl grinned. “Not today.”
Without hesitation, he lunged forward, sinking his teeth into the puppet’s neck. He bit down hard, pressing his teeth into the flesh. The puppet, realizing what was happening, began pounding Karl’s stomach, but the blows did little to deter him.
I’ve endured destroying my own wrist; you think this will stop me? His teeth tore through the puppet’s skin, and blood filled his mouth. He resisted the urge to swallow, gnawing deeper into the flesh and ripping through the neck.
He was like a wild animal, a vampiric beast feeding through the neck, but Karl cared nothing for appearances. He wanted freedom, and this was the price.
Before long, the puppet’s frantic struggles ceased, his arms hanging limply like leaves in the breeze. But Karl held on, clamping his jaws around the weakened flesh keeping the puppet upright. One misstep and the flesh would tear, sending the man falling. If that happened, Karl would lose his only chance at the key he needed.
Taking a shaky breath, Karl considered his predicament. He’d killed the puppet, but another would likely come soon, and he still didn’t have a clear way to escape.
Everything had happened so quickly, and now he found himself gripping a dead man by the neck, wondering how he would manage to retrieve the key from the puppet’s clothing.
Sometimes I wish I had four arms.
Just then, a figure walked into the room. A woman, black-haired with a certain deeply rooted clarity in her eyes.
"You ate him?"
Karl stole a glance at the strange woman. She was familiar, and fortunately, it didn't take long for him to realize where he knew her.
She was one of the two puppets that came to take the boy mutant's body!