**Operating Room, Five Hours Later**
**Statue of the Gnome**
**Oluvert, the Chewing Gnome**
“Oh, Great One!” cried the devotee, bowing his head so low that his eyes nearly touched the floor. To look at the statue of his deity while speaking was an unthinkable act of arrogance.
“Speak,” replied the Chewing Gnome, his voice dripping with divine grandeur. “I trust you have good news to share, something to brighten my day…”
“Alas, no, Great One!” The devotee bowed even lower, already bracing himself for the agony he was sure to endure. “Five people have gone missing!”
“What do you mean, ‘missing’?!” Oluvert’s voice rose sharply. “Where could anyone go from *my* domain?!”
“We understand, Great One!” The devotee slammed his forehead against the floor. “Could you… perhaps locate them?”
“Are all of you out of your minds?!” the youthful deity roared, his fury palpable. “Do you even know what I’ll do to them if I find them?!”
“I… I can imagine,” stammered the hulking man—almost a warrior in stature—his muscular frame trembling. He made no effort to hide his fear, for before him loomed a divine being in a fit of rage.
“Are you implying I only have *one* divine power?!” Oluvert snapped, his temper flaring. Deep down, he knew it was true—his repertoire of punishments was embarrassingly limited—but there was no way he’d admit that outright.
“N-not at all,” the devotee stuttered.
“So you’re thinking it now, are you?!” The Chewing Gnome bellowed. “Fine! Who and where?! Speak quickly!”
After receiving a description of the missing followers, Oluvert muttered something unintelligible and began his search. As a deity, it was his duty to care for his own. Fear alone wouldn’t keep his flock together—they had to respect him, too, or they’d scatter.
Yet, no matter how hard Oluvert searched, there was no sign of his missing followers. Nowhere. Not a single trace. He scoured the entire asylum and the catacombs beneath it but found absolutely nothing.
“WHERE?!” the Chewing Gnome roared one final time before ceasing his efforts. He had to concede they were truly gone. But how? How was that even possible?
---
**Catacombs Beneath the Asylum, Fourteen Hours Later**
**Cell of Dmitry D’Vulkanov**
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
**Vulkan**
Returning from my reconnaissance, having explored nearly every corner of the asylum and its sprawling catacombs, I lazily settled beside Dmitry’s sleeping body. Rest would do me good too, but I could hold out until the escape.
Preparations for the breakout were nearly complete. Dmitry had been asleep for almost twenty hours now, and I could see our body steadily recovering and growing stronger.
The cores were slowly but steadily expanding. The central magical column had become broader and more robust. The newly opened energy channels were stabilizing, absorbing mana from the surroundings. Even the body itself showed promising changes—hints of muscle definition had started to appear, which pleased me greatly. Such rapid development shouldn’t have been possible in such a short time, which meant my soul was still influencing the body positively, even with Dmitry’s weakling self sharing the space.
Admittedly, the energy needed to reach this state had been substantial. Nearly everything I had extracted from Marcus and the five guards was already processed and utilized. Part of it went to physical regeneration, but most was devoured by the insatiable focus.
Even the energy from the cursed spirit that had wandered too close was barely a drop in the bucket. Sure, my range of influence grew to fifty meters, and my energy reserves were slightly replenished, but that was it. Useful but insufficient. I wouldn’t mind finding a place where I could devour such spirits in bulk. According to Dmitry’s memories, such opportunities weren’t uncommon in this era.
Our current state was that of a novice Apprentice—more a symbolic designation than a true measure of power. A mage’s level didn’t necessarily reflect their strength, but rather their potential relative to their own capabilities.
In other words, our body was still fragile and weak. The nine dim, fledgling cores barely amounted to the strength of a single fully developed one. Our saving grace was the demonic “boost” from cursed energy and my personal gifts. Despite our recent victory against a numerically superior foe, I didn’t let my guard down, fully aware of our limitations.
While Dmitry slept, I’d learned much about this place. The asylum, though primarily a front, was surprisingly functional. It genuinely catered to patients. Judging by their appearance, manners, and how the staff treated them, these were local elites and other respected members of society.
Treatment here was centered around crystals—expensive, illegal, but incredibly effective. In extreme cases, one could even say it was divinely assisted. Literally. The gnome clearly valued his creation and wasn’t above using a sliver of divine energy in exchange for a hefty sum.
Unfortunately, my influence didn’t extend far enough to survey the entire facility. Even so, based on rough estimates, around 300 people worked here—a fully operational cult.
Of course, not everyone was fully aware of what they were doing or whose orders they followed. The asylum had formal management in place—it wasn’t like the gnome himself was taking calls, negotiating contracts, or arranging deals.
The facility had three main wings.
The **first wing**, the largest and most “affordable,” served as a façade. It operated as a wellness center for wealthy clients who enjoyed flaunting their riches. It also housed the checkpoint leading to the second wing, with minimal security—about five or six guards. I doubted they knew much about what happened in the other wings. They probably just didn’t ask questions.
The **second wing** was dedicated to illegal crystal-based treatments and a well-equipped inpatient facility. Security here was significantly tighter, with guards numbering in the dozens, including mages, though none above Apprentice level.
The **third wing** was undoubtedly the heart of the operation. This was where the most “special” patients were treated—those only the gnome himself could heal, likely for an astronomical price. Security here exceeded a hundred guards, not counting those patrolling the catacombs. It was no surprise so many responded to the explosion near the divine focus. Where did the gnome even find so many people?
As for prisoners, aside from me, there were only twenty across several floors of the catacombs. The guards outnumbered us slightly, though many slacked off at night, sleeping off their drunken revelry.
“Ughh,” Dmitry stirred, groaning as he woke. “That was rough…”
“I get it,” I chuckled. I liked comfort too, more than I cared to admit. “Ready for some fun?”
“Huh?”
“I suggestwe don’t drag out the escape,” I explained. “Here’s the plan…”