Approaching the thick steel door with its small window slit, I pressed my weapon against the upper left corner. Using the blade as a welding tool, I sealed the barracks completely—leaving only the small window untouched. The entire process took less than a minute and was utterly silent. The guards inside continued snoring peacefully, oblivious to the fate that awaited them.

Next, I pulled two handfuls of small black beads from my pockets—something I had meticulously prepared the previous night. Each bead contained a concentrate of caustic smoke, specifically designed for situations like this. It was, perhaps, the pinnacle of what I could achieve with my abilities at the moment.

"Is this it?" asked spectral Dima, hovering nearby with evident curiosity. "Honestly, it doesn’t look all that... dangerous."

"Yeah, this is it," I smirked. "But trust me, looks can be deceiving."

In truth, crafting each of these black beads had taken significant effort. Not quite exhausting, but close. The process itself was straightforward but required me to use three of my gifts simultaneously. First, I generated ash and extracted the caustic smoke. Then, I melted everything into a uniform, compressed mass. Finally, I reconstructed it into neat, hardened spheres.

I shared this process with Dima through memory transfer—partly because he’d need to learn how to do it himself someday, and partly because, let’s face it, if you don’t praise yourself, who will? And I had plenty to be proud of—the results more than justified the effort.

Now all that was left was to lift the beads using ash manipulation and evenly distribute them throughout the barracks. Afterward, I used my now significantly depleted blade to seal the final exit—the window—by creating a solid steel plate in its place.

Of course, since we were underground, the barracks still had some rudimentary ventilation. But the system wasn’t designed to handle anything like this—not by the engineers, nor by the installers.

"Let’s begin!" I snapped my fingers, dissipating the ash. Soft pops echoed behind the door, followed by panicked screams. The caustic smoke returned to its original state, rapidly filling the enclosed space.

Not wanting to traumatize my companion unnecessarily, I chose not to wait for the cleanup to finish. Instead, I headed upstairs. There was unlikely to be anything inside worth salvaging, aside from money.

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"They deserved it," Dima muttered through clenched teeth. Then, in his spectral form, he patted my shoulder. "Thanks again... for everything. Don’t worry about me. I may not have seen much in life and I’m still young, but I’ll handle it! We’ll take them all down and get out of here, Vulkan!"

"Heh," I grinned. "Of course! And you’d better start getting used to this. I don’t know how you lived before, but with me around, you can forget about a peaceful life—at least until I get my body back."

"Yeah, I’ve already figured that out," Dima nodded seriously. "And I’m looking forward to it—becoming someone, making a difference."

Shaking my head, I said nothing. Fortunately, there was no time for sentimentality; we were approaching the first checkpoint. Scouting ahead, I didn’t spot any additional guards nearby, so there was no need for subtlety with the door sentries.

Knocking on the door, I was met with the predictable "Who’s there?" to which I replied with the timeless "It’s me." As one of the guards got up to unlatch the door, Dima slipped into his colleague.

"What d’ya want?" slurred a red-haired brute, his breath reeking of alcohol. His glassy eyes didn’t even register me as a threat—not surprising, given his inebriated state.

We didn’t bother answering his question. Or rather, we did, but not verbally. At my mental signal, Dima grabbed the man from behind, covering his mouth with one hand. I struck his temple with practiced precision, knocking him out—probably for good.

Using the second guard, still under Dima’s control, we tossed the body down the stairs. Then, I knocked out our temporary puppet with a clean blow to the back of the head. This time, Dima managed to leave the body in advance, avoiding the brief flash of phantom pain. All that remained was to close the door and move quickly toward the exit.

The catacombs ended, giving way to familiar grim hospital corridors, designed—intentionally, it seemed—to instill dread. Not "seemed," actually. Knowing the gnome, he probably put extra effort into making them this way to feed off his victims' fear.

Speak of the devil.

Sensing the familiar flare of divine energy, I instinctively pulled Dima back into me before anyone noticed him. Whatever happened, I wasn’t about to reveal the presence of two souls in this body. For now, I was just an unremarkable fugitive. But if the gnome suspected me of being a fellow god or demon, things would escalate quickly.

While not only gods and demons could possess human bodies, such abilities were typically reserved for beings of considerable power. No one would tolerate such a neighbor on their territory. So, reporting my abilities to the local deity was out of the question.

We continued through unfamiliar hallways, relying on memories from previous reconnaissance and gut instinct. Thankfully, it was nighttime, and the complex was nearly empty. Most of the security was stationed around the perimeter.

Even so, after only a few turns, we ran into a bald brute wearing a dark blue uniform identical to mine. Considering the proximity of the gnome, I wanted to avoid a fight. Drawing attention could easily lead to full-scale detection. No matter how dumb this deity might be, they would immediately notice something amiss in their domain.

Moreover, this guard wasn’t someone to be taken out quietly or quickly. A quick analysis revealed he was a proper Master, boasting five powerful cores. Not quite a Warrior, but close enough.

"Hey!" barked the bald man, noticing us. Judging by his voice and gait, he’d downed a significant amount of "fuel." "Why aren’t you at your post?!"

"Sorry," I replied, scratching the back of my head awkwardly. "Didn’t see you coming."

"What did you say?!" The brute approached, tilting his head menacingly. "You’ve got some nerve, huh?" His breath reeked of alcohol as he added, "Where do you think you’re going?"

"Bathroom," I shrugged, holding his gaze. "Overdid it, apparently."

"Hmmm," the guard drawled, clearly someone of "sergeant" rank or similar. "Where are you from, anyway? Don’t think I recognize you, kid."