The stranger’s appearance was like something pulled from the depths of a fever dream. His wiry frame was hunched slightly forward, giving him the air of a predator poised to strike. The coat he wore, patched with mismatched scraps of fabric, seemed more like an afterthought than an article of clothing. It hung off his frame in tattered layers, frayed edges swaying gently in the faint breeze.

But it was his face that demanded attention.

Hollow, sunken cheeks accentuated the sharp lines of his jaw, and his skin was pallid, almost translucent under the dim glow of the plaza’s flickering lights. His grin was wide, unsettlingly so, stretching his thin lips into something more akin to a snarl. His teeth were jagged and uneven, yellowed by time and neglect, and his eyes—Gods, his eyes—were pits of barely contained madness. They gleamed with a feral light, sharp and calculating, like those of a cornered animal deciding whether to flee or fight.

As I sat frozen, I couldn’t help but notice the faint twitch in his left eye, a sporadic, almost imperceptible movement that betrayed a mind on the brink of shattering. His hair, dark and wiry, stood in wild tufts as though electrified, framing his face in a chaotic halo.

The device in his lap was no less unnerving. It was a jumbled mass of wires, gears, and glowing conduits, crudely soldered together but humming with a sinister energy. Sparks danced along its exposed edges, crackling faintly in the oppressive silence. His fingers moved over it with an unsettling familiarity, caressing its surface like a beloved pet.

Amon growled low, the sound a rumble in the back of his throat, his fur bristling as he crouched, ready to pounce. The man’s eyes flicked to the creature, his grin widening impossibly, stretching to a grotesque degree.

“Ah, the beast has teeth,” he said, voice lilting with mock delight. “Good. I like a challenge.”

Every muscle in my body screamed at me to run, to act, to do something. But the weight of his presence—of that impossible grin and the humming device—kept me rooted to the spot. I couldn’t tell if it was fear or fascination. Perhaps both.

A cold wave of fear washed over me, freezing me in place. My hands trembled, fingers brushing against the coarse leather of my bag as I gripped it tightly. The grin on the stranger’s face—it wasn’t just unsettling. It was wrong. Deeply, profoundly wrong.

It struck a chord, pulling me back to a memory I didn’t want to relive. Just a few days ago, I had faced Cedric, his unrelenting gaze filled with a similar, suffocating presence. The way his words coiled around me like invisible chains, squeezing until I could barely breathe. This was the same feeling—a helpless, sinking terror that made my chest ache with every shallow breath.

“Stay calm,” I whispered to myself, the words barely audible over the sound of my pounding heart. Amon’s growl grew louder, a low rumble that matched the tremor in my hand. I clenched my fist, forcing it still, but the effort felt monumental, as though the fear itself had seeped into my bones.

The stranger didn’t move. His grin remained fixed, his eyes locked on mine with that manic intensity. Yet something about his stillness began to feel… off. Too perfect, too unchanging. My breathing slowed as I focused on him, my instincts overriding my panic. I leaned in slightly, trying to read the minute details I had overlooked in my terror.

And then I saw it.

The faint, almost imperceptible sheen of sweat that coated his gaunt skin. Not fresh but dried, cracked at the edges. His chest didn’t rise or fall; his body didn’t twitch, save for that left eye. His skin was too pale, the wrong shade for someone alive.

My fear twisted into something sharper, colder—an edge of realization cutting through the haze.

He was dead.

At that moment I felt a subtle change in the air as the magical energy fluctuated and enters the corpse. At that moment I understood that this was nothing but a....

“A puppet,” I breathed, my voice shaking.

Amon’s growl stopped abruptly, his head snapping toward me with wide, alert eyes. He had realized it too.

This wasn’t the work of just anyone. It was an Arcanist—a skilled manipulator who had repurposed this corpse into a vessel, a grotesque marionette to deliver their message or perhaps their trap.

I sat frozen, fear replaced by a sharp sense of danger. Somewhere nearby, the puppeteer was watching.

A nervous laugh bubbled up in my throat, the absurdity of the situation crashing over me like a wave. “Didn’t know you were on to Cedric,” I said, my voice trembling slightly but managing to carry a thin veneer of calm.

The corpse didn’t respond immediately. Its grin remained frozen for a heartbeat longer, and then, to my mounting unease, it shifted. The edges of its smile faltered, pulling into a small, unnatural frown. The expression lingered for the briefest of moments before snapping back to that grotesque, too-wide grin.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

“Ah, Cedric,” the corpse said, its voice an eerie mimicry of life. Hollow and lilting, but with just enough inflection to feel disturbingly real. “Yes, I dabble here and there. However…” The words were punctuated by a faint crackle of energy from the device in its lap. “Not something I’m great at.”

The cadence of the words, the deliberate pauses—it wasn’t the corpse speaking. It was the Arcanist behind the curtain, pulling the strings, shaping the words to fit their mockery of life.

I let out another strained laugh, more to calm myself than to respond. “Yeah, well, you’re selling yourself short,” I muttered, my fingers brushing against the edge of my bag as I calculated my options. “This whole puppet routine? Pretty convincing. Almost had me fooled.”

The corpse tilted its head slightly, the motion jerky and inhuman, like a marionette being manipulated by an unskilled hand. “Flattery,” it replied, its hollow voice almost playful, “will get you nowhere.”

My heart thudded painfully in my chest, but I kept my breathing steady. Whoever was behind this wasn’t here for idle conversation. They wanted something—and I needed to figure out what that was before they decided to make their next move.

The corpse cocked its head again, the gesture sharp and unnatural. Its wide, unsettling grin didn’t waver as it spoke. “You’re an odd one, Saturn Crowley. A peculiar enigma wrapped in the most mundane of cloaks.”

My breath caught at the mention of my name, my grip tightening on the strap of my bag. Amon bristled, his tail lashing behind him, sensing my tension.

“You’re surprised,” the voice continued, the tone dripping with condescension. “Don’t be. I know plenty about you. More than you might think. But that wasn’t always the case.” The corpse shifted slightly, its bony fingers twitching over the strange device in its lap, sending another small surge of energy crackling through the air.

“For a time, you were... elusive,” it added, almost musing to itself. “Not because you’re particularly clever, mind you. No, no. It’s the opposite, really. You’re... how should I put this?” The corpse’s head tilted as though in thought. “Mundane. Unremarkable. Like a dull star lost in the night sky.”

My jaw clenched, anger bubbling beneath the surface. The corpse—or Cedric, through his grotesque puppet—continued without pause. “Your teammates, though? Oh, they were fun. So much to uncover. The arrogant woman, always eager to leave a trail. The priest, constantly leaving breadcrumbs for anyone with half a brain to follow. But you, Saturn…”

The corpse leaned forward, its grin widening—if that was even possible. “You were difficult. Not because of some great skill at hiding, but because there was so little to find. So little of note. It was almost as if you didn’t matter. A footnote in someone else’s story.”

I swallowed hard, refusing to let the jab sink in. “And yet, here you are,” I said, forcing an edge of defiance into my voice. “Talking to me.”

The corpse laughed—a hollow, tinny sound that echoed unnervingly in the empty plaza. “Oh, yes. Here I am. But that’s more of a testament to my tenacity than your worth, isn’t it?”

I felt a flush of heat rise to my cheeks, but I kept my composure. Cedric wasn’t going to rattle me—not if I could help it.

“Saturn Crowley,” the corpse said, leaning back again. “The eldest of three. Born to an upper-middle-class family of Arcanists. A disappointment, I hear, though I suppose failing the final exam to the Round table Academy of Arcanists will do that to a person.” The words were cruel, precise, and calculated to hit where it hurt most.

“You—” I started, but the corpse raised a bony hand, silencing me.

“Let me finish,” it said with mock courtesy. “You’ve spent the last few years scraping by. A failed student turned… bounty hunter, was it? Oh, and from Earth, yes? Southeast Asia, if I’m not mistaken. Lovely place, though I doubt you’ve seen much of it lately.”

I bit the inside of my cheek hard enough to draw blood, the metallic taste grounding me. Amon growled low, his stance tense as he prepared to strike. The corpse’s grin flickered, almost imperceptibly, but it was enough to remind me—this was a puppet, not the man himself.

“And yet,” Cedric continued, his voice softening, almost mockingly sympathetic, “here you are. The mundane Saturn Crowley, tangled in a game far beyond your station. It’s almost poetic, really.”

I forced a smirk, though it felt hollow. “And yet, here I am, Cedric. I suppose we’re both tangled in games far beyond our stations. But tell me, how does a single son of wealthy parents, Cedric Cale, end up here? Married to Gilgan Marick, blessed with a daughter, only to lose them both?”

The grin on the puppet faltered. Just for a moment—a flicker of hesitation, or perhaps surprise. Then it returned, wider, more unnerving than before. “Ah,” the voice said, soft and sharp like a blade sliding from its sheath. “You’ve been doing your homework, I see. I didn’t think anyone remembered that name.”

“Oh, I remember it,” I pressed, keeping my tone steady even as my heart raced. “Cedric Cale. Born to an average family. Mid-level bureaucrat for a father, doting homemaker for a mother. You followed the script perfectly, didn’t you? The good son with good grades and just enough charisma to be liked but not envied. A steady rise to mediocrity. Nothing remarkable, not even your little family.”

Amon growled softly, pacing behind me, and I could feel his tension mirrored in my own body. But I didn’t stop. “Gilgan Marick, your wife. A daughter whose name is conspicuously absent from every record I could find. What happened, Cedric?” My voice dropped, the question sharp and cutting. “why do all this?"

The corpse stood rigid for a moment, its head cocking sharply to one side. Then, with an almost casual motion, it hurled the device to the ground. The wires and gears inside whirred with a high-pitched keening, and a sickly green light pulsed from its core.

“A bomb!” I shouted, my voice strained with urgency.

Amon growled sharply in acknowledgment, darting toward me just as the connection between Cedric and the corpse severed. The puppet’s body crumpled to the ground, lifeless and still. Cedric’s sinister laughter echoed faintly as it faded, leaving a hollow silence in its wake.

The device’s pulse quickened, the glow intensifying. Without hesitation, I called to Amon. “Now!”

Amon’s form shifted mid-stride, his sleek fur dissolving into tendrils of shadow. In an instant, he enveloped me, forming a dense, protective barrier just as the device detonated.

The explosion was deafening. A wave of force and green energy slammed into the shadowy shield, its power barely contained. Sparks and shrapnel ricocheted off Amon’s protection, but the sheer magnitude of the blast still sent us hurtling backward.

I collided hard with the jagged metal wall of a nearby shop, the impact knocking the wind from my lungs. Amon dissolved from his protective form, reforming beside me as his usual self. His fur bristled, his eyes scanning for danger even as he let out a low, worried whine.

I groaned, pushing myself up with shaking arms. My back throbbed from the impact, and my ears rang from the explosion. “I’m fine,”

I took a moment to catch my breath, the air burning in my lungs as I straightened up with a wince. Amon stood beside me, his sharp gaze flicking from the smoldering remnants of the bomb to the surrounding plaza. His growl rumbled low, a sound that mirrored the frustration bubbling in my chest.

“Damn it,” I muttered, my voice hoarse.