As I lay on the ground, the weight of the situation pressed down on me both physically and mentally. It was a grim reminder of the vast chasm that separated us from Fritz, someone whose power we could barely comprehend with the help of the stolen artifact, The Hand of God.

Darius, despite his resolve and sheer might, was no exception to this pressure too. He struggled, his face contorting with every effort as he attempted to bring the Shattered Sight artifact into play. But it was as if the very air had become impenetrable and thick, resisting his every effort.

Fritz Haand's laughter continued, a mocking symphony that underscored our powerlessness.

“Bahahahaha!” Fritz cackled with his hand over his face.

He stood there trembling, his figure slightly obscured by the theatre lights, an embodiment of madness and malevolence.

"Oh, how the mighty have fallen," Fritz sneered, his voice a chilling echo in the theatre. He continued to relish in his newfound power, his gaze shifting from one helpless figure to another. “To think the mighty Darius Black could be subdued with a measly glove. Did you really think you could stand against me?"

Darius, despite the impossible pressure bearing down on him, managed to lift his head slightly, his eyes burning with defiance. He tried to respond, but his voice came out as a strained whisper, barely audible amidst the oppressive force that held us down.

Fritz's laughter intensified, a cruel crescendo that filled the theatre. He seemed to revel in our suffering, his eyes gleaming with manic glee.

"Pathetic," he spat out the word, his tone dripping with disdain.

Fritz, seemingly undeterred by our collective desperation, began to descend from the stage. He moved with a grotesque grace while whistling, his steps a macabre dance that mirrored the madness that consumed him.

He frolicked over to the seating area where we lay, struggling and unmoving, our bodies pinned to the floor. His long shadow loomed over us, casting a long, twisted silhouette that seemed to stretch and contort with his malevolent intent.

"Oh, how utterly delightful," he mused, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

The weight of humiliation and powerlessness pressed on me, fueling a deep sense of irritation that I had never felt before. It wasn't just my own humiliation, it was the shared humiliation of my team. The fact I wasn’t letting anybody down anymore. We were all on equal ground now, brought low by the same overwhelming force.

Fritz finally waltzed over to me, bending down to take a good long look at my desperate face. "Here. Right beneath my heel, that's where you belong," Fritz taunted, his voice a twisted symphony of malevolence.

As his words washed over me, I refused to yield to the despair that threatened to consume me. My fingers brushed against the comforting weight of the pocket watch in my jacket pocket, its surface growing warmer with each passing second.

In the midst of the darkness that threatened to engulf me, a glimmer of determination began to well up from the depths of my soul.

I closed my eyes, blocking out the oppressive reality that surrounded me. I focused on my will and spirit, drawing upon them as if drawing from a hidden reservoir of strength. The same sensation and concentration when activating my fractured ability.

And then, in a single, pivotal moment, I opened my eyes.

The world around me had transformed. I was no longer within the confines of the decrepit theatre, nor was I in the embrace of Fritz Haand's malevolent power.

Instead, I found myself lying on a vast, ethereal plane that stretched out before me for an unfathomable distance. An endless landscape of imaginary, ethereal matter, like a canvas painted by the most abstract of dreams.

Fritz Haand, who had moments ago been the embodiment of our despair, now stood before me with a look of utter confusion. He faltered, taking a step back as if the very ground beneath him had turned treacherous.

As I rose to my feet, the weight that had once pressed down upon me, the crushing force of The Hand of God, was gone. I felt lighter, as if I had been unburdened by an immense weight.

The landscape I now beheld was familiar, a vision that had haunted my dreams just days ago. Before me stretched a sea of colossal interlocking cogs, their surfaces gleaming with an otherworldly luminescence. They turned and rotated, creating the enigmatic and illusory world of gears, an intricate and mesmerizing tapestry of ethereal machinery.

I didn't know how I had been transported to this surreal realm, nor did I fully understand the extent of it. But at this moment, standing on the precipice of an encounter with the enemy, I couldn't find it in myself to care. All that mattered was stopping Fritz.

"You," Fritz hissed, his voice laced with frustration. "What have you done?"

I took a cautious step forward, testing the boundaries of this illusory world. It was unlike anything I had ever encountered, and I had no knowledge of how it operated. But Fritz didn’t know that. That was my advantage.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

"You're not the only one with tricks up their sleeve," I replied, my voice steady despite the uncertainty that gnawed at the edges of my mind.

Fritz clenched his gloved hand, the The Hand of God artifact still embedded around his palm. With a focused gaze, he directed his power toward me, attempting to exert his influence over the surreal world we now inhabited.

But it was as if the very fabric of this place resisted his command. The gears, those colossal ethereal cogs that dominated the landscape, seemed to turn in my favour. The force that he had once exerted fell flat and was utterly powerless. As if the illusory world was denying its existence.

A twisted smile curled on my lips as I began clambering towards Fritz. He attempted to retreat, to summon the power of The Hand of God once more, but it remained ineffective.

“What the fuck, why won’t it work?” Shouted Fritz helplessly.

He took multiple steps back, but I continued to move closer and closer.

As I closed the distance between us, Fritz's desperation grew palpable. His once-confident demeanour had crumbled, replaced by a frantic realization that his power was ineffective in this strange and surreal realm.

"You don't understand," he hissed, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and fury. "I can give you power, Elias. The same power I've obtained. You could be so much more than what you are now."

His words hung in the air, a desperate plea laden with a sinister undertone. But I didn't falter. I couldn't. Fritz had done unspeakable things, and the thought of becoming like him filled me with revulsion.

The ethereal world of gears continued to defy Fritz's attempts to command it, each step he took backward met with an opposing force that propelled him toward me.

As we closed the distance between us, Fritz let out a guttural growl of frustration. He lunged toward me with a sudden burst of speed, his gloved hand extended to strike.

I ducked to the side, narrowly avoiding his strike, but the force of his movement sent me stumbling. With a swift and fluid motion, Fritz pivoted, his leg sweeping toward me in a low kick.

I managed to leap over his leg, but the relentless momentum of his attack couldn't be denied. As I landed, I felt a powerful blow strike my side. It was like being struck by a battering ram, and I could feel the sheer force of Fritz's fist.

Pain erupted through my body as I was sent sprawling to the ground. The impact sent shockwaves through my senses, and I struggled to regain my footing.

Fritz, his face twisting into a sadistic grin, chuckled. It was clear that in this contest of raw power, he held the upper hand. His movements were fluid, his strikes precise, and I could see the unhinged determination in his eye, a reflection of the madness that had consumed him.

I tried to rise, but my limbs felt heavy, my body battered just from that one strike. It was a stark reminder of the vast difference in strength between us, a chasm that seemed impossible to bridge.

With a final, brutal blow, Fritz's gloved fist struck true, connecting with my abdomen. The impact sent a searing wave of pain through me, and I gasped for breath. I crumpled to the ground, my vision swimming.

Fritz leaned down, his face inches from mine. "You don't understand, do you, Elias? This artifact, The Hand of God, it's more than just a weapon. It's a life. It belonged to a powerful arcanist known as Valliant Force."

I struggled to catch my breath, my mind reeling from the sudden revelation. "A life?"

Fritz's lips twisted into a manic grin on his face. "They were an arcanist with a singularity, Elias. They wielded power beyond imagination. But even they met their demise in the end."

Fritz paced around. "I'm looking for an artifact. An even more powerful artifact. The one that took down Valliant Force."

"Why are you telling me this?" I managed to choke out, confusion and disbelief swirling within me.

Fritz's eye bore into mine, and he whispered, "Because, Elias, it doesn't matter what I tell you. The wheels have already been set into motion. The power of the Rose has already risen."

And then, in a final act of cruelty, Fritz Haand lifted his foot and delivered a merciless kick to my face. Pain erupted in my head as I was knocked back, my vision blurring once more.

"And I will be the one to let it continue blooming," Fritz declared with a chilling finality.

With exhaustion taking hold of me, I collapsed onto my stomach. The illusory world of gears and matter slowly dissipated, as if it never existed in the first place, leaving the familiar and decaying theatre in my view.

Fritz took a swift turn and paced back towards the stage slowly. "I'm impressed you lasted this long, but it's clear that your resolve is no match for mine."

Fritz's voice was triumphant as he spoke, his words echoing through the theatre.

But just as he was about to continue, something unexpected happened. Out of nowhere, a mighty fist struck him squarely in the side of his face. The force of the blow was immense, sending him hurtling through the air and crashing into a row of seats with a resounding thud.

I turned my gaze to the person who had thrown that devastating punch. It was Darius, his expression a mask of determination.

“Fritz, I think we’re done here,” Darius said with a commanding presence.

Fritz, still reeling from the unexpected blow, struggled to push himself up. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. "You dare," he hissed, his voice a venomous snarl.

“Missing something?” With a smirk, Darius held up the black silk glove that Fritz was once wearing, The Hand of God.

The sight of the black silk glove in Darius's hand seemed to further enrage Fritz. He glared at it with a mixture of fury and frustration. But as Fritz attempted to rise to his feet, he suddenly looked startled. His one visible eye widened in surprise as he scanned the theatre, his gaze flicking from one member of the Huntsmen to another.

We had clambered to our feet, each of us standing resolute. Fleur, Lucas, Mar, Jo, Jean, and I. Our expressions fierce and unwavering. Even in the face of Fritz's power and madness, we refused to back down.

And then, something strange happened. I felt as though the distance between Fritz and us was shifting, stretching and elongating, as if the very space between us was slightly warped. My head started throbbing with a dull ache.

I watched in astonishment as Fritz's figure began to waver, his form becoming ethereal and insubstantial. He seemed to fade away before our eyes, vanishing into thin air like a wisp of smoke in the wind.