"Listen to me, son. I'm awfully sorry that this is how you has to learn this, but you have a twin brother. If you haven't met him yet, you will. He and I have been hiding down here all this time, avoiding Mistress Miranda's watchful eyes. Now, the important thing is this: I want you to listen to everything your brother tells you, no matter how stupid it sounds."

— From the last will of Gloves, father of Shoes

[https://i.imgur.com/lEL3Anu.png]

"Greetings, my lady," Bart spoke from within his cell, but Miranda ignored him. As she walked past the prisoner she wondered why he still hadn't given up on his loyal counselor act. It had already been two months since Bart was imprisoned, but in spite of the horrendous proofs, he kept denying his crimes.

Miranda strode down the row of cells—almost all of them empty—as three guards followed her in silence. Sebas had insisted that they accompany her, in spite of the fact that the slave was chained down securely in the interrogation room. Miranda hadn't argued, though it annoyed her how overly cautious Sebas was. Not even a Krinfused would be strong enough to break free of those chains, and the slave didn't have any weapon that could hurt her. There was practically nothing he could do.

"You two, keep a watch outside," Miranda said, then pointed at the third one. "You're coming in with me."

Not waiting for their answer, Miranda pushed open the interrogation room's door. It was a simple chamber without any furniture, just some chains attached to the wall on one side, and a few tools for interrogation on the other. The slave was sitting in one corner, giving Miranda a friendly wave—a wave? Miranda stared wide-eyed at the remains of the shackles on the floor, while the large man stood up slowly and stretched.

"Guards!" Miranda shrieked, not for the first time today.

The guards crowded into the room, raising their Krinhanced guns. Miranda grabbed her surprise and shock, and fed them to her Krinil. A sizzling yellow powerfield sprang up around her head and torso, covering her vitals.

"Woah, Lady Dawngrove, please calm down!" the slave said, holding up his hands. "I'm not trying to escape!"

"Not very convincing with those broken chains," Miranda hissed, concentrating on strengthening her powerfield. She took all the irritation she felt towards this cocky man, and pushed them into her gem as well. Her powerfield's color began to turn orange, its surface rippling softly. She didn't have any weapon on her, though it wouldn't have helped much in these close quarters anyways.

"Well, you left me here for a long time," the slave replied. "I needed to take a piss, but no one was around to help me out. What would you have had me done, piss my pants?"

With a wordless cry Miranda lunged towards the slave. The man jolted in surprise, but caught Miranda's right wrist just before she could have hit him. Miranda shouted in fury, subconsciously channeling her rage into her gem and strengthening her powerfield. She swung her left arm—attempting to punch the man in the stomach—but he blocked that move as well.

"No, no, none of that this time, please. Let's not wreck this place, shall we? We could— hey, stop with the extra limbs!"

Miranda formed additional arms, each of them ending in sharp claws. She was aware that the emotional effect of her Krinil sent her guards staggering backwards, but she couldn't hold back now. This man was dangerous, and she had to stop him.

"What has gotten into you, woman?! I just want to— ouch! I just want to talk!"

Phantom claws tore at the slave's arms while Miranda did her best to twist her arms free. The slave had an iron grip, though; no matter how much she strengthened her powerfield around her hands, she wasn't able to get away. She began to realize that it was a mistake to take this man head-on without any weapon. She should have just ordered the guards to shoot him with their Krinhanced guns.

"Okay, that's enough," the slave said as Miranda tried to kick his groin. He twisted his leg to block her kick, then yanked her downwards by her arms to knee her in the chest. The impact was enormous; even with her body strengthened by her Krinil, Miranda felt her ribs crack. Her bones reformed a second later, but the slave didn't give Miranda much more time to recover, tossing her towards the other end of the room.

The guards dodged Miranda as she was slammed into the collection of tools, hitting the wall hard. Her cry of pain was drowned out by the guards' gunfire. Her vision was swimming and her head was throbbing, but she did her best to focus on her powerfield. She tried to remember fighting her older brother, many years ago. She had used that memory a couple of times before—it was considerably faded by now—but it would have to suffice. Fighting Bennet had felt very similar to this situation. Miranda had been furious, but also afraid of being outmatched. She immersed herself in the memory, mixed it with her current feelings, and amplified her powerfield as much as she could.

"God damn it, now I'll definitely have to change clothes," Miranda heard the slave's voice as the gunfire stopped. "Lady Dawngrove, I tried not to kill your guards, but I think that bearded one—"

Miranda chose that moment to spring to her feet and tackle the large man. The slave was almost a head taller than her and was incredibly strong, but if he lost his footing, Miranda could—

"Oof!" Miranda gasped as a large fist found its way to her stomach. Her claws tore at the slave's arms and chest, but it wasn't enough to stop him. He grabbed one of Miranda's phantom limbs, then flung her against the wall with contemptuous ease. Miranda groaned at the impact and lashed out with her right arm blindly. The slave grabbed her arm once again, and the next thing Miranda knew was that she was flying towards the ceiling. Her head impacted with the stone ceiling with a loud crack, making her almost black out. Her regeneration saved her, but the fight wasn't over. As she fell down the slave plucked her out of the air by her leg, then smashed her against the wall so hard that she made a dent. Miranda fell to all fours, coughing and groaning in pain as she tried to get her bearings.

"I thought you'd be tougher," the slave said conversationally. "Everybody was saying how powerful you are, so I always tried to be so cautious. I guess I worried for nothing."

Miranda's powerfield was fading, so she channeled her newfound hatred into her gem to strengthen it. She was glad that idiot stopped to talk, because she needed time to sharpen her powerfield around her fingers.

"To be honest," the slave continued, "I don't think I would be able to really hurt you while you have that powerfield up. You heal faster than I can break your bones. So yeah, you are strong. But . . . I dunno. I guess I'm just disappointed because you didn't put up much of a fight."

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"Damn . . . you," Miranda muttered. "Talking to me like—"

"Hmm? Sorry I didn't catch that."

"Just who do you think you are?!" Miranda shrieked, jumping up and swiping her sharpened claws at the slave. The man leaned back just in time to avoid the claws going for his eyes, but Miranda's other hand raked across his chest, leaving four deep gashes on his torso.

Miranda grinned viciously as the large man gasped in pain, but her joy was short-lived. The slave moved lightning fast, grabbing her head with one hand. Miranda was once again too slow to react as the man bashed her head once, twice, three times to the wall behind her. She screamed in agony, clinging to her powerfield desperately.

When the slave released her, she barely managed to stay upright. She watched with dazed eyes as the slave stepped backwards, ripping off the remnants of his blood-soaked shirt. His wounds had already closed up, way faster than they had any right to.

"Not bad," the slave said, looking down at his healed chest. "I haven't been this injured in a long while."

Miranda was failing to keep her powerfield up. Her anger was mixing with shock and fear. The slave didn't even manifest any powerfield, yet he had superior strength and regeneration. There was no way she could beat him like this. Not without any weapons.

"J-Just who the hell are you?" Miranda asked as she sank to her knees. Her powerfield evaporated, but she kept an eye on the slave. She hadn't given up, not yet. She should be able to bring up a quick barrier if necessary. She wouldn't go out without fighting to the bitter end.

The slave, however, didn't attack. He just walked leisurely to the other side of the room and crouched down beside one of the guards.

"Mind if I take his shirt?" he asked, ignoring Miranda's question. "I'm sorry that I killed him, it wasn't my intention. To be fair though, I think you killed the other two. Your aura gave them a heart-attack."

Miranda glanced at the guards lying by the entrance with a sinking feeling in her stomach. She got some of her men pointlessly killed again—however, she couldn't allow herself to be distracted by that now. She tried to put aside her guilt, fixing the slave with an icy glare. The man ignored it, busying himself with unbuttoning the guard's shirt.

"To answer your earlier question, you can call me Bezel. I think I've already told you that."

"I didn't ask for your name, slave. I asked what you are. Are you Krinfused? Why didn't you use your powerfield? How can you be that strong?!"

The man didn't reply immediately, opting to sit down on the floor and put on his new shirt. It was awfully small for him, the thin material stretched tight on his hairy chest.

"Names are important too," the slave finally answered. "But no, I'm not Krinfused. Not like you. I guess I just drank too much milk for breakfast, that's why I'm so strong."

Miranda gritted her teeth. The slave was denying it, but he had to be Krinfused with a powerful Krinil. Maybe he didn't manifest his aura because the emotional effect would kill everyone around him. The question was how Shoes—a bumbling, dimwit slave—could have gained such a power. Did it have anything to do with time travel? Miranda was determined to find that out, but it could wait till later.

"Fine, don't tell me," she said. "So now what? Will you just walk out through the front door, beating up everyone who tries to stop you? What's your plan, slave?"

There was a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. "First of all, stop calling me slave. I am no more a slave than you are. My name is Bezel, and—"

Miranda interrupted him with a snort. "You don't have any right to tell me how to call you. Not when you aren't addressing me properly either. It's Mistress for you, slave."

Miranda sprang to her feet as Bezel stood up abruptly. He took a few steps forward, towering above her. She raised her chin to look squarely in his dark brown eyes, even though deep inside she felt more than a little afraid. If he wanted to hurt her now, she wouldn't be able to summon her powerfield in time.

"I was trying to treat us as equals," he said on a low, menacing tone. "Which is more than you actually deserve. From my perspective, I am the only person who is real. You are the slave here, Lady Dawngrove. The slave of time. Your life means nothing to me. Nothing. Don't make me warn you twice."

Miranda narrowed her eyes. A musclehead like him would not tell her what to do. She wasn't intimidated by Bezel's little speech—in fact, it just filled her with newfound defiance.

"I do what I want, slave."

Bezel's expression tightened, but Miranda didn't flinch. Not even when she saw his hands closing into fists. She straightened her back, and got ready to dodge his imminent punch.

But then Bezel just sighed and shook his head.

"This is going nowhere. I won't achieve anything by threatening you, will I?" He stepped back, looking at Miranda thoughtfully. "I have to find another way to get back at you, Mira."

Miranda was speechless for a second.

"Listen to me, slave," Miranda spoke, barely containing her outrage. "No one is giving me nicknames. Not even my parents—"

"Too late, Mira."

Miranda pushed her emotions into her gemstone without even thinking. The bubbling red powerfield around her skin was as strong as ever, and she lunged at the insolent slave—who then grabbed her by the neck and lifted her up the floor.

"Oh please, not again," Bezel said, rolling his eyes. "You have some serious anger-management issues, woman."

"Damn—you—" Miranda tried to punch his face, but her arms were shorter than his and she couldn't quite reach him.

"Look, I think we got sidetracked," Bezel said, shaking Miranda left and right as she tried to conjure additional limbs. "Didn't you want to talk with me?"

He was right—Miranda had forgotten her original reason for coming here. The slave was right—which angered Miranda even more. There was no way she could stop now, not when he was wearing that smug little smile and she was unable to land a single punch. She began pummeling his arm, but his grip didn't soften.

"Ugh, fine," Bezel suddenly said, letting Miranda go. The next second Miranda was already upon him, striking him with a phantom fist straight in the nose. The rest of her arms followed, punching him repeatedly and pummeling him into the wall.

When Miranda ran out of steam and stopped her assault, Bezel looked up warily. His face was in perfect shape of course, though the same couldn't be said about the wall behind him.

"Are you done now, Mi—"

Miranda punched him in the face one more time, then dismissed her powerfield.

"Alright, we can talk."

Bezel spat blood to the floor and grinned. "Thanks. How kind of you, Mira."

Miranda closed her eyes for a moment, reining in her temper. She had to let all these insults go if she wanted to use this man. Yes, that was her intention originally. She shouldn't have forgotten it in the first place. She would find out more about the time travel, and use this dimwit to gather the Krinil Sculptures. The fact that he was so damn strong was actually a good thing here.

"I decided to help you collect the Krinil Sculptures," Miranda said. "But only with one condition."

"I'm listening."

"I'll help you only if you show me how to travel back in time."

"Oh, really?" Bezel said, raising an eyebrow. "So now you suddenly believe me? All I had to do is to fight you?"

"Of course not," Miranda spat. "I don't believe you. Not fully. But if you bring me back in time, I guess I'll have to accept what you say."

Bezel looked away for a moment, thinking.

"Listen to me, slave," Miranda continued speaking. "I don't know what you think of me, but I'm not an idiot. There is no way I'd help you if time travel was real. There would be no point, because after I gave you the information, you would just go back in time and deny me any benefits. So be assured that no matter what you do, no matter how many times you go back and try to convince me to help, I won't lift a single finger for you. Not unless I can come with you."

"Maybe I'll just go back and avoid mentioning that I come from the future."

"That won't work," Miranda said, and now it was her turn to look smug. "The only reason we're talking is because of the possibility of the time travel."

"Figures," Bezel said with a frown. "Well, I have no idea if that's the truth . . . but I guess it doesn't matter. Spending several hours chained up and fighting you till you calm down isn't something I'd want to do every loop."

"Loop?" Miranda asked, confused.

"Yeah," Bezel said, walking out of the room. "Come, I'll explain it on our way to the chamber. I call it the Static Chamber."

"The Static— Hey, you don't get to order me around! Stop, slave! I said stop!"