Ilya’s grey eyes reflected Emil in them. The latter felt a coldness that reached the essence of his being. It was like the hand of death had gripped his heart.

When he learned of Ilya’s intentions, he reached to grab the token the Night Sage had given him. His fingers rubbed against its surface, feeling the engraving of the magic array. He debated using it.

The Night Sage hadn’t explained how it would work. If he came back, would he have to stay? Or would he have to go back out on his own without the safety measure? He didn’t want to use his emergency line if there was the possibility that he could escape on his own.

Between Ilya and the old man, if he circulated his anima circuit to the maximum… he could slow time for a second and teleport away. His eyes flashed to Ira. There was no way he’d be able to grab her unless he didn’t bother activating his temporal magic.

He hesitated.

If it was just the other mercenaries, he would have been faster in his decisiveness. But knowing was there Ira made him pause. This pause was long enough for him to lose his opportunity.

A hand softly landed on Emil’s shoulder, in the blink of an eye, Ilya had crossed the remaining distance between them. His other hand rested on Ira’s shoulder.

“You’re quite good,” Ilya said to the duo. “But, it’s a pity. Yes, truly, a pity…” He patted their shoulders.

Emil found that he couldn’t move his feet. Something--perhaps Ilya--was holding him firmly in place. The moment Ilya came into contact with him, the voices silenced.

There was an eerie quiet in Emil’s mind. He felt that their presence was still there, but they were watching… no, waiting? Just like he had sensed their anxiety, he now felt their intrigue.

“You two, I like you,” Ilya stated, smiling even broader. All Emil could be reminded of was the illusion he had been cast into. He knew that Ilya’s face was just a mask.

Ira, who did not show signs of fear, asked, “Are you the necromancer?”

“Necromancy? I’ve dabbled in it. I’ve decided it wasn’t much fun from this experience. Maybe I should try again? I will be more careful next time. Yes, I tend to overlook things. He’s scolded me for my capriciousness. It’s not my fault. My mind tends to fly. Oh, yes, the topic. See? Like I told you. Well, the answer would be yes and no. I was just a tagalong. But my associate—the necromancer you speak of—was pestering me. I already killed him after you all entered. He was very annoying.” Ilya gnashed his teeth, momentarily displaying an ugly expression.

Emil didn’t feel any relief knowing the true necromancer had died. Rather, he felt that Ilya was far more dangerous than that and desperately wanted to escape. At least the necromancer had goals that were more predictable, allowing them to form a plan. But against Ilya, Emil just couldn’t comprehend why someone like that was here.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Ilya removed his hands from the pair and let out a sigh. In an aggravated action, he ran his hand through his long, platinum hair. He took off his gloves slowly, neatly folding them and placing them in his pocket. His hands were slender like a pianist’s, but there was a strange tattoo on the back of his hands. Emil did not recognize it, but his gaze was drawn to it. The geometric resembled a magical array, but its structure was off. There were characters, but they were not any language that Emil could recognize. The beings began to whisper again, almost excitedly.

“Yes, I wanted to create a nice song here. The first act had been too quiet, so I had to take the conductor’s spot. But what a shame, ah! I didn’t expect something so marvelous to enter here. No, two marvelous things. It’s rare that I am blind. Yes, yes, very wonderful. I think I’ll let you two be my audience. No, my muse.” The effeminate man tapped his forehead and sighed, as if he was trying to reorganize his thoughts. “I’d like to compose a song in honor of your existence! A short piece. We do not have much time.” The depths of Ilya’s grey eyes began to swirl like a storm and he pulled a conductor’s baton from his sleeve.

The casual action caused Ira’s instinct to kick in. She had been bemused up to this point, trying to organize all the information she was receiving, but then she sensed her blood boil!

She snatched Emil’s arm and darted far away from Ilya, pulling her friend in close as if to protect him. “He’s a monster,” she stated, staring at that simple baton Ilya held. “Out of all my clan, I believe that only my mother is his match.” She lost all intention of fighting against him. Ira liked challenges, but she wouldn’t foolishly rush towards death.

“What are we supposed to do?” Emil hissed back. He was wanting to grab his token, but Ilya seemed to have no intention of harming the pair. Would it be a waste if he used it now? But at the same time, could he risk remaining here?

Ira was about to respond, but a soft voice interrupted them, “Sit… Be quiet and listen.”

Emil felt his body being forced downwards and he landed firmly on a chair that had materialized. Ira did the same. And neither of them could move a finger. Their mouths were firmly shut, but their eyes wildly bolting back and forth conveyed the emotion that couldn’t be seen on their frozen faces.

I am completely powerless.

Emil gazed at Ilya, who had his baton pointed towards them. Thoughts rapidly spun through his mind.

I can’t see any of the anima around him. He’s less than completely ordinary like he doesn’t exist. No. I’m being protected. The Ancient Ones are shielding my vision… right now, I cannot bear to glimpse at his true self. He laughed to himself. It was like how the Night Sage restrained himself and barely circulated anima back when Emil was younger. But even then, he had been able to handle it to a degree. And that had wreaked havoc on his body once it tried to greedibly absorb what it saw.

How much power did Ilya hold? Would I be destroyed? Would there even be a remnant? Who was he? Why was such a being in a place like this?

He couldn’t help but lament. I should have used the token. I was too hesitant. Why? Why did I?

Ilya smiled towards the confused crowd of mercenaries, elegant drawing his baton through the air. The clouds began to churn as the blue turned to night, casting the world in a strange, pinkish light. The sweet scent of evening primroses faintly wafted through the air.

Emil felt his head growing light, as if it was full of air, but at the same time… it was very heavy. His body felt like a weight holding him down. His eyes slid back and forth, a mirage of afterimages following the movements.

A voice that sounded like a lovelorn sigh entered his ears, “Now, let’s begin my requiem…”