Brains are working at the limit, but I see no way out. I try to reach for the door handle, but the fingers on my neck tighten, and I hurriedly withdraw my hands. This guy is definitely not one to take risks if something goes wrong. If he even suspects that something might not go according to his plan, I'll be dead. He'd act quickly and without hesitation. Moreover, I suspect that dying now might be the better option. There has to be a reason he's transporting me without drugging me first; its significance remains elusive.

"You're upset, aren't you?" the shapeshifter asks, genuine curiosity evident in his tone.

"Why would I be?"

"You probably thought you were smart, believed you were invincible, and that the Break would always have your back. It must be disappointing to realize how wrong you were."

Is he trying to engage in conversation? Mock me? Well, that's even better; I'll play along.

"Yes, slightly."

"Well, even if you aren't as smart as you thought you are, you certainly have nerves of steel," he remarks. "Now I see why Mr. Redtliff dubbed you 'the kid with the titanium balls.' Your composure is truly commendable... I'm almost envious."

"Or perhaps I'm just incredibly stupid?" I offer.

"Don't push it," he retorts with a grimace. "Stay still; I need to make a call. If you utter a word, I'll shove your own foot in your mouth - the left one, to be specific." I have no doubt he's capable of such a feat. He quickly dials a number on his mobile. "I have the target... What do you mean 'too early'? You insisted earlier was better. It's too late to change now! Yes. Got it... Thirty minutes. Is everything set? Perfect. Oh, and that test drug that dampens a subject's sense of danger? Worked like a charm." He hangs up.

"Trouble with your boss?" I ask with a smirk, while internally analyzing his words. What was that drug he mentioned? Could that be why I was so easily captured? I need to be more vigilant. But Nicholas, so young and naive, shouldn't have revealed that. It only makes me more wary.

"Quite the opposite," he laughs. "You're the final piece in the grand scheme."

Is he about to commit the clichéd error of movie villains and spill all the details? It sure seems that way! And he considers himself intelligent? His youth shows; some wisdom comes only with age.

"The grand scheme?" I question, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Exactly."

"And you, a mere youngster, are privy to all its intricacies? Spare me."

"A youngster, yes, but I am the clan's heir!" He stated it matter-of-factly, without any pride or arrogance.

"And which clan might that be?"

"I am Eshin's heir!" His fingers tightened their grip again. "And you're impressive! I retract my earlier comment about your stupidity." He seemed genuinely pleased with this realization. "You're quite the strategist, on par with my father. I respect that." I inwardly groaned. I'd played my hand too well. "Capturing a worthy opponent like you is far more satisfying than outsmarting a fool."

"If you don't sing praises for yourself, who will?" I retorted.[1]

"Ha! Izao, it's almost a shame. You could've been a great ally. Your intellect, though perhaps a shade below mine, is commendable."

"An ally to a rat? I'll pass."

"If you weren't a raig, you'd never have discovered my lineage," he admitted, a hint of respect in his voice.

"By slaughtering the raigs, you're putting the entire world in jeopardy!"

"That's a bit of an overstatement," he mused. "However, our plan doesn't involve exterminating the Break Knights. Merely... subduing them."

"And how do you plan on achieving that?"

"That's where you come in." He didn't rise to my bait this time. A shame.

"And the assault on BKDW? Was that not an attempt to eliminate the Knights?"

"That's old news. There was a purpose behind it. Four Knights fell, but as you see, Wilflaes still stands, untouched by the Breakthroughs. Besides, I have full faith in Maestro. His bout with a Maker has solidified my trust."

"Interesting," I mused, still grappling with the implications of the revelations.

"Aren't you curious about this grand plan?"

"And you're going to share it with me?"

"Absolutely!" He beamed. "You probably think, 'Here goes the clichéd villain, spilling his grand plan like some comic book trope.' But no, I'm not some caricature. Still, I'll share. Why? It's simple: the deeper your despair when you realize that everything you hold dear is crumbling, the easier it'll be for Annabelle."

"Annabelle?"

"You'll be reacquainted soon. Or rather, to be precise, you'll meet again."

"I'm not familiar with any Annabelle."

"That will be the surprise," he said with a sly grin. "As for the grand plan, those who've pursued us for ages are under the illusion they've triumphed. They believe Eshin's leadership has been decimated and all that remains is to mop up the remnants. The irony! The fact that I'm the clan heir is a testament to their grave miscalculation."

"Maybe."

"That's how it'll be. Eshin will vanish from the public eye soon, but our clan will rise, stronger than ever. Quite ironic, isn't it?"

"I fail to see the humor."

"Of course, you're on the other side of the Plan. You're not a key player, just a pawn. Admittedly, an important one, but your part is done. And no, escape isn't an option. Ponder it, assess your odds, even make an attempt - I won't kill you, but only for the first attempt." He winked, almost in a taunting manner. I wasn't eager to test the truth of his claim. "See? Once again, you've showcased your intellect. You didn't even bat an eyelid. Admirable. I'd love to have your composure." The car continued weaving through the city streets. "But I digress. Shall I go on, or shall we continue in silence?"

"Why not dive deeper into despair? Go on."

"A new professor will join the university faculty this year. Officially, he's a distant relation of the Wolverines. In reality, he's the duke's younger son, a brother so dearly loved that the future duke places unwavering trust in him. This younger sibling is a prodigy, a brilliant scientist and engineer. However, he lacks social acumen. If you show genuine interest in his work and demonstrate intellect, he's yours to manipulate."

"So your mission..."

"Primarily, yes, you've got it - is to bring him under my influence. It's a long game. Three years down the line, he'll turn to me for counsel on every matter. Through him, I'll influence the heir. And in another five years, the heir will meet an untimely demise. Quite the spectacle; it's all mapped out."

"It seems a bit trivial, don't you think? All this scheming just to puppeteer a single ruler? For the grand plan of the Great Clan? I'm underwhelmed."

"Ah, you've got quite the strategic mind. But that's merely the tip of the iceberg. It'll later emerge that I am the old duke's illegitimate child. He did have a discreet affair, which he kept under wraps, so it'll all add up. True, I won't be in the line of succession since my shapeshifting nature remains a secret. But my offspring? It's exceedingly rare for the Beast to manifest after a dormant generation, a once-in-a-century phenomenon. But with no other 'legitimate' heirs, the old duke will seize this chance, or his lineage will end!"

"Really? You expect me to believe they'll place a Rat on Novilter's throne? I might just die of laughter. Thanks for the comedic relief."

"You have a keen sense of observation, but you lack knowledge about this world. My son's spiritual Beast will be a wolverine."

"What?"

"Exactly! It's amusing because everyone believes it's impossible to change a clan's Beast, even the Creators would tell you as much, assuming they bother to answer. It's fortunate that they think this way."

"How is that possible?"

"I'm not bogged down by the specifics, but Annabelle is confident it will work."

"You're basing your entire plan on someone's assurance?"

"Oh, you just don't know Annabelle." His smirk oozed arrogance. "Soon after, the younger brother will meet the same fate as the current heir. The old duke, though he has at least another fifteen years in this world, will acknowledge me and 'his' grandchild. After all, any genetic test will confirm our relation."

"Seriously?"

"Alchemy has its wonders." The young shapeshifter said nonchalantly.

"So your grand plan is to rule Novilter?"

"That's merely the beginning for Eshin." His smile morphed into a predatory grin. "Thanks to you, we'll have power over the raigs! It's not direct control, but when one can extract a Knight from the Break or damage them in the Projection, it opens numerous possibilities. Couple that with the throne of a powerful nation, and my descendants will dominate the globe!"

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

"How amusing..." Should I tell him his entire plan is futile? If Eshin truly exists, the world has just a year left. No, I'll hold back. The sweet irony of watching their nefarious plan crumble from the afterlife will be satisfying.

"Why the laughter?" His confusion was evident.

"Oddly, I don't feel the despair you anticipated."

"You have quite the resilient psyche." He sighed. "No matter. It'll make Annabelle's task with you all the more intriguing."

With that, he went silent. The car descended into an underground parking lot of a hypermarket, paused for a couple of minutes, then re-emerged and headed towards the city's exit.

I wasn't idle during this time. I tried to transition into the Projection state, but failed. Reaching out to the Spark yielded no response. Five minutes later, a grim realization dawned: I was trapped. This forced silence was starting to fray my nerves.

"I doubt they'll just take your word for it and recognize you as the old duke's son." I broke the silence.

"If it was just based on word of mouth, you'd be correct. But sprinkle in some hints, plant some evidence, and the youngest wolverine will unravel the 'truth' on his own. He'll investigate, uncover the evidence, and piece it all together. And then, he'll rejoice in discovering his best friend is also his brother."

"Are you gambling everything on mere chance?"

"Why would we do that?"

"Your entire plan hinges on the belief that your son will inherit the power of the Beast. What if that doesn't come to pass?"

"Ahh! Our clan doesn't produce 'empty' offsprings." He said with a triumphant grin. "This unique boon was granted to us by the Dark Branch centuries ago in exchange for our protection. It was the very foundation of the alliance between Eshin and Lilia."

Damn! This plan certainly can work out. Well, it would have worked out, if not for the impending apocalypse. The thought of the imminent end no longer terrifies me; it's almost a relief. I know it's a bit petty, but I'm holding onto the mood it sets - it's my lifeline. Without it, I'd have succumbed to the shapeshifter's taunts and been lost to utter despair.

Was everything we've done for naught? Did the Creators err in bestowing upon me the First Angel? I recall how Eshin once managed to slay a Creator, showcasing that they know this game better than anyone in the world. In their presence, I'm but an infant, even with memories from my past life in another realm.

The world seems doomed, as I might perish without ever discovering the Door. Should I reveal the truth about the end? They wouldn't believe me. Heck, I'd doubt it too. But then again, I can't even utter a word.

My thoughts spiral, and dizziness sets in. Completely hopeless situations don't exist! Or do they? Right now, I feel trapped in one.

The oppressive silence persists. I muster all my will to endure, fighting the urge to slam my head against the bulletproof glass. Maybe an escape attempt? Yet the fingers clamped around my neck suggest a bleak outcome. If an ordinary person were beside me, I'd risk breaking my wrists to free myself, counting on the Break to heal the damage. But the shapeshifter would certainly outpace me. My only option now is to await a slip-up on their part, praying it'll happen and that I'll seize the opportunity.

The car exited the highway, venturing onto a rural path. Is this my chance?

"Still, you're wrong," I declared.

"About what?" He seemed slightly intrigued.

"I'm not Ungor."

"Resorting to such basic deceit?" The shapeshifter sneered. "But let's entertain the idea that you're telling the truth. What difference does it make? Sure, you're a formidable raig, but your specific identity isn't crucial."

"What if I were Maestro, and all of this is a trap?"

"You should've made your move sooner then. Even if you are Maestro, it's too late now. Here we are! Go ahead, Maestro, make your move. Finish me. It won't alter our plan. Like any solid strategy, we've got a plethora of contingencies. I'm waiting... See, you can't do it. So, you're not Maestro, Izao. To be honest, I wouldn't have initiated any of this if you were him. He's in a different league. My father or Annabelle would've dealt with him if the situation demanded..."

And why am I finding this amusing? Instead of shedding tears, I'm on the verge of breaking out into a fit of laughter, reminiscent of a stallion's neigh. It seems I've hit the end of my tether.

The car pulled up to a sandy clearing.

"We're getting out now," the man said, his tone foreboding. "If you're entertaining any thoughts of escape, let me give you a reality check. This is private land, vast and expansive. Screaming will be fruitless – there's no one around to hear. If you attempt to flee, you'll just exhaust yourself; snipers have every potential route under surveillance. Oh, and these cuffs? You can't slip out of them even if you were to snap your arms - they're built to restrain shapeshifters. But by all means, give it a go. It'll only bring you pain and futility. Also, this entire area is shrouded in Dark Force. Even the Creators can't peer through this veil."

Dark Force? That confirms my suspicion: we hadn't eradicated all the Dark Ones. This implies...

A sigh of relief escapes me. My ability to cloak my aura is intact. I activate it; one can never be too cautious when meeting with followers of the dark arts. Yet, in reality, I'm already as good as dead. My current state is a mere illusion; it's only a matter of time before they reduce me to mere components. Should I resist, prompting him to end me? But what would that achieve? They could still harvest my body for what they need.

We tread along a pristine gravel path, circumnavigating an opulent Victorian mansion, before immersing ourselves in a quaint park. Trying to wriggle away seems pointless. Nicholas, if that's even his real name, keeps a firm grip around my neck throughout.

Deep within the estate, set against the backdrop of an apple orchard, stands a circular stone platform. An intricate floral design is drawn on its surface. But as we approach, I discern that the design isn't merely painted but meticulously carved, creating fine channels throughout. At its very center are metal rings, to which massive chains are welded. My captor leads me towards them.

This is it, the final curtain! In a desperate bid, I attempt to shake him off, but his fingers jab into my solar plexus, sending me crashing to the ground, gasping for air. The pain is so acute that it blinds me momentarily. By the time I regain my composure, gasping desperately for breath, I find myself shackled. The chains bind me securely, and they haven't even bothered removing the handcuffs that sever my connection to the Break. I'm restricted to a seated position on the cold stone, unable to rise, let alone flee. The weighty chains ensure I remain firmly anchored.

It seems my cowardice has brought me to this point. I should have taken my own life back in the car. Now, I'm poised to face the cruel consequences of my hesitation. These intricate patterns on the stone likely serve as channels to drain blood. They intend to drain my life force, allowing it to trace these designs. It's a grim realization: I'll be slaughtered like cattle.

Such a disgraceful end.

"You've figured it out, haven't you?" the little rat inquired, a touch of curiosity in his voice, as he settled into a foldable chair just outside the stone's circle. "It's evident in your eyes. Yes, your blood, flowing across these stones following the lines of the Lilia, holds the power to control the raigs."

Lilia? Upon closer inspection, the design does faintly resemble a lily. I focus on the grooves, trying to distract myself from the engulfing despair.

"I'm proud of you, my son," came another voice.

Lifting my gaze, a middle-aged man takes a seat beside Nicholas. His features are so plain they barely register, except for the slight wrinkles by his eyes, hinting at his sharp intellect.

"All has been done as you instructed, patriarch," Nicholas responds swiftly, rising and bowing deeply.

Patriarch? The leader of their clan? Everyone believed the Eshin leadership had been eradicated. Even Nein and Zanh Kiem were convinced of this, let alone others!

I'm left with a single option: stall. Maybe someone will notice my absence and come searching? Amid the chaos at the university, it's improbable anyone will spot my disappearance, but this slim hope is all I have left. I cling to it.

"Would you be so kind as to introduce me to our 'guest'?" The elder shapeshifter addresses the younger.

"Ungor, you're in the presence of the esteemed Trench, leader of the Great Eshin clan. I'd have you bow, but you're already quite subdued," Nicholas replies, smirking. "Father, in the ordinary world, this raig goes by the name..."

"Izao Vaillant," a melodious female voice interrupts.

From behind the apple trees, a tall, graceful blonde steps forward. A black bandage conceals one of her eyes, adding an alluring edge to her beauty. She looks strangely familiar...

Wait...

I recognized her!

Bitch!

Piece of shit!

So that's who staged the attack!

"Diana..." I hiss, my chains clinking as they strain.

"And I'm equally pleased to see you," Diana Horn retorts, flashing a smile as she takes a seat in the remaining chair. "Ah, the renowned savior of ladies' handbags! What a twist of fate. To think I was so close and never recognized you as a Break Knight. Amusing... But you're mistaken, Izao. Diana Horn is no more and never set foot in Novilter; I am Annabelle."

"What a delightful encounter..." I force a smile, suppressing the urge to lash out at her. "Annabelle..."

Damn it! Alchemy is an even bigger cheat than everyone thinks. Not only can it detect raigs and suppress the aura of shapeshifters, but it also offers the ability to alter one's appearance! How are we supposed to counter such a power? I'm at a loss.

"You seemed like such a courteous young man," she remarks, returning my smile genuinely. But her expression soon hardens as she addresses Trench. "There's a complication."

"What is it?" Trench's demeanor shifts at her words.

"Your son has captured a particularly troublesome raig."

"Oh, have I?" I can't help but smirk, though my comment goes unnoticed.

"He possesses an inconvenient skill. It prevents me from viewing his energy streams," Annabelle reveals.

"Do you need to see them?" Trench inquires.

"Yes. I must align these streams with the Pattern; otherwise, the ritual won't work."

"So, what's the next step?" The elder's tension is palpable, and Nicholas visibly blanches.

"It's an inconvenience," Annabelle concedes, eyeing me. "But not insurmountable. His skill depletes his prana, meaning we simply need to wait until he's drained."

"For how long?"

"I can't say," she admits with a shrug.

"Why not just kill him and find another later?" Nicholas interjects.

"I..." she retorts sharply. "I sacrificed my eye to craft a Break blocker. And since it is a Dark Sacrifice - it's gone for good; no medicine, healing, or alchemy can restore it. I won't risk my other eye and face eternal blindness for another of your capture attempts. Do you understand, fool?"

"Don't address my son in that tone, witch," Trench warns, a hint of menace lacing his otherwise calm voice.

"My apologies, patriarch," Annabelle replies, bowing respectfully.

Their exchange offers a glimmer of hope; my life isn't forfeit yet. But what solace is that, really? I'm tightly bound, and these handcuffs prevent any access to the Break.

"So, Ungor," Trench muses, scrutinizing me.

"No, your son was mistaken," I manage, keeping my voice steady.

"Then who might you be?"

"Maestro." At this point, what have I got to lose?

Laughter erupts from the trio.

"He has a sense of humor, doesn't he?" Trench remarks to Annabelle, still chuckling. "Maestro. How amusing." He meets my gaze again. "You're a poor liar, little Knight. Truly."

So, they find this entertaining? Great.

What should I do? Best them with brute force? Impossible. Outwit them? This isn't some fanciful tale. They're the sharper minds; I can admit that much. Even Nicholas, for all his faults, outmatches me in intellect, and his two seniors, with their vast experience, aren't to be underestimated either. What's left then? Diplomacy? But how can I engage them?

Should I reveal the impending End and attempt to negotiate? It might have been a viable strategy, but the Creator was explicit: "Do not inform anyone of the approaching End of the World." Sure, divulging this secret might buy me some time... But then, the Creators won't sustain the World. Is my life worth that price? No matter how self-centered I might be, the answer is clear: it's not. Even if I escape this predicament, I'm still doomed. Defying the Creator's command would spell disaster for the entire world.

"They'll track you down regardless," I assert, trying to unnerve them, hoping they'll slip up.

"And who might that be?"

"Zanh Kiem, Nein, the heir, or the Steel Eradicator!"

"The Maker, the investigator of the Third Palm, and Lair?" Trench laughs dismissively. "They're old news."

"As for Abel," Annabelle picks up, "I hate to break it to you, but he's always been bested by me." Her smile is genuine; she isn't bluffing. This is bad news.

"All two hundred years?" I press, grasping at straws.

"Ah, so you're aware of that little secret? Impressive!" Annabelle teases, winking at me. "Not two hundred, but a mere one hundred and fifty."

Good heavens! She's that ancient? I'm practically an infant in comparison...

This is the end for sure...

Wait!

A wild idea dawns on me. Not a revelation, but a fleeting, desperate notion that's almost too improbable. Yet, I latch onto it, like a sinking man clings to a floating piece of wreckage. Something Annabelle mentioned... it gives me a glimmer of hope!

[1] TLN: it's a saying which doesn't literally mean that there's no one to praise the shapeshifter; rather, it mocks his lack of modesty.