"Shi—!"
One of the men barely squeezed out a curse before the other shoved past him, his voice cutting through the air like a blade.
"We've been compromised!"
No hesitation. No deliberation. Just pure, unfiltered survival.
""Haaa~""
I sighed, even before their bodies moved, I already knew.
""Why does nobody ever listen to me when I say that?""
I muttered tiredly, they were going to futilely try to run, ignoring my very simple to understand warning not to.
Of course, they were. They always end up running...
The moment fear sank its teeth into their bones, the outcome became inevitable. No matter how many times others had failed, no matter how certain their capture was, they still tried. As if their struggle had ever mattered.
((Why do they always run?))
My question wasn't out of frustration, nor arrogance. Just...curiosity.
A mystery I would likely never solve.
The men ran for the uncrowded parts of the building probably hoping to stage their getaway in a place where no one would see.
And then—
*CRRZT!* *zap!*
A flicker of energy.
*Woom!*
A shift in the air. A wrongness in the atmosphere. As if something was about to be broken.
One of the men wasn't just running—he was reaching for something, fingers curling around something hidden beneath his cloak.
""Ho?...""
Immediately, my senses flared.
*Hrrrrrmmmmm...*
A hum. A distortion. The air itself bending in anticipation. A tear in space waiting to be made.
((A Scarlet Chorus patented Tachyonic dagger...typical))
I thought already recognizing what this Mana signature was.
*Shing!*
He drew the blade in one fluid motion.
Obsidian, dark as if it was a shard of the starless night sky, its edges glimmering with an unnatural sharpness. A single crimson ruby sat embedded in its guard, pulsing like a heartbeat. Symbols ran along its length, whispering to those desperate enough to listen.
"I'm not dying today!"
He didn't hesitate.
He raised the dagger high, poised to rend the fabric of space itself. With a single downward stroke, he would carve open a rift—an escape route slipping between dimensions. The technique bore a resemblance to Limbo's [Realm Gate], though in comparison, it was crude, volatile, and leagues away in both precision and control.
((As if...))
As the dagger's edge kissed the air—
*Snap!*
I snapped my fingers, letting out a single, crisp sound...
...An unmaking.
(([Oblivion's embrace]))
The spell took root instantly, sinking into the marrow of reality itself. It did not block, nor counter, nor resist. It simply erased.
*...*
The air, once trembling with arcane potential, stilled. The rift that should have torn open—the wound in space that should have saved him—never came.
The dagger dulled in his grasp. Its whispers silenced. The distortions dimmed into meaningless silence, void of power. The crimson ruby, once thrumming like a desperate heart, became an empty husk.
What once was, now was not.
"Heek-?!"
The man's breath hitched.
A heartbeat of silence stretched between him realizing that his dagger stopped working and him recognizing what I did, thick with suffocating dread. He stared at the dagger in his grasp, fingers tightening, knuckles white, as if sheer willpower could force its lost magic back to life.
But it was gone.
He knew it.
"...No, no, no—!"
A shudder ran through his frame. He nearly dropped the blade, fingers twitching as if the weapon had suddenly turned into molten lead. But he forced himself to hold onto it. As if even a useless dagger was better than empty hands.
Then, his instincts took over. A raw, animalistic survival impulse surged through his body, overriding logic. He turned sharply, the taste of failure bitter on his tongue, and ran.
"Argh!"
"Hey, what gives?"
His companion was already gone, swallowed by the sea of masked guests, vanishing into the chaos. Now he followed, pushing through the crowd—not wildly, not mindlessly, but with purpose.
Their panic didn't erase their training. They were moving like professionals, instinctively keeping to blind spots, weaving between bodies in a way that denied me a clear shot if I intended to subdue them with a sniping spell. If I had been anyone else, their discipline might have been enough.
""...""
I stood there, unmoving, watching their retreat with mild disinterest.
Until—
""—gh...""
A sharp exhale left my lips as a wave of dullness crashed over me.
My vision darkened at the edges, my limbs momentarily foreign, my nerves numbed like they had been dipped into ice water. For a few agonizing seconds, my body felt distant—disconnected, hollow.
Then came the backlash.
Needles of sensation returned, stabbing into my skin as if to remind me I still existed. A cruel but familiar pain. The price of wielding Nihilomancy, the [Rule of Providence] remained consistent in exacting it's price for my magic.
""Fuuu~""
(([Oblivion Rot] doesn't get better no matter how many times I go through it, huh?...))
I inhaled slowly, steadying myself against the fading aftershock. It was mild this time—barely a whisper of what it could've been.
((Smart move keeping the dagger, though…))
Even when temporarily stripped of its space-tearing properties, the Tachyonic Dagger was still an exceptional weapon. A blade woven with unnatural properties. Its edge ignored defenses, rendering armor and parries meaningless. A careless swing could cleave through steel, flesh, and bone alike.
I straightened, my focus sharpening once more.
Below, the two men had split off—one weaving through the grand ballroom, the other making a beeline toward the estate's outer halls.
((Clever...but predictable))
Splitting up ensured at least one had a chance at escape. They avoided open spaces, never giving me a direct line of sight.
That was the correct choice.
It just wouldn't save them.
I took a moment longer, committing their escape paths to memory, before turning away from the balcony.
The chase began.
I stepped out of my private viewing box into the gas lamp lit hallway.
A lone attendant stood just outside, straight-backed, polite, ever-prepared to serve. Upon seeing me emerge, he offered a courteous nod, hands folded neatly in front of him.
"I trust you were satisfied with your view? Do you require anything else, sir?"
I pat him on the back beckoning him to lean in before whispering in his ears.
""Lock off all nearby gondolas""
A flicker of confusion crossed his face before professionalism reasserted itself.
"Of course, sir. I'll see to it immediately"
""Thank you. That will be all""
Satisfied, I turned, making my way toward the grand staircase.
Below, the hall was still alive with indulgence. The music played on, the laughter and whispered deals continuing as if nothing had changed.
They were blissfully unaware.
I descended the stairs at a measured pace—unhurried, deliberate.
There was no need to rush.
My prey would run themselves ragged in their futile attempt to escape me.
All I had to do...was follow.
"Move! Get out of the way!"
"Hey what gives?"
The Scarlet Chorus operative with the Tachyonic dagger shoved through the mass of masked guests, his movements frantic yet precise—trained but desperate. He had discarded all pretense of composure, fully embracing the raw, primal instinct to escape.
""...Excuse me...hup!""
I exhaled softly and leaped.
The moment my feet left the ground, I angled my body upward, reaching for the massive chandelier overhead. My fingers caught the intricate golden framework, and with a fluid motion, I swung myself up, landing silently atop it. The delicate crystals barely swayed beneath my weight.
"What's that person's problem?"
"Going to the latrine maybe?"
"That's no reason to shove!"
Below, the revelry continued uninterrupted. The masked guests remained blissfully unaware, their laughter and idle gossip drowning out the sound of my movements. Even the Scarlet Chorus operative, frantically shoving past them, never once looked up.
""...""
I moved, hopping from one chandelier to the next, I maneuvered effortlessly across the ballroom ceiling. Each landing was controlled, each leap precise. The chandeliers, though ornate and fragile-looking, were sturdy enough to support me, and their positioning allowed for a direct path ahead.
By the time my prey reached the threshold of the open corridor—
*Srrrk!*
"What the-?!"
He skidded to a halt.
I was already there.
""...""
Standing just past the doorway, bathed in the glow of gas lamps, I stared at him in silence.
"Grk!"
A shudder ran through him. His breath hitched.
Then he spun on his heel and ran the other way.
((...I guess he decided running was a better option than fighting me))
He didn't stop moving, pushing past bewildered guests.
"Move!"
"AAAAH!"
*Shatter!* *splash!* *crunch!*
He knocked over a waiter carrying a tray of expensive wine. He stumbled slightly but recovered fast, his body fueled by a heady mix of adrenaline and fear. His eyes darted wildly, searching for another exit.
There—an arched hallway leading toward the servant quarters. He lunged for it.
But as soon as he neared the entrance—
"Gah!...again?!"
He saw me for the second time, already standing there.
""...""
Waiting, silently.
*Srrrk!*
He skidded to a halt once again, nearly slipping on the polished marble floor.
A strangled noise caught in his throat.
"F-Fuck!"
He turned again, bolting toward another route. A side corridor leading to the guest suites.
He reached the door—
And there I was...
"What the heck is this? Are you teleporting?"
He shouted in terrified exasperation as his face contorted, his fear now a tangible, suffocating thing.
""...""
I didn't answer him, at least not outwardly
((No, spatial manipulation is more of Limbo's thing, Choromancy is his forte after all...))
He once again turned around and ran to a different escape route.
The chase continued across the Verdeleux estate. From the grand halls to the shadowed terraces, from the golden-lit balconies to the dimly lit wine cellars below. Each time, just as he thought he had found a way out, he saw me.
""...""
Standing. Waiting. Watching.
It was psychological warfare as much as it was a hunt, I could've pinned him down already but putting his mind into a cornered state would serve me much better when he inevitably cracks.
"Haa~ Haa~"
*Clop!* *clop!* *clop!* *clop!*
His movements grew more erratic. Less tactical. Panic set in, overriding training. His footfalls lost their precision, his once-efficient movements turning into clumsy scrambles.
Then, at last, he stopped.
"Haaaa~ Haaaa~ ARGH!"
Chest heaving. Hands trembling, he was exhausted.
Like a beast ready to be captured.
((Are you done with your chickensh*t running already? I expected it to last longer to be honest))
I thought, staring blankly.
""...""
I stood in front of him once again, quietly blocking the way out of here.
But desperation is a powerful motivator.
"F*ck this! Hyah!"
His grip tightened around the Tachyon Dagger, and with a final, reckless burst of energy, he charged straight at me, the obsidian blade aimed at my throat.
A last, futile effort.
((…Sloppy. Guess toying with him paid off))
His wrist never even got the chance to complete its motion. My fingers clamped down like a vice, halting the strike before the blade could so much as graze the air between us.
"Huh?"
His body tensed—realization dawning in a single, paralyzing instant.
"Aa-!"
His eyes widened.
Then—
*Slam!*
I drove him into the floor.
*Crack!*
"GARGH!!!"
The marble groaned beneath the impact, fine fractures spiderwebbing outward from the point of collision. His body buckled, crumpling like a discarded ragdoll as the sheer force of the chokeslam ripped the breath from his lungs.
"GAAARGH! *Cough!*"
A strangled wheeze clawed its way out of his throat, followed by blood and bile that spewed out from his mouth. He twitched, fingers spasming—
*Cling!* *clang!*
The Tachyon Dagger slipped from his grasp, bouncing across the polished floor, before the blade went through the floor like a blade through paper, embedding itself in the marble.
Under normal circumstances, a professional like him wouldn't have been caught so easily. A Scarlet Chorus operative—trained, disciplined, a predator in his own right.
But that's why I let him run.
Let him burn himself out. Let the fear twist his instincts, the adrenaline dull his mind, the exhaustion drag down his once-sharp reflexes. A slow, deliberate hunt.
By the time he lashed out, he wasn't thinking like an operative anymore. He was thinking like cornered prey.
""...Remain quiet and we will accommodate you. Resist and we'll respond in kind""
I said emotionlessly as I loomed over him, pressing the weight of my boot against his chest.
"Gah! *Cough!* *Cough!* S-screw yo- ARGH!"
A hacking cough rattled from his throat, his breaths coming in sharp, wheezing gasps. Yet, even as pain wracked his body, even as his ribs screamed in protest, he forced himself to sneer.
"Hah... Think you've won? You don't get it... I was dead the moment you caught me"
His voice was hoarse, but defiant.
His fingers twitched again—this time in an intricate, deliberate pattern. Activating the Hemomancy spell already planted within him.
((I'm afraid I already saw that trick))
I watched as the veins on his neck pulsed before they blackened unnaturally, his own blood beginning to twist against him, preparing to boil him alive from the inside out.
And then—
""Not this time...""
*Snap!*
I snapped my fingers.
*SSSssss...*
A pulse of Nihilomantic power rippled through his body. The blood magic fizzled out instantly, the spell undone, voided, turned to nothing.
"Wha—?!"
His eyes widened.
"GAAAAH! AARRRRGHHH!!! ACK!"
He convulsed slightly, his body momentarily rejecting the sudden nullification of his magic. It was almost amusing—the way he stared up at me in disbelief, as if he couldn't fathom the idea that even his own death was no longer in his control.
His final act of defiance, stripped from him.
His fate was no longer his own.
""Well now that that's over...let me show you to your room""
I grabbed him by the collar, dragging his limp form across the floor. He struggled, but it was weak, pitiful.
"Wait—wait, what are you—?!"
I ignored him, stepping toward the far end of the hall, where an ornate painting hung on the wall. It depicted a grand hotel lobby, its architecture timeless, its furniture eerily pristine.
A door to hotel Nowhere, the Verdeleuxs are affiliates of the cartel after all and the cartel were our proxies, it only made sense there were doors to the hotel here.
"No, no, NO! Kill me! KILL ME, DAMN IT! Ga-"
His struggles intensified, he tried to bite his own tongue and commit suicide, but it didn't matter as long as he didn't die before coming into the hotel he'll be alive long enough to interrogate.
""...""
I said nothing.
*Fwoosh!*
Then, with a single motion, I hurled him into the painting.
*Ripple* *ripple*
"Aaa-!"
The moment his body made contact, the canvas rippled like water, swallowing him whole. He vanished into the depths of hotel Nowhere, his screams abruptly cut off.
Only silence remained...
"Phew~"
I exhaled, letting the last traces of tension roll off my shoulders.
((One down...))
Now for the other.
((Now where's the traitor?))
Unlike the Scarlet Chorus operative, the Mekhanite turncoat hadn't risked cutting through the ballroom. No desperate break for the crowd, no attempt to weave through masked elites like his partner had.
((He's Mekhanite as well so he knows that it'll be impossible to outrun me on foot...))
Instead, he had tried to escape through the estate's outer halls, likely banking on a quick getaway through the canals. A sound plan—if only his exit strategy hadn't already been dismantled before he even made his move.
((Makes sense he would take the nearest path to the gondolas but that did him no good so he probably went back after seeing that the waterways were locked. I didn't see him while I was chasing the Chorus agent…))
The gondolas were locked, every possible waterway route around the Verdeleux estate was shut down per my earlier orders.
And that left him with very few options.
((A man like him wouldn't be foolish enough to risk the front entrance—not after seeing what happened to his co-conspirator. The same went for the numerous back exits. If he had even the faintest understanding of what I was, what I could do, then he knew those were death traps))
I turned over his possible next moves in my mind, slotting them into place with the same detached precision as one might piece together a puzzle.
((He's hiding...))
Which meant he had chosen to go to ground. In other words, he was still here.
That, or—
((...Either that or he has some way of taking to the skies...I haven't sensed anything on the roof yet but let's just make note of the fastest routes there just in case...))
Unlikely, but not impossible. Flight magic? A concealed magical item or artifact? Some high-end airship he could call in to pick him up? If he had a failsafe like that, now would be the time to use it.
Either way, I would find him.
The hunt wasn't over yet.
""Oh right...I should probably confiscate this""
I muttered to myself as I turned back toward the spot where I had subdued the Scarlet Chorus operative. The Tachyonic dagger was still embedded in the floor, glinting faintly under the ballroom's grand lights.
Even stripped of its space-tearing capabilities, it was still an incredibly lethal weapon. Leaving it unattended in an estate like this—especially with so many high-profile guests—was a terrible idea.
I knelt, fingers curling around the hilt.
A soft hum. A faint distortion in the air around it.
Even deactivated, the blade retained some of its unnatural properties. A weapon crafted for assassinations, sabotage, and high-speed dimensional escapes. If the Mekhanites got their hands on it, they could reverse-engineer it—assuming they hadn't already.
I pulled it free and slipped it into my coat.
No point in leaving it behind.
""Okay…now let's see where he is""
I exhaled, rolling my shoulders as I shifted my focus.
The Mekhanite traitor was still here. I was sure of it.
It was time to flush him out.
I expanded my senses—all six of them.
On top of the already enhanced, sound, smell, touch, taste, and sight I also had the [Sixth Sense] of those who have been exposed to the supernatural which encompassed both [Mana Tracing] and [Prana Detection].
""Hmm...""
*Ripple* *ripple*
[Mana Tracing] activated. A ripple spread outward from my core, unseen but palpable, like ink spilling into water. The estate's natural mana currents wove themselves into a map in my mind, revealing ley lines, active enchantments, and residual traces of spellwork left behind by those who had passed through these halls.
Nothing so far. No heavy spellcasting nor any noticeable supernatural occurrences...))
Which meant he wasn't using magic to hide himself.
""Ok then how about this?""
I layered another ability over it.
*Woom* *woom*
[Prana Sense] activated. A mental radar scanned over everything within a 4 mile radius in a perfect circle, looking for any signs of life. Unike Mana that was a flow of externalizing energy that interfered with the outside world Prana was like an inner flow of fiery pulsating energy, kind of like a fire in the dark night.
"Haaaaaa~"
A deep breath.
*Lub-dub*
A pulse.
The guests in the ballroom flared in my perception—bright, vibrant lights, each carrying their own unique rhythm. Their life forces were easy to differentiate: most burned with indulgence, their energies calm and unfocused.
But there—
*Dub!*
A flicker.
Faint. Unsteady. Hushed.
Someone was suppressing their presence. Dampening their own signature, like they're intentionally trying to be as unnoticeable as possible.
((A sloppy job, but better than most amateurs could manage...))
I thought, I knew the traitor was a non combatant but I still expected better from someone also from the Mekhanites.
((Too bad for him—this level of concealment wouldn't fool me...))
I honed in on the dampened signature, weaving through the estate's grand corridors without a sound. My pace was steady, deliberate—never hurried, but never idle, I moved with certainty.
Step by step, the space between us dwindled.
Closer...
Closer...
Until I knew exactly where he was hiding.
""...""
I stopped just a bit away from a set of ornate wooden doors, making sure my shadow doesn't reach the opening beneath the doors to alert my prey. The doors were one of many sets lining the Verdeleux estate's private halls. The air beyond it was still, yet the Prana signature inside flickered like a guttering candle.
He was inside. I could hear his heartbeat—
*Thump!* *Thump!* *Thump!* *Thump!* *Thump!* *Thump!* *Thump!* *Thump!* *Thump!*
((...Rapid, uneven, frantic. I can smell his fear, thick in the air like sweat and desperation, it's almost nauseating. Like rotten food left out in the sun for too long))
He was breaking.
((But this is good...it'll make things easier))
I said accepting the foul smell as the price I'll have to pay for his capture.
""...""
I stood still for a moment considering the best way to bust into that room before my eyes landed on another room in the far distance.
((If I remember correctly, a small display room is near here…))
My mind flicked with an interesting idea as I moved away from the room where my prey was hiding for now. The Verdeleux had a collection of ancient artifice—a gallery of forgotten relics and secretly...some discarded Mekhanite prototypes.
((It'll be useful...))
A plan formed in my head, there was no need to rush.
*Inside the room...
"Haa~ hee~ haa~ Huu~ Haa~ Hee~"
He couldn't breathe.
His lungs felt like they were caving in, each ragged inhale doing nothing to steady the suffocating pressure coiling around his chest. His hands were clammy, trembling as they gripped at his own arms.
(There's no escape...none...I'm gonna die here...die...me?...nonononono! This isn't happening! This isn't happening! This isn't happening! This isn't happening! This isn't happening!)
No matter how much he tried to convince himself that it was a bad dream, the unshakable grip of reality remained.
(I messed up! I knew I shouldn't have trusted those Chorus bastards! They got Illario!...their operative has probably already been captured by him...either that or he's dead...wouldn't that be a mercy?)
He had seen it. Seen him before...
"Oblivion..."
He squeezed out the word in a tortured whisper, a name, a title, a promise. A classification that didn't belong to a man, but to something else entirely. A force of nature. A revenant. A thing that never spoke more than a few words, that never gave its prey the mercy of an easy death...
And now it was here...
Coming for him.
"Oh goddess, have mercy, oh Godes—"
He stumbled back against the wall, sweat dripping down his forehead. His pulse pounded in his ears, his own breathing too loud in the suffocating silence. Every sound outside the room made him flinch. Every flickering shadow stretched too long, too distorted.
(Astraea...Gehenna...whoever it is that's listening please have some pity!)
No matter how much he tried to call out to Astraea or any other higher power divine or demonic to save him...none answered...he wasn't entirely sure if they COULD stop Oblivion even if they did answer.
"Heek!"
He blinked, his breath turning into a shrill cry.
For a moment—just for a moment—he saw something.
A shape. A silhouette in the dark.
"No—no, no, it's just my mind, it's just my—"
He tried to convince himself it wasn't real—
Then it moved...
"FUCK—!"
He scrambled backward, tripping over his own feet. The candlelight flickered wildly, the shadows shifting, twisting, warping. His paranoia churned into full-blown terror as his mind filled in the blanks.
Every shape became him.
Every shadow hid those damning crimsoneyes.
Every flicker of movement was the precursor to the silence of oblivion.
"I can't die here. I can't—"
He squeezed his eyes shut, fingers curling into his scalp.
It was quiet...
Too quiet.
"Ugh!..."
He swallowed, forcing himself to open his eyes again.
Nothing...
Just an empty room. Just the dim glow of candlelight reflecting off the gilded edges of the art displays.
"Haaaeeerrrgggh~"
He let out a shuddering breath, forcing his heartbeat to slow.
(Calm down! Think! It's just fear messing with you....)
There was still a chance. He just needed a weapon...
"Weapon...weapon..."
His eyes darted around the room, searching.
Then—
"There!"
An old battle axe, mounted on the wall among the artifacts. It was ornamental, sure, but that didn't matter. A sharp edge was still a sharp edge.
*Crack!*
He rushed toward it, ripping it free from its stand. The weight was good. Heavy, but manageable.
"I just need one shot. If I get the first strike—"
He convinced himself positioning himself to the side of the only entrance into the room.
*EEEEEE...*
The door creaked open.
He didn't hesitate.
"HAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRGGGGHHHH!!!"
With a guttural roar, he swung the axe as hard as he could, aiming straight for the head of the intruder.
The blade struck true.
A sickening *crunch!* echoed through the room.
For a brief, fleeting moment, relief flickered in his chest.
Until—
"—what?"
The thing he hit didn't react.
No gasp. No scream. No stagger.
There was no blood either...
Just stillness before it fell to the ground with a dull *thud!*.
*Crunch!*
"Heek?"
His breath hitched. His hands shook as he tried to wrench the axe free.
Then he saw it.
The glint of polished metal. The whir of ancient servos coming back to life.
Not flesh.
Not bone.
An automaton, and from his experience working for Mekhanite R&D it was an old golem type, humanoid model.
"No—no, no, no, NO—"
*Slam!*
The door then exploded open.
*crash!*
The hardwood blasted him backwards, slamming him into the floor with the crushing weight of the door pressing on him.
"*Cough!* GARGH! Kek! *splatter!*"
He choked, coughing up blood as his body screamed in protest, MANY of his bones were broken.
"Ugh!..."
His vision swam, his head pounding as he blinked through the dust.
And then—
Through the haze, he saw it...
A figure. Pale. Death-like. Motionless.
Crimson eyes burned through the darkness, locking onto him with an emotionless, unwavering stare.
""...""
A monster. A demon.
No—
Worse.
"O-O-Oblivion..."
His breath seized. His body locked up, a full-blown panic attack taking hold.
He couldn't move.
He couldn't think.
He could only drown in the realization that this was it.
There was no fighting this.
There was no surviving this.
The room was silent.
Then—
""Are you going to give up, or do we have to do this the hard way?""
The words weren't loud, they weren't taunting, they weren't even angry, they were just…flat, matter-of-factly.
Like this was just another task. Another routine.
Something inside him shattered.
The last scrap of defiance drained from his body as pure, unfiltered terror set in.
And then—
"Hic!..."
He sobbed in terror.
*Meanwhile his attacker remained motionless, analyzing him...
""I'll take that as a yes""
I turned slightly, fingers brushing against the wall as I flipped the light switch.
An audible mechanical *click!* rang out.
*Hmmm...*
Followed by a low hum.
The dim candlelight was instantly drowned out by the cold, sterile glow of gas lamps flooding the chamber. Shadows retreated into corners, revealing the mess of shattered wood, scattered artifacts, and—most importantly—the broken man pinned beneath the door that was blown off it's hitches by my well-placed kick.
"Argh...ugh!~"
The traitor twitched, his face slick with sweat, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven gasps. The sheer weight of fear had crushed him long before the door had. His fingers clawed weakly at the floor, like a dying insect trying to drag itself to safety.
((I'd like to say I feel bad but that would imply I had the mental capacity for such feelings))
I stepped forward, rolling my shoulders slightly as I witnessed the traitor's pathetic whimpering.
((Well, pathetic or not...he's useless like this))
Interrogation required stability. A subject had to be functional enough to answer questions, not just lie there choking on their own terror. I needed him alive and intact.
I crouched down, gripping the edge of the door. I was about to lift it off him—
""Hmm?""
Then I hesitated.
"G...he...na"
His lips were moving, mumbling. At first, the words were incoherent, broken whispers spilling out between ragged breaths.
""...!""
Fear...
Despair...
Sorrow...
Then—acceptance.
Something shifted.
I felt it before I saw it.
*Crrk!*
A sudden shift in the air, a change in the scent of the room. A crackle, like static before a storm.
""What in the-?!""
I looked at his face.
"Gurgh!"
His eyes—wide, bloodshot, dilated—had changed. No longer filled with blind panic, but something worse. A dangerous gleam. A fatalistic spark.
A man who knew he was about to die—
And planned to take everything down with him.
His mouth opened.
((Oh shi-!...))
And then he screamed.
"̵̳͉͒̇͊Ḵ̴̼̂́r̷͙͇͔̃ṙ̵̩̊͐h̵̠̘̹̋'̷͔̭͗̀t̷̝̠̬͗͂h̸̭̕a̸̲̬͔̿̆͗k̸͎̇͗!̵̜̰̈́̓̇ ̶̗̌̈́Ķ̶̀â̷͓r̴͚̪̆̏͝t̷̛͚̭̩̃̐h̵͕̋̇ͅu̷̧̬͍̒͆͘ḽ̷̣͒!̷̧͕́̇͂ ̶͈̮͗͝Ỳ̸̨̱̳e̷͎͓̊̒̏r̷̰̆v̷̫̝͐̈i̵̫͛͛t̶͈͝h̴͙͙͖̋̑i̶̡͔̐̈́͂ṡ̶͈̳͔͐—̴̜̋"̶̟̓
The chant.
((Gehennan magic!))
A type of infernal magic that didn't require a living caster—only a sacrifice.
I did not hesitate to jump away to safety.
His body convulsed, flesh splitting, his eyes bleeding as his very being was consumed. He was offering himself—his life, his body, his soul—to open a doorway.
*Rumble!* *rumble!* *whoosh!* *CRRRK!!!*
A violent, swirling vortex of crimson erupted from beneath him, twisting and churning, warping the air around it. The floor ripped apart, the very fabric of space distorting as something else pressed against reality from the other side.
A demon portal.
""Tch—""
My eyes narrowed, annoyed.
Unlike the time with Illario, I had plenty of time to nullify the spell...if I COULD that is...
((This is a spell way above my level to erase...))
I gritted my teeth, watching as the traitor's body turned to ash, consumed in the ritual's final act, his last breath escaping in some dry, rattling final words.
"Hehe...G-!...Gehenna damns you...Oblivi-"
His face was frozen in some twisted expression before it turned to ash and got swallowed by the vortex—was it triumph? Relief?
It didn't matter...
*WHOOOOOOOSH!* *CRRRRK!* *ZAP!*
The vortex howled, its edges crackling with unnatural energy, the floor beneath it disintegrating into a bottomless maelstrom of swirling red energy.
And then—
"Grrr!..."
Something on the other side stirred...
Something watched with malevolent interest.
Hungry...thirsty for blood.
""Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa~...GODDESS. FVCKING. DAMN. IT!""
I sighed tiredly before cursing.
((Guess I gotta deal with this...))
*Crack!* *pop!*
I resigned myself to the inevitable clean up duty that followed, I cracked my fingers—
((Sola in morte vita perfici potest. Victoria aut oblivione...))
And prepared for battle.