The air outside was cooler now, thinned by distance from Misren.
Nivlek stepped through the perimeter of the repurposed operations base, an abandoned outpost from an old colonial expedition, nestled in the dense jungle roughly eight kilometers from town. The walls had long since been reinforced by his unit. Symbols shimmered along the stone walls, flickering faintly in the torchlight.
"He" passed through the inner corridor with unhurried strides. "His" coat dragged faint soot across the polished floor as he moved.
Just ahead, Alistair leaned against the wall outside the central wing, arms crossed and the subtle markings of a gash still appearing on his cheek. He stood upright at Nivlek's approach.
"She woke up," Alistair said simply.
Nivlek's brow lifted slightly. "When?"
"Few minutes ago," the Demon Hunter answered. "Still disoriented, but she threw a fit. There are also some psychotic mood swings while she tried manipulating me with curses and empty threats. We've locked her in the containment room as planned. The room is already covered in anti-tracking and anti-divination after the rituals I made. Not a single thread of the Spirit World can reach her in there."
"And her Beyonder abilities?"
"Suppressed. She's under the curse of the Shackled Marionette. Her powers are sealed. All physical exertion is limited to prevent any backlash or retaliation." Alistair responded.
Nivlek gave a faint nod, satisfied. "Stay on standby and wait for Emory's return. I want reports on the cleanup and any spoils we've obtained. Prioritize the artifacts."
"Understood," Alistair said, already moving. "She's still lucid, for now. If she breaks from it, we'll know."
"She won't," Nivlek muttered, already turning down the hallway.
…
The corridor dimmed as "He" approached the restricted wing, just outside the main prison chamber. Doors made of blackened oak and reinforced silver lining parted for him as "He" approached.
There was no guards here yet. Just silence and the faint hum of suppressed power.
"He" pushed the door open.
The room was lavishly set, intentionally. Velvet curtains sealed the windows. The bed was too soft and too inviting, layered in red silks and deep purple sheets. But beneath it, seared into the stone floor, was a wide circular engraving of radiant symbols. They pulsed softly like a heart under the floor.
And chained atop the bed, at the wrists and ankles, was Priscilla.
Her skin was pale, almost sickly, and her aura, once radiant and terrifying, was muted, crippled by the artifact's curse. Her once-perfect posture was reduced to something more primal: like a beast backed into a corner. Her eyes, however, still burned, wild and enraged.
The moment she saw him, she lashed out.
"You miserable, smug, insufferable bastard—!" Her voice cracked with fury, eyes widening with venom. "How?! How am I bound like this? You think this—this trick will stop me?! I'll bring this whole jungle down with you inside it!"
The chains rattled violently as she tried to surge forward, but the etched circle below the bed flared in response, pulling her back down with searing pulses of light. Her body jerked once, then stilled with a low, strangled gasp.
Nivlek stepped inside slowly, "His" expression unreadable.
"Dramatic as ever," he said dryly. "But I expected more originality."
"He" stopped just short of the artifact's range, boots aligned perfectly with the boundary.
"Those symbols beneath you? They're not for show. They are an extra layer to keep you as weakened as can be, just enough to stop you from doing anything clever." "He" tilted "His" head. "And the lack of your powers? That's another artifact's doing. You're not a Beyonder right now, just a liability."
Her breathing hitched. She thrashed once more, but her body refused to respond.
"You won't even die properly in that state," Nivlek added, tone low. "Not without my say."
"He" leaned forward just slightly, enough for "His" shadow to stretch over the edge, but no further.
"I came here to talk. Whether you want to listen or not… that's up to you."
Her glare didn't waver, but something in her expression shifted. Her mind was still spinning, she just wouldn't show it.
Nivlek didn't waste time.
"He" spoke in perfect, fluent English.
"Let's start simple," "He" said, voice calm but sharp. "Who are you really? That little stunt back there wasn't something a random doofus could pull off."
Priscilla blinked slowly, her lips curling into a mocking, sultry smile.
"Oh, Nivlek…" she purred. "Still love starting with the obvious, don't you?"
"He" ignored the bait.
"You mentioned my indecisiveness about Pathways." "He" said. "That narrows it down. Not many people knew that. Especially not random online chatters I used to argue with when I was bored."
Her smile widened, then twisted, as her head tilted, chains clinking with the motion.
"You really haven't changed," she hissed through her teeth. "Still an apple-donged twat. Always thinking you're clever, dropping formal explanations thinking you are superior. You were one of the most unbearable bastards in those threads. Ever. No one wanted to scroll past your rants."
Nivlek exhaled once. "And yet you read every word. Which says more about you than it does about me."
"He" stepped to the side, glancing over at her like one might inspect a troublesome object.
"You showcased a strange hatred for Sailor Pathway Beyonders," he remarked coldly. "Left their corpses full of holes and claw marks after some dubiously pleasurable night. That narrows my suspect list even further." A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Don't tell me… you never had a thing for vampires, did you?"
Priscilla's eyes twitched, but just a little. Her gaze flickered, blood-red and gleaming, pupils expanding then sharpening into slits. Her tongue clicked with disdain.
"Well," she said with a hiss, "look who finally started using his brain. Being a Hunter might've done you some good after all. Still can't tell a joke to save your life, though. Or provoke anyone properly. Did you ever land a good insult back then?"
She shifted constantly as she spoke, one moment reclining like a queen, the next leaning forward with the posture of a feral beast. Her chains groaned with the strain, wrists already showing the start of raw red lines where her attempts had bitten skin.
Nivlek's expression darkened slightly. He dropped his tone a step lower.
"Watch that mouth," "He" said. "You're only in that ridiculous bed with satin sheets because I haven't decided whether your infamous charm is worth studying or not."
Priscilla burst into laughter.
It was manic, half-shriek, half-cackle. She arched back, chains rattling like mad as she kicked one leg up, mockingly seductive, before snapping forward with glowing eyes.
"Then do it," she growled. "Come test your theory, General. Let's see if your holy little Halo keeps its shape when I show you what I can do underneath. I'll flay you alive in ecstasy. You won't even realize your spine's gone until I snap it again."
She lunged violently, one leg kicking, arms jerking forward, every muscle screaming against the artifact's limits.
The rune flared. The Shackled Marionette's curse surged through her body like liquid fire. Blood sprayed from her wrists where the cuffs bit down, but she didn't stop. She kept snarling, laughing, throwing herself forward even as her strength buckled and her breaths rasped through pain and fevered rage.
Nivlek's face didn't change. "He" stood unmoved, but a flicker of iron flared in "His" gaze.
"He" stared at her for a long, quiet moment. Then exhaled, turned, and walked away.
The door shut behind "Him" with a muted clack.
Her screaming echoed for a few seconds longer, before dissolving into wordless growls and rasped panting.
Nivlek strode down the corridor in silence. "He" clicked his tongue.
"A Demoness… and Criminal beyonder," he muttered. "Unstable pairing. It's not even neighbouring. It's more than obvious the result would be a mad-ridden bitch."
"He" glanced toward the vaulted ceiling.
"I can't interrogate someone whose mind collapses on itself every third sentence."
Another sigh left him.
And then, a quiet grumble beneath his breath:
"…Tch. Time to send another damn letter."
…
The scent of spiced wine lingered faintly in the air. Nivlek sat in "His" office, back straight, one hand idly swirling a deep crimson glass beside a half-folded map.
A knock echoed against the door.
"Enter," "He" called calmly.
The door eased open, and Emory stepped inside, boots lightly scuffing the polished floor. His coat still bore traces of the small trip, though his demeanor was crisp as ever.
"General," Emory saluted sharply. "I've returned from Misren. Half of the spoils remain in the city, divided between Seraphon's local clergy and the Intis officers still stationed there. The rest have been brought back. Alistair is overseeing their sorting."
Nivlek nodded, taking a small sip of wine. "Good work. Assist Alistair and finish the inventory review. Once that's done, double-check our perimeter defenses."
"Understood," Emory replied, saluting again before turning on his heel and exiting the room.
Moments passed.
Then came the clicks.
Soft at first, like the scraping of bone across stone, then sharper and intrusive.
Nivlek raised a brow, placing the glass down as a grotesque spider clawed out of the void. Its bristled legs moved with unnatural grace, layered faces shifting in silent whispers. It hovered just over the desk before dropping a thick, bulging envelope onto the surface, then collapsed into itself, vanishing into shadow.
"Of course," Nivlek muttered. "And here I thought I might go a day without theatrics."
"He" picked up the envelope, tearing it open.
Inside were two charms, each shaped like elongated diamonds, translucent, refracting the dim light with unnerving intensity. Their symbols hinted at deeper patterns extending into voided layers of space.
Nivlek unfolded the letter.
Jack's handwriting greeted him:
"Look, my favorite hothead!
Sorry, can't go there myself, as my schedule has become a tad busy and I can't compromise anything at the moment. You know how it goes.
I'll reach out soon though. When I do, I expect you to be alive and preferably less busy setting the Southern Continent on fire.
In the envelope are two charms, one for your current mess, the other as insurance. Use whichever makes you feel clever at the time. Or both. Improvisation builds character.
Consider this my version of moral support. And yes, that's the closest thing to sincerity you're getting today. I'll send you good luck!
Stay competent, General. It'd be inconvenient to replace you."
There was even a crude doodle of a devilish face at the end, winking.
Nivlek scoffed. "Charming."
"He" read the information about the charms. Then, with a flick of "His" fingers, "He" ignited the letter into blue fire and let the ashes scatter across "His" desk tray.
"Between the psychotic demoness and the cryptic bastard... I don't know which one annoys me more," "He" muttered.
Sliding one charm into "His" coat pocket, "He" held the other between two fingers, as "He" exclaimed in Ancient Hermes:
"History!"
The charm dissolved instantly in "His" palm.
"His" pupils shimmered as the charm took effect. "He" pricked "His" fingers and reached for the void.
A moment passed. And then, success.
A historical projection appeared in the adjacent space: an elderly gentleman in a dark wheelchair.
The Dreamweaver, Pauli Derlau!
Nivlek exhaled faintly. "Huh. Maybe Jack did send luck for once."
The projection said nothing, but watched "Him" with a quiet, knowing stillness.
Nivlek then controlled the projection to hide within the adjacent room. The projection slowly wheeled itself to it, closing the door.
Nivlek then activated the Chain of Command. Instantly, the Dreamweaver was integrated into Nivlek's team.
"He" smiled faintly. "Convenient."
"He" stood and exited towards Priscilla's room.
The heavy door creaked open.
Priscilla stirred instantly, eyes snapping toward the sound. Her chains clinked, wrists bound to silver-etched shackles etched into the floor beneath the opulent bed.
"You again," she sneered. "What now? Gonna show off your magical puppy again, or just stare at me like the pervert I already know you are?"
Nivlek stepped just into the threshold, remaining outside the artifact's active range. "He" raised a single hand, and without a word, her eyes fluttered.
Sleep.
Her body slumped slowly back onto the bed, her fury melting into stillness.
Nivlek sighed.
Within Priscilla's Mind Island, Nivlek's form hovered above the black waters.
They crashed violently each other and the sky spun in distorted hues. The island itself was small, overgrown with twisted thorns, barely habitable.
"Turbulent even while asleep," Nivlek muttered as "He" extended "His" hand.
Placate.
A warmth spread outward. The waters dulled. The winds calmed. The sky straightened itself, clouds parting to reveal a pale sun.
"He" scanned the array of memory-threads floating within, tangled, chaotic, flooded with pleasure and pain imprints with devouring hatred. "He" began to reorder them, guiding the threads to the island's center, binding wild thoughts into slower rhythms.
As "He" slowly organized Priscilla's thoughts, "He" intermittently placated them, to keep the flow steady and to maintain the effectiveness of the treatment.
After several minutes, the Mind Island was still flawed and scarred, but stable and reasonable. For now.
Before leaving, "He" summoned a single Psychological Cue, a heavy dark red stone, and let it drop into the sand. It shimmered, embedding itself into her subconscious like a delayed trigger.
Then "He" left.
Priscilla lay quietly, breathing shallowly. Her skin was no longer flushed with rage. She slept soundly.
Nivlek stepped out silently, sealing the chamber behind ""Him".
Returning to "His" office, Nivlek poured himself another glass.
The projection dissolved from the next room, vanishing with a whisper.
Nivlek leaned back and muttered to himself, swirling the wine idly.
"Well. That was... enlightening."
"He" downed the rest in one go.