Lycaon stared intently ahead, his waist slightly bent, thighs coiled like springs—ready to launch forward like a bullet at any moment.
The reason for his vigilance stood just a few meters away: a battered teddy bear nearly two meters tall, a massive scythe resting on its shoulder. Large patches of fur had fallen away, exposing the ugly ravines carved across its body.
Even its main form was grotesquely uneven—its left arm shrunken and withered, completely mismatched with the right arm's hulking size. Its lower body was mutilated, forcing it to hop forward on a single leg.
Yet despite its pitiful state, the Ether radiating from its Ethereal frame was staggering.
If Lycaon's intuition was right, this scarred doll must have been a notorious entity even within the Hollow.
"If I'm not mistaken, you're the same doll I discarded earlier."
Lycaon narrowed his eyes, examining the figure closely. It resembled the one that had once hung from his waist almost perfectly.
"I'd like to know," he said evenly, "why didn't you ambush me before I threw you away? Why wait until I'd already eliminated the other Ethereal?"
[...Run.]
The sudden, rasping whisper made Lycaon's pupils contract sharply.
He stared at the scarred doll in disbelief—unsure how it could even speak, let alone why it would urge him to flee.
Before he could think further, the doll stammered out again:
[I'm strong... but I can't control myself... Holding back from attacking was already my... greatest...]
[...Ugh!]
Its voice abruptly cut off as a surge of Ether erupted through its entire body, unleashing a crushing aura that spread across the hall.
Even Lycaon had to raise an arm to shield himself, narrowing his eyes against the pressure as he stared straight ahead.
Then—his vision flickered. A flash of movement, a sudden absence—
The scarred doll was gone.
No. Not gone.
Lycaon's instincts kicked in instantly. He crossed his arms defensively—
—and right on cue, the doll reappeared before him, its massive right arm—swollen like that of a beast—swinging the scythe down with brutal force.
Crash!
The blade met Lycaon's crossed forearms, the impact reverberating through his entire frame.
"What incredible power!"
He barely had time to register the shock before the doll pressed its assault.
It lunged forward on its single leg, leaping into the air before slamming down a fierce kick.
Lycaon reacted in kind, lifting his prosthetic leg to block with his knee.
Clang!
The blow landed like thunder. Even though Lycaon had braced himself, the ear-piercing metallic screech and the jolt of pain sent his heart racing.
He rolled back swiftly, then rose and retreated several steps, putting distance between himself and his opponent.
Stomping once to steady his stance, he kept his gaze fixed ahead, eyes narrowed. The scarred doll rested its scythe back on its shoulder, as if content to wait—for now.
Or perhaps it was feinting, just like before, ready to vanish and strike again.
Even from afar, Lycaon didn't relax. He silently replayed the brief exchange in his mind.
"The ability to appear right in front of its target…"
"And such refined close-quarters combat…"
His eyes narrowed further. "Where exactly are its limits?"
"No point overthinking it. Let's test it again."
With that, Lycaon stomped the ground and shot forward, propelling himself through the air. Frost mist burst beneath his feet as the jets of nitrogen from his prosthetic leg ignited, boosting his speed even further.
In an instant, he closed in on the scarred doll.
But it didn't move. Not even a twitch.
Even as Lycaon's kick—charged with icy force—hurtled toward its broad abdomen, it made no attempt to evade.
Then—his leg passed straight through it.
Lycaon's eyes widened in disbelief.
His kick had sliced through nothing. The doll's body disintegrated like mist, scattering into faint motes of dust that faded away as if it had never existed.
But it hadn't vanished. The moment Lycaon's prosthetic hit the ground, instinct screamed at him—he spun around just in time to see the doll's form reconstituting from the air behind him.
Its crimson eyes flashed, and it swung its scythe straight down at Lycaon's head.
But Lycaon wasn't one to be taken so easily. He hadn't become the de facto leader of Victoria Housekeeping by strategy alone—his combat ability was just as formidable.
As the blade descended, he slammed his heel down, unleashing a flood of freezing energy.
In an instant, a towering pillar of ice shot up from the floor, blocking the scythe's downward arc.
Boom!
The strike landed with a deafening crash, the impact echoing like a hammer blow. Cracks spread across the pillar's surface, spiderwebbing outward.
Boom!
The scarred doll raised its scythe and struck again. The ice shattered completely under the immense force.
But as it stepped forward to continue its attack—its crimson eyes widened.
Lycaon was gone.
"Above!"
A low voice boomed from above.
The scarred doll looked up—just in time to see a massive foot filling its entire vision.
Crash!
Lycaon's stomp came down like an avalanche. The blow flattened the doll, shattering the floor beneath it and sending deep fissures rippling across the ground.
...
"Whoa, whoa—what's going on!?"
A deafening rumble shook the air. Eous clapped his hands over his ears, looking around in alarm.
Little Corin tensed up as well, her tiny face drawn tight with worry. She quickly powered up her chainsaw, pointing it ahead nervously.
Only Rina remained calm. Her soft, water-like eyes narrowed slightly as realization dawned.
"It's Lord Lycaon!" she exclaimed.
At that, she turned quickly, bent down to pick Eous up from the floor, and asked, "Miss Proxy, can you locate the source of that sound?"
"Of course I can!"
Eous closed one eye, regaining focus, hands confidently placed on its hips.
The Belle synchronized with it spun her chair around and shouted, "Fairy!"
[Fairy: Understood. Analyzing Hollow data.]
[Fairy: Analysis complete. Routing guidance initiated.]
"Perfect!"
Belle focused back through Eous, pointing toward a specific direction. "Rina, this way!"
"Got it. Corin, hurry up."
"Y-Yes! Corin will hurry!"
...
Meanwhile, on the other side of the Ballet Tower, Lycaon stood over the scarred doll, observing it closely.
Moments ago, he had stomped it into the floor, nearly collapsing the ground beneath them.
Seizing the moment, he had struck again—dozens of icy spikes shooting upward, pinning the doll in midair.
Any ordinary Ethereal would have been long dead by now.
Yet the scarred doll before him showed no sign of dying. Its Ether concentration hadn't even diminished.
Lycaon's eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
What in the world was going on here?