Igula stared at the dagger embedded in the ground before Ash, his parched lips trembling slightly. The long-forgotten sensation of fear clawed at his heart like a ravenous wolf.
So I can still be afraid? he thought bitterly. So I'm just another ordinary man? A failure of a con artist?
Fear was a silent, seductive mistress, and calmness was a con artist's lifeblood. When fear drained away that calmness, it signaled the end of a con artist's game—and their life.
Igula couldn't remember the last time he'd felt fear. Not when he conned his first lollipop out of another orphan. Not when he framed someone else to the orphanage director. Somewhere along the way, he'd convinced himself he was immune to it.
When he took up the study of the mental arts, Igula came to believe he was born for the role. Manipulating people wasn't just a skill for profit—it was his way of surviving. Darkness was his natural habitat. Deception wasn't just a tool; it was his air, his water.
The Blood Moon Kingdom's unique environment had made his career smooth sailing. Even being caught and sent to the Fragmented Lake Prison hadn't shaken him; he treated it as professional training. The inmates there were a challenge, sure, but challenges only whetted Igula's appetite.
He had faced death before. Assassins sent by rival organizations, gun barrels pressed against his temple, even threats of losing a far more intimate appendage—he hadn't flinched once. A true con artist's first mark was always themselves.
You have to believe you're invincible before you can make others believe it.
So why was he scared now?
There was no imminent threat to his life.
He still had leverage over Ash—a wish Ash was bound to fulfill.
Ash will target Harvey first, Igula reasoned.
The possibility of Ash refusing never crossed Igula's mind. Ash had no reason to decline. It would be like a succubus turning down a gift-wrapped beastman.
For them, a trio of death row escapees, betrayal wasn't just expected—it was the norm. Their alliances were transactional, temporary, and fundamentally untrustworthy.
Even though their jailbreak had removed any direct conflicts of interest, Igula couldn't help but remain on edge. He trusted strangers more than these so-called allies. The only possible outcome for their uneasy camaraderie was betrayal.
Igula had thought long and hard about this. Why did he harbor such animosity toward them?
To erase my past? No, the Scourge Hall already had enough evidence against him.
To protect secrets? No, their secrets were meaningless outside the Blood Moon Kingdom.
To protect myself?
Yes, exactly. To protect himself. Because no matter how much he distrusted them, Igula couldn't deny that he'd started relying on them. They understood each other's combat styles. They moved in sync. They were becoming… comrades.
Dependency is the sharpest knife you hand to your own back.
– "Aesop's Fables of Anzu: On Companions."
Revealing vulnerabilities was foolish. Relying on others was disgraceful. Having companions was just a countdown to betrayal. Maybe, under different circumstances, Igula could have considered trusting them. But in this hellscape of a prison world?
Companions pulled from the trash heap? No thanks.
Neither he, nor Ash, nor Harvey could afford to trust one another. In a world where betrayal was survival's currency, the first to strike would always prevail.
So when Ash picked up the dagger without hesitation, Igula wasn't surprised. He did, however, feel a pang of disappointment when Ash turned toward him instead of Harvey.
Of course, Igula thought grimly. He's trying to force me to use the wish first. Then he'll deal with Harvey, leaving me powerless against him later.
Not bad, Ash. Not bad at all.
You really are a bringer of misfortune. And I'm just another one of your victims.
Ash crouched down, grabbed Igula's chin, and pressed the blade against his dusty face. Igula looked into Ash's eyes and felt a strange calmness settle over him.
If survival wasn't an option, why bother clinging to his final moments? Why not use the wish to drag Ash down with him? Let the both of them perish in this wretched world, becoming nothing more than whispers of the past.
Or perhaps… he could wish for Ash to kill him painlessly. Let his end be Ash's rebirth.
As these tumultuous thoughts churned in his mind, Ash suddenly turned to the Eternal Everlasting.
"Can you guarantee that if I do this, you'll let me go?"
The childlike figure on the silver throne tilted her head, her mechanical arms holding a comic book and a steaming drink. "If you truly prove your loyalty to the Four Pillars, you'll receive the treatment you deserve."
"You're dodging the question," Ash retorted. "Let's make a binding agreement. I have miracle contract paper. If you're telling the truth, you shouldn't mind."
The Eternal Everlasting's lips curved into a cryptic smile. A faint breeze stirred her dress as the chains binding Ash snapped with a resounding crack.
Ash immediately flung the dagger at her, but before it could land, the brazier above him broke loose, slamming onto his back. He crumpled to the ground, writhing in pain as the knife veered off course, embedding itself just millimeters from her cheek.
The mechanical arm calmly retrieved the dagger and returned it to her side. She gestured for the black-robed figures to restrain Ash once more, her tone unhurried and amused.
"As I thought, my instincts were correct. You are no servant of the Four Pillars. You're certainly not the Observer of the End."
She leaned forward, her crimson eyes glinting with finality.
"You're just Ash Heath."