(Stegertath POV)
(Not even a day after Ophelia's inauguration)
I stood in front of the cracked mirror, the dim torchlight flickering off my reflection. My royal armor mixed with my royal robe gleamed faintly. In my hand, I held the syringe, its long, slender needle gleaming faintly in the gloom. Inside, the black fluid swirled sluggishly, thick and almost alive.
The dungeon around me smelled of damp stone and rotting moss, the air heavy and oppressive. Behind me, the muted sound of chains rattling against stone filled the silence. I turned away from the mirror and faced the table. The elven woman strapped to its cold surface thrashed violently, her muffled screams cutting through the dungeon's stillness. Her body writhed against the chains that bound her, but she wasn't going anywhere. Her fear only made the moment sharper.
I smiled, calm as ever. Stepping closer, I held up the syringe, squeezing it lightly so a drop of the black fluid oozed from the tip. "There is no need to be scared," I said softly. "This is for the sake of the Empire."
Her muffled cries grew frantic as I lowered the needle to her neck. The sharp point slid into her skin, and she screamed into the gag as I pushed the plunger. Slowly, the black fluid seeped into her, spreading under her pale skin like dark veins. Her body jerked violently, her muscles convulsing as foam began to drip from the corners of her gagged mouth.
I stepped back, observing the transformation.
Her sclera turned black, swallowing the whites of her eyes, while her once-bright green pupils deepened to a sinister shade of dark green. Her skin darkened to a warm, light brown, its glow dimmed by the torchlight. Then, with a loud crack, her back arched against the chains, and two black, jagged wings tore free from her shoulder blades, dripping blood onto the table.
Through it all, I remained composed. The sight was fascinating, every movement a testament to that man's extensive knowledge.
The convulsions slowed, then stopped. She lay still, her breath coming in slow, deep bursts. Her black hair spread around her face like a dark halo, and her pitch-black eyes locked onto me.
Those eyes... calm and steady. They pierced through the air, and despite myself, I shivered. It wasn't fear. It was pure exhilaration. A small grin tugged at my lips as I stood over her, marveling at what I had created.
Then she spoke, her voice low and clear. "So you were the one who pulled Jenna from the underworld."
I froze, her words cutting through my thoughts. My grin widened slightly, my pulse quickening.
I turned away from the silent demon on the table, her calm, piercing gaze still burning in my mind. I moved swiftly through the dim prison corridors, the heavy air clinging to my skin as I ascended the uneven steps. Soon, the echo of my armored boots against the walls stopped as I approached a massive metal door embedded within the stonework.
The door loomed before me, its surface scarred from time and wear. My hand found the cold iron handle, gripping it tightly.
I creased my lips.
I felt my pulse hasten once more.
And then, with a sharp exhale, I pushed open the door.
The room beyond was dark, its metal walls cold and uninviting, reserved for the faint red glow of enchanted runes etched into the floor. At the center of the space stood a man bound in thick iron chains.
He was shirtless, his bronze muscular frame marked by jagged scars and intricate tattoos that seemed to writhe under the flickering light. His straight black hair fell just past his ears, and his presence filled the room like a storm waiting to break.
A blindfold of stone rested over his eyes, carved with ancient runes that glowed faintly, sealing his sight in complete darkness and more. Way more. However, just beneath that tether of earth was his lips, curved into a faint smile.
"Acheron…" I muttered, a drop of sweat sliding down my temple.
"Stegertath, do you want to know the reason why I let you capture me?" The man responded, his voice deep and guttural.
"As I thought. You hardly resisted…" I sighed. It was obvious from the moment we found him in the Sunbolt Mountains. "So what is the reason?"
"I wanted to talk to you personally. I wanted to meet you as there are important matters to discuss."
He was dangerous. Very dangerous. Each word I had to take with a grain of salt as he reminded me of somebody else. Each word is laced with venom. Each phrase was filled to the brim with nothing but the intent to manipulate me, yet…
"As my sponsor of knowledge, I believe there is not much for us to discuss… correct?"
The man's grin widened, his long tongue slowly falling out of his mouth. "Many things are constant. Pi. The Golden Ratio. Runes… However, have you ever heard of an undetermined constant?"
Such a thing did not exist. Such a paradoxical thing was impossible, yet, if he said it was a thing… then maybe it was. His logic somehow defied everything logical.
"I have not," I hesitantly, but also eagerly, replied.
"You haven't?" His grin widened. "Not even the Aubessecian Constant?"
A chill show down my spine. "Aubessec?"
"Does that ring a bell?"
"No… but Aubessec? Like Ophelia von Aubessec?"
"Oh?" His ears perked up. "You know the creator? That bitch?"
"I do. She is a recently appointed Duchess of the Holy Empire."
Suddenly, his smile dropped. He turned into a muttering mess as his words turned incohesive before suddenly turning comprehensible. "1.618423175981210… yes… yes… it all makes sense. How arrogant I was..."
I couldn't help but gulp down a drop of saliva.
I had a bad feeling about this, yet… as I balled my fist and a bead of sweat rolled down my temple, I found myself smiling—a large ridiculous smile.
…
(Back to the present)
Ophelia sat on the couch inside her cart, one leg crossed over the other. Her elbow rested on her knee, her chin perched on the palm of her hand. She looked down at the bandit leader kneeling before her, his hands tied tightly behind his back. Bruises marked his face, souvenirs of the kicks Ophelia had delivered earlier. He trembled, his fear palpable in the confined space.
Her voice cut through the silence, steady and cold. "What god do you believe in?"
The man hesitated, his eyes darting around the room as if seeking an escape. He was human and untethered to any particular deity. Finally, he answered, his voice weak and broken. "N-None. There is no god. If there was, suffering across the world wouldn't exist."
Ophelia resisted the urge to roll her eyes as she knew things he fortunately did not. She leaned forward, her fingers reaching out to graze his face. Her touch was soft, almost deceptively kind, as she ran her fingers along the deeper scar on his cheek.
It was small, circular, and dark.
The bandit winced, shrinking back as though expecting a blow. Instead, she posed another question, her tone deceptively calm. "If you had to pick, what god would you believe in?"
Her sharp gaze stayed fixed on him, studying every flicker of emotion that crossed his face. He whimpered, his voice trembling as he replied, "I—I don't know. Please, spare me."
Ophelia's jaw subtly dropped, her composure cracking as her eyes widened ever so slightly. His answer wasn't what she expected. The cool calculation she wore like armor faltered for a moment, replaced by something raw and uncertain. Then, as quickly as the crack appeared, her expression hardened into a glare that froze the bandit in place.
She stared at him, her thoughts racing, her mind unraveling plans that now seemed meaningless. So much time and effort was extinguished by just a few words.
The fact that he was even able to answer that question said more than enough.
"P-Please spare me—" he stuttered again, only for his plea to be silenced by a sharp slap across his face. The force sent him sprawling onto his side, groaning in pain.
Ophelia stood abruptly, her movements sharp as she began pacing the small space of the cart. Her lips moved as she muttered under her breath, her thoughts spilling out in fragments. Her words came quickly, half-formed ideas and cryptic phrases filling the air.
The bandit, still lying on the floor, caught one key phrase amidst the chaos. "Sleeper agent."
Ophelia's steps quickened, her mind churning with new possibilities and contingencies. The pieces of her plan, once solid and carefully placed, now felt like sand slipping through her fingers.
Upon seeing her lack of focus, the bandit leader's scarred, grizzled face twisted with fury as he rose to his feet, his hands trembling at his sides. Veins bulged along his neck, and his teeth ground audibly. His dark eyes locked on the woman before him—her gaze distant, as if he weren't even there.
His foolishness took the reigns of his mind and the rage inside him boiled over like an uncontained fire.
'If I'm going to die here, I'll make sure this bitch goes with me!'
With an animalistic snarl, he lunged forward. Due to his hands tied behind his back, he opened his jaws wide, ready to sink his teeth into her neck or face, driven by raw, desperate hatred. Yet before he could get close, his entire body froze mid-air.
A choked gasp escaped his throat as he realized he was no longer in control of his movements. His head jerked unnaturally backward, the rest of his body swinging like a pendulum. His boots scraped uselessly against the wooden floor. Then he felt it—her slender fingers curled around his neck, lifting him effortlessly off the ground.
Terror replaced rage as his vision was drawn to her face. A hole began to form in her forehead, its edges shifting unnaturally as if something dark and alive was burrowing its way out. The inside of the hole was a pitch-black abyss, swallowing the light around it. Her sclera darkened to an inky black, her pupils shifting to a metallic gray.
However, the transformation didn't stop there.
A dark metal mask began to materialize over her face, its texture hard and sharp. The leader's mouth opened in a silent scream, but no sound came out. The mask, seemingly alive, softened into liquid form and slid off her face, dripping down her arm like liquid metal. Like mercury.
He watched, frozen in horror, as the viscous substance oozed into his mouth.
He choked violently, his body convulsing as the liquid forced its way down his throat and into his lungs. The thick, suffocating substance spilled out of his nose, his eyes, his mouth, robbing him of breath and sight. His struggles weakened as darkness consumed him.
Ophelia clicked her tongue, a sharp sound that cut through the eerie silence. She let the lifeless body drop to the ground with a dull thud, her expression unreadable.
"There is no need for this bastard as the future," she murmured, her voice low, "it has changed once again... that bastard… surely… he did not return as well, right?" Her frame shivered lightly, her hand combing her hair back from over her face. "No, he did. It was not even a possibility that I had considered."
Ophelia preached so much about controlling your arrogance, yet sometimes, even she fell to the equitable jaws that came with it.
"We have both regressed," She grinned.