The room the pair was taken to was bizarrely larger than the others. It consisted of a tall dome, crowned by a round glass panel at the top. There seemed to be water above them, bathing the chamber in sunset light, reflected in every ripple of the liquid and giving the place an almost ethereal appearance.

  Several large tables furnished the center, crowded with vials, test tubes, Erlenmeyers, flasks, and various other utensils and materials Micah did not recognize. Shelves and cabinets lined the circumference of the dome, except for the wall adjacent to the entrance, where shackles were bolted directly into the stone.

  Micah realized that this place did not match Ezra’s narrative. It had nothing to do with the architecture of the catacombs, and its interior looked old and abandoned. Antique furniture mixed with newer pieces, and some utensils appeared excessively worn. It was as if the Royal Alchemist had acquired a secondhand laboratory and hastily refurbished it. But why such a place would have existed inside an ossuary—apparently in secret—was something Micah could not explain.

  He watched his companion, who still limped slightly as they were led to the far end of the room. One of Ezra’s assistants had sutured Ivan’s wound when they returned, but this time the alchemist had not even allowed him to recover before resuming the experiment.

  Suddenly, clapping echoed toward the group. Ezra approached, his smile more exaggerated than usual:

  — Congratulations! My most sincere congratulations! I heard about your little stunt. Escaping through the sewers, knocking out guards, fighting monsters… How… original. — he mocked with hyperbolic gestures — A true jailbreak novel, if I may say so.

  The alchemist then placed his hands on the heads of both test subjects.

  — I must admit, it was foolish of me to underestimate your determination. On the other hand… I greatly overestimated your intelligence.

  He withdrew his hands behind his back, bending down slightly.

  — Did you really think I wouldn’t have countermeasures in case someone tried to escape through the most obvious route possible?

  He let out a dry chuckle and led them to the end of the room.

  — Hector, do me the honor. — as soon as he heard the order, Ezra’s bodyguard shackled Micah and Ivan to the wall — You see, from the moment you left your cell, I could have activated that trap. But you make such a cute couple that I wanted to see how far you’d go. Who would have thought you’d end up helping me eliminate the damned plague that had been devouring my test subjects.

  — Master?

  Ezra turned, seeing Victor discreetly panting as he carried a rectangular dark-wood chest — not much larger than a keyboard box. It boasted golden details, and on its lid rested an obsidian tablet, covered in runes carved into its surface, sealed by tendrils of Living Silver.

  The guard knelt and carefully lifted the chest toward his master.

  — Ah, excellent, you arrived at the perfect moment, Victor. — Ezra praised, placing the chest on one of the tables.

  He bent down and whispered something to the box, as if a bank manager were telling a vault password to an employee. The lid unlocked with a click, the tendrils retracting immediately after.

  Before opening it, Ezra took a deep breath, looking up to admire the water above.

  — You should feel honored. — he commented solemnly, opening the chest — To be here, in Samkov’s old laboratory, and on top of that be subjected to the orbitoclast crafted by Roselena herself, the First Alchemist… I can’t think of anything more honorable.

  The alchemist ran his hand over the velvet-lined case, appreciating the craftsmanship of its texture. He removed a long, thin object from within, treating it with near-divine reverence and admiration.

  As he approached, the object’s appearance became clearer. The instrument was silver, tapering the closer it got to the tip, unlike the base, which bore a wide grip made of dark wood with violet veins. Its body had a curious geometry — not smooth, but spiraled, like the helix of metallic DNA. The object pulsed faintly, which led Micah to believe it was made of Living Silver, just like the locks.

  — I didn’t quite explain this to you, did I, Micah? — he asked rhetorically as he picked up one of the Image jars from the table — There’s a very intuitive analogy I teach my new pupils…

  He opened the jar, observing the beating of the heart marinated in blood.

  — I like to visualize Images as molds of identity. The Spiritual Body would be the kitchen, the soul the baker, and Karma the dough. Every time the soul acts, the Karma produced passes through this mold and “bakes.” After cooking, the delicious bread that comes out of the oven is what you would call the “Self” — your identity and everything that constitutes it.

  “When someone Awakens, the soul becomes aware of the mold and can use it for purposes other than identity. If the Image likes its user, it teaches them a ‘recipe book’ that comes with its name. That, Micah, is what we call spells. Some are passive, others require active conjuration, but that doesn’t matter now.”

  “But have you ever wondered what would happen if someone… possessed two Images?”

  As soon as he finished the sentence, Ezra stabbed the heart with the orbitoclast, stopping its beat.

  Unexpectedly, the organ combusted, boiling the blood around it, until it suddenly extinguished itself, revealing that the heart had turned into clay.

  The alchemist then withdrew the instrument, which remained rigid but glowed incandescently, as if it had just been pulled from the forge. Contrary to expectation, Ezra ran his finger over the object calmly, leaving no burns.

  — You must already know that the Pneumatic Core occupies the same space as the heart, and that this metaphysical organ houses the Image. But for this experiment, the Core has a fatal impossibility.

  “It simply has no room to host another Image.”

  “The two poor things would collide instantly, and the soul would be annihilated in the process.”

  The alchemist approached Ivan, pressing a finger against his forehead.

  — And that’s where a very obscure metaphysical organ in Biology comes in. Only Roselena of Andamascus managed to detect it in the prefrontal cortex and discover its function — it doesn’t even have a proper name yet. Basically, it filters the Karma of the Spiritual Body, ensuring the karmic reserve matches one’s actions, expelling the excess through what we call aura — so I took the liberty of naming it the Second Breath.

  “Despite its specific function, it is anatomically very similar to the Core. Its adaptability allows it, in the presence of an Image of opposite polarity to the original, to act as a second Core.”

  “And that is what will make this experiment possible.”

  Hector, without any warning, tilted and pinned Ivan’s head against the wall. He struggled violently, tears streaming from his eyes.

  — No… What are you gonna do to me?! Let me go! LET ME GO!

  Ezra pried open Ivan’s left eyelid, aiming the orbitoclast just above the tear duct.

  — Shh… Calm down, child. I won’t hurt your brains… I’ll just ask them to move aside. It won’t hurt at all. — Ezra whispered like a father soothing his child at the dentist’s office.

  Micah could only watch in horror as his friend underwent a procedure whose implications he didn’t even understand.

  — Ezra, don’t do this, please… He’s just a kid.

  The alchemist ignored him, plunging the instrument into the boy.

  Ivan stopped screaming.

  Ezra went even deeper.

  Ivan stopped struggling.

  Then Ezra whispered to the tool:

  “Release”

  The orbitoclast glowed intensely for an instant before returning to its silver state. Immediately after, the alchemist withdrew it.

  Ivan layed motionless, his eyes staring into nothing; it was hard to tell whether he was conscious or not.

  Micah felt a lump in his throat, his eyes glued to the boy.

  Until, after long and torturous minutes… a tear rolled down Ivan’s cheek.

  He looked up, watching day turn into night, and murmured:

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  — I’m sorry, sis. I couldn’t keep my promise.

  All the orifices in his face burst into flames, and he began to glow…

  And glow…

  And glow…

  For the first time in years, Ezra went into shock:

  — DOWN!

  The bodyguards threw themselves behind one of the tables. Ezra dove to the floor and crushed something in his fist.

  Boom.

  An intense light — blinding.

  And darkness.

  ...

  Micah opened his eyes slowly, as if the world hadn’t yet decided to exist again.

  A constant ringing filled his ears — too loud, too dense — a sound that swallowed all others. He tried to take a deep breath and choked on hot, harsh smoke that burned the back of his throat. He coughed, gasped, and only then realized: he couldn’t hear anything on his right side. Absolutely nothing.

  When he tried to stand, the ground seemed to spin.

  A searing pain tore through his skull, as if something were trying to claw its way out from inside. Micah groaned softly, raised a hand to his head, and felt his fingers come away wet. Blood. Somewhere on his scalp, blood was freely flowing.

  His legs gave out.

  He leaned against the wall, trembling, and then looked down at himself.

  His body was covered in burns — most of them on the right side, where the skin looked as if it had been licked by the sun itself. Parts of his clothes had fused to his flesh. For a brief, genuine moment, Micah wondered if he had died.

  If that was Hell.

  Nausea hit him like a blow. He doubled over and vomited right there, expelling what little remained of his breakfast, mixed with bile and blood. The bitter taste lingered in his mouth as he raised his gaze, still dizzy, toward the epicenter of the explosion.

  The smoke dissipated slowly.

  Behind the wreckage, Micah saw a blue, pulsating dome, vibrating like a bubble about to burst. The ground trembled at irregular intervals — impacts. Something was attacking the barrier with animalistic fury. Inside it, a silhouette… human.

  It was Ezra.

  Then his eyes found the creature.

  The first thing one would notice was that it was completely engulfed in flames — yet clearly unbothered by the heat. It stood four meters tall and was bipedal only by convention: four powerful legs supported it, ending in avian feet, curved talons covered in black scales. The first pair connected to the hips; the second sprouted from the base of a long, thick tail — lobster-like — but where fins should have been, there were blades. Sharp uropods, made to tear apart.

  The carapace…

  It was not the work of any god.

  It resembled that of a crustacean, yes — but also closed wings, overlapping plates of hardened scales, as if the entire body had been designed to open and destroy. Six arms hung from its torso. The two lower pairs were human.

  Too human.

  Useless, weak, desperately clutching the creature’s exposed entrails, holding incandescent viscera in place so they wouldn’t spill onto the ground.

  The left arm was thin and long, perfect for piercing.

  In contrast, the right was thick and robust, made for crushing.

  The face made Micah’s stomach churn.

  The mouth was that of a lobster, flanked by gigantic antennae — as long as its own body — floating in the air, defying gravity. From the nose up, there was something human.

  A distant, distorted echo.

  Not enough to still be Ivan.

  The beast struck the dome once more, and it held.

  It looked up.

  It spread its long wings with a dry crack, bending its legs.

  The takeoff was brutal, launching everything away with a shockwave. Its flight was violent, as if each wingbeat were beating the air itself into submission, forcing it to carry a colossus that shouldn’t even have been able to jump.

  The glass panel at the top of the dome shattered with shameful ease. Water poured down like a violent rain, mixed with gleaming shards.

  Micah could only watch.

  As always.

  As what remained of Ivan flew away.

  The knot in his throat tightened until it hurt. But then he realized: Ezra and his bodyguards were still trapped inside the blue domes. And if they were still trapped… then they had no control to deactivate them.

  Staying there meant certain death.

  And Micah felt like trash, but taking advantage of his friend’s involuntary sacrifice was the best option he had now.

  He slipped quietly through the door, blending into the small crowd of staff and apprentices, too worried about Ezra to notice him.

  Unexpectedly, while trying to find his way back to the sewers, he came across a stone staircase with an old door at the top. When he climbed it and pushed aside a piece of furniture blocking the entrance, he realized he was in some kind of cellar.

  The trapdoor on the other side of the basement led to Ezra’s backyard. He left without any resistance.

  But at what cost?

  Before he could even begin to blame himself, Micah jumped at the sound of an explosion in the distance. He hid between two houses, glancing toward the impact. The place was like a torch in the night, painting the air around it orange.

  Piercing screams echoed throughout Füllhorn.

  People burned alive, suffocated inside their own homes, dismembered and crushed.

  Micah saw it all.

  And at the center of it all was the abomination Ezra had made.

  The redhead’s eyes filled with tears and he nearly vomited, but nothing remained in his stomach.

  He saw a woman crawling out from the rubble of a mansion — a servant, judging by her uniform.

  Suddenly, something descended from what remained of the building, coiling around the woman and pulling her upward. The monster’s flaming antenna tightened violently around her; her clothes and body burned as she felt her bones give way.

  — N-NO, PLEASE NO! HEEELP! — she screamed, her cries shredding her vocal cords from sheer intensity. Tears streamed freely down her face as she struggled uselessly.

  The gigantic creature then brought the pointed tip of its other antenna close to her mouth. The antenna split open like the skin of a rotten fruit, revealing a slimy appendage resembling a mutant leech.

  And the mouth drew closer.

  And closer…

  Until, as if materializing from nowhere, a blur appeared between them and braked sharply, revealing the same blond man with distant eyes that Micah had seen the day he arrived in this world.

  When he landed, both antennae were already severed in half, the severed parts extinguishing and wilting like balloons, blue blood spraying everywhere. The monster’s scream — if it could be called that — sounded more like a fork scraping across a chalkboard than any noise a living being should produce.

  Even from afar, Micah felt that his left ear would lose its hearing too.

  The blond man seemed unaffected and easily caught the falling woman, handing her off to another soldier before returning to the fight.

  The redhead stopped admiring the tragic spectacle before him.

  His only priority now was to leave that city.

  And survive long enough to deal with what was left of him.

  But when he tried to take a step, it was as if… the movement had come before the command.

  Something was wrong.

  His heartbeat was out of sync, his thoughts tangled, his vision lagging.

  He leaned against a wall; his body felt heavy. He had lost all sense of balance.

  Until his body stopped responding altogether, and he collapsed to the ground.

  Micah heard footsteps far and near at the same time, and lilac eyes invaded his vision. Ezra crouched down, observing the redhead’s miserable state.

  — Poor thing… The baby got all burned, didn’t he? — Ezra cooed. It was hard for Micah to tell whether it was mockery or concern in that state. — But that’s not good, that’s not good at all. After all, you were responsible for this chaos, and those responsible always get away unscathed.

  The alchemist took a blue crystal, placed it in one of Micah’s palms, and crushed it between his soft fingers. Micah was still disoriented, but he felt a comforting warmth spread through his body, his pain easing. After a few seconds, he could even hear again through his right ear.

  Ezra closed Micah’s fingers carefully, like sealing a pact.

  — There. — he said softly. — We wouldn’t want you to die before your time.

  Micah tried to speak, but his tongue felt like lead. The warmth that had once comforted him now seemed to anchor his consciousness to his body, preventing him from fleeing into the dark. Ezra smiled, satisfied with the result.

  — Take him. — he ordered. — The people are… eager for answers.

  As he was dragged away, the last thing Micah saw before losing consciousness was the mutilated corpse of his former friend, now destined to be remembered as nothing more than a monster.

  ...

  A stone struck his face.

  Not hard enough to break a bone — just enough to wake him.

  The dry impact cracked against his cheek, and Micah opened his eyes with a muffled groan, vision blurred, the metallic taste of blood on his tongue.

  Before he could understand where he was, the world screamed.

  Voices. Many of them. Overlapping. Hysterical.

  Something struck his shoulder. Then his chest. Then his forehead.

  Food scraps. Manure. A dead rat that burst against his torso and oozed warm. Bricks. Anything hands could find on the ground became a projectile.

  He tried to move.

  He couldn’t.

  Thick ropes bit into his wrists and ankles, binding him to a rough stake. The wood scraped his bare back with every involuntary spasm.

  He tried to scream.

  Nothing came out.

  Something was stuffed in his mouth — a filthy cloth, swollen with saliva and dried blood. He gagged as he drew in air, panic rising too fast.

  Only then did his eyes manage to focus.

  He was in the Garden of Merit Square.

  Right at its center.

  And around him, a sea of faces.

  Men. Women. Children perched on their parents’ shoulders. Old people spitting hatred through missing teeth. Rich and poor, side by side, united by something rare.

  Absolute contempt.

  — BURN THE DEMON!

  — GO BACK TO HELL!

  — MURDERER!

  — DAMNED REDHEAD!

  — FUCKING MIGRATOR!

  — THESE UNGRATEFUL BASTARDS ARE ALL THE SAME!

  The words weren’t just sound — they were stones too. Each one struck deeper than the last.

  Suddenly, the chaos ceased.

  Micah looked to the side; someone stood atop an improvised pulpit.

  It was the lilac-eyed charlatan.

  His cloak was scorched, strategically torn. A fake bandage adorned his forehead. He waited for silence to fall — and it fell quickly.

  — Citizens of Füllhorn… — he began, his voice heavy with feigned exhaustion. — Today, our city bleeds.

  He pointed at Micah.

  — This man. This unstable Awakened. A vessel of negative Karma so dense it distorts reality around him.

  A murmur of horror rippled through the square.

  — I gave him shelter. I gave him treatment. I tried to save him. — Ezra took a deep, theatrical breath — But some souls… do not want redemption.

  He raised his hand, and apprentices displayed cracked crystals, empty vials, charred remains.

  — The result you saw. A Soulless unleashed. Homes destroyed. Innocent deaths. — his voice broke at the perfect moment — All the fruit of this uncontrolled Migrator’s corruption.

  Something tightened in Micah’s chest.

  It wasn’t fear.

  It was worse.

  It was the horrifying realization that… it was working.

  They believed him.

  Every face before him believed him.

  Frustration came like a wave of hot nausea.

  Of being too wronged.

  Of being too manipulated.

  Of being too powerless.

  Not just there — but always.

  To live used.

  To die discarded.

  What a pathetic irony.

  — By the Law of the Leviathan. — Ezra concluded. — By the Justice of Edel-Füllhorn. This man shall be purified by fire.

  Ezra approached one last time. The crowd could not hear.

  — Don’t take this personally. — he murmured. — Every society needs a visible villain. And you… had already lost hope anyway.

  “Don’t take it personally…?”

  “DON’T TAKE IT PERSONALLY?!”

  Hatred boiled so fast that Micah felt his body shake.

  If he hadn’t been bound, he would have buried his fingers in that man’s throat.

  Ezra stepped away.

  A torch was lit.

  The heat touched his feet first.

  Soft. Almost gentle.

  Then it rose.

  And rose.

  And then the pain was born.

  It didn’t explode — it grew, alive, hungry.

  His skin began to burn. His clothes fused to his body before disintegrating. His muscles contracted in useless spasms, sliding from the bones like melting fat.

  Micah writhed.

  His wide eyes begged for something — anything — but the crowd only screamed louder.

  No one felt pity.

  After all, who would have empathy for a monster who killed so many innocents?

  No word ever written could describe what he felt.

  Not one millionth.

  Not one billionth.

  Not even the comfort of seeing his life flash before his eyes was granted to him. The adrenaline wouldn’t allow it.

  Until the body gave in.

  Darkness came before the smoke.

  Before the end.

  ...

  ......

  But what a spectacle.

  A performance worthy of applause. A satisfying ending, I would say.

  But this is far from over.

  The luxury of death does not belong to you yet.

  You still have much to entertain me, Micah.