Amalfrieda’s laughter rang through the air. It was so piercing that the orchestra had ceased their playing. “You absolute psychos!” She cackled as she struggled to hold onto her stomach. Her guts were stinging from laughing so hard.

She had her own, twisted reasons for laughing. Pennyrile’s neck had been so roughly cut open that she had been nearly decapitated. Her body was entering its final spasms. It wouldn’t be long until it began to go cold.

A drop of her blood, still slightly warm, was edging its way down Duxton’s cheek. His mouth opened for the briefest of moments. He looked over to Sybil. Her eyes were still a vibrant blue, but they were glazed over. She stood there, hunched over Pennyrile’s body, but he couldn’t see a trace of anyone home in her head.

People were already letting out panicked cries around him. Duxton had to take some sort of action. “Cleric! I need a cleric!” He finally called out.

Amalfrieda chortled. “Her spine is the only reason why she still has her head at all! A cleric isn’t going to fix that!”

The sounds were enough to awaken Sybil from her trance. She blinked a few times as she regained control over her body. Sybil felt the sensation of blood soaking into her shoes and staggered backward.

“... Duxton?” She looked to him for any sort of guidance. “What’s going on?” Sybil then looked down at her hand. She was still tightly gripping onto her dagger. It was stained with blood. “... I didn’t do this!”

“I know,” mouthed Duxton. He hesitated again. Guards were already running towards Sybil. “Run,” he gasped in a harsh whisper.

Across the room, Patterfall watched the crowd surge like a wave. Those with combat experience, like Paladin Nicolas, were rushing to Pennyrile’s corpse. Many others were shoving lesser nobles out their way as they sought to escape. The royal guard had already blocked off the exits. No one was getting out of here until the killer was caught.

“Where did Sybil go?” Patterfall turned his head towards Gwyn. She had also vanished. “Miss Gwyn!”

Gwyn was going in the opposite direction of Sybil. She slipped between the gaps in the crowd. A moment longer, and she would have reached Laurent. The man was idling in the background, patiently waiting for security to do its job.

“Father Laurent!” Gwyn finally reached him. “You should evacuate!”

Laurent looked down at the woman. She was the one who was with Patterfall earlier. He had already done a background check on her. There was something erratic on that report... What was it again?

Disgracefully expelled from Braytons. She had been directly competing with Priestess Maplehammer over who would get to be with Veximarl. That little competition of theirs got both of them kicked out. Before that, she had been dating Shaw. This meant that she had connections with Duxton, and anyone with connections to Duxton would surely not have Laurent’s best interests in mind.

“Are you insinuating that I’m a target?” He was amused by the idea. “Has Duxton finally chosen to make a move against me?”

Gwyn shook her head. “No, sir. Prince Duxton has nothing to do with this. Please believe me when I say this. I implore you, sir, to evacuate!”

On the other side, Sybil’s fingers tensed on the dagger. Her body shifted into mist for a moment, reappearing behind the guards that were chasing her. “I can’t run from this,” she whispered. Regardless of how this moment came, it was hers to lose.

She slashed her free hand through the air and a cloud of mist flooded the area. The crowd, flowing like a singular, panicked beast, struggled to get away from the location. Sybil faded from view and shifted herself partially into mist. Her body was lighter this way, and she could easily jump over the crowds if she hopped from table to table.

Laurent caught a glimpse of the cloud of the mist right before a thorny hedge burst into view. Gwyn had shaken seeds from her skirt and had conjured up a defensive barrier. Thousands of blossoms appeared among the thorns. She then thrust out her right arm and flicked her fingers outwards. Vines coiled out from her sleeve, forming into a thorn-covered sword.

This was quite an interesting turn of events. Gwyn was clearly taking on a defensive stance, aiming to protect Laurent rather than kill him. He kept an eye on the flowers. His gaze immediately flicked to the left, where the flower petals had shifted due to a breeze.

Gwyn flexed her fingers and the flowers in that area exploded in pollen. A shape fell to the ground, coughing and wheezing. Sybil quickly shifted into mist to clear the pollen off of herself. During the moment of invisibility, Gwyn positioned herself between Laurent and Sybil. She held her makeshift sword sideways, catching Sybil’s dagger as she attempted to thrust it at Laurent.

“What are you doing?!” Sybil exclaimed. She tugged back on the blade, but Gwyn’s vines were already curling around it.

“I didn’t agree to help you kill anyone!” Gwyn yanked back her arm, hoping that Sybil would let go of the dagger. Sybil took a step forward so she wouldn’t get knocked off balance.

A voice called out from the other side of the briar hedge. “Miss Gwyn?”

“Stay out of this, Patterfall!” Shouted Sybil.

“Please retreat to a safe location, sir!” Called out Gwyn at the same time.

Sybil momentarily shifted into mist, freeing her dagger in the process. “He’s standing right there!” She gestured to Laurent. “Just look away for a second and let me stab him a couple of times!” She made a subtle stabbing motion with the dagger.

Gwyn shifted a foot and Sybil’s ankles became entangled in vines. “I’m not willing to let you do that.”

Sybil let out an annoyed sigh before disappearing and reappearing just out of the vine’s reach. She hesitated for a brief moment, eyes darting between Gwyn and Laurent. “Step aside for a moment, okay? I honestly don’t want to hurt you, Gwyn.”

Laurent sat down in a chair and casually crossed his legs. He couldn’t hide the grin on his face. This must be that infamous Sybil Twist. Someone in his network had made a dire lapse of judgment. Probably Neryx. They were the one who stated that there was no point in kidnapping her now that there were would-bes begging to knock at their front door.

What an intriguing mistake that was. The potential that this girl had was outstanding. Laurent lowered his hand, nearly brushing the floor with his fingertips. Several rings of mana appeared at the base of the chair. Another twitch of his fingers and runes began to appear on them. He raised his hand and a panel appeared in front of him.

Sybil’s eyes were instantly drawn to the panel. Runes were appearing on them. “What the…” He was using golem engravings on his own magic to…

She flashed into mist and flashed past Gwyn. Sybil reappeared behind Laurent, violently flying backward and banging into a table. She sprung off of it, rolled against the floor, then sprung to a stand. There wasn’t a shield around him. What did she bounce off of?

The runes at his feet… Absence. Void. Withdrawal. Breath. He created a cylindrical vacuum around himself. No air meant no sneak attack. She looked over to the panel. Laurent wasn’t phased by her attack. A vacuum only stopped her mist form, she could easily travel through it. The only things that it stopped were her magic and…

Screech. Disorient. Lullaby. Coma.

Sybil hit the ground and covered her ears. She phased herself into mist just as a cacophony of music began to scream across the room. Bodies were going limp and hitting the floor in a wave that resonated out from Laurent’s position.

It was identical to the song that Alton used to render people unconscious, amplified in volume by several times. Sybil continued to distort her form, doing what she could to prevent herself from hearing the melody. She knew that it wouldn’t affect her as much if she let the sound waves pass through her rather than vibrate her body.

Laurent was using his own magic to power the runes. This was utter insanity. He could come up with any equation and implement it in an instant. Either he was prepared to fight someone like her, or he was some sort of genius.

The melody faded and Sybil began to cough and wheeze for air. She didn’t get a chance to inhale before she phased. Struggling to a stand, she found herself banging against another surface. This wasn’t like the vacuum shield, but a bubble of mana that Laurent had summoned around her.

Laurent laughed to himself. “You remind me a little of Larkin. She didn’t cast as well as you do, but you move in a similar fashion.” He knelt next to the bubbled and knocked against it with a knuckle. “You still need to work on overcoming some weaknesses. I found myself rather hopeful that I would get the chance to see a master of mist magic, but I’m left sorely disappointed.”

Sybil continued to gasp for air. There was hardly any air in this bubble. She looked up and glared at Laurent. “... B-bastard!”

Phasing was a defensive spell. Destabilizing limited the user’s ability to see or hear. Sound traveled through vibrations, sight through light, and oxygen needed to hit their lungs. It also left them vulnerable to attacks from fine particles or gasses. The spell was so deadly to the user that many chose to ignore it during combat.

Sybil used it as a way to attack. She must have not used it often during her combat training. Gwyn had already noticed its weaknesses and used pollen to force Sybil into solid form. It didn’t seem like anyone had bothered to teach her the basics of commanding other’s magic and altering their spells. She would’ve already broken out of the bubble if she had.

“Finding it hard to breathe?” Laurent knelt next to the bubble. He watched as Sybil began to claw and stab frantically at its sides while struggling to breathe.

He couldn’t kill her. The reports said that Veximarl was quite fond of this one. Though she did seem rather intent on killing him and though he wasn’t certain how he had wronged her, it was likely that he had done something to deserve it.

There were laws in place that could protect her from suffering charges related to Pennyrile’s death. What a shame. It didn’t seem like anything could be done about charging her for insurrection. After all, Laurent was quite the important government figure. She’d likely get executed.

“... Emily,” he muttered to himself. For some strange reason, he found himself thinking of her.

Sybil winced. Her eyes shifted to blue for a moment. Laurent had trouble seeing the change due to the tint of his magic, but he did notice that her face had gone slightly slack. It was intriguing enough for him to get a closer look. He placed a hand on the bubble and leaned towards her.

“Emily,” he called out to her in a firm tone.

Sybil stared at Laurent with a blank expression. Mostly silent, except for her struggles to breathe. Laurent let the bubble fade away, letting Sybil inhale sharply as she struggled to catch her breath. He watched her carefully, studying her every movement.

“... Look up at me, Emily.”

Now that she could breathe again, Sybil looked up at him. She was internally screaming for control, but the priestess had completely taken over. Laurent reached towards her neck. A collar made from his mana appeared around it, followed by runes that dampened her magic.

“Simply a precaution, Emily. I don’t know how long you can maintain control.” Laurent gently lifted up her chin. “... How are you?”

Sybil’s jaw tensed for a moment. She opened her mouth to say something, but she could only manage a brief exhale. Tears began to stream down her face.

Laurent’s gaze became pained. “It’s quite alright. Speaking can be difficult. It’s better that you concentrate on maintaining control.”

Complete possession of the body through slave conversion. Laurent had only read about it happening once before. He guessed that Pennyrile may have been responsible for this accident. This was a process that should have been familiar to her. Something like this shouldn’t have happened.

His reports described Sybil as a dark-haired woman with eyes that were nearly black in color. This woman’s eyes were the same vibrant blue that he remembered Emily’s being. Laurent narrowed his eyes. Her eyelashes… Mascara was keeping them black, but she had forgotten to coat her bottom lashes. They were a pale blonde.

He reached below her wig with a finger and pulled out a strand of blonde hair. “It’s quite alright,” he whispered reassuringly. It was the same pale blonde as her eyelashes.

Laurent licked his thumb and brushed away the makeup under Sybil’s left eye. There was a faint blackening of the skin there, almost reminiscent of Emily’s mole. It was as if Emily was able to partially transform Sybil’s body while she was under the effects of possession.

He didn’t know what to make of this at all. Neryx needed to be informed. He would… Be troubled. Neryx would be troubled and thus would become a nuisance to deal with. It was better to not report until he was absolutely certain. Laurent held up his hand next to Sybil’s ear.

“We’ll speak again,” he whispered. “Soon.”

Runes began to appear around the palm of his hand. A shockwave rattled Sybil’s mind, rendering her body unconscious. Laurent stood up and tightened his gloves. Guards were already coming in and evaluating the situation.

“Quinton.” Laurent focused on Protea, who was trailing down from the ceiling like a spider. “This one needs a magic restraint collar. Lock and key, if possible. Transport her to the White Palace. Tell them to keep the collar on her.”

Protea positioned himself so he was standing upright. One foot locked in a loop at the bottom of his strings and his hand helped keep him steady. “Should I keep an eye on her there? I would rather get back to my other patient, see if she’s woken up yet.”

“Prioritize the patient. Is your apprentice conscious?” Laurent looked up at him.

“Somehow.” Protea was grinning to himself. It took a lot of restraint to stay out of the battle, but he knew how Laurent hated people intervening. “What will you have her do?”

“I have separate orders for her,” replied Laurent. “Pass them on for me.”

Amalfrieda was sitting in a chair. She was staring at an unconscious Duxton. It was only moments ago that she was taunting him about being an instrument in his defeat, yet the last thing he had done before losing consciousness was to block off her hearing with his magic. He had foolishly chosen her safety over his own.

Protea landed on the ground next to her. “I have a task for you.”

Amalfrieda kept her eyes on Duxton. They wouldn’t kill him now, would they? The Order had a policy against creating martyrs. Duxton’s reputation had to be destroyed first before they assassinated him. Otherwise, they’d risk dangerous people investigating his death and seeking retribution.

“Have you gone deaf?” Protea asked in an annoyed tone.

“I haven’t,” replied Amalfrieda. Duxton would likely be fine. She looked up at Protea. “What are my orders?”

“We’ll be going on a hunting trip. I need you to prepare the cart to leave in the morning. It better have proper winter gear in it. I’m not fond of cold.” Protea snapped his fingers to catch her attention. She may have partially missed being affected by Laurent’s magic, but she still seemed to be in a daze. “Are you listening?”

She wasn’t, but she got the gist of it. “I understand.” Amalfrieda stood up. “I’ll leave immediately.”

Most of the party’s guests had recovered within the next half hour. The theatre troupe had been informed that Margret Miller had been a victim of possession. She had been taken into custody for her own safety. They would consider releasing her if she was deemed healthy and not a risk to others.

Kogin didn’t feel a sense of relief from the news. They had been kept back for some time, but he hadn’t seen a trace of either Alton or Zaniyah. Even Gwyn, Margret’s roommate, had vanished without saying anything.

They were told to leave for the night and return after the holidays to pack up their set. That was likely for the best. Most of the nobles had been just sitting around, faking fainting spells or spinning up complaints. Listening to their complaints was tiring. Kogin didn’t have the energy to clean up, even if he had been asked to. He didn’t even have the energy to process what happened.

The troupe broke apart the moment they crossed the bridge leading to the palace. They had originally planned an after-party, but there wasn’t a point in celebrating what could possibly be their last ever performance. Kogin wanted to go home and crawl into a bath. Forget about the entire thing completely. He briefly considered accepting a marriage proposal and allowing himself to be pampered by some rich woman for the rest of his days.

Just as he was thinking that, a burst of wind sent him staggering back. A figure had fallen from… Space, or something. Kogin didn’t know. He braced himself for a moment before lowering his arms.

“... Kogin Audee?” The figure asked.

Kogin hadn’t met the man before, but he matched the description that Zaniyah gave. “... Mister Chickadee?” After all, there wasn’t a person in Fogbloom who could so neatly fit his description.

Chickadee dashed forward and roughly grabbed Kogin’s collar. He yanked him down so he could stare him in the eyes. “Where is Zaniyah?!”