"Who's there?" Charles's hoarse voice called out.
"It hasn't been that long and you've already forgotten me?" The response carried bitter resentment. "Don't you remember the day you argued in court and got me imprisoned?"
Charles tried to recall his most recent court appearance. A memory surfaced. "Benjamin..."
"Yes," the voice responded immediately. "The man whose life you destroyed. The one you promised to help but instead sent to this prison."
"What you did was real," Charles answered, his voice firm despite his weakness. "The fraud, the cover-ups—those were things you actually did."
"Shut up!" Benjamin shouted. "If you hadn't dug up my past, I would have gotten away with it. I'd be living peacefully with my wife now, not stuck in this rotting place."
"It's that past of yours that made someone else suffer," Charles replied. "As it happens, that's something I couldn't accept."
"Keep talking tough. I've been eagerly waiting for you to suffer again. Let's see how long you can keep up this attitude."
"Probably not as long as you'll be in this prison."
The argument continued until Charles grew weary. His battered body finally surrendered to sleep, though pain woke him periodically.
Until the last time he woke, it wasn't pain that roused him, but a familiar voice.
...
Not long before, at the royal prison entrance:
"I apologize, but regulations allow only one visitor at a time," the prison guard stated, his stern gaze fixed on Joseph's group. "For security reasons, especially with high-profile prisoners."
Miranda frowned. "Not even I can enter..."
"Rules are rules," the guard said firmly. "No exceptions, even for you."
Edward quickly placed a hand on her shoulder. "Stay calm," he whispered, then turned to Joseph. "You go in alone. You're closest to Charles. He might be more willing to open up to you."
"Fine, we'll wait outside," Miranda sighed deeply. "If anything seems wrong, signal us."
Joseph nodded, taking the ancient book from his sister before following the guard into the prison, leaving Edward and Miranda waiting outside.
...
"Charles..." Joseph's voice came from the other side of the bars.
Charles opened his eyes to see Joseph standing there with a book in hand. A spark of hope flashed in his eyes. Despite his severe injuries, he pushed himself up to sit and moved as close to the bars as his chains would allow, trying to get a better look at what his friend was holding.
But as he approached the bars, Charles's eyes widened in shock when he saw a dark shadow moving behind Joseph.
The mysterious figure separated from the darkness, lunging forward silently. In its hand was a long knife that reflected the harsh light.
"Look out!" Charles shouted at the top of his lungs.
With the reflexes honed from special unit training, Joseph spun around and dodged at the last moment. The blade sliced through his clothing, leaving a long wound on his arm. Blood slowly seeped out, staining the fabric a deep red.
The assassin paused briefly after missing the target, then reached into his cloak, quickly pulling out a set of keys.
A clicking sound echoed in the narrow room. Suddenly, silence consumed everything. The sounds from outside vanished as if cut off, as if the cell had been completely separated from the outside world, leaving them trapped in an isolated space.
The assassin lunged at Joseph again, the knife cutting arcs through the air. Joseph quickly reached for a healing potion from his pocket, but at that moment, another knife flew past his face, forcing him to step back rapidly and return the bottle to his pocket.
Treating the wound would have to wait. Survival was now the priority.
The assassin gave no time to breathe, attacking in rapid succession, the knife gleaming intermittently in the darkness. Each thrust and slash aimed for a killing blow. Joseph retreated, trying to maintain distance, his lips moving slightly as he attempted to utter words of power, but the assassin gave no opening, attacking relentlessly as if immune to fatigue.
"Hréoda!"
Charles's shout echoed through the room. A wave of energy struck the assassin forcefully, sending the black-clad figure crashing into the wall.
The assassin rose from the impact as if feeling no pain, giving Joseph a chance to use his power of declaration. He shouted, "Stop! Don't move!"
Suddenly everyone in the room froze, including Joseph himself, though he remained in a pose with his palm pointed at the assassin. But then the air grew unnaturally cold. Faint gray shadows gradually separated from the assassin's body—summoned evil spirits.
Though the spirits were bound by Joseph's power and unable to move, they slowly absorbed his life force. Worse, the wound on his arm continued to bleed. His face grew increasingly pale, his vision blurring.
"Must cancel the power..." Joseph muttered, letting his command dissipate. The assassin could move again.
The fight continued. Joseph struggled despite his weakening body, contending with both the evil spirits and the assassin's blade. Sweat drenched his face, his breathing becoming increasingly labored.
Charles helped as much as possible from behind the bars, sometimes using the "Hréoda" spell to create shock waves that deflected attacks, sometimes shouting warnings when he saw dangerous moments, or using his power to create distractions that threw the assassin off balance—any way he could help give Joseph a chance to survive.
But the situation deteriorated. Joseph's body began trembling with exhaustion, his movements slowing, while the assassin continued attacking without pause.
Joseph tried to back away to create distance, reaching for the healing potion again, but the assassin gave no opportunity, rushing forward with the surrounding evil spirits. Everything the knife touched withered instantly. Even the stone floor was left with long black marks.
"Watch out! Behind you!" Charles shouted in warning when he saw one of the evil spirits circling around to Joseph's back.
"Hréoda!" The energy wave from Charles passed through the bars, striking the evil spirit and dispersing it momentarily.
But Charles's assistance was becoming insufficient. Each time a spirit was destroyed, it reformed within seconds. And his skin was beginning to feel slightly numb.
Joseph staggered against the wall, breathing heavily. The blood from his wound still flowed, his face deathly pale, his vision increasingly blurred.
Without Charles's help, Joseph would have died immediately. His friend's support had allowed him to fight on for so long.
But the assassin began to show signs of irritation. He started reciting a long incantation, his deep voice echoing in the room while still fighting Joseph.
When the final word left his lips, he pointed at Charles's cell. Suddenly silence consumed every sound in the cell. No matter how loudly Charles shouted his spells, no sound escaped. All magic became useless.
Though he still had power as an Ascendant, the assassin had prepared well. He sent some of the evil spirits to attack Charles immediately. Charles's power worked against these spirits, but only briefly. Once the spirits recovered, they resumed draining his life force.
Charles could only watch helplessly, while fighting the spirits surrounding him, unable to reach out and help his dear friend who was in danger.
Hope gradually dimmed like a candle about to be extinguished. Joseph stumbled against the wall, the unceasing flow of blood forming a dark red pool beneath his feet. His once-steady legs trembled, his arms raised in defense grew heavy as if weighted with iron chains.
The world around him began to blur, the image before him completely hazy. The once-bright light in the room became merely a dim glow. He could hear his own heartbeat echoing, slowing... slowing... as his breathing became labored. Cold sweat broke out all over his body, a chill spreading from his extremities toward his heart.
The strength he once possessed began to fade. His once-strong body now withered like a dry leaf, waiting only for the final breeze to carry life away.
In the cell, Charles, already injured from torture, deteriorated further as the evil spirits swarmed to feed on his life force. Pain radiated from old wounds that were aggravated, combined with the penetrating cold seeping into his bones. As each spirit consumed his life force, the warmth in his body gradually disappeared.
He could only look through the bars with increasingly blurry vision, seeing his dear friend about to fall, but unable to do anything. Despair gnawed at his heart worse than the surrounding evil spirits. Watching a friend die before his eyes without being able to help was the most excruciating torture in his own powerlessness.
Both men knew death was approaching, like a dark shadow gradually consuming the last light. No escape, no hope, only darkness waiting ahead.
As consciousness began to fade, something awakened in the depths of Charles's mind. He felt the familiar hunger, being consumed by the power within him. It tried to take over, just like before, when he first became an Ascendant.
These feelings not only failed to help but might worsen the situation. They would transform him into something insane and mindless, leaving only raw instinct that would devour the consciousness of every living being.
"No..." he tried to resist, but his thoughts drifted further away, gradually entering a deep sleep, his eyes about to close.
Suddenly, a faint whisper sounded beside his ear, accompanied by a familiar laugh. Just hearing that voice made Charles's body tremble with fear. An icy coldness ran through him, seeping deep into his bone marrow, infiltrating every nerve.
He recognized that voice... the laughter of the Grand Vitalis Entity he had encountered in that house. The image of it, which he had glimpsed only briefly, continued to haunt him, tempting and tormenting him with fear, until he had to elevate himself to protect himself from its effects.
Back then he thought it was over, thought the voice was gone, the hallucinations faded, everything returned to normal... but now he knew he was wrong. It had never gone away, only weakened by his increased power. It could no longer affect him as severely as before, but it remained, waiting for an opportunity.
Though his consciousness was fading, the image of Joseph falling remained clear in his sight. He saw the assassin holding the knife, slowly approaching his weakened friend. That voice whispered again, tempting him to utter something, promising that with just a few words, a few sentences, he would have enough power to deal with the assassin.
Just say the name... just one name...
Charles spoke: "Morsangus..." As the final syllable left his lips, the air in the room instantly grew frigid. Darkness began to creep in. The lamp light dimmed as if about to go out.
Even in this sealed space, the invocation echoed like a bell at midnight, summoning the owner of a name that should never have been called.