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"Hah… Captain, I made it just in time, didn't I?" A familiar voice rang beside Hugin's ear—light-hearted with a note of teasing, but simultaneously tinged with profound relief. It was Charles.
"You… how did you…"
Hugin's gaze swept around him. They were at the edge of the mansion, in one of its peripheral rooms. Through the window, he could see the distorted edge of the Reflected World, a space carved open by sorcery. Its boundary was marked by an unnatural, otherworldly hue.
"Well… long story short, I am a member of the Ryders, after all. The old me saw some glimpses of your future, Captain. You're the kind of stubborn fool who'd march off alone to face this Engel fellow. Seems like you actually pulled it off—but then…"
Charles drew a finger across his neck and stuck out his tongue with a dramatic eye-roll.
"You shouldn't have come," Hugin said hoarsely. "My death was always inevitable. The things inside me… with time, they grow harder and harder to restrain. As I grow stronger, so do they. And once I can no longer control them, they'll become a catastrophe."
Though Charles had used his Tarot cards to teleport Hugin to safety, Hugin's condition hadn't improved.
The demons within him had nearly torn free from his control. Signs of their presence—horns, scales, and other grotesque mutations—surfaced and writhed along his body.
No longer deceived or suppressed by fighting spirit, the demons had ceased...
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