The platform continued its descent with slow metallic creaks, each link of the chain protesting under their combined weight and the mounting tension in the air. The light from above already seemed too distant to matter, reduced to a pale circle far above, while below, torches lit in sequence transformed the underground into a corridor of long, menacing shadows.

Damon remained motionless at the front of the platform, one hand casually resting on the side chain, as if descending towards a possible ambush were just another administrative inconvenience. His eyes, however, were alert, scanning every detail of the subterranean chamber that gradually emerged.

Ancient stone walls.

Arches reinforced with new beams.

Improvised pipes carrying liquids between adjacent rooms.

Symbols hastily painted over faded coats of arms.

This was no mere hideout.

It was an active facility.

"I hate when criminals are organized," Cherry murmured behind him.

"You hate it when someone competes with your chaos," Ester replied.

"Me too."

The platform finally touched the ground with a dry thud.

No one stepped out immediately.

Damon took a step forward first.

The large underground hall was ancient, probably part of the forgotten foundations of some mansion demolished centuries before. The high ceiling was supported by thick columns, between which tables, shelves, empty cages, sealed barrels, and alchemical apparatus fueled by blue fire had been installed. At the far end, a short staircase led to a kind of elevated office surrounded by dark velvet curtains.

And before him—

Her.

The woman sat in a high chair, legs crossed, a glass of wine in her hand, dressed with an absurd elegance for that place. Black hair pinned up with impeccable precision, jewelry too discreet to be modest, a smile too calm to be sincere.

Cherry tilted her head.

"Ah. I don’t like her anymore."

"Mutual feeling," the woman replied.

Her voice was soft, polite, and perfectly trained for noble halls, not for underground hideouts. That alone made her more suspicious than any dagger.

Damon observed her for a few seconds.

"Name."

She raised her glass slightly.

"Lady Seraphine Valcor."

Ester frowned immediately.

"Valcor? House Valcor lost titles forty years ago."

Seraphine smiled at her.

"Lost lands. Never lost education."

"Nor arrogance, it seems," Cherry commented.

Seraphine ignored the provocation and turned her gaze to Damon.

"You caused more damage than expected. Three warehouses, forty men, and expensive inventory. Impressive, though crude."

"Thank you."

"That wasn’t a compliment."

"I decide that."

Ingrivid discreetly spread to the side, watching for secondary entrances and potential shooters. Ester was already taking mental notes of everything. Cherry just seemed eager to start ruining expensive furniture.

Seraphine rested her glass on the arm of her chair.

"I imagine you’re here for answers."

"I imagine you’re here because you ran away too late," Damon replied.

She let out a short laugh.

"Run away? No. I stayed to meet you."

Cherry grimaced.

"What a terrible flirt."

"Silence, little walking violence," Seraphine said.

Cherry smiled immediately.

"Now I love it."

Damon took two steps forward.

"You work for Morgana’s stepmother."

Seraphine arched an elegant eyebrow.

"I work with useful people. Familiar titles are boring details."

"Then confirm it."

"I confirm you ask bad questions."

Without warning, Damon threw a nearby wooden box straight at her.

The box crossed the hall at brutal speed—

And stopped in mid-air.

Everyone stared.

The box trembled, suspended for a fraction of a second, then slowly spun and fell sideways to the floor, as if invisible hands had repositioned it.

Ester narrowed her eyes.

"Kinetic magic?"

Seraphine tilted her head.

"What an ugly academic term."

Damon smiled slowly.

"Better. I was bored."

The curtains behind her opened.

Four hooded figures emerged, each wearing smooth porcelain masks and wielding metal staffs marked with runes. They stood motionless, in formation.

Cherry whistled.

"Now that sounds like a weird cult."

"Guardians of containment," Seraphine explained. "Designed to deal with supernatural problems."

"What bad luck," Damon replied. "I’m a recurring problem."

The four attacked at the same time.

They didn’t run.

They glided.

Their batons struck the ground simultaneously, and lines of light spread across the stone, forming a circle that closed around Damon.

Ingrivid was already firing.

An arrow struck one of them in the shoulder, but ricocheted off a translucent barrier.

"Active protection!" she shouted.

Cherry ran to the side without waiting for instructions.

"Great, more fun."

The circle glowed, and a sudden pressure fell upon Damon, compressing the air around him. It wasn’t enough to stop him, but it was clearly designed to slow down fast creatures.

Seraphine watched with clinical interest.

"I wanted to see if the reports were exaggerating."

Damon moved his neck slowly.

It cracked.

"My reports tend to be humble."

He took a step.

The rune cracked.

Second step.

The ground sank.

Third—

The circle exploded into luminous fragments and broken stone.

The four masked figures hesitated for the first time.

Fatal mistake.

Damon appeared before the first and snatched his staff before he could react. He used the improvised weapon to strike the second in the side of the head with enough force to shatter his mask, staff, and personal convictions all at once.

Cherry reached the third from the flank, slid under a blow, and severed the tendons behind his knee.

"Contain this, idiot."

The fourth turned to attack Ester, perceiving her as an easier target.

Ingrivid fired twice.

The first arrow missed her guard.

The second lodged in her exposed throat between mask and hood.

"Target corrected," she said.

Seraphine clapped once.

Slow.

Polite.

"Fast. Brutal. Unrefined. Yes, it matches the reputation."

Damon threw the broken staff to the ground.

"Is the show over?"

"Almost."

She stood up.

And the entire hall vibrated.

The bookshelves trembled. Vials clinked. Chains on the walls began to sway without any wind. The torches leaned inward, as if drawn to the center.

Ester paled slightly.

"It’s not kinetic."

"Then what is?" Cherry asked.

Ester replied softly:

"Gravitational."

Seraphine smiled.

"Finally, someone polite."

She raised her hand.

Cherry was ripped from the ground and thrown against a column.

Ingrivid fell to her knees as the surrounding weight tripled.

Ester could barely support herself on a table.

Damon remained standing.

But he felt it.

The pressure built in layers, trying to crush muscles, organs, and bones without physical contact.

Seraphine descended the steps slowly.

"You break doors. I break structures."

Damon took a deep breath.

"Nice line."

"Thank you."

"I stole it now."

He disappeared.

Not at normal speed.

In a pure muscular explosion against the pressure.

He appeared before her with his hand reaching for her neck—

But he was thrown aside by a sudden change in the force vector. His body went through a table and rolled across the floor.

Cherry, still lying there, laughed.

"She threw you!"

"I saw that," Damon replied, standing up.

Seraphine moved two fingers.

Pieces of metal from the hall rose around her like floating blades.

"Last chance to kneel."

Cherry spat blood onto the floor.

"Last chance to dress worse."

The blades shot out.

Ingrivid pulled Ester behind a column. Damon lunged forward, dodging some, breaking others with his arms, letting two graze his skin without a second thought.

Seraphine increased the pressure again.

The floor cracked beneath Damon.

He grinned.

"Now it’s interesting."

His feet sank into the stone.

He pulled his own body forward as if dragging the world along with him.

Seraphine frowned for the first time.

"Impossible."

"Lazy word."

Damon caught up with her.

She raised both hands to concentrate maximum force on his chest.

The invisible impact landed squarely.

Ribs cracked.

Blood rushed to her throat.

He kept advancing nonetheless.

And grabbed her wrists.

Her smile vanished.

"You rely too much on distance," he murmured.

Then he slammed his forehead against hers.

The sound was sharp.

Seraphine staggered.

Cherry raised an arm in celebration.

"CLASSIC!"

Damon twisted her wrists down with calculated violence, breaking the posture necessary to sustain the spell, and pulled her forward in the same movement, landing a brutal punch to her stomach that instantly doubled her over, all the air escaping her lungs in a dry, humiliating sound.

At that same instant, the gravitational pressure that dominated the hall wavered.

The columns stopped groaning.

The suspended objects plummeted to the floor.

The suffocating weight that crushed chests and knees simply gave way, eliciting deep, involuntary breaths from everyone around.

Cherry let out an exaggerated sigh.

"Ah, much better."

Seraphine staggered back, one hand pressing against her abdomen, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth and staining the impeccable elegance of seconds before. Still, she insisted on raising her other trembling hand, fingers trying to form yet another commanding seal, another desperate attempt to regain control.

"I still—"

Cherry surged from the side like an angry whirlwind.

The hilt of the sword struck Seraphine’s temple with a clean, cruel crack, cutting her sentence short and extinguishing any remaining pretense of superiority. The woman fell gracelessly, knees buckling first, then her entire body collapsing onto the cold stone.

"You still talk too much," said Cherry, twirling the sword in her fingers before resting it on her shoulder.

Silence filled the hall.

Not the tense silence of imminent combat.

But that heavy, satisfied silence that only exists after victory.

The torches on the walls stabilized their flames. Swaying chains gradually ceased. Tools and metal fragments finished rolling across the floor. The entire chamber seemed to exhale a collective gasp after the fall of the woman controlling it.

Ester adjusted her glasses, still catching her breath, and cast a cold glance at the unconscious body on the floor.

"I would like to officially register that I detest users of invisible force."

Cherry pointed at her.

"Registered. Supported. Signed."

Ingrivid stood slowly, massaging her shoulder and observing Seraphine with professional caution.

"She’s alive."

"Great," Damon replied, wiping the blood from his chin with the back of his hand. "Dead men tell bad stories."

Cherry raised her hand like a diligent student.

"Can I make her a little worse before the interrogation?"

"No."

"And then?"

"We’ll see."

"That’s practically a yes."

Damon ignored the conversation and turned his gaze to the elevated office behind the command chair.

The doors were ajar.

Inside, shadows outlined tall bookcases, tables covered in parchment, open maps, and symbols drawn on surfaces too decorative to be mere. There were small safes, sealed boxes, a partially disassembled metal globe, and stacks of documents organized with the precision of someone accustomed to concealing horrors under impeccable order.

Perhaps letters.

Perhaps names.

Perhaps routes.

Perhaps evidence capable of setting half of Arven’s nobility ablaze.

Perhaps something worse.

His gaze hardened slightly.

Then he began to climb the stone steps slowly, each step echoing in the now silent hall.

"Search everything," he said, without even looking back. "Papers, codes, ledgers, false compartments. If it seems important, take it."

And he paused briefly before adding:

"And tie up that noble psychopath before she wakes up thinking she’s still in charge."

Cherry grinned widely and dangerously.

"With pleasure."