On the cold Stone Platform, Cyril remained curled up.
His body was slightly hunched, his head bowed low. He looked no different from the prisoners who had been tortured into numbness through countless days and nights.
The White Lines binding him had been eroded by deathly energy again and again. Only the faintest traces still held.
But Cyril did not move rashly.
He locked the last of his soul power deep within his core, not daring to let a single wisp escape.
Ever since he had forcibly torn fragments from his soul to create magic, he had not stopped this nearly self-destructive erosion.
The cost had come faster than he had imagined.
Memories that had once been etched into him now left nothing in his mind but hollow names.
He tried to recall the faces and voices that went with them, but could grasp nothing.
"Damned brat. This is all because of you... Never mind... I'll make you pay soon enough..."
Cyril had no time to dwell on his regrets.
None of that mattered. As long as he succeeded, everything was worth it For the Greater Good.
He abandoned those blank spaces and cast all his senses into the distant void.
Gavin's figure stood there.
After being imprisoned here for so long, Cyril had worked out a pattern.
Whenever the body in reality needed controlling, that figure became dazed, its eyes vacant and unfocused. Only when the brat himself entered this Consciousness Space did his eyes regain their clarity.
At the instant one state gave way to the other, there was a fleeting gap.
That was his chance.
Before, the White Lines had pinned his limbs fast, leaving him to watch helplessly as that opening appeared and vanished again and again.
This time was different.
Cyril fixed his gaze on