The lingering waves of the icy force field rippled through the circular underground chamber. The clatter of falling books gradually subsided, leaving only the pursuers' heavy breathing and the faint crackle of shorting instruments. The air smelled of ozone, dust, and a trace of iron from the black blood I had vomited.
I knelt on one knee, my lungs burning. Every breath felt like swallowing shards of glass. The right half of my body still felt numb from being scorched by the notebook's power, while the left was steeped in the cold of the Chapter of Binding, almost devoid of sensation. My consciousness felt as though it had been torn in half and crudely stitched back together, leaving searing pain and a strange, inhuman lucidity.
The sacrifice was complete. Part of "me" had vanished, buying a temporary, fragile restraint on the notebook. I could still feel it pulsing in my hand, but its frenzied desire to seize control at any moment had been suppressed by an invisible shackle-cold and steeped in paradoxical logic-reducing it to a dull, resentful whimper.
Good.
I raised my blurred gaze toward the black-clad pursuers struggling to their feet at the entrance to the stone stairs. They were clearly well trained. Despite being battered by the force field's impact, they had quickly found cover and raised their weapons again-not firearms this time, but short batons with energized tips and small shields flickering with runes. Equipment designed for supernatural targets.
Their leader had eyes as sharp as a hawk's. Through the lenses of his gas mask, he stared fixedly at me, especially at the two books in my hands, both now dim.
"Target's energy level has dropped! Binding may have succeeded! Execute capture protocol B!" he ordered in a low voice, slightly distorted by his mask.
*Capture