Sévon took the lead.
His boots clicked sharply against the polished marble, the sound echoing unnaturally loud in the expansive hall. Esme, Taura, and Lokei fell in behind him, each of them scanning the chandeliers, pillars, and balconies with keen eyes.
The silence in Mischa's domain felt too perfect. Too pristine. It was a world designed to eliminate them. Sévon didn't glance back as he spoke. His voice was low, clipped, and carried a weight of seriousness.
"From this point on, keep your wits about you. If you make even one mistake in here…you're done for."
Esme swallowed hard but nodded in agreement. Lokei adjusted the strap on his gauntlet, his eyes narrowed in focus. Taura wrapped her arms tightly around herself, her tail stiff with anxiety.
They all responded in unison.
"Understood."
Sévon raised his arm, signaling for them to move ahead.
"Let's go."
They ventured deeper into the seemingly endless mansion. The velvet drapes swayed gently, even though there was no breeze. The chandeliers above flickered like stars struggling to shine through a thick layer of ink. Each footstep felt unsettling, as if the floor was waiting—patiently—for someone to stumble.
Esme leaned in and whispered, "Does anyone else feel like we're stepping into a fancy nightmare?"
"No," Lokei replied, his voice low. "Nightmares are usually more forgiving."
Sévon's gaze darted across the balconies repeatedly.
"There's no way that maid conjured all this just for show. Keep an eye on the maids, the dolls, the walls anything could turn into a weapon."
Just then, one of the porcelain dolls turned its head.
Taura tensed up. "S-Sévon…"
"I see it," he replied calmly.
They pressed further into the mansion, the floor glowing softly with each step. The marble beneath them reflected their images like a mirror, but something felt off.
Sévon was the first to catch it.
"…Wait."
Esme blinked in confusion. "What—?"
A strange ripple crawled up their legs, like invisible hands brushing against their clothes. Fabric shifted, tightened, and reshaped itself. Buttons clicked into place, collars snapped upright, and lace shimmered briefly before settling.
In an instant, their entire outfits transformed. Sévon looked down and froze.
"…no. No. Absolutely not."
Lokei stared at his reflection, as if the universe had just betrayed him.
"I am NOT wearing this."
Now, the two men stood in pristine black butler uniforms, complete with silver chains, polished cuffs, and elegant gloves. Their hair had even been slicked back neatly, like obedient servants.
Esme's reaction was the complete opposite.
"Oh my GOSH THIS IS ADORABLE!"
She twirled around, her frilled maid skirt fluttering gracefully. "I look AMAZING!"
Taura let out a shriek the moment she caught sight of her own outfit.
"D-DON'T LOOK AT ME!! SEVON! LOKEI! TURN AROUND!! I LOOK LIKE—LIKE—LIKE—"
"A maid," Lokei said flatly.
"SHUT UP!"
Sévon rubbed his temples, pure fury radiating from him
"This psycho is dressing us up now?! What kind of domain IS this?!"
Taura stomped her foot, completely mortified. "I SWEAR IF ANY OF YOU EVEN GLANCE— I WILL—"
"Oh, come on," Esme said, admiring her reflection in a shiny pillar. "We look amazing! This is the best uniform I've ever worn. I could totally WORK here."
"WE ARE NOT WORKING HERE," Sévon shot back.
But the mansion had other ideas. At that moment, the chandeliers lit up, casting a spotlight on the grand staircase. A slow, elegant applause echoed from above.
CLAP.
CLAP.
CLAP.
Mischa appeared, gliding down the stairs, her skirts flowing like moonlight.
"I see you're enjoying your new roles, my darlings."
Sévon's eye twitched.
Mischa beamed, leaning over the banister.
"Well then… it's time to earn your keep."
The temperature dropped. Every doll in the hall turned toward them, heads creaking, eyes glowing.
SNAP—CLACK.
Dozens of tiny arms raised mechanical rifles in perfect unison, all aimed straight at the four of them. Esme froze mid-twirl. Lokei let out a breath, as if he were trapped in his own personal nightmare. Taura screamed again. Sévon stepped forward, his aura lighting up his gloves.
"Ya freakin' maid… you're twisted."
Mischa giggled, covering her mouth like a bashful debutante.
"Aww. Thank you."
She snapped her fingers.
"OPEN FIRE."
Assad found himself standing in the middle of an endless hall, brushing off tiny shards of glass from his arms. His heart raced, not from any pain, but from sheer, bewildering confusion.
One moment, he was in Shuren's car.
The next… he was here.
A mansion. Velvet floors. Chandeliers. Armed maids. Cursed dolls. None of it made any sense. He spun around slowly, his hands raised slightly.
"What the hell… is this some kind of rich-people horror movie?"
Before he could take a step, the air shimmered. A strange warmth crept up his legs, then his torso, and suddenly, his clothes transformed into something completely different. A black suit jacket. Polished gloves. A stark white shirt. A silver chain at his vest. Neatly trimmed cuffs.
A perfect butler uniform. Assad stared down at himself in disbelief.
Then he screamed.
"WHAT THE— NO. NO, NO, NO— WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?! I AIN'T WEARING THIS. GET THIS TRASH OFF ME— I LOOK LIKE I SERVE TEA FOR A LIVING!"
He yanked at the jacket in frustration.
"Bro, what is going on? Who the hell— WHAT THE HELL IS THIS PLACE?!"
His voice echoed through the marble hallways. For a moment, he stood frozen, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Then, slowly, he forced himself to breathe.
"Okay… okay… calm down. Calm down. Think."
He pressed two fingers to his temples.
"The last thing I remember was… that giant black sphere, and I think I saw Mischa on the truck. And then there was that… dome."
He exhaled shakily.
"So I'm trapped inside her ability. Or spell. Or whatever the hell she does."
He looked around again, this time with determination. Velvet halls. Endless floors. Ballrooms stretching into infinity.
"Alright… this is some kind of… dimension. A pocket world? A trap?"
His stomach dropped.
"If I'm here… are the others here too?"
He started walking. His footsteps echoed too loudly, as if the mansion was eavesdropping on him. He touched a marble pillar, and it pulsed faintly under his hand.
"…Yep. This place is alive. Great. Fantastic. I hate everything."
He kept moving, his eyes darting around every corner, the tension building with each new detail he noticed.
"I just need to find—someone."
Then he froze in his tracks. At the far end of the hall… a porcelain doll slowly turned its head to face him. Its glassy eyes sparkled in the dim light.
Assad whispered,
"…Bro. No. Please don't."
The doll lifted a tiny silver rifle. Assad's eyes went wide.
"Oh COME ON—"
POP—POP—POP!
Gunfire erupted down the hallway, and Assad took off, sprinting for his life.