Unholy Player

"According to his words... he met Fate itself. And was chosen to deliver its message." Henry finally said it outright, his voice strained but clear.

"So... he introduces himself as a messenger of Fate." Adyr’s voice cut through the air, low and questioning, though there was no uncertainty in it—only cold analysis. "Saying only those chosen by fate can witness the new era... while calling me someone who might try to judge that fate?"

As the words left his lips, the atmosphere shifted—growing heavy and suffocating all at once.

For the first time in that conversation, Adyr’s Presence fully emerged. Bloodlust—cold, suffocating, oppressive—spread like black fog throughout the cabin, filling every corner with an unmistakable sense of death.

Henry’s muscles locked. He could feel them tensing and spasming against his will as he grasped the true meaning behind Adyr’s question.

According to what the Mad Scientist said... Fate itself saw Adyr as a threat. An adversary.

And if that was true, then the so-called Mad Scientist wasn’t an ally.

He was something else entirely.

Henry felt a wave of regret wash over him. For a moment, he wished he hadn’t spoken at all. His throat tightened, and he could feel his heart beating harder as the pressure around him grew unbearable.

Then, suddenly, it was gone.

Adyr reined in his bloodlust, settling back into his seat like nothing had happened. His voice returned to its usual, detached calm.

"I want you to arrange a meeting with him." His tone was simple and matter-of-fact. "Let’s hear it directly. Whether he’s a friend... or something else."