Capturing Nawasir!

How could one describe it, how it feels?

Beneath the pristine, white gloves, Luther could only perceive the texture as faintly soft, faintly spongy, like handling a sack of wet moss. Yet, despite its strange texture, it was alive, writhing and pulsing in his grip. He held it aloft, watching with calm detachment as it squirmed violently and spat frothy bubbles in his direction, its defiance both pitiful and grotesque.

Luther, in return, offered no visible reaction. His posture was composed, his gaze indifferent. He simply let it struggle, an image of cold detachment, as though to suggest his powerlessness. But this illusion was only skin-deep. Deep down, Luther knew exactly how much power he held.

The absurdity of the scene didn't escape him. What he gripped in his hand was no ordinary object. It was an ancient ruler, a being of calamity; a master of pestilence. This entity, which had the strength to snuff out life on a whim, to crush empires like ants, was now reduced to flailing helplessly in his grasp. The disparity was almost comical.

A faint, unsettling whisper began to unfurl around him. Its cadence was alien, the words unintelligible. Yet, Luther instinctively knew their source. The sound emanated from the thing in his grasp, its voice, a chorus of chaos; leaking into his mind. Then, without warning, the creature launched a counterattack. A dark green liquid oozed from its body and splattered onto Luther's paraffin-soaked linen coat. The hiss was immediate and vicious. The fabric corroded on contact, disintegrating into a gaping hole. Some of the acidic substance even dripped onto his skin.

But Luther remained unfazed. The creature's attempts to harm him were futile, its acidic venom ineffective against his flesh. He raised his free hand, his expression calm but faintly annoyed. With a flick of his wrist, he slapped the creature as one might swat a bothersome mosquito.

Bang!

The thing burst. Its body ruptured like an overfilled water balloon, spraying dark green liquid everywhere. It spilled onto the floor, pooling grotesquely before beginning to congeal. As the liquid began to reform, pulling itself together with unnatural intent, the whispers returned. This time, they grew louder, more frantic. They ranged wildly, laughter devolving into weeping, threats dissolving into pleas, voices rising in an incomprehensible cacophony of emotions.

Luther peeled off his half-corroded gloves and set aside his mask with a deliberate slowness. His face betrayed no emotion as he lowered his gaze to the pitiful form writhing at his feet. Nawasir, the once-mighty plague master, now lay in a quivering, gelatinous heap.

With the same indifference one might reserve for a cockroach, Luther stepped on it.

Crunch.

The sound was wet and sickening as the creature burst beneath his heel. But Nawasir was persistent. Even now, it tried to reassemble itself, gathering its fluids and reforming its body. It lashed out, seeking to invade Luther's body through the soles of his feet, yet its efforts were in vain. It had no effect. None at all.

It tried again. And again. Over and over, its desperation growing more palpable with every failed attempt.

For the first time in eons, Nawasir felt something stir within itself. A flicker of thought, of sentience, pierced through its maddening haze. Dormant consciousness began to reawaken as it stared up at the towering figure before it. What 'was' this being? Which Old One or incarnation of some ancient god stood before it now?

It couldn't possibly be human. No. Humans were feeble creatures, easily dominated, easily destroyed. They were prey that scurried and squealed. They were beings who delighted in flesh and mortality. But this figure; Luther was different. Unfathomable. Impossible.

The great plague master realized with a sinking dread that Luther had no interest in conversation. None at all.

Deep within the fragmented remains of his consciousness, Nawasir struggled to emulate an emotion befitting his current predicament. After much effort, he managed to settle on one: grievance. Yes, grievance seemed appropriate.

Why? Why, after all these years of keeping a low profile, of maintaining an almost invisible existence, would a being of such immense power suddenly appear and pummel him mercilessly? Had he, without realizing it, done something to offend this incomprehensible entity? Some minuscule transgression that warranted such a brutal response?

Yet again, he was trampled into a shattered mess. As his scattered essence began to reassemble, a thought flitted through his consciousness like an errant spark: the plate of stewed meat he had hidden away in the void. It was a precious thing, something he considered his treasure.

Luther, meanwhile, had retracted his foot. For a moment, he seemed content to let Nawasir regroup, refraining from delivering another crushing blow. Not out of mercy, but because something caught his eye.

As Nawasir pulled himself together, his bizarre form shimmered for a moment. Then, as if plucked from thin air, the plate of stewed meat materialized, cradled within his gelatinous body. He presented it to Luther with an almost childlike eagerness, holding it up like an offering, as if it were the most precious gift in existence.

Luther blinked. Was this thing... bribing him?

His voice was sharp with disbelief. "What are you doing? Trying to buy me off with... stewed meat?"

The absurdity of the situation rendered him speechless for a moment. He shook his head and nudged the plate of meat aside with his boot. The kick sent it skidding across the ground, its juices staining the floor in a haphazard trail.

Nawasir quivered with something akin to indignation. 'He kicked it away!' He didn't even cherish the glorious meat! The nerve! Although he knew he could never hope to defeat this terrifying being, Nawasir still felt a twinge of anger at such wastefulness.

"Fine," Nawasir thought to himself, bubbling with defiance. "If you won't eat it, I will! After all, I can't beat you anyway. Might as well enjoy the meat and let you stomp me a little more. Waste not, want not, I'm a frugal Old Master!"

Luther watched, utterly baffled, as Nawasir's gelatinous form quivered toward the scattered meat. With a grotesque determination, the creature began absorbing the pieces back into itself, like a bizarre vacuum cleaner. It then slowly wriggled toward Luther, looking as though it were eagerly presenting itself for yet another round of stomping.

A flicker of realization crossed Luther's face. Was this thing... enjoying it? Was it seriously 'asking' to be stepped on again? The thought was both bewildering and grotesquely amusing.

Narrowing his eyes, Luther observed Nawasir as it sneakily digested the salvaged stewed meat. A sly idea formed in his mind. Stepping forward, he bent down and grabbed Nawasir, who had now shrunk to the size of a bloated water balloon. Holding it firmly, he leaned in and asked, "Would you like to eat stewed meat all the time?"

The question seemed to jolt Nawasir out of his absurd indignation. He froze, stunned. 'Always?' He could have that exquisite, savory meat forever? But why would this great being suddenly speak to him in human language? Did this mean... it was true? The great being was merely pretending to be human?

The thought sent Nawasir spiraling into a whirlwind of overanalysis. His mind spun a grand tale to justify this situation. Yes, it all made sense now! This incomprehensible entity must be hiding its true identity to avoid detection by an even greater threat. And he, poor Nawasir, had foolishly appeared in this very town, raising suspicions and increasing the risk of exposure.

"Well," Nawasir thought to himself, simmering in a pool of fragmented grievance. "If I did something wrong, then so be it. Let Him beat me up to vent His anger. It's a small price to pay."

Nawasir had resigned himself to this fate, a sacrifice to whatever unknowable whim drove the great being towering above him. He remained motionless, his fragmented form barely holding together, while Luther studied him with mild curiosity. To Luther, the creature's silence was a clear sign: it didn't understand human language.

This realization brought a new thought to Luther's mind. 'If it cannot understand me, then taming it is pointless. Why bother with communication? Why not simply eliminate the threat now?'

Luther's gaze turned cold, his fingers tightening around Nawasir's trembling form. The creature had shrunk to a manageable size, now no larger than a squishy fruit; a ripe persimmon, perhaps. He imagined its texture as he raised it toward his mouth, his jaw tensing as if preparing to take a bite.

At that moment, the maddening whispers in Luther's ears shifted. They sharpened, coalescing into a voice, a calm yet urgent, neutral tone, distinctly human.

"This great being, please... stop. I will cooperate with you!"

The voice wavered slightly, desperate yet measured.

"I swear I will never reveal your location. Please, just let me go!"

The plea gave Luther pause. His grip loosened ever so slightly as he considered the strange being's words. 'Reveal my location? Great being? What nonsense is this thing spouting?'

He narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing the quivering form in his hand. The whispers had become words, and the words betrayed a clear intelligence. Though he could not fully comprehend the depths of Nawasir's warped logic, one thing was clear: this creature believed he was something far beyond human.

His curiosity deepened. "Great being?" Luther muttered under his breath. "Old One, perhaps? And it fears revealing my location? What in the void has it conjured in its mind?"

Nawasir, meanwhile, held his breath; metaphorically, for he lacked lungs. Escape was not an option. This being could shrug off his most devastating attacks. Running would be a fool's errand. His only hope was submission. And even that, he knew, was no guarantee of survival.

After a brief silence, Luther straightened, his voice calm but laced with authority. "Will you submit to me?"

Nawasir hesitated for only a moment. He was a survivor above all else, and survival demanded compliance. "I am willing," he answered quickly, his voice clear and unwavering. Submission, after all, cost him nothing. He could always bide his time, find an opportunity to slip away unnoticed.

As Nawasir offered his fealty, Luther's gaze hardened. A faint flicker of triumph passed through his eyes, but he gave no outward sign of it. His thoughts raced. 'If it is willing to cooperate, I can extract information from it. No need to rush.'

Just then, something strange occurred. A faint, translucent interface appeared in Luther's field of vision, overlaying the scene before him like a phantom.

---

[Condition Met: Eligible to Capture Source of Plague – Nawasir, Spawn of the Old Ones]

[Commencing Capture Ceremony: Confirm?]

---

Luther blinked. The system's sudden intervention was unexpected, but it fit the strangeness of the day. Without hesitation, he focused his thoughts on the word:

Confirm.

In the next instant, reality shifted. The air around him grew dense and heavy, as though the world itself were holding its breath. Time seemed to pause, each second stretching into an eternity. Luther's body rose from the ground, defying gravity, as though lifted by an unseen force. His eyes, once narrowed in contemplation, now glowed faintly. Within the depths of his pupils, stars seemed to churn; a glimpse of some far-off cosmos, wild and infinite.

Behind him, space itself rippled, bending and warping as if strained under the weight of an immense presence. The tension broke with a crackle of energy. From the void beyond the fabric of reality, a monstrous arm emerged. Its skin was dark and leathery, lined with veins of pulsing energy, and its clawed fingers moved with a terrible purpose.

Nawasir could do nothing but tremble, his fragmented body quaking with primal fear. The whispers in his mind turned into a deafening roar, voices of despair and agony crashing over him. The arm extended, its clawed hand reaching for him with unrelenting precision.

In a single, decisive movement, the monstrous hand seized Nawasir's quivering form. His protests, his whispers, his desperate thoughts were swallowed by the immense force gripping him. The void rippled again, pulling the creature deeper into the chasm from which the arm had emerged.

As the ceremony reached its crescendo, Luther remained silent, his glowing eyes unblinking. The moment lingered, charged with power, before the ripples in space began to smooth, the monstrous arm retreating back into the void with its captive.

The air cleared. The silence returned.