Alchemy

"He... brought us here. He... used the dragon core."

Elie's voice trembled, the words spilling out in a hollow murmur. His hand shook, fingers twitching uselessly at his side as the Jester's grip tightened over his shoulder. Somewhere, deep in the ruined corners of his mind, a flicker of consciousness recoiled at what he had just done.

But it no longer mattered.

His mind—his body—had been shattered beyond repair.

Even if the Jester, that vile demon, somehow dragged him out of this madness, what would be left? A broken man, haunted forever by what he witnessed inside Corydons Soul Space

And so, what remained of him could do only one thing.

Obey.

Cypher watched, expression unreadable, his gaze lingering on the fragile remnants of the man who had once nearly killed him. If he felt any satisfaction at Elie's downfall, it didn't show.

"So... it's the young one that's useful."

Corydon sighed, his voice touched with mock sadness. Standing just behind Elie, he slowly ran his fingers through the man's disheveled hair, brushing it aside with something eerily close to tenderness. The mask came into full view, its polished white surface gleaming in the dim light.

A single black tear had formed on the Jester's own cheek, its ink-like stain seeping into the porcelain as though mourning the inevitable.

"What a shame, Elie. Truly." His voice softened, almost fond. "You've taught me so much—about yourself, about the world you're from."

His hand trailed down Elie's spine, fingers curling into claws. Then, with a sudden, deliberate sharpness, his nail dragged a shallow line down his back.

"But…" Corydon mused, stopping at the center of Elie's back. "…you don't have any further use to us."

His fingers extended, cracking like the brittle limbs of a spider. They spread wide in a grasping motion, curling in the air as if seizing something unseen.

"∆FARA|NTUR§."

His arm lurched forward, plunging straight through Elie's back.

There was no blood. No torn flesh. No grotesque puncture.

It was as if Elie's body had become water, rippling gently around the intrusion. Corydon's hand slipped through skin and bone, untouched by muscle, unburdened by physicality. He did not pierce the body—he bypassed it entirely, as though invoking some unseen law that rendered flesh meaningless.

Cypher watched in silence. He memorized the words. Not just their sound but their weight—the shape they took in the air, the strange, alien vibrations they left in their wake. He carved them deep into his mind, branding them there like scripture.

Then Corydon pulled his arm free.

The room fell deathly silent.

Thud.

The body of Elie—the warrior who had once beaten Cypher into the dirt, the man who had fought with everything he had—collapsed like discarded fabric, slamming against the cold stone floor.

He was still breathing. His heart still beat.

But the man?

Gone.

No thoughts. No memories. No spark of consciousness. A shell, emptied of everything that had once made it human. Death would have been a kindness. This was something worse.

Corydon let out a long, appreciative sigh, flexing his fingers as he examined what he had extracted.

"Oh, Elie…" He whispered, turning the glowing green orb between his fingers. "How beautiful your soul is on the outside."

The radiant sphere pulsed with an eerie, otherworldly glow, casting shifting patterns of emerald light across his mask. Around it, six golden chains hovered in loose orbit, each one gently clinking as if resisting some unseen force. They wrapped around the core like restraints, binding its power, caging it even in its purest form.

Corydon chuckled, watching the chains dance.

"I'll make you so much more beautiful."

And with that, he spoke again.

"§SHA°MESH!`"

The air ruptured.

A massive wave of energy blasted outward, obliterating everything in its path. Walls groaned and shattered like brittle glass, paintings were stripped from their frames and torn to shreds midair, chandeliers detonated into glittering shards. The very air trembled beneath the force, sending anything not anchored to the ground flying like weightless debris.

At the heart of the chaos, Corydon remained still, basking in the storm of destruction with unrestrained joy.

Snap.

The first chain shattered, dissolving into golden dust that spiraled away, vanishing from reality.

But he did not stop.

"|HA•MESH∆!"

Another wave.

"AR\BA°!"

"TR∆ES`!"

With each word, the room convulsed under the force of unleashed power.

Snap. Snap. Snap.

The chains fell one by one, each severance accompanied by a violent shockwave that sent cracks racing through the very foundation of the space.

"D|UO§!"

One remained.

Corydon's fingers trembled in anticipation, his porcelain mask fracturing along its surface from the sheer magnitude of energy coursing through him. But he did not falter.

His final words rang out, reverberating through the air like a divine command.

"§PRIM°UM∆!"

The world recoiled.

Reality itself fractured. The air split apart in jagged, flickering cracks, their insides an unfathomable void of green, pulsing with an energy that refused to obey natural laws.

The Jester's mask cracked further, the thin fissures crawling across its surface like veins. Even for him, this power was almost too much to contain. Almost.

And then—silence.

In his palm rested something beyond value.

A completely freed soul core.

Perfected. Unrestrained. Shaped by his will alone.

Corydon gazed at it, his eyes alight with something feverish. He turned it between his fingers, admiring its purity, its untapped potential. It was unlike anything he had crafted before—a masterpiece, unique and unparalleled.

A toy, waiting to be played with.

"Oh, Hastur!" He laughed, his voice rich with excitement. "With this, we might truly have a real fight!"

With a flick of his wrist, an ornate ring materialized from nothingness, spinning in the air before him. Its golden surface gleamed, etched with intricate, shifting patterns that almost seemed alive.

The core rose, drifting weightlessly before slamming into the ring's empty socket.

Instantly, the metal trembled, glowing with deep emerald veins that crawled across its surface. The energy settled, no longer wild but contained—controlled. A crystal of immeasurable power, now bound to an artifact of his own design.

Corydon raised a single, bony finger.

Guided by an unseen force, the ring obeyed, slipping onto his finger without resistance.

The moment it made contact, his mask repaired itself. The cracks vanished, sealed as though they had never existed.

His laughter echoed through the ruined ballroom, ringing through the debris and shattered glass like a melody of madness.

He joyfully raised his fingers and snapped. A brief flash of white light blinded Cypher as he raised his hands to shield his burning retinas.

When the white light ceased, the room had been completely altered and returned to its former lavish luster.

Just like that, Corydon had altered reality, a true display of divine will incarnate.

"HAHAHA..." Corydon continued to laugh at his treasure before slowly creaking his head, turning to Cypher.

"Haha...now then, we're were we? AHH, yes!" Corydon vanished and re-appeared, crouching directly Infront of Cypher like an executioner deliberating on what to do.

"You! Your even more valuable." An obsession in his voice shook the boy. The fanatasism from which Corydon spoke was interving like anything else he had felt before.

It was as if he was something Corydon had been searching for, something he had waited to arrive for thousands of years.