The first to stiffen were the Bizarro Sorcerer and Don.
The theater's core had sacrificed a portion of its marionettes to forcibly seize control of them.
"Beyonder characteristic convergence—it's targeting Seer Pathway Beyonders first."
The Bizarro Sorcerer struggled far more violently than Don. The warping, spreading Spirit Body Threads focused predominantly on him.
Next in line were the Sequence 5 Marionettist and the Sequence 5 Traveler—one from the same pathway, the other from an adjacent one.
Only Owen, a Sequence 6 of the Death Pathway armed with a demigod-tier mystical item, was relegated to last priority.
Yet this didn't mean their ordeal was any easier.
So it's come to this.
'Sequence 2, Miracle Invoker.' Don thought. "No wonder this is an angel-level sealed artifact capable of wiping out cities."
It seemed all of them had fallen into the trap—even the Bizarro Sorcerer who'd nearly succeeded.
He'd clearly researched the "Theater With Curtains That Never Draw" beforehand, perhaps even come specifically for it. Yet here he was, trapped in the same inescapable pit.
A Bizarro Sorcerer against a Miracle Invoker stood no chance—even if the latter was merely a "living" sealed artifact bound by certain rules.
Thoughts grew sluggish. Though the Law of Death persisted, the golden hammer's demigod-level enhancement had faded. At mid-sequence potency, the Law could no longer counter the theater core's manipulation of Spirit Body Threads.
"No... this can't be... no—!"
The Bizarro Sorcerer fought desperately. Don watched as Worms of Spirit writhed across the man's body, attempting to sever the threads controlling him. In his frenzy, the man's Mythical Creature form emerged—translucent worms etched with three-dimensional mystical symbols—but even their violent thrashing couldn't break the core's hold.
This defiance only provoked harsher retaliation from the theater.
Don turned his gaze to Orsen and Owen.
Owen fared slightly better. His demigod-tier armor fortified his spirituality—without it, as a mere Sequence 6, he'd have been the first to fall.
Orsen, however, was already succumbing. The struggle on his face dulled, his lips moving mindlessly to chant "Miracle... Miracle..."
Suspended mid-air, they'd soon join the ranks of marionettes—left hanging like cured meat beneath the dome.
"System."
[Host, I'm here.]
Though Don's thoughts were stiffening, the moment he called upon the System, the mental paralysis vanished.
A Miracle Invoker's thread manipulation far surpassed a Bizarro Sorcerer's. Don didn't dare underestimate it, leveraging the System's higher authority to interfere with the control over his threads.
The relief was immediate.
'Begin. Just as we planned before entering.'
[Understood, Host.]
The System's voice grew distant, as if preparing something monumental.
"Don."
Owen's strained call made Don turn with effort.
Orsen—now muttering "Miracle... Creation..." like a broken record—still clutched his ghostly tome, its pages frozen on one entry:
A demigod Bizarro Sorcerer's "Travel."
The glowing text had dimmed. Orsen was losing himself.
"You... break free... first... fulfill... requirements... can leave..." Owen's voice came in fragments. "Take... item..."
He meant his armor.
At this point, saving even one was a victory.
Don fell silent.
"Why did you two even come in...?"
[Host.]
With a soundless sigh, Don reached out—
[Initialization complete.]
[5,000 knowledge fragments consumed.]
[For the next 30 seconds, all memory seals will lift!]
[Concurrently, you will gain a unique Beyonder ability!]
[System is stabilizing— You have acquired—]
Don's fingers brushed Owen's armor... then Orsen's tome.
"Ascend."
Something unshackled in his mind.
Sealed memories and latent peculiarities surged awake. His rank skyrocketed, surpassing the limits of a Marionettist's potion.
[Knowledge pursues man.]
The System's voice faded into the void.
Suddenly, Don felt dragged downward.
He closed his eyes—
A childhood bedroom.
A desk lamp. A smartphone. Air conditioning. Snacks.
Memories from a lifetime ago.
Fragments flashed violently—merging with text from his phone's screen.
He saw—
The Spirit World, its fabric woven from esoteric symbols.
The Seven Lights held aloft.
Above them, misty gray-white fog obscuring countless cocoons... and a radiant door.
He saw—
Darkness no light could pierce.
Dread festering in the world's depths.
He saw—
Pale illusory tides.
A straight, boundless, colorless river, its banks lined with wandering shades, its depths hiding colossal figures.
He saw—
The cosmos.
Stars beyond counting.
The moon—pristine, unblemished.
Great Ones coiled between celestial bodies.
A sanctuary like a divine kingdom.
Stellar winds. Tidal waves. A blinding white sun.
The visions zoomed in and out, soared and plunged—
A corner of this planet: the Hornacis Mountain Range, teeming with marionettes.
A figure in plain white robes.
A being with a monocle.
The evil spirit underground.
Heretics chanting, as if summoning... praying to something.
Like a spectator, a reader flipping through pages—
Then, darkness.
One final image:
An unknown realm festering with filth and corruption.
Something gazed back.
Mystical sigils flared blindingly—
Yanking him awayjust as that gaze nearly locked onto him.
Don's eyes snapped open.
"Do not listen. Do not think. Do not look."
His voice distorted into unspeakable whispers as lunatic knowledge woven itself into his clothes—a loose white coat materializing around him.
"Now..."
"Time to teach this thing a lesson."
"A brain that can't learn?"
"Might as well smash it."
(End of Chapter)