There was no denying it anymore—Zeke wasn't reliving the memory of one of its victims. He was experiencing the past of the devourer itself. This strange, alien mind could belong to nothing else. The insatiable thirst for knowledge gnawed at him even now, a craving so vast that it could belong to no other creature.
Naturally, when crafting the Dreamwalker brew, it wasn't just stolen memories that were distilled—it also carried traces of the devourer's own mind. The realization was almost embarrassing. How had it taken him this long to figure it out?
But a far more troubling thought loomed over him: a piece of this being was in the process of merging with his own essence. He wouldn't suddenly sprout tentacles, of course, but that didn't make it any less unsettling. As far as Zeke understood, one's psyche was largely shaped by the experiences accumulated over a lifetime. If even a fragment of the devourer's mind took root within him… what would that mean for his own?
What kind of changes would those memories bring?
Would he start craving the souls of others, just as the devourer had?
One unsettling thought bled into the next, each more disturbing than the last. But Zeke forced himself to regain control. There was no use in worrying about something he couldn't predict or change. Whatever happened, he would deal with it when the time came.
To keep his mind from spiraling further, he turned his focus to something more immediate—his current situation. Now that he had gained a firmer grasp on the devourer's senses, his perception of the world around him sharpened, revealing his surroundings with far greater clarity.
Though it took time for Zeke to piece together the fragmented impressions his tentacles provided, he soon formed a rough understanding of his surroundings. He was in what appeared to be a laboratory—a vast space filled with strange contraptions and unfamiliar devices. Yet, it was immediately clear that he was not the master of this domain. Instead, he was confined within a strange energy field, his round body completely immobilized—unable to move even an inch.
If he had to guess, the devourer was likely a research subject in this strange place.
For now, however, he was alone—a fact he found reassuring. His host, on the other hand, did not share that sentiment. The devourer felt no fear about its predicament. If anything… it was mildly curious.
But Zeke quickly realized that the absence of fear didn't mean there was no danger. As more and more fragments of memory surfaced, it became clear that this creature wasn't capable of fear in the first place. It was a being that had evolved to think in a purely clinical, detached manner.
In some ways, it reminded him of Akasha.
A distant click immediately caught the devourer's attention. Several tentacles reacted instinctively, precisely pinpointing the origin of the sound. In an instant, its entire focus shifted to a single point—the door leading into the room.
A few more clicking sounds followed, then the lock snapped open. Slowly, the door swung inward, revealing a man as he stepped inside. He was tall and striking, with blond hair and piercing blue eyes. His smile was warm, genuine, devoid of even the slightest hint of malice.
The devourer remained indifferent to this. Despite having consumed countless memories, it either couldn't recognize human expressions or simply didn't care to. Though this likely wasn't their first meeting, to the creature, the man was just another presence—one that didn't merit any particular reaction.
Zeke, however, knew exactly who this was.
He had never met this man in person, yet he had seen his face countless times—etched into murals, carved into statues, printed in textbooks. It was the face of his enemy.
Augustus Geistreich, Emperor of Arkanheim and the most powerful Mind Mage on the continent stood before him in the flesh.
Zeke's mind simply froze. For a moment, he was incapable of forming a single coherent thought. Then, in the next instant, his thoughts surged forward all at once, an avalanche of questions crashing into him.
Why was the Emperor here?
What was his connection to the devourer?
What was he planning?
How long ago had this memory taken place?
And most importantly—how had the devourer escaped?
But Zeke had no control over the situation. The memory would unfold exactly as it had in reality, regardless of his thoughts or will. He was merely a passenger, observing the situation from inside one of its actors.
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Augustus Geistreich strode into the room, his gaze fixed on the devourer.
"Astonishing," he murmured, coming to a halt in front of it. "I could hardly believe it when they told me what they'd caught."
The devourer remained silent, every tentacle trained on the man before it. Though it felt no fear, it instinctively recognized the danger radiating from this newcomer. Its awareness sharpened, its senses stretched to their limit—waiting, ready to strike at the first sign of an opening.
"Don't be like that," the emperor said casually. "I know you can understand me."
The devourer didn't respond immediately. It wasn't fear that made it hesitate, but a deliberate calculation, taking its time to weigh the possibilities.
At last, it made its choice.
Reaching out with its mind, it projected its voice directly into the emperor's thoughts.
"For what purpose have I been brought to this place?"
The emperor smiled, and for a brief moment, Zeke could have sworn he saw a predatory glint behind that gentle expression. "It speaks at last," he said aloud, making Zeke wonder if the man was deliberately pretending he couldn't replicate the devourer's mental communication.
"To reward your cooperation, let me answer your question honestly," the emperor said, finally breaking his gaze from the devourer. Instinctively, the creature tensed, ready to strike, but something stopped it at the last moment.
"You've been brought here because I find you... interesting." The emperor's back was now fully turned as he reached for a flask on a nearby desk.
"Are you after the vast knowledge I've collected, like the rest of your kind?" the devourer asked.
The emperor chuckled but didn't turn around. "No, that trifling pile of random impressions you've amassed is of little use to me," he said. Zeke could feel the devourer bristle. It wasn't anger, but the insult to its life's work had clearly struck a nerve.
The emperor, however, remained unfazed as he continued. "No, what truly fascinates me is your ability to do exactly that. The ability to extract the very essence of any being, regardless of oaths or other restrictions, now that is a truly valuable gift."
"Alas, it's impossible for you to imitate that gift," the devourer said. "Given the limits of your... physiology, I don't see how you expect to learn from studying me."
The emperor turned, holding a box in his hand. No, it was something else—a square container made of special glass. Something moved inside. He nodded at the devourer's words.
"You speak the truth," the emperor said. "There's little I can learn from your methods. At least, not when it comes to extracting essence. I assume you use those appendages for that."
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The devourer stayed silent, choosing not to comment on the man's assumption.
"Thankfully…" the emperor continued, the smile returning to his face, "that's not the part I'm struggling with." As he spoke, he held up the flask in his hands.
Normally, Zeke wouldn't have been able to guess what was inside. But thankfully, someone else knew. He felt a stirring of emotions from the devourer—surprise, confusion, and a touch of admiration.
"How did you manage this, human?" the devourer asked, its eagerness clear. "It should have been impossible for your kind to harvest an essence so completely. And this method of containment... I've never seen anything like it. I need to know how this was achieved."
The emperor chuckled. "It's always nice to receive such high praise from a genuine expert. However, I see no benefit in fulfilling your request. Tell me, creature, what value is there in satisfying your curiosity?"
The devourer fell silent for a moment. "A trade, then," it suggested.
The emperor chuckled again, shaking his head. "You're not in a position to bargain with me. Trade, you see, can only happen between equals. Right now, you are my prisoner and I am free to take everything that is yours without giving anything in return."
Zeke sensed something in the devourer stir, its annoyance and confusion radiating out. "Why, then, human, show this to me at all? If you had no intention of trading, there was no reason to provoke my curiosity."
The emperor shook his head, still smiling. "There is a reason, of course. Even a being like you isn't immune to having its mentality shaken. For someone like me, even the smallest crack is an opening that can be exploited..."
Suddenly, Zeke felt an overwhelming sense of crisis from the devourer—a threat to its very existence. Its tentacles shot out without hesitation, wrapping the emperor in a cocoon of twisted flesh. For a brief moment, Zeke hoped the creature might injure the man—perhaps even cripple his Soul.
But then, Zeke felt the devourer's limbs go limp, falling lifelessly to the floor. "Impossible," the creature projected, its emotions more intense than Zeke had ever felt from it. "You could not have broken in without me noticing…"
The emperor's smile widened. "Broken in? What need would there be for that when you were the one to open the door?"
"This—" the devourer started, but immediately fell silent, desperately trying to sever the faint mental link between them. However, it quickly became clear that the creature had lost the ability to do so.
"Just as you have a very specialized skillset..." the emperor continued calmly, walking closer to the devourer and placing his hand on its circular core. "So do I."
In the next moment, Zeke felt a web of Mana entangle the devourer's mind. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced—gentle yet overwhelming, simplistic yet refined. For a long while, Zeke could only watch in stunned silence as the devourer lost the battle against the encroaching web. It was like watching a moth struggle in a spider's net.
Every movement, every attempt to resist, only seemed to tighten the bindings on its mind. Eventually, there was no more fight left. And like the moth, the devourer simply stopped, resigned to its fate.
With the last bit of resistance gone, Zeke could feel the emperor's control over the creature solidify. The devourer's will eroded under the mental constructs now binding it. In some ways, it resembled Zeke's own [Blood Puppeteering] technique, but a million times more refined and far more insidious.
He could instinctively sense that, for the devourer, there was no way out. Its only chance of freedom now rested entirely on the emperor's will.
"Now, little bug," the man muttered, delving deeper into the devourer's mind. "Let's see what kind of secrets you've been hiding."