He saw the man’s arm slowly rising, like it was dangling from an invisible string. Swaying back and forth, rising—like a marionette.
“M-my arm! What are you doing to me?!”
With his other hand, he tried to stop his involuntary movements, but not only did he fail…
“Calm yourself. This won’t take that much time. Though, that’s up to you.”
…at the sound of the witch’s voice, he lost control of his right arm, too.
Soon, the man’s left hand was held out in front of his face, the index finger pointing up. Then with his right, he grasped his own nail. Clearly, it wasn’t an act he intended, and it didn’t look like it would end well.
“S-stop! You can’t!”
The man was turning pale.
“Let’s peel that nail off. You can handle it, right?”
“N-no______”
Rip.
The sound was clearly audible.
“_____________________”
The man’s face twisted in a silent scream.
His eyes were wide, and his face drenched in sweat. She hadn’t torn his nail off—he’d done it himself. Rogue didn’t even want to imagine the pain. Before he knew it, he was scowling at the witch.
“……That’s enough. I’m taking you back to jail.”
“Oh?”
Miseria’s gaze turned languidly toward Rogue. Her smile never wavered.
“If I do this a few times, he’ll spill the beans. And yet you want me to stop?”
“……I never asked for this.”
“But it’s far more effective.”
“Stop it. Now.”
“Is this a lawman’s pride? It’s only us here. Don’t worry, no one will ever know what you let happen to him.”
“……I’m not taking a witch’s word for it.”
“Hmph.” Miseria put a hand to her chin. “You’re dead set against it?”
“……How can I not be?”
“So you want to save him from me?” She snapped her fingers, and Miseria’s voice dropped, now low and weighty. “Then may your wish be granted.”
Rogue found himself unable to move. Every part of him was stiff as a board. He couldn’t even move his eyes. He swallowed—that alone was under his control.
She’s got me.
There’d been no signs of a spell.
He wondered how she’d done it.
He racked his brain, then saw the man crumpled and trembling. Rogue felt someone behind him, and the witch’s voice descended from above.
“You’re about to take everything that was meant for him. Should I run you through it?”
Her voice full of glee, she placed a saw before his eyes.
“This will cut off your arms and legs.”
An electric drill.
“Then a hole in your belly.”
A hatchet.
“Then we’ll crack open your skull. I’m so impressed you volunteered to do all this for him!”
As she went over the menu, it ceased to feel real. Was he dreaming? But Rogue’s mind alone was still churning. The witch was actually doing this—it was a spell. A spell to turn people into puppets. The very trick that had earned her the code name Puppeteer.
He could not think of any way out of the situation.
He tried to bite his tongue as a form of protest, but just as his teeth began to exert pressure—
“Oh, don’t do that. You’re my puppet now.”
—she took control of his jaw, too.
The witch placed her chin on his shoulder, side-eyeing his face. She’d caught him so fast, it was like she could read minds.
“Stay with me for the whole program,” she whispered in his ear.
True to her word, his arm moved on its own, grabbing the handle of the saw she’d put in his hand. He placed the blade on his elbow, then began furiously moving it back and forth, cutting through his jacket and shirt, feeling the cold metal teeth.
They touched his skin.
An instant later, red liquid sprayed. And kept spraying. A high spray, like rain pattering on the floor. He could hear them splattering all around—and over that, he heard a man’s voice.
“Stop, I give up! I’ll tell you everything!”
“Huh…………………?”
Rogue was on his stomach, his cheek against a cold floor.
“Oh, you’re up.”
He looked toward the voice and found the girl who’d just killed him with her arms around the back of a swivel chair on wheels, which was squeaking as she spun. Her hair was swaying.
“That was a long nap. I was getting impatient.”
“Wh-what are you say—?”
He scrambled to his feet, and Miseria stopped spinning the chair.
“That was just a dream,” she said, smiling. “We played a fun little game inside a dream I conjured up. Don’t worry, you both had the same one. That’s only fair!”
A dream?
Rogue inspected his limbs. No pain, no wounds. But he could vividly recollect the agony of it.
Was none of that real?
“Ha-ha, lovely to see you so bamboozled.”
“……What was that even for?”
“Just a little surprise. Fascinating, yes?”
He glared at the smiling witch, then glanced down at the man on the floor. He was clutching his left hand to his chest, whimpering.
“Now, now, don’t look so mad. I’m kidding! I did get the intel.”
“……I told you no more torture.”
“What torture? That was all a dream! And by my standards, a tame one.”
“Tame?”
“Yes…I even released the spell when he threw in the towel! I could have kept going. I could have kept that spell alive until your mind collapsed on itself. Or used another spell—”
Miseria rose from the chair and touched a finger to the man’s brow. He screamed.
“W-wait! I said, I’ll talk! You promised!”
“Don’t worry, this is just a demonstration.”
“N-nooooooooooooooooooo!”
As Rogue watched in horror, Miseria took her finger off the man’s brow. His scream faded, and he crumpled.
“Reading,” she said. “It grants insight into the lives of others, but with a major drawback. Direct contact with memories mixes and shatters them. Like playing a puzzle blindfolded. A spell that brief doesn’t give me much insight, and it merely knocked him out. But what if I dug further? I’d have a proper puppet on my hands. You catch my drift? I am choosing my means.”
“……”
Rogue felt thoroughly defeated. Arguably, her point was that she could solve this crime whenever she wanted.
“What next, Rogue? Should I be less choosy?”
Her eyes narrowed slightly, like she was testing him.
“……Stop. We can’t go around ‘shattering’ memories.”
“You have a kind heart.”
“……Put a lid on it.”
He wasn’t on board with any of this.
This witch cared nothing for the suffering of others and considered it viable “means.” But worse, he hated how badly that had scared him.
Dammit.
Swearing under his breath, he went to pick the man up—
“Wha—?”
All the man’s nails were where they should be.
“……When did the dream start?” he whispered, dazed.
“The moment you brought up the law, sleepyhead.”
She’d heard his hushed question.
“……Why?”
“Oh, did you want me to rip his nails off? If you prefer we play it that way, I can.”
It felt like a gut punch.
“……You’re a witch.”
“That I am! Incidentally, have you worked out what I do for fun?”
He didn’t answer.
He just glared at her over his shoulder.
“One of my favorite things is seeing men like you turn to darkness. I hope you’re ready for it, Rogue.”
Her smile was so beautiful, it gave him chills.
A light turned on in a dark room.
The Lifetaker had returned and was staring at the prey they’d claimed that morning. Nothing untoward seemed to have occurred. There were no signs of anyone else entering.
______Not that anyone could find this place.
Their prey was exhausted, but the spark in their eyes proved the fight had not left them.
The Lifetaker did not approve. They were not there to make enemies. So they spoke.
“You’re very lucky.”
They could sense the prey’s confusion.
“You have a vital role to play. One that will change the world.”
The Lifetaker saw light in their prey’s eyes. Perhaps they took that as a sign they’d be spared. That would never do. The truth must be made clear.
“You will grow old. Wither until your life turns to dust. That is the hand fate dealt you.”
The prey howled. Despite the gag, the sound echoed through the room. The Lifetaker reached for them…and the howl did not subside.