"I am Geralt, Herald of Havoc of the Illusionist race," the man introduced himself, rising to his feet with a fluid grace that belied the danger he exuded. He walked slowly and steadily toward Edmond, his steps deliberate and unhurried, as if he had not a care in the world for Edmond's formidable strength, the gem on his forehead glowing brighter with each step, casting faint red light across the room.

"What are you doing here?" Edmond asked, his eyes narrowing as he studied Geralt closely, his mind racing to glean any insight into this unknown potential foe, the shadows around him coiling tighter in anticipation of conflict.

"Same thing you want: to bring this world under the authority of my lord," Geralt replied, his voice calm but laced with an undercurrent of menace, his dark eyes locking onto Edmond's with an intensity that seemed to pierce through his defenses.

"I guess we're enemies then," Edmond said coldly, his presence vanishing without a trace as he melted into the shadows, his form dissolving into the darkness with practiced ease.

"You are not worthy to call me your enemy. And you never will be," Geralt declared confidently, his voice carrying a dismissive certainty that echoed through the room, his braided hair swaying slightly as he tilted his head, the gem's glow intensifying.

Edmond ignored the taunt, moving with blinding speed through the shadows, reappearing directly in front of Geralt and swinging his shadow dagger in a swift arc aimed at severing the man's head from his neck, the blade slicing through the air with a faint whisper of displaced shadows.

The head of Geralt fell to the ground with a dull thud, rolling to a stop at Edmond's feet, its lifeless eyes staring blankly upward, blood pooling beneath it on the polished floor.

"All bark and no bite," Edmond said calmly, his voice steady as he turned his gaze back to Luthor, his actual target, ready to resume his mission with the threat neutralized.

"Impressive. Your decisiveness is truly commendable," the severed head spoke suddenly, its voice clear and mocking, startling Edmond as his eyes widened in disbelief, his heart skipping a beat.

"How are you still alive?" Edmond demanded, his curiosity tinged with a rare edge of unease, his grip tightening on the shadow dagger as he studied the impossible scene before him, searching for answers to Geralt's unnatural resilience.

"How are you floating without legs?" Geralt countered, evading Edmond's question with one of his own, his tone laced with a chilling amusement that made the air feel colder.

"What nonsense are you talking about—" Edmond began, his voice sharp with irritation, about to dismiss Geralt as a madman, only to freeze in shock as he glanced down at his lower half, finding his legs completely gone, his body inexplicably hovering above the ground.

Bam!

Edmond crashed to the floor, his body crumpling without legs to support him, pain shooting through his torso as he landed awkwardly, the cold concrete biting into his palms as he caught himself.

"What did you do to me?" Edmond demanded, staring at Geralt in confusion and rising panic, his mind grappling with the surreal reality unfolding around him, the shadows that usually obeyed his will now feeling distant and unresponsive.

"Strange. I could have sworn your mouth was sealed shut," Geralt said with a mocking tilt of his head, his severed head still resting on the floor, its lips curling into a cruel smile.

"You should stop saying crazy—mhmmm," Edmond tried to retort, only to find his voice cut off as his mouth vanished, his lips sealing together seamlessly, merging into his face as if they had never existed, his eyes widening in horror and shock at the incomprehensible alteration.

Edmond stared at Geralt in abject terror, his heart pounding wildly in his chest, the fear he felt unlike anything he had experienced since gaining his powers. Until he could understand Geralt's ability, he knew he couldn't stay close to this enigmatic foe, the uncertainty gnawing at his confidence like a ravenous beast.

Collecting his thoughts with desperate focus, Edmond tried to dissolve into the shadow beneath him to flee, intending to retreat and return at a later date after studying and understanding the abilities of this mysterious man, suspecting they were tied to his claim of being an Illusionist. But as he reached for the shadow, he discovered with growing dread that he couldn't access it—the darkness resisted him, as if it were a foreign entity rejecting his command, an alien sensation that sent a chill through his core.

"Going somewhere?" Geralt asked, his severed head rolling toward his body with an unnatural grace, reattaching itself seamlessly as if guided by an invisible force, the gem on his forehead pulsing with a vivid red light that cast eerie shadows across the room.

"Now, where were we?" Geralt continued, rising to his feet with his head fully reattached, his movements fluid and deliberate, exuding an unshakable confidence as he fixed his gaze on Edmond, who lay vulnerable on the floor.

"This has got to be an illusion. It certainly is an illusion," Edmond thought desperately to himself, his mind clinging to the hope that this nightmare was a fabrication, a trick of perception he could break free from.

Raising his shadow dagger with trembling determination, Edmond stabbed his own arm, hoping the sharp pain would jolt him awake from the illusion he believed he was trapped in, the blade biting deep into his flesh and drawing a rivulet of blood that stained the floor.

"Urgh," Edmond groaned inwardly, the pain searing but failing to shatter the reality around him, his surroundings remaining stubbornly intact, the control room's sterile walls and flickering monitors unchanged.

"That's pointless. You'll only cause yourself more harm," Geralt informed, his voice calm but laced with a sadistic amusement as he stepped closer, his braided hair swaying slightly with each measured step. "But it seems that's your kink. So why don't I just help you with that?" he added, a cruel smile spreading across his face, the red gem glowing brighter as he raised his hand, a sleek dagger materializing in his grip, its blade shimmering with an unnatural light.

With deliberate force, Geralt drove the dagger through Edmond's right arm, piercing flesh and bone with a sickening crunch, the pain exploding in Edmond's mind like a supernova, his muffled scream trapped behind his sealed lips as his body convulsed involuntarily.

Geralt wasn't done, his eyes gleaming with malicious delight as he inflicted one level of pain after another, each act more torturous than the last, crushing Edmond within a relentless world of illusion that blurred the lines between reality and nightmare, his senses overwhelmed by agony and disorientation.

"Alright, playtime's over. I've had enough fun with you," Geralt said, his voice tinged with boredom as he stared down at the battered and broken Edmond, his body slumped and bloodied on the floor, his spirit teetering on the edge of collapse.

"Alright, it's time to die now," Geralt declared, the gem on his forehead glowing with an intense, almost blinding red hue, the air around him crackling with an ominous energy that seemed to warp reality itself.

Shatter!

Like a broken mirror, the world around Edmond shattered into countless fragments, the illusion dissolving in a cascade of glass-like shards that vanished into nothingness. He opened his eyes, gasping as he found himself back in the same control room, surrounded by the same people—the terrified researchers, the trembling guards, Luthor still seated with a grim expression. But unlike the nightmarish world where he had no legs or mouth, he could feel his lips, his breath ragged as he touched his face, confirming its reality.

Glancing downward, he froze as he saw a gleaming blade mere inches from his throat, its edge glinting menacingly in the fluorescent light. The hand wielding it belonged to Geralt, his dark eyes locked onto Edmond's with predatory intent, the red gem on his forehead still pulsing faintly. But another hand gripped Geralt's wrist, stopping the blade's deadly arc—a hand belonging to a figure whose presence commanded the room's attention with an almost tangible force.

"This should be the second time I'm saving your life from the dead. You really are a handful," the cool, calm voice of Aaron cut through the tension, his words laced with a mix of exasperation and authority, his aura radiating a quiet power that drew every eye in the room. His black fitted jacket and pendant gleamed subtly under the lights, his white hair flowing softly over his shoulders, and his rejuvenating face carried a serene confidence that seemed to still the very air, making even Geralt pause, his gem's glow faltering slightly in the face of this new presence.

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