As if thought made flesh, Gill lifted his head. His eyes flipped like heaven and earth—no longer a five-year-old’s; now they held old wisdom. Under that gaze, Rafi felt stripped bare.

The next second, the man with sage eyes parted his lips. A shard of ice slid out. “This time, I win.”

As if the words were a seal, boundless fear welled in Rafi’s chest, swelling like storm surf.

The man before her blurred into an abstract shape; his plain red pupils burned. Rafi felt the Dragon King’s stare on her like a mountain shadow.

Her body retreated half a step on its own. Yet the man’s figure ballooned as she drew back, an impossible, abstract magnification, like a mural swallowing space.

Each part of his body broke into lines; a lowered hand skewed upright, sprouting talons, sharp enough to make her heart pound like a drum behind silk.

Stare a moment longer, and a red backdrop bled behind him, pressing on her like a low sky, like a beast watching from the treeline.

Roar!

The abstract beast bellowed, and Rafi dropped to the ground, fear knocking her flat. Her magic feed to the tentacles slipped from her mind like a fallen thread.

Without power, the tentacles wilted, sagging to the floor like dried vines, fragile enough to crumble under a light step.

In Rafi’s eyes it was a monster, but in the world it remained human-shaped, never truly turning.

Gill eased free of the shriveled coils, teeth clenched, fingers tracing his cheek, feeling the split skin like a cracked glaze.

“Damn. You hit hard…”

He pulled a salve from his coat and dabbed it on. In moments, the wound knit like closing leaves.

He strode to the wooden box that had been knocked away, bent, and picked it up. He polished it with his sleeve, careful like a monk dusting an heirloom.

After that, Gill came to Rafi and crouched beside her, street-thug casual, his face inked with mockery.

“So, Demon King—scared now?”

He lifted the box like a brag, like a trophy catching lamplight.

“You know what this is? It’s called the ‘Emotion Reverser.’ It doesn’t seal a Demon King; it’s a nasty little relic.”

“No… don’t talk! I won’t listen! Get away! Don’t come near!”

“Tsk… So it’s turning my words into fear in her head, huh? Whatever. Not talking just isn’t my fighting style.”

Gill’s mouth curled again. He savored the bullying, the way simple words could shove someone into terror, a dark sweetness flooding like wine.

“Look, look—see this thing in my hand? This little box cost me over twenty mages to swipe from that eerie ruin.

Once I lock onto you, any feeling you have toward me flips in about a minute, like a coin in air.

Like now—you used to ‘belittle’ me. Now it’s ‘overestimate’ me, painting me too grand, then it climbs into fear.

Then this thing amplifies it. Your fear of me spikes to new heights. Round and round, it only grows, never fades!

Till the end… until your mind snaps. How’s that feel?”

“Get away! Don’t come any closer!”

“Ah-la-la, but I really want to keep talking…

Oh, right—I’m lucky the strongest flip isn’t your ‘hate me’ turning into ‘like me.’ That would be too terrifying.

Just picturing you—old as mountains yet looking seventeen, cute enough to pout and act sweet—

Even so, my gut crawls cold, like an icy hand squeezing my throat.”

But clearly, Gill’s words arrived in Rafi as something else entirely. Inside, fear flooded every chamber.

“Get away!!! Don’t… absolutely don’t! Come closer and see what happens!”

“Huh?”

Gill had meant to keep taunting, but something felt off. She was in a fear state—so why could she spit anger?

A bad premonition pricked Gill’s heart. If he didn’t move now, something ugly would bloom.

“Give me that!”

He stripped a pistol from a dead soldier, aimed at Rafi’s head, and squeezed the trigger. The muzzle spat fire.

Bang!

Still too slow. A heart-shaped tail unfurled from Rafi’s back, sliding in front of her body. The bullet kissed it and ricocheted in a blink.

“Kill you… kill you… If I kill you… there’s nothing left to fear!”

A black strip of cloth crawled over Rafi’s body; her ornate dress tore like paper under rain.

In its place, black bands wrapped her form, shaped like a swimsuit—borderline indecent, like lacquer on skin.

No one had the mood for that. Gill could feel it—this strange state was worse than the forest of tentacles.

“Seems… I overplayed it…”