After exchanging blows with Bol, Zorak could tell Bol was a third-grade adept warrior.
Then he glanced at Cheryl.
He hadn't figured her out yet. But she probably was an adept warrior too. He got a more dangerous feeling from her when compared to Bol. It seemed he had to be careful.
He could tell both of them were holding back. Scared to create a bigger commotion in broad daylight. Scared to catch the attention of people.
They knew how strict central organizations were with practitioners being noticed, they knew about the heavy sanctions that awaited them in such a case.
Makun's book had mentioned it. The Suppression. The system in place that kept mystics hidden. The organizations that enforced it with iron fists. Practitioners caught exposing the mystic world in public were hunted; sanctioned, or worst erased.
For that reason, Zorak too did not go all out.
Facing two adept warriors of similar grade to him was going to be difficult. He needed to be strategic. Brute force alone wouldn't win this.
He had to isolate them. Target Bol first. Disable him quickly. Then turn to Cheryl.
Fighting both at once is suicide. They were teammates so they probably move too well together. Well coordinated. Zorak thought.
If he gave them time to synchronize their attacks, he'd lose.
Strenght and decisiveness. That was his only advantage right now.
Vuuup!
Zorak rushed into the room, charging after Bol with a heavy punch. Spiritual energy concentrated in his golden brass knuckles. Small sizzling noises resonated in the room.
He expected his earlier strikes to have done something, connecting now might give him an advantage against them.
Flash!
A charm appeared infront of Bol and Cheryl, catching Zorak off guard.
Thrum!
The air solidified.
Not frozen. Not hardened. But locked. Particles aligned in perfect synchrony, refusing to yield.
A flat, translucent plane materialized between Zorak and his targets. It shimmered faintly, like heat distortion over stone.
The Phase Bastion Charm.
Where the Phase Veil removed the user from physical interaction, the Bastion forced it to become unavoidable.
All matter existed in a state of vibration. Normally, air, flesh, and objects maintained flexible boundaries. They yielded. Compressed. Broke under force.
The Bastion locked the local harmonic phase of matter, forcing it into maximum cohesion.
Air behaved like stone. Motion halted. Impact distributed instantly and infinitely.
Reality stopped agreeing to move.
Zorak's fist hit the Bastion.
Thoom!
The sound was heavy. Dull. Like punching solid bedrock.
His knuckles stopped dead. Energy flared and dissipated across the plane.
Then the reaction came.
Newton's second law.
The force he exerted rebounded. His body was propelled backward, hard and fast.
Zorak's feet left the ground. He flew across the hallway and slammed into the wall behind him.
The charm crumbled. Dust and ash drifted where it had been.
One-time use. Exhausted.
Bol and Cheryl regained their bearings.
"Together!" Bol shouted.
They darted forward.
Zorak tried to push off the wall, but Bol was already above him. Bol's foot came down hard, connecting with Zorak's shoulder.
Crack!
Zorak was rocketed to the floor. His body hit hard. The impact rattled through his ribs.
Before he could regain his bearing, Cheryl was next to him.
Her hand reached for his head.
Zorak could see it coming. But they timed it so well that he couldn't do anything against it.
As a practitioner, his intuition was developed. He had a feeling that if she touched his head, it was going to be bad for him.
He scrambled. Tried to move his body. His muscles screamed.
But Cheryl was just too quick.
His eyes opened wide as he saw her small hand reach for his hair. Short. Dark. Cropped close to his skull.
She giggled.
Then she exerted strength that should not come from someone with a physique similar to hers.
She ripped his hair.
A chunk came free. Roots and all. Blood beaded where the strands had been torn.
Zorak roared.
Pain flared across his scalp. He launched his hand, hoping to capture her. Hoping to get her back.
But as if planned, Cheryl dropped back. From the hallway into the room.
Out of reach.
"Do it!" Bol shouted.
Zorak, still oblivious, saw her place his hair on her porcelain doll.
The porcelain doll illuminated itself.
Cheryl poured a good amount of her energy into it.
Then Zorak's hair was swallowed into the doll.
....
The doll was not merely a focus. It was a resonance vessel.
Porcelain was used because it was non-organic, preventing decay. Naturally receptive to spiritual imprinting. Capable of holding conflicting frequencies without shattering.
When the doll absorbed biological material, hair, skin, blood, it did not consume it physically. Instead, it extracted the resonant signature embedded within the matter.
Every living being carried a unique vibrational identity. Their cells. Their aura. Their accumulated will.
The doll became a proxy body. A harmonic twin.
This was Cheryl's skill. Sovereign Marionette. Commonly referred to as Puppeteer's Dominion.
It operated on a principle known among scholars as Sympathetic Entanglement Theory. A convergence of early quantum science and mystic resonance.
Two particles, once bound, remained linked regardless of distance. Any change imposed on one was reflected in the other. Distance became irrelevant. Causality remained.
The Puppeteer weaponized this principle. Not at the atomic level, but at the biological-spiritual threshold, where identity, matter, and will overlapped.
The body remembers itself, even when divided.
Once sufficient material was absorbed, the Puppeteer initiated the skill.
First, the doll synchronized with the target's biological frequency, creating a permanent entanglement channel. Resonance Lock.
Then, the Puppeteer imposed her intent through the doll, overriding the target's nervous and mystic systems. Will Insertion.
Finally, a massive, dark, eerie energy flooded the target. Not as possession, but as suppression. Dominion Manifestation.
This energy was cold. Heavy. Suffocating. Unmistakably foreign.
Observers often reported that the victim's shadow moved out of sync with their body.
But control was not universal. Resistance scaled with mystic advancement.
Mystics reinforced their bodies with refined aura circulation. Will-hardened nervous systems. Spiritual self-anchoring.
This created interference in the entanglement channel.
To compensate, the Puppeteer had to increase biological signal strength.
Joe had been easy. He possessed no cultivated aura. No reinforced will. No spiritual defenses. A single trace, spit smeared on the doll's porcelain cheek, was enough.
Joe never fought her. He never had the tools to.
But Zorak was different.
Zorak walked the Mystic Path. His aura was layered. Disciplined. Self-referential.
A drop of blood would have failed. A strand of hair would have flickered and broken.
She required a significant amount of his hair. Enough to overwhelm his self-anchoring frequency.
Only then did the doll stabilize. Only then did the dark energy descend.
Zorak felt it before he saw it.
A presence.
Cold. Heavy. Wrong.
It started at the base of his skull. A pressure. Then it spread.
Down his spine. Into his shoulders. His arms. His legs.
His body stiffened.
He tried to move. His muscles wouldn't respond.
His chest tightened. His breath came shallow.
Then he saw it.
The energy.
Dark. Massive. Eerie.
It poured into him like smoke, flooding his veins. His aura flared in resistance, but the energy pressed down harder. Smothering. Suffocating.
His shadow flickered. Moved out of sync with his body.
He was still aware. Still conscious.
But he was no longer in control.
His hand lifted without his command. His fingers curled. His body turned, stiff and deliberate, like a marionette on strings.
Cheryl giggled.
"There we go," she said softly.