The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort

Mikhailis felt the cold grip of the mist creeping through his senses, coiling around him like a serpent that had finally found its prey. The dim chamber flickered in and out of focus. One moment, he saw broken pillars and scorched walls; the next, he glimpsed a haunting landscape of swirling darkness, where twisted shapes stretched out of nothingness, whispering words that didn't belong to any language he'd ever heard. His limbs felt leaden, too stiff and heavy to move. Each breath dragged, forcing stale air through his lungs. It felt as if something ancient and hungry reached inside him, testing to see how much of his mind it could devour. I won't let this happen. The thought buzzed faintly in his skull, though the fog in his mind grew thicker, threatening to drown his will. No… not like this… That was when a sharp jolt of agony tore through his nerves. It was as if lightning had struck his spine. Every fiber of his body jerked at once, violent spasms robbing him of air for a heartbeat. His back arched painfully, and he sensed the mist recoil, some of its hold shattering. Colors exploded behind his eyelids, and he let out a hoarse gasp. Rodion's calm tone sliced neatly into Mikhailis's torment, re-centering him just enough to cling to awareness. Another fierce surge of electricity ripped through him, short-circuiting the dark illusions worming their way into his thoughts. Pain roared along his bones, but it felt… saving, in a twisted way. The agony drowned out the alien presence in his head. "Rodion—!" Mikhailis coughed, stumbling forward as the wave of convulsions subsided. He nearly lost his footing, knees buckling. "Damn it, you… you shocked me? You actually… shocked me?" His vision stung, tears forming unbidden at the corners of his eyes from the pain. "I'd call it cooking me alive more than an intervention," he growled, voice breathless. "Next time, maybe you can warn me?" Mikhailis tried to inhale fully, but his lungs still felt half-frozen. He coughed, chest spasming in protest. The room around him took shape once more, the swarming nightmares backing off like shadows retreating from sudden light. The battered, half-flooded stone chamber returned to clarity. Shattered debris littered the floor, stained with old blood and tarnished metal. Charred remnants of arcane sigils lined the walls, silent witnesses to an evil that had long taken root here. He wiped a trembling hand over his forehead, swiping away cold sweat. "That was… that was beyond creepy." His attention darted across the chamber. The Enforcer stood there, a swirl of mist dancing around the man's gloved fingertips. Pale eyes flicked up, narrowing with mild surprise. Something about his posture suggested curiosity rather than alarm. Mikhailis could practically feel the man's smirk through the haze. "Impressive," the Enforcer mused, voice carrying a casual edge that raked across Mikhailis's nerves. "Most don't wake up after touching the abyss. But you… you adapt. How intriguing." Beneath that calm statement, Mikhailis sensed a predatory undertone, the same vibe he got from wild creatures sizing up new prey. This man—whoever he was—had harnessed the same twisted force that tried to devour Mikhailis's mind. The difference was, the Enforcer acted like it was second nature. Mikhailis forced a grin, though his heart hammered. "Adaptation is a personal hobby of mine," he replied, voice quieter than usual. He tested his limbs, rotating a shoulder, popping the tension in his neck. Everything felt raw, like an overused muscle. At least I'm not paralyzed, he reminded himself with grim relief. Rodion's shock might've saved my life… or my sanity… or both. He risked a glance at the reflective lens of his battered glasses. A faint glint told him Rodion was still running background scans. The brand on Mikhailis's forearm, hidden beneath partly singed sleeves, pulsed faintly. He could feel it reacting to the presence of the Enforcer, like it recognized a kindred power. But I won't let it chain me again, he thought fiercely, swallowing a tremor of residual fear. "So," he managed, forcing an air of nonchalance, "you like pushing people into the abyss? Not the friendliest icebreaker I've seen. Usually, I just say hello." The Enforcer's lip curled in a predatory half-smile. "You can dress your fear in jokes all you like, Prince Consort. Fear is still fear." Mikhailis stiffened. He hated that this man saw through him so easily, but he refused to let it show. Instead, he shot back with a quick retort: "I'd rather be the jester than the puppet. And I've already got a show to run. You'll have to find someone else to be your toy." Silence followed. The broken pillars in the chamber cast jagged shadows from dim torches half fallen to the ground. Cinders floated in the air, a red-orange haze matching the stale metallic tang that clung to everything. Somewhere beyond the debris lay the path to Laethor—a prince Mikhailis was determined to rescue. The knowledge that Laethor was close, perhaps only one corridor away, lit a small spark of hope inside him. Rodion's voice chimed in with a gentle caution: Mikhailis's gut twisted. The Enforcer's casual stance hinted that the man was far from finished. He's probably just studying me, Mikhailis realized. Planning his next move. The swirling mist around the Enforcer's hands revealed the same hungry presence Mikhailis had felt moments ago. The slightest hint of that presence made his nerves flare with alarm. "All right, tough guy," Mikhailis said, flexing his hands. Sparks of leftover electricity from Rodion's shock twitched at his fingertips, the residual effect jolting through his muscle memory. "If you're so curious about me, let's see how you do when I'm wide awake." The Enforcer tilted his head, amusement shining in his eyes. "Such bravado. I admire your spirit, if not your sense." Mikhailis suppressed a shiver. He might be stronger, he thought warily, but I've got cunning—and a handful of monstrous ants. The slightest grin threatened to curl his lips. No one besides Elowen (and his close circle) truly knew what he was capable of. The element of surprise lay squarely in his hands, and he intended to exploit it fully. Glancing around for the nearest cover, he spied a collapsed chunk of ornate balustrade, half-buried under rubble. The gloom in the chamber provided enough shadows for the Riftborne Necrolord's cloak to blend him in if he moved quickly. He considered a stealth approach—slip behind the Enforcer, strike fast. But the man was no fool. One miscalculation, and Mikhailis risked another brush with that mind-breaking power. His heart hammered, the mist brand thrumming at his forearm like a war drum. That whisper returned, seductive and ominous at once, urging him to surrender to the tide, to let that monstrous force fill every cell of his being. Just a taste. Use me. He clenched his teeth. No, he thought, I'll do this on my own terms. He refused to become a puppet. The Enforcer flexed his hand, tendrils of greyish fog swirling. "Are we doing this the hard way, Prince Consort?" he asked, voice sounding almost bored. "I'd think a foreigner who wormed his way into a queen's bed would know better than to pick fights above his station." Mikhailis's eyes flashed with rebellious energy. "Oh, trust me, buddy, I pick fights well above my station every day," he snapped. "It's basically my brand." He moved. A single leap carried him behind the remains of a collapsed column. The Enforcer tensed, raising his hand, but Mikhailis was already weaving left, cloak swirling, shadows hugging his form. A faint scraping of gravel behind him signaled that the man had tried to lock onto his presence. Rodion warned. Too late. A wave of mental force slammed into Mikhailis, a suffocating mental presence that tried to wedge itself into his thoughts. He stumbled, a gasp escaping as he felt a cold push rummaging behind his eyes, searching for a grip on his consciousness. Stop, he ordered himself, forcibly erecting mental barriers—thinking of everything that anchored him: The memory of Lira's elegant smile, the loyal determination in Rhea's eyes, the stoic acceptance from Cerys, the sly grin of Serelith. Their faces flickered through his mind, forming an unbreakable chain of trust. I won't let you in, he told that invading presence, voice trembling in his head. Not again. Pain flared anew, but it receded quickly as he reaffirmed his mental walls, guided by Rodion's earlier shock that had briefly severed the mist's infiltration. The Enforcer's attempt faltered, and Mikhailis felt the man recoil, frustration spiking in the energy around them. Mikhailis stumbled behind a chunk of stone, panting. He could handle a physical fight, but these mental skirmishes took a terrible toll. "Rodion… remind me… not to do this again," he muttered weakly, sweat beading on his forehead. "Thanks for the confidence boost," Mikhailis huffed, pushing himself upright. The brand's pulse had steadied, beating in tandem with his own heartbeat. If the Enforcer could exploit that link, Mikhailis had to remain vigilant—any slip, and he'd be back in that swirling horror of illusions. He heard the Enforcer speak again, voice echoing across the chamber's broken floor. "Why resist? The mist only punishes those who reject its gifts. Embrace it, and you'll see wonders you can't even imagine." Mikhailis rolled his eyes. "Pass. I have a good track record with my own brand of insanity." Movement flickered. The Enforcer lunged from behind a fallen arch, spearheading a collision course with Mikhailis. Greyish mist trailed like ribbons behind him, forming what appeared to be serpent-like shapes coiling in midair. Mikhailis braced, flicking his cloak aside. He didn't have time to shoot a web or plan a trick; the man was too close. Time for the direct approach. He thrust out his right arm, the Crymber gauntlet blazing to life. Half flame, half ice, swirling in a chaotic embrace around his forearm. Heat and frost spiraled together, forming a short but fierce burst of steam. The Enforcer's eyes widened a fraction, but he didn't slow, thrusting out his hand in a counterattack. Mist collided with swirling flame and ice. The air filled with a sudden shrieking hiss as energies warred, sending a shockwave that rattled loose stones and sparks. Mikhailis's teeth clenched from the force, boots scraping across the floor as he was forced back a step. The Enforcer, however, took two steps forward, pressing the advantage. Their locked energies crackled viciously, arcs of weird greenish haze popping in the air, combining with the hiss of molten water as ice was boiled away. In that moment, Mikhailis felt the man's raw power. It wasn't refined so much as overwhelming, fueled by fanatic conviction in the mist. That surety gave him an edge in channeling the alien force. The brand on Mikhailis's arm seethed, almost as if it recognized a competitor. He fought down the swirl of panic. I can't let him push me around. Adrenaline soared through him, and he channeled more of the Drakeant's storm-laced vigor, lightning flickering around his ankles. A savage gust of heat blew the mist back, giving him just enough room to break away from the clash. He staggered a few paces, chest heaving. The Enforcer also stepped back, exhaling. "Not bad," he admitted, voice grudgingly respectful, "for a reckless outsider."