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He was still hesitating, though. He kept expecting someone else to appear as if from nowhere. An attack from just outside his peripheral vision or sensory range. This couldn't really be the extent of his opponent's resistance. Had they simply underestimated him that badly?

Well. Maybe they had. Certainly wouldn't be the first time.

Paranoia getting to him again. Agh. He shook his head, knowing he needed to move quickly. The prison was due south--and close. If he flew at top speed, it would be--

A surge of wind cut him in two. Vanderberk almost hadn't sensed it in time. His gaseous body melted back together easily, and he looked down at the fake Croll again, as that was the direction from which the attack had arrived.

Sure enough, Croll looked normal once more. No longer skewered or disfigured in the slightest. Where had all the blades gone?

"Stay and play with me a little longer, Weasel of the Wicked Sight." It was still Croll's voice and Croll's face, but the words and expression were completely wrong now. The imposter seemed to be enjoying this.

Vanderberk, however, saw no merit in staying. The attack just now had been toothless. He bolted straight up into the sky, intent on ignoring any follow ups from the fake and heading straight back to Logden.

Then the entire world went dark.

He saw the land above his head, arching impossibly toward him, as if within a twisted mirror. It was illuminated as clearly as day, despite the sun having vanished. And Croll's face appeared before him, disembodied and far too large.

"I'm afraid I must insist," said the illusion. "Stay."

Psychic tricks, rather obviously. More advanced than he'd seen in a while. But still tricks, all the same.

He flew higher, aiming to punch through the illusory land. Vanderberk would not be disoriented so easily. He still remembered where to go.

When he touched the land, however, he bounced off of it and was sent falling, spiraling back down.

What the fuck was that? No. He hadn't bounced off. It had just seemed that way. The illusion and the timing. Something had hit him. Clobbered him, actually.

An attack that he hadn't been able to ignore. Finally.

Croll faces were all around him, now, bobbing in the air with mocking grins. That looked especially wrong. The real Croll probably didn't know how to smile.