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Clearly, whoever this was had been keeping their abilities secret for a long time. Which told Vanderberk that they were not merely intending to stall for time here.

They believed they would be able to kill him.

How many times was he going to be underestimated before people learned?

And if his opponent was so eager to see it, then Vanderberk supposed he should oblige.

The power he'd acquired in Qenghis all those years ago was not something he liked to use freely or often. Such recklessness would've only made the enemy's job of gathering intel on him that much easier.

Not to mention, it was dangerous to himself, as well. The minute he stopped respecting it, he would be consumed.

Perhaps this illusion-slinger would make that mistake. Perhaps they would believe that the things Vanderberk was showing them were mere illusions, too.

It would be an understandable error, if also a deadly one.

Despite its entirely strange and foreign nature, however, Vanderberk had come to learn that his helium was quite complementary to it. Even though helium was seemingly quite limited compared to other elements, he had discovered certain key uses in his youth that were still coming in handy with it to this day.

The ability to stealthily suffocate people had been quite the assassin's tool, back in the day. And of course, there were things like fire suppression and acidic immunity that often caught his more aggressive opponents by surprise.

More recently, though, there were the developments with pan-rozum. Since helium was invisible to the naked eye, that of course meant that he, too, could become invisible, not unlike an aberration.

His invisibility, however, was more refined in some ways. And quite necessary, for this next part.

He'd closed his eyes earlier in order to not become disoriented by the confusing, illusory mess that his opponent wanted him to see.

But now, he opened them again. And when he did, they were red as blood--and burning with ethereal fire.

In an instant, he brought all of his concentration to bear. The illusory world around him dissolved like ashes caught in a whirlwind, and for a brief time, he saw the normal world again. The green of the forest. The white of the waterfall. The Dakinsalla.

Then it was all replaced with black-and-white fire. With a million gangly, twisted arms reaching, grasping. With distorted eyes, searching. With bodies, headless and roaming.

With the Living Inferno.

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"Alright," said Vanderberk, looking between all the different faces, "you've proven you're more than a mere illusionist. If you want to play, then why don't you begin by telling me who I'm dealing with?"

"Curious, are you?" said the face directly behind him.

"Too bad for you," said one to his right.

"Die in ignorance," said the one straight ahead of him.

The next attack came from behind. Vanderberk only sensed it via another pulse of invisible helium, empowered with his soul. It was an orb of some kind, moving at high speed. He avoided it simply enough, but when he looked to see what the thing actually was, he saw nothing. Regardless, he sent a blind assault of freezing helium in the direction it had come from, not expecting it accomplish anything.

His eyes were useless here. In fact, they were probably working against him. He closed them.

He chose to rely only on Elinox's soul sense, for now. With constant helium pulses going out all around him, he had a rather clear picture of the area in his mind.

Psychics could sabotage that sense, if they knew how, but they would still have trouble making gaps disappear. And that was how he was using it. He looked for where the soul power couldn't reach. Where holes appeared.

"What's the matter, Weasel?" came the voice again. It sounded less like Croll now, though maybe that, too, was a trick of the senses. "Not going to use that special ability of yours?"

Vanderberk ignored him. The gaps. He was looking for the gaps. Empty space would alert him to another attack, just like before. And then he could mount another counterattack based on its direction. He didn't yet need--

Something big smashed into him, sending him sailing through the air against his will. It was a heavy impact. Enough to pancake a younger servant. For him, though, it wasn't enough to disorient him. He could still think clearly even as he was busy regaining control.

This shouldn't have happened. The psychic had interfered with his ability to sense even the gaps within soul power? He was not aware of any living psychic who would be powerful enough to accomplish such a feat, save perhaps the Weaver--and he could be quite confident that she was not the culprit here.

No. According to Elinox's memories, only the ancient Kingsparrows would have been able to pull this off.

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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.