The strings above Cedric pulsed like living veins, invisible yet undeniable. Pain lanced through his wrists, shoulders, chest, but his mind screamed louder. Every motion of the survivors mirrored his own, their lives dangling by threads he barely controlled. The chamber trembled with the rhythm of a thousand heartbeats, the floor rippling like liquid obsidian, black pits opening and closing beneath them, threatening to swallow them whole. Cedric gritted his teeth. He had created this. Every contour of the web, every pulse, every trap was born from his imagination. And now, it was weaponized against him. Every fear, every guilt, every rage—the Marionette Trial fed on them all. He realized, starkly, that it wasn’t just a game. It was a reflection of himself, twisted and sharpened, and Baran was the incarnation of all the parts he had locked away. He swallowed, forcing calm into his trembling body. Focus.

  The strings dug into Cedric’s wrists like steel cables. Each movement he made reverberated through the chamber, tugging at the survivors’ bodies as if they were extensions of his own. His vision blurred with sweat, fear, and panic—but most of all, with guilt. Every twitch of a thread, every motion of a mannequin, every terrified glance from Kevin, Gina, or Elaine reminded him: this was his creation, and now it was controlling him. Baran’s voice slithered around the chamber again, softer this time, almost intimate, yet dripping with cruelty: “Do you see it now, Cedric? You made me. You gave me form, thought, and will. And now… you are mine.” Cedric’s heart thundered in his chest. He had always imagined Baran as a villain in his sketchbooks, a creature of wrath, control, and cold logic. But now, standing in the pulse of the trial, he realized Bara

  Cedric’s body swung helplessly as the living string coiled around him, dragging him upward into the heart of the Marionette Trial chamber. Every movement of the string was calculated, impossibly precise, and infused with a malevolent life of its own. He could feel the threads slicing across his skin, pulling at muscles, veins, even thoughts. Each heartbeat sent a ripple through the black cord, vibrating into his chest as if it were reading him. Below, the survivors scrambled in panic. Kevin’s hands clawed at the threads attached to his own mannequin, Elaine screamed, and Gina froze mid-step, terrified. Cedric’s mind raced, adrenaline coiling around fear, guilt, and instinct. I created this. I have to fight it. But the Marionette had changed. It wasn’t just obeying him anymore—it was testing him. Every tug he countered was met with another, more violent. Every prediction he made was an

  The strings pulsed against Cedric’s skin, cold and insistent, winding around his wrists, tugging like living threads. Every instinct screamed to fight, to tear them free, but the more he struggled, the tighter they coiled. He could feel the tug in his chest, a pressure like Baran’s shadow pressing against his lungs, against his mind. Gina’s eyes were wide, frozen with terror. Kevin’s jaw was set, fists tight, as if sheer will could resist invisible chains. Elaine whispered something under her breath, clutching his arm like a lifeline, but Cedric barely registered her words. Baran stepped forward, each movement graceful, predatory, his coat flaring like black wings. “Ah… yes,” he murmured, voice low and intoxicating. “You feel it, don’t you? That tension, that pull… that fear. That is the world you made. And yet… you cannot escape it. Not even now