After his grand, slap-happy entrance, Blackie swaggered into the room on a pair of bowed legs and was met with the sight of Micah, Victor, and Rainie standing there, all of them looking helpless and shaken.

Their sudden arrival had already forced Rainie and Victor to retract their armor. Rainie was kneeling on the floor now, Ethan's head resting in her lap, one arm braced behind her to keep him steady.

Without warning, Ethan's body jerked violently.

His eyes flew open.

What stared back at them made their blood run cold.

The whites of his eyes were gone entirely, replaced by two orbs of solid, ink-black darkness. At the same time his body arched backward in a grotesque, spine-straining contortion, his back bowing so sharply that his head nearly touched his heels.

"Ethan!" Rainie cried.

Victor and Micah lunged forward at the same time, reaching for him.

Before either of them could grab hold, Ethan's body went rigid, as if something inside him had suddenly been switched off. The convulsions stopped. The terrifying arch collapsed. His muscles slackened all at once, and he fell limp, dropping back into Rainie's arms.

Rainie tightened her hold on him, the doctor in her pushing through the fear. Panic flickered across her face, but her hands moved with trained precision, even if there was a slight tremor she could not fully suppress. Carefully, she lifted one of Ethan's eyelids.

Victor and Micah leaned in, hardly daring to breathe.

His eyes were normal again.

A shaky but unmistakable sigh of relief rippled through the room. Just moments ago, those pitch-black eyes had looked like something pulled straight from a nightmare.

"What the hell just happened?" Micah finally asked, voicing the question none of them had been able to form.

Victor shook his head slowly, his brow deeply furrowed. Rainie bit her lip, worry still etched into her expression, but she said nothing.

Micah knew he had only stated the obvious. He opened his mouth to speak again, but Blackie's voice cut through the lingering tension.

"What are you all doing, holding a funeral?" Blackie said casually. "It's just a Heart-Devil Tribulation. For the Boss? That's a walk in the park."

The words hit them like a jolt.

"Heart-Devil Tribulation?" Victor snapped, turning toward him. "You know what this is?"

Only then did it really register how strange Blackie's behavior had been from the moment he arrived. Normally, he was one of the most paranoid people when it came to Ethan's safety. Yet everything about him tonight, the exaggerated entrance, the unnecessary theatrics, the casual violence, made it seem like he was treating the situation as a joke.

When they had first reached the door, Blackfin had not even been blocking the way. Micah had simply walked in. Blackie, on the other hand, had insisted on making a scene, shouting for Blackfin to move, then using the moment of confusion to demonstrate what he proudly referred to as "the Boss's signature move," the Divine Art of the Open-Handed Slap.

The problem was that when Ethan slapped someone, it was always an exercise in controlled chaos. No matter how hard he hit, the victim would be stunned into a daze, wobbling or spinning in place like a toy knocked off balance, helplessly dancing to the rhythm of Ethan's backhands and forehands. They never actually went flying.

Blackie's slap, however, had sent Blackfin rocketing twenty meters down the corridor like a human missile, with results that were, as far as anyone knew, still unknown. Blackie's muttered follow-up, "Ah well, next time," had struck Victor and Micah as unbelievably flippant at the time. They had been quietly annoyed, thinking his antics were wildly inappropriate given the crisis, but because of his unique relationship with Ethan, neither of them had said anything.

Now, hearing his offhand diagnosis, they finally understood.

He had not been joking.

He knew exactly what was happening, and he genuinely was not worried.

So Ethan's condition had a name, a Heart-Devil Tribulation. None of them had ever heard of such a thing, but Blackie's complete lack of concern allowed a small portion of the crushing tension in the room to ease.

Rainie's own examination had found nothing physically wrong. Ethan's vitals were stable, his breathing steady, his heartbeat calm, as if he were simply in a deep, natural sleep, assuming one ignored the horrifying prelude. She did not understand what a Heart-Devil Tribulation was, but the last few days had already shattered her understanding of what was normal or possible.

Her threshold for accepting the impossible was now remarkably high.

Otherwise, she would have already checked herself into a psychiatric ward.

People flying through the air. Mythical beasts strolling around like neighbors. Giant mechs and power armor ripped straight out of a sci-fi blockbuster. After everything Rainie had seen, even a legendary Qilin calmly telling her that Ethan was just "going through a phase" barely registered as strange anymore.

If Blackie was this confident that Ethan would make it through, then she allowed herself a small, fragile sliver of hope.

That hope lasted exactly three seconds.

"Here, put this on him," Blackie said, abruptly shattering the fragile calm as he reached behind his back and produced a thick, heavy chain from seemingly nowhere.

Five manacles hung from it, cold and ominous, four sized for limbs and one noticeably larger than the rest.

"Just in case the Heart-Devil wins out," he added casually. "Better safe than sorry."

Before anyone could properly react, there was a sharp, metallic sound.

CLICK.

The large manacle snapped shut around Ethan's neck.

There was no visible lock, no hinge, no mechanism at all. The moment it closed, a dull, dark light pulsed across its surface, and the metal fused seamlessly, as if it had grown directly out of Ethan's skin.

"Blackie, what are you doing?" Micah demanded, stepping forward. "What is that?"

He could feel it immediately. Whatever that thing was, it was far beyond ordinary equipment. At the very least, it was a high-grade spiritual artifact, and a manacle-shaped one made it even more unsettling.

"Less talking, more helping," Blackie grunted, already picking up one of the leg irons. "This is a treasure of the Illusionary Qilin tribe. You know what our signature, lifeblood ability is, right?"

He nudged the shackle toward them, clearly expecting assistance.

Victor stared at it blankly and shook his head. Micah hesitated, then nodded. "Illusions. Illusionary Arrays."

"Bingo," Blackie said, crouching down to fasten the next restraint. "You wouldn't know, Vic. The Illusionary Qilin come from Umbral Star. You've never been. But yeah, illusions. The thing about crafting powerful illusions and dreamscapes is that they burn through an insane amount of Soul Power. Their entire Energy path revolves around strengthening the soul."

He paused briefly as he secured an ankle cuff.

"The Heart-Devil tribulation is something everyone with a strong soul has to face sooner or later," he continued. "And the stronger the soul… the stronger the Heart-Devil."

His hands stilled.

"The Boss, he…" Blackie let out a long, heavy sigh.

That single sound instantly tightened the atmosphere in the room.

"What's with the sigh?" Micah snapped, fists clenching at his sides. "What's going to happen to him?"

Even Victor rolled his eyes, clearly irritated by the sudden shift in mood. Only Rainie lifted her head, her expression tense, her worry deepening instead of easing.

"How should I know?" Blackie shot back, fastening the final manacle and straightening up. "You think I'm some kind of prophet?"

He glanced down at Ethan, then back at them.

"This is just a precaution. If the Heart-Devil fully takes over his body, we're all dead. This Heart-Devil Shackle can impose some restrictions if it manifests. Hopefully, it gives the Boss enough of an edge to win."

For once, his tone lacked its usual playfulness. The familiar smug grin was gone, replaced by an uncharacteristically serious expression.

That was the final straw.

"Oh, give me a break," Micah scoffed, standing up abruptly. "Cut it out with the act already. What kind of nonsense are you scheming this time? You're such a drama queen. At least use a different face for your next routine."

He shook his head and turned toward the door, clearly done indulging Blackie's theatrics.

Victor let out a dry chuckle as he followed with his eyes. They all knew Blackie far too well. This so-called serious expression of his was always a warning sign, the calm before some new brand of trouble.

When Blackie was laughing and joking, that was when you could actually relax.

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