The heavy-duty snowmobile ground to a halt, the sudden lack of motion almost as jarring as the brutal ride itself. For a moment, the only sound was the metallic ticking of the cooling engine and the low, hollow whistle of a blizzard raging outside the uninsulated walls of the cargo hold.
Then, the heavy exterior latch threw open with a deafening metallic clank.
The blinding glare of a floodlight cut through the gloom of the truck, illuminating the swirling frost and dust. Framed in the doorway was the massive silhouette of the driver. Up close, he was even more imposing—a mountain of muscle wrapped in heavy, stained furs and tactical gear, his face entirely concealed behind a scarred ballistic mask that gave him the look of an faceless executioner.
"Out," the driver rumbled, his voice distorted and deep through a built-in vocal modulator.
Seir tried to shift her weight, but her limbs felt like lead, the residual heat from Ephanuel's touch fading fast. Before she could drag herself forward, a massive, gloved hand gripped the collar of her thin prison uniform. With a single, effortless jerk, the brute hoisted her off the corrugated floor and tossed her out of the back of the truck.
She hit the ground hard, rolling across a floor of cracked concrete covered in a thick layer of frost. The impact rattled her bruised ribs, forcing a breathless gasp from her throat.
Looking up, she took in their surroundings. Ephanuel hadn't been exaggerating; they were inside a cavernous, abandoned industrial structure. Massive, rusted meat hooks hung from overhead tracks, swaying slightly in the draft. It was a literal slaughterhouse from a bygone era, now reclaimed by the ice and serving as a bleak hideout in the middle of what might as well be nowhere.
Ephanuel stepped down from the truck bed, completely bypassing the frozen slush on the ground as if his boots were inherently superior to dirt. He adjusted the cuffs of his pristine robes, entirely unbothered by the grim atmosphere.
"Take her to the hooks," the driver commanded, stepping into Seir's field of vision. He drew a heavy, brutalist iron spike from his belt—a tool designed specifically to suppress magic through localized physical trauma. "I want her hanging where I can look her in the eye while I peel that useless power out of her."
He lunged forward to grab Seir again, but a dark, elegant cane cut through the air, its silver handle tapping the center of the driver's chest. The movement was so fast it was nearly invisible, stopping the massive man dead in his tracks.
"Now, now, my brutish friend," Ephanuel said, his tone dripping with patronizing sweetness. "Let us not rush into things. A transaction requires all clauses to be fulfilled before the merchandise is... altered."
The driver stared down at the cane, his masked face turning slowly toward the demon. The air between them instantly grew thick with tension. "The deal was simple, mage. You provide the location, I break the inner cell block wards and deliver the prisoner to my safehouse. The wards are shattered. She is mine."
"Not all of her belongs to you," Ephanuel smiled, though his golden eyes remained entirely cold, devoid of the warmth he had feigned earlier. "As I recall, our agreement also stipulated that she must remain functional for the next phase of my acquisition. If you begin your crude butchery now, her spirit source will fracture, and a fractured spirit source is entirely useless to me."
Seir shivered, unsure if it was from the cold or the chilling words from the demon's mouth. It was all too coincidental. What if he really was just a mage, that just happened to suddenly appear before her during her summoning? Did he actually want her spirit core? Now she was unsure whether her survival was guaranteed at all.
The driver took a heavy step forward, pressing his chest against the cane, his massive frame towering over Ephanuel. "I don't care about your magic tricks or your contracts. She is the worst power holder the Empire ever bred, a stain on my family's lineage, and she dies tonight. Move the stick, or I'll break you too."
Seir watched from the frozen concrete, her breath pluming in the air. She was completely trapped between them, weak and shivering, but the friction was palpable. The driver's raw, unadulterated hatred was clashing directly against Ephanuel's absolute, arrogant need for control. In her eyes, Ephanuel hadn't brought her here to save her—he had brought her here to use her as a bartering chip, and the driver was refusing to play by his rules.
Ephanuel chuckled, a low, dangerous sound that echoed off the rusted meat hooks above. He didn't move the cane.
"You are welcome to try, meat head," the demon murmured, his fangs catching the harsh light of the floodlight. "But I assure you, shattering stone walls with raw force is much, much easier than surviving what happens when I lose my patience."