Then—
**SNAP.**
Something gave way.
The pressure vanished.
Not reduced.
Completely erased.
The air changed instantly.
Draven stood still.
No resistance.
No suppression.
No force holding him back.
Free.
The man exhaled sharply, body sagging in Draven's grip as exhaustion and shock flooded him. His eyes were wide, unfocused, voice barely audible.
"…I—I did it…"
A broken whisper.
"…I removed it…"
The room shifted.
Not violently.
Not with force.
But completely.
The pressure that had filled every inch of space was simply gone.
Draven felt it immediately.
The absence.
The difference.
Like stepping out of deep water and onto solid ground after being held down for far too long.
His fingers flexed once.
Free.
"…Alright."
The word left him low.
Satisfied.
But his grip did not loosen.
The man still hung in his hand, gasping, drawing in air as though he had been pulled up from the bottom of the sea.
His eyes flickered upward again.
Hope.
Fear.
Calculation.
All of it trying to return at once.
Draven tilted his head slightly.
"…Now."
A pause.
"…You're going to open a portal."
His gaze did not waver.
"…Back to Prison Six."
Silence.
For half a second, the man froze completely.
Then—
his arm moved.
Fast.
Too fast for someone who had just been on the edge of suffocation.
His hand snapped upward, and a magic circle ignited in front of his palm.
Aimed directly at Draven's head.
But Draven's fingers tightened instantly.
CRACK.
The man's breath cut off.
The spell flickered—unstable, collapsing mid-formation.
"…I—I can't—"
he choked, voice breaking,
"…breathe—"
Draven looked at him.
Unmoved.
Then—
"…Oh."
Flat.
As if acknowledging something minor.
His hand opened.
The man dropped, stumbling backward, collapsing to one knee as he dragged air into his lungs.
"—HAH—!"
His chest heaved violently. Air flooded in, sharp and painful, as his vision wavered.
But before he could recover—
Draven moved.
A blur.
He stepped in, lifted, and in one smooth motion landed onto the man's shoulders.
Light.
Effortless.
As if gravity had simply agreed to stop mattering.
The man lurched forward under the sudden weight, nearly collapsing again, arms flailing for balance.
But he stayed upright.
Barely.
Draven settled in place, legs hanging loosely down his chest.
Casual.
Controlled.
His hands rested on the man's head.
Fingers threading through his hair.
Not tight yet.
But positioned.
Ready.
"…There."
His voice came from above now.
Closer.
More personal.
"…Now you can move."
The man froze completely.
Because he understood exactly what this meant.
Not control.
Not dominance.
Execution range.
Draven leaned forward slightly, his chin almost resting against the top of the man's head.
"…But keep something in mind."
His fingers tightened just enough to remind him.
Pressure spread across the skull.
A silent warning.
"…I can crush your head…"
A pause.
"…instantly."
Silence.
The meaning settled in fully this time.
Heavy.
Final.
The man swallowed slowly, carefully.
"…Y-yes…"
His voice trembled, but he did not move.
Did not resist.
Could not afford to.
Draven leaned back slightly, relaxed again, as if nothing about this situation required urgency.
"…Good."
A pause.
"…Now do what I said."
The man nodded quickly, almost too quickly, raising his hands again—this time far more carefully.
Slower.
Controlled.
Because now every mistake had a cost.
Behind them, footsteps echoed down the corridor.
Fast.
Uneven.
Not disciplined.
Desperate.
Then they stopped at the doorway.
Lucien was the first to arrive.
Breathing hard, shoulders tense, eyes already scanning the room.
And then he saw it.
"…Sir—"
The word broke midway.
Because the sight in front of him did not match anything his mind had prepared for.
The room glowed faintly.
The artifact still hovered at its center, rotating slowly, space bending around it like a controlled wound in reality.
But that wasn't what froze him.
It was Draven.
Sitting.
Calmly.
On the shoulders of a man who looked like he was seconds away from collapse.
Completely at ease.
As though this entire situation belonged to him.
The man beneath Draven stood rigid, arms slightly raised, a half-formed magic circle trembling in front of his palm.
Afraid to complete it.
Afraid to stop it.
Stuck between survival and death.
Lucien blinked once.
Then again.
"…What…"
Behind him, Tharic stepped in and immediately stopped.
His face drained.
"…Is that—"
Seryna entered next.
Her gaze sharpened instantly, analyzing everything in seconds—the artifact, the runes, the restrained mana flow, the spatial distortion.
And then Draven.
Above it all.
Control without effort.
Kaelira leaned against the doorway, eyes narrowing before a slow grin formed.
"…You've got to be kidding me."
Lucien's sister stepped in last.
Quiet.
Observant.
Her eyes moved from Draven, to the trembling man beneath him, then to the artifact.
Understanding settled quickly.
"…You found the core," she said softly.
Draven did not turn.
Did not acknowledge them fully.
"…You're here."
Flat.
Unbothered.
Lucien flinched slightly at the tone but forced himself forward.
"…We— we followed the barrier—it dropped and—"
He stopped again.
Because now he could clearly see the man beneath Draven shaking uncontrollably.
Not just fear.
Absolute submission.
His eyes darted toward the group but did not dare focus on them.
Did not dare ask for help.
Because Draven's fingers still rested lightly against his skull.
Lucien swallowed.
"…What's happening?"
Draven exhaled faintly.
"…He's opening a portal."
A pause.
"…Back to where this started."
Silence.
The weight of that statement settled over them instantly.
Tharic blinked.
"…A portal…?"
Seryna's eyes narrowed slightly, interest sharpening beneath her composure.
Kaelira's grin widened.
"…Now that's useful."
Lucien's sister stepped closer, gaze fixed on the artifact.
"…You're making him use the system," she murmured.
Not a question.
A conclusion.
Draven tilted his head slightly.
Above the man's trembling hands, the magic circle stabilized further.
Lines locked into place.
Energy aligned.
The artifact at the center responded, pulsing in sync.
Space bent deeper.
Stronger.
The man's voice came out strained, barely holding together.
"…I—I need a moment—"
Draven's fingers pressed down slightly.
The man flinched violently.
"…You've got one."
Cold.
Final.
Lucien stood still, trying to process everything at once.
The arena.
The chaos.
The collars.
The collapse.
And now—
this.
He looked at Draven again.
Really looked this time.
And the same thought returned, heavier than before.
What… is he?
Because whatever answer he had before—
it no longer fit.