With a wave of Victor's hand, a long metal table shifted from the corner to the center of the room. At that same moment, several glowing magic orbs illuminated beneath the ceiling, lighting it up from all sides, while a smaller table materialised nearby.
— Victor, you're crazy! I forbid you! Do you even understand what you're about to subject her to?! — Nicholas pressed on, unrelenting.
Victor merely nodded calmly, maintaining a subtle smile:
— Nick, surely you realize that trying to stop me now is completely futile? I'm going to do this regardless. Especially now that everything I need is right in my hands.
Nicholas glared at him grimly, then turned sharply to Abigail, trying to appeal to her sound judgment:
— Listen to me, girl! What he intends to do will cause you unimaginable, hellish agony! Your body might endure the process, but your mind... Your mind will simply burn out!
The great alchemist's words made Abigail shiver with fear. But shifting her gaze to Victor, who with absolute composure was already setting up instruments on the small table, she gathered her courage and spoke firmly:
— Even though I don't fully grasp what's happening here... if Victor believes it's necessary, I agree.
Nicholas stared in shock first at her, then at Victor, before letting out a heavy, resigned sigh:
— I forgot that both of you are completely out of your minds... Do whatever you want! But if something goes wrong, don't you dare blame me!
Washing his hands of all responsibility, he turned and hurriedly exited the workshop, knowing he couldn't convince them otherwise.
As he stepped out, the heavy door shut behind him, and the locks instantly clicked into place.
— Strip down and lie down, — Victor said calmly, turning to Abigail.
— What?! Undress?!
— Yes. You can leave your underwear on.
Abigail froze as if rooted to the spot. Her mind refused to process the command. What was this foolish reaction? Exposing herself in underwear?.. She, an adult woman who had been to beaches thousands of times in the most revealing swimsuits, was now self-conscious — and before whom? Victor?! To her, he had always been just a boy, nearly a child, a bright spot in the dark world she worked in...
So why did her legs feel like lead, and why was her heart hammering violently in her chest? Why did a scorching blush rush to her cheeks while her breath caught in her throat? She stood there, helplessly bashful, exactly like a hesitant young girl preparing to undress before a guy for the very first time.
'You've become a young woman... Your body has been rejuvenated. Hormones, libido... You just need to accept it.'
Pernelle's words suddenly flashed in her mind like a bright flare. And in that instant, something inside Abigail definitively clicked into place.
She suddenly realized with total clarity: the old, exhausted Abigail was no more. She had died back in that asylum. Here and now, only this version of her existed — an eighteen-year-old with surging youth in her veins and an utterly bewildered heart.
She looked at Victor. She stopped seeing him through the lens of the past and saw him for who he truly was: an extraordinarily powerful, confident, and devilishly attractive young man. The old perception of him as a "younger brother" shattered to pieces. What fraternal love?! All this time, her pull toward him wasn't because she missed the days when he was a child. She had craved his gaze, hungered for his touch. She was in love with him. Truly, passionately, and earnestly.
The thought sent a wave of heat rushing through her. Her bashfulness didn't vanish — on the contrary, it enveloped her twice as hard, causing her fingers to tremble slightly. But mixed with that embarrassment was something new — a delicate, sweet longing to be closer to him.
She tried to pull herself together and put up her former confident facade, though her cheeks were burning crimson.
— What's wrong? Are you shy? — Victor asked, taking a step toward her.
— Not at all! — swallowing the lump in her throat, she tried to speak as firmly as possible, though her voice quavered slightly anyway.
— Want me to close my eyes and not look? Here, see! — Victor placed a hand over his face, though playfully left a noticeable gap between his fingers.
— Hey! You're still looking! — Abigail pouted, averting her embarrassed gaze.
— Alright, alright, like this! — he chuckled, closing his fingers tightly to block his view completely.
Abigail looked at him. Her heart felt ready to leap out of her chest. The thought of undressing in front of him still made her blush to the tips of her ears, but realizing her feelings granted her a strange surge of courage. Unexpectedly even to herself, she stepped forward and briefly kissed him on the lips.
— And what was that just now? — Victor asked, lowering his hand and looking at her.
— Well... If you're going to see me undressed, you ought to take on at least some responsibility! — Abigail blurted out, her face burning red.
Victor frowned slightly at first, but then it dawned on him, and a genuine smile broke across his face. Pernelle and Nicholas had gone through the exact same shift back in their day. Victor remembered clearly: when he first met them, they acted like a pair of sweet, quiet old folks, but after rejuvenating, their personalities shifted dramatically, matching their new young appearances.
He gently pulled Abigail by the waist toward himself and kissed her. Strike while the iron is hot, as they say. This time, it was far from an innocent kiss. Caught off guard, Abigail hesitated for a moment before completely melting into the feeling a second later. However, she just as quickly snapped back to her senses and embarrassedly pushed him away when Victor's fingers shamelessly squeezed her buttocks:
— Pervert!
— Ha-ha-ha! Do you know how long I've dreamed of doing that? — Victor laughed merrily, but then composed himself and looked at her with a more serious expression: — Right, we'll have time for flirting later. For now, let's finish what we started.
Still burning with embarrassment, Abigail nodded obediently:
— Fine... But turn around!
Victor rolled his eyes playfully — her demeanor had shifted so abruptly. Noticing she wasn't going to undress otherwise, he turned his back to her:
— You do realize I'll see everything anyway as soon as you lie on the table?
— Turn around anyway! — she muttered.
Abigail quickly shed her clothes and scurried barefoot to the metal table. Climbing onto it — even though she remained in her underwear — she still bashfully covered her chest and hips with her hands:
— Alright! You can turn around.
Victor turned around and froze for a moment.
— You are so beautiful... — he whispered, unable to tear his eyes away from her.
The sight before him was absolute perfection. Abigail was impossibly gorgeous: delicate pale skin, a toned, slender figure, long dark hair cascading in lovely waves across the cold metal surface beneath her, and a bright blush of bashfulness on her face that contrasted sharply with her black lace lingerie. With great effort, Victor suppressed the surge of desire within him. Taking a deep breath and repeating to himself like a mantra — 'Business first, business first...' — he managed to regain his composure.
Stepping closer, Victor set a jar filled with a mysterious liquid on the small table and began unsealing it.
Still burning with embarrassment, Abigail nonetheless watched his preparations with unhidden curiosity:
— What exactly did Nicholas mean when he said my mind might not survive this?
Without interrupting his preparation, Victor answered in a calm, steady tone:
— That it will hurt beyond measure. You'll need to hold on with everything you have and remain conscious so your mental structure doesn't collapse. And most importantly — you must keep in mind at all times what you're enduring this for.
He picked up a very fine, small paintbrush and cross-referenced his notes one last time, which were covered in strange alchemical runes and symbols:
— I truly hope you won't disappoint me.
Victor gently took her hand — which she was timidly using to cover her full chest — and guided it down onto the table. Then he dipped the fine brush into the jar and brought it to her wrist.
Abigail closed her eyes immediately, tensing up in anticipation of agonizing pain, but felt only a light, almost gentle tickle. Opening her eyes in surprise, she saw a small rune traced upon her skin. Just as Abigail was about to ask, — Is that it? —, a searing burn ignited right where the symbol had been drawn.
It felt as if red-hot iron were slowly branding the rune straight into her bone.
— A-a-a-a-a-a-a-ah!.. A-a-a-a-a-a-ah! — a wild, agonizing scream echoed through the workshop.
It was utterly unbearable. Abigail instinctively tried to jerk away, to pull her arm back, but her entire body felt paralyzed — she couldn't move a single finger and could only scream helplessly. After a few seconds that felt like an eternity, the agonizing pain on her arm began to recede.
Abigail breathed heavily and raggedly, tears streaming down her face in an unbroken flow, while a trickle of crimson blood ran from the corner of her lips down her chin — in her thrashing and screaming, she had bitten her tongue until it bled without even realizing it. A bitten tongue felt like a trivial trifle compared to the all-consuming agony she had just felt on her arm.
— Tsk, tsk, this won't do, — Victor shook his head.
He retrieved a small vial from his pocket and poured its contents into her mouth, then carefully wiped the blood from her chin with a cloth. The high-grade potion instantly healed her bitten tongue, and a silicone mouthguard appeared in Victor's hand:
— Here, bite on this.
Still in semi-conscious shock from the experience, Abigail obediently bit down on the mouthguard.
— There, perfect. Well, one rune down. Only six hundred thirty-eight left.
Hearing that horrifying number, Abigail snapped fully back to reality. Terror instantly washed away the remnants of shock. Spitting out the mouthguard, she looked at Victor with tear-filled, pleading eyes:
— Please... Don't, I beg you! It hurts too much... — she sobbed, weeping bitterly.
Victor stroked her head understandingly, offering a warm and gentle smile:
— Of course it hurts. But easy, fast power doesn't come without pain. Just ignore it. All of this is merely signals in your brain. Want me to show you something?
He picked up a long scalpel from the nearby table. Keeping his warm gaze fixed on Abigail with the same soft smile on his lips, Victor opened his left palm and began slowly, inch by inch, driving it onto the steel blade. Not a single muscle on his face twitched. Then he gave his hand a slight twist, showing how the cold steel had pierced clean through his flesh and protruded from the back of his hand:
— See? I simply chose to reject the pain. Because pain is weakness. And I never want to be weak again for as long as I live. What about you, Abigail? What do you want? To remain a helpless girl who could be defeated by any first-year wizard, or to rise with me to the very top of this world?
With a single motion, he pulled the scalpel free, and the wound through his palm began mending right before her eyes. In his crimson eyes, the Sharingan activated, its tomoe spinning hypnotically.
— The freedom we have right now is nothing more than a pathetic illusion, — his voice sounded magnetic, hypnotic. — True freedom only exists when you are stronger than everyone else. And no one can take that freedom away from you. Come, Abigail... Rise to that peak with me. Experience true freedom — hand in hand, right beside me.
In that moment, Victor looked to her like an ancient demon tempter, and she was fully aware of it. But staring at his striking, powerful face, Abigail suddenly envisioned a clear picture of the future: Daphne, Hermione, and Victor himself growing endlessly stronger, drifting further and further out of her reach... While she remained just an ordinary, powerless girl.
Abigail refused to accept that fate. She craved to stand beside him always — as an equal to the others.
Overcoming her sheer terror, she slowly parted her lips. Victor smiled with satisfaction and slipped the mouthguard back between her teeth.
— Good girl, — he whispered softly, tenderly kissing her forehead.
Straightening up, Victor paused for a moment in thought, and then a grin spread across his face.
— You know, we need something to distract you from the pain, — he announced cheerfully.
With a flick of his fingers, Victor summoned a small magical speaker from his spatial ring. With a wave of his hand, he queued up the song "Take On Me." A lively melody instantly resonated through the workshop.
Catching the rhythm immediately, Victor began dancing with the paintbrush still in hand, and then, using the brush as a makeshift microphone, he broke into song:
— We're talking away
No, I don't know what I'm to say
I'll say it anyway
Today is another day to find you
Shyin' away
Oh, I'll be comin' for your love, okay... Come on, join in!
Abigail, with the mouthguard still in her mouth, involuntarily tried to hum along with him. Victor nodded in satisfaction and, dipping the brush into the jar of special ink, kept singing as he began drawing the second rune.
The moment the symbol was complete, all-consuming agony engulfed Abigail once more. But the music completely drowned out her desperate muffled groans.
The rest of the day and the night that followed blurred into a seamless, unending hell for her.
As time wore on, the boundaries of reality began to melt away for Abigail. Blinded by the excruciating pain, she lost all awareness of her surroundings: the songs playing one after another on the speaker turned into meaningless background noise before fading from her perception entirely. The only thing she faintly registered through the haze of torment was Victor. While she writhed and melted in agony, he was entertaining himself to the fullest: laughing, chatting with her, dancing lightheartedly, nodding along to the rhythm, and mouthing the words to song after song.
She held on with the absolute last of her strength until Victor reached the one hundred twenty-fifth rune. At that point, Abigail's mind simply blacked out. Giving her a brief moment to catch her breath, Victor brought her back to consciousness and, ensuring her mental state hadn't been compromised, resumed his work.
Past the three-hundredth rune — when both her arms from shoulders to wrists were already covered in delicate spirals and Victor had moved on to her ribs — Abigail stopped keeping count. The light in her beautiful eyes began to fade and dim completely.
Noticing this, Victor immediately snapped his fingers to turn off the music. A heavy, ringing silence fell over the workshop. Frowning, he took her firmly by the chin and forced her to look straight at him.
— Pull yourself together, — he commanded in a hard, unyielding tone. — More than half the path is already behind us. I forbid you to give up!
His iron voice instantly rekindled a spark of response in her fading eyes, and Abigail gave a faint yet resolute nod.
Toward the end, the procedure became easier for her to endure: she simply kept her eyes fixed on Victor, not even flinching when he inscribed the very last rune in her pelvic area.
When he finished, Victor looked upon his creation with genuine awe and a smile. Placing his palm on her stomach, he channeled an impulse of magic: starting from his point of contact, golden script began flashing across her body in a chain reaction. They swept through every line, every contour and pattern, weaving into a single unified magical structure before dimming and vanishing completely upon reaching her wrists.
Victor looked down at her and gently removed the mouthguard from her mouth.
— You were amazing. I'm proud of you.
He leaned down and kissed her softly on the lips. Accustomed to the mouthguard over those grueling hours, Abigail instinctively parted her lips, expecting hard rubber, but instead felt his soft lips and warmth, responding to the kiss with a quiet, exhausted murmur. When Victor pulled back, he saw that she had passed out again from sheer fatigue and relief. Smiling, he waved his hand: a cloud of crimson smoke enveloped her body, weaving a dress of the exact same color around her. He then tenderly lifted Abigail into his arms and carried her toward the exit. The heavy door swung open on its own before him, and he stepped out of the workshop.