The Time Keeper

Chapter 47 - The Illusory World of Gears

As I lay on the ground, the weight of the situation pressed down on me both physically and mentally. It was a grim reminder of the vast chasm that separated us from Fritz, someone whose power we could barely comprehend with the help of the stolen artifact, The Hand of God.

Darius, despite his resolve and sheer might, was no exception to this pressure too. He struggled, his face contorting with every effort as he attempted to bring the Shattered Sight artifact into play. But it was as if the very air had become impenetrable and thick, resisting his every effort.

Fritz Haand's laughter continued, a mocking symphony that underscored our powerlessness.

"Bahahahaha!" Fritz cackled with his hand over his face.

He stood there trembling, his figure slightly obscured by the theatre lights, an embodiment of madness and malevolence.

"Oh, how the mighty have fallen," Fritz sneered, his voice a chilling echo in the theatre. He continued to relish in his newfound power, his gaze shifting from one helpless figure to another. "To think the mighty Darius Black could be subdued with a measly glove. Did you really think you could stand against me?"

Darius, despite the impossible pressure bearing down on him, managed to lift his head slightly, his eyes burning with defiance. He tried to respond, but his voice came out as a strained whisper, barely audible amidst the oppressive force that held us down.

Fritz's laughter intensified, a cruel crescendo that filled the theatre. He seemed to revel in our suffering, his eyes gleaming with manic glee.

"Pathetic," he spat out the word, his tone dripping with disdain.

Fritz, seemingly undeterred by our collective desperation, began to descend from the stage. He moved with a grotesque grace while whistling, his steps a macabre dance that mirrored the madness that consumed him.

He frolicked over to the seating area where we lay, struggling and unmoving, our bodies pinned to the floor. His long shadow loomed over us, casting a long, twisted silhouette that seemed to stretch and contort with his malevolent intent.

"Oh, how utterly delightful," he mused, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

The weight of humiliation and powerlessness pressed on me, fueling a deep sense of irritation that I had never felt before. It wasn't just my own humiliation, it was the shared humiliation of my team. The fact I wasn't letting anybody down anymore. We were all on equal ground now, brought low by the same overwhelming force.

Fritz finally waltzed over to me, bending down to take a good long look at my desperate face. "Here. Right beneath my heel, that's where you belong," Fritz taunted, his voice a twisted symphony of malevolence.

As his words washed over me, I refused to yield to the despair that threatened to consume me. My fingers brushed against the comforting weight of the pocket watch in my jacket pocket, its surface growing warmer with each passing second.

In the midst of the darkness that threatened to engulf me, a glimmer of determination began to well up from the depths of my soul.

I closed my eyes, blocking out the oppressive reality that surrounded me. I focused on my will and spirit, drawing upon them as if drawing from a hidden reservoir of strength. The same sensation and concentration when activating my fractured ability.

And then, in a single, pivotal moment, I opened my eyes.

The world around me had transformed. I was no longer within the confines of the decrepit theatre, nor was I in the embrace of Fritz Haand's malevolent power.