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Chapter 89: The Immortal Spirit Host, Wretched Sorcerer Was Deceived
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At the same evening hour…
Still deep within Mount Veyrskald…
The three Valkyries who had been controlling the drones quietly rejoiced as they watched the feeds on their monitors. Petyr had fallen. Carabosse had retreated. And most satisfying of all—Ms. Loki had been defeated by Dodo’s team. Every moment had been captured by the drones.
They had always hated the Queen of Hearts and the blighted deities, and they hated the Crown Prosecutor as well—when Petyr alone held that role.
Ever since they were forced to leave Brynhildr’s division of the Mydrovith army and were forcibly recruited into service as the Queen of Hearts’ card soldiers, they felt as if they had nowhere to belong, despite living in Wonderland’s central hub. Though they resided there, they lived miserably in military camps—rotting tents, no beds, sleeping on bare grass. It never felt like home. There was no comfort. The Queen simply enjoyed watching people suffer.
What made things worse was that they were often made to witness the Queen of Hearts gleefully executing innocent people, and afterward were ordered to clean up the blood-soaked aftermath. They despised every second of it. So even though they had been ordered to record Caucus Race participants being attacked and critically injured by Petyr, Carabosse, and Ms. Loki under Nezha’s command, seeing those three lose—just this once—filled the Valkyries with quiet satisfaction.
Then Carabosse appeared above them, still gripping the unconscious Petyr by the ankle. She issued her order coldly.
“Secure the leader of the blighted deity, Ms. Loki, at the Ruunholt path, and bring her back to the palace at once.”
The three Valkyries answered in unison. “Yes, Madam Carabosse.”
Carabosse turned and flew off, Petyr dangling limply in her grasp.
The Valkyries hesitated.
They were standing in the Mydrovith realm — their old home. The land where they had once served under their former commander, Brynhildr, and Thor, their rightful ruler. Back when life was still peaceful, even under the Queen of Hearts’ ruthlessness. Back when Brynhildr was still alive. And unfortunately, they weren’t even permitted to attend her funeral.
But they couldn’t ignore the order.
Their lives were at stake. Who knew what the Queen of Hearts would do to them if they delayed or disobeyed? Something far worse than death might be waiting for them.
With that, the three Valkyries packed their gear into Petyr’s bag, spread their wings, and took flight toward Ruunholt. When they arrived, the area was still engulfed in a blinding whiteout blizzard. They descended past the cliffside corridor, continuing downward until they reached the icy surface below.
What they saw upon landing surprised them.
Ms. Loki’s Sleipnir stood before them, facing them directly. Behind it lay Ms. Loki herself, still unconscious. The creature positioned itself squarely between her and the Valkyries, as if shielding her from harm.
As the Valkyries approached, Sleipnir raised its hooves dramatically and neighed furiously — a clear warning to stay back. They spoke calmly, explaining they only wished to help Ms. Loki and bring her back for treatment. But Sleipnir didn’t care, continuing to neigh aggressively, prepared to attack.
Then, weak and barely audible, Ms. Loki murmured. “Slei…”
Sleipnir perked up, lowered its hooves, then turned and gently lowered its head toward her.
“Please… don’t hurt them…” Ms. Loki muttered faintly. “They’re just… trying to help me.”
One of the Valkyries clicked her tongue inwardly, bitterness boiling beneath her calm expression.
“Tch… I wish we could just leave you here to die… you psychotic, bloodthirsty filth.”
Ms. Loki weakly reached out and grasped Sleipnir’s leg.
“Please… move aside,” she whispered. “Please… my loyal steed. Let me be claimed by them.”
Sleipnir hesitated — then nodded. It stepped aside, though it kept a watchful eye on the Valkyries, ready to react to any suspicious movement toward its master.
The three Valkyries stepped forward and carefully lifted Ms. Loki by her arms, draping them over the shoulders of two Valkyries. With that, all three spread their wings and took off. Ms. Loki soon drifted back into unconsciousness, her body still weakened from her injuries.
Below them, Sleipnir galloped across the ice, refusing to leave her side.
Together, they exited the Mydrovith realm and headed toward the palace at the central hub.
As they reached the palace, those waiting at the entrance were four blighted deities—Nezha, Apollo, Osiris, and Agnar—along with one other figure who was not blighted: Medusa. They saw Carabosse descending first and immediately noticed the unconscious Petyr in her grasp. Shortly after, the Valkyries arrived with Ms. Loki, while Sleipnir made its way back to the stables.
Then Nezha and Apollo burst into laughter, openly mocking and teasing Petyr for being defeated by Dodo’s team—especially by the detective who had beaten him using a meme. Petyr, still unconscious, couldn’t hear a single word of it.
Carabosse stopped above them and ordered them to take the useless little boy back to his room, then began swinging his body casually. Nezha and Apollo stepped forward together and told her to throw Petyr to them. Without hesitation, Carabosse hurled him through the air. Nezha and Apollo raised their hands and caught Petyr as if he had just leapt off a stage into a cheering crowd. Holding him above their hands, the two carried Petyr inside the palace.
Carabosse landed and asked, “How did the Queen feel about the destruction of the Caucus Race we caused?”
Medusa smiled teasingly and replied, “Get ready for an earful from the Queen of Hearts. She was disappointed.”
Carabosse stiffened, clearly not expecting that. “Why?! We did exactly as we were told—to cause chaos and havoc. What do you mean she’s disappointed? We took out 28 teams.”
Agnar shrugged casually as she explained, “She was hoping for ‘accidental’ deaths. Watching racers get critically injured on the stream wasn’t enough to satisfy her bloodlust—she wanted to see a corpse or two during the Caucus Race. Unfortunately for her, she didn’t.”
Osiris spoke coldly, his tone sharp. “You dare displease the Queen, Ms. Carabosse. Hmph. You may have granted her the Spirit Host power—but do not let that go to your head.”
He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a furious whisper. “No matter what benefits you gave her, you are still beneath her standing.”
Carabosse’s eyes darkened as she raised her wand toward him. “You dare mock me?” she whispered, deadly calm. “That monster in disguise gained even more power because of me. Are you saying you are not thankful for that?”
Osiris’s expression hardened. He pulled his nekhakha from within his robe and aimed it directly at her.
“Very well. If battle is what you seek, I shall grant it. Do not blame me when you lose.”
His voice turned cruel. “Let us be honest, Ms. Carabosse—you would die by my hands.”
Both their weapons began to glow, power surging as they prepared to strike.
Before either could attack, Agnar stepped between them and placed her hand firmly in the space separating their weapons.
“Stop. This is humiliating—for both of you. Lower your weapons.”
For several tense seconds, Osiris and Carabosse stared each other down. Finally, both lowered their weapons.
Carabosse stepped forward, moving past them. “This is foolish.”
Her wand vanished from her hand.
From behind her, Medusa waved lazily and said, “Go make sure you meet the Queen first. She’s waiting for you in her office—for a scolding~”
Carabosse clenched her temple in frustration. She had no desire to meet the Queen, but she had no choice. She never saw the Queen of Hearts as someone to take orders from. Ever since the Queen begged her for power—and Carabosse turned her into a Spirit Host—the Queen had grown far too bossy, especially toward her. Carabosse saw it as ungrateful, disrespectful, and a personal insult.
Osiris glanced at her from the side and whispered threateningly, “Fail the Queen again, and I swear I shall impose divine judgment upon you, Ms. Carabosse.”
Carabosse ignored him completely and entered the palace, making her way toward the Queen of Hearts’ office. When she reached the door, she paused, inhaled deeply, then exhaled, bracing herself for what was to come.
She knocked.
Knock! Knock!
“Come in!” the Queen of Hearts snapped from inside.
Carabosse opened the door without hesitation.
Inside the office, the Queen of Hearts sat behind her desk with her back turned, facing the window. Slowly, she rotated her chair and fixed Carabosse with a cold, disappointed glare.
The Queen’s voice dropped into a menacing whisper. “Do you have anything to say… Carabosse?!”
Carabosse narrowed her eyes, crossed her arms, and glanced to the side. “I did exactly what you told me to do. Is there something wrong with that?”
The Queen of Hearts slammed her hand against the table. “I TOLD YOU TO KILL!”
The desk shook as she struck it again. “WAS IT THAT HARD TO DO?!”
Carabosse met her glare with a mocking stare. “I don’t recall being ordered to kill until the very last minute. 28 teams were almost killed. Didn’t you enjoy the blood we spilled across the racing path?”
“THAT WAS NOT ENOUGH!” the Queen screamed. “Why couldn’t you follow the order I gave you at the end?!”
Carabosse’s voice remained calm, almost bored. “I had no obligation to obey that order. You should have made your intent clear beforehand. Instead, you changed your mind mid-race and suddenly demanded death. Those are the facts, Your Majesty.”
“YOU USELESS FOOL!” the Queen snapped. “I gave you one simple order, and you still failed! And not only that—I saw Alice’s new attorney there. I was hoping the three of you would kill him yourselves, yet every attack was countered!”
Carabosse smiled smoothly. “I am nothing more than your temporary Crown Prosecutor—not a tool for your playful bloodlust. You should be grateful I caused that chaos while serving you without compensation.”
That was the truth. Carabosse was in Wonderland only to await Alice’s final trial and to stand in as the Queen’s extra Crown Prosecutor—nothing more. She had another objective entirely, hidden beneath the excuse of unpaid service. She was not here to run foolish errands.
The Queen of Hearts whispered furiously, “Do you know who I am?!”
Carabosse shrugged, her smile openly mocking. “Someone who begged me for more power.”
The Queen’s fingernails slowly grew longer and sharper.
Carabosse continued without pause. “You even begged me—and that worthless little boy—for help. You wanted Alice’s head so badly it was ‘OFF WITH HER HEAD’ every five seconds. Do you have any idea how unbearable that was? I had no choice but to lend you the boy. You wanted someone who could amuse you—someone who could mock Alice during the trials. He was a perfect fit. And guess what, Your Majesty? You won those trials unfairly. All thanks to his mockery and your rigged system. Shouldn’t you be thanking me instead of patting yourself on the back as well?”
Scales began forming along the Queen’s hands. Her breathing grew heavy, rage boiling beneath her skin.
Carabosse clapped her hands once. “Ah, yes—there’s more.”
She glared coldly at the Queen. “You have no right to order me around. I am not part of your staff.”
Her voice dropped. “Or would you like me to kill you, you pesky Queen?”
The Queen’s tongue slid out of her mouth, splitting and turning reptilian.
“Carabosse…” she hissed. “How about I execute you right now? You are not from Wonderland. I am still allowed to scrape your flesh.”
Carabosse grinned. “Is that how you treat someone who granted you the Spirit Host power, Your Majesty?”
Her eyes gleamed. “Or should I say…”
Purple light ignited behind the Queen’s shadowed face, flickering in her eyes.
Carabosse spoke clearly, mercilessly. “The monster in disguise—the Jabberwocky.”
Fangs erupted from the Queen’s mouth as she roared, “ROOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAR!!!!!!!”
She slammed her desk aside. It crashed into the wall and shattered.
The Queen was about to lunge forward. Carabosse shifted into a battle stance and summoned her wand, ready to strike back.
Before the clash could happen—
The office doors burst open. “IT IS MY FAULT!”
Both Carabosse and the Queen froze.
Ms. Loki stumbled inside, her body wrapped in bandages. She dropped to her knees and pressed her forehead to the floor in full submission.
“It is my fault. I failed to kill the remaining two Caucus Race participants. That attorney defeated me—the leader of the blighted deities.”
Her voice trembled. “I failed you, my Queen!”
She spoke desperately, knowing what would happen if the Queen lost control. Wonderland itself could be torn apart.
The Queen of Hearts stared at her in silence.
Ms. Loki remained unmoving, hoping submission alone would calm her.
Slowly, the Queen’s form settled. The scales vanished. Her claws retracted. She returned to her normal appearance.
The tension in the room lingered, heavy and awkward.
The Queen remembered the moment she had begged Carabosse—how she wanted Alice mocked and broken during the trials, all while everything remained rigged in her favor. She despised that memory. She despised needing help. And while she knew she should be grateful for the Spirit Host power, acknowledging it would shatter her pride.
To prevent things from escalating further, the Queen turned away. “You are free to leave Wonderland, Carabosse. I no longer need you as my second Crown Prosecutor. Mr. Petyr Pann is sufficient.”
She added sharply, “Leave my office at once, Ms. Loki. I forgive you—but embarrass me again, and I shall execute you.”
Ms. Loki sprang to her feet and bowed deeply. “Yes, Your Majesty!”
She left the room, relieved—both to be spared and to have stopped the Queen from losing control.
Carabosse smiled calmly. “I won’t leave just yet. I will remain in Wonderland until the final trial.”
Her tone was polite, almost pleasant. “I will not interfere. Once the trial ends, I will leave with the little boy.”
She paused. “And hopefully… you win.”
The Queen clenched her teeth. It felt like mockery. She wanted to rampage, to kill—but she needed to endure until the final trial. Even now, she could kill Carabosse if she wanted to, since Carabosse was not a permanent resident of Wonderland.
Carabosse turned and left the office without another word.
Their connection was broken.
And for Carabosse, that was perfect.
Now she could roam Wonderland freely, searching for the tablet before the Queen could get her hands on it—while Petyr remained bound to the Queen, stuck with court duties and possibly other errands.
In Petyr’s room…
Petyr lay on his bed, his body fully bandaged, still unconscious. Slowly, he stirred and opened one eye. The ceiling came into view. His vision blurred, and he rubbed his eyes until it cleared. Recognition settled in—it was his room in the palace.
He turned his head to the left.
Medusa was sitting beside the bed on a chair, casually browsing through her phone.
“Medusa…” Petyr mumbled weakly.
She lifted her head. “Oh! Good morning, spin-off boy. Great to see you finally awake.”
Petyr turned his head to the right, staring toward the window where dim evening light filtered in. “It’s the evening… how long was I out for?”
“It’s 7 PM now,” Medusa replied. “You were only out for a few hours.”
Petyr rubbed the back of his neck with a grimace. “Ugh… my neck hurts. I can’t believe I lost to that detective again.”
“Before we talk about the detective who beat you,” Medusa said, pointing at the nightstand beside the bed, “there’s something you need to see.”
She picked up his phone. “I charged it while you were unconscious, and it kept pinging with notifications.” She handed it to him.
Petyr unlocked the screen and immediately saw a message from Maniacal Zombie.
“Hey, PannDayuuum! Did you see the news about that game from ‘Mayday Mayday Interactive’? The one that made Neverland Airspace Simulator: Please Do Not Crash Again? Guess what—after my review and commentary stream, and after you got absolutely wrecked in it, pre-orders skyrocketed! And the funniest part? The studio didn’t even remember the game at first. But after my chat spread the word to millions and we savagely demanded answers from the studio, they suddenly went, ‘Oh yeah! We remember! It’ll be releasing soon on PC!’ Isn’t that insane?”
“Bruh… that’s because it was all fake—not even a real game,” Petyr thought, straight-up baffled. “And now that poor studio’s getting dragged into making something that doesn’t even exist. I actually feel bad for them… though I guess it’s kinda my fault too.”
He locked the phone and placed it back on the nightstand. With a tired exhale, he rested both palms beneath his head on the pillow, staring upward, clearly deep in thought.
“What are you thinking?” Medusa asked.
“First, I got beaten because I unknowingly pulled a cliché move,” Petyr said. “Then I got beaten again because of a world-famous meme.”
He closed his eyes. “You just can’t outwit that detective. What’s next? Am I going to get beaten because of a running joke?”
Medusa giggled softly. “Hihihi. Probably you’ll slip on a banana peel and knock yourself out again.”
Petyr opened his eyes. “Yeah. Very funny…”
After a moment, his tone shifted. “Wendy… Captain Hook… that detective met them?”
Medusa tilted her head. “What do you mean, spin-off boy?”
Petyr turned to face her. “Hey, Medusa… do I look… kind of old?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Look, Petyr. Yes, you’re over a hundred years old, but you still look like a 17-year-old boy straight out of a classic high school anime.”
Petyr chuckled awkwardly. “High school anime, huh…”
“And what about it?” Medusa asked. “Is this about Wendy and Captain Hook?”
“Yeah,” Petyr said. “I didn’t expect those two to escape Neverland. There was a reason I kept them, the Lost Boys, and the early civilizations trapped there.”
He paused. “But… sorry. I can’t go into the details. Privacy matters.”
Medusa shrugged. “It’s fine. Everyone has a secret or two.”
Petyr’s gaze drifted back to the ceiling as he thought, “Still… why are they looking for me? They should want nothing to do with me.”
“Unless… they’re trying to free everyone trapped in that realm.”
“If that’s the case, I won’t give them any answers. I’d capture them again and send them back to Neverland… and then—“
Before his thoughts could continue—
Medusa stood up. “Since you’re fully awake, I’ll be leaving now. Nezha and Apollo told me to watch over you while they’re off partying in the palace karaoke room.” She sighed. “Those two are hopeless. I need to start making preparations.”
Petyr blinked. “Preparations?”
“The Queen ordered Nezha and me to capture Chang’e in the Xianglura Realm tomorrow,” Medusa explained. “She’s suspected of possessing an ‘Amulet of Ra’s Horizon,’ which is strictly prohibited. We’re to drag her back to the central hub and imprison her until executions are permitted again.”
“I see…” Petyr muttered. “Sorry for causing you trouble.”
Medusa smiled warmly. “It’s fine. But hey—”
She leaned in teasingly. “You’d better help me find a boyfriend who can dominate me.”
Straightening up, “It’s boring being so strong—I overwhelm everyone. I’ve told you this so many times already.”
Petyr scoffed. “Yup. Like a million times. Unfortunately, I’m terrible at matchmaking.”
Medusa waved him off and walked out of the room.
Left alone, Petyr sank back into his thoughts. “Malakar…”
He knew that wretched sorcerer well. He also knew Malakar had met the detective before—something Petyr was already aware of as a Vrakul agent.
And so, time turns back.
It all began not too long ago.
A few months earlier…
When Alice was first captured after the Queen of Hearts accused her of murders she did not commit, the Queen immediately began plotting how to mentally destroy her. Although she could appoint anyone in Wonderland as a Crown Prosecutor—since the court system was already rigged entirely in her favor—that wasn’t enough. She wanted Alice broken slowly, cruelly, in the most unimaginable way possible.
To achieve that, the Queen decided to summon Petyr Pann and Carabosse for advice.
The two entered Wonderland through a rabbit hole at the Jardin du Parc in Royan, France, near the portal to Rosenthorn (this was before the Queen decided to open several rabbit holes in Vietnam—apparently, she enjoyed making Petyr commute back and forth from France to Vietnam just to leave him exhausted before court duty, and she had no idea why).
The moment they set foot in Wonderland, they went straight to the palace and met the Queen of Hearts.
There, the Queen explained what she wanted. She needed a prosecutor who could mock Alice relentlessly and crush her spirit during the trials. Throughout the entire conversation, she repeatedly shouted her infamous catchphrase—OFF WITH HER HEAD—every five seconds, giving both Petyr and Carabosse an unbearable headache. What baffled them even more was the realization that the Queen herself was the true murderer.
At first, neither Petyr nor Carabosse was sure how they could help her. Then Carabosse remembered something—Petyr had a particular talent for childish insults and petty mockery. Without hesitation, she forced him to volunteer.
Petyr was shocked and immediately protested, saying court duty sounded like too much of a hassle. In response, Carabosse threatened to smack his backside with her wand if he refused. Fearing for his life—and more importantly, for the safety of his butt—Petyr slumped in defeat and accepted the role (though he would later come to enjoy it).
After their discussion with the Queen concluded, the two toured the palace. Along the way, they met several trainees serving under the Queen of Hearts: Nezha, Osiris, Agnar, Apollo, and Ms. Loki. The group introduced themselves and explained that they were training to become the future blighted deities of the Queen.
Petyr, being his usual casual self, quickly got along with Nezha and Apollo, while Carabosse remained distant and indifferent toward all of them.
At one point, Petyr and Nezha were relaxing in the palace’s royal garden when Apollo approached, carrying a book. When asked about it, Apollo explained that he obtained it from Olyndora’s bibliothēkē. The book contained records copied from Zeus’s papyrus—knowledge Zeus had gathered from the Upper Worlds, rewritten into book form.
Apollo then revealed he had found an especially interesting historical record. It described Zeus discovering a vengeful immortal sorcerer in the year 1000 AD named Malakar. This sorcerer had been murdering people across Al-Munira for centuries. The kingdom itself was located 600 kilometers west of Morocco, a vast desert island kingdom.
Petyr’s eyes lit up immediately. He declared that he wanted to meet this Malakar in that exact time period, finding the man disturbingly fascinating. Nezha pointed out that doing so would require the Amulet of Ra’s Horizon. When Petyr asked where to get one, Apollo explained that only Ra possessed such a relic—and that Ra would never give one away, especially not with the Queen’s permission.
Just then, a scarlet-haired woman approached the group, saying she had overheard everything. When Petyr asked who she was, she introduced herself as Medusa, a general of the Card Soldiers. Nezha and Apollo asked why she was here, and Medusa calmly explained that she had heard Petyr wanted the Amulet of Ra’s Horizon—and that she happened to possess one.
Petyr’s excitement was written all over his face. He eagerly asked if he could borrow it. Medusa agreed, but only on one condition: once Petyr was finished meeting Malakar in 1000 AD, he would bring her back something interesting from the present timeline of the Upper Worlds as payback.
Petyr agreed without hesitation, promising her something unforgettable. Medusa then explained how the amulet worked—the only requirement to enter a specific time was to clearly imagine the date, month, and year in one’s mind.
She handed Petyr the amulet.
Without wasting another second, Petyr ran toward a nearby rabbit hole hidden within the garden’s maze. Just as he was about to enter, Carabosse suddenly descended from above, landing directly in front of the rabbit hole and blocking his path.
She sternly demanded to know where he thought he was going without her knowledge.
Petyr flinched and trembled, admitting that he intended to meet an evil immortal individual named Malakar in Al-Munira in the year 1000 AD. Carabosse immediately began scolding him for acting recklessly without informing her. Petyr quickly promised that it would not take long.
Carabosse shook her head in disappointment but reluctantly agreed—on the condition that she would accompany him. Petyr quickly accepted.
They entered the rabbit hole together. Carabosse held onto Petyr’s shoulder with one hand as he focused on imagining the year 1000 AD, along with a random date and month.
When they emerged, however, they were not in Al-Munira.
The land before them was flat and open, dotted with low sand dunes and patches of grass. A few small thatched huts stood near the ocean, while mudflats and driftwood stretched along the estuary.
Petyr stared around in confusion.
Carabosse immediately understood what happened and smacked him on the head with her fan. He yelped in pain, clutching his head. When he demanded to know why she hit him, Carabosse explained that the amulet only allowed time travel—not precise location travel.
They were in Royan, France—again.
But now, it was the year 1000 AD—August 17th.
She further deduced that, because they were not original citizens of Wonderland, they couldn’t exit to other locations and were instead bound to where they first entered. Realizing his mistake, Petyr felt awkward and regretted not asking Medusa for more details.
He suggested flying to Al-Munira instead, explaining that he knew its location from traveling the world in the present timeline. Carabosse groaned but told him not to complain about the long journey.
They took flight.
After three hours, the old Arabian city of Al-Munira finally came into view at sunset. They landed on a rooftop of a market building. Petyr was barely conscious from exhaustion when Carabosse woke him by smacking his head again with her fan.
Their next objective was clear—find Malakar.
However, wandering randomly would take too long. They needed to question the locals, but their current attire would make them stand out. Casually, Carabosse suggested stealing traditional clothing from a nearby shop.
Petyr agreed.
They entered a shop. Petyr threatened the owner with his dagger, freezing the staff in terror, while Carabosse calmly picked out clothing. The two took turns changing in the fitting room. Petyr emerged first, wearing a long, flowing robe suitable for local men, striking a stylish pose.
Then Carabosse stepped out.
She was wearing a provocative belly dancer outfit.
Petyr was utterly stunned and demanded to know why she chose that. Carabosse replied that she felt more comfortable in it and saw nothing to be ashamed of. Fearing the attention it would attract, Petyr decided not to question her further.
They left the shop and began roaming the streets.
As expected, Carabosse attracted excessive attention, particularly from men who stared lewdly and catcalled her openly. Petyr told her about the attention and suggested wearing another outfit, but she dismissed it entirely, she knew she was otherworldly beautiful and found nothing surprising about the reaction—in fact, she believed she deserved it.
Petyr could only shake his head and slowly facepalm at her overconfidence.
Since the people of Al-Munira spoke Arabic, Carabosse cast a translation spell on both of them. They began discreetly asking about recent murders, careful not to mention Malakar’s name in case it raised suspicion.
Eventually, they learned of strange murders occurring once a year in abandoned or hidden locations. Further inquiry revealed that a suspicious man was frequently seen near the kingdom’s old abandoned monastery.
There was only one such monastery.
When midnight arrived, Petyr and Carabosse stood outside the building.
From within, they heard a man screaming.
Inside the building, Malakar slowly, and painfully slowly placed his fingers onto his victim’s lips. “Huuuuush…”
He leaned closer to the man’s face and whispered, “A meal for the Ancient Jinn does not talk.”
The victim was lying on the floor, hands and legs tied with ropes. To prevent another scream, Malakar stuffed a cloth into his mouth, and all the man could do now was muffle—he could no longer talk or scream.
Malakar raised his dagger, ready to stab the man’s chest while the man could only let out a muffled cry.
But before Malakar could stab the man in the chest—
From outside, Petyr kicked the door open. “FREEZE!
He made a gun-pointing gesture without a gun and added with mock seriousness, “FBI!”
Malakar’s breath caught as he turned around. “WHO ARE YOU, YOU WRETCHED FOOLS?!”
Instead of listening to their answers, he raised his other hand. Dark lightning magic crackled along his curled palm before erupting into black lightning orbs that shot toward Petyr.
Petyr remained frozen in his exaggerated FBI pose, but before the dark magic could hit him, Carabosse cast a barrier around Petyr from behind, blocking Malakar’s attack completely.
“Impossible!” Malakar shouted in disbelief.
The victim’s eyes filled with hope, believing he was finally about to be saved.
Petyr and Carabosse finally got a clear look at Malakar:
"Gray eyes."
"A graying beard."
"A sharp nose."
"Weathered skin."
Malakar hissed, “If you are here to take me away, then I shall kill this man before you can stop me!”
The victim muffled and cried desperately.
Carabosse merely smiled and shrugged. “Go ahead, Mr. Malakar… we shall wait.”
Malakar gasped. “H–How do you know my name?!”
No one should have recognized him. He was centuries old—believing he still existed should have been foolish.
As for the victim, he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He thought he was about to be rescued, and now this woman was telling his murderer it was fine to kill him first.
Malakar turned back to the victim, dagger raised again, though he kept glancing over his shoulder to watch the two of them. The victim muffled another scream.
Without even flicking her wand, the tip of Carabosse’s wand glowed faintly. Malakar’s head suddenly burst into black flames. He screamed in agony and collapsed to the floor, burning as the flesh of his head charred away.
“That’s… harsh, Your Grace,” Petyr said, finally lowering his hands.
“I only wished to see what you meant when you said Malakar was immortal,” Carabosse said casually, stepping forward to stand beside him.
The victim muffled again, desperately trying to beg for help through the cloth.
Carabosse frowned in annoyance and pointed at him. “Kill him, little boy.”
The victim’s face twisted in pure horror. “MMMMM!!!”
Petyr pulled a dagger from his robe and threw it like a dart. It pierced the man’s neck. The victim went silent as blood dripped down, his eyes closing as he died.
The flames on Malakar’s head finally extinguished, leaving it burned down to bone.
Seconds later, his head began to regenerate.
Petyr whistled in amazement. “So that’s how it works. Guess he actually has to die first. Not some steel-bodied immortal, huh?”
Malakar’s face fully regenerated. He gasped, sat up, and stared at his dead victim. “WHAT HAVE YOU FOOLS DONE?!”
Malakar panicked. He needed another victim quickly to offer to the Ancient Jinn. Normally, if more than one person died, the Jinn would reject the souls—but since he hadn’t killed this victim himself, perhaps it would still be acceptable to take one more life.
The time in Al-Munira was now 11:45 PM.
All he needed now was to get past these two strangers. He had to see them as comparable to that wretched Zayd—or he would be taken down, no matter how many times he could regenerate.
Malakar whispered furiously, “I will kill you both… and one day, I will recover the Celestial Compass and bring doom upon this world for my revenge!”
Petyr and Carabosse froze. Then they leaned in close, whispering to one another.
“Little boy, aren’t you the one who holds the Celestial Compass now?” Carabosse asked in a whisper.
Petyr clutched the pocket of his robe in confirmation. “Yeah… it’s here,” he whispered back.
Then Petyr remembered something. He leaned closer and quietly told her about an old legend from his realm—how there was once a defective replica of the Celestial Compass that disappeared from Neverland in the year 405 AD. According to legend, that replica carried a fatal flaw. If its user was thrown into another replica of the Gate of the Malevolent Spirit—wherever such a gate might exist—they would be bound to suffer inside it for eternity, as if trapped in hell, once the gate forcibly closed.
Petyr then asked if Carabosse remembered entering the Gate of the Malevolent Spirit 15 years ago in Lunaveth, when he had summoned it using the real Celestial Compass. Carabosse said she remembered it clearly. She hadn’t suffered there—instead, she had met the Malevolent Lord and later became an agent of the malevolent spirits.
The two exchanged dark smiles.
They quickly reached the same conclusion: Malakar had been deceived. He had been made to believe that the defective replica Celestial Compass was the real one.
That was when Petyr and Carabosse formed their plan. The replica compass and its gate would still be capable of unleashing the malevolent spirits—and even the Malevolent Lord—into the world. But they would never tell Malakar the truth: that if he were thrown into the gate along with the replica compass and it was sealed, it would be the end of him.
They agreed on one thing—use Malakar to open the gate and unleash the spirits upon the world. If he failed, then that would simply be unfortunate. Disappointing, perhaps—but not their problem. They wouldn’t have to deal with the consequences of his failure.
“Let us turn him into a Spirit Host,” Petyr and Carabosse whispered in unison, dark grins spreading across their faces.
But what the two—and Malakar—didn’t know was that, back when Mr. Grim nearly lost himself entirely, he fought an internal battle in his mind—and all the while, he lied. He never revealed the compass’s true nature, or that it was a defective replica. Only after Malakar sacrificed his first victim—his wife—did Mr. Grim finally lose himself, at the same time handing over the celestial compass.
Malakar watched them in silence, unable to understand what was happening.
Then he shouted, “WHY ARE YOU SPEAKING AMONGST YOURSELVES, YOU WRETCHED FOOLS?! HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN ABOUT ME?!”
Petyr and Carabosse turned toward him with slow smiles, their eyes narrowing as if he were already something owned.
They stared at him in silence for several seconds—long enough for the air itself to feel heavy.
Then Carabosse spoke calmly, her voice smooth and unbothered. “Mr. Malakar… how about we do not fight?”
Malakar snarled, stepping back into a battle stance. “You think I would believe your lies?! You killed me moments ago! I will not spare you—go ahead and try to kill me again!”
Carabosse dramatically outstretched her arms, lifting her chin as if presenting herself, utterly unafraid. “Don’t you want more power?”
Malakar’s breath caught. “More… power?”
Then his expression twisted with rage. “ARE YOU TRYING TO SWEET-TALK ME?!”
He unleashed a barrage of dark magic—deadlier, faster, striking repeatedly. The floor quaked violently, cracks racing across the stone as the attacks slammed into Carabosse and Petyr relentlessly. The entire monastery groaned before collapsing inward, burying all three beneath tons of rubble.
Malakar was crushed and died—briefly.
Moments later, he regenerated, standing amid the wreckage and laughing mockingly, convinced he had won, convinced they were gone.
But beneath the rubble ahead of him, the debris shimmered.
It exploded outward.
Malakar froze as Petyr and Carabosse emerged unscathed, casually dusting themselves off, commenting aloud about how annoying it would be to do laundry once they returned to Wonderland. A barrier shimmered faintly around them before fading—Carabosse’s work.
Then, with a lazy flick of her wand, Carabosse attacked.
Thorns erupted violently from the floor beneath Malakar, coiling around him, binding his limbs, tightening mercilessly. They crushed his body until blood seeped out as he roared in agony, before dragging him downward and forcing him flat on his back, his face turned upward in helpless exposure.
Carabosse began walking toward him slowly, her hips swaying with deliberate confidence.
Petyr blinked, realization hitting him. “Your Grace… are you really going to turn him into a Spirit Host with that… suggestive approach?”
Malakar demanded answers through gritted teeth, struggling uselessly against the thorns.
Carabosse ignored both of them.
She stepped onto the thorn coils pinning Malakar down and lowered herself to sit atop them, legs crossed, hands resting lightly on the thorn restraints at each side, smiling down at him—slow, predatory, and utterly in control.
“Yup… she’s definitely doing it that way,” Petyr thought.
Sultry and unhurried, Carabosse leaned forward and whispered, “Choose wisely… you either become my slave… or—”
Before she could finish, Malakar spat in her face and screamed, “I AM NO SLAVE TO ANYONE! I WILL BURN THIS KINGDOM—THE ONE I ONCE BUILT AND RULED—AND I WILL DRAG THIS ENTIRE WORLD DOWN WITH IT! I WILL HEAR THEIR SCREAMS, AND EVERY FILTHY SOUL WILL BE TORN APART BY THE SPIRITS BEHIND THE GATE!”
Carabosse calmly wiped the spit from her cheek.
Her smile vanished, her eyes narrowing with sharp irritation. “I see…”
Then, coldly, “Then we shall do this the hard way.”
She snapped her fingers.
The thorns tightened brutally, crushing deeper as Malakar screamed in raw agony.
Without hesitation, Carabosse pressed her foot into his mouth, silencing him completely. He bit down in a blind rage, trying to make her feel pain—but her body was far too strong; she felt nothing.
Raising her right hand, she summoned a ghastly circular object writhing in black miasma, floating ominously above her palm.
She brought her hand near her lips and blew softly. “Fffffhhhh…”
The smoke dispersed and seeped directly into Malakar’s forehead.
His body convulsed violently. His eyes darkened to pure black as he choked and then went limp.
Carabosse casually used one of the thorns already wrapped around him, guiding its sharp tip straight into his heart—killing him cleanly so he could regenerate.
Petyr exhaled slowly. “You always have to do it that way, huh? Though I didn’t expect the foot this time… usually you mount them and they accept becoming a Spirit Host willingly.”
Carabosse stepped off the thorn vines and walked past him, her tone dismissive. “Yes… how disappointing it is when one resists. He should have enjoyed it.”
She glanced back slightly. “Come, little boy. Let us leave before he awakens as a Spirit Host.”
Petyr rubbed his temple. “Yeah… yeah…” and followed her.
And that… was Petyr’s memory.
However…
There’s more to this story that he never witnessed…
Moments later, Malakar jolted awake with a gasp and sat up.
His body was fully regenerated—but something was wrong.
The bloodstain on his chest was black, sizzling faintly. It felt unnatural, yet intoxicating. When he tested his magic, black miasma erupted violently from his body, one of his hands warping into a smoky, demonic form.
He was stronger.
There was no time to be impressed by his elevated dark magic. He needed to kill someone before time ran out—before the clock struck twelve.
Before reaching 2025—which is 1,025 years later—he could only take a life before midnight.
The time in Al-Munira was now 11:58 PM.
Nearby, two people approached the ruined monastery, drawn by the sounds of the collapsing building. Malakar extended his demonic hand—it elongated, seized one of them instantly, and crushed the victim as the other fled in terror.
As the body fell lifeless, the Ancient Jinn appeared, sucking the soul into its palm.
Malakar’s body trembled in awe as he stared at himself. He had no idea what she had done to him, but he didn’t feel the need to be thankful; he accepted the curse he believed had been placed upon him.
Then he tilted his head back and laughed, hysterically, beneath the night sky.
Back in Petyr’s room at the palace…
Petyr lay still in bed, slowly lifting his hand as he stared at the black ring on his finger.
Then he muttered, “After that, Carabosse and I returned to Wonderland. Thankfully, there was a rabbit hole in Al-Munira, so we used it instead of making the long journey back to France. Then I exited again—this time into the present timeline of Al-Munira—and, luckily, there was a video store.”
He paused, exhaling softly.
“I stole a ton of 18+ BDSM Blu-rays,” he continued, almost absentmindedly, “cause I suddenly remembered Carabosse turning Malakar into a Spirit Host… in, like, BDSM style.”
His lips twitched.
“Medusa ended up loving those Blu-rays—it was, like, the ultimate, unforgettable payback. Honestly, I kinda regretted stealing them—they basically turned her into a full-on masochist who now wants a violently intense boyfriend.”
He exhaled through his nose and lowered his ringed hand to his stomach.
“And unfortunately… disappointingly…” he went on, “Malakar got his ass kicked by that detective. Thrown straight into the Gate.”
A quiet chuckle escaped him, eyes closing.
“Then Boss ordered Carabosse and me to get revenge on the detective—The Chosen One.”
He smiled faintly. “But instead of what that cliché usually promises…”
“He’s become… The Targeted One.”
Still deep within Mount Veyrskald…
The three Valkyries who had been controlling the drones quietly rejoiced as they watched the feeds on their monitors. Petyr had fallen. Carabosse had retreated. And most satisfying of all—Ms. Loki had been defeated by Dodo’s team. Every moment had been captured by the drones.
They had always hated the Queen of Hearts and the blighted deities, and they hated the Crown Prosecutor as well—when Petyr alone held that role.
Ever since they were forced to leave Brynhildr’s division of the Mydrovith army and were forcibly recruited into service as the Queen of Hearts’ card soldiers, they felt as if they had nowhere to belong, despite living in Wonderland’s central hub. Though they resided there, they lived miserably in military camps—rotting tents, no beds, sleeping on bare grass. It never felt like home. There was no comfort. The Queen simply enjoyed watching people suffer.
What made things worse was that they were often made to witness the Queen of Hearts gleefully executing innocent people, and afterward were ordered to clean up the blood-soaked aftermath. They despised every second of it. So even though they had been ordered to record Caucus Race participants being attacked and critically injured by Petyr, Carabosse, and Ms. Loki under Nezha’s command, seeing those three lose—just this once—filled the Valkyries with quiet satisfaction.
Then Carabosse appeared above them, still gripping the unconscious Petyr by the ankle. She issued her order coldly.
“Secure the leader of the blighted deity, Ms. Loki, at the Ruunholt path, and bring her back to the palace at once.”
The three Valkyries answered in unison. “Yes, Madam Carabosse.”
Carabosse turned and flew off, Petyr dangling limply in her grasp.
The Valkyries hesitated.
They were standing in the Mydrovith realm — their old home. The land where they had once served under their former commander, Brynhildr, and Thor, their rightful ruler. Back when life was still peaceful, even under the Queen of Hearts’ ruthlessness. Back when Brynhildr was still alive. And unfortunately, they weren’t even permitted to attend her funeral.
But they couldn’t ignore the order.
Their lives were at stake. Who knew what the Queen of Hearts would do to them if they delayed or disobeyed? Something far worse than death might be waiting for them.
With that, the three Valkyries packed their gear into Petyr’s bag, spread their wings, and took flight toward Ruunholt. When they arrived, the area was still engulfed in a blinding whiteout blizzard. They descended past the cliffside corridor, continuing downward until they reached the icy surface below.
What they saw upon landing surprised them.
Ms. Loki’s Sleipnir stood before them, facing them directly. Behind it lay Ms. Loki herself, still unconscious. The creature positioned itself squarely between her and the Valkyries, as if shielding her from harm.
As the Valkyries approached, Sleipnir raised its hooves dramatically and neighed furiously — a clear warning to stay back. They spoke calmly, explaining they only wished to help Ms. Loki and bring her back for treatment. But Sleipnir didn’t care, continuing to neigh aggressively, prepared to attack.
Then, weak and barely audible, Ms. Loki murmured. “Slei…”
Sleipnir perked up, lowered its hooves, then turned and gently lowered its head toward her.
“Please… don’t hurt them…” Ms. Loki muttered faintly. “They’re just… trying to help me.”
One of the Valkyries clicked her tongue inwardly, bitterness boiling beneath her calm expression.
“Tch… I wish we could just leave you here to die… you psychotic, bloodthirsty filth.”
Ms. Loki weakly reached out and grasped Sleipnir’s leg.
“Please… move aside,” she whispered. “Please… my loyal steed. Let me be claimed by them.”
Sleipnir hesitated — then nodded. It stepped aside, though it kept a watchful eye on the Valkyries, ready to react to any suspicious movement toward its master.
The three Valkyries stepped forward and carefully lifted Ms. Loki by her arms, draping them over the shoulders of two Valkyries. With that, all three spread their wings and took off. Ms. Loki soon drifted back into unconsciousness, her body still weakened from her injuries.
Below them, Sleipnir galloped across the ice, refusing to leave her side.
Together, they exited the Mydrovith realm and headed toward the palace at the central hub.
As they reached the palace, those waiting at the entrance were four blighted deities—Nezha, Apollo, Osiris, and Agnar—along with one other figure who was not blighted: Medusa. They saw Carabosse descending first and immediately noticed the unconscious Petyr in her grasp. Shortly after, the Valkyries arrived with Ms. Loki, while Sleipnir made its way back to the stables.
Then Nezha and Apollo burst into laughter, openly mocking and teasing Petyr for being defeated by Dodo’s team—especially by the detective who had beaten him using a meme. Petyr, still unconscious, couldn’t hear a single word of it.
Carabosse stopped above them and ordered them to take the useless little boy back to his room, then began swinging his body casually. Nezha and Apollo stepped forward together and told her to throw Petyr to them. Without hesitation, Carabosse hurled him through the air. Nezha and Apollo raised their hands and caught Petyr as if he had just leapt off a stage into a cheering crowd. Holding him above their hands, the two carried Petyr inside the palace.
Carabosse landed and asked, “How did the Queen feel about the destruction of the Caucus Race we caused?”
Medusa smiled teasingly and replied, “Get ready for an earful from the Queen of Hearts. She was disappointed.”
Carabosse stiffened, clearly not expecting that. “Why?! We did exactly as we were told—to cause chaos and havoc. What do you mean she’s disappointed? We took out 28 teams.”
Agnar shrugged casually as she explained, “She was hoping for ‘accidental’ deaths. Watching racers get critically injured on the stream wasn’t enough to satisfy her bloodlust—she wanted to see a corpse or two during the Caucus Race. Unfortunately for her, she didn’t.”
Osiris spoke coldly, his tone sharp. “You dare displease the Queen, Ms. Carabosse. Hmph. You may have granted her the Spirit Host power—but do not let that go to your head.”
He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a furious whisper. “No matter what benefits you gave her, you are still beneath her standing.”
Carabosse’s eyes darkened as she raised her wand toward him. “You dare mock me?” she whispered, deadly calm. “That monster in disguise gained even more power because of me. Are you saying you are not thankful for that?”
Osiris’s expression hardened. He pulled his nekhakha from within his robe and aimed it directly at her.
“Very well. If battle is what you seek, I shall grant it. Do not blame me when you lose.”
His voice turned cruel. “Let us be honest, Ms. Carabosse—you would die by my hands.”
Both their weapons began to glow, power surging as they prepared to strike.
Before either could attack, Agnar stepped between them and placed her hand firmly in the space separating their weapons.
“Stop. This is humiliating—for both of you. Lower your weapons.”
For several tense seconds, Osiris and Carabosse stared each other down. Finally, both lowered their weapons.
Carabosse stepped forward, moving past them. “This is foolish.”
Her wand vanished from her hand.
From behind her, Medusa waved lazily and said, “Go make sure you meet the Queen first. She’s waiting for you in her office—for a scolding~”
Carabosse clenched her temple in frustration. She had no desire to meet the Queen, but she had no choice. She never saw the Queen of Hearts as someone to take orders from. Ever since the Queen begged her for power—and Carabosse turned her into a Spirit Host—the Queen had grown far too bossy, especially toward her. Carabosse saw it as ungrateful, disrespectful, and a personal insult.
Osiris glanced at her from the side and whispered threateningly, “Fail the Queen again, and I swear I shall impose divine judgment upon you, Ms. Carabosse.”
Carabosse ignored him completely and entered the palace, making her way toward the Queen of Hearts’ office. When she reached the door, she paused, inhaled deeply, then exhaled, bracing herself for what was to come.
She knocked.
Knock! Knock!
“Come in!” the Queen of Hearts snapped from inside.
Carabosse opened the door without hesitation.
Inside the office, the Queen of Hearts sat behind her desk with her back turned, facing the window. Slowly, she rotated her chair and fixed Carabosse with a cold, disappointed glare.
The Queen’s voice dropped into a menacing whisper. “Do you have anything to say… Carabosse?!”
Carabosse narrowed her eyes, crossed her arms, and glanced to the side. “I did exactly what you told me to do. Is there something wrong with that?”
The Queen of Hearts slammed her hand against the table. “I TOLD YOU TO KILL!”
The desk shook as she struck it again. “WAS IT THAT HARD TO DO?!”
Carabosse met her glare with a mocking stare. “I don’t recall being ordered to kill until the very last minute. 28 teams were almost killed. Didn’t you enjoy the blood we spilled across the racing path?”
“THAT WAS NOT ENOUGH!” the Queen screamed. “Why couldn’t you follow the order I gave you at the end?!”
Carabosse’s voice remained calm, almost bored. “I had no obligation to obey that order. You should have made your intent clear beforehand. Instead, you changed your mind mid-race and suddenly demanded death. Those are the facts, Your Majesty.”
“YOU USELESS FOOL!” the Queen snapped. “I gave you one simple order, and you still failed! And not only that—I saw Alice’s new attorney there. I was hoping the three of you would kill him yourselves, yet every attack was countered!”
Carabosse smiled smoothly. “I am nothing more than your temporary Crown Prosecutor—not a tool for your playful bloodlust. You should be grateful I caused that chaos while serving you without compensation.”
That was the truth. Carabosse was in Wonderland only to await Alice’s final trial and to stand in as the Queen’s extra Crown Prosecutor—nothing more. She had another objective entirely, hidden beneath the excuse of unpaid service. She was not here to run foolish errands.
The Queen of Hearts whispered furiously, “Do you know who I am?!”
Carabosse shrugged, her smile openly mocking. “Someone who begged me for more power.”
The Queen’s fingernails slowly grew longer and sharper.
Carabosse continued without pause. “You even begged me—and that worthless little boy—for help. You wanted Alice’s head so badly it was ‘OFF WITH HER HEAD’ every five seconds. Do you have any idea how unbearable that was? I had no choice but to lend you the boy. You wanted someone who could amuse you—someone who could mock Alice during the trials. He was a perfect fit. And guess what, Your Majesty? You won those trials unfairly. All thanks to his mockery and your rigged system. Shouldn’t you be thanking me instead of patting yourself on the back as well?”
Scales began forming along the Queen’s hands. Her breathing grew heavy, rage boiling beneath her skin.
Carabosse clapped her hands once. “Ah, yes—there’s more.”
She glared coldly at the Queen. “You have no right to order me around. I am not part of your staff.”
Her voice dropped. “Or would you like me to kill you, you pesky Queen?”
The Queen’s tongue slid out of her mouth, splitting and turning reptilian.
“Carabosse…” she hissed. “How about I execute you right now? You are not from Wonderland. I am still allowed to scrape your flesh.”
Carabosse grinned. “Is that how you treat someone who granted you the Spirit Host power, Your Majesty?”
Her eyes gleamed. “Or should I say…”
Purple light ignited behind the Queen’s shadowed face, flickering in her eyes.
Carabosse spoke clearly, mercilessly. “The monster in disguise—the Jabberwocky.”
Fangs erupted from the Queen’s mouth as she roared, “ROOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAR!!!!!!!”
She slammed her desk aside. It crashed into the wall and shattered.
The Queen was about to lunge forward. Carabosse shifted into a battle stance and summoned her wand, ready to strike back.
Before the clash could happen—
The office doors burst open. “IT IS MY FAULT!”
Both Carabosse and the Queen froze.
Ms. Loki stumbled inside, her body wrapped in bandages. She dropped to her knees and pressed her forehead to the floor in full submission.
“It is my fault. I failed to kill the remaining two Caucus Race participants. That attorney defeated me—the leader of the blighted deities.”
Her voice trembled. “I failed you, my Queen!”
She spoke desperately, knowing what would happen if the Queen lost control. Wonderland itself could be torn apart.
The Queen of Hearts stared at her in silence.
Ms. Loki remained unmoving, hoping submission alone would calm her.
Slowly, the Queen’s form settled. The scales vanished. Her claws retracted. She returned to her normal appearance.
The tension in the room lingered, heavy and awkward.
The Queen remembered the moment she had begged Carabosse—how she wanted Alice mocked and broken during the trials, all while everything remained rigged in her favor. She despised that memory. She despised needing help. And while she knew she should be grateful for the Spirit Host power, acknowledging it would shatter her pride.
To prevent things from escalating further, the Queen turned away. “You are free to leave Wonderland, Carabosse. I no longer need you as my second Crown Prosecutor. Mr. Petyr Pann is sufficient.”
She added sharply, “Leave my office at once, Ms. Loki. I forgive you—but embarrass me again, and I shall execute you.”
Ms. Loki sprang to her feet and bowed deeply. “Yes, Your Majesty!”
She left the room, relieved—both to be spared and to have stopped the Queen from losing control.
Carabosse smiled calmly. “I won’t leave just yet. I will remain in Wonderland until the final trial.”
Her tone was polite, almost pleasant. “I will not interfere. Once the trial ends, I will leave with the little boy.”
She paused. “And hopefully… you win.”
The Queen clenched her teeth. It felt like mockery. She wanted to rampage, to kill—but she needed to endure until the final trial. Even now, she could kill Carabosse if she wanted to, since Carabosse was not a permanent resident of Wonderland.
Carabosse turned and left the office without another word.
Their connection was broken.
And for Carabosse, that was perfect.
Now she could roam Wonderland freely, searching for the tablet before the Queen could get her hands on it—while Petyr remained bound to the Queen, stuck with court duties and possibly other errands.
In Petyr’s room…
Petyr lay on his bed, his body fully bandaged, still unconscious. Slowly, he stirred and opened one eye. The ceiling came into view. His vision blurred, and he rubbed his eyes until it cleared. Recognition settled in—it was his room in the palace.
He turned his head to the left.
Medusa was sitting beside the bed on a chair, casually browsing through her phone.
“Medusa…” Petyr mumbled weakly.
She lifted her head. “Oh! Good morning, spin-off boy. Great to see you finally awake.”
Petyr turned his head to the right, staring toward the window where dim evening light filtered in. “It’s the evening… how long was I out for?”
“It’s 7 PM now,” Medusa replied. “You were only out for a few hours.”
Petyr rubbed the back of his neck with a grimace. “Ugh… my neck hurts. I can’t believe I lost to that detective again.”
“Before we talk about the detective who beat you,” Medusa said, pointing at the nightstand beside the bed, “there’s something you need to see.”
She picked up his phone. “I charged it while you were unconscious, and it kept pinging with notifications.” She handed it to him.
Petyr unlocked the screen and immediately saw a message from Maniacal Zombie.
“Hey, PannDayuuum! Did you see the news about that game from ‘Mayday Mayday Interactive’? The one that made Neverland Airspace Simulator: Please Do Not Crash Again? Guess what—after my review and commentary stream, and after you got absolutely wrecked in it, pre-orders skyrocketed! And the funniest part? The studio didn’t even remember the game at first. But after my chat spread the word to millions and we savagely demanded answers from the studio, they suddenly went, ‘Oh yeah! We remember! It’ll be releasing soon on PC!’ Isn’t that insane?”
“Bruh… that’s because it was all fake—not even a real game,” Petyr thought, straight-up baffled. “And now that poor studio’s getting dragged into making something that doesn’t even exist. I actually feel bad for them… though I guess it’s kinda my fault too.”
He locked the phone and placed it back on the nightstand. With a tired exhale, he rested both palms beneath his head on the pillow, staring upward, clearly deep in thought.
“What are you thinking?” Medusa asked.
“First, I got beaten because I unknowingly pulled a cliché move,” Petyr said. “Then I got beaten again because of a world-famous meme.”
He closed his eyes. “You just can’t outwit that detective. What’s next? Am I going to get beaten because of a running joke?”
Medusa giggled softly. “Hihihi. Probably you’ll slip on a banana peel and knock yourself out again.”
Petyr opened his eyes. “Yeah. Very funny…”
After a moment, his tone shifted. “Wendy… Captain Hook… that detective met them?”
Medusa tilted her head. “What do you mean, spin-off boy?”
Petyr turned to face her. “Hey, Medusa… do I look… kind of old?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Look, Petyr. Yes, you’re over a hundred years old, but you still look like a 17-year-old boy straight out of a classic high school anime.”
Petyr chuckled awkwardly. “High school anime, huh…”
“And what about it?” Medusa asked. “Is this about Wendy and Captain Hook?”
“Yeah,” Petyr said. “I didn’t expect those two to escape Neverland. There was a reason I kept them, the Lost Boys, and the early civilizations trapped there.”
He paused. “But… sorry. I can’t go into the details. Privacy matters.”
Medusa shrugged. “It’s fine. Everyone has a secret or two.”
Petyr’s gaze drifted back to the ceiling as he thought, “Still… why are they looking for me? They should want nothing to do with me.”
“Unless… they’re trying to free everyone trapped in that realm.”
“If that’s the case, I won’t give them any answers. I’d capture them again and send them back to Neverland… and then—“
Before his thoughts could continue—
Medusa stood up. “Since you’re fully awake, I’ll be leaving now. Nezha and Apollo told me to watch over you while they’re off partying in the palace karaoke room.” She sighed. “Those two are hopeless. I need to start making preparations.”
Petyr blinked. “Preparations?”
“The Queen ordered Nezha and me to capture Chang’e in the Xianglura Realm tomorrow,” Medusa explained. “She’s suspected of possessing an ‘Amulet of Ra’s Horizon,’ which is strictly prohibited. We’re to drag her back to the central hub and imprison her until executions are permitted again.”
“I see…” Petyr muttered. “Sorry for causing you trouble.”
Medusa smiled warmly. “It’s fine. But hey—”
She leaned in teasingly. “You’d better help me find a boyfriend who can dominate me.”
Straightening up, “It’s boring being so strong—I overwhelm everyone. I’ve told you this so many times already.”
Petyr scoffed. “Yup. Like a million times. Unfortunately, I’m terrible at matchmaking.”
Medusa waved him off and walked out of the room.
Left alone, Petyr sank back into his thoughts. “Malakar…”
He knew that wretched sorcerer well. He also knew Malakar had met the detective before—something Petyr was already aware of as a Vrakul agent.
And so, time turns back.
It all began not too long ago.
A few months earlier…
When Alice was first captured after the Queen of Hearts accused her of murders she did not commit, the Queen immediately began plotting how to mentally destroy her. Although she could appoint anyone in Wonderland as a Crown Prosecutor—since the court system was already rigged entirely in her favor—that wasn’t enough. She wanted Alice broken slowly, cruelly, in the most unimaginable way possible.
To achieve that, the Queen decided to summon Petyr Pann and Carabosse for advice.
The two entered Wonderland through a rabbit hole at the Jardin du Parc in Royan, France, near the portal to Rosenthorn (this was before the Queen decided to open several rabbit holes in Vietnam—apparently, she enjoyed making Petyr commute back and forth from France to Vietnam just to leave him exhausted before court duty, and she had no idea why).
The moment they set foot in Wonderland, they went straight to the palace and met the Queen of Hearts.
There, the Queen explained what she wanted. She needed a prosecutor who could mock Alice relentlessly and crush her spirit during the trials. Throughout the entire conversation, she repeatedly shouted her infamous catchphrase—OFF WITH HER HEAD—every five seconds, giving both Petyr and Carabosse an unbearable headache. What baffled them even more was the realization that the Queen herself was the true murderer.
At first, neither Petyr nor Carabosse was sure how they could help her. Then Carabosse remembered something—Petyr had a particular talent for childish insults and petty mockery. Without hesitation, she forced him to volunteer.
Petyr was shocked and immediately protested, saying court duty sounded like too much of a hassle. In response, Carabosse threatened to smack his backside with her wand if he refused. Fearing for his life—and more importantly, for the safety of his butt—Petyr slumped in defeat and accepted the role (though he would later come to enjoy it).
After their discussion with the Queen concluded, the two toured the palace. Along the way, they met several trainees serving under the Queen of Hearts: Nezha, Osiris, Agnar, Apollo, and Ms. Loki. The group introduced themselves and explained that they were training to become the future blighted deities of the Queen.
Petyr, being his usual casual self, quickly got along with Nezha and Apollo, while Carabosse remained distant and indifferent toward all of them.
At one point, Petyr and Nezha were relaxing in the palace’s royal garden when Apollo approached, carrying a book. When asked about it, Apollo explained that he obtained it from Olyndora’s bibliothēkē. The book contained records copied from Zeus’s papyrus—knowledge Zeus had gathered from the Upper Worlds, rewritten into book form.
Apollo then revealed he had found an especially interesting historical record. It described Zeus discovering a vengeful immortal sorcerer in the year 1000 AD named Malakar. This sorcerer had been murdering people across Al-Munira for centuries. The kingdom itself was located 600 kilometers west of Morocco, a vast desert island kingdom.
Petyr’s eyes lit up immediately. He declared that he wanted to meet this Malakar in that exact time period, finding the man disturbingly fascinating. Nezha pointed out that doing so would require the Amulet of Ra’s Horizon. When Petyr asked where to get one, Apollo explained that only Ra possessed such a relic—and that Ra would never give one away, especially not with the Queen’s permission.
Just then, a scarlet-haired woman approached the group, saying she had overheard everything. When Petyr asked who she was, she introduced herself as Medusa, a general of the Card Soldiers. Nezha and Apollo asked why she was here, and Medusa calmly explained that she had heard Petyr wanted the Amulet of Ra’s Horizon—and that she happened to possess one.
Petyr’s excitement was written all over his face. He eagerly asked if he could borrow it. Medusa agreed, but only on one condition: once Petyr was finished meeting Malakar in 1000 AD, he would bring her back something interesting from the present timeline of the Upper Worlds as payback.
Petyr agreed without hesitation, promising her something unforgettable. Medusa then explained how the amulet worked—the only requirement to enter a specific time was to clearly imagine the date, month, and year in one’s mind.
She handed Petyr the amulet.
Without wasting another second, Petyr ran toward a nearby rabbit hole hidden within the garden’s maze. Just as he was about to enter, Carabosse suddenly descended from above, landing directly in front of the rabbit hole and blocking his path.
She sternly demanded to know where he thought he was going without her knowledge.
Petyr flinched and trembled, admitting that he intended to meet an evil immortal individual named Malakar in Al-Munira in the year 1000 AD. Carabosse immediately began scolding him for acting recklessly without informing her. Petyr quickly promised that it would not take long.
Carabosse shook her head in disappointment but reluctantly agreed—on the condition that she would accompany him. Petyr quickly accepted.
They entered the rabbit hole together. Carabosse held onto Petyr’s shoulder with one hand as he focused on imagining the year 1000 AD, along with a random date and month.
When they emerged, however, they were not in Al-Munira.
The land before them was flat and open, dotted with low sand dunes and patches of grass. A few small thatched huts stood near the ocean, while mudflats and driftwood stretched along the estuary.
Petyr stared around in confusion.
Carabosse immediately understood what happened and smacked him on the head with her fan. He yelped in pain, clutching his head. When he demanded to know why she hit him, Carabosse explained that the amulet only allowed time travel—not precise location travel.
They were in Royan, France—again.
But now, it was the year 1000 AD—August 17th.
She further deduced that, because they were not original citizens of Wonderland, they couldn’t exit to other locations and were instead bound to where they first entered. Realizing his mistake, Petyr felt awkward and regretted not asking Medusa for more details.
He suggested flying to Al-Munira instead, explaining that he knew its location from traveling the world in the present timeline. Carabosse groaned but told him not to complain about the long journey.
They took flight.
After three hours, the old Arabian city of Al-Munira finally came into view at sunset. They landed on a rooftop of a market building. Petyr was barely conscious from exhaustion when Carabosse woke him by smacking his head again with her fan.
Their next objective was clear—find Malakar.
However, wandering randomly would take too long. They needed to question the locals, but their current attire would make them stand out. Casually, Carabosse suggested stealing traditional clothing from a nearby shop.
Petyr agreed.
They entered a shop. Petyr threatened the owner with his dagger, freezing the staff in terror, while Carabosse calmly picked out clothing. The two took turns changing in the fitting room. Petyr emerged first, wearing a long, flowing robe suitable for local men, striking a stylish pose.
Then Carabosse stepped out.
She was wearing a provocative belly dancer outfit.
Petyr was utterly stunned and demanded to know why she chose that. Carabosse replied that she felt more comfortable in it and saw nothing to be ashamed of. Fearing the attention it would attract, Petyr decided not to question her further.
They left the shop and began roaming the streets.
As expected, Carabosse attracted excessive attention, particularly from men who stared lewdly and catcalled her openly. Petyr told her about the attention and suggested wearing another outfit, but she dismissed it entirely, she knew she was otherworldly beautiful and found nothing surprising about the reaction—in fact, she believed she deserved it.
Petyr could only shake his head and slowly facepalm at her overconfidence.
Since the people of Al-Munira spoke Arabic, Carabosse cast a translation spell on both of them. They began discreetly asking about recent murders, careful not to mention Malakar’s name in case it raised suspicion.
Eventually, they learned of strange murders occurring once a year in abandoned or hidden locations. Further inquiry revealed that a suspicious man was frequently seen near the kingdom’s old abandoned monastery.
There was only one such monastery.
When midnight arrived, Petyr and Carabosse stood outside the building.
From within, they heard a man screaming.
Inside the building, Malakar slowly, and painfully slowly placed his fingers onto his victim’s lips. “Huuuuush…”
He leaned closer to the man’s face and whispered, “A meal for the Ancient Jinn does not talk.”
The victim was lying on the floor, hands and legs tied with ropes. To prevent another scream, Malakar stuffed a cloth into his mouth, and all the man could do now was muffle—he could no longer talk or scream.
Malakar raised his dagger, ready to stab the man’s chest while the man could only let out a muffled cry.
But before Malakar could stab the man in the chest—
From outside, Petyr kicked the door open. “FREEZE!
He made a gun-pointing gesture without a gun and added with mock seriousness, “FBI!”
Malakar’s breath caught as he turned around. “WHO ARE YOU, YOU WRETCHED FOOLS?!”
Instead of listening to their answers, he raised his other hand. Dark lightning magic crackled along his curled palm before erupting into black lightning orbs that shot toward Petyr.
Petyr remained frozen in his exaggerated FBI pose, but before the dark magic could hit him, Carabosse cast a barrier around Petyr from behind, blocking Malakar’s attack completely.
“Impossible!” Malakar shouted in disbelief.
The victim’s eyes filled with hope, believing he was finally about to be saved.
Petyr and Carabosse finally got a clear look at Malakar:
"Gray eyes."
"A graying beard."
"A sharp nose."
"Weathered skin."
Malakar hissed, “If you are here to take me away, then I shall kill this man before you can stop me!”
The victim muffled and cried desperately.
Carabosse merely smiled and shrugged. “Go ahead, Mr. Malakar… we shall wait.”
Malakar gasped. “H–How do you know my name?!”
No one should have recognized him. He was centuries old—believing he still existed should have been foolish.
As for the victim, he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He thought he was about to be rescued, and now this woman was telling his murderer it was fine to kill him first.
Malakar turned back to the victim, dagger raised again, though he kept glancing over his shoulder to watch the two of them. The victim muffled another scream.
Without even flicking her wand, the tip of Carabosse’s wand glowed faintly. Malakar’s head suddenly burst into black flames. He screamed in agony and collapsed to the floor, burning as the flesh of his head charred away.
“That’s… harsh, Your Grace,” Petyr said, finally lowering his hands.
“I only wished to see what you meant when you said Malakar was immortal,” Carabosse said casually, stepping forward to stand beside him.
The victim muffled again, desperately trying to beg for help through the cloth.
Carabosse frowned in annoyance and pointed at him. “Kill him, little boy.”
The victim’s face twisted in pure horror. “MMMMM!!!”
Petyr pulled a dagger from his robe and threw it like a dart. It pierced the man’s neck. The victim went silent as blood dripped down, his eyes closing as he died.
The flames on Malakar’s head finally extinguished, leaving it burned down to bone.
Seconds later, his head began to regenerate.
Petyr whistled in amazement. “So that’s how it works. Guess he actually has to die first. Not some steel-bodied immortal, huh?”
Malakar’s face fully regenerated. He gasped, sat up, and stared at his dead victim. “WHAT HAVE YOU FOOLS DONE?!”
Malakar panicked. He needed another victim quickly to offer to the Ancient Jinn. Normally, if more than one person died, the Jinn would reject the souls—but since he hadn’t killed this victim himself, perhaps it would still be acceptable to take one more life.
The time in Al-Munira was now 11:45 PM.
All he needed now was to get past these two strangers. He had to see them as comparable to that wretched Zayd—or he would be taken down, no matter how many times he could regenerate.
Malakar whispered furiously, “I will kill you both… and one day, I will recover the Celestial Compass and bring doom upon this world for my revenge!”
Petyr and Carabosse froze. Then they leaned in close, whispering to one another.
“Little boy, aren’t you the one who holds the Celestial Compass now?” Carabosse asked in a whisper.
Petyr clutched the pocket of his robe in confirmation. “Yeah… it’s here,” he whispered back.
Then Petyr remembered something. He leaned closer and quietly told her about an old legend from his realm—how there was once a defective replica of the Celestial Compass that disappeared from Neverland in the year 405 AD. According to legend, that replica carried a fatal flaw. If its user was thrown into another replica of the Gate of the Malevolent Spirit—wherever such a gate might exist—they would be bound to suffer inside it for eternity, as if trapped in hell, once the gate forcibly closed.
Petyr then asked if Carabosse remembered entering the Gate of the Malevolent Spirit 15 years ago in Lunaveth, when he had summoned it using the real Celestial Compass. Carabosse said she remembered it clearly. She hadn’t suffered there—instead, she had met the Malevolent Lord and later became an agent of the malevolent spirits.
The two exchanged dark smiles.
They quickly reached the same conclusion: Malakar had been deceived. He had been made to believe that the defective replica Celestial Compass was the real one.
That was when Petyr and Carabosse formed their plan. The replica compass and its gate would still be capable of unleashing the malevolent spirits—and even the Malevolent Lord—into the world. But they would never tell Malakar the truth: that if he were thrown into the gate along with the replica compass and it was sealed, it would be the end of him.
They agreed on one thing—use Malakar to open the gate and unleash the spirits upon the world. If he failed, then that would simply be unfortunate. Disappointing, perhaps—but not their problem. They wouldn’t have to deal with the consequences of his failure.
“Let us turn him into a Spirit Host,” Petyr and Carabosse whispered in unison, dark grins spreading across their faces.
But what the two—and Malakar—didn’t know was that, back when Mr. Grim nearly lost himself entirely, he fought an internal battle in his mind—and all the while, he lied. He never revealed the compass’s true nature, or that it was a defective replica. Only after Malakar sacrificed his first victim—his wife—did Mr. Grim finally lose himself, at the same time handing over the celestial compass.
Malakar watched them in silence, unable to understand what was happening.
Then he shouted, “WHY ARE YOU SPEAKING AMONGST YOURSELVES, YOU WRETCHED FOOLS?! HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN ABOUT ME?!”
Petyr and Carabosse turned toward him with slow smiles, their eyes narrowing as if he were already something owned.
They stared at him in silence for several seconds—long enough for the air itself to feel heavy.
Then Carabosse spoke calmly, her voice smooth and unbothered. “Mr. Malakar… how about we do not fight?”
Malakar snarled, stepping back into a battle stance. “You think I would believe your lies?! You killed me moments ago! I will not spare you—go ahead and try to kill me again!”
Carabosse dramatically outstretched her arms, lifting her chin as if presenting herself, utterly unafraid. “Don’t you want more power?”
Malakar’s breath caught. “More… power?”
Then his expression twisted with rage. “ARE YOU TRYING TO SWEET-TALK ME?!”
He unleashed a barrage of dark magic—deadlier, faster, striking repeatedly. The floor quaked violently, cracks racing across the stone as the attacks slammed into Carabosse and Petyr relentlessly. The entire monastery groaned before collapsing inward, burying all three beneath tons of rubble.
Malakar was crushed and died—briefly.
Moments later, he regenerated, standing amid the wreckage and laughing mockingly, convinced he had won, convinced they were gone.
But beneath the rubble ahead of him, the debris shimmered.
It exploded outward.
Malakar froze as Petyr and Carabosse emerged unscathed, casually dusting themselves off, commenting aloud about how annoying it would be to do laundry once they returned to Wonderland. A barrier shimmered faintly around them before fading—Carabosse’s work.
Then, with a lazy flick of her wand, Carabosse attacked.
Thorns erupted violently from the floor beneath Malakar, coiling around him, binding his limbs, tightening mercilessly. They crushed his body until blood seeped out as he roared in agony, before dragging him downward and forcing him flat on his back, his face turned upward in helpless exposure.
Carabosse began walking toward him slowly, her hips swaying with deliberate confidence.
Petyr blinked, realization hitting him. “Your Grace… are you really going to turn him into a Spirit Host with that… suggestive approach?”
Malakar demanded answers through gritted teeth, struggling uselessly against the thorns.
Carabosse ignored both of them.
She stepped onto the thorn coils pinning Malakar down and lowered herself to sit atop them, legs crossed, hands resting lightly on the thorn restraints at each side, smiling down at him—slow, predatory, and utterly in control.
“Yup… she’s definitely doing it that way,” Petyr thought.
Sultry and unhurried, Carabosse leaned forward and whispered, “Choose wisely… you either become my slave… or—”
Before she could finish, Malakar spat in her face and screamed, “I AM NO SLAVE TO ANYONE! I WILL BURN THIS KINGDOM—THE ONE I ONCE BUILT AND RULED—AND I WILL DRAG THIS ENTIRE WORLD DOWN WITH IT! I WILL HEAR THEIR SCREAMS, AND EVERY FILTHY SOUL WILL BE TORN APART BY THE SPIRITS BEHIND THE GATE!”
Carabosse calmly wiped the spit from her cheek.
Her smile vanished, her eyes narrowing with sharp irritation. “I see…”
Then, coldly, “Then we shall do this the hard way.”
She snapped her fingers.
The thorns tightened brutally, crushing deeper as Malakar screamed in raw agony.
Without hesitation, Carabosse pressed her foot into his mouth, silencing him completely. He bit down in a blind rage, trying to make her feel pain—but her body was far too strong; she felt nothing.
Raising her right hand, she summoned a ghastly circular object writhing in black miasma, floating ominously above her palm.
She brought her hand near her lips and blew softly. “Fffffhhhh…”
The smoke dispersed and seeped directly into Malakar’s forehead.
His body convulsed violently. His eyes darkened to pure black as he choked and then went limp.
Carabosse casually used one of the thorns already wrapped around him, guiding its sharp tip straight into his heart—killing him cleanly so he could regenerate.
Petyr exhaled slowly. “You always have to do it that way, huh? Though I didn’t expect the foot this time… usually you mount them and they accept becoming a Spirit Host willingly.”
Carabosse stepped off the thorn vines and walked past him, her tone dismissive. “Yes… how disappointing it is when one resists. He should have enjoyed it.”
She glanced back slightly. “Come, little boy. Let us leave before he awakens as a Spirit Host.”
Petyr rubbed his temple. “Yeah… yeah…” and followed her.
And that… was Petyr’s memory.
However…
There’s more to this story that he never witnessed…
Moments later, Malakar jolted awake with a gasp and sat up.
His body was fully regenerated—but something was wrong.
The bloodstain on his chest was black, sizzling faintly. It felt unnatural, yet intoxicating. When he tested his magic, black miasma erupted violently from his body, one of his hands warping into a smoky, demonic form.
He was stronger.
There was no time to be impressed by his elevated dark magic. He needed to kill someone before time ran out—before the clock struck twelve.
Before reaching 2025—which is 1,025 years later—he could only take a life before midnight.
The time in Al-Munira was now 11:58 PM.
Nearby, two people approached the ruined monastery, drawn by the sounds of the collapsing building. Malakar extended his demonic hand—it elongated, seized one of them instantly, and crushed the victim as the other fled in terror.
As the body fell lifeless, the Ancient Jinn appeared, sucking the soul into its palm.
Malakar’s body trembled in awe as he stared at himself. He had no idea what she had done to him, but he didn’t feel the need to be thankful; he accepted the curse he believed had been placed upon him.
Then he tilted his head back and laughed, hysterically, beneath the night sky.
Back in Petyr’s room at the palace…
Petyr lay still in bed, slowly lifting his hand as he stared at the black ring on his finger.
Then he muttered, “After that, Carabosse and I returned to Wonderland. Thankfully, there was a rabbit hole in Al-Munira, so we used it instead of making the long journey back to France. Then I exited again—this time into the present timeline of Al-Munira—and, luckily, there was a video store.”
He paused, exhaling softly.
“I stole a ton of 18+ BDSM Blu-rays,” he continued, almost absentmindedly, “cause I suddenly remembered Carabosse turning Malakar into a Spirit Host… in, like, BDSM style.”
His lips twitched.
“Medusa ended up loving those Blu-rays—it was, like, the ultimate, unforgettable payback. Honestly, I kinda regretted stealing them—they basically turned her into a full-on masochist who now wants a violently intense boyfriend.”
He exhaled through his nose and lowered his ringed hand to his stomach.
“And unfortunately… disappointingly…” he went on, “Malakar got his ass kicked by that detective. Thrown straight into the Gate.”
A quiet chuckle escaped him, eyes closing.
“Then Boss ordered Carabosse and me to get revenge on the detective—The Chosen One.”
He smiled faintly. “But instead of what that cliché usually promises…”
“He’s become… The Targeted One.”
0
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39才の母・真知子は息子が私の下着を持ち出していることに気づいた。
ネットで同様の事象がないか調べると、案外多いようだ。
さて、真知子は息子を問い詰める？ それとも気づかないふりを続けてあげるか？
そのほかに外伝も綴りました。
どうしよう私、弟にお腹を大きくさせられちゃった！～弟大好きお姉ちゃんの秘密の悩み～
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「ま、まさか!?」
あたし三鷹優美（みたかゆうみ）高校一年生。
弟の晴仁（はると）が大好きな普通のお姉ちゃん。
弟とは凄く仲が良いの！
それはそれはものすごく‥‥‥
「あん、晴仁いきなりそんなのお口に入らないよぉ～♡」
そんな関係のあたしたち。
でもある日トイレであたしはアレが来そうなのになかなか来ないのも気にもせずスカートのファスナーを上げると‥‥‥
「うそっ！ お腹が出て来てる!?」
お姉ちゃんの秘密の悩みです。
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キムラエス
大衆娯楽
「ママと僕」は、中学生編、高校生編、大学生編の3部作で、本編は中学生編になります。ママは子供の時に両親を事故で亡くしており、結婚後に夫を病気で失い、身内として残された僕に精神的に依存をするようになる。幼少期の「僕」はそのママの依存が嬉しく、素敵なママに甘える閉鎖的な生活を当たり前のことと考える。成長し、性に目覚め始めた中学生の「僕」は自分の性もママとの日常の中で処理すべきものと疑わず、ママも戸惑いながらもママに甘える「僕」に満足する。ママも僕もそうした行為が少なからず社会規範に反していることは理解しているが、ママとの甘美な繋がりは解消できずに戸惑いながらも続く「ママと中学生の僕」の営みを描いてみました。
愛しているなら拘束してほしい
守 秀斗
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会社員の美夜本理奈子（２４才）。ある日、仕事が終わって会社の玄関まで行くと大雨が降っている。びしょ濡れになるのが嫌なので、地下の狭い通路を使って、隣の駅ビルまで行くことにした。すると、途中の部屋でいかがわしい行為をしている二人の男女を見てしまうのだが……。
17歳男子高生と32歳主婦の境界線
MisakiNonagase
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32歳の主婦・加恋。冷え切った家庭で孤独に苛まれる彼女を救い出したのは、ネットの向こう側にいた二十歳（はたち）と偽っていた17歳の少年・晴人だった。
「未成年との不倫」という、社会から断罪されるべき背徳。それでも二人は、震える手で未来への約束を交わす。少年が大学生になり、社会人となり、守られる存在から「守る男」へと成長していく中で、加恋は自らの手で「妻」という仮面を脱ぎ捨てていく…
還暦の性 若い彼との恋愛模様
MisakiNonagase
恋愛
還暦を迎えた和子。保持する資格の更新講習で二十代後半の青年、健太に出会った。何気なくてLINE交換してメッセージをやりとりするうちに、胸が高鳴りはじめ、長年忘れていた恋心に花が咲く。
そんな還暦女性と二十代の青年の恋模様。
その後、結婚、そして永遠の別れまでを描いたストーリーです。
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