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"Get your filthy hands off me!"
The scream wasn't mine. It was a roar, vibrating through a chest that didn't belong to me. I wasn't standing; I was floating in a thick, suffocating sludge of consciousness, staring through a pair of eyes that weren't my own.
Everything was a blur of gold and crimson. I could feel the heat of a room that smelled like expensive incense and old blood. I tried to move my arm, but the limb didn't budge. It belonged to *him*.
*Who is him?*
[SYSTEM INITIALIZING... HOST: SILAS VANE. STATUS: TYRANT LORD. PARASITE: ELLA. SYNCHRONIZATION: 0.1%]
"What the hell is this?" I tried to shout, but no sound came out. I was a passenger in a meat-suit. A ghost in the machine.
Suddenly, a sharp, cold pressure slammed into the back of the host's neck. I felt the skin prickle. A blade. A very real, very sharp blade was currently kissing the nape of Silas Vane's neck.
"Don't move, Silas," a woman's voice whispered. It was low, dangerous, and far too close. "One twitch and I'll carve that arrogant smile right off your face."
I panicked. I didn't know who Silas was, and I definitely didn't know this woman, but I knew that if she pushed that knife another inch, I was going with him. I was a top-tier monster hunter back home—or I had been before whatever cosmic joke landed me here. I didn't do 'dying' as a sidekick.
*Move!* I screamed inside the void. *Move the damn arm!*
[WARNING: INSUFFICIENT MANA TO OVERRIDE HOST CONTROL. CURRENT ENERGY: 2/100. SUGGESTION: STEAL FROM HOST.]
*Steal? How do I steal?*
[FOCUS ON THE CORE. PULL.]
I didn't need a manual. I dove deep into the sludge, searching for something bright, something pulsing. There it was—a swirling vortex of obsidian and violet energy. Silas's mana. It felt like trying to grab a live electrical wire with my bare hands.
I gripped it. I yanked.
*GIVE IT TO ME!*
An explosion of heat surged through the connection. It felt like drinking molten lead. My vision flickered. The sludge around me screamed, and for a second, I felt Silas's consciousness—a cold, arrogant wall of pride—shudder.
[MANA STOLEN: +15. SYNCHRONIZATION: 1.5%. TEMPORARY MOTOR CONTROL GRANTED: RIGHT ARM.]
"You're shaking, Silas," the woman mocked. I could feel her breath on the host's ear. "Is the great Tyrant actually afraid?"
*Not today, sweetheart.*
I didn't think. I didn't plan. I just threw every ounce of that stolen energy into the right arm.
*SNAP!*
Silas's right hand didn't just move; it blurred. In one violent, jagged motion, the arm whipped back, fingers locking around the woman's wrist like a vice. The sound of the impact was a wet thud. The blade clattered to the floor, spinning away across the polished marble.
"What—?" she gasped.
I didn't stop. I forced the arm to twist, slamming her against the nearest pillar with a force that would have broken a normal person's ribs. I could feel her heart hammering against the host's forearm.
Now it was my turn to talk. Or rather, to try and use his voice.
"Who... the hell... are you?"
The voice was deep, like gravel grinding together. It wasn't me, but it was the only tool I had.
The woman didn't scream. She didn't even look scared. She stared back at Silas—at me—with eyes that looked like they'd seen the end of the world and found it boring. She was wearing dark leather, tactical gear that screamed 'professional killer.'
"I'm the one who's going to put you in the ground, Silas," she spat. She tried to wrench her arm free, but I held on. I could feel the tension in the muscle, the way her shoulder strained.
*Wait,* I thought. *She knows him. And she's actually good.*
I tried to loosen the grip just a fraction, not because I was being nice, but because I needed to see her face. As I shifted, the host's body reacted. Silas—the real Silas—seemed to fight back. The arm jerked, nearly crushing her wrist again.
"Stop it!" I yelled internally.
[WARNING: HOST RESISTANCE INCREASING. MANA DEPLETING. TIME UNTIL CONTROL LOSS: 10 SECONDS.]
*Dammit!*
I looked at her. Truly looked. She wasn't just an assassin. There was something... weird. She wasn't looking at Silas's eyes. She was looking *past* them. Her gaze seemed to pierce through the physical shell, searching for something deeper.
"You're different," she whispered. Her voice lost some of its edge, replaced by a flicker of genuine confusion. "Your eyes... they're flickering. Who is in there with you?"
My heart—Silas's heart—skipped a beat. She could feel me? No one should be able to feel a parasitic consciousness. That was impossible.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I growled through his throat.
"Liar." She suddenly surged forward, not to escape, but to close the gap. Her face was inches from his. I could smell ozone and cold rain on her skin. The proximity was electric. I could feel the host's body reacting—a surge of something that wasn't my panic. A dark, instinctive attraction.
She reached up, her gloved fingers brushing the side of Silas's jaw. It was a touch that could have been a caress or a prelude to a throat-slit.
"There's a ghost in your head, Silas," she murmured, her eyes narrowing. "And I think I'm the only one who can hear it screaming."
Before I could respond, the energy vanished. The stolen mana hit zero. The control snapped like a rubber band.
Silas's hand flew open, releasing her instantly. He didn't stumble. He didn't gasp. He simply stood there, his expression returning to that mask of cold, bored indifference. He looked at her as if she were a smudge of dirt on his boot.
"Are you finished?" Silas asked. His real voice was smoother, deadlier.
The woman stepped back, her hand hovering over the hilt of another hidden blade. She didn't look convinced. She looked intrigued.
"This isn't over," she said. "I can feel you in there. Whoever you are. I'll find a way to pull you out of him, even if I have to peel his skin off to do it."
She turned and vanished into the shadows of the room as quickly as she'd appeared.
I slumped back into the sludge of his mind, exhausted and terrified. I had just survived a murder attempt, stolen power from a tyrant, and met a woman who could see my soul.
And then, for the first time, a voice spoke back to me. Not a system prompt. Not a memory.
*A laugh.*
Deep, dark, and dripping with amusement, the consciousness of Silas Vane echoed in the void of our shared mind.
*"So,"* he whispered, his voice vibrating through my very existence. *"You're the little pest hiding in my head. I must admit... you have a certain spark. Tell me, little ghost... do you think you can actually save me?"*