Ulrich's consciousness remained trapped, aware but powerless as his possessed body walked through Portsmouth's fog-shrouded streets. The entity controlling him moved with an unknown purpose, navigating toward some destination Ulrich couldn't determine. His thoughts raced frantically, searching for any method of escape from this nightmare.

  Then he remembered.

  On that first dream scrying attempt months ago, when he'd been investigating the cigar clue. The ancient creature that had attacked him in the Dream Sea had marked him with a black mark. The wound to his astral body that had carried into physical reality, a mark from a Great Existence that should have been permanent.

  Except it hadn't been permanent; the White Space had purified it.

  And comparing the mystical status of the possessing spirit to that ancient Leviathan would be laughable. The difference resembled an ant versus an elephant, a candle flame against the sun. If the White Space could purify a mark from something that powerful, surely it could rid of his current status condition?

  Ulrich couldn't control his body or access most of his abilities. But entering the White Space didn't require physical movement of any kind. It operated through consciousness manipulation, similar to lucid dreaming. The primary requirement was a certain mental state and a totem to anchor his astral body.

  His possessed body continued walking mindlessly, while Ulrich focused inward with new hope.

  The bronze hairpin manifested from within his Astral body, shaped through pure spirituality and will. Then, he allowed the sensation of falling to begin. This feeling of endless descent through darkness that had no bottom, no reference points, no sense of direction. Just the perpetual sense of dropping through infinite space while reality peeled away in layers.

  Down, down, down.

  Until suddenly, everything inverted.

  Whiteness exploded around him in all directions simultaneously. Ulrich's awareness floated in the center of an infinite void, surrounded by blank nothingness that extended forever. The White Space, exactly as he remembered previously.

  But something was different.

  He waited, suspended in that timeless whiteness. He planned to remain here briefly, just long enough for the space's inherent cleansing properties to work, then return to his body and check if he'd regained control.

  Except his attention caught on a detail that shouldn't exist.

  Below him, if directional terms held meaning in this place, the Dream Sea spread out in familiar chaos. Churning waves, rising bubbles containing captured dreams, fog layering everything in gray-silver mist. The boundless ocean of collective unconsciousness that he'd navigated during his scrying attempts.

  But he was viewing it from the outside.

  The White Space had mutated, transformed from a simple infinite void into something more complex.

  Ulrich realized with shock that he existed inside a three-dimensional cube of whiteness, floating above the Dream Sea like an observer in a transparent container. The cube's walls were the white void itself, and through them he could perceive the dream realm below with crystal clarity.

  Questions flood his mind, yet one begets two, and two beget three.

  What was the origin of this White Space? How did it connect to his dreams, to the Dream Sea, to the recurring future vision of Donghai City? Was this transformation related to his rank advancement? To the transmigration itself? To something else entirely?

  He had no answers.

  Following the instinct born from his Seer intuition, Ulrich attempted to control the White Cube's position. He focused his intent on moving closer to the Dream Sea's surface, and the cube responded immediately. It descended smoothly, approaching the churning waters with dream bubbles rising constantly through the space.

  Curiosity overrode caution for a dangerous moment.

  Ulrich guided the cube until it intersected with a rising bubble, one of the larger spheres that glowed with internal light. He expected the bubble to pop against the cube's exterior, or perhaps phase through without interaction.

  Instead, something impossible happened.

  The scene contained within the dream bubble projected itself directly onto the cube's six walls. Like a holographic display wrapping around him in three dimensions, the captured moment played out across every surface simultaneously. Ulrich could see the recorded event from multiple angles at once, a complete panoramic view that normal dream scrying could never provide.

  He was watching someone's memory of a market transaction, visible from the buyer's perspective on one wall, the seller's perspective on another, an overhead view on the ceiling, ground-level on the floor. This was a complete sensory reconstruction without actually entering the bubble itself.

  And it left him fascinated.

  What were the limits? Could he view any dream bubble without risk? Normal dream scrying carried latent dangers, the possibility of encountering hostile entities or getting lost in complex scenes. But from inside this White Cube, he seemed completely isolated from the dreams themselves while still accessing their contents.

  And how would dream divination work within this special space compared to standard techniques? Could he trace connections more efficiently? View multiple bubbles simultaneously? The potential applications for investigation work seemed limitless.

  Ulrich forced himself to stop speculating.

  He was possessed, his body controlled by an enemy entity, walking toward an unknown destination in Portsmouth. Rosaline and Captain Ottis would be responding to his distress signals, but he needed to be free to help when they arrived.

  He gripped the mental image of his bronze hairpin and broke it deliberately.

  The White Cube shattered, reality reassembling with bizarre abruptness.

  Ulrich gasped, his consciousness snapping back into his physical body with violent force. And he move.

  His hand flexed experimentally, responding to his will without much resistance. He turned, surveying the surroundings under his own control. The possession had been cleansed completely, the invading entity expelled by whatever purifying properties the White Space possessed.

  Relief flooded through him for approximately half a second. Then he noticed the bunny plushie.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  It sat on the armrest of Adeline's chair, exactly where she'd left it when fleeing. The toy was watching him, examining him with the attention that suggested far more than cursory interest.

  Had it witnessed his escape from possession? Did it understand what the White Space was?

  Before Ulrich could process this, Donnie Shelby's possessed form shrieked.

  The sound was inhuman, a banshee wail targeted his mind. It struck Ulrich's consciousness like a hammer, disrupting his thoughts and sending pain dancing through his spiritual body.

  Ulrich staggered, raising his hands instinctively to cover his ears despite knowing the gesture was useless. The scream wasn't traveling through the normal auditory canal.

  His Vital Rune pulsed defensively, absorbing the worst of the assault, like an animal instinct primed to shield its own body, or in this case, spiritual body. Blessing of Night enhanced his resistance, providing additional shielding against psychic attacks. But the banshee wail continued, building in intensity, and Ulrich knew his defenses wouldn't hold indefinitely.

  He braced himself for Donnie's physical follow-up; the wraith would no doubt capitalize on his momentary weakness.

  Then descended.

  Not the shadows Ulrich manipulated, but something denser, far beyond his control. A veil of pure blackness wrapped around the interior of Slough House, reducing visibility to almost nothing while somehow leaving Ulrich able to perceive his immediate surroundings.

  He recognized this shade of immediately: Rosaline.

  She had arrived, responding to his distress signals with the speed suggesting she'd been preparing for this even before his whistle had sounded. That, or she'd rushed here when he took action.

  The front door exploded inward, wood splintering as Captain Ottis entered with studded steps. The man didn't waste time on looking around; he simply manifested his abilities the moment there had a line of sight on the threat.

  Iron materialized from nothing, condensing out of air itself as Captain Ottis wielded his spells. Chains, spears, weighted nets, all forged from conjured metal in the space between heartbeats. The weapons launched toward Donnie's possessed form with lethal precision, attacking from multiple angles simultaneously.

  Donnie's wraith extensions intercepted several attacks, the incorporeal limbs somehow solid enough to deflect metal weapons. But he couldn't block everything. Iron pierced through his legs, chains wrapped around his torso, and a weighted net descended from above to entangle his upper body.

  Simultaneously, Rosaline moved through the darkness with a gentle grace. Shadow strands crept from her position, far more numerous than Ulrich could manifest even with his utmost effort. The threads wrapped around Donnie's shadow with crushing force, binding him in ways that prevented even spiritual movement.

  The coordination was flawless, years of partnership evident in how they attacked without verbal communication. Captain Ottis handled physical restraint while Rosaline managed spiritual binding, their coordination complementing each other perfectly.

  Ulrich shook off the lingering effects of the banshee wail and joined the assault. His Shadow Thread added to Rosaline's binding, creating redundant layers that made escape exponentially more difficult. Dark Arrows manifested around him, aimed at Donnie's inner shadow layer specifically.

  The fight lasted less than two minutes.

  Donnie struggled violently, wraith-like extensions lashing out with desperate force. He manifested more banshee wails, attempted to split his spiritual body again to create secondary forms. Captain Ottis responded by increasing the density of iron restraints, adding weight until Donnie's physical body couldn't move at all. Rosaline's shadows grew darker, more oppressive, crushing the wraith aspects with suffocating pressure.

  Finally, Donnie collapsed to his knees, completely immobilized.

  The possessed man's breathing came in ragged gasps, his body covered in wounds where iron had pierced flesh. But the injuries were superficial, deliberately non-fatal. Captain Ottis had been careful despite the violence, avoiding major arteries and organs.

  Because beneath the wraith possession, this was still Donnie Shelby. An ordinary citizen who'd been influenced by forces beyond his comprehension.

  Rosaline approached the bound figure, her expression uncharacteristically serious. The cheerful facade she usually maintained had vanished completely, replaced by a cold professionalism.

  "We have options," she said, her voice carrying through the shadow-darkened room. "Banishment would expel the wraith but leave Donnie with significant spiritual damage. The entity's integration is deep. He'll have personality distortions, memory gaps, possibly permanent changes to his fundamental nature."

  Captain Ottis nodded grimly. "Or we can kill the spirit entirely. More thorough, cleaner separation. Donnie's spirituality will still show damage, but the core identity should remain intact."

  "Killing would be easier," Rosaline continued. "Since banishment required a more skilled spirit medium, which am not."

  They both turned to Ulrich. This was his decision to make. After all, this man was no one to them, but most likely a close connection to their newest junior.

  Ulrich looked at Donnie's bound form, seeing past the wraith influence to the man beneath. The face that smiled genuinely when welcoming Ulrich into his home, every time. The same one that had taken him in back then, when he was a hopeless youth.

  And he saw the alternative. What Donnie would become if they simply banished the wraith without killing it. A hollow shell of his former self. Unable to lead the Black Hand Gang, unable to care for Adeline, unable to be the person he'd been before the influence occurred.

  Death was mercy compared to that existence. And Ulrich did not want that fate to his old friend.

  "Kill it," Ulrich said, his voice steady despite the weight of the decision. "Don't leave any fragments that could regenerate."

  Rosaline nodded once, accepting his judgment without question.

  She began withdrawing items from the pouches at her belt, ritual components that Ulrich recognized from Father's Lorel lectures. Purified salt, blessed silver, a ceremonial blade that gleamed with its own inner light.

  Captain Ottis maintained the iron restraints, ensuring Donnie remained completely immobile during the procedure. His gray eyes held something that might have been sympathy, but his hands never wavered.

  "This will take approximately five minutes," Rosaline said, beginning to arrange the components in specific patterns around Donnie's bound form. "The wraith will resist, try to flee deeper into the host body. We need to maintain absolute restraint until the ritual completes."

  Ulrich positioned himself opposite Captain Ottis, creating a triangle around Donnie with Rosaline at the apex. His Shadow Thread remained active, ready to reinforce the binding if the wraith attempted escape.

  The bunny plushie still sat on Adeline's chair, watching the proceedings with button eyes that held too much . Whatever entity possessed it remained silent, observing without interfering. And no one except Ulrich noticed its presence.

  Rosaline began the ritual, speaking words in Ancient Hermes that made the air itself vibrate with power. The ceremonial blade moved through precise patterns, cutting not Donnie's flesh but the spiritual connections binding the wraith to its host.

  The wraith screamed, a sound of pure agony that existed across multiple dimensions simultaneously. It thrashed against the restraints with renewed desperation, understanding its death approached with inevitable certainty.

  Captain Ottis's iron tightened,, while Ulrich's Shadow Thread crushed harder. Rosaline's blade continued its methodical work, severing one spiritual tether after another.

  And when it finally concluded, when the wraith's essence dissolved into nothing and Donnie's body went limp in the restraints, Ulrich felt the weight of the decision settle permanently into his conscience.

  They'd saved Donnie Shelby by killing the thing that had possessed him. But the man who would wake up wouldn't be entirely the same person who'd fallen asleep before the possession began.

  Rosaline released her shadow veil, allowing normal light to return to Slough House's devastated interior. Captain Ottis dismissed his iron restraints carefully, catching Donnie's unconscious form before it could fall.

  "He'll need some specialty care," Ottis said quietly. "Probably weeks of recovery before he can return to normal life."

  "Adeline will need to know," Ulrich added. "She deserves the truth about what happened to her brother."

  "We can have her sign a form of confidentiality if that's your intention."

  Rosali already moved toward the door, preparing to call for a medical team. But she paused, looking back at Ulrich with an expression that carried an unusual heaviness.

  "You did the right thing," she said. "For what it's worth."

  Ulrich nodded, not trusting his voice to remain steady.

  The bunny plushie's button eyes continued watching, and Ulrich wondered what the entity inside thought about. But the toy remained silent, and its secrets stayed hidden.