Chapter 96: One-Way Prison
Translated by Addis of Exiled Rebels Scanlations
Editor: PlumSauce
The moment the sandbox space came fully into effect, a faint tremor shook the surrounding area within a radius of several miles, and the wind briefly dropped to a dead calm.
These were its minor side effects. When the sandbox emerged from its “cultivation pool,” it tore time and space within the area to create a world with a hidden outline yet expansive interior.
The sandbox’s primary purpose was safety and stability, not realism or entertainment. Its interior contained no chirping birds or fragrant flora, none of the wonderful sights of the Engrity company’s sandbox, and not even designed creatures — no animals or monsters existed as mere background life.
It wasn’t a tiny world for games or adventure; it was a copper-walled, iron-bound tomb.
Before entering, the landscape designers issued warnings: because time was limited, the spellcasters had focused all their energy on structural stability. Internal realism was poor. Inside the space, there was no distinction between indoors and outdoors, no sounds of animals or smells of plants, no day or night. Because of the spell’s nature, personal timekeeping devices would malfunction, making time nearly impossible to track.
Ordinary humans would be harmed by this. People could not survive long in a world without temporal rhythm. Even spellcasters and supernatural beings disliked such places.
The sandbox entrance lay at the main gate of the Blackmoon estate. At dusk, only broken stone pillars and wrought-iron gates were visible, along with the garden that had been nearly turned inside out. Once they crossed the enchantment, they entered the prepared sandbox.
“May the ancestors bless you,” a bloodkin woman said, holding her companion’s hand. “And don’t push yourself if things go wrong. Retreat immediately if necessary.”
She was right. Those going to fight the devil were not guaranteed to return. If anyone was severely injured or couldn’t continue, they could retreat to the gateway1 and return to the real world.
The devil, however, could never leave. Its true name was encoded in the spell that bound the sandbox; it was imprisoned far more securely than any “designed creature”. Even if it located the exit, it could not pass through.
Likewise, once Coraci entered, he could not leave — unless the sacrificial devil was destroyed and the sandbox spell dissolved.
The Knights of the Dead marched in formation toward the entrance. One Doomcaliber knight even blew on a leaky horn.
Those who were not undead carried survival packs containing the items they needed. The Association would maintain a permanent presence outside the gateway, providing supplies to anyone retreating.
A short distance behind, John and Coraci stood side by side.
“You two look like you’re going to church,” came a voice from behind. It was Carolyn.
“What would we go to church for?” John asked.
“To get married.”
Coraci made a mock-serious face. “I doubt any church would marry a devil and a bloodkin. Plus, they’re both men… Maybe a private party would work.”
Liz, carrying a briefcase and wearing her usual professional attire, hurried past Carolyn. “Stop dawdling. We’re on a schedule.”
John noticed Carolyn’s long sword strapped to her back and suspected a gun hidden beneath her jacket. “Where are you going?” he asked. He remembered that Carolyn and Liz would not enter the sandbox; they were ordinary humans and too young to act as spellcasters.
“Work,” Carolyn said. “Remember the bar Phosphor? A customer died in the restroom with needle marks — looked like an overdose. But he was poisoned. The suspect fled, and we need to go handle it.”
“The suspect… a Spikeling?” Coraci asked.
“Seems like it. We’ll see when we get there.”
Carolyn waved at them and caught up with Liz who was already heading for their car. Even with the devil resurrected, someone still had to handle other disputes and cold cases. The West Bay City office continued business as usual.
As they approached the sandbox entrance, John and Coraci discussed the Spikeling.
Spikelings resembled humans, and their fur never grew longer than two inches. Normally docile, they could harden one or more hairs into needles. These needles released toxins from their bodies into the bloodstream of warm-blooded animals. The toxins were usually nonlethal, causing only a mild fever, though some beings were allergic — resulting in death.
As they spoke about the species vulnerable to Spikeling toxins, Coraci glanced back. The camp and trees were gone. They had entered the sandbox.
The light was bright, yet no light sources were visible. High windows admitted illumination that was part of the sandbox itself, not real sunlight. Above stretched an endless dome, while in front of them rows of bookshelves extended into infinity.
The floors, walls, high windows, desks, and shelves were irregular repetitions of a grand library, covering an area equivalent to a small city. Every few “library rooms” had a washroom in the same place as in a real library, allowing warm-blooded creatures to clean themselves, and giving image-conscious bloodkin leaders access to large mirrors.
This was the sandbox’s most remarkable feature: creatures could genuinely live within this world. The Engrity company’s sandbox had once even included self-growing forests and flowing streams.
The next day in the sandbox — at least according to their intuition — John noticed a subtle slope beneath their feet. They were walking downward. This world resembled a spiraling inverted high tower.
“I just remembered the Atwood family’s sacrificial bones,” John said casually. “What are devil bones like?”
Coraci had never seen the devil in this sandbox but retained such memories in his soul. “The bones are roughly human-sized, like mortal-born demons. The main difference is that devil bones are black and mirror-smooth, like the shards in my power.”
“Your power…is actually bones?”
“No! I’m just describing the texture… John, what’s wrong with your comprehension? I really can’t trust you to act alone.”
“I’ve done fine the past three years, really,” John said with a wink. “As for the future… Anyway, you’re back and the Association accepts you. I can keep relying on you.”
He expected Coraci to tease him or pretend to be stern — but Coraci said nothing. Coraci merely gazed down the dim corridor, nodding slightly, looking absent-minded.
The sound of hooves rang crisply across the stone floor. Sir Kimplin approached, handing Coraci a phone.
There was no day or night in the sandbox, so the headless knights could not speak. Sir Kimplin was among the few undead carrying a phone. Here, it had no signal, so he only used it to type his messages. Some mourning singers whispered about him in private, mocking him for draining his battery, which could not be recharged here.
The words “Glad to work with you again” appeared on the screen.
“What about Burton?” Coraci asked, glancing at the sword at Kimplin’s waist. “Is he here?”
The knight removed his hands from the reins and typed: No, I brought another weapon. I left Burton at the estate with a Clade dog.
“Yeah, he’s probably still fragile.”
After a brief chat, a commotion broke out a short distance ahead. Someone had encountered a corpse under the devil’s control. These creatures were now contained within the sandbox as well. This was only the second incident. More would come.
Soon, what they encountered might no longer be corpses, but the devil’s very soul.
The vast bookshelves resembled a dark manmade forest, threats lurking deep within.
By the time Carolyn and Liz had dealt with the incident at Phosphor, three days had passed.
When they returned to camp, they learned that Smith was missing.
Smith hadn’t been present on the day the sandbox officially went online. The Association had assumed he was attending to another case, but three days later, he still hadn’t appeared. His luggage remained in the camp’s living quarters, suggesting he hadn’t traveled far. His phone was off, and another shapeshifter in West Bay City reported not having seen him recently.
At first, people suspected he had entered the sandbox — but that made no sense. Smith was very self-aware; he knew his name wasn’t on the list. Moreover, he had a flight to Italy scheduled in two weeks to proctor an important exorcist examination. He would not have acted on his own during this time.
Two days later, estimates suggested the devil within the sandbox was about to break free.
It was also then that the Association finally located Smith — Wu Jiu and Hai Jiu floated into camp to report his whereabouts. For the past several days, Smith had been sleeping soundly in a bedroom at Coraci’s house.
Five days earlier, on the eve of the sandbox’s activation, Wu Jiu had carried the unconscious Smith into the car and drove him to the house on Coraci’s orders. Wu Jiu and Hai Jiu were bound by a contract with Coraci; technically, Coraci could command them at will. Usually, though, he treated them as employees rather than slaves. Therefore, Wu Jiu complied with his orders while utterly bewildered. Only now, with Coraci far enough away that his control weakened, could Wu Jiu and Hai Jiu return to report the situation.
In short, Coraci had dosed Smith’s food with a sleeping potion. It was the same type of magical remedy Liz often carried — tiny brown beads, no larger than cumin seeds. Any human-sized creature who ingested one would sleep for two days, and no noise could rouse them. Heaven knew how many Coraci had fed to the shapeshifter.
Arriving at Coraci’s house, Carolyn stared in disbelief at Smith lying in the second-floor guest room, breathing evenly, a blissful smile on his face.
“I have to say,” Carolyn muttered, patting Smith’s cheek lightly, “it wasn’t without reason that people thought Coraci a criminal. He really does have a bit of a criminal talent… This is like a crime drama! Who gives a former spouse drugs, makes them disappear, then hides them in their home?”
“That’s a question for the victim,” Liz said, producing a small medical kit. She unpacked a syringe and pulled back the blanket covering the shapeshifter.
The intramuscular injection worked quickly. Smith woke, blinking through a haze, surveying the room. “Why…does my butt hurt?”
“Liz did it,” Carolyn said, hauling him upright. “First, tell us what happened. Coraci — he…”
Before she could finish, Smith slapped the blanket and shouted, “Oh! Coraci! Listen, you have to find him! Don’t activate the sandbox yet!”
“It’s too late. The sandbox is already activated. You’ve probably slept close to five days!”
Seeing she spoke the truth, Smith slumped. “Coraci has already entered the sandbox, hasn’t he?”
“Yes. Why? Is there a problem with the sandbox?”
“No, the sandbox is fine — perfect, in fact. The problem is Coraci… He can’t get out.”
Smith felt he hadn’t made himself clear enough, so he began explaining from the moment he first realized it several days ago.
Smith had not participated much in the sandbox spellcasting and only understood the general principles and process. The original plan was to trap the awakening devil inside, preventing collateral damage outside. After entering, Coraci would also be unable to leave. However, the sandbox spell could be dissolved later, allowing him to return safely.
Then, inadvertently, Smith read Coraci’s thoughts. It was when taking him to fly in the sky, overlooking the sandbox’s baselines and runes.
He realized that Coraci could not leave the sandbox, even after the devil’s soul was destroyed.
This was because there were only two ways to end the sandbox’s operation: either the spellcaster themselves dissolved it, or all designed creatures inside died. That had been the case with the Engrity company’s sandbox.
In this vast sandbox, the only designed creature was the devil sacrificial target. Its true name was embedded in the spell’s runes — it was part of the sandbox. That name represented not only the underground sacrifice but also Coraci.
Yet the sandbox’s primary spellcaster was also Coraci. Only he could dissolve the spell — but he couldn’t leave the sandbox. As long as he lived, the sandbox would not collapse. It was a paradox.
“No, it shouldn’t be like this…” Liz said, clenching her hands. “If he can dissolve the spell, he could do it from inside… He doesn’t have to leave.”
Smith shook his head at her and looked around the room. “Ordinary Association exorcists, how much do you understand about sandbox magic?”
A middle-aged man leaning against the wall shook his head. “Not much. I’ve only just started learning it.”
“Lizbeth,” the shapeshifter asked Liz, “you or your older brother, do either of you know all the details of the spell?”
“No,” Liz said. “The sandbox’s required input doesn’t justify its return value. Aside from Engrity personnel and a few wizards, almost no one studies it anymore. Most of the spellcasters involved this time were exorcists from the Association headquarters, plus a few from other organizations… I’m not very familiar with the casting details.”
Smith sighed. “As I thought. That day, this idea flashed through Coraci’s mind, and I’m sure it is true: ‘The sandbox cannot be dissolved from within.’”
Liz and the two Association exorcists froze for a few seconds before yelling, “This is impossible!” Compared to their astonishment, Carolyn’s confusion seemed mild. Instructor Jere, however, remained calm…and profoundly sad.
Smith’s breathing quickened. He rose from the bed and slowly walked to Jere.
“You knew?” the shapeshifter demanded, grabbing Jere by the front of his shirt, staring at him in disbelief. He almost forgot he was currently in a female human form, disheveled and partially unclothed.
Trained hunters knew how to resist mind reading, but Instructor Jere did nothing. There was no point in hiding anymore.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “Remember that meeting on the plane? Everyone involved knew. From the West Bay City office, only Coraci and I participated.”
“Why?!” Before Smith could ask, Liz and Carolyn shouted the question in unison.
Instructor Jere recounted the consensus reached among the various factions during that secret meeting.
“Coraci can increase the chance of success and accelerate the sandbox’s completion… But at the same time, his power is also the most unstable factor — the greatest threat in this world, second only to the devil sacrificial target.”
Jere knew it was cruel. Even merely voicing it made his hands tremble. In his entire career as a hunter, he had never shivered like this.
“The sandbox is the hunters’ battlefield, the devil’s grave…and it will also be Deville Coraci’s eternal prison.”
Author’s Note:
Yeah… Coraci already knew. That’s why several times when John asked about the future, he dodged answering… =x=…
↓↓↓ Just realized this section is huge — over six thousand characters… (:з」∠)
Anyway, even though it’s the final part, there’s no big battle scene, so I hope readers expecting epic combat won’t be too disappointed…
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