The Scimitar’s engines roar in the distance, a constant reminder of the ship’s power. Lavos stands at the doorway, watching the person in front of him, a smirk tugging at the edge of his lips. They’re no match for him, no match for what’s coming.

Without warning, he grabs them by the wrist and yanks them forward, dragging them through the winding hallways of the ship. The eerie glow of the Helminth chamber awaits them, its dark, looming presence growing closer with each step.

With little care, Lavos shoves them into the chair, the cold metal scraping against their skin. The chair locks them into place, and Lavos steps back, his hands clasped behind his back. “Relax,” he purrs, “This will only hurt a little. Maybe.”