Tiffany's illusion was nothing compared to Mandel's.
Hers was mere child's play—easily broken by anyone with a strong will.
But Mandel's illusion... was on a different level entirely.
Inside his illusion world, everything—space, time, pain, even life and death—could be manipulated at will. In this world, he was God.
From the moment John was dragged into it, Mandel believed he had become a trapped beast—completely at his mercy.
Here, Mandel could do whatever he pleased to torture him. And this wasn't just physical pain.
It was mental agony.
His plan was to break John's mind first, then destroy his body. That way, his suffering would be absolute.
Shoo! Shoo! Shoo!
Suddenly, countless white bones erupted from the ground, wrapping around John like living tentacles. He was completely immobilized.
Spikes extended from the bones, driving into every inch of his skin.
"Prepare to suffer!" Mandel's voice echoed ominously—disembodied and omnipresent.
A red moon bathed the illusion world in its demonic glow. Scarlet light cascaded through the air, casting an eerie shimmer on the nightmarish landscape.
Then, a strange rain of red light spots descended.
Each glowing speck drifted toward John's forehead, trying to penetrate his mind and plunder his thoughts.
Another trick from Mandel.
He intended to steal John's memories, then manifest the people he cared about—his friends, family, lovers—and torture them before his very eyes.
It was the most devastating psychological weapon: watching his loved ones suffer, helpless to stop it.
However—
No matter how hard those red lights tried, they couldn't extract a single memory from John.
Mandel was stunned.
This was his world. He controlled everything. John was merely a projection—a shadow of consciousness.
How could he fail to access his mind?
Something was terribly wrong.
"That's... impossible," Mandel muttered, his voice now tinged with doubt.
Unable to break into John's mind, he resorted to raw brutality.
"Fine. If you're so stubborn, I'll throw you into the Insect Hole. Let's see how you like the feeling of thousands of bugs chewing your bones!"
Suddenly—
Boom!
The ground beneath John cracked open, revealing a deep, black pit.
Still bound by the spiked bones, John couldn't move as he was dragged into the abyss.
From below, a deafening gnashing rose—a hellish symphony of teeth and chittering limbs.
Moments later, a piercing scream echoed from the depths.
The red moonlight gathered at the edge of the pit, gradually coalescing into the figure of Mandel. As the screams continued below, he stood above, eyes cold, hatred surging in his chest.
"You damn Yankee," he snarled. "You killed my son... Now you'll suffer like no man ever has. And when I'm done with the bugs—" he hissed, "I'll throw you into the Lava Land, and you'll burn in eternal agony!"
Bang!
Just as he spoke, the insect pit below suddenly erupted in flames, transforming into a molten inferno.
The magma roiled and bubbled, lava splashing at the edges.
Mandel's brows furrowed.
He hadn't triggered that transformation yet.
Something was wrong.
Then, from the fiery depths, a figure rose.
A familiar face.
Mandel's eyes widened in shock.
It was—his son. Little Regan.
Suspended above the magma, Regan's body was riddled with insects, writhing and chewing through his flesh and bone.
"Father... why?" Regan cried out, his voice distorted by agony. His face twisted in pain, eyes filled with betrayal and grief.
Mandel froze.
Another scream tore through the air.
From Regan's mouth crawled a mass of black bugs, and then—pop! pop!
Both his eyes burst open, releasing more insects. They swarmed his face, devouring what was left.
Boom!
His body collapsed into the lava, instantly engulfed in flame—silent forever.
Mandel stood paralyzed.
It felt like a knife in his heart.
He had designed all of this to torment John. But somehow, the victim in the illusion had become his own son.
The agony… the betrayal… it had all been so vivid.
So real, that for a moment, Mandel forgot it was an illusion.
Tears rolled down his cheeks.
He believed it.
He believed that he had thrown his own son into hell.
And just then—
A calm voice spoke beside him.
"A truly powerful illusion makes people forget it's an illusion at all. You're still far from that level."
Mandel turned slowly.
The voice… the face… it was familiar.
His expression shifted from confusion… to realization… to horror.
It was him.
The American.
The one who killed his son.
John stood beside him.
Mandel staggered back, breath catching.
Only now did he remember the truth.
It wasn't real.
His son was already dead.
John had killed him long before this.
But the illusion had consumed Mandel completely. He had become so lost in his own illusion world, he'd forgotten his enemy even existed.
John's words brought him crashing back to reality.
That was the true mastery of illusion.
Not flashy tricks or flashy pain—but complete immersion.
So deep that even the creator of the illusion forgets it's fake.
And now Mandel understood.
John hadn't been trapped in his illusion.
Mandel had been trapped in John's.