Redundancy [Fyodor Dostoyevsky x Reader]

Chapter 2: An Olive Branch

There was a man who sat in front of him. He had long, but not longer than his, white hair. The iridescent scent of almond wafted from his visage, his countenance resembled a fox. Cunning, yet the friendly and mischievous nature was replaced with something more than. He was barely a man, half a man but more so evil.

His thought would be what punished him in the end, Fyodor thought. Thought is crime. The man was so sure of everything, yet he was fooled by his own allusion of reality. Fyodor somewhat even admired the man, to be so self-assured, so alluded to be god's favourite fool. His fingers traced the loose wood that laid beneath him, the stacks of cards still perfectly laid in the order, scratches memorised. He was getting bored, and his host isn't exactly being friendly.

"You cannot kill me yet, can you?" Fyodor's smirk seemed to allude to something beyond Ace's knowledge. "You need information from me." He finished. Ace merely chuckled, leaning back against his chair as he confirmed his assumption. It was true, he was too valuable of a chess piece to simply discard (or think of discarding).

"How about we play a game of guessing cards? If you win, I'll wear your collar. If I win, I get back my freedom."

"I'll be determining the rules myself." Ace states.

"We guess higher or lower. Whoever guessed wrong, then turn is passed onto the next player. You may start."

He finished, an accomplished smile on this face. It was clear to Ace that he had an advantage. He was a gambler after all, is it not obvious he was around these cards all his life? To say he was familiar with them would be an understatement. Fyodor was within his clutches, among the jewels of his dungeon. Ace starts, placing one card against his finger and the table.

"Low." The card was flipped, without a second thought. Fyodor was correct, it was indeed previously lower than the first card. No problem to Ace.

"Low." Again, he was correct. Ace wasn't too concerned however, a bit impressed at his luck.

"High." The grin that littered Fyodor's lips was foretelling, and Ace paused for a moment before immediately placing down another card.

"Low." He said, almost in a sigh as Ace finally lost his cool, accusing him of cheating and immediately getting on his feet. He was panting like a dog, and made his way, feet shuffling against the dirty floor to open the door. It wouldn't open.

"The door won't open," He huffed, struggling against the handle. The metal clung against the wood. "This was an effort to buy time, wasn't it?" Fyodor gave no reaction, simply sat back and crossed his arms against his chest. He missed his ushanka. Ace perked up against, a chuckle rumbling out from his throat, bursting from his chest as he doubled down.

"The broken communicator. The locked door. The clock." Ace repeated like a mantra, locking eyes with the infamous demon. "Do you really think I wouldn't notice? Me? The mafia executive?" The mocking tone in his voice was exasperated by the look placed upon his face. It was a grin resembling that of Fyodor's earlier. There was a moment of silence, Ace walking back towards the table only to slam both of his palms against it, and lean closer towards Fyodor, hot breath hovering above the demon.

"So what?" Fyodor finally spoke.

Ace rose his eyebrow. "What do you mean, so what?"

"So what if you've figured it out?" His eyes had a demeaning glaze pasted across, void of any light. "Our bodies lay unconscious in the real world. I'm trained to starve, are you, Ace?"

Ace shook. His previous knowledge of Fyodor's ability was remarked by the kidnapper himself and also his short-lived conversation with Karma. There was no mistaking it, the small details that don't add up in consistency? His ability was powerful, yet something felt wrong.