A gloved hand clamped over Arceus's mouth before he could even draw a proper breath, while another hand seized both his wrists with the smooth coordination of men who had rehearsed such actions countless times.
The sudden pressure against his skin felt like iron chains sinking into flesh, and no matter how desperately he tried to summon even the smallest thread of ether, the familiar warmth refused to answer.
Arceus was not a warrior who had spent years fighting on battlefields.
He was merely a 2-star Spirit Warrior whose talents lay elsewhere, and against trained operatives who had prepared for this moment, resistance became little more than a struggling heartbeat trapped inside a cage.
The carriage resumed moving as though nothing unusual had happened, and Arceus fought against his captors with everything he had, his shoulders twisting, muscles straining, and eyes blazing with fury that could not be hidden even behind his helpless situation.
