(Marvel, DC, images, manhuas, and every anime that will be mentioned and used in this story are not mine. They all belong to their respective owners. The main character "Karito/Adriel Josue Valdez" and the story are mine)
The next day...
POV Lux
I pressed my back against the front door, oven mitts still on my hands. I could feel the heat from the stove behind me—cinnamon still thick in the air. My heart thudded faster than it should for a sleepover.
"Lulu," I said as calmly as I could. "Why are Ahri's teammates standing on the porch?"
Lulu spun once, her glittery socks squeaking against the wood floor, then stopped with a huge smile. "You said this was a man-da-tory Star Guardian council meeting." She puffed out her chest proudly, mimicking my tone with exact precision.
I blinked. "I said that to Jinx..."
Lulu nodded even harder. "Which means everyone should be here! Right?"
Before I could object—or run—she reached for the door handle and flung it open.
There they were.
Sarah stood closest, hands tucked casually in the pockets of her jacket, confidence carved into her stance. Not a trace of annoyance in her eyes, just... composure. Like she'd expected this to be awkward and didn't care.
Ezreal stood behind her, visibly mid-word, lips parted before he noticed the door open. His shoulders tensed the moment our eyes met. He gave me a tight smile—one that didn't reach his eyes.
Next to him was Soraka, her expression unreadable. She was holding a pink box from Pantheon's Pastries like it might burn her. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, glancing between the group, the box, and the threshold.
"Hi," I said too quietly.
"Come in!" Lulu chirped, grabbing Ezreal and Sarah by their wrists before they could say anything. Sarah didn't resist, her face barely flickering with surprise as she stepped in, boots clicking softly against the tile. Ezreal tripped over the welcome mat.
I didn't move. I just... waved. Oven mitt and all.
Soraka leaned in, the cinnamon-sugar scent now flooding the doorway. She whispered, "Cinnamon rolls," like a secret password, then handed the box to me with a faint smile. She brushed past me, shoes barely making a sound.
I turned to shut the door behind them, grateful to breathe for a moment.
But then I saw them.
Two more figures walking up the sidewalk. Long coats catching the breeze. One moved like the world owed her answers. The other moved like she already knew them.
Syndra and Ahri.
Just great.
POV Ahri
I barely stepped through the door before I felt it—tight, quiet tension, like walking into a room mid-argument where no one wanted to be the one to say it aloud.
The cinnamon smell did little to cover it. Neither did Lulu's too-cheerful voice echoing from the living room.
Syndra walked just ahead of me, arms crossed and sharp eyes scanning the interior like a queen surveying her fractured court. I could tell she was entertained. That made one of us.
I lingered in the entryway, boots clicking softly against the tile. I let my eyes wander, brushing over Soraka, sitting stiffly at the edge of the couch; Ezreal, already halfway into the kitchen, avoiding everyone; Janna, standing near the window, arms wrapped tightly around herself.
And Sarah.
She was smiling.
That was the part that didn't make sense. Not the tension, not the dodging gazes, not even Lulu—just her.
"Hey," Lux said, offering me a casual wave. "Glad you could make it."
Her voice was lighter than I expected. Warmer. No edge, no challenge—just easy sincerity. I was used to how jealous she would get when we were around Peter, but now she looks like she's containing herself.
Syndra offered a slight smirk in return. I only nodded.
I should've said something. Should've acknowledged the shift. But all I could think about was the rooftop. Just last night.
Peter.
His silhouette still clung to my memory—sharp, distant, too calm. And yet, underneath that cold resolve was something raw. Something jagged and honest that cut through me when he spoke.
"What I want is trust."
And I couldn't give it. Not fully. Not then.
I hated that I hesitated.
Even now, standing in this cozy room, surrounded by old teammates and baked sweets, all I could think about was the fact that he wasn't here. And how that made the space feel even heavier.
His name wasn't mentioned.
No one said it.
But it was here. In the silence between Sarah's friendliness and Janna's distance. In the quiet way Soraka kept glancing toward the hallway. In the fact that Syndra hadn't yet made a snide remark—she was watching. Waiting.
And me?
I wasn't sure if I walked in with doubts... or just didn't like the answers forming in my heart.
POV Lux
The living room looked like it belonged in a catalog—pillows strewn just so, pastel blankets folded at the side, even the Crono-luminescent fairy lights were perfectly spaced. A sleepover, on the surface—if you didn't look closer.
I perched on the arm of the couch, oven mitts still hanging loosely from one hand. I should've folded them off before things got weird again.
Poppy had planted herself on a beanbag in the corner—arms crossed, expression colder than a winter void. She didn't speak unless spoken to. I'd say she was brooding—but even brooding might require trust, and Poppy still didn't trust much of anyone here.
Ezreal hovered near the coffee table, in the awkward in-between of standing and sitting. His eyes kept flicking to the window, like he half expected Peter to swoop in on a webline and spook us all.
I could feel the tension coil around him—old fear that wouldn't die from three years of training, or three years of warnings from the others. He looked at Sarah often, but skirted her gaze like she might shoot him one of those nonchalant glances that felt like a loaded pistol.
Janna sat upright on the couch, very still—hands folded, perching on her lap. Her legs barely crossed. I wanted to ask her if she wanted my oven mitts again. She didn't laugh like Poppy would. Every breath seemed measured, careful.
Soraka had repositioned the pastry box at her side, as if the cinnamon rolls themselves were a shield. She smiled faintly at Lulu, the gesture quiet, unsure, as if she was trying to figure out if the cinnamon rolls were enough to keep the peace—or if they made it worse.
And Lulu—ever Lulu—was trying her level best to radiate sunshine. She knelt on the floor by the coffee table, trying to fold a paper fortune teller between failed giggles and misaligned paper. Her glittery socks peeked out as she balanced on her knees, humming something entirely too happy.
But the silence screamed louder than any words.
"Uh, so—I made the snack tray," Lulu chirped, tapping a pastel plate with too many colored chocolates and marshmallows grouped by hue. "I got, like, sooo many colors. We can dessert-coordinate!"
I smiled tight, trying not to think of the sauce that spilled in the kitchen earlier. How many times had Sarah threatened to text Ahri while dinner burned?
The sound cut in sharply: click click.
I glanced at the cinnamon tray in my lap. My glazed puff was sweating sugar. My heart pounded.
There was a chance Peter might show—just for the disturbance. To break the silence he never created.
Sometimes I wished he would.
I didn't fully trust what that night on the rooftop meant—but I did trust that he showed up when it mattered. And he wasn't showing up tonight.
Not that I needed him to.
But standing here, watching the quiet fracture between us... God, it felt like we were falling apart with no one to catch us.
Jinx slammed herself into the room then—eyes wild behind tinted glasses, hair bouncing. She basically planted herself next to me, propped elbow on shoulder, grinning. "What's the party plan, Luxy-poo?"
"Um—snack tray... fortune teller... then we play?" I said, voice a shade too small.
Jinx folded her arms. "Sounds... slow. And awkward."
So she twisted the fortune teller in her hands. "Truth or Dare—Star Guardian style?" She flashed a wicked smile at Ezreal, who flinched before he could even answer.
Ezreal looked panicked. I knew him too well to think he'd go along. He shifted in place, signaling a refusal.
Poppy narrowed her eyes at Jinx. "Not everything has to be a game, Jinx," she said, voice quiet but hard.
Jinx shrugged. "Maybe not. But maybe we feel more if we break something."
I glanced at Sarah. She hadn't moved from the couch, but her eyes had sharpened. Strength came off her in waves—confidence I'd barely remembered she used to have. Now it looked like Peter had boosted it somehow.
And the weird part? Everyone noticed, but no one called it out.
"I... uh... maybe not tonight," I said softly.
Lulu scrunched up a corner of her mouth in frustration. She stood and began rearranging pillows, humming again but quieter now. She balanced the fortune teller on the coffee table and fitted the pastel cushions around—archipelago islands in a room of waves.
Soraka cleared her throat, cinnamon rolls creeping open in their box. Her voice was small. "Ahri... you okay?" She wasn't supposed to ask. But she did. Eyes flicked toward the hallway, where I knew Ahri stood silent—still outside.
Ahri's name snapped something loose inside the room.
Jinx rolled her head. "Is that... feeling stuff again?"
Might've been too late.
Before I could pull away, from the corner Syndra spoke.
"Careful, Soraka," she said, voice cool and soft. "You almost triggered Ahri's collapse."
Silence again.
All eyes on Ahri and then Janna.
Ahri pressed her lips together before walking in. She didn't look angry. She looked exhausted.
Poppy's gaze darted from her to me, burning with something unreadable.
Sarah leaned forward, chest still calm, but eyes bright in the lamp glow. She cleared her throat, and then—
She lifted one cinnamon roll on a napkin, held it out.
"Who wants a peace offering?" she asked, gesture wide.
The stretch of the room snapped—tension tangled. But she did not hesitate. That simple act called time out.
Ezreal exhaled.
Poppy uncrossed her arms.
Soraka tucked the pastry close like it was fragile.
Even Syndra tilted her head.
I took the cinnamon roll—bitter sweetness sliding over my tongue—and for a moment, I believed.
Maybe peace was just messy and sweet. Disguised in sugar.
We weren't okay.
But maybe we could be.
Janna's POV
I didn't feel like myself.
There was too much noise inside me and not enough outside. Laughter echoed from the living room, forced and uneven—like a record skipping off-beat. Pillows shuffled, snacks passed hands, voices layered over one another, pretending everything was normal.
It wasn't.
I pressed my palms against the cool tile of the bathroom sink. The mirror refused to lie: I looked tired. Hollow. Like something had drained the color out of me and left only this reflection—dull, frightened, and confused. My hands trembled when I touched the edge of the porcelain, and I realized I still hadn't caught my breath. Not fully. Not since yesterday.
Since him.
A whisper of memory crept up my spine. His voice—low, reassuring, laced with something poisonous. I couldn't forget the way he looked at me when he said, "You don't need to fight it." Like he knew I wouldn't. Like he was daring me to.
I hated him.
But I needed him.
And that contradiction was slowly tearing me in half.
A soft knock broke through the storm. Not the door—closer. Someone speaking.
"Janna?" Lux's voice. Tentative.
I didn't want to answer. Didn't want her to see me like this. But the knock came again—gentler this time.
I turned, unlocked the door, and opened it just enough.
Lux stood with her arms hugged around her middle, her usual brightness dimmed. Her eyes searched mine like she already knew something was wrong.
"I, um... I just wanted to check if you were okay," she said.
I wanted to tell her no. I wanted to tell her I couldn't breathe. That every time I blinked, I saw him. That I didn't recognize her anymore—that she didn't laugh the same, didn't feel the same.
Instead, I lied.
"I'm fine."
Her smile twitched. "You sure?"
I nodded, eyes avoiding hers. "Just... needed a minute."
She stepped closer, her voice softer. "I get it. Things have been... weird. Since he left."
There it was. He.
I flinched, even though she hadn't said his name. She noticed.
Her gaze dropped, then quietly, she whispered, "I still feel him, you know?"
I looked at her sharply. "What?"
She shrugged, eyes glassy. "It's like... he's still in the room. Even when he's not."
I didn't answer. Couldn't. Because I knew exactly what she meant.
A silence stretched between us, heavy and unspoken. Then Lux stepped back and gave me a ghost of a smile.
"If you wanna come back, I saved you a cinnamon roll."
I nodded. She left.
But I didn't follow.
Instead, I waited. Five minutes. Ten.
Then I stepped out and walked past the living room as quietly as I could.
"—Peter would've liked this game," Jinx was saying with a laugh. "He always wins at bluffing."
The name hit me like a slap.
I stopped in my tracks.
My heart surged into my throat.
They were still talking about him.
Why are we still talking about him? He's not even here.
I turned away, hands clenched, and fled down the hall again. My mind was a minefield, and his name set everything off.
I ended up near the back room. Dim. Quieter.
I leaned against the wall and sank slowly to the floor, burying my face in my arms.
I didn't cry.
I couldn't.
I was afraid if I started—I wouldn't stop.
Footsteps approached a few minutes later. I didn't move.
I expected Lux again.
But it wasn't her.
It was Ahri.
She stopped just outside the doorway and didn't speak.
I knew she was there. I could feel her eyes on me—curious, maybe, or pitying.
I waited for her to say something.
She didn't.
She just... stayed. Present. Not comforting. Not judging.
I didn't know whether to be grateful or angry.
Maybe I just wanted someone to see me.
Or maybe... I didn't want to be seen at all.
The silence between us stretched thin, like a wire ready to snap. I didn't lift my head. I couldn't. But I could hear Ahri shift her weight, folding her arms slowly like she was unsure what to do with them.
Then finally—softly—she spoke.
"Why have you been so on edge lately?"
Her voice wasn't harsh. It wasn't cold, either. It was... careful. Like she was testing the temperature of water before diving in.
I swallowed. My throat felt scraped raw.
"I..." The word barely made it out.
Ahri waited. No pressure. No push. Just patience.
I lifted my head just enough to glance at her. Her expression wasn't stern or guarded. Just quietly concerned.
I hesitated again. "It's nothing."
She arched a brow. "Is it Peter?"
The name cracked through me like thunder, and I winced.
That was answer enough.
She sat down beside me on the floor, legs tucked neatly under her, tails gently swaying in the low light like some calming metronome. I expected her to push again. To ask what he did. To judge.
Instead, she said, "I saw him last night."
I blinked. "...What?"
"On the rooftop. We talked." She tilted her head, her voice low. "He looked like hell, Janna. Not angry. Not cold. Just... tired."
I hugged my knees closer to my chest.
"He said he'd find Neeko. No conditions. No strings. Just because I asked him to."
She looked forward, not at me now. "And then I watched him disappear again. Into the sky. Into whatever nightmare he calls 'a mission.'"
I didn't speak.
Because I knew what came next.
She turned to me finally, and asked, "What happened between you two?"
I hesitated.
I didn't want to relive it. Not the conversation. Not the way he cornered my thoughts and rewrote them while staring into my soul.
But the words came anyway. Maybe because I needed to say them out loud to make them real.
"He found me in the courtyard yesterday," I whispered. "Said I was avoiding him."
Ahri stayed quiet.
"He told me I was scared. That I didn't want to admit I felt something. That I... needed him." My voice broke on that last part.
She didn't look surprised. She didn't gasp or wince.
"He's wrong," I added quickly. "I don't need anyone. Not him. Not like that."
Ahri hummed, not in agreement or doubt—just listening.
"But the more I argued, the more I believed him. Like his voice was already inside me, waiting for me to give in."
She let out a breath. "That sounds like him."
I turned sharply. "You're not even surprised?"
Ahri looked tired—like the doubts she once clung to had worn her out more than the truth ever could.
"I was," she said. "For a long time. I didn't trust him either. I thought he was manipulating all of us. Maybe he is."
That didn't help.
"But after last night," she continued, "I think... he really does want to protect us. Even if the way he does it feels wrong."
I looked away.
"I didn't want to admit it, but Sarah was right," Ahri added. "We've been twisting everything he says and does because we're afraid of how much he affects us. Of how much we've already let him in."
I closed my eyes.
The voice inside me—the one I kept pretending wasn't mine—whispered again.
He just wants to help you. He just wants to keep you safe. He just wants to love you.
Ahri reached out, gently touching my wrist. "You don't have to understand it all right now. But I think... maybe it's okay to stop fighting him."
My body trembled, and I hated that I didn't pull away.
Because I didn't want to fight anymore.
Not with him.
Not with myself.
The silence between us softened, became something breathable.
Eventually, I nodded. It wasn't a full surrender. But it was something.
Ahri stood, then held out her hand to me.
"We don't have to talk about him again tonight," she said. "Let's just go back. Pretend we're normal."
I took her hand.
Her grip was warm. Grounding.
And for the first time since yesterday, I felt something close to calm.
Not peace. Not clarity.
But acceptance.
We walked back together, and when we returned to the room, no one asked where we had gone. They were too busy laughing nervously and tossing pillows.
Lux glanced over. Her smile flickered brighter when she saw me.
Jinx raised her head from where she was curled on the floor and gave me a knowing grin. "Took you long enough."
Ahri and I sat down.
I didn't say anything.
But I felt it—the shift.
The way the air still carried his name even when no one said it.
The way the game started again... and somehow, everything felt different.
Even if nothing had changed.
Except me.
Sarah Fortune POV
It started with a giggle.
Jinx's, of course. Sharp, jagged around the edges, like a match being struck. "Alright, darlings," she said, kicking her legs over the armrest and sprawling across the floor like she owned the place. "Time for a little fun. Truth or Dare. Star Guardian edition. Dark themes only."
I raised an eyebrow from the couch, arms crossed. I knew her tone well. When Jinx was in this mood, things either got hilarious or went straight to hell.
Lux chuckled nervously, hugging a pillow to her chest. "Should we really?"
Jinx shot her a look. "Please. Everyone here's pretending we're not falling apart without him. Might as well laugh while we spiral."
Silence fell like a dropped glass. A few eyes darted around the room. Peter hadn't been mentioned aloud since we started the evening. But we all felt it. His absence. Like a missing limb.
"Truth," Soraka said quietly, perhaps just to break the silence.
Jinx grinned like she'd been waiting. "Alright then, Oracle." She leaned forward. "What do you really think of Peter?"
Soraka froze. Her hands tightened on the cushion in her lap. Her lips parted, but no sound came out.
The air tightened.
"You don't have to answer," Lulu said gently from her corner.
But Soraka shook her head, slowly. "I don't know. That's the truth. He... he scares me sometimes. But he also helped Sarah. And Ahri..." Her voice faltered. "I think I see why some of you trust him. But I can't tell if that trust is real, or something he put there."
That landed heavier than expected.
I didn't say anything.
Not yet.
"My turn!" Ezreal blurted out, clearly hoping to move on. "I mean... I'll go. Truth."
Jinx barely hesitated. "What are you most afraid of?"
He flinched. Then, without looking at anyone, he muttered, "Peter."
The word hung in the air.
Jinx tilted her head. "Because of that one training day?"
Ezreal didn't answer. His jaw was clenched. His fingers trembled.
That was enough for me.
"Alright," I said, sitting up straighter. "Let's not forget that Peter has done more for us than most of us care to admit."
Lux nodded fiercely. "He saved me."
Jinx chimed in right after. "And me."
I didn't even know the full story behind that, but their tones were not open for debate.
Syndra's voice cut through the room, smooth and deliberate. "So, Ahri."
Ahri, who had been quietly watching, tensed just slightly.
Syndra leaned back, a half-smile curling on her lips. "If he didn't come back... would you go looking for him?"
Everyone turned.
The fire crackled.
Ahri didn't answer.
My heart ticked up a notch. It wasn't just a provocative question. It was pointed. And Syndra shouldn't have known to ask it.
Lux's eyes narrowed. "Wait. Why would he not come back?"
Jinx sat up, now serious. "Yeah. Syndra, what do you mean?"
Even I felt the shift. Something was off.
Syndra shrugged, too casual. "I overheard Ahri on the phone the other day. Sounded like she was worried."
I turned to Ahri. "You knew he wouldn't make it tonight?"
Ahri looked cornered. Her usual grace faltered.
Janna, from the side of the room, whispered so faintly I almost missed it:
"He always comes back."
Everyone heard it.
And that was the crack in the dam.
Ahri sighed. Her hand ran through her hair, and she looked at all of us.
"He left yesterday because I asked him to," she said. "To find Neeko."
It was like the room shifted sideways.
My chest tightened. The words punched straight through me.
Neeko.
The name echoed.
No one spoke.
Lux stood. "Wait... what? Why didn't you tell us?!"
Ahri winced. "I didn't know how. I wasn't even sure if I should. And I didn't know if he would actually go, but he did."
Jinx stood too, eyes wide. "You said he'd be late. You texted that. You knew all along."
Ahri looked ashamed. "I didn't want to ruin tonight. He said he wanted us to enjoy it, that he'd handle it alone."
Lux's hands balled into fists. "You lied to me."
I didn't know what to feel. My thoughts spiraled backward, to the day I left Neeko behind. To Zoe.
To the screams.
I sank into my seat.
Ezreal sat frozen, mouth slightly open.
Soraka stared at the floor, hands tight in her lap.
And suddenly I understood what Janna meant.
Peter always comes back.
But where he goes to make that happen...
That's what haunts us.
Ahri POV
They were all staring at me.
Lux. Jinx. Sarah.
Three faces, three storms brewing in different skies—and all of them pointed in my direction like a blade.
Lux was the first to speak, her voice brittle with disbelief. "You asked him to go?"
I couldn't lie. Not anymore.
"Yes."
It felt like confession. Like bleeding.
She took a step forward, fists trembling at her sides. "You told me he'd be late. That maybe he'd show up. You looked me in the eye and said it like it meant nothing."
"I didn't want to ruin tonight," I whispered. "He didn't want me to. He said you all deserved peace. That you needed to be together, not worrying about him."
"And what about me?" she snapped. "Do I not get a say in what happens to the person I—"
She cut herself off, eyes darting to Jinx, then down.
But I saw the truth there. We all did.
Jinx was standing now too, her expression unreadable, but that silence... it wasn't calm. It was calculation. She was trying not to explode.
"And you didn't think we'd notice?" she said, voice low. "That we wouldn't feel something was off?"
"I didn't think you'd feel this," I said. "I didn't think—" I paused, breath catching. "I didn't think I'd be the one blamed when he's the one who left."
"Don't twist this," Jinx warned, a dangerous edge creeping into her voice. "You asked. And he listened. That's what he does. That's who he is."
Lux's eyes narrowed. "And how did you even know Neeko might still be out there?"
I hesitated.
A flicker of the rooftop.
The way the city lights painted his face.
The quiet tremble in my voice when I first mentioned Neeko's name to him.
"The dreams," I said. "The visions started again. Her voice. Her screaming. I remembered things I'd forgotten—or maybe tried to forget."
Sarah's breath hitched across the room.
I didn't dare look at her.
Not yet.
Lux shook her head slowly. "You had no right to send him into that. Alone."
"I didn't send him," I said, sharper than I meant. "I told him what I saw. That's all. And he... he didn't even hesitate. He just said, 'Then I'll go.'"
Jinx bit her lip. "Of course he did."
She sounded heartbroken. But worse—resigned.
Sarah finally stood.
It was slow. Like every movement weighed her down.
"You saw her," she said, quietly. "You saw Neeko."
I nodded.
"She's alive?"
"I think so."
Something cracked behind Sarah's eyes. A dam that had been holding for too long.
"Do you know what I see when I sleep?" she asked, not waiting for an answer. "Her face. Every night. The moment we left her behind. The moment I ran. I didn't even look back."
"Sarah—" I tried.
But she wasn't done.
"And now Peter's walking into that hell—for us. For me. Without even telling the others. Without backup. Without—"
She broke off, blinking hard.
"Why didn't you tell me?" she whispered. "Why didn't he?"
"I'm sure it's because you'd try to stop him," I said. "That you'd carry the guilt. He didn't want that. He said this was his burden now."
The room went quiet again.
Lux turned away, one hand covering her mouth like she might scream or cry—maybe both.
Jinx stood motionless, her expression darkening by the second.
And Sarah...
She looked like the younger version of herself was clawing to the surface. Not the leader. Not the soldier. Just the girl who once left someone behind and never forgave herself for it.
"You know what hurts the most?" she murmured.
No one answered.
She looked up at me, her voice small.
"That he didn't even ask us to come."
"He wanted you to be safe," I said. "To have this one night. He said you all deserved something normal."
"Normal died the day he walked into our lives," Lux said flatly.
That shut me up.
Because it was true.
Everything had changed since Peter arrived.
And now, with him gone, the weight of that absence wasn't just heavy—it was crushing.
I looked around.
Lulu curled in her blanket, pretending not to cry.
Ezreal stiff as a statue, not even blinking.
Soraka—her lips moving silently like she was praying.
Janna staring into the fire, as if it might whisper answers if she listened long enough.
And Lux...
Lux looked broken. But underneath the grief... was fire.
"You should have told me," she said. "You should have told me."
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
"I don't want your apology," she snapped. "I want him back."
The fire crackled between us.
And still... he was gone.
Out there in the dark.
Walking alone into the place we never dared return.
For Neeko.
For us.
And none of us could follow.
Spider-Man POV
The castle loomed before me—if you could even call it that anymore. Once majestic in design, likely meant for some divine purpose in the Star Guardian narrative, it had been consumed. Now it was just a hollow skeleton draped in decay, as if the idea of royalty had been gutted and left to rot. Jagged spires tore into the sky like rusted knives, and thick tendrils of black mist slithered across the stone like veins feeding a dying heart. The very walls breathed, pulsing with a heartbeat I could feel in my bones.
It had been a full day since I'd entered. Time passed differently in corrupted stories. A second in the real world could feel like hours inside one of these glitching fictions. But my body remembered. Every twitch in my muscles. Every bead of sweat that had long since evaporated from my symbiote-enhanced skin.
I hadn't stopped.
Didn't need to.
Didn't want to.
The black suit clung to me like instinct—every step, every thought, synced to its rhythm. Underneath it, the modified Iron Spider suit hummed with arc reactors and bleeding-edge nano-threads, but it was silent now. The symbiote didn't need help. Not here.
All around me were corpses. Shadows with glowing yellow eyes—some small and skittering, others towering with blades for arms or insectoid wings—twisted husks of the Heartless. Remnants from a completely different tale, now crawling like termites through the foundation of this one. Lesser Darks. But familiar.
The moment I saw the first one slither out of the cracks in the floor, I knew.
"Kingdom Hearts," I muttered under my breath, crushing a Soldier Heartless beneath my boot. It disappeared into black mist with a pop.
Of all the Darks to invade this story, of course it had to be those guys. God, I hated crossovers.
I grabbed the nearest one—a Neo Shadow that blinked forward in a teleport—and tore it in half mid-jump. The pieces fizzled into dust before they hit the floor. Another jumped from the wall behind me, aiming to pierce my neck with its claws.
I didn't even turn around. My symbiote caught it mid-air like a black whip and slammed it through a cracked pillar.
"Nice try."
Three more lunged from the ceiling. I webbed the first through the chest, yanked it downward into my elbow, shattered its core, then spun and threw the body into the others. They all popped into smoke mid-air.
The deeper I went, the more Heartless swarmed. Weak ones at first. Shadows, Soldiers, Large Bodies.
Then came the tougher ones. Invisibles. Wyverns. Defenders. Behemoths.
Didn't matter.
My fists shredded through their illusions of power. Their darkness was borrowed. Shallow. Secondhand corruption compared to the real Darks—the virus behind the infection.
I was the antivirus. I didn't need to believe in this world. I just needed to reset it.
Still, I couldn't ignore the underlying tension crawling up my spine. Something was... off.
This wasn't a normal Heartless incursion. It was organized. No mindless horde storming me. No screaming, chaotic flood of shadowy rage. They came in waves. Test groups. Each one tougher, stronger, more complex than the last. Some even dodged my attacks. Learned from me.
Someone was watching. Or worse—someone was training them.
The walls changed the further I moved in. The castle's original design was gone now. The floors lost their symmetry. The stone turned into something smooth, alien, reflective like obsidian. It didn't echo when I walked. It absorbed sound. The torches were replaced by slow-pulsing lights—some floating, some embedded in the walls—like blinking nerves under skin. The entire castle felt... aware.
"Whoever they sent..." I exhaled, stepping over the cracked body of a fallen Heartless Guardian with bat wings and a chained mace, "...I'm not looking forward to it."
I already knew.
I'd played the games. I'd studied the lore, absorbed it passively through the Guardian's knowledge. Kingdom Hearts characters weren't just strong—they were absurd. Reality-defying. Sword-wielding, key-tossing, light-warping madness wrapped in teenage trauma.
And if the Darks were smart—and they usually were—they'd send one of the big ones.
I'd fought beings who could warp time, erase souls, collapse concepts, even threaten outerversal structures. But there was something uniquely annoying about characters who looked like kids yet could erase you with a friendship-powered combo move and a weird catchphrase.
Still, I kept walking.
The castle's inner sanctum opened into a cathedral-like chamber. There, beneath a sky window that showed nothing but endless black, I stopped.
In the center of the room stood a cage.
Crystal. Floating. Lit from within by shifting colors—red, teal, green, magenta. Like someone had stuffed a kaleidoscope into a prison.
Inside it, curled into a fetal position, unconscious but alive—was Neeko.
I didn't move. Not yet.
I scanned the room again. Heart pounding slower. Breath under control.
Then I felt it.
Eyes.
Watching me from outside the story.
Not the characters. Not Zoe or Rakan or Xayah.
No—those three weren't here yet. Not physically.
These eyes didn't belong to any lore-based NPC.
They belonged to them.
The pure Darks.
The ones that hijack a story from above, like a puppeteer rearranging a stage set.
They were letting me in. Letting me walk right up to her.
They were waiting.
For what?
For who?
I clenched my fists, let the symbiote swell over my arms like molten ink, twisting into claws.
"You watching?" I whispered to the walls. "Good. 'Cause I'm not in the mood to wait anymore."
My voice echoed slightly. Then was swallowed whole by the silence.
The room didn't breathe, didn't move—yet it felt alive.
I stared at the cage, at the girl floating inside.
Neeko.
Her hair glowed faintly, her body curled tight like someone mid-nightmare. The crystalline prison shimmered with magic, shifting through a thousand colors in slow pulses. Too beautiful to be natural. Too stable to be chaotic.
Too obvious to be real.
I didn't move closer.
Not yet.
"Traps usually don't come with neon signs," I muttered, letting my mask retract halfway so I could breathe her in—smell the air. "So what's the catch?"
The symbiote pulsed over my shoulders like a second skin, whispering tension into my nerves. It didn't like this either. And it never liked anything.
I scanned the ceiling. The walls. The shadows.
I knew the Darks were here. Not the ones shaped like monsters. Not the ones with claws and fangs.
The real ones.
The ones who smiled from beyond the fiction, pressed up against the glass of narrative, waiting for the plot to break just enough to slip through.
They were watching. I could feel it like grease on my thoughts.
But they weren't acting.
Why?
My eyes flicked back to Neeko. She hadn't stirred. If she was conscious, she was faking it incredibly well. But I doubted it. She looked... preserved. Frozen in time. Suspended animation courtesy of some poetic, corrupted Star Guardian spell.
It was too perfect.
"Yeah," I sighed, "this is bait."
I took one slow step forward.
That's when the temperature shifted.
A breeze, soft and cold, rolled across the floor like a ghost. It smelled like nothing I could describe—stars gone rotten, dreams undone.
Then I heard it. A laugh. A short one. Girlish. Sweet on the surface. Razor underneath.
"Look at you," came the voice. "Dramatic. Broody. Playing at being the hero."
I turned my head.
And there she was.
Zoe.
Hovering a few feet off the ground, legs crossed mid-air like she was lounging in an invisible hammock. Her hair glowed faintly in the corrupted starlight, twisting in the air like strands of nebulae. Her eyes gleamed with chaotic magic—purple and gold flickering like candlelight trapped in a storm.
"I was sooo curious about you," she said, resting her chin on her palm. "Been watching since you walked into our little castle. You're... weird."
"Flattered," I said flatly, mask sliding back over my face.
"Not in the cute way," she added, still grinning. "More like... out-of-place. Like a word that doesn't belong in a sentence."
She circled above me, lazy in her movements but calculated in her gaze.
"You're not from here."
"Neither are you," I replied.
Her eyes narrowed—but just slightly. "Touché."
I felt the presence before I heard the steps.
Two more figures emerged from opposite ends of the room—Xayah and Rakan. Their silhouettes were unmistakable. They didn't look monstrous. No, not yet. Their bodies still bore the elegance and color of Star Guardians. But the glow was... off. Muted. Like someone turned down the saturation on their souls.
Rakan crossed his arms. Xayah stood with her arms behind her back, but her talons were half-drawn.
They were watching me the same way you'd watch a spider on the wall. Not dangerous... yet.
Rakan broke the silence. "You're not one of us. Not from this world. So what the hell are you doing in it?"
"Funny," I said. "I could ask the same thing."
"You're interfering in something you don't understand," Xayah snapped. "In a reality that doesn't belong to you."
"And that reality's on fire," I shot back. "Excuse me for grabbing a bucket."
Zoe pouted, floating downward now. "You think you're fixing things?"
"I know I am."
"Noooo," she said, smile warping at the corners. "You're patching holes. You're playing lifeguard while the tide pulls everything away. You think there's still a beach left to save."
I tilted my head slightly, voice lowering. "I think there's still a girl in that cage worth saving. And if you're standing between me and her..."
Rakan stepped forward. "What, you'll fight us?"
"Don't tempt me," I replied, voice cold. "I've fought better."
That hit a nerve. Xayah's feathers twitched. Zoe's smile stayed frozen, but I saw the flicker of annoyance.
"You think you're special?" Zoe whispered. "You're not. You're just a parasite. A Guardian, right? The kind that slips into other people's stories. Changing them. Corrupting them. You're no better than the Darks."
I chuckled.
Not a friendly one.
"You're calling me corrupt?" I took a step forward. "Let's talk about you, then. Let's talk about Harp. About how you tried to save her... and failed. How you let yourself get twisted into this."
Her smile faltered.
"Tell me, Zoe. Was it mercy when you started killing your friends? Was it love when you carved out a loophole in the First Star's contract just to justify the body count?"
Zoe's expression went blank for a heartbeat.
Then her eyes darkened.
"It was freedom," she whispered. "They deserved to be free. The contract was a lie. All of it. Harp knew. I saw through it. And now I'm showing them too."
Xayah added, "We were left behind. Abandoned by the ones we trusted. Ahri. Sarah. They ran."
Rakan's fists clenched. "They left us to die."
"And yet you're still here," I said softly. "So maybe that means you weren't supposed to die. Maybe you were supposed to fight for something better."
"I am fighting for something better," Zoe said sharply.
I tilted my head, letting the black suit stretch over my arms like smoke and steel. "Then why does it smell like rot?"
None of them moved. But their anger began to bubble just under the surface. The tension shifted. Pressure in the room rising.
I could see the cracks in their posture.
Good.
I was here to break them.
The tension didn't snap.
It slithered. Tightened. Thickened the air like blood clotting in water.
Zoe hadn't moved. Neither had Rakan or Xayah. The girl who looked like a cosmic teenager still hovered lazily in midair, chin resting on one palm, smile etched like it was carved in obsidian.
But her eyes—they shifted.
Not playful anymore. Not mocking.
Wounded.
"You think you know everything," she said, voice quieter now. "Just because you wear shadows like a cloak and call yourself a Guardian."
"I never said I knew everything," I replied. "But I've seen enough to spot the difference between rebellion and delusion."
Zoe giggled again. But this time it cracked at the end, like glass under pressure.
"The First Star lied to us," she said flatly. "You know that, right? It made us promises it never intended to keep. Said we were chosen. Said we mattered. But when the monsters came, when she fell—where was our savior then?"
Her eyes gleamed. But it wasn't just magic. It was grief weaponized.
"You're talking about Harp," I said.
She flinched. Just a blink.
"Harp fell," she continued. "The bravest of us. The best. And what did the First Star do? Nothing. Not even a whisper of mercy. Just summoned the next batch of girls to throw into the fire. Over and over. Again and again. Until none of us were left."
Her gaze burned into mine.
"I saw through the script."
"Or you broke under it," I said.
That was when the smile dropped.
Zoe floated down until her feet brushed the corrupted stone. For a moment, she looked almost... human. The illusion of a girl who'd once believed in light.
"I tried to save them," she said, quieter now. "When Harp fell, I tried to stop her from becoming what she became. But the universe didn't care. It just kept moving forward. Writing new chapters like we were nothing but scenery."
She stepped toward me.
"And Gwen? She died screaming. And what did the First Star do? It stitched her soul into a doll. A doll, Guardian. Just to keep the magic alive. Just to keep the story going."
My fists clenched, but not from rage.
From sympathy.
Because that pain—I recognized it.
I'd lived it.
"That's not your fault," I said. "That's the cruelty of a broken system. But killing the next generation... corrupting them... you're just reinforcing the same cycle."
Zoe tilted her head. "No. I'm freeing them."
I stepped forward too. "No. You're breaking them. And dressing it up in poetry."
Rakan's eyes narrowed. Xayah growled softly.
Zoe didn't flinch.
She looked at me like she was searching for something. Like part of her wanted me to agree. To say she was right. To tell her she hadn't turned into a nightmare.
But I didn't.
"You call yourself the Twilight Star," I said. "But all I see is someone who couldn't grieve properly. So you turned the universe into your funeral pyre."
"You don't understand—"
"I do," I cut in, voice sharp. "I know what it's like to lose everything. To scream at the heavens and hear silence back. But I didn't turn around and start executing children in Magic Girl outfits."
Her smile trembled.
"You're not freeing anyone, Zoe. You're just trying to spread your pain far enough so it feels like purpose."
That made her still.
Made her silent.
The room pulsed with corrupted magic—like it was holding its breath.
Then...
"You think I'm the villain," she said softly.
"I think you're the proof that the First Star's system is broken. But you chose to be the monster, not the cure."
Her fists clenched.
Rakan stepped forward, but Zoe raised one hand.
Still staring at me.
Still that hollow smile.
"It must be nice," she whispered. "To be so sure. So righteous. Like you didn't rewrite your own story just to sleep at night."
My jaw tightened.
"You talk like a savior, Peter. But you wear the darkness like armor."
"Because I had to," I said. "Because it's the only thing that kept me from becoming like you."
Zoe's hair rippled with dark starlight.
Her Magical Medium—Ran—slithered out from the shadows behind her. A plush-like creature with one eye glowing like a dying star, grinning with stitched teeth.
"Ran thinks you're lying," Zoe said absently.
"Ran can think whatever it wants," I replied. "But you and I both know where this ends."
Zoe's expression flattened. "You'll try to take Neeko."
I nodded. "And you'll try to stop me."
"But before that..." she said slowly, stepping around Neeko's cage. "Tell me something, Guardian. When this is over—when you drag her back to the others, and they all start pretending again... who saves you?"
I didn't answer.
Because that question...
Cut deeper than the rest.
Zoe smiled again.
Not mockingly.
Not with glee.
But with the emptiness of someone who already knew the answer.
"No one did," I said finally. "But I survived anyway."
The black webbing across my arms shimmered with quiet energy. My voice dropped, colder now.
"Let's not waste more time. If you're going to fight me—do it. If you're going to surrender—step aside."
Zoe turned toward Neeko, looking up at the cage like it was a memory.
"She used to tell jokes," she whispered. "Bad ones. But she always made Rakan laugh."
"I know," I said.
She looked over her shoulder.
And this time, when her eyes met mine, there was no chaos. No fury.
Only grief.
"You'll never understand what it's like," she whispered. "To be the last of your team. To watch every single friend die... and know you weren't strong enough to stop it."
My voice was soft when it came.
"I understand more than you think."
A pause.
Then Zoe sighed. The moment cracked.
And her grin returned.
"Guess we're doing this the messy way."
The stars above us dimmed.
And the darkness coiled like a noose.
Zoe's hands glowed with dark starlight.
Energy bled from her fingertips like liquid night, raw and unstable. One twitch and the entire corrupted hallway would implode in a vortex of cosmic entropy.
I didn't flinch.
Instead, I stepped forward, slowly—deliberately—and raised a single hand.
"Don't," I said.
Her magic flickered, confused.
"What?" she muttered, visibly thrown off.
"I'm not interested in you right now."
Zoe blinked.
Even Ran made a confused garbling noise, cocking its head like a broken plush toy trying to understand sarcasm.
I turned my head, lazily, toward the side of the room where Xayah and Rakan stood in defensive stances.
And I smiled.
Not warmly.
Not kindly.
But with surgical precision.
"You two," I said. "Let's talk."
Zoe looked stunned. "Excuse me—?"
"You already got your moment," I said, not looking at her. "But they haven't. And I think they deserve it."
The couple tensed.
I took another step, voice calm, but lined with something sharper than steel.
"You two were supposed to die together, weren't you? Gloriously. Side by side. Holding hands like some kind of tragic fairytale."
Rakan's jaw twitched. Xayah took a step forward.
I kept going.
"But here you are. Rotting in this hellhole. Wearing the darkness like perfume. You sold your love story for a second chance... and somehow ended up even worse than dead."
"Shut your mouth," Xayah snapped.
I didn't.
Instead, I cocked my head and kept my tone mockingly curious.
"Tell me—how'd it happen? Was it when Neeko fell? Or was it when Sarah left you behind? Wait, no—let me guess. It was when Ahri ran."
Rakan's fists clenched, veins in his forearms glowing faint purple beneath corrupted skin.
I kept digging.
"You remember that day, right? The one Sarah told me about in that café? She looked me in the eye and said, 'I watched Xayah die.' Except you didn't die. You chose to stay behind for a corpse."
Xayah growled low in her throat.
"But here's what's funny," I added, stepping into the light between them. "She would've stayed. Sarah. If she'd known you were alive. Even if you were bleeding out. Even if you were losing your mind."
My smile flattened.
"She still would've chosen you."
There it was.
The crack.
Rakan looked like someone had stabbed him—not physically, but where it hurt. His chest rose and fell like a man drowning.
Xayah didn't move. But her eyes had lost their edge. They were wide. Shaking.
"You're lying," she whispered.
I shrugged. "Think what you want. But she loved you. Enough to die with you. And you never even said goodbye."
Zoe moved beside them, confused. "What are you doing? Why are you—"
"This isn't about you," I cut in, still staring at Xayah. "You gave in a long time ago. These two still pretend they had a choice."
"Enough!" Rakan roared.
His wings ignited with a crack of violet light, explosive feathers shooting from his back like javelins.
The moment fractured.
Xayah lunged, claws drawn and spinning with arcane fury.
Zoe screamed something incoherent—but I didn't register the words.
Because that was the moment I'd been waiting for.
Not to win.
To ruin them.
I caught Rakan's first blow midair with one hand. The shockwave of impact rippled behind me—shattering stone, blowing dust into clouds. His eyes widened when I didn't budge.
Then I kneed him in the ribs so hard the floor cracked beneath us.
He coughed blood immediately.
Xayah screamed and slashed forward, her feathers spinning in deadly spirals. I ducked under one, let the second scrape my cheek—just enough for dramatic effect—then web-yanked her mid-spin into a nearby column.
She hit with a crunch.
"Oops," I said flatly. "Thought you were faster."
Zoe charged, eyes blazing, but I backhanded her magic blast midair, sending it careening into the ceiling where it exploded like a dying star. The light didn't even graze me.
Rakan rushed again—this time with reckless abandon, wings flaring.
I caught him in a webline, reeled him toward me like a fish, and drove my fist into his chest so hard it echoed like thunder. He dropped to his knees, gasping, wheezing, shaking.
"You fought for love once," I said coldly. "Now you're just fighting for what's left of your pride."
He roared, trying to stand.
I let him.
I let them all rise again.
Because I wasn't here to kill them.
I was here to make them feel it.
Every.
Last.
Failure.
Xayah snarled and blinked behind me, feathers spinning in a kill pattern. I turned just in time to web them mid-air and spin them back at her—one slicing her shoulder, another grazing her thigh.
She stumbled, bleeding.
I caught her by the neck.
Held her there.
Close enough to look her in the eyes.
"She loved you," I whispered. "She never stopped."
Then I dropped her.
Not violently.
Just... dropped her.
Like the weight wasn't even worth carrying.
Rakan rushed again, only to be met with a sweeping kick that sent him tumbling head-first through a twisted archway.
Zoe finally screamed, "STOP!"
I turned.
"I thought this was what you wanted," I said to her. "You wanted pain, right? That's what you worship now, isn't it? Chaos. Anguish. Ruin. You said you were freeing them—so why are they still screaming inside?"
She didn't answer.
Ran slithered closer to her leg, visibly nervous.
Xayah was on the floor, coughing, trembling.
Rakan wasn't moving yet.
I stood over them, eyes glowing behind the blackened symbiote mask, shoulders rising and falling with calm breath.
"Tell me again," I said, voice hollow. "Who's the monster?"
Silence.
Neeko, still in the cage behind them, stirred faintly—barely conscious, but eyes fluttering.
Peter Parker was gone.
This was something else now.
And Zoe...
Zoe knew it.
Because her next words came out in a whisper:
"You'll burn everything down... just to prove you're not broken."
And I smiled.
Because I didn't have to say it.
They already knew.
It wasn't a fight anymore.
It was a lesson.
I stood at the center of the throne room's fractured marble floor, black webs of corruption veining outward beneath my feet. The three former Guardians—Zoe, Xayah, and Rakan—surrounded me, panting, bleeding, trembling.
Zoe's corrupted starlight pulsed chaotically behind her eyes. Her expression had turned from manic glee to something else—uncertainty. She didn't understand why she wasn't winning. Why her twilight magic wasn't swallowing me whole.
She threw another comet of dark matter, screeching as it twisted through the air in a spiraling scream.
I stepped aside.
Just once.
The blast missed me by inches, detonating against a pillar that collapsed in slow motion, crashing into the floor like a dying titan.
"Try harder," I said, brushing off a fleck of dust from my shoulder.
Zoe's teeth clenched, fingers twitching. "You're mocking me."
"Yeah," I said. "That's the point."
Xayah came in from the left, low and sharp like a dagger meant for the gut. Her feathers glowed with residual starfire, darkened now, tainted—but they still had bite.
I caught her wrist before she could strike.
Twisted.
Not enough to break it—just enough to send her spinning.
She hit the ground in a tumble, feathers scattering.
Rakan was next.
He roared, his wings crackling with corrupted aether, and lunged with a burst of momentum. He moved like a storm—fast, emotional, beautifully reckless.
I ducked.
Then I uppercutted him mid-flight with a crack of sonic force.
He flipped backward through the air and crashed into the ground in front of Zoe. Dust rose in rings around his body.
"You're not thinking," I said aloud. "You're reacting. You're angry. And I get that."
I walked slowly around them, calm and composed, voice steady like a teacher correcting a class of failing students.
"But that's why you lost. That's why you always lose."
Zoe screamed and blinked—teleporting mid-air to strike from above with a massive starburst blade conjured in both hands. She screamed something incoherent as she came down like a meteor.
I raised one hand and fired a compressed web pulse.
It hit her dead-center and detonated in midair.
She spun out of control, magic exploding around her, and crashed hard into the ground behind me.
"You're not a goddess," I said quietly, turning to face her smoking crater. "You're just a scared kid who was handed too much power and didn't know what to do with it."
Zoe coughed.
Spat blood.
Ran trembled at the edge of the battlefield, its cute plushy face twitching unnaturally, watching its mistress falter.
I turned my head as Xayah leapt again, this time from behind—silent, cold, trying to catch me off guard.
I let her get close.
Let her blade graze my shoulder.
She thought she'd landed it.
She didn't realize it was bait until I caught her by the throat in midair, held her there like she weighed nothing, and stared into her eyes.
"You were a symbol once," I said. "Of rebellion. Of love. Now you're just... hollow."
Then I dropped her again.
Not hard.
Just disrespectfully.
She crumpled beside Rakan, who stirred with a groan and tried to crawl toward her.
I let them.
Zoe forced herself upright, panting, rage in her pupils.
"You think this makes you strong?" she growled. "You're just another monster."
I looked at her.
Not angry.
Not smug.
Just tired.
"No," I said. "I'm what happens when monsters get tired of pretending to be heroes."
The room trembled.
Above us, cracks of black lightning raced across the corrupted ceiling.
Something was coming.
But not yet.
I had more to say.
I approached Zoe as she staggered to her feet.
She tried one last blast—raw, clumsy.
I stepped into it, took it to the chest.
It burned.
But not enough.
I raised my hand and slapped the spell away like swatting a mosquito.
Zoe gasped.
I leaned in close, whispering:
"You're not the First Star's failure."
She blinked.
"You're yours."
She screamed.
It echoed.
Not with power, but fear.
The realization had finally hit her.
This wasn't a fight she could win.
Not with magic.
Not with madness.
Not with martyrdom.
I turned around as the castle itself began to shake.
The pillars groaned.
The stained-glass windows cracked, and beyond them, the sky turned deeper black, like something massive pressed against the veil of this timeline.
I exhaled.
The real game was starting now.
Zoe, Xayah, and Rakan lay broken—not physically destroyed, but emotionally unraveled.
Their anger hadn't saved them.
Their hate hadn't given them strength.
And I hadn't even broken a sweat.
I looked down at my hands, flexing the symbiote tendrils slowly retracting into my suit. The Guardian Aura around me pulsed like a heartbeat—low, slow, and growing heavier with anticipation.
They weren't the final bosses.
Just the opening act.
A warning.
A prelude.
And whoever was watching from beyond the walls?
They had seen enough.
I took a step forward, toward Neeko's crystalized cage.
Behind me, Zoe whispered one last desperate line, voice trembling.
"You... you think you're above us. But the Darks will eat you too. You're just... next in line."
I didn't turn.
"I'm not in line."
I looked up at the sky as it cracked.
"I'm the one kicking the door in."
The silence was fake.
It wasn't peace.
It was pressure.
The kind that creeps in after a bomb has dropped but before the dust even dares to fall.
I stood before Neeko's crystalline cage—hand resting gently against its cold surface—while behind me, three ex-Star Guardians lay in their quiet defeat. Zoe was wheezing laughter now, blood in her teeth, Rakan groaning curses, and Xayah shaking silently, rage boiling beneath humiliation.
And above me?
The castle trembled.
The sky fractured.
Something ancient was being pulled into the script.
I felt it before I saw it. A flicker of awareness in my spine, like someone had just rewritten the laws of gravity with their pinky.
Two lights split the sky—no, holes in the sky.
Darkness in motion.
Not void. Not absence. But presence.
My Guardian Aura surged, forming reflexively into threads around my shoulders. I turned slowly.
Zoe began laughing harder.
"Hah! You really thought we were the finale?" she spat between cackles. "No, no, no... they were watching. They always were."
I didn't respond.
Because I already knew.
The castle doors exploded inward.
No dramatics. No buildup. Just pure force—an effortless pressure wave that vaporized debris and slammed outward like a localized black hole had blinked into existence.
I didn't need to guess.
I recognized the feeling.
Footsteps echoed—far too calm for how much power they carried.
A woman stepped forward first. Slim frame, but her mere presence cracked the floor beneath her boots. Long blue hair flowed unnaturally, and her eyes—once kind—now shimmered with fractured colors of despair and dominance.
Dark Aqua.
But not the one the stories remembered. Not the light-bearer. Not the Keyblade Master who sacrificed herself to save a friend.
This was Aqua rewritten by the Darks.
Twisted by narrative corrosion.
Her armor glimmered like it had been dipped in the corpse of a dying timeline.
Beside her?
A second shadow.
Shorter, younger, but denser—like a collapsed star pretending to be human.
Silver hair. Cold blue eyes that pierced through me like barbed glass.
Dark Riku.
The old Riku had danced with darkness and crawled back to the light.
This one had married it.
They didn't speak at first.
They didn't need to.
The room dimmed. Not from light—but from relevance. As if the timeline recognized its betters had entered the script and pushed everything else aside.
Even the corrupted trio behind me stopped breathing for a moment.
Zoe smiled like a child seeing her parents come home.
I took a breath.
"So... Kingdom Hearts?" I said, cracking my neck. "That's who you're sending now?"
They didn't answer.
Of course they didn't.
They were Darks now. Pure ones. Unbound by cause or memory. Just vessels with echoes of their old selves buried beneath layers of narrative poison.
But I could still see it.
The hesitation in Aqua's eyes. The flicker in Riku's stance.
"Still got that tiny voice in your head, huh?" I continued, taking a casual step forward. "Telling you this isn't what Sora would've wanted? What you wanted?"
Aqua blinked.
Just once.
And in that blink, she was in front of me.
Her Keyblade slammed down like a guillotine wrapped in twelve dimensions of hate.
I blocked it with a single arm—symbiote wrapping around my forearm in a black spiral, reinforcing the Narralith underneath.
The impact shook the entire floor.
"Annoying," I muttered.
Then Riku joined in—blitzing from behind like a ghost in rewind, his own blade cleaving sideways through time-distortion.
I twisted midair and kicked him straight in the ribs, sending him sailing back across the hall with a sonic boom.
"Yeah," I said. "Definitely annoying."
Aqua came back swinging.
Her movements weren't flashy—they were absolute.
Each strike collapsed the air around it, bending causality like a wet paper crane.
I moved between them, dodging in micro-steps, blocking with half-formed armor, every calculation riding my Guardian senses like a sixth limb.
But they were adapting.
Quickly.
And they were fighting in
higher frames
—operating at dimensional frequencies most timelines couldn't even register.
Zoe was giggling behind me like it was a circus show.
"This is it!" she shrieked. "This is where you die! They're stronger than everything you've faced!"
Aqua lunged—light-and-dark pulse embedded in her swing.
I caught her wrist mid-strike, flipped over her shoulder, and slammed her into the ground hard enough to shatter a star map etched into the floor.
"No," I said. "They're stronger than you've faced."
Riku returned—this time shifting through multiple shadows of himself in a chain of afterimages.
He connected.
His blade pierced my shoulder.
I felt time itself twitch—he was trying to anchor the wound across moments, turning it into a recursive injury.
I twisted—hard—and reversed the anchor.
The blade ejected violently, and he staggered back, holding his arm.
"I've read your books," I told him. "Hell, I've lived through worse chapters."
Then I summoned two mechanical tendrils from my back—jet-black Narralith laced with the Speed Core's light.
They sparked into the air like wings of the void.
This wasn't going to be a clean fight.
Not a heroic one.
It would be dirty, layered, and cosmic.
They weren't my enemies.
They were reminders.
Of what I'd become.
Of what I'd fight to avoid becoming.
The corrupted Guardians circled again, re-entering formation.
I cracked my knuckles.
Let the timeline tremble.
Let the world adjust to fit the battlefield.
The gloves were off.
The curtain was up.
Time to show them what a Guardian of Fiction really is.
To Be Continued...