Chapter 113
Arc 8: Avengers
Ch 5: Beyond The Veil
Sunday, February 12, 2012.
Location: House of M, Manhattan, New York
Tyson made his way to Dr. Connors' lab. He flicked on the lights, illuminating the workspace. He approached the refrigerated storage unit where they kept sensitive samples and carefully extracted a small vial of blood.
Amora the Enchantress's blood.
She'd given it to him after securing Agatha Harkness as his magic tutor, fulfilling her requirements for getting stronger. It was intended to be used in a ritual to save Jubilee's life after the vampire attack. But he had acquired it too late. And Connors, despite having studied the blood extensively, found no use for it besides curiosity and understanding the difference between Asgardians and humans, genetically.
He placed the vial on the central workbench, then began gathering the supplies he'd need for the tracking ritual. Candles, herbs, and a map of New York City soon joined the vial on the table. He had spent the past month doing nothing but studying magic under Agatha and Calypso. He knew he could perform a simple tracking ritual; well, he hoped he knew what he was doing. But still, he took his time with each step. This ritual was reasonably simple.
He cleared a space on the floor and began to draw a circle with chalk. Within the circle, he sketched Veves, representations of the loa he would call upon for aid. The chalk scratched against the smooth floor. Connors probably wouldn't be happy. It was his lab, but this was Tyson's house. Still, he'd apologize later.
Once the circle was complete, he placed candles at cardinal points around its edge. He lit them one by one, murmuring words in Creole. This was the hardest part and the mainstay of his studies. The rituals weren't difficult, but the language seemed to matter, to a point, with Voodoo. He'd thought magic was mostly based on intent, but that was only the way with some magics; with voodoo, tradition and representation held near-equal importance.
The candle flames flickered to life. In the center of the circle, he spread out the map of New York City. He then took a small knife and carefully opened the vial of blood. The scent hit his enhanced senses immediately; metallic yet with an otherworldly sweetness that spoke of her Asgardian nature.
He dipped his finger into the blood and began to trace symbols on the map. As he worked, he chanted softly, calling upon Baron La Croix, the loa of crossroads and magic.
"Baron La Croix, mèt chemen ak posiblite, gide san sa a nan sous li. Montre nou chemen ki mennen nan moun n ap chèche a."
"Baron La Croix, master of paths and possibilities, guide this blood to its source. Show us the way to the one we seek."
The candles flickered wildly as his chant grew louder. He could feel the air in the lab growing thick with unseen energy, pressing against his skin like a physical force. The blood on the map began to move of its own accord. It meandered across the map, leaving a faint trail in its wake. He held his breath as it approached Manhattan, then zeroed in on the Upper East Side.
Suddenly, the blood pooled and stopped moving. He leaned in close, squinting at the location. 200 East 59th Street. A building situated between the Midtown and Lenox Hill neighborhoods, right near the entrance to the Queensboro Bridge.
The candles extinguished themselves simultaneously, plunging the lab into relative darkness. He looked down at the map, half-expecting the blood to have vanished, but it remained exactly where it had stopped.
He carefully folded the map and tucked it into his pocket along with what remained of the Enchantress's blood. Cleaning up the remnants of the ritual, he erased the chalk circle and disposed of the used candles. Maybe Connors wouldn't even notice. As he worked, he considered what he'd discovered.
The Enchantress had been in Manhattan all along.
Not just on the island, but in a luxury condo in one of the most expensive areas of the city. Figures. Glancing at his watch, noting the late hour, he left the lab, locking the door behind him. Making his way through the quiet corridors of House of M, he considered his next move.
Tyson knew he couldn't just barge in without a plan, but the temptation to act immediately was strong. Would he be barging in, though? She had said she was always watching him, that she'd be ready if he called upon her. She should know what he was doing and that he was coming. But showing up unannounced without a gift was bad etiquette, so he formed a plan in his mind and made his way to the garage.
Pulling out onto the street after mounting his motorcycle, he headed north. The lights of Manhattan blurred past as there was little traffic to impede his midnight journey. He turned onto Park Avenue, the imposing silhouette of Stark Tower looming ahead, but was quickly left behind. Approaching the building, he slowed, parked near the entrance, and cut the engine.
He paused for a moment, taking it in. Sleek and modern, all glass and steel reaching towards the sky. The kind of place where the ultra-wealthy live in luxury. Not like Tyson could talk, he had one of the nicest suites you could get in a downtown hotel. As he neared the entrance, a familiar scent caught his attention. Her unique fragrance of exotic incense, ancient stone, and enticing floral perfume wafted on the night air, confirming he was in the right place. The glass doors slid open silently as he approached, revealing a marble-floored lobby staffed by a single night guard. The man looked up from his desk, a mixture of boredom and curiosity crossing his features.
"Can I help you, sir?" the guard asked.
Stepping forward, he tried to appear unthreatening. "My name is Tyson Smith."
"Of course. I recognize you, Mirage." The guard nodded and tapped a few keys on his computer. After a moment, he looked back up. "Your name is on the pre-approved guest list. Head on up to the penthouse."
He nodded his thanks and made his way to the elevators. As the doors closed behind him, he couldn't help but wonder about that guest list. How long had his name been on it? Had she truly been expecting him all this time?
The elevator rose swiftly and silently, the numbers on the display climbing higher and higher.
With a soft ding, the elevator doors slid open, revealing her penthouse. He stepped out, his enhanced senses immediately overwhelmed by the opulence before him. The apartment was easily twice the size of his hotel suite. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a breathtaking view of the city. And there, reclining on a plush velvet couch, was the Enchantress.
"I was wondering how long it would take you to seek me out. And here you are. In the middle of the night." Her lips curved into a knowing smile. "Your timing makes me wonder at your intentions."
He stepped further into the room. "Amora, I hope I'm not intruding."
Her emerald gaze sparkled with amusement as she extended her hand. "You? Never," she purred.
His attention lingered on her bare hand, noticing the absence of her usual elbow-length gloves. He reached out with his uncovered hands and gently raised hers to his lips.
"You've grown so much," she mused, studying him appreciatively. "So strong now. And you have control."
"Strong enough to begin courting you?" he flirted.
Her laughter filled the room, rich and melodious. "So forward," she teased, skillfully sidestepping his question. "But I doubt you came to offer courtship. What can I do for you?"
"First..." He reached into his jacket and produced a bottle of wine, Natasha's favorite. He presented it to her with a flourish. "I can't arrive both unannounced and empty-handed." She raised an eyebrow. He continued, "I know I wanted our interactions to be less transactional, but if you'll allow, I feel that offering you a gift is appropriate given what you've offered in the past and what my intentions are tonight."
His attention fell to the vambraces adorning her arms. "May I have those for a moment?" he asked, gesturing to the ornate pieces.
The sorceress tilted her head slightly, curiosity evident. She slipped off the bracers and handed them to him. Kneeling on the plush carpet, he placed the vambraces before him.
He wore a silvery shirt that she hadn't paid any mind to. With a focused exertion of his ferrokinesis, the shirt thinned. She watched, fascinated, as he gathered what appeared to be a metal block into his hand. Using his ferrokinetic abilities, he thinned the adamantium ringmail weave from a block into a sheet. With meticulous precision, he wrapped the sheet around the vambraces. The gold color of the original bracers still shone through the thin adamantium layer, creating a beautiful interplay of metals.
He focused intently, melding the metals together. The result was a strong alloy, with the outer layer maintaining a thin covering of adamantium. He floated the transformed vambraces back to her.
"Adamantium is the strongest metal humans can create," he explained, "It's nearly indestructible and makes up my bones. This adamantium, in particular, was created from my bones that I'd ripped from my own body." She turned the vambraces over in her hands, admiring the craftsmanship and the subtle sheen of the new metal layer. He continued. "You gifted your blood to me so I could protect Jubilee, a woman I loved. I wanted to gift you a part of me in return. To show my gratitude. So that I may protect you even when I'm not around."
Her fingers traced the intricate patterns on the vambraces, now enhanced by the adamantium layer. Something deeper and more complex flickered across her face.
"This is... unexpected," she said softly, meeting his gaze. "A gift of protection, freely given. You continue to surprise me, Tyson Smith."
She slipped the vambraces back onto her arms. "Tell me," she said, taking on a more serious tone, "what brings you here in the middle of the night, bearing gifts and offering protection?"
"If it's not past your bedtime, perhaps we could share a drink and speak openly."
Her lips curved into a small smile. "It would please me to do so."
She retrieved two glasses from a nearby cabinet, their crystal surfaces catching the soft light. He opened the bottle of wine he'd brought, using his adamantium finger-talon to remove the cork.
He poured the rich, red liquid into both glasses, the aroma of the wine filling the air. Handing one to the goddess, he took a deep breath before speaking.
"I know you've been watching. You've probably heard my explanation of the future."
She nodded, studying him intently. "Though I'm wary of your explanation, I've no doubt that you believe you know what is coming," she said, her voice measured.
He took a sip of wine, gathering his thoughts. "In a few months, Loki will return," he began. "He isn't dead. He's going to lead an invasion of Earth." He turned and pointed out the floor-to-ceiling windows at a building clearly visible in the distance. "And it's going to start 13 blocks south, at Stark Tower."
Her eyebrows rose slightly. "Previously, you've shown that you know things you should not know. So I'm willing to indulge this theory. Continue."
He nodded seriously. "Odin is going to use dark magic to send Thor to Earth to apprehend him and retrieve the Tesseract. We will stop the invasion, and Thor will return with Loki as a prisoner and the Tesseract to repair the broken Bifrost bridge and observatory."
Her grip on the wine glass tightened slightly. "The Tesseract could be used as such," she said slowly. "As it was used in the Bifrost's construction, according to the records. Again, you should not know this."
"Like I said, I saw the future," he replied.
He took another sip of wine before continuing. "But back on Asgard, I interfered in Thor and Loki's fight so that Odin could remain in the Odinsleep. It's important that we don't allow Odin to use dark magic to send Thor here. Doing so will weaken him. Everything I did on Asgard was to keep Odin strong."
She listened intently, fascination and wariness warring across her features. She swirled the wine in her glass.
"And why is it so crucial to keep Odin strong?"
His demeanor grew even more serious, matching hers. "Ragnarok is coming," he said, the words hanging heavy in the air between them. "I want to forestall it as long as possible."
Genuine surprise crossed her face. "Ragnarok?" she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. "You're certain?"
The room seemed to grow still, the weight of his words settling around them like a heavy cloak. The distant lights of the city twinkled beyond the windows, oblivious to the gravity of the conversation taking place high above.
He met her gaze unflinchingly, his gray eyes filled with a certainty that sent a chill down her spine.
"I'm certain," he said, firm and resolute. "And Odin's death is when it starts."
His demeanor turned solemn as he continued, holding her gaze intently. "I'm telling you all this for a reason. When Loki arrives on Earth, I intend to call in the favor you still owe me. I will ask that you use your magic to temporarily augment my abilities, granting me access to Azazel's teleportation power again." He paused, letting his words hang in the air between them. She remained silent, studying him as she swirled the wine in her glass. "My plan is to teleport back to Asgard," he continued after a moment. "That way, I can retrieve Thor myself and bring him here to Earth. It is imperative that Odin does not have to expend his power by sending Thor here to deal with Loki and the Tesseract. Keeping Odin strong is the key to forestalling Ragnarok for as long as possible."
The Enchantress set down her glass, processing his words. The wine caught the light as she moved, her mind working through the implications of what he'd just revealed. A hint of skepticism crept into her features. "And you're certain this is the only way? That interfering in this manner won't have unforeseen consequences?"
He took a deep breath, considering his words carefully. "I can't be certain of anything," he admitted. "The future I saw... It's already changing. But I believe this is our best chance to keep Odin strong and delay the coming of Ragnarok."
She stood up, pacing slowly across the room. Her fingers trailed along the back of the couch as she moved, her mind clearly working through the possibilities.
"Tell me more about this invasion you foresee," she said, turning back to face him. "You mentioned Loki leading it. What else can you share?"
He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "Loki will come through a portal created by the Tesseract," he explained. "He'll be working with a powerful being known as Thanos, though his true motivations are... complicated."
Recognition flickered across her features at the mention of Thanos. "The Mad Titan's involvement changes things significantly."
He nodded grimly. "Exactly. The invasion will be from an alien race called the Chitauri. They'll pour through a portal above the City, causing widespread destruction."
Thoughtfulness settled over her as she absorbed this information. "And you believe that by bringing Thor here yourself, we can still stop this invasion without weakening Odin?"
"That's the plan," he confirmed. "With Thor here and Odin at full strength, we stand a better chance of not only stopping the invasion but also preparing for the greater threats to come."
She took a slow sip, never looking away from his face as she considered his words. She set her glass down again, her fingers drumming lightly on the arm of her chair. "And what of the consequences?" she asked, taking on a sharper edge. "Have you considered how your intervention might change the course of events beyond what you've foreseen?"
Uncertainty flickered across his face. "I've considered it," he admitted. "But the alternative... letting Odin weaken himself, leaving Asgard vulnerable... it seems far more dangerous."
"More dangerous than Thanos leading the invasion himself?" She asked rhetorically.
The goddess stood once more, moving to the window. She gazed out at the city skyline, her reflection ghostly in the glass. "You speak of forestalling Ragnarok," she said, barely above a whisper. "But some would say it's inevitable. A necessary end and rebirth."
He rose, joining her at the window. "Maybe," he conceded. "But if we can delay it, give ourselves more time to prepare... isn't that worth the risk?"
She turned to face him, searching his face. "And what of your motivations?" she asked softly but intensely. "You speak of protecting Asgard, of delaying Ragnarok. But I can't help but wonder if there's more to it. Personal stakes, perhaps?"
His jaw tightened slightly, emotion passing across his face. "Of course, there are personal stakes," he admitted. "I've seen what's coming. I've seen the destruction, the loss. If I can prevent even a fraction of that..."
He trailed off, his gaze drifting back to the city beyond the window. She watched him closely, unreadable.
The sorceress turned back to him, her emerald gaze glinting in the city lights. "It seems that my sojourn on Earth will end after the Battle of New York," she said, carrying a note of finality. Surprise registered on his face. He hadn't expected her to be so forthright about her plans. She continued, "I wasn't lying when I said that I came to ensure you'd grow strong enough to protect this realm from the threats it will face. You've grown and proven yourself strong. The battle will decide if it's enough. And if not, I'll return to Asgard regardless. With the Tesseract, we'll be able to repair the Bifrost, and Earth will once again be under Asgard's protection."
While their relationship had been somewhat combative, a small part of him was comforted that she was always watching over him, even if she hadn't interfered. The thought of her leaving, of losing that constant presence, stirred something within him that he hadn't expected.
She caught his reaction. "You'll miss me?" she asked teasingly.
He schooled his features, trying not to give away his feelings. "Perhaps," he said, carefully neutral.
Her smile widened slightly, clearly enjoying his attempt at nonchalance. "If you've seen the future, when will we meet again? When will your path next cross with Asgard's?"
He mulled it over briefly, finally deciding on a simple answer that might give him an answer of his own. "The Convergence," he said.
She clicked her tongue. "Again, you know things you should not," she said.
"You know of it?" he asked, genuinely curious about the extent of her knowledge.
The goddess nodded, growing more serious. "The realms will begin alignment in around one and a half of Earth's years," she said.
He joined her at the window, both of them looking out over the New York skyline toward Stark Tower. The building stood tall and proud, unaware of the pivotal role it would play in the coming battle.
"I'll be spending the next several months preparing for the battle with Loki."
She turned to look at him, studying his face. "And I will watch, awaiting your call," she replied softly but intensely.
"Goddess of peeping." He joked, but grew more serious as a question formed on his lips. "Will you join the battle?"
Her lips curved into a mysterious smile. "Perhaps, perhaps not," she said teasingly. "Perhaps I would like to see a Prince of Asgard fight one who will be King, again. And see how much you've truly grown."
There was a challenge in her words, a test that he knew he would have to face. He felt a mix of anticipation and nervousness at the thought of proving himself to her, of showing just how far he'd come under her watchful eye.
"I know how much you like to watch," he said, raising his glass. "To the rematch," he said.
Her gaze sparkled as she raised her glass, clinking it gently against his. "To you winning my favor," she replied, her voice a mix of challenge and promise.
He took a sip of his wine, savoring the rich flavor as he considered all that lay ahead. The coming months will be a crucial time of preparation, and he'll be away with Shield, missing it.
"I'd ask about your preparations, but I've seen you've done your best to protect your subjects, and I'll observe their ability to complete your mandates over the next few months. Instead, why don't you tell me about your mistress? The other spider, Jessica."
He couldn't help but laugh, shaking his head in amusement. "With the mistress talk again? You make me think that by saying I'm winning your favor, you mean your hand. Because I know you already think fondly of me." She didn't answer verbally, but her response was clear in the look she gave him. "I thought you'd ask about Calypso, instead of Jessica," he finally said.
Her gaze lit with interest as she took another sip of wine. "Ah, the priestess." She settled more comfortably in her chair, the silk of her dress shifting. "I was intrigued when my scrying of you was interrupted those months ago. I nearly teleported to your location, but restrained myself. You must have faced a powerful caster to have blocked my sight. But you emerged unscathed." Her fingers traced the rim of her wine glass. "I observed the ritual you performed together."
He raised an eyebrow, wondering exactly how much she had seen of his intimate moments.
"I will say I was a little..." She paused, searching for the right word. "What's the human term... miffed? Such colorful words you come up with." She waved her hand dismissively. "But she has proven her worth."
"No, I find the spider more interesting," she said.
"Alright." He took a sip of his wine, gathering his thoughts before beginning to tell her about Jessica Drew.
"Jessica," he started, taking on a softer tone, "Like me, she's a clone. But unlike me, she's a female clone of Peter Parker. She's been through a lot, trying to figure out her place in the world. It's not easy, knowing you're a copy of someone else, trying to forge your own identity."
His gaze drifted to the city lights beyond the window, thoughtful. "Jessica's strong, both physically and mentally. She's had to be, given everything she's been through. But there's a vulnerability there too, a need for connection and belonging that she tries to hide."
The goddess listened intently, never looking away from his face as he spoke. There was a hint of something in her demeanor, perhaps curiosity, perhaps something more.
He grew softer as he continued, "And she's brave. So brave. Despite everything she's been through and all the reasons she has to be bitter or angry, she chooses to be a hero. To use her powers to help others, to make a difference." He paused, growing more serious.
She remained unreadable as she listened, but there was an intensity in her gaze that suggested she was absorbing every word.
"It's not always easy," he admitted. He looked down at his wine glass, swirling the liquid absently. "I care about her more than I expected to, if I'm being honest." His voice trailed off, "I know it might be foolish, but Jessica... she makes me want to be better. To be the hero she believes I can be."
The Enchantress responded to his confession. "I don't think it's foolish," she said, carrying a hint of warmth that surprised him. "I've seen how much of a role model you are for so many here. But even you need someone whom you can look to as a moral compass."
"However, I caution," she continued. "While your feelings for her seem genuine, I believe there is more than simple attraction and admiration at play."
He looked at her quizzically. He waited for her to elaborate, curiosity and a hint of concern mingling in his features. But she did not, instead turning her attention back to her wine glass, taking a slow, deliberate sip.
He tried to decipher the meaning behind her cryptic warning. What did she see that he didn't?
He watched her, studying her face for any clue, any hint of what she might be thinking. But she remained inscrutable, revealing nothing as she continued to sip her wine. He felt a familiar mix of frustration and fascination. Part of him wanted to press her, to demand answers. But he knew from experience that such tactics rarely worked with the Enchantress.
Instead, he found himself reflecting on his relationship with Jessica. Was there more to it than he realized? Some deeper connection or hidden complication that she could see but he couldn't? The possibility both intrigued and unsettled him.
As the silence stretched on, he found his gaze drifting back to the city skyline. He thought about the coming battle, about Loki and the Chitauri invasion. And he wondered how his feelings for Jessica might complicate things, or perhaps give him strength in the face of the challenges ahead.
When he finally spoke again, his voice was soft but determined. "Whatever's at play," he said, "whatever complications might arise, I can't deny that she makes me want to be better, to live up to the potential she sees in me."
She turned back to him, her demeanor softening slightly. "And that," she said, carrying a hint of approval, "is precisely why I don't think it's foolish. You will need mistresses who support you."
For once, he didn't roll his eyes.
Her lips moved in a barely perceptible whisper, but he caught every word with his enhanced hearing.
"So many spiders... I can't tell which one was in the vision."
He set his wine glass down, suddenly alert. "What are you talking about?"
She paused on the stem of her glass. "You aren't the only one gifted with foresight. Though visions come to me rarely, I've been watching your life so long, it was only natural I saw something I should not have."
The casual admission sent a chill through him. The thought of her glimpsing fragments of a future even he hadn't seen unsettled him deeply. "What did you see?" he asked uncertainly.
Her emerald gaze took on a distant quality, as if looking beyond the walls of her penthouse to something far away in time and space. "A being of immense magical power, defeated by the child of a spider."
"A being of immense magical power, defeated by the child of a spider," he mumbled, repeating her words as he processed their meaning. His mind raced through possibilities. "What being? Are you talking about Jessica? Is that why you asked about her? Or do you mean Peter?"
She shook her head. "I do not know. Few have visions of the future as suspiciously clear as yours."
He fell silent, considering. A child of a spider could mean many things. Jessica, Peter, perhaps even Gwen. And what magical being would they face? There were several possibilities, and each was troubling. She seemed overly focused on Jessica and their growing connection, and he thought that if the Asgardian sorceress was asking, then she suspected this cryptic prophecy somehow involved Jess. The uncertainty gnawed at him, adding another layer of complexity to an already complicated situation.
She seemed to sense his discomfort. She leaned forward, softening slightly. "Worry not, that is in the far future. Prophecy is not a near thing."
He nodded, though the reassurance did little to ease his mind. He took another sip of wine, letting the rich flavor ground him in the present moment. Whatever this vision meant, he couldn't let it distract him from the more immediate concerns.
"We recently performed a ritual," he began, "To restore a pair of bodies. One I transferred a spirit from inside me, into it. The other... I'm preparing for Jubilee's spirit." He continued, tinged with a hint of uncertainty. "I intend to try to speak with Jubilee. I just wanted to let you know because you're Asgardian, and you believe that she's in Valhalla."
She considered for a moment, frowning slightly. "I'm not sure how the different magics will interact," she admitted thoughtfully. "I observed your ritual earlier, and it relies heavily on borrowed power. I'm not certain how those entities will interact with the Asgardian magic surrounding Valhalla."
He nodded, understanding the gravity of her words. "I understand. That's part of the reason I sought you out, but I want to try regardless."
"I'll assist you," she said, rising gracefully from her seat.
— Rogue Redemption —
Nexus lay across Tyson's lap. His fingers traced the intricate markings etched into the blade; symbols he had not truly contemplated since the day of its creation.
Gateway.
Love.
Home.
The words echoed in his mind as his allies filtered into the room.
Amora arrived first. Agatha followed, along with Calypso. Maki hovered near the door, arms crossed. She had insisted on being present despite his assurances that he would be fine. "Someone needs to watch your back while you mess with forces beyond your control," she had told him flatly. "Besides, we have a flight to catch. I'll not have you being late."
The assembled group maintained a respectful silence. They sensed that what he planned to attempt carried weight. None wished to disturb his concentration as he stared at the weapon.
Yet his thoughts were not on the upcoming ritual. Not yet. His mind was fixed on the sword itself, Nexus, and the small marking just visible on its surface. Home. Illyana had shown him these symbols when he had been forging the weapon, but he had never truly considered their significance until now.
Gateway. Love. Home.
Specific. Purposeful.
He rose to his feet, the sword balanced in his palm, and focused his attention on the symbols. Gateway. Love. Home. The words became a mantra in his mind, a key turning in a lock.
Between one heartbeat and the next, Tyson vanished.
He found himself standing in a familiar space, the home he had created within Limbo for himself and Illyana. Metal walls surrounded him. His bewilderment lasted only moments before a flash of light announced another presence. Illyana Rasputin materialized before him, Soulsword raised defensively, ready for battle. When she noticed him, recognition bloomed across her features, followed by disbelief and then joy.
"Tyson?" She nearly shouted in surprise.
Rushing forward and lowering her weapon, she flung herself into his arms. The scent of brimstone, smoke, and lilac enveloped him as she pressed against his chest.
"How are you here?"
"The sword," he replied, still processing what had happened. "The symbols. Did you know?"
She laughed, the sound filled with genuine delight. "I only hoped." Pulling back, her demeanor grew serious. "What is happening? Why come now? Are you in trouble?"
He shook his head. "It's time, Lyana. I am going to try to summon Jubilee's spirit."
She stepped back, uncertainty crossing her face. "And you sought me out for help?"
"No," he said softly. "I sought you because I thought you would want to be there."
Tears welled in her eyes, and she nodded. "Okay."
"Now," he said, glancing around the stone room, "I just need to figure out how to get us back."
He reached for her, pulling her close again, and concentrated on the VIP lounge, on the faces of those waiting for him. He focused on returning to the exact spot he had left.
In the lounge, he reappeared in the same position he had vacated, now with Illyana Rasputin in his arms.
Maki gasped, her hand dropping to her side where she kept a concealed weapon. "You summoned her?"
"Nope," he replied with a casual shrug that belied the significance of what had just occurred. "Went and picked her up. I'm just the Uber driver."
Maki frowned. "You never left, Tyson. You were there, then she was in your arms."
Illyana stepped away from him. "Time works differently in Limbo." She swept the gathered individuals with an assessing look before returning to Tyson. "Enough standing around. Is Mirage putting on a show, or are we going to speak with my dead friend?"
He led the way out of the room and towards the tunnels beneath the House of M with Illyana close behind. Agatha walked at the back of the procession. She'd been suspicious of him, and her thoughts had been proven right. He had created a coven around himself, without even realizing it.
Covens were not merely gatherings of witches with similar interests. They were magical ecosystems where different types of practitioners complemented one another. Traditional covens consisted of thirteen members with specific roles: blood, protection, green, spirit, and potions witches, among others. Not every coven had the same composition, but the balance of powers remained consistent throughout magical history.
Maki, although not a witch, was close to what would be considered a blood witch. While wielding Muse, she had all the powers of a vampire. Blood magic was primal, visceral; it drew power from life's essence. She might not cast spells or brew potions, but her connection to blood magic was undeniable. And Agatha knew that weapon was capable of far more; Maki and Tyson just hadn't realized it yet. But it was only a matter of time.
Calypso was a voodoo priestess, which was just a different type of potion witch. Her magic centered around transformation, alteration, and the manipulation of natural and spiritual elements into something greater than their parts. The woman's work was complex, nuanced, and powerful. She understood the delicate balance between ingredients, timing, and intent that made potion-craft challenging.
That left Protection, Green, and Spirit witch roles unfilled in the traditional sense. The question was, who was what? Illyana, the one who just joined them, was a sorceress and demon-touched, if Agatha understood correctly. She believed the girl's connection to Limbo placed her firmly in the realm of protection magic. She guarded the boundaries between worlds. Her Soulsword was a manifestation of that protective instinct, a weapon forged specifically to defend against mystical threats.
Amora wasn't even human and practiced a magic that wasn't from Earth. Agatha had no idea what principles Asgardian sorcery operated on. The closest she could compare it to was terrestrial magical laws. Yet from his accountings, Amora's powers aligned closely with what might be called enchantment magic, a subset of spirit magic that focused on manipulation and control.
Then there was herself and him. She considered herself a spirit witch, but he also fit the criteria, with all the souls inside him. His ability to absorb powers and memories, to contain multitudes within his singular form, was a hallmark of spirit witchcraft. Spirit witches worked with the intangible, the ephemeral aspects of existence. They communed with the dead, manipulated thoughts, and understood the connections between all living things.
Then again, he might also be the green witch, given his healing ability, and that with Calypso's help, he had restored that girl to life and created the most potent healing potions she'd ever seen. Green witches were healers, nurturers who understood the cycles of life and death. They could coax plants to grow in barren soil, heal wounds that should have been fatal, and sometimes, rather rarely, return the recently deceased to life. His healing factor aligned perfectly with green magic.
The roles weren't set in stone, but magic tended to draw those together. That she was still at the House of M spoke volumes. Agatha had intended to stay only for the money, to observe and offer guidance. Yet after months, she found herself increasingly interested in his plans. Magic recognized patterns that conscious minds often missed. Covens formed naturally, drawn together by complementary energies and shared purpose.
And she didn't want to dwell on it.
Covens meant commitment, vulnerability, shared power, and shared risk. The thought of being bound to others, even loosely, unsettled her. Yet here she was, following him into the depths beneath House of M, preparing to assist in a ritual that would challenge the boundaries between life and death.
Still, she couldn't help but be concerned about what he intended to do. Summoning spirits was dangerous enough when done properly. Attempting to communicate with someone in Valhalla, a realm beyond Earthly magic's reach, bordered on hubris. Yet grief made fools of even the wisest souls.
Finally, they reached the room where they had created the consecrated ground and buried Vertigo's body. He pushed open the heavy door.
As they entered the room, the scent of damp earth assaulted their senses.
He approached Calypso and held out his hand, palm up. She placed her hand in his without hesitation. Their hands clasped, and he closed his thoughts, concentrating. The familiar pull of his power activated, drawing Calypso's knowledge and mystical energy into himself. Minutes ticked by as he absorbed, careful not to drain her life force or weaken or harm her.
Finally releasing her hand, he breathed, "Thank you."
Calypso immediately set to work, lighting candles and arranging various items around the grave where Vertigo's body lay. He joined her in the preparations, drawing on her knowledge to arrange the components. He mixed herbs in a small stone bowl, crushing them with a pestle as he chanted softly in Creole. The air in the room grew thick with the scent of sage.
In the center of the room lay a stone slab. Following her instructions, he exhumed Vertigo's body and placed it to rest on top.
Calypso stepped forward, scanning the room. "We've laid the groundwork," she explained, gesturing to the intricate symbols drawn into the ground around the stone slab. With the preparatory steps complete, she began the ritual in earnest. She drew a veve, an intricate symbol, on the ground with cornmeal, its swirling patterns representing the loa they would call upon. Candles were placed at strategic points, their flames dancing in the still air.
Her voice rose in a melodic chant, words of Creole and Yoruba intertwining in the air. She called upon Baron Samedi, the loa of death and resurrection, beseeching him to guide their endeavor.
"Papa Samedi, nous vous appelons," she intoned, her voice resonating with power. "Guide us in this transition. Protect the souls in our care."
She sprinkled rum around the circle, the sharp scent cutting through the heavy air. Tyson felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as an unseen energy began to build in the room.
Her movements became more animated, her body swaying to an unheard rhythm. She shook a sacred rattle, its sound like dry bones rattling in the wind. The candles flickered wildly, casting grotesque shadows on the walls.
"Jubilation," she called out, rolling back her head. "Hear our call. The time has come for you to claim your new vessel."
She reached for a knife on the altar. With a swift motion, she pricked her own finger, letting a drop of blood fall onto the veve. The cornmeal symbol seemed to pulse with life.
"By blood and bone, by flesh and spirit, we command the transition," she chanted. She turned to him, holding out the knife. "Your blood now, to seal the pact."
As the final step approached, he produced a small knife. With a swift motion, he cut his palm, allowing his blood to drip into the center of the circle. The golden lines seemed to pulse with energy as his blood touched them. Then he let the blood fall, watching as it mixed with hers on the veve.
The air in the room grew heavy, charged with mystical energy. He could feel it pressing against his skin, making it difficult to breathe. Her chants grew louder, more insistent. She called upon Baron Samedi again, begging him to open the gates between life and death. The ground beneath their feet began to tremble.
Suddenly, a ghostly figure materialized in the center of the circle. Tall and skeletal, dressed in a top hat and tails, it could only be Baron Samedi himself. His empty eye sockets seemed to stare right through them.
Baron Samedi turned his hollow gaze upon Tyson, a skeletal grin spreading across his face. "Ah, the one who walks between. To see you again so soon. Your power intrigues me, boy."
"I seek to commune with a spirit in Valhalla," Tyson intoned. "Guide me to Jubilation Lee."
The candles flickered wildly, and a chill wind swept through the room despite the lack of windows. A deep, gravelly voice filled the air, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.
"We hear your call, mortal," the Baron rumbled. "But we cannot reach into the realm you seek. The barriers between worlds are not so easily breached."
He concentrated harder. "I have the power," he insisted.
The Baron chuckled, a sound like stones grinding together. "Power is not de problem. We cannot communicate with spirits in dat realm without one of dat realm to guide us."
Amora stepped forward. "He is of Asgard," she stated adamantly.
There was a moment of silence, and then the Baron spoke again, his tone shifting with curiosity. "De blood is too thin," he declared. "Too many generations removed."
Recognition dawned. He knew he had no real Asgardian blood; it must be the trace amounts from when he'd absorbed Thor, Amora, and Sif previously. He pulled out the vial of Amora's blood, still in his pocket.
Without hesitation, he uncorked it. "This is the blood of an Asgardian sorceress, offered freely with the purpose of saving the life of the one we're seeking."
The air in the room seemed to thicken, the unseen presence considering. "Add it to your offering," the Baron rumbled.
Tyson carefully poured her blood into the circle, watching as it mixed with his own. The golden lines flared brightly, and the room filled with humming energy.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then, like a veil being lifted, the air before him shimmered and parted. And there, standing before him, was the semi-spectral form of Jubilee.
She looked just as he remembered her, vibrant and full of life. Short, black hair framed her face, and her demeanor sparkled with familiar mischief. Instead of her signature yellow jacket, she wore golden-lined armor.
"Jubes," he breathed.
"Hey there, Ty," she smiled, the sight of it making his heart ache. "Took you long enough to call. Just like when you transferred to Midtown. Got caught up in shenanigans that tied you up?"
He reached out instinctively, but his hand passed through her form, and he pulled back. "I'm sorry," he said, thick with unshed tears. "I'm so sorry I couldn't save you."
Her demeanor softened. "Oh, Tyson. Always trying to be the hero," she said gently. "You did save me. Remember how I froze up that first time on the train? You encouraged me. You gave me the strength to fight and the training to face my end with courage. And now..." She gestured to her surroundings, which he couldn't see. "Now I'm in a place beyond imagination. Valhalla is like being in a perpetual Action RPG. Not terrible as far as afterlives go."
He turned to look at Amora, who stood watching the exchange with an unreadable demeanor. When he turned back, Jubilee was still there, her form flickering slightly at the edges.
"I miss you," he said, raw with emotion. "Every day."
"I know," she said. "But when I ended up here, I knew this would happen. I knew you wouldn't let me go." Her smile was tinged with sadness. "And just like before I turned, you'd do everything to try to save me. And I still love you for that. But you can't hold onto me forever, Ty. You told me what's coming. The world needs you. You have to live your life. That's what I want for you."
He nodded, unable to speak past the lump in his throat. He had so many things he wanted to say, and so many questions to ask.
Illyana stepped forward, shimmering with unshed tears. She reached toward the spectral form of her friend, fingers trembling as they passed through the golden shimmer.
"I miss you, Jubie," she said. "I love you."
Her translucent face softened, her familiar smile brightening the somber room. "I love you, too, Ily. So much." She glanced around at the stone walls of the ritual chamber, then back to her friend. "Glad to see you're still around. I'd ask you to take care of him, but I know that's impossible." She shifted her gaze to him, mischief dancing despite the solemnity of the moment. "So, Ty, you better take good care of her."
She looked around the room, taking in the assembled group. Calypso, Amora, and Agatha watched with interest, and Maki stood protectively near him.
"And all these other women, too. Agatha, still looking fab. Hey Maki, still kicking everyone's ass every morning?" she added with a laugh. "Did you rescue Felicia? How's Jean?"
At the mention of Jean, Tyson's expression changed. His shoulders tensed, and he simply stared at the spectral form of his friend, unable to form words. Something in his eyes reflected a mixture of confusion and loss.
Illyana stepped forward, filling the uncomfortable silence. "Felicia is fine," she said. "She was unharmed..." She hesitated before adding, "Jean..."
Amora moved closer to the circle. "Jean Grey broke ties with Tyson after your death. She compelled him to forget about her, for his own good." Her eyes flicked toward Tyson. "Still, he's unable to overcome it."
Illyana rounded on Amora, her posture suddenly defensive. "Why didn't you tell him?" The accusation hung in the air between them.
Amora pointed at Tyson with a graceful gesture. "He is still under her command."
Illyana cursed in Russian. "Can you break it?" she demanded, looking between Amora and Agatha.
Jubilee interrupted, "If Red didn't want him to go after her, there must have been a good reason." Her voice softened as she addressed her friends. "Give her a chance, and if she doesn't show up soon, can you check on her?"
"Of course," Illyana and Amora answered simultaneously.
Illyana turned toward Amora, eyeing the Asgardian sorceress skeptically, clearly uncertain.
Jubilee's face broke into a familiar grin as she noticed the tension. "Uh, thanks, new girl," she said to Amora. "Man, I bite it and it's just like back at the institute. Tyson surrounded by girls."
Illyana sniffled, wiping at her cheeks with the back of her hand. "He really is a slut."
The unexpected comment broke the tension, drawing surprised laughter from several in the room. Even Baron Samedi's skeletal form seemed to shake with silent amusement.
Tyson snapped back into the conversation and frowned, crossing his arms. "This isn't the time to joke," he said, tight with barely controlled emotion. "You're acting like this is it. Like we'll never speak again."
The light surrounding Jubilee flickered, her form becoming momentarily less distinct before solidifying again. She reached out, her hand hovering near his cheek without touching. Baron Samedi shifted, and the candles around the ritual circle guttered as if caught in a sudden breeze. "Our time grows short," the loa intoned. "The barriers between realms must be maintained."
The words tumbled out before Tyson could stop them. "I can bring you back."
Her spectral form flickered slightly. "Bring me back? Ty, what are you talking about?" A mix of emotions played across her face. "I don't think that's how it works. I'm not just... stored somewhere. I'm in Valhalla," she said softly, her form flickering again, more pronounced this time. Her voice was tinged with sadness and a hint of frustration, "I'm glad I got to see you again, but you can't keep doing this. You can't change what's happened. You can't keep trying to save everyone."
His shoulders slumped, the weight of his grief pressing down on him. "I just... I miss you so much, Jubes. I feel like I failed you."
Her demeanor softened. "You didn't fail me, Tyson. You gave me the strength to face my end with courage. Now, I'm a warrior. Forever. That's more than I could have asked for."
The Baron spoke again, more insistent this time. "De connection weakens. We cannot maintain dis bridge much longer."
Her form began to fade, growing fainter. "But I know you. You're not going to stop trying. You can live, Tyson. That's what you can do. Promise me. Don't try to bring me back if it's going to kill you in the process."
He reached out, his hand passing through her fading form. "I promise," he whispered, choked with emotion.
Her form began to fade further. "Remember me," she said, growing distant. "But don't let my memory hold you back. Live, Tyson. Live for both of us. And I'll see you at the end. I love you."
And then she was gone, leaving him kneeling in the circle. The candles flickered and went out, plunging the room into darkness.
He felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up to see Amora standing beside him, a mix of sympathy and concern in her bearing.
"The dead are meant to rest, Tyson," she said softly. "Even in Valhalla. Attempting to bring them back... it won't end well."
He nodded, unable to speak past the lump in his throat. He knew she was right, knew that Jubilee was right. But the pain of loss still burned within him, a constant ache that he couldn't seem to shake.
The room fell silent, the energy of the ritual dissipating. He remained kneeling in the circle, his mind racing with thoughts of what he'd seen, what he'd said. The possibility of bringing Jubilee back still lingered in his mind, despite the warnings. He knew it was dangerous, but a part of him couldn't let go of the idea, couldn't accept that she was truly beyond his reach.
He nodded sharply to Calypso. She fell to her knees, offering up a bottle of rum to the loa. "Great Baron, we seek your aid in this transition of souls."
The Baron took the bottle, tipping it back in a gesture of drinking. When he spoke, his voice was like gravel scraping against bone. "De price for such a thing is high. Are ya prepared to pay it?"
Illyana asked, "Tyson, what are you doing?"
He ignored her, replying to the spirit, "We are."
"Very well, let us proceed."
The loa raised his bony hands, and Vertigo's body began to shift and move. Slowly, her form rose from the slab, hovering in the air before them. Despite the days underground, her body showed no signs of decay and looked as vibrant as it had when he had seen her living.
Baron Samedi's smile quickly faded. "Somethin' holds the spirit back. De soul is bein' stopped. Dis not de barrier." He turned his skeletal gaze on Tyson. "De cost is too high. If we continue, she'll come."
With those cryptic words, the loa looked to the side sharply. Fear crossed his face, if such a thing were possible. Quickly, he vanished, leaving behind only the faint scent of rum and graveyard dirt.
He looked between Calypso and Agatha and asked, "What just happened?"
The air in the room grew thick and heavy, as if all the oxygen had been suddenly sucked out. Shadows deepened in the corners, stretching and writhing like living things. A chill crept up Tyson's spine, and he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. From the darkest corner of the room, a figure began to materialize. At first, it was nothing more than a wisp of darkness, a suggestion of form. But as it solidified, his breath caught in his throat.
Her skin was pale as the full moon. A black dress clung to her form. The hem whispered against the floor as she moved, the sound like the last breath of the dying. But it was her gaze that truly captivated and terrified. They were entirely black, from lid to lid, with no white visible. They were like twin voids, threatening to pull in anyone who dared to look too long. He found himself unable to look away, feeling as if he were teetering on the edge of an abyss.
When she spoke, her words were like silk sliding over a blade.
"You try to bring back the dead," she said, her words filling the room despite their soft delivery. "You must deal with me."
Tyson swallowed hard, finding his voice. "We meant no disrespect. We only sought to right a wrong."
Her laugh was like breaking glass. "Disrespect? Oh, child. You do not understand the forces you meddle with." She glided closer, her movements so smooth it seemed as if her feet never touched the ground. "Life and death are not playthings for mortals to manipulate at will."
Calypso stepped forward, her earlier confidence now tempered with caution. "Great Lady, we called upon Baron Samedi. We followed the proper rituals."
Her gaze snapped to Calypso, and the voodoo priestess visibly flinched. "Baron Samedi serves me, as do all aspects of death. Did you think you could circumvent my authority so easily?"
She turned back to Tyson, reaching out a pale hand to trace the air near his cheek. He felt a chill where her fingers almost touched, as if the very essence of life was being drawn from him. "You, with your life-draining touch. You, who walks the line between life and death. Did you think you were beyond my reach?"
He stood his ground, though every instinct screamed at him to run. "No, Lady," he said, referring to her as Calypso did. He really hoped this wasn't who it seemed to be. "I know well the power of death. I've seen it, felt it, caused it. But I also know the value of life, of second chances."
"Second chances," she mused. "And who are you to decide who deserves such a thing? Who lives, who dies, who returns?" She gestured to Vertigo's body, still suspended in the air. "This one's time had come. As did the one you're seeking. By what right do you seek to undo that?"
He looked to Calypso, but she was bowed in supplication. So he looked to Agatha, who was staring at the woman with anger, sadness, and regret.
He was confused.
Agatha finally spoke. "Death."
The pale woman turned her attention to Agatha, a flicker of recognition passing across her face. "Agatha Harkness. It has been some time."
"Not long enough, I'd say. Tell me, do you still remember the taste of my son's soul?"
His perception widened at this revelation. He had known Agatha was old and powerful, but this... Why did she know… Lady Death?
Death's features shifted slightly, becoming more human. Now she looked less like a cosmic entity and more flesh and blood, like she could blend in with the mortals surrounding her. But she looked familiar, too familiar. He recognized her as one of the actresses in that Scott Pilgrim movie. What the hell is going on?
"I remember every soul, witch."
Agatha's hands clenched at her sides, sparks of purple energy crackling between her fingers. "I gave you coven after coven. I slaughtered my own kind to appease you. And still, you took him."
"You overestimate your worth, Agatha. Your sacrifices bought you time, but that was all. I was generous with how long I waited to reap him."
He watched as Agatha's face contorted with a mixture of grief and rage. Tyson had never seen the usually composed witch so affected.
"Generous?" Agatha spat. "I tore apart my own community. I bathed in the blood of my sisters. And you dare call a few years generous?"
Death glided closer to Agatha. "You sought to cheat me, to manipulate the natural order. And you're still so blinded by your loss that you can't even see that I helped you. I gave you so much more time than you should have had with him. And now I'm the bad guy?"
Agatha dropped low, dangerously. "I believed in the power of sacrifice. I believed in the rules of magic, the balance of give and take. Lives for a life. But you... You taught me the cruelty of hope."
He felt the air grow heavy with tension. Tyson wanted to step in, to say something, but what could he say? He hardly understood what was going on.
Death reached out, pale fingers hovering just above Agatha's cheek. "Hope is the cruelest gift of all, isn't it? It makes you believe you can change what is immutable, that you can bargain with the inevitable."
Agatha didn't flinch from Death's touch. "And yet, here we are again. Another attempt to bargain, to change fate."
"Indeed," Death mused, turning her gaze back to him and the suspended body of Vertigo. "History repeats itself. Mortals never learn."
Agatha stepped between Death and Tyson, her stance protective. "Perhaps not. We adapt. We find new ways to challenge even you."
Death's laugh echoed through the chamber. "Challenge me? Oh, Agatha. Your arrogance hasn't dimmed with age."
"It's not arrogance," Agatha retorted. "It's experience. I've lived long enough to see the impossible become possible. I've witnessed the laws of nature bend to the will of those stubborn enough to try."
He found his voice at last. "Is that why you're here, Agatha? To try again?"
Agatha turned to him, her demeanor softening slightly. "I'm here because I understand the pain that drives you, Tyson. The desperate need to right a wrong, to bring back what was lost. But I'm also here to prevent you from making the same mistakes I did."
Death watched this exchange with cold amusement. "How touching. The blind leading the blind."
Agatha whirled back to face Death. "We may be blind, but we're not powerless. You of all beings should know the strength of human will, of love, of desperation."
Death's demeanor hardened. "And it's love that leads to the greatest suffering. You should know that better than most."
Agatha flinched as if struck, but she held her ground. "Yes, I do know. But I also know that it's worth the risk. Every time."
Tyson stepped forward, emboldened by her words. "We're not trying to cheat you or upset the balance. But to give a soul a second chance at love, at life."
"What makes this soul more worthy than the countless others I claim each day? Because you liked it?"
Agatha placed a hand on his shoulder, a gesture of support and warning. "Be careful what you say, Tyson. The path you're treading is dangerous."
Death observed them both, her demeanor unreadable. "You speak of danger, Agatha, and yet you stand here, aiding in this foolish endeavor. Have you learned nothing from your past?"
He observed the tense exchange between Agatha and Death, and he realized with a sinking feeling that this conversation was spiraling in a dangerous direction. He was in the presence of a cosmic being. The last thing he wanted was to incur her wrath.
Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward, drawing the attention of both women. With deliberate slowness, he bowed deeply, his body bent at the waist in a show of utmost respect. When he straightened, he kept his gaze lowered, not daring to meet Death's stare directly.
"Lady Death," he began, steady despite the fear coursing through him, "I apologize for any affront this ritual may have caused. As you said, I'm but a child in the grand scheme of things. I knew not what forces I was invoking or the gravity of my actions." He paused, gathering his courage before continuing. "But if I might be so bold, is there an exchange or cost that could be paid to recover Jubilee's soul?"
The room fell into an oppressive silence. He could feel the weight of Death's gaze upon him and held his breath, waiting for her response.
When Death spoke, her voice was as cold and final as the grave. "Yes."
The single word echoed through the chamber, causing his heart to rise, but he forced himself to remain composed as he awaited her terms.
"You may exchange your life for hers."
Her demand drained all hope from the air. Agatha, incensed, asked, "Why him? What makes him so special? I gave you dozens for a few paltry years. Yet he alone is with a life for a life."
Death pointed at Tyson and snapped, "Because his name is not in my book. Do you understand what that means? Precious few have had their name struck from my list. You cannot comprehend how rare such a thing is."
"I understand," Tyson said, head still bowed respectfully. "I must reject your offer. Thank you for being so patient with us, Lady Death, and for parlaying with me."
Death's eyes narrowed, her gaze piercing through him. "Do you truly understand, child? Or do you merely say what you think I wish to hear?"
He swallowed hard, feeling as if he were balancing on the edge of a knife. "I... I'm trying to understand. I know my knowledge is limited, and my perspective is narrow."
"You seek understanding, child? Then listen well, for I shall grant you a glimpse into the cosmic order you so carelessly sought to disrupt."
She glided closer, her presence causing the shadows in the room to writhe and dance. "Life and death are not mere concepts but fundamental forces that maintain the balance of existence itself. Every soul that passes through my realm is a thread in the grand tapestry of the universe. To pluck even one thread risks unraveling the entire design."
Death's gaze swept over Vertigo's suspended body. "You see only the immediate loss, the pain of separation. But death is not an end. It is a transition. It is the catalyst for change, for growth, for the very evolution of your species and your world. Imagine a world where death held no sway. Where the old never made way for the new. Where ideas stagnated, where resources dwindled, where the very spark of innovation that defines humanity was snuffed out by the weight of immortality. I am not cruel, Tyson Smith. I am necessary. Without me, life itself would lose all meaning. It is the finite nature of existence that gives it value. It is the threat of ending that drives you to create, to love, to strive for greatness."
She gestured towards Agatha. "Ask her. She who has lived far beyond her natural span. Ask her the cost of cheating death, of watching the world change while struggling to change yourself."
Agatha's face was a mask of pain and understanding; tears glistened in her eyes, but she forced them back.
Death continued, softening slightly. "You speak of second chances, of righting wrongs. But every death, every loss, creates ripples that shape the future in ways you cannot possibly comprehend."
As Death's words hung in the air, he was struck by a memory that had been tugging at him. There was something hauntingly familiar about her, a nagging sensation at the back of his mind that he couldn't quite place.
Suddenly, recognition struck him, and before he could stop himself, words tumbled from his mouth.
"You were there!" he blurted out, accusing. "The night Jubilee died."
"I was," she admitted, carrying no hint of surprise or defensiveness.
He had been so consumed by grief that night that he hadn't fully processed the ethereal figure he'd glimpsed in the crowd. But now, faced with Death herself, the memory came rushing back with startling clarity.
"But... why?" he asked. "I mean, I understand why you were there for Jubilee, but..." He trailed off, unsure how to articulate his thoughts.
"You drew my attention," she stated simply as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"I drew your attention? But I'm not... I mean, I'm not important, am I? What could I have done then that was so important in the grand scheme of things? Why would I draw the attention of Death herself?"
A soft, chilling laugh escaped Death's lips. "Oh, child. You still understand so little." She glided closer to him, her presence causing the air around them to grow colder. "I am timeless. My existence is beyond your linear perception of reality. You have my attention now, so you had my attention then."
He struggled to grasp the concept. "So... I always will have had your attention?" he asked hesitantly, unsure if he wanted to hear the answer. "Then why isn't my name in your book?"
Death's smile widened, revealing teeth that seemed impossibly white. "Now you're beginning to understand."
She moved closer to him, within arm's length, her cold presence making him shiver. "The soul you seek to reclaim has already begun its journey. To tear it back now would be to disrupt its natural progression. And for what? Your selfish desire to assuage your guilt? To ease your pain? To seek out companionship and love when you're already surrounded by it?"
Her words took on a hint of something almost like compassion. "Your pain is noted, Tyson Smith. It is valid. But it does not give you the right to upend the cosmic order."
She turned, addressing the room at large. "I am not your enemy. I am not a force to be bargained with or cheated. I am as integral to existence as life itself. Without me, there would be no renewal, no rebirth, no chance for the universe to continually reinvent itself."
Death's form began to fade slightly, her edges blurring. Her words echoed through the chamber, growing fainter as she spoke. "Remember this, Tyson Smith. Death is not the end. And while loss is painful, it does not justify tearing apart the very fabric of existence. Or reality."
As Death's form continued to fade, her final words hung in the air, a mixture of warning and wisdom. "Cherish your finite existence. Embrace the urgency it brings. For it is in the face of death that life finds its true meaning."
"You have been warned," she intoned. "But you do not, will not stop. You speak with respect, but you scheme and try to circumvent me. And so you will face consequences." Death's final words hung in the air, heavy with portent.
"Goodbye, Agatha. You should have taught your student better."
The air in the room grew impossibly colder, a chill that seemed to seep into their very bones. He felt a weight settle on his chest as if an invisible hand was pressing down, making it difficult to breathe. Death's form began to dissipate, wisps of darkness curling away from her silhouette like smoke. As she faded, the shadows in the room seemed to come alive, writhing and twisting as if in agony. The candles flickered violently, their flames stretching impossibly tall before guttering out entirely, plunging the room into near-total darkness.