Evodil unsummoned the Crypt Blade without a word.
It vanished the moment he released it—swallowed by the air, as if the palace couldn't reject it fast enough. The white script along the blade faded into nothingness, gone like a forgotten thought.
The realm trembled.
The tear he'd made—still cracked in the air behind the shattered mirror—was already closing. Light folded inward, the rip sealing faster than before.
Evodil didn't wait.
"Noah!" he snapped. "Get your shit together—we've got one shot."
Noah didn't argue. He stepped over the broken mirror frame, tossed one last glance at the collapsing palace behind them, then sprinted forward. Evodil was already mid-run, coat trailing behind him, feet barely touching the floor.
They jumped.
White light engulfed them.
And then—
Black sky. Heat. Smoke.
The light was gone.
They hit the ground hard—dirt, not marble. Cracked concrete. Blood-slick stone and shattered metal. The smell hit instantly—burnt flesh, gunpowder, rot, ozone.
Evodil rose first, eyes scanning fast.
Noah staggered up beside him, breath sharp.
This wasn't where they left the battle.
Too many bodies. Too many scorched holes in the terrain. Fires still burned in places that used to be roads. Tank shells lay like split eggs. The air buzzed faintly from distant gunfire—but not close. Not anymore.
They weren't late.
They were after.
Noah slowly turned.
Evodil followed his gaze.
And there he was.
Standing alone in the middle of a cratered street—buildings reduced to splinters around him, ash falling like snow. A massive hammer rested in one hand, its head cracked and glowing like dying embers.
James.
Still.
Breathing heavy.
Eyes locked forward.
Waiting.
Noah stepped beside Evodil, brushing ash off his coat as he walked.
He kept his voice low. "Before you go charging in with another speech or shadow tantrum… maybe remember James isn't thinking straight right now."
Evodil tilted his head, still watching the man standing in the crater.
"He's not just the god of law," Noah continued. "He's the god of war. You see what this place looks like? Half of this damage wasn't from the army."
Evodil didn't answer.
Noah stepped closer. "I'm saying he probably committed at least three international war crimes just this morning."
That finally earned a reaction—Evodil shrugged.
"I just tore a hole through god damn reality, Noah," he muttered. "I will fight him, narrate the whole thing, and make tea in the middle of it if I feel like it."
Noah stared, deadpan. "And this is why no one likes us."
Evodil stepped forward.
Toward James.
One step.
Two.
And James moved.
No warning. No words. He shifted like a storm, hammer already mid-swing, dragging air and ash with it as it carved toward Evodil's face.
Evodil summoned the Crypt Blade in the same breath.
The impact lit up the street.
Steel met molten force—the warhammer clanged against the flat of the blade with enough power to send cracks spidering through the nearest wall.
Evodil dug his heels in, one eye narrowed, teeth clenched.
James didn't say a word.
Just pressed forward, the weight of a burning sun behind his grip.
Evodil held his ground, boots grinding against fractured pavement.
"James!" he shouted, voice straining. "Get a grip, alright?! I just got out of a realm full of glowing mirrors and self-replicating pillars—this is not the time!"
Another swing.
He blocked it, barely, Crypt Blade sparking against the edge of the warhammer as the impact sent a shockwave down the block.
"I said I'm sorry for trying to piss you off today! I was bored! You know how I get!"
Still nothing.
James didn't speak. His eyes weren't glowing, but they might as well have been—locked in a state that wasn't anger, wasn't rage, just focused devastation. One swing at a time. Nothing else existed.
Evodil braced for the next one.
But it never landed.
Because the third god on the field had finally, officially, hit his limit.
Noah stepped forward with his bow already summoned, notched with no arrow, walking like a man who'd been through a week's worth of disasters in one afternoon.
He'd fought an army.
Tracked down a missing god through ruins.
Fought another army.
Got dragged into a card-fueled realm.
Built a half-functioning teleportation device from broken wall chunks and divine minerals.
Watched Evodil slice open the air like it owed him money.
And now?
Now he was here.
With this.
So he did what anyone else in his position would do.
He walked up behind James and smacked him in the back of the head with the full weight of his bow.
The impact made a dull thunk—not enough to leave a mark. Not even close.
But James froze.
Noah stood there, eyes dead. "No. More."
The warhammer lowered an inch.
Evodil let out a long, ragged sigh and let his blade vanish.
James blinked.
He rubbed the back of his head slowly, eyes scanning the crater, the sky, then the two standing near him.
"…What the hell happened?" he asked.
Evodil collapsed backward onto the ground, arms spread.
"Long story."
They didn't speak for a while.
All three of them just sat there, surrounded by broken stone, burnt-out tanks, and the heavy stillness of a war that had no more sides left to fight.
Eventually, James sat down beside Noah. His warhammer rested across his legs, still humming faintly. Noah leaned back on his hands, head tilted toward the smoke-stained sky. Evodil remained sprawled on the ground, arms out like he was soaking in divine sunlight that didn't exist.
After a long explanation—one that included pocket dimensions, mirror machines, and Evodil getting launched by a floor tile—James just sat in silence.
Then he laughed.
Not a scoff. Not a smirk.
A real, honest, full-body laugh.
The sound cracked through the silence like gunfire.
Noah jerked upright, hand halfway to summoning his bow again.
Evodil scrambled to sit up. "Wait, wait, is he back in it? Did we loop him again?!"
James doubled over, still laughing. It wasn't manic. Just… free. Like something broke loose in his chest and finally remembered how to breathe.
He held up one hand. "Relax. I'm good."
Noah narrowed his eyes. "Define good."
James let out one last chuckle and wiped his face. "Not about to kill either of you. That's good enough."
Evodil leaned back down. "I'll take it."
For a while, there was only wind and distant embers crackling.
Then reality settled back in.
Their original plan—fighting off the army, making sure no one followed them back to Menystria, finding Jasper—came crashing down all at once.
Evodil sat up slowly. "Step two's done."
They looked around.
Corpses as far as the eye could see. Some burned, some crushed, some turned inside out by god-tier warfare.
There wouldn't be a follow-up unit.
No tracking signal.
No survivors.
But step one?
Jasper.
Still gone.
James' eyes narrowed, the humor in his face gone.
"They took him," he said. "Truck. Black. Armor-plated. Drove out of the city fast."
Noah stood slowly. "Direction?"
James pointed toward the ridge. "Southwest."
Evodil rose to his feet, brushing dirt off his coat. "Then I guess we're not done yet."
One by one, they stood.
Evodil was first, brushing ash from his coat as he summoned the Crypt Blade back into his hand. The blade hissed into shape, dark steel lined with faint white symbols still etched into the flat. He didn't lift it.
He dragged it.
The edge scraped across the ground like a stick across gravel, leaving a thin black line in the dust.
James reached for his warhammer and slung it over his shoulder, the heavy head—still radiating heat—resting against the muscle like it belonged there. He exhaled slowly, the tension in his stance melting into something colder, quieter.
Noah summoned his bow with a flick of his hand. The runes lit once, then faded as he slung it across his back and stepped forward, gaze focused ahead.
The three of them walked.
Slow. Measured. No fanfare.
Just three gods and the aftermath of everything they'd survived.
Evodil was the first to speak, voice low. "Been a long, long time since we fought like this."
He looked over at the others, eyes glinting faintly beneath the edge of his blindfold. "Maybe a hundred years? More?"
Noah didn't look back. "We've never fought like this."
Evodil raised an eyebrow.
"We've never been in a war," Noah clarified. "Not with humans. Not with anyone. Not like this."
James let out a breath, not quite a sigh. "He's right."
Evodil stayed quiet for a moment, dragging the blade behind him.
James adjusted the hammer on his shoulder. "...Still. Wouldn't be the worst thing to do it again."
Noah glanced over.
"If we're forced," James added.
Evodil grinned. "Sure. If we're forced."
They kept walking—toward the ridge, toward the trail left behind by a stolen truck and one missing apprentice.
Toward the last part of the plan.
They followed the trail in silence.
Wheels had carved a jagged path down the ruined road, weaving between charred husks of civilian cars and armored transports—some flipped, others melted into the pavement. Smoke still lingered in the craters between the wreckage.
Evodil glanced around at the destruction, kicking a tire rim out of his path.
"Let me guess—James' handiwork?"
James didn't answer.
Noah did. "Looks like your meditative slaughter technique."
James grunted. "You're both annoying."
The road twisted again. The trail of tire marks swerved hard to the left, then cut violently back toward the center. Uneven. Wobbly.
Evodil narrowed his eyes. "Someone was fighting the wheel."
"Or fighting the driver," Noah said.
The silence stretched again.
Evodil dragged Crypt Blade lazily across the ground, sighing. "Okay, but how much further are we gonna—"
"Shut it," James muttered.
Noah raised a hand. "Quiet."
They walked another mile.
Then they saw it.
A car. No—what was left of one. A black truck, its reinforced chassis now a crumpled skeleton of twisted steel and shattered glass. It had slammed head-first into a wall and flipped—resting upside down, half-embedded in stone, the entire front end caved in.
Smoke drifted from the engine block. Fresh.
Evodil stopped moving.
James did too.
Because next to the wreckage, the road told a different story.
There was blood.
But not splattered.
Vaporized.
A body—what was left of it—lay slumped against the curb. The skin burnt and sliced in layers, charred and flaking like overcooked meat. The torso was hollowed, blackened from the inside. The head…
Was gone.
Chunks of skull and grey matter were splattered against the wall like paint someone regretted throwing.
Noah looked away.
And next to all of it, motionless, sitting on the edge of the curb like the world had shut down—
Jasper.
Hands on his knees.
Eyes blank.
Katana on the ground beside him.
Unmoving.
James broke first.
He dropped his hammer and sprinted toward the curb.
"Jasper—hey—Jasper, are you okay?!"
The boy didn't answer.
James dropped to his knees in front of him, hands on Jasper's shoulders, shaking him gently. "Come on. Say something. Talk to me."
Still nothing.
Jasper just sat there, fingers slightly curled, palms resting on his knees. His eyes never moved. Not to James. Not to the body behind him. Not even to the blood soaking his shoes.
His face wasn't empty.
It was locked—stuck somewhere between dread and rage, his jaw clenched so tight his neck trembled.
Noah stayed behind, hands at his sides. He took a single step forward, then stopped.
Evodil stood beside him, silent, blade now vanished.
Neither of them spoke.
James kept trying.
He placed a hand on the side of Jasper's face, gently turning it, trying to get eye contact. "You're okay. You're okay. You're safe now, we're here—just say something, kid."
Nothing.
Not for a long time.
Time stretched.
Until finally—
Jasper blinked.
Just once.
Then slowly, his eyes lifted.
He looked at all three of them.
His voice cracked.
"…Can we go home now?"