The sky was painted in deep shades of orange as the sun dipped low, waiting for the moon to rise and claim the night.
The river drank in the warm glow, reflecting it like liquid fire across its rippling surface.
Meanwhile, the players worked relentlessly.
Their efforts finally paid off:
The soggy, trampled grass had been replaced with fresh blades gathered from the nearby forest.
The yard looked revitalized; the foul stench that once clung to the air had faded, replaced by the clean, earthy scent of new soil and greenery.
Inside the mansion, they continued sweeping out muck and debris, throwing remnants of chaos into the wilderness.
Slowly, the rooms began to breathe again—orderly, livable, almost peaceful.
Hours slipped by.
Night fell.
"Maybe next time we should search for a new home," Elijah groaned, sprawled across the floor.
"My hate for cleaning just grew," Thanos muttered, face still planted on the tiles.
"You guys actually did a great job, though," Varun said, admiring the now dust-free walls.
His clothes tattered.
A few things still needed repair, but for now, it was enough.
"Thanks for the compliment, blockhead," Catherine snapped.
"Excuse me—blockhead?!" Varun shot upright.
"Because you were playing with Milo instead of helping!" she yelled.
"I'm allergic to certain kinds of dust—this place DEFINITELY had it!" Varun fired back.
"And I wasn't playing!"
"Then tell me. Where were you?" Catherine asked, trying to steady her tone.
"Alright, guys, stop. Not the right time," Arjun muttered, drained.
How do they even have energy?
Lisha wondered.
I'm literally blacking out just from walking—
"Hey, Lisha. I wanna talk about something."
Mei's voice cut in—quiet but serious. She pulled a small diary from her pocket.
"Alright, time to put on an act." Lisha thought.
"What the hell? What is that?" Lisha asked, confused.
"It's a diary," Mei replied bluntly.
"I know that. I meant—what's this 'Project' written on it?"
"And also: now is not the time. Look at them—they're about to start a whole WW3 here."
Everyone rushed to stop the fight,
pulling Catherine back in case she went attack-mode,
and hiding Varun behind anyone available.
"Here they go again… what dust is he even talking about?" Elara sighed internally.
Not wanting to get dragged into another argument, she slipped quietly out the back door.
---
Elara stepped into the night as darkness finally claimed the world.
The sky was breathtaking—stars scattered like crushed diamonds, the moon glowing bright and deliberate, as if painted by hand.
A gentle drizzle brushed her skin, cool and calming, soothing parts of her she didn't even know needed healing.
Her gaze drifted to the freshly laid grass patch, and her expression softened.
"They really did great work with this," she whispered.
Her thoughts stirred.
I want to stay here forever…
I don't want to go back home.
Her head throbbed at the thought.
Home isn't what movies show you, huh?
"I want to be in a movie…" she muttered. "Damn it. I wish I had my phone for a while."
"Everything… feels nice," she breathed.
She sighed.
"Only if I had my phone."
Footsteps rustled through the grass.
Sora stepped out of the house, holding a handful of strange, misshapen fruits.
Their colors shifted faintly under the moonlight—somewhere between red and gold.
She stopped beside Elara and held one out.
"Here."
Elara blinked.
What… the hell is that supposed to be?
"Food, I think," Sora said, as if reading her mind.
"Well… is it good?" Elara asked cautiously.
"The fruit looks like an apple," Sora said, turning it in her hand.
"Milo gave it to me, especially."
"You didn't answer my question—"
Before Elara finished, Sora took a bite.
"…It tastes like an orange," she said flatly, offering it again.
"Here. Bite the other side."
"Ew—NO. You already bit it," Elara recoiled.
"It's not like I infected it!" Sora snapped. "Just bite the OTHER side!"
Elara groaned… but took a bite anyway.
"What the—?!"
She shouted:
"This tastes like PISS!"
Sora's soul left her body for a moment.
"GIRL WHAT?!"
"Nah, I'm joking," Elara said casually.
Sora let out a breath of pure relief—then froze.
"Elara…"
"Yeah?"
"I just realized something important."
"What?"
"We ALL never showered.
For one whole day."
They both stared into the distance.
"…We stink, don't we?"
Elara struggled,
"That is— uh…"
A rustle behind them caught Sora's attention.
Ava stepped out of a tree.
Not from behind it.
Not around it.
OUT of it.
From a door fused directly into the bark—as if the tree had grown around it for centuries.
The door shimmered in colors no human language could name—galactic hues rippling like living starlight.
It whispered softly, layered and harmonic, a sound that belonged to beings far beyond human comprehension.
Beautiful.
Unnatural.
Wrong.
Elara froze, breath stuck in her throat.
"Did you SERIOUSLY come out of THAT?" Elara asked.
"Ye, I did," Ava replied.
"Bro, you should come see what's inside! It's weird but amazing!"
"Why are you like this…" Sora muttered, rubbing her forehead.
"NO! What if we get trapped?!" Elara shouted, backing away.
"Why were you inside anyway?" Sora asked.
"Wellll—long story short?
I saw this outside.
It looked interesting.
So I went in!"
Ava shrugged.
"Simple."
"Oh my god, I can't," Sora sighed.
"Ava!"
Ivy stormed toward her.
"I've been looking for you everywhere!"
She grabbed Ava's hand.
"Come on, let's go."
Ava got dragged back into the mansion.
"Bye Ellie! Bye Sora!" she called.
Sora exhaled.
"I think we should go inside. The rain's getting heavier."
Elara nodded, and they went inside as the rain thickened into fog, blurring the view.
---
Alden stared out the window.
"You sure that's all of them?"
"Yes! Come on now, we've got more holes to patch up," Lucas answered.
"You do it, man. I'm not coming!"
"Idiot."
"Buffalo," Alden shot back.
Lucas ignored him and called upstairs,
"DAMIAN! You, me—upstairs!"
"Dude, I'm— whatever," Damian sighed, forcing himself up.
Both Lucas and Damian went up.
The water fell through the holes and cracks during the rain.
"We should have come early." Damian tried.
"You didn't come."
"Ughwaaa—"
"Quit crying and do your job." Lucas pushed Damian forward.
The work was simple.
Lucas formed materials from nothing—stone, sealant, bone-hard plates shaped by his blessing.
Damian followed behind, fixing every leak, every fracture, every place the mansion still bled.
Lucas's attention snagged on something near a door.
Dark. Heavy.
"…Why is there an axe on the door?" he murmured.
The words tasted wrong the moment they left his mouth.
The axe hung on the door.
It didn't belong there.
"This is— we should leave," Lucas added quietly.
"Dude, look at this."
Lucas turned.
Damian had pushed open a door.
A bathroom.
Clean.
Too clean.
"Oh. Wow," Lucas said slowly. "A clean bathroom."
"Guess you don't have to clean." he nodded.
Damian shot him a look. "Do I look like a flipping plumber to you?"
"No. Mario—"
"Get hit by a truck."
Lucas shoved him back toward the wall. "Alright, time to focus."
"I hate this job."
"You're welcome."
Damian patched the final crack.
"That's it right?— why was one in the ceiling anyway?"
Damian cried out.
"I think I need a doctor, Lucas."
"…Lucas?"
Lucas didn't answer.
He lifted a finger.
"Shhh."
Damian stiffened. "What?"
Something scraped.
Metal on tile.
The sound crawled across Lucas's nerves like an insect burrowing under skin.
THUD.
Lucas felt it in his feet this time.
"What on earth—"
"Who is in there?" Damian hissed.
Lucas edged towards the formidable, axe-adorned door.
The air near it felt… wrong. Thick. Damp.
"Did Damian say something?" Lucas thought.
"What?" he whispered.
Damian stared at him.
"BRO. HOW ARE YOU NOT HEARING ME? WE'RE LITERALLY TOUCHING SHOULDERS."
"…Oh."
Silence.
Then—
BANG.
The door shuddered as something slammed into it from the inside.
Lucas's heart lurched.
"I think it heard us," Damian whispered.
"All because of you, idiot."
Lucas didn't think. His body moved.
He grabbed Damian and yanked him into the next room just as something shifted on the other side of the wall.
Not footsteps.
Something heavier.
Wet.
Like mass being dragged across tile—hesitating, adjusting, learning how to move.
Lucas swallowed. His mouth had gone dry.
"What is that— ew," Damian whispered, clapping his hands over his ears. "That sound— it's disgusting."
Lucas pressed closer to the door despite himself.
"It's not a voice," he said. "It's— it's trying to be one."
Damian crossed himself.
Lucas grabbed his wrist hard. "Not yet, have some hope." he breathed. "Also shut up."
The sound changed.
Not louder.
Closer.
Like words being chewed before being spoken.
"LUCAS—"
Damian's voice cracked.
Lucas barely had time to react.
Something slid across the floor.
Thick.
Viscous.
Alive.
It oozed forward, stretching—then recoiling.
The floor hissed.
"It's…–melting the floor!—"
"There you are."
The voice came from everywhere at once—splintered, hateful, old.
The molten mass rose.
A man stepped out of it.
Untouched.
Not a single burn marked him.
Lucas staggered back, breath caught in his throat.
Damian scrambled for an exit that didn't exist.
The man's face was ruined—fire-scarred flesh carved into something barely human. His hood swallowed the rest of him, shadows clinging where a body should have been.
"You must be the one," the man said, voice reverberating through the walls,
"who killed my comrades in the Maniahover."
He took a step.
The floor liquefied beneath his feet.
"Lucas…?" Damian whispered. "What is he talking about?"
Lucas didn't answer.
Stone surged around his fists—the Gloves of Rock forming with a low, angry rumble.
Lucas's instincts screamed.
Whatever this thing was, it wasn't human—and it wasn't here to talk.
"Oh?" The man tilted his head, a grin splitting through the shadows. "You want to fight?"
Lava curled around his hands, glowing white-hot, warping the air itself.
"Lucas, no!" Damian lunged—
Lucas shoved him aside.
"Yes," Lucas said.
The man laughed.
Molten fire vanished into darkness around his body, the air turning cold and heavy.
"LUCAS!"
The lava erupted.
The impact hurled Lucas through the wall in a thunderous crash.
The stone shattered.
Surveying the devastation, Damian's insides churned
"He is not going to make it…"
"Ugh… that hurts…"
Smoke around the gloves.
The hooded man stepped effortlessly through the breach, laughter echoing.
"Good," he said. "Now we have space."
The grass beneath him turned into ash.
Damian froze. The floor beneath them hissed and bubbled, half-devoured by molten heat.
The fog made the backyard unfit for fighting
Lucas rose, teeth gritted, earth shield shimmering faintly. "Lucky for me… I had this," he muttered.
Few heard the commotion.
Peeping out the window, they found the two about to fight.
A large heat wave swarmed the mansion and the surroundings.
The cold disappeared within a blink.
Felix, terrified, yanked at the door—it burned his hands. "Damn it! How did he find us?!"
Lisha didn't hesitate. She shattered the window and leapt into the rain-soaked backyard.
Behind her, the voices echoed:
Do not interfere.
Do not interfere.
She clenched her fists, whispering her blessing.
"ENCHANTRESS."
Power surged through Lucas.
"Where is everyone?" Mei thought, looking at the very few present.
"We have to join him!" Sora shouted.
"Yea, we will, let the fight begin."
"My goodness, it's hot outside—"
Lisha notices the man and Lucas.
"Wait… the fog disappeared around the man!"
"Lucas!?"
"He is going to die!— how did this one survive our invasion!?"
Felix was perplexed.
Certain he had killed all of them nearby.
"How did this one survive?"