Chapter 1 – The Red Portal
A Normal Evening
The final bell had rung at Westbridge High, its shrill echo bouncing down the tiled hallways before fading into the chatter of hundreds of students. Doors banged open. Backpacks slapped against shoulders. Sneakers scuffed across the polished floors as everyone poured into the evening, eager to escape.
Jack Carter didn't move with them. He stayed behind, as he often did. The science classroom emptied around him until only the hum of the ceiling light and the faint squeak of the janitor's mop remained. Jack sat slouched at his desk by the window, twirling a pen between his fingers, staring out at the fading sun.
At sixteen, Jack was taller than most boys his age, his height making teachers mistake him for someone older, more mature. But height didn't carry confidence. He was lanky, narrow-shouldered, his dark hair falling too long across eyes that seemed to always be observing rather than participating. He wasn't invisible, exactly—people noticed him. But they didn't see him. He was the kid people vaguely remembered when forced to: Oh, the quiet one in science class? The guy who never misses homework?
Jack exhaled through his nose, finally shoving his notebook into his backpack.
He'd gotten used to being on the edges of things. The world never seemed to pull him into its center; it only spun him around the periphery, like a star in some distant orbit, watching brighter suns burn at the core. He had Theo, sure—Theo Morales, his one real friend, who was more like a relentless satellite. Theo talked enough for the both of them, cracked jokes, picked fights with bullies, and treated Jack as though he were the silent partner in a comedy duo no one else understood.
But even with Theo, Jack couldn't shake the itch that life was passing him by.
Something… more had to be out there. Something beyond classes and exams, beyond the dull weight of repeating days.
He just didn't know what.
Jack swung his bag over his shoulder and left the classroom. The corridors had mostly emptied now, the sounds of life echoing faintly through open doors. Outside, the courtyard glowed in the violet haze of early evening. A shuttle bus roared as it lifted off from the transport stop, heading toward the upper commercial rings. Drones buzzed overhead, delivering packages between rooftops.
Meridian City never rested.
Unlike the sleepy towns Jack read about in history books, where shops closed at sundown and streets went silent, Meridian throbbed with life long after sunset. It was a city stitched together by contradictions—gleaming skyscrapers and rusting alleys, neon markets and forgotten ruins, floating trains gliding past brick buildings older than the country itself. At its heart was the Spire, a colossal tower of silver-blue alloy that speared into the clouds, headquarters to corporations Jack had only seen in ads: NovaCorp, Zenith Technologies, LumaDyne. Their billboards lit up the skyline, larger than life.
"Your world. Upgraded." one of them promised, a holographic woman smiling as a hoverboard flickered beneath her.
"Unlock your true potential," said another, flashing images of enhanced soldiers shaking hands with smiling families.
Jack tugged the zipper of his hoodie higher and looked away. Those ads weren't for kids like him.
His walk home took him down into the city's underbelly, away from the Spire's glow. The old quarter.
This part of Meridian was a patchwork of narrow alleys and stacked apartment blocks, where rust bled down concrete walls and old pipes hissed with steam. Graffiti covered nearly every surface—some crude tags, others sprawling murals. Dragons curled around doorframes in scarlet paint. A blue-winged bird stretched across three crumbling walls, feathers drawn with such precision they looked like they might lift off the surface. Strange symbols—sharply angled, geometric—interlaced the art, painted in a hand too steady to be casual vandalism.
Jack passed these walls daily. He had never seen anyone paint them, but the murals always seemed fresher than they should be, the colors bright despite years of rain. He hardly noticed anymore, but tonight… tonight, the art felt different. Alive. The dragon's eyes seemed to follow him. The phoenix's wings seemed ready to stir.
A chill passed over him.
He stopped walking and looked around.
The streets were too quiet.
Usually, at this hour, vendors were still out, shouting from stalls that sold everything from synthetic noodles to imported tech scraps. Kids raced hoverboards between alleys, their laughter bouncing off the walls. But tonight? Nothing. Just the distant hum of the main road behind him and the soft drip of water from a leaking pipe.
Jack's stomach tightened.
Something wasn't right.
He adjusted his backpack and tried to shake it off. It was just another night. The city wasn't dangerous—not this part of it, anyway.
Still… his footsteps quickened.
Jack had always been sensitive to silences. Growing up in Meridian taught you to read the sound of the streets: when they were safe, when they were tense. This silence wasn't natural. It was sharp, stretched taut, like the city itself was holding its breath.
And then he heard it.
At first, it was faint—a low vibration in the walls, so subtle he thought it was just an old generator. But the hum grew louder, deeper, resonating in his ribs. It was mechanical and alive at the same time, like metal singing with the voice of something ancient.
Jack froze mid-step.
He turned slowly, eyes scanning the shadows.
The hum swelled. The air rippled, like heat waves rising from asphalt. But the evening was cool. Too cool. Jack's skin prickled as though a storm were about to break.
Then the roar came.
It tore through the night, so powerful it rattled the glass of windows. Jack flinched back against the wall, his breath catching in his throat. It wasn't a car, wasn't a ship. It was alive.
The second roar followed instantly—higher, sharper, like the cry of a bird magnified a thousand times.
Jack's head snapped up just as a column of flame erupted in the distance. Red fire spiraled into the sky, licking the clouds with heat that reached even here. The air burned hot against his skin.
And then he saw it.
A dragon, vast and terrible, coiled above the rooftops. Its scales burned with molten red light, its eyes like pits of embers. It roared again, flames pouring from its jaws, painting the alley in crimson.
Facing it in the sky was a bird of living sapphire fire. A phoenix. Its wings stretched wide, trailing arcs of blue flame that shimmered like stars torn from the night. Each beat of its wings sent shockwaves through the city, rattling rooftops, shattering windows.
Jack's heart hammered. His knees nearly buckled.
This wasn't possible. This wasn't real.
And yet, it was.
He was staring at gods in battle.
The Clash of Fire and Sky
The dragon and the phoenix collided in the air.
It was not a clash of flesh but of elements themselves. Fire and flame slammed into searing blue light, the collision exploding in a thundercrack that rolled across the city like the wrath of some forgotten god.
Jack's ears rang. He staggered backward, clutching his head, as shards of glowing debris rained down—chunks of concrete blasted from nearby rooftops, fragments of glass spinning like knives. He ducked just in time as a windowpane shattered above him, glittering in the air before scattering across the alley floor.
The dragon roared, banking left, scales blazing like molten steel. Every movement seemed too massive for the city to contain. Its tail lashed across the skyline, slicing through an antenna tower as though it were a blade of grass. Sparks erupted. The tower crumpled.
The phoenix shrieked, its wings unfurling wider, trailing blue flame that seared the very air. The fire wasn't like normal fire—Jack could tell that instantly. It didn't consume or destroy. Instead, it bent light around it, shimmering like starlight in water. As the wings swept, they carved ripples into the atmosphere, shimmering waves that distorted buildings and streetlamps as though reality itself was bending.
Jack stumbled further into the alley, trying to get out of the open. His heart slammed in his chest. He could hardly breathe.
Every instinct told him to run.
But he couldn't tear his eyes away.
It was beautiful. Terrible. Sacred.
The dragon dove, spiraling downward, claws extended. The phoenix met the strike head-on, swordlight manifesting from nothing, a streak of sapphire energy slashing upward. Blade met claw in an explosion of sparks, the impact rattling every brick and beam.
The alley itself seemed to shiver.
Jack braced against the wall as the shockwave rolled through, sending trash bins clattering and neon signs flickering out. The symbols painted on the walls around him—dragon, phoenix, cryptic markings—flared with sudden light, glowing as though awakened by the battle above.
Jack blinked hard. The murals weren't just graffiti. They were… something else. Wards? Sigils? He didn't know the word, but he felt the power pulsing in them, resonating with the chaos in the sky.
The phoenix—Ghost, though Jack didn't know the name yet—twisted in the air, feathers scattering like glowing embers. Each ember floated for a heartbeat before streaking toward the dragon, bursting into concussive bursts that peppered its wings. The dragon snarled, smoke and fire erupting from its maw in a retaliatory blaze.
Heat washed over Jack like a furnace blast. He cried out, covering his head, sweat instantly springing across his brow. The air itself felt like it might ignite in his lungs.
The phoenix darted through the fire, weaving in impossible arcs, faster than Jack's eyes could follow. Every motion left a luminous trail, a blueprint of light carving geometric shapes in the sky. Circles, triangles, shifting glyphs. The symbols didn't fade immediately—they hung in the air like afterimages, glowing brighter as more were drawn, until the night itself became a canvas of living runes.
Then the glyphs ignited.
Blue fire cascaded downward, striking the dragon in a hailstorm of blazing light.
The dragon roared in fury, but it was not wounded. If anything, it seemed to grow stronger, the fire in its scales burning hotter, red flames climbing toward white. With a sweep of its wings, the sigils shattered, breaking apart like glass under a hammer.
Jack's knees shook. His chest heaved. His mind screamed at him: This is not possible. This is not real.
And yet he felt it. The heat. The tremors. The ozone sting in the air. The reality of it.
The dragon twisted downward, spiraling so fast Jack thought it would crash into the street. Instead, it pulled up at the last instant, and its massive body swept across the rooftops. Its claws ripped into a building corner, tearing metal and concrete free, and hurled the debris like a child tossing a toy.
Jack dove as a car-sized hunk of concrete crashed into the street not ten feet from him, the impact sending fragments stinging into his skin. He hit the pavement hard, gasping.
Above, the phoenix cried out and shot like lightning toward the dragon, its body blurring into a streak of blue fire. When it struck, the dragon's entire body convulsed, scales glowing white-hot. The sky split with light.
And then—
The world went silent.
For an instant, all sound drained away. Jack lifted his head, stunned. The battle seemed to freeze.
In the silence, he heard a whisper.
Not with his ears. Inside his skull. A voice neither male nor female, ancient and endless.
"Witness."
Jack's breath caught. His pulse stopped.
The silence shattered.
Sound roared back in with twice the force—clashing steel, tearing flame, the screams of sky-born beasts. The dragon and phoenix locked together, twisting through the air like battling constellations.
And Jack knew—deep in the marrow of his bones—that this wasn't some random fight.
This was war.
And he had just stepped into it.
The Girl from the Portal
Jack pressed his back against the cold brick, panting, praying the battle would move away from him. His ears still rang with echoes of the dragon's roar, his skin still burned from the heat of the phoenix's flames.
And then the air changed.
The alley darkened—not because the night grew deeper, but because something else eclipsed it.
A low hum vibrated through the concrete, making his teeth ache. At the far end of the alley, just above the cracked asphalt, a thin line of red light appeared. It flickered once, then widened, bending outward in a perfect circle.
Jack blinked sweat from his eyes. "No… no way…"
The circle deepened. The air inside rippled like water, then burst outward in a flare of crimson fire.
A portal.
Every story, every comic book, every half-believed myth Jack had ever consumed screamed through his mind at once. But no fiction had prepared him for the real thing. The air itself peeled open, revealing a storm of red flame and void-black shadows swirling inside.
And from it—
She stepped.
Boots hit the ground first, sharp heels clicking against the asphalt with a metallic bite. Then the figure emerged fully, striding forward with the effortless confidence of someone who had walked through a hundred battlefields before breakfast.
She was tall—taller than Jack expected—with hair the color of burning coals, cascading down her back like living fire. Her eyes glowed faintly amber, catching the scattered streetlight.
Armor clung to her like a second skin. Not medieval plate, not sci-fi metal—but something between. Sleek black fabric traced with scarlet circuitry lines, glowing faintly with power. Over it, pieces of segmented plating curved across her shoulders and arms, etched with symbols Jack didn't recognize—runes, maybe, but alien. At her hip rested a sheathed blade, its hilt wrapped in leather dark as blood.
And strapped to her right wrist—
A device.
It pulsed as she landed fully in the alley, the red portal snapping shut behind her with a thunderclap. The device flickered to life, projecting a translucent screen in front of her. Strange letters streamed across it—some English, some Japanese, some utterly indecipherable.
Jack squinted. One word stood out:
[Target Approaching]
The woman's head snapped up. Her glowing eyes narrowed.
The air trembled again—this time with a familiar sound.
The cry of the phoenix.
Blue fire streaked across the sky, growing larger, faster, brighter.
The device on the woman's wrist screamed with alarm. She dismissed it with a flick of her hand, and in the same motion, drew her sword.
The blade sang as it cleared its sheath. Its metal wasn't silver, or steel, or anything Jack had ever seen. It gleamed a molten red, lines of glowing script running down its edge, letters that shifted when he tried to focus on them. The very sight of it made the air warp, the brick walls bending as if gravity bent toward the blade.
Jack's stomach dropped. His knees nearly buckled.
He wasn't supposed to see this. No one was.
The phoenix streaked downward, wings folded, a comet of blazing blue. In its wake, a second figure appeared—small at first, then sharpening into focus. A girl.
Her body blurred, cloaked in fire, sword drawn in a streak of light. Where the red assassin radiated volcanic heat, this one radiated cold flame, sharp and clean. Her blade gleamed sapphire, covered in the same mystic script—though hers glowed icy blue.
The two locked eyes.
For a long heartbeat, neither moved.
Then—
They struck.
The alley became a battlefield.
Steel met steel, red against blue, sparks bursting like fireworks. Every clash shattered the air, rattling windows, shaking Jack's bones. Their movements blurred, impossibly fast. A thrust, a parry, a kick against the wall, rebounding higher, blades whirling arcs of light across the darkness.
Jack stumbled backward, shielding his face from the shockwaves. His mind refused to accept what his eyes were feeding him. Girls his age—maybe a little older—moving like gods.
Their words cut sharper than their blades.
"あなたはまだ立ち向かうか?" the red assassin hissed, Japanese flowing harsh and sharp.
(You still dare to stand against me?)
"守ることしか知らないからだ!" the blue warrior spat back, her voice ringing like glass.
(Because I know only how to protect!)
The red assassin snarled, switching languages mid-swing. "Then you'll die protecting what doesn't matter."
Their blades clashed again, runes screaming as sparks turned into bursts of fire and frost.
Jack ducked behind a dumpster, heart hammering so loud he thought it might give him away. He squeezed his eyes shut, but the sounds wouldn't stop—the crack of steel, the roar of fire, the hiss of burning stone.
He told himself he'd wait until they moved farther down the street. Then he'd slip away. Quiet. Invisible.
But as he peeked around the corner, his shoe scraped against the ground.
The sound was tiny. Insignificant.
But both assassins froze.
Two pairs of glowing eyes—one red, one blue—snapped toward him.
Jack's blood turned to ice.
He'd been seen.
Steel and Flame
For a heartbeat, the world held still.
Jack's breath rattled in his throat, sharp and shallow. His legs begged him to run, but his body wouldn't listen—not with their eyes locked on him. Red fire burned him from the left. Blue frost seared him from the right.
The red assassin tilted her head, a smile playing across her lips. It wasn't kind.
"Well, well," she murmured in accented English. "A witness."
The blue warrior's expression hardened. Her grip on her blade tightened. "Leave him," she snapped. "He's not part of this."
"Not yet," the red one purred.
And then she moved.
The red assassin lunged forward, faster than Jack's eyes could follow. One blink and she was across the alley, sword raised high, red light tracing her form like a comet. The blade came down in a vertical arc meant to split him clean in half.
Jack's body reacted before his brain did. He dove sideways, crashing shoulder-first into the dumpster. The impact knocked the air from his lungs, but it saved his life.
Metal screamed as the sword cleaved through the spot where he had been standing, slicing asphalt like butter. The ground glowed molten red, spiderweb cracks spreading outward.
Jack scrambled on hands and knees, gasping, "No—no, no, no!"
"Move!"
The voice rang out—sharp, commanding. Blue.
A flash of sapphire light cut between Jack and the assassin. Sparks erupted as blade met blade, the collision forcing the red assassin back a step. The blue warrior planted herself between Jack and death, sword raised in a reverse grip.
"You'll harm no one tonight," she said coldly, her voice trembling only slightly.
The red assassin hissed, eyes glowing hotter. "Defiant little bird."
And the alley exploded.
They clashed again, this time with Jack at the epicenter. The force of their strikes sent shockwaves tearing through the air, toppling trash cans, rattling windowpanes. Red fire flared in one direction, blue frost in the other. Each time their blades met, runes along their edges blazed brighter, twisting and reshaping like living words.
Jack bolted. He didn't care which way—just away. His sneakers pounded the cracked asphalt, slipping over wet patches, skidding around corners. His lungs burned. His heart hammered so hard he thought it would burst from his chest.
But no matter where he ran, the fight followed.
Every turn of the alley brought another flash of light, another shockwave of heat or cold. They weren't just fighting each other anymore—they were chasing him.
"Why me?!" Jack screamed, voice cracking. His only answer was the roar of flame behind him.
He scrambled up a chain-link fence, fingers scraping raw against the metal. The moment he hauled himself to the top, the fence shuddered—half-melted by a slash of red fire. He jumped, hitting the ground hard, knees jolting with pain. He pushed himself back up and staggered forward.
And then—
She was there.
The red assassin landed in front of him, blade already swinging.
Jack froze, eyes wide, every thought ripped from him. The blade's glow reflected in his pupils as it carved downward, unstoppable.
Something slammed into him.
A shoulder—small, sharp, strong. Jack flew sideways, crashing into a wall. His breath left in a strangled cough.
The blade missed his neck by inches. Sparks showered his face as it cut into the bricks instead.
The blue warrior twisted, catching the rebound, and countered with a strike so fast Jack barely saw the blur. The red assassin snarled, sparks exploding as she blocked.
Jack staggered upright, back pressed to the wall, chest heaving. His vision blurred from pain and panic.
The girls moved like lightning. The alley wasn't wide enough for their speed, yet they didn't care. Red arcs scorched the ground, slicing dumpsters in half, melting steel. Blue trails froze patches of air solid, shattering into glittering shards. Each movement looked choreographed, beautiful in its brutality.
And then—words again.
"You can't keep him," the red assassin snapped , fury dripping from every syllable. "He doesn't belong to you"
The blue warrior's blade whirled, deflecting another strike. "He doesn't belong to anyone!" she shouted, this time in English, her voice shaking with emotion.
"Jack's mind spun. Me? They're talking about me?!"
He turned to run again, but the ground erupted—literally. Red fire split the asphalt ahead, forming a jagged trench of molten rock. The heat slammed into him like a wall, forcing him back.
"Nowhere to run, boy," the red assassin said, her grin feral.
Jack's throat closed. His body wouldn't move.
Then the blue warrior darted in front of him again. Her voice lowered, meant only for him.
"Run when I say," she whispered. "And don't stop."
Jack swallowed hard. His hands shook violently. He wanted to scream at her—to demand what was happening, who she was, why him. But his voice was gone.
She didn't wait for him to respond. With a cry that split the night, she surged forward, blade flashing like lightning. The clash rang out again, louder than before, shaking the very ground.
And in that chaos—
She shoved something into his hand.
A bangle. Smooth metal, cool against his sweaty palm. Its surface shimmered faintly with light, shifting colors between silver and blue.
"It will protect you," she said quickly, her eyes locking with his. "Don't lose it."
Jack stared at it, stunned. "Wha—"
"Go!" she screamed.
The shockwave of their next clash hurled him backward.
Jack turned and ran.
He didn't look back. Couldn't. His legs carried him through the labyrinth of alleys, the bangle clutched so tightly it dug into his skin. His ears roared with fire and ice clashing behind him, but he didn't dare stop.
He didn't notice the shadow watching from above.
High on a rooftop, cloaked in green armor etched with sharp angles and feathers, a third figure crouched. His eyes glowed like emerald fire, narrowing as he tracked the boy below.
The insignia of a griffin gleamed on his chest.
"Interesting," the assassin murmured, his voice low and cold. "The Mirror has chosen its vessel."
And then, like a predator fading into the dark, he was gone.
The Chosen Witness
Jack's lungs burned, each breath a knife in his chest. His legs were no longer his own—they moved because fear demanded it, dragging him forward through the maze of alleys and stairwells, over fences and across rooftops slick with dew.
But no matter how far he ran, he couldn't escape the sounds behind him.
The clash of steel.
The roar of flame.
The cry of a phoenix.
They haunted him, echoing in his skull until he wasn't sure if he was running through the city or through the heart of some nightmare he couldn't wake from.
The bangle in his fist pulsed faintly, a heartbeat that wasn't his own. Every few seconds it flashed blue, just enough to light his path. Jack couldn't tell if it was guiding him—or marking him.
A shadow swooped overhead. He froze, pressed against the cold brick of an apartment wall. His pulse spiked. His vision spun.
She's coming.
The red assassin dropped from above, landing with inhuman grace. Her eyes burned in the dim light, twin embers boring into him. She twirled her sword, letting the blade drag along the ground. Sparks hissed as it kissed the asphalt.
"Little mouse," she purred. "You run well… but all prey tires eventually."
Jack's throat closed. His knees trembled so violently he thought they might give way. He took one step back—only to collide with a trash bin.
She advanced.
"Don't—" His voice cracked. "Don't come any closer!"
Her smile widened. "So fragile."
She raised her blade.
A streak of sapphire light slammed down between them.
Ghost landed hard, knees bent, her own sword raised. Blue light shimmered around her like wings unfurling in the dark.
"I said he's under my protection!" Her voice was thunder now, raw with rage.
The red assassin snarled, her composure finally cracking. "You risk everything for a mortal boy?!"
Ghost's blade blazed brighter, runes igniting one by one. Her eyes glowed like frozen stars. "Then so be it."
And the alley became war.
Jack could only watch as the two collided again, faster, sharper, deadlier than ever before. Every clash sent shockwaves ripping through the air, rattling the glass in nearby windows. Sparks and flames painted the walls in chaotic murals of light. The ground beneath them cracked and split, steam rising from the clash of fire and ice.
But this time—it wasn't about dominance.
It was about him.
Every strike, every parry, every cry—they fought not just for their ancient war, but for who would claim him.
Jack stumbled back, clutching the bangle to his chest. His mind screamed at him to flee, but his body was frozen. He couldn't tear his eyes away. They weren't just warriors—they were something else. Symbols. Legends. Gods disguised as students.
And he—he was caught in their orbit.
A blade of red fire curved toward him again. Ghost intercepted it at the last second, sparks exploding inches from Jack's face. She shoved him back, her voice breaking with urgency.
"Run!"
Jack didn't argue. His legs found strength again, and he bolted. Up a fire escape, across a rooftop, down the other side. His body screamed in pain, lungs searing, but fear gave him wings.
When he finally stopped, collapsed against the side of a shuttered convenience store, the night was quiet. Too quiet.
The flames were gone.
The frost had melted.
The air was still.
Jack's breaths came ragged, his shirt clinging to his sweat-soaked skin. He forced himself to look at the bangle still clenched in his fist.
It pulsed once. Twice. Then went still.
Jack swallowed, throat dry. "What… the hell… is happening to me?"
A whisper brushed his ear. Not a voice he recognized—low, gravelly, almost mocking.
The Mirror awakens.
Jack spun around, heart hammering, but the street was empty. Just shadows stretching long under the moonlight.
But above him, high on a rooftop where even moonlight dared not reach, emerald eyes glowed. The Green Griffin crouched, silent and still, watching his prey.
"Interesting," he murmured. His hand brushed over the sigil on his armor—the griffin crest that shimmered faintly with life. "The boy runs from destiny. But destiny runs faster."
And with that, he vanished into the night.
Jack never saw him.
He only knew that his life—his normal, boring life—was gone forever.
And the war had already claimed him.
Echoes in the Dark
By the time Jack stumbled into his neighborhood, the city felt wrong.
Too still. Too quiet.
The streets looked exactly as they always had—lampposts buzzing with pale yellow light, cars parked neatly along the curbs, the occasional bark of a dog in the distance. There was no sign of fire, no scorched walls, no broken glass, no blood.
Nothing.
It was as if the battle had never happened.
Jack's chest tightened. His sneakers scuffed against the cracked sidewalk as he slowed, his breath still ragged from the chase. He turned in a slow circle, expecting to see scorched feathers, a glowing rune, anything to prove he hadn't lost his mind.
But there was nothing. Just the ordinary world.
The ordinary lie.
He forced himself to keep moving, every step heavier than the last until finally, mercifully, the soft yellow glow of his house came into view. The porch light was on, just like always.
Safe.
Normal.
He climbed the steps, unlocked the door with trembling fingers, and slipped inside.
The familiar smell of detergent and old wood greeted him. The living room was quiet—his mom was still at work, his little sister asleep upstairs.
Jack leaned against the door and slid to the floor. His body finally let go, trembling violently now that the adrenaline was gone. His vision blurred, the night's chaos flashing behind his eyes in jagged fragments: the roar of fire, the shimmer of wings, the red assassin's blade inches from his throat.
And the girl.
The one who had saved him.
The one who had called him protected.
His hand shook as he raised it. The bangle still clung to his wrist, the metal cool against his skin. He hadn't realized it had latched on during his escape.
He tugged at it desperately, but it wouldn't budge.
"Come off," he hissed. He yanked harder, twisting, pulling, but the metal only pulsed faintly in response—like it was mocking him.
Then the lights flickered.
Jack froze.
The air thickened, heavy and electric, like before a thunderstorm. A low hum vibrated through the walls, settling in his bones.
The bangle pulsed again, brighter this time. Then a thin blue screen flickered to life above it, holographic lines scrawling into existence.
Jack's heart stopped.
Words shimmered in the air.
MIRROR CLAN: AWAKENING PROTOCOL INITIATED.
Jack's breath hitched. "Mirror… what?"
The hologram flickered violently, glitching as if two different signals were fighting for control. Symbols in languages he didn't recognize flashed between the words—circles, runes, claw-like etchings.
Then, as suddenly as it began, it vanished.
The house went still. The air returned to normal.
Jack sat frozen on the floor, every muscle locked.
"This isn't real," he whispered. His voice cracked, desperate. "I'm… I'm just tired. Stressed. Hallucinating. That's all."
But the bangle pulsed again, slow and steady—like a heartbeat.
Not his own.
Jack swallowed hard. He dragged himself upstairs, forcing his legs to carry him into his room. He shut the door, locked it, and collapsed onto his bed without even changing clothes.
Sleep wouldn't come.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the red assassin's smile. The blue phoenix's wings. The way the alley had burned and frozen all at once.
And the whisper that still clung to his ears, though no one else had spoken it aloud.
The Mirror awakens.
Jack clutched the bangle against his chest, as if holding it close might quiet its alien pulse. But deep down, he already knew.
Nothing would ever be normal again.
Outside, unseen from his window, emerald eyes gleamed in the darkness. The Green Griffin shifted silently atop a telephone pole, his silhouette blending into the night.
He whispered to the shadows.
"The boy dreams. But soon… he'll wake."
And the hunt continued.