Not all at once. Not in some grand, dramatic instant where the sky split open and everyone understood the world was ending. No—first it had come in whispers. In sugar-slick wrappers scattered across convention hall floors. In laughter that turned to screaming. In the bright, impossible colours of candy handed out at Comic Con by smiling mascots no one could later describe properly.
Then came the biting.
Then the feeding.
Then the rot.
What had begun as a celebration in the jewel of Caerfaen had become the birthplace of a nightmare.
Some survivors emerged from the chaos altered but alive, their bodies awakened by the plague instead of consumed by it. New abilities bloomed in them like strange flowers through cracked stone. Their mana twisted, sharpened, adapted. And with that change came something even rarer—immunity. The candy plague could not claim them so easily. It could wound them, hunt them, terrify them… but it could not fully turn them.
Not so for the unfortunate.
The Purebloods—born without mana—and the Mythics—so full of it their bodies practically sang with it—had proved terribly vulnerable. The plague devoured both extremes with equal cruelty. Flesh became syrup, bone warped into sugarglass and caramel, and memories were stripped away until nothing remained but grotesque candy monstrosities with hunger where thought had once been. They forgot their names. Their loyalties. Their loved ones. They became soldiers in a new, obscene army, answering only to the distant call of the Zombie Generals.
One of those generals, however, had fallen.
Somewhere beneath the city, through filth-choked sewer tunnels and old forgotten arteries of Clawdiff, a ragdoll hybrid had run like a blade through the dark and brought one of the monsters down. It should have been a victory. It should have meant something hopeful.
But the rot in Clawdiff had never belonged only to the undead.
For now, the city was quiet.
Too quiet.
The military vehicles still sat abandoned in the roads, half-sunk in candy residue and ash, their engines cold, their doors hanging open like broken jaws. Streetlights flickered over empty barricades. The gunfire had stopped. The screams had faded. But silence did not mean safety. It only meant something was waiting.
The ruling powers of Caerfaen were not asleep.
They were regrouping.
And high above it all, the Dragon General sensed it.
High above Clawdiff, wrapped around a massive, pulsating sphere like a grotesque pearl of war, the Dragon Velcarius lay coiled in silence. His scales—once shimmering like molten red gold—now bore a dull, rusted hue, as if time and purpose had burned away the shine. His body was immense, draped across the tower’s blackened spires like a terrible crown.
Then—
His eyes opened.
Pale and reptilian, they cut through the night like slits of dying starlight. Something within him stirred: a presence severed, a bond snapped. One of his generals was dead.
No mourning.
Only calculation.
A low growl rumbled out of his chest, deep enough to make the air tremble. In its wake, two wisps of pinkish smoke spun and twisted into being, splitting into two tiny figures. The Candyfloss Twins—Sweet Fluff and Sour Puff, mice sisters—stepped forth, dresses fluttering like spun sugar caught in a storm.
“Did you feel it?!” Sweet Fluff squeaked, practically bouncing. “Something snapped! Something huge! Like fireworks, but scarier—”
“Like the end of everything,” Sour Puff muttered, wringing her paws. “It was cold and hollow and I hated it—”
“—but we heard it, and we came, because you need us!” Sweet Fluff cut in, eyes wide, voice sparkling with excitement. “You always need us, don’t you?”
Velcarius said nothing. His silence pressed like stone.
Sweet Fluff giggled nervously, though the edge in it gave her away. “Mandibite was weak anyway. Kenaz couldn’t kill us. What’s this little ragdoll going to do?”
Sour Puff tilted her head, ears twitching. “She does look like him, though. Are you sure it isn’t him?”
That made the dragon laugh.
It was not a pleasant sound. It came out low and dry, like rock grinding against bone.
“No,” he said, smoke curling from his nostrils. “Too weak.”
The twins fell silent.
“But her mana…” He lifted his head slightly, gaze drifting over the dead city below. “That’s different. Don’t you feel it?”
Sweet Fluff’s grin faded, just for a second. “I feel it.”
Sour Puff shrank in on herself. “I do too.”
Velcarius tail shifted against the tower, slow and heavy enough to make the spires groan.
“Every time they kill one of us, her power grows. I can feel the pull of it.” His jaw tightened. “And I’m struggling to ignore it.”
Sweet Fluff swallowed, then forced a smile back onto her face. “Well… maybe that just makes it more exciting?”
The dragon’s eyes narrowed to burning slits.
“Don’t mistake danger for weakness, girl.”
The twin mice stiffened.
For a moment, the only sound was the distant whistle of wind through ruined steel and broken glass.
Then the dragon spoke again, voice rough with memory.
“Kenaz was holding back. So was Arax. They didn’t want to kill us. I saw it in their eyes. But they fought anyway.”
His gaze turned distant, as though looking not at Clawdiff, but through it—through smoke, through time, back to fire and war.
“The whole Caerfaen military came for us. Their finest navy ships. Their dirigibles. Even a mana bomb, just to bring us down.” His mouth curled into something bitter, something almost like a smile. “The very Council we obeyed.”
He let the words hang.
“And now they send Kenaz’s shadow after us.”
Sweet Fluff looked up with wide eyes. “That’s funny.”
“That’s awful,” Sour Puff whispered.
The dragon’s laugh came again, softer this time, but crueler for it.
“The irony wasn’t lost on me.”
Sweet Fluff tugged at her sleeve. “So… something bad is coming?”
“Of course something bad is coming!” Sweet Fluff said brightly, recovering herself. “That’s the fun part!”
Velcarius finally shifted, tilting his massive head until his horns scraped the clouds. His gravelly voice rolled out, dry and sardonic, like a storyteller too tired for drama.
“Yeah. Pieces are falling off the board. And when pieces move, the game gets interesting.”
The sisters froze.
Sour Puff’s ears flattened. “That… that doesn’t sound good.”
Sweet Fluff shoved her lightly. “It is good. He said interesting. Interesting means exciting!”
“It means dangerous.”
“Exciting and dangerous!”
“Exciting because it’s dangerous—”
“Girls,” the dragon rumbled, cutting them both off. “Focus.”
They flinched and nodded together, squeaking, “Yes, great one!”
Sweet Fluff leaned forward eagerly. “What do you want us to do? We can do anything! Scare them, chase them, make them dance, ooh, or maybe—”
“Don’t make them dance,” Sour Puff interrupted. “They’ll scream and cry and—”
“Then it’s a screamy dance! Even better!”
Velcarius let out a sigh that sounded like a landslide collapsing into the sea. He lowered his chin against the orb beneath him.
“They’re gonna run. They always do. And when things look bad enough, when they’re scared enough? They’ll head for the mall. Safe, shiny, full of lights. Bet my last scale on it.”
Sweet Fluff gasped. “Oooh, the mall! We love the mall! All the colors and the toys and the—”
“—and the empty halls where hope goes to die,” Sour Puff whispered.
The dragon’s eyes narrowed.
“Let ’em run there. Let ’em believe it’s safe. Let ’em feel that hope… for just long enough.”
Sweet Fluff grinned, tail twitching. “This is gonna be so much fun!”
The gang emerged from the sewers, coughing against the cool night air. The stink of sugar rot still clung to them, but the open sky was a relief.
“Celeste!” Carys bolted forward, nearly tripping in her haste before wrapping her arms around her. “Oh, thank goodness you’re alright!”
Celeste blinked, startled by the squeeze, then smiled faintly. “Told you I would be.” She hesitated, lowering her eyes. “Well… to be honest, I didn’t know that. But I tried my best.”
Cosmo brushed grime from his coat, his golden mane dulled by dust. “I’ll take the other mythics back to the industrial estate. There may be survivors hiding there. But don’t worry, I’ll put in a good word for your crew.”
Carys glanced toward the distant skyline, her ears flicking nervously. “While you were gone, some of the pipes around Clawdiff burst. Council droids started showing up… and a carriage wasn’t far behind them.”
Pitch straightened, shotgun slung across his back. His eyes narrowed. “A council carriage? That’s only for real high-ups.” His voice dipped into a growl. “So it’s serious.”
Celeste bit her lip, glancing at the others. “Should we check it out?”
Arcade nearly dropped his tool pack, whirling on her with static sparking from his quills. “Are you kidding me? We just risked our necks fighting centipede nightmare candy down there, and you think it’s a good idea to poke our noses into council business?”
Cosmo gave a sharp whistle, gathering the survivors who had followed him through the sewers. “Right then, we’ll head back to the industrial estate. If the council’s sniffing around, we don’t want stragglers caught in the middle.” He looked at Celeste, his expression softening for a moment. “Stay sharp. And… thank you.”
The mythics melted back into the night with him, leaving the Knights together on the cracked roadside.
Carys wrung her paws, looking between Celeste and the looming city skyline. “If you’re really thinking of chasing that carriage, I’ll… I’ll stay here. I can guard the car, make sure we’ve still got a way out if it all goes wrong.”
“Good call,” Arcade muttered, rubbing his temples. “Finally, somebody with sense.”
Ray hefted her hammer onto her shoulder, smirking. “Oh, come on, Static. When have we ever chosen sense? Where’s the fun in that?”
Mezzo gave a bark of laughter, his accent thick. “Aye, Ray’s got the right of it! Council droids, carriages, high-ups—smells like mischief to me. And I do love mischief.”
Pitch rolled his eyes, loading a fresh shell into his shotgun. “Brilliant. We’re about to go spy on the deadliest politicians in the city and you’re treating it like a pub crawl.”
“Not my fault your sense of humour died with your fashion sense,” Mezzo shot back, flicking his dogtags dramatically.
Pitch scowled. “At least I don’t wear shorts to a gunfight.”
Lumina raised her hand timidly, her voice soft but eager. “Um… I think we should go too. If we don’t look, we’ll never know what they’re hiding, right? And if we don’t know, then maybe it’ll sneak up on us later and—” She tripped over her own words, flustered. “And that would be worse.”
Celeste tapped her fingers nervously against her sleeves, then nodded. “She… she’s right. If the council’s here, it means something big. We can’t just walk away from that, not after everything.”
Arcade groaned, sparks crackling faintly at his quills. “Why do I even open my mouth? Fine. Fine! We’ll check it out. But when we all end up in tiny council-sized coffins, remember this moment where I said don’t.”
Mezzo grinned and slapped Arcade on the back hard enough to jolt his pack. “Knew you’d come around, Static!”
Arcade sighed so hard it sounded like his soul was escaping.
Pitch chambered a shell with a snap. “Right then. Let’s get this over with.”
Ray grinned, eyes flashing. “About time. Let’s go kick the wasp’s nest.”
Carys leaned against the car door, watching them march off together. “You’re all insane,” she muttered under her breath. But her eyes lingered on Celeste a little longer, filled with a mixture of worry and pride.
Hughes let out a grunt as he adjusted his cane, rolling one shoulder stiffly. “Aye, you lot go on ahead. That last scrap did my knees in. Someone’s gotta keep the lass company, anyway.” He jerked his chin toward Carys. “I’ll hold the fort here and radio Bracer. Let him know you’re all still in one piece—more or less.”
Celeste turned to him, lips parting like she might argue, but Hughes cut her off with a pointed look. “Don’t fret. I’ve fought my wars. This is your turn. Go on, before the wasp finds a real sting.”
Celeste gave him a small, sheepish nod. “Thank you… really.”
He huffed, brushing her gratitude away with a wave of his crook. “Don’t thank me till you’re back alive.”
The gang set off toward the trail of council droids, their voices overlapping with equal parts dread, excitement, and bravado—an odd chorus that somehow, against all odds, agreed.
The gang crept along the sugar-slick streets, weapons humming faintly with residual light. Ahead, a sudden crack of gunfire split the air.
A high-tech carriage—sleek, plated with gilded steel and powered by mana conduits—was surrounded. Council soldiers in polished armor fought desperately as waves of candy-zombies swarmed from every side. Their rifles sparked, beams cutting down the first wave, but the horde only grew thicker.
From inside the carriage, a window shattered open. A black-smoke Maine Coon leaned out, cloak torn, a tech flintlock pistol blazing in her paw. Each shot rang with authority, but her sharp eyes betrayed the truth—they were losing ground.
Mezzo’s jaw dropped. “Bloody hell, that is a Council ride. The fancy kind. What the feck’s it doing out here?”
Ray froze in place, her hammer half-summoned, eyes narrowed. “Don’t even think about it,” she muttered, voice cold. “That’s Council. We show mana in front of them, we don’t get medals—we get flogged.”
Arcade adjusted his glasses, tone clipped and sarcastic. “Yes, because if the undead eat them, they’ll surely pause mid-bite to draft up the paperwork.”
Celeste’s chest heaved. She could see the soldiers being dragged down one by one, screams cutting short as sugar-fangs tore into them. Her throat tightened.
“We can’t just watch this,” she whispered, almost to herself.
Ray snapped, “They wouldn’t save us. They see hybrids using mana, we’re dead anyway. Think, Celeste.”
More soldiers went down, one vanishing beneath a frothing tide of gummy wolves. The mainecoon fired again, her pistol blazing—but her carriage shook as claws raked across its sides.
Celeste’s heart lurched. She stepped forward, fists trembling. “I’m sorry… but I can’t.”
And then she moved—bursting from cover, blades flashing into her hands as ribbons snapped awake like comets.
“Celeste!” Ray shouted after her, fury and disbelief tangled in her voice. “You’re out of your mind!”
Mezzo groaned, dragging his paws through his hair. “Feck me sideways, she’s really doing it—alright then, let’s gooooo!” He barreled after her, guitar blazing with a discordant chord that tore through a cluster of sugar mice.
Arcade sighed, muttering under his breath. “Every statistical model ends in catastrophe… and yet here I am, following anyway.” CHIP unfolded at his side, shifting into combat mode with a cheerful beep.
Skye swallowed hard, staring at Lumina—then slid his cards into his launcher. “Fine… but if I summon the wrong one, it’s not my fault.”
Ray cursed, hammer flaring violet as she finally charged in. “You’re all suicidal. Idiots. Idiots, the lot of you.”
Together, the gang crashed into the swarm, blades, hammers, riffs, and light clashing against sugar-flesh.
Celeste vaulted onto the carriage step, twin katanas cutting down the nearest zombie. She turned, breathless, and found herself face-to-face with the mainecoon.
Lady Umbranox.
The Council’s matron of sight sat in silence, pistol still smoking. For once, her cold, calculating eyes betrayed something more than disdain—surprise.
She said nothing. She just watched.
And Celeste stood between her and the horde, blades crossed, ready to defend even the last person she thought she’d ever fight for.
Chapter 2 : Of Wasps and Women
The last of the zombies smoldered into ash. Smoke drifted, the air sharp with iron and sugar.
The high-tech carriage door creaked open again. A figure stepped out—Lady Locket Revel. A yellow cocker spaniel, dressed in a red-laced Victorian gown, the hem and bodice streaked with zombie gore. She shook herself once, then drew up tall, eyes blazing as if the filth didn’t dare cling to her.
“Bow your heads,” she commanded, her voice sharp, imperious, dripping with dangerous velvet. “You stand before the Council.”
The group exchanged uneasy glances.
Celeste hesitated, blades still in her hands. She drew a slow breath, about to speak—
“Did we give you permission to speak?” Lady Revel purred, snapping her fan open with a flick.
Celeste’s mouth closed. Confusion flickered in her eyes, but she lowered her head all the same. One by one, the others followed suit—though Mezzo muttered something under his breath that Ray silenced with a smack to his arm.
From the carriage, another figure descended with calm grace—a kingfisher priest. His plumage gleamed blue and amber beneath flowing river-embroidered robes, every step deliberate, patient. When he spoke, his voice was deep and warm, rich with age and kindness.
“Peace, children,” he said, wings folding neatly before him. “The Council’s decrees are firm, yes, but firm does not mean merciless. Even fire burns to protect the hearth.”
His gaze softened on Celeste, lingering. “And sometimes… even fire can be guided, if we have the wisdom to tend it.”
Lady Revel scoffed, snapping her fan shut with a click. “How unbearably sentimental. Spare us the sermons, Luminary Pontifex Tàiyáng—some of us prefer results to riddles.”
Tàiyáng only smiled gently, as if her words were a breeze through reeds. “Lady Locket Revel has been… disturbed by the recent encounter with the undead. She is acting out of protocol.”
There was a pause. Then a ripple of barely suppressed snickers moved through the group—Mezzo biting his knuckle, Ray coughing into her fist, even Arcade’s goggles slipping down as his shoulders shook.
Revel’s ears twitched. Her fan snapped open again with a whipcrack. “Disturbed? Out of protocol? How droll, Pontifex.” She bared her teeth in a smile too sharp to be kind. “Perhaps next you’ll suggest I’ve scuffed my gown, and that, too, is unseemly for a Council lady?”
Tàiyáng inclined his head, serene. “Well… it is rather red already.”
The giggles turned into open laughter before Celeste quickly muffled herself behind her paw.
Revel’s glare could have melted sugar glass. “Enjoy your mirth while you can,” she purred dangerously. “I promise, the Council’s law is less forgiving than my patience.”
A laugh split the square.
Wild. Shrill. Unhinged. It rippled through the broken street like static through a radio, both charming and unnerving at once.
Celeste’s head snapped up.
On the far side of the square, a figure emerged—a cheetah draped in ornate wasp-themed armor, gold and black plates glinting like a predator dressed for a masquerade ball. His wings clicked open with insectile precision, his cape trailing like velvet venom.
“Aha!” he purred, voice lilting with honeyed arrogance, each syllable dripping like gold. “But what’s this? Little kittens swatting at my drones? Tch, tch. No, no, no—these morsels are mine. And you…” His mandibles clicked with a theatrical buzz as he swept into a bow far too elaborate for a battlefield. “…you are trespassing in the theater of my vengeance!”
Lady Umbranox, lounging in the carriage like a shadow given form, exhaled slowly. Her smoke-like mane curled around her shoulders as though even the air was tired. “Oh, stars preserve me… how long must you keep this farce alive, Wasp?” Her tone dripped cool disdain. “It’s exhausting.”
The Gilded Wasp reeled back with a dramatic gasp, clutching his plated chest. “Exhausting? Exhausting?! To devote every waking breath to one’s noble vendetta is exhausting? Ha! No, my sweet thorn Lady Umbranox Arcturus—this is devotion made manifest! This is art!”
Lady Revel groaned audibly, dragging her paw down her face. “A pain in the backside,” she muttered. Then her ears shot upright, realizing too late she’d slipped out of her Council tone. With a huff, she snapped her lace fan open and smacked Celeste lightly on the head. “Show respect, girl! That’s the Gilded Wasp!”
Celeste blinked, rubbing her ears. “Oh, uh—sorry.” Then she tilted her head sheepishly. “But who is he?”
The Gilded Wasp swept his wings wide, his laugh buzzing like a hive in delirium. “I am the Gilded Wasp! Monarch of blades, scourge of the skies, eternal foe of—”
“—tedium itself,” Lady Umbranox cut in, her tone smooth as velvet but sharpened with scorn. She didn’t even rise from her seat, smoke curling lazily about her shoulders. “You strut, you shout, you summon toys, and still you bore me. Do you ever tire of your own voice?”
The Wasp reeled as though stabbed, claws at his chest. “Bore you?! Bore you?” His mandibles clicked in outrage. “This vendetta is the marrow of my soul!”
Umbranox’s lips curved into a smirk, dark and knowing. Her eyes glinted like burning coals in the night. “Then your soul is pitiably thin.”
Lady Revel huffed beside her, snapping her fan open in a flurry of lace. “Do you mind? Some of us are trying to maintain dignity, and you’re encouraging his theatrics.”
Celeste, shrinking a little, blurted softly: “Um… sorry, but… who is he?”
The Wasp gasped with delighted offense, buzzing closer. “Who am I? Oh, child—”
“An irritation,” Umbranox interrupted again, her voice like a dagger slipped beneath the ribs. She leaned back in her seat, gaze half-lidded, dripping disdain. “He flutters. He rants. He fails. That is all you need know.”
The Wasp fluttered back with a hiss, claws spread. “Hah! You wound me, smoke-queen! But very well—if you find my words dull, perhaps my blades will thrill you!”
His armor hissed open, and a swarm of gilded drones poured forth, buzzing with jagged malice.
Umbranox sighed as though inconvenienced. She lifted her flintlock with one languid motion and fired three perfect shots. The drones sparked and fell in showers of candy glass. She lowered the gun, her smirk deepening. “Pathetic. Perhaps next you’ll juggle fire for us, yes? Or recite dreadful poetry?”
The Wasp’s mandibles clicked furiously. “Insufferable woman!”
“Mm. At least you learn quickly,” she purred.
With a flourish, a swarm of jagged robot wasps poured from the vents of his armor, their buzzing filling the square in a shrill crescendo.
Umbranox fired without even rising from her seat—one, two, three shots in perfect rhythm. Sparks burst as drones collapsed into candy glass shards. But then—click. Jammed. She snarled, shaking the weapon.
Lady Revel pointed her fan at the group like a duelist giving orders. “You—mongrels! Protect your betters!”
Ray leaned lazily against a cracked pillar, unimpressed. “Or, you know, we could just… leave.”
Arcade adjusted his goggles, typing furiously on his wrist pad. “Statistically, retreat is, in fact, the optimal survival strategy.”
But Celeste had already stepped forward.
She swung her blade in awkward arcs, batting drones from the air—first one, then another, then a third. Sparks popped like fireworks. She bared her teeth in a grin, half nervous, half delighted, batting at them like dangling toys.
Mezzo’s jaw dropped. “Are you—Princess, are you playing with them?!”
Celeste ducked another drone, batting it aside with a squeak. “Shush and help!”
Mezzo’s grin spread ear to ear. He summoned his guitar-axe with a howl. “Now you’re talkin’, lass!” He charged in swinging wild, shredding drones in fiery arcs. “Rock and roll, ya glittery tin gnats!”
The Wasp laughed above it all, buzzing theatrically from the rooftops. “Yes! Dance for me, kittens! Dance upon my stage of honey and steel! Ohhh, how I do adore an audience!”
Ray and Arcade just stood there, side by side, watching in disbelief.
Ray deadpanned, arms crossed. “We are definitely dying with these idiots.”
Arcade sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yep. This is how society collapses—death by slapstick.”
Still, despite the chaos, the tide was turning—their strange rhythm was holding, and the swarm was breaking.
Lady Umbranox watched silently from the carriage, eyes narrowed, smoke curling at her paws.
Not at the drones. Not at the Wasp.
But at Celeste.
The gilded drones swarmed like angry hornets, golden wings whirring and stingers sparking.
Celeste ducked low, her katanas flashing in clumsy arcs, batting them away more like a panicked kitten than a soldier. Sparks popped as her blades sliced through circuits, and every time one dropped smoking to the cobbles she let out a little squeak of relief.
“Feckin’ brilliant!” Mezzo bellowed, charging into the chaos, Heartaxe singing a raw chord as he cleaved a drone clean in half. The machine exploded in a fizz of honey-sweet smoke. He laughed wildly. “Like playin’ whack-a-mole with bloody fireworks!”
“Less whack, more chop!” Celeste yelped, batting one away from her ear as though shooing a moth. “Oh stars—oh no no no!” She flailed, tripped, then rolled up onto her feet just as another buzzed past her head. “I hate bugs—I hate bugs—!”
Lumina darted in with a burst of glowing petals, her staff wobbling dangerously in her grip. She spun clumsily but managed to catch a drone mid-flight. “Blossom Feint!” she squeaked. The petals sprayed everywhere as she tumbled into a heap. The drone sparked, sliced open, dropping at her feet. Lumina popped her head up, dizzy but grinning. “Did… did it work?”
Skye, face deadpan but eyes alight, drew a card from his launcher. “Fire draw.” He flicked it forward, the card glowing as a small phoenix spirit burst forth, immolating a cluster of drones. He blinked up at the smoke, muttered, “Neat,” and added almost absently, “They sound like microwave popcorn.”
Mezzo doubled over laughing mid-swing. “Yes! That’s exactly what it sounds like—” He cleaved another bug, showering Celeste in sparks. She sneezed.
All the while, Lady Umbranox had not lifted her weapon again. She lounged in her carriage seat, her gaze tracking Celeste alone. Her chin rested lightly against her knuckles, her eyes narrowed not in irritation now—but in study.
The way Celeste stumbled, then recovered with a reflex too sharp for accident. The way her aura pulsed when Lumina flared beside her, brighter than a candle against night. The way her fear never silenced her, only pushed her into reckless bravery.
Recognition bloomed in Umbranox’s expression—sharp, dangerous, and knowing.
“Mmm,” she murmured under her breath, Adark cadence curling through the words, soft and dark. “So that is what she is…”
Her lips curved into the faintest smirk. A secret confirmed.
Chapter 3 : Bloom Against the Beast
The last of the drones fizzled out, metal husks clattering onto the sugar-paved street. Celeste and Mezzo were still batting at the sparks like kids in an arcade, laughing breathlessly as the swarm finally died down.
Then the ground shook.
From the alleyway, a massive silhouette lurched forward. A mythic zombie ogre—easily three times their size—stumbled into view. Its body was stitched from slabs of licorice-flesh and frosting-coated bone, eyes glowing a sickly caramel red.
The Gilded Wasp leapt dramatically, his wasp-armor buzzing as he drew his gilded spear. “Hah! Another foe for my sworn crusade—!”
But the ogre’s huge paw came down faster than he expected.
“Wha—?!”
The Wasp froze. The shadow swallowed him whole. The paw was about to crush him flat—
Until Celeste darted in, blades flashing.
Clang!
The ogre’s strike rebounded off her crossed swords, sparks dancing across her ribbon hilts. Celeste staggered under the force but held.
“Are you okay?!” she called, her voice shaky but warm.
The Gilded Wasp blinked up at her. For a fleeting instant, through the slits of his ornate helm, Celeste caught more than armor and theatrics. Definitely a cheetah—she could tell by the slope of his muzzle, the subtle twitch in his jaw. His eyes, startlingly blue, flicked toward her, wide with something he seemed desperate to mask. Beneath the shadows of his helm, strands of white hair had fallen loose, stark against the gold and black of his insect-plated armor.
His mandibles clicked once, clumsily, before he found his voice. A blush bloomed beneath his mask, betrayed by the faintest flick of his spotted ears.
“I—I… you… saved me?”
Celeste smiled despite the weight pressing down on her arms. “Of course.”
He stammered, words caught between bravado and something he didn’t dare say.
Then the ogre roared again, and Celeste spun, deflecting another blow with a grunt. “Less talking—more fighting please!”
The ogre roared and brought its licorice-thick arm down in a crushing swing. Celeste leapt forward, instinct pulling her blades together in a cross-guard. The impact rattled through her bones—her paws slipped, her balance faltered—yet something inside sparked.
Heat rose in her chest. Her ribbons flared.
Almost without thinking, she spun.
Her blades sang in a wide spiral, cutting through sticky sinew and candy-flesh. Light burst from the steel in a sudden blossom—petals of glowing pink and white scattering outward like a shower of spring blossoms. The air filled with shimmering trails, and each arc of her slash ripped deep into the ogre’s hide.
The creature staggered back with a guttural howl, licorice skin splitting under the flurry. Sugary ichor sprayed across the cobblestones.
Celeste stopped mid-spin, breathless, blades humming with residual light. Her chest heaved as she stared at the fading petals drifting through the air. “…Did I—did I just do that?”
“Bloody hell, lass!” Mezzo shouted, feathers ruffled, a wide grin spreading across his beak. “That was gorgeous!”
Ray slammed her hammer into the ogre’s knee, smirking despite the chaos. “Not bad for a first try. Do it again.”
Arcade, even while frantically typing on his wrist console, muttered in disbelief, “That shouldn’t even be possible…”
Celeste blinked, then let out a nervous giggle, cheeks flushed. “I—I don’t even know how I did it…”
The petals faded slowly, settling on the ground like falling starlight, as the ogre stumbled but refused to fall.
The ogre reeled under Celeste’s Starpetal Bloom, licorice flesh splitting, but it steadied itself with a guttural snarl. Molten sugar dripped from its jaws, sizzling on the cobblestones.
Mezzo staggered forward, fire burning in his eyes. “Alright, my turn—watch this!”
He hoisted Heartaxe high, strings crackling with heat as his claws raked a vicious riff across them. The axe blazed red-hot, flames licking up the edges. With a roar, he swung in a wide arc—
Blazing Chord Slash!
A wall of fire erupted from the blade, fanning out in a blazing crescent. The heatwave rolled forward, scorching the cobblestones black and smashing into the ogre’s chest. The monster howled, its licorice hide bubbling and splitting as the fiery shockwave pushed it back.
For a moment, it looked like it might topple.
But then—
The ogre thrust its maw open wide, belching out a torrent of sticky caramel strands. They whipped through the air like molten ropes, glowing and snapping. One caught the wave of fire—sizzling, hardening—and another lashed across Mezzo’s chest.
“GAH—!” He was hurled backward, crashing against a sugar-cracked wall, flames sputtering out on his axe. He coughed, dazed, his fur singed and smoking.
Celeste gasped, dashing toward him. “Mezzo!”
The ogre pounded its chest, its caramel whips snapping in the air like bullwhips. Melted sugar dripped from its claws, hissing as it hit the stone.
Ray grimaced, planting her hammer. “Great. It’s got tricks, too.”
Mezzo groaned as Celeste helped him up, his fur still smoking from the caramel lash. The ogre lumbered forward, caramel whips cracking, its molten eyes fixed on them like prey.
Ray spat into the dirt and stepped up, hammer glowing in her grip. “Alright, big guy—my turn.”
She lunged, her strikes landing in rapid succession—one, two, three—each blow sending cracks rippling through its licorice flesh. Sparks bled from the impact points, feeding into Heartbreaker’s head until it burned a molten red.
With a guttural roar, Ray planted her feet and spun the hammer overhead—once, twice, building momentum until embers whipped off in a burning chain around her. The flames spiraled outward in every direction, peppering the air like molten rain.
“Rising Ember Chain!”
She brought the hammer down in a brutal slam.
The ground cracked. A circle of burning embers erupted outward, creating a flaming zone that trapped the ogre in searing heat. Its licorice skin blistered, caramel oozing from fresh wounds as it staggered in the inferno.
“Try chewing through that, you sweet-toothed bastard!” Ray barked, flames reflecting in her eyes.
Celeste shielded her face from the heat, awe flickering in her gaze. “Ray… that was—amazing.”
Ray smirked through grit teeth, tightening her grip. “Damn right it was. Now let’s keep it down before it figures out another party trick.”
The ogre bellowed in pain, its caramel whips thrashing wildly, slamming against the walls as the burning circle ate into its candy flesh.
The ogre staggered in the inferno Ray left behind, caramel bubbling from its licorice-fused wounds. Its molten eyes narrowed, glowing hotter with each labored breath.
Skye flicked his deck open, pulling a shimmering holo-card between his claws. He gulped, then forced a smirk. “Alright, I’m calling it—Caramelus Rex. Big, sticky, and smells worse than Mezzo’s laundry.”
“Oi! Low blow, kid!” Mezzo barked, shaking caramel goo from his feathers.
Caramelus Rex roared, the sound rattling through the chamber as its caramel whips lashed out blindly. The team ducked and scattered.
“Time to make this sweet tooth dizzy,” Pitch snarled. He flicked his wrist, a full spread of glowing cards exploding from his paw. Dealer’s Distraction!
The cards swirled like confetti, flashing neon edges that circled Caramelus Rex’s head. The beast reeled, swiping wildly at the illusions, its accuracy dropping as it struggled to focus on its prey.
C.H.I.P. clanked forward beside him, panels shifting as neon wings extended with a hum. Power Pose! Pitch and the robot struck a synchronized stance—Pitch spinning his shotgun in a flourish while C.H.I.P. flexed its piston arms. Their combined display sent out a pulse of dazzling light, blinding a cluster of Sugar Rushers that had begun to pour into the chamber.
“Show-off much?” Ray grunted, smashing another lollipop zombie flat.
Lumina stumbled forward, gripping her blade awkwardly in both hands. “O-okay, I can do this too!” she squeaked, darting at Caramelus Rex’s flank.
She spun clumsily, petals bursting from her sword tip as she slashed. Once, twice, three times—each swing releasing a swirl of glowing sakura blossoms. Petal Dance Slash!
The petals stung and sparked against Caramelus Rex’s hide, tiny radiant explosions popping against its caramel skin. The beast snarled, lashing its sticky whips against the walls in fury.
Celeste’s heart leapt as she saw Lumina beam with pride—only for her stomach to drop when Caramelus Rex kept moving.
It didn’t fall. It didn’t even stumble.
The flames, the petals, the cards—it was all wearing it down, yes, but not enough.
Caramelus Rex bellowed, snapping one of its caramel whips down with the force of a falling tree. The ground trembled, cracks spiderwebbing through the sugarstone floor.
Celeste braced, panting, blades up. “It’s… it’s not stopping!”
Ray growled, hammer at the ready. “Then we don’t stop either.”
The chamber shook again as Caramelus Rex lumbered forward, caramel dripping from its jaws in molten ropes. Every blow they landed seemed to melt, then harden back into place—its body refusing to stay down.
Skye’s breath caught in his throat, his hands trembling as he shuffled his deck. He swallowed hard, eyes flicking from Celeste to the raging ogre. “...Okay. My turn.”
He drew a glowing card and flicked his wrist with uncharacteristic sharpness. The air hummed as the card shimmered into radiant steel, edges glowing like molten glass.
Glint Slash!
The card spun through the air in a perfect arc, slicing across the ogre’s caramel-thick chest. Sparks flew where it struck, a burst of radiant light exploding on impact. Caramelus Rex howled, stumbling back a step as the card curved around midair and zipped back into Skye’s paw.
The boy’s chest rose and fell rapidly. His ears twitched. He glanced at Celeste—half-expecting disappointment, maybe—but she just stared at him, wide-eyed and proud.
Mezzo whistled. “Well, bloody hell, kid. That’s some trick shot.”
Ray smirked, wiping caramel off her knuckles. “Not bad, Rookie. Not bad at all.”
Skye held the glowing card tight, his voice quiet but firm. “Told you I’m not just here to watch.”
Caramelus Rex roared again, its caramel hide sizzling from the radiant cut. But instead of slowing, it slammed both fists into the ground, the whole chamber trembling as sugarstone cracked beneath their feet.
The fight wasn’t done.
From the carriage, Lady Revel watched in disbelief, lace sleeves stained in zombie guts. “This is insanity,” she muttered. “We should be running.”
Lady Umbranox, calm as ever, brushed ash from her mane, her smoke curling lazily around her. Her flintlock still jammed, she didn’t move to reload. Instead, she studied Celeste with narrowed, calculating eyes.
At last, she murmured, “She’s intriguing.”
Revel bristled. “Intriguing?! They’re breaking law! We should leave them to die!”
Umbranox didn’t look at her. “And yet… we won’t.”
Down below, the fight raged on, the gang holding the line together. Celeste’s glow flared with every strike, ribbons dancing like constellations as she met the ogre’s blows head-on.
Chapter 4 : Victory in Flames, Doubt in Ash
Caramelus Rex staggered, molten sugar dripping from the gaping cracks in its licorice hide. The Knights pressed in, but the beast roared defiantly, swinging its colossal paw to scatter them back.
Mezzo spat caramel from his feathers, eyes blazing. He strummed a harsh, rising riff, sparks flying from the strings of Heartaxe. “Alright, lads—time to end this with style!”
The guitar blazed crimson. Flames curled up the strings, racing toward the neck. His wings spread wide, and with a wild grin, he launched himself into the air.
“PYRO SOLO!”
He spun mid-leap, a blazing comet of feathers and fire, then brought Heartaxe crashing down with a roaring chord.
The ground detonated. A shockwave of flame erupted outward in a blazing ring, engulfing the ogre in molten fire. Sugar flesh crackled, frosting boiled, and the beast howled as it collapsed, body splintering into candy shards under the burning wave.
Mezzo’s guitar-axe hummed, glowing hot red as he strummed furiously, laughter bubbling out of him. “Right—grand finale, lads! Let’s see how ya like a faceful o’ feedback!”
He slammed his paw across the strings. A shockwave tore out, rattling windows and shaking candy beams loose. Caramelus Rex wobbled, knees buckling. “C’mere, ya jam-filled freak!” he bellowed, smashing the beast sideways into a collapsing sugar column. Its head splattered in syrupy chunks.
The street went still.
LEVEL UP!
➤ Level 4 Achieved!
The shockwave knocked Celeste and the others back, their silhouettes flaring against the firestorm. Lumina squealed, tumbling over Skye, while Arcade shielded his holopad with both paws.
When the flames finally died down, Caramelus Rex was nothing but a heap of steaming sugar and ash.
Mezzo landed in the smoking crater, axe slung across his shoulders, grinning like a madman. “Rock an’ roll, ya sticky bastard.”
Celeste clapped excitedly, bouncing on her heels despite the soot on her cheeks. “That was amazing!”
Lumina, still sprawled, giggled breathlessly. “L-like… a fireworks concert…”
Ray rolled her eyes, wiping goo from her hammer. “Show-off.” But the corner of her mouth twitched into a smirk.
Arcade sighed, brushing sugar off his hoodie. “Congratulations. You’ve officially set the record for least energy-efficient overkill in history.”
“Worth it!” Mezzo howled, thrusting his axe high as if to play an invisible encore.
Celeste panted, then perked, bouncing on her heels. Her katanas dissolved into starlight. “Oh! Group high-five!” she squeaked, tail flicking hopefully.
Mezzo slapped her paw with a wide grin. “Hell yeah!” Lumina giggled, a little too loud, and lifted her tiny shield-hand. Smack! Skye gave an awkward, shy tap, eyes darting to the ground. Arcade sighed heavily but gave the faintest tap with one knuckle. “If I contract something sticky from this, I’ll sue.”
For a breath, they all just stood there. Sticky, exhausted, but smiling. Almost like they’d won.
Then—
“Hands where I can see them!”
Dozens of Council guards flooded in, rifles leveled. Golden armor gleamed, faceless masks catching the glow of shattered candy glass.
The gang froze, hands shooting up.
Celeste’s ears drooped, voice small. “Oh dear. I… I think we’re in trouble.”
Arcade adjusted his cracked lenses with his wrist, dry as dust. “Correct. One hundred percent.”
The commander barked, cold and clipped: “Hybrids! Mana detected. Suppression chips inactive. Requesting permission to execute!”
Before any could move, Lady Umbranox’s voice cut through like velvet smoke, sharp and commanding. “Stand down.”
Every rifle lowered instantly.
She stepped forward, crimson eyes glimmering. “Our priority is the artifact. These… hybrids are inconsequential.” Her gaze lingered on Celeste a heartbeat too long, her tone softening just faintly. “Besides… the Eye of the Council is always watching.”
Celeste shivered, tail curling tight.
Then—laughter. Loud, manic, echoing from above.
The Gilded Wasp, perched dramatically on a broken billboard, flared his cape. “Ha! You dare steal my victory, little cat?!” His voice buzzed with theatrical venom, somewhere between flirtation and fury. “You are sworn—to be my mortal enemy! Tell me your name, so history may remember your doom!”
Celeste lit up despite the rifles still pointed at her. “Oh! I’m Celeste Astallan! This is so exciting—we can be friend-enemies!” she chirped, tail swishing.
Ray’s paw smacked the back of her head. “Don’t tell him your damn name!” she barked, voice edged with fury.
“Ow! Why does everyone hit me?” Celeste whimpered, rubbing her ears. Lumina hurried over, patting her leg with wide, worried eyes.
Lady Umbranox’s gaze sharpened—too sharp, almost shaken. But she said nothing.
Lady Revel, by contrast, let out an exasperated sigh, flicking bloodied lace as though offended it dared touch her. “Enough of this circus. Form ranks! Move the carriage!”
The guards immediately obeyed.
Above, the Gilded Wasp clutched his chest in operatic fashion. “Very well, Celeste Astallan! This is but the first page of our rivalry! Treasure your days, for they are numbered!”
He struck a glittering pose, wings buzzing furiously, and zipped off in a storm of sparkling drones.
The street fell quiet.
Celeste blinked, tilting her head like a confused kitten. “...Well that was strange.”
“Strange?” Ray muttered flatly. “More like insane. Same as you.”
Mezzo cackled, syrup dripping from his ears. “Oi, don’t knock it! I’ve always wanted a nemesis with sparkly wings!”
Arcade sighed, firing up his omni-tool again. “Wonderful. A wasp-themed narcissist. Exactly what today was missing.”
The last embers of Mezzo’s Pyro Solo still smoldered when the mechanical horse-bug droids clattered to life. Their jeweled eyes pulsed, wings unfolding in metallic harmony as they created a glowing barrier around the Council’s carriage.
Lady Umbranox stood, smoke curling lazily around her like a cloak. She didn’t look back, her voice a velvet blade. “Revel. Pontifex. We are finished here.”
Revel scoffed, snapping her fan shut with theatrical disdain. “Finally. I was beginning to smell like a butcher’s floor.”
The priest — Luminary Pontifex Tàiyáng — simply bowed to the group, his tone like warm tea. “May the Motherlight temper your burdens.”
The guards tightened their ranks around the carriages, the gang shoved forward with rifles at their backs.
Lady Umbranox adjusted her black smoke mane, her crimson eyes fixed on Celeste. Outwardly, her expression was unreadable—distant, commanding. But inside, her mind raced.
It cannot be.
With a whir, the horse-bugs lifted the carriage from the ground. It hovered smoothly, tilting into motion as the Council guards ignited their jetpacks, streams of blue flame carrying them aloft. The entire procession vanished into the horizon like a gilded storm.
Mezzo flopped backward, wiping sweat from his brow. “Jetpacks. Bloody jetpacks. Why don’t we get toys like that?”
Celeste, still catching her breath, perked up. She dug into her pouch and pulled out one of her dreamshards, holding it out with a shy smile. “Even better. You earned a pizza oven.”
Mezzo froze. Then, with a howl of glee, he snatched it up and bear-hugged her so tightly her paws flailed. “You’re the best friend a dalmatian could ever ask for! First pizza’s yours, promise!”
Arcade deadpanned without missing a beat, already typing on his omni-tool. “Statistically, the odds of him poisoning you with undercooked dough are high.”
Celeste squeaked. “Arcade!”
Celeste blinked as her HUD suddenly flickered to life in front of her eyes. The faint golden interface pulsed, brighter than before. [Notification: Range increased. Companions may now summon weapons further from user. Healing output enhanced.]
She gasped softly, paws rising to her mouth. “Oh! O-oh, goodness—it’s working! W-we’re stronger now, all of us!”
Mezzo nearly toppled backward from how hard he cheered, Infernal Riff swinging wildly. “Twice! We bloody leveled up twice! Pizza oven and power boost—best day ever!”
Ray rolled her eyes but cracked a smirk. “Congratulations, you smell even worse when you’re excited.”
Pitch, shotgun balanced over his shoulder, tilted his head. His tone was lighter than usual, but sharp beneath the grin. “Don’t pop the champagne yet, kitten. Answer me this—why’d the centipede know your face? Kept calling you Kenaz. That mean something to you?”
Celeste froze, her ears twitching. She shifted awkwardly, voice tumbling over itself. “I—I’m not sure. B-but after what Carys told me, when we were, um, stuck in that toilet at the convention—oh dear, that sounds worse out loud—uh, anyway… I think a lot more happened that day than we realize.”
Ray’s eyes narrowed. “So Kenaz. That’s your dad?”
Celeste’s voice went soft, almost apologetic. “Yes.”
Lumina gasped, clutching her little shield to her chest. “O-M-G. Is he here? Like—is Dad in the city?”
Celeste knelt quickly, stroking Lumina’s hair with trembling paws. Her smile was gentle but pained. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Carys said he left right after the fighting. He… probably isn’t here.”
Lumina puffed her cheeks, frustrated, then whispered stubbornly, “But he came here for us. That’s… something, right?”
Celeste’s ears drooped. “That’s true,” she admitted, guilt lacing her voice.
Arcade adjusted his glasses, his voice flat as always, but there was an edge beneath the logic. “Honestly, Celeste—do you or your dad have anything to do with this catastrophe? Because the timing is… statistically suspicious.”
Celeste threw her hands up, tail puffed. “No! I promise—I don’t have a bloody clue! But if Mandibite and that dragon Velcarius both know my dad, then… then it must be a coincidence. Has to be.”
Ray snorted, rubbing sugar grit from her fur. “Whatever. We’ll untangle the family drama later. Right now? I need a bath. I smell like arse.”
Mezzo cackled. “Don’t worry, lass—we all do!”
Ray shoved him. “You’re not helping.”
The night air clung heavy with smoke and sugar ash as they trudged back toward the battered red car. Syrup crunched beneath their boots with every step, the city groaning faintly in the distance as if alive.
The others bantered half-heartedly—Mezzo griping about missing pizza toppings, Ray threatening to clobber him if he didn’t shut up, Arcade muttering calculations under his breath—but Celeste barely heard them.
Her paws tightened around her hoodie sleeves. Every time she blinked, she saw Mandibite’s twisted face, spitting her father’s name like a curse.
Kenaz.
Her chest tightened.
If I hadn’t run away… if I’d just stayed in the mansion like he said, none of this would’ve happened, would it? Maybe the zombies, maybe the dome, maybe the whole horrible mess—maybe it wouldn’t have spread so far. Maybe Dad wouldn’t have had to fight that dragon. Maybe… maybe I wouldn’t have dragged everyone into this.
Her throat stung. She kept her eyes down, so the others wouldn’t notice.
I thought I was being brave. I thought… if I left, I could finally see the world, taste life, not be trapped forever. But maybe all I did was make everything worse. Maybe all I did was prove him right.
The car loomed ahead, its metal frame scorched but still standing. Celeste lingered a moment behind the others, hugging herself against the night breeze.
Her tail curled tight around her leg. She whispered under her breath, too quiet for anyone but herself:
“…I’m sorry, Dad. Maybe I really am just a coward.”
She forced a small smile when Lumina looked back, waving as if nothing was wrong. But inside, the weight only grew heavier with every step closer to the base.
Chapter 5 : Crumbs, Cards, and Quiet Truths
Back at the base, the tension had finally broken like a brittle shell. Laughter echoed through the hall as the team gathered around the cookie table—now affectionately dubbed “The Nommie Table” by Skye, a name that stuck like melted cheese on crust.
Pizza plates were strewn everywhere, the scent of melted cheese and sizzling dough floating like incense of victory. Somehow, Mezzo had convinced everyone—especially Celeste—to let him create pizza oven with the dream capsules, though it now looked more like a grease-stained shrine to carbohydrates than a kitchen appliance.
“You laugh,” Mezzo declared proudly, tossing a dough disk in the air with a dramatic spin, “but this oven has witnessed war. This oven is family.”
Celeste actually smiled—a genuine, weary one—and shook her head. “Just make sure the base doesn’t explode, Maestro Mozzarella.”
The group burst out laughing.
It was a strange comfort, finding peace in the smell of pizza and sarcasm after nearly being crushed, torn, and devoured.
Arcade, ever the techie, had been fiddling with the base’s fridge unit, and with a few proud beeps and hums, unveiled his latest discovery.
“It’s not just a fridge,” he explained, standing triumphantly beside the humming monolith. “This baby replicates food and dismantles it down to raw ingredients. Meaning—” he turned to Mezzo, “—yes, you can now have unlimited dough.”
Mezzo gasped. “It’s a miracle. I take back every bad thing I ever said about you. Almost.”
Skye, perched on the back of a couch, held up his deck of custom cards and grinned. “We’ve got gear, grub, and game. Knights of the Nommie Table, assemble!”
Ray rolled her eyes but didn’t hide her grin. “That’s actually… not the worst name we’ve had.”
But amid the humor and warmth, there was something else—growth. They could all feel it. Their bonds had strengthened, their skills had evolved, and with that came new power. Resting on the sugar biscuit plinth, the old magical book—now affectionately renamed The Nommipedia by Skye—pulsed faintly with light.
The Nommipedia had started as a mysterious artifact, but now it acted as a living record of their journey. It updated itself with their thoughts and experiences, documenting everything from the types of candy-twisted zombies they’d faced to the names and stats of each team member.
Pitch leaned over, brow arched. “Well, would you look at that. Our eight-legged friend just made the front page.”
The book’s script shimmered:
Boss Entry: The Centerpied. Mandibite Weakness: Fire-imbued strikes and crippling joint damage. Status: Defeated.
But just beneath, the letters rearranged again—revealing something none of them expected.
Original Name: Huw Perrin.
The room fell quiet.
Celeste’s ears folded back. “Huw Perrin… he was a person?”
Hughes rested both hands on his crook, his voice low and steady. “They all were. Every one of these creatures. Remember that. Respect it. One day we may find answers, but until then—each time we kill a zombie, we do it mindful of what they used to be.”
Mezzo frowned, tail flicking. “That’s… heavy.”
Pitch shut the book with a snap, though his usual smirk was gone. “Heavy or not, it needed doing. Bug’s down. End of story.”
The Nommipedia pulsed again, pages fluttering as more entries appeared—sketches and notes, almost like it had pulled the team’s collective memories into ink.
Cat-o-Wraps. Lollipop cats without mouths. Weak point: disrupt their mimicry song before it puts you to sleep.
Hippogums. Massive gum beasts. Weak point: strike their swollen bellies before they can absorb you whole.
Skye gave a low whistle. “Guess it’s official—our monster-hunting encyclopedia’s alive. Updating itself off our brains, no less.”
Arcade rolled his eyes. “It’s not alive, it’s just… highly adaptive code wrapped in spell-form.”
“Sure,” Skye teased, “and I’m the King of Caerfaen.”
Laughter rippled through the group, the warmth cutting through the lingering shadows of battle. But under the humor, they could all feel it—that shift inside themselves. Their bonds had strengthened. Their skills had sharpened. With each fight, they weren’t just surviving. They were evolving.
The Nommipedia pulsed once more, as if to agree.
As Celeste opened it, a page turned on its own. Ink flowed across the parchment like liquid magic, forming words and diagrams summoned by their progress.
She read aloud: “Power Unbound – The warrior’s soul expands like a ripple in water. Proximity increased.”
Ray stretched, cracking her knuckles. “Finally. No more synchronized sprints under fire.”
Even C.H.I.P., the little robot, gave an enthusiastic beep and saluted.
The Nommipedia pulsed again. New ink bled across the pages, rearranging into neat lists—weapon combinations, stats, and something new: weaknesses.
Mezzo leaned over her shoulder. “Whoa, check it out—new combo: Inferno Waltz. If I sync my speed with Celeste’s slashes, we can double-hit with fire and steel.”
Celeste’s face lit. “That’s Griffin Blitz—upgraded.”
Pitch smirked. “And here—Shadow Circuit. Me and Arcade. Cards redirect through his drones for a chain lightning crit.”
Arcade’s glasses flashed as he adjusted them. “Finally. Someone acknowledging my genius.”
Skye fanned his deck, ears twitching. “Says here I can weave Ray’s fire into a Radiant Draw for a burning glyph trap.”
Ray’s grin widened. “Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about.”
But then the glow shifted again.
Team Member Traits:
Mezzo Swift: Impulsive. Rushes ahead without planning.
Ray: Wrathful. Anger boosts strength but clouds judgment.
Pitch: Cynical. Distrust can strain bonds.
Arcade: Detached. Overthinks, underfeels.
Skye: Anxious. Hesitation when plans go awry.
Lumina: Shadowed. Struggles to define herself outside her sister’s light.
Bonbon: Innocent. Too young for the weight of war, yet eager to belong.
Hughes: Rigid. Bound by tradition, slow to change.
The room went uncomfortably quiet
Ray scowled, slamming Heartbreaker’s butt against the floor. “Wrathful? Really? That book’s got some nerve.”
Pitch snorted, flicking a card through his fingers. “Better than mine. At least your rage hits things. Mine just makes me an ass.”
Mezzo scratched his neck, ears low. “Impulsive’s not that bad… right?”
Celeste shut the book gently, her voice soft. “It’s not wrong. But it doesn’t mean that’s all we are.”
Hughes’ voice cut through, calm but firm. “The Nommipedia doesn’t mock you. It reflects you. Weaknesses can be tempered, just as strengths can be honed. What matters is that you’re aware.”
Ray huffed, crossing her arms, but her ears tipped downward in reluctant agreement.
The book glowed again, ink sketching their newest abilities, weapon arcs, and shining icons of their combos. Despite the sting of honesty, there was a weight of progress in the air—growth they could feel in their bones.
The cookie-table map flickered, sugar runes glowing as Bracer dragged his claw across the projection. One by one, new icons flared into view—larger, darker than the others.
“Generals,” he said simply.
The sugar light painted their shapes in eerie detail. A hulking candy-minotaur stitched with licorice sinew. A phoenix dripping molten caramel. A wisp-like beast with gum-thread wings. And at the very center, coiled around the Gumball like a crown of terror—
The Dragon.
Its name burned crimson across the display. Level 50.
Mezzo choked on his pizza crust. “F-fifty?! We just hit level four! Four! That thing could sneeze and we’d be candy paste!”
Arcade adjusted his glasses with one claw, deadpan. “Correct. Statistically, our survival rate against a level fifty is… nonexistent. Unless we grind. A lot.”
“Grinding?” Ray groaned, crossing her arms. “We’d need an army, not a few late-night training sessions. We crushed Mandibite, sure, but that was one general. This? This is suicide.”
Pitch shuffled his cards with a bitter smirk. “And what makes you think the Council or the mythics would fight for us? We’re nobodies. Pawns. Disposable.”
Celeste bit her lip, then softly shook her head. “That’s true… but maybe—maybe if we try? If we show them we’re serious, that we can stand, maybe someone will listen. We won’t know unless we try.”
Her words lingered. Not conviction, exactly, but the kind of fragile hope that wouldn’t quite die.
Bracer leaned forward, his crimson eyes narrowing as he met hers. “I owe you an apology, Celeste. For what happened on the balcony. I wanted to push you… but not break you.”
Celeste blinked, her cheeks warming. “It’s fine. Really. I’m sorry too—for running off without telling you. I just… I needed answers.”
Pitch arched a brow. “And you found any?”
Celeste hesitated, fiddling with the hem of her hoodie. “…I met a lynx. Strange one. Gave me books to read.”
Arcade groaned. “Of course you did. Never a dull day with you, Anime.”
The cookie-table glowed with eerie red icons, the generals’ shapes looming in sugar-light. The room was tense, weighed down by the revelations. Celeste’s eyes lingered on Bonbon, who was curled at the edge of the map with her beaker hat tipped sideways.
Celeste crouched down, voice softening. “And… some books in Welsh. Now I can finally talk to you properly.”
Bonbon’s eyes widened, then she let out a giggle, muffled behind her paw. “Diolch,” she chirped shyly, the Welsh word for thank you warming the air.
Celeste’s smile softened, ears dipping in relief. “See? I understood that one.”
And for the first time in a long while, the team didn’t feel like survivors on the run.
Like a family.
And somewhere deep in the shadows of Clawdiff, where monsters stirred and danger brewed, they dared to believe:
They might just have a chance.
Chapter 6 : Pineapple, Promises, and Crusts
Pitch lingered near the edge of the room, cards flicking between his fingers in restless arcs. His eyes slid toward Celeste, who was busy balancing a plate of pizza in one hand while Bonbon clutched her other arm.
“Oi, Kitten,” he said, quieter than usual. “Got a minute?”
Celeste blinked, ears pricking. “Hm? Sure.”
He tipped his head toward a side door. She followed, Bonbon padding along dutifully, dragging her little slice of pizza like a prized trophy.
Inside the side room, the hum of the base dulled. Pitch leaned against the wall, his smirk subdued for once. “I, uh… wanted to say thanks. For the tunnels. For saving my hide.” He tapped a card against his chin, avoiding her eyes. “Truth is, I can’t leave Clawdiff. Tried. Doesn’t stick. So… if you’ll have me, I’d like to stay. At least until the barrier falls.”
Celeste smiled gently, balancing Bonbon against her hip. “Sure thing. It’s no trouble. And we’ve got plenty of room.”
Pitch huffed a dry laugh. “You don’t have to be so nice to a weirdo who popped up outta nowhere at a convention.”
“Technically,” Celeste said, a spark of humor in her voice, “we’re all kind of like that here.”
He glanced at her, ears twitching, then nodded. “Fair. Either way, I’ll pull my weight. Survival’s my specialty. I know how to secure a place, find supplies, sniff out weak spots. And…” His gaze finally steadied on her. “I’ll watch your back. That’s a promise.”
Celeste’s smile softened. “I trust you, Pitch.”
He shifted awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. Don’t say that too loud. Ruins my reputation.” Straightening, he gestured toward the hall. “I’m gonna have a look around. Get the lay of the land.”
With a nod, Pitch slipped out, his footsteps fading into the steel corridors. Celeste adjusted Bonbon on her hip, about to return to the common room when a familiar voice called out.
“Hey, Celeste!”
Carys padded down the corridor, a small bag slung over her shoulder, her smile as bright as ever. She gave a little wave before nodding toward the side door Pitch had just vacated. “That room near the kitchen—is it free? Figured it’d be easier to sneak snacks without trekking halfway across the base.”
Celeste chuckled softly. “Sure thing. Take it.”
Carys’s ears perked. “Thanks. I’ll stick around here for a while, but… I do want to head back to the university sooner rather than later. My stuff’s still there.”
Celeste hesitated, then nodded. “Same. Maybe I’ll come with you.”
Carys’s smile widened as she reached out, brushing Celeste’s arm. “You’re so sweet and helpful. Always thinking of others.”
Celeste’s cheeks warmed, and she quickly busied herself shifting Bonbon’s weight in her arms. “It’s nothing, really.”
Carys giggled. “Blushing suits you.” With a wink, she headed down the hall, humming to herself.
Celeste lingered in the corridor for a moment, her ears still pink, before Bonbon tugged at her sleeve and mumbled, “Pizza’s getting cold.”
The base had settled into a rare moment of calm. The lights hummed softly overhead, casting a warm glow across the mismatched furniture and stacked crates. Celeste lounged on one of the threadbare sofas, a slice of barbecue chicken and pineapple pizza in her hand, the crust still steaming from the oven.
Bonbon sat curled in her lap, both hands around a small sippy cup filled with milk. Her eyes, always so alert, had softened under the comfort of a full belly. She took slow, steady sips, nuzzling into Celeste’s side like a kitten satisfied for the first time in days.
Celeste gently brushed a lock of fur from Bonbon’s face, a rare peace settling over her. She took a bite of the pizza—sweet pineapple and smoky barbecue sauce blending in a way that made her eyes flutter shut. It tasted like memories. Like warmth. Like something from before.
A few feet away, Pitch wandered through the base, poking and prodding everything in sight. He muttered under his breath as he examined exposed wires, tapped on metal walls, and stared long and hard at the ceiling vents like they might come alive and whisper secrets.
“This whole place is weird,” he said, not really to anyone. “The airflow’s perfect. Not a speck of dust in the ducts. No mold, no leaks, no power fluctuations. Either someone’s still maintaining this place, or... it’s running on ghost energy and a prayer.”
“You think it’s haunted?” Celeste teased, raising an eyebrow. Pitch scratched his chin. “Wouldn’t be the weirdest thing we’ve dealt with.”
Across the room, Mezzo plopped down beside her and caught a whiff of her pizza. He blinked, leaned in, and froze mid-sniff.
“Is that... pineapple?” he asked, voice low, as if uttering an unspeakable curse. Celeste smirked, not missing a beat. “Barbecue sauce, chicken and pineapple. Best combo.” Mezzo leaned back with a look of betrayal. “You—you eat fruit on pizza? I thought we were comrades.”
Celeste took another deliberate bite, eyes locked on him. “We survived sewer monsters together, Mezzo. I think our bond can handle a topping disagreement.”
“Disagreement?” Mezzo scoffed. “That’s not a disagreement, that’s a war crime. What did that poor slice ever do to you?”
Bonbon, watching curiously from Celeste’s lap, offered a quiet, approving “Mmm!”—milk dribbling down her chin.
Pitch glanced over from inspecting a junction box. “You should hear what she puts in her trail mix.”
Mezzo groaned and slid down in his seat. “I knew it. You’re all lunatics.”
Celeste chuckled, wiping Bonbon’s face. “Better a lunatic with a full stomach than a cranky cat on an empty one.”
Mezzo folded his arms but couldn't hide the twitch of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Fine. But if someone puts banana on a burger next, I’m out.”
For a moment, the team basked in the illusion of normal. No monsters, no warnings, no roars in the distance—just jokes, strange comfort food, and the hum of a base that somehow still felt like home.
Even if someone in it liked pineapple on pizza.
Later, when the laughter had dimmed and Bonbon had dozed off against her side, Celeste eased the Nommipedia back into her lap. Its cover pulsed faintly, eager to be opened.
She brushed her paw across the page and whispered, “Scan.”
New entries unfolded in shimmering light, each glowing name aligning with the friends seated around her.
Hybrid Statuses:
Ray: Half Phoenix.
Mezzo: Half Gryphon.
Skye: Half Carbuncle.
Arcade: Half Chupacabra.
Celeste blinked, her heart thumping. Then her eyes trailed further down the list.
Hughes: Half Leshy.
Her ears flicked back. “Leshy?” The word felt ancient, heavy, older than most myths she’d studied. She glanced at him where he sat oiling his crook, unbothered, like it was nothing more than a footnote. The revelation lodged deep in her chest.
She turned the page again—searching for her own name.
Nothing.
No entry for Celeste. No entry for Lumina. Not even for Bonbon.
Her stomach twisted. She had saved lives, crossed Clawdiff, wielded powers she barely understood—but the Nommipedia still refused to name her.
Then the shadows in the corner shifted, and Pitch sauntered back into the common room, tossing a card idly into the air. Celeste’s eyes flicked instinctively to the book—only to find his space blurred, scrambled, like ink refusing to hold. Almost as though he didn’t want to be seen.
Why?
Her claws tightened around the page. She would give anything to understand her own heritage, to know why her father had been so secretive, why her memories of her mother unraveled the harder she tried to recall them. Were they ever real? Or had pieces been cut away?
She hugged Bonbon a little closer as the cub murmured in her sleep, her small hand clutching Celeste’s ribbon. Celeste stared down at the glowing script of the Nommipedia, her reflection caught in its shining page.
Not a Unknown. Not a mistake. But still… a question with no answer.
Chapter 7 : Patchwork Peace
The next few days passed in a surprising lull—no alarms, no monsters crashing through walls, no twisted candy horrors lurking in shadows. Just time. Quiet, precious time.
Carys settled in with ease, her naturally gentle energy blending into the rhythm of the base. She folded clothes on the new makeshift washing line, swept out corners of dust that had gone unnoticed, and helped sort rations with a kind of earnestness that made even the smallest tasks feel important. When she wasn’t working, she sat with Celeste, the two of them talking about the past—art classes, classmates, memories soaked in paint and ink and late nights.
Celeste found herself enjoying those moments. Maybe too much. There was something there—a warmth when Carys smiled at her, a flutter when their hands brushed reaching for the same cup. She didn’t know what it meant, or what to do with it. Only that it lingered longer than it should have.
Arcade busied himself with daily trips to the overgrown library, collecting both books and salvage. With the help of C.H.I.P, he was slowly building a server room of his own—stacks of humming machines, blinking lights, and preserved knowledge waiting to be sorted. He spoke to C.H.I.P like an old friend, as though the robot's silence was a conversation all its own.
Pitch, never one to sit still long, trained often with Bracer—target practice, endurance drills, strange betting games that always ended with someone eating something spicy or regretful. Ray, who once barely acknowledged him, began talking to him more, their rapport blooming from mutual respect and the occasional sarcastic jab.
Skye, too, was growing. He spent hours tinkering with his card launcher, brainstorming new creature designs, asking anyone who’d listen for feedback. His quiet confidence was blooming into something bolder, each sketch becoming sharper, more daring.
Lumina, like a shadow of sunlight, followed her older sister wherever she could. She mimicked Celeste’s stances, her combat drills, even the way she folded her arms. Though she rarely spoke, she watched everything—soaking up the world with wide, determined eyes.
The base itself began to transform. What was once a hidden bunker slowly began to resemble a real home. Someone (likely Skye, though no one confessed) constructed a garage from slabs of gingerbread, reinforced with steel and candy-cane struts. A small moat appeared around the perimeter—a clever water system to deter sugar rushers. It shimmered under the light, fed by a trickling artificial stream Arcade had somehow rigged through ancient pipes.
Inside, a sense of community began to grow stronger. Training spaces were upgraded. Dorm rooms got patchwork personal touches—posters, books, homemade lights. Even the tech lab buzzed with more than just wires and math.
It was strange. Beautiful. A kind of patchwork wonderland that defied logic and survival odds. But it worked.
At night, the base glowed. Laughter echoed through its walls. The clink of mugs, the scent of baked dough, the low hum of monitors filled the silence. Even in a world crawling with candy-coated nightmares, they had carved out something soft. Something theirs. And for now, that was enough.
A hand-painted sign was mounted just above the entrance, carved from old junk panels and scorched metal plating. Bold lettering, splashed in deep purples and reds, read:
“Knights of Clawdiff.”
Underneath, the logo—a stylized sword wrapped around a broken crown with wings —had clearly been sketched, debated, and revised more than once. According to Bonbon, the final design was the result of a three-hour shouting match between Celeste, Mezzo, and Ray, followed by a two-hour truce over marshmallow tea.
It stuck.
And often, when the base quieted for the night, soft laughter and distant sound effects could be heard echoing from the rec room.
There, more nights than not, Celeste and Mezzo could be found hunched over a cobbled-together console, deep into yet another multiplayer battle. Controllers clicked, trash talk flew, and half-eaten candy snacks littered the floor. They were both relentless—determined to be the last one standing, the one who could finally, undeniably beat the other.
“Ha! Eat plasma, Princess!” Mezzo whooped as his character blasted hers off a neon platform.
Celeste puffed her cheeks, ears flat. “That was pure luck, and you know it!”
“Luck?” He leaned back, smug grin plastered across his face. “That was pure skill, thank you very much. World-class gamer reflexes.”
“World-class cheater, more like,” Celeste shot back, swatting his arm with the controller wire.
He laughed, tail thumping against the floor, before leaning forward again as the next match loaded. “Admit it, you’d be bored out of your mind without me.”
Celeste smirked. “Maybe. Or maybe I’d actually get some peace and quiet.”
They chuckled together, but after a moment, the laughter ebbed into something softer. The flicker of the TV cast both their faces in shades of blue and red.
“You ever think about it?” Mezzo asked suddenly. “Being stuck here. In Clawdiff. Like… what if the barrier never falls? What if it’s just zombies forever?”
Celeste’s paws stilled on the buttons. “All the time,” she admitted quietly. “Sometimes I think… what if we’re not meant to make it out at all? What if this is it?”
Mezzo tilted his head, watching her. “That’s bleak, Princess.”
“I know.” She hugged her knees for a moment, controller resting in her lap. “But then I look around—at all of you—and it doesn’t feel as scary. Even if it’s just Clawdiff, even if it’s just us against the world… it’s not so bad.”
Mezzo blinked, his grin softening into something gentler. He rubbed the back of his neck. “…You’re sweet, y’know that?”
Celeste blushed, fiddling with the wire between her paws. “I—I’m not. I just… mean it.”
“Yeah, well,” Mezzo chuckled, giving her shoulder a playful bump, “if anyone else called being trapped in a zombie city ‘not so bad,’ I’d call them crazy. But you?” He gave her a sideways glance, eyes bright. “Sweet.”
Celeste ducked her head, ears twitching pink, but she didn’t argue.
The next match loaded. And when their shoulders brushed again, neither moved away.
The moment was shattered when Ray stomped in, chewing a lollipop stick like a cigar. “Alright, Blondie—time to scout. We need the perimeter secured. You can kick your boyfriend’s ass later.”
Celeste practically levitated, arms flailing, tail puffed. “He’s not my boyfriend!”
Mezzo went red to the tips of his ears, spluttering, “Oi, I object to that too!”—though the blush didn’t exactly help his case.
Ray smirked, satisfied, and jerked her head toward the door. Celeste huffed, but followed her out, still muttering protests.
The sugar-slicked street outside was quiet, the air heavy with the scent of caramel and smoke. Celeste kicked at a melted candy wrapper, her voice smaller. “I wish you wouldn’t tease me like that, Ray…”
Ray didn’t slow down, her voice blunt but not unkind. “Come on, Blondie. Toughen up already. You’re way too soft.”
Celeste pouted, but straightened her shoulders, her steps falling into line beside her friend.
On the patrol, Celeste found herself walking beside Ray through the crumbling streets. The quiet hum of distant wind was broken by a sudden snarl—then a rush of sugar-stinking air as a swarm of candy zombies lunged from the shadows.
Among them, the worst of the bunch slithered forward: Dogorice.
A twitching, malformed zombie dog sculpted entirely from black licorice. Its tar-like body dripped and stretched as it moved, sticking to walls, floors, and even the breeze. Hollow eyes glowed red beneath strands of licorice whip that hung like wet fur.
Celeste wrinkled her nose. “Ugh. These things again.”
“They're sticky little nightmares,” Ray muttered, planting her paws. “But low HP. Good for grinding.”
The Dogorice lunged—fast and messy—but Ray was faster.
With a guttural roar, she gripped Heartbreaker in both hands and swung it down. The hammer met the ground in a fiery arc of purple flame, crushing the Dogorice mid-pounce. It splattered like molasses taffy, screeching as it dissolved into twitching globs.
Celeste sliced through another with a clean flash of her blade. Licorice strands clung to her boots as the creature fell apart, but she kicked it free with practiced grace.
“They’re getting smarter,” she noted, ducking as a Dogorice tried to ambush her from a wall.
Ray slammed her hammer into it sideways, smashing it flat against the bricks. “They’re getting desperate. That’s worse.”
As the one of the Dogorice melted into sticky pools, the two stood in silence, breath steady.
Celeste glanced down at her boots, already gunked up with black syrup. “These things are impossible to clean off.”
Ray flicked some off her hammer and grinned. “Welcome to the grind.”
Ray’s eyes narrowed. She planted her paws, gripping Heartbreaker in both hands. With a guttural roar, she swung it down.
Flourishes - Hammer Pulse.
The hammer struck stone with a shattering CRACK, a radial surge of phoenix mana erupting outward in waves of violet fire. Zombies ignited instantly, their candied shells snapping and popping like sugar glass in a furnace. The blast didn’t stop at the horde—embers washed over Celeste too, warm and invigorating. For a heartbeat, her katanas felt lighter, her body quicker, as if Ray’s fire had lent her its ferocity.
“Push, Celeste!” Ray barked.
But Celeste stumbled, her footing slipping on the slick cobblestones. A grotesque jelly-limbed zombie surged at her. For a heartbeat she froze—mind blank, body refusing to move.
Then Ray was there, swinging Heartbreaker in a furious arc, smashing the creature into syrup and ash. She planted herself protectively over Celeste, her chest heaving, eyes blazing.
Ray loomed over her, frustration boiling over. “Sorry doesn’t cut it! If you freeze like that again, you’ll be candy chow. You can’t hesitate—not out here.”
Celeste’s voice wavered, barely audible. “I’ll be a good girl…”
Ray blinked, thrown. “What?”
“I—I’ll be good. I promise,” Celeste murmured, ashamed.
Ray sighed, rubbing her brow before offering a hand to pull her up. “Stop saying that. You don’t need to be… that. Just—stronger. I didn’t want to lose my cool, but—hell, I was scared you’d get killed.” Her tone softened, though the edge never fully left. “We need to train more. Tomorrow. Sparring.”
Celeste nodded quickly. “Okay. I’ll be ready.”
Ray’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she squeezed Celeste’s shoulder before turning back to the path. “See that you are.”
And in the silence that followed, Celeste’s heart pounded—not from the fight, but from the weight of her promise.
Chapter 8 : No Permission Needed
The training room echoed with the clatter of boots and the hiss of power-charged weapons. Light panels in the ceiling hummed above them, casting a sterile glow over the candy chalk-marked floor. Sweat hung in the air, mingling with the synthetic smell of marshmallow dummies and scorched metal.
Celeste ducked a swing from Ray’s hammer and stumbled back, nearly tripping over her own feet. Her breath caught in her throat, strands of blonde hair sticking to her cheek.
“Too soft,” Ray muttered, not unkindly, but firm. Her stance was low, solid, her eyes hard with that familiar edge. “You move like you’re scared of hurting someone.”
Celeste straightened, flushed and breathing hard. “I am.”
Ray arched a brow and rested the hammer against her shoulder. “Then you’re gonna lose.”
Ray lunged again, hammer raised—but Celeste focused, channeling mana to her blade. The edge shimmered faintly, light building along the steel.
“Radiant Slice!” she called out, slashing wide.
A burst of golden light arced from her blade—clean, graceful… and completely off-target.
It sailed harmlessly past Ray, singeing a training dummy in the back corner. The dummy sizzled with a faint pop of smoke where the light hit, slightly charred.
Ray blinked. “You just declared that like an anime protagonist.”
Celeste flushed. “It’s... easier to focus if I name it.”
“Sure. But maybe aim first?” Ray smirked, raising her hammer again.
From the side, C.H.I.P. chimed in helpfully, “Holy miss detected! Target: wall dummy. Status: mildly crispy.”
Arcade didn’t even look up from his tablet. “Bonus points for style. Minus ten for aim.”
Celeste groaned, adjusting her stance. “Okay, okay. Again.”
In the corner, perched on a fold-out stool with his legs crisscrossed, Arcade adjusted his glasses and scribbled furiously into a glowing tablet. “Simulation tracking at 78% sync. C.H.I.P., adjust pressure sensitivity to mimic rusher density level four.”
C.H.I.P. saluted with a happy beep. “Affirmative! Increasing brutality! I mean—uh—difficulty!” He spun in place, metallic arms whirring. “Would you like me to insult their footwork as well? Motivation through mild verbal abuse?”
“Absolutely not,” Arcade replied without looking up.
“Too late!” C.H.I.P. chirped. He turned to Celeste. “Your stance looks like you're trying to politely hug a murderbot. I support you emotionally but you might die.”
Celeste blinked at him, then looked down at her position. “That’s... fair.”
Ray chuckled under her breath but masked it with a cough. “He’s not wrong.”
Celeste exhaled slowly and adjusted her footing. “Okay. Again?”
Ray nodded. “Again.”
They clashed.
Hammer met blade in a clash of sparks. Celeste moved faster this time, striking low, dodging to the side, channeling her magic into the blade’s edge. Ray parried, twisting away and using her momentum to swing wide. Celeste blocked it, barely. Her arms shook from the impact, but she didn’t fall.
“That’s better,” Ray said, eyes narrowing. “Still too much hesitation in your shoulders. You flinch.”
“I’m used to healing people,” Celeste admitted between breaths. “Not... smashing them.”
“Then maybe it’s time you learned how to do both.”
Celeste looked at her, surprised. There wasn’t malice in Ray’s voice—just a rough honesty that cut deeper than criticism ever could.
Ray raised her hammer in response, eyes sharp but curious now.
This time, Celeste didn’t speak.
She simply moved.
The mana built slowly—concentrated, focused. Light rippled along the katana’s edge, not flashy, but steady. It pulsed once, like a heartbeat.
Ray rushed in.
Celeste stepped forward with perfect timing. Her blade flashed through the air in a clean horizontal arc—
Radiant Slice.
A golden crescent erupted from the blade’s edge, sweeping toward Ray with a low hum. It wasn't massive, but it was sharp, controlled, and radiant. Ray blocked on instinct, but the holy energy passed her harmlessly, slicing through a zombie dummy behind her.
The dummy burst into black dust, charred and cleanly bisected.
Arcade finally looked up, blinking. “Well. That was… actually solid.”
Celeste let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. Her hands still tingled from the mana surge, but she didn’t fumble. She didn’t miss.
Ray gave a short nod, eyes not unkind. “You’re getting there. That one… actually made me flinch.”
Celeste smiled, the holy light fading gently from her blade. “Good.”
Then she winced. “My arms feel like spaghetti though.”
Ray laughed and tossed her a bottle of water. “Then drink up, Spaghetti Arms. You’ve earned it.”
For a while, they fell into rhythm. Strike, block, dodge. Celeste grew more precise; Ray eased into her movements, watching her partner’s form evolve with every breath. It wasn’t perfect. It was messy. But it was progress.
In the corner, C.H.I.P. played elevator music from his chest panel. “Dramatic training montage playlist activated. Cue emotional growth.”
Arcade didn’t even glance up. “Mute him, please.”
Ray lowered her hammer after a particularly close round and stepped back. Her breathing was heavy now, too. She pushed damp strands of fur from her forehead.
“You’re not bad,” she admitted, wiping her brow with her wristband. “You’ve got heart. Just… stop apologizing with your eyes.”
Celeste blinked. “What do you mean?”
“You fight like you’re asking permission,” Ray said. “Like you’re afraid people won’t like you if you win.”
Celeste looked down for a moment, thoughtful. “Maybe I am.”
Ray stared at her, then slowly shook her head. “You don’t have to be soft to be good.”
“But I want to be good and soft,” Celeste replied quietly. “If I lose that, I lose... me.”
Ray went silent. Her jaw clenched. Then—
“You’re stronger than you think,” she said. “But you’re gonna have to stop flinching when you hurt people. Because this world doesn’t flinch back.”
Celeste raised her eyes and smiled—genuine, even tired. “You’re a good teacher.”
“Shut up,” Ray said quickly, looking away. “Don’t make it weird.”
Ray stepped back, shaking out her shoulders, sweat glistening under the training lights. “Alright, Blondie,” she said, eyes glinting. “Let’s stop playing. How about we go all out?”
Celeste blinked. “All out?”
“Yeah,” Ray said with a small grin. “No holding back. Just you and me. A real scrap.”
Celeste hesitated. Her hand gripped the hilt of her blade a little tighter. “Only until we disarm. No knockout blows. Agreed?”
Ray’s grin widened. “Deal.”
Arcade snorted into his tablet. “Well, this should be entertaining.”
Even C.H.I.P. whispered, “Awwwwkward~” like a game show host.
Ray and Celeste circled each other, the air between them charged with mana and unspoken challenge.
Then they moved.
The hum of the training room deepened as the sparring grew more intense. Ray adjusted her grip on Heartbreaker, eyes narrowed in anticipation. Celeste’s shoulders rose and fell with focused breath, her fingers twitching around the hilt of her sword.
Arcade tapped the side of his tablet. “We’re now officially in the danger zone. Proceed with caution or popcorn.”
She kicked off the floor, a soft swirl of light trailing from her boots. “Featherfall Slash!” she called, her blade catching the overhead lights as she soared in a shallow arc. Feathers of radiant energy burst from behind her like wings as she brought her blade down in a dazzling diagonal slash.
Ray stepped into it.
“Crater Smash!”
She roared as she swung Heartbreaker up, then down with brute-force fury. The ground beneath her cracked as the hammer landed, releasing a pulsing shockwave that tore across the chalked floor.
The two attacks met—light versus weight, grace against power.
The clash sent out a ring of pressure. Celeste’s feet struck the ground hard, knees buckling as her radiant feathers scattered like falling embers. Ray stood firm, hammer buried in the cracked floor, her stance wide.
They held eye contact, breathing hard, the echo of impact still vibrating in the walls.
“Not bad,” Ray muttered, rolling her shoulders. “You’re getting faster.”
Celeste pushed a lock of hair from her eyes and grinned. “You’re getting harder to dodge.”
Ray smirked. “Damn right I am.”
They reset positions without needing to speak, a quiet understanding forming in the air between them. The spar wasn’t over. Not yet.
Arcade scribbled something in his notes, mumbling, “Featherfall confirmed viable at mid-range. Crater Smash still terrifying. Proceeding with analysis.”
C.H.I.P. hovered excitedly. “Ten outta ten for flair! But can someone teach me how to do a featherfall slash? Asking for a friend. Who is me.”
Ray rolled her eyes. “You try that, toaster, and you’ll break your own circuits.”
Celeste giggled. Then raised her sword again.
“Round two?”
Ray cracked her neck, eyes glinting.
“Bring it.”
Blades clashed with force and speed. Celeste ducked under a sweeping hammer strike, her sword flaring with light. Ray shifted, countering with a heavy side swing that forced Celeste to slide back, boots skidding on the chalked floor.
They were faster now. Less talking. Less teaching.
Ray threw a feint—Celeste read it, spinning low and flicking her blade upward, grazing Ray’s gauntlet.
“Nice,” Ray said, eyes sharp. “Do it again.”
They trained a little longer—less sparring now, more movement drills. Ray showed her how to predict foot placement, how to angle momentum for a forced drop. Celeste countered with magical barriers, redirections, and radiant pulses to throw off rhythm without hurting.
It was tense. Precise. Almost like a dance.
Their strikes blurred—steel against steel, holy light against weight and grit. Celeste hesitated just once when Ray opened herself up—but Ray saw it, closed the gap, and nearly knocked the blade from her hand.
Celeste grit her teeth.
She surged forward, aura flickering, and with a controlled flick of her wrist—
CLANG.
Ray’s hammer flew from her grip, skidding across the floor and clattering against the wall.
The room went quiet.
Ray stared at her empty hands, then looked up slowly.
Celeste was panting, sword lowered but still glowing faintly.
Ray’s lip twitched. Then she grinned.
“Well damn,” she said, walking over and picking up her hammer. “Didn’t think you had that in you.”
Celeste offered a sheepish smile. “I almost didn’t.”
Ray clapped her shoulder, firm but not hard. “Good. Because if you’re gonna walk into hell with the rest of us—you better swing like you belong there.”
Celeste nodded, breath steadying. “I will.”
Arcade glanced up from his screen. “...I give that a 7 out of 10.”
“Eight,” C.H.I.P. chirped. “Bonus point for dramatic disarm.”
Ray smirked. “Next time, I’m not holding back either.”
Celeste just smiled. “Good.”
They continued. Less rivalry, more rhythm. Two warriors, no longer teacher and student—just equals.
And this time, neither of them flinched.
Somewhere between the sweat and bruises, between the sarcastic jabs and quiet encouragement, a kind of trust started to form—fragile, unspoken, but real.
Ray didn’t say anything more. But when the session ended, and they limped out of the training room together, she handed Celeste a water bottle without a word.
Celeste took it with a soft smile.
Ray didn’t smile back—but she didn’t roll her eyes either. And that, from Ray, was practically a hug.
They walked in silence for a while, shoulder to shoulder. And though neither of them said it aloud, the air between them had changed.
Not teammates. Not rivals.
But something better than what it was.
Chapter 9 : Radio Hope
Celeste leaned on the balcony rail, drinking in the candy-lit skyline under the dome. Just for a heartbeat, she let herself feel small against the endless view.
“Stars above, you look like you’re posin’ for a poster,” a voice drawled suddenly at her elbow.
Celeste yelped, tripped over her own boots, and landed squarely on her backside. “Aaah! Wh–where did you come from?!”
The peach-furred bunny with one crooked ear smirked, waving her arcbracer like a microphone. “Told ya I’d be back for that interview.”
From the doorway, Lumina peeked out, her little paws clutching her wand. “She tried the front door. But it… didn’t let her.”
Skye nodded behind her, flat and blunt. “She bounced. Twice.”
Celeste’s ears flicked. “Bounced? You mean—it actually stopped her?”
Plum tugged at her ear dramatically. “That door’s got an attitude. Won’t let anyone in unless you’ve got the golden invite. Nearly broke my nose.”
Celeste tilted her head, half a smile tugging her lips. “That’s… rather handy, actually.”
“Handy for you, sweetheart,” Plum muttered, flicking her arcbracer alive. “But not for journalism. Right—name for the record?”
Celeste fidgeted, blushing as the lens blinked red. “Um… Celeste. Celeste Astallan. But… what’s the point? There’s no internet.”
Plum grinned, puffing her chest. “For when the barrier falls. For history. Future generations’ll know the truth—straight from the source.”
Plum snorted. “You survived Mandibite, kitten. You’re prime material.”
Plum adjusted her crooked ear so it sat just right on the recording lens, her grin sly. “Alright, Celeste Astallan—hybrid, hero, and resident sparkle-cat—lemme ask you somethin’ everyone’s dyin’ to know. Hybrids don’t use mana, not with those shiny council rune lockin’ you down. But you? You’re glowin’ like a festival lantern. How the hell’d you pull that off?”
Celeste fiddled with her sleeves, ears flattening a little. “Oh, well, um… it wasn’t—wasn’t on purpose. At the convention, I… I ate a gumball. One of the strange ones. And ever since then, things just… work.”
Plum’s eyes went wide, the recorder almost slipping from her paw. “You’re tellin’ me your powers come from snackin’ on cursed candy at Comic Con?”
Celeste flushed pink. “I mean… yes? I—I wouldn’t recommend it though. Really not the best snack choice.”
Plum barked out a laugh. “Kid, that’s one for the headlines—‘Local girl eats sweet, gets god-powers.’ You can’t make this stuff up.”
She flipped her omnitool, lens catching Celeste’s face again. “Alright, bigger one: You killed Mandibite. One of the first generals crawlin’ this city. How’d that feel?”
Celeste’s hands fidgeted together. She lowered her eyes. “…Sad. It’s… it’s a shame he had to die.”
Plum blinked, caught off guard. “Sad? C’mon, he was a monster! Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do? Kill monsters before they chew up the rest of us?”
Celeste shook her head gently, her voice soft. “He became a monster. But once, he was something else. Someone else. And I… I just hope, wherever he is now, he’s found some peace. That’s all.”
Plum tilted her head, expression softening for a heartbeat before she hid it behind her trademark smirk. “…Huh. Didn’t expect that answer.”
She leaned in, recording again. “Last question, for the survivors out there still listenin’. What would you say to ’em?”
Celeste froze, tail twitching nervously. She wrung her paws together, stammering. “Oh, um… I—I’d say… keep hoping for tomorrow. Do what you can today. And don’t forget what you learned yesterday.”
She looked down, cheeks burning, then glanced back at Plum with the smallest of smiles. “Me and my friends… we’ll do our best.”
Plum lowered the recorder slowly, her crooked ear twitching. For once, she didn’t have a quip ready. “…Not bad, kitten. Not bad at all.”
Plum leaned forward, crooked ear flicking, recorder humming softly. “Alright, last one, promise. What would you say to hybrids fightin’ the council every day just for equal rights?”
Celeste’s ears shot back, her eyes wide. “Oh—um—wouldn’t that… get me in trouble if I say anything?”
Plum snorted, gesturing at the shattered skyline behind them. “Trouble? Look around, sparkle-cat. Who’s left to enforce it? Council’s not walkin’ through those doors. This is the perfect time to fight back. And let’s be real—soon enough, they’re gonna be beggin’ for your powers.”
Celeste fidgeted, tail curling tight. “…Really? Well, I—I suppose… I think things should be more fair for us. That’s… all I can ask.”
Plum grinned, sharp and knowing. “That’s great. Exactly what folk need to hear. Somethin’ tells me I’ll be keepin’ a very close eye on you, Astallan.”
Celeste tilted her head, cheeks warming. “Why are you doing this, anyway? It’s… very sweet of you.”
Plum hesitated. Just for a heartbeat, the smirk slipped. She stared down at the recorder in her paw, thumb brushing the cracked edge. When she spoke again, her voice was quieter, less for the lens and more for Celeste. “…’Cause someone’s gotta make sure our stories don’t get chewed up and spat out by the council again. If nobody remembers us, it’s like we never fought at all.”
The moment hung between them—awkward, a little raw. Then Plum flicked her crooked ear and shoved the recorder back up between them, grin snapping back into place. “Right, that’s the take. You did good, kitten.
Her grin lingered, but something in her eyes shifted—quieter, harder. She lowered the bracer.
“…Truth is, I don’t do this just for stories. Hybrid sympathizers like me—we don’t get to exist openly. Council’d string me up if they knew.”
Plum’s crooked ear twitched. Her tone softened, less show, more scar. “My mum. She was hybrid. Sweetest woman you ever met. She died before she could get treatment for mana corruption. Purebloods could’ve helped her—should’ve helped her. But they didn’t lift a finger.”
Her voice cracked just faintly before sharpening again, fierce. “So now I fight my little crusade. Only reason I’m still breathin’ is ‘cause my pedigree papers say I’m pure. That’s the only shield I’ve got.”
Celeste’s chest tightened. “…I’m so sorry, Plum.”
Plum gave a small, bitter laugh, forcing her smirk back on. “Don’t be sorry, kitten. Just give me a good headline to make it worth it.”
She raised her arcbracer again, lens flashing. “Now—tell me how it felt staring Mandibite in the teeth.”
Celeste fumbled, ears burning. “Oh stars, do I have to—? I was mostly worried about tripping over my own feet! And—and the Centerpied, he scared the crap out of me.”
Plum barked a laugh, crooked ear twitching. “Ha! You looked so bloody brave, though. Like you owned the whole fight.”
Celeste shook her head quickly, hands flapping in protest. “Trust me, I’m not. I—I hate fighting. I’d rather be drawing. Or… reading silly manga. Not swinging swords at monsters.”
From the doorway, Lumina piped up suddenly, her little voice bright. “I want to be interviewed next!”
Skye poked his head in after her, deadpan. “Me too.”
Plum grinned wide, leaning back against the balcony rail as she flicked her recorder on and off theatrically. “Alright, alright, one at a time, sugarplums. Don’t all mob me at once—I’m a small bunny with limited tape.”
Celeste groaned softly into her sleeve, but even through the embarrassment, a tiny smile tugged at her lips.
Plum spun the recorder dramatically toward Lumina, her crooked ear flopping with the motion. “Alright, sweetheart, step into the spotlight! Name, age, aspirations—make it snappy, the public demands answers.”
Lumina clasped her paws together nervously, rocking on her heels. “Um… I’m Lumina. I’m seven. I like bubble wands and, um… I wanna be… safe.”
Plum’s smirk softened. “Safe, huh? That’s a mighty brave dream in this mess.”
Lumina nodded, eyes glowing faintly as she whispered, “I… I can heal now. So I want everyone to feel safe too. Like… when Celeste pats my head, or when Skye reads me stories, or when Bonbon falls asleep on me. That kind of safe.”
Celeste’s ears went pink, and she rubbed at her arm awkwardly.
“Adorable,” Plum declared, swiping her paw across her face like she was dabbing at fake tears. “This headline writes itself—‘Tiny Angel Lights the Darkness.’” She leaned in closer, voice dropping playfully. “Now, important question. Do you think Celeste is a good leader?”
Lumina brightened. “Yes! She’s the best. She even says sorry when she trips, and she trips a lot, so… she’s really sorry all the time!”
Plum nearly dropped the recorder from laughing. “Oh, I like you.”
Celeste buried her face in her hands. “Luminaaa…” she groaned.
Before Plum could needle more, Skye raised a hand flatly. “My turn.”
Plum perked up instantly. “Well now, the mysterious fox speaks! Alright, sunshine, you’re up next.”
Plum swiveled the arcbracer toward Skye with a theatrical flourish. “And now—our dark horse contender! The fox with the cards. Name, age, hidden secrets—spill ‘em!”
Skye shuffled nervously, his little fingers fidgeting with the edge of his deck. “...Skye. Nine. I don’t like sweets.”
Plum blinked. “Wait—you live in a giant dessert nightmare and you don’t like sweets?”
Skye shrugged, matter-of-fact. “They make my teeth feel itchy.”
Plum squinted at him, then let out a laugh. “Alright, that’s goin’ in the transcript. What about hopes, dreams, all that jazz?”
Skye paused, eyes dropping to the floor. Then, flatly, almost too quiet: “It’s my birthday tomorrow.”
The room froze.
Plum’s crooked ear twitched, her grin faltering into something gentler. “…Oh stars, really? Tomorrow?”
Skye gave the smallest nod. “Yeah.” He fiddled with a fire-sigil card, voice awkward. “Not expecting cake. Just… thought someone should know.”
Celeste gasped softly, paw pressed to her chest. “Oh, Skye…”
Lumina’s eyes lit up instantly. “We should make him a card! And a paper hat! With glitter!”
Plum raised her recorder again, her grin returning but softer this time. “Headline writes itself: ‘Fox Kit Turns Ten Inside Nightmare Dome.’ How’s that for immortalized history?”
For once, Skye smiled—a small, crooked thing, but real.
Celeste shifted on her paws, rubbing her arm nervously. “Um… y-you know, Plum… maybe instead of just interviews, you could… um, try a mana radio station? It’d reach everyone’s arcbracers and comm crystals under the dome. You could, you know… give them hope.” She fumbled, ears red. “Maybe call it… Radio Hope?”
Plum froze mid-scribble. Her jaw dropped.
Then she exploded. “OH. MY. STARS.” She hopped in place, crooked ear flopping wildly. “That’s BRILLIANT. That’s—no, that’s historic! Radio Hope—first station under a candy apocalypse dome! I’ll get the tech, the tuning stones, the whole shebang—I’ll make it happen, Astallan!”
She stopped just long enough to blink, ears twitching. “I have no idea where to put it or how to build it, but—I’ll figure it out. I’ll get back to you, Astallan.”
Celeste blushed, half-hiding her face in her sleeves. “I—I’m glad to help.”
Plum beamed, tapping her arcbracer one last time. “Thanks for the interview, kitten. You just gave me my next crusade.”
With that, she slung her satchel, winked, and began climbing back down the balcony with surprising grace for a bunny.
Celeste leaned against the railing, watching her go with a shy smile. “...Radio Hope,” she murmured to herself, the words warm in her chest.
Behind her, Lumina tugged at Skye’s sleeve, whispering with wide eyes, “She’s so loud.”
Skye nodded seriously. “Like… four radios in one rabbit.”
Chapter 10 : The Hairpin Moment
Celeste stirred beneath her blanket, the soft hum of the base’s systems barely audible behind the comforting stillness. Morning light—filtered and dim through the reinforced window—crawled across the floor of her room. Her room. That still felt strange to say out loud.
She sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes. Around her, the room had slowly become an extension of herself—a colorful sanctuary in a world that rarely offered softness. Anime figures stood proudly in neat rows on salvaged shelves, their eyes gleaming with eternal action-hero resolve. Posters lined the walls, curled at the corners from steam and sleep, and plushies—dozens of them—were scattered across her bed like faithful sentries.
Stacks of manga comics teetered near her pillow, dog-eared and beloved. In one corner sat an empty desk, barren but filled with potential. A wide gap beneath it longed for a gaming PC, something she’d already planned to “accidentally acquire” on their next supply run into town. A final piece of home.
She stood, stretching, and as she did, a slim book slid off her bed and landed with a quiet thump. She picked it up—her Welsh language guide, spine creased and corners softened from use. She was getting better, bit by bit. “Dw i’n iawn,” she whispered to herself with a tired smile. It still felt awkward on her tongue, but it was hers now—just like everything else in this strange new life.
From the foot of the bed, Bonbon perked up, the little candy-colored panda blinking sleepily from inside her blanket nest. Her sippy cup, still half-full of milk, sat by her side like a loyal companion. She tilted her head at Celeste and offered a soft grunt—something between a greeting and a demand.
“Bore da, Bonbon,” Celeste said gently, crouching to scratch behind the panda’s ears. Bonbon sipped her milk with audible approval.
Today was a big day.
Skye’s birthday.
He hadn’t made a big deal about it, of course—he never would—but they’d planned a trip to the mall to find something special for him. It wasn’t just about the gift; it was about celebrating him. The quiet heart of their group. The boy with stars in his eyes and monsters in his hands.
Celeste glanced at her mirror, brushed out her hair, and tied it back. Her eyes caught her own reflection—blue, sharp, tired but resilient.
With a final look around the room, she stepped out. The corridors of the base hummed with quiet energy, and somewhere in the distance, she could already hear someone—probably Pitch—arguing with Arcade over something entirely unnecessary.
Today was a good day. She could feel it.
The base was unusually quiet for a celebration.
Balloons bobbed lazily near the ceiling, and a hand-painted banner that read “Happy Birthday, Skye!” drooped slightly at the corners. Plates were stacked beside a frosting-heavy cake that Carys had spent the morning perfecting, her apron still dusted with flour and blue icing. But there was one glaring absence.
“Where’s the lad, then?” Mezzo grumbled, tapping claws on the table. “I didn’t down half a bowl of candy confetti for him to pull a no-show.”
Arcade didn’t look up from his datapad. “He’s hiding. He hates attention. Obvious pattern.”
Celeste shifted Bonbon gently in her arms, the bunny dozing with milk still on her lips. “Maybe… maybe he’s in his room?” she offered softly.
“Let’s go check,” Arcade said briskly, already heading down the hall.
Celeste followed, quiet steps careful not to jostle Bonbon. They passed the kitchen and server room, stopping at a door plastered with monster stickers and messy blueprints. Arcade rapped once, then eased it open.
Inside the room Lumina sat on the bed, brushing Skye’s unruly hair with gentle little strokes. Skye’s eyes were shut, a faint smile softening his usual stiffness. He reached up suddenly and clipped a sparkly barrette into her hair.
Lumina giggled, then quickly popped a matching clip into his bangs.
Skye’s eyes snapped open. His body stiffened, smile collapsing. Fear flooded his face.
And then—
“Happy birth—!” Mezzo boomed, throwing the door wide. He froze, staring at Skye’s hair.
Celeste’s heart sank. “…Oh stars.”
Mezzo snorted. “Pffft! Jaysus, look at ye! Hairpin and all! What are we callin’ you now—Skylar? You look like a lass!”
The air turned to stone.
CRACK.
Arcade’s fist connected with Mezzo’s muzzle. It wasn’t a warning. It was fury. Mezzo toppled, blinking at the ceiling in shock.
“You idiot!” Arcade roared, voice raw. He hauled Mezzo up by the collar, eyes blazing. “Don’t you ever—EVER—say that again! You’ve no idea what you’ve done!”
He flung Mezzo back, turning instantly to Skye. The boy was curled tight, rocking, hyperventilating, fingers digging into the blanket.
Arcade dropped to his knees, wrapping him in his arms, voice breaking into a desperate whisper. “Skye, Skye, you’re Skye. That’s all. Just Skye. No one else. Always you. I swear it.”
Skye didn’t speak, but his hand clung to Arcade’s like a drowning grip.
The hallway thickened with silence. The party’s cheer was gone.
Mezzo slumped against the wall, clutching his jaw. His eyes were wide—not just with pain, but something heavier.
Celeste approached slowly, Bonbon nestled against her chest. She crouched beside him, offering her free paw. “Come on, love… up you get.”
He took it, wincing as he rose, gaze pinned to the floor. “I didn’t—” his voice cracked. “I was only messin’. I didn’t think—didn’t know it’d—” He faltered, swallowing the words.
Celeste studied him with quiet, steady eyes.
Mezzo looked up, about to say more—but her expression stopped him cold. His mouth worked soundlessly. Finally, he shook his head. “Forget it.” He turned sharply, disappearing down the hall without looking back.
Celeste let him go.
Behind her, the bedroom door creaked. Lumina stepped out, eyes red, hands wrung tight against her dress. The pink clip in her hair was crooked.
“I didn’t mean to mess things up,” she whispered. “Did I… do something wrong?”
Celeste shifted Bonbon to one side, kneeling to Lumina’s level. She brushed a paw over her cheek. “No, Sweetheart. You didn’t do a thing wrong.”
“But Skye… he stopped smiling. He looked scared. I just wanted him to laugh.”
“I know you did,” Celeste soothed, tucking a lock of fur behind her ear. “You were being kind. And kind is never wrong. Sometimes grown-ups and kids just… carry hurts they don’t know how to say out loud yet.”
Lumina sniffled. “So… he’s not mad at me?”
Celeste shook her head gently. “Not a bit. He just needs a little space. When he’s ready, he’ll come to you. I promise.”
Lumina sagged with relief, though tears still glistened. “Okay…” She leaned in for a small hug. Bonbon reached out too, patting her head with clumsy little paws.
And for a fleeting moment, the hallway lightened—heavy air softened by their warmth.
But when Celeste glanced toward the end of the corridor, something tugged at her. Mezzo hadn’t come back.
She slipped quietly away, Bonbon settled against her chest, and padded toward his room. The door was cracked, the air inside still carrying his scent of sugar and sweat. Her eyes drifted down—his trainers were gone.
Her stomach sank. He’d left the base.
“Looking for Mezzo?” Carys’s voice broke the silence. She leaned on the stair rail, flour still dusting her apron. “He just shot out of here like a firework. Honestly, does he have super speed or something?”
Celeste nodded faintly. “Yes. When he’s close to me, he can run fast.” Her voice dropped. “Did he… did he say where he was going?”
Carys shook her head. “No. But he looked hurt.”
From the kitchen doorway, Ray appeared, wiping her paws on a dishcloth. Her tone was flat, edged with a smirk. “He said something stupid again, didn’t he?”
Celeste hesitated, then admitted, “He… accidentally called Skye a girl.”
Ray crossed her arms, unimpressed. “And? I really don’t see the problem here.”
Celeste hugged Bonbon closer, her voice firm despite the tremor. “It’s not that type of teasing. It was something personal. He broke down hard—I’ve never seen him like that.”
Ray leaned against the doorframe, her eyes narrowing but not cruel. “Girl, we’ve known each other for what—a week or two? There’s a lot we don’t know about each other. If Mezzo’s run off, it means he wants to fix things. Just leave him be. He’ll come back.” She flicked the cloth over her shoulder casually. “Now, I gotta check on those cupcakes I made.”
Celeste blinked, startled. “You… bake?”
Ray’s grin sharpened as she turned back toward the kitchen. “Again—lot you don’t know about us.”
Chapter 11 : The Ones Who Stayed
The cake sagged under the heat, balloons hanging limp around the untouched table. The 3D cookie-map pulsed nearby, casting sugar-colored light across the hall. Celeste sat with Bonbon curled against her lap, stirring her cocoa absently, gaze fixed on a flickering dot tracing aimless loops in the mall.
Mezzo. Wandering like a ghost on broken glass.
Footsteps.
Arcade entered without his usual swagger, hood drawn low, hands buried in his pocket. He stopped at her side, eyes falling on the same dot. His mouth twisted.
“Idiot,” he muttered.
Celeste said nothing. She only waited.
“He’s looking for something,” Arcade went on, voice sharper now. “Thinks if he finds a toy, or a gadget, or some half-broken trinket… Skye will forgive him.”
His voice dropped lower. “But Skye doesn’t need junk. He needs healing. And that’s not something you buy.”
Celeste glanced at him, but his eyes stayed fixed on the map, jaw clenched.
He moved into the kitchen, pulled a strawberry shake from the fridge, then turned it over in his hands as he returned. He didn’t open it. Just stared.
“Is it for him?” Celeste asked softly.
Arcade’s thumb traced the cap, silence stretching. Finally: “Yeah.”
The hum of the fridge filled the quiet. A console beeped sleepily somewhere down the hall.
Celeste’s voice was quiet. “I haven’t asked. About Skye. About… what happened.”
Arcade looked at her, glasses hiding nothing this time. “And I won’t tell you. Not because I don’t trust you—” his tone was flat, final “—but because it isn’t mine to say.”
Celeste nodded, not offended. “I understand.”
“He’s been through things,” Arcade said, voice lowering. “More than anyone his age should. Mezzo didn’t just make a joke. He threw a blade. And Skye… he’s got enough scars already.”
Celeste cupped her mug, eyes soft. “He’s lucky to have you. You’re like a shield.”
Arcade’s laugh was brittle. “I have to be. If I break, he breaks.”
The words hung there, heavy as stone.
Then, footsteps again.
Skye stood in the doorway, wrapped in a blanket like armor. His hair was a mess, but his breathing was steady now. No panic—just tired eyes, and something harder behind them.
He crossed the room, took the shake from Arcade’s hand, and cracked the cap with quiet efficiency.
“Thanks,” he said, voice low.
Arcade blinked. “You’re supposed to be resting.”
Skye leaned against the counter, sipping calmly. “Heard voices.”
Celeste smiled gently. “We didn’t mean to wake you, pet.”
“You didn’t.” Skye looked at Arcade, voice even. “You can tell her. It’s alright now. It can’t hurt me anymore.”
Arcade froze, startled.
Skye went on, soft but firm. “I know why you don’t. But hiding it doesn’t help. It just… makes it heavier. For everyone.”
There was no anger in him. Just a steady truth too old for his age.
Arcade pulled him close, arm tight around his shoulders. His voice cracked. “It’s okay, buddy. Mezzo was just being a loud-mouthed idiot. He didn’t mean it.”
“I know,” Skye murmured against him. “I know who I am.”
The words were quiet. But they didn’t waver.
He finished the shake, placed the empty bottle on the counter with neat precision, then padded toward the stairs. Celeste brushed his shoulder gently as he passed. “See you later, Skye.”
“Yeah,” he whispered, blanket trailing. Then he was gone.
The silence lingered, but lighter now.
Arcade stared at the bottle, voice low. “He’s tougher than I’ll ever be.”
Celeste sipped her cocoa, gaze warm. “He just needed someone to believe in him.”
Arcade exhaled hard, elbows braced on the table, mask slipping. His voice came hoarse. “I remember. The kind of memories you bury in some subfolder and pray never boot back up.”
He looked at the flickering map—Mezzo’s dot still circling.
“I was the youngest of five boys. All of them played sports. I was the tech geek. Background noise. My dad’s half-sister—Skye’s mother—she wanted a girl. Got Skye instead.” His lips curled bitterly. “She didn’t want a son. She wanted a doll.”
Celeste stayed silent, listening.
“His dad tried for custody. Courts didn’t care. Mythic fathers never win. And I watched Skye fade. She told him he was wrong. That he should’ve been someone else. And he believed her.”
Arcade’s fists tightened. “I couldn’t watch it anymore. So I dug. Used every trick I had—my tech, my brain. Got the proof. Exposed her.”
A humorless chuckle slipped from him. “And I saved him.”
The words hung. Then, softer: “But my dad disowned me. Said I tore the family apart. Said I should’ve shut up. So I went to live with my gran. Skye came too. He was so small. So broken.”
He paused, thumb rubbing at the corner of his eye. “I thought he’d hate me for it. Thought he’d blame me for tearing his world in half. But he didn’t. He was just… confused. So confused. It’s taken a lot, and he’s stronger now, but he still struggles. It still hurts him.”
Arcade’s jaw tightened. “And maybe I shouldn’t have hit Mezzo. But I couldn’t stand it. Not again. I just—” His voice cracked. “I just didn’t want to see Skye break again.”
He swiped quickly at his face. Just one tear.
Celeste shifted Bonbon in her lap, her eyes never leaving him.
“I miss them,” Arcade whispered. “Even now. Even after everything. I still… miss my family.”
He slumped into the chair beside her, shoulders folding in. “I always wondered if I did the right thing. If keeping my mouth shut would’ve fixed it. If Skye wouldn’t have had to…” He trailed off. “Maybe I wouldn’t have lost everything.”
Celeste touched his hand gently. “But he was hurting. Already. You didn’t cause that, love.”
Arcade’s voice dropped raw. “My dad wanted silence. He told me to lie. Said if I said my aunt was ‘misunderstood,’ it’d all go away. We’d be a family again.” He let out a laugh, jagged and broken. “But how do you go back to a family that’d rather protect their image than their kid?”
Celeste stroked Bonbon’s fur absently, eyes warm and steady. “They didn’t deserve your truth. But Skye did. And you gave it to him.”
Arcade’s voice cracked, burying into his palms. “Gran’s the only one who still talks to me. Sends dumb care packages. Reminds me to wear socks when it’s cold. I think… she knows. I think she’s proud. Even if she can’t say it.”
“You were right,” Celeste said softly. “And you’re still right. Even when it hurts.”
Arcade finally looked up, eyes raw and red. “I just don’t know if I’m doing this right.”
“You are,” Celeste said, gentle but certain. “You are.”
And so they sat, side by side. Two guardians keeping vigil in the night, the cookie-map glowing softly, silence filling the spaces where words weren’t needed.
Chapter 12 : Welcome to Galaxy Grub
The escalators groaned as they carried Mezzo up to the second floor of St. Dave’s Mall, a hollowed-out shell of its former self. The bright banners and hollow music from forgotten speakers still played, warbling slightly as the power flickered. The mall had survived the sugar outbreak better than most places—structurally, at least—but its soul had been stripped, like tinsel on a burned-out tree.
Mezzo walked with purpose.
His coat fluttered behind him with each brisk step, his mind replaying the scene at the base. The hairpin. The look on Skye’s face. Arcade’s fist.
Mezzo winced.
He hadn’t meant it the way it came out. But it had come out just the same. Like it always did.
He paused by the railing and looked over the mall’s empty atrium. Somewhere in the distance, something clattered. He tightened his grip on his messenger bag.
“Ní neart go cur le chéile,” he muttered under his breath. “There’s no strength without unity.”
It was something his da used to say, when the world felt too big and he felt too small. A reminder that people needed each other. And that you didn’t leave the ones you hurt—you made it right.
He wasn’t going to be the failure. Not again. Not this time.
A sign caught his eye. “Big Jim’s World of Toys”—faded but still lit. The windows were dusty, but the inside was intact. He stepped through the doors, the bells above jingling weakly.
It was like stepping into the past. Rows of plushies, action figures, board games, and models. Most were faded, a few were cracked, but it was a treasure trove all the same. Mezzo began scanning the shelves with focus. He didn’t want something generic. Not something that said, “I got this because I had to.”
No.
He wanted something Skye would love.
Something that said, “I see you.”
That’s when his gaze drifted beyond the checkout desk. A restaurant across the corridor, still partially lit from backup power. The sign read “Galaxy Grub: Home of the Cosmic Kids’ Meal.”
And beneath it, faded posters displayed limited edition plushies and figurines—tiny collectible monsters, quirky space animals, colorful and full of personality. The kind of thing a card-launching, shy genius might just treasure.
Mezzo narrowed his eyes.
“Bingo.”
He stepped outside and headed for the restaurant—but something shifted.
A slow, distant scraping. Like claws on linoleum.
The mall wasn’t as empty as it looked.
But Mezzo didn’t flinch.
He had a mission.
And this time, he wouldn’t run from it.
Mezzo pushed through the doors of Galaxy Grub, a tinny jingle playing from long-broken speakers. The restaurant was dim, lit only by the flickering lights of star-shaped bulbs overhead, half of which had burned out or blinked at odd intervals. Dust coated the booths. Balloons hung deflated and stiff like forgotten memories.
And then he saw them.
Tall silhouettes, still and hunched, looming behind the counter and along the stage to the right—animatronics. A whole cast of grinning, glossy-eyed performers, dressed in tattered neon space suits, mouths agape in permanent, empty cheer.
One was a raccoon with a cracked visor, reaching with plasticky fingers. Another was a rabbit missing half its face, wires spilling out like candy canes. They didn’t move, but Mezzo didn’t need them to.
He froze.
His blood turned cold. His worst fear, realized.
“Nope. Nope. Nope—”
He turned on his heel to bolt, but before he could reach the exit—
SLAM.
The doors snapped shut, metal clanking as the locks engaged. The lights flickered, dimmed, and then—
Darkness.
The kind that pressed in from all sides. Only the faint humming of the long-dead speakers remained.
Then—
Two lights blinked on in the dark.
Glowing in vibrant pink and blue like dying stars, two pairs of eyes stared out from opposite ends of the room. They moved forward in perfect sync. A low giggle echoed, warbling through broken sound systems, bouncing around the walls like laughter from a dream gone wrong.
Mezzo backed away, heart pounding. “No. No. I didn’t— You’re not—”
The twins didn’t answer.
They didn’t need to.
He opened his mouth to scream—
Blackout.
The lights snapped off. The sound of gears whirring. A breathless, sharp cry echoed through the building.
And then—
Something new.
Soft, fibrous tendrils unfurled in the dark, reaching like fingers. Candyfloss strings drifted down from the ceiling, glowing faintly, wrapping around Mezzo’s arms, his chest, his throat.
He thrashed, panic flooding him. “No—no, no, get it off! GET IT OFF!”
The strings tightened, dragging him backward, deeper into the shadows.
From the dark, the twins’ voices sang in unison—childlike, sing-song, cruel:
“We always wanted a puppy to play, But naughty ones must be trained our way. A collar to bind, a leash to restrain, So puppy won’t ever be bad again.”
Mezzo was shattered. The rockstar voice, the showman grin—all gone. All that escaped was raw, shaking terror.
“N-no… no, no, no, please—don’t—!”
Lights flickered back—too bright, too sharp—revealing the stage had shifted. The counters were gone, the seats rearranged, walls stretched outward like the whole room had grown. Animatronics that had been still now stood in new positions, heads tilted, arms raised.
Mezzo spun in place, chest heaving. “No… no, no, no, no—this isn’t real!”
The twins’ laughter rolled through the broken speakers, warping, doubling, bouncing around him.
“Run little puppy, run while you can, Twist in the maze, the game’s began. Dance and sing, we’ll teach you right, And all your friends will join tonight.”
Mezzo bolted. His boots pounded across sticky tile as doors slid open in the walls only to slam shut just before he reached them. Candyfloss strings whipped out like tripwires, tangling his legs—he stumbled, ripped free, and kept running.
A spotlight flared above him, chasing him wherever he darted. The animatronics twitched with each pulse of light—jerking closer, arms snapping into new poses. A rabbit with wires spilling out its jaw lunged, teeth clacking inches from his face.
“NOPE! Absolutely not!” Mezzo roared, scrambling backward into another corridor—only for the floor to shift under his paws like a treadmill, dragging him back toward the stage.
He clawed at the walls, desperate. “No no no—STOP—!”
The twins sang again, gleeful, cruel:
“Step to the left, step to the right, Puppy will dance in the carnival light! Round and round, till the music’s through, Then all your friends will dance with you.”
A trap door opened beneath him—he barely caught the edge, dangling above a pit of snapping animatronic jaws grinding like candy crushers. He hauled himself up, gasping, fur slick with sweat, only for a candyfloss rope to lash across his chest and yank him sideways into another corridor.
The room twisted again. Walls stretched, ceilings dipped low, then rose like a circus tent. Everywhere he looked—mannequin heads grinning, party lights sparking, animatronics twitching closer.
Mezzo’s bravado was gone; only raw terror bled through his voice. “No, no, no, no—please, don’t—DON’T—!”
The twins’ voices turned soft, syrupy, almost kind—making it worse.
“Don’t be afraid, we’ll make you sweet, A collar, a leash, a treat at your feet. Sit and stay, do as you’re told, Our puppy’s ours, to have and hold.”
The candyfloss tendrils rose again from the dark—coiling, reaching. He tried to run, tried to scream, but the strings snared his arms, his legs, dragging him down.
“NO—no no no, please!” His voice cracked, Irish lilt breaking in pure fear. “Not me—don’t—!”
The animatronics loomed closer, their dead smiles locking onto him as the candyfloss began to cocoon him, muffling his thrashing.
And through it all, the twins sang their rhymes.
“Our puppy wriggles, our puppy cries, But soon he’ll play with candy eyes. He’ll dance, he’ll sing, just wait and see, And soon his friends will join in glee.”
The animatronics loomed closer, their grins stretching wider, glassy eyes flickering with static.
The candyfloss wrapped tighter. Around his legs. His arms. His throat.Then the candyfloss wrapped over his face, drowning his scream into silence.
Until the last thing Mezzo could hear was the twins, rhyming, humming, singing.
And then—
Nothing.
Chapter 13 : Birthday Star
Back at the base, Celeste paced, her boots scuffing softly against the pastel checkerboard tiles of the command hall. The cookie-table glowed pink and vanilla, pulsing steadily, but her eyes stayed fixed on a single dot.
Mezzo.
It hadn’t moved in hours.
Her arms folded tight, tail flicking anxiously as she chewed her lip.
The far door creaked, and Pitch trudged in, hoodie slung over one shoulder, fur damp with sweat. Training scuffs marked his arms, but he wore a grin all the same. It faltered when he spotted her.
“You’re wearin’ a path in that floor, boss,” he rumbled, voice booming as he snatched a towel to mop his face. “What’s got you lookin’ like your pizza buddy missed delivery?”
Pitch leaned in, peering over her shoulder. The faint dot blinked, frozen inside St. Dave’s Mall.
“Eh, maybe he’s nappin’.” He shrugged, tone lighter than his eyes. “You know Mezzo. Runs on chaos and catnaps.”
Celeste shook her head quickly, words sharper now. “His… his health bar—it’s dropped. A quarter gone.”
That stripped the grin from Pitch’s face.
Celeste straightened, pushing away from the table, voice trembling at the edges. “I—I’m going after him. I can’t just stand here.”
A quiet cough drifted from the hallway.
Skye stood half in shadow, fingers twisted in the hem of his hoodie. His hair was combed but still unruly, his eyes rimmed with guilt. Behind him, Bonbon peeked out, clutching her stuffed rabbit.
“I want to come,” Skye said flatly, though his voice was small. “I feel bad. About… everything.”
Celeste’s gaze softened, though the worry didn’t leave her eyes. “Oh, Skye… pet, it—it isn’t safe.”
“I know,” he said simply, nodding once. His tone was steady, factual. “But I’m still a Knight. I can help.”
Celeste hesitated, ears dipping. “…You’ll need to ask Arcade.”
Skye nodded again without another word, and padded off down the hall.
Celeste watched him go, Bonbon shifting against her chest with a quiet mumble. Something deeper tugged at her—an ache she couldn’t name.
The air felt different today. Something wasn’t right.
They took The Gwennan — the affectionate, if slightly sarcastic, name they’d all given Mezzo’s flashy red sports car. Despite the chaos of the world, the vehicle still gleamed as if it had just rolled off the showroom floor. With Celeste riding shotgun and Pitch behind the wheel, the group sped toward St. Dave’s Mall.
Ray leaned against the side door, tail flicking lazily as the wind ruffled her ears. Lumina sat nestled in the backseat beside Skye, who clutched his card launcher tightly, his expression serious. Arcade hadn’t come — he'd quietly declined, not yet ready to face Mezzo again. Hughes, however, had been more than happy to offer Arcade unsolicited wisdom about forgiveness and how stubborn goats always find their way back.
Pitch had one arm hanging out the window, the other gripping the wheel with casual confidence. He wore a sleeveless vest, hoodie tied around his waist, looking like someone who hadn’t just come from a near-death training session. The wind tousled his hair, and he whistled a low tune as they neared the edge of the city.
Then, unexpectedly, a tiny shape popped up from the trunk space — Bonbon, the milk-loving panda, clutching a blanket and blinking her big round eyes like she’d just woken from a nap.
Celeste turned around so fast she nearly twisted out of her seat. She leaned over the headrest, and in a firm but soft voice, she spoke in Welsh — a stream of gentle reprimands and maternal affection.
Pitch raised an eyebrow. “What in the biscuit tin was that jibberish?”
Celeste replied with a glance over her shoulder, “I said that Bonbon is in very big trouble, and if she wanted to come, she should’ve asked first.”
Pitch smirked. “Huh. You lecture better in Welsh.”
The group fell into a quiet rhythm as the mall came into view. The once-bustling building loomed dark against the gray sky, signage cracked and flickering. A few zombies meandered near the front entrance — slow, shambling things.
The gang made short work of them. Ray crushed two with her hammer with brutal efficiency, while Lumina and Skye used a combination of card magic and coordinated sword strikes. Celeste’s blue eyes glowed briefly as she tapped into her newly expanded power range, slicing through the last zombie cleanly from afar.
A soft jingle caught their ears. The door to the restaurant at the far end of the lot stood ajar, and inside, music was playing — bright, mechanical, and deeply unsettling.
They all exchanged glances.
They rounded the corner of the abandoned food court, and that’s when they saw it.
A flickering neon sign buzzed overhead, still clinging to life:
GALAXY GRUB – Home of the Cosmic Kids’ Meal!
Celeste’s ears perked. Her whole face lit. “Oh! Stars above—look! Galaxy Grub! I always wanted to go here! They had the collector cards and the little constellation plushies, didn’t they? Ohhh—and a space raccoon mascot!”
Ray wrinkled her nose. “Yeah, well… shame Mezzo’s not here. He’d be six feet under already.”
Celeste blinked. “Why’s that?”
“He’s got a real phobia of robot mascots,” Ray said, nudging the flickering sign with her elbow. “Caught him throwing out one of the old arcade games from the wreck room. One with a dancing animatronic dog.”
Celeste gasped. “Wait—that’s where Fortnite at Jonny’s went?!”
Ray smirked. “Yep. Took me a full hour and a cup of marshmallow tea before he admitted it. Said its plastic eyes ‘stared straight into his sins.’”
Celeste covered her mouth, trying not to giggle—though Bonbon clung to her leg, wide-eyed.
Celeste crouched, brushing a thumb across her cheek. Her voice softened, lilting into Welsh. “Mae popeth yn iawn, cariad. Dw i yma.” (Everything’s alright, love. I’m here.)
Bonbon nodded faintly, but didn’t let go.
Celeste straightened, drawing a shaky breath, sword settling across her back. “Alright… let’s, um… see what’s inside.”
They stepped into the dim interior, boots echoing across the tiled floor. The haunting chime of a music box played somewhere ahead — slow, tinny notes echoing off the walls like a lullaby dragged through rusted gears. The restaurant had once been bright and cheerful, but now the color seemed faded, warped. Dust and glitter mixed on every surface, as if the place couldn’t decide if it was abandoned or still hosting a party.
They passed a hallway lined with framed pictures of costumed mascots and children — the eyes of the painted mice on the walls seeming to follow them.
The music stopped just as they reached the main room.
Then—click—a rush of electricity, a hum of power. Lights snapped on overhead, painfully bright. Balloons inflated on their own, streamers unfurled. A big, colorfully wrapped birthday present sat at the center of the room on a rotating pedestal, tied in a bow so large it sagged under its own weight.
Pitch’s bassy voice cut in, uneasy but loud: “Yeah, I don’t like it. It’s too… festive.”
Ray muttered, “This place has bad idea written in frosting.”
Then the door slammed shut behind them with a metallic clang. Bonbon squeaked and grabbed Celeste’s leg tightly.
The stage at the far end of the room lit up in bursts of color. Animatronic animals stood motionless for a breathless second — bears, cats, dogs, and at the center, two mice in frilly clothes — one pink, one blue.
Their eyes flicked open.
With a jolt and a burst of mechanical noise, the mice sprang to life. They danced in place, waving their gloved hands, voices chiming in perfect, saccharine harmony.
"Is there a special birthday guest,
Who's better than all the rest?
Raise your hand and say your name,
So we can start the party game!"
Everyone stood frozen. Even Pitch, who usually had a snark ready, stared silently.
Then Skye — ever the earnest heart — slowly raised his hand.
Celeste’s head whipped around. Her blue eyes widened. She didn’t say a word, but the look she gave him — that sharp, silent warning only a mother figure could deliver — hit like a mental slap.
Skye gulped and slowly, very slowly, lowered his hand.
The mascots’ heads twisted unnaturally toward the group. The blue one’s voice giggled with glee, “Ohhh... looks like we’ve got a shy birthday star!”
The pink one clapped her hands. “Then let’s bring out the surprise!”
Lights snapped on, streamers popped, balloons inflated by themselves. At the center, a massive birthday box spun slowly on a pedestal, bow sagging like a smile.
Celeste’s sword summoned forth with a gold sparks and metallic whisper.
Her voice was soft, but steady: “Stay close, all of you. Something’s… very wrong.”
Chapter 14 : Candy-Coated Illusions
With a sudden pop and a wheeze of ancient springs, the oversized birthday present cracked open—confetti bursting out like a detonated trap.
Inside was Mezzo.
Or what was left of him.
He slumped forward, barely conscious, dressed in a ridiculous dog onesie—white with black spots, flopped ears, and a bright red collar locked tightly around his throat. Dangling from the collar was a brass disc ticking down in harsh red light:
00:30:00... 00:29:59...
Celeste’s stomach turned. “No…”
His limbs jerked, guided by unseen marionette strings rising into the darkness above the stage. His head drooped to the side—eyes closed, body limp.
Then, with a mechanical slam, the box snapped shut around him like a coffin.
The lights dimmed, flickered, then changed to a harsh spotlight focused on the two candyfloss mice now center-stage, their eyes pulsing with pink and blue light.
"A birthday gift so soft and sweet!
But will he live or face defeat?
Thirty minutes on the clock—
Each of you must play our mock!"
The mice giggled in harmony, the pink one twirling on one foot, the blue one clicking its fingers sharply.
Without warning, the floor shifted.
The ground beneath the gang gave way as trapdoors opened with a thunderous CRASH—one beneath each of them. They plummeted through separate chutes, screams echoing through the steel and candy-slick tunnels.
One by one, they landed—thud, roll, groan.
Each awoke in a small, ornately decorated room.
Celeste blinked, disoriented. Her combat gear was gone, replaced by a frilly powder-blue Victorian dress, with lace gloves and stiff boots that clicked on the black-and-white tile. Her hair had been tied into thick ringlets with bows.
Across the complex, Ray awoke in a similarly styled rose-pink dress, frills and all, her ears twitching in fury as she muttered, “I’m going to kill those mice.”
Pitch looked at his reflection in a dusty mirror, horrified to find himself wearing a black velvet suit with short pants and knee-high socks, complete with a lace cravat and polished leather shoes. “Nope. Nope. Nope.”
Skye, wide-eyed, stared down at his white-and-blue sailor outfit, complete with a little cap, as if someone had plucked him from a cursed doll museum. “Wh-what is this?!”
Lumina found herself in a bright yellow bonnet and dress that looked like it belonged in a haunted tea party.
All around them stretched a twisted, winding maze of childlike rooms—each one styled like something from a warped Victorian nursery. Tea sets, dollhouses, rocking horses—each area distorted and too-large or too-small, the edges flickering like half-finished dreams.
Somewhere at the maze’s heart was the prize: Mezzo.
Suspended above a porcelain stage under a carousel of glowing eyes.
The mice’s voices echoed from nowhere and everywhere:
“Solve your riddles, pass each test,
Or lose the one you love the best!
Tick, tock, time is thin—
Let the little games... begin.”
And the ticking continued.
00:29:15...
The Present Slammed Shut.
Each corridor curled in on itself like a maze drawn by a child with a trembling hand.
Celeste was in a room full of lace curtains and cold, stuffed animals. Porcelain dolls sat around a cracked tea table, their dead glass eyes watching her as the melody of a broken music box wheezed in the background.
She blinked down at her reflection in a tarnished silver spoon — blue eyes, slightly paler now under the flickering gaslight.
A card fluttered onto the table.
“Pour the truth, serve the lie. Know them all or someone dies.”
Doll mouths whispered, but not clearly. Some leaned right, some slumped, and on their tiny cups were painted symbols — a heart, a question mark, a teardrop.
Celeste's fingers trembled as she served the first cup, trying to read the strange clues, the posture of each doll, and the long-forgotten habits of tea etiquette. One wrong move, and a doll let out a screech like torn metal. The room reset.
She grit her teeth and tried again.
Her paws shook as she studied the table again. The porcelain dolls grinned wider this time—cracks spidering across their faces like they knew she was close.
“Pour the truth… serve the lie…” she whispered. Her gaze darted to the cup with the heart, to the slumped doll with the teardrop, to the one too-perfectly upright with the painted question mark.
Celeste’s ears twitched. “It’s a trick of manners,” she murmured, remembering her father’s endless lectures. “The one too polite to ask must be lying. The one who weeps… already knows the truth. Which leaves—”
She poured with steady hands.
The dolls fell silent. Their cups clinked, and for a breathless moment the air held still.
Then the spoon rattled. Her reflection warped, smiling back at her with a confidence she had never carried. Same face. Same ribbons. Same pigtails. But the eyes—hard, mocking.
The warped reflection stepped out of the spoon.
Candy glass cracked and fell away, revealing a glossy, sugar-armored version of herself. Its grin curled sharp.
“Pathetic,” the false Celeste sneered, voice like a chorus of candy wrappers tearing. “Always trembling, always apologizing. You’re nothing but a doll in your own story.”
Celeste staggered back. “Y-you’re not me—”
The fake lunged, scythes of hardened sugar snapping into her hands. She moved with the grace Celeste never felt she had, every strike sharp, mocking, merciless.
Celeste parried with her katanas, sparks flying as steel met candy-glass. Every blow rattled her arms; every jeer cut deeper than the blades.
“Look at you,” the copy hissed. “You could be strong—if you weren’t so busy being kind.”
Celeste’s boots slid against the checkerboard floor. Her chest burned, her arms ached, but—
“I’m not ashamed of kindness!” she shouted, parrying with all her weight. “It’s what makes me different from monsters like you!”
She feinted, twisted, and drove both blades through the sugar doppelgänger. The false Celeste gasped, shattering into shards of caramel and glass that rained to the floor. The mocking grin lingered in her ears until it, too, cracked apart.
The dolls’ eyes all snapped shut at once. The cracked tea table folded into nothingness.
Across the lace curtains, a door appeared—its frame shaped like a dollhouse roof.
Celeste stood there, chest heaving, ribbon ends singed and sticky with sugar dust. She wiped her eyes, straightened her dress, and stepped forward.
The door creaked open. Beyond lay another winding corridor… and somewhere deeper, Mezzo’s muffled cry.
The ticking clock chased her out:
00:27:04…
Ray landed in a vast, echoing hallway. Shelves of glass animals stood on every side — foxes, wolves, birds, and even tiny glass replicas of her friends. Each one glimmered under gaslight. She walked with care. Every breath felt loud.
Above her, a whisper:
“Choose the truth. Break a lie. But shatter what matters... and something must die.”
She reached the end of the hall, where five glass figures stood alone, each marked with initials. C.H.I.P., Skye, Celeste, Arcade... and her own.
She hesitated, heart pounding.
She knew the game. One had to be broken to unlock the exit.
She clenched her jaw. “Sorry,” she whispered, lifting a metal baton — and shattered her own.
The glass figure cracked like ice, splintering into a thousand shards.
From the shards rose a reflection — but not Ray.
This version stood tall, every whisker groomed, jacket pressed spotless, medal ribbons glittering across her chest. Her voice carried like a council speech.
“Raylene Tanllwyth,” the fake intoned, crisp and cold. “A fox of grace. Discipline. A model of hybrid virtue.”
Ray blinked, then barked a laugh. “Hybrid virtue? Doll, please. You sound like my mother stuffed inside a candy wrapper.”
The double’s gaze sharpened. “You waste your potential. You could be respected. Honored. But you drown it all in jokes and sweets.”
Ray’s tail lashed. “Yeah, because respect tastes like sawdust, and sweets taste like victory.”
The fake snapped her fingers, and a long glass halberd formed, gleaming with a sterile brilliance. With perfect form, she lunged.
Ray parried with her metal baton, sparks scattering across the mirrored floor. Every strike from the fake was textbook — clean, measured, merciless. Ray’s arms rattled with the precision.
“Sloppy,” the fake sneered, shoving her back. “You fight like a street rat. No wonder they’ll never see you as equal.”
Ray growled, blood hot in her ears. “You know what?” She twirled her baton, blocking another strike. “You almost had me. All perfect posture and shiny medals. But you’re just glass. Empty inside.”
The fake froze for a breath — a hairline crack running across her flawless muzzle.
Ray pressed in, voice raw. “I don’t need their respect. I’ve got friends who trust me. That’s worth more than every title you’ll ever fake.”
The double’s eyes widened, her perfect form fracturing. She let out a sound halfway between a scream and a shattering note — and exploded into shards.
The hallway’s shelves trembled. Every glass animal blinked out one by one, until only the far end remained — a doorway swinging open, light spilling through.
Ray stood, panting, brushing sugar-glass dust from her fur. “Prim and proper my tail,” she muttered, rolling her shoulders.
She strode out, head high, baton twirling.
Behind her, the whisper faded into silence.
Chapter 15 : The Party Isn’t Over
The door creaked open.
Pitch stood in a corridor of cracked mirrors. Each reflection twisted him — younger, older, unscarred, bloodied, cowardly, monstrous. One wore a crown. One wore a muzzle.
His steps echoed, each footfall heavier than the last. In the center was a mirror shaped like a stage. A riddle appeared in blood-red chalk on the floor:
“Which of these is you? Choose true, or be consumed.”
He stared at a version of himself — one who had run, one who had failed to save them, one who had watched without lifting a finger. He gritted his teeth and whispered:
"None of them."
The mirrors cracked. One figure lunged — a shadowy clone. Lady Luck, his card-shotgun, materialized into his hands with a shiver of red and gold playing cards.
The corridor didn’t clear.
From the shattered glass rose a new figure — taller, sharper, suit pressed and polished. No hoodie, no scars, no smell of gunpowder. A man carved from ambition, not grit.
The fake’s grin was thin as a razor. “If they hadn’t died, you’d be me. You’d have taken the family business, just like they wanted. Not some hooded thug running cards in the dark.”
Pitch froze. His stomach dropped. “Shut it.”
The fake stepped closer, shadows stretching like courtroom pillars around them. “You let it fail. All of it. Because you weren’t there.”
Pitch’s grip on Lady Luck trembled. His mouth opened, but no words came.
The fake’s voice turned colder. “Car accident, right? But tell me, why were they out that night? Picking up Jett. Because you had study hall, remember? Your turn. If you’d gone, they wouldn’t have been on the road. They’d still be alive. Your fault.”
Pitch staggered, mask of bravado cracking. For the first time in years, fear showed in his eyes. His voice came rough, broken. “That’s not true… it wasn’t my fault…”
The shadow pressed in. “You’re a failure. And worse—you’re a liar. You’ve told yourself that story so many times you almost believe it.”
“SHUT UP!” Pitch roared, the sound shaking the glass corridor.
The fake moved first, halberd of shadow sweeping down. Pitch ducked, cards scattering in a storm of crimson light. Lady Luck boomed, shells of glowing spades and hearts tearing across the mirror-walls.
They fought in a blur — shotgun blasts against spear-thrusts, sparks and shards raining around them. Pitch bled from his arm, stumbled under the clone’s clean, practiced strikes.
But rage carved clarity through his fear. He shoved back, voice raw, echoing in the shattered hall. “They died because the world’s cruel. Because chance is cruel. Not because of me. I loved them, and that’s the truth!”
He rammed Lady Luck point-blank into the fake’s chest and fired.
The shadow staggered, cracks splitting its body like broken glass. But even as it shattered, the clone sneered through the fragments: “You’ll always be a failure, Pitch. And a liar.”
Then it exploded into dust.
The mirrors all went dark. The only sound was Pitch’s ragged breathing, the faint shuffle of his cards as they fell silent in his hands.
The corridor groaned. A crooked door materialized, creaking open with a sound like a coffin lid.
Pitch stared at it, chest heaving, before muttering in a hoarse growl: “Guess we’ll see about that.”
He stepped through.
Skye blinked at the miniature theater. The velvet curtain parted, revealing a stage full of marionettes playing out a horrifying version of his life. His mother’s cold stare. Arcade’s frantic tech-building. A younger version of him being fitted into a dress.
His lip trembled. Cards appeared in his hands — battle monster cards, but different. Storytelling cards.
“Rewrite the story. But each change comes at a cost.”
He placed one: “Guardian appears.” Arcade entered stage left.
Another: “Truth revealed.” A puppet screamed as the real villain was unmasked.
The strings cut themselves. The stage burned.
The flames died.
From the ashes of the stage stepped… himself.
Not quite.
This Skye’s ears drooped, eyes raw and wet, lips trembling. His voice was broken glass. “Why did she say those things? Why did she call me wrong? Why did she… why did she want me to be something I wasn’t?”
The fake Skye clutched his chest, stumbling forward like a wounded child. Skye’s own breath caught, instinct pulling him closer. “I… I know. I remember. It hurt. But you’re not wrong. You’re just—”
The fake suddenly screamed, claws lashing, slamming him to the ground. “LIES! You don’t get to comfort me! You don’t get to pretend it didn’t BREAK us!”
Cards scattered from Skye’s trembling hands, flaring with light. One glowed brightest.
“Knight, defend!”
From the card rose a towering armored figure, silver-plated, faceless, shield braced wide. It stepped in front of Skye, taking every furious strike the shadow threw. The blows rang like bells.
The fake sobbed with each hit. “Why wasn’t I enough? Why wasn’t I the son she wanted?”
Behind the knight’s shield, Skye froze. He saw it suddenly — the way the knight stood, silent, unwavering, absorbing the hurt without complaint. Just like Arcade.
His throat tightened. “Arcade… all this time you’ve been taking the hits for me.”
The fake roared, hammering the knight again and again. The shield began to crack.
“No.” Skye’s voice wavered, but he raised his hand. “Not anymore.”
He desummoned the knight. The armored figure dissolved into light, leaving him bare.
The fake Skye screamed and struck him directly — claws raking his chest. But instead of blood, only ripples spread, like hitting water.
Skye looked him dead in the eyes, tears running down his cheeks. “You can’t hurt me anymore. Not with her words. Not with your grief. I’m still here. I’m still me.”
The fake reeled back, wailing. Its form unraveled, breaking apart into strands of string like a discarded marionette. The sobbing grew thin, then faded into silence.
The stage set melted away. A lone door appeared in the velvet backdrop, glowing faintly.
Skye wiped his face, gathered his cards, and whispered: “For once… I’ll take my own damage.”
And he walked through.
Skye was crying, but he smiled, just a little.
The dusty bedroom warped. The vanity stretched, mirrors multiplying until there were dozens of Celestes, all brushing their fur, all humming the same lullaby in perfect harmony.
Lumina stumbled back, ears flat. The air buzzed with whispers, layered and suffocating.
“Without Celeste, we’re nothing.” “Our powers don’t work without Celeste.” “Protect Celeste. Follow Celeste. Celeste, Celeste, Celeste—”
The chant drowned the room, drilling into her head. Lumina pressed her paws to her ears and shouted, “Stop it! Stop it! We’re all important—not just her!”
The reflections froze.
One shadow-Celeste stepped forward, her face shifting, fur and hair flickering through shapes — silver, blonde, ragdoll, dragon, alicorn. Her body refused to settle, every second a different form. Her voice blended into a hundred tones.
“If you’re not Celeste… then who are you? You look the same. Maybe you are her. Maybe you’re nothing.”
Lumina’s tail bristled, eyes wet but burning. “I’m Lumina. Just Lumina. That’s all I want to be.”
The shadow tilted its head, smile curling cruel. “You’re a good big sister.”
The shadow leaned closer, flickering into her exact likeness, whispering: “Are you sure about that?”
Her sword flared in her paw. She bit her lip, trembling, then screamed, “I’m me! Just me!”
She swung, and the blade cut clean through the flickering figure. The shadow burst apart in shards of fractured reflections, its taunt echoing faintly until the dust sank away.
Lumina panted, ears ringing. The room was silent. Only one mirror remained — her own reflection, small but steady.
She raised her sword and whispered, smiling through tears: “I’ll try my kitty best… to be just Lumina.”
The last mirror shattered gently, like glass turning to sand.
A narrow door creaked open where the vanity had been. Golden light spilled through.
Lumina wiped her cheeks on her sleeve and scampered toward it, tail flicking with pride.
In a candy-coated cupboard, Bonbon sat alone. Candies wiggled on shelves. Dolls giggled softly. A lullaby played.
“Don’t move. Don’t talk. Don’t be tempted.”
She sucked her thumb quietly, hugging her plush.
A jellybean rolled toward her.
She ignored it.
Another minute passed.
The cupboard creaked wider, revealing not freedom but… herself.
A second Bonbon sat there, swinging her legs. Same plush. Same wide eyes. But her voice came halting, stumbling, like a record skipping.
“…Mama?” the fake whispered. Then, sharper, “No. Not Mama. I… am… Bonbon.”
Her tone shifted again, words stiff, too grown for her small mouth. “I am… I am happy. I am family. I am—”
She clutched her head, rocking as though the words hurt. The soft Welsh lilt slipped from her voice, each phrase flattening into rough English.
Bonbon’s ears drooped. She understood. This was the fear inside her — the fear of forgetting her first voice, her mother’s sound, swallowed by the new one.
The fake whimpered. “I can’t remember… who sang to me. I can’t… remember her voice.”
Bonbon’s little chest shook. Then she straightened, took a deep breath, and sang.
Her small voice wove the old lullaby in Welsh, fragile but steady. Notes her mother once hummed, carried forward like a candle in the dark.
The fake’s body flickered. Sugar-cracks ran down her fur. She opened her mouth as if to answer, but only silence came. Piece by piece, she unraveled, threads of candy and light dissolving into the air.
In her place, the doorway stood open.
Bonbon sniffled, wiping her eyes. She stepped forward—only to be scooped up in soft arms.
Celeste knelt there, hugging her close. “Bonbon!”
The little panda blinked up at her, confused at first. But then a bright, relieved smile bloomed across her face. “Cece!”
Celeste squeezed tighter, whispering, “I was so worried.”
The candy cupboard groaned, fading into nothingness, leaving only the two of them — and the open door.
Chapter 16 : The Final Slice
One by one they can back to the prize.
Each corridor twisted and turned back toward the central chamber.
The characters, older and wiser from their trials, arrived one by one to see the present again.
This time, it unlocked.
Mezzo lay dazed inside, the timer collar blinking down — 00:01… 00:00.
Celeste leapt forward, slicing the puppet strings just in time.
But the twins’ giggle echoed from all sides.
“You won the game. But the party… isn’t over.”
As the puppet strings dissolved, Mezzo collapsed into Celeste’s arms, gasping, his body limp but slowly recovering. The collar clattered to the ground, its countdown long expired. Everyone began to breathe again.
Then the music changed.
A slow, warped version of “Happy Birthday” played backwards. The walls shook. The center stage rose, lifting the Candyfloss Twins high above the party floor. Their eyes shone brighter than before — blue and pink spotlights cutting through the air.
"Every birthday needs a final game..."
"And the puppy still owes us a prize."
Mezzo, still in the ridiculous dog onesie, stood shakily. The twins pointed to him.
"This time, it's your turn. Win… or watch them vanish."
When the last echo of laughter died and the games fell silent, Mezzo stood alone in a dim, throbbing chamber beneath the stage. The air tasted like burnt caramel and static. Then the flicker of twin glows—one pink, one blue—broke the dark.
The two drifted lower, skirts of spun sugar unraveling and reweaving as though the air itself wanted to eat them.
They landed with perfect synchronicity, bare paws pattering on the checkerboard floor. Their voices chimed in unison, high and lilting, like wind-up dolls wound too tight:
“We are Sweet Puff… And Sour Fluff…”
They twirled, pigtails twisting together before snapping apart.
Fluff curtsied, her pink fur shimmering like rose quartz. “We like games, we like fun. Pass your trial, and you’ll see your precious ones.”
Puff’s jaw cracked again, the sound like hard candy snapping in half. Her blue fur dulled at the edges, sticky strings trailing from his arms. “But fail your part, or bend, or cheat—” She leaned close, grin wide enough to split. “Then your heartbeat makes a tasty treat.”
Together, they clasped paws again and sang, their words echoing off the candy-doll walls:
“Two by two, the trials are spun, Each must face themselves, one by one. Sweet or sour, truth or lie— Win the game… or you will die.”
They giggled, shrill and off-key, before skipping back into the shadows, leaving the ticking clock louder than ever.
00:26:41…
The next door groaned open, waiting.
The room shimmered. Phantom strings descended from the ceiling and attached to Mezzo’s wrists, ankles, neck. He gasped as his limbs jerked against his will, forced into a grotesque parody of a child’s marionette dance.
From above, the twins giggled, circling like vultures made of floss.
“Still letting others pull your strings? Still a little dog waiting for orders?”
But Mezzo—wounded, tired, scared—growled low in his throat. His blood stirred with ancient warmth. His griffon side, long buried beneath nerves and noise, blinked awake.
Gold shimmer flicked through his eyes. Sparks licked his fingertips. With a roar, he yanked against the strings—and they snapped one by one.
The twins stopped dancing.
“He broke it...”
“The puppy cut his strings…”
The puppet stage vanished. Now, mirrors surrounded Mezzo—floor to ceiling. They shimmered with reflections, but not his own. No, these showed his friends. Warped.
Celeste, looking down at him coldly.
Skye, retreating into shadow.
Pitch, arms crossed, disappointed.
Ray, shaking her head.
Arcade—silent, judging.
One by one, they spoke:
Dozens of versions of him stared back — each one laughing, sneering, mouthing the same cutting words.
“You don’t belong with us.” “You’re just a joke.” “They only keep you around to feel better about themselves.”
The laughter echoed, bouncing from glass to glass until it was a storm.
Mezzo’s ears flattened. His breath caught. “No… no, that’s not—”
One reflection leaned forward, grinning with teeth too sharp. “You’ll never be more than the punchline, Swift. A clown in the middle of a war.”
Mezzo’s fists shook. Then his voice boomed, raw and furious: “That’s not true! I’m not a joke. I’m Mezzo Swift. Mezzo feckin’ Swift!”
The glass trembled with the shout. The runes carved across his arms flickered — glitching, sparking. For a heartbeat, feathers burst from his shoulders, wings unfurling wide and wild. A mane like lightning crackled down his spine, his eyes burning with gryphon fire.
He panted, chest glowing faint with primal lines of power.
“I’ll make sure Clawdiff knows my name.”
That griffon eye narrowed. He stepped forward, then sprinted—and shattered the false Skye with a punch.
The reflections screamed as cracks spidered across them, the mocking laughter warping into shrieks. One by one, they shattered, raining shards that dissolved into dust before touching the floor.
When the last mirror broke, silence fell. A heavy door appeared where the corridor ended, iron hinges creaking open.
Mezzo grinned, a little breathless, rubbing his glowing arm as the feathers faded back into fur. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”
And he strode forward, wings fading but his words still echoing in the empty hall.
All the mirrors shattered in a crashing wave of glass and lies.
The last room glowed golden, warm and trickling with soft music. Five pedestals. Five levers. Each one with a glowing riddle tied to memory.
Celeste’s: “We bonded over what burns and heals alike.”
Ray’s: “You were there when I fell—twice—and didn’t mock me.”
Skye’s: “You laughed at my monster. Then helped me build it.”
Pitch’s: “I told you nothing, but you listened.”
Lumina’s: “Even conspiracies can be cozy.”
He didn’t panic.
He thought. He breathed.
One by one, in reverse order, he pulled the levers.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Click.
A hum vibrated through the room. Light exploded from the center. A panel opened. Voices above shrieked in disharmony.
From above, the twins descended once more. But this time, there were no stage costumes. No false sweetness.
Fluff’s candyfloss body twisted like smoke into the shape of a ballerina mouse. Her arms uncoiled into candy floss whips, her peppermint eyes spinning like wheels. Her pigtails flailed behind her like sticky ropes.
Puff dropped beside her, bubblegum hair cracking with static. Her joints popped like taffy under strain. Her cotton-candy tail snapped with each step. Her smile split too wide, sugar teeth sharpened to a grin.
“NO MORE GAMES.”
“WE’LL RIP YOUR TEETH OUT AND STUFF YOU WITH CANDY!”
Mezzo braced himself—just as his friends appeared, each stepping through shimmering golden doors.
And Mezzo stood in front of them.
“You messed with the wrong birthday.”
And with that, the fight began.
The room warped as reality bent into something grotesquely festive.
The walls pulsed with pastel decay. Oversized balloons floated in the air like bloated blimps, drifting in impossible slow motion. Along the perimeter, cracked porcelain doll heads peered out from embedded shelves, their glassy eyes flickering between sickly shades of pink and blue. The air smelled like melted sugar and rust. Above them, carnival music played—but in reverse—notes unspooling backward into unsettling, childish dissonance.
And in the center of it all stood the Candyfloss Twins.
Fluff and Puff had fully transformed. Their bodies—once merely unsettling—now glistened with the sheen of living candy. Mouselike limbs twitched with unnatural rhythm. Their skin shimmered in sticky pastel, and their braided fluffy pigtails lashed about like tendrils, alive with menace.
They spoke in unison, their voices echoing like a cursed nursery rhyme passed through a broken music box:
“We warned you, little guests. But now... the candles burn low.”
Then the room exploded into motion.
Chapter 17 : Sugar, Spice, and Sudden Death
Puff twirled forward, Candy floss arms elongating into bladed whips. Each sweep carved ribbons through the air, graceful and lethal.
Fluff’s eyes jittered in every direction as she skipped across the battlefield. From her candy-striped satchel, she lobbed hard-candy bombs like deadly party favors, each one bursting with jagged shards of sugar glass.
The Twins shrieked in eerie harmony, their candied bodies whirling together in a dizzying spin. Threads of sugar unraveled from their forms, fanning outward until the entire arena shimmered with a spiraling cloud of pink.
“Floss Storm!” they howled.
The whirlwind thickened, scattering sticky floss in every direction. Strands clung to weapons, fur, and armor alike, slowing every movement they touched. Celeste slashed furiously at the threads, but each cut only split them into finer webs that tangled tighter around her blades.
Ray tried to push forward, but her boots sank into the gooey mass, every step dragging like she was wading through tar. “Ugh! It’s like fighting in bubblegum!”
Mezzo’s tail flared, but even his fur began to stick together, fire sputtering as the cloying sugar smothered his flames. “This is disgusting!”
Pitch flicked a card into the storm, but it wobbled and veered off course, sugar strands dragging it down before it hit its mark. “Accuracy’s gone. Figures.”
The Twins spun faster, their laughter rising into a manic, carnival screech as the arena filled with choking pink mist.
“Don’t stop moving!” Celeste shouted, ribbons blazing as she fought to carve a path through the storm. “If we let them wrap us up—we’re finished!”
Her twin katanas gleamed with polished steel as she blink-dashed through the attack, sliding under a licorice arc with breathless precision. She slashed at Puff’s legs—just enough to graze, to draw a squeal and force the twin into a panicked leap.
The arena shimmered with sticky pink mist, the smell of sugar cloying and sharp. From the haze, the Candy Floss Twins—Fluff and Puff—lurched forward, their spun-candy bodies spiraling together like a grotesque carnival act. Threads of floss snapped and rewove between them, each movement producing a shrill, glassy squeak.
Celeste gritted her teeth, tightening her grip on her twin ribbon katanas. “We end this before they tangle us up.”
She dashed in, ribbons flaring behind her like comet tails.
Attack - Twinkle Pierce.
With a sudden thrust, she drove both blades forward together. The strike released a burst of radiant starlight, a sharp flash that cracked against Puff’s candied torso. Fractures spiderwebbed across its glossy shell as the starburst knocked it stumbling backward.
Fluff screeched in response, its threads whipping out wildly, but the light still lingered in the air, scattering motes like falling glitter.
Celeste slid back into stance, breath sharp, eyes locked on the Twins. “Your turn.”
Ray followed, her hammer glowing faintly with kinetic charge. She roared and slammed it into the candy-tiled ground. A shockwave rippled out—tiles cracked and warped, sugar melting into molasses. Fuff faltered, trapped for a moment as her footing vanished beneath her.
Celeste’s starburst faded, leaving cracks gleaming along Puff’s candied torso. The Twins shrieked in eerie harmony, threads whipping out in sticky arcs.
Ray stepped forward, Heartbreaker already humming with heat. “Yeah, yeah, keep screaming. Time to burn that sugar down.”
She swung once—CRACK—then again—BOOM—two heavy blows left then right, each impact shaking loose spun threads from Fluff’s bloated frame. Embers exploded outward, clinging to the sticky strands and setting them ablaze in bursts of violet fire.
Before the Twins could recoil, Ray bent her knees and kicked upward, launching herself into the air. Heartbreaker gleamed overhead, wreathed in flame.
Attack - Heatwave Drive.
She came crashing down like a meteor. The hammer smashed the stone floor with an echoing KRAK-THOOM, unleashing a fiery shockwave that rolled out in every direction. The burst scorched a wide circle, leaving behind a burning zone that licked at the Twins’ bodies, forcing them to stumble and shriek as the fire clung stubbornly to their sugary hides.
Ray ripped Heartbreaker free from the crater, her mane flickering with sparks. She bared her teeth in a defiant grin. “Sweet enough for ya now?”
Pitch rolled sideways, coat flaring, and fanned his shotgun—Lady Luck. Razor-edged playing cards shot forth in a cone of glittering fire. One clipped Puff’s pigtail—candy strands flew.
The Twins shrieked as Ray’s burning shockwave licked across their spun-candy bodies. Strands of floss snapped and curled like burnt hair, but already they were reweaving, sticky tendrils lashing toward the Knights in a net of sugar threads.
Pitch leaned on Lady Luck, lips curling into a half-grin. “Alright, let’s raise the stakes.”
He flicked a coin high into the air. It spun in the dim light, gleaming gold as the battle raged around it.
Attack - Double or Nothing.
The coin landed in his palm—heads.
Pitch’s grin sharpened. “Jackpot.”
He snapped Lady Luck forward, a spectral card bursting from the barrel like a bullet. It slammed into Fluff’s chest with amplified force, the impact cracking its sticky shell wide open in a spray of melted sugar.
“Next round’s on you,” Pitch quipped, already spinning the coin across his knuckles.
From across the arena, Celeste called, “What happens if it lands wrong?”
Pitch winked, sliding the coin back into the air. “That’s the fun part.”
The coin glinted as it turned end over end—dangerously close to landing on its edge.
Across the chaos, Skye ducked low behind a table and primed his card launcher. One press, and a slime minion blinked into existence, scooping up a candy bomb and hurling it back with a splat of joyful vengeance.
The Candy Floss Twins shrieked, their sticky tendrils snapping like whips as they tried to reel the Knights into a spiraling net.
Skye’s eyes narrowed. His deck fanned into his paw in a blur of motion, cards gleaming with shifting runes. “Let’s shuffle the odds.”
He snapped his wrist once—an elemental card burst forward, exploding in a fiery arc that scorched across Fluff’s torso.
A second flick followed immediately—light. The card blazed like a star, searing into Puff’s face and forcing the monster to reel back, blinded by the brilliance.
Then came the third—mental disruption. The card spiraled in violet glow, striking the Twins’ shared threads. For an instant, their movements faltered, their twisted synchronization collapsing into a staggering, tangled mess.
Combo - Trinity Shuffle.
The Twins screeched in disharmony, sugar threads flailing uselessly as their bodies lurched out of rhythm.
Skye exhaled, his launcher snapping shut with a click. “Three of a kind.”
Lumina raised her shield, radiant with protective light, and charged Spindle head-on. A whip cracked against metal, but she held fast, retaliating with a diagonal slash of her glowing blade. The strike connected. Spindle’s cheek cracked—sugar splintered like glass.
The Candy Floss Twins screeched as Ray’s fiery shockwave burned across their sticky bodies. Their threads lashed out in retaliation, weaving into a net that whipped downward toward Celeste.
“Celeste!” Lumina cried, charging forward with her shield raised.
The net of floss struck, but Lumina slammed her shield up with all her strength. Pink petals burst outward from the impact, glowing brighter and brighter until they formed a radiant shockwave.
Combo - Heart Bloom Bash.
A pulse of heart-shaped light surged across the battlefield, slamming into Fluff and Puff. The monsters stumbled, their sugar threads unraveling as the wave knocked them off balance, syrup spraying in awkward arcs.
Celeste blinked in surprise, her ribbons fluttering in the shimmering glow. “Nice save!”
Lumina braced her shield again, cheeks pink under the shine of her own magic. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”
The Twins reeled, their shrieks breaking into a discordant hum as the Knights closed in again.
The air shimmered pink as Fluff and Puff let out a piercing shriek, their candied bodies twining together in a spiraling spin. Strands of floss coiled around their arms, twisting tighter, thicker, until they hardened into gleaming ropes of spun sugar.
“Sugar Whip!” they screeched in eerie unison.
Both lashed out in mirrored arcs, the sticky cords slicing through the air like glass whips. Celeste ducked under the first strike, but the second snapped across the ground, syrup spraying as it carved a deep gouge into the stone.
Ray swung Heartbreaker up to block, buut when the whip connected, it clung stubbornly, sugar threads stretching like glue. She yanked hard, only to feel her arms drag forward, her paws suddenly stuck in place.
“Bloody—get this gunk off me!” she growled, thrashing against the sticky hold.
Mezzo tried to cut one of the threads, but as soon as his blade bit into it, the floss wrapped tighter, coiling around his axe like a living snare. “Oh, c’mon! This is cheating!”
Celeste darted forward, ribbons flashing as she carved at the bindings. Her blades sliced clean through, freeing Ray just in time for another whip to snap down where her head had been.
The Twins laughed in perfect, sugar-sweet harmony, their mirrored forms whirling to strike again.
Chapter 18 : Sweet Goodbyes
The twins spun faster, faster, their candyfloss bodies unraveling into a cyclone of pink and blue.
“Double Twirl!” they shrieked.
The storm collapsed inward. A glob of molten gum burst from their tiny paws, expanding midair into a wobbling, sticky sphere. It engulfed Celeste before she could leap aside.
She slammed her katanas against the inside, but the blades stuck uselessly in the tacky surface. The gum stretched, then snapped back, swallowing her wrists whole. Her arms locked to her sides, her legs pinned tight.
“Celeste!” Ray cried, pounding on the bubble. Her fists only bounced, the gum vibrating but refusing to tear. Mezzo and Pitch slashed and blasted at it to no avail.
Outside, her friends’ frantic voices blurred, muffled through the pink membrane.
Inside, silence.
Two sets of glowing button-eyes peered in. The twins pressed their faces against the gum, features warped through the sticky film.
“Well, well, if it isn’t… Astallan,” they cooed together.
Celeste froze. Her breath caught in her throat.
Sour Puff’s voice was low, heavy with sorrow, like Sadness given teeth. “Why did you betray us, Kenaz?”
Sweet Fluff’s tone was bright, cheerful, cruel — Joy dipped in sugar acid. “Irrelevant, isn’t it? He was there, comrade. He must have known. Why did they change, and he didn’t? It’s not fair.”
Celeste shook her head violently. “I’m not Kenaz! I’m Celeste!”
Sour Puff pressed her paws to the gum, the surface stretching inward with the weight. “Unfair. We hate unfair things.”
Celeste’s eyes burned, breath quickening. “This isn’t fair to me. I’m in the wrong place—”
Sweet Fluff cut her off with a singsong lilt. “At the right time.” Her grin spread unnaturally wide. “Convenient, isn’t it?”
The bubble tightened around Celeste’s chest. Her ribs ached. Outside, Ray slammed her baton uselessly against the gum wall, screaming her name.
Inside, Celeste could only stare back at the twin-eyed dolls — and feel their voices clawing into her heart.
Celeste struggled against the sticky press, her lungs burning, every breath a shallow gasp. Her voice cracked through the gum, muffled but desperate: “I just… I just want to go home. I have nothing to do with this!”
The twins pressed closer, their faces warped against the wobbling bubble.
“Don’t you?” Sweet Fluff hissed, smile twisting. “You wear his face. You stood before Hue and Yorath.”
Celeste froze, ribbons slackening in her paws. “Wait… what were your names?”
For the first time, the twins faltered. Their button eyes flickered. They looked at one another — like children trying to remember a dream they’d been forced to forget.
The pink one whispered, voice breaking: “Sirin. I was… Sirin.”
The blue one choked, trembling: “And I was… Saren. Recon unit. Our information saved lives… until…” They both lifted their tiny paws. Candyfloss threads frayed from their fingers, unraveling like wounds. “…until we looked down. And saw… not flesh, but this.”
Their forms shook violently, faces cracking between candyfloss and the faintest memory of real fur.
Celeste’s throat ached, but she pressed against the gum, eyes shining with tears. “I’m sorry this happened to you. Can we fix it?”
The sweetness in their voices curdled.
Saren’s face twisted, button eyes glowing hot. “Kenaz. We thought he would save us. But he left us. He left us to her mercy.”
Celeste’s heart thudded. “Who?”
Their voices broke, rising into a jagged shriek. “We changed! We didn’t want this—didn’t want this!”
The gum around her throat constricted, choking her breath, syrup burning against her fur.
Outside, Ray slammed her baton into the bubble again and again, teeth bared. “LET HER GO!”
With a roar, she drove her weapon down, Heartbreaker shattering the sticky wall in a spray of shards and syrup.
The gum snapped apart. Mezzo darted in, arms bulging with strength, tearing the sticky cords binding Celeste. She stumbled free, gasping air, coughing hard as Ray braced her.
The twins shrieked, their forms twisting and unraveling into loose strands of candyfloss that floated into the air like smoke, voices fading to nothing.
Celeste clutched Ray’s shoulder, eyes wide and trembling. “They… they had names.”
Sirin. Saren.
The last strands of candyfloss didn’t vanish.
They drifted back together, pink twining with blue, knotting into child-sized shapes once more. Their button eyes flickered weakly, but their tiny paws found each other and clasped tight.
Sweet Puff whispered, almost tender: “Sister… as long as you are with me, we can endure anything.”
Sour Fluff nodded, her voice cracked with sorrow but firm. “Always. Now… let’s make Kenaz play fair.”
They turned their glowing gazes back to Celeste, strands of floss spiraling from their arms like chains being readied.
Ray yanked her baton free of gum still clinging to it, snorting. “This again? I swear, I’ve got questions for your dad if I ever meet him.”
Celeste blinked, caught between exhaustion and disbelief. “…Do I.”
Ray smirked, twirling Heartbreaker. “Oh yeah. Whole interview lined up. First question: why’s your family drama always trying to kill us?”
The gum-sweet air quivered as the twins giggled, their laughter echoing in the corridor like a cracked nursery rhyme.
The corridor twisted into a wide arena, floorboards melting into striped peppermint tiles. The air thickened with sugar, and at the center the twins clasped paws, their eyes burning brighter than before.
“Ribbon Wrap!”
Threads of spun sugar shot out like living tentacles, coiling around the team. One wrapped Mezzo’s wrist, another snagged Lumina’s ankle, a third lanced straight toward Celeste’s throat.
Mezzo snarled. His rune flared, feathers bursting across his shoulders. For a heartbeat, gryphon wings spread wide, mane igniting with fire. He roared, flames rippling down the candy ribbon. It shriveled and snapped apart with a hiss, freeing his arm.
“Not this time, fluffballs!” he growled, slamming his axe into the ground. The shockwave of heat seared the floor, cutting a path for the others.
The twins spun in perfect unison, their floss-bodies twirling into mirrored spirals. Sugar-whips lashed from their arms, snapping across the arena like glass-coated chains. Celeste ducked one, ribbons sparking as she carved another away — but the cords kept coming, sticky and relentless.
Mezzo dropped beside her, his axe runes glowing molten red, feathers bristling along his shoulders. He grinned, feral and furious. “Alright, kitten — time to make ‘em hear us.”
Celeste met his eyes, sweat streaking her fur. She nodded. “Together.”
He flipped his axe upright like a guitar, claws scraping the runes. Sparks flew as a raw, fiery riff blasted through the air — music that vibrated in Celeste’s bones.
“Fretboard Fury!” they roared in unison.
Celeste surged forward, her katanas flashing in rhythm with Mezzo’s chords. One slash, two, three — each strike falling harder, faster, as if her blades themselves were strings in his song.
The twins staggered under the onslaught, their sugar threads unraveling in sprays of molten floss. They shrieked, whips flailing wildly, but Mezzo only played louder. Flames licked his mane, gryphon feathers twitching into view, his rune sparking like lightning across his arm.
The tempo climbed. Celeste became a blur of ribbons and steel, every slash ringing like a chord struck in fire. The arena itself seemed to pulse with their duet.
Finally Mezzo roared — part battle cry, part rock wail — and slammed his axe into the floor like the final note of a song. Celeste spun with the impact, her katanas crossing in a searing scissor-slash that cut across both twins at once.
Sweet Fluff crumpled, pink threads spilling as she clutched her chest. Sour Puff caught her, howling with rage.
“Sister—!”
Celeste lowered her blades, panting hard. Mezzo swung his axe back over his shoulder, smoke curling from its edge. “Now that’s how you break an encore.”
Celeste’s ribbons dimmed, but her lips curled into a tired grin. “And you kept the rhythm. I just followed the beat.”
The twins’ forms flickered, unraveling — and that was the moment Sour Puff screamed and clutched Sweet Fluff close.
“If you fall, I fall. Always!”
The twins screamed in unison, their floss bodies twirling into a blur.
“Floss Storm!”
They spun faster, faster, until the whole arena was filled with sticky threads. The air itself seemed to glue to their fur and clothes. Ray cursed, Heartbreaker dragging as the threads weighed it down. Celeste’s boots stuck fast to the floor. Even Skye’s cards fluttered sluggishly, weighed down by floss.
Celeste locked eyes with Ray, ribbons sparking in her hands. “Together sunshine?”
Ray smirked, shaking sugar out of her fur. “You bet blondie.”
They leapt in sync, ribbons and baton striking in a dazzling pattern — Celeste binding the twins’ arms in flashing loops while Ray’s strikes smashed through, battering the sticky bodies apart. Each blow sent sprays of hardened sugar shards across the arena.
The twins shrieked in unison, sugar-whips lashing across the floor. The sticky cords slammed down like glassy chains, tearing through tiles and dragging everything into their spinning storm.
Ray staggered, jamming Heartbreaker into the ground to brace herself. “These little brats wanna waltz? Fine. Let’s give ’em a show!”
Celeste darted beside her, twin katanas glowing silver, lunar mana rippling along their edges. She crouched low, crossing them into a springboard. Her eyes locked on Ray’s.
“Ray! Let’s finish this together!”
Ray’s grin was wild, her tail lashing. “About time!”
She sprinted forward, planting one boot on Celeste’s crossed blades.
“Lunar Launchpad!” Celeste cried, ribbons surging with energy.
The blades flexed like a coiled bow, launching Ray skyward in a burst of silver light. She spun her hammer overhead, fire sparking off its rim.
Below, the twins looked up, button eyes widening.
Ray bellowed, “HEY SUGAR-SPIN! CATCH!”
She crashed down between them, Heartbreaker slamming into the floor with an explosion that split the peppermint tiles and blasted molten floss outward in waves. The twins shrieked, their forms scattering, limbs unraveling into frayed threads.
Celeste darted in, her ribbons glowing. She carved the sticky cords apart before they could stitch back together, severing the sisters’ sugar-strands.
The twins stumbled back, clutching each other, their voices trembling but still united.
Ray yanked her hammer free, rolling her shoulders with a cocky smirk. “Launchpad’s a keeper.”
Celeste stood beside her, ribbons swirling in the sugar-thick air. She smiled faintly. “Only works because you’re unstoppable.”
The twins’ laughter cracked, warbling high and broken. Their bodies began to spin faster, pink and blue threads twining into something massive, unstable—
“Together… together…” they whispered.
The floor shook. The storm of floss rose higher. Their fusion was beginning.
The twins shrieked, faltering, and that was Skye’s cue. He slammed a glowing card to the floor. “Summon: Blade Dancer!” A phantom knight leapt from the light, swords flashing, cutting swathes through the floss storm to open a path.
Lumina dashed into the gap, her small sword blazing like a star. “Kitty power-up!” she squeaked, slashing at the twins’ legs. Her strikes weren’t heavy, but they were fast — each one carving away another layer of candyfloss, weakening the twins’ defenses.
Pinned between ribbons and blows, their storm faltering, the twins staggered. Their voices cracked as one:
“We… won’t… unravel—”
But Celeste’s ribbons cinched tight, Ray’s baton struck true, Skye’s phantom knight drove its blade deep, and Lumina sliced upward with a final cry.
Chapter 19 : Battle with the Candyfloss Twins
The sugar-dust began to drift. Sweet Fluff wavered, her pink body flickering in and out, one button eye dimming.
“Sister…” she whimpered.
Sour Fluff’s button eyes flared blood-red. Her voice broke into a scream. “No! You won’t take her from me!”
She snapped her arms wide. “Sugar Whip!”
Spun-sugar lashes cracked across the arena in mirrored arcs, clinging wherever they struck. Lumina’s paw stuck fast to the ground, Skye’s cards glued together mid-shuffle. Even Ray staggered, her baton nearly wrenched from her grip.
Celeste’s ribbons flashed, slicing the threads apart before they could bind completely. “Not this time!”
The twins shrieked, their candyfloss bodies whirling into mirrored spins. “Sweet Spiral!” they cried, launching twin tornadoes of sticky floss across the arena. The floor ripped apart under the storm, sugar threads lashing like whips.
Celeste leapt sideways, ribbons flaring, but one tornado veered toward her. From inside, Sour Fluff’s whip lashed out, aiming straight for her chest.
It struck—
—and hit nothing.
Celeste vanished in a swirl of pale feathers, the air glowing faintly blue where she had been.
A heartbeat later, she reappeared behind the twins, katanas crossed in a flash of silver light.
“Wings of Grace!”
Her blades carved across their backs, ribbons trailing like comet tails. Threads of pink and blue candy split loose, scattering in sizzling ribbons of sugar.
The twins spun around in shock, button eyes wide. Sweet Fluff staggered, clutching her chest, her voice breaking: “S-sister…”
Sour Fluff roared, enraged, lashing wildly with sticky cords that tore furrows in the tiles. But Celeste was already darting back, ribbons twirling, feathers still drifting down like snow.
Ray whistled, gripping Heartbreaker. “Didn’t know you had moves like that, kitten.”
Celeste’s cheeks burned, but she lifted her blades again, steady. “I only use it when I have to.”
Beside her, Skye’s hands trembled over his deck. He drew a glowing card and slammed it down. “Summon: Fire Serpent!”
From the flare of light burst a roaring serpent of flames, scales rippling with molten glow. It coiled around the arena, snapping at the candy-whips, burning them to ash.
The twins shrieked in unison, their sugar-whips lashing across the arena. Sour Fluff’s strike snapped toward Skye, threads sparking like glass.
Skye’s ears flattened, but instead of retreating, he flipped his card-launcher in a wide flourish — like a dancer opening a fan. Cards burst from the mechanism in a glittering spiral.
He stepped into a spin, pirouetting across the sticky floor, every twirl releasing another cascade of radiant light.
“Arcane Waltz!”
The cards whirled outward, locking together into a spinning wall of glowing sigils. They sliced through the sticky floss tornadoes, carving arcs of pure light. Each elegant turn carried him through the twins’ storm, the edges of his card-wall nicking their sugar-bodies.
Sparks of blue and pink sugar burst with every slice. The twins screamed, trying to bind him with whips, but Skye flowed through like a dancer in rhythm, cards orbiting him in perfect time.
He ended in a low crouch, cards scattering around him in a glowing circle. The light carved lines across the arena floor, hemming the twins in.
Skye’s cheeks burned pink as he stood, twirling one last card between his claws. “Tch. Don’t make it weird. It’s just… strategy.”
The twins shrieked, spinning together, their voices blending into one.
“Double Dash!”
They sprinted toward each other in perfect mirror arcs. The space between them crumpled with crushing force, sucking air inward. Pitch dove forward, shotgun blazing with exploding cards, blasting a hole through the sticky wave.
Ray followed, leaping into the breach. “Not gonna let you sugar-rats pancake us!” She slammed Heartbreaker down, cracking the ground, breaking the suction.
The twins screeched as their sugar-whips lashed again, cracking the floor like glass. Sticky threads coiled around Ray’s ankles, yanking her feet out from under her. She growled, slamming Heartbreaker down to brace herself.
“Alright, sweethearts,” she snarled, her tail flicking with fire, “time to BURN.”
She wrenched herself free, twirling once on her heel. Heartbreaker dragged in a low, vicious arc, its head carving across the ground like a meteor strike.
“Molten Sweep!”
The floor erupted in a burning crescent, purple flames searing across the candy tiles. The arc of fire slashed straight through both twins, scorching their bodies into bubbling, smoking sugar.
They shrieked, staggering back. Sweet Fluff’s pigtails were aflame, the ends burning into ash, while Sour Fluff’s paws smoked where the fire had licked her.
Ray straightened, resting Heartbreaker on her shoulder, the flames still hissing along its head. She smirked. “How’s that for a sugar rush?”
The twins only laughed, spinning again.
“Sweet Spiral!”
Their bodies whirled like ballerinas, ribbons streaming. Two towering cotton-floss tornadoes ripped across the floor, sweeping shards, weapons, even the serpent’s coils into their storm.
Mezzo roared, fur bursting, his mane igniting. He charged straight through one tornado, flames shearing it apart. His axe swung wide, glowing runes sparking as he struck. The blade carved deep into Sweet Fluff’s chest.
Mezzo’s feathers bristled, the rune on his arm glowing red-hot. He swung his axe wide, sparks flaring like a struck match.
“Blazing Chord Slash!”
The axe roared with fire, a wide, flaming arc bursting outward. The wave of heat scorched the air, lighting the peppermint tiles beneath it into molten slag as it tore forward—
But the twins twirled in unison, candyfloss bodies spinning like ballerinas. The flaming arc blasted past them, scorching the far wall instead.
Mezzo’s eyes widened. “Bloody—!”
The twins cackled, their voices shrill and overlapping. “Too slow! Too loud!”
From the shadows at their flank came Pitch’s low growl. He spun Lady Luck once in his hands, a single glowing card loaded into the chamber.
The card spun through the air, crackling as it shifted — red, blue, yellow, black — roulette-quick. It struck the twins dead center, bursting into a blinding explosion of lightning.
The jolt arced across both sisters, their candyfloss bodies spasming, button eyes flickering wildly as sparks ripped through them. Their shrieks pierced the arena.
Pitch blew smoke off the barrel of his shotgun, smirking. “Guess luck’s got better aim than you, rockstar.”
Mezzo snarled, mane bristling, but Celeste cut between them with a desperate shout. “Focus! They’re breaking—look!”
Sweet Puff staggered, her pink body trembling, button eye dim and cracked. Sour Fluff clung to her side, shrieking, whipping cords of sugar wildly to keep the Knights back.
Lumina’s small paws tightened on her sword. She could see it — Sweet Puff’s stitches unraveling, her steps faltering. Something inside Lumina clenched. She swallowed hard, then spun into motion.
Her little voice rang out: “Sakura Spiral!”
She pirouetted, sword extended. Petals of pale pink light burst from her blade, whirling around her in a radiant spiral. The petals tugged like a gentle storm, drawing both twins into the vortex. For a breathless moment, the sisters were lifted from the floor, spun helplessly in the swirl of blossoms.
Lumina cried out, driving her sword down into the peppermint tiles. The blade shone like dawn, and the petals exploded outward. A shockwave of healing light spread across the arena, soothing her allies’ wounds and steadying their breath.
But where the light touched Sweet Puff’s body, her candyfloss flesh burned. She screamed, clutching her chest, smoking sugar threads drifting away like torn cotton.
“Sister!” Sour Fluff howled, thrashing against the petals.
From behind a toppled cupboard, Bonbon popped her head up, cheeks puffed with determination. She shoved a confetti cannon forward, yanking the string with both paws.
POP!
A rainbow blast of glitter and streamers showered Sour Fluff in the face. The blue twin shrieked, stumbling back, blinded by the sudden burst.
“Go, Mezzo!” Bonbon squeaked.
Mezzo’s mane flared, feathers bristling, axe blazing with molten light. He snarled through his teeth, charging up with a single, furious strum.
“Blazing Chord Slash!”
His axe swung in a wide flaming arc, the wave of heat surging forward. It smashed into Sweet Puff, searing her mid-spin. Her body cracked, pink threads tearing apart in ribbons of ash and sugar.
Puff lay broken on the sugar-slick battlefield, her candy-coated limbs twitching, leaking sticky trails of pink and blue. Her once-manic grin had faded. For the first time in what felt like eternity, her eyes flickered—not with madness, but with something fragile. Something real.
Fluff stumbled to her sister’s side, dropping to her knees with a sob. “Puff… Puff, no—please. Don’t leave me.”
Puff blinked slowly, her gaze finding Fluff's. There was recognition now. Fear. Pain.
“It hurts,” Puff whispered, voice cracking like old sugar glass. “The fight… the form… it hurts, Fluff. But… I can manage. If you're with me.”
Tears dripped down Fluff’s cheeks, cutting through the sticky grime. “I’m so tired of this, little sister,” she said hoarsely. “Of pretending we’re happy like this. Please… just stay with me. One last time.”
Shaking, Fluff reached for her, and Puff leaned into the touch. The sisters embraced, arms wrapping tightly around each other in a tremble of shared grief. Candy cracked and melted where their bodies met.
Then came the scream.
It tore from Fluff’s throat—rage, sorrow, desperation—all of it twisted into a single, soul-shredding sound. Sugar boiled. Air warped. Their bodies melted together in a fusion of agony and longing, grief-stitched and vengeance-forged.
With a scream of frustration and fury, Fluff and Puff fused—candy flesh melting, reshaping, expanding.
The monstrosity that rose before them was Cottonwrath.
A candyfloss titan, towering and grotesque. Six arms spun like propeller blades. Pigtails became thick cable whips. On its head sat a twisted crown of burning birthday candles, flames flickering green and purple.
“KENAZ! YOU WON’T TAKE US AWAY!”
The Cottonwrath towered above them, the storm of floss roaring to life around its massive frame.
Chapter 20 : Cottonwrath’s Last Encore
The final clash began.
Ray launched herself from a hovering balloon, hammer alight. With a war cry, she crashed into one of Cottonwrath’s arms, snapping it off at the joint, sugar spraying like molten wax.
Cottonwrath loomed above them, a towering titan of spun sugar and molten syrup, its cotton-candy hide rippling like storm clouds. Every lash of its sticky tendrils rattled the ruins of Clawdiff, every roar shook the ground beneath the Knights’ paws.
The Cottonwrath reeled from the team’s first assault, but instead of staggering back, its bloated frame pulsed with a sickly light. Threads of floss stretched outward like spiderwebs, lashing wildly across the arena.
Its button eyes flared. “Candy Cocoon!”
Before anyone could react, a mass of sticky floss shot forward, wrapping Pitch from head to toe. He snarled, blasting his shotgun once, twice—but the threads thickened, gluing Lady Luck to his chest as the cocoon tightened.
“Get this off me!” he roared, thrashing, but his voice grew muffled as the cocoon hardened around him.
Celeste lunged, ribbons flashing to cut him loose, but the Cotton Wrath slammed its arm down between them with a thunderous Sticky Slam, splitting the floor and forcing her back.
The monster’s laugh was warped, doubled, shrill and deep at once. “You’ll never leave the fair…”
Candyfloss threads burst from its body, filling the entire arena like a warped carnival tent. Walls of floss crisscrossed the space in glowing latticework, sealing exits, tangling weapons, hemming the Knights in tighter and tighter. The whole chamber swayed like a big top, lit by eerie candy-colored light.
Ray swung Heartbreaker, smashing through a wall of floss, only for three more strands to snap into place. “It’s webbing us in!”
Lumina cried out as her paw stuck fast to the floor, sword jerking free of her grip. Skye tried to summon, but his cards scattered into the sticky air and stuck like flies in a trap.
Mezzo snarled, feathers bristling, his axe blazing with fire. “We’re runnin’ outta room, boss!”
Celeste’s blue eyes narrowed. She tightened her grip on her katanas. “Then we cut ourselves a way out… before Pitch suffocates in there.”
The Cotton Wrath’s laughter echoed through the sticky web, its gigantic form looming above the sugar haze, arms stretching wide as the arena groaned under the pressure of its trap.
Celeste’s blue eyes narrowed. She tightened her grip on her katanas. “Then we cut ourselves a way out… before Pitch suffocates in there.”
The Cotton Wrath’s laughter echoed through the sticky web, its gigantic form looming above the sugar haze, arms stretching wide as the arena groaned under the pressure of its trap.
Inside the cocoon, Pitch’s muffled growls weakened. The sticky floss tightened around him with every breath.
“Not today!” Mezzo roared. He slammed his axe down, flames spilling across the threads. With a wild swing, he cleaved straight through the cocoon, the impact rattling the chamber.
The floss shell split open, molten strands dripping away. Pitch tumbled out, coughing, his shotgun already sparking back to life.
“’Bout time,” he rasped, smirking despite the bruises. “Was startin’ to think I’d die smellin’ candyfloss.”
Mezzo hauled him up by the collar, mane glowing with embers. “Don’t make me save your sorry hide twice in one fight.”
Pitch loaded a glowing card into Lady Luck, teeth bared. “Then let’s kill this sugar-coated nightmare before it tries again.”
The Cotton Wrath’s button eyes glowed brighter, its threads twitching with fury as it raised its colossal arms high.
“CANDY COCOON… AGAIN!” it shrieked, webbing snapping tighter around the arena.
Ray stepped forward, sweat streaking her soot-stained fur, Heartbreaker blazing hotter with every heartbeat. “Alright, sweetheart,” she snarled at the monster, “let’s see how you like it cooked.”
She lunged.
Combo - Heatwave Drive.
Heartbreaker slammed left, then right, each blow thundering against Cottonwrath’s sticky mass with the sound of a battering ram. Fire burst outward in ripples, igniting the sugar-flesh in purple flame.
Before the creature could recoil, Ray bent her knees and kicked off the cracked stone, launching herself high. Heartbreaker swung overhead, wreathed in a spiral of fire like a miniature sun.
With a battle cry, she came crashing down.
The hammer struck with an earth-shaking BOOM, unleashing a searing burst that lit the battlefield in a wide blaze. For a few seconds the ground burned with violet fire, the heat so intense it warped the air. Cottonwrath shrieked, staggering as its candy hide blistered and peeled away.
Ray planted her feet in the scorched zone, flames licking her silhouette as she pulled Heartbreaker free from the smoking crater. She bared her teeth in a grim smile. “Your move, sugar-spun freak.”
Cottonwrath’s tendrils whipped through the ruins, spraying molten sugar across the battlefield. A single lash nearly clipped Celeste, the impact blasting a crater where she’d stood a second earlier.
“Eyes on me, candy cloud,” Pitch muttered, twirling Lady Luck in his paw.
With a flick of his wrist, he tossed a shimmering burst of cards into the air.
Attack - Dealer’s Distraction.
They spun like confetti caught in a phantom wind—hearts, spades, jokers glowing with ghostly fire. The storm of cards whirled around Cottonwrath’s many glaring eyes, dazzling it with a kaleidoscope of shifting symbols.
The monster shrieked, its swings turning wild and clumsy. A tendril meant to crush Skye instead slapped harmlessly into the ground, while another flailed wide past Ray’s head.
Pitch smirked, leaning lazily on Lady Luck’s barrel. “Accuracy’s overrated anyway.”
Celeste darted in through the distraction, her ribbons blazing, while the others hammered at Cottonwrath’s exposed flanks.
Pitch fired another volley of card-shots into the titan’s gaping mouth. They exploded on impact, showering the interior with razor confetti.
Celeste and Lumina fought back-to-back, blades and shields moving in harmony. One danced like wind, the other stood firm as stone.
Cottonwrath roared, the sheer force of it rattling loose rubble from the shattered rooftops. Its sticky tendrils lashed across the battlefield, scattering the Knights. Ray was forced to her knees, burns streaking her arm; Mezzo’s wing hung limp, feathers singed.
Celeste’s breath hitched. “Lumi—now!”
Her younger sister nodded, raising her shield. Petals flared around Lumina, swirling into radiant arcs as Celeste’s twin katanas ignited with silver-pink light.
Echo Arts : Luma Reprise.
Celeste dashed forward, ribbons trailing in comet-bright streaks. Each slash of her blades tore luminous lines into the air—star-bright crescents that hung shimmering for precious seconds. Behind her, Lumina raised her own sword, her mana resonating with Celeste’s rhythm. The crescents flared and blossomed into trails of soft healing light.
Ray stumbled forward through one of them—and her burns hissed as they knitted closed. Mezzo, dragging himself upright, passed through another, his wing feathers glowing as they mended back to life.
Around them, the Knights moved in rhythm with Celeste’s blazing cuts, each step through the glowing trails renewing them, each swing a lifeline carved into the chaos.
Lumina’s voice rang steady above the fray: “Fight, all of you. We won’t let the light fade.”
Celeste spun in a final sweeping cross, carving two great arcs that overlapped like a star. As the others passed through it, wounds sealed, breath steadied, and resolve burned anew.
Cottonwrath shrieked as the Knights rallied, no longer staggering but rising, healed by the bond of two sisters fighting as one.
Skye’s launcher glowed—he inserted a fusion card. The summoned creature that emerged shimmered with mirrored armor and tiger claws. It pounced, slamming full force into the titan’s chest, knocking it off balance.
Cottonwrath’s sticky tendrils slammed into the ground, sending shards of candy glass flying in every direction. The Knights scattered, struggling to find footing on the sugar-slick battlefield.
Skye exhaled, his deck shimmering around him. “Alright then. Time to dance.”
He flipped his card launcher open with a flick of his wrist, the motion as smooth as a practiced fan flourish.
Attack - Arcane Waltz.
Cards ignited, fanning into a glowing spiral as Skye spun forward, his body flowing with impossible grace. Each pirouette unleashed arcs of radiant light, slicing through the tendrils and cutting glowing trails into the monster’s hide. The wall of spinning cards whirled around him like a living shield, every edge burning with arcane power.
Enemies caught in his path staggered, their bodies shredded by the precise, rhythmic slices. For a moment, it was less a battle and more a performance—the battlefield his stage, the swirling cards his orchestra.
Skye landed lightly on one foot, cards collapsing back into his launcher with a snap. His fur glistened with sweat, but his smirk never wavered. “Guess luck’s got rhythm after all.”
The Cotton Wrath staggered, its button eyes flickering, sugar-body unraveling in long sticky ropes. Sweet Puff’s voice whimpered from somewhere deep inside. Sour Fluff’s fury roared over it, desperate and broken.
The monster arched back, arms spread wide. The arena shook as cracks split the peppermint tiles, sugar dripping upward like molten rain.
Its voices fused into one final, distorted scream:
“COTTON COLLAPSE!”
The entire chamber convulsed. Floss threads exploded outward in every direction, forming a dome of sticky, blinding light. The floor buckled and began to cave inward, sucking everything into a swirling pit of molten candy. Every wall, every exit, was swallowed in the collapse — an all-or-nothing attack to bury them in sugar and syrup.
Ray slammed Heartbreaker into the floor, trying to anchor herself. “It’s pulling us under!”
Skye spun his cards, desperately throwing a glowing sigil overhead to block the falling strands. “I can’t hold this long—!”
Lumina darted forward, her little sword blazing, petals spinning around her. “Stay together! Don’t let go!”
Pitch, coughing as the last tatters of the cocoon tore off him, snarled, “Bloody hell, if this is a wipe, we cheat it! Shoot, swing, scream — whatever it takes!”
Mezzo’s mane ignited, gryphon wings flickering in, his axe blazing with heat. “Then let’s break the encore!”
And then, standing atop a half-melted table, Mezzo raised his arm.
Time to finish it.
Cottonwrath reeled, its colossal frame sagging under the combined fury of the Knights. Its cotton-candy body was scorched and torn, sugar strands dripping molten syrup onto the cracked ground. Still, the monster hissed, lashing out with desperate tendrils of sticky pink death.
Mezzo planted his paws, his chest heaving. Flames sparked along his wings, his feathers glowing ember-bright. He raised his talons, plucking at them like the strings of a guitar.
Finisher Primal - Firestorm Solo.
Each strum rang out like a fiery chord—boom, crack, roar—every note unleashing a blast of flame that sang across the battlefield in different tones. One blast hammered a tendril back into ash, another split the sky with a cascade of molten sparks. The air thrummed with rhythm, the battlefield itself vibrating like an amplifier under his control.
The Knights fell in around him, their eyes wide as the tempo built, faster and faster, every strum a brighter, hotter blaze. The sky bled red, orange, and gold, each chord overlapping into a roaring crescendo.
Then Mezzo drew in one ragged breath and struck the final note.
A sound like the scream of a thousand guitars tore through the air as fire erupted in a stage-wide inferno. Flames surged outward in a cataclysm, swallowing Cottonwrath whole. The monster shrieked, its body unraveling in spirals of molten candy until the very air burned sweet and bitter.
When the firestorm faded, only embers drifted through the ruins. Mezzo stood in the center, smoke curling from his wings, his axe slung across his shoulder like an instrument after the encore.
He flicked his ear and grinned, voice hoarse but triumphant. “Now that’s how you close a show.”
The explosion was silent, then deafening.
Cottonwrath collapsed, body unraveling into cotton candy, melting syrup, and shattered porcelain.
LEVEL UP!
➤ Level 5 Achieved!
+ Cake(Rare Drop)
The music stopped. The fog cleared. The room was quiet at last.
Not far from it, Mezzo staggered forward, fire still trailing weakly from his feathers. His blazing gryphon form shimmered, then cracked apart in bursts of light. With a groan, he dropped back into his dalmatian body, collapsing to one knee, trembling from the strain.
“Mezzo!” Skye sprinted across the scorched ground, cards scattering in his wake. He crouched at his side, eyes wide. “Are you okay?”
Mezzo panted hard, sweat dripping down his muzzle, but he managed a grin between gasps. “Didn’t… didn’t even know I could do that when pushed to the edge. That was… awesome.”
Skye let out a breathless laugh, relief softening his face. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”
Mezzo clapped his shoulder with a shaky paw. “Glad you’re okay too, birthday boy.”
For a moment, the two just grinned at each other through the haze and smoke, the weight of the battle giving way to the warmth of survival.
In the wreckage, at the very center of what had once been a battlefield, sat a small gift box—its paper singed, but still intact.
Celeste approached cautiously, blades at the ready.
She knelt. Opened the lid.
Inside: a handmade card.
To Skye. From Mezzo. Sorry for being a moron.
Beneath it, nestled in glitter confetti, was a small mechanical keychain—a miniaturized version of their team logo. Meticulously crafted.
Skye stared. He picked it up, eyes wide, trembling.
He didn’t say a word. Just held it to his chest, and let the tears come.
Chapter 21 : Small Joys
The Knights trudged out of Galaxy Grub, the neon sign buzzing faintly behind them. Celeste hugged a space plush raccoon tight against her chest — a little rescue from the wreckage. Her ears drooped, but her smile was soft.
Pitch stretched, groaning as his back cracked. His voice boomed in the quiet street. “Well, that was a trip. Bet you fifty bucks it was some government brain-lab experiment. Messin’ with our heads.”
Ray snorted, spinning her hammer with one hand. “Yeah, and you’d totally fall for it.”
Celeste nuzzled her plush, almost whispering. “I didn’t think it was that awful… well, except for the candy clones of us. That part was—um—a bit unsettling.”
Skye flicked one of his cards between his paws, shoulders tight. “They were trying to weaken morale. But… I think we did okay.”
Ray shot Celeste a sidelong glance, voice low and edged. “Still. Those candyfloss freaks… they knew your dad. That’s not nothing, Celeste.”
Celeste’s ears dipped lower. She hugged the raccoon tighter, eyes distant. “I know. Oh, if only I could just… ask him what any of this means.”
Pitch’s grin slipped. His voice grew rough. “No offense, kitten, but… are you really telling us the whole truth?”
Celeste stiffened, then turned sharply toward him. Her voice trembled, but there was steel in it. “I promise I am. I just… I just want to go home.”
The group fell silent.
Skye shifted uneasily, then spoke in a quiet, certain tone. “She’s telling the truth.”
Pitch frowned, squinting. “And how do you know, little man?”
Skye’s ears flicked. He hesitated, tail curling. “Um… I just do. Like… reading a book without words.” His eyes darted away, quickly changing the subject.
Pitch muttered, half to himself, “Suspicious. But maybe we’ll get answers from the next zombie general.”
Mezzo groaned dramatically, tugging at the zipper of his oversized dog onesie, still smeared with battle stains. “Ohhh, don’t tell me we’ve gotta kill another one. My soul’s tired.”
Ray smirked. “Three down. We’re on a streak. And every time, we level up.”
Mezzo straightened, puffing his chest in the floppy outfit. “Aye, and I look bloody fantastic doin’ it, too!”
Celeste giggled into her plush, her eyes bright again. “You’re still wearing that?”
Mezzo shot her a mock glare. “It’s comfy, don’t judge me.”
Lumina tilted her head with an impish grin. “Like a mascot.”
Mezzo froze, ears twitching. “Don’t—don’t say that! Mascots are cursed! Their plastic eyes eat your soul!”
Ray barked a laugh, and even Pitch cracked a grin as they carried on through the cracked, candy-stained streets.
The drive home was quiet.
Bits of cotton candy still clung to Lumina’s shield, and Pitch hadn’t even peeled the rogue cards from his hoodie. Celeste sat in Gwennan’s passenger seat, Bonbon curled on her lap, the little panda still clutching a half-melted jellybean in her paw.
Skye stared out the window, fingers wrapped tight around the keychain dangling from a string.
By the time they reached the base, the candy moat shimmered pink under twilight. The gingerbread garage loomed silent but welcoming.
Inside, Carys looked up from the lounge. Her relief at seeing Skye safe was brief but clear. She slipped into the kitchen.
At the far end of the hall, Hughes emerged from his chair, flat cap tipped back, a pipe he hadn’t lit hanging from the corner of his mouth. His voice carried, gravelly but warm. “Well now, look at the lot of you. Still in one piece, are we? Thank the stars for that.”
The old goat adjusted his glasses, eyes settling on Skye. A rare softness cracked through his usual gruffness. “Good lad. You made it home.”
Bracer was beside him, leaning calmly against the wall, arms crossed over his cobbled armor. His silver fur caught the low light. He inclined his head in quiet acknowledgment. “You’ve all returned. That’s what matters.” His tone carried weight—measured, steady, like he was cataloguing the group’s survival with quiet approval.
Moments later, the lights dimmed. A low hum filled the air.
“Surprise!”
The banner sagged a little from waiting too long, but the candles were glowing again, freshly lit. Arcade leaned against the fridge with his arms folded, smirk tugging faint at his lips. Even Hughes gave a dry chuckle, muttering under his breath, “Well, that’s a sight for sore eyes.”
Bracer, standing tall near the doorway, added gently, “It is good to see hope carried in rather than fear.”
Skye blinked, caught off guard by the sudden display.
No one crowded him.
Celeste stepped forward, voice gentle. “Only if you’d like to, pet.”
Lumina gave a shy little nod. “Go on… it’s nice.”
Skye moved forward slowly. Mezzo hung back, uncharacteristically quiet.
The group began to sing. It was off-key, ragged, but heartfelt.
Ray tapped her hammer for rhythm. “Don’t say I’ve got good pitch,” she muttered.
Bonbon clapped wildly, missed, and toppled backwards into Celeste’s arms with a squeak.
C.H.I.P. beeped happily and played three tinny jingle notes. “MUSICAL ACCOMPANIMENT INITIATED.”
Skye smiled. Small, but real. He blew out the candles.
The night softened. Half the cake was gone, pizza boxes sprawled across the table. Someone had snuck pineapple onto Ray’s plate; she squinted at it, then shrugged. “Eh. Seen worse toppings.”
Celeste sipped soda quietly from the back, tail curled close, content to watch.
Mezzo eventually edged toward Skye, scratching at the tablecloth corner. His usual bravado cracked. “Hey… uh… about earlier. I was—”
Skye reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out the keychain. He held it out, voice steady, factual. “You made me feel seen. You tried. That… matters.”
Mezzo froze, ears flicking. His voice wavered, Irish lilt softer. “Ah, hells, kid… you’re gonna make me cry.” He rubbed his eyes quickly, covering it with a grin. “Takes guts to forgive an eejit like me.”
Arcade, lounging at the table’s edge with his hands behind his head, cut in dryly. “Next year, let’s just get you socks. Zero emotional damage involved.”
Pitch barked a laugh, booming. “Hey, socks are the true hero’s gift!”
Everyone laughed. Even Skye—quiet, but bright.
For the first time all day, the base felt like home again.
Far above the earth, beyond even the highest clouds, the Dragon stirred on his perch—coiled lazily around the floating, pulsating sphere of corrupted energy. His scales caught what little light there was, dulled and bruised like old gold left too long in the gutter. One eye cracked open, ember-red and unimpressed.
He felt it.
Another general, gone.
He let out a long, rumbling sigh. “Hells. Three of ‘em now. And here I was thinking these kids were just ants I could squash between lunch and a nap.”
His claws flexed into the orb, which shuddered and belched up a thick tendril of dark mist into the sky like a flare. Summoning.
Below, the syrup-black ocean groaned. The surface cracked, frothing with sickly bubbles. Something vast shifted beneath.
“Jell’thuzad,” the Dragon drawled, voice rich and dry as a tavern storyteller nursing his ale. “Lord of the Sugarsea. My one and only Gummy Kraken. Rise and shine, buddy.”
From the sticky abyss, the sea split wide. Tentacles rose in marbled swells of red and purple jelly, glittering with sugar crust. Giant yellow eyes blinked open one by one across the writhing mass, like someone had gone overboard with lanterns at a carnival.
And then, from the center of the beast, came the form of Jell’thuzad. Crowned in candy coral, licorice cloak flowing dramatically, he carried a staff of frozen taffy with all the pomp of a stage actor.
His voice bubbled up, smooth and polite, tinged with sardonic amusement. “Ah, you rang, my liege? Always a pleasure to be hauled out of bed by eldritch mist. What’s the crisis this time?”
“Our foes,” the Dragon said, shaking his head slowly. “They’re not playing around anymore. The twins? Gone. Centipede? Toast. But you…” He jabbed a claw for emphasis. “You I can actually count on.”
Jell’thuzad chuckled thickly, the sound like syrup gurgling through a straw. “Flattery, my dear scaly friend, will get you everywhere. Very well. If it’s drowning you want, then drowning they shall have. With sweetness, with despair, and perhaps just a hint of raspberry.”
The Dragon smirked, leaning closer, breath rippling the air with heat. “That’s what I like to hear. Because when they go down…” His voice dropped, sharper, almost gleeful. “…the demon comes up. And then things get really fun.”
Far below, the mortal sea trembled, waves of sugared darkness beginning to churn.
Chapter 22 : The Beacon Beneath the Dome
Days slipped by like soft pages in a well-worn book. The once-chaotic sanctuary had settled into something dangerously close to domestic. The nights were quieter. The laughter louder. The base—once a frantic haven of survival—was slowly becoming a home. Even Arcade and Mezzo were spending time together without trying to out-snark each other. Ray and Pitch, once aloof and oil to each other’s water, had become inseparable, training together, teasing each other, and watching the skies from the rooftop like old friends, with inside jokes that made the others groan.
In the warm comfort of the kitchen, Carys and Celeste washed dishes by hand. The hum of a music player whispered in the background while Bonbon waddled nearby with a mixing bowl on her head, announcing, "Flippin’ heck!" to no one in particular. Celeste raised a brow.
“Don’t look at me,” Carys said with a smirk, “she learned that one from Mezzo.”
As suds swirled and pans clinked, the two women talked quietly.
“After Clawdiff,” Carys murmured, “I might try and open that tea shop again. A real one this time. With sourdough toast, actual mugs…”
Celeste smiled wistfully. “And no zombies on the menu.”
They laughed.
“You think about what happens after?” Carys asked, scrubbing a pan. “When we’re free of all this?”
“Every day,” Celeste said, drying a mug. “But I’ve got no clear plan yet.”
Bonbon sat near the window, sipping milk and humming a tune off-key.
That’s when someone knocked at the door. Three firm, well-spaced taps.
Not a bash or a bang—but a polite, practiced tap-tap-tap. Carys frowned, drying her hands. “We’re not expecting anyone, right?”
Celeste shook her head, already moving toward the door, hand on one of her summoned twin katanas just in case.
She opened it slowly.
There stood Plum—the dusky pink bunny from the Centepied’s lair. Her presence was no less striking now. She wore a cheerful yellow dungaree dress over a knitted cardigan full of oversized flower patches, and a comically huge ribbon bow perched confidently atop her head. Her boots were scuffed, but she carried herself like someone on a mission.
Plum’s ears perked as Celeste opened the door. She beamed, her crooked smile bright as always. “Astallan! Just the girl I wanted to see. Mind if I borrow a tick of your time? Got a rather… interesting proposition for you.”
Celeste blinked, relaxing her grip on her sword. “Um… oh, of course. Come in, if you like?” Celeste stepped aside. “We’ve got tea.”
Plum stepped forward—then paused, patting her bag like she’d forgotten something. “Ah, but before that—!”
Footsteps clattered down the hall. Arcade appeared, squinting down at a half-built device bristling with wires and glowing nodes. “Who’s banging on the door at this hour? I swear if it’s—” He froze when he saw Plum. “Oh. Bunny girl.”
Plum gave a theatrical bow. “Hedgehog boy. Lovely timing, actually! I’ve got a little something for you.”
She swung her satchel around and—with a grunt—hauled out a mangled droid’s head. Its lenses were cracked but faintly glowing, like eyes that hadn’t quite gone dark. She plonked it on the table with a clunk.
“A gift in exchange for some help,” Plum said breezily. “This little darling still has council records intact.”
Arcade’s ears shot up. His goggles slid crooked as he lunged forward. “Intact?! You’re joking. These things self-wipe the second they’re compromised!”
Plum wagged a finger. “Ah, but if you’re quick enough, you can stall the failsafe. Old trick of mine from my less-than-legal freelancing days.”
Arcade sputtered. “That’s—! That’s not a trick, that’s lunacy! Do you know how much classified data—how much power—is sitting in here?” He gripped the head like it was a holy relic. “I need tools. I need quiet. And—stars above—I need you all to shut up for three hours while I work.”
Plum clasped her paws together, all innocence. “Then it’s a fair trade, hm?”
Before Celeste could answer, the egg tree beside the doorway gave a violent shudder. Its twisted branches creaked and folded inward, sealing the exit like a living barricade.
Plum shrieked as she got caught halfway through, her legs kicking furiously outside while her head and arms thrashed inside. “No-no-no-no—bad tree! Bad tree! I was leaving dramatically!”
Celeste hurried forward, hands raised in a soothing gesture. “It’s alright, everyone—it’s okay! She’s a friend.”
Plum’s ears flopped as she flailed, voice muffled as her other half scrabbled outside. “I swear I am! Please don’t decapitate me! Again!”
Bonbon clapped from her seat with a milk moustache. “Bunny stuck!”
Arcade pinched the bridge of his nose. “This base is going to be the death of me.”
Celeste sighed, then smiled faintly despite herself. “It’s alright, Plum. We’ll… um… get you unstuck.”
Carys was doubled over in the doorway, laughing so hard she had to clutch the counter. “Oh heavens—look at her legs go! Like a rabbit in a washing machine!”
“Not helping!” Plum yelped, still kicking frantically as the egg tree’s branches flexed like bars of a living gate.
“Alright, alright—hold still,” Carys said between giggles, wiping her eyes. She reached up, patting the trunk gently. “Come on, old thing. She’s with us.”
The egg tree groaned, creaked, then finally uncoiled its limbs. With a loud plop, Plum tumbled inside in a heap of ribbons and ears. The group filtered in. Pitch flopped onto a couch, his hoodie tied around his waist. Ray leaned in the doorway with a towel over her shoulder. Mezzo emerged from a nap, blinking drowsily. Even Arcade looked up from his soldering work. Bonbon peeked out, whispered, “Bunny!” then vanished behind a blanket fort.
Plum wheezed, dusting herself off. “Not the most dignified entrance, but… survivable.” She pulled herself upright and straightened her comically large bow. Her grin returned in a snap. “Right, then. Down to business.”
The laughter in the room faded. Everyone leaned in as Plum smoothed out a crumpled notepad from her satchel.
“There’s been movement on both sides,” she began, ears twitching. “What’s left of the council? They’ve barricaded themselves in the district—keeping the purebloods safe behind their walls. But here’s the twist: they’ve got a heap of hybrids penned in with them, too.”
Arcade snorted, adjusting his goggles as he inspected the salvaged droid head. “Of course they do. Cheap labour, bodies to burn, same old story. Go on.”
Plum nodded, flipping a page. “Meanwhile, the mythics—they’re trapped in the dome. Can’t get out, so they’ve set up shop in the industrial sector. I’ve gone to both sides, poked my nose where it wasn’t wanted. Both told me the same thing: no help unless they get something in return.”
Celeste’s ears twitched as she hugged her arms, voice small but earnest. “And you think… the mythics are the better choice?”
Plum jabbed her pen like it was a gavel. “Best bet you’ve got. And it’s not just their magic—it’s their reach. If we want to fight back, organise, get word out—we’ll need them.”
Celeste blinked, cheeks colouring. “Wait—me? You want me to talk to them? For you?”
Plum’s grin sharpened. “Kitten, it was your idea to start a radio station in the first place. Broadcast hope, rally the survivors. I say we do it right here. Make this base more than a bunker—make it a beacon.”
Arcade groaned, throwing his paws in the air. “Oh brilliant. Let’s just throw up a giant glowing sign that screams ‘come eat us, zombie generals!’ Real smart, bunny.”
Plum wagged a finger. “Attention, yes—but the right kind. Survivors need a voice, a rally point. And someone’s got to coordinate, or we’ll all stay scattered and scared. We can’t fight the Dragon alone, but with the right signal? With the right words? We stand a chance.”
The room fell into a thoughtful silence.
Bonbon hiccupped from her chair, milk moustache bright on her face. “Radio…” she mumbled sleepily.
Celeste glanced at the little one, then back to Plum. Her tail twitched as she whispered, half to herself: “A beacon…”
Plum tapped her notepad with her pen, ears twitching. “Look—the mythics and the purebloods? They’re both barely holding it together against the zombies. You lot could help them, and in turn, they could help you. Meanwhile, I run the news feed, the radio station, get the word out. People will come. Survivors will join. They just need something to rally behind—and you’re it.”
Ray leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. Her voice dripped with dry bite. “And what makes you think the council won’t just slam the ban hammer on us? I’ve seen them do it. Sometimes just because someone said the wrong thing in the wrong tone.”
Plum wagged her pen like a conductor’s baton. “Ah, but if you’re useful, they won’t. And right now? You are useful. You play that edge until it bends.”
Pitch let out a booming laugh, though it carried no mirth. “You know it won’t work, carrot-top. Council doesn’t do ‘grateful.’ They do ‘control.’”
Plum leaned across the table, grin sharp. “And yet—they’ve got nothing to lose by letting you try. What have you got to lose? You’ve already taken out three generals. They noticed. Trust me—Cosmo dropped your names in the right ears. I know.”
Ray snorted. “The mythics aren’t much better. They’re indifferent at best. They want the council out of their hair just as much as hybrids do. They’re not gonna play nice.”
“True,” Plum said quickly, “but unlike mythics, you have a mana pool that rivals gods. You can fight longer, harder. And everyone’s watching. They can’t do what you can—and that scares them. But it also interests them. They can’t ignore results.”
Celeste, who had been fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve, spoke up softly. “So… we’d help them, and in return, they’d… what, lend support? Resources?”
Plum’s grin softened into something warmer. “Exactly. You fight for them, and I make sure the whole world hears about it. Hope’s contagious, kitten. And if we’re going to take on the Dragon, we need as much of it as we can get.”
Chapter 23 : A Signal Worth the Risk
The common room had gone quiet. Plum’s words still hung in the air like static. The flickering cookie-table map cast soft light across tired faces.
Ray broke it first, arms folded tight. “I still think it’s a death wish. Council doesn’t like being shown up—and a bloody radio station? That’s like putting a spotlight on us and painting a bullseye in glitter.”
Pitch threw his hands up, booming. “Yeah, but you can’t deny the gal’s got a point! People need a rally. You can’t fight a war if no one knows you’re fighting it!”
Arcade leaned against the wall, still clutching the salvaged droid head, goggles sliding down his nose. “It’s reckless. The second you broadcast, every general, scavenger, and opportunist knows where to find us. Not exactly screaming longevity, carrot-girl.”
Plum grinned. “Oh, but it screams relevance. And trust me, people will risk their necks to join something that matters.”
Hughes cleared his throat, voice steady, Welsh lilt rough as gravel. “She’s not wrong. Wars are won with numbers, not just heroes. If folk know there’s a banner to gather under, they’ll come. That’s what soldiers need—somewhere to belong.”
Bracer crossed his arms, silver fur catching the light. His tone was calm, measured. “But every banner paints a target. Visibility is a blade that cuts both ways. Still…” His eyes softened as he glanced at Celeste. “…a blade wielded with care can defend as well as harm.”
Lumina piped up suddenly from her seat, swinging her little legs. “Radio means songs. I like songs.” She tilted her head, mischievous grin flicking at Mezzo. “You can sing bad on it.”
Mezzo clutched his chest dramatically. “Bad?! These pipes are angelic, kid. But aye—I’m in. We make noise, we make waves, we give ‘em hell. Simple as.”
Skye, sitting quietly near the map, spoke up bluntly. “Broadcasting is dangerous. But hiding forever doesn’t work either. Noise… noise can be signal. And signals help people find us.”
Bonbon lifted her milk cup high like a toast. “Radio!”
Everyone chuckled softly, the tension loosening just enough.
At last, all eyes turned to Celeste. She fidgeted, hands tangled in her sleeves, tail curling nervously. Her voice came small but steady:
“I… I don’t know if it’s wise. But… if it brings hope—if it gives people a reason to believe—then maybe… maybe it’s worth the risk. Maybe it’s what we need.”
Plum leaned forward, eyes shining. “So? Is that a yes, Commander?”
Celeste blinked at the title, cheeks warming. She looked at her team—tired, scarred, but smiling. Then she nodded.
“Yes. Let’s… let’s build the station.”
The decision landed like a stone dropped into still water—rippling outward, heavy with consequence.
Plum clapped her paws together, ears bouncing. “Brilliant! Then let’s get cracking. I’ve even drawn up some blueprints—look.” She spread a few crinkled pages onto the table, covered in scrawls of towers bristling with antennae, doodled hearts, and little carrots in the margins.
Arcade leaned over, eyes narrowing. “Where did you get these?”
Plum grinned, too sly to be innocent. “Maybe the Gilded Reliquary. Maybe not. But you didn’t get these from me, understood?”
Arcade groaned. “Fantastic. Now we’re building a pirate tower with stolen council schematics. My death will be ironic.”
Plum was already scooping up her notes, slinging her satchel over her shoulder. “Right, then, I’ll be off to grab my gear—”
Celeste tilted her head, voice gentle. “Um—wait. Where are you staying, exactly?”
Plum paused, blinking. “Oh, an old cinema down on Beryl Street. Smells of burnt popcorn and mildew, but it’s got character.”
Ray sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “Would you like to stay here instead? It’s… a little more comfy than moldy popcorn.”
Plum chuckled. “Are you sure your tree’s alright with that? It nearly ate me earlier.”
Carys crossed her arms, frowning. “Are you sure, sweetie? There’s a lot of us crammed in already.”
Celeste smiled shyly, but firmly. “It’s fine. Once we build the tower, she’ll need to be close by anyway.”
Carys sighed, still looking unconvinced. “…Alright. But don’t say I didn’t warn you if we run out of beds.”
Plum’s grin widened. “Thanks, kiddos. I’ll grab my things and be right back.”
As she bounced toward the door, Ray muttered, “Great. Guess we’re off to see the mythics, then. Oh, joy.”
Celeste’s ears perked, her tail flicking nervously but with excitement. “I’m… I’m actually excited. I’ve never met them before.”
Mezzo snorted, tugging his hood up. “Don’t get your hopes up, lass. They’re just hippy wizards with steampunk gear. That’s all you need to know.”
Ray smirked. “You’re just jealous they’ll outdress you.”
Mezzo puffed his chest. “Nobody outdresses this.”
Even Carys cracked a smile at that as the team prepared for their next move.
As the others prepared packs and checked weapons, Hughes stepped up beside Celeste. His old flat cap was pulled low, his voice steady but carrying the weight of years.
“The mythics,” he said, nodding toward the horizon, “they’re powerful. More than most folk give them credit for. Be careful when you address ’em. But treat ’em with respect, and they’ll give it back in kind.”
Celeste fiddled with her sleeves, ears twitching. “Respect… right. I—I can try.”
Hughes gave her a sidelong glance, a faint smile tugging at his beard. “And you’ve got an advantage the others don’t. They speak Welsh. Those little lessons with Bonbon’ll pay off here.”
Celeste blinked, surprised. “How do you know all this?”
Hughes paused, his eyes distant. “I was a captain once. Military hybrid division. Worked with plenty of mythics in my time. They were the ones who taught us to use our powers proper. Council never lifted a bloody finger to help.”
Celeste’s shoulders hunched slightly, her voice quiet. “I’m guessing… being in the military wasn’t easy.”
He gave a dry laugh, no humor in it. “No. I was drafted. Of course it wasn’t easy. But I had to survive—against the council, against the war… against everything they threw at us.”
He studied her for a moment, then asked carefully, “Wasn’t your father in the military too?”
Celeste froze, ears flattening. “I… I think so, yes.”
“Then he would’ve gone through the same hell I did,” Hughes said gently. “You should ask him about it sometime. Might learn something.”
Celeste’s eyes dropped, her voice faint but steady. “Actually… I’d rather hear it from you. My dad’s… he’s not really the talking type.”
Something softened in Hughes’s face. He nodded slowly. “Aye. I understand.” He clapped her shoulder with surprising gentleness. “Sure thing. I’ll tell you about it sometime.”
Celeste glanced up, her eyes uncertain but grateful.
Hughes gave a low grunt and straightened, adjusting the strap of his satchel. “Now then—let’s gear up and see the mythics, eh? And… wherever your father is, lass…” His voice dropped to something rough but kind. “…he’d be proud you’ve made it this long.”
Celeste’s throat tightened, but she nodded, blinking quickly. “Th-thank you, Hughes.”
He tipped his cap, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “Come on then. Time to meet the wizards.”
Chapter 24 : Molasses and Momentum
The morning air was heavy with the scent of burnt sugar and smoke. What was once a quiet suburb had become a shattered candy-coated ruin—windows draped in melted taffy, cars glued to the asphalt by crystallized syrup.
Celeste tightened her grip on her summoned blade, her tail flicking as she glanced around. “Th-they’re close. I can… feel them.”
“Good,” Mezzo said with a grin, twirling his axe like a showman. “Nothin’ like a good brawl before breakfast.”
From a collapsed bakery, the moans started—low, sticky groans. A cluster of sugar rushers and glutonne zombies lurched into the street, jelly dripping from their jaws, gum wrappers clinging to their limbs.
Celeste stepped back, nerves visible in her wide eyes. “I’ll take the right. Y-you handle the left?”
Mezzo cracked his neck. “Pfft. Don’t make it sound like a chore, lass. I’ll dance with ’em.”
The first zombie charged—a jawbreaker brute with sugar-crusted claws. Celeste darted forward, blade flashing in nervous but precise arcs. She flinched when the monster shrieked, but pressed on, her voice small but determined: “Please just—just fall!”
The brute collapsed into shards of candy. Celeste’s chest heaved, her sword trembling in her paw.
On the other side, Mezzo was laughing, spinning his axe in wide, reckless swings. “C’mon, you sticky freaks! Step right up! I’ll give ya front-row seats to the show!” He bashed one zombie into another, the crash sending caramel flying across the pavement.
Celeste risked a glance his way and winced. “Mezzo! You—you’re being too loud! You’ll bring more!”
“Exactly the idea!” Mezzo barked, catching another zombie’s jaw in his paw and hurling it through a candy-glued shopfront. “If they’re runnin’ at me, they’re not runnin’ at you.”
Celeste’s ears drooped. “But—b-but that’s not fair!”
“Fair?” Mezzo grinned, his spotted tail lashing as he kicked a smaller zombie into a bin. “War’s not fair, Celeste. That’s why I love it.”
Celeste grit her teeth and raised her sword again, voice tiny but firm. “Then… then we’ll make it fair. Together.”
The zombies poured from the shattered storefront like molasses, their sugar-crusted limbs dragging, their jaws gnashing with sickly-sweet moans. Celeste’s pulse raced, but she planted her feet, twin blades trembling in her grip.
She took one shaky breath. Then another.
“Alright then,” she whispered to herself, blue eyes flashing.
Her blades flared with gold light as she stepped forward, skirts brushing the broken pavement. With a sudden burst of motion, she spun—delicate, almost like a dancer. The steel traced arcs of brilliance, every turn scattering light and starry sparkles across the battlefield.
“Comet Waltz!”
The glowing circle expanded outward, cutting through the first wave of candy zombies like sugar glass. Each slash left shimmering trails in the air, and for a moment—just a moment—it looked more like a performance than a fight.
Mezzo whistled behind her, tail flicking. “That’s my cue!”
He slung his guitar forward, strumming a harsh chord that burst into flame. With a wild laugh, he hopped onto the instrument like a skateboard and kicked off.
“SCORCHSLIDE!”
The ground hissed as fire streaked in his wake. Zombies toppled into the blaze, their candy bodies snapping and melting, while his allies surged forward along the path. The flames didn’t burn them—instead, the heat surged into their veins, sharpening reflexes, quickening their steps.
“C’mon, ya sticky bastards!” Mezzo howled, barreling through the mob in a spray of sparks. “Follow the music!”
Celeste’s waltz carried her to his side, her blades crossing the arcs of his fire like a duet. For all their differences—her shy grace, his reckless blaze—their attacks wove together into something greater.
The zombies tried to swarm again. But between the starry light of Celeste’s dance and the burning trail of Mezzo’s slide, the horde dissolved into sugar shards and ash.
When the last of them fell, Celeste staggered to a stop, cheeks flushed, blades dimming. She pressed a hand to her chest, breathing fast. “Oh, stars—I nearly tripped…”
Mezzo hopped off his guitar, grinning ear to ear. “Are ya kiddin’? That was perfect. Like a bloody fireworks show with extra stabbing.”
Celeste ducked her head, embarrassed but glowing all the same.
She darted past him, their movements briefly syncing—her shy precision balancing his loud chaos. For all their differences, the street soon cleared, candy shards and frosting slicking the ground in their wake.
Mezzo leaned on his axe, panting but grinning. “Ahhh, that’s the stuff. Better than coffee.”
Celeste, ears flat, wiped jelly off her sleeves and sighed softly. “I—I prefer tea.”
Mezzo chuckled, reaching over to flick one of her pigtails. “Course ya do.”
+650 EXP
Celeste wiped jelly off her sleeve, still catching her breath when a calm, even voice carried from the end of the ruined street.
“Well fought,” Bracer said, stepping out from behind the husk of an old bus stop. His silver fur gleamed faintly in the weak sunlight, the makeshift armor strapped to his arms scuffed from travel.
He inclined his head politely. “My apologies. I saw the fight. You both held the line well.” His gaze lingered briefly on Mezzo, who was still grinning and twirling his axe. “Though some more quietly than others.”
Mezzo laughed, spots flashing as he slung the axe across his back. “What can I say? I like to give the audience a show.”
Bracer didn’t smile, but there was the faintest twitch of amusement at his muzzle. “The mythics will hear you coming from miles away.” He looked at Celeste. “When you’re ready, the Council District awaits. But for now—come. We should return.”
The group arrived just as excitement buzzed through the hall—Plum spread across the table with her blueprints, Arcade tinkering beside her, Ray and Pitch throwing in sarcastic jabs. Everyone was talking over everyone else.
Then a loud voice thundered from the back garden:
“If you play any of that modern drivel over that tower, I swear on my tomatoes, I’ll rip the wires out myself!”
It was Hughes. He stood proudly in the garden among neat rows of cabbage, tomatoes, and a frankly majestic line of leeks. A straw hat shaded his eyes, and he carried a trowel like a weapon.
“Only proper rock, mind you!” Hughes barked. “None of that auto-screech nonsense!”
Arcade leaned lazily against the doorframe, wiping oil off his paws with a rag, smirking. “Always figured you were more of a Forties guy. Wartime ballads, maybe a little jazz.”
“Forties?” Hughes snapped upright, indignation dripping from his accent. “I’m not that old, you smug toaster-hugger! And it’s the end of the bloody world, not nuclear war! I want power ballads, rebellion, a bit of soul! Not some sepia-toned shuffle through history!”
Laughter rippled through the base.
Bonbon, crouched behind a pillow fortress with a toy microphone, chirped, “Dribble!”
“No, drivel, Bonbon,” Celeste corrected softly, though her smile gave her away.
Plum shook her head, scribbling furiously in her notebook under the heading Segment Ideas. “Maybe we need a ‘Hughes’ Hour.’ Let him rant over a backing track of thunder and electric guitars.”
Pitch chuckled, crossing his arms. “I’d tune in for that.”
Ray smirked, sidestepping as Hughes lobbed a garden glove in her direction. “Yeah—as long as he doesn’t try to sing.”
Celeste slipped quietly into the back garage. The laughter of the others faded behind her, replaced by the hum of soldering irons and the faint buzz of static.
Arcade crouched beside the Gwennan, its red frame propped up on scavenged bricks. Sleeves rolled, goggles perched on his forehead, he sketched a rough diagram onto a bent metal sheet. C.H.I.P hovered nearby, chiming commentary.
“Well,” Arcade muttered, tapping the crude ramp he’d drawn, “if I reinforce the frame, swap the axles for hydraulics, and add an airburst booster pack here…” He circled the sketch. “…we might get five seconds of airtime before we all die gloriously.”
C.H.I.P beeped, “Probability: spicy.”
Celeste leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, a shy smile on her lips. “So what’s this now,Static? A… flying van? Super zombie-proof with built-in doom?”
Arcade twisted toward her, theatrically indignant. “Flight’s a strong word, Anime. Controlled falling with extra explosions, maybe. But sure—why not add stunt engineer to my resumé? Alongside miracle worker and unpaid mechanic.”
Celeste ducked her head, voice soft but sincere. “Well… you are the best.”
Arcade smirked. “Finally, someone’s catching on.” Then he sighed, wiping grease onto a rag. “But I’ll need parts. Big stuff. Industrial-grade. And Hughes keeps stealing every bolt for his tomato shrine.”
Celeste chewed her lip. “Industrial estate, then. Factories, warehouses… it’ll have what we need. Dangerous, but it’s next.”
Arcade tilted his head. “Wasn’t that the area the mythics holed up in?”
Celeste tightened her ponytail. “Mmhm. Looks like we’ll be paying them a visit.”
Footsteps broke the moment. Ray stepped in first—hammer slung lazily over one shoulder, tail flicking. Pitch followed, scarf trailing behind like a banner.
Celeste raised a brow, teasing gently. “Well, well. Didn’t realize we had a thing now. Should I be planning matching gear? Wedding invites?”
Ray groaned, giving her a playful punch. “Cut it out.”
Pitch only grinned, smooth as ever. “Jealous, Celeste?”
Celeste shrugged, smiling faintly. “No. Just curious where you snuck off to last night, wolf boy.”
Pitch’s smirk slipped. He stiffened, ears twitching. “I—uh—important business. Don’t wait up.” And in a blur of motion, he was gone down the hall.
Ray smirked, then quickly looked away. “Yeah, well. Don’t read too much into that.” She shifted her hammer, ears flicking. “…Actually, I was looking for you.”
Celeste tilted her head, curious. “Oh? About the mythics?”
Ray hesitated, then gave a half-shrug. “Sort of. I mean, yeah—we’re heading there soon, right? And, well…Some are hybrids, some outcasts... I used to run with a few of them. That was before I got the whole ‘save-the-world’ day job...” She trailed off, unusual uncertainty creeping into her voice.
Ray looked at her hard, as if weighing something heavy. “Do you think this group we’ve built is going to last? I mean, really last?”
Celeste hesitated. “I... I want it to.”
For a long moment, Ray didn’t answer. She just leaned against the wall, hammer propped at her side, eyes narrowed at the floor like it had all the answers.
Finally, she muttered, “It’s just… maybe when we get there, with the mythics, it’ll be… safer. More stable. They’ve got numbers, territory. The whole group might decide to stay.”
Celeste blinked, ears twitching. “And… you don’t want that?”
Ray huffed, but it wasn’t her usual sarcastic bite—it was softer. “I don’t know. Maybe I do. Maybe I don’t. I just…” She sighed and glanced at Celeste, her green eyes tight with something almost vulnerable. “…if they don’t, if everyone decides to keep running around like lunatics, I was thinking maybe you and I could… y’know. Stick together. You’ve been good to me. Better than most.”
Celeste’s heart softened. She fidgeted with her sleeves, her voice gentle. “Ray… that’s kind. Really. But… we’re stronger together. All of us.”
Ray gave a crooked, uncertain smile, rubbing the back of her neck. “Yeah, I figured you’d say that.” She straightened, hefting her hammer again like it could hide her unease. “Forget I said anything. Just… think about it, alright?”
Her tail swished as she turned, heading for the door.
Celeste stood there in the hum of the garage, the Gwennan gleaming behind her, feeling the weight of Ray’s words settle heavy in her chest.
Chapter 25 : Mythics
The Rustrows looked like the apocalypse had decided to stop and build a nest.
Charred smokestacks jutted from the horizon like crooked fingers clawing at the red-stained sky. Fires burned in steel drums, casting flickering shadows across broken machinery and graffiti rune-covered walls. Giant cranes loomed like skeletons. Twisted fencing, half-melted signs, and scrap heaps taller than buildings turned the entrance into a maze of metal. It didn’t smell like rust—it reeked of it, thick and choking, mixed with oil and scorched plastic.
The Gwennan, their newly reinforced red sports van, rolled to a stop, steam hissing from the front as it adjusted to the sweltering air. Celeste stepped out first, brushing ash from her blue hoodie jumper dress, the soft cotton flickering slightly with the glow of nearby fires. Tiny silver stars dangled from the hem like charms, catching the light as she moved. Her hand rested near her katanas—cautious, but not aggressive.
Pitch climbed out next, hoodie tied at the waist, his eyes narrowing.
“Looks like a junkyard threw up on itself,” he muttered, squinting.
Arcade popped the back open, lugging out C.H.I.P's diagnostic gear. “Charming. You lot brought me to robot hell for van parts. I hope you're happy.”
Ray slung her hammer over her shoulder. “Least it smells better than Mezz’s socks.”
Bringing up the rear was Hughes, brushing dirt from his overalls. “I’ve fought wars in swamps more dignified than this place. Should've brought me flamethrower.”
They didn’t wait long.
From the shadows emerged shapes—tall, hunched, cloaked in patchwork coats and furs, many with feathers, horns, or glowing eyes. These were the Mythicals—a ragtag collection of magical beings, cast-offs of society who now ruled the Rustrows.
They didn’t approach with weapons drawn but watched with intensity. Every single one wore strange hand-woven charms, amulets of copper wire and dragon teeth. Not a single piece of cybernetics or tech touched their bodies. Even their torches were magic-powered.
One figure stepped forward—a wide-shouldered foxlike woman with scales across one side of her face and silver rings piercing both ears. She pointed a gnarled staff topped with feathers and broken glass.
“Pwy ydych chi?” she asked sharply, voice like steel dragged across stone.
Celeste blinked. “What?”
Hughes exhaled. “They’re speakin’ bloody Welsh, lass. Best put your studies to use.”
Celeste nodded and stepped forward, brushing her hair back as she bowed slightly. “Rydyn ni ddim yn chwilio am frwydr,” she began, halting but sincere. “Dim ond—rhan i adeiladu cerbyd. Cerbyd rhyfel. Mae'n... bwysig.”
There was a pause. Dozens of glowing eyes narrowed.
The fox-woman tilted her head, then gave a sharp whistle. Around her, the Mythicals began to murmur, clapping staffs and trinkets together in a rhythmic sound like rain on metal. Then the gates opened—a wide creak of rusted hinges and old magic.
The group was allowed inside.
The camp was like a village stitched into the skeleton of a dead factory. Colorful tapestries made from patchwork hung from girders. Fires burned beneath suspended pots. Children with horns played tag around broken-down forklifts. A towering windmill made from old aircraft blades spun overhead.
But tech was noticeably absent. No wires. No screens. No microchips.
“Creepy,” Arcade muttered under his breath. “They won’t even use data pads. It’s like a Luddite festival on mushrooms.”
Ray, who had been quiet, suddenly slowed her step.
Her hammer dropped an inch.
There, by a rusted oil drum, stood a hyena-eared girl a Bultungin with dyed blue streaks in her mane and a spiky-tailed drake boy who always wore a scarf. Her breath caught.
“No way,” Ray whispered. “That’s…” She stepped forward, unsure. “Saff? Dex?”
The two Mythicals turned.
Recognition sparked—then warmth.
“RAY?” Saff’s voice cracked in disbelief before she sprinted forward and nearly tackled her in a hug. “We thought you were dead! Dex said you ran off with some tin-helmet freaks!”
Ray laughed, emotional. “I kinda did. And then I found better ones.”
Celeste watched, heart softened by the reunion. But she also knew the political weight of this place would soon press in. Mythicals were stubborn, and even allies came with strings attached.
Especially now.
They didn't make it ten feet into the camp before a voice sliced through the tension like steel on stone.
“Cerddwch yn araf.”
Low, firm. Authoritative.
Brassmane stood in the clearing like an immovable pillar—his form massive and commanding. A fusion of stag and lion. A Luduan with armor-like plating across his chest and shoulders, his antlers curled like ancient driftwood polished by time. Faintly glowing runes traced intricate patterns along his hide and onto the dark robes draped over his powerful frame. The robes blended arcane symbols with steampunk accents—brass gears and tiny steam vents embedded into the fabric—giving him an ancient yet mechanically attuned presence. His stare was enough to still the air.
C.H.I.P. beeped beside Arcade, then spoke up in its crisp, digitized tone:
"Directive issued: 'Walk slowly.'"
Beside Brassmane stood Kirrin, a sleek, sharply-featured gryphon with silver feathers along her ruff and wings tucked tightly behind her. Her lower half was lean and catlike, her talons clicking lightly as she shifted her weight. One amber eye flicked toward the group, curious and dangerous all at once. She wore round, brass-rimmed goggles perched atop her head and a worn steampunk outfit—complete with leather straps, buckles, and intricate gearwork—that hinted at both elegance and battle readiness.
Her gaze lingered longer than expected. Recognition sparked, and her feathers bristled ever so slightly. She leaned toward Brassmane, her voice low but urgent in Welsh: “Dyna hi.”—that’s her. Brassmane gave a single grave nod. Kirrin’s sharp expression softened into something almost bewildered. Slowly, she lifted a talon and gave Celeste a small, hesitant wave.
Behind them, Saff emerged—dressed in rugged patchwork armor, her expression unreadable now, standing firm behind Brassmane like a loyal shadow.
Brassmane’s gaze settled on Celeste. His voice was rumbling, measured.
He spoke in Welsh again.
C.H.I.P. translated instantly:
"Is it true? The girl from the Park. The one with the power."
Ray blinked, recognizing the words even before C.H.I.P. could process them.
“They’re asking about your ability,” she said quietly. “The rumors... everything.”
Celeste raised a brow. “Which part?”
Kirrin’s beak parted into a lopsided grin, her words tumbling out with a lilting burr, rough but warm, like stones skipping across water.
“The part where ye bent a zombie horde like it was nothin’ but paper. The part where ye hauled folk out o’ the sewers, drippin’ and half-dead.”
Her amber eye gleamed as she tilted her head, feathers rustling.
“And the part,” she added with a grin, “where they say a dragon’s watchin’ ye.”
Leaning closer, her tone dipped into a teasing growl, “The part where ye could bring this whole place crashin’ doon… if ye fancied it.”
The air thickened.
Pitch shifted closer to Celeste, hand subtly tightening around the hilt of his weapon. Hughes didn’t speak, but his eyes scanned the camp, calculating.
Celeste crossed her arms, though her voice came out quieter than her stance suggested. “If I really had that sort of power, d’you think I’d be scrounging about for spare parts?”
Brassmane tilted his great head, eyes unreadable.
“Then what is it you want?”
Celeste’s ears twitched, and she glanced down before looking back up, words tumbling out in a rush. “We’re, um… we’re building a tower. A radio tower. For communication, and music, too, maybe. So people don’t feel quite so alone. If we can connect the sectors, we can stop all the lies—bring survivors together, instead of keeping everyone scattered.”
C.H.I.P. chimed in brightly, “Mission objective: Peaceful signal tower. Infrastructure and morale booster.”
Kirrin gave a skeptical flutter of her wings. “Sounds like static to me.”
Arcade stepped forward. “We just need parts. Diodes, antenna bases, maybe even some stabilizers if your forges haven’t melted them all.”
Brassmane didn’t respond.
Instead, he turned and tapped a palm against the silver-etched sigil on his chest. The noise echoed like a bell—clear and grim.
Brassmane turned away from the group, his heavy robes whispering against the stone as he made his way toward a circle of shadowed figures waiting just beyond the clearing. His council — a mix of elders, warriors, and advisors, each marked by their own blend of ancient magic and mechanical augmentations — stood silently in the gathering dusk.
His voice lowered, thick with weight and urgency. “We cannot allow unchecked gatherings in the square. The sectors grow restless, and the threat of spies or saboteurs grows with every passing day.”
One of the council, an elder with copper-tinted feathers and steam-powered goggles resting on his brow, nodded grimly. “The people seek hope. But hope can be a weapon if wielded wrongly.”
Brassmane’s amber eyes glinted in the fading light. “Let the warriors remain stationed in the square. Their watchful eyes must be the first line of defense. They will not interfere with the tower’s construction, but they will observe every visitor, every whisper.”
Another advisor stepped forward, her voice firm but cautious. “And if the signal attracts unwanted attention?”
“Then we respond swiftly. No one breaches our walls unnoticed.” Brassmane’s voice held the weight of an unbreakable vow.
As the council murmured assent, Brassmane cast one last glance toward the clearing where Celeste and her companions still waited, hope and determination etched on their faces.
“We build the future,” he said quietly. “But we guard it like a fortress.”
Chapter 26 : Flickers in the Flame
The market square buzzed with life, a patchwork of survivors mingling under hastily strung lanterns and weathered tents. Ray slipped quietly through the crowd, her keen eyes scanning until she spotted the familiar figure of Saff. The two exchanged quick nods before Ray was drawn deeper into a circle of Saff’s friends—mythics, hybrids, and outcasts alike—who leaned in close to exchange whispered words just out of earshot of the rest.
From the corner of her eye, Ray caught glimpses of Celeste nearby, standing apart with a thoughtful expression that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Several times, the group’s conversation faltered as the friends glanced back toward Celeste, their murmurs tinged with worry and unspoken questions.
Celeste felt it too—the weight of those gazes like tiny, probing arrows. Unease settled over her like a cold cloak, and she shifted restlessly.
Before she could fully relax, a small figure padded up—a petite dragon girl no taller than a child, her scales gleaming faintly in the lantern light. Her eyes sparkled with curiosity as she approached, her voice soft but confident.
“In Welsh,” she asked shyly, “sut wyt ti’n gwneud dy hud?” (“How do you do your magic?”)
Celeste Smiled back at her. Suddenly, with a soft shimmer of light and a faint crackle of power, two glowing katanas materialized in her hands—blades of pure, shimmering magic and stars, humming softly with energy. The crowd nearby gave an appreciative murmur, eyes drawn to the elegant weapons that pulsed with azure light. Celeste’s grip tightened briefly on the katanas. For a moment, her eyes flashed blue as the blades responded, their edges glowing brighter in silent readiness. Then she relaxed, offering a small, gentle smile and slowly sheathed the weapons with a quiet snap.
The girl squealed in delight.
Celeste crouched down to meet her eyes. “These are my magic,” she said softly. “They come from me.”
The dragon girl beamed and, with a playful puff of smoke, exhaled a small plume of fire. The flames swirled and twisted until they transformed into a delicate butterfly, glowing and fluttering gently above her palm.
Celeste clapped her hands softly. “That’s… beautiful.” Her voice held an unexpected warmth, a flicker of longing deep inside. For a brief moment, she imagined what it might have been like—growing up wielding such magic naturally, instead of learning to summon it piece by piece.
Nearby, the other children gathered, eyes wide with wonder as they edged closer to Celeste’s glowing katanas. One reached out hesitantly to touch a blade, their fingers tingling at the faint pulse of magic.
Hughes wandered over, trading seeds and supplies with a merchant wrapped in colorful scarves, his gruff voice haggling good-naturedly as the barter took shape.
Arcade crouched nearby, utterly absorbed. His fingers tapped furiously against a worn notebook as he scribbled notes on the magic he observed, his brow furrowed in concentration. “Fascinating,” he muttered, “energy signature, plasma resonance… potential for adaptive shielding…”
Before Celeste could reply, a flash of blue caught her eye. A young dragon with pale blue scales and a shock of blonde hair jogged toward her, grinning ear to ear.
“Hey—it’s you!” he said breathlessly. “Thanks for savin’ us down in the sewers the other day.”
Celeste’s ears dipped, her cheeks coloring. “I-it’s fine, really… I just did what anyone would’ve.”
Cosmo shook his head, adamant. “Nah, I already put in a good word for you. Everyone knows what you and your lot did—and about your special mana.”
Celeste’s eyes widened, her arms tightening around herself. “Th-that’s not… a problem, is it?”
“Problem? Not here.” Cosmo puffed out his chest, pride shining in his eyes. “We’ve all got mana. You’re safe as safe can be, an’ the Council can’t touch you. Not down here.”
He hesitated, then added, “Name’s Cosmo. I was Elder Arlos’s apprentice. Well… was. He’s been missin’ a while now.”
Celeste leaned forward, ears twitching. “Could I… maybe… keep an eye out for him?”
“That’d mean a lot.” Cosmo’s grin softened into something warmer. “But I’ll catch up with you later. Good luck, by the way.”
Celeste blinked. “Good luck? With what?”
Cosmo only gave her a knowing smile. “You’ll find out.” Then, with a wave, he bounded off into the crowd.
Celeste stood back, watching the scene unfold—the fragile threads of hope woven between blades, magic, and friendship. Despite her own uncertainties, she couldn’t help but feel a spark of something new: a fragile, glowing ember of possibility.
The evening sky deepened into a bruised purple as the market’s laughter and chatter slowly softened. Suddenly, a ripple of stillness passed through the crowd—an unspoken signal that something was coming.
From the shadows beyond the clearing, Brassmane emerged once more, this time not alone. Behind him, a circle of figures followed, cloaked in dark robes etched with glowing runes and adorned with curious brass and copper gears that hissed softly with each measured step. The council had arrived.
Their eyes, sharp and unyielding, scanned the gathering as they took their places around Brassmane, who stood tall like a living monument, antlers casting long shadows across the ground.
Brassmane’s deep voice cut through the quiet like thunder rolling over distant hills.
“To offer aid to a hybrid,” he began, “one must first pass our trial. This is no mere formality. It is a test to prove loyalty, strength, and true intent.”
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle.
“Our lands are infiltrated by spies—those who wear false faces for the Purebloods,” one council member added, voice cold and unwavering.
Brassmane nodded grimly.
“Just a day ago,” he continued, “the Purebloods council came. They offered their service—submission in exchange for protection against the growing zombie threat.”
The crowd murmured, some faces tightening.
“But we will never bow,” Brassmane’s voice hardened. “Never be subjected to their will, as hybrids are. Our freedom is our strength.”
His gaze swept over the assembly, eyes glowing faintly in the twilight.
“We stand united. If you seek our help, be prepared to prove yourself worthy. The trial awaits.”
As Brassmane’s words faded into the cooling air, a gentle rustle stirred the shadows beyond the clearing. Two figures stepped forward from the edge of the gathering—one slender and graceful, the other earthy and rooted.
The unicorn emerged first, her coat shimmering like liquid moonlight, a spiraled horn glowing softly with ethereal runes. Her mane flowed like a river of silver silk, and her eyes held the quiet wisdom of centuries.
Beside her, the faun appeared—muscular yet lithe, with curling horns and sturdy legs that seemed part of the forest itself. His fingers tapped rhythmically against a wooden staff wrapped in ivy.
Together, they raised their voices in a low, haunting chant. The words were old, ancient as the stones beneath their feet, vibrating with raw magic and reverence:
“Ffordd y Graig, ffordd y graig, Stone’s path calls through blood and might. Champion’s challenge, steel and fire, Prove your heart, ascend higher.”
Their voices intertwined, echoing through the trees and sending a shiver down the spines of all who listened.
The unicorn’s horn glowed brighter, casting a shimmering light over the crowd.
The faun’s staff struck the ground once more, and the earth beneath them seemed to pulse with life.
The unicorn spoke softly but firmly, her words ringing clear:
“To earn our trust, you must face the champion of Ffordd y Graig—the Stone Path. Only by defeating them will the trial be passed.”
The faun nodded, eyes steady.
“The path is unforgiving, the trial harsh. But through it, true strength and allegiance are revealed.”
A heavy silence fell. The weight of the challenge was undeniable.
Brassmane stepped forward once more, voice low but resolute.
“The trial begins soon. Prepare yourselves.”
From behind him came the sound of something heavy. Massive. Breathing.
The crowd parted.
The Golem emerged.
Twelve feet tall, assembled from molten scrap and reforged war-tech. Its skin was jagged steel, runes glowing with heat where flesh should be. Magic pulsed inside it like a heart too loud for silence. Its face was blank—two flickering runes for eyes, always watching.
It radiated judgment.
Arcade recoiled. “That’s illegal. That’s—”
C.H.I.P. interrupted with a warning chime.
“Soulbinding detected. This unit advises extreme caution.”
Arcade stared in disbelief. “That’s bio-bound steelwork! You forged consciousness into that thing! It’s wrong.”
Brassmane’s tone was final. “He is our truth. If you want our trust, you’ll face his judgment.”
Celeste tilted her head, her ears twitching. “Um… what sort of test would it be, then? N-not something with water, I hope, because I’m dreadful with water. Or… or puzzles, unless they’re the really simple sort.”
Saff stepped forward, tone careful. “You enter. It reads you. Not just your power—your intent. Lie? The gates seal. Cheat? It retaliates. It doesn’t care if you’re a hero or not.”
Kirrin tapped a talon against the stone, the clack echoing sharp and steady. Her smile crooked wider, mischief in her eye.
“Best it, an’ ye’ll have yer scraps an’ our steel at yer back. But fail?”
She tilted her head, feathers rippling with the motion.
“Well now… let’s just say it won’t only be yer tower tumblin’ doon.”
Chapter 27 : Trial by Rock and Magic
The guards didn’t wait for a decision.
With a series of firm shoves and shouted commands in rapid Welsh—translated helpfully and emotionlessly by C.H.I.P.—the group was herded down a narrow passageway, the scent of burning metal and scorched earth growing stronger with every step.
Celeste’s hoodie dress clung to her from the heat, the stars stitched along the fabric catching glimmers of the flickering torchlight. The path opened into a cavernous factory room, filled with catwalks, iron furnaces, and giant channels of molten steel that flowed like rivers of fire through the floor grates.
The Golem stood at the center.
Larger now, more imposing, the steel titan pulsed with magic—its joints hissed and groaned as it stirred, and the runes along its body flared brighter as if awakening from dormancy. It turned toward them, its eyes like welding torches sparking to life.
The moment the group entered, heavy blast doors slammed shut behind them, sealing them in with a mechanical groan. The heat hit them in waves, sweat forming instantly across their skin.
Pitch sighed heavily, cracking his neck and already tugging his hoodie down to tie it around his waist.
“Do we really have to do this?”
Arcade adjusted his goggles, eyes darting across the ceiling, the floor, the golem’s joints, the pulsing runes. “Yes. And preferably without dying. That thing is bound by old magic and modern tech. Hybrid of forbidden enchantment and reinforced alloy... we need to find the cooling vents or disrupt its core sequence. Maybe even short it—if it even runs on electricity.”
“Is that a ‘yes, we’re screwed’ in tech-speak?” Ray asked, already gripping her hammer, eyes narrowed.
The floor trembled. The golem raised a fist.
A voice—deep, hollow, and unnatural—echoed around the room.
“TRIAL INITIATED.”
“TRUTH SHALL BE TESTED. STRENGTH SHALL BE TEMPERED. UNITY SHALL BE FORGED.”
Celeste stepped forward, teeth clenched, her twin katanas blooming into being with a low shimmer of light. She swallowed hard, then lifted her chin. “W-well then… l-let’s pass, shall we?”
The golem slammed its fist into the molten floor, sending up a wave of steam and lava. The group scattered, splitting off to opposite sides of the room as glowing runes began to shift across the walls, revealing moving platforms, pressure switches, and mirrored panels.
“Looks like this isn’t just a fight,” Pitch muttered. “It’s a puzzle.”
Arcade grinned despite the danger. “Then we solve it. Let’s show this walking toaster what teamwork looks like.”
The Trial of Unity Begins
Celeste darted across a crumbling catwalk, stars from her hoodie trailing behind her like comets. Her twin katanas gleamed in the heat, but she wasn’t swinging wildly—she was watching the golem, tracking its movement.
Three molten pipes hissed near the golem's left shoulder. Her eyes narrowed.
"Overclocked joints," she muttered. "Arcade, those might be your cooling vents!"
She leapt from a raised platform, slicing two thick cables holding a gear-arm trap. The trap slammed onto the golem’s arm, pinning it momentarily. She didn't stop—she moved like wind through steel, clearing the path for the others. Not the strongest, but the smartest in a fight, she was the pulse that kept the team moving.
With the golem struggling, Celeste planted her feet and spun in a dazzling arc. “Comet Waltz—Flourish!”
Her katanas blurred into a radiant circle, each slash trailing light that burst into starry motes and glittering sparks. The glowing ring clashed against the golem’s chest with a thunderous crack, driving it backward as the sparks cascaded around her like falling stardust.
The others could breathe again—her dance of blades had opened the field.
Arcade ducked behind a pillar of glowing steel, goggles flashing as they zoomed and scanned. C.H.I.P floated beside him, translating the strange rune patterns etched into the walls.
"Pressure plates and runes aligned to movement patterns," he said. "It's reading our cooperation levels. This is a trial of synchronization."
He opened a small toolbox, quickly rewiring a hanging control panel.
"Celeste! Stall it! Ray, bash that red plate on my mark!"
He timed the internal rune cycles, waited for the glyph to flash blue—
"NOW!"
The golem staggered—its steps crunching the catwalk. Ray darted in, Heartbreaker glowing ember-red in her grip. She chained strikes in a rapid flurry, steel ringing against molten stone. Then, gripping the hilt with both hands, she twisted into a vertical spin.
“Rising Ember Chain!”
Embers spiraled outward like fiery petals as she came down hard, slamming the blade into the floor. A shockwave of burning light erupted, setting the ground alight in a searing zone that licked at the golem’s legs.
Ray struck, and a blast of freezing mist sprayed from an upper vent. The golem flinched—just a moment—but enough for the temperature to shift, slowing its limbs.
Arcade smirked. “Science, meet magic.”
Pitch didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.
He moved silently through the heat, shadows cast by the molten light stretching long. He reached a high catwalk with a series of mirrors. They spun wildly, casting light beams in chaotic directions.
"This is the illusion phase..." he muttered. "Smoke and mirrors. Literally."
With calm precision, he adjusted the angles, aligning the mirrors until they focused a glowing beam onto a sealed rune in the golem’s chest—one of its control seals. The steel giant jerked, momentarily disoriented.
Just as the platform crumbled beneath him, he leapt, catching a hanging chain with one arm.
"Just another Tuesday," he muttered as he swung out of danger.
At the peak of the swing, he twisted his shotgun, Lady Luck, and fanned the chamber. Five glowing cards snapped out in a rapid spread.
“Shadow Flush.”
They cut across the air in streaks of crimson and black. Four cards slammed into the golem’s chest plate, and the fifth—charged by the others—twisted midair like it could smell fear. It shot straight into the rune, detonating in a flash of shadowfire. The golem reeled, smoke pouring from its chest as the control seal cracked.
Ray took the heat like a furnace herself. Her hammer radiated red as she struck molten barriers, clearing paths and creating tremors to shake loose panels for Arcade and Celeste.
But her moment came at the southern wall—a section where holographic figures appeared: friends long gone, memories distorted.
One figure stepped forward—it looked like her old friend, Teiryn, from her old group. But something was wrong—too clean, too perfect.
The trial was testing her loyalty.
Ray stepped forward, hammer raised. “You’re not her. Teiryn was messy, and loud, and wild.”
The figure frowned.
“She was real. You’re just a puppet.”
She smashed the illusion. The path opened behind it.
While the others danced and darted, Hughes held the line.
A mechanical gate began to lower, threatening to trap Arcade and Celeste in the central ring. With a grunt, Hughes threw his back against the mechanism, straining.
“Move it, you bloody show-offs! I ain’t got forever!”
As gears screeched in protest, Hughes twirled his crook overhead like a shepherd marshaling sheep. Rings of distorted air rippled out, making dust motes and sparks drift in slow, dreamy arcs.
“Chrono Spin!”
The battlefield seemed to breathe—slowed just enough for allies to reposition, enemies to falter. What looked like a harmless flourish was really a signal: Hughes was resetting the fight.
He reached for his side pouch and yanked out a military flare grenade, hurling it into the golem’s face as it turned on him. A blast of blinding light exploded—enough to buy them precious seconds.
Grinning, Hughes cracked his knuckles. “Still got some fight in me.”
With every success, the golem weakened—its runes dimming, its limbs shuddering under the pressure of teamwork and truth.
Above, magical chains shattered. The golem dropped to one knee, roaring in a voice that was neither mechanical nor mortal.
Arcade called out. “That’s it! The core’s vulnerable!”
They surged as one—hammer, sword, crook, tech, and Gun.
The molten steel sizzled, the air thick with tension and heat. With the golem’s core exposed and the team united, they surged in harmony — weapons striking with purpose, minds aligned, hearts steady.
Celeste darted in first, katanas spinning in a cyclone of silver. She danced up the titan’s crumbling knee, slicing deep into its shoulder joint. Ray followed, her hammer a comet of fury, striking the exposed core with a thunderous crack.
Pitch hurled himself up a set of chains, Lady Luck clutched tightly in one hand. He launched from above with deadly precision, firing a blast mid-air—razor-edged cards scattering in a focused spread. As he landed, he drove twin blades into the control seals, cracking them wide as sparks burst like fireworks.
Below, Arcade shouted a final command. The overload pulsed through the control runes, C.H.I.P sparking and beeping in a frenzy beside him.
Chapter 28 : Shatterform
Pitch, breathing heavy, flared a blast from his rifle at the weakened panel—the final shot that split the cracked seal wide. The chestplate buckled and burst open, molten gears grinding loose as the steel giant let out a roar of collapsing machinery.
Hughes, panting, slammed the base of his time-crook into the ground. A ripple of distortion flared outward—time slowed around the golem, its movements dragging like molasses. In the frozen instant, Hughes raised the crook’s head and released a pulse of energy—aimed true.
At the peak of the swing, he twisted his shotgun, Lady Luck, and fanned the chamber. Five glowing cards snapped out in a rapid spread.
“Shadow Flush.”
They cut across the air in streaks of crimson and black. Four cards slammed into the golem’s chest plate, and the fifth—charged by the others—twisted midair like it could smell fear. It shot straight into the rune, detonating in a flash of shadowfire. The golem reeled, smoke pouring from its chest as the control seal cracked.
The blast struck a weakened panel.
With a shuddering groan, the golem’s chestplate cracked open—exposing its vulnerable core, just as time snapped back to normal.
The titan groaned, gears grinding in agony as it crumbled to one knee and then… fell still.
The chamber erupted into stunned cheers.
The crowd of mythicals behind the iron bars, dressed in patchwork coats and metallic trinkets, hollered in praise — horns, claws, feathers, and scales gleaming under the flickering factory lights. Several began to chant:
"Y tim undod! Y tim undod!"
Brassmane clapped, his golden mechanical mane rattling. His glowing eyes, however, did not leave Celeste.
Saff stood still, eyes narrowed.
Kirrin shifted uneasily, wings half-spread.
The team, covered in sweat and ash, smiled at one another — battered but victorious.
But Then...
The golem’s corpse twitched.
Before anyone could react, the golem’s shattered chest began to weld itself back together. Molten steel flowed like liquid fire, mending cracked plates and reforging twisted limbs. The ancient runes flared with renewed intensity, pulsing in a furious rhythm as the titan rose once more—bigger, stronger, and far more terrifying.
With a guttural roar, the golem lunged at the team, its massive fists smashing into the ground and sending shockwaves through the factory floor. The group scattered, dodging debris and blasts of molten metal.
Celeste darted across the battlefield, her twin katanas flashing into her hands. She gathered mana, channeling it into one blade until it blazed with holy light. With a cry, she slashed downward in a radiant arc.
Radiant Slice!
The glowing cut carved across the golem’s leg, the brilliance searing against corrupted metal. A hiss of smoke burst forth as holy light clung to the wound, leaving behind a minor burn like sunlight biting into shadow. The giant staggered, molten sparks spitting from the fresh mark, its fury turning fully toward her.
The golem surged back to life with a terrifying groan, molten steel dripping from its reforged limbs like blood. Its joints hissed, glowing runes blazing with renewed fury. It didn’t give them a moment to regroup.
Pitch darted forward first, his silver bandana scarf whipping behind him as he slipped through the shadows cast by the molten glow. With precise, measured steps, he launched a volley of razor-edged playing cards—his Lady Luck singing through the air like deadly shurikens. Each card carved glowing streaks across the golem’s armored plates, aiming for joints and weak points.
The golem swung a massive fist, shattering the ground where Pitch had stood moments before. He flipped backward, narrowly escaping a crushing blow that sent sparks flying from cracked floor grates.
Grinning, he slid low across the battlefield, shadows curling around his boots. His body blurred into a streak of midnight, his hand sweeping in a wide, arcing slash of luminous cards.
Royal Sweep!
The cards tore across the golem’s torso in a radiant fan of steel and shadow, sparks bursting as metal shrieked under the assault. Before the titan could retaliate, Pitch vanished into the dark trail he’d left behind—reappearing a safe distance away with a cocky flick of his wrist, another card already between his fingers.
The golem surged back to life with a terrifying groan, molten steel dripping from its reforged limbs like blood. Its joints hissed, glowing runes blazing with renewed fury. It didn’t give them a moment to regroup.
“Not bad, wolf-boy,” Ray muttered under her breath, eyes scanning for another angle.
Ray’s hammer slammed into the molten floor, sending a wave of shock through the factory. The tremor rattled the golem’s frame, causing it to stagger—just briefly—but enough for Ray to charge.
With a sharp breath, she planted her paws, gripping Heartbreaker in both hands.
Hammer Pulse!
The hammer slammed into the molten floor, and the impact exploded outward in a blinding radial wave of phoenix mana. Flames rippled across the battlefield, igniting the golem’s steel plating in streaks of shimmering fire. The pulse washed over her allies, searing warm into their bones, briefly sharpening their strikes and filling them with renewed force.
Ray darted forward as the titan reeled, her paws striking the ground like thunder, each step shaking loose chunks of hot metal from the walls. She swung Heartbreaker high, the hammer glowing white-hot from the lingering surge. The blow connected with the golem’s knee joint, a burst of molten sparks erupting as the titan faltered.
But it was far from finished.
The golem retaliated with a sweeping arm, sending Ray crashing into a stack of metal crates. She grunted, rolling with the impact and shaking molten dust from her fur. She met the golem’s burning gaze with fierce determination.
Pitch raced toward her side, firing a quick burst from Lady Luck’s shotgun barrel—cards exploding against the golem’s chestplate. The distraction bought Ray just enough time to pull herself up.
From the flank, Hughes darted in, crook in hand, the runes along its shaft flickering like starlight caught in glass. He jabbed forward with a sharp thrust—swift, precise, almost too quick to notice.
Chrono Jab!
The crook’s tip tapped the golem’s plated side harmlessly… then, a heartbeat later, the true impact slammed into its frame. The delay twisted the titan’s sense of timing—its massive head snapping toward Hughes a split second too late.
It staggered, runes flickering erratically, as though its very awareness had been jarred. Hughes leapt back, crook spinning to guard, his eyes narrowing. “That should scramble its rhythm for a moment—make it count!”
“We need to hit the core again,” Ray growled, wiping sweat and soot from her brow. “It’s the only way.”
Pitch nodded, eyes narrowing. “I’ll keep it busy. You get in close.”
The golem reared back, fists raised to crush them both.
Pitch darted left, weaving through the factory’s catwalks and platforms with uncanny speed. He snapped his fingers, a sly grin flashing.
Dealer’s Distraction!
A cascade of glowing cards burst from his hands, swirling like enchanted confetti through the smoky haze. They fluttered around the golem’s head in dazzling patterns, warping its sightlines and making its massive swings clumsy and wide. The titan bellowed, fists smashing uselessly into the mist, striking nothing but air.
“Try hitting the right target, big guy,” Pitch quipped, vanishing back into shadow.
From the cover of the distraction, Ray shot forward, phoenix fire building in her chest. Her paws thundered across the floor as she drew back Heartbreaker.
Skyhook Uppercut!
She drove the hammer upward in a sudden, explosive strike, catching the golem square in the jaw. The force rattled through its frame, lighter fragments of steel launching skyward in a spray of molten shards. A burst of phoenix embers rained down, glowing like burning snow as the titan staggered, runes flickering violently.
But the golem wasn’t done. Its molten fists trembled, then clenched tighter, pulling the embers into its chest like fuel.
From the shadows of the catwalk, Brassmane’s eyes narrowed, reflecting the shimmer of the runes. He leaned against a support beam, voice low and unreadable.
“They’re powerful,” Kirrin whispered beside him, her lilting accent rolling like the wind over heather. “See? I told ye. Maybe they can defeat the zombie generals… maybe even save the others.”
Brassmane didn’t answer at once. His gaze lingered on Celeste, twin katanas glimmering in her hands, her aura glitching faintly as if two worlds were fighting for space inside her.
“I’ve seen weapons like those before,” he said at last, the words heavy as falling stones.
Kirrin’s tufted ears twitched, her eyes wide. “Where?”
Brassmane’s jaw worked, reluctant. “An alicorn. A summoner. She came to our clan once, searching for an artifact. She could summon her weapons too… same shimmer, same weight in the air.”
His eyes shifted back to Celeste as she lunged into the fight again, glowing crystals pulsing along her back.
“That ragdoll,” he muttered, almost to himself, “reminds me of her.”
Chapter 29 : Forged in Flame
With a terrifying roar, it slammed its other fist into the ground, sending a shockwave that knocked Ray off balance. She tumbled back, heart pounding.
Pitch dove forward, firing a concentrated burst of cards that carved a glowing trail across the golem’s chest.
The giant paused—staggered—before its eyes locked onto something behind Pitch.
“Time to sweeten the odds,” Pitch muttered, flicking a silver coin into the air.
Double or Nothing!
The coin spun, catching the molten light—then landed flat on the cracked steel floor with a dull clink. Nothing. No reload, no power surge, no miracle wild card.
Pitch’s smirk faltered. “...Really? That’s it?”
The golem’s response was a backhanded sweep of its massive arm, forcing him to roll frantically aside as the blow obliterated a catwalk behind him.
Before the titan could follow through, a streak of motion cut across the haze. Celeste leapt upward, wings of mana briefly feathering from her back, her blades flashing with soft light.
Featherfall Slash!
She arced high above the golem’s shoulder, then descended in a graceful, deadly curve. Her twin katanas slashed downward, leaving trails of white-feathered energy that carved into the titan’s molten frame. The impact hissed like quenched steel, sparks and feathers scattering in the furnace-lit air.
The golem bellowed, staggering under Celeste’s feathered strike, molten plates dripping loose from its shoulders.
Hughes stepped forward, crook gleaming. He twirled it in a sweeping arc, sandlike sparks spilling from its runes.
Hourglass Spin!
A ripple of distorted air burst outward as the crook struck metal. The golem was knocked back a half-step, dust and embers swirling into a shimmering hourglass-shaped vortex. For a moment, projectiles and shards of molten steel slowed midair—frozen like falling sand caught in glass.
“Your window,” Hughes murmured.
Ray didn’t hesitate. She slammed Heartbreaker into the ground with both hands, phoenix fire roaring outward.
Hammer Pulse!
Flames surged in a radial wave, igniting cracks in the factory floor and lashing against the golem’s legs. The pulse washed over her allies, flooding them with a blazing rush—Celeste’s blades glowing brighter, Pitch’s cards sparking hotter, Hughes’s crook resonating with a deeper hum.
“Time to amp it up!” Arcade shouted, goggles snapping down over his eyes.
C.H.I.P. chimed a cheerful “Overdrive online!” as circuits along its body lit up. Electricity crackled between boy and bot, linking them in a surge of pure energy.
Overdrive Surge!
C.H.I.P. blurred forward, his movements suddenly too fast for the eye to follow. Lightning danced across his fists as he hammered into the golem’s weakened plates, each strike echoing like thunderclaps. C.H.I.P., now a hulking combat form, followed with a heavy slam that shook the factory floor.
The combined assault left the titan reeling, its runes flickering, smoke and sparks cascading from fresh wounds. But molten steel still coursed through its frame, threatening to knit it back together once more.
The golem bellowed, staggering under the blow, molten plates dripping loose from its shoulders.
With a guttural roar, the golem lunged at the team, its massive fists smashing into the ground and sending shockwaves through the factory floor. The group scattered, dodging debris and blasts of molten metal.
But then—before anyone could get clear—it snaked a heavy arm around Celeste’s tail, yanking her backward with brutal force. She twisted, slashing with her magic katanas, sparks flying as the blades bit into the golem’s scorched steel. The creature’s grip tightened, metal claws clamping down.
Pitch’s eyes widened as the golem’s massive hand snatched her backward in a vice-like grip.
“Celeste!” Ray screamed, lunging forward, but the titan’s crushing hold tightened like a steel trap.
Suddenly, it lifted her high into the air, crushing fingers curling around her waist and ribs. Her breath hitched, and a sharp scream tore from her throat—not of terror, but of searing pain.
Her katanas slipped from her grasp, clattering to the floor below. The crushing pressure squeezed her chest, stealing her air. Her friends surged forward desperately, pounding the golem’s arm, their attacks frantic but ineffective.
“Let her go!” Ray shouted, hammer raised, but the golem’s grip was like a vice.
Celeste’s vision blurred. Every second felt like a lifetime trapped in steel claws. Yet beneath the agony, a fierce spark ignited.
Something deep inside her snapped.
The air turned cold, then hot. The ground shuddered. Her hoodie billowed unnaturally, the tiny star charms glowing like miniature suns.
Her eyes snapped open—glowing a brilliant, pure blue.
Hide primal side, Shatterform Celeste had awakened.
Unleashed Fury
She let out a guttural, inhuman cry.
With a single flex of her body, the entire golem arm shattered, metal melting from her aura as if scorched by starlight. The crowd gasped in horror as she rose midair, no longer walking — hovering, her aura trailing behind her like a flame-wrapped comet.
With each breath, arcane symbols burned into the floor.
She struck the fallen golem—once, twice—until its remains were nothing but molten slag. But she didn’t stop.
+5000 EXP
LEVEL UP!
➤ Level 6 Achieved!
Her blade became a blur of blinding arcs. Each swing cracked the air with sonic heat. Waves of fury pulsed from her like a second heartbeat, warping the metal floor beneath her boots. Stars burst from her hoodie—tiny novas of raw energy, lighting the room in bursts of white-gold.
The cheering stopped.
Cries of fear rippled through the hall.
Even Brassmane stepped back, hand instinctively finding the hilt of his bronze-forged blade, expression unreadable.
“CELESTE!” Pitch roared, vaulting forward. He grabbed her from behind—but the moment his hands touched her, something changed. His eyes flared faintly, and a low growl slipped from his throat—deep, involuntary. For a heartbeat, his grip tightened with unnatural strength, and something animal stirred behind his mask of control.
“Lass! You need to STOP!” Hughes bellowed, jabbing his time-crook toward her—but hesitated, afraid of what freezing her in a time bubble might actually do in this state.
Celeste spun violently—her blade swinging without thought—and slashed across Hughes’s side. He yelped and stumbled back, fur singed, wind knocked from his lungs.
“She’s not seeing us—!” Ray shouted.
She surged forward, fire trailing from her boots. Her purple and black hair shimmered mid-sprint, burning away into streaks of golden pink and purple feathers. Two blazing wings unfurled from her back, flickering with phoenix flame.
Ray’s eyes went wide. “What the heck—she’s messing with my suppression chip! My wings… they’re— they’re coming back. I thought they were removed!”
Across the battlefield, Hughes’s voice cut through the clash of steel and flame. “It’s Celeste’s core. She must be resonating with you—pulling them back with your mana!”
Arcade skidded to a halt, sparks crackling off his gauntlets. “That’s unstable as hell! You need to knock her out, or at least keep her in place before it overloads!”
With a sharp cry, Ray spun her hammer upward and brought it crashing down—not on Celeste, but just ahead of her feet, the shockwave enough to knock her balance.
Then Ray launched herself forward, ramming into Celeste with shoulder and wing. Together with Pitch, she wrestled her down, holding tight as Celeste thrashed—screaming, sparks blazing from her skin.
“You’re okay—” Pitch hissed through clenched teeth. “You’re not in danger. You’re you.”
Celeste's struggles began to slow, her strength fading under the weight of their grips—and her own grief. Her breath came in ragged sobs, heat still steaming from her hoodie, but her blade fell from her hand, clattering to the scorched floor.
Her eyes dulled.
The glow faded.
The room was silent.
No one dared approach.
From the shadows, Hughes winced, clutching his side, but said nothing. His eyes were on Celeste. On all of them.
The group exchanged glances. Arcade took a knee, offering a handkerchief to Ray, whose arm was bleeding. Pitch said nothing — his shirt was scorched.
Arcade exhaled hard, his face pale. “You… lost control. Something… came out of you.”
Celeste looked down at her hands. They were trembling.
The crowd, now silent, watched with new eyes.
Brassmane stepped forward slowly. His voice was firm. “So… the elders were correct.”
And for the first time in a long time, Celeste didn’t know what to say.
Chapter 30 : The Cell
The clang of the cell door echoed like a sentence passed down by fate itself.
Inside the dim, iron-barred room, the group sat on mismatched crates and benches bolted into the stone floor. Smoke and the sharp scent of scorched metal clung to them like ghosts of the battle they’d just survived.
No cheering crowds now.
No welcome.
Just silence and the distant hum of molten steel from the trial chamber below.
Celeste sat against the far wall, her arms wrapped tightly around her legs, hoodie still singed and her star charms dimmed. The others were quiet — at first.
“Seriously?” Ray snapped, arms folded. “We barely survive the trial, and you decide to go primal right in front of the Mythics? What were you thinking?”
Celeste’s ears dipped, voice small. “I wasn’t—I mean—I didn’t mean to, it just… slipped.”
Ray threw her hands up. “Slipped? You nearly fried half the chamber! If Pitch and I hadn’t dragged you down—”
Pitch, leaning on the wall, gave a tired half-grin. “Ray, chill. She didn’t go nova on purpose.”
“No, but she could again!” Ray shot back, pacing. “Her rune’s busted, or it’s not syncing right. And if it blows again, maybe next time one of us ends up under her shiny boots.”
Arcade had been silent up until now, leaning back against the cell wall beside C.H.I.P., arms folded, deep in thought.
“It was wrong,” he said at last. “What they did. That golem wasn’t a test, it was a weapon. Something about all of this stinks. But I agree with Ray on one thing—”
Celeste flinched.
“Your runes not enough anymore, Cel.” He knelt beside her. “This thing inside you… it’s not just magic. It’s primal. It’s like it’s alive. You need to get ahead of it before it eats you alive.”
A heavy silence fell.
Then Hughes, who had been sharpening a piece of scrap metal into a makeshift toothpick, grunted and sat up.
“Y’r all talkin’ bollocks. You don’t cage fire with runes an’ bloody gadgets. You learn it. Live wi’ it. Or it eats ye worse.”
He spat to the side. “Otherwise, what’s buried deep always finds a way out. And when it does, it's worse. It’s ugly and twisted because it was never allowed to breathe in the light.”
Ray shook her head. “But that’s what makes it dangerous. She doesn’t know how to control it. It’s unpredictable, raw… She’s not the only one holding things back. We all have stuff, Hughes. But hers is a damn unstable starstorm.”
“Please...I never asked for this…I'm so sorry” Celeste whispered.
Pitch finally spoke, kneeling beside her. “We know. But it’s part of you now. So you’ve got to decide: are you going to let it control you... or are you going to own it?”
The door at the end of the corridor creaked open.
Kirrin stepped in, feathers ruffling, her braid swinging as she planted her fists on her hips. Her accent rang like steel on stone.
“Aye, enough yer bickerin’, the lot o’ ye!” she snapped, glaring at them all. “I saw the lass fight. Power like that? It’s nae somethin’ tae fear—it’s somethin’ tae use. Ye ken what that trial was? A bloody crucible. An’ she came out burnin’ brighter than any o’ ye.”
Her gaze softened just a touch as it landed on Celeste. “Ye dinnae need tae be ashamed, lass. Ye just need tae decide what tae do wi’ it.”
Before anyone could reply, the door creaked again.
The door creaked open slowly. This time, it was Brassmane himself who entered the cell — his lionlike form broad-shouldered and wrapped in reinforced leather stitched with burn marks and old magical symbols. His golden mane caught the light of the flickering sconces behind him.
Behind him, two guards waited at attention. With a flick of his wrist, he dismissed them.
“I owe you an apology,” he began, voice low and deliberate. “These conditions… not what you deserve. But after what happened, my people needed to feel safe. Containing you wasn’t punishment. It was a measure. For their protection, and perhaps, your own.”
His amber eyes scanned the room. Then locked on Celeste.
“I saw the power you used. Unrefined. Fearsome. Beautiful in a way that frightens people.” He paused. “But I respect it.”
He took a step forward, lowering his voice.
“I need to know, Celeste. What are your goals? Not just here. Long-term.”
Celeste glanced around the cell, toward Pitch, Ray, Arcade, and Hughes. Her voice came quietly at first. “It’s not just my call. We’re a team. We all vote.”
Brassmane raised a brow, unconvinced. “Bullshit.”
The word hung sharp in the air.
“You’re their leader. I’ve seen the way they look to you. The way they move when you do, fight when you do, pause when you pause. You may not have asked for the role, but leadership isn’t a title. It’s a weight. And you wear it, whether you like it or not.”
Celeste opened her mouth, closed it. Then exhaled. She stepped forward, her sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal the shimmer of her inner circuitry.
“At first…” she began slowly, “my only goal was to get out. Just… escape this mess. Take my sister and leave. Find my dad and pretend none of this happened.”
She smiled faintly, bitter.
“But i don't think that’s not possible anymore. Not with what I’ve seen. Not with what I’ve become.”
Brassmane watched her silently.
“Um… I think—maybe—if we can reach other people… people like me, hybrids, anyone with mana… we might actually stand a chance. Together. My friends and I—we’ve already stopped three of the candy generals, so if we had more hands, more hearts—we could stop the rest, and give people hope. That’s why we came— for parts to build a tower. If… if that’s alright. Please?”
Brassmane nodded slowly, his expression tightening. “Then let me ask: how did you come into your power?”
Celeste shifted uncomfortably. “Oh dear ... I ate something. At a comic convention. It looked harmless—just a piece of candy, like a novelty thing at a merch booth.”
She paused, frowning. “Tasted weird. Like sour frosting and metal.”
Brassmane narrowed his eyes. “Did you hear anything? A sound? Something loud… that changed everything?”
Celeste's gaze dropped. “Yeah. There was this noise—sharp, loud. Like feedback or a power surge. And then people started screaming. Changing. It was chaos. That’s when they turned. Into… whatever they are now.”
Brassmane's voice dropped lower. “And you? Did you feel anything different?”
Celeste nodded slowly. “My heart felt… weird. Like it skipped or surged. Then my skin started tingling—almost buzzing.”
She looked down at her hands. “After that, I could summon weapons. Swords, mostly. And when I was fighting, I—I could see my health. Right here.” She tapped her forearm. “Like a HUD. Like I was in a game, but it was real.”
Brassmane was quiet for a moment, absorbing it all. Then he nodded. “You didn’t just eat candy. Someone gave you a key. And now you’re awake.”
Celeste hesitated. “After the candy. It was during the early outbreak. It was a mistake. I thought… I thought it was just candy.”
Brassmane’s eyes darkened.
“I feared that,” he said. “Come. There’s something you must see.”
He turned. The guards outside straightened, but he waved them off again. “Just her.”
Ray moved as if to speak, but Brassmane raised a single commanding hand.
“She is not in trouble. But she needs to understand what’s at stake.”
Celeste followed, cautious, her boots echoing in the narrow corridor of old industrial walls and humming pipes. They descended deeper beneath the foundry — down into a sealed containment level shielded by reinforced magic and ancient glyphs etched in rust and gold.
Eventually they reached a vast chamber. Arcane locks sealed the door, humming with power.
“This,” Brassmane said, “is why we fear the candy. Why my people walk a narrow line between faith and desperation.”
The door shuddered open, releasing a wave of cold air. The chamber inside glowed faintly, magical wards pulsing along the walls.
Suspended in the center, entangled in radiant spell-chains, was a nightmare.
Chapter 31 : A Pact of Steel and Shadows
The iron bars of the cell cast long shadows across the rough stone floor, cold and unforgiving. Beyond the narrow corridor, past heavy reinforced doors and layers of ancient wards, the faint glow of the containment vault pulsed like a heartbeat—dim, but alive.
Celeste sat with her back pressed against the chill wall, eyes flicking toward the far end where the vault lay hidden behind thick glass and shimmering magical barriers. Through the translucent shield, she could make out the shape—twisted, distorted, almost unreal. Limbs fused with cracked shards of candy glass, antlers curling like red licorice spirals, and countless glowing eyes swirling in maddening patterns.
Suddenly, a deep, guttural rumble echoed through the corridors—a sound that vibrated in her chest. The creature inside the vault stirred. The glowing runes that reinforced its prison flared bright, then sputtered as if struggling against an invisible weight.
The monster’s massive form convulsed violently, jagged metal claws scraping the enchanted glass with grinding screeches. Cracks spiderwebbed across the surface, wisps of molten smoke curling from the fractures. With a thunderous roar, the vault shuddered, and a wave of raw, chaotic energy pulsed outward—making the very air shimmer with unstable power.
Celeste’s breath hitched. The bars of her cell vibrated as if the entire foundry itself was groaning beneath the force.
It had once been a mythic. Tall and noble. But now its body was warped — limbs stretching like taffy, fused with elements of broken candy and scorched caramel glass. Its antlers had become curling red licorice strands, its eyes too many and glowing like molten peppermint. It twitched, a digital glitch echoing through its form as if corrupted code bled from its veins.
Celeste stepped back instinctively. Something about it called to her — not with words, but with recognition.
The monster convulsed again, its limbs twitching like marionette strings pulled too tight. Celeste’s breath caught as her gaze locked on its too-many eyes.
And for the briefest of moments, something slipped through. Not words — not even a clear thought — but a pulse of feeling.
Confusion.
Like being awake inside a dream you couldn’t leave. Like knowing your body wasn’t yours anymore.
Celeste’s chest tightened, her fingers reaching half an inch toward the glass before she realized what she was doing.
She shook her head quickly, ears flicking, and pulled her hand back.
Brassmane’s voice came low and measured. “This one was not of the dragon’s brood. He was one of ours. A seer. He believed the candy would grant him vision. Instead, it rewrote him.”
The moment shattered, leaving Celeste with only the echo of her own heartbeat and the cold reminder of what she might have imagined.
Celeste’s ears flicked back. “Oh. So—so he wasn’t… cursed or tricked? He just…?”
“Chose,” Brassmane finished, quiet and grim. “And changed within hours.”
The monster convulsed, claws scraping the enchanted glass. Celeste shrank back, her fingers curling near the hem of her hoodie. Her magic hummed faintly, unbidden.
“I don’t… I don’t understand,” she whispered.
Brassmane sealed the containment ward again, the runes locking with a resonant hum. “You survive because you are hybrid. The mutation adapts within you. Mythics are not so fortunate. To them, it is poison disguised as sweetness.”
Celeste frowned, eyes wide. “But… that means it could happen to anyone. To someone who—who didn’t mean harm at all.”
His gaze lingered on her, calm but cutting. “Indeed. Which is why you cannot afford to be naïve. Power such as yours will not be patient with you. Either you master it, or it will master you.”
They moved down the corridor, stone shifting into polished black, the air thick with old magic. The stairway ahead coiled downward like a throat.
Beneath her, she could sense it. Not just the weight of the relics, or even the arcane power shielding them — but him. The nightmare. The twisted mythic. The malformed echo of what too much candy could do to someone not meant to carry its power.
Brassmane folded his arms, his tone scholarly, almost detached. “Below us lies the old control chamber. It once powered this district. Now it is a vault — a tomb for relics. They anchor that creature, feed it just enough to keep it bound. But containment falters.”
Celeste glanced up quickly, biting her lip. “So… you want us to go down there. To—to kill him.”
“To end what remains,” Brassmane corrected softly. His amber eyes glimmered like coals. “If you succeed, you will have our alliance. Our engineers, our resources, our blades beside yours when the generals come. If you fail…” He let the silence complete the thought.
Celeste’s tail twitched. “That’s… that’s asking us to destroy someone who was—who was real. Who lived.”
“He is not someone anymore,” Brassmane replied, calm as stone. “What stands there is a storm wearing his skin. Mercy is not leaving it alive. Mercy is stopping it.”
Celeste swallowed hard, ears low, but nodded faintly. “I… I see. I’ll—I’ll tell the others. We’ll… we’ll try.”
Brassmane inclined his head, grave and final. “You have one hour. Then the vault opens. Decide if you walk into it—or walk away.”
Celeste glanced down, her fingers twitching near the hem of her blue hoodie-dress. The stars stitched into the fabric shimmered under the flickering lights.
Brassmane led Celeste down one final corridor. The floor beneath them transitioned from concrete to polished black stone, glowing faintly with old energy. They stopped before a narrow iron staircase that twisted downward into the depths — toward the containment vault, and something far more dangerous than the golem had been.
Brassmane crossed his arms, his golden mane shifting slightly as he studied her.
Celeste hesitated at the foot of the stairs, ears twitching. “Um… Brassmane? How do you—how do you know hybrids won’t change? I mean… what if it just hasn’t happened yet?”
Brassmane regarded her, expression unreadable. “Because some of ours are hybrids. Runaways. They came here seeking refuge. None of them twisted as the mythic did. Some glowed—brief flashes of light across their skin—but they remained themselves.”
He folded his hands behind his back. “But when you arrived? Some of them felt… a pull. Resonance. As though something in you was calling to them. That is why we are suspicious. The Purebloods… they have all manner of devices, implants, hidden controls. For all I know, you could be carrying one.”
Celeste flinched, ears low. “Oh—no, I… I don’t have a clue how any of that works. Really, I’m hopeless with tech.”
Brassmane’s gaze slid toward her, sharp and calm. “And yet your hedgehog companion… he wears an Arcbracer. Such tools are not given to hybrids lightly. Most are forbidden from even touching them.”
Celeste’s paws twisted in the hem of her sleeve. “If it would make your people feel better, I—I’ll ask him about it. Arcade doesn’t keep secrets from us.”
“There is no need,” Brassmane said evenly, turning his head. “If such a device threatened us, our magic would unmake it before he could blink. I tell you only so you understand why the doubt remains.”
Celeste nodded quickly, though her chest tightened. “Right. Thank you. I… I appreciate the honesty.”
She glanced toward the heavy door again, voice softer. “And what’s really in the vault? I mean… apart from him.”
“Relics,” Brassmane replied, almost dismissive. “Simple things. Fragments of old craft and forgotten enchantments. Not worth your worry.”
Celeste tilted her head, unconvinced, but said nothing.
As she turned to go, Brassmane’s voice stopped her cold.
“Your mother. Was she Aurora?”
Celeste blinked, surprised. “Oh—no. Her name was Willow.”
Brassmane studied her with a look she couldn’t place. “Strange. You carry Aurora’s likeness.”
Celeste fidgeted, confusion prickling at her. “Do I?” She offered a nervous smile and shook her head quickly. “I—I don’t think so.”
Celeste turned, her boots echoing softly as she climbed the stairs, arms wrapped around herself like a shield. Her thoughts spun: fear, pity, determination tangled together.
And below, in the dark vault, the corrupted mythic stirred again. Waiting.
Chapter 32 : Fork in the Furnace Road
Celeste hurried up the stairway, but her paws slowed halfway. Brassmane’s words clung to her like burrs.
Aurora.
She tried to picture her mother’s face—really picture it—but her mind snagged on fog. The memory that surfaced was always the same: a mare with long, iridescent hair that caught the light like water. Beautiful, yes. But wrong. Too polished, too perfect, as though lifted from a painting instead of lived experience.
Not her voice. Not her laugh. Not the warmth of a touch. Nothing real. Just that shimmer of hair.
Her father never spoke of her. Not once. Whenever Celeste asked, he would shut the door on the subject like it was dangerous. She had clung to the one name she’d been told—Willow—like a child clutching a ragged toy. But was it even her name? Or just another story to keep her quiet?
The memories didn’t feel like hers. They felt borrowed. Like she was watching a video of someone else’s life and trying to believe it was her own.
She bit her lip, her eyes burning faintly.
If Aurora was not her mother, why did Brassmane see her in Celeste’s face? And if Willow was her mother… why did Celeste remember nothing but a fragment, a shimmer of hair in the dark?
The metallic echo of Celeste’s footsteps followed her up the spiral staircase, the heat of the foundry below still lingering in the folds of her hoodie-dress. At the top, where the noise of industry softened into idle murmurs, she paused.
A soft voice caught her ear.
Down the long corridor ahead, two figures stood in quiet conversation — Ray and Saff. The latter leaned casually against the wall, arms folded, a copper-toned braid swinging over one shoulder. Her violet eyes gleamed, framed by the flash of gold in her armor.
The second Celeste stepped closer, their voices cut off.
Saff pushed off the wall with casual swagger. “Well, look who finally showed up. Starlight hoodie and all. Gotta say, kitten — it suits you. Bit flashy, but hey, own it.”
Celeste blinked, caught off guard. “Oh—um, thanks? I… wasn’t really trying to be flashy, it just… glows sometimes.”
Saff smirked. “Yeah, no kidding. Heard about your little starburst in the trial. Half the camp’s still talking about it. Can’t decide if you’re a miracle or a bomb waiting to go off.”
Celeste hugged her elbows. “I didn’t mean to… it just happened. I don’t always—”
“Control it?” Saff cut in, raising a brow. “Yeah, shocker. That’s kind of my point.”
She stepped closer, lowering her voice, the weight behind it suddenly more serious. “You don’t have to run back to your duct-taped clubhouse. You’ve got mythic blood in you — anyone with half a brain can see it. You stay here? You get training. Control. Real power. Not whatever scraps the purebloods let you play with.”
Celeste bit her lip. “But… we already have a base. A home. I wouldn’t just leave it behind.”
Saff tilted her head. “Home? Please. That shack you’re squatting in? It’s one council raid away from rubble. Here, we’ve got defenses. Magic. Infrastructure. You wouldn’t be protecting scraps — you’d be building something that lasts.”
Her gaze flicked toward Ray. “Offer’s for you too, firebrand. Both of you could walk away from the dead weight. The kids, the wannabes, the hanger-ons. You matter. They don’t.”
Ray’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t shoot back right away.
Saff leaned in toward Celeste, voice low, almost conspiratorial. “Listen, kitten. Purebloods outnumber us a hundred to one, and they’ve got nothing holding them back anymore. They’ll come. No warning, no mercy. And when they do? This little hoodie squad of yours won’t survive a week.”
Celeste’s chest tightened. “But—my friends—”
“Yeah, yeah. You care about the kids, the strays, the helpless,” Saff said with a shrug. “Fine. Stay out there and watch them get torn apart when the storm hits. Or stay here, where you can actually protect them. Your power’s raw, Celeste. Dangerous, yeah — but dangerous is exactly what we need.”
Celeste’s fingers twisted at the hem of her hoodie. “I… I don’t know. It feels like—like you’re asking me to just give everything up.”
“I’m asking you not to waste what you’ve got,” Saff snapped, then softened, almost smiling. “Think about it. Hybrids and mythics, standing together? We rewrite the rules. We stop living scared. We stop being prey. That future only happens if you step up.”
She turned sharply, braid snapping over her shoulder as she walked away. “No pressure, kitten. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Silence stretched.
Celeste let out a small breath. “Well… that was subtle.”
Ray leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, her voice flat but not without a hint of unease. “It’s not the worst offer. I’ve got old ties here. Friends. This place—it’s harsh, yeah, but it works.”
Celeste turned toward her, brows furrowed. “Ray… what’s gotten into you? You don’t sound like yourself.”
Ray hesitated, chewing her lip. “Maybe it’s just… look. When we meet the mythics proper, you’ll see. Some of the group might want to stay. Hell, maybe it’d be safer if we all did.” She looked away, then back, eyes sharp but uncertain. “But if they don’t… if they bail… I’d want you with me. You’ve been good to me, Cel. Better than most. Just—think about it, okay?”
Celeste looked at her for a long moment. Her voice was quiet, but steady. “I’ll think about it. But… I don’t want to leave anyone behind.”
Ray scoffed lightly, though it lacked her usual fire. “Yeah. Figures.”
They walked back toward the courtyard, the weight of Saff’s words still pressing heavy between them.
They reconvened near the central courtyard, where the others were patching themselves up after the golem trial.
Arcade crouched beside Chip, his goggles pushed up into his spines. “Molten environments,” he muttered, twisting a wire. “Absolute hell on circuits. I swear, I’m going to start billing elemental hazards like subscription fees.”
Hughes leaned on a crate, rolling a wrench lazily in one hand. “Aye, well. Beats gettin’ slagged alive. At least your toy still works. My back feels like it went twelve rounds with a dragon’s backside.”
Pitch leaned against a pillar, scarf trailing, arms folded. His expression was calm, but the kind of calm that meant he was already bracing for bad news.
Celeste fidgeted with her sleeve, then cleared her throat, voice small but steady. “They’ve… they’ve given us another task. Just one more.”
All eyes lifted toward her.
“There’s a monster in the vault,” she continued. “It used to be one of them. A seer. But after the candy, they changed. Now they guard the relics Brassmane’s people sealed away. If we… if we stop it, we get their alliance. And the parts we need — for the radio, for the van. Everything.”
Pitch tilted his head, voice dipping into mock-dramatic bass. “And if we don’t? Lemme guess. Early checkout with no refund.”
Celeste nodded. “We’d be thrown out.”
Arcade barked a laugh, sharp and humorless. “Oh, brilliant. Risk our necks on their little house pet or get kicked to the curb. Fantastic options, really. Five stars.”
Hughes just exhaled through his nose, muttering, “Bloody typical.”
Celeste hesitated, then added, her voice soft: “But… there’s more. Saff spoke to me. She said I should stay. That this place is… where I belong.”
Ray folded her arms, jaw tight. “She said the same to me.”
That pulled everyone’s attention.
Arcade arched a brow. “Just you two? Oh yeah, nothing shady about that. Totally normal recruitment drive. What’s next, matching uniforms?”
“I told her I’d… think about it,” Celeste said quickly, cheeks warm.
Pitch let out a low chuckle, though his eyes were steady on her. “Yeah, but you’re not gonna. Are you, kitten?”
Celeste looked down, twisting her fingers in her hoodie hem. She didn’t answer. Not aloud.
Celeste twisted the hem of her hoodie, her voice soft but clear. “It would be… nice, though. To have somewhere I didn’t have to hide what I am. Where I could learn to control it properly, instead of just—just hoping I don’t hurt anyone. But… if not everyone’s invited, I wouldn’t even consider it.”
Ray scoffed, arms folding tighter. “That’s a stupid way to look at it. At least here we’d survive. Isn’t that what matters?”
Celeste blinked at her, tone still gentle. “I’ve got Bonbon. And Lumina. They need more than just survival, Ray. They need… us.”
For a second Ray faltered, her ears lowering. She tried for sympathy but her voice came out rough. “I’m not Bonbon’s mother, Cel. That’s not on me. Someone else here could take her if it came to that.”
Pitch pushed off the pillar, his usual smile gone. “Yikes, Ray. Not cool.”
Ray winced, rubbing her arm. “I know. I know. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just—” she glanced toward the vaulted ceiling, voice small for once—“I’m scared, alright? If we get kicked out, where do we go? What happens then?”
Hughes snorted, twirling the wrench between his fingers. “Don’t waste your breath worryin’. They won’t throw us out. Folk like this, they posture. Always have. A bit o’ bluster so we dance to their tune.”
Arcade snickered, leaning back against Chip’s casing. “Yeah, well, even if they rolled out a red carpet, it’s too hippy in here for me anyway. All that incense and feather crap? No thanks.”
His eyes flicked to Celeste. “So what’s it you actually want, then? Not what they want. Not what we want. You.”
Celeste froze, then whispered, “I… I want everyone to be happy.”
Pitch crouched down in front of her, voice gentler now, though still edged with his usual dry bite. “Cel, you don’t have to bend yourself into a pretzel for everybody else. That people-pleaser thing? It’s gonna break you.”
Her breath shook. “I’m scared. I just want to go home. All this—” she gestured weakly at the walls, at the hum of the foundry—“the pressure, the choices… it’s too much.”
The room fell quiet.
Then Hughes leaned forward, his voice steady and rough, like stone ground against stone. “We’re with you, lass. All of us. But you need to face it head on. Because if you can’t—none of us can use what we’ve got, not properly. You’re the one that holds it together. You believe in this radio tower o’ yours? Then stand up, and do it. We’ll back you.”
Celeste’s eyes shimmered, her shoulders trembling under the weight. But for the first time, she nodded.
Chapter 33 : Feathers and Foresight
The chamber door groaned open. Heavy footfalls echoed as Brassmane returned, two armored guards at his flanks. His mane caught the torchlight, eyes sharp and unreadable as they swept the group.
“Well?” he said, his voice calm but commanding. “Have you decided? Will you face what waits in the vault… or walk away?”
Hughes let out a low grunt, scratching the edge of his jaw with the wrench. “Not much of a choice, if you ask me.”
Brassmane’s gaze flicked to him, steady as iron. “It is a choice nonetheless. And every choice weighs on who you are — and what you become.”
Celeste swallowed hard. She turned, eyes meeting each of her friends in turn. Pitch gave her a small nod, a steadying smile. Ray crossed her arms but inclined her head, jaw set. Arcade gave a little shrug — the closest thing to encouragement he’d offer. Hughes met her gaze, solid and sure.
Her heart hammered in her chest. She lifted her chin, trying to sound confident even as her voice trembled.
“We’ll do it,” she said. “We’ll help.”
Brassmane’s expression softened — not quite approval, not quite pity. But respect lingered in his amber eyes. He inclined his head once.
“Then prepare yourselves. The vault opens soon.”
The guards shifted, the weight of their armor clanking as they turned. Brassmane lingered a heartbeat longer, watching Celeste with a look that carried both burden and belief, before leaving them once more.
Silence followed.
Celeste exhaled slowly, hugging her arms around herself. “Stars help us,” she whispered.
The sky above the industrial enclave had sunk into a murky amber twilight, molten light dripping across rust-bitten girders and banners half-torn by wind. The group gathered by the old freight lift, packs buckled and weapons checked, each word they spoke carrying a coil of nerves just beneath the surface.
C.H.I.P whirred, his lenses flickering like anxious blinks as Arcade scrubbed a streak of grime off his casing. “Note to self,” Arcade muttered, deadpan. “Next time we redesign you, lava-proof plating. Maybe a snack dispenser. Survival and style.”
Chip beeped indignantly. “I don’t melt. I sizzle.”
A gust of wind stirred grit through the courtyard, and with a thump that rattled the rust, a lithe shape dropped into view.
Kirrin.
Her silver plumage caught the dying light, feathers plaited with copper wire and strips of leather that shimmered as she moved. She spotted Chip instantly—and her eyes lit like a child finding a miracle in the sand.
“Oh!” She swept forward, talons flexing in delight. “You never said you had a synthetic child.”
Arcade blinked, halfway through polishing his goggles. “Synthetic—? He’s not a toaster with legs, he’s my partner.”
Kirrin crouched gracefully, feathers brushing the floor as she leaned close to Chip. Her voice carried awe, reverent and bright. “That housing… twin-core energy? And the voice grid—stable, clear, no distortion. By the stars, you’re… beautiful.”
Chip tilted his head shyly. “...Hi. I’m adorable. Nice to meet you.”
Ray leaned toward Pitch, her voice a dry rasp of humor. “Is this a crush, or am I watching someone propose to a blender?”
Pitch huffed a low laugh, folding his arms. “Hey, let her have her moment. Everyone’s into somebody.”
Kirrin rose, brushing her hands together, her expression shifting to solemnity. She turned to Celeste, her gaze soft but cutting through with hawk-sharp focus.
“I didn’t come empty-taloned. I bring a message. And a gift.”
Her voice lowered, weightier now. “The creature bound below—once named Mynavon—it is no hollow husk. Its fury is not aimless. It remembers. Pain, betrayal… that is what moves it still.”
Celeste shifted on her feet, her voice quiet, lilting with nerves. “That’s… awful. Do you think we can reach what’s left of them?”
Kirrin’s eyes softened. “I think you can reach anything, star-child. But remember: mercy does not always mean sparing. Sometimes it means release.”
Kirrin drew a small shape from her pouch — a medallion, no larger than a palm, bronze on one face and silver on the other. She pressed it gently into Celeste’s hands.
“An elder o’ mine dreamt o’ ye,” she said, voice carrying that rolling Highland softness. “Said this was meant for the star-child. One face is the dragon — fire, ruin, but awakening too. The other, the alicorn — keeper o’ balance, guard o’ the stars. Both sides are yers, lass. Keep it close.”
Celeste turned the charm carefully, her thumbs brushing over the engravings — a dragon curled about a blazing sun, an alicorn beneath a crescent moon scattered with stars. Her voice wavered, half-nervous, half-playful. “Um… d-does it… help us win?”
Kirrin gave a small laugh, shaking her head. “No, hen. But it might help ye ken yerself a wee bit better.”
She stepped back, feathers ruffling as she glanced toward the ground. “Listen — near the western gate, there’s a pulse in the stone. The beast guards it close. That’s its tether, its anchor. Strike there, an’ ye’ll have a chance.”
Arcade lifted his brows, arms folding. “Finally. Actual intel. Beats wandering in blind and praying to the candy gods.”
Chip beeped brightly. “Permission to smite anchor: granted.”
Kirrin lowered her voice, eyes meeting Celeste’s. “An’ one more thing. Some o’ my folk — they believe in what ye’re tryin’ tae do. If this all goes to ruin… ken this: not every door will be closed tae ye.”
Celeste hugged the medallion close, her ears low but her voice soft. “Th-thank you. I… I’ll keep it safe.”
Kirrin smiled faintly, then leapt skyward with a sweep of her wings, vanishing into the amber haze.
The group stood quiet for a beat. Chip let out a little whirr. “...I like her.”
Arcade smirked, tapping his chassis. “I think she likes you too, buddy. Don’t let it go to your processor.”
Ray snorted. “Great, the bird’s on our side. Guess we’re unstoppable now.”
Pitch rolled his shoulders, calm but firm. “Still—anchor gives us a target. That’s something.”
Celeste tucked the charm into the inside pocket of her hoodie-dress. She breathed in, then out, steadying herself.
“O-okay,” she said softly. “Let’s… let’s go. Time to meet what’s waiting in the dark.”
The lift clanged down into the depths, gears groaning, steam hissing as the doors opened onto the Vault — a cavernous chamber of rusted catwalks, molten troughs, and blistering heat.
In the molten gloom stood the corrupted mythic — a hulking nightmare of fused candy-glass, scorched metal, and warped flesh. A unicorn’s skull jutted from its head, stretched and twisted into a mocking carnival mask. Steam hissed from its throat with every breath.
The doors slammed shut. The monster’s eyes ignited, and it thundered forward.
Ray darted in first, hammer already swinging. “Alright, big guy—let’s dance!” Her blow cracked its shoulder plating with a clang that rattled the chamber.
The beast bellowed and backhanded at her, but she rolled out of reach, spitting, “Too slow, candy-ass!” She slammed her hammer down left, then right—Heatwave Drive—before vaulting upward with a grunt. The weapon came crashing down overhead in an explosive burst that rippled through the floor. Fire streaked outward in a circle, leaving molten scorch marks that sizzled under the monster’s feet. The golem roared as the burning patch clung to its limbs, forcing it to stagger.
Pitch sighed, rubbing the back of his neck even as the thing lumbered toward him. “Do we really have to do this?”
Arcade ducked behind a molten pillar, snapping open a jury-rigged jammer. “Unless you’ve got a ‘skip boss fight’ button in your pocket, yeah, we do.” High-pitched pulses screeched through the air; the golem reeled, momentarily stunned.
Celeste bit her lip, then rushed in, twin katanas flashing. “S-sorry!” she blurted as steel bit deep into its knee joint. Molten sugar hissed from the wound. The monster swiped wildly, but Celeste planted a paw on its chest and sprang upward—Ascension Kick! She backflipped off its bulk, a burst of radiant light flaring from her heel as she launched the beast skyward. The air shimmered where her strike landed, leaving a crack of brilliance hanging in the chamber.
Then it turned on Pitch.
The molten arm swept toward him—too fast, too heavy. Pitch’s grin vanished. “Oh, shi—”
And then he was gone, swallowed straight into his own shadow.
Pitch hit the ground hard in a place of rippling darkness. “...Well, this is new.” His voice echoed through the void. “Shadow dimension? Neat. Wish it had a minibar.”
Celeste froze. “He—he fell! The shadow, it just… it swallowed him!”
Ray gritted her teeth, knuckles tight on her hammer. “He’s not dead. I don’t care what that thing throws at us—he’s not.”
Celeste’s gaze trembled, then sharpened. “M-maybe… maybe I can reach him.” She pressed her palm to the floor, shadows curling around her wrist. Indigo light flared in her eyes for a heartbeat.
“I-I’ve got it!”
With a gasp, she slipped through the dark—gone.
A moment later, she burst out from another patch of shadow, blade-first. Her crescent slash carved under the zombie’s arm, molten candy spraying like shrapnel.
The monster roared, raising its other arm to crush her.
“Oi!” Hughes slammed his crook into the floor. Runes flared. A wave of warped gravity rippled outward, dragging the beast’s limbs like lead weights. He darted forward, crook lancing in a precise jab—Chrono Jab. The tip struck true, but the creature didn’t react—until a split second later, when the delayed shock hit all at once. Its head jerked back, motion staggering out of sync, as though time itself had betrayed it.
“Steel, sugar, or soddin’ moon rock,” Hughes barked, “everything bows to weight!”
“Ray!” Celeste cried, voice trembling but clear.
Ray’s smirk cut like firelight. “On it!” She sprinted in, shoulder-checking the monster hard enough to send it toppling. Before it could rise, she planted her boot against its chest, pinning it with sheer force. Heartbreaker’s head gleamed violet as she raised it overhead. Leaning down, she whispered, low and deadly—“Nothing personal.”
Emberlock.
The chamber seared white for a heartbeat as violet fire erupted in a nova. The blast swallowed the monster’s core in an incandescent burst, leaving molten cracks spiderwebbing across its shell.
The beast spasmed, bellowing through smoke and flame.
Celeste surged in with twin katanas blazing, eyes alight. “Together—finish it!”
Ray wrenched her hammer free with a howl. “Gladly!” She swung with all her weight, smashing through the weakened plating. The core splintered, shards of crystallized sugar scattering like glass under a storm.
The monster spasmed, bellowing through smoke and flame. Cracks webbed its molten body, but it still staggered forward, rage coiling in its chest.
It cornered Celeste against a wall of shattered crystal, a final, blinding light gathering in its core. The glow swelled dangerously, angling toward the crowd of civilians trapped behind the barrier.
Celeste’s heart lurched. She saw their wide eyes reflected in the molten glare. “S-sorry…” she whispered, voice shaking but steady. With both blades clenched tight, she dashed forward, leapt, and drove her katanas straight through the monster’s eye.
The light fizzled. The beast froze, body quaking—and then collapsed with a guttural screech. Its massive frame shattered into blocks of molten sugar, which pixelated, glitching out into motes of fading light.
A chime rang through the chamber. +EXP!
A rare item shimmered on the floor where the monster had fallen, crystalline and pulsing with violet glow.
The team looked at each other as radiant glyphs spiraled around their bodies, bathing them in golden light. Their weapons pulsed, their mana surged, and their wounds sealed.
+7000 EXP
LEVEL UP!
➤ Level 7 Achieved!
Ray grinned, hefting Heartbreaker on her shoulder. “Knew it’d cough up something sweet.”
Arcade’s HUD blinked with new stat readouts. “Level seven—finally. About time the grind paid off.”
Celeste, still holding her blades, exhaled and let herself tremble. “We… we did it.”
The blast doors creaked open to the roar of distant cheers.
But in the glass tower above, Brassmane only watched, solemn, unreadable.
Beside him, Saff smirked faintly, arms folded.
Brassmane murmured, voice like steel wrapped in velvet: “No ordinary children… That girl will tip the scales.”
Saff said nothing. She only turned toward a sealed iron box at the rear of the chamber. Three cloaked mythics lingered near it: a stone-skinned centaur, a robed bird-woman, and a pale eel-furred boy with scars carved like script into his throat.
With deliberate care, Saff opened the box.
Inside, wrapped in velvet, lay a dagger black as obsidian, its blade rippling with oily light.
Her fingers touched the hilt. The room dimmed.
No one spoke.
But something old, and dangerous, had begun to stir.
Chapter 34 : The Star Remembers
The vault’s heavy doors shuddered open, the sound echoing like thunder through the chamber. Cold air swept past them, carrying the faint tang of iron and sugar-burnt ash.
Inside, pale blue and gold runes crawled across the walls in lazy patterns, humming softly. At the chamber’s heart, suspended over a cradle of metal and stone, hovered the relic — a crystal that shimmered like liquid moonlight, each pulse rippling outward as though it breathed.
Celeste’s lips parted. Her steps slowed, caught between fear and awe. “She’s… she’s beautiful,” she whispered, voice fragile with wonder. “Like… like she’s alive.”
Arcade tilted his head, arms folded. “Beautiful, sure. But no defenses? No traps? Please. That’s textbook bait.”
Celeste hesitated, her hand rising instinctively. The crystal’s glow reached out to her — not light, not heat, but recognition. She swallowed, fingers trembling in the air just shy of its surface.
But then she froze. Her brows knitted, and her voice came soft but firm: “No… they’ll know if it’s missing. We need their trust. If we take it, we lose everything.”
Slowly, reluctantly, she lowered her hand and stepped back.
The others relaxed slightly.
But behind them, in the edges where torchlight broke into shadow, Pitch lingered. His gaze flicked to Celeste, then to the crystal. His smirk was faint, unreadable.
“Yeah,” he muttered under his breath, “no risks.”
A subtle flick of his wrist — just enough. Shadows coiled, silent and smooth, lashing out like a serpent. The crystal shimmered once, then slipped beneath the surface of the dark, gone without a sound.
No one noticed. Not Celeste, still staring in quiet longing. Not Arcade, muttering calculations under his breath.
Only the shadows knew.
And Pitch, who stood very still, hands in his pockets, as if nothing at all had happened.
The vault chamber stretched out before them like a forgotten museum, the relics displayed across stone pedestals and suspended in fields of shimmering magic. Crystals glowed faintly in cages of rune-carved iron, blades hummed with sleeping enchantments, and dusty tomes lined alcoves that had been sealed for centuries.
Celeste drifted forward, blue eyes wide, her voice barely a breath. “Oh… stars. It’s like walking into a storybook. They all feel so… old.”
Arcade crouched by a pedestal, fingers twitching as he traced the etched wards without touching them. His voice was sharp, reverent in its own way. “These things aren’t just old. They’re thousands of years old. Half this stuff should’ve turned to dust ages ago.”
C.H.I.P buzzed and tilted his head, eye-lens flickering. “Thousands of years old, sure… and yet some of this junk is just Kymara tech gathering dust. Real cutting-edge stuff for a species that’s supposedly a myth.”
Arcade snapped his gaze over, narrowing his eyes. “Kymara are a myth. A bedtime story wrapped up in Luminarch propaganda. They don’t exist.”
“Right,” C.H.I.P chirped dryly. “So explain why this ‘myth’ left behind a perfectly intact Wisdom Cube.” He tapped the small, inert device floating on a nearby pedestal.
Arcade raised an eyebrow, suspicion battling his curiosity. “If it’s real, prove it. Can you crack it?”
“Give me ten seconds,” C.H.I.P said smugly.
He latched onto the cube, optic lenses flickering in rapid pulses. Five seconds later, the vault lit up as the cube unfolded into streams of glowing script and holographic glyphs. Arcane diagrams, battle records, forgotten equations—all poured across Arcade’s Archbracer, the device struggling to display the flood of information.
Arcade’s breath caught. “This is… incredible. How is this even possible? The knowledge in here—I’ve never seen anything like it.”
The runes danced across his visor, revealing languages he didn’t know yet understood.
C.H.I.P detached smoothly, landing with a self-satisfied beep. He bowed dramatically, voice dripping with smug delight. “You’re welcome.”
Celeste blinked at the display, a soft gasp escaping her lips. “It’s like… like the past is speaking to us. But why now?”
Arcade didn’t answer. His eyes were already lost in the flood of ancient secrets pouring across his screen.
The vault’s runes bathed them in pale light as the Wisdom Cube bloomed open, its holographic script flooding across Arcade’s Archbracer. His quills flickered and twitched like live wires, sparking faint motes of static in the air.
Arcade muttered under his breath, voice sharp and focused, almost reverent. “This isn’t just data… it’s imprinting. Stars above, it’s writing itself into my head.”
Celeste stiffened. She could feel it too—like a faint tug in the back of her mind. Thoughts not her own brushed against her: symbols, fragments of words, the soft hum of equations. She blinked, steadying her breath. It was subtle, almost imperceptible—but it was there.
Ray leaned on her hammer, eyes narrowing. “Great. We came here to kill a monster, and now we’ve accidentally signed Hedgehog Boy up for brain surgery via disco rock.”
Pitch folded his arms, a smirk tugging at his muzzle. “At least he looks happy about it. Usually he’s only that excited when insulting me.”
Arcade didn’t even look up, his voice tightening as the streams of light raced faster across his screen. “You don’t understand—this isn’t random junk. This is architecture. Systems. Maps of mana flow I’ve never seen before. If this is Kymara tech, they weren’t just real… they were advanced beyond anything the Doctrine preaches.”
Hughes grunted, chewing the inside of his cheek. “Aye, and maybe they buried it for a reason. Old magic like this doesn’t come free. Play with it long enough, you’ll end up like the thing we just fought.”
Celeste hugged her arms to her chest, still feeling the ghost of those foreign thoughts bleeding through Arcade into her. She spoke softly, almost apologetically. “But… what if it’s not dangerous? What if it’s… knowledge we’re meant to remember?”
Ray rolled her eyes. “Or it’s a trap wrapped in shiny wrapping paper.”
C.H.I.P chirped smugly from his perch. “Trap or treasure, you’re welcome either way.”
Pitch shot him a dry look. “You’re way too proud of yourself.”
C.H.I.P’s optics brightened. “Correct.”
The group’s laughter was short and uneasy, their eyes drifting back toward Arcade, whose quills still flickered faintly with every pulse of the cube.
Celeste’s hand twitched at her side. She wasn’t sure if the warmth pooling in her chest was excitement or fear—only that whatever they had uncovered here, it was already changing them.
Hughes leaned back against the pedestal, arms folded tight across his chest. His voice rumbled low, heavy with warning. “Kymara’re long dead. Or made up. Depends who you ask. But either way, you lot shouldnae be messing with things that don’t belong to you. Old relics like this—they’re buried for a reason.”
Arcade barely looked up, quills still flickering with every surge of light across his bracer. “Yeah, sure, grandpa. Knowledge is dangerous, fire burns, water’s wet. Heard it all before.” He tilted his wrist toward C.H.I.P. “Scan for more of these cubes. If there’s one, there’s gotta be others.”
C.H.I.P’s optics glowed with a mocking lilt. “Oh, of course. I’ll just casually sweep the whole continent while you’re off playing hero. Anything else? Maybe pick up some milk on the way back?”
“Do it,” Arcade snapped, though a crooked grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Before C.H.I.P could volley another sarcastic remark, a sudden echo thundered through the foundry above—shouts, hurried footsteps, the clang of metal.
Everyone froze.
Ray tightened her grip on her hammer. “That doesn’t sound like applause.”
Hughes was already moving toward the lift, crook in hand, his voice sharp as command steel. “Stay here, Celeste. Whatever’s brewing, we’ll handle it.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but the look he gave her—steady, paternal, uncompromising—made her hesitate. She nodded reluctantly, hugging her sleeves close.
The others filed out, boots clanging against the catwalk as the sound of commotion grew louder in the distance.
And then—silence.
Celeste turned back toward the cube. Its light pulsed faintly, as if breathing. She reached out, fingertips hovering just shy of its surface.
A voice rippled through her mind. Not sound, not quite words—yet they landed heavy in her chest. Ancient. Worn. Welsh, but older than the hymns Bonbon had taught her.
“...Mae’r seren yn cofio… mae’r gwaed yn rhwymo…” (“The star remembers… the blood binds…”)
Her breath caught. She couldn’t translate it all. But she didn’t need to. The meaning thrummed through her bones, through her very core—like the cube was speaking to something inside her that had always been waiting.
She clutched her hoodie tighter, heart pounding.
This wasn’t just knowledge.
It was calling her.
Celeste stood frozen for a long moment, the runes from the cube painting her face in pale, living light. Her ears twitched at every distant clang of boots above. She knew she should leave it alone. She knew Hughes would scold her raw if he even guessed at the thought.
But her fingers itched. Her heart pulled.
“...just a peek,” she whispered, half to herself, half to the quiet that lingered in the chamber.
She scanned the room quickly, then snatched up a crooked stick from the floor—nothing more than a snapped bit of scaffolding. With exaggerated care, she slid the stick beneath the cube and tipped it toward her open satchel.
The relic fell inside with a muffled thump. The bag glowed faintly for a heartbeat before settling. Celeste winced, clutching the strap like it might burn her.
She reached back into the bag, pulled free a well-creased manga volume, and laid it gently where the cube had hovered. It looked almost comically small and bright on the ancient pedestal.
“There,” she muttered, voice shaky. “I’ll… I’ll bring it back. I promise.”
The whispering voices had gone silent the instant she’d hidden it away. But that silence was heavier somehow, like a breath held too long.
She hugged her satchel close, her eyes lingering on the manga book—its colorful cover utterly out of place among molten stone and ancient wards.
“What… what just happened?” she breathed. Her tail curled tight around her legs.
The cube had spoken. To her. And whatever it was, it felt less like discovery and more like destiny.
The air crackled.
Celeste yelped as a shimmering wall of blue light surged up around her in a sudden arc, sealing her inside the chamber. She stumbled back, clutching her satchel to her chest. The hum of the mana barrier was low but thrumming, like the inside of a great bell. When she pressed her palm against it, it was solid — smooth as glass, cold as ice.
“No, no, no…” she whispered, panic threading through her voice. She tried to push, then pound, then claw at the surface, but it didn’t budge. “Oh stars, I—I can’t get through!”
Outside, muffled but clear, she heard it — raised voices, shouting, the clang of weapons. The sharp, erratic whine of spellfire lancing across steel. Her heart hammered.
“Not now,” she breathed, eyes wide, ears flat against her head. “Please, not now…”
The barrier pulsed once, and she swore she felt it respond to her heartbeat, almost like it knew her secret. The cube in her bag shifted faintly, pressing against the fabric as though it wanted out.
Celeste hugged the satchel tighter, trembling. Her tail coiled round her legs as she crouched low, fighting the urge to cry.
The argument outside sharpened — she could pick out Hughes barking orders, Ray’s voice snapping like fire, Arcade’s clipped tone cutting through with technical jargon, and somewhere beyond… another voice, unfamiliar, sharp as broken glass.
Something ugly was about to happen. And she was trapped, powerless, forced to listen.
Chapter 35: Ashes of Trust
They filed out of the vault—boots clanging on iron catwalks, breath steaming in the cold air—only for the world to lurch. A sweep of blue light arced up from the runes at the chamber lip and slammed shut across the doorway with a chord that set their teeth on edge.
Celeste’s muffled shout snapped into nothing; she pressed her palm to the shimmering wall and felt the cold hum bite back. She was sealed inside.
Outside, the courtyard exploded into chaos.
Figures blurred at the far end—shapes weaving mana and steel. Saff was there, braided copper flashing as she darted like a blade, flanked by a dozen mythic loyalists moving with lethal grace. Opposite them stood Brassmane, guards behind him, but he wasn’t whole: a dark, sticky dagger jutted from his back, his stance winded but furious. He spat accusations as he dodged a burn of spellfire.
“Traitor,” Brassmane said, voice low and cold, each word a weight. “Saff—what have you done?”
Saff laughed, hard and sharp, stepping between slashes as if she were leaning into wind. Her tone was all clipped steel and contempt, the Jack-like cruelty wrapped in righteous heat. “Done? I freed them, Brassmane. I opened their cages. I ripped your gilded leash off. Your ‘protection’ was a shackle. This—this is their last chance.”
Ray bristled, hammer raised, eyes flaring. “Saff—what are you doing? This is madness.”
“Ssh, Ray,” Saff snapped without looking at her. “Shut it. I want two things: that cat locked up in your bloody vault, and I want Brassmane to admit what he’s done. Publicly.” Her voice carried; every loyalist around her surged like tide.
Kirrin screeched, wings unfurling, and stepped in front of Brassmane, feathers bristling with indignation. Her Scottish lilt cut through the din. “Ye’ll no’ tear this place apart for old ghosts! He’s our chieftain—this isna the way.”
Saff ducked a blade-thrust and snarled back. “Forward? That’s all you ever do, Kirrin? Forward, forward—run so the council can never pin us down? I’m tired of hiding! We have an apocalypse to fight; we have the guts to fight back. And you—” she spat the word like bile, “—you lot would rather stage some pretty alliance with hybrid scum than take your place in the world. Hypocrites.”
Brassmane’s voice, when he found it, was tired and reasoned, not the bluster of a man without guilt. “We once ruled, Saff. Mythics held the weight of world and responsibility. We bound purebloods, yes—because law was order. They cast off chains and the world turned. They learned to wield mana as weapon. You would use that weapon against them? You would light the match and call it justice?”
Hughes, hands on his crook, grunted a short laugh and spat between his teeth. “Aye, grand words. But stabbin’ leaders and raisin’ torches rarely gives you the plan afterwards.” His tone was flat; he liked his plans with fewer theatrics.
Pitch shifted, watching the ping-pong of accusations, voice low and incredulous. “So. Open revolution or staged coup? Either way—this is about to get very loud.”
Arcade’s eyes were knives of calculation, quills flicking as he took in formations and flares. “Saff, you realize what you’re risking—this isn’t just political theater. The vault’s wards won’t like a broader breach. People die in collateral. Are you prepared for the cost?”
Saff moved like thunder then, steps measured, voice a blade. “Yes. I am prepared. Better to take the risk than to beg for crumbs while your kids starve under council edicts.”
Kirrin pushed forward again, voice cracking with urgency. “Enough! This is the past. We need tae let it sleep. Tearin’ at old wounds will only make new ones—”
Saff scoffed, closing the distance between them. “Let it sleep? So we’ll all keep pretending the chains weren’t there? No. I’m through sleeping. I want freedom, not polite subservience.”
Brassmane’s posture broke for a split second—an old sorrow passing like a shadow—then steadied. “You call it freedom; I call it chaos. We are no longer children in the wild. There is order to preserve. If you rip that order away, you unmake the delicate balance that keeps the worst of us from spilling over.”
A loyalist behind Saff shouted something—an oath, a cry—and a small skirmish flared: flashes of mana, a clang of steel against warded leather, a bright sting of arc-light that seared the air. Ray lunged, hammer smashing shields; Hughes heaved, his crook anchoring a charging attacker; Pitch side-stepped and laid a precise, nonlethal strike that sent a mythic reeling.
All the while, Brassmane and Saff sparred with words as much as blows—accusation versus conviction.
“You sold them comfort for chains,” Saff hissed in a voice that might have been contempt or heartbreak. “You told them safety. I told them the truth.”
“I offered stewardship,” Brassmane replied, each syllable deliberate. “And when we held power, we were wiser—this you forget.”
Saff barked a short, vicious laugh. “Wiser? You enslaved them and called it wisdom. Get over yourself.” She lunged, ringed mana flaring. “If you’re not strong enough to see how rotten this world is, then step aside.”
Kirrin, bleeding a strip of sacrificial anger, fought to keep them from tearing the courtyard apart. “We need solutions, not swords in backs!”
Around the edges, their friends—Arcade, Hughes, Ray, Pitch—moved to hold the line, protecting civilians, trying to defuse the escalation without taking a side. Celeste, pressed against the barrier inside the vault, listened to every chant and clang through the glass, heart like a trapped bird.
The argument curled tighter, voices rising, and for a breath the whole base teetered on a knife-edge between rebellion and restraint. Outside, mana sparked and wings beat; the courtyard smelled of ozone and hot metal.
Brassmane’s shoulders stayed steady, his voice low and even as stone grinding under a millwheel. “Listen to the numbers, Saff. For every mythic that draws breath, there are a thousand purebloods. Yes—we may endure a century multiplied, but longevity does not make the arithmetic in our favour. They are too numerous to fight in the open. To wage total war against them is to waste our lineages on pyres.”
He folded his hands, eyes softening with a sadness that carried history. “We can live for centuries. They live fast, burn bright—then are gone. But brightness does not win a war of attrition. We are surviving, Saff. That is the point. We preserve what matters in the gulfs between assaults. If you push for all-out revolt, you do not merely risk yourself. You condemn those who cannot fight back—hybrids, innocents—who already suffer more under council rule than many of us ever did.”
Saff’s laugh was a blade. She stepped forward, copper braid trembling as fury threaded each syllable. “They’re not full mythics, Brassmane. They never will be. They do not understand our rites, our temperance. You couch it as stewardship, but you keep them stripped and fenced like livestock. You call it order; I call it theft.”
Brassmane’s hand lifted—not in surrender, but in a slow, careful gesture meant to slow the storm. “They are ripped from families, yes. Raised in camps where names are numbers. Many do not know the shape of their kin. That is the cruelty I lament. But those who do know their kin are spared a loneliness you cannot imagine, Saff. We at least afford some recognition—”
“You call it recognition,” Saff spat, cutting him off. “I call it a gilded cage. With the cat’s power, with that girl’s spark, we could make the Council bow. We could make them answer. Revenge is not sentimental. It is justice.” Her eyes burned. “We could reclaim what’s ours.”
Brassmane’s gaze hardened, but his tone remained measured, a scholar trying to explain what his heart feared. “And doom us all for a past you cannot revive? You would torch the fragile balance for a memory of dominion. We built structures of restraint because power untempered devours the unprepared. If you strike at the Council and they strike back—if they unleash the mechanisms they hoarded—what do you suppose will happen to those within your care? The camps will burn first. The hybrids you claim to free will be trampled beneath the game of thrones you start.”
Saff’s voice dropped to a raw, dangerous whisper. “Then so be it. Better to die having taken a stand than to live forever on your knees. If you are too weak to claim what is ours, Brassmane, step aside.”
For a moment the air between them tightened like a harpstring. Around them, the courtyard echoed with the clash of loyalties—steel, mana, and the noise of the world deciding where it now wished to fall.
Chapter 36 : The Weight of Sparks
Ray stepped forward, voice raw with something like pleading. “Saff—listen. I thought you were my friend. We survived up on the same roofs. Don’t do this.”
Saff’s eyes flicked to her, the hard copper braid catching torchlight. For a heartbeat she was almost gentle. “I thought you were, too.” Then her jaw set, steel replacing softness. “Bringing that cat here changed everything. This is our last chance, Ray. Join me. One last push. After that, we rebuild.”
Ray’s laugh was short, incredulous. “You want me to fight the Council with you? Are you daft?” She spat the words like a challenge. “You want me to sign up for open war?”
Saff stepped closer, voice low and fierce. “Yes. And yes—hybrids will be less than mythics afterward. That’s the truth of power. You know it.”
That line hit Ray like a slap. Her face went hard. “You’re just as bad as the purebloods, then,” she hissed. “Either we’re equal, or I’m not interested. You don’t—” Her voice cracked, “—you have no idea how the Council lives with us. I told you things, Saff. I thought maybe you’d understand.”
Saff’s mouth twisted. “You talk of equality while clutching at crumbs.” Her hand moved in a blur, and a coil of raw mana flared from her palm—hot, hungry light aimed straight at Ray.
“Bloody hell,” Ray snarled, raising her hammer as a shield. “If that’s how you see it, then you’re the same rot that kept us in chains.”
They collided—metal and mana meeting with a shock that snapped sparks through the air. Saff’s strike was precise and merciless; Ray’s defense was rage-shaped and stubborn. The courtyard lit with the arc of their blows, each clang echoing like an argument made physical.
Around them, the loyalists Saff had brought surged forward. Arcade and Pitch surged into the fray.
Arcade’s quills shivered as he flicked a technique across Chip’s interface and launched a barrage of improvised jammers; sparks and whines cut the enemies’ coordination. “Distract and disable!” he barked, fingers dancing over a jury-rigged tablet.
Pitch moved like a shadow with a grin, ducking under a sweep of a spear and snapping a leg out from under a warrior with a practiced, nonlethal kick. “Hey! Watch the ankles!” he joked breathlessly, then followed with a precise strike that put an opponent down without killing.
Hughes charged toward Brassmane’s side—boots pounding—and knelt, hands working fast and blunt. He shoved the crook into the dirt and pressed his palms to Brassmane’s wound, grunting as he tried to staunch the flow of blood with crude battlefield magic and pressure. “Hold on, lad. Don’t you buy into yer martyr complex yet,” he muttered, voice cramped with effort.
Brassmane coughed, eyes brightening through the fog of pain. He lifted a shaking hand, voice thin but urgent. “Stop—please. She is young. She is impulsive. Not a monster.”
That plea hung between them, a thin, pleading thing. Saff’s jaw clenched; for a beat, something like regret flickered across her face—and then she turned away, eyes hardening once more. “I have to do this,” she said, soft as a threat. “Better now than later.”
Ray ducked under a lashing blade and aimed a heavy swing that slammed Saff back a step, but the older mythic twisted, fury burning in her eyes. “You’ll make martyrs,” Ray shouted between breaths. “You won’t free anyone—you’ll just burn the world down.”
“No,” Saff shot back, voice bitter and cold. “I’ll tear the mask off the world.”
The courtyard became a tangle of motion—steel, spellfire, and shouted orders—while Celeste, pressed against the sealed rune-glass, felt every strike like a stone dropped into her ribs. Brassmane’s plea, Hughes’ grunted prayers, Arcade’s frantic calculations, Pitch’s daring flips, Ray’s hammer blows—all braided into one violent decision that was, for better or worse, about to change everything.
Ray’s hammer rang out as it smashed against Saff’s golden wards, the shockwave kicking dust and sparks into the courtyard. Saff staggered back a step, then surged forward again, violet eyes blazing.
“Not bad,” Saff admitted, her braid swinging with the motion of her strike. “You’re stronger than I remember. But you don’t know what you’re doing. That’s the difference.”
Ray snorted, sweat flicking from her brow. “Yeah, yeah—classic mythic superiority lecture. Save it for story time, grandma.” She drove her hammer upward in a brutal arc, cracking Saff’s guard and forcing her back another half-step.
Saff gritted her teeth, violet aura pulsing harder. “You hybrids are taught just enough to survive under the Council’s thumb, never to master yourselves. You’re leaking mana with every swing, Ray! Can’t you feel it draining you?”
Ray could. Every muscle screamed, her breath ragged, her mana spilling like water from a cracked jug. But she bared her teeth in a grin anyway. “Feel it? Sure. Care? Not a bit.”
She lunged, hammer striking again and again, each blow clumsy but raw with fury. Sparks of candy-scented mana burst at every collision.
Saff twisted, striking back with precise sweeps of controlled energy. Her movements were elegant, honed, deliberate—every ounce of her experience against Ray’s brute force. “You waste what you’ve got. That’s why you’ll never beat me.”
Ray wheezed, her arms trembling, but her grin only widened. “Waste it? Sweetheart, I burn it. That’s the point.”
That barb landed. Saff’s lips curled, anger flooding her restraint. She flared brighter, mana pouring off her like molten gold, a flood of power that scorched the courtyard tiles and made the air itself scream.
Ray dug her heels in, hammer braced against the surge. “What’s wrong, Saff? Burnin’ the candle at both ends?”
The taunt stoked the blaze. Saff overextended—threw everything forward, desperate to shut Ray up, to end it. But with every burst of fury, her mana frayed faster, unraveling in wild sparks.
Minutes stretched like hours, the two of them circling, clashing, slamming blows until both staggered, drenched in sweat, their light dimming.
Finally, Ray collapsed to one knee, chest heaving. Across from her, Saff dropped to the ground, aura sputtering, hands trembling from the drain.
Neither moved for a long beat.
It was a stalemate. Both had nearly bled themselves dry.
Ray spat onto the tiles, smirking through her exhaustion. “Guess mythic or hybrid—burn too hot, and we all run out the same.”
Saff glared, teeth clenched, her pride stung deeper than any wound.
And for the first time, the fight between them wasn’t decided by strength—but by who could still stand when their mana finally guttered out.
Saff’s gauntlets flare as she draws a slow breath, the violet seams humming with stored mana. She’s about to pull the charge through when a dark ripple cleaves the air — Pitch drops from shadow, landing with a gymnast’s grace right in front of her, grin already on his face.
Saff’s forearm swings out in a blink, gauntlet sparking as it clips the side of his neck. Blue arcs lick across the metal. Pitch barely blinks; a smirk tugs at his mouth.
“Touche,” he says, voice smooth and amused. “Polite of you to try.”
Saff’s eyes harden. “One wrong twitch, wolf, and you’re fried. That’s not a bargain I’m bluffing on.” Her tone is all cold steel wrapped in a dare.
On the balcony behind her, her loyalists fan out, weapons raised, faces set. The courtyard tightens like a fist.
Ray stands opposite, hammer planted in both hands. The weapon trembles—less from fear than from the effort of holding back everything she wants to do.
“Why?” Ray’s voice breaks on the word. It’s raw. “Why are you doing this? This isn’t you.”
Saff’s arms fold. Her look is flat, impatient, like a blade considering its whetstone. “You don’t see it because you don’t want to. I never wanted friends, Ray. I wanted a future.”
Ray steps forward, voice cracking with memory. “We shared roofs and scraps. You were there when Mum kicked me out. You were there when I had nowhere to go.”
Saff’s gaze flickers—just for a breath—then hardens again. “And what did that give me? Teeth. Grit. A spine. You learned to survive on handouts and sympathy. I learned to take. You used to know hunger as strength. Now you squander that strength on bleeding hearts and runaway causes.”
Ray’s jaw tightens; tears threaten. “I haven’t forgotten. That’s why I know this isn’t you.”
“This is exactly me,” Saff snaps, venom thin and practiced. “Celeste—her power—can make the purebloods bow. You? You’re easy to sentimentalize. Weak.”
Ray bites the words back; for a second the hammer’s head trembles like she might drop it. She exhales, soft and dangerous. “I trusted you.”
Saff’s lips curl. “Let the cat out, then. I want to see the chip. I want to know what that thing can do.” She jerks her chin toward the vault.
“Brassmane—don’t you dare,” Brassmane shouts, but his voice is thin, wounded; he’s still fighting the wound in his back.
“No,” Saff answers, jaws set. “No hard feelings, Brassmane. I don’t care for your decorum. I want the past back.”
At that, the vault doors grind and peel open. Blue rune-light spills like breath over the courtyard.
Celeste stumbles forward, blinking in confusion, clutching her satchel. She emerges into the ring of pointed wands and bristling staves and stares from one face to the next.
“Oh dear,” she murmurs, small and bewildered. “W-what happened now?”
Saff’s voice cuts across the hush, sharp as a snapped wire. “No sudden moves. Stay where you are, star-child.” Her fingers twitch; the gauntlet hums with lethal patience.
Chapter 37 : When the Rune Breaks
The courtyard had gone so still that even the rune-lights felt brittle. Saff lifted her chin, eyes flashing violet. “Bring her to me—nice and slow.”
A hulking yeti teenager in tattered armor flinched. “M-me?” he squeaked, clutching his staff.
“Yes, you,” Saff said, voice low but cutting. “Move.”
The boy swallowed hard and edged toward Celeste, staff trembling. Celeste raised her hands, moving with small, careful steps, her hoodie brushing her knees. “It’s alright,” she whispered softly, more to him than herself. “I’m coming.”
Saff’s smile was all predator. “Now, little kitty…” she purred, circling like a shark. “Do you know what the little bauble on the back of your neck does?”
Celeste’s ears dipped; her voice came out small. “Um… it’s… it’s to stabilise mana, isn’t it? We hybrids… we don’t have cores. Not like mythics… right?”
Saff chuckled darkly, brushing a gauntlet across her own chest before pointing at Celeste’s. “Funny. Because I can see your core from here.” She reached out with two fingers, and when they brushed the center of Celeste’s chest, a glow pulsed out—soft and circular, nothing like a prism. “This isn’t a hybrid stabiliser. This is a core. Round. Whole. Not a shard. Hybrids don’t have these.”
The glow faded, but the courtyard didn’t. Every hybrid nearby twitched faintly, eyes drawn to Celeste as if tugged on a thread.
Saff’s voice dropped into a hiss. “Brassmane noticed the moment you walked in. You’re pulling them to you. Even now, your little buddies are connected. But that suppression rune on your neck?” Her gauntlets sparked. “That’s what’s holding the rest back.”
One of her men slid forward, mana-sword at Pitch’s throat. He didn’t flinch, just tilted his head like a wolf measuring a trap.
Saff prowled around Celeste, slow and deliberate. “I think if we rip that rune out, we’ll see what you really are. Wouldn’t you like that, cat?”
Celeste blinked fast, fingers fidgeting near the hem of her hoodie. “Um… I’m Celeste, not cat,” she said softly. “And I… I’m curious, but… isn’t it dangerous to take off a suppressor?”
Hughes stepped forward, crook in hand, his voice rough but steady. “Don’t listen t’her, lass. She’s poisonin’ the air with her own fear. You’re not a weapon, you’re a person. We care because we bloody care.”
Arcade flicked his quills back, glaring at Saff. “Yeah, newsflash, psycho—we’re not here because she’s a magic battery. We’re here because she’s Celeste. You don’t get to twist that into some sad little power play.”
Saff barked a laugh, sharp as glass. “Oh, please. Don’t insult me. I can read people like a book.” She pointed at Ray, her smile curling cruel. “That one? Pretends to be tough. But she runs, doesn’t she? Leaves when it’s hard. Crawls back when she’s lonely. She did it with us, too. She craves the strong to cling to.”
Ray’s hammer trembled in her grip, fury flashing across her eyes. “Shut your mouth.”
Saff ignored her, turning her gaze on Hughes and Arcade. “And you two—an old billy goat and a smug hedgehog. Without her? You’re nothing. Weak. You know it.” She winked, venomously playful. “And that wolf—standing quiet, waiting for the perfect chance to stab her in the back. Am I right?”
Pitch’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing, eyes locked on hers like steel through smoke.
Finally, Saff turned back to Celeste, grabbing her chin in one armored hand, forcing her to meet her gaze. Her voice softened, cutting deeper. “And you, little kitty… you just want to be liked. To be loved. I’m guessing… daddy issues.”
Celeste’s breath caught. Her cheeks burned red, eyes darting away. She didn’t argue. Couldn’t.
Saff smirked. “Oh, I’m good at this.”
Her gauntlet flared as she tilted Celeste’s head toward the light of her glowing chest. “If you’ve got a core, there’s nothing to fear. Wouldn’t you like to be free of the Council’s leash? To truly use your magic? We can teach you. All you have to do is stand with me.”
Celeste trembled, torn, her voice breaking. “I… I don’t…”
Ray’s voice cracked across the ring, raw and desperate. “Don’t do it, Cel! Don’t listen to her!”
Saff’s head snapped toward Ray, her grin turning venom-sweet. “Of course she’ll say that. She’ll turn on you the first chance she gets. They all will. They cling to you because they need you. But me?” She leaned closer, her whisper hot against Celeste’s ear. “I see you for what you really are. Someone to be feared. Someone to be respected.”
Celeste’s eyes flicked between them both, her ears trembling. She swallowed, the glow at her chest fading to a soft flicker.
Celeste’s voice was a tiny, hopeful thing. “I—I'm curious. I do have this… thing that happens sometimes. I don’t know what triggers it.” Her paws twisted in her sleeves, eyes darting like moths. “If I could learn… maybe I could control it.”
Saff’s smile was all teeth and promise. “We can figure it out,” she said, stepping closer so the violet halo of her gauntlets painted Celeste’s face. “Join us. Learn to command your mana. Help us put the Council on their knees. You help us, and we give you freedom.”
Celeste’s eyes widened. She inhaled, words tumbling out in a rush. “The Council? I—don’t think that’s a great idea. I mean, I can kill zombies, but—aren’t they the law? Don’t they keep people safe?”
Saff’s laugh snapped like a whip. “That’s exactly the point, numbskull.” She jabbed a finger at the nearest mythic who still pretended to be civilized. “They call it law when it suits them. They call it control when it suits us. Wake up.”
Saff spread her arms wide, voice like a blade cutting the air. “The Council controls everything. Who lives, who dies, who fights their wars. Who breeds, who marries, who eats and who starves. They don’t rule through wisdom, they rule through fear. Aren’t you tired of it?”
Ray snarled, hammer biting into the ground with the force of her grip. “All hybrids are tired of it. Every last one of us. But what you want? You’re talking about throwing mythics into the fire and dragging hybrids along for the ride. That’s not freedom—that’s a slaughter.”
Brassmane’s voice cut through the chaos, dry and steady as old stone. “You are reckless, Saff. This… scorched theater you propose will burn more than tyrants. You would risk everything we have preserved for a temper you call justice.”
Saff’s laugh was sharp, hot as snapped wire. “Reckless? Maybe. I’m simply tired of begging for scraps while the Council plays god. I’ll make the mythics a force to be feared again — not quietly, not politely — and one day you’ll thank me for it.”
Kirrin’s feathers ruffled with a bark of laughter. “Och, the irony—yer the one swingin’ for a throne and callin’ others soft!” she cried, voice sharp with Scots amusement.
Saff’s gaze cut to the gryphon, venom quick. “You’re next, feathered ass—always Brassmane’s eager little diplomat. You’ll clap and preen and tell us why the old ways are fine.”
She turned back to Celeste, impatience like a blade. “Time’s ticking. Make up your mind before I decide for you.”
Celeste swallowed, trying to steady herself. “I—um. I think I can figure my mana out myself. Watch.” She concentrated, tiny breath held. Her katana shimmered into being beside her—then blinked out, dropping back to the stone as if never summoned.
For a second she looked startled, then embarrassed, reaching for the hilt.
Saff’s hand snapped out like a shadow; she clamped fingers around the back of Celeste’s head with iron calm. Her gauntleted touch was cool and firm. “Wrong answer, cat,” she said, voice low and dangerous. “You don’t get to practice. Not here. Not now.”
Celeste froze, the bag at her side rustling as the hidden cube shifted, and the courtyard held its breath.
Saff’s gauntlet pressed harder against Celeste’s throat, her other hand clutching her scruff like a cornered animal. “One wrong twitch, cat, and I slit you open.”
Celeste wriggled helplessly, tears spilling over. Her voice cracked, raw and pleading. “P-please—don’t—! I don’t know what it does, I don’t want to hurt anyone—please don’t pull it out!”
Saff sneered, eyes sharp as knives. “Relax. It just shows us what you really are. Not this watered-down Council pet act. I want to see the weapon you’ve been hiding. My weapon.”
She jerked her chin. “Do it.”
The Yeti teen shuffled forward, trembling. His massive hands dwarfed the little chip at the base of Celeste’s neck. He hesitated, wide eyes darting to hers. Celeste whimpered, barely above a whisper. “Don’t… please, I can’t—”
“Now,” Saff snapped, venom dripping.
The boy twisted—not pulling it free, only loosening it. The rune glowed violently. Celeste arched back with a scream as her chest seared with light. Her hoodie scorched, celestial markings branding her skin in glowing spirals. Her body convulsed against Saff’s grip, sparks of pink and blue bursting like fireflies from her shoulders.
“No—Celeste!” Ray shouted, hammer shaking in her grip.
Arcade cursed under his breath. “Bloody idiots, you’ll kill her!”
Hughes lurched forward, but the blast of heat shoved him back. “Stars damn it—!”
The Yeti froze, horrified, as arcs of wild mana spat off her like lightning. He fumbled, twisting the chip again. Not out—just loose enough. A spark cracked, searing his palm. Celeste’s eyes dimmed slightly, her breathing ragged but less frantic. Not free. Not controlled. Balanced on a knife’s edge.
Then it broke.
A pulse of radiant azure tore through the chamber. Silent, blinding, absolute. Celeste’s eyes turned a molten white, her scream rising into a soundless wail as the rune shattered, fragments scattering like stardust.
The walls groaned. The ceiling split with glowing fractures.
“GET BACK!” Pitch barked. He dove into the shadows, reappearing in a blink beside Ray, Hughes, and Arcade. With a sweep of his scarf he dragged them out of the searing light.
“EVERYONE OUT!” His voice thundered through the chamber.
The mythics panicked, scattering for the exits. Even Saff staggered back, gauntlet trembling against the tidal force, her snarl cracking into disbelief.
Celeste floated, barely off the ground, hair lifting in a halo of burning threads. The markings across her skin burned brighter, alive with untamed mana, tendrils of blue fire curling around her like fate made visible.
And then—
Light swallowed the room whole.
Chapter 38 : Threadline Break
Meanwhile, back at the base, Mezzo was attempting to perch on the “throne” cobbled together from the cookie table. Skye watched from the map console, while Bonbon clapped every time Mezzo toppled spectacularly onto the floor.
“Bracer said it’s all in the posture,” Mezzo muttered, one leg hooked over the armrest like a pirate captain. He puffed out his chest, chin high, arms spread. “How do I look now?”
Skye chewed absently on the end of a pencil, his voice flat as stone. “Like you’re going to break the chair. And maybe your spine. It doesn’t look kingly. It looks… slippy.”
Mezzo threw his arms up. “Slippy?! What kind of royal insult is that?”
Bonbon giggled, bouncing on her heels.
“Fine,” Mezzo grumbled, trying again, adjusting his jacket with exaggerated dignity. “It’s harder than it bloody looks.”
Then the lights flickered.
Skye’s ears perked, his eyes narrowing as the glowing map screen flared to life. One sector pulsed. Then another. The lines jagged wildly across the grid like a heartbeat gone mad.
He tilted his head, whispering mostly to himself. “That’s… not supposed to happen. It’s like a lightbulb drawing a storm instead of pushing it away.”
“English, please!” Mezzo snapped, halfway falling out of the chair.
Before Skye could answer, the pulse spiked bright enough to sting their eyes—then vanished.
Mezzo’s half-eaten pizza slipped from his hand and flopped cheese-first onto the floor. He stared at it, then back at the map. “...That’s not normal, is it?”
“No,” Skye said softly, voice too calm to be comforting. “I really don’t think it is.”
Then the comms crackled to life. Arcade’s voice cut through, sharper than steel, all humor gone.
“GET TO SHELTER. NOW.”
Mezzo froze, eyes wide. “Wait, what do you—”
The scream cut him off.
Inhuman. Deep. Guttural. A sound that vibrated in their ribs, wrong on every level.
Then the first explosion shook the base. Fire blossomed across the street, tearing through stone and steel. The shockwave hurled Mezzo and Skye back, Bonbon squealing as she tumbled into a nest of pillows.
They scrambled to the window.
Through the flames and smoke, a silhouette emerged.
Hair wild. Hoodie scorched. Eyes burning white-hot, blank as stars.
The glass hummed with the pressure of her presence.
Celeste.
Not herself. Not even close.
Mezzo’s voice cracked, stripped of its usual bravado. “Oh… stars above. That’s Celeste.”
She stood in the crater, at the heart of the wreckage, and the world held its breath.
The wind had died.
Smoke curled back from her like it was afraid, flames guttered into silence. Light didn’t bend around her—it sank into her. Pulled in. Devoured.
Celeste… or the memory of her… no longer looked like a girl at all.
A gem blazed in her forehead, crystalline, catching stray light as if the stars themselves had been dragged down into it. Four horns curved back from her head, dragon-bone crowned with fire and static glitches. Her long pigtails were gone, hair spilling free in a storm of moonlit white streaked with sky-blue, snapping and flowing like water caught in a storm.
Her wings—impossibly vast—shivered between angelic and ruined, every beat scattering feathers that dissolved into nothing before reforming again. Her tail lashed, fractured, glowing crystals jutting sharp from its length and her spine, pulsing with a rhythm that looked painful just to watch.
Her body was veined with shifting runes—blue, white, alive, crawling like code across her skin. Her aura burned. Reality buckled. And yet, beneath her heels, flowers bloomed in cracks of glass, only to be seared away again in the same breath. Life. Death. Over and over.
She wasn’t just changed. She was change. A cycle with no end.
And then the sound came. Not a scream. Not even a cry.
A pulse.
A frequency.
Streetlamps burst, circuits fried, machines died in its wake. The city itself flickered, as though struggling to exist in the same world as her.
When she stepped forward, the ground beneath her fused into black glass before fracturing into moss and stone. Contradiction walked on two legs.
From the rooftop of the base, Mezzo gripped the railing like it might save him, eyes wide. “Holy shit. That’s not her—that’s not her! That’s—stars, what the hell is that?!”
Skye’s voice was soft, flat, almost detached—but his hands were locked white around the rail. “That’s Celeste.” A pause. “It looks like her. But it isn’t… right.”
Mezzo shot him a look. “Not right? It’s bloody wrong! She looks like—like a glitching goddess ready to fry us all!”
The comms crackled to life, Arcade’s voice slamming through, raw and breathless.
“Shelter. NOW. Whatever Saff pulled—she lost control of it. Celeste isn’t stable. She’s not herself! MOVE!”
A burst of static cut him off, then another sound ripped through the air.
Not anger. Not rage.
A scream.
Celeste’s scream.
It broke on grief and fury both, shattering windows for blocks.
The world shivered in answer.
Bonbon whimpered and shrank back, tiny paws clutching at Skye’s sleeve. Her wide black-and-white eyes shimmered, reflecting the fractured light spilling from Celeste’s body.
Skye pulled her close, shielding her with one arm. His voice, steady despite the tremor in his throat, cut through the chaos. “It’s fine. I’ve got you. Just stay behind me. Don’t… don’t look too long at her. It doesn’t help.”
Celeste flickered. One heartbeat she was there in the crater—another heartbeat she wasn’t. Each time reality snapped to catch up, buildings groaned and cracked, trees bent as if bowing before a storm, and the ground split in fault lines that healed only to rupture again.
Even the zombies scattered, their blank eyes darting, uncertain whether to fight, flee, or simply crumble in the presence of something that should not exist.
High above, the Dragon General hovered on vast wings, watching with a predator’s amusement. His eyes gleamed like molten gold as he tracked her fading form. To him, this wasn’t horror. It was spectacle.
No matter where Celeste flickered—roof, sky, street, horizon—the world convulsed around her. She was gravity undone, a singularity stitched in flesh and mana.
Mezzo leaned over the rooftop edge, cupping his hands around his mouth. “CELESTE! It’s me! Your favourite pain in the arse! Snap out of it before you level the whole bloody block!”
But her head only jerked, eyes flickering between recognition and something far stranger. Each time she faded, the city flinched. She didn’t even look his way.
Cursing, Mezzo tapped the comm crystal at his collar. “Oi, Hedgehog—what in the holy cinnamon swirl happened down there?”
Static spat before Arcade’s voice burst through, ragged and sharp. “One of the mythics decided suppression runes were optional. Brilliant move. Listen, I don’t have time to play blame games. You need to get into my lab. On the main table there’s an exo-spatial relay prototype—” a crash, muffled cursing “—big metal coffin-looking thing with too many plugs. Haul it upstairs, hook it into the relay ports. If I can loop her surge back through the system, maybe I stabilize her before she turns Clawdiff into glitter.”
Mezzo’s face twisted. “Oh, lovely. The fate of the city rests on your bloody toaster. Brilliant plan. Top marks.”
He glanced down. Across the ruined plaza, armored figures spilled in through the smoke—council guards, masks glinting, rifles raised.
“Oh, fantastic,” Mezzo muttered. “The bloody Council’s noticed. Just what we needed.”
He clicked back into the crystal. “Hurry it up, Hedgehog. I’ll wrangle the little ones somewhere marginally less deadly. Can’t promise much.”
Bonbon whimpered louder, clinging tighter. Skye rubbed her ear absentmindedly, muttering half to her, half to himself: “She’s singing too loud. Not with her mouth. With… with her whole self. It’s breaking things. Hurts my head.”
Mezzo ducked as a loose tile cracked off the roof and shattered beside him. He hissed into the crystal, “Arcade, you absolute bastard, there aren’t any sockets in this tree fort! What am I supposed to plug it into, fairy dust?”
“Think, Mezzo,”In the background of the line came the whoomph of something detonating and Arcade’s voice snapping back between gasps. “Portable mana relay. Basement corner. Looks like a giant battery with legs. Plug it in there. You’ll know it’s working if you don’t explode. Quick refresher on rule one: don’t explode.”
Mezzo rolled his eyes so hard Skye swore he heard it. “Perfect. More work for me. Yippee. Anything else, Hedgehog, or shall I juggle fireballs while I’m at it?”
Another burst of static and Arcade’s strained voice came through: “Just… hurry. Before the Council does something stupid.”
Mezzo groaned, vaulting the railing. “Oh, grand. And here I thought tonight would be boring. Fine. But if I fry myself, you’re explaining it to the fox, I owe her money.”
He kicked his way down the stairwell, boots echoing through the splintered hideout. “Alright, big metal mystery box, where are you—”
He skidded into Arcade’s lab. The place was chaos—sparks still sputtering from a half-fried console, papers smoldering on the floor. And there it was, dead center on the table: the EXOTU, its jagged shell humming faintly with runes that crawled like veins of light.
A scribbled note taped to its side read: Exo-Spatial Oscillating Thaumic Unifier. Underneath, in Arcade’s handwriting: ‘pulse amp—don’t touch unless you want to explode.’
Mezzo let out a low whistle. “Oscillating what now? Sod it, Exotu it is.” He heaved it up with a grunt. “Bloody thing weighs more than a drunk ogre.”
Above, the building shook—Celeste’s presence flickering in and out of existence like a heartbeat that broke the laws of physics.
Mezzo staggered back upstairs, the Exotu sparking against his jacket. He set it down with a thud, fumbling with the cables. “Alright, Hedgehog, I’ve got your oversized toaster. Where’s the plug?”
“Mana relay,” Arcade snapped back, his words quick, clipped, like every second cost him blood. “Basement corner, big crystal housing. Slam the connector in, pray it doesn’t melt. Preferably in that order.”
“Pray,” Mezzo muttered, dragging the connector toward the relay port. “Safe to say that part was left out of your design specs.”
Chapter 39 : Fracturepoint
In the industrial estate, the vault room was bedlam. Saff and her loyalists fired wildly, brass shells clattering against the stone as Brassmane and the loyal mythics fell back.
One of Saff’s own grabbed her arm mid-shot, voice breaking. “What the hell’ve you done?!”
Saff spun on him, face pale, words tumbling over themselves. I didn’t bloody know, alright?! She wasn’t supposed to break like that!”
The roof split apart in a shriek of tearing steel, daylight bleeding in where Celeste had ripped through reality itself. The mythics scattered, panic drowning their formation.
Outside, the gang reappeared in a rush of black flame—Pitch coughing hard, his chest heaving. “Didn’t—pant—didn’t know I could drag people with me. Guess… that’s a thing I can do now.”
They hit cover as fire and mana bolts stitched the air. Wizard guards and mythic defectors alike still pressed the fight, desperate and disorganized.
Arcade dropped to his knees behind a heap of scrap, yanking parts out of his pack. His paws blurred over wire and rune-carved metal.
Pitch stared at him like he’d lost his mind. “Mate—seriously? This is not the time.”
“This is the time,” Arcade shot back, sparks flaring off his solder iron. “If Mezzo’s got the Exotu online, I can piggyback a pulse ray through it. Hard enough to knock her out—then we push her rune back in.”
Pitch raised a brow, deadpan. “Sure. While we’re at it, I’ll shuffle a deck blindfolded and win us the war. Idiot, she’s not even solid enough to shoot at.”
Ray’s laugh cracked raw. “Did you see her? That wasn’t Celeste. That was… something else.” Her grip on Heartbreaker was white-knuckled. “She’s gone.”
Arcade hunched lower over the makeshift bench, voice flat. “Yeah. Like a glitch.” He jammed another lead into place; the housing hissed. “Reality can’t even decide what she is anymore—half in, half out, like a bad patch trying to overwrite itself.”
Ray’s voice cracked quieter now, eyes fixed on the smoking horizon. “She’s not even steering it. That wasn’t Celeste up there.” She swallowed. “She’s… gone.”
One of the rebel mythics spotted them through the haze, loosing a crackling bolt of fire. It slammed square into Hughes, knocking him to the ground with a grunt.
But even falling, the old goat wasn’t helpless. His crook smacked against the floor, runes flaring—time itself stuttered and froze, the world hanging in suspended silence for a single heartbeat.
Pitch didn’t waste it. He leveled Lady Luck and pulled the trigger. The shotgun roared, scattering glowing cards like shrapnel. They tore through the still air, hammering the rebel mythic backwards into unconsciousness.
When time lurched back into motion, Ray darted to Hughes’s side. “Hughes—you ok, old man?”
“Less o’ the old, girl,” Hughes gritted, rolling upright. “I’ll walk it off. Maybe.”
Arcade didn’t even look up from his jury-rigged contraption. He tossed a small sparkshot a stimulant pack across the cover. “Crack it, jab it, thank me later.”
Hughes caught it, cracked it against his arm, and the glow surged through his veins. His burns and torn fur knitted in seconds, the crook steadying once more.
Pitch gave a low whistle, reloading Lady Luck with a flourish. “Easiest coin flip I ever called.”
Ray pushed herself up, brushing ash from her arms.
Pitch squinted. “And where exactly are you going?”
Ray slung Heartbreaker over her shoulder, voice flat. “To see if Saff’s had the common sense to quit.”
Pitch barked a laugh. “You and her? There’s a story I’d bet on.”
Ray shot him a look sharp enough to cut steel. “There’s a lot you don’t know. And maybe a lot I don’t want to.”
That shut him up. He adjusted his grip on Lady Luck and fell into step behind her.
Arcade snarled, slamming wires home. “You two finished your melodrama? I’ve got seconds before this thing cooks me alive. Pitch, shadow-hop us there!”
Pitch tossed a glance over his shoulder toward Arcade, still hunched over the sparking mess of cables. “Look—even if your gizmo works, there’s no way we’re getting you back in time safely.”
Arcade snapped his goggles up, fur bristling. “Why can’t you just do that shadow-teleport trick again?”
Pitch threw his hands up, dripping sarcasm. “Because I literally just figured out I can do that. No idea what the range is, no idea where I’ll land—so forgive me if I’d like a chance to, you know, practice before shoving us all into the abyss.”
Arcade pinched the bridge of his nose. “Stars above… don’t call me buddy.”
“Fine,” Pitch said, grinning. “Acquaintance.”
A deeper voice cut across their bickering. “I can help with that.”
Brassmane stepped forward, his armor battered but his stance unbroken. He turned to Kirrin. “Pass me the beacon.”
Kirrin dug into his kit and handed over a rune-lined device, glowing faintly with stored mana.
Brassmane weighed it in his hands, then offered it to Arcade. “This should help. It’s a power amplifier—I reckon it’ll channel a frequency, maybe even commands. Might just steady your friend.”
Arcade’s eyes went wide behind his soot-stained goggles. “You—you know what this is?”
Brassmane gave a weary nod. “Consider it… a sorry. For your imprisonment.”
Arcade’s jaw dropped. He snatched it up, reverence flickering beneath his soot. “This is… you’re just giving this to me?”
“A tool belongs with one who can wield it,” Brassmane said simply.
Kirrin stepped up beside Arcade, feathers ruffled but her eyes steady. “Aye, I can get ye there. But ye’ll have tae hold on tight, mind.”
Arcade blinked at her. “I get that you’re a gryphon, but I’m not getting on your back.”
Kirrin smirked. “Och, dinnae flatter yersel’. Ye’re no’ ridin’ me. I’ll be carryin’ ye. Like a sack o’ spanners.” She jerked her chin, and behind her a trio of pegasi waved sheepishly, wings half-open.
Arcade groaned, rubbing his temples. “Stars save me… fine. But don’t drop me.”
Kirrin’s grin sharpened. “Wouldnae dream o’ it. Unless ye squirm. Then maybe.”
Pitch tightened the strap on Lady Luck. “We’ll hold the line here, then link up at the base. Try not to get yourself killed, Hedgehog.”
Arcade groaned. “Oh, brilliant. Nothing says safe like dangling over a warzone.”
Kirrin winked. “Och, don’t tempt me tae let go. Gravity’ll dae the rest.”
Pitch chuckled. “Don’t tease him, he bruises easy.”
Arcade scowled. “Shut it, lucky boy.”
As Arcade adjusted the straps on his pack, Hughes called after him, crook tapping against the ground. “Arcade—good luck.”
The hedgehog glanced back with a faint smirk. “I’ve got brains, not luck.”
Kirrin stepped in, wrapping her talons and arms around him with practiced strength. Her wings spread wide, and with a powerful beat she lifted off the ground. The pegasi surged upward alongside her, their awkward waves now turned into coordinated sweeps of glowing wings.
Arcade clutched at Kirrin’s shoulder harness, muttering under his breath as the city fell away beneath them.
Brassmane’s ears flicked as he watched Kirrin vanish into the clouds with Arcade. He turned back to the others, his voice gravel-deep. “Saff and her pack made off with vault artifacts and supplies. We’re moving to intercept. I’m not asking for your help—but it wouldn’t be unwelcome. And in return, we’ll hold up our end of the bargain. We’ll stand with you at the tower.”
Hughes leaned on his crook, still catching his breath. “Even after… Celeste?”
Brassmane’s jaw tightened. “That wasn’t her fault. That was Saff’s recklessness. And besides…” His eyes flicked toward the distant crater, glowing faint with flickers of unreality. “I knew Celeste’s power the moment she arrived here.”
Hughes’s brow arched. “Knew?”
The luduan nodded slowly, his gaze faraway, heavy with memory. “My mentor healed one like her, long ago. Same scars. Same light. A core that burns too brightly to be forgotten.”
The silence that followed was broken only by the distant thunder of Celeste’s pulse rattling the sky.
Chapter 40 : Violet Fire
Ray sprinted through the ruined corridor, Heartbreaker hammer clanging against her back. She spotted Saff hauling a pack stuffed with stolen relics. Fury surged like fire in her veins.
She closed the distance, swung hard, and cracked her fist across Saff’s jaw. The bultungin spun, hit the ground with a grunt.
“You lied to me!” Ray barked, voice shaking with rage.
Saff wiped her muzzle with the back of her paw, blood streaking her armor. Then she grinned, sharp and mocking. “Look at you—finally grew some teeth. Cute.”
Ray’s eyes narrowed, burning green. “Nobody lies to me. Not anymore. You screwed the mythics, and when Celeste blows, the purebloods’ll pin it on all of us. That’s your mess, Saff. Yours.”
Saff spat into the rubble, a bitter laugh cutting through the tension. “Good. Maybe it’ll force the cowards to stop hiding and actually fight for once.”
“You’re off your rocker,” Ray snapped, voice hard but brittle underneath.
Saff’s tone sharpened, venom spitting out like glass shards. “No, I’m done. Done bowing my head, done pretending we’re equal when we’re not. And don’t act like you don’t feel the same, Ray. You’ve been on the leash your whole life—don’t you dare look at me like you’re free.”
Ray’s grip tightened on her hammer, voice cracking under the weight of anger and betrayal. “Why now? Why betray Brassmane? He believed in you. You could’ve been his heir—you’re stronger than Kirrin ever dreamed.”
The grin vanished. Saff pushed herself up, her growl low and feral. “I can’t live soft like him. His way is weakness. And I’m done being weak.”
Saff lunged, claws sparking as they tore gouges into the concrete wall. Ray swung Heartbreaker in a wide, vicious arc, forcing her back—the hammer’s weight cracking the floor with every pass. Sparks spat and flared where steel bit against claw.
Saff slashed for her throat, but Ray twisted, planting Heartbreaker’s head hard into the floor. Heat shimmered up the weapon as her grip tightened.
“Let’s see you handle this.”
She swung left—slam—then right—slam—each blow sending shockwaves rattling through the cracked floor. In a burst of firelight, Ray leapt, hammer raised high over her head.
“Heatwave Drive!”
She came crashing down, the hammer exploding into an arc of violet flame. The ground erupted outward in a fiery circle, forcing Saff to stagger back. The floor burned beneath her paws, patches of fire licking hungrily at the edges.
Saff hissed, shielding her face with one arm as she scrambled clear. “Still hiding behind fire and noise, Ray? That won’t change what you are!”
Ray dragged Heartbreaker free from the scorched crater, chest heaving. “It’ll change you if you don’t shut your mouth.”
Ray’s hammer slammed into the floor, fire roaring outward. Saff staggered back through the blaze, shielding her face, fur singed.
Then her lips peeled into a grin. “Fine. You want to play with names? Try mine.”
She drew in a ragged breath, claws glowing with a searing red hue. Mana sparked off her arms like molten metal. With a snarl, she lunged forward, spinning in a brutal, corkscrewing slash.
“Rendfang Spiral!”
Her claws carved a spiraling arc of burning energy, shredding through the scorched floor and tearing chunks of stone into the air. The attack whistled past Ray’s head, close enough to scorch fur. The shockwave sent her tumbling backward, Heartbreaker nearly ripped from her grip.
Ray skidded to her feet, panting, fury burning through the pain. “You’ve really lost it, Saff.”
“Lost it?” Saff growled, her claws still glowing. “No. I finally found it.”
“You don’t get it!” Saff snarled, feinting low before slashing high, her braid whipping like a copper lash. “Brassmane’s dream is a cage! A leash! We’ll never be anything but scraps if we keep kissing pureblood boots!”
Ray met the blow head-on, Heartbreaker’s haft braced against her chest. The shock rattled her ribs, but she shoved back, teeth bared. “And you don’t get shit either! You’re just handing them ammo—every stunt you pull proves them right about us!”
Saff spun into a roundhouse, her boot slamming into Ray’s ribs. The fox staggered with a grunt, but slammed Heartbreaker down, sending a shockwave ripping through the floor. Saff stumbled, cursing, arms windmilling.
Ray stalked forward, hammer dragging sparks. Her voice cracked with fury. “Nobody lies to me. Not family. Not lovers. And sure as hell not you.”
Saff spat blood, lips curling into a grin. “Then shut me up. If you can.”
They crashed together again—Ray’s hammer howling through the air, Saff darting like a blade of copper lightning. Each clash lit the ruined walkway in bursts of violet fire and snarling mana.
Saff’s claws ripped across Ray’s shoulder, leaving burning furrows of pain, but Ray snarled and shoved straight through it—driving her forehead into the bultungin’s muzzle. Bone cracked, and Saff reeled, snarling, blood flecking her teeth.
Ray roared, Heartbreaker blazing as she raised it high. “This ends now, bitch!”
Saff caught the hammer’s descent in both hands, the impact driving her to one knee. The flagstones split under her boots.
Their eyes locked—Ray’s blazing with betrayal and fire, Saff’s burning with defiance and wounded pride. Neither gave an inch.
Ray planted her paws, fire flickering in her eyes. Heartbreaker’s haft spun in her grip as she twisted her body, momentum building.
“Molten Sweep!”
She whipped the hammer in a blazing crescent, the ground splitting open in a burning arc of violet fire. The flames clawed forward, forcing Saff into the kill zone.
Saff snarled and snapped her wrists together. With a hiss of mana, heavy gauntlets shimmered into existence around her forearms, red-hot runes glowing like fresh brands. She slammed them against the floor, conjuring a wall of heat that met Ray’s crescent head-on.
The clash thundered through the ruins. Sparks and embers exploded between them, scattering in all directions. Saff’s boots slid across the stone, her teeth bared in pain as her ribs protested every breath.
Blood dripped down her temple, and one gauntlet flickered, unstable. Still, she forced her body forward, shoving against Ray’s flames. “You’re strong, Ray,” she hissed, “but you’ve always been predictable.”
Ray gritted her teeth, forcing Heartbreaker down harder. “And you’ve always been full of shit.”
The fire roared, the gauntlets cracked—and Saff’s legs buckled, the injury stealing her strength even as she refused to back down.
Saff’s hand snapped to her pack, dragging free a sleek pureblood sidearm. The barrel lit with a cold, clinical glow.
The crack of the shot split the air. Ray choked out a curse as it scorched into her shoulder, spinning her half around. Heartbreaker slipped from her grasp, clanging against the floor.
Her ears flattened, eyes wide. “Now you’re using their toys? Stars, Saff—you’re a bloody hypocrite.”
Saff’s grin was feral, bloodied teeth bared. “You think strength gives a damn where it comes from? Pureblood, mythic, hybrid—doesn’t matter. You grab what you can, or you die.” She raised the pistol, aiming dead center at Ray’s chest. “Guess you never figured that out.”
Ray’s breath hitched, her voice raw. “Saff… don’t. You’re not this far gone.”
“Oh, I am.”
Her finger tightened on the trigger—
—when the ceiling above screamed with Celeste’s warped presence. Stone split. Metal shrieked. Rubble poured down like judgment.
A slab crashed against Saff’s side, sending her shot wild. The blast shredded through a support beam, and in an instant it collapsed—burying a cluster of mythics beneath a cage of twisted steel.
Saff hissed, clutching her ribs. She shot Ray one last burning look—rage and something like regret flashing together—before bolting into the smoke. Injured. But not finished.
Ray staggered to her feet, clutching her seared shoulder. Her gaze followed the bultungin’s retreat, eyes blazing. Then the groans of the pinned mythics dragged her back.
She snarled, planted her paws, and heaved. Heartbreaker forgotten for the moment, she wrenched the beam up with a guttural roar.
“MOVE! NOW!”
The last mythic scrambled free. Ray let the beam crash down, her arms trembling, breath ragged.
She stood there, shaking, staring into the smoke where Saff had vanished.
Her voice cracked, low and venomous, but heartbreak bled through every syllable.
“You were never who I thought you were…”
Chapter 41 : Resonance Collapse
Council drones buzzed overhead, their lenses whirring, trying to lock onto Celeste. But each time they drew near, her pulses fried their cores. One by one they tumbled out of the sky, smoking husks littering the streets.
Inside the base, alarms blared. Lumina clutched the railing, eyes wide. “What’s going on out there?”
Skye pointed silently toward the balcony, his hand shaking. Through the warped glass, Lumina could just barely make out the impossible figure of her sister, drifting between realities like a broken constellation.
Without a word, Lumina bolted. She tore through the stairwell, ignoring Mezzo’s outstretched hand.
“Wait! Lumina—don’t!” he shouted after her, but she didn’t listen.
She burst onto the balcony—and the sight stole her breath.
The city burned.
Where Celeste drifted, glitching in and out of space, devastation followed. Streets split open. Buildings flickered in and out of reality like corrupted files. Alarms screamed. People fled.
And above all, there was the sound—the humming pulse that vibrated from her, a magic-laced static like a broken lullaby dragging reality out of tune.
She wasn’t flying. She wasn’t walking.
She simply… was, blinking from rooftop to street, from sky to alleyway. In her wake, the very world fractured.
At the edge of it all, Lumina stared. Her hands trembled. Her mouth hung open as she gazed at the burning, fractured light. Her sister—torn between worlds, unraveling before her eyes.
“No…” she whispered. “Celeste…”
Then louder: “CELESTE!!” she screamed, her voice raw, tears cutting down her cheeks.
But Celeste didn’t hear her.
Couldn’t hear her.
Something shifted.
A flicker of pink light swam through Lumina’s irises. She gasped, trying to step back—but her feet slid forward instead.
Her fingers twitched, her breath caught. Soft pink radiance bloomed across her eyes, across her skin. Her body drifted forward—not dragged, not forced. Pulled. Resonating.
“Wh–what is…?” she stammered, voice cracking.
She tried to anchor herself, but her core hummed, her blood thrummed. She wasn’t just moving toward Celeste. She was answering something older, deeper—something woven into their bloodline.
The glow pulsed, stronger and stronger, drawing her toward the storm.
Celeste hovered above the ruined city like a dying star, her aura strobing in unstable bursts. Each breath warped the city further, bending the edges of reality like parchment in a fire.
She clutched her head with trembling fingers, her unicorn gem splintering down the center, glitches racing across her body like fractured lightning.
And still—Lumina’s light grew brighter.
Bonbon edged forward, her tiny paws clinging to Skye’s sleeve. Her voice came out small, quivering. “Skye… beth sy'n digwydd?”
Lumina’s breathing hitched. She pressed a trembling hand to her chest. “Something… from Celeste. It’s pulling me. I can’t—” Her voice cracked as her irises pulsed with pink light, brighter and brighter.
Before anyone could stop her, she staggered forward—straight toward the balcony’s edge.
“Lumina!” Skye lunged, catching her wrist and hauling her back. But the closer she drifted toward the storm, the more her body began to change—feathered wings unfurling in a shimmer of mana, glowing horns piercing the air on the sides of her head, and a gem blazing to life on her forehead.
“Don’t listen—stay with me!” Skye pleaded, his voice breaking. But Lumina’s gaze was locked on her sister, as though only Celeste’s heartbeat existed.
“Help!” Skye screamed, dragging her back from the ledge.
Mezzo spun, saw the glow, and swore. “Oh, for fuck’s sake—not you too! What is this, a family discount on cosmic meltdowns?!” He grabbed for Lumina but flinched back at the sheer heat of her aura. “She’s like standing next to a bloody sun!”
Overhead, Arcade clung to Kirrin as her wings thundered through the smoke. His voice crackled over comms, ragged and urgent. “Hold her steady! Don’t let her hit the edge—I’m almost there!”
With one last desperate yank, Mezzo pulled Lumina back from the edge. She collapsed against Skye’s chest, still trembling, still glowing.
And then—shadows stretched across the city streets.
One by one, massive figures stepped into view. The zombie generals, hulking and silent, emerged from the ruined avenues, their twisted eyes fixed upward. They weren’t attacking. Not yet.
They were watching. Measuring.
Testing whether bringing Celeste down would be worth the cost.
Mezzo’s blood ran cold as he stared. “Stars above… If we don’t stop this soon, we’re gonna have more to deal with than just Celeste.”
The first to move was the Minotaur general. His hooves cracked the asphalt as he bellowed, thrusting a rusted axe skyward. At his command, a wave of lesser zombies surged forward, claws and teeth bared, racing toward Celeste’s flickering form.
They never reached her.
The moment they crossed into her aura, their bodies warped—flesh bubbling, bones melting like wax. Within seconds, they collapsed into pools of steaming rot, their shrieks drowned by Celeste’s own.
Her scream tore across the skylines, a sound like grief and static tangled into one. Windows shattered. The sky itself trembled.
And then—an answering roar.
The white dragon burst from the storm clouds, wings unfurled, its form radiant and terrible. It circled above Celeste, every beat of its wings scattering the Minotaur’s forces. Its roar cut the air, echoing hers so perfectly it was almost indistinguishable—Celeste and the dragon, bound in fury and pain, twin voices screaming at the world.
On the hideout’s battered landing pad, Kirrin slammed down hard, the roof groaning beneath her weight. The two Pegasi scattered as sparks flared from a nearby transformer, the sky above convulsing with unnatural pulses of pink and violet. Tarps ripped and snapped like torn sails in the gale.
Arcade practically tumbled out of her arms, hitting the ground in a half-roll. He clutched his toolkit like it was a newborn, scrambling to his feet without even a glance back.
Inside, chaos boiled. Mezzo dragged a still-shaking Lumina past the door, shouting for someone to grab ropes. Carys paced in frantic circles, chewing her lollipop stick down to splinters, ears twitching with every fresh pulse from above.
Mezzo spotted Arcade and charged over, panic etched across his face. “She’s unraveling reality like it’s candy floss! What the hell do we even do against that?!”
The comm crystal at Mezzo’s belt crackled alive. The old goat’s voice came through, taut but steady. “Brassmane wants to know—has Celeste moved at all?”
Arcade shoved a pile of cables aside, pawing through his pack. “No—not at the moment.”
“Then listen,” Hughes’s voice pressed, edged with urgency. “She’s perched directly over a mana leyline. If you don’t move her soon, she’ll overload her body—and possibly explode.”
Mezzo froze mid-step, his fur standing on end. “What the fuck?! And we’re standing in the blast radius?!”
The comm crackled as Hughes’s voice barked back, sharper this time. “Focus, boy! Don’t lose your shit—help Arcade. The other mythics are gathering to shield Clawdiff while we stop this. Now MOVE.”
Another pulse rolled through, rattling glass from the frames, painting the storm-wracked sky in searing pink and violet. The hideout itself seemed to groan under the strain—caught in the rhythm of a girl who was no longer just herself.
Chapter 42 : Sing Me Back From the Stars
Outside, the zombie generals pressed their advantage. The Minotaur led the charge again, axe raised, but each time one of them dared to step closer the white dragon swept low, its claws carving trenches through the ground, its roar scattering entire squads of undead. It held its ground fiercely, a guardian born from Celeste’s unraveling soul, keeping the generals at bay even as Celeste herself glitched in and out of sight like a fractured reflection.
Inside the base, things weren’t much calmer. Lumina strained against the ropes binding her to a chair, her voice raw from screaming. “Let me go! She needs me! I can feel her—It’s like… like she’s calling, but it hurts—” Her eyes still pulsed pink, every heartbeat dragging her further toward the balcony in spirit if not in flesh.
Arcade stormed past, toolkit under one arm, goggles hanging crooked. “I need ten minutes of silence and about three rolls of duct tape! Mezzo—you got everything ready? I’m hitching this thing to the relic Brassmane gave me, aim it at her, and hopefully knock her flat before she tears the city in half.”
Mezzo, wires slung over his shoulder like bandoliers, grinned despite the fear. “Aye, aye — it’s all here. Don’t go and turn us into fireworks, yeah? I’m not explaining that to Bonbon.”
“Not in the plan, cheers,” Arcade muttered, shoving cables into ports.
Skye suddenly pointed upward, voice trembling. “Look… she’s not fighting.”
They all froze, staring through the shattered skylight. Celeste’s body spasmed, flickering in and out of form. She wasn’t lashing out, wasn’t attacking. Her claws scraped at her own neck, her body convulsing violently, glitching every second.
Skye’s finger jabbed up, voice flat and oddly steady even as it trembled. “Look. She’s not fighting.” He didn’t shout—he stated. “She’s not lashing out. She’s… splitting. One part reaching for the rune, one part trying to push it away. They’re arguing inside her. It hurts her.”
Arcade winced, but didn’t stop working. “Sorry, buddy, but practicality beats empathy right now. We let her keep going, she’s a walking singularity.”
Carys, pacing with the nervous energy of someone holding the kitchen together and the world, jabbed a finger toward the relic on Arcade’s bench. “That artifact—it's an amplifier, isn’t it? It takes a signal and turns it louder.”
Arcade didn’t look up. “Yeah, so?”
Carys lips curling into a smile. “Then i have a idea.”
“Make it quick, mouse,” he growled, tightening a clamp.
Carys’s ears flicked and her eyes lit up. “Bonbon! Her singing calmed Celeste down last time. If we use that—pipe it through the relic—maybe she’ll calm down enough.”
Carys turned on Mezzo, focus snapping into place. “You’ve got a speaker rig—grab it. Now.”
Mezzo blinked, then laughed through the panic. “Of course I do. I always bring one—party’s in the apocalypse, right?”
“Then grab it—quick.”
Arcade sighed, exasperated. “This better be good.”
Carys’s eyes narrowed with uncharacteristic focus. “Trust me. If we can’t reach her with force—then maybe we reach her with sound.”
Skye pressed his lips together, eyes wide in that concentrated way he gets. “Sound is… consistent. It doesn’t lie. Maybe it will tell her which half is hers.”
Lumina’s little hum turned into a real note as she listened, her fingers clenching the rope. “Sing, Skye,” she whispered. “Sing, and I’ll try to hold her.”
Mezzo’s grin fell into a determined line. “Right. Get that speaker up. Plug it into the amplifier. If Arcade’s plan works, I’ll sing like a lunatic myself. Worst audition of my life, innit?”
Arcade’s jaw tightened as he worked. “Do it, then. Quick and clean. We have one window before the leyline overloads the whole block.”
Outside, the storm pulsed again—pink and violet lashing the skyline—and time thinned to the work at hand: wire, sound, a desperate hope that a sister’s voice might anchor a girl who was tearing the world apart.
Carys crouched low, ears twitching, eyes alight with that mix of motherly instinct and iron. “Bonbon. Sweetheart. Remember that lullaby? The one you sang for Celeste? It calmed her. If we loop it, push it through the relic, it might hold her steady long enough for Mezzo to get close and set the rune back.”
Mezzo came back inside, hauling the speaker. It nearly slipped from his hands. “Me?! Are you crazy? Oh, brilliant. Aye, so the plan is me, running straight at a bleeding starstorm with a bloody song blaring out my chest? Perfect! What could possibly go wrong?”
Carys’s stare didn’t budge. “You’re fast. You’re reckless. And you’re the only one mad enough to actually make it. Kirrin can get you in—low, sharp, fast.”
Kirrin folded her wings with a grunt, rolling her shoulders. “Aye, I’ll carry ye. Low an’ tight. Pegasi’ll screen the way out. You just hold on, laddie.”
Skye’s quiet voice cut in, steady but raw. “This is better than hurting her. Better than knocking her out.”
Mezzo shook his head, backing up a step. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t sign up to die. I can’t get close to her.”
Arcade slammed a hand down on the relic, his voice rising. “Neither did we, Mezzo—but we can’t escape Clawdiff if she detonates above a leyline. We’ll all be ash. If we go with my plan, I’m going to have to get close myself and…” He trailed off, his eyes dark behind his goggles. “I may not make it back either.”
Skye’s face fell. The room seemed to shrink under the weight of his words.
Arcade jabbed a finger at Mezzo. “At least you can outrun them. You’ve got a better shot than any of us.”
Mezzo froze, jaw tight, speaker clutched to his chest.
Lumina’s voice fluttered, fragile as paper, her eyes blazing pink and still convulsing in her restraints. “Please… stop her… she’s my sister…”
Mezzo’s breath came hard and shallow. He looked at her, then at the window where Celeste flickered like a dying star. He closed his eyes. “Ah, for fuck’s sake... Fine! Tell me exactly what I’m doing before I lose my nerve.”
Arcade’s shoulders slumped. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” Mezzo muttered.
Arcade turned to Skye, voice low but firm. “Help me get this ready on the balcony. This is going to be difficult.”
The building trembled as another pulse from Celeste washed over them, rattling the walls like the beat of an alien heart.
But the pulse kept building. Louder. Deeper. Not just sound—but pressure. A heartbeat that wasn’t her own, synced to something older. Something deeper.
Every time Celeste’s aura surged, the equipment shuddered in their hands. The floor buzzed with unstable resonance.
Lumina writhed against the chair, eyes glowing like twin stars. Her horns phased in and out of existence, glitching like a corrupted memory. The same thing was happening to the others—Arcade’s quills snapped longer, his fangs lengthening before snapping back. Mezzo looked down in horror as his paws briefly transformed into scaled talons before reverting.
“This is insane!” Mezzo bellowed over the resonance, voice cracking. “What the bloody hell is she doing to us?!”
Arcade grit his teeth, wires sparking in his fingertips. “It’s her core! Whatever’s leaking out—it’s syncing with our mana. She’s overriding us, Mezzo! Our runes can’t stabilize with that much power in the air!”
Mezzo looked up at the crackling sky. “So… this is gonna get worse, isn’t it?”
Arcade’s mouth twitched in a grim smile. “If we sit on our arses? Absolutely.”
The comm crystal crackled—Pitch’s voice came through, tense and strained. “Guys? What the hell is going on? Every hybrid here—our runes are glitching out like crazy!”
Mezzo growled. “Yeah, thanks, Captain Obvious.”
Then… a snarl.
Low. Animalistic.
“Pitch?” Mezzo asked, freezing. “Dude, you okay?”
Pitch’s breath was heavy, rough. “I—I gotta go.”
And then the line cut out. Too fast.
Arcade hissed, solder iron flaring as he sealed the last wire. “Right. Done. Fetch the panda. Now.”
Bonbon stood near the stairwell, confused by the storm of flickering lights and shouting voices. The relay’s hum vibrated through the floor like the world itself was about to crack open. She clutched her plush unicorn to her chest, ears twitching.
Arcade adjusted the mic, voice dry but tight. “We need her voice. If anything cuts through this mess, it’s her.”
Bonbon blinked, lost. Her tiny voice barely squeaked out: “Dw i ddim yn deall…”
“What’d she say?” Pitch asked over the fading static.
“She… she doesn’t understand,” Mezzo whispered, the color draining from his face.
“She only speaks Welsh!” Skye blurted, panic blooming in his chest.
Mezzo froze. Then bolted. “Wait—I’ve got it, I’ve bloody got it!”
He tore through the hideout, scattering half-burned tech and broken boxes, muttering to himself. “Where—where’s that notebook—pink, stars, stickers—ah, come on!”
His hands closed around it at last: a battered pink journal with sticky notes and doodles scrawled in every margin. Her Welsh learning book.
He flipped through until—there.
Canu — to sing. Circled in pink. A doodle of Bonbon next to it.
Mezzo whispered it aloud, chest tight. “That’s it…”
With a shadow-jump crack, he vanished—
—and reappeared atop the base.
Wind howled. Violet lightning cracked across the heavens. Below, Celeste hung in the air like a goddess of entropy, glitching in and out, howling between worlds.
Mezzo held Bonbon gently, planting the relic-speaker beacon at his feet like a flag against the end of days. He lowered the mic to her lips, voice thick.
“Bonbon. Canu.”
Bonbon blinked up at him, still trembling. But the word stirred something in her. A name. A memory. A song.
“Canu?” she whispered.
Mezzo nodded once, hard. “Please. For her.”
The world cracked. Celeste’s scream tore the clouds apart, a shockwave flattening rooftops.
And Bonbon… began.
A soft, melodic tune.
Gentle.
Familiar.
Safe.
It slipped into the broken air like sunlight through shutters.
A lullaby remembered by the soul before the mind.
Reality stuttered—but not from pain.
From recognition.
Chapter 43 : Hymn of the Breaking Star
From the rooftop, Bonbon’s voice floated outward—gentle, steady, innocent. It pierced through the static of the unraveling world like a lullaby sung to a storm.
And finally… something broke.
Celeste faltered mid-air. Her body spasmed violently, limbs jerking like broken strings. Her head snapped back, pixels tearing at the edges of her form. Then her voice ripped through the night — raw, fragile, half-a-sob, half-a-scream.
“It… it hurts… oh stars, it hurts… please—make it stop…”
She collapsed, folding at the waist—still floating, but on her knees now, as if gravity had remembered her only halfway. Her hands clutched her head, her fingers twitching, as the storm inside her began to swallow her whole.
And deep inside her mind— Memories bled in.
A white room. Needles. Bright lights that screamed in silence. Chalkboard voices speaking in data code.
And a man’s voice. Crying. No—pleading.
“Stop. She’s just a child. She’s—please! Stop this!”
Then— Nothing.
A hallway of shattered dreams. A cage that smelled like metal and despair. The soft jingle of her sister’s laugh echoing through the vents. The voices of the others. The escape. The candy. The change.
Mezzo’s eyes widened, fury and fear colliding. “Bloody hell—she’s breaking apart right in front of us!”
Kirrin snapped her wings open, voice sharp, rolling in her thick accent. “Then quit gawkin’, laddie! This is yer chance!”
Arcade clutched the buzzing relic tighter, sparks dancing around his paws. “Yeah, yeah—go on, hero! Try not to trip over your own ego on the way down!”
Kirrin hooked her talons under Mezzo’s arms. “Hold on tight!”
“Don’t drop me!” Mezzo barked, his words lost as she hurled them both into the storm.
Arcade shouted after them, “Good luck, you reckless lunatic!”
Kirrin grabbed Mezzo under the arms and launched from the rooftop.
They dove through chaos—burning debris spinning past, a flaming street sign narrowly missing them as they spiraled between pulsing beams of broken mana.
Celeste’s scream rippled again, forcing Kirrin to release him just above a ruined plaza.
Mezzo hit the ground hard, tucked into a roll, and ran. His speed ignited like a fuse—legs a blur, the world narrowing to a tunnel of light and flame.
Zombies turned toward him—too slow.
He wove between them, every heartbeat a new direction. A burst left—vaulted off a crumbling awning—slid beneath a collapsed skybridge—go, go, GO!
Then he saw him.
The Minotaur General.
Massive. Rotten. Watching.
The general raised a hand, silent and precise. His undead soldiers jerked into motion behind him, shuffling toward Mezzo like a tide.
Mezzo twisted his path, weaving wide. “Too slow, horns!” he shouted—
Then his foot caught—
WHUMP—
His ankle tangled in something soft and sticky.
He looked down.
Hippogum.
The pastel-pink zombie’s gummy flesh stretched around his boot like melted toffee, its sleepy eyes blinking wide in surprise—then delight.
“Aw, stars—seriously?!” Mezzo thrashed, yanking, kicking.
But the Hippogum smiled.
Its sticky flesh stretched upward, pulling at him, jaw unhinging in a wide, toothless maw.
“Not today, sweetie!” Mezzo roared, fighting against the pull, panic edged with fury.
Another pulse erupted from Celeste—stronger than before. It hit Mezzo like a shockwave, his mana flaring in response. His feathers bristled, his hands igniting with gryphon fire.
Snarling, he dropped down, talons crackling with heat. He grabbed his trapped foot and burned the Hippogum's flesh away.
“Right then, ye sticky bastard,” he snarled, dropping low. Heat flared as he seized his own trapped foot, burning the Hippogum’s gummy flesh away.
The creature wailed — a horrible, squeaky gurgle — as its body boiled back on itself.
Mezzo wrenched free, flipped backward, boots hitting hard. He didn’t stop. He ran. Fast.
The pavement crumbled beneath him. Sparks flew from his heels as he skidded around fallen beams and snapped lampposts.
Through the static in his comms, he’d heard it all—Bonbon’s soft song still playing, Arcade’s panicked engineering jargon, and then…
Celeste’s voice.
If it could still be called that.
It was fractured. Sometimes a whisper, sometimes a shriek. Sometimes a chant in a language that didn’t belong to this world. The sound twisted in his ears, echoed through his bones.
Reality itself stuttered in front of him—colors smeared, angles bent where there should be straight lines. The air hummed, vibrating through his chest like he was running inside a drumbeat.
Then Arcade’s voice broke through the storm:
“Mezzo—you have to push the chip back in! If we don’t ground her now, we’re gonna lose her completely! She’ll collapse the leyline!”
Mezzo’s eyes snapped upward.
Smoke. Wind. Warped skyline.
“Celeste?!” he roared, lungs burning raw. “CELESTE, LOOK AT ME!”
Nothing.
Then—
A flicker.
For a heartbeat, she was there.
Suspended in the air above the shattered road, her body curled inward, floating. Her hair floated like smoke. Her eyes blazed—like twin novas ripping through the atmosphere.
Then—gone.
He stumbled, panting, the chip case clutched in his talons, heart thundering.
“Stars, c’mon,” he muttered. “Don’t make me guess.”
Another pulse. The ground beneath him twisted—twisted. Not cracked—bent, like someone wringing out a towel made of stone.
Mezzo leapt across the rippling pavement— And landed on nothing.
His foot hit air.
He fell— —but not into the street.
Into something else.
The world blinked. Folded.
Mezzo tumbled through a subspace fracture—and time lost all meaning.
Below him stretched a city in ruins—but not any he recognized. Ancient stone structures laced with glowing circuitry. Towers wrapped in spiraling symbols that pulsed like veins. The sky above was locked in eternal twilight, hues of indigo and pink and molten silver dancing like auroras—but wrong, impossible.
Plants bloomed in wild, impossible shapes. Flowers spun in geometric spirals. Trees shimmered like crystal, and their leaves made music when they rustled.
And the tech— Alien. Celtic. As if something holy and forbidden had grown out of forgotten myth and buried gods.
Floating amidst it all— Celeste.
Her body shimmered like a broken prism, light bleeding through the cracks of her being.
“Cel—” Mezzo’s voice broke on her name.
And then— Gone again.
Reality snapped— —and he fell back into the ruined city like a stone dropped from heaven.
“No—nonono—stay with me, dammit!”
He ran, staggering toward the flickering distortion in the air, reaching with a desperate hand—
“Celeste…” Mezzo whispered, voice gone hoarse.
But just as his fingers brushed the fading shimmer, a blast erupted outward.
He flew.
Slammed into a scorched car with a crunch, denting the metal, breath punched from his lungs.
Above him, Celeste flickered back into view.
But this time— She wasn’t screaming words.
She was screaming grief.
Raw. Infinite. A howl that cracked the skyline.
With a flick of her glowing arm, she lashed out— A nearby skyscraper shattered like sugar glass.
Steel twisted. Glass vaporized. The whole building folded into dust and memory.
Mezzo lay there, stunned.
Everything in him screamed: Run. This isn’t her. This is a monster. You’re not going to fix this. You’re going to die for nothing.
He turned away.
Staggered. Shaking. Heart pounding like a war drum.
And then—
He saw it.
Perched high above the wreckage, half-shrouded in ash and clouds:
Velcarius
Colossal.
Ancient.
His scales shimmered with a dull, ember-crimson glow, coiled around the jagged spire of a ruined tower like a god waiting to wake.
His wings remained folded—held in restraint. But its golden eyes were open. Watching.
Locked on her.
Mezzo froze. It wasn’t attacking.
Not yet.
But he was stirring. Testing the air.
Judging. Waiting.
As if the destruction below was being weighed… And he was deciding whether Celeste had become something worth erasing.
High on the jagged spire, the dragon uncoiled. Ember-crimson scales shimmered like banked coals. Golden eyes narrowed, unblinking, fixed on her.
Its chest rumbled with a sound older than language, low enough to make the ground tremble.
Then, a voice — not loud, but heavy as a mountain shifting.
“…The same core… as him.”
The words rolled out like smoke, ancient and resigned.
Mezzo’s blood ran cold. He looked up, heart hammering. “What the hell does that mean…?”
The dragon did not answer. It only watched. Judging.
Chapter 44 : The Day the Storm Wept
Suddenly, the white dragon dropped from the clouds like judgment incarnate—
but instead of striking, it landed with thunderous grace between Mezzo and the crimson titan above.
Wings spread wide, it became a barrier of light and breath, its body shielding both Celeste and Mezzo from the ancient dragon’s gaze.
Golden eyes narrowed from the tower. Judging. Waiting. Holding back—for now.
Mezzo’s breath caught in his throat.
“Oh no…” he whispered, barely audible over the static wind. “No, no, no—if I don’t stop her… it’s gonna hit the city.” His voice cracked. “That thing’s not here for her. It’s here for all of us.”
The panic clenched in his chest like a vice. The enormity of it crushed him. His legs buckled beneath the pressure of knowing that this moment… might be the last.
He took a step back.
For a long, fragile second, Mezzo turned away.
Every instinct screamed to flee. To live. To run and never look back.
But then— As his foot lifted from the cracked pavement, something inside him snapped taut.
A thread of memory.
The way she used to wrinkle her nose at tea too sweet. The way she made the worst puns. The way she laughed when she shouldn’t have, just to make others smile.
And it hit him— No matter how far he ran, no matter where he hid… She would haunt him. Not like a ghost.
But like a promise.
And that same thread—so fragile, so damn stupid—held. Held tighter than his fear. Held tighter than the storm.
She was still in there.
He turned back toward the storm of magic and debris, teeth clenched, fists shaking, heart breaking.
He couldn’t abandon her. He wouldn’t.
Blood streaked down from a gash above his temple. His ribs ached. His legs barely held.
But he stood.
“I don’t care if this kills me.”
The words came out hoarse. Shaken. But real.
“She’s still in there.”
He took a step.
The wind howled harder. The air trembled. Reality bent in waves around him.
But his legs didn’t stop moving.
“I know you,” he shouted, throat tearing with the words. “You’re the girl who gave me tea and laughed at my shite jokes!” His voice cracked. “You don’t end like this, Celeste!”
Another step. Another blast.
Static surged.
Lightbulbs shattered.
The street itself lifted and twisted.
And still— Mezzo walked forward.
Into the storm. Into her grief. Into everything.
Because she was Celeste. And she was his friend. And he still believed in her.
The static worsened with every step. Magic thickened the air like fog—dense, sharp, humming like broken glass in his bloodstream.
Mezzo’s chest pulsed in rhythm with the storm. His rune buzzed—then flickered. Then glitched.
Sparks danced across his arms. His claws ripped free involuntarily, fur bristling as his griffon mane blazed with streaks of gold fire.
The closer he got to her, the stronger the static grew.
His own rune began to buzz. Then glitch.
His claws tore involuntarily from his fingertips. Fur raced up his arms in jagged pulses, his griffon mane flaring into streaks of wild gold.
He staggered.
“Not now… not now…”
His breathing grew ragged, eyes flickering. His memories clawed at him—shackles, needles, the screaming. All the things he buried. All the pain that never stayed buried for long.
But he looked up—
And saw her.
Celeste.
Floating inches above the cracked stone.
Her body trembling.
Her eyes wide and full of tears. Of pain. Of her.
“Mezzo…” she whispered, her lips split, blood trailing down her chin.
His vision blurred, but his feet never stopped. He pushed forward, deeper into the collapse. The air burned around him, time bending with every step.
“I got you, Cel… just hold on.”
Her hand twitched toward her neck, a pained breath rattling free. “Make it stop… please… it hurts…”
That broke him.
Mezzo lunged forward, ignoring the static clawing at his skin. His whole body screamed, but he pushed through it.
And then he saw it.
Her rune chip.
Hanging loose, glitching violently. Flickering like a broken star beneath her neck. The numbers on its back—once a neat tracking code—were scrambled into nonsense.
Unreadable. Overloaded.
A miracle it hadn’t shattered already.
“Stars above…” Mezzo whispered, chest tight. “Your mana’s tearing you apart…”
Celeste writhed mid-air, her magic boiling out like it wanted to consume her whole.
Mezzo’s body quaked, claws sparking, wings phasing in and out. His own core strained on the edge of collapse.
But he didn’t stop.
He reached for her—hand shaking— and jammed the chip back into place.
The moment it connected—
Blue light erupted.
A violent flare. Blinding. Total.
And then—
Silence.
Celeste dropped.
Like a puppet with her strings cut.
She fell—straight into Mezzo’s waiting arms.
Steam curled from her skin. Her body smoldered, shivering. Her wings were gone. Her horns—vanished. The glowing runes that once danced like wildfire across her skin flickered once… then faded, extinguished like candles in the wind.
Mezzo sank to his knees, cradling her. His own breath ragged, his body trembling with exhaustion.
He looked down.
Her eyes opened, just a sliver. Blue. Soft. Hers again.
And in the faintest voice, barely a breath against the now-quiet sky:
“I’m sorry…”
Then her eyes closed.
She went still.
Mezzo’s arms tightened around her, jaw clenched.
His chest rose and fell with broken, silent sobs. Smoke swirled around them. Ash floated like snow.
Above the rooftops, Bonbon’s song ended.
And for the first time in hours—
the city was quiet.
The silence lingered like the city itself had forgotten how to breathe.
Then—above the wreckage—the white dragon lowered its vast head. Golden eyes fixed on Mezzo. For a heartbeat, there was no judgment. Only recognition. A nod, slow and deliberate.
Then its wings stretched, catching the fractured light, and it rose—soaring upward until it vanished into the clouds.
One by one, the other dragons followed. Shapes of light and memory dissolving into the sky. Until only one remained.
The red dragon, massive as a mountain, leaned from its perch on the jagged tower. Ember-crimson scales caught the sunlight as its gaze locked on Mezzo.
Its voice rumbled, ancient and low, threading straight into his bones: “She’s going to break you, little one. That one will tear your world apart…”
Then it unfurled its colossal wings. With a single beat, it launched itself skyward—vanishing into a whirl of smoke and glowing ash, its body streaking back toward the Gumball like a comet returning home.
Mezzo swallowed hard, still clutching Celeste. His griffon fire flickered once—then died. The claws retracted, feathers smoothed, leaving only his dalmatian fur spattered with ash.
He looked down at her in his arms. She was smaller than the storm she’d unleashed, softer, heavier than she looked. He beamed despite the ache in his chest, relief spilling out in a breathless laugh.
“Bloody hell, lass,” he whispered, voice thick. “You nearly took the world with you.”
Above, the storm broke. The clouds pulled back to reveal blue sky, clear and impossibly calm—as if none of it had ever happened.
His comm crystal crackled at his collar. Hughes’s familiar gravel rolled through, dry but warm: “Well done, you mad lad. You bloody did it.”
Mezzo laughed, bright and proud, the sound catching in his throat. He hitched Celeste higher in his arms, cradling her close as he started the long walk back to base.
She was limp, her breath shallow, but alive.
He looked down at her again, eyes narrowing. “How the hell,” he muttered to himself, “does all that mana fit inside you? Doesn’t make a lick of sense…”
But even as he staggered under her weight, his smile stayed.
Because he had her. And Clawdiff was safe—at least, for now.
