The hill was quiet.
Ash drifted through the wind like dead snow, settling on scorched grass and splintered bark. Below, the remnants of a once-proud battalion moved like ants, dozens of boots trampling blackened dirt, rifles raised and ready. Commands barked over short-range comms. Drones hovered in idle circles overhead, scanning for heat signatures. The enemy was close.
But the two figures on the hill didn't move.
One sat cross-legged, sleeves rolled up, carefully etching glowing runes into a crystal arrow. His tablet blinked beside him, muted sounds of ticking counters and auto-generated battlefield maps flickering across its screen. His expression never changed.
The other leaned on a massive, pitch-black blade stabbed into the ground like a monument. He didn't check his surroundings. Didn't look up. He just stood there, coat flapping lazily in the wind, shadows curling at his boots like smoke that didn't know it was dead.
A scout spotted them through binoculars and whispered a curse. "They're just... sitting there."
"No," the commander growled behind him. "They're waiting."
Another soldier crept beside them, eyes wide. "Are we sure that's them?"
One by one, heads turned toward the hill.
Evodil tilted his head, finally glancing up. His eyes gleamed under the blindfold, faint white cracks forming across the air around his feet.
Noah didn't look. He held the finished arrow up to the light, examined it for flaws, then carefully placed it beside the others in his quiver. A dozen already lay there—each glowing with a different pattern. Wind, ice, fire, silence.
Below the hill, someone flinched.
The commander raised his hand. "Stay sharp. They're not gods. They're just anomalies. Hit hard. Hit first."
A pause.
Then a voice from the rear muttered, "That thing standing next to the one with the bow... It's not breathing."
No one answered.
Evodil cracked his neck.
Noah stood.
Neither of them smiled.
Evodil didn't move for a while.
His hand rested lazily on the hilt of Crypt Blade, half-leaning against it like a man waiting for a bus. The only motion was his thumb, slowly rubbing the edge of the handle in a loop. His head tilted back slightly, staring into the sky.
It was blue.
Just blue.
Then he blinked.
For a moment, it wasn't.
The clouds vanished. The sun disappeared. Everything went stark, endless white—like a page waiting for ink.
He blinked again. Normal.
"Huh," he muttered.
Noah stood a few feet away, placing another arrow into his quiver. His tablet beeped quietly on the grass beside him. He didn't even look up.
"You remember the plan, right?"
Evodil didn't answer.
Noah sighed. Picked up the bow. Slid it across his back.
"We have an hour," he said flatly. "Leave no survivors. Find James—wherever he is. Probably carving poetry into corpses by now."
Evodil scratched the back of his head. "I dunno, sounds more like a you problem."
Noah shot him a look, the kind that could slice stone. "You're lucky I found you at all. Thirty minutes. I circled this crater of a city for thirty minutes while you were—what—wandering through shadows and shopping for brains?"
"Excuse you," Evodil said, pointing a gloved finger. "I was tactically observing."
"You were lost."
Evodil shrugged. "Semantics."
Noah rolled his eyes and picked up the last two arrows. "Get up."
Evodil didn't move.
Noah sighed again, already regretting everything. "We've got a battalion down there. Radios say they're calling for reinforcements. If even one of them survives, they could trace it back. To Menystria. To Rose. So either get your act together or go sit with Jasper and write an apology letter to the planet."
Evodil blinked again. The sky stayed normal.
He smiled—not a real one, but that thin, annoyed curl that always came right before something caught fire.
"Fine," he muttered, pulling Crypt Blade from the ground with one hand.
The wind shifted.
Below, the army started moving.
Evodil hadn't spoken in five minutes.
He just leaned on Crypt Blade, blindfold tilted slightly from the breeze, eyes locked upward. His posture screamed indifference, but Noah wasn't buying it. Not this time.
Noah sat nearby, legs crossed, finishing the last set of rune markings on a fresh arrow. He tested the tension, gave it a nod, and slid it into the quiver beside him. Thirteen so far. Four for terrain denial. Two for silence. One for overkill. The rest? Improvised.
He glanced over.
"You remember the plan, right?"
Evodil didn't answer. Just kept staring.
Noah frowned. "Hey."
Nothing.
Evodil blinked.
The sky changed.
For a single second, everything above them turned white. Not fog. Not clouds. Just… erased. Like the page of reality flipped too fast.
Then it was back.
Blue. Harmless. Empty.
Evodil squinted. "Huh."
Noah stood, snatching up his bow with more force than necessary. "Of course. Of course you're having visions again."
Evodil tilted his head. "That one was new."
"We have one hour," Noah snapped. "No survivors. Then we find James—assuming he hasn't already caved in a city block."
Evodil finally looked down, brushing ash from his coat. "He's probably having fun."
"You were supposed to meet me twenty minutes ago," Noah said, voice flat. "Instead I had to sweep half the ruins looking for you. You were standing in a collapsed parking garage arguing with a vending machine."
"I wanted a coffee."
"You threatened it."
"It was giving me attitude."
Noah closed his eyes, breathed once, then opened them again. "Get up."
Evodil sighed like the floor offended him. "Fine."
He pulled Crypt Blade free with one arm. The shadows around his boots reacted instantly, rippling outward like they'd been waiting.
Below the hill, the soldiers started lining up.
Noah rolled his shoulders once. "Let's make this clean."
Evodil grinned, just slightly. "Define clean."
They moved downhill in silence.
Noah took point, boots landing without a sound. His bow was drawn but idle, eyes scanning through the dim haze curling over the broken field. Evodil followed behind, cloak brushing scorched bark and dry dirt, his grip on Crypt Blade loose but ready.
The shouting started a few moments later.
"They were just there—on the ridge!"
"Eyes up! I want visuals—now!"
"Where the hell did they go?!"
Noah slowed, glancing toward the sound. Muffled, but close. A patrol. Maybe two squads.
"They lost us," he muttered, lowering slightly behind a chunk of collapsed debris.
Evodil crouched beside him, resting Crypt Blade against his shoulder. "Happens when you stare too long. We're pretty."
Noah ignored him, reaching for his quiver. "We don't have time to toy with them. If they regroup, we'll be boxed in."
"Agreed," Evodil said casually. "So. Strategy?"
Noah nodded. "I can lock their angles. Block sightlines with impact bursts, then pick off anyone that gets close. But first we need cover. Enough to reposition."
Evodil was already stretching his fingers, letting the shadows rise slowly from the ground around his boots.
"You want a blackout?"
"A thick one," Noah said. "Enough to choke their comms and blind every drone in the air."
Evodil didn't answer immediately. He just looked at the battlefield—open space, low cover, ruined trees and fractured asphalt. A deathtrap for anyone caught without vision.
Then he grinned.
"That bet still on?"
Noah glanced at him. "Seriously?"
Evodil shrugged, already stepping forward. "What? You win the last one. Crystallized a guy's spine with a smile. You deserve the ego boost."
Noah exhaled, not quite annoyed—just resigned. "Fine. This one's yours."
Evodil's smirk widened. "Didn't even have to kill anyone yet."
"Just shut up and start covering the field," Noah muttered.
Evodil raised his hand, and the shadows reacted immediately—spreading like ink across the ruined landscape, racing down hills and over rubble as if trying to eat the ground itself.
From somewhere ahead, gunfire erupted.
Noah stepped forward, bow raised.
"Contact! Hill line—northwest!"
The call came too late.
Before they could form up, the light began to die.
It didn't fade like nightfall. It collapsed. Shadows stretched in ways that didn't follow geometry—veins of black crawling over soil, wrapping trees, swallowing trenches. The sky above dimmed to a dull grey, as if the sun blinked and didn't come back.
Private Harlow stumbled back, rifle shaking in his grip.
"Where—where are they?!"
No one answered.
Someone opened fire—panicked, pointless. The muzzle flash lit up nothing. Just fog. Darker than fog. The smoke ate it.
Then came the whisper. Not a voice. A sound. Like metal being dragged through dirt, miles away and far too close.
A soldier next to Harlow raised his rifle. "They're cloaking something! Eyes sharp—"
An arrow hit him clean through the throat.
No flash. No warning.
Just a ripple of runes mid-air, then silence as he dropped. The rest turned, firing wildly into the mist.
Another man screamed. Then another.
A shape moved through the black, slow and deliberate. Not rushing. Walking.
"Reload! Reload now!"
Harlow slammed another clip into his gun, blinking hard as the shadows thickened around his boots.
Then he saw it.
A blade. Too large to be practical. Being dragged across the ground by a figure with no urgency. Cloaked in smoke. Blindfolded. Smirking.
"Oh god—oh god he's not even rushing—"
The man to his right raised a grenade launcher. Fired.
The round never landed.
A second arrow sliced it mid-air—detonating it harmlessly above the squad. Shrapnel rained down like glitter. Harlow hit the ground. Screaming didn't help. Nothing helped.
The figure raised his hand. Shadows swirled upward like smoke in reverse, thickening, choking the air.
Someone tried to call command. Static.
The field was gone.
They were alone.
And the gods had stopped running.
Evodil sat down in the middle of the field.
He didn't check for enemies. Didn't bother confirming the kill count. Just dropped to the ground like it was a living room carpet and started spinning on his heel—slow, lazy circles in place. His blade rested beside him, half-buried in what used to be someone's spine.
Noah stood ten meters back, watching in disbelief.
"You're an idiot," he muttered, walking over.
He jabbed Evodil in the side with the handle of his bow—blunt, precise, and with enough force to make a mortal puke blood.
Evodil didn't flinch. "Hmm?"
"You're spinning," Noah said flatly.
"Yup."
"In a war zone."
"Uh-huh."
Noah blinked twice, then turned and gestured toward the field—toward the mess.
Evodil followed his hand and grinned.
"Oh yeah. Forgot about them."
He pointed lazily at a body slumped against a broken truck, arm bent the wrong way.
"That one's mine. Cut in half. Clean work."
He spun slightly and pointed again.
"Noah special. Throat and sternum. Kind of beautiful if you like symmetry."
Another one, lying face down in the dirt. "That guy? Shot by his own squad. Oops."
One more, slumped against a melted wall, eyes still open. "He just gave up. Saw the shadows and popped himself. Efficient."
Noah didn't comment. He just looked around, eyes scanning for movement—any remaining signal, any trace of resistance.
Nothing.
Evodil finally stopped spinning, letting the silence hang for a beat. Then he reached into his coat pocket.
The air shifted.
His fingers brushed paper.
The Joker.
Still smiling.
He turned it slowly, letting the light hit it. The expression on the card looked smugder than usual—if that was even possible. He stared at it, thumb running along the edge.
"Think you can do more than revive the dramatic kid?" he muttered.
The shadows around him stirred.
Noah glanced back. "What now?"
Evodil stood, slowly, card still between his fingers.
"I've got a theory," he said, voice low.
Noah narrowed his eyes. "That's never good."
Evodil didn't answer. He was already watching the card—waiting to see if it blinked first.
The card began to rise.
Evodil's smirk widened as it slipped free from his fingers, floating up like it had a mind of its own. No wind. No strings. Just motion. It hovered inches from his palm, then drifted toward the edge of the shadows, where the light barely touched the black.
"Alright," he muttered, eyes glinting. "What's the trick this time?"
It didn't spin. Didn't glow. Just floated deeper into the dark, like it belonged there more than it ever did in his coat pocket.
Evodil followed it with his eyes, grin slowly curling from amused to interested to hungry.
Noah, on the other hand, wasn't impressed.
He took two slow steps to the left, pulling an arrow halfway from his quiver, string already tensing.
"Should I shoot it?" he asked flatly.
Evodil didn't look away. "You shoot my card, I shoot your ego."
"Not a threat."
"A warning."
The card paused in midair, like it was listening.
Noah narrowed his eyes. "It's been floating for thirty seconds. Is it going to do anything?"
Evodil shrugged, offended. "The god of knowledge should be patient."
He snapped his fingers.
A shadowy orb flicked into existence and hurled itself at Noah's shoulder like a smoke-covered tennis ball.
Noah batted it away with the edge of his bow, the impact harmless but annoying. His stare didn't change.
Evodil chuckled under his breath. "You're lucky you're useful."
The card began to glow.
Only slightly. Just enough for the air to get colder.
Evodil stepped forward, shadows stretching behind him like curious hands.
Noah kept the bow half-drawn.
Neither of them blinked.
Evodil crossed his arms, hands slipping into the inner folds of his coat as he stared at the card. It hovered like it had purpose—but whatever that purpose was, it sure loved taking its time.
He yawned.
Then turned to Noah, who was still watching it like it might bite someone.
"Hey," Evodil muttered. "What day is it?"
Noah blinked. "What?"
"The day," Evodil said, deadpan. "Of the week. I need context."
Noah sighed, rubbing one temple. "Saturday."
Evodil grinned. "Not anymore."
He tilted his head up toward the sky, faint light peeking over the ruined hills behind them.
"Welcome to Sunday," he said. "Happy reset."
The moment he finished the sentence, the card flared.
Light spilled outward like someone cracked the moon open. It swallowed the ground, erased the shadows, overran every corpse and crater in an instant. The battlefield vanished. The ash vanished. The darkness—they'd spent all that effort conjuring—burned away like fog in fire.
Noah squinted, lifting a hand to shield his eyes.
Evodil didn't flinch. He just kept smiling, the kind that came right before someone got promoted or exploded.
And then the light dimmed.
Shapes unfolded in its place.
A palace. Towering. Endless. Edged in white and gold, yet somehow alive—its marble walls hummed faintly, laced with veins of glowing script that pulsed like a heartbeat.
The sky above was too blue. Too perfect. There was no sun. Just light. Pure and absolute.
Floating orbs hovered across the air like lanterns with no fuel. A wide energy beam shimmered in the palace's core, rising through the open dome ceiling into the endless sky—thick like a pillar, fluid like a river.
The floor beneath them was glass. And beneath that—water. Crystal blue, impossibly clear, glowing from beneath with gentle ripples that didn't move.
Noah stood frozen, lips parted, bow half-lowered.
He'd never been here.
Not once.
But he remembered what Evodil said back during the war council—when he dismissed Noah with nothing but a sentence and a door that didn't exist.
And now… this.
Evodil stepped forward, arms behind his back, head tilted slightly.
He didn't speak.
He just looked around the palace like he'd won a bet no one else knew they were part of.
Noah took a cautious step forward.
"What is this place?"
Evodil didn't answer immediately. His hands were still behind his back, eyes moving across every inch of white marble and floating light like he was inspecting a home remodel someone did without asking.
Noah glanced at the beam in the center of the palace, then back at the water under their feet.
"Why are we here?" he pressed. "How did we even get here?"
Evodil shrugged, slow and unbothered. "No clue."
"That's not—"
"But," Evodil added, turning to face him, "I do know this place started following me ever since I found that weird deck."
Noah narrowed his eyes.
"The one from the underground district," Evodil clarified. "In that collapsed dome. Buried under seven layers of curse rot and forgotten structures. Real cozy."
"You brought it home."
Evodil grinned. "I stole it."
Noah exhaled through his nose and said nothing more.
They moved through the palace. Noah's steps were measured, eyes constantly shifting, tracking every shift in the floating lights and runes. Evodil walked with no weight—each stride smooth, almost lazy, like the floor was guiding him.
It wasn't long before they reached the archway.
No door. Just an opening in the palace wall that led to a wide courtyard.
They stepped through.
The air shifted—brighter, warmer. The sky overhead was still impossibly blue. The floor here wasn't glass anymore. It was white stone, soft and worn at the edges, like this place had been used once but not in a long time.
And there it was.
The table.
Long. Black. Polished to a mirror finish that reflected the light with unnatural clarity. It stretched nearly across the whole courtyard. Fifty-two identical chairs lined it—twenty-six on each side, all equidistant, all perfectly aligned.
At the head of the table sat a much larger chair. Its design was different—more elaborate. A star was etched into the top of the headrest, six points overlapping into a spiral. The legs were thicker. The shadows underneath it were deeper.
Noah stopped cold.
Evodil tilted his head, examining the setup.
"Huh," he muttered. "Last time it was a round table. Or my brain's just screwing with me."
Noah turned sharply. "You've been here before?"
"Kind of," Evodil said. "Wasn't exactly invited."
Noah stared at the black table again. "Why the change?"
Evodil didn't answer. Not because he didn't want to—but because, this time, he really didn't know.
Back then, this place was a trick. A performance. He'd lied through his teeth and strutted like a god in front of ghosts just to sell the illusion of control.
Now?
Now he just stood there.
No show.
No script.
No idea what he was supposed to do next.
Noah rubbed his temples like the pressure might force clarity through his skull.
"What the hell are we supposed to do now?"
His voice echoed faintly through the palace's courtyard, swallowed a second later by the soft hum of the glowing orbs overhead.
"We're trapped inside some pocket dimension, we haven't found Jasper or James, and you're walking around like this is a resort."
Evodil didn't reply.
He just stood near the table, staring off at nothing. Not the sky. Not the beam of energy still spiraling through the center of the palace. Just… somewhere else.
Noah stepped forward, boots clicking against the marble. "Hey. Are you listening?"
Nothing.
"Evodil."
Silence.
Noah clenched his jaw. "You're seriously spacing out now? In this?"
Evodil blinked, once. Slowly.
Then he reached into his coat.
The card was still there. Cold. Smooth. Joker's smile still printed across its surface like it hadn't just torn them out of the material world and thrown them into divine limbo.
Evodil let it rest between two fingers, thumb running along the edge. "Relax," he muttered. "As long as I've got this, we can get out. Whenever."
Noah's hand twitched at his side. "Then why are we still here?"
Evodil didn't answer. Not immediately.
His eyes locked onto the large black chair—the one with the star etched into the top. His expression shifted.
Something clicked.
He flicked the card once, sharp.
Turned.
And pointed at Noah.
"You," he said, snapping his fingers. "Pick a poker name."
Noah blinked. "What?"
"A title," Evodil clarified, voice calm but serious now. "Like the cards. Joker. Ace. Queen. Whatever fits your whole 'miserable genius' aesthetic."
Noah stared at him, genuinely caught off-guard. "Why would I—what does that have to do with anything?"
Evodil's grin returned—thin, not mocking, but focused. "I think that's how this place works. It's built on titles."
He held up the card again, letting it spin once between his fingers.
"This thing gave me one. Now maybe it wants more."
Noah looked at him—really looked at him.
Blindfold.
Black coat, collar high.
Turtleneck. Cross chain. Pale skin.
White horns curled back, sharp but not imposing.
The fur-lined cape. The way his shadow refused to behave like a shadow.
Everything about Evodil screamed control. Style. Chaos wrapped in theater.
And right now, he was staring at Noah with all the confidence of a magician asking a knife to choose its favorite trick.
Noah laughed.
Not a small chuckle. A sharp, tired, borderline unhinged burst of laughter that echoed across the courtyard.
He sat down in the nearest chair, dropped into it like gravity had given up, and placed a hand on his forehead.
"This is insane," he muttered between breaths. "You're insane."
Evodil just raised an eyebrow.
Noah let his hand fall to the table, fingers drumming once before giving in. "Fine."
He leaned back.
"Jack of all trades."
Evodil tilted his head. "Not really a poker title."
"I know."
A beat passed.
"...But it fits."
Evodil smiled. "Fair."
They stared at each other.
Too long.
One second, two, five, ten.
Noah didn't blink.
Evodil didn't smile anymore.
The air shifted.
And then the entire realm shook.
Not a wind. Not thunder.
A pulse.
Like something deep below had slammed a fist into the foundations of the palace.
Evodil immediately lost balance and fell backwards with a thud, cape flaring slightly as he hit the marble.
Noah didn't move.
He looked down at him, deadpan. "Jack of all trades. Master of gravity."
Evodil groaned. "I hate you."
Evodil groaned and started to sit up—but didn't have to.
The ground beneath him shifted like liquid marble, curved upward, and launched him into the air.
"Wha—OH COME ON—"
He flailed once mid-flight before gravity caught up and yanked him down.
He landed on his feet—barely—arms out, coat flaring behind him like he planned it. Which he didn't.
Noah blinked once, hand still on his chin. "Fantastic. I died, didn't I."
Evodil dusted off his sleeves, pretending that didn't just happen. "Hm?"
"I'm trapped in a pocket dimension with a blindfolded lunatic who argues with card decks and gets yeeted by divine floor tiles," Noah said flatly. "This has to be hell."
Evodil looked up at the sky for a long second. Then nodded. "Yeah. But at least I'm here."
Noah closed his eyes.
Evodil took a few steps forward, fingers tapping against his chin. "Okay, so. You're Jack of all trades now, right?"
"That was sarcasm."
"Doesn't matter. Title's locked in."
Evodil turned sharply, pointing a gloved finger at him. "Which means you're not great at anything, but decent at everything. Balanced stats. That kinda thing."
Noah's brow twitched. "Where are you going with this."
Evodil smirked. "I need a second brain."
"That is exactly what you don't need."
"Too late," Evodil said, already waving him over. "Get up. We're theorycrafting."
Noah remained seated.
Evodil tilted his head. "Come on, Jack. Help me figure out how to break this place."
Noah sighed, stood, and muttered something under his breath about burning the card deck next chance he got.
Evodil spun on his heel, a glint of something dangerous—or just deeply stupid—behind his grin.
"I've got it."
Noah didn't even ask. He just folded his arms and waited.
Evodil gestured to the air like he was unveiling a masterpiece. "We make a mirror."
"…A mirror," Noah repeated.
"Not a regular one," Evodil said. "Like a portal. A semi-teleportation device. You yell a name into it, it shows you where they are and creates a door to wherever that is."
Noah blinked.
"You know," Evodil continued, "for navigation. Multi-god use. Really streamlines the apocalypse."
He waited.
Noah gave it a second. Then nodded once. "Sure."
Evodil paused. "Wait, that's it? No sarcastic comment? No insult?"
Noah's voice was flat. "Your plans work. Mine don't. Somehow the guy who eats cursed vending machine snacks and gets launched by the floor has better reality-warping success rates than me, the god of knowledge."
Evodil smiled, pleased. "Glad we're on the same page."
He held out one hand, ready to summon Crypt Blade as a base—something heavy, dark, sharp enough to cut through a dimension's sense of privacy.
"Let's get to crafting—"
But as soon as the shadows began to form, the palace flickered.
And the blade vanished.
Gone before it even fully existed.
Evodil blinked. "...Okay. Rude."
Noah raised an eyebrow. "Maybe it doesn't want weapons drawn inside its walls."
Evodil tilted his head. "Maybe it wants to get punched in the face."
He stepped forward.
Noah didn't stop him.
Evodil clenched a fist.
And slammed it into the nearest pillar.
The pillar cracked, then shattered.
Chunks of white stone scattered across the courtyard in a clean arc, the base crumbling into dust as the upper half slammed against the floor with a hollow boom.
Noah flinched.
Evodil didn't.
He dusted off his knuckles and watched with casual interest as the pillar began to grow back—no magic flash, no dramatic noise. Just… rebuilding. The fragments dissolved, the base reformed, and within seconds, it was like nothing happened at all.
Evodil grinned.
Noah stared at the fully restored column for a long beat. Then his eyes narrowed.
"Wait."
He stepped closer to the broken pieces left behind—small shards that hadn't been reabsorbed. He crouched, ran his fingers over one.
Stone, but not just stone.
He felt the structure shift, the pattern in the mineral veins bend under his awareness. This wasn't just ornamental material—it was responsive. Mutable.
His powers worked here.
Evodil turned to him, hands in his pockets. "Well?"
Noah stood slowly. "You did it."
"I punched it."
"And now we have infinite material I can atomically restructure."
Evodil raised an eyebrow. "So that means…"
Noah exhaled. "That means your dumbass tantrum was… actually productive."
Evodil smirked like a cat in a fire.
"I knew that would work," he lied immediately.
Noah didn't bother arguing. He just turned and started dragging the scattered pieces of marble and divine mineral toward the center of the courtyard, right beside the long black table.
Meanwhile, Evodil walked back to the walls.
Cracked his neck.
And punched another pillar.
More fragments flew.
Noah sighed. "This is teamwork. This is absolutely what teamwork looks like."
Another wall collapsed behind him.
Evodil whistled. "One more and we've got enough for legs, frame, and maybe even fancy etchings."
"Why etchings?"
"For style."
Noah didn't reply.
But he didn't say no, either.
After a few more pillars had been cracked, kicked, or straight-up torn out of the walls, Evodil dusted his hands off and wandered back toward the center of the courtyard.
Noah was still working—halfway through assembling the structure.
It wasn't a mirror anymore. Not in the usual sense.
It looked like one, sure—tall, rectangular, with a border of polished black stone from the palace's regrown pillars—but the surface was layered. Half-glass, half-circuitry. Symbols Noah etched by hand ran along the frame, weaving between strips of steel and veins of shifting material, each line pulsing faintly.
It looked like something that shouldn't exist.
But it was real.
And almost finished.
Evodil stepped beside it, looking over the frame with his head slightly tilted. "Damn. You've been busy."
Noah didn't look up. "You've been throwing punches at ancient architecture. Don't act impressed."
"I'm always impressed when someone makes something out of my mess."
The device hummed faintly, but nothing else happened. No activation. No shimmer. Just dead weight.
Noah stepped back and wiped his hands on his coat. "Only one thing missing."
"Power," Evodil said, already walking in a slow circle around the structure.
Noah nodded. "No electricity, no solar grid. No kinetic source. Hell, not even ambient energy. This place is too clean."
Evodil looked up. The sky was still bright.
Still empty.
No sun. No source.
Just light.
"So…" Noah said, "Unless you know where this place hides a battery, it's useless."
Evodil stopped. Reached into his coat.
The card was still there.
Warm now.
Alive.
He pulled it halfway free and looked at the glowing edge, the faint grin still printed across the surface.
"Well," he said, voice calm, "good thing I've been carrying a battery with a personality disorder."
Evodil approached the mirror in silence, card in hand.
No words. Just a quiet, sharp breath through his nose as he held it up, one hand on the frame, the other pressing the card gently against the glass.
Nothing.
The card stayed still.
The mirror stayed dead.
He waited. One second. Two. Nothing shifted. No glow. No pulse. Not even resistance—just cold glass.
Evodil's shoulders dropped. He stepped back.
Behind him, Noah leaned against the long table, arms crossed.
"Well," he said, dry as ever, "I guess we found your first failure. Want me to frame it?"
Evodil didn't respond.
Not with words.
He turned slightly, staring at his empty hand. Fingers twitching. Lips twitching. The card still hovering between his fingers, utterly useless.
Then his eye twitched.
He stepped back again.
Noah immediately took a wider step away. "Oh no. He's thinking."
Evodil growled, low and sharp in his throat. His hand flicked forward.
Nothing happened.
He tried again—more forceful. A snap. A sharp gesture.
Still nothing.
He clenched his fist and tried to summon it for the third time. The shadows flared at his palm—only to fizzle out. Rejected. Again.
Again.
Noah opened his mouth—probably to make another sarcastic jab—but stopped when he saw the look in his brother's face.
Then Evodil spoke.
Loud. Clear. Every syllable cutting through the stillness like it didn't belong here.
"How about I make an Oath to you, annoying light realm?!"
His voice echoed across the courtyard.
"I swear to my life of hatred and anger—I will not rewrite history. I will not relearn it. I will not run from it."
The shadows sparked around his arm.
"I will erase it!"
And then—
He swung his hand down.
This time, the shadows answered.
They snapped into shape.
Steel poured from his palm like spilled ink—forming, locking, solidifying into the familiar weight of the Crypt Blade.
But it wasn't the same.
Not exactly.
The black metal shimmered faintly. Across its edge and flat, white symbols glowed—etched into its surface like scars. Ancient, precise, unreadable.
Noah's eyes narrowed. The script was familiar. Too familiar.
The same script that sat etched into the headrest of the black throne at the end of the table.
Evodil didn't wait.
He raised the blade with both hands and swung downward—clean, fast, brutal.
The courtyard didn't shake.
Reality tore.
A thick white crack split the air in front of the mirror like someone had slashed through the world with a blade that didn't belong in it.
The portal snapped open—blinding, burning, humming with unstable light.
And then the device shattered.
Noah's mirror broke in two clean pieces—sliced straight down the middle, top to base.
The glass didn't explode. It just split.
Two halves hit the floor with a quiet clack.
Noah stared.
Evodil exhaled, lowering the blade. "Oops."