The cube-shaped realm was silent, completely white. Winter knew this pocket dimension existed for a reason, that summoning magic always chose a willing participant.
"It's legit," Winter mutters. This guy's glare could cut steel. "We have to move now." His voice cracks under urgency.
pacing in small steps with a fingertip pressed against his chin. I have the chants memorised but I'm missing something, "It just needs... activation," he says, almost to himself. "But how?"
Winter halts in front of the stranger, uncertain, shoulders tense.
The newcomer doesn't speak, only glances at the white glass ceiling above their heads.
The walls of the cube hum, vibrating softly with dormant energy.
"I'm confused, I remember being old. My voice sounds younger," he says, blinking down at his smooth hands. "Bedridden," he mutters, eyes distant. "My wife was beside me. She was holding my hand."
Winter stares at him, a sudden idea blooming across his face. "Holding hands, was it that simple. yes! It was. That's what professional summoners do!" he blurts with excitement.
"Here.....ah, shake my hand," Winter says quickly. He leans forward, palm outstretched.
Winter closes his eyes and starts chanting some words, ignoring the stranger.
His voice turns rhythmic, rising and falling like waves on a dark shore.
The cube starts to vibrate more fiercely, runes lighting up around the edges.
The stranger remains still, in confusion, watching the chanting mage with weary suspicion.
Winter stops his chants and opens one eye. "Just shake my hand, I can't explain in great detail. Time won't stand still for me," he insists. "That's how we have been doing this for centuries. You'll understand everything. Trust me." He immediately goes back to chanting again, voice sharper now, more deliberate.
The stranger slowly moves his hand toward Winter, hesitating near the glowing palm.
After a moment of pause, he finally grabs Winter's hand.
A blinding pulse shoots through the cube.
Flashes of memory from Winter get shared with the stranger like lightning strikes.
Scenes of arcane failure, loneliness, and summoning rituals fracture through the cube's walls.
The air grows heavy with images, flying in bursts of silver and blue.
Then the stranger's memories start getting shared with Winter.
Gunfire. Screams. Empty saloons. Dozens of bodies slumped under a hot, orange sun.
A child's locket. A burning barn. A woman screaming into the night.
Winter gasps, recoiling slightly from the vivid storm.
Winter speaks with shock, eyes wide.
"You've killed... countless men."
"Enemies," the stranger responds coldly. "Not people. Threats."
"Will you not kill men who will harm your family?"
The stranger tightens his grip.
"Ouch! Stop it," Winter snaps.
"Mr. Spincer Martin," Winter says after regaining his breath. "Great name."
"Winter? Interesting name."
"This is your afterlife, Mr. Spincer. Do remember that the moment this dimension collapses, you will find yourself in a life-or-death situation with a monster."
"Well, you gave me no other choice. And" Spincer points at winter "just Spincer is okay," he replies, eyes scanning the glowing floor.
"I get it," he adds, voice cold.
"You are pathetic, and you needed someone out of desperation. Someone foolish enough to agree with your condition."
Winter flinches at the words, chest rising and falling unevenly.
"Your words are harsh?" he asks. "You barely know me."
"All I make up from your memories is that you are weak and just get mad at the situation instead of doing anything about it. But there is scope for improvement," Spincer says.
"You're living such a comfortable life in comparison to mine," he continues.
"Yet end up being miserable."
"Fate gave you a role. The demon you summoned is your responsibility. Do not run away this time. I can just give a hand."
Winter lowers his gaze, silent.
"The moment I will go after that demon?" Spincer says sharply.
"You are supposed to save your friend and leave. Call for help."
"You will die in doing so," Winter tells Spincer.
Spincer moves forward, taking his stance in the centre of the cube.
His white clothing clings to his lean frame, marked with faded symbols.
The red scarf tightens around his waist with each calculated breath.
The cattleman's hat casts a sharp shadow over his eyes.
He looks sideways toward Winter.
His glance carries a wicked smile.
"Thanks for choosing me out of all the souls that had left the Earth with me," he says, voice echoing through the flickering realm.
"Guess my hell isn't going to stop anytime soon. And I get why. I destroyed a ton of families."
Spincer cracks his knuckles as the light starts to collapse inward.
"Now it's time to add some demons to my hit list."
They both drop out of the collapsing cube into the real dimension.
The sky is dark red. The trees are half-charred skeletons in the ash.
"The demon's claw closed around Tank, the beetle, ripping it from where it had been biting the creature's neck."
He snarls, tightening his grip around the beetle between its blackened claws.
"Its gaze swept from the energetic beetle to Winter, partially obscured by the swirling smoke."
The ground is cratered. Thick fog rolls in like haunted grey breath.
From the smoke, Spincer appeared.
His boots crunch against broken earth as he steps forward.
"So, this is the new guy? You summoned a hero. This is your last desperate attempt? What can I expect from a coward like you?" the demon mocks. "First me. Now, this idiot."
The demon's voice was deep, with layers of different voices within it.
"Kilihigo!" Winter shouts.
The demon flinched.
"That's one of a thousand names that I've been addressed with over thirty thousand years," it growls.
"There's a boss of yours who addressed you with that. You guys are planning something. I can tell. Slowly but surely, I will decipher everything you all are up to and bring you down," Winter adds nervously.
"Spincer glanced down at the revolver in his hand, a strange weight to the familiar grip."
"I didn't take you to be so sharp, human. But with this revelation, you left me with no choice, Winter. I can't let you leave this place alive anymore," Kilihigo says, his voice tightening.
Kilihigo turns his gaze toward Spincer.
The gunslinger doesn't reply. With no expression on his face, he raises his revolver and shoots one of the tentacles. The shot tears through flesh, splattering thick black ooze.
The demon yells in pain.
"Waaah, you human. You insolent insect!"
After a pause, he starts laughing.
"Hahawahha. That barely hurts," it snarls, grinning with rows of jagged teeth.
His limb recovers immediately in a matter of seconds.
"What is it saying, winter? It seems to be speaking to you," Spincer asks.
He's mocking you," Winter mutters.
"They all do right before I drop 'em lifeless. Winter. Move. Now!" Spincer snaps.
Kilihigo throws Tank at spincer.
The demon throws Tank like a ragdoll. Spincer doesn't flinch.
The impact dents the wall behind him. Debris rains down. He doesn't blink.
Spincer wonders, "This revolver of mine has eight bullets in it. Each meant to be stronger than the previous one." Then he gave a werewolf stare to Kilihigo. "You are not surviving this, demon," his voice shrill, precise.
The wind moves suddenly from all directions.
Something massive shifts just beyond the fog wall.
The ground beneath Spincer trembles as if reacting to the truth.
Kilihigo spreads his arms, growing taller.
"Do not run away this time," Spincer's voice echoed in Winter's head. The mocking voice of Kilihigo — "You are a coward" — enrages Winter.
"Those demonic memories from the past tell me that an attack to his forehead will make him immobile, but that's it. I have no clue about killing it."
Without thinking much, he looks at Phill's dagger, which was dropped around his unconscious body.
Spincer's revolver rolls with a fresh chamber.
The next shot will decide the tempo of the war to come.