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TO Rewrite: B3 — 30. Reality Unraveling
🕑 Added 2025-02-04 22:55:30 +0000 UTCPoV:
1. Grace Alexander (Our Calamity of Jane!)
2. Rachel Park (Our MC Lunar Hare!)
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The chamber rang with the sound of Santo and Hassan’s battle, the golden light reflecting in warped ripples off every surface of the opulent room. Grace adjusted her hat atop Jim, narrowing her eyes at the pair clashing below.
[Limit Break - Calamity’s Bullet: 17,021,931,296%]
His silhouette moved like a coiled serpent, wielding artifacts that shimmered with volatile power. Runes lit up on his armor, each etched in magic that somehow defended against any strike the legendary wrestler made.
Grace exhaled slowly, letting the world fade except for her rifle’s sights lining up on his shoulder. Just because the first shot failed, doesn’t mean the next one will. If his armor is impervious, then what about the face? He’ll defend that, right?
One shot to slow him down, another to give Santo an opening.
I might as well be on the opposite team! I better not waste another one of these bullets Henri-Gustave sold me… Damn things are expensive.
[Limit Break - Calamity’s Bullet: 17,122,935,491%]
“I’m getting a bit scared and excited for what you want me to use this bullet on, Boss.” She clicked her tongue against her teeth. “Alright, let’s test this damn luck again. Bet it jams or explodes in my face.”
Hasan’s voice rang out below as he clashed with Santo. “You have no right to be here. None of you. This treasure isn’t meant for outsiders! This was always meant for me. That damn princess and her manipulations! Look. Free me from this amulet she has controlling me, and—”
“Blah, blah—same old song ‘n dance. Every damn villain thinks their shiny loot’s sacred,” Grace muttered, sliding a bullet into the chamber with a practiced flick. Her eyes narrowed as she took careful aim, her voice dropping to a drawl. “Crazy to think he’s got strings on him, Jim. But hell, it tracks. Ain’t no way that bastard’s sharin’ his treasure trove with some spoiled princess without a fight.”
Jim snorted beneath her, the stallion’s nostrils flaring in agreement. Grace gave a small grin, tapping the side of her hat as she shifted in the saddle, the rifle steady against her shoulder.
“You ready down there, lover boy?” she hollered, her voice echoing through the chamber. “Got no clue what kinda rabbit’s foot my blasted luck’s got in store, but let’s light it up!”
“Always!” the luchador shot back, golden light gleaming off his sweat-slicked skin as he rolled his neck with a deep, audible crack. He flexed his hands and using ropes that materialized to swiftly reposition from the ranged scarab-like missiles Hassan fired at him. “But I thought you were the legendary sharpshooter, Señorita!”
“Are you doubting me!?” Grace drawled, steadying her stance as she peered through the scope of her rifle. “I hit you once.”
“One time too many! What is your saying? That gun has got more jam than a county fair?!”
Suppressing a snort, she made sure to keep track of everyone below at once to support the wrestler if he needed. “Shut up and try not to die. Let’s see what kind of misfortune’s on the menu today.”
She squeezed the trigger.
Click.
[Limit Break - Calamity’s Bullet: 17,122,935,492%]
Grace froze. Her jaw tightened as a slow, murderous glare fixed itself on the weapon in her hands. “One Calamity Point for that. One! You son of a—”
She slammed the rifle with her fist, cursing under her breath while pulling the ruined bullet out of the chamber. A flicker of crimson caught her eye—Rachel’s petals. They weren’t guiding her aim at Hasan. No, they were shifting randomly as if taunting her that even trying to enter the fight was pointless.
“Rachel,” she hissed through clenched teeth, inserting another Binding Bullet. “You’re havin’ way too much fun with this curse.”
Below, the fight escalated. Hasan lunged forward, moving like a shadow and somehow putting the practically invulnerable man on the defensive. His scimitar ignited mid-swing, jets of twisting flame spiraling off the blade as it collided with El Santo’s forearm. Sparks and embers sprayed across the chamber in a blinding flash. The masked hero’s body strained, muscles rippling as he forced the blade aside with raw power.
Hasan snarled, his breath searing the air. He ducked low, exhaling a torrent of flame from his mouth. El Santo twisted, catching only the edge of the inferno. Burn marks seared across his exposed chest and arms, but instead of wincing, he laughed—a booming, fearless sound that echoed through the chamber.
“Dragon fire now, friend? What are you, a beast in human form?” Santo chuckled, lunging forward to grab Hasan by the wrist and throwing him into the air. “A gift for you, Milk Girl!”
“Not you too!” Grace yelled back, jumping off Jim to use his saddle for aiming as her bare feet hit the platform. She was still fighting with the rifle, misfortune twisting every attempt into frustration. “One shot…”
Hassan twisted in the air, his cape flaring out to allow him to float midair. “You waste your time!” he spat, flames licking the edges of his breath. “The princess is the real threat! I am merely a puppet of hers. Destroy the amulet! My whole body is impervious with this armor!”
“There is always a choice,” Santo bellowed. “You know it. Fight for yourself!”
Above them, Grace rolled her eyes. Ain’t no time for therapy, handsome. If that’s true. I just need to give Santo an opening… Misfortune be damned, I’m hitting this one!
Click.
The recoil hit her shoulder and magical ropes sprang out, but not around his torso.
Hassan’s eyes widened as the ropes coiled around his exposed head, blinding him.
“Woooh, I hit—”
El Santo launched into the air to grab him, only for a flash of blue light and mystical symbols to spin around the thief, carrying him away. Her restrictive ropes failed, snapping from nothing at all.
“Rachel!”
Grace cursed as the luchador took the brunt of the fight again, blood now sliding down his frame with his sweat; Hassan’s weapons were beginning to break past his defenses.
How can we get past him if he’s got OP items…
Movement came near the stairs, leading to the pool of reality.
Morgiana.
The sultan knelt beside the swirling waters, staring into the pool that had taken his daughter. The girl moved with quiet, focused determination, ignoring the chaos around her.
“Hey, sugar!” she shouted. “Where ya think you’re goin’? Stay clear—”
El Santo broke away from Hassan for a moment, turning toward Morgiana as well. “Morgiana! Stop! That place is dangerous. You can’t—”
“I can,” Morgiana interrupted softly, her voice carrying an unshakable resolve. She clutched the glowing amulet tightly to her chest. “This is something I have to do.”
Grace scowled as she saw the petals following Santo, not the girl. She jumped onto Jim and guided him toward the edge of the platform. “Hold up—the boss’ petals ain’t tellin’ ya to go in there! You see ‘em floatin’—Morgiana!”
Morgiana didn’t stop. Her eyes were fixed on the pool’s ethereal glow. The golden surface rippled like liquid stars, growing darker and darker.
The Sultan stirred, his eyes wide and hollow as he saw the necklace in her hand. Slowly, a faint smile crossed his weathered face. “Ali Baba’s Wish Pendant… You always were a clever man.” His voice was barely above a whisper yet somehow traveled throughout the whole chamber, a mix of pride and regret. “May you find happiness, Morgiana… If only I had warned my daughter of the danger of this pool.”
Grace blinked. “Wait, what now?”
Just as Jim landed on the platform, Morgiana stepped onto the first stair leading into the pool. The chamber shifted. Reality itself seemed to shudder as the pool’s power acknowledged her presence.
“Dammit,” Grace muttered, pulling her rifle up again and taking aim. “This ain't a good sign.”
Hassan leaped at El Santo again, pulled on by his strings, but Grace’s attention remained on Morgiana, her thoughts racing. If this ain’t the plan, Boss, what are you settin’ me up for? Should I stop her? No… If she’s that determined, then I can’t interfere.
[Limit Break - Calamity’s Bullet: 17,122,936,139%]
Santo ducked and weaved through fire and fury, sweat mingling with the searing burn marks across his chest. Meanwhile, Hasan was a whirlwind of speed, his armor pulsing with ethereal defenses, scimitar sparking with enchanted black fire as if hell itself guided the blade.
Grace muttered a curse under her breath, her sights trained on the swirling mass of petals and the chaotic dance of fighters. She swiftly inserted a Blinding Bullet and aimed at the floating thing, hovering beside the luchador’s left ear and firing.
Please hit!
Bang!
The petals flickered again, shifting as though directing her fire. Santo jumped back, but then Hassan thrust out his free hand, summoning a vortex of pulling force. The entire chamber seemed to groan as the pressure mounted, dragging Santo toward the blazing scimitar raised high above his head.
Her eyes narrowed as the bullet streaked through the air—totally missing—well, it would have. The pull of Hassan’s own gravity twisted it off course. It veered hard, slamming into the thieves’s face instead of the petals she’d aimed for.
Success!
The bullet detonated on impact. Shadows exploded outward like ink spreading through water, blinding and suffocating, smothering the light around Hassan. His startled roar echoed through the chamber as he staggered, clawing at his helm.
“Get the amulet! I can’t break her control!”
Santo didn’t miss a beat, using the chaos to slam both feet into the ground and push off with tremendous force, narrowly avoiding the wild swing of the scimitar.
“¡Para usted!” Santo roared, muscles bulging as he barreled forward through the gravity pull, wrapping his arms around Hasan mid-air. The King of Thieves hit the ground hard with a bone-jarring crash, the pair rolling across the chamber in a tangled, brutal clash of strength and will.
Santo’s massive hands found the amulet around Hassan’s neck. The thief thrashed wildly, his voice muffled by the smoke still shrouding him. Grace winced as Santo gave a final, powerful squeeze, shattering the artifact in a flash of golden sparks.
The pull of gravity collapsed as quickly as it had come. The chamber steadied, the choking shadows dissipating. Santo stumbled back up with the villain across from him, catching his breath. Cuts and scorch marks littered his body, but his grin remained unshaken.
“Heh…you got tricks, amigo. But no more strings. You’re free now. What is your play?”
Hasan rolled to his hands and knees, gasping. His eyes were wide, his breath ragged as he clawed at the broken amulet pieces scattered around him. “I…I’m free?” he whispered, voice cracking with disbelief. He slowly looked up at the sultan, his expression somewhere between relief and terror. “I…don’t know. What do we do now? She’s in the pool. She has everything. Everything…everything’s collapsing. I—”
“Great,” Grace muttered, directing Jim toward the luchador, who was now checking out his damage. She pulled her rifle back into storage and spun out her revolver to aim it at the man’s face, activating [Calamity’s Bullet], finger resting on the trigger. “I’m still wonderin’ if lettin’ you off the leash was a good idea or just a new flavor of dumbassery. I ain’t playin’ now, bud. Best be on good behavior.”
Her gaze flicked toward the pool where Morgiana slipped into the swirling cosmic liquid. The pool shimmered, growing darker and more vibrant with each ripple she created. The sultan stared at the sight as if none of them even existed, his voice distant and hollow.
“If you see Layla, tell her I’m sorry… This wasn’t supposed to be how it went. We were all supposed to obtain this gift. But not like this… Blame me. Ali Baba was wiser than I gave him credit for… There is a way to escape the pool before it takes you. He found the solution.”
Grace bunched her lips to the side. “Can someone give me the cliff notes? Here, Santo, tie up the thief…not that I expect them to hold,” she mumbled, summoning her best rope and tossing it to him. “What the hell did ya tell her to do, Ali Baba?”
She caught movement in the corner of her vision. Ali Baba, battered but alive, stood with a strange, crystalline orb in his hand, scavenged from the pile of treasure nearby. Light poured from it like flowing water, enveloping both him and Kassim. Slowly but surely, their wounds began to close, golden energy weaving through their skin like threads of fate being repaired.
Ali Baba rose to his feet and gave them a somber look while helping his son up, questions in his own eyes. “I’ve set into motion the only way I could see we all came out of this alive… I’ve saved my family.”
“Sure. Sure.” Grace murmured, looking up as the chamber trembled slightly, reality itself groaning under whatever was happening outside. “Sugar, I just hope we didn’t just kick open a bigger mess than what we were in.”
“Isn’t ‘trouble’ your middle name, Señorita?”
“It is, actually!” With Santo back on his feet and tying up Hassan, now looking in shock, Grace adjusted her hat and sighed. “Welp… I reckon now’s when things go from bad to cosmic-level batshit since the puppet loser we came here for is in ropes.”
She looked back at Santo, who wiped blood from his mouth, looking far more beat up than she thought he would, giving her a weary grin.
Damn, he really took that beatin’ while I’m here strippin’... What an adventure.
[Limit Break - Calamity’s Bullet: 20,000,000,000%]
Limit Break - Calamity’s Bullet: Revolver Rank Maxed - Level 100 - SS-Tier]
“Hoo-boy. Ready for round two?” she asked, cracking her neck and slapping the side of Jim’s neck as her revolver handle began to crack. “I think I broke my System… We got a real rodeo comin’.”
As if on cue, the pool flared with a surge of dark, cosmic energy. The sultan’s eyes widened in horror, and Grace muttered under her breath, “Yup… Here we go.”
The pool surged violently, dark tendrils spiraling upward, twisting like the roots of a blackened tree. The entire chamber trembled beneath an unseen force, cracks forming in the walls as if reality itself was straining to hold.
Grace tightened her grip on her revolver, the metal in her hands practically vibrating from the pressure building around them. “Oh, this ain’t good, boys,” she muttered, voice low. “Feels like every bad decision I’ve ever made’s all showin’ up to dance at once. Santo, tell me you’re ready for somethin’ worse than fire-breathin’ Hasan down there.”
Before the luchador could answer, space itself distorted. A vertical slash of violet and silver light tore through the air beside Jim. Grace jerked back in her saddle, revolver raised, heart pounding. “Aw, hell no. Now what—”
The rift split open, and Rachel dropped through it like a stone. She landed heavily on one knee beside Jim, her bare feet hitting the cold floor with a sharp echo. For a moment, she didn’t move, her arms bracing against the ground as she gasped for breath. Grace blinked in shock, lowering her weapon.
Silence.
“…Boss?”
Rachel straightened slowly, her legs trembling slightly before she stood upright. Her raven-black hair clung to her sweat-slicked skin, loose strands falling over her face as it began to revert back to white, hued with a pink aura.
The air around her shimmered faintly, remnants of her cosmic power flickering in and out like dying stars. She was no longer the Eldritch nightmare Grace had glimpsed before—just a woman now, breathing hard but holding herself with a grin that made Grace shiver.
Rachel stretched her neck with a soft crack, large ears spreading for a moment while rolling her shoulders as if shaking off exhaustion. Her shorts and tank top were tattered, as if she’d fought through a warzone, showing her sports bra underneath. Her red, clover eyes glinted with an eclipse in the fractured light of the chamber, sharp and calculating.
She wiped her forehead and gave Grace a small, lopsided grin. “Nice to see you’re still in one piece, Milky. That wasn’t always the case in some of the future fractures in reality I saw.”
“Eh, thanks?” Grace muttered, finally easing her grip on the revolver. “You look like you ran through seven kinds of hell. Speakin’ of hell, where the hell’ve ya been?”
“Somewhere worse than that… My own soul,” Rachel replied, voice low and strained. She exhaled and scanned the chamber quickly, eyes narrowing at the pool’s ominous glow. The sultan still knelt before it, muttering incoherently as though in a trance upon seeing the hare. “We’re out of time. Is she already in?”
“Morgiana or Layla?” Grace thumbed toward the pool, her lips tightening. “The answer is yes to both. Walked in like she was headin’ to a funeral. Your petals didn’t say nothin’ about stoppin’ her…or her goin’ in. Some better instructions would have been appreciated.”
Rachel didn’t respond immediately. Her gaze darkened as she stepped forward, feet silent against the trembling floor. She crouched beside the pool and pressed her hand to the surface, which shivered at her touch.
“The pool’s chosen her already. It’s not like the others—it answers to intent, not Fate… The Eldritch twist between reality and fable.”
“Well, that’s…reassuring and totally not confusing,” Grace muttered, scratching her head. “So, what now, Boss? Big Sultan over there is totally shook, same with Mr. Master Thief. We throwin’ a welcome party for whatever cosmic nightmare’s about to pop outta there or what?”
Before Rachel could answer, the pool erupted again, sending a wave of crushing force through the room. The sultan staggered back, his eyes wild with fear and recognition as he prowled toward the hare, scimitar materializing in his hand.
“No… This wasn’t the deal, Rachel! You promised!”
Oh shit… What even is this [Calamity Bullet] for?! My gun is breaking here!
* — * — *
Rachel kept her relaxed posture as a sharp tremor shook the chamber with increasing intensity. All eyes were on her, questions stirring as Ali Baba moved to join them, finding a weapon on the way toward them from the piles of powerful mystical items.
Most of it was unusable by any of them at their current souls’ strength—these were world-ending items. Simply trying to channel the items or activate them would be too much to take and crush them to their core. Level 100 items that couldn’t be taken out of the Fable realm since…they didn’t exist. Well, unless dipped into the pool.
Taking account of the situation around her, Rachel’s attention was immediately drawn to the livid legend of this fable realm. Yet, her thoughts were on what was to come.
My body should recover from the last fumes of Selene’s power leaving me. C’mon, Little Bun… I’m counting on you. Right now, I’m defenseless.
[Living Denier - Null Crescent Evolution: 92%]
She silently counted as Nia’s evolving powers tried to infuse her and failed, dropping percentages before climbing again, feeling the balance between exhaustion and power. The swirling mass of dark energy spiraling out of the pool was far from unfamiliar. It was like looking at the echoes of what she had just survived…just been.
Santo shifted closer to her, his body language alert, ready to spring into action. Grace, too, kept her revolvers aimed at Ahriman, though the cracks along her revolver made Rachel smile.
Good job, Milky. Your Seed is close to fracturing from the amount of power you’ve forced it to absorb from the unraveling of Ali Baba’s Seed. Seems my misfortune did its job and forced her to not use it, as well. It came at quite the price, though, she mused, looking over the girl’s mostly stripped away outfit and breaking revolver. I wouldn’t force you to do anything I wouldn’t do myself.
The sultan’s voice trembled with both fury and fear as he stalked forward. “You think you can just explain this away? My daughter… She’s lost to me forever because you led her here! She could not have gotten past everything had you not supported her! You played your game, Misfortune, and now you want me to trust you?”
Rachel raised an eyebrow, her tone razor-sharp as she responded. “Trust me? You never had a choice…none of us did until I broke the chains. But…she’s alive, Sultan. You just don’t like the terms. That’s not on me. I gave you the path that kept your kingdom intact. Did you expect a fairy tale ending?”
His scimitar gleamed, but he hesitated, torn between action and fear of what was rising behind him. “You know what I wanted—knew this was what I didn’t want—that she wouldn’t become this…” His voice cracked, trailing off into a whisper.
Before Rachel could answer, the pool exploded again, this time fully releasing Ahriman—the First Djinn—and not who the father was grieving over.
His massive, smoky form emerged in a whirlwind of raw power, red and gold energy spiraling outward like chains breaking free of an eternal prison. His voice thundered through the room.
“You have failed, Sultan. I am free,” Ahriman declared, his ethereal and corporeal form shifting with each breath. His burning gaze swept over them as he folded his arms, a giant’s grin lighting his face. “And you…have played your roles beautifully.”
Grace’s breath hitched beside Rachel. “Figures. We ain’t got enough crazy villains already—now we got a genie gone nuclear.” She cocked her head, muttering under her breath. “Boss, you better have a plan that doesn’t end with us bein’ genie chowder.”
Rachel’s smirk widened as she stepped forward, taking center stage, shoulders loose and relaxed, though every instinct in her—[Divine Beastial Instincts]—screaming that this was suicide.
“Ahriman, huh? It’s too bad you were still too constrained to follow me through the Mirrorverse,” Her voice echoed with a detached calm. “You’re looking pretty good for someone who’s been rotting at the bottom of a Fable pool.”
The djinn’s laugh was deep and chilling. “You dare mock me, Creature of Reality? I am the First Djinn in this Fable that you have unraveled. You…are insects on the wheel of my master’s design. He saw you. Saw this outcome. Knows your hearts… Your greatest fears—”
“Yadda, yadda. You guys really need new writers.” Rachel yawned and waved a dismissive hand. “You’re all the same. Big speeches, big promises. Same old crap. But you know what I’ve learned? Everyone underestimates just how stupid and reckless I can be when I’ve got my back against the wall.”
El Santo flexed his fingers, his grin widening in anticipation. “I think you’ve met your match in theatrics, amigo. Let’s see if your strength matches your voice.”
Ahriman snarled, his body expanding with cosmic fury, the chamber warping under the gravity of his power. “You think you can challenge me? You are children before a god.”
Time stretched for a heartbeat.
The cosmic pool darkened further, an oppressive hum reverberating in Rachel’s bones, her smile razor-sharp. “Children, huh? Not wrong, actually. You may be in the range of a Lesser God.”
“Lesser? What do you know about gods?!”
She took a long breath, grounding herself. Almost every eye in the chamber was on her now. Rachel raised a hand, Ahriman raising his own with cosmic power gathering to wipe her away like a grain of dust.
“What do I know? I’ve already killed a lesser god. Misfortune is a hell of a force…and so is calamity.”
Bang!
All eyes shot to Grace, shaky hand raised, cracking revolver pointed up at the First Djinn’s chest—[Calamity’s Bullet].
“Impossible—”
Rachel’s vision narrowed as Ahriman roared in defiance. The bullet ruptured the heart of his fragile existence, the spiral void the bullet had ripped through tearing at the very essence of the realm. Time fractured. Space groaned in protest as his immense figure faltered and began to collapse inward, his screams reverberating through the chamber like the echoes of a dying star.
But it wasn’t over.
A shadow clawed its way forward, a single hand stretching through the vortex of entropy. A tendril of Ahriman’s flickering essence latched onto Hassan, wrenching him forward. The thief’s eyes rolled back in terror as red veins of corrupt power surged under his skin. He screamed, voice raw and ragged.
“No! Help me—Rachel, you need me! You need answers!”
Not exactly…
Santo lunged with a snarl, fingers brushing the edge of Hassan’s arm—being the folk hero he was—but it was too late. Darkness oozed like tar, coiling around Hassan’s frame. His features twisted and distorted as Ahriman’s voice slithered into every corner of the room.
“A bullet that shatters solar systems… Is not strong enough! I will live on…through you. I will be real!”
Rachel’s tail flicked with agitation. “Tch. It was a long-shot. Always a backup plan with these types. Damn parasites. But I’ve got my own plan.”
Hassan collapsed to his knees, now a shell—yet something else entirely. The same malevolent glow that had surrounded Ahriman’s form now burned in his hollow eyes. He staggered to his feet, swaying as if adjusting to his new existence.
Santo recoiled as a pulse of dark energy shot him backward. Grace was already hopping off Jim to catch him, cushioning him as her horse cushioned her.
“I got ya, big boy!”
“Ugh… Haha. Seems I have become the princess.”
“Ack! Wooh… Hey, at least I’ve got padding instead of rock hard pecs.”
Rachel stepped forward, arms loose at her sides, ears tilting to the side while positioning herself between the recovering Legends. Ali Baba took her side as his son behind them began to fade away in twinkling sapphire light.
“Dad. What…”
Ali Baba turned to smile at him with a fatherly look on his face. “Take care of your wife and mother for me… Make them happy.”
“Dad!”
As he vanished, Rachel stretched her arms high over her head, leering down at the trembling djinn; the thief’s limited mortal frame struggled to maintain what little power Ahriman had managed to retain in the mortal, fictitious body.
“Funny how it always plays out this way for me.” Rachel’s gaze sharpened on the warped version of Hassan, backing away from them toward the pool as the sultan continued to glare at her, still struggling with the decision to kill her or not. “Who foresaw my actions now? Surely your master didn’t intend for this to be your outcome? Or…did he? Why don’t we ask him…or should I say her?”
Before the newly-possessed Hassan could respond, the pool of reality exploded in a surge of violent color. Gold and black spiraled outward, liquid stardust cascading into the void of the chamber as Princess Layla emerged, a regal yet warped presence—fully inducted into reality with a soul of her own…only for it to become a puppet.
Her every step resonated with the echoes of the Fable’s core, her eyes glinting like polished obsidian… The bad ending of the game.
In her hand, a dark object began to take shape—a pitch-black hat. She placed it atop her head with a slow, deliberate motion. Eyes pools of the empty abyss. The moment it settled, a sinister shift swept through the atmosphere.
Rachel lifted a hand in greeting. “Well, Black Hat… How’s the body? Limited but fits pretty snugly?” she muttered.
“Damn you,” the sultan snarled, fists shaking and unable to put his anger anywhere. “You better have a plan!”
“Oh… She does, Father,” Layla chuckled, showing an innocent smile that didn’t touch her void-like vision.
Layla tipped her head in greeting, shadows curling from his every movement. Black Hat removed her headpiece in a theatrical bow, her eyeglasses materializing out of nothingness to flash with refracted light that wasn’t there.
“Karma… What a delightful reunion, don’t you think? Are you ready for our dance with Fate? Can she reclaim her thread…or will you or I snap it? The race begins.”
Ali Baba twisted around the daggers in his hand, a grin rising on his face. “I’m guessing you have the impossible to handle corruption, young lady? Sultan, let’s put our trust in the mad hare.”
“Not like any of us have much choice,” Grace chortled, checking on El Santo. “Boss, whatever you’re paying me. I want ten times that!”
“Mmm. We can renegotiate later,” Rachel laughed, flexing her fingers and moving forward. “I’m starting to get excited. I hope you don’t disappoint me and fail to keep up.”
“I prefer creative solutions instead of brute strength, personally. But why ruin the surprise? After all, isn’t this your favorite game, Misfortune—dancing with disaster? Oh, Sultan, your princess wants to speak…”
Rachel held out a hand to stop him from lurching forward. “Careful… I’ve weakened him with Melishna being here, which is why he took your daughter. He’s limited inside of her.”
Layla’s voice cut through the tension like a blade. “Father…” She fixed her father with a piercing glare. “You always underestimated what it would take to control this power… Underestimated me because I was a woman. This is the new flesh. The open door. You cannot see the possibilities before me. Now…you witness what it truly means to be free.”
The sultan’s grip on his scimitar tightened, his knuckles white as he took a defensive stance. “I tried to protect you from this. All the warnings…the stories. I failed you, just like I failed your mother.”
“You didn’t fail me—you erased me. I was just a showpiece under your rule. Now, I am everything you feared.” Layla’s words were ice-cold. “Thanks to Black Hat, I am…more.”
The air became suffocating, vibrating with raw potential. Grace tightened her hold on her single revolver, the previous one having folded in on itself into oblivion.
Rachel’s gaze didn’t waver. Her grin returned, sharp and knowing. “Well, dominated by all you’ve hated, Layla… You don’t deserve the opportunity your father bargained for. But let’s see how far you’re willing to push her, Black Hat. Hope you’re ready for a wild finale.”
With a subtle nod, Black Hat adjusted her glasses as he reasserted dominance after playing with the sultan, a flicker of amusement passing over his features.
“Oh, Rachel,” his voice layered with hers, “one confession…is such perfection. Your sweet repression can’t hide who you really are. We are everything you wanted. Don’t pretend that you’re better than this… Malevolence goes both ways. So say a benediction for a new addiction. In voyeuristic overdrive, watching your fluid existence unravel.”
“Is that right? I have tasted the bitter fruit of [Curse of Wise] and enjoyed it. I’m not denying I enjoy the Black Moon. I embraced it which is why we’re here.”
Black Hat chuckled, pressing her glasses up. “Reality is a plague. An oversaturation. We’re the medication. A new manipulation on the board that was never meant to be erased… New Flesh, taking advantage of what they deny. So step right up and see the possibilities… This isn’t a finale. This is merely the overture to the Grand Symphony of Ruin…and you’re the star performer. The show has only just begun.”
Rachel chuckled darkly, tension snapping like a drawn bow string as he gestured toward two rifts in space—one to the roots of Melishna, the other a darkness that Ahriman ran into.
“Grace… I’m going to need you to finish off that loser djinn with the squad. I’ve got the possessed princess. Let’s dance.”
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Comments
SME
Lol
Opala
Milkytax: 🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄 Also, were you hiding behind the djinn? Because it seems you got shot by your own characters as well: “Yadda, yadda. You guys really need new writers.”
Blinglee
Let’s go ( some awesome xeno osts plays in the background)
