The weight of exhaustion clung to Sumei like the rain-soaked coat Evan had draped over her. Her tear-dampened cheeks had dried sometime between the silent walk back and him gently placing her onto the creaky bed she clearly hadn't slept in properly for weeks.
Her tiny form curled instinctively under the thin blankets, limbs trembling with a mix of grief, relief, and confusion.
Evan remained nearby, a quiet, looming presence, arms crossed. No words. Just that unflinching, immortal patience.
---
Around noon, Sumei's eyes fluttered open like a moon peeking through a dark sky. She yawned and stretched on the bed, blinking at her surroundings. In the kitchen, Evan was preparing something. For a man supposedly from a past century, he was adapting disturbingly well.
She padded over sleepily and leaned against the counter.
"Hey, Ev—I mean, Gramps. What are you making? Do you even know how to cook?"
She paused, unsure why she hesitated calling him by name—but she didn't dwell on it.
He didn't answer immediately.
"...I read some manuals," he muttered. "Used that window you made my profile on. Figured out how these gadgets work. I'm trying, alright."
He held out a spoon filled with some kind of stew she didn't recognize.
"Here. Give it a shot."
Sumei hesitated, sniffed the air. Her nose twitched at the rich scent of spices and herbs. But she stayed defiant.
"Alright. Bet it tastes like shoe water, but I'll humor you."
She blew on the spoon and took a sip.
Her eyes widened. The warmth of the flavors, the perfect blend of texture and spice, melted her heart. She held the spoon in her mouth longer than necessary until Evan gently pulled it back.
"Well?"
Snapping out of it, she turned around, flustered by her own goofy expression.
"It's... alright."
"Okay."
"You're not mad I didn't compliment it?"
"I don't cook often. That's compliment enough. Besides, honesty's better than a sweet lie."
"I can't tell if you're weird or smart."
"You're a brat. That doesn't matter."
"Rude, Grandpa!!"
"Says the one who's calling me names. Anyway, I don't care."
"Well, I'm still hungry, so I'll take a huge portion."
"Sure, brat."
"I'm not a brat!"
"Go clean the table."
"Yes, Grandpa!"
---
They sat together at the dinner table. Evan stared at his plate, thoughts spiraling.
It's been a while... he mused. After everything. Eating my own flesh. Being eaten. And now... I feel hungry again. Sane. What the hell... am I?
"Grandpa? You're not eating?"
"I am," he said, breaking his trance.
He took a bite. Cooked food. After all that time, it wasn't just decent—it was a godsend.
Sumei wolfed down her meal but kept sneaking glances at him. She couldn't quite read his expression, but her sense of smell told her... he was genuinely content.
After dinner, she yawned as Evan stood by the window, watching the city lights flicker like distant stars.
"What's wrong, Gramps? Missing the good old days?"
"Kind of."
"Huh?"
"Do you know anything about history?"
"Depends. How historical are we talking?"
"3,018 years ago. Specifically, 2018."
"Dude, I barely remember what I ate this morning."
"..."
"But... there is a place. Not exactly legal."
He turned to her.
"Keep going."
"There's this banned old VR game—Fight Club of History. People used it to earn [IPs] and relive historical wars and events. Fully immersive."
"Why was it banned?"
"Because it was too real. Simulated entire dimensions. Some even died from the experience 'cause they actually got hit real hard."
"And it still exists?"
"Yeah. No one knows where the servers are, but it keeps updating. They say the game's core skill is to record and mimic the flow of time itself."
"Interesting."
"Why do you ask? Were you just messing with me again?"
"No. We're going there. I've got a lot to remember, brat."
"Stop calling me brat! I'm a strong, independent woman!"
"Then lead the way."
"Of course! Follow the lady, old man!"
"Whatever."
---
Elsewhere, in a dark alley—
A neon spiderweb of null-signal fields spiraled above Iris as she followed Morrin down a dim corridor. At its end stood a black door with a glowing lock—an eye folding endlessly into itself.
"This place is off-grid" Morrin smirked. "Eventracker fairies can't break in. Built it myself."
"Impressive. How?"
"Had help from another genius."
"Another genius?"
"He taught me stuff. Helped me understand things. Didn't try anything with me."
"A saint. Ignoring you?"
"I know, right?"
They entered a round chamber. At its center hovered a complex artifact: a cube inside a tesseract, within an eleven-dimensional spiral.
"This is..."
"Layers of the world. Took me three months to build."
"You were wanted for three years."
"So?"
"Never mind."
Iris examined the glowing structure.
"Only nine layers? Where's Layer Ten?"
"Too heavily guarded. Even I haven't cracked it. Can't let Heaven access my magic. Their artificial god is still too powerful—even for me."
"Artificial god?"
Morrin stretched, taking off her jacket, letting her tattoos and curves breathe the atmosphere.
"You think all those consciousness backups, skill uploads, and stat sheets are just data? They're building a god, Iris. It's either the end—or the beginning of something worse."
Iris was stunned.
"And those Summoners we talked bout earlier?"
"Maybe. No proof yet. But let's assume the worst."
Iris crossed her arms.
"How do we fight them? I can't protect everyone, and I don't want to rely on your magic."
"Aww. Harsh."
Iris remained silent.
Morrin sighed.
"Alright, guess I—"
A wall blinked. From behind a shelf emerged a tall man in a lab coat, lollipop in mouth, hair a mess, holding a tablet.
Seeing him morrin jumps to hug him
"BRO—!"
He stepped aside.
THUD. Morrin faceplanted.
"You little—!"
"Told you: don't touch me if you reek of other men before coming back."
"That's how you greet me?!"
He turned to Iris, ignoring Morrin.
"And this pretty face is...?"
Morrin jumped back in.
"She's Iris Vale—"
"The Butterfly of Causality. Heard of you."
"Let me finish, you bastard!"
"And you are...?" Iris asked being a bit cautious.
"Oh, right! Iris, meet Negative. Codename. No real one."
"I don't care for names at this point," he said.
"He's my twin!"
"...Twin?"
"Didn't know until a year ago," Morrin shrugged. "He found me robbing a bank. And... someone's virginity."
Negative waved lazily.
"She's charming. In a psychotic way."
"You're nothing alike," Iris muttered.
"Thank you," he said flatly.
"So how are you related?"
"We're not. She says I give off 'brother vibes' because I didn't get turned on by her."
"I thought he was gay!" Morrin try to interject
"She thinks every guy wants her. My priorities crushed her ego—that was funny." He shut her up
Morrin just grumbled now.
Negative turned to Iris.
"So... you want a spirit contract too?"
She nodded.
"Yeah. I'm a weapon. If I can't damage my enemies, then what's the point of existing?"
He stared at her, then sighed.
"Alright. Contracting with a spirit requires mental resonance. They aren't physical—they're concepts. Emotions. Archetypes. You bond with the idea."
He pointed to her forehead.
"I'll build the bridge. The rest is up to you."
His finger pressed.
"Mess up, and it'll stick to you like a parasite. You're not Morrin—nor smart enough to pull something extreme. Be honest. Spirits see through everything. Don't think—feel."
---
SUDDENLY—
Darkness.
Iris floated in a void. Darkness on all sides. Yet she glowed, lit by an ethereal presence: a butterfly of golden-white flame.
"You... what are you?" she whispered.
"I am Avenari. The White Flame" came the echo.
"Just one question for you, Vale..."
"What do you desire most?"
Power. That was her instinctive answer.
But then Evan's words echoed:
It's easier to look pissed than actually show emotions. She's silent... and maybe feeling... insulted?
Her lips moved.
"I want... someone with me. So I don't feel hollow all the time."
Silence.
The butterfly drifted closer.
A whisper:
"Then I accept you."
They touched.
Light exploded.
---
[RETURN TO BASE: MINUTES LATER]
Iris opened her eyes. Her nanotech bracelet now glowed with obsidian and white-gold light.
Negative raised a brow.
"Interesting. Whatever you said worked. Strong spirit bond. Perhaps higher than Morrin's."
"There's a hierarchy?" Iris asked.
"Yeah. From weakest to strongest:
Echoes: Simple spirits. Easy to bond with. Enhance your physical strength and let you interact with abstract properties.
Elementals: Spirits of elements—light, shadow, life force, and so on.
Phantasms: Legendary spirits. Think of a killer from history who manipulates blood and darkness.
Mythics: Highest known tier I've encountered. They can control reality and enforce absolute logic in their domain.
Celestials: I don't know much. But if Mythics are what they are... Celestials might be endless interpretations made manifest."
"Your spirit's a Mythic class. Congrats~" Morrin chirped.
Negative popped the candy from his mouth. His expression turned serious.
"Now then, Morrin. Tell me exactly what you plan to do with your new man...
...the one you call Subject Zero."