The throne room shook. The spear pulsed violently. The Root descended.
Rick's hand reached forward—
And the world shattered once more.
---
It was not falling this time. It was splitting.
Rick felt himself being drawn apart, body stretched into lines of light, thoughts fragmenting into a thousand echoes. He tried to hold on to Devil's hand, but his own fingers passed through like smoke. The throne room dissolved around him—stone, chains, black sun—all peeling away in layers until only a vast lattice of white and black threads remained. It was not space, not time, but something deeper, the loom on which reality itself had been woven.
"Rick." The voice came from nowhere and everywhere. Not Devil's, not the Root's, not even his own. It was a voice made of stillness, as if silence itself had spoken. "The price waits. Will you pay?"
"I already said I would!" Rick shouted, his voice ragged as the threads dragged across his skin. "Just bring him back!"
"Payment is not words," the voice replied. "Payment is truth."
Rick spun, trying to locate the speaker. He stood on nothing and everything at once, a trembling grid of lines stretching into infinity. Each thread pulsed faintly, like veins. Far below—or perhaps above—he saw the throne room suspended, a miniature caught in a web. Devil sat slumped on the throne, the spear glowing, the chains descending toward him like hungry serpents. The Root's shadow coiled through the cracks, its spiral eye widening.
Rick reached downward instinctively. His hand struck the grid, sending ripples through it. The threads vibrated, whispering languages older than stars. "What do you want from me?" he demanded.
"The Root has marked him," the voice said. "It will claim what it believes is its own. You cannot fight what you do not understand. You cannot rescue what does not wish to return."
"That's a lie!" Rick roared. "He wants to come back! He's fighting it!"
The threads nearest him trembled harder, resonating like struck bells. Shapes rose from them—shadows with faces he almost recognized. His companions? His own memories? They swirled, showing moments like shards of glass: Devil laughing under a blood-red sky; Devil kneeling in chains before the Watcher; Devil standing with the spear, eyes hollow, saying I promised.
"Promises have weight," the voice murmured. "Every vow is a chain. He bound himself to something long before you knew him."
Rick's heart hammered. "Then I'll break the chains!"
"Will you?" the voice asked softly. "Or will you wear them?"
The lattice pulsed. Threads split, revealing a dark corridor between them, lined with faint, glowing runes. It stretched forward into endlessness, like the throat of some cosmic beast. The voice whispered again:
"Enter. Know the price."
Rick hesitated. Far below, in the suspended throne room, Devil lifted his head. His eyes met Rick's through the web. For a moment, the crimson-gold fire blazed with clarity.
"Rick…" Devil's voice was faint but real. "Don't…"
The chains closed around him like fangs. The Root's shadow poured thicker through the cracks.
Rick's breath caught. "Hold on. I'm coming."
He stepped into the corridor.
---
The passage was narrow, but not physically—narrow like thought. Rick felt his memories being pressed, compressed, as if the space itself demanded confession. Each step forward peeled something from him: his name, his fears, his victories, his shame. He saw flashes of the past flicker along the walls—his first meeting with Devil, the battles they'd fought, the nights they'd both wondered if they'd live to see dawn. Each memory was a tether. Each tether was a weight.
The voice spoke again, but now it was inside his skull. "You walk the Vein of Debt. Every life you touch, every bond you form, leaves a mark. To take him back, you must give something equal."
"Fine," Rick muttered. "Take me."
A pause. Then laughter—not mocking, but sad. "The Root does not trade in bodies. It trades in roots. In origins. In beginnings. What you give, you may never reclaim."
Rick's fists clenched. "I don't care what it takes. He's my friend."
"Friendship is a word," the voice said. "Roots are deeper."
The corridor widened suddenly. Rick stepped into a cavern of threads, each one glowing with a faint heartbeat. At the center stood a well of darkness, its rim etched with runes that crawled like insects. From the well rose faint whispers—names, faces, smells of forgotten seasons. He recognized some: his mother's voice calling him home, the taste of rain on his tongue when he was a boy, the first time he held a blade. Roots.
"This is your price," the voice said. "Choose which to cut."
Rick stared into the well. The whispers rose higher, pulling at him. He understood now: to sever a root was to erase its existence from himself. Not just memory, but meaning. He could cut away his past, his identity, his power. Any of it. But whatever he chose, it would be gone forever, leaving a hollow in its place.
He thought of Devil, chained below, struggling against the Root's claim. He thought of the battles ahead. He thought of what they had promised each other.
Rick closed his eyes.
Then he spoke. "Take my beginning."
The voice stilled. "Explain."
"I don't need to remember who I was before him," Rick said quietly. "Before all this. Take my origin. My name, my past. Just leave me who I am now, and give him back."
Silence fell.
Then the well erupted.
Threads snapped, flaring white. Rick felt something tear loose inside his chest—a deep, wrenching absence, like a page ripped from a book he'd never finish reading. His memories blurred, edges dissolving. His own name tasted foreign on his tongue. But the spear of his will held firm. Devil first. Me later.
The voice whispered: "It is done."
---
Below, in the throne room, the chains froze mid-strike. The Root's shadow flickered, spirals twisting in confusion. Devil gasped, the spear in his chest pulsing wildly.
Rick fell through the lattice, landing hard on the stone floor beside him. He was shaking, breathless, his own identity leaking like water through his fingers. But Devil was still there, eyes open now, burning with both colors.
Rick grabbed his shoulder. "You're back—" His voice faltered. He wasn't sure what name to use anymore. Rick? Who?
Devil blinked, focusing on him. "What did you do?"
"Doesn't matter," Rick rasped. "We're not done yet."
The throne room shook harder. The Root was no longer confused—it was angry. Its shadow poured through the ceiling like a flood. Chains lashed the walls, snapping the pillars. The black sun bled faster, its veins crawling across the floor.
Devil gritted his teeth, rising from the throne. The spear shifted in his chest, but now it moved with him, not against him. "You shouldn't have done that."
"Too late," Rick said. His hand trembled, but he stood beside Devil anyway. "Tell me what to do."
Devil's eyes flicked to the ceiling, to the descending Root. "We can't fight it yet. But we can send it back. A seal—one last seal. But it will cost."
Rick managed a bitter smile. "Everything costs."
Devil's lips quirked faintly, some flicker of his old self. "Yeah. Everything."
They turned to the shattered floor. Beneath the throne, a sigil was forming—Babasaheb's runes, Piu's light, Sun's flames. Their allies had poured their power here even as the field collapsed. The seal pulsed weakly, incomplete.
"We finish it," Devil said. "Together."
Rick nodded. "Tell me how."
Devil placed his hand over Rick's, guiding it to the spear. "Pull. On my mark."
The chains screamed, sensing their intent. The Root's eye widened in the ceiling, spirals unfurling into endless maws.
"Now!" Devil roared.
Rick pulled.
The spear slid free with a sound like tearing heavens. Light and shadow burst from the wound, spiraling upward. Devil staggered but did not fall. Instead, he slammed his palms to the seal. Rick followed, their combined energy flaring.
The throne room blazed white. The Root's shadow shrieked as the seal ignited, tendrils snapping back like burned snakes. For a heartbeat—just one—the black sun dimmed.
Rick felt power tearing through him, hollowing out what remained of his self. But he clung to Devil's voice, Devil's presence, Devil's promise.
Then the seal detonated.
---
Silence.
When Rick opened his eyes, the throne room was gone. The black sun was gone. The chains were gone.
He stood on a plain of white stone under a sky of pale gold. Wind whispered across it, carrying no scent. Devil stood a few steps away, whole, the spear now resting in his hand instead of his chest. He looked stronger. But also… heavier. As if something vast still pressed against him.
Rick opened his mouth, but no sound came. He realized he didn't remember what he'd meant to say. Or who he was saying it as.
Devil turned slowly. His eyes—still crimson and gold—met his. "You paid it."
Rick tilted his head, confused. "Paid what?"
Devil's expression darkened. "Your root. Your name. Your origin. You gave it up for me."
Rick blinked. "Did I?"
Devil stepped closer. "You did." He reached out, gripping Rick's shoulder. "I'll get it back. I swear."
Rick tried to smile. "Guess that makes us even."
But before Devil could reply, the sky above them cracked. A fissure of black spread through the pale gold, veins crawling outward. The wind shifted, carrying a whisper.
The price was not enough.
Devil's grip tightened. "No…"
The crack widened. Beyond it, the Root's spirals turned, endless and patient. It had not been banished. Only delayed. Always delayed.
"Run," Devil said quietly.
Rick shook his head. "Not without you."
Devil's eyes burned brighter. "You don't understand. It's not after me anymore."
The fissure yawned open. Chains of black light poured through, coiling toward Rick.
"It's after you."
---
The chains snapped downward.
Rick stumbled back, but they moved too fast. Devil leapt between, spear flashing, severing two tendrils. But more poured through, surrounding them both.
"Why?" Rick gasped. "Why me?"
"Because you cut your root," Devil snarled, blocking another chain. "It thinks you're empty. A vessel. It wants to fill you."
The sky thundered. The Root's eye widened, spiral reaching down.
Devil caught Rick's gaze, desperation flickering through his crimson-gold fire. "Listen to me. If it takes you, it's over. Fight it. Fight it with whatever's left."
Rick's heart pounded. He felt the hollow where his origin had been, a yawning emptiness inside him. The chains sensed it too, striking harder, faster.
He screamed.
The hollow stirred.
Something moved inside it.
Not the Root. Not the Watcher.
Something else.
Light flared from Rick's chest—wild, unformed, neither shadow nor flame nor seal. The chains recoiled, hissing. The fissure above trembled.
Devil's eyes widened. "What… what is that?"
Rick didn't know. He only knew it was his. Whatever he had lost, something new had taken root in its place. And it was not the Root's.
The chains struck again.
Rick raised his hand.
The light burst outward.
---
When the glare faded, Rick was alone.
The plain of white stone stretched empty under a cracked sky. The fissure above was closing, but slowly. Too slowly.
Of Devil there was no sign.
Only the spear, lying at his feet, pulsing faintly like a heartbeat.
A whisper drifted down—not the Root's, not Devil's, but the same still voice from before.
"The price has been paid. But the debt remains."
Rick bent, picking up the spear. His reflection shimmered along its length—eyes he didn't recognize, face blurred by light. He felt the hollow inside him, but also the new root stirring, growing.
"Then I'll pay more," he murmured. "As many times as it takes."
Above him, the fissure trembled. A single chain descended, tip hovering just before his chest, as if waiting.
Rick tightened his grip on the spear.
The chain lunged.