She hovered above the desert, eyes glowing like twin embers. "Where is he?" The mouse had vanished. No tracks. No scent. Just silence.
Her gaze swept the jagged terrain. Then—movement. A flicker near the mountain.
She raised her hand, red energy crackling at her fingertips. "Let's see if you're hiding there."
A fireball burst from her palm, spiraling toward the mountain's base. The explosion shook the ground, sending dust and stone into the air.
Still no Blood.
Then— A scream.
She turned sharply, eyes narrowing. "Ohh… that one."
She flew toward the sound, landing in front of a narrow cave mouth. Darkness stared back at her.
"Where are you, mouse?" she called, voice sweet and venomous. "Come out and die with dignity."
A glow flickered inside the cave. Dim at first. Then rising.
Her eyes narrowed. "What is—"
The Reaper burst from the dark, cloaked in shadow and blood‑red cloth. He didn't speak. He didn't hesitate. His shoulder slammed into her gut, driving her across the sand. Pain tore through her ribs—pain she hadn't felt in years.
She staggered upright, coughing, disbelief burning hotter than the ache. "Who are you?"
Her eyes locked on the compass burning at his belt. For a heartbeat, her grin faltered. No… it can't be.
"That mark," she hissed, her voice cracking with something dangerously close to fear. "Where did you get it?"
He gave no answer. Only steps—slow, deliberate, merciless. His hooded face was nothing but darkness.
She lashed out, crimson energy spiraling. The blast grazed his shoulder, but he kept coming, silent and relentless. He ducked her second strike and drove his fist into her ribs. The crack echoed like thunder.
She spat blood, eyes narrowing. "The Compass of Ashes. I thought it was lost. Do you even know what you carry, mouse? That thing will eat Us alive."
The compass at his belt pulsed, a heartbeat not his own. A wave of shadow burst outward, hurling her into a boulder and splitting it in half.
His fist slammed into her ribs before she could say more, the crack of bone drowning her words.
Blood trickled from her mouth. Her claws shook as she rose. "You think you're strong? You think you're something?"
She lunged. He met her mid‑air. Fists, fire, and fury collided. Her knee struck his side—he spun, elbowed her jaw. She clawed his chest—he dropped, swept her legs. He seized her wrist, twisted, and slammed her into the earth. The impact stole her breath.
He stood over her, cloak whipping in the wind. The compass in his belt pulsed like a second heart—steady, merciless.
Then the fists came. One. Two. Again. Each blow landed with supernatural weight, not just breaking skin but reverberating through her bones, her chest, her soul.
Her laughter was gone. Her voice broke. "No… please. Stop."
But the Reaper didn't hear her. The compass fed his rage, burning through his body. His knuckles split. His vision blurred. His shoulder tore. "It hurts. It's killing me. But I can't stop. I won't stop."
Terror clawed at her throat. I've crushed gods. I've burned cities. And yet—this Thing, this nothing, is unmaking me.
His fist hovered above her, trembling. The compass pulsed once more—then stilled, as if satisfied. Its glow bled away into black. Smoke curled from the belt.
The armor unraveled into shadow, dissolving into the air like ash caught in wind. He stood there—no longer the Reaper, just Jack. Blood streaked his face.
His waist was scorched, skin blistered beneath torn fabric.
She lay broken in the sand, breath shallow, eyes wide with disbelief. Her lips trembled. "Mouse," she whispered.
Then—he collapsed. His body gave out, falling forward, landing atop her with a dull thud.
Jack's eyes snapped open. The desert dark and empty. No body beneath him. No blood. Just silence.
The desert was no longer gold but black and silver, the dunes carved into jagged shadows by the moon. The silence was suffocating.
His chest tightened. She's alive. She's still out there. She'll kill me—
[No,] the voice hissed, sharp as broken glass. [Inside you.]
Jack staggered back, staring at his palm. The compass was burned into his flesh, its lines glowing faintly. He yanked up his shirt—another mark pulsed at his navel, like a second, unwanted heart.
"What the hell did that skeleton give me?" His voice cracked.
[A prison,] she purred. [And you, little mouse, are my jailer.]
"No. No, this isn't real."
[I saw it,] she whispered, her tone dripping with delight. [You fell on me, and then your shadow swallowed me whole. Now I'm here. In your dark. In your blood.]
Jack's breath came ragged. "Get out of me."
Her laughter slithered through his skull. [You think I want to be here? I wanted to rip you apart, not rot inside your skin. But you trapped me. You—pathetic, trembling mouse—snared me without even knowing how.]
Jack's fists clenched. "Then tell me—How?"
Her voice sharpened, mocking. [You don't even know. You wear the curse like a child wearing armor. You don't command it. It commands you. And now it binds us both.]
He pressed his palms to his temples, shaking. "I wanted to kill you."
[And instead, you chained me. Fool. Now we're bound. I see what you see. I taste your fear. I hear your mother's voice—ahhh, the way she says William's name. Sweet. I'll savor that.]
"Shut up!"
Jack staggered forward, every step heavy with dried blood and exhaustion. "I just… I need to go home. Shower. Wash Rayen blood off me."
Her voice coiled inside his skull, mocking and intimate. [What are you doing?]
"Walking," he muttered.
[Walking?] Her laughter was sharp, cruel. [You plan to crawl across the desert like a worm? You can fly.]
Jack froze. "What?"
[Yes, mouse. Jump.]
His chest tightened. "You're lying."
[Am I? Try it. Or keep dragging your feet through the sand until the vultures find you.]
Jack clenched his fists, then bent his knees and leapt.
He didn't fall.
The ground slipped away beneath him, the desert shrinking into shadow. He hovered, weightless, the night air rushing cold against his skin. His breath caught in his throat.
"No… no, this isn't real."
[Stretch your arms,] she whispered. [Feel it. The compass doesn't just brand you—it remakes you.]
Jack obeyed, arms spreading wide. The air seemed to catch him, lift him, carry him. He tilted forward—and the desert blurred beneath him as he soared into the night.
Wind tore at his face, his clothes snapping like banners. For a heartbeat, awe drowned out grief. He was flying.
But her voice followed, soft and venomous. [Yes… fly, little mouse. Run from the ground, from the blood, from yourself. But remember—every gift the compass gives has a price. And I'll be here to watch you pay it.]
Jack's jaw tightened. He didn't answer. He just flew, the desert night stretching endless before him.
The sky was beautiful—clear, endless, painted in silver and shadow. Jack hovered beneath the moonlight, the desert stretching quiet beneath him.
Rayen would've loved this, he thought. He would've made a joke, pointed out constellations, called it "romantic" just to mess with me.
Jack's eyes stung. He blinked hard, but the tears came anyway.
[Hi, Mouse.]
[Yes,] Jack whispered.
[I'm sorry.]
[…Thank you.]
A pause. Then her voice twisted, cruel and gleeful. [You're still a stupid mouse. His blood Smell is still warm on my hand. i love it, Hhhh.]
Jack wiped his tears, his voice low and sharp. "Someday I'll kill you with my own hands."
[I can't wait, Mouse.]
Below, a faint shape emerged—an old house, worn and crooked, tucked into the edge of the desert.
[That's your home?] she sneered.
"I'm not like you, supers." Jack muttered. "I don't have millions. I have a roof. That's enough."
He dropped silently onto the rooftop, landing in front of his bedroom window. The glass was cracked, the frame warped from years of heat.
[Careful, Mouse. Wouldn't want Mommy to hear you sneaking in.]
Jack ignored her. He slid the window open, stepped inside, and closed it behind him. The room was dark, quiet.
He stood there for a moment, listening to the silence. His heart still beat too fast. His hands still trembled.
Rayen was gone. The compass pulsed faintly at his belt. And the devil in his head wouldn't stop whispering.
The light snapped on.