Pitch blackness.
"Where the hell am I?" Nick muttered. "I have eyes, yet I can't see a damn thing."
He gave a bitter laugh. "So this is mortality. And that lunatic Devon actually chose this. Hope you don't live to regret it, bastard."
He raised a hand.
"Mantes quesin twlupis fajóle."
Soft white light bloomed above his palm, pushing the darkness back.
Nick's eyes widened. He could finally see again. Being a deity puts him on a plane where both darkness and light mean nothing to him; he sees the same regardless of the time of day.
Looking around the building where he appeared to be, he starts to realize it was a tomb, not just a building.
Whose tomb, and why was he teleported here?
Curiosity was a dangerous ally. He started moving through the tomb. He followed a corner, but the corner seemed to be round. It didn't lead anywhere else; it just moved in circles. Nick, looking round and finally moving back, saw it.
It wasn't part of the tomb. That was the leg of a statue. How large was the statue?
It was so tall Nick couldn't even see up above, and he doesn't have a spell for flight. No name came to mind. As Nick tried to remember, every instinct screamed he was in the presence of royalty—a god, no doubt. The urge to kneel clawed at him, but he resisted. Even the gods back then did not have this effect, or maybe because he was half a god he didn't notice. Now, being a mortal transcendent, could have been the reason.
He moved deeper. Another statue stood at the far extreme, this one smaller, less regal, clearly a slave. Tattered cloth hung from its shoulders, but the carved face held something mystical, almost sorrowful.
Both statues had their backs to each other. Nick believed the other statue must have been a slave after seeing the tattered clothes carved in stone.
Nick frowned. Gods could own countless slaves—human, beast, variant, anything they choose—yet why idolize a mere slave?
Something wasn't right. Something wasn't right at all.
Moving again, he saw a room beaming with ancient order. Runic inscriptions on it glowed red. Merely looking at it caused Nick's eyes to bleed. Looking away, he approached it. A big part of him was telling him he needs to go back in time.
…
Back at school. Men's restroom.
Stephanie still had Sophia pinned to the wall with her elbow.
"Let her go," Devon said.
"You don't give me orders," Stephanie replied, but she released the girl anyway.
Devon stepped forward until he and Sophia were barely five centimeters apart.
Sophia's cheeks flushed crimson.
"Wha… wha… do you think you're doing?"
She turned her face away.
Both of them are nuts. I didn't understand half of what they said, but they're not normal. Especially him—he's acted high and noble from day one. And yet why is my heart beating so fast?
Devon spoke, voice low.
"I'm checking if you could be useful to my plans."
"Plans?" she echoed, confused.
"Don't think about it too much. After all, the dead have no business with the living. You have no value to me."
"Huh? What the hell are you saying?"
Panic flashed across her face.
"Elliot?" Devon called.
"It's Stephanie, you lunatic," she shot back.
"Well then, Stephanie," Devon said without turning, "do it."
Stephanie's hand slipped to her thigh strap. A kunai flashed silver.
Devon looked at Elliot approaching her. Of course he wasn't going to kill her, but he wanted to know if this is the Elliot he knew or not.
"Wait, please hold on, you are joking right? That knife is fake right? Devon?"
Sophia's voice cracked.
Steel sang.
Stephanie launched forward, blade aimed straight for Sophia's throat.
Sophia, closing her eyes, whispered,
"What the hell have I gotten myself into?.