Ozzy had sat cross-legged, the air tightening around him until the silence felt alive. For a long, breathless span, no one moved. Then he spoke, voice dry and steady, like something dredged from a dream. " Hermes is starting to remember," he said. "Little fragments first—smells, flashes, old faces. Once the lies are peeled away, once she sees the truth of her own past, her power would wake. Not D.E.M., not even close. Something deeper. N.U.S."
He stared into the dark. "When she learns who the White Rabbit really is, and the avatar she obeyed, regret will be the least of her pains. You've heard the Oracles call her 'Lord, Lord,' even 'God,' haven't you? It's not a slip of the tongue. She isn't God or a God—at all - but the confusion is forgivable. Because He will live again." Ungar's eyes had narrowed, gleaming faintly. The air split open between them. A void flowered—vast, cold, and pulsing—and from within crawled shapes that defied naming. Some writhed like serpents stitched from bones; others laughed in many voices.
Then came a voice, hollow and smooth: " Thank you for preparing this body." Another voice answered, soaked in devotion. " Anything for you. Without you, none of this could be. The first voice thickened with pleasure. "This vessel will be more than vengeance. It will build the final world." A gust of darkness twisted; the voice shifted tone—old breath becoming new life. " This body… it's exquisite. Shame I must wait eons before it awakens. Still, I feel divine. Or perhaps demonic—I am your creation either way that's why they studied and examined me in their rituals and field tests. The ones who found me gave me names, and that's all the knowledge I need." Silence followed. "You were discovered?" murmured the second voice. "You merely changed shape."
"No," came the reply. "I was there from the beginning. I only chose to wear flesh." The void bled into a memory. Mira and Hermes stood amid the drowned lights of the Realm of Umi, rain glinting like liquid glass. They fought—steel and spirit colliding in shrieks of color. Hermes shouted, "You betrayed me! I thought we were friends!" Mira smiled, cruel and cold. "Friends? With something that never existed or ever will exist? You have no idea what you're talking about." The memory burned away. Now Hermes stood on a balcony in that same realm centuries later when she had traveled the Realm of Umi for 1,000 years; this was in her 296th year or so, overlooking a city in the sky of silver towers and slow clouds. The light of its moons painted her hair a faint gold. Beside her, a man with golden hair asked softly, "Are you someone else's god, as they say? A prophet, as you claim? What are you? You live for everyone, as if you are they're god and protector, but I can clearly see as clear as day you only want to live for yourself. You think the world has wronged you."
The scene faded back to the cosmic abyss. A man with glasses stood before a portal, its edges whirring like a saw through space. On his collar burned the insignia of N.U.S. "We've crossed time itself to reach this point," he said, voice quivering with faith. "This vessel will avenge the Void and the Primarchs alike. From its heart, a world will rise where injustice never breathes again. A world without end." The portal howled. The floor trembled. From somewhere beneath, a pulse thudded like a buried heart finding its rhythm. Dust trickled down from unseen rafters. Ungar clenched his fists until his gauntlets screamed. Ozzy only smiled, eyes half-lidded. "When it wakes," he whispered, "our work as Apostates will become law." The darkness inhaled. One of the formless things reached a glistening limb toward the portal and laughed—a sound like teeth chattering inside a dream. A heartbeat slammed through the chamber. The new body twitched, seams leaking silver light.
Far away, Hermes gasped. She gripped the balcony on the Spirit Train rail as visions ripped through her mind—cities collapsing, oceans reversing, a name she could never say whispered behind her teeth. "Remember," the voice said.
Her vision blurred. The man beside her shimmered, his face flickering between a thousand strangers. For an instant, she saw the White Rabbit smiling beneath them all.
Back in the void, Ungar moved first. He drove his palm into the floor, sending shockwaves across the black marble. The portal staggered. The man with the glasses looked up, startled for the first time. "If she remembers everything," he murmured, "then everything begins." Ungar slowly stood up, "Its clear to me now, as unbelievable as it is to admit, nothing has ever happened. And when she awakens the world will finally become a reality instead of a fiction." Ozzy's grin widened. "Then He will rise, slowly but surely."
Above them, reality folded. A point of light bloomed and died—a star that never had a name. The sound that followed wasn't thunder but a bell tolling for worlds. On her balcony, Hermes tasted iron. A single word carved itself into her mind like a scar of flame. She spoke it softly—an invocation, a curse, a prayer.
Ungar rose, shadows crawling up his arms. "Then let it begin," he said. "I'm no fool I know now I couldn't stop it even if I wanted to. I know we live in a fictitious world just as fictitious as the world of the person relaying it as he writes it from his visions of the Imaginal Realm. Therefore, I can only wait until reality becomes real and fiction washes away. After that, I can finally implement my will… But for now do as you like, just hurry up, I'm not feeling very patient." Ungar sat away from Ozzy Indian style with arms folded while he silently pouted in defiance.
Somewhere beyond time, an ancient will stirred, smiling in the dark.
The portal's heart opened wider. Something unseen began to write its commandments across the void, in letters that glowed like blood.
Meanwhile flying over the ocean, Barzakh was being trailed by Baby and an army of mostly very large demons of the Mozaku. "Just a few more minutes and we'll be right on them." Barzakh laughed, "Excellent, now I can finally deal with that traitor." The Dream Train screeched to a halt, its wheels screaming against metal before finally grinding into silence. The last sparks died into the night. Smoke curled from the engine like the final breath of a beast that had run too far. Around it stretched a vast, moonlit field—tall silver grass bending under the wind, rippling like an ocean of ghosts.
SHHHHHK—KRAAAANG!
The train jolted. Sparks showered the windowpanes. Metal screamed as brakes ground against the rails. Ungar instantly slammed a hand against the wall to steady himself, his clawed gauntlets leaving long dents in the steel.
"—What in the world was that!?" Lupus barked, his chair nearly toppling backward.
Hermes rose slowly, her expression shifting from calm amusement to quiet focus. "That wasn't turbulence," she murmured. "That was an impact."
The intercom crackled, and a woman's voice trembling over the electronic communicator:
"A-Attention passengers of the Dream Train! We are under attack! I repeat—unknown hostiles approaching from above—prepare for—"
The voice cut off. A low, monstrous roar echoed through the corridors.
Inside the cabin, the card game was forgotten. The air smelled of hot iron and ozone. Daimao stood by the shattered window, his burning eyes scanning the horizon. "We're not moving again," he rumbled. "Something shut us down." Hermes rose from her seat, Spirit Blade in hand, its faint light painting her face in blue fire. "Then we walk." Lupus pushed the door open with a clawed hand, his red scarf snapping in the cold wind. "Good," he said. "I was getting tired of sitting."
Scott Greer followed, cloak fluttering behind him, his expression unreadable. Imam al-Tayyib stepped out last, his staff glimmering faintly with divine inscriptions that pulsed in rhythm with the night's heartbeat. They emerged into the field. The moon hung low and enormous, like an eye watching their every move. Far off, the silhouette of the train shimmered—its hundreds of windows glowing faintly before flickering out one by one, until darkness swallowed the whole line. Then a voice called from the distance. "Seems you've attracted some unwanted company." Out from the shadows strode Emperor Lemon—the red-haired, golden-armored demon king whose aura shimmered like molten sunlight. His crimson tail flicked lazily behind him as he grinned, his fanged smile catching the sunlight.
Hermes lowered her blade slightly. "Lemon," she said cautiously. "You felt it too?" He nodded once, his sharp eyes glancing skyward. "Barzakh's little army. I've been tracking their movement across the ocean. They're close—closer than you think." Behind him, two immense figures stepped forward. The first was the red-haired Demon King, with his wild energy, flames flickering through his mane. His grin was mischievous, but his eyes burned with the wisdom of ten thousand battles.
The second was Demon King Daimao, cloaked in red, his golden crown gleaming under the sun, cape swaying like a shadow in rhythm with the wind. His expression was grim, but when he spoke, his voice carried the weight of empires.
"The field of stilled engines," Daimao said slowly, glancing at the broken train. "Fitting place for what comes next." Lupus's ears twitched. "What do you mean?"
Daimao looked toward the horizon. "They're already here." The ground trembled.
A low hum rose through the grass, as if the earth itself were whispering warnings. From the edge of the field, dark shapes emerged—Barzakh's Mozaku demons, their glowing red eyes dotting the night like embers scattered across black silk.
Barzakh himself appeared last in the field as our heroes departed from the train, small but monstrous—his skin ash-gray, his grin sharp and cruel, his horns curved backward like a ram's. His eyes gleamed with mockery as he floated just above the ground, no wings—just willpower alone holding him aloft. "Well, well," Barzakh hissed. "The traitor and his little entourage… and Lemon too. I should have known you'd crawl out of your golden palace."
Emperor Lemon smiled faintly, resting his massive halberd against his shoulder. "Careful, Barzakh. You're trespassing." Barzakh laughed—a sound like broken glass. "Trespassing? You think this field belongs to you? Impressive, I didn't know your ego was put through such grueling training?" Barzakh began to howl with laughter as his head faced skyward, "Your too much, I've honestly never laughed so hard." Hermes stepped forward, her voice sharp. "I'll say this one time, leave, now." The Mozaku hissed and lunged forward. Lemon's grin widened. "You heard her," he said, cracking his neck. "Let's show them how kings handle an ambush."
Daimao raised his hand, and black sigils rippled across the ground. "For once," he muttered, "we agree." The field erupted. Blue fire, golden lightning, and red flame collided under the moon as Hermes, Lupus, Ungar, Scott, and Imam al-Tayyib charged forward alongside Emperor Lemon and the two Demon Kings.
The silver grass burned in streaks of light, each clash of blade and spell illuminating the darkness like miniature stars.
And above it all, Barzakh laughed—his eyes wild, his voice echoing through the chaos:
"Let the games begin!"