Northern Syria Desert
Rainier had trekked further than usual, nearly reaching his goal when a figure appeared on the slope. The stranger approached with an erratic, flickering gait—alternating between a crawl and a blur of speed. The oppressive aura radiating from the figure suggested a Demon Slayer, but the atmosphere felt wrong. The air was unnervingly still; there was no sign of life, nor the lingering scent of demons.
"Government?" Rainier murmured to himself. "No, something's off."
"Rainier!" Azra shouted, waving a hand as he closed the distance.
"Azra?" Rainier rushed forward, pulling him into a brief, tight hug.
"Bro. You're still alive?"
"Barely. How have things been on your end?"
Azra ignored the question. "Rainier, look. I have the Endorsement File right here."
Rainier's brows shot up, his eyes widening in disbelief. "Good grief."
"Take it." Azra handed the envelope over. Rainier tore it open, his eyes scanning the official government seals.
"Ah," Rainier scoffed. "I knew you were a legend."
"The office is yours, Prosecutor. Don't let me down." Azra said firmly.
Rainier took a slow, steadying breath, his heart drumming against his ribs. "I can do this."
"Alright. I'll leave you to it; I have to go find my brother."
"Bye. Stay safe out there..."
¶A heavy, rhythmic thrumming began to vibrate in the mountain air, like a heartbeat that didn't belong to a human.¶
Azra turned back to catch one last glimpse of his friend, but the ridge was desolate. Only the wind answered him.
Cold realization washed over him. The demons had played a trick on his mind, weaving an illusion of a conversation, but Rainier had a doppelganger. With a grim expression, Azra turned and headed back toward the shadows of Kurgansk Mountain.
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The Underworld didn't just feel empty; it felt hollowed out by a thick, suffocating dread. Silence gripped the jagged halls of the abyss until the air itself began to shimmer. Then, she appeared: the Goddess of the Yarn Stone.
In an instant, the feral pride of the demons vanished. Kurgansk, the formidable lord of this realm, dropped to one knee, his massive frame trembling with the effort of suppressed rage. Behind him, a sea of demons followed suit, their heads bowed in a forced display of prestige and loyalty.
"I will not offer another warning, Kurgansk," Ishal's voice didn't rise, yet it cut through the gloom like a blade. "This is your final caution. Do not arouse the Fury of Zephyr."
"Yes, Your Highness," Kurgansk muttered. He kept his gaze fixed on the cracked floor, his voice thick with a simmering, impatient bile.
From the shadows of his cell, Refel watched, mesmerized. He had seen Kurgansk tear souls apart with a flick of his wrist, yet here the demon god was, reduced to a servant by a mere ripple in the ranking of power. While the others remained frozen in terror, a spark of desperate hope flared in Refel's chest. He didn't hesitate.
"Your Highness! Please... save me!"
His plea echoed through the vaulted hall, brittle and piercing. The goddess paused, her form already beginning to dissolve into a shimmering veil.
"Your release is sacrosanct," she replied, her eyes catching the light one last time. "But only if you leave this place with the Yarn Stone. Without it, you are already a ghost."
"Wait!" Refel lunged toward the bars. "I have no magic—no strength. How am I supposed to survive the Yarn Stone, let alone escape with it?"
The goddess offered a cryptic, fading smile. "You will discover your passion soon enough, Refel. And in this world, passion is power."
The veil vanished.
As the light died, the hall plunged back into its usual, oppressive darkness. Kurgansk didn't spare a glance for the prisoner; he scrambled toward the slumped form of Lyra.
"Lyra? Lyra, look at me!"
She didn't respond. Her eyes were glazed, the vibrant hum of her aura fading into a dull grey. She was slipping away. Panic, raw and ugly, finally broke through Kurgansk's stony exterior. He turned his head toward the deep pits, his eyes landing on the one man he loathed to rely on.
"Open it!" Kurgansk roared at his guards, gesturing toward the heavy iron gate. "Release Walt! He's the only one who can knit her soul back together."
In an instant, a violent gale slammed against the heavy, royal gates of Kurgansk's realm. The reinforced iron groaned and buckled as the doors were wrenched open. Something was happening, the formidable fountains of the underworld god had not witnessed in eons.
The force of the wind was absolute. It scoured the hall, hurling high-ranking demons and armored guards aside like discarded toys. Lulu glided frantically toward Kurgansk, her wings beating against the pressure, but she found herself speechless. No explanation could account for such a breach.
Then, the atmosphere shifted. A thick, malevolent fluid began to hemorrhage into the chamber, pooling like liquid shadow. From its depths, a monstrous silhouette slowly coalesced.
Kurgansk's eyes narrowed, his gaze a volatile mix of bewilderment and cold fury. Behind him, the demon legion stood paralyzed, caught between their instinct to fight and the terror of the unknown. Refel watched from the periphery, his inquisitive eyes tracking every movement of the approaching figure.
"Huh?" Kurgansk's breath hitched in his throat. "Is this… a mirror?"
There, standing only meters away, was a reflection he could not comprehend. A doppelgänger. A haunting echo of himself that defied every law of the abyss.
"It can't be..."
FADE TO DARKNESS...
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