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Tokyo Relics: Only I Can See the Abnormal Equipment
"Congratulations, Sorcerer Supreme."
She didn't look up. A black-leather-bound book lay open in front of her, its pages made from some creature's skin.
"Karu, Master is gone."
"I know," she said, flipping a page. "I felt it. Warm light, wasn't it? But he didn't have to die. If I'd figured out this transformation array thirty years earlier—"
She pointed at a dizzying pattern on the page.
Cassius glanced at it and felt his stomach twist. The symbol seemed to pull in light—and his attention.
"Stop."
"Why?" Karu finally raised her head. Her eyes were pure black, no whites left. "Yao, I've realized something in these hundred years. Pain, death, loss—they don't have to exist. We can create a world without them. Just a small change."
"That wouldn't be human anymore."
"Human?" Karu laughed, dry and empty. "What's so great about humans? Fragile. Short-lived. Driven by desire. We're already something higher."
She stood, closing the book. "Admit it, Yao. You enjoy this power. You enjoy being more than human."
Cassius stayed quiet. He couldn't deny it. After a century of wielding this energy, of living without aging while the world moved on, he no longer saw himself as ordinary.
"But I won't use it to twist the nature of life," he said finally.
"Stubborn," Karu muttered. "You'll regret it. When everyone you care about dies. When the world you protect keeps burning. When every effort feels like building castles in sand—you'll come to me. And I'll show you real magic."
She walked out, her black robes whispering across the floor without a sound.
Three hundred years passed.
Kamar-Taj cycled through apprentices. Some left to found branches elsewhere. Some stayed until old age. Some quit when the training got too dull. Only Cassius and Karu remained.
They rarely spoke. When their paths crossed in the halls, they just nodded. Karu spent most of her time in her tower, studying forbidden arts. Sometimes Cassius felt dark energy pulsing from it, but whenever he checked, she was just calmly drinking tea.
"Don't worry, Sorcerer Supreme," she'd say. "I'm only running experiments."
The test subjects were usually animals—rats, rabbits, sometimes deer that wandered up from the valley.
Cassius saw the results once. The creatures were alive. Healthy, even. But their eyes were pure black, their movements mechanical, like something had been scooped out of them.
"You're making puppets."
"I gave them eternity," Karu said, stroking a black-eyed rabbit. "No pain. No fear. No death. Isn't that mercy?"
"Mercy without free will is just a cage."
"Free will?" Karu laughed. "Look at the people down in the valley, Yao. Do they really have free will? They're ruled by desire, fear, and society's rules. At least I gave these little ones peace."
The rift between them was permanent.
Four hundred and fifty years.
Cassius had grown used to the title of Sorcerer Supreme. New students only knew him as the ancient guardian who had lived for centuries, protecting Earth from other dimensions.
He had mastered powerful spells: soul projection, the mirror dimension, Vishanti's judgment. But he also felt the limits of even this magic. His body was slowly breaking down. Cells renewed slower. He understood why some sorcerers turned to darkness—not from evil, but from fear. Fear of death. Fear of watching everything he protected continue without him.
One night during meditation, he sensed a powerful dark presence approaching Earth. Not Dormammu. Something older. The Lord of the Void, an ancient entity sleeping at the edge of the cosmos. And Karu's tower was resonating with it.
Cassius teleported to the top of her tower. The door stood open. Karu stood in the center of a massive, spinning dark array. A non-human shadow was forming inside it.
"What are you summoning?"
"A friend," Karu said, turning. Her eyes were voids now, black energy moving under her skin. "Or a teacher. He's shown me so much—how to move beyond human form. How to truly free ourselves."
"You're corrupted."
"I'm enlightened," Karu said, spreading her arms. "Join me, Yao. We can create a new world. No pain. No death. Nothing to trouble us. All we have to do is let go of this reality."
A tentacle from the shadow in the array brushed her forehead. Her body shuddered, then she smiled. It wasn't human anymore.
"Call me the Void Walker now," she said. "As for you, dear senior brother—if you insist on guarding this prison of suffering, then guard it. But I'll be back soon to open every cell myself."
She stepped back into the array and vanished. Only Cassius remained, staring at the fading dark pattern.
He stood there for a long time.
Five hundred years of brotherhood, ending like this.
And now he would have to face the enemy he had helped create.
Cassius woke on the hotel floor, soaked in cold sweat, breathing hard. The four hundred and fifty years of memories from the instance crashed over him like a wave—the grinding repetition of training, the losses, the ideological fights, and Karu's eyes turning fully black as she became the Void Walker.
[Instance complete]
[Rewards settling…]
[Acquired: Vishanti magic fundamentals (Master level), deep understanding of Tibetan Buddhist philosophy, preliminary time perception, seed of understanding sacrifice and letting go]
[Side effects detected: Mild identity confusion (expected to fade in 72 hours), distorted time sense (expected to adjust in 48 hours), temporary detachment from modern life (expected to resolve in 24 hours)]
[Suggestion: Meditate today to stabilize your mental anchor.]
Cassius pushed himself up and walked to the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face. The mirror showed the same young face, but he felt ancient. Not in his body—in his mind. He had lived four hundred and fifty years.
He sat cross-legged on the carpet, eyes closed, palms up on his knees. He tried to recall the feeling of guiding Vishanti's breath—the warm, flowing, life-giving energy. He remembered the precise angles of the mudras, the rhythm of breath, the way consciousness extended to touch invisible forces.
He took a deep breath and formed the starting mudra for the Vishanti hand signs. Fingers bent, thumb hooked, wrist turned thirty degrees. He had practiced it tens of thousands of times in the instance. Muscle memory was deep.
The room was quiet. He focused, trying to sense the golden motes that should be floating in the air.
Nothing.
No motes. No flowing energy. No familiar warmth. Just dry Los Angeles air and the occasional car horn outside.
He tried the more complex shield mudra anyway—twelve signs in three seconds, the speed that had been passing grade by the end of the instance. He pushed his hands forward.
Still nothing. No golden hexagonal shield. No flowing Sanskrit. Not even a breeze.
Cassius lowered his hands and stared at his palms. Clear lines, young healthy skin. Just ordinary hands.
Ordinary human hands.
"Is it because there's no magic in the real world?" he muttered. "Or because I only experienced it and didn't actually learn it?"
His phone rang, making him jump. It was Rob.
"Awake yet?" Rob sounded energetic, coffee machine humming in the background. "I just confirmed with Marvel. The writers agreed to meet. Wednesday next week at Ganden Monastery. They'll set up a private meditation room. Sound good?"
"Wednesday… got it."
"You don't sound right," Rob said. "Rough night?"
"Long dream," Cassius said, rubbing his temples. "I'm fine. Ganden's in Tibet, right? Handle the visa and itinerary."
"On it."
He hung up and stood, feeling unsteady. The instance's mental fatigue hadn't fully worn off. His sense of time was still scrambled—four hundred and fifty years inside, one night outside. Looking at the modern hotel room felt unreal.
Cassius went back to bed to sleep it off.
He didn't notice that after he left the living room, a tiny spark flickered in the air—straining to appear before being pulled back.
The next morning, Los Angeles International Airport.
Cassius wore sunglasses and a baseball cap, simple travel bag over his shoulder. His walk had changed—steady, measured steps, back straight, like someone trained in an ancient discipline. Another leftover from the instance.
At the Delta counter he handed over his passport and ticket.
"Sir, your flight is tomorrow," the young agent said, checking the screen. "UA2887, LAX to Chengdu via San Francisco, departs 10:15 a.m. tomorrow."
Cassius blinked. "Isn't today Wednesday?"
"Today's Tuesday, sir."
The agent smiled politely, but gave him a second look. His voice sounded familiar.
Cassius frowned. In his head, today should be Wednesday. He woke from the instance last night. One night should make it Wednesday.
Wait—the instance's one night was one real night, but with four hundred and fifty years inside. His time sense was completely broken.
"I need to leave today."
"Change or rebook. Next flight is United direct to Beijing in two hours, then connect to Lhasa. Business class has two seats left—triple the original price."
"Book it."
The agent took his card, then did a double take. "Wait—are you Cassius? The actor?"
Cassius nodded.
"Oh my God!" She lowered her voice. "I loved Guardians! My boyfriend and I watched it three times. Can I—can I get an autograph?"
"After we finish the ticket."
Five minutes later he had a new ticket and a signature on the back of the boarding pass. The agent was already on her phone behind him, whispering excitedly to her mom.
After security, Cassius grabbed black coffee in the lounge. The caffeine helped a little, but the time distortion lingered. He stared at the digital clock on the wall. It really was Tuesday.
On the plane in business class, he settled by the window, ready to rest. The mental exhaustion from the instance hadn't faded.
"Excuse me?"
A woman's voice beside him, English with a familiar accent—something between Tibetan and crisp Oxford.
Cassius opened his eyes and shifted to let her pass.
She sat down next to him. Mid-thirties, Tibetan features, warm wheat-toned skin from high-altitude sun, strong nose, striking eyes—deep brown like amber under the cabin lights. She wore a simple off-white linen tunic under a deep blue cardigan, a string of dark beads around her neck.
She moved with quiet grace, settling in without fuss, hands folded neatly in her lap.
Cassius closed his eyes again, but after a few seconds opened them. Something about her felt familiar. Calm, contained, but with a quiet inner strength. Like young Karu before the darkness took her.
She noticed his glance and turned, offering a small smile. "Something wrong?"
"Sorry," Cassius said. "You just look familiar."
A classic line, but it came out naturally. Because it was true.
She smiled wider this time. "A lot of people feel that way before going to Tibet. The monasteries, prayer flags, the images in movies and photos—when you see a real face that matches, it feels like déjà vu."
"You've been there a lot?"
"Home," she said simply, then turned it back on him. "You?"
"Work," Cassius said after a beat.
"Actor?"
She studied him. "I think I've seen you on TV."
"Cassius."
"Zhuoma."
She offered her hand. When they shook, Cassius noticed her fingers—long, smooth skin but calluses on the pads and fingertips, not the usual spots. Like someone who spent years doing precise handwork. Or forming mudras.
The thought made something click.
The plane took off. Quiet in business class. Cassius wasn't hungry and just asked for water. Zhuoma ordered hot water and mixed in powder from a small packet in her bag.
"Tibetan medicine?" he asked.
"Tea," she said, stirring. "Helps with jet lag and altitude. Want to try?"
He took another packet, followed her lead. The tea came out deep red, herbal and slightly bitter with a clean aftertaste.
"Thanks."
"No problem." She looked out at the clouds below. "Lhasa, or somewhere else?"
"Ganden Monastery."
Zhuoma turned, something flickering in her eyes. "That direction. Pilgrimage?"
"Meeting someone. A writer."
"Meeting a writer at a monastery?" She raised an eyebrow. "Interesting choice."
"The script involves Tibet. Thought the setting might help."
"Makes sense," she said. "Atmosphere matters, especially with old wisdom."
She said "old wisdom" with a slight pause.
The cabin went quiet for a while. Cassius sipped the tea. It really did help ease the mental tightness from the instance.
Then he asked, almost without thinking, "Do you think if there was a way to remove all pain, disease, and death from the world—but it meant no longer being human—you'd take it?"
Zhuoma turned and looked at him deeply, her amber eyes steady in the dim cabin light.
"That's a very philosophical question," she said. "Is this for a role?"
"Something like that."
"Then I'll answer from the perspective of old wisdom," she said, leaning back. "Pain, disease, death—they're not flaws. They're features. Without pain you wouldn't know joy. Without disease you wouldn't value health. Without death, life loses meaning."
"But if someone's suffering because of them—"
"Then help them," Zhuoma said firmly. "Ease the pain. Treat the disease. Sit with them through death. But don't try to erase them. That's arrogance. And besides—" She paused. "What you think is removal is often just another kind of cage. Like clipping a bird's wings so it won't fall. It won't fall anymore, but it'll never fly again."
The words hit almost exactly like what Yao had said to Karu in the instance.
Cassius looked at her for a long moment, then turned back to the window. Outside, the clouds stretched endlessly, and for the first time since waking, the scrambled pieces in his head felt a little more aligned.