Dr. June didn't answer right away.
Her eyes flicked toward the floor—then the wall—then briefly to Arias before darting away again.
Her shoulders tensed. Even in a room that carried quiet power, she looked small. Not fragile. Just... too aware of where she stood.
She spoke softly, her voice a few degrees above a whisper. "For my role…" she hesitated, then swallowed. "You need Enchantress… don't you?"
Arias didn't pause. "Yes."
The word landed like a pin striking glass. Direct. Clean. Absolute.
But then, as if sensing the crack forming behind her eyes, he added, "But you don't have to if you're not comfortable doing it."
It wasn't a lie. Not really. He could complete his plan a thousand other ways. Through force. Through persuasion. Through things far less elegant and raw. But there was value in involving others. In making them believe they were necessary.
June stood still. No answer came. Not right away.
Arias didn't press. He just waited—fingers lightly steepled in front of him, his gaze unreadable.
Then, slowly, June raised her head.
"I'm fine with it," she muttered. "Just... nothing."
Arias nodded faintly. "It's understandable to be scared she'll take over your body. That's what she hopes for, after all."
The statement wasn't reassuring.
June's eyes darkened slightly—not from anger, but doubt. Her mouth opened halfway to speak but closed again. He noticed the impact of his words, but didn't show it.
Then came the next line. Calm. Almost casual. "But... you can trust that she won't dare try anything."
That, somehow, worked. The confidence in his voice wasn't loud—but it was deep. Rooted. June couldn't explain why, but it felt like something set.
She nodded—slowly—and whispered, "Enchantress."
The shift came fast.
Her body tensed first, spine arching slightly as her head tilted unnaturally back. **Thnnkk**— The faint crackle of energy built around her as the lights flickered overhead. Her breath caught, and her hands twitched once at her sides.
Then, her form shimmered.
June's skin darkened to a soft, mossy hue. Her clothes twisted into ragged, rune-stitched fabric. Her hair darkened, spilling around her face like liquid shadow. Eyes once full of uncertainty now glowed faintly with a sullen, accusatory green.
When she looked at Arias, it wasn't with awe.
It was anger.
She hunched slightly, her form coiled like a cat backed into a corner—watching every breath, every twitch. Her lips curled into a partial snarl. "You…"
Arias stood.
He smiled.
"I can understand your anger toward me, Karqat-Ur."
The name struck her like a slap. Her pupils contracted. Her back straightened by half an inch. Then, instinctively, she stepped back—barely noticeable, but there.
He teased her with the tilt of his head.
"Surprised?" he asked. "You shouldn't be."
He moved around the desk—not fast, but with poise. Like a man walking toward an altar that belonged to him. "I know all about you. How you weren't born mortal… nor truly divine."
She didn't respond, but the lines around her mouth tightened. Her expression no longer just hostile—it was confused.
"You were willed into existence," he continued, circling her like a priest giving sermon to a reluctant god. "A child of fire, fear, and desire. Crafted from the minds of desperate men... conjured through blood rites and belief. But shaped—fully—by the cosmic storms present at your first scream."
Her hands twitched. But she didn't move.
"And then there's Ur-Zith," he added, voice now softer. "Your brother. Your twin flame. The balance to your chaos. I imagine you still think that when you finally reunite with him, you'll both rule as perfect opposites."
He smiled wider now.
"But there's a problem."
He was close now. A few steps away.
"You're not as complex as you pretend to be."
Her jaw tightened.
"You're just the embodiment of unfiltered human desire. The lust for power. The fear of death. The longing for the unattainable."
He leaned forward slightly.
"And unfortunately for you, I contain all three."
Her breath caught. Her eyes flicked upward, searching his face for some opening. Some flaw.
She found none.
"I possess more power than you can fathom," he said calmly. "I'm one of the few beings in this reality who can make the one thing you fear... come true."
He paused.
"And those impossible visions you chase?" He scoffed quietly. "They're mundane to me."
Her body tensed again. Not out of resistance.
Out of recognition.
Arias stepped even closer—now directly in front of her. "You are inferior," he said flatly. "Accept your place as my cosmic property. Or return to the nothingness you clawed your way out of."
Silence followed.
A long one.
She was scared now.
It was clear. In the slight parting of her lips. The shift of her weight. The way her gaze refused to meet his directly anymore.
Then he softened.
"Do well," he said, "and I'll have you rule over countless worlds."
His voice shifted again. Quieter now. Lower. "Millions—if not billions—could worship you. You could finally taste something close to real divinity."
He tilted his head.
"All you have to do... is obey."
Enchantress didn't answer right away. Her body remained angled toward Arias, but her eyes dropped to the floor. There was a flicker in her throat—a shallow swallow. And then, finally, she moved.
She bowed.
It wasn't graceful. It wasn't reverent. It was low, cautious, bitter. But she did it.
That was enough.
**Beep**.
The sound of Arias's comm interrupted the moment. He raised a hand, tapping the side of his wrist. The holographic screen unfolded midair, revealing Mercy's face—tired and clearly annoyed.
"I've traced the origin point," she said without preamble. "And whoever's behind this… didn't do it without the government's knowledge."
Arias didn't respond.
Mercy squinted. "Hell, I have a feeling it could be them. But there's no way they're that stupid, right?"
Arias leaned slightly on the desk, smirking. "Oh, but they are."
Mercy blinked. Then scowled. "Wait—you knew already?"
He offered a lazy shrug. "Must've slipped my mind."
Her nostrils flared. "Slipped your—"
"Just prepare the location," Arias cut in, tone shifting back to sharp. "Tell me when it's done."
Mercy clenched her jaw. "It'll be ready in a few minutes. So whatever you're planning? Be ready to follow through."
"Good."
He ended the call.
The screen vanished with a soft shhk.
Arias exhaled through his nose and muttered to no one in particular, "That's enough time for one more phone call."
His hand flicked upward once more, this time contacting Dr. October.
———
Washington, D.C.
The White House — Sub-7, The Gray Box
The air in the war room was unusually dry. Too many words had been spoken. Too many power-point betrayals arranged by sleepless minds in thousand-dollar suits.
The floating screen in the center still displayed Arias—frozen mid-speech.
They didn't notice when the image flickered. Just once.
Their attention was elsewhere.
"I'm telling you, if we play this right," one of the advisors said, arms crossed over a tablet, "we can weaponize the market response. Public outcry spikes. Stocks for homeland security and anti-meta weaponry go up. The defense funders will be pleased."
Another leaned forward, gesturing toward a new chart on the side display. "Our partners in the North Atlantic Bloc already expect a digital boycott campaign. We feed it to the right networks, make it look like grassroots outrage—boom, sentiment turns overnight."
"Corporations won't need nudging," someone else muttered. "They'll do what they always do—follow the scent. Money, or blood."
President Pete Ross hadn't said anything for a while. His eyes stayed fixed on the screen. His jaw was tight, one hand pressed against his temple like the conversation was a migraine given form.
"This doesn't feel right," he said, voice low. "We're not protecting anyone. We're just steering the fallout."
"Sir, with respect," the Secretary of State interrupted, "this is the job. Someone has to make the tough decisions."
Ross looked away from the screen, toward them. "I don't know. Maybe—"
He didn't finish.
Because in that moment, a chill crawled up the side of his face. Not temperature. Not physical. Something colder than either. His body went still.
His eyes widened.
Something touched him.
The others only saw it as a flicker. A shadow next to his chair. A movement that didn't make sense.
Then they saw her.
Enchantress.
Her form was hunched, wild, and otherworldly—her fingers stretched delicately across the side of the President's jaw like a lover whispering sins. Her hair fluttered as if caught in a wind that didn't exist.
The entire room froze.
"What the f—"
Before anyone could react, her mouth curled into something that might've been a smirk—or a curse.
And then—
**Shhhrkk**—
Gone.
President Pete Ross vanished along with her.
No flash. No sound. Just... absence.
His chair stood empty. Still warm. His coffee mug remained where he'd left it. A faint print of fingers still glistened across the skin of the chair's headrest.
The war room sat in stunned silence.