"Sir, his movements have become erratic," the woman said.
President Emmanuel Auston Thatcher rose slowly from behind his desk, fatigue hanging on his shoulders as the Oval Office lights cast long shadows across the room. It was 3:34 in the morning on December 4th, 2032. Ever since Alma's visit to that town hours earlier, his movements had become strange—nonsensical, jagged, almost impossible to track—sketching patterns across the map that hovered somewhere between intention and chaos. The tracker they had placed on his clothing with his consent delivered only delayed fragments of his location, and even then, catching up to him was impossible; helicopters couldn't match his speed, and neither could Emmanuel.
"Status report?" Emmanuel said.
The woman's fingers flew across her keyboard, refreshing the live feed. She swallowed. "Sir… he's in Canada."
Emmanuel's eyes widened. He grabbed his coat in one quick motion and headed for the door. Slower or not, Alma had to be stopped.
"Be cautious," the woman called after him, her worry breaking through professionalism. "We don't know what's happening to him. He may not be the friend you've come to know."
"I know," Emmanuel replied, without turning back, and left the Oval Office.
'Come on, Alma... what's gotten into you?' He said, exiting the White House grounds and running off at incredible speeds.
Alma had traveled from Minnesota to Florida, then to New Mexico, then to Washington State, carving an irregular path that bordered on a pattern yet collapsed into confusion. No one in the White House knew what had truly happened to him. They only knew that he had been in Albert Lea, Minnesota—and whatever he had met, whatever he had seen or been subjected to there, had changed him. They had tried calling him repeatedly, even inventing a false emergency at the White House, but every attempt failed. This was exactly what everyone feared would one day happen to a Dragon Monarch: not rage, not rebellion—but collapse of the world.
---
3:50 a.m.
Alma drifted through the White Void.
He wasn't flying by dragon wings. There was no burst of Gale, no force carrying him. He simply floated, as though the void itself had forgotten to let him fall. His eyes were half-open, unfocused. Above him, the enormous golden bell hung suspended, radiating a quiet, sunlike glow.
He felt impossibly at ease.
Ardath rose toward him, reclining sideways on one of the countless massive dominoes drifting through the void. She propped her head on one hand, her other resting lazily at her hip. The domino slid to a stop beside him, and she watched him without blinking.
"So much for hiding your strength," Ardath said, voice laced with soft amusement. "The way you're moving… dealing with the strongest Beasts of Ruin like they're nothing. Even those humanoid ones. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were showing off."
Alma didn't answer. His gaze remained on the bell.
Then he turned slowly toward her. His expression didn't change.
"I was," he said.
Ardath took his arm and pulled him gently onto the domino with her. His body was warm — almost fevered — while hers was cold enough to sting. She wrapped her legs around his, guided his arm across her chest, and rested her head against him. She closed her eyes and pressed closer, as though fitting herself into a shape she'd always known.
Time passed without measurement.
Eventually she lifted her head and smiled up at him.
"I know," she said simply, then settled against him again.
Alma looked at her, then back to the bell.
"Why is this happening to me?" he asked, voice flat, empty of frustration.
Ardath tilted her head slightly. "What do you think?"
He took his time answering.
"I think…" He paused, searching for the right shape of the thought. "…that I want to stop."
"There's a start," Ardath said, shifting to sit upright in his lap, her hands resting lightly on his chest. "Do you know why you're acting like this?"
He only met her gaze.
"It's because that woman placed a spell on you," Ardath continued. "Your consciousness is here. Your body is somewhere else, doing whatever the spell urges it to do."
Her voice softened, almost fond.
"Ordinarily, with a spell this strong, you'd be going town to town… indulging yourself. Every woman you saw." She smiled, sharp and amused. "And honestly? No one on earth could stop you."
She leaned slightly closer.
"But your subconscious is strong enough to resist. Strong enough to take that amplified desire and twist it into something else. Into erratic movement instead of surrender."
Alma swallowed.
"Is that desire… from me?" he asked quietly.
"Of course," Ardath said. "No one is free of desire. But the spell magnified what little was there until it drowned out everything else."
She stood, then eased herself to sit on his chest, her face above his, her presence pressing close.
"Do you understand yet, dear?"
"Yes…" Alma said slowly. He let the truth settle into him like weight. "As long as my desires run rampant… I'm a prisoner inside my own body."
"Good boy." Ardath brushed his hair with her fingers, then turned away to face the great bell.
"But there's something else you need to understand." She paused, then looked back over her shoulder. "Do you know what it is?"
Alma hesitated. Then:
"Yes," he said. "It's to keep me out of the picture."
---
Twin Falls, Idaho — 4:30 a.m.
"Damn it!" Montana Bristol — the Cetus Monarch — shouted as she hurled a Beast of Ruin away with her massive black-staffed, silver-headed lance. The weapon alone looked large enough to anchor a building.
"Where the hell did all of these things come from?!"
She skewered another Beast through the skull, kicked a third away, then used her lance as a pole to swing herself aside from snapping jaws. When she landed, she pushed her hair out of her face with an irritated breath.
"Isn't the Dragon Monarch supposed to be handling these?"
Above her, Tanner Ormond — Hydra Monarch — descended in a blur of movement, three serpent heads tearing through seven Beasts in a single strike.
"I don't know. Focus," he snapped, ducking a swipe.
Montana hurled her lance, impaling another Beast cleanly through the head. The weapon whirled back into her palm as if eager to return. She planted its butt against the ground and exhaled, chest rising and falling hard.
"This is getting dangerous," she said. "These are almost EF-4s. And they just keep coming. Thirty minutes ago there weren't half this many."
"Like I said," Tanner replied, coming to stand beside her, "I don't know. I assume Alma Alastor — or the President — is handling it."
Montana looked toward the horizon, jaw tightening.
"They'd better be. Because if they want us to hold the line like this, we're going to need backup."
Tanner smirked, then summoned another massive serpent head. It swept forward, devouring a cluster of Beasts of Ruin in a single, wet snap. "I never thought I'd see the day," he called over the chaos, "when Montana the Great would be the one asking for help."
Montana lifted her lance, the staff dark against the dim sky, and drove the butt end into the ground. The street trembled. A rolling wall of water surged outward, lifting and swallowing the advancing Beasts of Ruin as if the earth itself had decided to breathe them in. She exhaled sharply, irritation lacing her voice. "Oh, shut it. I know exactly what I can do."
Even as she said it, more Beasts of Ruin emerged from the shadows and broken streets. They came in waves—taller, heavier, more warped than the last. Their bodies bent into wrong shapes, vaguely human but misshapen, like failed attempts at remembering what people looked like.
Montana raised her lance again, her stance tightening. She pointed with her index finger toward the horde. "Vortex End," she said quietly, almost reverently. Three perfectly round spheres of water formed behind her, each one turning with slow, deliberate grace.
They fell as if in slow motion, then burst wide open. The three spheres merged into a single, colossal maelstrom that swallowed the creatures whole, dragging them down into a spiraling abyss. Montana's expression hardened. "Tidal Collapse."
Above them, the sky darkened with wings. Countless flying Beasts of Ruin circled overhead—some like vultures, some like eagles, some disturbingly reminiscent of ordinary birds, all twisted into monstrous mockeries. Tanner looked up at them, spreading his arms slowly, as if welcoming them in.
"Sixfold Monster… Catastrophe Form." The ground beneath him liquefied into water, swallowing him whole. For a heartbeat, there was only silence and churning darkness.
Then it rose.
A monstrous shape tore free of the flood. Six enormous heads emerged, each one a melding of dragon and serpent, their bodies slick and massive, trailing a great tail that carved trenches through the street. The creature's roar rolled through the city like thunder, rattling windows and shivering through the bones of the buildings. It was the Hydra made manifest—proof of an almost absolute bond between monarch and Mythical Beast, a sight few have seen in person, only spoken about in stories, and the pillar of world-altering power.
The price of such power was an incredible taxing of Liminal Bonds Tanner had. The sacrifice of such enormous amounts of energy, overtime, would double the energy he used to transform. However, if Tanner is injured enough in that form, to a death-like state, then he will be forcibly removed from that form, and be left near unconscious.
Montana cut down another Beast of Ruin, then turned, eyes widening at the creature that now towered over them. "Wow," she breathed, a grin spreading across her face. "Talk about overkill. But I'm definitely NOT complaining." She charged again, exhaustion forgotten for a moment.
Three of the Hydra's heads opened their jaws and released concentrated torrents of water. The beams ripped through the air, impaling three flying Beasts of Ruin before dragging through the sky and tearing through others in their wake. The remaining three heads followed suit, their jet streams colliding midair in a great blooming explosion of pressure and spray that erased the rest of the swarm.
The Hydra roared again—louder, triumphant.
Below, more Beasts of Ruin surged toward Montana across flooded pavement and broken concrete. The Hydra's six heads snapped downward as one. Six lances of water shot forth, spearing the charge, plowing through creature after creature, carving open the street in deep, watery scars.
Then the heads lifted toward the heavens. Jets fired again, each at a slightly different angle, arcing outward. A vast sphere of water formed around the battlefield, nearly three hundred meters across, humming with tension. The streams ceased for a breath, then resumed with brutal force, driving the sphere outward. The expanding wave roared through the city, sweeping away streets, flooding alleys, and erasing the Beasts of Ruin for miles.
Silence followed in fragments, broken only by falling water.
Montana stared up at the Hydra, chest heaving. Relief washed through her in a heavy, dizzy wave. Her knees gave out and she sank to the ground, muscles trembling from the strain and the relentless fighting. She let herself lie there for a moment, soaked, exhausted, but smiling faintly.
They had won. For now.
This was the power of the Hydra Monarch and the Cetus Monarch—terrifying, beautiful, and without restraint.
---
Loup City, Nebraska — 5:23 A.M.
The morning light hadn't fully risen yet; the sky was still the color of ash. From the center of town, a building erupted outward with a dull, heavy boom. Fire crawled up the windows. A massive, translucent serpent head burst through the wall, carrying a barely alive Beast of Ruin in its jaws before flinging it into the open street.
Anastasia Tamsen — the Leviathan Monarch — didn't even flinch.
She sat on a bench outside the burning building, a book open halfway in her hand. Her eyes moved calmly across the page. A faint blush colored her cheeks. The book was about dark romance — she was absolutely lost in it.
Behind her, a Beast of Ruin crept closer through shattered glass and smoke.
Before it could reach her, another spectral serpent coiled around it, binding it mid-lunge. Anastasia finally lifted her gaze, expression turning cold and flat.
"How dare you," she said softly, as if offended on principle. She placed her index finger against the creature's throat. "Try to stop me from reading this magnificent book."
Another serpent struck from the air. It speared through the Beast's neck, then rebounded, slicing through its body again and again until nothing recognizable remained. The remains dissolved into nothing.
Anastasia turned the page.
Some distance away, Ora True — the Cerberus Monarch — laughed like a man having the time of his life.
He crashed through one building, then another, finally skidding to a stop across a cracked window pane. Dust and smoke billowed around him. "IS THAT ALL YOU HAVE!?" he roared, only to be immediately smashed back through the wall by a follow-up blow.
He stood up. Not a bruise. Not a scratch. Not even dust stuck to him.
The towering, emaciated Beast of Ruin loomed over him and brought its fist down.
Ora caught the entire hand in his palm.
"Pathetic," he said.
He tightened his grip, then seized its forearm and heaved, spinning the creature in a wide arc before hurling it through a row of buildings. The street filled with debris and cracking stone. Before the Beast could recover, Ora was already there. He drove a kick into its ribs, launching it upward, then leaped after it, tackling it through yet another wall.
He plunged his hand into the creature's stomach and lifted it off the ground, holding it up like an example. He stared into where its eyes might have been.
"You will die… weak."
With his other hand he gripped the roof of its mouth, then reached farther with the arm buried inside its torso and tore the body open. The creature split apart, collapsed, and dissolved into nothingness.
Ora let the remains fall and wiped his hand on his jacket as if it were nothing more than grease. He shoved both hands into his pockets and walked back toward the burning building.
Anastasia was still sitting on the bench, one leg crossed over the other, quietly reading her "perverted book," unfazed by the ruins around her.
Ora stopped in front of her. He pulled his hands from his pockets and studied them, adjusting his posture to make the veins stand out more. Then he sat beside her and cleared his throat.
She glanced briefly at his hands, then at his face, then calmly returned to her book.
"Oh, really? You won't even give another look?" Ora said.
She sighed, finally letting the bookmark rest between the pages. "I'll tell you why. You're messy. You're rude. You have no manners. And you only want a quick hookup." Her tone was matter-of-fact. Then she softened slightly. "I want a man who's kind. Caring. Thoughtful. Someone who'll hold me when we fall asleep together."
Her eyes went distant, dreamy.
"And especially," she added, "a man with big, strong hands… with veins."
Ora blinked. "Yeah, no. I'm not doing allat."
The fantasy shattered. Anastasia's expression returned to cool indifference.
"And that," she said, turning another page, "is exactly why I don't want you."
Ora leaned toward her with a smirk. "Come on, I know you're just playing hard to get."
Anastasia rolled her eyes and tuned him out, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response. A few quiet moments passed—then the ground began to tremble. Both of them shot to their feet. Anastasia slipped her book into the waiting jaws of a Leviathan construct, irritation flickering across her face, while Ora practically vibrated with anticipation.
In the distance, towering Beasts of Ruin erupted into view, immense forms rising higher than hundred-foot buildings, radiating power.
Ora cracked his knuckles, grinning wide. "About time. I was starting to worry this night might disappoint me. Guess I was wrong." With that, he tore forward in a full sprint.
Anastasia clicked her tongue, annoyed that this now required her full attention instead of letting half her mind remain with her book. She summoned three Leviathan heads and launched them at a Beast of Ruin. They ripped through its body with ease—an easy victory, or so it should have been.
But the Beast's mangled form began to knit itself back together.
It swung its massive arm in one brutal sweep, obliterating the Leviathan constructs. Anastasia clicked her tongue again, then slammed her heel into the ground.
"Sea King:" she intoned.
A towering wall of water surged up behind her.
"Appearance of the Leviathan."
The wave consumed the Beast in an instant. Within its depths, a colossal Leviathan took shape—dark and light blue scales, a long, serpentine tongue, and eyes glowing a deep, predatory red. It swallowed the Beast whole. The wave descended, then faded away, as though it had never been.
Elsewhere, Ora leaped at another Beast of Ruin, both fists wreathed in a dark red mist.
"Bite of a Thousand Teeth:" he growled, driving his fist into the monster.
"Mark of the Dreaded Dog."
The impact sent the Beast hurtling through building after building, each one collapsing in its wake. Even after Ora fists left its body, it had never stopped moving, the creature's body kept being hammered backward by invisible blows—until there was nothing left of it at all.
He turned to the next Beast, grin widening. He spread his hands, and inhaled sharply.
"Force of a Thousand Winds:" He clasped his hands together. "Mark of the Unending Twister."
A supersonic blast ripped forward. Windows shattered instantly. Concrete split and peeled away. The road was torn upward, cars disintegrated into scraps, and the Beasts caught in the direct path ceased to exist.
Ora glanced back at Anastasia, giving her a thumbs-up. She rolled her eyes and retrieved her book from the serpent's mouth.
---
Quebec, Canada—5:50 A.M.
The President of the United States hovered in the air, a short distance behind Alma Daedulus Alastor—the Dragon Monarch—high above Quebec.
Caution, hesitation, and grim resolve warred across his face. He didn't know whether Alma recognized him, or even knew where he was. To Emmanuel, the man before him felt like a stranger wearing a familiar shape. And he knew that if a confrontation occured, North America would be destroyed—and he would lose.
Peace wasn't an option. It was a gamble. A desperate attempt to stop a continent, maybe the world, from falling.
He moved toward Alma slowly, like a hunter approaching a deer. The irony of who was the predator and who was the prey didn't escape him.
"Alma?" Emmanuel called softly, extending a hand. "It's me. Emmanuel. The President of the United States. Do you remember me?"
Silence was all that met him.
He hadn't expected an answer; it was only a test—to see whether something of Alma was still there, or whether something else had taken his place.
"We need you," Emmanuel said, gripping Alma's shoulder. "The Beasts of Ruin are overflowing our streets. The strongest ones—we can't handle them without you."
No response again.
"Please. We need you," he repeated, tightening his grip.
Nothing once more.
Then Alma abruptly shoved him away. For a split second, Emmanuel saw his eyes—devoid of life, emotion, or awareness. The eyes of a dead man. Hollow. Cold. And unforgiving.
And then Alma vanished.
Emmanuel whipped out his phone. The tracker showed Alma streaking deeper into Canada—then veering sharply toward Greenland. Fear seized him. If Alma crossed into other countries, they would attack—and Emmanuel didn't know whether Alma would respond or simply erase them.
He took off after him.
The red dot on his tracker suddenly doubled back—straight at him. Emmanuel looked up just in time to see Alma's face before a hand clamped over his own, and the world became a blur of speed and wind. He struggled to pry Alma's grip free, but it didn't budge. The strange part was that Alma wasn't even squeezing hard. His hand felt…gentle, as though he thought Emmanuel's face was something else entirely.
Then Alma released him.
Emmanuel spun wildly through the air, finally stabilizing. He checked the tracker again—Alma was flying in circles across Canada. Emmanuel prepared to approach again, but a woman's voice cut through his earpiece.
"Sir, we have a problem."
"Go ahead," he said.
"There's a massive surge of Beasts of Ruin—tens of thousands—surrounding the Cetus and Hydra Monarchs, as well as the Leviathan and Cerberus. Estimated EF-4s to EF-5s."
Silence.
"Sir?"
"Understood," Emmanuel replied. "Tell the Cetus and Hydra Monarchs to be careful. I'll assist the Leviathan and Cerberus Monarchs first, then the those two." He cut the channel immediately after.
He cast one last look at Alma's tracker and flew toward Loup City, Nebraska.
His voice carried through every Monarch's earpiece.
"Attention, all Monarchs."
The Cetus Monarch looked up, jaw dropping. The transformed Hydra Monarch's eyes narrowed at the sight of so many Beasts of Ruin, each equal to—or greater than—him in size.
"I am declaring a national emergency," Emmanuel said. "The Dragon Monarch is down. Our country is being overwhelmed by the current influx of Beasts of Ruin."
The Cerberus Monarch smiled, though a knot of dread coiled in his stomach. The Leviathan Monarch dropped to her knees, paralyzed by the sheer number of presences she could feel—so many it was almost unbearable. But what made it even worse for her, was that she could feel their wailing souls filled with regret.
Alma continued to cut through the skies over Canada, looping in wide circles, the President's voice still crackling through the earpiece.
"Your task remains the same," Emmanuel declared. "Exterminate all Beasts of Ruin!"
The Cetus, Hydra, Leviathan, and Cerberus Monarchs roared as one, then charged into their respective ocean of Beasts of Ruin—thousands upon thousands of them.
Anastasia and Ora sprinted forward. Ora dove into the horde, fists flying, pulverizing Beasts of Ruin until nothing remained of them but drifting fragments. Anastasia's left hand morphed into a razor-edged claw, and she carved her way through a cluster of monsters, felling them in an instant.
She summoned multiple Leviathans in rapid succession, each Appearance of the Leviathan swallowing hundreds at a time. Still, the sheer number of Beasts was crushing. Ora unleashed Mark of the Unending Twister again and again, annihilating countless enemies—but it was like punching a tide. For every one destroyed, another seemed to take its place.
Anastasia was hurled through a building, shattering windows and walls before slamming into a row of cars. Blood trickled down her forehead. Two massive Beasts of Ruin descended toward her, shadows blotting out the light. She tried to raise her right arm—its flesh morphing into a claw—but it failed her, dropping uselessly to her side.
She thought it was over.
Then Ora swept her into his arms and dashed away at full speed.
She blinked up at him, vision swimming. "You…saved me?"
"Of course," he said with an easy grin. "That's what comrades do."
Before she could even process the word, a colossal blow smashed into them. Ora was driven through multiple buildings and finally pinned against a brick wall, a length of rebar spearing through his side near the kidneys.
Anastasia staggered to her feet and rushed to him. A swirling vortex of water formed in her palms, dissolving the rebar and knitting the wound closed. Ora clenched his teeth against the pain—then sagged with relief when it ended.
"Thanks," he breathed.
"An eye for an eye," she replied, smiling faintly.
She helped him upright. "We have to get out of here."
"Where would we go?" he said, making her pause. "This is our home. Our last stand. There's nowhere safe. Nowhere to regroup. We're the last line of defense." He gritted his teeth and stood without her support.
She watched him with rising worry. He could barely stand—yet more EF-4 and EF-5 Beasts of Ruin appeared ahead, towering over buildings, their numbers multiplying. She clenched her jaw.
Then a voice thundered from above.
"Merged Beast:"
Half of the swarm crashed together, bodies twisting and warping, fusing into a single abomination—an enormous mass of souls spiraling inward and outward at once, a living vortex of the damned.
Anastasia looked up.
The President of the United States—Emmanuel Thatcher—hovered in the air, arm extended, middle and ring fingers curled while his index and pinky pointed forward. He aimed at the remaining advancing Beasts.
"Inverted Creature Shot."
The clump of souls shot downward and detonated, a wave of destruction sweeping through five miles of terrain. Anastasia smiled in relief.
"It's the President of the United States!"
Emmanuel swept his gaze across the shattered town, searching for more Beasts. Finding none, he descended to Ora and Anastasia.
"Are you two all right?"
Anastasia nodded. Ora managed a faint look upward.
"Good," Emmanuel said. "I can't stay. The Cetus and Hydra Monarchs still need support. Get to the nearest hospital immediately—Marines have are already been deployed across the country to help civilians. Move carefully. Good luck, soldiers."
He shot back into the sky.
---
The Cetus Monarch climbed along the vast body of the manifested Hydra. She leveled her spear at the swarming lesser Beasts below, shooting out bubbles that exploded on impact, while Tanner focused his many heads on the giants. They weren't just surviving—they were dominating, slaughtering hundreds of Beasts of Ruin.
Montana raised her spear toward the heavens. A beam lanced upward from the tip, and the cloud canopy turned deep blue, then paler.
"Scatter Shot!"
A storm of thousands of pressurized water droplets rained down, perforating the Beasts of Ruin in a vast ring around Tanner—leaving one untouched circle around him. Buildings collapsed under the same merciless barrage.
From the Hydra's main head, Tanner unleashed a massive beam of water; the other five heads poured their power into it, forming a colossal sphere that slowly descended. Upon impact, it exploded—an eruption triple the Hydra's own immense size.
Montana and Tanner paused, scanning for movement, weapons poised. After a long moment, nothing appeared. Montana exhaled in relief.
Then they felt it—an overwhelming presence bearing down on them.
They looked up.
A lone figure floated in the air. They didn't know who or what it was, only that its power dwarfed everything around it. They braced for the worst—until recognition dawned.
"Hey, you two!" Emmanuel called, smiling and waving. "I wanted to help, but it looks like you've got things handled." He hovered before Tanner's enormous eyes.
"You bet," Montana said. "But the influx is unreal—we've seen more today than in the past three months combined. Where are they coming from?"
"We don't know," Emmanuel said. "I've searched for hours, and nothing fits—except one possibility. Those humanoid beings I told you about? They're a form of Beast of Ruin. And they may be the reason for this surge."
Montana's eyes widened—and even Tanner's did. His monstrous form began to shrink, receding until it vanished entirely. Emmanuel landed lightly, watching with a faint, amused smile as Montana climbed down from where Tanner's neck had been.
Tanner slowly rose to his feet, dusting himself off, his expression tightening as the reality of Emmanuel's words settled in. "Are you serious?" he asked, his voice low with disbelief. "How is that even possible?"
"We don't know," Emmanuel replied, his tone heavier than before, as if the admission itself carried weight. "Our only sources are Alma and the video evidence. From what he told me last night, and from the footage we recovered, these beings appear to be a step above an EF-4 Beast of Ruin." He lifted a hand and projected the image of the three humanoid figures, their outlines blurred, their presence alone unsettling.
"These are the individuals who left the Centaur Monarch in critical condition and wounded the Dryad Monarch," Emmanuel continued, his gaze lingering on the image. "And from the footage…it looks like the first two were toying with them."
Tanner and Montana exchanged shocked glances, both momentarily speechless. Their eyes moved from Emmanuel, to the image, then back to him again, as if searching for some hint that he might retract the claim.
"Really?" Tanner finally managed. "They were able to do that much damage while they were just playing?"
"I'm afraid so," Emmanuel said quietly. "They are on par with me—or possibly stronger."
Montana stared at him, as if the foundation of the world had shifted beneath her. "But that's insane," she said. "You've been the strongest in this world for as long as I can remember. Even before your presidency."
"I know," Emmanuel replied. His expression softened into something almost wistful. "But my peak has long since passed. From the moment others began calling me the strongest, I knew the day would come when that title would be taken from me. I just wish the world had been ready for the shift, instead of being thrown into it without warning." He slowly closed his hand into a fist, his eyes distant.
"I wouldn't count yourself out yet, sir," Tanner said, his tone firm but respectful. "You're still strong, even if you're behind the Dragon Monarch. And being compared to the Dragon Monarch is hardly an insult—it's not like you're being stacked up against some random nobody."
Emmanuel laughed softly, the tension breaking for a brief moment. "Thank you. It means more than you know that people still remember me as something other than 'the President.' Though sometimes I wonder what my brother would have done if he were still alive…" His words trailed off into silence.
"Sammuel?" Tanner asked gently. Emmanuel nodded in confirmation.
"I still can't believe your brother was the previous Dragon Monarch," Montana said, shaking her head slowly, remembering stories whispered more than spoken.
"Yeah," Emmanuel said, a faint smile touching his lips. "What a time that was." Then, his expression hardened again, refocusing. "Anyway—since neither of you is badly injured, I need you both to go to Bend, Oregon. There's been another surge of Beasts of Ruin there."
They nodded without hesitation.
---
6:23 A.M.
Alma came to a halt in the air, hovering in the pale morning sky above Alberta, Canada. The wind tugged at his clothes, but he did not react; his eyes were dull and empty, stripped of life and intent, exactly as they had been when Emmanuel first saw him like this. He barely breathed. He barely moved. He simply existed, suspended between earth and sky.
Inside the endless White Void, however, he struggled. He had been forced into a chamber within his own mind, confined within himself, his will bound and sealed away. He clawed at the walls of that inner prison, pushing, tearing, straining with everything he had, and yet the barrier did not crack. No matter the strength he poured into it, he could not escape.
On the outside, his eyelids drifted shut, then slowly opened again.
His body descended toward Alberta, drifting downward as if pulled by invisible strings. His gaze swept across the province with a hollow detachment, cataloguing faces without feeling them. He saw many beautiful women—figures that would normally stir desire—and then his eyes rested on a child. For a moment, the spell that bound him flickered. The thread that held his will began to fray. As he continued to watch the child, something in him shifted, and movement returned, faint but growing.
He tore his gaze away.
His eyes sharpened in an instant.
Control rushed back into him like air into drowning lungs. Alma flexed his fingers, opening and closing his hands as if they were new limbs he had just discovered, reacquainting himself with his own body. Then he turned, looking back toward America.
He had only one goal, and it burned through him with cold clarity: destroy the one who had placed him under that spell.
He shot forward, streaking through the sky toward Minnesota, driven by a silent fury.
He tapped the earpiece. His voice, when he spoke, was low and chilled, stripped of warmth. "Be aware," he said. "I am back."
Across the nation, the Monarchs—and Emmanuel—froze. Their eyes widened. It was not just that Alma had returned; it was the way he sounded. His voice carried something frightening, something hollow and hard. A complete reversal of his usual cheerful voice.
Emmanuel was the first to respond. "Alma! You're all right. What happened?"
"It's a long story," Alma replied. "The short version is that a woman snuck up on me and infected me with a spell that manipulates me through my desires. I don't have concrete data yet, but I'm certain she's a Beast of Ruin."
Emmanuel, Tanner, and Montana exchanged looks none of them enjoyed sharing. Another powerful human Beast of Ruin had appeared, and it had controlled the strongest they had.
"All right," Emmanuel said. "If you're certain, then I believe you. Where are you headed now?"
"Back to Montana," Alma said. "If there's anything left behind—any trace, any clue—I'll use it to find that woman and end her. I'm assuming the other Monarchs already know what's going on?"
"They do," Emmanuel replied. "But the country has been swarming with powerful Beasts of Ruin while you were gone—more than we've seen in months."
"I figured," Alma said. "But that level of increase isn't natural. Do you know where the humanoids are?"
"Unfortunately not," Emmanuel answered. "There's been no contact since your encounter."
Alma descended over Albert Lea, Montana, the wind roaring past him. "Run a nationwide search until they're found. Keep me updated. Good luck." He cut the connection without waiting for a reply.
Emmanuel exhaled slowly, then turned to Tanner and Montana. "Since Alma's occupied with that, it's on us to handle the Beasts of Ruin on the West Coast. The Leviathan and Cerberus Monarchs are already heading toward Nevada. I need you two to take Washington while I go to Arizona."
They nodded.
"Good," Emmanuel said. "Sorry for breaking my previous orders. I'm placing a great deal of trust in the both of you. Good luck." Then he took to the air and vanished.
---
Albert Lea, Montana—6:40 A.M.
Alma searched the town from end to end. Not once did Jasmine or Max surface in his mind. Desire had buried them beneath its weight, and even now, weakened though the spell was, they remained forgotten.
He sighed when he found nothing and rose into the sky again, leaving Montana behind. There had to be something—some fragment, some trail, anything that pointed toward the woman who had ensnared him. He activated Evil Eyes and streaked across the sky, scanning the world beneath him, desperately searching for one irregularity in the sea of souls.
Then he saw it.
Around California State University, Fresno, Beasts of Ruin had gathered—hundreds of them, converging like flies to carrion. His eyes widened. He tapped his earpiece.
"Emmanuel. I'm at Fresno State. There's a huge concentration of Beasts of Ruin here. I'll probably be fine, but…I have a bad feeling."
"Understood," Emmanuel said. "Stay safe."
Alma accelerated, arriving at the university in three seconds. He slammed the first Beast of Ruin into the ground, seized another by the arm, and hurled it into the sky. He raised his hand to fire Spear—but nothing happened.
His eyes widened.
He tried again. And again. Spear would not respond.
Shield, Mirage, Gale, Echo, Withering Grace—none of them answered.
The Beast he had thrown crashed back to earth with a sickening crunch. Alma tore the head from the one beneath his boot, then turned as the fallen Beast rose again, shambling toward him. It swung, and he moved without thinking, dodging and obliterating its skull in a single punch.
Before he could process what was happening to his abilities, a scream ripped through the air.
He spun toward the shattered glass entrance of the university. Beasts of Ruin flooded through the opening, bodies tearing through crowds of students and faculty. Blood smeared across floors and walls. People lay crumpled and broken where they had fallen.
Alma rushed inside.
He slammed into the nearest Beast and ripped its head free. Another lunged; he dodged and kicked, bursting its skull apart. Without powers, there was only strength—nothing elegant, nothing distant. Just bone, flesh, and the horror of killing with his hands.
Then a voice drifted from outside, calm and cruel.
"Distance Innumerable: Infinity Plane."
Alma froze.
He turned toward the entrance—and saw her.
The woman who had ensnared him stood there, smiling sweetly, fingers lifting in a taunting wave. He bolted toward her, fury burning through him, but the doorway receded as he ran, stretching away from him like a horizon that could never be reached.
He stopped.
Her voice echoed through the warped space. "You cannot escape. So don't try."
"Who are you?!" Alma shouted, the words raw in his throat.
She only smirked. "I'm the woman of your dreams. The one you always wished you could have. And you," she said, her eyes glittering, "are the man who doesn't deserve me."
"Don't play games with me," Alma growled. "Who are you—and what do you want?"
"My, so direct," she said. "Very well. I am Beatrix—the most perfect being on this planet. And what I want is the total eradication of the human race."
Alma stared, confusion tightening across his features.
"You know why," Beatrix continued softly. "You've seen it yourself. The depravity. The cruelty. The ugliness of human existence. It disgusts me. It must disgust you too." She pointed past him.
Alma turned.
Norene stood there, smiling with a twisted delight. Noelle stood across from her, expression unreadable and cold.
"Here are the rules," Beatrix said, still smiling. "Norene and Noelle have willingly offered their lives for the sake of our kind. Inside the Infinity Plane, the chosen location becomes infinite—expanded and replicated endlessly with countless variations. Everyone I designate beforehand becomes a 'player.' If any of those players die, the Infinity Plane will lock forever, even to me."
Alma gritted his teeth.
"And the people trapped here with us?" he asked.
"They were not chosen," Beatrix said lightly. "Which only gives you more to worry about. Norene and Noelle will try to kill you, and you cannot kill them. You will fight to survive until you die—or until you kill the others and die regardless. How wonderful is this? Stripped away of your powers, and forced to survive." She turned away.
"Goodbye, Alma Alastor."
She merely walked away.
Almost immediately, Norene and Noelle moved. They tore through the college, slaughtering everyone they encountered. Screams echoed through the halls—short, raw, abruptly cut off. Blood spread like spilled ink.
Alma clenched his fists so hard his knuckles ached.
'I'm sorry...' he thought, tears burning at the corners of his eyes. 'I can't save you.'
His eyes opened again, hardening.
'But I swear,' he thought, his resolve turning to steel, 'I will avenge every person here by slaughtering these monsters.'
Norene cupped her hands together, the air between her palms warping as a clear sphere with a sharp, shimmering outline began to form. "Hyper Sphere," she said—almost reverently—before hurling it forward. The orb swelled in an instant, its edge slicing through the three figures ahead of her as if they were paper.
Alma squeezed his eyes shut. For the first time, he recognized that he was powerless—if only for a moment. When he opened them again, Noelle's blade was already at his throat. He stepped back on instinct, but she pressed forward, unrelenting. He was forced to act. His hand clamped around her arm and the other at her thigh, and with a sudden motion, he threw her sideways into a garbage can.
Norene appeared behind him without a sound. Another Hyper Sphere pulsed in her palm, her intent clear—she only needed to touch him with it. But Alma was no longer there. He moved before her strike landed, her hand stabbing into empty space. She spun, eyes searching for him, but he had already vanished.
A kick struck her square in the lower back. The impact hurled her across the room and into a row of chairs, the metal frames clattering as they collapsed beneath her. She glared up to find Alma standing before her, his fist closed tightly.
"I can't kill you," he said quietly, settling into a wide, grounded stance. His expression hardened. "But I can beat you within an inch of your life."
Across the floor, Noelle rose from the trash, brushing the filth from her hair and torso with a grimace. She looked toward Norene, then toward Alma, and raised a casual thumbs-up. Norene nodded. A heartbeat later, two perfect duplicates of her stepped out from either side of her body, as if peeled from her shadow.
Alma halted mid-step, stunned. For a brief moment, confusion and disbelief overlrote everything else.
'Clones?' He thought. 'Bases on her ability, I assumed she'd fight at long range, keeping distance while the one with the sword pressures me up close.'
He glanced behind him. Noelle was advancing with measured steps. When he turned back, Norene and her copies were doing the same, slowly closing the circle around him.
'If those clones can fire those spheres, then I'll have four threats to worry about—not just her from afar and the swordswomam up close.'
He shifted his stance sideways, aligning his body so he could keep all four of them within a single glance.
'Fighting them without soul-perception will be difficult. Predicting their movements will also prove challenging. Still... the odds of them beating me are low.'
He surged forward.
'Right here, right now, I declare this battle between the living and the deceased!'
Alma leaped and drove both feet into the first clone. His boots tore through her chest. The body folded around him, intestines catching against his shoes as blood and dark matter spilled freely from the gaping wound. The clone dissolved before it even hit the ground.
He landed lightly, turning with fluid precision. The second clone swung at him, and he caught her fist in midair. Bone snapped beneath his grip. He flung her aside, sending her crashing into the real Norene. Then he pivoted just in time, catching Noelle's sword between both palms.
His hand slid up, clamping firmly on the back of the blade. With a harsh tug, he dragged the sword—and Noelle gripping it—toward him, then drove his fist into her face. She flew backward, skidding across the floor before slamming into the wall hard enough to crack it.
Alma did not look for an opponent. He looked for an exit.
He sprang up to the second-floor balcony, boots landing silently on the broken railing. A few steps later, he launched toward the skylight. For one breath, freedom was inches away—then he simply stopped. Suspended. The world refused him. He fell back down, landing gently on the floor below, bewildered.
'There's an actual wall here. One that seperates me from the outside infinitely. What she said earlier—if either of us dies, we'll be trapped here for eternity...'
He stared upward.
'I don't know how true it is, if at all. But I won't gamble being trapped for eternity because of my disbelief. She was able to somehow take my abilities, my special eyes. As it stands, she has no reason to lie.'
When he turned around, only Norene and Noelle stood before him. The remaining clone was gone. Killed one, only injuring the other.
Then a thought flickered through his mind, sharp and unwelcome.
'And I wonder... Have I become dependent on that curse I hate? Those eyes... of the devil?'
A sudden commotion behind him answered his question. He turned just in time to see the last clone sprinting toward him while the real Norene gathered power, a new Hyper Sphere blooming in her palm.
Noelle closed the distance at the same moment, her blade already swinging for his neck. The clone rushed him from the other side.
'This guy is tougher than I thought,' Norene realized. 'The way he splits his attention, analyzes the situation and assess the best outcome, and switches from fighting to investigating... this guy only gives me chills!' Then she fired.
Alma ducked beneath Noelle's swing, then lashed out with a kick, sending the clone backward. The Hyper Sphere streaked toward him. He seized Noelle's wrist as she struck again and twisted the blade, using its flat to redirect the orb. It curved away from him—straight into the clone's back—detonating and erasing her in a violent burst of light.
He drove his elbow into Noelle's stomach. The impact folded her in half, and he threw her aside, sending her crashing across the balcony toward Norene.
'So that is how it works.' He thought. 'If hit at an obtuse angle, it explodes. But hit an acute angle, it can be redirected.'
A faint smile appeared on his face.
"You're running out of luck," he said softly.
Norene helped Noelle to her feet, scoffing as she glared back at him. "You're mistaken. Those words are meant for you."
Alma only kept smiling.
Unease coiled in his chest. 'I've only seen two abilities from her... but the other one—I know nothing about. So far, just mediocre sword skill and reckless charges.'
He eyed Norene. 'The one who makes clones is the true strategist here. If I'm not careful, she could corner me.'
Noelle's sword began to glow—first a deep crimson, then suddenly a pale gray. She thrust it toward him. Alma dodged, but something unseen washed over him.
His knees hit the floor.
Exhaustion crashed into him like a tide. His eyelids grew impossibly heavy. Every muscle begged for sleep.
'What... is this...?'
He fought to remain upright.
'I was awake the entire time under that spell, and never once did I feel tired.' He thought. 'Whatever just hit me... its range is enormous. I thought I had avoided it.'
Noelle tilted her head, smirking.
"I see you're feeling it now," she said. "Honestly, I didn't think it would work on someone like you. But there's a first time for everything."
He looked up through barely opened eyes, too drained to reply, struggling to even stand.
"It's my most potent ability," she continued softly. "Overwhelming mental force. It's called Bed of Insomniacs. Once you fall asleep, you'll never wake up again, and each minutes that passes that you haven't fallen asleep, the affects will only get worse until you do."
'These two... have surpassed my expectations.' Alma thought.
He stood. Somehow. Impossibly.
His body swayed, shoulders loose, a yawn escaping him despite the danger.
'I'm glad we didn't underestimate him.' Noelle thought. 'Even when under Bed of Insomniacs, he still manages to stand. However, in due time, his combat, critical thinking, and even physical prowess, the only things keeping him alive, will degrade into such a state that he'd be as good as a drunk.'
'As powerful as he is,' Norene realized, 'even he must bow to at least one of our powers. But that fact he's still standing is...' Norene thought.
She shuddered, shaking her head then smirked. 'No. What a monster.'
The battle of resistance versus desire had begun.
Norene summoned five clones at once. Alma stared, startled despite himself. The real Norene drew back her arm, another Hyper Sphere gathering in her palm, while the clones—and Noelle—charged.
'Let us see... just how far your will can carry you, Alma Daedulus Alastor!!' She thought, releasing the sphere.
He moved—but slower now, his body dragging through invisible weight. Before, dodging had been easy. Now it was like trying to avoid a bullet in total darkness.
Still, he slipped aside. He shoved one clone away, caught the wrist of another mid-strike, and hurled her into the first before slamming both down with such force that the balcony above them collapsed.
They fell back to the first floor in a shower of dust and debris, stunned only for a heartbeat.
Alma rose first.
He seized fragments of broken concrete and flung them like missiles at Norene's clones. Two were crushed instantly beneath the rubble. Only two remained.
Noelle leaped at him, blade flashing. Her strikes were precise, practiced—refined. To Alma's eye, they were still clumsy.
Even exhausted, he was faster. Not by much anymore—but enough.
Frustrated, Noelle drove her sword into the floor. A dark void expanded under her feet, and from it, the last clones erupted toward him. Alma dodged one, grabbed the head of the other, and slammed it onto a jagged length of rebar jutting from the wall. The steel punched through its skull. The clone went still.
He tore the rebar free, the body sliding off with a wet sound, and turned toward Noelle again.
'Why...?' Norene thought. 'Does it feel as though he only got more stronger after Bed of Insomniacs hit him...?'
Alma dashed forward. He slipped beneath Noelle's slash and hurled the rebar with perfect aim. It struck the final clone through the forehead, pinning it where it stood.
It dissolved into nothingness.
'Three minutes,' Alma thought. 'That's how long it takes her to summon clones again. The max she can summon is five, with three minute intervals between each summoning. If she summons fewer, she still has to wait the whole time limit before summoning more again.'
He reached Norene. She tried to flee, but his hand closed around her ankle. He swung her down and slammed her hard into the floor. Noelle appeared at his back, blade cutting for his spine—he leaped over the strike and landed on the fractured remains of the balcony above them, then used it to propell himself away.
He landed lightly below and rose slowly to his feet.
'That was close,' Norene thought. 'Despite what Beatrix told him, he truly meant to kill me.'
Alma steadied himself, swaying slightly.
"Now," he said, voice low and rough, "we're getting somewhere."
---
January 4th, 10:00 A.M.
The United States officially declared the capture of Alma Daedulus Alastor.
Police cruisers, SWAT vehicles, and military transports surrounded the university. Helicopters circled overhead. Barricades formed a perimeter around the campus, the air filled with the hum of engines and the distant murmur of tense voices.
The Centaur Monarch and Dryad Monarch stood with the assembled forces. Emmanuel Thatcher, President of the United States, waited at the shattered entrance to the college, eyes fixed on the building ahead. Hours had passed since Alma reported his location, and in that time, he and the Monarchs had managed to push back the Beasts of Ruin enough to stabilize the country. Though some still remained in smaller cities and in off-grid locations.
They still feared what could possibly have restrained the Dragon Monarch so completely that he could be captured at all. Doubt crept into the thoughts of everyone gathered there. If Alma had been taken, what chance did any of them have against whoever had done it? And yet, none of them turned away. Alma was the only true safeguard the United States had against the Beasts of Ruin. If he fell, the rest of the world would follow.
Outside, on the roof of the nearest building facing the college entrance, a doorway-sized portal irised open into the interior of an apartment. Max and Jasmine stepped through.
Max was outfitted head to toe in combat gear: goggles pushed up on his forehead, a black bulletproof vest, cargo pants dense with pockets, and steel-toed work boots. In his hands he carried the completed Illuminate Detection System, wires trailing from it into his goggles.
Jasmine, by contrast, wore ordinary clothes—normal, almost casual—and the difference between them made Max look as though he had stepped out of a war while she had stepped out of a regular day.
Max flipped the goggles down over his eyes and aimed the device toward the college. He inhaled sharply.
"Well?" Jasmine asked.
"It's just as I suspected," he said, lowering the goggles.
"This place is a natural anchor point for the teleporter I built. It emits the same frequency—the same type of energy—I use to power the door: infinity." He paused, then added, "Not literal infinity, obviously. That's a concept. Actually harnessing it would be impossible. But ignoring that small violation of realism… whoever trapped our father is using the concept of infinity, along with their own energy, to sustain the space he's imprisoned in."
Jasmine studied him, frowning in thought. "So does that mean every second he's in there puts constant strain on whoever did this?"
"Not exactly," Max replied. "It's a one-time cost. After activation, their energy kick-starts it, and then it becomes self-sustaining—so long as our father remains inside. The trap, and the way it keeps itself running, both rely on infinity as their foundation."
He adjusted the device slightly, continuing, "And there's more. Everything within roughly a hundred and twenty square feet around the college—except for this exact spot we're standing on—is being warped by that power."
Jasmine stared at him. "How do you even know that?"
"Because of this," Max said, tapping the device. "With it and the goggles, I can see the interference. Right now the college looks like it's shimmering—like a heatwave bending reality around it."
Jasmine folded her arms. "If your portal uses the same energy, why not just teleport inside, grab Dad, and get out?"
"Because that would create an infinity inside an infinity," Max said quietly. "It would be like placing a universe-sized black hole inside the universe. If I did that, it wouldn't just free him—it would end everything."
Jasmine swallowed and nodded.
"So what do we do now?" she asked.
"For the moment… nothing." Max sighed. "Those people down there will stop us if we get too close, and I need to be right beside the source to get maximum efficiency out of the device. All we can do now is observe from a distance."
He reached into his vest, producing a small camera.
"I'll leave this here to monitor the site. We'll relocate far enough away to stay unnoticed. I'll tell you when the time comes."
Jasmine gave the college one last lingering look, then returned through the portal with Max. Moments later, another portal opened atop a distant building. Max stepped out, pulled up a tablet, and began to watch the live feed in silence.
---
10:40 AM.
Alma had resisted the effects of Ultimate Desire and Bed of Insomniacs. They had fought—Alma desperately trying to save the few people who remained—but in the end, there was no saving them.
With Noelle's overwhelming speed and Norene's ability to split herself apart through clones, the two broke through his defenses and slaughtered the remaining survivors. They could have focused on him while killing everyone else, but they chose to go after the trapped people first.
That choice enraged him.
Alma clenched his fists. He could feel control slipping from his body under the influence of Ultimate Desire. Just looking at them made him want to act—to feel them—to be close to them. Desire surged through him, amplified beyond reason. And yet, somehow, even while his body leaned toward impulse, his consciousness remained intact.
A sudden impact sent Alma blasting through a wall. The impossible college shifted again—one of countless times during the last four hours.
He stepped out of the hole, now relocated to the second floor, and walked to the broken railing meant to stop someone from falling. Norene and Noelle stood ten feet apart, nervous yet ready, their full attention locked onto him.
His hands rested casually in his pockets—a relaxed posture that contrasted sharply with the carnage around them and with who he had been an hour ago—and that alone filled them with unease. Below them, bodies of college students lay scattered: some near Alma's feet, others down the stairs or near the entrance, blood pooling beneath them on floors that had shifted from their original positions.
In an instant, Alma appeared at the bottom of the staircase. He removed his hands from his pockets and walked up slowly, head lowered as though afraid of tripping on corpses. Then he looked up between them.
"What's going on? I thought you wanted me trapped here without my powers—right where you could kill me and restrict me even more," he said, his tone cold and precise.
He reached the top step and took two more, standing directly between Norene and Noelle.
For a heartbeat neither moved.
Then everything exploded into motion.
Noelle swung her sword at Alma. Norene summoned six clones—three beside her and three behind Alma—and switched places with the central clone behind him as her body grew larger and more powerful.
Alma ducked beneath Noelle's sword, seized her wrist and forearm, and—smiling with a wide, manic grin—swung her entire body, slamming her through the three clones in front of him and then the three behind him.
He gripped Noelle by the throat with his right hand and caught her wrist—the one still holding the sword—with his left. He slammed her into the floor. Before she could react he was already on top of her, his knee pinning her right shoulder painfully while he stretched his body forward—deliberately rubbing his crotch against her mouth.
Alma hummed with twisted delight.
"This mouth feels good."
Then he tightened his reverse grip on her neck and, with a single motion, ripped out her entire spinal cord, that same unhinged grin still carved across his face.
The real Norene appeared behind him, her massive arm slicing through the air toward his crouched position. Alma ducked, grabbed her arm with both hands—still holding Noelle's spinal cord—shifted his weight forward onto her forearm, and swung his leg, kicking Norene directly in the face and sending her crashing through multiple walls of the warped, infinite college.
He lifted Noelle's spinal cord like a javelin and hurled it into the hole where the clones had vanished, debris exploding outward.
'He's still under the affects of Beaterix's Ultimate Desire.' Norene thought.
'He's begun to understand the Infinity Plane as our fight stretched on... and Ultimate Desire keeps sinking its teeth deeper into him. But what's truly terrifying is...'
'He has completely given in to his desire!'
Noelle's body began to re-form around her spine—organs, bones, and skin regenerating. Alma appeared in the new gap in the wall. She stared at him in terror, blasted another hole, and bolted into the hallway. She sprinted around corners, through classrooms, desperate—and he remained behind her, relentless.
'He's focusing entirely on Noelle instead of me,' Norene thought. 'He know I can only summon five clones at a time, and that I need three minutes before I can summon more.'
Norene began forming a Hyper Sphere, charging it to maximum output.
'Which means that he's trying to remove the most pressing thing right now—Bed of Insomniacs!'
Alma leaped, landing on Noelle's back and pinning her to the floor on her stomach. He clamped his hand over her mouth, pinned her wrists together with the other, and dragged his tongue along the side of her face down to her neck, kissing it slowly.
Before he could go further, Norene's Hyper Sphere tore through multiple walls toward them. Alma sprang off Noelle and turned toward the attack, smiling with gleeful confidence.
He weaved around the now beam attack, taunting its path even as Norene tried to track him. He slammed his crotch into her face, locking his leg around her head.
"What's this? This mouth feels even better," he laughed, eyes wild.
He gripped her neck in a reverse hold and ripped out her spinal cord—five extra skulls branching from the elongated spine.
"I was right in my assumption," Alma said. "Noelle's powers come from her soul, while yours come from your body. Quite the tricky pair—for anyone other than me."
He crushed the five auxiliary skulls, kept the primary one intact, and tossed it aside like trash.
Noelle watched in shock.
'I can't believe this...' she thought. 'I'm only alive because of my power stemming from my soul. Even with Ulitmate Desire and Bed of Insomniacs at maximum strength—on top of staying up for twenty-four hours—he's still beating us with just pure physical strength alone...'
'Now I'm actually getting scared... is there anything impossible in this world that exists for you?!'
A storm of swords rained down on Alma. He dodged all of them effortlessly, as if he had practiced it thousands of times. When it stopped, he turned—a man in his early thirties stood there, snarling. It was Orson.
'A man?' Alma thought. 'Ultimate Desire weakens when I look at him. The same happened yesterday when I looked at that kid. So the ability only works on people I'm sexually attracted to.'
Immediately, Norene—newly regenerated—and Noelle attacked from opposite sides. Wings manifested around Alma, blocking both strikes and pulling them inward with an invisible force.
"I'm not the smartest guy alive," Alma said calmly, "but I don't think using a bisexual's nightmare and an insomniac's every night is the best plan to beat me."
In a blur, Noelle was smashed aside by a wing and then punched in the stomach, sent crashing through more walls. He turned to Norene. A black mist rose around him as he slammed her against the wall, his hand closing like iron around her throat.
'All this time... I wondered if my curse defined me. If my curse gave me a purpose to live. If my curse was the reason of my powers.'
"The False Touch: Withering Grace."
Norene's body began to grow taller and more muscular—then halted—and rapidly decayed.
"You shall... perish." Alma said.
'But now I realize. I AM my powers.'
Norene collapsed into a pool of black liquid that faded into nothing. The mist vanished with her.
Noelle stared in horror. Her companion, her friend, was gone. She reached out with a trembling hand, as if she could somehow pull Noelle back.
Alma turned slowly toward her.
He met her eyes.
His voice was low and calm—and final.
"Next victim."
Noelle ran.
She didn't think—she fled, her breath breaking apart in ragged bursts as corridors warped and folded before her. Doors multiplied, stairwells stretched into impossibilities, the college shifting like a living maze around prey already marked. Behind her, Alma did not run.
He walked.
Unhurried. Calm. Certain.
He already knew how this ended.
Orson planted himself between them, teeth clenched, summoning blades in a frantic halo around him. With a choked cry he launched them forward. The burning blades split the air—Alma merely raised his hand.
Shield bloomed around him.
The swords shattered against the greatest defense like rain against glass. When Shield faded, Alma stood untouched, his gaze already fixed on Orson as if the man were no more than a delay, an inconvenience.
"Spear."
The word was almost gentle.
The attack was not. The greatest offense drove straight through Orson's soul, extinguishing him in a still, soundless finality. He fell without ceremony, without weight, as though the world itself had already forgotten him.
And with that last obstacle gone, desire flooded in.
Not a warm desire. Not human. A deep, consuming hunger that hollowed thought and left only instinct: take, claim, use. Noelle was no longer a person in Alma's mind. She was form. Heat. Sensation waiting to be consumed.
She burst through classrooms and vaulted stairs two at a time, stumbling when her legs would no longer obey. The college expanded and expanded and still gave no exit. She knew it never would. Finally, she burst into a cavernous room and stopped, chest heaving.
The doorway darkened.
Alma stood there.
Outside, Max and Jasmine stepped back onto the college roof through the portal, the air still humming with residual energy. Max crossed to the section that belonged to the Infinity Plane and pressed his device against the seemingly endless barrier.
The reaction was instantaneous.
Ripples spread across its surface like shockwaves through water. A faint glow bled outward—violet at first, then deepening and brightening until the entire barrier shimmered purple. People below stopped where they stood, faces tilted upward in uneasy confusion.
"Get back!" Emmanuel shouted as the light intensified.
The crowd retreated, sheltering behind armored vehicles. On the roof, Max fought against the resistance of the Infinity Plane, sweat breaking across his forehead. Purple lightning crackled outward in jagged bursts, scorching and vaporizing chunks of the rooftop around him and Jasmine.
"Come on," he growled through clenched teeth, struggling to keep his stance as the force pushed back. "Come on!"
Emmanuel looked up and finally saw them—two figures braced against the surging glow. His breath caught.
"There are kids up there!" he shouted, pointing upward. "Get them down!"
Officers rushed to set up ladders, beginning their climb toward the roof.
What Maxwell Lemuel had built—the Illuminate Detection System—was nothing short of a technological miracle. It drew upon the energy of the universe in microscopic quantities, operating on the same principle as the portal: infinity. His plan was simple in wording and terrifying in execution—press one infinity against another in order to carve out a pocket where nothing infinite could exist.
The danger was immeasurable.
Push too far, and he risked folding one infinity into another—triggering the collapse of the entire universe. Every calculation had to be exact. Every movement had to be deliberate. Max was the only person alive capable of attempting it.
Nobody else on Earth had dared to tamper with the concept of infinity itself—let alone construct a device to wield it. If anyone else tried, even the world's greatest scientists, nothing would remain.
Max forced the device deeper into the barrier.
A hole opened.
Slowly, then faster, it widened—stretching across the invisible wall, consuming space until it reached the glass entrance of the college. The device was ninety-five percent of the way inside when the opening finally stabilized.
Emmanuel saw it and immediately pointed. "There! Move in!"
Law enforcement and soldiers surged forward, pouring through the breach to reach the Dragon Monarch.
Max trembled, trying not to push farther—and not to pull back. Either mistake could collapse the opening and trap everyone inside. Jasmine stepped beside him, placing her hands over his, steadying the device. She smiled—small, reassuring, and unafraid.
Officers reached the rooftop, their jackets whipping violently in the wind. One took a careful step toward the children—a lance of purple electricity struck the spot where his boot would have landed, vaporizing it in an instant.
"Easy!" he shouted over the roar. "Come on, kids—back up nice and slow!"
Back inside, Alma's eyes scanned Noelle's body.
His eyes did not see her. They appraised. They measured. They lingered on her mouth, her chest, the curve of hip beneath torn fabric. He licked his lips without noticing he had done so, breath deepening, pupils blown wide with something closer to starvation than lust.
Whether she resisted or begged or broke did not matter to him.
He intended to take her. To force himself on her. To use her body for nothing more than the animalistic drive pulsing through him.
She spun to run.
He was already behind her.
Her wrists were seized, yanked backwards. Her head hit his upper chest; the height difference pressed his hips insistently against the small of her back as she struggled and cried out. His mouth found her neck, tongue dragging slowly along her skin, a mockery of intimacy, his breath hot against her ear. One hand pinned both wrists; the other tore fabric like paper.
He forced her down.
The details dissolved into a blur—into sobbing, into weight, into the terrible stillness that comes when struggling stops.
When it was over, Noelle lay shaking, tears pooling silently beneath her cheek as she lay broken.
Something inside Alma broke.
A cold, spreading awareness cracked open within him, like endless corridors uncoiling in his chest. He rose slowly to his knees, hands trembling as they formed the sign—his right hand's ring and middle fingers crossing above his left hand's, the rest touching in ritual geometry—thumbs, index and pinky fingers touching while extending upward.
His voice emerged hollow, defined, and scraped clean of all warmth.
"Second Circle: Spiraling Disaster Storm."
Hell answered.
Four small cyclones appeared at the far reaches of the room, widening, deepening, the air itself screaming as the vast eye of a hurricane yawed open beneath him and rose upward. The spell that tore through him, was ripped violently from his being, severing Ultimate Desire and Bed of Insomniacs like rotten threads.
Noelle's body was lifted, battered, scattered, and dissolved by the storm. Everything inside was torn apart.
Outside, the world reacted.
Four towering tornadoes punched through the Infinity Plane and the roof, thin where they touched earth and enormous above, EF-5 monsters reaching into the sky. A colossal hurricane spread outward, black, ominous, and its pressure crushing those near to their knees.
The eruption blasted every soldier and officer inside out of the building, pushing the officers, Max and Jasmine on the roof down, keeping there with an oppressive force.
"What in God's name—!" a police officer gasped.
Even Emmanuel buckled under the weight of it, wondering the same thing as everyone else.
The Infinity Plane around the college fractured and tore away. Slowly, the storm faded.
In the cafeteria, Alma knelt.
His head bowed. His eyes opened. Memory returned—first in fragments, then in a deluge that swallowed thought whole.
Noelle. Norene. Their faces. Their voices. What he had done to them. How he had seen them. What he had reduced them to.
He convulsed, rage turning inward, horror sinking its teeth into him. He wanted to deny it—scream that it was some other creature, some other mind. But the truth remained, cold and patient. It was him alone.
He collapsed fully, fingers digging into tile.
"AHHHHHH!" The scream tore out of him, raw and animalistic.
Ultimate Desire had not replaced Alma Alastor. It had only amplified what was already there. He had enjoyed it in the moment. He had allowed it. He was aware of it all. Of the intent. Of how wrong it was. That truth throbbed in his skull like a wound that would never close.
"KILL ME! KILL ME! KILL ME! KILL ME!"
He struck the floor until it gave way.
"DIE! DIE! I NEED TO DIE! SOMEONE—ANYONE—END MY LIFE!" He screamed out in a desperate voice, pleading with God, begging with the Devil, to take his soul.
He did not know the truth—that before he had lunged at Noelle, consciousness had already slipped away. That something had fed him false memories, stitching terrible lies into his mind with cold precision. The images of him having his way with Noelle were fabricated. However, he only knew what he remembered. He only knew that it was him. And that it would always be.
'I'm a... I'm a...'
He clutched his face, rocking side to side.
'I'm a... I'm a...'
He went still. Through the cracks between his fingers, he stared at nothing, his eye wide and filled with horror.
'Monster.'