The ground quaked beneath Nakali's rising fury, his colossal frame splitting frost-layered marble with each step. Ancient tiles screamed as pressure warped them inward, cracks racing outward like fractures in a dying world.
A roar tore from his chest—not sound alone, but a seismic proclamation of wrath. The dimension itself shuddered as if struck by a collapsing glacier.
Enchanted chains slithered up his arms, ancient sigils igniting molten red. Power older than memory surged, converging in a blinding instant as Nakali unleashed everything—an avalanche of cursed frost fused with soul-scorching flame, a judgment meant to erase existence itself.
It crashed toward Jack.
And yet—
Jack did not move.
One hand rested in his pocket. His posture was loose. Unconcerned.
The storm reached him—and vanished.
Not dispersed.
Not deflected.
Consumed.
Magic collapsed inward, devoured by a pressure that erased its structure before it could exist. The throne room drowned in chaos—columns shattered, frost razors shredded the air, heat warped space itself—
Then—
Stillness.
The destruction faded like a lie exposed.
Jack stood alone, untouched. Unmoved.
His cloak fluttered gently in the settling air, unscarred. His head tilted a fraction, crimson eyes glowing with quiet, unmistakable disappointment.
"…Done?"
The question was not mocking.
It was empty.
Nakali stared.
For the first time in centuries, disbelief cut through his rage.
"That… is not possible," he growled. Not fear. Refusal.
Before the thought could harden—
BOOM.
Nakali's right arm vanished. Not severed—removed. A perfect, cauterized void burned through it, flesh and bone erased so cleanly that blood never had time to fall.
Nakali staggered—not screaming in pain, but in shock.
Jack now stood behind him, balanced atop the air itself as though gravity were optional. No sound. No distortion. He had not traveled.
He had arrived.
"Too slow," Jack said softly.
Snarling, Nakali surged upward, summoning his war axe mid-motion—a colossal construct of runed steel and frostfire, ancient power howling along its edge.
With a roar that split the sky, he brought it down—aimed not just at Jack, but at the realm itself.
Jack raised a single finger.
The axe stopped.
Mid-swing.
Mid-death.
Not frozen by spell or force—but crushed by pressure so absolute it denied motion itself.
Nakali's grip trembled.
The axe cracked.
Then shattered.
Its fragments dissolved into glimmering dust before they could fall.
Jack exhaled quietly.
And tapped his foot.
The chamber collapsed inward. Walls screamed as frost split like shattered glass, ancient stone folding under planetary force.
The throne disintegrated into bone dust as Nakali's massive body was hurled across the hall, tearing through towering ice pillars before embedding into the far wall in a crater that bled cold mist.
Nakali coughed, blood staining the frost beneath him.
Yet—
He rose.
Bones ground. Limbs shook. But his eyes burned—not with fear, but furious denial.
"I will not be erased," he snarled, invoking a forbidden spell.
Ancient runes ignited around him, spiraling into existence as demonic forms howled from the void—starved spirits clawing toward reality, promising annihilation.
Nakali lunged.
Jack stepped forward.
Once.
Time stopped.
The runes extinguished mid-formation.
The spirits unraveled.
The realm froze—caught between moments it would never finish.
Silence.
A clean, perfect X bloomed across Nakali's chest.
He froze, breath trapped between life and oblivion as energy hissed from the wound like a leaking soul.
Jack's voice slipped through the suspended air—barely a sound. More a verdict.
"You're not worthy."
Time resumed.
Nakali collapsed.
No final cry.
No last stand.
Final.
Jack did not look back.
He walked forward, boots leaving no imprint on the frost as his presence ate away at the realm behind him. Towers folded inward. The sky fractured. Reality recoiled, rejecting what had just occurred.
The 67th Floor—the Cold Abyss—began to collapse.
Swallowed by his aura.
Consumed by presence.
Devoured by a man no longer bound by mortality.
And Jack never turned.
---
The scene opened with the gentle amber glow of twilight seeping into a small, quiet home.
Jasmine, weary from the grind of another long day, had just settled down, chopsticks in hand, a simple bowl of rice steaming before her. Peace, at last.
Ding-dong.
She groaned, dragging herself to the door with the defeated sigh of someone who'd had enough for one day. "Yeah, yeah... coming..."
She opened it just a sliver—just enough to see. And then, she froze.
A girl stood at the threshold. Younger. Calm. Composed. But her eyes—sharp, calculating, ancient—pierced through Jasmine's soul like quiet daggers.
"I'm Iris" the girl said plainly, voice unwavering. "I need to talk to you. It's important."
Jasmine blinked, deadpan. "Yeah? So is dinner." Her voice carried dry sarcasm as she moved to shut the door. "Coffee shop. Tomorrow. I'm beat."
But then came the words that cut through her like a blade.
"It's about Jack."
Jasmine stopped. Her fingers tightened on the doorframe.
Her expression shifted—still hard, but now cracked by something deeper. Confusion. Shock. Pain.
She opened the door fully. "...Come in."
They sat across from each other in the small living room, shadows dancing on the walls as silence filled the space—not hostile, but heavy. Measured.
Jasmine finally broke it. "Where do you know him from?"
Iris hesitated. Just for a breath. Then—
"He was like a brother to me... three hundred years ago."
Clink.
Jasmine's spoon slipped from her fingers. Her eyes narrowed, not out of disbelief, but calculation. "What did you just say?"
"You heard me" Iris replied softly. "I'm... not exactly human anymore."
"You're immortal?" Jasmine leaned back, stunned. Then scoffed. "No way!. You're creepy."
For the first time in years, Iris laughed. Lightly. Honestly. "Yeah... I get that a lot."
Silence again. But this time, it lingered with quiet intrigue.
Then, gently, Iris reached out. Her hand found Jasmine's.
Not for comfort. Not for power.
But for connection.
Something ancient... meeting something real.
Two threads in Jack's long-forgotten tapestry. Finally woven close.
"I wanna know something..." Iris murmured, her gaze narrowing with quiet mischief. A smirk tugged at the corner of her lips, playful but observant.
Jasmine, still lounging on the floor, blinked at her. "Huh? What is it?" she asked, tilting her head slightly, her earlier wariness lowered after their strange, unexpected connection.
Iris leaned in just a little, voice airy but direct.
"Are you his girlfriend?"
The question landed like a thunderclap in a calm sky.
Jasmine's entire body jolted. "A-AHH—WHAT?!" she stammered, launching to her feet in a full-blown panic.
Her face flushed instantly—deep crimson blooming from her cheeks to her ears. "N-No! Are you crazy?! We're just—just... good friends!"
Her voice cracked near the end, the words tripping over themselves like they weren't used to running that fast.
Iris rested her chin on her palm, eyes glinting with quiet amusement.
"Hmm.. okay." She let the pause linger, then struck again, gentler this time.
"But... do you like him?"
Jasmine stiffened. Her hands tugged instinctively at the cuffs of her sleeves, face turned to the side as if avoiding an arrow.
But the small smile that crept onto her lips betrayed everything.
"Y-You're so annoying" she mumbled, flustered beyond recovery. "Can we talk about what actually matters now?"
But her voice had softened. Her shoulders relaxed, just slightly.
And in her eyes—half-averted, still glowing from embarrassment—there was something fragile. Something tender.
Something Iris had seen before.
She didn't press further.
She didn't need to.
Because now, she knew.
Iris suddenly burst into laughter — not the sarcastic kind, not guarded — but genuine, warm, and completely unfiltered. It erupted from her chest like sunlight cracking through a storm.
Jasmine blinked, stunned. Her face still glowing scarlet.
"W-Why are you laughing?!" she stammered, flailing slightly as she tried to cover her cheeks. "H-Hey! Stop that!!"
The more flustered she got, the louder Iris laughed.
Now doubled over, Iris clutched her stomach, tears forming at the corners of her eyes.
"S-Sorry!" she managed between wheezes, "It's just— you're way too easy to read!"
Jasmine puffed her cheeks in frustration, then grabbed the nearest pillow and swung it at Iris with a soft pomf.
"Ugh! You're impossible!" she whined, voice half-defensive, half-laughing herself now.
For a moment — just a moment — the tension of gods, monsters, and lost time melted away.
Two girls, two souls battered by chaos, found comfort in the simplest thing: shared laughter.
The scene slowed, softened.
Light spilled gently through the window. The room was bathed in golden orange, like the world outside had stopped to let them breathe.
The camera pulled back slowly. Their figures grew smaller, framed by the soft hum of domestic quiet.
No music. Just the echo of laughter.
Then...
Fade to black.
A still moment.
A pause in the storm.