"So I finally return mortality. How refreshing."
Elios remained motionless, drawing breath until the very last ounce of oxygen surrendered itself to his lungs. Blood surged through him with an intimacy long forgotten, each pulse a reminder of constraint of hunger, of need like an addict appeased not by excess, but by limit.
The Disc responded.
It lifted from the air with deliberate slowness, orbiting him once, twice then with a flick of his fingers, it collapsed inward, compressing upon itself until it was no larger than a nut. Without resistance, without hesitation, it breached his third eye, slipping precisely between the brows. Flesh parted, bone yielded. A wave of disorientation crashed over him, his vision fracturing like shattered glass. Yet he did not flinch.
The Disc sank into the outer layer of the skull.
The wound sealed instantly, skin knitting as if no violation had ever occurred.
White spilled outward.
Energy raw, unfiltered flooded the chamber, the pale radiance being consumed almost as quickly as it was released. When Elios stepped outside his apartment, he saw the village submerged beneath a veil of white mist. The discharge from the merging of Elios had been catastrophic by mortal standards threadful, overwhelming yet it was but a fraction, hundreds of times weaker than the concentration that had filled the room itself.
Still, it was enough.
Elios watched as the mist thinned at an unnatural pace, evaporating as though the world itself rejected it purging the foreign residue from its own bosom.
"That explains it," he murmured. "Why I have never seen ghosts."
His gaze followed the retreating haze.
"If such entities persist, their endurance must be improbable."
A calculated pause.
"Perhaps due to the low-magic nature of this world?"
Days passed.
Elios learned again how to inhabit flesh. To wake with weight. To tire. To feel time press forward instead of folding beneath his will. His memories grew congested, layered upon one another, and eventually settled, rearranging themselves into something survivable. Human and Architect overlapping, neither fully dominant.
He was Elios once more.
The Elios who saw no future. The Elios who longed for death. The Elios haunted by isolation, marked by repeated failures.
Yet he was no longer only that.
For he was also the Architect.
The Will so vast the Abyss itself could not consume it. The existence whose anchor lay beyond his own multiverse of creation. The one who erased calamities of space-time and rewrote causality to align with His intent.
That being was Him.
Not whole.
Not now.
But a fraction still.
And even a fraction was enough.
And so, mortality did not bind him.
It merely slowed the hand with which he would one day reshape the world.
…..
The streets of Las Vegas at night were bursting with life and equally saturated with danger. Neon lights bled into the asphalt, clubs and casinos spilling sound, heat, and intoxication into the open air. Yet hidden within that euphoria were blind spots, pockets where excess quietly curdled into violence.
"It's so lively tonight," Mike said, leaning forward in the cab, trying to strike up a conversation with the two women seated beside him.
Cars passed one after another. Men and women flooded the streets some singing, some barely standing, others crawling on all fours in drunken abandon. It was something else entirely. Humanity had once feared the night, especially the wild. Nocturnal predators ruled then, and without fire or shelter, death never lingered far.
"Huh," Sara responded absentmindedly.
Lena glanced out the window. "We're almost at Elios'. I wonder why he asked us to come over."
"He said it was urgent," Sara replied. "But knowing that cute geek, he probably got his hands on some fancy junk to drool over."
"He is your man after all," Mike laughed. "Guess you're a geek too for loving a geek. Get it? I'm hilarious, right?"
Soon the cab pulled up before a gated property. Beyond the iron bars stood a villa secluded, understated, but unmistakably expensive. Elios was already waiting outside the gate, dressed in a loose black T-shirt, short pants, and worn comfort slippers. Casual. Almost careless.
"Finally made it gents, ladies," Elios said.
He embraced both women warmly, then slapped Mike on the back.
"When did you get rich?" Mike asked, noticing how easily the women gravitated toward him.
"It was my parents' house," Elios replied with a smirk. "Mine now."
They entered together. Drinks were poured, snacks passed around, laughter filling the living room as anticipation thickened in the air.
"Champagne's ready," Elios announced. "What are we celebrating? My acquisition of this house. So let's drink."
The group cheered.
Laughter, touches, cravings, satisfaction inside the villa, it felt no different from the streets outside.
Elios stood at the head of the table.
"One final cheer, my friends."
Glasses were raised, smiles wide.
Elios' smile vanished.
"From the bottom of my heart," he said evenly, "please die."
The champagne boiled.
He had nudged the liquid's molecular bonds, destabilizing them just enough for the glass to fracture, bending to his will within arm's reach.
With a violent bang, all four glasses detonated. Shards exploded outward, tearing into faces and throats. Blood sprayed instantly, screams cut short as if a grenade had gone off at the table. The others tried to run but collapsed almost immediately.
Elios remained standing.
Glass was embedded across his face and neck. His hand was reduced to shredded flesh, blood pouring freely onto the floor.
Then unnatural.
The shards inside him moved.
Like roots bursting from soil, they forced themselves outward and fell away. Flesh knitted together. Skin sealed. Bones aligned. Within seconds, his fingers curled again, whole. Stabilizing his own flesh drained him, a biological process he could accelerate only because it was his, yet the effort blurred his thoughts, enforcing the energy toll.
Two lay dead.
One still breathed.
Sara.
She lay broken but alive, tears streaming down her blood-smeared face as she looked toward the center of the room.
Elios was muttering.
"Phase one successful," he said softly. "It seems I can stabilize or destabilize material temporarily… though not without loss of the white mist."
A thought surfaced uneasily.
What is that white mist? There are gaps in my memories. Is the Disc enforcing restrictions? A possibility.
Seeing his distraction, Sara forced herself to move.
She ran.
The room was circular, with only two exits one deeper into the house, the other leading to the garden, then the gate beyond. Glass shredded her feet as she sprinted, pain screaming through her nerves as shards sliced into living flesh.
The door.
Hope.
Freedom.
Her fingers brushed the handle
"And who gave you permission to leave?"