The Parisian morning was painted in soft gold, the rising sun stretching long beams of light across the city's rooftops. The air smelled faintly of fresh bread and roasted coffee, carried upward by the breeze that swept through the steel frame of the Eiffel Tower. Up here, high above the bustling streets, the city seemed distant — alive but muted, like a painting that moved in slow rhythm below them.
Edward and Death sat at a small table perched near the top viewing platform. To the world, they might have appeared like any other young couple indulging in a romantic breakfast in the most iconic of settings. But to those who passed close by, something about them lingered, an aura that drew eyes and held them fast.
Edward radiated a brightness that could not be denied. His golden hair caught the morning light as though it conspired to crown him in a halo. His eyes carried warmth, mischievousness, and a restlessness that made him seem as though he was forever halfway between laughter and action. His movements were easy and open, every gesture pulling attention to him without his trying.
Across from him sat Death, and the contrast was breathtaking. She seemed carved of a different essence entirely — pale skin luminous beneath the sun, eyes dark yet infinitely gentle, her black hair framing her face like shadows embracing light. Where Edward was fire and sun, she was night and calm. Yet the warmth of her smile rivaled his brightness, and the soft sound of her laugh made the world around them fall still.
Edward had just told one of his cheekier jokes, something playful at the expense of Parisian culture, and Death's lips curved into an unrestrained smile. She covered her mouth with delicate fingers, trying not to laugh with food still in her mouth. Edward reached across the table and brushed his thumb against the corner of her lips, wiping away the faintest trace of jam.
She froze under the tender gesture, her dark eyes locking onto his with a softness she rarely let others see. Edward, noticing her gaze, arched a brow.
"What?" he asked with mock suspicion, though his lips twitched upward.
Death giggled, the sound light and genuine. She shook her head. "Nothing, just… happy, dear. I never knew I would enjoy life so much. It's just perfect. Just having breakfast here, with the man I love. I would never get tired of this."
Edward's grin widened as he leaned back in his chair. "Aww, aren't you the cutest! I love you too, dear wife. Now let's finish breakfast; you can stare at me all day after that."
She gave him a playful glare. "Don't be so narcissistic, dear. We have an appointment for a couple's portrait, remember?"
Edward smirked, leaning forward again. "Do you think he would get the reference if I asked him to draw me like one of his French girls?" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
Death nearly spat out her drink. She coughed into her napkin, eyes watering, then fixed him with a glare sharp enough to kill lesser men. "Stop joking when I'm eating! I do love your humor, but pick a time!"
Edward was just opening his mouth for another retort when Death stiffened suddenly. The air around her shifted. Her pupils widened, then her eyes darkened into infinite black, as though the void itself had consumed them.
Edward reacted instantly. He rose to his feet, ignoring the startled looks of nearby diners. With one hand, he placed a solid gold bar on the table, more than enough to cover the breakfast and their sudden disappearance, and with the other, he lifted her into his arms. In the space between heartbeats, he teleported them away from the iron tower and the city below, carrying her into the cool isolation of the Alps.
The mountain wind bit sharply, carrying with it the smell of snow and stone. Edward cradled Death gently against his chest, shielding her from the gusts as her body went slack in his arms. He knew better than to panic. This had happened before. When one of her siblings or one of their messengers reached out across the planes, she would freeze, her main body still while her essence communed elsewhere.
He waited. Minutes passed, the mountain silence broken only by the rush of wind and the sound of his steady breathing. Finally, Death stirred. Her black eyes cleared, returning to their usual gentle look. She blinked, then smiled faintly as she realized she was nestled in his arms. Without a word, she buried her face into his chest, holding onto him like a safe harbor.
Edward looked down at her, his expression softening. "You know, you have to stop passing out in the middle of a city like that," he teased lightly, trying to ease the heaviness that clung to her.
Her voice came muffled against his chest. "You are with me, right? That's the safest place for me to be. Even if some world-ending event happened, you'd keep me safe."
Edward pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, smiling despite the worry flickering in his eyes. "So, what happened that got my cute goth wife so upset? Want me to go and randomly kill some bad guys?"
Death pulled back just enough to glare at him before pressing her forehead against his with a soft headbutt. "Stop joking about that! Something serious happened. Some assholes have managed to trap Dream. Now, the whole world is in chaos. If not for your 'Sky Country' project that kept us busy, we would have known it long ago. I was contacted by Lucienne for help. She begged me to help Morpheus. But you know how he is…"
Edward's lips twitched. He finished the sentence without hesitation: "He's a moody, emo kid with too much pride that won't ask for help. I'm sure he didn't tell them to ask for help."
She sighed deeply, her eyes carrying both frustration and sorrow. "We have a cosmic rule not to interfere in these types of matters unless the affected party makes a deal or offering. But…"
Edward leaned back, exhaling heavily through his nose. "But my wife is too kind for her own good and wants to save her little bro's ass, and I'll be the one to do it since your rules don't apply to me."
Her laughter slipped out despite the heaviness of the topic. She cupped his face in her hands and pulled him into a kiss that lingered, deep and heartfelt. When she pulled back, her cheeks carried the faintest blush, and her voice softened. "You know me so well, dear. But hear me out. If my kind and charming husband were to do it…" Her blush deepened as she whispered the rest. "I would consider wearing those outfits on a regular basis."
Edward's eyes went wide. "So… the bunny girl?"
Death's cheeks turned crimson. "Yes."
"And the sexy Santa?" His voice trembled with anticipation.
She turned her gaze away. "Yes, that too."
He swallowed hard. "And… the leather stuff too?"
She groaned, mortified. "YES! Now can you please stop! Why are you like this? Didn't Hera and Hippolyta wear those kinda things often? Ugh." She covered her face with both hands.
Edward's grin was wide enough to split his face. He stood abruptly, still carrying her, and she yelped, wrapping her legs around his waist instinctively. "Hey, don't do that abruptly!"
Edward's voice, however, had shifted into seriousness. "We need to go and rescue the emo kid."
Death deadpanned, her tone flat. "You are only motivated to see me wearing those weird things."
Edward flashed her his most roguish grin. "You know me so well."
She sighed, though the corners of her lips betrayed a faint smile. "No need to hurry. Let's travel by regular means. I want him to suffer a little for not calling for help! That arrogant buffoon! I'll give him a beating after we free him."
And so, their decision was made. The pair set their path not by teleportation, not by cosmic intervention, but by carriage. A black, elegant carriage, drawn by horses whose hooves barely seemed to touch the earth, carried them across the countryside.
The ride was smooth, the silence within broken only by the occasional shared glance, a brush of fingers, a whispered word of reassurance. They were Death and her husband, eternal and unyielding, yet here they were. Two lovers, bickering and laughing one moment, preparing to storm into danger the next.
Their destination loomed ever closer. The roads wound toward Sussex, toward Wych Cross, toward the manor called Fawney Rig. Roderick Burgess sat within, unaware of the disaster that rolled steadily toward his door.
*****
The estate at Wych Cross was cloaked in shadow, its tall windows glowed with an eerie red light. The once-proud manor seemed twisted by the Ruby's power, warped corridors and half-formed illusions bleeding into the waking world.
Edward and Death strode calmly through the gates, the night silent save for the faint groans of dreamstuff leaking from the walls. His eyes narrowed, this was no ordinary prison. The guards passed out around them as they walked through the front gate.
Death spoke softly, " Can you deal with the man who imprisoned him, as I teach my idiot Brother a lesson ?"
Edward chuckled. " Go ahead honey. I'll be done with this soon."
She kissed him passionately and whispered as their lips parted, "Be careful, okay? He has the Ruby."
Edward smiled and carressed her face. "Don't worry about me. I have the best counter for this guy."
She smiled and then vanished, heading towards the basement. Edward became serious walked towards the place Roderick was. The mansion has become a twisted existence. Burgess had molded this place into a kingdom of falsehood, sustained by Morpheus's stolen treasure.
As he walked Edward reached out to one of the heroic spirits inside of him. [Caster, would mind helping out? Magic is your area of expertise after all.]
A small sigh sounded in his head. [Although this doesn't require my intervention, this mage's actions have harmed the world. I believe it is acceptable to alter this course of actions.]
Edward smiled. [Thank you. I wanted to avoid the chance of him escaping. That artefact is quite dangerous. It holds the essence of an Endless after all.]
At the heart of the manor, Roderick Burgess awaited. Draped in his red velvet robe, the Ruby clutched in one trembling hand, he stood upon a platform of shifting red glass. He sensed his arrival.
Around him, reality bent in sickly patterns. objects flickering between dream and matter, men frozen mid-step in a haze of hallucinations. With each breath, the Ruby pulsed, warping the air into heat and whispers.
"So," Burgess sneered, though his voice betrayed strain, "the rescuers arrives. You think you can waltz into my domain, into the realm I have forged, and take what is mine?" He looked around, "Where is Death? I need something from her."
Edward's gaze swept the hall. Every surface bore the marks of distortion, but his focus returned to the man clutching the Ruby like a lifeline. "You're nothing without that stone, Burgess," Edward said flatly. "It bends dream and reality, but you are still a frightened mortal playing god." His eyes turned cold."Don't worry, you will meet her soon, when she drags your pitiful soul away."
Burgess's sneer widened, though sweat glistened at his brow. "Perhaps. But this," he raised the Ruby, its glow swelling into a surge of red light, "this makes me the master of Dream itself." He laughed with madness,"let's see how the so called greatest hero face against my powers."
The hall shuddered. Illusory claws tore through the floor, walls melted into rivers of molten glass, and shadow-creatures born of nightmare spilled forth. They circled Edward, whispering with voices not their own. Reality here was Burgess's canvas, and the Ruby his brush.
Edward exhaled and shook his head, calm amid the chaos. He raised his hand. "This isn't a fight for brute strength," he murmured, his voice carrying authority. "For this… I call upon you. Equip: Caster."
A golden flash of light rippled around Edward's form, blinding Roderick. He used the Ruby to conjure a shield, thinking it was an attack. He squinted when the light dissipated, but now, some else stood in his place.
A man with long white hair in a braid like style in his front. Robes of pristine Red, Black and Silver adorned him, with a red sash. Two silver shoulder guards with magical symbols carved into them. Ten magical rings shimmered upon his fingers, each one a vessel of wisdom and sorcery. His presence was steady, commanding, an aura of arcane mastery that instantly pressed against the Ruby's warped field. Roderick, being a mage, could feel how outclassed he was in front of this man.
He was none other than Solomon, the King of Magic. The Caster class heroic spirit Edward possessed. His demeanor changed into that of the King's. An easygoing smile and detached persona, yet confidence oozing from him. His every action gave off an aura of majesty. This was the perfect king chosen by God.
Edward regarded Burgess with calm disdain. "You wield a treasure that was never yours, mortal. A relic of Dream's dominion… and yet you believe you can command it as a child does fire."
Burgess's grip tightened on the Ruby. "I command reality itself!" he spat. He thrust the stone forward, and the air split apart. nightmares lunged, blades of glass and teeth and flame streaking toward Edward and Solomon.
Edward raised a hand, rings flaring. "What a crude way to use it. I have seen much better." A vast circle of radiant script unfolded above him, layers of glowing glyphs weaving into a shield. The nightmare constructs struck, only to dissolve into harmless motes against the perfection of Solomon's spell.
The clash rang like bells. magic meeting magic, but Burgess's crude manipulations faltered against the structured authority of the King of Mages.
Edward advanced a step, arms folded, letting Solomon's powers unmake Burgess's chaos.
"You see, Burgess," Edward said evenly, "raw power means nothing against true mastery. It doesn't matter if you possess a relic that can alter reality, if you lack the imagination to use it."
Edward snapped his fingers, and the whole mansion was covered in magic spell circles, each with different purpose and effect. The sheer number of them at once was incomparable for any magus to conjure.
Burgess's face twisted, veins bulging at his temples. He poured more will into the Ruby, and the manor convulsed. Chairs sprouted wings and mouths, chandeliers grew fangs and shrieked, the very ground moved as if alive. The illusions surged again, this time denser, heavier, tethered by the Ruby's will.
Edward's eyes sharpened. He raised both hands, his voice like thunder: "The power of the seventy-two demons, the dominion over legions—submit before order! Partial Deploy."
Another magic circle ignited, this one descending like a sealed door. It opened with a drawn out screech. Magical projections of darkness burst forth, immaculate demons of his Goetia, tearing through Burgess's twisted creations with practiced ease. The nightmares screamed and disintegrated, the Ruby's phantasms collapsing into ash.
This was a simple spell invented by Solomon to summon a few of the demon god pillars without the activation of Noble Phantasm.
"How disappointing, I won't even need to use any of the noble phatasm. My disappointment is immense, and my day is ruined." Edward sighed.
Burgess stumbled back, clutching the Ruby as if it might sink into his flesh. His breath came in ragged gasps. "No… this is my power! I made this prison, I command Dream! I am..."
"Just a thief," Edward interjected coldly. " A madman who thrust the world into chaos for his greed and vanity, nothing more. Burn in hell."
With a flick of his hand, golden sigils to break spells erupted from the air, forged of magic and the concept of imagonary numbers. They wrapped around Burgess's illusions, binding them, shattering their false existence.
Burgess roared in fury and desperation, raising the Ruby once more. "Don't look down on me! I still hold the power over Dream!"
The stone blazed, its light so intense the entire hall seemed to melt into raw dreamstones, reality bending at angles impossible to comprehend. For a moment, it seemed as though the Ruby itself might tear the world apart and absorb it.
Edward stepped forward now, his voice without emotion. "Trying to turn this into a dream, huh? I have seen enough. Time to end this."
He extended his arm. The largest of his magic circles flared into being; vast, divine, inscribed with seals of tine. From it, a torrent of pure magical authority descended, washing over the Ruby's corruption.
The clash of forces shook entire Wych Cross and Sussex to its foundations. Reality screamed as dream and law met, the Ruby's unstable manipulations unraveling beneath Edward's flawless command of time. Outside world felt an earthquake. Humans started running around for shelter.
Roderick Burgess fell to his knees, the Ruby still clutched in white-knuckled hands. His illusions shattered one by one, the hall reverting to its true form—dust, cobwebs, and ruin. His eyes were wide, his lips trembling. "No… no, I was… I was a king…"
Edward approached him without pity. "No. You were merely a jailer. And now your delusion ends."
He waved his arm dismissively and disallowed any use of magic, cutting of his connection. He didn't do it earlier just to see the Ruby's powers.
The Ruby dimmed, its light flickering under magical suppression. Burgess collapsed fully, broken by the weight of power he had never truly controlled. His body started to experience the burnt of it. Edward lowered his hand, the seal fading into nothingness, his expression calm as if the outcome had been inevitable.
Without the Ruby , Roderick's body started decaying, and soon, only a dry husk remained. He croaked out barely, "You are...no hero."
Edward sighed and scratched his head. His transformation slowly fading away. "Hero? Maybe I wished that once. Now... I only wish to be guide. It's just my duty to watch over them."
Roderick choked a laugh. "You will die with disappointment then."
Edward smiled. " Maybe. But that's not your concern. Blessed is the mind too small for doubt."
***
At that same time, beyond the hall, Death moved like a shadow through the estate's defenses.
The air inside the manor was heavy with the residue of dreamstuff leaking from the Ruby's distortions. Guards stood at their posts, rifles clutched nervously, eyes darting into corners where shadows flickered. They were ordinary men—frightened, weary, holding onto orders they barely understood. But against Death, they might as well have been children armed with sticks.
They spotted her too late. A sudden gust stirred the corridor, and one man raised his rifle.
"There! Intruder!" he shouted, but his words came out strained, muffled, as though the air itself swallowed them.
Death stepped into the light, her figure clear for only a heartbeat before vanishing again into half-formed shadow. Bullets cracked through the silence—yet none touched her. She didn't dodge, didn't rush, didn't even blink. To the soldiers, it felt like firing into a void.
One by one, she reached them. A brush of her hand across a shoulder, a whisper into an ear, the faintest exhalation of inevitability. Their bodies dropped, not with violence but with finality, their rifles clattering across the warped floor. Each soul departed as though gently lifted from slumber, leaving only empty shells behind.
Death's expression never hardened nor softened. To her, this was neither cruelty nor kindness. It was simply truth—the end of a line, the moment all mortals met sooner or later. Within moments, the once heavily armed halls of Wych Cross were silent. The guards had fallen, and the estate's defenses were gone.
Only one barrier remained.
The prison of Dream.
She entered the chamber where her brother lay confined.
The glass structure rose from the floor like a crystal sarcophagus, carved with circles and sigils etched in blood and power long since dried but not diminished. Inside, Morpheus sat, pale and gaunt. Even stripped of helm and Ruby, his essence frayed and diminished, he carried himself with pride.
Spine straight, head held with the stubborn dignity of the Endless. But pride could not mask the truth. His frame was weakened. His gaze, once infinite, now seemed distant, as though each moment he endured was another grain of sand in an endless hourglass.
Yet when he saw her, he smiled wryly, his voice carrying its familiar dry tone.
"Hello, Sister. Apologies for the poor hospitality. Never thought I'd see you here."
Death crossed her arms, standing before him with a look that was equal parts frustration and disappointment. Her tone came sharp, cutting through the heavy air.
"You stupid, arrogant, narcissistic idiot!" she snapped, the words biting but not cruel. "All your power, all your responsibility… and you sat here for decades, sulking. Letting mortals with toys keep you chained. All because you're too damn proud to ask for help!"
The words struck him harder than the prison. Morpheus lifted his head, his eyes regaining some of their sharpness even through his frailty.
"The Ruby… the helm… they stripped me of my tools, my symbols of dominion. They bound me in a circle crafted with precision. They trapped me. Begging for help," he said quietly, his voice flat, "would only destroy whatever respect Dream holds in the minds of all things. I could not ask."
Death's expression softened for only a moment, but her words remained firm.
"Excuses," she said coldly. "You are Dream of the Endless. You forgot what that means. Because you forgot, people suffered. You suffered. But worse than that, you forgot that I also suffered, knowing my little brother was trapped here. And you never reached out. You disappointed me, Morpheus."
Morpheus lowered his gaze, unable to answer. Silence filled the chamber, heavier than any chains.
Death stepped closer, kneeling before the prison. Her hand brushed the edge of the circle that kept him contained, her voice quiet but sharp as a blade.
"You'll be free soon. But when you are, remember this. You are not invulnerable. You are not untouchable. You have work to do. The Dreaming needs you. I need you. Don't fail again."
Her words lingered in the silence, resonating deeper than any curse Burgess had ever woven.
In the hall beyond, Edward's footsteps echoed.
His form shifted back to normal, Solomon's regal aura fading as the battle ended. Burgess was dead, the Ruby little more than a dim stone in Edward's grip, its brilliance extinguished. The air smelled of dust, smoke, and burnt illusions.
With his usual irreverence, Edward whistled the tune from Kill Bill, his hands casually in his pockets, as though he had not just battled a man wielding the power of Dream itself.
He descended to the basement, where he found Death seated by Morpheus's prison. The air here was heavier, saturated with the stillness of confinement. Morpheus's eyes flickered toward Edward, his expression shifting into cold wariness, as though every ounce of his pride demanded he not acknowledge weakness before this man.
Death's lips curved into a smile when she saw Edward unharmed, her relief subtle but genuine.
Edward, however, wasted no time. He looked at Morpheus and spoke in a drawn-out, mocking tone.
"Well, well, well. Look who's here. The emo kid too proud to call for help despite being trapped in an old man's basement. I hope he didn't 'touch' you,that'd be the icing on the cake."
Death groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose, exasperated. She knew exactly where this was going. Edward would needle her brother mercilessly before setting him free.
Morpheus's face remained cold, his voice flat, giving nothing away.
"Using vulgarity won't get a rise out of me, Edward. I admit, this is… shameful. But don't think for a second I'd beg for your help."
Death shot him a glare sharp enough to pierce even his Endless pride, and Morpheus instinctively shrank back a fraction.
"Don't you dare argue right now," she ordered.
Edward pulled out his phone, the recording light blinking. His grin was insufferably smug.
"You've ruined our nice date and vacation," he said, shaking his head. "Especially after I told you not to think yourself untouchable. Now, let me say something I've been waiting for…"
He inhaled deeply, theatrically, before declaring with triumph:
"I told you so."
For a moment, Morpheus almost rose, his pale fingers twitching as if to wrap around Edward's throat. But the prison held firm, keeping him locked in place. His silence was telling.
Death's lips twitched into a small, reluctant smile. "Stop messing around, dear. Set him free."
Edward smirked. "First, he has to say this exactly: Yamete kudasai onii-chan. Please help me."
Morpheus froze, his expression darkening instantly. His pride nearly cracked under the sheer absurdity.
"You are delusional," he said icily, "if you think I would say something so humiliating."
Even Death blinked, tilting her head toward Edward with genuine confusion.
"You've been watching too much anime with Diana," she muttered. Not knowing the full context, she turned to Morpheus. "Just say it and we can leave. Go back to our own places."
Morpheus scoffed. "I'd rather die."
Edward spread his arms in mock triumph. "See, dear? He still refuses to ask for help. To think he'd rather die than let go of his pride."
Death's glare could have frozen fire. "You.....stop talking! And turn off that recording! You're just making this worse."
She turned back to Morpheus, her voice softening.
"I can't break this spell. He can. He's your brother-in-law, your family. I know he's brash, reckless, has horrible timing with his humor…"
"Hey!" Edward protested.
Death ignored him. "…But he's also the man I love. He cares for me, and my siblings. He didn't have to come here. He did it for me. He hates killing humans, yet he did it for both our sakes. So just this once, put your pride down. Say you need help. Or I'm leaving, and you two can stay here bickering forever."
Her glare brooked no argument.
Morpheus sighed, his expression shifting between irritation and resignation. His eyes flicked toward Edward, checking if he was still recording. Satisfied he wasn't, though he was looking at the wrong place, he muttered in the darkest, most lifeless tone he could muster:
"…Yamete kudasai onii-chan. Please help me."
Edward's grin exploded across his face. He almsot did a dance of triumph.
"See? Wasn't that easy? My disappointment is gone and my day is made. Fly, little birdy. You're free!"
He kicked the glass prison with casual force. The container shattered, shards scattering as dust rose into the air. The spell collapsed.
Morpheus stepped free, his expression torn between fury, humiliation, and reluctant gratitude. Edward tossed him the Ruby, and the gem flared back to life, its light pulsing with renewed vigor. Power returned to Dream's veins. His clothes shifted, his regal form restored.
He looked at his sister first. His voice softened.
"Thank you, Sister, for caring about me. I hope you don't get corrupted by this idiot."
Then his eyes moved to Edward, cold once again.
"I will repay this favor one day."
Edward waved dismissively. "Go home, Sasuke. This ain't Konoha."
Morpheus scoffed and vanished into nothingness, his pride dragging him back to the Dreaming.
Death sighed, turning to Edward. "Did you have to trigger him like that?"
Edward smirked and pointed at her hand, where her own phone was hidden, still recording.
"Don't say that after you recorded it in HD. You are even worse than me, dear."
Death's lips curved into a mischievous grin. "Oh no, You caught me! Like hell I'd miss Morpheus saying that with a straight face. Looks like you've corrupted me." She winked.
Edward laughed and kissed her, the tension lifting from the chamber. "Send me a copy, my dear wife."
Her smirk deepened. "Depends on your performance on our date, dear husband."
Arm in arm, the couple walked out as the estate of Wych Cross crumbled around them. Their work here was done.
****
Aight, I have done it. I have finished the world war arc and finally about to step into the modern world stuff . I expected it to take longer but I just increased per chapter word count cz it felt bad to cut off midway.
I honestly thought I would give up halfway or lose motivation or some shit , but apparently not lol 😂
Btw prepare for the emotional rollercoaster. Shit's about to get real. That's why I added some humor as lube because some of you will be traumatized worse than Diddy touching you in your sleep. 💀
Peace out༼ つ ◕_◕ ༽つ