A fog-laced chamber made of memory and malice. A goblin is bound to a rickety wooden chair with one leg shorter than the others. The seat creaks with every fidget. His pupils glow faintly from a truth-serum concoction rumored to be part sinner's wine, part angel dandruff, and a drop of black ink from a cursed love letter.
He is not having a good time.
Standing in a loose triangle around him are:
The Shadow Man, unblinking and regal, watching like something waiting for its own myth to come true.Nicodemé Bellemont, barefoot on the table, tossing a silver knife in one hand and popping sugar crystals with the other.Valentín Navarro, leaning on a bookcase made of whispering wood, hair tied back with a glinting blade at the end, half-listening, half-bored.
Goblin (strained): "I wasn't even in this drama arc. Why am I the one in the chair?"
Shadow Man: "Proximity. And a good reading voice."
Nicodemé: "You're not here to understand the questions. Just read them. Dramatically."
Valentín: "Comprehension is optional. Survival, less so."
The goblin sighs. A scroll unfurls itself in his lap, the ink rearranging into cruelly worded metaphysical riddles.
Goblin:
"In the divine mess that is Ayoka's existence, was her transformation ever a true choice, or did Viktor... bless her without permission?"
Shadow Man (low, matter-of-fact): "He thought he was unlocking pleasure. Making sure the bond between them didn't break her. But he opened something far older. Older than love. Older than him."
He pauses, then adds with quiet certainty:
"It wasn't their first time. Not the first night they shared a bed. Not even the later ones. It was that night—the night they said unspoken vows. No ceremony. No blood oath. Just… intention."
He taps the edge of his cane lightly, almost absentmindedly.
"You don't need words. You don't even need touch. In this kind of world, the soul makes the deal."
He smiles, sharp and knowing.
"I've had husbands. Wives. I've bedded most of them more than once. But they don't walk away with power just because we rolled in the fog."
Nicodemé (cackling): "Speak for yourself. I do walk away with their power."
Shadow Man (glancing over): "She does."
Valentín (dryly): "She also almost killed me. Once."
Nicodemé (shrugging, but quieter now): "It wasn't taking the power that hurt him. It was giving too much—trying to make sure he didn't get hurt. That kind of protection burns from the inside out if you're not ready for it."
Shadow Man: "Intent always costs more than desire. The soul pays in places flesh can't touch."
Goblin (nervously): "Next question… uhh… 'If Ayoka hadn't been chosen—if she'd never been touched by power—what kind of life would she have had?'"
Silence. Even the fog leans in.
Nicodemé (leaning back, snapping her fingers): "I mean… let's be honest. Even without chains, she'd still have ended up a lower immortal. Like you, Val."
Valentín (shrugging, but serious): "Sure. But she messed with someone of medium immortalhood. If she hadn't? She probably would've lived as a slave her whole life. If not under Viktor, then under someone else."
He glances at the ground.
"Or worse. The kind of worse that happens when a woman is both beautiful and bound."
Shadow Man (coolly, but not without weight): "Breeding farms would have taken the girl. Transformed her into something obedient. Some might've forced her into her snake form early—less resistance that way. Then taken her children and sold them off before they could speak her name."
He lifts his eyes.
Shadow Man (coolly): "And don't get me started on those so-called familiar breeding farms. Buying people like Ayoka wasn't just quick—it was vile. They weren't raising children. They were harvesting bloodlines. Girls like her? Snake-blooded, magic-attuned, beautiful? That was premium stock."
He glances at the goblin.
"They didn't care if she could think. Or choose. Just that her children came out useful."
His voice lowers.
"And those magic users? Worse than evil. Not for the buying—but for the taking. They stole power that was never theirs to begin with."
He taps his cane once.
"That shortcut—forcing bonds instead of forming them—it's dying. Slowly. If we win this war, it ends."
Nicodemé (calmly): "They'll have to earn their magic. Like the rest of us."
Valentín (grinning faintly): "It's not even that hard. Everyone can gain magic with ease these days if they stop pretending it's rare. Hell—sleeping with Nico upgraded me."
Nicodemé (smirking): "You're welcome."
Goblin (swallowing hard, reading the next scroll): "Question… uh… 'Why do you all keep saying lower immortal? What does that even mean?'"
Shadow Man (tilting his head): "Ah. Good."
He steps closer, just enough to make the goblin sweat.
Shadow Man (answering slowly, like a professor who enjoys being heard):
"You want to know why we say lower immortal?"
He gestures lazily, fog curling upward.
"There are two broad categories: mortals and immortals. That's the first line. Mortals die. Immortals... take longer."
He smiles faintly.
"But immortality isn't one clean tier. Just like mortals have peasants and emperors, immortals have their own hierarchy."
Valentín (picking up a bottle of something glowing and vile): "Alright, let me break it down like this—'cause Shadow talks like a priest and Nico talks like a curse in lipstick."
He swirls the bottle, watching it fizz, then points the neck at the goblin.
"You've got all these different groups—gods, monsters, necromancers, petty demons with sibling issues. Inside their own lane? Their hierarchy works just fine. Everyone knows who's top dog."
He pauses.
"But the Peach Realms—that's where it gets weird. That's the shared stage. You walk into that layer, and your title don't mean shit unless it holds up against everyone else's."
Goblin: "So, like… neutral ground?"
Valentín: "No. Like a bar."
He leans forward, setting the bottle down with a soft clink.
"Imagine your power's a drink. The stronger it is, the less you taste the alcohol. The more dangerous you are, the smoother it goes down. You sip some ancient soulbound God-killer elixir and go, 'Oh, this tastes like peach.' You're a threat."
Nicodemé (grinning): "And if you're slamming back firewine and screaming your name, you're just embarrassing."
Valentín: "Exactly. It's not about the fire. It's about the control. The ones who barely react? They're the ones who can end you without spilling their drink."
Goblin (muttering): "So... who's running the bar?"
Valentín (smirking): "The Sonsters. They pour the drinks, watch you wobble, track every tab. You don't know your limit? They do."
Shadow Man (cutting in, voice low and calm): "It's more than just finishing your drink. A True Strike lands when you start forcing others to pay your tab. Leaving them hanging. Stealing time, blood, trust—whatever currency you've been spending."
He folds his hands behind his back, tone sharp now.
"We're not talking about a spilled drink. We're talking about when you've burned through too many favors. Left too many debts unpaid. When the bill finally adds up to something the realm itself won't let slide."
Valentín (pointing, no smile now): "That's when a true fucking strike happens."
Nicodemé (grinning with all teeth): "And it hurts. No soft landing. No warning label. Just boom—your soul gets flagged by the universe."
Goblin (rubbing his temples, clearly overwhelmed): "Okay... so if I understand this right—immortality's like a bar tab. Power's the drink. If you take too much, give too little, or leave everybody else paying the price, the universe clocks you. Got it. Thanks. Horrifying."
He flips to the next card with a trembling claw.
Goblin: "Next question says: 'Who exactly are we expecting to see in this town?'"
Shadow Man (with a smile that doesn't touch his eyes): "A lot of different people. Ghosts, drifters, rulebreakers, those looking for favors... and some who don't even know they've already been invited."
Nicodemé (brightening): "Ooooh—I can't wait to see my coyote friend again."
She kicks her legs over the edge of the table, excitement spilling into her grin.
"I heard they're going to be messing with Ayoka and Viktor's relationship. Real hands-on. Real—"
Valentín (staring, calm but direct): "Nic."
Nicodemé (pausing mid-sentence): "…Handsome. I was going to say handsome."
She sips her sugar liquor. The goblin doesn't believe her. Neither does the room.
Goblin (squinting at the next card): "Huh. Says here: 'Will we be getting other love interests in this arc?'"
Shadow Man (sighing, tone unusually thoughtful): "Yes. Even though I care for those two... Ayoka and Viktor."
He pauses, looking toward the fog.
"Their relationship started in a house where no one used words like love or marriage. They just... existed together. Got tangled in something larger than both of them. Maybe it's love. Maybe it was survival. Maybe they never knew the difference."
He clicks his tongue, annoyed at his own honesty.
"And Sabine was right. Even though she walked away, she saw it clearly. Ayoka wasn't free. Viktor didn't know what he was holding. And I—" He stops himself, gaze hardening. "I don't date immortal women like her."
Valentín (raising an eyebrow): "Really? Because the letters you sent us sure looked like complaints… but read more like you were brooding over her."
Shadow Man (flat): "She's infuriating."
Nicodemé (grinning): "That means yes."
Shadow Man (snapping): "It means I have standards."
Valentín (murmuring): "And a type."
Shadow Man (rolling his shoulders): "Anyway. That damn coyote still owes me a favor. After that Aztec mess? I had to cover their job for a week. A week. You know how many pyramids bleed when you're not looking?"
Nicodemé (pouncing): "You've definitely got a crush on Light Fater."
Goblin (relieved to see a shorter card): "Okay, this one just says: 'How many chapters are left in Part 3?'"
All three of them answer at the same time, in varying tones of exhausted sarcasm and grim prophecy.
Shadow Man: "As many as it takes."
Valentín: "Depends on how dramatic y'all keep getting."
Nicodemé (grinning): "Part 3 ends when it's ready to end. Then we ride."
Goblin (confused): "...Ride?"
Shadow Man (smirking): "Next stop's the Wild West, little goblin."
Valentín (quietly): "Dust, ghosts, and desert gods."
Nicodemé: "Can't wait to see who gets shot first."
Shadow Man (defensive): "I do not."
Valentín (smirking): "You wrote so many letters complaining about her. Which means... yeah. You definitely wanted to hold her hand."
Nicodemé: "Or get wrapped in one."
Shadow Man (flat): "I will fog this room so hard the truth won't find it for seven lifetimes."
Goblin (relieved to see a shorter card):
"Okay, this one just says: 'How many chapters are left in Part 3?'"
All three of them answer at the same time, in varying tones of exhausted sarcasm and grim prophecy.
Shadow Man:
"As many as it takes."
Valentín:
"Depends on how dramatic y'all keep getting."
Nicodemé (grinning):
"Part 3 ends when it's ready to end. Then we ride."
Goblin (confused):
"...Ride?"
Shadow Man (smirking):
"Next stop's the Wild West, little goblin."
Valentín (quietly):
"Dust, ghosts, and desert gods."
Nicodemé:
"Can't wait to see who gets shot first."
Goblin (reading slowly): "Okay… this one says: 'Do any of you regret the history you're part of? Or the future you've helped shape?'"
A silence, long but not heavy. Just old.
Shadow Man (voice steady): "History always repeats itself—just in different forms. I don't regret what happened. Not exactly. But I do regret thinking I had enough power to stop it."
Valentín (shoulders tight, tone low): "My people's history in this... is complicated. Back where I'm from—what became Argentina, long before the name—my kind played a part in all this too."
He shrugs, a small, bitter motion.
"We live too long to pretend we didn't. And it's hard to move on from something when you remember everything. Not hard... just too easy to forget the cost."
Nicodemé (dryly): "No."
She leans forward, elbows on knees, smirking faintly.
"Because we didn't know these people. Not really. We could spin you some sad poetic tale, some tragic line about loss and redemption. Like these two."
She nods toward the others.
"But that kind of regret? That clean kind? It doesn't apply here. You've got one more question before things get loud. Make it count."
Goblin (relieved this one isn't about trauma):
"Last question. 'What's one thing you actually like about this time period?'"
Shadow Man (without hesitation):
"The drugs."
Valentín (grinning, wiping his dagger on his sleeve):
"The weapons. They're not elegant, but they get the job done."
Nicodemé (counting on her fingers):
"The alcohol. The drugs. Also—Valentín."
Valentín:
"...You said that last one too loud."
Nicodemé (grinning):
"I meant to."
Shadow Man (sighing):
"End the scene before she starts listing ingredients."
Goblin (backing away):
"Done. Scene's over. Good luck with the next arc. I'm out before the fog starts tasting like sin again."