The silence that followed was thick and heavy, broken only by the faint sizzle of fading dark magic and the hero's steady, armored breathing. Maya stood frozen in the bathroom doorway, her heart a frantic drum against her ribs. Mal remained hunched in the porcelain sink, trying to look regal while covered in VapoRub and trembling slightly.
Sir Galadrian lowered his glowing sword, its light dimming to a soft pulse. He did not attack. He simply stood there, a golden statue of judgment in the middle of Maya's flour-dusted, slightly scorched living room. His gaze was not on Malakor, but on the aftermath. The bag of flour, the smeared white outline on the kitchen floor, the terrified hairless creature in the sink.
"The Unseen," Galadrian stated, his voice losing some of its booming resonance. "Morvana does not send such hunters for minor nuisances. She sends them for existential threats." He finally turned his piercing gaze to Mal. "What have you done to earn such… specific attention, fallen one?"
Malakor lifted his head, a shred of his old defiance returning. "I exist," he rasped, his voice shaky but firm. "That is crime enough for the usurper."
"He was betrayed," Maya found her voice, stepping forward to stand between the two ancient adversaries. She pointed a flour-covered finger at Galadrian. "And you! You tried to smite him when he was helpless! You're no better than her assassins!"
Galadrian's stern expression faltered, a flicker of what might have been shame crossing his features. "I was… overzealous. I saw only the great evil, not the… circumstances." He gestured around the apartment with his gauntleted hand. "I did not expect to find the Scourge of a Thousand Worlds taking refuge in a dwelling adorned with… throw pillows. Or being defended with mortal pantry items."
"It was a tactical application of available resources," Mal sniffed, climbing stiffly out of the sink.
"It was brilliant," Galadrian admitted, surprising them both. He looked at Maya with newfound respect. "The Unseen rely on their intangibility. Giving them temporary form… it is a strategy that has never occurred to the High Celestial Armies in a millennium of warfare."
A tense silence descended once more. The three of them formed an impossible triangle: the mortal, the fallen Dark Lord, and the shining hero.
"Why are you here?" Maya asked, her voice hard. "Did you come to finish the job?"
"I came because the dimensional ripples from the Hunter's Mark were detectable even from the higher planes," Galadrian explained. "I came to confront the evil I sensed. But I see now the situation is… nuanced." He sheathed his sword with a definitive shing. "Morvana's consolidation of power threatens the balance of the entire multiverse. A rogue, unstable Dark Lord on the throne is a cataclysm waiting to happen. Her forces grow bolder, testing the boundaries between worlds."
Malakor, now sitting on the closed toilet lid, let out a dry chuckle. "So the golden boy needs my help. Is that it? You cannot stop her yourself."
Galadrian's jaw tightened. "I cannot. Her power is rooted in the Nether Realm itself. My light is less effective there. And her tactics have become… unnervingly cunning. She is not the blunt instrument you were."
Mal seemed to take that as a backhanded compliment.
"What are you suggesting?" Maya asked, her arms crossed.
"A temporary alliance," Galadrian said, the words clearly tasting sour. "A cessation of hostilities between our… factions… until the greater threat is neutralized."
Malakor was silent, his golden eyes narrowed in calculation. He looked at Maya, then at the scorch mark on his new scratching post, then back at the hero. "What are your terms, O' Shining One?"
"You will provide intelligence on Morvana's strategies, her strongholds, the weaknesses of her legions. You will swear a binding oath not to turn your powers against the innocent realms during this truce."
"And in return?"
"In return," Galadrian said, his voice grave, "I will not strike you down. And I will lend my blade to your defense until Morvana is defeated. My presence, my celestial energy, will help mask your location from the Unseen. They will not be able to pinpoint you so easily."
It was a staggering proposition. Maya looked at Mal. This was their chance. A real chance to stop looking over their shoulders.
Malakor stood up on the toilet lid, drawing himself to his full, unimpressive height. He still had a dab of VapoRub on his nose.
"Very well," he said, with the air of a king granting a boon. "I accept this temporary armistice. But know this, hero: the sofa is still my throne. And you will address me as Lord Malakor."
A muscle twitched in Galadrian's cheek. "I will address you as 'Malakor'. And I require a chair. I do not 'loung'."
Maya let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. They had just formed an alliance between light and darkness in her bathroom.
"Fine," she said, taking charge. "But here are my terms. Rule One still applies: no disintegrating anything inside the apartment. Rule Two: you both help with the dishes. And Rule Three," she added, looking pointedly at the new, towering hero in her small living room. "You both have to help me explain all this to my landlord."