"Okay, fine. Lay it on me." The words spilled out in jagged pieces—the man with light for a face, the prince under the tree, wars that hadn't happened yet. Hitler's name felt strange on her tongue, like she'd read it in one of the forbidden history archives. "And then… there was this voice," Hermes whispered. "It said, 'I am a treasure that wishes to be known.'" Hera's can paused halfway to her lips. "Creepy. Sounds like something my ex would text at 2 a.m." "Hera, listen—this wasn't just a dream. It felt… important. Like a warning." For a beat, Hera studied her—the way she always did before hacking the grade servers or hotwiring her stepdad's hoverbike. Calculating risks. "Important how? You think Principal Voss is gonna start a crusade? Please, that guy cries during fire drills."
"Not here," Hermes hissed. "Bigger. Older. Like… like time itself is a song on repeat, and we're all just—" "—humming the chorus?" They both froze. Hera's joke had landed flat, but the reactor's hum changed—a dissonant chord vibrating in their teeth. The flickering LED strip above them pulsed in jagged Morse:
PREPARE:
Hera's knuckles whitened around her synth-cola. "Okay, new rule: no more weird shit before midterms." "You saw it too," Hermes whispered. "Saw what? Glitchy wiring?" Hera stood abruptly, but her voice wavered. "Look, if you're this freaked, we'll… I dunno, break into the old server farm tonight. Run your creepy dream through the AI debunker." "And if it's real?" Hera paused at the door, sunlight cutting across her face. For a second, she looked ancient. Tired. "Then you'll need someone to drag your prophet-ass out of the fire." The door slammed. Alone, Hermes pressed her palm to the reactor. The metal throbbed like a heartbeat. "Prepare the vessel," the Unseen whispered—not in her mind now, but through the walls. Through the wires. Through everything.
Phyron vs. Ungar:
Phryon once again with his crew of goons was wreaking havoc in the city again, causing more destruction and killing hundreds in the process. The Inferno and the Void:
The city burned in Phyron's wake. Skyscrapers groaned as their glass facades melted into molten rain. Civilians fled through streets choked with ash, their screams drowned by the roar of flames that danced to their new master's whims. Phyron stood atop a crumpled fire truck, his laughter harmonizing with the crackle of devoured concrete. "Pathetic!" he spat, hurling a comet of white-hot fire into a fleeing crowd. "Run all you want! Your world is kindling now—" A shadow fell over him. Phyron turned, smirk still plastered across his face—and froze. Ungar loomed seven feet tall in the heart of the inferno, untouched. Flames recoiled from his dark grey armor as if afraid, his black cape billowing in a wind that did not exist. Where his face should have been, there was only a void beneath his helm, pierced by two smoldering red eyes. The air around him warped, reality itself straining under his presence. "Ah," Phyron grinned, flexing his fingers. Sparks swirled around him like worshipful serpents. "The Association's ghost finally shows himself. Here to die with the rest?" Ungar's voice emerged as a reverberating growl, deeper than the earth's bones. "You mistake absence for weakness." He moved.
Phyron barely dodged as Ungar's fist—a blur of dark energy—smashed through the fire truck, reducing it to shrapnel. The villain launched himself backward, retaliating with a whip of liquid flame. Ungar didn't flinch. The fire struck his chest… and sank into the abyss beneath his armor, extinguished with a sound like a dying star. "What—?" Phyron snarled. "Fire is a child's toy," Ungar intoned, advancing. "You play with forces you cannot fathom." Phyron's eyes narrowed. He clapped his hands, and the street erupted. Molten fissures split the asphalt, geysers of plasma shooting skyward. Ungar walked through it all, the hellscape bending around him. A flick of his wrist, and a tendril of pure shadow lashed out, slicing through Phyron's left arm. The villain screamed—not from pain, but rage—as his severed limb vaporized midair.
"You insect!" Phyron roared. His body erupted into a living supernova, heat warping the air. The surrounding buildings liquefied, forming a cyclone of slag and fire. "I'LL BURN THE FLESH FROM YOUR—" Ungar's hand shot forward. Darkness pulsed. The inferno died. Phyron staggered, his flames snuffed out. For the first time, fear flickered in his eyes as Ungar closed in, the ground cracking with each step. "You speak of power," Ungar rumbled, seizing Phyron by the throat. The villain's skin blistered where void met flesh. "But power without purpose is noise. A scream into the abyss." Phyron gagged, clawing at Ungar's arm. "You… can't… kill me… The League… they'll—"
"They will scatter," Ungar interrupted. His grip tightened, dark energy leaching the color from Phyron's hair, the light from his eyes. "And you will be forgotten." With a roar, Phyron summoned one final surge of flame—a desperate supernova meant to vaporize the city block. Ungar inhaled. The fire streamed into his helm's void, consumed.
Silence fell. Phyron collapsed, withered and grey, his hair now ashen, his eyes dim. Ungar stood over him, the last embers of the villain's power dissolving in his clenched fist. "Run," Ungar commanded the broken man. "Tell your League what awaits them. Tell them the abyss is watching." As Phyron crawled into the ruins, Ungar turned toward the smoldering horizon. Somewhere, sirens wailed. Survivors wept. His red eyes glowed faintly—a silent promise to the night.
Phyron was taken into custody but little did he know, he would soon be freed, under the command of the Prophet, Hermes.