Seraphine’s spear hovered at Vaeloria’s throat like it belonged there.
Black liquid hardened into a point so sharp it didn’t look forged—it looked decided. Her joker crest with black tears pulsed once, slow, amused.
Vaeloria’s ice was thinning. Her wolves were gone. Her breath came shallow, controlled only by pride.
“Give it to me,” Seraphine murmured again, voice dull. “Or I take your life.”
Vaeloria’s smile was brittle.
“You can’t,” she said. “The other queens will know.”
Seraphine’s eyes didn’t change.
“Then they’ll know you were weak.”
The spear moved.
A seam opened behind Vaeloria.
Not a door.
A cut.
Velra stepped through first—blue bob-cut hair, green eyes behind round glasses, bell choker chiming softly like she’d walked into a tea room instead of an execution. She held herself polite, posture perfect.
Silette followed—short silver hair, pink eyes, witch hat with green goggles, Rat Maid uniform crisp and dangerous. Her smile was small and confident, like she’d been waiting for this moment.
Velra’s voice stayed gentle.
“Your Majesty,” she said to Vaeloria. “Please step aside.”
Vaeloria blinked.
Seraphine’s spear didn’t lower.
Silette’s eyes flicked to the spear, then to Vaeloria.
“We were given orders,” Silette said.
Vaeloria’s jaw tightened.
“I don’t take orders from—”
Velra moved anyway.
Not rough.
Not disrespectful.
Just… decisive.
She guided Vaeloria back a step, then another, placing her behind them like a piece being removed from a board.
Seraphine’s gaze sharpened.
“And what are you,” Seraphine asked softly, “supposed to be.”
Silette’s smirk didn’t fade.
“Help,” she said.
Velra’s bell chimed once as she lifted her weapon—polite hands around a spiked bat that didn’t match her softness.
Seraphine’s spear twitched.
Then she lunged.
Seraphine moved like a queen who didn’t believe in “fair.”
Her spear snapped forward—shadow-hard, hungry, precise.
Velra met it.
Not with strength.
With timing.
She turned her body sideways, let the spear glance, then cracked the bat into the shaft with a clean, ugly impact meant to break rhythm.
Silette’s fingers flicked.
A circle of light—thin, rat-thread fine—appeared under Seraphine’s feet.
Seraphine’s eyes narrowed.
She stepped out of it like it was nothing.
Then her crest pulsed and the room’s shadows rose like pillars again.
Silette’s smile widened.
“Cute,” she whispered.
Her book opened.
Ink-light spilled out, and the shadows Seraphine summoned… didn’t behave right.
They twitched.
They stuttered.
Like something else had grabbed their strings for half a second.
Seraphine’s spear snapped toward Silette’s throat.
Velra intercepted—bat up, bell chiming, the blow ringing through the chamber like a warning.
Silette didn’t flinch.
She just leaned in, voice quiet enough to be disrespect.
“You’re not fighting servants,” Silette said. “You’re fighting orders.”
Seraphine’s eyes went duller.
“Then I’ll kill the one who gives them.”
Vaeloria’s breath hitched behind them.
Velra didn’t look back.
She spoke without turning her head.
“Your Majesty,” Velra said calmly, “run.”
Vaeloria hesitated.
Silette’s eyes flicked to her.
“Move,” she snapped.
Vaeloria moved.
Seraphine’s spear whipped forward again—too fast, too sure—
And Velra took the line, body between spear and queen, bat slamming down hard enough to spark.
Silette’s circle flared again.
This time it wasn’t a trap.
It was a seam.
A cut in the air.
A way out.
Velra stepped back, still facing Seraphine.
Silette backed with her, book open, eyes bright.
Seraphine watched them retreat with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
“So,” Seraphine murmured, as the seam swallowed Vaeloria away, “he’s finally moving pieces.”
The seam snapped shut.
The chamber went quiet.
Seraphine stood alone.
And her crest wept black light.
Stone gates.
Cold wind.
The kind of open space where screams travel farther.
Maribel and Brimelle stood at the front line like they’d been placed there on purpose.
Maribel—Cow Maid brawler, blonde ponytail, golden eyes, horns and tail—rolled her shoulders like she was annoyed she had to do this here.
Brimelle—Ram Maid under a hood, cross at her throat, execution calm in her blue eyes—rested her hands near her weapon like she was already measuring angles.
The first wave hit.
Royal wolves.
Not soldiers.
Hunters.
They didn’t “charge.”
They flowed.
They went for throats, tendons, the weak points in armor and courage.
Maribel’s fists moved like hammers.
Brimelle’s blade work was clean and cold.
But the wolves kept coming.
Too many.
Too hungry.
They got overrun.
Not defeated—overrun.
Bodies pressing. Teeth snapping. The line bending.
Maribel spat blood and laughed once, furious.
Brimelle’s boots slid back half an inch.
Then the howling changed.
The air tightened.
Higher up pups stepped forward through the mass like commanders walking through their own storm.
The leader of the charge stepped into view first.
Sapphire.
The one whose howl had alerted the whole wolves.
Her eyes were sharp, her posture too controlled for something born to hunt.
Beside her came Ranger—large, green-furred, built like a wall that learned to run.
Then Temper—small, orange-furred, and moving so fast your eyes kept losing him like he was a glitch in the world.
And last—
a larger black wolf stepped out with battle scars carved across him like history.
Nightmare.
The leader of the royal pups.
He didn’t snarl.
He didn’t posture.
He just looked at the gates like they were already open.
Nightmare’s gaze settled on Maribel and Brimelle.
“Will you let us pass,” he asked, voice low.
Maribel wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
“No,” she said.
Brimelle didn’t blink.
“No,” she echoed.
Nightmare’s ears twitched.
Then he tilted his head slightly, almost polite.
“Then,” Nightmare said, “two versus two.”
Sapphire’s eyes flicked to him.
Nightmare continued anyway, calm as a contract.
“If we lose, we retreat.”
Maribel’s eyes narrowed.
“And if you win?”
Nightmare’s smile showed teeth.
“Then we invade.”
Maribel exhaled hard.
“I wanted to go all out,” she muttered, like she’d been denied dessert.
Brimelle’s voice stayed flat.
“We can.”
Maribel looked at her.
Brimelle’s eyes didn’t soften.
“i don’t like us using Master’s weapons,” Brimelle said. “But this is an emergency.”
Her hand tightened.
“Failure isn’t an option.”
Maribel’s grin turned mean.
“Good.”
She lifted her hands.
And summoned Frost Burn—Derpy’s gauntlets.
Metal and cold and heat at the same time, the kind of weapon that felt like it wanted to break bones just to hear the sound.
Maribel slammed the gauntlets together.
A shockwave of frost spiked outward towards saphire and nightmare inches from their faces.
“I’ll show you how to really use these babies,” she said.
Brimelle lifted her weapon next.
Crescent Eclipse.
A scythe that didn’t look like it belonged in a maid’s hands—
until Brimelle held it.
Then it looked like it had been waiting for her.
The crescent blade gleamed.
And built into its spine, a rifle line—sniper precision married to execution.
Brimelle spun it once.
Perfect.
No wasted motion.
Sapphire looked at Nightmare.
Nightmare looked back.
They nodded.
And stepped forward together.
The wolves behind them went silent.
Because this wasn’t a hunt anymore.
This was a duel.
And the gates held their breath
Nightmare and Sapphire stepped forward together.
Not rushing.
Not posturing.
Like they’d done this before—like they’d been born into the kind of violence that doesn’t need an audience to feel real.
Maribel rolled her shoulders, Frost Burn gauntlets humming—cold and heat fighting inside the metal like two animals trapped in one cage.
Brimelle planted Crescent Eclipse’s butt against the stone for half a breath, then lifted it again—scythe and sniper-rifle married into one clean, brutal line.
Nightmare’s eyes stayed on Maribel.
Sapphire’s eyes stayed on Brimelle.
Temper and Ranger didn’t move. They watched like witnesses.
Nightmare spoke once, low.
“Begin.”
Maribel slammed her gauntlets together.
The sound wasn’t metal.
It was weather.
Frost snapped outward in a ring, then heat chased it, turning the air into a cracking, steaming halo.
Nightmare didn’t flinch.
He moved.
A black blur with scars like map-lines, claws digging into stone, body low and predatory.
Maribel met him head-on.
Not dodging.
Not dancing.
Brawling.
Her gauntlet caught his first swipe—metal screaming as claw met enchanted plate.
The impact shoved her back half a step.
Maribel grinned anyway.
“Good,” she muttered.
Nightmare’s second swipe came lower—tendon-hunt, knee-cut.
Maribel dropped her weight and punched down.
Frost Burn detonated on contact.
Ice crawled up Nightmare’s forearm like a living shackle.
Nightmare twisted, muscles bulging, and ripped free—ice shattering into glittering shards.
He didn’t retreat.
He lunged again, jaws snapping for her throat.
Maribel took the bite on her forearm guard and drove her other gauntlet into his ribs.
Heat burst.
Nightmare skidded sideways, claws carving trenches in the stone.
Sapphire moved at the same time.
She didn’t charge Brimelle.
She tested her.
A feint left, a snap right, claws flicking toward Brimelle’s wrists—disarm logic, not kill logic.
Brimelle’s scythe rotated like it was part of her spine.
Crescent Eclipse’s blade caught Sapphire’s claws with a clean ring of metal-on-bone.
Sapphire recoiled half an inch.
Not pain.
Respect.
Brimelle’s hood shadowed her eyes.
“Again,” Brimelle said.
Sapphire’s lips curled.
She obliged.
They collided.
Blade arcs and claw strikes.
Brimelle’s scythe cut lines through the air that forced Sapphire to move where Brimelle wanted.
Sapphire’s claws kept finding gaps that shouldn’t exist.
A duel of control.
A duel of discipline.
Then Nightmare changed the tempo.
He stopped fighting like a wolf.
And started fighting like a commander.
He faked a retreat—just enough to make Maribel chase.
Maribel took it.
Because she wanted to.
She drove forward, gauntlets up, ready to end it with one clean, brutal hit.
Nightmare pivoted.
His body dropped low.
His claws hooked the ground.
And he threw himself sideways—using Maribel’s momentum against her.
Maribel’s footing slipped.
Nightmare’s jaws snapped up—
Not for her throat.
For her gauntlet.
He bit down and yanked.
Maribel’s arm jerked.
Her stance broke.
Nightmare’s claws raked across her midsection in the same motion.
Maribel hissed.
Blood hit stone.
And Sapphire moved.
A blur.
She left Brimelle for half a second and crossed the space like lightning.
Her claws struck Maribel’s exposed side—three clean hits, fast enough the air didn’t catch up.
Maribel staggered.
Frost Burn flared instinctively.
Ice exploded outward.
Nightmare got caught in it.
His legs froze mid-step.
Ice crawled up his scars like it was trying to rewrite him into a statue.
Maribel grinned through pain.
“Got you,” she breathed.
Nightmare’s eyes narrowed.
He didn’t panic.
He didn’t beg.
He just looked at Sapphire.
Sapphire nodded once.
And finished what the plan started.
Sapphire’s claws flashed.
Not at Nightmare’s ice.
At Maribel.
A clean strike across Maribel’s throat line—non-lethal by a hair, but decisive.
A second strike to her shoulder—numbing.
A third to her ribs—breath-stealing.
Maribel dropped to one knee.
Frost Burn’s glow flickered.
Nightmare’s ice cracked.
He stepped out of it like the freeze had been a suggestion.
Maribel tried to rise.
Her gauntlets trembled.
Brimelle’s voice cut through the duel.
“Maribel.”
Maribel spat blood and laughed once, furious.
“I’m fine.”
She wasn’t.
Sapphire’s eyes stayed locked on Brimelle now.
Nightmare stepped back—honoring the two-versus-two terms even as his wolves pressed closer.
Temper’s tail flicked.
Ranger’s ears stayed forward.
And the battlefield narrowed to one line.
Brimelle and Sapphire.
Crescent Eclipse lifted.
Sapphire’s claws flexed.
They stepped toward each other.
And then—
two shapes dropped between them like a verdict.
Vemi.
Vambasta.
They landed hard, breathless, eyes wide with urgency.
“Stop,” Vemi said, voice tight.
Vambasta’s gaze flicked to Brimelle, then to Sapphire, then to Nightmare.
“We will go quietly,” Vambasta pleaded. “Leave Derpy alone.”
Sapphire’s expression didn’t soften.
Nightmare’s eyes narrowed.
“That’s for the Great Mother to decide,” Nightmare said.
Vambasta swallowed.
Vemi lowered her head.
They didn’t fight.
They didn’t run.
They turned.
And walked with the royal pups like prisoners choosing the least painful chain.
Far from the gates, a tiny wolf—one of the runners—skidded into the Great Mother’s domain and yipped the report in sharp, urgent bursts.
The Great Mother’s ears twitched.
Her gaze lifted toward the World Tree capital.
She rose.
Not hurried.
Certain.
Then a presence stepped into her path.
Vorath Nightfang.
Derpy’s father.
He didn’t need to be in his full form to stop the air from moving.
The Great Mother’s eyes narrowed.
“I’m going to check it out,” she said.
Vorath’s growl rolled low.
“You promised not to intervene,” he said.
The Great Mother’s lips curled.
“And why,” she asked, voice like a blade, “should I keep promises to you.”
Vorath’s eyes stayed fixed on the direction of the gates.
“Those two,” he said. “They were created by my son.”
The Great Mother’s expression shifted—interest, sharp and hungry.
“You can smell that?” she asked.
Vorath didn’t blink.
“How can you smell your kin,” he said, “and your pups.”
His voice lowered.
“That’s how I can smell it on those maids.”
He paused.
“But something is different.”
The Great Mother tilted her head.
Vorath’s gaze stayed hard.
“They have minds of their own,” he said. “They are not dolls.”
The Great Mother’s smile widened.
A joke.
A threat.
A desire.
“If your son can create life,” she mused aloud, “then he’s valuable.”
Her eyes gleamed.
“Maybe I’ll make him mine.”
Vorath’s growl sharpened—pure challenge.
The air tightened.
The Great Mother’s pups shifted uneasily.
Then Vorath forced himself still.
Calmed.
Because rage was a leash here.
The Great Mother laughed softly.
“I would love to meet him,” she said, almost sincere. “He sounds promising.”
Vorath didn’t answer.
He just watched the direction his son was in like it hurt to stand still.
Vemi and Vambasta were brought before the Great Mother.
They bowed their heads.
Not in respect.
In survival.
The Great Mother circled them slowly, scenting them like she was deciding whether they were pack or meat.
Vorath stood off to the side, eyes cold.
“You got what you wanted,” Vorath said. “Are you content.”
The Great Mother’s smile didn’t fade.
“No,” she said simply. “Not until I get the pack member this one brought into my pack.”
Her gaze pinned Vambasta.
Vambasta flinched.
“Please,” Vambasta pleaded, voice cracking. “Don’t—”
The Great Mother cut her off.
“I want to see if he’s worth joining the pack,” she said, tone casual like she was discussing weather.
Vemi’s hands clenched.
Vambasta’s eyes watered.
Vorath’s jaw tightened.
And somewhere far away—
at the gates—
Maribel tried to stand again with Frost Burn still glowing faintly on her hands.
Because failure wasn’t an option.
And the Great Mother had decided she wasn’t done taking things.
The seam-space didn’t echo.
It remembered.
Derpy stood in the center of it with his jester-cut silhouette and rune-lit wings held half-open like a warning. The tri-color bands at his wrists—yellow, purple, black—glowed faintly, heat pulsing in time with his breath.
Lenora and Lewd were behind him.
Not safe.
Just protected.
Blight’s presence curled in the back of Lewd’s head like a satisfied parasite.
Phantasm’s presence lingered behind Lenora’s eyes like a warm knife.
And on the seam-floor, the calamities were there—heat, shadow, storm, rot, mirror, thread—watching him like a court that didn’t believe in mercy.
Lunara was there too.
in flesh.
Her presence pressed from the edges of the space like a smile you couldn’t see she tossed marionette like she was done with her battle with him before turning into her sister series calamity book
Derpy lifted his chin.
And spoke.
Not loudly.
Not theatrically.
Like he was reading a list of laws that had always existed.
“Ecoryn.”
Eco’s eyes widened—anger and disgust fighting in her face like she wanted to deny the sound but couldn’t.
“Tiamat.”
Celica went rigid, throat tight, like the name was a hand closing around her spine.
“Miasdrake.”
Blight’s smile twitched—delighted, offended, impressed all at once.
“Mirrathys.”
Phantasm’s expression softened for half a heartbeat, then sharpened again—because being known is dangerous.
“Raikoryn.”
Tempest’s gaze narrowed, quiet and assessing, like he was measuring what kind of storm Derpy had just become.
“Puppheryx.”
Marionette’s eyes flashed—then he looked away like the name tasted wrong.
Derpy’s gaze slid last to the heat bound in shadow.
Pyro’s presence strained against the seam like a furnace trying to become a body.
Derpy spoke the final name like a verdict.
“Ignivar.”
Pyro shuddered, rage spiking, heat pressing outward like an animal trying to chew through iron.
Derpy let the silence sit.
Let them feel what it meant.
Then he spoke again.
“I have a proposition.”
Eco’s jaw clenched.
Celica’s hands curled into fists.
Tempest didn’t move.
Blight watched like she was enjoying a show.
Derpy’s voice stayed calm.
“Right now,” he said, “there is a time limit on every calamity dragons including Ignivar physical form.”
He glanced at the heat trying to become a body.
“Not forever,” Derpy added. “But long enough.”
He looked at them—one by one—like he was forcing them to be present for the choice.
“If I can beat Ignivar within that time limit,” Derpy said, “will you all accept me.”
A beat.
Then laughter—quiet, intimate, wrong.
Blight laughed in the back of Lewd’s head.
Phantasm chuckled behind Lenora’s eyes.
Not mocking.
Amused.
Interested.
Temporary, Blight’s voice purred inside Lewd, but I like him.
Phantasm’s warmth pressed against Lenora’s thoughts like a hand.
I see why Tiamat chose to be his partner.
Celica’s gaze snapped toward Lenora and Lewd—like she hated that they could hear it too.
Derpy didn’t react.
He just kept his eyes on the calamities.
Lunara’s voice slid out from her book—soft, pleased.
“Once you start,” Lunara said, “I won’t be able to help you.”
Derpy didn’t look away from Ignivar.
“I know,” he said.
A pause.
Then Derpy moved.
Not with rage.
With precision.
Chains erupted from his shadows—thin, black, exact—snapping across the seam-floor.
They wrapped Puppheryx first.
Marionette’s body locked.
No tricks.
No sudden betrayal.
Just restraint—absolute.
Then the chains shifted and tightened around Ignivar’s forming heat, forcing the fire to hold shape where Derpy wanted it.
Derpy didn’t even glance at the bound calamities after.
He’d already decided what they were allowed to be in this room.
Risks.
Tools.
Witnesses.
Lenora swallowed behind him.
Lewd’s breath shook.
And the seam-space held perfectly still—
like it wanted to see whether the spawn of two gods could win his right to exist or not.
Eco moved first.
Not a step.
A glide.
She rose from the seam-floor like a ribbon of green light, wings of leaf-glow unfurling behind her as if the forest itself had decided to take a human shape. Her hair—bright, living green—spilled down her back in soft waves, crowned by small golden horns that looked almost ceremonial until the air around them started to shimmer. Vines and petals clung to her armor and dress like she’d walked out of a sacred grove and never bothered to shake the world off.
When she flew, motes of emerald light followed.
When she looked at you, it felt like being seen through.
She stopped in front of Derpy—close enough that her perfume of moss and sunlight didn’t belong in this stitched darkness.
“Most of us accept you,” Eco said quietly.
Her voice didn’t carry judgment.
It carried fact.
Her eyes narrowed, searching his face.
“Why are you trying to prove yourself to the one who doesn’t approve you.”
Derpy didn’t answer immediately.
His jester-cut silhouette held still, rune-lit wings half-open like a warning sign. The tri-color bands at his wrists—yellow, purple, black—pulsed faintly.
Then he spoke, calm and ugly with honesty.
“He doesn’t accept me,” Derpy said, “because I’m from two different deities.”
A crack sounded.
Not stone.
Not bone.
Something worse.
The bracelets.
Hairline fractures spidered across the bands at Derpy’s wrists—light leaking through like heat through broken glass.
Celica’s head snapped up.
Phantasm’s eyes sharpened.
Even Lunara’s presence—pressed from the edges of the seam-space like a smile you couldn’t see—shifted.
Alarm.
Derpy’s breath hitched.
“I feel… heated,” he admitted.
His shoulders rolled back, and the change came like a reflex the body couldn’t stop.
His dragon form surged up through him—size, weight, power—yet it didn’t erase the jester design. The wings kept their rune-lit patterning, the card-suit marks and glowing script still etched into membrane like a crest that refused to be forgotten.
But his hands changed.
Fingers smoothing back to normal.
Feet returning to normal.
Like he was trying to meet the world halfway.
It didn’t help.
Derpy’s voice dropped.
“It doesn’t sit right with me,” he said, “because I’m an abomination.”
Lunara’s voice slid out from her book—inside his head, intimate and sharp.
You’re not an abomination.
A pause.
You’re my child.
Derpy’s jaw tightened.
“If he can’t accept that,” Derpy whispered, “that’s on him.”
Then Derpy snapped his fingers.
The chains around Pyro—Ignivar—released.
Heat surged.
Paper became flesh.
Fire became a body.
Pyro’s human-dragon form rebuilt itself in a rush of furnace-light—tall, towering over Derpy, eyes bright with the kind of joy that only exists in monsters who think they’re righteous.
Pyro laughed.
It was loud.
It was delighted.
It was relieved.
“You think you can beat me?” Pyro asked, voice almost giddy. “And you used my true name—oh gods, this is fantastic.”
His smile widened.
“I may get to erase you from existence after all.”
A timer formed in the air.
Not above Derpy.
Not above Lenora or Lewd.
Above the calamity dragons.
A ring of light with numbers that didn’t feel like magic.
It felt like a rule.
10:00
9:59
9:58
Derpy didn’t look at it.
He looked at Pyro.
“I don’t care what you think,” Derpy said.
Then he spoke the name again—clean, deliberate.
“Ignivar.”
Pyro’s eyes flared.
Mia and Sphinx stepped forward.
Mia—tiny girl in a frilly pink dress, purple rune-mask glowing, purple flame curling around her head like a halo made of wrong—lifted her chin.
Sphinx—boy in a red top hat, cracked rune-mask with star-shaped eyes burning gold—flexed his claws as lightning crawled around them.
Derpy’s voice stayed flat.
“You won’t be facing Tiamat.”
Celica’s eyes widened.
“You won’t be facing Miasdrake.”
Blight’s smile sharpened in the back of Lewd’s head like she liked hearing her true name used as a boundary.
“You won’t be facing Mirrathys.”
Phantasm’s presence warmed behind Lenora’s eyes, amused and watchful.
“You won’t be facing any of the calamity.”
Derpy’s gaze flicked back to Lenora and Lewd—one heartbeat only.
“You won’t be facing Lenora or Lewd.”
Then back to Pyro.
“Just me.”
Derpy started walking.
Pyro stood towering, heat rolling off him in waves.
Derpy didn’t stop.
“Me,” Derpy said, “with what I came into this world with.”
He nodded once.
“And my pets.”
Mia and Sphinx screeched.
Not cute.
Not animal.
A sound like a blade being pulled out of a throat.
A kill aura rolled out of them—dense, predatory, wrong.
Pyro actually stepped back.
Just one step.
But it happened.
Derpy reached up and grabbed the cracked bracelets.
He slid them off.
The moment they left his wrists, the air felt less controlled—like a lid had been removed from a boiling pot.
Derpy walked to Eco and placed the bands in her hands.
“Hold these,” Derpy said. “I don’t want Celica involved with this.”
Celica surged forward.
“Don’t do this,” she snapped. “You’re not strong enough.”
Derpy didn’t look at her.
He kept walking.
Slow.
Measured.
He closed his eyes as he moved, stopping five feet from Pyro.
Then he put in his ear buds.
A melody started in his ears—private, steady, chosen.
Derpy breathed once.
And remembered.
Celica’s training.
Blight’s training.
His father’s voice in the dream.
There’s a beast in there.
Derpy’s lips twitched.
Good.
A presence rose inside him—familiar, hungry.
Sinister.
Derpy spoke inward, calm as a business offer.
Sinister. Shall we switch in intervals.
The presence blinked—surprised.
You won’t get mad and try to seal me?
“No,” Derpy whispered aloud, eyes still closed. “I want you to show this fucker we can beat him.”
A pause.
Then Sinister’s amusement curled like smoke.
Fine by me. But I’m still gonna try to corrupt and take over when you can’t control your magic and fall asleep.
Derpy’s mouth lifted slightly.
“That’s fine,” he said. “I put a countermeasure in.”
A handshake happened in the dark between minds.
Derpy opened his eyes.
“You’re up first,” he told Sinister. “Make him shake.”
Pyro dashed in.
Same opening.
Same attempt to end it in one go.
A kill strike.
A finishing blow.
It landed.
And Pyro’s grin widened—
until the sound came.
A laugh.
Not Derpy’s.
A terrible, delighted Sinister laugh that made the seam-space feel colder.
Sinister Derpy met Pyro’s follow-up with poison and ice at the same time—green-black venom threading through frost, the combination forcing Pyro to jump back, heat flaring in irritation.
“What the hell?” Pyro snarled. “He’s using the other calamity book powers—”
Sinister laughed again.
“No,” he said. “No, no. This is my power. Not my normal power.”
He leaned forward like he was sharing a secret.
“You’ll see why I’m sealed away.”
Sinister dashed.
Shadow snapped into shape in his hand—
Crescent Eclipse.
A scythe that looked like an executioner’s moon, with a rifle spine embedded into its design like a second purpose.
Sinister spun into Pyro head-on.
Pyro caught the blade.
Barehanded.
Confident.
Stupid.
He didn’t know the scythe was a gun.
Sinister jumped onto the blade itself—boots on steel—balanced like it was a stage.
Then he pulled the trigger.
A huge magic blast detonated point-blank.
Pyro’s arms jerked.
His body staggered.
Sinister spun away as Crescent Eclipse vanished back into shadow like it had never existed.
Magic circles appeared across the seam-space.
Dozens.
Layered.
Some bright, some dark, some so thin they looked like scratches in reality.
Pyro dashed again—teleporting, aiming for Sinister’s head.
Sinister moved his head a fraction.
And touched Pyro’s side.
A black ice rose erupted out of Pyro’s ribs—jagged, blooming, cruel—forcing Pyro to twist away with a snarl.
Mia moved.
She dashed in so fast her pink dress blurred into flame.
She stopped inches from Pyro’s face and blasted him with a breath that was both fire and frost—heat and cold braided together like punishment.
Sphinx roared and hit from behind—claws slashing Pyro’s back leg, lightning shocking through the cut.
Pyro’s knee buckled.
He fell.
“What is this—” Pyro hissed, breath steaming.
Sinister tilted his head, curious.
“I wonder,” he murmured, as more circles formed.
His voice turned thoughtful—too calm.
“What happens to a calamity if it dies.”
Pyro’s eyes widened.
Sinister leaned forward.
“Does the book fade away,” he asked softly, “does it become nonexistent—”
He smiled.
“Or does your soul go back to the beginning and start living again.”
Pyro’s heat spiked.
“Stop messing with me—!”
Heat exploded off Pyro in a wave—raw furnace force that shoved Sinister back hard.
Sinister skidded, boots carving a line in the seam-floor, and landed near Tempest.
Tempest—Raikoryn—moved without drama and grabbed him by the arm, hauling him upright like he’d decided this was allowed.
“Keep it up,” Tempest said, voice low. “You’re getting into his head. You can do it.”
Sinister’s grin widened.
Then he closed his eyes.
And Derpy took over.
The melody in the ear buds kept playing.
The timer kept counting down.
And Pyro—Ignivar—stood taller again, furious now, no longer laughing.
Because for the first time in a long time—
he’d felt fear.
Derpy opened his eyes.
Pyro was standing again—taller, steadier, heat rolling off him in waves that made the seam-space feel too small. His gaze wasn’t on the circles anymore. Not on the timer. Not on the calamities watching.
It was on Derpy.
Mia and Sphinx stood at Derpy’s sides like sentries that had decided they were more than pets.
Derpy looked around the pocket seam and saw it all at once—every circle Sinister had placed, every angle, every trap, every line of pressure.
Sinister had set him up perfectly.
Derpy’s voice came out quiet.
“Do you want to continue,” he asked Pyro, “or do you want to accept me.”
Pyro’s expression twisted.
Disgust.
First his mother.
Now her spawn.
Looking down on him.
“You dare look down on me,” Pyro snarled.
Heat blasted the whole room.
Mia darted left and exhaled frost—an ice barricade slammed up like a wall of winter between the blast and the backline.
Sphinx darted right and threw up an electric barrier in front of Lenora and Lewd—crackling red-blue lightning that made the seam-light flicker.
Then Sphinx turned around.
He tipped his top hat.
And bowed to Lenora and Lewd.
A clean, polite gesture.
Like he’d become more than a cat.
Behind that cracked rune mask, Sphinx was still there.
Mia teleported to him and punched him on the head.
A sharp little thunk.
She growled and pointed at Derpy like: Focus. Master needs us.
Sphinx straightened immediately.
Both of them dashed back to Derpy’s side.
Lenora glanced at Lewd.
Lewd had her calamity weapons now—Blight’s sword and shield formed in her grip—while Lenora was borrowing Phantasm temporarily just to stay alive.
“They stopped to protect us,” Lenora whispered. “They thought—”
“Sphinx got smarter,” Lewd said, eyes wide. “With that mask on.”
“I know,” Lenora breathed.
Then Lenora’s gaze flicked to Eco.
Eco—Ecoryn—was struggling with the cracked bracelets Derpy had handed her. The bands were shaking in her hands like they were alive, like they wanted to crawl back to their owner.
Celica’s panic bled through them.
“Celica,” eco snapped, voice sharp. “You need to calm down. He’s fine.”
The bracelets shattered.
Not into pieces.
Into light.
Gold, purple, and black.
A halo ring formed—perfect, hungry—and shot toward Derpy like it had found its home.
It tried to attach itself to him.
Derpy teleported to a magic circle, panting.
“Stop,” he rasped. “This fight—”
celica in her halo form floated in front of him, trembling like an animal held back by a leash. Glowed and derpy understood what the glow meant
“You’re exhausted.”
Pyro dashed in again—this time aimed for Derpy’s head.
Derpy formed an ice shield.
Not plain.
A skull face in the ice, poison drops forming under its teeth like tears.
Lewd’s breath caught.
Blight’s voice purred in the back of her mind.
He really cares about you and Lenora… if he’s basing his magic off your shield.
The shield melted completely under Pyro’s heat.
The blast threw Derpy across the seam-space.
He hit hard.
He screamed—because his arm got caught in the burn.
Derpy stood up shaking.
Red fur had formed around his neck like a collar made of rage.
Pyro laughed.
“Is this a joke,” he said. “You had me backed into a corner—now I’m in control.”
Elsewhere, under a sky that had stopped bleeding red—
Vemi and Vambasta knelt before their Great Mother.
The Great Mother’s presence filled the air like a law older than crowns.
“You know,” the Great Mother said, voice calm and cruel, “you both possess my blood.”
Her gaze sharpened.
“The weakest of the pack.”
Vambasta flinched.
“And you invited someone into the pack,” the Great Mother continued. “And what’s worse—”
She grabbed Vambasta.
Magic was absorbed out of her like breath stolen from lungs.
Vambasta screamed and reverted—human wolf form forced out of her, trembling and exposed.
Then the Great Mother grabbed Vemi.
Laid down.
Held both of them like they were pups again.
Not comfort.
Ownership.
She set them down so they could look at her.
“I’m disappointed in you, Vambasta,” she said. “You haven’t beaten any of your brothers or sisters yet.”
Vambasta’s eyes watered.
“You did something stupid,” the Great Mother went on. “You brought an outsider to my pack. You made a life partner without my permission.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“And worst of all—”
Her voice turned disgusted.
“It was with a dragon human.”
Vorath Nightfang looked away like what he was hearing, and he didn’t want to watch.
Then he spoke.
“I have a question for you,” Vorath said.
The Great Mother’s lips curled—amused, because she’d taken an interest in him.
“Answer,” she said.
Vorath looked up at the moon.
Then he transformed—into his true form.
A towering wolf god made flesh: black body built like war, red mane like a firestorm, chains wrapped around his arms and waist like he wore restraint as jewelry. His claws were red, his eyes burning, and the red moon behind him made him look like a myth that decided to become real.
The Great Mother transformed too—hybrid form.
White hair pouring down her back like a blizzard. Red eyes. Wolf ears. A crown of thorned red metal. Black armor cut with crimson lines, red fur at her shoulders like a mantle of blood. Red lightning crawled around her claws like she was holding a storm by the throat.
Vorath’s voice came out low.
“What do you think of a mixed deity.”
The Great Mother stared at him.
She saw he wanted an honest answer.
So she gave it.
“I feel it’s disgusting,” she said. “An abomination that shouldn’t exist.”
A pause.
“But there hasn’t been one ever to exist.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“So I don’t know how I would respond, to be honest.”
Vorath sighed.
Then he spoke like he’d been holding the story in his ribs for centuries.
“Before you were born into this world,” Vorath said, “there were more than a couple wolf deities in this land.”
He laughed once, bitter.
“I dated a dark dragon god. Her family hated me for it.”
He slashed a tree beside him—wood exploding like it was paper.
“They considered me weak,” Vorath said. “But the one I still consider her a lover to this day…we had a child unexpectedly.”
His eyes sharpened.
“It wasn’t born like normal wolves. It was part dragon.”
His voice dropped.
“A black Black dragon with Red tail.”
He stared into the distance like he could still see it.
“That tail could feel everything around it. Like it sensed what was going on.”
Vorath’s jaw tightened.
“My lover—Lunara, the dark dragon god—was considered a traitor by her brothers and sisters.”
His voice turned colder.
“Eventually War broke out between the old dragons and the old wolves.”
He looked away.
“Most old wolves went into hiding. Others died for a cause that shouldn’t have happened.”
His claws flexed.
“My sister was one of the ones who died.”
Vorath’s breath came out slow.
“Something weird happened after the war,” he said. “The souls of the dragon gods and wolf gods that died that day flew to the chamber of the nursery—where Lenora and my child were.”
The Great Mother’s eyes narrowed at Lenora’s name.
Vorath didn’t stop.
“The egg absorbed all the fallen souls that died,” he said.
“Seven of the fourteen dragons .”
His voice hardened.
“Who were alive after the war considered Lunara and the child a threat.”
He spat.
“They sealed her away from the dragons in a chamber below and They sealed the egg she produced away to a different world.”
Vorath’s eyes burned.
“And as for me—”
He looked at the Great Mother.
“They sealed me with my lover, whose body eventually became a husk due to her becoming a calamity book for the sister series and her body was a husk alive but not .”
He bared his teeth.
“Because the fourteen dragons all became calamity books—shedding their bodies to keep a disaster locked away.”
Vorath’s voice turned clinical.
“One day, if a calamity book is destroyed, they revert into their human dragon forms and lose most of their powers.”
A pause.
“Leaving them as a former husk of themselves.”
Vorath stepped forward.
“So, Great Mother,” he said, voice heavy. “I ask you again.”
“What do you think of a mixed deity.”
The Great Mother looked up at the sky.
Thought.
Then sighed.
“I would see if they become a threat to this world,” she said. “If they do—then I’d order my pack to try and take it out.”
Vorath nodded once—approval, grim.
The Great Mother scooted closer, red eyes bright.
“I have a name, you know,” she said.
Vorath’s gaze flicked to her.
“My name is Elowen,” she said. “Mother of the new generation.”
Back in the seam-space—
Pyro grabbed Derpy by the face and threw him.
Derpy flew into the five calamities like a rag doll.
A red veil fell from Derpy’s pocket.
Mia and Sphinx charged in to keep Pyro off him.
Pyro looked down at them and laughed.
“Look at this,” he said. “It’s so cute.”
He used magic to enhance your beasts, he thought—like that made them less than real.
Pyro’s hand snapped out.
He shattered their masks.
The sound was sickening.
Like glass breaking inside a skull.
Then he threw them.
Both of them.
A crunch hit the seam-floor.
Mia didn’t move.
Sphinx didn’t move.
They were barely breathing.
Derpy moved so fast Pyro didn’t see it.
“No,” Derpy said.
Then again.
“No.”
Then it broke into a chant.
“No—no—no—no—no—no—no—no—NO—”
Derpy dropped to his knees and clutched them.
They weren’t dead.
But they were close.
Derpy opened a seam.
Silette was on the other side.
“Take care of them,” Derpy choked.
The seam swallowed Mia and Sphinx.
Closed.
Vaeloria saw Derpy and tried to run to him—
Silette stopped her, holding her in place.
“No,” the Rat Maid snapped. “You go in there, we can’t protect you.”
Derpy stood alone again.
Tears ran down his face.
Three words left his mouth like a curse.
“Dragon's Wolf. Carnage.”
A red haze poured out of the fur at his neck.
It carried a red bottle—Vaeloria’s bottle was supose to refill magic for him —like a messenger made of rage.
The haze slipped through the seam and found Vorath and Elowen.
The bottle split into two midair and arrived at Vemi and Vambasta.
The haze formed words.
I NEED YOU. DRINK THIS. YOUR WHOLE PACK IS ABOUT TO GO FLYING TOWARDS ME. ALONG WITH YOU TWO.
Vemi and Vambasta looked at each other.
Then drank.
The haze thickened around the wolf pack like a storm collar.
Derpy walked toward Pyro.
His dragon tail formed.
His wolf tail formed.
Wolf ears rose.
Black ram-like horns curled from his head.
Celica floated—halo form—and attached herself to Derpy’s back like a vow.
Pyro laughed and slashed.
A magic circle formed and blocked the attack.
Derpy didn’t move.
The red haze crackled into red electricity.
The seam grew rapid—wider, louder, violent.
Derpy’s pocket space expanded until it looked like a war zone.
A red ball formed around Pyro.
Pyro blasted the smoke off him—
Too late.
Derpy’s voice was quiet.
“I’m going to make you regret hurting my pets.”
All four maids appeared.
“Time to go,” Velra said.
“Right now,” Brimelle added.
They grabbed Lenora and Lewd.
Blight and Phantasm turned into rings—green and purple halo and also attached to derpy's back —snapping into place as they were pulled away from lenora and lewd.
Derpy took a big breath.
And howled.
The surge from the haze made it through the castle, through the area, through the bones of the world.
Elowen heard it.
She transformed again.
And growled like she lost control.
Vorath was unaffected.
But Elowen’s wolves glowed and charged, howling.
Vemi transformed.
Vambasta transformed.
They dashed forward faster than their mother—into the seam.
They hit Pyro first.
Vambasta punched him hard enough to knock him back.
Pyro blinked—genuinely shocked.
Then the wolves swarmed him.
Claws. Teeth. magic. pack-law.
Pyro was being bombarded.
And then he saw Derpy change.
Derpy transformed into a full wolf-dragon.
The jester design didn’t vanish.
It became scripture.
Rune-lit wings opened—card-suit marks and glowing script carved into membrane, purple energy licking the edges like smoke that couldn’t decide whether it was flame.
Derpy roared.
Elowen’s eyes went normal.
She saw her pack tearing at a dragon.
Then she saw another dragon—part wolf, part dragon—standing over the fight like a god that had decided to be personal.
“What the—” Elowen breathed.
Orbs flew toward Derpy.
The maids.
Lenora.
Lewd.
Vaeloria.
Ace.
Vespera.
Vemi.
Vambasta.
The rest of the calamity books returned to their owners—
Except Pyro.
Pyro was too overrun.
Too damaged.
His calamity book couldn’t function as a calamity anymore.
A red light peeled off him and flew into the distance.
Vanished.
A portal opened.
Derpy’s wolf-dragon form flew through it.
Hours later, Derpy crashed into another queen’s kingdom.
Bigger.
Stronger.
White Tiger Queen territory.
His dragon form hit the ground hard enough to crater stone.
Then it collapsed.
Derpy shifted back into his original human form.
The halos turned back into bracelets—names etched into them: Celica. Phantasm.
Derpy held his pets—barely alive.
And everything went dark.
Vorath watched the ruins and spoke like it was a weather report.
“So,” he said. “You took out one calamity book.”
He started walking.
“You also took out the World Tree Elven Empire.”
He didn’t look back.
“I hope you get stronger,” Vorath muttered. “Because you’re going to need it.”
Elowen appeared in front of him.
Half her wolf pack was exhausted—or still fighting guards from the Elven Empire.
“You,” she said, eyes bright. “That was your kid.”
Vorath’s mouth lifted slightly.
“In a way,” he said.
He looked toward where Derpy had gone.
“I don’t know what he did back there,” Vorath said, “but if you want answers—we have to go get him.”
Elowen’s lips curled.
“He’s flew off in the direction in which the territory of the White Tiger Queen resides,” Vorath said.
He glanced at Elowen.
“So are you coming with me,” he asked, “or are you going to get your kin.”
“They should be okay,” Elowen said, almost casual.
Then a weak laugh cut in.
Hina stumbled forward—injured, breathing hard, eyes bright with reckless curiosity.
“Can I come with you,” Hina asked, giggling weakly. “What he did was spectacular. I want to meet him.”
Vorath sighed.
“Two wolf gods,” he muttered, “and an injured cow.”
He picked Hina up like she weighed nothing.
“What a team.”
And they walked away from the ruined empire.
Down in the ruins, Seraphine fell to the floor.
She flicked her fan.
“Queen—”
No answer.
She flicked again.
“Lyra.”
Nothing.
“Berserker.”
Nothing.
“Ace.”
Nothing.
“Rigenal.”
Nothing.
“Joker.”
her fan shattered leaving a chibi rat witch image with a small giggle at the end .
Then hiss came from the distance.
Seraphine’s eyes widened.
Five doors opened.
Mk1 stepped out first, drooling.
“You hurt friend,” she said.
Seraphine summoned her spear.
The second door opened.
Mk2 stepped out, drooling more.
“He left because you and Vaeloria thought of him as a tool,” Mk2 said. “Not a human.”
The third door hissed.
Mk3 fired her arm cannon—stunning Seraphine mid-motion.
“You claim to be a queen,” Mk3 said, voice flat. “But you failed your own kingdom.”
The fourth door opened.
Mk4 stepped out.
“What you did was unforgivable.”
Seraphine crawled back.
For the first time, she felt fear.
No one was coming.
No one could save her.
The last door opened.
Riven stepped out—new body, bigger than the other Mk units.
She bent over Seraphine.
And spoke in full sentences.
“I have a question for you,” Riven said. “Did you have a blue knight… an elf on a broom… and a massive guy that spoke one word at a time ?.”
Seraphine stuttered.
“I did—why—”
“They took something from me,” Riven said. “Will you give it back.”
Seraphine turned pale.
“It was taken from me by Derpy,” she whispered. “The dragon boy.”
Riven frowned.
“Pity.”
Her mouth expanded.
She bit Seraphine’s arm off the queen screamed as blood spewed from her.
A crest formed on Riven’s hand—like Seraphine’s.
Mk units tore at Seraphine until there was nothing left.
Mk3 spun, walking backward, eyes on Riven.
“What will we do now.”
Riven’s smile was slow.
“First,” Mk1 said, “we feast. No survivors unless Derpy was in contact with them.”
“Second,” Mk2 said, “we go find him and serve him. Our very special friend.”
“Third,” Mk3 said, “we retrieve the Sister-Series book.”
Thread glistened—only the Mk units could see it.
“Since he patched us together,” Mk4 said, “since he broke our code, since he considered us family—we find him.”
Riven’s eyes glowed.
“And last,” she said, “this empire burns.”
The ruin-lights went dark.
Five pairs of eyes glowed in the black.
Kara paced back and forth like the floor had personally offended her.
Cinder was already up—dressed, armed, eyes sharp with the kind of readiness that comes from having lost people before.
“We need to find her,” Kara said again, voice tight. “She was taken.”
“Mina,” Cinder answered, jaw set. “I know.”
A seam opened in the air.
Not a door.
A cut.
Mina and Ruby stumbled through first—thrown forward like the seam didn’t care how they landed.
Kara lunged and caught Mina, hugging her so hard Mina squeaked.
“Mina—!”
Cinder crossed the room in two strides and hugged Mina too, hands shaking just enough to betray how scared she’d been.
Then Cinder turned and pulled Ruby into a hug as well.
“You’re safe,” Cinder whispered. “Oh—thank the stars.”
Mina’s arms tightened around Kara.
Her voice came out small.
“I want to save him,” Mina said.
Cinder and Kara spoke at the same time.
“Who—”
Mina pulled back, eyes wet, but steady.
“I want to save Derpy,” she said.
Then she blinked like she’d realized something mid-sentence.
“Mew…”
Her ears twitched.
And her face changed.
For the first time in a long time, Mina looked… quiet inside.
“For the first time,” Mina whispered, “I can hear clearly.”
She swallowed.
“No voice in the back of my head.”
She set her calamity book down on the table like it was a weight she didn’t want touching her skin anymore.
“We need to go to Dragon Valley,” Mina said. “I want to fix him—and going there will be the only way to find out.”
Kara stared at the book, then at Mina.
“I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” Kara said, voice careful now, “but can we talk about it in the morning?”
Mina nodded, but her eyes stayed stubborn.
Behind them—unseen, but present—Marionette’s fear crawled like a thread in the walls.
He could feel it.
The monster that had been released on the world.
And the last thing it had left him wasn’t a spoken threat.
It was an order.
Not words.
A rule carved into his bones:
You hurt that cat girl in any way… you will be next.
So Marionette stayed silent.
For now.
For now I’ll let her do what she wants, the rule seemed to say. Let her use my power however she wants. For now. And only now.
The seam opened again.
Two figures stepped through—maids, but not the kind that belonged in this kingdom.
The first was a cow maid—blonde ponytail, golden eyes, horns and striped tail, bell at her throat. She looked like a brawler who’d been forced into a uniform and decided to make it everyone else’s problem.
The second was a cat maid—blue bob-cut hair, green eyes behind round glasses, cat ears and tail, bell choker chiming softly. She held a spiked bat like it was normal, posture polite enough to be insulting.
Cinder’s hand went to her weapon immediately.
“Who are you,” Cinder demanded.
The cat maid lifted her bat a fraction, pointing it at Cinder—not aggressive, just… ready.
“Hello,” the cat maid said calmly. “Are you Cinder.”
Cinder didn’t lower her stance.
“I am,” she said. “And you’re in my home.”
The cow maid stepped forward and held up a hand, palm out.
“Relax,” she said. “We’re not here to fight.”
The cat maid’s bell chimed once as she adjusted her glasses.
“We have something for you,” she said.
The cow maid nodded toward herself first.
“Maribel,” she said.
Then she tilted her chin toward the other.
“And this is Velra.”
Velra gave a small, polite bow.
Maribel’s eyes swept the room—Kara, Mina, Ruby, Cinder—then landed on the book on the table.
Her expression tightened like she didn’t like what she was seeing.
“First thing first,” Maribel said. “My master is sorry about your calamity book.”
She reached into the fold of her apron and tossed something onto the table.
Torn pages.
Burned edges.
What was left of it.
The remains landed with a soft, humiliating sound.
Cinder stared.
Her throat tightened.
She thought of Pyro.
Of power.
Of the bond.
And her eyes filled before she could stop it.
Velra’s voice stayed gentle, but not soft.
“He can’t bring it back,” Velra said. “But he can help you find a new one.”
Maribel reached behind her back and set something down on the table with more care than her fists suggested she was capable of.
A scythe.
White and red.
A moon chain dangling from the bottom like a promise that didn’t know how to be kind.
Cinder’s breath caught.
Maribel’s tone stayed blunt.
“Second,” she said, “he wants you to have this. As an apology.”
Velra tossed a book onto the table next.
Not a calamity book.
an artifact echo the book that once belong to riven was now a
A tool.
A map.
A key.
Maribel leaned in slightly.
“We will accompany you,” she said, “until you find one of your preference.”
Cinder’s hands hovered over the torn pages like she was afraid they’d burn her.
“There is a sister version of him,” Velra added, watching Cinder’s face closely. “If you loved his power.”
Cinder flinched.
Velra didn’t soften it.
“But it’s way more deadly.”
Silence.
Kara looked between the maids and Mina, trying to understand how any of this connected.
Mina stared at the scythe like she could feel Derpy’s fingerprints on it.
Ruby stayed quiet—still Ruby—eyes tracking everything like she was storing it for later.
Maribel held out a hand to Cinder.
Her voice was steady.
“So what do you say,” Maribel asked, “Cinder.”
Cinder’s fingers curled.
She looked at the torn pages again.
Then at Mina.
Then at the maids.
Then at the seam that had brought them here like fate had decided to become physical.
Cinder swallowed.
And reached for Maribel’s hand.
