In Mel’s book, the pages felt endless as he walked through the labyrinth of his father’s knowledge. He absorbed spell after spell, weapon techniques, intricate fighting skills, and the secrets of his own cloud magic. But for all its wisdom, the book offered little insight into Merlin himself.

  Mel’s fist tightened as his eyes landed on a detailed drawing of the Four Renaissance Kings. Donatello, the smallest of the group, crouched in shadow, his apparent death nothing more than a ruse. Leonardo, the second eldest, stood regal yet unconventional, insisting on the title of “king” despite being a woman. Raphael, the enigma, whose face was deliberately left blank—Mel had yet to encounter him but knew he was said to be the strongest. And finally, Michelangelo, also known as Goldman, Mel’s mentor… and murderer.

  Mel’s jaw clenched as he approached Goldman’s face etched into the page. Slowly, he placed a hand on the drawing. “With every fiber of my being, I hate you,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “You taught me everything I know… except how to live. I never learned how to laugh, how to speak to people, or what a damn limo was.”

  A single tear escaped his eye, but he wiped it away with a furious swipe. “No. You won’t get any tears from me. You killed me, and that’s the end of it.” Mel’s hand balled into a fist, scratching over Goldman’s face until the image was defaced.

  “Is that really what you believe?”

  The sneering voice made Mel’s deadened purple eyes widen as he spun around. “Who’s there?!” His heart raced. He was supposed to be alone here—after all, he was dead in his father’s book.

  Before he could process the intrusion, a web shot out, striking his chest. Electricity surged through him, jolting his body with real pain—pain he wasn’t supposed to feel in the book. Mel cried out as the web yanked him forward, and a Silken Enforcer slammed a foot into his chest, sending another surge of electricity through him.

  “A Silken Enforcer?!” he gasped, trying to summon his own magic, but to his horror, nothing came. Another enforcer dashed forward, its punch landing squarely on his chest, cracking his ribs and forcing him to the ground. Gagging, Mel coughed and clutched his torso.

  “Why didn’t I feel anything when I fought the spell version of Merlin, but I feel this now?” he panted. “And when I held the Sun Sword, my hand didn’t burn…”

  Before he could finish his thoughts, a sinister hissing sound filled the air. Mel’s blood ran cold as a massive, eight-legged form emerged from the shadows—or rather, seven-legged. The Wild Storm Spider loomed over him, its broken limb a haunting reminder.

  “Because with you, I also died,” she hissed, her voice dripping with venom.

  Her towering form closed the distance, and with a flick of her legs, she bound him in thick, silken webs. The electricity coursed through him again, and he screamed in agony.

  “You decapitated me the first time!” the spider roared, her anger shaking the air. “And then you got us both killed again!”

  “What are you talking about?!” Mel shouted through gritted teeth.

  The spider groaned, stopping the torture but keeping him restrained. “You ate my leg. Do you even remember that?”

  Mel blinked, his innocent tone almost mocking. “You tasted delicious, by the way.”

  The spider slapped him so hard his head snapped to the side. “Don’t you dare joke about that!” she spat. “When you ate me, you didn’t just take my powers through blood. You consumed my spirit. My creator, Laith, made me from Transylvanian roots, and now my essence is a part of you.”

  Mel froze as the realization settled over him. “Wait… so you’re trapped in here because—”

  “Because I’m part of you now!” she shouted, collapsing in frustration. “Dammit, Mel! I was a queen in the storm. Now, I’m stuck in this book with you!”

  Mel groaned as the webs fell away, his body aching. He sat up, his gaze meeting the spider’s, both of them wearied by their connection. “Well, I guess we’re roommates now,” he muttered, earning a venomous glare from Shieka.

  “But, uh… why did you say, ‘Do you really believe that?’ when I said I’m dead?” Mel asked, shielding his eyes from Shieka’s monstrous form. “Sorry, I’ve had a serious fear of spiders ever since, well… you know.” He muttered awkwardly, glancing away.

  Shieka groaned, exasperated. With a flick of her webs, her grotesque spider form shimmered and transformed. Her black hair flowed down her back, her eight eyes narrowed and merged into two sharp, piercing ones, and her legs reshaped into long, human limbs—though her towering height remained. Now she stood before him, an imposing, statuesque woman.

  “Better?” she asked, folding her arms.

  Mel cautiously peeked, then nodded. “Yeah, thanks. I appreciate it.”

  “Melanthius, listen closely,” she said, her tone suddenly serious. “You’re not dead. In fact, you can’t die—not right now, at least.”

  Mel’s eyes widened. “Wait, what? What do you mean I can’t die?”

  Shieka sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I’ve been stuck in your body for a while now, which means I’ve had a front-row seat to all your little soul secrets. Your body has been granted something called Reliant Immortality.”

  Mel blinked, the weight of her words crashing down on him. “Reliant… immortality? What does that even mean? Is that a bad thing?”

  Shieka groaned again, muttering under her breath. “Why am I explaining this to a twelve-year-old?”

  “I’m sixteen!” Mel shot back, clutching his chest as if her words had dealt a mortal blow.

  She ignored his protest, grabbed him by the collar, and effortlessly lifted him into the air. Holding him in suspended animation, she summoned a web-like chalkboard in front of them. With quick, deliberate gestures, she began sketching diagrams with her threads.

  “Look here, kid,” she said, pointing to the board. “Inside your body are three distinct magical energies: mine, your father’s cloud magic, and some… unknown black lightning magic.”

  Mel furrowed his brow, listening intently as she continued.

  “The black lightning magic and your father’s cloud magic are constantly at war inside you. When you held Excalibur, it wasn’t because you were worthy—because you weren’t. Only a Pendragon can be worthy of that blade. What happened was, every time you touched Excalibur, you were literally dying and coming back to life, over and over again. That’s why you lost control. That’s why you lashed out like a maniac.”

  Mel’s eyes widened further, the pieces falling into place. “Wait… so I was—”

  “Dying. Yes.” Shieka’s voice was sharp as she cut him off. “The black lightning magic inside you is what’s keeping you alive. It’s the source of your Reliant Immortality. When you held Excalibur, the constant dying weakened your soul, allowing the black lightning to take over and make you try to kill Maren. You thought you couldn’t control your weaponry, but in reality, your body was being hijacked by that magic.”

  Mel was silent for a moment, processing the revelation. “But… where does the black lightning come from? Is it tied to my dad? Or—”

  Stolen story; please report.

  “I don’t know,” Shieka interrupted, her tone growing more frustrated. “What I do know is that I’m now a permanent part of your soul, which means I’m stuck with your dumbass for eternity. Immortal, just like you. Lucky me.”

  Before Mel could respond, she slapped him across the face—hard.

  “OW! What the hell was that for?!” he shouted, rubbing his cheek.

  “Because you’re an idiot,” she snapped. “And because it’s satisfying.”

  Mel groaned, throwing his hands up in frustration. “You’re impossible.”

  “And you’re insufferable,” she shot back, folding her arms. “Now shut up and try not to die again. You’ve only got eternity to figure this out.”

  Mel rubbed his cheek and cleared his throat awkwardly. “Uh… so, what exactly is Reliant Immortality?” he asked hesitantly, instantly regretting it.

  Shieka’s palm met his face again, this time with even more force. “I literally just explained it! It’s tied to that black lightning magic in your body! The only way to get rid of it is to find the original creator of the magic. But tell me, genius—have you ever seen anyone else with black lightning like yours?” Her voice dripped with a mix of sarcasm and faint hope.

  Mel froze, his eyes darting as he tried to think. “Hmm… I don’t know… know… know know know!” he began babbling nonsensically, smacking his own face. “I DON’T KNOW!” he shouted, wide-eyed. “What was that?!”

  Shieka groaned, exasperation radiating off her as she massaged her temples. “Oh no, you’ve been stuck in this damn book for too long. You need to be revived before you completely lose it!”

  She released him from her webbed suspension, letting him fall unceremoniously to the ground.

  “Ow,” Mel muttered, but then, for some reason, he began laughing softly to himself. “Relax, sexy lady.”

  Before Shieka could respond, Mel wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, chuckling as he leaned closer. “Let’s just go on a date,” he whispered, his voice low.

  Shieka’s reaction was immediate. She grabbed him and flipped him onto his back with ease, sending him sprawling.

  Mel jumped to his feet, brushing himself off, his face flushed with embarrassment. “Sorry! That was super weird. I, uh, didn’t do anything too stupid just now, did I?” He scratched the back of his head, quickly looking for an escape route. “Anyway, I should probably figure out how to revive myself…”

  Shieka rubbed her eyes, shaking her head in disbelief. “I swear, I’m going to hit this kid again.”

  Back in Westmore, Draven paced nervously while on the phone with King Percival. “Yes, there were bodies in the cans! Anita managed to save one before they were destroyed, but the Frenchman escaped! What should we do?!”

  On the other end of the line, King Percival’s voice was calm but firm. “What are the kids doing right now?”

  Draven glanced out the window, his fingers drumming anxiously against his thigh. “They’re determined to figure out who the victim in the soup was. They won’t let it go! What should I do?”

  Percival sighed deeply, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his temples. For once, he didn’t think about what Thaddeus might do in this situation; instead, he asked himself what Melanthius would do. After a long pause, he spoke with quiet resolve.

  “Help them. Identify the victim, return the ring to his family—if he had one—and bring the Frenchman and his boss to justice.”

  Draven paused, the weight of the command settling on his shoulders before a small, determined smile crept onto his face. “Understood, Your Majesty. I won’t let you down.”

  With that, he hung up the phone, his resolve firm as he turned his focus back to the mission ahead.

  In the dimly lit restaurant, Bimoth examined the can closely, his brow furrowed. “The soup was shipped from Fayhall. Fayhall… what’s in Fayhall?”

  Anita, nervously nibbling on her fingernails, muttered under her breath. “Fayhall… Fayhall… why does that sound familiar?”

  Bimoth arched an eyebrow and glanced at her. “And why would you know what’s in Fayhall?” he asked pointedly.

  Anita froze, caught off guard. “Oh, I, uh…” she stammered, fumbling for an excuse.

  Before she could come up with anything, Arid groaned loudly and crossed his arms, stepping onto three stacked chairs to match Bimoth’s towering height. “Why does it even matter to you? Because when everything goes south, you’re just going to bolt like you always do.” His tone was sharp, cutting through Anita’s flustered attempt to respond.

  Meanwhile, Cassius leaned back in the corner, stretching lazily. “So, Fayhall, huh?” he mused, his voice calm but focused. Without warning, he dropped into a sprinter’s stance, ready to take off.

  “Uhh… what is he about to do?” Anita asked, her wide eyes darting between him and the others.

  Bimoth and Arid both shrugged, completely unfazed.

  Cassius didn’t wait for further questions. In a blur, he dashed out of the restaurant at breakneck speed, leaving nothing but a gust of wind in his wake.

  “Jeez!” Bimoth yelled, shielding his face as the sudden gust from Cassius’s sprint knocked over a few chairs. “Where the hell is he going?!” Arid asked, frustration evident in his voice.

  Draven strode out of the restaurant, spinning his winged sword casually before sliding it back into its hilt. “To find out who the ring belongs to. But first, he’s tracking down Toby,” he said firmly. “I’ll help you retrieve the ring, but the moment we’re done, we’re heading back to school. No arguments, got it?” His piercing gaze swept over them.

  Arid and Anita nodded obediently, while Bimoth flopped onto the floor, still managing to match their height despite sitting. “All we need to do is track the serial number on the can,” he said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “But that might be a bust if they’ve already realized we’re onto them. They’d switch the shipments or reroute everything by now.”

  Arid groaned, rubbing his eyes. “Great, so we’ve got nothing.”

  Meanwhile, in the Fayhall kitchen…

  The Chef loomed over Toby, his face twisted with barely-contained fury. “Is it done?”

  Toby nodded nervously, his hands trembling. “Yes, Chef. I destroyed all the cans.”

  Without warning, the Chef’s fist struck him hard across the jaw. Toby stumbled, clutching his face in shock. “Then why is there some boy asking for someone named Toby Kaur right here in Fayhall?!” the Chef roared.

  Toby’s eyes widened in panic. “What? That’s impossible! I destroyed everything! How could they track me?!”

  The Chef let out a guttural groan, pacing back and forth. “I don’t care how! I want you to handle the boy. Personally. And send the Salad Troop to deal with the others at the restaurant. If they get their hands on any more evidence…” He didn’t finish the sentence, his heavy breathing punctuating the silence instead.

  “Yes, Chef,” Toby muttered, bowing low before running out of the kitchen.

  The Chef leaned heavily on the counter, wiping sweat from his brow. His fingers drummed anxiously against the steel surface. “He’d better hurry,” he muttered to himself, his voice tinged with desperation. “I’m running out of time.”

  Inside Mel’s book…

  Mel was walking on the ceiling while Shieka strolled on the floor, both moving as if gravity had no meaning here. “So then I was all like, ‘Wait, the Jester and Professor Estron are the same person?!’ But that doesn’t make sense because Estron said he’s been at the school for years. My theory is the Jester was some kind of spirit and—”

  Shieka growled, cutting him off. “Mel, I was there. Remember? I’m part of your spirit. I saw all of it.”

  “Oh, right.” He scratched his head sheepishly, but his train of thought was already back on track. “Anyway, Draven split him in half eventually, which was super cool!”

  Shieka groaned loudly, her patience clearly wearing thin. “Yes, I know. I was literally inside you when it happened.”

  Mel ignored her annoyance and began humming to himself. He reached out to grab a floating bowl of s’mores ice cream that materialized beside him. “By the way, the ice cream here is incredible. I’ve been eating it nonstop—”

  “Yeah, I can tell,” Shieka snapped. “Your spirit is littered with junk food. Maybe slow down before your real body can’t handle it.”

  Mel paused, patting his stomach with a frown. “I have been feeling a little heavier in the real world lately…” His expression suddenly changed, eyes wide with realization. “Weight. Weight. WEIGHT!” he shouted, slapping himself hard across the face.

  Shieka sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “We really need to get you out of here before you completely lose it.”

  “How do we get out of here?” Mel asked, his voice tinged with desperation.

  Shieka ran her hands along the strange walls, her expression unreadable. “According to the rules of reliant immortality, you’re supposed to come back on your own. So just… do it.”

  Mel swallowed hard, nodding. “Okay.” He tensed his body, straining with effort, but nothing happened.

  “Anytime now,” Shieka said dryly, stretching her limbs as if preparing for action.

  Mel tried again, gritting his teeth, but still, nothing changed.

  “To come back, you have to want to come back,” Shieka explained, her tone sharper this time.

  Mel exhaled heavily, lowering his head. The more he tried to will himself back, the less progress he seemed to make.

  Shieka’s patience snapped. She grabbed him by the collar, yanking him closer. “What is it? You don’t want to go back?! Is that it?”

  Mel’s eyes widened at her words. Suddenly, he shoved her arm away and bolted, his footsteps echoing in the strange space.

  “This damn kid!” Shieka growled, baring her teeth. Without hesitation, she sprinted after him.