In the dimly lit restaurant, Draven held his phone up, projecting a hologram of their destination. “This is the place?” he asked, eyeing the run-down building on the display.

  The group stared at it skeptically. “Bad guys are either smart enough to stay hidden or dumb enough to hide in plain sight,” Anita said, leaning closer to examine the hologram.

  Bimoth tilted his head, looking at her curiously. “You know, you look really familiar,” he said, scratching his chin.

  Anita’s face stiffened, and she quickly looked away. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about. Anyway, all we have to do is get there. Cassius ran off before we could explain anything, so he’s probably sprinting around like a lunatic.”

  Arid nodded. “Alright, let’s go—”

  Before they could move, the restaurant’s lights flickered and died. The room plunged into darkness as five figures emerged, stepping into the faint glow of the streetlights. They wore aprons splattered with red stains, knives dangling ominously from their belts.

  “The Salad Troop,” Lettuce said, cracking his knuckles. “We can’t let you leave.”

  Draven moved in front of Arid and Anita protectively. “Who the hell are you?” he asked.

  The tallest figure, Onion, pulled out a curved blade, the steel glinting in the shadows. “We’re the Salad Troop: Lettuce, Tomato, Cucumber, Dressing, and me, Onion. We were just supposed to grab that can, but then we saw your tech.” His eyes flicked to Draven’s phone. “Auroria tech. That kingdom’s so reliant on their gadgets, they’ve let magic and skill wither away. Makes this all too easy.”

  Onion raised his knife, and with a sudden movement, launched a blue energy blast straight at Draven. The blast sent him crashing through the restaurant wall, landing hard on the pavement outside.

  “Draven!” Anita shouted, rushing to the broken window.

  Dusting himself off, Draven stood up, patting his chest. “I’m fine,” he said, his voice calm but charged with adrenaline. He smirked, gripping the edges of his shirt. “Been a while since I’ve used this.”

  With a sharp tug, he ripped his shirt off, revealing a shimmering layer of high-tech scales beneath. Tapping his chest, the scales shifted and locked into place, forming a sleek, cutting-edge suit of armor.

  Onion dashed at him with lightning speed, but Draven met him head-on, grabbing his shoulders and skidding backward from the impact. The force of Onion’s strength left cracks in the ground, but Draven’s grin didn’t falter.

  In one fluid motion, Draven flipped over Onion and slammed him into the dirt, shaking the ground. Onion twisted free and yanked Draven into an arm bar, locking his joints. For a brief moment, Draven froze, a memory flashing in his mind: his first fight with Mel, who had pinned him in the exact same way.

  This time, he reacted differently. With a sharp growl, Draven lifted Onion’s entire body off the ground and slammed him into a nearby boulder, shattering it into rubble. Onion lay motionless, unconscious.

  Draven stepped back, his grin widening as he scanned the remaining members of the Salad Troop. “One down. Who’s next?” His voice echoed with a mix of confidence and thrill, his fighting spirit fully ignited.

  Tomato darted toward Anita, but Arid quickly conjured a dense, grassy root wall, the vines weaving together to form an impenetrable shield. “Stay behind me!” he shouted.

  Outside the barrier, Bimoth intercepted Tomato, grabbing him by the leg with one massive hand. With a swift motion, he hurled Tomato into the other members of the Salad Troop like a ragdoll.

  Dressing charged in next, but Bimoth didn’t hesitate. He backhanded him with enough force to slam him into the ground, leaving a small crater beneath his body.

  Cucumber sprinted toward Bimoth, but the towering figure let out a roar and stomped the ground with thunderous force. The impact sent Cucumber flying into the air. Bimoth didn’t miss a beat—he stepped forward and delivered a palm strike to Cucumber’s face, sending him spiraling back down to the ground with a groan of pain.

  Lettuce was the last to attack, brandishing two knives with a wild look in his eyes. He slashed at Bimoth, but Bimoth caught his wrist mid-swing and drove his face into the nearby window with a sickening crash. Not done, Bimoth elbowed him deeper into the wall, punched him back out, then slammed another elbow into his head, leaving Lettuce slumped and unconscious.

  Draven stood nearby, staring in stunned silence, his face a mix of confusion and awe. He tapped his chest, and his armor scales retracted back to their normal state. “Well, I guess no one’s next after all,” he muttered, kicking an empty can on the ground in disappointment.

  Bimoth turned back to Arid’s root wall, effortlessly pushing it aside. He leaned down to meet Arid’s gaze with a smug grin. “How’s that for bolting?” he said, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

  Without waiting for a reply, Bimoth stepped over the shattered window sill, walking past the wreckage of the fight to join Draven outside.

  Cassius continued running, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. “An hour straight, and still no leads. How does nobody know about any missing people?” he thought, frustration mounting. His gaze fell on a decrepit old restaurant at the edge of the woods, its windows grimy and its sign barely legible. He slowed his pace, eyes narrowing. “This has to be my last shot,” he muttered, steeling himself before breaking into a sprint toward the eerie building.

  Suddenly, a glint of silver caught his eye. A knife whizzed through the air, slicing past his face. Pain erupted as it grazed his ear, and Cassius yelled, clutching the now-bleeding wound. His eyes widened when the knife reversed course, flying back toward him as if guided by an invisible force. Cassius ducked just in time, the blade narrowly missing him.

  Emerging from the shadows of the woods, a figure stepped forward: Toby Kaur. He held the knife aloft, spinning it lazily above his hand, the weapon seemingly responding to his commands. “Why didn’t you just go home, kid?” Toby sneered, but then his eyes widened in realization. “Wait a second… Prince Cassius, isn’t it? From the Minotaur Kingdom!” A wicked grin spread across his face. “You know what happens to people who mess with Gluttony Kingdom’s operations? They die.”

  Cassius raised his hand, assuming a fighting stance despite the blood trickling down his ear. His expression hardened. “I’m not here just to get the ring back for some dead guy. I’m here because someone from Astronomer Royal told me Akoni—prince of Astronomer Royal—has ties to the Seven Deadly Kingdoms. And if you’re stuffing bodies into food, you’re definitely part of whatever evil web they’re tangled in!” His voice carried conviction, even if his logic was tenuous.

  Toby chuckled darkly, spinning the knife faster until it became a blur in his hand. “You think you’re a hero? You think that matters? You’re nothing but a cocky brat who stumbled too close to a fire you can’t put out. I’ll make sure you regret every step you took here.” His smirk deepened as he readied his attack.

  Inside Mel’s book, he sprinted through the endless corridors, his eyes darting over the walls lined with haunting images—each one a reflection of his darkest memories. Every step he took brought back flashes of pain: being raised by Goldman, and then being killed by him. The weight of those moments pressed down on him, and as the echoes of his past grew louder, he clamped his hands over his ears, trying to drown it all out. Tears streamed from his hollow, lifeless eyes as he stumbled and hid behind a pile of weapons.

  “Mel!” Shieka’s voice rang out, sharp and desperate, but he ignored her, curling tighter into himself. She followed his trail until she found him trembling and crouched low, his face buried in his hands. “Mel, what is the matter with you?! Don’t you want to come back?!” she shouted, frustration bleeding into her voice.

  He lifted his head, his face a mask of fear and despair. “NO! IT’S SCARY!” he cried out, his voice cracking like a frightened child’s.

  Shieka froze for a moment, taken aback, before groaning and throwing her hands on her hips. “The real world is scary, I know that. But you need to be there!”

  “It’s scary! People are scary! Fighting is scary!” he whimpered, curling back into himself as fresh tears fell.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Shieka’s expression softened as understanding dawned. She sighed heavily and sat on the other side of the weapons, her tone shifting from exasperation to empathy. “I get it, Mel. I know it’s terrifying. Do you think I don’t know fear? My creator made me from the brain of a woman and the body of a spider—that’s horrifying. When we fought, and you decapitated me? That was terrifying. And learning that I can’t die until you figure out your immortality? That’s terrifying.”

  She leaned closer, resting her arm lightly on his. “It’s okay to lose, Mel. It’s okay to have been beaten by Goldman, a king, even to have been executed. But losing because you’re too scared to stand up and fight? That’s not okay. What happened to being the man I know you are?”

  Her words hung in the air, and for a long moment, neither spoke. Slowly, Mel’s trembling subsided. He hesitated, then reached out, his hand shakily finding hers. His grip was weak but meaningful, and a flicker of resolve began to stir in his eyes.

  Mel rubbed his eyes and gave himself a firm slap on each cheek. “I’m fine now,” he muttered, standing up with renewed determination. Shieka rose alongside him, her arms crossed. “I’m sorry you’ve had to suffer because of me,” Mel said earnestly, placing a hand on her tall shoulder. “I promise, I’ll uncover the truth behind my immortality. No matter what.”

  As the pages around them began to dissolve, Mel felt an eerie calm settle over him. His vision faded to black, and when his eyes opened, he was surrounded by darkness and the muffled sensation of water. He instinctively felt the ground beneath him and stood slowly, his legs tingling as if waking from a deep slumber.

  “Melanthius,” Shieka’s voice cut through the silence, startling him. He spun around, immediately falling into a defensive stance.

  “Wait, how can I see you now?” he asked, confused, as his hands moved to touch her arms, her waist, her face.

  “Cut it out!” she snapped, swatting his hands away and baring her teeth in irritation. She even tried to nip at his fingers, but he was quick to pull back.

  “Why are we in water?” she asked, her tone laced with suspicion.

  Mel glanced around at the shimmering, dimly lit expanse. “We must be in Atlantis,” he muttered, more to himself than her.

  Shieka nodded. “You can see me now because I let you. Our connection has deepened,” she explained as she disappeared in a blink, only to reappear a moment later. “Now I can control my physical form.”

  Mel nodded slowly, his hands brushing over his face. It was alive again—no longer the cold, lifeless visage it had been. But something was different. The left side of his face, along with his right arm, was marked by intricate gold and black plating.

  Shieka leaned in and tapped her knuckles against the golden plates on his cheek. “You were so close to becoming one of Goldman’s golden slaves. Honestly, it’s better to have died than to let him make you his statue. That eclipse grasp of yours—your black lightning magic—saved you.”

  Mel raised an eyebrow at the mention. “Eclipse grasp?”

  “It’s the same magic your father used to steal power from others. He had a choice to erase the magic he took or use it himself. Does it feel weird?”

  Mel shook his head, tracing the plated designs on his arm. “No, it’s like a… protective tattoo. I can still feel everything.”

  Shieka glanced down at her own body, admiring her human form with a smug smile. “Well, I look amazing. In fact, I feel amazing.” She ran her hands over her curves with a playful smirk, prompting Mel to clear his throat and avert his eyes, his face flushing red.

  “So,” he stammered, “can anyone else see you?”

  Shieka sighed heavily, her mood souring. “Unfortunately, no. Only you can see this masterpiece.” She groaned and shifted uncomfortably before frowning. “What is this piercing feeling?”

  Before Mel could respond, Shieka yanked a massive sword from her back, the blade nearly grazing his shoulder. “What the hell?!” Mel yelped, stumbling backward as she examined the weapon.

  Shieka didn’t stop there. One by one, she began pulling out weapon after weapon from seemingly nowhere—legendary blades, ornate tonfas, and other treasures.

  “What is happening right now?!” Mel shouted, dropping to his knees in shock.

  Shieka furrowed her brow. “Isn’t this stuff from your book?”

  “Yes!” Mel exclaimed, picking up a sword with reverence. “That’s the Sun Sword! And those are the Raven Tonfas! Why are they with you?”

  Shieka crossed her arms and shot him a withering glare. “Well, I was a collector of legendary weapons before you killed me. Maybe I snagged a few as a souvenir. Sue me!” She tossed another blade to the ground with a huff. “I didn’t think they’d follow me into the real world. Am I some kind of walking inventory now?!”

  Mel ran his hands through his hair, trying to make sense of the chaos. “This… is going to get complicated.”

  “No kidding,” Shieka muttered, holding up another blade with a mix of frustration and fascination. “So, what’s the plan, genius?”

  Back in Fayhall, the scene was bleak. Cassius lay unconscious, his body covered in deep cuts and bruises. Nearby, Toby sat slumped against a crumbling wall, his breaths labored, his body battered almost beyond recognition. Blood dripped from his cracked lips as he muttered weakly, “T-that boy… he almost killed me.”

  The Chef approached him, his steps crunching in the snow. “I destroyed all the cans. Are you alright?”

  Toby nodded weakly, spitting blood into the snow. “I’ll live… barely.” He winced and motioned toward the desolate streets. “Come on, they’ve got nothing on us anymore.”

  “But I do,” a cold, smooth voice echoed from the shadows.

  Both Toby and The Chef froze, their heads snapping toward the sound. Emerging from the darkness, Nomak stepped forward, his diamond-encrusted wand catching the faint moonlight. The sight of him drained the color from their faces.

  “WAIT! NOMAK SIR! I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING!” Toby scrambled to his knees, terror written across his face. “I CAN STILL GET RID OF THOSE KIDS!”

  Nomak twirled the wand between his fingers, a mocking grin tugging at his lips. “If only this were about the kids finding out,” he said casually, using the wand to pick at his teeth. “No, the Queen of Gluttony sent me. She wants you dead. Apparently, you’ve been cutting corners—putting bodies into her product to make some extra cash. Were your pockets not fat enough, Toby?”

  Cassius groaned faintly in the snow, his mind piecing things together. “So… the queen didn’t know about the bodies?”

  The Chef let out a guttural growl.

  Nomak turned to him, his tone cold as ice. “Your name is ‘The Chef,’ but not because you’re a great cook. You were Gluttony’s supplier. Her right hand in this kingdom. And you betrayed her.” Nomak reached out and straightened the buttons on The Chef’s apron, his demeanor calm yet menacing.

  The Chef’s hands clenched into fists. “I needed this business! You have no idea what—”

  Nomak raised his wand to silence him, his sharp glare stopping The Chef mid-sentence. “It’s alright. The more you complain, the more I’m late for my anniversary. And I hate being late.”

  The Chef stepped back, tearing off his apron and tossing it aside. “If you want my life, you’ll have to take it!” he roared, his voice echoing across the snowy battlefield.

  Nomak sighed and readied his wand, his calm facade unshaken. “Fine. If that’s what you want.”

  Moments later…

  The Chef lay sprawled on the ground, his body broken, his breaths shallow and wheezing. Nomak stood over him, wiping the blood off his knuckles onto The Chef’s shirt. His wand rested casually at his side.

  “You showed heart,” Nomak admitted, his voice almost sympathetic. “I don’t like killing people on my anniversary. So, lucky for you, I’m sending you to prison instead.”

  Nomak turned to leave, but Cassius grabbed his ankle, his face pale and desperate. “Sir, please… tell me about the Seven Deadly Kingdoms. Anything!”

  Nomak stopped and glanced down at him, his expression unreadable. He sighed and shook his head. “Tell you? No, I can’t do that while we’re in Wrath. It’s dangerous there.” He began walking again but paused, adding over his shoulder, “But… if you can defeat the King of Wrath, then we’ll talk.”

  Cassius’s grip faltered, and he slumped back into the snow. Nomak disappeared into the darkness, muttering under his breath. “Not that even she could.”

  His thoughts lingered on Leonardo, and then he was gone, leaving Cassius alone in the frozen silence.

  Epilogue of the Soup Body Arc

  The students were unable to identify the owner of the mysterious ring, but their efforts ensured that The Chef, Toby, and all their workers were arrested. Justice had been served, but questions still lingered in the air like the scent of blood and decay.

  Far away, deep within the opulent yet grotesque underbelly of the Gluttony Kingdom, Althara Shadowbane reclined on a velvet chaise in her underground casino. The dimly lit room was filled with the sounds of gluttonous revelry—patrons with bloated forms gorged on decadent meals while throwing dice and spinning wheels, their laughter coarse and hollow.

  Althara swirled a glass of dark wine in her hand, her eyes cold as they surveyed the chaos around her. She lifted her other hand, conjuring a swirling mist of enchanted clouds. From the haze emerged an ethereal image of Anita, her younger sister.

  “So… you’re still alive, aren’t you?” Althara’s voice was low, almost a whisper, her words laced with equal parts venom and longing. Her piercing gaze softened for a brief moment as she reached out to the illusion.

  “I’ve found you, little sister,” she murmured, her voice trembling slightly. A single tear escaped the corner of her eye, trailing down her pale cheek before she wiped it away with a sharp flick of her hand. Her expression hardened once more, and the illusion dissipated into the smoky air.

  In the heart of the Magisterium, Titian sat brooding in his grand chair, the weight of failure pressing down on him. His eyes scanned the group assembled before him, their silence heavy with disappointment. “I know,” he muttered with a growl, “It was a bad plan. Althara didn’t show up, the slippery witch…” His fist slammed against the armrest in frustration, the tension palpable.

  Elsewhere, Nomak returned to his shattered home, the remnants of what was once a proud structure now a reflection of his fractured life. As he stepped through the door, he found Leonardo standing in the doorway of their bedroom, her imposing presence amplified by the diamond-encrusted wand she held—almost identical to his own.

  “You’re late for our anniversary,” she remarked coolly, a glint of mischief in her eyes.

  Nomak’s lips curved into a smirk as he met her gaze. “Come on,” he said, his tone light but affectionate. He pulled her into a tight embrace, the weight of their shared history palpable between them. With a laugh, they moved toward the bedroom, the door closing softly behind them as the world outside seemed to fade into nothing.