8:17 a.m. — Peace Is a Lie
The day had barely started, and somehow, the atmosphere was exactly the same as yesterday.
Spirit and Bug — the two most dedicated agents of nonsense in existence — were already mid-argument over something truly, magnificently stupid.
Bug: "I'm telling you, a spoon can be considered a small shield if you think about it."
Spirit: "It's called cutlery, not armor, idiot."
Bug: "You're just jealous because you don't have hands."
Spirit: "I have telekinesis, you glorified bug lamp!"
The narrator sighed, voice dripping with sarcasm.
Truly, a pair of scholars. Harvard would kill for them.
Meanwhile, Ember was staring blankly into her mug again, still halfway through her existential crisis. She stirred her coffee slowly — not because it needed stirring, but because doing nothing while pretending to do something was her coping mechanism.
Look at her, the narrator whispered. Thinking deep thoughts. Totally not panicking about life choices, emotions, or the fact she cuddled a shadow demon last night.
Ember squinted suspiciously upward. "Stop narrating my thoughts."
No promises.
🌑 Nyxar and the Quiet Experiment
While the house buzzed with pointless chaos, Nyxar — the only functional being in this circus — silently slipped into the shadows and left.
No one noticed.
Not the floating mouth and flashlight duo still arguing over spoons.
Not Ember, currently trying to spiritually outstare a muffin.
Just him. Quiet. Focused.
He stopped in the clearing behind the house. The air shimmered faintly as his grimoire opened midair beside him, its pages glowing.
"Summon: Bella."
The familiar burst of shadow energy rippled across the grass, and there she was — Bella, the Bell Beast, towering and proud.
"Normal," Nyxar muttered. Then he snapped his fingers, and she vanished in a burst of black mist.
He opened his grimoire. What now? he wrote.
The book flipped, glowed, and answered:
Grimoire: ¯\(ツ)/¯ Try imagining them smaller, maybe? I'm a book, not a therapist.
Nyxar stared at the text, face still blank, but you could feel the dissatisfaction radiating off him like a sigh from hell itself.
Still, he obeyed.
🦌 Baby Bella and the Birth of Cute Chaos
He closed his eyes, imagined Bella smaller — smaller — small enough to fit in his arms.
The shadow mist coiled again.
And then—
Poof.
A tiny version of Bella appeared, now the size of a puppy, with miniature horns and impossibly fluffy fur. Her massive, majestic eyes blinked once before she made a confused, squeaky bleat.
Nyxar blinked. Then he crouched, picked her up, and gently rubbed her belly.
Tiny Bella kicked her legs and squealed in joy.
The narrator, in stunned disbelief: …is that… a smile? On Nyxar's face?
It wasn't much — barely a soft curve — but for someone who looked like a murder statue, it was basically a full grin.
🐻 The Mini Army of Doom
Encouraged, Nyxar kept going.
He summoned his two steel bears — now palm-sized, adorable murder plushies — followed by three mantises and the deer again, all scaled down to puppy size.
They stood in the grass, confused but undeniably cute, twitching, squeaking, clinking, and fluttering in their miniature forms.
The mantises tried to spar with each other but only succeeded in falling over.
One of the bears attempted to roar — it came out as a squeak.
For once, Nyxar looked content. The chaos-bringer of shadows, surrounded by a pocket-sized zoo of deadly things.
The narrator: Behold: the apocalypse, now fun-sized.
Satisfied, he dismissed them one by one.
Then, because apparently self-preservation isn't a concept he recognizes, he tried the opposite.
💥 The Dumbest Experiment of the Morning
"Summon: Bella."
Only this time, he imagined her bigger.
The ground shook.
A shadow exploded outward.
And there she was — Bella, towering over the trees, ten meters tall and twelve meters long. Her claws dug into the soil, her body humming with dark energy.
For three whole seconds, Nyxar admired the view.
Then his body convulsed.
He fell to one knee, choking — then coughing — then vomiting dark blood. Or ink. Honestly, it was hard to tell. The narrator wisely refused to pick a side.
He coughed so much you'd think he was trying to evacuate his heart.
The book flared red and shut itself. Bug's form flickered back at the house.
🩸 "What the Hell Did You Do Now?!"
Bug immediately darted out, finding Nyxar collapsed in the grass, still coughing up black sludge.
"Bro—what the hell did you do now?!" Bug yelled, flying over to hold his hair back like a panicking mom at a frat party. "There's no fight, no danger, nothing — and you're over here throwing up liquid nightmare?"
Ember and Spirit rushed out after him, both freezing at the sight.
Ember's eyes widened — actual fear flashing across her face. "What happened?! Is he okay?!"
Bug grimaced. "Yeah, he's fine. Probably. Just… did something stupid again."
Spirit blinked. "Stupid how?"
Bug sighed, rubbing his face. "Like one of his 'stress tests.'"
Ember's tone sharpened. "I will not accept that vague description."
The flames flickered along the wall behind her, reacting to her anger. The air rippled faintly, heat curling around her shoulders.
The narrator whispered, Oh, she mad mad. Foreshadowing alert.
Bug stammered. "Okay okay okay — look, I don't fully get it, but it's something with his… magical power. When he uses too much too fast — summoning, desummoning, back and forth — he starts breaking himself apart. Literally."
Spirit frowned. "Breaking how?"
Bug pointed at Nyxar's collapsed body, pale and limp. "That. The coughing blood, the blackout — that's him overloading his own magical core. It's like… mana burnout. But worse. Like his power eats him from the inside."
Ember's voice dropped, quiet but heavy. "So… you mean mana?"
Bug hesitated. "I guess. Whatever you humans call it. He burns it too fast — too much — and it burns back."
They all looked at Nyxar, sprawled motionless on the grass, the dark stain of blood beneath him slowly fading into shadow.
Ember's fists clenched, her jaw trembling.
The narrator, softer now: And just like that, for the first time, Ember realized — the strongest person in the room wasn't untouchable.