Day in the story: 11th December (Thursday)

The plan was simple. Then a few small things went wrong, nothing major on their own, but they piled up fast and now? Now we were in deep shit.

"Help me out here!" I shouted, fumbling to draw in my Grimoire while Peter held Ella steady in her shield form. Unfortunately, the rain hitting her had a serious case of lead poisoning. Bullets zipped around us, fired from the assault rifles of the oh-so-friendly guards.

Ah yes. The guards.

There were guards, because the exit we'd spotted was a massive gate, about forty feet tall, made of glass set in a steel frame. Beyond it, a bridge stretched toward another building. It was strung with Chinese lanterns, embroidered banners and even a few hut-like structures that looked ripped straight from some ancient, idealized village. Definitely Chinatown. We were close now. Right direction, wrong reception.

Right in front of that gate, of course, sat a well-manned guard post. A squad of Asian warriors stood alert in traditional armor, their weapons anything but uniform. Some had swords, others spears, a few with bows. But plenty were packing heat, modern-day machine guns slung beside their old-school steel. Towering above them all was a giant terracotta warrior. One of those classic Xi'an statues, except this one moved. It marched back and forth like a sentry out of myth, its stone gaze sweeping the area with unsettling precision.

We'd spotted them in time and kept low, hidden among thick trees and brush, but that didn't last. A happenstance upon the other. And here I was, dodging bullets behind painted shield.

"Correct me if I'm wrong," Nick shouted over the gunfire, "but you can paint that bridge from here and portal us in, right?"

He wasn't wrong. I nodded sharply and yanked open the Travel Grimoire, fingers already flying. My mask's enhanced vision gave me every detail. It was just a matter of capturing it and using my power.

That was a good minute ago, though. Because as soon as I reached for my first watercolor pen, the day decided it was time to defecate all over us and turn our relatively good mood a few shades more sour.

I think I mentioned once that coincidences mostly lead to trouble, right?

Oh yeah. This was that.

It was a mouse. A computer mouse, to be precise, one that moved and behaved like a real one, with a frayed cord for a tail. Kind of cute, honestly. But unfortunately, much louder when accidentally crushed under the boot of a man in a reinforced suit who forgot he was boosting his strength. It shrieked like a banshee on fire.

That lovely sound earned us a glance from one of the guards. Just a glance. He looked up, blinked, frowned and turned back to his post.

We could've gotten away with it.

A guard true to his station, one that did not care to get into trouble, unless it got into him first with all of its impact.

Unfortunately for both him and us, the impact was still yet to come.

I kept painting. The boys knelt in a protective triangle around me, alert, ready for anything.

What we weren't ready for was the second act.

Not one mouse, but a dozen came stampeding from the brush behind us, squeaking and scrambling like something had lit them on fire.

Nick turned to see what spooked them.

I didn't bother. I already knew it wouldn't be that simple.

The guards decided to use the stampede for target practice. Unfortunately, a few bullets didn't care for clean aim and went wild, one of them struck Malik, who hissed in pain.

And if that hiss could've been mistaken for anything but human, we might still have had a chance.

Then came the real punchline.

Something exploded out of the jungle.

A jaguar.

A jaguar made of car parts, its sinew sculpted from fenders and exhaust, claws like scrap daggers. It moved like a nightmare fueled by torque and oil and before Nick could react, it had him by the collar in its jaws.

The thing dragged him across the ground toward the guard post.

That's when the guards finally dropped all pretense and opened fire in earnest.

I stopped drawing, snapped authority into Ella and tossed her to Peter without a word.

And now?

Now, as I said, we were in deep shit.

The jaguar, seeing the guards approaching, apparently decided we weren't worth the effort. It dropped Nick on the ground, bleeding from the neck, a clean tear through the aorta and disappeared back into the brush. Fortunately for us, Nick's body doesn't really do dying. As soon as the metal beast was gone, his hands flew to his throat and the healing kicked in.

Unfortunately, the guards didn't take the hint to let us go. They decided it was time to investigate just who the jungle had spit out at their gate.

Malik dashed to help Nick, bullets and arrows flying past him like angry bees. He projected a trail of echoes, mirages of his past steps, zigzagging behind him to throw off the enemy's aim.

"I think we ought to join them, Lex," Peter said. "We're way past the point where you can finish your portal."

He was obviously right.

"Sneak around," I told him. "Head for the wall, you can scale it easy in that suit." He nodded, dropped Ella at my feet and vanished into the brush.

I grabbed Ella, stripped her Authority and sheathed her again. Then I hurled a few eye-cards in an arc, scattering them across the field like breadcrumbs. I bolted toward Malik and Nick.

Nick knelt with both hands pressed tight against his throat, skin already knitting back together.

There were way more guards than we expected. Two dozen, at least. All of them had stopped shooting, only because they were now running directly at us, weapons drawn. The terracotta giant lumbered behind them, slow but terrifying, like a mountain on legs.

I dropped behind the cover Malik had thrown up for us and checked on Nick.

"You painted it?" he asked between wet, gurgling breaths.

"No. No time."

He nodded grimly.

"We fight then?"

"Let me try diplomacy first," I offered.

That got surprised looks from both him and Malik.

I stood up.

"Hey guys!" I shouted at the oncoming guards.

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They actually paused.

"We come in peace!"

They blinked at each other.

Then resumed sprinting toward us like it was Black Friday and we were the last two flat-screens in the store.

"Fine!" I yelled. "You can rest in it, then!"

Not my best line, but it made me feel better.

"You two take the guards," I told them. "I'll deal with the giant."

They nodded and without another word, the three of us split up, scattering to spread their forces thin.

While the boys split and drew off chunks of the enemy force, I sprinted straight into the chaos ahead. The first guard that crossed my path swung low with a sword, but I dropped to a slide and slipped under the arc, sparks trailing off my boots as I reached for my Travel Grimoire.

I grabbed his leg mid-slide.

Send him to the Old Oak's clearing, I thought.

He vanished, no resistance, no flash, no scream. Just gone.

A simple shadow, then. No Authority.

"They have no Authority!" I shouted back.

I sprung up with a jump-kick, launching off the chest of the next poor bastard. He flew backward and I tagged him mid-air, gone in an instant, warped to the same tranquil forest clearing.

I landed hard and just in time, makeshift claws formed over my hand as I blocked a spear thrust with my right and a sword slash with my left. Both hit with solid force.

The spear cracked. I countered by slashing its tip clean off and immediately followed by flinging a card like a blade from my left hand. It spun toward the spearman's face with surgical precision. The edge caught him clean, split right through and didn't stop there. It embedded in the shadow behind him, slicing both down before it lost momentum and clattered to the ground.

Another came from the side, I ducked beneath a wild swing and ripped a line across his ribs with a diagonal slash.

That was enough.

They backed off, retreating in unison, like puppets yanked on a single string.

And then came the heavy steps.

The terracotta soldier, towering, deliberate, inevitable, stepped forward through the scattering shadows. It moved like a monument waking up, slow but unstoppable.

I sprinted toward the giant, straight for its leg, taller than I was by a head or more. I slapped my palm to it and tried to warp him away, just like the guards. Old Oak's clearing, I thought,

Nothing.

The portal failed. Rejected.

Authority.

It wasn't just magical resistance, it was anchored, grounded. A type of Authority tied to earth, concrete, stone… rooted in place like a mountain. Great.

I punched him hard, no dent, not even a scuff and jumped back just in time to dodge a retaliatory swing. His sword? Twice as tall as me and thick like a streetlight pole. It whistled past with force enough to slice a tree in half.

I grabbed a fire card, infused it with steel and flame and hurled it at his leg. It bounced. Didn't even leave a mark. I stripped the Authority out of it mid-air, before it hit the ground uselessly.

Another wide slash came, diagonal and deadly. I sidestepped, leapt onto the hilt as it passed and sprinted up his arm like a tightrope. I slashed at his eye with my clawed hand—still, nothing. No chip. No crack. Just that same impassive ceramic stare.

He started to swipe at me with his free hand I could see it coming thanks to the eyes I'd scattered across the battlefield, so I jumped higher, flipping off his head. As I soared, I let fly a spread of sound cards, willing them to scream.

They bounced off too.

As I landed behind him, I made a quick survey of the chaos:

Malik was tearing through his group like a storm, projecting a phantom army of himself, clones, echoes, mirrored fragments of punches, jabs, kicks. They followed the motions of his real body like a dance, delayed by a beat but landing with full, devastating force. Shadows collapsed under the onslaught, bent, broken, tossed aside.

He'd taken a few cuts, slices of crimson blooming on his hoodie, but nothing serious yet. One shadow even managed to unload a point-blank machine gun burst at him. Every bullet was intercepted mid-air, by the echo of Malik's grinning face in gleaming hues of violet and gold.

Annoying? Yeah. But damn, he had style.

Nick, on the other hand was pure, raw destruction.

His body shifted mid-motion, sprouting fishbone thorns at every spot he predicted an attack. Blades caught on them and twisted, disarmed. Then came the counters: bone-crunching punches wrapped in salt-encrusted rock, like a wrecking ball made of coral reef.

He wasn't flashy. He didn't need to be. He ended fights, one punch at a time. No one stayed standing around him for long.

Peter was cleaning up near the gate. Four guards had stayed back and he was taking them out one by one, pulling off a perfect Spider-Man meets BJJ routine. Drop from above, wrap the neck, tighten, drop the body, vanish again.

Choke, drop, repeat.

By the time I looked again, all four were unconscious. He was already moving toward the gate, hands working over whatever locking mechanism held it shut.

Meanwhile, I still had a giant invincible statue to deal with.

Perfect.

I kept circling the terracotta giant, forcing it to follow my movement. It lashed out from time to time, slow and heavy swings, but nothing I couldn't dance around. No real danger to me, not at this speed.

I grabbed Ella, let my Authority surge through her and went for a solid strike to the leg, ducking just in time as his stone-carved fist smashed down behind me.

Nothing.

Not even a chip.

Fine. If none of my tools worked on this guy, then I'd burn him with magic alone.

I sheathed Ella again and swapped to my spray cans.

I sprinted toward his right leg, my target and sprayed a blue outline, one that would become fire once fully formed. He tried to stomp me with that same leg, but I was already gone, flipping out of the way just before he followed up with a wide, horizontal sword swing.

I caught the flat of the blade mid-air, ran along its surface like a narrow platform and launched off the far edge to reposition.

He turned to track me, slamming his fist into the ground with a boom that shook the earth—and that's when I saw it: a flicker of brown and grey light, pulsing out from his body and sinking into the dirt.

Not good.

He had magic of his own. Ground-based Authority, some kind of seismic or terrain-binding spell.

I dodged another swing, fast and low, sliding under the arc and rolling back to his leg again. I sprayed more of the blue flames, my paint forming tongues of fire across the ceramic surface, dancing around him like my own feet were catching it.

He swung and I jumped again.

Peter was still working on the gate, doing his best to unlock or override it. There were figures gathering on the other side, watching him. Not attacking. They didn't seem hostile, just curious. Normal shadows. Observers, not soldiers.

But I couldn't count on them staying passive for long.

The mural on the leg was almost finished.

Just a few more seconds.

Nick was still deep in the fight, crushing his way forward, but Malik had already wrapped up and was sprinting toward me.

I swear, if he gloats, I'm throwing a card at his teeth.

I ducked low, just barely avoiding another massive swipe followed by a stone-shattering punch. Was he getting faster? Or was I just getting tired?

No time to debate it. I switched cans, white and yellow this time. Needed those tongues of fire to glow, to give the whole design depth, weight, danger. I sprayed fast and loose, again, no time for stencils. Who'd use stencils mid-battle? Insane people, that's who.

The terracotta giant shifted again. He tried to kick me with the other leg and simultaneously swiped diagonally at Malik. Malik blocked the sword with a shimmering echo, gold and purple light crackling into form, but the moment it made contact, the echo was obliterated, erased like chalk in a storm.

He didn't even flinch. Didn't see it.

Focused entirely on the target in front of him, Malik ducked under the statue's legs and repeated his assault. Kicks. Punches. A perfect choreography. His past movements erupted around the giant, golden fists and purple elbows flashing through the air like vengeful spirits.

They hit. They landed.

But even with all that magic behind them, they barely made the slightest impact. Not even a crack.

The thing was indestructible.

Nick was heading over now too, covered in blood and bone, his arms bristling with salt-crusted bone spikes. I could hear the crunch of his feet through the wreckage of fallen shadows.

Almost done.

Just a few more sprays, a few more lines.

Then the painting would be complete.

"Let us distract this thing now!" Nick shouted. "Go make an exit for us, help Peter!"

Too late, I was already done with the mural. I touched the painting on the giant's leg, my fingers pressing into the blue flames I had just laid down and I poured every ounce of destructive intent I had into it. Become the inferno.

I felt the opposition immediately, his Authority was thick and weighty, the kind that roots things, ties them to earth and permanence. But that had nothing to do with the kind of art I used, this wasn't structural, it was identity and this identity burns.

The painting shimmered, the fire catching not with heat, but with meaning. A sound like roaring flame echoed out and light spilled up his leg as the image ignited on a metaphysical level.

But… he didn't even flinch.

Sure, he burned now. He glowed hotter than before. But the giant moved with the same cold, relentless determination. Unshaken. Unbothered.

"Go!" Nick shouted again, landing a heavy punch into its side.

I hesitated. I saw more than they did, I could feel it, the danger, the scale of the thing. It could still hit them. But we weren't even scratching it. Yet I trusted Nick.

I ran, toward Peter, toward the gate, hoping he had found something, anything,

And that's when everything broke.

The giant dropped his sword.

Just… let it fall. Metal and clay cracked against the ground with a dull, massive sound.

He ignored the boys. Ignored everything.

He pressed both palms flat to the concrete.

And magic happened.

The concrete in front of me rose like a wave. An unnatural swell, pushed up from below. Shadowlight surged from his body, fractals of brown and grey unfolded out of him like veins through reality, crawling out across the floor and wrapping outward.

The wave crested and closed in, moving not like matter, but like intention.

And then,—I saw it perfectly, as all of my eye-cards were left outside—the dome.

The concrete slammed shut over us, folding into a smooth, seamless shell.

A prison.

No doors. No cracks. No way out.

Only the heavy, humming glow of his brown and grey shadowlight, pulsing dimly from the inside of the walls like the heartbeat of a crystal core.

We were sealed in, with indestructible guardian.

A perfect death trap.

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