The ground quaked beneath Nakali's rising fury, his colossal form splitting the frost-layered marble tiles with every motion.
A roar tore from his chest—no mere sound, but a seismic cry of wrath that rippled across the dimension like a collapsing glacier.
Enchanted chains coiled up his arms, ancient symbols burning molten red, and in a blinding instant, he unleashed a storm—an avalanche of cursed frost and soul-scorching flame aimed straight at Jack.
And yet...
Jack didn't flinch.
He stood motionless, one hand buried in his pocket, his presence devouring the storm like a void swallowing light.
The throne room disappeared beneath the chaos—ice daggers flew like razors, waves of heat shattered columns, magical pressure cracked the sky.
A blizzard of destruction erupted.
Then—
Stillness.
As the smoke cleared, only one figure remained—untouched. Unmoved.
Jack.
His cloak fluttered gently in the aftermath, no tear, no scratch. His head tilted slightly, crimson eyes glowing with quiet disappointment, like a god unimpressed by mortal tantrums.
"...Done?"
The question wasn't mocking. It was apathetic. Hollow.
Nakali's eyes widened in disbelief. "Impossible..."
But before thought could become reaction—
BOOM.
His right arm detonated. A perfect hole seared through it, cauterized instantly. Blood never even had time to drip. Nakali screamed in shock, not pain.
Jack now hovered behind him, standing atop air itself like a grim phantom. No sound. No teleportation. He simply... was there.
"Too slow" Jack said softly.
In rage, Nakali hurled himself upward, summoning his war axe in midair—a monstrosity of runed steel and frostfire, ancient power erupting from its edge.
With a cry that split the heavens, he brought it down, aiming to cleave Jack—and the sky—with a single strike.
Jack raised one finger.
The axe halted. Mid-swing. Mid-death. Frozen. Not by sorcery—by pressure.
Nakali's eyes shook. His grip trembled.
The axe cracked. Shattered.
Turned to glimmering dust.
Jack exhaled quietly.
And tapped his foot.
The chamber cracked beneath the pressure—walls screamed, frost split like shattered glass, and the ancient throne disintegrated into bone dust.
Nakali's massive body was launched like debris, crashing through four towering ice pillars before embedding into the far wall, the impact leaving a crater that bled cold mist.
He choked, blood spilling from his mouth, staining the snow beneath him.
Jack descended slowly. Silent. Weightless.
Not triumphant. Not cruel.
Just inevitable.
Nakali rose again—shaking, bones grinding—but his spirit refused to die.
His eyes blazed with rage and desperation as he roared, invoking a forbidden spell. Ancient runes ignited in a hellish spiral.
Demonic forms howled around him, coiling like starved spirits, promising annihilation.
He lunged.
Jack stepped forward—just once.
Time stopped.
Reality folded.
The runes died.
The spirits vanished.
The realm itself froze.
Then—silence.
A clean, perfect X bloomed across Nakali's chest. He staggered, breath caught halfway between life and oblivion. Energy hissed from the wound like a leaking soul.
Jack's voice, barely audible, more like a thought than sound, slipped into the frozen air:
"You're not worthy."
Nakali's body collapsed—silent. Final.
Jack didn't turn. Didn't watch.
He walked forward, his boots leaving no mark on the frost, his presence eating away at the realm behind him.
The grand hall crumbled, towers fell inward, and the sky split as if reality itself rejected the battle's outcome.
The 67th Floor—the Cold Abyss—began to collapse.
Swallowed by his aura.
Consumed by presence.
Devoured by a man no longer bound by mortality.
And Jack never looked back.
The scene opened with the gentle amber glow of twilight seeping into a small, quiet home.
Jasmine, weary from the grind of another long day, had just settled down, chopsticks in hand, a simple bowl of rice steaming before her. Peace, at last.
Ding-dong.
She groaned, dragging herself to the door with the defeated sigh of someone who'd had enough for one day. "Yeah, yeah... coming..."
She opened it just a sliver—just enough to see. And then, she froze.
A girl stood at the threshold. Younger. Calm. Composed. But her eyes—sharp, calculating, ancient—pierced through Jasmine's soul like quiet daggers.
"I'm Iris" the girl said plainly, voice unwavering. "I need to talk to you. It's important."
Jasmine blinked, deadpan. "Yeah? So is dinner." Her voice carried dry sarcasm as she moved to shut the door. "Coffee shop. Tomorrow. I'm beat."
But then came the words that cut through her like a blade.
"It's about Jack."
Jasmine stopped. Her fingers tightened on the doorframe.
Her expression shifted—still hard, but now cracked by something deeper. Confusion. Shock. Pain.
She opened the door fully. "...Come in."
They sat across from each other in the small living room, shadows dancing on the walls as silence filled the space—not hostile, but heavy. Measured.
Jasmine finally broke it. "Where do you know him from?"
Iris hesitated. Just for a breath. Then—
"He was like a brother to me... three hundred years ago."
Clink.
Jasmine's spoon slipped from her fingers. Her eyes narrowed, not out of disbelief, but calculation. "What did you just say?"
"You heard me" Iris replied softly. "I'm... not exactly human anymore."
"You're immortal?" Jasmine leaned back, stunned. Then scoffed. "No way!. You're creepy."
For the first time in years, Iris laughed. Lightly. Honestly. "Yeah... I get that a lot."
Silence again. But this time, it lingered with quiet intrigue.
Then, gently, Iris reached out. Her hand found Jasmine's.
Not for comfort. Not for power.
But for connection.
Something ancient... meeting something real.
Two threads in Jack's long-forgotten tapestry. Finally woven close.
"I wanna know something..." Iris murmured, her gaze narrowing with quiet mischief. A smirk tugged at the corner of her lips, playful but observant.
Jasmine, still lounging on the floor, blinked at her. "Huh? What is it?" she asked, tilting her head slightly, her earlier wariness lowered after their strange, unexpected connection.
Iris leaned in just a little, voice airy but direct.
"Are you his girlfriend?"
The question landed like a thunderclap in a calm sky.
Jasmine's entire body jolted. "A-AHH—WHAT?!" she stammered, launching to her feet in a full-blown panic.
Her face flushed instantly—deep crimson blooming from her cheeks to her ears. "N-No! Are you crazy?! We're just—just... good friends!"
Her voice cracked near the end, the words tripping over themselves like they weren't used to running that fast.
Iris rested her chin on her palm, eyes glinting with quiet amusement.
"Hmm.. okay." She let the pause linger, then struck again, gentler this time.
"But... do you like him?"
Jasmine stiffened. Her hands tugged instinctively at the cuffs of her sleeves, face turned to the side as if avoiding an arrow.
But the small smile that crept onto her lips betrayed everything.
"Y-You're so annoying" she mumbled, flustered beyond recovery. "Can we talk about what actually matters now?"
But her voice had softened. Her shoulders relaxed, just slightly.
And in her eyes—half-averted, still glowing from embarrassment—there was something fragile. Something tender.
Something Iris had seen before.
She didn't press further.
She didn't need to.
Because now, she knew.
Iris suddenly burst into laughter — not the sarcastic kind, not guarded — but genuine, warm, and completely unfiltered. It erupted from her chest like sunlight cracking through a storm.
Jasmine blinked, stunned. Her face still glowing scarlet.
"W-Why are you laughing?!" she stammered, flailing slightly as she tried to cover her cheeks. "H-Hey! Stop that!!"
The more flustered she got, the louder Iris laughed.
Now doubled over, Iris clutched her stomach, tears forming at the corners of her eyes.
"S-Sorry!" she managed between wheezes, "It's just— you're way too easy to read!"
Jasmine puffed her cheeks in frustration, then grabbed the nearest pillow and swung it at Iris with a soft pomf.
"Ugh! You're impossible!" she whined, voice half-defensive, half-laughing herself now.
For a moment — just a moment — the tension of gods, monsters, and lost time melted away.
Two girls, two souls battered by chaos, found comfort in the simplest thing: shared laughter.
The scene slowed, softened.
Light spilled gently through the window. The room was bathed in golden orange, like the world outside had stopped to let them breathe.
The camera pulled back slowly. Their figures grew smaller, framed by the soft hum of domestic quiet.
No music. Just the echo of laughter.
Then...
Fade to black.
A still moment.
A pause in the storm.