The Room of the Cookie table smelled like vanilla and fire.
Walls made of layered wafer bricks creaked softly under the shifting weight of the Egg Tree above. Sugarglass windows let in pale starlight through marshmallow panes. A round cookie table, wide and caramel-edged, stood at the center—its center seat, the largest one.
Celeste sat alone inside it.
Her blue knight armor caught the warm, flickering light of a nearby jelly-lantern. Her scarf—light blue, frayed at the edges—twisted gently as a breeze swept through the ancient roots of their home. Crumbs and dust clung to her boots. She hadn’t taken the armor off in days.
And atop her head, tilted just so, sat her faded blue newsboy hat—the one with two gold stars stitched at the side and soft wing patches on either side. It was old, battered, the brim a little torn—but lucky. She’d worn it since the beginning. Through storms. Through fire. Through the dark.
Celeste reached up and touched it now, briefly, as if to remind herself she was still here.
The Nommipedia sat open in front of her.
A heavy, gold-trimmed book that listed every creature they had ever faced, vanquished, or mourned. Pages bloomed with sketched diagrams and poetic warnings.
Gumdrop Revenants. Taffy Sirens. The Candy Dragon.
She ran her fingers over the names. Softly. As if touching the dead.
Beside her, a half-packed cookie tin rattled as she shifted. Inside it: a stitched plush of Chip, a cracked card from Skye’s deck, a splintered wand from Lumina, a guitar pick carved with lightning bolts. A group photo with frosting smudges.
At the bottom of the tin—an old, crumpled comic convention ticket, marked with a smeared green paw print.
She stared at it for a long time.
Then she reached for a small voice recorder sitting near her tea mug. She picked it up, exhaled—and hit record.
Click.
“…Hey. This is Celeste Astallan. I guess… I guess this could be the last time I get to talk like this.”
Her voice cracked. She wiped at her eye. It only made the tears fall faster.
She stopped the recording. Breathed in. Tried again.
Click. Whirr. Click.
“…This is Celeste Astallan. Flame Ragdoll. Hybrid. Knight Commander of the Knights of Clawdiff. We’re about to head into the final battle. And this time, there’s no next phase. No act two. This is it.”
She reached down and carefully opened her journal. Old. Soft from months of clutching it in fear, in hope.
“I don’t know if I’m ready. But I know they are. They’ve come so far. Ray, Topsy, Pitch, Arcade, Skye, Lumina… Silver…”
Her hand hesitated on the last name.
“…And even Mezzo.”
She smiled sadly.
“I want to remember what we were. Not just what we’re fighting. And maybe… if I tell the story, it’ll make more sense. To someone. Someday. Because even now, after all of it… I still can’t believe how it began.”
She opened the tin again, picked up the convention ticket. Turned it over. That paw print had stained her sleeve the first time she’d touched it.
She gave a small, tearful laugh.
“It started with a comic convention.”
Her eyes lifted to the great ceiling of the Cookie Room—carved with candy knight crests and ancient battle scenes.
“…And an invitation.”
Outside, the Egg Tree groaned as wind curled through the branches.
And below it, one spark readied for the end—by remembering the beginning.
The line outside Meowtroplex Convention Center shimmered like a rainbow river of wigs, wands, and the occasional flapping cape.
Vinyl banners snapped in the breeze overhead, each one boasting glittery mascots and pastel explosions of text.
The sky was clear, too bright for the soft lighting Celeste preferred, but today was not about comfort—it was about showing up.
She shifted her weight from one paw to the other, trying not to fidget with her wand. It wasn’t real, of course—just carefully painted foam and plastic, with a star at the tip that glowed faintly when tapped. Still, holding it made her feel a little more like Star Enchantress Elira, the magical girl whose courage she envied but hadn’t quite found for herself yet.
“Stop squishing your tail. You’ll wreck the ribbon,” Lumina said, voice light but distant, like she was reporting from the far end of a telescope. She hummed a little tune under her breath as she said it, almost absentmindedly.
Celeste glanced down. Sure enough, the looped blue satin tied around her tail had gotten crumpled beneath her nervous shuffling.
“Oh—oh, you’re right. Silly of me, isn’t it? Thank you, love,” she murmured, carefully untucking it.
Lumina gave a tiny shrug and turned half away, fussing with the frilled hem of her cape. “Mhm.” Her hum resumed, this time quieter, though Celeste knew her sister well enough to see the tension in her shoulders.
It had been months since they’d last spent more than an awkward lunch together. And now, here they were—two flame-point ragdoll cats dressed in magical girl costumes that matched in spirit, if not in style, about to step into a whirlwind of fandom, nostalgia, and way too many camera flashes. Celeste wore a flowing blue astral tunic adorned with tiny dangling stars, a constellation come to life, with dark blue shorts underneath for comfort. Beside her, Lumina was in a cherry pink dress with a heart-shaped emblem at the collar and a flared red skirt layered beneath it, every inch the classic magical heroine.
Celeste swallowed hard and looked at the massive glass doors ahead. Fans in feathers, scales, and fur filled the courtyard in dazzling arrays of color and chatter. The buzz was electric—dreams made real for a weekend.
She was nervous. Nervous about the crowd. Nervous about being seen. But mostly nervous about Lumina.
Was this the start of reconnecting… or just a mistake dressed up in glitter and sequins?
“I don’t even know if I belong here,” Celeste murmured, almost to herself, eyes still on the glittering glass doors ahead.
Lumina glanced sideways, her ears twitching beneath her gem-studded headband. “Me neither. But… maybe that’s the whole point.” She pronounced those last two words with deliberate weight, like she’d been saving them up
The queue crept forward, each shuffle of paws and hooves bringing Celeste closer to the security gate—and to the glinting scanner arch just beyond it.
Overhead, a voice crackled through the tannoy, cold and officious: “For the safety of all, the Council has made it clear: only those with Council-approved mana suppressor chips will be admitted. Unless written consent is provided, no exceptions will be permitted. The Eye of the Council is ever watching.”
A murmur rippled down the line—some nodding grimly, others fidgeting with their collars or sleeves where the chips might lie hidden.
Up ahead, a pureblood hamster waddled up with a smug grin, dragging a sparkly suitcase and chatting loudly on her wristband comm. She didn’t even pause at the scanner—just waved and walked through.
“VIP pass, obviously,” she huffed, not even looking at the guards. “Daddy donated to the restoration fund. You’re welcome.”
The scanner lit green. No questions. No hesitation.
Behind Celeste, a voice piped up nervously, “D-do we need to be scanned too?”
Another answered with a scoff, “It’s fine. Purebloods don’t have mana, so they don’t need chips. Different rules.”
A third snorted under their breath, “At least we aren’t hybrids. They’ve got those runes slots burned into the backs of their necks. Look awful, don’t they?”
The words pricked Celeste’s ears, each one heavier than the last.
Celeste swallowed.
Then, the next in line—a tall, teenage phoenix, radiant with flame-kissed feathers and nervous eyes—stepped up. His wings were folded tight, his hands visible, his smile small but hopeful.
The scanner flickered red. A harsh beep.
Two guards stepped forward immediately.
“Sorry,” one said flatly. “We can’t admit unstable mythics without council approval. You’ll need to return with certification.”
“What?” the phoenix stammered, taking a step back. “I’m not unstable! I’ve been cleared—look, I’m not a danger!”
A third guard’s paw hovered near a stun baton. “Sir. Step aside.”
The crowd shifted uncomfortably. Some looked away. Others muttered.
The phoenix’s feathers dimmed, light curling inward like shame.
“It’s not fair,” he whispered, eyes brimming. “She walked right in.”
“She’s a pureblood,” one guard replied coolly. “You’re not.”
Celeste felt her jaw tighten.
The line moved again.
And yet the weight in her chest stayed exactly where it was.
“Almost there,” Lumina said softly, more to herself than anyone else. She shifted her wand on her hip, humming again, the note wobbling just slightly.
Celeste’s ears flattened. “Mm… I wish I didn’t feel like my stomach was doing somersaults.”
Ahead, a chubby red panda in a mech suit costume stepped into the archway. A flicker of green light swept over his neck, where a glimmer of silver marked the embedded microchip. The scanner chirped, a polite tone, and the panda was waved through with a cheerful “Enjoy the con!”
It all looked routine. Painless. Casual.
But not for them.
Celeste’s eyes flicked to the narrow metal booth beside the scanner—one staffed by a uniformed civet with a screen she didn’t need to see to know what it displayed: identity, registration, chip status, and Species Classification.
Hybrid. Feline/Mythical – Class: Magic Affinity.
That last part always brought a twitch to the nose, a flicker of suspicion in the eyes. Like the word magic was the same as danger.
Her paw tightened around her wand, now little more than a prop. The chip in her neck—smooth, invisible, but always there—suppressed her magic. It muted her senses, dimmed the way she used to feel the world: the pull of stars, the hum of light, the way emotions rippled like tides across others' fur.
The rune silenced all of it. For everyone’s safety, they always said.
Her parents had ensured she and Lumina were marked as “high-status exceptionals”—coded with enough bureaucratic shielding to avoid the worst of the scrutiny. But that didn’t stop the whispers. Or the eyes that lingered too long. Or the quiet, biting fear that one day the exception wouldn’t be enough.
Council droids stood guard at the entrance, chrome-plated and gleaming under the hall lights. Their frames were modeled after Victorian police officers, but there was nothing human in the way they moved—stiff, jointed metal with polished helmets and long arms bristling with concealed mechanisms. Twin laser ports glowed faintly in their wrists, ready but silent. Their glass-green eyes swept across the waiting line, scanning every face without a word.
When the machines detected someone not on the list, the glow in their eyes shifted to crimson. No noise, no fuss—just a cold flicker as they updated the doors not to admit the trespasser. The denied simply found the gate refusing to open, the droids unmoving, as if the judgment had already been passed.
The scanner was just two more bodies away.
“You okay?” Lumina asked, quieter now, her hum fading out.
Celeste gave a small nod. “Yes, yes—just… breathing through it, sweetheart.” She smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
“I hate this bit too,” Lumina admitted, her voice small. “Even when nothing bad happens. It’s like waiting for a boo-jump in a scary movie.”
That made Celeste look at her, really look. “Oh, my heart… you’re nervous as well, aren’t you?”
Lumina’s tail twitched, and she gave a half-grin that didn’t last long. “Mhm.” Beneath the glitter and ribbons, Lumina’s tail was twitching ever so slightly. Not from impatience—but from anxiety. So I’m not the only one.
The gate beeped again. The guest ahead of them passed through.
Now it was Lumina’s turn.
She stepped forward. The green scan-line passed over her neck. There was a flicker—too long to be smooth, too short to call out. The civet looked up, his eyes scanning, then nodded.
“Approved. Move along.”
Celeste exhaled—only to suck the air back in as she stepped up.
She tilted her head slightly, exposing her neck. The scan hit.
It burned—not physically, but somewhere deeper. The faintest shudder crawled up her spine, a distant echo of her magic pushing against its invisible cage.
The reader stuttered.
Beep. Beep. Beep… click.
The civet’s eyes narrowed.
Celeste froze.
“Name?” he asked.
“Celeste Astallan,” she whispered, voice catching slightly. “Um… sir.”
He blinked. His gaze dropped to the monitor. Recognition flickered. Then discomfort. Then forced neutrality.
“You’re clear,” he said, too quickly. “Enjoy the convention.”
Celeste stepped through and her paw brushed against Lumina’s. Lumina looked up at her with wide eyes, then let out a tiny hum — the same tune she’d been humming before. No words, but Celeste’s soft smile was enough of an answer.
They were in.
But magic or not, they both knew the real weight they carried wasn’t in their wands, or in the past they shared—it was in the way this world looked at them.
And today, for better or worse, it was about to see them.
The convention floor unfolded like a storybook mid-spell — towers of merchandise, spirals of banners, and fans in sparkling, surreal costumes everywhere she looked. Celeste had to pause just inside the entrance, blinking to let her eyes adjust. The light here shimmered off sequin capes and holographic armor, pulsing with the bassy hum of music drifting from the main stage.
She scanned the crowd, her paw shielding her eyes from a flickering LED display above the Crystal Hall of Fandoms. She was looking for someone—a familiar-unfamiliar shape.
Leif, the lynx from her MythoSoc class. They’d never met in person; their connection had started months ago when she accidentally sent him her essay draft instead of the professor. He’d read it, responded with three pages of annotated commentary, and somehow a friendship had bloomed from there—half academic banter, half meme exchanges. They’d talked ever since, discussing magical theory, fandom tropes, and the role of media in hybrid representation. He said he’d be cosplaying as a genderbent Sir Vireon from Stormbond Saga. She had no idea what that would look like exactly, but she was sure she’d recognize his energy when she saw it.
Next to her, Lumina was silent, clutching the handle of her sparkling heart-shaped purse. Her boots clicked against the polished floor in nervous little steps.
“Do you remember,” Celeste began, a soft smile tugging at her lips, “when we pretended the couch cushions were cloud islands? You’d make us leap between them or be banished to the lava pits.”
Lumina blinked, humming faltering.
“You even had a wand made from a curtain rod,” Celeste added warmly. “Princess Pyra, wasn’t it, sweetheart?”
There was a pause.
“I’m sorry,” Lumina said gently, not meeting her eyes. “I know you're trying. But it’s just... not there. I don’t remember that. And it kind of hurts trying to.”
Celeste’s ears drooped, her smile faltering.
“Oh—oh, of course. I’m sorry, love. I shouldn’t have—”
They stood there for a moment, the pulse of con-goers flowing around them like a river around two stones.
Then—BOOM.
“Guess whooo~!”
A weight hit Celeste’s shoulders, and she shrieked, leaping nearly a foot off the ground.
Whipping around, her eyes wide and fluffed tail a full banner behind her, she came face-to-face with a grinning tabby cat in a mesh hoodie and cargo boots. A glittery badge labeled her Melody, with the tagline: Chaotic Neutral, Mostly Harmless.
“Melody!” Celeste hissed, trying to compose herself. “You can’t just ambush people like that! Honestly, some of us have fragile constitutions.”
Melody tilted her head, unfazed. “Fragile constitutions? Cel, you dress like a gemstone exploded. If you want to be incognito, maybe ditch the tiara.”
Celeste straightened, hands on her hips, trying to recover her poise. “I’ll have you know, this is a highly accurate recreation of Elira's Gala Ascension Outfit. And—”
Before Celeste could retort, Melody’s eyes flicked to the other girl beside her.
“Who’s your sparkle twin?”
Celeste’s voice dropped to a whisper as she leaned in close. “That’s Lumina. She’s kind of important. Just, um… be gentle? She’s had some memory loss—car accident a while back.”
“I can hear you,” Lumina cut in, blinking up at her.
“It’s okay,” Lumina added softly, not quite smiling. “You were just trying to help.”
“What are you even supposed to be?” Melody interrupted, smirking. “Cosplaying as a discount fairy trio from a cereal commercial?”
Celeste flushed beneath her fur.
“We are the Magi Girls 3,” she declared with as much dignity as she could muster. “From Starlight Covenant: Season Five. I’m Elira, Lumina is Solenne, and we’re... well, the third one is a plush keychain in my bag because we couldn’t convince anyone else to join us.”
Melody snorted. “Ohhh right. The season where they all become space princesses with feelings and shoot glitter lasers at metaphorical trauma. Deep stuff.”
“We like it,” Lumina piped up, voice firm but tiny. She puffed her cheeks for emphasis.
Celeste looked at her, surprised—and weirdly touched.
Melody rolled her eyes, raising her paws in surrender. “Alright, alright. Don’t vaporize me with your emotional catharsis beams.”
Then, more casually: “Anyway, I saw a tall lynx guy by the vendors talking someone’s ear off about magical resonance crystals. Might be your mystery penpal.”
Celeste’s heart skipped.
Without thinking, she grabbed Lumina’s paw and started weaving through the crowd. “Come on, sweetheart. If he’s here, I want to say hi—before I lose my nerve.”
Behind them, Melody called out, “Don’t trip over your cape, Magi Girl Prime!”
Celeste didn’t reply.
She did, however, trip.
Only to collide shoulder-first with someone — and somehow, it was graceful.
“Oh!” she gasped, stumbling back.
The figure she’d bumped into turned smoothly, regarding her with calm, amused turquoise eyes. He was tall—strikingly so—and dressed in a deep violet jacket, sharp and perfectly tailored, every button in place. A crisp white cravat lay tucked at his collar, giving him an air of scholarly drama. His thick white Maine Coon fur shimmered faintly in the overhead lights.
“My fault entirely,” he said, voice rich and dry. “Though I’ll admit, this is the most charming ambush I’ve suffered all morning.”
Celeste blinked. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to—”
He held up a paw elegantly. “No need to apologise. If anything, you’ve made my morning more interesting.” His eyes twinkled. “Your Magi Girl Prime is exquisite — the stars themselves would send petitions for such tailoring.”
Celeste giggled, flustered. “Thank you, Charming. Yours is… incredible, too. Who are you cosplaying?”
His eyes brightened with theatrical pride. “Dr. Witchwood, naturally. Dragons of Termina 2, re-release edition. They finally restored his collar enchantment in the remaster — a crime it was missing in the first place.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh! That’s perfect! You really nailed the vibe.”
He gave a small, pleased bow. “Naturally. One must commit to excellence or not bother at all.”
He stepped aside gracefully, letting the crowd flow around them again. “If you're hunting for rare merch, there’s a vendor down the next aisle selling enchanted replicas. I’d hurry before the truly tasteless grab the last of the good stock.”
“Oh—thanks!” Celeste smiled, caught off-guard by the encounter.
He gave her a two-fingered salute and turned, already blending back into the stream of con-goers. “Good luck, Magi Girl. May your crystals resonate and your eyeliner remain sharp.”
And just like that, he was gone.
Lumina leaned in. “Who was that?”
“I… no idea,” Celeste murmured. “But I kind of want his backstory.”
The vendor halls were chaos incarnate — booths bursting with plushies, holographic posters, enamel pins, and enough body glitter to blind a small city. Celeste barely had time to process any of it. Her eyes were locked on the crowd ahead, scanning for lynx ears and the faint shimmer of a Sir Vireon-style cape.
“He’s got to be around here somewhere,” she murmured, tail flicking in focused arcs.
“Watch out—!” Lumina said a second too late.
They collided chest-first into a broad, white-furred torso — and stumbled back in unison.
“Ah-HA! Suspicious movement detected!”
Celeste blinked, then looked up into the beaming, mismatched eyes of a dalmatian wearing a convention security vest that was at least one size too tight and had a comically large walkie-talkie clipped to each shoulder. He had a mop of tousled black and red curls tied back in a halfhearted ponytail, and his name tag read: MEZZO.
He leaned in dramatically, snout twitching.
“Two magically dressed felines—glancing around like yer plotting a heist? Classic behavior.” He lowered his voice. “Are ye trying to steal the giant plush hydra from the raffle booth? Because if so, I’ll need in. Those things are collector’s edition.”
Celeste opened her mouth, closed it again.
“No?” she managed, completely thrown off. “Um—no? Stars, no, we just… bumped into you.”
Mezzo squinted suspiciously at them, nose wriggling.
“Hmm. That’s what they all say. ‘Oh, we’re just Magi Girls with tragic backstories, prancin’ about with tiaras and trauma beams, no crimes here!’” He leaned closer to Lumina. “But tell me this: which season? If it’s post-Revelation Arc, I knew there was somethin’ shady afoot.”
Celeste straightened her shoulders, trying to salvage some dignity. “Excuse me, Sir, but we’re doing nothing wrong. We’re simply here to enjoy the convention, same as everyone else.”
“Ohhh, I know,” Mezzo said, eyes wide in mock horror. “That’s what makes it dangerous! Happiness, contentment… sinister stuff.”
Then, without breaking eye contact, he reached into a pocket and produced a glitter-laminated flyer from seemingly nowhere.
“BUT! That aside. You two clearly appreciate talent, aesthetics, and emotional storytelling through impractical outfits, so—”
He thrust the flyer at them with both paws.
“BUT! Seein’ as you clearly appreciate artistry and emotional storytelling in impractical outfits—” He thrust it into Celeste’s paw. “Tonight. Eight sharp. Mezzo & The Minor Keys. It’s just me, a guitar, and twelve minutes of pure unholy shreddin’. Ye’ll either ascend to a higher plane or leave with mild tinnitus. Maybe both!”
Celeste took the flyer like it was evidence in a crime she hadn’t committed.
“Oh—um—well, we’ll… consider it?” she said weakly.
“Brilliant!” Mezzo saluted, grinning. “Don’t break me heart now. I will cry in public. I’ve got range!”
Then, without another word, he spun on his heel and disappeared into the crowd like some sort of musical cryptid.
There was a long silence.
Lumina stared at the flyer. Then up at Celeste. “…Was he… real?”
And for the first time since stepping into the con, they both giggled, shoulders lightening. For just a moment, the magic wasn’t only in their costumes.
Celeste gave her pigtails a quick fluff, adjusting the little gemstone clips that kept them neatly coiled just above her shoulders. She was starting to feel like herself again—nerves fading with every passing minute, despite the occasional bump from excitable cosplayers and vendors hawking glowing drinks that probably weren’t FDA approved.
Then she saw it.
Just beyond the rainbow wall of plushies and keychains, a soft glimmer caught her eye—a blue newsboy cap, nestled on a velvet mannequin head, edged with gold embroidery and featuring gold stars. On either side: tiny, delicate angel wings, crafted from glittered foamcore, just like in Season One of Magi Girls 3 when Elira first unlocked her celestial powers.
Celeste gasped aloud.
“Oh my stars—it’s the Arc Initiation Cap!”
She made a beeline for the vendor booth, barely noticing Lumina trailing behind. The seller, a sleepy-looking lemur in a Rarewears & Relics hoodie, perked up as she approached.
“Whoa, good eye,” he said, lifting the cap carefully. “Most people think it’s just a weird steampunk thing.”
“This is from Elira’s first major transformation scene!” Celeste said, breathless. “Episode four—she trades her old headband for this before facing down the Grief Beast in the Library of Lights. It’s iconic.”
“You got taste,” the lemur said, grinning. “Forty quid, and I’ll even throw in a badge pin with her sigil.”
Celeste was already digging in her purse, glowing with excitement—when a shadow fell across the booth.
The lemur vendor had just named his price when a deep, booming voice cut in from behind.
“Forty quid for THAT?”
Celeste startled, ears flicking back.
“You could buy a water filter and six weeks of rations for that!” the voice continued, rich with theatrical gravitas.
She turned. A tall, grey-furred wolf loomed there in a trench coat that seemed designed to swallow light, a battered tactical pack slung at his shoulder. His hood shadowed most of his face, but his grin gleamed through like stage lighting.
He extended a paw dramatically.
“Pitch. E. Blak. Survivalist. Strategist. Builder of bunkers both practical and emotionally resonant.”
He gave her an exaggerated wink. “Didn’t expect the resistance to have THIS much style, blondie.”
Celeste blinked, paw halfway to her purse. “Oh—I, ah—hello?”
Pitch leaned in, dropping his voice into mock-conspiracy mode. “Tell me. Ever think about what happens when the suppression chips fail? That little soda can of magic you’ve got bottled up? Psshhhht—” he mimed a can exploding with both hands, “—straight in your face!”
Celeste’s mouth opened, then closed again. “I—I hadn’t exactly—”
“I have,” Pitch boomed, chest puffing as if onstage. “First it’s regulation, then restriction, then BAM—riot bots in the streets and ration lines for toothpaste!”
Lumina hummed a little note, head tilted. “Do you… talk like this all the time?”
Pitch turned, lowering himself to her eye level with a big smile. “Oh, absolutely. Builds morale. Keeps the vibes UP.”
Celeste folded her arms, still flustered. “And… the toothpaste?”
Pitch’s grin widened. “That part’s real. But don’t worry—” he leaned in closer, voice dropping to mock-seriousness, “I’ve got a stash. Mint. Because survival doesn’t have to taste terrible.”
The vendor coughed. “So… are you buying the hat or…?”
Pitch straightened, threw an arm toward Celeste like he was introducing royalty. “Buy it. A stylish headpiece increases morale by twenty-seven percent. Scientific fact. Probably.”
Celeste quickly passed over her coins, tucking the cap into her bag with both paws. “Right. Lovely. Thank you. Now if you’ll excuse us, we really must—lots to see, ha ha—goodbye!”
She grabbed Lumina and hustled into the crowd, cape flying behind her like a retreating heroine.
Pitch cupped his paws to his muzzle and bellowed after them:
“REMEMBER! When the vending machines go silent—that’s the FIRST SIGN!”
They didn’t look back.
Ahead, the crowd thickened, buzzing with energy. Music thumped from hidden speakers. A ring of screens began to flicker with countdowns and graphics. The main stage lights swirled to life.
Something big was about to happen.
And Celeste—hat now tucked safely under her arm, mind spinning—couldn’t help but feel like she was standing at the edge of something important.
Even if part of her still smelled vaguely like Pitch’s forest-mint survival cologne.
The main stage shimmered with dazzling lights and glitter cannons firing bursts of rainbow mist into the air. Animated characters danced across massive LED screens in looped trailers: knights with glowing swords clashing against brain-hungry, neon-green zombies. At the center was the bright, stylized logo for Nommie Zombies vs. Mythic Knights, and under it all, the unmistakable tagline of Zygurr Incorporated:
“Chew the Future!”
Celeste wrinkled her nose. “Subtle.”
“Looks expensive,” Lumina murmured.
A booming, upbeat voice filled the air.
“AND DON’T FORGET—CLAWS OUT FOR CANDY!
BONBON GIVEAWAYS ALL WEEKEND, COURTESY OF ZYGURR!”
A mountain of kids were already swarming toward the booth at the foot of the stage, many in cardboard helmets or zombie makeup. Just as Celeste and Lumina started heading that way, a clump of small bodies rushed past them, nearly knocking them sideways.
One of them—a toddler panda in an oversized mask shaped like a sparkly rabbit — stumbled to the ground, letting out a confused wail.
“Oh! Hey, hey—it's okay,” Celeste said, immediately crouching to help. “You’re not hurt, are you?”
The little panda blinked up at her, teary but unharmed, and tugged her mask off to breathe. Before Celeste could say more, a panting mother with wild fur and frantic eyes shoved through the crowd.
“Cariad! Mae’n ddrwg gen i!” she gasped, scooping her child up into her arms. “Diolch—rili. Sori, sori—ro’n i wedi edrych drosti hi—”
Celeste could only nod as the panda mum offered one last breathless “Diolch yn fawr” and disappeared into the crowd, the toddler now babbling happily against her shoulder.
Lumina hummed a little tune under her breath, then said bluntly, “That was… a lotta chaos. Like, boom-crash.”
Celeste let out a small laugh, brushing fur from her skirt. “Aye, Sweetheart, it was. But everyone’s alright, thank the stars.” She straightened and pointed gently toward the booth. “Come on, love. Let’s see about that candy before it all disappears.”
At the foot of the stage, the candy giveaway was being manned by the least enthusiastic fox Celeste had ever seen. Her hair was dyed in streaks of dusty black and violet, eyeliner smudged from either fashion or despair—it was unclear—and her oversized Zygurr Incorporated hoodie hung off one shoulder like even her clothes were over it.
The fox—Ray, according to her crooked nametag—didn’t even look up as she half-heartedly tossed a sealed bag of glittery pink-and-green bonbons at Celeste.
““Here. Enjoy your dose of corporate joy. Don’t choke.” Ray mumbled, monotone. Her voice had the exact defeated cadence of someone who’d handed out candy to hyper children for eight hours and now existed solely out of contract obligation and spite.
“Thanks,” Celeste said hesitantly, catching the bag.
Lumina got one too, a little more gently. The wrapper was shiny and loud, emblazoned with zombified monsters and knights chomping on rainbow swords.
Celeste popped one into her mouth before she could talk herself out of it.
And instantly regretted it.
The flavor was... indescribable. Like sour strawberry bubblegum dipped in cough syrup and sprinkled with burnt plastic. Her stomach turned sharply.
Lumina had already spat hers into a napkin. “What was that?”
“I—think my tongue’s dissolving,” Celeste choked, clutching her stomach. “Okay, no. That cannot be safe.”
She marched back to the booth.
“Excuse me,” she said to Ray, who was now scrolling on her phone while mechanically tossing bonbon bags to passing kitsune twins.
Ray didn’t look up. “They’re made from seventy-two percent sustainable glitter. Side effects include fun. Next.”
Celeste raised an eyebrow. “It actually says that?”
Ray sighed like someone remembering the good old days before capitalism. She flicked her lanyard badge, letting it spin.
“I dunno. It’s in the employee script. ‘Smile, deliver product, downplay nausea.’ Blah blah blah. You want a refund? It’s free.”
Celeste crossed her arms. “Still. If something’s making people feel sick, shouldn’t you report it to someone?”
Ray finally looked up—her eyes half-lidded, dry as a desert. “Blondie, I’m not management. I’m the candy goblin. They pay me in coupons and trauma.”
Celeste pointed at her badge. “Ray, right? Then Ray, Is there some manager or supervisor i could talk to? Just to get the ingredient list?.”
Ray sighed again. This time, it was deeper—like she was exhaling her will to live.
“Fine. If you want to file a formal complaint about candy, you can find a Zygurr brand ambassador at Booth E2 near the merchandise vault. They’re the ones with the chrome suits and dead eyes. Can’t miss ‘em.”
“Thanks,” Celeste said curtly, already turning to leave with Lumina.
Ray called after them, voice dull as dirt.
“Good luck. And remember—chew responsibly.”
Celeste muttered under her breath, “I’d rather chew gravel.”
Ray chuckled once, low and short, before tossing another bag at a shrieking kid.
As they pushed back through the crowd, her stomach still gurgling uneasily, a chill prickled up her spine.
Something about those bonbons wasn’t right.
And knowing Zygurr Incorporated’s reputation for shady biotech licensing, she had the uneasy feeling this wasn’t just a bad batch.
This could be something worse.
The air near the stage pulsed with light and bass beats, but for a brief moment, everything slowed down.
Celeste pulled Lumina into the frame of her crystal phone’s camera, fluffing her sister’s messy bangs before striking a graceful magical pose with her. The screen flashed. A perfect shot.
“Our first selfie as sisters,” she said softly, smile curling at the edges of her mouth as she peeked at it. “Oh, Lumi—you’ve been amazing today. Seven years old—seven!—and you’ve handled a convention better than half the adults I know.”
Lumina looked up with wide eyes, her cheeks pinking slightly. And then—slowly, shyly—she smiled. Not the polite, careful ones she wore like a mask, but a real one. A small spark of sunshine.
Celeste’s heart swelled.
But then, without warning—everything changed.
It started in her spine. A weird, humming pressure. Then heat. Like static electricity tangled with a wildfire, shooting down her limbs and making her tail flick involuntarily. Her fur stood on end.
“L-Lumina—?” she gasped, turning just as Lumina hunched forward slightly, blinking hard and holding her arms like they ached.
“I feel… hot,” Lumina murmured, humming a broken little tune before whispering, “and all… tingly.”
Celeste’s breath caught. She knew that feeling. It wasn’t sugar. Stars, no—it was something far more dangerous.
A few feet away, she spotted someone else reacting the same way.
Mezzo—the dalmatian security guard—was gripping the edge of a metal crowd gate, breathing hard. His badge tilted sideways, revealing the stylized glyph etched into the background behind his name. A hybrid marker.
He met her gaze for just a second. She knew then: he felt it too.
“CEL-LESTE!” came a shout.
Melody—vibrant tabby tail bouncing—came sprinting over, holding a torn-open candy bag in one paw, half-eaten sweets in the other.
“Did you try these?!” she beamed, eyes glittering. “They’re like—chewy starlight. I could eat a dozen!”
Celeste blinked, trying not to show the unease brewing in her gut. “Uh... they kind of made me feel weird, actually.”
Melody raised a brow. “Weird like good weird? Or weird like ‘oops I licked a plasma battery’?”
“Closer to the second one.”
Before Melody could comment, a shouting match broke out nearby.
Mezzo had moved into a group of rough-looking teenagers near the stage wall, trying to quiet them down. But one of them—a fox with spiked bracelets—grabbed Mezzo’s badge and read it aloud with a mocking grin.
“‘Hybrid division’?” he snorted. “So what, you glow in the dark or something? Yeah, nah—we don’t gotta listen to magic freaks.”
The others laughed and shoved past him, nearly knocking over a signboard. Mezzo didn’t react beyond a tight jaw and clenched paws.
He smoothed his vest, tried to smile.
But Celeste saw it: the wear. The practice of pretending. The pain of being tolerated but never fully respected.
“Assholes,” Melody muttered under her breath, clearly having caught the tail end of it.
Celeste’s tail bristled, but she didn’t speak. She couldn’t. Not yet.
“Hey,” Melody said brightly, trying to steer things back. “There’s a gaming room upstairs. Wanna check it out? Could be a better place to meet your penpal—quieter, plus the air conditioning up there doesn’t smell like bubblegum regret.”
Celeste hesitated. The static inside her hadn’t stopped humming. She knew it could spiral if she lost control—if her magic surged in a crowd. They were hybrids. If someone noticed...
But Lumina had already started climbing the steps, candy bag forgotten.
Celeste followed.
Upstairs, the room was darker, lit mostly by flickering old monitors and the glow of retro arcade cabinets lining the walls. A few kids in cosplay huddled around open card game mats, controllers clicked like quiet mechanical insects, and the low thrum of chiptune music set a nostalgic atmosphere.
That’s when she saw him.
A lynx, tall and relaxed in a denim jacket patched with RPG logos, leaned over a pixelated arcade screen, playing a classic fighter game with focused ease.
Next to him stood two others:
—A brown teenage hedgehog with glasses and worn goggles pushed up onto his forehead and a rumpled lab coat full of button pins that said things like “I INVENTED THAT!” and “Trust me, I’m 90% sure!”
—And an eight-year-old fennec fox, petite but confident, dressed in a sleek blue jumpsuit with reinforced knees and a glowing card duel device strapped to his wrist like it belonged there. His tail flicked as he stared at a holographic display spinning just above the deck.
Celeste’s heart thudded.
That had to be him. The lynx. Her penpal. The one she’d traded theories with for months online under the name “Glitch_Stitch.”
He looked... cooler than she expected. But the warmth behind his posture told her this wasn’t some aloof stranger.
He glanced up from the machine, ears twitching.
And their eyes met.
Celeste felt something shift.
Celeste paused at the edge of the room, brushing imaginary lint from her pale jumper dress, its star-patterned trim glinting under the flickering arcade lights. Her long star-sleeved coat swept gently behind her, and she adjusted the fit of her blue newsboy hat—newly bought and already precious.
Everything in her posture straightened, prim and trained, as though her father’s voice echoed in her head: Posture is presence, Celeste. Don’t fidget. Don’t stumble.
But halfway across the room, her ankle turned just slightly on the edge of a scuffed game mat.
She caught herself, rolled her eyes, and let go.
She took a breath and deliberately loosened her shoulders. Each step forward was still elegant—but there was a slowness to it, a hesitation. The kind that came from trying to unlearn something that had been drilled in too deep.
When she reached the group, she clasped her hands and gave a polite smile.
“Um—hullo,” she said softly, ears flicking. “Sorry, I don’t mean to… intrude. I was just—ah—I’m looking for my penpal? We’ve been messaging under the name Nebuluna. He said he’d be near the arcade machines, if that’s alright?”
The brown hedgehog lounging on the floor was the first to respond.
He stood up—slowly, smugly—as if gravity itself bowed to his own importance.
“That would be me,” he said smoothly, brushing imaginary lint from his lapel. “Arcade. Yes, like the machines. Ironic, really—I’m considerably more complex than flashing lights and bad programming. Still, it’s a name with flair.”
Celeste blinked. “Oh! I—I thought you’d be—well, the lynx, perhaps? Sorry. That was silly of me.”
“You assumed tall, angular, tragic cheekbones?” Arcade smirked, folding his arms. “Predictable. Everyone does. Never the hedgehog with inconvenient genius and an overwhelming sense of style.”
He gave her a cool once-over. “Truth be told, I half-expected you to be a Siamese. Or perhaps a Korat—something sleek, academically threatening.”
Celeste opened her mouth, heat rising in her ears, but he cut her off with a casual wave.
“Still, a ragdoll cat—unexpected. And very... bold of you to come in full cosplay. I respect the courage.”
Celeste’s eye twitched. She tried—really tried—not to snap.
“Actually,” she said through her primmest voice, “Well—I mean—it was you who invited me, wasn’t it? I have the messages, if, um—if you’d like proof—”
“Nahhh,” he interrupted, tapping his temple. “I invited Nebuluna. No idea who Celeste is, but hey—con connections, right? The algorithm works in mysterious ways.”
He pointed to the fennec fox quietly standing nearby. “This is my cousin, Skye. He’s a dual-deck master. Hasn’t lost a match all day.”
Skye gave a small nod without looking up, his large ears twitching slightly as the holographic card device on his arm spun a vivid animation. His movements were minimal, controlled—almost too controlled. His soft humming suggested he was reciting something in his head.
Celeste smiled at him. “Hi, Skye.”
He glanced up briefly. “Your shoelace is untied,” he said, then added, “Also—hi.” He returned to his cards without explanation.
Celeste blinked, glancing at her perfectly tied boots. “Oh—um—thank you, Dear. I’ll, ah—keep an eye on it.”
Before Celeste could return to the awkwardness of whatever had just happened, Melody bounded in through the side door like a bright comet.
“Okay, don’t yell at me, but I brought more candy!” she announced, waving a half-full bag above her head like a trophy. “Stage fox totally caved—pretty sure she’s legally required to keep handing these out until I explode!”
She offered it out.
Arcade sniffed and stepped back. “No thanks. I tried one earlier. Made my sinuses buzz like I'd licked a fusion coil.”
Skye shook his head quickly. “Too bright,” he murmured. Then, matter-of-factly, “Like eating a flashlight.”
Melody blinked at him. “…That’s amazing. I have to have one now.”
She popped one in her mouth and chewed happily. “Yup. Exactly like a flashlight. But, like… in a fun way!”
Celeste looked down at the glowing sweets again, ears folding back. “Um… I don’t think that’s how they’re supposed to taste, love.”
Melody shrugged. “More for me.”
Celeste looked down at the sweets again. Still glowing faintly at the edges. Still wrong.
As they stood in the awkward circle of half-met introductions and sugar-fueled chaos, she glanced toward the arcade machine again.
But the lynx—the one she thought had been her penpal—was gone. No sound. No excuse. No goodbye. Just vanished.
Celeste’s brow furrowed. A sinking feeling nudged the back of her mind like a whisper.
What if he was her penpal after all? And what if he’d left because he recognized something in her... that he didn’t want to be associated with?
Lumina had found her way to the floor next to Skye, legs crossed and tail gently swishing with curiosity as she watched the fennec fox flip through his deck with practiced precision. He spoke very little—just enough to explain the mechanics—but Lumina listened closely. Her little fingers mimicked his shuffling, her soft pink dress pulled slightly over her paws.
“See?” he said quietly, placing a glittering card in her palm. “This one can evolve if the field is lunar-aligned. But only during a fusion turn.”
Lumina blinked. “How do I know if it’s lunar-aligned? Is there, like, a moon button?”
Skye pointed to a holographic meter glowing in the corner of the display. “Watch for that crescent symbol. That’s when it happens.”
“Ohhh…” Lumina leaned closer, humming a little tune. “Moon button.” She tapped the meter gently and giggled.
A small smile tugged at Skye’s lips, almost imperceptible, but there.
Celeste watched them with soft fondness, warmth in her eyes. “Oh, that’s wonderful, Sweetheart… you’re learning fast,” she murmured.
Arcade, meanwhile, had turned his attention to Melody, who was busy reorganizing her candy stash by flavor next to a row of console controllers.
“So, uh,” he said, gesturing toward her with a raised brow, “are you just a random cosplay tag-along, or...?”
Melody gasped dramatically. “Excuse you—I’m not a random NPC! We’re classmates. Illustration, second year. Celeste and I are sketch critique survivors.”
Arcade blinked once. “Really? She’s in illustration?” He tilted his head toward Celeste. “Didn’t peg you for the artsy type. Too earnest.”
“Yup. Celeste and I are both trying to survive Professor Talon’s sketch critiques without bursting into feathers.”
“Sketch critiques?” He looked between them, amused. “Didn’t expect her to be in illustration.”
Melody grinned wickedly. “She doesn’t think she’s pretentious enough to pass. But her magical girl portfolio? Adorable. Ten out of ten.”
Celeste narrowed her eyes. “Melody.”
“And she,” Melody continued, pointing at Celeste with a gummy candy wand, “once sent her whole assignment to the wrong email. Guess who got it?”
Arcade chuckled. “Me.”
Melody gasped in mock horror. “No.”
“Yup. She typed her address wrong by one letter. I graded it and sent it back with red marks and a note saying, ‘Excellent fluff, poor grammar.’”
Celeste squeaked. “Y-you did not! Oh stars, you two are dreadful. Ganging up on me like that.”
“Only because it’s fun,” Melody sang, twirling her candy like a baton. “Also because you make that scrunchy face when you’re flustered.”
“You’re making it now,” Arcade added dryly, lips twitching in amusement.
Celeste puffed her cheeks, crossing her arms. “I am not scrunching. …Am I?”
Lumina piped up from the floor, blunt as ever. “Yep. Face is scrunch. Like a walnut.”
Celeste buried her face in her paws. “Oh, brilliant. Thank you, all of you.”
Melody shoved a controller into her lap. “C’mon, scrunchy. Let’s race. If you win, we’ll stop teasing.”
“That’s a lie,” Celeste mumbled, though she grabbed the controller anyway, ears flicking red.
They settled at one of the consoles—a retro racer with magical mounts and glittery power-ups—and chose their avatars. Celeste picked a winged unicorn chariot, Melody a punk griffon, and Arcade a souped-up war boar on hoverwheels.
As the game began, Celeste glanced toward the kids again. Lumina was laughing now—light, brief, but unmistakable. Skye had shown her something clever in his deck that made her clap her paws excitedly. It warmed her.
Midway through the second race, Celeste turned toward Arcade during a loading screen.
“So… um—if it’s not rude to ask—why did you bring Skye to the con?” Her voice was gentle, hesitant. “I only brought Lumina because I thought… maybe it might help her come out of her shell a little.”
Arcade’s grip on his controller tightened just enough to notice.
“It’s complicated,” he said flatly, eyes still on the screen. Then, with a dismissive flick of tone: “Let’s… leave it at that.”
Celeste’s ears dipped. “Oh—right. Sorry. I shouldn’t have pried.”
They returned to the game. But a new edge had entered his tone.
As the final lap kicked in, Melody was clearly in the lead, throwing banana peels and magical spark bombs with practiced ease. But her posture was starting to sag.
“Mel?” Celeste said softly, concern threading her voice. “You’re… um… looking a bit pale.”
“Huh? Oh, no, I’m good!” Melody blurted, blinking too hard. “Just, uh… maybe too many bonbons. They’re delicious but… y’know, kinda spinny.”
Celeste frowned, setting her controller aside mid-race. “Love, you really don’t look alright. Maybe you should—um—just sit for a bit?”
Her griffon avatar screeched over the finish line and exploded into digital confetti.
“YES! Eat my spark trail!” she whooped, then flopped back into the beanbag with a dizzy groan.
Celeste leaned in, worry deepening. “You okay? You’re not... tingling, are you?”
Melody cracked one eye open, voice faint but still trying for cheer. “No static. Just… spinny carnival stomach. Probably the sugar. Or the noise. Or both. Don’t look so serious, Cel, I’m not dying.”
Arcade arched a brow, finally glancing over. “You didn’t eat that many, did you?”
Melody gave a vague shrug. “Only like… six? Eight? Ten-ish?”
Skye, still seated by Lumina, murmured without looking up: “I told you. Too bright. Like eating a lightbulb.”
But that strange feeling from earlier—the static heat, the surge—it was still there. Just... quieter now. Like something waiting.
Celeste shifted her weight, glancing toward the hallway. The sound outside was changing—no longer cheerful chatter but a rising clamor, uneven footsteps and sharp voices. Her ears twitched.
“Um—what’s going on out there?” she asked softly, mostly to herself. “Why is everyone so… worked up?”
Melody, still slouched pale against the beanbag, waved her paw lazily.
“It’s that thing—y’know, the bonbon crossover deal.” She managed a wobbly grin. “Posters everywhere. Country’s been eating it up.”
Celeste raised an eyebrow. “What—like a game?”
“Yeah. You scan the barcodes, get a shiny zombie or knight in your collection. There’s even a leaderboard.” Melody gave a weak laugh. “Nommie Zombies: Mythic Reckoning. Tacky as hell. Fun though.”
Arcade had torn open one of the wrappers, holding it up to the light with an intensity better suited to relics.
“There’s no ingredient list,” he murmured. “No allergy warnings. No manufacturing stamp. Just the Zygurr logo and a grinning skull telling you it’s ‘Nommie Approved.’ Thoroughly dystopian.”
Celeste’s stomach tightened, ears flattening. “That doesn’t… sound very safe at all.”
A crashing thud echoed from the hallway. A chorus of startled yelps.
Celeste shot to her feet. “Oh stars—I should, um—I should check that out.”
But before she could move, Melody leaned forward suddenly, clutching her middle. Her ears drooped and her paw trembled against her chest.
“Whoa—no, no no—Melody?” Celeste knelt beside her instantly.
“I think... I’m gonna hurl,” Melody mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper. Her whole body was shaking now. Beads of sweat clung to her fur, and her eyes fluttered like she was fighting to stay present.
“That’s it,” Celeste said, voice soft but firm with an edge of desperation. “We need to get you some fresh air, love. Come on.”
She turned to the table, fumbling for steadiness. “Lumina—um—stay right here, Sweetheart. Play a little longer with Skye for me, alright? I’ll be back before you notice.”
Lumina gave a tiny hum, nodding, though her ears twitched nervously. “’Kay. Don’t be gone forever.”
Skye looked up, blinking. “She’s overheating. Skin temperature up. Breathing irregular. Not sugar. Not just sugar.” He frowned, then added quietly, “Hallway’s bad, too. Loud. Dangerous.”
Arcade flicked his paw in a dismissive wave, still smirking faintly. “Unsportsmanlike to abandon mid-race, you know. But by all means—be heroic. Just don’t faint dramatically in the doorway; it’s tacky.”
Celeste supported Melody under the arm, helping her up. She felt like she was holding onto a furnace wrapped in trembling fluff. Each step toward the balcony doors felt heavier than the last, like the air was thickening with invisible syrup.
As they pushed through to the outside, the con’s artificial lights gave way to the cold sting of natural wind—but it didn’t help.
Because they weren’t alone.
The balcony was dotted with others—maybe a dozen con-goers, slumped against the railing or sitting in silence. Some clutched candy bags, others just stared out blankly at the city skyline of Clawdiff.
Melody gave a shaky little laugh, though her voice trembled at the edges. “I feel… really off. Like—worse than ‘oops-too-much-sugar’ off. What if I go full zombie right here? That’d be so meta.”
Celeste forced a soft chuckle, trying to keep her hands steady as she braced Melody’s weight. “Please don’t, love. I haven’t the constitution to be a main character in a survival horror.”
“Pfft. Imagine it though…” Melody wheezed, grinning faintly. “Me, the undead queen of ClawdiffCon. I’d still make it look cute.”
Celeste smiled at her—
Until the wind changed.
No. Not a wind.
It hit like a wall.
A pulse.
A screaming, vibrating pressure—like a whistle from the sky had pierced the clouds and was now inside her head.
The sound was more than sound—it was static and electricity and dread, all rolled together. It seared through her fur and bones and set every hybrid cell inside her sparking.
Then silence.
A sudden, dead, choking silence.
Celeste’s knees buckled. She hit the floor with a gasp, hands bracing herself against the concrete tiles. The sky above—once grey with summer haze—was turning. Hardening. The clouds melted into a strange pink sheen like crystallized glass. And from somewhere across the skyline, a roar echoed out—inhuman, unrelenting, like the entire sky was screaming.
Celeste clutched her chest. Her insides twisted. Her magic, long buried beneath the microchip’s suppression, flared against her will—like it wanted out.
“Melody?” she croaked, turning.
Melody wasn’t speaking. She wasn’t blinking.
“Mel?” Celeste reached out, tapped her friend’s shoulder.
Melody turned. Her mouth hung slightly open. Drool—thick, glowing, and blue—dripped down from the corner. Her eyes—pure white. Glassy. Like the soul behind them had packed up and left.
“...Mel?”
Celeste backed up a step.
All around them, the others on the balcony were shifting in place. Mouths slack. Eyes wide and glowing. Like something inside them had been... rewritten.
The promotional bonbons sat at their feet. Half-eaten. Glinting faintly in the hardening light.
Celeste’s breathing caught.
She didn’t whisper it—but she thought it, screamed it inside her head:
What is happening?
“This isn’t funny, Mel—p-please, come on now,” she begged, voice trembling as she backed away.
But Melody didn’t move.
Her white eyes shimmered under the warped pink sky, and that eerie, sticky drool was still sliding down her chin. Celeste’s foot hit something—an abandoned lanyard, maybe—and she stumbled.
That’s when the dog turned.
He’d been standing hunched over near the balcony railing, twitching violently. His fur had begun to change color—his black and white spots were warping, darkening, melting into a glossy texture.
Celeste blinked—and realized his body was solidifying, like wax or... licorice?
His snout opened unnaturally wide.
And he lunged.
“NOPE!” Celeste squeaked, darting sideways as teeth snapped where her neck had been. She bolted for the doors, heart battering her ribs.
But before she could reach them, hands grabbed her wrists and slammed her against the wall.
“Mel—!” Celeste’s breath hitched.
Melody’s face was inches from hers, lips peeled back in a snarl. Her skin shimmered—crinkling, tearing—as if layers of gaudy wrapping paper were peeling across her arms.
“Snap out of it!” Celeste begged, struggling. “Please, Mel, fight it!”
For the briefest second, Melody’s jaw trembled. Her eyes flickered, the monster’s glaze breaking into something raw. Her voice cracked through the paper crinkle of her skin.
“H-help… me…”
A shadow loomed. Another zombie—its jaw dripping caramel strings—stumbled toward Celeste, maw opening.
“No!” Celeste twisted violently, shoving herself sideways, wriggling free of Melody’s grip just as teeth snapped shut where her shoulder had been.
She burst through the doors, nearly tripping as she slammed into the corridor beyond.
The hallway stretched ahead, dim and warped, lined with peeling candy-crusted wallpaper. She didn’t dare look back.
The corridor was worse.
Screams echoed. Figures staggered and twitched. Some were writhing on the floor, others slamming into walls. Their movements weren’t right—too stiff, too hungry. Like puppets being controlled by someone who had forgotten how to be alive.
Celeste shoved past them, clutching her chest. “Come on—come on—please, where’s the room?!”
The hallway opened onto the indoor balcony above the main hall. She stopped for half a second—just enough to take in the chaos below.
People screamed and scattered around the stage. The once-cheerful con space now looked like a battleground, candy wrappers and prop swords scattered in the stampede. The sky beyond the massive glass windows was still that unnatural, hard pink.
Celeste’s eyes locked on Mezzo.
The dalmatian security guard stood in the middle of the mess, arms out in front of him, trying to reason with a short figure in a mask. The figure growled low and made a sudden snapping motion with its head.
“Alright there, lil’ guy, that’s a fierce costume, aye? Jeez, you’ll win the contest, no doubt. But biting—hah—that’s takin’ immersion too bloody far!”
He reached forward and gently lifted the child’s mask.
What he saw made him reel back with a yelp—then fall flat on his tail.
“Holy sweet motherlight a’ divine, that’s not a costume!!”
Celeste bolted down the nearby stairs, grabbed his paw, and hauled him up.
“RUN! Stars above, I don’t know what this is, but it’s not cosplay!”
Mezzo stumbled after her, nearly tripping over his boots. “Ye think I hadn’t noticed?! Don’t be orderin’ me about, lass—I’m not even on shift!”
Celeste yanked him along, ears flat, tail lashing. “Then at least run in my direction!”
They turned and sprinted together, darting past candy-warped figures and fallen displays.
Celeste’s only thought: Find Lumina. Find her now.
She burst into the gaming room with Mezzo close behind.
But the room was empty.
“Lumina?!” Her voice cracked. “Lumina, love, where are you?!”
Her wide eyes swept the room. “Arcade?! Skye?!”
Nothing.
Just a TV screen frozen on a paused game, and a few open card decks scattered across the floor.
Celeste’s voice cracked, small and breaking. “No, no, no—where are they?!”
She turned—and nearly screamed.
A paw grabbed her wrist.
She spun—ready to punch—but stopped.
It was Pitch E. Blak.
The grey wolf survivalist from earlier. His trench coat was even more dramatic up close, now flaring as he barricaded the door with a toppled table.
“I told you,” he said, voice gravel-deep, eyes steady. “Always be prepared. The world won’t wait for your doubts.”
“Pitch?!” Celeste stammered, wide-eyed. “What are you—why are you here?!”
He planted a chair under the handle, hands moving like he’d rehearsed this moment a thousand times. “Been tracking this candy rollout for weeks. Too neat. Too viral. Too… engineered.” His lip curled. “Didn’t like the smell of it. Knew it would break bad.”
Celeste shook her head furiously. “We can’t stay here—if Lumina’s out there—!”
“I’m making a stand,” Pitch said flatly, tugging a tactical flashlight and an energy drink from his coat like holy relics. “Always start with light and fuel. Buy time.”
“Bad idea!” Mezzo yelped, jabbing a finger toward the curtain. “Check yer bloody corners, wolf, there’s more in here!”
Celeste turned—and sure enough, behind the display screen, two figures stumbled forward, slow and sweet-scented.
Their mouths hung open in that same slack-jawed hunger.
One had what used to be a Monster backpack. The other still held a cosplay prop—a knight’s lance—but its plastic was melting in its hands.
Celeste froze.
Her brain screamed a dozen directions at once.
Fight? Run? Scream?
Her body locked— But her magic did not.
For a split second, something inside her chest flared—hot and bright and ancient. The rune suppression strained, and she felt something sharp, like static, surge through her fingertips.
Pitch’s sharp gaze flicked to the glow. He muttered, low: “You a hybrid?”
Celeste didn’t answer.
She didn’t know how.
Because her mind wasn’t on magic.
It was on Lumina.
And she was missing.
Pitch’s ears flicked, eyes darting across the chaos. His flashlight beam jittered over broken screens, overturned cabinets, smoke and teeth. Nowhere. No way out.
His breath caught—then he saw it.
“Emergency exit!” Pitch barked, pointing to a red-lit door behind an arcade cabinet. “Move!”
They bolted.
Mezzo flung himself toward the exit, grabbing armfuls of random game controllers and flinging them backward like grenades.
“Ye shall not pass, Super Cat Kart style!” he cried, lobbing a steering wheel at a very confused zombie dressed as a space ranger. It bounced harmlessly off its head.
Celeste couldn't help it—she laughed. Just a short, breathless bark of disbelief.
She grabbed a foam sword from the floor and whipped it like a baton. “Take this, you sugary creeps!”
“Don’t encourage him,” Pitch muttered, reaching the exit.
He yanked the handle— And smacked straight into Ray.
The emo fox nearly bowled them over, eyes bloodshot but eyeliner flawless. She hissed, “What the hell—move! I’m not dying in a convention center!”
She stopped when she saw the horde behind him.
“Oh stars, it’s both sides now—” she whispered.
Behind her, more candy-twisted people poured in through the smoke—grinning, groaning, twitching. Their limbs stuck and popped like toffee being pulled. Some had lollipop shards embedded in their skin. One was dribbling what looked like strawberry syrup from their eyes.
Ray stumbled back into Pitch, eyes darting. “There’s no—there’s nowhere to go!”
Pitch swore, whipping out his flashlight like a holy relic. “Stand back. Gonna blind the beasts.”
He clicked it on— It flickered once— Then lodged itself in the slavering jaws of a gum-soaked hippo zombie that had lumbered out of the fray.
Crunch.
Sparks fizzled.
The beast sneezed a bubble the size of a pumpkin from its nostrils and grinned.
Pitch stared, utterly deadpan. “…I hate everything about today.”
Celeste was paralyzed.
She could feel it again.
That heat. That strange static fire under her skin—rising—pulsing.
Her Mana Suppression Rune flared. She cried out, clutching her arm as the pain shot up into her skull.
It was happening again. The suppression unit was struggling to hold something back.
“Lass—!” Mezzo called, trying to grab her paw.
But something else grabbed everyone’s attention first.
The wall exploded.
A brilliant blaze of cinnamon-red light tore through the far side of the building as a massive white candy dragon burst into the con.
Its body was woven like origami—paper scales folded over translucent sugar bones. Glowing veins pulsed beneath its surface, and it let out a roar that cracked glass.
With a great sweeping breath, it unleashed a jet of flame—bright, hot, and smelling vaguely of caramelized sugar.
The zombies lit up like matchsticks.
Then the dragon looked at her.
Right at Celeste.
Its yellow almond-shaped eyes didn’t just see her. They recognized her.
Celeste’s legs buckled slightly.
Why did it feel like she knew this thing?
But before she could even step forward— Another roar echoed. Deeper. Thunderous. Wrong.
Something even bigger, still unseen, shrieked from beyond the horizon.
The dragon’s gaze hardened.
It took one last look at Celeste— Then spread its paper wings and soared, tearing through the ceiling and into the strange pink sky.
And then the floor gave way.
“WATCH IT!” Pitch shouted.
The weakened boards crumbled beneath them.
Celeste, Pitch, and Ray fell into the dark below— Game screens and props followed like confetti in a collapsing carnival.
Celeste hit something soft. Then something hard.
Everything spun.
Dust.
Light. Candy wrappers. And the smell of smoke.
They’d landed somewhere below.
Celeste rolled onto her side, the breath wheezing from her lungs. Her coat was snagged, her tights torn, but she was alive.
She rolled onto her side, paw to her head, wheezing. “Is everyone—?”
“Alive?” Pitch answered, brushing sugar dust from his coat. His tone was as flat as the debris around them. “Barely.”
Ray pushed herself upright, fur bristling, eyeliner still a perfect slash across her glare. “We need light. Now. Before something else—”
A faint trail of glow shimmered along the floor like breadcrumbs—scattered bonbons, faintly pulsing.
Ray followed it, squinting, muttering under her breath. “Oh, of course. Horror-movie candy trail. This is fine. Totally fine.”
“Wait—don’t—” Celeste whispered, voice too soft, too late.
Too late.
The end of the trail moved.
The creature turned toward them—its veins glowing like neon tubes under skin, its slack jaw dripping syrupy drool.
Ray’s sarcasm cracked into raw panic. “Stars above—!”
She stumbled back, colliding with Celeste.
Celeste shoved forward on instinct, planting herself between Ray and the creature. Her voice trembled, but she forced it out anyway: “P-Pitch—the door!”
Pitch didn’t waste a heartbeat. His eyes flicked to the glow, using the zombie’s sickly shine as a lantern. “There!”
Using the zombie’s glow as a twisted lantern, he spotted a heavy metal door. They ran, the creature snarling behind them, footsteps sticky on the floor.
The door slammed shut—just as the zombie lunged.
Bang.
The room fell into stunned silence.
“Okay,” Ray gasped, paws on her knees. “I officially hate this convention.”
Pitch scanned the shadows, his voice low. “Don’t relax yet.”
They barely had a second to recover before Celeste’s heart sank again.
In the dim lighting of the next room— Hundreds of glowing shapes turned to face them.
“…Candy zombies,” Pitch muttered, voice dry as bone.
Ray bared her teeth. “We're screwed.”
But then—a sound.
A roar.
Loud. Deep. Distant. Inhuman.
The candy-infested husks all turned in unison, like puppets on a string.
They began shuffling away from Celeste and the others—drawn to something else.
Something louder.
Pitch didn’t wait. “Move. While they’re distracted.”
They crept between the hunched figures—tension so thick it crackled in the air.
Suddenly:
Ding.
The elevator pinged open.
Everyone froze.
A group of uninfected civilians exploded out of the lift, shrieking, running. Some zombies turned and gave chase, drawn by the noise.
But in the back of the lift, just as the doors began to close— Celeste’s heart caught in her throat.
“Lumina?!”
The little ragdoll cat blinked up, pressed tight between Skye and Arcade. “C-Celeste?!”
Celeste’s whole body surged forward. She scooped Lumina into her arms, hugging her like she could fold her inside her chest and keep her safe forever. “Oh, stars above, Lumi—you’re okay, thank goodness—you’re okay.”
Lumina stiffened. “I… please don’t do that.”
Celeste froze.
She pulled back, gently.
“Oh—sorry, I didn’t mean—I just—” She swallowed hard, ears low. “I thought I’d lost you.”
Arcade stepped forward, tone clipped, as though cutting the moment apart. “We don’t have time for a family drama episode. Those things will circle back once the roar dies.”
Skye, meanwhile, peered past them, muttering under his breath. “Elevators aren’t safe. Up and down, up and down, like lungs. Can’t breathe in a coffin with lungs.”
Ray squinted at him. “…What?”
Celeste brushed at her eyes quickly, setting Lumina down but keeping a paw on her shoulder. Her voice was soft, trembling, but firm: “He’s right. We—we can’t stay here.”
The elevator doors began to shut—
But a few zombies turned to face them. Not all had left.
“Hit the button!” Ray barked.
They all piled in.
The doors slammed just as claws slapped the outer panel.
A banging started—echoing in the small lift.
Everyone was panting.
The ascent was too slow.
Ray crossed her arms, back to the wall, tail twitching. “I don’t get paid enough for this.”
Pitch’s ears twitched, body poised like a coiled spring. When the doors hissed open, he raised his flashlight like a blade.
“Clear—for now.”
They spilled into a hallway.
Dim. Flickering lights. Tables overturned, candy scattered like breadcrumbs through ruin.
Pitch moved first. Ray guarded behind. Lumina clutched Skye’s paw like it was the last solid thing left in the world. He muttered rules under his breath, tapping at his card device like a broken prayer.
Arcade scribbled furiously in his notebook as they moved. “You know,” he said, voice a little too high, “this would be fascinating if it wasn’t absolutely horrifying.”
Then his phone rang.
A loud, obnoxious jingle.
Every zombie within hearing range turned instantly.
“MOVE!” Pitch snapped.
They sprinted. Arcade shoved the phone back into his pocket, fumbling to silence it.
Ahead—a door marked with the wheelchair symbol.
No time to think.
Ray didn’t hesitate. She kicked it open. “IN!”
They slammed it shut just as a candy-coated paw clawed at the jamb.
Inside, they tumbled into darkness and—
“Do you mind?” a voice barked.
Mezzo.
Sitting on the toilet, pants halfway down, magazine in hand.
There was a long pause.
“…No,” Ray muttered after a beat. “We really don’t.”
Pitch threw the lock. Outside, the growls pressed close, then drifted away.
Celeste slid down against the wall, drawing Lumina tight against her chest. Her voice shook even though she tried to sound strong: “I promise… we’re getting out of this. I swear it.”
Lumina said nothing.
But she didn’t pull away.
Arcade fumbled with his phone again. “Okay, okay… let’s see what the world thinks of this nightmare—”
Hours trapped in a disabled bathroom with barely any light and way too much nervous breathing had stripped everyone down to their rawest selves. The only sounds now were occasional knocks on the door—soft, erratic, always just long enough to spike the anxiety again.
“Alright,” Mezzo muttered, tail twitching. “That’s it. If this is another prank knock, I swear…”
He gently cracked the door open.
Everyone leaned in.
Nothing.
“I think it’s gone—” he started loudly.
Pitch, Ray, and Arcade all lunged at once to slam the door shut and press a paw or claw over Mezzo’s muzzle.
“Don’t yell, numbskull!” Ray hissed.
Mezzo, eyes wide and confused, nodded under their hands.
“Boared,” he mumbled once released, ruffling his hair. The black dye had mostly bled away, revealing a brilliant spiky red mop underneath.
He blinked down at his paws, now stained.
“Ack! What is this—?” He smudged it across his face, completely unaware.
Skye snorted first—his little laugh bubbling out, unexpected and soft. Arcade chuckled, then Celeste let slip a tiny giggle too. Even Lumina gave a quiet snort.
“What?” Mezzo asked, eyes wide and innocent. “Why are you all laughing?”
Ray shook her head, smirking. “You look like a melted popsicle with anger issues.”
Mezzo blinked. “…That’s oddly specific.”
He rubbed at the streaks again, then hesitated. His voice dropped, a little quieter.
“I’m a hybrid,” he admitted. “Been dying it darker so I don’t stand out as much for gigs. Pureblood venues don’t exactly welcome flame-drenched dalmatians.” He gave a weak grin. “I mean, yeah, I look fabulous—but, y’know. Gotta eat.”
There was a beat of silence—just long enough to feel the weight under the joke.
Arcade finally nodded, voice dry but sincere. “Yeah. We know the feeling.”
Skye gave a small nod too, gaze lowered.
Celeste shifted, her voice gentle but almost shy. “Mhm. We… we really do.”
Pitch tilted his head, tone edged with quiet curiosity. “I’m guessing you got your features removed too?”
Mezzo blinked, then sighed. “Yeah. When I was a baby. Guess that’s normal these days.” He gave a half-smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m part gryphon. Really would’ve loved to keep the wings, but… the Council and the purebloods don’t like it when we don’t look too much like them. Gotta fit in. God forbid we look different.”
The heaviness lingered for a moment before Mezzo straightened, shaking it off with a grin. “But hey—so we’re all hybrids? That’s awesome! A full team of magical mutts!”
And Ray immediately slammed it back down.
“Try not to make a scene, idiot,” she hissed. “Some purebloods might be within earshot.”
Mezzo winced. “Right. Sorry. Whisper celebration. Go team mutts.”
Arcade stood up and dusted off his coat with a theatrical sigh. “Alright, we’ve now spent longer in this bathroom together than anyone should in a lifetime. I vote we at least learn each other’s names before we go stir-crazy and form a toilet cult.”
“Me first!” Mezzo perked up.
Ray groaned. “Of course you’d be excited.”
“Name’s Mezzo Swift,” he beamed. “Security officer, guitar enthusiast, licensed driver, and technically a professional adult. I once arrested a guy for smuggling ferret plushies.”
“Impressive,” Arcade said flatly. “And deeply disturbing.”
Before Mezzo could say more, Ray rolled her eyes. “It doesn’t matter. I’m Ray Tanllwyth. I work for Zygurr. Or did. As soon as there’s a clear path, I’m out of here.”
There was a small shuffle of movement as Celeste stepped forward next, adjusting the bag draped over her shoulders. Lumina clung tightly to her leg, half-hidden, peeking out with wide pink eyes.
“I-I’m Celeste Astallan… and this is my little sister, Lumina.”
Lumina peeked out. “H-hello. It’s… it’s lovely to meet you.”
There was a pause.
Even Arcade raised an eyebrow.
Mezzo leaned forward, grinning. “Well pardon me, your highness! Should we be bowing, or do you prefer curtsies?”
Lumina squeaked, flushed pink, and buried her face in Celeste’s cloak. Celeste gave Mezzo a flat look, though her lips twitched upward. “She’s just shy. And we were raised a bit… formal.”
“Yeah, no kidding, Princess,” Mezzo laughed. “She sounds like she’s about to offer me tea and threaten war with my people in the same sentence.”
“Stop bullying the child,” Pitch muttered.
“I’m not! I’m appreciating her!” Mezzo grinned. “Big difference.”
Arcade cut through smoothly. “Arcade Davies. Engineer, hacker, genius. Try to keep up.” He gestured vaguely at Skye. “That’s Skye Emilio. Cousin. Don’t ask how.”
Mezzo squinted. “Fennec and hedgehog cousins? Yeah, that math isn’t mathing.”
Arcade didn’t miss a beat. “It’s a complicated family tree. And also none of your business.”
“Ooh, mysterious,” Mezzo drawled. “Let me guess—interdimensional adoptions, ancient fennec blood curse, or swapped in the nursery by an angry witch?”
Skye gave a tiny smile from behind his scarf. “Closer to option three than you’d think.”
“Witch it is,” Mezzo nodded solemnly.
Celeste chuckled, her hand resting protectively on Lumina’s shoulder. For a brief moment, the room felt warm again.
Pitch stood, calm and collected. “Name’s Pitch. Pitch E. Blak. Survivalist, guide, and… big brother. I’ve got a kid brother I need to get back to outside the city. But I’ll help as long as I can.”
Mezzo tilted his head. “How old are you?” “Thirty-one.”
Mezzo gasped. “Ancient!”
Pitch gave him a slow blink. “Watch it, pup.”
“Not a pup,” Mezzo retorted, puffing out his chest. “I’m an adult pup. With adult money.”
Arcade raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? How much money?”
Mezzo paused. “…None. Technically. Yet.”
Celeste laughed softly, and without thinking, pulled half a pound coin from her coat. “Here. But only if you perform that guitar solo you kept shouting about.”
Mezzo took the coin like it was treasure. “You remembered?” he gasped. “Finally! Validation! At last I am seen!”
He struck a dramatic pose. “Ladies and gentlemen, the show must go on! Coming soon to a bathroom near you—Mezzo, the financially independent rock sensation of Clawdiff Con!”
Skye clapped softly, smiling. “I like music. Helps quiet the noise. Except when it doesn’t.”
Ray groaned. “That’s it. I’m done. Not dying in a toilet cubicle next to a karaoke puppy.”
She yanked the door open—
And froze.
A small figure stood in the flickering corridor.
It stopped.
Turned.
Bolted straight at them.
“NOPE!” Ray slammed the door shut again.
Knocking resumed—sharp, deliberate, almost playful.
Mezzo whimpered, burying his face in his paws. “WHY WON’T IT LEAVE US ALONE?!”
Celeste tilted her head, brow knitting. “Wait… if it’s knocking… then maybe it’s not like the others.”
All eyes went to her.
Pitch rumbled, “Go on.”
Celeste bit her lip. “It hasn’t attacked. It keeps… trying the doors. Like it remembers. Like… it’s aware.”
Ray frowned. “You’re saying it’s smart?”
Celeste hesitated. “…Or just not gone all the way.” She hugged her sleeves tighter. “I hope they have something in their brains, you know? Maybe we can cure them.”
Arcade gave her a side look. “Celeste… what happened to your friend?”
Her throat tightened. “She started bleeding blue from her eyes. Then she tried to bite me. She asked for help but—” Celeste’s voice cracked, and she shook her head. “—but I was attacked by another. A… well, monster. Ill person. I have no idea what to call them.”
“Zombies?” Mezzo offered, his fur bristling.
Celeste winced. “Oh dear, I hope not. But… anyway, I hope she’s okay.”
Arcade crossed his arms. “Chances aren’t good. You know that, right?”
“I know.” Celeste’s voice softened. “I’m just being optimistic.”
Arcade stared at the door. “Either way, it’s something new.”
Outside, the knocking stopped.
And this time… it didn’t come back.
The dim emergency lights flickered overhead, casting long, eerie shadows across the once-vibrant con hall now littered with abandoned merchandise, empty cosplay props, and torn posters fluttering like ghosts in a forgotten wind.
Celeste took measured steps, her boots clicking softly against the tile, each sound like a cannon shot in the silence. Pitch followed close, flashlight ready, his ears twitching with every creak and groan of the building.
The beam of light swept over the floor—and both of them froze. Long streaks of blood dragged in irregular patterns, as though bodies had been hauled away against their will.
Celeste’s stomach knotted. “Dragged… away…” she whispered.
Something crackled by her paw. A security walkie-talkie lay discarded, its casing smeared red. Static popped through it—then a desperate voice broke out, ragged and panicked.
“Hello? Please, someone—! They’re inside, I can’t—”
A scream tore across the channel, loud and human and awful. Then only static.
Pitch swallowed hard, ears flat. He bent, picked the walkie up, and switched it off with a trembling paw. “Too late.”
Celeste forced herself to move on, her breath shallow. The next thing her light caught was worse—a council-issued droid, its plating torn open and scattered in a pool of oil. The metal looked gnawed, as if something had tried to eat it and failed.
She hugged her arms tight. “This isn’t random. It’s… hunger.”
The con hall loomed ahead, silent except for the buzz of dying lights and the phantom echo of that scream.
Then—
“BZZZT. Attention.”
Both of them jumped, spinning toward the ceiling as a speaker crackled to life, the sound blaring in the silence.
“Evacuation order. The Council reminds all hybrids to remember protocol and allow purebloods to vacate the premises first. Any infraction shall result in a fixed penalty and national ID score deduction.”
The announcement looped, cold and bureaucratic, as though nothing had happened at all.
Pitch muttered under his breath, teeth bared. “I hope those things shut off soon. Gonna draw attention.”
Celeste turned her head, scanning the far end of the hall. Her breath caught.
A shadow lingered at the edge of the broken stalls—slender, hunched, almost human. It shifted the moment the light passed over, pressing itself against the wall as if trying to hide.
“Pitch…” Celeste whispered, heart hammering. “We’re not alone.”
Ahead, the small figure darted from one door to the next, pausing only to knock—once, twice—then vanishing again into the gloom like a wind-up toy on repeat.
Celeste’s voice lowered, careful, almost whispering. “It’s just a child… I think.”
“Looks like it,” Pitch whispered, lowering the light. “But we can't assume anything. You’ve seen what’s out there.”
Celeste nodded, her heart beating fast. Just as she stepped forward again, she felt a small tug at the hem of her coat.
She spun, fists clenched—only to see Lumina, wide-eyed, clutching her sleeve.
“I didn’t… I didn’t want to be alone,” Lumina whispered.
Celeste exhaled hard, equal parts relief and exasperation. She glanced back toward the bathroom.
Arcade, still peeking from the cracked door, threw up his paws in surrender and mouthed, I tried to stop her.
Rolling her eyes, Celeste gently pulled Lumina to her side and motioned for her to stay close.
Then Celeste blinked, rubbing at her eyes. “Ugh… I can’t see a thing like this.” With a quick rummage through her bag, she slipped on her square spectacles, the glass catching a faint gleam of the broken neon nearby.
Lumina tilted her head, studying her. “I don’t know why you hide them. You look fine.”
Celeste hesitated, fussing with the frame on her nose. “I’m just… trying not to be recognised, is all.”
Lumina’s voice was quiet, but sharp in the stillness. “Is it… so Dad doesn’t find you?”
Celeste froze. Her paw lingered awkwardly at her temple, glasses half-adjusted. She opened her mouth—then shut it again, a flicker of guilt crossing her face.
Instead of answering, she looked away, her lips pressing into a thin line.
Lumina said nothing more, but her small paw stayed curled in Celeste’s sleeve.
The figure ahead paused at another door, knocking softly. Now that she was closer, Celeste could see more detail—a small frame clad in a bright yellow hoodie with mouse ears, a rainbow stitched across the back, and a glittery skirt poking out beneath the hem. The oversized animal mask, shaped like a cartoonish bunny, was slightly crooked.
The little figure jumped and turned quickly. There was a long pause. Then, with tiny hands, the child reached up and removed the mask.
A small panda cub stared back at them, eyes glistening.
She popped a pacifier from her mouth and said softly in Welsh, “Dw i wedi colli fy mam…”
(I’ve lost my mum.)
Celeste’s heart dropped. Lumina clutched her paw tighter.
Pitch stepped forward slowly, his voice gentle for the first time since they met. “We’ve got you now, little one. You’re not alone anymore.”
But just as Celeste reached out her hand, the ground beneath them gave a low rumble—and somewhere deeper in the con, a metallic screech echoed like a banshee’s wail.
Celeste instinctively pulled Lumina behind her, shielding the cub as she looked to Pitch, who had already turned toward the sound.
“We—we need to go. Now.”
Pitch lifted his flashlight, jaw tight. “Something’s moving. And it’s big.”
And this time, it didn’t sound small.
Mezzo burst out of the shadows, guitar case bulging with random junk. “Loot check! I scored a limited edition Captain Starwhip pin, a glowstick sword, three bags of crisps—”
He trailed off suddenly, spotting the small figure in Celeste’s arms.
His eyes widened.
“Not again!” he yelped, yanking out a dented soda can like a grenade. “Stay back, candy fiend! I’ve seen your tricks!”
Pitch calmly grabbed his wrist. “It’s a kid, genius.”
Celeste narrowed her eyes at Mezzo, then gently pulled the panda cub’s mask up to reveal her big, watery eyes and trembling nose.
“See? Just a little girl.”
Mezzo squinted. “Could’ve been a zombie,” he muttered, lowering the can reluctantly. “You saw what happened to that licorice dog dude.”
Celeste sighed, her voice sharp but small. “Not everyone in a mask is a monster.”
The panda cub tucked her head into Celeste’s shoulder, still sniffling.
Celeste softened again. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”
The cub didn’t answer. Instead, she looked at Lumina, who smiled and pulled out a crinkled bag of strawberry bonbons from her hoodie pocket.
Lumina smiled shyly. “Do you… want one?”
The cub’s eyes lit up. She squealed in delight, reaching for the sweets.
“Bonbons!”
Celeste blinked. “Bonbon? Is that… your name?”
The cub nodded excitedly, grabbing one of the candies and popping it into her mouth with a sticky mffph.
Pitch smirked. “Well, there it is. We’ve got ourselves a Bonbon.”
Celeste adjusted the cub on her hip, her voice soft but steady. “Then we’ll keep her close—at least until we find her mother.”
Bonbon nestled into her shoulder with a tiny sigh, as if the promise was enough.
Mezzo groaned. “Great. Another mouth to feed. Hope she’s good with a guitar solo when the zombies come.”
From down the hall, Ray’s dry voice cut through. “She’s already got better rhythm than you.”
The group chuckled, tense but real.
Celeste shifted Bonbon on her hip and whispered, almost like a promise: “We—we have to keep moving. Quietly. The little ones first.”
Mezzo saluted with mock seriousness. “Aye aye! Operation: Save the Kids—commencing now!”
Lumina bent down, her little fingers brushing over a dusty but clearly loved doll—a pink bunny Lolita dress clinging delicately to its stitched frame. Its glass eyes were cracked slightly, but it still held an odd kind of charm, like a forgotten character in the wrong genre of story.
She looked up at Celeste with wide, hopeful eyes. “Can I take her home? I think it would be a shame to leave her here...”
Celeste paused, heart tugging. She gave a small nod. “Of course. She deserves better than this mess.”
Smiling, Lumina carefully tucked the doll into Celeste’s backpack, zipping it gently.
“Her name’s Miss Jellybean,” she decided quietly, and Celeste didn’t argue.
But just as the moment settled—a familiar dread returned.
The floor rumbled, dust from the cracked ceiling sprinkling like ash.
A long, distorted screech rang out from the darkness, echoing like metal dragged across candy glass.
Ray, watching from the half-ajar bathroom door, narrowed her eyes. “That’s not good…”
Before she could move, something massive collided with the corridor wall beside her, sending her tumbling backward into the dark with a thud.
Bursting from the shadows came a towering, 12-foot grotesque—a behemoth of bloated, gelatinous pink flesh.
A pig-donut monster.
Its snout squelched frosting with every breath, its skin glazed and sprinkled, and its movements slow but thunderous. It waddled like a corrupted mascot on sugar steroids—adorably horrifying, its body undulating as it threw its weight around like a wrecking ball of icing-covered doom.
Ray stared up from the floor, pale and breathless. “…This convention officially sucks,” she muttered, deadpan, just as the donut pig roared—spraying frosting like shrapnel.
Celeste jerked Lumina back, shielding her with both arms. Her voice trembled but held firm: “R-Run! Please—just go!”
Mezzo froze, eyes bulging. “That thing—” he jabbed a paw at the beast “—needs cardio. And maybe a therapist!”
The group scattered, the air thick with fear and powdered sugar.
They barely made it ten steps before the next nightmare revealed itself.
From the cracks in the floor, ceiling vents, and even spilled candy bins, they appeared—tiny, hyperactive mice-like creatures, each barely knee-high.
Their bodies were dense, glittering sugar cubes stacked like miniature bricks.
But their faces…
Celeste’s stomach turned.
Wide, jagged grins stretched unnaturally from ear to ear, packed with crystalline teeth.
Their eyes? Empty black holes, as if the very idea of mercy had been extracted from their design.
They moved fast—too fast.
“What the—!” Mezzo yelped as one launched itself at his leg.
Another bit into Pitch’s coat, making him spin, flailing and growling, trying to swat it off with a discarded foam sword.
“Get it off! Get it—oh, that’s my tail, you demon sprinkle!”
More mice skittered across the ground like sugar-coated piranhas.
Meanwhile, Arcade and Skye darted into a side corridor—but their path was blocked.
A marshmallow bunny stood at the far end.
Not the cuddly kind from Easter baskets—this thing was the size of a small car, with a body that shimmered and pulsed like taffy under a heat lamp.
Every step it took was deliberate and heavy.
It didn’t bounce. It absorbed.
With a sickening squelch, the plushy white mass stepped onto a toppled vending machine, and the metal groaned before disappearing completely into its pillowy body, like it had never existed.
Arcade skidded to a stop. “Nope. Nope nope nope!”
“We are so gonna get diabetes and die,” Skye muttered, holding his trading card device up like it might ward off evil. “This is how it ends.”
Celeste grabbed Lumina’s hand tighter, her eyes darting for another route. “We need to run! These things are everywhere!”
The hallway pulsed with a twisted melody—some cheerful chiptune jingle warped into something off-key and monstrous, like the soundtrack of a child’s nightmare.
Ray stumbled to her feet, powdered sugar clinging to her fur. “Okay, so I vote we stop splitting up!” she yelled, kicking one of the sugar-mice across the corridor.
“Agreed!” Mezzo shouted, now using a folded con banner as a makeshift shield.
Somewhere behind them, the donut pig let out another enraged frosting-gargled bellow.
The con had officially become a sugar-coated hell.
Celeste’s heart pounded.
We need a plan, she thought. Or we’re not getting out of this candy-coated nightmare.
The moment the candy-cat zombie emerged from the shadows, the world felt wrong.
It didn’t move like a creature. It glided—limbs flexing with unsettling grace. Its body looked as though someone had sculpted a mockery of a feline out of sweet wrappers, taffy, and twisted sugar glass. Its hands were clusters of stiff lollipops that clinked together as it walked, yet where a mouth should have been… there was nothing. Just a smooth stretch of sticky, waxy cellophane.
Still, it spoke—and what it said turned Celeste’s blood to ice.
It wasn’t its voice. It was his.
“Disappointment… why don’t you make yourself useful—and give up.”
The voice of her father. Cold. Controlled. Brutal in its finality.
Celeste froze.
Her breath caught in her throat, her knees buckled, and the world twisted into a sickening carousel of color and dread. It was like her soul had been dredged out and stretched raw.
The creature lunged—not fast, but deliberately—and began wrapping her in a cocoon of sweet wrappers. Her arms, her legs—her thoughts—being bound tighter and tighter.
She couldn’t scream. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t fight.
“Celeste!” Lumina’s voice rang out, small but desperate, trying to yank her free—but the magic was stronger than either of them.
Then—the whisper.
It came like the wind slipping through a crack in a closed window.
Soft. Familiar. Welsh.
“Deffro…” Awaken.
The word echoed like a spark in dry grass, racing through her veins.
Celeste’s Mana Suppression Rune, dormant until now, surged.
But before it could fully suppress her, something deeper answered first.
A light—soft at first, then blinding—bloomed from her chest.
Shaped like a glowing candy core, the same kind she had devoured, it pulsed with radiant energy. A perfect fusion of mythic magic and unstable sweetness, humming with impossible warmth.
It drew in everything—every drop of mana left in her body.
Instead of exploding outward in fire and fury, it flashed bright blue, then rippled outward in delicate tendrils of light.
Her fear didn’t trap her anymore. It poured out—carried by the light, lifted from her chest like breath in winter.
The energy threaded through the air, reaching far beyond the ruined convention hall.
And then—like stars lighting up on a constellation—it touched them.
One by one.
A flicker of red on Mezzo’s chest. A twitch of purple light in Ray’s. A heartbeat of yellow echoed in Skye’s chest. Lumina gasped as her chest glowed pink. Arcade, halfway across the ruins, faltered and looked toward Celeste.
They felt her.
Not the fire. Not the fury.
Her.
And in that moment, as the last of her energy left her body and the microchip re-engaged with a painful snap, Celeste collapsed back to herself.
She dropped to her knees, panting. Glowing veins dimming.
Her hand found the cracked marble wall beside her, and she whispered a spell with barely enough voice to speak.
Celeste, breath ragged, lowered her blades. The glow around her dimmed, but her voice—quiet, trembling—still reached her friends. “Did… did I do that? I didn’t mean to—well, I did, but not like that—”
And now… they knew it too.
Her fear had shape.
Her fear had power.
Her truth had claws.
From her hands, a warm starlight erupted. Crystalline particles danced in the air like fireflies as she hovered mid-lift, hair shifting as if underwater. In each hand, something formed—no, returned.
Twin swords—Japanese in design, but unlike anything from a museum or anime.
Their hilts shimmered, inlaid with glowing stars—little constellations that flickered as if alive. Long ribbons extended from each one, flowing behind her like comets’ tails, with shining shooting stars weighted at their ends.
The Celestial Blades—Starlight and Starbright.
The wrapper-zombie hissed with mimicry as it reached again, but too late.
BOOM.
The burst from Celeste’s aura blasted it backward—shredding its candy wrappings and sending it skidding across the floor like litter in the wind.
She stood tall—wobbly but alive—her blades humming like soft music boxes.
Lumina stared in awe.
Mezzo, mouth open, whispered, “…Okay, that was cool.”
Pitch just nodded slowly. “That… explains a lot.”
Celeste looked at her glowing hands, the swords, the sparks gently falling around her like snow.
She wasn’t sure what had awakened.
But she was no longer just scared.
She was ready to defend.
Celeste’s aura flared—a radiant burst of starlight rippling outward like a shockwave through the darkness.
As the pulse rolled across her friends, something deep within each of them stirred. Mana Suppression Runes embedded beneath their skin—previously dormant—hummed with rising energy, responding to Celeste’s surge like tuning forks catching a shared frequency. One by one, a core in their chests lit up—each a different color, each glowing with a light that linked briefly back to Celeste before fading. And then, each hybrid formed a weapon.
Lumina was the first to react.
Her eyes widened as glowing light enveloped her hands. With a gasp, she instinctively held them out—and flash—a gleaming heart-shaped shield materialized in her left hand, intricate and soft-colored, its edges laced with golden curls and a central pink gem pulsing like a heartbeat.
In her right hand, a sword followed—a slender, curved blade forged from rose-gold and pink-gold alloy, with a hilt shaped like a blooming flower. At its center sat another gem-heart, warm and protective, a light that radiated hope.
Heartguard and Roselight Blade.
The moment she gripped the sword, her posture changed. A little more confident. A little less scared.
The candy-cat zombie, now shrieking in mimicry and clearly frustrated, launched itself at Lumina—lollihands swinging wildly, wrappers flapping like sails.
But Lumina stood her ground.
She planted her feet, snapped her shield in front of her—and the moment it struck, the shield pulsed out a resonant thrum. The impact sent the zombie recoiling like it had slammed into a wall of love itself, its movements glitching and twitching.
Celeste saw her chance.
Still reeling from her awakening, legs shaky beneath her, she pushed forward, gripping her twin blades tight. Her eyes locked on the zombie’s exposed arm—torn slightly by Lumina’s shield pulse—and with a sharp upward swing of her ribboned sword, she sliced.
A crunch—then snap.
The zombie’s arm, brittle from the impact, flew off, landing in a crumpled heap of candy and cellophane.
The creature staggered back, letting out a garbled screech, mimicking a dozen voices at once in static terror.
Behind Celeste, faint crackles began to form—Skye, Arcade, even Pitch—their new cores were reacting too.
Something had changed.
They weren’t just survivors anymore.
They were changed.
Celeste's hands trembled on her blades, her breath hitching, heart racing.
She was terrified.
But when her eyes locked on Lumina—clutching her heart-shaped shield and trying to stand tall—and the little panda cub clinging to Lumina’s skirt—Bonbon, frightened but watching—something inside her snapped into focus.
This wasn’t about being fearless.
It was about being brave anyway.
Celeste whispered to herself, at first shakily, “It’s just a game… like a video game…” She repeated it, trying to convince herself—then believing it more with every word. “Just a game…”
Suddenly, the severed zombie arm started to glitch—flickering at the edges, distorting in its shape. Then, with a digital fizz, it disintegrated into pixels, scattering upward like confetti.
With a chime, floating numbers appeared:
+10 EXP +Candy x3
A colorful fanfare followed—a burst of sparkles and loot like a piñata breaking open.
Celeste blinked, blades still glowing. “Wait… I really am in a game…”
It was absurd. Impossible. Yet the moment the thought took root, reality bent around it.
Reality had shifted, warping to match her perception. The zombies no longer moved like grotesque monsters—they now had health bars flickering above them, glitched animations when they staggered. Everything about the world suddenly felt like a high-stakes boss level.
Celeste turned to Lumina, who was trembling but holding her shield high. Celeste’s grin—shaky but real—cut through the terror like sunlight.
“Just pretend it’s a game with me, okay? We can do this. I’m with you.”
Lumina gasped softly at her words, then nodded hard, her grip on the Roselight Blade tightening. “Okay… like a game,” she whispered, then steadied her voice. “Let’s win together.”
She took her stance beside Celeste, shoulders back, shield up—trying so hard to be strong.
And Bonbon peeked from behind, still holding her pacifier, and squeaked, “Level up?”
Celeste chuckled through the fear. She smiled down at Bonbon, brushing a bit of hair from her little panda face. “Yeah,” she said softly, steadying her blades again. “Level up.”
Mezzo stared down at his glowing hands, eyes widening as a flaming red guitar materialized between them. Its body was sharp, jagged—shaped like a battle axe, with the strings crackling like molten wire. Flames licked the edges, not burning him, but hungry for sound.
His guitar axe: Infernal Riff.
“No way… This is metal.”
Without a second thought, he slung it over his shoulder and struck a power chord that rippled through the air. The sound was almost tangible, sending a shockwave that staggered the sugar cube mice closing in.
Then—reality snapped back and Mezzo saw them crawling closer, their jagged grins gleaming.
“Okay, okay! Less solos—more smashing!”
He raised the guitar like a war axe and slammed it down on the nearest creature. It burst into candy shards and EXP, a cartoonish “CRIT!” flashing midair.
Mezzo grinned wide.
“I take it back. This is the best gig ever!”
Meanwhile, Pitch stood steady amid the chaos, cool and quiet—until he felt the hum in his hands.
With a shimmer of gold light, a weapon unfolded in his grip: a sleek shotgun—the barrel forged from shimmering playing cards, each one etched with arcane suits and emblems. Across the largest card, a bold pinup fox winked above the name:
Lady Luck.
Pitch cocked the gun, and the chamber shuffled like a deck. He smirked.
“Let’s deal.”
He aimed, and fired—no bullets, but razor-sharp cards launched out, slicing through the zombie swarm like shurikens.
Each shot was precise, elegant—and lethal.
+15 EXP +Gummy Eyeball (Rare Drop)
Pitch flicked his wrist and the gun reloaded with a shuffle.
“Never underestimate the house.”
The battlefield had changed.
No longer victims, they were players.
And every monster was just another boss to beat.
Ray, ever the stubborn lone wolf, gritted her teeth and charged the towering donut pig monster.
“Get out of my way!”
She barely got close before the beast’s gelatinous bulk swung sideways—BOOM—sending her flying like a ragdoll into a nearby display of plush toys. She growled, half-dazed but furious.
Then it happened.
A pulse surged through her chest, flowing to her arms. Her fists glowed, and in a brilliant flash, a colossal war hammer materialized in her grip.
Heartbreaker.
It was black and violet, jagged and vicious-looking. A cracked broken heart emblem pulsed at its core, beating with her rage.
The weapon was absurdly massive, almost comedic. No one should have been able to lift it. But Ray? She swung it like it was part of her.
“You’ve got to be kidding me… well, fine.”
She gripped the handle and charged.
With a mighty roar, she slammed the hammer into the pig monster’s side.
CRACK!
The beast let out a wailing oink as chunks of donut and icing blasted off its side. Sprinkles rained down like shrapnel. It stumbled, trying to recover—but Ray wasn’t done.
“Oh, now we’re playing my kind of game.”
Her eyes gleamed with confidence, a smirk tugging at her lips.
For the first time in her life—Ray didn’t just feel strong.
She was.
Meanwhile, tiny hands grasped at something that shimmered into existence—a small wand, rainbow with a lollipop-shaped tip. Little Bonbon blinked under her panda mask, tilting her head.
Twizzleburst.
It glittered like a toy—and to her, that’s all it was.
So, naturally, she giggled and bopped it against the air like she was playing pretend.
With a poof, sparkling hearts and tiny candy meteors shot forward and bounced harmlessly off a wall—until one hit a sugar mouse, disintegrating it in a burst of glitter.
+10 EXP
Bonbon clapped, not realizing the magic she had just wielded.
“Eto! Boom boom!”
Everyone else stared in disbelief.
She just beamed, swinging the wand again.
Sparkles exploded behind her.
Next, Arcade—ever the strategist, ever the logic-driven thinker—watched with bated breath as his own microchip pulsed.
“Based on my prior calculations, statistical models, and the law of narrative symmetry… this should be something absolutely magnificent.”
His hands sparked.
A sudden ping sounded, and materialized in front of him was… a tiny robot.
About the size of a lunchbox.
Gray, with a magnet-themed color scheme: one eye softly glowed blue, the other red. It had a single spinning antenna and stubby legs that wobbled awkwardly as it looked up at him.
“Hello, Master. Awaiting commands.”
Arcade blinked. “…That’s it?”
There was a beat of stunned silence.
Then Mezzo burst out laughing, nearly doubling over.
“BAHAHA—Look at it! It’s adorable! I thought you’d summon a tank, not a toaster!”
Arcade’s eye twitched. “What can you even do? You’re tiny.”
The robot gave no reply. Instead, it beeped once and its entire body began to fold inward—like a reverse origami trick—until it formed a small metal cube.
Then the cube began to grow.
It expanded outward, massively, clicking and shifting like transforming armor until it towered over the group—a full battle mech, easily ten feet tall, sleek and industrial.
Its blue-and-red eyes flickered back on.
“I’m C.H.I.P. I am travel-sized for your convenience,” it said cheerfully, before tearing through the sugar mice like tissue paper.
+20 EXP
Arcade smirked smugly.
“Finally. Someone here who understands proper hardware.”
Last—but by no means least—was Skye.
He stood quiet, unsure. Everyone else had flashy weapons, powers—even a mecha. But nothing had happened to him.
Then he noticed it—his card launcher. The once-plain device now shimmered like treasure unearthed. Its casing gleamed with enchanted gold, inlaid with radiant gemstones that pulsed in time with his heartbeat. Intricate runes curled along its edges, glowing faintly like a spell waiting to be spoken.
Aurex Arcana.
There was a soft click, smooth and deliberate. A single shimmering card slid into his hand—warm with magic, heavy with purpose.
He stared at it, uncertain, but loaded it into the launcher anyway.
“Might as well try…”
WHOOSH.
From the card burst a flickering sprite, glowing and elegant, like a hummingbird made of fire and light. It spun once in the air and shot a fireball straight into the giant marshmallow bunny.
The creature let out a soft splorch before melting into a gooey puddle, giving off the faint smell of burnt sugar.
+10 EXP +Candy x3
Skye gasped.
“Whoa… That… was me?”
Celeste gave him a proud nod. “Looks like everyone has something special now.”
Mezzo whooped. “Best game ever!”
And so, for the first time since the chaos began, the group stood tall.
Together. Armed. Ready.
A team.
The team stood among the wreckage—broken candy creatures, melted marshmallow goo, and shattered sugar mice all around them.
They were panting, scuffed up, and a little sticky… but they were grinning.
With a flash of golden light, a message popped up in the air like a hologram:
LEVEL UP! ➤ Level 2 Achieved!
Above each of their heads, shimmering numbers flickered into place. Even Bonbon, who clapped excitedly, got her little badge of level-up pride.
Mezzo flung his arms wide like he was announcing to a stadium. “YES! I knew I was main character material! Finally, the spotlight’s on me!”
Celeste laughed, cheeks flushing. “Oh, don’t be daft… it’s not just you…” She lifted a hand shyly for a high-five.
Mezzo smacked it with a resounding clap, then spun toward the others. “GROUP HIGH-FIVE, PEOPLE! Don’t leave me hangin’!”
One by one, Lumina, Skye, and even Ray hesitated, then joined in. Pitch smirked faintly and slapped his paw in. Arcade rolled his eyes. “Ugh, germs,” he muttered—but leaned in anyway.
For the first time since the chaos began, they didn’t feel like prey.
They felt like a team.
Arcade immediately pulled back, fiddling with his wrist-tech, eyes gleaming with calculation. “This makes absolutely no sense. No Wi-Fi, no visible energy source—yet the chips responded to extreme psychological stimuli, manifesting constructs tailored to individual cognition. Fascinating…”
Ray arched an eyebrow. “Or maybe it’s just… y’know, magic? Don’t fry your brain about it.”
Arcade scoffed. “That’s literally the opposite of what I do.”
Pitch leaned against a cracked gumdrop pillar, voice low. “Alright, genius—but how are we meant to carry these things? My shotgun’s made of bloody playing cards. Not exactly stealth kit.”
As if on cue, all of their weapons dissolved into particles—a soft light that floated into the air before fading into their respective microchips.
The room fell silent.
Mezzo blinked.
“Where’d my guitar go?!”
He stuck out his paw dramatically.
“Come back, my sweet ax of flame!”
The air shimmered—and BAM—the guitar reappeared in his paws with a soft musical riff echoing behind it.
Everyone stared.
Mezzo grinned like a lunatic.
“Okay. This. Is. AWESOME.”
Arcade’s jaw tightened, but his eyes shone. “This isn’t just magic. It’s adaptive. The universe itself is rewriting interface laws to suit our subconscious expectations. Symbolic cognition, emotional projection—do you realize what this means? I need samples. Notes. Simulations—”
Ray groaned, dragging a paw down her face. “He’s gonna lecture us into the apocalypse.”
Skye leaned toward Lumina and whispered, almost conspiratorial. “I think… I just leveled up in weird.”
Lumina hummed thoughtfully, clutching her shield close. “Weird… but fun.”
Celeste smiled softly at the sound. For just a moment, despite everything, things felt… okay.
But deep down, they all knew—
This was only the beginning.
The sliding doors to the convention center let out a mechanical groan as they cracked open—half-crushed, one hanging from its rail, the other jammed by gum.
Celeste stepped out first, her heels crunching against a floor now coated in hardened, crystallized syrup and crushed sweets.
The others followed—quiet, almost reverent.
Even Mezzo stopped flicking his guitar in and out of reality.
They stood side by side, staring at the once-living, bustling city of Clawdiff, now buried under a surreal, grotesque candy-coated nightmare.
The roads were paved in taffy, buildings slumped under icing and caramelized sugar. Lamp posts bent from the weight of vines made of red licorice. Vehicles had melted into sticky pools of neon goo.
Worst of all, not a single living person was visible—only those twisted, zombified sugar beasts lurching aimlessly through the streets. Some of them looked like they had once been people… but were now misshapen forms wearing Halloween candy like armor, eyes glazed over—both literally and figuratively.
Ray muttered under her breath, sharp and low. “Where the hell is everybody…?”
Arcade was already scanning the skyline with his Coms Crystal, eyes narrowed, voice edged with fascination more than fear. “Look up. Not clouds—glass. We’re under a dome.”
The others followed his gaze. Above them, the horizon curved into a rose-tinted shell, shimmering faintly, humming with unnatural energy.
Suspended dead-center, floating like a cruel parody of the moon, was a colossal gumball. Stadium-sized. Turning slowly, pulsing faintly.
Arcade’s voice dropped, almost reverent. “That’s no ornament. That’s the epicenter. The entire system’s bleeding from there.”
Skye tugged on Lumina’s sleeve, whispering. “Is this… still a game? Or did the game eat us?”
Lumina squeezed his paw tighter. “Don’t know… but I don’t like it.”
Even Pitch, who hadn’t flinched at anything yet, stared up with a grim look. “That ain’t cosplay. That’s a bloody cage.”
Then—
“Woooooah!” Mezzo threw his arms open, grinning like a lunatic. “Now that’s commitment to a theme! Look at it—giant death gumball in the sky? Genius! And hey, is that car made of chocolate? Because, lads, that’s adorable and impractical. Imagine the rain—”
Ray smacked the back of his head. “Shut. Up.”
Silence reclaimed the street until Celeste, voice small but steady, stepped forward. “We… we need to know why this is happening. And… um… then we need to get out. Before it—before it gets worse.”
Her words cut through, shy but resolute. One by one, the others nodded. Even Mezzo puffed up a little taller, though he muttered under his breath, “Still calling dibs on the chocolate car…”
They moved. The city of Clawdiff stretched before them, a candy-coated ruin. Frosting dripped from buildings, vines of sugar twisted around lamps, and the air reeked of syrup. Sweet, bright, and deeply wrong.
The team froze mid-step.
The ground beneath them trembled, a soft but growing thump… thump… THUMP, like a heartbeat made of earthquakes.
Lumina clutched Celeste’s arm, eyes wide.
Arcade raised his camera instinctively but even he lowered it slightly, muttering, “That’s… not good.”
Ray unslung her giant hammer, her expression unreadable but her ears twitched with tension.
From behind a collapsed candy cart, Mezzo’s muffled voice rang out—he was dangling upside down, tangled in a sugar-flower vine. “Oi! Little help? I’d like to not die stylishly today, thank you very much!”
Pitch hauled him free with a grunt just as a shadow fell across the boulevard.
They all turned.
From the end of the twisted boulevard, past a roundabout now resembling a giant sticky doughnut, it emerged:
A colossal centipede-like creature, its segmented body made of candy canes, rock-candy armor, and oozing molasses, slithered into view. Each foot crunched as it stepped across the sugar-paved road, and its many glass-like eyes glowed with a dull, syrupy red.
Its face was a horror—a twisted mass of licorice and cotton-candy tendrils—and at its center, what looked like a malformed rat face, warped and forever stuck in a sugary, silent scream.
Celeste’s breath caught. “That… that used to be… someone.”
Pitch cocked his shotgun. “Whatever it is now, it’s not friendly.”
The centipede shrieked—a distorted, whistling tea-kettle screech that shook the windows around them—and charged, faster than any of them expected.
Skye yelped, hands over his ears.
Ray didn’t hesitate. She ran forward with a yell, swinging her hammer—but the centipede ducked under the strike and lashed at her with a tail of licorice spikes, flinging her back into a marshmallow bush.
Mezzo’s eyes went wide. “Okay, so taming’s off the table then!”
Arcade’s robot sprang forward, limbs reshaping with mechanical whirs as Arcade barked commands into his omni-tool. “Engaging defense mode! Finally, something worth stress-testing!”
Celeste drew her blades, panic flashing in her eyes. “We—we can’t win here! Please—run!”
Weapons reformed in glowing bursts around each of them.
Lumina raised her shield, shivering beside her sister.
The monster reared back—
—and in a blink, the group scattered onto the rooftops.
As the dragon’s final words echoed across Clawdiff, the seven cloaked figures stepped forward into the pink light—revealing themselves one by one, their monstrous candy forms sending a jolt of dread through the group.
The Candy Centipede – Mandibite, the Endless Hunger
From the center, a massive centipede unraveled its spiraling body of fused taffy and hard-candy plating. Its legs clicked against the cracked pavement, each step leaving sticky webs of caramel. Its eyes burned like sour-apple flames, and its rat-like face bore spun-sugar whiskers and jagged, candy-crusted teeth that snapped hungrily. Sugar-dripping saliva oozed from its mandibles. Larger now. Meaner. Ravenous.
“Oh, you’ve crossed paths with it before,” the dragon rumbled. “Back then it was just stretching its legs. Now? It’s awake. And hungry.”
The Candyfloss Twins – Sweet Puff and Sour Fluff They twirled forward in perfect synchronization, giggling like schoolgirls. One pink, one blue—identical save for the sparkle in their eyes. Their bodies swirled with candyfloss, floating weightlessly, laughter tinkling like windchimes. On their heads perched jaunty party hats. Innocent. Playful. Deadly.
The pink whispered temptations in a syrup-smooth voice. The blue shrieked with a pitch that cracked the air, her candyfloss hair warping into whipping tendrils.
“Fair? That word ain’t in their rulebook,” the dragon chuckled. “And if you see one, bet your life there’s more waiting.”
The Sherbet Wraith – Veloura, Whispering Kiss of Death She emerged like smoke, a slender rabbit-woman form shifting constantly in the flickering light. Sherbet hues sparked across her fur like pastel lightning, and black horns curled from her head. Her face was beautiful, but where eyes should have been—void. A black abyss filled with whispered desire.
Her honeyed voice drifted from all around, disorienting, intoxicating. Listen too long, and you’d forget danger until your body dissolved into nothing.
“She doesn’t need hands to kill,” the dragon intoned. “One breath’s all it takes.”
The Hard Candy Minotaur – Crackjaw the Relentless He stomped forward, hooves splitting the ground. A minotaur forged of peppermint and rock candy, chest armored like a jawbreaker, fists glowing with molten sugar veins. Licorice-black eyes stared unblinking. Each step thundered like a war drum.
“You’re looking at someone who’s flattened armies,” the dragon said. “And no—before you ask—not even I put him down.”
The Gummy Kraken – Jell’thuzad, Lord of the Sugarsea Tentacles slid through the canal, translucent flesh shimmering like oil in water. Hundreds of sucker-mouths lined each limb, bristling with jelly-slicked teeth. His roar gurgled not from a mouth, but from the water itself.
“You don’t see him,” the dragon warned. “But he’s there. The storm under your feet. And his eyes are on you.”
The Syrup Phoenix – Ashsugar, Flame of the End The sky split open with fire. A phoenix of dripping syrup descended, wings trailing magma-thick flames that set rooftops alight. Feathers curled like charred marshmallows, body pulsing with molten lava. Her scream was a song, both beautiful and terrible, her eyes filled with the grief of endless rebirth.
“Call her rebirth if you like,” the dragon said grimly. “But every rebirth burns something down.”
The group stood silent, breath stolen by the sheer magnitude of what faced them.
The dragon’s gaze swept across them. His voice was cold but not cruel: “These are my champions. You want me? You’ll cut through them first.”
His wings snapped wide, gusts like a storm breaking loose. “The game’s begun. Try to keep up.”
A neon mist spilled from his maw, bathing the city in eerie light. “The deal’s simple. Face my seven, or join their ranks. Either way… I win.”
Celeste stepped forward, fists trembling. Her voice cracked but carried: “Wait—I’m sorry, but… why give us the choice?”
The dragon froze. His terrible presence stilled.
His eyes fell on her, not just as a challenger, but as a mirror of something long-buried. His chest heaved once, his voice weighted with memory: “Because I swore it. To an old friend.”
He lifted his gaze skyward. “A brother once. We stood on opposite sides of a dying world. He believed mortals deserved the dignity of choosing how their story ends.”
Claws dug into the earth. “I thought him naïve. But before the end… he begged me. Said if I ever wore the crown of a god, I should grant them that chance.”
The dragon’s gaze returned to Celeste, heavy, almost sad. “So here it is. Your choice. Not mine. His.”
Her breath caught.
The dragon dipped his head, murmuring in Welsh, low as a prayer: “Dewis yw’r olaf o anrhegion dynoliaeth.” Choice is humanity’s final gift.
One by one, the generals scattered, peeling away into their domains across the warped city.
Celeste called out, voice trembling but clear: “Wait—my sister… the children—they’re innocent. Please, let them leave.”
The dragon stilled. His colossal head dipped, lowering until those molten, fractured eyes met hers.
“Trugaredd ar eu heneidiau.” Mercy on their souls.
Then the world convulsed. Sugar-lightning ripped the skies, splitting the heavens with a crack that shook the glass dome itself. The dragon uncoiled, wings unfurling until they eclipsed the pale moonlight. Firelight danced across his syrup-scaled hide, veins of molten sugar glowing like rivers of lava through crystal. With a thunderous beat, he rose above the ruins, casting the city in shadow.
When he spoke again, it wasn’t soft. It wasn’t human. It was a coronation, a curse, and a hymn of power all at once.
“Hear me, Clawdiff! I am Velcarius—Sacchararch of Clawdiff, the Crowned Craving, Warden of the Sugargraves, Flame of Endless Bloom!”
Each title was spat with pride and venom, as though daring the world to deny him. A mist of glowing nectar poured from his maw, draping the streets below in a sickly pink haze. Buildings bled light as the candy storm thickened overhead.
And then his gaze fell back to her—Celeste.
One small, defiant figure in the storm, hair whipping in the gale. His grin cracked wide, sharp as a thousand candy shards.
“And you…” his voice lowered to velvet over iron. “You are the spark that dares flicker before my feast?”
The sky thundered. “Come then, little knight. Let your blades sing. Let your soul burn.”
“Welcome… to my kingdom.”
And without another word, the dragon turned. With a powerful beat of his wings, he lifted himself and coiled protectively around the floating gumball structure at the city’s core like a serpent guarding an egg. The sky darkened with the shadow of his wingspan, and then... silence. Until laughter echoed.
Silence.
Then—laughter.
The Candy Centipede slithered forward, legs twitching with sadistic glee. “What a joke,” he hissed. “These are who we fear? Sugarless worms?”
His many eyes fixed on Mezzo. “I should start with the spotted pudding. You look like you’d scream in a delicious pitch.”
Mezzo, still sticky with vine residue, yelped. “I am not pudding! And—wait—spotted?!”
He slapped his own face. “Nope. Still dreaming. This is NOT happening.”
The centipede surged, sugar legs clattering as Mezzo bolted. Candyfloss vines curled up, blocking his escape.
The Sherbet Wraith shimmered nearby, voice a deadly lullaby: “Careful, crawly one. The dragon’s orders were clear.”
The centipede hissed, mandibles clacking, but after a tense moment he relented—melting back into the shadows with a sneer.
“Run, pudding. I’ll be waiting.”
And then he was gone.
Celeste lingered a little longer in the chamber, her paw brushing the sugar-glass pillar one last time. The glow beneath her touch pulsed gently, as though it was reluctant to let her go. She pressed her lips together in a shy smile, then drew in a steadying breath.
“Thank you,” she whispered softly to the room, as if it were alive.
With a final glance at the marshmallow bed and drifting blossoms, she stepped back through the doorway. The air rippled again, folding the vast chamber away until it was only a narrow passage once more. She padded down the licorice-railed corridor, her heart still beating quickly with wonder, before rejoining the others.
They hadn’t noticed her slip away, too entranced by the encyclopedia’s glowing pages. But Celeste’s eyes were suddenly drawn elsewhere—toward a soft, rhythmic glow pulsing from across the chamber.
Nestled in a cradle of pastel candy bark and sugar glass, a radiant orb hovered—smaller than the one they’d seen suspended over the town center, but unmistakably similar. It hummed gently, resonating like a heartbeat made of light.
As Celeste stepped closer, a shimmer burst from her chest. A blue light embedded in her core began to glow with a gentle brilliance. It pulsed in sync with the orb—as if calling to it, or responding.
Celeste stared into the glowing orb, transfixed by the way it pulsed—alive, aware, and resonating with something deep inside her.
Then it happened.
Her chest shimmered with a gentle blue glow, the light blooming outward from her core. The others gasped as they too lit up, each with a different hue, each pulsing in sync with the orb. As if it was reading them—calling them by their true names.
Mezzo’s chest burst with bold red, flickering like a rapid heartbeat, hot and fast.
Arcade’s glowed with sharp green light, buzzing with a low hum like static.
Lumina’s shimmered pink, gentle and warm, healing just to witness.
Bonbon’s magenta light pulsed like a tune—melodic and unpredictable.
Skye’s core turned yellow, shifting like a breeze through still water.
As the orb stabilized, the encyclopedia glowed once more. Its pages turned of their own accord until it displayed a new section—runes and shifting candy-like script forming into readable text.
One by one, their glowing cores dimmed. The light that had pulsed in their chests winked out, leaving only the faint ache of what had been.
Celeste clutched at her ribs, worried. “It’s… gone? Did we—did we do something wrong?”
Lumina held her shield up nervously, tapping it with a paw. “Mine went poof,” she whispered, wide-eyed.
Bonbon poked her tummy, then Celeste’s, then giggled. “No glow,” she announced proudly, as if she’d discovered something new.
Arcade was already pacing in a tight circle, omni-tool flickering, his muttering sharp and fast. “Not possible. Hybrids don’t have cores. That’s what the suppressors regulate—static channels, no stable reservoir. And yet—” He jabbed a finger at the encyclopedia in Celeste’s arms. “—those were mana cores. Which means either the laws of biology are broken… or we’re not what we thought we were.”
Mezzo raised both paws like he was announcing a punchline. “Oh, brilliant! First we nearly get eaten by licorice rats, now science itself doesn’t work. Someone explain it to me like I’m five, please.”
“Explaining it to you at all feels like wasted breath,” Arcade shot back, his voice dry but rattled.
Skye, quieter, stared down at his hands, flexing them slowly. “Feels… weird. Like it’s still there. Just hiding.”
Celeste bit her lip, hugging the book to her chest. “So… what does that mean? For us?”
They all turned to the open page. Each entry shimmered, but every one carried gaps—blank spaces where traits, skills, and identities should have been written. Especially Bonbon, Lumina, and Celeste.
But above all the emptiness, in ornate golden script, glowed the same title:
Knights of Clawdiff.
Arcade adjusted his glasses again, voice clipped, precise, but shaking with disbelief. “Alright. Conclusion—none of us are… normal. Not hybrids in the usual sense, anyway.”
He shot Mezzo a sideways look. “Dog and griffon? Explains the barking. And the posturing.”
Mezzo puffed out his chest and struck a pose like he was flexing for a magazine cover. “Oi! Griffon’s feckin’ majestic, mate. I’ll take it. Way cooler than whatever you are—Goat-vampire? What is that, some posh horror brand?”
Bonbon twirled with delight, clapping her little paws. “Llyfr! Llyfr!” she squeaked, eyes sparkling at the glowing book.
Skye stayed crouched, hands glowing faintly. His voice was quiet, careful. “It feels right,” he said simply. Then, after a pause: “…But weird. Like… toothpaste on chips.”
Celeste hugged the encyclopedia closer, her voice small, threaded with nerves. “Mirror…?” she whispered, staring at the strange word etched above her name. “Why don’t I—I don’t even know what that means. Why don’t I know what I am?”
Arcade hesitated, then gave a small shrug, his voice softer but still dry. “Not just you. Lumina and Bonbon’s entries are blank too. If we had access to archives—birth registries, family records—maybe we’d find answers. But…”
Celeste’s ears perked anxiously. “But…?”
He sighed, rubbing his temple. “But right now, that doesn’t matter. What matters is figuring out whether we’re trapped in this candied nightmare, or if there’s even a way out of Clawdiff at all.”
Celeste nodded slowly, wringing her hands. “I never wanted to fight. I just want Lumina safe. Home. That’s all.”
For once, Arcade’s voice softened without sarcasm. “Yeah. I get it. But this—” he gestured at the weapons, the glowing book, the orb “—this feels too neat. Too… designed. Like someone’s watching us play out their twisted little game.”
The orb pulsed faintly in reply, as though mocking them.
Mezzo, who had clearly stopped paying attention halfway through, suddenly clutched his stomach. “Grand speeches aside, lads, I’m starvin’.”
Before anyone could intervene, he snatched up one of the fallen dreamscales and crunched into it like a biscuit.
Mezzo gagged, spitting it back out. “Blegh! That tasted like burnt candyfloss dipped in me ma’s regrets.”
But then—his hands flared red. The scale burst, reshaping in midair—until, with a flash, it solidified into… a full-sized fridge.
The group went silent.
Skye blinked at it, deadpan. “…That’s a fridge.”
Mezzo’s jaw dropped, then his face lit up with awe. “…That’s my fridge.” He ran his paw reverently along the chrome, whispering, “A sacred artefact, born of hunger.”
Arcade pinched the bridge of his nose but was already scribbling furiously. “Dreamscales respond to subconscious intent. Not just needs—desires. He thought about food, it gave him storage. Honestly? Almost impressive. If it wasn’t him.”
Mezzo flung open the door—only to find it empty. “Well that’s tragic. Still magic though. Doesn’t even need power.”
Lumina padded up, solemn as only a seven-year-old could be. She opened her pouch and tucked a handful of strawberry bonbons inside. “For later,” she said simply.
Mezzo closed the door with a flourish, smirking. “Keeping sweets cold in a sugar apocalypse. Now that’s irony.”
Lumina giggled and popped the fridge open again just to check. Inside, her bonbons were now nestled among fresh strawberries—real ones. Bright, ripe, and cold.
The group froze.
Celeste’s ears twitched, her voice hushed with awe. “Oh… stars above. That’s not just magic, is it? That’s—something else entirely.”
Arcade’s eyes narrowed, omni-tool already recording. “The fridge adapted. It didn’t just follow her intent—it improved it. That’s not conjuration, that’s… refinement. Like the scale read her subconscious.”
Everyone’s gaze drifted to the handful of dreamscales they still carried, suddenly aware of just how dangerous—and valuable—they might be.
Celeste hugged her arms close, voice trembling but steady. “We’ll have to be careful. They only give us what we truly… truly need.”
Mezzo waved a paw dramatically, already clutching another scale. “Then clearly the universe knows I need a pizza oven. Don’t judge me, lads, survival requires carbs.”
Arcade sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yes, by all means, let’s squander reality-bending artefacts on snacks. Maybe next you can manifest a five-star hotel so we can all die in comfort.”
Celeste sank onto the cracked curb just outside the candy-slicked safehouse, staring at the warped skyline of Clawdiff. The air reeked of sugar and burnt plastic, her breath catching as she spoke softly: “We… can’t stay here. We’ll need supplies. Food, water, bandages—anything that’ll help us keep going.”
Arcade adjusted the glowing strap of his omni-tool, tone brisk. “And information. If we can’t map this city, we’re blind. If we can’t decode these abilities, we’re liabilities. Data is survival.”
Mezzo leaned back, yawning loud enough to echo. “And practical clothes, maybe? Because my uniform smells like wet jellybeans and bad decisions.”
Celeste gave him a helpless little look, lips twitching with the ghost of a smile—but Lumina’s small, wavering voice broke the moment. “Maybe… maybe there’s a phone. A real one. We could call home.”
Celeste froze, her chest aching. She pulled her own phone out, screen glowing weakly: No Signal. She showed it, voice soft as a crack. “There isn’t, sweetheart. Nothing’s reaching outside the dome.”
Lumina’s eyes filled with tears. Her small fists balled up. “I want to go home!” she cried, voice cracking.
Celeste knelt down quickly. “I know. I want that too. But if we stick together, we’ll be safer. I promise I’ll try my best, okay?”
Lumina sniffled, wiping her eyes on her sleeve.
Skye shuffled closer, ears twitching. Without a word, he pulled a lollipop from his pocket and held it out. “…It’s strawberry,” he said shyly.
Lumina blinked, then gave a faint, tearful smile as she took it.
Celeste adjusted her skewed glasses, pushing them back up her nose with a sigh.
Mezzo tilted his head, grinning. “That must be brutal, wearin’ those all the time.”
Celeste gave a tiny shrug. “A little. One of my eyes is stronger than the other. Without them, I just… bump into things. Quite a lot, actually.”
Arcade glanced up from his notes, voice flat but tinged with sincerity. “Same. Can’t make sense of half a screen without mine. Wish I didn’t need them.”
Mezzo blinked, then slapped his paws together. “Right then! Glasses Gang! We’ll get matching jackets, aye?”
Celeste tilted her head, unimpressed but fond. “You don’t even wear glasses.”
Arcade smirked, dry as stone. “He doesn’t even read.”
Mezzo raised both paws like a guilty saint. “Okay, okay, fine! No gang. Just tryin’ to keep spirits up before the next sugar-monster eats us alive.”
But before anyone could take a breath, Bonbon suddenly bolted down the sugar path, laughing wildly. “Bonbon, no—wait!” Celeste called out, already sprinting after her.
The little panda girl didn’t stop. When Celeste finally caught up and scooped her up, Bonbon went stiff as a board in her arms, face scrunched in defiance. And then… she erupted into a full toddler tantrum.
She kicked, wailed, and let out an ear-splitting shriek that made Mezzo cover his ears. “Can we put her on mute?” he grumbled.
Arcade winced. “My nerves are already shot and it’s not even noon.”
Celeste turned slowly, clutching the squirming panda with one arm. Her voice was tight with exhaustion. “I’m trying, okay?” she snapped. “I know nobody here. I don’t have the answers. But if we go to the mall, we might find security. Or shelter. Or maybe even Bonbon’s mother.”
She looked around at all of them, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “But if everyone could just chill out for five minutes, that would be great—because I am officially freaking out right now!”
A long silence followed. Even Bonbon quieted down, blinking.
Mezzo raised an eyebrow, then shrugged. “Whatever. Mall’s still a good idea.”
No one argued. Slowly, the group gathered themselves and began moving again.
Lumina walked silently with arms crossed, still upset but following closely behind. Celeste took a deep breath. She didn’t feel ready to lead anyone.
