The Soul Warden’s boots echoed across the flooded stone floor, each step deliberate, heavy with intent. The pale mask turned slightly, fixing its hollow gaze on Dillion.
“My name doesn’t matter,” the Warden said, his voice smooth but edged like steel. “But since I’m here to claim your soul, it’s only fair you know who stands before you. I am a Soul Warden — one who ensures balance in Sora.”
He tilted his head. “And you, Dillion Rogers… are overdue.”
The words barely faded before the Warden blurred forward, speed inhuman, hand crackling with strange energy. Dillion raised his shield too late — the Warden’s hand slammed into his chest, aiming to pierce straight through.
But instead of tearing him open, blue light erupted across his armor. The energy repelled the Warden’s strike, sending ripples of force through the temple.
The masked figure froze, hand trembling against the glowing chest plate.
“…Impossible,” he whispered.
Dillion stumbled back, gasping, then thrust his hands out. Water from the aqueduct walls surged to him, spiraling into his palms. With a shout, he blasted it forward — a condensed torrent slamming into the Warden and hurling him across the chamber.
The figure landed lightly, cloak snapping in the spray. Unharmed. Untouched. Not even a crack in his armor.
The mask tilted again. “That armor… where did you get it?”
Dillion steadied his breath, the Water Blade reforming in his hand. “An old man. Named Stark.”
The Warden’s composure shattered. His voice erupted in fury, booming across the chamber.
“You dare LIE to me?! No Soul Warden would ever grant their armor to a pathetic Otherworlder!” He spread his arms, energy crackling around him like a storm breaking.
“I’ll rip that armor from your corpse before I kill you.”
Outside the aqueduct, the air was tense.
Crit Happens stood ready in a loose formation, May at their side, all of them watching the Soul Warden who blocked the entrance. The masked figure hadn’t moved since he appeared, but suddenly — his head twitched. Slowly, deliberately, he slid into a battle stance, one hand hovering over his weapon.
Then, more footsteps echoed from the road.
Two figures approached at a running pace, slowing only when they neared the gathered crowd. One was short and slender — the masked girl they had seen once before, her blade already drawn. The second was taller, broad-shouldered, with a long broadsword strapped across his back. His very presence seemed to command the space around him.
They passed straight through Crit Happens without hesitation.
May’s eyes went wide. She pointed, voice trembling.
“Y-you’re… Stark, aren’t you?”
The tall man nodded without breaking stride. “Don’t worry. We’ll handle things from here.”
He stopped a few paces from the Soul Warden barring the gate. His voice was calm but firm. “Pladeus. Kindly step aside.”
The Warden’s head tilted. “If you want to enter, Stark, you’ll have to move me.”
Stark sighed. For a heartbeat, his form blurred — then he was gone.
A low whistle drifted across the stone path. When Pladeus spun, Stark was already behind him, strolling toward the aqueduct entrance, hands in his pockets, whistling a carefree tune.
Steel rang out with a hiss.
Behind Pladeus, the masked girl appeared in a flash, her sword resting against the Warden’s back. Her voice was quiet but deadly. “If you move… you die.”
Pladeus stiffened, but didn’t dare turn.
Stark lifted one hand in a casual wave. “Thanks for the assist, Sakura.”
The girl didn’t answer. Her blade didn’t move.
And Stark? He simply kept walking, whistling, disappearing into the dark of the aqueduct.
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Deep the aqueduct
Inside the aqueduct’s drowned temple, chaos reigned.
The Soul Warden’s voice cut through every strike, every impact, like venom dripping from behind his mask.
“You don’t understand, Otherworlder. Every step you take here leeches life from Sora. Your kind aren’t explorers—you’re parasites. Eden found our world, and now you all glut yourselves on its power!”
CRASH!
Dillion slammed into a stone pillar, cracks spiderwebbing from the impact. He rolled to his feet, shield up just in time as another blow rattled through him, his whole body screaming under the force.
“You think your little victories mean anything?” the Warden snarled, swinging again. His strike missed by inches as Dillion vaulted over the shattered rubble, his boots scraping the wet stone.
“You’re not heroes. You’re invaders. Every time you respawn, a piece of this world dies. Every gem you pocket is stolen blood.”
Dillion’s breathing was ragged. His shield arm shook. The blows weren’t cutting him down, but the relentless pace was wearing on him. The armor — Stark’s gift — glowed with each strike, repelling the fatal blows. But it wasn’t perfect. He felt it in his bones.
The Warden stalked forward, tilting his head. “Unfortunate for you, boy… I can't undergo the reaping while you wear that armor. So, I’ll keep tossing you around until you lose consciousness. Then pull that cursed armor you shouldn’t be wearing from your body…”
He slammed his fist into Dillion’s shield again, sending the young fighter sprawling backward into a pool of water.
“…is making this Reaping far too difficult.”
Dillion coughed, staggered back to his feet, and raised his knife. His body trembled, but his Soul Gem pulsed bright blue, defiant.
He muttered under his breath, half to himself, half to the Warden.
“Maybe that’s the difference between us… you think this world is dying. But I think it’s still worth fighting for.”
The clash of steel and shield rang out again, echoing off the slick stone walls of the aqueduct temple.
But then… another sound threaded its way into the chaos.
A faint whistle.
At first, it seemed distant, almost out of place against the violence of battle. But it grew louder, steady, weaving between the crashes and shouts until both Dillion and the Soul Warden paused mid-motion.
The Warden’s head snapped toward one of the darkened passageways. His tone lost its venom, tinged with something colder. “...That sound.”
Dillion’s chest heaved as he caught his breath, his shield arm trembling. He knew it too. The whistle had weight. Familiarity.
The tune drew closer, echoing like a memory carried on the wind. Then it stopped.
Both fighter and foe locked their eyes on the path’s opening, bracing themselves for whoever might emerge.
But no one came.
Instead, a low grunt broke the silence — right beside them.
Dillion jerked in shock, spinning toward the sound. The Soul Warden froze, every muscle taut.
The whistle was gone.
But its owner was here.
And both Dillion and the Warden realized, in unison, who it was.
Sitting casually against a broken pillar, legs stretched out like he had been there the entire time, was a man. His broadsword lay across the stone floor at his side, its edge glinting faintly in the blue glow of the temple’s waters.
He leaned back, exhaled, and adjusted his Posture like he had all the time in the world.
The Soul Warden froze mid-step, his masked gaze locked on Stark. The silence stretched, tension thick enough to cut.
“What are you doing here?” the Warden hissed, his voice sharp with suspicion. “This is not your concern. Why would you—”
Stark didn’t look at him. His eyes, calm and steady, stayed fixed on Dillion.
“You okay, kid?” he asked, his tone softer now.
Dillion blinked, chest heaving from the fight. “Y-yeah… I think so.”
A faint smile tugged at Stark’s lips. “You’ve grown. More than I thought you would in this short a time.”
The Warden snapped, his patience broken. “Don’t ignore me!”
He surged forward, his entire body a blur of killing intent. His arm reeled back, blade-hand glowing with soul-burning energy as he swung down with enough force to split stone.
But Stark never flinched.
Still seated, he reached lazily to the side. His fingers curled around the broad hilt of his sword — and with a single, almost casual movement, he drew it upward.
Clang!
Steel met soulforce. Sparks showered the temple floor.
Stark hadn’t even stood. The sword’s massive edge caught the Warden’s strike with ease, the impact echoing like thunder.
The Warden staggered back half a step, disbelief radiating from him even through the mask.
Stark exhaled, as though the effort were nothing. His calm voice cut through the air like a knife.
“I told you once before,” he said. “Don’t interrupt me when I’m talking boy.” Starks Commanding Voice causing Rokker to stumble in place
The Air Changed, getting heavier as Stark tightened both hands around his sword, the steel humming low at first… then glowing red, brighter and brighter until it burned like a brand in the dim aqueduct light.
The Soul Warden froze, sensing the shift, but Stark was already moving.
From his seated position, he rose in one smooth motion — the sword swinging back in a wide arc. His voice boomed, not with rage but with the finality of a judge:
“ABSOLUTION!”
The blade tore forward with blinding speed, a crimson trail slicing the air. Stark’s entire frame blurred, dashing into the Warden with unstoppable force.
The impact was cataclysmic. Stone cracked. The Soul Warden’s body was hurled across the chamber, crashing into a column before sliding to the floor in a spray of dust and shattered rock.
Silence hung for a moment, broken only by the sound of dripping water.
Stark lowered his blade, its glow dimming as he walked calmly over to Dillion. His eyes softened.
“You alright, kid?” he asked, his voice quieter now.
Dillion, still stunned by what he’d just seen, nodded slowly. “Y-yeah. I think so…”
Stark studied him for a long moment, then shook his head, half to himself. “Doesn’t make sense. Why would the Wardens target you? You’re strong, sure, but not the kind of threat they usually move on.”
Dillion swallowed, uncertain how to respond. “…Maybe I just got lucky?”
Stark’s expression hardened. “No. Wardens don’t waste their time. If they’re after you, it means something bigger is moving. And that… worries me.”
For a beat, the weight of Stark’s words pressed down heavier than any battle.
But then he gave Dillion a faint smile. “Still. You held your own. I’m proud of you. Don’t forget that.”