The Prince snapped back from the memory. The fire, the blood, the baby—it was all gone. He looked at the face of the 16-year-old boy in front of him. His son.

  He stood up. Tears filled his eyes instantly. "My son," he whispered.

  He ran at him.

  He hugged him. He held him tight. The tears flowed down his face, moving like they were migrating from his eyes.

  Arthur stayed still for a second.

  Arthur pushed him. Hard. The Prince stumbled back.

  "No," Arthur hissed, wiping his own eyes. "You left me because I was weak.”

  “I will show you... that I wasn't."

  "What?" the Prince asked.

  "Fight me." Arthur stepped back, his eyes cracking. "Fight me, Father. Or are you scared?"

  "Why should I fight y—"

  Arthur didn't wait. He gathered saliva in his mouth and spat on his hand. The black ink bubbled, hardening instantly into a jagged, dark Sword. He ran at the Prince.

  The Prince saw the strike coming. He sighed summoning the Diamond Sword from the air.

  CLANG.

  The swords clashed.

  The sound rang through the park.

  "Very well," the Prince said, his face hardening into sadness. "You shall have what you asked for."

  The Prince clashed his sword against Arthur's. Arthur tried to block.

  He swept Arthur's leg. Arthur fell hard. The sword came down like a guillotine.

  Arthur rolled away, jumping back to his feet.

  "You wanted a fight?" The Prince roared. "THEN FIGHT, SON!"

  Arthur's eye cracked. He spat to his left. The black ink bubbled and formed a Soldier. A faceless copy holding a sword. They both ran at the Prince.

  The Prince didn't hesitate. He kicked Arthur in the face, sending him reeling, and ducked under the Soldier's slash.

  He thrust his sword into the Soldier's belly. He didn't pull it out. He lifted it. slicing the ink-construct in half, dissolving it back into nothing.

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  Arthur was holding his broken nose. Blood leaked through his fingers. He screamed running at his dad.

  The Prince parried easily.

  Then The Prince hit. Once. Twice. Slash. Slash.

  "WHY ARE YOU DEFENDING, MY SON?" The Prince shouted, battering Arthur's guard. "ATTACK!"

  He clashed the sword again, knocking Arthur off balance. The Prince grabbed Arthur's head, pulling him down, and drove his knee into Arthur's ribs. CRACK.

  Arthur hit the ground. His blood splattered across the floor. The ground looked like a butcher's block.

  Arthur panted, gasping for air, clutching his side. But the Prince didn't stop. He raised the sword again, gritting his teeth. He raised his Blade. And he stopped the clash.

  The Prince smirked. "I know you like Darkness. So... let's fight in the dark."

  He snapped his fingers. The park vanished. The sun vanished. The world went pitch black. As if light had never existed.

  Arthur spun around, sword raised.

  "After you were given to that garbage..." The voice came from the air. Arthur swung left, hitting nothing "...I read about the No Mark thing. I didn't get much info."

  The voice moved behind him. "But what I didn't know... was that the Void itself was the Nothingness."

  The voice was above him now. "I knew of a Tribe of people who used the Shadow as a weapon. Didn't know my son would be one of them."

  "You can make new arms... new legs... from your spit." The voice stopped. Silence.

  "Boo."

  SLASH. The Prince attacked from the dark. The Diamond Sword aimed for Arthur's neck. Arthur reacted on instinct. CLANG. He defended.

  But the Prince didn't stop. He swung his sword again. Then... he waited. He paused mid-swing. Arthur flinched, blocking a hit that didn't come.

  The Prince smiled.

  He dropped his level. He swung the sword low, targeting the legs. Arthur tried to parry, but he was too high. The Prince didn't stop the swing. It continued. It caught Arthur's foot. Blood sprayed in the dark.

  Arthur hit the ground. He didn't feel the pain at first—just a sudden, terrifying lightness where his foot used to be.

  Then the nerves fired. A white-hot agony shot up his thigh, stealing the air from his lungs.

  But the Prince didn't stop. He raised the sword for the kill.

  Arthur spat on the wound. The black ink bubbled, hardened, and formed bone and muscle in a second. A new leg.

  He stood up, meeting the Prince's blade. CLANG. CLANG. He started parrying the Prince's moves.

  "That's good," The Prince muttered, deflecting a blow. His eyes narrowed. "But not good enough."

  The Prince struck. A blur of Diamond speed. He raised his sword, taking Arthur's hand with it. The severed hand flew into the darkness, still holding the sword.

  Arthur didn't scream. He spat on the stump. The black matter shot out, forming fingers, gripping the air, forming a new Void Sword instantly.

  He dodged the Prince's follow-up strike. And he drove a vicious slash at the Prince's leg.

  The Prince leaped. For a heartbeat, he seemed to hang in the air, defying gravity, before bringing the sword down.

  Arthur's blade sliced the empty air where his ankles had been.. The Prince smiled.

  The Prince kept cutting. Legs. Hands. Again. Again.

  Arthur kept regenerating. But each time the ink left his throat, he felt colder. His vision blurred at the edges. The black matter wasn't infinite—it was his life force. And he was running dry.

  He stopped. He fell to his knees, panting. Arthur squeezed his eyes shut. He was waiting for the slash. The final blow. But it never came.

  "You aren't ready to fight," The Prince said. He dissolved his Diamond Sword into mist. "But... you are ready to be my son."

  He opened his arms. He stood there, waiting. But Arthur didn't move. He spat on his arms and legs one last time, fixing them.

  He forced himself to stand up. "I don't..." Arthur choked out. "I don't deserve to be your son."

  The Prince bit his lips until blood spilled from it.

  He walked to Arthur.

  Arthur flinched.

  The slap cracked like a whip. Arthur’s head snapped to the side.

  Arthur froze, his cheek stinging.

  "ENOUGH," The Prince commanded.

  He grabbed Arthur by the shoulders, forcing him to look him in the eye. "I have killed armies for you. Was I waiting for your protection? Was I waiting for you to come and fight for me?"

  Arthur stared at him. "But..."

  The Prince took Arthur's head in his hands, holding him gently. "You were always my son, Arthur. Not because you are strong. Not because you have powers."

  He leaned his forehead against Arthur's. "Because you existed."

  Arthur's cracked eyes filled with tears.

  He fell forward. He didn't hit the ground; he hit the solid warmth of his father’s chest.

  The smell of old books and ozone filled his nose. For the first time in sixteen years, the tension in Arthur's shoulders snapped. He buried his face in the Prince's coat and let go.

  They sat in silence for a long time, listening to the wind, letting the adrenaline fade, they sat on the grass of the mindscape park.

  "You know," the Prince said, wiping his eyes. "You have the same logic as my Grandfather."

  "Your Grandfather?" Arthur asked. "The Founder?"

  "Yeah. And, even to your surprise... he didn't have powers. He was a Type 0."

  Arthur blinked. "What? But... he conquered the realms."

  "Seems you are interested," the Prince smiled, patting Arthur's head. "He didn't have magic, Arthur. But he was a man of Power."

  The Prince looked up at the fake sky. "The Glass World wasn't always a thing. We were part of the Earth Realm once."

  "You mean... this Earth?"

  "No, every Mark has a Realm. Or at least, the strong ones do.”

  "But he..." the Prince whispered. "He forged ours."

  The park dissolved. The green grass faded into gray. They were in the Glass World. But it wasn't shining.

  It was dull. It was rough. It felt like it had dirt upon it. An unpolished gem.

  "Welcome," the Prince said, "to the beginning."

  The End of Act 3. Goodbye, Arthur and The Prince (for now).

  The Founder. I just want you to know: this character is something different.