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Chapter Text

The grand oak doors of the mansion swung open, revealing a cavernous entrance hall that seemed to swallow sound itself. Zhongli, his posture impeccably straight and his dark brown suit perfectly tailored, stood before the assembled group. His amber gaze swept over the most eclectic gathering ever assembled under one roof.

“Welcome,” his voice, deep and resonant, filled the space without needing to rise in volume. “To your new residence. I have been entrusted with the role of facilitating this… unique coalition. You may refer to our unit as ‘The Fandoms Squad’.”

A snort came from the back. Dante, leaning against a marble pillar with his signature red coat draped over his shoulders, smirked. “Fandoms Squad? Sounds like a particularly nerdy convention.”

“Quiet, you,” Chun-Li said, though her tone was more amused than chastising.

“The parameters are simple,” Zhongli continued, ignoring the interruption with the patience of a millennia-old archon. “This mansion is equipped to handle all your needs. However, to encourage… cohesion… you will be pairing up. The rooms are designed for two occupants.”

A murmur ran through the crowd. Marinette wrung her hands nervously, while Ayano Aishi stood perfectly still, her expression unreadable. Kyo Kusanagi cracked his knuckles, looking like he’d rather fight for a room than share one.

“To ensure absolute fairness and eliminate any potential bias,” Zhongli announced, producing a small, lacquered box, “we will determine pairings by lot. Each of you will draw one colored card. Those who draw matching colors will be roommates.”

Pinkie Pie, her bubblegum-pink hair seeming to defy gravity with its bounce, was the first to zoom forward. “Ooh! Me first! I hope I get sparkly glitter-puce!”

One by one, they approached. Some, like the ever-professional Fu Hua, drew with calm purpose. Others, like the hulking, anxious König, hesitated before snatching a card as if it were a live grenade.

Soon, everyone held a small rectangle of colored cardstock.

“Now,” Zhongli instructed. “Please find your match.”

The hall erupted into controlled chaos.

“Yellow! Who has yellow?” Sunflower called out, her voice bright and sunny, her green sundress a contrast to the card she held.

“Over here,” a monotone voice replied. Dan Heng lifted his card, his expression as inscrutable as ever.

“Maroon,” Parasoul stated, holding her card aloft. She was met with a grunt from Seth Lowell, who merely flashed his matching maroon card before going back to observing the room’s architecture.

A shriek of delight pierced the air. “PINK! IT’S PINK!” Pinkie Pie yelled, launching herself at a blushing, wide-eyed Marinette, who was indeed holding a pink card. “We’re gonna have so much fun! We can have pillow fights and design outfits and bake cupcakes at 2 AM!”

“I—uh—okay!” Marinette stammered, caught in the whirlwind that was Pinkie Pie.

“Red,” a gruff voice stated. The man known simply as Red held up his card. A moment later, Ahri, her nine tails absent in this form but her captivating presence very much intact, smiled and sauntered over. “Looks like we’re partners, tough guy.” Red merely grunted in acknowledgment.

A particularly interesting match was made when Dante, holding a deep purple card, found his partner: Marie Rose, who giggled and presented her own purple card. “Try anything funny, and I’ll break your arm,” she said sweetly. Dante’s smirk only widened. “Promises, promises, shortstuff.”

Vox Akuma, holding a sleek black card, found his match in Midas, whose golden touch seemed to have tinted the edges of his own black card. “A pleasure,” Vox said, his voice a smooth, practiced baritone. “I have a feeling our room will be the most… profitable.” Midas merely nodded, a calculating glint in his eye.

The pairs continued to form: Fu Hua and Chun-Li (serene blue), Testament and Ayano (a silent, unsettling moss green), Edgar and Dyrroth (a brooding dark grey), Lucifer and, to his immense amusement, Authority!Seth Rollins (a pompous gold). “Darling, the theatrics we can devise,” Lucifer purred. Seth Rollins merely adjusted his designer sunglasses indoors. “I like the way you think, Fallen Angel.”

Mai Shiranui, holding a vibrant orange card, finally found her match not in another fighter, but in the massive, nervous Austrian, König, who was trying to hide behind a potted plant. He reluctantly showed his orange card. “Do not… crowd me,” he muttered. Mai just smiled, a little confused but gracious. “Of course. Plenty of space.”

Finally, only two were left. Zhongli looked down at the card in his hand: a simple, earthy brown. The only one without a pair was the knight from the Cookie Run kingdom, Dark Choco Cookie, who stood rigidly, holding an identical brown card.

“It seems we are to be companions,” Zhongli said, offering a small, rare smile. Dark Choco nodded once, a solemn expression on his face. “I will not disturb your peace, sir.”

“I anticipate no disturbances,” Zhongli replied. “Shall we? I believe I saw a library that requires investigation.”

As the pairs dispersed to find their new rooms, the mansion, once silent and imposing, began to thrum with a strange, new life. The Chromatic Cohabitation Clause was in effect. It was going to be anything but quiet.

From down the hall, a triumphant shout from Pinkie Pie echoed: “SLUMBER PARTY IN ME AND MARINETTE’S ROOM! EVERYONE’S INVITED! ESPECIALLY YOU, BROODY SWORD GUYS!”

Zhongli paused at the foot of the grand staircase and sighed, a sound that carried the weight of ages. It was going to be a very long, very interesting tenure as leader.

Chapter Text

The grand mansion, now officially christened "The Fandoms' Keep" by an enthusiastic Pinkie Pie, hummed with its first morning of chaotic life. Zhongli’s prediction of a "long tenure" was already proving to be profoundly accurate.

The first sign of trouble was not a fight, but a queue.

The kitchen, a stainless-steel marvel large enough to cater a royal wedding, was the site of a silent, simmering standoff. Dante, leaning against the industrial fridge, watched with amusement as two very different breakfast philosophies collided.

On one side was Fu Hua, her movements precise and efficient as she prepared a pot of simple congee. Next to her, Chun-Li was meticulously arranging a platter of steamed bao, their perfection a testament to her discipline.

On the other side was Midas. He wasn't cooking. He was, for all intents and purposes, conducting alchemy. A single, ordinary egg sat on the counter. He touched it. With a soft shimmer, the egg transmuted into a solid, yet perfectly cooked, golden soft-boiled egg. He placed it on a platinum-wrought plate.

Vox Akuma, his roommate, sipped a black coffee nearby. "A tad ostentatious, don't you think, darling? Even for me."

"Efficiency is the highest form of luxury," Midas replied, his voice low, not looking up from his next target: a slice of bread.

Kyo, looking decidedly unimpressed, shoved past them to get to the coffee machine. "Just give me the caffeine," he grumbled.

"Language in the kitchen, please," Sunflower chirped, happily watering a small pot of herbs on the windowsill she had already planted. Dan Heng, her yellow-card roommate, observed her from a corner, sipping tea. He gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod of approval at her horticultural efforts.

The second sign of trouble was architectural.

A thunderous CRASH echoed from the west wing, followed by a stream of German expletives. Several residents rushed to the source to find König, looking utterly mortified, standing in a doorway that was now significantly larger than its frame. The top of the doorframe was splintered.

"I... I only wished to enter," he mumbled, trying to make himself smaller, which was a physical impossibility for a man of his size. His orange-card partner, Mai, sighed good-naturedly from behind him.

"It's alright, big guy. I think the architect underestimated our... diversity of stature." She patted his arm. "We'll get it fixed."

The third sign of trouble was, predictably, Pinkie Pie.

She had, true to her word, declared a slumber party for the entire mansion. This involved her and Marinette attempting to hang a massive, glitter-coated "WELCOME FRIENDS!" banner across the main hall's ceiling. The operation was not going well.

"Just a little to the left! Your left! My left! No, that's your other left!" Pinkie directed from the floor.

Marinette, perched precariously on a wobbling ladder held somewhat steady by a nervous Lucifer ("This is beneath my station, mortal!"), fumbled with the tape.

"Maybe we should ask for help?" Marinette squeaked.

"I am help!" Pinkie declared. "I'm moral support! And glitter distribution!"

Nearby, Authority!Seth Rollins watched the proceedings with a critical eye. "The verticality is all wrong. The crowd can't see the banner if it's angled. You need to command the room!" Lucifer shot him a glare that could curdle milk.

Meanwhile, in the library he had claimed as his personal sanctuary, Zhongli sipped tea brewed from leaves he had apparently manifested from thin air. Dark Choco stood by the window, his gaze fixed on the gardens outside.

"The chaos is... pronounced," Dark Choco stated. It wasn't a complaint, merely an observation.

"It is the nature of such a diverse group to create noise," Zhongli replied calmly. "The first step to order is observation. We learn their rhythms, their conflicts, and their harmonies."

As if on cue, a new conflict arose. A high-pitched, electronic squeal echoed through the mansion, followed by a frustrated shout.

"Hey! Turn that down! Some of us are trying to concentrate!"

In a soundproofed music room none had discovered the day before, Hatsune Miku was calibrating her audio equipment, her turquoise hair seeming to glow in the dim light. The source of the complaint was Edgar, his hood pulled low, trying to sketch in the adjacent room which was, evidently, not soundproof enough. His grey-card roommate, Dyrroth, just smirked at the irritation of others.

Testament and Ayano, the moss-green pair, observed everything from the shadowy second-floor balcony. They hadn't exchanged a word all morning, but a silent, understanding respect had formed between them. Both were watchers. Both preferred the periphery.

The tension finally found its flashpoint in the game room, where a pool table became an arena.

Seth Lowell lined up a shot, his expression focused. Lili, who had claimed the Tekken ball as her own personal seating, watched with a bored expression. Dante, leaning on his cue stick, was trash-talking Seth Rollins, who was criticizing his form.

"It's about finesse, not brute force," Seth Rollins stated.

"Says the guy who hits people with a sledgehammer for a living," Dante retorted.

Red, the man of few words, simply picked up the eight-ball, examined it, and grunted. Ahri, his red-card partner, plucked it from his hand with a sly smile. "Patience, dear. The game hasn't even started."

It was Chun-Li, ever the diplomat, who finally decided enough was enough. She walked to the center of the main hall, took a deep breath, and stamped her foot. The sound wasn't loud, but it was sharp, precise, and carried a weight of authority that demanded attention. Every conversation stuttered to a halt.

"This is counterproductive," she announced, her voice clear. "We are a team. This bickering helps no one."

Zhongli chose that moment to emerge from the library, Dark Choco a silent shadow behind him. All eyes turned to their appointed leader.

"He is right," Zhongli said, though Chun-Li had said no such thing about him. He folded his hands behind his back. "The initial chaos is expected. However, a foundation requires rules. Not dictates, but agreements. Therefore, we shall draft a charter."

A collective groan came from several members.

"Aw, but rules are the opposite of fun!" Pinkie whined.

"Order is necessary for sustained fun to exist," Zhongli countered patiently. "For example, a rule that designates certain hours for musical practice would allow Miku to create," he nodded to the singer, "and Edgar to sketch in peace." He gestured to the brooding artist.

Edgar looked up, surprised to be acknowledged.

"Another rule might govern the... structural reinforcement of doorways," Zhongli added, with a glance at König, who flinched.

"And a schedule for the kitchen," Fu Hua added. "To avoid congestion."

One by one, they began to speak, offering suggestions, complaints, and ideas. It was messy, argumentative, and loud. But it was communication. It was a start.

As the sun began to set, casting long shadows through the grand windows, a list of ten "Unspoken Rules" (written down by Marinette on a large piece of poster board, with artistic embellishments by Ahri) was propped up on the mantelpiece.

Rule #1: Do not touch Midas's gold things unless you want to be turned into a gold thing. Rule#7: The library is a quiet zone. Fighting, transmuting, or excessive glitter usage is prohibited. Rule#10: If you break it, you fix it. (König is currently exempt from this rule until further notice).

It wasn't perfect. But as they all gathered in the main hall, some grudgingly, some curiously, to look at the list, a sense of shared purpose, however fragile, began to form.

The Fandoms Squad was learning to cohabitate. One bizarre, chaotic rule at a time.

Chapter Text

The Fandoms' Keep was finally, blessedly, quiet. Moonlight streamed through the grand windows, painting silver stripes on the floor. The chaotic symphony of the day had faded into the soft, rhythmic sounds of sleep. In the pink-themed room, Marinette was lost in dreams of fabric and design, a slight smile on her face.

Bzzt. Bzzt-bzz-bzt.

A phone, tucked under a mountain of pillows shaped like cupcakes, lit up with a weak glow. Pinkie Pie, who had been in a deep sleep that involved literal sugar plums dancing, stirred. One eye cracked open.

"Mmff? Five more minutes, Gummy..." she mumbled, swatting at the noise.

It buzzed again, more insistently. This wasn't a calendar alert for a party. It was a specific, urgent vibration she hadn't felt in years. A cold feeling, entirely alien to Pinkie, trickled down her spine. She fumbled for the device, her usually boundless energy replaced by a heavy curiosity.

The screen showed an unknown number. The message was simple, and it made her blood run cold.

Meet at the café. Don't tell anybody. Only you. Right now. ASAP.

Pinkie sat bolt upright. This wasn't a prank. The syntax, the desperate urgency… it was a ghost. A ghost she hadn't heard from since the worst day of her life. Since the day the original trio was shattered.

She looked over at Marinette, sleeping peacefully. Don't tell anybody. The words felt like a shackle. But if it was really him… after all this time… she had to know.

With a stealth that belied her usual exuberant nature, Pinkie slipped out of bed. She swapped her pajamas for a dark hoodie and jeans, becoming a shadow of her usual pink self. She paused at the door, a pang of guilt hitting her. Zhongli’s rules about not leaving the grounds after dark were fresh in her mind. But this was bigger than a rule.

She was a whisper down the grand staircase, avoiding the creaky seventh step she’d memorized that afternoon. She slipped out a side door into the cool night air, her heart hammering against her ribs.

The café was a lonely, brightly lit island in the sleeping city. And there, at a corner table, hunched over a cold cup of coffee, was a figure she never thought she’d see again.

Yuya Sakaki.

He looked older. The years had carved lines of regret and exhaustion on his face that his youthful spirit never could have imagined. His flamboyant green and red attire was replaced with a simple, dark jacket. He looked… ordinary. And broken.

Pinkie slid into the seat opposite him. For once, she had no joke, no party cannon, no streamers. She just stared.

"Yuya?" she whispered, her voice small.

He flinched, finally looking up. His eyes were haunted. "Pinkie. You came. I... I didn't know if you would."

"What are you doing here?" she asked, her confusion warring with a deep, old hurt. "You vanished. You... you broke us."

The events of 2016 flashed between them, unspoken but vividly remembered. The three of them—her, the fiercely loyal Red, and the optimistic Sunflower—against the world. Then Yuya, their fourth, their friend, got consumed by something dark. A competitive drive that twisted into something monstrous, a literal demonic rage that shattered their friendship and got him banished from their lives. He was the reason they’d gone their separate ways, the reason it had taken a force like Zhongli to bring a new, massive group together. He was the original fracture.

"I know," he said, his voice thick with emotion. He wouldn't meet her gaze. "I know I did. Every day for nine years, I've known. I was wrong, Pinkie. So wrong. I let it consume me. I hurt you. I hurt Red. I hurt Sunflower. I destroyed the best thing I ever had."

Tears welled in Pinkie's eyes. This wasn't the arrogant duelist she remembered. This was a shell.

"Why now?" she asked, wiping her nose with her sleeve.

"Because I heard," he said, finally looking at her. "I heard about the mansion. About the 'Fandoms Squad.' I heard Red and Sunflower were there. With you." He took a shaky breath. "I'm not asking for forgiveness. I don't deserve it. I'm just... I'm trying to be better. To warn you."

"Warn us?" Pinkie's confusion deepened.

"The thing that got to me back then... the anger, the jealousy... it wasn't just me," he said, his voice dropping to a desperate whisper. "It's a presence. It seeks out strong groups, strong emotions, and it tries to break them. It feeds on it. And a group as powerful and chaotic as yours... it's a beacon. I felt its attention shift. It's coming. I just... I wanted you to know."

Back at the mansion, the silence was broken.

Dante, who never slept, was sharpening Rebellion on the balcony when he saw a flicker of movement at the edge of the property. A pink-haired girl in a dark hoodie, slipping back through the gates. He raised an eyebrow. "Curfew breaker," he muttered to himself with a smirk.

But his smirk faded when he saw her face. Even from a distance, he could see the tracks of tears on her cheeks and a look of profound shock. This wasn't a prank. Something was wrong.

He didn't confront her. Instead, he vanished from the balcony and reappeared in the hallway, casually leaning against the wall as Pinkie crept back in. She jumped a foot in the air when she saw him.

"Jeez! Don't do that!" she whisper-yelled, her heart pounding.

"Rough night, party animal?" he asked, his tone light but his eyes serious.

Pinkie hesitated, the command 'don't tell anybody' ringing in her ears. But Dante’s gaze was piercing. And he wasn't part of the old pain. He was new.

"It... it was a ghost," she said, her voice trembling. "A ghost from a long time ago."

Dante's smirk was gone now. "Ghosts have a bad habit of coming back to haunt you. Usually, they don't just want to chat."

Before Pinkie could answer, another voice, calm and deep, spoke from the shadows of the library doorway.

"Indeed. And secrets kept in the night often become threats to the whole pride."

Zhongli stepped into the dim light, fully dressed, as if he’d been expecting this. Dark Choco was behind him, hand resting on the hilt of his sword, having clearly been on a nighttime patrol.

Pinkie looked from Dante's knowing look to Zhongli's impassive analysis to Dark Choco's silent vigilance. The weight of Yuya's warning crashed down on her. He said not to tell anyone. But he was wrong about a lot of things.

She took a deep, shaky breath. "We need to talk," she said to Zhongli. "All of us. Right now."

The Unspoken Rules were about to be broken. The ghost was already inside the walls.

Chapter Text

Pinkie’s declaration hung in the air, a stark contrast to the mansion’s nocturnal peace. Before Zhongli could respond with his measured wisdom or Dante with a cynical quip, a new figure emerged from the hallway leading to the kitchens.

Red. He held a glass of water, his brow furrowed with the look of a man perpetually annoyed by minor inconveniences. But his annoyance sharpened into acute concern the moment he saw Pinkie’s face, illuminated in the dim light—pale, tear-streaked, and utterly terrified.

He didn’t ask. He didn’t speak. In two long strides, he was there. He set the glass down on a side table with a sharp clack and his hand, calloused and strong, closed around Pinkie’s wrist. It wasn't a harsh grip, but it was firm, urgent, and pulled her a step closer to him, away from the others, as if creating a protective barrier with his own body.

"Pinkie," he grunted, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. His eyes, usually narrowed in a permanent squint, were wide with a dawning, horrible recognition. He looked from her terrified expression to the open door behind her, then back to her. He saw the ghost in her eyes, and he knew. Only one person could put that specific kind of fear on her face.

Zhongli observed the interaction silently, his amber eyes missing nothing. Dante’s playful demeanor vanished entirely, replaced by the focused stillness of a hunter sensing prey. Dark Choco’s hand tightened on his sword.

"Red," Pinkie whispered, her voice breaking. "I... I saw—"

"Where?" Red interrupted, his voice still a low, forced calm, though the tension in his jaw was visible. "Where did you see him?"

"The café downtown," she choked out. "He messaged me. He said not to tell anyone. He said he was sorry. He said... he said it's coming back. For us. For the new group."

Red’s face went stony. A muscle twitched in his cheek. He released her wrist, but only to put a steadying hand on her shoulder. His other hand, almost unconsciously, came up and pressed against the left side of his ribcage, right through his shirt.

Zhongli’s gaze zeroed in on the gesture. "You are in pain," he stated, not as a question, but as a fact.

Red flinched, dropping his hand as if burned. "It's nothing," he growled, but the denial was weak. The memory was a phantom punch, and it had left a lasting mark, both physically and otherwise.

"He hurt you," Pinkie said, fresh tears welling up. "Back then. Really bad."

Red finally looked away from Pinkie, his eyes finding Zhongli’s. The simple, silent communication between former leaders passed between them. Red might have grumbled about the rules, but he understood the weight of command. He understood the threat.

"His name wasn't just Yuya," Red said, the words seeming to cost him. "Not when it happened. When he... lost it. He became something else. He called himself Zarc. And he didn't just break up our team." Red’s hand twitched toward his ribs again, but he stopped himself. "He tried to break me."

The image was clear and brutal. A younger Red, fierce and loyal, trying to protect Pinkie and Sunflower from their friend, who had become a monster. A furious blow. The sickening crack of bone. The fall. The demonic figure of Zarc standing over him, the original Fandoms Squad shattered in that moment.

Dante let out a low whistle. "So the ghost has a name and a mean right hook. Got it."

"This changes the nature of the warning considerably," Zhongli said, his voice like settling stone. "It is no longer a specter of guilt, but a confirmed hostile entity with a history of targeted violence. And he has now made contact."

"We have to tell Sunflower," Pinkie said, her voice small. "She has to know he's back."

Red’s face hardened. "No."

"Red—!"

"He hurt her the most, Pinkie!" Red’s voice rose for the first time, a sharp, angry crack in the silence. "He didn't just hit her with a monster like he did me. He broke her trust. She believed in him more than any of us. She doesn't need that pain dragged up." He looked at Zhongli, a plea in his eyes that was utterly foreign to his character. "She's happy here. With the plants. With the quiet. Don't let him take that from her again."

Zhongli considered this, his expression unreadable. The moral calculus of protection versus information was a heavy one.

"The enemy knows our composition," Zhongli said after a moment. "He knows of Sunflower's presence. Keeping her in ignorance may render her more vulnerable, not less. A warrior forewarned is forearmed."

"But she's not a warrior!" Pinkie insisted. "She's our friend!"

Suddenly, a new voice, soft and laced with sleep, spoke from the top of the stairs.

"Pinkie? Red? Is everything okay?"

They all turned. Standing on the landing, clutching a robe around herself, was Sunflower. Her sunny yellow hair was mussed from sleep, and her face was etched with concern. She’d been woken by the raised voices.

Red froze, a deer in headlights, all his protective ferocity melting into pure panic. He looked from Sunflower’s worried face to Pinkie’s guilty one, and his hand once again went to his ribs, the old injury aching with a vengeance.

The secret was out. The ghost was in the foyer. And Sunflower was about to learn that the past she’d left behind had just kicked down the door to their new home.

Chapter Text

The grand hall, once a place of silent moonlight, was now a stage for bewildered chaos. Sunflower’s question hung in the air, unanswered, as the scene below her unfolded like a bizarre play.

One by one, the mansion’s inhabitants, stirred by the escalating voices, began to appear.

Marinette was the first from the pink room, rubbing her eyes. "Pinkie? What's going— oh." She froze at the top of the stairs, seeing the tense gathering below.

A door slammed open down the hall. Kyo, looking irritable and holding a pillow, growled, "Can some of us get some sleep? What's all the yelling about?" Behind him, Mai peeked out, her expression concerned.

The commotion drew others. Fu Hua and Chun-Li emerged from their blue room, both alert and assessing the situation with practiced calm. Dyrroth and Edgar, from their grey room, looked more annoyed than concerned. Testament and Ayano appeared on the second-floor balcony like silent specters, their presence felt more than seen.

Midas and Vox Akuma descended the main staircase, Vox looking intrigued and Midas mildly inconvenienced. "A midnight tribunal?" Vox mused. "How dramatic."

Lucifer and Seth Rollins emerged from the gold room, both impeccably dressed despite the hour. "This is an unscheduled event," Lucifer stated, a hint of disapproval in his voice.

"Someone better have a good reason for this," Seth Rollins added, crossing his arms.

Dan Heng, ever watchful, stood guard near a trembling Sunflower, his expression unreadable but his posture protective. König, who had been on his own nervous patrol, loomed in a doorway, his massive frame blocking the exit, though it was unclear if he meant to keep something out or them in.

Hatsune Miku, peeking out from her soundproof room with headphones around her neck, tilted her head. "Is this a new kind of performance?"

Lili, from the doorway of the game room, yawned. "Boring. I'm going back to bed." But she didn't move, her curiosity piqued.

Dante broke the silence, his voice cutting through the murmurs. "Seems our little party girl got a visit from a ghost from the past. A nasty one with a grudge and a mean left hook." He nodded toward Red.

All eyes swiveled to Red, whose face was a thundercloud of anger and pain, and to Pinkie, who looked like she wanted to sink into the floor.

"Explain," Zhongli commanded, his voice a low rumble that demanded order. "Now. All of you."

Pinkie, under the gaze of two dozen confused and concerned faces, broke. The words tumbled out in a rushed, tearful jumble. "It was Yuya! He messaged me! He said he was sorry for turning into a demon and breaking us up and he said the thing that made him do it is coming back for all of us because we're a big group and it likes to break big groups and he wanted to warn us and he told me not to tell anyone but I had to because he was scary and sorry and—"

"Breathe, Pinkie," Marinette said softly, rushing down the stairs to put an arm around her roommate.

Red cut in, his voice gruff, trying to shield Sunflower from the worst of it. "He's the one who gave me this," he said, gesturing vaguely to his ribs, though the injury was hidden. "Nine years ago. His name was Zarc then. And he's back."

The name ‘Zarc’ meant nothing to most of them, but the implications were clear.

"An external threat?" Fu Hua asked, her tone sharp and analytical. "Define its capabilities."

"Capabilities?" Kyo scoffed. "You mean some guy with a grudge? Let him come. I'll handle it."

"It is never that simple," Zhongli countered, his gaze still fixed on Red and Pinkie. "This 'Zarc' state. Was it a metaphorical demon, or a literal one?"

The question hung in the air. In this house, the literal was very much on the table.

Before Red or Pinkie could answer, a new voice, small and trembling, spoke from the stairs.

"Zarc..."

Everyone turned. Sunflower was as pale as her namesake's petals. Dan Heng's steadying hand on her arm was the only thing keeping her upright. All the sunny warmth had drained from her face, replaced by pure, unadulterated fear.

"You saw him?" she whispered, looking at Pinkie. "And he's... sorry?"

Pinkie could only nod, fresh tears streaming down her face.

The confirmation seemed to break something in Sunflower. She swayed on her feet. "He... he promised it was forever. Our squad. And then he... he..." She couldn't finish, her hands coming up to hug herself tightly.

The reaction sent a new wave of confusion through the crowd.

"Who is this guy?" Edgar muttered, his sketchbook forgotten. "A jilted lover?"

"Worse," Red said, his voice hollow. "A friend."

Ahri, who had been observing with a keen eye, spoke next. "A friend who breaks promises and returns from the past to deliver cryptic warnings? How very cliché." Despite her flippant words, her tails (even in human form, the essence of them seemed to linger) were twitching with unease.

"This is a security breach," Midas stated coldly. "The perimeter was compromised. An unknown entity made contact with a member of this household. This is unacceptable."

Vox nodded. "Indeed. Our collective safety is paramount. This requires a strategic response, not emotional panic."

"Strategic response?" Marie Rose giggled from behind Dante. "I say we find him and play a game. I'm very good at games."

Testament, from the balcony, finally spoke, their voice an eerie, melodic rasp. "A presence that feeds on discord and breaks bonds... I have felt such things. They are old. And hungry."

A chill went through the room.

"Then we fight it," Dark Choco said, his voice firm, his hand still on his sword. "We stand together."

"Fight what?" Seth Lowell asked, pragmatic as ever. "We have no description, no location, no tangible target. We are preparing for a shadow."

The room erupted into a cacophony of overlapping voices.

"We need to fortify!"
"We need to find this Yuya!"
"We need to stay calm!"
"We need to party!" Pinkie wailed, falling back on her default solution for overwhelming pain.

Amid the arguing, the fear, and the confusion, Zhongli watched. He saw the fractures already forming—the fighters ready for a brawl, the strategists demanding data, the scared ones wanting to hide, and the wounded trio at the center of it all, re-living their oldest nightmare.

He closed his eyes for a moment. The entity, if it was real, was already winning. It hadn't even arrived, and it was turning them against each other.

He was about to speak, to use his voice to command order, when a new sound cut through the noise.

It was a low, resonant hum that seemed to vibrate through the very foundations of the mansion. The crystals in the chandelier above them shivered, emitting a faint, discordant chime. Every electronic device in the vicinity—Miku's headphones, Edgar's tablet, the massive kitchen fridge—flickered simultaneously.

Then, as suddenly as it came, it stopped.

In the dead silence that followed, a single, synthesized voice, faint and distorted, whispered from every speaker in the house.

"The... party... is... starting..."

Every single person in the Fandoms' Keep fell silent. They looked at each other, wide-eyed. The threat was no longer a story from the past.

It was here. And it knew they were talking about it.

Chapter Text

The distorted voice faded, leaving a silence more terrifying than any noise. The flickering lights stabilized, but the fear in the room was now a living, breathing thing.

Zhongli was the first to break the paralysis. "It seems our time for deliberation has been curtailed. The threat is active and within our systems." His gaze swept the room, landing on Red, Pinkie, and a still-trembling Sunflower. "This 'Yuya' or 'Zarc' is now our primary source of intelligence. We must find him. Now."

Red’s face was a mask of conflict. The old injury ached with a phantom cold. "I know where he'll be," he grunted, the words dragged out of him. "The old spot. Where it... happened."

"Then we go," Chun-Li stated, her tone leaving no room for argument.

"No," Red said, his voice firmer now. "Not 'we'. Me. Pinkie. And... Sunflower. If she wants to." He looked at her, his expression unreadable. "This is our mess. Our ghost. We'll bring him in."

Sunflower, clutching her robe, took a shaky breath. She looked at Pinkie's pleading eyes and Red's stoic determination. Slowly, she nodded. "I need to see him. I need to... understand."

Within minutes, a small, tense convoy was prepared. Red, Pinkie, and Sunflower, bundled up, led the way. They were not alone. Zhongli, as leader, insisted on accompanying them as an mediator. Dante, ever the wild card, decided he wasn't missing this, leaning against the mansion's front door with a smirk. And Dark Choco, ever the silent guardian, fell into step behind Zhongli, a wordless promise of protection.

The "old spot" was a derelict children's park on the edge of town, now buried under a fresh blanket of snow. It was stark, lonely, and hauntingly quiet. And there, sitting on a frozen swing, was Yuya. He looked up as they approached, his expression one of utter defeat. He hadn't run.

Red held up a hand, stopping the group a dozen feet away. He took a single step forward, his boots crunching in the deep snow. The air was bitingly cold.

"You said you were sorry," Red stated, his voice flat, carrying easily in the stillness. "You said you wanted to warn us. You said you wanted to be better."

Yuya nodded slowly, unable to meet Red's eyes. "I am. I do."

"Words are easy," Red said. His breath misted in the air. "You broke more than bones, Yuya. You broke a promise. You broke trust."

From behind Red, Pinkie sniffled. Sunflower stood rigid, her arms wrapped around herself.

Red gestured to the empty expanse of pure white snow between them. "You want to come back? You want to even *try* to be near us again? You get two choices."

He held up one finger. "You walk away now. You stay a ghost. You stay lonely forever. We deal with this thing without you, and you never, *ever* contact us again."

He held up a second finger. His gaze was iron. "Or you walk six steps through this snow. Right here, right now. Six steps toward me. And with every single step, you say it. You say 'I'm sorry.' You say it like you mean it. You say it to *her*." He jerked his thumb back towards Sunflower. "And to *her*." A nod to Pinkie. "And to *me*. For what you did to each of us."

He shrugged off his own heavy winter jacket, revealing just his thin shirt underneath. He tossed the jacket at Yuya's feet.

"And you do it without that. You feel the cold we felt when you left."

The ultimatum hung in the frozen air. It was brutal. It was simple. It was profoundly Red.

Zhongli watched, saying nothing. This was not his judgment to pass. This was a ritual of atonement for a wound he did not share.

Dante let out a low whistle, impressed despite himself. "Harsh."

Yuya looked at the jacket lying in the snow. He looked at Red, standing coatless in the freezing air, his face set in stone. He looked past him, at Pinkie's hopeful, tear-filled eyes, and at Sunflower's wounded, fearful ones.

He knew what this was. This was a pain he couldn't transmute or duel away. This was real.

Slowly, shakily, he stood up from the swing. He left the jacket lying there.

He took the first step into the deep, untouched snow. The cold was immediate and shocking, seeping through his shoes.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice shaky, but clear. He looked at Sunflower. "I'm sorry I broke my promise to you. I'm sorry I made you doubt everything."

He took the second step. The snow crunched, a deafening sound in the silence.
"I'm sorry," he repeated, his voice growing stronger. He looked at Pinkie. "I'm sorry I made you cry. I'm sorry I ruined the fun."

The third step. His feet were going numb.
"I'm sorry." This time, he looked at Red. "I'm sorry I hurt you. I'm sorry I used my strength to break instead of protect."

The fourth step. He was halfway. His body shivered violently.
"I'm sorry." His voice was raw now, stripped of pride. "I'm sorry I became a monster. I'm sorry I let it win."

The fifth step. He was close now. Tears were freezing on his cheeks, matching Pinkie's.
"I'm sorry." It was almost a sob. "I'm sorry it took me nine years to be brave enough to say this."

He took the sixth and final step. He stood directly before Red, shaking, pale, and utterly vulnerable.
"I'm sorry." The words were a whisper, a final exhalation of all his guilt. "For everything."

For a long moment, no one moved. The only sound was the wind and Yuya's ragged breathing.

Red studied him. He looked at the cold, the tears, the genuine, gut-wrenching remorse. He saw the ghost of the friend he'd lost, finally fighting his way back.

Red let out a long, slow breath, a plume of steam in the cold air. Then, he did something no one expected.

He bent down. He picked up his own jacket from the snow. And he shook it off. And he draped it over Yuya's shaking shoulders.

"Don't catch a cold, idiot," Red grumbled, his voice rough with an emotion he'd never name. "We've got a fight coming. You're gonna need to be useful."

It wasn't forgiveness. Not yet. That would take time. But it was a chance. It was an acknowledgment.

Behind Red, Pinkie let out a sob of relief and rushed forward, throwing her arms around both Yuya and Red in a freezing, three-way hug. Sunflower hesitated for only a second longer before she slowly walked forward and placed a gentle hand on Yuya's arm, a silent, fragile acceptance.

Zhongli gave a single, approving nod. The path to mending fractures had begun.

From the shadows of a snow-laden tree, a figure none of them had noticed watched. The entity, drawn by the intense, conflicted emotions, had been feeding. But as Yuya took his sixth step, the emotions shifted. The anger and fear didn't vanish, but they were joined by something else, something it couldn't consume.

Hope.

The presence recoiled, hissing with silent frustration. Its easy meal was gone. The game had just become more interesting. It faded back into the darkness, leaving the fractured trio to begin their painful, fragile reconciliation in the silent, snowy park. The real fight was still to come.

Chapter Text

The return to the Fandoms' Keep was a somber, silent procession. The cold from the park seemed to have seeped into their very bones, but it was a different kind of chill from before. The icy air of unresolved pain had begun to thaw, replaced by the raw, aching vulnerability of a wound freshly cleaned.

Yuya, wrapped in Red's jacket and flanked by Pinkie and a quiet Sunflower, walked like a man in a dream. Zhongli led the way, his presence a steadying pillar, while Dante and Dark Choco brought up the rear, their watchful eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of the entity that had so brazenly announced itself.

They entered the mansion to find the entire household waiting in the grand hall, just as they had left them. The atmosphere was thick with tension and unanswered questions.

Marinette was the first to move, rushing to Pinkie’s side. "Are you okay? What happened?"

Before Pinkie could answer, Kyo’s sharp voice cut through the room. "Who's the extra?" He jerked his chin at Yuya, his expression suspicious.

All eyes fixed on the newcomer. Yuya flinched under the collective scrutiny of two dozen powerful, strange, and currently very on-edge individuals.

"This," Zhongli announced, his voice effortlessly commanding attention, "is Yuya Sakaki. He was once a member of the original trio's team. He has… returned. And he carries vital information regarding the threat we now face."

"Returned?" Lucifer drawled, a skeptical eyebrow raised. "How… convenient."

"Did he cause the voice? The flickering?" Fu Hua asked, her tone analytical but pointed.

"No," Red answered for him, his voice gruff but definitive. "He didn't. But he knows what did."

Midas’s eyes narrowed. "And we are simply to trust him? A known betrayer who conveniently appears just as a new threat emerges?" He took a step forward, his gaze cold. "His value as an asset must be proven before he is granted access to our resources."

Yuya shrunk back, the weight of their distrust a physical pressure.

"He walked through snow in his socks!" Pinkie blurted out, defending him. "And he said sorry! Six times!"

A beat of confused silence followed.

Marie Rose giggled. "Was it a fun game?"

"It was a condition of his parley," Zhongli clarified, saving Pinkie from having to explain the bizarre ritual. "One which he met. For now, we operate on a provisional trust. His knowledge is our best weapon."

"Then he will start talking. Now," Seth Rollins stated, his arms crossed. "What is this thing?"

Yuya swallowed, finding his voice. It was hoarse from the cold and the emotion. "It's… it's not a person. It's a presence. A feeling. It feeds on negative emotions—anger, jealousy, regret, hate. The stronger the bond it breaks, the more powerful it becomes. Our little squad… the three of us… we were happy. We were strong. It… liked that. It twisted me. Made me believe my friends were holding me back. That I needed to be the strongest alone. It turned my passion into a poison."

Testament nodded slowly, a grim understanding on their face. "A psychic parasite. It latches onto a host and amplifies their darkest traits until the connection is severed… or the host is consumed."

"So it's like… bad vibes incarnate?" Vox Akuma summarized, tapping his chin.

"Essentially," Yuya said. "And it's drawn here. This group… it's a feast. So much power. So many different personalities. So much potential for conflict."

As if on cue, the lights flickered again. A low hum vibrated through the floorboards. This time, it didn't stop.

From the kitchen, a frantic beeping sounded. Ahri and Midas exchanged a look and rushed to check, returning a moment later.

"The ovens," Midas said, his voice tight. "They have turned on to their highest settings. All of them."

Then, the thermostat for the mansion’s heating system suddenly spun wildly. The grand hall, once cool, began to grow uncomfortably warm, then swelteringly hot.

"It's in the house!" Edgar yelled, grabbing his tablet. The screen was a mess of glitching static.

"It's not just in the house," Dan Heng said, his voice calm but urgent. He pointed to the large windows. Outside, the sprinkler system for the manicured lawns erupted to life, spraying jets of water high into the air despite the freezing temperature.

Chaos erupted.

"My pastries!" Sunflower cried, dashing toward the kitchen where her newly planted herbs were wilting in the sudden heat.

Kyo slammed his fist against a wall. "Stop hiding and fight us, you coward!"

"Everyone, remain calm!" Chun-Li commanded, but her order was lost in the noise.

The entity wasn't attacking them directly. It was attacking their environment. It was turning their home against them, stoking panic and frustration—the very emotions it fed on.

Lili, annoyed by the heat, went to a window to open it. The moment her hand touched the latch, a powerful jolt of static electricity shocked her, and she yelped, jumping back. "It's protecting itself!"

König, overwhelmed by the chaos, the heat, and the flashing lights, began to breathe heavily, backing into a corner. "Nein, nein, nein…"

Dante, however, grinned. "Okay, now it's getting interesting." He looked at the sparking window. "So it's got a bit of a bite. Good."

Zhongli’s eyes glowed faintly with geo-energy. He stomped his foot on the ground. A wave of solid, calming power rippled out from him, a temporary anchor in the madness. The flickering lights stabilized for a moment, and the oppressive heat lessened by a degree.

"This is its strategy," Zhongli boomed. "It seeks to divide us with confusion and fear. We must not let it. Fu Hua, Chun-Li—secure the kitchen and extinguish the ovens. Midas, Vox—with Edgar, see if you can isolate the threat in the electrical systems. Red, Yuya—you know this thing's nature. How do we fight a feeling?"

Red and Yuya looked at each other, a silent communication passing between former friends turned enemies turned reluctant allies.

"You can't punch it," Yuya said, voice strained.

"But you can starve it," Red finished, his gaze sweeping the room. "It feeds on the bad stuff. So don't give it any."

"That is profoundly unhelpful," Lucifer sighed, fanning himself with a hand.

"It means," Pinkie said, her voice suddenly clear and determined, "we have to be happy! We have to be together! We have to be us!"

She took a deep breath, pushed down her own fear, and started to sing. It was a silly, off-key song about cupcakes and friendship, the kind she’d sing to cheer up Sunflower years ago.

For a moment, everyone just stared at her as if she'd lost her mind.

Then, Marinette, remembering the girl who had welcomed her so warmly, joined in, her voice soft but steady.

Then Sunflower, from the kitchen doorway, her voice a little shaky, but adding a harmony.

The lights flickered violently, the hum rising in pitch as if in annoyance.

Dante started clapping along with a laugh. Ahri shrugged and added a playful whistle. Vox, seeing the tactic, began narrating in his deepest, most dramatic radio voice, "And thus, the heroes fought the gloom not with blades, but with a ballad! The audacity!"

It was ridiculous. It was absurd. But it was also working. The oppressive atmosphere receded another inch. They were fighting back with the only weapon the entity couldn't directly counter: genuine, stubborn, unified joy.

The entity, frustrated, changed tactics. It focused its energy, and a bookshelf in the library spontaneously shuddered and tipped over with a colossal crash.

The singing stopped. The brief moment of unity shattered.

In the sudden silence, a single, clear sound was heard.

*Tick. Tick. Tick.*

It was coming from the game room.

Everyone turned. Sitting on the pool table, where it had most certainly not been before, was a large, ornate hourglass. The sand in the top bulb was steadily, inexorably, draining into the bottom.

Etched into the wood base were two words:

**GAME START**

Chapter Text

The relentless *tick… tick… tick…* of the hourglass was the only sound in the grand hall. The entity’s message was clear: their time was limited. But for what?

All eyes turned back to Yuya. He was their only source of information, their reluctant oracle.

“It’s a challenge,” Yuya said, his voice hollow as he stared at the hourglass. “It always starts with a challenge. It loves games. It loves… duels.”

“Duels?” Kyo cracked his knuckles. “Now you’re speaking my language. What kind? Hand-to-hand? Ki attacks?”

Yuya shook his head, a bitter, sad smile touching his lips. “No. Not that kind.” He took a deep breath, as if steeling himself to confess a great shame. “There was a game. A card game. People used… ‘Duel Disks’ to play it. It was everything back then.”

He looked at his empty wrists. “My Duel Disk is gone. It was destroyed when… when I was. The game itself was banned not long after. The incident that broke us apart was the final straw. Too many people got hurt, their emotions manipulated, their passions turned into weapons. They said the game was a conduit for the very thing we’re facing now.”

He looked up, meeting the confused gazes of the group. “I can’t play that way anymore. I’ve… moved on. I’m a magician now. Illusions and stage tricks. Something pure. Something that makes people happy.”

Most of the group listened with varying degrees of confusion. A card game? Banned for being too dangerous? It sounded absurd.

But one person reacted differently.

Authority! Seth Rollins had been listening with his usual air of arrogant detachment. But at the mention of the card game, his posture changed. He straightened up, his eyes widening behind his sunglasses. As Yuya spoke about Duel Disks, banned games, and emotional manipulation, Rollins’s face lost all its color.

“A… a card game?” he stammered, his voice uncharacteristically weak. He took a step back, bumping into the solid, armored form of Dark Choco Cookie. “With… with monsters? And traps? And… and children’s trading cards?”

Yuya nodded, surprised by the specific reaction. “Yes. You… you know it?”

Seth Rollins’s hands began to shake. He brought them up to his face, staring at them as if they belonged to someone else. “Know it?” he whispered, his voice a mere breath. “I… I was the regional champion for the Tri-State Area in 2008. The ‘Architect of Destruction’ they called me. My ‘Monday Night Messiah’ deck was undefeated… until… until…”

His eyes rolled back into his head. His knees buckled. The man who had faced down giants in the squared circle, who had been slammed through tables and hit with steel chairs, was brought low by a memory.

“Whoa!” Dante said, lunging forward but not quite making it in time.

With a soft, utterly undramatic groan, the Visionary, the Architect, the Revolutionary, Seth “Freakin” Rollins, fainted dead away. He collapsed backward, directly into Dark Choco, who caught the surprisingly heavy WWE superstar with a soft *oomph*, looking down at the unconscious man in his arms with utter bewilderment.

The room erupted into a new kind of chaos.

“He fainted!” Pinkie yelled, stating the obvious.

“Is he alright?” Marinette cried, rushing over.

“The stress must have triggered a vasovagal response,” Fu Hua diagnosed calmly, moving to check his pulse.

Lucifer pinched the bridge of his nose. “Of course. Of all the ridiculous, mortal weaknesses…”

“He was a champion?” Midas mused, looking at the fallen wrestler with newfound, albeit unconscious, respect. “The economic potential of a professional trading card game is staggering.”

Kyo just looked disgusted. “He fainted over a *card game*?”

“It was not just a game,” Yuya said, his voice gaining a sliver of strength. He looked at the fallen Rollins with a sense of kinship. “It was a lifestyle. It was a passion. For some of us… it was everything. The entity preys on that kind of all-consuming devotion.”

Red grunted in agreement, his hand unconsciously going to his ribs again. The memory of Yuya’s monster cards manifesting with terrifying, real power was still vivid.

Zhongli observed the scene, his analytical mind processing this new data. The entity had a preferred method of attack: it corrupted passion. For Yuya, it was his desire to win and entertain. For this Seth Rollins, it was clearly a past glory, a champion’s pride he had buried deep. The entity was digging up everyone’s pasts, looking for cracks to exploit.

“The hourglass continues to drain,” Zhongli stated, his voice cutting through the concern for Rollins. “We now understand the battlefield. Our enemy wishes to engage us in this ‘banned game.’ We must determine how, and with what rules.”

“We can’t!” Yuya insisted. “We don’t have the equipment. The cards are banned, they’re probably impossible to find!”

From the second-floor balcony, a soft, electronic melody played. Hatsune Miku, who had been curiously examining the hourglass via the security camera feeds on her tablet, held it up.

On the screen, she displayed a live feed of the mansion’s rarely-used attic. Dusty boxes were strewn about. And in the center of the room, several pristine, metallic cases gleamed under a shaft of moonlight coming through a circular window.

“I found the game,” Miku sang softly.

The cases were unmistakable. They were Duel Disks. And next to them were sealed boxes of cards.

The entity hadn’t just issued a challenge. It had provided the weapons.

Seth Rollins, who was just coming to, groaning in Dark Choco’s arms, heard Miku’s words and saw the image on the tablet. His eyes fluttered open for a second, took in the sight of the Duel Disks, and with a soft “Oh no, not the Pendulum summon…” he promptly fainted again.

The game was on. Whether they wanted to play or not.

Chapter Text

The grand bracket flickered on the screen for a moment longer, a ghost of the chaotic game that was not to be. Then, as if a plug had been pulled, the entire mansion went dark. The hum of electronics, the ticking of the hourglass, the oppressive sense of a watching presence—it all vanished, leaving behind a profound and sudden silence broken only by the confused murmurs of two dozen people.

A beat passed.

Then, with a soft *whump*, the emergency generators kicked in. Low, ambient lights flickered on along the baseboards, casting the grand hall in long, dramatic shadows. The main power, however, remained off.

The entity’s challenge, its manufactured tournament, had been abruptly severed.

“Well,” Dante’s voice cut through the quiet. “That was anticlimactic. Did someone forget to pay the electric bill?”

“Do not be foolish,” Zhongli replied, his figure a calm silhouette against the dim light. He approached the hourglass. The sand had stopped flowing, frozen in time. “The external pressure has ceased. For now.”

Marinette let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. “So… it’s over? The game… the duels…”

“It appears the invitation was declined on our behalf by a higher authority,” Lucifer said, sounding almost disappointed. “How… mundane.”

The tension in the room, so tightly wound just moments before, began to unravel, leaving behind a strange, empty feeling. They had been braced for a fight, and now there was nothing to fight.

Pinkie Pie was the first to break the weird stillness. She clapped her hands together, the sound echoing in the hall. “Okay! So no spooky monster card tournament! That’s great! But now we’re all standing around in the dark like a bunch of sad sacks!”

She zoomed over to a large utility closet and emerged a moment later holding an enormous box. “Emergency power means emergency fun! Who wants to help me get the party supplies? We’ve got glow sticks! And battery-powered speakers! And… oh! Non-perishable cupcakes!”

The sheer force of her normality was like a breath of fresh air. The bizarre threat was gone, replaced by the very ordinary, very present reality of a blackout.

“I will assist,” Fu Hua said, ever practical. “Sustenance is a priority.” She headed for the kitchen to assess what could be salvaged without power.

“I shall ensure the perimeter remains secure without the main security system,” Dark Choco stated, heading for the front door with König, who seemed relieved to have a clear, simple task, following closely behind.

Red looked at Yuya, then jerked his head toward the kitchen. “You. You can make yourself useful. Help Sunflower with her plants. They probably need water after that heat wave nonsense.”

Yuya nodded, a genuine, relieved smile touching his face. “Right. Yeah. I can do that.”

The mansion erupted into a flurry of ordinary, domestic activity. The supernatural threat was set aside, and the immediate, practical needs of a large group living together took over.

Miku, with Edgar’s grudging help, managed to get a battery-powered speaker working, and soon a soft, upbeat electronic melody filled the hall. Marinette and Pinkie strung up glow sticks, turning the dark space into a neon-lit dance floor.

In the kitchen, a bizarre but effective assembly line formed. Fu Hua and Chun-Li were preparing simple rice and vegetables on a gas camping stove Red had somehow produced from a storage room. Midas watched them, occasionally offering unsolicited advice on efficiency (“A circular stirring motion wastes 12% less energy than a back-and-forth one”) which was mostly ignored. Sunflower and Yuya carefully moved her potted herbs back to the windowsill, their earlier tension eased by the shared, simple task.

Seth Rollins, having fully recovered from his faint, found himself cornered by the other Seth—Seth Lowell. “So,” Lowell began, his arms crossed. “A ‘Monday Night Messiah’ deck. Based on a quick probability analysis, your win condition was likely a first-turn lock-down, am I correct?” Rollins just stared at him, a look of horrified fascination on his face.

In a corner, Testament and Ayano observed the chaos, a silent understanding passing between them. Both were content to simply watch the strange family they’d found themselves in.

Lili challenged Mai to a game of shadow puppets instead of a fight, while Marie Rose tried to teach a very confused Dan Heng how to braid hair by the light of a tablet.

Ahri convinced a skeptical Lucifer to try a “mortal” snack—a rice ball—which he ate with an expression of utmost disdain, though he did finish it.

Kyo and Dante, deprived of their fight, settled for an intense arm-wrestling match at the kitchen table, their grunts of effort adding to the cacophony.

Zhongli moved through it all, a steadying presence. He approved of this. This was not a battle against an external foe, but the building of an internal fortress. Every shared meal, every laugh, every moment of cooperation was a brick laid against the entity’s influence. It could not feed on this.

Hours later, the group was gathered in the main hall, eating simple food by the glow of countless neon sticks and battery-powered lanterns. The mood was light, almost giddy with relief.

It was then that the main power returned with a sudden, loud hum. The overhead lights blazed to life, making everyone blink. The various devices around the house rebooted.

A single notification chimed on the mansion’s central message board, a system Edgar had set up for announcements.

Everyone fell silent, looking at the screen, a new fear gripping them. Was it back?

The message was simple.

`**NOTICE FROM THE CITY GRID: ** We apologize for the unscheduled power outage affecting your sector. The cause was a downed tree limb on a primary line. Service has now been restored. We thank you for your patience.`

A tree limb.

The cause of all that terror, all that tension, had been a fallen branch.

A beat of silence was broken by Dante’s loud, roaring laughter. It was infectious. Soon, the entire hall was filled with laughter, a release of pure, unadulterated relief.

They had faced down a metaphysical threat with the power of friendship and organization, only to be thwarted by a literal act of nature.

Zhongli allowed himself a small smile, sipping the tea he had managed to heat on the camping stove. “It seems,” he said, his voice warm with amusement, “that our most powerful enemy is poor municipal landscaping.”

The Fandoms Squad, brought together by extraordinary circumstances, had just survived their most ordinary crisis yet. And they had done it together. For now, that was enough. The rest of the night was spent not in fear, but in the warm, chaotic, ordinary glow of their shared, peculiar home.