A Domain was not something one simply learned.

It was not a technique that could be copied, nor a spell that could be memorized. It was the natural consequence of reaching SS-rank, the point where an existence became so complete, so self-defined, that reality itself could no longer impose its rules without resistance.

A Domain was the world as seen through the owner's soul.

When an individual first crossed into SS-rank, their Domain manifested in a raw, imperfect form. It reflected who they were at that moment: their fears, their convictions, their contradictions. And it did not remain static. Every time its owner reached a new realization, about themselves, about the world, about the nature of their power, the Domain evolved.

A moment of clarity could reshape the world within it.

A single truth accepted could erase entire laws.

Inside one's Domain, authority was absolute.

If you despised gravity, it ceased to exist.

If time was inconvenient, it could be cut out like a diseased organ.

If causality offended you, then effects no longer needed causes.

Within a Domain, thought and reality were one and the same.

Which raised an obvious question.

What happened when two Domains collided?

Most believed the answer was simple. The stronger Domain would overwhelm the weaker, devouring it entirely. The lesser would collapse, its owner stripped of authority and crushed under the weight of another's world.

That assumption was wrong.

Domains did not consume one another.

They merged.

When two or more Domains overlapped, reality entered a state of enforced compromise. Laws conflicted. Concepts clashed. And authority, once absolute, was divided.

Partial ownership was granted to each Domain's creator.

The stronger the will, the greater the influence.

In the rare case where two Domain holders were evenly matched.

Authority was split.

Fifty.

Fifty.

And that was the situation now.

Belle Ardent and Black stood within a fused world, Death Without Witness intertwined with Pain of Burned Memories. Neither could erase the other's reality. Neither could dominate the whole.

They were gods sharing a single throne.

The reflection Belle had drawn from the water stood motionless beside her.

It was complete.

Not a shadow. Not a distortion.

It was Belle without restraint. Without denial. Without the careful pruning she had imposed on herself over the years. Every doubt. Every buried rage. Every forbidden desire to destroy and to end—laid bare.

Something beautiful.

Something terrifying.

The reflection did not speak.

It didn't need to.

Slowly, it began to dissolve.

Its form softened, edges blurring as it broke apart into mist, the same purple-pink hue as Belle's hair and hands. The vapor rose gently, carried by no wind, drifting upward toward the black moon hanging in the sky.

As it reached the moon, the mist wrapped around it.

The moon shuddered.

Cracks of pale light spread across its surface, the white outline thickening, bleeding into shades of violet and rose. The black moon's glow shifted, no longer cold and distant, but heavy, intimate, focused.

It shone down upon Belle.

The moment the light touched her,

Power erupted.

The still water beneath her feet rippled outward in concentric waves, each one carrying impossible pressure. The air warped, bending as though crushed by an invisible hand. Even the glass-littered remnants of Black's domain trembled.

She didn't flinch.

She raised her hand.

Behind her, the sky opened.

Millions upon millions of weapons formed in silence.

Spears first—long, elegant, glowing with death and vespera intertwined. Then swords of every shape and length, their edges sharp enough to sever concepts. Halberds, lances, arrows frozen mid-flight before ever being fired.

A celestial armory.

They hovered in perfect formation, aligned behind Belle like the wings of an executioner angel.

Slowly, inexorably, they began to move.

Then...

Black laughed.

The sound cut through the fused domain like a blade through silk.

"Magnificent," he said, his voice calm, almost fond. "You always did have a flair for the dramatic."

The air around him shattered.

Not cracked.

Shattered.

Invisible fractures spiderwebbed outward, and from the sky above, where blood had been suspended like a crimson ceiling, it began to flow.

Not falling.

Flowing.

A steady, endless stream of red poured downward, curving unnaturally toward Black as though drawn by gravity only it obeyed. The blood wrapped around him, spiraling, sinking into his form until his silhouette pulsed with dark, liquid light.

Around them, the mirrors embedded in the glass landscape flickered.

The memories they displayed blurred.

Then changed.

The reflections no longer showed moments of the past.

They stepped out of the glass.

One by one, figures emerged.

Hundreds of them.

All Arlo Hart.

A child, barely five years old, eyes hollow and too old for his face.

A boy the same age as Sebastian, posture rigid, jaw clenched in defiance.

A young man with bloodied hands and dead eyes.

An older Black, scars crossing his face, smile thin and knowing.

They surrounded Belle in a widening circle.

Each one radiated the same dreadful aura of death.

Not diluted.

Not weakened.

Each was real.

Each was him.

"This is my Domain," Black said evenly. "Pain does not fade. Memories do not die. They burn. And what burns leaves scars."

The hundreds of Blacks raised their heads in unison.

A single drop of blood fell from the sky.

It struck the still water at Belle's feet.

The surface broke.

And the world exploded into motion.

Weapons screamed forward, spears and swords descending like a judgmental storm. The Blacks moved simultaneously, some dissolving into shadow, others leaping, others simply standing as blades passed through them and shattered on unseen resistance.

The water surged upward in towering waves, reflections twisting into monstrous forms. Glass erupted from the ground in jagged spires, colliding with the falling weapons in cascades of sparks and annihilation.

Belle stepped forward.

Each movement warped the domain.

She slashed with an empty hand, and a thousand weapons obeyed, changing trajectory mid-flight to follow her will. Death flowed from her like breath, erasing dozens of Blacks at once—

Only for them to reform from mirrors and blood.

Black moved at last.

He walked.

Casually.

Every step sent fractures through the fused world. He passed through collapsing weapons, through crashing waves, through annihilation that would have erased continents beyond the Domain.

He raised a hand.

And clutched.

The space around Belle's arm shattered, bones cracking as pressure closed in. She responded instantly, killing the concept of distance between them, appearing before him with a knee driven toward his chest.

Black caught it.

The impact sent a shockwave that tore the sky apart again.

Their eyes met.

Violet against blue.

Teacher and student.

Failure and consequence.

And the Domains howled.

The clash between them no longer resembled combat. It was ideology made violent. Two interpretations of death trying to overwrite one another. Every strike rewrote rules. Every collision birthed destruction that would have been apocalyptic anywhere else.

And yet...

They were still holding back.

Because if they didn't.

There would be nothing left to stand on.

Not even a memory.

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