Evan's boots hit the pavement hard as he rounded the corner into an alley, breath fogging in the early summer night. His heart hammered—not from the run, but from the decision he'd made. People were dying in Harlem. He couldn't just sit back.
He glanced behind him, made sure no one had followed. Then he exhaled and muttered, "Alright. Come out."
From the shadows pooled behind a dumpster, the darkness stirred like ink dropped in water. A figure stepped forward with a flourish, boots clicking softly, eyes glowing a mischievous green under the brim of his phantom top hat.
"You rang?" Witty Phantom grinned, tipping his hat. "Tell me you're not planning to run headfirst into that thing without a plan."
Evan gave a weak chuckle, then leaned against the brick wall, catching his breath. "No. That's why I called you. We need to talk."
Witty Phantom extended a hand, and the alley around them grew darker, sound fading away as if swallowed by thick velvet. The bustle of the street behind them vanished into silence. Just them and shadows now.
"There, we have privacy. What's on your mind?"
Evan looked up, eyes serious despite the uncertainty swimming in them. "I want to help."
Witty Phantom tilted his head. "And how do you plan to do that?"
Evan glanced away, lips pressing tight. "I don't know. Not really. That's why I called you. I thought… maybe you could do something. Stop the monster."
Witty Phantom raised a brow, then shook his head slowly. "Me? Against that creature? Evan, I am a being of illusion and trickery. Shadows and whispers. I am not built for a brawl with a titan. That creature is a brute."
Evan's jaw tensed, frustration leaking into his voice. "Then what do I do?"
"There may be others you could draw upon," Phantom said calmly. "Creatures more suited for physical confrontation. But first, answer this: is your goal to subdue the monster yourself—or is it to minimize the destruction and save lives?"
Evan frowned, brow furrowed. "What's the difference? Wouldn't stopping the monster do both?"
Witty Phantom's green eyes shimmered dimly in the dark. "Remember what I told you about taking the personalities of your summons into account. You're inexperienced. With your own power, yes—but even more so with combat. Charging in directly to defeat a creature like that will only escalate the situation. More destruction. More deaths. Not fewer."
Evan turned away, pressing his palms to the brick wall behind him. "Damn it… you're right."
He shut his eyes, breathing deep.
"I've been hesitating. Watching. Thinking if I waited long enough, everything would settle down. The government would handle it. Iron Man would show up. The world would sort itself out… and I could just keep my head down. Go to work. Pay the rent. Call my sister on Sundays."
He paused, guilt pooling in his gut. "But that's not why I ran out here. I didn't make this choice because I wanted to defeat a monster, or save the day. I made it because people are dying. Right now. And if I don't do something, more will die before anyone does show up."
He turned back to Phantom, eyes firmer now. "I don't have to beat the monster. I just have to stall him. Slow him down. Keep him in one place. Buy time."
He looked down at his hands. "I can maybe do that."
Witty Phantom regarded him with an approving nod. "Now that is a plan I can help with."
"If I'm doing this, though," Evan added, "I need you to keep me hidden. I can't be outed as… whatever I am. I can't have people looking at me like I'm some freak."
Witty Phantom smirked. "You wound me, Evan. I excel at stealth. But…" He stepped back, arms crossing, eyes narrowing slightly. "There's a complication. My concealment doesn't fare well in the presence of light. And the whole area around that creature seems to be lit up by searchlights."
He turned, "I'll find something better. Something reliable. While I'm gone, you should prepare. Draw again. Now that you know your task, let that guide your choice."
He tipped his hat. "When I return, you'll be dressed for the part."
Then, like a candle snuffed out, Witty Phantom vanished into the folds of darkness.
Evan stood in the quiet for a moment, alone in the alley once more. Slowly, he closed his eyes.
The feeling returned—the familiar hum began in his chest, then bloomed outward as the great dragon once more appeared in his mind's eye. Then nine cards gleamed before him, shimmering like reflections in deep water.
This time, he looked at them differently. This time, he had a mission. He began to choose.
——
Evan tightened the drawstring of the black balaclava around his face, the fabric warm against his skin. Over it, the red velvet hood hung low, shadows cutting across his eyes as he turned to look at himself in the cracked window of the alley. The long Santa Claus cloak—complete with white fur trim—billowed around his legs like some kind of holiday horror.
"…Seriously?" he muttered. "A Santa cloak?"
Leaning against a dumpster, Witty Phantom tilted his head and smirked. "All a gift from the fat-bellied Christmas man."
Evan gave him a look, then sighed and let the subject drop. It was better than going in with nothing. And it was distinctive, in a weird, festive nightmare sort of way. He tugged the hood tighter and exhaled slowly, grounding himself.
"All right," he said. "Let's focus. You asked if I had a plan?"
Witty gave a slight nod. "I did. What's your answer?"
"I think I do," Evan replied. He hesitated. "It's not perfect, but… I think it could work."
Witty Phantom studied him with those ever-amused eyes. "Mm. 'Think' is better than 'hope.' But not by much. Let's upgrade it to 'know,' shall we?"
Evan glanced toward the end of the alley, where the world outside still burned and roared beyond the veil of silence Witty had cast. "Working on it," he said. "Getting there."
"How do you plan to get there?"
"I've got a way," Evan said. "Not sure if you can come with me, though."
"Oh, I'll be there," Witty said with a slight flourish. "We summons can slip out of the world. Become incorporeal, like a phantom . The only thing tethering us to reality is the link to you. Wherever you go, that tether goes. I just have to choose the moment to return."
Evan blinked. "So… you can teleport to me?"
Witty sighed. "Let's go with that."
Evan exhaled and closed his eyes. It was time to stop stalling. He focused, drawing on the sensation that had become more familiar over the last few days—a soft pulse in the center of his chest, like a distant drumbeat echoing through his blood. He reached for the second card he'd drawn, the one that had flickered at the edge of his thoughts since Sunday.
Follow Wind.
It was meant to be a spell linked to a winged monster. But he had another purpose for it, he willed it to become something different.
The air around the alley stilled. For a heartbeat, there was nothing.
Then it rose.
A sudden whisper of wind curled around Evan's boots, lifting dust. The breeze thickened, folding around him like arms, wrapping his body with intent. From behind him, faint emerald light began to shimmer, forming feathers that didn't quite exist—phantoms of plumage interlocking, shaping into wings that pulsed with motion.
He felt them before he saw them.
And with a single, instinctive flick—
He shot into the sky.
The city dropped away beneath him in a blur of color and chaos. His breath caught in his throat as buildings shrank below. It wasn't fear, exactly—he'd never had an issue with heights—but the sheer scale of it all threatened to crush him. Still, the wind cradled him, warm and fierce, as if protecting him from the worst of it.
The wings behind him no longer beat; they held their shape, glowing faintly. It was the wind itself that carried him now, pushing him forward, holding him steady, keeping him aloft.
He hovered high above Manhattan, the skyline jagged and strange beneath him. He saw as the spotlights carved bright lines across the dark. And the chaos that was noticeable from even this far away.
Harlem was easy to find.
He stared at it, letting the weight of the moment settle in.
He had no idea what waited for him down there. He just knew that monster had to be stopped. Or stalled. Or caged. He wouldn't be the one to put it down—he wasn't quite ready for that, not yet. But maybe he could play the part long enough to matter.
He took one last breath.
"Take me there," he whispered.
And the winds obeyed.
——
Evan landed softly on the rooftop, the winds that had carried him thinning into stillness as his boots met the concrete. The Santa-cloaked figure crouched low behind a ledge, the dim light of fires painting his silhouette in flickers of red and shadow. From here, he could see the destruction happening in the street below.
The creature was still on the move, a monster out of nightmare, muscles layered over its hulking frame like living armor. With each step, it flung vehicles like they were crumpled soda cans. Military convoys had formed a rough semi-circle, peppering it with bullets that bounced harmlessly off its skin. An RPG had been fired, but the brute had swatted it aside like a mosquito. It hadn't even flinched. The military was trying, but Evan knew they weren't stopping it. Just slowing it. And not for long.
People fled in all directions, scattering like startled insects. By now, the immediate area should have been evacuated—but the creature hadn't stayed put. It kept pushing through the city, refusing to be contained. That made Evan's first goal clear: stop its advance. Pin it down, right here on this street. If he could keep it in one place, at least the surrounding blocks could be cleared of civilians. That was the first step—create a proper battlefield.
He quickly reviewed his arsenal. Four draws — that was the most he could manage before his power stopped responding. Five seemed to be the limit: he couldn't hold onto more than five fragments at once without using them. At first, he'd thought his power was burning out, but now he understood it better. The moment he used Follow Wind, he'd felt it stir again, waiting on him. He hadn't wasted time pulling another draw — there were lives on the line with every second he hesitated.
It didn't matter, he was already prepared. Each choice had been made carefully, with one purpose in mind: to stall the beast and pave the way for whoever would ultimately bring it down. His goal wasn't to win the fight—just to buy time for the safety of innocents and make that final blow possible.
"Time to put them to work," he murmured.
First, he needed a distraction. He reached for his second summon. This time was nothing like when he'd called Witty Phantom in a panic, confused and terrified. Now, he watched with focused intent as the fragment pulsed in his mind and began to take shape.
Tiny pinpricks of light gathered in the air before him, swirling into form. When the glow faded, a small, floating figure hovered there—a round orb of a body with delicate wings, stubby feet, and two cone-like protrusions that could've been arms… or maybe ears. A faint halo-like ring hovered above its head. His power labeled it a fairy—Petite Angel.
There was no need for words—the Petite Angel already understood its role. In the blink of an eye, it vanished from Evan's side and reappeared near the rampaging brute. It let out a small noise—something between a chirp and a screech, though not quite either. It was enough.
The monster turned, momentarily puzzled by the strange creature fluttering in front of it. But its interest lasted only a second before another barrage of bullets from the military struck it. Annoyed, it swung a massive fist at the angel, and for a moment was certain it had crushed the nuisance.
But then the fairy floated calmly back into its line of sight.
What followed was a flurry of futile swipes and lunges, each one narrowly missing as the angel danced just out of reach. Try as it might, the beast couldn't land a single blow.
That was exactly why he'd chosen the little thing. From what he understood of the fragment, its greatest strength was how difficult it was to land a hit on it. It made for the perfect distraction—just enough to pull the monster's focus. But Evan knew it wouldn't hold forever. Eventually, the brute would catch on to the futility of its attacks and lose interest, turning its rage back on the city.
Evan narrowed his focus, preparing to bring forth his next summon. This one was different—stationary, rooted, and lacking any mobility of its own. He couldn't get too close to the monster, not without risking everything, so he concentrated on manifesting it at a distance—right beside the creature.
That was the reason he'd summoned the angel first—to hold the monster's attention just long enough so he wouldn't have to focus on a moving target for his next summon. Locking his gaze on a spot just behind the beast, he focused and willed his next ally into existence.
Its arrival was nothing like Petite Angel's. First, thin strands of grass began sprouting through the cracks in the pavement, quickly thickening into twisting vines. Then the full creature took shape—a monstrous plant with a head like a Venus flytrap, complete with a lolling tongue inside its gaping maw. Blue in color, its body was dotted with large, blooming flowers. This was Darkworld Thorns, a vicious plant known for ensnaring its prey in a web of thorns and vines.
It wasted no time. Vines lashed out, thick and fast, coiling around the creature's limbs and torso, digging thorny barbs into its flesh. The monster roared in protest, thrashing against the sudden restraint. What followed was a brutal tug-of-war—Darkworld Thorns tightening its grip, trying to immobilize the brute completely, while the beast fought back with raw force, tearing at the vines in a desperate bid to break free.
The vines regenerated, but not quickly enough. They were buying time, yes—but not much. It was a losing battle, and Evan knew it. He couldn't risk losing Darkworld Thornsbefore real help arrived—whenever that would be.
He needed to maintain control of the situation, at least until the immediate area was cleared. Once that was done, he could work on making the brute vulnerable for a potential strike from the military.
He assumed that was why the military hadn't used heavier weapons yet—likely to avoid collateral damage and civilian casualties. A small part of him wondered if they were also hesitant to completely destroy the area or even the monster itself. It couldn't be a coincidence that the military was already in the area when this rampage started.
It didn't matter if that was the case. Once the civilians were safely out of the way, he would lay it all out in the open, with no place left to retreat. There would be no excuses left for why they couldn't go all in and finish off the abomination for good.
He summoned his next fragment into existence. From the wild plant growth near the two battling monsters, it erupted. Its form was a mass of thick vines, but unlike Darkworld Thorns, this one had a face emerging from the vines—atop the thickest tendril. Its mouth hung open, revealing sharp, jagged teeth, and its head was surrounded by large petals, giving it the terrifying appearance of a monstrous flower.
It was Man Eater, a creature that specialized in subduing its prey with poison. While its vines lacked the sheer binding strength of Darkworld Thorns, their support made a clear difference—together, the two summons were able to restrain the brute far more effectively.
Even so, the restraints wouldn't last forever—but for now, they were enough. All that was left was to wait, and continue to hold until help arrived.
The soldiers had ceased their barrage, realizing their bullets were doing more harm to the strange new allies than to the original threat. Instead, they shifted focus—establishing a perimeter around the area, and hopefully, calling in the reinforcements this fight desperately needed.
After all, it didn't take his connection to the summons to understand that this was only a pause in the destruction—unless the brute was taken down for good, the rampage would inevitably resume.
—