Outside, the storm was breaking.

The sky lightened in ragged patches, clouds thinning to torn veils—but the damage had already been done. Mana rain slicked the streets, glowing faintly where it pooled. It soaked into stone, into cracks, into bodies.

Most of the zombies stood motionless now.

Heads tilted. Jaws slack. As if something in the rain had quieted whatever had been driving them.

They ignored Celeste as she walked.

That made it worse.

Her ears kept twitching, tail low, senses stretched thin as she moved toward the park. Every step felt watched. Every shadow felt wrong.

Am I being followed?

The thought barely finished forming when—

A scream tore through the air.

“Carys—!”
“Ray—!”

Celeste bolted.

She ran until her lungs burned and her legs shook, boots splashing through mana-slick puddles. Halfway down the path, her arcbracer flickered violently to life.

Missed calls.
Dozens.
Then hundreds.

Her heart dropped.

“Celeste—!”

Arcade came skidding around a bend behind her, C.H.I.P. clutched tight to his chest. Topsy was with him, panting, ears flat.

“Thank the stars,” Topsy gasped. “We’ve been looking everywhere!”

“Mezzo went ahead,” Arcade added, already running again. “He didn’t come back.”

Fear sharpened into something colder.

Then more figures burst through the trees.

Lumina.
Skye.
Bartleby.

Lumina was shaking so badly she could barely stand. She opened her mouth, tried to speak—and failed.

Skye grabbed Celeste’s sleeve instead.

“He—” Lumina choked. “He had—”

Her voice broke completely.

“…He has Bonbon.”

The world narrowed.

Celeste didn’t answer. She didn’t slow. She followed the screams, heart hammering, until the trees opened up and she saw—

The Egg Tree.

Its branches glowed faintly, cracked shells swaying like broken lanterns. Beneath it, her friends stood battered and bloodied, barely upright, bracing themselves as if one more hit would put them down for good.

And towering over them—

The Minotaur.

Jawbreaker armour encased him like a nightmare of candy and steel. Plates of hardened sugar mana cracked and reforged themselves with every breath. A massive war hammer rested against the ground, its head stained with something dark and sticky.

Ray, Pitch, and Mezzo fought like hell.

It wasn’t enough.

The Minotaur swung once.

Ray and Mezzo were sent flying like discarded toys, hitting the ground hard enough to knock the breath from their lungs.

Pitch shadow-jumped in front of Ray just in time to drag her out of the follow-through.

Celeste stopped.

Her katanas flashed into her hands without conscious thought.

She willed her feet to move.

The Minotaur turned.

Slowly.

His gaze locked onto her, heavy and knowing.

A low grunt rolled from his chest.

“Ah,” he rumbled. “The one who wears Kenaz’s face.”

Celeste’s grip tightened.

“I was wondering when you’d appear.”

His eyes tracked her from head to toe. Her stance. Her size. Her shaking hands.

He snorted.

“Weak,” he said dismissively.

The word landed like a challenge.

Celeste opened her mouth.

“I— I j-just— w-what are y—you—”

The words tangled and collapsed on themselves, breath catching painfully in her chest. Her ears flattened hard against her head, tail trembling despite her best efforts to still it. Up close, he was enormous—easily twice her height, broader than the Egg Tree’s trunk. Jawbreaker plates shifted with a wet, grinding sound, and only now did she see them clearly:

Zombie heads.

Cracked. Half-melted. Strapped to his armour like trophies, jaws frozen in permanent screams.

The Minotaur noticed her staring.

He laughed.

Deep and booming, the sound vibrating through the ground and rattling in her ribs.

“A general does not tremble,” he said, amused. “And yet here you are. Shakin’ before you even swing.”

He rolled his shoulders, candy armour creaking like a ship’s hull. Then he lifted his hammer—not to strike, but like a drunken herald raising a toast.

“Since none of you seem to know proper manners,” he growled, voice swelling until it carried across the park, “let me do the introductions for you.”

He thumped the hammer once against the earth.

BOOM.

Candy dust puffed up around his hooves.

“I am the Hard Candy Minotaur—” he snarled, proud as a barfight champion, “CRACKJAW THE RELENTLESS.”

A pause.

His grin widened, mean and delighted.

“The Indestructible.”

He leaned forward, eyes burning straight into Celeste’s.

“And if you’re smart, you’ll remember every word… right before I rearrange your bones into a new shape.”

He lifted one thick finger and pointed past her.

“At least that one tried.”

His gaze settled on Ray.

“She was a challenge,” he admitted, almost fondly—then his lip curled. “But still weak.”

Ray planted her feet, shoulders rolling forward as she hauled the hammer up with a snarl—both hands locked tight around the grip. Mana surged hot and bright through her arms, down her spine, into the ground beneath her.

“Crater—!”

She brought it down in a brutal overhead arc.

Crater Smash.

The hammer struck the street with a sound like the world cracking its teeth.

Stone imploded. A shockwave rippled outward in a perfect ring, tossing candy debris and bodies alike—lesser zombies flung back, stunned, skidding across the ground like broken toys. The pavement caved in around the impact point, a shallow crater smoking with heat.

For a heartbeat—

Silence.

Then he laughed.

Low. Warm. Almost indulgent.

The shockwave hit his legs… and simply died. The candy armour around him flexed, sank inward—then rebounded, swallowing the force like syrup absorbing a stone. Cracks spiderwebbed up his chest—

—and sealed.

Ray stared.

“No,” she hissed, already pulling back for another swing.

He stepped forward instead.

Her hammer stuck.

Candy tendrils had crept up the haft, gluing it in place, crawling over her gauntlets, her wrists. The crater beneath them slowly filled back in, smoothing itself over as if embarrassed to have been damaged.

Crackjaw looked down at the ruined street, then back at her.

“A good hit,” he said, almost kindly. “On anything else.”

His gaze sharpened.

“But you’re not fightin’ anything else, are you?”

With a sharp twist, he wrenched the hammer sideways—ripping it from her grip and flinging it away. Ray staggered, boots scraping stone, fury blazing even as the ground betrayed her.

Behind her, someone shouted her name.

Crackjaw lifted one thick finger.

“At least that one tried,” he repeated, almost like he was tallying points.

Then, softer—almost regretful—

“And still… not enough.”

Ray snarled.

“Say that again.”

She charged before anyone could stop her—muscles coiling, strength flaring, the ground cracking beneath her feet as she drove a punch straight into his chest.

The impact boomed.

Candy armour shattered—then reformed.

The Minotaur barely rocked back a step.

He grabbed her mid-motion and threw her.

Ray hit the ground hard, skidding across mana-slick stone, her super strength leaving little more than a shallow furrow before she came to a stunned stop.

Celeste gasped.

Crackjaw looked back to her, smiling now.

“See?” he rumbled softly. “Even your strongest breaks. And I haven’t even started drinkin’.”

And still—
Still she stood there, katanas trembling in her grip, heart pounding so hard it hurt.

Terrified.

Mezzo skidded back, boots carving sparks, chest heaving.

“Alright,” he muttered, rolling his shoulders. “Let’s turn the volume up.”

He leapt.

The air snapped as he vanished—then reappeared straight above the Minotaur, spinning hard, guitar blazing as mana roared through the strings. Flames coiled around him in a tightening helix, heat screaming outward as he charged the strike mid-air.

“PYRO SOLO!”

He slammed the axe-guitar down.

Fire detonated.

A blazing shockwave tore out in every direction—ground buckling, candy debris flash-melting, lesser zombies igniting as they were hurled back in smoking arcs. The street glowed red-hot beneath the impact, flames licking skyward in a roaring ring.

For a heartbeat—

The Minotaur disappeared inside the fire.

Mezzo landed in a crouch, smoke curling off his jacket, breath sharp and hopeful.

Then the flames parted.

The Minotaur stood exactly where he’d been.

His jawbreaker armour was blackened. Scorched. Glowing faintly at the seams—

—and then it cooled.

The candy flowed, seams smoothing, burn marks vanishing like they’d never existed.

He looked down at his chest. Brushed ash away with two fingers.

“…Cute,” he rumbled.

Mezzo’s grin faltered. “Ah.”

The Minotaur lifted his head.

Too fast.

He surged forward through the dying fire and backhanded Mezzo mid-step. The blow caught him across the ribs and sent him flying—skidding, tumbling, rolling to a stop in a heap of sparks and pain.

“Hey, big lad!” Mezzo coughed weakly, trying to push up. “You’re meant to—ow—react to that!”

The Minotaur didn’t even glance back.

That was when Pitch moved.

Mezzo vanished in a crack of displaced air.

He reappeared at the Minotaur’s flank, axe already mid-swing, blade shrieking as it tore sparks from jawbreaker armour. He struck again—then again—too fast to track, boots skidding across mana-slick ground as he danced out of reach.

“Hey, Cow!” Mezzo shouted. “Eyes up here!”

Pitch didn’t wait.

“Celeste—move!” he barked, Lady Luck already roaring to life.

He snapped the chamber open and flicked a single card into place instead of a full spread. The sigil on its face jittered, unstable—fire bleeding into ice, lightning crackling through shadow as the magic rolled the dice.

Lucky Shot.

He fired.

The card screamed as it left the barrel, splitting the air as Pitch shadow-jumped from angle to angle, reappearing mid-teleport to redirect its path—each jump feeding the odds, each nearby enemy stacking the chance of a perfect hit.

The card hit the Minotaur square in the chest.

Fire detonated.

Ice bloomed outward in a flash-freeze halo.

Lightning spiderwebbed across jawbreaker plates, shadow sinking into every seam at once.

For half a second—

It almost looked like it was working.

Cracks raced across the armour. Candy plates warped, edges splintering, elemental forces tearing in four directions at once.

Then the Minotaur reached out.

He caught Pitch by the collar mid-jump.

With a snarl of effort, he swung him—using Pitch’s momentum to smash him bodily into Mezzo.

Both hit the ground in a heap of limbs and broken breath.

Time stuttered.

Hughes slammed the crook into the earth, rune-light flaring as the world dragged, slowed to syrup.

“Now!” he roared.

But Hughes didn’t wait.

He moved.

The crook swept low in a wide arc, runes burning along its length as it cut through the syrup-thick air.

Hook Sweep.

The curved head caught the Minotaur’s legs mid-stride. The magic didn’t throw him—it rewrote the moment. His footing vanished in delayed fragments, balance unraveling in slow, inevitable pieces.

The Minotaur should have gone down.

Instead, he stumbled.

Just a fraction.

His massive frame lurched forward, weight lagging behind itself, movement desynced—like gravity had missed a step.

For half a heartbeat—

Hope sparked.

Rifle fire cracked through the warped air.

Plum and Bracer unloaded in controlled bursts, shots punching sparks and chips from candy plates. From the Egg Tree above, Bartleby fired his muskets, smoke curling between glowing branches as lead hammered down from above.

It should have been overwhelming.

It wasn’t.

The Minotaur walked through it.

Shots dented. Cracked. Reformed.

Hughes’s time-slow fractured and collapsed under the strain, the crook ringing like a struck bell as the world snapped back into motion.

Crackjaw shook his leg once, like he was flicking off mud.

“Nice trick,” he called, grinning. “Didn’t work. But it was nice.”

Celeste didn’t think.

She ran.

Mana flared in her core as she charged, fear screaming at her to stop even as her body refused to listen.

The Minotaur didn’t even look.

Without breaking stride, he swung his hammer.

The impact caught Celeste square in the chest.

The world exploded.

She went flying—hit the ground, bounced once, twice—skidding until she lay gasping, stars bursting behind her eyes.

“What was that, cat?” Crackjaw shouted after her, amused. “I barely felt it! I’ve been slapped harder by a wet towel!”

Celeste dragged herself up.

Her hands were shaking. Her vision swam.

Still—she raised her blades.

She screamed—and lunged again.

Mana flared bright and desperate as both katanas crossed in a sharp, glowing X.

Lunar Cross – Light.

She slashed.

Starry trails carved through the air, twin arcs of silver-white light tearing toward his head in a perfect intersecting strike—beautiful, precise, true.

Clang.

The blades hit jawbreaker armour and stopped.

The light shattered like glass.

Stars winked out mid-air.

The Minotaur caught her wrist mid-swing.

His grip tightened.

Bone ground against bone.

Celeste screamed, pain ripping out of her as he twisted her arm back mercilessly and lifted her off the ground like she weighed nothing.

Her feet kicked uselessly in the air.

He leaned close, breath hot and sweet with rot.

“Weaker than I thought,” he rumbled, almost disappointed—like she’d promised a better fight.

“And that,” he added, eyes narrowing, “is a damned shame.”

And held her there, dangling, breaking—
while the world watched and failed to stop it.