The silence afterward was too clean, too hollow.

Arcade’s ears flicked. “We need to move. Now. Split or sprint, I don’t care—just run!”

The group instinctively turned, ready to bolt down the nearest alleyway—when the air snapped with a sickly-sweet pop.

A shape materialized right in front of them.

It was wrong. Not just in form, but in feeling. A swirling sherbet mist shaped like a jackalope and a genie hovered above the ground. Its body pulsed with pastel colors—peach, lemon, and raspberry pink—but its head had no face, just a smooth shimmer of sugar glass. Long ears bent unnaturally backward, curling like candy canes.

It didn’t walk. It drifted, tendrils of spun sugar dragging along the ground and hissing where they touched.

The alley they’d aimed for twisted suddenly—melting like soft serve, the path stretching into an impossible curve that looped them back to where they started.

“We’re trapped,” Arcade said, wide-eyed. “It’s rewriting the space.”

Ray panicked. “No, no, I’m not playing this game!” She charged the sherbet creature, trying to shove past—

—but the jackalope didn’t move. Instead, it bent the air around her. Ray was flung back like a ragdoll, crashing hard onto the pavement.

“Ray!” Celeste gasped, clutching Bonbon tighter, pulling Lumina close. Lumina trembled, whispering, “Don’t like it… don’t like it…”

The sherbet jackalope hovered higher, its body expanding, swelling like rising taffy. Glowing runes shimmered inside its misty form, spinning too fast to read.

The streets around them warped, alleyways stretching into endless spirals or collapsing into globs of molasses that swallowed doors and fire escapes. They were sealed in.

Then, without warning, the ground shook violently beneath their feet. The group staggered as a low rumble echoed across the landscape, rattling windows and sending bug-birds scattering from rooftops.

From the horizon, seven figures emerged.

Each one cloaked entirely in shadows, their forms indistinct—more impressions than individuals. Some appeared tall and thin, others hunched and twisted, but no true features could be seen. Darkness clung to them like armor. Their mere presence seemed to suck the color out of the world, as if they bent reality just by existing.

But behind them thundered something far greater.

The earth trembled as an immense shape rose from behind the epicenter—like a god forged from sugar and wrath. A titanic dragon made of red candy, its body sculpted from ruby taffy coils and licorice sinew, towered above even the tallest buildings. Its wings shimmered like spun sugar, its horns curled like demonic candy rock, and its eyes burned with ancient intelligence.

Despite its monstrous appearance, it held itself with regal grace—like a king surveying his broken kingdom.

It stepped forward once, and the street split beneath its weight.

“Stand down.”

The shadowed figures halted immediately, obeying without question.

The dragon’s gaze fell upon the group. It did not attack. It simply watched, lowering its head slightly as if in acknowledgment—or curiosity.

Its brilliant eyes—swirling yellow fire, burning with ancient wisdom—locked onto them like floodlights. From deep within its chest, a low growl resonated before a plume of neon-glowing flame escaped between jagged candy teeth. The flame shimmered like liquid light, too bright, too hot even for its massive body to contain. It licked the air, distorting the skyline in waves of heat and magic.

It exhaled, then sighed. The sound wasn’t just power—it was pity.

“Well, look at you,” the dragon rumbled, voice deep but with a sardonic, broken edge. “Still in one piece. Still yourselves. Guess that makes you the last stubborn fools standing.”

His jaw tightened, as if burdened by some invisible weight. He muttered to himself in Welsh—ancient, tired, debating mercy with his own soul. The group couldn’t understand the words, but the tone was unmistakable—conflicted. Melancholic.

The shadowy generals stirred.

One, thin and spear-like, hissed a warped voice:
“They are weak. Crush them now before they fracture.”

Another, hunched and grotesque, snarled:
“Their defiance will spread like mold. End them.”

The dragon silenced them with a flick of his claw. “Shut it. Not yet.”

Absolute. Final. The generals fell still.

Then the dragon leaned close, breath thick with caramelized lightning. His burning eyes scanned the group—until they froze on her.

Celeste.

The world went still.

“…Astallan.”

Celeste’s breath caught. She nodded once, trembling.

A low, bitter chuckle rolled from his chest. “Ha. I should’ve known. The eyes give you away. Kin of Astallan… well, kid, that changes the stakes.”

The air grew heavier, electric. Even the generals hesitated.

The dragon straightened again, voice colder, almost kind if it weren’t so cruel.
“Here’s the deal. You can’t leave. The dome’s sealed. Permanently. Sorry, sweetheart—that’s just the house rules.”

He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them with burning resolve.

“So here’s your choice. Join me. I’ll spare you. I’ll… make you more. Stronger than you could dream.”

From the shadows behind the seven figures, more began to stir.

Dozens—no, hundreds—of twisted, shuffling forms emerged from the alleys, streets, shattered windows. Their bodies limp and jerky, skin glistening with syrupy rot, limbs patched with licorice cords and caramel strings. Their eyes glowed like melted peppermint.

Some wore tattered uniforms—janitors, teachers, students, city guards. Faces once familiar. Once kind.

Now puppets.

Bonbon whimpered in Celeste’s arms, burying her face in her shoulder. Arcade whispered, horrified: “That’s not just a zombie army. That’s… everyone. He turned them all.”

The dragon’s chuckle came again—dark, ragged, wrong.
“Or… you play it my way. Seven generals. Me at the end. One by one. Win, and you earn the right to choose your fate. Lose…” His grin split wide, sugary teeth glinting like razors. “…well, let’s just say you won’t stay yourselves for long.”

Skye stumbled back. “We… we can’t fight that. We can’t even run from that.”

Mezzo swallowed hard, his bravado drained. “Feck me sideways. This isn’t a battle. This is a feckin’ massacre waitin’ to happen.”

Ray was silent now, bruised from her fall, her confidence cracked.

Pitch clenched his jaw, but his hand trembled at his side.

Celeste looked down. Lumina had her face buried in Celeste’s jumper, fists twisted in the fabric, whispering brokenly. “It’s not real… wake me up… wake me up… please…”

The dragon’s growl deepened. “I’ll let you pass—for now. But soon… I will release the full swarm. No street. No shelter. No dream will be safe.”

Celeste crouched, shielding Lumina with one arm while holding Bonbon with the other. Her own heart thundered like a war drum, but she couldn’t let it show.

The dragon leaned in, his voice a hushed growl, almost intimate.
“Tell me, little Astallan… you gonna fold? Or are you dumb enough to roll the dice?”

The city fell deathly silent. Even the bug-birds stopped flying.

The choice now hung in the air like a sword.

The group stood frozen. Each one knew—whatever path they chose, there was no going back.