"What are you doing?"
The deep, oppressive voice of the black shadow finally broke the silence, unable to hold back its confusion any longer. The audience watching the live broadcast were equally stunned. Their hearts pounded. Their breaths caught in their throats.
And Jas? He remained strangely calm.
His eyes were steady, his expression unwavering, as if nothing in the world could shake him.
At that mont, people across the world watching the broadcast felt as if they were looking at a different Jas—one who stared danger in the face without flinching. In his poise, they found a reflection of their own lost courage. In his unshakable deanor, their own panic and despair began to dissolve.
Their collapsing ntal states were suddenly jolted back into place.
Their focus sharpened.
In the flickering video feed, Jas spoke. His voice was calm, deliberate—resolute.
"When the heart loses the energy supplied by the body, but has not yet completely died, we can use the 'key' to unlock the cage."
He paused, the corners of his mouth twitching from the pain. Blood flowed freely from the wounds across his body. His fra shook from the strain, but he kept himself upright, refusing to collapse.
"But don't forget," he continued with a rasp in his voice, "in addition to unlocking the lock… the key can also lock it again."
The massive black shadow flinched slightly. Its brow furrowed, as if the realization was beginning to dawn on it. Its gaze shifted.
Then, everyone saw it.
The altar.
The colorful tiles that ford the altar's surface were shifting. They weren't fixed in place. In fact, they could be rearranged—like pieces in a jigsaw puzzle.
Originally, from a bird's-eye view, the pattern on the altar had ford a circular shape. But now… that circle was turning inside out. Piece by piece, the puzzle was being reversed.
Tony Stark, watching from the Stark Industries control center, leapt to his feet in excitent. "Genius!" he shouted, accidentally knocking ornants off the desk. They clattered to the ground, but Tony paid no attention. His eyes were locked on the screen.
"If arriving signifies the advent of destruction…" he murmured, "…then what does arriving anyway an?"
He paused.
Then whispered to himself, "Sealed."
Back on-screen, Jas spoke again, as though he had read Tony's mind.
"Sealed. That's the answer."
The black shadow was no longer pretending to be calm. Its presence was tense, bristling with unease.
"That's nothing more than fantasy," it hissed. "Even if you say that, the ritual isn't complete. You don't have enough power—"
Jas interrupted it.
"I know. There's still no light source, right?" he said, staring the shadow down. "Just like the one you used before."
There was a brief mont of silence.
Then the black shadow chuckled, regaining a trace of composure.
"Yes. Light. The ritual needs sufficient light to succeed. And here…" It didn't finish the sentence.
But its aning was obvious.
There was no light here. No sun. No fla. Just suffocating darkness.
Yet across the room, Nick Fury narrowed his one eye, staring at the screen. Watching Jas. He knew this man. Knew the way he thought. And deep down, he suspected—
Yes.
Sure enough.
Jas took several deep breaths, his face pale, but his eyes blazing.
He reached down and pulled a loaded pistol from the holster at his waist.
Then, without hesitation, he raised it and fired toward a seemingly unimportant corner of the room.
Bang!
The sharp crack of the gunshot echoed through the darkness.
No words.
No prayers.
Just action.
A second later, the sound of shattering glass rang out from the corner.
Crack!
A faint buzz followed.
Then—
Whoosh—
Blue flas erupted, spreading like wildfire. They expanded at an impossible rate, growing ten, twenty, fifty tis their size.
Azure light bathed the chamber.
Jas squinted, eyes tearing up from the sudden brightness. It had been so long since he had seen light—real light.
The shadow paused. Its form trembled ever so slightly. Its voice—no longer calm, but shaken—spoke again.
"You… did this?"
Jas leaned forward, nearly collapsing onto the altar. Sweat poured down his face. Blood soaked his shirt. Yet through it all, he smiled.
"That's right. I did it—when you weren't paying attention to ."
He coughed violently, an unnatural flush spreading across his cheeks. He could barely remain conscious, but the smile stayed.
"I guess you should always watch out for ants. They might just bite you when you least expect it."
In truth, Jas didn't know whether his plan would work.
Just like before, he was gambling on a miracle.
But he didn't care about dying. Not anymore. As Barclay once told him: You're going to die anyway. So what the hell are you afraid of?
And just like before…
He'd bet on the right answer.
The altar lit up in full. Every symbol, every line, began to glow with renewed power. The circle—now reversed—activated the ritual, and brilliant firelight provided the missing energy.
The ritual didn't complete.
It reversed.
The seal worked.
Inside his chest, the cage of his heart unlocked. Those monsters—twisted, fused with the massive shadow—were now being forcibly torn away.
They howled.
They roared in protest.
But one by one, they vanished—withered into mist, dissipated by the light. Their freedom was stripped away. Their bodies were sealed once more.
Inside Jas.
Forever imprisoned in his heart.
The shadow—what remained of it—scread in panic. It could feel its strength slipping away. It lashed out wildly, trying to halt the reversal. Trying to change its fate.
But it was too late.
In the live broadcast room, the world watched this mont unfold in real ti. It was like watching the gates of hell slam shut—and the light of heaven breaking through.
Countless people cried tears of joy.
Countless others shouted in celebration.
Stark clapped involuntarily, pure admiration written on his face.
"As expected of you… as expected…"
But then…
He froze.
The applause stopped.
A terrible thought occurred to him.
Jas had sealed the demons inside his own heart.
What about… Jas?
Back in the ritual chamber, Jas had no ti to consider the consequences. The swelling pain in his chest intensified. He felt as if his heart were about to rupture. Every whisper from the monsters echoed in his mind—every scream, every curse, a dagger digging into his sanity.
His fingers dug into the edge of the altar. His knuckles turned white.
He clenched his jaw and focused.
"You won't last much longer," the shadow growled, its now-mangled face reappearing beside him.
"You really think this reckless move will succeed?"
Its words were taunts now, no longer threats. Desperate lies wrapped in feigned confidence.
Jas didn't respond. His breath ca in ragged gasps. His body trembled from pain and pressure.
"Why?" the shadow asked, its voice low and venomous. "Why would you do this? For him? That agent?"
It slithered closer, whispering like a devil in the ear.
"Think carefully. He's using you. All of them are. You're just a D-Class—a disposable number. A pawn they threw away for a chance at survival."
Still, Jas said nothing.
"They didn't even give you a proper na," it hissed. "Just a number—D-14134. Do you even rember your real na? Does anyone?"
That's when Jas looked up.
His eyes were bloodshot, his face pale—but there was a strange clarity in his gaze.
"Yes," he said quietly. "The Foundation records everything. When a D-Class dies, they archive both the number and the na."
"Whether it's D-14134 or my real na… both represent ."
He took a deep breath.
"And that's enough."
His tone changed—becoming steadier with each word.
Sothing within him was changing.
The pain that had felt like an ocean—surging, unrelenting—was now beginning to recede.
The audience in the live broadcast felt it too.
A flash of light.
Hope.
Courage.
Jas had faced death, darkness, and despair—and still, he stood.
Because even if the world forgot him…
He rembered who he was.
And that was enough.
___________________________________
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