Chương 137: Act 2, Chapter 89: It’s a final countdown

23rd December (Tuesday), around 9. 45 a. m.

"—We spent the entire day yesterday going through all of this, Alexa," Nick replied to my constant reminders of how everything was supposed to unfold.

"Yes, Ali. Calm down. Trust that we'll do everything in our power to help you." Sophie's words were meant to reassure me, as was her hand on my arm. And she was right—I'd drilled them on everything we were supposed to do, and then some. They were just as ready for all of this as I was. I was simply nervous, as the last minutes before it all came crashing down were ticking away.

"Take a deep breath," Zoe joined in from the corner. She was here, while Peter was already on the other side, inside the courthouse, with my cards active: one for me and one for Zoe. I'd given her an additional sense of hearing, just in case she'd have to help Peter somehow if shit hit the fan. She sat motionless by the window on Sophie's bed, while Nick, despite his assurances, was still hovering over a small platter with a cupcake on top of it.

"There is no other way, Nick. You agreed to do this."

"I know. Doesn't make it any easier, though. It's gross. The worst thing you've made me do so far."

"Don't be a crybaby, Leben. All you have to do is eat this and have a chitchat, while I'll be running naked through the nest of a god who likes pointy, razor-sharp things."

"I can't believe you managed to cover every single one of your freckles, girl. Your skin is spotless, and those eyes are something else." Sophie hugged me, and I was getting more and more nervous with every passing minute. I was in her room, naked except for the bathrobe over me, just to make things a tiny bit more comfortable around Nick. My skin was painted over, my hair blonde due to a wig, and I wore contact lenses I'd prepared to make my eyes look cracked.

I was about to go undercover inside the Solitary Twin, and my heart felt like it was trying to rip my chest apart with anticipation.

"Eat this, Leben, or I swear I will gut you and make a scarf out of your intestines. And don't make those big, surprised eyes—I know you can survive that. Man the fuck up and eat this! I made it tasty!" They all looked at me like I was a monster in the room. Especially Nick, with his begging eyes, but I wasn't merciful today. I needed compliance, so I stared him down.

Probably for the first time in the history of mankind, a small woman wearing a bathrobe was forcing a man twice her size to eat a cupcake containing her own blood and hair. He stole just a few more seconds of my time before he gave up and took the first bite, his eyes almost welling up with tears.

"Can you girls believe he didn't even make a sound when a monster cut off his arm? He just grabbed it and kept running, and now? He got soft."

"This is not right," he replied as he swallowed the rest of the dessert. He briefly turned green, but held it all inside when I pointed at all the spare cupcakes I'd made, just in case this one didn't end up in his stomach.

"Good. Now do it. We don't have much time," I said, and despite his protesting grimace and equally unbroken stare, he began changing. His neck went first. It became thinner, more tanned, and sprinkled with freckles, making him look like a cartoon character with an oversized head on top of it. Then his chin followed, sucking in all the facial hair and leaving only skin underneath.

The changes moved like a wave over his face, and with each passing second his expression emptied, while my own started looking back at me. My lips, my nose, my eyes and ears. Then my forehead, and at the very end his short ginger hair changed into deep brown and elongated behind him, leaving my beautiful head stuck on top of his manly body.

"That's kind of sexy," Sophie joked.

"No, it's not," Nick replied in my own voice.

"I still can't believe I agreed to this."

"Be more confident, baby," Sophie scolded him.

"Ali, doesn't whine as much as you do." I laughed out of nerves. My fingers fidgeted. I moved all of my toes up and down on repeat the whole time, itching to get into action, while Nickolas was holding my phone in his hand now.

"I will do this, Alexa," he reassured me.

"The worst part is behind me now."

"I hope so. Joan is not easily fooled, but you have Sophie here, who knows me like she knows herself, and I told her everything about Joan and the other Shattered."

"I know. I was there yesterday," he replied.

"Yes, but you are a man, and she is a woman. If she could transform, I wouldn't fear this part as much, but she can't, so she's stuck playing a prompter for you in case you need it." I began pacing through the room.

"Just keep them on the phone. They like to gloat, but won't talk about themselves much. It will make them—""We know," Nick pressed.

"You briefed us for hours already. Let it go. Do your part."

"Yes, Lex. We can do this," Zoe added once again, despite the immense focus the additional sense required of her. She was sweating just from sitting.

"Go, Ali," Sophie said as she hugged me.

"And if anything goes badly, please leave him and come back," she whispered into my ear. She'd said the same thing yesterday, when we were going over the plan again and again. She didn't want to lose me, and if abandoning Jason was my only option, I'd promised her I would do it. I really hoped I still had it in me to keep that word. My plan was simple, really.

Peter was supposed to watch and listen to two gods and people going against each other, fighting over Jason, making sure that the Solitary Twin was there and not in its tower. Nick and Sophie were tasked with keeping Joan talking over the phone, keeping them busy, and giving me an alibi. If I was here talking with them, I wouldn't be able to be in Ideworld, rescuing Jason. Phones do not work across the veil. The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. And me?

Oh, poor me. I was about to go butt naked, pretending to be Shattered, into their tower to get Jason out. Once again, I was learning that simple doesn't mean easy.

"Good luck, guys," I said, and teleported into my Domain. I wasn't waiting for their response, but I heard it anyway through all the cards I had left with them. Instead, I pressed into the bedroom within my little universe, where I looked upon both of my additional brains. My plan required that I be fully uncorruptible, and that meant I couldn't be relying on a piece of meat inside my skull." Become my only two brains," I whispered to them.

The change wasn't obvious at first glance, but after just a second I knew that the gray matter that had done the thinking for me my whole life had been hit with a pause button. My movements became just a fraction of a second slower, lagging behind my intent. Nothing major, but enough to give that uncanny-valley feeling that something wasn't quite right. I dropped the robe and stared at myself in the mirror. Flawless skin, without any hair besides that on my head. I had made sure of that.

My lifeline talisman was unchained, and the locket holding the images of my Domain and my spellbook was glued beneath tape at the back of my neck, covered with body paint and falling hair. I exhaled, letting the air carry away all the pent-up anticipation, and focused inward, stirring the authority inside me.

"Become the Shattered," I asked of myself. My body and mind obeyed. I wasn't exactly sure what changes would occur, if any. I had no idea how those people truly operated or behaved, and so far every alteration I'd made to myself had been based on personas I had designed and created. The fear that this might not work was reasonable, but at the same time, a piece of paper and some paint didn't know what it meant to be fire or light either. And yet my magic guided them.

It didn't use my definitions, but the ones the universe itself provided. As my authority solidified me into this new person, I felt a new connection form between me and an outside force. Something powerful and mysterious. A source of great power, rules, and abilities. I felt like my body was ready to be fractured, to turn into thousands of sharp objects, or to change my appearance the way the Shattered did, but I lacked the authority to do that.

Not in a superficial sense, but in the fundamental way my abilities worked. I couldn't yet make fire dance on a picture I painted, or water flow, and at the same time I wasn't able to make my own body animate to represent the abilities of the Shattered. And yet, I was sure that I could tap into those capabilities, if my own would allow it. And despite being naked, I felt like this was the best guise I could wear.

"It's starting," Peter whispered, and the ear I had painted behind his own picked it up. He also carried a pin on his jacket with an eye I was seeing through. He was sitting inside the courtroom, where he had been allowed to enter due to his connection to the victim. He'd approached Jason's father, who had been waiting outside, and the man recognized him and let him in, saying that any help was appreciated.

And I had to admit that for all the shit Jason gave his father and mother, their shadowed versions both sounded and looked like they cared very much about their son. Now the court guards entered the great hall, accompanied by flashes from the journalists standing in the back. They were big men with wide shoulders and silver armor that, despite flourishes and embellishments straight out of the Renaissance, looked entirely modern and functional.

Kevlar plating allowed perfect movement, and helmets protected their heads while visors allowed undisturbed vision. One of them carried a golden staff with a scale hanging from chains at its very top. He moved to the front and center of the hall and struck the butt of the staff against the ground, preceding his declaration.

"Silence, good people. Supreme justice is approaching." People hushed almost immediately. Just a few voices lagged behind, but even those didn't last long under the gaze of the staff-wielding guardian. And when the silence became deafening, a scratch disturbed it—a long screech of metal being dragged along the floor. It continued for a few seconds before the doors on the right side of the room opened and a towering woman entered.

Nine feet tall at the very least, she had to duck to pass beneath the threshold, and when she straightened, she radiated an authority I could feel even through senses so far removed from my own. She was blindfolded and wore a toga. In her right hand she carried a longsword that lived up fully to its name. Never in my life had I seen a blade of such length. It was the source of the sound, dragged behind her across the floor. Her body seemed to be made entirely of some kind of metal.

It was shiny, polished, and radiated warmth, reflecting the entire room, each person presented back to themselves. A walking mirror. Her hair flowed behind her in locks so characteristic of old portrayals of judges, but instead of the usual white, they were gold. From the top of her head sprouted a scale, with chains connected to golden platters that hung loosely at the sides of her head.

Perfectly even, they remained balanced as she moved, right up to the moment she reached her place and sat, letting the sword's hilt rest against her desk. She reached for the gavel that lay on a special pedestal and, with a sharp motion, struck it. The sound reverberated through the entire room, and as Peter turned, it became apparent that everyone who had been standing had dropped to their knees upon hearing it.

"Call the jury," the Supreme Justice said, and her voice was like thunder: loud despite her not raising it, encompassing despite being directed at her subjects, and powerful despite her calm demeanor. The Shadows who were called hastily took their places, led by the guards.

"Jurors," Justice addressed them.

"We meet for the third time, so I shall be brief. New York City is not a place where one can come and take another at their whims, to do with them as they please. This is a place of order and law, and we gather today to decide whether a being, divine in their nature, made a mistake in their judgment. Do not be afraid. Listen carefully and decide. Justice is already here. All you need to do is guide my hand."

As the words left her mouth, shadowlight spilled over the gathered people like mist at the first sight of dawn. It coalesced around the chests of the jurors and went straight in. Some of them gasped in that moment; others fell momentarily as if struck. Yet each one, when they gathered themselves and looked back upon the judge, carried a newfound resolve in their eyes.

"This is a case of Marcus Smith versus the Solitary Twin—a god of the Shattered, Uneven, Unreflected, and Lost in Mirrors. Let the trial proceed. Bring in the defendant." I heard them say it and took one more deep breath. I felt both in control and a passenger inside my own body, but the moment of truth was upon me. The final seconds ticked down before I made one last jump toward the locket Jason wore on that fateful day, thanks to Peter's good heart.

Its image was now inside my spellbook, which lay open in front of me on my workstation. A heart-shaped silver trinket on a thin chain, and inside it a simple page with memories made permanent against the better wishes of Reality. An anchor now, waiting to pull me toward itself, wherever it was.

"Justice." A voice ran through the crowd gathered at the courthouse—a voice completely devoid of tonal changes, entirely flat and even in each syllable spelled. It led Peter to turn his head toward the source, and I too was curious. A fifteen-foot-tall being moved along the corridor. Like the Unreflected, it was slender in build and covered in black, slime-like skin that reflected everything around it.

Yet as he moved, step by step, mirror-like scales appeared and disappeared across its surface in hexagonal shapes, as if they peeked out from beneath the darkness. It turned its head to watch the people seated at its trial. He bore no eyes, but instead a vertical slit along the middle of his head, like the Shattered had in theirs. Through it, shadowlight spilled out—silvery like mirrors, blackish like smoke. He had no mouth to speak through, no nose to breathe, no ears to listen.

And beneath him, after each step taken, the surface changed into pure mirror for a few brief moments, reflecting everything but him. He bore no reflection anywhere. He felt absolute in his unity. Forever alone.

"I came to answer your calling," he added finally and only then did a mouth with jagged, glass-like teeth appear as a slit in his head, moving in unnatural, lagging ways. As he approached the seat prepared for him, he stood beside a person who must have been his defendant: a man in his fifties, with gray hair and an elegant suit. I made my jump.