NOTE: This may not be the final revision, published form may vary.

The world faded back into existence with a groan, not from me, but from the universe itself. My body felt like a twisted wreck of scrap iron, every inch screaming a tune only the damned could appreciate. Beneath me, a surface as cold and unyielding as a gravestone. The air had the scent something long dead. The coldness of it bit at my skin like a pack of starving curs. I felt like I was in a tomb, or something damn close to it.

Silence. That was the first thing that really registered. A silence so profound it was  an unnerving frequency that clawed at the edges of my sanity. For the fireworks that had just played out, the chaos that had ripped through my last conscious moments, this stillness was an obscenity.

My eyes, heavy as lead weights, refused to crack open. My limbs now lay inert, no more responsive than a drunkard’s promise. A faint click, then the mournful creak of a door, dragged me deeper into the murky waters of awareness. Wait…a door? Had he taken me somewhere? Now footsteps. Soft at first, then gaining a steady, relentless rhythm. They echoed in a way that felt distant, a hollow cadence that bounced off unseen walls, growing closer with each heart beat. Was this it? Lucien, come to sweep up the last fragments of my existence, to finish the job he’d started with a cold, precise hand?

They stopped. Right beside me. Then they were above me. Shadows, I imagined, would be swirling, coalescing into a grotesque mockery of a form. Voices. Muffled, indistinct. A chorus of static, a radio tuned to a dead frequency. My brain felt like a rusted spoon, unable to cut through the miasma.

A pressure. Soft at first, then tightening. Something cupped my head, a touch that was both alien and strangely familiar. Then, a tap. A gentle reprimand, perhaps. Followed by another, sharper, biting through the fog. Words, a mosaic, began to chip away at the static. Another slap, a sting that lit a spark behind my eyes, and suddenly, the colors of the world bled back in, distorted, swirling like cheap paint, but the words… the words clicked into place, sharp and clear.

"Wakey, wakey."

The command was delivered with the precision of a doctor cutting out a tumor. And then, another slap, harder this time, a physical jolt that brought me further back from the abyss. "I swear I will slap you into the middle of next week if I need to."

That voice. It was a jackhammer to my skull, familiar as a bad habit. Vex. What in the hell was Vex doing here? And why was he looming over me like some twisted angel of mercy, ready to deliver another round of divine intervention to my already battered face?

My body shuddered, a sharp, ragged gasp tearing its way from my lungs, as if I’d just inhaled a whole day’s worth of stale city air. I saw his hand rear back, a blur of motion, preparing for another swing. With a desperate surge of will, I forced my sluggish arm to rise, an act of pure defiance, stopping his assault mid-arc.

"Runebane… you’re alive," Vex said, a bizarre cocktail of relief and surprise coloring his tone. It was a sight to behold, Vex, the king of chaos, showing something akin to genuine emotion. "Didn't know if, between Kiernan and I, we'd get you back."

My tongue felt like sandpaper against the roof of my mouth. "What are you on about?" I croaked, the words tasting like grave dirt.

"Lucien real-deathed you, buddy, but luckily I put a few extra sigils in the instructions to deny him your essence." Vex straightened to his full height, a frame that buzzed with barely contained energy. He then hopped down from whatever elevated perch he’d occupied. It was then, as I pushed myself up, groaning, that the truth of my surroundings slammed into me. I was stretched out on a morgue table. The kind where cases stayed cold for good.

The thought of Mira, swallowed by the swirling vortex of Lucien’s malice, twisted a knot in my gut. "Where's Mira?" The words were a desperate plea, clawing their way past the pain.

"Oh, your dolled-up girlfriend and that grizzled detective are taking on Lucien, with a vengeance." He practically sang it, then gave a casual shrug, as if they were off for a stroll in the park, not squaring off against a force of nature.

I swung my legs off the table, the sheet I was draped in barely covering my modesty, the rough fabric a flimsy shield against the biting chill of the room. "I need to get to her. Where is she?"

"Whoa there," Vex said, bounding over to me with that manic energy that could put kids a party to shame. "First off, you really died this time. Where is my thanks?" He looked genuinely put out, as if my dramatic demise had inconvenienced his morning.

I squinted at him, the fog in my brain slowly dissipating, replaced by a dull ache. "Thanks," I grunted, the single word a grudging offering.

"Right, was that so hard?" He started rummaging through a row of metal lockers, throwing stuff out of each. "Next, heroes can't save the city with only a sheet." He found my clothes, a crumpled heap of familiar threads, and tossed them at me.

I hesitated, the thought of dressing in front of him was a momentary affront. But the cold, hard logic of the situation pierced through the last remnants of my daze. If what Vex was saying was true, if Mira was out there, tangled up with Lucien, I didn't have the luxury of time or false modesty.

I shucked everything on; my clothes a welcome presence. I pulled the brim of my fedora down just slightly as a finishing touch. Vex, meanwhile, stood before me, arms outstretched, my trusty gun in one hand, and a single, gleaming bullet in the other. I took my gun, giving him a look that was all questions.

"This, my friend," he announced, holding up the bullet, "is my own doozy. It's the bracelet, the one you were supposed to use on Lucien… well, you know. But with a special sigil on it. You shoot it at Lucien, close to him—anywhere within twenty-five feet of him—and that sigil will detonate. The devils themselves will show up and take Lucien's immortal coil away." A sly, almost delighted look crept into Vex's eyes, a glint of the mad genius that always lurked beneath his surface. "Okay, they may not actually show up… but I think you get my meaning. Honestly, it may hurt a little."

"Me or him?" I asked, my voice flat, already bracing for the usual Vexian caveats.

"A little in column A and a bit in column B… I would think." He said, then hopped up onto the corner of a nearby desk, swinging his legs with a childlike innocence that belied the dark implications of his words.

"Who would have thought, coming from you, that it would be any other way." The sarcasm was thick enough to cut with a knife.

Vex, oblivious or simply uncaring, idly flipped through a few pages on the desk. Then, he looked up, a flicker of something almost thoughtful in his eyes. "Did you say something, Malik?"

My blood ran cold. The question hit me like a splash of ice water. "Did you just call me Malik?" The shock was genuine, vibrating through me.

He tapped on a file in his hand, a thin manila folder. "It says that is your name, Malik Rune… and here I thought it was Runebane… silly me. Oh well, you’ve earned the title and thus it sticks." He dismissed it with a wave of his hand, as if changing a man's name was as inconsequential as changing his socks.

"Fine," I said, the word a raw concession. But the urgency of the moment slammed back into me. Names, origins, they could wait. Mira couldn't. "Now where is Mira?"

Vex, reached into his jacket, produced a map, ancient and stained, spreading it across the cold metal of the morgue table. His finger traced a line, stopping at a cluster of streets near the city's old financial district.

"They went to the this café," he stated, his voice devoid of its usual theatrics, replaced by a grim clarity. "A quaint little spot. Good pastries, I hear. And apparently, a prime location for a showdown with a demigod."

My gut clenched. The Clockwork Café, why was it always there in this city. A place where the mundane and the monstrous often met for an uncomfortable dance. It was a nexus of sorts, a hub for certain… personalities who dealt in the shadows and whispered secrets. Lucien wouldn't have chosen it by accident. He was a showman, a predator who liked to play with his food.

"Why there?" I asked, though I already had a sinking feeling about the answer.

Vex gave me a tight, uncharacteristic smile. "Because, my dear Runebane, it's where the most eyes would be. Where the most essence could be gathered, in case things went south for him. Lucien likes to have options, even when he's being a maniacal egomaniac." He picked up the bullet, turning it over in his fingers, the metal gleaming dully in the sterile light. "And it's a place where the lines between the living and… well, the other, are already thin. Perfect for a grand exit, or a grand entrance, depending on how you look at it."

The image of Mira, caught in Lucien’s web, spurred me into action. "We need to get there fast?"

Vex tapped a finger on the map. "We're in the old City Mortuary. Not far from the main arterial roads. If you're lucky, you can commandeer a ride. Or," he paused for affect, "I could give you a lift. My contraptions are rarely… slow."

A lift from Vex. That could mean a wild ride, a few near-death experiences, and arriving at my destination with my teeth chattering and my soul questioning its life choices. But Mira… she was out there. Time was a luxury I couldn't afford.

"Vex," I said, "how quickly can you get me there?"

He grinned, a flash of white in the dim room. "Faster than a speeding bullet, Malik. Though perhaps with a few more unexpected turns." He handed me the love letter of a slug and I chambered it. "Shall we roll out, then?"

This was it. The final act. The curtain had fallen for me and now just risen anew. Unbeknownst to the others, I was about to step out, a man returning to haunt the stage. I did a grand gesture towards the door, and followed Vex.