NOVEL NEXT B2. Chapter 1: Boundaries, Pigeons, and the End of the World
Three days after the Integration of Earth, and Nyx was discovering that investigating reality having a nervous breakdown was surprisingly tedious work. They crouched behind a rusted shipping container in Seattle's warehouse district, watching raindrops spark with brief flashes of blue-white energy before dissolving into ordinary water again.
Even the weather was confused now.
Nyx adjusted their form—masculine today, angular features sharp enough to cut glass, height optimized for blending with the cluster of bewildered humans gathered around what used to be a simple loading dock. Something inside the building, behind the portal of the dock, was now glowing like a modder's desktop computer that had achieved sentience and decided to throw a rave.
And the latter wasn't a joke. Lucian reported seeing something like that while exploring the dorms of Moscow State University.
James Bond never had to deal with reality having a nervous breakdown, Nyx thought, checking their reflection in a puddle. They have borrowed some ideas for their current form from these books and the adventures of Ethan Hunt. And Mo's copy of 'Casino Royale' had been a revelation during those late-night study sessions at Umbra—who knew Earth literature could make espionage look so effortlessly competent?
Human-passing, check. Appropriately confused expression, check. Emergency credit card that actually worked in post-Integration economic chaos, double-check. The small pouch of gold coins tucked in their jacket provided additional insurance—thankfully, precious metals remained universally valuable even when reality was glitching.
Though it was a pity Earth didn't accept Soul Slivers yet, despite Mo's ongoing negotiations with the UK Prime Minister about establishing an official interdimensional currency exchange. The fact that Mo could probably buy the entire UK—if not crash the world economy entirely—with Blackthorn Keep's laundry budget wasn't exactly helping those delicate diplomatic discussions.
Speaking of unhelpful responses to crisis, the Academy's "solution" to the current magical chaos had been typically bureaucratic: Clean up your own mess.
It was as if they were first-year students who'd accidentally hexed a professor's coffee instead of heroes who'd prevented Julian from completing an even more catastrophic ritual. As if they weren't first-year students who had just made their first steps in the demonic higher education.
Never mind that the mess belonged to Julian's ritual, not their heroic intervention. Never mind that none of them had actually wanted to be here investigating magical hotspots while trying not to think about detention interviews and the particular way Mo's succubus powers felt when she'd forced that connection during their fight.
Nyx's jaw clenched. Even three days later, the memory of that violation made their skin ripple with defensive patterns. They'd been right to be offended. They'd been right to call it out. The fact that Mo was dealing with trauma didn't excuse using her abilities to override someone else's boundaries, and the fact that they missed her terribly didn't change that basic truth.
Boundaries—such a peculiarly human concept for someone raised in a demonic society, where power typically meant the right to take what you wanted.
Dr. Rivera's voice echoed in their memory: Art is not meant to be contained in boxes. Neither was consent.
A woman near the loading dock let out a shriek that cut through Nyx's brooding. "It's doing it again! The symbols!"
Nyx slipped closer, moving with the fluid grace that came naturally when they weren't trying to conform to someone else's expectations of what they should be. The small crowd of humans gathered in this unlikely place—dock workers, a few early-morning joggers who'd taken a very wrong turn, and what appeared to be a local news crew—stood transfixed as something looking weirdly like holographic text flickered in and out of existence above their heads.
MAGICAL INTEGRATION DETECTED WELCOME TO THE SYSTEM CALCULATING BASELINE ABILITIES...
ERROR: INSUFFICIENT MAGICAL HERITAGE COMPENSATING WITH ENVIRONMENTAL ABSORPTION
ERROR: NOT ENOUGH AMBIENT MANA
LEVEL 1 ABILITIES UNLOCKED
LEVEL O ABILITIES UNLOCKED
LEVEL 3 ABILITIES UNLOCKED
The messages continued, sometimes changing so rapidly that even Nyx, with their magically enhanced senses, wasn't able to distinguish the words.
"I don't understand," whispered a woman in athletic wear, staring at her hands as sparks danced between her fingers. "Yesterday I was an accountant. Now, I'm apparently a Level 1 Lightning Weaver?"
"Lightning Weaver sounds way cooler than accountant," said another woman holding a professional microphone—the news crew had apparently felt compelled to investigate after receiving multiple reports of "something weird" in the warehouse district. She immediately looked horrified that she'd spoken on camera. "I mean… sorry, this is Janet Valdez with KOMO News, and we're live at what appears to be Seattle's first confirmed magical… oh, sh…!" A burst of golden light erupted from her microphone, temporarily blinding everyone except the demonic shapeshifter.
Nyx had seen enough LitRPG references in Mo's book stash to recognize the pattern. Julian's ritual had created some kind of systemic magical distribution, and judging by the error messages above the heads of these humans, it wasn't working quite as intended.
No surprises there, considering how rushed the ritual had been and the way Mo's intervention had disrupted the final phase. Still, even more concerning was the magnetic pull that had drawn all these people here, the same supernatural compulsion that was part of Nyx's investigation. The same force that brought the shapeshifter here. Probably a bit too late.
Nyx approached the group, projecting exactly the right amount of human confusion. "Excuse me, but did anyone else just see floating text?"
"You can see it too?" The woman in running gear grabbed Nyx's arm. "Thank god, I thought I was having a mental breakdown. There's this voice in my head that keeps trying to explain spell components, but it sounds like it's reading from a manual written by someone who's never actually seen magic before."
For a brief moment, the humans surrounding Nyx stared somewhere into the distance. The demon recognized that gaze—they were reading System messages, something that remained inaccessible to the shapeshifter despite their extensive experience with magic. But based on the murmurs of "unknown classification" and "unsupported levels," Nyx could piece together what the System was telling the humans about them: nothing. Errors.
Nyx was a blank spot in their magical vision.
"What does yours say?" the Lightning Weaver, looking with slight suspicion at Nyx.
"Something about support," Nyx replied, hastily trying to remember what magical systems usually told characters in Mo's books. "Though I'm pretty sure magic systems don't typically come with help desks."
Almost everyone chuckled, even the journalist and her cameraman. Even while they seemingly still were live.
"Oh, they definitely don't," said the journalist. "I'd be happy to learn where to file a complaint!"
Nyx was almost ready to mention Julian when another person interrupted their train of thought.
"Mine keeps offering me a tutorial about 'Basic Enchantment Principles for Former Baristas'." It was a young man, and currently, he was nervously watching roasted beans orbit his head like a caffeinated solar system. "But I work at Starbucks, not some fantasy tavern. I don't know what a 'mana crystal' is supposed to do with espresso extraction."
"What exactly happened here?" Nyx asked, letting a subtle thread of their natural charisma weave through their voice while drawing on what they'd always considered a curse—their Titanborn bloodline's rigidity. The familiar ache of forcing themselves into that unyielding mold still hurt, like wearing armor that didn't quite fit, but Dr. Rivera's voice whispered in their mind: even the parts of yourself that cause pain can be art.
They projected an aura of stability and permanence that these humans had suddenly lost, choosing to embrace this rigid inheritance as a gift rather than a prison. Not compulsion, just the kind of grounding presence that made people want to share information in an ocean of chaos.
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"The loading dock started glowing around six this morning," the reporter said, apparently having given up on professional neutrality. The humans seemed almost relieved to have someone solid to explain things to. "People within about a half-mile radius began manifesting abilities. But it's not uniform—some people got detailed instruction manuals, others got error messages, and I think the dock worker over there is communicating with the pigeons."
Nyx followed her gesture to see a man deep in conversation with a cluster of increasingly agitated birds. The conversation appeared to be going poorly.
"…no, I don't care if your territory includes the whole waterfront, we need to establish some basic safety protocols…"
A message appeared above one of the pigeons in bold capital letters:
"STUFF YOUR SAFETY PROTOCOLS, HUMAN."
Another pigeon added through a similar floating message:
"WE DEMAND PROPER GRIEVANCE PROCEDURES AND A REPRESENTATIVE FROM FACILITIES MANAGEMENT."
The third pigeon that looked like he had glasses-shaped white areas around its eyes added:
"FILE FORM 27-B FOR TERRITORIAL DISPUTES AND SUBMIT IT TO THE WATERFRONT ADMINISTRATIVE COUNCIL."
The pigeons were organizing. Of course they were. And apparently had decades of accumulated resentment about humans cluttering up their real estate—plus a disturbing familiarity with local bureaucratic procedures.
Suddenly, a familiar prickle ran down Nyx's spine—the sensation they'd learned to associate with dangerous magical instability. The kind that usually preceded someone getting transported through an unstable portal or discovering someone nearby had been turned into a potted plant by a malevolent professor. The light escaping from the loading dock pulsed briefly and then returned to its previous intensity.
"Has anyone else noticed the air feels... thick?" Nyx asked carefully.
"Like breathing through honey," the Lightning Weaver confirmed. "And getting worse by the minute."
Nyx's enhanced senses, honed by years of shapeshifting adaptation, caught something else: a signature pattern in the magical energy. Not random chaos, but something structured, deliberate. Something that almost tasted of chalk dust and academic desperation. Julian's particular brand of manic brilliance.
They needed to document this properly and get readings that all of them could analyze. But also, they needed to figure out why the System was treating them like a non-existent entity.
"I'm going to try to get closer to the source," Nyx said, already shifting their form to something slightly more durable. Thicker skin, better magical resistance, the kind of modifications that came naturally when expecting to walk into a magical radiation zone.
The humans watched the transformation with fascination and unease. They'd all seen magic manifest in the past few days, either with their own eyes or on TV, but Nyx's deliberate shapeshifting was something else entirely—controlled, purposeful, beyond anything their new System interfaces could categorize. Several people visibly shifted their gaze again, checking pop-ups that now appeared in their vision with mental commands, as if hoping to get some new information about this unclassifiable being who radiated competence in a world gone mad.
"Should we come with you?" the Lightning Weaver asked, though her voice carried more politeness than genuine eagerness.
"Probably best if you stay back until we understand what we're dealing with," Nyx replied, their confidence seeming to settle the group's nerves. "Though if anyone has Julian's contact information, now would be a great time to ask him about the acts of god coverage."
"Who's Julian?" Janet, the reporter, asked, stepping forward with her cameraman. "Never mind. We're coming with you. The public has a right to know what's happening."
"Well, aren't you just delightfully fearless," Nyx said with theatrical appreciation, gesturing grandly toward the glowing anomaly. "By all means, let's turn this into a magical disaster documentary." They paused mid-gesture, eyes sharpening as they fixed the cameraman with a predator's intensity. "Actually, you know what? Sure, let's go. But I want a copy of whatever you're recording—for research purposes, naturally." Their smile turned razor-sharp. "Come, come. All at your own risk, of course. I make no promises about maintaining your current molecular configuration."
Nyx approached the loading dock cautiously, feeling the magical pressure increase with each step. At the center of the dock, where the glow was brightest, Nyx found the source: a circle of symbols etched on the concrete floor, each one pulsing with energy that made their teeth ache. The pattern vaguely reminded them of Julian's ritual circle in the Thirteenth Chamber, though this version was cruder, as if generated automatically, not by the precise hand of the rogue scholar.
Janet and her cameraman followed closely, the reporter firing off questions while her operator documented everything. "What do those symbols mean? Is this some kind of magical infrastructure? How widespread…"
The cameraman leaned too close, the lens of his equipment reaching above one of the glowing lines. Immediately, the camera sprouted tiny metallic legs and scuttled away, chittering indignantly.
"Oh, marvelous," Nyx drawled, watching the animated device attempt to climb a nearby wall with all the dignity of a technological crab having an existential crisis. "Your camera has apparently decided to pursue a career in interpretive dance. If we can't coax the footage out of our newly liberated mechanical friend here, darling, our little documentary deal is tragically void."
As soon as the cameraman stormed away to chase his camera, Nyx returned their attention to the magical symbols. A consequence of Julian's work, no question. But it didn't feel like the academic assistant himself had come here to perform a ritual. More like it was an echo of the power that had transformed multiple reality planes.
Nyx sighed with annoyance. Hours of investigation, and all they'd learned was that magical chaos was spreading faster than gossip at Umbra Academy. Whatever was happening here wasn't slowing down to wait for them to understand it. And there was absolutely no guarantee that there was still a chance to revert, or at least stop, the transformation at its current stage.
There were also no clues about Julian's current location. Was he dissolved into magic like what had happened with Aldric? Was he somewhere here, on Earth? Or had he appeared on one of the other human worlds—the vast majority of which had possessed little to no magic before this chaos began? Unlike the realms of dragons, demons, or succubi like Mo, most human planes had been practically barren of magical energy.
Until now.
Nyx traced the air next to the lines, careful not to let their fingers flow over the glowing symbols. This wasn't just a magical experiment gone wrong anymore—this was a part of a distributed network that was spreading its influence. The symbols were designed to channel and redirect energy, spreading Julian's "democratization" in expanding waves across the city and, probably, further away.
And if Nyx deciphered the patterns correctly, and compared them to the other ones they had already explored on the West Coast, there were enough signs that this circle was just one of hundreds of similar sites. Maybe even thousands.
Their phone buzzed—a message from Mo in their group chat. Nyx fumbled with the device for a moment, still getting used to the tiny screen keyboard that seemed designed for beings who'd never heard of shapeshifting fingers. Funny how humans had worked so hard to replace what came naturally through magic with their soulless technology. Though they'd proven remarkably good at it, creating these pocket-sized communication devices when a simple scrying spell would have done the trick.
Perhaps that was its own lesson in adaptation—playing to your species' strengths rather than lamenting limitations.
"Found a hotspot in Manchester," Mo's message read. "My bookstore in Bath is safe zone but everything else is chaos. Status report?"
Nyx stared at the text for a long moment, thumb hovering over the reply button. Three days ago, during their first hours on Earth, they'd have immediately called her, even while they only just learned how to use a phone. They'd shared everything they discovered, worked together to solve the problem.
But that was before the fight that revealed how easily Mo would cross boundaries when she thought she knew what was best.
Nyx had been right to be offended. They were still right to maintain those boundaries.
They looked around, taking in the sight of scared and excited humans. Looking at the journalist who was recording the scene with her phone now, as the cameraman was still chasing his camera. The human world was changing into something incomprehensible. And personal feelings had to take a back seat to preventing multiversal collapse.
"Seattle hotspot confirmed," Nyx typed. "System ignoring me as before. My magic still works. Julian's ritual circles, cover the continent, possibly beyond. We need to talk."
A pause, then: "All of us?"
"All of us," Nyx confirmed, though their stomach twisted with anxiety. "Location neutral. Dr. Chen's Integration Centre?"
"One hour," came Mo's reply. "Do you need a portal?"
"That would be nice," Nyx answered. "The magic here is… unstable." Then they pocketed their phone and looked back at the increasingly agitated humans still trying to figure out what was happening. The cameraman had successfully caught his four-legged camera and was gently petting it along its spine. The device finally allowed him to remove the memory card from its newly formed belly compartment.
Janet approached Nyx again, professional instincts clearly telling her that this shapeshifter was closer to breaking news than anyone she'd ever encountered. "Can I get your contact information? I'll send you the footage once we figure out how to extract it from... whatever my camera has become."
"Oh darling, are you absolutely certain you want my contact? I don't do small talk, and my social calendar currently includes 'preventing reality from having a complete breakdown'."
The journalist blushed.
"Darlings," Nyx called out to the gathered humans with theatrical flair, "a word of advice from your friendly neighborhood magical rift consultant—do not step on those glowing symbols. As demonstrated by our mechanical friend's spontaneous evolution, the results are unpredictable at best." They gestured grandly at the still-chittering camera. "And I'm not running a magical veterinary clinic. Mo does, but Mo is in Bath."
"What? Mo?" murmurs sounded from the group of humans. "Who's taking bath in a situation like this?" "Who's Mo?" "What happened to the camera?"
"Don't overexcite yourselves. Eres arte," Nyx said, letting themselves embrace the full theatrical flourish instead of apologizing for taking up space. Dr. Rivera was right—they were art, choosing to help these humans not because they had to manage everyone's crisis, but because they wanted to. "You are the art. Create your new selves. Explore your new magic. Stay safe. The next few weeks will definitely be…" they gestured with their fingers, "…fun."
They were also art themselves. Not meant to be contained in boxes. Not meant to manage other people's crises at the expense of their own boundaries. They were meant to evolve and to explore their limitless soul.
But sometimes, art had to save the world.
A portal tore open behind the dumpster, its edges crackling with familiar demonic energy, though usually precise magical transportation felt slightly unstable, as if this world's chaos was affecting everything magical on Earth. The humans gasped collectively, and the cameraman immediately started recording with his smartphone.
"Oh, delightful," Nyx said with a grin, stepping toward the portal. "You might want to wave that phone over the ritual circle next—see what happens when technology meets magic twice in one day!"
They stepped through the dimensional gateway, leaving behind the chaos of the Integration Day 3 in Seattle.
Nyx really, really hoped Julian was somewhere alive, because when they found him, they were going to have words about the System design and error messages.