The city of Ashford lost power at 3:17 in the morning.
At first, nobody panicked.
Power outages happened.
Transformers exploded.
Storms damaged infrastructure.
Supervillains occasionally mistook electrical substations for strategic targets.
These things happened.
The problem was that the power never came back.
Then the communications network failed.
Then transportation systems failed.
Then water processing facilities began shutting down.
Within twelve hours, a city of nearly half a million people was struggling to function.
Nobody understood why.
That was the truly frightening part.
Experts investigated.
Engineers searched.
Heroes arrived.
Governments mobilized.
And still nobody found an answer.
Far away, hidden behind observation screens, the Deceiver quietly made a note.
> Initial pressure applied.
System response pending.
Then they leaned back and watched.
---
The Guild responded first.
That was expected.
Emergency command centers appeared throughout the city.
Evacuation routes were established.
Medical stations were deployed.
Communication networks were rebuilt using portable infrastructure.
Captain Vale stood in the center of a rapidly expanding operations room.
Reports flooded every screen.
"Sector Four secured."
"Hospital backup systems operational."
"Food distribution centers established."
"Traffic control implemented."
Vale nodded.
Good.
Order.
Structure.
Process.
The Guild was doing exactly what it had been built to do.
---
The Justicars arrived three hours later.
Not because they were slow.
Because Seraph had spent those three hours gathering every available rescue team.
The moment they arrived, volunteers began moving.
Families were escorted to safety.
Search teams entered dangerous zones.
Emergency shelters appeared almost overnight.
One exhausted civilian watched a Justicar carry an elderly man through floodwater and quietly began crying.
The hero didn't notice.
He was already moving toward the next person who needed help.
Seraph herself never stopped moving.
One emergency became another.
Then another.
Then another.
She slept less than two hours during the first day.
Nobody was surprised.
---
District Nine arrived last.
And somehow immediately caused confusion.
A convoy of trucks entered the city.
Then another.
Then another.
Engineers.
Electricians.
Construction crews.
Medical personnel.
Supply specialists.
Logistics coordinators.
Half the city assumed it was government aid.
The other half assumed it was the Guild.
Then someone noticed the insignia.
And panic briefly occurred.
---
"Those are Malachai's people."
---
The statement spread rapidly.
Several civilians stared.
One finally asked:
"...Should we be worried?"
---
A worker looked up from repairing a damaged water line.
---
"About plumbing?"
---
"No."
---
"The Dark Lord."
---
The worker considered this.
---
Then shrugged.
---
"The Dark Lord is currently arguing with a bridge."
---
The civilian blinked.
---
"What?"
---
"The bridge is losing."
---
That explanation somehow made things worse.
---
Elsewhere, a reporter finally found Malachai standing beneath the damaged structure.
The bridge in question looked exhausted.
---
"Lord Malachai."
---
"What?"
---
"Why are you here?"
---
Malachai looked toward the city.
---
"People live here."
---
The reporter waited.
---
Malachai waited.
---
Eventually the reporter realized that was the entire answer.
---
Several blocks away, a younger Justicar watched District Nine personnel distribute supplies.
The recruit frowned.
---
"Shouldn't we be doing that?"
---
Seraph looked toward the operation.
---
"We are."
---
The recruit blinked.
---
"They are too."
---
"Yes."
---
The recruit looked increasingly confused.
---
"They're villains."
---
Seraph's expression never changed.
---
"Today they're helping."
---
The recruit fell silent.
Because he had expected a more complicated answer.
---
Far above the city, Captain Vale stood overlooking multiple response zones.
The situation was stabilizing.
People were safe.
Aid was arriving.
Infrastructure was recovering.
Everything should have felt reassuring.
Instead—
something bothered her.
---
The Guild was helping.
The Justicars were helping.
District Nine was helping.
All three systems worked.
All three saved lives.
All three mattered.
Yet friction continued appearing.
Small things.
Tiny disagreements.
Different priorities.
Different assumptions.
Different methods.
Nothing catastrophic.
Nothing dramatic.
Just enough to notice.
---
A Guild coordinator wanted efficiency.
A Justicar wanted immediate action.
A District Nine engineer wanted practicality.
All three were correct.
All three occasionally annoyed each other.
---
Vale stared at the reports.
---
The first crack.
---
Not hostility.
Not conflict.
Friction.
---
And friction mattered.
---
Far away, the Deceiver smiled.
---
Another note appeared.
---
> Cooperation achieved.
Friction observed.
Further pressure required.
---
The experiment continued.
---
The second night brought rain.
The third brought exhaustion.
The fourth finally brought progress.
Power grids slowly recovered.
Water systems stabilized.
Communication networks returned.
The city survived.
The response had been successful.
Objectively.
Undeniably.
---
Which was why what happened next was so strange.
---
A Justicar rescue team entered an abandoned district near the edge of the city.
Most of the area had already been searched.
The mission should have been routine.
Instead, one of the heroes stopped.
---
"...Commander."
---
The team leader turned.
---
"What?"
---
The younger hero pointed toward a ruined wall.
---
Something had been carved into the concrete.
---
No.
Not carved.
Burned.
---
Blackened.
Ancient.
Deliberate.
---
The symbol looked wrong.
Not visually.
Emotionally.
---
A warning.
A scar.
A memory.
---
The commander went pale immediately.
---
"No."
---
The younger hero frowned.
---
"What is it?"
---
The older Justicar didn't answer.
Because he already knew.
---
Years ago he had seen that mark on battlefields.
On ruined fortresses.
On mass graves.
On places heroes no longer liked remembering.
---
His hand began shaking.
---
"No..."
---
The younger heroes exchanged worried glances.
---
"Commander?"
---
The old Justicar slowly reached toward his communicator.
---
His voice barely worked.
---
"Contact headquarters."
---
"What happened?"
---
The commander never took his eyes off the symbol.
---
Because some nightmares never truly disappeared.
---
"They're back."
---
Far away, hidden within darkness, the Deceiver watched the report arrive.
The image appeared on a screen.
The symbol.
The reaction.
The fear.
The memories.
---
Interesting.
---
The Deceiver made another note.
---
> Certainty exhibits trauma response when confronted with previous failure.
---
Another note followed.
---
> Dark Paladin variable successfully reintroduced.
---
For the first time in days, the Deceiver smiled.
Not because anyone had been harmed.
Not because a city had suffered.
Not because fear was spreading.
---
Because the next phase of the experiment could finally begin.
---
And somewhere in the darkness beyond civilization's light, old nightmares were beginning to walk again.