An unknown intruder

The wind howled.
But it wasn’t natural.
It carried whispers.
Voices not their own.
Lover from Hell sat at the base of her grave. His broken wing wrapped around his side like a cloak. Flames from his burning wing danced in silence, reflecting off the helmet he never removed.
Then he sensed it.
Movement.
He rose slowly, sword dragging against the stone ground.
From the far edge of the territory, figures limped forward. Men. Women. Soldiers. Villagers. All with clouded eyes.
Soulless. Controlled.
His eyes dimmed.
“You dare use puppets to enter her garden?” he muttered.
In an instant, the spear from his back struck the earth. The flame that followed turned night to morning.
He didn’t scream.
He didn’t threaten.
He simply burned them—mercilessly, endlessly, perfectly.
But something deeper stirred.
They weren’t here to fight.
They were here to probe.
Jack of No Trade was rehearsing in his twisted theater.
A noose hung above him. Scythe on his lap. Audience? A dozen lifeless corpses seated neatly in chairs.
“You! Yes, you in the third row! Stop blinking! This is death, not improv!”
He paused.
Snapped his fingers.
The curtains bled open.
And through the crack, they entered.
Not enemies.
Just wanderers.
Controlled. Stiff. Smiling with the same carved grin Jack wore.
“Now that’s just offensive,” Jack whispered. “Mimicking me is one thing… but poorly?”
He appeared behind one, slicing it in half.
Then another—vanished in a puff of dark confetti.
He cackled louder, but there was tension in the twist of his steps.
“You’re not here for me. You’re testing... reactions.”
His grin faded beneath the mask.
Beauty from the East stood atop her silver spire, her long hair moving with unnatural grace.
Below, her garden—a place of deadly allure and mesmerizing magic—was disturbed.
A girl wandered in. Then a man. Then a group.
All entranced.
Not by her.
By a force behind her.
“You come uninvited. You don’t even look at me,” she whispered.
She descended slowly.
Her gloves slipped on as she walked through cherry blossoms now wilting.
“If I’m not the bait… then someone else has cast the line.”
She touched one of the puppets. It crumbled.
Then her red and blue eyes flared like moons.
“I don’t like being ignored.”
Across the world, as Hell’s Hidden Warrior walked, the air grew heavier.
He looked up.
For the first time, he felt it.
Not war.
Not hate.
But strings.
Invisible.
Binding.
Pulling.
And far, far away… something smiled.