A battle

The battlefield was unusually quiet.
Not because of fear—no, the three unique monsters rarely felt that. But because the one they’d come to confront… had yet to move.
Marionette stood at the center of her broken theater. Crimson strings danced in the windless air, puppets twitching in unnatural rhythm. Her porcelain face remained blank, as always—emotionless, perfect, and hollow.
Lover from Hell stood unmoved, his blade gently pressed against his shoulder. Beauty from the East leaned on one heel, already gauging the quickest route to finish this. Jack of No Trade sat atop a crooked stage post, twirling his scythe like a child bored of his own toy.
“She’s… duller than I remember,” Jack murmured. “Didn’t she used to hum when she killed?”
No one answered.
Then—
The earth rumbled.
Not a quake.
A step.
Hell’s Hidden Warrior arrived without sound, but the pressure around him announced his presence more than any trumpet of war ever could. Spear in hand, fire smoldering blue atop his charred head, he strode across the wreckage without pause.
When his gaze met Marionette, something flickered behind his flame.
He didn’t draw his weapon. Didn’t speak.
Just stared.
Marionette tilted her head slowly, unnaturally.
And for a single breath—a flicker too brief to capture—her motions paused.
She blinked once.
Then returned to stillness.
Jack’s grin widened.
“Oh ho… She knows him, doesn’t she?”“No,” the Hidden Warrior said at last, voice low and dry like ash, “but she reminds me of someone.”
That answer drew silence.
Even Jack didn’t joke.
Lover from Hell watched him closely now. Not with curiosity. But with understanding.
Beauty from the East shifted her gloves, uninterested in ghosts.
The Hidden Warrior didn’t explain further. He didn’t need to. The past was a battlefield too, and he had long learned not all scars are visible.
He turned to leave.
“You’re not staying?” Jack called out, pouting. “But it’s about to get good!”
“She’s not my war,” the warrior said, walking away.
“But she could be,” Jack whispered. “Just wait…”
As the red threads slithered forward again, preparing to ensnare the intruders, one thing became clear:
This was not just a battle for territory anymore.
This was the beginning of someone else's story finally catching up.