Mark took a step back right as he and Ooshiba were ready to launch an attack. A thought crossed his mind, and he let out a short laugh.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” he muttered.

He reached behind him, grabbed the bound creature from his back, and with a casual toss, hurled it toward the djinn. Aderfós caught it in his massive hands, the fiery chains dissipating with the catch.

“That should fulfill our covenant,” Mark said, his tone flat. “If the little guy interferes again, I will kill him.”

Aderfós nodded solemnly, cradling the small creature protectively. “Don’t worry, Phoenix. She will honor the deal.”

Mark looked at Ooshiba below. “It’s a girl,” he mused aloud. “Did you know it was a girl?”

“Yes,” Ooshiba replied without looking up, his voice dismissive.

The gothic woman began a slow, deliberate approach toward the pair, her steps soundless. Ooshiba took notice immediately, his body tensing. Mark, however, presented no regard.

“Is there a way you can tell the gender of an antizoi?” Mark asked, almost conversationally. “Does it only work with humanoids?”

The woman moved closer.

“Such a fascinating field, seriously,” Mark continued, his voice calm. “If life hadn’t basically forced me to be a soldier of good in my early years... I might’ve gone into the studies of antizoi. Who am I kidding? I always wanted to be a doctor, and that’s exactly what I became.”

Her steps grew more deliberate, the air growing colder with her approach.

“My passion for healing others,” Mark went on, his gaze distant, “is how I awakened my ability. Probably why my flames heal. Isn’t that lucky of me?”

She resummoned her scythe, the weapon manifesting with a low hum of pneuma.

“You know, since the Battle of Manhattan, I just haven’t been myself. That djinn over there? Gave me a run for my money. Turns out, he was just defending his kid. A parent would do anything for their child…”

Her grip tightened on the scythe as she closed the gap.

“I used to think that maybe—even with my handicap—I was the strongest,” Mark said. “But the years have gotten to me. I thought I’d be able to clear out the space, cancel the spatial effect, and come back here with no problem. But alas...” He sighed dramatically, almost mockingly. “I only managed to make that reprieve under an agreement with the reverse goliath over there.”

The woman stopped just a few steps away, her body coiled like a spring ready to strike.

“I might have died in there.”

The scythe came down in a sudden, violent arc, but Mark moved faster. His hand shot up, catching the blade mid-swing.

“But I didn’t,” he said, his tone shifting to cold steel as his gaze locked onto hers. His fingers tightened around the pneumatic weapon.

“I realized that was all loser talk,” he continued. “I am the strongest.”

With a clench of his fist, the pneumatic scythe shattered into shards of pneuma, dissipating into the air like scattered ash. The woman’s eyes widened momentarily, her expression unchanging but her stance faltering.

“And I sure as hell won’t let Keola’s pathetic replacement kill me.”

His fist ignited with a massive burst of flame. This punch was unlike any he had thrown at Aderfós—there was no restraint, no calculated measure of power. It was raw, overwhelming force.

The blow connected squarely with the woman’s chest, an eruption of fire and pneuma tearing through the battlefield as she was launched backward. Her body tumbled and skidded across the broken ground, the impact carving a deep trench in the earth. Platforms collapsed and shifted in her wake, the sheer force of the attack ripping apart the terrain beneath her.

Mark stood firm, his hand still glowing with residual flame, his expression unreadable.

“Try not to kill them, I want to know what this all was for,” Ooshiba said.

“Can’t make any promises.”

The two professors braced themselves to lunge at their aggressors, poised for a decisive blow. Just as they were about to move, the Horseman of Death stirred, her voice cutting through the tense silence.

“Wait.” Her tone remained flat, her movements slow as she pushed herself upright. Blood streaked her face, but her expression betrayed no emotion. “You’re right... you are the strongest.” She brushed off some dirt from her shoulder, glancing at her djinn ally, who remained silent but watchful. “We probably could have won if our plan had worked. But it didn’t.”

Mark and Ooshiba hesitated, exchanging a brief glance. The Horseman continued, her posture relaxing slightly as she leaned against a jagged rock for support.

“I don’t want to get into some long, drawn-out Horseman-versus-Horseman, hunter-versus-djinn, 2v2 standoff. This wasn’t even my idea. We came here against the better judgment of our boss.” She sighed, her scythe vanishing into pneuma. “We just wanted to see if you’re everything he’s been warning us about. We thought you weren’t. We thought we could handle it here, but we didn’t even get the chance to pull out the seal. Hell, we’d die if we tried. So, I concede.” She crossed her arms, her voice steady but resigned. “We’ll stick to the original plan.”

Mark adjusted his stance, lowering his cane but not entirely relaxing. Ooshiba’s smoky aura dimmed slightly as he cocked his head, his eyes narrowing as he studied the pair.

“Concede?” Ooshiba asked, his tone skeptical.

“Yes.” The Horseman gestured dismissively. “Take the win. We’re done here.”

Mark’s grip on his cane loosened, and with a small chuckle, he pulled off his helmet.

“Sounds good to me.” He let the helmet drop to the ground with a slight clatter. “Y’all want to grab a bite somewhere?”

“What?” the Aderfós said, his head snapping toward Mark. “She just admitted we came here to kill you... and you want to get something to eat?”

“That’s exactly what he’s doing,” Ooshiba muttered, his tone tinged with disapproval as he crossed his arms.

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“Why would I be kidding about food?” Mark said, rubbing his jaw absentmindedly. “She admitted there’s no way y’all could take us. Let’s not pretend here—I’ve killed multiple Horsemen before. You both know that. My friend here?” He tilted his head toward Ooshiba. “Multiple djinn, which is why you separated us. A horseman for the hunter and a djinn for the crippled horseman”

The Horseman and the djinn exchanged wary glances, but neither interrupted.

“You made a covenant, to. That little tike you brought along can’t pull us back or interfere anymore. So there goes your Antizoi backup. Now you’re out of cards to play. Surrendering and admitting the truth was your only move left. Honestly, it’s an interesting one. I respect it. Where are you from, kid?”

The Horseman blinked, thrown by the sudden change in topic. “Sri Lanka,” he said hesitantly.

Mark froze for a beat, his demeanor shifting subtly. “Unfortunate,” he said, his voice quieter. “How’s the storm?”

The Horseman’s posture eased slightly, her gaze softening. “Miserable,”s he admitted. “I miss seeing the little rabbit on the moon.”

Mark’s expression grew momentarily distant. He gave a short nod, his jaw tightening. “Yeah,” he murmured. His voice regained its earlier lightness as he gestured toward the battlefield, still littered with rubble and scorch marks. “So, are you gonna grab a bite or what?”

The djinn and the Horseman exchanged another glance, this one less wary and more resigned. The djinn exhaled heavily, rubbing the back of his neck.

The Horseman let out a sigh, her shoulders sagging. “Why not?”

Ooshiba uncrossed his arms, his expression unimpressed. “You’re seriously inviting them to dinner?”

Mark slapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder, grinning. “Come on, Ooshiba. Best way to keep an eye on your enemies? Sit across the table from them.”

The djinn muttered under his breath, “This is the strangest fight I’ve ever been in.”

“Welcome to my life,” Mark quipped. “Now, let’s find a place that serves good tea. I’ve got a feeling this is gonna be an interesting conversation.”

----------------------------------------

The small restaurant buzzed with a faint hum of conversation and the clatter of utensils. At their table, Mark sat back, comfortably digging into the spread of Indian food before him. His plate was piled high with chicken tikka masala, naan, and a generous helping of rice. His hands worked quickly, tearing pieces of bread and scooping up the flavorful sauce without hesitation.

Across from him, Ooshiba and the djinn sat in near silence, their focus entirely on their meals. Every now and then, Ooshiba would glance at the djinn, who’d glance back, before both returned to eating with renewed intensity, avoiding any further acknowledgment of each other.

Isuri, the Horseman of Death, leaned back in her chair, scrolling through her phone with one hand while idly dipping naan into the remaining sauce on her plate with the other. She barely looked at Mark, her attention split between her screen and her food.

“I don’t believe a single word you two have told me,” Mark said as he lifted a steaming cup of masala chai to his lips. He sipped it slowly, savoring the spice. “But what do I care? I could just kill you, break myself down even more, and let whatever idiotic plan you guys have get even easier to execute.”

Isuri barely glanced up from her phone, smirking as she tore another piece of naan. “What can I tell you, old man?” she said casually.

“It's all true. We’re trying to lure you to Colombo. Jump you. Seal War in a crystal. Remove it from the cycle. Simple as that. We’re still debating what to do with the crystal, though,” Isuri added, popping a piece of naan into her mouth. “Some of us want to use it to create a soulstone. Others are gunning for an anti-life Horseman—something to balance out life and anti-life. One guy, no joke, suggested using it as some kind of fancy doorstop. Believe it or don’t. Doesn’t matter to me; I’m in it for the connections.”

She dipped her naan into the remaining chicken tikka masala, savoring the bite as Mark stared at her incredulously.

““I’m choosing not to believe it because it’s so stupid.” Mark said.

Isuri’s expression was unbothered.

“Y’all don’t even know how you’re going to get me to Colombo,” Mark continued, setting down his cup and gesturing with a piece of naan. “Half the plan relies on you being able to take me down, which, frankly, you should know is impossible. Did you miss the very public records about Manhattan?”

Isuri snorted, finally setting her phone down. “Oh, right. The Phoenix.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm.

“Exactly.” Mark pointed the naan at her like a weapon. “You can’t just knock me down and hope I stay down. I always get back up.”

“Yeah, yeah, we’ve all heard the propaganda.”

Mark ignored her, shaking his head as he went on. “You claim to be working with three of the Seasons, an ancient lich, multiple djinn—and somehow, no one knows about your existence? Come on. I don’t know.” He tore a piece of naan, dipping it into his tikka masala. “Again, maybe you’re telling the truth. Maybe you’re not. Isuri—” he paused, glancing at her plate, “—how’s the tikka masala?”

She shrugged, not missing a beat. “I prefer butter chicken.”

Mark froze mid-bite, his hand hovering in the air for a moment. “I prefer tikka,” he said slowly, his voice softer. “It’s not as sweet. By the way, are you albino because you are the pastiest Lankan I’ve ever seen?”

“Yes,” Isuri replied, setting her food down.

“And the color in your eyes?”

“Contacts.”

“Hair?”

“Dyed.”

Mark nodded, returning his focus to his plate. Isuri, however, leaned forward slightly, watching him with a curious expression. “You’re eating with both hands,” she said, intrigued.

Mark glanced at his hands mid-motion—his left held onto naan and the right tearing a piece off to dip in tikka masala. “Yeah?” he said, not understanding at first.

“You’re supposed to eat with your right hand,” Isuri pointed out, her tone more observational than admonishing. “At least traditionally. I’m not judging—it’s just not something I’m used to seeing.”

Mark paused, considering her comment, then grinned. “I’ve fought Horsemen, djinn, and mythological gods. Eating with both hands is probably the least unconventional thing I’ve done today.”

Isuri smirked, shaking her head as she leaned back, her phone in hand again. “Fair enough,” she said lightly, scrolling through whatever had her attention.

Ooshiba and Aderfós remained locked in their own quiet world. Each of them was intensely focused on their food, occasionally sneaking glances at one another. When their eyes met, they would immediately look away and bury themselves back into their plates, the unspoken tension between them palpable but strangely subdued.

The air around the table settled into an uneasy calm, broken only by the sound of utensils clinking against plates and the occasional scrape of chairs. Mark leaned back in his seat, wiping his hands on a napkin as he polished off the last of his meal.

“Well,” he said finally, breaking the silence, “this has been fun. Weird. But fun.”

Isuri’s smirk returned as she tapped idly at her phone screen. “Don’t get used to it, old man. Next time, we’re not coming to talk.”

Mark chuckled, raising his cup of chai in a mock toast. “Looking forward to it. Hey, how old are you?”

“Too young for you,” Isuri shot back, her tone dry.

“Hahaha,” Mark replied with exaggerated sarcasm, holding up his left hand to display his wedding band. “I’m a married man, know my age, and not really into people who try to kill me. Now answer the question…”

Isuri sighed, rolling her eyes. “Twenty.”

“Been to college?”

“No.”

“Would you like to?”

Ooshiba immediately shot Mark a sharp glare. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

Mark laughed, unbothered by Ooshiba, and turned back to Isuri. “Would you like to? I need some students.”

Isuri’s demeanor shifted slightly. The sharp edge of her expression softened slightly. “Maybe…”

“Atta girl. Well, if that ever turns into a yes—before your master plan to kill me—you clearly know how to find me.”

Isuri stood, brushing her hands off and gathering her phone. With a short nod to Aderfós, the two left the table without another word.

Mark leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms overhead. He turned toward Ooshiba, a wide grin spreading across his face. “What a lovely meal. Honestly, trying to murder us aside, they’re great people. Just on the wrong path.”

Ooshiba ignored him, pouring himself another cup of chai.

“Anyway,” Mark continued, “I think I figured out our Julius problem. Instead of one of us teaching him, why don’t we both teach him? Let’s go to the dean, get both our classes combined, and create a super program. Clearly, after today, it’s obvious we both have weaknesses the other is strong with!”

Ooshiba’s hand froze momentarily before he set the teapot down. Without looking up, he took a slow sip from his cup. “I really fucking hate you, Mark.”