Cameraman Never Dies

"Chi no Kiri,"

Seraphis whispered, her voice as faint as a secret shared between two toddlers conspiring to steal candy. The fog that had been theatrically oozing out like a cheap haunted house trick suddenly vanished, but the overpowering scent of fresh blood decided to stick around—no, scratch that—it practically threw a party in the room, it intensified, like a chef aggressively seasoning a dish because they "have a vision.".

Noel, bless his ambitious little soul, lunged forward with a dramatic flair that screamed "I'm the main character!" It was not a rash movement, but a calculated rush with eyes on every side and mind anticipating the next attack before it was even made.

He was a man on a mission—a mission that lasted precisely 2.3 seconds before his whole body locked up-swing like someone who suddenly remembered they left the oven on. His eyes went wide, terror etched across his face as if he'd just realized he'd accidentally sent an embarrassing text to the wrong group chat. His momentum froze like an overly enthusiastic dancer caught in a flash freeze.

"What the—" Noel's expletive was cut short as an invisible force gripped him with the tenderness of a rabid grizzly bear. His eyes widened in terror, his face contorting as if someone had told him his favorite coffee shop had permanently closed.

As the invisible force gripped him, twisting and churning inside like he was an old sponge in a dishwasher. He screamed—a raw, guttural sound that could rival a tone-deaf opera singer auditioning for a lead role—before crumpling to the ground like a sack of poorly packed laundry. He could have earned himself a recording contract with a death metal band. His knife clattered beside him, a sad little "plink" that screamed, "Well, I tried."

Judge, ever the connoisseur of mess, rose from his lounge chair, slow-clapping like an over-the-top movie villain.

"Bravo, Master. Bravo. Truly, an exquisite performance. If this were a talent show, I'd give you a solid nine out of ten—one point deducted for the lack of pyrotechnics."

Seraphis gave him a sidelong glance as she sheathed her sword with the kind of grace that would make a swan feel self-conscious. "You talk too much."

"And yet, here we are," Judge replied with a sweeping bow, snapping his fingers, a few glowing chains materialized around Noel with all the casual elegance of someone ordering room service, binding him tighter than a poorly wrapped Christmas gift.

Turning to Seraphis, he grinned. "So, Master, did you enjoy the show? Was it a five-star performance, or did it lack a certain... charm?"

Seraphis, the portrait of nonchalance, sheathed her sword with... an impressive nonchalance. "It was decent. He's resourceful, but honestly, his reliance on gadgets is going to get him killed. Case in point: this." She gestured at the barely conscious Noel, who groaned weakly like a man regretting all his life choices at once.

"Fair critique," Judge replied, stroking his chin like a philosopher pondering the meaning of life, or perhaps just debating pizza toppings. "Although, I think he deserves points for effort. That scream alone was Oscar-worthy."

"Oscar-worthy? What is Oscar?"

"It's a prize for theatre actors, but never mind that, you probably have no interest in it."

"...Yeah I lost interest. Anyway back to the topic at hand—no matter what happens, he will die in a few days," Seraphis continued, plopping into a chair that materialized behind her as if summoned by the sheer force of her indifference. "Two weeks tops. Somone as weak as him can't endure beyond that."

"Well, that's... comforting," Judge muttered, glancing at the unconscious Noel. "But, you know, it's okay even if he kicks the bucket. He hasn't truly suffered yet. Gotta keep the drama going, right?"

Seraphis nodded sagely. "His domain is incomplete. If it were finished, he might've pulled off an escape. But of course, you already knew that, didn't you?"
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Judge coughed awkwardly. "Uh... absolutely. Yep. Totally knew that. One hundred percent." But Judge was confident in one thing— if He did not have those skills that Clio gave him, then he could never win against Noel with his current strength.

Seraphis rolled her eyes, slipping into teacher mode like a professor explaining calculus to a room full of students who thought they signed up for pottery class. "His domain connects to shadows. A completed version would let him pull people into them, control them, and do all sorts of creepy shadow-puppet nonsense."

"Neat," Judge nodded, trying his best to look like he wasn't just winging this whole "knowledgeable mentor" thing.

"And your domain," Seraphis continued, her gaze locking onto him, "is... well, let's just say it's something I've never seen before. It's like the all-purpose Army knife of domains. Really makes you wonder how the heck it works."

Judge froze mid-sip of his hot chocolate. "Uhh... it's... complicated. Like, really complex stuff. Hard to explain. Might involve quantum... something."

"Uh-huh," Seraphis deadpanned, clearly identifying the lie but too tired to argue.

The two exited the studio together, leaving poor Noel chained up like a cautionary tale for aspiring adventurers.

Back in the comfort of their lavish quarters, Seraphis sat on a couch that looked suspiciously more comfortable than any couch had the right to be. A towering stack of books loomed beside her, and Judge honestly had no clue when she became such an avid reader—or if she even read them at all. For all he knew, she could've been building a book fort.

"So, Judge," she said, flipping through a book that looked way too dense for casual reading. "Tell me about your..." She wiggled her fingers dramatically, "...Master Plan."

Judge, ever the picture of seriousness (well, as serious as one can be with a mug that says World's Okayest Overlord in his hand), sighed deeply. "Master, let me finish my drink before I start. Genius takes time, and so does this hot chocolate."

"Fair enough," Seraphis said, leaning back with a smirk. "I've got time. Don't disappoint me. Again."