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It seemed to work out pretty okay. Up until the moment the thing’s leg went [i]boom.[/i] Stormy didn’t get roasted by the fire, but he did notice that the fucking monster was tipping over… So that was the point. Stormy had better ideas than getting flattened, so he threw out the Iron Fortress, and heard the monster bang against the surface. He could’ve leapt out of the way, but it was so huge and unruly that it might’ve crushed him anyway. Stormy couldn’t see out of the dome, so he could only use the sound of banging against the Iron Fortress to know whether or not it was still leaning over the side. Of course, he had very little to worry about here, but there was always the risk that if he dropped the spell, it would just fall down on him.

Looking at the wet ground, Stormy noticed something got in the dome with him. A strange pink smoke that was rising upwards. He didn’t have a chance to react before it was in the air. As little as it was, he still inhaled it and felt… Fine.

[i]”Thanks.”[/i]

Stormy spun around, instinctually focusing more on the dome than the people in it. There were six of them. His friends who he kept alive all those years ago. It was all so difficult when they were kids, but Stormy always came through. He recognized the people taking shelter in the Iron Fortress. They all found their way in life, thanks to Stormy, who always came through. And now they were in the dome because… He came through.

[i]He always came through.[/i] What kind of protector didn’t?

A smile crept over his face. [color=00ff98]”Not a problem. Just sit tight, we’ll be out of here soon. And then the drinks are on me, alright?”[/color]

The myriad faces- not six but ten- smiled at him. They were weary from battle, but they were alive. Stormy was to thank for that. All seventeen of them were safe in his watch. 

[color=00ff98]”8th Street are just bullies. Once they cool off, they won’t hurt anyone.”[/color]

All thirty of them nodded.

[color=00ff98]”I’ll never let any of you get hurt.”[/color]

The entire coven smiled on him. His Iron Fortress sheltered them all.

Every last one.

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[img] https://fontmeme.com/permalink/240301/afc2e4e091f5e77155a2bde75504f79e.png[/img][/center][right][b]Interactions:[/b] The Sycamore Tree Coven [/right][right][b][code]The All-Verse[/code][/b][/right][hr]

Jack strode across the cosmos as one did the hallways of their childhood home. All around him, the stars, nebulas and galaxies of distant realms bled together as a watercolor canvas. Every step he took landed on the foundation of the ever-shifting heavens, and rang out to echo in tune with the song of stellar motion. Mundane minds watched birds flutter through an atmosphere of oxygen, and Jack watched young planets drift through the breadth and bow of firmament. Along his path, unknowable to all but himself, the All-Verse was well and truly alive.

It is difficult to know the All-Verse if one only studied Shimmer, difficult to understand the galaxy when one only studied Earth’s solar system. Further was it difficult to understand the human race if one only studied one continent. To know the grand design of existence came with the territory of experiencing it all. Every star in every night sky, every grain of sand on shores where there was wonder everlasting to be witnessed. He wore time and the entropy of creation as a cloak, distillations of space washed away and were brought to bear as stepping stones along his journey.

The All-Verse lay before Jack, infinite as tangled yarn and yet ordered as a staircase. And utop the stairs was his destination.

Home.

He was like a god, and the All-Verse parted as such. He waved a shaded hand out before him, and the malleable clay that humans called existence became water; A cascade outwards, molding the abstract into order. Jack walked through the order, and felt the familiar caress of gravity. The swell of molecules in his throat. The friction of sunlight.

Down from infinity, and into the finite, where home lies: St. Portwell. The cosmos melted away, and he stood within a well-lit room. Walls of dark oak, rising outwards into familiar architecture. He walked through a door, and into a hallway, down a flight of stairs lit by purple candlelight, to the meeting hall. A rectangular room, with a long table, where the his guests sat.

Drake Blackmore. Anya Baksh. Kari Wilson. Sloane Faris. Kenshiro Murakin. Luca Olivera. Reza Cabrera, and so many others.

[color=6644ff]”Thank you all for coming,”[/color] Jack announced, walking one step forward, and appearing at the head of the table. Behind him, a wall illuminated itself with the symbolism of a sycamore tree.

[color=6644ff]”As you all know, today marks one year after we defeated the apparition known as Father Wolf. And so, today, we remember those who did not come as far as us. We remember the struggles and the triumphs that are unequivocally our own.”[/color]

[color=6644ff]”Today, we rejoice in honor of all we have become. Make yourselves at home.”[/color]