As the heavy, rune-etched cage creaked open with an eerie groan, a thick fog of corrupted mana briefly spilled out. The Darkhold sat on its pedestal, ominous and quiet—as if it was waiting, watching.
Before anyone else could move, Dave raised his hand with casual authority. The book shivered—then snapped off the pedestal and flew straight into his palm like a loyal hound returning to its master. The very air around it seemed to twist, reality warping subtly in response to the presence of the cursed tome.
Director and Fury both instinctively took a step back, even the demons behind Dave tilting their heads slightly, as if sensing the book's presence.
Dave glanced at it with a faint smirk, flipping through a few pages without flinching. The cursed words, the blighted runes, the whispers that would normally drive men to madness—he treated it all like light reading.
"Hmm," Dave muttered, tone dismissive. "The influence is weaker than I thought."
With a wave of his fingers, the book shimmered with dark light and disappeared into his inventory as if he had never touched it at all.
The pedestal remained empty. The room felt lighter somehow, as though a storm had passed—but the underlying tension never quite vanished.
Director gave him a sharp look. "You just... pocketed the Darkhold?"
Dave shrugged. "Why not? Safer with me than locked in a glorified jewelry box."
Fury's eye narrowed. "You do realize most people can't even look at it without going insane?"
"I'm not most people," Dave said, smiling faintly. "And I don't let cursed books do the thinking for me."
Proto Angelo and Hell Judecca stood like statues behind him, silent and alert. The mark on the Director's wrist pulsed once, confirming their continued loyalty.
"What now?" she asked.
Dave turned toward her, expression unreadable, crimson glow faint in his eyes.
"Now? What else? Job's done," he muttered with a lazy smirk, stretching his arms. "I'm going back to my beauty sleep."
He casually turned, lifting his hand to snap his fingers and vanish—but Fury stepped forward, halting him.
"Wait," Fury said, raising his voice slightly. "I want some of them too."
Dave blinked, glancing back with a tired squint. "Huh? The demons? Seriously?" he asked, already halfway into a yawn. "You want the bloodthirsty pets I just warned her about?"
Fury nodded. "If she gets some, so do I. Can't have her hog all the hellhounds."
Dave sighed, rubbing his eyes like someone who was just told the nap he'd been dreaming about would have to wait. "Fine, sure—which ones?" he asked, already flicking through a mental list of his infernal arsenal as if scrolling through a playlist.
After about half an hour of negotiations, threats, and Dave warning Fury not to summon anything near civilians, he handed over a small group of manageable demons—shadow wolves, a few stealth-type Empusa, and one lesser Hell Crawler. All bound by a temporary loyalty pact keyed to Fury's bio-signature. Simple, clean, and no accidental apocalypse triggers.
Finally, when everything was settled, Dave returned to his quarters.
He sprawled on his bed like a man who hadn't slept in weeks, the red glow in his eyes dimming as he stared at the ceiling. The moonlight coming through the window hit the form of a giant black wolf curled at the foot of the bed—loyal, silent, and comfortably dozing.
"Hmm..." Dave murmured, eyes half-lidded.
After some much-needed rest, Dave eventually woke up, sitting up on his bed with a slow exhale. His fingers lazily reached into his inventory, pulling out the Darkhold, which shimmered faintly with dark energy.
"Hmm..." he muttered, flipping it open with casual interest. "Plenty of dark spells... some new ones even. Cursed creations... possession rituals... and what's this?" His lips curled into a small grin."Hehehe... I got an idea."
With that whisper, Dave's eyes darkened as he chanted softly in an ancient tongue, the syllables echoing unnaturally in the silent room. Shadows stretched unnaturally around him, and the air grew thick as a black mist slowly poured from the pages of the Darkhold.
As the final word left his mouth, his body went completely still. His soul was ejected—clean, sharp, and surgical—leaving his physical shell sitting on the bed, motionless.
When he opened his eyes again, he was... somewhere familiar.
He stood slowly, disoriented, taking in the sensations—his hands, the weight of this body, the quiet thump of a heartbeat that felt... different. Slower. Weaker. Human.
"This... isn't my world," he muttered, glancing around.
The room looked the same at first glance—same layout, same cheap wooden desk, same bed against the wall—but everything felt... duller. The air didn't hum with magic. There was no subtle pull of power in his chest. Even the gravity felt too grounded. Too normal.
He walked to the mirror.
The reflection staring back was him, but noticeably different. His hair was messier, unstyled. No trace of his usual confident smirk. His posture slouched slightly, like someone worn down by routine. His eyes—those same blue eyes—lacked the usual gleam of chaos or power.
This version of him had no magic, no strength, no dark aura. No hint of the battles he had fought or the demons he had crushed.
Just... a guy. A regular, boring guy.
Wearing an old hoodie and sweatpants, and apparently having just woken up for another uneventful day.
Dave blinked, then let out a low, amused chuckle.
"Oh, you poor bastard."
He turned his hands over, flexing his fingers. No calluses. No scars. No power pulsing beneath the skin.
"I didn't just possess another version of myself..." he said softly. "I possessed him. The ordinary me."
He stepped back from the mirror, letting the realization sink in.
This body was weak. Mortal. Vulnerable.
"So, this was supposed to happen to original one if I haven't taken over him" he mumbled as he read this body memories, it was same, his father died but this time Kingpin took everything from him and then discarded him like an worthless thing.
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