CHAPTER 72: QUASARS

The elevator ride to the top of The Golden Apple headquarters felt unusually long. Hermes glanced at his reflection in the mirrored walls, fidgeting with the hem of his jacket. He didn’t even know if he looked presentable.

His curls were still messy from waking up late, and he may have spilled just a bit of yolk from Aphrodite’s lovingly cooked breakfast on his sleeve.

"Get a grip." He muttered to himself.

He was being summoned to the highest office in the most powerful hero organization in the country. And not just by anyone...

But by the CEO himself.

Dante Quasar.

Even the name carried weight.

Dante Quasar was a retired legend, a hero of impossible scale. Nobody knew how old he was. Some said sixties, some said hundreds.

With his power, it didn’t matter.

The man could step through space-time and bring versions of himself from any timeline into the present... whether that meant a younger Quasar with faster reflexes or an older one with centuries of wisdom.

His ability, Multitude, was a time and space paradox made flesh.

Hermes had only ever seen him once in battle. It was a flash of memory from his early days, back when he was still wide-eyed and worshipful of anyone in a cape.

***

He remembered it like a fever dream...curled up in a blanket, eyes wide as the TV screen cast eerie shadows across his bedroom walls. He must’ve only been twelve.

The live broadcast came in shaky, cutting between angles as emergency drones tried to capture the impossible.

The skyline of Haven City was darkened by a massive storm of black velvet tendrils, curling like smoke and swallowing entire skyscrapers.

Then... a rupture.

Twelve versions of the same man stepped through glowing cracks in the air.

Dante Quasar.

Every version of him looked different...one clad in ceremonial armor, another barefoot and wreathed in starlight, one riding a floating orbit of moons. Together, they moved like a hive mind, surrounding the mass of ink and eyes.

"I warned you, Nott. This isn’t your world." Said one Quasar, voice crackling with static.

The darkness responded with a whisper that chilled Hermes through the screen. "There are no worlds. Only sleep. Only shadow. Let me feed."

What followed was a dance of light and dark... Quasar’s duplicates warping space, bending time, moving faster than thought.

He split an entire street into loops to trap one of Nott’s limbs. Another Quasar pulled an ancient sun from a pocket dimension and hurled it like a spear.

Hermes had never seen anything so beautiful. Or so terrifying.

The last thing he remembered before falling asleep was Quasar... just one of them ...standing in the aftermath as Nott dissolved like a bad dream. Not triumphant.

Just... still.

***

Not long after, he retired. Nobody knew why. No fanfare. No interviews. He simply stopped being a hero and started running The Golden Apple.

There was no public explanation. Just one day, he was.

Hermes’ thoughts were interrupted as the elevator dinged open with a soft chime. He stepped into a hallway that curved slightly, like the edge of a planet.

The walls were impossibly smooth, the color of deep space...purples, blues, and stars that shimmered when he blinked too fast. Paintings, or what he assumed were paintings, floated slightly off the wall. They shifted shape and color depending on where he stood. Some made him feel warm, others unsettled.

"This guy’s office feels like a liminal space." Hermes rubbed his arms. "No wonder nobody ever visits up here."

When he reached the door, it opened before he could knock.

"Ah...Hermes Potentia."

The voice was deep, but mellow. Neither commanding nor casual. Just... certain.

He stepped inside.

The office was massive. At its center was a swirling galaxy projected above a transparent desk. There were no paper stacks or computers...just that ever-turning cosmos. The ceiling had no clear end. Stars hung like mobiles from invisible strings. Time itself felt wrong in this place. Slower. Thicker.

And in the middle of it all stood Dante Quasar.

He had the face of an old man...wrinkled with crow’s feet and the kind of smile lines you only earn from a lifetime of laughing.

But his eyes?

His eyes were childlike. Bright, brimming with curiosity. His hair was long, white, and impossibly well-kept. And his suit...

Hermes had no words for it.

The fabric shimmered in patterns that defied geometry. It was like a Jackson Pollock painting married a lava lamp and gave birth to a galaxy tuxedo.

Dante stared at him without saying a word.

Long.

Too long.

Hermes started sweating.

Was he mad? Disappointed? He should apologize again. He should say something...anything.

Then suddenly...

"Ahahaha!" The old man laughed. "There it is! Just as I remembered."

Hermes blinked. "Huh?"

Quasar reached out and shook his hand with surprising energy. "Sorry, sorry! It’s been a while since I’ve seen you like this. Or maybe... it hasn’t happened yet. Time’s funny."

Hermes blinked again. "Uh... thank you?"

"Come, come." Mr. Quasar led him to sit in one of the many floating chairs.

They glided in as if summoned by intention, forming a circle around a softly glowing lamp that looked like a miniature sun.

Hermes sat down gingerly. "I, uh... I’m sorry for not reporting sooner. My phone got stolen and I’ve been...uh...distracted."

"Oh, don’t worry about that," Quasar waved it off. "You saved lives. You helped end a war. I wouldn’t punish someone for enjoying a bit of rest after all that."

Relief poured over Hermes like cool rain.

"Thank you, sir. Really. That means a lot. I was worried I’d be in trouble or..."

"No, no." Quasar chuckled again, then folded his hands together. "I called you here for something... more important."

The atmosphere shifted.

The swirling galaxy overhead slowed, its colors deepening.

Hermes sat straighter. "More important than the war?"

"In a way," said Quasar. "I wanted to talk to you about yourself, Hermes. About the part of you... that’s not so heroic."

Hermes felt a twist in his gut. "Sir?"

Dante leaned forward slightly, and his voice dropped...still calm, but now tinged with gravity.

"I called you here... to talk about your inner beast."

The words echoed louder than they should have. They struck Hermes with a cold that didn’t come from the room, but from something internal. His throat went dry. That phrase...inner beast... rang familiar in the most unwelcome way.

The air pulsed softly with unseen pressure.

And yet, Dante Quasar smiled still, kind and curious.

As if he had seen what lurked in the deepest dark corners of Hermes’ soul...

...and wasn’t afraid.