That’s how long it had been since the deadly maze of Floor 29. Nine days since the Linkbreakers—Gerbert, Rann, Kokay, Taan, Ace, Venus, and Liem—escaped the silence. Nine days since traps ate sound, paths bent gravity, and players were left behind.

And now, the elevator doors opened again.

Floor 30.

It wasn’t a dungeon. It wasn’t a trial.

It was a city.

A metropolis of veiled promises, bathed in jazz and light.

Polished stone paths gleamed beneath flickering neon signs. Floating lanterns drifted lazily above quiet rooftop lounges. The wind carried the scent of roasted nuts, cherry tonic, and rain-on-pavement.

Players strolled the streets calmly—some trading, others relaxing in cafes or reading guild listings from holographic kiosks.

It looked like peace. It smelled like safety.

Kokay’s eyes widened. “Is this... even real?”

Rann said nothing. Taan didn’t lower her fists. But Ace whistled.

Gerbert stepped forward.

And then—

“Hey—!” “Wait, that’s him—Gerbert, right? The conjurer from Floor 24!” “He gave my team a way out on 27.” “I owe him my life.”

A rush of footsteps. Voices overlapping. Gratitude boiling over.

Players who had survived the earlier floors—some with bandaged arms, some with worn gear and cracked shields—swarmed Gerbert like he was gravity.

Before he could blink, they lifted him into the air.

“Wha—put me down!” Gerbert yelped, limbs flailing.

Too late.

“Hero of the Maze!” “Long live the turret tech!”

His teal jacket fluttered uselessly. His boots kicked midair.

Embarrassed, Gerbert turned bright red—an expression so rare that even Rann cracked a smile. Taan and Kokay couldn’t stop laughing. Ace wiped a tear, muttering, “I’ve never seen a tomato with glasses.”

“Gerbert the Red,” Kokay gasped, laughing. “Oh my gosh, we have to make that a sticker.”

Ace snapped his fingers. “Limited edition. Holographic foil. Three-star pull rate.”

Gerbert groaned. “I hate all of you.”

They found lodging at Emberloom Inn—a quiet, slightly crooked inn above a tea shop with only three available rooms and a slouchy common area.

Room 1: Kokay and Ace — lush, leafy, full of hanging vines and petal bursts by morning

Room 2: Venus and Liem — feather-soft, scribbled-on, peaceful

Room 3: Taan and Rann — bare, minimal, composed in its sharpness

Gerbert refused all rooms and claimed the sofa. Again.

“I like it here,” he said, conjuring a folded hex-mat on the old cushions.

“You are a stubborn nerd,” Kokay muttered, trying to hand him a bunny pillow.

One week passed.

They trained. They mapped. They rested.

Until Day Seven, when Kokay, Ace, and Taan stepped into Central Plaza to restock on grilled skewers and vending meals.

That’s when it happened.

“It’s HER!!” “Kokay!! I told you she’d come through this way!” “Little Lights pinged her exact position two minutes ago!” “No way, Bunny Vanguard has every floor-time timestamp since 17!”

The plaza exploded.

Dozens of players—some survivors from the maze, others recent arrivals—rushed toward Kokay. Some cried. Some shouted. Some froze up in shy awe.

A few players just stood still, whispering, “She’s okay. She’s really here…”

Hands waved photos, fan charms, custom stickers. Two players argued furiously over who had started following her first. Someone wore a full cosplay of her Floor 25 outfit.

Someone else wore a button that said:

“I see the future, and it’s Kokay.”

And at the heart of it—two major fan clubs:

Little Lights — a calm, supportive fandom that documented Kokay’s heroic moments, emotional quotes, and combat clips.

Bunny Vanguard — a rowdier, louder fandom who made chant sheets, tactical breakdowns, and even printed jackets with her silhouette mid-dodge.

“Can I just… shake your hand?” a soft-voiced teen asked, eyes wide.

“You saved my sister with that falling platform roll,” said another, choking up.

“I started healing after watching you on Floor 24. Just seeing you exist helps.”

Kokay froze in place, clutching her bunny-charmed bag.

“Um. Oh no. I mean—thank you?” she squeaked.

Someone burst into tears.

Another shouted, “SHE APOLOGIZED FOR EXISTING—” “She’s still so humble!” “KOKAY NATION FOREVER!!”

Kokay looked as if her soul had disconnected.

“I… don’t deserve this,” she whispered, bowing too quickly. “But thank you. Really. Thank you for surviving.”

And that?

That sealed it.

Screaming. Fainting. Chanting. Someone dropped to their knees and wrote a haiku on the plaza tiles.

Taan leaned against a lamp post. “Fan clubs. Of course.”

Ace grinned. “I warned you. She’s our secret weapon.”

“Not anymore,” Taan said.

They looked at each other. Smiled.

“Booth merch?” “Limited badges.” “Signed combat logs?”

They bumped fists.

That night, back at the inn, they gathered in the dim common room, surrounded by crumbs and empty noodle boxes. The walls glowed softly. A kettle steamed on a portable burner.

Gerbert stood, raising a hand.

A glowing blue projection unfurled onto the wall—Floor 30’s full layout.

“This floor gives us something rare,” he said. “Time. Tools. Stability. But we can’t let comfort dull us.”

He gestured across the glowing nodes:

Dustrest Inn. Emberloom Inn.

The Obsidian Swan – elite housing

The Banner Nexus – Guild Hall: Clerk Irma, Quester Mando, Scribe Talith

The Echo Pit – arena hosted by Voxie Vale

Iron Courses – dynamic training challenges

Market District – with Tendo, Granna Pex, and Jinks

Glasswell Infirmary – silent and sterile

Information Towers. Player Real Estate. Mini Forest Zones.

And finally—the Dungeon Block. Where death still lingered behind a barrier wall.

“We divide into two squads,” Gerbert said. “But we stay in sync. We train. We earn. We prepare.”

The plan was set:

Team A

Gerbert, Kokay, Rann, Venus – missions, quests, intel gathering

Team B

Ace, Taan, Liem – Echo Pit matches, stress trials, reputation climbing

Daily training for everyone at the Iron Courses. No exceptions.

The training halls were brutal. Adaptive. Alive.

Kokay ducked laser arcs in zero-grav chambers, synchronizing with her 40-second clairvoyant flashes.

Rann sprinted blindfolded through phasing walls, her steps becoming ghostlight precise.

Ace released blooming pollen bursts against flying targets, vines snapping to life mid-combat.

Taan broke momentum dummies into powder with fists alone—never missing a beat.

Venus folded her wings mid-flight, halting on dime-wide rings before diving again.

Liem conjured ink-weapons in motion, his sketches scattering like shadows before reforming.

Gerbert adjusted drone protocols, tracked every failure, then conjured new blueprints in response.

The team groaned, trained, laughed, collapsed, argued—and kept rising.

For the first time in many, many floors… They weren’t just surviving. They weren’t just scraping through.

They were evolving.

They were the Linkbreakers. And they were getting stronger.

Together.

Back to Top

Chapter 16.2

The Herb and the Divide

Outside the Safe Zone, the forest grew stranger.

It was no longer a backdrop, no longer just terrain—it breathed, warped by mana and time. Trees twisted up from the earth in tangled spires, roots curled like serpents across the moss-carpeted floor. Strange fungi pulsed softly underfoot. Every step felt heavier, as if the forest itself were watching.

Team Gerbert advanced in careful formation.

Rann walked point, silent, alert. She didn’t speak unless necessary. Her eyes swept the shadows like a sensor, her body already coiled for movement. Kokay followed next—her fingers curled tightly at her side, heart thudding with that low hum of nerves. Her clairvoyance buzzed behind her eyes, but she focused it down to thirty-second bursts. Just enough.

Venus drifted above them, hovering just off the ground. Her wings stirred the mist without sound. There was something calming about her presence—steady, composed, untouched by the weight of it all.

Gerbert brought up the rear, one hand held just above his conjuration ring. Holographic lines danced beneath his palm, projecting faint maps, vitals, team diagnostics. His eyes scanned all of it with sharp, quiet focus.

He said nothing about the tension. He didn’t need to. He could feel it too.

The first attack came fast.

“Left side,” Rann said, then vanished.

Her form phased and reappeared behind two low-skulking creatures lunging through the brush. Her blades struck with calm precision—one throat slit, one spinal puncture. Neither creature made a sound before falling.

“Kokay?” Gerbert asked.

Kokay’s voice was tight. “Right flank—three more! They’re circling wide!”

She blinked forward in time and saw it—barely half a second into the future—but just enough to call it out.

Venus rose immediately, wings catching the high wind. She turned midair and flicked her hands outward—dozens of feathers launched in a fan-shaped arc, glowing pink and white. Each hit landed in soft thuds, the last creature dropping just before reaching Kokay.

Gerbert stepped forward. “No injuries. Net launcher.”

With a conjuration snap, he pulled a hex-woven net from midair and bound the last creature’s twitching form. “Capture complete. Let’s move.”

The trail narrowed. Roots thickened. The team pressed deeper until the trees thinned into a clearing, and the forest fell silent. Ahead, an enormous cave yawned open. Its entrance was surrounded by moss-covered stone and fungal veins that pulsed like veins beneath skin. A faint clicking echoed from within.

They entered slowly.

Kokay reached for Gerbert’s coat without thinking, just for a second.

He glanced back and offered a small, wordless nod. She let go.

The tremor came from below.

“Contact,” Rann said, blades halfway drawn already.

From the ground, stone split outward in a perfect radial pattern.

Something rose.

It wasn’t a simple monster—it was something buried, waiting.

A massive crab-like beast heaved itself from the cavern floor, covered in jagged moss and fungal plating. Its front claws slammed into the earth, shaking the chamber. Along its back, like a grotesque parasitic crown, bloomed a luminous herb—its petals glowing gold, its stalk pulsing with unnatural energy.

“That’s the herb,” Gerbert said, hand already mid-conjure.

“And that’s our wall,” Rann replied.

Then the crab shrieked and lunged.

It came fast for something so large.

One moment the cave floor trembled, the next, the crab-like monster surged forward—massive claws slamming into the moss-covered stone with terrifying force. One of them struck where Kokay had just been standing. The impact scattered stone and glowing spores like shrapnel.

“Split!” Gerbert ordered. “Kokay—distance calls. Venus—sky support!”

Kokay stumbled behind a stalagmite, heart racing, lungs tight. “It’s faster than it looks,” she gasped.

“You’ve got this,” came Venus’s gentle voice from above. Her wings beat softly as she hovered overhead. “Just breathe.”

Kokay nodded quickly, pushed the fear down, and focused. Her clairvoyance flared—brief, sharp glimpses into what came next. Her eyes shimmered. “Venus—its right side’s exposed!”

The winged girl twisted midair, responding instantly. She dove in a tight arc and unleashed a flurry of glowing feathers. They struck the crab’s armor with soft, thudding force, slicing through the side plates. The beast staggered from the impact, let out a grinding roar, and swung a leg upward in retaliation.

Venus dropped altitude just in time, barely avoiding the strike. “It’s aiming higher now,” she said, voice still calm. “Learning.”

“Good,” Gerbert responded, already conjuring. A tether net materialized in his hand—hex-lined and humming with energy. He launched it into the crab’s forward left leg. It wrapped around the joint with a sharp crackle, anchoring it to the ground. “We can predict that.”

Behind the monster, Rann appeared in a blink, blades drawn. She moved without hesitation, driving one into the soft muscle beneath the shell at the rear hinge. Acidic ichor hissed out, burning against the cave floor.

“Soft point confirmed,” she reported. “Rear hinge. Not armored.”

“Logging it,” Gerbert said, eyes never leaving the display hovering near his hand. “Keep the pressure on.”

The crab let out a sharper screech and reared upward. A ripple of arcane energy burst from its core. The herb blooming from its back pulsed brighter. Then, with a violent motion, the beast slammed both claws into the stone floor.

A shockwave exploded outward—moss, fungal spores, and crystal shards flying in all directions.

“Move!” Kokay shouted. The vision struck her like lightning, seconds ahead of the wave. Her voice rang out with urgency. “Now!”

Gerbert acted instantly, casting a conjured dome around them—its barrier grid catching most of the blast. Rann phased clean through the explosion. Venus twisted wide, launching deflective feathers that sliced the incoming debris midair.

Kokay pressed against the rock for cover, coughed once, then peeked up, blinking dust from her eyes. Her voice was breathless, but steady. “Still here.”

They didn’t pause.

“Rann—stab and bait,” Gerbert called, recalibrating the spellwork on his ring. “I’ll pin its rear leg. Kokay, get Venus the next opening.”

“On it,” Rann replied, vanishing into motion.

She darted across the monster’s vision, each move sharp and deliberate. The crab’s claws grew more frantic, flailing in an effort to track her.

“Rann, two seconds!” Kokay called. “Feint high, then drop!”

Rann jumped, blinked mid-air, and reappeared beneath the beast’s belly. Her blade struck hard into the vulnerable seam. The monster convulsed, shuddering in place.

Gerbert raised both arms. “Firing anchor.”

A heavy chain harpoon launched from his conjured rig—larger than the last, charged with layered mana. It drove into the crab’s back leg and pinned it to the cavern floor with a thunderous impact.

“It’s locked!” he shouted.

Kokay’s voice rose above the clamor. “Venus! Center bloom—do it now!”

Venus flew higher, her wings flaring open like a signal flag. She hovered for half a second, gathering energy. The feathers around her shimmered—bright, golden, full of focus.

She released them all at once.

Six glowing projectiles spiraled through the misty air and struck the herb’s stalk in perfect unison.

The chamber flashed with warm golden light, blooming outward like sunlight through water. The crab let out one final, fractured screech—its body trembled, then buckled under its own weight. It collapsed with a ground-shaking impact.

The herb flickered… then held.

Silence settled.

Only their breath filled the cave—slow, fogging in the sudden stillness.

Gerbert lowered his hands and exhaled. “Well-coordinated. Minimal damage. Excellent work.”

Rann was already withdrawing her blade, wiping it clean in a single motion. “It had no real counters,” she said. “Just brute defense and area denial.”

“Still terrifying,” Kokay murmured, stepping slowly away from the stalagmite. “But we handled it.”

“You did,” Venus said kindly. “You called every right moment, Kokay.”

Kokay blinked, surprised. Then she smiled, faint and soft. “Thanks. I… wasn’t sure I could.”

“You could,” Gerbert replied, voice steady and warm. “And you did.”

The four of them stood still for a moment longer—watching the pulsing glow of the intact herb.

Then, quietly, they gathered it up together and began the long, quiet walk back toward the city’s light.

Return to the Banner Nexus

They gathered the herb together—treating it almost like a relic.

Back at the Banner Nexus, the air felt cooler. Clerks bustled in the background, and the familiar pulse of the quest boards blinked overhead.

Clerk Irma accepted the item without fanfare.

“Quest complete. Reward: 800 Blings,” she said.

Kokay stood a little taller as the notification chimed.

They stepped outside together.

Rann turned toward Gerbert. “We should take two quests next. We can cover more ground.”

Gerbert paused.

He glanced between them—Rann, confident as ever. Venus, serene but quietly stronger. Kokay, cheeks flushed, eyes still glowing.

He hesitated. “Are we ready for that?”

Kokay stepped forward, voice quiet but certain. “I trained for this. I can handle it.” Then she added, more softly, “I want to handle it.”

Venus smiled gently. “We’ve all grown stronger, Gerbert.”

He considered it—tactical load, stamina rates, combat effectiveness. All viable.

“Alright,” he said. “Split by synergy.”

Team A: Gerbert and Kokay

Team B: Rann and Venus

They walked to the plaza edge, just before parting.

“We’ll use the call function constantly,” Gerbert reminded. “And drop the mission if it gets dangerous.”

“Don’t overthink it,” Rann said, brushing dust off her jacket.

“You’re not our dad,” Kokay teased with a shy grin.

Gerbert smiled faintly.

He looked at all three of them. Older somehow. Sharper. Solid.

“Proud of you guys,” he said quietly.

Then they split—two pairs, two paths.

Not divided.

Just ready.

Back to Top

Chapter 16.3

Echo and Mirage

The forest near Floor 30’s Mini Wild Zones was older than it had any right to be.

Its trees curved in strange bows as if recoiling from something ancient. The canopy filtered sunlight through layers of mist and color—pinkish fog, teal-tinted leaves, and glowing mushrooms that blinked in timed pulses like distant warning beacons. Birds chirped irregular melodies, then fell silent mid-song. Even sound here behaved differently.

It was perfect hunting ground for illusions. Perfect for the phantom stag.

Gal crouched beside a patch of moss, fingertips brushing a stone. “Mmm... left side,” she said, cheerful but focused. “It has a rhythm. Like—” she tapped her fingers against her forearm, then paused. “Breathing. Real slow.”

Behind her, Duane moved like a soldier on silent march. His fists were taped, his stance disciplined but casual, and his clones—two of them—had already split into the brush.

He grinned. “Your ears are scary sometimes, y’know that?”

“I practice,” she replied with a smirk. “Besides, I like spooky forests. They’ve got style.”

A low rustle confirmed her read.

Whill, the nervous NPC who had hired them, clutched his satchel tightly and stepped forward. He looked barely older than twenty, but worn thin from stress. “I—I just need one piece of the stag’s horn,” he stammered. “Not for gold. It’s for my brother. He was blinded by the Ash Spore Rot. The horn’s... supposed to help, right?”

Gal gave him a small nod. “We’ll get it for him,” she said kindly. “Promise.”

“Cross my heart and uppercut a tree,” Duane added with a wink.

Whill blinked, unsure if that was a joke.

Gal laughed under her breath and tapped her headphone cord against her collarbone, listening again. “It’s looping around now. Still close.”

They’d been a team ever since Floor 24.

Duane had found her in a collapsed guild checkpoint—half-sunk into corrupted vines, the walls trembling with rot. Gal had been sprawled out on cracked tile, unconscious but alive, with a pulsing sigil on her wrist.

No wounds. No burns. Just silence.

He checked her vitals and braced her head. And then he waited.

Duane didn’t leave. Not even when shadows stirred outside. For four nights, he fought off beasts and bandits, moving her body when the building shifted and wrapping her in his spare jacket.

She woke up just before dawn.

Her eyes shot open. Panic. Confusion.

“Whoa—hey, hey, easy now,” Duane said softly, raising both hands. “You’re safe. Name’s Duane. Been watching over you. Hope you don’t mind.”

Gal squinted at him, confused, then whispered, “I... auctioned a coma day. For a limited clock.”

He raised an eyebrow. “A clock? Must’ve been one hell of a clock.”

She groaned, rubbing her forehead. “It was. Then someone stole it in the Stealing Time round.”

That someone would later be revealed as Taan.

Duane didn’t judge. He just chuckled and handed her water.

“Guess we’re both stuck in this mess, huh? Might as well team up.”

They never looked back.

By Floor 29, they had become known for helping during the maze collapse. Gal had used her wave-tracing to find vibrations through the walls. Duane helped carry injured players. But what stuck in both their memories was the voice on the speaker—Gerbert, conjuring a path forward.

They owed him. Quietly. Deeply.

Now, back in the forest, that same coordination had returned.

The phantom stag emerged from between the trees, half-real and gleaming. Its antlers twisted with multicolored runes that shifted shape like glass catching sunlight. It flickered between steps, feet brushing the moss with no sound at all.

Gal grinned. “There you are, you sneaky remix.”

She dropped into a crouch and raised both palms. “Sound pulse. Three... two... drop beat.”

Clap!

The sonic wave burst outward. The forest air rippled like water, distorting the stag’s shimmer. It stumbled mid-leap, landing awkwardly.

Duane was already moving.

“Let’s dance!” he yelled, launching forward as three clones erupted from him—one to the flank, another vaulting over a stump, the third circling wide to herd.

The stag kicked.

A fourth clone—more stable than any before—slid in low from behind, ducking under the strike and hooking the hind leg with a sweep.

Duane followed, spinning into a clean elbow strike across the creature’s shoulder—enough force to stun, not kill.

“Mind the horns! They’re on someone’s prescription!”

Gal snapped her fingers. A narrow sonic needle fired through the air, warping the stag’s perception.

The creature froze.

“Now, Whill!”

The NPC tossed a binding talisman etched in light. It latched onto the stag’s chest with a pulse of white shimmer—and locked it in place.

For a moment, everything stilled.

Then: soft breathing. Calm.

The clones faded into mist. Duane exhaled hard and gave a little spin, flexing his arms. “And that, my friend, is what we call crowd control.”

Gal stood and stretched. “Still got it,” she said with a grin, popping her neck. “You see that last pulse timing? Chef’s kiss.”

Whill rushed forward, falling to his knees as he cradled the antler shard in both hands. “This... this is it. Thank you. Thank you.”

“You’ve got a good heart,” Gal said warmly. “Make sure your brother uses it well.”

Duane patted Whill on the back, grinning. “Tell him he owes us cookies. Or a mixtape. Either works.”

The path back was calmer now.

They walked side-by-side under the soft blinking glow of the mushrooms. Gal flicked her pen in the air, sketching a quick waveform above her palm and watching it flicker out.

“Gerbert’s team,” she said suddenly. “They saved our asses in that maze.”

“Big time,” Duane nodded. “I like that crew. Especially the girl with the haunted eyes.”

“Rann?”

“Yeah. She looks like she sleeps in poetry and stabs with silence.”

Gal giggled. “Wouldn’t mind teaming up with them. They’ve got rhythm.”

Duane smirked. “We’ll catch them again. When the beat drops.”

They exchanged a fist bump, easy and familiar.

And with that, the forest closed behind them—two silhouettes vanishing into the fog, still walking in sync.

Back to Top

Chapter 17

Brackets and Bloom

The registration area of the Echo Pit buzzed with energy. Neon lights pulsed above the sign-in desks, while players milled around reviewing tournament brackets and exchanging bets. Taan, arms crossed and stance wide, eyed the terminal with a smirk.

"You sure about this, Liem?" she teased, glancing his way. "No fiancée to cheer for you today. Could be a lonely loss."

Liem, adjusting his glasses and signing his name on the screen, raised an eyebrow. "That’s fine. I’m here to prove something. Even without Venus, I want to show I can hold my own."

Ace, leaning on the desk in his long pink coat, grinned dramatically. "Let the man paint his own legend, darling. Besides, he's got us. And I make a very enthusiastic cheerleader."

Taan rolled her eyes but smirked.

An NPC in armor arrived to escort them. "You’re in Bracket B. Follow me to the locker rooms."

The interior was lined with steel benches, personalized lockers, and glowing displays. Holo-screens hovered above, showing live matches in progress. A giant tournament bracket updated in real time.

Taan sat down, focused on the match underway. The screen showed Sheg from Team Jaja in a blur of green lightning, her fists crackling as she dodged and pummeled her opponent into the wall. The buzzer sounded. Victory.

"Of course she’s here," Taan muttered, unimpressed but alert.

Minutes later, the system pinged.

[Next Match: ACE vs. MARC]

Ace stretched his arms with exaggerated flair. "Wish me luck, loves. Hopefully Marc’s cute and dramatic."

The Echo Pit Arena breathed heat and electricity. Spotlights cut sharp lines through the misted air, illuminating the stone floor with a clean circular boundary. Scorch marks, claw gouges, and impact craters from previous matches littered the terrain—testament to what the arena demanded.

Across the field stood Marc.

Tall. Tanned. Solid.

He wore a long black shirt with sleeves cuffed at the elbows, black jeans fitted tight for movement, and plain dark sneakers. His silhouette was simple—but the weapon he carried made the difference. A naginata, nearly the length of his full height, its long curved blade glowing a molten red-orange. Wherever it touched the floor, stone hissed and warped, trailing scorched lines like welts burned into the earth.

He tilted his head at the man across from him.

“Ace, right?” Marc spun the naginata in one hand with casual precision. “You’re that guy with plants, yeah?”

He grinned.

“Hope your flowers can scream.”

On the opposite end, Ace smiled, stepping lightly over a vine curling at his heel. His pink coat fluttered with every step. He looked unarmed. Unbothered. But his fingertips sparkled faintly with pollen dust, and the air around him already smelled of blooming sap and something wilder underneath.

“I was worried I’d have to hold back,” Ace replied, voice smooth like sunlight through mist. “Good to know you’re rude and dangerous.”

[MATCH START]

Marc charged immediately, blade trailing flame. His long strides ate the distance in seconds.

Ace moved, body fluid, sidestepping just as the naginata carved a molten crescent into the ground where he had stood. The blade’s heat melted a divot in the stone—Marc was not holding back.

Ace spun away, vines bursting from the ground behind him to entangle Marc’s ankles. The vine caught, twisting like a serpent—but Marc snarled and ripped free, dragging the creature upward before severing it midair with a brutal slash.

Ace responded with a flick of his hand—a sunflower shield bloomed instantly on his forearm, thick petals reinforcing into bark just in time to absorb another sweeping blow.

CLANG—CRACK.

The shield held. Barely.

Ace skated backward on a trail of moss he summoned beneath his boots, regaining distance.

Marc stalked forward.

His style was brute offense—heavy, vicious swings. He twirled the naginata like a lever of heat and gravity. Each strike left trails of molten streaks on the floor. He lunged, spinning into a diagonal cut aimed to split Ace from shoulder to hip.

Ace ducked low, one hand slapping the stone—vines burst upward again, coiling like a net from below.

This time, Marc was mid-motion and couldn’t cut clean through.

He stumbled.

Ace surged forward.

His right hand was no longer flesh—it had shifted, layered in rough bark, dark and ridged like tree armor. Every muscle in Ace’s frame snapped into motion.

He delivered a palm strike straight to Marc’s chest.

THUD.

It landed with force—raw and trained.

Marc gasped, momentarily stunned, his torso recoiling from the blow.

Ace grinned.

“Trained by a brawler,” he said, soft and confident.

“Surprise.”

Marc growled and shoved forward, swinging again with a fury less polished but no less dangerous. The naginata blazed, its arc cutting an inferno through the haze. He aimed high, then reversed low—trying to catch Ace’s legs. The arena floor behind him glowed where the blade touched.

Ace danced through it.

Dodged one. Two. Skimmed past a third. His pink coat singed along the edge but didn’t burn.

As he moved, flowers bloomed in his wake—small blossoms exploding from cracks in the stone, twisting up and releasing green coils. One vine shot out and wrapped around the base of Marc’s weapon mid-swing.

Marc yanked, annoyed—but the momentum faltered.

Ace leapt, flipping forward off a summoned stalk, soaring over Marc’s shoulder.

Mid-air, Ace turned his body. Petals burst around him.

He landed behind Marc, crouched—and rose fast with another bark-armored elbow—

CRACK.

Right into Marc’s back.

Marc staggered.

He whirled around, swinging blindly, but the vines had begun crawling up his shins now, binding, hindering.

Ace spun again, tossing a bloom mine across the floor. It clinked, opened, and—

BOOM.

A pulse of sticky golden pollen erupted outward in a 5-meter burst. The cloud drifted and clung. The arena glowed in soft gold as Marc choked, his arms now sluggish, the pollen thick in his breath and on his blade.

His movements slowed.

Ace took one step, then another, walking calmly through the glowing haze, outlined in soft green.

“You swing big,” he said conversationally.

“But you don’t adapt.”

He raised both arms—petals unfolding behind his shoulders like wings—and struck with precision.

One blow to Marc’s knee. Another to his side.

Then the final—

BARK-CLAD SPINNING ELBOW

—into Marc’s ribs, turning the tall man sideways with the force.

Marc fell.

Weapon down. Hands slack. Breathing heavy.

[MATCH END – VICTORY: ACE]

The bracket screen flashed above:

ACE – ADVANCE

Ace exhaled softly and turned from the arena floor.

The petals that had burst from his bloom mine still hung in the air—like a golden mist left behind in the aftermath of a thunderstorm.

In the exit corridor, Andrea waited, arms crossed, earrings shaped like tiny tigers flickering under the overhead light.

She gave him a once-over. “You were fun to watch,” she said. “Can’t wait to beat you.”

Ace smirked, brushing a petal off his shoulder. “That’s the spirit,” he replied. “Let’s make it a beautiful brawl.”

She tilted her head. “You always this dramatic?”

Ace paused mid-step, looked back, and gave a wink.

“Only when the flowers are watching.”

And with that, he walked off, the pollen still trailing behind him, vanishing in soft gold.

Back to Top

Chapter 17.1

Ink and Resolve

The locker room pulsed with the residual energy of the last match.

The air still carried the faint scent of scorched stone and flower pollen. Monitors hovered silently above each bench, replaying key moments from the previous bout. In one frame, Ace flipped gracefully through a cloud of golden spores. In another, Marc’s molten naginata sliced a glowing path through the stone—then missed by inches.

Liem stood beneath one of the displays, arms crossed, gaze sharp behind his thin-frame glasses. He wasn’t watching for flair. He was watching for rhythm.

He studied Ace’s footwork, the precise moment bark overtook skin, the angle of the elbow strike that felled Marc. But most of all, he noted how Ace disguised the bloom mine—waiting until pollen had already filled the air before detonating it.

“He’s really strong,” Liem murmured.

Across the room, Taan pushed off the wall. Her boots thudded softly on the locker tiles as she walked over, cracking her knuckles. She stopped beside him and gave his shoulder a firm, playful punch—just enough to sting.

“Your turn,” she said with a grin. “Show them the Linkbreakers aren’t just flair and flowers.”

Liem smiled slightly and adjusted his glasses. “Consider it done.”

Just then, the locker door hissed open. Ace strolled in, coat still trailing bits of pollen, a victorious gleam in his eye.

“Liem, darling,” he called, sweeping into a low, dramatic bow. “I want you to know—I had an entire cheerleading routine planned. There was going to be ribbon twirling. Possibly jazz hands.”

Liem chuckled softly. “Thanks, Ace. I’ll try not to disappoint.”

Ace winked. “Too late. I already believe in you.”

Liem walked alone down the quiet hallway toward the staging gate. Each step echoed slightly—his heartbeat louder than the footsteps. The world outside the arena always felt quieter. Like the game was holding its breath.

His thoughts drifted.

He hadn’t joined the Linkbreakers for power. Not at first.

It was Gerbert, Kokay, Rann, Taan, Ace—they were the first people who showed him and Venus real kindness in this place. Not transactional, not fearful. Kindness that made you believe, even when the game worked overtime to make you doubt everything.

They trained every day. Grew. Endured. Failed forward.

And so had he.

He had rewritten his conjuration style. Not just walls and distractions anymore—but weapons, traps, decoys, feints. He didn’t draw to survive. He drew to win.

And now—he would fight for Venus.

For himself.

For all of them.

An NPC announcer shimmered into view at the threshold.

“Next match: LIEM vs. BRYAN. Fighters, to the gate.”

Liem exhaled slowly. Entered the arena.

It felt different now.

Brighter. Wider. The hum of the crowd beyond the glass dome felt distant, like waves on a shore he hadn’t seen in months. Across the arena, Bryan stood like a wall—tall, square-jawed, his arms glinting with a metallic sheen as his skin began phasing into living steel.

He cracked his knuckles, sneering.

“Hope you can draw on metal,” Bryan said, voice already loud enough for the crowd. “Might wanna sketch up a miracle. Or maybe a spine. You look like you’d flinch from your own shadow.”

Liem said nothing. He opened his sketchpad slowly.

Bryan scoffed. “Come on, artist boy. Cat got your chalk? Gonna paint me to death?”

Liem thought of Rann’s voice during training:

“Never rise to taunts. They want your rhythm. Don’t give it to them.”

The buzzer sounded.

Bryan charged like a sledgehammer wrapped in jet fuel.

His footsteps left dents in the arena stone, each step accelerating, each breath louder. Liem barely sidestepped the first strike—Bryan’s steel-plated fist came down like a wrecking ball, smashing into the ground with a shockwave that cracked the tiles in a six-foot radius.

Ink burst upward—Liem had dropped his first trap the moment Bryan lunged. From the broken stone rose a swarm of black ink birds, screeching and flapping with chaotic fury.

Bryan covered his face, batting them aside with one armored forearm. “C’mon! You throwing birds at me?!”

Liem turned the page.

A serpent rose from shadow and line, rippling with inky black coils, thicker than a man’s thigh. It surged across the arena floor and coiled around Bryan’s legs, dragging him backward before he could brace.

Bryan roared and slammed his fists down, shattering half the serpent’s form—but not before Liem clapped both palms together.

A smokescreen burst, ink mist flooding the field in a thick cloud of black haze.

“Oh no! Fog! How terrifying!” Bryan shouted from inside it. “Is this where you wet your pants and run off stage?!”

But Liem wasn’t hiding.

He stepped through the fog calmly, holding a gleaming conjured scythe, its curved blade dripping ink like blood. His stance was sharp. Calculated.

Bryan lunged—his arms swinging in massive arcs—but hit only phantoms. Ink clones. Deliberately misaligned shadows.

Liem’s range had extended—he no longer fought from the center. He fought from control—invisible radius traps, soft delays, and feints layered beneath feints.

He conjured two serpents, coiling wide, flanking from both sides.

Bryan gritted his teeth, crouched, and grabbed both serpents mid-charge, flexing as he tore them apart with brute strength.

“You think I’m scared of snakes? I’ve ripped through worse!”

He lunged again. Liem retreated, leaving a trail of ink puddles.

He roared and leapt—

Straight into the real trap.

A single page flared with ink glyphs. The illusory drawing exploded, pressurized ink bursting directly in Bryan’s face. He stumbled, eyes squeezed shut, coughing.

"Cheap tricks!" Bryan spat, wheeling toward him.

Liem didn’t answer.

He drew one final page.

From above—a massive black hand, a gauntlet the size of a car—materialized, sketched in blinding strokes of speed and instinct. It descended like judgment.

Bryan turned too slow.

BOOM.

The fist struck him square in the chest. His steel skin cracked along the ribs, air leaving his lungs like a punctured drum.

He hit the ground flat. Unconscious

Liem approached, pen and sketch pad in hand, but didn’t draw.

The match was over.

[MATCH END – VICTORY: LIEM]

In the locker room, Taan and Ace stood silently before the monitor as the replay cycled.

Ace clapped slowly, hands still covered in lingering pollen.

“That precision. That restraint. That drama.” His voice quivered theatrically. “I could cry.”

Taan didn’t laugh. Her gaze remained on the screen.

“He’s not just good,” she said quietly.

“He’s dangerous.”

On-screen, Liem walked away from the downed Bryan, his sketchpad flipping shut with a practiced motion.

No words. No posturing. No roar of triumph.

Only calm, silent steps offstage.

And the unmistakable truth:

A challenger no longer in anyone’s shadow.

Only his own rising silhouette, cut in ink and resolve.

Back to Top

Chapter 17.2

Breaker Momentum

The locker room door hissed open with a soft mechanical sigh.

Liem stepped in, shoulders squared but breath still elevated. His face remained calm, but a flush lingered in his cheeks from adrenaline. Ink splatter marked the edges of his jacket. He looked like he’d stepped out of a dream made of paper and pressure.

“My boy! My prodigy!” Ace cried, flinging his arms toward the ceiling. “You destroyed him! I’m so proud I could cry!”

He flopped onto the bench in a dramatic heap, fake-sobbing into his sleeve.

Taan smirked and approached, ruffling Liem’s hair with a firm hand. “Not bad, sketchpad,” she said. “Solid work. You earned that win.”

Liem chuckled and straightened his glasses. The tension in his shoulders eased—just a little.

Above them, the main holo-screen flickered.

The next match played out live—Andrea, from Team Rage, against a rubber-limbed fighter with vicious reach. His arms snapped like whips, trying to corral her from every direction.

Andrea laughed as she danced through his attacks—a feral, chaotic joy. She closed the distance in a blink and slammed him into the ground with a brutal hip throw. The buzzer rang before he even sat up.

Victory.

Taan narrowed her eyes. “She and Sheg ambushed us once. Floor 29. Didn’t even say a word.”

Ace’s grin flattened. For a split second, something darker passed across his face—controlled, quiet fury.

“Ambush artists?” he said softly. “Cute.”

Liem blinked at the sudden tonal shift. Ace caught the look, then turned it back on like a switch—grin wide, eyes sparkling again.

“Anyway! Taan, you’re up!” he announced, snapping his fingers like a ringmaster. “Make it flashy. Maybe give the audience whiplash.”

Taan walked the length of the corridor alone. The hum of the overhead lights was rhythmic, calming. Her boots clicked cleanly on the tile, every step measured, steady.

But her mind wasn’t quiet.

Ace’s moment of cold silence echoed louder than his words.

He covers it well, she thought. But he doesn’t forget. Doesn’t forgive.

She understood now—why Gerbert and Kokay hadn’t told Ace everything about the Floor 29 ambush. Why Rann had warned that Ace would’ve exploded if he knew the full story.

Taan clenched one fist.

Taan smiles, she thought, but if anything ever happens to one of us... he'd turn feral.

Her name appeared on the arena display above the gate.

MATCH: TAAN vs. MICHELLE

The gates hissed open.

Taan entered the arena calmly, arms loose at her sides. Her black sleeveless top clung to her shoulders, and her tattered cloak fluttered slightly behind her.

Across the field stood her opponent.

Michelle.

Tall. Balanced. Absolutely still. Her posture was upright, no wasted motion. Every inch of her stance screamed discipline—military, Taan guessed. Maybe black-ops. Maybe worse.

No gear. No weapon.

Just control.

Taan stretched one arm, rotating her shoulder lazily. “Alright, mystery statue,” she muttered. “Let’s dance.”

She threw the first strike—fast, clean jab.

Michelle blocked. Effortlessly. No counter.

Taan tested again—a feint into a leg sweep. Blocked.

She circled. Quick jab. Nothing.

Kick. Rejected. Guard too tight.

For nearly a minute, they moved like that. Strike. Assess. Shift. Breathe.

A duel of restraint.

Then Taan grinned. “You planning to fight or just write a poem about it later?”

Michelle said nothing.

“Guess you're just here to watch the semifinals from the floor, huh?”

That did it.

Michelle lunged.

Her strikes were fast, surgical, no wasted effort. A three-hit combo aimed for throat, gut, temple.

Taan parried and returned fire—a knee to the ribs, elbow to the forearm.

Suddenly—Michelle’s right arm shimmered, metal overtaking flesh in a fluid wave. Her skin folded into chrome, forming a sleek armblade, double-edged, razor-thin.

Taan feigned a stumble. Let herself falter one step.

Michelle bit the bait.

She slashed.

Taan caught the blade on her forearm—the edge slicing clean, blood spotting the floor.

She hissed.

Then smirked. “Gotcha.”

Michelle’s face shifted. Surprise. Maybe frustration.

Taan stepped in.

Her muscles flared—a pulse of kinetic energy surged through her body. Every movement now faster, sharper.

She boosted.

The arena burst into motion.

Blade met fist. Steel met bone.

Taan pressed the advantage, forcing Michelle into tighter and tighter corners. Her style wasn’t reckless—it was relentless. Feints turned into pressure. Pressure into rhythm.

Every strike Taan landed vibrated with backlash—a cost for every boost, energy surging through her limbs in surges that left nerves frayed.

But she never overcommitted.

She never broke stride.

Michelle adapted, blade-arm shifting styles mid-combat—dagger edge into cleaver swing, then reverse into spike-stabbing motion. She was versatile, refined. Her footwork mirrored old-world combat schools.

But Taan was a storm.

She ducked under a sweeping arc, planted both fists into Michelle’s gut, boosted off the impact to flip behind her, then hammered a shin into her back.

Michelle dropped to one knee.

She rose again—other arm now transforming, forming a double-blade stance, and rushed forward in silence.

They clashed again.

A blur of steel and skin. Breath and grit.

Taan's cloak tore. Michelle's shoulder bled from a redirected punch.

Then came the break.

Taan stepped back, panting. Blood on her arm. Backlash shaking her wrists.

“You don’t talk much,” she said through a breath. “But you earned this.”

She boosted.

Once.

Twice.

She moved faster than Michelle could adjust.

Duck. Pivot. Twist—

One clean body blow.

Right into Michelle’s solar plexus.

The sound was solid. Deep.

Michelle gasped—choked—and vomited.

She collapsed to one side, knees failing.

[MATCH END – VICTORY: TAAN]

But Taan was already moving.

She caught Michelle before she hit the ground, crouched low beside her.

“Didn’t want to break you,” Taan whispered, voice steady. “Just win.”

Locker Room

The neon brackets updated overhead:

Ace – Advanced

Liem – Advanced

Taan – Advanced

The Linkbreakers had swept Bracket B.

The crowd, once skeptical, now erupted in cheers.

The whispers changed tone.

They weren’t just players anymore.

They were dominating.

Far above, in the shaded VIP stands, Mika watched through crimson-tinted shades. Her lips curled into a slow smile. One hand twirled a strand of hair around her finger.

“That group,” she murmured.

Her voice was almost delighted.

“Things are getting interesting.”

Back to Top

Chapter 17.3

The Platform Gauntlet

The Echo Pit Arena rumbled.

Metal plates slid apart and rotated, revealing a deeper chamber below. Then—like petals blooming from stone—the battlefield reconfigured. Dozens of platforms rose into the air, rotating at varied speeds. At the center, a large circular disk hovered slowly, its outer edge rippling with arcane pulses. Smaller, unstable stepping disks orbited it—thin, treacherous, and constantly shifting.

The crowd roared.

A projection flashed the six remaining names.

Ace

Taan

Liem

Sheg

Andrea

Neriel

Spotlights flared.

All six finalists stepped onto the center disk.

Each received 2,000 Blings just for reaching this round.

Above them, a translucent bag filled with shimmering gold coins spun lazily in mid-air.

"Final challenge!" boomed the announcer.

"The last one standing wins the round! Bonus: Capture the floating Blings bag for 1,000 extra and a rare item!"

Tension cracked in the air like a drawn bowstring.

Neriel stood poised. Dressed in a flowing brown kimono with subtle whirl patterns, his bare feet gripped the platform calmly. A long braid trailed from his bald head, and a wooden staff rested lightly in his right hand.

His eyes remained closed.

Ace was opposite him, adjusting his cuffs with dramatic flair. His pink suit fluttered in the rising magical wind, pollen drifting lazily from his shoulder blooms.

Taan bounced on her heels, the wind teasing her high ponytail. She rolled one shoulder and popped her knuckles, eyes scanning each opponent like prey.

Andrea leaned low, her body already mid-shift—legs morphing into powerful leopard limbs, eyes glinting with wild glee.

Liem silently unlatched his sketchpad and began drawing, dark lines forming serpents and wings as his ink pulsed to life.

Sheg sparked.

Literally.

Green lightning danced across her limbs, snapping with barely-contained energy as she grinned wide.

BZZZZT!

Match Start.

The moment the signal buzzed, Andrea shot forward like a lightning bolt.

Her legs, already mid-shift into lean leopard limbs, flexed with muscular precision. Pads formed under her feet, claws unsheathing for maximum grip. In an instant, she crossed two floating disks, barely touching the surfaces before springing again. Her momentum was wild, graceful—predator-perfect.

“I like your look!” she called mid-leap, grin wide, eyes gleaming with thrill.

She aimed straight for Ace—standing smugly near the edge of the central platform, one hand tucked into his coat pocket, the other lazily twirling a single vine tendril from his fingertips.

“Pity I can’t say the same,” Ace replied smoothly, snapping his fingers.

The vine in his hand shot forward.

But it wasn’t alone.

From the side of the platform, thorny green cords exploded outward in a sudden bloom, timing themselves just as Andrea landed on a narrow disk meant to spring her again. The vines coiled around her right ankle mid-launch.

Her eyes widened—but didn’t panic.

Shift.

With a blur of motion, her right arm surged outward, transforming into the feathery span of an eagle’s wing. The flesh hardened into structured light bone, muscle adapting instantly to glide mechanics. She twisted mid-air, converting her broken jump into a rough glide, aiming to bank around Ace and strike from his blind side.

Ace tilted his head slightly, impressed.

“Clever girl,” he murmured.

He reached into the air—and plucked a golden orb from a hovering vine pod above his head.

A bloom mine.

He tossed it with a flick of his wrist—like skipping a stone across water.

The orb floated lazily…then detonated.

PUFFF—!

A vibrant orange cloud of glowing spore-pollen burst into Andrea’s path. It hit her like a wall—dense, clinging, and blinding. Spores scattered across her face and wing. She coughed violently, spinning from the force of her own momentum.

One foot landed on a disk—but it was too slick, too angled, and spinning just fast enough.

Her balance broke.

“Tch—!”

Her eagle wing flicked wide in a desperate attempt to recover, feathers splaying with kinetic intent. Her limbs shimmered—part leopard, part eagle, fully wild survival instinct.

But the pollen stuck. Her wing faltered.

Her leg buckled.

And gravity claimed her.

Andrea dropped—vanishing below the arena’s edge with a sharp yelp and a flash of shifting limbs.

The crowd gasped.

ELIMINATED: ANDREA.

A moment of stunned silence, then scattered applause.

Back on the central platform, Ace brushed stray pollen off his lapel, adjusted his cufflinks, and flashed a dazzling grin to no one in particular.

“And I was worried I wouldn’t get to show off.”

He turned smoothly toward the next threat.

His battle wasn’t over.

But Andrea’s, for now, was.

The wind roared between the spinning platforms.

Liem crouched low, one knee balanced at the edge of a rotating disk barely wide enough to sit on. His left hand gripped the sketchpad firmly, and his right hovered just above the next page. Around him, spectral ink birds hovered—fluttering in protective spirals—while a black serpent of living ink slithered along the curve of the platform’s edge, anchoring it like a tether.

He was calm. Watching. Calculating rotations.

Then came the voice—sharp and electric, full of promise and violence.

“Sketchboy! Let’s go!”

Sheg.

Her green pixie-cut hair whipped around her face like a live wire. Sparks danced along her arms and legs as she stood five platforms away, crouched like a predator ready to spring. Her feet arced with glowing energy, and the air buzzed around her like the sky before a thunderstorm.

Liem’s eyes narrowed. His ink birds flared wide, creating a scattered formation in the air.

Sheg laughed.

“Don’t you dare stall me with butterflies.”

She moved.

Lightning burst from her calves—her jump was violent, unstable, incredible. She launched from her platform with a thunderous pulse that cracked the air behind her.

The first ink bird she struck burst into a splatter, dissolving into harmless black mist.

The second she slammed with a knee, scattering it sideways before her trajectory bent toward Liem’s platform.

He didn’t flinch.

Her boots landed—and the disk beneath her burst.

Not into rubble—but into ink.

A fake.

“Smart!” she snarled, twisting mid-air.

The real Liem stood three platforms away, legs crouched, scythe of living ink rising from his page as he hurled a long, sharp spear of ink toward her spinning silhouette.

Sheg spotted it and twisted. Her body blurred. Electric flashstep—the spear grazed her side, leaving a scorch of black along her hip, but it didn’t stop her.

She landed hard on the next platform. It spun under her weight, fast and unpredictable.

Her foot slipped.

Sheg's teeth bared. “Not today—!”

She launched another blast from her legs, arcing herself skyward again.

Liem was already adjusting—his pen slashing across the next page, forming two traps and a rising pillar for defense.

Too late.

Sheg was a cannonball of voltage and fury. She slammed into him mid-conjuration, shoulder-first, knocking him flat.

His defenses buckled.

Ink burst from beneath his boots in panic reflex, trying to slow the fall. He managed to twist, bounce off the edge of the platform, and grab the rim of a smaller disk with one hand—sketchpad still in the other.

Sheg spun mid-air, ready to follow through—

But her momentum was wild.

The disk she aimed for tilted too fast.

“Tch—!”

Liem saw it.

He flipped a half-finished sketch, pressed his palm to it, and dropped an ink mine just as her boots touched the disk.

BOOM.

The ink mine exploded in a shockwave of sticky black mist and concussive force, spinning both combatants outward.

They spiraled through air—black ink and green lightning clashing mid-fall.

Liem managed to snag another platform edge—slamming down on both knees, breathing hard.

Sheg had no more footing.

But she grinned wide as she fell.

Because while spinning through the air—tumbling between platforms—her hand snatched a floating object with casual precision.

The Blings Bag.

She grinned wider, held it up triumphantly even as the platform edge rushed past her.

“Mine!” she laughed, and then—

She was gone.

Vanished below the edge of the arena.

Eliminated: Sheg. (Bonus Loot Acquired)

Liem exhaled.

His ink serpent coiled back to him, pulling the page tighter. His birds returned overhead.

His hair stuck to his forehead, sweat from the close call catching light.

He’d survived.

Barely.

But Sheg?

She went down laughing—not broken, not outwitted—just out-timed.

And she took a prize with her anyway

Back to Top

Chapter 17.4

Echoes of the Champion

The air shimmered with magical tension, and the remaining platforms spun like blades suspended in wind.

Four competitors remained: Ace, Taan, Liem, and Neriel.

At the center of it all, Taan crouched low, one hand pressed to the rotating disk beneath her. She had remained perfectly still since the match began, muscles tense, like a spring coiled tighter with every passing second.

She was watching Neriel and Ace.

And now—she moved.

A pulse of kinetic force exploded from her calves. She flew across two rotating disks, boosting mid-air, launching herself toward both opponents.

Ace laughed as she approached. “Oh, I was hoping you’d choose me.”

He snapped his fingers.

A trio of twisting vines erupted from the edges of his platform—one high, one low, and one dead-center, tipped with a sunflower blossom spinning like a buzzsaw.

Taan didn’t hesitate.

She punched through the sunflower, bark splinters exploding around her knuckles. Her cloak tore at the edge, but she didn’t flinch.

She twisted into a slide, low and fast.

Ace ducked, letting the attack glide past—and flicked a burst of pollen from his fingertips.

It bloomed mid-strike, blinding her briefly in a flash of gold.

She staggered—

And that’s when Neriel appeared.

He blinked into existence behind her—his staff swapping places with him, the soft tap of wood on stone the only warning.

Taan twisted, caught his descending staff on her forearm, sweat trailing from her jaw as the blow shook her bones.

“I respect you,” she panted. “But I’m not going easy.”

Then she boosted again— three sharp surges that screamed through her nerves, burning every fiber in her legs.

She vanished across three disks in a blink.

Neriel calmly stepped to follow, platforms adjusting to his measured pace.

But it wasn’t over.

Liem, who had been repositioning during the chaos, struck now.

He perched two platforms away, sketchpad open, drawing at speed. His ink birds circled like vultures above the chaos, and a serpentine trail of liquid shadow moved between spinning disks like a silent predator.

He watched Taan and Neriel collide—and he moved.

A page flipped.

From the shadows, an ink snake leapt toward Neriel’s ankles, fangs open, aimed to pull the monk into an exposed rotation gap.

But Neriel didn’t look.

He simply tapped his staff downward.

The snake passed through empty space. He was already gone.

He reappeared on Liem’s platform.

Liem gasped, backpedaling.

He raised a scythe, ink-dripping, defensive posture locked in—but Neriel was already mid-spin.

The monk’s staff swept in a perfect arc.

Liem parried with a summoned shield—it held—but Neriel simply tapped the edge of the sketchpad.

Liem’s own platform swapped places with the staff behind him—disorienting him instantly.

He stumbled, footing unsure.

Neriel struck once—clean and low.

Liem’s platform spun at the worst moment.

He slipped.

He reached for another page, trying to conjure a foothold—

But gravity won.

He fell, sketchpad fluttering in the wind behind him.

Eliminated: Liem.

Taan saw Liem fall mid-stride. She gritted her teeth and boosted again—a fourth time, even though her legs were screaming.

Her target was clear: Neriel.

She launched herself into a flying kick, cloak streaking behind her like a banner.

Neriel turned calmly.

Ace—forgotten momentarily—smiled.

He raised both hands.

Spores.

From above, from below, from the disks around them—a spiral of blinding golden pollen erupted in a flower-patterned cyclone.

Taan’s boost faltered mid-air.

She shouted through gritted teeth, trying to correct—legs jerking as backlash surged through her spine.

She hit a rotating tile—one edge slick with frost-like condensation from Ace’s side-bloom. Her foot slipped.

Her eyes widened.

Neriel stepped in, swept low with his staff.

Her balance was gone.

She fell.

She didn’t scream—just growled, hard, all the way down.

Eliminated: Taan.

The dust cleared.

Ace stood tall, suit glowing with pollen light, petals still drifting from his shoulders.

Across the disks, Neriel stood silently, staff resting against his shoulder, breath steady.

The wind howled through the open arena.

The crowd rose in anticipation.

“Well then,” Ace called, smiling.

“Shall we finish this dance?”

Final Duel: Ace vs. Neriel

The platforms slowed.

The scattered debris of previous clashes hovered in the air—fragments of scorched vines, drifting petals, shattered disks still spinning gently. The center arena, now cracked and flickering with arcane light, was the only stable ground left.

Only two contestants remained.

On one side: Ace, hands loose at his sides, pink suit torn slightly at the shoulder. Pollen trailed from him like golden mist, and flower-seeds clung to the soles of his boots.

On the other: Neriel, the monk.

Still. Balanced. His kimono swayed softly in the artificial wind, and his wooden staff was tucked neatly into the crook of one arm. His eyes were still closed.

The arena fell into a hush.

Even the crowd—thousands of spectators roaring minutes earlier—had gone silent.

A breathless moment.

Then Neriel twirled his staff once. Fluid. Precise.

“Your rhythm is chaotic,” he said calmly, voice a low bell.

Ace smirked, rolling his shoulders. His fingers flexed, and small green tendrils twisted lazily from his cuffs.

“That’s the point,” he replied. “I don’t dance to beat. I bloom.”

BZZZZT. MATCH RESUMES.

The Duel Begins. They moved at the same time.

Ace slammed his foot into the platform—a ripple of life burst outward, twisting vines and thorn whips erupting in spirals. Bright yellow sunflowers unfurled as shields, their thick petals glinting like armor.

Neriel responded with silence.

A tap of his staff—he vanished.

He reappeared inches to Ace’s left, just as a thorn whip lashed forward. With a tilt of his wrist, his staff spun like a turbine, parrying the vine mid-strike, redirecting it into the air.

Ace pivoted.

He dragged a hand through the air, trailing glowing seeds—five of them dropped across floating platforms around the main disk.

Neriel moved again.

Tap.

He blinked to another disk. His sandals didn’t even make a sound as they touched down.

Ace flung a cloud of pollen toward him. It spread like glowing dust, burning golden in the air.

Neriel’s hand flicked his staff into the ground—a pulse of chi knocked the pollen away in a perfect circle.

Ace chuckled under his breath. “Nice.”

Ace raised both arms.

The entire center disk shifted—flowering roots exploded upward in a radial wave, trying to lift, bind, and overwhelm Neriel.

Neriel stepped in—spinning low, flipping over a root and sliding between two vines like water moving around stone. His staff whirled overhead, and he came up in one clean motion, launching it upward in a sudden throw.

Ace leaned back just as it whooshed past his cheek—but didn’t flinch.

Then Neriel vanished—again.

The staff landed behind Ace. He turned too late.

Neriel had swapped places with it.

A blow struck him from behind—clean, flat end of the staff right between the shoulder blades. He staggered, but vines rose in a snap from the ground beneath him, catching his fall.

Ace grinned through grit teeth. “Okay. You’re fun.”

The clash intensified.

Each strike from Ace was paired with an explosive growth: bark-covered arms, pollen bursts, petal-shields. Every step left new roots, new hazards. The platform groaned under the strain—magical pressure warping the edge.

Neriel, calm as ever, used minimal movement. He swapped platforms repeatedly, redirecting energy with his staff, avoiding every trap until the center disk cracked under their weight.

Chunks of stone fell into the abyss below.

Now only half the original disk remained.

They stared each other down from opposite edges.

Ace exhaled slowly, then raised a hand—five glowing seeds lifted from his palm and scattered across adjacent platforms.

Neriel jumped—swapping again mid-air, heading for higher ground.

Ace’s eyes followed the arc of the monk’s staff.

He flicked a seed toward it just as it passed through the air.

Tag.

It stuck.

Ace’s grin sharpened. He stepped back, already summoning the trigger spell.

“Let’s see if that serenity holds up when the garden blooms.”

Neriel reappeared—right where the staff had been.

BOOM.

The seed detonated, erupting into a flower trap—brilliant red ivy bursting outward in a spiraling cage. The vines gripped Neriel’s legs, waist, even his arms. The petals bloomed rapidly, their fragrance glowing with pollen haze.

Neriel tried to swap again—but the vines tangled his momentum.

He bent his knees, centered his balance—but the platform beneath him tilted.

One step wrong.

He slipped.

He fell.

Eyes still closed.

WINNER: ACE

The silence broke.

The crowd erupted.

Cheering, stomping, roaring.

Digital banners flared into life above the stadium, golden light raining down in glittering streams. A column of soft flower petals spiraled around Ace, conjured by the arena’s automated celebration magic.

His name flashed across the bracket.

[CHAMPION: ACE — Floor 30 Echo Pit Finals]

He stood tall in the center of the cracked battlefield, pollen drifting from his fingertips, hair tousled, coat torn just enough to look impressive.

He took a theatrical bow—hand over his heart, eyes closed in mock reverence.

The crowd ate it up.

From the VIP Tier, in the upper seating, Mika rose from her velvet booth, crimson sunglasses glinting in the light.

She clapped.

Once.

Twice.

Slow. Deliberate.

“Elegant work,” she said to no one in particular.

Then she turned, descending the stairs.

As she passed, she caught sight of four figures climbing up from the outer corridor: Gerbert, Kokay, Rann, and Venus—arriving just in time to see the winner declared.

She didn’t stop.

Just offered Gerbert a long, knowing wink and walked past without looking back.

On the other Side of the Arena. Jaja stood on a bench, hands cupped around her mouth.

“THAT’S MY GIRLS! SHEG! ANDREA! YOU CRUSHED IT!”

Beside her, Migz nodded, arms crossed. “Sheg’s form is improving. She needs better air balance for mid-air launches, but otherwise clean.”

Jaja grinned, punching his shoulder. “Alright then. Tomorrow morning. Training pit. No excuses.”

Migz simply smiled. “Already planning it.”

The platform descended.

Ace rode it down alone, one hand raised, pollen trailing behind like falling stars.

The Linkbreakers had made it known:

They weren’t just survivors anymore.

They were a threat.

They were contenders.

And in Ace’s case—

They were champions.

Back to Top

Chapter 18

Threshold

The sun was setting over Floor 30, bleeding golden light across the glass-tiled walkways and white marble spires of the Metropolis of Veiled Promises. Warm shadows stretched beneath hovering lanterns, and the hum of magic flowed through the city's veins like blood beneath skin.

At the Emberloom Inn, laughter flickered like candlelight.

The Linkbreakers had gathered—not for battle, not for strategy, not for planning. Just… to be. To rest. To feel the quiet wonder of another day survived.

There was no crowd to cheer them. No rank announcements. No blaring horns.

Just clinks of silverware. Gentle conversation. The scent of spices and simmering broth.
A meal made together, shared together.

Venus, ever gentle, stood in the kitchen with Taan, sleeves rolled to the elbows. Her wings were folded tightly behind her back, feathers rustling softly each time she moved. Taan—quietly focused, surprisingly good with a knife—chopped vegetables with precision that matched her combat style.
Venus hummed an old tune from her childhood. Taan joined in after a few bars, off-key but steady.

The others filtered in from their various errands and training slots. Kokay tossed her coat over a chair and immediately gravitated toward the kitchen to “taste-test.” Ace arrived last, arms full of herbal wine, truffle cheese, and something suspiciously smuggled from the Market District.

Gerbert, Rann, and Liem brought in the last of the crates—spices, scrolls, and some minor alchemical gear they'd been experimenting with. It was a long day, but a good one.

Dinner was simple, but made with care: herb-roasted meat, blistered tomatoes, pan-bread, wildroot stew. The kind of food that filled not just stomachs, but hearts. Everyone ate. Everyone smiled. Even Rann.

Afterwards, while most lounged in the common room with tea or wine, Venus and Rann took charge of the cleanup. They didn’t speak much—just exchanged glances, passed dishes, shared silences made comfortable by routine.

By the window, Gerbert sat with a notebook balanced on one knee. He wasn’t writing. Just watching.

Beyond the glimmering skyline, past the garden-laced rooftops and white stone towers…
The Dungeon Block loomed.

A monolith of jagged obsidian and cold mist, silent and steady.

Rann padded over, drying her hands on a towel. “What’re you thinking?” she asked softly.

Gerbert tapped his pen twice against the cover. “I’m thinking we’re not ready.”

Rann raised an eyebrow.

He continued, “Not just in terms of power. We need better communication. Formation. Strategy. We’re stronger than we used to be, but the Dungeon Block... that’s not just the next level. It’s the real fight.”

He nodded toward it. “That place doesn’t just test builds. It breaks teams.”

Rann followed his gaze. “Then we get unbreakable.”

The next morning, Gerbert, Venus, and Liem accepted a quest from the Banner Nexus—clearing a goblin horde pushing too close to the Dungeon Block’s outer rim.

The mission was fast and brutal.

Goblins poured from mossy burrows, hissing and shrieking, crude daggers raised. Gerbert conjured walls and traps on the fly, splitting their numbers, controlling terrain. Venus circled above, launching pinpoint feather strikes. Liem stayed back, hunched over his sketchpad, bringing forth black-ink monsters that tore through the enemy with abstract brutality.

By the end, the clearing was a ruin of broken spears, clawed earth, and silence. Blood and ash clung to their boots.

On the walk back, just before rejoining the main trail, Gerbert paused.

Something had caught his eye—a smooth, rune-marked stone, embedded into the edge of the trail like a plaque. Etched into it was a list of player names. Those who had cleared the Dungeon Block.

He leaned closer.

Amore — Party: Leonard, Francis

He stared for a long moment.

She had made it.

Amore.
He remembered her at the Auction of Price—lethal. Brilliant. Unnerving. The one who claimed the Sword of Flame, even when it meant death for others.

He had always wondered if she survived the cost of that victory.

Apparently, she had.

He straightened slowly, eyes thoughtful.

It could be done.

A week passed.

The Linkbreakers rotated between quests, solo drills, team formations, and the Iron Courses. Kokay trained evasion under Ace’s pollen clouds. Rann phased through shifting terrain under Gerbert’s coordination. Venus improved her launch velocity. Taan honed endurance. Liem summoned faster, more stable creations.

They didn’t speak of the Dungeon Block every day. But it was always there. A pressure behind every improvement.

Then one evening, Gerbert called a meeting.

The common room at Emberloom was quiet. Pillows scattered, mugs half-filled. Everyone looked a little tired—but a good kind of tired. The kind that came from effort that mattered.

Gerbert stood in front of the low hearth, arms crossed.

“I want to take a temperature check,” he said. “Not about today. About what’s next.”

They knew what he meant.

The Dungeon Block.

A silence fell across them.

Ace leaned back and raised a hand lazily. “Ready as a flytrap, darling.”

Rann gave a short nod. “Let’s go.”

Taan cracked her knuckles. “Been pumped for weeks. I’m just waiting for the word.”

Kokay sat forward. Her eyes were bright. “I think I’m ready. I’m not scared like before. I trust us.”

More silence.

Then, softly—
Venus and Liem exchanged a look.

Liem rubbed the back of his neck. “We might… be staying. A bit longer.”

The group blinked.

Gerbert raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

Venus spoke, voice gentle. “We’re stronger now. But we want to go in with no doubt. We want to be the kind of strong that doesn’t question itself halfway through the dark.”

Liem nodded. “We want to enter that place on our own terms. We’ll meet you on the other side.”

A pause.

Then: “That’s fair,” Gerbert said. “I respect that.”

Kokay nodded. “Me too.”

Rann leaned back, expression unreadable—but she nodded as well.

Ace raised his glass. “To being picky about our own doom. Cheers.”

Venus smiled. “Thank you.”

Gerbert cleared his throat. “One more thing.”

He turned toward the wall, where a rough sketch of a building layout had been pinned with a knife.

“A base,” he said. “Permanent. Defensible. Comfortable. Ours.”

Rann perked up. “Northwest district. Vacant player real estate. Good foundations. I’ve been scouting.”

Ace’s hand shot up. “Do I get my own closet?”

“Yes,” Rann said without missing a beat.

That settled it.

One by one, the team leaned in to study the map. Discussing sleeping arrangements. Storage. Workshop space. Reinforcement options.

The Dungeon Block could wait.

They had a home to build.

Together.

Back to Top

Chapter 18.1

The Egg and the End

The forest pulsed beneath her feet.

Each step sank softly into the moss-covered floor, yet the thudding beat of danger rose all around her. Ysang ran—barefoot, swift, breath even—her cloak fluttering behind her like a leaf caught in a storm current.

In her arms she cradled a living egg, warm and pulsing. Its speckled green shell was soft, delicate, beating in rhythm with the forest’s own life. A rare creature’s offspring. A prize.

A theft.

Behind her, the woods shook.

Snapping branches. Wet, heavy breath. The monster she had stolen from—older than the roadways, heavier than any beast she had ever felt—was gaining.

She reached out mid-run, brushing her fingers against the rough bark of a wide-bellied tree.

“Where?” she whispered.

The bark buzzed under her skin. She didn’t need a voice—just the feeling. The answer curled up through her palm like a breeze blown through ribs:

Left. Then straight. Past the fern wall. Jump.

She pivoted. Eyes still closed.

The roar behind her rippled through the canopy, birds fleeing in flurries. She dived, just before the impact wave reached her—ducking through dense brush, rolling over a hidden root, and launching herself forward.

Ahead, a log collapsed sideways. Beneath it, a hollow of dark shelter.

She dove inside.

The monster passed overhead—massive, four-limbed, its breath a cauldron of decay and rage. Its tail lashed a nearby tree in fury.

Then silence.

Until—

“Ysang!”

“There you are—are you hurt?!”

Riza’s voice. Heated, breathless, panic edged.

Ysang pushed herself up, calm and alert, brushing dirt from her knees. Across the clearing, Riza stood with flames leaking from her lips, fists glowing with heat. Her orange scarf was singed at the ends.

Beside her, Dan reappeared from thin air in a flicker. His invisibility shimmered like water clinging to skin. He was pale, sweating, and clutching a dagger in each hand.

“I was hiding,” Ysang replied simply.

Dan stepped forward, reaching out.

“Let me carry the egg,” he said. “You’re too exposed. I’ll get it out while you run cover.”

Ysang hesitated but handed the egg over.

Dan took it quickly, tucked it into the folds of his cloak.

They moved.

Leaves cracked beneath their boots. The tension in the group thinned. For a moment, it almost felt like a team.

Riza glanced sideways, lips curled. “You really talk to trees?”

“Yes,” Ysang replied, still scanning the brush. “The forest listens.”

Riza snorted. “Alright, druid.”

The moment broke—violently.

The trees screamed.

It wasn’t sound. It was instinct, carried through the leaves like a tremor. Every branch recoiled. Every root curled.

The monster was back.

Riza didn’t hesitate.

She twisted, both hands erupting in fire. She hurled two spiraling bolts into the trees, lighting them like torches.

But nothing screamed. Nothing burned.

It had already moved.

Smarter. Quieter. Faster.

“Scatter!” Dan barked.

Earlier that morning.

“I prefer to work alone,” Ysang had said, her fingers pressed to a wooden bench just outside the Safe Zone. Her tone wasn’t rude—just factual.

Dan had smiled, cocky as always. “This one’s simple. Nest job. Monster egg retrieval. You sneak. Riza baits. I vanish and extract.”

“We split the reward. Clean.” Riza shrugged. “Easy coin. We could use a nature whisperer like you.”

Ysang said nothing for a while.

Then, softly: “If the earth allows it.”

Back in the present. They were deeper now.

The trees grew stranger—older, their bark twisted in permanent pain. Moss turned gray. The ferns stopped whispering.

Ysang paused. She crouched low beside a half-buried stone wrapped in lichen. She touched it.

“Where can I go?”

The answer throbbed upward.

Riverbend root hollow. Beneath the ferns. Down.

She stood to go—

And Dan struck.

His heel drove into her ribs with full force.

She gasped—a sharp, wordless noise—as her body lifted off the ground and tumbled down a slope, striking rock and root.

“Sorry!” Dan shouted, voice fading. “We won’t forget you!”

She hit hard—but rolled.

Pain burned her side, but her training caught her. She braced with her palms. Felt earth. Listened.

“Where can I hide?”

Crack in the shale. Quiet. Curl small. Wait.

She slipped between the rocks, pulled ferns over her, and curled into shadow.

The monster thundered past, claws like boulders slamming dirt, jaws snapping in confusion. It shrieked—but didn’t find her.

Then—a scream.

Riza.

Ysang’s breath stilled.

She crawled out. Silent. Low.

She wove through tangled roots and hanging vines, one hand brushing bark, the other steady at her side. The forest responded to her touch—but not in the way others might expect.

Ysang couldn’t ask “Where is Riza?”. Her communion with the earth didn’t allow for specifics like names, player locations or player identities. The earth had no concept of people—only presence, sensation, in pressure and in pain.

But she had long since learned how to outsmart her own limits.

So instead, she asked the questions the forest could answer.

Where is danger?
Where is pain?
Where is heat?

The forest knew those. It remembered the scorch of flame, the weight of violence, the tremble of something wounded. That was enough.

he climbed a twisted tree, its bark gnarled and black-veined, the branches curling inward like skeletal fingers. At the top, she nestled into a cradle of limbs, hidden in the lattice of leaves.

From above, she saw:

Riza burned.

She stood alone in the clearing, surrounded by trees scorched black and air that shimmered with heat. Her fists blazed like twin comets, each punch a burst of radiant fire. She moved with fury—spinning, ducking, launching fireballs in wide arcs.

Patches of forest ignited in her wake. Flame clung to ferns and roots before flickering out, smothered by damp earth. Her scarf was gone, her jacket shredded at the sleeves. Sweat streamed down her face, jaw clenched, breathing hard and fast through gritted teeth.

She was strong.

She was brave.

But Ysang, from her observation of the fight, knows the truth. She’s going to die.

The fire danced, but her motions were slower now. Her flames weaker. Her feet heavy. Riza had heart—but heart didn’t outlast monsters like this.

And the monster—it learned.

It moved with terrifying intelligence, weaving between trees and smoke. Its bulk was massive, but it barely made a sound now. It used the fire’s light against her—darting where shadows met, slinking behind smoke screens, always just out of reach.

It had too many limbs. Too many joints. Its movements were wrong—serpentine, spider-like, with a predator’s focus.

It didn’t want to be hit. It wanted to tire her out.

And Riza, Ysang realized, was already there. Tired. Her flame punches were no longer bursts, but flickers. Her body sagged between strikes. Her foot caught on a root she didn’t see.

She stumbled.

A fireball went wide, slamming harmlessly into a log.

Ysang’s hand tightened on the branch.

She likes Riza. She is someone who looked out for others. Who still believed in the idea of teams. A good woman.

Ysang’s heart ached. But would not stop her end.

Because she knew—if she intervened, she would die, too.

She survived this long by not throwing herself against the end just because someone else was already there.

Below, the monster crept behind a burning log. Smoke masked its approach. Riza turned, too late. Her flames flared—but the creature was already mid-lunge.

Ysang felt the shift in roots.

Dan.

He was near—completely invisible—but his weight still pressed the soil, made bark shift subtly.

He was behind the monster.

He could strike. Distract. Save Riza.

But he didn’t.

He watched.

Then the monster lunged.

There was no warning. No dramatic charge.

Just speed.

Its claw ripped through flame, through Riza’s shoulder. She spun—too late.

A second claw smashed into her ribcage. Her fire blinked out like a candle.

Bone cracked.

She hit the ground hard. Still.

Dan appeared with a cry, “NO!”

He charged—wild, desperate, daggers flashing.

He scored a hit across its flank.

Another to its side.

But the beast barely staggered. It turned, jaws wide, and roared into Dan’s face.

He faltered. Screamed.

The egg rolled free from his cloak.

Dan turned—eyes locking with Ysang, perched above.

“Ysang! Please! Help!”

His voice was raw, breaking.

She didn’t move.

He turned to run.

Too late.

Ysang moved first.

She dropped from the tree, rolled once, and sprinted straight at him. Her bare feet kissed earth—roots shifted for her passage.

She slammed her foot into his chest.

He flew back into the clearing—into the monster’s reach.

It caught him mid-air.

He vanished behind black claws and snapping teeth.

A wet crunch followed. An arm torn free.

His scream was short. Choked.

“You… you bitch!” he howled as he died. “Coward! TRAITOR!”

Ysang stood at the edge of the clearing, cloak gently lifting in the heat.

“I won’t forget you too,” she whispered.

She smiled to Dan and bowed her head.

Then stepped forward. The egg was still warm. She lifted it gently.

Pressed her hand to the ground.

Listened.

Later – The Banner Nexus.

The Guild Hall was bustling—noise, voices, contracts. But Ysang moved through it like fog.

She stepped to the front desk, dirt-smudged and barefoot, her cloak still carrying soot and sap.

The clerk didn’t look up. “Team Dan and Riza?”

Ysang placed the egg down softly.

“No,” she said.

She met the clerk’s eyes.

“Just Ysang.”

She collected the rewards, turned, barefoot and calm. And walked into the wind.

Back to Top

Chapter 18.2

Momentum

The Iron Courses on Floor 30 pulsed with life and pressure. Each wing of the

training complex held something different—pain, precision, power. No monsters. No points. Just preparation.

And in the west chamber, Gerbert was locked into rhythm.

He adjusted the grip on his conjured blaster—a custom-engineered hybrid of tech and mana—and squeezed the trigger. One round hit center mass on a moving drone. The next skimmed its shoulder, calculated to push it off balance.

“Clean,” he muttered, shifting his stance.

Two training dummies rolled forward. One launched a pulse of fire. The other surged in with a blunt force ram.

Gerbert activated his improved shield—a dense hex-grid barrier that shimmered sky-blue.

The ram slammed into it.

The shield held.

Gerbert didn’t even flinch.

“Better.”

He kicked off with his enhanced blaster soles, launching into the air with boosted force, flipping as he fired two mid-air shots. Both drones shut down before he landed.

His screen blinked green:

> STAMINA: 82%

PRECISION: 89%

SHIELD STABILITY: 92%

He took a breath, resetting the chamber for another round. “Not perfect. But close.”

Across the complex in a separate room, Rann stepped through a wall.

No fatigue. No glitch.

She emerged behind a steel-clad simulation beast—four arms, plated, jaws like metal cleavers.

She phased again—this time, into its chest.

Her hand flickered with distortion. Her eyes narrowed.

She gripped its core from inside.

The construct jolted once, then collapsed.

She phased out clean, no stumble, no heavy breathing. Her boots touched stone. Her fingers flexed once.

Next test: a reinforced wall—a foot thick, layered with energy-weave and alloy.

She placed her hand on the surface. Closed her eyes.

Pushed.

Her body shimmered and passed through, the metal warping around her like ripples in water.

There was resistance, but only a flicker of strain.

She emerged on the other side, calm.

No one applauded. She preferred it that way.

In the third chamber, Kokay crouched.

Then—

> Future Sight: 25 seconds activated.

The drones surged forward, launching light shots and wind blades.

She moved before they did.

She weaved between strikes, side-stepping two pulses and back-flipping over a sweeping arc. She landed low and surged forward with a knee strike—aimed precisely at a joint.

Her strikes weren’t earth-shattering, but deliberate. Controlled.

She knew her strength. Not enough to crush a monster. But enough to knock down someone her own size. Enough to bruise. To interrupt.

She slammed a palm into the side of a drone’s head. Its systems blinked out.

Another closed in.

Kokay ducked, spun, and hit a pressure node at the base of its spine.

“Vital points,” she muttered, brushing hair from her face. “Always.”

The clearing reeked of acidic bile and burning moss. Charred trees curved like broken fingers, and the wind carried a thin, sickly-sweet scent that clung to skin.

Taan drove her elbow into the jaw of a lunging bat-creature—its fangs slick with venom. With a single, fluid motion, she twisted mid-air and slammed it into the trunk behind her. The crack of impact echoed as its wings spasmed and fell limp.

“I swear,” she growled, shaking acid from her cloak, “if I see another acid-breathing bat, I’m throwing it into the sun.”

“You’d have to climb first,” Liem muttered from behind her, flicking ink across his conjured page. A whip-like tendril of darkness lashed out from his sketchpad, snagging a bat by the leg mid-dive. With a snap, it yanked the monster into a waiting spike trap Venus had dropped earlier.

Venus floated above the treeline, wings wide but still. Her eyes shimmered, scanning for movement. “They’re predictable,” she said quietly. “They spiral once, then feint left. That helps.”

“Helpful or not, they don’t compliment my color palette,” Ace drawled, stepping forward as three more bats descended. He swept an arm theatrically, releasing a burst of yellow-orange pollen that shimmered in the light. The spores ignited mid-air with a pop, bursting around the creatures. They fell in twitching heaps, wings twitching, throats foaming.

“Darlings,” Ace continued, brushing stray spores off his lapel, “let’s not complain. We’re building our legacy one coin at a time.”

The fight ended with little fanfare. A few ragged breaths. A broken wing crunching underfoot. Then silence.

Guild Hall – Later That Afternoon

The Banner Nexus hummed with motion. Players lined up in mismatched armor, carrying sacks of coins, bloody scarves, broken weapons. Overhead, digital boards flickered with rotating quests—some marked In Progress, others coldly stamped Failed.

Taan and Liem leaned against the wall near the registration desk. Ace and Venus were up front finalizing their report, smiling politely at Clerk Irma, who looked like she hadn’t blinked in a week.

Then the hall doors opened with a gentle hiss.

Two players stepped inside.

Michelle entered first—tall, lean, her every movement laced with lethal restraint. Her eyes were unreadable steel, and her hair fell in a curtain behind one shoulder. Her clothes were minimal, clean, and tactical.

Behind her came Neriel, his steps silent, his robe moving like water around his legs. His braid trailed over his chest like a rope of ink. He held a wooden staff with one hand and walked as if carried by the earth itself.

Together, they didn’t command attention.

They displaced it.

The crowd parted.

No one spoke.

The two of them approached the desk, handed in their tags, received their cut of Blings, and said nothing.

Michelle’s eyes flicked once toward Taan. A curt nod.

Taan returned it. “Good run?”

Neriel answered with a serene smile. “Efficient.”

“Smooth,” Taan replied.

Michelle inclined her head. “Minimal resistance. Two marked threats neutralized.”

Ace returned from the desk just in time to witness the exchange. He raised an eyebrow. “Now that’s a duo. She looks like she could kill someone by staring. He looks like he’d apologize after doing it.”

Venus floated beside him, smiling faintly.

“They’re strong,” Liem added, sketchpad tucked under one arm. “I watched them in the Echo Pit last week. Never out of sync.”

Taan nodded once. “Balance.”

Michelle and Neriel departed without another word.

Taan watched them until they vanished through the back gate. Then she blinked as Liem turned to her.

“…How’d you end up in Deadlink?” he asked.

Taan tilted her head. Her body relaxed, but her eyes stayed sharp. “Weird question.”

“You don’t have to answer.”

“No. It’s okay.” She folded her arms, her cloak brushing the floor behind her.

“I was a mixed martial arts instructor,” she said. “Climbed a lot. Played volleyball. I was… really good, actually.”

She paused. The noise of the Guild Hall faded behind her for a moment, like someone turned the dial down.

“My teammates were messing with the app. You know the rumors. I didn’t believe any of it. But when it installed on my phone…” Her voice lowered. “I knew something wasn’t right.”

Liem didn’t speak.

He didn’t need to.

The tension in her jaw said the rest. The flicker in her gaze. The way her knuckles curled slightly, even now.

They hadn’t made it. Or if they had, they weren’t with her anymore.

“I’m sorry,” Liem said gently.

Taan exhaled. “Don't be.”

She looked at him.

“Some people wait for meaning to find them. Others punch their way forward. This shit hole doesn’t care who you were. It only cares what you become.”

Liem looked down at his hands—ink-smudged, trembling slightly. Then he nodded.

Ace rejoined them, slinging an arm casually around Taan’s shoulder. “What’d I miss?”

“Character development,” Liem muttered.

“Ugh. How tragic. Let’s have tea about it later,” Ace said brightly.

Venus, still floating, offered a hand to Taan.

“Come on. There’s still time to train.”

Taan looked up at her, at the sunlight streaming through the stained glass above the quest board. The shadows had changed. So had they.

She took the hand.

“Let’s go.”

That evening.

Dinner was warm, laughter light. The long table near the hearth glowed with scattered lanterns, flickering soft gold over worn wood. Spoons clinked gently against bowls. Steam curled upward from the remains of stew—some rich with herbs, others thick with spice, depending on who ordered.

The team sat scattered but close, socks off, boots piled at the doorway. Their bodies ached. Shoulders slouched. But their eyes were alive—brighter than they’d been even a week ago.

Rann sat sideways in her chair, chin propped on one hand as she quietly skewered what was left of her rice with the fork’s edge. Taan leaned back against the wall with one leg stretched out beneath the table, a faint bruise blossoming on her bicep from earlier combat. Kokay twirled a spoon over her fingers in idle delight, eyes still shining from the day’s adventure.

Ace, of course, lounged with dramatic ease—shirt sleeves rolled, collar open, a half-empty mug of citrus wine in one hand as he gestured lazily with the other. Liem sat beside him, scribbling in his sketchpad with quick, quiet lines while Venus sat cross-legged on the bench beside Gerbert, eyes closed, humming faintly to the rhythm of the crackling fireplace.

It had been a long day.

They’d fought off toxin-spitting centipedes in a collapsed orchard. Navigated a flooded cave system where even Rann’s phasing nearly failed. Negotiated with a stubborn mushroom-merchant NPC who refused to sell until Kokay offered to help replant his spore garden by hand.

They'd returned late.

Tired, sore—but triumphant.

Now, silence fell in the natural lull between meals and rest. The kind of quiet that came only when people trusted they didn’t need to fill it.

Then:

“We’re nearly there.”

Gerbert’s voice was calm, but it carried.

Everyone looked up.

He tapped his conjured digital slate—his fingers still stained faintly from ink and machine grease. The small projection hovering above it showed a currency count:

Blings Total: 96,470 / 100,000.

Rann sat up straighter. “There?”

Gerbert nodded once. “The base. We’ve almost got enough Blings for a starter structure in the housing zone.”

For a beat, the room held its breath.

Then Kokay gasped. Her spoon clattered to the table. “Wait—like our base?”

Ace didn’t hesitate. He raised his cup as if in toast. “Finally. A place worth decorating.”

Venus blinked slowly, her voice like a soft note in the air. “We could make something real.”

Liem glanced up from his sketchbook. “We’d own it. Not just rest between missions.”

Taan grunted thoughtfully, but the edge that usually hung off her shoulders had softened. “We deserve it,” she murmured. “We’ve fought through hell for it.”

Kokay pressed her hands together beneath her chin, eyes wide with ideas already spinning behind them. “We should name it!”

Gerbert raised an eyebrow, but the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth betrayed him. “One step at a time.”

They laughed—loud, overlapping, unrestrained.

Even Rann cracked a grin, her gaze darting quickly across the table as if making sure no one noticed. (They did. No one said anything.)

Liem looked around and quietly drew something on his page—a silhouette of a small building. A garden on the roof. Smoke from a chimney. Light in every window.

Venus noticed. She said nothing, but leaned against his shoulder to see.

Kokay leaned across the table. “Can I put up bunny stickers?”

“No,” Taan said flatly.

“Yes,” Ace and Kokay said at the same time.

“Depends where,” Rann murmured, still smiling faintly.

Gerbert lowered the slate. “We only need one more strong mission, or three moderate ones. Tomorrow, we’ll split again. Same teams. Just a bit more work.”

Taan nodded. “Then it’s ours.”

Ace raised his mug again. “To walls and roofs and windows that won’t vanish after a floor reset.”

Everyone echoed him in their own way—cups, cans, water flasks.

They toasted nothing.

They toasted everything.

The idea of a home.

Not just shelter. Not just a safe zone.

Something theirs.

Later That Night

Gerbert lay back in the dim dorm light, hands behind his head, a soft hum in his ear from his slate.

Training logs. Combat analysis. Team health metrics. Intel records.

Kokay’s dodging curves.

Rann’s phasing limits.

His own jump height and blast accuracy.

Taan’s impact range.

Liem’s ink stability.

Ace’s synergy data.

Venus’s wind control thresholds.

They were getting stronger.

Smarter. More than survivors now. A team.

He closed his eyes.

And for once, the silence felt like momentum.

Back to Top

Chapter 19 Rage Form

The Emberloom Inn’s west wing smelled of roasted coffee, bacon grease, and a touch of static. Morning sunlight bled through cracked blinds in quiet streaks, catching on weapon racks and glinting steel.

Jaja sat by the low table, one hand around a chipped ceramic mug, the other holding a half-burned cigar. Her eyes flicked across the News feed projected from her interface—tracking floor death rates, dungeon block hazards, and recent monster evolution logs.

Across the room, Migz stood at the stove, humming a soft tune as he flipped bacon and eggs on a wide iron pan. Cold mist coiled from the walls behind him—a passive defense charm active around his prep space.

The front door creaked open with a snap of ozone. Andrea and Sheg stepped in from the Iron Courses—sweaty, dirt-smudged, and grinning.

“Yo! What’s fer breakfast, gramps?” Sheg called, electric pins on her uniform still crackling faintly as she flopped into the corner booth.

Migz chuckled. “Bacon and eggs. Eat fast.”

Andrea gave a quiet wave, her ever-cheerful smile still in place. “Blessed.” She moved with serene ease, her denim jumper shorts and white shirt speckled with dust. She vanished toward the bath without another word.

Sheg, however, buzzed with leftover voltage, her green pixie-cut hair damp with sweat. Her shark-shaped earrings glinted as she spun a fork between her fingers.

“That was weak,” she muttered. “We should’ve gone arena again.”

Jaja didn’t look up. “You had your fun yesterday.”

“This is today.”

“You shorted out two defense walls.”

Migz placed a plate in front of her. “Eat. You’ll need the charge.”

Sheg smirked, flipping open a side pouch and pulling out a sleek silver ring. “I’m good. I’ve got a full stack of Blings and this baby now.”

[Ring of Pulse] – Minor Stamina Boost

Jaja’s eyes lifted. Her voice came low. Commanding.

“Enough.”

Sheg blinked.

“We’re not wasting time on arena fights and personal flexing,” Jaja said. “We need Blings. Real ones. Supply lines, gear, intel.”

She leaned forward, her cigar trailing smoke as it pointed like a blade. “You want to fight? Then fight to leave this place. Not to entertain a crowd of players who’re stuck here same as us.”

Sheg’s grin faded. She gave a reluctant nod.

Migz added calmly, “Monsters are better test targets anyway. Hazards. Traps. Monster formations.”

Jaja checked the time. “Guild hall. Ten minutes.”

At the Banner Nexus, the glowing mission board flickered. Dozens of requests scrolled by—creature extermination, lost item retrieval, escort work.

Jaja selected one without speaking:

Mission: Escort Noble NPC Valtorin of Crestwatch to his estate.

Reward: 800 Blings.

Everyone nodded in silent agreement.

The NPC in question was a towering man with far too much lace on his sleeves, a feathered hat perched at an arrogant tilt, and a voice designed to annoy.

“You lot are the escort? I expected soldiers. Uniforms. A proper unit.”

Jaja didn’t reply.

Sheg rolled her eyes. “And I expected you to ride a horse like a human, not like a sack of potatoes.”

“Watch your tone, girl.”

“Watch your wig. It’s tilting.”

“Sheg,” Migz warned gently. “It’s a script. He’s just an NPC.”

Andrea grinned faintly. “He’s not worse than the nun we ran with last week.”

The noble climbed into his carriage, still grumbling.

The sun filtered lazily through the dense forest canopy, dappling the dirt path with scattered flecks of gold. The air was thick with pine, moss, and the faint scent of fried eggs lingering from their earlier meal. The horse-drawn carriage carrying Valtorin of Crestwatch rolled uneventfully forward—until the shrieks began.

From the treeline came chaos.

Dozens of goblins erupted from the brush—green skin glinting with sweat, mouths open in wild war cries. Crude blades and chipped spears caught the sunlight as they surged down the slope, intent on slaughter.

“Rage Form One—engage. Formation!” Jaja’s voice snapped like a command bell.

In an instant, the team moved.

Migz was first. His boot slammed into the earth with a thud, and a thick frost dome spiraled upward from the forest floor, encasing the NPC noble and the startled horse in glimmering mist. The temperature dropped instantly, breath turning to vapor.

“Protected!” Migz confirmed, the air around him swirling in icy eddies.

Jaja’s tattoos flared golden—their glow pulsing with heat and fury. The ink on her skin shifted and shimmered: the lance on her forearm lit first, bursting into a full-sized weapon in her grip with a sharp bzzt-ksssh! of burning light.

“Sheg—left!”

“Already on it!” the teen snapped.

Sheg launched forward from her crouch, one hand glowing blue-white. She raised her index finger and let loose a pinpoint lightning bolt, nailing a goblin mid-jump. The creature convulsed in midair and slammed into a tree with a sizzling thud.

Two more goblins roared behind her, swinging in a V-arc.

Sheg ducked, slid between their legs with practiced ease, and let her hands fly. A disruption arc surged from her fingertips—a twisting chain of lightning that leapt from one goblin to the next, locking their limbs in a seizure of frozen motion.

“I could do this all day!” she whooped, spinning to her feet.

But a goblin broke through the outer edge of their formation—just fast enough to score a scratch down Andrea’s leg.

It wasn’t deep. A minor graze.

But it was enough.

Andrea’s expression flickered. The warmth in her eyes vanished. Her smile—gentle, always—evaporated into something blank and terrible.

Then the horns grew.

Curved and sleek like a stag’s, glowing with pale golden energy, they sprouted from her head in a snap of bone and force. Andrea leapt forward and drove them into the nearest goblin’s chest. The impact lifted the creature off its feet and launched it backward into a rock. It didn’t move again.

Another goblin lunged behind her with a wicked dagger.

Andrea twisted, fur and muscle overtaking her limbs. Her skin rippled into feline stripes as she invoked her tigress form. Her body dropped low and coiled tight, then sprang in a blur of motion. Claws slashed in a radiant X, tearing armor and flesh apart like tissue.

A third goblin came at her side—blade raised, wild-eyed.

She didn’t flinch.

Her arms rotated inward, briefly shimmering with toughened plating. With a flash, she invoked armadillo shell, blocking the goblin’s strike in a ring of clang and sparks. The enemy blade bounced off uselessly.

Andrea exhaled. Calm. Focused.

But blood trickled from her nose. Just a drop.

She wiped it with the back of her hand and whispered,

“I’m fine. Still running clean.”

The more she used one form, the easier it became. She had tamed the tigress—but the price of shifting too fast, too many times, was not gone.

Jaja surged forward, her lance spinning in blazing arcs. The tattoos on her shoulders unraveled—hawks leaping from her flesh, golden-red wings flaring wide. The birds shot forward, burning through goblins mid-charge with fwsh-fwsh-fwsh! precision.

Three went down. But a fourth aimed low—sprinting behind a fallen log.

Jaja’s back pulsed.

A serpent tattoo coiled up her spine—its golden body coming to life, fangs wide. With a harsh clang!, metal chains erupted from her back, the ends sculpted like open-mouthed snakes. They whipped forward and wrapped around the charging goblin, lifting it in midair and slamming it spine-first into a tree with enough force to crack bark and bone.

“Clean sweep.” Jaja’s voice was razor-sharp. “Migz—clear the stragglers!”

Migz stepped forward into the chaos—his boots crunching over frozen leaves. His beard was rimmed with frost. His eyes? Calm. Unbothered.

He raised both arms slowly.

A wave of ice crystals spiraled outward from his palms—razor-thin icicles rocketing like shrapnel. Five goblins dropped in a single volley, pinned to trunks and rocks, their weapons frozen mid-swing.

Another tried to flee.

Migz didn’t even speak. He simply flicked two fingers.

Ice crept from the ground, encasing the goblin’s feet in a flash. It screamed, tripped, and shattered its own ankle trying to run.

He exhaled slowly—frost curling from his mouth in a long silver plume.

Silence followed.

The last goblin twitched—and stopped.

From within the dome, the noble NPC peeked out, wide-eyed.

“Is it—done?”

Jaja lowered her lance.

“For now.”

Mission Complete.

+800 Blings Received

Back at the Banner Nexus, the group filed paperwork.

Jaja signed without a word. Migz tallied the earnings.

Andrea stretched with a yawn. “I kinda want soup.”

Sheg leaned back, arms folded. “I want that lightning dummy again. Full volts this time.”

Back at the Iron Courses, the drills began anew.

Andrea trained in trigger suppression, learning to breathe through her rage state without losing precision. Her transformations were now fluid, not frantic.

Sheg focused on lightning sniper shots, nailing fast-moving targets with pinpoint arcs from her fingertips.

Migz expanded his freeze radius and worked on frost terrain control, using ice not just for attack but for battlefield shaping.

Jaja cycled her tattoos in seamless patterns—lance, birds, chains, new forms—each summoned in precise rhythm. No lag. No delay.

They didn’t talk much.

They didn’t need to.

Team Rage didn’t need speeches.

They had protocol.

Back to Top

Chapter 19.1

Quiet Sparks

The clang of metal, hum of spells, and rhythmic beat of footsteps echoed through the Iron Courses on Floor 30—a labyrinthine training complex built for growth, pain, and precision.

In the combat wing, Duane stood still beneath a hovering drone. Sweat rolled down his brow. He closed his eyes.

With a flick of energy, a clone tore free from his frame—rushing forward like a mirror of muscle and instinct. It charged the training dummy in a clean tackle, knocking it back.

Duane opened his eyes and nodded. "That’s one."

The clone shimmered and vanished.

Another dummy approached, this one faster, swinging hard.

Duane snapped his fingers. A second clone burst forward—this time, not mimicking a move—but sent with intent.

He focused.

The clone intercepted the swing mid-strike. Duane flinched, pain flaring behind his eyes.

The hit wasn’t real—but it might as well have been.

Sharing senses with his clones required concentration. Too much, too long, and he’d be fighting with borrowed pain.

Still—he grinned.

“This’ll work.”

In the adjacent sound chamber, Gal stood alone beneath reinforced speakers and padded walls.

A drone hovered ahead, blinking green.

Gal drew in a deep breath, planted her feet—and screamed.

The sound lanced forward, not in a wide arc like before, but as a concentrated beam, a focused burst of sonic energy that struck the drone like a cannon shot.

The drone sparked, buckled—stayed intact.

Gal coughed, her hand flying to her throat. She winced. “Too long.”

She then took a drink of water. Her scream was stronger now, sharper. But the longer she held it, the more her throat burned.

Progress. But still risky.

Later, Duane and Gal stepped onto the obstacle course grid—pillars shifting, walls rotating, spike traps and kinetic fields lining the path forward

“Ready?” he asked, eyes flicking down the length of the course.

Gal’s answer was simple. She tilted her head slightly and grinned.

“Try to keep up.”

The moment the timer blinked green, they ran.

Gal moved like wind over water—quick, balanced, and impossible to predict. She hopped between pillars as they rose and fell, skimming just past a swinging blade and tucking into a roll under a flame burst. Her sound wave pulses rippled from her shoes in brief thrums, granting her micro-blasts of air momentum mid-jump.

Duane, heavier and less nimble, relied on tactical movement—and his clones.

One clone leapt ahead and tripped a spike trap, vanishing in a puff of impact smoke.

Another darted up the side wall, baiting a mounted sentry to fire—clearing a path for Duane to vault over a cracked platform that detonated half a second after his boots left it.

Gal turned her head mid-run. “That one was close.”

Duane grinned. “Calculated.”

Halfway through, the grid narrowed—just a single shifting beam bridge surrounded by energy fields.

Gal slid low under a spinning arc, boosted herself with a focused pulse from her palm, and air-dashed forward with a sharp hiss of reverb.

Duane followed behind—sending a clone to trigger the beam disruption, then kicked off its shoulders in mid-air to land in a controlled skid.

The system announced the final thirty seconds.

They pushed harder.

A wall spun sideways, nearly knocking Gal off—but she kicked out and rebounded off the edge like a dancer mid-twist. Duane’s path was blocked by a vertical slide wall, but he slammed both palms into the ground. A clone launched from his back, anchoring the next platform so he could climb up and vault clean over the shifting maze.

Ten seconds remained.

A kinetic field pulsed red.

Gal ducked, Duane rolled, and they both cleared the final sensor gate—collapsing on the floor just as the timer blared a buzzer.

[Run Cleared: Time Remaining – 0:10]

They lay on the cool tile for a few seconds, sweat clinging to their brows, both breathing hard.

Gal sat up first and wandered toward the vending unit along the side wall. She returned with two cold drinks and a quiet smirk.

She tossed one to Duane. He caught it on reflex.

“So... we’re officially a party now.” She flopped down beside him, back against the wall.

Duane cracked the bottle open with a quiet psst and took a long sip.

“Yeah. Guess I forgot we even added each other way back.”

Gal leaned her head back, eyes watching the ceiling lights flicker gently.

“Glad we did.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was earned.

Two players, tested and improved—not just by the course, but by trust.

Duane tapped the side of his bottle against hers with a soft clink.

“To more clears.”

Gal’s smile lingered as she nodded.

“Yeah. To more clears—and no shortcuts.”

They sat there a while longer, breathing steady, the hum of the Iron Courses surrounding them like applause only they could hear.

As Duane and Gal cooled down, the entrance hissed open.

Jaja stepped in first, her eyes scanning the room with calm alertness. Migz followed behind her, his presence steady and cold-misted as always.

Gal waved. “Hey!”

Migz offered a warm smile. “Afternoon.”

Jaja gave a polite nod, even a small smile. “Good run?”

“Getting there,” Gal said.

The two passed by without lingering, their presence still enough to leave a ripple.

Duane stared after them, then leaned forward. “Gal.”

“Yeah?”

“You ever thought about teaming up with someone else? For the Dungeon Block?”

Gal froze for a second. Her shoulders tightened.

“…Honestly?” she whispered. “I’m scared of it.”

Duane nodded. “Me too.”

Gal looked over, surprised.

“You are?”

“Of course. And I think we should be,” Duane said, tone even. “If you’re not scared of that place, you’re either delusional or already dead.”

A long moment passed.

Gal wrapped her arms around her legs, eyes lowered.

“We could team with someone strong. Rage. Linkbreakers.”

Duane shook his head. “I don’t want to join a full group. I’d rather build a party. Something tighter. Focused.”

Gal considered that. Then slowly nodded.

“…Actually,” she said, “there’s someone I’ve been watching.”

Night fell soft over Floor 30. The usual glow of Market District lanterns flickered across the rain-washed pavement, while mist curled along the gutters like a shy cat. In the distance, the towering spires of the Echo Pit pulsed faintly, like the breathing of something enormous in sleep.

Duane and Gal walked in step through the side streets, shoulders close, boots quiet. Their bodies ached from the day’s obstacle course—limbs sore, muscles tight—but their minds were restless.

The sign for The Hollow Flask hung slightly askew, its hand-painted lettering illuminated by strands of soft red and violet neon. Inside, warmth welcomed them: low amber lighting, clinking glasses, and the subtle hum of live jazz drifting from a tucked-away corner where an old player idly coaxed notes from a synth-keyboard.

There were no rowdy PKs here. No arena brawlers.

Just murmured conversation, flickering wall lanterns, and booths lined with high-backed seats for quiet gatherings.

Duane nodded toward the far window.

“Over there.”

Gal followed his gaze.

Michelle and Neriel sat in a corner booth, just slightly apart from the rest of the room. The table between them held two neat bowls, steam rising faintly from the surface. They hadn’t noticed Duane and Gal yet—or rather, they hadn’t acknowledged them.

Michelle sat upright, her black jacket half-unzipped to reveal a fitted shirt beneath, her gloved fingers neatly curled around a teacup. Her expression was unreadable, eyes lowered, but watchful—like a mirror that reflected only what you let slip.

Neriel sat opposite her in a traditional seated posture, legs folded beneath him. His kimono hung loose around the shoulders, and his long braid trailed gracefully over one arm. He spooned soup with methodical ease—calm, unhurried. His eyes were closed.

They didn’t speak.

Not out of tension. But out of understanding.

Gal hesitated for a moment before stepping forward.

“Hi,” she said gently. “Do you have a moment?”

Michelle looked up with precision—no surprise, no alarm. Just awareness.

Neriel’s eyes opened, faintly, mid-sip. He did not stop eating.

Duane stepped forward. “We’re building a team,” he said, voice steady. “A small one. Focused. For the Dungeon Block.”

Michelle raised one eyebrow. Her voice was smooth, but sharp.

“Why us?”

Gal answered without looking at Duane.

“Because we’ve seen you. In the arena. On missions. You’re strong. Efficient. Quiet. You think before you move. That’s rare.”

There was a pause.

Neriel set his spoon down with a soft clink.

“We’ll give it some thought.”

Michelle stood up slowly, her chair barely making a sound. She looked at Duane—directly, with eyes that didn’t blink or soften.

“We’re not against it.”

She stepped past him without waiting for a reply, her coat flaring slightly as she moved. Neriel followed with silent grace, his presence shifting like a shadow catching moonlight.

The door closed behind them with a soft chime.

Gal let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. She watched the door for a long second, then looked up at Duane.

“What do you think?”

Duane scratched his chin, brow furrowed slightly. “They didn’t say no.”

Gal’s lips curled into a faint, crooked smile. “Think we have a chance?”

He shrugged and stood up from the booth. “Maybe. A temporary one.”

Gal tilted her head. “You okay with that?”

Duane looked back at the table—the two empty bowls, the cups still faintly steaming.

“Yeah,” he said. “Sometimes temporary’s enough. Long as it holds when it counts.”

The two of them walked out into the chill of the Floor 30 night. The mist still lingered. The streetlamps hummed.

Their steps were quiet. Measured. But something had changed.

The fire had been lit.

And in the city of broken banners and fleeting alliances, something was starting to take shape.

A small party was forming.

One step, one silence, one earned moment at a time.

Back to Top

Chapter 19.2

The Whispering Wilds

The sun had barely risen when Ray found himself at the edge of the emerald woodlands that bordered Floor 30’s NPC village.

He leaned slightly on his carved walking stick, smiling as a wild rabbit twitched its ears at him from atop a mossy stone.

“I don’t suppose you’ve seen any rowdy goblins around, have you?” Ray asked softly.

The rabbit blinked. “The weather’s been awful,” it said. “Rain two nights in a row, and Mr. Hedgehog’s still going on about how no one respects the food rotation system.”

Ray laughed. “I suppose he’s got a point. A little order never hurt anyone.”

The rabbit continued, unfazed, “And don’t even get me started on the bluejays. Loud, dramatic things.”

Ray chuckled, crouching beside it. “You’re a talker, aren’t you?”

“I prefer ‘conversationalist.’”

“Well, conversationalist, if you remember—goblins?”

“Oh! Yes, yes, sorry. Yes, they’ve made camp not far from here. Filthy creatures. You want me to lead you?”

“I’d appreciate that,” Ray said, rising with a nod. “And I’ll buy you a snack once we’re back.”

They walked together, side by side—an old man in a green cloak and a rabbit who clearly had opinions about everything under the sun.

They spoke of clouds and mushrooms, of tree roots and fireflies. The rabbit offered gossip about a particularly dramatic squirrel family. Ray, in turn, shared wisdom from travels past.

Eventually, they reached a quiet rise overlooking a charred clearing. Down below, goblins clustered around a firepit, cheering as they tore apart the corpse of a minor monster, its body limp and bloodied.

The camp was chaotic—broken tents, rusted weapons, and half-eaten food strewn across the soil.

The rabbit froze. “I… I can’t go further. This place stinks of fear.”

Ray knelt, his expression kind. “That’s alright.”

He reached into his satchel and handed over a pouch of dried fruit. “From the market district. Sweet and chewy.”

The rabbit took it, paws trembling. “Be careful, Ray.”

“I always am.”

He rose and stepped back from the ridge.

Time to rally.

He turned to the ridge and exhaled.

“All right, Vantemyr,” he whispered, reaching beneath his cloak.

A slow, deliberate hiss came in response.

A massive black cobra slithered from beneath the folds of Ray’s cloak, its golden eyes glowing faintly in the shade.

“You woke me,” Vantemyr rasped, tail flicking irritably. “I was sleeping, Ray.”

“Goblins,” Ray said.

Vantemyr uncoiled, his hood spreading. “You’re lucky I like your shoulders.”

“You’re lucky I still have grilled mouse jerky in the bag.”

The cobra grumbled.

Ray reached down to his belt and removed a small sealed jar. Inside, venomous bees buzzed softly—loyal creatures he’d once rescued from a fire that consumed their hive.

He opened the jar.

Inside—dozens of venomous bees, their wings shimmering with green and gold. Once a dying swarm, now loyal allies since Ray had saved them from a burning grove.

He twisted the cap open.

“Time to dance, little ones.”

The bees erupted with cheerful buzzing, rising into formation.

Ray raised a hand. “Cause some chaos.”

Moments later, goblin screams echoed through the trees.

It began as a single shriek—sharp and panicked—rising above the lazy crackle of their campfire. Then came more. Dozens. The sound of chaos spilling from tent to tent like fire catching dry leaves.

Panic surged through the clearing as Ray’s bees burst into action, swarming the ragged tents like a golden storm. Their tiny wings hummed like blades, and their stings pierced skin and ego with surgical precision. Goblins flailed and screamed, some tumbling into their own fires, others tearing off armor in desperation.

Vantemyr was already in motion—his long, obsidian body slithering through the grass like smoke. He struck ankles with lightning speed, dragging goblins to the ground before curling around throats and squeezing until there was no breath left to scream. One tried to run. Vantemyr snapped up and dragged him down in a silent blur.

Ray stepped forward toward the entrance of the camp, his boots crunching softly on pine needles. In the crackling orange light, his green cloak shimmered with dew and ash. He moved like an old tree leaning into the wind—but the fire in his eyes said otherwise.

Three goblins spotted him.

They were younger, judging by their size and recklessness. One pointed. “Old man!”

Another grinned, jagged teeth gleaming. “Let’s take his boots!”

The third, with a rusted blade, let out a shriek and lunged.

Ray didn’t flinch. Instead, he pursed his lips and gave a single, sharp whistle—high-pitched, piercing, unnatural.

There was a blur in the darkness behind him.

A low growl.

Then—a blur of shadow launched into the air.

The goblin never touched him.

The black panther collided with the goblin mid-lunge, jaws open in a savage roar. They hit the ground in a tangle of fur and green limbs. Blood sprayed, dark and hot against the cool forest floor. The other two goblins screamed and turned to run, but it was already too late.

From above, the sky darkened.

Birds descended—dozens of them. Finches, hawks, crows, even a few owls out far too early. They dove like knives, slashing with talons, stabbing with beaks. The air became feathers and shrieks and the metallic scent of fresh blood.

The goblins fought back, swinging wildly, but they couldn’t see. Couldn’t hear. The sky and ground had turned on them. Their camp—their numbers—meant nothing.

Ray inhaled through his nose and exhaled slowly. The fight was his now.

He surged forward, faster than anyone had a right to expect. Cloak whipping behind him, he drove his walking stick into the earth with a roar.

The ground answered.

It split open with a thunderous crack.

Golden light erupted from the point of impact, racing in jagged lines through the soil like veins of fury. The earth heaved. Goblins were launched into the air, flailing, arms and weapons torn from their grip. Tents collapsed. A rusted cookpot flew like a comet into a tree and clanged hollow.

[EARTHSPLIT STAFF] – A rare item from the Market District

Effect: Sends a seismic rupture forward.

Limit: Twice per day. Causes severe fatigue.

Ray swayed as the tremor faded, gripping the staff for balance. His breath caught briefly in his throat.

“Still got one more,” he muttered, wiping sweat from his brow.

Behind him, a new scream rose—closer.

A goblin had crept from behind the brush, spear raised high, aiming for the old man’s back.

Ray turned too slowly.

But something small and fast moved faster.

A flash of light brown fur shot from the underbrush, ears tucked back, paws stretched forward like blades.

The rabbit leapt.

It hit the goblin square in the shin with a solid thunk, teeth sinking into green flesh. The goblin howled, stumbling, weapon clattering from its hand as it crashed to the ground.

Ray blinked.

But before it could strike, the rabbit leapt from the underbrush and bit its leg, sending it tumbling. It released its bite, leapt back, and puffed its fur to full height, tiny chest heaving.

Ray blinked. “Well I’ll be—”

“Thought you might need backup!” the rabbit shouted, fur puffed, eyes wide.

Ray stared, caught between amusement and awe. “Well, I’ll be—”

“Don’t underestimate conversationalists,” the rabbit added, glancing at the fallen goblin.

Ray laughed—deep and warm and true. “I owe you a proper dinner.”

“Dried fruit and carrots,” the rabbit declared.

“Deal.”

A second goblin tried to rise behind them.

This time, the panther was faster. It struck from the flank, slashing the goblin across the throat and pinning its corpse without breaking stride.

Vantemyr rejoined them, fangs bloodied, eyes narrow. “You were late Loudy,” he hissed to the rabbit.

“I was waiting,” the rabbit said, ears tilted back smugly, “for the perfect moment for my grand entrance.”

Ray blinked, then let out a laugh so sudden and warm it startled the birds above.

“Dramatic little thing,” Vantemyr muttered.

“Obviously,” the brown rabbit said, brushing his paws against his chest fur. “You only get one heroic debut. Mine involved aerial assault and biting. I stand by it.”

Ray stepped over the bodies and looked across the field.

The camp was ruins now. Flames from overturned firepits smoldered against the wreckage of their lean-tos. Goblins lay scattered, broken and unconscious—or worse. The bees buzzed above in proud, swarming formation. The birds returned to the branches, preening blood from their feathers.

The panther padded back to Ray’s side and sat silently, breathing steady.

Vantemyr coiled loosely near his feet, tongue flicking.

The rabbit hopped beside him and sat on its haunches. Its eyes sparkled.

“You… really are incredible.”

Ray crouched and patted the rabbit’s head gently. “I’ve just got good friends.”

“I want to come with you.”

Ray was quiet for a moment. “It won’t be easy. Dungeons. Death. People worse than goblins.”

“I know. I don’t want to sit and gossip forever. I want to help.”

Ray smiled.

“Then you’ll need a name.”

He thought for a moment, stroking his beard.

“How about… Pip?”

The rabbit blinked. “Pip. I like it.”

Ray rose, Vantemyr curling back into his cloak, bees settling into their jar, and the panther quietly padding up beside him.

He looked out across the field, the blood-soaked remnants of the goblin camp glinting under the afternoon sun.

“Let’s go home, Pip.”

Back at the Banner Nexus, Ray stood before the clerk, dirt-streaked but smiling.

Mission Complete.

+600 Blings awarded.

Goblins repelled.

NPC Village secured.

He tucked the reward away and stepped into the sunlight, his panther at his side, the rabbit riding his shoulder, and his walking stick tapping steadily on the cobblestones.

The Whispering Wilds had gained a new voice.

Floor 30 had many teams.

But none quite like Ray’s.

Back to Top

Chapter 20 The First Descent

The entrance to the Dungeon Block yawned wide like a wound in the world—black stone carved in jagged arches, lined with strange sigils and mist that leaked out like cold breath. No lights. No sound. Only the knowledge that once they stepped through, they wouldn’t be the same.

Gerbert, Rann, Taan, Ace, and Kokay stood shoulder to shoulder in front of it. Their faces were lit by interface glow, tension barely hidden beneath stoic expressions.

Behind them, Liem and Venus had walked all the way from the Banner Nexus, just to see them off.

“I really thought I’d be the nervous one,” Liem said with a forced chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck.

Taan smirked. “You are.”

“I’m not!”

“You’re sweating.”

“It’s warm!”

Venus let out a soft laugh. “Just… come back alive, okay? We’ll take care of the base. Don’t worry about anything else.”

Gerbert, quiet as ever, opened his interface and flicked a command. The group’s hard-earned Blings transferred to Liem’s account in a soft chime.

“Handle the paperwork,” Gerbert said. “Buy it in our name.”

Liem’s eyes widened. “All of it? You trust me that much?”

Gerbert raised a brow. “We’ve seen how you bargain with Jinks. You’re terrifying.”

That earned a genuine laugh from everyone.

“Let’s make it official,” Gerbert added, and with a flick of his hand, sent two party invites—one to Venus, one to Liem.

Both of them blinked.

Kokay clapped her hands. “Finally! I’ve been saying this for weeks.”

Ace rolled his eyes. “Honestly, it was practically scandalous how long it took. All that loyalty and no rings?”

Venus accepted first. The interface chimed. Liem followed, nodding with a soft grin.

He stepped forward and bumped fists with Gerbert. “Take care, leader.”

Gerbert returned the gesture. “We’ll be back.”

With one final nod, the five turned—and stepped into the shadow.

Outside, Venus remained frozen at the threshold, eyes locked on the dark.

Liem stood beside her. “They’ll be fine.”

“I know,” she said. Her voice cracked slightly. “But I still feel it.”

“Me too.”

She wiped at her eyes, swallowing hard. “Let’s go. If we don’t buy that base soon, Ace is going to haunt us from the underworld.”

“Assuming Taan doesn’t throw rocks at us first.”

They turned away from the Dungeon Block and walked, purpose in their steps.

Dungeon Block – Sector One

The moment the team stepped inside, it felt like a shift in gravity. The air was heavier. The silence wasn’t emptiness—it was pressure.

The walls pulsed faintly with a deep, rhythmic vibration, like a subterranean heartbeat. The temperature was wrong—dry and warm, like breath from something asleep just beneath the surface. Breathing. Waiting.

There were no Safe Zones here. No checkpoints. No healing alcoves. Just a maze of pain, silence, and death.

A thunderous crack shattered the air.

A rhino-beetle hybrid erupted through a crumbling wall before they had time to orient, its obsidian carapace glistening with mossy rot.

“TAAN. FLANK IT!” Gerbert barked, launching forward without hesitation.

His booster soles hissed, compressing and releasing with a sharp shhk! He shot upward, twisting mid-air as he deployed his pulse pistols. A stream of rounds slammed into the creature’s knee joints and exposed thorax, sending up sparks and flecks of blue ichor.

“DRAW ITS ATTENTION!” Taan shouted back, already moving.

She was a blur—low, fast, exact. Her footwork was honed and deliberate, every movement cleaner than the last time they fought together. She skidded beneath the beetle’s massive frame, twisted her hips, and delivered a gut-punch laced with kinetic force.

CRACK.

The beast reeled back, just in time to catch her follow-up—a flip into a downward heel strike to the back of its thick, horned skull.

It howled, buckling—but before it could recover—

“Above! Drop incoming!” Kokay shouted, her eyes flashing as her vision snapped ahead of time.

A spindly creeper, all limbs and blades, detached from the ceiling and lunged at them.

Rann was already moving.

She phased upward, a streak of blurred motion, intercepting the creature mid-air with a spinning grab. She twisted mid-descent, using its momentum and her weight to drive it headfirst into the floor with a crunch that echoed down the corridor.

A wet twitch. Then stillness.

“Two more—left bend!” Kokay called again. “They’re huge!”

“Let’s make it art,” Ace muttered, rolling his neck.

He raised his hand—and a flurry of vines erupted from his palm. They twisted and split into floral blades, blooming mid-air like a blooming guillotine. With a showman's spin, he hurled a blossom bomb into the corridor bend.

It landed with a soft thud.

BOOM.

The petals exploded, releasing a choking cloud of yellow pollen and thorny tendrils. One of the approaching stone-mask brutes bellowed as the vines wrapped around its legs and dragged it off-balance, slamming it into the wall hard enough to crack stone.

Ace flourished his coat and winked. “Don’t worry, darling. I’m still flamboyant. Just dangerous now.”

“Focus!” Gerbert shouted. “We’re not out yet—keep moving!”

The group advanced, breath syncing, steps sharpening.

The corridor twisted unnaturally. The walls narrowed. The air became heavier—denser. Then—

Click.

Taan’s foot hit a pressure plate. A soft sound, but final.

“Trap!” she yelled, but the ground was already gone.

“Taan!” Gerbert reached for her instinctively—but she was falling fast.

Rann moved first. No hesitation. She phased down in a blink, grabbed Taan by the arm mid-fall, and kicked off the collapsing wall with ghostlight still shimmering around her.

They both reappeared above the wreckage, just past the trap’s edge, rolling into the corridor with a thud.

Taan landed hard, wincing. “You—”

“I don’t miss anymore,” Rann said, already on her feet again.

“Good,” Taan smiled, brushing off the dust. “I hate falling.”

Gerbert offered a hand to steady her, his pulse still racing. “Eyes up. We trigger one trap, there are more.”

“Yup,” Kokay muttered, scanning the wall. “We’re inside something alive.”

“I know,” Ace said quietly, vines coiling at his fingertips. “And it just noticed us.”

And the maze began to move.

Collapsed Hall – Later

They found shelter beneath a ruined archway, part of an old gate long overtaken by decay. No monsters. No threats. But no safety either.

Just quiet.

They settled in a loose circle, their breaths slowing.

Without a word, Kokay reached into her enchanted handbag. The fabric shimmered faintly, and she pulled out an assortment of wrapped rice balls, dried fruit, and steaming thermoses of herbal broth.

“Here,” she said softly. “Recharge snacks.”

Ace’s eyes sparkled. “You are truly the light in my cursed existence.”

Rann accepted hers with a nod. Taan bit into her rice ball, eyes closed, grateful.

Gerbert took a long sip from the thermos, then began sketching a rough map in the dirt. “This dungeon wasn’t made to be beaten.”

“It’s a war of attrition,” Taan said, rubbing her knuckles. “Meant to break us down.”

“Then let’s break it first,” Ace said with a grin, raising his rice ball like a toast.

They tapped them together in silence.

They didn’t talk much during that break.

They didn’t need to.

Because for the first time, they weren’t just trying to survive the Dungeon Block.

They were learning to master it.

Back to Top

Chapter 21 Plans and Promises

The Dungeon Block was a living gauntlet, a labyrinth of echoing corridors where every step could be your last. Deep beneath crumbling arches and ancient stone, the Linkbreakers pressed forward—Gerbert, Rann, Taan, Ace, and Kokay moving like a single, battle-hardened unit. Their boots echoed on worn stone as they navigated shifting traps and sudden ambushes.

“Two incoming from the left,” Kokay called out, her eyes flashing blue as her clairvoyance picked up the split-second movements of hidden foes. “And three following—clustered, fast.”

Gerbert’s voice was steady. “Formation: Rann to the right wall, Taan to the left.” He activated his booster soles—conjured enhancements that sent him leaping over a widening gap. Mid-air, he dropped a gravity snare glyph that clamped down on a charging bone-armored brute. As the trap engaged, Taan surged forward, landing a crushing elbow into the monster’s chest, then pivoting with a fierce kick that shattered its jaw.

Rann disappeared like smoke and reappeared on the flank of another foe, her body phasing through an incoming attack. “Down,” she commanded as she drove a well-timed strike into its spine.

Meanwhile, Ace appeared amid a swirl of petals and vines. “Darling, prepare to be outclassed,” he teased as he launched a burst of binding flora—a glittering, fragrant explosion that ensnared one beast and forced another to convulse in agony.

Kokay, ever alert, dodged low with practiced precision. Using her clairvoyance, she predicted the enemy’s next move and danced out of harm’s way, leaving the creature exposed to Ace’s assault. The cacophony of battle roared around them as more horrors emerged—spider-like creatures dropping from the ceiling, metallic limbs swinging in the dark. Gerbert’s booster shoes carried him over sudden pits, and every action was a coordinated symphony of survival.

Amid the chaos, the grim specter of death was never far: broken skeletons lay scattered in the shadows, remnants of those who hadn’t made it—silent reminders not to take the Dungeon Block lightly.

After a fierce sequence of blows, the team finally reached a vast chamber. At its center, a massive obsidian door pulsed with deep violet runes—an ominous gateway to the final boss chamber.

Gerbert called out, “Final checks—status?”

Taan grinned, flexing her hands. “Still breathing and ready to dismantle anything in our path.”

Rann simply nodded. Kokay clutched her enchanted bag a little tighter, her fingers trembling slightly before steadying—eyes forward, jaw set. Ace straightened his lapel with an irreverent smile. “Shall we waltz, my darlings?”

Gerbert placed his palm against the rune-etched door. With a groan that echoed like thunder, the massive gate slowly swung open, revealing a darkness deeper than any they’d yet seen.

Meanwhile, on Floor 87, a world of quiet contrast unfolded. A gentle breeze rippled across a serene lake, its surface mirroring the soft blush of dawn. Nestled at the water’s edge was a cozy, vine-clad cottage with pink-shingled roofs and flower boxes bursting with color.

On the sun-warmed veranda, Mika reclined gracefully in a velvet-cushioned chair, elegantly dressed in a flowing robe embroidered with roses. She sipped dark coffee from an ornate porcelain cup, her eyes half-closed in leisurely contentment.

Behind the screen door, soft footsteps approached.

“Charmee brought Mama Mika tea cakes~!” came a bright, melodic voice from behind the door.

Stepping out with measured excitement was Charmee—a gentle girl in her early teens, clad in a fluffy school uniform: a frilly white blouse paired with a navy-blue and pink plaid skirt, extra fluffy and laced; her high-knee socks mismatched in style—one pink, one white—tied with satin ribbons, and tiny heart-shaped pins sprinkled through her soft black hair.

Trailing silently behind her was Gazelle, the maid. She wore a long, neat maid uniform in soft charcoal gray, trimmed modestly with white lace. Her dark skin was smooth, her short black hair neatly parted with bangs swept gently to the left side. She held a silver tray with quiet precision, her expression unreadable.

Gazelle (HP: 100/100).
Charmee (HP: 100/100).

“Mama Mika gets extra lemon today because Charmee saw Mama yawn twice last night” Charmee announced shyly, referring to herself in third person as she always did.

Charmee’s eyes sparkled. “Charmee helped Gazelle make the tea cakes this time! Charmee stirred the batter until her arms felt like jelly.”

At that, Gazelle gave a subtle nod, eyes lowered, remaining still beside the tray. She only ever spoke when spoken to.

“Well then,” Mika purred, accepting a plate, “they must be perfect.”

Charmee’s shy eyes lit up as she answered, “Charmee loves making Mama happy."

They sat together for a time amid the gentle lapping of lake water and the rustle of nearby reeds. Mika savored each bite of her tea cake, while Charmee fussed over every detail of its presentation.

After a few moments, Mika stood and smiled down at Charmee. “Sweetheart, today I must leave to meet a friend. I’ll be back soon—and I promise, I’ll bring presents.”

Charmee’s voice wavered softly, “Mama Mika… will you be gone long again?”

Mika leaned down and tapped Charmee’s nose playfully. “Not if I can help it. I promise.”

Charmee’s timid smile returned. “Charmee will wait. And she will keep everything tidy.”

Mika opened a shimmering portal, its swirling lavender hues casting dancing shadows on the cottage walls. “Toodles, my little heart,” she said with a coy grin, stepping through the portal. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Toodles, Mama Mika~!” Charmee called after her, her voice small and hopeful, hugging Gazelle’s sleeve as the portal closed.

Gazelle stood still, hands folded neatly, watching the light fade without a word.

Inside a stark, dim room—a realm of floating glyphs and sleek obsidian walls—a masked admin awaited Mika’s arrival. Mika appeared without fanfare, unfolding into the room with deliberate grace. Her heels made soft clicks as she approached, hips swaying. Her lips curved in a knowing smirk.

“Someone looks lonely,” she said smoothly, her voice honeyed and casual. “Hope I didn’t keep you waiting.”

The admin’s voice was cool and measured. “Report, Mika.”

Mika approached the console, drawing out the moment as she placed a glowing violet shard onto the surface. “The new wave’s interesting. Colorful types. A few have teeth—clever ones. One even flirted back. Poor thing had no idea how far out of his depth he was.”

Glyphs circled the shard as the data transferred. The admin said nothing.

Mika tilted her head, watching the reflections play on the admin’s mask.

"There were anomalies. Things that didn’t add up. Things better kept quiet until I understood them first. They don’t need the full picture. Just what I want them to see."

She adjusted her posture and offered a smile, too polished to be sincere. “Of course, I left out the boring bits. You wouldn’t want your data too cluttered with the mundane, would you?”

The admin scanned the data before nodding. “Your next assignment is ready. You’ll appear in the upcoming system-wide event—front and center.”

Mika arched her eyebrow. “Front and center, huh? Do I get a say in my lines, or is it all improvised chaos like last time?”

“You’ll have input this time. Partial script control. And new luxury wear has been uploaded to your cache. No more of that scorched corset you’ve been dragging around for months."

She laughed under her breath, low and velvety. “Good. I was starting to think you had a grudge against my fashion sense.”

A pause.

Then, the admin’s voice shifted ever so slightly—less protocol, more personal. “Say hello to your daughter for me.”

Mika paused by the portal, The silence that followed was not hesitation, but calculation. Her expression darkened—subtly, but undeniably. Lips pressed together. Jaw tightened. Unreadable. She bit the inside of her cheek… and when she faced forward again, the mask was back on. Her smile was back—cool, glossy, perfect.

“I’ll think about it,” she said softly, turning away.

She stepped toward the portal.

With a toss of hair and a playful glance over her shoulder, she purred. “Try not to miss me.”

And with a sweep of light and color, Mika vanished—leaving behind only the lingering scent of perfume and the faintest shimmer in the dark.

Back in the Dungeon Block’s final chamber, the team stood before the dark gate as echoes of distant battle resounded behind them. Their hearts pounded in synchrony, every wound, every lesson, every lost comrade etched into their spirits. Gerbert’s eyes swept the team with stoic determination.

“This is it,” he said softly.

Their faces said it all. They were ready.

The gate shuddered and swung open, revealing the lair of the final boss—a promise of doom and deliverance intertwined.

Back to Top

Chapter 22 Breaking the Warden

The door to the final chamber groaned open, runes flickering as if waking from a deep, bitter slumber. Dust billowed outward like breath from a tomb.

Inside, the chamber stretched wide, its ceiling lost in shadows and lined with chains thicker than trees. Cracked stone glowed with sickly purple lines that pulsed like veins. At the center of the arena stood a figure—silent, unmoving.

Then it breathed.

The creature unfolded from stillness—eight feet tall, with stone plates fused across its shoulders and chest like a permanent suit of armor. Muscle twisted beneath its stone skin, almost too dense to flex, but it moved with agonizing force. Each step quaked the floor, heavy and slow, but deliberate. Horns curved back from its jawless head, and its mouth was filled not with teeth—but with pulsing energy.

The interface pinged:

[Eidolok, the Vault-Bound Warden]
Class: Dungeon Boss
HP: 500/500
Attributes: High Defense / High Strength / Energy Beam / Empowered Roar

Taan stepped forward instinctively, fists tightening. “This one’s mine.”

Gerbert raised a hand quickly. “No rushing! Let me scout—”

Too late.

The boss let out a deep growl, its body vibrating. The sound rumbled through the walls and caused the air itself to shimmer. The system overlay flickered.

Strength boosted.

“Great,” Ace muttered. “It sings to itself and gets swole.”

Taan surged forward with a low dash. Her first strike—a straight punch into the boss’s midsection—landed with a dull echo. It staggered back half a step, but barely flinched.

She went in for a second combo—left jab, low kick, rising knee—only to be caught mid-motion by Eidolok’s massive arm. It slammed downward, forcing her to roll to the side. She was fast—but not fast enough. The edge of the blow caught her shoulder, and she let out a sharp grunt, pain crackling across her interface.

“Don’t overextend!” Gerbert called out, conjuring a plasma cutter in one smooth motion. “Rann—catch!”

Rann caught the weapon mid-run, spinning once to absorb the momentum. “On it.”

She phased through the floor and came up behind the boss, launching off a broken pillar. With a shout, she drove the blade toward the seam in its plated neck—but the boss pivoted mid-swing, stone plates shifting like a puzzle box, catching the cutter on reinforced armor.

The blade screeched against its hide.

The counter was brutal.

Eidolok’s left arm came around like a battering ram and swatted her mid-air, sending her crashing into the ground. Hard. The stone cracked where she hit. Rann gasped as she rolled, coughing.

“I’m—okay,” she grunted, but blood stained the corner of her lip. “Fuck.”

Ace flicked his wrist and summoned a net of vines from the walls, snarling and radiant with pollen. “Let’s see you wiggle through this, sweetheart.”

The vines snapped forward, wrapping the creature’s legs and arms, straining as they tightened.

But Eidolok flexed, and the vines tore apart like wet paper. It let out another roar—a piercing, guttural bellow that shook the columns around them.

Ace stepped back, sweating. “Okay. Vines? No. Plan B.”

The monster opened its jaw. Light built up behind its teeth.

“MOVE!” Kokay shouted.

A beam of white-hot energy erupted from Eidolok’s mouth, gouging the stone floor, melting the walls as it swept.

They scattered.

Kokay ducked behind a broken pillar, gasping. “Spores aren’t affecting it—resistance is too high!”

Ace’s usual wit had dulled, replaced by tension. “Even my charm didn’t work. I feel... personally attacked.”

Gerbert clenched a fist, eyes flicking between the dizzying data streams on his interface. Sparks from his cracked gauntlet flickered as he analyzed the fight in real time.

“It’s too tanky to brute-force,” he muttered through gritted teeth. “Spikes and spores are failing. Plasma doesn’t even scratch the outer shell.”

He dropped into a crouch mid-battle, scribbling a glowing schematic with his finger in the air, lines of energy forming a rotating blueprint. “We have to redirect the fight. Taan—stop going for the chest!”

Taan rolled her bruised shoulder, blood dripping down her knuckles. “It’s the only soft part we’ve got!”

“No,” Gerbert shot back, eyes narrowing. “We don’t need soft. We need unstable.”

From behind a chunk of rubble, Kokay peeked out, her aura faintly glowing as she readied a defensive ward. “It’s charging again—look at its chest!”

Another roar shook the chamber, this one deeper and more guttural.

The runes along Eidolok’s chest blazed brighter, pulsing like a furious heartbeat. The air thickened with heat and pressure.

“Strength boosted,” Gerbert said grimly, scanning the spikes on his HUD. “It’s going berserk.”

Ace staggered forward, his bark-arm trembling with residual energy from the last quake.

Gerbert’s mind raced, calculations flickering across his lenses. Then he snapped his fingers, pointing sharply.
“Taan—aim for the left ankle! Rann—sweep high and vanish! Ace—root-split the floor and destabilize its footing! Kokay, scan ahead—use clairvoyance to track its next move!”

“Got it!” Taan shouted, already sprinting.

She darted low, not head-on this time. A massive stone fist swung over her, missing by inches. She slid across the broken floor, spun, and hammered a precise heel strike into the creature’s left knee.

A sharp crack echoed—the titan stumbled, its weight shifting off balance.

“Now!” Gerbert barked.

Ace slammed his palm into the floor, veins of red energy splitting out in a spiderweb pattern. The ground quaked violently, cracks racing toward Eidolok’s feet. Chunks of stone dropped into the sudden fissures, roots tearing free and twisting like coiled serpents.

“Up we go!” Ace snarled, and a sudden spike of vine burst upward, slamming into the beast’s inner thigh to push it further off balance.

With perfect timing, Rann flickered into existence above, having phased along a wall. She spun midair, eyes sharp, and drove her plasma cutter straight into the thin seam between the plates on its shoulder.

A hiss of black fluid and crackling sparks erupted, spraying across the chamber.

“GOT IT!” Rann yelled, yanking the blade free just before the monster swatted wildly at her. She phased out an instant before the stone fist crushed where she had been.

The titan roared, staggering, its footing now treacherous on the vine-cracked floor. Its luminous chest sputtered for the first time.

Gerbert’s eyes lit up behind his fractured lenses. “It’s working. Keep hitting the weak points! Don’t give it time to reset!”

Taan smirked, blood running down her temple. "Oh, you’re wobbling? We are just getting started."

The boss roared—a sound that shook the walls and rattled the bones of anyone still standing.

Eidolok thrashed violently, its massive stone fists smashing against the cracked floor, sending chunks of debris flying. Runes across its body flared erratically, purple light sputtering like a dying star.

Ace, kneeling and barely catching his breath, pressed both palms to the scorched ground. His fingers dug into the dirt and fractured stone.
This time, the vines didn’t rise.
They dug—deeper than ever—seeking purchase in the ancient foundation of the dungeon itself.

“Time for a garden quake,” he muttered through gritted teeth, his voice raw and low.

The chamber shuddered.

Lines of red light traced beneath the floor, pulsing like veins. Then, with a thunderous crack, the earth split wide.

From the fissures, vines erupted like jagged roots, snapping upward with vicious intent. They wrapped around broken columns, yanked on shattered stone, and clawed their way across the battlefield toward Eidolok’s feet.

Kokay’s eyes widened. “It’s—It’s tipping! The vines are dragging it!”

“NOW!” Gerbert barked, his voice sharp over the roar of stone grinding against stone.

The titan lurched forward, massive body swaying under the sudden, relentless pull.
Its claws scrambled for balance, gouging the floor—but the vines held, twisting tighter, jerking its body off-kilter.

“Move, move, MOVE!” Taan shouted, sprinting along the crumbling edge of the battlefield. She vaulted over a fallen pillar, landing beside Gerbert. “Tell me you’ve got something!”

“I’ve got one last trick,” he said, panting, his hands flying over his glowing interface.

A targeted blast mine shimmered into existence beneath Eidolok’s jagged chin, its core spinning with a dangerous hum.

Gerbert conjured a small, glowing remote in his hand, its single rune-shaped button pulsing red.
He leveled it at the beast, exhaled once, and pressed down.

“Everyone back!” Kokay yelled but before she could retreat, Rann sprinted in, grabbed Kokay by the arm, and dragged both her and Ace toward the fractured shield dome. They stumbled behind the shimmering, broken barrier just as the light from the glyph swelled to a dangerous peak.

The moment the monster’s weight pitched forward, the mine detonated.

BOOM!

A focused shockwave tore upward, flame and raw heat slamming into Eidolok’s face. Its massive head snapped back. Jagged cracks split along its jaw, and shards of stone rained like meteors.

The team ducked as the wave of heat and dust rolled over them.
For a moment, the chamber was all smoke and ringing ears.

When the haze finally cleared, Eidolok was still upright—but just barely.

Its jaw hung misaligned, flickering with sputtering purple light. The glow in its chest throbbed weakly, unstable, like a heartbeat losing rhythm.

Rann spat blood and raised her weapon, limping toward the beast. “Shit. You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

Kokay’s voice was steady despite her trembling arms. “That—did it. We hurt it.”

Taan tightened her fists, her bloodied knuckles white with resolve. “We can beat this thing.”

Gerbert pushed his cracked glasses up his nose, his lips curving into a determined grin.
“Then…” he said, planting his blaster into the ground as energy surged around him, “…let’s finish what we started.”

The ground vibrated as Eidolok roared again, enraged and desperate.

The Linkbreakers braced themselves.
The final round was about to begin.

Back to Top

Chapter 22.1

We Don’t Miss Twice

The blast from Gerbert’s mine echoed through the chamber, a plume of dust and fire curling toward the ceiling. When the smoke cleared—Eidolok was still standing. Its jaw now hung crooked, glowing with cracked energy. Its breath came slower, heavier—but each inhale seemed to draw strength from the very stone beneath it.

It growled—and the room responded. The chains above trembled. The runes in the floor pulsed brighter and faster.

Strength escalating...

The Vault-Bound Warden was not weakened.

It was waking up.

“Here it comes again,” Gerbert said, voice sharp. “Positions!”

The team re-formed. Kokay darted behind a column, her eyes glowing faintly, breathing hard but holding her focus.

Gerbert’s shield shimmered into existence between her and the monster—his improved hexagonal construct, projecting outward in layered rings. He conjured another and slid it between Ace and the creature’s line of fire.

“Shield up. Everyone alive.”

Across the arena, Eidolok bellowed—its roar shaking dust from the ceiling. It charged, its steps dragging deep gouges into the stone.

“Taan, left! Bait the charge!” Gerbert barked over the roar of the battlefield.

Taan broke into a sprint, cutting a wide arc across the scorched earth. Her boots slammed into the ground, kicking up dirt and ash.

“I hate when they choose me as the favorite,” she muttered.

Kokay’s breath caught. Her eyes flared ghost-blue.

Clairvoyance.

And the future slammed into her.

A heartbeat ahead—
A crater torn into the earth.
Crimson splattered across stone.
A broken body.
Taan’s body.

Kokay's gasp cracked into a scream.

“WAIT—STOP—TAAN, BACK OFF!”

But Taan was already mid-stride, fists clenched, teeth bared for impact.

Kokay’s voice broke again, desperate.

“TAAN, NO!”

The world returned.

“TAAN!” Kokay screamed.

Rann twisted, face stricken. “Shit—she’s not gonna make it!”

Ace moved instinctively, a flower already forming in her hand. “Get out of there!”

Gerbert spun and flung his shield arm forward, a reflex born of panic, but he knew—he was too far.

Eidolok's claw fell like a guillotine.

A thunderous impact shook the ground. The earth buckled. A shockwave burst outward, flattening the underbrush and kicking a storm of dust into the air.

For a moment, everything went still.

The massive claw lifted.

Silence.

Then—light.

A faint shimmer, flickering violet like twilight behind glass.

The dust cleared just enough for them to see—cracked stone. And at the center, Taan, kneeling and breathless.

A violet shimmer rippled along her back. Her Cloak of Protection had triggered—its one-time shield against fatal damage sparking like divine armor.

Then she clenched them into fists.

She lifted her head slowly, stunned, eyes wide.

“I…” Her voice cracked. “I’m still here?”

The words came out like a question.

The realization hit like a second blow.

“I should’ve—” Her voice caught again. She didn’t finish the sentence.

Instead, pure instinct kicked in. Taan shoved herself back, rolled hard to the left, and came up in a crouch, breathing ragged, just as Eidolok began to pivot again with a heavy growl, its claw dragging against the stone.

“Taan!” Rann’s voice rang out, edged with panic but cracking into relief. “You idiot, move!”

Ace skidded into place beside her, half-laughing, half breathless. “You terrifying tank of a woman—don’t ever scare me like that again!”

Taan pushed sweat-soaked hair from her brow and exhaled hard.

“That wasn’t luck,” she muttered, voice low and flat.

Kokay dropped to her knees, shaking, half from relief, half from the vision still fading from her mind.

But Gerbert stood frozen.

His boots were planted, yet his mind had fractured into stillness.

The shields on his arms—usually bright, stable—flickered, jittering like a heartbeat gone wrong. Not from energy drain. From hesitation.

From guilt.

His hands trembled slightly.

He hadn’t reached her.
He hadn’t been fast enough.
Taan could’ve died.

His breath caught. His chest locked. The world pressed down.

The crater still steamed in the distance. Taan’s breathing was ragged but alive. Rann and Ace stood as sentries beside her. But it was Kokay, still kneeling beside Gerbert, who saw the fracture forming behind his eyes.

She looked up, hand reaching for his wrist—not urgent, but firm. Grounding.

“Gerbert,” she said, voice quiet but certain.

He didn’t respond.

She held her grip, firmer this time. “Hey.”

Still nothing.

She squeezed tighter. “Hey. You hear me?”

His eyes twitched. Blinked. His jaw set.

Kokay exhaled slowly. She stood, brushing grit from her knees, but never let go of his wrist. Her voice lowered, calm and kind—but with a gravity that didn’t match her age.

“You didn’t lose her.”

“You didn’t freeze when it mattered. You moved. You covered me when I couldn’t even speak. You threw your shield even when it was too far.”

Gerbert opened his mouth, but no words came.

“You’re the one we count on to see the whole board. To make the call when the rest of us only see one move ahead. You carry the weight. We know that.”

She shifted to kneel beside him fully, looking up, her eyes catching his. Her tone lowered further, gentle but firm, the kind of kindness that didn’t flinch from hard truth.

“I know you think you failed again. But if she’s still breathing and if Rann, Ace and me are still standing, that’s not failure. That’s what you do, Gerbert. You keep us standing.”

“You’re allowed to be scared,” Kokay added, softer now, “but you don’t get to vanish on us. I'm begging, please not you.”

A long beat.

Then: “We need you.”

Finally, his fingers stilled. His hands dropped to his sides, and the shield nodes on his wrists pulsed with renewed clarity. He exhaled, one long breath shaking loose from his chest.

“I’m here,” he muttered. “I’m back.”

She nodded, and let go.

“Good,” she said with a faint smile. “Because I saw what’s coming next. And we’ll need that big brain of yours.”

Taan stood now, bracing herself against Ace as he muttered something about her being indestructible. Rann barked an order from the flank, preparing the next formation.

Kokay’s eyes flared ghost-blue once more. She closed them briefly, listening to the weight of the future.

Around them, Eidolok stirred again—its massive form convulsing as a harsh glow pulsed from deep within its chest, the rune-etched cracks webbing across its body like molten veins. The air turned thick with heat and static.

The earth beneath their feet groaned.

Gerbert’s mind snapped back into sharp focus.

His eyes flicked rapidly—first to the glowing rune veins, then to the scarred stone floor, then to the glimmer of his hovering drones, whirring silently above the battlefield.

And then he saw it.

“The runes,” he said aloud, voice cutting through the rising rumble. “They’re not just decoration. They’re conduits.”

He projected a map—blue arcs and red lines beaming from his wrist pad, displaying the underground fault lines and power currents humming below them.

“It’s feeding from the floor,” he said grimly. “Drawing from the bedrock—maybe even deeper.”

The monster’s glowing chest began to throb, expanding like a lung.

“We collapse the floor. Starve it. Cut off its lifeline.”

He turned, eyes snapping to Ace. “Ace—dig deep. Tear up the stone under the rune clusters. I need chaos—roots, thorns, whatever you’ve got.”

Ace nodded once, hands already crackling with green and gold. “Wrath of the garden coming right up.”

“Rann,” Gerbert barked, “conduit paths—those glowing arcs along its ribs. They’re channeling the flow. Sever every one you see.”

Rann was already moving. “On it. Bleed the beast.”

Taan staggered upright behind them, blood still trailing down her arm, her posture steady despite the limp in her step.

Gerbert turned to her last.

“You’re bait again. Don’t die.”

She smirked, spitting blood to the side. “No promises.”

“And Kokay—”

She was already nodding. “Calling what I see. I got your back.”

“Thank you,” Gerbert said, barely above a whisper.

Gerbert gave one final order.

“We crack this monster open—make it bleed for what it did to Taan.”

One by one, they smiled—sharp, hungry, and ready.

Back to Top

Chapter 22.2

The Vault-Bound Warden's Fall

Eidolok’s roar tore through the chamber, shaking loose chunks of ceiling.

Its runes burned brighter than ever—no longer erratic, but pulsing in perfect, deadly rhythm. Cracks in its armor spat molten light like blood from an open wound.

Desperation Mode: Active.
HP: 307 / 500

Its armor glowed along cracked seams, lines of pulsing runes dimming and flaring in chaotic patterns. The ground beneath it was scorched, ruptured, bleeding light. Its breath came in heavy, thunderous bursts, as if each inhale might be its last—and each exhale a refusal to die.

The only thing left standing with conviction was the Linkbreakerss

They didn’t flinch.
They didn’t speak.
They didn’t need to.

They all knew this was the end—one way or the other.

“Change!” Gerbert snapped instantly. “Ace—switch to thorns! Drive them upward!”

Ace slammed his hands into the dirt, forcing another eruption of flowers—but Eidolok had adapted. Its fist came down not on him, but on the root cluster itself, shattering the trap before it could bloom. The impact sent a ripple through the floor that nearly knocked Ace flat.

“Rann! Cut it NOW!” Gerbert barked, throwing her the angle.

Rann phased in mid-air above the Warden’s shoulder, the plasma cutter screaming to life. She carved through a conduit at its neck, molten light spilling like blood. Eidolok howled, spinning wildly, and the back of its massive hand clipped her mid-spin. She vanished before the blow could crush her outright, reappearing on the ground in a stagger, her weapon still lit and ready.

The Warden stopped retreating. Its chest expanded—slow, deliberate, unnatural.

Kokay’s eyes went wide. The vision slammed into her.

“BEAM—MOVE!” she screamed.

Eidolok’s jaws split unnaturally wide. A searing column of light and heat burst forth, cutting through the chamber like a god’s sword. The beam scythed across stone, melting a pillar in half and carving a molten trench in the floor.

Gerbert threw up twin barriers in a V formation, angling them to split the blast, but even they shuddered under the torrent. Ace dove behind him, channeling his flowers through the gap to lash at Eidolok’s legs. Taan darted wide, circling hard to keep pressure on its flank. Rann blinked in and out, the beam missing her by fractions as she struck glowing runes in rapid succession.

Gerbert’s eyes caught the stutter in its rhythm.

Desperation Mode: Active.
HP: 287/500

Eidolok’s runes burned brighter than before—lines of molten light pulsing through its armor, feeding into every monstrous swing. Each conduit they severed seemed to buy only seconds before another flared to life.

Eidolok was learning. Its strikes were tighter now, its beam sweeps tracking faster. One more full blast and the shield wouldn’t hold.

For the first time, the thought stabbed through him—It might finish us before we finish it.

His gaze flicked to Ace, locked in mid-sprint, roots and flowers twitching under his skin like coiled serpents.

Gerbert’s fingers hesitated over his controls, then flew. Schematics unfolded in his eyeglass, anchor points, force distribution grids. A plan so reckless it could only work now, or not at all.

“Ace!” Gerbert’s voice cracked across the chamber like a whip. “You ready for a crazy idea?”

Ace slowed only long enough to throw him a grin, the kind that belonged on a stage just before the curtain rose.

“Leader, my darling,” he said, voice low and rich with anticipation, “I’ve been waiting my whole life for this cue.”

“Good,” Gerbert said. “You’re the trigger.”

No hesitation.

A hexagonal light-plate roared to life beneath Ace’s feet—crystal circuitry blazing—and launched him skyward on a pillar of raw, shattering magic.

Ace let himself rise above the ruin, arms wide, breathing in the wind, the burnt ozone—and the faint sweetness of blooms already stirring below.

As soon as Ace’s boots left the platform, Gerbert’s voice cut through the chaos.
“Rann, Taan, Kokay—on me, now!”

Rann phased in from a shadowed flank, plasma cutter still humming. She glanced up at the airborne Ace and groaned.
“Oh, great. The garden boy’s in charge. This is about to get crazy.”

Taan barked a short laugh, limping but quick to fall in beside Gerbert.
“Crazy’s fine but not Ace crazy.”

Kokay slid into place next to him, her ghost-blue eyes already flickering with visions. Gerbert extended both arms, shield nodes pulsing gold as hexagonal panels burst into place, locking together into a radiant dome over them.

“We’ll be fine,” Gerbert assured them, though his tone carried the faintest thread of nervousness. “As long as Ace doesn’t accidentally bring the entire dungeon down on our heads.”

Above, Ace’s silhouette hovered against the ruined ceiling, hands outstretched like a conductor ready for his orchestra.

A crooked smile tugged at his lips.

“Let’s give Eidolok a garden he’ll never forget,” he murmured, voice dripping with showman’s delight. “Spotlight’s on me, boys—watch it bloom.”

From his airborne vantage, Ace called the Garden Quake.

The ground didn’t just shake—it convulsed, like the dungeon itself was being torn apart from its roots. Veins of green fire raced across the floor as roots thicker than siege beams tore upward, splintering stone and ripping the rune conduits apart before Eidolok could drink another drop of their power.

Roses with blade-sharp petals erupted in scarlet storms, shredding walls into ribbons. Tiger lilies burst like incendiary charges, spraying cinders and heat. Marigolds spun molten pollen into the air, each grain searing like shrapnel. Moonflowers poured down ghostly, intoxicating light, wrapping the ruin in a pale glow. Black orchids split the earth with curling, midnight tendrils, while sunbursts of dahlias erupted in rings of flame. The scent hit them all—sweet, choking, dizzying—like a perfume meant to mask slaughter.

Inside the golden dome, Gerbert planted his boots, feeling the quake slam against his shields hard enough to rattle his teeth. Taan stood at the front, eyes locked on Eidolok’s weakening form, watching for its next move.

Kokay stumbled as the quake roared harder, clutching Rann’s arm for balance.

“I know it is Ace… but it feels like the whole world’s breaking,” she said, her voice small but steady in its trust.

Rann caught her around the shoulders, steadying her.
“I’ve got you—just remember, too much is his love language.”

Gerbert saw the spiderweb cracks racing across his hexagonal barrier and snarled. He threw his hands wide, quadrupling the shield’s layers, the dome thickening with a blinding golden burn.

Above, Ace hovered in the chaos like a conductor over his orchestra of destruction, laughter rolling from him in wild, manic bursts.

Eidolok staggered, its HP draining in visible chunks—287… 264… 230—each flower’s detonation peeling away its armor, each root tearing deeper into its core.

But Ace, high above, couldn’t hold on.

His body gave way.

Drained by the act, consciousness flickering like a dying star—he began to fall.

Taan’s eyes widened.

Without a word, she ran.

She leapt from a ledge, rolled into a dive, and caught Ace mid-air. They tumbled across the dirt—her arms locked tight around his battered frame, roses looming behind them like gods.

“Incredible,” Ace rasped, blinking up at her. “Saved by a prince.”

Taan barked a breathless laugh. “He’s fine!” she called to the others. “Still flapping his mouth.”

The battlefield was unrecognizable—less a chamber, more a riot of twisted roots, shattered stone, and wilting petals. A thousand blooms carpeted the chaos: roses, lilies, marigolds, orchids, all tangled together in a wild, impossible garden. The air was thick with fragrance—majestic, intoxicating—so rich it almost made them forget they were in the middle of a battle. They looked like insects now, dwarfed by a jungle born in seconds from Ace’s wrath.

But the monster still stood.

Unstable. Furious. Weak—yet somehow refusing to die.

Gerbert’s blaster began to charge—core exposed, hissing with volatile heat. His breaths came ragged, each inhale scraping like glass. A cough wracked his chest, splattering his glove with blood. Still, his hands never left the weapon. His interface flared blood-red with cascading alerts.

HP Burn Enabled – Confirm Overload?

He clicked: Yes.

“Rann. Taan. Buy me time.”

They didn’t answer—they were already in motion.

Taan sprinted low, muscles coiled like wire, eyes locked on the beast’s massive form. Eidolok’s tail whipped toward her in a brutal arc, but she slid under it, boots sparking on the scorched floor. She sprang upward, twisting over a severed rosevine, and drove her heel into the back of its knee joint. Metal and bone-like plating cracked under the force, and the titan lurched.

Rann, limping but unbroken, phased back into existence near the creature’s shoulder. The plasma cutter—Gerbert’s conjuration—blazed in her hands like a strip of molten lightning, its hum rattling her bones.

She didn’t hesitate. Her breath came in ragged bursts, but her movements were pure precision—each step a flicker, each angle chosen before her foot even touched stone. She blinked out of sight an instant before Eidolok’s elbow smashed where her ribs had been, reappearing inside the blind arc of its motion.

She dropped to the ground in a crouch, landing light despite her limp, the plasma cutter still hissing in her grip.

“Feel that? That’s the sound of you losing.” she muttered, eyes locked on the staggering Warden.

Eidolok roared, a metallic, grinding bellow that rattled their teeth.

Its arms flailed. The glow across its cracked frame sputtered and surged.

Kokay, kneeling beside the unconscious Ace, forced herself upright. Her eyes shimmered with clairvoyant light as she scanned the shifting battlefield. She spotted the gap, the faltering link in its defenses.

“Its left side!” she shouted, voice trembling but cutting through the chaos. “Now!”

The beast twisted, turning toward her voice—its wounded side wide open.

And there stood Gerbert.

Boots planted. Shoulders squared. His entire frame braced against the kickback to come.

The blaster’s barrel burned white-hot, a miniature star boiling at its heart. The hum deepened to a predatory growl, arcs of electricity snapping along its length.

“Let’s end this Eidolok,” he said, voice low and certain.

He fired.

The beam struck like a divine judgment, a single line of searing light that cut through steel, bone, and magic alike. Eidolok froze mid-motion, as if the blast had pinned it in time.

From the jagged crown of its horns, a line of white-hot light carved downward, splitting armor and sinew with a sound like the world breaking. The runes along its frame flared in panicked bursts, then winked out one by one

Then came the sound.

Not a roar. Not even a scream.
A hollow, ancient crack—like the world itself giving way.

The fissure widened, spilling rivers of molten light that poured from its core like lifeblood, hissing as they hit the ruined floor. Its massive frame began to sag inward, armor plates sloughing off in slow, almost reluctant cascades.

With a final, weightless exhale, Eidolok crumpled.

It fell in stages—first to one knee, then forward into the dirt—before its titanic body broke apart entirely, crashing down in an avalanche of stone, metal, and fractured magic. The impact shook the chamber to its bones, sending petals and dust spiraling high into the air like a storm of ashes and flowers.

When the rumble faded, nothing remained but a mound of ruin, glowing faintly from the dying embers of its power.

Dust and petals rained down.

Silence.

Rann lowered the plasma cutter. Taan let her fists unclench. Kokay exhaled, trembling and exhausted.

They had done it.

Outside – Floor 30.

The stone doors behind them groaned open.

Floor 31’s threshold awaited them—cool light spilling into the rubble.

The team moved slowly.

Rann supported Ace, one arm hooked beneath his as he limped.

Taan shadowed their steps, close enough to catch him if he faltered.

Gerbert carried Kokay on his back, steady despite the wreckage underfoot. The girl’s arms looped loosely around his neck.

As the last of them crossed the Dungeon Block’s boundary, a gust of wind rolled across the clearing.

Minutes later, Taan dropped to her knees.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Tears fell down her bloodstreaked cheeks.

“I made it,” she whispered. “Everyone… I made it. I didn’t break my promise.”

Behind her eyes, the faces of her past teammates from the real-world flashed—those who never made it past Floor 8. The ones she couldn’t save. The ones she promised she’d live for.

“I told them… I would.”

When she looked up—

She saw Rann. Ace. Kokay. Gerbert.

All beaten. All exhausted.

But smiling.

Smiling for real.

Gerbert stepped forward. He knelt beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“You made it,” he said softly. “We made it.”

And then, outside the Dungeon Block of Floor 30, the stone shifted once more.

A quiet hum stirred the earth.

From the ground rose a flat stone tablet, smooth and grey, etched in white glowing script.

LINKBREAKERS
Cleared Floor 30 – No Casualties
[Kokay, Ace, Taan, Rann, Gerbert]

No reward chest. No fanfare.

Just proof.

Proof they survived what others couldn’t.
Proof they stood together.

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Chapter 22.3

Scarlet Terms

Mika brushed her hair in slow, unhurried strokes, seated before the vanity with one leg crossed high over the other. Her white faux fur jacket hung loose, the plush edges grazing bare skin before she eased it higher on her shoulders. Her lips gleamed with the fresh red she’d just applied. Morning light pooled across the room, catching on dust motes, the tangle of discarded clothes, and the faint, lingering heat in the air that spoke of a night spent on anything but sleep.

Behind her, Val reclined against the headboard, sheets resting dangerously low on his hips. He traced a finger over the pale scars that mapped his chest, his gaze more on her than his own hand. His red hair was tousled, his expression relaxed in that particular way that never came from rest alone.

“This event,” he said, tone smooth and lazy, “you’re certain it only shakes the major floors?”

Mika caught his reflection, letting her smirk curl slow. “One thousand percent. Minor floors just get the fireworks… and none of the fun.”

Val’s mouth tugged upward, eyes sliding lower down her figure. “Mm. Guess I lucked out—plenty of fun on a minor floor last night.”

Instead of replying, Mika rose from the vanity, still in nothing but her underwear and the open fur jacket. She moved with deliberate slowness toward her belt on the chair, hips swaying just enough to make the point.

Val’s eyes tracked every step, his smirk deepening. “If that’s a farewell gift, I might have to rethink your rate.”

She glanced over her shoulder, the corner of her mouth lifting. “Consider it… a free show. Won’t happen twice.”

“Oh, I’m making a note,” he murmured, clearly enjoying the view.

She slid her arms fully into the jacket, pulling it just close enough to cover what he’d already seen. “Careful, Val. You might make me think you value the wrong part of the transaction.”

“Oh, I value all of it,” he said, gaze dipping to the heap of her clothes on the floor. “But some parts… are priceless.”

Val’s hand slid down to his thigh, absent-minded. “And the Doves?”

“Judy’s still nesting on Floor 52. No sudden moves,” Mika replied, adjusting the strap of her belt.

He chuckled softly. “Still playing hero, huh?”

She didn’t answer—just stepped closer to the mirror and pressed a kiss to it, leaving behind a perfect lipstick mark.

Val raised an eyebrow. “The girls aren’t going to like that.”

Her lips twitched in a smirk. “I’m not here to make friends.”

He chuckled under his breath. “Then maybe a different arrangement. My offer still stands—join my guild. We’d make an unbeatable pair… in and out of the field.”

Mika turned, hand on hip, eyes narrowing in mock consideration. “Tempting. But proximity tends to come with… attachments.”

“Some attachments,” he said, gaze sliding down the line of fur where it parted at her chest, “are worth keeping.”

Her smirk sharpened. “Keep dreaming, Val.”

She stepped back to the mirror, gave the lipstick kiss one last glance, and with a flick of her fingers, summoned a portal that shimmered open beside her.

“My answer hasn’t changed,” she said, glancing back over her shoulder. “No.”

And then she was gone—leaving him with her perfume on the air, the memory of her in his sheets, and the satisfaction of knowing the line between business and pleasure had never been thinner.

Val lay still for a moment longer, eyes fixed on the mirror where her lipstick mark lingered like a taunt.

He had been in Deadlink for nearly two and a half years. Only three players had ever beaten him.
Mika was one of them.

The scar she’d left on his back stretched just below his left shoulder—thin, pale, and still singing with memory when he moved a certain way. She was fast, clever, and far too good at making the first strike count. Dangerous enough to take him apart in seconds if he slipped, smart enough to know when not to. Mika wasn’t the kind of woman you made an enemy out of… and Val had no intention of trying.

If she was playing hard to get, he didn’t mind. It just meant the game wasn’t over.

He stood, letting the sheets fall away, his bare frame catching the morning light with unapologetic ease.

“Zaki.”

The shadows in the corner rippled. A tall figure emerged as if peeled from the darkness itself—black pants, a ninja mask covering his mouth, a koala-faced hoodie pulled low over his eyes, and a sheathed katana resting easily against his hip. His steps were soundless, his presence sharp.

Val’s trusted eyes.

“You called,” Zaki said simply, voice quiet but edged.

“I want eyes on Floor 30,” Val replied, rolling his shoulders in a stretch. “Same drill. No unnecessary attention.”

Zaki tilted his head slightly.

Val said, stepping toward the window. “Find out what event Mika’s talking about. While you’re at it—spot the strong ones. I want names and what they can do.”

Zaki gave a single nod. “Understood.”

And without another word, he stepped back into the wall’s shadow, dissolving into the dark until only stillness remained.

Val crossed the room and stopped at the massive window overlooking Floor 50, arms folded across his chest.

Below, his domain stood proud.

The Redwake Covenant guild hall.

Carved from black volcanic stone and accented with deep crimson glass, it loomed like a fortress with purpose. Torches lined the walls—not for warmth, but for atmosphere—burning in steady flickers of blue and red. Chandeliers hung not from the ceiling, but vertically along the walls like unblinking eyes, their crystal pieces catching the light like blood in the torchglow.

Crimson carpets ran across the main halls, bordered with red-stitched motifs of battle, flame, and conquest. Towering banners bore the guild’s sigil: a sword entwined in golden thorns, its tip forever stained with red. The air always smelled faintly of ash and metal.

The guild was strong. Feared. Unified. It accepted anyone—no matter their origin, gender, history, or species. Val only cared about one thing: strength. Prove yourself, and you belonged. Fail, and you were forgotten.

A loud, singsong voice broke the quiet.
“Boooss, we nailed it!”

Jassy sauntered in, her frilly pink jacket swaying over a petticoat skirt, space buns glittering under the chandelier light. A glowing monster core bobbed beside her in a charm-studded carrying case, clinking against the decorative trinkets. She popped a lollipop from her mouth and waved lazily at no one in particular.
“Floor 47’s raid? Total cakewalk. I swear, those idiots didn’t even know how to aim—ugh, amateurs.”

“Jassy,” a deeper voice chided lightly.

Marcus followed a moment later, tall and composed, his open white shirt hinting at lean muscle. The sleek violin slung across his back gleamed like polished obsidian. The women lounging on the staircases turned to watch him pass, whispering behind painted lips. He acknowledged them with a polite nod without breaking stride.

“Credit where it’s due,” Marcus said as he reached the center of the hall. “They were organized. We simply executed better.”

“Executed faster, you mean,” Jassy countered, twirling her lollipop. “I’m telling you, Boss, you should’ve seen me. I was like—‘Boom!’—and they were like, ‘Nooo!’” She threw her hands in an exaggerated wave, nearly spilling the monster core before she caught it again. “It was hilarious.”

Marcus gave her a sidelong glance. “Try not to play with the spoils.”

“Ugh, you’re such a dad sometimes,” she groaned, rolling her eyes.

Val watched them both in silence for a beat, the scar on his back faintly itching. His captains—loud, brash Jassy and cool, calculating Marcus. Different in every way, but both powerful enough to hold their positions without question.

Marcus leaned back in his chair, the dim lamplight catching the calm steel in his eyes. He always carried himself like the tide—steady, deliberate, and impossible to rattle. Even now, while Val sorted through the last of the intel, Marcus’s posture stayed loose but watchful.

Jassy, draped across the couch like she owned it, twirled a strand of hair and smirked.
“So,” she drawled, voice dripping with mockery, “how’s that old whore you keep parading around? Mika, right? Still breathing?”

Marcus didn’t flinch, didn’t even blink. His gaze slid to Jassy with the unhurried grace of a bow drawing over strings—soft at first, yet carrying a note that could cut if pressed.

Val didn’t even look up from the ledger, his tone smooth but dismissive. “We’re doing business, Jassy. Strictly… business.”

Jassy chuckled under her breath, clearly fishing for a reaction. “Relax, boss. I’m just saying—if she’s so scary, maybe I should go introduce myself.” The sing-song lilt in her voice was pure provocation.

Marcus’s gaze slid toward her, smooth as a bow over strings, but carrying a note that could cut. “If you’re smart, you won’t underestimate her.”

The weight of his words hung between them. Jassy’s smirk only tilted higher, her glittered hair clips catching the light. “Aw, you two worry too much. I can handle a little competition.”

Neither man rose to the bait. Val and Marcus had seen enough of her bratty jabs to know when to ignore them. Val simply closed the ledger with a sharp snap. “Now, where were we?”

His guild was ready. His eyes were everywhere. His reach grew by the day.
And still, Mika remained beyond it.

That only made her more interesting.

Back to Top

Chapter 23 Calls and Color

Floor 30 – Newly Purchased Base

The new base still smelled faintly of fresh paint and unpacked furniture. The three floors echoed with the quiet sounds of settling in—the hum of the fridge in the kitchen, the faint creak of new shelves. Four bedrooms waited on the second floor, each ready to be shared by two members of the team. Downstairs, the dining room opened seamlessly into the kitchen, where sunlight spilled across the counters, and two spacious bathrooms gleamed with unused fixtures. The third floor was still a mystery—just one empty room at first—but Liem had claimed it as their meeting space, saying, “Might as well make it official before it turns into storage.”

Now, he stood near one wall of the ground floor living area, sleeves rolled up, paintbrush in hand. His strokes were slow and precise, blending tones of grey and blue to give the space a calm, open feel. A faint streak of paint smudged the bridge of his nose, catching the light when he moved.

On the low table near the couch sat the remains of their breakfast—half a donut on a plate, a mug of black coffee cooling beside it for Liem, and a half-full glass of milk for Venus.

Venus floated a few inches above the floor, wings folded neatly, adjusting the couch near the open window. Her eyes flicked briefly to her glass before she spoke, her voice soft, curious.
“Liem… aside from you, who else can’t drink milk?”

Without looking up from his brushwork, Liem answered, “Gerbert.”

Venus smiled gently, the corners of her eyes softening. “Ah… poor Gerbert. I suppose that means more milk for the rest of us—and a quieter base too.”

Liem let out a short laugh, shaking his head. Their chuckles lingered in the air, light and warm, when a translucent interface suddenly blinked into existence in mid-air, framed in faint gold light.

[Party Voice Link Incoming: Gerbert]

The header pulsed once, then again, until Liem flicked his wrist to accept.

A warm, familiar voice filled the room—no image, just the sound, since video hadn’t been unlocked yet.
“We made it all out. Intact and alive.”

Venus froze. Her hands stilled mid-air, fingers resting lightly on the pillow she’d been arranging. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe, her eyes glistening as the relief swept through her. Her lips parted, but no words came—only a soft, trembling exhale.

“Venus?” Gerbert’s voice carried a trace of concern.

She finally found her voice, hushed but steady, like a breeze through leaves. “I… I’m so glad. Truly.” Her hand pressed gently against her chest. “We worried for you every day.”

Liem leaned one arm against the wall, trying to play it cool despite the way his shoulders eased. “Eh, told you they’d be fine,” he said with a faint smirk. “You just gave her an excuse to redecorate five times in a row.”

Gerbert sounded surprised. “Wait—you two thought we were gone for five days?”

Liem’s smirk faded into a frown. “It was five days.”

“…No,” Gerbert said after a pause, “it’s been less than two.”

Venus turned to Liem, her gentle expression shifting into confusion that mirrored his own as the voice link flickered faintly in the air between them.

A pause stretched before Gerbert’s voice lowered into a thoughtful mutter.
“Time’s distorted in the Dungeon Block… that explains a lot.”

From Gerbert’s side of the line, another voice suddenly burst through—Ace, loud and theatrical as ever:
“MY ROOM BETTER BE THE MOST GLAMOROUS! I WANT VELVET EVERYTHING! DRAMA! LUXURY!”

Venus let out a light giggle, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. Her voice, soft but teasing, carried warmth.
“Noted, Ace. We’ll save the velvet for you.”

Liem shook his head with a small smile. “We’re just glad you’re all okay.” He hesitated, then added with deliberate nonchalance, “Also—we bought the base.”

That immediately caught their attention.

“You did?” Gerbert asked, the calm in his voice sharpened with curiosity.

“Yup,” Liem confirmed, leaning against the freshly painted wall. “Top corner lot, close to the outer plaza. Good privacy, decent view. We’ve already set up the living areas. And once you all register physically, you’ll be able to teleport in and out of the base whenever you want.”

Venus stepped forward, brushing dust from her skirt, her wings folding neatly behind her. Her tone was gentle, reassuring.
“Once you’re physically inside, the portal will link to you automatically.”

She smiled faintly as she added, “I already registered the five of you. You’re residents now.”

There was a silence—a quiet that felt heavier than words. Then Gerbert’s reply came, soft but steady.
“…Thank you. We’ll come by after we finish exploring Floor 31. Truly—thank you, both of you.”

“We’ve been training too, you know,” he added casually, keeping his tone even like it wasn’t a big deal.

Gerbert’s laugh came warm through the interface. “I can tell. You both sound sharper already. Good work, Liem—Venus.”

Venus ducked her head with a gentle smile, while Liem only gave the faintest nod, playing it cool.

From his side, Gerbert added warmly, “Kokay, Taan, and Rann all say they miss you.”

Immediately, a flustered voice rose in protest.
“I did not say that!” Rann snapped from the background, which only drew a ripple of laughter from the others.

Taan’s rough-edged voice followed soon after, carrying a teasing kind of sweetness. “Can’t wait to cook with you again, Venus. Been too damn long.”

Venus smiled softly at the sound, her hand brushing her cheek as though she could feel the warmth through the call. “I’ll be waiting, Taan,” she replied gently.

The interface shimmered once before closing, and the house fell into stillness again—peaceful, but charged with that quiet buzz of new purpose, like walls waiting to be filled with voices.

A little while later, after ending the group call, Venus lingered with the call interface. Her chest trembled, and tears welled in her eyes before slipping down her cheeks. She quickly pressed her palm against them, embarrassed by her own reaction.

Liem noticed and set his brush down, moving to sit beside her. “Hey… what’s wrong?”

Venus shook her head, smiling through her tears. “Nothing bad. I’m just… relieved. Everyone’s safe. I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear that until now.”

Liem gave a quiet smile and draped an arm around her shoulder, pulling her close. “Then let’s keep it that way. We’ll make sure they stay safe, too.”

Venus leaned into him, finally letting out the breath she had been holding.

After a moment, she shifted, sitting cross-legged on the couch and scrolling through the game’s notification board. “Did you see the event notice earlier?”

Liem nodded, picking his brush back up and dipping it into paint. “Yeah. Pretty vague. Just said something about ‘facing the wave.’ No clear details.”

Venus tilted her head, still scrolling. “That notice actually went out to everyone yesterday. I heard half the market talking about it when I went for groceries this morning—speculation everywhere. Some think it’s a server-wide raid, others say it might be an invasion event. No one’s sure.”

Liem paused mid-stroke, his brow furrowed. “So it’s not just flavor text, then. If the market’s buzzing that much, it has to be big.” He leaned back slightly, brush still in hand. “Do you think we should join in when it starts?”

Venus glanced up from her screen, her smile faint but certain. “If it’s that big, we won’t really have a choice. If the wave hits, it’ll affect everyone—whether we want to be part of it or not. Better to be ready than scrambling later.” She lowered her tablet and met his gaze. “Let’s prepare together. It’ll go smoother if we keep pace with each other.”

Liem huffed a small laugh, shaking his head as he returned to the wall. “Always roping me into extra work, huh?”

Venus’s lips curved softly. “I could say the same—you’re the one dragging me into training runs at sunrise.”

Liem let out a small chuckle, returning to the wall. “Fair point. But if it’s as massive as people say, it won’t be just about us.

Venus let out a soft breath of amusement. “Well, in that case…” She looked around the room with a gentle smile. “We better get back to work before your paint dries wrong.”

Liem smirked, tapping the edge of his brush against the paint tray. “Relax, I’m always the better painter. You’d probably end up leaving streaks everywhere.”

Venus raised a brow, feigning offense. “Oh? Says the guy who nearly knocked over the entire can earlier?”

“That was strategy,” Liem teased, grinning as he dipped his brush again. “I had to test if you were paying attention.”

She let out a small laugh, shaking her head. “Sure, strategy. Just don’t expect me to clean up if you ‘test’ anything else.”

In the far corner of the base, where the shadows pooled thickest between two unopened supply crates, the darkness stirred.

Zaki stepped out, silent as ever, his koala-themed hoodie making the scene almost absurd—soft gray fabric with little ears perched on his hood, worn over a presence that seemed anything but harmless. His eyes tracked Venus and Liem, their quiet banter flowing with an ease that didn’t belong in a broken world.

He studied them, committing every detail to memory. Resilient. The kind that endure. He marked them both as strong.

Without a sound, he slipped backward. The hoodie’s ears twitched as he vanished into the next patch of darkness, swallowed whole.

The brushes never faltered.
The curtains never shifted.
But Zaki was already gone—off to observe the next.

Back to Top

Chapter 23.1

A Toast and the Barefoot

Laughter echoed in the corner booth of the Emberloom Inn, where four players sat gathered with drinks in hand—some full, some barely touched. The exhaustion of the day clung faintly to their shoulders; they had spent the entire afternoon in the Iron Courses, split into pairs for synergy drills, regrouping later for punishing teamwork tests. Muscles ached, but the mood was lighter than it had been in weeks.

Duane leaned back in his chair, legs sprawled comfortably, a half-finished mug already in front of him. He raised it again with a grin, clinking it against Michelle’s glass.

“You? Scotch too?” he laughed, a note of delight in his voice. “Finally, someone civilized!”

Michelle smirked, her elbow propped on the table, the amber liquid already a third gone. “Anything with bite. We’re going to get along fine.”

Across from them, Gal swirled her straw idly in a tall fruit drink, untouched. “I don’t drink,” she admitted, cheerful but sheepish. “My stomach flips too fast.”

Neriel, seated beside her with his usual composed posture, inclined his head slightly. “Likewise. I prefer tea. Or silence.”

Duane tilted his head toward him dramatically. “That the secret to being mysterious, old man?”

Neriel didn’t blink. “It’s the secret to staying alive.”

Gal giggled, hiding her mouth behind the straw. Michelle chuckled under her breath, rolling her glass in her hand. The chemistry across the table felt easy, the kind born not of forced camaraderie but of sweat, bruises, and laughter shared in the training halls just hours earlier.

Michelle lifted her gaze toward Duane, studying him over the rim of her glass. “Be honest—were you Task Force? You move like you’ve had drills drilled into you since birth.”

Duane barked a laugh, tapping two fingers against the table. “Close. Army. Recon. Was stationed at base when the world went to hell. Saw a notification pop up on my screen—thought it was a text from my boss, or maybe my wife reminding me about dinner.” He shook his head, grinning crookedly. “Next thing I know, I’m here, staring at health bars and monsters. Hell of a punchline, right?”

Michelle smirked into her drink. “Figures. Knew it wasn’t just gym habits.”

Duane pointed his mug at her with a grin. “Careful. Keep flattering me like that and I’ll start billing you by the compliment.”

Michelle leaned back, amused. “You couldn’t afford me.”

Duane fired back without missing a beat. “True. But I’ve got a two-for-one coupon for bad jokes—redeemable any time.”

Gal nearly spit out her juice, dropping her head against the table with a laugh. “Oh no! We’re not even drunk yet.

Duane winked. “Hey, at least I’m consistent. Reliable like government rations—tasteless, but always there.”

Gal laughed outright this time, and even Neriel’s lips curved into the faintest shadow of a smile. The air around them carried the same unspoken thought: they weren’t just survivors in the same cage anymore. They were becoming something closer to a team.

Gal tapped her fingers on her glass and leaned in. “Okay, real talk—dungeon block.”

“Big one,” Michelle said, sipping. “Do we dive in blind?”

“I don’t think we should,” Gal replied. “There’s that event in two days. Might be smart to test our synergy before going into something long-term.”

Duane nodded slowly. “Use the event as a warm-up?”

“Exactly,” Gal said. “We need to figure out who leads when, how we coordinate… how we move. No better way to learn than in actual combat.”

Neriel spoke up with a calm tone. “The event announcement is vague. Just mentions ‘facing the wave.’ Could be a gauntlet or endurance format.”

“Sounds chaotic,” Michelle said with a grin. “Good for stress-testing a team.”

“And we can bounce if it gets messy,” Duane added. “Better than learning mid-dungeon when half the party’s stuck figuring out friendly fire rules.”

Gal smiled. “I like that. We go in, figure out each other’s tempo, and see how we hold up under pressure.”

She paused, thoughtful. “Earlier today, I invited someone. A barefoot girl in green. She was polite, but declined.”

Michelle cocked her head. “Any reason why?”

Gal shrugged. “Said she wasn’t ready for groups yet. Wanted to train on her own terms.”

Duane raised his eyebrows. “Wait—barefoot? Wild hair?”

Gal nodded slowly.

Duane snapped his fingers. “I saw her in that shifting green game. Moved quiet. Controlled. Like she wasn’t really part of the place. If I remember correctly, her name is Ysang.”

Gal leaned in. “She was at the collapsing maze on Floor 29 too. Didn’t fight. Just passed through. Calm. Like the place couldn’t touch her.”

Neriel tilted his head slightly, voice calm. “I’ve seen her as well. Always at a distance. Always deliberate.”

Michelle nodded. “Me too. Always alone. Doesn’t draw attention—but hard to miss once you do.”

“She’s probably strong,” Duane said, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully. “Or careful. Maybe both. Either way, she knows how to survive.”

“Still,” Gal said softly, “she declined. Which is fair. Not everyone wants to group up. Doesn’t make her an enemy.”

“Or a friend,” Michelle added, eyes sharp but relaxed.

Neriel folded his hands on the table. “Neutrality is not a weakness. It is simply another path. Ours remains the same—train in the event, then enter the block prepared.”

Duane’s grin returned as he lifted his mug—his fourth of the night, judging by the empty ones scattered near his elbow. His face was flushed a bright red, eyes shining a little too cheerfully as he declared, “Then here’s to waves, dungeons, and chaos we actually choose to walk into.”

Michelle chuckled, clinking her glass against his. “To making it out in one piece.”

Gal raised her fruit drink with a playful laugh. “To not puking in the first ten minutes.”

Even Neriel lifted his tea cup with a faint, knowing smile. “To clarity in the storm.”

Their glasses met at the center of the table with a soft clink, the warmth of the toast wrapping around them like armor. Whatever Floor 30 threw at them next, they’d face it together—Duane’s drunken grin and all.

Outside the Emberloom Inn, a sliver of shadow along the stone wall shimmered.

Zaki stepped back from the wood-paneled window, the veil concealing his face as always. He had heard enough. From the rhythm of their voices and the way they leaned into one another’s words, it was clear: Duane and Gal were syncing well, while Michelle and Neriel had already settled into a quiet, mutual rhythm of their own.

He knew Michelle and Neriel well enough. Both were Echo Pit arena veterans, players with wins under their belts—fighters who had earned respect in the chaos of the ring. They had been on his radar for some time, and in their own way, he’d felt himself lingering on theirs.

Now, seeing them tied in with Gal’s energy and Duane’s steady presence, the picture sharpened.

“It is a good group,” Zaki noted quietly, turning away from the window. “Too good to ignore.”

He turned and stepped into the shadow behind the wall.

But before reaching them, Zaki had followed someone else.

A lone woman. Barefoot. Dressed in green. Moving without sound.

Her hair curled like vines left untamed. Her eyes unreadable. Her skin seemed to belong to the forest rather than the city. She didn’t step through the alley—she belonged to it.

Zaki had watched her—only briefly. Then left.

Something about her unsettled him. Not fear. Not confusion. But unfamiliar territory. He didn’t like shadows he couldn’t step into.

Ysang.

And the unsettling part wasn’t just how she moved—it was how she seemed to already know he was there. His instincts told him she felt the weight of being watched. Maybe it was the whisper of the wind curling down the narrow lane. Maybe the shift of the ground beneath her bare feet. Maybe the stillness of the wall itself bending to her notice.

He couldn’t tell. But he knew she knew.

Zaki exhaled softly, his voice no more than a whisper. “She’s aware. That makes her dangerous.”

He would leave her alone—for now.

Back in the darkness, he slipped into unseen corridors and reflections, letting the city swallow him again.

The new players so far weren’t just interesting. They carried a spark he hadn’t seen in years, one that made him pause longer than he intended.

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Chapter 23.2

A Father Among Beasts

Floor 30 – Deep in the Forest, Golden Afternoon

The sun spilled golden light through the canopy, dappling the grassy patch where Ray had set up a small campfire. A metal pot gently bubbled over the flames, filled with herbed stew, while an old skillet sizzled with roots and mushrooms. The smell of comfort and earth filled the clearing.

Ray knelt beside the fire, his green cloak gathered neatly behind him, ladle in hand. His white beard twitched with every chuckle, eyes crinkled in that way only kind souls and old storytellers manage.

Next to him, Pip, a brown rabbit with far too much energy, hopped in place as he spoke at high speed.

“Do you think bees get bored of flowers? And if they don’t, should we invent games for them? Ray, how do you season stew without onions? I read somewhere onions are toxic to some creatures—what about magical onions? What if—”

“Breathe, Pip,” Ray said warmly, chuckling. “The stew will survive without a soliloquy.”

A few feet away, lounging in the sun-drenched grass, a sleek black panther flicked his tail. His name was Nyx. His golden eyes narrowed, low voice curling like smoke.

“Ray. Permission to silence the rabbit permanently?”

Ray gave him a look. Not angry—just amused. “No eating teammates, Nyx. Not even the talkative ones.”

“I didn’t say eat,” Nyx muttered. “Just… taste.”

Pip gasped, puffing out his chest. “Ha! You’re just jealous because I was the last recruit. Which means Ray saved the best for last. Me. The cutest. The favorite.”

Nyx groaned, ears flattening. “The loudest, more like.”

Overhead, nestled in the branches, Vantemyr the cobra stirred. One gleaming eye slid open, unbothered, then shut again.

Ray smiled softly, stirring the stew. “Nyx, Pip—remember, aside from my bees, you were all chosen for a reason. Recruited, not collected. That makes each of you special.”

“Exactly!” Pip declared, pointing his paw at the panther. “See, Nyx? He said it. Special. Which is code for ‘favorite bunny.’”

Nyx flicked his tail with theatrical exasperation, but his voice carried a warmth beneath the irritation. “One day, Pip. One day…”

Ray’s bee army buzzed back into camp in a clean, looping flight pattern. A few vanished into the glass jar they called home; others danced in the air, communicating silently. Ray nodded as if he understood.

“Good work, everyone,” he said, scooping stew into bowls. “Eat well, my lovelies. We’ve got a day ahead.”

Pip bounced over eagerly. Nyx stretched and prowled closer. Even Vantemyr dropped down from the tree in slow, elegant coils to curl near the fire.

As they began to eat, Ray spoke between mouthfuls. “We’ll join the event tomorrow. It’s the perfect opportunity to grow, and if we win something nice, even better.”

“What’s an event again?” Pip asked, chewing.

“A challenge,” Ray said. “Time-limited. Dangerous. Usually filled with other players who take things far too seriously. But it’s good for experience. Good for bones like mine.”

“We’re not just entering,” Nyx said with a growl-like grin. “We’re winning.”

Pip jumped up. “YES! WINNING! DOMINATION! STRATEGY! BEE SUPPORT—”

Whap!
Nyx’s tail casually smacked him.

“Oops,” the panther said, deadpan.

Ray laughed, deep and full. “You two are going to give me gray hair.”

“You have gray hair,” Pip said, glaring.

“Exactly,” Ray replied with a wink. “So it’s your fault.”

They all laughed together. Even Vantemyr let out a soft hiss that sounded suspiciously amused.

Ray leaned back, bowl in hand, surrounded by his mismatched companions. He was a leader, yes—but more than that, a guardian. A father figure among beasts.

From within the trees, Zaki watched silently.

Tall and lean, cloaked in black with his signature koala-eared hoodie, he remained motionless. His katana rested on his back.

The animals’ voices meant nothing to him—just buzzing, hissing, chattering. But Ray? Ray’s calm responses, the way they obeyed, understood, laughed… it didn’t take much to see the truth.

Ray could speak to them. That ability wasn’t flashy, but it was terrifying in its potential.

Zaki’s eyes also softened. This was strength—the kind that needed no blade, no boast, no threat. A gravity born of patience and care, steady as the roots of an ancient tree.

Quietly, almost reverently, he bowed his head. He admired the man, and in that moment, understood why the residents of the forest followed him so willingly.

Zaki turned from the shadows and vanished into one.

Zaki slipped from the shadows and reformed on the rooftop of a weathered tower on Floor 30. The late afternoon sun bathed everything in gold, its light spilling across broken glass and concrete. His grey koala hoodie stood out against the glow, the floppy ears on the hood catching the warm breeze as if mocking the solemnity of the moment.

A soft chime lit up the corner of his vision. Guild interface. Incoming link.

Jassy’s avatar blinked into place, her sing-song voice cutting through the stillness like always:
“Heyyy, where the hell are you? You’re not in your freaking room!”

“I’m on Floor 30,” Zaki replied, voice calm as always. “Assignment.”

“WHAAAAT?!” Jassy shrieked, leaning so close to the projection it almost blurred. “Why the fuck would they send you all the way down there?!”

“Boss’s orders.” Zaki’s half-smile flickered in the shadows.

Jassy puffed her cheeks, pouting through the link. “Tch. You really need to learn how to complain sometimes.” She let out a groan, dragging her voice into a long, dramatic whine.

“Fineee. But you better come back soon! I don’t have anybody to play with. Marcus is probably off playing his violin under some stupid tree again, Lauren’s on some mission since she’s not even in the guild yet, and me? I’m stuck here. Alone. Dying of boredom!”

Zaki leaned against a rusted railing, letting the glow of the sun slide across the cityscape. Jassy’s voice filled the quiet, whiny and bratty, but familiar.

Zaki gave her a faint smile. “I promise.” Then, before she could spiral into another complaint, he asked, “How’s your squad doing?”

The shift caught her off guard. She blinked, then crossed her arms with a huff. “Ugh, don’t remind me. They’re fine, I guess. A bunch of rookies who can’t even keep formation without me yelling at them. Sometimes I swear Val picks them just to test my patience.”

Zaki said nothing, but his eyes narrowed slightly behind the hood. Every captain had their own squad—handpicked by Val, their guild leader. It was a privilege… and a burden. Captains weren’t permanent. If they were deemed too weak—or worse, if they died—Val replaced them without hesitation.

Jassy rolled her eyes, missing the weight in Zaki’s silence. “Seriously, it’s exhausting. Leading is boring. I’d rather be out fighting. But nooo, Val and Lauren says it ‘builds discipline.’” She leaned closer to the projection, bratty as ever. “Don’t get any ideas, though. I’m not planning on dying in this fucked world or being replaced anytime soon.”

Zaki’s faint smile returned, though his thoughts remained guarded. That’s Val’s rule. We’re all expendable pieces on his board.

He remembered when they were both scouted into the guild—at the same time, side by side. Jassy hadn’t changed a bit since then: bratty, restless, endlessly noisy. But she was also the only one he considered a real friend.

For all her whining, she’s the bloodthirstiest of us besides Master, he thought. A strong ally… one worth keeping close.

His tone softened, quiet but steady. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

Jassy squinted at him through the projection, pointing a finger. “And you better bring something pink, got that? Hey—are you listening?!”

Zaki chuckled under his hood, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. “I promise.”

“ You better! Don’t make me come drag you out of those shadows.”

With a flick, Jassy cut the call.

The rooftop fell silent again. The sunlight stretched long, painting everything in amber. Zaki pulled his hood lower, shadows pooling around his frame—then he stepped into the dark, and the shadow swallowed him whole.

Back to Top

Chapter 23.3

Little Koala

Floor 30 – Emberloom Inn, Evening

Team Rage had claimed a corner suite with oversized sofas, warm lighting, and a view of the forest. The air smelled faintly of coffee and furniture polish, and the windows were fogged from the cooling night air.

They were mid-meeting. Or more accurately—Jaja was talking, and the rest were in varying degrees of attention.

Jaja leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, the gold-red tattoos on her arms pulsing faintly. “We’re ready for the Dungeon Block. We’ve trained, built our cohesion, we’re stable. But this event drops tomorrow. Potential rare loot. Exclusive tools. And a bunch of extra Blings wouldn’t hurt.”

Sheg was sprawled sideways on the couch, one leg dangling, the other bouncing idly. She yawned long and loud, stretching her arms overhead. “Can we add tactical naps to the agenda? Or snacks? I swear, if I go into the Dungeon Block half-asleep and hungry, I’m blaming you.”

Andrea was upside down on the floor, legs draped over the couch arm, twirling a strand of brown hair. “Still listening,” she murmured, though her twirl sped up. “But tactical naps and snacks might actually be genius.”

Migz, calm and unshakable, returned carrying a tray—coffee, breadsticks, and a fresh thermos. He set it down carefully on the table, poured a cup, and finally spoke, his tone even.

“By the way, the Linkbreakers cleared the Dungeon Block already. Five days. No fuss.”

The room shifted.

Andrea stopped twirling her hair and dropped her legs to the floor. “Five days? Are you serious?”

Sheg jerked upright, nearly tipping off the couch. “What? Five days? How? Did they cheat, or are they just insane?”

Jaja leaned forward, elbows on her knees, the gold-red tattoos along her arms pulsing faintly. “They didn’t cheat. Clean, quiet, efficient. And that’s why we can’t afford to sit back. That’s the bar now.”

Sheg’s grin returned, wider this time. “Hell yeah. If Ace is in that crew, I’m finding him. I still owe him a shock to the ribs.”

Andrea shrugged upside down. “I follow the crew. If we’re going, I’m going.”

Migz, silent as ever, met Jaja’s eyes. He poured her a cup of black coffee—no sugar—and passed it to her. She took it with a faint smile.

“Thanks Migz,” she said. “You always know.”

“Youre welcome,” he replied.

As soon as the meeting ended, the girls bolted upstairs toward the bathroom, laughing like they’d been waiting for the signal all along. Within seconds, the sound of running water and playful splashes echoed through the hall.

Migz stayed behind, moving through the suite like clockwork—folding jackets, wiping mugs, sweeping away stray crumbs as if order was second nature.

Jaja pushed open the Emberloom Inn’s door, the warm lobby light spilling briefly across her shoulders before the night air swallowed her. Coffee steamed in one hand, cigarette glowing faintly in the other. She stepped off the curb and onto the quiet street, boots tapping against the pavement.

“Just a breather,” she said.

He nodded once, wordless but understanding.

The city below glowed softly under a pale sky, its scattered lights blinking like distant stars. Somewhere beyond the walls, the steady hum of machinery blended with the faint, rhythmic chirp of crickets—a strangely natural sound that made you pause and wonder, just for a moment, if this was really a game world or the real one bleeding through.

Jaja took a long sip of coffee, the heat balancing the chill, then lit her cigarette with an easy flick. The ember flared, tracing a brief arc of orange before settling into a slow burn. She didn’t rush; she let the smoke curl upward, mingling with the faint glow of neon signs and the occasional flicker of a passing drone.

She stepped farther down the street, letting the night settle around her. The air here carried a quiet weight, almost expectant.

“So…” she exhaled a slow plume of smoke, “how long are you gonna keep watching us, little mouse?”

Silence. Only the wind answered.

She smiled faintly, the corner of her mouth curling. “You’re good. If I wasn’t paying attention, I wouldn’t have noticed. But you still leave a breath behind. You’ll want to work on that.”

She tapped the cigarette against the railing, eyes narrowing with interest. “Passing me is one thing—but slipping past Andrea too? That’s impressive. She’s sharp. Harder to fool than she lets on.”

The shadow shifted.

Zaki emerged from the corner of the wall, hoodie up, koala ears catching the breeze. His katana gleamed faintly at his back.

“Yo,” he said.

Jaja turned to face him fully, the glow of her cigarette tracing a faint line across the night. “Or should I say… little koala.”

Zaki stayed silent.

Jaja studied him, then lifted her cigarette, blowing a slow trail of smoke toward the sky. “Not a talker, huh?” She stepped closer, close enough for the ember to glow between them. Then, with a slight tilt of her wrist, she held the cigarette out toward him, offering it without breaking eye contact.

“Want a puff?” she asked, tone light but edged with curiosity.

Still no reply.

Zaki didn’t move. He didn’t take it, didn’t even shake his head. The silence that followed wasn’t tense or hostile; it was steady, almost thoughtful—two players reading each other, measuring, neither in a hurry to break the moment.

Jaja let the cigarette hover for a second longer before drawing it back to herself, a faint smile curving her lips.

She stepped closer—just one pace—and locked her gaze on him, intense and unblinking.

The silence tightened like a wire. For a moment, the world shrank to the sound of the wind curling past, her slow inhale, and the soft tick of her cigarette burning down.

Zaki stared back. Still. Calm. Not a twitch, not a flicker. No reaction. No fear.

A long beat stretched between them.

Then Jaja’s lips curved, slow and deliberate.

“Then here’s your message,” she said, voice cool but edged with steel. “Whoever sent you—leave me and my team alone.”

Zaki tilted his head slightly, the faintest acknowledgment, and gave a single nod.

“Will do,” he murmured. “Anything else I should tell them?”

She flicked ash off the cigarette and held it out to him casually, almost playful.

“Yeah,” she said. “Coffee?”

For the first time, something flickered in his eyes—amusement, maybe even a hint of being impressed—but it vanished as quickly as it appeared.

He didn’t take the cigarette, and he didn’t take the coffee.

Zaki turned without a word, stepped back once—

—and walked into the shadows.

Gone.

Jaja stayed where she was, gaze fixed ahead. Then she exhaled slowly, muttering to herself.

“He’s strong.”

The door behind her opened.

Migz stepped out, his hands glowing faintly with soft blue energy—ready to summon ice. “You alright?”

She glanced at his hands, then tilted her head toward the roofline above.

Andrea and Sheg were crouched on the upper-floor balcony, still dripping from their showers, bath towels wrapped around them. Their expressions were sharp—suspicious, alert, and coiled for action.

Jaja chuckled, more to herself this time.

“One wrong move,” she said lightly, “and the three of you would’ve jumped him.”

She straightened, eyes narrowing toward the night sky where the visitor had vanished. “Smart little koala. He knew when to leave.”

Turning back, she gave a small nod to the group. “Good job, all of you. You kept yourselves hidden

Sheg hopped lightly off the balcony, landing beside her with a grin. Andrea stayed where she was, arms crossed, irritation clear on her face.

“Great,” Andrea said, scowling. “He managed to slip past my nose. And I didn’t even get to finish my hair treatments before all this.”

Jaja smirked, finishing the last sip of her coffee and grinding out the cigarette under her heel.

“Relax. He’s gone. Let’s call it a day,” she said, turning toward the door. “Event’s tomorrow. We’ll need our heads clear.”

Back to Top

Chapter 24 Silk, Shadows, and Smiles

Zaki stood atop the tallest tower on Floor 30, the city sprawling like a living map beneath him. The wind tugged at the floppy koala ears on his hoodie, making them twitch and sway as if alive. He didn’t mind; the chill helped him think. From this height, he could see the neon shimmer of the Market District, the quiet green of the Mini Forest Zones, and the faint glow of the Banner Nexus standing proud in the distance. His boots were planted lightly on the weathered stone, one hand resting on the rusted railing, the other flipping open the party interface with practiced ease.

The holographic screen blinked to life in front of him, faintly blue against the golden light of dusk. Zaki exhaled, calm but sharp-eyed, scanning the activity logs. For a moment, he simply listened—to the hum of the wind, the low thrum of the city far below—before tapping into the comm line.

“Val, reporting.”

“Go ahead,” came Val’s voice, smooth and curious.

“Notable players I found,” Zaki said. “Names confirmed: Duane, Gal, Ray, Liem, Venus, and a group called Team Rage led by Jaja. All are preparing for the event Mika mentioned.

A pause. Then Zaki added, “There’s another. Name’s Ysang. Keeps alone. Moves like nothing touches her and Jaja as well, that woman is also dangerous including her members. My advice? Don’t interfere. Both are dangerous if provoked.”

There was a beat of static before Zaki continued, his voice lowering slightly. “The event mentions ‘facing the wave’ coming from players like these. Markets, forests… nothing solid yet. I apologize for the lack of clarity.”

“That Jaja woman also wanted to send you a message,” he added.

“Oh?” Val’s tone carried amusement.

“‘Leave me and my team alone.’”

A low chuckle hummed through the channel. “Scary,” Val said.

“And the others?”

“Old players like Neriel and Michelle are pairing up with newcomers—Duane and Gal among them. They’re preparing too.”

“Understood,” Val replied. “Keep watching. Report the moment the wave shifts.”

Zaki ended the call and tucked the interface away. From the pocket of his koala-eared hoodie, he pulled out a chocolate bar wrapped in bright, playful foil—a gift from Jassy.

He took a bite and when the last fragment melted on his tongue, he stepped toward the building’s edge. Without hesitation, he pivoted and dropped backward, arms loose at his sides.

Eyes closed. Gravity seized him. Wind rushing past.

Somewhere below, bells chimed faintly, carried up by the breeze.

A flock of birds burst into view above him, wings flashing silver in the light. Their shadows swept across his falling form—

—and as the last one crossed over him, Zaki was gone, the empty air left to swallow the wind.

Obsidian Swan Hotel – Mika’s Suite

Mika stepped from the steaming bathtub, water tracing her curves as she padded across marble floors. Her long hair clung to her neck, eyes glowing faintly red in the light. She dried her hands, then opened the window.

She had seen Zaki fall. Seen him vanish.

“Show-off,” she murmured.

The portal ring shimmered on her finger—a mark of privilege. A reward for loyalty. She touched it with her thumb, thoughtful.

“Loyalty,” she repeated under her breath, almost amused. “People think it’s some noble word. They never see the blood it costs.”

Four years ago. Back before the beta test.

Back when people still called her him.

She had been a hitman. A rising name in gang wars and black contracts. But even then—before she had the words for it—she knew who she really was.

When she transitioned, her father disowned her. Her mother had already disappeared. Violence was easier to understand than love.

She found solace in fights, in jobs, in power. Politicians. Businessmen. Monsters hiding behind empires. She killed them all with precision and flair.

Until the FBI decided it wasn’t fun anymore.

“So what?” she said quietly, almost to the empty room. “You point, I shoot. They bleed, I get paid. Simple. Clean.” A faint smirk tugged at her lips. “Too bad they couldn’t keep up.”

So when an Admin offered her a new life in exchange for loyalty—she didn’t flinch. Maybe they chose her for a reason. Maybe it was easier to recruit the ones no one would miss: the street dwellers, the criminals, the substance abusers, the broken people who’d already slipped off the map. People like her.

Her gaze shifted to the bed, where pastel gift bags waited in perfect order. Stuffed toys. Ribbons. Candy.

Everything had changed when she met her—a girl whose gaze carried no judgment, no fear, no agenda, only kindness. The kind that didn’t ask for masks, didn’t demand explanations. The first time Charmee smiled at her, it felt like the world had stopped to let her breathe.

That smile lit something in Mika’s chest she hadn’t known was there.

Charmee made Mika think, made her question things she’d buried long ago—why she stayed in the shadows, why she kept running, why she’d accepted the life she had. For the first time, someone gave her a reason to want more. To want out. To want escape.

“She sees me,” Mika whispered, almost in disbelief, as though repeating the words could make them more real.

She wrapped herself in a silk robe, fingers brushing the plush handles of the gift bags.

She couldn’t wait to see her.

Couldn’t wait to wrap her arms around her.

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Chapter 24.1

Tick. Tick.

Floor 30 – Obsidian Swan Hotel, Mika’s Suite

Mika’s suite on Floor 30 was a lavish haven of soft, cream-colored carpets and crystal fixtures that caught the morning light like scattered jewels. The chaos of the city felt far away here. Beyond the wide glass walls, the day was unusually calm: a soft breeze rippled through the curtains, carrying the faint scent of blooming trees from the Mini Forest zones. Somewhere below, birdsong threaded through the air, blending strangely well with the quiet hum of the metropolis.

Outside, the streets were alive but not frantic—bustling NPC vendors called out in practiced voices, players moved between shops and mission boards, their chatter rising and falling like a tide. Hovercarts glided by, and digital banners unfurled with quest notices. Above it all, hanging like a silent warning, was a countdown timer etched across the morning sky—its steady digits ticking forward, impossible to ignore.

The world felt poised, as though something important was about to begin.

Mika hummed softly, lifting a cup of steaming Da Hong Pao tea and savoring the aroma. She leaned against the wide windowsill, watching the world move beneath her.

“Nothing like good leaves to steady the day,” she murmured to herself.

With a flick of her fingers, a holographic interface bloomed into existence—translucent panels hovering like weightless glass. One touch, and a soft chime announced the connection.

The mirror on the far wall rippled. A face appeared within it, calm, precise—Gazelle.

“Hello, stranger,” Mika said, playful. “How’s life?”

“Quiet,” Gazelle replied simply, her voice smooth, almost distant.

Mika smirked and sipped her tea. “Charmee behaving?”

Gazelle’s eyes flicked slightly, the faintest shift of amusement. “Outside. Playing pretend—Charmee’s the teacher this time. She’s pacing like a little instructor, pointer stick in hand, lecturing her dolls and plushies. They’re all seated in neat rows on the grass, waiting for her ‘lessons.’ She even made a chalkboard out of cardboard.”

Mika laughed, the sound warm and delighted. “Of course she did. Give her a few more weeks and she’ll be handing out homework, won’t she?”

Gazelle’s lips curved faintly. “Probably.”

A shared laugh. Mika’s rich and melodic, Gazelle’s barely audible.

“Good. Let’s get to the meat,” Mika said, setting the cup down and tilting her head. “What about the ones I asked you to keep tabs on?”

Gazelle’s gaze moved off-screen, mirrors in her room catching the light as if relaying distant visions. “Amore is with Leonard, Francis, and Minggay. They were chased by PKs last night. She’s been… active against them. Leaders may be interested now. Party could get caught in it.”

Mika’s smile curved, soft and knowing. “Let them run. But if it comes down to it—make sure Amore lives.”

Gazelle gave a slow nod.

“And my favorites?”

“Exploring Floor 31. Heading to 32. Nothing significant—mapping only,” A single ornate mirror floated near Gazelle, its frame a swirl of silver and glasswork, carved with delicate patterns that seemed to move when caught by the light reflected the faint images of travelers—tiny, blurred outlines of the Linkbreakers moving through some distant corridor.

Mika’s eyes glimmered. “Perfect. Keep me posted.”

“Always,” Gazelle said.

Mika leaned back, finishing her tea, her gaze drifting to a countdown shimmering faintly against the night sky—a quiet reminder of the assignment looming over her.

“How’s your end?” Gazelle asked finally, though softly, almost reluctant.

Mika gave a small laugh, swirling the last sip of tea in her cup. “Oh, you mean the admin’s little toy? Soon. Let them sweat a little first.” She tilted her head, eyes lifting toward the faint countdown hanging high in the sky beyond the glass walls. The numbers ticked down like an impatient drumbeat, but she looked utterly unbothered. “They dropped quite the assignment on me, didn’t they? Big stage, big stakes. I think they want a spectacle.”

The ornate mirror near Gazelle glimmered faintly, reflecting her calm face. But her silence carried a weight. She didn’t move, didn’t blink, only watched Mika as if measuring something.

Mika caught it instantly and smirked. “Oh, don’t give me that look. I can feel the worry through the glass.”

Gazelle’s eyes shifted, the smallest break in her composure. “It’s not worry,” she said evenly, though her voice was softer than before. “It’s… you. When things get loud, you like to get louder.”

Mika’s grin widened, playful. “Guilty. But that’s why they trust me with the fireworks. It’ll be fine. You know me—I make a mess, but I clean up after.”

The mirror hummed faintly, but Gazelle said nothing more.

She ended the call with a flick, playful and light, the mirror returning to an empty reflection.

Outside the Emberloom Inn, Team Rage stood gathered near the cobblestone path, the morning air carrying a cool edge. The city was alive with motion—vendors calling out, mission boards updating, players running to and from—but the group’s attention was fixed upward.

A massive digital timer hung in the sky like a silent judge, its glowing numbers ticking down toward something inevitable.

Sheg bounced on her toes, barely able to contain herself, fists clenching and unclenching like a coiled spring. “We better get cool loot outta this. If I fight before breakfast, it better be worth it. Come on, come on, hurry up already!”

Andrea rolled her shoulders, her wings shifting with a quiet rustle, tone calm and casual. “Keep the pace. And don’t fly off without me. I’m not dragging anyone’s body back if you faceplant.”

Sheg snorted, grinning wide. “Relax, mom. I’ll save you a seat on the scoreboard.”

Jaja tugged on her gloves, flexing her fingers like a pianist warming up, her expression serious and focused. “Stay sharp. The countdown’s not just for show—they’ll drop something ugly the moment it hits zero.” Her voice carried authority, quiet but firm, the kind that settled nerves and sharpened edges.

Migz stood a half step behind them, arms loosely crossed. His voice was low, steady, and carried that fatherly weight that came from watching over them too long to hide the concern. “Timing is everything. We move together or not at all, understood? No one drifts. No one gets careless.”

Sheg raised a hand in mock salute, grinning. “Yes, otōsan.”

Andrea smirked. “For once, I agree.”

The digits above flickered, the hum of the city seeming to dim around them. A ripple of anticipation spread through the nearby players—some murmuring, some backing away from the open streets.

Jaja’s gaze stayed on the sky, her tone firm. “Even the Banner Nexus is blank—no quests, no missions. Whatever’s coming, they cleared the board for it.”

Migz’s voice dropped even softer, like a calm warning before the storm. “Positions. We play it smart.”

Sheg cracked her knuckles, excitement buzzing off her like static. “Or loud. Loud’s more fun.”

Andrea’s wings opened halfway, catching the sunlight. “Save the jokes for later.”

The timer dropped another second.

Near the Banner Nexus, Duane, Gal, Michelle, and Neriel waited by the wide stone steps. The usual bustle of players and NPCs had thinned, the mission boards strangely blank, the air carrying a subtle charge of anticipation.

Michelle’s hair was tied in a slick, clean bun, not a strand out of place. She wore her black sando beneath a faded denim shirt, the sleeves casually rolled, her posture relaxed but alert—one foot tapping idly against the step.

Duane stood a pace ahead, one hand on his hip, the other scrolling through the glowing event interface projected in front of him. His brow furrowed. “Still counting down. Nothing’s loading yet. Weird seeing the Nexus this quiet.”

Gal shifted her weight, tugging her bright headphones into place around her neck, the soft glow of their panels catching the morning light. “I don’t like it. Feels like the calm before a drop. Bet half the city’s got eyes on that timer.”

Neriel said nothing, his expression unreadable. He simply tilted his head back, eyes closed for a moment, then opened them toward the sky, watching the luminous digits tick down. A breeze stirred his kimono, the faint patterns along the fabric catching the light as if they were moving.

Elsewhere, Ray had moved closer to the city zone. His steps were unhurried, measured, the carved stick in his hand tapping softly against the stone path. The morning breeze tugged gently at his cloak, carrying the scents of market spices and fresh bread.

Pip sat casually on Nyx’s back, legs dangling, scanning the rooftops with sharp eyes. He was humming, then broke into a light, sing-song tune, his voice playful and careless:

“Carrots in the ground, carrots in a row,
Pull ’em up quick, watch those orange heads show.
Crunchy and sweet, best snack you’ll find,
Hide one for later, leave none behind.”

It wasn’t loud, more like a tune to pass the time, but it carried just enough to make Nyx’s ears twitch.

Inside the folds of Ray’s cloak, Vantemyr slept—a coiled shadow of scales and warmth, its steady breathing barely audible.

The timer ticked: 3:28.

Above them, birds wheeled and darted, breaking from their usual patterns. A flock of sparrows scattered suddenly across the rooftops, wings flickering like silver against the sun. Ray slowed, raising his head. A crow landed briefly on a nearby lamppost, cawed once, then took off again, circling wide before disappearing toward the Banner Nexus.

Ray’s calm smile didn’t waver, but his grip on the stick shifted. “They’re restless today,” he murmured, voice quiet, almost amused. “Something’s afoot.”

On the far edge of the city, where the noise thinned and stone paths gave way to patches of green, Ysang sat on a weathered swing tied to an old steel frame. The swing creaked softly with each lazy push of her feet. She bit into a pale apple, slow and deliberate, the crunch echoing faintly in the quiet.

The market’s distant commotion reached her only as a low hum. She didn’t care for the event, didn’t care for the rushing bodies or the tension in the air.

Her gaze stayed level and calm.

Still, the glow of the timer reflected faintly in her eyes: 2:42… 2:41…

She didn’t quicken her bite. Didn’t tense. Just let the swing sway, apple in hand, while the numbers dropped.

Inside their new base, Liem sat by the table, his headset tilted just enough to catch the faint crackle of the party chat. He tapped the interface screen, wincing at the jittering icons.

“Gerbert, interface still glitching. Today is the event,” he muttered, eyes narrowing.

Gerbert’s voice came back over the line, steady but clipped.
“Stay alert Liem. We’re on Floor 32.”

Liem leaned back in his chair, gaze drifting past the glitching interface to the towering windows. The morning outside was calm, the skyline wrapped in its usual pale haze—except for the numbers carved across the sky. The countdown shimmered faintly at first, then grew sharper with each passing second until it dominated the horizon.

“Event countdown,” he said quietly. “Two minutes.”

There was a pause on the other end, then Gerbert’s voice again, firmer now.

“Copy that. Keep your eyes on it, Liem. Update us.”

By the window, Venus had been silent, her reflection soft against the glass. She tilted her head, voice carrying like a calm ripple over storm water.

“Something feels off,” she said gently, her eyes fixed on the shifting skyline.

Across Floor 30, players everywhere had turned their eyes to the sky—some buzzing with excitement, others smiling nervously, a few masking fear, and many barely interested at all.

Mika closed her eyes, finishing the last sip of her tea.

The timer ticked: 0:00.

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Chapter 24.2

The Event Awakens

The timer hit zero.

A deep rumble.

The ground trembled.

Then shook.

Then tore itself apart.

The quake ripped through Floor 30 with a violence no one expected. Entire buildings cracked at the base, their upper floors collapsing in slow, thunderous waves. Windows burst outward in cascades of glass. Stone fractured. Walls caved.

Screams erupted—players, NPCs, anyone caught in the streets.

“Hold on to something!” someone shouted, their voice lost in the roar.

The barrier protecting Floor 30—

SHATTERED.

The sky above split like glass struck by a hammer. Glowing fragments rained down, burning through banners, rooftops, and neon signs. It wasn’t stardust. It was sharp. It cut. Players raised their arms, ducking for cover, weapons flashing just to shield themselves from the celestial debris.

“Is that—? No way, that’s the field—!” another voice cried, choked in panic.

Then, with a sound like a thousand bells being crushed at once, the last of the protective dome fell apart—leaving the floor raw, open, exposed.

And just as the cheers of freedom were about to rise, a new barrier ignited.

Dim. Sickly. Unfamiliar.

It crawled over the skyline in slow arcs of greenish flame, weaving itself into a dome. Not protection. Not safety. The air thickened, sharp with static.

But as they charged, the seal pulsed. The streets twisted unnaturally, shadows bending at impossible angles. The quake hadn’t just destroyed buildings—it had woken something.

From the cracks of ruined streets, jagged forms began to rise.

The event had begun.

Liem called back, voice sharp as his hand rose. Shadows rippled outward, swirling into a dome of ink that curved protectively around him and Venus.

Venus stumbled toward him, her steps unsteady as the floor cracked beneath them. She clutched at his sleeve, eyes wide. The quake was so violent it tore buildings apart, glass raining from above.

“Liem…” her voice trembled, soft but fragile, carrying her fear. She pressed closer to him as another tremor shook the street, her breath catching.

The ink dome shuddered under the impact of falling debris, its surface rippling like dark water trying to hold the world back.

On the far edge of the city, Ysang had been thrown from her swing. The chains snapped back with a metallic scream as she hit the ground, the breath torn from her lungs. She lay in the grass, stunned, staring at the sky as it fractured into glowing shards.

Her fingers dug into the trembling soil. The vibration wasn’t just sound—it was a voice, crawling up through her palms, whispering straight into her bones:

Danger. Danger. Everywhere. Run.

Her eyes widened, then narrowed, lashes damp with fear. The world tilted, and for a heartbeat she felt small—smaller than she had ever felt—like a child lost inside a storm.

Then she pushed herself up, dirt clinging to her knees. A fissure split the ground where she had been lying moments before, swallowing half the playground slide. Screams rose around her—NPC children glitching, their faces flickering in terror, while players tried to drag them away.

Ysang didn’t wait. She ran. Fast. Her hair whipped behind her as the grass tore under her shoes. She darted past the collapsing sandbox, the merry-go-round splitting in two.

Her breath caught, but she didn’t slow.

The earth was still whispering.

Run. Run. Run.

Outside the Emberloom Inn, Migz reacted immediately, slamming his palm to the ground. Frost spread in jagged veins, and an ice barrier burst upward—shielding the group from collapsing beams and a rain of broken stone. Shards of debris bounced off harmlessly, steam hissing where heat met cold.

The earthquake raged for a few more seconds, then slowed, finally subsiding into a low, ominous tremor.

“Status!” Migz barked, his voice cutting sharp through the dust.

“I’m fine!” Andrea shouted back. She bent her knees and launched skyward in a single beat. Her arms burst outward, unraveling into vast eagle wings—broad, powerful, their feathers shimmering with a faint, celestial light. Each beat of those wings stirred the dust and ash below, scattering rubble as she rose above the collapsing street.

Then she froze.

Her pupils narrowed. Her voice cracked with disbelief.

“...The streets—”

The streets below writhed with movement—monsters flooding from every direction. Goblins crawling out of shattered alleyways, horned crawlers dragging themselves from broken sewers, twisted shapes with too many eyes and too many claws climbing over ruined walls. The city wasn’t just breaking apart. It was being invaded.

“They're everywhere!!!” Andrea’s voice cracked as she screamed, wings faltering mid-beat.

Jaja caught the shift in her tone, her head snapping up. “Andrea—get down. Now.”

Sheg rolled her shoulders, cracking her knuckles with a grin that was half-snarl. “About damn time something fun showed up.”

Migz stood firm, silent and steady, his eyes locked on the mass of shadows pouring in from the streets. His frost crept outward along the stone, readying the battlefield.

Jaja raised a hand, the tattoos across her arms igniting in bright, molten patterns that pulsed with heat. She pointed forward, fire already roaring in her veins.

“Fight.”

Elsewhere, in the Market District, Ray guided a cluster of trembling NPCs past overturned stalls and shattered lantern posts.

“This way,” he urged, voice calm but insistent. “Keep close, stay together—head for the inner alleys.” He lifted a broken cart aside with deliberate care, clearing their path.

Pip bounced atop a fruit crate, arms flailing wildly. “Go, go! The walls are gone! Why are you still standing there?!”

The NPCs couldn’t understand the words, but they clung to the steadiness in Ray’s voice, moving in the direction he pointed. A mother gripped her child tighter and hurried after him.

A guttural screech split the air. Nyx sprang from the shadows, his panther form colliding with a horned crawler. Claws raked across its throat, spraying black ichor onto the cobblestones.

From beneath Ray’s cloak, Vantemyr slithered upward, scales glinting like wet steel. The serpent coiled high, then struck, fangs sinking deep into another beast’s neck. The monster convulsed once before crumpling into the ruins of a market stall.

Above the chaos, in her Obsidian Swan suite, Mika stood by the wide, fractured window, arms folded loosely across her chest. The hotel itself was crumbling—hallways torn, walls split by deep cracks—but her room remained strangely untouched, save for jagged fractures tracing along the plaster.

Beyond the glass, the city burned. Fire bloomed like dying suns across the avenues, smoke rolling in waves. Creatures rampaged through the streets below, their screeches piercing the night air.

Mika tilted her head, lips curving faintly as if she were watching a stage play rather than devastation. “How fascinating,” she murmured, her reflection flickering against the cracked pane.

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Chapter 24.3

No Exit

Floor 30 – Broken Skies, Burning Streets

The street outside Liem and Venus’ base was a warzone. Smoke rolled in waves from burning buildings, carried by the hot wind that stung their eyes and clung to their lungs. Stone tiles lay cracked and tilted, stained in blood, ash, and the dark sludge of slain monsters.

The moment they stepped out, a pack of goblins burst from the gutted remains of a bakery, jagged blades raised, eyes gleaming with hunger. Their shrieks split the air, raw and violent.

“Left!” Liem barked.

He dropped into a crouch, sketchpad snapping open in his hand. Ink bled off the page like it was alive, coiling and stretching into form. With a flick of his wrist, the black tide erupted into dozens of shrieking bats that stormed forward in a furious swarm. The goblins staggered back, clawing at their faces as teeth and talons sank into flesh. Screams tore through the street, swallowed in the chaos of the ink storm.

One goblin broke free, sprinting toward Liem with a rusted axe raised high. He drew a swift mark across the page, and ink surged into the shape of a scythe, wicked and black. Pivoting on his heel—

shhhk!

The blade cut clean through the goblin’s midsection. Its body folded in half before it hit the ground.

Above him, a rush of wind thundered as Venus launched skyward with a single powerful beat of her wings. She rolled once midair, her feathers catching the smoke-stained light. With her arms outstretched, feathers of white and gold rained down in graceful arcs. Each strike landed with perfect precision—throats pierced, hearts punctured, skulls shattered. Goblins collapsed one by one, crumpling into twitching heaps.

Desperate, three goblins snarled and leapt after her, their wiry limbs propelling them into the air. They clawed and flailed wildly, jagged blades reaching for her wings.

A deadly mistake.

Venus turned, calm as ever, her eyes soft with a quiet pity. “You shouldn’t have,” she whispered.

Her wings snapped outward in a sharp beat, sending a burst of force that halted their climb. In the same motion, golden feathers spiraled outward, puncturing each goblin mid-leap. Their momentum carried them into the strike—hearts and throats skewered. They hung in the air for a breathless second, eyes wide in shock, before falling lifelessly back to the ruined street.

She exhaled gently, gaze drifting to the burning horizon.

“Liem, I’m going higher,” she called down, her voice calm and steady despite the carnage.

He cut down another goblin with a clean arc of his scythe, then glanced up at her silhouette rising through the smoke. His jaw tightened.

“…Be careful up there,” he said, steady but low.

Venus only smiled softly, wings spreading wide as she climbed into the smoke-filled sky.

Above Floor 30 – Venus’ View

The Safe Zone was gone in all but name. Towers that once stood proud now lay cracked in half, their toppled spires jutting like broken teeth against the smoke-choked sky. Markets that once bustled with voices and trade were nothing but infernos, collapsing stalls sending sparks into the air as fire consumed the streets. From every rupture in the stone—streets split wide, gates torn open—monsters poured. Goblins in swarms. Winged beasts circling hungrily. Twisted things that should not exist clawing their way into daylight.

Venus hovered above it all, the air raking across her feathers. Her eyes swept across the battlefield with steady focus. Amidst the chaos, a flicker of hope caught her attention—movement near the Banner Nexus. The glowing banners still pulsed, stubbornly resisting the ruin around them.

And there—surrounded but unbroken—stood familiar figures.

“Liem,” Venus called softly into their link, her voice steady despite the dread pressing down on the city. “I see Gal, Duane, Michelle, and Neriel. They’re holding near the Nexus.

Below, Liem slashed through the last of the goblins that had cornered him. He exhaled, lifted his sketchpad, and drew in a single sharp stroke.

“I’m on my way.”

He drew a fresh symbol, the page drinking in his stroke like a wound. Ink surged outward, coiling across his back before tearing itself into shape—vast, bat-like wings, jagged and heavy, their edges dripping slow rivulets of black that dissolved into smoke before hitting the ground.

With one powerful beat, he launched himself upward, the air hissing as the inky appendages cut through the wind. His scythe glimmered in his grip, its curved blade weeping droplets of the same dark substance, each fall of ink vanishing before it touched the earth—reminders that both weapon and wings were creations held together by his will.

He rose until he leveled beside Venus, shadow and light hovering together over the burning city.

Banner Nexus – Defensive Line

The battle was in full swing.

Gal stood tall at the top of the Nexus stairs, one hand braced against the railing, the other thrust forward with sharp, deliberate motions. Rippling waves of sound burst from her palm, smashing into the goblins clawing their way up the marble steps. Each pulse threw them back like rag dolls, their bodies cracking against the pavement below. Her voice never faltered—low, steady chants that turned the very air into a weapon.

Below her, Duane carved a path through the swarm like a hurricane of steel. His two clones mirrored his every strike, creating a deadly dance of synchronized destruction. Then—crack!—a third clone erupted behind enemy lines, axes flashing. Three Duanes converged at once, their blows timed with brutal precision. One goblin’s skull split open under the crushing rhythm of the triple strike.

On the left flank, Michelle’s right arm had transformed—chrome segments rippling down from shoulder to wrist, reforging her flesh into steel. Her blade sang through the air, cleaving two goblins in half with a single sweeping cut. She pivoted smoothly, deflecting a clawed strike with the flat of her weapon before carving across the attacker’s chest. Sparks flared as ink-black blood splashed the ground.

“Don’t wait for countdowns,” she barked between breaths, eyes hard as fire lit her face. “This is the event. The monsters are the wave.”

Neriel stood calm at the center of the storm, staff twirling in serene arcs. He hurled it into the charging horde—then vanished in a sudden flare of light, reappearing at the exact spot his weapon landed. His hand closed on the spinning staff mid-flight; his body flowed seamlessly into a sweep that shattered the legs of a snarling brute. In one fluid motion, he reversed the weapon and drove its tip down, cracking through the monster’s skull.

The ground shuddered as another surge of beasts poured down the east road. Their cries were cut short when two new figures dropped into the fray—ink and feathers scattering the smoke like night and dawn descending together.

Liem and Venus landed nearby, feathers and ink flickering off their forms.

Inside the Nexus itself, some players and NPCs who had received injuries during the violent earthquake were already inside the Nexus, seeking shelter in its fortified halls. Those in critical condition were rushed by capable players to the Glasswell Infirmary, where other survivors—both players and NPCs had also gathered to take refuge.

Gal turned toward them. “We’ve got evac routes open to the Nexus and Glasswell Hospital. NPCs and players are guiding the injured into both.”

Venus gave a sharp nod. “We’ll spread the word.”

Liem tightened his grip on his weapon, gaze fixed on the advancing horde. “Hold your ground and be careful.”

They took to the skies again as more creatures burst from the east road.

Rooftop – Zaki

Perched above the city, Zaki moved like a shadow given breath.

A goblin crept onto the rooftop—he stepped once, katana flashing. The body fell before it understood it had been struck.

Two more scrambled up from the edge. He flowed through them, cutting right, then left. Their heads toppled in silence.

But then—skittering.

From a shattered tower across the street, a spider the size of a man clung to glass and stone. Its glossy legs tapped with unnatural speed, carrying it sideways across the wall. It hissed, maw parting—then spat a line of web.

Zaki shifted a fraction, the silk snapping onto the rooftop where his foot had been. More spiders crept into view, skittering down walls, leaping across windows, threads trailing like traps.

He raised his hand to his interface.

“Val. Reporting. Floor 30’s compromised. Monsters flooding from all directions.”

Val’s voice came through—measured, unshaken.
“Can you extract?”

A goblin lunged from a nearby window. Zaki spun once, severing it in mid-air before replying. His hood shadowed his eyes.

“No. The barrier changed. We’re locked in. No exit. No external reinforcements. Until the event ends…”

A pause.

“Then survive.”

The word had barely left before a spider dropped from above, webbing spraying wide. Zaki rolled, katana cutting through threads as he slashed upward, splitting the creature from abdomen to fang. Black ichor sprayed hot across the stone.

More poured in. Goblins climbing from windows like ants, claws scratching at the walls. Spiders moving fast across ropes of silk, spinning hasty webs to choke escape routes. Survivors trapped below screamed.

Zaki’s gaze hardened.

“Understood.”

He leapt rooftop to rooftop, his blade cutting not just for kills but for precision—cleaving threads before they tightened, silencing goblins before they raised alarm. His movements left no wasted sound, no hesitation, only the silent arc of steel carving survival into the chaos.

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Chapter 25 Encircled by Flame and Code

Floor 30 - Outside the Barrier

A reddish barrier encased the city, pulsing with ominous light. It extended in all directions like a dome of dying embers, its surface unnaturally smooth and faintly humming. From afar, it looked as though the city had been swallowed by an enormous crystallized heartbeat.

Three figures stood just outside it, staring up at the sealed sky.

Francis, all lean muscle and coiled frustration, kicked a broken pipe across the dirt path. His shoulder-length hair was tied back in a rough knot, the sides of his head clean-shaved. He squinted at the barrier with fire in his eyes.

“What the actual fuck is that thing? Did someone screw with the floor code?” His voice tore through the stillness, raw and jagged. He threw his hands up, pacing in a tight circle. “This is that kind of sick-ass trap event, isn’t it? Shit’s always rigged when the admins get bored.”

Leonard, broader, composed, and dusk-skinned, stood beside him holding a perfectly brushed black Persian cat. Adjusting the miniature scarf wrapped neatly around the feline’s neck, he didn’t flinch at Francis’ fury.

Leonard’s gaze then stayed fixed on the glowing interface hovering at his side, his voice low but edged with unease.
“Michelle nor Neriel is responding.”

Francis froze, then kicked the pipe harder, sending it clattering into the undergrowth. “Goddammit! We should’ve dragged their asses with us when we left for the dungeon block!” His words tore through the silence, sharp and furious.

Leonard finally looked at him, worry flickering in his eyes, though his tone held steady. “I trust them. Both of them. They wouldn’t stay behind without reason. And if anyone can handle what’s inside… it’s Michelle and Neriel.”

Francis muttered a curse under his breath, pacing again, fists tight. Then he caught Leonard’s calm gaze, the way he still held Minggay steady in his arms. His glare eased, the fire in his expression dimming just enough.
“…Better hope you’re right, babe.”

Leonard’s mouth curved faintly at the word, quiet warmth under the crimson glow. “I am.”

Minggay purred, as if sealing the promise between them.
He stroked the cat’s back, eyes reflecting the crimson glow. “Don’t worry, Minggay. Papa and Daddy aren’t walking into that mess.”

Francis snapped his head toward him but his glare softened at the sight of Minggay. “You’re still baby-talking him in the middle of all this…” He crouched, rough fingers scratching under Minggay’s chin. His voice dipped, gruff but fond. “Guess it’s good that one of us keeps him calm.”

Leonard smiled faintly, his gaze never leaving the dome. “Especially in the middle of an apocalypse. He deserves a world gentler than this.”

The cat purred louder, content between the storm of their tempers.

Ahead of them, Amore stood with her back turned, the hem of her varsity jacket tugging in the heated wind. A glowing event interface hovered over her palm, lines of shifting admin-code cascading down in pulses of light.

“It’s sealed,” she said at last, her voice cool and precise. “It’s intentional. Total lockout. Whoever’s inside is locked into the scenario—no escape, no external interference.”

Francis ground his teeth. “Locked in… like fucking lab rats.”

With a flick of her wrist, the interface dissolved into sparks, fading into the air. Amore finally turned to the barrier. No anger. No surprise. Just cold awareness etched into her face.

“Sick bastards,” Francis muttered, folding his arms tight.

Leonard glanced one last time at the dome. The glow painted his features with an otherworldly sheen as he kissed the top of Minggay’s head.

“Someone out there is watching how we respond.”

Francis’ jaw tightened, his fists curling at his sides. “Watching? Fuck that. If they think we’re part of their goddamn show, I’ll tear the cameras down myself.”

Amore had already started walking, gravel crunching under her sneakers. Her voice drifted back, flat and certain.

“Emotions won’t crack that wall. For now, we move.”

Leonard followed, calm and deliberate, cat nestled against his chest.

Francis lingered at the edge of the glowing wall, glaring at its faint hum. His voice dropped into a growl, a vow sharp enough to cut. “If one of ours is still in there… someone’s paying for it. With interest.”

Boots heavy against the gravel, he turned at last, storming after the others. The three—plus cat—disappeared into the forest beyond the glow, leaving the barrier pulsing behind them like a living heartbeat.

Inside the Dome, Southwest District

Ysang ducked low as a chunk of flaming debris crashed down from a collapsing roof above. Her bare feet skidded across gravel. The fire singed the edge of her green robes. The earth shuddered beneath her, and the sky above screamed with monsters.

She wasn’t made for this.

Another roar echoed behind her.

She pressed one hand against the cracked stone wall, chest heaving. “Where can I go?” she whispered, frantic. “Now.”

The ground replied, faint but clear, a whisper rising through her bones:

Left. Storage house.

Ysang sprinted.

A trio of goblins rounded the corner, screeching.

She slammed the storage house door, twisted the bolt. The stone beneath her feet rippled and rose, forcing jagged rock upward to brace the door. The goblins howled, pounding and clawing at the barrier, but it did not budge.

She exhaled—one breath. Then turned—

Another creature crawled in through the back window, its crooked limbs scraping the frame.

Ysang snatched up a rusted axe from beside a dead player’s corpse. She hurled it with both hands. The axe spun once, twice—then struck square.

The monster dropped in a heap, whimpering.

Ysang moved quickly, scanning the shelves. Crates. Tools. Barrels of old fuel. She tapped one. “Is this flammable?”

The floor’s reply came like a hiss through her bones:

Yes.

Her heart hammered.

“Then… if they break through—” she whispered.

She pried the lid off one of the barrels with shaking hands, nails splitting against the rusted rim. The moment it cracked open, the stench of fuel rushed out—sharp and suffocating.

BANG. The door shook under a heavy blow. The stones bracing it groaned.

“Faster, faster—” Ysang hissed, dragging the barrel over with both arms. Oil sloshed onto the floor, spilling in uneven waves. She coughed, hand pressed to her mouth, already clawing at the next barrel.

THUD. SCRAAAAPE. Goblin claws tore against wood. The bolt strained. Their guttural shrieks leaked through the cracks, closer, hungrier.

Ysang wrestled the second barrel down, nearly dropping it on her foot. She fumbled the lid, panic in her movements, until the earth itself trembled beneath her palms, guiding her grip. With a grunt, she ripped it open, fuel splattering her robes as it poured.

CRACK. A sliver of light split the door frame. Fingers—gnarled, filthy—forced their way through the gap.

The floor was slick now, shimmering with flammable sheen. Ysang’s torch burned in her grip, its embers reflecting in her wide, terrified eyes.

She froze just long enough to hear the goblins’ laughter. High, guttural. Certain.

Her hand tightened on the torch. Her lips barely moved.

“Burn.”

She hurled the torch.

The floor erupted.

The barrels went up in a flash, a roaring explosion that swallowed the storage house whole. Fire rolled across the ceiling, smoke seared her lungs, goblin shrieks cut into the air as the fuel caught and spread.

The blast caught her too—hurling Ysang across the room, slamming her against splintered wood. For a heartbeat, her vision went white, ringing in her ears.

She pushed herself up with blistered palms, coughing hard, ribs screaming in pain. The stench of burning oil and flesh clung thick in the air.

No time.

She staggered through the rear hatch, stumbling into the open street. Her body ached, but she forced her legs to run.

She was no soldier.

But the earth never lied to her.

At the next corner she collapsed to her knees, her whole body trembling. Her ribs stabbed with every breath, smoke still burning in her throat. Blood slicked her palms where splinters had dug deep, but she pressed one hard against the stone anyway.

Her voice rasped, broken and hoarse:
“Where… where’s the safest direction?”

The ground’s answer throbbed up through her bones:

Nowhere safe. north burns less.

Her teeth clenched. “Then north.”

And she pushed herself forward, sprinting into the smoke-filled night.

Meanwhile, Banner Nexus Courtyard -

Ash hung in the air, curling like smoke as streaks of blood painted the broken stone tiles. The ground trembled with every impact as monsters smashed against the outer defenses, their howls echoing through the shattered arches of the Banner Nexus.

From the ruined gateways, goblins poured in, swarming like vermin. Beasts—hulking things with twisted horns and jaws too wide for their faces—scrambled over the rubble, claws screeching against stone. Above, the walls crawled with massive spiders, their hairy limbs clattering as they descended on silken threads, black eyes glittering with hunger.

Gal stood at the forefront, hair whipping in the hot, ash-thick wind. She clapped her hands together with a sharp crack—the shockwave rippled outward, flattening a cluster of goblins mid-sprint. Then she drew a deep breath, chest heaving, and unleashed a controlled sonic scream that tore through the nearest beasts. The sound shook the very stones, hurling monsters into the wall so hard their bones splintered.

Neriel moved like water through the chaos, his staff a blur. He struck high, then reversed his grip, catching a goblin’s dagger mid-swing before smashing its skull with a ruthless downswing. A spider lunged from above, fangs dripping venom, but he twirled the staff and split its head in a single, precise motion. Quiet and focused, he was the calm center in the storm.

Michelle fought near the gate, her arm gleaming as it morphed into a blade of chrome. She sliced through a beast’s throat, spun into a kick that shattered another’s knee, and finished with a clean upward slash that split it from groin to chin. Blood sprayed in an arc, but she kept moving, transitioning seamlessly between martial arts and lethal blade work. “Keep them off the injured!” she shouted, voice carrying both grit and warmth.

Duane and his four clones wove into the fight like a tide of fists and fury. Each moved with perfect synchronicity, their punches and kicks hammering through waves of goblins. One clone locked a beast in a grapple, while another smashed its jaw with a brutal uppercut. The real Duane cracked his knuckles as he kicked a spider back into the wall. “You’re not getting through us,” he muttered, tone leaderly but casual, like he was holding the line of a game rather than a desperate defense.

”Back to back!” Duane barked, his tone firm but still carrying that casual ease that steadied nerves. He and Neriel pressed shoulder to shoulder, movements synced as they struck at anything that lunged too close. Duane’s fists cracked against a goblin’s jaw while one of his clones ducked low, sweeping a beast’s legs out from under it. Neriel’s staff whirled, the polished wood striking with clean, precise arcs that shattered spider limbs and splintered goblin spears.

“They’re tightening the circle,” Duane muttered, driving his elbow into a snarling beast.

Neriel gave a small nod, his quiet voice barely rising above the chaos. “Then we break it.”

He pivoted, the staff spinning in his hands before he hurled it across the battlefield. The weapon cut through the air like a thrown spear.

Gal leapt, catching it mid-air with both hands. The moment her fingers brushed the wood, a shimmer rippled outward. Space folded—the staff’s swap-bending reality. In the blink of an eye, Neriel stood where Gal had been, staff back in his grip, while Gal reappeared in his former place.

“Well, that’s new!” Gal shouted with a grin, before planting her feet. She threw her arms wide, chest filling with breath, and unleashed a sonic scream that roared across the courtyard. The sound hit the left flank like a tidal wave, goblins and beasts alike hurled backward. Stone shattered under the force, dust and debris swirling through the air as monsters shrieked and crumpled into silence.

“Nice throw, Neriel!” Gal called out, lowering her arms. Her voice was breathless but lively, carrying a spark even in the middle of slaughter.

Neriel said nothing, already twisting his staff into another strike that split a spider’s skull cleanly down the middle.

Duane smirked, slamming his knee into a goblin before tossing it aside. “That’s why I like this squad. We don’t just fight—we make it look good.” His clones pressed in, punching through the next wave with brutal precision.

“Less talking, more smashing!” Michelle called from the gate, her chrome blade slicing through a beast’s torso. She spun, dropping low into a sweep-kick that toppled two goblins before stabbing one through the chest. “Though I’ll admit—nice jump, Gal!”

A sudden cry cut through the clash. “Help! Please—help us!”

From the smoke at the far archway, bloodied players stumbled into view. One limped heavily, another clutching a mangled arm, and their desperate shouts echoed across the courtyard. The noise drew hungry eyes—their panic was a beacon.

Spiders screeched, goblins shrieked, and beasts instantly redirected toward the survivors.

Four survivors stumbled into the courtyard, their bodies bloodied and breathing ragged. Their health bars flickered faintly above their heads—

George – 51/100 HP

Glaydel – 47/100 HP

Emily – 39/100 HP

Vince – 44/100 HP

George was in front, sweat streaming beneath his bandana as he swung a bent blade with shaky hands. His wiry frame was clad in a sando and above-the-knee shorts, a battered backpack bouncing against his side. His ability—stretching arms—kept snapping outward, punching monsters back just far enough for the others to stumble forward. But even at his healthiest, protecting three half-dead allies was crushing him.

Behind him, Glaydel limped badly in her pencil skirt and heels, the sharp lines of her tuxedo blazer long torn and stained with ash. She clutched her side with one hand, trying to keep pace but faltering on every step.

Emily, in ripped jeans and a floral crop top streaked with blood and grime, staggered with a goblin’s spear wound grazing her ribs. Panic surged in her eyes as monsters veered toward them. “Heelp!” she screamed, her voice raw.

The cry carried across the courtyard, drawing a fresh cluster of goblins and spiders straight to their position.

“Dammit—she just painted a target on them!” Michelle cursed, cutting down a spider as it dropped from the wall. She sprinted toward the group, chrome arm morphing into a blade as she cleaved through the leading goblin. “Hang on, I’ve got you!”

Vince, tall and broad-shouldered in a sweat-stained V-neck shirt and black pants, tried to shield Emily with his own body. His fists swung clumsily, lacking technique but packed with raw desperation. “Back off!” he barked at the monsters, though his voice cracked under the strain.

George stretched one arm unnaturally long, catching a goblin’s blade just before it reached Vince. The impact made him stumble, his knees nearly buckling as his HP bar flickered downward. “I—I can’t hold them all!” he gasped, yanking his arm back.

“They’re bait out here!” Michelle shouted, slashing a beast’s leg out from under it. “At those HPs, they won’t last a minute!”

Duane’s clones barreled in, fists smashing through the monsters converging on the group. One clone caught a goblin’s throat mid-lunge, snapping it like a twig, while the other hurled a spider across the courtyard with a brutal throw.

“Get inside, keep moving—we’ve got you covered!” Duane’s voice cut through the chaos, casual but commanding, like a coach calling plays. The survivors obeyed, staggering toward the inner gate.

George faltered again, his arm stretching out clumsily to push a goblin away. A beast slammed into his shoulder, nearly driving him to the ground.

Duane was suddenly at his side, catching him before he fell. “You did good, mate” he said, his grin steady despite the blood and ash. “But trying to cover three on half-health? That’s suicide. Let us take it from here.”

George panted, relief flashing in his eyes. “Th-thanks… I just couldn’t leave them.”

“You won’t have to,” Duane replied, tossing a goblin aside with one hand while guiding George with the other. His clones shielded Glaydel, Emily, and Vince, while Michelle’s blade cleared their path to the gate. “That’s why we’re here.”

Gal’s scream split the air again, blasting a fresh wave of monsters into the rubble. “They’re coming from all directions!” she shouted over the chaos, voice sharp with concern. “I just hope everyone out there is okay!”

Duane drove his knee into a spider, crushing its thorax. “They’ll be fine,” he said firmly, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “Anyone who’s made it to Floor 30? They’re strong. Strong enough to stand. Strong enough to survive.”

Michelle laughed breathlessly, carving through another beast. “And strong enough to put up with your speeches, Duane!”

The survivors stumbled through the gate, guided by clones and Michelle’s flashing blade. Gal, Neriel, Michelle, and Duane regrouped in front of the entrance, their backs to the Banner Nexus as the horde swarmed closer.

The line held—because they held.

Back to Top

Chapter 25.1

Wave One Cleared

The city center burned with chaos. Firelight clung to shattered windows and toppled lamp posts, painting the streets in a sickly orange glow. Monsters surged like a living tide, spilling from alleys, crawling over rooftops, and forcing their way through broken storefronts.

But it wasn’t their strength alone that made them terrifying. It was the sheer, relentless number of them.

Sheg cackled like a spark set loose, leaping from one beast to another with manic energy. Her high school sailor uniform—white blouse and pleated skirt singed and torn from battle—snapped and fluttered with every wild movement, absurdly out of place amidst the carnage. Electricity crackled at her palms, bright arcs that chained between monsters, frying them in bursts of light and smoke.

“Wooooooo! Who’s next, huh? Come on, line up! I still got charge to spare!” she screamed mid-vault. She crashed into three monsters at once, the impact exploding with a crack of thunder that lit up the street.

Andrea blurred past Sheg in a sprint, her legs shifting into sleek, powerful horse limbs. Her hooves thundered against the cobblestones as she drove her shoulder into a wolf-creature, sending it crashing into a wall.

But then, a cluster of spider-like beasts scuttled out from a shadowed alley—long, angular legs scraping stone, multiple eyes glimmering faintly in the firelight. Andrea slowed, blinking at them, tilting her head like a curious girl studying something at the zoo.

Andrea giggled nervously, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear even mid-shift. “Okay… I think I can do that.”

Her form twisted—her legs branching into spidery limbs. She climbed the wall with unnatural speed, then launched downward, tearing into the creatures with a feral growl. Sheg whistled, amused.

“Daaaamn, Drea! Didn’t think you had that in you!”

Andrea, dusting herself off between slashes, puffed her cheeks. “I’m just… adapting.”

On another street, Migz carved silence into the battlefield. The chaos that raged elsewhere seemed to dim around him, as though the storm of violence bent to his calm. Frost spiraled from his hands, forming crystalline shards that spun outward before driving clean through the nearest beasts. Monsters froze mid-motion, their snarls turning brittle, their bodies shattering into glittering fragments that scattered across the bloodstained cobblestones.

Each measured sweep of his arm spread a wave of frost over the ground, slowing the tide of creatures into sluggish, stumbling shapes. His towering frame carried an aura of quiet resolve, and even in the carnage his expression was gentle, almost sorrowful, as though every strike weighed heavy on him.

Meanwhile, Jaja ruled the rooftops. Her tattoos pulsed with light as she spread her arms wide, the glowing ink lifting from her skin like molten fire shaped into patterns. A conjured lance of gold shimmered in her grip—bright as dawn, sharp as a blade of judgment.

Jaja inhaled deeply, steady despite the chaos, and pressed her palm flat against her collarbone. Golden ink surged across her arm, flowing like molten light before solidifying into a fan of blades—sleek, radiant knives that shimmered with lethal precision.

With a flick of her wrist, she sent the first knife whistling through the air, embedding cleanly into a monster’s throat. Another followed, and another—each strike finding its mark as if guided by her will alone. Every throw, every kick, every strike landed with purpose—no tattoo wasted.

But victory wasn’t clean. Even from her high perch, she couldn’t escape the truth etched into the streets—fallen players, their weapons shattered beside them, some half-buried under debris, others dragged screaming into shadow before monsters ripped them apart. Some lay motionless, victims of the quake before the fight even began.

Then, wings beat the air.

Liem and Venus descended together—his dark ink-bat wings folding in as her radiant white ones spread open to slow their landing.

Jaja’s eyes flicked upward, relief plain in her firm expression. “Any information?.”

Liem’s casual tone didn’t hide the weight behind his words. “Banner Nexus and Glasswell Infirmary are still standing—thanks to players holding the lines. Some are fighting, some are hiding. Both points are safe.”

Venus looked them over, gentle concern softening her voice. “Are you all alright?”

Sheg shot her a toothy grin, electricity still buzzing at her fingertips. “Still standing, ma’am! Don’t worry about me!”

Jaja tilted her head toward the fliers. “Good. Keep your channels open. We’ll need your eyes in the sky.”

Venus nodded once, already readying her wings. Liem gave a smile, though his gaze lingered protectively on Venus.

As the two took flight again, Migz spoke quietly, almost to himself. “They’re good people.”

Jaja allowed a brief smile. “They are.” She straightened, voice firm. “Listen up. Drop the ‘event.’ Focus on rescuing players and NPCs. Offer Nexus and Glasswell as routes—but don’t force anyone.”

Migz met her eyes and gave a small, genuine smile. “This is why I respect you.”

Andrea chuckled, reverting from her spider-form, brushing dust from her jacket. “You heard the boss.”

Sheg exaggerated a salute, grinning wide. “Yes, ma’am!”

Jaja’s lips curved faintly as she closed her eyes, pride swelling quietly.

Above, Liem spoke into the comms, updating Gerbert mid-flight while Venus cut through incoming fliers with radiant arcs.

“Floor 30’s a mess, but we’ve got it covered,” Liem said.

“Mess?” Gerbert’s voice cracked with worry. “We’re coming back down.”

“No need,” Liem replied casually, slashing a beast midair with inky blades. “We’re fine. Really.”

“Are you sure?” Gerbert pressed for the seventh time

Venus laughed, her tone warm and reassuring. “We’re sure. Save your worry for the climb.”

Liem, not wanting to linger on Gerbert’s worry, shifted the topic. His voice was casual, almost teasing, even as he slashed an incoming monster with a sweep of his ink-forged blade.

“So, how’s the upper floor looking?

On the other end of the link, Gerbert exhaled, his tone steadier now. “It’s massive. A whole wild expanse—forests stretching farther than the eye can see, mountains cutting across the horizon. We’ve even spotted mounts roaming—creatures big enough to ride. Rivers too, huge ones. Feels more alive than any floor we’ve seen so far.”

Gerbert added, “And from what other players have said, we’re only four games away from breaching Floor 40. Floor 31 to 40… it’s closer than we thought.”

Even as he spoke, more monsters clawed upward, wings of bone and sinew dragging them into the air. Venus twirled mid-flight, feathers scattering like blades, cleaving through two of them. Liem followed in her wake, his ink wings beating hard, intercepting a gargoyle mid-lunge before driving it back down into the city below.

“Thanks, man,” Liem said casually, kicking a lunging beast back into the flames below. His tone was light, but his eyes stayed sharp, following Venus’ movements as she cut down another flier at his side.

Gerbert’s voice came through steady but edged with concern. “Take care, both of you. And keep me updated. We’re finishing the map of Floor 33, then we’re heading back down. No arguments.”

Liem grinned, even as he drove an ink-forged spear through another monster’s chest. “Got it, buddy.

“Don’t push yourselves,” Gerbert pressed, but Liem was already closing the interface.

After the call cut, the two landed on a rooftop, wings folding.

The streets below had fallen eerily quiet.

Then—

A loud ping echoed through the city, followed by a system message blazing in midair for all to see:

WAVE 1 CLEARED
CONGRATULATIONS

Liem squinted at it. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

His smile faltered. He turned. “That means more’s coming—”

The ground rumbled beneath them. Not the sharp cracks of an earthquake. This was deeper. Heavier.

Venus stumbled, steadying herself. “Was that… another quake?”

Liem’s casual mask slipped. He turned west, watching smoke twist into the sky. His voice lowered, protective now. “No. Those are footsteps.”

Venus followed his gaze—then froze.

Her hands rose to her lips as her eyes went wide with fear.

Through the mist, giants emerged. Three, maybe four stories tall. Their skin glowed with rune-like carvings, each fist as large as a house. Behind them, golems lumbered forward, mountains of stone and earth brought to life.

Venus whispered, voice trembling though still gentle, “Oh no…”

Liem’s smirk was thin but unyielding. He stepped forward, ink-wings spreading wide. “Guess Wave Two doesn’t waste time.”

No one argued.

Because the second wave had arrived.

Back to Top

Chapter 26 Against the Stones

The Glasswell Infirmary stood like a fractured sanctuary in the middle of the burning city. Its dome roof was cracked, one side scorched by collapsed debris, but the interior still glowed with sterile light. Dozens of wounded players lay on mats or repurposed benches. NPC nurses and doctors moved through the aisles with calm efficiency, their faces serene—programmed to heal, not fear.

Every so often, the building shuddered from a distant impact. Dust trickled from the cracked ceiling, drawing wide eyes from the injured. But the nurses never paused. Not when the tremors rocked the room, not when screams rose outside, not even when shadows of monsters briefly streaked across the shattered glass. They worked as though the infirmary itself existed outside of time—an island where healing had to continue, no matter how violently the sea raged.

Ray stood near the entrance, staff in hand. His cloak was ragged, dirt-smudged, and flecked with ash. His old eyes swept over the battlefield like a father counting children during a storm.

Just outside, Nyx, his panther companion, pounced and tore through a goblin’s throat, barely catching its partner in a backswing. Beside him, Vantemyr, the serpent, darted from Ray’s cloak like a whip of shadow—fangs sinking into another attacker. Its poison worked fast, but fatigue was visible in its sluggish recoil.

And then there was Pip—bounding between fallen bricks, kicking at goblin shins with all the might a rabbit could muster.

“We’re gonna die, we’re gonna die, we’re gonna die!” he squealed, completely ignored by the humans nearby.

Only Ray and the animals could understand him.

“Pull it together, Pip,” Ray said gently, almost like a lullaby spoken through grit. “You’ve got stronger legs than any of us.”

“I don’t want strong legs, I want alive legs!” Pip cried, darting behind Nyx’s haunches as the panther bared fangs at the next wave. The rabbit’s long ears shook violently as he peeked out from cover. “Look at them! Look at all those teeth! I’m too fluffy for this world!”

Nyx slashed through a goblin’s chest, snarling as blood sprayed across her whiskers. Her amber eyes flicked to the rabbit, voice rough and low.
“Stay close or I’ll let them take a nibble. Maybe then you’ll squeal less.”

“That is a terrible motivational speech!” Pip squeaked, hopping frantically from one broken stone to another. “I’m delicate! I bruise like a peach! I’m—”

A sharp whip of black shadow lashed out, cutting him off. Vantemyr’s serpentine body curved midair, fangs sinking into the ankle of a goblin sneaking up behind the rabbit. The creature convulsed, frothing as venom worked its way through.

The serpent slithered back into Ray’s cloak, scales brushing the man’s shoulder. Its tongue flicked lazily.
“Noise draws death.”

Pip froze, eyes wide. “…Was that aimed at me?”

Nyx gave a low growl, almost like a chuckle. “If the fang fits.”

Bryan, tall and chiseled, landed beside Ray with the impact of a falling hammer. His bare chest flexed with each breath, skin rippling into plates of polished steel, then back again, a living rhythm of flesh and armor. He wore nothing but torn denim pants, ash clinging to the fabric, his bald head catching what little firelight flickered from the burning streets. His cocky grin looked almost misplaced amidst the chaos.

“Well,” Bryan said, voice low, gravel-rough, and amused. “You got a plan for the building-sized rock monsters, or are we just improvising?”

Ray, leaning on his staff, didn’t look away from the skyline. “Their chest. The glowing red crystal. That’s the core.”

Bryan tilted his head, squinting at the distant giants tearing through the streets. “You sure about that?”

“I watched one stumble when it cracked,” Ray answered, his tone steady, patient. “Hit the center and don’t miss.”

Bryan chuckled, rolling his shoulders until his skin flashed steel once more. “Copy that, Father Forest.”

Ray turned, his old eyes harder now. “Stay. Help hold this line. This place can’t fall.”

Before Bryan could answer, a low hiss cut through the night.

Marc stood above them, perched on the roof like a sentinel. Tanned and solid, he balanced with dancer’s stillness, his long black shirt cuffed at the elbows, dark jeans fitted to his stride, sneakers plain and quiet. His silhouette was nothing special. It was the weapon that made him extraordinary.

The naginata in his hands glowed a molten red-orange, its curved blade leaving scars of melted stone wherever it rested. The air around it sizzled, hissing lines across the rooftop edge like cauterized wounds.

“Golem incoming,” Marc said calmly, pointing the blade toward the southern avenue. “Five o’clock. Big. Not slow.”

Bryan cracked his neck. “Good. I like ‘em fast.”

Pip squeaked so loudly it nearly drowned out the hiss of Marc’s weapon. His voice, frantic in Ray’s ear, cracked with panic:

“We’re doomed! DOOMED! First they crush us, then they stomp the hospital, then—”

To Bryan and Marc, it was just a series of high-pitched, incoherent squeals. Bryan raised a brow.
“Uh. Is your rabbit… having a meltdown?”

Nyx’s growl rumbled low, silencing Pip. The panther’s amber eyes locked on him, her voice sharp and protective.

Then Vantemyr slipped from Ray’s cloak, his hiss winding through the smoke.

“If we fall… all fall.”

Ray planted his staff firmly against the earth, cutting through their noise, his voice gentle but carrying unshakable weight. “They’re saying what I am saying: This isn’t about enduring. Not tonight. If we falter, the infirmary falls. Every soul in there goes with it too.”

His gaze swept over Bryan, Marc, the animals, even the trembling shape of Pip clinging to his cloak. The old man’s tone was steady, almost fatherly, but carved from stone.

“We cannot fall. Not one of us. Please let us hold this line. Let us be the wall.”

Bryan’s grin faded into something sharper. He nodded once, fists clenching into steel. “Got it.”

Marc lowered his blade just slightly, a soldier’s nod in answer, eyes calm but burning with purpose.

Even Pip went quiet. His ears drooped, little paws gripping Ray’s cloak tighter—not out of fear, but because even he understood.

Nyx stepped closer to him, his tail brushing the rabbit’s back. A rare gesture of comfort.

The battlefield quieted. The city still burned, the giants still advanced, but here on the infirmary’s edge stood a wall—not of stone, but of flesh, fur, scale, and resolve.

Ray whispered to himself, “God help us.”

Across the city, above the wreckage of Floor 30

Liem stood atop the shattered remains of the clocktower, lungs burning with every breath. Sweat rolled down his temple, stinging his eyes. His ink-bladed scythe pulsed faintly in his grip, its edges alive with shifting script, but heavy as iron. Below, a stone golem lumbered through the street, every step carving trenches into the cobblestones.

Above, Venus soared like a pale arrow cutting through smoke. Her white wings gleamed even against the firelit sky, feathers loosed in bursts—sharp and true, skewering harpies and scattering imps that dared cross her path. She dodged lances of wind, twisted between arrow-fire, her movements graceful but taut with strain. Yet the golem ignored her strikes, absorbing anything that didn’t pierce its chest.

Suddenly, from the crumbling stairwell at the tower’s base, a blur darted into the fray. A ninja—fast, silent—wielding a black katana. He flickered in and out of shadow, vanishing and reappearing between walls like a breath exhaled, his blade carving deep cuts into the monsters harrying the streets.

Liem narrowed his eyes. “Who—?”

Venus’s voice came soft and steady over the call channel, even as she dodged a harpy’s talons. “I think… he is helping.”

Liem gritted his teeth, forcing focus back to the battlefield. “Some golems are shielding their cores. Others leave them exposed. Either way—they’re smarter than wave one. Slower, but not all the same.”

The streets below boiled with chaos. Wave one stragglers—crawlers, goblins, imps—mixed with the new giants of stone. They pressed together like a tide, screaming, gnashing, claws scraping, stone fists slamming. Every defense point was strained.

“Think,” Liem muttered, his legs trembling from the tower’s uneven stones. His ink wings twitched, aching. “Think.”

“Right!” a woman's voice commanded.

A beast lunged from the rubble, claws slicing air. Liem twisted, scythe whistling in a clean arc. The blade carved ink across its hide, splitting it in two.

He turned—blade dripping shadow—and froze.

Ysang stood against a cracked window frame, dust streaking her face. Her arm was swathed in a makeshift bandage, torn from curtain fabric. She looked worn, tired—but her eyes were steady.

“I’ll cover the ground,” she said, voice even. “But I don’t do combat.”

Liem blinked. “You’re Ysang… You always work alone.”

“Still do,” she replied simply. “But the earth brought me here.”

She crouched, pressing a hand against the rooftop floor. The ground shifted faintly, a breeze curling around her fingers as if the city itself responded to her touch.

Her eyes opened, sharper now. “From above. Flying types. Fast.”

He switched to party chat. “Honey—watch the upper sky."

“Got it,” she answered, wings tilted in the sky, her voice gentle over the channel. “I’m adjusting now.”

Liem wiped blood and sweat from his brow, his scythe pulsing faintly with inklight. He leapt forward, boots scraping against fractured stone. “Let’s go.”

Ysang followed, clumsy on her landing, nearly tripping on loose rubble before steadying herself. She pressed a hand to the cracked rooftop, eyes shutting for only a breath. The vibrations ran into her palm like whispers.

Her voice was quiet, fragmented, but sure. “Left wall—cracks. East ledge—falling soon.”

Above, Venus’s wings caught the firelight as she rose into the sky, feathers scattering like silver rain. Her tone was gentle, unwavering, as if the chaos didn’t touch her.

“I’ll watch from above.”

They moved.

The first golem heaved itself onto the rooftop, stone fists pulverizing the tiles under its weight. Zaki emerged beside it as though unzipped from the shadow itself—his black pants and ninja mask blending into night, the koala-faced hoodie pulled low over his eyes almost mocking in its softness. The katana at his side flashed free, glowing faintly with killing intent.

He blurred forward. One clean slice. The golem’s knee buckled, stone splintering from the strike.

“Core—center chest!” Liem barked, already conjuring. Black ink bled from his arm, swirling into chains that lashed out and anchored the golem’s wrist to the rooftop. He spun, scythe carving upward, sparks bursting from stone.

From the air, Venus dove, her white wings a streak against the firelit smoke. She spun mid-dive, releasing a storm of feathers. They sliced into the golem’s exposed cracks, each feather vibrating with magic before detonating into sharp bursts of force. The giant reeled, staggering back.

“Second one—rooftop west!” Ysang’s voice broke through, palms still pressed to stone. Her communion with the earth painted warnings: heavy pressure, fractured tiles, movement like thunder crawling closer.

The second golem clambered up, its massive head scraping against broken rafters.

Zaki shifted instantly, dissolving into shadow. His blade cut across its thigh, vanishing again before the monster’s fist slammed down where he had been.

Liem swung his scythe wide, conjuring spikes of ink that erupted like jagged teeth across the roof’s edge. They skewered the golem’s ankle, halting its advance just long enough for Venus to strike again.

She wheeled through the sky, graceful even in chaos, and rained another volley of feathers. Her voice was still soft, steady, over the call: “Keep pushing. It’s weakening.”

Ysang broke cover from the rubble, clutching her side but running anyway. She slapped both palms to the cracked roof. “Pressure rising—behind you!”

Liem twisted in time to see a harpy swooping down. He spun, his scythe dripping ink, and cleaved it mid-air. Blood sprayed across the rooftop. He didn’t slow.

Together they pressed. Zaki’s katana severed joints, Venus’s feathers bombarded cores from above, Liem’s ink bound and ripped apart stone, and Ysang’s whispers kept them one step ahead of collapse.

Finally, the first golem faltered. Its chest split down the middle under the combined assault—ink slicing, feathers piercing, katana finishing the crack. The crystal inside shattered, the beast collapsing into rubble.

The second lasted longer, hammering the rooftop until the whole building shook. But Zaki struck from behind, Venus struck from above, and Liem’s chains finally wrapped its arms wide. Ysang shouted, “Chest—now!” and all three obeyed.

The crystal burst in a shower of sparks. The golem fell, crashing through the roof, vanishing into dust and broken stone.

The four of them—bloodied, winded, but alive—stood among the ruins of the rooftop.

Together, they had brought two giants down.

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Deadlink

Season 2

Chapter 16

The Metropolis of Veiled Promises

Chapter 16.2

The Herb and the Divide

Chapter 16.3

Echo and Mirage

Chapter 17

Brackets and Bloom

Chapter 17.1

Ink and Resolve

Chapter 17.2

Breaker Momentum

Chapter 17.3

The Platform Gauntlet

Chapter 17.4

Echoes of the Champion

Chapter 18

Threshold

Chapter 18.1

The Egg and the End

Chapter 18.2

Momentum

Chapter 19

Rage Form

Chapter 19.1

Quiet Sparks

Chapter 19.2

The Whispering Wilds

Chapter 20

The First Descent

Chapter 21

Plans and Promises

Chapter 22

Breaking the Warden

Chapter 22.1

We Don’t Miss Twice

Chapter 22.2

The Vault-Bound Warden's Fall

Chapter 22.3

Scarlet Terms

Chapter 23

Calls and Color

Chapter 23.1

A Toast and the Barefoot

Chapter 23.2

A Father Among Beasts

Chapter 23.3

Little Koala

Chapter 24

Silk, Shadows, and Smiles

Chapter 24.1

Tick. Tick.

Chapter 24.2

The Event Awakens

Chapter 24.3

No Exit

Chapter 25

Encircled by Flame and Code

Chapter 25.1

Wave One Cleared

Chapter 26

Against the Stones

Deadlink - Season 1

Coming Soon

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