[These next monts happened in eight minutes.]
[This battle was three minutes]
Jack felt it imdiately.
The shift.
The intrusion.
North had forced himself into the narrative—and in doing so, sothing fundantal snapped.
Jack's rhythm broke.
Not fully.
But enough.
The alignnt he had been building—the setup, the pressure, the inevitable swing into his trope—was right there. He could feel it. One more mont. One more sequence.
And it would've ended.
But then—
North.
Interference.
A presence.
A weight.
The red sigil eyes hovered across the battlefield, watching, recording, demanding attention in a way that couldn't be ignored. His aura didn't clash with Jack's.
It displaced it.
Just enough.
Jack's hand paused.
His timing slipped.
His focus fractured for a fraction of a second.
And that was all it took.
In that hesitation—
Everyone moved to end him.
———
Ria stumbled as North's pulse tore though the battlefield. It scrambled her system and caused her Inner Narrative to falter.
But she co too far to stop now.
Ria attacks ca in layers, despite the pressure. Roots tore through the ground in jagged bursts, purple draconic flas spiraled outward in arcs that warped the air, and her glitching presence flickered between positions, each reappearance paired with another distorted strike. Mixed within it all were the Shaklon monk techniques she had stolen—precise, flowing, almost disciplined in contrast to the chaos of her Sryun.
It was suffocating.
Relentless.
But Eirian pushed through it.
Blue Horizon burned around her, brighter than before, the air shifting into that deep, radiant blue as her presence carved space for herself within the storm. Her blade moved in arcs of starlight, cutting through roots, deflecting flas, shattering the layered pressure again and again.
She was winning the exchanges.
But she felt it.
The strain.
It crept in quietly at first—her arms heavier, her breathing sharper, the energy demand climbing higher with every second she maintained this level of output. Blue Horizon was pushing her beyond her limits, forcing her to rise, to respond, to beco more.
But it wasn't free.
Her body was starting to crack under it.
She couldn't keep this up much longer.
And across from her—
Ria felt it too.
Her movents slowed just slightly. The glitching grew less frequent. The layering of attacks lost a fraction of its sharpness.
They were both reaching that edge.
So Eirian pressed forward.
All she had to do—
Was outlast her.
One more exchange.
One more push.
One more—
Ria smiled.
And raised both hands.
Sryun and draconic fla twisted together above her palms, coiling into sothing unstable, sothing violent. The energy collapsed inward, then expanded outward in a single motion as she hurled it down.
The explosion was massive.
Purple and black fire swallowed the space between them, tearing into the ground, distorting everything it touched as it blood outward like a corrupted star.
Eirian didn't hesitate.
Her blade rose—
Star energy condensed—
And she unleashed a powerful strike, the celestial force splitting through the explosion, holding it back, carving a path through the chaos before it could consu her.
For a mont—
She thought she had it.
Then she realized.
Her golden eyes widened.
The explosion wasn't ant to win.
It was a smokescreen.
Ria was already gone.
Eirian turned—
And saw her.
Moving.
Fast.
Not toward the main battlefield.
Toward the civilians.
Her heart dropped.
———
Jack and Caelus collided again.
Violently.
Inside the storm, their clash beca the center of everything—steel, Ryun, and concept grinding against each other as the weapon field warped around them. Blades scread past, tendrils twisted through space, and every movent threatened to beco the last.
Caelus moved quickly.
Precise.
Even now.
His blade carved forward in a clean diagonal—Phantom Brand: Cross Execution—an X of blue light dragging through the air before detonating a half-second later, forcing Jack to reposition or take the delayed burst head-on.
Jack didn't take it.
He stepped through it.
Not perfectly.
The rhythm was off.
Caelus followed imdiately—Flowstep: Mirage Break—flickering forward and behind at the sa ti, his real blade striking from one angle while a phantom mirrored him from the other.
For a mont—
Jack had to react.
That was new.
Then Jack smiled.
Because he felt it.
The alignnt.
The condition.
He had found it.
Caelus pressed.
Echo Edge Barrage.
Three strikes—
Then the echoes repeated them simultaneously, ghostly clones layering the sa attacks over each other, compressing pressure into a single mont.
And Jack—
Survived it.
That was all he needed.
Because now—
He understood it.
Not perfectly.
But enough.
His storm shifted.
Subtly.
Then again.
The weapons began to echo.
The spacing changed.
The timing altered.
The tendrils adjusted to match Caelus's tempo.
Jack had pulled him into it.
A trope.
A duel of equals.
A rising exchange.
The mont where adaptation decides the victor.
And now—
He could copy him.
His movents sharpened.
His counters grew tighter.
His storm began to mimic the rhythm of Spectral Sync, the battlefield layering delayed pressure the sa way Caelus did.
Ozzy saw it imdiately.
"Ahh sugar plums…"
But he didn't stop.
Jamal was already moving.
The soul ball snapped between his hands, dribbling through micro-realities as he flickered between positions, each step slightly out of phase with the battlefield. It kept him alive. Kept him relevant. Kept him in the fight.
He positioned Ozzy constantly—angles, openings, gaps that didn't exist until Jamal made them.
Ozzy followed.
Laughing.
Swinging.
Singing under his breath like this was fun.
Reapers surged around him, intercepting, clashing, tearing into the storm as he carved his own path through it with reckless precision.
And behind them—
Tabia held the line.
Coral rose.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
Fell.
Rose again.
Wave after wave crashing into the storm. To redirect pressure. To keep everyone else alive.
So she endured.
Back in the center—
Caelus pressed harder.
Despite it all.
Despite Jack adapting.
Despite the storm echoing him.
Despite the odds shifting.
He remained calm.
His blade moved again.
He landed hits.
Not many—
But enough.
A slash across Jack's side.
A delayed echo catching him mid-step.
A phantom strike forcing him off balance.
For a mont—
It looked like he could take it.
Then Jack responded.
The copied rhythm turned on him.
A mirrored timing.
A delayed strike.
A weapon slipping through the exact space Caelus had just created.
Blood.
Caelus staggered.
Just slightly.
Jack pressed.
The storm tightened.
The tendrils converged.
And for the first ti in this exchange—
Caelus was forced back.
Tabia reacted instantly.
Coral surged between them, rising in layered walls that intercepted the follow-up strikes, breaking the chain before it could finish.
She pulled him out.
The battlefield didn't pause.
Didn't breathe.
Didn't slow.
Because even as Caelus retreated—
Even as Jack adapted—
Even as Ozzy and Jamal kept the fight alive—
Everything was still collapsing toward the sa point.
And ti—
Was running out.
Ozzy glanced at Jamal.
He was faster now.
Red-purple aura flared off him in violent bursts, his body flickering between positions as he dribbled through micro-realities, slipping past attacks that should've clipped him, weaving through the storm like he was barely tethered to the sa plane as everything else.
But even that—
Wasn't enough.
Ozzy's grin faded slightly as he tracked the fight.
Caelus was already re-entering, stepping back into the storm without hesitation, blade raised, rhythm steady despite the damage. And Jack—
Jack was changing.
The weapons weren't just falling anymore.
Angles sharpened.
Timing tightened.
The storm grew...
Crafty.
Jack raised his hands slightly, the tendrils tightening across the battlefield like puppet strings being pulled into place.
"This was great, guys…"
His voice carried through the chaos.
"But let's end this ga so I can get my prize."
Ozzy's eye snapped open.
White flared.
He was about to use it—
End it right now—
But before Jack could move—
The air shifted.
A breath.
A long exhale infused with Green Ryun spread across the battlefield. The atmosphere thickened instantly, pressing down like sothing alive. The storm slowed—not physically, but perceptually. Movents felt delayed. Thoughts dragged. Even Jack's awareness faltered as the effect took hold.
For a split second—
He looked around.
Dazed.
Tracked sothing that wasn't there.
Then—
Fire.
Beams of fla erupted from above, crashing downward in a barrage that blanketed his weapons, disrupting their formation, forcing the storm to stagger under the sudden interference.
Jack's vision snapped back into place.
And he saw her.
Sšurtinaui.
Falling.
Fast.
Directly toward him.
His body tensed—
But it was already too late.
The sky split.
A purple shockwave tore past her, the air compressing violently around the descent. The force warped everything beneath it, dragging debris, weapons, and pressure inward toward the impact point.
Then—
A fist slamd into his face.
The impact caved in the front of his helt instantly, tal folding inward with a sharp, cracking scream as the force transferred straight through his skull. The shockwave detonated outward at the sa ti, the air fracturing in a visible ripple as his body bent under the blow.
For a split second—
His head snapped back.
Eyes wide.
His entire body was driven downward, the force launching him like a teor into the ground below. The impact cratered the battlefield, earth splitting apart as he slamd into it, shockwaves racing outward and tearing through the already ruined terrain.
The storm stuttered.
Weapons faltered.
"Tinsurnae!" Ozzy yelled, eye wide as he caught sight of her. "And who's the new guy?! And why y'all naked?!
Sšurtinaui laughed, like soone who had pushed past the point of caring about how it sounded.
Tinsurnae laughed too, purple Sryun crawling over her body, wrapping her limbs, her torso, her very presence in sothing volatile and alive. Beside her, her male counterpart hovered in stark contrast—green Sryun flowing around him in controlled currents.
Sšurtinaui dropped down onto the coral platform, her landing heavier than she wanted. The mont her feet touched, her body sagged slightly, exhaustion hitting all at once.
That mist—
Breath of the Dying Wood—
Had taken everything she had left.
Her vision flickered for a second.
Her legs nearly gave.
But she stayed up.
Tabia was already there.
Bruised.
Battered.
Armor cracked.
But standing.
She stepped in beside Sšurtinaui without a word, coral rising instinctively around them, forming layered defenses, jagged and shifting as her aura flared again despite how thin it had beco.
For a brief mont—
It felt like they could breathe.
Then—
The ground exploded.
Weapons surged upward.
Blades.
Spears.
Constructs.
At the sa ti, the sky responded—elental attacks crashing downward in violent succession, fire, force, and warped concepts converging all at once.
Above.
Below.
No direction was safe.
The battlefield itself beca a jaw.
Slowly closing.
Snapping shut with the intent to erase everything caught between it.
Tabia reacted instantly.
Coral erupted upward, folding over itself, layering again and again as she shielded Sšurtinaui completely, her body bracing as the first wave hit.
Then the second.
Then the third.
Each impact cracked through her defenses, coral shattering, reforming, breaking again under the relentless bombardnt.
The pressure didn't stop.
Didn't slow.
And Tabia—
Held.
Because right now—
That was all she could do.
Both Tinsurnaes dodged the barrage.
Barely.
Their auras flickered, unstable after forcing themselves back from nothing, but they didn't retreat. Purple and green Sryun pulsed around them in uneven waves as they drew everything inward—every last fragnt, every remaining ounce.
A final attack.
One more.
That was all they had left.
Caelus stepped forward again.
No hesitation.
Just movent.
Ozzy glanced at Jamal.
Jamal looked back.
At the bloodied man beside him—one arm gone, one eye missing, Locs stained and clinging to his face—and still smiling like this was just another run.
"Got a play, Blood?"
Ozzy's grin widened.
"Absolutely."
He rolled his shoulder.
"Let's show him how to ball! My fellow Loc brethren."
Jamal smirked.
His aura flared brighter—red and purple twisting together as the soul ball spun into his hand.
"Ti to murk this dickhead."
Across the battlefield—
Jack rose.
His aura flared outward, the storm responding instantly. Weapons realigned, lifting, locking into position as they pointed downward like divine judgnt waiting to fall.
Then—
He smiled.
Because it had happened.
The setup.
The alignnt.
Sšurtinaui had intervened.
Interrupted him.
Turned on him.
Betrayed him.
His ntor.
Even if it was just two weeks.
It was enough.
More than enough.
He pulled on it.
Hard.
The trope snapped into place.
Betrayal.
The wounded protagonist.
The mont before the coback.
The inevitable reversal.
The air shifted.
Subtly.
Everyone felt it.
And still—
They moved.
Tabia surged forward, forcing coral outward in a crashing wave to carve a path for them, the structures rising and collapsing as she pushed beyond her limits.
Her arms trembled.
Then split.
Blood pulsed from her skin, running down her fingers as the strain tore through her.
But she didn't stop.
Jack raised his hand.
High.
The storm responded.
The jaw tightened.
Weapons angled inward.
Sky and ground aligned to crush everything between them.
He laughed.
Loud.
Unhinged.
"You idiots!"
The pressure spiked.
"What the hell did you think would happen—"
The weapons trembled, ready to fall.
"—when you fucked with—"
His aura surged.
"—THE MAIN CHARACTER?!"
And the battlefield held its breath—
He launched it.
True Solipsism Echoed Barrage.
The mont it activated, the battlefield shifted. Not visibly at first—but fundantally. The air thinned, space distorted, and those invisible black lines began to form again.
They traced across reality like unseen script revisions, carving pathways through existence, marking what would be cut, what would be removed, what would never have been there in the first place. The storm aligned with it—every weapon, every tendril, every fragnt of force locking into position as if the world itself had already decided how this mont would end.
The jaw closed.
Sky and ground converged.
Everything pointed inward.
Toward them.
Then—
It broke.
Ozzy's reapers erupted around him in violent succession—hands, skulls, blades tearing outward in all directions, not aiming for Jack, not even aiming to destroy the storm.
They attacked the structure.
They clawed into the invisible lines, smashing into the points where the sequence was forming, disrupting the flow before it could finalize. Every Reaper that struck shattered part of the alignnt, ripping holes in the "certainty" Jack was building.
At the sa ti—
The Tinsurnaes descended.
Purple and green Sryun collided with the storm in tandem, their final attack unleashed not as a clean technique—but as everything they had left compressed into a single, overwhelming push. The purple crashed like jagged lightning, tearing through weapon clusters, while the green followed with controlled precision, slicing apart the pathways those weapons needed to connect.
They weren't trying to overpower it.
They were desynchronizing it.
The barrage stuttered.
The black lines flickered.
For a split second, the edits lost coherence—what was supposed to be inevitable beca uncertain.
Weapons fired early.
Others lagged.
So missed their marks entirely, detonating against nothing as the carefully constructed sequence collapsed into chaos.
The sky cracked with misfires.
The ground split from misplaced impacts.
The storm that was ant to close like a perfect jaw instead snapped unevenly, teeth breaking against each other instead of crushing down cleanly.
Jack's eyes widened.
Just slightly.
Because the trope—
Was still there.
Jack smiled.
It didn't matter.
They could disrupt the sequence, delay the alignnt, tear at the structure—but the trope was already set. The outco was already leaning in his favor. All they were doing was buying seconds.
And seconds weren't enough.
His gaze shifted.
Caelus.
Charging straight at him.
Through the storm.
Through the barrage.
Through everything.
Weapons fired.
Blades, constructs, tendrils—all of it converged on him at once, striking from every angle, layered with conceptual weight, each hit ant to slow, to break, to rewrite his approach before it could reach completion.
Caelus didn't stop.
Didn't dodge.
Didn't redirect.
He took them.
Every strike.
Cuts opened across his body, blue-white aura flickering violently as the impacts stacked, the conceptual pressure grinding into him, trying to anchor him in place, trying to make him fail.
He kept moving.
His grip tightened on his blade.
Calm.
Even now.
He raised it.
Everything he had—every echo, every rhythm, every fragnt of Spectral Sync—collapsed into that single motion. The ghostly trails, the layered timing, the predictive flow—it all aligned into one strike.
Then—
He swung.
Upward.
The world tilted.
Not taphorically.
Actually.
Reality bent along the path of his blade as it carved through the space in front of him, the edge tearing upward like it was splitting sothing deeper than air.
A column of blinding energy erupted into the sky.
The atmosphere shattered.
Sound vanished.
Then—
Obliteration.
The land below warped, cracking apart as the edges of the battlefield pulled upward, dragged toward the rising slash as if gravity itself had reversed direction. Debris lifted. Weapons twisted. The storm fractured along the path of the attack.
Jack reacted.
Imdiately.
Black lines snapped into place.
Shields layered over each other, intersecting at impossible angles, reinforcing the space in front of him as the upward strike collided against them.
The impact held.
Barely.
The shields cracked.
The lines flickered.
But they held.
The column split around him, tearing past on both sides, ripping into the sky beyond as the pressure detonated outward.
For a mont—
He was still smiling.
Then—
He noticed.
Ozzy.
And Jamal.
Dribbling toward him.
Fast.
Too fast.
The rhythm.
The angle.
The timing—
Jack realized.
Ozzy laughed.
"So it's up to you!"
Jamal blinked mid-dribble, barely keeping pace as the storm twisted around them.
"What, Blood?!"
Ozzy ducked under a blade, Reapers bursting into existence around them—hands grabbing, skulls biting, intercepting just enough of the storm to keep a path open.
"Yup."
Another weapon scread past his head.
"I'ma run forward like a track star—"
He spun through a tendril, laughing.
"—and you score like a point guard."
Jamal frowned, still moving.
"Those are two different sports, Blood—plus I—"
"Don't got ti—LET'S GOOOOOO!"
Ozzy surged forward.
No hesitation.
Just speed.
Jack's hand lifted instantly.
Ready.
To end him.
Then—
Ozzy's eye fully opened.
The Eye of Insanity ignited.
The world snapped.
Reality went mad.
Sound distorted.
Space twisted.
Thought fractured.
Jack scread.
His mind splintered under the pressure, the structure he had built—the alignnt, the control, the narrative—shredding as madness flooded in, turning certainty into chaos.
The storm went with it.
Weapons still moved—
But wrong.
Off-beat.
Delayed.
Incrental.
The perfect sequence degraded into staggered, broken attacks.
And Jamal—
Moved.
He rushed in.
The soul ball vanished from his hand.
No tricks now.
No setup.
Just him.
Weapons tore into him imdiately.
A blade cut across his chest.
Another split his shoulder.
One grazed his face, blood spraying as he pushed through it without slowing.
He didn't care.
There was an opp in front of him.
And that was enough.
That was always enough.
He dodged one strike—barely.
Another clipped him.
A third he phased through mid-step, Crossfade flickering his body between micro-realities just long enough to slip past the hit before snapping back into place.
Forward.
Concepts pressed against him—weight, pressure, narrative resistance trying to force him back, to say this isn't your mont.
He ignored it.
Broke through it.
Because that's what he did.
He didn't win clean.
He just—
won.
Then—
He was there.
Right in front of Jack.
Close enough to touch.
Jack's eyes cleared just enough to focus.
And he smiled.
Yeah.
Hit .
This was the mont.
The protagonist's coback.
The final reversal.
The inevitable victory.
Jamal raised his hand—
And instead of striking—
He threw up a gang sign.
"Check up, Blood!"
A sharp crack split through the battlefield.
Like rubber snapping against hardwood.
For a mont—just a mont—the ruined world bent.
And a court appeared.
Lines traced themselves across broken ground. A half-arc shimred into existence. Space flattened just slightly, like reality itself agreed—just for now—to play by different rules.
Jack's eyes widened.
"What the hell is this—"
He laughed.
"Dumbass. You think trapping the protagonist is sma—"
"Protagonist?" Jamal cut him off imdiately. "Shut the fuck up. I don't speak Spanish."
Jack blinked.
Confused.
Actually confused.
He looked down at his hands.
His aura—
It dipped.
His storm—
Faltered.
The weapons still hovered, but they didn't move the sa.
"…what the hell?"
Jamal rolled his shoulders, stepping forward casually like they weren't standing in the middle of a war.
"Listen, Blood."
He bounced the ball once.
The sound echoed.
"I don't know about the shit you talm bout."
Another bounce.
"I'ma be real—I don't give a fuck."
Jack's expression twisted.
"Well you should—"
He raised his hand.
Nothing happened.
No storm surge.
No black lines.
No rewrite.
Just—
nothing.
"I'MMA BLOW YOU TO KINGDOM CO—"
Still nothing.
Jamal laughed.
"You pissing off."
His finger lifted.
Pointed straight at Jack.
"Can't believe Crisper died to a bitch ass boi like you."
His aura flared—red and purple twisting tighter.
Jack opened his mouth again.
And kept talking.
About destiny.
About being chosen.
About being selected by sothing higher.
About being the main character.
About Jamal being nothing more than filler.
Flavor.
A side piece to the story.
Jamal didn't let him finish.
"See, Blood…"
He stepped closer.
"That's the difference between us."
His voice dropped.
"On Earth—you was a bitch I bet."
Jack froze.
Jamal continued.
"You sound like a fucking child."
Another bounce.
"?"
Jamal smiled.
Slow.
"A real ass motherfucker?"
He leaned in just a little.
"I was hitting licks and running plays by ti I was seven."
Silence.
"I caught my first body at ten."
Jack didn't move.
Didn't speak.
Didn't blink.
Jamal's smile widened.
"Yeah, Blood."
He bounced the ball again.
"You had to co here to be a killer."
Step.
Closer.
"Bitch—I been a killer."
Another bounce.
The court settled.
"I paint shit."
His eyes locked onto Jack.
"That's all the way."
He spun the ball once in his hand.
Then stopped it.
"So here's how this shit gonna go."
Behind him—
A net ford.
"We gonna play HORSE."
He paused.
Then smirked.
"But since I hate you—"
The air tightened.
"We gonna play POT."
He reached down.
Pulled out his Glock.
Cocked the switch.
Set it on the ground between them.
The sound of tal hitting earth echoed louder than it should have.
"Whoever spells their word first…"
His gaze never left Jack.
"Gets beat to death by the winner."
Jack tried to move.
Tried to act.
Tried to do anything.
Nothing responded.
Tropes didn't apply here.
Jamal tossed him the ball.
"You can go first."
He stepped back.
A grin spread across his face.
"You wanted the spotlight, right?"
He tilted his head slightly.
"Show how much of a bitch you are."
Reviews
All reviews (0)