At the quiet shore of Plunder Island stood a lonely beach house, its porch kissed by the morning tide.

  On a reclining chair, an old Dragoon rested — nine and a half feet tall, white hair cascading like a river of age, his long beard reaching his chest. Dark glasses shaded his eyes from the golden sunrise.

  A straw poked from the coconut in his hand, and he sipped with satisfaction.

  “Peace and quiet,” he muttered, his voice raspy yet deep. “Too bad it won’t last.”

  He gave a long sigh, flipping open an adult magazine filled with women of every race.

  His thick fingers turned the pages lazily.

  First, an elf posed in a bikini, radiant and elegant. The old Dragoon nodded approvingly.

  “Ooo… I like this one. Elves never disappoint — always the best looking.”

  The next page revealed an obese Relaird woman squeezed into the same attire. His face twisted instantly.

  “Eeeewww! Who the hell approved this filth?”

  With a flick, he turned again — and froze.

  A female Octide stared back at him from the page. Tentacles everywhere. A humanoid face. Grotesque. Alien. Wrong.

  The Dragoon recoiled, bellowing:

  “Holy mother of my father! My eyes! I’ve just been visually violated!”

  He shot to his feet, flinging the magazine into the ocean as if it had cursed him.

  “Whoever drew that abomination, you better pray I never find you!”

  Muttering under his breath, he trudged barefoot across the sand, his big belly jiggling beneath his loose short pants. He entered the beach house and cracked eggs into a pan, letting them sizzle while a seer projected the morning broadcast.

  On-screen, an Aurellian reporter stood inside a massive basket strapped to the back of a flying Skyarc. His voice boomed against the roar of the wind.

  “It has been three years since this gigantic hole appeared, erasing several countries from the face of Yilheim. Even now, the cause of this catastrophic disaster remains unknown.”

  The seer shifted, showing the endless abyss — a wound in the world, its bottom lost to darkness.

  The Dragoon frowned, grumbled, and changed the channel.

  “Nothing good ever plays these days.”

  Static flashed, then Balling’s face filled the screen — grinning wide, dressed in his flamboyant coat.

  “Welcome back, my dear viewers! Don’t I deserve an ovation for consistently giving you peak entertainment? Today, the game continues!”

  The old Dragoon spat out a laugh.

  “That fat fool.”

  A female voice rang out behind him. Sharp. Mocking.

  “Who are you calling fat? Have you seen yourself lately?”

  He ignored her, taking a step toward the table—

  Slip!

  His heel slid across the damp floor. He toppled like a tree, crashing flat on his back. Pain shot up his spine.

  “Aaahhh! My baaack!” he howled, clutching himself. “You old hag! Why didn’t you mop the damn floor?!”

  ---

  At the center of the island, the final one hundred challengers stood in silence. Tension hung heavy in the air, thick as the ocean mist.

  Then—fwooom!

  A portal spiraled open above, and out strutted Balling on his floating camera platform, hips swaying as if he was entering a royal ballroom rather than a battlefield. The recording orbs circled him eagerly, catching every exaggerated angle.

  “Gooood morning my beautiful little people!” Balling’s voice rang across the island like a song, stretching the words with flair. “Ahhh, do you feel it? The sun is rising, the breeze is cool, the birds are chirping somewhere probably being eaten by something—ahhh, life is truly wonderful!”

  He pressed a hand dramatically to his chest, then peered down at the crowd. His grin widened.

  “Ohohooo! And what do we have here? Only the top guns remain! Look at you—so scary, so glary, auras like murderous bonfires! Delicious, yes, yes! All the weaklings have been eliminated like the garbage raccoons they are. HAHAHA!”

  He spread his arms wide.

  “WELCOME… to Phase Foooooour, my darlings! This one is very different. This time—oh yes, this time—it is not about who can punch the hardest, or scream the loudest, or make the most edgy faces at the camera.” He wagged a finger. “No no no! This time, it is about… TEAM WORK!”

  The last words echoed as the holographic projection above shimmered to life, shifting into giant floating images of banners and battlefields.

  Balling twirled, pointing dramatically at it.

  “Behold! Ten, ten, TEN—you shall form teams of ten people each! Yes, yes, time to play nice with your fellow killers, strategists, and psychopaths. Hahahaha!”

  He clapped his hands twice, and the projection shifted to show glowing flags planted in bases.

  “Each team will have a flag. This flag is your heart, your soul, your pretty little underwear—protect it! If another team takes it from you, you cry, you die, you go bye-bye, understood? To win, your team must capture at least one enemy flag while still protecting your own. Fail to do so, and ohhh, too bad! You are eliminated, and I laugh at you personally!”

  The projection shifted again—now showing swirling illusions of forests, volcanoes, even monstrous beasts rampaging across the battlefield.

  “And because simple capture-the-flag is boring, I, the genius Balling, have spiced it up! Ohohoho yes, illusions, elemental monsters, and traps will roam the battlefield. They will try to eat you, smash you, confuse you—maybe even tickle you, who knows? Hilarious!”

  The challengers murmured.

  Eryndor stood still, his arms folded. Where once there had been a stump, there was now a flawless hand sculpted entirely from living ice. Shards of light danced across its surface, catching the morning sun. Each finger twitched with precision, bending and flexing as if it were flesh—yet colder, sharper, more unyielding. He had mastered it, commanding the hand with will alone. His cold eyes locked upward, unblinking, as though testing Balling himself.

  Beside him, Valerius’s hair flowed with the wind, his expression unreadable. Irisa stood at ease, a faint smile gracing her lips, as though savoring the chaos to come.

  From the edges of the crowd, Valtos watched in silence, his form returned to normal size, eyes narrowed with interest. The blue-haired woman tilted her head, her gaze thoughtful. The hulking Leporid warrior cracked his knuckles, muscles bulging like stone.

  Far away, atop a mountain, the old Dragoon squinted through a spyglass. His lips curled.

  “Tch. That clown again.”

  Back in the sky, Balling spread his arms like a conductor preparing the finale of a grand symphony.

  “So, my lovely little murder-ducklings, the rules are simple! Protect your flag! Steal someone else’s! Work as a team or stab each other in the back—it makes no difference to me! Only the clever, the strong, the mad, and the FABULOUS will ascend to the next stage… the AETHER CRUCIBLE!”

  He pirouetted once on his platform and struck a pose, finger raised to the sky.

  “So! Go! Scheme, plot, make your silly little teams! Because the game of WAR… begins! Oh its not really starting now, you have like twenty minutes to form teams.”

  ---

  Ziraiah tugged lightly at Valerius’s shirt. “So, we teaming up?”

  Valerius gave her a sideways glance. “Obviously.”

  “Then we only need seven more,” she said with a grin.

  Eryndor’s crystalline hand of ice flexed, each finger opening and closing with glacial precision. His gaze swept across the gathering, cold and exacting.

  “We require individuals of resolute defense and uncompromising offense,” he declared. “Mediocrity will avail us nothing.”

  Valerius nodded once, his eyes roaming the field. “Well… none of the people left are weak. Let me ask around. I already have a few in mind.”

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  He stepped away, his hair flowing in the breeze, and made his way to Eliana. Waving casually, he said, “Hey. Wanna team up?”

  Maloi leaned toward Eliana, whispering, “It would be good to have one of those Bravo users on our side. And if he made it this far, he’s not just strong—he’s dangerous.”

  Eliana whispered back, her eyes narrowing as she studied Valerius. “They call me a genius among geniuses. But look at him… Just three years ago he was helpless. Broken. It’s hard to believe this is the same person.”

  Maloi stepped forward, standing between them. “I would ask if we could trust you,” he said to Valerius, “but would an untrustworthy person ever admit to being one?”

  Valerius smirked. “Whether or not you trust me depends on you. For now, I’m only looking for teammates. So… what do you say?”

  Maloi tilted his head. “Remind me—what’s your name again?”

  “Lerius,” Valerius replied without hesitation.

  Eliana walked forward then, placing herself directly in front of him. Her presence was sharp, commanding. “Fine. You can join us.” She leaned slightly closer, eyes steady. “But I’m the leader.”

  Valerius smiled faintly. “Alright.” He gestured back toward his siblings. “The rest of the team’s over there. I’m going to get more.”

  He turned and left, weaving back into the crowd. Approaching from behind, he found Irisa. Before he could speak, her voice cut through the air, cool and certain.

  “You want to team up?”

  Valerius chuckled. “You read my mind.”

  She turned, her silver eyes glinting. “How many are we now?”

  “Including you, six.”

  Irisa began walking, expecting him to follow. “Then let’s find the others.”

  As they moved together, Valerius asked, “What race are you, anyway?”

  Irisa smirked. “Would you believe me if I said Aurellian? That is—if you even know what an Aurellian is.”

  “I do,” Valerius replied. “You look the part. Though to this day I still wonder why your people look so much like humans.”

  Her eyes flicked sideways at him. “You people? You’re a Yilhiemer too, remember. And tell me this—do we look like them, or do they look like us?”

  “Hm.” Valerius looked thoughtful. “Never thought about it like that.” Then his tone hardened. “When are you going to tell me what I want to know?”

  Irisa grinned. “When I’m ready.”

  “You realize,” Valerius said quietly, “I can force you.”

  She laughed softly, a dangerous edge in her tone. “That old trick? You’re welcome to try. It only works on weaklings.”

  They stopped before a small figure—a Leporid, nine feet tall, muscles packed tight under a thick frame. His rabbit ears twitched as his dark eyes rose to Irisa.

  “You’re one big lady,” he rumbled.

  Valerius leaned toward her and whispered, “He has a Seed.”

  “I know,” she whispered back.

  The Leporid’s ears flicked sharply. “I can hear you. Leporids have the best hearing in the world.”

  Valerius smirked. “So do I. Maybe even better.”

  The Leporid barked a laugh. “You? An Aurellian? Don’t make me laugh.”

  Irisa stepped forward, her voice calm. “So what do you say? Want to join us?”

  The Leporid eyed them for a moment, then grinned. “Why not.” He offered a hand. “Name’s Glover.”

  They shook, and the three of them walked side by side through the crowd.

  “So, Glover,” Valerius asked, “why join this competition?”

  Glover puffed out his chest. “To win Hefestrik’s Armor.”

  Valerius burst out laughing and pointed at Irisa. “Funny—she said it’s only for women. That only women can use it.”

  Glover’s ears shot upright. “What?!” He spun to Irisa, glaring. “Who told you that nonsense? They’re lying. Hefestrik was a man—it’s even in the name! Hefestrik’s Armor! How could it be for women?!” He jabbed his finger into the air with rising indignation. “You’re trying to fool me, but it won’t work. I’m too smart for that.”

  Valerius shook his head, amused. This guy… he reminds me of Gustein.

  Glover raised his voice, passion building. “As a child, my father told me of Hefestrik—the man, the legend! His many battles, his glorious victories, all while wearing that armor. And now you’re standing here, trying to rewrite history? Hah! Not with me.”

  Irisa tilted her head, unimpressed. “Tell me, Glover. Why is a Leporid like you even here? Aren’t your people supposed to be pacifists?”

  “They are,” Glover admitted with a shrug. “But there are always exceptions.”

  Irisa glanced at Valerius with a small smile. “And the best doctors. Never forget that part.”

  They came upon a woman—blue hair cascading over her shoulders, eyes as cold and sharp as sapphire. She stood at 9’5, belonging to a rare clan of Aurellians.

  The moment her gaze landed on Glover, her fists ignited with flame.

  “You,” she hissed.

  Glover raised both hands quickly, ears twitching in alarm. “Hey, hey, hey—cool it down! If you attack me here, you’ll be disqualified, remember?”

  Valerius arched a brow. “You know her?”

  Glover scratched his head, looking sheepish. “Yeah… sort of. I may have taken her relics in the last round. But hey, you made it here, right? That means you got new ones!”

  The woman’s eyes narrowed. “I should burn your face off.”

  Valerius leaned slightly toward Irisa, murmuring, “Going directly for Seed users. Smart.”

  Then it hit him. His breath caught. Wait… I can sense who has a Seed. That means she can too. She’s known all along that I— He cut the thought short, his eyes flicking toward Irisa.

  Irisa smirked knowingly, then stepped forward with casual grace. “I’m Irisa. This is Lerius, and this is Glover. We’re forming a team, and we want you in it.”

  Sydney’s eyes burned as soon as they landed on Glover. Her fists ignited, flames licking up her arms like living serpents.

  “Why,” she hissed, “would I ever be in a team with him?”

  Irisa stepped forward, her tone smooth and confident.

  “Because with us, you’ll win.”

  Sydney’s glare deepened. She took a threatening step closer to Glover, firelight reflecting in her sapphire eyes.

  Glover lifted his hands quickly, ears twitching. “Whoa, hey now—don’t start that here.”

  Valerius interjected, calm but firm. “Look, let bygones be beyond-gones. It was a competition. We were put against each other, nothing more. But this time…” His voice lowered. “…this time, we’re working together.”

  Sydney’s flames surged hotter, heat rolling off her body. In a flash she swung her burning fist toward Glover’s face.

  Fwoosh—

  Valerius stepped between them, his hair stirring in the heat, eyes sharp.

  “Hey. Calm down.”

  Sydney’s teeth clenched. “You have no idea how hard it was to replace those relics!”

  Valerius didn’t flinch. His gaze held hers, unwavering.

  “I understand. But think—do you really want to get eliminated right now?”

  For a long second the fire roared around her hand, threatening to strike. Then, with a sharp exhale, Sydney closed her fist. The flames vanished, leaving only smoke curling from her knuckles.

  She turned her head aside, muttering, “Fine.”

  Sydney studied them silently. Her mind replayed the last round: Glover’s gigantic flame sword descending from above, nearly crushing her. And now, here they were, standing together. Strong. Dangerous.

  After a pause, she said flatly, “Fine. I’m in. Sydney.”

  Valerius gave a small smile. “Welcome to the team.” Then, turning to Irisa, he said, “Go find the other two. I’ll take them back to the rest.”

  ---

  To Be Continued...