Runes Academy (Day 15)
Wilson's voice lingered in their bones like a half-remembered dream, a spatial decree that bound every apprentice within fifty kilometers with invisible chains: two months. My space. Most resources claimed. The beacon to that school's Dean.
The school wars guttered out like candles in a storm, their flames snuffed by a Level 4 whim. No banners raised in triumph, no graves dug for the fallen. But in the barracks and training yards, a quieter war flickered to life—apprentices hoarding magic stones like misers clutching their last coins, whispering of forbidden rites in shadowed corners, eyes sharp with the hunger of the overlooked. Runes spatialists chained their steps through the night. Elements acolytes burned effigies of Victor in hidden groves. Illusions from Lona's school practiced vanishing in crowds. The real tournament had already begun.
Ethan's Chamber – Dawn (Day 16)
Ethan knelt before his meditation circle, mana coiling at Level 2 peak like a serpent too large for its skin. The Level 3 threshold loomed—a hair's breadth away, yet walled by scarcity. Markets stood empty as exhumed graves. Vendors who'd once hawked spatial herbs and beast cores now shuttered their stalls, whispering of Victor's edict. Ethan's Void Ring brimmed with 102,000 stones, but gold was useless without trade.
A shadow slipped under the door. Glan, ever the ghost in lazy genius skin. "Markets are tombs. Everyone's burying their wares for the tournament."
Ethan exhaled smoke. "Level 3 needs more than stones."
Glan's eyes struck like flint. "Shadow auction. Sublevel 3, alchemy ruins. Masks only. Bring Daina—she's got light-sense for fakes."
The Crucible Beneath – 23:47 (Day 16)
They descended masked—Ethan in void-black hood, Glan in ragged scholar's veil, Daina in silver filigree that caught no light. Her light blade hung loose at her hip. The air thickened: 100 shadowed figures crammed into war-scarred cavern. No sigils. No voices above murmur. Old blood and fresh mana hung heavy.
Crimson silk glided onstage, black lace framing wine-red lips. Her voice wove honey-thorns: "Shadows trade shadows. The auction wakes."
First: The Mitharil Heart
Silver-blue chunk hummed conductor's promise. "Forge a weapon to cleave wards. 10,000 stones."
Bidding rose like fever. Daina's breath caught—mitharil would turn her light blade to sunlances. She bid 15k, 22k, 37k. Water-sharp voice countered 48k. Daina's hand trembled at 49k. 55,000. Hammer fell.
She sagged against Ethan, fist clenched. "Wilson would give it... but I'd rather die than beg."
Glan touched her shoulder. "Honor is your blade. Keep it sharp."
Mental expansion potion frenzy followed—violet swirl promising 40% mind-growth. House Rimjim took it at 412,000 stones, water mages clutching gold like drowning men.
Ethan watched, patient as stone. Nothing touched the threshold.
Then: The Vial of Bigbull.
Crimson-black tube, runes writhing. "Wizard-beast blood. Volatile. 1,000 stones."
Silence. Laughter. "Meridian confetti."
Nexus uncoils. Void-wind screams. 47% grave-stars circle.
Ethan's hand rose. "1,000."
Laughter crashed—"The fool in black!" Daina gripped his arm, nails drawing blood. Glan's breath hitched.
Sold.
The Hollows After – 01:23 AM
They fled through dripping tunnels, masks shed like skins. Daina whirled, voice breaking. "Bigbull blood? Mitharil would have sung in my hands!"
"Experiment," Ethan said, voice thin as new moon. Vial burned cold. "Spatial catalyst. Trust the hunch."
Glan's mouth crooked—he caught the hidden steel. "Fool's bid to wise men."
Daina's eyes haunted with '08 Rupture memories. "Seven died screaming, Ethan. Meridians exploded." Her light blade hand twitched.
"Risk makes the edge," Ethan said. She let it lie, haunted.
Ethan's Chamber – 02:15 AM
Ethan bolted the door, privacy crystal blooming into shimmering silence. The vial glowed faintly on his meditation table, crimson-black liquid swirling like trapped stormclouds. His heart pounded—this was no ordinary beast blood. The NEXUS whispers during the auction had been too specific, too hungry.
Ethan drew his spatial dagger, blade humming with void-edge. Without hesitation, he sliced his palm—crimson welled instantly.
Nexus activates. Nanobots deploy.
Microscopic silver threads uncoiled from his blood, shimmering like starfire motes. They swarmed the Bigbull vial, piercing the runes, diving into volatile wizard-beast essence. Ethan clenched his bleeding fist over a sterile bottle from his Void Ring. His nanobots worked—extracting mystery DNA, separating cosmic helix from meridian poison. The bottle filled with pure obsidian liquid, sealed by glowing spatial locks.
"Analyze," Ethan commanded, voice steady despite the sting.
Nexus uncoils. DNA matrix stable. Analysis duration: one year minimum.
"One year?" Ethan slammed his fist on the table, knuckles white. Two months until Wilson's gate. Purified Bigbull essence mocked him—cosmic tease, not salvation. Level 3 remained locked.
He gripped the sealed bottle, blood dripping to the floor. Tournament loomed. No miracles. Just engineered hunger.