COZMART: Corner Shop of Visiting Gods

Morning sunlight slid reluctantly through the open arena ceiling, threading through jade columns and crystalline platforms. Today, the familiar setting carried a subdued, menacing air—as if the celestial venue itself anticipated impending chaos.

On the floating commentator platform, Yverie and Brother Woo appeared in a shimmer of holographic projection. Yverie waved at the camera drones, her eyes sparkling with barely-contained excitement.

"Welcome back, my lovely viewers!" Her voice echoed through the speakers. "Today, we unveil the third and final round of the Realm-Barrier Games—The Commander's Nightmare!"

Excited murmurs surged through the audience, both mortal and immortal spectators leaning forward eagerly in front of their holographic displays. Beside her, Brother Woo stepped forward with characteristic serenity.

"Indeed, teams will face three mortal days—72 hours—within an illusion tailored to the innermost fears, traumas, and regrets of their commanders. Each nightmare realm is hyper-realistic, indistinguishable from true reality without extraordinary spiritual clarity."

He paused briefly, letting the seriousness sink in.

"To escape," he said, "teams must achieve one of two conditions: either have their commander realize the illusion is false—a lucidity breakthrough—or genuinely overcome the emotional core of their commander's trauma—emotional transcendence."

Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, "And should circumstances become too overwhelming, teams may forcibly terminate the nightmare scenario—an instant game failure. Of course, we trust our commanders' pride won't allow such indignity."

A ripple of laughter threaded through the crowd. No commander seemed particularly disturbed; to them, humiliation felt worse than anything a mere illusion could conjure. For a moment, Eathan almost envied that immortal confidence.

Yverie jumped back into view, brightening instantly. "And unlike previous rounds, all nine teams will enter simultaneously, so our RealmNet audience can freely toggle through your favourite nightmares on with the 'Stream Room View' option on your screen. Prepare yourselves—this will surely be an unforgettable experience!"

RealmNet chat streams exploded with delighted chaos:

[@RealmWarz]: Trauma, live-streamed? Talk about peak-entertainment.

[@AoBingFanclub]: Commander Ao Bing's nightmare better involve humility lessons!

[@TigerStan9_9]: Betting (hoping) Erlang Shen's nightmare involves Foxfire somehow…….

As Brother Woo and Yverie's voices faded, a 30-minute countdown began, leaving final moments of preparations to the nine teams, each currently in their exclusive lounge.

In Team 001's unnecessarily extravagant lounge, Eathan shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Around him, his teammates were a similar cluster of nerves and barely concealed anxiety. Willow collapsed onto a velvet cushioned bench and stretched, eyes focused as if mentally rehearsing how best to fight the incoming trauma. Finn paced all over the place, glancing repeatedly at the ornate countdown clock.

"Commander's nightmare, huh?" he muttered, half-joking, half-miserable. "Wonder what brand of insanity we're signing up for today?"

Eathan sank into a nearby seat. "Hopefully something less traumatic than last round's psychological murder."

"You're getting greedy, Eathan." Finn laughed once. "Just surviving should be enough."

Chewie barely paid attention, fiercely tapping at her holopad as she checked RealmNet memes with an increasingly dour expression. Apart from the group, Esther leaned by the counter, fiddling with her assassin gear. Her gaze lingered somewhere distant, unreadable beneath her long, dark lashes.

The uneasy silence was broken as the lounge doors slid open at once. Taeril strolled in, direct appearance with his team for the first time since the Games began. His physical presence felt oddly reassuring, despite the fact that he was the one whose "nightmare" they were about to enter.

Under the team's anxious looks, the White Tiger took a slow sip from a coffee cup that had, somehow, appeared in his hand.

"Just a fair warning," he began cooly, "my past self isn't exactly famed for patience or mercy. If things escalate, do yourselves a favour and exit immediately. I will not fault you."

At his words, Willow straightened. She hopped off the bench and crossed her arms, stubborn determination radiating from every muscle. "We're here to win, commander. Your existential baggage won't scare us away."

Taeril raised an eyebrow, a faint smile hovering at his lips. Chewie, however, looked doubtful. She gave the woman a sidelong glance but didn't contradict.

A sudden, exaggerated sigh sliced through their exchange. Finn nearly jumped a foot in the air. He spun toward the source of the voice—Esther's voice—with wide eyes.

"Did you just... emote?"

Esther smiled. A look of amusement crossed her normally impassive face. Her eyes flashed briefly to Taeril, whose own expression bordered on a resigned sigh.

"Forgive me. It's just that—the nostalgia is truly overwhelming."

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Willow's eyes narrowed. "Come again?"

Esther turned, her gaze meeting Taeril's with a sparkle. "I think we should clear the air before we enter our dear commander's subconscious playground. Might spare us some unfortunate misunderstandings."

Before anyone could react, she reached up, pulling loose the silk ribbon binding her ponytail. As it fluttered to the ground, the illusion shrouding her dissolved before their eyes.

Esther's slender figure stretched rapidly, growing taller by nearly half a foot. Her hair cascaded in long raven waves that shimmered a faint teal, framing a face unmistakably more familiar—and infinitely more troubling.

At last, a pair of bright, mischievous emerald eyes locked onto the team.

Chewie's eyes darkened with betrayal. "No."

Finn swayed, blinking several times in rapid succession. "Wait—are you...?"

The former assassin smiled, striding forward as if she—he hadn't just destroyed their entire worldview.

"Honestly, pretending to be a mute ghost-assassin became dreadfully tedious."

Stunned silence slammed onto the group like a hammer blow as Quine Long stood before them in his full Azure Dragon splendour.

Eathan's mouth opened and closed, desperately searching for a suitable reaction and coming up empty. Beside him, Willow swayed, complexion visibly paling.

Chewie glared with fierce, wounded betrayal. "I want a refund for every candy, every snack I gave you."

Quine merely smiled, voice warm with mock regret. "Request denied, little general. Don't pretend you didn't enjoy my charming company."

Willow turned on Taeril, voice tense. "Commander White, did you know about this?"

The white-haired man shrugged, flicking aside his now-empty coffee cup, which vanished neatly into thin air. "Favour repayment, you could say. And, he could be useful, occasionally."

Eathan's mind raced, suddenly piecing together dozens of mysteries. "Wait, your assassin skills—those stealth kills were actually…?"

"Oh, assassination?" Quine Long tilted his head. "Merely a delightful hobby of mine among numerous other talents."

"That explains the poetry obsession," Chewie muttered.

The dragon's smile broadened. "An assassin without poetry is merely a butcher."

***

When the teams finally stepped onto the central platform for the entrance sequence, the arena's buzz of excitement grew deafening.

Team introductions quickly followed.

Erlang Shen stepped forward first, greeting applause with regal civility. Beside him, Lady Foxfire waved with both hands, her cheerleaders glittering like a meteor shower behind her steps. Ao Bing appeared distinctly unimpressed, holding a gaze that dared anyone to make eye contact. Great Peng gave an exaggerated wave toward RealmNet drones, narrating his entrance to his own followers and basking in the attention.

Finally, Team 001 was called forth as one. The arena exploded with enthusiastic cheers, shaking the very air itself as the White Tiger led the procession. However, the excitement quickly twisted into something else when the Azure Dragon—unmistakable in his true form—slipped gracefully beside him. The silence lasted exactly three seconds before the entire arena erupted again.

[@ImmortalMob]: ?????? Where did Esther go?

[@ChewsYourWords]: AM I SEEING THIS RIGHT????

[@GuardianOT4]: Azure Dragon in the flesh????

Almost immediately, #WhiteTigerAzureDragonReunion shot up in the Trending chart, along with #AzureDragonGenderSwap, #TheFourDivineGuardians, and #Team001.

Yverie, from the commentator's booth, frantically verified with the Cloud-Jade Ledger, "Ledger, please confirm immediately—is this allowed?"

Brother Woo fell silent, then nodded upon reading the confirmation. "According to the Cloud-Jade Ledger, there's no violation. Perfectly legal, though certainly unexpected." He paused, nodding meaningfully. "Indeed. Chaos is a reliable constant in the Realm-Barrier Games."

Team 001 stared into the chaos around them. Finn glanced sideways at the Azure Dragon. "Your fanbase seems terrifyingly enthusiastic."

Quine shrugged. "My existence tends to inspire either devotion or existential dread. Both are equally delightful."

The teams lined up, awaiting entry into the nightmare. Eathan clasped his hands together, sending prayers to no deity in particular—he'd learned the existing ones were entirely unreliable, anyway. Beside him, Chewie urgently tried launching her first livestream, only for her holopad to flicker off, completely out of power.

She stared blankly. "Another betrayal."

Finn patted her shoulder in consolation. "Technology, like life itself, only exists to let you down."

Meanwhile, Taeril leaned closer toward Quine Long, voice dropping into quiet seriousness meant for the Azure Dragon's ears alone. "Keep my past self in check. If he kills anyone important, I'll be quite displeased."

Quine raised an eyebrow. "Sentimentality now, Bai Hu?"

Taeril's gaze narrowed by a tinge. "Just a friendly reminder."

"Well." Quine's smile widened at that. "I suppose I can babysit your little homicidal meltdown."

Just as the countdown reached zero, blazing white enveloped the arena, brighter and more overwhelming than ever before. In a heartbeat, the polished tiles beneath Eathan's feet evaporated. He felt himself falling, reality spinning violently, before his eyes snapped open again.

Eathan choked, staggering upright as the acrid stench of smoke, metal, and blood slammed into him, thick enough to claw down his throat.

The hours he'd spent mentally preparing himself felt meaningless in the moment of true experience.

He was amidst a battlefield, an overwhelming chaos of screaming voices, clanging steel, and frenzied movement. Soldiers surged forward, clad in armour of ancient designs, ornate yet battle-hardened, etched with glyphs flickering in shades of blood. Each face, blurred by dust and sweat, carried an unmistakable ferocity as their eyes fixed on their enemy.

Unfortunately, it took mere seconds for Eathan to realize a very unpleasant truth:

He was the enemy.

A ring of soldiers converged instantly, blades glinting with malicious purpose as they spotted him isolated, weaponless, and clearly disoriented. His heart hammered against his ribs.

"Oh," Eathan breathed, scrambling back, "you've got to be kidding me—"

A soldier lunged without hesitation, his blade cutting through the air with a sound like ripping silk. Eathan twisted aside on pure instinct, his five hundred Qi Tokens rolling into effect. He stumbled backward as the tip of the sword whistled past his throat, barely missing by inches.

[Calamity Radar] screamed in his head, warnings overlapping, practically shouting at him to run. He needed no further convincing. Turning on a heel, he bolted, sneakers kicking up clouds of acrid dust.

Above him, towering high in the bruised crimson sky, luminous numbers ignited at once, pulsing relentlessly:

[TIME REMAINING]:

71:58:44

Three days. Seventy-two hours.

Eathan dodged desperately through clashing soldiers, slipping narrowly past corpses and armoured bodies locked in combat. He ducked and rolled through gaps, pushed by none other than raw panic. His heart nearly seized as another soldier suddenly turned, driving a heavy spear downwards with a roar deep within his lungs. Eathan sidestepped barely in time, stumbling onto his knees and rolling aside to avoid getting skewered.

As he staggered upright again, the reality settled grimly within him:

He'd been dropped straight into a ruthless, ancient battlefield as their commander's nightmare scene—and the nightmare had only just begun.