Soulbound Ascension

20 May 2023

Lower Bracker Finals

London, England

The atmosphere backstage is suffocating. The crowd's hum seeps through the walls of the Copper Box Arena, a low roar that ebbs and swells like the tide. For the T1 roster, the sound feels more like a storm, a pressure that grows heavier with every passing second.

In the cramped confines of the ready room, tension coils around the team like an iron chain. The fluorescent lights overhead buzz, casting a pale, sterile glow over their slouched forms. The air is stagnant, thick with silence that speaks louder than words.

Lee 'Faker' Sanghyeok sits in the corner, his posture rigid, hands resting limply on his knees. His face betrays nothing, a mask of calm that has served him well for years. But inside, a storm rages. His right-hand twitches involuntarily, the dull numbness that has plagued him for weeks now spreading up his arm and into his neck. He doesn't move it, doesn't acknowledge the pain.

They can't know.

His teammates have enough to deal with. Moon 'Oner' Hyeunjoon, their resident jungler, sits across from him, hunched forward, hands clasped tightly. His fingers drum against each other in a steady rhythm, a nervous tic that betrays the turmoil beneath his stoic expression. Lee 'Gumayusi' Minhyung, their ADC Botlane, is beside him, attempting to fill the oppressive silence with an amiable smile and light-hearted comments. It doesn't work. The effort only makes the tension more palpable.

Choi 'Zeus' Wooje, their Toplane, leans against the far wall, arms crossed, his gaze flickering between Faker and their Support, Ryu 'Keria' Minseok. He senses it—the weight pressing down on their team support, the way his leg bounces, his fingers tugging at the hem of his jersey. Zeus knows that he is close to breaking. He can see it in how he stares at the floor, his shoulders hunched as if trying to bear the weight of the entire world.

The room is a powder keg, and Zeus doesn't know how long they can hold it together.

Behind them, the coaching staff—Bengi, Tom, Roach, and Sky—huddle near the doorway. They exchanged glances, and murmured reassurances, falling flat in the oppressive air. CEO Joe, COO Josh, and General Manager Becker hover nearby, their encouragement ringing hollow. It's just another game. They say it like a mantra, a prayer to ward off the doubt that clings to the team like a second skin.

But this isn't just another game.

The loss to JDG is still fresh, a festering wound that no amount of pep talks can heal. It wasn't supposed to happen. They weren't supposed to lose. Not like that. Not so decisively. The specter of that match hangs over them now, a silent reminder of their fallibility.

"I think we should head out soon," Sky says, his voice cutting through the silence. He glances at his watch, then at Bengi, whose arms are folded across his chest.

Bengi nods. "Five minutes." His tone is clipped, and professional. He's trying to keep it together, but the tightness around his eyes betrays his concern.

In the center of the room, Gumayusi rises to his feet, clapping his hands together. "Alright, guys," he says, his voice louder than necessary. "Let's shake it off, huh? It's BLG. We've beaten teams like them before."

No one responds.

Oner lifts his head slightly, his dark eyes narrowing. "It's not just BLG," he mutters. His voice is low, almost a growl. "Something feels... wrong."

The statement hangs in the air, heavy and foreboding.

Keria looks up, his expression weary. "What do you mean?"

Oner hesitates, his fingers tapping faster now. He doesn't know how to articulate it, this sense of unease that has been gnawing at him since the moment they stepped into the arena. It's not just the pressure of the match or the weight of their recent losses. It's something else, something darker.

"I don't know," he admits, his jaw tightening. "But it's... there."

Zeus watches him carefully, his gaze flickering briefly to Faker. Their captain hasn't moved, hasn't spoken, hasn't reacted. It's unnerving. Faker's silence is usually a source of strength, a pillar for the team to lean on. But now, it feels like a void.

Gumayusi forces a laugh, the sound strained. "Come on, man. Don't get all spooky on us now. It's just a game."

But even he doesn't believe it.

Bengi steps forward, clapping his hands. "Alright, enough of that," he says, his voice firm. "Focus on the match. We've prepared for this. Trust each other, play your game. That's all that matters."

The team rises reluctantly, each movement weighed down by invisible chains. Faker is the last to stand, his limbs stiff and uncooperative. The pain in his neck flares, radiating down his arm. He sways slightly but catches himself, forcing his expression to remain neutral.

No one notices.

The walk to the stage is a blur. The roar of the crowd grows deafening as they step into the arena, the lights blinding after the dim confines of the ready room. The stage looms ahead, a battleground lit in blue and red, the BLG roster already seated on the opposite side.

Faker takes his seat in the center, flanked by Oner and Gumayusi. The keyboard beneath his fingers feels foreign, the weight of his mouse is unnatural. He clenches his hand into a fist, willing the numbness to fade.

It doesn't.

The game begins, and for a moment, the world narrows. The hum of the crowd fades, replaced by the rhythmic clicking of keys and the indistinct murmur of the casters' voices. The familiar dance of minions and champions unfolds on the screen, a symphony of strategy and reflex.

But something is truly amiss.

The pain in Faker's head starts as a dull throb, a minor inconvenience he can ignore. But it grows, sharp and insistent, stabbing behind his eyes. His vision blurs briefly, and he blinks rapidly, trying to clear it.

On his left, Gumayusi glances at him, frowning. "You good?" he whispers.

Faker nods stiffly. "Fine."

But he's not.

The throbbing intensifies, spreading like wildfire through his skull. His hand jerks involuntarily, his mouse slipping from his grip. He grips the edge of the desk, his knuckles white.

Oner notices first. "Hyung?"

The world tilts suddenly, vertigo slamming into him like a freight train. The stage lights blur into streaks of color, the roaring crowd a distant echo. He feels himself slipping; the nausea rising in his throat.

"Junnie, catch him!" Gumayusi's voice is sharp, panicked.

Oner reacts instinctively, his hand shooting out to steady Faker when his head lurches forward. Gumayusi grabs his other arm, their combined efforts keeping him upright.

"Sanghyeok hyung!" Keria's voice is a strangled cry. He's frozen, his wide eyes fixed on their captain.

For a moment, everything else fades. The game, the crowd, the lights—all of it falls away as the resident jungler and support's gazes lock.

Zeus' eyes, as if on instinct, suddenly changed colors and flared cerulean blue as he mentally erected barriers to shield them from mortal eyes what was about to happen.

Faker's eyes, normally dark and intense, shift. They glow faintly, a bright crimson that seems to pulse with an otherworldly light. Keria's own eyes mirror the change, their golden hazel hue shining like molten gold.

Oner feels the hair on the back of his neck stands on end. "What the hell..." he mutters under his breath as his own eyes also glow earth brown tinged with gold.

The room spins around them, the tension snapping like a taut wire. And in that instant, everything changes.