You Already Won

In a realm suspended beyond the boundaries of war and mercy, divine thrones and polished seats of power circled an endless scrying pool. The air shimmered with weightless banners bearing forgotten languages, and the silence was the kind that only gods could respect. Around this impossible space lounged kings and queens, realm-bound presidents, CEOs of interdimensional empires, warlords wrapped in ancestral flame, and ascendant pantheon heads whose halos blinked like collapsing stars.

All of them had gathered for a singular purpose: this era's Fortune Holder.

Below, in Curtenail, the blood-soaked proving ground twisted in real-time across the scrying waters. Contestants moved like sparks, flaring and dying, or burning brighter than anyone expected. Bets were made. Calculations were updated. Pride was held under polished masks.

This year, however, the pool had drawn more than the usual voyeuristic immortals. Three Supreme Families—Vari, Rituain, and Basingal—and a Kingdom had directly sponsored teams and marked favorites. Their symbols glimmered in the air like omens. This was no longer just a test of ambition and grit. It was becoming war by proxy, a simulation of divine favoritism where gods were not the only ones laying traps.

Lesser gods, pantheons on the brink of collapse, and rising realms desperate for legitimacy saw this moment as something more than sport. This was their golden opportunity—and in Requiem, a golden opportunity was much like honey spread over a blade's edge: gleaming, sweet, and irresistible… until the wings stop moving and all that's left is the blood.

The sky tore itself open. Celestial winds howled as a monstrous, galaxy-wreathed dragon descended from the higher planes of existence. Its body shimmered with stars, nebulae trailing behind it like the shredded cloaks of dying gods. The sky itself bent in reverence. The divine beast coiled downward, its talons splitting clouds, its arrival heralded by a deafening stillness. Hanging from its neck—glinting with ominous pride—was a silver V-shaped chain, three golden serpents coiled and interwoven into its crest: the mark of Vari.

Gasps echoed through the hall of judgment, through god-tribunes and war-courts, as all in attendance stilled. Even the lesser kings and realm-bound warlords knew what this meant. The Vari family was making a statement.

The dragon landed upon the central summit of the scrying hall, its claws cracking the marble beneath its weight like brittle bone. Servants rushed to bow low as the figure upon the dragon's back stepped down with calculated grace.

Enomuis Vari. One of the heads of Vari.

He walked as though the floor beneath him was diseased, draped in gold-white elegance, every thread humming with encoded sigils of Vari's will. His bone-pale skin and golden filigree armor shimmered in the glow of the scrying pool's fractured light. Not an avatar. Not a projection. Enomuis, trueblooded, god-born of the House Vari. His eyes scanned the gathered crowd—gods, demigods, generals, pantheon judges, corporate celestial emissaries—all of them insignificant to him. Gnats orbiting a flame too divine to touch.

A sneer ghosted his lips.

He was not here for pageantry or petty amusement. He was here for the rule change.

And oh, how it would devastate them.

The upcoming change was meant to be a nudge, a spark to shift the game's tempo. But for Enomuis—and by extension, Vari—it was something far more elegant. Far more cruel. A clean, brutal reminder that Supreme Family involvement wasn't for balance or fairness. It was to watch things break.

It had been five full eras since Vari had involved herself in external affairs. Five eras of silence from the goddess of decay and wealth, of poisons that bled across time and treasure hoards built atop corpses of fallen realms. Many thought the silence was restraint.

Now that silence was broken. Enomuis looked out with an expression of bored curiosity and smiled.

Let them call it theater.

Let them believe this was about showmanship, or favor.

But behind that smile was the knowledge that this single adjustment—this single move on the board—would ignite an extinction wave.

A few gods, warlords, and celestial emissaries opened their mouths to greet, to protest, to posture.

And were silenced.

Not by force of will, nor threat of violence—but by sheer command. His aura warped the notion of sound itself. The moment his eyes locked onto them, their voices withered mid-breath, swallowed by the air that now bent only to him. Even gods, lords of language and hymn, felt their tongues retreat in obedience.

He exhaled. Then spoke.

"Listen closely, you filthy mongrels."

The words weren't shouted—they didn't need to be. They arrived inside the mind, cold and serrated, scratching behind the eyes.

"It is your great honor to finally mean something. Your existence—your irrelevant, pantheon-worshipping, lesser-blooded existence—has found momentary value in the eyes of the Supreme Family Vari."

No one moved. Whether from fear or paralysis was unclear.

Enomuis continued and this time his voice traveled to the region beyond the room of gods and goddesses.

"The Fortune Holder event is no longer a sandbox. It is now a crucible. A controlled burn.

Effective immediately:

All golden gems shall vanish. Every participant will be reset to possession of only black and purple gems.

Since none of you weak little champions were able to find a red gem, those shall remain as is.

The Curtenail Region—the land that has hosted your pathetic fumblings—will be eliminated. Scorched. Erased. Only the winning faction—if you can even call your cliques that—will be permitted to survive."

Enomuis's smile deepened, though it never reached his eyes.

"And as for your precious gods, the ones who whispered promises into your ears, who swore rewards and favors for your loyalty—they are no longer permitted to interfere.

All oaths, bindings, and contracts between gods and participants are hereby null and void, by absolute decree of Vari."

Murmurs exploded across the room as connections snapped, wilted, and spoiled. Only to be smothered again as his presence surged.

"No more gifts. No more guidance. No more divine aid—unless…"

He paused, basking in the tension.

"…a participant captures a Signal Tower. Should you claim one, you may contact one god, one time—for advice, an item, or maybe a tearful goodbye. You may even leave with your patron."

He turned, letting his hands drift open to the grand sky above. Stars twisted. "The region will continue to collapse until only a central battlefield remains. There, the final teams will claw each other apart until one faction remains standing.

Stolen novel; please report.

This event—once designed for leisurely conquest over four months—will now conclude in mere weeks. Time will fold. Pressure will rise. Weakness will be punished."

His smile, this time, held glee.

"This is your glorious upgrade. This is the weight of relevance. You're welcome. And may your pitiful endeavors bring pleasure to her majesty's view."

With that he turned. Silence followed like a mourning hymn. Then, slowly, sound and meaning began to creep back into the area.

The gods screamed.

Some roared in protest, others wailed in disbelief, their celestial voices shaking the spires of reality. Thrones cracked. A few minor deities collapsed under the pressure of stronger deities. War gods pounded their fists. Luck gods cursed their fates. Kings of light debated, queens of night threatened, and entire pantheons whispered of rebellion.

But none moved.

For Enomuis Vari had already departed—riding upon the coiling brilliance of the Great Dragon, whose body shimmered with nebulae and the fractured glow of dying stars. Its wings tore through clouds, and each beat of its descent left ripples across the firmament.

Even as they screamed, they watched him go.

Because no matter their pride, their age, or their titles… they would follow.

Not out of reverence. Not even out of fear.

But because they understood what had arrived in that chamber was not a negotiator or herald.

It was entropy, gilded and smiling.

And who among them, no matter how divine, could defy the golden grace of inevitability?

——

Jonathan smiled.

It was a quiet, strained thing, stretched thin under the weight of chaos.

Caroline paced like a fox in a cage. "Gone?! All our gold gems?! Eight and a half billion points reset like it's a damn mobile game bug. That's insane—insane!"

Sšurtinaui stood stiff, arms crossed, body trembling with tension. Her mind raced through strategies, pathways, anything that made this make sense. But even she, born and trained in Requiem's cruelty, looked rattled. "I… I've never seen anything like this. Regions don't just get eliminated…. That wasn't a rule change—that was a declaration of war."

"No," Caroline muttered, glaring up at the dark ceiling of the cave as if the announcement would echo again. "It's not a war. It's a slaughter. Before, if you didn't win? You went home. Bruised, maybe dead, but that was a chance. Now it's… now it's a culling."

Sšurtinaui nodded grimly. "Even the gods are bound now. Only connection… through a signal tower. That's… divine interference restriction on a scale I didn't think was possible."

Jonathan stayed quiet. His fingers rubbed the edge of his tattered pants(basically shorts) absently, mind a thousand miles away. So Jafar wasn't the only twisted force that governed this place. Whoever Vari was, they had rewritten reality like it was a bullet point. No, not rewritten—overwritten. Gods silenced, deals broken, death made mandatory.

And that voice… The man who spoke, didn't just broadcast—he overwrote thought. His words were in Jonathan's bones. And judging by the girls' silence when it started, it had hit them too.

That kind of power wasn't just high-tier. That was cosmic.

And yet, even in the face of that, he smiled.

Jonathan leaned against a jagged boulder, brushing dust off his shoulders. "So, how many points do we have now?"

Sšurtinaui's expression was flat. "One-point-sixty-five billion," she said grimly. "Since we lost all the gold gems."

"Oof." Jonathan winced. "That's rough. But hey, cheer up. Just means we can follow that plan you were talking about—"

"That plan is no longer viable," she cut in, sharp. "With this new rule, it's not about winning. It's about surviving. Which means joining a faction. Finding strength in numbers. Not wandering blind."

He scoffed. "That's not survival, that's submission. What, we just latch onto the biggest bully and hope they don't notice we're not useful?"

"It's not submission, it's strategy," Sšurtinaui snapped. "We don't have the resources anymore. Do you want to die proving a point?"

"No," Jonathan said, folding his arms. "But I'm not crawling to anyone just because things got harder. That's not how I—how we—win."

"Then you're a fool," she muttered.

"Enough," Caroline cut in, stepping between them. "We can argue after we get out of this cave. My quest updated with gem locations. Even a red one—if we collect four purples."

That quieted both of them.

Sšurtinaui adjusted herself. "Then we head toward the purple. Take out the competitor first, and that should make it easier to deal with the guardian."

Jonathan raised a hand. "Or—and hear me out—we talk to them first. See if we can work together."

Caroline and Sšurtinaui stared at him like he'd grown a second head.

"That's a dumb idea," Caroline said bluntly.

"A death wish," Sšurtinaui added.

"Maybe," Jonathan said with a grin, "but if we want to join a faction, being trigger-happy murderers won't look great on our resumes."

They didn't argue—just shared a look, then groaned.

"Fine," Caroline muttered. "You do the talking. But the moment they twitch wrong—"

"They die," Sšurtinaui finished.

"Good," Jonathan said. "Glad we're such a well-adjusted team."

They moved in sync now.

Whatever tension had lingered between them earlier had burned off in the forge of combat, replaced with a shared urgency. The cave's air had shifted—less wild, more organized. The creatures they encountered on their rush toward the purple gem weren't just aggressive—they were coordinated. One formation had tried to flank them, and another had mimicked human tactical patterns. It was subtle but clear.

Something down here had changed.

Jonathan wiped ichor off his knuckles after decking a spined beast with too many legs and not enough spine. "Okay. That felt weirdly planned."

"No kidding," Caroline muttered, slicing through the last one with a burning sigil. "That one dodged like it had a dodge stat."

Sšurtinaui was quieter. Her green eyes were already scanning ahead. "This way."

They arrived at the ledge. The same ledge Sšurtinaui had once perched on while watching a certain cloaked Rituain contender perform Ryun drills. But now the space below bore new marks—chipped stone, splintered earth, lingering pulses of aura. The ground had been scarred by countless trials. Explosions rumbled farther down the corridor.

"Definitely a battle here," Caroline said, crouching. "These grooves are recent."

"He was training," Sšurtinaui replied simply, already turning toward the commotion.

Jonathan stretched his shoulders, red-and-black lightning crackling faintly from his wrists. "Well, guess that answers where the fireworks are coming from."

Another shockwave blasted down the corridor. Hair rippled. Rocks tumbled. A shrill roar echoed after it, primal and frantic all at once.

Caroline conjured two fox tails, each one flickering with sigil heat. "We need to be smart. No rushing in."

Sšurtinaui nodded, summoning a green bow with a half-formed arrow. Her mask slid into place, and she shimmered—nearly invisible.

"Why don't you use that more often?" Jonathan asked, watching her blur into the shadows.

"It doesn't work while attacking," she replied coolly.

He turned to Caroline.

She flicked her tails with a grin. "What? It's stealth—not cheat mode. Some in-game mechanics are clutch. Others? Suck pure dog water."

They chuckled—momentary levity before the plunge. Then, moving like threads of intent through the needle of fate, they slipped toward the source of power. Toward the guardian. Toward the gem it dared to protect.

Sšurtinaui moved ahead, her figure shimmering as the mask activated, rendering her translucent. Caroline and Jonathan slowed their pace slightly, keeping to the shadows. The corridor ahead was eerily quiet, only the low hum of distant energy rippling through the stone walls.

Then, with a rustle and crunch, several mole-like lizards burst from the ground. Caroline cursed under her breath.

"Damn it. I should've scanned first—messed up again," she muttered.

Jonathan didn't hesitate. He lunged toward one of the creatures and drove a Ryun-empowered fist directly toward its groin—only to regret it immediately as the ground collapsed beneath them.

"Of course!" he shouted, flailing as the stone crumbled.

Caroline acted fast, her tails lashing out to impale the walls, anchoring her in place. Jonathan, barely catching himself, let red-and-black lightning whip from his palms like grapples, sticking into the rock. He swung forward, gritting his teeth, mentally noting, Alright… flying or floating. That's next on the Ryun skill list.

Below them, the mole creatures thrashed, confused and irritated, having expected their prey to fall straight into their trap. Instead, their quarry hovered just out of reach, hurling fire and lighting down like pissed-off deities.

Up ahead, the faint explosions echoed, sending tremors through the stone. Making Sšurtinaui turn her head sharply, ears twitching. But before she could fully react, a blur of fur and scales lunged from the wall beside her. A snake-like creature—except with dense fur instead of scales—snapped its fangs toward her invisible form. Her instincts took over. A green bow shimmered into existence and she fired point-blank. The arrow hit true, the beast's head snapping back before it even landed.

But it wasn't alone.

A hand, cloaked in emerald aura, burst from the shadows and clamped around her throat. With a violent crash, she was slammed into the rock wall, cracking the surface behind her. Sšurtinaui's breath was stolen from her lungs as her back slammed against the jagged wall of the cavern. The force was enough to crack the stone and knock loose a cloud of dust. Her feet barely touched the ground as a hand wrapped tightly around her throat, pinning her in place. A ripple of Sryun flowed through her body, locking her joints and tightening her muscles like wires pulled taut.

A pair of sharp green eyes stared into hers, calm but gleaming with amusement. His grip was iron. His other hand flared with green flame, illuminating the cloak that barely shifted from the pressure wave of his movements. Her mask shimmered and dropped its stealth effect as the wind was forced from her lungs..

"Thought I'd let you sneak up on me a second time?" Tinsurnae said with a grin.

She coughed but forced a half-smile through grit teeth. Damn it.