You Already Won

Jonathan was used to rushing into things. Looking back, he could admit it—he was pretty hardheaded. What kind of person throws themselves in front of a car with nothing but their face? Sure, it was instinctual—protecting his sister came first—but there was something else behind it. He didn't just want to save her.

He wanted to defy the idea that fate got to decide how things ended. Did he always know he was meant for more?

Boom.

The thought collapsed as a burst of Sryun slammed into his chest, launching him into the cave wall with a satisfying crunch.

"Ouch," he wheezed.

Caroline crossed her arms, unimpressed. "You almost had it."

"Almost?" Jonathan muttered, brushing dust off his bare chest.

Tinsurnae stepped forward, his tone more teacher than teammate now. "You're forcing it. You've got to let Sryun flow into your aura, not wrestle it into shape. Natural. Controlled. Like tuning a string—too tight, it snaps. Too loose, it's useless.

Jonathan groaned. "Yeah, yeah. Got it. Be perfect. No pressure. But I'm not good at channeling anger, fear, and doubt. Especially when not in life or death situations."

Sšurtinaui looked to Tinsurnae. "Do we really need him to learn Sryun?"

Tinsurnae gave her a nod but was still focused on Jonathan. "You're pushing the aura too hard, not shaping it. Sryun needs to flow like it's already yours. Let it cling to your meaning. Also—work on the transition between regular Ryun and Sryun. You're jerking your will back and forth. It'll tear you apart."

"Yeah, yeah," Jonathan muttered, standing and dusting off his shoulder. "Switch between dark mode and light mode. Got it."

Sšurtinaui tilted her head. "It's not exactly a casual weekend skill. And time is valuable…"

Tinsurnae paused, considering. "With the gold gems gone, I only have 2.7 billion points. That's nowhere near the upper tiers. Other factions will get aggressive now. They probably already are.

Sšurtinaui sighed. "And we only have 1.6 billion … so that leaves a total of 4.3 billion." She narrowed her eyes. "Tinsurnae is right, this isn't nearly enough to even be considered a contestant."

There was a long silence until Jonathan suddenly said, "Caroline's side quest helps with that issue. Once we get this one we just need three more for a big red."

Caroline's ears twitched. "Excuse me? Did you just tell him about my quest?

Jonathan turned to her, serious for once. "We're a team right? Look—I trust him. I don't know why… it just feels like I've known him forever. Like I've done this before, with him." He thought for a moment. "To be fair we probably did do something like this together."

Caroline scowled, clearly holding back, but didn't press it.

Tinsurnae gave a small smile. "I appreciate the trust. Besides, two Sryun users are better than one. Especially since the ranker probably adapted to my version."

Jonathan groaned. "This is like—seven arcs worth of shit you all want me to master in a day."

"A few hours actually." Sšurtinaui added

Caroline shrugged. "You're already doing crazy stuff."

"That was instinct, not training," he grumbled. "At this point, we might as well just fight the ranker straight up."

"No," Tinsurnae said, firm now. "If we do that unprepared, someone's dying. Maybe more than one of us."

Sšurtinaui looked to Tinsurnae. "We're running out of time."

Tinsurnae sighed.

He hated being in charge. The others kept glancing his way—waiting, listening, relying on him to guide the next move. It was… unsettling. He had never asked for leadership, especially not here, especially not like this.

But he'd already made the decision. He would work with them.

Not entirely because of Jonathan. Though, yeah… that was a major part of it.

Seeing him fight. Realizing he was Jafar. Watching that vision—no, living that memory of Rhan's battle with the so-called Red Prince. There was something terrifyingly genuine about it. But also something else—familiarity, maybe. Like standing across from someone who should be your enemy, only to realize they once meant something more.

Meanwhile Jonathan struggled with the impossible—his clumsy aura flickering between forms—the other three huddled near a rock outcropping, deep in tactical discussion. Caroline prodded at weak points in their formation. Sšurtinaui, now fully healed, offered cautious insight. Tinsurnae explained what little he knew about the guardian's movements, weapons, and strange aura flux.

Meanwhile, Jonathan wrestled with something quieter.

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Sryun was like his blood.

It should've come naturally. But it didn't.

It wasn't that it was hard—he'd handled worse. It was that it felt… foreign. Like using a voice that wasn't his. Every time he pushed, something pushed back, as if warning him: this power doesn't belong to you.

But it did, didn't it?

It was his. Just like the blood. Just like the throne. Just like the warpath that ended in gods burning and cities bowing.

He didn't want to be like Jafar. But how do you stop acting like someone who was you?

Or… maybe Jafar wasn't always like that. Maybe something happened. Maybe being the "Prince of the Blood Realms" meant more than just theatrics and flaming swords. Maybe there was a reason.

Jonathan didn't know what that reason was. But he wanted to find it.

More than that—he wanted to build something that was his. A path not paved by blood or prophecy or divine echoes. He wanted to forge something new. To become someone else.

And yet, every time he moved, every time he reached for something original—it felt like déjà vu. Like he'd done it all before… only better.

That thought spiraled. Again. And again. Until it turned into a quiet, gnawing loop.

Eventually, Jonathan exhaled sharply and muttered, "God, I hate mental loops."

And went back to training.

He exhaled, then inhaled again—slow, focused. For once, he didn't rush in headfirst. No dramatic surge. No one-liner. Just… control.

The Sryun responded.

Not perfectly. It didn't flare into the monstrous storm he'd summoned against the Umbra Behemoth. But it circled him now, like wary wolves kept in line. It wrapped around his limbs, his shoulders, even his breath. The color was darker than his Ryun—more turbulent, more alive. It pulsed with energy.

He was doing it.

Not well. Not powerfully. But properly.

And yet, the loop returned. The creeping doubt. The thoughts that circled him worse than the aura ever could: You're just repeating him. Every move you make, he already made better. Every win is just a shadow of his triumph.

Jonathan clenched his jaw. Then smiled.

"Fine," he muttered, almost amused. "Let's use him then."

It was stupid. Crazy, even. But if he couldn't stop thinking about Jafar—if every step forward came with echoes of a man he hadn't become yet—then maybe it was time to stop pretending.

He let Jafar in.

Not fully. Just enough. Just enough to remember.

The ship. The lightning arcing from his fingertips. The casual cruelty in his voice when he said "FieNare," like it was a joke older than language. That moment had made his skin crawl in the vision, like the whole world winced in unison. Yeah… that was going on the back burner.

But the technique? The application?

Useful.

He focused harder, channeling that same sense of power and command—not copying, but borrowing. The motions. The rhythm. The aura's shape.

Then, stupidly, his mind wandered again. Back to that other part of the vision.

Jafar, in bed. Fucking the princess.

The very beautiful princess.

Jonathan's nose scrunched, and he tried to push the thought out. But it lingered. Irritating. Unfair. Why the hell did he get to be that smooth? That powerful? That… obnoxiously successful?

Jonathan shook his head, red creeping across his face.

Nope. That's going on the revenge list. He was gonna get some too.

He opened his eyes again—and immediately noticed the stares.

Tinsurnae raised an eyebrow. "You good?"

Jonathan blinked. "Yeah. Just… had a thought."

"You seemed centered," Tinsurnae said, stepping forward, arms crossed. "More than before. The Sryun—it's moving cleaner now. Still janky, but… it's something. Whatever you were thinking about—seemed to help."

Jonathan rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah. Centered. That's one way to put it."

Caroline tilted her head suspiciously. "You sure? You looked like you were thinking real hard."

He coughed. "Just… strategy."

Sšurtinaui rolled her eyes. "Whatever works."

Jonathan nodded, though his thoughts lingered. He wasn't done yet. But for now?

Progress.

Ryun moved on intent. That much Jonathan had figured out.

Sryun, though?

That was a different beast entirely. A corrupted version. Maybe a darker mirror. Or, in his case… a hornier one.

The realization made him chuckle. "Of course," he muttered to himself. "Near-death trauma or… lust. Those are my catalysts. My secondary—or hell, thirdity—power is powered by vibes and libido."

He rolled his eyes, but couldn't stop grinning. "Perfect."

Still, it worked.

Because now that he wanted something—wanted someone, even if just in theory—his Sryun stopped hesitating. It pulsed. It bent toward him like it understood, like it craved with him. Desire made for a surprisingly efficient fuel source.

And without realizing it, Jonathan's aura flared with Sryun again—cleaner, stronger, smoother.

Caroline clapped from the sidelines. "There you go!"

Jonathan turned, slightly embarrassed. "Wait—what?"

"You're doing it," she said, gesturing to the swirling aura tightening around him. "Don't stop now."

He didn't. For the next few hours, he went in and out of drills, pushing the Sryun into different patterns around him. And yeah… he kept using horny thoughts to stay centered.

Whatever worked.

He'd refine the philosophy later. For now?

He chased progress—with focus, desire… and just a bit of spite.

While Jonathan continued his solo training, the others stayed busy. Tinsurnae and Sšurtinaui discussed tactical play-by-plays near the cave wall, reenacting possible approaches to the ranker. Caroline tapped her UI, checking stats and cooldowns, her tails flicking with mild irritation at the system's sluggish potion recovery. Occasionally, they even broke into light sparring matches—Caroline versus Sšurtinaui, then Tinsurnae versus both—testing coordination and battle tempo.

Meanwhile, Jonathan kept at it alone.

Which sucked.

But it made sense.

Caroline didn't know anything about Sryun until today. Sšurtinaui couldn't use it at all. And Tinsurnae just… got it. Naturally. Like it was stitched into his bones.

Jonathan, on the other hand, had to work for every drop of progress.

Luckily, his weird—if wildly inappropriate—method. Thinking about ass. And thighs. Boobs. And that goddess-tier princess Jafar had been with before that whole island battle. Lust, apparently, did wonders for aura stability.

It was now 8 and half hours in, Sšurtinaui finally called over to him. "You ready?"

Jonathan blinked, wiping sweat from his brow. He didn't answer right away.

Caroline answered for him. "He seems a lot better."

Tinsurnae nodded. "It's way better than before. Not perfect, but it'll have to do —" He paused as a distant tremor rippled through the cave floor. Outside something was out there—far off, but close enough that the local wildlife had started to scatter. Whatever it was, staying here much longer wasn't wise.

Time to face the guardian.

Just as the group began to move, Jonathan raised a hand.

"Wait—can I get, like, a minute?"

All three turned.

"Why? We gave you like half a day." Caroline asked, narrowing her eyes.

"I—uh, I feel kinda lightheaded," he lied. "Just need, like… forty seconds."

Sšurtinaui raised a brow, unconvinced. "From sitting still?"

"I've been sitting and channeling corrupted power for over like five or seven hours," Jonathan argued. "Give me a break."

Caroline sighed, folding her arms. "Fine."

Tinsurnae, however, chuckled knowingly.

He understood.

"Take your time," he said with a grin. "We'll be right here."

Jonathan turned away, face burning. There were many things he'd imagined doing in Requiem. Explaining a training boner was not one of them.