You Already Won

The realm of Yulem was heavier than most.

Denser. Thicker with spiritual weight. Ryun responded faster here—burned hotter, echoed louder—but resisted change like iron against a whisper. The realm itself was slightly larger than the universe of Earth, and the primary planet of interest, Delark, a behemoth—six times the size of Jupiter, teeming with layered biospheres and conflict-carved history.

Nestled on the coastal edge of Delark was Curtenail, a once-proud region warped by war and occupation. The Jafar Empire had used it as a proving ground for soldiers. The House of Vari culled its gods and burned its culture. And still—against extinction, against divine script—they fought back. Proudly. Foolishly.

But resistance… was always part of the design.

Far above, in the unblinking silence between stars, a phenomenon unfolded unnoticed by most.

A single golden droplet, no larger than an atom, slipped into Delark sky. It shimmered once, curled like a serpent in the void, then plunged—falling—toward Curtenail. Where it struck, the world trembled.

And then the rules changed.

No one could teleport. No one could flee. Not unless they passed through the Signal Towers. The golden entropy had rewritten the laws of this region. Bound it. Claimed it. All caught within its reach—man, monster, god, or beast—would abide by this new reality.

The drop began to bloom.

It spread slowly. And then all at once.

Time itself recoiled as waves of gold thundered across the land and sea, racing like stallions of death over water, air, and spirit. The Ryun howled—then fell silent. Villages turned to sculpture. Cities froze mid-prayer. Mountains became glass-coated echoes. Every breath of life, every particle of matter or concept—transmuted. Shimmering, silent, irreversible.

Along the coast, a young boy stood shirtless in the heat, ready to swim. He smiled toward the water, not noticing the breeze behind him.

Until it changed.

The wind turned cold. Golden.

He blinked—and the wave arrived.

His final thought was not of fear, but confusion. Then he, too, was a statue. Alongside his mother. His dog. His friends. His village. Millions, captured mid-moment. Frozen, flawless, and silent—like offerings.

And then… the white.

Suspended in a liminal space beyond comprehension, the trapped souls floated. No body. No sky. Just awareness.

And then the white cracked.

A golden, fang-lined maw, wider than comprehension, opened—an impossible, hunger-born void. The Golden Primordial Viper had arrived to collect its tithe.

And from the silence the souls screamed.

Millions were devoured in the span of a breath.

And Delark wept—but not nearly loud enough to be heard. For in the grand ocean of what was to come, this was merely the first drop.

——

From the heavens, they descended.

Colossal beings—gods, perhaps, or something worse—formed of spiraling eyes and fractal light, with serpentine tails that shimmered like molten constellations. Their presence bent the air, their gaze alone unmaking weak souls. With no words, they released their burden:

Hundreds of towers fell from their bodies like meteors—Signal Towers, lattices of alien alloy and divine cipher. Each slammed into the region with a tremor that echoed through the world. Their number was limited. Their protection, temporary. They could be destroyed. They would be destroyed.

They were not salvation. They were bait.

A platform in rising water—just enough hope to keep the rats from giving up. Enough desperation to make the game entertaining.

And entertainment was required.

For in the wake of the Golden Entropy's arrival, all of Delark shuddered. The very ecosystem panicked, as if the trees, the rivers, and the clouds realized they were being watched. Kingdoms fell into chaos, their monarchs and lords vanishing without final speeches, their palaces turning to husks.

Wildlife fled. Spirit beasts collapsed. Even the sky flickered like a glitching memory.

Many chose death over whatever this was. Mass suicides became common in cities that once held festivals. Candidates—those participating in the Fortune Holder event—scattered in disarray. Some chased points. Others simply ran. There was no single response. Just chaos.

And for a select few… clarity.

Clarity born in madness.

Champions—rising gods, young devils, wayward monarchs—stared upward not with fear but with resolve. This was the proving ground, after all. And the game had only changed.

A mountain split open.

Not collapsed—torn apart, boiled from within by supreme aura. But not from a Supreme Family. Nor from a King. The aura came from battered figures—none of whom bore divine titles, but both of whom now stood as more than mortal.

A story ended there, amid the broken stone and scorched air.

And another—finally being noticed—began.

A flicker of folklore snuck into the fold. The kind that starts as whispers, grows into myth, and someday becomes a lie too dangerous to ignore.

——

From their balcony above the city of Veltrisse, Caelus and Eirian stood frozen, bathed in the wavering gold-blue glow of the sky fracturing. Massive celestial constructs—each one a monolithic tower covered in living symbols—slammed into the terrain in rhythmic pulses across the horizon.

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Caelus, his long, tousled azure hair dancing in the wind like streaming banners, gripped the hilt of his ornate sword, its sapphire core gleaming like a shard of the sky itself. The gold trim of his royal-blue armor shimmered with each pulse of celestial light, intricate patterns etched across the chestplate glowing faintly. His golden eyes, sharp and unwavering, reflected the cosmic collapse before them with quiet intensity, like twin flames refusing to be extinguished.

Beside him, Eirian stood clad in silver and midnight-blue armor, the contours of her breastplate kissed by subtle gold accents. Her short, layered blue hair fluttered softly, crowned by a delicate circlet resembling a broken star. Eyes that burned with the same radiant gold as Caelus's, but tempered with calm resolve. The faint light made her pale cape ripple like moonlit silk.

Together they watched the end begin, the sky above Veltrisse shattering like stained glass under the pressure of beings coalesced from swirling eyes and fractured radiance, their sinuous tails glinting like streams of liquefied stars. As soon as Eirian narrowed her gaze and triggered her stat-eye, the interface flared with a warning:

[ERROR] – "This entity surpasses all known parameters."

She blinked, jaw tightening. "That's not possible."

Caelus didn't flinch. "It is here."

Far-off distance, death itself shimmered like a tide. A wave of golden entropy slowly devouring the coast, freezing sea and soil alike into statues of radiant extinction.

"It's moving slower now," Caelus murmured, his voice smooth as still water. "We still have time."

Eirian didn't reply at first. Her sharp golden eyes tracked the horizon like a hawk tracing the edge of a coming storm. "Not much. But enough." Her voice was steady, but her grip on the balcony edge said otherwise. "They blocked long-range teleportation. The Signal Towers are our only escape options. The Vari weren't bluffing."

"No," Caelus said, calm as ever. "They rarely do."

She turned to him then, eyes flickering. "So what now? You want to charge toward the gems like the rest of the desperate? Let the civilians tear each other apart while we chase points?"

He met her gaze, patient and serene. "No. I want to split the risk. Head north to the nearest tower. Grab the gems on the way. If we don't secure more purple gems, we'll have no leverage in holding the candidates together."

"And the people?" she pressed.

"We bring them. Or as many as we can protect," he said. "I'll take the vanguard. You keep the others in line."

Her jaw flexed. She didn't like it—but she didn't argue.

Below, the city was unraveling. Their makeshift army of contestants—each with different philosophies, classes, and levels—was reacting exactly how one would expect. Some ran for the gates. Others rallied toward the temples, chasing false hope. The civilians—the thousands they had promised to protect—huddled in growing clusters around the broken buildings, screaming as the gold tide rippled in the far distance.

Eirian didn't look away. "We're running out of time."

"We always are," Caelus replied.

They hadn't been born to Requiem.

Six years ago, they were avatars in a high-fantasy MMO called Astral Sovereigns Online. Caelus—then known as Steven Hilt—had been a top-ranking PvP tactician. Eirian, once called Annabelle Williams, had been his raid commander and partner. During the anniversary event, they had unlocked a hidden questline.

That quest didn't just change their user interface. It erased the boundary between the game and something far older.

They awoke in Requiem, gifted bodies built by stat templates and narrative loops. They bled, they suffered, and they learned. Over time, the System faded. But what remained was their pact with a divine being—Familiane, the Veiled Luminara. A god who had pulled them from deletion and offered them something greater.

Ascend as Rankers, she'd whispered. And I'll give you not just survival… but legacy.

They had followed her ever since.

Caelus finally turned from the golden tide in the distance, speaking with quiet certainty. "We move at sunrise. Rally the top ten and split the rest into survival groups. You have command. I'll take six and scout ahead for the gems."

Eirian nodded, but her jaw stayed tight. "Don't die."

"I'd miss your lectures too much."

She smirked. Just barely. Then turned to bark orders as the balcony behind them trembled.

Below, the world continued to collapse—but on the edge of that chaos, a couple stood steady. Old names gone. Only their Requiem titles remained:

Caelus, the Calmbrand.

Eirian, Blade of the Dawn.

And their legend… was still unfinished.

——

Roughly two states away—if you measured distance by Earth standards—a boy sat alone at the edge of a glowing spring. Mist curled up around him, catching faint starlight, softening the jagged edges of the broken mountain trail behind him.

He looked seventeen. Maybe eighteen, depending on the angle of the sun or the mood of the wind. Black hair tousled like it had been fighting gravity its entire life. Twin swords crossed over his back, too big for someone his size, but carried like second nature. Straps and reinforced tactical webbing made his cloak feel more like armor than fabric, and the fur trim brushing his cheeks made him look softer than he was.

A fresh bandage clung to the side of his face. Not from a duel. That one was from a tumble off a ruined ridge yesterday. Bad footing. Good recovery.

He sighed, tilting his head back. "Of course they drop golden death mid-event."

A glance upward revealed nothing but broken stars and quiet madness. The towers were still falling somewhere on the horizon. Creatures made of eyes and light had dropped them like bored gods scattering seeds. He wasn't close enough to hear the land scream, but the air trembled all the same. He felt it in his teeth.

"This was supposed to be a step," he muttered. "Not a damn chopping block."

The plan had been simple. Enter Fortune Holder. Rack up enough points. Prove himself. Join her guild. Maybe even impress her a little along the way. Calm. Graceful. Scary when she wanted to be. A rising Intermediate Ranker. His savior. His north star.

The one who'd pulled him out of a plane crash and into a world of monsters, gods, and incomprehensible energy systems.

She was also—probably—dealing with a similar madness right now.

"I'll be fine."

He leaned back on his palms, watching as motes of golden entropy began creeping along the distant edge of the coast.

He would catch up.

Especially after the god-tier bureaucratic mistake during his reincarnation.

He wasn't even supposed to be here. Not like this. He was supposed to get something standard—[Item Box (Tier I)], a cozy little utility skill that let you carry a few dozen items through spatial compression. Clean. Easy. Low-maintenance.

Instead, he'd gotten:

[Dimensional Echo Authority (Origin-Class)] You are the anomaly born of memory and mistake. You echo not just across time, but through truth.

What did that mean?

Hell if he knew.

Why did they make the mistake?

Hell if he knew. Admin error? Clerical divine oversight? The Requiem equivalent of slipping through the cracks?

Didn't matter.

The ability was cool.

He let that hang for a moment, then shook his head. "I want to be the reason she smiles next time. You know. Not the world ending or whatever."

The spring glowed beneath him, unaware of his declaration.

He stood up, cracked his knuckles, and turned toward the chaos.

Let the world burn. He had a promise to keep—and a cosmic glitch to abuse.

Three beings appeared just as the wind shifted—like Requiem had exhaled and spit them out in Jack's direction.

The first one looked like a cross between a grasshopper and a moth, its eyes wide and twitching, mandibles clicking with every breath. The other two were more humanoid, though calling them that felt generous. One had elongated limbs and twitching fingers like broken antennae; the other snarled with fangs that looked more ornamental than useful.

Still, they came with the same speech all the weak ones gave.

"Give us your gems," the moth-thing said, its voice like a husky draft, "or join us. Become part of something bigger—"

"Yeah, yeah," Jack interrupted, already bored. "Lackey speech. Heard it. Not joining. Not handing over squat. Got anything new?"

They didn't.

And thirty seconds later, it was over.

One was now a swirling mess of limbs and ichor, scattered across the glowing spring like a school of twitching fish. Another lay face-down in a patch of scorched earth, the smell of cooked flesh wafting into the breeze. The last had been launched so high into the sky he wasn't even a dot anymore—just an idea, falling slowly.

Jack cracked his knuckles, letting the steam from his knuckles hiss into the cool air.

"Figures they didn't have any gems," he muttered. "Still. That was fun."

He stretched, rolling his shoulders back. His wounds were minimal. His confidence? Sky-high.

"North, then," he said, turning toward the skyline. "Spiral Tower's gotta have someone worth fighting. Or maybe worth joining. Worst case—I'll just take their gems."

And with that, he began walking. Alone. Unafraid. Whistling something off-key.