You Already Won

"Say that again," Sšurtinaui sneered, stepping closer.

Jonathan met her gaze, unfazed.

"I kept you alive since the beginning. Fought tooth and nail to ensure your survival. Don't talk to me like I'm expendable—"

He held up a hand.

"Whoa, whoa. Calm down, elf." A faint smirk played at his lips. "I'm not kicking anyone out. I'm just saying… if we ever part ways, that's how it'll be. No bad blood. I'm also not 100% in control of my actions sometimes. I'm being as upfront as I can."

Caroline shrugged.

"Well, I mean… we were a trio before we were a squad. We ran a raid cave together, remember? I'm here to stay."

Tinsurnae smiled faintly.

"I'm also staying with you."

Caroline turned, mock offended.

"Wow. Thanks."

Tinsurnae chuckled, gesturing lightly.

"Not like that. I just mean… one Jujisn to another, I get it."

Caroline smirked.

"Mmhm. That sounded dangerously like favoritism."

"Then maybe you should win me over." Tinsurnae winked.

"Oh my god," Caroline groaned. "Don't tell me you have a thing for Johnny boy over here."

"Okay fine, I'm staying with the group. Better?"

Sšurtinaui crossed her arms, eyes never leaving Jonathan.

"So you're saying you'll just do whatever you want… even if it hinders us?"

Jonathan raised an eyebrow.

"No. But I might be a bit impulsive. Besides, like… 3% of me still thinks this is a weird vision."

SPLAT. A green Ryun orb smacked him right in the forehead.

"Ow—what the hell?!"

Sšurtinaui raised a brow.

He rubbed his head.

"Yeah, yeah point taken… I'm awake. You've got lives. I get it."

Caroline chimed in, quieter this time.

"Especially since, unlike you godkin types, we don't have a divine palace waiting for us at the end of all this."

Jonathan's face softened.

"I wouldn't abandon my friends. Not the ones who chose to stick by me."

He stood up, red veins faintly flickering beneath his skin.

"And with that said…" he exhaled, his voice leveling into something deeper.

"I have a new plan."

The others turned toward him.

"Jafar told me to listen to the rules," Jonathan said, standing with arms crossed. "And if I remember correctly, the gem system? It's useless. Just a bloodsport excuse to have us eliminate each other."

Caroline raised an eyebrow.

"So what, we're ignoring gems?"

"Not entirely," he replied. "The towers are being destroyed, so we should get inside at least one. Might be our only chance at divine help. And we are getting those purples—then only reds. The strongest opponents are going to be aiming for reds. Makes sense to intercept and eliminate them."

Sšurtinaui frowned.

"What about keeping the red gem safe once we get it?"

Jonathan shook his head.

"We don't."

"Huh?!"

"He's clearly lost his mind," Caroline muttered.

"No," he said firmly. "Remember what the voice said. Only one group will survive."

Sšurtinaui's eyes widened in realization.

Jonathan pointed at her.

"There you go, elf."

"I have a name."

"Yeah, I know." He grinned.

She glared.

Caroline sighed.

"Okay, I'm lost."

Tinsurnae stepped in with a knowing smile.

"He's saying we're not collecting gems. We're ambushing."

Caroline blinked.

"Like… spawn trapping?"

Jonathan nodded.

"Exactly. The final stretch is gonna be a death match. No way we get enough points playing fair. So we'll take the reds from the strong and whittle the field down ourselves."

Tinsurnae added, "And the region is shrinking. Would make sense the endgame is forced proximity."

Sšurtinaui studied Jonathan for a beat.

"You're… more versed now. Strategic."

He shrugged.

"I've been trapped in Jafar's mindscape for what feels like forever. I get how these so-called gods think now. They don't want a winner. They want a show."

Caroline nodded.

"One problem. We don't have a god to talk to."

"One solution," Jonathan said, shrugging. "We just walk in and see what happens."

She raised her hands.

"You do that. I'm good."

"I intend to."

Sšurtinaui sighed.

"It's not the worst plan," she admitted reluctantly.

She thought about it more than she liked to admit. She could've left already. Walked out. Found another group, maybe even survived longer. But she hadn't. And the idea of Jonathan saying Are you with me or against me still lingered. It had sounded cold, decisive. But in this event… maybe it was fair. Maybe she was still here because, deep down, survival felt more likely at his side. And maybe—though she'd never say it—because some part of her didn't want to leave him.

There was power there. A little fear, too.

She sighed.

"Hey, elf."

"Call me—"

"Again, thanks for everything."

Sšurtinaui blinked, caught off guard. A small smile tugged at her lips before she looked quickly away.

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"Don't make me regret it."

Tinsurnae stretched with a yawn.

"We should probably get going. This base's already compromised."

Everyone murmured their agreement, but Jonathan suddenly jumped to his feet.

"Wait, wait—we gotta make a stop in a city or something first."

Caroline turned to him.

"Why?"

He gestured down at his shredded shorts.

"The hell you mean why? I need clothes!"

Tinsurnae snorted.

"You have clothes."

"Barely! I look like a half-feral jungle man. I'm not dying dressed like this."

Sšurtinaui rolled her eyes.

"So vanity's our next detour. Perfect."

"Survival and style," Jonathan said, grinning. "Everyone knows you fight better when the drip is on."

Traveling through the forest was a lot easier when you weren't dragging half-dead bodies over roots and mud.

Now that everyone was walking—and conscious—it was almost peaceful. Tinsurnae had bonded with the local wildlife, turning them into scouts and navigators. Birds flitted ahead, chittering in strange rhythms. Squirrel-like creatures with too many eyes darted tree to tree. Even the air smelled calmer. Less like blood, more like moss.

They broke into a clearing, and the forest gave way to a ruined town—if it could still be called that.

Vine-wrapped buildings slouched under their own weight, some split clean down the middle. The streets were lined with fractured glass or, somehow, frozen water—permanently iced sidewalks that shimmered faintly underfoot. What trees had crept inside the ruins fused with the stonework in odd, organic spirals. Windows wept condensation, and crumbling signs dangled from rusted poles, flickering in unfamiliar patterns.

A bird-like creature—a skeletal thing with feathers made of leaves—glided down and perched on Tinsurnae's shoulder. It whispered in clicks and chirps.

She nodded once.

"No residents. We've got the place to ourselves."

"Perfect," Jonathan said with a grin, brushing a hand through his tangled hair. "I could use a change of pace. Maybe pretend this is my version of Black Friday."

"I just want running water," Caroline muttered, fanning herself with her hand.

Tinsurnae shrugged, then conjured a floating orb of clean water with a flick of her wrist. "Can't promise plumbing, but I got this."

Caroline chuckled. "Not bad. But a shower would still be nice."

"Focus," Sšurtinaui snapped, her eyes already sweeping the buildings for threats. "We're still in enemy territory."

They moved into the town slowly. It was eerily quiet, the kind of quiet that made your ears ring. No wind. No birdsong. Just the faint hiss of vines shifting over rooftops.

Tinsurnae sent her familiars ahead—Delark's version of rats and mice, except some had tusks or chitin. They scattered, slipping into cracks and crawling through manholes to scan the sewers and alleys.

"Wait," Jonathan muttered, eyeing the ancient sewer grate beneath his foot. "This town has a functioning sewer system, but that damn sand city with budget Joan of Arc didn't? What kind of world design is that?"

He frowned.

"Hope she's still alive so I can kick her ass later."

"So… anyone see a clothing store?" he asked aloud, turning in a slow circle.

Everyone shrugged.

"Huh!?" Jonathan threw up his hands. "How does no one know?"

"I don't speak this language," Sšurtinaui said flatly.

"Me either," Tinsurnae chimed in.

"Wow."

Caroline rolled her eyes, tapping into her UI. Holographic glyphs spun around her iris as her system scanned nearby signs. Slowly, the unreadable letters reconfigured—curling and folding into English equivalents.

[Translation Matrix: Local Signage → Common Tongue]

[Progress: 87%… 100%]

[Decoding: Complete]

Caroline blinked. "Got it." She gestured. "Come on, the one down this road says something like 'Form & Fable.' Probably fashion."

Jonathan grinned.

"See? This is why you gamer types are all right in my book."

"Uh-huh. Whatever." She didn't even glance back.

Tinsurnae wandered along the street, eyes scanning the shattered rooftops. "They're kinda overpowered, huh?"

"Eh," Jonathan said, cracking his neck. "So are we."

Sšurtinaui nodded.

"That's how I see it.

The ruined town was bigger than they expected—maybe once a thriving trade hub. Now it was a skeleton of a city, covered in creeping vine-growth and half-swallowed by nature. They passed the husks of shops and shattered pavilions, their signs in strange runes that Caroline had to keep re-decoding through her UI. Some buildings looked like they were grown, not built—organic structures fused from wood and metal. Others shimmered faintly with a crystalline sheen, as if the walls were made of condensed light and memory.

"This region's architecture is so weird," Jonathan muttered, eyeing a boutique made entirely out of woven glass strands that looped into a dome overhead. Inside were racks of translucent dresses that looked more like fish scales than fabric.

"That one's called 'Threaded Whispers in English or at least that's the cleanest translation it could get,'" Caroline said, scanning the flickering sign. "Pretty sure it sells… ceremonial garb? Possibly alive."

They moved on quickly.

Then came the bakery—or what was left of it. A massive oven lay in ruins, collapsed in on itself. Vines snaked through display cases where bread once sat. There was even a still-turning mechanical sign shaped like a smiling pastry. Its eyes blinked red.

"I don't like that," Tinsurnae whispered, tilting her head.

"Agreed," Sšurtinaui said, steering them past it.

After fifteen more minutes of winding through alien storefronts, overgrown plazas, and bridges of translucent boneglass, they finally found what looked like a proper clothing shop.

The sign was cracked, but legible: [Stitch & Riftwear].

Inside, mannequins loomed in the foggy windows, dressed in clothes that defied logic. One wore a trench coat that shimmered with shifting stars. Another had a scarf that moved like smoke, and a third mannequin had armor made of silver feathers fused into silk.

Jonathan lit up. "Finally!"

He looked back, expecting excitement.

Instead, Caroline was poking at her UI. Sšurtinaui stood arms crossed, bored. Tinsurnae was chewing on something from her pocket.

"Uh… why does no one else look like they just found the jackpot?" he asked, frowning.

Sšurtinaui shrugged. "Caroline gives me clothes." She gestured down to her outfit—black ripped shorts and a long-sleeved shirt striped in black and white.

Caroline pointed at herself. "It's practical and chic."

"Yeah, you've got style," Jonathan said, "but what about—"

"My cloak repairs itself," Tinsurnae added, holding out the hem. "Auto-fix, color-shifting, temperature regulated. It can also turn into a blanket. Or a tent."

Jonathan stared at them.

"You all suck."

Then he marched inside.

Once inside, Jonathan looked around the dimly lit shop. The ceiling glowed faintly with woven threads of light, casting gentle rays across aisles of surreal clothing—floating fabrics, metallic boots, and armor that shifted form depending on how you stared at it.

"Alright, first things first…" he muttered, scanning the back of the store. "Where the hell is the bathroom?"

He didn't have to go. But he hadn't washed his face in what felt like a week. There was dried blood on his collarbone. Dirt in his hair. He was shirtless, barefoot, and wearing torn shorts held together by sheer will and a few metaphorical threads. A fresh rinse and a clean outfit felt…necessary.

After a few minutes of pacing around crystal display tables and ignoring a vest that whispered compliments, he gave up.

"Guess I'm raw-dogging hygiene today," he sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. Then he headed toward a rack that caught his eye.

Perfect.

Outside the store, the three of them sat near the cracked fountain, its basin filled with coiled roots and moss-veined stone.

Sšurtinaui broke the silence.

"How do you two feel about all this?"

Caroline blinked.

Tinsurnae tilted her head.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean…" Sšurtinaui folded her arms. "Jonathan's new plan. His change. His… whole 'burn down the world' vibe. We all just rolled with it. I just want to know if you're really okay with it."

Tinsurnae looked surprised.

"You're asking me? I already said I was with him. You didn't think I meant it?"

"I thought you meant it," Sšurtinaui said, meeting her gaze. "But there's a difference between following someone and believing in them. So I'm asking now. No pressure, no defense. Just honesty."

Tinsurnae looked down for a moment.

The bird on her shoulder chirped once, sensing her heartbeat quicken.

"He's scary now," she admitted. "But not dangerous to us. Not yet, anyway. And even when he's… off… he never stops trying to come back."

She ran her hand along her leg, her voice lower. "Besides, I know what it feels like to burn something inside and not know who you'll be after. I'm not judging him for surviving the only way he knows how."

Caroline leaned back, propping herself up with one arm. "Honestly? I trust him more now than I did when he was trying to play it safe. This version of him is focused. He's still got our backs. Just with more fangs."

She smirked.

"Also, we fought a Behemoth with him. That kind of bonds people."

Sšurtinaui nodded slowly, absorbing their words.

"So you're both in."

"All in," Tinsurnae said with a small smile.

"Ride or die," Caroline said. Then after a beat: "But, like, preferably not die."

Sšurtinaui gave a half-smile. It didn't quite reach her eyes, but it was real.

"Alright."

She looked at the door to the clothing store. "Then let's make sure we don't regret it."

Just then, the door creaked open.

Jonathan stepped out, silhouetted against the amber-tinted sky.

A sleek, black cloak hung from his shoulders—not flowing like a cape, but cut with sharp precision, hugging the form of a warrior born for close-quarters war. The fabric glinted faintly in the light, its design angular and layered, like it had been carved rather than sewn. Heavy boots crunched against the glass-laced sidewalk—solid, almost looking like they were pulled straight from a construction site.

But it wasn't the cloak or the boots that caught their attention.

It was his face.

One thin red line traced beneath each of his eyes, like war paint. His hair had grown wilder—messy, unkempt. And those eyes—once brown—now simmered with a quiet crimson glow, the red bleeding into the edges like ink in water.

He grinned, lips curling into a confident, almost cocky smirk.

"Well?" he asked, arms slightly out to his sides like he'd just stepped off a runway.

"How do I look?"

Tinsurnae blinked.

Caroline raised a brow.

Sšurtinaui didn't say anything at first—but the sharp inhale was enough.

"Finally. You look practical."

Caroline nodded, a little grin forming.

"You look cool."

Tinsurnae tilted her head, blinked once—then smiled.

"You look cute."

A beat.

She blinked again and waved her hands quickly.

"The outfit! The outfit is cute—I meant the outfit!"

Jonathan chuckled and stretched his arms out.

"Good. I was tired of looking like a damn bum."

He glanced down at himself, admiring the sleek black cloak and tight, armored design.

"Kind of reminds me of a Sith outfit…" he muttered, mostly to himself.

The others just stared.

"I don't understand the reference…."

"Of course you don't elf."

"That's your last "villain" joke." Caroline said, pointing a finger at him.

"Oh… that's what you meant. More betrayal jo—"

"Ok! I get it! Damn a guy can't joke?!"

Meanwhile, in the distance—eyes watched.

Perched on the branch of a tree, half-hidden by shadow and shimmer, a cloaked figure whispered through a communicator laced with bone and static.

"It's four of them, boss."

A low hum of consideration crackled back.

"Hmmm…"

"Yeah," Rekjet added, lips peeling back in a toothy grin, "We can definitely take them."

"Not so hasty, Rekjet," came the reply—smooth, patient, almost amused. "Send in the scouters first. Let's assess them… see if they're worthy."

A pause. Then another voice, more gravelly and sharper around the edges.

"Instead of the scouters… let Rekjet go in by themselves first? Too many presences may not work in our favor."

Silence.

Then a smile. Felt more than heard.

"That's fine," the boss said, the words curling with intent.

Rekjet's grin widened under his hood, six glinting eyes shifting in layers beneath camouflaged mesh.

"With pleasure."