You Already Won

"How the hell do you get showers to work in this place!?"

Caroline's voice echoed down the abandoned street as she kicked open another door, only to find a dusty porcelain tub like structure with vines growing out of it. She stomped her foot in frustration. "Is this even a bathroom? My system won't tell me shit!"

Tinsurnae wandered in behind her, arms folded, casually glancing at the cracked ceiling tiles. She knelt and whispered something to a critter that had scurried in through a broken vent. After a moment, she looked up. "They don't know what a shower is."

"Maybe they don't bathe… though I'm not seeing an issue… in the grand scheme and all," she added with a shrug.

"Easy for you to say," Caroline grumbled, blowing a strand of hair out of her face. "Your cloak auto-refreshes you or whatever."

Tinsurnae smirked. "Don't be jealous."

Caroline made a gagging noise and waved her off. "Bleh. My system does that too. But I want water flowing down my body. Is that so hard to ask?!"

"Why don't we take a bath?" Tinsurnae offered innocently.

"No!" Caroline snapped, spinning around with visible offense.

Tinsurnae leaned back slightly, arching a brow. "Um… okay. Is that, like… a thing? You and baths?"

"Don't be ridiculous." Caroline rolled her eyes and headed toward the window. "I'm gonna check another house. There's plumbing in this place, so there has to be a working shower somewhere."

She hopped onto the windowsill, flames flaring around her boots. Then she launched off in a burst of fire, disappearing in a blur of smoke and heat.

Tinsurnae sighed, left alone with her reflection in the mirror. Seeing herself like this again—female, smaller, different—it still felt strange. Her face, though hers, looked like someone else. She tilted her head slightly.

Then—boom.

A loud explosion rocked the air.

"What the hell?" she muttered, bolting to the window.

Outside, across the cracked and ivy-covered street, stood the blackened skeleton of a collapsed building—still smoking. In front of it, Jonathan and Caroline were doubled over, laughing.

Tinsurnae's face tightened.

She launched out the window, landing lightly on a rooftop below. Syrun surged under her feet—liquid energy wrapping around her soles, solidifying with each push, each lean of her body. She skated down the slope in sharp zig-zags, fluid like a dancer riding invisible waves, gliding faster and faster toward the chaos.

She landed hard, dust puffing around her feet as she slid to a halt beside Sšurtinaui.

"What the hell are you guys doing?!" they both shouted in unison.

Sšurtinaui groaned, voice sharp. "Are you idiots trying to alert every living thing within twenty miles? We got what we needed—let's move—"

"Damn, elf, live a little—" Jonathan started.

"We are not doing this," she snapped, spinning toward him. "I don't care if you're impulsive or deranged—act like an idiot again and I will place an arrow in your head."

"Sheesh." Jonathan raised both hands. "Noted."

"And Caroline," Sšurtinaui said, turning with disappointment. "Seriously? Don't get pulled into his antics. You're better than that."

Caroline looked down, visibly guilty.

Jonathan stepped forward, face softening. "Why so serious, Jack?"

"Maybe because you convinced us to go against Civen," she snapped, "and all the other crap that's been happening."

He slowed, getting closer. "You're right. I'm sorry."

She looked straight at him then, and Jonathan realized—he had to tilt his head slightly just to meet her eyes. She was taller than him. Of course she was. Elf. Made sense. Still, it hit different up close. Yeah… maybe they did need a break. Something chill. A chance to breathe.

"A beach episode," he muttered.

"What?!" Sšurtinaui barked.

Tinsurnae blinked, brow furrowing. "I thought this was a moment for y'all."

Caroline laughed, caught off guard.

"Nothing. I'll explain later. After this."

"After what?" Sšurtinaui asked.

"Whatever that is," Jonathan said, nodding toward the approaching figure. "Question: do we still consider Requiem people as people, or is there a term?"

"Um, 'natives' is probably best," Sšurtinaui offered. "Unless you know their actual race or religion."

"Aww, so natives it is," he shrugged. "I don't care about that other stuff."

Tinsurnae blinked. "Um, shouldn't we maybe pay attention to the person walking… oh…. they stopped. Well standing in front of us?"

Jonathan gave a half-smirk. "Did you just ignore that whole conversation?"

The native had six eyes and wore a dark cloak that shimmered unnaturally. Jonathan narrowed his gaze. There was a subtle ripple in the air around the figure—one that suggested he wasn't supposed to be visible at all.

"…Guys," Jonathan whispered, barely moving his lips.

The others leaned in instinctively.

"He's supposed to be invisible."

They all turned to the figure again.

And burst out laughing.

Across from them, the cloaked native tilted their head in visible confusion. What… what just happened? Why were they laughing? Could they see him? No, no, that was impossible. The boss gave him this cloak. It had to be working.

Jonathan wiped a tear from his eye. "Wait—wait. Elf. Magjesti. How do you see him?"

Caroline caught the use of her Requiem title and smirked knowingly. "Seeing invisible stuff is common where I'm from."

Sšurtinaui raised a brow. "I trained in anti-covert techniques. Using Ryun, back when I was prepping to be a Varics operative."

Jonathan nodded, impressed.

Then Tinsurnae huffed and tugged on his cloak. "Why didn't you ask me?"

"Geez, dude, stop acting like a—oh, right." Jonathan blinked. "Honestly? I just assumed you could do weird shit like me."

Tinsurnae pouted and turned away. "Rude."

"I'm not even sure what to take from that," Jonathan muttered, scratching his head. Then he turned back to Sšurtinaui and Caroline. "Anyway. I wanna try something."

Both girls gave him wary looks.

"Last time you said that," Caroline said, "you blew up a cave of wolves."

"Nah, nah. This one's different. Less boom, more finesse."

Sšurtinaui sighed. "Fine. Get it out of the way so we can leave."

"Bet."

Tinsurnae leaned in again. "Are you seriously just going to ignore—"

"Not now, Tinsurnae!" Jonathan shot back.

Tinsurnae huffed again, arms crossed.

The invisible scout still hadn't moved, clearly unaware it was… acknowledged. Jonathan, meanwhile, rolled his shoulders, Ryun curling faintly around him.

Putting his hands behind his back, lowering his chin slightly. A wide, unsettling grin teased his lips, but his steps remained slow—deliberate. His boots struck the ground in slow motion. Cloak rippling behind him like a sentient shadow, he stepped forward, the fabric swaying jaggedly with each move.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

He took a long, arcing step sideways, another, then another—each stride exaggerated and cartoonish, yet impossibly smooth. He seemed to stretch across space in a way that shouldn't have been possible, feet gliding almost mockingly like some twisted animated phantom.

And then—he was just there.

In front of Rekjet.

Face hidden in the shadow of his hood, body cloaked in black, boots planted square on the cracked tile of the old town street. It was as if reality itself skipped a frame.

Rekjet gasped. All six of his eyes bulged. He flinched backward with a sharp yelp, stumbling and crashing onto his back, cloak flaring around him like a panicked insect.

Jonathan tilted his head slowly, still grinning.

"Hi."

Rekjet's entire body trembled as he stared up at Jonathan—hood off now, cloak still billowing faintly like it had its own breath. His brown eyes, now rimmed in a faint red glow, glared down at him with an expression somewhere between amusement and madness.

"How?! When—how?!" Rekjet's voice cracked, his six pupils darting in chaotic patterns. "I blinked and—you were just here! That's not possible! You're not supposed to—Are you a demon?! There aren't even demons in this realm! Why are you here?!"

Jonathan slowly crouched, bringing his face just inches from Rekjet's. His grin widened.

"Hey, buddy. Relax. I'm human."

"Human?!" Rekjet choked, eyes now practically trying to leave his skull. "No. No, that—that can't be! You—"

Jonathan yanked Rekjet hood all the way off. Squinting at Rekjet's distorted goblinoid features. The six eyes. The bony yellow skin and royal blue streaks running over his temples.

He leaned in closer.

"…Man."

Rekjet blinked. "What?"

"You sure are ugly."

WHACK.

Sšurtinaui smacked the back of Jonathan's head with a perfectly-aimed flick of her wrist.

"Okay, we are not going to be abusive going forward," he said sternly. "I don't care about you being a female. Equal rights apply."

SMACK.

Caroline nailed him from the other side with a palm slap.

"Boom. Equal lefts."

Jonathan winced, rubbing both sides of his head. "Corny. Corny as hell."

Tinsurnae stifled a giggle.

Meanwhile, Rekjet was on his knees, hands raised in surrender, tears threatening to spill from at least four of his six eyes.

"P-please… spare me!" he squeaked.

Jonathan gave him a blank look. "Wow. And I thought I had anxiety."

Sšurtinaui narrowed her eyes, a skeptical hand conjuring her bowstring. "What exactly are you doing here?"

Rekjet swallowed, hard. "I… I used to live here. Before it was abandoned. I'm… looking for my son."

That quieted everyone for a moment.

His voice was raw. Honest, even. "We got separated during the start of this trial madness. I thought… maybe he came back here. This was home, once."

Silence stretched between them like a drawn bowstring. Jonathan finally clapped his hands together.

"Alright. Group huddle."

Sšurtinaui turned to him slowly. "No."

"Oh come on," Tinsurnae said, sidling up beside him. "It won't hurt."

"I agree," Caroline added, crossing her arms. "With the way things are going, this might be the last time anyone sees family again. If he's telling the truth, this could matter."

Jonathan nodded, tossing a quick smile toward Tinsurnae and Caroline. "See? Some actual optimism."

Sšurtinaui exhaled sharply through her nose, clearly annoyed but not fully against it. "…Fine. But the second he tries anything, I'm ending him."

Caroline turned to Rekjet. "What's your name?"

Rekjet blinked, surprised at her tone softening. "Uh… Rekjet. Just Rekjet."

"I'm Magjesti," she said, gesturing to herself. "That's Sšurtinaui, our resident elf-skeptic. Tinsurnae, the one that's never a bore. And North… is North."

Jonathan gave a small bow.

Caroline looked Rekjet up and down, then tilted her head. "Since you used to live here—mind showing me where the showers are? I've had enough of guessing."

Rekjet blinked. "Uh, yeah. Yeah, I can do that."

Caroline smiled. "Cool. Lead the way."

As they walked deeper into the overgrown remnants of the town, the air grew heavier. Vines clung to cracked stone. Dust blew in soft puffs over glass-paneled sidewalks. Rekjet called out softly, voice breaking. "Liron…? Liron, it's me. I'm here, son."

Only silence answered him.

"I hate what life's become," he muttered after a few moments. "Everything's so… awful. I wish it wasn't like this."

No one responded. Not immediately.

Jonathan glanced at Caroline. "So, just to be clear, there is zero percent chance I'm showering with you, right?"

She rolled her eyes. "Zero percent. I bet you bathe like a feral jungle beast."

"Wow. Guess we'll have to see if that's accurate."

Tinsurnae was whistling softly, eyes glazed with faint glow as she spoke to nearby birds. "None of them know anything," she muttered. "No sign of a child. Not even recent tracks."

Sšurtinaui stared blankly ahead at the house in front of them, its structure slanted as if the earth had exhaled and let it sink. "This was a waste of time."

"Oh no! My home!" Rekjet suddenly screamed.

Everyone turned. The goblin-like man stumbled toward the ruined building, wailing with his arms spread. "No. No!"

Then, subtly—far too subtly—he started drifting to the back of the group.

Jonathan noticed it. Caroline was still fixated on the broken piping near the collapsed house. Tinsurnae was distracted, tilting her head to listen to the wind.

Rekjet's hands slipped into his cloak.

There was a click of energy.

Three loud knocks echoed—fast. THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

Then came the scream. Or rather—the start of a scream.

And then nothing.

Blood spilled from Rekjet's body as he collapsed in a heap, his eyes wide, his last breath caught in his throat.

Caroline blinked. "The hell?"

"Damn elf," Rekjet rasped with his final breath.

Sšurtinaui stood over him, green Ryun curling off her fingertips like smoke before vanishing. The dagger had already dissipated into his bloodstream. She looked down at him, cold and calm.

"I told you," she said. "One wrong move."

Tinsurnae squinted, curious. "What was he even pulling out?"

Caroline stepped forward, her eyes glowing as she activated her UI *Auto-loot*. Several small pings sounded as the system removed items from Rekjet's corpse without disturbing him. A pale orb shimmered in her hand.

She stared at it. "This fucker had a prison orb."

"Yes!" Jonathan exclaimed, fist clenched.

Everyone turned toward him with a look.

"…Sorry," he added, unbothered. "I was hoping for a fight."

Then the air shifted. Heavy. Charged. Danger spidered its way down their spines.

Shadows emerged across the shattered glasswalks—eight hooded figures, tall and thick-limbed, surrounding them like the closing of a stage curtain. Each bore a warped "W" on their backs, as if the symbol had been cracked, stitched, and worn with pride.

Caroline didn't even blink. She calmly stored the prison orb in her inventory.

Tinsurnae tilted her head. "So… are we asking questions or—"

Fwip.

Sšurtinaui already had a bow drawn, Ryun arrow locked and aimed.

Before the tension could even build, a voice split the air—gravelly, serrated, and confident.

From behind the forward line of cloaked figures emerged a monstrous being—part-wolf, part-bull, his horns like jagged blades, snout twitching with disdain. Black fur ran down a humanoid torso, powerful and taut.

"You stand guilty of a great crime in Denvel. For your murder of—"

"Shut up." Jonathan interrupted, hand raised casually.

The creature blinked. "What?"

Jonathan stepped forward. "You sent that ugly-ass goblin thing after us. And let me guess, this is some dumb cliché—'we lure you in, surround you, try to eat you or impregnate you with worm babies.'" He rolled his neck.

"NORTH!" Caroline yelled, flinching.

"Okay, maybe too far." He smirked. "Still true though."

The creature's lip curled, exposing jagged yellow fangs—but instead of rage, a grin bloomed.

"As Truvack the Bludgeoned Ruke…" he growled. "A straight fight… is exactly what I need."

And with that—

Chaos erupted.

And chaos ended just as quickly as it began.

It wasn't even a contest.

Sšurtinaui's arrows blurred through the air, slicing tendons and splitting skulls. Green Ryun hummed and vanished with every kill, leaving no trace but crumpled cloaks and twitching limbs. Caroline's flames curved like sentient serpents, Tinsurnae's Sryun danced on the wind, and Jonathan—

He didn't even need to move.

The last scout hit the pavement with a sickening crunch, leaving only one figure standing.

Truvack.

He was bruised. Burnt. Breathing hard. But alive.

The massive creature stood firm, blood matting his black fur, one horn chipped. Still, a crooked smile pulled at his maw.

"Impressive," he rasped. "Seems we misjudged you."

Jonathan blinked. Wait… he understood that. Actually he even understood Rekjet…

But… it wasn't English.

His head tilted. "Huh. Add that to the list of weird powers."

He stepped forward, nodding once. "Hey, wolf head."

Truvack squinted. "You mean me?"

"Yeah. Wow. You can understand me."

"What's a wolf?" Truvack's voice was hoarse but steady. "I am Truvack. A Degien."

Jonathan rolled his neck, electricity beginning to flicker and snap along the soles of his boots.

"You natives sure love monologuing," he grinned.

Lightning cracked.

"Let's go."

Jonathan kicked off the cracked ground———

Red lightning lanced through the air like snapping arteries, branching out from his body in pulsing webs. The bolts didn't strike Truvack—they entered him.

The Degien froze, mid-charge, eyes wide as the veins beneath his fur lit up in glowing crimson. The branching lines spread, racing up his limbs and across his chest in twitching, writhing spirals. For a heartbeat, nothing.

Then—

BOOM.

A black pulse detonated from deep inside his torso. Not an explosion of fire or shrapnel, but a collapse. As if Truvack's insides had been yanked inward and crushed, then twisted outward in a silent burst. His claws flexed. His breathing hitched.

He staggered back, fur bristling in erratic tufts. His eyes flickered between shock, confusion, and dread.

He swung at air. Snarled at his own shadow. Tried to speak—but only foam and garbled static came out. His knees bent the wrong way. One final breath hissed out.

And he dropped.

Hard.

Smoke curled from his mouth. A faint red glow blinked beneath his skin, then faded.

Jonathan tilted his head, mildly impressed.

"…Huh."

He walked up to the body, inspecting the lack of twitch, the blown-out pupils, the way the veins were still shivering under the skin.

"I honestly thought he'd tank that," he muttered, scratching his jaw. "Pity." Behind him, Caroline let out a low whistle.

"Wow, I didn't expect you to one-shot him. Damn, mate."

The voice came from behind the group.

Everyone turned sharply.

A young man leaned against a broken streetlamp just past the edge of the ruins, arms crossed, one foot pressed lazily against the post. His hair was silver-blue and spiked in wild tufts, eyes a swirling mix of violet and teal. A confident smirk curved his lips.

Jonathan's eyes narrowed, but his smile widened, mirroring the stranger's.

"Glad someone's enjoying the show," he said, lightning crackling faintly off his shoulders. "You want next, or just here to give commentary?"

The stranger pushed off the pole and stepped forward, hands raised in mock surrender.

"Easy there, sparky. I'm not your enemy… yet."

His grin widened.

"But let's just say—I'm very interested in what you are."

"No, you're my enemy," Jonathan said flatly.

The smirk vanished from the stranger's face. "Huh?"

Tinsurnae tilted her head, eyes going distant. She whispered, "Critters say we're surrounded. Six more—closing in."

Caroline cracked her knuckles, a grin pulling at her lips. "You guys are really about to make a mistake."

"Are we?" the silver-blue haired man began—only for Caroline to cut him off.

"Your little friend tried to imprison us."

"That was… precautions. We had to see if you were worthy."

"Worthy of what?!" Tinsurnae and Caroline snapped in perfect unison.

The man straightened up. "Of joining us. The Rukes of Denvel. This town—"

Jonathan cut him off with a wave of his hand. "Listen, man. We're not joining the rookies or whatever you call yourselves."

"I wasn't finished—"

"Unfortunately for you," Jonathan continued, undeterred, "I'm in need of testing myself right now. My team has… doubts about some future endeavors."

The stranger furrowed his brow. "Huh—?"

"I'm still talking. Don't interrupt me again." Jonathan's tone went from playful to sharp as glass. Red lightning sizzled across his shoulders. The air thinned.

The man's mouth opened, but he didn't speak. His aura flared in response—sickly blue-green, warping the ground beneath his feet.

Seven more figures appeared across the rooftops, hooded and armed. They bore the same broken W insignia on their backs.

Jonathan's eyes turned blood red. His grin widened, all humor gone.

"You've got two choices," he said, voice echoing with subtle distortion.

"Get turned into gold or struck by lightning."