You Already Won

The event sparked more than just awe. It triggered upheaval.

High above, in a realm no longer suspended beyond war, mercy, and mortal reckoning, the divine sat in their silent sanctum. Cracked now—hairline fractures splitting across the firmament like stress lines on porcelain. A place that once hummed with patient order now buzzed with tension.

A ring of thrones encircled an endless, ever-churning scrying pool. Gods lounged beside demi-gods, monarchs beside warlords. Celestial CEOs reclined in chromatic suits while realm-bound presidents and ageless strategists whispered in divine tongues.

They all watched. And they all knew.

A Kings Jujisn was now part of the game.

Whispers had stirred before—rumors, patterns, echoes in the aether—but now, proof had arrived in a form that could not be dismissed: a Realm Event. The kind of cosmic occurrence that had become legend. Only those who had lived beyond a hundred thousand years could remember the last one.

It changed everything.

Three Jujisn.

Three Supreme Families.

One Kingdom.

All in a single event.

The divine calculus shifted instantly. Some gods didn't hesitate—they formally withdrew from the tournament, casting off their Chosen like used blades, their pride too wounded to continue a game they could no longer control.

Most stayed.

Some with hope for glory, others with gritted teeth and gambler's hearts. The rewards for survival were still unimaginable.

A few, foolish and loud, muttered about revenge—how they might retaliate against the Supreme Families for turning the divine tournament into their playground. Their words were soft, veiled behind celestial wine and courtly metaphors—but even those whispers were suicide.

And yet, not all were so short-sighted.

One figure, older than most and far more patient, sat in silence as the arguments surged around her. Her blue skin shimmered like starlight through obsidian, and her eyes were lined with constellations. Her throne was carved from petrified truth—a concept too sharp for the younger deities to sit upon.

She smiled.

Not in joy, nor in fear—but in understanding.

A Jujisn appearing was rare.

A King's Jujisn? Unheard of.

And more importantly… he had no backing.

No formal kingdom had claimed him. No divine House raised banners. That meant something. That meant everything.

The others argued about offense. About territory. About blood and sport.

"You don't fight the Families," she whispered to herself, she even chuckled at their arrogance. "You align. You find the pulse and move just behind it, not against it."

The others would either learn—or be wiped from memory.

She leaned forward, her gaze burning into the scrying pool. The Blood Prince. The fractured heir.

A meeting would need to happen.

And soon.

——

Below the divine realms, back on the scarred surface of Delark, panic ignited like wildfire.

Across the continents, from the frostbitten peaks of Taegit to the molten valleys of Venterraxi, Guilds, Kingdoms, and Associations alike received the same alert—broadcast through UI pings and System-level messages no one could override.

A Realm Event had triggered.

An Unraveling had begun.

And an Absolute Being—or something close to one—had awakened.

Many didn't fully understand what that meant. But they didn't need to. The systemic override, the sheer weight behind the words was enough to make even the most arrogant Outlander pale.

What was once believed to be isolated to Curtenail now threatened to spread.

And the world responded.

Decrees were issued. Territories locked down. Ports sealed. Armies conscripted. In some nations, fear was met with speeches and unity. In others, it was crushed beneath the iron boots of paranoia and martial law. Peace bloomed in some quarters; violence consumed others.

But amidst all the chaos, a unified decision emerged:

Delark was their home. And they would defend it.

For a noble few, it was about preservation—protecting the people and the planet.

But for many?

It was opportunity.

Outlanders and their allies from countless systems and backgrounds, driven by obsession, ambition, or sheer narrative ignorance, flocked toward the epicenter. They wanted to test themselves. To prove they were worthy. That they were the main characters of this fractured reality.

A delusion, perhaps.

But one that moved tens of thousands.

An unprecedented migration of the brave, the bored, and the utterly foolish. The edge of Curtenail had become a beacon. Some parts remained untouched by the Gold Wave for now, they would soon close off, and it was toward those areas that the swarms converged.

Fights broke out.

Factions clashed.

Old rivalries reignited in the rush to be first. But the bloodshed began to ebb once the major powers arrived—S-rank Guilds, Mythic Houses, and respected Kingdoms. With them came the unspoken rule:

No one fights until the threat is named.

Because no matter how fractured the world was, if Delark fell, there would be nothing left to conquer.

But just as they reached the borders of Curtenail—just as they were about cross the line into the region—

FLASH.

A burst of white light.

No sound.

No pain.

Just absence.

And then—

They stood in a white room.

Vast, seamless, eerily perfect. It felt endless, and yet somehow precisely large enough to fit them all.

The Outlanders glanced around.

Systems pinged erratically.

Fear began to crawl in beneath the armor and pride.

"What the hell is this?" someone whispered.

No one had an answer.

But everyone felt it and then she arrived.

She was beautiful in a way that didn't seem fair.

Her hair—long, flowing waves of red and green—cascaded down to the floor, shimmering faintly like molten emeralds and rubies. Each strand moved with its own will, as if lit from within by something divine. Her eyes were radiant golden-orange. She stood a few inches taller than most present, but in presence alone, she towered.

The dress she wore looked stitched from starlight itself—woven not with thread, but with luminous filaments that pulsed with soft brilliance.

"I am Xizelen," she said, her voice calm and unquestionable. "The 413th Overseer of the 23rd to 27th Realms, within the 70 million Realms under the authority of the Jafar Empire."

The room fell into absolute silence.

Even among Outlanders and proud guild lords, there came a stillness—a shudder beneath their skin, though few understood why at first. Then it clicked. Delark had been chosen precisely because of its lack of high-tier power. The gods that once ruled here had been culled. The strongest left behind? A single Intermediate Ranker, who had already fled upon learning where the Fortune Holder event would be staged.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

And now?

A High Ranker—in the top 200,000 across all of Requiem—stood before them.

They were droplets before an ocean.

She smiled at their stunned expressions. It was the kind of smile that comforted infants and terrified emperors.

"You are all attempting to enter an event you were never invited to," she said gently. "A tournament held by mandate of the Empire. And yet none of you have submitted credentials, no profiles, no qualifications. No signatures. No approval."

Her tone remained pleasant, unbothered.

"If you wish to join," she continued, "you must first register. And then be evaluated—like every other candidate before you. Only those of Legendary Cadet ranking or Low Ranker status will be considered. Any individual with power above the required range will be removed."

There was a moment where many nearly objected—hands flexing, systems flickering. But resisting was futile.

They had heard the name Xizelen before. In rumors, in reports, in the mutterings of gods.

The White Room Slaughterer.

A Narloic title. Earned during the culling of over twenty thousand candidates she deemed "unsuitable" within three minutes. It was how she became one of the fastest Overseers in the empire's history.

And now they stood in her White Room.

They had already lost.

So they complied.

Xizelen waved her hand, and from nothing, a white desk and chair emerged. The room responded in kind, shifting and reforming into a seamless bureaucratic system. White panels emerged, glowing forms appearing midair, and the endless crowd began lining up in orderly rows.

She sat. Crossed her legs. Folded her hands atop the desk.

And smiled again as they began the process.

This wasn't necessary.

But she knew it was.

All these fools—every single one—had come to kill Lord Jonathan. To claim the glory of striking down a being declared by Requiem itself. And though she had been instructed to watch over him, even she hadn't expected Jonathan to be thrown into the center of the event.

This was way above her.

And she knew better than to involve herself.

But still—she acted.

Not because she was commanded. Not entirely. But because deep down… she was curious.

What could Jonathan become?

Even with everything he'd endured, he remained himself. Respectful. Not kind, no—but not cruel, either. That balance alone had intrigued her. And despite all the signs, she had never truly believed Jafar was real. Not until she joined the Empire. Not until the pieces started connecting. So seeing the God-Kings origin was an opportunity she couldn't let go.

She sighed, her posture stiffening slightly as she stood watch.

This intervention—this gathering, this delay—might only buy him a few hours. But sometimes, a few hours could mean the difference between triumph and erasure.

Hopefully it would be enough time for him to get ready.

Hopefully, it was still within the Empire's wishes.

Because if it wasn't…

If her selfish desire to see what he could become had stepped out of line.

Then this small defiance would be the last thing she ever did.

———

"You sure it's a hot spring?" Caroline asked, eyeing the distant steam rising between the crags.

"It's the closest thing," Tinsurnae replied, casually lounging on the back of the giant bird they were riding. "The birds say it's a hot puddle."

Caroline squinted. "That could literally be anything."

"Exactly! Like a hot spring!"

"Shut up, Tinny."

Their bickering carried on like background music as they soared through the skies, cradled between wings larger than rooftops. The suns were beginning to dip below the clouds, painting the sky in soft streaks of amber and lilac. For the past two hours, they'd been searching for a place to relax. A breather. A reset.

They also had to keep moving.

The battle with the Rukes of Denvel had definitely drawn attention. Huge wyrms, buildings leveled, a mini-apocalypse in the form of Jonathan North—yeah, subtlety wasn't exactly their strong suit.

Caroline glanced sideways at Sšurtinaui, who was leaning over the edge of the bird's feathered flank, eyes scanning the horizon. Probably checking for pursuit—though that wasn't necessary. Not with Tinsurnae's personal aviary acting as their own flying, chirping Ring camera network. Hawk-like creatures, crows with too many heads, and even a few wayward bat-bunny hybrids flitted in loose formation nearby, reporting back with rhythmic pulses of aura only Tinsurnae could decode.

But Caroline knew that wasn't the real reason.

Sšurtinaui wasn't looking out. She was avoiding looking in.

Because no one had brought it up. Not yet. Not the chaos in Denvel. Not the event. And certainly not the elephant in the room.

Or, in this case, the silent, blood god currently seated cross-legged a few feet behind them.

He hadn't said much since it happened. Not his usual cocky remarks. No edgy comments. Not even a half-baked lightning pun. Just… stillness.

He was better than before, sure. More in control. His breathing was steady. His aura didn't feel like it was trying to crawl into your skull and singe the inside of your eyelids. A major improvement from the last two "power-up incidents."

But still.

Caroline's gaze drifted upward, past his shoulders, to where the air shimmered faintly above his head. The health bar floated there and the title.

{|}The Blood Prince{|}

She preferred when it had just been a line of question marks. She sighed and turned toward Tinsurnae, who was currently arguing with a bird.

Not yelling but there was definite tension in her voice as the hawk-like creature squawked something indecipherable in reply, fluttered, then swooped in a small circle like it was offended.

Caroline blinked. "You're really arguing with that thing?"

Tinsurnae gave her a sharp look, muttering something about "incomplete grammar structures" and "scent patterns." Caroline rolled her eyes and turned back toward the horizon.

The animals were cool, sure. But they weren't exactly reliable when it came to clarity. Half the time they seemed more like gossiping toddlers than scouts. Coherent directions? Forget it. Maybe if Tinsurnae leveled up a bit more—

No. That wasn't right.

Tinsurnae didn't level—not the way they did. If anything, she was probably already in Jonathan's tier. Caroline nodded to herself. Yeah definitely some esoteric, nature-witch-eldritch-being kind of way.

Still, the lack of precision was annoying.

With a sigh, Caroline tapped her fingers together and pulled up her UI. A brief pulse spread out like sonar, and a soft chime pinged in her ear a moment later.

There it was. Off in the distance.

A soft-purple gem marker hovered over a distant patch of forest, glowing faintly through the haze.

"Huh. That'll do."

At least it gave them something. A direction. A goal. Better than flying in endless circles while Tinsurnae negotiated with woodland goblins and sky rats.

She glanced at her companion and pointed toward the blip.

"Hey, found something. Go that a way."

Tinsurnae stopped mid-sentence with the hawk, turned to Caroline, and nodded. "Umm. Where are you pointing?"

"Follow my finger Tinny!"

Took a few seconds for Tinsurnae to guess she meant the forest in the distance.

Without further delay, she gestured in a smooth arc, and their avian mount cawed once and dipped, banking toward the signal.

Caroline leaned back and folded her arms, letting the wind push through her hair. At least now they weren't flying blind. And if they were lucky, they'd get a hot spring and loot.

She shot a quick glance over her shoulder at Jonathan, still quiet and unmoving.

"There's a spring about four miles from here."

The voice cut through the wind.

All three women turned at once.

Jonathan hadn't spoken much since… everything. His voice still had that low, distant quality—but now it carried weight, like a quiet drumbeat under the surface.

Sšurtinaui raised a brow. "How do you know that?"

Caroline narrowed her eyes. "Yeah. I just scanned and—how would you know?"

Jonathan didn't even look at them. "That's the path that was shown when you looked over the horizon. You just didn't see it."

They all turned slowly toward Tinsurnae.

"What?" she said, genuinely puzzled.

Caroline shrugged. "I don't know! Is this normal Jujisn stuff?"

Tinsurnae shrugged. "Hell if I know. We're all different."

"I'm just settling in," Jonathan muttered, eyes still scanning the sky.

"You've been settling in," Caroline shot back. "Feels like forever."

He cracked a dry smile. "Geez. I hadn't noticed."

"Relax. I was joking."

"Does it look like I'm in the fuc—"

Sšurtinaui stepped in fast. "Okay, okay, we get it," she said, raising both hands. "No need to bite."

She gave Caroline a glance. A silent message.

Give him space.

Caroline exhaled hard through her nose and rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Are we going to the spring or not?"

A few more jabs and back-and-forths later, they agreed: four miles wasn't far. Especially not when you had a flying mount and no clear destination.

And sure enough—there it was.

Nestled between jagged cliff ridges and clusters of mossy stone, the spring lay like a secret waiting to be found. Steam curled lazily into the sky, and the scent of mineral-rich water drifted through the air.

A perfect getaway.

Caroline looked over at Jonathan as they descended. "Alright," she muttered. "Props. Good call."

He gave a half-nod, eyes half-lidded. "Lucky guess."

But they all knew better.

Once they landed, Tinsurnae hopped off first, stretching her arms with a satisfied sigh. She turned and waved goodbye to the massive bird that had carried them through the sky.

"Thanks for the lift," she said casually, and the creature let out a low, echoing trill before ascending back into the clouds.

Caroline watched it disappear before asking, "Hey… why don't you always have those animals around? Seems like they'd make life way easier. For transportation at least…"

Tinsurnae chuckled, brushing back her hair as she knelt to inspect the edge of the spring. "They're not pets, Caroline. It's more like I suggest they help me. And even then, it's… cooperative. Not command-based."

Caroline tilted her head. "So, you don't control them?"

"Not in this body," Tinsurnae replied, glancing at her hands as if remembering something. "Back then, it was different. Now, I ask—and they answer if they feel like it."

Before Caroline could respond, Sšurtinaui pulled out her black mask and slid it into place.

"I'll scout the area," she said as her body simmered. "Make sure we weren't followed."

Tinsurnae gave her a lazy wave. "Don't take too long. Steam's not gonna wait forever."

Sšurtinaui was already gone, vanishing between trees and stone.

Caroline turned back to Tinsurnae. "Soooo… finally?"

Tinsurnae's eyes lit up. "Finally."

In unison, they raised their arms toward the sky and chanted dramatically, Caroline laughed. "Alright, let's go—"

"I'm heading out," Jonathan cut in from behind them.

They turned, surprised.

"I just… need to walk," he added, avoiding their eyes. "If you need me, call. Or just walk straight."

Tinsurnae frowned faintly. "Are you sure—?"

"I'm fine," he said, cutting her off gently but firmly.

He didn't wait for another word. He simply turned and walked, hands in pockets, disappearing into the treeline.

The silence hung a little too long before Caroline crossed her arms.

"He's acting weird."

Tinsurnae sat on a mossy rock, humming softly. "He's been through a lot."

"I know. But space is good until it's not. Too much space becomes a wall."

Tinsurnae nodded slowly. "He's processing something. Whatever's going on… it's not about us. Not yet. And instead of worrying about what we can't fix right now, we do what we came here to do."

Caroline raised a brow.

"Unwind," Tinsurnae said, grinning as she peeled off her cloak. "Steam waits for no one."

——

Jonathan walked, each step heavy. His mind raced—no, spiraled—through a billion thoughts, looping and twisting in ways that felt too layered, too fractured to sort through.

Awakening was supposed to help. Sharpen things. Give him answers. Or at the very least, make it easier to be… himself. But now?

Now everything felt less clear.

He didn't feel like himself. Not fully. And the group—Caroline, Sšurtinaui, even Tinsurnae—they were all treating him like something else. Like he was fire.

Well. Maybe they weren't wrong.

He ran a hand through his hair, fingers catching slightly on the edges of his hood. He kept walking until he found a large stone, half-shaded by a twisted pine, and sat down. He cupped his hands over his mouth and nose—steady breath in, steady breath out.

It was the only thing that grounded him lately.

The cloak wrapped around his frame still pulsed with residual energy, undamaged despite everything. Of course it survived. It had synced with his Ryun. He knew that. Somehow. He just knew.

"Why?" he whispered.

Why did he know that?

His eyes. The sigils. The way they shimmered when he focused, when the pressure built in his chest.

Jafar.

Everything looped back to that name.

It made sense. It always made sense. And that's what made it so damn frustrating. Every twitch in his hand. Every instinct in battle. Every quiet detail he noticed before anyone else.

He exhaled sharply through his cupped hands.

Then froze.

When did I start doing this to my face?

His breath caught. He looked down at his palms.

No… not again.

It was like the fight with Simon. That eerie calm. That familiar stance. His movements—his expressions—they were… they weren't fully his.

Muscle memory, maybe. Or something worse. Echoes. False memories. At least, that's what he hoped they were.

He let his hands fall limply over his knees and bowed his head, letting the weight press down.

"Who even am I now?"