You Already Won

"Yo, bro—you 'bout to head to the store?"

Jamal looked up from lacing his sneakers. His boy D40 was slouched in a computer chair, white shorts, black tee, a Glock sitting on the table next to a couple ounces and a fat stack of hundreds.

"Yeah, real quick," Jamal said. "Need some more wraps."

"A'ight, bet. Yo, grab me—"

"Stop playin' with me, I ain't no errand boy."

D40 smirked. "Brothas always gotta be hard."

"Pause," Jamal shot back.

"Can y'all shut the fuck up?" Ty's voice cut in, irritated. He was stretched out on the couch in a red hoodie and ball shorts, skully pulled low over his eyes. "Damn, I'm tryna catch a quick nap before Lia come over."

"You sleepin' for a hoe? You weird, blood," Jamal scoffed.

"A brotha can't nap? See, y'all gotta be tough as shit all the time," Ty muttered from under his skully.

Jamal smirked. "You just barely get any hoes. Treatin' her like she special and shit."

That got a laugh out of D40. Ty didn't find it so funny.

"Ain't ya cousin gettin' popped by a crackhead on—"

"Watch ya mouth, blood."

D40 leaned back, laughing. "See, now a brotha mad 'cause shit ain't funny when it's 'bout them. Blood tweakin' now."

"Don't speak on my cousin," Jamal snapped. "You know she been goin' through it since Dre died."

"Yeah," D40 added, tone cooling. "And then Manman died behind that. She should be coolin'. You need to get on dat."

Speaking of Manman D40 thought.

"They upped ya head count, 'Threat,'" D40 said. "You sure you good goin' to the store?"

Jamal smirked. "I wish them brothas would slide."

He and D40 said it at the same time:

"Head shot, head shot—leave they man splattered on the pavemont."

They both laughed. Ty rolled his eyes. D40 tossed the Glock, and Jamal caught it clean, tucking it in his waistband. Problem was, it showed easy. He wasn't the type to sag his pants, and the Gucci belt just made the proportions look off. His black Fear of God jeans and plain white tee didn't help. Hoodie was on the chair, but he didn't feel like grabbing it—Ty's Alexander McQueen yellow jacket would do for the quick run.

He slipped it on and stepped out. The "bando" wasn't really abandoned—more like a rented spot they were using to move what they needed. Pills, weed, coke, fentanyl. You name it, they had it.

As he walked down the stairs, he readjusted his strap.

Walking to the store was never a simple matter. Not for Jamal.

You kept your head on a swivel out here—or you lost it.

Tensions were boiling after the recent shootings. His name had been in too many mouths. His file in too many folders. He knew the Jakes expected him to turn himself in soon.

Lead suspect in ten murders.

He smirked to himself, sliding his hands in his pockets. Ten? Please. He was only responsible for seven. And all seven were self-defense. Opps shot first. Talked crazy first. It's how it be.

Then Manman killed Dre. So Jamal slid on him. Just so happened Manman's cousin was there, too.

Eye for an eye. Or two eyes for one.

Either way, jail wasn't in the cards. He needed bread to do the race.

The city moved around him in restless motion. Storefronts covered in graffiti. Brick walls worn to a tired brown. Glass from an old shootout still dusted the gutter. A pair of kids zipped past on bikes, their wheels squealing against the pavement. Across the street, an old man leaned in a doorway, nodding to music from his speaker.

A black car whipped past, dark tint, moving just a little too quick.

Jamal's hand was halfway to his waistband before it cleared the block. His eyes followed the taillights.

Hmm.

He turned down an alley, cutting his route. Broken bottles and the smell of fried grease spilled from a dumpster.

He didn't like hitting the same corner twice.

A couple turns later he emerged on the next block, spotting another corner store ahead. Just as he got close—pop-pop-pop! Gunshots in the distance.

Not for him this time.

He stepped into the store, grabbed a couple drinks, and tossed in a snack for D40. Ty still owed him money—thousands if you counted the fronts—and Ty had been acting twitchy lately. Too twitchy. The kind of twitchy you cut out before it grows teeth.

At the counter he asked for his wraps, Jamal leaned on one elbow, flashing the cashier a lazy grin. She was cute, curls falling over her cheek as she tried not to smile back. He got her to crack just a little before his phone buzzed.

Ty.

|You take the yellow jacket?|

|Yeah.| Jamal thumbed back. |At the counter rn. You want anything, broke ass?|

Typing bubbles… |Bet.|

The typing bubbles danced again—

BANG! BANG! BANG! BLZZZT! BLZZZT! BANG!

The front window shattered into a spray of glass and hot air. Jamal felt the punch of rounds slam into his side and shoulder, sending him spinning to the floor.

Three masked men burst in, muzzles flashing. Bullets tore through racks, glass, and the fridge behind the counter. Adrenaline took over.

Jamal crawled, grabbing cover behind a snack display, yanking the Glock free. He popped around the rack, sending shots back—one caught a man in the knee. The shooter screamed, dropping, and the others grabbed him.

They dragged him back, still firing wild as they retreated.

"FUCK 1300!"

"SMOKING THAT THREAT!"

"THAT'S FOR MANMAN AND LIL MAR, BITCH!"

Their voices screaming "Threat Pack" echoed, as they spilled into the street, tires screeching.

The store was quiet again, except for the hiss of a busted cooler and the shallow, heated sound of Jamal's breathing.

The girl was screaming.

He could hear her—but it was far away, like someone yelling through a wall of water.

Fuck…

He tried to stand. His legs didn't listen. The world felt heavy.

Unknown to him, he'd been hit twenty-three times.

Twenty-three.

It was a miracle he even got those shots off.

That had to be CBD(Cory Blvd Diciples). Damn… how they find me…

His vision swam. Blood pooled warm under his cheek.

And then his mind slipped into the dark, his body going still in the spreading red.

Jamal woke up with a start.

"Shit…"

His hand went to his head, pushing his dreads back. That dream again—his last time on Earth before getting dragged into this bullshit fantasy world.

It still stung. Getting caught lackin like that. What burned worse was how they found him.

Extra time to watch your own kill cam left a man with too many questions. Only thing that made sense was Ty's text.

"Oh, you're up."

He turned.

In the doorway stood a woman whose hair was so pale it looked silver, though the light caught it like molten platinum. Her gold eyes locked on him with a look that was part seduction, part barely-contained chaos.

The black-and-gold cloak over her shoulders framed an athletic build that didn't just lean toward strength—it thrived in it. Muscle cut clean across lean lines, sharp without losing a shred of grace.

He'd never liked that "muscle mommy" term his little cousin used to throw around about anime characters like Mikasa. Destiny in his humble opinion reminded him of WonderWoman or at least that impossible build. But then again… Earth standards didn't apply here.

He shook his head.

"Am I that charming in the morning?"

"Your breath travels in the morning," she replied without missing a beat.

He grinned.

Destiny turned out of the doorway.

Jamal stood, stretching until his back popped. His cloak sat at the edge of the bed—holes burned through it from the last fight. He pulled it on anyway. Time to hit the town. He needed new clothes.

"Yo, D."

"Wassup?" Destiny's voice floated in from the living room.

They'd holed up in this half-busted apartment complex for a few days now. It wasn't much, but it was safe enough to catch their breath. Long enough for Jamal to piece together just how much weird shit was happening.

Some event was raging outside. An Unraveling was underway—whatever that meant—and the part that really cooked his brain: Destiny was apparently something called…something. It was a weird word. And the crazy goddess tearing up the land? Yeah… that was supposed to be her future self.

That was a lot to unpack.

Not that he cared much. This wasn't his world. He didn't have any emotional stake here. What mattered was figuring out if there was a way back home. But in the meantime, there was a gold wave of death rolling across the map and some fool unraveling things bad enough to make all the "game-heads" lose their minds.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

"Where's the bratty Skittle pack?" he asked.

Destiny didn't even look up. "Crisper's out. Probably killing any scouts sniffing around for me."

"Right." Jamal leaned against the doorway. "What you do to that person… Civen, anyway?"

"No clue," she said with a shrug. "Probably Vari."

"Fuck it. An opp is an opp." He smirked. "So how we gonna spin their shit?"

Destiny thought for a moment, then gave a small shrug. "Kinda at a loss on that one."

He laughed, rubbing his jaw. "Well shit think of something." He smelled his breath and winced. "I need her ass back here with some damn toothpaste."

Destiny, lounging with her legs crossed on a cracked windowsill, raised a hand lazily. A golden orb shimmered into existence, hovering in the air before floating over to him.

Jamal squinted at it. It glowed like syrup and had the consistency of molten glass. Suspicious wasn't even the word.

Destiny tilted her head. "Well? Take it."

He didn't move. Just stared at the orb like it owed him money.

"What?" she asked, arms folded.

"I'm a brotha. We don't just take gooey shit from thin air."

She rolled her eyes. "It's to help with freshening up. Think of it like honey."

He leaned back slightly. "Shawty, this look like gold tar. NASA-grade baby food. I'm not smearing this alien sap on my teeth."

"You can either use it, or sit there funky and uncomfortable till Crisper comes back. Up to you."

He sighed, glancing around the barren space. The so-called "apartment" was really just a reinforced ruin. No plumbing, no heat, and definitely no toilet. As far as he could tell, Destiny didn't eat or drink—or do anything that required human maintenance. And Crisper? Walking glitch with straps. Didn't count.

Only Jamal had to deal with needing hygiene like a regular mortal.

Still…

He picked up the orb, holding it like it might explode.

"Really?" Destiny didn't even look up.

"Shut up. I care what goes in my body." He muttered, turning toward the sinkless counter.

He finally caved, biting into the golden orb. It dissolved in his mouth with a burst of mint, honey, and something vaguely like champagne bubbles.

He blinked.

…Damn.

His teeth felt cleaner than they ever had on Earth, his breath fresher than it had been in months. His whole mouth tingled like he just popped a whole pack of gum and downed a cold Sprite.

"Bet! Good look blood," he muttered, dropping onto the couch.

Destiny raised a brow at his satisfaction.

He stretched out. "Alright, so… this event y'all keep talkin' about. Figure out what dat shit mean?"

She dropped down from the sill, expression settling into something more serious. "It's another Jujisn. Like me."

Jamal blinked. "Uh-huh… and I'm supposed to know what that means?"

Her golden eyes narrowed faintly. "How much do you actually know?"

"Zip. Nada. Big ol' donut." He spread his hands. "I only been here a few months. Feels longer, though."

That earned him a soft laugh. "That… actually explains a lot." She straightened a bit, her cloak shifting like liquid light. "Alright. Short version—there are eleven Supreme Families. Old as the concept of power itself. This tournament—this event—is basically a game of survival, gem collecting, and now eliminating. A Jujisn is—"

"—One of you," Jamal interrupted, pointing at her.

"One of me," she confirmed with a small smirk. "A shadow, carrying the power of a Supreme. Each Jujisn is… complicated. And dangerous."

"You know who did this "event" then? Not the tournament… the other jawn."

"Nope. I know of the other Jujisn here but I didn't know there was a third."

"Goddamn, that's a weird word."

She laughed and shook her head. This man was ridiculous. It only been a few days and she was still trying to understand how he survived this long on his own.

"Yerp."

"Uh hmm?"

"If there are eleven families…. Does dat mean it's a ranking for them? Why Eleven?"

"Hell if I know. Vari only spoke about things she found important."

Jamal stared, trying to process. "Aight… so how strong is this Vari chick on the food chain?"

Destiny leaned back, thinking. "If you count all the Family Heads? Probably fourth strongest. Exclude the strongest head, she's third. But strength isn't the same as authority. Most of the family heads are equals in influence and power—they can't bully the others below them without consequence. Two are slightly stronger than the rest… but the strongest head?" Her lips curved faintly. "They can't even be compared."

Before Jamal could ask why, the apartment door creaked open.

Crisper stepped in—covered in blood, soot, and bits of something that looked like charred armor.

Jamal stared. "…Man, they spanking shit out there huh."

"We got company," Crisper said flatly, stepping into the apartment.

Jamal sighed, leaning his head back against the couch. Destiny rolled her eyes, already bracing herself for whatever mess was about to come through her lips.

Crisper's tactical armor looked like it had been through a warzone—scorched plates, cracked joints, streaks of blood smeared across her chest. Her rainbow hair, usually bright and chaotic, was stained a dark cherry. She crossed the room with calm efficiency and dropped onto the opposite couch.

"We've got about five minutes before they get here," she said, voice even, almost casual. "I needed a breather."

Jamal rubbed his temples. This was, what, the sixth time in a week some crew had come gunning for Destiny? Civen clearly wasn't playing around.

And Jamal? He was getting real tired of the interruptions.

He grinned. "Ayo, hand me the switch. You take a breather—I'm dying to use that bitch anyway."

Destiny gave a short laugh, shaking her head. "As fun as that would be, I'd rather end this quickly so we can actually have a plan."

And quickly she did.

The moment the squad of twenty crept into range, they were gone—each of them riddled with hundreds of tiny, perfect holes before they could even raise a weapon. The beams came in sheets of gold, sharp and precise, melting through the air like threads of light pulled by an invisible hand. In seconds, all that remained was silence, a golden cloud dissipating as the final body crumpled.

On the ground, Crisper scanned the fallen with her auto-pickup. Her HUD pulsed a few times before she shook her head.

"None of them had gems."

Destiny stepped lightly onto the roof, settling in with a posture that was somehow both casual and commanding. Jamal and Crisper joined her, the rising suns painting them in warm orange.

"Alright," Destiny said, looking over the skyline. "Let's brainstorm."

"Surprised you don't already have a plan," Crisper said, stretching out with a yawn.

Destiny let out a quiet laugh—more at herself than anyone else. "I've been winging it so far," she admitted. "The game board has shifted three times already. One cannot map the course of a river when the river refuses to stay its path."

Jamal and Crisper both cracked up immediately. It wasn't the first time she'd dropped into what Jamal liked to call Shakespeare mode.

"Blood, you be crackin' me up!" Jamal said, grinning.

Destiny turned, looking mildly exasperated. "It's not funny. It feels so strange when it happens." She sighed and turned back to the horizon. "Anyway… Crisper, check the event again. Anything new?"

Crisper flicked through her interface. "Negative. Same thing. Not even sure if it's an event or a warning at this point."

Jamal tilted his head. "Does it say 'warning' anywhere?"

"No."

"Then it ain't a warning."

Destiny turned just enough to glare at him. "Oh, wow. Brilliant deduction. Shut up."

"Damn, blood, don't be so aggressive," Jamal teased, smirking at her glare.

Destiny just rolled her eyes and folded her legs, settling into her usual composure. "Fine. Since you're so relaxed, let's continue. I got an idea now."

Crisper leaned back on her elbows. "Hit me with it."

"First," Destiny said, her tone smoothing into that calm, deliberate cadence she always slipped into when she was certain of herself, "we secure reds. Enough to leverage control over the stragglers. The tournament's board is crowded, but most players will gravitate toward the same resources. We take them before the others consolidate."

"Alright, reds first," Jamal said, nodding. "And the next move?"

Destiny's smile tilted slightly. "Second… we find the other Jujisns."

That got Crisper's attention. "You think they're still alive?"

"I doubt Rhans' Jujisn died," Destiny replied without hesitation. "If they're anything like me, survival is the least of their talents. Plus we met once and I see no harm in meeting again."

Jamal's brow furrowed. "So… this other event-level Jujisn—stronger than you or nah?"

Crisper added in without looking away, "And don't dodge the question. Who's stronger—Rhans' Jujisn, the event Jujisn… or you?"

Destiny's golden eyes glinted, and a small, knowing smile curved her lips. "An Unraveling isn't… strength, exactly. It's the realm reacting to two entities existing where only one should. A… disruption."

Jamal nodded slowly. "A paradox."

She gave him an approving look. "Exactly." Then she leaned back slightly, letting the words settle before she added, "As for strength…" Her smile widened just a touch, warm but edged. "There aren't many Supreme Jujisns. Even if this one truly came from a King, I believe I can beat them. I would wager I'm the strongest."

Jamal let out a low whistle. "Confidence through the roof, huh?"

"Confidence," Destiny corrected smoothly, "tempered by experience."

They laughed, the tension thinning just enough for Crisper to flick open her UI. Her red stained rainbow hair shifted as she scrolled through menus. "Alright, let's see if we've got anything easy… red gem quest, red gem marker… maybe a ping—"

She paused, frowned, then swiped again.

"Lemme guess." Jamal leaned over lazily. "Nothing."

"Nothing," Crisper confirmed, shutting the panel with a flick of her wrist. "Looks like we're going old school—travel and scan."

"Good," Destiny said simply. She adjusted her cloak, strands of hair catching the dim light. "Sometimes the long path is the only one worth taking. We'll move, scan, and take what's ours before anyone else does."

Jamal stuffed his hands in his pockets as they started walking. "Alright, cool. But while we're on the subject of long paths, lemme ask… what's the actual deal with Requiem? Y'all talk like it's a normal thing."

"It's not," Destiny said, stepping over a broken root. "Requiem is a realm that eats and rewrites everything inside of it. It's layered. Events like this tournament are just… flavor on top of a whole system most people don't survive long enough to learn."

Crisper added smoothly, "Think of it as a game where the over powered players do as they want—and you're expendable."

"That's… real dark shit," Jamal muttered.

Destiny gave him a sideways glance. "You asked."

They kept moving, the forest opening just enough to let a wash of golden light bleed through the canopy. After a moment of silence, Crisper broke it with, "So, on the subject of expendable… Jamal, explain to me how you're still defending Ghost over Advanced Warfare."

Jamal stopped mid-step, turning with mock outrage. "On some real shit, Ghost wasn't that bad. Y'all overhate that game. At least it didn't have wall-running robot suit bullshit like Advanced Warfare."

"Advanced Warfare," Crisper said firmly, "was bad—but at least it tried something new. Ghost was just ugly, bro."

"Nah, Ghost had the best sound design of the series. Gunplay was smooth. And don't act like the campaign wasn't better than Advanced's."

"That's a low bar!" Crisper shot back.

Destiny chuckled from ahead, her voice smooth and even. "Sometimes it's hard to remember you're a girl, Crisper."

"Thank you," Crisper said without missing a beat.

"That wasn't a compliment," Destiny replied, though the faint curve of her lips said otherwise.

Jamal grinned, shaking his head as the two continued to go back and forth, their argument a steady hum beneath the crunch of their boots and the quiet forest around them.

Destiny laughed to herself. These two weren't so bad. Jamal especially—he surprised her with how much he kept up, his humor balancing the tension that had been shadowing them for days.

She was just starting to think the air almost felt light when the world went sideways.

The explosion wasn't a sound so much as a detonation of reality itself.

A shockwave slammed into them, rattling bones, the ground heaving like it had been punched from beneath.

"Shit—!" Jamal's voice cut short as the earth split open, jagged cracks spiderwebbing outward in every direction.

Crisper's boots hit loose soil, the ground folding under her. She dove sideways, rolling hard just as an entire chunk of land she'd been standing on snapped free and dropped into the void below.

Jamal wasn't much luckier. The dirt under his feet pitched, a sinkhole tearing open at his side. He swore, grabbing for anything solid, and threw himself into a desperate slide as the terrain fell away.

Destiny had no such luxury.

The scream came first—a piercing, living shriek that rode on a tide of black Ryun. It wasn't just sound. It was impact, slamming into her aura like a siege cannon.

Her body was hurled backward—not through air, but through terrain. Boulders shattered, cliffsides crumpled, and forests tore themselves apart as she crashed through one landscape and into the next.

Her aura sparked gold against the overwhelming black. Each collision rattled her bones, each attempt to stabilize only momentarily slowing her descent before another surge of Ryun sent her careening again.

She could barely keep her form intact, golden shields flaring against every hit. Counterattacking felt almost laughable; she was barely clinging to control.

The ground groaned and cracked, an endless chain reaction turning miles of solid earth into jagged ruin.

Think.

Her thoughts fought through the static in her head. She was now in the air, but her body felt like lead. She wasn't bleeding, but every movement sent waves of pain rolling through her like her internal organs had been turned to soup.

She needed to understand what just happened—

But then she saw it.

A shadow bloomed above her, blotting out the light the sky offered. The figure that appeared seemed to have unfold from the void.

It was all black—skin, armor… if that was armor. There was no distinction, just a seamless surface that seemed to drink in the light. Its hair was a living void, trailing upward like strands of night caught in a current.

And its eyes—gods, its eyes—dark grey rimmed with a sickly violet glow, like amethysts left to rot.

The Ryun rolling off its body was wrong. It was so corrupted, so putrid, that it warped the air around it. It pressed against her aura like tar. She realized in a sudden, cold flash—this wasn't just black Ryun. It was brushing the edges of Sryun.

It raised one hand. A swell of energy gathered in its palm, a dense sphere of black and purple that pulsed like a beating heart. The air hummed with the sheer pressure of it.

The figure didn't speak. It didn't hesitate.

It punched.

The impact hit Destiny like a meteor. The black-and-purple blast tore her through the sky and slammed her down with annihilating force. The earth buckled on impact, rock splitting, molten veins igniting. She didn't stop at the surface. The blow drove her through it, tearing a shaft straight down through layers of stone and into the depths below.

Everything above was gone—the sky, the air, even the sound—replaced by a deafening roar of collapsing earth as she was hammered deeper and deeper.

The figure dove without hesitation, a streak of corrupted Ryun tearing through the stone like wet parchment. Every layer of earth it passed through buckled and split, the shockwaves rippling up to the surface in bone-shaking tremors.

It was diving straight for Destiny.

But before it could reach her, the air screamed.

Dozens—no, hundreds—of golden missiles erupted from the bedrock, each one a spear of concentrated Ryun in floral bloom. They tore upward in a rising chorus, detonating on impact. The shockwave blasted the figure upward, sending it hurtling back into the broken sky.

A column of light exploded from the crater, a golden floral aura searing the air.

Destiny emerged.

Her cloak was nothing but shredded tatters. Blood streaked down her arms and jaw. Each breath dragged like iron in her lungs. But on her lips—despite the pain, despite the wreckage—curved a smile.

Her golden eyes, usually burning bright, had deepened into a darker hue.

High above, the figure steadied itself.

It raised one hand. The sky responded.

A fracture split across the heavens, black and rotted at the edges. From the wound, colossal fangs of festering hatred unfurled—jagged obsidian constructs dripping with voidlight. They turned as one, locking onto her.

Destiny's pulse thundered in her ears. Her aura tightened, golden light coiling like a drawn bowstring.

She couldn't believe her luck.

Finally… a real challenge.