You Already Won

He brought the blade down, cleaving through red lightning.

The clash roared like a thunderclap across the battlefield—red-black bolts twisted in serpentine arcs around him, only to be shattered against the polished steel of his resolve. His boots dug into scorched rock, body trembling under the sheer pressure of the Blood Prince's wrath. But he didn't falter.

Because Targith Tullen wasn't just a warrior. He wasn't even born here.

Once, he had been Jacob Colins—an ordinary man from Earth. A man who spent weekends LARPing with friends, cracking jokes about mana potions made of Gatorade, and laughing under the stars with the love of his life. A man who worked a decent job, paid his bills, and dreamed small but happy dreams.

His daughter had dropped her toy down a hill during one of those events.

He went to retrieve it.

And when he came back over the ridge…

The music was gone. The crowd, gone.

Only open fields—and the low, rumbling growl of a raptor-like dragon waiting to mark the end of his old world.

That was twenty-two years ago.

Delark became his new home.

He bled for it. Built for it. Fell in love again.

She wasn't human, but her laughter was real. Her warmth, real. They raised two children.

He formed a Guild under Narloic's banners—The Black Hawks.

His people looked to him for protection.

His children looked to him for strength.

His wife looked at him like he was still worth loving.

And now this… this thing threatened to take all of it away.

The Blood Prince.

Not a monster.

Not a boss.

A cataclysm given form. A being who didn't blink under heavenly fire or divine judgment. Whose very presence turned legends into memories.

Targith didn't have a system. No levels. No UI. No bonus stats or resurrection checkpoints.

But he had something else—

A reason to stand.

And that was more powerful than any cheat skill.

He raised his blade again, the steel trembling in the storm above.

"I don't know your name," he muttered through gritted teeth, eyes blazing. "But I'll make sure my kids never have to hear it."

The red lightning crackled again.

And he charged.

Because The Black Hawks would save the world.

——

"We lost a lot of units in that barrage!"

"Stupid shit man I—"

"Cut it out! Focus! We knew the risk. Everyone still alive respond! Now!"

"Squad C, holding east formation. Waiting on targeting lock."

"North aerial units adjusting trajectory. Bringing ion-Ryun turrets online."

"Second force standing by. Ryun net stabilized. Just say the word."

"We have eyes on the Blood Prince. All channels prep to fire on impact."

"Shield systems hot. Deploying nullburst barrier in five."

"Heavy artillery locked in. Waiting Guild Master's mark."

"Evac route mapped. Priority extraction if Targith falls—repeat, if he falls."

———

The ships aligned—twelve of them left—forming a combat arc in the skies like a halo of judgment. Their hulls glimmered with concentrated Ryun infusion, barrels bristling with modified artillery and cursed payloads.

North saw it.

Felt it.

But the man in front of him?

He was the problem right now.

Targith moved like a seasoned monster-slayer, not a desperate Outlander. He wasn't flailing or stalling—he was pressuring. North recognized it immediately. The aura. The commitment. The belief.

Zavrien. But stronger and far more dangerous.

North clenched his fists, black and red sparks crackling from his skin as he called on the storm:

The sky turned a deep carmine.

Red lightning curled upward—spiraling, splitting—before crashing downward in a massive wave of silent destruction.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

There was no thunder.

Only absence.

A pressure vacuum collapsed over the battlefield. Energy bled from the air like a dying breath, aura signatures vanishing.

Abilities flickered.

Weapons dulled.

Confidence cracked.

Status Windows showed the effects:

Silences casting and skill use temporarily

Rapid stamina drain

Erodes morale and suppresses will

But Targith didn't buckle.

His stance shifted—left foot planting behind him, two swords raised. The longsword hummed with ancient Ryun energy, while the broad blade glowed with protective will.

He exhaled.

A pulse radiated outward from his center, blue and white—a shield of soul-forged Ryun.

And it held.

North snarled. "Showing off huh?!"

Red lightning fractured outward, branching like blood vessels in the sky.

Each bolt twisted toward Targith like tendrils of doom.

When they connected—

Black pulses exploded from inside the body.

Veins burst. Vision warped. Reality shifted.

But Targith?

He charged through it.

His black armor—blessed by former LARPing life—absorbed the pulses like a sponge.

He slid in low, turned, and—

Slash!

A gash tore across North's stomach, blood arcing into the red sky.

Before North could counter, Targith kicked him, the blow launching him into the air like a broken missile.

North gritted his teeth mid-flight. "You gotta be—"

The ships opened fire.

KA-BOOOOOOOM.

Every cannon roared.

A sky-level burst of divine hate—red, blue, white streaks of weaponized technologic Ryun. A shelling barrage designed to wipe out a godspawn.

The world quaked.

Below, Targith lifted his blade.

The blue sword hummed louder, feeding on the chaos.

It drank the Ryun in the air, growing longer, broader—thicker—until it resembled a sky-forged cleaver capable of splitting a mountain in half.

His eyes narrowed beneath the helm.

"You won't take this world from me."

——

Caroline and Sšurtinaui moved fast, shadows streaking between ruined land and smoking rubble as another barrage of cannon fire lit the sky above.

The sword Targith raised was almost absurd in size now, glowing with seething blue Ryun. North, battered and bloody, caught it mid-swing—but the force still cratered him into the earth.

"This isn't going well," Caroline muttered.

Sšurtinaui threw her a glare mid-stride.

"I'm just saying!" Caroline yelped. "That guy is level 460—same as Calmbrand! And there's at least a few 300s in those ships. I saw their auras when they appeared!"

Sšurtinaui hissed through her teeth. She could feel the battlefield crumbling—Tinsurnae's aura flickering somewhere distant, still locked with Caelus. And North? He was holding on by sheer defiance.

Then came the sound of doors hissing open.

The ships.

Dozens of armored and cloaked figures leapt from the hovering craft—black trench gear and high-tier sigils glowing across their backs. These were the level 300s. The ones Caroline had hoped she was wrong about.

But what really made her stomach flip?

North's health bar.

{|} The Blood Prince {|}

(—————— )

"…He's losing health," she whispered as panic started to kick in.

"Umm. Hmm. What do we do?! He's gonna die! They both might die!" Caroline scrambled through her UI.

Sšurtinaui, calculating, stared into the distance.

Then they both realized it at the same time.

Don't think. Just move.

"I'll handle North," Caroline said, straightening up. "They're gamers—well, most of them—so I can probably still mess with their systems. And if not… I'll improvise. Either way, he'll die if we don't act."

Sšurtinaui nodded. "Tinsurnae needs help. She's still alive, but fading. I can feel her."

"Oh, right… you've got that creepy soul link or whatever."

Sšurtinaui rolled her eyes.

"You think you can save North?"

Caroline made a face.

"You think you can outrun a level 460?"

They smirked at each other.

Sšurtinaui slid her mask over her face. "See you when it's done."

She burst forward in a brilliant green trail, headed for the distant clash of Calmbrand's blade and Tinsurnae's will.

Caroline exhaled. Checked her UI. Whispered to herself.

"I wanted to save these but…. Can't always get what we want, huh Caroline?"

[Stats – Active Status]

Level: 257 (Outlander – Coded Sigil Mage)

Aura Capacity: 122,000

Sigil Synchronicity: +6%

Tail Manifestation Limit: 4 → 6 (Locked pending Tier 4)

Clairvoyance Tier: Upgraded

(Map Range +75%, Mood Detection pending unlock)

Arc Infusion: Pending

Grants lightning synergy to existing sigils (Pending full sync)

She accepted the upgrades.

Two more tails shimmered into being—flickering flames laced with crackling electricity. She felt them resonate through her spine.

Her map expanded. A full 100-meter radius opened up in her mind.

She felt the Black Hawks' morale.

And it was high. Too high.

Not just excitement—righteous fury.

The thrill of a once-in-a-lifetime boss fight.

In the sky:

The air was filled with chat party-like comms.

"He's cracked, I'm pushing!"

"Pop damage boosts—he's powering up again!"

"Need a healer and DPS near red marker!"

"Tanks, rotate aggro and back up the Guild Master!"

"Holy shit—are we actually about to save the world?!"

These weren't soldiers. They were raiders. Dungeon crawlers. Gamers with families. With rage. With a cause.

They wanted this.

North didn't just look like a raid boss—he was one. And they were going to kill him.

"Alright," she muttered, charging into the storm. "Let's go!!!"

Caroline raced forward.

"Maybe I could sneak into one of the ships?"

No, too risky. Too many sensors. A million ways to get spotted.

She needed a distraction—but summoning wasn't part of her toolkit. Not unless she wanted to waste time crafting a pseudo-creature out of sigil script and leftover aura. Maybe she should buy a familiar after this. Big maybe.

First survive. She shook the thought out of her head.

That's when she felt it.

A faint aura. Not dim—hidden. Soft and coiled. She pivoted hard and followed the feeling, darting around debris until—

There. Maybe an artifact or weapon?

Whatever it was, the title was "???". So it had to be a powerful item.

Nope.

A boy.

Wolfish black hair. Just shorts. Eyes puffy like he'd been crying, but glowing a faint silver. Maybe seventeen or eighteen.

Caroline knelt beside him. "Hey—are you okay? What are you doing out here?"

He didn't look at her.

"Leave me alone."

"Can't do that," she said. "You're still breathing. I gotta at least make sure you're alright."

"Don't pity me," he growled.

She raised a brow. "Then don't act like someone who needs pity. Get up. Help me."

"I'm not helping anyone."

She stood. Hands on her hips. "So you're just gonna sit here and cry?"

His head snapped toward her, eyes flaring. "I'm not crying."

"Right. Just leaking from the eyes while hiding under rubble. Totally different."

He stood fast, getting in her face. "Say that again."

Her glare didn't flinch.

He took a step back.

"I'm trying to save my friend," she said, voice level. "I thought you were a strong —"

"…You think I'm strong?"

She blinked. "Umm, duh. That's why I came over here. Figured you were a secret weapon or something."

"Oh… thought you came to…"

"I don't have time for whatever that sentence was." She turned on her heel. "I have to go help North. You can wallow, or whatever."

She jetted off.

Jack's eye twitched.

"I'm strong. I'm actually the strongest."

I've killed monsters that made others piss themselves." He looked at his hands. "But now? Now I looked weak. In front of a girl. That's not very main character of me…"

His foot cracked the ground as he stepped—

And appeared beside her.

"WHAT THE HELL—!" Caroline jumped, tails sparking in surprise. "Dude?! Personal space?!"

"I'm Jack," he said, half a grin forming. "Sorry for… that. You know. From before."

"It was, like… nine seconds ago."

"Hey. I'm trying to make amends."

An explosion rocked the air in the distance. Caroline didn't wait—she bolted.

"I don't have time."

"I can help!"

She didn't slow. "Then come on!"

Jack dashed after her, matching pace with ease. He glanced over at her.

She was cute, he realized. Good.

"Tell me everything you can do." She said, not looking back.

Jack smiled.

Time to prove it.

Time to show everyone he was still the main character. And maybe even kill that blue bastard in the process.