The hologram of General Valerius flickered above the command console, his face illuminated by the harsh, sterile blue light of the secure channel. Deep lines were etched into his forehead; the war at the Wall was clearly taking its toll, carving years into his skin in a matter of weeks.
"You want to go back," Valerius stated, his voice low and dangerous, vibrating with the authority of a man used to sending soldiers to their deaths. "I sent you to the Wall to keep you alive, Lieutenant. The University is a nest of vipers. If you return to Sector 98, you are walking voluntarily into the mouth of the Shadow Faculty."
"The Shadows are already here, General," Lack replied, leaning casually against the captain's chair, though his eyes were sharp. He gestured to the dossier floating on the screen. "Officer Kael was at the Wall. The Dreallytear are everywhere. Hiding doesn't work."
"And your plan?" Valerius asked, eyeing the stolen data on High Councilman Aamon. "Aamon is untouchable. He has the political backing of the entire God Faction. If you accuse him without absolute proof, I will be the one forced to execute you for treason."
"We don't plan to accuse him," Lack said, a cold smile touching his lips. "We plan to ruin his show."
Lack tapped the screen, bringing up the University's event calendar.
[Event: The Grand Tournament - Singles Category] [Date: 18 Days from Now] [Prize: The Council's Blessing]
"Phase 2 is the Tournament," Lack explained, dissecting the logic of the enemy's plan. "Aamon plans to crown his chosen vessel as the Champion. During the victory ceremony, he'll force the Light God into the winner under the guise of a 'Blessing'."
Valerius was silent for a long moment. The hum of the ship's engine filled the void, a low, mechanical growl in the darkness.
"If Aamon succeeds," Valerius murmured, "he creates a puppet God under his control. A weapon to end the war... and rule the Council."
The General looked up, his eyes hardening into steel.
"Permission granted, Lieutenant. But officially? You are still garbage collectors in the Neutral Zone. If you get caught, I don't know you."
"Understood," Lack saluted.
The transmission cut, plunging the bridge back into shadows.
? ? ?
Location: Sector 98 - The University Outskirts (The Slums) Time: 1:00am Date: Year 61, February 97th (Day 55 of Deployment)
They couldn't park a stealth frigate on the campus lawn. Ratchet had docked The Rusty Nail in the Slums of Sector 98, a dense, neon-lit district housing the civilians who serviced the University. The air here was a heavy, physical atmospheric wall of frying oil, cheap mana-stims, and desperation.
"We split up here," Lack announced, checking his disguise. He wore a heavy hooded cloak and a mask made of scavenging gear, obscuring his features completely.
"Volt, Terra, Rian," Lack nodded to the Elites. "You go in through the front door. You're 'Returning Heroes' from the front lines. Make a scene. Be arrogant. Draw Aamon's attention."
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"Arrogant?" Volt smirked, adjusting the collar of his pristine crimson uniform. "I can do arrogant. I was born for it."
"What about us?" Torin asked, nervously pulling at his own ragged disguise.
"We are the Mystery Challengers," Lack said. "There's a loophole in the tournament rules. 'Independent Mercenaries' can buy a slot in the bracket if they pay the entry fee."
"And the fee is?" Mina asked.
"Ten thousand credits," Lack grimaced. "Which is exactly what we looted from the Shadow Factory."
Heavy, physical sadness dragged Borg's posture down. "Borg... wanted to buy lunch."
"We win the tournament, we buy all the lunch," Lack promised.
? ? ?
Location: The Grand Arena - Registration Hall (Sector 98) Time: Year 61, February 100th (Day 58 of Deployment)
The registration hall was a cauldron of noise and ambition. Students from every Faculty—Fire, Water, Wind, Earth—were lining up to register for the 1vs1 Singles. The air hummed with competitive mana, but beneath it lay a darker current.
The Silent Shadows were watching. The sheer pressure of their gaze weighed heavily on the room, thick and suffocating.
Vibration Radar: Active.
Ping. Ping.
Soft tremors echoed from the shadowed corners of the ceiling. They were looking for him.
"Next!" the clerk shouted.
Lack stepped up to the counter. He wore a full-face mask—a smooth, white porcelain slate. No eyes, no features. Just a blank void.
"Name?" the clerk asked, bored.
"The Glitch," Lack said, his voice distorted by a modulator Ratchet had built into the mask.
"Faculty?"
"Independent."
The clerk paused, his focus snapping upward. "Independent entries require a combat demonstration or a fee."
Lack dropped a heavy bag of credits on the counter.
THUD.
"Fee paid," Lack said.
The clerk blinked, checked the credits, and stamped the form. "You're in Block D. First match is against... oh, bad luck."
The clerk smirked, tapping the screen. "You're fighting Jareth. He's been training with a new mentor."
Lack didn't flinch behind the mask.
"Jareth," Lack repeated. "Perfect."
As he walked away, he scanned the massive digital bracket board illuminating the hall.
[Block A Favourite: Volt (Lightning)] [Block B Favourite: Rian (Ice)] [Block C Favourite: Sarah (The Light Vessel?)]
Lack froze. Sarah. The name carried the heavy, undeniable weight of absolute certainty.
She was a quiet girl from the Healing Faculty. Year 1. Never fought in combat classes. Always smiling.
That’s her, the Light Devil whispered in Lack's mind, his voice dripping with venom. His mana signature coats her. Aamon has been feeding her high-grade mana. She’s not a Healer anymore. She’s a battery.
"We found the target," Lack whispered to his comms. "Block C. Sarah."
"Do we take her out?" Terra’s voice crackled in his ear.
"No," Lack said, his target lock anchoring to the projection of the girl. Absolute innocence radiated from her. "If we attack her now, Aamon accelerates the ritual. We have to beat her in the ring. We have to prove her logic is flawed before the world."
"But Lack," Torin whispered beside him. "It's a 1vs1 tournament. Only one of us can fight her."
"I know," Lack said, his focus shifting to the massive holographic trophy rotating above the arena—a symbol of ultimate power.
"That's why I have to win Block D. Then Block B. And then..."
His target lock anchored onto the projected image of Sarah. Her posture projected absolute innocence, but even in the hologram, her eyes actively output a terrifying, fanatical gold light.
"...I have to fight God."
? ? ?
[System Record: Character Progression]
- Identity: "The Glitch" (Masked).
- Tournament Status: Registered (Block D).
- Target Identified: Sarah (Candidate for Aamon’s plan).